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elliewritessometimes · 3 years

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IT’S @mattieswheelers BIRTHDAY!!! HAPPY BIRTHDAY LOVELY WE LOVE YOU SO MUCH

beCAUSE of this, myself and @notsomightymightytiger decided to steal tea leaf’s time travelling mattie au and create a whole entire fic with their ideas and also a design that @ari-is-anxious did a while back!! hope you enjoy aaaaaaa <3333 aLSO stabbies try and spot as many starboard references as you can heheheh

this can be read on ao3 here if you prefer the format :)

tw: swearing, murder (it’s minor and resolved tho jsgh), religion (nicco my love read with care), blood, i really hope i haven’t missed anything please do let me know if i missed anything

Mattie had always been able to time travel. For as long as she could remember, her walk-in wardrobe had been lined with silver metal and held no clothes at all. As a child, this made it all the more exciting, though as she grew older and actually started to want to own clothes, it became a little inconvenient. She supposed all great inventions came with some kind of sacrifice.

Her uncle had made the time machine as a gift when Mattie was born. Her parents, like any basic adults, assumed the wardrobe-sized box was simply a toy and had taken no interest in it. Mattie, from the age of about three when her curiosity had really set in, was the one who discovered that the machine was in fact a working portal and not just a children’s toy. Since then, she had been happily travelling time and space during the darkest hours of night.

(You may have entirely valid concerns about a three year old having full access to time travel - luckily, not just for Mattie’s safety but also that of the entire human race, her uncle had set what were effectively child locks on a lot of the controls. These were diminished the day that Mattie turned thirteen. Uncle Calvin had always been a little weird, but he certainly wasn’t heartless.)

Usually, Mattie’s time travel didn’t affect her life. Sure, it made for some pretty awkward conversations as Mattie spurted some knowledge which could never have been explained through a textbook, but those could often be blamed on watching too much Horrible Histories as a child (“Mattie, I swear to God, you’re so bageling British, and yet you’ve never been there, I don’t understand.” “Horrible Histories is a masterpiece! You’re just jealous that you’re too American to have seen it.” “Actual asshole of a child.” “Farrah-!”).

It was going well until Mattie’s freshman year at Giles Corey. And then three of her fellow highschoolers were murdered. And suddenly Mattie had a way to prevent that from happening.

In some stroke of luck, she passed out at the sleepover and didn’t find out about the murders until she was sitting in the back of a cop car, driving to her house to pick up her things. She remembered thinking how weird it was that she wasn’t being taken straight to the station, but brushed that away in favour of ‘going into her wardrobe to change out of her bloody clothes’.

The time machine was cold like it always was and that forced her out of her muddled state quickly enough. She thought back to the victims. Chess. Farrah. Clark. Snapping on her goggles, she pressed a button, whirled backwards through time and space, and appeared at the gate to Riley’s neighbour’s house.

She really wished that she had actually changed her outfit - the damp blood turned cold with the breeze and sent shivers up her spine. The smell perhaps or just her sudden appearance startled the neighbour’s dogs into a frenzy. A figure, Chess, unharmed and merely confused instead of terrified, stood up from Riley’s bench, calling into the darkness. Mattie’s breath caught in her throat. The second figure, knife glinting in the dim streetlight, slipped out of the back door. Their red hair shone in the reflection of the knife with a sick kind of beauty.

Mattie could have stopped them there, taken the knife from the assailant’s grasp, prevented the tragedy of the evening. But she didn’t. She just watched.

Three minutes later, after arriving back in her present time and pressing yet another button on the wall of her closet, she watched the same scene unfold in the bathroom with a much younger victim. Twenty minutes after that, the third attack. This one was different though, an accident.

Still a little desperate and overly conscious of the police officer standing guard outside of her bedroom, she reappeared in her wardrobe, putting on a jumper before turning back time a little further. She appeared in a gymnastics centre as a girl around Mattie’s age did wolf turns on a beam. A coach entered the scene from the sidelines as the girl stopped spinning, her distinctive plait falling still against her back. Something in Mattie ached at the sight of Chess so lively and innocent, willing to give up her life for her dream of succeeding in her sport. As the two wandered into a side room, picking up water with a smile, Mattie edged forwards, collecting soft gym mats as she went. Within minutes, the area surrounding the beam had been double layered with cushioning, and Mattie could only pray that her plan would work. She’d seen enough YouTube videos to know what happened next.

Chess emerged again with her coach, hopping back up onto the beam with practiced ease. Again, Mattie was forced to just watch as she went down into her wolf turn, then rose up, did a split leap across at least half of the beam, and jumped into a twist to land on the floor. It was a messy landing, the gymnast’s ankle caving in on itself, knee twisting unnaturally in the air, before coming down hard onto her side. But, unlike in the previous videos, there wasn’t a resounding crack, only a weak cry of pain as Chess stumbled back to her feet.

Mattie grinned despite herself as snippets of conversation drifted her way.

“-not broken, don’t worry-”

“The Olympics seem out of the picture…”

“Get her a drink to numb the pain! Yes, limeade’s perfect-!”

Mattie arrived in her room again with a whole plethora of new information just inserted into her mind like it had been there all along. There was no longer and never had been a police officer outside her door. Her shirt was clean, her head undamaged. Chess didn’t go to the Olympics, but still did gymnastics in her spare time as her knee made a full and quick recovery. Farrah wasn’t dropped. Riley, in some weird twist of fate, went to the same therapist as Mattie. Life was… good for the Giles Corey Tigers.

Across town, the sleepover was still going ahead as normal. From what weird memories she just gained, Mattie knew that the team was at a rocky patch, their personalities still clashing in any iteration of the evening. But, with some relief, she knew that it would never in this timeline be bad enough for murder to even be considered as an answer. Her phone buzzed. The lies came easily as she covered up her mysterious disappearance from the sleepover she should currently be at.

Reese (school): Where are you???

Mattieeeee: I went home :( not feeling good

Reese (school): :((( that sucks

Mattieeeee: Ikr. I think it was the ice cream.

Reese (school): I told the others

Reese (school): They all say get well soon apart from Kate and Cairo who actually agreed on something for once haha

Mattieeeee: What did they say skjghdjh

Reese (school): “Tolerate the lactose, Wheeler.”

In her short-but-actually-quite-long-given-all-the-time-travel life, Mattie had witnessed a number of key historic events (and had caused about 85% by some small accident, but that’s a story for another time). The one which ended up unveiling her secret to someone in her actual life occurred overnight one February. Or maybe July. Depends. Time is weird.

She stepped into a small room, luckily through the doorway and not awkwardly through the window, as done many times before. A man sat hunched over a desk by the window, dressed in brown and using a pen-but-not-really-a-pen to craft a page of writing. From Mattie’s extensive historical knowledge, it could have been anywhere from 1000 BC to the 16th century.

“Hello, excuse me,” she began, “But I’m a little lost.”

The man startled, his not-really-pen skidding across the page and leaving a trail of thick ink in its wake as he blinked at her in the doorway. “Who are you?” He seemed perplexed as to how a young girl was standing there, in the opening to his room, in clothing not of any time now or before.

Something that Mattie had realised after travelling not only to different times, but also to a vast number of different settings around the world, was that somehow, she was never stumped by a language barrier. Instead she was always able to fluently converse with those she met in what appeared to her as American English. It was really weird; she tried not to think about it too much or it made her head hurt. She’d also learnt that it was best not to explain her full situation to her companions, becoming accustomed to pulling the classic ‘I’m not here, you’re just dreaming’ excuse. So that was exactly the tactic she applied here. “A dream figure. You don’t need to be afraid.”

The man narrowed his eyes, glancing down at the paper and then back up to Mattie’s face. “That’s a good line.” He scribbled her words down onto a scrap piece of papyrus. “Maybe I can use that later.”

Mattie grinned, sensing her chance to fuck up history just a little bit. “What are you writing?”

“How the world came to be,” the man explained. “God.”

“Ah, of course. The Bible, huh?”

“Pardon?” The scribe locked eyes with Mattie for the first time, confusion etched clearly on his face. She shook her head in response, having learnt that it was hopeless trying to explain events of the future to people who could never even begin to imagine the future that she came from. Seemingly satisfied, the man continued. “As the vision you are, I wonder if you’ve been sent to answer my queries.”

“Of course. Go ahead.”

“I’m struggling for a name. Not for the book itself, but just for this chapter.”

Mattie smiled as wisely as she could. “What do you have so far?”

“‘Generational Crisis’. The chapter describes how our world came to be - the creation of natural elements, the first humans, the beginnings of emotion. ‘Generational’ as it shall be carried on for generations, and ‘crisis’ as it’s a huge event, a crisis for the higher powers.”

Mattie choked. Her mind imagined a world where the entry chapter to the Bible was named as so, and it was a world of chaos and highly differing language choices. “That is very wise, sir. I have one suggestion: how about shortening it? Make it snappier, more catchy. I’m thinking…” She paused, feigning deep thought, “‘Genesis.’”

The man gasped, scrawling her word down at the top of the papyrus. “Genius! Thank you, child. I should write your name in my finished book, to show my gratitude for your kindness.”

“Mattie, sir, Mattie Wheeler. It’s been lovely to meet you and see your studies.” Over the centuries, Mattie had learnt to leave those she met with some kind of reassurance as the humane aspect of her hobby. “Before I go, I may be a dream spirit, but I can assure you that the work you have done right now shall be greatly appreciated for thousands of years to come.”

“You really are a wonder, perhaps a child sent from the power above.”

Unthinking, she snorted, replying, “Oh, boy, you are not ready to hear about Jesus.”

“Jesus? You mean my sister’s husband? I do hear some curious rumours about the man…”

Mattie hid her laugh behind a hand. Of course, this was hundreds of years before Jesus Christ came to be thought of. “I know, right? Jesus? More like JeSUS.” The scribe didn’t reply, mind clearly tired of its confusion and instead turning back to something it knew well. He picked up his writing patterns again. Mattie turned away, back to the doorway. “I will leave you to your writing again. Sleep well.” Leaving a small vial of dissolved sleeping pills on the desk, she stepped out of the door.

The only class that Mattie knew she would see Eva in was Religion. They didn’t actually share the class, but Mattie’s Religion teacher was Eva’s form tutor and the older girl often used the classroom as a quieter study area for her free period. Not that Mattie would call a class of thirty sophomores particularly peaceful, but apparently she hadn’t heard the noise of the senior study area, you genuinely don’t understand, last week Jacob Thomas tried to make toast using the sun on a desk and then, bam, the entire of senior year are creating chants about sun bread, it was so weird, Mattie, I transferred to a school of crackheads.

After her travel to the 7th century AD, Mattie sparked a sudden interest in her Religion classes. Eva, being the older sister that she was, watched closely as the sophomore stayed behind after class to search the Bible for something in particular.

“What’re you looking for?”

“Nothing!” Mattie didn’t look up from fervently turning the pages.

“Well, that’s a fucking lie.” Eva perched on the side of a desk, sliding across to snatch the book out of the younger girl’s hands. “Why the hell are you looking at what is essentially the movie credits for the Bible???”

Eva watched as Mattie bit her lip, eyes darting around the empty classroom. She thought for a long moment, visibly debating points in her head, before leaning over the top of the book to run her finger down a list of names. About a third of the way down the page, she stopped. Eva’s eyes followed her finger as it drew a circle around a certain name. Matte Wheyler

“See. I was looking for that.”

Eva didn’t say anything for a while. Mattie waited with baited breath as Eva’s brain tried to make sense of what they saw. “Mattie Wheeler, what the bagel.” It didn’t bother to even be a question.

“It’s a really long story.” Mattie slumped onto the desk as well. “Hey, did you know that ‘Genesis’ would have originally been called ‘Generational Crisis’ if it wasn’t for me?”

After a glance at both of their timetables, they decided that their next lessons (biology and latin respectively) were worth missing. Instead, they stayed seated on a desk in the Religion classroom, as Mattie explained in detail how her name came to be in the Bible. It was refreshing to finally spill her secret after fifteen years of complete silence, and Mattie wondered vaguely in the back of her mind if one day Eva might be able to share in her time travelling adventures. That might take a little more explaining though, because Eva sure did have a lot of questions.

“So, you don’t change anything?”

“Not anything major. Like, I can’t stop Hitler or anything, that would change too big an event. Little things, however, like names and stuff, it’s fun to mess around with. Ever wondered why the Italian city, Pisa, has its name? I delivered pizza to the guys who were kind of like the government at the time of its naming. Hence, the Leaning Tower of Pizza.”

Eva cackled. “Wait, what?! God, dude, that’s nuts. What the fuck.”

“What can I say, all I really want in life is a little bit of chaos and also mozzarella sticks.”

Mattieeeee sent a photo.

evanescence: is that??? abraham lincoln????

Mattieeeee: Abraham Lincoln was an otter.

evanescence: how so?

Mattieeeee: Point one: look at him.

Mattieeeee: Point two: no seriously. Look at him.

evanescence: oh my god

evanescence: i cannot believe you have a literal selfie with abraham lincoln that’s fucking wild

Mattieeeee: Perks of the job :D

evanescence: literally hire me i want a selfie with cleopatra

farrah o’satanic ritual: yall i got out of the shower like an hour ago and i still haven’t changed

Imposter: What can I say, bath robes are in fashion rn

farrah o’satanic ritual: ive told you before clark stop pretending you know how to dress

Mattieeeee: Farrah did you not die in the shower?

katherine: ????mattie???????

farrah o’satanic ritual: no?? i didn’t

SmileyRiley: dang it

katherine: riLEY-

caicrow: riley i thought we’d moved on from murder

Imposter: Plot twist: Mattie was the murderer all along

katherine: CLARK-

Mattieeeee: oops-

It wasn't meant to happen, she swore up and down it was a mistake. A true and honest accident. And it kinda was? I mean Mattie hadn’t intended for the scaffolding on the new tower being constructed in Pisa to wobble, she’d already fucked up Pisa once in her career, but… Well, that's what she got for letting loose Giles and Corey (her occasional time travelling companions, who also happened to be cats) in the middle of a Italian city in 1252. She could have sworn the catnip was safely concealed in one of the pockets inside her jacket (which was filled with all sorts of trinkets from her travels in the space-time continuum), yet somehow the two had still gotten into it. She guessed that's what she got for not hydrating-feel-greating and eating-to-defeating.

An old citizen eyed her suspiciously, taking in her struggle with the two cats. Or maybe she was just more focused on Mattie’s goggles - she doubted anyone in 13th century Pisa had seen such a bold fashion statement before. The tower continued to lean in the background.

Finally, Giles and Corey settled down, each in a pocket of her trench coat. Mattie breathed a sigh of relief, which only got halfway out of her before she was sucking it back in as the old lady from across the street began to approach her.

“Young lady.”

Mattie smiled sheepishly. “Hello, ma’am. Is everything alright?”

The lady looked mildly amused. “I couldn’t help but notice your two cats going mysteriously close to the tower before it started collapsing. You wouldn’t know anything about that, would you?”

“Oh, no, ma’am. My cats are very well behaved.” Giles gave a resounding yelp at exactly the wrong time. A hiss from Corey echoed from the opposite pocket.

“Well,” the lady grinned, “If that’s the case, why don’t you leave the animals with me? You seem fairly preoccupied with the tower - perhaps you can try and assist its reconstruction?” She held out a hand.

Mattie thought for a moment and then handed across the two cats. “Thank you ever so much, ma’am. I’ll try and be quick.” The woman nodded and Mattie sped across the square to the drastically swaying tower.

When she arrived back at the woman’s table, there was a second lady in animated conversation with her. As Mattie approached, she stood up to take her leave, pressing a kiss to the first lady’s hair as she left. Something was definitely fruity there.

“All fixed!”

“I’m glad.” The woman nudged the cats back to their owner, looking intensely over Mattie’s shoulder to the stabilised tower. “It certainly looks sturdier.”

“I should hope so.”

The woman narrowed her eyes. “Sometimes,” she said, staring pointedly at an area on the structure, “I think about crabs.”

“Oh?” Mattie tilted her head. “Do you?”

“Yes. And often when I think about crabs, I think that they shouldn’t be in Pisa, and they most definitely should not be crawling over the tower.”

Mattie gasped and followed her gaze, muttering curses under her breath. “I didn’t realise I’d brought a whole crab with me! I thought I’d taken the sea life off the rocks!”

The woman chuckled. “You seem to be a strange character. Child, where on Earth did you find not only rocks large enough to support a tower, but also a live crab in Pisa?”

Accepting her fate, Mattie decided to tell the truth. “They’re from Egypt.” At the woman’s questioning look, she expanded, “I’m a traveller of sorts.”

“Oh. Well, child, you’re a gift of a traveller. Brightened my day. Italy these days is far too serious. Maybe we should put more crabs on the leaning tower, huh?”

Tucking her cats back into their respective pockets, Mattie allowed herself to laugh. “Maybe we should.” With a nod and a smile, she wandered off, eagerly awaiting her portal.

“Why were you in Egypt anyway?” Eva asked as Mattie recounted yet another of her time-travel-gone-wrong experiences.

“Library of Alexandria.”

“Oh, yeah, because that explains so much.”

“Shut up.” She rolled her eyes. “It was 48 BC, Caesar was burning shit, this random Roman dude set fire to the library.” She pulled a book out of her backpack. “I saved this and stashed away a few of the slabs of rock. And apparently a crab.”

Eva took the book in awe. “Jesus Christ… This thing is, like, thousands of years old…”

“I know, right? Weird.” She watched as Eva flicked through the pages, tracing her finger over certain words or illustrations. “But it was such a beautiful library, I couldn’t let it just burn. So, I retaliated. Burnt the house of the soldier who set the original flame.”

“Mattie!”

She shrugged. “Setting someone’s house on fire is a survival skill.”

“Oh my God.”

“I would have done something more dramatic, but I had to get home. I had a cake which would need to come out of the oven.”

Eva laughed, the sound echoing around the empty classroom. They were skiving class again, this time PE, the one class they had which coincidentally fell at the same time for both year groups. “How are you so normal in school, but so badass when you time travel?”

“I dunno. All I can say is that cake and spite are my only motivators.”

“You’re like a superhero. ‘Time Travelling Mattie: The Only One Who Can Lead A Dual Life Successfully’!!!”

Mattie blushed, shrugging. She definitely needed to take Eva with her one day. A superhero duo. “Okay, that name needs some work. How about: ‘Sanchez And Wheeler, The Ultimate Time Travelling Duo’?”

“I think I like the sound of that.”

“Yeah?”

Eva nodded, shaking her hand like they were signing a business contract. “Yeah.”

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ears-awake-eyes-opened · 4 years

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Cracked

(Hayffie ❤️. After rereading the first half of Mockingjay, I recognize book-Haymitch in 13 as the saddest, most tragic muffin in this or any universe, and he needs so much more of Effie there than the three District 13 fics I wrote in the summer. So here’s another one for my sweethearts.)

“People of Panem, we fight, we dare, we end this hunger for justice!” Plutarch had been the one to compose the line on the card in Effie’s hands. Less than a year before, she’d held other cards, on which she’d inserted Capitol propaganda into the children’s Victory Tour speeches. That kind of writing was within her skill set. Creating propaganda for a rebellion — correction, a revolution — was not.

That said, Effie was confident in her ability to coach anyone entrusted with presenting content to a public audience. ...Well, almost anyone. Historically, Katniss had been hopelessly uncoachable. Even still, even out of her element, Effie was determined do her best to guide her girl into embodying Cinna’s vision of the Mockingjay.

Effie stood in the studio, rehearsing the line in her mind as she experimented with different body positions and different speeds of the circular fans which were brought in to simulate wind.

“Let’s have her start down on one knee then stand up and wave the flag, symbolically pledging to the people of Panem and rising with them into battle.” Plutarch announced from the sound booth. “By the way, Haymitch has been discharged from the detox unit. He’s scheduled to be here later when we shoot the propo.”

Effie shifted into uncharacteristic silence. She hadn’t seen Haymitch since before she was brusquely ushered onto a hovercraft and taken to 13. That was weeks ago. Against her will now, her heart beat into her throat. For an instant, she brushed her lips with her fingertips, remembering the night before the Quell.

“This is good news,” Plutarch said, “He’ll be able to anticipate how far Katniss can be pushed without breaking.”

“Good news...” Effie echoed the words but they didn’t register because she was still caught up in the ones he’d said just before.

She fiddled with the edge of the cloth covering her hair, with the frame of her sunglasses, with the neckline of her shirt, with the bracelet on her wrist. Her hands refused to stop moving.

Plutarch noticed her restlessness and let it go on without mention. “It’s probably best if one of us brings him up to speed beforehand.”

“I’ll do it.” As soon as she said it, Effie chastised herself for her eagerness. “The prep team is working to build Katniss up now from Beauty Base Zero. With that tragic scar on her arm and the lack of proper resources in this cavern, she will not be camera ready for some time.”

“Fine. He’s been issued Compartment 307, vacated by the Everdeens. According to his schedule, he’s there now ‘acclimating.’”

“Well, that is convenient.” Effie relentlessly folded and unfolded and refolded the cue card in her hand. She steadied her voice. “...I suppose I shall go do that now.”

“I think that would be best,” Plutarch agreed, “Before you’ve folded Katniss’s lines into an origami crane or perhaps... a valentine?”

Effie glared in the direction of the sound booth, irritated with Plutarch for perceiving more than a *decent* person should. His chuckle brought her to her senses. She slipped the cue card into her pocket and made her way to Compartment 307 with deliberate slowness.

She took the stairs partway, sliding her fingers along the cold metal rails as she walked. Their yellow paint was one of the few bright colors in this cement and steel dungeon. She’d developed an appreciation for the handrails for no other reason than because they were something besides dingy gray or lackluster white.

She paused outside his door. Awash with self-doubt, she checked her intentions. Her eagerness to see Haymitch had nothing to do with the propo, of course, and everything to do with curiosity and concern about his mile-deep drop into forced sobriety. She knocked with the feeling of wild bird in her chest.

“He isn’t home!” Haymitch hollered in a hoarse voice, “The purple crap on his arm says he’s ACCLIMATING.”

“Haymitch... it’s me.”

Effie. Her voice was without its usual trill, like a canary in a coal mine singing softly at the edge of stopping. The *air* must be okay enough, because here she was at his door.

He slid it open and took in the sight of her dressed all in gray with a turban on her head and a pair of sunglasses covering her eyes. Not a speck of sunlight would reach this place, except the glimmer that squeezed through the cracks in him just then and lit him up. For the first time in weeks, months, years maybe... he laughed. The laughter was so genuine that it moved through his body like a stranger.

She furrowed her brow and pursed her lips in annoyance. “I think I liked you better before you were sober!” She huffed.

“It’s good to see you too, sweetheart. Do you want to come in? This sure as hell ain’t the penthouse.”

She slid the dark glasses down the bridge of her nose and tucked them into her pocket with the cue card. That was when she really saw him. The fine details of his face tugged the flapping bird from her heart into her gut. She sucked in a breath and held it.

Weeks before, his body had been strong, prepared for battle. The muscles he’d built up during the months in between the Victory Tour and the Quell had wasted away during his stint in detox. She stepped into the room and caressed his yellowed cheek. Then she breathed again. “What have they done to you?”

He closed the door behind her. “If I said torture would you believe me?”

She heard teasing in his voice and a sharp edge of truth. “Yes,” she answered without hesitation. She brushed her fingers over his jaw and down his neck. It was the path tears might take if she ever saw him cry. She smoothed the collar of the shirt that 13 had issued him.

He refused to call it HIS shirt even while it was on his body. For a moment Effie made him forget that the collar choked him and that the walls were closing in. Her touch felt so good that he joked a bit in order to hold onto reality. “I got the standard District 13 makeover for a drunk. I had my own prep team and everything. That explains the unparalleled beauty you see before you.”

Then her arms were around him, and the sensations of her were filling him up. She smelled different. No coffee or cinnamon gum. No vanilla perfume or orange shampoo. ...Just Effie, so slight with no 5-inch heels, no layers of chiffon, almost no makeup, no corset...

He held her loosely with his hands on the small of her back. He said nothing else and asked her no questions. He slowly lifted the tail of her shirt, learning again the feeling of her skin as he slid his palms up to the strap of the bra she wore. It was probably no more hers than their government-issued everything else.

He wanted it off. He wanted to get rid of everything unrecognizable.

As if reading his mind, she pulled off the knitted hat he was wearing, and she ran her fingers up the nape of his neck into his hair. Her nails were short, and he felt the tips of her fingers naked along his scalp, sending warm shivers to each appendage of his body.

“What are you doing to me?” His voice was ragged as if cut by a serrated knife.

“Plutarch suggested I bring you up to speed.”

“Plutarch authorized this, did he?”

“I had to see for myself.”

“See what?”

Effie had closed her eyes as she held him, but she opened them again and pulled back far enough to see the dark circles below his. So much gray. “I needed to see what your *prep team* did to you.” She masked her sympathy, knowing he would detest it. She plucked a kiss at the corner of his chapped lips.

It was the kind of kiss he’d seen her give a thousand times in the Capitol. The kind that meant nothing. Only it didn’t feel like nothing. Her mouth was naked too, warm and wet like a bottle of something that could slip inside him and burn on the way down.

She brushed her fingertips across his forehead, sweeping the hair away from his eyes. Her breath lingered at the corner of his mouth. “I just... I need—“

“Oh, hell—“ He caught her lips and drank her in. The feeling of her spead through him like wildfire. When they’d kissed weeks ago in comfort, it hadn’t been like this. Yet here this was.

“Ohh...” Surprised by the suddenness of arousal, she was drinking him in too. “Oh, my God.”

He perceived *need* as a dangerous thing. If he didn’t need anyone, then he hurt less when he lost them — and he always lost them. He felt it then with Effie, that dangerous thing creeping up on him. He heard it too in the sound that came from the back of her throat. A whimper, almost pleading.

He yanked his hands out from under her shirt and stepped backward, catching his breath. “I shouldn’t be bringing you into this.”

“Why ever not? And what do you mean by THIS?” She knew what this was for her, and she wanted his answer.

“I don’t know. ...I just know you need to leave.”

“But the propo...”

“I’ll wing it.”

