#while the thief’s world is vibrant and colorful | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

whatevermywpis · 1 year

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Can I req a oneshot for unnämed? I'm dying for fluff and compliments rn so if you can include that in it then I'll be giggling kicking my feet and shit. Uhfhjddgn as for the plot...go wild dear. Thanks for reading this and if you do pick it up then I hope you'll be giggling kicking your feet and shit at it too lmao 😭

Oooo even though it’s not what I would usually write I do understand the appeal~ ^^

𝙿𝚑𝚘𝚝𝚘𝚐𝚛𝚊𝚙𝚑𝚜 𝚘𝚏 𝚊𝚛𝚝

𝐆𝐞𝐧𝐫𝐞: Fluff

𝐂𝐡𝐚𝐫𝐚𝐜𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐬: Unnämed.

𝐑𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐞𝐫 𝐦𝐨𝐝𝐞: On.

𝐓𝐲𝐩𝐞: Oneshot.

𝐏𝐫𝐨𝐧𝐨𝐮𝐧𝐬: They/Them.

𝐒𝐮𝐦𝐦𝐚𝐫𝐲: Soft kisses while in bed, pictures of someone so beautiful, and just a generally very chill day for the both of you..

Your photographs on the floor

Their heart and yours are captured in a single shot.

More under the cut ^^

Is it the smell of their perfume that woke you up or the way they're hugging you so tightly right now? Today's morning was cold as well, you don't mind that it's comfy and nice under the stack of weighted blanket. Slowly you stopped feeling sleepy and decided to wake up and leave the bed so as to not-

“You’re leaving so early again… stay?” Peaking out the blanket still looking sleepy was your best friend, sometimes you wonder if you had spoiled them too much.

“I can’t~ besides it’s my turn to make breakfast this morning, remember?” Despite saying that you can’t bring yourself to leave the room just yet, not without admiring their cute sleepy form, and apparently this just put you in their perfect timing as they grabbed from the blankets. “Hey!”

Despite still not wanting to wake up yet they still had the strength to pull you from where you stood, as you pouted pulling their cheek they swatted your hand away in a half awake manner. They’re ridiculously adorable for someone so beautifully hot, it makes you a bit jealous of your best friend however you do think that you’re already lucky for having them as a friend.

On the table next to your small shared bed was your camera, as well as the photos you took from yesterday, colors swirling in the cards which looked so beautiful. So as they fell asleep again you quietly took a picture of them and walked away. Truly you’d never think there would be a day you would be this close to your muse if it had been you from years ago… you’re kind of happy that you at least became a close friend of theirs.

Maybe you got lost admiring the photo but you were quickly pulled out of your trance by the beeping alarm clock, groans were heard next to you reaching out trying to shut the clock up, but all they managed to do was knock off some of the photos and blank films. Shaking your head seeing as how silly they were you turned the alarm off for them before leaving the room.

Scrolling through your phone nothing new seems to be showing up, the same old thing going by, nothing really piqued your interest, with the coffee machine being the noise to cut your silence you sighed at the otherwise loneliness of yours.

The way you see the world is like how your father did, a place full of colors that needed to be captured, so that was what you did, you took pictures of the world. Some joked that you were like a thief stealing colors from the world but really it's just a few pretty photos in your eyes, photography was a love you shared with your father.

Taking your coffee mug in your hand, you moved into a different room along with the photo you took this morning. Shuttering the sound of your camera slide out another photo in black, giving it a quick flutter a flower appears in the frame. The colors which are so vibrant on every petal copied onto the smaller frame in your hands, the photos you took.

In your photo album, the colors leaked out into the real world as its own world, the space you created taking the colors of the real world yet somehow something felt missing in those pages. The colors that swayed you could never compare to that feeling in your heart.

“They’re lovely..” the vibrancy of your album dulled in their presence, hair messed up from sleeping, weird but cute pjs, and honestly they’re as beautiful as the devil. “So this is why you left me~? To take pictures so early in the morning?”

click

“Maybe~?” You took their photo as they stood staring at your album, that gentle smile could never be replicated no matter the angle or lighting, perhaps even when you have the best of the best, it's just not the same as the real thing.

Your one and only muse, your best friend whose colors are so unique there’s only one of them in this world, Man how did you get so lucky? You were everything they could ask for from a friend, but you knew you could have been more, you could have done so much more for them.

“Hey! What did I say about taking pictures?” Quickly hiding the photo into your pocket, you tried to pretend you didn’t knew anything and played dumb. “Come on now, don’t play dumb with me sweetie.”

“I have no idea what you’re talking about” taking the camera out of your hands while you were distracted, they held it up trying to take a photo of you as well.

“Stand still now~” you photo being taken as you tried to reach for your camera from them, like a melody both of your laughter created a song.

The warm and gleeful smile of theirs was something you never plan on breaking, not even the colors you took can replicate the beauty they possess. You reached for your camera however unsurprisingly they just held it higher and over your head, they were just that adamant about getting your picture just like how you took theirs.

Your blurry colors in the photo as a result of you reaching out for that camera, they were a bit upset they couldn’t take a clear photo of you the way you did to them.

“Here let me show you.” Steady you helped them position the camera and very rarely you smiled into the lens, click. Your photo looked good enough but it was dull, but you knew it wasn’t theirs nor the camera’s fault, you were naturally dull looking after all.

“It’s beautiful, just like you.” You could never understand what type of beauty they saw in you, what was it really?

Unlike the vibrant colors of your flowers, or the soothing colors of your paintings, even the colors of your coffee mugs, you had nothing but the dullness of the world.

“Smile, it makes you look lovely.” Surrounded by your photos on the wall, the colors reflected off them by the sunlight lit up your boring room. In the middle of it you smiled for their eyes and their eyes only.

“There we go..”

At the edge of your world, you stood staring at the dead stars in the sky, a moonless night led by the stars made you feel quite lonely tonight. You hated your life so much at this point it's not even funny to joke about anymore, the dark colors of clouds began to gather plunging the colors in grey, black, and white. The world just grew lonelier with each passing second, it was also getting colder for you too.

You felt hopeless, you felt betrayed, you felt sad... so what if you got lucky and didn't need to do much to achieve something? It still hurts to even live like you do, living in fear and pain, the photos have all but lost their worth to you, perhaps you could trade all your luck for a normal life? Because if it was possible you would have done so in a heartbeat.

As you sat there on the sands, the sea rose and fall back out like a rhythm, the quiet song of the sea longing for its moon. The unpleasant smell of cigarettes was in the air, and it bothered you a lot but you couldn’t say anything about it. Next to you a stranger about your age appears, cigarette in one hand, staring a far into the never ending view of the sea.

You appreciated the company, even when it probably wasn’t what they meant to do. But it really didn’t matter at that point for you both now did it? You both were at a stage of your life where things have reached rock bottom, or maybe that was just you, delusional you.

“Hey… you’re really quiet you know?” Looking into their eyes, it’s as if all the color in the world had dimmed, it’s just like how you imagined it.

The gentle winds continued blowing, but it was too cold for you, it was too cold just wearing a thin shirt and pants. The stranger tossed you their hoodie with cat ears, it caught you off guard for a second as you turned to them.

“You were shaking like a leaf, kinda stupid of you not wearing a jacket when going out here.” It was warm… it was suddenly so warm.

Unknowingly it had probably been a while since a total stranger had treated you this nice, your tears spilled out of nowhere catching yourself off-guard, the warmth you never knew you missed so much. You couldn’t stop crying like a child, why couldn’t you do so?

The stranger only continued smoking, sitting there staring at you crying, they remembered when they were like that once, having been through a lot and just wanting to break down. You were so vulnerable to a complete stranger that it baffles them a lot, don't you know that they could just take advantage of your situation?

Still, they didn't say anything, just letting you silently cry your heart out to the sea, and for a while, it felt as if you both were in a world of your own.

"Sorry to bother you like this... you probably didn't need to see this, it was a bad idea to come here for me." you couldn't bring yourself to put on the hoodie so you just hugged it instead, the smell of cigarettes still heavy in the air.

"It's no problem... We all have that moment in life when we need to just let loose, you chose to be here alone to do that didn't you? I should be the one apologizing for choosing to sit here." throwing the bud away into the crashing waves you couldn't care less but only continued looking at the moonless skies.

"It must have been the same for you if you're here as well huh?" With a small nod from them, lying down in the sand you both looked up at the starry night sky, there might be no moon, but instead, you witnessed a beautiful starry sky.

"Wait you still kept these photos? It's been a while." Curios to what they were saying you peaked over their shoulder to see the moonless sky in a photo.

"They were pretty so why not?" the photos of the night you both first met, the memory of your breakdown, to be honest, you wondered what happened if you hadn't met them.

"You're lying~ you wouldn't keep these certain photos in a different album for no reason." You snapped your head back as they said those words, the album in their hands was the one you thought you had hid really well. "Glad to see your skills only continued to improve the way you wanted it to."

"How the hell did you even find that one?" quickly snatching the album out of their hands you flipped the pages checking if you had lost any of the photos, thankful nothing seemed to have been lost.

"You're terrible at hiding your stuff." turning back at them from the quick tap you took the photo they took from the album. “The sea has so many deep secrets that’s hard to understand, yet I understand my sea just fine”

You smelt the unpleasant smell of cigarettes once more in your little space, turning at them you only saw them tuning their guitar. It was nostalgic having this smell in the room, even when you learnt how much you hated the smell of it.

“You know, there was something you said on our first meeting that kind of stuck out to me.” Their arms around your waist, head on your shoulder looking at you decorating the album.

“And it was?” You could feel their smile as they bury their face into the crook of your neck.

“Well…”

“I want you to be there when I die.” You turned to them confused by what they were saying, the cigarettes in their hand have long but extinguished.

“Wouldn’t you rather a loved one was next to you rather than a total stranger?” You can’t help but stare at them sighing, their tired eyes looking at the skies above.

“Now why would I want mourning? I’d rather have someone who would be happy for my choices” the smile on their face, a sad smile, a tired one.

“…If you’re dying then at least make sure to compensate me while you’re still alive, until the day you decide to do so.” The shocked look on their face, that strange expression you rarely see from other people… “starting now then.”

The camera you bought along you was some how of use right now, you took a photo of the sea and skies, you wanted to see what they would say, how they would react. They laughed, it was kind of like pure joy type of laughter, but maybe it was just you and not what they meant when laughing like this.

“Alright then, it’s our little promise.” The child-like glimmer in their eye as they help up their pinky finger, playing along you hooked it with your finger as well. “I trust you will keep your end of the promise, my lonely sea”

“ you’re creepy.” However you can’t deny the butterflies in your stomach, especially now that you’ve gotten a better look at those ocean eyes of theirs. “Don’t die on me so soon, my lovely moon..”

“Cheesy”

“Who started it first then?”

I had no idea what I was writing pffft, I’m not really good at writing but thank you for trusting me to write this.

-au-chan.

#unnämed x reader #unnämed #u-san x reader #x reader #vtuber x reader #u-san

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townofcadence · 3 months

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Muse Information - Fox

Directory | Character List | Headcanons

Basic Information:

Full Name: Sarah "Fox" Cooper

Nicknames: Fox, she hates her first name, it doesn't feel like her

Age: 26

Date of Birth: December 16th

Nationality: American

Accent: American

Blood Type: B

Pronouns: She/her

Gender: Cis Lady

Sexuality: Bi, Lady-leaning

Relationship Status: Single

Occupation: Squatter and Thief of Shiny Things

Physical Traits:

Height: 4’10” (147.32 cm)

Weight: 135 Lbs. (61.23 kg)

Eye Color(s): Blue, with yellow sclera

Hair Color(s): pink and blonde

Notable Features: Tan, she has a fox paw tattoo on her left upper arm, and a large scratch scar on her right shoulder near her neck. She is usually decorated in kandi bracelets and a variety of shiny things, including earrings, necklaces, bangles and rings. She has long claw-like nails, sharp teeth that poke out, and a pair of long, pale ears. her hair is long, half shaved and half pulled back into a ponytail. It is a faded pink dye, more vibrant near the tips, and washed out near the top. Her blond roots are showing. She has an athletic build, and wears baggy clothes. She keeps a faux foxtail clipped to her pants. She usually is covered in dirt somehow. her alternative form is a leucistic fox

Nature: Playful, Mischievous, Impulsive, greedy, cheerful, excitable, bold, talkative, loud, friendly, dirty, gremlin

Brief Bio: Sarah Cooper was a human until 24. She lived a relatively tough life. Raised in foster care, she bounced around homes, never really emotionally connecting to any of the families that took her in. She aged out in the system, and then was shunted into adulthood, which-- was not fun at all, really.

She ended up playing at petty thievery, rejecting the idea of some job she'd never love for one that was-- dangerous, but fun and made her feel alive. She scrounged to have enough to live on, including pickpocketing and pilfering things when she could-- with mixed results. Her ass got kicked more often than not, but sometimes she was able to charm her way into some food or a place to sleep for a bit instead. She ended up dating a few people she'd stolen things from unsuccessfully. It was working for her because she-- loved the thrill, the fun, the games trying not to get caught, and most importantly, the adrenaline rush and the adventure of it all. It was about fun, not ending up in some soulless boring job. It was about never growing up.

At 24, she met a girl. The two hit it off at a club, and hung out often. At her birthday party, the two hooked up, and the other girl revealed she was a lycan-- a wolf. She offered to turn Fox as a gift, because running wild and free was the best thing in the world to her-- and Fox said yes. She was given the scratch on her shoulder, and turned to a fox. And while some struggled with their new inner animal instincts and coming to terms with them, Fox was one of the fastest to acclimate to lycanthropy. She was already half feral, so it just turned some of her impulses up to an eleven, and the control of them down further. But still, she was the happiest she ever had been, especially when the two parted ways, and fox decided that running wild in the woods just sounded like more fun than being a functioning member of society. She's a creature of travel, going wherever the wind takes her, unburdened of care or connection to really draw her to a home.

Who needs one, anyways? She can turn into a fucking fox!

Art Ref:

#mobilefriendly #Muse Information #Fox Headcanon #Sarah 'Fox' Cooper

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narrators-journal · 1 year

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Oh hi! I'm the one that requested a Chrollo x Fem!reader who's a singer singing the song criminal (by lady Gaga) so the reader sings the song criminal

"He is a bad boy with a tainted heart and even I know this ain't smart, but Mama I'm in love with a criminal"

But I also want her to sing another line the:

"he is a villain by the devil's law, he is a killer just for fun, fun, fun,fun, that mans a snitch and unpredictable, he's got no conscious he got none, none, none"

I thought these lyrics would describe Chrollo, but even though the reader has not found out Chrollo is her soulmate yet, Lmao, let's just say Chrollo went inside the building to steal or something along with the phantom troupe and there seems to be a concert, which turns out to be his own soulmates concert🤭

You didn't specify any particular au, so I went with one I've seen bouncing around on Pinterest from, like, Tumblr lol. I hope this is an entertaining read! It was a good lil break from the editing for me and p fun to write. Even if I am very rusty with hxh still. 😅😅

Also, I once answered an ask and said Chrollo is unlabelled and not picky, so I decided to shake things up by him going on a date with a dude here. I mean no ill harm with that, just thought it'd be a fun nod to that headcanon. Chrollo's sexuality is crime, nothing more lololol

Chrollo Lucifer did a lot of things for the spiders. From sleeping with someone to get his people a foot in the door of prime targets, to amoral killing. So, taking a man on a date to a concert was nothing new or challenging. Was it a date he particularly enjoyed? No, the dark-haired criminal was far more interested in reading than the squealing and screaming of fans over some vapid singer. Was this art collector his soulmate? No, Chrollo still saw the world as if he lived in some old noir murder movie, so he truly held no worth to him beyond the well-guarded goods his home held hostage.

