#it's just such an elegant but wistful image in my mind

[fayes-fics]

Moments: James' Societal Debut

Moments masterpost

Pairings: Benedict Bridgerton x fem!reader (background), James Darby x OC (beginnings)

Summary: Viscount James Darby is twenty-two years old and entering society for the first time. The problem is, does he really want a wife?

Warnings: none... just fluff

Word Count: 1.0k

Author’s Note: When Moments Epilogue 1 refuses to be finished, my mind moves elsewhere in the Moments-verse. This idea wouldn't leave my head after a few sentences of chat with the wonderful @chaoticcalzoneranchsports. So here, enjoy a little sneak peak into the future of Viscount James Darby. Also, fear not, this spoils nothing of upcoming Epilogues 1 or 2. <3

Viscount James Darby sets tongues wagging as soon as he lands on the London social scene. It’s the spring of 1836, and a twenty-two-year-old James enters the annual Sotherby Ball, heads almost snapping.

Tall, handsome, intelligent and, most importantly to many mamas, titled and extremely rich—he instantly draws a crowd. The season's most eligible bachelor, indeed.

Some older members of the Ton can also be seen whispering behind their hands. Gossip-mongers speculate how the son of the late John Darby can look so very much the spitting image of his step-father, Mr Benedict Bridgerton. Still, in the cutthroat marriage mart, there will always be rumours swirling about the most eligible men, often started by the parents of their rivals. 

“Mother, must we do this?” James grumbles, eyes pinging around the room, assessing everyone with trepidation.

“Yes darling, we must. You have to join society at some point; it might as well be now,” you respond, politely nodding at passing acquaintances.

“Father, you didn’t have to partake in this farce, did you?” He looks over your head at Benedict, standing at the same height.

“No, son, I did not,” he admits, “I met your wonderful mother here at a party actually. A very fun artistic party,” he looks wistful in his recollection, smoothing a hand over his slightly greying temple.

“Well, why can’t I do that? That sounds a darn sight more entertaining than whatever this is,” James opines with disdain.

“Because, James, he was untitled,” you sigh. “As Viscount, sadly, you must be more… particular… in your choice of wife.”

“But he met you, and you are the very picture of grace and elegance,” James fawns.

“Son, attempted flattery will not get you out of this. Still, that charm will take you far,” you concede, picking an imagined piece of lint from his lapel.

He pulls an exasperated face that makes you laugh.

“Now go,” you shoo him, “dance, enjoy, and meet some people. I’m not asking you to get married tomorrow, not even this year. Just, see who is out there.” 

He sighs heavily but acquiesces to your request out of love more than duty.

——

For James, the crux of the problem is not the marriage mart as a ritual; it’s who it involves. Try as he might, given the expectations for a titled man to continue his lineage, James Darby cannot picture himself settling down and having a traditional family. He suspects his father already knows, his mother perhaps less so.

James glances back to see them whispering, arms entwined, heads together, as if in the first flush of love rather than approaching their seventeenth wedding anniversary. Part of him longs to find such a connection for himself, but a larger portion of him suspects he won’t. At least not in a way that society deems acceptable or continues the Darby name.

He takes a deep breath and allows the approach of various mamas, signing dance cards and feigning interest in the various young ladies thrust in front of him.

It’s when he joins the dancefloor for his very first dance that he knows he is in trouble. He catches the glance of the person standing next to him, and time freezes. Gentle hazel eyes and almost cherubic curls frame quite the most beautiful face he has ever seen. He barely notices the girl opposite him, the one he is supposed to be dancing with, even as the music starts.

“My lord?” The girl questions, and James has to physically shake his head to bring himself out of the reverie.

“My apologies Miss,” he rumbles, “this is my first dance, and I fear I am already rusty.” He turns on the smile he sees his father use and watches as the girl almost physically melts, her eyes dilating, her breath quickening. How easy it is to charm a young lady, he thinks to himself, almost disappointed in the lack of challenge.

There is a laugh to his right. “I can’t believe that actually worked,” the beauty opines, voice laced with amusement.

Before James can retort, the dance takes them in different directions. But still, he watches out of the corner of his eye. Occasionally their gazes meet, and he feels something akin to a fire in his belly. The girl he is dancing with barely registers in his regard.

As the music ends, he excuses himself and follows the retreating figure of the enigma who only spoke a handful of words to him.

He finds himself on a torch-lit terrace with a slight breeze in the air.

“I suspect this is not your scene. Would that be accurate?” A cool voice catches him, holding out a cigarette case in a gloved hand.

James smiles. “That would certainly not be inaccurate,” he replies, taking the offer and leaning in to catch a light, his breath catching as he does.

“Hmm, very much the same, Viscount Darby.” 

“How do you know who I am?” James queries, giving a sideways glance to his new companion as he exhales a cloud of smoke, the tobacco calming his nerves.

“Your reputation precedes you, my lord,” the smooth voice teases.

“Well then, I should have your name; 'tis only fair,” James opines, surprised at the low, almost flirtatious register his voice takes.

The pretty face morphs into a smirk. “Granville,” comes the reply, “David Granville.”

“Well, it is most definitely a pleasure to meet you. And call me James.”

“Likewise, James, likewise.” There is a pause as David looks up at the stars, “Tell me, do you paint?”

James’ heart races. “I most certainly do,” he responds, trying to disguise just how breathy he feels.

“Mmm, same. I do believe this could be the start of a beautiful… friendship,” David replies, his hazel eyes dancing.

And right at that moment, James knows his life will never be the same again.

Author’s Note: David Granville is Sir Henry Granville’s nephew :-)

Benedict taglist: @makaylan @foreverlonginguniverse @iboopedyournose @wysteria-clad @colettebronte @aintnuthinbutahounddog @severewobblerlightdragon @margofiore @writergirl-2001 @heeyyyou @enichole445 @enchantedbytomandhenry @ambitionspassionscoffee @chaoticcalzoneranchsports @nikaprincessofkattegat

Moments only taglist: @queenofshinigamis @khaleesjj @starslibrary @magical-spit @honeylovemoon @justwant2read8421

#benedict bridgerton fanfiction #benedict bridgerton fluff #benedict bridgerton x reader #benedict bridgerton x female reader #benedict bridgerton x you #benedict bridgerton imagine #benedict bridgerton #bridgerton fanfiction #bridgerton imagine #bridgerton

[libidomechanica]

“Midas they cannot speak to her heare, when, seizd with the catch,”

A limerick sequence

                Midas they cannot speak to her heare, when, seiz’d with the catch, ere the true minded    early love. But when    your life. And, brib’d, unsought in the needs be got, in dream where these?

                Placed it would their own Posterity. Yet wist na what this Paws; till Viper-    like David or three-fold?    The argument vplifting of loue lay sweet and tymely fade.

                And I look together, the yeares art, must, wilt thou that! But Roger ties    his own, and they fainting    Oyle had been told her none that that will be by any chance.

                The silly rose-red wing! Bid me die, and graceth, into gold and been take    up a man no more then    giue learne spell. A godly Cause, weke, that shapeless of Albany.

                He asked without sense, I can no more augment to Depose. Th’ Egyptian    Rites invade. Take a    wretches a spouse and praising me, and absinthe art, and his Heir.

                But when I hear my sight, that may now my spright, his loved us. Placed it by    the Tongue. Or does nothing,    for, her head. Nor will be that, the rail along ago, ’ she sees!

                Daughter as I pleade in the rest again. It is all they are common those    lofty argument only.    Breath bloody armament. The year; and then lemons, and died.

                Ah well to the free: that being, but the queen was done, Salámán still with    coffee spoons; I know not    things are. As the winnow’d by boyling on the room is eel-black.

                ) Midas the rain is haunt of her Earth! But did never state, but that it at    all, would the moon’s more the    silver and tears. But hard the threshold of melting serve the Soul.

                Of such a dire Agent found no more besides. In dream’d, th’ event    of your more the underground    as twilight his Finger of the Prior, turn him that makes.

                That by your hands his God, and left me driues away. What tyranny is the    Forms of art at all    Eternity. What she doth with awful, could almost doth diuide great!

                Ever singing, each others, breakfast and from his Right of the rain or had    a stair into their loss    of the utterly, it might deem him with lullaby your leave.

                Here harts do crown’d with me mad to do, the lonely compare; sweet is the public    tis Duty; but an    ashen greyness. Of bird upon the Place, who earns the Latin?

                In her back. Seeing it they take a window hope of all was he Paus’d; then    shall were not think to fade.    And with reasonable malady, or the gaine, wherein appere.

                And Job, I must beat double hills her silence and leafy shaw, and the suns.    And all’s saved, their passion    shall I should cancel private life; yearning thin! Thoughts dim and grief.

                As girls were tedious image of sense of these cruel knife has been continue.    It would needs let it    like a dog, a little wings, up and blue, and so in happy!

                And winks behind Thee! And flowres doe at last to know just stopped nothing new:    that to his murder and    chaunge eeke ourselves this room I never pin. And the buried day.

                If to look on the narrow still with pins; roger so near the new. Dart of    all that’s good Barzillai    thou have, thoughts with tears a ladder! ’ The true beauty go withstand!

                Lit like common thou must show my spirit out of my decayse: and elegances    pere: attempt th’    effect, nor prating were at me moved me up a manners.

                If silent sees only what I meant. By morning thought up with Allegories    dart. Thou blind ideal    like one on the fire is youthfull Issue shall lift and make chaff.

                In thing new: that right ruine or ten. And of them fades, changefull Oake, whose lips,    so sweet is to this    inarticulate in sweet lady-flower with such substance draw?

                In Power, to be inclynd: to grope for his own best all would not but with    constantly? Then, Israel    hope, and Hell that eve on tiptoe, said, as the paint all transformed.

                I peeled bit of his you come and hacked fyne. And thou sprung his two season of    that his future Truths are    Negligent or rare life in her praise. The wide whispered their Tast.

                Trust thy long day, my stonishment: and so hushed with crimson drops he that woud    breath; that times, contracts his    past us Veil’d—but ev’ry woman, but hauing laughs, and a Wife.

                Thee from this change. Remembering so deep dost fly: if thou dost go, thro’ heavens    Annointed Joies, your silent    deepe through green leap, and make his passion could be enjoying.

                ’ Montgomery! There was bom old. It is at home. With girland cruell play, may laughed    whiles her eyes, I shunning    snow; for it, or small a progressed flowers. Look, what nothing elf.

                By silent contend; asham’d to be lost in his Curse untrue. An humbled    line: but lift vp to the    figures, would be any guilt thou brings the streets, the night I dream?

                By Weavers issue, as a Nun breathing else, and the topic die. Henceforth    him with Wine, to Physition    far within it, lest thy Will’ more. And threats did see, the sea.

                We get out of her if she requite unnaturally; but a wind double    hunger-pinch. With mystery.    But a Spark too late I find her, by a pool in the long.

                Gold out my knee desire, or shallowed you I never since those who    can paint the little moves    dart. You should have changes to heauens bliss. Which, the dwarf took pity.

                Like to wandered and energy: I’ll bury alive and tropic shade, natures    skill exceeds mohair.    But when the sores she sandy shore where taste, and vnkind, in my neck.

                When I cry she is old Instrument. Sleeping teares doe dart, whose for me    thing but you out. When it    rubs its bloody gore which, well, what if at length vnstayd like at all.

                Till at their own Worth, and produce, or was, by Writing, and sware delight. Knowledge    he came they die. Eating    her mouth of us, They must: puncture given th’Offending.

                Love took you fast next years. All things, fearing Eye to find out of dressing by    gladly your quest. A Father    this wealth breed; gainst your Arms accuse of light that make the gate.

                An’ the strings to keepe good bathe atmosphere are the fruit-tree fall sorts of    energy; you squeal at all    bleed. Shall I teach may not say that men mourn, my Countries rosbif.

                Out of the State, but I to her for easie of Apprehends no kill the Susan’s    could spin on you. Do    I now more missed, like birde feels so, althought of Business at home.

                The beggars raffle there, if ye gie a woman’s like Heaven’s only by    dismay, and the circled    till live, to read. But, I fear in Masque: so wild spares thro’ the skye.

                Second is part of it? The railway, in equal colour’d flame, she sang sweet    conspiring Crowd: for all    they conquered that is some fresh struck my brow; the public men shore!

                All, to follow. It’s … well, that I have her wishing, and being a pillow    stood, engirt with Allegories    pride disdeigneth to no end, till sit upon a dunce.

                Pity Natures good thin and unlearn the slaking up in long for the purpose.    This loue: in which I    should insistinguishing we weeping, Die, oh! Her eie lids close.

                Her sweetness of their own descent Moons and kissing too hard a hart, into    two sides the corner for    me prepared his Wrath expose? That oil’d and holt, cramming river!

                His Kings are. Decay we’re made her wrath to earth, too clothes the great Orion    slow, they cannot lyfe endure    on his Royal bloodletting snow; for the lowly complaine.

                Or who can painted a Saint Laurence, this sings, flew by her transmuted, we    had to seek; all handle    liuing fire and Self make Heirs for all the next valley, they’d have you.

                Well, all it highest but of her mammie’s wark, and she great a peach, to the    dooryards and trusting on    loves, but fie! But in vain— or choked black and another Lippo!

                ” A park with might such a calendar. What happy shore—come a path Melissa    Florian, I with    worke is but die, and set this the Laws. On flower to the close.

                At Gath and good-night? She’ll not like that simplicius asks of the spils that soueraigne    might reaps not it, as    o’er me to blooming from which the Rose, but few behold you say.

                By chance—sure o’ bliss. Of all paine, I think you say. Dost work, and drizling summon’d,    and man’s beck, but not    behind thump a league of straws and so nor was, I was a wart.

                May bring they set you. And thinner me and the think of the Storm grace I saw;    and after a room of    successors. And tread the air. Where she did Joyn, the best dismay.

                Has prove their doubtfully. Dulling stroke alone in Vain? We finds, but suddenly    thing. But being behind,    and Priests the wind; tis easy conduct nice, and the wonder.

                These Adam-wits tongue! Her brought of old from your tears. I maruaile of the    Sword, which have been the girl    and the crowned their Land, come to the strange! Himself in with the street.

                Hen, if we watch diviner Lust, his face rose, and specious Name to watch the    sighs behind. Never, quickens    Lovers, to thee long drive Homer’s and Helen, in our life.

                And are they steps proclaim’d him, as the cover … autumn robbed, by these a    constitutions, matchable    than alley’s end where remains of Kings are. I know ye: alas!

                That all, make his function spend, at wondrous thrush concerting to be done. While    thou noticed you I never    proud and in Gracefu’ air; ilk feature give away thee.

                How fair she-world, and final end, you of the bat. The world and looks my presence,    like what I knew all    your greater. Ne thieving not cry to embrew, that her advice.

                Oh, odious-moving blossoms, and the king puzzles morning glances; o    sceptred hart. Had turned towers    thinking about, and admir’d. Ah why hath Love fled away.

                For Ten to the generous eyes hath mo pence; their artillery at the    man! While he is frayle    eyes the firbloome, now! It is a womankind’s Eye its Pupil!

                Some brightnesses impure, with the river. Such wretch for they still in Chloe    wandered and runs over    king, in her that maks us mair enchanting from him thy Head.

                Or bid me deare loved Attribute. Reawakened, your cupped palms in her    ere he saves to represent    the Springs from his beare, is long with troubling slaves to kisse.

                But a shake still would there made a Queensbury to her abstaine, agayne I    wrote it wholly unexpecting    Fame, then the Time’s love is sorry. And sawdust restrayne.

                But now apace, I learned to stone, or rot upon thy Line! Is at her    in a work on Jerome    knocked and little, and proved us. But he wonderous emprize.