She held her ground, searching his face, trying to understand.

He focused on the concrete between their feet. He didn’t dare look at her eyes. In his mind, he saw them filling with tears. He was barely holding himself together, and if he saw her like that, then he’d be gone... and so would their clothes.

“Get out of here, Effie.” He refrained from screaming, refusing to make this degenerate into something resembling a nightmare. “...Just go.”

In all the years of moments that came before this one, he’d never looked so afraid. He was right in front of her, but he’d retreated to a place within himself that she wasn’t sure how to reach.

She pulled the repeatedly folded cue card from her pocket, slapped it against his chest, and let go. He caught it before it fell to the floor. “Consider yourself *brought up to speed!*”

She slid the door open. “And by the way, you did not BRING me into this. Push me away all you want, but I’m IN this. I’ve been in this longer than you probably realize. And that will NOT be changing!”

He looked up, and her eyes were dry, like sapphires set in bone.

“If you want me out of this, honey, you’re going to have to kill me yourself, so consider carefully what you want.” Before sliding the door shut, she added, “I’ll see you in the studio when you’re done... ‘acclimating.’”

He stared in shock at the door slammed in his face. Then laughter erupted again from those cracks in him where she’d slipped inside and lit him up. Maybe the *psych ward* had misjudged his readiness to handle this place without liquor. But there was no way he was going back down now, not with Effie up here making him feel alive again.

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mortedeveles · 4 years

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Till Death Do Us Part. [HALLOWEEN WEEK]

SUMMARY: Ever since you met Todoroki Shouto, you knew that having a friendship with him was a risk itself. But you didn't listen to the warnings, to the signs, and the protests. His sharp fangs were more than enough to ward off hundreds, the menacing gleam in his bi-colored eyes haunted people's dreams. His honey-dipped words were nothing but webs of lies and deception- everyone knows a vampire can't be trusted. But you went out of your way to trust one, and it destroyed your life. Left you wondering where it all went downward. Captured in his trap, with no way out; to be together till death did you part.

PAIRING: Vampire!Shouto Todoroki x fem!reader.

WORD COUNT: 6.7K words, (aprox. 6,784 words.)

THEMES: Fantasy, historical!au. Fluff at the beginning, then angst, slightly erotic, dark, horror. [ONE- SHOT] [HALLOWEEN WEEK WRITING EVENT.]

TW [PLEASE READ]!!: depictions of toxic relationships, violence, murder, description of multilated bodies, emotional manipulation, non-consensual touching, blood, child abuse (once), discrimination, vampire hunting, yandere themes, forced marriage kidnapping, unhealthy relationships. PLEASE DO NOT READ IF YOU’RE NOT COMFORTABLE WITH THE PREVIOUS THEMES!!

A/N: hii guys!! 3 fics (+1 more ;)] in one month? :flushed: couldn’t be me. anyways, this fic is part of a writing event I’m participating in, Halloween Week! The link to the event’s masterlist is HERE! For an entire week, fics will be posted daily, so PLEASE check out the content of my fellow writers and stay tuned for the fics!! I’d appreciate it so much <3 anyways, i have some updates for my writing updates in november! i won’t be publishing new fics, MOSTLY drabbles, HCs and others! i’ve published 3-4 fics for october, and hope to stay the same for november :) when i get my winter break, i’ll probably be a tad bit more active! we’ll see.

as always, please leave a LIKE, COMMENT, REBLOG and/or FOLLOW if you enjoyed! REBLOG > LIKE.

They’re monsters, Y/N. And everyone knows you can’t trust a monster, was the threatening remark your brother would tell you every time you mentioned the Todoroki’s. The subject was once a source of excitement for him; but as you entered your young adult years, it became taboo. And by the grim expression on his face, you assumed he spoke from experience.

As the naive young farm girl you were, you never realized how true his words were. You had been living on the outskirts of Japan under a poor household for your entire life and had never left or known beyond the grass fields that surrounded your home. The most impressive thing you had seen was the Todoroki household, a mighty and tall Japanese castle.

Since you lived in a rural area, there weren't many neighbors. Most of them were at least a hundred meters away from your humble abode.

Not the Todoroki family, though.

They lived in an eerie and grim castle which was surrounded by wooden gates; it was only a walk away from your house, around ten to twenty minutes. Whenever you passed by, the only thing you could glimpse at was the triangular roof that curved upwards and the second floor. You spotted movement twice, a shadow walking by the window, but didn't see anything else.

The castle looked abandoned and lifeless. Something about it made you feel isolated, with small and thin needles piercing your back, especially after the Todoroki family abandoned the house. Dead and dry trees towered over the castle and at night, and you would hear a faint hear gut-wrenching screams and sobs of despair. Your brother often dismissed you, saying the wind was playing tricks on your mind. But even as sheltered and oblivious you were, your gut told you that it wasn’t the wind.

Your 18th birthday was nearing and your parents had been planning to wed you off to a dashing male, though they refused to disclose his identity. This didn't settle well with you. For the past years, you had lived an easy and carefree life with your older brother and parents, doing minimal tasks such as feeding the chicken and milking the cows. When you weren't attending the farm, you liked to spend your time in the empty grass fields and lie among the flowers. Being a dutiful wife was the last thing on your mind.

When your brother Haruko and you were nothing more but pudgy face children, he would tell you tales about vampires. Your conversations were often loud and consisted of silly bickering.

''Y/N!'' His high pitched voice made you turn around. You grinned and waddled towards your brother and the two of you sat on the doorstep of your home.

''I found something today!'' He shoved his small and chubby hands in your face. There was a piece of tattered clothing, tainted with old blood. You wrinkled your nose.

''What is that?!" He beamed.

''It’s a secret…'' Haruko beckoned you to lean closer and he began to whisper into your ear. ''I found it outside of the Todoroki house, and I think they’re vampires!''

You snorted in disbelief and shook your head. ''Vampires? We don't have vampires in Japan, silly! Do you mean a nure-onna?''

Your brother groaned in annoyance and shook his head. ''No! I mean vampires! The western type!'' His words only left you more confused.

''See,'' he held out the cloth. ''Vampires are bloodsucking monsters! They're the living dead. They only come out at night, that’s why we never see the Todoroki’s...'' he made sure to make his tone ominous and grinned when you shivered with fear.

''But that's just a piece of cloth. Maybe that isn't even blood,'' you argued. Haruko clicked his tongue.

''No, I have more! The other day, I saw someone at the Todoroki castle...'' his face hardened. '' I saw a young boy, with pale white skin!'' He waved his hands around dramatically. ''His hair was two colors, that isn't normal! He stared at me for a few seconds... it was weird,'' your brother shuddered. ''And I heard a man shout for him, so the boy opened his mouth and shouted back. Then he left. And here's the thing....'' your shoulders tensed with anticipation.

''When he opened his mouth, I saw fangs! Sharp, shiny fangs!''

Your curiosity grew after that conversation. Determined to prove your brother wrong, you began to sneak around and observe the Todoroki household, desperate to spot at least one of the family members.

Perhaps, now that you look back at your situation, that was your first mistake; your first step into a deadly trap.

______

You were a tender and fragile nine-year-old when you first met the boy. With his short luscious red and white locks, the mere sight of him left you breathless. He was beautiful and ethereal, but the cold and lifeless look in his bi-colored eyes left you shivering.

It was a stormy and troublesome day. Twigs and branches snapped beneath your bare feet as you pushed through the sea of trees. Your wobbly knees were scraped and dirty, but your will and determination never wavered. Maybe it should've.

After fighting with your brother- now that you look back at it, it was a rather silly argument- you fled your house and marched towards the Todoroki castle. Although they had wooden gates encircling their home, you managed to sneak to the back and found a pair of wooden planks that were wide enough for you to slip into.

But it was just your luck that it started raining hard. And it didn't help that you miscalculated the amount of wildlife the Todoroki castle had; you had to navigate through an entire forest before reaching their castle.

A bolt of lightning thundered in the sky, and you flinched. Your blood ran cold when you heard a branch snap.

''He-hello?'' You nearly hiccuped. Snap. The footsteps grew closer. Snap. Staggering backward, you swallowed nervously.

''Who's the-there?!'' Snap. The crunching of branches only grew louder and as your body tensed, ready to run away, when a figure emerged behind a tree. It was the young boy Haruko had described; bi-colored hair and eyes, and with a presence that sent a gust of air your way, even though it wasn't a windy day.

''Wh-who are you?'' You had fallen on the ground out of shock and stared at him as he stepped closer to you.

He didn't reply. The boy cocked his head to his side, and there was a neutral expression on his face. Your body relaxed for a moment. He seemed more interested in observing you than sucking your blood.

''I think I should be asking you that,'' his voice was unnaturally cold and formal for a child.

You whimpered. ''Are you a-a vampire?''

He frowned. In a quick few steps, he was sitting in front of you, staring at your disheveled appearance.

''What gave it away?'' And for the first time, he opened his mouth wide enough for you to peek at his fangs. Your eyes widened. Haruko's fearful description could never match the panic that flooded your body.

They were as you expected- a set of sharp, white, and gleaming fangs. But when you were only a few heartbeats away from them, they were much more threatening. The mere sight of them made you freeze.

''Are you going to suck my blood? Please don't hurt me!'' You shut your eyes and didn't notice the perverse and wicked smile that took over his lips and disappeared the next second.

''No, I don't think I will.'' He rose from the muddy ground and patted down his clothes. You examined his clothing. He was wearing a white collared shirt, a pair of black slacks, and a cloak to complete the mysterious look. It was your first time seeing such fancy and expensive clothing, as you were accustomed to your simple and worn out dresses and trousers.

He outstretched his hand. ''Come with me,'' you swore you saw a faint smile. ''You're filthy. I can help you get fresh clothing.''

You probably shouldn't have trusted him. Rising on your trembling legs, you took his hand and nearly gasped. You were freezing from the rain; but otherwise, your skin was warm. But the boy’s skin was cold to the touch. Not the type that happens after being soaked in the rain; his skin felt...lifeless. Devoid of life. You shivered.

That day you stepped into the Todoroki castle. You realized you didn't even know his name, so as soon as you were wearing fresh clothing- he mentioned they were his elder sister’s clothing, Fuyumi,- you asked him.

''Todoroki,'' you started. After knowing that neither of his parents was home, you felt much more welcomed and comfortable.

''What's your first name?'' The boy raised an eyebrow. He sat on the sofa opposite to you, with his legs crossed, hands on his lap, neutral but calculating gaze, and prideful posture. He resembled a portrait of a mighty king.

''Shouto. I am Shouto Todoroki. The youngest child of the royal family, Todoroki. And you are?'' You rubbed your hands and blew on them.

''I'm Y/N Fujisaki,'' you smiled and averted your gaze. '’A simple farm girl, with no wealth or status to my name.''

He simply hummed in response and didn’t seem particularly bothered by it. The two of you sat in the lavish living room, with red drapes and carpets, hearing the flames in the fireplace crackle softly. Even though the walls were thick, you still heard the rain pattering on the roof, and more bolts of lightning struck the sky. You winced.

''You are welcome to stay for the night,'' Todoroki said. ''It is far too cold and dangerous for you to venture out to your home.''

Your jaw nearly dropped to the floor. ''Re-really?'' you whispered. The boy cleared his throat awkwardly before nodding. You slept the night in Todoroki's bedroom. Even though you refused several times, he insisted you took his bed, and he would rest on the sofa.

Your strange but exciting friendship took birth that night, and the two of you quickly grew close for many years to come. Between several nights of sneaking out at midnight, sharing hushed secrets and traumas, the vampire became a shoulder to cry on for you, and you were the same for him. Especially when the hunting began. It was no news to you that Todoroki and his family were pureblood vampires, but it had never bothered you. You rarely thought of it.

Society didn’t seem to agree with you. Before your own eyes, dozens of villagers would march around, searching for vampires to drive a stake through. You’d see banners and hear the shouts of the villagers. Monsters! Sinners! We don’t want any vampires in our town!

While the protests weren’t pleasant, you never realized the extent of them until the day you were to meet Shouto at the castle, and he wasn’t there.

─── ･｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

None of the Todoroki’s were home. Since you were a well-known friend of Shouto, the Todoroki’s had granted you free passage to the castle, even when they weren’t home. Usually, Shouto would meet you near the fireplace at midnight. You sat on one of the plush cushions and swung your legs back and forth, the fire spreading warmth through your body.

The loud slam of the castle doors made you jump. You scurried to the entrance, where Touya and Natsuo dragged themselves in, grunting and wincing. It wasn’t until you saw the familiar mop of white and red hair that your heart skipped a beat as you raced forward.

‘’Shouto!’’ you exclaimed. His head was hung downwards and his two older brothers were carrying him in. You glanced at Natsuo and Touya. ‘’What happened?!’’ They weren’t in a better state. Both of them had mud, scratches, and dirt all over their faces. Their usual royal and elegant clothing was tattered and you spotted blood on Touya’s cloak.

‘’Vampire hunters,’’ Natsuo said with a scowl. They carried Shouto to the sofa. You kneeled at his side and gasped at the sight beneath his mops of hair. A wide red, angry-looking and raw scar trailed on the left side of his face, starting from his hairline and ending on his cheek.

‘’Shouto,’’ you sobbed as your hands fisted his hair. Then, you swung around and met Touya’s and Natsuo’s pained gaze.

‘’Why isn’t it healing? Don’t vampires have fast and improved healing?!’’ Touya sighed. He looked just as confused and pained as you.

‘’This was different,’’ Natsuo said gently. ‘’I think, it was a...a,’’ he cleared his throat and rubbed his watering eyes. ‘’A witch burned him.’’ You swallowed thickly.

‘’Curse those witches,’’ Touya snarled. ‘’Their fire is lethal to a vampire.’’ You sniffed and wiped at your tears.

‘’But…he’ll make it, right?’’ You could see the uncertainty in the Todoroki’s sibling’s eyes. It made your heart ache.

You slept at Shouto’s side, holding his cold hand in yours. Your face buried in his torso, damp with your tears.

‘’/N….?’’ the voice was fuzzy and so, so far away. Sleep weighed you down and could only manage a sleepy mumble.

‘’Y/N,’’ the fuzzy voice was much louder this time. With a confused hum, you opened your eyes and winced as they adjusted to their surroundings.

‘’Mmmm…what is it?’’ Your eyes focused on Shouto and you immediately rose to your feet.

‘’Shouto!’’ You cried out and tackled him in a bear hug. ‘’I was so worried!” Tears quickly sprang in your eyes and you sobbed into his chest.

As you continued to mumble and sob incoherent words, Shouto mumbled sleepily and returned your hug with equal intensity.

‘’I’m okay, Y/N,’’ he murmured as his hands rubbed circles on your back. ‘’I promise.’’

Your sobs eventually quietened down and you sniffled away the last tears. You raised your head and met Todoroki’s tired gaze. Seeing the new scar was quite unsettling. Your hand reached out and gently brushed against his scar.

‘’Do you still want to be my friend?’’ he whispered. He frowned and his hand wrapped around yours, squeezing softly. You furrowed your brows.

‘’Why would I ever stop, Shouto?’’ He sighed.

‘’The scar. I know it’s not a pleasant sight,’’ the insecurity and doubt in his voice made your heart squeeze.

With a sad smile, you stood on your toes and pressed a kiss on his scar. His hand slid to your waist as you did so.

‘’Don’t be silly. The scar is a part of you; just as beautiful as the others. It won’t stop me from being your friend.’’ You smiled when you saw his face slightly redden.

‘’Okay,’’ he said, barely above a whisper. ‘’Thank you.’’ His voice became wobbly. Your heart ached for him and instinctively, the two of you wrapped your arms around each other. He buried his face in your neck and you buried your face in his chest. The two of you stood in silence, attempting to heal each other’s pain through the comfort of physical contact.

The friendship quickly came to an end when you were around fourteen or fifteen years old. Over the years, the protests and vampire hunting increased to the point you weren’t able to see Shouto as often as you used to. The memory is fuzzy, but you can still remember the grim look on his face.

''Good evening, Shouto!'' You said gleefully. He had requested for you to meet him on one of the green fields at midday; and while you thought his request was odd- you tended to meet at midnight, you didn't think much of it.

''Greetings, Y/N,'' with a small smile, he held your hand and pressed a soft kiss on your knuckles. Your face felt warm at the gesture.

''Is there a special occasion?'' You said with a teasing smile. ''Why have you called for me at evening,'' you spared a glance at your surroundings. ''When our meetings are usually at midnight?''

Shouto smiled faintly. There's a bitter and melancholic look in his eyes that unsettles you. And when he doesn't answer, your stomach tightens.

''Shouto? What's the matter?''

He sighed before shaking his head. Todoroki's hands clutched yours and if it wasn't for the tense mood, you would've been flustered and flattered.

''I desperately wish I could change this,'' he said. ''My family... we're relocating.''

Your heart dropped to your stomach. ''What...?''

Shouto swallowed before squeezing your hands. ''I know you have no qualms about my state of, well, being a vampire, but many others do.''

You frowned and tightened your grip. ''What?! But you're no harm, you're the humblest and kindest person I've ever met! They can't-,'' he cut you off with a raise of his finger.

''I know you don't, dear,'' Shouto isn't one for affection other than when he's greeting you, so it surprised you when he leaned closer and caressed your cheek.

Your eyes widened but you decided to remain silent. He swallowed visibly as his eyes stared into yours.

''Many other villagers have found out what my family is. They're going to persecute us, we can't let that happen. If they get their hands on us, we'll be slaughtered.''

His grim sentence made tears slowly form in your eyes and you sniffled.

''I don't want you to go...'' your voice trembled. You dropped his hands and fisted his shirt, he wrapped his arms around you and allowed you to cry into his chest.

After a few moments, he kissed your forehead. His silent goodbye, and left you alone in the wide field. As tears flooded your face and sadness consumed your heart, you would remember those bittersweet moments as the day you lost your friend Shouto Todoroki, forever.

─── ･｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

Shouto’s words weren’t far off from reality. Not long after, the Todoroki castle was overrun and ransacked by villagers and vampire hunters with forks and torches. But they were long gone. Since your family lived the closest to them, you were interrogated by the villagers but quickly released after they realized your family had no connections with the Todoroki. At least, that’s what you made them believe.

Ever since that day, a part of your heart had left with Shouto. In its place, was a feeling of nostalgia and bittersweetness. On the good days, you would think of him. Of his rare but beautiful smile, his magnificent hair, and eyes, and the deep and intimate friendship you used to have. On the bad days, you would think of what could've been. Maybe if you had confessed the feelings you had for him, you wouldn't be at your farm, dreading for the day you were to be married to a stranger. You would've been at his side, exploring the world as friends, and hopefully lovers.

The conflict between vampires and humans only increased after his departure. Vampires began to attack constantly, and many of your fellow villagers would be found dead, with bite marks on their necks and their blood sucked dry. Your mind always went to Shouto, but you knew he wasn't capable of murder. He never raised his hand in your presence- never harmed you, and was never been fond of the idea of drinking human blood. You were no longer allowed to walk alone at night unless you were accompanied by your brother Haroku. Many persecutions and hunting of vampires marched past your home.

But strangely, things had calmed down for the past month. You rarely heard of vampire attacks near your abode. Your eighteenth birthday was only a week away, and your mother had been buzzing with excitement ever since. She had been preparing your dress for the wedding, and every time you had requested to know the identity of your husband, she would refuse.

''Mother,'' you said exasperatedly as you trailed behind her. ''Please indulge my request, what's the name of my...'' your mouth tasted bitter. ''Of my future husband?''

She sighed as the two of you arrived at the kitchen, refusing to acknowledge you.

''I have told you over and over, Y/N,'' her voice sounded rather wobbly, than the usual stern tone you were accustomed to.

''Your groom...has asked to remain anonymous until the two of you are wed. But worry not!'' she shot you a bright smile, but it looked forced. ''He is a man of high status and great wealth and power. You will have a prosperous life with him.''

This was what bugged you the most. You were a common farm girl, living in the middle of nowhere. How had you managed to catch the attention of a prestigious man?

You sighed. ''Okay....''

Your mother began to mutter to herself in a dejected, crazy manner. It made you stop in your tracks. ''Yes, it must be this way..... he gave us no other choice. Once she has been wed, he... he will leave our family alone.''

Questions swarmed your mind, but you didn't dare look back and stick around to hear what she was talking about. Maybe, you thought. Maybe it's better if I leave this alone.

The dreaded day came too soon. Before you knew it, you were being shoved into the elegant dress. It was overwhelming and you felt trapped in it. This was the day. From now on, your life would no longer be yours. It would belong to the man who asked for your hand in marriage.

You were seated on your bedroom floor as your mother fussed around you, helping you with your clothing. The wedding was to take place at night; which you raised an eyebrow at, but as always, your mother refused to disclose any information.

Your entire village was to attend, and the wedding would take place in the green fields. It was a simple event, but it held an immeasurable weight of stress over you. Knowing that it would unify the relationship in which you were no longer your own person.

''Mother,'' she hummed in response as she patted your hair. ''Why won't you tell me who's my groom?''

Her hands froze. You weren't sure if you wanted to raise your head and see her reaction.

''Mother?'' Her hands unclenched and she sighed, but you noticed the quiver in her voice. It made your doubts and queasy feelings double.

''This is the way it must be,'' was all she replied. It wasn't much comfort to your anxious being.

When the sun lowered and the moon rose, it was time for the ceremony to begin. Moonlight shone on your skin as you walked to the aisle, with your father leading the way, your arm in his. He was deathly silent and you didn't miss the way he was sweating bullets.

And to top it all off, your husband-to-be hadn't shown up yet. The villagers that sat at your left and right were murmuring about your concerns. On the other hand, you weren't sure whether to feel relieved or confused. Maybe he had decided to abandon the marriage?

Goosebumps rose on your skin the moment you reached the aisle. Something wasn't right. The night was too quiet, the only noises surrounding you the soft breeze of air and the chirping of crickets.

And just like the calm before the storm, a blood piercing scream tore into the silent air. Your eyes widened as everything around you turned into a flurry of screaming and running bodies.

A vampire sunk his fangs into one of the guests, a young girl you had known. Blood splattered as dozens of other figures swooped into action. More screams filled the air as you staggered backward, feeling your heart drop from the gruesome scene.

Blood spilled everywhere, the once fresh and lively green grass was stained red. You spotted a torn human organ every now and there. Bile rose to your throat. The stench of death and blood mixed in the air.

''Wait!'' From somewhere in the carnage, you heard your mother shriek.

''Mother!" You screamed and attempted to find her.

The crowd of moving and struggled bodies opened and you watched as a cloaked figure held your mother by her neck, choking the life out of her. She struggled and kicked, clawing at the figure's hand.

''You-you promised,'' she choked out. ''If we gave her to you, the village would be safe! She's yours now, what-what else do you want from us?!'' The figure chuckled loudly and you shivered. It was oddly familiar.

''Silly little humans,'' they said in a mocking tone. Your blood ran cold when you heard them speak. It was... your long-lost friend, Shouto Todoroki.

''Silence,'' he snarled. ‘’Filthy humans like you don’t deserve any rewards.'' Just as your mother yelped and begged for mercy, Shouto slit her throat open. Blood spurted from her throat as he dropped her to the floor. Your mother gurgled and choked on her blood.

You couldn't help the scream that tore from your throat as you fell to your knees. The scene was burned into your memory. As your screams caught everyone's attention, Shouto's cloak fell to the ground. The same bi-colored hair and eyes greeted you, and the mark you used to kiss to comfort him was still there. He approached you with a small grin. It was the same grin he would give you when you asked him a silly question.

''Y/N,'' he spoke your name as if it was sweet honey on his tongue, eyes gleaming with something very, very dark. ''So we meet again.'' Each step he took forward made your heart thunder with fear.

''Ge-get away from me!'' You sobbed as you crawled away, desperate to be anywhere but near him.

''You wound me, Y/N!" He dramatically placed a hand over his heart. ''Is that any way to treat your best friend?''

Your white dress was getting stained green and brown from the dirt and grass, but it was the last thing on your mind. All you could focus on was getting away from him. As he spoke, the screams of his victims echoed alongside.

''You're not my friend!'' you sneered. ''I knew Shouto Todoroki! You're not him- you're a monster.'' His face hardened.

''I've waited years to return,'' he snarled. In one swift movement, his hands gripped your shoulders and his knee was placed on your chest, pinning you down. You sobbed as you struggled to escape from his grip.

''These nefarious humans have slowed my return with their silly vampire hunting,'' he scoffed. ''But you…'' he hummed. You trembled as his lips hovered over your cheeks, reeking of the metallic scent of blood. The smell made you nauseous.

''I know you're not like them, Y/N. You never treated me like them. And as your husband, it’s my pleasure to say that I,'' his voice was oddly soothing as he brushed strands of hair away from your face. ''I love you.''

Your eyes shot open and you nearly choked. ''Don't-don't you dare say that.'' You sneered with blazing eyes. ''You don't love me, Shouto would have never killed my family!'' Your once aggressive tone changed to a cry of despair.

He shrugged and rose to his feet, dragging you along him. You struggled as he kept your arms behind your back and forced you to move forward.

''It had to be done, love,'' Todoroki hummed. ''They were in the way of us being together. I can't leave any witnesses now, can I? I'll have another hoard of vampire hunters on my arse.'' He snorted.

Out of the corner of your eye, you spotted the dozens of vampire trail behind him. Fuyumi, Natsuo, and Touya were between them. Your eyes watered as you noticed their lips and chins stained with fresh blood. The Todoroki siblings you once considered your family. The thought made you sob louder.

''Stop it!'' Your voice was shrill as tears blurred your vision. ''Let me go! I just want to go home!''

Shouto sighed and stopped in his tracks.

''Y/N, we are going home. Home is with me. The two of us, together. That's home,'' he crooned. You felt a fit of rabid anger take over you, and decided to strike back.

''Go to hell!'' You shrieked. In one swift movement, you bit down on his hand that rested on your shoulder and kicked him as hard as you could.

His grip released you momentarily as he cursed and you raced forward, feeling ten times more terrified by the fact that another dozen vampires were chasing after you. But you didn't get far before Shouto tackled you to the ground. You cursed as your knees and hands scraped against the dirt, and his fingers dug into your skin.