Yet, there the ebony-haired thief stood. Swaying mindlessly to the opening act, pretneding to be interested in experiencing this man's favorite artist with him, internally counting down until he could politely suggest his date take him home to hook up.

However, the evening that Chrollo was almost certain would be highlighted by nothing except drunk, sloppy sex and a good heist was abruptly thrown into a centerfuge when that main attraction belted out her first note. "He is a hustler, he's no good at all~"

And the world imploded into color.

Of all the ways Chrollo lucifer had thought he'd run into his soulmate, on a heist was the most likely, yet the one he least desired. If he had it his way, he'd meet his destined beloved on one of his off days, when he was left to his books and thoughts. Yet, there was no denying it. With each word sang from the siren on stage, his world grew more vibrant and colorful. "He is a bad boy with a tainted heart, and even I know this aint smart~" She sang, flinging an arm over her eyes to match the drama of her words as she continued. And while, yes, Chrollo still didn't exactly enjoy the hysterics of the crowd or the shrill whistle of the music over the speakers, the sheer novelty of the clashing outfits and seeing things in such a new way washed that inhibition away.

Before he knew it, the thief was weaving through the crowd to get closer, as if magnetically pulled to the woman on stage. Naturally, followed by his date, but the man was pushed to the back burner for now. The only thing on the leader of the spiders' mind was getting closer to his soulmate and drinking in each and every one of the colors on her body. And, as if to reward that impulsive decision, the singer looked directly at him with a coy, almost knowing look when she sang, "He is a villain by the devil's law~ He is a killer just for fun, fun, fun, fun.~" Swishing her carefully-colored clothes with each flick of her hips to the words. "That man's a snick and unpredictable~ He's got no conscious he's got none, none, none, none.~"

It was such a brief interaction. One Chrollo was almost certain held no weight for the singer, as she was just as quick to flash a smile to the next eager man to move closer to her, but for Chrollo, her words were almost a message.

Chrollo'd complete his mission. He'd seduce this art collector, get into his house, rob him blind, and maybe kill him. But after that. After that, he would be certain to turn his entire attention to tracking down his soulmate. Those colors were just too nice to give up after just a simple taste.

#hxh #hunter x hunter #Chrollo Lucifer #Chrollo Lucifer x reader #fem!Reader #Chrollo Lucifer x Fem!reader #ask #soulmate au

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illumins · 1 year

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════ஓ๑ ᴄʜᴘ.7 ๑ஓ════

Lena was escorted through a labyrinthine maze of opulent corridors and grand hallways, her steps echoing against marble floors as she was guided deeper into the heart of the Marquess's sprawling estate. The walls were adorned with priceless tapestries depicting scenes from ancient battles, their vibrant colors and intricate details a testament to the wealth and prestige of the Li'Pold family.

The guards led her to a set of towering double doors, ornately carved from dark mahogany. These imposing doors swung open with a soft, almost imperceptible creak, revealing the inner sanctum of the Marquess's chambers. Lena's breath caught as she stepped into the room.

The chamber was a symphony of luxury and extravagance. Gilded accents adorned every surface, from the elaborate crown molding on the high ceilings to the intricate patterns on the velvet draperies that framed tall, arched windows. Sunlight streamed through those windows, casting a warm, golden glow on the room's sumptuous furnishings.

A massive, intricately carved desk dominated the center of the room, its surface cluttered with parchment, quills, and various documents. Bookshelves lined the walls, filled with leather-bound tomes and ancient scrolls, a testament to the Marquess's erudition.

The room's focal point was a massive portrait that hung above an ornate fireplace. It depicted the Marquess in his younger days, resplendent in noble attire, his steely gaze exuding an air of authority and self-assuredness.

Near the fireplace, a chaise lounge upholstered in rich crimson velvet beckoned, while a small table with an intricately carved chess board stood at its side. Lena noticed a scattering of chess pieces, evidence of a strategic mind at work.

As Lena took in her surroundings, she couldn't help but feel overwhelmed by the opulence and grandeur of the Marquess's private quarters. It was a world of privilege and power, a stark contrast to the life she had gotten used to with the pirates. Yet not so far from her life a month or so ago.

The Marquess, resplendent in his formal attire, stood before Lena, his stern countenance revealing a mixture of anger and humiliation. His eyes bore into hers as he began to speak, his voice laced with a cold intensity.

“Lena,” he began, his tone measured but forceful, “I cannot fathom why you would willingly choose a life of piracy over the honor and privilege of being my bride. You were promised to me, and our union was to solidify the bonds between our families.”

Lena, although feeling the weight of his words, tried to muster her courage. “Marquess, it's not what you think. Captain Canary—”

He cut her off with a dismissive wave of his hand, his anger flaring. “Captain Canary, as you call him, is a criminal and a thief. He kidnapped you, and I had to send my guards to rescue you. You have brought disgrace upon our families, Lena.”

She stammered, desperately trying to make him understand. “No, Marquess, it wasn't like that. I went with him by choice. I was not kidnapped. I needed to escape, to find my own path.”

The Marquess's face contorted with fury, and he took a step closer, his voice dropping to an icy whisper. “You chose a pirate over me? You dare to defy our families and our betrothal?”

Lena could see that her attempts to reason with him were futile, and she decided to change tactics. “Please, Marquess, you have Captain Canary in custody. I beg you to release him. He saved my life more than once. He is not a common criminal. I owe him a debt I cannot repay.”

The Marquess's expression remained unyielding. “You expect me to release a pirate? To show leniency to a man who has taken you from me? I will not allow it, Lena.”

Desperation welled up inside her as she realized the gravity of the situation. The Marquess was not only furious but also unwilling to listen to reason. She knew she needed to find a way to convince him, but in this lavish and imposing chamber, surrounded by the symbols of his power and wealth, the odds were stacked against her.

She cleared her throat, trying to maintain her composure in the face of the Marquess's anger. “Marquess, I understand your anger and disappointment. But please, listen to me. Captain Canary is not what he seems. He has a code of honor, and he saved my life on more than one occasion. If you just hear his side of the story—”

The Marquess's expression remained implacable. “I have no interest in hearing the tales of a pirate, Lena. My decision is final.”

With a heavy heart, Lena realized that her pleas were falling on deaf ears. The Marquess was determined to proceed with their arranged marriage and to punish Captain Canary for what he saw as a betrayal.

As the Marquess signaled for his guards to take her away, Lena cast one final, pleading glance in his direction. “Marquess, I implore you to reconsider. Captain Canary deserves a fair trial. I beg you to show mercy.”

The guards escorted Lena through a series of luxurious corridors, adorned with intricate tapestries and grandiose paintings, until they arrived at a set of double doors. As they pushed them open, Lena stepped into what she could only assume was her new chamber.

The room was nothing short of opulent. Plush carpets covered the marble floor, and the walls were adorned with gilded frames holding portraits of past Marquesses and their brides. A large four-poster bed with rich, embroidered drapes stood at the center of the room, and a vanity table laden with cosmetics and jewelry gleamed in the soft, golden light streaming in from the tall windows.

The guards left Lena alone in the chamber, and as the doors closed behind her, she heard the distinct click of a lock. Panic welled up within her, but before she could react, the double doors on the opposite side of the room swung open, revealing a group of maids.

They greeted Lena with a combination of courtesy and restraint, their expressions marked by a cold understanding of her predicament. In their hands, they carried a variety of clothes, towels, and sanitary supplies. Lena hesitated for a moment before surrendering to their ministrations, realizing she had little choice in the matter.

One by one, they carefully undressed her, their movements efficient and practiced. Lena's heart raced as they attempted to remove the blue pendant from her neck, and she instinctively clutched it, refusing to let it go. She explained that it was a gift from her mother, a keepsake of great sentimental value. Reluctantly, the head maid decided to let her keep it for now, though her eyes held a trace of suspicion.

With the pendant secured around her neck, Lena was led into a lavish bathing chamber. The room was awash in warm, soft light, and the large, ornate bathtub was filled with steaming water. Lena watched in mild astonishment as the maids meticulously prepared the bath, adding fragrant oils and flower petals that created a fragrant and inviting aroma.

As she was guided into the bath, Lena couldn't help but feel a strange mix of emotions. The water was warm and soothing, and the maids were gentle but efficient in their task. Lena watched as they worked, scrubbing her skin and hair with luxurious soaps and shampoos. It was an odd sensation, being pampered in such a manner, and yet it felt strangely familiar—like a distant memory from a past life she had almost forgotten.

After the bath, they dried her meticulously and led her back into the bedroom. There, the maids went to work, selecting a gown of opulent silk and lace, carefully styling her hair, and adorning her with jewelry fit for a Marquessa. The transformation was remarkable, and as Lena looked at herself in the mirror, she couldn't help but marvel at how they had turned her into the picture of nobility.

As the maids worked, a thought suddenly struck Lena, and she couldn't contain her curiosity any longer. "How did the Marquess and everyone here know who I am?" she asked, her voice trembling with uncertainty.

The head maid, while continuing to adjust Lena's hair, responded with a detached calmness. “The first gift the Marquess received from your father was a portrait of you, per your father's request. He has long been aware of your existence, my lady.”

Lena listened to the head maid's explanation, her mind racing with the implications of her father's actions. The portrait, a gift from her father, had introduced her existence to the Marquess long before she had even set foot in Canoga. She couldn't help but feel like a pawn in a grand, calculated game.

As the maids worked meticulously to transform her into the Marquessa she was meant to be, Lena's thoughts drifted back to the month she had spent at sea as a cabin boy. It had been a stark contrast to the opulence and luxury surrounding her now.

She remembered the salty sea air, the creaking of the ship's timbers, and the endless expanse of the ocean stretching out in all directions. Life on the pirate ship had been rough and demanding, but it had also been liberating in its own way. She had been free from the constraints of her noble upbringing, free to be herself and prove her worth through her actions rather than her title.

Now, in this lavishly adorned chamber, surrounded by opulent furnishings and adorned like a prized jewel, Lena couldn't help but feel a sense of déjà vu. It was a return to the life she had known before, a life of privilege and expectation.

She glanced at her reflection in the ornate mirror, her eyes lingering on the blue pendant that hung from her neck. Her thoughts drifted to him, to the pool and waterfall, and to when they plummeted below its surface. To how close he was to her, a breath away.

As the maids continued their work, arranging her hair and adjusting her gown, Lena couldn't shake the feeling of being trapped once more. The gilded cage she had escaped from in her manor now seemed to have reappeared in a different form, one where she was expected to play a role she had never truly wanted.

Three days had passed since Lena's arrival at the Marquess's grand estate, and her attempts to inquire about Captain Canary had been met with cold indifference. Whenever she had a moment alone with the Marquess during his busy schedule, she would cautiously bring up the topic of the Captain, her voice trembling with anxiety and desperation. But the Marquess treated her with an icy detachment that sent chills down her spine.

Their conversations had become increasingly strained, with Lena's questions about the Captain falling on deaf ears. The Marquess would simply divert the topic or dismiss her inquiries with a wave of his hand. It was as though he had chosen to forget the pirate's existence entirely, and it filled Lena with a growing sense of dread.

Most of her days were spent locked in her chamber, a beautifully gilded prison that felt more suffocating with each passing hour. She was allowed limited access to the rest of the estate, but always under the watchful eye of guards who followed her every move. Even when she ventured out for dinner with the Marquess, she was never truly alone. The guards remained vigilant, their presence a constant reminder of her captivity.

Locked away for most of the day, Lena found solace only in the blue pendant that rested against her skin. It was a tangible connection to her past, a reminder of who she used to be before this twisted fate had woven her into a new role. She would clasp it in her hands and lose herself in memories of the sea, the camaraderie with the crew, and the sense of freedom that seemed so distant now.

The days were marked by a turbulent torrent of emotions, swinging from fear and anger to desperation and sadness. The confines of her room began to feel suffocating, the gilded luxury a mocking reminder of her predicament. She would often sit by the window, watching the world outside, yearning for the salty breeze and the vastness of the ocean.

As Lena sat by the grand window, the soft, diffused light of the sun gently streaming in, she gazed out at the world beyond the palace walls, her mind drifting in a sea of uncertainty. It was in this contemplative moment that the door to her chamber creaked open, and the head maid, followed by three other attendants, entered with a sense of purpose.

“Lady Lena,” the head maid began with a polite curtsy, “we bring news from His Grace, the Marquess.”

Lena turned her gaze away from the window to acknowledge their presence. The head maid continued, “You are to be formally introduced to the nobility of Canoga at a grand soirée tonight. It is a significant event, and you will need to be prepared accordingly.”

Lena's heart sank at the prospect of an elaborate gathering designed to showcase her as the Marquess's betrothed. She had grown weary at the thought of these formalities, the elaborate charades that masked her true desires. Her thoughts returned to Captain Canary and her crew, imprisoned or worse, and the weight of her helplessness pressed upon her.

The head maid cleared her throat, bringing Lena back to the present. “We shall begin your preparations immediately.”

With mechanical compliance, Lena stood from her seat by the window, her movements sluggish and devoid of enthusiasm. The attendants began their task, carefully undressing her and assisting her into the bath. The warm water was a brief comfort, a fleeting reminder of simpler times when such rituals were soothing rather than daunting.

Then, they began to disrobe her, her previous attire of elegance and restraint discarded in favor of the attire befitting the Marquessa of Canoga. The dress they selected was a masterpiece of splendor. It was a rich sapphire blue, adorned with intricate lace and delicate embroidery that seemed to shimmer in the light. The bodice was elegantly cinched, accentuating Lena's slender figure, while the skirt cascaded in a gentle A-line silhouette, pooling around her feet. As they fastened it with meticulous care, the gown's luxurious fabric whispered against her skin.

Next came her hair, a complex task undertaken by skilled hands. They coaxed her chestnut tresses into intricate braids and curls, weaving in delicate pearls and sapphires that matched the gown's hue. The result was a breathtaking arrangement that framed her face with effortless grace.

The transformation was almost complete when they began to apply makeup, enhancing her features with a delicate touch. Her eyes were lined with kohl to make them appear larger, and her lips were painted a deep shade of crimson. The mirror reflected a woman she scarcely recognized—a porcelain doll, adorned with jewels and finery, but devoid of the spirit that had once defined her.

Lena tolerated their ministrations until she could bear it no longer. With a firm tone, she dismissed them. “Thank you, but I can manage on my own from here.”

The head maid hesitated, a hint of concern in her eyes. “Miss, we are here to assist you. It is our duty.”

Lena's gaze turned icy, a reflection of her inner turmoil. “I said, I can manage.”

The head maid hesitated for a moment, clearly unused to such defiance, but Lena's unyielding gaze silenced any further protest. With a reluctant nod, they withdrew, leaving Lena alone in the ornate bathroom.

In the ensuing silence, loneliness enveloped her, and the emotional numbness that had been slowly seeping into her heart became more pronounced. She fought to hold back a distressed cry, the tears threatening to spill over. Her world had become a prison, and hope seemed like a distant, fading memory.

Then, her gaze fell upon the blue pendant that hung around her neck. It glittered in the soft light, a beacon of memories and promises. Her heart ached as she thought of Captain Canary locked away in the darkness of his captivity. Fear gnawed at her as she considered the possibility that the Captain could be dead, and she would be none the wiser.

She thought of his words to her, ‘You seek freedom, and I can give it.’ The distress that had been simmering beneath the surface erupted into a torrent of anguish. She clutched the pendant tightly, her knuckles turning white, and a sob escaped her lips, echoing in the ornate chamber. She felt utterly helpless, trapped in a world that bore no resemblance to the life she had once known.

