#note for self: technique is to draw back across to the left ONLY | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

dangerdangerhighvoltage · 3 years

Text

Night Off (MC x Kojuro x Tsunamoto)

MC and Kojuro are trying to navigate their relationship after finally hooking up, only for Tsunamoto to crash the party with his chaotic ass. it's double daddy duty featuring one of supporting cast's finest. nsfw!

You never were one to concentrate on one thing at a time.

As you scooped porridge into a bowl, you mentally listed all the letters that were awaiting a response from Kojuro. You carefully laid the soft doughy orb of mochi on top of the porridge while noting you needed to track down that retainer to get his report on how the crops were faring this season. As you attempted to remember the name of some Western book Lord Masamune had requested, the boiling water you meant to pour into the teapot had instead landed on your hand.

“Ahh!” you hissed. Chastised by your own folly, you finally focused on the task at hand, assembling the tray for Kojuro’s afternoon tea break including an extra tea cup for yourself. It had been a few weeks since the incident, and you were relieved that things were starting to feel normal again, if not a little awkward.

The month before last, the clan embarked on a particularly brutal campaign. Upon their return, an abnormally shaken Kojuro promptly made love to you, after a year of working closely late into the night, nursing each others’ hangovers, confiding in each other different ways to help Lord Masamune not be so hard on himself. Kojuro fucked you on his desk on the heaps and heaps of his letters and notes and then again in his bedding, drawing from you something he had left on the battlefield. You were genuinely surprised Kojuro had made good on the attraction between you, but the next day, you could have sworn you overheard Shigezane distributing to a handful of retainers what sounded like payouts for a bet.

You and Kojuro decided that while you both enjoyed yourselves that night and were clearly well suited, it was not the best time to pursue something real, not with the Ashina acting up as they were. The others teased Kojuro endlessly about making an honest woman out of you, and for some reason, a part of you believed he actually wanted to. But the thing about Kojuro was he would never be forced to make a decision about you so long as he had that endless pile of work on his desk to hide behind.

It’s not as if you wanted to be an honest woman anyway.

And so it was as though you started your relationship from scratch, relearning boundaries and reacquainting yourself with some professional distance. The only acknowledgment of your intimacy—other than the fact that he ceased referring to you as his “precious girl”—was the fact that you had started to join him for his afternoon tea every day. And that’s exactly what you were looking forward to doing when you walked back into his office, tray in hand, only to find a brawny, effortlessly disheveled, scar-faced sight sitting in your spot.

“Look what the winds blew in,” Kojuro said to you mischievously.

“Lord Tsunamoto!” you exclaimed, shocked to see the handsome man before you. “To what do we owe the pleasure?”

Whereas Kojuro was seated rather formally at his desk, Tsunamoto sat back outstretched, his chest peeking through his signature, generously loose robe. You’d always been a bit nervous around the man, his lingering eye contact, and general aversion to modesty. You dismissed him as not your type more as a form of self protection, like a chest of gunpowder dodging a spark. Despite being polar opposites, he and Kojuro were thick as thieves when reunited, Kojuro bringing a calm patience out in Tsunamoto, and Tsunamoto reviving a roguish edge in Kojuro.

“Surprised to see me?” Tsunamoto declared more than asked. Why did everything about him seem flirtatious?

“Did you send a letter?” you asked, knowing he hadn’t. “I’d have planned a feast if I knew you were visiting!”

“No need for the fanfare. I’m just passing through for a few days.”

"Too late, I already have a menu in mind,” you said, picking up the teapot. Tsunamoto’s eye locked on the second cup as you poured the tea. Your face heated up as you watched him realize the second cup wasn’t meant for him, that maybe he was interrupting something. You wondered if from just one mundane piece of ceramic, he deduced everything about your and Kojuro’s past. Tsunamoto cocked his head, and directed an inquisitive smile toward Kojuro who was suddenly couldn’t seem to drink his tea fast enough.

"I suppose there’s no point in trying to stop you,” Tsunamoto relented, graciously accepting the cup you offered.

“Believe me, I’ve tried,” Kojuro quipped.

“Uh huh.” Tsunamoto noted. His gaze flickered to you.

“Let me bring you some oshiruko,” you said with a firm smile and a desperate need to catch your breath.

“No need,” Kojuro waved away. “Bring him his favorite dessert.”

You cocked your head at him in confusion. The two men looked at each other in a way that made your cheek tingle.

“Sake,” Kojuro said slyly.

The next morning, you arrived at training, where Tsunamoto had stepped in to lead. After sparring one-on-one with every retainer, he finally approached you.

“Solid form,” he offered as your wooden swords cracked against one another. You had been on the defense the whole time, allowing him to gain ground or at least think he was. Luckily for you, his strength made him slower, and as his body twisted to strike at you, you quickly maneuvered under his swing, striking him in his side in a full low lunge. He let out a laugh as you smiled shyly to yourself.

“I’ve taught her well, huh?” Kojuro called out from afar, who had apparently stopped by to observe training.

“Technique was always your strength,” Tsunamoto called back to him.

You resumed sparring, Tsunamoto hitting a bit stronger and moving much faster than before. With every step you took, he met you there, almost predicting your movements. The confidence you gained now sputtered out as you barely dodged his attacks. Running out of ideas, you tried a new gambit Kojuro taught you but as you spun around, you felt yourself caught in a vise-grip, your back to Tsunamoto’s chest as if he was simply waiting for you to fall into his trap. His arms easily restraining yours, he brought his lips to your ear and lowered his voice, looking directly at Kojuro who was watching the two of you intently.

“See, I know a few of Kojuro’s weaknesses as well,” he said, sending a shiver down your spine.

“Besides, who do you think taught him?” He let you go and jogged back over to the rest of the retainers as if nothing happened. Straightening out your hakama, you looked over at Kojuro who hadn’t taken his eyes off you.

After a full day of cooking and preparing, you tried to make yourself scarce during that night’s feast. You spent the evening running back and forth between the kitchen and main hall, hauling food and empty dishes until someone, you weren’t sure who, grabbed your hand and pulled you down to sit between Kojuro and Tsunamoto. Despite your initial protests, the two of them finally convinced you to stay and enjoy your own handiwork. You relented, and jovially ate, drank, and chatted with the rest of them, until you remembered something.

“Hells, I never spoke to Shiroishi about the crops today,” you confessed with a grimace.

“Yeah, I'm not sure Shiroishi is in any state to discuss much of anything,” Tsunamoto said. Across the room, the retainer in question was somewhere between laughing drunk and falling asleep drunk.

“What kind of master am I?” Kojuro bemoaned. “My own page sitting here thinking about work when she should be enjoying herself?”

“She learned from the best,” Tsunamoto joked under his breath.

“Milord,” you started, “You’re a good ma—”

He turned to you, his face serious. “I want you to forget about all your work. Take the night off and just have a good time, okay?” Since you and Kojuro slept together, “good time” had become something of a loaded term.

“But Milord,” you teased. “Who will keep your desk clear?”

“I can keep my own desk clear for one night, thank you very much!”

“You didn’t even clear it when we—”

You cut yourself off abruptly and bowed your head in embarrassment, suddenly realizing how much you had drank. Tsunamoto let out a satisfied laugh, and you thought Kojuro would strike you down then and there for your slip up. But he merely smirked at you, amused. It’s not like anyone else had heard outside you three—by now all the retainers were completely intoxicated and Lord Masamune had excused himself long ago.

“You didn’t seem to mind at the time, precious girl,” Kojuro fired back with a small, unbearably winning smile. You were at once delighted and flustered by Kojuro’s familiarity and Tsunamoto's presence. You didn’t know what to make of him playing witness to this charged tête-à-tête.

Sensing the tension, Tsunamoto spoke up. "That’s our Kojuro, always with the last word.”

“You see what I have to work with every day?” you fussed, turning to him with a big smile.

"You poor thing,” Tsunamoto said, playing along and touching your cheek. You were surprised by the gesture, but played it off well. You happily sipped your sake, oblivious to the glance Kojuro and Tsunamoto shared, an entire unspoken conversation transpiring above your head.

It was late into the night when the last of the retainers drunkenly shuffled off to their quarters for the night, and Kojuro asked you to bring a jug of sake to his office. When you arrived you were astonished to find the two of them seated across Kojuro’s desk boisterously engaged in a heated match of arm wrestling of all things. Only Tsunamoto could convince Kojuro to engage in such nonsensical activities.

“So these are the brilliant, visionary advisors of the Date clan,” you huffed as they cheerfully welcomed you. You sat down at the edge of the desk and looked back and forth between them before pouring the sake. With great effort, Kojuro finally pressed Tsunamoto’s knuckles into the wood.

“Damn,” Tsunamoto grumbled. They downed the sake and immediately put their elbows back on the table, ready for another bout. You poured more sake and sipped on your own. "Alright, this is the tiebreaker,” Tsunamoto said, flexing his fingers.

“And what is the prize?” you asked.

“A kiss from the beautiful page,” Tsunamoto cracked.

“And smart,” you added.

“Right, a kiss from the beautiful and smart page,” Tsunamoto beamed.

Kojuro looked up at you, concerned. “[Y/n], you don’t have to—”

“Okay,” you said simply. Kojuro was dumbfounded.

“What?”

“I said okay. I will kiss whoever wins this stupid competition,” you said with a shrug. Did those words just come out of your mouth? The two men looked at each other again, and again you felt that tingle in your cheek.

“You heard her, Kojuro,” Tsunamoto said.

“I suppose I did.”

The two readied themselves on Kojuro’s desk, grasped hands and began, but this round was different. For the first time since Lord Tsunamoto arrived, the two men went silent as they strained to defeat the other.

“Kojuro, finally putting up a fight. Desperate for a kiss, old man?” Tsunamoto jeered.

"Put as much effort into training as you do into talking shit and you’d have unified Japan yourself by now,” Kojuro taunted back.

Unable to fathom the scene playing out in front of you, you simply took another shot of sake. It was a total deadlock for minutes until suddenly with a loud crack, both men were sent to the floor. Apparently Kojuro’s poor desk gave out from the pressure of the match or perhaps it had simply lost the will to live after years of neglect and misuse. The three of you devolved into a fit of laughter as you pieced together what had occurred.

“A draw!” Kojuro howled.

“We both lost? How pathetic!” Tsunamoto asked, wiping a tear from the corner of his eye and trying not to laugh again, though you sensed he was relieved at the outcome. The two men sat up on either side of the broken desk, looking down in amused pity.

“Or maybe,” you said timidly. “You both won.”

You couldn’t believe what you had just said. What you had just implied. The two men froze and looked at you, waiting for the catch, for you to burst into laughter and exclaim, “Gotcha!” and tease them endlessly for thinking twice. But you didn’t.

“[Y/n]?” Kojuro asked softly with a nervous smile.

With the latest shot of sake taking effect, you leaned over to him and gave him a firm kiss. His body froze before you, and you instantly cursed yourself for being so stupid and so forward. What were you thinking? You expected him to pull back, graciously reiterate the need for professionalism, and dismiss you for the night, but to your surprise, he dug his fingers in your hair and deepened the kiss. His tongue grazed your lips hungrily and bit your lip the same way he did when you first kissed just weeks ago, and you felt the same rush of sensual relief.

The two of you parted with a small, uncertain smile. You took a breath and looked deep into the torrent of Kojuro’s eyes.

“I’m going to kiss him now,” you said. “Is that alright, Milord?”

“Of course,” Kojuro said with a genuine smile. “He earned it just as much as I did.”

Kojuro watched as you leaned over to Tsunamoto. For perhaps the first time ever, Tsunamoto looked thrown off, almost nervous, which exhilarated you. You lips brushed over his. He looked over at Kojuro questioningly, and Kojuro nodded encouragingly. Satisfied with this, Tsunamoto closed his eyes and drew you closer, hungrily lapping at and biting your lips. You expected him to be an aggressive kisser compared to Kojuro, but there was also a sweetness about the way he gently swept his tongue against yours.

Tsunamoto broke the kiss before you were ready. You hadn’t even noticed that Kojuro had moved the broken table aside and moved closer to you. The two men stood up and pulled you up between them.

“Are you sure you want this?” Kojuro asked. You looked at the dizzyingly handsome men on either side of you. “Want us?”

“Yes,” you panted as you kissed Kojuro again, grabbing his collar. You felt Kojuro loosen your obi as Tsunamoto stood behind you and began to kiss your neck, his hands loosening your collar. You reached to grasp at both of their hair as Tsunamoto opened up your kimono, exposing your breasts.

Kojuro leaned back and took the sight in before leaning down and taking your nipple into his mouth. From behind, Tsunamoto took your other breast into his hand and possessively turned your head to kiss you.

“Nghgh,” you moaned as both the men worked your breasts. Kojuro finally removed your obi and your body was completely exposed. He licked his fingers and placed them between your legs, where he began stroking you. You were already wet, but you had to admit you missed his touch. Tsunamoto slid the kimono completely off your shoulders, his hands trailed down the sides of your body and he grabbed a handful of your ass.

“Fuck,” Tsunamoto exhaled. “You have this parading around your office all day?” You caught a glimmer of pride in Kojuro’s eyes as you set to work on Kojuro’s obi, freeing him of his robes. You were pleased to find he was already hard. You grasped him, and looked behind you to find Tsunamoto removing his own robe.

“Come here,” Tsunamoto said as he lowered himself to the floor and lied down. Kojuro guided you to Tsunamoto’s head and gently pushed you down onto your knees until they flanked Tsunamoto’s ears. You could feel the warmth of Tsunamoto’s breath on your slit. Kojuro stood in front of you, his member in hand. You grabbed it and held it to your lips, teasing his tip with your tongue as Tsunamoto ran his fingers in and out of your folds, spreading them. You finally took Kojuro fully into your mouth just as Tsunamoto pulled you down fully onto his lips and eager tongue. You immediately felt a pulse of pleasure shoot from Tsunamoto’s tongue to your extremities, and you let out a loud moan around Kojuro.

You started to squirm, but Tsunamoto held you in place like a clamp as he lapped you up. There was clearly no escaping your own pleasure—the only thing you could do, really, was take it out on Kojuro. You furiously swirled your tongue around him. Cursing, Kojuro ran his fingers through your hair and pushed further into your mouth, which in turn, made you grind your hips harder on Tsunamoto’s face, who moaned as he sucked on your clit.

“Ride him,” Kojuro growled and you looked up. “I want to see.” He was wearing the same face he was when he watched you at training earlier that day. Feeling your climax start to build up, you began to ride Tsunamoto’s face harder, thrusting your hips back and forth whimpering, his fingers clenched deep in your hips, his tongue unabating. You started to lose focus and could barely hold onto Kojuro, abandoning his pleasure in search of your own. “You’re so beautiful,” he said, captivated, as you grabbed your own breast and unraveled before him on Tsunamoto’s face with a full-throated sigh.

You got off Tsunamoto and collapsed as he got on his knees. "God I hope she feels as good as she tastes,” Tsunamoto said, licking the corners of his mouth.

“He would know,” you said boldly staring down Kojuro.

“Find out for yourself,” Kojuro said. The two men looked at you and you nodded.

Tsunamoto pulled you to him. He sat back on his heels and guided you into his lap, wrapping your legs around him as his tip teased your opening before pushing himself in.

“You feel incredible,” Tsunamoto uttered in amazement. He stretched you out gently.

You surveyed the scar that trailed down Tsunamoto’s brow and onto his regal cheek. Your gaze locked on his other eye and as he began thrusting in earnest, it suddenly became so clear why Tsunamoto carried himself with endless confidence. You watched him roll his hips tantalysingly slow and deep into you, hitting all the right spots.

“How does he feel, precious girl?” Kojuro asked. He was stroking himself at the sight of you.

“He feels so—uuuunnnh!” Your response was interrupted by a particularly deep plunge Tsunamoto took.

You looked back at Kojuro and reached for him, but he leaned back just out of reach with a mean grin. “You need to learn to focus on the task at hand,” he said lovingly. He watched as Tsunamoto drove into you harder and faster, his strong arms essentially keeping you floating as he slid in and out of you. Kojuro was completely entranced, savoring the way your eyes glazed over as his oldest friend in the world fucked the woman he loved if only he'd let himself, wondering if the most precious things weren’t meant to be shared.

Tsunamoto slowed down in an attempt to stave off his own climax. Kojuro kneeled behind you, steadying you as Tsunamoto pulled out of you and you got your bearings.

“Are you alright, precious girl?” You nodded, catching your breath.

“Good. All fours,” Kojuro directed. You did so, swaying your hips in an attempt to further tempt him. Kojuro sidled up behind you and caressed your back, kissing the dimples on your lower back. Your eyes met Tsunamoto’s as Kojuro positioned his cock between your folds and pressed in. You let out a long, lusty moan that bloomed more for every inch he filled you. He hadn’t taken you from behind before, and you wondered how you’d be able to work alongside him anymore after this.

You lost yourself in Kojuro’s languid thrusts and found yourself again, grinding back against him. He whisked you up on your knees, pressing your back against his chest.

“Not a day has gone by that I haven’t thought of you,” he professed softly into your ear. “That I haven’t dreamed of feeling you like this again.” He wrapped his arm around your torso to keep you in place as he dove in and out of you. Tsunamoto crawled over to you and bent down, pressing his tongue squarely on your clit.

“Ahhnn!” You cried out as he raked his tongue up and down from your clit to your opening where Kojuro was thrusting into you.

The sensation was too much too soon, so you grabbed Tsunamoto’s hair, pulled him to your face, and gave him a frantic, sloppy kiss as you took his cock and stroked him. You felt Kojuro lean over your shoulder, and you pulled away.

“She taste as good as she feels?” Kojuro asked as Tsunamoto approached. You watched as the two men took each other by the lips. You joined in, the three of you licking, biting, sucking each other as you pumped Tsunamoto to Kojuro’s rhythm.

Tsunamoto stood up in a frenzy and placed his cock on your lips. You knew he was close, and you took him into your mouth. “You are taking us so well,” Tsunamoto said as you devoured him. As Kojuro devoured you. You whined as you felt the electricity build up in your core.

“Don’t stop,” you pleaded. “I’m so close!”

Kojuro managed to fuck you even faster and harder. He brought his hand between your legs, his fingers fluttering on your clit as Tsunamoto all but fucked your mouth. Kojuro groaned as you screamed in pleasure around Tsunamoto’s cock.

“I’m coming,” Tsunamoto rasped as he ejected into your mouth. You did your best to take it all as you reached your own climax. You felt feverish, heat tearing through your body and cracking you open.

“Come for me my precious girl,” Kojuro snarled in your ear.

You let out a cry as the pleasure rushed through you, leaving you trembling. You tightened unbearably around Kojuro’s cock, and he finally released into you with a curse.

The three of you collapsed on the floor, sprawled in a heap of pleasure and exhaustion and a giggle or two.

“If only every trip to Oshu was this fun,” Tsunamoto simpered. You sighed a chuckle in response.

Kojuro reached up for his kiseru. You caressed his back, muscular by training, worn by war. “You know, [y/n],” he panted. “You should take the night off more often.”

You and Tsunamoto shared a knowing look, both helplessly endeared by the precious, precious man.

#slbp sasuke #slbp smut #slbp kojuro #slbp tsunamoto #katakura kojuro #oniniwa tsunamoto #tsunamoto

27 notes · View notes

be11atrixthestrange · 4 years

Text

Step 12: Asking Her To Marry You

From 12 Fail-Safe Ways To Charm Hermione Granger

(Which is now complete!!)

Check it out on Ao3 or FFN!

————————————

Asking Her To Marry You

At this point in your relationship, you’ll hopefully know her well enough to plan the perfect proposal. But don’t worry too much about perfection— if you’ve followed our advice, she’ll be charmed enough to say yes to an imperfect one too. So alas, this is where our guidance ends, your future together begins. Best of luck!

————————————

Ron chuckled at the book’s irritating, yet unsurprising lack of advice. Annoyingly, the book was right— he no longer needed its guidance. What he needed was sleep, in fact, his body was now begging for it.

He set the book on the table beside him and curled up behind Hermione. With his face in her hair and his arm around her waist, he closed his eyes and was asleep in no time. Any anxiety about the next day was appeased by his dreams, in which his elaborate— maybe slightly exaggerated— plan to propose went off without a hitch.

xxxxx

In his dream, Hermione was the first to rise— as usual, and Ron woke to the sound of the shower. Ron watched himself stumble out of bed and into the steam to join her, where she enthusiastically embraced him, jumped into his arms, and wrapped her legs around his waist. He pinned her to the wall and kissed her lips, her cheeks and her neck before working his way down her body. Dream-Ron moved his mouth between her legs while Hermione gripped his hair and slipped her thigh over his shoulder. Pleased with his own technique, Ron smugly watched on as Hermione unravelled, and he hoped that it wouldn’t be the last time that day Dream-Ron would invoke such an enthusiastic exclamation while down on one knee.

Almost too suddenly, the shower scene morphed and shifted like a memory transition in a pensive. Dream-Ron was in the kitchen, and Hermione was curled up in the living room with a book. Pots and pans sizzled on the stove, and the scent of a hearty breakfast filled the air. The tea-kettle whistled and he poured two cups before piling their plates high with food. They sat cozily on the sofa, eating breakfast and confirming plans for the day.

The walls of their apartment then faded away, rematerializing into what appeared to be a blend of a nearby bookstore and the Hogwarts library. Ron and Hermione were quickly engulfed by the maze of bookshelves. Hermione’s mind was always turning, looking for problems to solve and puzzles to complete, so she didn’t protest when Ron handed her the first book— Wuthering Heights, and told her he’d set up a puzzle for her to solve. In that book he’d dog-eared a page, and circled letters that named the title of the next one. Ron saw a smile spread across her face as she began her hunt, excitedly flipping through each novel until her stack included Wuthering Heights, as well as Iliad, Little Women, Life of Pi, Year of Wonders, Oliver Twist, and Utopia.

Hermione became so engrossed in the scavenger hunt that she didn’t notice Dream-Ron leave the bookshop. She had no problem finding the rest of the books, and was soon holding a stack of blurry titles which Ron knew to be Moby Dick, Alice in Wonderland, Robinson Crusoe, Rabbit Hill, Youngblood Hawke, and Mansfield Park. There was just one more to find— Jane Austen’s ‘Emma’, which happened to be a portkey enchanted to bring her to Grimmauld Place.

It might have seemed like a random assortment of books, but it wasn’t. Ron had spent significant effort locating these exact titles, and he could list them in order by memory, and as a result, they’d been swimming in his dreams for quite some time now. He knew Hermione was clever enough to figure out the pattern, possibly too clever— so much so that she might miss the connection entirely. After all, she frequently overlooked what was right under her nose.

As soon as she laid her hand on Emma, the walls of the Corner Books—Hogwarts Library hybrid started spinning, morphing into the drawing room of Grimmauld Place as if it had taken a long swig of polyjuice potion. Soon enough, Hermione was standing face-to-face with Harry and Ginny.

“Hermione!” Ginny said excitedly. “You made it!”

“Where’s Ron?” she asked excitedly.

Harry answered by handing her another scrawl of paper.

Meet me in the place we first kissed. You’re clever enough to find out how.

Hermione looked up at Harry and Ginny, letting slip a little huff of annoyance. “That would be the room of requirement.”

Ginny shrugged, as tight-lipped as Ron had told her to be.

“The only way to get there is with a house elf—“

“Keep reading,” said Harry.

Hermione glanced back down to the note.

Ps: Remember what I said to earn that kiss!

Hermione scowled at the note.

Harry nodded. “I can summon Kreacher if you want—“

“No!” she said, and Dream-Ron smiled. Just like at the battle of Hogwarts, he would never force house elves to be part of his proposal plan, and he understood her well enough to assume she knew that. “There’s another way.”

Harry smiled and gestured to the rest of the house. “Have fun.”

The world spun around her once again, shifting into another room upstairs. Hermione was suddenly standing in front of one of the Vanishing Cabinets that the Aurors had confiscated from an ex-Death Eater months prior. In his dream, the cabinet was a bit more obvious than in reality. It was tall, colorful, and bursting with energy as though it were alive, unlike the dull, dark, and sinister version that actually existed. Even though the cabinet looked fun and enticing in the dream, Dream-Hermione was still a skeptic, so she stood in front of it with her arms crossed, her face scrunched up as though it had called her a dirty word.

Ron had pulled some serious strings to set the second one up in the Room of Requirement, but luckily, McGonagall was as much of a hopeless romantic as he was. Hermione continued to study the cabinet from a distance, as if checking for dark magic, and he understood her hesitation of course— she had no way of knowing where its sibling was. She gingerly opened the door to find another note scribbled inside.

You found it! See you on the other side.

Hermione beamed, and then to his confusion, dropped her bag to the floor, hastily removing books. When her bag appeared empty, she piled two books back in— Year of Wonders and Emma.

Interesting. Ron wasn’t going to pretend to understand that choice, even in a dream-state.

He shrugged it off, which was easy to do once distracted by the look of pure giddiness on her face as she disappeared inside.

Grimmauld Place faded away, and its place appeared the Room of Requirement. Not that it was recognizable as such— Ron had asked the Room of Requirement to look a very specific way, and of course, it had obliged, exceeding all expectations. Hermione stepped out of the cabinet into what appeared to be a train compartment on the Hogwarts Express, just like the one where he had first met her.

She looked around, and tears filled her eyes as the memories of their first encounter flooded in. On the cabinet door was another note, which she unstuck from the wall with a trembling hand.

This is where we met! It’s also where I first realized how much I valued the opinion of that precocious know-it-all, Hermione Granger. I still check for dirt on my nose everyday.