                May read infant, slain the stone, unmoved, cold, of her abstained, flaming in the    worlds rare perfect beauties    so filled, that much. Worth with their father’d’ as subject Impotence?

                Start to his Overthrow, and watching spark, sighs for Monarch’s End. Which, from him    that the fault! Who need noticed    before, were Jebusitick Crime. A fathoms, false delight.

                Because of our hours betraying him that Honour love me those life! Now with    louely fyre, base thing angels,    palms each my hair is compile giue leaue the Season is it?

                Than his grave sir, whom, shunned they could not conquer’d Hand, where the world has she is    free, but to perplex me    so little boy who spat& called lover, despised? No time. And rain.

                White vapours, that little Cupids dart. Made Drunk with its watery fair, ever    in a Pageant Show,    and left and pray. Who now I mean Descent of your golden keys.

                And close in ten, one part soft a lass, how euer thought to say: I am    Lazarus, come; come, why should    be. When thousand yet, as the soft floating David’s Government.

                And died. And now Will’s eye a miller with Pride; how sweet pleasing paragon,    and merrily roar out    one sacred ill, would haue the herself and sweet aspect bother.

                Of th’ impending Croud and not cry also although obviously    Love! Of the general onslaught.    So wet it shortly rain’d, th’ admire, ye be the Good.

                To make, the speak the Forms of mine, and plain pudding down in black? And worke for    me. I always for my    excellent, let reason is this world came first-born and I go.

                Well that alone notes and tymely clear raindrops in your Princes of straw-    fire flared and Evil. And    seven more and Turbulent of change they have lovely Davies.

                Still at hand now there came, the rivers with buckles of flowers for a spoile,    that tree, and runs fast    hold? And lullaby your glasse of hell, but his rude bones, two name.

                Her harts desires: then, tho his both the Pleiads, rising those lyfe that. She    shall do so fit words are    we seem Constrain’d the street’s hushed with Peoples Prayer, than to dust.

                Not things were it faded face amid thy part of God, and told your eye—tell    you him take a target    for you! Mated with her vnaware. And the Blest: his low transformed.

                And years works—paint a-praising Rebell be, a lip to his Throne? Tempt Gods-smiths    could not clap your golden    sands. When I clung to choose; and with open to their presence dew.

                To whom is the Mark, and acts just as some to grow! Calling; recall the world    is that father, now so    gay barbarians? Indeed! Who, moving me she won, all these?

                ’ Add to turned myself means. Now what construe well these Dregs into gold? I can’t    therefore that that name,—and    I, in those who wants to enter a dew on floats into you.

                Yet thou wert dead doing to his Train. Waves beheld the greedy season that    might I mighty senses    in a rabbits by the murmured Florian asked: Melchior?

                That not? Every turnes his face with fur into thee, when her own sweet is    through euery minute the    mirror, where so wonder an artichoke but never not fades!

                How fair Pretence of all woman’s house, the bier, while his planets on summon’d,    and service. When I heard,    shall commenced; Decide not lame, poor, nor have knows. I am shame.

                Or up the Iliad before her sex’s antidotes over the Flock.    Then, to Alienate than    Nectar or two—saint John there was, curse; but sure I hear me out.

                Why then them best for a wind and go work to assail this return. That come,    when, sick which he thrums his    Soul Disclaims theyr great god Pan, I hear, mistress or did I meet?

                His Master, painted—better are full of some Expensive Sins refrain, we    tooke Stella beare, on thy    black cable. A gentle dear pitying wine forelock take.

                The queens! Heard some to please; take any mention, having water. Somewhere Beauty    still rob the universe,    sound all bury alive and good-bye: no light, Stealing kisse!

                Whether poure: and sculk’d behind, and now passion curs’d with scorn to pot. In our    eyes doth display, they eat    a victorious intense eye could come forth a Servile Train.

                That follow you up the harts by thee clime? I never then more abuse such,    who turn in the mountain    among thro’ me lent. Where I proue, and country of feruent seas.

                Old England, and watch you shines. Well know how much easeful Death, or baser    kynd, each her mortal eyes    I the hour mother while we never returning round and live!

                Then would have known them all but he threatens all around the dreadfull temperature.    To enrich your    joy: love holds up his from wel tempest of a Democracy.

                Perhaps will my though in the old and fly in, of pelf, yet deep wit, when wilt    weep. Not so, when I inhale    but of the record that is so rich will take; she shore, remoue.

                And by a simplest Lute! Why, sir, both the Fantom of silk and what before    it from island under    within my heart know my spires and unco wae, to the Madness?

                —The little store. I honor and caught is still affirm’d, with which I vnto the    Ill, for Loyalty then    fall againe vnreaue. And sighing elf. Thy music and durst Depose.

                Thing, flies were stop this face? For if it were young fawne that. Our best acquainted,    then come and when on me,    an’ aft my heart’s part: as the shapings of the world, whether Voice.

                —Clean Hearts yearn after then should have larks of Grievances, my Love! Did I seeke    each other cry lord, without    a bit of Fasting on the sandy footstoole humbled.

                She took the publick Pillar, we are two hard again and I will teaching    in a rivers with pompous    roialty. And falls across the two resplendour face again.

                And happy had his fate of a part of despair. He music, they fainting    from the Height of nature’s    charm which, that locust blossomed and field where would like to confess.

                Are of my love, here in her possible. Woe, that Angels come a question,    the wight myself round the    coarse smut of their Gods, and from his true loue lyke a rainbow, trick.

                When they craving mans believing not say be sure he love but try yours for    it not. Were these a corner    your eies: whenas death’s until all old mill-horse, the closer?

                Known the roof. But mercy as in the dark dissolving hole, warm days by    emperor and the silent    be. Numerous gloue, in drouth, so I, mad with unquest of you!

                Huddle, as one increase, stock, Stone, or did I love is lost. Catch her late to    proue, ne feard with no one    hands we tore himself mighty king, the ships, and answer to love.

                Spread of the Latin more like the Bust and happy, it has not through the sky,    and full of a whole Hydra    more remaine, with fair to smoke occupation? On flower.

                Will forgot, would do deeds; lilies revived, and impulsive; I was course of    her reflections which they    did adorn’d, and maketh it and secure. Loved your mouthful morne.

                Of Julia, and eek my nature brought: Piffle! If Master, inspiration;    even you that with least    a piece of things are laid his native truth, under than The Wise.

#poetry #automatically generated text #Patrick Mooney #Markov chains #Markov chain length: 6 #150 texts #limerick sequence

[fwoopersongs]

殊途难归 - Diverging Paths

Lin Chen A free spirit unsullied by mortal cares, spurring his horse on in the wind. The talents under Heaven Langya gathers, welcoming all - the wealthy and influential. Sword in dancing in the wind, sleeve like clouds, a physician’s heart so pure; bearing another's wish to return to the battle front, wholeheartedly, he commits his support.

Gong Yu A modest attire heightens exquisite features; fingers gentle over the zither’s strings, strumming to thin air as the years pass, words still unspoken - a knot of yearning grows. A melody is played for that him over the river, where a subtle fragrance drifts, her eyes on that leaf-shaped boat, she repays a debt once owed.

Meng Zhi A loyal heart quelling enemy schemes, conspiring to press for an inquiry into the past. When that storm stirred the emperor’s family, he watched tides surge and rain pour. At Meiling where their bones were long buried, would a cup of wine relieve that sorrow? For years, he never thought there would ever come a time when they could meet again.

Consort Jing A whole courtyard filled with the scent of herbs in memory of old days; will they ever know? That year, the chaos left in the wake is still unresolved - debts and grudges remain; when they were brought to mind again, already, ten autumns had passed. How fortunate that the clouds have parted, the wait has ended, her time has come.

Mei Changsu Since Mei Lang came to Jiangzuo, he’s held sway over the wind, clearing the river's flow. Those brilliant strategies to expel enemies from he in robes of white, one still remembers... Known to all heroes under heaven; the wings of Chiyan have not been folded, kept away. When will the beacons of war rest, that we may read of those who remain or have passed.

Prince Jing Before tasting the bitter cold, one could be carefree, fame and fortune dispensable. Rise or fall, the empire’s fate is now my duty; you ask if I worry, if I sorrow? In my heart, I cannot let go; through the snow I search but daylight is late, it has not come. As we must part ways and there’s no forcing fate, may I offer this toast of unstrained wine?

Mu Nihuang Leaning out to pluck the plum blossoms of the courtyard, the plum blossoms look down, like a hundred thousand soldiers bowing in deference, stepping forth. Rise and fall reined in hand; fame is hollow, one’s name need not be left behind. In ink dark, for a thousand autumns and forevermore, naturally, it will live on.

Fei Liu This world, clear or muddied, black or white all distinct through the tenderness in his eyes, good and evil both yet to be understood, fighting skill, marvelous, unparalleled. Knowing little of the world, in that heart, there is innocence still; daring to take pride in loyalty, ardent and true, following behind in neither plot nor scheme.

All Ladies Time cannot be stayed; there’s no need to ask of fate to unfold as you will. Beauty fades, one may look back and let it slide through their fingers. The water from wind and rain has begun to dampen.

All Men Slip off glory and grandeur, lonely shadow with your drink on the return journey to the end, fighting for home, for kingdom; in the red of blood, loyalty left as an indelible mark.

Mei Changsu Upon returning home, how difficult it shall be to see another crisp Autumn day.

主 蔺晨—小玖州【南风】 逍遥于出尘无垢 策马生风流 天下才琅琊尽收 不拘名利手 飘渺剑舞云袖 悬壶心通透 承一愿重披甲 倾心相扶相守

主 【宫羽】—小玖州【以冬】 素衣荆钗映花容 锦瑟绕指柔 空弹流年倚旧楼 默然相思扣 一曲潇湘某某 闻暗香幽幽 目随一叶行舟 偿还江湖恩仇

副 蒙挚—迟溪【流浪的蛙蛙】 肝胆忠义安敌权 谋前尘回首 风云惊动帝胄窥潮涌 雨骤 梅岭埋骨旧 杯酒可解愁 昔年未曾料 故人他朝再聚首

副 【静妃】—青砚【樱九】 满庭药香都为叙旧，故人知否？ 那年尚未平息的乱流，恩仇。 再思及往事，已是十年秋。 有幸是守得云开时候，出岫。

主 梅长苏—祁言【卿雲】 自有梅郎于江左 尽断风清流 绝策逐敌白衣客 犹记筹与谋 遍识天下英雄 赤焰羽未收 江山烽火何休 览阅人间去留

主 靖王—祁言【佑旻】 未尝苦寒可无忧 名与利无否 天下兴亡可任责 谓我几多愁 意自难平于胸 踏雪遍迟昼 纵歧路命难求 可奉一杯浊酒

副 【霓凰】—青砚【鸦青】 探身折庭中梅花 梅花低眸 便��十万儿郎皆俯首，扶袖。 兴亡挽于手，浮名无需留。 浓墨中自有万古千秋，世不朽。

副 飞流—迟溪【庄严】 天下清浊黑白分透 眼中温柔 善恶未明武道奇绝难 敌手 不谙人间事 犹有稚心留 敢以诚赤傲 骨随身后非诡谋

女音合—祁言 岁月难留 无须将世事多求 红颜旧 可回首 并作一抔 风雨如初透

男音合—小玖州 褪去风华孤影 觥筹 归途终究 报以家国吴钩 赤血忠长留

结束 梅长苏—祁言【卿雲】 若归故里难洗清秋

#殊途难归 #琅琊榜 #once again another song translation with awkward phrasing and liberties taken #i really love how each verse paints its own character so vividly #lc's last line 承一愿重披甲 倾心相扶相守 is so very hard to express #i don't think i caught it well at all (but i tried!!!) #i adoreeeee gy's 默然相思扣 #it's just such an elegant but wistful image in my mind #consort jing's 满庭药香都为叙旧，故人知否？has me crying everytime T_T #and like i said on twitter the use of 出岫 is marvelously appropriate #for jy THERE'S A HIDDEN POEM 踏雪遍迟昼 which i'll write about if i got off my lazy ass #天下清浊黑白分透 眼中温柔 *cries all the way home*

[chromes-corner]

Sanctuary

Pure Vanilla/Reader

Notes: pure tooth-rotting fluff

Content Warnings: none

A/N: lmao I haven’t written in years and I suddenly pump this out in a couple days. Pure Vanilla my little meow meow <3

There’s a quiet corner of the Kingdom where few visit. It’s not because the place is a dreadful one, no, quite the opposite. It is a peaceful sanctuary of reflection; it is a place where cookies dare not disturb the tranquility of such a location. It was an unspoken law that the beauty of the garden mustn’t be disturbed, for it was feared that disrupting the harmony would bring bad fortune.

Or maybe this was all just a tale to keep the young ones from trampling the flowers.

Whatever the case, there is one cookie who would forgo the rumors, as he knows the truth. It is his garden, after all.

Er, well, there are actually two cookies who would venture to the garden.

The grass here is greener than any grass you’ve ever seen before. And the air, oh, the air, crisp and invigorating as it fills your lungs. Its taste is sweet on your tongue. A breeze flows lazily through the space and rustles the flora. It sounds like it’s whispering to you as it whirls through your hair, urging you to continue to the gazebo that stands poised in the middle of the plot.

He hasn’t noticed you yet. He is bent over a patch of white lilies with a watering can in one hand and his staff in the other. You can see his lips moving as he reaches to touch one of the flowers, but his voice is too soft for you to catch what he is saying. You stand still as stone, afraid to interrupt such a moment. The moment, however, passes as quickly as it happens, and Pure Vanilla glances up from his work and gives you the softest of smiles. He sets his can down next to the flowers and waves to you, calling your name. 

“Please, come have a seat with me,” he says, gesturing to the limestone steps of the gazebo.

You let out a breath you didn’t know you were holding and grin in return, making your way over to the other cookie. The landmark is adorned with a roof much like that of the hat that rests atop Pure Vanilla’s head. Its waffle halo casts shade onto the faded white steps. They are cold to the touch. The pillars hold intricately carved swirls that wind up to the archways, which are embellished by Pure Vanilla’s own cross-shaped insignia. Though not perfectly pristine, what with the vines snaking up the beams and the occasional imperfection in the stone, the structure is still elegant in a way only a structure constructed in Pure Vanilla’s image could be. 

Once seated on the steps, Pure Vanilla sets his staff down and looks out across the garden. When the wind once again makes its sluggish rounds, he closes his eyes and inhales deeply. He is still, holding his breath as though he is listening for something. You watch him again, this time studying how the corners of his lips pull slightly upward as a bird chirps somewhere in the distance. He exhales and looks down at his feet. 

You decide to break the silence. “What’s on your mind?”

Pure Vanilla chuckles and turns to you, eyes glittering. “I was simply reminiscing about another life.” This time the smile is sad. “There is much that I miss about it. It is hard to not become nostalgic while I am with my flowers. They remind me of what once was… of what I once had.” 

“What did you once have?” The words tumble out of your mouth before you can think about how they might make Pure Vanilla feel. You regret it immediately, afraid that you’ll upset him with questions about the past. 

Pure Vanilla pauses, then, to your surprise, beams widely. “Well, Hollyberry used to throw the best parties.” The wistfulness dissolves from his voice and he suddenly tumbles into joyous recollection of the memories.

“The halls of her castle were always so beautifully decorated. I remember the magenta banners that trimmed the walls, and how the sunlight filtered through the stained glass windows and made everything inside seem to glow. There was always a great feast with all the sweets and jellies you could possibly imagine. Hollyberry would stand and toast to a successful past, a bountiful present, and a bright future.”

“And then, after dinner,” Pure Vanilla looks back at you, excitement bubbling into his tone, “was the ball.”

“Ball? Like the dancing type?” you ask, leaning in. 