As Lena grappled with her distress, the soft knock on the bathroom door pulled her back to the present. It was the head maid, her voice gentle but insistent as she informed Lena that it was time for her to make her grand entrance at the soirée. “The Marquess awaits you,” she reminded.

Lena's grip on the pendant tightened briefly as she took a steadying breath. She couldn't afford to break down now, not in the midst of this carefully orchestrated charade. With deliberate movements, she wiped away the traces of tears that had threatened to mar her makeup, her fingers recalling the lessons she had learned from the maids back in her family's manor.

She nodded to herself, mustering a semblance of courage. Standing up, she left behind the vulnerability of the bathroom and entered the bedroom. The guards who had been standing by the door stepped forward, forming a silent escort for her.

As she moved through the lavish corridors of the palace, the anticipation in the air was palpable. The party was already in full swing, the soft hum of conversations and the strains of a chamber orchestra floating through the air. Lena could hear the tinkling of crystal glasses and the clinking of silverware from the grand hall ahead.

The doors to the grand hall swung open before her, revealing a breathtaking scene of lavishness. The chamber was adorned with gilded accents, crystal chandeliers that cast shimmering light, and sprawling tapestries depicting grandiose scenes of history. Guests in elaborate gowns and tailored suits mingled, their laughter and chatter filling the space.

Lena stepped into the room, her entrance drawing the collective gaze of the assembled nobility. Her heart hammered in her chest as she scanned the sea of faces, searching for the Marquess.

And then, she saw him. Marquess Li'Pold, clad in resplendent attire, stood near the center of the room. His eyes met hers, and he offered an amused smile, as if relishing the spectacle that her arrival had become. With a quick nod of acknowledgment, he began to make his way toward her.

Meeting him halfway, Lena extended her arm, looping it through his as was customary. She summoned a smile, but it was a mask—a veneer of politeness that concealed the turmoil beneath. Her gaze remained cold, her eyes betraying no hint of warmth or affection. The Marquess, seemingly unperturbed by her demeanor, returned the smile with a degree of amusement. With her at his side, they continued to move through the grand hall, a couple in appearance only, navigating the intricacies of an aristocratic soirée where appearances were everything.

Lena, her smile painted on like a mask, navigated the maze of aristocrats who approached with congratulations and inquisitive glances. Each noble's words washed over her like a tide of politeness and flattery, their remarks well-rehearsed and dripping with insincerity.

One noblewoman, adorned in an intricate lace gown, leaned in with an air of curiosity. “My dear, you and the Marquess have taken quite some time to make your union official. Pray, what has caused this delay?”

Before Lena could even muster a response, the Marquess interjected with an affable tone. “Ah, Lady Lydia, you are quite perceptive. Our union was indeed delayed due to unfortunate circumstances. Lena here fell quite ill, and it was during her convalescence that she was abducted by pirates, who sought to hold her for ransom.”

Lena felt a wave of disgust rise within her at the concocted story, but she kept her composure, nodding as if the tale were gospel truth. Lady Lydia gasped in disbelief, her eyes filled with sympathy. “How dreadful! You poor dear, to have endured such a harrowing experience.”

Another nobleman, resplendent in a velvet jacket, chimed in, his eyes appraising Lena with a calculating look. “Marquess Li'Pold, you have chosen a rare beauty as your bride. It's a testament to your discerning taste.”

Lena forced herself to play the part, acknowledging the compliment with a gracious nod. But with each word, she felt like a prized possession rather than a human being.

The Marquess, sensing the need to maintain appearances, turned to Lena with a practiced charm. “My dear, would you do me the honor of a dance?”

She agreed with a distaste she couldn't hide, and he led her onto the polished dance floor. The opulent chandeliers above cast a warm, golden glow, and the chamber orchestra's melodies enveloped them.

With a gentle touch, he adjusted her position, their bodies aligning to the rhythm and pace of the waltz. The Marquess guided her with practiced grace, their movements seamless and choreographed to perfection. His eyes bore into hers, and for a fleeting moment, Lena felt as though she were a pawn in an intricate game, a player in a charade she never wished to join.

As they glided across the dance floor, the Marquess maintained a facade of charm and poise, his grip on Lena both delicate and firm. His voice, a silky whisper, brushed against her ear as he spoke in hushed tones.

“You're doing splendidly, my dear Lena,” he murmured, his breath sending shivers down her spine. “Remember, this is all for appearances. We must play our roles convincingly.”

Lena nodded subtly, her forced smile never wavering. She felt like a marionette, manipulated by the strings of society's expectations, dancing to a tune she had no control over. The room, filled with lavish decorations and adorned guests, seemed to close in on her, suffocating her with its grandeur and artifice.

Their steps became a blur, the music swirling around them like a whirlwind of pretense and deception. Lena's gaze swept across the faces of the nobility, each one wearing a mask of congeniality. She couldn't help but feel like a prisoner, her every move scrutinized by those who attended the lavish event.

The Marquess, with his polished facade, guided Lena through the intricate patterns of the dance. With each step, she yearned for freedom, for a return to the life she had known before her abduction. But she also knew that escape wouldn't be easy, not with the Marquess's watchful eye and the guards ever-present.

The Marquess's voice, laced with a hint of satisfaction, caressed Lena's ear as he leaned down, his lips barely grazing her skin. “My dear Lena,” he murmured, his tone soft yet commanding, “prepare to be happily surprised.”

He continued in his hushed tone, “Captain Canary is still alive, my sweet Lena. After our dance, the guards will escort you to him.”

Lena's heart leaped in her chest as she tried to conceal her emotions. Her lips curved into a feigned, surprised smile, her eyes glistening with tears that she refused to let fall. Inside, a mix of hope and fear churned within her, a tumultuous storm of conflicting emotions.

“Why now?” she couldn't help but ask, her voice quivering with emotion. “Why allow me to see him?”

The Marquess's gloved hand gently traced her cheekbone, his thumb wiping away an errant tear that threatened to escape. “I thought it was time you had a glimpse of your former life before you embark on your new journey as my wife.”

His explanation held a certain cruel kindness, a twisted form of generosity that was as unsettling as it was unexpected. But Lena's astonishment deepened as he pressed his lips to her cheek, the sensation sending shivers down her spine.

“This,” he murmured, his voice barely audible above the music and the chatter of the guests, “is my gift to you, my dear Lena, for our impending marriage.”

His kiss lingered for a moment, and Lena could feel the world closing in around her. She realized, with chilling clarity, just how thoroughly trapped she was. The Marquess's power and control over her life had never been more evident, and any illusion of agency she had held onto shattered like glass.

As they continued to dance, Lena felt a profound sense of despair settle over her like a heavy cloak. The promise of seeing Captain Canary again was both a ray of hope and a reminder of the gilded cage she now inhabited, where even her most personal emotions were scrutinized and manipulated.

She forced herself to smile and pretend, to dance gracefully in the arms of a man she had no love for, all the while yearning for a way out of the elaborate web of deception that had become her life.

As the music came to a gentle halt, the Marquess released Lena, pressing a last, lingering kiss to her delicate hand. He bowed with an air of practiced gallantry, his eyes holding a dark knowing, leaving Lena with a chilling sensation of being exposed and utterly vulnerable. She forced a gracious smile, her heart pounding wildly in her chest.

“Thank you for the dance,” he murmured, the words seemingly benign but laden with a sinister undercurrent.

Lena managed a polite curtsy, her gaze downcast, her mind racing with a tumult of thoughts and emotions. She needed to stay composed, to gather herself before the guards escorted her to where Captain Canary was being held.

The guards flanked her on either side, their imposing presence haunting as ever. Together, they descended through a dimly lit corridor, the flickering torches casting eerie, dancing shadows on the stone walls. The air grew cooler and damper as they descended further, and the distant sound of music and laughter from the ballroom above faded into oblivion.

Finally, they reached a lower level of the estate, where the opulence of the ballroom had given way to a stark, unforgiving reality. They stood before a heavy iron door, and Lena's heart sank as the guards gestured for her to proceed.

As the door creaked open, Lena stepped into a small, dimly lit jail. The cold stone walls closed in around her, and she couldn't help but shiver. At the far end of the corridor, they stopped before a sturdy iron-barred cell. The guards gestured for her to approach, their expressions inscrutable. Lena took a deep breath, her heart hammering in her chest, and stepped closer.

The sight that greeted Lena as she approached was heart-wrenching. Inside the cell, the flickering light revealed a battered and bloodied figure. Captain Canary was hunched against the cold stone wall, his crimson hair matted with sweat and blood, his breaths ragged and pained. The bloodstains almost seemed to merge with the fiery hue of his hair, an unsettling sight that sent shivers down Lena's spine.

She approached the bars, her hand trembling as she reached out to touch the cold metal. “Haechan…” she choked out, her voice barely above a whisper.

His weary eyes met hers, a flicker of recognition and relief in them despite the pain. “Lena,” he rasped, his voice barely above a hoarse whisper. He attempted a weak smile, but it faltered as pain shot through him.

Tears welled up in Lena's eyes as she took in the sight of the man who had shown her kindness and understanding in the midst of a cruel world. “We'll get you out of here,” she whispered, her voice trembling with resolve. “I'll find a way.”

Captain Canary tried to maintain a sense of optimism, despite his battered state. He spoke, his voice barely above a whisper, “Lena, it's not as bad as it looks. I...I already got myself out.”

Her eyes widened in disbelief. She couldn't fathom how he had managed to escape this grim cell, especially in his wounded state. “You... you got out?” she stammered, her voice filled with a mix of shock and hope.

He nodded, though the motion clearly pained him. “Yes, but it came at a price,” he admitted with hesitation.

Lena's heart raced as she awaited his explanation, her mind racing with all the possibilities. She couldn't help but fear the worst, for what could he have possibly agreed to in exchange for his freedom? “What did you do?” she asked, her voice laced with a hint of horror.

He hesitated for a moment, his eyes avoiding hers. Finally, he admitted with reluctance, “I agreed to become a privateer.”

“You...you had no choice,” Lena stammered, grappling with the reality of the situation. “You did what you had to do to survive.”

Captain Canary met her gaze, his eyes reflecting a mixture of pain and resignation. “Right.”

Lena's heart ached for him, for the impossible choice he had been forced to make. She realized why the Marquess had allowed her to see him – or else he’d met a grimmer fate. The silence that followed was heavy with unspoken words, their implications hanging in the air like a storm cloud.

Lena's heart ached with guilt as she extended her trembling hand through the iron bars, tears streaming down her face. “I'm so sorry, Haechan,” she whispered, her voice laced with an overwhelming sense of culpability. Her hand shook as she reached out to touch his, to offer some small comfort in this dismal place.

The Captain glanced at her hand, his own battered and bruised. With what little strength he had left, he began to crawl toward her, wincing with each agonizing movement. Lena watched in horror and disbelief as he pushed himself forward, every inch a testament to his resilience and determination. Each inch closer seemed like an eternity, and Lena's heart shattered with every wince and pained breath that escaped him.

Her free hand cupped her mouth, stifling her cries as silent tears streamed down her cheeks. She couldn't stop apologizing, her voice filled with torment and self-blame. “It's my fault, all my fault,” she repeated.

When he finally rested against the bars, his breaths shallow and labored, Lena's breath caught in her throat as she saw the full extent of his injuries. His face was battered and bruised, with one eye swollen shut and blood crusted along his hairline. Bruises marred his skin, and a cut across his forehead oozed blood. His clothing was torn and stained with dried blood, and his limbs bore the signs of harsh mistreatment. It was a heartbreaking sight, and she struggled to keep herself composed.

His trembling hand reaching out to hold Lena's with a tight, reassuring grip. Despite the pain that etched across his face, he mustered a weak smile. “Hey now,” he managed to joke weakly, his voice strained but filled with his usual charm. “Do I look that bad?”

Lena's tearful laughter mixed with her sobs as she leaned closer to him, their hands joined through the bars. “You look...terrible,” she replied, her voice trembling. “But you're still...you.” His jokes, no matter how feeble, were a lifeline in this sea of despair, a reminder of the resilient spirit that had drawn her to him in the first place. His fingers squeezed hers gently, providing a small source of comfort in their dire circumstances.

Lena's world was a blur of emotions as the guards approached, their cold and unfeeling demeanor in stark contrast to the turmoil inside her. She shook her head vehemently, tears streaming down her face as she clung desperately to the bars of Captain Canary's cell. Lena's heart plummeted, the hollow thud echoing in her ears as her grip on Haechan tightened, her knuckles nearly white against the cruel iron bars that separated them. Her voice, hoarse from crying and shouting, was filled with defiance as she repeated the word ‘no’ like a mantra.

Haechan, despite his battered state, did his best to calm her. He whispered reassurances, urging her to let go and promising that he would be fine. His words were a lifeline in the storm of her despair, but she couldn't bring herself to release her grip on him.

Her eyes, wide with pleading, locked onto his, and she cried out a resounding ‘no’ that seemed to echo through the cold, dimly lit corridor. It was as if she were trying to anchor herself to him, refusing to be torn away from the one person who had shown her kindness and understanding in a world filled with cruelty.

As the guards approached her with increasing aggression, she fought back, like a cornered animal with nothing left to lose. Her cries were a symphony of despair, echoing through the dim corridors as they dragged her away from Haechan. She pulled against them, her cries turning into screams of protest, but their grip on her remained unyielding. With a cruel force, they hoisted her away from the cell, leaving behind the only source of solace she had known in this bleak place.

As they dragged her out of the small, nightmarish jail, Lena's desperate cries continued to pierce the air. She screamed for Haechan, her voice raw with anguish and despair. The torment of being forcibly separated from him was a pain unlike any other, a feeling of being ripped apart from a part of herself.

When they emerged from the oppressive underground chamber into the dimly lit corridor above, Lena's head maid stood there with a numb expression, her presence a chilling reminder of her captivity. With an air of cold authority, the head maid commanded the guards to take Lena to her room, ignoring her pleas and pleas for leniency.

Two weeks had passed since that agonizing moment when Lena was torn away from Haechan's cell, and in that time, her life had become a relentless whirlwind of transformation. She was no longer the same person who had stepped off that pirate ship, with her unkempt hair and torn clothing. The Marquess and his staff had taken it upon themselves to mold her into the image of a noblewoman, the future Marquessa Li'Pold.

Each day brought a new regimen of training and lessons. The head maid, who had initially treated her with cold detachment, had taken on the role of tutor, drilling her in the intricate protocols of noble society. Lena was taught how to walk with poise, how to curtsy gracefully, and how to engage in polite conversation. She met with other noblewomen, their conversations a dizzying whirl of compliments, gossip, and veiled insults. Lena had to learn to navigate this web of intrigue, all while maintaining a façade of composure and grace.

These encounters with the aristocracy were suffocating, their empty compliments and superficial pleasantries leaving Lena feeling hollow. She could sense the judgmental gazes that lingered upon her, as if they could see through her carefully constructed mask. Yet, she persevered, numb to the emptiness of it all, keeping up the act for the sake of survival.

The Marquess, in his twisted desire to make her his, played the role of the doting suitor. He showered her with gifts – elegant gowns adorned with intricate lace, exquisite jewels that sparkled with a cruel splendor, and fine silks that whispered against her skin. Each gift was a shackle, a reminder of the life she had been thrust into.

He would often accompany her on these shopping excursions, their interactions fraught with tension. He would hold her arm as they strolled through the boutiques and small shops, his touch possessive. He would whisper sweet words in her ear, attempting to charm her with flattery and empty promises. But Lena remained resolute, her emotions locked away, her spirit unbroken.