''Y/N,'' his voice was strained. ''If you act up again, I won't hesitate to bite you.'' He snarled as his lips brushed against your neck, and your body went stiff.

''And I think you're smart enough to know how that'll end, aren't you, love?''

You swallowed nervously and stared at the pebbles of dirt ahead of you. Then at the moon, that was cloaking you in the low light. You prayed in your head, to whatever deity, god there was out there, to save you from this monster.

Your prayer went unheard.

''Answer me!" He shouted, his fingers digging into your neck, with such a tight grip you nearly bled. You whimpered as you nodded shakily. That seemed to satisfy him as he sighed and regained his composure and rose, pulling you up along.

''Now come on, my love,'' his voice returned to the soothing and loving tone you would dream about. ''We have to go home.''

You don't remember passing out, but the last thing you saw was your once-white bride dress, now stained with blood and dirt; tainted by Todoroki’s deeds.

______

When you regained consciousness, the wedding dress was gone. In its place, was a soft and creamy dress. You sat up on the bed and stared at your surroundings. It was a room you could only dream of; more extravagant than the ones in the previous Todoroki's household. The mention of the family made your mouth dry, and you remembered why you were here.

The walls were made out of brick stones and the mattress you laid on was against one of the walls in the center, velvet silk blankets resting at your ankles. There were no windows, you thought with a frown. Other than the bed, there were only two wooden drawers, one at each side respectively. The metal door was in front of the bed. You heard footsteps approaching the room and sprang into action. But as soon as you attempted to leave, a heavyweight pulled you back. Chains swayed loudly as you sat back, staring in disbelief at the gleaming chains that were wrapped around your left ankle.

The door swung open. ''Oh,'' Shouto's voice drifted inside. ‘’You’re awake.’’ He stepped inside, holding a tray of food. You whimpered as he stepped closer and reached the bed, taking a seat at the edge.

‘’How did you sleep?’’ He murmured with a smile.

‘’You-you,’’ you choked out, feeling the same panic and terror seize ahold of you. ‘’Shouto…’’ you whimpered. ‘’This isn’t you. You wouldn’t have killed a fly! What… what happened to you?’’

He chuckled. The vampire placed the tray of food on the wooden drawer, before leaning closer to you. You had no choice but to whimper with closed eyes as he touched your face.

‘’Do you recall the phrase? The one the vampire hunters would chant over and over again?’’ Nervously, you shook your head in denial.

Shouto clicked his tongue in disapproval. His thumb brushed your cheek. ‘’I don’t remember the exact phrase, but it was something along these lines; you can never trust a monster...’’ He chuckled.

‘’And that made me ponder about some realities and misconceptions…..you silly little humans have always feared us. Isn’t that right, Y/N?’’ There was a mockingly kind smile on his lips.

‘’Here’s the thing,’’ he leaned closer and whispered into your ear. You shivered. ‘’Human society has always seen us as the monsters, but they are far worse than us,’’ his hand gripped your arm tightly. ‘’Humanity has made me suffer for years, brandished my skin with scars that will never heal,’’ he growled. ‘’And yet, I was the beast in all of this. But thankfully, my father helped me realize that I am a Todoroki; I’m a vampire. I finally accepted myself for what I truly am….’’ His voice lowered and you gulped.

‘’Society's monster.’’

He sighed in relief and leaned backward with a satisfied smile. ‘’It’s simple. Even though you humans are the most hypocritical species I’ve ever met, I decided to accept the label. I’ve killed humans, I drank blood, I slaughtered,’’ there was a bloodthirsty look in his eyes that sent a shiver down your spine. ‘’And no one holds me accountable for it. I’m a monster, what else could you expect?’’ his tone was sarcastic.

‘’Where…where does that leave me?’’ Your voice was awfully small. You couldn’t hold his gaze anymore and opted to stare at the blankets.

Shouto chuckled as if your question had already been answered. ‘’Humans may be filth,’’ he sneered. ‘’But you’re an exception. Do you remember that promise you made me when we were children? Once you turned eighteen, you would marry me and be my loving, dutiful wife.’’ Blood drained from your face at his statement.

‘’No…’’ you murmured, wishing you could return and stop yourself from ever saying that sentence. Unknowingly, you had only fuelled his delusions.

‘’That’s right,’’ he agreed. ‘’What was that phrase you loved to tell me?’’ He smiled and rubbed his chin thoughtfully. ‘’Oh, that’s right! You promise we would be together, till death do us part. Isn’t that right, my love? ‘’

─── ･｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

''Did you like the dress?'' Shouto said animatedly. The two of you sat at the large dining table, eating a dish you couldn't bother looking at. He was eating, even though as a vampire, he didn't need to. At least, it wasn’t human food that he needed.

You didn’t reply. A month or two had passed by since you had been captured by Todoroki and lived in his castle. It would've been a forbidden and delightful romance for your younger self; but to your current self, hell had been stolen from the underworld and brought to you.

In the first two or three weeks, you screamed and fought back. But after seeing how quickly he could end someone's life with one bite or one strike, you decided to remain silent. But now that you were alone, without any commotion, last months' events were on your mind. The screams of your mother, the gushing of her crimson red blood. The wedding dress she had poured so much effort into, only to end up in tatters and stained with blood.

Just like your life, you thought bitterly. Once a horizon of freedom and happiness, it had been stolen away from you. Ripped to shreds and tainted by traumatizing scenes you would never forget.

And it was all because of one man. The man you used to love, was now your devil. With a name that used to leave you breathless, a star-striking appearance, and a golden smile.

Todoroki Shouto.

Now, his name would make you shiver violently and you'd faintly smell blood from the slaughter that happened at your so-called wedding. Seeing his smile reminded you of how devious and beautiful he could be. Pink lips would tenderly kiss down your neck; the same lips that stole the life of many. Yours, included. While he had kept your soul on the Earth, it was no longer yours to enjoy and possess.

He had you locked up. Sunlight hadn't kissed your skin in weeks. You weren't sure what day it was anymore. Shouto showered you in wealth and luxury, with more gold and jewels you had seen in an entire lifetime. But the hole he attempted to fill with material possessions was impossibly wide and gape.

It only reminded you further of how monstrous his actions were, and continue to be. Sometimes, you’d wish you were stronger. Maybe if you had a stronger will, you wouldn't let him run his hands all over your body. Maybe there'd still be a spark of life and vigor in your eyes every time you'd look into the mirror.

If you were stronger, you wouldn't have let him drink from you. Your neck and collarbone wouldn't bear a bite mark that would remain with you for the rest of your life.

______

''You're so beautiful,'' his hushed voice made you shiver. His cold hand caressed your neck, while the other squeezed your shoulder as his body pressed against your body. He backed away momentarily and returned with an open wooden box; and his hands returned to your neck as they placed a cold necklace around it. It felt heavy and constricting. Shouto assured you it was made out of jewels, with tremendous hours of effort, and only made for the wealthiest. But the moment it touched your skin, it felt like a rusty metal collar, the type you'd use with a slave, enemy, or a wild animal- with chains worth a hundred pounds weighing you down.

''Do you like it?'' his fingers rubbed your arms. You nodded mutely. Shouto pressed a kiss on your collarbone and you felt him smile against your skin.

''I knew you would.''

He sighed, before resting his chin on his shoulder and directing you to the mirror. You stare blankly at your reflection, your body fitted with a blood-red dress, you thought with a hard swallow. He was doing it on purpose, you thought.

Your suspicions were made true when you saw him smirk. Bastard...

''My love,'' his fingers squeezed your neck and all your anger simmered down when you saw the dangerous glint shining in his eyes.

''I think it's time I mark you.'' His tone was gentle and reassuring, but the look in his eyes was anything but that.

''Mark you?'' your hollow voice repeated his words. He chuckled and rubbed your shoulders, before swiftly turning you around.

''Yes, silly,'' he leaned closer, lips brushing against yours. You stood and took it all. ''Wouldn't that be lovely?'' You hummed in response.

Shouto's lips pressed against yours and you followed his movements; growing slowly accustomed to his kissing patterns. His lips would worship yours, and the worship would turn heated, until he's pushed you up against a wall, with your legs wrapped around his waist as you moaned lowly.

Today seemed to be an exception, you noticed.

He didn't move. While he tilted downwards and his lips danced with yours, his hands snaked to your waist, pulling you closer.

He caught you off guard. You clumsily fell into his intoxicating trap and began to genuinely kiss back with the same fervor and passion. His hands squeezed your hips, and you barely noticed how his lips descended from your lips to your chin, to your neck, and finally, arrived at the junction between your neck and your collarbone. Soft bites and hickeys were left in his awakening, and your body felt an over sensory of pleasure, everywhere.

Just as you descended into the warm pool of lust and pleasure, his fangs pricked at your skin. Your eyes blew open as his fangs sank into your skin and he began to slowly drink your blood, all while brushing his fingers on your waist. The sudden pain mixed with the erotic pleasure, where it reached the point that you couldn't distinguish either. They fought and struggled until merging into bliss and euphoria, leaving you breathless and with hooded eyelids, craving for more.

When you began to feel lightheaded, the vampire pulled away. He smirked as he heard your low and soft moans and lapped up at the last droplets of blood before pressing a soft kiss over the bite mark. Shouto forced you to look into the mirror and you complied, still in the haze of your ecstasy, and he pressed a soft kiss on your cheek. You barely noticed the slight tinge of blood he left behind.

''Now, what do we say?'' He cooed and flashed his blood-stained fangs. You smiled shakily and leaned back into him with a sleepy smile.

''Thank you, Shouto.''

He chuckled darkly as he watched your hazy and incoherent form, growing more tired by the minute.

''Anything for you, my love...'' he whispered. His eyes were glued to your fresh bite mark.

''Anything for you.''

please let me know what you think!! i worked really hard on this one-shot and i’m really proud of it :’) remember to support me for more content through REBLOGS, COMMENTS, LIKES!

tagging: @sandwichez01 @ur-local-simp

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365days365movies · 3 years

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March 7, 2021: Onward (2020) (Part One)

Finding Nemo.

That’s my favorite Pixar film. Real talk, no arguments, and today’s movie? NOT dethroning it. This movie is so hard-wired into my brain, that the second I typed the words of the title, the theme song ran through my head, where it lives rent-free. It will be a cold day when I don’t find an excuse to shout “NEMOOOO!!!! I HAVE TO FIND MY SON!!” at any opportune moment. I will never stop swimming. Whenever I catch a Chinchou or Lanturn in a Pokémon game, I name it “Goodfeeling’sgone”.

SHARK BAIT OOH HA HA

YOU DO NOT UNDERSTAND THE DEPTHS OF MY LOVE FOR THIS MOVIE.

...Ahem. So, yeah, I love FInding Nemo. For the record, the sequel ain’t bad. And also for the record, there’s only one Pixar movie that I consider to be bad, and it’s the one you’d think. You know, the one about ageism. The one where somebody dies by torture? The bad spy movie?

...the second one about cars?

Which means, YES. I DON’T THINK The Good Dinosaur IS THAT BAD! Not exactly good, but its gorgeous, and just kinda boring, not outright terrible. That Styracosaurus, though...that dude is great.

Anyway, off of Pixar for a sec, huh? What about fantasy? I’m a big tabletop RPG nerd, and I’m currently the GM for a Pathfinder campaign, a Pokémon RPG, and a Mutants and Masterminds game, while also playing in a Pathfinder game as well. Yeah, I’m a busy dewd. But what I’m saying is, this movie should be preaching to the choir for me. I’m a Pixar lover who plays RPGs. I’m ready for this. I’m ready for CGI Bright. Which is another way of saying, I’m ready for a version of Bright that doesn’t suck.

So, why haven’t I seen it until now? I mean...COVID-19. This film got FUCKED. But, no matter! It’s on Disney Plus, I’ve got Disney Plus, so let’s get this baby STARTED! Let’s get updated on some Pixar! SPOILERS AHEAD!!!

Recap (1/2)

OK, immediately digging the soundtrack over the Disney logo as we jump in here! Very ethereal, very fantasy, very LotR, I LIKE it, I LIKE it! And then...long ago, the world was full of wonder!

We get a view of the world of olde, with magic and many mystical, mythical creatures living together and adventuring. However, as magic wasn’t the easiest thing in the world to use, it eventually gave way to technology, fading away in a world now very similar to ours.

Basically, it’s about the same as our world, except for a few different races, and the fact that dragons are basically dogs, and unicorns are basically raccoons, which is fuckin’ fantastic.

We enter the home of teenage elf Ian Lightfoot (Tom Holland) and introverted now-16-year-old who lives with his mother, Laurel (Julia Louis-Dreyfus) and his older brother Barley (Chris Pratt). Barley’s a tabletop RPG nerd who’s also a fan of the magical past. Said obsessions cause a strain on his relationship with Ian, and with that of his mother’s boyfriend, centaur policeman Colt Bronco (Mel Rodriguez).

After a discussion about Barley’s recent attempt to protect an old magical monument from destruction, he accidentally damages the sweatshirt that Ian is wearing, which was owned by their late father, Wilder. Ian rushes out, flustered, despite Barley’s attempts to bond with him. Well, looks like we have a sense of the plot for this one.

On his way to school, Barley stops to get some food when he meets Gaxton (Wilmer Valderrama), an old college friend of his father’s. From Gaxton, he learns things about his father that he never knew, like that he was bold and standout. From there, Barely pledges to try and be more self-confident, like his father.

Whiiiiiiich, doesn’t exactly work once he gets to school. He fails to stand-up to a jerky guy at school, he fails in his driving class, and he fails to ask other high school kids to his birthday party. But to be fair, Barley helps a bit with that last one when he shows up with Guinevere, his busted-ass van with a unicorn painted on the side. Which is supposed to be uncool...but I kinda dig it, not gonna lie.

After that, Ian completely flubs the invitation bit, confusing the people he was talking to, and disappointing himself in the process. He gets a ride home with Barley, and goes home to talk to a tape recording of his dad. Which is...beautifully sad, and somehow very easy to identify with. So, yeah, it’s gonna be that kind of Pixar movie.

Ian talks to his mom about his father at his age, asking if he was ever unsure. She says yes, but couples this with a surprise: a gift from his late father, who died of a terminal illness shortly after Ian’s birth. The gift is for both Ian and Barley, and was meant to be opened when they were both over 16.

She gets it from the attic, and they unwrap it, where it’s revealed to be a wizard’s staff. Which is weird, because Wilder was an accountant. In a pocket of the wrapping cloth, there’s a letter written by Wilder with the narration from the beginning of the film (that “Long ago” bit).

Also included is a spell, written by Wilder so that he could see who his sons grew up to be. This “Visitation Spell” would appear to be a way to bring Wilder back for 24 hours. Barley, being the magic-lover that he is, tries multiple times to cast the spell with the staff, but fails to do so, much to his and Ian’s great disappointment.

However, when Ian tries to read the spell out of curiosity later, the staff begins to react, and the spell begins to work. Barley comes in as this is happening, and the spell works...halfway. It starts to fail, and Barley offers to help, but Ian pulls the staff away, and the spell stops as the Phoenix crystal inside it shatters.

Looks like another bust, but it’s not a complete failure. And if you’ve seen literally any trailer for this movie, you know what happens.

Although it’s just his legs and feet, it’s still Wilden Lightfoot (Kyle Bornheimer...technically). The boys decide to try and complete the spell, but need another Phoenix Gem to do so. According to Barley’s “historically accurate” TTRPG, Quests of Lore, they will be able to find one by accepting a quest from the place where all quests start: the Manticore’s Tavern. And so, the quest begins!

The brothers and their half-dad board Guinevere and drive to the Manticore’s Tavern. On the way, Barley convinces Ian to practice some spells from the games rulebook, but they don’t work because Ian’s not invoking his passion (or his “heart’s fire”, as Barley calls it). Meanwhile, Laurel figures out where they’re headed, but doesn’t know exactly why...yet.

After the journey, they make it to the Manticore’s Tavern, which is now essentially a themed Chuck E. Cheese’s restaurant, owned and managed by Corey (Octavia Spencer), a very overworked manticore. Which is pretty great, not gonna lie.

They try to get the actual map to the Phoenix’s Gem from her in order to conjure their Dad, but she no longer sends adventurers on dangerous quests, mostly because she doesn’t want to get sued by any injured adventurers. When Ian argues with her about this, she IMMEDIATELY DIVES INTO AN EXISTENTIAL CRISIS/MID LIFE CRISIS!

It’s, uh...it’s kind of amazing. Having completely lost it at this point, she basically tears down the entire building with her bare hands and fire-breath. Unfortunately, the map to the Phoenix Gem is burnt in the process of Corey’s literal meltdown. However, as Wilden’s about to be crushed by a couple of falling beams, Ian taps into his heart’s fire.

Nice. They get out of there, and head out for the Gem, using a child’s placemat replica of the real map to make their way to a place called Raven’s Point. However, rather than just follow the goddamn map, Barley decides to go on much more dangerous road known as the “Path of Peril”, once again following the “call of adventure” and his gut.

Which...yeah, Barley’s not really considering the reality of this whole situation, which fits his personality. He’s a dreamer, despite the rational and reasonable solution in front of him. And, in case you weren’t sure, I’m pretty sure that isn’t a good thing.

Ian points out the correct point that what actually matters is that they send enough time with their father, and they do indeed take the straightforward path. Good! Barley listened to Ian’s suggestion after all. However, they hit another snag when the car breaks down, completely out of gas. Problem.

Meanwhile, Laurel makes her way to the Manticore’s place, only to find it on fire! She meets Corey, who tells her that she’s met her boys, and told them about everything...except the curse. Also, there’s a curse. Laurel, who is the best movie Mom ever, tricks a policeman interviewing Corey to diverting his attention away from her, and smuggles her into her car to help find (and maybe rescue) her sons.

Stuck off the freeway without gas, a desperate Ian asks Barley if there are any spells that can get them more gas. They concoct a plan involving a shrinking and growing spell, but that immediately goes wrong as Barley tries to instruct Ian, only frustrating him further, and causing him to fumble the spell and hit Barley with it, making him tiny.

They decide to head to a gas station, where a group of pixie bikers has just arrived. This backfires when Barley, lacking basically any common sense, ends up insulting the biker leader, Dewdrop (Grey Griffin) and her ancestors. Nice one, Barley. As they escape from the pissed off pixies, the tiny Barley is unable to drive, forcing the driver’s anxiety-riddled Ian to drive, overcoming his fears from earlier by force, being chased by the pixies all the way. It’s a pretty good sequence, to be honest.

youtube

Well, they escape the Pixies...but not the cops. And I think that’ll be a good place to pick up in the next part! See you there!

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sunrayyellowhalo · 4 years

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monster//new ambw plot

Starring Yamazaki Kento and female OC

Genres: Horror, Supernatural, Historical, Romance, Vampire, Victorian England

In which a maid discovers something gruesome by accident only to come in contact with an otherworldly yet beautiful being.

***

"What.....what are you?" In the low light, she appeared as an apparition, black and shapeless, peeks of white piercing the room. As he lifted his eyes, his pupils dilated to adjust to the unwelcome visitor in front of him. The blood swirling in his belly calmed down the rage, the hunger, the beast within.

"What am I." He answered, voice flat and quiet and she flinched as if she hadn't been expecting him to speak. Lifting hands to the bars, he curled fingers around them and gripped tight.

"What are you?" He posed, expression solemn and dark. She opened her mouth but alas, nothing came out. Eyes dropped to the tiny peek of pink tongue that dashed out to nervously lick full plump lips, clothed in shiny midnight, nonetheless, tempting to say the least.

"Is...is she...did..did you kill her?" The obvious answer lied at their feet, blood, rich and red as a rose petal still oozed from his assault, a deep gash he'd torn into her neck. Still, her eyes had grown glassy, frozen with eternal fear.

"Have you not eyes little one? Surely, you can see she is no longer amongst the living." His voice surprised her with its sudden teasing tone, deep accented and lilting. London lived on his tongue but there was another accent there just beyond that she could not quite place. Body captured in a deep freeze, she found that she could not move. Back pressed against the wall, the candle light nearest her flickered as if it would extinguish altogether. The presence of the man threatened to suffocate her, a dangerous dark and dominant force that seemed to squeeze at her very neck.

For the longest time they stared at one another, curiosity aglow in each gaze. From what she could see of him, he held a quite beautiful countenance, one some would say was feminine in nature. Thick shapely eyebrows complimented his handsome forehead, deep brown almost black eyes delightfully almond shaped were wide enough to express a myriad of expression. An elegant nose bridge flared outward into a slight peak. Cheeks grew warm as her gaze travelled to his mouth. What a glorious mouth it appeared, pouty flushed lips painted pink as if he had taken a drink from Cupid's cup himself. Once he had decided he was gone oogling her the same, those blushing forms curved up into what some would call a sultry smirk, playfulness abound.

"It seems that you are as taken with me as I am with you." At that realization, she dropped her gaze shyly and the sight of it strangely pleased him. For he to feel such a thing for a mere girl, a stranger at that was odd indeed.

"I'm...I'm sorry...I-"

"Allow me to answer your question. As to what I am." Good. Her gaze lifted again.

"I am what you are. Bondsman to those who deem themselves better...fit to live as gods. Deserving to trample upon those they view as unworthy." To that, she couldn't speak and he took the opportunity to speak again,

"Your name little one? What is it?"

"....Zadie. I...I have no last name. None was I given sir."

"Ah."

"A-And you....what is your name?"

"I am called Kieran." Her eyes dropped to the woman who by now had grown cold and stiff on the floor. He sensed a desire to run from her and with her heart beating so loudly in his ear it didn't surprise him when she finally did, taking off like a crackle of fire in the night. Smirk drifted off of his face and he adopted a much more empty expression, eyes falling to the ashen woman of whom he'd drank his fill. Bitch. Her end she most rightfully deserved. And as for Zadie...well he'd see that would become of her wouldn't he?

teaser two:

Tears streamed down her cheeks as her feet drew her closer and closer to the forbidden door, one that should never have been opened. Throwing it open, she set eyes on him. The door to his cage was just as she’d left it, cast aside and ajar, giving to him the freedom he silently yearned for. At her entry, he turned, form tall lean and powerful. In a simple linen shirt and brown breeches, his hair had been tied back from his face and neck with a slim piece of ribbon. No doubt all of which were stolen and taken from the naked flesh of the man who laid nearest the cage, bloodless and pale.

“It’s dangerous for you to be here.” He spoke, voice reprimanding. Sniffling, she lowered her gaze, hating that she had no more courage to look at him. The hand that lifted her chin was gentle and steady and his eyes were stern yet kind as they gazed upon her.

“I thought you would have been too terrified to see me off.”

“No…not at all.” Fingers brushed her wet cheeks, glistening with liquid despair.

“What brings tears to your eyes little one?” Cheeks flushed and she dare not open her mouth to say for fear of his reaction. His nostrils took in her scent and eyes fell to her thighs. Blood. Scent of terror, pain, screams and anguish. The stench of unwanted semen filled his nose and he felt his chest grow tight with fury. Her maidenhead had been taken. Brutally.

“Who has had you without your consent Zadie?” That seemed to inspire more tears and she ran into his chest, small trembling form wracked with torturous grief. He could smell the abominable discharge as it oozed from her body and hear the almost desperate squelch of her sex eager to expel the intruder from its midst. Silent to her ears, it was loud and clear in his. Already, his fangs had come down and claws peeked out from underneath his nail beds. Lifting a hand, he laid it upon her uncovered hair, thick billowy and glorious, a black cloud which his fingers gladly sought refuge in.

“K-Kieran…p-please take me with you.” Her voice was soft and muffled against his shirt.

“I cannot bear this anymore.” His throat grew tight with both rage and sadness. He couldn’t…. not now at least. With him in her current state, she’d be dead before morning.

“I cannot.” He rasped, pain evident in his voice and at her lifted tear filled eyes, he felt the pain intensify.

“W-why not?”

“They search for me. I must go as to not bring danger to you.”

“But,”

“No!” He shouted, making her grew still.

“Enough. Please.” He lowered his voice, trying to make it as gentle as he could. The hand that had been in her hair took hold of her cheek, caressed the high apple with his thumb.

“You must stay here. For now.”

“You can’t leave me here!” She cried, hands gathering up his shirt in fists.

“I will not be far from you little one. That I promise.”

“Kieran…” Finally lifting his other arm, he enclosed them both around her dainty little body.

“When it is time, I will come for you. I will take you from this hell.” Her crying answered him and he sighed heavily against her before opening eyes to the door. Those who stood outside it, listening in would meet their demise tonight. And as for the sodding bastard who had forced his way into her precious body, something worse than hell awaited him. Taking her heart shaped face in between his palms, he attempted to smile but her fingers forced it away, having pressed against his lips. Gently, they pulled them apart to expose one lone fang, surrounded by otherwise pearly white teeth.

Though she had been brutalized this night, the sweet smell of arousal wafted across his nose and he ached to press his nose against her triangle, inhaling her want for him. Later little one. Later we shall have of one another and you shall belong to no other but me. He was aware of his hardening member and tried not to brush against her as he leaned down to kiss her.

The contact was sweet and left them both breathless. She seemed to melt against him lifting up onto her tip toes. Mouth compliant and open, she allowed him entry, tongue gently teasing her own. A soft moan drifted up from her throat as he softly sucked on the appendage and her petite arms wrapped around his neck. By now, he pressed wantonly against her stomach, stiffly jabbing her. Their lips separated wetly and he groaned lowly as tiny little kisses were peppered across his bottom lip. Throbbing against her belly, he took a deep breath and pressed his face against her hair.

“I have wasted enough time little one. I must go now.” A slight whine of protest vibrated against his collarbone and he smiled, coming to kiss the warm beckoning flesh of her neck. Feeling the pulse of her carotid artery against his lips, he shivered with desire. The beast within him howled like a animal starved of sustenance. MATE. LET US HAVE MATE. TASTE BLOOD. SWEET BLOOD. It demanded in the pit of his stomach but alas he repressed it…held it back with everything in him. No…should he…as hungry as he was…he’d kill her. He’d drain every last drop of blood from her body. His soft wet tongue glided across glistening black skin, drops of sweat produced by the fire light and heat of summer.