Hermione shakily laughed, and wiped a tear from her eyes with her free hand. Then the train compartment doors slid open to reveal another room. This time it was a bathroom, much like the one where she nearly lost her life to a rogue troll when they were eleven.

She shuddered at the memory, but grinned when she noticed the writing on the wall.

This is where I learned exactly how desperate I was for your forgiveness, and how far I was willing to go to earn your friendship. Thank you for teaching me how to pronounce Wingardium Leviosa.

Her eyes watered again, blurring her vision so that she nearly missed the door sliding open again to reveal the next room. Patting her sleeve to her eyes, she stepped out of the bathroom and into the Great Hall, which was all dolled up for the Yule Ball. The Weird Sisters playing loudly in the background was a stark contrast to the soft decorations and draping lights which looked exactly as romantic as they did in their fourth year.

This time, however, the lights spelled out a message.

This where I realized I fancied you.

Hermione laughed, clearly not as saddened by the memory as she could have been. Instead, she appeared grateful for the event that made Ron’s daft teenage self realize she was not just any girl.

A pair of doors appeared across the room, and Hermione continued her way through, admiring the decorations with a soft smile on her face. When she exited, she found herself in the Gryffindor Common Room— more specifically— the armchairs and fireplace where they had spent so many nights huddled up close to one another, studying, talking, or simply sitting in comfortable silence.

Her eyes paused on a message plastered on the wall, just above the fire.

This is where I fell irrevocably in love with you.

She looked longingly at those chairs, like she wanted to take a seat by the fire and curl up with a blanket and a book. He could clearly imagine her eyes scanning the pages, her fingers drifting over the words as if touching them would make them real, and her lips forming into a content smile as the day’s stress left her body. It was a beautiful image of her in her default state, a picture that was one hundred percent Hermione. He’d never seen her happier anywhere else.

Dream-Ron had appeared behind her. He cleared his throat, and Hermione turned on her heels to face him, her eyes instantly re-watering at the sight of him.

“Hermione,” he began, his voice shaking with nerves. “I know that you don’t like surprises, so I hope this doesn’t come as one.”

Her lips quivered and she brought a trembling hand to her face to absorb the tears that were now falling freely down her face.

“I even spelled it out for you in the bookstore, so I hope you’ve had time to think of your answer.” She softly laughed and her eyes sparkled when he reached into his pocket and took a step toward her, lowering himself to one knee. With a shaky inhale to prepare, he asked the question. “Hermione Granger, will you marry me?”

Dream-Ron’s voice cracked like he was a teenager asking her to a dance, and he half expected her to look at him in confusion, and ask “what?”

But that’s not what happened. She was lost for words, and answered with her head which bobbed up and down as she ran toward him. He opened his arms to embrace her, but she halted.

“Wait!”

She dug into her bag, and pulled out the two books she had purposefully brought with her, Year of Wonders, and Emma. She handed them to Dream-Ron, who looked them over with an amused grin on his face, while she dove back into her bag. She pulled out a third— one that was not from the bookstore. Pride and Prejudice— her favorite book, the one she always has with her. It all made sense now.

Year of Wonders

Emma

Pride and Prejudice

Holding all three books, Dream-Ron smiled up at her. “Is… this a yes?”

“Well, seeing as I don’t have an S, it’s a ‘Yep’,” she said, before finally diving into his embrace as the books tumbled from his arms like basilisk fangs.

He had forgone all effort to keep from crying, and so had she. He momentarily pulled away from the hug to slide the ring onto her finger. It took a couple tries with their trembling hands, but then she fell heavier into his arms and he tightened his embrace. He lifted her up and carried her to an armchair, and they sat intertwined by the crackling fire, hugging, kissing, and crying into each other’s hair.

Ron half expected the room to shape-shift again, bringing them to the celebration at the Burrow where their families were waiting, but his dream never got that far. Their embrace in the armchairs began to feel even more real, and soon enough, the Gryffindor Common Room was fading to black.

xxxxx

Ron awoke in his own bed, his arms still wrapped solidly around Hermione. The sun was shining through the window, sending a beam of light to the floor where Crookshanks slept, belly up, as if he was trying to photosynthesize. Hermione began to shift restlessly in her sleep, groaning, as the light knocked on her eyelids like an unwelcome solicitor..

Reality set in, and it would have been easy to feel sad upon realizing his perfectly-executed proposal was all a dream. But instead, Ron just felt giddy with excitement. This could very well be the start of the best day of his life.

As long as everything went according to plan.

———————————————

“To Ron and Hermione!” exclaimed Arthur, reaching his champagne glass straight up into the air.

“To Ron and Hermione!” echoed a chorus of Weasleys, Grangers, and a Potter.

Glasses clinked, champagne splashed, and a beaming Ron slipped an arm around Hermione to pull her close to him. She tilted her head up to his, and he leaned in to capture her lips in a kiss. He felt her arms wrap around his middle and vaguely heard a few whistles in the background.

Ron and Hermione. It always had a ring to it.

No time had been wasted before preparing The Burrow for the celebration. CONGRATULATIONS was magically written on the wall in capitalized, tinsel-like lettering that flashed red and gold. Jean and Molly had prepared an impressive spread, which rivaled Hogwarts welcoming feasts. Hugo was already mentoring Arthur in the art of mixology, while Charlie and George eagerly volunteered to taste test each new cocktail. There was a cake shaped like an engagement ring, and it appeared that Ginny had gotten to it, because the words “about fucking time” were scribbled across in icing.

“So, Darling,” said Jean, as she refilled her champagne glass. “Aren’t you going to tell us how he proposed?”

“Yes, dear! Please tell everyone!” echoed Molly.

Hermione, who had just taken an unusually large bite of watermelon, replied with a look of surprise, as if for some reason she hadn’t expected that question. She slowly chewed, buying herself some time, and sent a panicked glance in Ron’s direction. A silent conversation followed.

How much do I tell them?

That’s up to you.

They squinted at each other for a few more moments, finalizing the details of their abridged story. Then Hermione turned back to her mom. “I’d love to tell that story.”

xxxxx

Earlier that day...

“Good morning,” were the first words Ron mumbled at the start of the best day of his life.

“Morning,” she muttered back.

He snaked his arm around her and pulled her close. “I love you.”

“I love you too,” she said, sending him a look of slight confusion at his eager confession of love. “I’ll be right back,” she added before hastily untangling himself from her arms, and bolting to the bathroom.

Ron groggily rolled out of bed to get dressed for the day. He opened the drawer of his nightstand to find the small velvet ring-box, and slipped it into his pocket before hobbling into the kitchen to make tea and start breakfast. He filled two mugs and set them aside to cool off while breakfast sizzled on the stove. His stomach twisted in a combination of hunger and nerves as he shuffled eggs around in the pan, planning out how he would introduce today’s activities. Luring her to the bookstore should be easy enough, but he hoped she was feeling up to the rest of the adventure.

He heard the shower starting upstairs, and turned the stove down to low. Remembering the colorful beginning of last night’s dream, he stumbled back into the bedroom, hoping Hermione wouldn’t mind a visitor. He presumptuously pulled off his shirt before cracking open the door to unleash a flume of steam into the bedroom.

Ron froze at the sight of Hermione. The shower was running in the background, but she was crouched on the tile floor, hovering her face over the toilet while she wretched. One hand wrangled her hair behind her head, while the other supported her weight on the floor.

Fuck.

“Hermione,” stammered Ron. “Are… are you ok?” He rushed to her side and knelt down, taking her hair from her hands. He cleared some loose strands away from her face while she gently shook her head.

“No,” she groaned. “Not okay—” her body interrupted her as she heaved again.

“Well, shit, Hermione,” he said softly, hoping his disappointment didn’t sour his words. Hermione rarely threw up. In fact, the last time he recalled had been during a panic attack in Australia before they found her parents. It suddenly occurred to him that this was the first time he’d held her hair on a bathroom floor while she vomited into the toilet. He felt a strange sense of pride, as if they had reached a new relationship milestone.

As his hopes for a smooth-sailing proposal started to fade, there was a part of him that considered asking her right there on the bathroom floor. It would have been the least romantic way to do it, and she’d probably hate him for it, but he doubted she’d say no. Something about seeing her in such a vulnerable state made his heart swell, and he wanted her to know it was that it was her humanity that he fell in love with.

Fuck, he’d marry her on a bathroom floor with vomit on her face, no question about it.

She grimaced and groaned, then leaned over the toilet yet again, and Ron gently held her close and rubbed her back as she suffered through the next wave of nausea.

He could maybe wait a little longer.

Eventually she stood up and wiped her face, revealing an expression of utter embarrassment. “Thank you,” she whispered, pointedly looking away from him. “I’m going to shower now.”

Ron scoured his mind for something to say that might make her feel less awkward. His randy brain landed on, “do you mind if I join you?”

Hermione paused, then laughed. “You want to shower with me?” she asked incredulously. “After that?” she added, motioning toward the bathroom floor.

“Well… always,” shrugged Ron.

“Sorry,” she said, shaking her head. “I don’t exactly feel sexy right now.”

He wanted to tell her how wrong she was, and that his attraction to her was unconditional, but worried it would have come off insincere. “Ok. Breakfast is ready in the kitchen—”

“About that,” she interrupted. “It smells wonderful but…” she trailed off, motioning to the toilet where she’d left last night’s meal.

“Right,” said Ron. “Would porridge be better?”

“Yes.”

“Ok then. Porridge it is.”

“Thank you.”

Once in the kitchen, Ron scraped the remaining eggs and veggies into a leftovers box, and stored them in the refrigerator, before getting started on a gentler, blander breakfast.

To contrast the flavorless porridge he was making, Ron’s mind shifted into overdrive, trying to rework his proposal plan to consider Hermione’s nausea. Portkeys could upset even the strongest stomachs, and the Vanishing Cabinet was no walk in the park either. He had planned to floo to the Burrow from Grimmauld Place after returning together in the Vanishing Cabinet, and at the very least, they could always floo to the Burrow early…

Fuck.

Ron tried to keep an open mind about the day ahead. Maybe Hermione would be feeling better after her shower, and a trip to the bookstore would cheer her up. If that didn’t work, maybe his mum would be able to push the celebration back a day, and he could try tomorrow.

Everything was going to be fine.

He doubted that even more when Hermione never returned to the kitchen. Thinking he’d better go check on her, he left breakfast on the counter for the second time, and made his way back to the bedroom.

She had returned to the same place as before, crouched on the bathroom floor, head bowed over the toilet. She looked pale and sullen, and hadn’t bothered to change into day clothes or dry her hair after her shower. Her sopping wet hair stuck firmly to her towel which seemed to absorb enough water to save their neglected houseplants and she sat on the tile with the heaviness of a bag of flour.

“Hermione?” Ron asked tenderly.

She shook her head, and covered her face with her hands.

“You’re not feeling any better,” he said.

Hermione shrugged.

Ron willed himself to emotionally detach from the remaining images of Hermione in a bookstore, the Room of Requirement, and the Burrow and sat down next to her. With a closer look at her face he realized she was crying.

Fuck.

“What’s wrong?” he asked, as he slipped an arm around her. “I’m worried about you. You’re never sick.”

She turned into him and buried her face in his chest, mumbling something incoherent.

“Sorry?” he said, pulling her close to him so he could hear her better.

Lifting her face from his chest for a brief moment, she said, “We haven’t been spending mornings together.”

She was right, their schedules had never lined up enough to enjoy waking up at the same time, and as of late that was even more true. “Hermione,” he whispered. “Has this been happening a lot?”

Hermione nodded and pressed her face back into his chest. She spoke so softly against his shirt that he might not have heard her, but the words demanded his attention. “Ron, I’m pregnant.”

The images that had been dancing in Ron’s mind were still there— Hermione gathering books, searching for the Vanishing Cabinet at Grimmauld Place, wandering through Ron’s memories, and embracing him by the fire in the common room. It almost felt that his mind was expanding so that those images took up less and less space, because they weren’t actually real, and this was.

In all that extra space, his mind cycled through visions of his future, playing memories yet to be made. For the first time since he had decided to ask her to marry him, proposing felt like a simple task because he saw far beyond that now. He wanted to ask her, but then he wanted to hold her hair if she got sick again. He wanted to run out at weird hours of the night to buy the food she craved. He wanted to go to that bookstore, not so she could partake in his scavenger hunt, but so he could buy all the books about pregnancy and parenting.

“Are you serious?” were the words that tumbled out of his mouth, dripping with pure excitement. She nodded affirmatively, and an involuntary smile spread across his face. He reached a hand to her cheek to wipe away a tear, before landing his lips on her forehead.

He felt her grinning under his hand, seemingly pleased at his positive reaction. Her excitement gave her next question a melody. “Well...what do you want to do?” She asked it confidently, like she already knew what he would say.

But she didn't know.

“I want to marry you,” he stated, like it was the most obvious question in the world.

She pulled away and squinted skeptically at him as if he might be joking, but there was nothing but sincerity in his eyes.

He then reached into his pocket, pulled out the ring box, and popped it open to reveal a beautiful solitaire ring— simple, understated, yet timeless, just like Hermione. Then a smile enveloped her face and she didn’t need to say anything at all. She leaned into his embrace, and he felt tears leaking from his eyes, elation on his face, and nothing but happiness.

They sat there intertwined and crying for some time until he realized she’d never actually answered. “So… will you?”

She responded wordlessly, with an enthusiastic nod against his chest, and he slipped the ring onto her finger.

It really felt like the rest of the world had disappeared and they were alone, the only people that mattered. When reality started to filter back, Ron had to chuckle at the sudden realization of what room they were in. It was almost funny how much effort he had put into planning out the perfect day, only to propose to Hermione on a bathroom floor.

“I had a better plan, you know,” he said finally. “To ask you.”

She shook her head and mumbled into his chest. “This was perfect.”

Maybe it was. Their friendship began in a bathroom, as did their relationship nearly eight years later, so it was quite fitting that he proposed in one too. He’d have to save his scavenger hunt for another occasion, but that was ok. He had a lifetime of opportunities ahead.

To outsiders, it might not be the most romantic story. Luckily, Ron didn’t give a fuck what outsiders thought, because he had Hermione.

xxxxx

“We had just woken up and were getting ready for the day. We got to talking, and I asked him what he wanted to do,” she said, wiping a stray tear from her face. “He said ‘I want to marry you.’ I... didn’t see it coming at all.”

Ron was thankful for the fact that his lopsided grin was pretty much stuck to his face, otherwise he might have winced. As he had predicted, Hermione had left out the most important piece of information. Without it, it all sounded rather unremarkable.

“Out of the blue?” asked Molly, her eyebrows raised.

In his peripheral vision, Ron saw Harry and Ginny exchange a knowing glance.

“Out of the blue.” said Hermione, before taking another big bite of her watermelon slice.

“I think that’s so romantic!” Jean had one hand resting on her heart, and her eyes sparkled with tears. “Ron, did you plan it like that?”

Ron inhaled sharply at the sound of his name. “Um, well no, actually,” he said, sending a reassuring look toward Hermione. “I had something more elaborate planned.”

“Then what happened?”

Ron grinned as he watched Hermione show off her ring to Ginny and Angelina who had appeared at her shoulder. “I just couldn’t wait any longer.”

Molly and Jean’s soft smiles and sparkling eyes suggested they were satisfied by that answer.

The celebrations continued into the evening hours, and sometime after dinner, Ron appeared at Hugo and Arthur’s makeshift bar to find that Hugo already had a drink waiting for him.

“Congratulations again, son!” said Arthur, before engulfing him in another hug.

“Thanks Dad,” he said.

“I’m going to check on my future daughter-in-law!” he said excitedly. “I’ll see if she wants a drink.”

Arthur scurried away, leaving Ron alone with Hugo.

“I already made you an Alexander,” Hugo said, sliding the drink across the table to Ron. “Made one for Hermione too.”

Ron felt his ears turning crimson, as if he’d been caught in a lie. Now was not the time to inform Hugo why his daughter wasn’t drinking. He would just have to drink for two today.

However, Hugo was quite observant. In a whisper he added, “there’s no alcohol in hers.”

Ron met Hugo’s unflinching gaze, and the two men stared at each other for an uncomfortable pause. The tension finally broke when Hugo smiled, and Ron felt a wave of relief. “How did you know?”

Hugo chuckled. “I’ve never seen her eat watermelon.” He took a dramatic swig of his own drink before continuing. “But Jean couldn’t get enough of it when she was pregnant with Hermione.”

Ron glanced over at Hermione, who was working her way through yet another slice of watermelon. He tried to remember the last time he’d seen her eating it, but was drawing a blank.

Hugo brought him out of his memories. “I guess our conversation about contraception was for shit.”

If Ron had just met Hugo, he might have put more effort into formulating a diplomatic answer. He might have interpreted his pursed lips as stern disapproval rather than a weak attempt to prevent himself from laughing at his own joke. He definitely would not have burst out laughing and answered the way he did.

“Total shit.”

Encouraged by a few cocktails, Hugo grinned widely and unleashed a hearty laugh. Then he did something surprising. He put down his glass, circled the table, and opened his arms to embrace Ron.

“I’m happy for you, son,” he said softly. “I hope you’re happy too.”

Ron saw no reason to hold back his tears, so he didn’t. He had always assumed his future father-in-law would consider Ron's happiness simply an extension of his daughter’s, but Hugo proved him wrong. This was a man who cared about him deeply, as if he was his own son and Ron could feel it. “I’ve never been happier.”

Hugo pulled him to arms length. Ron noticed a tear on his cheek and felt another wave of connection with the man. With a pat on his shoulder, he turned back to the bar and grabbed both glasses. “Now go have a drink. Have some fun,” he said before adding with a wink, “while you can.”

Ron found Hermione discussing wedding plans in the living room with Ginny and Angelina, and slid into a seat on the armrest of her chair. He pressed the glass into her hand and leaned down to whisper in her ear, “non-alcoholic.”

She looked up at him and mouthed, thank you, before leaning against him while he slipped his arm around her.

Ginny was smiling at them as more Weasleys piled into the living room. Seeing Ron and Hermione together ignited another toast from the group. “To Ron and Hermione.”

“To Ron and Hermione!” echoed the crowd.

Plus one.

He’d never been more excited about anything in his life, and it was clearly evident by his expression. When she clicked her glass against his and looked him right in the eyes, he saw his own elation reflecting back at him, and knew she felt the same way. They had come so far, but their story was only just beginning.

#hp fanfic #ROMIONE #hpromione #romione fanfic #romione fanfiction #romione fluff #ronweasley #ron x hermione #ron and hermione #Hermione Granger #hermionegranger

45 notes · View notes

kakashiswilloffire · 3 years

Text

STEAM, not STEM

ao3

word count: 1.6k

kabuto x sai, college au, enemies to lovers ish, same age au

this is my first server collab with @konoblog-simps! the prompt was college au for august, and you can see the rest of the multifandom fics and artwork here!

***

As a biochemistry major focused on pharmaceuticals with a five year plan included finishing this undergrad degree, moving across the country for a masters in organic chemistry, then likely moving again for a doctorate in organic, along with four internships along the way, so that he could become a renowned creator of antianxiety medications, he was pretty confident in his knowledge. There was nothing a chemistry professor could ask that he couldn’t answer. Calculus came to him as a breeze. His psychology courses presented absolutely no challenge to him. Statistics, courses in professionalism and building his portfolio, and meetings with potential employers never caused him to break a sweat.

This fucking art class might kill him, though.

He had resented for years that humanities courses were required in science degree paths. It was his junior year and he had fought with his advisor for the past four semesters before finally giving in and agreeing to take a class on charcoal sketching. There was no way he would be caught dead in the hugely popular pottery class taught by the blond professor with tattoos of mouths on the back of his hands. Nor would he voluntarily take any basic introductory course in drawing or painting.

That was how he found himself in an advanced charcoal techniques course, prepared to blow through a handful of drawings and easily earn high marks.

However, in a class size of eight, he was drawing attention for the wrong reasons.

To start, the others all seemed to know each other from previous courses, which immediately made him the outsider. To make matters worse, the professor greatly preferred their work to his own. A part of him couldn’t blame the man who insisted he be called Tenzo rather than by any title or honorific. His drawings were definitely in a different style to the rest of the class, and it was a style that didn’t seem to be changing or improving as the weeks passed.

It wouldn’t be so frustrating if it wasn’t the first thing he had ever tried that was proving to be a struggle. As if that wasn’t enough to deal with, the asshole in the front row seemed to take to charcoal like breathing.

On the first day, when Tenzo had gone over the syllabus, he had also made them all introduce themselves and play a get to know you game. They all pretended that it wasn’t for Kabuto’s benefit. Fu and Torune had begun, making a point of making physical contact with each other the whole time they spoke, though he had never seen Torune take off his gloves. The had tuned most of the others out as they spoke, noting Shin seemed decent enough, though he’d prefer if the man stopped coughing for more than a moment. What grated him to no end was the final person to speak.

Sai.

He spoke with a fake smile plastered across his face, eyes closed and voice dripping with confidence. He listed his credentials off without any thought, and it infuriated him that the list of accomplishments and certifications rivaled the length of his own. Sai listed his specialty in art as black and white realism, and his preferred medium as painting, though he was looking forward to learning more about charcoal. From there, he had turned to Kabuto with that same overly-relaxed smile and offered:

“Your turn, flash cards.”

The familiarity rubbed him the wrong way and he had been irritated with him ever since. What made it worse was that Sai was actually really good in the course. He hadn’t been lying about his skill in realism—anything he rendered looked like it was about to run off the page. He seemed to prefer birds, in all species, but every individual feather breathed and flowed and he never got the black dust accidentally smudged on his paper. In fact, he never got the dust anywhere. Kabuto always left the class covered in black smears on his skin, clothing, and bag, and there would always be some hidden patch of charcoal that he never found until he showered that night.

It infuriated him to no end that this shallow jerk who modelled his personality around whoever he was with was also, genuinely, so much better than him at this class that he desperately needed to pass.

Midterm grades had come back the other day and a vein had nearly popped out of his forehead when he saw the disastrously low score. Tenzo had noted that he saw improvement between this and where Kabuto had began the class, but it was still not on level with the rest of the class and where he would need to be in preparation for the next level pastels course. Apparently, it didn’t matter that he wouldn’t be taking the next level course. If he didn’t pass this course with a reasonably high grade, his scholarship sponsor, Orochimaru, would be furious. Risking the scholarship not being renewed meant risking the entire five year plan, and for that—

He’d have to suck it up.

“Hey, Sai?” he asked, forcing himself to keep his tone level. Admitting weakness was not his strength and he had no intention of making this a habit.

The crop top wearer glanced up from the hyper-realistic sheet of mice that he was effortlessly rendering. “Ah, Kabuto,” he said, the same smile from before falling across his face. “Lovely weather we’re having, isn’t it?”

He gritted his teeth, then forced his jaw to relax. “The rain we’ve had all week? Sure, Sai.” He pulled up a stool, settling in to the easel next to him. “I wanted to ask you a question.”

Sai nodded, not pausing his movement as he gave life to a mouse’s tail. “My answer is yes.”

Kabuto blinked. Was asking for help really this simple? “You’re willing to tutor me for the final?”

That caused Sai to hesitate, tilting his head slightly to the side. After a beat, he replied “I suppose I could do that. You appear to be capable of learning how to improve your questionable techniques.”

Ignoring the dig, he pressed on. “I would appreciate that. Tenzo said that my linework is improving but my shading is still not where it needs to be. Something about being more mindful of my light sources.”

“I agree with his analysis,” Sai said, continuing on his sketch. “Your grasp of line weight is abysmal, which is a step up from your initial attempt, which was horrific. Your shading on our last assignment, the brickwork, was essentially nonexistent. All of your pieces so far have had at least four light sources that have no apparent source. It’s clear from your work that you have no regard for art and no passion for creation at all.”

He delivered the critique without halting a single graceful stroke on his canvas. There was no malice in his tone, and he said the words almost pleasantly, despite the cutting content.

“I am willing to teach you more technique and skill so that Tenzo is able to assign you a passing grade in this course. However, I do not believe you are capable of being an artist or creating anything of value in the world as you currently are.”

Kabuto froze. He had only meant to ask for a few tips, not to be dragged for all he was worth in this godforsaken art course. How dare this arrogant prick think he was incapable of creation?

He gripped his charcoal stick so tightly in his fist that it crumbled. “Listen, inky. Just because I’m focused in science doesn’t mean I can’t create anything meaningful. My goal is to be a pharmaceutical chemist, to create medications to change people’s lives. Just because I can’t draw some fucking—I don’t know, a fucking rat or a bowl of fruit or whatever, doesn’t make you better than me. So fuck off with that.”

Sai smirked, his eyes closing in his familiar pattern. “I never implied anything about our worth relative to each other. But I do think that it’s cute that you’re concerned about appearing to be less than me. That will create an excellent motivation for self-improvement for both of us in our relationship.”

The light caught Kabuto’s glasses, a white reflection flashing across the lenses. “We don’t have a relationship.”

Finally, Sai put his rectangle of charcoal down on the easel and sat up. “Do we not? What was the intent of your original question to me?”

Kabuto spluttered. “What do you mean? I came up and asked if you’d help me with the final and you said yes, then you were an ass.”

It was now Sai’s turn to blink. “You said that you had a question for me. I replied that my answer was yes. As a result, we are now boyfriends.” He wiped his fingers on a handkerchief hanging on the corner of his easel. “Was your question you intended to ask me not if I would be interested in a romantic relationship with you?”

He flushed a deep red. Sai was attractive, that was undeniable, but that was not how this encounter was meant to go. Romance was not in the five year plan. “I—”

“Just do it,” sighed Tenzo, sitting at his desk with his head in his hands. “For the love of God, both of you, stop staring at each other and bickering and just go out, would you?”