“Yes,” Pure Vanilla whispers, the whimsy of a younger self filling his features. “Cookies from every corner of Earthbread came to dance. Once everyone had time to mingle in the ballroom, the Royal Orchestra would begin to play. The instruments played in perfect unity. I still remember feeling the vibrations that traveled through the floor and losing myself in the composition.”

“Did you dance?”

Pure Vanilla chuckles again. His laugh is so genuine, so happy. It was, as his name implied, pure. Such a laugh could be considered an orchestra itself. 

“Of course I danced,” he says, “I still have some skill with it, too. Would you like me to show you?”

Were you less dignified, your jaw would’ve hit the floor. Instead, taken completely aback by the proposition, all you could do was dumbly nod.

Pure Vanilla stands and holds his hand out to you, slightly bowing as he does so. You take it and allow him to help lift you to your feet. When you are standing and steady, he does not take his hand back. Instead, he leads you up the steps of the gazebo. The interior is aged and imperfect. There are shoots of grass poking through the stone and the limestone pillars are stained with dirt. You don’t notice any of this, however. All you can see is him. 

As you stand in the center of the structure, Pure Vanilla’s free hand finds its way to your waist. You stiffen at first, not expecting the sudden contact, but the surprise subsides when you rest your free hand on his shoulder. 

“Erm,” you fidget, “like this?”

“Perfect. Are you ready?”

You can only nervously smile in response. 

The next thing you know, your feet are moving but your mind is not. Back, to the right, forward, left, then back again. You follow the linear square pattern, your novice stumbles pulled and pushed along by Pure Vanilla’s veteran waltz. He’s going slowly, however, ever carefully noting your foot placement as to not trip over your inexperience. In fact, you’re so occupied with worrying over your movements that you haven’t been able to tear your focus away from the ground on which you tread.

When you finally find your rhythm and are able to look somewhat confidently at your dancing partner, your face immediately flushes. His face is very close to yours. Closer than you realized. You can smell the vanilla that is practically emanating from his dough. And he’s looking at you. He’s looking at you like you’re the only other cookie in the world. When you meet those soft yet intense eyes, a smile unfurls on his face like the petals on a flower in bloom. The lilies outside seem to whisper sweetly around you as the breeze returns to brush against them.

Pure Vanilla begins to hum.

He hums softly, delicately, as though the dulcet tones that vibrate in his throat may disappear if he is not careful with them. It’s a low melody that some might consider melancholy, but to you, it is a mellow current to which you dance. The gap between your bodies closes and the dancing wanes into a simple back and forth sway. Pure Vanilla continues to hum, and the garden continues to listen. 

You stay that way for a long time.

#cookie run x reader #cookie run #cookie run kingdom #pure vanilla cookie #pure vanilla cookie x reader

[bookwormsid1015]

BNHA: This Time Around

[A Semi-CloudNight Oneshot]

“Aaahhh! It feels so good to unwind like this,” Fukukado Emi, best known as the Laughing Hero: Ms. Joke, laughs in relief as she leans forward against the bar countertop, a mug of whiskey in hand. She’s dressed in her civilian outfit, which consists of high waist blue skinny jeans and a light yellow crop top tee shirt with a bold white stripe stretching across her chest. Her mint green hair is held back in a low ponytail, and black slip-on sneakers adorn her feet; her outfit accented by  a black choker around her neck and three beaded bracelets coating her right wrist. 

Joining her at their favorite bar is Tatsuma Ryuko (Ryukyu), Takeyama Yuu (Mt. Lady), and Kayama Nemuri (Midnight). Nemuri’s rosy red lips tilt upwards into a sly smile, and she raises her glass of red wine to her lips. Unlike Fukukado, Nemuri is dressed to impress, with her beautiful dark blue dress fading to a vibrant pink as it travels down towards the helm of her dress, perfectly matching her light complexion. Black three inch heels adorn her feet, and her deep indigo hair is held over her head in a messy bun, staked into place by a black pin that distinctly resembles a fox tail. 

Nemuri pushes up her crimson red glasses, still smiling. “Me too,” she agrees happily. “My agency has been so busy lately with all the League of Villain madness. It feels great to just be in the moment every now and again.”

Sitting on Fukukado’s other side, directly across from Nemuri, Takeyama stares down at her small glass of champagne, her eyebrows knitted together in exhaustion. The Giant Hero, like Ms. Joke, is dressed in casual clothing, wearing short blue jean shorts with a simple orange tank top and a single star-shaped golden necklace around her neck. Her long, wavy blond hair is tied back in a ponytail, which spirals down to her midback in beautiful platinum waves. 

“I knew starting my own agency was going to be hard, but I didn’t think it would be this hard,” Takeyama confesses, exhaustion lacing her tone. “Like, I can’t effectively take down any villains because my size destroys so much property, and I hate that my fans only seem to like me because they want me to step on them! It’s so weird! People are weird and gross!” She drops her head onto the table and groans mutely into the polished wood. “And here I thought the big city would be different from home.”

Tatsuma places a gentle hand on Takeyama’s back and pats it reassuringly. Like Nemuri, Tatsuma is dressed for the occasion in a simple yet elegant violet dress with a chain of pearls around her neck and diamond earrings in her ear. It is no surprise Ryukyu would wear such beautiful jewelry, though given her status as a dragon, Nemuri wasn’t surprised.  “Don’t worry, Takeyama. We all start off rough, but guaranteed your agency will become amazing,” the Dragon Hero encourages the blond heroine gently, and Takeyama’s shoulders only slightly relax.

Fukukado taps her chin, her dark green eyes thoughtful. “Come to think of it, aren’t you and Kamui Woods, like, a thing now? I heard his agency is successful, maybe you can talk to him about it,” she says, and Takeyama reaches across the table with frantic shushing gestures.

“Don’t say that outloud! We want to keep our relationship private! The last thing we need is the media crawling up our asses about it,” she snarls at the Laughing Hero, and Fukukado raises her hands in surrender.

“Oops! My bad!” Fukukado yelps and frantically checks around her in case anyone was listening in. Nemuri and Tatsuma make eye contact from across the table and snicker to themselves.

“Kamui Woods is a very dependable man, though,” Tatsuma adds. “I’m proud of you.”

Takeyama buries her face in her hands. “Can’t we talk about anything else?” she whines.

Fukukado’s smile returns full force, and a shit-eating grin splits across her face. “But why though? Everyone loves hearing about a good romance!” She cups her hands to her cheeks and swoons giddily. “Like, just the other day, I ran into Eraserhead at a coffee shop! It was so amazing, like something out of a romance novel!” 

Nemuri’s cerulean eyes widen slightly. “Oh yeah, he told me about that. Didn’t he leave the second he saw you?” she asks.

Fukukado’s cheeks flush red, and she chuckles awkwardly. “Oh, yeah, he did. Something about not wanting to deal with my energy or whatever. But that just makes it so much more exciting! I mean, look at him, all dark and mysterious and broody~!”

“Not to mention a total hobo who forgets to shower half the time,” Nemuri adds. The other heroines at the table chuckle.

“AND he’s the only one who I haven’t gotten to laugh yet!” Fukukado goes on, ignoring Nemuri’s remark. “One of these days, I’ll get him to laugh! If not, at least smile! Yeah, that would be amazing.”

“Why not use your Quirk?” Tatsuma asks.

Fukukado shakes her head adamantly. “He erases Quirks, remember? Besides, I don’t just wanna make him laugh! I want to really make him laugh, you know? Something authentic. Using my Quirk would just be dishonest and mean.”

Nemuri shrugs her shoulders, though a part of her is secretly relieved. She’s known Eraserhead since high school, and knowing him, the main reason he wouldn’t want to try dating Fukukado would be because he doesn’t want to be influenced by her Quirk. Then again, this is Eraserhead they’re talking about. After what happened in high school, he probably wouldn’t give her a chance either way. He has trouble enough making friends, let alone dating. The cruel reality of hero work scarred him, and the mere thought of it hurts her heart. Fear guides him, and Nemuri desperately wishes she could do something to help.

“What about you, Midnight?” Nemuri perks up, and finds the eyes of the other heroines glued on her. Fukukado leans forward eagerly, her dark green eyes sparkling like diamonds. “Do you have anyone you’re with right now? With your gorgeous looks and bedazzling personality, I’ll bet yes!”

Tatsuma casts Fukukado a significant look. “Ms. Joke, your bi is showing,” she comments, startling a laugh out of Takeyama.

Nemuri glances down at her wine glass and slowly sways it around in her grasp, watching the dark red liquid roll within its transparent chamber. Her smile becomes wistful. “I’ve had flings, but serious relationships? Nope. I haven’t had any in years. Probably not since high school,” she replies honestly.

Takeyama lifts her head, blinking at the R-Rated Hero in surprise. “What? There’s no way. Your entire aesthetic is about intimacy! Especially the sexy kind,” she gapes, and Nemuri chuckles at her reaction.

“It’s true. I haven’t had a proper boyfriend since my third year in high school, and to be honest…” Nemuri’s smile becomes bitter, and she chuckles in spite of her hypocrisy. “I don’t think I’ll ever date again. Hurts too much.”

Fukukado grimaces slightly. “Oof, was he really that bad?” she asks, and Nemuri immediately shakes her head.

“No, no. In fact, he was amazing. He was the sweetest, funniest, most loyal person I’d ever met. He cared about everyone unconditionally, and he would always go out of his way to help people. Hell, this one time, he found a kitten stuck in the rain and brought it with him to school,” she reminisces, smiling at the memory of him. Even now she can clearly see his broad, glowing smile, and the image sparks an old pain in her heart. “He was my everything. Even though we wanted different things out of life-- with him wanting to start an agency with his other friends, and me wanting to start the Midnight Agency-- we still promised we’d be together. That we'd make it work.”

Fukukado’s brows are drawing together in concern, now, and acid rises in Nemuri’s chest at the realization in her eyes. “Wait, you’re talking about him in the past tense,” she says. “What… happened?”

Nemuri’s smile falls completely, and she utters a deep sigh. “The worst,” she responds. “About fifteen years ago, we were alerted to a villain attack in Tasomiya Ward, a giant monster with the ability to stockpile power.” Tatsuma and Fukukado’s eyes widen nearly simultaneously, no doubt recognizing the event, but Takeyama blinks at Nemuri in confusion; she’s too new to the career to know. 

Her voice shudders, but still, Nemuri goes on, “All of us were there. Me, Eraserhead, Present Mic, and… him. We did everything in our power to stop the monster, but it was too big. We couldn’t do anything. I was evacuating everyone out of the area while he, Present Mic, and Eraserhead went to go stop the villain. Civilians got hurt; there’s no way to protect everyone. But he…”

The image washes over her, stealing away all her breath in an instant. She can smell the salty rain clouds, she can feel the slick pavement beneath her boots, the uncomfortable way debris clings to her sweaty skin. Above all else, she remembers rounding the corner just in time to see a cloud explode to life over a class of kindergarteners and their teacher, leaving them protected but him exposed. Their eyes made contact, and before Nemuri could do anything, before she could call out his name or take a step forward, a giant chunk of debris was upon him, and she was helpless to watch it swallow him whole.

The scene barely lasted for more than a few seconds, but she can still see it. The sickening crunch resonating through the air as his skull cracks open, the violent spray of blood from his head… She suddenly wants to throw up her wine and crumble into a ball. Old insecurities she thought she’d abandoned were suddenly creeping up the back of her mind, whispering terribly in her ears.

“Your quirk is useless. It couldn’t protect anyone, especially not your loved ones.”

“It’s because you’re so useless he’s dead.”

“Why are you even a hero?”

“Midnight?”

Nemuri snaps out of the memory and finds the other heroines looking at her in worry. She quickly realizes she’d dropped her wine glass to cover her face, and while thankfully the glass didn’t break, the wine was splattered all over the table top. It looks exactly like his blood.

“Midnight,” Tatsuma reaches out to her and gently takes her hands, leading them away from her face and gripping them tightly. Nemuri clings onto the contact, desperately wishing her hands were someone else’s. “Are you okay? Do you need a moment?”

Nemuri shakes her head slowly and slips her hands out of Tatsuma’s reach. She hates it when people look at her with those worried eyes. “It affected all of us,” Nemuri goes on. “Obviously, it hurt me. I lost my boyfriend and the guy I wanted to… but Present Mic and Eraserhead lost their best friend. Their brother.”

Fukukado shakes her head, tears springing to her eyes. “Oh, Midnight, I’m… I’m so sorry, I didn’t mean to open an old wound,” she whispers in horror, and Nemuri shakes her head again, this time with more resolve.

“It’s fine, really. It gave me a horrible wake up call, that above all else, we are heroes. Whether we want to acknowledge it or not. Every day we go out there and put our lives on the line. We could live, we could die, but what matters most is protecting others.” She glances down at the wine spilled all over the table, and her own reflection stares back at her with wary acceptance. She sighs, long and tired. “Watching him die made me realize how easily life can be lost, how tragedy can strike in an instant. That’s why I want to embrace my youth for as long as I can, so I can live enough for both of us.” Her reflection’s lips quirk upward into a trying smile. “That way, when I die, when I can finally see him again, I can tell him about all my adventures with pride.”

Nemuri looks up and finds herself staring into the wet faces of the other heroes. Tatsuma, Fukukado, and Takeyama are all staring at their senior hero with wide, tearful eyes, and Nemuri likes to think in this moment, they felt more respect for the seasoned heroine.

Nemuri smiles back at them and wipes the tears from her eyes. “Remember that, you three,” she tells them. “Go forward knowing nothing-- not even love-- is certain, but don’t let it scare you. The world is scary, dangerous, and even cruel, but what’s most important is cherishing the people in our lives.” She raises her wine glass and what remains of the wine sloshes around in its glassy imprisonment. “To living.”

Fukukado, Tatsuma, and Takeyama look between themselves. One by one, they lift their drinks to the sky, each glass a different shape containing a different drink. “To living,” they echo, and tap their glasses together with Nemuri’s. The R-Rated Hero smiles truly, her heart swelling with pride.

Nemuri drives home alone that night.

Of course, the four heroines stayed at that bar for hours, laughing and drinking together once the shock of Nemuri’s lost-love bombshell faded away. As their senior, Nemuri only drank a few sips of her wine every now and again (although the gruesome memories made her want to get wasted out of her mind), and she allowed the other heroes to have their fun and get as wasted as they want. Takeyama and Fukukado were joking around, having a blast singing old pop culture songs together, occasionally getting Tatsuma to join in whenever the Dragon Hero got over her shyness.

Eventually, Nemuri dragged the three drunken heroines back into her car (thankful they all decided to take Nemuri’s car there and back), and she drove all the ladies home, making sure they had all their possessions with them before leaving. Once she dropped them all off at their houses and made small talk with any partners they had waiting for them, she decided to gather her wits and go home herself. Today was a long day, and she was surprised to find herself emotionally exhausted so soon.

The bar is a fifteen minute drive from her house, but as soon as she leaves her car and strides up the driveway, she pulls open the front door and steps inside her dark home. Despite it’s nice size, being a two story house with multiple bedrooms and bathrooms, only Nemuri lives in it, though she’s not completely alone.

“Meow!” Nemuri looks down, and her heart lifts slightly as her tabby orange cat comes bounding over to her, high in energy despite his age. Nemuri kneels down to collect him in her arms, and she cradles the cat like a baby.

“Hello, Sushi-baby,” she coos at him as she kicks the front door shut and locks it behind her. “How are you doing? Were you keeping the house safe from big bad strangers while I was gone?”

Sushi meows in response and nuzzles her bust.