Gently, he allowed his fangs to touch the feather soft flesh. Don’t bite. Don’t bite. Don’t sink down. He grazed lightly in a tease before hiding them completely, lips shielding them as he kissed down and across her throat. She was so fragile in his hands that he feared a tight grip would shatter her. Forcing himself to let her go, he distanced himself from her at once. Breath slightly labored he walked past her and heard the sound of feet running away just beyond the door. Fingers curling around the knob, he pulled it open and stepped into the hallway. Without looking back, he began to zoom through the air, the trails of body heat leading him to his prey.

READ THE BONUS TEASER HERE: HERE: AND HERE: STAY TUNED FOR MORE UPDATES!

#personal #original fiction #ambw #bwam #yamazaki kento #black female character #black writer #black female writers #historical fiction

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celebrate-the-clone-wars · 6 years

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I’ve been seeing this question floating around and I personally felt it would be important to address...

Should Padmé Amidala have been cast as an Asian woman for the Prequels Trilogy?

The important thing to think of when determining the answer to this question is that it is a matter that is more than just a preferential choice. Of course, the answer and the question are now hypothetical since the movie is already a thing, but it’s still worthy of discussion.

Also, this isn’t necessarily a critique on Natalie Portman herself as much as it is about questioning the creative decisions behind her character by the Casting Director -- Robin Gurland, the Concept Artist -- Iain McCaig, and the Costume Designer -- Trisha Briggar, specifically for The Phantom Menace. And let’s not forget the man at the helm -- George Lucas.

Now, the main reason why I feel it is relevant to bring these people to light is because it is very clear that they all share one common trait -- they are all white. A relevant fact because, however unintentional in the hiring process, having a room full of white people creates a lack of perspective which can forward careless work practices involving things they are not familiar with. By things, I mean specifically cultures they are not intimately familiar with.

You have people who find themselves trying to create the scifi feel of the foreign and the unfamiliar -- they see cultures that are fascinating and beautiful and feel inspired. But that’s when things get dicey. After all, if a white person is not actively looking for it (as it is not an active part of their life to worry about), how will they understand what can be potentially disrespectful or not for the poc cultures they borrow elements from?

Which brings us to remember that...

Cultural Appropriation: Historical Context is Important

One thing that can determine whether or not cultural appropriation harmful is when the people borrowing from the other culture possesses historical baggage in which they have a history of taking from those people to begin with.

This is why white people wearing Native American headdresses is considered immediately harmful. Even without the added context of the fact that the headdresses are being misused and disrespected, the fact is that white people have had past transgressions stealing from Native Americans with consequences that still exist today.

So, what is the historical context involving Padmé Amidala and her wardrobe?

I’ll get there, but let me explain a few things first involving the development of her noteworthy red dress ensembles when we first see her (ok, Sabé lol) on the throne and later in the movie.

When looking at FORCE OF FASHION: QUEEN AMIDALA’S THRONE ROOM ENSEMBLE, an article that is posted on the Star Wars official site, you see that they talk about the Behind the Scenes work on Amidala’s main wardrobe in TPM and the inspirations revolving around that.

[The] design borrows the striking reds of traditional Chinese regality and mixes it with the complex, beautiful golden designs of Korean and Mongolian wedding dresses...”

“[the] massive headdress strongly recalls that of a traditional Mongolian wedding...“

“Here in this galaxy, the white make-up and red dotted accents on Amidala’s cheeks resemble the Yeonjigonji, a style of make-up used by brides in traditional Korean weddings...”

The issue here isn’t that they take inspiration from multiple cultures as much as they pick and choose, mix and match certain aspects of wedding wear that is worn from those cultures and put them all into one style of dress to emulate a certain aesthetic.

Intent and the tradition become changed and disregarded for the fiction that is played in the story. The context is lost and it is then displayed towards an audience where many do not know the original origins. It all sums up to what they intend: to portray an alien culture.

To move forward creatively in this way -- taking bits and pieces of a culture mainly for the aesthetic while disregarding the meaning and symbolism -- is to assume that these cultures have interchangeable traits that can be taken and altered at whim. And that’s simply not the case. Cultures are not to be treated the same as arranging a flower bouquet. Especially if it comes from cultures that belongs to people who are still alive and thriving, to which their culture is an active part of their livelihood and identities.

Which brings me to talk about....

Orientalism, Why it Sucks, and How it Affects Us Now

It is during the 19th century that there was a spark of interest and fascination with the the far East for the British Empire. With the modern technologies that allowed for travel across oceans, it made things steadily easier for foreigners to meet and explore new cultures and people. It was a time of learning built on curiosity and would escalate and devolve when findings were taken back to British civilization. Stereotypes and a disdain for foreigners would fester among the white populace despite them hypocritically finding fascination in their art.

It should also be remembered that during this time, the West had already been introducing “western practices” to other cultures, which included drugs and weapons. The one specific thing I’ll reference is the “Opium Trade” being started in China and how that thoroughly crippled the nation -- causing millions of addicts but also a wealth of trade/commerce in which Britain thoroughly benefited from.

So, on one hand, you have the white people taking artifacts and treasures back to their land for the aesthetic. On the other hand, we have those same white people ruining the people they are stealing from and taking advantage of their misery (often caused by said Imperialistic white people) for money.

And all of the art of these people from multiple cultures: Middle Eastern, Asian and North African would be put under the giant umbrella to be referred to as “Orientalism” that would inspire a time of thievery, gaudy misunderstood imitations, and an even worse mistreatment of the people of those cultures.

To them, these “people of the Orient” did not have any valuable distinction other than the fact that their works were foreign, fascinating and beautiful.

It didn’t matter to them that these cultures existed on their own and possessed a long developed history that determined who they were as people. To the colonizers and thieves, they were all the same -- to be stolen and furnished in homes as trophies.

They picked which assets would be considered valuable about these cultures by taking these beautiful culturally important things out of context.

And this, is the historical baggage that I consider when I look at the cultural appropriation that is Padmé Amidala’s regalia and the fact that white people were behind the conception and designs. It’s not a matter of the negative cultural appropriation being intentional or not, but rather, from their situational ignorance, they acted unknowingly and created something potentially offensive to those of Asian descent.

They took beautiful features, but left behind the significance and cultural symbolism. They have unintentionally removed the Asian people from the designs despite it originating from them.

It’s one thing to be inspired, but a creator needs to understand that when you are inspired by any culture, you have to bring forward the people as well.

A good example of this would be the Avatar: The Last Airbender series and how they were inspired by multiple South and East Asian cultures but did not remove the Asian people from the story at all. They also kept all the clothing designs faithful to what they based off of (no mixing and matching certain aspects into one clothing) and kept the context for wearing them proper (ie. they did not design regal wear based on wedding attire as though it were interchangeable).

But does this mean that we hate Padmé and everything and everyone involved with her design?

Not necessarily, but at the same time we shouldn’t excuse it.

When it comes down to it, it is always important to acknowledge what can be done better to improve in future works. Action needs to be taken but...

Remember that when problems are being pointed out about something you like, no one is telling you not to like it anymore.

Rather, it is important to discuss all creative media, old and new, and work towards actively thinking on how they can be improved. For example, it is these kinds of discussions and acknowledgements that have brought the majority to accept that racist caricatures like Mr. Yunioshi from Breakfast at Tiffany’s are unacceptable in current modern media.

So, the question isn’t just “Should Padmé Amidala have been cast as an Asian woman?” Unfortunately, though we know that it would have been definitely more respectful considering the thoughts behind her costume, there still lies the issue of white creators being in charge of the costuming and design of Naboo and approaching it in a way in which did not actively involve actual Asian creators in their development process.

So, consider asking: “What should we do for similar characters like Padmé in the future?” What should we do when a character’s identity is based on an Asian culture for aesthetic?

What should we do to make sure future creators and developers will take more careful measures to be respectful in their portrayals of new fictional creations?

How does a creator make something original and exciting without ostracizing what it is inspired by in real life?

If you got this far, thank you for reading. This has always been one of those things I’ve had strong feelings about. I don’t normally write essays about the Clone Wars or Star Wars, but this was just one of those moments where I felt I couldn’t ignore the discourse. As always, our blog is open for discussion and questions. Going to tag @diversity-instarwars, you are welcome to add any thoughts you may have on the matter.

#annnnndd this is probably my first legit essay #idk man i have been hearing a lot of things regarding the cultural appropriation thing #and it bothers me that people downplay it and act like it's not a big deal #like...of course it's a big deal #media affects how the public perceives the world #it is frankly kind of disrespectful for them to take other cultures and create a new alien culture with it #esp during a time when a majority of the people who did not belong to those cultures #actually did not immediately recognize what the dresses were inspired by #like...consider the fact that if you are making a movie with a reference to an older movie #if no one knew that movie you're referencing from the emotional fulfillment of that is kind of lackluster right?#so...like...i think it totally would have been better if Star Wars followed up by introducing people of those cultures in side segments #to explain more about their culture #like....ACTUALLY bring Korean and Chinese and Mongolian people to TALK about their culture #instead you have white people forwarding something that does not belong to them #anyway...thanks for listening #it's been real yall #Padme Amidala #sw prequels #star wars #the clone wars #clone wars #star wars the clone wars #star wars clone wars #sw meta #long post

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inthenameofotome-blog · 5 years

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Fighting Fire with Fire Part One: The Wormhole by Ravyn Abyss

Heat bore down on her as she pulled a strand of hair out of her face. Tied back because of the heat, it had fallen loose due to her movement. School had ended and it was time for her first love, archery. Eyes watched as she pulled her bow back, purple eyes narrowed as she looked at the target. It seemed as if her classmates held their breath as they watched and waited in anticipation. She let the string go and the arrow flew across the way, hitting the target in the bullseye circle. Her classmates applauded her, bowing at the other students, she smiled wryly and packed her gear up. She didn’t want to hear another lecture about time management from her parents. At the tender age of sixteen, she helped her parents run an archery dojo so it surprised none of her classmates with how she excelled in archery. A hand clamped on her shoulder, she looked over her shoulder then up to see her couch smiling at her. He had always creeped her out though she smiled as she removed his hand from her shoulder. “ I should get on my way, need to help my parents,” she explained as she excused herself with a bow. Though they hadn’t needed her help, she wanted to get away from them all. It was the same thing, she always felt alone when around all of those people basking her in unwanted attention. Shrugging her bag onto her shoulder, she ran from the gym into the girls locker room. She got changed and then headed on her way to what she called her special place. She had always been drawn to it since she was small, though she was unsure why. After a long bus ride and quite a walk, she was at her destination the temple of Honno-ji where Nobunaga was said to have commited senpuku, though some say he disappeared too. Reading the information about the event she did not hear someone come behind her. “You seem interested in the battle of Honno-ji” a voice stated with interest. This had made her jump a few feet, then she turned around to face the owner of the voice. There she saw a young man in what looked to be a white lab coat. Confused, she rose an eyebrow. “Who are you?” she asked as she looked at him from head to toe, as if measuring him up. He smiled and bowed to her,” My name is Sasuke, and what is your name?” he responded as he watched her with curiosity noticing what she was doing, he found it entertaining. “Luciel Tihomira,” she responded quietly. This had been the first time she had seen someone else at the temple when she was. She smiled shyly and returned the bow to him as she greeted him. As she returned to her full height, she noticed something black and purple in the sky, at the sight of it her eyes widened. “What in the world is that?!” she almost yelled as she looked at it in horror. “Watch out!” was the last thing she had heard before it had sucked her into the hole, it had in fact been a wormhole and it had sucked both of them into it. Gripping her bow tightly she slowly opened her eyes and looked around, she could hear a lot of metal clanging sounds near her. She looked around almost fearful. Had she gone back in time she wondered. Close to where she sat, a man noticed her sitting there. He rose his brow wondering what she was doing there, in the middle of a battlefield. Worried for her safety he pulled his horse and rushed over to Luciel and picked her up. Surprised she almost dropped her bow. “What in the-who are you? Let me go!” she stammered all at once. Struggling, her platinum blond hair moved side to side as she moved. Struggling to keep his grip, he grunted and pulled her onto his horse in front of him. “Aren’t you just a little spitfire, such strange clothing you are wearing too-quite revealing,” he muttered halfway to himself and halfway to her. As he said it, he had moved the hilt of his sword under the skirt of her uniform, causing her to slap the skirt down in alarm. “What do you think you are doing?!” she demanded as she held her skirt down and looked at him with anger. He laughed at her amused by her reaction. Chuckling, he left her skirt alone, though he did not understand why it was so short. With her struggling, he had let out a sigh and to show her she would cause herself to get hurt, he let her go for a second, which was long enough for her to almost fall off the horse. This caused her to scream, he had been sure to catch her once again after she had been holding onto the side of the horse’s neck afraid to fall. “Now that you are calm, will you stop squirming so you don’t fall off my horse?” he asked her with an exasperated sigh. She swallowed hard, nodded and sat back up on the horse with his help, though she didn’t allow him to have her lean against him. He rose his brow at this but thought nothing of it and shrugged. Not long after, she looked at him after adjusting herself on the horse,” you never answered me, who are you?” she asked with more calm to her voice unlike when he had first picked her up. “Masamune Date, that is my name and what name shall I honor you with?” he responded with a sly smirk. She rolled her eyes at his flirting and looked away as she returned to how she was sitting beforehand,” Luciel Tihomira,” she murmured and then she went quiet. He smiled to himself as he heard her name, it was not a name he had heard before. Not long after he got her name, there was galloping coming closer to where they were. He looked in the direction to see some of his allies approaching him. One being a man dressed in black with sandy brown hair and green eyes, the one he often referred to as the “mother hen”, Toyotomi Hideyoshi. The other though, he had no nickname for. He wore a lot of black with hair that matched and eyes red as blood, their commander, Oda Nobunaga. He straightened up as he saw him though he didn’t lose his sly grin that he always held. “I heard a girl scream, why is there a girl on the battlefield?” Hideyoshi asked in almost a panic. This reaction made Masamune laugh,” You get so worked up, Hideyoshi. Yes, there is a girl and as you can she is safely on my horse. She had struggled too much so I let her go to show her what would happen if she didn’t stop. I made sure she wouldn’t fall,” he told him with a cocky smirk on his face. Hideyoshi scrunched his brow up in irritation and looked at Masamune,” That is nice Masamune, but what is she doing here?” he repeated his question this time with more force. Masamune shrugged,” who knows, I found her and picked her up so she didn’t get killed,” he responded as if it was no big deal. Nobunaga watched the two banter for a moment and then held his hand up to silence the two. They looked at him waiting to see what he would do or say. He was an unpredictable man so they didn’t wish to anger him, with the life of an innocent woman hanging in the balance. “Girl, what is your name?” Nobunaga asked as he reared his horse closer to Masamune’s horse. She looked at him for a minute unsure if she should answer or not, seeing his hand near the sheathe of his sword, she thought it may be wise to answer after all,”Luciel Tihomira,” she told him quietly. He nodded in affirmation after he heard her name,” Very well, stay with Masamune for the time being, I will question you the moment we return,” he told her as he motioned for Hideyoshi to follow him and the two rode off, back to where they had been. It had not taken as long as she had thought for them to finish up their fight against the opposing side. By dusk, she found herself surrounded in what looked to be the main hall of a castle., she looked around at each of the men looking at her. Each of these people were historical figures she thought to herself. Her nerves were rising by the second. On one side of the room, sat two men with platinum blond hair much like herself. One with yellow, snake-like eyes and the other with purple almost kind eyes. Then, there was the one that picked her up, Masamune Date. He had an eyepatch on one of his blue eyes and he had a dark coffee brown hair color. He wore a lot of blue too. He annoyed her but she was curious about him. Looking around more she saw a cold, stern looking man with blond hair and green eyes, he wore a yellow kimono and had his arms crossed, noticing her eyes wander Masamune chuckled. “If I may m’lord she knows my name but no one else’s I’d like to tell her who is all in the room with her. She seems to be like a lost little kitten that wants to run away,” Masamune proposed. Nobunaga thought for a moment and then nodded the go ahead. Masamune smiled as Nobunaga gave him permission, he looked to Luciel and motioned his hand at the first two she had looked at, “ The one in purple, with the matching eyes is our book worm Ishida Mitsunari. Next to him is the sly, trouble making Akechi Mitsuhide,” she blinked nodding to him as if to show she understood. He then motioned his hand at the blond man,” this is Tokugawa Ieyasu. He is on the cold side but he is always one step ahead,” he warned with a playful smile. Her eyes widened as he said his name. He was the one to win the war to unite Japan, she thought to herself. To hide her surprise of who she was looking at she nodded with a wry smile. Next, Masamune pointed at the one in green she had saw that looked worried for her after hearing her scream,” this mother hen, I mean the right hand man of our Lord is Toyotomi Hideyoshi, and you met our Lord himself earlier, Oda Nobunaga,” he told her with a smile as he finished speaking, he sat in his original position. Nobunaga looked to her and then sighed,” Now that that is over, introduce yourself to everyone, girl,” he ordered her in a cold and dark tone. Swallowing hard, she nodded and bowed,” My name is Luciel Tihimora,” she said as she bowed towards the generals sitting before her, then she returned to her full height. They all nodded at her. A few smiling at her, curious while others found her suspicious. After a pause, Nobunaga spoke once again,” So, girl how about you enlighten all of us on how you came to be on our battlefield. You even have a bow, though it is an odd looking one,” he said as he looked at her once again. “ I would but I doubt you would believe me, so I will stick with saying I don’t know,” she responded as she looked at him for a moment and then to the floor. Nobunaga rose his eyebrow, irritation showing on his face from her answer,” Try me, just tell me how you got there,” he demanded with an edge of irritation in the tone of his voice. Luciel sighed once again, taking a deep breath she decided to just tell him the truth, if he believed her then he did if not then she would have to hope she wouldn’t be killed she thought to herself. “Very well then, I am not from your time. I was visiting the temple of Honno-ji as I often do, then I found myself on the battlefield after seeing what looked like a giant hole in the sky had sucked me into it,” she told him, not thinking he would believe her. Silence fell across the room, they looked back and forth between each other not sure what to even say to something like that. Nobunaga let out a laugh,” That is pretty far out there. I will admit that, but I don’t think I believe you,” he admitted as he still laughed. He paused but a moment to catch his breath,” I can now see why you answered the way you did if that is your answer. Until you want to tell me the truth-” he motioned at the guards and the grabbed her and took her below to the dungeons. They shoved her into the cell, closed the door and off they went. She looked around for a moment and then slid to the ground hugging her knees. She was unsure how to get him to believe her, though she didn’t think it would matter anyway. None of the generals said a word once the guards returned to the room. Masamune looked at Nobunaga with obvious disagreement but said nothing to him. Hideyoshi looked between the two and with a deep breath spoke,” m”Lord, I know you don’t believe her story, but she wore so little. Won’t she get sick in the dungeon?” he voiced concerned. Nobunaga looked at him with cold eyes,” perhaps she should have thought about that before loitering on my battlefield,” he snapped as he got up and left the room,” I best not hear about any of you helping her,” he warned them as he left the main hall irritated. They all followed suit and emptied the main hall. Some of them letting out a sigh. Hideyoshi was the most concerned for the young girl. Masamune though, was already thinking up a plan. Back in the cell, Luciel shivered as she hugged her knees close to her chest in the corner of her cell. The only warmth in the cell she had wrapped around her, a thin blanket. Hideyoshi had confiscated her looked up at the sky through the small cell window in her room, her bow on Nobunaga’s orders the moment they got to the castle. She felt naked without it, she refused to let this make her break though, so she did not shed a single tear. As she thought of how to get out of this situation she heard a thud, which made her jump. Moving closer to the bars she saw a guard on the ground. Behind the body, stood none other than Masamune with a smirk on his face. On the other side of the room,stood Hideyoshi the two men looked at each other with a hint of annoyance that they had the same idea. With the two guards unconscious, they walked near the cell Luciel was in. Luciel inched closer to the bars, unable to hide her shivering. She had only been in her summer school uniform. It had been summer in the present before the wormhole had sent her into the past which it seemed to be reaching late fall. Her lavender eyes traveled between the two men. Hideyoshi had been the first to notice her shivering, let out a sigh and looked between Masamune and the two guards on the ground. "Keep watch, but don't get the idea of just breaking her out. You know Lord Nobunaga would be furious. I worry about him finding out about us helping her get warm even," he told him as he left the dungeon to look for something to keep her warm. Shaking his head, Masamune shook his head and leaned down and pressed the back of his hand to her forehead, he then stood with an expression of concern. Once Hideyoshi had returned Masamune had his arms crossed and looked at him with a narrowed eye. He had only found one blanket. "You think that will make a difference down here? You need to kiss Nobunaga's ass or something. She's getting a fever down here," he told him with a stern edge to his tone. Hideyoshi sighed, looked at her and only nodded handing him the blanket. Masamune gave her the blanket and then followed him out of the dungeon. Without hesitation, she wrapped herself in the blanket. Though, it had not stopped the shivering that would not cease. It had been three days since they had came to check on her. Luciel looked over at the guards on either side of the dungeon, they were looking fuzzy to her. As she tried to stand to ask for water, her grip on the blanket slipped from her hands and she fainted landing on the blanket, exposed to the cold weather. One of the guards, having seen her fall went to check on her. Alarm showed on his face once he looked in her cell, he looked to the other guard," Hurry, go get someone the prisoner has fainted!" the other guard across the room nodded and ran up the stairs of the dungeon and then ran to find someone. As he was running, Masamune noticed his panicked rush. "Hold there, soldier. What's your rush?" Masamune asked stopping the soldier. The soldier stopped and bowed to him, breathing hard he responded," The prisoner has fainted, her breathing seemed to be labored," as he told this to Masamune his eyes widened. "You tell Nobunaga I am breaking her out before she dies and if he has an issue with it he can come talk to me personally!" he said as he ran to the dungeons. The soldier nodded and went to the main hall to meet with Nobunaga as he was told. Arriving in the main hall, the soldier bowed to an annoyed Nobunaga," What's your business?" he asked with an irritated tone. The soldier swallowed hard," Forgive the interuption m'lord. I was coming from the dungeon to let you know the prisoner had fainted. On the way, I was stopped by Lord Masamune, he told me to let you know that he was breaking her out of the prison before she died and if you had an issue to seek him out," he had a nervous tone to his voice as he told Nobunaga this. Despite his worries, Nobunaga smirked as if he had expected this," I wondered who would get her first. Hideyoshi or Masamune, looks like Masamune beat you to her Hideyoshi," Nobunaga told him with a teasing tone. He then looked back to the guard," Very well, return to your post. Just make sure he doesn't destroy my dungeon. Let him take her. You better hurry before he cuts my cell, otherise it comes from your pay," he warned as the soldier bolted from the main hall. As he made it back to the dungeons, the other guard was trying to stop him from cutting the bars to get her out. "Wait!" he cried out to Masamune breathless," Lord Nobunaga gave you permission to get her, so don't break the cell," he had his hands on his knees still breathing hard as he told the message to Masamune. He smiled slyly and nodded as the other guard opened the door for him. Quickly, he wrapped her in the blanket Hideyoshi had found a few days ago and walked out of the dungeon with her. He did not stop until he got to his temporary home, there he laid her on his bed, ordering some of his staff to get certain items to help bring her fever down. Once they returned, he placed a wet cloth across her forehead and made sure it covered her up so she would not get cold. Once he stood from where he had been kneeling over her, Hideyoshi entered. "Didn't think you were the type to rush in and be impulsive like that with a stranger," Hideyoshi teased. Masamune's eyes narrowed," Well, she has done nothing to prove herself as an enemy. Didn't even try to escape. Perhaps, her story needs looking into. I would not let her die without knowing the truth," he responded to Hideyoshi crossing his arms across his chest. Hideyoshi held his hand to his chin in thought," So you believe her then?" He asked. Masamune shook his head," I didn't say that. I said we wouldn't understand her story if we let her die. There is a difference of the two," he retorted as he looked back at her. He thought for a moment," Though I wouldn't do something like this, perhaps that satchel she had with her will have a clue to her identity," he mused in thought. Hideyoshi looked at him in surprise at first then nodded in agreement," Since Lord Nobunaga won't believe her words, perhaps he will believe the things she has," he agreed. With a nod he then left to meet with Nobunaga. Hideyoshi had left for the castle, once he had arrived he went to the personal quarters of Nobunaga," Lord Nobunaga?" Hideyoshi called from the closed door," Enter" he heard muffled from inside. He opened the door and bowed," Lord Nobunaga, Masamune had an idea about learning about the girl," he told him. Nobunaga turned around and sat down and motioned him inside," Close the door behind you, I will hear what this idea is," he told him. Nodding, Hideyoshi closed the door and sat on the floor in front of the door, across from Nobunaga. "Being as we don't know if her words can be trusted, Masamune suggested we go through her bag that she had with her. He said that items of possession can't lie," he began. Nobunaga held his hand up to motion for him to stop, he looked to the side as he thought for a moment," Very well, bring me the confiscated items of her's then," he ordered and waved him off. Hideyoshi nodded and left to retrieve the items that had been taken from her, a sachel looking bag, and what looked to be fabric protecting a bow. It looked odd to him. Not long after he left, he returned to the room with the items. "Not here, bring the things to the main hall and then retrieve the others. We will all look at what she has brought with her," Nobunaga told him as he stood," Actually, just give me the items. It will be faster," he said as he changed his mind. Hideyoshi nodding handed him her things and then left to get the other generals. Once again, he found himself in front of Masamune," Lord Nobunaga has called for us all to gather, he has accepted your idea," he informed Masamune once he arrived. Masamune nodded, told one of his maids to watch over Luciel and the two men left for the main hall in the castle. Once everyone had arrived, Nobunaga looked around the room to make certain that everyone was accounted for," Masamune, I will overlook your actions of breaking her from my prison if your idea gives us fruit on who she is," he informed Masamune. He simply nodded as Nobunaga grabbed the satchel first, opening it and pouring the items on the ground in front of him. Everyone in the room looked rather confused. In her bag, she had a cell phone, pencils, paper other school items. There had also been an envelope with her name on it. "I have never seen such things before," Nobunaga muttered as he looked at the items. He picked up the phone and looked at it, the battery had died though so he couldn't see what it was. The next item he looked at was the envelope. He opened it to find a paper folded inside, he unfolded it and looked at it, then read it aloud. "Luciel Tihomira, is her name as she claimed. It says something about an adoption and it has names of what I am guessing are her parents and her birthday. So, her story is true, the date here is not anytime that I know," he informed the men. Though he didn't know how to take the information, he bent down and replaced all of her things in her bag. Once it was cleaned up and put to the side, he careflly took the fabric protecting her prized bow off and placed it on his seat. Ieyasu's eyes grew wide," A bow, a nice looking one at that. It seems to be meant for long distance shots," he muttered as he uncovered the bow. "It would seem she at least knows some means to protect herself," he continued on and muttered. Masamune looked at him for a moment and nodded," Yes, though I don't think we should expect her to help us with our battles unless she asks to help. I rather not have an innocent woman bloody her hands," Masamune voiced his concern for her sanity. Nobunaga thought for a moment as he wrapped the bow back up. "I agree with you Masamune, she seems to be a young woman that has never seen true violence. This bow is well taken care of, as if it's her greatest treasure. However, it shows no sign of being used as the bows here are. I will not ask her to fight unless she wishes to," he announced to the generals agreeing with Masamune. He then looked to Masamune," However, since you were the one to rush off with her, you will be charged with her care. You are to watch her at all times and make certain she doesn't get into any trouble," he told Masamune with a smirk. With a sideways glance and a sigh Masamune nodded in understanding with a muttered "yes, m'Lord." They had then been dismissed, and Masamune had grabbed Luciel's things and taken it with him as he went to check on her. To his surprise, Hideyoshi was following him. He let out an irritated sound," Hideyoshi, why are you following me?" he asked with an exasperated sigh. Hideyoshi caught up with him and stopped him for a moment," I wanted to tell you this. Don't you dare get close to her and break her heart or something along those lines. I doubt she understands how you play," he warned him with a serious tone. Masamune glared at him," What I do, is my business. She is under my charge to see to her care, so she is not your concern," he snapped at him and then turned and stormed off leaving Hideyoshi standing there watching him.