It was two weeks of relentless manipulation, but Lena played her part. She allowed herself to be adorned like a prized possession, let herself be molded into the Marquessa she was meant to be. But behind her mask of compliance, she remained fiercely determined to find a way back to him and repay the life he’d lost due to her.

The bustling square of Canoga enveloped Lena as she walked alongside the Marquess, her demeanor still and quiet, a contrast to the vibrant surroundings that enveloped her. The square teemed with activity, a sensory overload that sent waves of sights, sounds, and scents washing over her.

Visually, the square was a tapestry of colors and textures. Stalls and market booths lined the cobblestone streets, their wooden structures painted in various shades of reds and blues. Vibrant fabrics hung like banners, forming a kaleidoscope of hues overhead. Market-goers moved in a kaleidoscope of their own, each person a splash of color against the backdrop of the city. Vendors, in their elaborately decorated stalls, showcased their wares with pride, their fingers deftly folding fabrics, arranging jewels, and stacking spices.

The air was thick with the mingling of fragrances. Spices from the open-air food stalls wafted on the breeze, intermingling with the earthy scent of freshly harvested vegetables. Lena could detect the warm aroma of freshly baked bread, which beckoned from a nearby bakery, and the sharp tang of spices from a vendor grilling meat over an open flame. The symphony of scents was at once comforting and overwhelming, a reminder of the world she had known before. Her heart reminding her of Gus and Vincent.

Intricate textures surrounded her—the rough, weathered fabric of market stalls, the smooth feel of polished gemstones on display, and the cool touch of the breeze on her skin. The crowd pressed around her, a living, breathing entity of its own. It seemed as if the square itself pulsed with life, each step unveiling a new scene—children playing tag, artisans crafting intricate wares, and couples lost in whispered conversations.

As Lena walked, her senses heightened by the stimulation around her, her olfactory senses were suddenly caught by a scent that sent a jolt of recognition through her. It was the aroma of a dish she had shared with Haechan moments before their capture—a dish from his favorite eatery. Memories of their time together at that small, hidden gem on the streets of Canoga flooded her mind—the laughter, the conversation, the stolen moments of normalcy before the chaos.

The scent of grilled meat grew stronger, and it led her to a small vendor tucked away in a bustling alley. The air was infused with the mouthwatering aroma of spices and charred meats. The vendor was working a sizzling grill, the flames leaping and dancing, painting the evening with an orange glow. Skewers of marinated meat sizzled tantalizingly, sending up plumes of savory smoke that teased her senses.

It was a simple setup, a culinary oasis in the midst of the bustling market. The vendor greeted them with a warm smile, inviting Lena to taste their offerings. Her heart flickered with a pang of nostalgia, the memory of sharing a simple meal with Haechan washing over her like a gentle wave. The Marquess noticed her brief spark of interest and, perhaps out of a momentary kindness, urged her to indulge.

Lena hesitated, glancing at the guards who stood a few steps behind. Their stern expressions were a haunting reminder as always. Yet, a glimmer of rebellion surged within her. Here, amidst the lively market, she felt a tinge of freedom, a fleeting connection to the past. Swallowing her fear, she ventured closer to the vendor, her eyes fixed on the skewers that sizzled and crackled on the grill.

She couldn't help but remark on the mouthwatering scent that filled the air. “Your cooking smells absolutely divine,” she complimented the vendor, her words laced with genuine appreciation.

The vendor beamed at her praise, a twinkle in his eye revealing the pride he took in his craft. “Thank you, my lady. It's the secret blend of spices that gives it that unique flavor.”

She inquired about the cost, turning her eyes briefly to the Marquess. However, before the vendor could reply, he took a look behind her towards the Marquess and stated that it was on the house. She looked at him, and the Marquess gave her a small practice smile. Lena's brows furrowed slightly, her gratitude tempered with suspicion. She stole another glance at him, catching that veneer of kindness that didn't quite reach his eyes. Still, she nodded, then thanked the vendor before taking a bite, her taste buds instantly greeted by the explosion of flavors.

The Marquess, ever the puppeteer, redirected their path toward a clothing shop, suggesting they explore her options. Lena nodded in acquiescence, the taste of meat still lingering on her tongue. As they weaved through the vibrant crowd, she sensed eyes upon her—curious gazes, awestruck glances, and inquisitive stares from both children and adults. She felt like an exhibit, an enigma amidst the familiar yet foreign world of Canoga.

It was as they passed a modest, open tavern nestled between two shops that Lena's attention was captured by a familiar face. Seated at a rickety table with a drink in hand, Jeno's presence in that moment was an unexpected jolt to her senses. His eyes, previously half-lidded and disinterested, widened with recognition when they landed on her. Yet, as quickly as the surprise registered, a flash of something else crossed his gaze—an emotion that she could only interpret as anger.

Caught off guard, Lena hesitated, her heart picking up its pace as a flicker of recognition sparked between them. She averted her gaze quickly, her pulse echoing in her ears. The unexpected encounter with Jeno sent a tremor of unease through her, his reaction raising questions that she had no immediate answers to. Fear gnawed at her, yet she masked it behind a facade of indifference, carrying on as the Marquess guided her towards the clothing shop.

The doorbell chimed as Lena and the Marquess stepped into the shop, a quaint and quiet refuge from the lively square outside. The air was infused with the scent of fresh fabrics and perfumes, and the ambiance exuded an air of sophistication. The interior was a delight to the senses—soft lighting cast a warm glow, revealing racks adorned with dresses of various styles, colors, and textures. Elaborate accessories—glittering earrings, delicate lace gloves, and strands of pearls—beckoned from glass displays, enticing anyone seeking a touch of opulence.

Lena's eyes darted around, taking in the intricate details of each dress—silk cascading like waterfalls, lace delicate as morning dew, and colors that resembled an artist's palette.

The shop owner, a middle-aged woman with a welcoming smile, approached them. She was dressed in somewhat of an elegant attire, her demeanor reflecting years of expertise in fashion. Her voice was soft and refined as she greeted them. “Welcome, Marquessa. How may I assist you today?”

The title made Lena bristle inwardly, a reminder of the identity she was forced to wear like a cloak. She had become accustomed to the deferential treatment she received as the Marquess's betrothed, but it still unsettled her. To her surprise, she noticed a flicker of approval in the Marquess's eyes at the shop owner's address.

The Marquess, his tone affable but laced with an unspoken warning, addressed Lena. “My dear, I have some matters to attend to momentarily. The guards will remain outside the shop, ensuring your safety, of course.” His words sounded like a reassuring gesture, but Lena understood the implicit threat they carried—that any attempt to escape would be met with swift and dire consequences. It was a gesture meant to give an illusion of freedom, yet its undertone was one of confinement and control.

The delicate chimes of the doorbell heralded the arrival of another couple into the shop. Lena continued to feign interest in the gowns, her eyes locked on a particular dress that beckoned her with a sense of familiarity. It reminded her of the dresses she had once worn back in her manor in Lillon, a life that felt like a distant memory. She couldn't help but think of Mr. Freed, the kind head butler who had raised her alongside the servants. How she missed the simplicity of those days, when the confines of her upbringing were the only cages she knew.

As she traced her fingers over the fabric, an unsettling realization washed over her. Despite the comfort and luxury she had known in her early years, she had felt like a captive within those walls. The expectations and constraints of noble society had suffocated her spirit, much like the current situation she found herself in. It was a cycle of being trapped in one cage after another.

Her mind then wandered to her time on the ship with Captain Canary and his crew. She recalled the days of toil and hardship as a cabin boy. Although her chores were demanding and the consequences for any misstep were severe, there was a sense of freedom in those moments. She could speak her mind, even if it angered the crew, and she had a taste of camaraderie that was genuine, unshackled by titles and expectations.

Lost in these reflections, she didn't immediately register the jolt that came when she was abruptly pulled to the back of the shop. Fear surged through her as she found herself pinned against the wall. It was Jeno, his grip tightening around her throat and arm, his eyes burning with anger and betrayal.

Lena's heart raced as she instinctively reached for the hand that was tightly wrapped around her throat. It was Jeno, and despite the anger she could see in his eyes, an overwhelming sense of relief and joy washed over her. Tears welled up in her eyes as a smile tugged at her lips, and she whispered his name in a hushed voice, almost unable to believe that he was standing before her.

“Jeno…”

Jeno's expression momentarily softened at the sight of her tears and her trembling smile, though he quickly regained his composure. He tightened his grip on her arm and his voice took on a stern edge as he demanded to know what had happened to the Captain. Lena's head shook slightly in response, her lips pursed as emotions threatened to overwhelm her.

Lena's lips pursed as the magnitude of the situation weighed heavily on her. Words caught in her throat as the reality of her predicament overwhelmed her. Jeno's sternness and anger seemed too much, too soon, and she struggled to find the right words to convey what had transpired.

He warned her, his voice laced with a hint of frustration and desperation. “I don't care about your status, Lena. If I have to, I'll beat it out of you.” Lena couldn't help but chuckle softly, her laughter tinged with a mixture of emotions.

Tears began streaming down her face as she continued to speak with trembling lips, recounting the events at the tavern and how the Marquess had taken them both. She explained who she really was, how she had tried to evade the marriage, and how it had all gone horribly wrong. “I'm sorry, Jeno,” she kept whispering in between her explanation, her lips trembling with the weight of her guilt and the fear of his judgment.

As she spoke, Jeno's grip on her throat gradually loosened, though he maintained a firm hold on her arm. He looked at her with an intensity that spoke of his worry and frustration. When she finished, he shook his head, dismissing her excuses about her identity and the arranged marriage.

“That's not what I care about, Lena,” he said firmly, his eyes narrowing with concern. “I need to know where Captain Canary is. The crew waited for him for three days, and when he didn't arrive, they started searching.”

Lena was on the brink of revealing more about Haechan's predicament when their conversation was abruptly cut short. The shop owner's voice called out for her, causing Jeno to release his grip and swiftly disappear into the labyrinth of dresses and aisles. Lena instinctively reached out for him, but he had vanished before she could even touch him.

Alone again, she felt a profound sense of loss and longing. The shop owner, noticing the sadness that clouded her expression, approached Lena with concern in her eyes. She inquired, “Is everything alright, my lady?”

Lena fought to regain her composure, forcing a strained smile. She nodded, her voice sounding more composed than she felt. “Yes, I'm quite alright. Just lost in thought for a moment, that's all.”

Lena, still concealing her inner turmoil, turned to the shop owner and said, “Thank you for your assistance. I'll be leaving for now, but I might return later for one of those gowns.”

The shop owner, ever polite and accommodating, offered a gracious smile. “Of course, my lady. You're welcome here anytime.”

As Lena stepped out of the boutique, she was met by the imposing figures of the guards, who blocked her path with stern expressions. Without missing a beat, she met their gaze with a feigned look of discomfort, one hand delicately touching her forehead. Her voice was convincing as she spoke, “I don't feel well. I'd like to return home and rest, if you don't mind.”

The guards nodded in understanding and, without a word, fell into position on either side of her as they escorted her back through the bustling Canoga streets. Lena couldn't help herself from stealing a quick glance back towards the direction of the shop, hoping to catch even the slightest glimpse of Jeno amidst the crowd.

Lena sat by the expansive window, her gaze fixed on the lively city below. She absentmindedly stroked the blue amulet in her hand, her thoughts drifting to Captain Canary. In her mind's eye, she saw the moments they had shared—fragments of stolen kisses in his tent, the embrace of the ocean as he selflessly leaped into its depths to save her.She remembered how her initial desperation had melted away in his embrace, replaced by a yearning to feel those moments once more. Her fingertips unconsciously brushed her lips, reliving the sensation of his touch.

With the amulet cradled in her hand, she recalled the soft melody it had sung to her before, a song that resonated with the depths of her soul. She hummed, her voice barely a whisper, seeking solace in the memory of that sweet tune. But the amulet remained silent, refusing to echo the song back to her.

Tears welled up in her eyes, and she couldn't hold back the sobs that escaped her. Her voice quivered as she begged the amulet to sing to her like it had before, to provide her with the comfort she so desperately needed. But there was no response, and the silence only deepened her despair.

Unable to contain herself, tears streamed down her face. She clasped the amulet tighter, her grip almost desperate. She placed it against her lips, feeling its cool surface against her skin. In an act of pure yearning, she kissed it, whispering the haunting melody through her sobs. Her tears fell on the cold, lifeless surface of the pendant as she poured her heart and soul into the tune.

As if touched by her tears and longing, the amulet finally responded, the melody weaving its way through the air, a gentle caress to her grieving soul. A bittersweet symphony, reminiscent of those times, wrapped around her like a comforting embrace. The tears kept falling, mingling with the tune, a fusion of sorrow and hope that embraced her like a delicate lullaby.

Lena's discovery had filled her with a newfound sense of urgency. If her tears had the power to awaken the amulet's song, then she needed to confirm her theory and unlock its hidden potential. With a mixture of trepidation and anticipation, she dashed to the restroom, where she remembered seeing an open jar filled with water sitting beside the basin. The amulet dangled from her trembling fingers as she prepared to test her hypothesis.

Gently, she submerged the amulet into the water, her heart pounding in her chest. As it touched the surface, the amulet's song swelled, resonating like a choir in a grand cathedral. The ethereal notes grew louder, resonating within the small room, and she couldn't help but wonder if anyone outside could hear this enchanting melody.

However, her recollection of previous moments brought her reassurance. No one aboard the ship had ever shown signs of hearing the amulet's enchanting tune, and when she had pursued its sound on Lavista, she had been the sole follower of its song.

Curiosity piqued, Lena hummed the tune back to the amulet. The reaction was immediate—the amulet glowed with a newfound intensity, its light shimmering and pulsating in harmony with her melody. As the jar vibrated, the vibrations grew stronger and the glass gave way, shards scattering across the countertop and floor. The amulet now lay amidst the remnants of shattered glass, a bed of broken fragments.

Surprise and awe mingled within Lena as she observed the aftermath of the amulet's response. Yet, in the midst of the wreckage, there lay the amulet, still pulsing with a soft glow.

With a sense of awe and reverence, Lena gingerly picked up the amulet from the bed of broken glass, making sure not to touch a single shard. She stared at it with wide, marveling eyes, once again overwhelmed by the power it held. Carefully, she fastened the amulet around her neck, letting the familiar sensation of its cool surface against her skin anchor her.

As the enchanting melody of the amulet swirled around her, Lena didn't notice the entrance of her head maid and the other maids. They watched in shock as they saw Lena near the shattered glass, their concern etched on their faces. They moved forward cautiously, intent on helping her step away from the perilous shards, asking her with urgency what had happened.

Lena, however, was still in a daze, the amulet's song resonating deeply within her. She couldn't find the words to explain the miraculous event that had just transpired. Her head spun with the implications, the threads of hope that were being woven through her life once more.

The head maid recognized Lena's dazed state and urged the other maids to hasten their efforts, for there was much to be done to prepare her. Lena slowly blinked back to reality, looking at the head maid with a sense of confusion, not immediately comprehending the situation. She inquired about the day's plans, attempting to regain her bearings.

The head maid, still with a look of concern, explained that the Marquess had requested her presence. Despite her turmoil, Lena knew she had no choice but to comply. They began to dress her in a stunning gown, its intricate lace and silk draping her form, making her appear every bit the Marquessa she’s supposed to be. The maids styled her hair into an elegant updo, and her face was meticulously made up to enhance her beauty.

However, as the head maid attempted to remove the amulet from Lena's neck to replace it with a more suitable accessory, Lena's grip tightened. She held the head maid's wrist firmly, her eyes fixed on their reflection in the mirror. This gesture of resistance didn't go unnoticed.