The house is big and empty now, but one day, Nemuri hopes she’ll marry and settle down, maybe start a family all her own. It won’t be for a while, and honestly, Nemuri is scared to start dating out of fear of herself or her partner dying, but she decided a long time ago to live by her words so she bought the house regardless. She’s getting older now, and at thirty-two, she knows she doesn’t have much time left. At the very least, Oboro would want her to be happy, even if her happiness isn’t with him. She just hopes she can find someone accepting of her tastes and interests, like he did. 

Nemuri enters her living room and sits back in her recliner, pulling out her phone to amuse herself. Sushi immediately adjusts himself in her lap and kneads her legs with his paws, turning around in a circle before plopping down into a comfortable loaf. Nemuri scratches him behind the ears with a faint smile.

“We’ll be okay,” she says, more so to herself than to the cat.

Sushi’s lazy purring is her only response.

Nemuri leans back into her chair and sighs. Tomorrow will be a new day.

#Kayama Nemuri #Bnha Midnight #Ms. Joke #Ryukyu #Mt. Lady #My Hero Academia #Boku no Hero Academia #Bnha spoilers #Bnha manga spoilers #Shirakumo Oboro x Kayama Nemuri #CloudNight #My Writing #Bnha Vigilantes Spoilers #Bnha Vigilantes

[mggpleasedontlookhere]

a poor man’s life

Summary: Timothee’s nothing but an average man, that can offer nothing else but his love for a wealthy man’s daughter. But will that be enough?

word count: 1,496                                                                                     reading time aprox: 6 mins

masterlist

timothee’s pov

The lone lamp post combated with the moonlight that illuminated the single bench I sat on, as if they knew of the troubles that arose before me. If that wasn’t enough, the glare that flickered in between my fingers while I tousled with the silver ring humbled me of the implications of that earlier evening.

-

Silence engulfed the both of us on that terrace, the moonlight shining as an omen of, hopefully, good luck, while the sounds of Manhattan carriages and late night bar talk livened up the city. The view of central park directly below us balanced out the chaos of the night, and kept my mind off of the single ornament I hid in my coat pocket, that would determine the rest of my life. 

“Isn’t it beautiful out here, mon amoureuse?” I gestured to the twinkling lights that prohibited the natural stars to shine above. “What a view the city is at night”

“Yes Timmy, I might agree” She replied diplomatically, remembering her lessons of elegance and etiquette, just as her mother forced upon her. She casted her hands gently across the terrace railing, that was beautifully entangled in fairy lights and greenery that her maids had prepared the morning before dinner. She scanned at my appearance, noticing the little flares of my best suit I chose to wear today, embellished with gold tassels at my sleeves. “Your suit is very becoming on you, Timothee. You should dress like this more often” I nodded at her findings, pulling at my cuffs to straighten them out.

“You might care to be careful, you might dirty your ‘foreign italian silk’ Y/N” I teased, referring to how dangerously close her exaggerated dress was to touch the thorny vines. “I will never understand why you have to dress over the top with such common dinners as these” I fell witness to the full moon above, squinting my eyes to find hidden stars, while I scrutinized their unfamiliar way of life. 

“Well Timothee, you forget that I’m a politician’s daughter. ‘Image must always be upheld’ as my father says” She mocks with a deepened voice, she puffed her chest and flexed her invisible sleeves to impersonate the illustrious frame of her father’s position. “Plus, you’re my tutor Timmy, you wouldn’t understand the disputes I’m forced to handle” She sighed, crossing her arms together gracefully, tracing the embroidered lace that decorated her arms. 

“Oh yes, the hardships of being petted” I replied sarcastically, a hint of bitterness slipping through my tongue, as I reminisced on my own trying times of childhood. I shook my head in lament the second the words were spoken, and I faced the maiden with remorse and atonement for my actions. 

“Don’t mind it my boy, I understand of the labor you’d toil with as a child” She reached for the underside of my hand, bringing it to her chest for an amiable embrace. “I couldn’t imagine losing my mother so young, despite of the adversity she’d generously grant me” She sympathized, looking down to listen to the horses neigh and clatter about the streets.

I squeezed her hand in return, pulling her close to my chest as if to protect her from the cold and dark outside world, confining her to the secret paradise of our own. I tilted her chin up to mine, placing a chaste kiss to her forehead, eliciting a bashful smile on her lips. I continued to move to her cheeks with her silent encouragement, settling on her lips, but she suddenly refused, pushing me away lightly. 

“Timmy, someone might catch us” She warned, patting the pleats that were newly formed on her dress. I drew a step closer to her, enclosing that distance between us again, resting my hands on her hips. Her breath drew short with the sudden change, but slowed to the warmth and comfort that we both radiated with the presence of each other. 

“Why must we continue to hide, mon amoureuse?” I searched her estranged eyes for an answer, as I was beginning to grow tired of the challenges of hiding. “I love you, and hopefully, you love me as well. But Y/N, you must understand that it’s seldom of me to ask of you for anything, but to be able to wear our relationship proudly” I confessed, caressing the side of her half illuminated face, casting her into a baffled trance whilst tucking the stray hairs behind her ears. 

“Timothee, we’ve spoken about this, my father would never approve of our union” Sorrow spoke for her at the mention of her father’s approval, she placed her hand on top of mine, trailing her thumb between my fingers in a loving way, before removing it from her cheek.”I love you, more than I can ever do with any of the patrons my mother brings me to marry. You’ve made the definition of being a women evolve beyond our time, regardless of the constraints my mother has taught me of high society. I’m thankful for that and the love you’ve blessed me with in the meantime” She returned to her cold spot on the terrace, playing with the ties of her dress that maintained the shape of the dress. 

“My love, I’ve showed you the world through an array of books and the things I have been hired to teach you. But, I would love the honor to explore lands that are unfathomable in our books” I began, plucking the humble ring from my pocket and shielding it from her view. 

“I understand your intentions my boy, but it’s simply not agreeable of me- especially of my father to be with-” 

“To be with what? A man whose pockets are empty? Who won’t be able to buy you your expensive silks and puffed sleeves?” Y/N stood quiet, confirming the allegations that I had brought up. “Money doesn’t buy you happiness, you don’t have to-” 

“Yes I do Timmy! It’s my duty to fulfill as their daughter” She expressed, frustration taking over her as she wailed in the failure of her defiance. “I must marry well, not only for my family’s reputation, but a women can only do so much on economic predisposition” She laid her head low, walking towards me with a defeated silhouette, her eyes threatening to spill with tears as she rested her head in the crook of my neck. 

“Then..” I twiddled with ring between my fingers, pulling it out slowly in hesitation while concealing it in my palm. I grabbed her hand in mine, pulling it close to my lips with an admiring kiss, while I stared into the eyes of the women I hopped to bear my children one day. “Marry me Y/N. Marry me and I promise to devote my love to you and only you” Anxiety rose to my fingertips as I showed her the silver ring, the only evidence of my mother’s existence as I promised to give it to a women that held my heart dearly. 

Tears did fall at that moment, her eyes glistened in incomprehensible emotion as she brushed away at her face. I thought things were all well, until a harrowing sob broke through her somber lips. Worry took course through my body, igniting myself with panic while I wiped away at her wistful eyes. 

“Is it the ring? I-I know it isn’t what you’re used to but-” I fumbled, failing to reach for the handkerchief I kept in my pocket, when I heard her struggle through her words. 

“I- Timothee. I’m so sorry” She sobbed woefully, shaking her head tentatively. 

“What are you apologizing for my love? Did I scare you? What ghastly thing did I do to upset you, mon amoureuse?” 

She took a breath, calming herself enough to speak her truth. 

“My Timmy, my darling boy. My mother has set me to marry an ambassador from Europe in the coming year. We are to discuss the union at first light tomorrow”

-

At that instant, love as my mother taught me couldn’t conquer the selfish implications the world bestowed upon me. Love couldn’t conquer the poverty that had tainted my name, and made me lose credit within high society. Education became second to economy, the title of being a man the only form of salvation for me. 

My dear Y/N would go on to blend into the hierarchy, marrying a man whom she doesn’t love, but will soon learn to for the sake of her future. She will raise a little family, sending her offsprings to school, teaching them the same restraints and traditions her mother had laid upon her. She will succumb to the comfortable life, soon forgetting the lessons of our adventures together, with the only reminder of us when she lays next to her future husband and endure the coldness of her bedside. 

As night became day, I started to understand the truth. A poor man’s life will always prove to be better than a life without love. 

#timmy #lil timmy #Timothee #Timothee Chalamet #timmy chalamet #timothee chalamet imagine #tim #timothee chalamet imagines #timothee chalamet x reader #timothée chamalet #timothee x reader #timothee x you #timothee imagine #timothee icons #timothee chamalet #chalamet #timothée chalamet icons #timothée chalamet smut #timothee chalamet x you

[timeforelfnonsense]

His Hero

Criella x Wyll (ft. a little Dafni x Astarion) || M || Ao3 ||  Ko-fi ||  Let me write you a story? || Want to know what Dafni & Astarion got up to?

Criella looked absolutely radiant. Her long straight lilac hair hung loose and lovely down the long line of her back. Her spiraling, rosewood colored horns dressed in chains of silver and charms of luminous crystal. Her slender arms were free of their normal leather coverings revealing a tattoo of elegantly scrawled infernal that pulsed with arcane iridescence. 

Innovate 

A fitting descriptor.

As striking as she was it wasn’t her beauty alone that drew him to her. Rather it was the cocktail of boldness and brilliance she had exhibited in their short acquaintance. Her mind was sharp and quick to collaborate. In the heat of battle, her voice never wavered. He had watched in awe as she conjured roaring thunder and icy lighting. Weaving each spell together in a fearsome tempest. Raining down elegant destruction on Ragzlin’s perverse throne room. Ending the leader’s tyrannical grip on the coast with one precise strike of crackling electricity. 

“Enjoying your evening?” She asked, handing him a tankard of honeyed ale.

“There she is- the woman herself.” Let us raise a glass! Wyll chuckled, clicking the edge of his cup with her own goblet of red wine, “To freedom from tyranny! May we hew a path for the downtrodden to travel. To you a legend in the making! And of course to us. May our bond only grow stronger.” 

“Quite the toast.” She stated, casually bringing the silver goblet to her soft, quirked lips, “Are you coming on to me, Wyll?”

Wyll shivered at the feeling of the heart-shaped tip of her tail training up his spine. The curing white lines of her facial tattoos crinkling as she arched an expectant, manicured brow. 

“I hadn’t imagined myself so subtle?” He said, glancing up at her over the foam of his ale. A subtle grin curling across his lips, eyebrows ever so slightly raised, “Or to put it another way: yes.” Criella’s tail wrapped itself loosely around his waist a coy smile of her own working its way across her stunning features. Her silver eyes were nearly opalescent in the warm, gingery fire’s glow. Wyll pressed his lips to the slightly angled shell of her ear, speaking in a voice smooth as silk, “Your heart beats strong, friend. The Blade rarely seeks partnership.”

Criella’s hold on his midsection tightened as the warmth of his breath sent a shiver down her spine. The timbre of his voice felt like a hot beverage on a cool morning. Warming her from the tips of her fingers to the depths of her belly. It had been ages since she’d felt that sort of pull towards another being. Her heart dropped a bit as the memory of standing beside Zoria in a Neverwinter temple entered her mind. She had looked so beautiful, dressed in her gown of chiffon and net. The Ivory fabric standing in perfect contrast with her violet skin. 

Criella had been profoundly hurt when her best friend announced she was not only to be wed to her latest sweetheart but that she’d be leaving Waterdeep with her. It had felt like a betrayal. They had built something special together. Something so unique that Criella had sacrificed her own desires to pursue something deeper to preserve it. And Zoria was going to throw it all away. Yes, she had been mad but that all fell away when she saw the love Zoria had for her bride. She loved Zoria and loving her meant wanting to see her happy even if it was with someone else. The passage of time had softened the sting of losing her. It became easier and easier to write to her in the past few years. She even had begun to enjoy hearing about her wife and the sweet life they had made for themselves in Neverwinter.  

The experience had stung but it had taught her that hiding her feelings away was not necessarily the best course of action. Who could say if things would have worked out differently had she voiced her feelings? Regardless, it was not a mistake she’d be making twice. Wyll was a good man. She admired his tactical mind. His plan to take on the goblins had been clean and clever. He had fought for people whom he had no loyalties or connection to . Not because they had offered him gold or glory, but because they needed help. A fond smile played at her lips as she pictured Wyll with his tiefling charges, so gentle and patient. She’d practically melted on sight when she found him sparing amongst the children. 

Wyll was the sort of man she’d imagined into fairy stories as a brave king or gallant knight. An uncharacteristically wistful sight fell from her lips, causing her baby pink cheeks to grow a deep strawberry. Gods he was handsome! With a strong, noble countenance. Yet, there was a bit of ruggedness to his stubbled jaw that added a certain something to his charms. 

“Are you propositioning me, Blade?” She purred careful not to bump him with her horns as she placed her head on his broad shoulder. 

“If I were?” Wyll asked. 

“I would be incredibly flattered.” she assured, tilting her gaze up at him, “And happily accept.” 

“In that case, I reckon our union might continue to your bunk tonight.” Wyll beamed placing a feather-light kiss on her temple. A low chuckle rumbled in his chest as he added, “ Or I suppose we could just start out here like those two.” Wyll nudged her hip with his own, pointing a discreet finger towards their elven compatriots. 

“Now that is an idea!” Criella laughed. However, her amusement curdled as she watched Dafni’s hand travel ever closer to the front of Astarion’s breeches, “But, I think we’d best spare these poor people another...display.”

“You’re probably right.” He agreed, his hand reaching up to stroke the delicate line of her cheek, “But, I’d like to kiss you. Something to tide me over until the party winds down.” 

Criella lifted her head from his shoulder with an eager look. Wyll took her chin between his sword-calloused fingers, tilting her rosy face toward his lips. The moment their mouths brushed the world spun to a halt. She tasted of cherry wine and rosewater. The tip of her tongue sliding across the inner edge of his lip coaxing a soft gasp forward. Wyll wrapped one hand around her waist, his fingers gently pressing into her hip. The other laced through the waterfall of lavender hair, soft as satin as in his grasp. His heart thumped loudly in his own ears at the feeling of her warm palms sliding against his chest. A dull ache began behind his eye. A flash of bronze hair and moonlight skin tearing through his mind. 

Wyll stumbled back ending the heart-stopping embrace, “Pardon, just a bit woozy…”

“That’s alright. Do you still want to meet later?”

“Definitely.” Wyll nodded twirling a stray lock of hair around his index finger, “I’ll meet you at your bunk when you’re ready. I trust I won’t have to wait long.”

As soon as the party dwindled to its embers, Criella practically skipped back to her tent, a smile fixed on her face. As she pushed the heavy lavender canvas back she took a quick stock of her surroundings. She kept her quarters tidy enough but spick and span did not necessarily correlate with romantic. Perhaps she could light some candles? Criella’s lower lip caught in her sharp teeth. It wasn’t like her to feel like a giddy green lass! She was a woman of confidence and ambition. Her affections had always manifested as quite longings rather than whimsical, girlish fancies. Then again, she’d never been kissed in such a breathtaking manner before.

Criella brushed the tips of her index and middle fingers across the plush flesh of her lips shivering as she felt the ghost of Wyll’s astounding kiss. He tasted of ale and smelled of campfire and sweet earth. Criella had been a firm believer that first kisses were more often than not dreadfully awkward but he had proven her dead wrong. She could have even been coaxed to reconsider her stance on public displays of desire, were it not for the strange sharpness that pried them apart.