Sai smiled, the classic closed-eye smile that looked more genuine each time he did it. “Thank you, Tenzo.”

Kabuto was confused, but in order to learn the skills he needed to pass this class, he’d need to go along with the game. Without another word, he reached out and took Sai’s hand. Might as well give it a shot, right?

#kabuto x sai #sai x kabuto #kabuto fanfic #kabuto yakushi #konoha simps server collab

7 notes · View notes

callmefitz · 4 years

Text

HomeBound, a TTP Fic

PSA- I don’t know how to do the “read more” thing and this is a long fic so, apolgies in advance for this long post. Also I wrote this at midnight in my notes app with absolutely no editing so, read at your own risk.

Summary: It’s been weeks since the Crown Prince of the Heartlands, Prince Wensclaus ran away from home. During his absence, he’s taken a spunky aspiring knight under his wing to distract from the pain of his disapproving parents. Although, anyone can tell it’s more than that. He genuinely cares for the kid. As for his own family, however, they are not content to lose him. Featuring aro/ace future Wensclaus, a non-binary TTP OC I made named Law, and an older, wiser, but generally unchanged Joan.

————-

Although it’s been years since Wensclaus has been to the Hinterlands, there’s something familiar about the way the wind whips at his hair, heavy with the promise of rain. There’s something familiar about the dull, incessant roar of leaves in the breeze, and there’s something familiar about the dry crunch of dirt beneath his heels as he bites his lower lip, drawing blood as he parries and ripostes a rather impressive attack to his left side.

This place definitely had never held the warm glow of home to him, but the landscape tugged at Polaroid memories all the same.

His assailant, far more used to the northernmost elements than Wensclaus, circled at a wide radius, letting limp their wrist in exertion and dragging the point of their sword in the dirt. Their face was leveled in an annoyed glare (it was rather early). Beneath their tunic, their chest rose and fell in quick succession.

“Careful,” Wensclaus muttered, “We just had the blacksmith sharpen that.”

His adversary lept back into action, once again assuming a rather bold offensive strategy, yet left their form with much to be desired. At any moment, really, he could send them toppling on their back, but this skirmish wasn’t staged for the purpose of an expedient victory.

Although they only employed a handful of successful attacks on Wensclaus, he couldn’t help but to find himself surpised by their skill level. That, or the fact that without the rigid background of swordsman training, they were afforded the ability to combine techniques in a fluid manner without so much as a second thought. It was a skill that he himself envied.

The sparring match between the pair often drawn a crowd of onlookers, as entertainment in the Hinterlands dwindled after Barrabas returned to the Midlands. However, the mist on the plains had yet to evaporate and the cock had yet to crow, so they were alone in their back and forth dance.

Or so they thought.

Through the mist, an imposing horseback figure drew closer and closer, regarding the fight with vague curiosity. She watched the epic climax, and subsequent end, as the younger swordsperson unexpectedly threw Wensclaus off balance and tumbling to the ground.

“Do you yield,” Law said with a false air of suave.

“Ah, I’ve been bested,” Wensclaus replied in a similar play of false airs, “I yield, I yield! Spare me, lest I suffer a worser fate.”

Law laughed and held out a hand to Wensclaus and pulled him up.

“Good work with your offense,” Wensclaus praised, “Your footwork has improved greatly.”

“While yours has only grown sloppier since you’ve been gone.” The mystery spectator cut in. Her horse drew closer in the mist, and with horrifying realization Wensclaus realized it was his Aunt Joan. She dismounted and strode towards the pair.

Wensclaus gripped his sword, unsure if he wanted a fight or a reunion.

The head knight in question stood with an innate intimidating posture that made Wensclaus feel like a child again. However, that clearly wasn’t the case; Wensclaus had grown into his gangly limbs and assumed a self-assured posturer, and the constant eroding factor of time had etched wrinkles into Joan’s face and dusted Grey into her hair.

“Look, It’s the no-fun police,” Law scowled, crossing their arms, yet hiding slightly behind Wensclaus. He only sighed.

“Your fathers have been worried sick for you, Wensclaus,” Joan said softly, “they miss you terribly.”

Wensclaus kicked a stone, “Thats very inconvenient for them. I hope they feel better.”

“Wen-“

“No.” Wensclaus shouted. He wanted to continue, but he then became hyper-aware of Law, himself over seven years their senior, ducking behind the heavy mass of his cloak and gripping it slightly. He sighed. Not here.

“Can we continue this somewhere else?”

——

After a whispered argument that warmed Wensclaus’s heart but ultimately convinced him of Law’s protective yet stubborn nature, he found himself seated across the table from Joan in the only tavern in town and Law sulking outside as they waited for the adults to finish up. A daunting mug of root beer sat in front of him, which was much more interesting than the steely grey eyes of his pseudo-aunt.

“I can’t believe they sent my babysitter to come pick me up,” Wensclaus began, deciding to skip the small talk and poke the sleeping elephant with a stick. Or whatever the idiom is about.

“Wensclaus,” Joan began.

“Like, ok, they have a kingdom to run, but I’ve seen my Dad pull holidays out of his ass so we could have a vacation. They could have come themselves-“

“Your fathers did not send for me, Wensclaus.” Joan cut Wensclaus off with an impressive gulp of definetly-not-root beer. “I doubt they even know where you are. Not that they haven’t been searching, of course. As far as they’re concerned, I’m farther up North to check up on a dwarf problem your Uncle Darling is having.”

Wensclaus’s face drew up as he straightened in his booth. “Wait, then how did you-“

“It just made sense,” Joan replied, “You experienced perceived rejection and to cope you returned back to the place where you first received rejection. The little knight you found, however, was a nice touch. They’re coming along quite nicely. I’m proud.”

The explicit praise did not fly over Wensclaus’s head, “I’m that predictable, huh?”

“You’re not predictable, just human,” Joan shrugged, then at Wensclaus’s face, continued, “That’s just what Cecily has been telling me. And for the record, I’m not telling them you’re here until you’re ready to be found.”

Wensclaus leaned back in his chair and stared down at the frothy mess of his root-beer.

“They all miss-“

“It’s just hard.” Wensclaus said, without emotion. Joan remained quiet this time.

“It’s hard when, you know, everyone is talking about you, like, oh look at Prince Wensclaus! He’s like, I don’t know, in his mid-twenties, and tied down to no one,” Wensclaus laughed dryly, “His parents, they were married by age eighteen. Basically invented love and all that shit. How massive of a failure do you have to be to not love anyone when those are your role models?”

“You must be pretty fucked up.” He wiped a tear from his eye. “God it’s just... it’s so hard. I’m nothing like them and... it’s so hard.”

“You love me, don’t you?” Joan said, “And what about your Aunt Cecily?”

Wensclaus regraded Joan strangely, “Well, yeah, but not like-“

“What about your Uncles up North, Darling and Percy?” Joan continued, “Or your little knight?”

“Joan, it’s not like-“

“Your fathers?” Joan pressed, “Do you not love them?”

“I do, Joan, but that doesn’t count!” Wensclaus snapped. A few patrons across the bar glanced over. Face flushing, Wensclaus lowered his voice and relaxed his clenched fists, “That’s not the point, it-“

“You’re right,” Joan said, “The point is that you feel angry because of the high expectations inadvertently placed on your shoulders by your fathers because you’re different. But to say you love no one is so... far from the truth. Love takes many forms, and they can all be fulfilling.”

Wensclaus gave no response, instead favoring the mug in his hands than making eye contact with Joan. He was holding himself back from lashing out again.

“When I came out to my father, as both gay and a knight,” Joan began, “He tried to fix me.”

This caught Wensclaus’s attention.

“He set me up with all kinds of guys,” Joan laughed, “even a pig farmer. Enrolled me in all these classes for lady-etiquette and had me fitted for a ball gown corset. I was so angry, I ran away.”

“But you and your dad get along great,” Wensclaus said, “He’s over at your and Aunt Cecily’s cottage almost every weekend.”

“Now we get along great,” Joan corrected, “But this was all when you were very young.”

This satisfied Wensclaus’s confusion.

“I guess in the end he was afraid for me and afraid for himself,” Joan said, “Everything I was doing he had never seen done before, and that was scary. When people are scared, they do dumb things, like threaten to estrange their children.”

“Why are you telling me this?” Wensclaus asked slowly.

“When Cecily found out about what my father had threatened, she marched her little sequined self down to the pub he was hiding out in and gave him a piece of her mind,” Joan continued, “After you left, that’s exactly what I did to your fathers.”

“What?” Wensclaus finally cracked a smile, “You yelled at my dads?”

Joan shrugged, “It’s not the first time. I love them, Wensclaus, I really do, but they can be incredibly thick sometimes.”

That sobered him up, “Yeah.”

“They reacted the way they did not because they didn’t love you anymore, Wens,” Joan reaches across the table and grabbed his hand, “They reacted that way because what you were describing was something they had never seen done before, and they were scared for what that meant for you.”

“That still doesn’t make it right,” he replied.

“You’re right. It was wrong, which is exactly why Rupert has written and rewritten his formal apology to you several dozen times, so you know that in fourteen different languages that he loves you no matter what,” Joan replied, “And Amir is currently drafting legislation to nationally recognize aromanticism as a romantic identity and provide funding to revise public service announcements to include it. It was wrong of them to react the way they did, and they only thing they want in the world is to take it back.”

“Wow, I-“ Wensclaus suddenly found himself speaking through tears, “I don’t-“

“I’m not going to force you to come home before you’re ready,” Joan said steadily, “But I want you to know that when you are, there’s a place for you.”

It was embarrassing, the way that Wensclaus began sobbing in the tavern like that. The eyes of half a dozen hitherlandians landed on his shaking frame as the head knight of the heartlands held him to her chest. She ran her fingers through his hair, just like she used to when he had nightmares about the Despair. But this was so much worse, because this was not about an enemy he could defeat; rather, it was the floodgates of relief mixing with the festering hurt that had been building in him ever since he stepped foot out of the palace gates. Dimly, he was aware of the soft reassurances his aunt whispered into his ear, but in his determination to speak through his tears it all was mush.

“I want to go home,” he said hoarsely, and he felt the same relief within Joan.

—-

As the door to the tavern opened, Law jumped up from the ground and ran up to Wensclaus. However, after they took in his tear-stained face and Joan’s arm on his shoulder, they stumbled back, as if flinching in pain and disbelief.

“So you’re going back?” Law seethed, “Just like that?”

Wensclaus made brief eye contact with Joan, who released her arm from his shoulder and walked off with a nod. He returned his attention to Law and wiped his eyes.

“Yeah,” he said, “I’m going back. I can’t hide here forever.”

“But they said-“

“And they realized they were wrong,” Wensclaus finished, “I want to give them another chance before I cut them off entirely. If Joan can do it... then I guess I can too.”

His rationalization only caused his mentee to spiral further, “A-And what are you going to do, huh? Just.... leave me here?”

Wensclaus’s face drew up as an emotional knife stabbed cleanly through his heart. This scene felt all too familiar, except never from this perspective.

“No, no, of course not. No. Never. You’re going to come with me and Joan,” he said, placing his arms in Law’s shoulders in an attempt to ground them, “I mean, only if that’s what you want.”

“I won’t fit in,” Law said quietly, “It will be... weird.”

Wensclaus laughed, “I didn’t fit in either. It’s not that weird.”

In a conspiratorial tone, he added, “Plus, everyone there is weird. Just wait until you meet my Uncle Darling.”

That caused Law to smile as they held their hands on top of Wensclaus’s on their shoulders.

“Wensclaus,” Joan called out from her horse, “Little Knight.”

The pair glanced up from their conversation as Joan trotted closer.

“You coming?”

Wensclaus straightened up, leaving a hand in Law’s shoulder.

“Yeah. Let’s go home.”

#the two princes #the two princes podcast #prince rupert #prince amir #prince Wensclaus #sir joan #sir Joan ttp #the two princes fic #wens and Joan call everyone aunt and uncle because I’m a baby for the found family trope and the og ttp gang all are a family #rumir

27 notes · View notes

emachinescat · 4 years

Text

Murdoc + Ithika + Mac

A MacGyver Fan-Fiction

by @emachinescat

@febuwhump day 14 - “I didn’t mean it”

Summary: As an artist, Murdoc prides himself in taking his time with his work - he never loses control. Except one time, with his favorite boy genius. He always imagined that when he finally made MacGyver cry, it would be his finest moment. Now, he’s not so sure.

Characters: Murdoc, Mac, Jack

Words: 3,454

TW: torture, broken bones, Murdoc being his creepy little self

Note: Happy Valentine's Day – the store was all out of chocolate, so I got you Mac whump! ;) The allusions to Ithika are from Homer's epic by the same name, but even more so from the incredible poem by C.P. Cavafy. The muse mentioned, Melpomene, is the Muse of Tragedy.

Keep reading here, or on AO3!

If you enjoy, please consider liking, commenting, or re-blogging, and you can follow me for more content like this!

Ithika gave you the marvelous journey.

Without her you wouldn't have set out.

She has nothing left to give you now.

- From “Ithika” by C. P. Cavafy

Murdoc enjoyed taking his time.

He was an artist, after all, and artists didn’t slap together a masterpiece in an afternoon – not the ones worth anything, at least. Most spent days studying their subjects, becoming intimately familiar with every line and curve and element – the shading, the lighting, the vibrancy of the colors. The very best didn’t even consider touching brush to canvas until they had developed a personal relationship with their subject – for how can a true artist paint that which he does not know deeply? Why bother recreating that landscape or tea kettle or sad-eyed little girl or bowl of fruit if it could be any landscape, tea kettle, little girl, or bowl of fruit? Why would someone paint something that wasn’t theirs?

Murdoc knew his subject very well. He, like a true artist, had studied it in a variety of settings. He’d watched and learned, dug deep into the core of its being, drawn out every secret and motivation and loss and love. He understood what made his subject tick. He’d even done some brief sketches, practicing each brushstroke with care, waiting patiently for the day he could at last, intricately, evoke that muse sought by the Romantics, that evasive Melpomene, and breathe his masterpiece to life. Or, more accurately, to death.

And now, after years of watching, interacting, teasing, sketching, his time had finally come. Months of planning had been sunk into this particular endeavor. And now, unlike the first time he’d been introduced to his subject, he hadn’t been commissioned by anyone. This portrait was personal, deeply personal. He finally had his subject right where he wanted it. The canvas was bare and waiting for the artist’s touch. Murdoc had chosen his palette, mixed the colors – it might be cliche, but he was a sucker for red, black, and blue.

Now that his moment had finally arrived, however, it didn’t mean that he could rush through the actual creation process. The act of studying one’s subject matter was slow and deliberate. So must be the painting.

***

Murdoc studied his canvas slowly, methodically, unsurprised that it wasn’t exactly blank. MacGyver stood, hands chained above his head, attached to a grate above. His bare toes just reached the cold concrete below. His jacket and Henley had been removed – he shivered slightly from the chill of the basement. Murdoc liked to think it was from fear.

“Oooh, this one’s fun, MacGyver!” Murdoc crooned as the blonde boy wonder eyed him scornfully. It was quite entertaining how expressive his prey’s pretty blue eyes could be. Murdoc briefly brushed the tip of his little finger against the scar of a bullet wound on MacGyver’s chest. MacGyver jerked back from the touch, though his expression remained stoic.

“Jealous that you weren’t the one who did it, Murdoc?” He sounded confident enough, but Murdoc knew his subject quite well by now. MacGyver was shaken. For once, he had no control, nothing to work with, no way to escape. He was at his captor’s mercy – Murdoc could do whatever he wanted, and MacGyver knew that.

“Oh, it’s nothing compared with what I’ve got planned for you, Angus,” Murdoc simpered sweetly, circling his catch of the day, dark eyes darting across more scars and recent cuts and bruises. He pressed directly into the dark center of a boot-tip bruise on MacGyver’s side, relishing the sharp intake of breath it elicited. “Someone on your last mission in Volgograd left their mark, I see.”

He circled back around to face his victim, who did a subpar job of hiding his surprise at the observation. “That was highly classified. How did you–”

“I’ve been watching you for a very long time, MacGyver. But you had to have known I would. After all, you’re my closest friend, and I know where you live. It’s kind of silly that you never moved, but maybe you just figured I’d find you even if you did. I wonder – have you always tossed and turned in your sleep or is that a more recent development?”

True horror flashed momentarily in blue eyes, tugging Murdoc’s lips up into a satisfied smile. “Oh, yes, your nightmares are very entertaining. I do hope the majority of them are about me. Oh, oh, oh! And I especially love it when they’re so bad you have to call your watch dog to calm you down. I wonder how Dalton’s taking your disappearance, by the way? I’m sure he’s in for some nightmares of his own.”

“He’ll find me, if I don’t escape first.” MacGyver’s bravado was both highly endearing and incredibly tiresome. Same old, same old.

“Doubtful,” Murdoc purred. “I mean, I know you well enough not to make stupid mistakes, my friend.”

“I escaped from the sewers, and you’d drugged me.”

“I intended for you to escape that day. I needed to draw your friends in, to focus their attention on finding you while I attended to other business. But this time – you’re mine.” At the fervor in his words, a shudder entirely unrelated to cold clinked the chains restraining his victim. Murdoc smiled, then continued.

“But now, there is no ulterior motive. I grabbed you for no other reason than because I wanted to. You are hidden away quite well, even more securely than last time, I’m afraid. And you will not be left alone, not even for a second. There may be things in this room you could use to escape, but they’re useless to you in your position. And I am not going to take my eyes off of you. You won’t have a chance to wriggle your way out of this one, MacGyver. Ooooh, is that fear I see on your face? No? We really must change that.” He tutted. “Defiance and bravado really are your bread and butter, aren’t they, Angus? What are you, an action hero from a cheesy 1980s TV show?” Silence, though the fiery glare spoke more loudly than words.

Murdoc clapped his hands together. “Well, there’s no time like the present. What do you say, MacGyver? Let’s get started.”

***

Three hours later, Murdoc admired his work. It was a slow process. He painted with precision and care, layering the colors just so, balancing the strokes, the lights and darks and brights. His brushes were many – laid out on the table before him were knives and pliers and blow torches and hammers and whips and cattle prods and other more specialized tools that he liked to work up to. He also had an oversized meat tenderizer, made of steel. He rarely used it – too garish for his refined tastes – but it did look nice and scary looming over the other instruments.

So far, he’d only used his knives and the cattle prod. The masterpiece was starting to come together, but it was hardly complete. He prowled around his artwork. MacGyver’s trembling had increased. He gasped for breath as Murdoc appraised his work – burns and cuts, some deeper than others – made a nice foundation. The drip of blood across bare flesh outshone any Pollock painting. He’d practiced his blending techniques, jabbing the cattle prod directly into the center of the lovely bruise he’d noticed earlier. MacGyver hadn’t been able to hold in his yell of pain.

Music.

“Are you enjoying our time together?” Murdoc asked.

MacGyver uttered a creative string of curse words that made Murdoc proud. He whistled appreciatively. “Who knew the boy scout had that in him? I’m almost impressed.”

“Yeah, well,” MacGyver said, hissing as he shifted and pulled at his many wounds. “Almost is about all you’ll ever be, Murdoc.”

Murdoc had been reaching for his trusty pair of pliers (those toenails could sure use a trim!). He paused, his back partially to his captive, fingers hovering over the tool. He was used to MacGyver’s sass, but what he’d just said hit a sour note that the hit man couldn’t shake. He didn’t know if it was the tone or the words themselves. “Excuse me?” He tried to sound amused, but his voice was tight, as if it had been squeezed out of him.

A clink of the chains, a grunt of pain that didn’t lighten Murdoc’s mood as it should have. Then, MacGyver elaborated. His voice was clipped in pain, breathless, but conviction lined every syllable. “You are doomed to live a life of almost, Murdoc. Nothing is ever going to be enough for you. Why do you think you take so long to get anything done? Why do you spend so much time talking and taunting and watching and waiting?”

Murdoc didn’t move, his hand still inches away from his delicate instrument that caused pain but did no lasting damage. “I’m an artist.”

“You’re afraid.”

“I fear nothing.”

“You fear winning.”

Murdoc laughed, a forced, uncomfortable sound that he’d never heard come from his own mouth. “That’s the stupidest thing I’ve ever heard, Angus. Are you sure the pain isn’t getting to your head?”

MacGyver pressed on relentlessly. “You crave attention. You need a challenge. That’s why you picked me. And you’re afraid of what happens if you beat me. If I die, there’s always that possibility that you won’t find another playmate.”

Still, Murdoc didn’t move. His words, despite their teasing jaunt, had a forced quality to them. “Awfully full of ourselves, aren’t we, MacGyver?”

He could hear the triumphant smile in his adversary’s voice. “I’m just stating the truth, Murdoc. You might torture me, you might have your fun. But at the end of the day, you’re going to slip up somehow. It’s your way of making sure the game goes on. Without that challenge, what are you? Just an angry voice screaming at the sky, no purpose, no point. You say you’ve studied me, Murdoc. You’ve watched me and know me. Well, in doing so, you’ve shown me yourself, too. You’re not going to kill me today. You’re never going to kill me.

“I don’t know what exactly I’ve done to deserve this… honor,” he continued, placing particular derision on the last word, “but you’ve become obsessed with me, Murdoc. Believe me, I don’t like saying this any more than you like hearing it. But it’s how I know I’m going to walk away from this. If I’m gone, so is your fun.”

Murdoc prided himself on maintaining control over his emotions. An artist, though he might express the inner workings of his soul on canvas, could not let his feelings control the brush, control him. Look what had happened to Van Gogh – sure, beautiful work, but his emotions controlled him, destroyed him in the end. Murdoc didn’t make mistakes like that. He waited. He didn’t lash out in anger. It wasn’t because he wanted MacGyver to live, oh no. His fondest dream was to see the blonde boy cry, to watch him squirm and beg for mercy, and then, finally, only when he’d really begged for it, to send him to his death. MacGyver had no idea what he was talking about.

It wasn’t even MacGyver’s words, his cocky belief that he was important enough to his torturer to keep alive, that sent Murdoc over the edge. It was the tiny little voice, way back in the darkest, most depraved corner of his already dark and depraved mind, the one that spoke not in the voice of Murdoc, but one that sounded more like Dennis, the first casualty of Murdoc’s career – himself. The voice said, plainly, without emotion, You know he’s right.

And that was the catalyst for the tsunami of rage that crashed into Murdoc, pummeling his well-practiced and unshakable resolve to take his time. That was what spurred his frozen body into movement, curled his fingers around the handle of the meat tenderizer, that brash, archaic tool, rather than the pliers. That was what spit his next words out of his mouth as if they were poison, words that finally – beautifully – caused Angus MacGyver’s eyes to widen in real fear: “You are going to walk out of here?” A sadistic, mad giggle. “My dear Angus, it will be a miracle if you ever walk again.”

He hefted the heavy steel implement in his hand, pulled back, and lunged. MacGyver tried to back away, the chains around his wrists cackling and clicking against one another in his desperation. They held firm, and the meat tenderizer slammed full force into MacGyver’s left kneecap. Murdoc felt the crunch of bones. He heard the bestial howl, the scream of anguish, the body-jerking, breath stealing cry of a man in so much pain he lost himself. He watched MacGyver’s face drain of color, recognized the moment when the pain became too much, and saw the tear-streaked face go slack, the chin thud against the battered chest and stay there.

For a moment, Murdoc experienced the euphoria one could only find in hurting that special someone in such a catastrophic way. He relished in that moment the scream, the agony, the writhing and loss of control.

Then the moment ended – and far too soon.

Immediately after, the weapon dropped out of Murdoc’s limp fingers. It smashed into the floor below, with the jarring clang that only metal on concrete can produce. He looked at the limp, hanging form before him, and something twisted inside of him – a feeling he’d never known. It wasn’t guilt, nor revulsion.

It was, however, regret.

He didn’t understand it. He should be overjoyed. MacGyver was completely at his mercy. Murdoc could kill him now. Carve that bleeding heart out like a villain in a fairy tale would. But then, he realized, MacGyver would be gone. Forever. Even now, his kneecap had been crushed, shattered into tiny fragments of bone and cartilage, and unless he got treatment of the highest quality, and soon, he’d almost certainly be crippled. Even if he had extensive reconstructive surgery, his career as a Phoenix agent could still be over.

Wasn’t that what Murdoc had wanted? To end MacGyver’s pesky existence, to win at this game of cat and mouse? To create his most spectacular masterpiece with his greatest enemy? That’s what he had dreamed of for years now, what he’d studied and practiced and yearned for. And yet –

What was it that hoity toity Greek poet had written? Murdoc had read “Ithika” long ago, a random page in a poetry book of a man he’d killed. For some reason, the poem had attached itself to his mind and never let go. He could remember it even now:

Keep Ithika always in your mind. Arriving there is what you’re destined for. But don’t hurry the journey at all. Better if it lasts for years, so you’re old by the time you reach the island, wealthy with all you’ve gained on the way, not expecting Ithika to make you rich. Ithika gave you the marvelous journey. Without her you wouldn’t have set out. She has nothing to give you now.

And he understood. The poem was supposed to be inspirational, for fools so focused on their goals that they missed the journey of life along the way – a mundane, silly sentiment. But now Murdoc could see – MacGyver’s destruction was his Ithika. Perhaps Cavafy had a point – maybe he had been a bit of an artist himself. And MacGyver had been right about some things, wrong about others.