Slowly she leaned down, stopping beside Lena’s face. In a hushed whisper, she said, “Miss Lena, remember that while you may lack certain freedoms, you possess the safety, wealth, and status that many can only dream of. There are many reasons to live.”

Lena met her gaze with a mixture of confusion and understanding. She had no intentions of ending her life, but the head maid had apparently misinterpreted her hesitance.

“I wasn't…” she began, but the head maid had already clapped her hands, signaling the other maids to leave the room. She swiftly called for the guards, announcing that Lena was ready to be taken to the Marquess.

Lena was led through a labyrinthine corridor, her footsteps echoing on the polished marble floors. Guards in finely embroidered uniforms flanked her on either side, their armor gleaming under the grand chandeliers that hung low from the high, ornate ceiling. As they approached the Marquess's office, she couldn't help but be impressed by the room's grandeur.

The door creaked open, revealing a lavishly furnished space adorned with heavy drapes and oil paintings of landscapes from across the empire. An impressive mahogany desk stood at the center, adorned with quills, inkwells, and intricately designed stationery. Bookshelves lined the walls, filled with volumes of knowledge and history, while a large, ornate mirror reflected the room's opulence back at her.

The Marquess, sitting behind his desk, stood up as she entered. His eyes lingered on her, and he couldn't help but smile at the sight. “Lena, my dear,” he began, “you look positively radiant today.”

Lena managed a half-hearted ‘Thank you’ in response as she glanced around the room, her mind still lingering on the events of the day.

The Marquess leaned back in his large, upholstered chair and set down his quill, his piercing gaze fixed on Lena. He raised a finger, pointing directly at her. “You love him, don't you?” he said, referring to Captain Canary.

Lena's jaw tensed as her heart raced. The question lingered in the air, and she struggled to form a response. She'd often questioned her own feelings toward Haechan. Was it love, or was it the guilt of the consequences he faced because of her? Silence hung in the room as she grappled with her emotions and memories of their time together on the pirate ship.

The Marquess let out a sigh, a charismatic smile playing at his lips. “You know, Lena, I've learned that a woman only suffers in silence if it's either out of love or because of injustice,” he mused. The intrigue in his eyes grew as he continued to study her, waiting for her response.

As Lena was about to speak, there came a series of knocks at the door. The Marquess's eyes lit up with excitement, and he gestured for Lena to come and stand next to him. “Ah, right on time,” he said as he rose from his seat, anticipation in his voice.

The door slowly swung open, revealing a figure standing in the hallway beyond. The Marquess's voice oozed with charm as he spoke, “Lena, allow me to introduce you to someone special.”

In the doorway stood Captain Canary, transformed from the carefree pirate she knew into a disciplined privateer. His new uniform, tailored to fit his form, seemed like a cage constraining his natural grace. The dark navy coat and trousers were adorned with golden trimmings, a stark departure from his former attire that was a canvas of freedom, adorned with the colorful remnants of his adventures. The coat hung stiffly on his shoulders, devoid of the fluidity it once had, and his red hair, though still vibrant, was now swept back, revealing his furrowed brow and the remnants of bruises on his face.

The sight of him in this unfamiliar role tugged at her heart. She longed for the charismatic and charming pirate who had shown her a world beyond her gilded cage. But now, he stood before her, and she searched for some glimmer of his former charm. Haechan's gaze briefly met hers, but it didn't linger. Instead, he looked past her, his eyes distant. The Captain who had once laughed and lived his life without a care in the world was replaced by a cold, distant figure. For a moment, she wished to reach out, to hold him as she had once, to feel that connection they had forged during their days at sea.

The Marquess's voice broke through her thoughts as he gestured for Haechan to step forward. “Allow me to introduce you to my new Privateer, a man who will fight in my honor,” he announced. Haechan complied, taking a step closer and bowing his head. His movement was measured, deliberate, but Lena couldn't help but notice the subtle signs of pain. He kneeled with a noticeable twitch, and she winced, realizing that she had yet to see the full extent of his injuries. The ache in her heart deepened, and she wished she could shield him from the cruelty of his new reality.

As her eyes welled with tears, the Marquess, ever observant, noticed. He instructed her to wipe away her tears, reminding her that she should be proud to witness a lowly man rise to such a prestigious position. However, the pride he expected from her was eclipsed by her worry and sadness for the man who stood before her, irrevocably changed.

As the Marquess nonchalantly revealed Haechan's impending departure to fight in distant lands, Lena felt her heart plummet. It was as if her world had been upended, and for the first time since he'd entered the room, she moved—stepping away from the Marquess in disbelief. Her eyes darted from the callous nobleman to Haechan, who remained on one knee, head still bowed in obedience. The Marquess, however, demanded he rise, and Haechan complied, holding onto his posture with unwavering determination.

The Marquess stood up from his grand chair, pushing it back, and turned to Lena, granting her the opportunity to say her goodbyes. In that moment, Lena could barely contain the flood of emotions threatening to consume her. It was as if the weight of the world was bearing down on her, and she struggled to comprehend the reality of what was transpiring.

She didn't hesitate, rushing to Haechan's side and wrapping her arms tightly around his neck. She clung to Haechan, feeling the contours of his form, the familiar warmth, the beating of his heart. In that embrace, she poured her heart out, all her worries, fears, and love, holding on as if she could defy the cruel fate that had befallen them.

From behind her, she heard the Marquess's mocking words, “Go ahead, play lovers for a minute or two.” The bitterness of his tone only fueled her determination to make this brief moment count. Haechan, after a moment's hesitation, enveloped her in a warm embrace. She could feel him drawing in her scent, his breath falling in sync with hers. It was a bittersweet, stolen moment amidst the miserable circumstances.

Then, Haechan's voice whispered in her ear, a soft and intimate murmur that almost seemed to drown out the world. He told her that he had left her a letter in his cell, his breath warm against her skin. His lips pressed gently to her cheek in a fleeting kiss, a tender farewell. As he pushed her away to stand with the poise of a soldier, Lena felt a chasm open in her chest, the weight of their parting becoming inescapable.

Lena staggered back from the parting embrace, the sensation of Haechan's touch still lingering on her skin, a bittersweet memory etched into her heart. She turned away from the newly transformed Captain Canary, who stood with a rigid formality that felt alien to her. The Marquess watched the scene with a self-satisfied smirk, enjoying the display of their emotions.

The room seemed to close in around Lena as she grappled with the reality of the situation. She had longed to escape her arranged marriage, but the cost of her newfound freedom was the captivity of the man she had grown to care for.

Haechan's hushed words were etched into her mind, a promise of a letter that would serve as his last thoughts to her if this were to be their last time. She bit her lip, tasting the metallic tang of her own blood, a reminder of the bitter truth she faced. The guards beckoned, reminding her that the sands of time were slipping away, and she had no choice but to follow its unyielding current.

𔘓⁩ ᵗⁱᵖʲᵃʳ

#kpop fanfic #kpop ff #kpop pirate au #haechan au #haechan fanfic #haechan #nct haechan #illumins #kpop au #myriadofourseas #nct dream fanfic #nct dream au #nct dream pirates

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inferniso · 1 year

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a kiss after treating a wound

(

(the sorrow's mostly embers, nowadays. funny they're doing this for someone who...)

rough squint, gentle hands. they fuss over the tear in her pants and the skinned bit of knee — procuring a little thing of salve from somewhere under their cloak, cleaning and bandaging the scrape.

he doesn't even know if things like this really hurt her — doesn't know if he forgives her fully, doesn't know if she's really aware of what she's done in full. but it's the principle of the whole thing, damn it. he cant ignore someone who's so...

ugh. someone who's so warm, y'know?

so this, too, is a kind of wish, the same way she'd wished on his behalf, pressed featherlight on the skin above the bandage. even if it's not real, even if it doesn't work, the wish is set afloat either way; a wishy-washy prayer of healing. for her, maybe for more than just her knee. (maybe for himself, for where the grief used to char...)

they huff. this is ridiculous. (this is only the human thing to do.)

"there, all better.")

Idunn didn't mean to cause any trouble. She had decided to busy herself with a few tasks to help out some of her fellow students. Fetch a few supplies here, carry a few documents there--simple things, that require not any sort of talent but the hard work and commitment she tries to foster in herself. It was going well, too, until she took a sudden fall. A snag in the road got the better of her, while eyes of ruby and shining emerald were distracted by a crowd of her peers.

They move like fish whenever they're busy. She finds it hard not to be captivated by the lives humans lead.

Lucky for her, Chad was nearby. Chad who taught her wishmaking, who showed her that every one of the world's flowers has a purpose. Some give off lovely scents for her to smell on the way to class, others lend their vibrant colors to dyemakers so they can weave beauty into silk--and dandelion seeds are the hands of heaven, carrying wishes wherever they go.

She winces. She looks like she's about to cry.

Idunn's manakete form is delicate by draconic standards. Chained and alone for centuries, it had ample time for its hide to soften. With nothing to sate her hunger, nothing to replenish her spirit for so long, she had to make accommodations to conserve strength. Miracle it may be that she survived with no intake of energy, she has grown weaker as a result. Factor in the strength it took to hold up the Dragon Temple before she collapsed, and one could understand why pain is a very real sensation to her.

"...Thank you." Muttered just beneath a breath. Hackles raised and scales primed, her body tenses up to their touch, yet her mind and soul know better--that the thief means her no harm. There is an unsure look in their eyes which she isn't ignorant of, but that they press on is proof their hearts are connected. Idunn finds the will to hold firm, to not budge when the cool sensation of their salve stings her open wound. They're already a saint to her, nevermind the fact that she hasn't earned any of her blessings. To trouble them any further wouldn't be fair.

"I wasn't looking. I'll pay attention next time." Said as though reciting a passage of text in class. The dragon peers down at her now-bandaged wound, twisting her ankle to view the entire scar. The blood might've frightened her, if it wasn't a reminder that she has a heart to send it coursing through her body. That she is alive.

The kiss comes next, and her mouth opens wide in reaction. "Chad...!" she nearly wants to shout, asking how they could offer so much kindness. But experiences are proving that this is simply human nature, to walk hand-in-hand. People are like seeds. They aren't born with ugly roots or fetid stems. The darkness in humanity grows in barren soil, away from light and water and care. Need creates struggle, struggle creates anger, anger creates hate. If the world had enough beauty for everyone, then malice would be traded for smiles--sorrow for joy.

(Then the wish of His Highness would have stayed pure. He wasn't a bad person, just a desperate one--with a dagger twisted into his heart by the world.)

So she sighs, and her face shields itself with a dusted pink. She allows Chad's thoughts and actions and hope to touch more than just her skin. The hand that rose up to cover her gasp falls, along with its twin, to lift the thief by the shoulders. "You have a beautiful heart," again, spoken as fact, "...Don't let anything happen to it."

Using what delicate force this form can muster, Idunn pulls them to their feet. With her chin held high and eyes squeezed shut, she returns a kiss to their forehead--mindful not to ruffle their hair. Maybe, had she said these words to the king long ago, things could have been different.

It is now her duty to ensure history doesn't repeat itself.

#IC #ASKBOX #LYCIANLYNX #//leoooooooooooooooo #//LEOOOOOOOOOO #//im gonna Get You

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spoilertv · 3 months

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#SpoilerTV

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ninabloomislame · 6 months

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The Pure Hearted - Final part♡

All He could see was Her adoration and how devoted She was to Him. He always knew She would be, from the moment She approached Him, hiding Her need for emotions, for good emotions. She did a good job, but one could tell that Her cold facet was nothing more than just a mask; they only had to dive deep into those eyes to be able to see right through them, but no one cared anymore about things that took time, except He did. He knew things like that, things that take work; those are the real prizes, the once-in-a-lifetime opportunity everyone talks about. When they met, He was full of joy and hope, so it was easy to get closer to Her. She was so hungry and empty, probably rotting inside from all the bad that surrounded them. So He filled Her up, cared for Her and Her well-being while showing a better world full of colors and hope. She took it all and gave back even more, so much more that He was surprised She was even capable of doing so, so much more that He almost decided to stop Himself from doing what He had planned, but it was too late. One night, when She was in His arms, Her hair tangled around his torso and Her smell engraved in His soul, He slipped His hands gently to Her chest and opened Her ribcage, watching Her once rotten heart beat strongly and showcase a vibrant red. In that moment, She opened her eyes and realized the mistake She made, trusting Him with Her heart. He removed the heart from its cave and watched it beat on His hand while She stared at Him. There was something He couldn’t quite understand about the situation until He stared back. There it was, what He had been ignoring for so long. If it was on purpose or not, He wasn’t sure, yet now He knew, just by seeing Her face and the tears in Her eyes. They were the same. They were equals. They were both thieves and liars. He was stealing from someone that once had to steal to survive too. Oh, how She must have been confused by all the joy He had to give at the beginning, not knowing that it once belong to someone else. He was also a thief and a liar, and that was the first time He ever did that to an equal. In the middle of His confusion, She held His hands and pushed Her beating heart towards Him. She was telling Him, in one way or another, it was always His. That was the first time She ever received something from someone without having to take it, therefore, She was grateful, and Her soul was pure again. She died adoring and worshiping Him, even after his betrayal.

He ate Her heart and stole Her soul. Afterwards, He took Her body to the forest where the ground was covered in dew and the night breeze danced around them. The soft ground embraced her skin and bones, making Her part of the forest. He almost felt bad for what He had done, picturing what could have been if only He didn’t devour Her emotions. Perhaps He would surrender to Her too, allowing them to be truly equals. Perhaps She would get tired and eat Him first. He would never know, and it didn’t really matter. At the end of the day, She was a liar and a thief. Nothing worth remembering.

#sadgirl #storytelling #original story #story #sad quotes

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st-voisins · 2 years

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𝙵𝚁𝙴𝙰𝙺-𝙾𝚄𝚃 𝙰𝚃 𝙵𝚁𝙴𝙴𝚂𝙸𝙰 𝙵𝙴𝚂𝚃𝙸𝙵𝙰𝙻𝙻 by Rita Akasaje September 1st, 1949

Today, St. Voisin students gathered in the pavilion for the Freesia Festifall and Headmistress Xu’s Commencement Address. Many thought the proceedings would flow naturally and without upset. Indeed, even your reporter was tempting boredom by the latter end of the event. Of course, Headmistress Xu could not let us, even the reporters, walk away empty-headed.