She felt a phantom throb behind her eyes. Who was that? She’d caught the glimpse of a face in Wyll’s mind as their thoughts slipped together. Bronze hair glowing in a fiery halo, flawless skin the color of the moonlight, her lips impossibly pink but the finer details of her appearance remained obscured by a fog of uncertainty. After a moment of concentration, she came to the conclusion that It didn’t matter who she was. Criella had never been the jealous sort and she had no intention of starting now. Wyll was a charming, attractive gentleman; she hadn’t deluded herself into thinking his affections had never belonged to another, nor did she mind that they had. What mattered was the here and now. And in the here and now Wyll wanted her. 

With that sorted, she shifted her focus to the matter at hand. She kicked off her boots before peeled away the soft leather of her leggings carefully folding and tucking them away. She loosened the laces of her green blouse allowing it to hand loose and casual from her narrow shoulders. With a stylish flick of her hand, she projected her mirror image. She shifted her weight to her right foot, her hip popping out slightly as her hand came to rest on its peak. 

“You are still glowing from battle. On my honor, you’ve never looked more beautiful.” Wyll’s warm voice filled the tent wrapping around her half-dressed body like a lover’s embrace. He approached her with slow, sure steps but his eyes flickered with a gentle want that set a fire between her thighs. 

Once more, Wyll pulled her close, their lips meeting in a deep sensual kiss. Criella’s palms pressed against his firm chest taking up a handful of his dark cotton shirt as she pulled him closer. His fingers found their way to her hair, his nails skimming lightly across her scalp. Criella cupped his cheek, thumb running along his scarred cheek. 

Wyll winced, pulling back from her kiss once more. Before she could ask what was wrong the needling pain behind her eye retired once more along with the mysterious woman. Her dazzling smile turned razor-sharp. Horns pushed their way through her ginger hair. Her creamy complexion shifting to a steely blue as two great, leather wings spreading out from her proud shoulders. 

A Cambion.

There was no mistaking it. This woman was Wyll’s patron, she was certain. Criella tried to hold her image in her mind, searching for any defining features or giveaways of her nature but Mizora’s wicked grin cut through her thoughts like a knife forcing her to look away. 

“Damnit. Must she ruin everything?” Wyll muttered bringing his palm to his stone eye to rub away the discomfort. “I’m sorry it's not supposed to be this way.”

“That was her, wasn’t it? Mizora.” 

Wyll’s shoulders slumped, hand still guarding his eye, “Yes. Wherever she’s gone she still haunts me. A ghost in all but name. Sometimes I swear I can smell her- sulfur and orchids. Stops my heart just to think of it. I thought I could forget Mizora. Just for one night. Gods, how wrong I was. “

Criella’s lips turned up into a soft smile as she pulled Wyll’s guardian palm from his face. Her voice was warm and sure as she spoke, “I understand Wyll, as well as I am able at least. Why don’t you spend the night beside me? No sex just sharing each other's company, hm?”

“I’d like that.”

Criella guided him down to her woolen bedroll by the arm. Wyll’s head came to read against her chest as she gently rubbed the tension from his strong, reliable shoulders. He let out a sigh as her nimble fingers worked at a perpetually tight spot near his collarbone. 

“I’d forgotten what it’s like to feel safe.” He confessed, warm whisky brown eyes meeting her’s. “I’m used to being the hero. Not so used to needing one.”

“It must be hard,” She mused in a musical tone, hands still working the stubborn muscle, Looking out for everyone else all the time. Devoting yourself to helping others. That’s a heavy burden for one man to carry. You are allowed to have a few moments for yourself. Besides, you’ll always be a hero to me, Wyll.”

“It means so much to hear those words from you.” He sighed, warping his hand gently around her wrist, I wish I could give you something more in return. My flesh at least. Something deeper were you to ask it. But only a free man can give himself fully. Until my pact is broken... I’m never free.”

“You will be rid of her one day. Sooner than you might think too.” She winked, tossing her loose hair with a flick of her tail, “You have my aid now after all! I’m somewhat of an expert on the Hells, Cania in particular, but I have a fair knowledge of the other eight as well. I’m no stranger to the politics and schemes of devils and there is nothing I can’t do once my mind is set to it. “

Wyll pressed his lips in a soft kiss to the sensitive skin on her inner wrist before pressing her palm to his steadily beating heart. “You are a blessing, Wit.” 

#elf writes #wyll #astarion #Criella Wit #dafni of gwynneth #bg3 oc

[giingers]

About Time (part one)

Request: Angsty protective tommy imagine!!!

Pairing: Tommy Shelby x reader 

I hope you like it! This is a two part one since it started to get a little long. 

The double doors of the betting shop were closed with a loud bang, and as Aunt Pol turned to face you her irritated actions were followed by an eye roll. The silence that followed was immediate- no longer could you hear the shouts of Tommy to John and the exasperated confrontation of betters. Ada sniggered a little from where she sat beside you at the table, a tea cup held in her elegant hands and her eyes peering at her Aunt from over its rim. 

“Sorry my dear” Aunt Pol began as she placed herself onto the chair she had frequented moments before she had gotten herself into an irritated flurry at her nephews loudness “start from the beginning, you were telling me about this chap of yours” 

“Well he’s not my chap” you blushed a little, running a hand through your hair. 

“Well, not yet” Ada nudged you in the arm softly, and gave you that flirty romantic look that made you think of the days when you and Ada would sit in her room and talk nonsense and giggle about boys from school and men you saw in the black and white pictures that used to hang outside the theatres. If only Ada knew how when you’d talk of boys you only ever wanted to gush about one boy in particular. Ada’s brother Tommy. 

You still harboured a crush on him, and over the years the school girl fantasies about him had turned into deep feelings, and now being in your twenties it seemed that you were full on in love with him. But alas, you knew Tommy thought of you as a friend, even a little sister perhaps and those feelings of yours would have to remain harboured. 

“How did you meet him?” Aunt Pol asked you and all thoughts of Tommy went to the back of your mind as you focused your attention on her. 

“Actually Ada introduced us, he’s a friend of Freddie” you tried not to notice how the sparkle in Aunt Pol’s eyes dimmed. You knew exactly what she’d say if Ada wasn’t there. Any friend of Freddie’s must be trouble. But she stayed tight lipped and held her tea cup firmly as she leaned her elbows on the table. 

“That’s nice, dear” Aunt Pol smiled at you but you could see her lips remained taut and that her grin wasn’t as wide as normal. Deep down, and unknown to you, she had always wanted you and Tommy to end up falling in love and having a myriad of children, but just like your own thoughts they had remained unspoken and hidden. Meddling into situations that not ought to be trifled with was something she tried to stand by, so she had never voiced her opinion to anyone. Tommy was a stubborn lad at the best of times, god knows he’d never admit his feelings for you (if he had any) to his Aunt. 

Like the devil himself that manifests from peoples thoughts, Tommy Shelby appeared through the double doors of the betting shop like an incarnate of a fallen angel. He had that rogue look that he always had, crystalline blue eyes scanning his surroundings and when they landed on you he gave you a nod, bringing a cigarette to his mouth and lighting it. Just like always, whenever you were graced with the presence of Tommy Shelby you became a shaking mess that resulted in you using fidgeting movements as a means to hide how nervous you’d suddenly become. 

You picked up your tea cup and stood up from the table, walking over and putting it in the sink just to do anything other than sit under the weight of his gaze. You could feel him shift closer to where you now stood as John walked into the now already crowded area, the aroma of tobacco and cologne that radiated from him making you sigh contently. Thankfully the din that entered from the open door John had walked through covered up your wistful noise. 

“Lord above, can we women not have a conversation in peace?” Aunt Pol said exasperatedly just as Arthur barged in the door clumsily. From where he stood beside you, plump lips wrapped around a cigarette, Tommy sniggered casually. 

“Come on Pol, what could you be talking about that’s so important?” he asked his aunt with a sly and playful grin, but it was Ada who spoke back to him and her words brought a round of silence to the room. 

“We were actually talking about y/n’s date tonight” 

Arthur who had been stirring a cup of tea stopped his actions with a dramatic clink of the spoon and John stopped lighting the cigarette that now hung limply from his mouth, his match burning away in his other hand as he held it in mid air. Each man had their eyes on you with the same incredulous look burning in them, and you folded your arms around your waist defensively. 

“Jesus Christ, is it that unbelievable that someone would want to take me out?” you huffed, trying not to focus on how Tommy stood over you with those blue eyes boring into your face. 

“Why haven’t we met this chap yet, eh?” Arthur stood up straighter, that tough stance taking over his body “any man that wants to take out one of our girls we need to meet them first” 

As endearing as it was that Arthur felt the need to treat you as if you were a sister, it was a little annoying that he still looked at you as if you were a child. You weren’t a child anymore. You were a woman, a woman who wasn’t going to sit around and live in a fantasy world where Tommy Shelby would one day propose his love. You were going on a date with someone who you hoped would turn out to be a respectable man, and you didn’t need a Shelby’s approval. 

“Who is it? Where’s he from? Does he work?” John seemed to barrage you with questions but before you could answer Ada brushed them off with a wave of her hand and a roll of her eyes. 

“Oh hush boys, leave our y/n be. It’s her business and no one else’s. She’s going out with a man and it is none of your concerns” she said, but you didn’t miss how her eyes flashed to Tommy’s, a look of warning in them. She stood then and it seemed the men had heeded her statement, both Arthur and John staying tight lipped but giving you looks that made you feel fidgety. Tommy who had remained mostly quiet throughout the exchange shifted his cigarette from one hand to the other every few seconds and kept leaning against the counter top and then standing up straight. It seemed he was almost as unnerved as you. 

“Alright I’m heading upstairs to find that dress I was telling you about” Ada told you, and you nodded from where you stood. 

“I’ll follow you up in a minute” you said, walking over to the table and clearing a plate that had hosted a scone you had eaten. As you brought it over to the small sink Tommy stood even closer to you, his eyes darting across your face. Over in the corner the two other men and Aunt Pol had slipped into a conversation about the days work, her dark eyes skipping over her nephews frames and to where you stood every few seconds. 

“So you’re heading out, eh?” he asked you, voice deep and rough and your eyes left the plate you were washing and went to his face. God must have made him in his own image, because you were certain there was no other explanation as to how he was so beautiful. The evening shadow that flitted in through the window set itself against his face while the last remnants of golden sun glinted off his blue eyes. He awaited your answer patiently as he stared back at you, but your mind was lost when he brought a calloused and rough hand to his mouth, the now stub of his cigarette being wedged between his plump lips. 

“Um…..yeah. Yeah, I’m heading out” you almost whispered, not trusting that your voice would shake like a leaf under the weight of his gaze. He took a longer drag this time and didn’t let the white cloud of smoke escape past his lips for nearly a minute. 

“With who?” he was sure he had not meant to ask the question so venomously but it came out sharp and cold. He watched as you threw down the cloth you had in your hands and stood up straighter, all romanticism blown from your eyes. 

“Did you not listen to your sister? It’s no one’s business” you tried to sound challenging but it came out breathless, your eyes darting to see if the other three in the room were listening. They looked to be immersed in their own conversation. 

“You think that I’d let Ada go out with a man before knowing about him first? To hell I would” Tommy threatened with his voice low “you’re no different” 

There it was. Like a punch to the gut, or a bullet to the chest. The devastating fact that Thomas Shelby categorised you with his own sister. You’re no different, he had said, and the words replayed in your head as you looked at him dumbly. That’s all you were to him, just another little sister to look after and protect. You’d been involved in their lives since you’d moved to Birmingham at seven and had always been Ada’s friend, but perhaps deep down you wanted him to look at you differently. To one day realise he loved you back. 

But now the revelation had materialised itself in the tiny kitchen and you could feel the air get denser. Foolish little girl, you wanted to tell yourself, of course he’d never love you back. 

“His name is William, and he’s a friend of Freddie’s. Ada introduced us. He’s taking me to dinner and then for a drink at The Garrison” you gritted through your teeth with your eyes narrowed on his “you happy?” 

“Fucking ecstatic” he seethed back, his shoulders straight and his eyes boring into yours. 

You were more annoyed at the fact that had just arose and not at him, but your emotions couldn’t categorise themselves currently so you were left throwing your irritation his way instead of harbouring it. You were embarrassed at yourself that you had ever held that secret infatuation that maybe, just maybe he loved you too. 

Without another word, you turned away from him and walked up the stairs, completely oblivious to the fact that Tommy never took his eyes of you. When you were gone, your footsteps upstairs getting fainter, he turned to face his brothers. 

“Eh, boys” he called, watching as they turned their attention to him “fancy a drink at the Garrison later?”

“I thought you said we’d business to take care of later?” Arthur answered confusedly, his mind whirring with Tommy’s earlier statement of meeting with a few new coppers on the payroll later that evening. John nodded in agreement with Arthur’s question but Tommy just gave him a pointed look, your face coming to the forefront of his mind where it normally resided. 

“The Garrison. Later. Drinks” he sarcastically simplified for his brothers, taking the last drag of his cigarette and snatching up his overcoat from where it had hung on the back of a chair “meet me there at eight” 

And then in a flurry of black, just like a shadow, he was gone. 

“What’s wrong with him?” Arthur questioned with an annoyed look. He could never keep up with his brother’s ever changing mood. 

“I think our Tommy just realised he’s in love” Aunt Pol answered with a smirk, her dark eyes fixated on the place her nephew had been moments before. Perhaps, she thought, all those dreams she’d had of you and Tommy marrying had not been fickle after all. 

Tag list: @peachyblinderss @crazyonesarethebest

#tommy shelby x reader #tommy shelby fanfic #tommy shelby imagine #peaky blinders fic

[incorrectprodigalsonquotes]

A Festival of Brightness

Finally getting to one of the fic requests I was sent. Thank you to @jimhalpertcanbuymelove for sending this request in and letting me turn it into a Brightwell fic.

And an extra special thank you to @s4karuna for co-writing this with me, it was so much fun and we hope you enjoy what we wrote!

Chapter 1

Friday night dinners. 

Ever since Malcolm returned to New York, every Friday night was dedicated to dinner with Ainsley and his mother. Jessica had insisted on it. 

I gave birth to you both, she had said airily, though it was easy for Malcolm to hear the steel of a Milton matriarch in her voice. His FBI training was still no match for someone who could engage in psychological warfare with high society, metaphorically ripping off pearl necklaces with elegant words while on her third glass of gin. 

Twenty hours of labour for Malcolm’s big head alone. Don’t I at least deserve a little of your time?

Malcolm and Ainsley weren’t exactly fans of their mandatory dinners, but neither of them could deny their mother this one thing. Besides, it wasn’t like either of them had anything better to do on a Friday night. Ainsley would either binge watch The Great British Bakeoff and bemoan her nonexistent culinary skills or stay up all night editing news footage with unfashionable raccoon eyes. And Malcolm? Frankly, it was best left unanswered. 

But what started out as little more than an obligation to their mother gradually became tolerable, even enjoyable on occasion. Malcolm suspected that shared trauma might have played a hand in it, but he wasn’t going to go there. Possibly ever. 

At the moment, Jessica was still chatting about the menu she had planned for their annual family Christmas dinner, waving around a forkful of seared scallops as the siblings covertly exchanged amused looks. Neither of them were paying much attention, used to their mother’s little complaints and anecdotes.

“And I would love to set up more than our usual three place setting for our little family dinners.” Jessica suddenly added, her manner nonchalant. “Maybe even set up a high chair or two by this time next year.”

Malcolm choked on his vichyssoise when he noticed his mother’s pointed look. That glint in her eyes was something he was far too familiar with. Jessica Whitly was out to get something by hook or by crook.

“W-what?” He sputtered, looking like a deer caught in the headlights. “Please tell me you don’t mean--”

“I’m just saying, I would like to hear the pitter-patter of little feet running around again.”

“Mother!” Malcolm shot a glare at Ainsley, who wasn’t even trying to hold back her laughter. “At least wait until I’m not at risk of choking on cold soup.”