He was right in that Murdoc wasn’t ready to end the game just yet. But it wasn't fear that held him back, that urged him to take his time. It was joy. Joy of the journey. The little pleasures of life that are so often passed by in the grand scheme of things – the poet had been speaking of knowledge, of friendship, of love, of experiences. Murdoc’s little pleasures were things like fear, drawn-out suffering, playing with his food and watching it squirm. He relished that joy. He wanted more of it, and if MacGyver died, or was out of commission as a spy, that joy would diminish. Even if MacGyver lived, it wouldn’t be the same if he couldn’t fight back, couldn’t play along.

Murdoc made his decision.

He reached into his pocket, pulled out a burner phone. He dialed a number he’d memorized long ago, put the phone to his ear.

A fierce Texas twang answered before the first ring had run its course. “Murdoc, you son of a bitch–”

“Temper, Jack,” Murdoc drawled. He shivered in excitement at the mental picture of the inferno in Dalton’s eyes. “You just assumed it was me – imagine if it were your mother on the other line.”

“I can scent the devil from a mile away.” Murdoc heard muffled voices in the background, knew the call was being traced.

“Don’t waste your time running a trace, you grumpy old hound dog.” His words were light, yet he allowed the slightest hint of urgency to infect them. “I’ve had my fun for today. I’ll text you the address.” He paused. “Oh, and bring one of those fancy whirly-birds you like to use for medical emergencies. I might have been a little… over zealous this time.”

He closed his eyes, gorging on the incalculable levels of hatred in Jack Dalton’s next words. “If you hurt him–”

Appreciation turned to irritation. Murdoc rolled his coal eyes to the ceiling. “Weren’t you listening, you brute? Obviously, I hurt him. Quite a bit actually. You should have heard him scream.”

A short silence. Then – “You didn’t let me finish, you overgrown sewer rat. If you hurt him, I am going to tear you limb from limb. I don’t need any of your fancy tools.”

“Hmm, that was almost intimidating,” Murdoc teased in his most good-natured tone. “But you’ll have to find me first.” He let the words linger for just a moment, then continued: “Anyway, ta-ta for now. I’ll text you the address. I’ll be long gone by the time you get here, but feel free to bring all your little friends for a game of hide and seek. Though I have a feeling that you’re going to be more focused on sweet Angus.”

He hung up, texted the address, then turned to a feebly stirring MacGyver. Pity he was waking up right as Murdoc had to leave. Whimpers that would have torn the very soul out of Jack Dalton erupted unbidden from MacGyver’s lips. Glazed blue eyes cracked open, regarding Murdoc with a mixture of terror and acceptance. Though he had regained consciousness, MacGyver still hung limply from the chains, too weak and in pain to move.

Murdoc stepped forward, eliciting the tiniest of flinches Even that motion made MacGyver cry out. But Murdoc didn’t hurt him again. Instead, he said, “Your friends are on their way.”

MacGyver’s voice rasped in the aftermath of his screams. “You’re letting … me go… Why?”

“Got bored, I suppose.” No way was Murdoc going to let MacGyver know he’d been right, even if only a little bit.

MacGyver didn’t respond – maybe he didn’t know how to respond; more likely, he could barely form coherent thoughts, let alone words, amidst the torrent of pain.

Murdoc started to step away, then turned back, studying his latest draft of the elusive masterpiece that he would continue to dream about and that would fuel his passion and creativity for years to come. He pulled off one black glove, placed his hand on a pale, cold cheek. MacGyver jerked back feebly from the touch, grunting at the pain it produced. Slowly, Murdoc wiped one of the fresher tears away with his thumb. It might have been a power play. It might have been a show of comfort. Even the hit man didn’t know. He glanced down at the shattered knee, swollen and misshapen, a grotesque monster straining to break free from the unrelenting fabric of the khakis.

“For what it’s worth,” he said quietly, moving his gaze up from the deformed knee to lock his black eyes with fearful, anguished blue ones, “I didn’t mean it.”

He walked away, casting one final look over his shoulder before he left his art behind for the coming Phoenix agents to admire. “Until next time, MacGyver.”

And despite the extensive search conducted by Phoenix once MacGyver had been loaded onto the chopper, on his way to the best orthopaedic surgeons in the country, Murdoc had once more disappeared, like a ghost.

That night he dreamed about his Ithika, and this time, it was enough.

8 notes · View notes

barbika1508 · 4 years

Text

Hiwaga (Vampire! Jeongguk x Reader)

Part 2

Words: 11,2k

Genre: Soulmate AU, Reincarnation AU, Enemies to Lovers, Action, Romance, Smut, Flufffffff

Pairing: Vampire! Jeongguk x Reader

Warnings: More cursing, Nightmares

Summary: Life was good, playing out better than it has been ever before. My future was bright and full of promises and wishes coming to realization. All up until she showed up. She stormed though the front doors ruining everything along the way by her mere presence derailing my goals and purpose in life. A puny mortal, a child, a complete nuisance, and yet…The key to an unimaginable life, to the truth all along.

Author's note: Hiwaga – mystery; full of wonder Words in italics are dialogues or thoughts that Jeongguk reads from others. So I’ve done research with this fic, and used certain words that need explanation…given that there can be A LOT I’ve put a dictionary just below the fic if anyone is interested :3

Jeongguk’s POV:

‘’YOONGIIIIII-YAAAHHH!!!’’ comes the call not really disrupting others, but it does pull the gained momentum to a full stop, everyone now straightening up, eyes and heads turned towards the entrance. We all observe as the owner of that annoying voice comes in sight, dressed in none other than Yoongi hyungs favourite red hoodie that he mostly lounges around in.

‘’I’ve figure it out!’’ she continues on oblivious to the others stopping because of her. Our elder simply smiles and turns his attention completely onto her, as she offers up a thick book that at first glance leaves me wondering how she was able to pick it up. Frankly if you look at her you wouldn’t assume that she’d be able to lift much.

He simply hums in acknowledgement, eyes scanning the page his smile gradually fading. Namjoon appears at the doorframe a moment later, the girl not jumping or flinching at his sudden presence like most humans would normally react to. Wordlessly she accepts a notebook from him, her own eyes darting left and right a frown drawing itself across her features. Hmmm she’s kind of cute…

‘’What’s going on?’’ Taehyung asks frowning as he shifts the spear he’s using to train, between his hands. We’re all dressed the same, in black tank tops and grey sweatpants most of us barefoot too. We came to the fully equipped gym which we’ve transformed into an arena its purpose clear – practice martial arts and combat between another. Hyung had just started teaching us new techniques honestly surprising us all as he joined in from the beginning.

We don’t necessarily need the fitness or practice – nobody even broke a sweat in the last hour we’ve been training – but the impending tension that has settled after the ball two nights ago, doesn’t seem to loosen up so this is the best next thing to relieve some form of built up frustration. Even though neither Yoongi nor Jin hyung revealed anything yet, both of them are hiding their emotions back but everyone just knows that something is happening. Fighting is a temporary distraction.

Most vampires don’t actually need to fight or simply never learn how to because they rely solemnly on their powers or abilities. And half of us could lean onto using our powers, but Yoongi made sure we had a good solid base of self-defence before he had us train our abilities. For example, his power is scary and rare and doesn’t require of him to ever lift a finger whilst fighting. Others had to learn the hard way how to control their powers. That includes myself – mentality and people’s minds are tricky.

‘’Research.’’ Its Namjoon that replies handing over a regular pencil that he usually sticks behind his ear whenever he’s working on something in the library where he has been spending a lot of time lately again at. The human accepts it, and is quick to start and scribble something over a page. Being the only one left out of this round I approach them first, eyeing Yoongi for a moment further his eyes darting over to Namjoon.

‘’This is bothersome.’’ He comments offering the book to Namjoon who accepts it nodding silently. The girl curses out of the blue, the swear words that spill from her mouth unfamiliar to my ear, and judging by other hyung’s faces they are stumped too. Some curses don’t even sound like words, but once she shuts up and looks at the platinum blonde elder, she looks beyond annoyed while he burst into chuckles shaking his head ‘’Yah, Y/N-ah there are kids here.’’ He teases back the occurrence and light-heartedness that he shows to her still unfamiliar. He must be the only one who understood whatever came from her mouth.

I spare a glance at Seokjin who is shaking his head, two fingers pressed against the inner of his eyes. Okay he understood her to, but to what degree I’m not sure.

‘’Aish.’’ She intakes a breath ready to smack Yoongi with the notebook but refrains from doing so, her eyes darting over to us. Maybe it’s just my imagination but I get a feeling as if they linger on me for a moment longer ‘’Not funny. They called me a child.’’ She ends up pouting and showing her notebook over to Yoongi. Glancing at Namjoon he’s awkwardly smiling, eyes averted down onto the thick book ‘’And other things I don’t need to translate.’’ Grumbling she adds looking upset as she glares at him unamused. Everyone offers soft chuckles in return finally relaxing more as they step closer.

Hyung’s arm rises wrapping around her shoulders reassuringly ‘’Well that was the plan was it not?’’

My eyes dart over to Tae and Jimin, exchanging looks between both of them in question and sort of answer at the revelation ‘’Yeh.’’ Her reply is curt arms crossed over while she turns her eyes towards Namjoon ‘’We’re close to figuring it out. Its trickier than I thought. Haven’t practiced Gaya in so long…Kaya…aish even my pronunciation is completely off.’’ She signs looking exasperated.

‘’Wait…’’ Hoseok starts tensing up taking barely half a step towards her in the uneven circle we’ve created ‘’Kaya as in the language? Karak? Like 5th century, dead long and forgotten language?!’’ he looks at them in complete disbelief mouth hanging ajar. He’s almost on his toes. I immediately look at the human, that nods fingers tapping against the page of her notebook impatiently or out of nerves.

‘’That one yes. Why? Do you know it???’’ her eyes sparkle for a moment, but hyung is quick to turn his head away and raise his hands in defeat.

‘’That’s way before my time.’’ he mumbles pouting. I watch as Y/N enthusiasm diminishes instantly. She sighs heavily looking at Yoongi who’s already staring back at her.

‘’Aigo.’’ She complains pouting ‘’It’s all on us then buddy.’’ She adds on offering Namjoon a soft smile. I can see her disappointment clearly in the way her shoulders lower sag. I narrow my eyes as I watch her, not really comprehending that there’s a chance that she actually knows a dead language. The name of it or the know how about it. She barely speaks proper Korean!!!!! And to know of a pre-Korean language makes zero logic!!!

‘’Uh huh. I’m sure we can handle it. Easy.’’ Namjoon replies trying to sound positive but, we all know he’s putting up a front for her sake ‘’I’ll head into the city right away. Go to my usual places to snoop around for any fragments. There should be at least something somewhere.’’ And with that, and a silent confirmation from Jin and Yoongi, he bids us goodbye’s and heads out disappearing quickly as he appeared before.

‘’What are you even translating? Did that douche-ling make another cryptic speech?’’ Jimin asks looking annoyed, tapping both fingers against the handles of his dual swords which are resting against the ground. Y/N instead of quickly replying looks over at Yoongi, who takes her notebook and closes it. Is she waiting for permission or is she actually being respectful for once?!?

‘’In the beginning yeah, he bounced with Karak but then switched to Latin mid-way.’’ Yoongi snorts smirking but there’s no amusement to his words ‘’Y/N-ah already translated his official scripts and the other speech, and the propositions he gave us.’’

‘’Lots of politics involved.’’ Jin confirms looking lost in thought, holding his head propped up with one hand, the other remaining crossed across his chest.

‘’There’s something else isn’t there.’’ I pick up on the lack of explanation staring straight at the human. Her lips go into a tight line eyes averting looking anywhere else, while she shifts her feet in line with her shoulders, stance defensive with her centre balanced. That much I can read out once her shoulders square up, and her leg muscles clench and unclench. Why is she wearing a hoodie and shorts again?!? Her bare legs look very nicely defined, I never noticed it.

‘’I wrote down notes of the conversation that Wangseja had with his advisor.’’ Everyone takes a double take at her disclosure clearly none of us expecting something like this of her. Maybe she isn’t a clueless bimbo after all.

‘’That still wouldn’t fully explain the usage of Karak.’’ Hoseok speaks up thoughtful ‘’Do you think them speaking out loud was deliberate or simply a foolish error?’’

He has a point there. It could be a trap, but Yoongi is quick to shake his head in denial arm now having shifted around Y/N, his hand placed on her hip ‘’I don’t think it’s either of those. It’s safe to assume for certain than none of you assumed that Y/N-ah here spoke more than 3 languages, let alone Karak in the mix right?’’ the other hyungs nod along eyeing her suspiciously, except for Jin that offers a smirk and Taehyung that seems to be revaluating his stance over her again ‘’Point made then.’’

That boulder in my stomach reappears again, as with prideful eyes Yoongi turns to look at her with a wider smile, while she shakes her head instead twirling the pen, he hasn’t confiscated from her. She’s shifting from one foot to another lulling side to side impatiently making him retreat his arm away.

This girl never seems to be able to stand still even for a second ‘’Yeah, yeah I’m more than meets the eye, bla, bla.’’ She shows her tongue at her supposedly life-term friend ‘’Never heard that one before.’’ she mocks, and slides the pen smoothly behind Hyung’s ear who doesn’t blink twice at her antics. Even more so as she reaches for his Geom that is sheathed on his left hip ‘’So instead of wracking our brains uselessly with the lack of information that we are stuck with, I would like to lay of some steam as well.’’ she draws out the double-edged sword, with poise, letting the handle go while she maintains the balance of it, flipping the sword around a single digit, capturing it successfully once it does a 360 turn.

She looks pleased upon capturing it, perking up and giving of an almost goofy smile. Oh no. Don’t tell me this is something else that she isn’t going to take seriously?

‘’You wanna play with us little mortal?’’ Jimin pips up looking enthusiastic and livelier all of the sudden. But he doesn’t slide forward and move closer to her like I know he would prefer to. It brings a smile to my face, the thought of him being so afraid of hyung that he doesn’t dare approach her in his presence all that much.

Looking at the girl, she’s preoccupied with hyung’s sword, trying to find the balance of it as she holds it by the handle horizontally keeping it steady. At his comment, she lets the sword fall but catches it before the tip can hit the ground.

‘’Jagi?’’ the nickname has everyone in the room freeze on spot. There are two reaction that she grants herself. Chuckles of amusement, that aren’t as quiet as the hyungs wants them to be – nobody in their sane mind would want to experience Yoongi’s wrath. Tae ends up ducking behind Hoseok as he’s the loudest, hence why the elders glare is instantaneous as he turns to glare at both giggling men.

Jin hyung straight up turns around hand covering his mouth, but his shoulders are shaking badly. Hoseok ends up grinning wider and starts too coo instead, teasing in between but mostly telling Y/N how adorable she is for some reason. Jimin settles for kneeling on the ground hands still holding into his own dual swords grin present over his features, eyes having disappeared from how much he finds this whole situation amusing.

I on the other hand hold back the bile that gathers in my stomach. Ew. Just no. Why? Seriously why. I cringe and listen to the way Yoongi is quick to defend her and not himself! He’s advocating for her, coming up with excuses as to why he is allowing her to use this nickname on him. Looking at her, she’s grinning widely clearly amused by the situation she has created.

I seriously feel sick to my stomach. It’s wrong it’s all just wrong. I seriously don’t like her. Just as I was starting to, I don’t anymore I really don’t. She’s way to cocky right now, acting as if she has hyung wrapped around her finger. He storms after our so called ‘dance line’ with the exception of me, as they start teasing the two louder and bolder. Unbothered she remains put just watching blurs go around, her eyes not able to pick up much on what’s going on as the chase begins.

If she wasn’t here – hyung would be chasing me too with the others. I let a few good comebacks die on my tongue knowing first-hand what it’s like to get silly punishment from Yoongi after badmouthing him or anyone else. Her mere presence right now is to put it in simple words; extinguishes my will to live. And yeah, I’ve been a vampire for almost 200 years but fuck does she weight me down. Is it because I can’t read her thoughts? I shift on my feet, dropping my arms from the crossed-up position I’ve had them. While my left hand reasts against my hip, I let my right rest over the handle of my own Geom. I’ve decided to build upon my skills with it, even though it’s not commonly used anymore, it’s still gives the thrill like no other.

That familiar itch raises in my throat slowly, prickling at it mostly. I think this type I haven’t felt since I’ve been freshly turned. But that was another story as my hunger for blood then was insatiable. When all I could think about was blood, and the constant pain that held me in its clutches. It’s starting to appear somewhat, but not necessarily for blood alone which is puzzling as to what’s happening to me.

‘’You look like you’re having fun.’’ I raise an eyebrow as I look down at her in surprise ‘’The whole brooding thing you’ve got going on right now, is a good strategy. I commend you on that dude.’’

‘’Strategy?’’ I ask bemused eyeing her carefully as she steps right next to me and turns to watch the chaos that’s still unfolding across us. Her approach is like – if you were sitting on the very edge of a couch, she’s the person that would sit right next to you. Can she get even more annoying than this?!

‘’Well yeah.’’ She starts and looks at me slightly losing the edge of confidence she has ‘’To avoid this mess that’s happening. Wasn’t that…’’ she trails off clearly doubting herself ‘’Never mind then.’’ she’s quick to look away, left hand reaching up to scratch at her cheek, but she keeps it there avoiding to look at me.

I can’t help but to smile at her behaviour. Is she blushing?!

Odd. Humans are weird. Narrowing my eyes as I continue watching her, I can’t help but to relax a bit. Her hair is a mess as always, falling over her shoulders, clearly uncombed or unattended. Not that she’s dirty, she smells fresh and like she bathed fairly recently that strawberry hint present underneath the artificial flavour of honey scented shampoo.

The hoodie is too big on her body as it’s too big for hyung himself but on her it easily reaches her mid tights. Having said that the branded shorts with white stripes at the side of her legs peek just from beneath the red hoodie. Otherwise her legs are exposed, and following the curves from her meaty thighs, down to her calves I can see she’s back at being restless her left foot tapping against the ground the rubber of her sneakers making faint noise against the wood of the ground.

Shouts raising has me turning up, ready to defend myself from blatantly staring at her or crudely said ogling her. To my rare luck Yoongi has both Jimin and Taehyung pinned down, clearly having fun as he fake scolds them. Hoseok has given up and is sitting on the ground, hands propping himself up as he’s leant backwards. Jin hasn’t even participated in whatever they have going on, and is sitting in the corner of the room, kneeling against the wall with his new pink coloured Samsung Z in his hands, typing furiously on it with a small smirk on his face.

‘’Hey do you know why did the scarecrow win an award?’’ Jin starts getting everyone’s attention eyes rising after he asks the question. He even glances towards us. And we all know what’s coming it’s clear as a single cloud on a clear sunny day ‘’Because he was outstanding in his field.’’

I roll my eyes instantly, biting onto my lower lip because it’s ridiculous. Jimin burst into laughter first, Hoseok and Tae groaning but ending up laughing more so because of Jimin that rolls away from Yoongi who has let go of both vampires and is staring at hyung with a scrunched-up expression.

‘’Seriously hyung?’’ he breathes shaking his head. But a smile is present.

I’m genuinely startled when Y/N places her hand on my shoulder, body trembling as she tries to keep her own giggles down, but is not having much success with it. I stare at her confused but slightly fascinated by the rosiness that covers her cheeks, and face. Her eyes crinkle as they shut, mouth twisted into a grin. Her hold on my shoulder is surprisingly firm, again in the back of my mind making me revaluate the estimate I put on her about her strength.

‘’You’re laughing at that?’’ I ask trying to sound unimpressed but fail at it completely as I smile all due to her own amusement, the joke not being that drop-dead-funny.

She shakes her head instead and let’s go of me taking a step to the side hand readjusting the hold on hyung’s Geom once more ‘’The delivery was A+.’’ she points out as she starts to calm down.

‘’Thank you, Y/N-ah! You see brats? Someone appreciates my jokes! It’s why from now on Y/N-ah is my favourite creature ever!!!’’ he shouts out acting bratty himself. Jimin and Tae are both on their feet making their way over to Jin, probably with the intention of convincing him that they are his favourite whatever.

‘’Gee thanks.’’ Y/N chuckles bringing my attention back to her ‘’Never been called someone’s favourite ‘creature’ but I’ll take it.’’ she ends up grinning happily as she turns to me, warmth still lingering on her cheeks. As well as over my shoulder where her hand was ‘’Anyways you wanna practice Sour boy?’’ I immediately frown at that nickname as does she scrunching up her nose adorably for a moment ‘’Sour creature?’’ she tries ending up chuckling to herself as she shift left and right, the calmness leaving her while her jumpiness coming back ‘’Can’t use Sour wolf those right are reserved obviously…’’ I tilt my head not having a clue what’s she’s referring to ‘’…sour…ah never mind.’’ Again, she’s shaking her head but isn’t hiding away. She twists the sword again putting her left foot forward balancing her centre first, hands and sword following suit ‘’So you wanna try going against me?’’

It’s a dare.

I want to burst into laughter already imagining 3 moves alone to disarm her in a blink of her eye. But hyung’s words in my head stop me from over reacting at the preposterous challenge that’s right in front of me.

Humour her Jeongguk-ah. It will do good for your patience.

Taking a hold of my own blade, I spare a glance over towards Yoongi first noticing that everyone is watching us. They are going to be entertained I’ll make sure I will…

In a blink of an eye and my own, as my reflexes are enhanced mind you – I find myself dumbfounded, as her sword flashes due to the light and clashes against my own, knocking it sideways proving that my hold on it wasn’t as tight as it should have been.

As I look down at her burning but non-glowing human eyes, she’s glaring at me with some sort of fire in her irises. Her hand is back on me, firmly holding onto the inside of my forearm, while her blade is angled in a seemingly awkward position right arm positioned over her left body twisted to the side. But the most important part is; the tip of her sword is located right under my chin. The body of the Geom is strategically positioned in a way that would block any stronger and direct attack from myself.

The cheers burst out of the blue interrupting the silence that happened due to her unexpected actions.

My tongue darts to my cheek as I snort and tilt my head narrowing my eyes at her, as she ends up smiling but look serious doing so. She ends up pulling her hand and sword back, rising it up in triumph.

‘’Lesson number one; always be ready for the unexpected.’’ Jin speaks up oddly enough giving me a more serious look.

I don’t even bother looking towards others, and focus on the girl before me that’s literally skipping on her spot 2 steps away from me. She wiggles her eyebrows at me, sword getting placed to rest against her shoulder angled at an around 80 degree ‘’Lesson 1000-something-something never lose focus.’’ She imitates Yoongi��s pattern of speech clearly making fun of him making me know that he trained her as well. Her head turns to the right to give him a look.

I twirl my Geom keeping in mind that even though I’m about to surprise her as she surprised me, I a voice screaming at me to keep my movements slow. It would be an easy defeat – like taking candy from a baby – if I use my regular speed and agility on her. She wouldn’t stand a chance.

As I raise my blade, she instantly blocks it spinning with elegance at the perfect time. While I’m holding the leather wrapped handle with both hands, she only uses one and efficiently blocks me, her blade only briefly losing a hold twitching backwards and then coming to a still.

‘’To rough?’’ I tease, as she grabs for the long handle with her left hand the pressure against my blade turning prominent. Fuck. I didn’t expect in the slightest that she would be even able to push against me. But that’s maybe because I didn’t focus on taking a hold of my Geom in a proper way like I should have. I underestimated her.

She doesn’t reply initially, but offers a smirk jaw locked tight. To my astonishment she unpredictably steps back, and raises her Geom ready to strike down, which I block successfully intercepting her attacks from the get go. The fact remains that tips the balance contradictory to my own belief and those of my hyungs as with my brief lack of concentration, everything changes – words fill my mind – because she has managed from the get go to legitimately push me backwards. She has me moving, whole body getting in tune and reflexes to work as two close calls of the metal coming in contact with me have me focusing solemnly on her.

It isn’t until she’s out of breath that she jumps back like in the beginning, and simply breathes harshly through her nose. That’s the weakness of being a human. Getting tired. I know it’s not fair but I take my chance and charge forward, confident that I’ve got an easy win under my belt.

But as I move forward faster than I should I’ll admit her left hand reaches and gets in line with where my sword is pointed at. She’s reaching forward as if she is about to pick an apple, the action itself insane. That has me stopping right before the blade can touch, forcing my whole body to a halt. That’s when she strikes, finger wrapping onto the top of my blade against the blunt part of it.

It all happens so fast even for me, as she holds onto my weapon and just like the first time, she’s finds herself right up in my personal space, her blade finding a home under my chin it seems.

Her face is almost feral – that’s how I’d describe it the easiest. She’s showing her blunt teeth as she breathes fast heart absolutely pounding in her chest, as she glares at me the fire I saw before has turned into some sort of a blizzard, and hunger. The cheers that erupt of disbelief and glee get all muted - her blood is calling out to me. I can feel it vibrating in her veins, pumping steadily though her heart. It sounds like a forgotten lullaby her speeding but regulating steady heartbeat. It brings a taste of nostalgia forward.

The smile that stretches across her lips seems newly unique, only for my eyes – there’s of course that prominent sense of victory, happiness that’s prominent in her whole being still only inches away from me.

I’m left blinking in confusion, the hold of my blade being let go as someone pulls her backwards the cold blade that was located under my chin retreating as well as her warmth and now prominent smell of fruitiness, and something else that I can almost taste in the air – something that kind of remind me of the smell I remember that came from my own clothes when I was still a human.

‘’Ah our sweet Golden Maknae, it seems you have meet you’re match in at least one category!’’ Jin cheers throwing his arm over my shoulders, looking extremely gleeful as he starts poking my sides. I twist at his ministration but keep watching as Hoseok lifts Y/N up onto his shoulders, her hands free from weapons and desperate to hold onto something as she dangerously shifts and tries to balance herself on his shoulders. His oblivious jumping spree continues despite her cries of protests with Jimin standing behind the two ready to catch her as Taehyung dances along with the vampire that’s carrying her.