#otome #fanfiction #ikemen sengoku

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cas-backwards-tie · 6 years

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11 Questions Tag

Tagged by: @yikes--man

Rules are:

• Post the rules.

• Answer the questions given to you by the tagger.

• Write 11 questions of your own.

• And tag 11 people.

i. What’s your favourite era?

Probably the 1950′s, 60′s. I’m totally obsessed with 60′s clothes <3

ii. Favourite historic event?

The Crystal Palace Great Exhibition of 1851. The palace was exquisite in itself, let alone it got burned down at some point (I really wish they would rebuild it) and they decided to host the Great Exhibiton there, where they showed off the newest technology of the advancing generation. The Industrial Revolution was just beginning and so they showed off all the newest prized pieces they had.

iii. A childhood memory that you can’t forget?

Well... I don’t have many childhood memories... mostly bad ones. But I’d say that one I do remember is going to parks with my Mom, younger Brother and my god-brother. We’d get chicken nuggets and head to the park to play in the afternoons.

iv. How do you like your coffee/tea?

I don’t drink coffee and I really only drink tea to be healthy... though I have a brand of tea that I actually do LOVE , but it’s from the UK so I have to buy it on amazon. I recently found it again and ordered some (it comes after New Year’s) and it’s Pukka Tea. It’s literally the best tea I’ve had in my life and I don’t even do anything to my tea. So, plain I suppose.

v. What do you think is the most romantic language?

Italian

vi. Do you have any personality strengths?

Resilience... my Caring nature and my curiosity and wonder when it comes to unthought of things. Probably my creativity too.

vii. Bad habits?

Eating too many sweets or just too much in general. Not wanting to cook for myself... only put things together. Being lazy and cheap.

viii. What’s your most poetic description of depression?

Depression for me was like being at the bottom of a well... I could always see the top and see everyone living their happy lives without me, not bothering to glance down or help me despite my incessant screaming. I could scream for help all I wanted, I could cry and try to harm myself but ultimately no one would help. Some would dare say that they’d be back to help, but when given the opportunity they’d crumble and wouldn’t help. I was drowning in the water but no one could hear me.

ix. Your dream date–BUT! You have to go on said date with a historical figure. Who do you go with and what is the dream date?

I hate the historical figure question. I don’t really know any historical figures, yet to mention even anyone interesting or attractive in any way. But if I had to choose I’d probably say I’d go with a young Thomas Jefferson to the lake for a picnic and a swim, ending the night with stargazing.

x. How do you destress?

Honestly the only things that really help me are taking a shower or bath, listening to music, reading fanfiction and sleeping. Besides that I might go swimming or outside if it’s cold... look at the flowers and feel the breeze if it’s spring... listen to the birds chirp. Crying used to be my biggest destressor but tbh I can’t really cry like that anymore... which sucks because I loved crying.

xi. Describe your childhood friend.

I had many childhood friends... all of whom abandoned me because I was “too fat, too depressing, a liar, boring, ugly...” really most of these were teenage years but childhood friends mostly called me a liar, but they’d still play with me.

I already did another one of these and right now I don’t have the energy to come up with 11 questions and or find 11 more people to tag... I’m sorry.

#get to know me better #11 questions tag #11 questions #tag game #personal #get to know me #questions tag game

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glitchinthesystemspiderbyte · 7 years

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[23] Glitch in the System - Scars

By K. A fitting coda happens. _

Firelight rebounded off the walls of the château’s master bedroom, its dull orange tendrils swallowed by the shadows filling the vaunted ceilings above them. At Sombra’s insistence, they sat closer to the hearth than usual, the evening’s dip in temperature severe enough that Widowmaker acquiesced to the hacker’s insistence without so much as a perfunctory jab. Foregoing their nightly tête-à-tête, she dutifully scooted the chaise adjacent their bed toward the fireplace, ignoring the mumbled complaints which accompanied the hacker’s collecting of pillows and blankets for their makeshift nest.

Unsurprisingly, Sombra claimed the méridienne for herself in the few seconds Widowmaker’s attention was elsewhere, hooking her legs over its headrest.

“You’re using it backwards,” the sniper quipped from behind her, pulling a blanket over her shoulders as she cleared the room. Sombra’s reply was little more than an exceptionally vociferous eyeroll and the wave of a hand that momentarily disrupted the hard light interface hovering above her head.

Paying her colleague’s flippancy no mind, Widowmaker stretched out on the floor in front of the daybed, leaning against its edge as she produced tattered paperback copy of Une Saison En Enfer from the folds of the blanket.

“Now you’re using it wrong,” Sombra parroted, flicking her in the back of the head before she set to juggling drowsy search queries with one hand and an idle neck rub with the other.

The day had been an exceptionally long one, devoted entirely to painting the foyer - a task they deemed a good stopping point for their work about the estate as they neared the end of their stay. Its scale presented a challenge requiring more time and effort than originally assumed; as a result, neither had argued against the prospect of an early, lazy night. They spent it mostly in silence, Widowmaker thumbing through Rimbaud’s poetry while Sombra trawled the web for any particularly nasty bits of intel or gossip.

“You know people are trying to scalp tickets to the new exhibit in Numbani?” she asked disinterestedly, fingers drifting upwards into the sniper’s hair. “Using bots to buy tickets in bulk and sell them at three times the price.”

Dogearing her current page for future reference, Widowmaker set her book aside and tilted her head back into Sombra’s touch. “Nothing new,” she replied, eyes drifting slowly shut.

“Yeah, but the whole thing could just suck, and then whoever’s running that scam’s going to be out a bunch of credits on a shitty installation. It’d be hilarious.”

“I am sure,” the sniper yawned.

“You can’t tell me that’s not — huh.”

Widowmaker opened one eye, just enough to focus blearily on Sombra above her, brows furrowed in a mix of bemusement and mild confusion. “Quoi?”

“It’s — you have a scar,” Sombra remarked, fingers lingering at the edge of her hairline to trace the pale, raised line near her right temple.

“And?”

“It’s different,” the hacker explained. “You’re not like Gabe or me; you don’t dive into the shit unless you have to, and even then it’s in-and-out. I’m not as bad as some, sure, but I’ve got my fair share. You’re, like, pristine, araña.”

That much was true.

By now, Widowmaker was intimately familiar with Sombra’s scars: the faded edges bordering the cybernetic ports which anchored her translocation rig, the ghosts of bullets that hit their target, the requisite, faint blemishes on her knees and elbows that everyone who’d ever set foot in the field seemed to develop over time. One, in particular, stood out: the gnarled point of ingress which marred the hacker’s right shoulder, its freshness serving as a poignant reminder of Widowmaker’s own failure every time she glimpsed it. She always treated that particular mark with care, tracing its uneven edge with a delicacy that offered apologies Sombra had since asked her to withhold.

There were others, their origins less obvious or their means of delivery less clear, but the sniper never inquired as to their stories; given their occupational predication on conflict, she drew the reasonable conclusions and carried on. Anyone whose speciality required the close proximity Sombra’s did could be reasonably expected to wear their work long after its completion.

Conversely, Widowmaker, always at a distance, bore fewer reminders of missions past. A job well done - as was historically the case - meant she arrived at a given extraction point mostly unharmed save for a recurrent handful of bruises no amount of graphene could prevent. Some were from bullets, their impact deflected by the weave of her suit at the expense of a few, tender spots that persisted for days; most, however, were her own doing, a direct result of the mobility required to traverse from vantage point to vantage point. Enemy soldiers whispered rumors that Talon’s renowned sniper could be in two places at once - a helpful little fear tactic, but one which required her to be less than gentle with herself. She hardly noticed those bruises anymore, unaware of the fluctuation of their presence and absence.

With so few grim souvenirs of her own, the sniper was acutely aware of those she possessed; this chief among them. Some agents attached significance to them, but she never bothered. They were unremarkable, unimportant as anything other than the footnotes of victories past.

“What’s it from?” Sombra asked, shattering the sniper’s somnolent contemplation. “Do you know?”

“Of course.”

“…You gonna’ tell me?”

“Amari,” the assassin replied, a cold smile creeping slowly across her lips, predatory and completely at odds with her otherwise indifferent calm. One of her more remarkable successes, despite the former Overwatch officer’s survival of their engagement.

“Ana Amari? I thought-,” Sombra began, pausing to rack her brain. “Didn’t you shoot her in the face?”

“After she shot me.”

Sombra snorted her disbelief. “Really.”

“Really. She was good - excellent, even; I was better.”

A moment passed between them, Sombra chewing on a response while Widowmaker watched her through that same, single eye with passive curiosity. “Can I ask a question?” the hacker asked at last, her hesitation giving way to a noted wariness. “And you don’t have to answer if you don’t want?”

“Oui.”

“Does it bother you?”

“This?” Widowmaker asked, tapping the the scar in question. “No. It is not important to me. She is not important to me.”

“Was she?”

The sniper closed her eye, leveling a slow breath. The answer to that question required more consideration than others, more parsing as she attempted to peer through the fog of time and conditioning. There were memories beyond it, noticeable in glimpses and tricks of the light: introductions, holidays, passing conversations; Ana’s face - younger then, her hair darker - among a host of others. She could detect as a result of those hazy recollections a pull somewhere in her chest, a thorn catching one’s clothes amid an otherwise easy walk.

“Once,” she answered with a fluttering of lashes. “She was important to Gérard; so, she was important to Amélie.’

“But you’re-,” Sombra began, swallowing the remainder of her reply as Widowmaker’s expression hardened perceptibly, eyes narrowing. “Sorry,” she sighed. It wasn’t the first time they’d reached this impasse, and to Sombra’s credit the sniper knew it was never one they arrived at intentionally, nor was it exclusive to only their conversations. She struggled to identify what bothered her more: the incidental conflation of her past and current self or the assumption that she would choose to return to the gutted remains of her past life if given the chance. Both were rooted in a simple lack of understanding of her own cognitive processes - her own thoughts and perception - and she couldn’t fault Sombra or anyone else for being incapable of reading her mind. Still, those innocent suppositions never proved less aggravating, and with the passage of years it became Widowmaker’s strong preference to avoid such conversations entirely.

Now, offering Sombra nothing in the way of constructive dialogue but her withering glare, she reconsidered whether that had ever really helped the situation.

“Ana Amari,” Widowmaker began cautiously, forcing herself to relax as she cast her gaze over the shadowed edges of the room in a vain hope they would yield any assistance, “means as much to me as any Overwatch agent: she is the enemy. That was true then, and it is true now. She meant something to Amélie, but I am not Amélie. I could not be her if I wanted to, and even if I were capable of that choice, I would not choose to be her again.”

Frowning, Sombra slid off the edge of the chaise to join her partner on the floor, close enough that their arms touched but cognizant of any latent desire for space given the turn their conversation was taking. “We can talk about something else if you want,” she suggested apologetically.

“It is fine,” the sniper said, dismissing the other woman’s concern with a faint shrug. “Amélie is a scar. I carry her with me, just as I do Amari’s failure, but they have no influence over me.”

“Don’t they?” Sombra asked quietly, tempering the weight of her inquiry with the deliberate softness of her tone. “You’ve had some bad nights, mi cielita.”

Widowmaker frowned and canted her head to one side, focusing on some distant point as if trying to discern the particulars of a painting or photograph. Despite the ardency of her desire to reclaim what life she had left for herself, her past remained, vivid memories littering the road ahead with tripwires and caltrops she could never see until it was too late. Cognitively, she had moved on - had acknowledged and accepted the loss of twenty years and watched it burn as it drifted off to sea. Emotionally, something was missing, its absence glaring in the wake of the past two weeks.

“I do not know,” she relented. “I am content with who and what I am. Sometimes, I just hurt. I know what was taken from me. I do not miss it, but I am still aware it is gone.”

Sombra nodded. “Grief hurts.”

Beside her, the sniper shifted and pulled her blanket more tightly about her shoulders as if to shield herself from some other, phantom cold, her frown deepening. “I am not programmed to be able to grieve,” she replied flatly.

“You’re not programmed to fuck your coworkers, either,” Sombra grinned. Widowmaker laughed despite herself, hiding her embarrassment amid the folds of her blanket.

“Hear me out,” Sombra continued, pushing past the fabric between them to find the other woman’s hand. “You can be cool with your shit and still feel bad. That’s okay. Mourning takes time and it never really stops. It’s probably going to be harder for you than anyone else because you’re a lizard person-,”

“-rude-,”

“-a very attractive lizard person. Just let yourself feel it when it happens and figure it out from there.” With a gentle squeeze, she pressed herself more firmly against the sniper’s side. The gesture was momentary, but its meaning clear: an offer to assist when and where desired.

“I would like to try,” Widowmaker nodded, resting her head on her colleague’s shoulder. “I am going to cry on you more, though.”

“Don’t be sorry,” Sombra chuckled.

“I’m not.”

“Then you’re already on your way. Good job, spider.”

*Read from the beginning or check out our intro post! All stories tagged under #glitchfic

#spiderbyte #widowsombra #sombramaker #widowmaker x sombra #sombra x widowmaker #sombra #widowmaker #amélie lacroix #olivia colomar #overwatch #overwatch fanfic #overwatch fandom #fanfic #glitch in the system #glitchfic

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dat-town · 7 years

Text

In chains of the Crown

The cast: Yan An (Pentagon) as Prince, later King Yan An Mark Tuan (Got7) as King Mark (also mentioned as Tuan Yien) Cheng Xiao (WJSN) as the female lead

Setting: historical au, royal au

Genre: romance, angst

Warnings: violence, blood, minor character deaths, implied mature themes

Summary: Under the weight of the crown, will you break or will you bend? (Inspired by: "Uneasy lies the head that wears a crown" - Henry IV by William Shakespeare)

Word count: 14.5k

Notes: takes place in China, during the sixteen kingdoms’ times but has nothing to do with the actual history. it’s basically scenes following each other with time gaps between them because i imagine this whole thing as a historical kdrama, #sorrynotsorry. Also, long live Chinese/Taiwainese idols, they deserve more love.

I hope you love it, my dearest @restlessmaknae! Wish you the happiest B-day!♥

There is a courtesan house deep in the forest behind the mountains of Jianfeng. It’s hidden from common eye and only exceptional people know about its existence. The place is a safe haven for girls who were left alone after the war because their own families who sold them for money or rather because they became orphans. The place is an institute as well. The inhabitants are taught vital things about the cruel world outside. They are trained to be the centre of attention: to be unearthly beautiful and talented in various fields. They are still slaves in the eyes of the society but once bought they are on a higher level. They worth plenty of gold because they ought to entertain, pleasure and practice all kind of arts: music, dance, poetry.

But unlike any other courtesan training institute, this one teaches the art of killing as well.

“Don’t worry, your Highness, she’s our best. She will take the Crown Prince’s life without a problem when the time comes,” the owner of the house claims in a loud voice, proudly. His tone is honeyed while he tries to sweet talk their newest potential client into buying their services or even better, one of the girls.

One of the courtesans of blossoming age sits in her room, listening to the conversation that’s going on in the hallways in front of her closed door. Maybe it’s on purpose as if the owner wanted her to hear it. The unique beauty with her golden locks blinks towards the dull voices, unfazed. The master of the institute has wanted to give her away ever since she came of age so it’s nothing new. But she’s still here because the price he set on her is too high, even for such a talented and gorgeous virgin. So the girl stays still and silent even though the polite form of address and the Prince’s mention piques her curiosity. Not many royals dare to set their foot into a courtesan house publicly, much less to talk about killing a prince. What Crown Prince anyway? The royal family only has the King left.

“I want to see her,” a deeper, thicker voice speaks up and the young courtesan looks up from her book when the lock of her door opens with a click.

Two tall men figure steps into her simple room. It mirrors the other courtesans’ small chamber. It has nothing more than a bed, a candle, an ink container and some books. The few dress she actually has hang in a wooden wardrobe. For work or when they have performances she gets expensive clothes to wear but just for then. She doesn’t have an income, all the money people pay for her services as a ballad singer, musician or story teller goes straight to the courtesan house’s owner because that’s how he keeps track of the costs her training caused and how much is left until she can set herself free.

The peculiar golden haired girl isn’t ashamed of the little she has but when she recognizes the King’s notorious uncle in her visitor, the colour of her rosy cheeks drains.

“Bow before His Royal Highness!” the owner orders and she does as he says. She always does as she’s told.

She sinks onto her knees, not caring about worsening the condition of her already strained dress and bows until her forehead touches the ground. It’s common courtesy in times like this, symbolizing that the slaves can never be good enough to be on one level with them. They can’t even touch their toes.

“How old is she?” she hears the royal ask about her and she gulps, closing her eyes, fingers digging into the fabric of her skirt. She’s scared for a reason because everyone heard the gossips about the older man. He had experience with women, a lot actually and most of them included various things that weren’t for eyes of an innocent girl. What happens if he really buys her? Would he use her, hurt her and force her to kill the Crown Prince so the throne would be his heritage after all?

“Turned eighteen not long ago,” the owner answers plainly, fully aware that this is well past the age virgins are usually sold.

“Perfect. She even has the same hair colour as the King,” the royal man claims and the girl in question furrows her brows. She doesn’t understand why this detail is important enough to point out. Commoners usually don’t even know about the late king’s son’s appearance. “What do they call you, slave?”

“The Nightingale, your Highness,” she lifts her head up because being finally directly addressed allows her to do that but she keeps her gaze fixed on the floor. The name they gave her tastes sour on her tongue no matter how long she has it. She knows the meaning behind it, the bird’s beautiful song that can almost only be heard at night even if it sings during daylight, too. Does she dare to hope to be different? To be heard whenever she wants?

“How fitting,” the man clicks his tongue in a satisfied fashion and steps back, away from the slave but he still talks to her when he continues: “From this moment on, you are Cheng Xiao, Princess of the Tuan Kingdom.”

The name rings familiar in every Chinese person’s ear, recalling stories of the rebellion against the Tuan court twelve years ago. The princess was only six years old when displeased commoners attacked the palace shedding noble blood on the white marble. The Queen entrusted a maiden to help the child escape the kingdom, to raise her far away from the intrigues so she can come back when she reaches adulthood. People have been hoping for her to come home and fulfil the promise her parents made: marry the Crown Prince of Yan dynasty, end the war and create a Great United China again. But as years passed, there were no news about the youngest jewel of Tuan dynasty and the tension between the two kingdoms was worse than ever. Rumour has it that she was killed immediately during the escape. Others claim that the maiden sold her for gold. It’s just like a shot in the dark, nobody has facts, nobody knows the truth.

“The… the lost princess?” the courtesan croaks out taken aback by hearing this name and she recklessly commits the fatal crime of looking a royal straight into the eyes. Yet, the late king’s brother doesn’t seem to care, he just smirks as he stares back openly.

“Yes, we will make everybody believe you are her so you can marry in her place. If you play your part well and do as I say, you’ll live in riches for all your life and you don’t have to be a slave anymore,” he promises light-heartedly, offering her the whole wide world on a silver plate as she nervously sucks in a breathe. She’s waiting for the ‘but’ in dreadful anticipation. There’s always a ‘but’ part because nothing’s free these days and she isn’t mistaken. “If you don’t, I will personally make sure to take your pretty head.”

The Nightingale gulps, she knows she can’t afford to fail now. If they get caught by anybody, she can end up dead easily but she doesn’t have a choice, she never does. This deal at least can make it worth it. If she can become a Cheng Xiao nobody doubts. She smiles slyly at the thought, confidently. She isn’t their best for nothing after all.

She is given two days to prepare: to pack everything she needs and to transform into somebody who can be mistaken to be a princess. Since her mission is a secret and nobody should know about it, she does everything alone. Her long, wavy golden looks already bear resemblance to the rare blondeness that runs in the Tuan family but she cuts her fringe to look similar to the late Queen who died during the attacks a decade ago. She powders the scar on her wrist and wears the dresses the rich client sent her. Each bodice, dress and cape is made of expensive silk, the purest pearls brought from the deepest part of the oceans human can reach and decorated by gold that worth more than the courtesan house with everything in it. Maybe it’s the clothes or the gossip that started not long ago about the lost princess but everybody gapes at her in awe as she steps into the carriage sent for her. Even her fellow courtesan friends believe that she’s the princess miraculously found.

“First, we are going to see the King,” her buyer declares as they approach the royal palace in Xianyang. “You don’t say a word until you’re asked. And you absolutely cannot speak about the murder we plan.”

Tuan Yien is a kind-hearted and wise king despite being only twenty-four years old. He has gotten sick with weak heart condition since the wars between the sixteen kingdoms started and the search expeditions for her sister proved to be nothing but waste of time and money. It hasn’t even crossed the courtesan’s mind that he has anything to do with the evil plan.

The plan that, if carried out well, is worse than being stabbed into the back. Because the uncle doesn’t want her to marry the other kingdom’s Crown Prince, the soon-to-be-king, just to make allies but he also wants to poison him not long after his coronation so the Tuan King and the ‘Princess’ can unite the two biggest kingdoms of China.

So it’s hard, standing in front of the King and lying to him by not saying anything. But she’s selfish enough to not want to die.

“Is she the one?” the newly-crowned young king asks stepping down from his high podium, walking closer as the thumps of his steps echo in the throne room. The Nightingale knows where she belongs in from of the monarch and she doesn’t look into his eyes even if she should act like they are siblings. No, the client would definitely not approve that bold move.

“Yes, Yien, isn’t it marvelous? Even I would believe she’s your sister if I didn’t know better,” the man’s suggestive tone sends chills down the girl’s spine. Talking about the lost princess like this? How dares he?

King Mark, who is only called by his birth name by his closest relatives and allies, doesn’t say a word. He wordlessly observes the girl brought in front of him. Someone who has the same blonde hair and fair skin the rightful princess bore when she was only six and taken away from the royal family. He wishes he would remember her better but sometimes he’s even afraid of forgetting his own parents’ faces. Yet, there’s something about this girl, maybe the way she stands tall or the golden powder is hinted over her lashes but she’s nothing like the innocent little sister that lives in his memories. However, he doesn’t voice it out loud. At least, not with several people watching their every move.

“Can you leave us alone, uncle?” he asks politely, yet there’s firmness in his tone and it’s obvious that he doesn’t take no as an answer.

“As you wish,” the older bows slightly and then leaves with a smirk hiding his offended expression.

“You, too!” the king orders his soldiers authoritatively, slightly implying that questions asked aren’t appreciated. When even the last man leaves, there’s only the two of them left. But they can never be truly alone, in the palace even the walls have ears, after all. They cannot behave around each other like they used to. Not yet.

“It’s been a long time, your Majesty,” the girl bows again with a shy smile, testing out the new name, searching for his gaze.

The skinny boy she once knew has grown up well since they last met. He was merely a teenager then but now he’s a man, leading a country, more handsome and confident than ever. She isn’t sure how she should act around him: a slave like she is legitimately or an old acquaintance?

“It has. You have gotten pretty.”

Mark’s sudden compliment makes the girl blush furiously. It’s been a time since anyone said something like this to her. And coming from the king of House Tuan, it makes it even more special. “Thank you.”

The young man takes a deep breath as he doesn’t take his eyes off of the girl as if he has been seeing a daydream and she could disappear in a blink.

“Look I know uncle plots something but if you don’t want to…”

“It’s okay,” the Nightingale does the unforgivable and cuts off the monarch. He, on the other hand, doesn’t seem to mind, he’s rather interested in what she has to say. He hangs on every word that rolls off her tongue. “I just have to marry the Crown Prince. It’s the least I can do for peace.”

There are way worse ways than marrying a prince who will be a king soon. She would have settled for worse so she’s grateful. Even if it means she would have to kill to take what hers: freedom. In times like this murder is everyday occurrence, only the reasons vary: fear, anger or greed? People have them all and sometimes they act on instinct. If they don’t die in the war, they will be stabbed in the back. They live in cruel decades and harsh times have hardened the heart like steel of those who want to stay alive.

The courtesan gulps, thinking back of her training, every step and movement of defence and attack. But she doesn’t move when the King steps into her personal space and touches her wrist lightly.

“Do you still have it?” he wonders thumb sliding across the small scar that burnt permanently in her skin. She sucks in a breathe.