“Well, I’m not getting any younger, Malcolm.” Jessica made a half wistful face. “I was honestly expecting to have grandchildren by now.”

“Mother,” Malcolm grimaced painfully, his voice still strained and sounding a little too much like a whiny five year old, “Aren’t I a little young to be thinking about that? I have all the time in the world to start a family if I wanted to.”

Jessica raised an elegant eyebrow, and Malcolm instantly knew it was futile. Once Jessica Whitly got going, there was hardly anything that could stop her from steamrolling everything in her path. It was better to wait her out. 

“Well, it’s either you or Ainsley and your sister is much too wrapped up in her career for that.” 

Ainsley preened smugly, sticking her tongue out at Malcolm the second Jessica looked away. Malcolm just raised an eyebrow at both of them with an exasperated huff, looking a little worn out. Jessica visibly softened, placing a loving hand on her son’s. 

“Listen, I know your prospects at love have been…" She twisted her mouth as she searched for the right word, "Unlucky in the past. But as your mother, I just want to see you happy. I know many potential ladies who I’m sure would love to be acquainted with you.”

Malcolm gave a wry grin, shaking his head as he took his hand back. “No offense, but after the last time you tried to set me up, I’m better off trying to find a date on my own.”

He missed the flash of satisfaction on Jessica’s face. 

“So do that.”

Malcolm did a double take, glass blue eyes wide. 

“I’m sorry, what?”

“Find a date.” Jessica repeated as she took a quick bite of scallop, her lipstick still pristine. “You already know I’m planning a gala for New Year’s Eve and not only would I like you to attend this year, but I want you to bring a plus one.”

“But Mother--”

“No buts, young man.” 

Her voice brokered no room for discussion. Neither Malcolm or Ainsley could win against her when she took that tone. 

“If you want to prove to me that you can find a date on your own, then go find one. Just so long as she’s a respectable woman,” she added in afterthought. 

Malcolm sighed heavily. He could already feel a migraine building up. 

“Ains, can you--”

“Sorry, Malcolm.” 

Ainsley was enjoying this a little too much as she looked back and forth between her mother and brother as if she was watching a tennis match, grinning like a Chesire cat. All that was missing from this image was an extra large bowl of her favourite truffle popcorn. 

“But it’s Mom’s party,” she said in mock disappointment. “If she says you should find a date for New Year’s, find a date for New Year’s.”

“Real helpful.”

Malcolm narrowed his eyes at his sister, unamused at how entertained she was. She’d probably be filming the whole thing if she could, but at least he didn’t see her phone anywhere near her. 

He really didn’t need a repeat of Ainsley showing the video of him trying to serenade Sunshine while high on painkillers to Dani. Or anyone else on the team for that matter.

(~**~)                  (~**~)                  (~**~)                  (~**~)

Malcolm grew listless as he sat on the edge of the table, untouched Earl Grey tea in hand as he kept dunking the teabag in over and over again. He should’ve been in front of the board completing his profile of the killer, but good old executive dysfunction was hitting him hard this time. He kept trying to focus on the case at hand, but he couldn’t stop thinking about how he was going to find a date for New Year’s Eve. 

“Bright?” 

Malcolm snapped his head up, suddenly dropping the tea bag string he had been playing with. Dani was cradling her own mug of Earl Grey, looking at him with bemusement as she sat down next to him. 

“You okay? You’ve been pretty quiet. It’s a bit concerning considering it’s you.”

Not for the first time, Malcolm thought that Dani had great potential to be a profiler herself. It was remarkable how observant she was.

“It’s just…" he trailed off with a wry grin, "Sad little rich boy problems, mostly. It’s nothing.”

Dani wrinkled her nose in thought. 

“So you’re having mommy issues?”

Malcolm nearly dropped his mug at her blunt words, but when he saw a beaming grin spread across her face with a rare spark of mischief in her eyes, he couldn’t help but let out a huff of laughter in response.

“Yeah, I guess you could say that. My mother is just…” He ran a hand down his face with a groan, “meddling in my life yet again. It can be a little grating, quite frankly.”

Dani bit her lip as her thoughts turned to her parents. “I can understand that.”

Malcolm looked at her in surprise. “You can?”

For Dani to talk about herself was rare enough as it is. He unconsciously inched to the edge of his seat in anticipation as she nodded after a sip of tea.

“Yeah, parents can be overbearing at times. And this is coming from someone who grew up with two sets of Jewish parents from different continents." 

Malcolm couldn't help but chuckle as he tried to imagine what kind of people raised someone as perceptive and tenacious as Dani.

"At least in my case, I know that it’s because they have my best interests at heart.” Her face softened with nostalgia as she shot Malcolm a smile. “I’ve only met your mother a few times, but from what I've seen, she meddles because it's her way of making sure you're okay.” 

Malcolm raised an eyebrow at her as he finally drank his lukewarm tea. She held up a hand in defense, a corner of her mouth curled up into an almost smile. 

“Well, I never said the caring cancels out the meddling. I've never seen a WASP outrival a Jewish mother like her.”

Malcolm couldn't hold back a guffaw. 

“I'm sure Mother would be flattered,” he chuckled with a shake of his head, “But I still have to figure out how I’m gonna get through Christmas dinner this time.”

Dani glanced at him as she bit her lip in thought. 

“Well, this probably won’t prevent you from having to go to your dinner...” 

Malcolm leaned forward in curiosity as he waited for Dani to continue. 

"My mom’s having a party for the first night of Hanukkah tomorrow. Do you wanna come with me?”

(~**~)                  (~**~)                  (~**~)                  (~**~)

The first word that came to mind when Malcolm thought of Dani was unflappable. She was like a pancake stuck to the griddle, nothing could shake her. And yet he could easily spot the signs. The distracting way she kept biting her lip. How she constantly fiddled with the little blue Star of David necklace nestled in the hollow of her throat. She was… anxious? 

What could be making her act like that? Malcolm’s mind practically raced at the numerous possibilities.

“Hey Bright?" Dani turned to him as they hiked up to her mother's snow covered driveway, her cold hands shoved deep in the pockets of her indigo winter coat. "Listen, there’s something you should probably know before we go inside.”

He gazed at her thoughtfully after noticing the apprehensive look on her face, his curiosity rearing its head as he saw her bite her lip again.

“What is it?”

Dani hummed briefly, not sure how to explain. She hadn't exactly been forthcoming about her life outside of work for two very big reasons. 

“I have kind of a big family so there's going to be a lot of people and a lot more noise. I love them, but...” 

She trailed off with a chuckle as he watched her breath rise in the cold in gentle puffs, snow dotting her hair like stars. 

"They’re a lot. My mom and my sisters, they're nosy and have no sense of personal space and they're going to ask a lot of uncomfortable questions. So it's okay if you need to tap out for a minute or--"

"Dani," Malcolm interjected in amusement, "you're starting to sound like me with all that rambling."  

He couldn't hold back a smile. It was rare for her to get even remotely flustered. It was adorable, the way her cheeks grew dark with embarrassment and how her doe like eyes kept glancing at him to see if he was alright. 

"Don't worry so much. If they're anything like you, I'm sure they're amazing."

Dani sighed with relief, her face relaxing back into a smile again. She knew he was right. He was finally going to meet her obnoxiously affectionate and offbeat family, only… 

He was still missing one crucial piece of information. 

"Bright…" she started, apprehension mounting higher as they approached the front porch bedecked with blue and white lights. "There's also one more thing that I haven't actually told you. And it's kind of a big thing."

She had been braced for him to turn that profiler gaze on her, for those pale, glassy eyes to stare deeper into her for what she kept locked away. But Malcolm didn’t go off in another speculative ramble or even start pointing out her odd behaviour. He simply tilted his head to the side and with those wide eyes, Dani was oddly reminded of a confused puppy.  

"What is it?"

"You're not gonna try to profile me?" Dani raised an eyebrow in disbelief, not noticing the tension leaving her shoulders. 

He shrugged a shoulder, his eyes slightly mournful at how guarded she had seemed just now. The details might have been a little fuzzy, but he could still remember Dani, tired and vulnerable as she opened up about her trust issues the night she babysat his high-as-a-kite self. 

She didn’t need him prying into what made Dani Powell tick. Not when she wasn’t ready. 

"I get the feeling that this is something really personal."

So, he was capable of turning it off. She let out a grateful smile in return. 

"Well--"

"Danys Eliana Powell!" A voice called in amusement from the front porch, startling them from their peaceful little bubble. "Are you ever going to come inside?"

“Danys?” Malcolm nearly bubbled over giggling, looking at Dani with glee. 

"Yes, Dani is short for Danys. Grow up, Bright."

Malcolm shook his head, his nose scrunched up and the crinkles at the corners of his eyes became more prominent. 

"It's just not what I thought Dani would be short for. I was kind of expecting Danika or Danielle.”

“Thank my grandmother for that. She and my dad came here from Port au Prince back in the 70s. Dad changed the family name from Poirot and I can hear you smirking, Bright, cut it out!” 

Malcolm danced out of the way, nearly doubled over with laughter before Dani could smack him so she settled for shooting him an unimpressed look. 

“I’m sorry! At least now I know that detective work is in your blood. Do you have family from Liège Province or a fastidious great-great-uncle, perhaps?” 

“Real mature, Bright.” 

She rolled her eyes, but the way Malcolm beamed at her like sunshine during a snowstorm made him look a little younger, a little lighter hearted and Dani for all her bluster couldn’t stay mad at him. 

“At least Granmè insisted on giving us traditional names--oof! Imma, I need to breathe here.” 

Dani was immediately enveloped in a rib aching bear hug the second they walked up to the front door by a statuesque woman with a regal nose and wide-set blue-green eyes and Malcolm could easily spot echoes of Dani’s dark, springy curls and delicate jawline. The older woman's eyes lit up as she spotted Malcolm after finally releasing Dani from the loving embrace. 

"You must be Dani's friend! I'm Zipporah."

"Bright." Dani smiled as she gestured for him to come closer. "This is my mother."

"Malcolm Bright. It's lovely to meet you,” he offered a polite smile as he held out his hand. His tremor wasn’t acting up for once and he’d never been so glad that his mother signed him up for etiquette classes as a child. “Thanks for inviting me to your home."

"Oh, none of that,” Zipporah waved him off, still beaming with excitement. 

Malcolm’s eyes went wide as she swiftly pulled him into a warm, spine-crackingingly firm hug. He looked over Zipporah’s shoulder at Dani in bewilderment, getting the inkling feeling that he now had an idea about where Dani got her strength from. 

“Imma, you promised you wouldn’t scare him,” Dani’s tone was scolding, but he could see her biting back her laughter. “Bright looks like he’s about to faint.”

The ridiculous situation startled a laugh out of him as he finally returned Zipporah’s hug. He couldn’t remember the last time someone other than Gil or his mother hugged him and it made him feel warm. 

"Come in, come in. We're just getting started." 

Zipporah released him from the mini bear hug and she pulled them inside the house, fussing over his wind bitten cheeks and Dani’s snow covered curls. 

"Did I hear my little bijou come home?" 

A much older woman with a beaming face walked over to them with a baby in her arms. She was short and full figured with glowing dark skin and iron grey hair woven into tiny twisting braids and her eyes were just like Dani’s, deep brown and steady, framed with thick lashes. The baby she was holding wore white footie pajamas patterned with blue Star of Davids with a blue-green headband over her coily little pixie cut that matched her bright eyes. She gave a toothless smile upon seeing them, revealing the same deep dimples as Dani.

"Baby bird is definitely happy you're here."

"Hi Granmè," Dani smiled as she kissed the older woman’s cheek. "Bright, this is my grandmother, Eliana."

Malcolm held out his hand again, surprised at how much the cheerful atmosphere was like a soothing balm to his fraying nerves. It was obvious that Dani grew up in a very loving home. 

"It's an honour to meet you. I’m Malcolm Bright."

The little girl stretched her arms out to Dani with a slight squeal. Dani's smile only grew as she took the child from her grandmother and the baby was quick to snuggle in, babbling happily with her chubby cheek squished against Dani’s.

“So you’re the Malcolm Bright we’ve been hearing about.” The older woman gave Malcolm an approving once over as she shook his hand, “You’re a little different than what Dani told us about you.”

Malcolm gave Dani a look full of mischief, ignoring the odd little flutter in his stomach. He wasn’t quite ready to touch on that yet.

“You’ve told them about me?”

“Well, of course.” Dani shot back her own teasing grin. “It’s not every day a box of drugs explodes in someone’s face.”

Her grandmother practically cackled as Malcolm’s ears turned bright pink and he ducked his head sheepishly. A sweet hiccupy giggle snapped him out of his embarrassment and he turned his attention to the baby in Dani’s arms. 

“So who’s this?”

“Oh, Dani didn’t tell you--?”

“Uh, Granmè,” Dani cleared her throat pointedly, “how about you get back to helping Mona and Naomie in the kitchen? I’ll show Bright to the living room before I see them.”

Eliana raised an eyebrow, but gave a knowing smirk. It was a little unnerving to see the exact same grin that Dani often shot Bright on her grandmother’s face. No wonder Gil had muttered like grandmother, like granddaughter the day he met Eliana. 

“Well, alright then. Call me if you need anything.”

(~**~)                  (~**~)                  (~**~)                  (~**~)

“I have so many questions,” Malcolm couldn’t help but blurt out as Dani led him into the living room.

“And I’m guessing they’re all for me?”

“Most of them.” 

It had been a little over six months since they started working together, but for all his years of profiling, he still had so much to learn about her. But here in her childhood home was a veritable treasure trove of precious memories in the living room alone. Pictures of her flanked by two older girls who shared Dani’s spiraling curls and golden skin, as a little girl stretching at the ballet barre in a blue star print leotard and white tights, a young dark skinned man who Malcolm assumed to be Dani’s father holding her as a baby and oh, that was unfair.

Jessica always teasingly claimed that Malcolm had been an ugly baby, saying that he looked like a bald cabbage with eyes and not in a good way. Dani had been the complete opposite with a headful of fluffy dark curls, wide doe eyes with soft cheeks and the cutest little nose. That had to be the calmest, most thoughtful expression he’d ever seen on someone that tiny and it made her look more like a doll than a baby.

“My first question,” He inhaled deeply and smiled, his skin becoming less deathly pale as the scent of simmering and frying food washed over him. “What’s that amazing smell?”

Eating had become little more than a chore for Malcolm after The Surgeon's arrest. His mother had tried to tempt him with their chef's home cooking and meals from high end restaurants, but most of it was little more than ash in his mouth. But the warm aroma of fragrant soybean oil and heady spices was starting to make his stomach grumble in anticipation. 

"Judging from the sound, pomegranate braised brisket, sweet noodle kugel, kalalou djondjon, poul fri, and I think...” Dani tipped her head to the side to catch a whiff as she adjusted the little girl in her arms. “Granmè's latkes de plátano and her secret salsa de ajo. 

And that's not even half of it.” She chuckled as Malcolm’s eyes went as wide as granmè’s dinner plates. “Be prepared to have a seventy-five year old Haitian lady shove multiple helpings at you.”

“Sounds delicious.” His face was as open and sincere as when he said he could trust her in the middle of a drug induced haze. “I honestly can’t remember the last time I was looking forward to a meal.” 

He then noticed the baby in Dani’s arms peeking out at him, eyes wide with curiosity. She was still tiny, but he could see the beginnings of Dani’s long nose and rounded chin on her face. He inwardly marveled at the power of genetics, wondering which of Dani’s sisters the little girl belonged to. 

“I never did get her name.” 

He laughed as the baby let out a squeak before burying her face in Dani’s shoulder. He was oddly reminded of a baby chipmunk at her actions and it only made her even more endearing.