I can’t shake off the tingles that seem to entrap me in a sense, running over my skin prickling at my long stopped beating heart. I stare almost dumbly listening to the shouts and cheers from the human girl, that decided to act along with the boys’ antics easily following and mimicking them having the time of her life judging by the giant smile she has on, and adorable chuckles that raise. But the smile she gave me doesn’t resemble this one, one bit. The one I got was more – her.

‘’Good effort, Jeongguk-ah.’’ Yoongi speaks up appearing finally on my right, hand holding onto his Geom once more. Meeting his eyes, they seem soft the smirk he has not too promising for my dignity ‘’Of course you’ve managed to accomplish all the don’ts than do’s in what I’ve taught you, but it was a good lesson nonetheless.’’

Jin stars laughing immediately agreeing with Yoongi, the jokes and mockery following after.

I hate losing, I despise it with my whole being given that I’m not sure if I still have a soul. And even though irritation is brewing under my skin, I can’t find myself to feel real anger of any sorts. She threw me off too much to completely understand the feeling I’m experiencing, in regards of her.

Of course, I still don’t like her, why would I pfffff. This is only a reason more that I need to start and upstage her frankly speaking. I’m not jealous of her being in hyung’s good graces or anything childish like that but…I’m the golden maknae. I need to knock her down a peg or two.

I find myself watching her like a hawk, awaiting the anger and frustration to hit me…it doesn’t. And that’s concerning me slightly.

*A few days later*

I squint automatically at the spill and change of contrasting light that floods into the room. My eyes are quick to adapt but my brain forces me to react humanly. Rounding the corner, I’m met with a wide and open door that leads to the side of the mansion, into the gardens and towards the pathway that leads towards the garage. I sigh annoyed that someone is trying to start a prank war again. It’s a poor prank just leaving the doors open, but the sun that’s shinning inside is frankly bothersome enough to diminish my mood.

I was having a good match going on the whole night, winning every time of course setting new records. The peckish-ness appeared out of nowhere – I fed 2 days ago, there’s no reason why I’m feeling hungry again. I should be fine and yet, my throat itches uncomfortably enough so that I need to take plan B; Take a blood bag from the fridge to calm myself down.

I rarely do this, hating the cold and very artificial taste that the bag leaves on the blood. But the blood bags are there for this exact reason.

I stand at the entrance of the lavish kitchen and dining area on my right and place my hands onto my hips just contemplating my life choices as one does in the middle of the day – or night for some. Why does it have to be so sunny, why can’t it just keep raining. Of course, it has been a while since I’ve seen sunlight, but I sure as hell didn’t miss it that much. It’s absolutely glowing against the polished marble flooring, and reflecting all over the clean white kitchen.

There are bowls on the kitchen island, the presence of them making me listen in a focus for a moment if someone is close and trying to scare me. Silence. Strange. Approaching the kitchen island and avoiding the stray odd ray of sunlight that stretches across the room, thanks to a curtain being moved, I see pastry has been laid out on a wooden desk. Two banana’s lies on another chopping board still intact, while a gooey brown substance resides in a pot next to the pastry.

I’m so confused. What is this supposed to be?

Looking around for Jin hyung I’m left wondering if he’s back at experimenting with human food and trying to impress our annoying temporary human resident. Last time he baked 10 cakes, of different flavours, which the human did thank him over hundreds of times for, but barely made a dent in them. We had to throw them out after 4 days, with Jin hyung reasoning that it’s logical as they were going to go bad. Sounds like bullshit to me as in my time cakes were a delicacy to get often, but I feel as if they are more compact and longer lasting than 4 days but what do I know about human food. Eh.

Glancing towards outside keeping my eyes trained on the marble flooring I pick up on someone talking fast and thoughts of How lovely and kind, she is flooding my mind That girl has a knack for flowers, and it helps that she’s extra nice unlike most of Mr. Min’s friends I block out the gardeners thoughts as they continue wandering about Yoongi…yet again. Shaking my head to clear my mind, I take the chance squinting and frowning at the brightness even more prominent, my eyes trained to the outside watching as Y/N stumbles over her feet but recollects herself. She’s carrying a small bouquet of what seem like lavender coloured roses. I didn’t even know we grow those. The flowers don’t look that nice during the night I’ll admit that. But I know Jin hyung wanted multi coloured flowers, and I know there was a Boquete of blue roses placed on this very kitchen island some time ago.

I watch as the girl jumps exaggeratingly childish and cheerful onto the concrete ground of the mansions floor and short patio. Her bare feet make barely any noise, as she approaches.

‘’Oh, hey what are you doing up still?’’ she asks squinting but due to the contrast she must be experiencing. I’m surprise she spotted me outside. She kinda looks that sort of an adorable-ugly.

‘’You do know that we don’t sleep right?’’ I ask hesitant not sure if she knows this fact. I stare at her, ready to bolt to her aid as she stumbles again once she steps inside closing her eyes and taking 2 steps blindly ahead.

‘’I know that, I meant as in up now. Everyone is usually closed off at this time.’’ she’s quick to explain opening her eyes carefully, looking around still squinting the ugliness still there.

‘’I should be asking you why are you up instead. Aren’t you usually dead asleep by this time?’’ I turn the conversation around, watching as she reaches the counter and places the roses on it, turning back to the doors. I snort to myself at her choice of clothing being a white shirt with jean overalls that hang slightly lose on her.

‘’To be honest I drank one energy drink or two too much, so I’m wide awake.’’ She replies turning to look at me, expression relaxing into a normal one, eyes still blinking quickly a few more times glossiness present in them ‘’Do you mind the doors?’’ the question has my brows rising in question ‘’Is the light bothering you? I can close them, if it is.’’

Surprised I contemplate for a moment, preferring that she does close the door off but there’s something more to her unusual question ‘’I’m fine with them as they are.’’ I lie and sit myself on the second bar stool from the right corner of the kitchen island, making sure I’m keeping a safe distance from the pesky sun.

‘’Oh good.’’ she sighs in relief perking up ‘’To be honest I didn’t even know how much I’ve missed the sun.’’ the short explanation is happy as she practically skips over to the doors anyways.

‘’Hm I bet you do.’’ I mumble reaching out for one rose, seeing with the corner of my eye as she slips into a pair of slippers that she has left near the wall which I didn’t even notice were there.

‘’Do you?’’ looking up she doesn’t seem like she means anything ill with the question. I think she’s naïve enough to be genuinely curious.

I take a moment to think about it looking out at the brightness, while she goes to rummage around the cabinets ‘’I’m not sure.’’ I admit ‘’I miss sightseeing certain places in day-light. It’s just easier going at night, instead of putting a ton of cream to my skin, and having an umbrella along.’’ I ramble remembering the time when I visited Paris alone. I put a ton of sun cream on, and picked out a designer umbrella, but the curious looks and people randomly asking me to take pictures with them as they thought I was a model or something got tiresome really fast.

‘’Hmm, that would guarantee unwanted attention I’m sure.’’ Her comment has me turning to her again curious as it’s like she read right through my thoughts. She’s filling out a vase or just a tall ornate glass up with water, face portraying her concentration with the matter.

‘’So, whenever you aren’t hanging out with vampires are you usually acting as a regular human being then?’’ I ask interested in her answer and maybe to learn more about her. Even though hyungs have quickly grown to thrust her, I still have my reservations. She talks a lot like A LOT but she never really reveals to much exclusively about herself.

I get a snort in reply eyes meeting my own briefly with a slight glare and edge before she turns to the vase and flowers ‘’It differentiates.’’ She starts ‘’I used to have a job high up somewhat, so yeah, I’ve spent the last couple of years just working. Working, sleeping and eating.’’ I’m taken a back at the new information not having expected her to reply seriously ‘’Had to be on point and available 24/7. You know how greedy humans can get.’’ She sighs tiredly. I can’t argue with that statement so I simply offer a faint nod, watching as her fingers work delicately over the flower petals, rearranging them around neatly. She accepts the flower I was toying with, with a small smile ‘’So one day when I was going to a library to do some research for a project I was doing, I stumbled upon a revelation and just decided to quit.’’

Taking a step back she cheers up instantly ‘’Ta-da.’’ I observe her mirthfulness observing her as she steps over to the sink, letting the water on as she runs her hands under it ‘’So with that done, and wanting to avoid confrontation as any normal human being…’’ I roll my eyes at that knowing what lengths humans are willing to take to avoid confrontations ‘’…I hoped on a plane and, after 5 hours from landing I walked right through your front door.’’ She ends her explanation, whipping her hands with a kitchen cloth.

‘’Just like that huh? No attachments nothing?’’ she nods immediately as I tilt my head shifting after to rest it over my bent left arm ‘’Aren’t you humans known for unnecessarily attachments to people and objects?’’

She chuckles at my statement nodding and smirking amused, hands set in motion as she stirs the gooey substance in the small pot. Smells like chocolate but the melted kind ��’You’re right about that for the most part and people. But I’ve been sort of a nomad my whole life. Never stayed in one place for too long.’’ She shrugs spreading the substance all over the pastry working meticulously and evening it all out ‘’Didn’t find a reason to settle down.’’

‘’Why thought? Did your parents move a lot so that’s why you can’t find a place you genuinely like?’’ having studied a bit of psychology I pick up on her not fully revealed and rounded answer. She’s generalizing herself a lot. Her movements don’t stop or pause in hesitation at my question.

‘’The second part is more correct in a sense. My parents eh they were what they were.’’ Again, she shrugs, placing the two bananas on the edge of the pastry ‘’I moved a lot with my partner actually. We went on adventures and whatnot, ready to marry and all that jazz.’’ I raise both eyebrows feeling perplexed not having expecting that from the likes of her. That sounds a lot harsher than I intended it to but…I would have never expected her to want to marry, or well be serious about it.

For some reason I can’t imagine her being paired up with any regular man or woman, specially not human for some reason. It feels wrong, feels like nobody ordinary like that can handle her.

‘’Tragedy?’’ I ask assuming the progression of her story.

‘’Yep!’’ she replies too cheerfully for the theme of the conversation, popping the ‘p’ childishly ‘’Wasn’t meant to be.’’ She offers a smile as she looks at me, not looking that particular sad. It must have taken her a long time to get over it thought, because her eyes aren’t matching the mask that she has put on. I can heart the almost pitter patter of her slightly speed up heart. And the shakiness to her hands isn’t missed.

‘’Most things aren’t.’’ I agree remembering my own human experience. I was meant to marry a girl from my village. Being a fisherman, third generation I was meant to uphold the family tradition, and have managed to snob the prettiest girl. But yeah. Not everything is destined to happen as you expect them to. Although looking back I know Na-yeon was wrong for me in all aspect. Even back then with my human set mind and precepting I was mostly doing it as it was expected of me, and not because I genuinely wanted it ‘’Also what are you even doing?’’ I find myself frowning as she starts to roll the whole thing together, bananas disappearing inside the roll.

She doesn’t even respond for a moment, and has stopped breathing. I’m about to stand up and help her out force her to breathe when she straightens up grinning widely again that triumphant expression I’ve seen before present.

‘’A HA!!!!’’ she cheers removing her hands away carefully looking extremely proud at the brown coloured roll that’s left on the tray ‘’I present to you, a perfectly made chocolate banana pudding roll!!’’ she presents’ hands pointing at it dramatically.

I glance at the severely unimpressed desert ‘’Judging by that crack right there, it isn’t as perfect as you claim it to be actually.’’

‘’What no!’’ she rushes leaning over it, bumping her hips into the stone counter. Curses raise, sounding way to rough for the image of a soft girl that she’s unintentionally portraying as of today. She preoccupies herself with inspecting the roll ending up frowning as she straightens up hands placed on the counter while she glares at the desert as if it has offended her.

‘’If it’s any consolation if I were still human, I’d eat it.’’ my words have her shoulders softening up as she shifts and eyes it some more. Her lower lips juts out slightly mouth forming into this sort of adorable hurt puppy pout.

But it only lasts a few seconds, lips quick to turn upwards onto a thankful smile ‘’Thanks.’’ Once her eyes meet my own, I get this odd warm sensation in my chest, seeing her brighten up thanks to my words and encouragement.

‘’Your welcome.’’

*A few days later, later*

‘’I don’t understand why I have to be the one to check on her.’’

A pause ‘’Probably because you’re the only one to dislike her the most. And the most probable to not make any advances.’’ At this I immediately fake throwing up, Taehyung chuckles following as on que ‘’See?’’ he points out smirking ‘’Namjoon hyung got almost punched when he accidentally told a pick-up line yesterday. She didn’t even register it, but Yoongi hyung just went off on him. Poor Namjoonie.’’ He tuts shaking his head finding hyungs predicament funny judging by the smirk he has on.

‘’As perceptive as she is, she can be so annoyingly dull.’’ I half snarl exasperated groaning to myself.

‘’That’s mean Jeonggukie.’’ He raises a complaint ‘’Don’t be so cocky. There’s always more than meets the eye. Even in regards of humans.’’

‘’Yeah, we’ve all seen that but…’’ looking at Taehyung that’s still walking besides me, arm brushing against my own mischievously now and then – he’s giving me this fond look as his eyes take me in. We start to slow our steps down, as we’ve reached the doors that led to the library.

‘’But?’’ he insists as I shrug stuffing my hands into the front pockets of the oversize black hoodie I have on.

‘’I just don’t like her.’’ I mumble, glancing towards the door lowering my tone.

‘’Yeah why is that?’’ glancing up I’m surprised at the way he narrows his eyes, and gets sort of serious, licking his lips quickly.

It’s easy to let the frustration rise up again, get a hold of me around my throat choking me up for a moment as I have to think what to tell him exactly. He’s smarter than he looks, always two steps in front of you, catching Yoongi and Jin hyung of guard even though the two of them have practically seen it all in all the years they’ve been alive. This isn’t said in vain when others warn against Taehyung. He’s as cunning as he is stunning.

‘’It’s the way she is! She just gets on my nerves you know.’’ I try lamely frowning gaze going to the doors ‘’The way she breathes is exaggerated, the way she talks, her voice is way to scratchy and of pitched, the lack of manners towards hyungs ugh…’’ If I was human, I’d shudder from anger but I simply close my eyes in frustration that part of her still irking me greatly ‘’…and the way she keeps on wearing hyungs clothes, and not sleeping enough. Does she even eat enough? What is that all about.’’

I end up glaring at Taehyung who nods once holding his serious demander but soon after ends up smirking widely eyes sparkling almost. He arches an eyebrow clearly having thought of something ‘’There’s also the fact that she almost beat your score in Overwatch.’’

‘’THAT TOO!!’’ I half exclaim throwing my hands in the air, then proceed to step up and don for a moment ‘’With my reflexes how is that possible?!’’ Taehyung just keeps nodding in understanding ‘’She’s a child that’s what she is! Doesn’t reach any level where we are, mentally and maturely.’’

‘’Pfff says the late bloomer himself.’’ I stop moving around and give hyung a challenging glare.

‘’I wasn’t that late. Just had extra on my plate in regards of my abilities.’’ I pout going into a similar pose as the beginning just standing closer to the doors.

‘’Aigo, Aigo, Golden maknae.’’ He tuts affectionately walking closer hand coming up to place it over my shoulder as he leans close to me ‘’You’ve got a fair point there yes, but don’t you think that we’ve had to accept you too in the beginning? That there weren’t any let’s say fractions of hesitance’s from our parts?’’

At this my nose scrunches up as I know it’s true, about their reservations when it came to me. My telepathy came at a disadvantage in the beginning, strength easily frightening even Hoseok hyung who is considered to be the best fighter in our clan.

‘’That’s it Jeonggukie. I see how your clogs are starting to turn. Do you see my point?’’

‘’She’s human hyung. There’s a difference.’’ At this he waves his hand straightening up.

‘’Meaning it’s in your favour if you really despise her that much. She’ll die judging by her bad lifestyle choices in a decade or two. Maybe three.’’ He shrugs attitude way to uncaring unlike our conversation a few days ago where he praised her and defended her loudly against Jimin who was upset at her yet another refusal. So, the switch has me second guessing him, and myself as…I didn’t even think about her dying.

It causes that boulder that hasn’t left my stomach to churn and twist, burning even at the thought of imagining seeing her lifeless body.

I don’t even notice that we’ve fallen silent until hyung speaks up again ‘’Anyways I’m gonna go find Jin hyung and maybe convince him to go to the city with me. I need new pair of shoes and a new collection is rumoured to be just on the verge of launching.’’ He wiggles his eyebrows patting my shoulder for a moment in consolation before he’s backing away, right hand stuck in the pocket of his pants whilst he gives me a finger gun with his left-hand winking a cold breeze of air whooshing past me, his eyes for a brief second turning icy blue ‘’Good luck, Bunny. And be nice to our human. They are fragile creatures after all.’’

I tilt my head in confusion staring at him ready to ask what he means by that but he disappears in a blink of an eye taking off leaving me alone. Even though I don’t exactly need air to breathe I do take it in and sigh, recollecting the confusion that are my emotions and have been for the past few days. Spinning on my heel I glance towards the double doors which are decorated with golden motifs, having been painted into white the wood barely peeking through unlike the inner side that displaying the many years the tree had before it was chopped down.

Pressing onto the handle of the left door I silently without making any sounds enter the big room from another perspective, the other entrance being in the ballroom whilst this one leads inside from a corridor that connects to the music room in the back of this huge house.

Nothing seems out of the usual as I take a look at the ground floor. Nothing moves either. I can hear her speed up heart and breathing, murmurs now and then cutting of the serenity. I walk over to the table that has been left since the “party” we’ve had. The name plates have been removed from its surface but it has been filled up by different books, and scrolls even. I glance over the few notebooks and stray papers here and there easily recognising Namjoon’s handwriting as well as Yoongi hyungs. The cracked screen of the iPad is mocking me as it lays unsafely on one corner of the table.

What has my immediate attention is a different looking notebook. I smirk in amusement as this handwriting is as of a child, words scribbled down in a fast pace, letters somewhere half formed or just distorted, even smudged. There’s an ink stain from a hand near the edge of the page, which I brush my own fingers over it. I can’t read through the text as it’s written in another language, and the choice of letters themselves are unusual. I don’t think I can even pronounce any word.

I’m not really here to offer my academic assistance as I barely speak any English myself, but it’s kind of nice to see that her character is clearly portrayed in the way she writes, and how she fills the page up irregularly. She’s as chaotic in real life and on paper.

Musing for a moment further spotting glasses and bottles of water on the other end of the lengthy table, I do glance upwards towards the second floor, hearing as a pen or something small as a pen clatters hitting the ground. By the lack of movement, I already figured she was asleep.

Silly human. Her life style is really un-well and extremely badly planned. Stepping around the table my intention on getting the girl and carrying her to her bedroom, gets postponed as my eyes shift onto a book, that for whatever reason has my feet stopping.

The gold of the cover is unusual between the rest of the books with used and dried up leather and yellowed pages. I pick it up, buried in between a stack of smaller scrolls and encyclopaedias actually. I frown at the title; it’s about mythology. Every kind actually.

What’s the most puzzling is that it’s written by hand. And the handwritings differentiate. Multiple people worked on this, and judging by the smell of the ink and paper things have been added or pulled out. Pictures are drawn here and there, and languages vary from all around the world from what I can judge by some symbols and added explanations in English.

There’s a myth about Thor, expanding at least 20 pages. Another myth about Pele a Hawaiian goddess covers well over 30 pages with many illustrations, and instructions from what I can assume for tattoos.

Shifting around I do recognize myths from the hand drawn images instead of their native titles. Nearing almost the end of the book, as I sniff at the pages and feeling like a complete idiot for a moment, I have to sit down as these are completely new pages added to this. Taking a look across the table, I find the A4 format pages placed near the corner just ahead of me, along with an old type-y looking pen with ink next to it.

Turning a page, I recognise the writing as being Jin hyungs which completely catches me of guard. Is this what they have been working on? Writing about myths?!

Don’t we have a coven war brewing?

Shuffling through the many written pages coming to the last one, I stare blankly for a moment the myth about Dangun which I know as it’s of Korean mythology. And as appropriate it is written in Korean.

What am I missing here? Why have they been working on this?! Why did other people work on this?! I pull the pages going slowly backwards, seeing stories actually unfolding. It’s not hard to connect the dots after a few pages, that these are from Yoongi hyung. But these are dating WAYYYY back in the millennia it feels like when hyung was as young as we are now it seems. But he was more mature definitely.

I frown at a half empty page where a sketch has been drawn into a half finished only the golden frame being finished. The sketch though - I can tell that linear lines are spears and, some even arrows that are sticking from what seems to be a pile of bodies on the floor? Only one figure is standing in the centre of the picture, with their back towards us armour robust and yet slim in a sense. I narrow my eyes at the handle of the soldier – the pommel is shaped like a pouncing lion.

Battle of Hwangsanbeol

That’s the title. I know about it from what hyung told me, but this is written much more in detail. The main explanation is from what humans are being told in schools, I remember it from college when I studied mechanics years ago. But the new ink underneath and Yoongi hyungs writing, is an indicator that this is where his story begins.

He didn’t take sides in particular, changing armours as he shifted from a Silla’s soldier into a soldier of the Tang army. The similarity is there with added commentary to make you know more about how life was then. What gets my attention is the comradery between hyung and another fellow that name is very generalized. They’ve struck a friendship and have covered for one another in battle, which had him switching sides and to remain with the Silla side out of curiosity and maybe even naivety he describes it. He didn’t have as much experience then as he does now to have judged everything smartly enough, even though the odds were clearly in Silla’s favour.

The praise towards the human soldier is tremendous, giving him full credit of saving his life more than once. And even though he was a turned by that point into an immortal, the praise has even me feeling grateful towards the man.

He did raise up in ranks, but he never left Yoongi behind. During the main battle after the slaughter, he describes his fellow soldier as being remorseful, as they stared across the field of many fallen soldiers and warriors and manslaughter that stretched miles away it had seemed at the time. It was brutal but necessary – I forget that hyung is from a completely different timeline sometimes. It’s easy to mistake him, and others for younger vampires.

The solider…tilting my head I spot a few notes written lightly over hyungs hand-writing. My frown deepens as the anger I felt before towards her starts to simmer - it’s not hard to see that this is Y/N’s handwriting. Her comments are absolutely ridiculous, playing hyung’s praise off – she’s dismissing it. How dare she? What does she know about wars, she was born in peaceful times, I bet to a good family! She hasn’t never experienced the horrors of wars, the stench, the travesty the fear the…

‘’No!’’ a shout has me glancing up stiffly. I notice how my fingers have curled into fists and how tight my jaw has locked together from anger ‘’…don’t…’’ she breathes out her heart beat now hammering. Confused I glance upwards thinking that she’s playing a joke on me. I’m ready to fucking snap at her – if she really is pulling a joke on me right now, I’m going to kick her out of the house myself.

‘’Ah no…’’ her words shift a cry following. What? Standing up I wait for amount further listening to her speed up breathing that’s sounds like hysteria ‘’NOOOO DON’T TAKE HIM NOOO!!!!!!’’ her cry is of terror and panic. It absolutely shocks me to my core but has me moving upwards, reaching the second floor and top of stairs in a second ‘’NO HE’S MY SOU…’’ she continues to shout switching to another language panic rising.

I’m completely disoriented by the mess that I find on the upper floor, books pulled and settled in piles on the ground, as posters of maps hang up over the book’s shelves. The 2 floor is sort of a balcony going half around the room above both entrances. After legit 2 spins around myself, I pick up on a mattress actually located in the very corner of the library. There’s a sheet stuck to the bent down ceiling, and a ton of blankets are thrown around the mattress.

I can see her finally, leg sticking up shoulder peeking over as she shifts onto her side ‘’Agápi mou, agápi mouuuuu…’’

‘’Shhhhh Y/N-ah.’’ I whisper as I run to her side, kneeling right next to her, my hands coming in contact with her overheated skin. She’s drenched in sweat, and twitching like crazy as if she’s fighting someone ‘’Wake up Y/N-ah it’s just a dream it’s not real, it’s not real!’’

‘’No…don’t go…’’ I pull her body into my lap without a second thought. As I brush her hair away from her face she flinches away probably because of my cooler hand. She’s overheating. What catches me of guard and has me whining is the tears that are running down her cheeks.

‘’Y/N-ah wake up, please wake up! It’s not real okay, it’s just a nightmare! You’re here with me in the library safe and sound! Come on you silly human wake up.’’ I urge her on rambling shaking her gently. She startles awake, eyes flying open hands in fists ready to fight. I half expect her to punch me but once her eyes find mine, she ends up smiling tiredly body immediately going lax in my hold.

‘’My love.’’ She says in Korean right hand reaching up, left palm pressed flat against my chest where my heart is.

‘’Don’t fall back asleep.’’ I try as her eyes fall close back again, her breathing having stabilized somewhat ‘’The one time I legit want to hang out with you, you suddenly want to sleep ah? The disrespect.’’ I laugh worried as I take her in. The bags under her eyes are prominent, and her cheeks which looks sort of more sunken aren’t reassuring me with her wellbeing at all.

I stare as her eyes blink open, taking me in clearly her hand that’s resting over my chest raises up shakily to cup my other cheek.

The blissful expression that settled before turns into a frown and a pout, as her eyes take my features in the change in mood confusing me with what to do. I readjust my hold gently, holding her steadily in my arms, making sure I’m not pressing to much of my skin against hers. I’ve heard from others that humans don’t like our colder skin in particular.

‘’Jeongguk-ah.’’ She states to which I offer a smile immediately as she seems to be coming back from wherever her mind took her.