For the first time in almost four years, the master of ceremonies held up for all the Galdre Laurel (pictured below), of which there is only one. The crowd turned tumultuous and vibrant as the Weihand Tournament was announced. Shockwaves ran through, and Scholars murmured in wonder at the thought of one of them being crowned a Decimpas or even better — the Galdre. In the crowd, surprisingly slept on, was past winner, Ursulina Pemt, wearing what looked to be the same Laurel that the Headmistress held before the mass. When asked where she acquired her false headgear (and if she takes after former Decimpas Champion and known thief, Professor Inga Ibrahim-Montoya), she scoffed. After some convincing, she reported thus:

“While the Galdre wears the Laurel during the Victory Regalia, we aren’t actually allowed to take it home with us. Along with our free tuition and glory, we’re gifted a hand-crafted rendition of the Laurel.” Upon corroboration with the Faculty of the University, it appears that the Laurel is copied once a year, with the center sun-moon piece being replaced with the piece of the Star Shard associated with the winner, typically cast in a shape or color that the alchemist senses best fits the victor. Pemt showed us her Laurel, pointing out that her center-piece was violet and refused to reflect light. Fitting for a former member of House of Gol. Pemt went on to describe the benefits of being a Decimpas Champion, beyond just the Galdre Laurel, saying, “We really are an exclusive sect of alumni. We’re the only ones considered fit to teach, fit to study magic further, etc. Furthermore, the tuition breaks and status open up doors that some Champions might have seen closed forever. Simply being apart of the Tournament is impressive, and I can’t wait to see who joins our ranks.” It appears that Pemt’s sentiment strikes true amongst the students, but this reporter is not as assured. Unlike all the previous Tournament Announcements, no conduit sparked and called their wearer to Fate’s hand. Suspicious, in our eyes, and we cannot ignore the changing tides. Recently, reports have popped up of the Sekwnacht, an antiquated cult known for selling their souls, their lives, to an unknown Spirit in exchange for all its gifts. However, it has been thought to have left the witching world for quite some time. Most tend to call it heresy, especially given the War has sparked up much discussion of the magical deep, of the old meeting the new. Still, with the death of various witches over the past year and a half, one cannot help but wonder. When Pemt was asked about this trend, her eyes widened, and she refused to comment. Suspicious, indeed, and one cannot help but wonder if there are members, even amongst our elite, that cooperate with the Skewnacht. Is is possible that even the most up-standing has been tainted by the evil that rolls between us all? It appears that Pemt was not impressed by our line of questioning, as she was tempestuous for the rest of the interview. When asked about why she showed up to the Festifall, she replied rather sternly, “I simply wanted to see what promise any of the students held.” Of course, we all know what that means. The Decimpas alumni love to bet on winning dogs, from those who get chosen as Champions to those who win. Rumor has it that Pemt lost a quarter grand last Tournament, and she’s looking to make it back. When asked, she scoffed, reporting, “No one in their right mind would bet that much, unless you’re Bartie Makenthal.” When asked, Bartie Makenthal denied such claims, but this reporter is betting on the truth, given how volatile he reacted. Above all, it seems that this year’s Tournament will be quite interesting. As always, Le Courant Mystique will be the one to report on it all. To re-up your subscription, simply. . .

JOURNALIST’S NOTE: Due to Ursulina Pemt’s threat to sue, we must clarify that it is alleged that Pemt said anything regarding Bartie Makenthal’s gambling addiction.

The Galdre Laurel, as worn for centuries.

#st-voisins #publications #tournament update

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hongkongsoftgo · 2 years

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Uncharted 2 pc game

You start the game in a very unheroic position. The puzzles are not easy, but they are not so difficult that you will give up in frustration, as happens in many games. The game has a fascination with heights many of the puzzles that you have to figure out involve ways to scale big walls or buildings, all the while looking down with dizzying views. This effect is so well done that you’ll spend time just marveling at the detailed objects that are part of every colorful scene. The colors of the environment are sharper and bright than you would ordinarily see in real life. The art style of the game is artificially vibrant. You can run and spray bullets wildly behind you, as you do when you’re trying to flee a jeep that is trying to run you over in a narrow alley. By contrast, the weaponry that Drake uses fits the game and it feels good when you aim, shoot and take down enemies. By comparison, my criticism of Ubisoft’s Avatar the Game is that the rainforest planet imagery looks fantastic, but the game play is weak. A game, after all, is not a travel video. Of course, good scenery is just a starting point. At another point, as you’re escaping through a jungle, you can see a view of the distant beach and shimmering ocean from atop a cliff. In one scene atop a tall building in Nepal, you can turn your character’s view and see an entire city in 3-D for miles in any direction, with the beautiful Himalaya mountains as a backdrop. That means that you can see some truly stunning scenes. While Naughty Dog lead designer Richard Lemarchand told us that the original Uncharted used about 30 percent of the PS 3’s processing power with its Cell microprocessor and Nvidia graphics chip, this game exploits probably 90 percent of the capability.

It has strong, fun game play and it exploits the graphics horsepower of the PS 3 to the fullest. Before I turned to Modern Warfare 2, I just had to finish playing Uncharted 2 because it was just too fun and immersive to put down, like a page-turning action novel. But what makes this game stand above the rest - and earned it a Metacritic aggregate review score of 96 out of 100 - is its execution.

Chloe says, “I sense some history here.” And Elena deadpans, “I’m Elena, last year’s model.”

The game’s best line is when Drake and his fellow thief Chloe Frazer run into Drake’s former flame, Elena. Drake is joined by his pal Sully and two fierce fighting women who love him but don’t want to admit it and compete for his attention. The main character, Nathan Drake, is a down-on-his luck type who stumbles back into a world of thieves and mercenaries who lead him onto a journey to find Shambhala, a legendary Himalayan valley that Marco Polo supposedly discovered many centuries ago. Three top investment pros open up about what it takes to get your video game funded.

#Uncharted 2 pc game

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yazthebookish · 3 years

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Book review: Dance of a Burning Sea

“A moment of ecstasy for a lifetime of regret. A young girl's fantasy: that she was the one exception to a monster's loveless heart.”

Dance of a Burning Sea was an utterly delightful read that takes us on a thrilling voyage aboard the crying queen with its cold ruthless pirate lord and his colorful crew consisting of thieves and scoundrels.

This book serves enemies-to-lovers excellence of actual enemies fighting with tooth and nail yet are engulfed by a wicked desire for each other and in the long road, surrender to those stubborn feelings they have tried to bury long ago.

The slow-burn is so deliciously good like *chef's kiss* it makes the spice so much rewarding.

Disclaimer: this book is New Adult, it's not YA.

Now, you may ask how did we go from dwelling in the Thief Kingdom and it's bordering towns to a ship voyaging different kingdoms and islands.

Well... ask Niya Bassette

The Mousai's fiery dancer is a fearsome creature to behold but has a weak spot for pies and sugar buns.

The Mousai are a trio of deadly sorcresses whom are also the protectors of the Thief Kingdom's treasures and loyal subjects of its King. The Thief Kingdom is a hidden sanctuary in Aadilor—a sanctuary for pleasure, folly, and sin.

We met the singer—Larkrya—in Song of the Forever Rains along with her two older sisters: Arabessa the violinist and Niya the dancer.

This story follows Niya, the middle child, and the most chaotic for wherever she goes, chaos ensues. But no one loves her family as fiercely as her. I will say she is one of the most relatable characters.

Niya carries a heavy secret which reappears to haunt her four years later in the form of the infamous pirate lord Alos Ezra.

Niya is taken hostage aboard Alos's beloved ship—the crying queen—where she meets his crew made up of delightful outlaws with very loose morals.

On her time aboard the ship, Niya discovers that Alos has another secret that shaped him to be a man with a such ruthless reputation and an insatiable hunger for power.

Not only Niya will have to clash with the maddening pirate lord and be forced to do his bidding but also fight the feelings she had buried long ago and the undeniable spark between her and Alos.

For how can she trust a heartless man with her own heart?

But like Niya, we can't resist Alos's dark allure.

I loved how the author kept drawing out the tension between them and it made me truly believe that they loathed each other, they thrived on the desire to see eqch other fall, it was like seeing two vicious hungry tigers circling each other in a very small cage.

Which made the tender and vulnerable moments between them even sweeter.

Niya and Alos are what their magic represents: Fire and ice. They are polar opposites but oh what a pair they are. One would say they are a match made in hell.

Their chemistry was mad. It kept me on the edge of my seat. I wanted to jump in the book and throttle both of them and smash that stubborn head of theirs. It was so good.

They are so perfect together.

I was so thoroughly entertained while reading this book because we got: a fun adventure, a cast of vibrant characters, lush and atmospheric world-building, and unique sentient magic.

I'm so excited for Arabessa to steal the spotlight in her book! I wonder which road will the eldest and wisest of the Mousai take.

#dance of a burning sea #mousai trilogy #the mousai #fantasy romance #book review #enemies to lovers #book recs

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arashikitten · 4 years

Text

Monkie Kid Soulmate Au

Thank you, MKD, for helping me create this monstrosity.

I noticed there weren’t any soulmate au’s for Monkie Kid yet so I decided to make one Myself!

In this au, there are three types of soulmate a person can have: the typical romantic soulmate, platonic soulmate (i.e. best friends, family, things of that nature), and enemy soulmates (rivals, nemesis, mortal enemies, things along that line). People can have multiple soulmates, and in fact it is very common for people to have three or more at any given point! It is also possible for someone to have only one or two types of soulmate: for example, someone who is asexual might only have platonic soulmates and/or enemy soulmates.

As for how one identifies their soulmate, a small mark/symbol will appear on the wrist, palm, or back of the person a year before they meet their soulmate in person, at which point the mark will take on color. The placement of the marks often determines the type of bond: a mark on the palm indicates a romantic bond, on the wrist indicates a platonic bond, and on the back indicates an enemy bond (that being said, there have been instances where this rule does not apply).

Now that that’s out of the way, let’s get into the meat of this au!

Red Son is born with two soulmarks: A stylized, cartoon bull head, and a large, red and gold fan. They both appear on his back, and from a young age, he tries to ignore the possibility that his own parents may one day become his worst enemies. He grows up very close to DBK and Iron fan: he wants desperately to maintain a good relationship with them, and he ends up cutting off any sort of interaction with anyone else.

DBK gets sealed under the mountain, and Red’s world shatters. Both he and Iron fan grieve for a long time, and Red Son now feels even more alone.

So, he starts attempting to free his father from his prison under the mountain.

Fast forward about 300 years, to when MK is born without a single mark. He grows up and for ten years, his palms, wrists and back remain blank.

Then, about a month after his tenth birthday, a small, grey dragon appears, wrapped around his wrist, along with a grey cartoon pig wearing a chef’s hat (Pigsy) and a small cicada (Mr. Tang).

Six months later, MK gets kicked out of his home, living on the streets for five months until, late one night, Pigsy finds him in the alleyway next to the noodle shop (The small stylized monkey face on Pigsy’s wrist glows with color. He and Tang adopt Mk two weeks later.).

Mei walks into the shop about a month later, while Tang is telling MK a story from Journey to the West. All three of the soul marks on her wrist light up, and she and Mk become best friends over a game of Monkey mech.

Six years later, Red Son wakes up with a grey, stylized Monkey face on his palm, and a small dragon wrapped around his left wrist. He despises them both; he begins wearing finger-less gloves, if only so that he doesn’t have to see the grinning face of the Demon who sealed his father away staring up at him every day. Besides, he doesn’t need other soul mates: Once his father is free, Red Son’s family will be whole again, and they will rule the world with an iron fist (Note that at this point, Red is in complete denial that DBK and Iron fan could be his enemies: the fact that their marks showed up on his back indicates that they will become his worst enemies, so Red has spent his entire life trying desperately to ensure that doesn’t happen.). (He still fails in the end)

Mei and Mk both wake up that same morning with a new soulmark: A small, stylized flame that appears on Mk’s palm and on Mei’s wrist. They both gush to each other about it over a bowl of noodles, Mei is excited to get a new bestie while Mk is freaking out over the fact that he may have a boyfriend/girlfriend in a years time (Note: I 100% headcanon Mk as both gay and trans: but I like to think he struggled a bit more with his sexuality. At this point, Mk is still questioning it a bit, but by the time the events of episode one roll around, he’s pretty sure of his identity. Mei is ace, Red Son is Bi, Pigsy is Pan, and Mr. Tang is gay.). Mk also gains a small peach on his right wrist, and he and Mei speculate as to why only Mk got a second mark (Way up on Flower Fruit Mountain, Sun Wukong gains a new soul mark for the first time in 400 years. This prompts him to begin looking into possibly getting a successor).

Mei, Mk, Pigsy, and Mr. Tang also get two marks on their backs: a demon head and an iron fan. Mk and Mr. Tang, upon seeing what exactly the marks are, absolutely freak out. They both firmly believe that the marks represent DBK and Princess Iron fan, and the implication that two very powerful demons might be going after them in a year’s time is more than enough to scare the two. Pigsy and Mei are a bit more skeptical, citing that DBK and Iron fan are just myths, and even if they weren’t, DBK would still be trapped under the mountain by the Monkey King’s staff.

This only freaks the other two out more, as that carries the implication that DBK will be free to wreak havoc on the world in a year’s time. So, MK and Mr. Tang begin to delve even deeper into the lore surrounding DBK and Sun Wukong, desperately trying to prepare just in case (Sun Wukong actually happens to overhear one of these study sessions while he’s out searching for a successor, and is impressed by Mk’s knowledge of him. He decides to keep an eye on the kid, and eventually makes the choice to make him his successor.).

As the year progresses, MK gets three new enemy marks:a dark grey spider on his shoulder (It scares the hell out of MK the first time he sees it, and he smacks it multiple times before realizing that it’s not an actual spider. He then proceeds to panic even more when he realizes it’s a soulmark.), a more menacing version of Mk’s own soul mark that appears on his lower back (three guesses as to who that one belongs to), and finally, a pale grey skull right in the middle of Mk’s shoulder blades, larger than any other soulmark so far. With each new enemy mark, Mk becomes more and more nervous: Just what will happen to give him so many enemies?

Meanwhile, Red Son gains only one new mark: the same pale grey skull, right in between the fan and the bull head. This one worries Red Son the most: while he has never actually seen the white bone spirit, he’s heard several disturbing horror stories over the years, and the idea of becoming allies or gods forbid, enemies with the cruel creature makes the fire demon nervous.

Then, we get to the pilot. Red frees his father, MK gets the staff, and the chase across the city ensues. Red returns to the lair empty handed and bruised. He heads to his room to patch up, when he notices a small flare of bright, emerald green on his wrist. Pulling off the finger-less gloves, Red Son sees that the dragon is now a bright, glowing green. The mark on his palm has also taken on a color, bright reds mixing with vibrant golds as the colored monkey mark on his palm smiles up at him.

That’s when it clicks: The only two people he’d encountered today, aside from his mother and father, are the Noodle Boy and the mysterious person on the bike.

Red Son furiously vows that he will never, ever side with the Noodle boy, even if it kills him, and he will remain steadfastly loyal to his mother and father (From then on, he takes extra care to hide his palms and wrists from his parents, out of the intense fear that they will cast him out if they learn of who exactly the marks represent.) (it doesn’t work).

Meanwhile, Mk is freaking the fuck out. He can wield the Monkey King’s staff, he just saw one of the most powerful demons get freed from a 300+ year prison, confirming his theory that DBK and Iron fan are the two marks on his shoulder blades (Both of which, Mk notes, gained color that day, further confirming that they relate to DBK and Iron fan.), he got chased all over town by Red Son (who Mk recognizes from the myths), and to top it all off, the flame mark on his palm turned a bright, royal blue sometime between him leaving to deliver noodles, and him getting back to the shop, and the only other person that Mk encountered during that time that even remotely fits the mark is, you guessed it, Red Son.

Mk relays all of this to the gang, at which point Mei notices that the flame on her wrist has also turned bright blue, providing even further confirmation. Mk is very much bummed out by this, because out of all the people that could’ve been the fire on his palm, of course it had to be the demon who attempted to kill him.

Still, Mk pushes that to the side in favor of focusing on finding the Monkey King.

The pilot continues much in the same way as in canon, with one notable exception: When Iron Fan shows up on the gang’s way to Flower Fruit mountain, she sees the small blue flame on MK’s palm. Putting two and two together, she realizes that her son is soulbound to MK, and that this bond may eventually cause Red to turn on his parents, which is why Iron Fan and DBK begin to push him away in later episodes.

After that, things resume canon again: MK survives and gets to Flower Fruit Mountain, Wukong tells him that he chose Mk to be his successor (Which is when the peach mark on MK wrist gains color, and Mk proceeds to lose his entire shit over the fact that holy fuck, he’s soul bonded to Sun freaking Wukong. Wukong finds this both utterly hilarious and a little bit adorable.), the big fight between DBK and Mk happens, yada yada yada. The day is saved, and Mk goes home with his newfound powers.