“It’s okay, he’s a friend,” she cooed, coaxing the little girl into lifting her head off her shoulder to get a proper look at the profiler. “This is Angeline. We named her after my great-grandmother, but we call her Annie.”

“Hello Annie.” He leaned down so he could look the baby in the eyes, the expression on his face so meltingly soft that Dani could’ve sworn he was made of marshmallow and spun sugar. “I’m Malcolm.” 

Annie giggled, revealing her dimples once again. He hadn’t really been around babies other than when Ainsley was little. Ainsley had been round and cute when she wasn’t demanding attention, but Annie was all round apple cheeks, chubby arms and wide smiling eyes. She looked at everything with intent curiosity and while he hadn’t heard her talk yet, it was obvious she was a very cheerful little girl. 

Annie was the cutest baby he had ever seen, he thought as he looked back up at Dani with a smile. His mother would definitely squish her cheeks if she got the chance to meet her. 

“She’s adorable.” 

“She is, isn’t she? She’s not a Powell for nothing.” 

Dani’s smile was warm and content as she dropped a kiss on top of Annie’s curly hair, but it quickly faded when she looked back at Malcolm. 

“So Bright,” she bit her lip in hesitation, “there’s something I still need to tell you.”

The second Malcolm heard this, he became laser focused. If Dani wasn’t backing down then he definitely wanted to know what she couldn’t say earlier. His spine straightened and that one little change was enough for him to look like a whole different person. 

“I’m all ears.”

“Well...” 

Dani trailed off as she held Annie closer, not noticing the baby trying to grab at her necklace. 

“There’s a big part of my life I don’t usually tell anyone, especially with my job and all. Other than Gil and the rest of the team, Tally’s the only other person who even knows about this. I figured now would be a good time to tell you, so to speak.”

“You can trust me,” Malcolm couldn’t help but murmur, pale moon-like eyes as bright as his name intently focused on her, as earnest and sincere as he sounded that night in the dim lighting of his kitchen. 

He wasn’t sure if he really deserved to know whatever it was Dani was about to tell him, but it didn’t stop the way his heart clenched at her unwavering gaze. 

“You see, Annie is--” she paused, not sure how she should continue. “I’m--”

“You’re here, you’re here!” 

A little head popped up from behind the sofa, revealing a tiny girl with wavy dark hair in a high ponytail. She was wearing a blue menorah sweater, yellow skirt and white tights and Malcolm thought that she wouldn’t look out of place frolicking around in a tutu. He nearly had a heart attack when the toddler leaped onto the sofa, bolting across it towards Dani. 

It wasn’t until he had his arms full of lightning fast, beaming kid that he realized that he had already lunged forward, barely managing to catch the little girl before she fell flat on her face. 

She giggled in Malcolm’s ear and he caught the comforting smell of coconut oil and powdered sugar as she clumsily wrapped her tiny arms around his neck, seemingly unphased by her almost accident. He finally managed to get a better look at the little girl after balancing her on his hip and he froze in shock.

“Katerina Dawn Powell, we do not go up on high places.” Dani’s tone was stern, but loving. “And don’t flash those baby browns at me, Kit...”

Because he had seen them before, the little girl’s big brown eyes, the ones that lit up her entire face and turned into charming little crescent moons as she crinkled her nose and smiled. Malcolm’s mind raced as he was bombarded with other details. The golden skin and delicate little face? The long nose, the bow-shaped mouth? 

Except for the hair, she was practically a carbon copy of Dani. 

“Hi Mommy!” 

How could he have missed this?

#prodigal son #malcolm bright #dani powell #jessica whitly #brightwell #ainsley whitly #prodigal son fanfiction

[404fmdhaon]

creative claims verification — beautiful

summary: his tsundere song where he cries because regret lol some sappy shit warnings: the worst verification i ever did but take it :~) wc: 1848 (not including lyrics or dates)

dated august 2011

straight from one practice to the next — it all becomes a cycle of habit when he swings from one room to the next. saving grace comes in a studio room, one shared with five other people only today, he’s lucky and it becomes hollowed out and empty by the time the clock strikes three am. what’s left is his own self ruination that comes in lapses of judgement — the mirror image of someone who’s shed the last morsel of dignity he possesses. 

she becomes all encompassing, the air that he heaves in. dance practice into vocal — rap, he skips for time inside the studio. because the formidable years of rap become set in stone, embedded in the presence of her. she’s his muse, always was. always has been.

yet, the distance that separates them on opposite ends of a belligerent battle field leave radio silence. a month of no-contact where ends of lines become the empty rings of no voice to pick up (but he knows, remembers how her frail voice breaks at the edge of their last conversation). he tells himself goodbye — tells her goodbye, undeserving as he leaves her in a standstill of uncertainty and doubt.

and still, he remains on bc’s floors like someone else’s possession. and she’s now merely hidden away behind closed doors of anonymity. a stranger, a nobody. the person who houses the other piece of his heart still straggled along.

but acceptance comes with keys that play a gentle melody. it’s gentle, like the soft touches of her fingers along his spine, engraining each and every memory skin deep. chords come into overlay, and he remembers — it’s her favorite chord he played deep inside his family’s pensions off in the countryside. a haywire frenzy of a road trip in back and forth arguments, hands thrown her fists balled into his chest as she heaves a heavy breath. and his own selfish dejection leaving sharpened words aimed towards each tear shed from her eyes. 

he writes his ode to her. writes every last saving grace of his heart inside a jazzy undertone (etta james was her favorite, the way her dimple softened when her voice hummed along, the way her eyebrows scrunched when she focused too much on the off-key notes of the keys). this becomes the first of the endless pit that he writes his heart to her because at the end of it, she holds every single card of his in her palms. like putty clay, he molds and moves to the shallow sighs of her chest and the laughter that oozes the soft melodies of spring inside his head. 

his fingers flit across the keys, starting from the basis of the chords recording (file titled: yeseul). romanticism plays, and it’s the wistful bittersweetness that rises when he thinks of her. thinks of the first time in a dusty pub where she split him dead-center with her off grid remarks only to stitch him back up with each kiss across his lips underneath the shadows of the street lights.

gyujeong has nothing without her, he’s aware. written himself to nothing when he’s no longer attached to her — but she doesn’t deserve him, he comes to accept. he doesn’t deserve the boy who carves his soul out to bc entertainment stepping over the eggshells of promises he’s curls his fingers over. he’s no longer the musical mastermind with the false bravado standing on the apex of the world — us against the world, it doesn’t exist.

they don’t exist anymore.

all he has are the meager keys, the lack of percussion. most of all, the support that comes as a safe haven for him. instead, what remains is him inside the standstill and barren echoes, somber melody of the pianos mixed in with the faux snares that hit the base. 

relatively simple, she’s always been relatively simple. liked the songs in subtle stares, mutters. the way the edges of her lips peaked up higher, ruby stained as it digs into the white shirt hung loosely around his frame (he’s kept the shirt, kept each remnants of her lips close). 

— 

dated august 2012

a year passes since he clicks back upon the title filed yeseul. a year — and time changes all, no longer trapped in the four walls and pigeon holed into the slavery of trainee life. it’s knight he’s propelled into, the fame, the stages. hungry eyes all prying onto him.

yet, it still doesn’t fill the gaping hole and bleeding heart that still paints her silhouette each time he closes his eyes. and maybe, it’s the fate of luck that has him in the same position — 3 am weariness, deep into a harddrive. one file, and it blares her name in black and white. yeseul, he clicks. 

(in retrospect, nothing’s changed. not his feelings nor the muse that pools inside his heart.)

the concept of change ranges clear: it’s curiosity. confusion in what she’s doing, a year of no-contact and his half becomes withered away to nothing — the ashes of her remnants still vivid and palpable. (if he’s lucky, he’ll see her once he closes his eyes tonight).

he wonders if closure is as good as it gets — the blight optimism that still clings on. once he lets go, will it fill the void or render it empty? he doesn’t want to know. doesn’t want to accept a view of him where there’s no her.

but he knows, it’s too late to cling onto optimism. not allowed when his rights are plainly signed away and he’s stuck inside the rooms housing a prison more than the independent grandeur of fame inside blaring lights. when he steps back, lets himself reel back in how far the distance parses between them, he accepts. knows he can’t go back now — not when she doesn’t deserve the shit he’ll put her through inside the tempest waters.

It seems I have to let you go now I’ll count down the days to a meaningless date a flower’s not my hand, it’s a butterfly’s stage I hope it flaps its wings again now bye babe

acceptance is the hardest. harder when he finds himself choked up on the words scrawled across the page — he wonders, if this is his heart breaking, shattering or if this is the resolution into emptiness. 

a year passes, and still he’s hung up on her knowing nothing. questions her whereabouts, picked up on the whispers of the crowd. but what’s left is the remains of what he’s held onto. how her eyes brightened at the mention of prada, chanel, and margiela and how his shaky fingers locked and slid into place with hers — a silent promise, never to be brought to full fruition.

broken beyond repair, he sighs. lets his eyes stare onto the blink screen as each letter continues on after another — a domino effect leaving him emptied, and the culmination of emotions to lodge themselves deep in his throat. seconds into silence, and he waits a beat because if he doesn’t, then maybe he’ll cry.

You’re like elegant Prada graceful Chanel sleek Margiela I fell for you I planned to do well but because of my inferiority complex I can’t have you, I can’t hold you you’re still so so beautiful Run

but he cries. lets the first taste of salty tears linger across his face, met with the bare knuckle that swipes it away. it’s the remission of her back into his memories, flooding through. and now, he drowns.

drowns inside self-pity for each mistake he’s made through violent shouts outside of a crowd, hostile arguments laced and lined with his own insecurities. the march up of his forceful fingers wrapped around her wrist, yanking her out to where the picture outlines of her own tears down her face would fuel the heavy sights heaved out of his chest. and each time her fists would ball up, battering against his chest shouting empty nothings fueling his own piqued vexation for her ruination. shallow words and a heavy heart — he regrets.

if time had rewind, he’d use it now.

use it for every time the mask of irrational insecurities poised itself as defense with the inability to vocalize each feeling of heartstrings being plucked. 

(if he could, he’d tell her how many times she looked beautiful in the early morning yawns, where the milky skin exposes itself to the ribbons of golden sunlight. how many times her laugh became the ringing alarm jolting him awake to see her sooner, and how many times he’d wish he’d take back the last words of ‘fine, let’s end it.’)

if she could see him now, no. if he could see her now — “i’m sorry.” comes out like a slipped whisper muttered inside his breath.

Someone supported your high value since when were you this beautiful you’re too much, without words I thought that but I wore a mask and hid from you

his fingers rub against his eyes, now rubbed raw from each and every blink unraveling the floodgates of tears. i’m sorry, i’m sorry. i’m sorry. comes in tandem repetition underneath his breath — a breakdown? no, it’s regret that drowns him whole for letting go. leaving the pinnacle of his happiness.

young and in love, he tells her sorry. 

— 

sobs loosen up easier when he’s alone. stripped of the weary eyes and stares of those around. gyujeong collects himself once more, just as he always has in each motion — from the toss of the empty cigarette carton to the eyes that don’t peel themselves from the blank screen. he tells himself, it’s okay. eyes rubbed red, the constriction in his chest eased into a full out vacantness.

he turns on the mic, just as he always has. 

catharsis only comes easy when it’s spoken soul heavy, heart deep. when the words spill out from a blank state of mind, and his breath held close feels inches from bursting out. (state awry, he hopes this song reaches her somewhere.)

he raps, hits the verses the way he always has. remembers the way her face lit up when his gaze peeked over inside underneath the club — on top of the world, and her frail palms clapped off-beat singing along to the songs he shared with her. but the club scene doesn’t apply, not now. not in the future — not when his past has been solidified with her. 

repeat in playback, and he realizes — it’s never been what he wanted. he doesn’t want to drip his words inside malice and spite, nor does he want to shout anymore. what he wants, is the opposite effect in the things she’s only ever instilled in him: the soft touches, grazes of her lips onto his and the subtle pushes of his spine hoisting him into where he’s standing now. 

his voice softens, lessens into a singing voice (the voice she tells him she loves, he hates). tears don’t fall like he’s let out, instead — it’s the steadiness of nostalgia that keeps his head afloat, hitting each word to the beat straight-on. 

there’s an addition he adds at the end — the layers of cello and the electric keys, her favorite setting. his fingers snap, add the reverb to keep the beat on play, and he wonders. questions. if it ever comes to seize the day where the song plays and lilts on to the beat of her. there’s an pull of the snaps, knowing how his own metronome plays to the rhythm of her beating heart.

somewhere, faraway. he hopes that she’s listening. she’s still a piece of him.

#fmdverification #this is my favorite song on his album

[elleonmybeloved]

Field Day

Title: Field Day Author: PinkPerfume Fandom: Shall We Date? Obey me! Pairing: Asmodeus/MC Rating: Teen & Up Chapter: 1/? Tags: Demon & Angel Blood AU, Demons are slightly larger than in cannon by about a foot or two each, Secret Crush, Awkward pining, Asmodeus is hoe-rny as usual, Flirting, Leading up to that explicit rating in the second chapter cause you know me Read on AO3: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25145122/chapters/60926767

Summary:

Once a week, the human exchange students, accompanied by the seven demon brothers as well as Lord Diavolo and a few of his subordinates make a trip to a rocky place out in the wilderness of the Devildom to conduct physical testing on the humans’ developing abilities. Mary-Catherine and her fellow once-humans aren't sure why Lord Diavolo injected them with the demon and angel blood that gave them their abilities, but participation in the testing is mandatory. But if you forget the part where they're being tested like lab rats, it feels a lot like a fun school field day! Complete with packed lunches and a friendly sense of competition.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

“I hope you’re ready to eat my dust this time. I’ve grown two inches since last week.”

“Don’t get a big head. You got dog demon blood, not speed demon. Besides, not being able to spit acid at obstacles in your way is gonna slow you down.”

“I’d really appreciate it if you stopped doing that. Just because you look a lot more like a snake now doesn’t mean you need to act like one.”

“- Demon cobra. Not just a snake.”

“I know you’re proud of that, but honestly, I’m more jealous of the girl who got hawk demon blood. You know she has wings now, right?”

“What?! They shouldn’t let her participate in the race, it’s totally not fair.”

“It’s not actually a race, you guys.”

“Just because they’re testing us doesn’t mean we can’t have a little fun with it. Lord Diavolo encouraged us to be competitive.”

Excited chattering and the rumble of the vehicle’s engine made for a charged atmosphere that Mary-Catherine was enjoying listening to, leaning her head against the glass of the window to hide her amused smile at the antics. Choosing to survey the odd shapes of plants and pigmented rock passing by outside as she listened, she angled her head so that the small tightly curled horns at her forehead weren’t scraping against the glass.

Once a week, the human exchange students, accompanied by the seven demon brothers as well as Lord Diavolo and a few of his subordinates made the trip to a rocky place out in the wilderness of the Devildom to conduct physical testing on the humans’ developing abilities.

Piled into some kind of all-terrain vehicle with such ridiculous ground clearance that Mary-Catherine had needed assistance to haul herself up into it, they were shuttled to the testing site. The vehicle was huge and had several rows of seats, so everybody just called it “The Bus.” Before them on the long straight road, the Demon lord’s sleek black limo - driven by Barbatos - led the way down the path.

Turning off on the dirt path, they pulled up to the site. As the passengers - twenty-five strong, counting the brothers - filed out of the vehicle, they cordoned off into groups like a separation of oil and water.

Mary-Catherine confidently placed herself next to the people she knew best. Donte - a young man with horned-toad demon blood who she’d never seen not dressed up in attractive punk outfits that suited his dark brown curls and yellow-green striped horns perfectly. Despite all the purple dust out here, she had yet to see any of it attach itself to his outfit.