‘’Yep. That’s my name.’’ I reply feeling her body tense up but not prominently. She’s waking up slowly at her own pace. She hums suddenly and pulls her hands back. I have to stop myself from wanting to tell her that it’s fine if she wants to touch me. That only conflicts my emotions all the more.

‘’Sorry am…was I making too much noise?’’ she asks gathering her thoughts, eyes darting around getting clearer as she notices the odd position we’ve fallen into.

‘’No, not at all.’’ I says wanting to immediately start reassuring her that everything is fine and she didn’t do anything wrong, but I have a hunch she’s not going to believe me either way ‘’Hyung wanted to see where you were exactly, and I was bored so. Two birds in one stone.’’

I help her up, as she starts to shift wanting to sit on her own. Silence begins after my brief explanation and after I’ve helped her sit back down onto the mattress. Without her permission I grab for a warm looking blanket and pull it over her shoulders, sitting down properly right next to her having this need to be as close as possible. Maybe I should offer a hug? Please say yes.

‘’What time is it even?’’ comes her question before I can ask her my own. She starts sifting more towards me, in the beginning of her sudden restlessness keeping the blanket around herself as she reaches with both hands upwards to rub her fingers across her eyes.

‘’Around 10AM.’’ I reply glancing towards the curtains, that are letting through sunlight from outside across the polished wooden floors only ‘’I think Jin hyung missed you at breakfast today.’’ I offer a smile while she pulls her hands away, running one through her messy hair quickly. She’s hunched forward into what seems like an awkward position – her gaze still seems far off like she’s not fully present yet.

‘’Oh yeah breakfast.’’ She mumbles glancing to the end of the mattress, to which I notice more pages and a silver notebook that has slid from the edge of the makeshift bed the papers all sprawled on the ground clearly by accident ‘’I didn’t mean to sleep.’’ She starts clearly her brain slowly starting up as she looks at me finally absently scratching the back of her head ‘’My back started to hurt, so I figured I should lay down or lean against the wall.’’ Ah so that’s why there are so many blankets piled up against the wall behind us.

‘’You should think more about getting proper sleep.’’ I comment ‘’I’m sure as great as this place is and cosy, I bet a proper bed would feel a lot nicer.’’

My heart and stomach flutter as she breaks into a small smile looking back to me amused ‘’Heard that before.’’

I shake my head immediately ‘’Uh huh. And if you’d listen, I think that would magically stop too.’’

She chuckles at my words, the gesture filling me with sort of pride that I actually made her smile and laugh. Oddly I want to comfort her properly. I want to make sure that she’s alright. Seeing her so distressed it…I can’t help but to still feel a bit freaked out myself. Her state is worrisome. Traces of her tears are still present over her puffy cheeks.

‘’So...’’ I start awkwardly ‘’Are you okay?’’

At this she looks away smile disappearing slowly ‘’I’m fine.’’ Another smile raises over her slightly dry lips this one clearly forced. She’s putting up a front – I just want to help her.

‘’You…’’

‘’I’m fine!’’ she’s quick to add not even looking at me swiftly pushing herself away, crawling over to the fallen notes, hands prompt with gathering her things ‘’Its fine. Totally fine.’’ She repeats it like a mantra, almost doubling over when she attempts to stand up ‘’I got it!’’ after the exclamation she’s up on her feet, proudly smiling goofiness making an appearance ‘’Totally A okay!!!’’

Frowning I’m quick to stand up following as she starts walking forward, feet slipping into her slippers before descending down the steps.

‘’You sure are saying that a lot for someone that just woke up screaming.’’ I don’t hold myself back this time. Even though I can’t see her face as she’s slowly descending down, the spring in her step isn’t present as much. She always walks with a bounce to her.

‘’This is the first time, it happened.’’ She huffs walking straight over to the table once her feet reach the ground. I grimace at her blatant lie, having heard her before in similar states that make much more sense now. But it’s always Yoongi that’s was at her side, specially whenever she went to sleep. It is different completely different to hear her from across the house, than from seeing her up close. It gives new meaning to her as a person.

‘’Yes, but it’s the first time that I’ve seen you sleep and wake up like that.’’ I point out as she places her notes on the desk, probably noticing the opened book I’ve left behind in my haste. Her head remains turned towards it, eyes going over the opened page ‘’You have nightmares every time you sleep, don’t you?’’

Taking the last two steps my feet touch the ground floor. I wait for her response as I make my way over to her left side, standing near her but putting enough distance to give her personal space. She flips the golden book to a close, placing a random one atop of it, shoulders shrugging in the meantime. Is she trying to hide it away from me? Or herself?

‘’A lot of people have nightmares, Jeongguk-ssi.’’ The serious look she gives me, irks me in a bad way. And not as in before where I felt agitated selfishly thinking of myself, but in a way that she’s treating me distantly - like I’ve been treating her more or less. The honorific is just the cheery on top. I think the phrase ‘give him some of his own medicine’ is appropriate to point out right now.

‘’Not like that.’’

She keeps staring at me upholding the glare she settles on. It’s so different from what I’ve seen her be and act around others. For the first time, I feel like I see another side of her which she clearly doesn’t like to reveal to anyone. Or anyone that’s not hyung. It’s starting to really bother me. Of course, I don’t really want her hurting or in pain, what just had occurred is something I’m ever going forget, but I’m sort of glad that I was here to snap her out of whatever nightmare she was in. I wouldn’t wish that upon anyone. She looked completely heartbroken, and lost.

Seeing that she has taken up a stubborn approach, it’s hard to miss the way her body trembles. Wearing a pair of grey sweatpants, and a simple t-shirt the difference in temperature has her obviously chilly maybe even cold.

Given that she doesn’t intend to lose whatever staring contest we have going on, I end up breaking it and reach for the end of my hoodie, tugging it over my head smoothly ‘’Here.’’ I say offering. She doesn’t reveal how surprised she is on the outside – only her heart jumping slightly does – but she does raise an eyebrow in question ‘’You look cold and neither of us need hyung to scold us if you’ll catch the flue.’’ If I was a human, I know my cheeks would be bright red as my reasoning is clearly lame.

She accepts the hoodie with a quiet ‘thank you’ and tugs in on quickly ‘’Okay so, where was I? You can help me move some stuff and get books I need…’’ I’m pleasantly surprised that she’s quick to fall into her work after what just happened. I do keep myself quiet as this is clearly a distraction. But the smile that raises over my lips I cannot stop. Even with her back turned towards me, she looks good in my clothes. My hoodie suits her. And I’m sure my scent will mix better with hers than hyung’s.

Part 1 / Part 2 / Part 3

Dictionary: Dangun - was the legendary founder and god-king of Gojoseon, the first Korean kingdom Gaya also rendered Kaya or Karak - is the presumed language of the Gaya confederacy in southern Korea Geom - is the generic term for "sword", but more specifically also refers to a shorter straight-blade, double-edged sword with a somewhat blunted tip Lavender roses - is often a sign of enchantment and love at first sight. Those who have been enraptured by feelings of love and adoration have used lavender roses to express their romantic feelings and intentions. Agápi mou /Greek/ - My love

#jeon jungkook x reader #bts vampire au #BTS jungkook #jungkook x reader #bts vampire #bts jungguk #bts jeon jungkook #jeongguk x reader #bts romance #bts jeon jeongguk #yoongi vampire #bts fanfic #bts fanfction #bts fluff

49 notes · View notes

hedwigstalons · 4 years

Text

High Expectations - Ch9

This was meant to be just a quick bit of practice at freehand drawing so I could work on doing neat straight lines and circles. Then I found my old glass paints that have been in a box for...8 years (?) and suddenly I now have a WASP suncatcher. I’m a bit wobbly with the relief edging, probably not helped in that the tubes had gone a bit firm and funky, but I’m predicting more sun catchers and maybe a few candle holders will appear soon.

Many thanks are due to @willow-salix who has provided much hand holding and head pats.

Earlier parts: One, Two, Three, Four, Five, Six, Seven, Eight

AO3 chapter link

Chapter Nine

Gordon fell into line amongst the other hopefuls. For the next few days he wasn’t Gordon Tracy, Olympian and heir to one of the largest fortunes in America, he was Number 14 and the anonymity suited him just fine. The elastic armband around his bicep was the sole identifier to distinguish him from the other candidates as the assessors marked down their observations. Only the course leader had the information that linked names to numbers; each stage of selection was kept separate to avoid bias.

“Atten...shun!”

The command was barked out by the officer placed in charge of his group and Gordon found himself jumping to the alert and snapping his feet together automatically. Evidently something had remained buried deep in his memory from all the times watching Scott being taught drill by their father or practicing out in the yard in Kansas all those years ago. The rest of the group also snapped to attention with varying degrees of success.

“Group C, your first test is pool fitness. You have two minutes to fetch your swimming kit and fall back into line. Go!”

There was a mad scramble towards the door of their temporary accommodation as Gordon and the other potential recruits allocated to group C raced to retrieve their kit from their bunks. They had barely been on base for an hour but had already learnt that failure to meet a time limit or just being last to complete a task would result in being given punishment press ups. By the time they had reassembled groups A and B were nowhere to be seen, evidently separated off to undertake one of the other selection tests.

As they marched across the base to the pool Gordon couldn’t help but feel slightly pleased that his group was getting to swim first. This was his natural environment and he justifiably had every confidence in his own abilities. It would also give him a good chance to stretch out his muscles after sitting around in the airport and then being cramped in an airline seat; domestic flights were always taken in coach class for a Tracy son travelling solo.

Once within the pool building more orders were barked giving a time limit to get changed. Gordon quickly found a space on the bench and started stripping. Some of the other recruits seemed a little uncomfortable about changing in the communal space but Gordon figured that privacy would often be hard to come by within the submarine service and now was not the time to be worried about modesty. After years of completing the action several times a week he could be in his kit almost as quickly as he could swim 200m and he was one of the first ready.

He snapped on his sunshine yellow swimming cap drawing a few strange looks but Gordon shrugged them off; so what if only a couple of candidates in his group were wearing them? To Gordon the cap was just a standard part of his kit, however he was glad he had decided to leave his Team USA branded items at home and opt for his plain training set; there was no need to draw more attention to himself than was strictly necessary.

Out on the poolside the elastic armbands were replaced by numbered stickers slapped on shoulder and thigh. From the way the sticker pulled tightly at the skin Gordon just knew that ripping it off later would be a painful experience. Once numbers had been applied everyone lined up expectantly, awaiting further orders.

“Right, I want two circuits of the pool as warm up. No cutting the corners. No touching the wall. Do you understand?”

“Yes Sir!” the chorus of voices responded in unison.

“Into the water, in number order. Go!”

One by one the men allocated to group C were counted into the water to complete their circuits around the perimeter of the pool. The pace was frustratingly slow for the Olympian whose number placed him towards the rear of the pack and it took a lot of self control not to stretch out and overtake those ahead of him.

The slow pace allowed Gordon plenty of opportunity to look around the facility. WASP evidently invested in its sporting areas for the pool itself was up to Olympic standards even if the viewing and changing areas were a little more basic than Gordon had encountered at some of his competitions. If he was given the opportunity to continue his swimming training, and it wasn’t unheard of to encounter military participants released for competitions, he would have no complaints about the standard of the Marineville pool. Unfortunately his appraisal of the facilities nearly earned him a kick in the face, he hadn’t realised how close he had got to the swimmer in front and had to drop his pace yet again to maintain some distance. For him the actual tests and the chance to stretch out his limbs couldn’t come soon enough.

With warm-up over the first eight swimmers were allocated their lanes. Gordon watched the action even more closely than the assessors, critiquing the style of others was all part of his ingrained training and he winced at some of the sloppy dives and mangled turns. Still, the tests were about meeting a minimum standard rather than being competition ready.

Soon enough it was time for swimmers 9 through to 16 to claim a lane. It didn’t escape Gordon’s notice that his number placed him in lane six and the coincidence struck him as lucky. If you had asked him just a few months ago what his favourite lane was he would have promptly answered four but after his Olympic success he has developed a soft spot for his current position, after all it had been good enough to earn him gold and a world record. He adjusted his goggles and wiggled his toes on the edge of the pool, he would have preferred to use a starting block but he could adapt.

The sound of the whistle had him launching into the water in a clean dive. There had been no stipulations on the stroke to be used and Gordon automatically found himself using his preferred butterfly, unaware of the raised eyebrows this was causing among the onlookers; his rejection of freestyle making him stick out almost as much as the yellow hat. That and the fact that he left the other candidates in his wake. He shot through the water, powerful muscles propelling him towards the finish at a rate that far exceeded expectations.

Less than 2 minutes later and Gordon had completed his fourth lap and finished the test. He had taken it easy, or at least he thought he had until he turned and realised the next nearest swimmer was almost a full lap behind him. He returned bemused stares with a shrug and a smile before placing his hands on the poolside and launching himself out to sit on the edge and wait for the others to finish.

The remainder of the pool tests passed in much the same fashion with Gordon easily outstripping his cohort. He could swim faster, dive further and hold his breath for longer than any of the others. His techniques were sharp and in the water he moved with a strength and grace that were enviable. Even skills like casualty towing, which wasn’t part of his usual repertoire, came naturally to him and he aced the tests with ease. The assessors scribbled some hurried notes on their pads; when it came to the water based activities at least candidate 14 was marking himself out as someone to watch.

xoxoxox

The first day drew to a close and Gordon was thankful when his group were released to the freedom of their dormitory. The pool session had been swiftly followed by a run then a drill lesson in one of the large parade squares dotted around the base. His muscles were weary and clearly grumbling at the lack of deep stretching after his swim but he was in a better shape than many in the room. WASP only accepted the very best to join its ranks and the selection tests were designed to weed out those not up to standard. Already three beds in his room were empty after their allocated occupants had withdrawn, either having had a change of heart or to avoid the shame of being rejected at the end of the course having already failed too many of the test elements.

Tempting as it was to just flop down onto his bunk Gordon knew from painful experience that he would regret it the following day. He settled himself on an empty patch of floor and started running through some yoga poses to try and work out the tension in his back and legs. Just because the instructors hadn’t given them much opportunity to stretch didn’t give him the excuse to neglect his body. It also gave him something productive to do while waiting for his turn in the showers.

His activities drew some curious looks and half-sniggered comments from the others in the room but he zoned out and ignored them, instead focussing on his form until the showers came free. He didn’t have long to wait, two showers came free at the same time and both he and Number 13 grabbed their towels and headed through to the wash rooms.

He stripped down to his shorts and picked experimentally at the stickers left in place after the pool session, the glue was strong and part of him was tempted to leave them except the edges were just beginning to lift and annoy him. He gritted his teeth, pinched the loosest corner and ripped back sharply. He swiftly repeated the action on the second sticker then rubbed briskly at the angry red patches left on his skin.

“That looked painful. Not too sure I want to do that to myself”

He looked up, met the eyes of Number 13 and grinned.

“It’s just like pulling off a band-aid. Nothing to it.”

“Rather you than me. I think I'll try and get mine in the shower.”

They went their separate ways into the empty cubicles and Gordon turned the shower up high. The accommodation might be spartan but he was glad the water was hot and plentiful. The powerful drops blasted away the sweat and chlorine that had built up on his skin and he turned his face into the stinging stream. Much as he would have liked to stand there for longer he knew others were waiting their turn and it wouldn't be fair to hang around. The temptation was strong but he hadn’t been impressed by the amount of time some candidates had taken and it wasn’t fair to keep the last few waiting longer than they had to.

All too soon he was back in the chilly dorm room, hauling himself onto the bunk that had been marked out as his. Eight sets of bunk beds lined the room, with thirteen of the individual beds now filled. He wondered how many more gaps would appear as the selection course progressed. Murmurs of conversation broke out around the room as the participants made use of the first real chance they had to get to know each other since arriving. The instructors had kept them busy all afternoon and unnecessary chatter during the tasks had been swiftly quelled by punishment press ups, but now, with no instructors around, the candidates could speak more freely.

Gordon lay back and listened. It was the usual first-night whispers he remembered from some of his swim camps; name, city but unsurprisingly not their favourite distance and stroke. The introductions travelled around the room; it seemed Marineville saw applicants from the west coast right through to the central states. Gordon knew it would soon be his turn and he resolved to say as little as possible, he was enjoying being just another person in the crowd.

“So what about you 14?”

“Gordon, I'm from LA.”

If he thought he was going to be able to get away with the bare minimum he was sorely mistaken.

“So what were you doing before you decided to try out for WASP? You're built like a tank and you swim like a fish. You some personal trainer or something?”

“Me? Uh, I've just high finished school. I do swim competitively though.”

Thankfully the candidate doing the questioning latched on more to the school part than the swimming.

“Only just left school? You don't act like some kid, I thought you were at least 20, maybe 22.”

“Nope, only 17.”

“Jeez, that makes you the baby of the group. So what do your family think of you heading off to sea first chance you get?”

Thankfully Gordon was spared answering by a bellow from the doorway.

“This is a military base, not a holiday camp. If you lot have enough energy to gossip you obviously aren't working hard enough. Now if I hear another sound from this room I will have you outside running laps until you drop. Do you understand me?”

A chorus of “Yes, Sir!” rang out before the room descended into total silence.

Gordon rolled over, wondering what challenges tomorrow would bring.

xoxoxox

The second day of selection started with the sound of drums at daybreak. Sleepy heads were raised in confusion. Others who were quicker on the uptake, Gordon included, leapt from their beds and started throwing on clothes. He was glad he hadn’t skimped on the stretches the night before, some of his contemporaries were looking decidedly stiff after the exertions of the previous day.

The now familiar sound of shouting filled the room.

“Up! Up! Sports kit on and outside for PT before breakfast. Move!”

Gordon was no stranger to early morning training. As the first beats had sounded from the speakers in the corners of the room he had been on his feet, all shreds of sleep disappearing in an instant. It was an enviable skill and obviously not one possessed by all in the room. To the observing instructor in the doorway Number 14 shone through yet again as one of the stronger candidates.

There was no denying that WASP selection was a taxing experience. The group was whisked from one set of tests to another. If it wasn’t their bodies being tested it was their minds as they sat exam papers or explored leadership scenarios. By lunch time another member of his group had dropped out, and judging by the numbers sitting down to eat groups A and B were now similarly depleted. Even those that lasted the distance had no guarantee they would be accepted to wear the prestigious grey uniform; the standards might have an absolute minimum but it had been made clear that if more met the standard than was needed then only the very best would be made an offer.

While many were struggling Gordon was relishing the challenge. It was as though he had found his niche. Even the written tests, which he had approached with some trepidation, had been well within his comfort zone which helped his confidence soar. Theories and concepts which had seemed so abstract at school seemed to make more sense when applied to a real life scenario and for once in his life Gordon walked away from a classroom without feeling a failure.

After lunch group C were to take their turn on the obstacle course, a gruelling array of beams, walls and aerial wires that would require both strength and agility to navigate. To Gordon the course looked like a massive playground and he couldn’t help but grin at the prospect.

The instructors divided the group into smaller teams of four and Gordon’s team set off onto the course first at the sound of the whistle.

The group raced along, leaping over pits using rope swings and stepping along narrow beams as quickly as their balance allowed, each candidate aiming to be the first to reach and therefore clear each piece of equipment. It was every man for himself. That was until they were brought up short by a 10 foot wall. Number 6, who was keen to keep his early lead, took a running jump at the obstacle. His fingers caught the top edge but he was unable to keep a good enough grip to climb over and he soon fell back down again.

To Gordon the solution was obvious; it was quickly becoming apparent to him that this test was different to those that had gone before and if they were to have any hope of making it through successfully then teamwork would have to be the order of the day.

“Look, if any of us are to stand a chance of getting through this course we are going to have to work together.”

Number 6, after a second failed leap, was quick to agree. Numbers 3 and 10, arriving a moment later, could also see sense in the plan.

“Sure. So how are we going to tackle this one.”

Three sets of eyes turned to Gordon expectantly. Having been the one to voice the idea the others were evidently expecting him to come up with the solution. He thought for a moment then turned and planted his back against the wall, bending his knees to make a step.

“6, you’re tallest, you go first. Use me as a ladder to get up but stay on top of the wall, don’t drop down the other side. You can then help up 3 and 10. Once you’re all on top you can reach back down and haul me over. Got it?”

There were three nods of agreement.

Gordon braced himself as first his legs then his shoulders were used as steps. Once. Twice. A third time. His clothes became marked with muddy footprints but he didn’t care, the plan was working and he was soon being bodily lifted up and over the obstacle by the team he had helped up first.

Having made the decision to work together the group soon found themselves speeding through the course. Many obstacles, while able to be attempted solo, could be cleared much quicker with careful cooperation and support; Gordon had evidently read the situation correctly.

Despite being the youngest the others seemed happy to defer to him as their leader and Gordon found himself naturally assuming command of the team. He directed the group to make the best use of their combined talents. Before long the band of four found themselves at the far end of the course, just one final obstacle to navigate their way over then the run for home.

Using their now tried and tested method the team were soon atop the final wall despite it being the biggest yet. From here they could look back over the whole course, the other candidates and their assessors were indistinct figures in the distance.

“Wonder who that is come to visit? Probably from the World Navy. Best make sure we put on a good show, they might be important.”

From his lofty vantage point Gordon looked back towards the start point. Number 6 was right, someone new had joined the cluster of watching assessors, the dark blue of their uniform a stark contrast to WASP grey.

“No idea. Come on, let's finish this as a team.”

The group jumped down from the final obstacle and began the mad sprint back to the beginning of the course and their waiting assessors. As they closed the gap between themselves and the waiting officers, making sure no one was left behind, the mystery figure resolved itself into a familiar form for Gordon

Recognition led first to confusion and then to anger.

Scott.

#thunderbirds #thunderbirds fanfiction #my art #high expectations #Gordon Tracy #WASP #sun catchers #military selection

30 notes · View notes

lostinfic · 4 years

Note

Self Indulgent prompts, huh? I love anything with artist Rose so something with that theme. I'm not picky about the Doctor- like my current obsession is Eight/Rose, but I'm perpetually in love with Nine/Rose and Ten/Rose too so whichever Doctor you're most comfortable with.

The Museum of Serendipity

Doctor x Rose, Wilf, male OC (Original Cat)

Rated E | 2300 words

Sorry this took longer than anticipated, I got sidetracked by research and 8th Doctor audio adventures ;)

I’m fulfilling your self-indulgent prompts

Of all the wonderful, celebrated museums in London, Rose’s favourite was an anarchic collection housed in a crooked Georgian house in Marylebone.

From ground floor to attic, over four storeys, shelves and frames lined the walls of every room, following a seemingly incoherent design. Part cabinet of curiosity and part celebration of beauty in all its forms, the collection was curated by an anonymous— and eccentric, Rose liked to imagine— philanthropist.

Its name, the Museum of Serendipity, summed up how the collection was put together. Or perhaps it indicated how this museum could be found: by sheer good luck, as it was not advertised anywhere. Rose herself had stumbled upon it by accident last September, when looking for a shelter from the rain. Quite a happy accident, since her art teacher had asked them to visit a gallery for their first assignment of the semester (she’d earned extra points for originality).

Despite few visitors, it remained open from morning to evening. More often than not, the elderly greeter slept in his rocking chair by the door, leaving Basil the cat in charge.

Its location near Regent’s Park, made it a perfect destination for a drawing session. On a beautiful spring day like today, Rose would walk along the paths of the park and draw the flora and fauna in her sketchbook. Then make her way towards the museum. Other days, after a long time indoors, she would enjoy the park’s fresh air and time to reflect on the latest collection piece she’d discovered.

Since her childhood, art had been a way for Rose to travel, around the globe and across time, a way to see the world through other people’s eyes and to share her own vision. A way to exist beyond the Powell Estate. The Museum of Serendipity transported her like nothing else.

Although she enjoyed the morning sun, she didn’t linger in Regent’s Park, too eager to get there.

The elderly greeter was listening to the radio in his small front office.

“Hello, Wilf!”

He jumped to his feet with an energy that belied his years.

“Ah, Rose, luv. Alright? How’s school?”

“Got another assignment to complete for art history class. By the way, mid-term break is coming up, if you fancy a holiday, I could cover your shifts here for a few days.”

He would be doing her a favour more than the other way around.

“I’ll keep that in mind,” he said. “We got a new piece came in.”

New pieces were simply added to the exhibition wherever a space was available. As they walked to the drawing room, Rose tried to know more about the museum.

“Who brought this new piece?”

“John did, just this morning.”

“John?”

“Yeah, John McConnell , the mailman,” Wilf said. “Here it is.”

On the mantel lay an artifact shaped like a metal glove without fingertips. Or a pan flute.

“Looks like something from the future,” she joked.

“Modern art, then,” Wilf said.

He left her to look at it a while longer. The pattern that covered it, both engraved and raised all at once, looked like scales. Rose pulled her sketchbook out of her messenger bag and drew it. Texture study.

Basil, the museum’s Abyssinian cat, greeted her, rubbing himself against her legs. She petted his long ears and ruddy coat. She followed Basil out of the room, and wandered the now familiar corridors and staircases. Her hand trailed along the faded floral wallpaper and oak paneling. The smell of candle wax and pine wood polish always hung in the air.

There was one painting in particular Rose always came back to, in the third floor library, just above a loveseat that once belonged to Marie Antoinette. Ahead of her, Basil jumped on the loveseat and looked at her expectantly.

Rose pulled up a chair to sit down, the museum was almost a second home now, she had no qualms moving furniture around.