Episode one is where we begin to see more long-term changes. By this point, both DBK and Iron fan know that their son is bound to the little thief, most likely romantically, and that their own blue flame mark is located on their backs, implying that Red Son will most likely turn against them in the near future. So, they start to distance themselves from him.

They send Red to take control of the weather station and defeat MK, something that both of them know will end in failure. Red Son is oblivious to this (not really) and gladly takes on the task, desperate to prove himself. And t first, it seems that Red is actually successful!

...Before Mk comes back with a new grip on his powers and absolutely destroys Red Son.

Red Son goes back to the lair, sparks still flying off of him, and on his way to his room, he overhears quiet conversation between his parents.

Curious, he quietly listens in, and finds out that not only do his parents know about the mark on his palm (How??? How did they find out???), but they are also planning on a way to get him “out of the picture”.

Red Son absolutely panics at this revelation, and begins to spiral into waves of self-loathing and intense anxiety. Now he is desperate to remain on his parent’s good side by any means necessary, and so he buries himself in plans and research on powerful artifacts that he can steal for his father.

While that’s going on, Mk meets the spider queen (The Spider on his shoulder becomes purple and green, and Mk spends three hours scrubbing at it in the shower that night), the whole clone thing happens, Mei gets her sword, and the calabash incident goes down (the main difference here is that when Mk hears that Red Son was also sealed away with his parents, Mk feels inexplicably upset about it: as much as he dislikes the fire demon, there’s still a small part of him that desperately wants them to be friends.). At this point, both Mk and Mei have kinda just accepted that the blue flame mark exists, and they don’t pay it too much attention, even if Mk kinda wants to know more about the hotheaded fire demon.

Then the race rolls around. At this point, Red is a nervous, paranoid wreck, his self esteem (which really wasn’t all that great to begin with) is deteriorating at a frightening speed, and he is desperate for a chance to prove to his parents that he is loyal, that he’s not worthless.

So when he hears that the winner of this year’s great wall race will receive a peach of immortality, he rushes to apply for it. He excitedly tells Iron Fan, fervently hoping that she’ll at least listen to him, only to be crushed when she dismisses him out of hand, saying that even if the peaches could do anything for them, it wouldn’t change all of Red Son’s failures in the past. Red Son, disheartened, still joins the race, and is absolutely furious when he sees that both Mk and Mei (When Red found out that she’s a descendant of one of the great dragons, he started calling her “Horse Girl” under the assumption that the dragon she is descended from was the dragon horse from Journey to the West) also entered. He starts arguing and bantering with them, and for just a moment, Red feels... content. Not happy, per se, but the constant anxiety and paranoia begins to lessen for a moment.

Then DBK and Iron fan show up, and Red Son goes silent. His back goes rigid, and his eyes glaze over a bit. Mei and Mk both take notice of the Fire demon’s sudden change in demeanor, and even though they still both think he’s a bit of a prick, they can’t help but be a bit concerned.

Mk is actually about to say something to Red when Jin and Yin hijack the commentator’s box, and the race starts.

The race goes mostly the same as in canon, with the main exeptions being that Red is far quieter and more focused, and Iron Fan’s taunts are much crueller and more demeaning.

Mei and Mk win, with Red Son getting second place. Instead of attempting to steal the peach trophy, Red Son just... watches them, looking almost broken as he watches the two celebrate. Mk, noticing the strange behavior, reaches out to ask if Red is ok (The reaction the fire demon had to his parents showing up set off all sorts of alarms in Mk’s head, because that had been exactly how he reacted back when he still lived with his parents.), only to be interrupted by DBK’s reemergence from the mountain.

Iron fan tells Red Son that they are leaving, and Mk immediately picks up on what’s going on. He calls out to Red just before Iron Fan’s winds whisk him away, and terrified look that the fire demon sends him confirms Mk’s suspicions.

That night, Mk comes up with a plan: He’s gonna get Red Son away from his parents, or die trying. The only other person who knows at first, is Mei: She also has Red Son’s soul mark, and while she’s not as keen on the fire demon as Mk is, she still doesn’t want him to have to deal with abusive parents.

While Mk is doing that, DBK and Iron Fan have fully leaned into the enemy role, disowning Red Son and keeping him locked away in the lair. Red just breaks down at this, and begins refusing to eat or move. All that time that he’d spent, desperately trying to maintain some sort of good relationship with his parents, for nothing. The only people that he could count on turned against him, and that loneliness hits him like a freight train.

The only thing that brings him comfort, oddly enough, are the soul marks on his left palm and wrist: he takes to rubbing them whenever he feels particularly bad. By now, his feelings toward Mk and Mei are much closer to something positive: they both seemed concerned about him after the race, and where that might’ve pissed him off a few months earlier, now it comforts him with the knowledge that at least someone out there gives a damn.

We get to episode 8, when Mk gets the skeleton key. Instead of Red Son being the one to steal the key, Iron fan is the one to do it, and she reveals her master plan:

She and DBK plan on releasing the White Bone Spirit from it’s prison, in order for it to possess Red Son so that both will be fully under their control.

Iron Fan gets away with the key, the White Bone Spirit possesses Red Son, and DBK and Iron Fan use him to wreck the entire city.

Mei and Mk do their best to avoid fighting Red Son: it feels so wrong every time they do clash, because they both know it’s not Red Son, they know he’s not the one in control, but it still hurts that they couldn’t get him out in time, that one of their soulmates is suffering like this.

The final straw comes a week after the initial possession.

Mk is forced to fight a possessed Red son to protect a badly injured Pigsy. Mk begs for Red to fight back, to break free, knowing that the continued possession is taking a toll on the demon’s body. Mei joins him, insisting that Red is stronger than this, that he needs to think about the people that care about him.

That is enough to allow Red to break through, just for a moment.

He steps back, tears streaming from his eyes as he brokenly whispers that if even his own parents can’t be bothered to care about someone as weak, as broken as he is, then who the hell would? Mei and Mk hate him, his parents disowned him, and it’s not like he really interacts with anyone else.

He is immediately taken by surprise when the two teens blurt out that even though they might’ve started out on opposite sides, that they never fully hated him. Mk in particular says that they were actually worried about Red Son after the race, that they were planning on getting him out before Iron fan stole the skeleton key, that they were still planning on helping him escape, that they really, actually care.

Red Son finally breaks free, and Mk seals the White Bone spirit away again. Mei and Mk beat the absolute crap out of DBK and Iron Fan, who end up escaping again.

They take Red to one of the few remaining hospitals, so he can recover from his possession, and they make sure to get him some serious therapy while they’re at it.

Red Son wakes up two days later to see Mei and Mk sitting by his hospital bed on either side of him, and they give him a warm smile when they see that he’s awake.

He cries for a bit as he realizes that it’s over. He’s free now, even if he doesn’t have anywhere to go anymore, and there are two people in the world who keep that blue flame close to their chest instead of turning their backs.

For the first time in over a year, Red doesn’t hide the marks on his wrist and palms.

After all, why should he from the ones who care for him the most?

152 notes · View notes

luvdsc · 4 years

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ellipsism.

gold is a bluer color than blue.

pairing :: na jaemin x reader genre :: angst / soulmate + high school au word count :: 1,734 words warnings :: gang, blood, violence, death song :: you were good to me (jeremy zucker & chelsea cutler)

You order a chocolate milkshake.

You never had one before, but they were his favorite.

The boy with blue hair drank them so often that they were all you could taste when your lips pressed against his. He would place one hand on your cheek with the other gently grasping you by the curve of your waist, pulling you closer until he kissed you dizzy. The slightest hints of chocolate stained his breath as he whispered sweet nothings that meant everything to you. He mumbled i love you’s between each breath, sang you lullabies before every exchange of good night’s, and called you endearments sweeter than the sugary concoction he found so much delight in.

The drink is placed in front of you. Fingers curling around the base of the glass, you take a small sip, reveling in the nostalgic taste. You smile.

Chocolate milkshakes might be your favorite, too.

The boy with blue hair was a heartbreakingly beautiful enigma wrapped in a well worn leather jacket and a false bravado that fell apart easily beneath your fingertips once you had found yourself occupying every crevice of his heart. He was blue skies turning into cotton candy pink, whispered wishes slipped between birthday candles, vibrantly yellow dandelions peeking out between cracked pavement, the last wisps of dusk settling into twilight, and the nostalgic song that nestled itself within your years of adolescence and yet, you couldn’t remember the title of for the life of you. He was quiet laughter hidden between the dusty bookshelves of a library, kept promises that were sealed with looped pinkies, stolen kisses as the sunset spilled across the sky, and chilled chocolate milkshakes on a warm day.

Falling in love with the boy with blue hair and a heart wrenching smile was never on your list of things to do in high school, and you didn’t think falling in love with you was on his list either, but love had a funny way of working itself out. A chance encounter on your walk home, an innocent offer of tissues towards your usually absent classmate with a bloody nose, and one glance at this vibrant boy who seemed to hold entire galaxies in his eyes were all it took for you to go head over heels for Na Jaemin.

But you’d also have to thank your soulmate—whoever they were—because if Jaemin hadn’t noticed the odd words stating “Save me a milkshake?” tattooed across your wrist in ebony ink, he wouldn’t have offered to buy you a milkshake in return for the tissues. While sitting in the diner on the corner of Camellia Boulevard and Arcadia Street for the very first time, you found out he was much luckier than you as he showed off a neatly written “I promise” on his wrist.

In a world where soulmate signs came in all different shapes and forms, you were fortunate that yours was straightforward and easy-to-hide. It was supposed to be a simple transition of black into gold as your indicator. It was certainly better than Donghyuck’s sign whose hair color changed every few days courtesy of his soulmate. When you told the boy with blue hair about the day your friend was sporting rainbow streaks, the genuine grin gracing his face as he laughed loudly made him look like an angel, and well, angels never hurt anyone, right?

The boy with blue hair never told you why he was sporting a bruised lip and carmine stains at your very first shared interaction, but you were no stranger to all the swirling rumors at school about the wrong crowd he ran with and the affiliations he had with the darker side of the city. However, you never pried, accepting that he would tell you when the time came and he was ready.

And today, he was finally ready. He was ready to leave that part of his past behind, ready to move on, ready to take charge of his life with you by his side. He was going to tell you today.

Friday afternoons were always reserved for you, but unfortunately, he had to meet with someone from his past one final time. He secretly texted you in class, asking you to meet up a little later than usual at your and his favorite diner where the two of you like to argue over the superior milkshake flavor (you adamantly insist that vanilla is better). When he received your affirmative reply a few minutes later along with a slew of pretty heart emojis, he beamed brightly before sending back a generous amount of cute emojis in response.

He was excited to show you the A he got on his English paper: the one that you helped him outline and that he stayed up all night perfecting. This was the first time he had put so much time and effort into an assignment, and his teacher was more than thrilled when she received the carefully stapled papers with his name proudly stamped across the cover page. His grades were slowly, but steadily improving, and it was all because of you. He even discovered that he really liked his computer science class and began to research potential classes at nearby community colleges.

Clutching his prized paper in hand, Jaemin stood at the intended meeting spot, enjoying the light drizzle of the rain overhead. The sun barely peeked out from behind the darkening clouds, causing the water droplets to glimmer and gleam as they fell. The gentle pattering of tiny raindrops against his face felt refreshing, almost like a new beginning, a quiet reminder of the rainbow that came afterwards.

Jaemin heard the awful squelching noise before he felt it.

It was an uncomfortable pressure at first until it increased in pain and spread across his abdomen, a cold feeling worming its way up and wrapping around his figure. He had found himself dropping onto the damp concrete, curling in on himself as the papers fluttered loosely from his hand, stained in dark shades of cerise that made its way across the ground.

The blurry figure standing above him stood still for a minute before darting off. No loose ends, he could hear his former boss’s voice echoing in his head. It was what he was told the first time he stepped foot on their territory. How naive of him to believe that they would let him go so easily.

Dragging himself towards the wall behind several empty dumpsters, he propped himself up, pressing down on the wound as best he could but the rivulets of carmine spilled much too quickly and easily, slipping between his fingers. It’s futile, and he knew it, the increasingly harsher waves of pain washing over him with every ticking second. He absentmindedly stared at the A and smiley face adorning his paper in red ink, now barely distinguishable from the other glaring hues of vermilion. The rain poured down, turning the paper translucent as it began to tear around the edges.

Mind going numb from everything but the thought of you—you who was still waiting patiently for someone who would never come—he painstakingly pulled out his phone from his jacket, the device almost falling from his grasp. He clumsily fumbled with it for a few moments before he managed to hit the right buttons. You answered on the first ring, and he smiled, small tendrils of warmth blooming from his heart at the sound of your voice. You were the rose among his garden of thorns, the green light on the other side of the shore, and the beacon of light in the midst of a storm.

“Hi, sweetheart,” he said, taking a deep breath. He hoped that you didn’t notice the way his voice wavered nor the way his breath quickened with every passing second. He hoped that you knew he tried so hard to not fall in love with you, so that you wouldn’t get hurt because of him. He hoped that you could forgive him for falling in love with you anyways. He hoped that you could forgive him for being selfish for the one last time.

“Hey, where are you? Are you alright?” Your worried tone was evident, and he squeezed his eyes shut. He felt tired, his eyelids drooping slowly, yet he still forced himself to stay awake. He’s sorry for lying to you. “Yeah, I’m fine, just running a little late. Are you already there?”

“Yeah, I just ordered a vanilla milkshake for myself. You know, the best flavor,” you teased him, and he relaxed against the bricks, phone held loosely in his hand.

“Oh, really? I think you’re wrong.”

You scoffed, and he could easily picture the way the corners of your lips tug up into a smile that you desperately try to hide. “ You know what? I’m gonna get you a vanilla one right now instead of chocolate. This is what happens when you’re late.”

“You sure you’re not just buying a second one for yourself?” he laughed softly, and you gasped indignantly. “What do you take me for? A milkshake thief? Maybe I should just drink it myself.”

“No!” He weakly protested, breath growing shallower and weaker. He shakily held up his phone, desperately pressing it against his ear. If he closed his eyes, it was almost as if you were right here, talking to him. He could pretend that he was sitting next to you on vinyl covered seats as you share a plate of fries over vanilla and chocolate milkshakes and his fingers shyly brush against yours as he picks up a fry. He could vividly see how your eyes sparkle as you tell him about your day, and he’ll stare at you, enamored and starry eyed, as some retro love song plays from the jukebox in the corner.

“Can you promise me something?” he said quietly. The pauses between each heart palpitation grew wider and further apart, and he could faintly hear you answer yes over his slowing heartbeats. He inhaled sharply, his breath stuttering, as he forced the words through his teeth, clenching tightly onto the phone like a lifeline.

“Save me a milkshake?”

On the other side of town, in a tiny booth tucked in a corner of a 1950s themed restaurant, four little words started to shimmer in gold.

“I promise.”

The boy with blue hair smiled.

As the sky wept, a splash of gold twinkled innocently against the darkening asphalt.

#jaemin scenarios #jaemin angst #jaemin imagines #nct imagines #nct scenarios #nct dream scenarios #jaemin x reader #nct angst #nct dream fanfic #nct fanfic #jaemin fanfic #nct scenario #nct dream fic #na jaemin #jaemin #nct #nct dream

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ficsilike-reblogged · 4 years

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What’s in a Name?

A/N: This is quite possibly the most ridiculous thing I’ve ever written in my entire life. But it’s soft. Because Marcus Pike is soft and deserves all the love. Granted, I’ve only watched The Mentalist all the way through once, so...do with that what you will.