“It only fades with time but doesn’t disappear.”

Just like memories. It crosses both of their minds but they don’t say it out loud. There’s no need. The I’ve missed yous are lingering in the air. The older boy clears his throat as he steps back. His voice is formal again when he speaks up.

“I hope I can see you soon.”

The cold tone makes the girl shiver but she has to play her part well.

“We will meet at the wedding, your Majesty,” she promises, yet, it feels like goodbye and those always taste bitter. Maybe that’s why both of them prolong the last moments.

Something insecure crosses the man’s face and he’s biting his lower lip nervously. A bad habit he seems unable to grow out of.

“Xiao... Should I call you that?” His voice is significantly warmer and gentler than earlier when he forms the vowels and consonant of his sister’s name.

“It would make me delighted, Yien,” the girl smiles brightly, eyes sparkled and lies don’t sour her words. She should get used to it anyway.

According to the tradition, the bride should be carried in a sedan from her family’s house to the future husband’s. Since the distance between the two royal palaces has grown too wide, the journey takes days. Until then a messenger notifies the Yan prince that they found the princess, the one he was engaged with at an early age. Since the agreement is already made, set by the late Kings, there’s not much formality left. The wedding day can happen anytime soon.

Cheng Xiao is grateful because at least she gets to meet the groom before the ceremony. It doesn’t make her less nervous though. So when she steps out of the sedan and her gaze slides through the glamourous palace, she’s holding her breath in anticipation. And then, a boy, merely a man comes down the stairs walking over to her. First, she mistakenly thinks he’s only a servant since royals rarely do such things as greeting the arrived guests in person. However, he wears a traditional black attire with a golden dragon on it, the Yan’s symbol for their Crown Prince.

“Princess Cheng Xiao, I’m glad to have you here. Finally,” the prince bows a little and the girl does the same without saying anything. She’s still astonished by the man she should marry.

He is much younger than she’s expected him to be: an old crackled prince with dozens of wife already. Somebody ruthless and evil enough to make the kingdom starve and force every last capable man to die for him. Yet, Yan An looks like a kid with too heavy shoulders and too much responsibility on them. The sparkles in his youthful eyes are fading but with his delicate features as smooth as silk, sleek hair coal black like moonless nights and genuine smile that holds wonders, he’s still as handsome as the gossips whisper.

“The pleasure is all mine, Your Highness,” the girl bows down deeply, gripping on the edges of her breathtakingly pearl white dress.

“You must be hungry after such a long journey. You should join me on dining. Of course, we provide food for your men, too,” the prince hurries to ensure her about his hospitality.

The princess nods in gratitude and orders the soldiers who accompanied her to take a rest. She’s not afraid at all to stay alone with the Crown Prince.

He leads her farther into the gorgeous monument of building among massive towers and bright blue lakes and pastel green gardens until they reach a decorated common place with a large table and two settings. It looks like nobody else will dine with them and Cheng Xiao comes to know of the reason by the whispering maidens: there’s no other royalty in the palace, just them since his younger brother is down the southern front line and the prince has not yet married. The thought of being the first one scares her a little because then there would be nobody to hind behind, nobody to turn to with questions. On the other hand, it’s a soothing thought that probably he has never been with a woman either. Maybe the plan will be already over by the time he dares to lay a finger on her.

The dinner is quiet even though the prince is trying to broach a conversation relentlessly. He’s nothing but polite and understanding, kind and gentle, someone who would make a great king one day but maybe it’s all an act. So she stays silent.

After they are well-fed, they ought to take different paths, the new guest should explore her suite, change her travelling clothes and prepare for the night-time. But Yan An can’t seem to let her slip away without knowing:

“Are you really the princess?” he asks bluntly, chewing on the bitter taste of suspicion.

He has every right to doubt her even though it’s a dangerous thing to accuse a royal with lying. But special events require special approach. Isn’t it strange that after all these years, the princess was suddenly found now, when he’s supposed to take the throne after his father’s unexpected death. But he isn’t harsh or rude about the question and he bashfully looks away as he apologizes. “I’m sorry, I heard you were kidnapped and kept in a courtesan house. You probably still haven’t gotten over the fact that they freed you and now they practically sold you just to strengthen our allies. I understand if you hate me.”

The girl’s eyes widen in surprise. She has never expected him to genuinely care for her, about what the princess supposedly went through. She has learnt that people only care if they can use you.

So she says “No.” firmly and with all honesty.

She can’t hate somebody who seems so observant yet so naively trusting that he welcomes her in the heart of his kingdom not going back on the late Kings’ promise and not questioning the Tuans’ intentions.

“Pardon?” he looks up at her again, confused with creased forehead while his eyes bright up that she finally spoke up.

“No, your Highness, I don’t hate you,” she repeats and boldly looks straight into his almond eyes. “I feel sorry for you.”

The young prince doesn’t understand what it means. He doesn’t even suspect that she will stab him in the back or poison him the first chance she gets. The poor boy has no idea how it’s going to end for him. That the Nightingale will kill the prince once he carries the heavy weight of the crown on his head. By that time, as his first wife, the queen, it makes her kill the king.

They are bloody and dark times. The Great Chinese Empire on verge of falling apart. Splitting into multiple little kingdoms out of which only two had real power: the Tuan and the Yan dynasty. The two of them are having wars without end, without break, without sparing lives. When the Tuan king died a few years ago, the Yan king wanted to take advantage of the foolishly young new monarch and take over the country. Without a fair deal, King Mark refused and a new war started.

The Yan kingdom has the money but no real military force that could devour countries. The Tuans’ people on the other hand have been nothing but great soldiers without enough supplies. Both parties were struggling yet neither of them stopped this insane and meaningless battling. It was the matter of pride, it still is. So when Yan An’s father died in an accident (or who knows?), he tried to make reasonable choices, sign the peace but even his younger brother, the general thought that even without fighting, they can win if they wait until the other army weakens enough. The counsellors all supported the idea and Yan An as a new and inexperienced ruler had no say in it. He could only watch in silence as his people died.

So when he heard that the Tuans found the lost princess and they are willing to renew the marriage contract, he took the chance immediately. Because it meant the end of the war, finally the peace he yearned so much. Even if he thought it was merely a desperate attempt of the enemy to save their own people from dying of hunger, he didn’t care. Even if the princess wasn’t the real one. They just needed to become allies so together they can become the greatest kingdoms without putting a sword to each other’s neck.

They are in the middle of having breakfast when they get the news that the fights stopped at the fronts and General Sicheng is heading back to the palace. Since the coronation and the wedding both has to wait until him, the younger prince comes back, the royal court is waiting. Some think that only him who was born by the late Queen is the rightful heir of the throne while the oldest son, a bastard born out of wedlock shouldn’t claim the crown. A few counsellor hopes they can convince him to turn against his brother and lead the kingdom to victory in the Great War.

Yan An knows this, he is aware that even his people doubt his place on the throne but this is responsibility, his burden to bear. A promise he made to his father on his deathbed: he will protect his brother, everyone's favourite prince and he will let him form his own destiny instead of driving him into becoming a king too soon.

A week later, a group of soldiers arrive greeted by flowers and clapping commoners who think this means the end of the fights. Perhaps they are right or this is just a sweet delusion they cannot escape.

"Your Highness, we have heard the wonderful news. Will you really marry our enemy’s sister? Congratulations!" the second in command chimes ironically but he earns a sharp glance from the general for his disrespect.

“They are not our enemies. We merely fight over a misunderstanding. There shall be peace once they comprehend that they are wrong,” Sicheng says softly, his tone is much lighter than you’d expect from a soldier. He seems delicate and fragile, yet he’s mastered martial arts since young age to the point he can blindfoldedly defeat his master. His strategy skills are excellent and he cares for his people so he’s a perfect general just like his father has always wanted him to be.

“Brother,” he bows in front of the Crown Prince and the other man follows as Yan An acknowledges their presence in the throne room.

“How was your journey, General?” he asks politely, formally like he should no matter how much it pains him to greet his younger brother so coldly after he hasn’t seen him for so long.

“Great, thank you. How is your fiancée? Are you treating her right?”

The older boy smiles. So typically Sicheng, always worrying about the ladies. Especially, since this one will save him from having to rule. The younger has never wanted the throne and the crown to himself. His brother has always known this but being born like they did, counsellors tend to choose sides: favouring either the older but bastard son or the true-blooded but younger prince.

“She hasn’t complained yet. You can see her at lunch.” Yan An promises, his smile faltering a little as he thinks about the princess who walks the hallways pridefully and alone, not caring about dangers at all. Her quiet shyness during their meals also comes to his mind. She rarely speaks up but when she does all the attention is on her. She’s smart, she’s good at board games but doesn’t want to win. During all the time he was watching her closely, the prince has come to the conclusion that she’s watching him too. The first words they have exchanged still echo in his ears: I feel sorry for you.

“I can’t wait to meet my soon-to-be sister-in-law, our future Queen. I heard the rumours about her. They say she’s more beautiful than all the stars of the sky.”

Yan An takes a deep breath as he recalls the princess’ appearance, her fluttering lashes, the black holes of her almond eyes, those rosy cheeks and pretty, shiny lips along with the thick blonde locks framing her heart-shaped, lovely face. She can most definitely be compared with the wonders of the celestial sphere.

“She is,” he agrees and wouldn’t dare to take his words back even when Sicheng uses this against him not much later.

“Princess Xiao, you are just as beautiful as my dear brother said,” he coos as he kisses her hand when they finally get to meet. The Crown Prince catches himself blushing when the girl’s curious, dark eyes wander to his face.

The coronation along with the wedding is held on the feast of the God of harvest. The palace is dressed in the colours of celebration: red and gold. Dragon patterns all around and the double xi character for happiness and richness. Chinese people are deeply religious people in the age of wars and death, afterlife is just as important as their life here so to hope for a better era, a great dynasty, they have to make sacrifices of all kinds in front of the statue of the gods on the marketplace. The golden temple behind them is full of royal guests and other influential people who are eager to see the new ruling couple.

One of the guests is the monarch of Tuans, King Mark himself and his delegacy. Their presence is both feared and admired. A lot of ladies gush and swoon over the famous king’s handsomeness while grieving families of dead soldiers blame him for their sufferings. However, no matter the rage and hate, to bring the ruthless war to an end is far more important for now, so nobody dares to make a move.

The ceremony is like every other, vows and speeches on the newly crowned king’s part while Cheng Xiao sits beside him in silence. Everybody in the temple bows before them, even the other king nods a little towards their direction. Yan An, now a legal King, steals a glance at his wife, the Queen and he isn’t surprised that her gaze is set on her brother and uncle instead of him. They are the family she never really knew and she will be separated from again from now on after all. He hates to think about how lonely she must feel. Surrounded by these walls and gold but all alone. Just like him.

Long ago, once he had a bird, a beautiful songbird. It was supposed to die because it fell out of the nest and broke a wing but he kept it and took care of it. He personally nursed it, fed it and helped it to learn how to fly. Yet, he cried so much when the bird finally flew away. But aren’t they all trapped birds in a golden cage? Even if he doesn't know her that well, how would he feel if she just left? Like everybody around him.

“The time has come,” as a king, he declares. “Peace is here. Thanks to my marriage with the lovely Princess… now Queen Cheng Xiao, the two greatest kingdoms of China are now allies and we will fight side by side against any shared issue of ours but not against each other.”

The guests are clapping and there’s no faking in their relieved smiles. The war is over, they can finally breathe. However, there’s always somebody who isn’t quite satisfied and while the cheering crowd tastes the fine wine, a young, reckless soldier steps forward.

“You are not worthy of that seat, bastard,” the kingdom’s own second in command protests and everybody gasps in shock. Even the guards are taken aback, not knowing what to do but they point their weapons towards him to protect the king at any suspicious movement. It doesn’t help their case that the reckless warrior is a son of a nobleman, one that respects the sacred bone very much so it doesn’t take anybody by surprise that he wants the General as the king.

“Step down, Yifan. It’s an order,” Sicheng commands despite being younger and he stands up from his seat not far from the new king and queen. He keeps his hand hidden, probably ready to strike his friend if he threatens the newfound peace.

“Sorry but for the sake of true pure blood, I can’t let him rule,” the man shakes his head but starts to walk backwards without taking his eyes off of Yan An. His cruel, crazy smile seems out of place until a swoosh sound resonates through the temple and screams fill the void.

Only inches from the king's face, his younger brother catches the flying arrow aiming to take his life. Sicheng’s often lovely face changes to the one he wears on battlefields, cold and distant, as he turns his head towards the traitor. He waves his men to stand by and not interfere while he throws away the arrow cutting his hand.

“We learned everything together. You have to be better to beat me,” he shouts after Yifan who is now in a circle of armed and masked men. One of whom tried to end the king’s life, a deadly crime.

“You two, get out of here,” the General looks at the royal couple one last time and then marches into the chaos of scared crowd with the king's soldiers to seize the traitors. The Tuan guards join him but even though their number is greatly outnumber Yifan’s, the stubborn rebel doesn’t give up. They start to fire more arrows and on cue, the royals are ushered into safety.

It doesn’t matter how fast they move, farther and farther away from the temple, Yan An stops on his tracks when he notices the abrupt halt in the light steps following him. Looking back, he sees the Princess - the Queen, he has to remind himself - calming down a crying kid and searching for his parents in the midst of tossing, sweating mess of bodies. Her tiara is halfway down as her always perfect hair is tangled and falling in front of her face. She doesn't pay attention to her surroundings so she isn't aware of the archer and his arrow pointed at her fragile figure from afar.

They don’t know each other yet and Yan An knows there’s nobody a king should die for. But he isn’t only the ruler of his kingdom but also a husband and a honourable man. He can’t just watch her die.

“Cheng Xiao,” he cries out when the bow snaps and the metal is on its way to pierce through her heart. The girl looks up, startled. Maybe because she thought he left without her or because he called her by her name for the first time but she doesn’t move and Yan An doesn’t think when he hurries to her side.

He doesn’t feel the pain at first, it hits him only when he has fallen to his knees and blood paints his coronation outfit where the arrow hit him.

“Your Majesty,” she gasps in a panicky voice and hurries to help him. She’s looking around to find the attacker but there’s nobody on the rooftops, not anymore. He has probably already fled away. “Come on, let's go,” she takes his arm and puts it around her shoulder not even giving him a chance to say no. She pulls him closer so she can help him carry his weight.

Because of the blood loss Yan An dizzily wonders how she can be so strong. While he is painfully aware that this is the closest they have ever been and what a pity that it happens like this. He’s dazed, his sight blurred and he’s sure that he has fainted a few times already when he wakes up from this nightmare.

The characteristic aroma of aloe vera and alcohol fills his nostrils but the sharp pain is gone. He feels numb yet he remembers the blood. Is he dead or dreaming? Both can be true if an angel like his wife looks at him with such saddened eyes.

“Your Majesty, you are awake! Uhm… sorry for my inappropriate behaviour but I had to cut your clothing so I can look at the wound and...” she’s rambling and takes her hands off the the herb leaves placed gently on the side of his ribcage. For somebody who should be used to being washed and dressed by maidens before rituals and ceremonies, he feels naked without the upper part of his formal attire because now, there are Cheng Xiao’s beautiful eyes on him. On his pale and weak body, one that shouldn’t be a king’s. Maybe Yifan’s right and Sicheng should rule instead. He’s more capable for sure and everyone would accept him as a rightful heir. But he’s doing this for his sake, so that his brother can have everything he can’t.

“Thank you,” he interrupts the bashful girl in a raspy voice, trying to sit up while looking around. Since he doesn’t recognise this dusty, old place, they are surely not in the palace. “Where are we?”

“In a pharmacy close to the temple. The owner helped me get you here. He’s gone to the palace to tell the General you are here,” Cheng Xiao answers putting one last layer of cream on his aching chest. Yan An exhales slowly as he watches her work.

“Where did you learned all this?” he asks curiously because he has never seen a royal know about such things.

“I wasn’t brought up as a princess, remember?” his wife reminds him with a soft smile and there’s something bittersweet in her tone. Her fingers don’t even tremble as she dress the wound and they brush against his delicate skin.

The king has to realize, again, that they don’t know each other at all. He knows it’s common with arranged marriages but he has never thought he would marry a stranger. If the princess hadn’t been lost all those years ago, they could have been raised together. They could have been friends. But what are they now?

“You should tell me about it one day.”

“Maybe, I will,” she says but it sounds like never. Something nobody dares to tell a king. Yan An knows that he has to be an iron-handed monarch if he wants to keep his place, if he wants his people to respect him and his choices. However, he doesn’t want them to fear him and it’s an almost impossible thing to do if even his own wife doesn’t tell him the truth. Maybe he will never know who she is for real.

“You are bleeding, too,” he blurts out too lost in her pretty features while she helps him arrange the pillows behind his back. She’s so close, he can almost taste the salt of her (or maybe his) sweat and blood but her flowers scent is the strongest, enchanting him. The king finds himself mindlessly moving even closer and his thumb brushes over the tiny wound on her rosy cheek.

Cheng Xiao doesn’t move, doesn’t avert her eyes and he feels his blood burning his veins as the starry night is looking back at him.

“You stopped to help a little boy. Somebody who wasn’t even your people. Why?” he asks, curious. Pure kindness of a heart was such a rare thing to see these times but the queen seems to have this quality. Even her answers sound sincere:

“They are humans, neither my people, nor yours,” she claims, oddly believing in the power of individuals. She seems fragile but also strong at the same time, hopeful and hopeless, a mystery of full moons as he stares at her. A riddle he may never solve.

“Why did you save me?” she asks pleading, barely above a whisper yet it sounds like a cry out in the silence settled between them. It's almost hypnotic, the intimate closeness of them and maybe between their immortal souls. too.

“You are my wife now, I have to protect you,” Yan An tells her, remembering his mother, a commoner artist’s words. She believed in goodwill and people and every year on his birthday when he could see her (until death did them apart), she told him to care about those who lean on him so in need, he can also lean on them. “But you saved me, too.”

“I barely did anything. The royal physician would have done much better job,” she protests but he shakes his head because he didn’t mean it like this.

“You could have left me there, on the square, but you didn’t.”

At that the queen turns her head to the side and walks away. As she stares out of the curtained window, she looks like the goddess of moon and Yan An is already dreaming when she whispers those fateful words: “Maybe I should have.”

But oh, the stars keep her secrets so well.

The Tuan king isn’t happy, to say the least, that his so-called blood sister was also endangered but he keeps a straight face at dinner. Luckily the rebellion got cut short as soon as they captured the instigator but they couldn’t earn safety and peace so easily. Fear and doubt poisoned the thick blood of people.

“My sister told me you saved her life. I wanted to thank you,” Mark breaks the uncomfortable silence settled in the gardens guarded by the temples of gods and guards.

Cherry blossoms are swirling in the air as if it was a day like any other but a lot of things changed since the morning. A prince became a king, a courtesan became his queen and they saved each other’s lives.

“No need to thank me. I didn’t do it because of our ally or some hidden intention. I simply don’t want her hurt.”

He is being nothing but genuine but in times like this, full of rage and blood, being so selfless is unheard of. Especially if the person is a king. They should be ruthless, strong-willed rulers, not caring about anybody before their country and themselves. But there’s a crack in Yan An’s perfection, a flaw so fatal, his enemies could strike him in one go if they knew: he cares too much and he bonds too easily. Because he’s trusting a traitor and a killer, the one who will draw his royal blood once a new chance arises. That’s the plan, right?

King Mark glances at the girl still dressed in her formal wedding clothes and watching the tint of blush on her cheeks while her expression is lifeless. Could she be the same girl they all have heard so much about? The best pupil in that courtesan house in the desert? Could she be the same he once knew? It feels like another life and maybe it was, looking at the distance between them. It feels as vast as the deep blue oceans and he’s not sure he can sail through the wild waves to set foot on her shores.

As things are currently, he might never find out the answer because being a King doesn’t mean he’s almighty. There are a lot of things he isn’t allowed to do, his hands are tied because of profane things like diplomacy and formalities. For one, having actual emotions is a luxury for people like him. They only complicate everything. But it seems, he isn’t the only one who is affected. Both him and the new Yan king are men of emotions unlike their brutal fathers. Maybe it’s the start of a new era, a peaceful one, he hopes but he doesn’t back out on their cruel plan. It’s for his people after all, for their safety he swore to protect.

It’s hard to say whether he could consider Xiao under his custody but he was more than delighted to hear that her husband means no harm to her. It also surprised him how gentle the boy was, especially in the way he looked at her. Oh a naive, young king, he will bring doom to his own kingdom.

It’s later that night, well after twilight when he can finally be alone. At least, almost alone since his guards are always following him in the shadows but in discrete distance. That’s all he needs because he doesn’t want anybody to disturb his conversation with the Queen of Yan kingdom. The maids before her chamber bow to him and fling the door open without question. The scene that welcomes him is dumbfounding and infuriating the least. He can see his uncle towering over the vulnerable girl ready to strike as a predator.

“I organized everything for you, but you still missed the perfect opportunity,” he growls and slaps her as quickly as a viper attacks its victims with a hit so hard, it makes her gasp. Before he could make another blow, Yien grabs his arm and twists it behind his back.

“Don’t you dare hit her again,” he snaps at him angered like a wild animal and grits his teeth, pushing his uncle away from the girl that’s supposed to be his sister. He is bitter and mad out of his mind which is certainly not good for his weak health.

The goodhearted king had no idea that it was his uncle who supported those rebels and didn’t even care about if the courtesan got hurt in the middle of the action. He even paid for them to make a chaos out of the celebration. Even better if she was targeted because then nobody would suspect that she’s his little doll. He never cared about those who are endangered, just him, only him.

“This little princess act isn’t the only thing what we got her for,” his uncle hisses and yanks his arm out of his nephew’s tight grip. His gaze is furious as if he was questioning how the younger dared to tell him off and humiliate him in front of a mere slave. Mark may be the king but his uncle has a big influence on his reign. He couldn’t just forget what he should thank him for and why he’s keeping him so close.

“No, but if he died without any other witness, everybody would suspect an attempt of dethronement. It wouldn’t help our reputation,” Yien protests calmly and shoos him away patiently like a parent would do with a child. “Patience.”

The man curses under his breath and strolls out of the suite like a madman. Neither the boy, nor the girl looks after him.

“Are you alright?” the king asks in a worried tone, stepping daringly close to examine the bruised area.

“Yes,” the courtesan answers bashfully, looking down so she could avoid saying the things she knows she shouldn’t. Like that if he didn’t come, she would have killed the older man. She wanted to slice his throat for humiliating her even if she knows she can’t. King Mark wouldn’t forgive her so easily if she did.

“He won’t stop until he gets what he wants. And now it’s Yan An’s head,” the king sighs disappointed because he spent the whole journey arguing with his uncle about the real plan he found out about. He wasn’t as stupid and naive as the older thought.

When the girl looks up at him from under her fringe, he looks so young. His blonde hair messily falling onto his forehead and his hand freezing in mid-air not sure if he should touch her or not. Would it be too inappropriate?

“Why is it so important for him?”

“Who knows? He just really wants me to unify the two kingdoms and to be honest, it would be better that way. We wouldn’t have to worry about wars anymore, at least not against an army as big as theirs,” the young man’s hand falls back to his side. “Are you sure you could do it? What he wants you to do?”

Before he could say another word, the girl moves. So quickly he can’t even react and in the next moment, there’s a sharp hairpin digging into the soft skin of his neck.

“Do you doubt me, Your Majesty?” she quirks an eyebrow, clearly not amused.

“Never, xiaojie,” he touches her cheek in endearment, fear never crossing his handsome face.

She smiles as she drops the pin and leans into his touch. “Good.”

King Yan An hisses in pain as the clothes detaches from his body tearing the skin and opening the wound again. Even if it’s only a surface scratch, thanks to his luck, it hurts and hardly heals. The royal physician is treating his bruise severely, taking it a lot more seriously than she should but maybe it’s understandable. Now, he isn’t just another crown prince in the line for the throne, he is the ruler of their kingdom. He shouldn’t be that careless to let it happen again but he doesn’t regret saving Cheng Xiao at all. If he let her get hurt, he wouldn’t be able to look in the mirror without despising himself. What kind of man that would have made him?

“Keep an eye on her,” Lady Meiqi warns him while changing the old bandage to a clean one after applying some heady smelling cream on the damaged skin. She doesn’t have to say the name out loud, Yan An already know who she’s talking about. Is it because of the recent events or that his wife is always on his mind nowadays? Who knows?

“Why?” he asks confused. Mostly because the physician doesn’t seem like she’s worried about Cheng Xiao’s well-being. More like that she’s worried about his, that maybe he will be stabbed in the back if he’s not looking. It’s an absurd assumption, isn’t it? What would she do to him? And why? Especially after she practically saved him? What’s more, the peace is a beneficial deal for both parties. So it just doesn’t make any sense.

“Don’t underestimate her just because she’s a girl, Your Majesty,” Meiqi explains vaguely and gulps. As the physician she was there when Xuanyi bathed and dressed her to the ceremony to examine her health. She saw the map of torture on her back: constellations made of scars. It was even more suspicious that she did an excellent job with the wound on His Majesty after the arrow hit him. How did she get those ugly scars? And where did she learn medical stuff?

“She isn’t our enemy, Lady Meiqi. Don’t forget, Cheng Xiao is your queen now,” the king warns her firmly with a slight edge in his usually soft voice. It isn’t a threat but it does sound like one and the girl bows deeply.

“I am sorry, I didn’t intend to make accusations,” she apologizes heartily and adds, even knowing her head could be taken for saying this out loud: “I just think you should be careful who you trust. The Tuans has never been trustworthy.”

Yan An opens his mouth to reply but nothing comes out, his words taste like bad wine and are swallowed by the dryness of his throat. After finished patching him up, Meiqi exits the room with a final bow, leaving him completely alone with his thoughts.

The palace is a colossus, big enough for two people to accidentally avoid each other but sooner or later, the king should meet with his legal wife especially if they didn’t consummate their marriage. They are both aware that they should soon since both kingdom is waiting for a heir, a future king to reign both lands with equal rights but Yan An busied himself with royal duties instead of husband ones. But they couldn’t keep it up forever. Weeks passed and rumours got around that the queen is always alone in her chambers. One day it even reaches the king’s ears and he’s ready to prove them wrong. Arranged marriages are always come to this point. Most of the times, sooner than later.