With a dreamy sigh, she let her eyes roam the large canvas. It depicted a dozen people in elegant Edwardian clothing, visiting an art exhibition. She was transported back in times, it seemed. Back to la Belle Époque. Late 19th- early 20th century, in France. Among women in high-necked waist shirts, carrying white lace parasols and men wearing mustaches and straw boating hats. The era of Moulin Rouge and absinthe, of the first movie, of bicycles and Marie Curie, just to name a few. The era of Gustav Klimt, Toulouse-Lautrec, Van Gogh and Renoir, the artists whose work Rose had first fallen in love with. The painting itself blended elements of Art Nouveau and Impressionism (as she’d described in her second assignment).

But there was one character in particular that commanded her attention again and again. There, in the upper left corner. The painter had done this trick which makes it look like the subject’s eyes are on you wherever you stand in the room. Though unnerved at first, Rose now tried to master this technique. Countless time she’d drawn his thick, curly brown hair, the soft contours of his jaw, his blue eyes, the creases that bracketed his mouth. And that smile, a Mona Lisa smile, the hardest trait to capture.

His clothes also offered many details to work on: the sheen of his satin cravat, the velvet of his jacket, the pattern of his waistcoat.

At first, she only tried to capture his likeness in various mediums, but over time she tried to sketch his profile, his back. She depicted that gentleman in various poses and actions. He had taken a life of his own. What was he doing there that day? What was his relationship with the painter? Why was he looking at her like that?

Basil meowed.

“Alright, don’t be jealous. I’ll draw you first, you beautiful boy.”

“Thanks, it’s a new jumper. Do you like the colour?” said a man with a northern accent.

Rose started. He was leaning against the door, looking at her, with the smallest hint of a smile.

He picked up Basil and sat down on the loveseat, laying the cat on his legs crossed at the knees. Rose held back a quip about the similar size of their ears.

“Well, go on, then,” he said, indicating her sketchbook with his chin.

“Hold on, are you the director of the museum? Or the curator?”

“No,” he said. “I don’t think so.”

At a loss for a reply, Rose simply got to work.

If Basil wasn’t running away, then surely this man posed no threat. Just a lost, slightly odd item, like everything else in the Museum of Serendipity. Including herself.

His face offered such striking features to draw, that bold nose, those sharp cheekbones. The cropped hair revealed the shape of his skull and the collar of his sweater, a beautiful neck. A face for charcoal, she thought, to capture the lights and darks of him, in loose, almost intangible strokes. Charcoal and dry pastels, she amended, she had to recreate the infinite blue of his eyes.

They chatted about everything big and small: cats, galaxies, her doubts about art school and his hopes for the future of humanity.

Time flowed differently when she was creating. In that moment more than ever. A sort of appeasing, melodic hum filled her mind, and everything, but her subject, faded away.

When she traced his eyes, she was surprised to find in them a spark, as if he knew her.

She looked up at him, and he smiled. “Hello,” he said.

Before she could think of a good way to phrase her question, he stood up and looked at the sketch over her shoulder. He gave an appreciative nod.

“We need someone to do a painting of the museum,” he announced. “Are you free to do it?”

“A painting? Are you taking the piss?”

“I’m serious. Great big canvas. Like this one.” He pointed to her favourite painting of la Belle Époque.

“I’ll need money to buy supplies,” she said, to test his good faith.

“Of course.”

He grabbed a tin box in a nearby bookcase; it was full of cash. He handed her the stack of pound notes without counting. Almost as if he was ignorant of their value. “Will this do?”

Rose nodded dumbly. She resolved right away to only spend a reasonable sum.

“I’ll come by next Wednesday afternoon,” she said.

“Perfect. See you, then, Rose Tyler.”

She spent the next few days in a state of disbelief. Her mind constantly replayed her encounter with the blue-eyed man. Several times, she opened her sketchbook to look at his portrait. The fondness it aroused in her took her breath away. She found herself doodling both him and the gentleman in the painting, over and over.

She bought a load of art supplies, but kept the receipt in a secure place in case she needed a refund.

On Wednesday, she arrived at the museum with a knot in her stomach. Wilf greeted her, as usual, but he was wearing a smart new uniform.

A moment later, the blue-eyed man skipped down the stairs, two at a time, and welcomed her with a bright smile. He introduced himself as the Doctor, just the Doctor, and Rose went along with it— after all, it wasn’t the weirdest thing about him.

He’d set up an easel and a canvas in the third floor library. She barely paid attention to his directives, she was distracted by the number of visitors in the museum, more than she had ever seen.

“Is this a prank show thing or what?” she asked.

“Why would it be a prank show?”

“I don’t know.”

“Well, you said it. Why a prank show?” he repeated.

“‘Cause to get that many actors and props, it’s got to be on telly.”

“That makes sense. Well done.”

“Thanks?”

“It’s not a tv show,” he said.

“But— why?”

“It’s the museum’s anniversary. We are interested in collecting unique pieces, and what’s more unique than Rose Tyler’s first commissioned artwork?”

“Maybe the last,” she mumbled.

“It won’t be,” he said, stating a fact rather than paying a compliment. “Coffee?”

The Doctor knew something she didn’t, and as irritating as it was, it incited her to stay and fulfill his request.

She laid a tarp on the floor below the easel, spread out her brushes and palette knives, picked the colours.

Basil, of course, wanted to be part of the painting. He lay down in the sunniest spot, on the window sill, looking ever so regal.

As she prepped the canvas, her brain ran ahead of her with ideas to best infuse her art with feelings this room evoked. Warm earth tones, old leather bound books, a thick Persian rug, but also glass cases to keep people away, artworks by undisclosed artists, mysteries all around. Inviting and distant all at once. Much like the Doctor.

She scanned the room for him. He stood in a corner of the library, surveying. As she traced his silhouette, she noticed the similarity, in his posture and smile, with the fascinating gentleman in the Belle Époque painting. She made a mental note to ask about that too.

Hours passed by, Wilf kept her comfortable with cups of tea, snacks, a stool, opening the window, closing the window.

Everyone had left. The sun had set. Only the Doctor and Basil remained in the room with her.

The artwork wasn’t finished, but it had everything she needed to continue another day. Yet, she didn’t leave. She didn’t want to. She stood there, wringing her paint-splattered hands waiting for something, anything, from the Doctor.

“I want to show you something,” he said. He took her hand and they both stood up on Marie Antoinette’s loveseat. “Look closely.”

Now inches from the Belle Époque painting, she saw it like she never had before. It shimmered and shifted. Like those 3D images you have to cross your eyes to see. She blinked. Looked closer. And drifted through the canvas.

Rose gripped the Doctor’s hand tighter. Behind them, there was no library, only a blue door. And in front of her, the painting had come to life. No— they weren’t in the painting, they were in Paris of the 1900s. Around her, people chatted in French, cigar smoke wafted to her nose, and through a window that wasn’t on the painting, she could see the brand new Eiffel tower.

The gentleman that had so fascinated her was there too. Thick hair, bright smile.

“Rose, we meet at last,” he said.

His voice sounded exactly like she’d imagined. She didn’t know until now that she’d imagined his voice.

“She’s all yours,” the Doctor said.

Rose didn’t let go of his hand.

“Don’t worry, I’ll be here to bring you back to your own timeline.”

He disappeared through the blue door.

The other man linked their arms together. A feeling of safety washed over her. He was a stranger and yet not at all. As if to reassure her further, an Abyssinian cat sauntered by.

“Is that Basil?” Rose asked.

“In a fashion. Cats have nine lives, as you know.”

“And you, Doctor, how many have you got?”

The Doctor smiled. “Ah, you figured it out, clever girl.”

That didn’t mean she didn’t have a ton of questions, but for now, she only wanted to soak up the magic of it all.

The Doctor showed her around the room. They mingled with the other visitors, admiring the artwork on the walls. Rose couldn’t stop grinning.

They stopped in front of a painting depicting another gallery, in another museum, in another era.

“Can we go through there too?” Rose ventured.

“Yes, but wouldn’t you like to see Paris first?”

“We can go out?”

“Of course. You know, my friend Claude has been pestering me about visiting his garden. Nice fellow, this Claude. Mind you, he’s a tad obsessed with water lilies.”

#ficandchips #Nine x Rose #Eight x Rose #artist!Rose #yes I'm still working on those #self indulgent prompts #lostinfic writes stuff #lotsofthinkythoughts

49 notes · View notes

aithuzah · 4 years

Text

The Right Thing

[ AO3 | 1 | 2 | 3 | 4 | ? ]

Arthur was awake, dressed, and seated at his desk when Merlin entered his chambers with breakfast. He had slept fitfully until the first hints of daylight slipped past his curtains, finally deciding to give up on his bed and write down some of his racing thoughts and pressing questions.

He was listing potential allies and enemies among the court when Merlin closed the door and announced, “The king came to see me last night.”

Arthur’s fingers tensed around his quill, splattering ink as the tip scraped a short line against the parchment.

“You’re still alive,” he noted. “I suppose that’s a good sign.”

He set the quill aside, pushed away from his desk, and took his place at the table.

Merlin set the tray of food in front of him and plucked a roll from the plate. “He wanted to thank me in person for what I said to you,” he said. “He called me a trusted ally in the fight against magic, and he said we must be extra vigilant to protect you from magic users who want to exploit your inexperience and corrupt you.” He took a bite out of Arthur’s breakfast.

“...You must be joking.”

“See, that’s exactly what I was thinking while it happened,” Merlin said, waving the hand that held the bread at Arthur. “And then he left, and I spent most of the night reading my secret book of magic to translate a spell. Life is awfully funny sometimes, isn’t it?”

Arthur snorted. “That’s one way of putting it,” he said. To think his father had asked Merlin of all people to ensure Arthur would stay away from magic...it was almost too ridiculous to be offended by, but the manipulation and condescension evident in the request still rankled.

Arthur speared a sausage with his fork. “Did you...find anything?”

Merlin nodded. “We can talk tonight. There isn’t time now.”

Arthur had training with the knights that morning, then lunch with his father and Morgana, and a routine patrol in the afternoon. They wouldn’t be able to speak in private for more than a few moments until that evening.

Arthur’s jaw clenched at the thought of sharing a meal with Uther. How was he supposed to smile and carry on as though nothing had happened?

But what else could he do?

If he confronted his father, Uther would continue to deny everything and probably throw him in the cells or confine him to his rooms until he “came to his senses,” as though punishing a child for throwing a tantrum. If he simply killed him for his crimes, as he almost had, he would lose the trust of his court and his people, destabilizing the kingdom and leaving it vulnerable to attack from their watchful rivals.

And…Uther was still his father. Even now, the memory of holding a blade to his throat left Arthur feeling sick and unsettled. Murdering Uther in cold blood could not be an option, either as a prince or as a son.

There had to be a better way.

He put the thought aside and realized he had finished his breakfast without tasting a single bite of it.

—

Arthur threw himself into the strain and burn of sparring, relishing in the pure physicality of it even as he watched each and every knight with a newly calculating gaze. Who was wholly loyal to Uther? Whose viewpoints were unwavering, and who might be swayed?

His orders were sharp, every correction of footwork or technique curt and bare of his usual self-satisfied confidence. The others responded in kind. Their usual camaraderie dulled over the course of the morning to match the prince’s solemn concentration. When they finally retreated to the armory to stow their weapons and armor, Arthur escaped as soon as possible to clean up before lunch.

Just play along, he reminded himself as he slipped into the chair across from Morgana. Do what you always do.

So he smiled and let the empty pleasantries and familiar banter wash over him as he ate. Yes, the new trainees showed great promise. No, he didn’t expect to return from patrol in time to dine together; he had already arranged for his servant to bring him his meal later in the evening. Yes, he had reviewed the crop inventory reports, and would have his suggestions prepared for the next council meeting.

On the other side of the table, Morgana stayed quiet, offering only a handful of teasing remarks throughout the meal. Whenever she believed Uther was in the wrong, though, she would be the first to speak up, no matter the consequences to herself. Not too long ago, she had hidden a Druid child in her own chambers until she could reunite him with his people—come to think of it, Merlin had helped with that, hadn’t he? They must already trust each other. How much did Morgana know about Merlin?

Either way, Arthur had no doubt that Morgana would be an eager ally. Hell, she would probably be offended if he didn’t involve her in their plans.

As they left the hall and prepared to part ways, Arthur pulled her aside.

“Meet me in my chambers tonight, after sundown,” he said in a low tone. “I need your help with something.”

Morgana smirked, tilting her head at him. “Oh? The great Prince Arthur Pendragon needs my help? What, do you need to impress some girl who’s caught your eye?”

He refused to rise to the bait. This wasn’t the time for their usual back-and-forth. “No. It’s…something important.”

Her expression cleared as she searched his face, and she nodded. “Alright, then. I’ll do what I can.”

—

Merlin had dinner on the table and a bath waiting in his chambers when Arthur finally returned from a long, uneventful patrol. He had almost wanted to find some trouble, just to give his mind a break from the incessant hum of anxious anticipation.

Did Merlin figure it out? Was she real? She couldn’t be real. She had to be real. What if she wasn’t? What if she was?

Instead of immediately diving into the conversation Arthur had been waiting for all day, though, Merlin pushed him toward the tub. “We’ve got all night to talk, but right now, you smell like a horse’s ass,” he said.

Arthur threw a look over his shoulder at his dinner and felt his stomach growl. “I’d rather have a lukewarm bath than a cold meal.”

Merlin’s face lit up with a giddy grin. “No need to worry about either one, Sire,” he said, and then his eyes lit up quite literally as he waved a hand at the bathwater and muttered a few words Arthur didn’t recognize. Steam began to rise slowly from the tub. Merlin gestured to it with a flourish. “Welcome to a brand new world of possibilities.”

This was, Arthur realized, the first time he had actually seen Merlin use magic. And it was…hmm.

“You’ve done that a lot, haven’t you.”

Merlin’s smile turned into a scowl. “And you have realized that the non-magical method for drawing private baths involves the long, exhausting process of hauling buckets of water up multiple flights of stairs while heating more water over a fire and hoping it will be just the right temperature at just the right time for the spoiled noble who demanded it on a whim, haven’t you?” Rolling his eyes, he crossed the room and dug in a basket of laundry to pull out a few thick, weathered books hidden beneath the clothes as Arthur undressed. “Yeah, of course I’ve done it a lot, it’s why I know that spell in the first place. I don’t know how the rest of the castle staff manages.”

Arthur sank into the bath with a sigh, and Merlin settled at the prince’s desk with his books, parchment, and a quill. As soothing as the hot water felt on his aching muscles—and damn, it really was the perfect temperature—Arthur still hurried through his routine. He scrubbed, dried, and dressed himself before joining Merlin at the desk, damp hair clinging to his forehead as he looked over his servant’s shoulder.

Merlin’s cramped, inelegant handwriting filled the spaces around Arthur’s own, more polished script—responses to the list of thoughts and questions he had written that morning.

And down at the bottom of the last page…

Merlin sat back and tapped a finger next to the still-drying words, and then a page in the open tome set off to the side of the desk. “To the best of my memory, this is the spell Morgause used. A ritual from the Old Religion to contact the dead.”

Arise from death. Help your son. Return to this earth.

“Then…it really was my mother.” Arthur braces against the desk, his legs going weak as the tension he’d carried for the past few days drained away. His chest loosened, then tightened anew as the gravity of the revelation pressed against his sternum. His eyes squeezed shut to stem the flood of jumbled emotion.

A thought struck, desperate and yearning.

“Could you do this?” Could I see my mother again?

Merlin’s breath caught. He stared up at Arthur with wide eyes, then back down at the paper.

“I don’t know,” he answered, voice soft. “Magic is complicated. Especially the magic of life and death. I’ve never tried a spell like that before, and if I did something wrong and messed up a spell that powerful…I don’t know what the cost would be. To me, to you, or to your mother’s spirit.”

Arthur straightened, stepped away. “Right,” he said, scrubbing a palm over his eyes to catch barely-formed tears before they could fall. “Of course. I should not have asked that of you.”

Merlin’s lips quirked into a faint, melancholy smile, his eyes still on the ritual in the book. “Believe me. I understand.”

Arthur recalled, then, what Merlin had said about his missing father. If he had died, would a spell such as this allow Merlin to meet the parent he had never known, as well? Or was the man still alive in the world somewhere?

Clearing his throat, Arthur retreated to the dining table across the room. “But, ah. You did mention that reheating food was among your apparently many talents?”

“Oh! Yes.”

Halfway through Arthur’s meal, a knock sounded at the door. Merlin leapt out of Arthur’s desk chair, shoving papers into the drawer even as the books snapped shut and flew under the bed on their own.

Arthur, for his part, calmly stood and answered the door.

“Ah! Lady Morgana. So glad you could join us,” Arthur said, stepping aside to let her into the room. He closed and locked the door behind her. “How would you like to help us overthrow my father?”

#mine #myfic #bbc merlin #the right thing fic #trust me no one is more surprised than i am that i'm writing merlin fic again

14 notes · View notes

heavenlydragon · 5 years

Text

Part 2: The First Among the Knights

Go to: PART 1 / PART 2 / PART 3 / PART 4

Authors’ Notes: This is an English translation of the first chapter of Vol 4 of the Escaflowne NewType Novels, affectionately called “the Marlene Chapter”. Translation was done by Fayrinferno and scanning/beta reading/editing was done by Pikafwance (Escaflowme). Please note that the chapter will be posted in four parts between Escaflowme and Heavenlydragon. Please enjoy our hard work!

“It’s good to attend these kind of events from time to time,” King Aston’s younger brother, Nueva [1], said as he raised his arm in a gold-embroidered tunic sleeve and gestured to the stadium below. Marlene’s uncle, sitting in the center of the honored guests area, relaxed and dressed in a loose-fitting garb, leaned his well-built body forward. His glossy face shone with entertainment as he watched the knights get out of formation and scatter at the end of the opening ceremony.

“Yes, thank you so much, Lord Nueva,” Marlene nodded and smiled, seeing nothing of the knights from behind Nueva’s large, round back.

The weather was clear again, today.

In truth, Nueva had become worried about Marlene’s withdrawn behavior recently and took it upon himself to take his niece out to the central stadium to see the Great Martial Arts Tournament.

...Not that it improved Marlene’s mood at all. Marlene simply had no interest in martial arts from the start. Rumours of war reached her ears from foreign countries, but her home country had been peaceful for a long time, so she did not feel the necessity of martial arts in her immediate vicinity. The never-ending rivalry between the countries, however, had made it so this so-called Great Tournament never quite became just a formality. Moreover, because bloody scenes were sometimes unavoidable, Marlene usually kept away from these types of events. What reason would she have to come here, if it wasn’t for her kind uncle, and to dispel his worries?

Maybe I should not have come after all…

The colorful garments of the knights coming and going to the field added a gorgeous flare to the gleam of their sword and spear blades. Tension before the battle and strange exaltation filled the air. It was transmitted to the watching people as well, as the audience became more and more excited.

But Marlene watched this, unaffected.

Taking a measured breath, she pointed her indifferent look at nothing in particular. The late-morning sun gave sharp shadows to everything it reached, and the illuminated field stood out as if white.

The packed stadium stirred unanimously, transfixed. Seemingly none wanted to miss any of the starting matches. The knights waited for their names to be called, standing further away from the square drawn in a white line in the centre of the stadium.

“Look, Marlene,” Nueva suddenly turned back to her. “Everyone is in high spirits because they can see this. It may be a great tournament today!”

“It is entertaining, isn’t it?” Marlene said, smiling at her uncle.

Nueva nodded in good spirits, stood up and lifted one hand: “Let us begin! Knights, show the skills worthy of that name, sharpened by regular training, and seize the honor of victory!” After saying this, Nueva motioned towards Marlene. “As a sign of honor, appreciation will be given by the First Princess!” Oh, what a commotion that stirred among the knights and in the audience as well. Although she sighed inwardly, on account of her uncle’s behalf, Marlene gave smiles in all directions. “Hohoho,” laughing in a strong voice and lowering his sizeable body, Nueva gently clapped Marlene’s shoulder. “My Princess, how reliable our people are!”

“Indeed,” Marlene nodded, honestly this time.

The first lesson of a princess was that the country was its people. A monarch must be judged foremost by their prosperity and safety. Whether she liked it or not, Marlene could never forget the lessons she was taught.

At the high-pitched sound of the trumpets, the knights stepped forward. One had a black armor with red tassels, the other wore an emerald-green cloak. His armor was silver. After saluting in their direction, their running attendants provided them long-handled lances. From this point, Marlene lost interest in the scene. “Hohou!” looking at the entertained face of her uncle, Marlene’s mind roamed. The shrill sound of weapons crashing and the commotions of the crowds did not matter to her. This way, time passed without doing anything, without anything happening. She watched mindlessly as the cup of liquid before her threw shadows like stained glass in the sunlight.

I wonder if I will succeed this country…

Even upon hearing the screams of awe, Marlene did not once lift her head.

Who will father choose to rule the country with me? The current king, Aston, only had three daughters, and no male heir. In a rare situation such as this one, the royal consort would be chosen to rule first. Otherwise, if left unwed, Asturia would be left to one of its three princesses.

Whichever the case, it would likely fall onto the shoulders of the eldest daughter, Marlene.

Then, who could father possibly choose?!

Without really looking, her gaze dropped at the field. The two riding knights were clashing their lances. Both of them rough and red-faced strong men, closer to a bear rather than human in appearance.

With a small sigh, Marlene turned her gaze away.

King Aston had probably already made the decision about her husband.

Another country’s royal to strengthen the relations, or possibly a domestic noble or knight?

For me, it’s all the same… Marlene thought disinterestedly, as if this was somebody else’s affair.

It was natural that her father would choose her groom, and besides, she didn’t have any particular preference herself in that regard.

But…

Watching the knights’ dazzling colors, Marlene’s mouth parted slightly.

If love appeared in my life… She knew it only from books and legends, and sometimes from the talk of the handmaidens, but that did not mean she was not interested in it at all.

Love’s beginning was meeting the destined partner...

Love made one weak, crazy, and even miserable...

Love could only be found in a beloved person’s eye, heard only in their voice...

Love made one beautiful, but also foolish...

It was full of such contradiction, but people could not help but lose themselves in its sweetness.

Could there really be such a thing in this world?

Laughing unexpectedly, she shook her head.

It had to be a drop of a rare liquor given to people by the gods on a whim.

Marlene started to even forget such a thing existed. Though even as she made up her mind about it, her uninterested self felt a sense of pity.

Or perhaps it will happen with the person father chooses...

Marlene pondered the topic while sipping at her drink, occasionally nodding when Nueva made an appreciative sound. Before she knew it, the sun crossed the horizon and shadows covered the white-reflecting field.

The sky remained cloudless as usual. Reflecting the battle of the knights, the excitement of the audience came and went like waves.

Marlene started to contemplate if it wouldn’t have been better to lose herself to the soft cushions and refuse the invitation altogether with some made-up excuse.

And then…

“Oh!” A remarkably huge cheer sounded in unison with Nueva’s raised voice, and Marlene returned to herself.

“Hohho! Hohho!”

From the ruddy profile of her still cheering uncle, Marlene moved her gaze to the field.

Everybody seemed to have held their breath as silence fell on the scene.

Something shone against the sky. In a moment, it became a sword, drawing a large arch before it pierced the ground near the white line.

On the opposite side of the square, another thing shone brightly. Marlene blinked and realized it was long golden hair with widening eyes.

Strands of hair fluttered in the wind as the knight, dressed in a simple blue garb, turned in fluid motion and sheathed his sword. His opponent stood still in shock, holding at his right arm. The referee lifted his arm towards the knight as the cheers burst out across the stadium.

“What exquisite skill,” Nueva’s features relaxed as he clapped his hands.

Who’s that?

“Victory is yours,” Marlene murmured unconsciously. The tall knight crossed the field, walking in Marlene’s direction. His long straight hair shone visibly, the blue coat and crisp white shirt dazzled the eye. Suddenly attacked by a tightly gripping feeling in her chest, Marlene bit her tightly-pressed lips.

The face of the approaching knight became backlit and Marlene had to squint her eyes to make out his features. A slightly slender face with nicely shaped jaw, surprisingly muscled neck, and tightly pulled lips were revealed by the shadows.

By the time the knight’s handsome features were revealed to Marlene’s eyes, he had reached the front on noble guest seats and got down on one knee to receive the knight’s honor.

“Hoho, masterful technique, worthy of the reputation of one of the Asturia’s chivalric order. That certainly pleased my eye. Splendid, Allen Schezar.”

Allen Schezar.

Marlene repeated the name. The stir in her chest was subsiding. “I am deeply honoured by the compliment.” A slightly lowered, but strong and carrying voice reached Marlene’s ears. As he said it, Marlene glimpsed the rising knight’s face and her breath caught.

Clear, incredibly deep blue pierced stubbornly through the fluttering shadow of pale-golden eyelashes. Transfixed, Marlene felt as if the knight's unwavering gaze filled her entire being. From her tightened chest, something swelled up in the back of her throat, making her unconsciously squeeze her hands in front of her breast.

Allen Schezar.

She continued to watch him as she could not tear her eyes away. While Allen’s eyes did not remain on her, a quick glance passed her before dropping back to his feet.

Without noticing anything, Allen bowed again and stood up with a blank look on his face.

The first among Asturia’s knights.

A fitting title for you, Marlene thought as she kept her eyes on the knight. She felt like she had never before seen such personality and nobility in a knight before. The sunlight in the hair of the retreating knight still dazzled the eye.

“Isn’t it truly remarkable for someone so young?” Momentarily lost, Marlene immediately returned to herself and turned back to her uncle. Nueva faced her with a satisfied smile. “Having such a skilled young knight, we may need not worry about the future and peace of our homeland. Promising, truly promising, that one.”

“Yes,” Marlene nodded with a serious face.

“We have many skilled knights in the land, but this one is truly exceptional.”

“Uncle, where does that knight come from?” Marlene asked, trying to sound nonchalant. Nueva nodded with a grin.