Pairing: Marcus Pike x F!Reader (no y/n)

Rating: PG for mention of guns??? I just want to be on the safe side. Idiots in love. Falling in love with someone and not knowing their name. Cliche use of a Quote from Romeo + Juliet.

Word Count: 3.3k

Summary: The five times Marcus Pike tries to learn your name and the one time he actually does.

Pike was unlucky in love. He knew it. He had started to accept it when things fell apart with Lisbon. His friends and fellow agents, the assholes, actually took pity on him and said he’d find the right person eventually. He just didn’t anticipate having to meet her over and over again.

... that which we call a rose By any other name would smell as sweet... (Romeo + Juliet)

Sometimes, every once in a while, he actually hated his job. Sure, he got to go undercover, stop criminals, right some wrongs, and be called ‘agent’ on top of it. But, right now, listening to some sycophant rant and rave about the “superiority of Cubism over Dadaism,” he wanted to switch careers. There was supposed to be a sale of a stolen Cézanne happening at this gallery in Los Angeles and Pike had suspected the guy with the too-tight three piece suit and bad transatlantic accent was the ring-leader of the whole theft and re-sale. He just needed to not spork his eyes out until he saw money pass hands from the agent he’d sent in to pose as the buyer and the thief-turned-art-asshole. He thought it would only take an hour or two, busts like this usually did—but this guy loved the sound of his own voice so much that he had been going on a tangent about 20th century art movements for nearly four hours now and had somehow gathered a bit of an audience, too, debating with others, and the like. It was exhausting just listening to him.

“If you give me ten dollars, I’ll spill some red wine on his shirt and he’ll be forced to leave.”

Marcus looked to the left at the sudden voice and found a woman pretending to look at the piece in front of him, just like he had been doing. She was pretty, dressed in a high-end dress and sky-high, red-bottom heels, and looked every bit the part of an old money socialite. “Ten dollars?”

“I’d do it for free, but I need to receive some sort of incentive so I’m not just doing it out of spite. I heard that’s bad karma.” She hid her smirk behind the lip of her champagne flute.

“I’ve heard spite is a fantastic motivator.”

She hummed and squinted at the painting as if she cared. Maybe she did. “This is an awful piece of work. Truly, one of the worst I’ve ever seen.”

The man behind them continued to talk just as a waiter passed by with a platter full of red wine and she skillfully plucked one from him without missing a beat. She finished her champagne and handed Pike her empty flute. His eyebrows raised as she smiled at him.

“I’m Marcus.” He held out a hand for her to take. She shook it with a smile but didn’t give her name in return. She winked and walked away—right toward the mark.

And yes, she dumped red wine all over him.

There was a collective gasp and he watched the scene with a muted sort of fascination as she then managed to make the art thief smile with some joke she must have said and then he walked away to clean up. The crowd dispersed. The other agent was able to snag the thief and make the exchange and handcuffs were placed on his wrists all within a couple of minutes.

Maybe he should have actually paid her the ten dollars. She really did just speed everything up.

But, when he looked around to find her, she was gone.

The second time he met her was at an art auction in D.C. There was no sting. No operation. The Art Squad had recently helped the auction’s sponsor recover a priceless Van Gogh piece and they had insisted the entire Squad come to the black tie dinner and auction, foregoing the 1000-dollar-charge-per-plate the ticket usually cost. The food was good. The wine and champagne was obviously expensive and Pike was sure he’d see some of the art that was being auctioned off in his case files in the next few years. That was just the way of the world. He looked around at the displays and glanced at the sheets where people had written down their bids. Some people were being generous—most others were being cheap.

He slowed to a stop in front of a small Dalí and then down at the auction sheet. It was currently up to only a few hundred dollars. He wouldn’t win, he was sure, but he could pretend to participate in this ridiculous auction.

“I didn’t take you for a Dalí fan.” Her voice was still smooth and he knew, instinctively, that she was smiling before he even turned to look at her. She was draped in sky blue silk and pearls, reminding him of Botticelli’s Birth of Venus.

“I think he’s iconic, to be sure.”

She sidled up to him and looked at the small painting. “Thinking about bidding? It looks like everyone else is besotted with that original Warhol.” She hooked a thumb over her shoulder to reference the crowd steadily growing on the other side of the ballroom.

But all he could focus on was the smell was her perfume. Expensive and floral, it seemed to fit her perfectly.

Manicured fingers handed him a Mont Blanc pen from the depths of her designer bag. “Best of luck, Agent Pike.”

As she walked away, he realized she knew his last name now—somehow—and he still didn’t know hers.

Pike tried to find her again in the mess of rich people, to ask her name and how she knew of his ‘agent’ status and last name. But all he managed to do was catch a glimpse of blue silk as she exited the venue.

“Do you know her?” A tired-looking man asked as he walked to Pike’s side. “She left a large donation and my boss will kill me if we don’t have a name to write in our next list of donors.”

“I…I don’t actually. Did she bid on anything? Maybe we could get her name that way.”

And for the next fifteen minutes or so, he filtered through the crowd, trying to ask inconspicuously about his Venus and if she had bid on anything. And, when he finally learned that she had bid on an Alphonse Mucha sketch. And he almost felt lucky. Almost!

Because, as he made his way over to where everyone was pointing, he saw only two scribbles on the sheet. Surely he could discern which one of the names was hers.

One was Richard…

And the other one was just a scribble of blue ink, smudged beyond legibility.

(A few weeks later, he was delivered a package at his office. Inside was the Dalí he had bid on. On a slip of paper was a smudged smiley face and the word: Enjoy!)

The third time he met her was decidedly less glamorous. The Art Squad had been trailing a group of thieves across the East Coast when they finally caught up to them in Boston. Pike had hoped they’d be able to catch them in the act and be done with it.

Instead, what they found when they stormed into the art museum, was the thieves holding several hostages. And, of course with his luck, she was among them.

Her hands were behind her head and she was on her knees as one of the thieves pointed a gun to the back of her head. Boredom was, surprisingly, coloring her face but she smiled when she caught sight of Pike. “Hi, Marcus.”

“Hi,” he said in return, fighting a smile of his own.

The whole thing was over in just over an hour and the hostages were released and the thieves were carted off in the back of a police van.

And maybe now he’d finally learn her name.

He was the lead agent on the case so he had to answer a million and one questions from other agents, from outside law enforcement, from the press. And, belatedly, he watched his least favorite agent, Rhett Brown, approach his unnamed Venus. The agent was fine when given a gun and told to shoot—but how he’d managed to wind up on the Art Squad was a mystery. He’d lost or misfiled more paperwork than anyone else Pike had encountered put together.

Pike knew he needed to finish all of this nonsense—and really, he shouldn’t call it nonsense, this was important—if he wanted to even have a chance to get her name. But the local police asked a lot of questions (they were doing their job, he couldn’t blame them) and then the press conference dragged on (again, they were just doing their jobs). And by the time he finished, he jogged back to where the former hostages had been held as they were being questioned.

And, of course, she was gone.

Pike pulled Rhett aside and asked for his notes.

Rhett nodded and stuck his hand into his suit pocket and then froze. “Oh no.” He quickly patted down his other pockets and shouted at another agent, “have you seen my notepad, man?”

Pike was tired when he met her for the fourth time.

The deposition had lasted longer than he anticipated, stretching long into the night. The case was a strange one, involving inheritances, forged wills, and a “disappeared” Jackson Pollock that “reappeared” across the country. The hotel was nice, however, and he slumped into a stool at the hotel’s upscale bar and ordered a pale ale.

It was set in front of him quickly and he drained half of it without much fanfare.

“I always thought you looked more like a whiskey kind of guy.”

He nearly spat out his drink.

She slid into the stool next to him and ordered a top shelf cognac. Her lips were painted a vibrant shade of red and left a mark against the glass as she took a sip of the amber liquid. “Long day?”

“You could say that. You?”

She nodded with a small smile. “What’re you doing in New York? More FBI business?”

“Something like that.” He took another drink of his beer and she watched him over the edge of her own glass. “How’d you know I was in the FBI?”

“We have friends in common. I know Charlie—you helped him get back his precious Van Gogh.”

“Ah, Charlie.” He nodded in understanding.

“Yes, he went on and on about the FBI agent who saved his marriage—imagine that, an entire marriage hanging on the edge of one painting.” Despite cognac being meant for sipping, she had already nearly drained her glass. “Imagine my surprise when it was you—the man from the gallery opening who basically gave me full permission to dump wine on a pompous asshole.” She watched him laugh as she took another sip of the dark amber liquid. “Charlie pointed you out when you came to the auction. The man can hardly remember his children’s names but he remembers yours.” She smiled and he could have sworn he’d never seen anyone so beautiful. “But I like the um…” she gestured at his chin and then placed her finger beneath her nose in a childish imitation of a mustache. “It’s a good look.”

He laughed—she was good at making him laugh. “I was undercover.”

“Oh?” It came out with another laugh. “Aren’t you mysterious?”

“I’m mysterious? You know my name and my job—and that I think Dalí is iconic. I know nothing about you.”

“What is there to know? I procure art for people who have too much money. I spend more time on planes or in hotels than I do in my little apartment in New Orleans. I like Humphrey Bogart movies and a good blanket.” She smiled before polishing off the last dredges of her drink. “See? Now you know more about me than I do about you. And it is all far less interesting.”

His heart had lodged itself higher and higher into his throat as each word passed her lips. “No…I-I think you’re really interesting and beautiful and I…I would love to know more.”

She was embarrassed, he could tell, but she still smiled. Her mouth opened to say something else and-

-a bellhop stepped to her side. “Your bags have been loaded into the car, ma’am.”

She turned and thanked him, pressing a few bills into his hand before she stood and grabbed her purse. She put a few more bills—far more than her drink could have possibly cost—onto the bar top and signaled to the bartender that she was paying for both their drinks before he could even think to stop her. “Thanks for the company.”

“Yeah. Of course.” He was in a bit of a daze as she leaned down to press a quick kiss to his cheek. The familiar scent of her expensive perfume touched his nose as she pulled back.

“I’ll see you around, Agent Pike. But really,” she once again mimed the mustache, “it’s a good look.”

He murmured his goodbye, head still pleasantly swimming, and watched her walk away.

It took him a full five minutes to realize he still didn’t know her name.

The fifth time he met her, he’d been stuck at O’Hare International Airport for five hours. Five hours in the worst airport known to mankind. His flight back to DC had been delayed and then delayed some more and then delayed some more. He’d only been in Chicago for a few days to help lead some training to the local arm of the Bureau. Nothing exciting. And now he was stuck waffling between two equally awful airport restaurants for dinner while he continued to wait.

“Hey stranger.”

He turned to see her walking toward him, a designer carryon being wheeled behind her scuffed sneakers. Her hair was up in a lop-sided bun and she had traded her dress for a pair of jeans and an oversized band t-shirt. And why was his mouth filling with saliva? She threw her arms around him in a hug that he quickly reciprocated, squeezing her around the middle as she laughed lightly in his ear. “It’s good to see you. I see you kept the facial hair.”

He laughed and scrubbed a hand over his patchy beard and mustache. “Yeah, I guess I did.” Pike cleared his throat, trying to not sound so smitten. “Where’re you heading now?”

“Home, thankfully. I’ve been go-go-go since I saw you last. It seems everyone wants to give works of art as presents this year. I’m kind of scared what Christmas is going to mean.”

He smiled, liking to know about her life, how she felt. “Been anywhere exciting?”

“Paris and Milan lose their charm after a while. But I finally got to go to Casablanca.” There was a near twinkle in her eye now. “I felt like I should’ve been running around in a trench and fedora, chain-smoking. God knows how many times I muttered ‘here’s lookin’ at you kid’ to myself like a loon.” She shook her head as she bit her lip. “Sorry. I ramble when I’m jetlagged.”

“It’s okay, really. I…I like it.”

She shoved at his shoulder with another laugh. “Careful. You’ll make me fall in love with you.”

“Would that be so bad?” The words tumbled out of his mouth before he could stop them—something he usually did when he let his stupid, romantic heart take the lead.

She tilted her head as she looked at him with an almost shy smile playing on her lips. “No. No, I don’t think that’d be bad at all.” They looked at each other, each fighting a smile and stupid fluttering of their hearts for the near-stranger in front of them. She broke the little daydream by clearing her throat and glancing away for a moment. “And you? Been anywhere exciting?”

“Just Chicago. Had to lead some training. My flight’s been delayed for a couple hours. Hopefully, I’ll be out of here before midnight.”

“Well, if you’re looking for a good place to eat in this hellscape, I’d recommend the restaurant near C26. I’ve yet to get food poisoning from them—and the food’s pretty good, too.”

“You want to join me?” He asked, something optimistic blooming in his chest.

But her smile fell. “I wish I could. But my flight starts boarding soon.”

As if on cue, there was an announcement over the intercom. “Hello passengers and welcome to Flight 306 to New Orleans. Right now, we will start boarding with our group one passengers and active duty military in uniform.”

“That’s me,” she said with a sigh. “But it was good to see you, Marcus.” She reached out and squeezed his hand.

He squeezed her hand for a moment, keeping her still. “You know, I still don’t know your name.”

She paused and then laughed, a full-belly laugh that quickly had him laughing, too. “It’s-”

A passenger cart beeped as it zoomed by, carrying a few elderly women.

“Group one, you’re free to board. Group one,” the announcement seemed to echo in the terminal, overly loud on the old speakers.

He swore he saw her lips move. He did!

But then she was squeezing his fingers again and walking away.

The cherry blossoms were in bloom. Aside from the terrible crowds they brought and the overall mugginess that came with the season, it was one of the things he liked about living in DC. He was sitting on a bench and watching the wind blow through the trees, rustling the pink and white petals gently. His lunchbreak was ending soon and he’d have to get back to the office. The other agents had caught on about his “mysterious lady friend” when he’d finally arrived back from Chicago and had been ribbing him about it ever since. (“How did you not get her name already, Pike?!” A question for the ages.) He crumpled the wrapper from his sandwich and tossed it in the nearest bin, preparing to leave the park.

He took a deep breath and closed his eyes, just for a moment.

But when he opened them, she was standing in front of him like something out of his daydreams. She smiled at him before helping herself to the space beside him on the bench. “I was told you like this bench when the blossoms are in bloom.” She waggled her eyebrows. “Your fellow agents are very chatty, you know.”

“You came looking for me?”

“’Course. I was in town. The auction I need to attend isn’t until tonight and…yeah,” she trailed off, embarrassment coloring her tone as she looked away from him for a moment. “Yeah, I thought I’d see you.”

His smile was so big he was sure it was going to break his face. “I’m glad you did.” He reached out and curled his fingers around hers as they rested on the bench beside her legs.

Her smile was shy but she squeezed his fingers in return as she kept looking out over the cherry blossom trees. “It’s pretty here. I’d love to wake up and just see this.” She waved her free hand toward the blossoms.

“Well, it happens every year. You can come back.” Or you could stay, his traitorous, lovesick heart whispered. But no, he wouldn’t say that. No yet, at least. He could take this slow.

But then she kissed him, quick and soft—he nearly missed it. And she was quickly leaning back against the bench, trying to school her features into indifference.

“What is your name?” He asked, question bursting forward.

She guffawed and pulled her hand back with an exaggerated flourish, fighting another smile. “I told you at the airport!”

“There-there was a transport honking and-and an intercom and then you left-!”

She cupped his cheek in her hand and the words died in his throat. She smiled again, fighting a laugh, and whispered her name.

He whispered it back, rolling the letters across his tongue carefully, pressing it into his mind to keep and hold.

He liked her name.

Part Two

#marcus pike x reader #marcus pike #marcus pike imagine

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