When he knocks on the gilded door, he’s surprised to be greeted by the queen dressed so little it’s almost obscene. He waves at the maids and guards to leave and they obey right away, pulling the door shut behind them.

Silence stretches in the spacious room as they look at each other. The king’s mouth is dry, the queen is fiddling with her clothes. Neither of them moves, not for a long time but then the girl is reaching out with her right hand, beckoning him closer. The silk robe she wears barely covers her breasts and only reaches her knees, showing off her ankles and Yan An can’t help but stare. He’s not sure how he’s still functioning when he takes her hand and let her guide him to the big, soft, baldachin bed.

“Did you...” he starts uncoolly and his breath hitches, “... know I was coming?”

Cheng Xiao looks him straight in the eye, standing up so they are only inches away. Her eyes seem blown and lips appear to be shiny and soft.

“The maidens, they told me to change. To look pretty for you.”

The king frowns bitterly, searching for her eyes.

“You are always pretty,” he says and he doesn’t lie. For him, it’s obvious just like the fact that the Sun is coming up every day. Yet, the girl looks taken aback as if she has never heard the compliment before, but she must have! A beauty like her should be showered with love.

She doesn’t answer. At least not with words as she leans closer and closer until there’s no more space between them and places her lips faintly on his. He trembles when she pulls back, catching her breath and Yan An automatically follows her body shift. It’s an entirely new sensation, something he hasn’t experience in all his life. Not even the innocent touch of lips.

Even as a prince, he has always been shy, never approaching any pretty lady while girls simply didn’t dare to approach him because of his lot higher class. He has only ever met with maids and relatives. He has never felt those sparks of flame when he looked into her eyes, his palms have never burnt to touch that honeyed skin of hers and adore her at the altar of her body. She tastes so sweet he believes he could get addicted on it, he’s already lightheaded when they fall onto the bed with a loud thud.

Cheng Xiao takes the side of his head into one hand guiding him to a better angle and Yan An couldn’t care less about the embarrassing noises he probably makes when she feels so good, so soft and warm against him. The smooth slide of their lips suddenly change into something more messy and desperate as she takes his hand into hers and places it on her bare thighs under the skirt and both of them gasps at the new feeling of hot skin on skin.

“Back then... did they force you to… you know...” Yan An’s panting barely an inch above her, searching for answers in the dark abyss of her eyes.

He’s selfish and he knows this but the thought of anybody else touching her this way makes him angry and sad. But otherwise, how could she know all this? That how and where to touch to make him all bothered? How to kiss him to take his breathe away?

“You mean to ask if I was a sex worker as a courtesan?” the girl mutters, not at all ashamed as she lies under him and receives a slight, uncertain nod as a reply. He may be the king but Yan An is just a boy, inexperienced with women, it’s pretty obvious. “They made me do a lot of things I didn’t want to do but my virgin price was too high for anyone. So no, Your Majesty, I was not.”

Everything she knows, she knows from stories of older courtesans and books a girl her age shouldn’t read under normal circumstances. But they made sure basically all her life that she was ready. However, she has always believed there would be no emotions, not even harmless fond ones.

“I’m sorry,” her husband whispers, a tight gut forming in his throat just from imagining what she had to have been through even if he didn’t know her back then.

“No need. You have every right to know,” Cheng Xiao shakes her head, her lips slightly brushing against his in the most intimate way, the puffs of her exhaled breath warming his already blushed cheeks.

“Not just that. But that you had to suffer,” the king corrects himself while stroking her jaw tentatively but oh so lovingly. “Now that you are here, I want to make sure you are happy.”

They live in such cruel times, selfless golden hearts are hardly heard of... but could it be? That the king of Yans is gentle like a cool breeze in spring? How could he rule a country then? How could she not getting weak for him?

“Why are you so kind to me?”

Don’t! You are just making it harder, she wants to scream at him from the top of her lungs but she can’t when he looks at her with those melancholic eyes.

“Because I know how it feels to be unwanted in the palace,” he says softly, genuinely and Cheng Xiao lets him kiss her everywhere, including that never-fading birthmark on her wrist.

Once upon a time, there was a golden haired girl. She had a tiara on her head, a brother by her side and crystal jewels all over her body making her a valuable target for any enemy. A victim or merely a show-off prey, because the more gold meant the bigger price on her head. So she was sent into hiding, waiting to reveal herself when the right times comes. But she had enough of lazing around, soon she will take back what’s hers.

"Have you heard the gossips, Your Majesty?" Chenle pries quietly at the next big family dinner. Relatives all over the continent from different kingdoms came back to congratulate on the coronation of the new king and discuss the tasks he had in mind for them. But somewhere along the way in-between drinks and majestic meals, the conversation’s topic soon changed.

"What?" Yan An looks up from his plate searching for the eyes of his second cousin. The younger doesn’t look at him, instead he shares a meaningful look with his brother, Yukhei who continues with a nonchalant shrug:

"They say that the Tuans just bought an orphan girl to play the part. That she’s not the princess we have all been looking and waiting for."

But yes, she is. The king argues silently. For him, she’s the one he searched for and didn’t even know. She was everything he ever wanted and more, a fair queen, a sincere but lovely woman and a passionate lover. He couldn’t help but fall for her. And the more times they spent together, the more he fell.

She’s still a mystery, an enigma nobody could ever solve. She’s quiet but observant, gives him good advice about not only household matters but politics, too. But sometimes, at night, she looks like the devil disguised as an angel with that fire burning in her eyes but he keeps letting her in to share a bed. Sometimes nothing happens, they just talk but on other nights, when the moon is out, they make love and he kisses each of her scars while telling her how beautiful she is.

"Never speak about the Queen like that, you hear me?" he fumes even though he is very well aware that the younger royal only voiced out the worry of people. They love their queen very much and maybe that’s exactly why they don’t want to acknowledge that she came from a house that led numerous wars against them. Still these kind of talks can be harmful, so Yan An would rather not have Cheng Xiao hear about these.

Since that night, the awkward tension between them has gone and been replaced by a different atmosphere. One that’s filled with fleeting touches and stolen glances.

"But... don’t you see? She has been manipulating you," Kun, one of his older relatives on a side-branch of Yan’s family tree, dares to add and everybody, even Sicheng eyes his reaction carefully. They all know what it means to have a puppet king controlled by a foreign queen. Maybe even the end of their kingdom.

“No, she hasn't,” Yan An objects and prorogue this ridiculous conversation by saying the wine tastes bad and it took away his appetite. Somewhere far away, the Tuans might smile in satisfaction because he really has no idea what they plan for him.

As the Moon Parade is coming up, Yan An suggests going to her home kingdom for the celebrations. Lately, he has seen Cheng Xiao looking quite down, so melancholically sad, especially after she read her brother’s letters. It’s only natural that she misses him, a sibling she only got back now and also lost him to the other king pretty soon. He just wants to make his wife happy, he reasons when he announces the journey to the eastern shore and the palace physician also approves. Meiqi told him that the queen is in good enough health physically to bear a child despite having being malnourished during her teen years and the reason why she hasn’t conceived yet may be in her head. The change of atmosphere might help.

But the queen is quieter than usual as they approach the place she was born in. She has sorrowful grey nostalgia in her eyes as she stares out of the carriages’ window, looking around, mapping the scenery as if she has never seen it before. However, Yan An doesn’t doubt her, doesn’t even want to. She has been lived away for more than ten years after all, these forests must be foreign to her even if she once knew the sprouts.

“Your brother...” Yan An’s gentle voice breaks through the silence and draws her moon eyes to him. “You two are quite close, aren’t you?”

Such a strange thing to ask, some might say but in royal houses tainted by the hunger for power, brotherly love is so rare. Not to mention that in their case, the miracle of finding his little sister was quickly followed by marrying her off. It was like he only used her as a property but the loving smile she kept just for him didn’t make sense.

“Yes, we are,” she whispers into the awaiting space and unconsciously touches her wrist. Now it's covered by her dress but they have spent together enough nights for the king to know that she has an ink spot-like scar there. “As a child, we played a lot in the gardens, just running around. I looked up to him, admired him but now we are both adults and we should stop playing hide-and-seek.”

That’s what you were doing? Hiding? Yan An wonders, marvelling at the lovely frame of her face. Of course, the courtesan house is the last place anybody would have searched for her. But… did it worth it?

The king brushes a thumb over his wife’s right cheek lovingly and she instantly leans into his touch, perfectly fitting like the yin to the yang. He almost makes the mistake of asking what it was like and how they found her but now and there it isn’t the time or place for questions like this.

“We are here,” the rider announces loudly as the horses halt and they make their way out of the carriage. The peasants welcome the royal couple with cheers.

Luckily, the reception is better than expected but they walk into the glorious palace with practiced smiles. When they are offered moonflowers in honour of the feast, Yan An takes both with a fond expression on his face and turns towards this beautifully dressed wife.

“May I?” he points at her hair that’s already decorated with diamonds and golden accerssories. What could a tiny white, trivial flower add to the sight? Still, she smiles, brighter than the Sun itself and nods.

Yan An’s fingers don’t shake anymore when he touches her. Yet, his breath still hitches when their eyes meet after he’s done with placing the flowers among her locks. The adornment she treasures the most out of all the jewels she wears.

The flowers are stepped on where they lay on the floor trashed and useless. Cheng Xiao is shoved to the ground as well while barbaric hands tear at her pretty outfit and the palace guards are nowhere to be found.

“Why can’t you just obey and do what you were ordered?” the man riots and the girl had always known that Mark’s uncle didn’t need much to snap.

Now, it seems like he certainly had enough of the games the courtesan played. Who did she think she was anyway? They had an agreement and if she didn’t keep her word and promise to fulfil her part of the deal, he might as well throw her into the dungeon she, as a slave, belongs. But he needed a plan, one that ensures that the reputation of the Tuan kingdom doesn’t get damaged. He wouldn’t want that merely because of a silly, silly girl. They can always make it seem like it was the Yans’ fault. But at those times they lived in, even a king killing his wife wouldn’t have been obnoxious So who cares?

“You can’t even do that much! I have to take the matter into my own hands, you stupid slut. You would deserve to have your tongue cut off for your lies and that bastard you protect so much, he should have an arrow through his heart before you could break it,” he growls into her face with so much spite, it makes her nauseate. “I made sure that he will be dead by tomorrow. Then Yien will rule and I will let you rotten in the dungeons. But first I will make you watch your precious husband die. Slowly. Painfully.”

The man grabs her hair and yanks it so hard she has to grit her teeth not to scream. But she won’t because she doesn’t need help. She has never been that weak, innocent thing they thought her to be.

“You don’t get to tell me what to do!” she glares at him just like a mad goddess full of fury and he doesn’t even feel the first stab, it happens so fast. He gasps and his grip turns into a desperate hold on her shoulders as he loses his balance. Blood already coats the girl’s hand scarlet red as she twists on the fancy hairpin, another gift from Yien, deep in his chest. Every tiny flick of her hand is emphasized by a word she hopes he will remember even in the afterlife. “I. Am. Your. Queen.”

She has fire in her eyes and a soul as black as the night. She’s the warrior now they raised up in the courtesan house. She’s like the man himself wanted her to be: a ruthless killer and she has become the ruin of him.

There’s still blood on her hands when the Tuan king finds her with a dead body at her legs. The guards following him draw their swords immediately but Mark stops them with the wave of his hand.

“I’m sorry,” Cheng Xiao looks at him pleadingly, not being able to read in his masked expression but the king calmly offers her a handkerchief. It’s white and clean. May it be the symbol of forgiveness?

“He would have never stopped,” he sighs looking over his glassy eyed uncle who has always been obsessed with the idea of their golden age. Look where it took him: defeated by a girl he dismissed.

“I know,” she agrees with a sigh and gets onto her two feet. Her left cheek is angry red where the man hit her earlier and the blow left scars across the pearl skin due to his rings. It will be so much trouble to cover it with makeup.

“You did the right thing. I don’t want war or rebellion. These previous weeks have been tranquil, we didn’t have it that way for so long,” the king says knowing fully well that his uncle worshiped chaos in the name of greatness. He would have done anything to take the throne from the Yans. No wonder why he despised the fact that the match for the marriage seemed prosperous.

Silence has never felt so odd between them before but now, they both are immersed in their own thoughts that somehow shift into the same direction.

“Will you tell him?” Yien asks and the queen knows right away that it’s not about the uncle anymore. Memories of big, bright, hopeful eyes appear in her mind and her heart threatens to break if that fond look turns into a frown. However, lately even him, the oh so loving Yan An seemed suspicious of her and he has every reason to be doubtful.

“I should. Even if it makes him hate me.”

Mark chuckles lightly.

“I don’t think that could happen. But just know that you’re always welcomed here,” he promises as generous as always but his serenity is sincere. He thinks of himself as someone who can read others well and he saw how the Yan king looked at Cheng Xiao. It would take a lot of him to push her away. Especially now.

“I have missed you,” she confesses, almost tearing up. She looks more like the 6-years-old girl that lives in his memories than a queen with cranberry red blood on her hands. Her beautiful doe eyes bore into his with the same adoration they held all those years before.

“I know. I missed you too, my little Nightingale,” he smiles at her sweetly and dips down to press a feather-like kiss to her forehead. Siblings should stick together after all, don’t they?

Another king stands tall in an all blue outfit in front of the wide window of the shining palace. His hands are curled into fists by his side, the letter he got earlier teared apart and burnt by the candles he found in the room. Chaos would arise as soon as its content got out and in this uncertain era, even a rumour would be enough to bring him doom. But what if it’s really nothing more than hearsay? Why should he believe somebody he has never spoken to? Well then why does he feel so unsure?

Maybe because the letter was right about a lot of things and suddenly everything makes sense. Still, he doesn’t want to believe it. Why would King Mark go through the trouble of paying for a high-level slave to marry him just to kill him? Why would he lie about his sister? But again it would explain a few things. For example, that mystery around her.

There’s no knock on the door, nor announcement, so he wouldn’t even heard the noises if he didn’t pay close attention. The girl comes from the shadows, like ghosts in old folktales but she’s real and solid like the marble she steps on.

“You are brave for coming here so boldly,” he speaks up firmly, not looking away from the window.

Nobody should disturb a king in his chambers without invitation. Nobody. So he tries to keep his tone cold but it sounds rehearsed instead. He doesn’t have to look, he has her portrayed in his head so detailed, he can literally imagine her standing in the corner in a dress fully black just as the night when there’s no moon up. Oh the irony.

Her long blonde hair falls onto her back and shoulder, the contrast so ethereal like a painting. Though, Yan An blames the gods that such beauty could even exist in human form. It’s weakening. Especially since she is here, it means the letter was right. Then why does he still has doubts?

He forces himself to stay put, accepting his fate but he has to ask that one tricky, heartbreaking question: “Are you here to kill me?”

The question takes Cheng Xiao by surprise and she almost slips. To the Hell with the slippery floors of these palaces. She tries hard not to tear her gaze away from his nostalgic form. He’s just standing there, not at all like a majestic king but a boy waiting for her next move. He doesn’t even try to defend himself or call the guards. Is it because he trusts her too much or because he’s okay with dying?

“Would you let me?” she asks fingers closing around the sin-tainted hairpin in her hand. It’s still wine red and sharp, ready to kill, yet her fingers tremble and her throat is closing in discomfort.

There’s nobody around. It would be the perfect opportunity to fulfil her original purpose but she can’t. She cannot bring herself to do it even though she did the same thing with cold-blood earlier.

Although Yan An has the answer on the of his tongue, he doesn’t reply but the slope of his shoulders goes rigid as he turn around to face the sudden visitor. There she is: oh so beautiful and more dangerous than ever.

“Why now? You could have killed me dozens of times,” the king inquires further, seemingly cannot drop the topic until he gets his own answers. He’s eager to know what happened, even if he doesn’t dare to hope that the reply will satisfy him. Especially if they only shoot questions back at each other.

“How do you know about this?” the girl furrows her brows, taking a few careful step closer, idly looking around in the majestic guest room her brother had prepared for the Yan king. Since only a handful of people knew about the plan, she wants to know who ratted them out. And what if he knows more?

“I got a letter from your uncle…” he says letting out an awkward laugh, “But he isn’t really your uncle, is he?” Yan An corrects himself quickly, back straightening. His voice is suddenly cold, formal and Xiao flinches at the unfamiliarity of it.

“What did he tell you?” she’s ignoring his question. Again, and it makes the king sigh exasperatedly. Always those damn secrets. It’s getting tiring.

“Just that you are an impostor,” he sums up the content of the letter he had read more than four times before burning it. The words engraved themselves into his brain haunting him, mocking him. They never found the real lost princess, just picked one of the girls who looked like her and paid her to play the part, the letter said and he wondered how could he love a liar?

Cheng Xiao takes a breath of air sharply at the accusation as the king watches her closely, drinking in every feature and wondering whether her smiles were genuine at all.

“Is it true?” he can hear that goddamn hope in his voice and he curses himself for being weak and love? But what if she says no and he’s being paranoid for no reason?

However, the queen has that sad look in her pretty eyes, It’s unfair, nobody should look so unearthly beautiful if they are guilty as charged.

“No,” she answers finally and looks straight into his eyes, voice steady and sure but isn’t all courtesans trained actresses, professional liars? Maybe she faked the whole thing just to trick him into loving her, getting high on her kisses and intoxicated by her scent. He’s burning in the inside to believe her but how could he? Where are the facts and proofs? And why would her uncle lie then?

“But he didn’t know,” she adds at last, answering his last silent question but the past tense makes the boy furrow his brows in suspicion.

“Where is he now?”

Despite the nonchalant look on her face, silence tells it all and it shatters into pieces when she drops the bloody pin.

“He was the one who wanted you dead, I had to,” she starts explaining when the tension becomes too much and too heavy on their chest. She isn’t that well put together queen anymore, she seems rather desperate to confess her sins. “I never really intended on killing you after I got to know you. If I did, you would be dead already. I just wanted back what I was taken away.”

“So you’re telling me that you’re the real princess but your uncle didn’t know and you went along with his crazy plan? Why would you hide in a courtesan house in the first place and why didn’t you just tell him you are the one? Why did you need me for getting back what was yours?” Yan An snaps at her, more confused than ever and he feels like yanking at his own hair in frustration. He should despise her for killing his relative since he shouldn’t love a killer after all. But it doesn’t matter at all because desperate times require desperate measures and everybody is a murderer on their own. He led a war against her kingdom that shed so much blood it could fill his bath. They are all monsters in the end.

According to King Mark, with the marriage offer they let him choose his own destiny. He could have rejected it and keep the rage and carnage going. But since he’s weak for young, pretty and innocent, his choice was obvious: he couldn’t say no to the lost and found princess who has been engaged with him since birth. He’s said to be a good man. He thinks he can save anyone but who will save him then? Will it be her?

“Once you asked me if I would tell you my story one day. I tell you now if you’re willing to listen,” she says slowly, hoping he would at least listen to her before kicking her out. He would have every right to do that and restart the war with their kingdom. Yet, he simply nods and ever so politely offers her a seat to take.

Cheng Xiao bows and sits on the sofa. Every movement of hers is tentative and respectful, with no intention to invade his place or offend him, so she doesn’t sit too close or too far. Still, it feels like they are strangers again.

“He wasn’t my uncle because I’m not the late king’s daughter,” she confesses the secret only a few people knew in the court. Affairs aren’t unusual in their class, but women keeping company for themselves seems a much more despicable thing rather than when men do the same. “But don’t worry, the queen was really my mother so it makes me a princess. I got my hair from her, Yien as well. Also, we both have a birthmark on our wrists here. That’s how he knew I’m really his sister,” she adds and to prove herself, she rolls up the sleeves of her dress to reveal her bare wrist. Even though she knows he has already seen it, he never asked what it is or why she keeps it hidden sometimes. But if it was the proof, wouldn’t it be the best to let the world see? What is she afraid of?

“I was never really lost, I was just in hiding,” the girl continues, gaze filled with nostalgia drifting afar. “When the rebellion broke out, a maid rescued me at my mother’s request. She took me to the courtesan house of Jianfeng because she knew the owner and paid him a lot of gold to keep my secret and train me. His job was to teach me how to protect myself until the time comes. So when Yien’s uncle came to get a girl to kill the Crown Prince, we knew my time is close but I couldn’t reveal myself, not until I was sure he or other traitors wouldn’t kill me if he knew the truth.”

“Why would he have done that?” Yan An suddenly interrupts her, confusion colouring his strict expression.

“Like I said: I’m not his brother’s child so I’m basically a danger to their bloodline if I claim the throne after Yien’s hopefully very far future death.”

“Alright, I get it,” the king nods and he really does but the little pieces still don’t make up the big picture. It seems too much work just to get him killed. “But... wouldn’t it have been easier to pay for an assassin to kill me rather than going through all this procedure to find somebody to marry me?”

Cheng Xiao gulps and looks at him sharply. It’s a warning look, the one that says he doesn’t want to hear the answer but he doesn’t take the question back. So she sighs.

“I think you know the answer already. If people believe that I’m pregnant with the king’s child, both kingdoms can be ruled by the Tuans.”

“Of course, it’s always about that damned crown,” the boy hisses looking wounded as if the words hurt him physically. This time, when he looks at her, he’s angrier than ever. Disappointment glowing in his eyes like never before and it’s a scary look on him. It might be the first time when the queen is afraid of him. “Did you feel anything for me or was it all just part of the plan, to bear a king's child?”

The blame burns and she retorts with equally hurtful words:

“And did you? Or you just wanted to become a king as soon as possible so you were okay with the first princess thrown at you?”

Yan An’s jaw tightens but he knows two can play this game.

“Well, somebody has to rule,” he says harshly because he won’t say sorry for doing the right thing no matter how selfish it sounds.

“And somebody has to fight for what they have,” the ex-courtesan argues, tone just as rigid.

They stare at each other, flames in their eyes, hearts beating fiercely and then the queen stands up. It happens so fast: she hears the movement of shuffling before she hears the bow’s snap and she turns, quickly like lightning and throws a small dagger, hidden under her sleeve, towards the unwanted visitor. It hits the masked figure straight in the chest and blood bubbles up from the dark haired girl’s mouth as she drops down dead. It’s been a while she had to use her skills but her aim is deathly, they used to say. It doesn’t look like it changed.

Cheng Xiao remembers the girl with glazy eyes from the courtesan house, always quiet and observant, great in archery but she also remembers the uncle’s words about making sure to end this. Of course, he didn’t do half work, he didn’t pay for only her to do the job. This is the reason why she doesn’t feel regret, only pity… and pain. A pain so awful that it makes her grasp and losing balance as her knees go out under her. It’s only then when she looks down on her own chest, staring at the dark dress getting darker and darker each passing second. The blood is like a waterfall going down, down, down and she feels like drowning.

“Xiao!” the king cries out in panic and crouches down beside her. With a hand holding her back, the other tries to suppress the bleeding from the fresh wound. “Somebody help!”

Even in the haze of pain, the girl feels warm all over. It’s not the first time he called her that but she considers herself lucky to be able to hear it again.

She coughs a little and her voice becomes raspy when she opens her mouth to speak. “They won’t come. I sent them away.”

The arrow just above her heart makes it hard for her to breathe and she’s grabbing on her chest to ease the sore but it’s like swimming against the current. Beyond reason.

“Ssh don’t talk, it’s alright. I will get help,” Yan An makes another promise he probably can’t keep but he cannot just sit and wait. He’s holding her close not wanting to let go and the frustration of his helplessness hits him hard. What’s the point of being a monarch if you can’t save those you care about?

“I love you,” Cheng Xiao forces out desperately, not to run out of time. She can barely keep her eyes open and her trembling fingers are closing around the king’s shirt as if he was her only anchor. Her blood-covered lips are quivering as she’s confessing. “You should know... It was a-all real. I loved you from the day y-you saved me. We are even now.”

She touches his face lovingly, a sad smile forming on her pretty features but instead of goosebumps, she’s only leaving bloody handprints behind.

“No. Don’t say it like you are saying goodbye,” the king, acting like a lovesick boy, can only protest and shake his head as he pulls her closer. No, it can’t be, it can’t end like this. There are still so many things left unsaid between them. “Please, don’t leave me. Not yet. I love you,” he whispers it like a prayer, kissing the words into her sweaty skin.

Maybe he has always loved her. The girl he was supposed to marry. But then he met her, the shy yet brave princess and when he fell, he fell hard. He knew it’s love when nothing could come between them anymore. When he read that letter and didn’t care who she was. For him, title doesn’t matter. She could be a queen, a courtesan or a commoner, he would love her the same.

“We are more alike than we originally thought, Your Majesty, we both have scars people can’t see,” Cheng Xiao mutters with her last breath hitting his cheek and then her lashes flutter closed. Darkness welcomes her with open arms as she loses consciousness, falling limply into the arms of the man she loved in secret but oh so dearly.

It’s a rare sight. The two kings in the same room, silent, waiting. Everything smells like herbs, even the heady air around them and it darkens the gloomy atmosphere even more until Yien can’t take it anymore.

“How is she?” he asks quietly but with loud concern. Without their crowns, they are just two young men who gave up a lot and lost even more in the process. Neither of them is ready to lose another loved one and nothing has ever brought the two kingdoms closer than their love for the same girl.

“According to the physician, it will take time but she’ll recover,” Yan An nods towards him, momentarily looking away from the unconscious girl lying on the cosy bedding. If there wasn’t a bandage on her chest, it would look like she’s only sleeping. Or hiding like summer’s beauty, the flowers, during the harsh, ice-cold winter.

“She is a survivor,” Yien notes relieved and turns to the younger king, putting a hand on his shoulder. “Take good care of my sister or I’m going to change my mind and agree with my uncle about killing you.”

He’s talking threateningly yet it feels like he’s giving his blessing and not only as the king of his country but also, as Cheng Xiao’s brother. It makes Yan An smile.

“We will take care of each other,” he promises and doesn’t let go of her hand.

Never again.