“Oh, it’s no wonder that you don’t recognize him. That’s the heir of the Schezar family.” Marlene tilted her neck a bit.

“The Schezar family, isn’t it a prestigious clan that held the position among the Heavenly Knights?”

“That’s true, but…” Nueva paused as stern expression settled on his narrowed eyes, “there was a certain issue with the previous head of the family, the boy’s father.”

Knowing it was probably useless to ask, Marlene waited to see what else her uncle would share.

“In the absence of the knight himself, and in neglect of the duties of a Heavenly Knight, the chivalric order stripped him of the title.” So it seemed that Allen’s father had disappeared. Marlene recalled his cold expression from not too long ago [2].

“But the son, though still very young, returned after a rigorous training somewhere, or so I heard”.

Nueva smiled softly again. “No no, it’s truly a splendid thing, really. Now the Schezar family need not worry anymore. Perhaps the title of Knight of Heaven, should none be against it, will be recognized as an inheritance for this fellow.”

Marlene nodded as her eyes sought out the small retreating figure of Allen. “I look forward to see what work he has yet to show us,” Nueva said, seeing Allen off together with her.

“Indeed,” Marlene said, agreeing from the bottom of her heart. Before disappearing into the darkness of the stadium’s side entrance, there was a quick glimmer of golden hair. For a moment, Marlene felt him clearly watching her. This time, the deep blue eyes caught Marlene’s directly. It may have been less than a second, but it recaptured Marlene completely. From her unblinking sight, the figure in blue and gold disappeared momentarily, leaving her behind.

The sound of the trumpet was shrill. Marlene dazedly looked around, as if in a dream.

The knights had lined up in the white field to participate in another round of the tournament.

The audience rippled like a wave and the vibrant colors of the knights were fading. Marlene slowly turned her head around, taking in a deep breath. The brilliant light was diminishing, giving way to the bottomless dark blue. The passing wind brought the scent of dry grass to Marlene. At the rising awed screams, her gaze returned to the field. The multicolored armor decorations of the knights, the shine of the glistening blades and clouds of dust kicked by the colliding knights... The vibrancy of the scene, not really different from before, finally reached Marlene’s eyes.

Something changed.

Something is different.

She placed both hands on her chest to make sure, clutching, as if not letting it escape. With each and every breath, she was reassured again.

I am alive, Marlene told herself. It was the first time she realized that.

A twinge of pain filled her chest, as if in reply.

Marlene took another deep breath.

The air was cool and dry. It refreshed Marlene's throat and smelt sweetly as it entered her chest.

It was soon after that Allen became a Knight of Heaven.

Knight of Heaven.

That title was given only to the twelve most excellent, most honorable knights of the country. The twelve were each given a powerful guymelef and it was their sworn duty as guardians and honorable warriors to protect the kingdom.

Initially, they used to be picked by the ancient kings themselves, but recently it has become a clan system, so that almost all the positions were filled through inheritance by the major families.

It was also the case of the Schezar family, with the temporary absence caused by the misconduct of the previous generation, before Allen managed to recover the position. Once a prestigious house, the name of the Schezar family was all but ruined, and among the clans who inherited the title of the Heavenly Knight, many were unwilling to accept Allen’s reinstatement.

“Must be jealousy,” Ditoa sighed, tilting her head as Marlene brought up the topic. “After all, becoming a Knight of Heaven, and the honor that comes with it is something extraordinary. Anyone who calls himself a knight would like to hold that title one day. If you acquire the power of one of those twelve guardian melefs, there probably won’t be a strong enough enemy for you anywhere.” Having seen the guymelefs in question, Marlene nodded, understanding Ditoa’s point. “If you thought there was an opportunity for you, and suddenly that became impossible, that can also cause frustration.”

“The clans already holding the title have no reason to say that,” Marlene said, frowning.

“Those who already have something often desire more,” Ditoa shrugged. “Such is the way of life,” she said smiling at Marlene, “But for someone who was raised as a noble like Your Highness, it is hard to understand such lowly way of thinking. Looking at it from your side, it must look shameful.” Ditoa placed the vase full of freshly-cut flowers on the windowsill. “And it’s not like property alone would get you to that position. We should not forget about that.”

“Right?!” Marlene surprised even herself with her excited exclamation and hurried to shut her mouth.

“Ho ho ho, as always, Her Highness is concerned about the peace in our country. It’s alright, all the twelve Knights of Heaven are strong enough after all!” Ditoa nodded approvingly to convince her and put the gardening scissors away in the basket.

Marlene recalled the faces of the men holding that title into mind.

Galleison, Widgate, Narcy…[3]

All holding ministerial positions, all middle-aged or older. All of them skilled, war-weathered veterans. There is no other youth like Allen among them.

Still…

Marlene smiled unconsciously.

The one who fits the title best, is still him…

“Oh? What I said seemed to have eased your mind, Your Highness!”

“Yes, really.” Turning around, Marlene smiled brightly, and Ditoa narrowed her eyes a little. Neither Marlene nor Ditoa herself realized there was a hint of worry in that expression.

Allen Schezar.

Just repeating that name caused a strange inner turmoil in Marlene’s chest. Why was it that each time his name was brought up, a strange pain shot through her heart?

But Marlene did not consider the painful sweetness that came again and again as cruel. Rather, the pain got deeper, and yet, the thought of losing it became almost unbearable. Why was her heart so affected after seeing him only once, and why did he occupy her mind no matter what she did? She could not find the answer.

If we meet again…

What would happen to that pain?

Would it torment her even more, or would it disappear with no meaning?

Whether she did not want to lose it or wanted it to end, both options led her mind astray. Before coming to that decision, Marlene wanted to know more about Allen. Then she may be able to understand this strange sensation.

No.

Marlene stretched her neck to look out of the window. The low afternoon sun painted the sky pale blue, throwing the shadows of a few passing birds on the ground.

What can be seen by just looking at the surface?

She only knew of his family standing, his reputation as an excellent swordsman [4] and the various rumours that Allen, same as Marlene, could not really help. Allen seen through the eyes of someone else bore no meaning to Marlene now. Even if she didn’t hear anything about him at all, she would know. She would recognize a vile person at glance.

Even though it’s been said that looks can be deceiving, the character or true nature still found ways to manifest in the appearance somehow. Especially with an upbringing such as Marlene’s, it had often proved difficult for an adversary to deceive her. Even at a glance, she was confident in her judgement.

She already knew what people were saying.

But there was far more to know.

And she wanted to know.

The more she thought about it, the more the need to know perplexed her.

If I meet him again, I’m sure I’ll understand…

As she thought that, she smiled broadly.

I want to meet him.

As abrupt as it came, her bright expression disappeared from her face again.

But…

Once we meet, this sweet pain may disappear. And she would return to those listless, tiresome days again.

Marlene feared that a little.

If that happened, it would be better to stay like this, even if just for that rush of being alive.

Then, what in the world should I do? Marlene asked herself, a bit frustrated.

This indecisiveness was strange for her. For Marlene, born and raised as the first daughter of a royal family, ambiguity was not an option.

Things were always black or white, and the idea of leaving things undecided (or Jeture forbid, considering something gray) was generally unacceptable. Until now, nothing was indeterminate. As a true princess, she would do anything to get out of such uncertainty as soon as possible and would have made the decision a long time ago.

Instead…

Marlene, for some reason, had a hunch that this situation might go on for a long time. It felt as if she discovered a new self she had not recognized until now. Without her knowing, another Marlene existed, one who was not a princess.

It’s just my personal problem…

It’s nobody else’s concern. Even if I’m confused by this, nobody else need be troubled by this. Even with this reassurance, Marlene already knew things would not stay like this forever.

And the chance to meet again came up unexpectedly early.

Allen eventually came to Palas to serve as the royal palace guard. Needless to say, it was a result of Marlene's clever planning [5]. At his inauguration ceremony, Allen stepped before king Aston, looking far more refined than Marlene had imagined.

“You’re the heir of Schezars.”

“Yes, Your Majesty,” kneeling Allen’s head rose at the words. At the sight of the serious, yet faintly flushed expression on Allen’s pale face, the corners of King Aston’s cheeks rose slightly.

“I expect good work from you, worthy of the name of the Knight Caeli.”

“I am prepared to lay down my life in the line of duty,” Allen said, looking straight at Aston. His gaze did not even brush Marlene at the side of the king. Yet Marlene’s chest still throbbed at his mere presence. The feeling for him was so vexing, she wondered if she would be able to stand looking into his eyes face-to-face.

As he looked down at Allen, a shade of pity crossed Aston’s eyes. “The prosperity of your house also depends on your earnest service. Work hard and valiantly.”

“I will.” Marlene did not miss the bitter look that passed Allen’s face during Aston’s speech.

There was no need to say that, Marlene thought, sad at the thorns in her father’s words.

As if he had heard her thoughts, Allen’s eyes met Marlene’s for a fleeting moment.

“Very well, off to your duty now.”

“I’ll take my leave then.”

Before she could open her mouth, Allen turned around like wind, his cloak floating behind him.

“Hm, surely, that is one smart youth,” King Aston said stroking his chin as he watched Allen’s back. “If he does not make a mistake, he may very well rise high.”

“Father?” Aston’s features relaxed as he looked back at Marlene. “I called him because you wanted, but it seems he is indeed a good man to be stationed nearby.”

“I hear he is a very skilled knight,” Marlene said, smiling. “I heard some horrible stories of nighttime robberies recently, and felt nervous and unsafe. That is why I asked to strengthen the guard.”

“Hohohoo, really?” Aston tapped her shoulder lightly. “Is this enough relief for you then? Anyway, I would not have anyone so much as lay a finger upon you three.”

“I know your heart, Father,” Marlene said, but half of her own heart was already elsewhere.

Because just a while ago, their eyes met.

It wasn’t a dream.

Even if she smiled bitterly, deep down, she was a bit relieved.

With her thoughts of him becoming so inflated, her belief that such a person even existed in this world started to waver.

Even though it was surely impossible...

Once more, Marlene trusted her own judgement of people.

Looks like I was not wrong.

Marlene thought a bit proudly.

Allen’s nobility, deep prudence and youthful innocence she glimpsed were all appealing to her eye. She could not say what Allen’s own feelings towards Marlene were, but at least, there was no hatred or disgust in his eyes.

Marlene left the hall, with a small tinge of anxiety and the sweet pain still grasping her heart.

——————

[1] ヌエバ

[2] This may not necessarily mean that Leon held the title of Knight Caeli for some time while he was younger. Later, Marlene says that the order consists of middle-aged or older men, which is why it could be that Leon’s predecessor held the title until old age and Leon left his family at about the same time as he was supposed to accept the title and responsibilities.

[3] ガレイソン、ウィダゲート、ナルシ

[4] The text just mentions Allen’s reputation. But at this point, it does not have anything to do with his ladykiller image or other things he became known for later.

[5] It is not exactly clear in what way Marlene schemed to meet with Allen again. Based on what is said later in the chapter, she probably referred him to King Aston, who later picked him for the Palace Guard or just requested more guards for the castle and Allen was chosen. The decision to accept him into the order seemed to be a different matter, this was rather the question of his first posting as a Knight Caeli.

#escaflowne #vision of escaflowne #tenkuu no escaflowne #translation #escaflowne newtype novels #marlene aston #allen schezar #asturia #excited to bring you some new canon material after years!

46 notes · View notes

x1protector · 5 years

Text

imperial crossroads : prologue 1

p a i r i n g: none for prologues; will be x1 x gender neutral reader

g e n r e: fluff; a little dark; choose your own adventure; otome themed au

w a r n i n g s: mentions of slight violence; weapons

w o r d c o u n t: 2.9k

s u m m a r y: You are a dancer who gets the chance to perform in front of the royal family, and accidentally stumble into the lives of five very powerful men. Who will you choose to lead you though your time in the palace?

Author’s note: historical setting close to the Joseon dynasty but there’s no (current) set name for the kingdom; this is only the prologue!! each boy has their own storyline!! this one is written by the whole admin team!

There will be two prologues with two different protagonists. If you haven’t read maknae-line prologue (Junho, Dongpyo, Minhee, Eunsang, Hyeongjun, Dohyon), click below.

hyung prologue || maknae prologue

It was the peak of summer when you stepped foot in the palace for the first time to hopefully start your provisional contract as a court dancer. You’d been dancing for years, from small scale dinner hubs to the main town square where you had been scouted by a palace attendant, and have seen many discerning eyes among your spectators, yet the gazes of the royal family and attendants have never felt so cold to you. It was no wonder you were more nervous than usual, sweating up a storm in your most upkeep dancing laces.

You felt the heat and excitement swirling around in your bloodstream, creating a concoction that caused the blood in your veins to buzz as sweat rolled down your lace-draped back. As you waited for your turn, you were reassured by one of the palace’s main attendants, Minhee, that everything was going to be alright, that the royal family wasn’t nearly as scary as the rumors.

And Minhee was right because as soon as the dancer before you finished his routine, everyone roared with applause. One of the princes even stood up, beaming at the guy as he exited the stage area.

You had to admit he was marvelous. Kim Wooseok was a renowned performer, even in your tight-knit circle of dancers. His techniques were unmatched across the lands, backed up by unrivaled talent and years of training.

There was something about him that seemed to draw your eye along his body, from the tips of his fingers down through the balls of his feet. He had a sort of presence on the stage no one could deny, not that they wanted to in the least. It didn’t help that he was extremely handsome and possessed a beautiful dance figure; a slim face and a lithe body with lean muscle peeking through his laces, betraying a hidden power within his small frame.

Wooseok fixed his dance laces over his shoulders and let his hair fall below his cat-like eyes. As he bowed to the royal family, you thought of all the years you spent looking up to him, hoping to one day be at his level.

You didn’t see a hint of sweat as he glided past, but for a second you thought you saw a flash of annoyance etched in his beautiful features. Before you could read into it, Minhee wished you a quick “good luck!” before guiding (read: pushing) you towards the stage.

It was your turn now.

The light was a little too bright and you couldn’t help but cover your eyes as you stepped on the podium, and despite performing for years prior, you could feel your heartbeat thump in your ears and hear your breathing reverberate against the still buzzing air.

From where you were standing, the royal family was in full view atop the viewing deck of the outdoor theater.

The King and Queen sat high on their thrones, looking down at their subjects without malice in their gazes, a sort of warmth that wasn’t quite loving, but not apathetic either, tinting their features. It was a form of caring one can only possess in the presence of those they are sworn to protect. Next to the King sat Crown Prince Seungwoo, heir to the throne and rumored to be as gentle as his mother, the Queen, but also as cold as his father, the King. It really depended on who you heard it from.

His features were soft and kind, with the only sharpness being hidden in his eyes and the point of his nose as he stared you down on the stage. His aloof expression alone made him appear almost disinterested in the entire ordeal, which set you at ease in a way. It was like he couldn’t care less if you did well or didn’t perform at all.

Beside the Queen sat Prince Seungyoun, more commonly known as Prince Youn, the second oldest prince and grand diplomat of the kingdom. There was a sweet grin spread across his face, the affection and excitement clear in his features as you readied yourself for the performance. His eyes crinkled up at the corners and you briefly wondered how it was possible to see the twinkles from his eyes all the way from where you were standing, but decided it was better not to question such things. His features were almost the opposite of his brothers, with sharp edges all around and gentle, saccharine eyes.

Behind the princes were two gentlemen whose names you couldn’t quite recall. They were very well-dressed, not unlike the royal family, and they seemed to carry a certain aura that you couldn’t place. Not quite royal, but above others in some way regarding status. Their faces were obscured by the shadows they hid in so you paid them little mind. You concluded that they were probably relatives to the family, but royalty or not they have their gaze fixed on you like the rest.

As you started dancing, you didn’t know why but you felt your nerves begin to slip away as you moved through the familiar routine. But the longer you danced, the higher your movements transcended, the more you felt as if someone was watching you.

Of course, everyone was watching you. You usually thrived off the awe and attention because it’s what made you want to become a dancer in the first place.

But you could feel one specific energy focusing on you, seemingly anticipating your every movement. You glanced at the princes, the Queen, the King, the dancers waiting in line to perform, yet you couldn’t quite locate where it came from.

It wasn’t a terrible feeling, but it was also not a friendly one. It settled heavily, like an anchor weighing in your gut. Even as you finish your routine and bowed to the royal family, the strange feeling never left you, sitting dormant just under your skin.

At the end of your routine, you chanced one last glance at the royals and felt a chill run up your spine at the sight.

Prince Seungwoo had shifted forward in his seat, forearms resting on his knees as his expression changed to match one of intrigue. He let out a silent chuckle and smirked before leaning back in his throne, seemingly disinterested in you once again. It seemed you had caught the attention of the younger prince as well, as his grin widened to encompass his entire face. He seemed more than pleased with the performance you had put on, scrunching up his nose as you looked at him.

The dancers after you were all excellent, each one with a unique routine and skillset, so it was almost a pity when the show ended and it was announced that only two dancers would be picked.

It won’t be me was all you could think until the announcement came nearly an hour later, with your mind flashing back to the two princes and their reactions. Even if the princes had seemed interested in your performance, the other dancers were far more skilled than yourself and would make better pairs at the palace anyway.

Wooseok was the first name to be called. Of course, no one was surprised. He stood up with a blank expression and accepted the contract scroll from attendant Minhee with a small bow towards the royal family.

It wasn’t until your name was called that a few of the contestants stood up to be able to see your face. You froze, not quite believing you had been picked until you felt another dancer nudge you towards the stage once more. You stumbled forward, stunned, but regained enough composure to gracefully walk towards Minhee. He beamed as he handed you the remaining scroll, wishing you good luck once again and telling you how much he enjoyed your performance.

Mindlessly, you bowed and stood next to Wooseok as an attendant ushered out the rest of the dancers. Wooseok’s blank expression melted and for the second time, he scowled, but like the first, it went away in a second.

“Congratulations,” Wooseok spoke for the first time with his original blank expression, but not without sincerity.

“Thank you,” you smiled.

“Seems like you’re here by your own free will,” he added quietly.

Your smile faded, confusion colored your face.

“What do you mean ‘my own free will?'” you asked.

He scoffed and didn’t say anything else, so you knew better not to pry especially while waiting for your audience with the Queen.

The amiable woman looked barely a year over fifty as she eyed you and Wooseok warmly. She had a small round face, with delicate features and bright, lovely eyes. You could see where the younger prince got his looks from as she smiled. She spoke lightly as if her words glided on water, her laughter a hearty, elegant melody that resonated within the chamber.

“I do apologize for the sudden notice, but there were two goals to fulfill in this competition. One was to find a new court dancer, and the other to find my boys a suitable dance instructor.”

Wooseok stiffened, and soon both his gaze and the Queen’s were fixed on you as she chose you to become the princes’ dance instructor

“M-me?!”

“Yes, my dear. Your grace and passion on that stage along with your headstrong and witty mind, so I was told, made you the most suitable candidate. The only task left is for you to choose who to instruct first.”

You couldn’t believe what you were hearing. Instructor? Most of your skills were self-taught from watching many exceptional dancers like Wooseok, so how could you instruct anyone when you had no experience teaching?

And choose who? I don’t know anyone here!

As if on cue, the two princes and the two gentlemen from earlier entered the queen’s chambers, talking and laughing amongst themselves

“Hey, Mom!” Prince Seungyoun boomed in his usual cheerful voice.

Prince Seungwoo sighed and smiled sweetly, “Youn, please behave in front of our guests.”

“That’s just how he is, hyung,” one of the two men you didn’t know spoke up in defense of prince Seungyoun, his voice a lot deeper than the other two even though he had a youthful air to him.

The last man looked on in silence, observing you and Wooseok with curious, friendly eyes. He seemed about the same age as the other man you didn’t recognize and, seeing them side by side, you noticed their frames were both similarly built, their shoulders slightly wider than the princes.

“Quiet down, my boys,” the Queen spoke. As gentle as she sounded, the entire room stilled in an instant. “As you have heard, Wooseok will be your new court dancer in the prince quarter, and the talented dancer beside him will be your dance instructor, assuming they choose you.” The Queen paused and extended her warm gaze to you, “one of these boys will become your student, I trust that you choose well.”

“Your Majesty,” the man who had stayed silence finally spoke. “Why would we need a dance instructor? What good would that do for us at our age?”

My thoughts exactly!

The Queen gently approached and touched the man’s cheek as she spoke, “Yohan, my dear boy, even though you are skilled in martial arts, dancing is about discipline and self-control. Soon you’ll learn that there are a certain set of skills that both a good dancer and a good ruler possess.”

At that, Yohan seemed convinced and asked no further questions, nodding and following along with the Queen’s rather ambiguous explanation.

“I’m not sure I understand,” the unnamed man who’d spoken earlier asked. “Why would I need lessons? I’m not a prince.”

At this, a strange and sad look crossed the Queen’s features but vanished just as quickly as it had appeared. She opened her mouth to respond, but was cut off by the youngest prince.

“Hangyul, I’m sure mother has her reasons,” Prince Seungyoun spoke, seemingly stroking at his non-existent beard.

Prince Seungwoo shot his younger sibling an icy glare at his interruption, making prince Seungyoun throw his hands up in surrender. The Queen smiled at her sons, then looked at you as if the only thing left is for you to choose.

“Of course,” she spoke again, spotting the hesitant look in your eyes,” if you are still unsure of your skills, you can choose to study under Wooseok for some times before starting your official position.”

You looked around, scanning to see who would be the safest option. The last thing you wanted was to offend any royalty with your zero to none teaching experience.

Wooseok would be the safest option, he was another dancer like you and studying under him would be an honor. However, this would be admitting that your skills were lacking, and he didn’t look too excited to have anyone as a pupil.

Then there was Yohan, who looked pretty open to the idea of having a dance instructor. To be quite honest, he would be easiest to teach since he seemed to have experience in martial arts. You had a feeling he would catch on pretty quickly to anything you’d showed him.

The gentleman named Hangyul looked at you with narrowed eyes. He seemed like the most scary, but also the most calm among all the boys. Maybe you were mistaken, but you thought you had seen his smile distinctly among others earlier during your performance.

Prince Seungwoo was also an option. He was known for being gentle and looked like someone who would never mistreat his servants. But the idea of teaching the future king was… a little scary, even for you. Plus his ice cold demeanor hadn’t vanished for a second in your presence, so who’s to say you’d ever see the warmer side of him?

The final option would be Prince Seungyoun–known to be the most outgoing prince among the lands, a social butterfly, the friendliest royal you will ever meet. Though there was a personal reason why you were the least bit wary of the second prince.

The Queen seemed to notice your dilemma and offered to give you more time in the princes’ quarters, which you gladly accepted. After all, this was a lengthy contract and you couldn’t be expected to make such a decision without much thought.

Thank god Minhee was still there with you because once the Queen was gone, the room suddenly became quiet and all eyes were on you

Prince Seungyoun was the first to break the silence as he smiled and extended his hand to you. His chocolate brown eyes radiated with warmth the moment he looked at you.

“Don’t be afraid, we don’t bite.” His voice was softer and quieter than when he had spoken earlier with the princes. “Mother has been trying to get us to relax and pick up a hobby for a while now. I just never thought she’d pick dancing.”

“Wait, Yohan, don’t you already have a hobby?” Hangyul spoke, his voice a deep sound that resonated in his throat. He had on an easy, casual half-smile at Yohan, showcasing a pair of cute bunny-like teeth. He might sound scary, but he seemed to be a big teddy bear in the end.

“Yeah, we both do, don’t we?”

“Swinging a sword around every day is not a hobby.”

You were surprised to hear Wooseok speaking up–was that even allowed? Weren’t there courtesy customs and honorifics for these people who seemed like royalty?

“Yes it is!” Yohan interjected, a goofy grin pasted on his youthful face as he put both hands on his hips. His eyes crinkled up at the edges, and you noticed him sporting the same bunny teeth as Hangyul before. You found it adorable that both the intimidating young men had such cute smiles.

“Don’t be jealous, hyung,” Hangyul reached over and clapped Wooseok on the shoulder. “We’ll teach you one day.”

Confused by this sudden exchange, you looked towards Minhee for help and was grateful he was already leaning over.

“They all know each other,” he whispered. “They’re good friends. It’s fine.”

That didn’t make you feel any better. Now you realized you were more of an outcast than before when you still thought Wooseok was simply a performer and nothing more.

Prince Seungwoo noticed your discomfort and walked towards you, extending his hand in the same manner as Prince Seungyoun and offering you a sweet smile, his icy stare softening slightly.

“Pardon the boys, we haven’t had any newcomers to the palace for a while.” The prince’s smile was almost too sweet and barely reached his eyes as he spoke. “No matter who you choose today, you’ll be okay. I promise we won’t trouble you.”

“Speak for yourself, hyung!” Hangyul said, a small laugh escaping him. Prince Seungyoun joined with his genuine, hearty laughter that was so refreshing to hear, dissipating the stress you’d faced the moment you entered the palace and placing a small smile on your face. It was impossible not to smile when those two laughed.

You looked over at Wooseok, who didn’t even bother to hide his annoyance, sighing as he started folding his laces and putting them into his sling bag.

“Are you going to choose today or do we have to keep standing here?”

Wooseok’s words to you were blunt and to-the-point. You can kind of see why your peers thought of him as cold and unapproachable, but his voice was soft and his words didn’t seem cold to you.

All eyes were on you once again. You felt like you were ready to make the decision. Taking a deep breath, you decided this person was the only option for you.

“I choose–”

——————————————————————————————–

c h o i c e s: Seungwoo, Seungyoun, Wooseok, Yohan, Hangyul

Read maknae prologue.

Click here to vote on whose story you would like to see first!

105 notes · View notes