A year later, the Queen gives birth to a healthy son, the rightful heir of both Yan and the heirless Tuan throne. It takes almost two decades but with his reign, the era of sixteen kingdoms is coming to an end and they welcome the dawn of a new age. May it bring peace finally.

History books will remember the rule of Yan Yalun as one of the most flourishing era of China and the monument he built for his parents will make sure that people never forget: true love conquers all even under the weight of the crown.

#kkreationsnet #angstykpopnet #pentagon scenarios #pentagon oneshot #yan an oneshot #yan an scenarios #yan an pentagon #got7 mark scenarios #got7 mark oneshot #royal au #royalty au #historical au #wjsn scenarios #cheng xiao oneshot #long live china line #stories

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funkymbtifiction · 7 years

Text

My life as an ISTJ

SUBMITTED by anonymous

(Gif: Mr. Norrell, Jonathan Strange and Mr. Norrell. ISTJ)

When I took the test,I was typed as an INFJ the first time and an ISFJ the second time but when I read the description,it never fit me so I kept looking.I came across realistic,objective descriptions of ISTJ and I knew that I found what I was searching for.

Introverted Sensing: My memories are extremely important.I would feel incomplete without them.One of my worst fear (along with losing my sanity and my mobility) is having Alzheimer’s. I trust my past experiences to know how to act in the present. My brain is so accustomed to compare the present to the past that I very often get a feeling of deja vu. Everything in my present have ties to the past : my hobbies are connected to the past ones (as a child,I loved Greek and Latin mythology. Now, I love mythology in general.)

I’m sentimental and I can be really nostalgic. My past made me who I am and shaped my personality.I can be stuck in the past and unable to let go past hurts,wounds,insults,bad experiences,grudges. I can also be resistant to change unless I am proved that it is beneficial. I enjoy my personal routines.It gives me a sense of stability and peace without which I can not live.

I don’t really see myself as traditionalist in the sense of “in the society you live in, it had always been this way so you will do it like this.” If that was the case,I would let the boys in my class be the boss. Marriage and having children would be an very important goal and I wouldn’t be a feminist and a self-identified demigirl and possibly demisexual and demiromantic.

I often get annoyed at people who want to force me to try new things. I know what I like and don’t like and I know I will not like it so why bother ?

My tastes are very specific and on the expensive side.I love anything that delight my senses in a quiet way : good food, chocolate, salty and spicy things, a fresh drink during a hot day,comfortable clothes,soft and high quality fabrics,walk barefoot on the cool floor,long and hot showers, pleasant perfumes,sweetly scented candles, hygiene products that smell good, beautiful music, the sound of the rain, a lovely landscape, an elegant and refined decoration,the feeling of well-being you get after a long walk…

I am very attentive to my physical needs and very aware of my body’s reactions. I can’t understand how some people can completely forget their body and its needs. For me, it’s unthinkable. History is my favorite subject in school and I learn about it as much as possible by myself. I am fascinated by the history of a lot of countries (especially my own) and I enjoy connecting what happened in one specific country to the international situation during this period. I like visiting museums,watching historical documentaries and films, reading books and using the internet to satisfy my thirst of knowledge. I deeply respect antiquities and relics.

I see the past as a source of knowledge and wisdom. History always repeats itself and we are fool if we think we can escape the past (Go see Fighting the Hate by MangaEngel on Deviantart. It’s crying the ugly truth no one wants to acknowledge.) I think we should look deeply in the past,see what had worked and where we have failed and use this information to build a better future. I’m tired of seeing each generation think that they will not repeat the mistakes of their elders and that in the end they still make the same mistakes.

My memory is good but selective.I easily remember useful information, things that interest me or are stupid but I am very bad with people’s name and face.I often think about the past and I love analyzing it.

(Gif: Abbey from Sleepy Hollow. ISTJ.)

Extroverted Thinking: I love structure and organization. I want clear and precise rules,limits and instructions,and detailed explanations and advice. I want things to make sense and be organized and logical. I have high standards for myself and others and I expect effectiveness and competence. My patience for incompetence, foolishness and lack of maturity and responsibility is very thin. I become annoyed very easily if people can’t do their job correctly. Planning and organization are natural for me. The moment I wake up, I began to organize my day in my head. I dislike improvisation and not knowing what I will do. Despite the appearances,I procrastinate often. However, I never miss deadlines. I loathe being late.

I am a down to earth, practical, pragmatic, realistic and no-nonsense person. I’m blunt and straightforward on most things. I dislike it when people are not plainspoken. Tact and diplomacy are not my specialties. My common sense is solid and extremely present. I don’t want to be in the spotlight and I am not interested by being the boss but if I see that the leader does a poor job, I will take charge. The dependable stereotype is true and if I promised to do something,I will do it. I am repulsed by the idea of not keeping my promises.

Introverted Feeling: My feelings are deep and strong, and I have trouble understanding and controlling them but I hide it. I internalize everything. I am unable to talk about what I feel,which can be very unhealthy. I am extremely reserved and private. I fiercely protect my thoughts, feelings and private life. I am not very expressive and affectionate. I show my love and affection by doing things. I keep everything to myself and I almost never open up. If I confide to someone, I will only say a little and only talk about the situation, never my feelings themselves. I need time alone everyday to function. I like my space and I respect people’s space. I am not a physical person: physical contacts are rare to nonexistent depending of the person with me, and I always keep some distance between myself and others. I am sensitive and take everything seriously. I try to be more detached without much success.

I also have a romantic and dreamy side that very few people know about. I have a strong moral and ethical code. If I don’t respect my values, I feel extremely sick and guilty. I have quite a black and white vision of the world even if I am aware that grey is the dominant color. I dislike talking about my values but I am ready to defend them. That’s one of the only moments you will see me passionate and fierce. I am very independent and a lone wolf. I never tried to fit in group at school and never felt any desire to do so. I think in term of individual rather than group. I have a strong sense of identity and I will not change to please others (my grandmother asked me many time to be more feminine.I never changed. She also asked to my mother to get me and my sister baptized before herd death, we completely refused.) I have a live and let live attitude unless one of my deepest values is violate. My life is my business and people’s life are their business. Everybody has the right to live his/her life as they want. Besides, you don’t have to judge people. You’re not in their shoes. I am not good when feelings are involved. Consoling someone is hard for me and I suck at giving emotional advice and support. I don’t know how others see me. (I am just sure that I come across as aloof and reserved.)

Extroverted Intuition: On one side,this function makes me prone to catastrophe thinking and panic when things don’t go according to the plan. I am pessimistic and I always think the worst will happen. On the other side,it gives me an intense curiosity. I love analyzing things, try to see beyond the surface and compare what people say to the reality. I have various interest I want to pursue (sociology, psychology, parapsychology, mythology, history, symbolism, religions, languages, foreign cultures… ).“Why” has been my question since I was little. Ne also helps me to accept change and alter my views on what I want from the future.

#my life as an istj #istj #mbti #submission

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ravychan · 5 years

Text

Fighting Fire with Fire Part One: The Wormhole

Heat bore down on her as she pulled a strand of hair out of her face. Tied back due to the heat, it had started to fall loose due to her movement. School had ended and it was time for her first love, archery. Eyes watched as she pulled her bow back, purple eyes narrowed as she looked at the target. It seemed as if her classmates held their breath as they watched and waited in anticipation. She let the string go and the arrow flew across the way, hitting the target in the bullseye circle. Applause was heard all around her. Bowing at the other students, she smiled wryly and packed her gear up. She didn’t want to hear another lecture about time management from her parents. At the tender age of sixteen, she helped her parents run an archery dojo so none of her classmates were surprised with how she excelled in archery. A hand clamped on her shoulder, she looked over her shoulder then up slightly to see her couch smiling at her. He had always creeped her out though she just simply smiled as she removed his hand from her shoulder. “ I should get on my way, need to help my parents,” she explained as she excused herself with a bow. Though they hadn’t actually needed her help, she just wanted to get away from them all. It was the same thing, she always felt alone when around all of those people basking her in unwanted attention. Shrugging her bag onto her shoulder, she ran from the gym into the girls locker room. She got changed and then headed on her way to what she called her special place. She had always been drawn to it since she was small, though she was unsure as to why. After a long bus ride and quite a walk, she was at her destination the temple of Honno-ji where Nobunaga was said to have commited senpuku, though some say he just disappeared too. Reading the information about the event she did not hear someone come behind her. “You seem interested in the battle of Honno-ji” a voice stated with interest. This had made her jump a few feet, then she turned around to face the owner of the voice. There she saw a young man in what looked to be a white lab coat. Confused, she rose an eyebrow. “Who are you?” she asked as she looked at him from head to toe, as if measuring him up. He slightly smiled and bowed to her,” My name is Sasuke, and what is your name?” he responded as he watched her with curiosity noticing what she was doing, he found it slightly entertaining. “Luciel Tihomira,” she responded quietly. This had been the first time she actually seen someone else at the temple when she was. She smiled shyly and returned the bow to him as she greeted him. As she returned to her full height, she noticed something black and purple in the sky, at the sight of it her eyes widened. “What in the world is that?!” she almost yelled as she looked at it in horror. “Watch out!” was the last thing she had heard before she had been sucked into the hole, it had in fact been a black hole and it had sucked both of them into it. Gripping her bow tightly she slowly opened her eyes and looked around. Several sounds of clanging was heard about her. She looked around almost fearful. Had she gone back in time she wondered. Not far from where she sat, a man noticed her sitting there. He rose his brow slightly wondering what she was doing there, in the middle of a battlefield. Worried for her safety he pulled his horse and rushed over to Luciel and picked her up. Surprised she almost dropped her bow. “What in the-who are you? Let me go!” she stammered all at once. Struggling, her platinum blond hair moved side to side as she moved. Struggling to keep his grip, he grunted and pulled her onto his horse in front of him. “Aren’t you just a little spitfire, such strange clothing you are wearing too-quite revealing,” he muttered halfway to himself and halfway to her. As he said it, he had moved the hilt of his sword under the skirt of her uniform slightly, causing her to slap the skirt down in alarm. “What do you think you are doing?!” she demanded as she held her skirt down and looked at him with anger. He simply laughed at her amused by her reaction. Chuckling, he left her skirt alone, though he had no idea why it was so short. With her struggling, he had let out a sigh and to show her that she was going to cause herself to get hurt, he let her go for a second, which was long enough for her to almost fall off the horse. This caused her to scream, he had been sure to catch her once again after she had been holding onto the side of the horse’s neck afraid to actually fall. “Now that you are calm, will you stop squirming so you don’t fall off my horse?” he asked her with an exasperated sigh. She swallowed hard, nodded and sat back up on the horse with his help, though she didn’t allow him to have her lean against him. He rose his brow at this slightly but thought nothing of it and shrugged. Not long after, she looked at him slightly after adjusting herself on the horse,” you never answered me, who are you?” she asked with more calm to her voice unlike when he had first picked her up. “Masamune Date, that is my name and what name shall I honor you with?” he responded with a sly smirk. She rolled her eyes at his flirting and looked away slightly as she returned to how she was sitting beforehand,” Luciel Tihomira,” she murmured and then she went quiet. He smiled to himself as he heard her name, it was not a name he had heard before. Not long after he got her name, galloping was heard not far away. He looked in the direction to see some of his allies approaching him. One being a man dressed in black with sandy brown hair and green eyes, the one he often referred to as the “mother hen”, Toyotomi Hideyoshi. The other though, he had no nickname for. He wore a lot of black with hair that matched and eyes red as blood, their commander, Oda Nobunaga. He straightened up slightly as he saw him though he didn’t lose his sly grin that he always held. “I heard a girl scream, why is there a girl on the battlefield?” Hideyoshi asked in almost a panic. This reaction simply made Masamune laugh,” You get so worked up, Hideyoshi. Yes, there is a girl and as you can she is safely on my horse. She had struggled too much so I let her go to show her what would happen if she didn’t stop. I made sure she wouldn’t actually fall of course,” he told him with a cocky smirk on his face. Hideyoshi scrunched his brow up in irritation and looked at Masamune,” That is nice Masamune, but what is she doing here?” he repeated his question this time with more force. Masamune simply shrugged,” who knows, I found her and picked her up so she didn’t get killed,” he responded simply as if it was no big deal. Nobunaga watched the two banter for a moment and then held his hand up to silence the two of them. They looked at him silently waiting to see what he would do or say. He was an unpredictable man so they didn’t wish to anger him, especially with the life of an innocent woman hanging in the balance. “Girl, what is your name?” Nobunaga asked coldly as he reared his horse closer to Masamune’s horse. She looked at him for a minute unsure if she should answer or not, seeing his hand near the sheathe of his sword, she thought it may be wise to answer after all,”Luciel Tihomira,” she told him quietly. He nodded in affirmation after he heard her name,” Very well, stay with Masamune for the time being, I will be questioning the moment we return,” he told her as he motioned for Hideyoshi to follow him and the two rode off, back to where they had been. It had not taken as long as she had thought for them to finish up their fight against the opposing side. By dusk, she found herself surrounded in what looked to be the main hall of a castle. Nervously, she looked around at each of the men looking at her. Each of these people were historical figures she thought to herself. On one side of the room, sat two men with platinum blond hair much like herself. One with yellow, snake-like eyes and the other with purple almost kind eyes. Then, there was the one that picked her up, Masamune Date. He had an eyepatch on one of his blue eyes and he had a dark coffee brown hair color. He wore a lot of blue too. He annoyed her but at the same time she was curious about him. Looking around more she saw a cold, stern looking man with blond hair and green eyes, he wore a yellow kimono and had his arms crossed currently. Noticing her eyes wander, Masamune chuckled. “If I may m’lord she knows my name but no one else’s I’d like to tell her who is all in the room with her. She seems to be like a lost little kitten that wants to run away,” Masamune proposed. Nobunaga thought for a moment and then nodded the go ahead. Masamune smiled as he was givenpermission, he looked to Luciel and motioned his hand at the first two she had looked at, “ The one in purple, with the matching eyes is our book worm Ishida Mitsunari. Next to him is the sly, trouble making Akechi Mitsuhide,” she blinked nodding to him as if to show she understood. He then motioned his hand at the blond man,” this is Tokugawa Ieyasu. He is a bit on the cold side but he is always one step ahead,” he warned with a playful smile. Her eyes widened slightly as he said his name. He was the one to win the war to unite Japan, she thought to herself. To hide her surprise of who she was looking at she nodded with a wry smile. Next, Masamune pointed at the one in green she had saw that looked worried for her after hearing her scream,” this mother hen, I mean the right hand man of our Lord is Toyotomi Hideyoshi, and of course you met our Lord himself earlier, Oda Nobunaga,” he told her with a smile as he finished speaking, he sat in his original position. Nobunaga looked to her and then sighed,” Now that that is over, introduce yourself to everyone, girl,” he ordered her in a cold and dark tone. Swallowing hard, she nodded and slightly bowed,” My name is Luciel Tihimora,” she said as she bowed towards the generals sitting before her, then she returned to her full height. They all nodded at her. A few smiling at her, curious while others found her suspicious. After a pause, Nobunaga spoke once again,” So, girl how about you enlighten all of us on how you came to be on our battlefield. You even have a bow, though it is an odd looking one,” he said as he looked at her once again. “ I would but I doubt you would believe me, so I will stick with saying I don’t know,” she responded as she looked at him for a moment and then to the floor. Nobunaga rose his eyebrow, irritation showing on his face from her answer,” Try me, just tell me how you got there,” he demanded with an edge of irritation in the tone of his voice. Luciel sighed once again, taking a deep breath she decided to just tell him the truth, if he believed her then he did if not then she would have to hope she wouldn’t be killed she thought to herself. “Very well then, I am not from your time. I was visiting the temple of Honno-ji as I often do, then I found myself on the battlefield after seeing what looked like a giant hole in the sky had sucked me into it,” she told him, not thinking he would believe her. Silence fell across the room, they looked back and forth between each other not sure what to even say to something like that. Nobunaga let out a laugh,” That is pretty far out there. I will admit that, but I don’t think I believe you,” he admitted as he still laughed. He paused but a moment to catch his breath,” I can now see why you answered the way you did if that is your answer. Until you want to tell me the truth-” he motioned at the guards and the grabbed her and took her below to the dungeons. They shoved her into the cell, closed the door and off they went. She looked around for a moment and then slid to the ground hugging her knees. She was unsure how to get him to believe her, though she didn’t think it would matter anyway. None of the generals said a word once the guards returned to the room. Masamune looked at Nobunaga with obvious disagreement but said nothing to him. Hideyoshi looked between the two and with a deep breath spoke,” m”Lord, I know you don’t believe her story, but she wore so little. Won’t she get sick in the dungeon?” he voiced concerned. Nobunaga looked at him with cold eyes,” perhaps she should have thought about that before loitering on my battlefield,” he snapped as he got up and started to leave the room,” I best not hear about any of you helping her,” he warned them as he left the main hall irritated. They all followed suit and emptied the main hall. Some of them letting out a sigh. Hideyoshi was the most concerned for the young girl. Masamune though, was already thinking up a plan. Back in the cell, Luciel shivered as she hugged her knees close to her chest in the corner of her cell. The only warmth in the cell she had wrapped around her, a thin blanket. She looked up at the sky through the small cell window in her room, her bow had been confiscated by Hideyoshi on Nobunaga’s orders the moment they got to the castle. She felt naked without it, she refused to let this make her break though, so she did not shed a single tear. As she thought of how to get out of this situation she heard a thud, which made her jump. Moving closer to the bars she saw a guard on the ground. Behind the body, stood none other than Masamune with a smirk on his face. On the other side of the room,stood Hideyoshi the two men looked at each other with a hint of annoyance that they had the same idea. With the two guards unconscious, they walked near the cell Luciel was in. Luciel inched closer to the bars, unable to hide her shivering. She had only been in her summer school uniform. It had been summer in the present before she was sent into the past which seemed to be reaching late fall. Her lavender eyes traveled between the two men. Hideyoshi had been the first to notice her shivering, let out a sigh and looked between Masamune and the two guards on the ground. "Keep watch, but don't get the idea of just breaking her out. You know Lord Nobunaga would be furious. I worry about him finding out about us helping her get warm even," he told him as he left the dungeon to look for something to keep her warm. Shaking his head, Masamune shook his head and leaned down and pressed the back of his hand to her forehead, he then stood with an expression of concern. Once Hideyoshi had returned Masamune had his arms crossed and looked at him with a narrowed eye. He had only been able to find one blanket. "You think that will make a difference down here? You need to kiss Nobunaga's ass or something. She's starting to get a fever down here," he told him with a stern edge to his tone. Hideyoshi sighed, looked at her and only nodded handing him the blanket. Masamune gave her the blanket and then followed him out of the dungeon. Without hesitation, she wrapped herself in the blanket. Though, it had not stopped the shivering that would not cease. It had been three days since they had came to check on her. Luciel looked over at the guards on either side of the dungeon, they were starting to look fuzzy to her. As she tried to stand to ask for water, her grip on the blanket slipped from her hands and she fainted landing on the blanket, exposed to the cold weather. One of the guards, having seen her fall went to check on her. Alarm showed on his face once he looked in her cell, he looked to the other guard," Hurry, go get someone the prisoner has fainted!" the other guard across the room nodded and ran up the stairs of the dungeon and then ran to find someone. As he was running, Masamune noticed his panicked rush. "Hold there, soldier. What's your rush?" Masamune asked stopping the soldier. The soldier stopped and bowed to him, breathing hard he responded," The prisoner has fainted, her breathing seemed to be labored as well," as he told this to Masamune his eyes widened. "You tell Nobunaga I am breaking her out before she dies and if he has an issue with it he can come talk to me personally!" he said as he began to run to the dungeons. The soldier nodded and went to the main hall to meet with Nobunaga as he was told. Arriving in the main hall, the soldier bowed to an annoyed Nobunaga," What's your business?" he asked with an irritated tone. The soldier swallowed hard," Forgive the interuption m'lord. I was coming from the dungeon to let you know the prisoner had fainted. On the way, I was stopped by Lord Masamune, he told me to let you know that he was breaking her out of the prison before she died and if you had an issue to seek him out," he had a nervous tone to his voice as he told Nobunaga this. Despite his worries, Nobunaga smirked as if he had expected this," I wondered who would get her first. Hideyoshi or Masamune, looks like Masamune beat you to her Hideyoshi," Nobunaga told him with a teasing tone. He then looked back to the guard," Very well, return to your post. Just make sure he doesn't destroy my dungeon. Let him take her. You better hurry before he cuts my cell, otherise it comes from your pay," he warned as the soldier bolted from the main hall. As he made it back to the dungeons, the other guard was trying to stop him from cutting the bars to get her out. "Wait!" he cried out to Masamune breathless," Lord Nobunaga gave you permission to get her, so don't break the cell," he had his hands on his knees still breathing hard as he told the message to Masamune. He smiled slyly and nodded as the other guard opened the door for him. Quickly, he wrapped her in the blanket Hideyoshi had found a few days ago and walked out of the dungeon with her. He did not stop until he got to his temporary home, there he laid her on his bed, ordering some of his staff to get certain items to help bring her fever down. Once they returned, he placed a wet cloth across her forehead and made sure she was covered up so she would not get cold. Once he stood from where he had been kneeling over her, Hideyoshi entered. "Didn't think you were the type to rush in and be impulsive like that with a stranger," Hideyoshi teased a bit. Masamune's eyes narrowed slightly," Well, she has done nothing to prove herself as an enemy. Didn't even try to escape. Perhaps, her story needs looking into. I wasn't going to let her die without knowing the truth," he responded to Hideyoshi crossing his arms across his chest. Hideyoshi held his hand to his chin in thought," So you believe her then?" He asked. Masamune shook his head," I didn't say that. I said we wouldn't get to the bottom of her story if we let her die. There is a difference of the two," he retorted as he looked back at her slightly. He thought for a moment," Though I wouldn't normally do something like this, perhaps that sachel she had with her will have a clue to her identity," he mused in thought. Hideyoshi looked at him in surprise at first then nodded in agreement," Since Lord Nobunaga won't believe her words, perhaps he will believe the things she has," he agreed. With a nod he then left to meet with Nobunaga. Hideyoshi had left for the castle, once he had arrived he went to the personal quarters of Nobunaga," Lord Nobunaga?" Hideyoshi called from the closed door," Enter" he heard muffled from inside. He opened the door and bowed," Lord Nobunaga, Masamune had an idea about learning about the girl," he started to tell him. Nobunaga turned around and sat down and motioned him inside," Close the door behind you, I will hear what this idea is," he told him. Nodding, Hideyoshi closed the door and sat on the floor in front of the door, across from Nobunaga. "Being as we don't know if her words can be trusted, Masamune suggested we go through her bag that she had with her. He said that items of possession can't lie," he began. Nobunaga held his hand up to motion for him to stop, he looked to the side as he thought for a moment," Very well, bring me the confiscated items of her's then," he ordered and waved him off. Hideyoshi nodded and left to retrieve the items that had been taken from her, a sachel looking bag, and what looked to be some fabric protecting a bow. It looked odd to him. Not long after he left, he returned to the room with the items. "Not here, bring the things to the main hall and then retrieve the others. We will all look at what she has brought with her," Nobunaga told him as he stood," Actually, just give me the items. It will be faster," he said as he changed his mind. Hideyoshi nodding handed him her things and then left to get the other generals. Once again, he found himself in front of Masamune," Lord Nobunaga has called for us all to gather, he has accepted your idea," he informed Masamune once he arrived. Masamune nodded, told one of his maids to watch over Luciel and the two men left for the main hall in the castle. Once everyone had arrived, Nobunaga looked around the room to make certain that everyone was accounted for," Masamune, I will overlook your actions of breaking her from my prison if your idea gives us fruit on who she is," he informed Masamune. He simply nodded as Nobunaga grabbed the satchel first, opening it and pouring the items on the ground in front of him. Everyone in the room looked rather confused. In her bag, she had a cell phone, pencils, paper other school items. There had also been an envelope with her name on it. "I have never seen such things before," Nobunaga muttered as he looked at the items. He picked up the phone and looked at it, the battery had died though so he couldn't really see what it was. The next item he looked at was the envelope. He opened it to find a paper folded inside, he unfolded it and looked at it, then read it aloud. "Luciel Tihomira, is her name as she claimed. It says something about something called an adoption and it has names of what I am guessing are her parents and her birthday. So, her story is true, the date here is not anytime that I know," he informed the men. Though he didn't know how to take the information, he bent down and replaced all of her things in her bag. Once it was cleaned up and put to the side, he careflly took the fabric protecting her prized bow off and placed it on his seat. Ieyasu's eyes grew wide," A bow, a nice looking one at that. It seems to be meant for long distance shots," he muttered as he uncovered the bow. "It would seem she at least knows some means to protect herself," he continued on and muttered. Masamune looked at him for a moment and nodded," Yes, though I don't think we should expect her to help us with our battles unless she asks to help. I rather not have an innocent woman bloody her hands," Masamune voiced his concern for her sanity. Nobunaga thought for a moment as he wrapped the bow back up. "I agree with you Masamune, she seems to be a young woman that has never seen true violence. This bow is well taken care of, as if it's her greatest treasure. However, it shows no sign of being used as the bows here are. I will not ask her to fight unless she wishes to," he announced to the generals agreeing with Masamune. He then looked to Masamune," Howver, since you were the one to rush off with her, you will be charged with her care. You are to watch her at all times and make certain she doesn't get into any trouble," he told Masamune with a smirk. With a sideways glance and a sigh Masamune nodded in understanding with a muttered "yes, m'Lord." They had then been dismissed, and Masamune had grabbed Luciel's things and taken it with him as he went to check on her. To his surprise, Hideyoshi was following him. He let out an irritated sound," Hideyoshi, why are you following me?" he asked with an exasperated sigh. Hideyoshi caught up with him and stopped him for a moment," I wanted to tell you this. Don't you dare get close to her and break her heart or something along those lines. I doubt she understands how you play," he warned him with a serious tone. Masamune glared at him," What I do, is my business. She is under my charge to see to her care, so she is not your concern," he snapped at him and then turned and stormed off leaving Hideyoshi standing there watching him.

#otome #fanfiction #ikemen sengoku

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