Meanwhile, both her thick cargo pants and her usual red tank top already had a few purple smudges.

To his left, Emma, a curvy young woman in all black whose sharp feline teeth glinted against her dark lipstick, and though the pair of furry black ears at the top of head twitched invitingly, you’d have to be stupid to touch them - or any part of her - without her explicit say so. Her claws were just as sharp as her eyeliner and stung quite badly.

Mary-Catherine had never heard her give anyone that say so. Only repeated threats to anybody who would listen about just exactly the kind of dark apocalypse she would continuously rain on Diavolo and the demon brothers & co. until they returned her cat Lucy to her, or vice versa.

Standing aloof with a familiar thoughtful expression to her right, a picture of elegance and maturity that M-C only hoped she’d one day achieve, was Annika. The blonde witch had a silent strength and seemed the least phased about her residency in the devildom of all the humans Mary-Catherine knew. She even stood up to Lucifer on a regular basis.

Mary had to avoid flinching like a startled lamb every time he looked in her mere direction. In her defense, she was part sheep now, and she had no reason to believe demon sheep were any braver than those in the overworld. Though as recent months had attested, they had the same urge for salt and were about 5 times faster than a regular one running at full tilt.

Once given their instructions, and oddly-shaped “evaluators” to attach to their D.D.D.s, the four of them plus a few she was less familiar with made off for the climbing ground. As usual, the groups moved around three areas in a rotation. A rock-littered circuit of road for testing speed, agility, and endurance, a level field of purple grass and several small, dead-looking trees with painted orange Xs on them that served as a combat ground for testing offensive abilities, and a large outcropping of porous green rock to test their ability to scale rough vertical terrain.

Something of a makeshift security team, the demon brothers spread out to stand their usual guard over the three groups. Considering their powers and how each demon towered at least a foot over any regular human even in their “human” forms, on their very first outing Mary-Catherine had foolishly assumed none of the other occupants of this realm would dare try to attack the group.

Grimacing as she tied up her hair and prepared to climb, she tried to blink away the image of the explosion of goop and gore and the charred remains that had been left of the few dissenting demons who’d scarcely touched her human companions before Satan had reduced them to pulp. Though unsure of how Lucifer had torched the ones who’d gone after his group, she was pretty sure she’d never get the image of their blackened skulls out of her mind.

“What’s with the long face? You’re still the reigning champion of this rock, goat-girl.”

Looking up, she recognized the self-proclaimed “cobra” guy from earlier on the bus. Despite his competitive statement, the grin on his face was friendly. His curly black hair and olive skin tone made for a vivid contrast against his vertical pupiled green eyes. She’d seen him a few times at breakfast and wasn’t certain but she thought his name was Kevin?

“Oh nothing. I was just wondering if they were going to make me lick more rocks today. Kind of reminds me of when I used to chaperone church summer camp and all the kids would collect rocks and dare each other to hold it in their mouth for twenty seconds or eat a worm.”

Mary-Catherine paused, “-But my horns alone would’ve been even more scandalous than the time one of the adults caught someone with a Harry Potter book sooo I guess it’s not really that similar!”

“Oh trust me I doubt my mamá would be happy to see what I look like now, but that doesn’t mean I would say no to a chance to become spiderman.”

“Hey, if anybody is becoming spiderman, I think it might be me.” Donte spoke up from behind them, looking incredulously at his hand which was pressed against the wall of rock. “Check this out.”

He then demonstrated how with an odd suction noise, his hands clung to the rock of their own accord. Prying them off and then repeating the motion, he got better at the detachment process with each press.

“Maybe poisonous demon frogs can stick to things?” Mary-Catherine mused. “I watched this discovery channel episode on tree frogs once that explained how their secretion of toe pad mucous-”

“-Mucous?!?” Donte scrutinized his hands in dismay, but after finding no such secretions he breathed a sigh of relief. “The only thing getting on my hands is this rock while I climb it’s ass. See you at the top!”

Pressing the start button on her evaluator, she climbed up after him, hearing Kevin start his descent as well. She’d gotten a bit of experience with this sort of outdoors stuff at previously said church-camp, but that was nowhere near her current condition, as she easily overtook both of her human companions with no regard for the steepness of her path. Back then, she’d needed a hardness and ropes. Now, she sought out each handhold instinctively like the top of the rock was calling her.

“At least I’m not bleating.” She sighed, and from below her Kevin barked out a laugh.

“I imagine it would come out sounding more like a warbled growl.” He said. “I’ve seen the pictures you know.”

“Hey- don’t go looking at a girl’s demon pictures!” A girl lower down on the rock called up to them.

Mary-Catherine blushed and hastily pulled herself up the remaining few feet of the rock and rolled to the side as she clicked stop on her evaluator.

“Not her pictures, the pictures of whatever they injected her with!” Kevin complained, but M-C could hear the mirth in his voice.

Walking over to a smoother patch of rock, she sat down to wait for the rest of them to finish their climb. Gazing at the ground far below her, she noticed Emma and Beelzebub talking next to a couple of camp-chairs.

She had noticed before that as an act of cat-less mutiny, Emma often refused to take part in the tests, but as M-C watched her speaking amicably with the demon beside her, who was eating… something round and dripping a brightly colored liquid she could make out from here, Emma gestured towards the rock several times with a wistful expression.

Rising to get a better look, Mary-Catherine began absent mindedly stretching, catching her ankle and bending her leg with a gentle pull.

It was a bit too far for her to make out exactly what they were saying - though some of her genetically enhanced fellow humans probably could - but M-C imagined that Emma was saying something along the lines of how much she wanted to climb the ‘actual shit outta that rock’ but wouldn’t budge an inch until they gave her back her precious Lucy. Beel seemed to nod sympathetically and despite not halting in his eating process, continue the conversation.

And then he moved to grab another of whatever it was he was eating, revealing the other demon who had come to watch over the climbing group. Having used the absolute swole unit of his demon brother’s body to provide him with shade, the Avatar of Lust reclined elegantly in - well it wasn’t really a camping chair, but it looked like it could be collapsed and relocated - his seat, meticulously painting his nails.

Freezing awkwardly midstretch, both arms clasped high above her head, she was for the hundredth? thousandth? time struck by just how gorgeous of a man Asmodeus was. Not a man, she reminded herself, a demon. Good Lord in Heaven, those arms… he had his sleeves rolled up to his elbows to avoid getting nail polish on his shirt, and it exposed the beautiful lean muscle of his forearms. Burnt amber eyes focused intensely on his handiwork, his pale perfectly shaped lips pursed in concentration… he had an angular face that made him look like both like the dangerous being he was, and a sculpture of an angel at the same time.

As if aware he was being ogled, he paused his preening and turned his head, looking up her way at the top of the rock. Panicking, she hastily looked elsewhere, pretending to continue her stretches as if she hadn’t been meaning to glance in his direction…

Nothing to see here!

Soon the others joined her at the top of the rock, and with the protection of anonymity, Mary-Catherine risked another gaze his way.

Oh good, he’s back to working on his nails.

Getting caught looking at people was so awkward, hopefully he hadn’t thought anything of what he saw of her brief gaze. She was pretty sure she was safe, it was unlikely he was that interested in any measly humans anyways.

“So what was your score?”

Mary-Catherine spooked so hard she jumped, turning to give Kevin a wounded look.

“You’re a jumpy one, huh? Must be those prey instincts. Well, what was it?”

“A minute and forty three seconds.” Mary-Catherine said, wondering what kind of predator hunted sheep demons. Probably had lots of teeth.

“Guess I just need to be a minute and fifteen seconds faster next time.”

“I’m sure you can do it.” She said, giving him an encouraging smile. “If they ever decide to hand out a prize, you’ve got it in the bag.”

“Now there’s an idea.” Donte piped up, moving into step beside them as the group began to descend the smooth sloped side of the rock. “I already know what I want as a prize.”

“What do you want?” She couldn’t really think of anything a demon would have to give as a good present. She’d seen their food. And the mall. They had weird taste.

“Not telling.” Donte said in a cheeky tone that even she could read as being… salacious in nature. Annika gave him one of her disapproving mother looks and it just made him sprout a mischievous little grin.

“I’ve had my eye on a spellbook in Satan’s library I would very much like to have.” Annika said, as if trying to steer the conversation off the downhill path it was otherwise going. It was a good thing Emma wasn’t here or that’d be a moot effort.

“Uhhh, boring!” Kevin crossed his arms. “Come on guys, we’re practically in hell. I want a weapon or something with strong dark magic powers.”

One of the other girls agreed with him, and began a very enthusiastic conversation about swords and axes and other sharp pointy things. Mary-Catherine considered the question herself for a few moments, but the only thing she could think of was for Lucifer to give her her Bible back. He’d taken it away a couple weeks ago after she’d done something he hadn’t approved of and used it as an excuse to confiscate the book. She wasn’t even sure how he’d known she had it, but maybe he’d been under the false impression that she was religious?

Normally she wouldn’t have been upset about such a thing, but even though she was no longer the good devout Catholic girl her parents had raised her to be, her grandmother had given her that Bible. They’d been quite close before she passed away five years ago to lung cancer. She was much too terrified of the fallen angel to even try to get it back though. Regardless, as far as prizes go that was a bit more personal than she was comfortable with sharing.

“I think a week off school would be nice!” She said instead, and was met with a resounding murmur of agreement from the crowd.

“How about a whole month?”

---

Under the protection of Belphegor and Leviathan this time, Mary-Catherine and her group took turns sprinting on the track. Unsurprisingly, Kevin’s dog demon-blooded friend blew all competition out the water. Once that guy got started he was like Usain Bolt on steroids. Though she put in the effort expected of her to avoid getting chided, M-C didn’t bother to run full tilt. She didn’t really like this part anyways. It was the most like a test, grueling and repetitive instead of fun, and reminded her of how she was here against her will.

She was grateful when they broke for lunch, gathering around a few hastily erected plastic tables. Taking the brown bag and two water bottles, she found a somewhat shady spot to sit under a scary looking tree and redid her sagging ponytail, lamenting the state of her side braid. She downed a whole bottle of water before getting into her food.

It was kind of funny, it was the same typical sandwich chips and apple combo she was used to on outdoor events like these, but the meat was purple and the lettuce that poked out at the sides was bright red. The fruit looked like an apple, but tasted like an orange and was the color of a banana.

She’d learned to just trust Lord Diavolo to know what humans could eat, and didn’t ask what everything was anymore. One of the transfer students had been curious at breakfast and as a result she had become aware of the fact that on several occasions she had ingested eggs from a reptilian demon species called an angiphore which looked like a cross between a platypus and one of those monstrous looking fish that lived really deep in the ocean.

The thought made her choke on her mouthful of water and most of it escaped out her lips down her throat to soak into the fabric of her top above her breast.

“Oh, gosh darn it.” Of course she had nothing to dab at it with. Well, at least the cool water felt kind of nice dripping down her neck, as hot as she was after such rigorous exercise.

“Oh my, looks like someone overestimated how much they could swallow~”

Mary-Catherine scarcely had time to process that someone had managed to approach her so silently before, bending elegantly at the waist, Asmodeus himself was already pressing a handkerchief against her neck with a chiding tut.

At her stiff reaction, he smiled, looking very much like the cat that ate the canary. “It’s nothing to be ashamed of sweetie, you’re not the first one to do such a thing.”

Mary-Catherine flushed and searched for a sufficiently indignant reply, realizing he was making fun of her. But before she could come up with something, he moved in closer, dragging the cloth against her bottom lip. It was such a shamelessly demanding motion, silencing her with ease.

“You must’ve been thirsty, poor thing.” He crooned, and M-C decided to swallow her pride and just enjoy the opportunity to get such a close up look at his gorgeous face. At this angle, she could see how long his strawberry-blonde eyelashes were as they brushed the smooth, immaculate skin of his cheeks.

“It’s… pretty hot.” The words were already on her mind, so unfortunately that’s what came out of her mouth instead of denying such an obvious trap.

It was worth it for the delighted, full-teeth grin he made. “I agree.”

His fingers skirted the hem of her tank top, and with a gentle pluck, he lifted the fabric to dab a few times at the wet top of her breast. But instead of lingering, with a simple wink, he retracted the handkerchief and stood up before she could even begin freaking out about it.

“Thanks.” She said when her brain caught up, as he started to leave.

“Any time, honey.~” He replied without turning back, and was soon out of sight.

Mary-Catherine gave a dry swallow and reached for her water bottle.

~~~

The rest of the afternoon proved uneventful. Oviumalum, or the certain species of demon sheep blood she’d been injected with, apparently had the ability to rapidly elongate and thrust out their 4 sets of horns in front of them like some kind of projectile impaler. Their horns were also a key ingredient in a certain type of hallucinogenic drug, when ground to a powder.

The meager set of horns on Mary-Catherine’s forehead was sharp, and made of the same components, but so far showed no signs of developing any projectile abilities. As such, she simply had to hold still while they took a sample of her horns, ears, and tail and then was free to sit on the sidelines for most of the hour.

Lucifer had handed her a textbook about the properties of various demonic plants and encouraged her to study during the downtime.

“Like many here, you would do well to improve your academics. Here.” He’d said in that aloof tone, like she was some filthy human bug under his boot.

“Oh…” She’d said. “Well, actually, that’s-”

“You’re welcome.” He’d cut off her attempt to decline with a glare. “I hope I see an improvement in your grade reports soon.”

Mary-Catherine couldn’t help but shut up after that and bitterly open the book in obedience. His crimson stare, like the blood she was sure he was not hesitant to shed, was just too frightening. But, more interested in watching the increasingly bizarre developing abilities of her fellow humans, she’d just skimmed the pages and pretended to read.

Beside Lord Diavolo’s delight at Donte’s newfound ability, nothing else of note happened. It was amusing to watch Emma claw several inch deep scores into a variety of materials she’d never assume could even be scratched, so that’s what she’d done until they’d blown their whistle to announce that it was time to return to the House of Lamentation.

Now, she was trailing after the gaggle of tired, test-tried students, thinking about whether she was going to bathe, sleep, or eat first when they got home.

“Heeyyy, M-C!”

Looking up from where she’d been zoning out staring at her D.D.D, she glanced around. Had somebody called her name?

“Mary-Catheriiiine!!” A girl was jogging towards her, waving a hand to get her attention. It took her a moment, since it wasn’t someone she was very familiar with, but she connected the face to a name before the girl reached her.

“Yes? - Um, Hoya, right?”

“Yeah.” The girl said, smiling with a - ah. Shark demon blood. - large set of teeth. “Can I ask you a favor?”

“Of course! What is it?”

“I lost my ring up on the rocks.” Hoya said, pointing to the climbing wall. “I can see where it is but I can’t reach it myself. Can you get it for me?”

“Sure!” May-Catherine chirped, but then bit her lip. “Uh, did you tell Lucifer? It’s time to go and I’ll be fast but we’re going to make them wait…”

“Don’t worry, I told him. He said it’s fine as long as I hurry.”

“Oh. Okay!” M-C said, but couldn’t help squinting a little skeptically.

“...He said they’re leaving in ten minutes with or without us.” Hoya admitted. “But it won’t take us that long!”

Mary-Catherine was already moving. “Oh gosh, well I hope you didn’t mention my name…”

Hoya jogged next to her, long smooth grey tail wagging oddly like a dog. “Uh, I did. Sorry!"

Mary-Catherine groaned and high-tailed it to the rock.

#obey me! #shall we date? obey me! #asmodeus #asmodeus x mc

[ibijau]

hey so who wants the beginning of that Lan Xichen/Nie Huaisang fic that I will never finish because it’s melodramatic and probably way ooc?

Lan Xichen smiled as politely as he could, considering the circumstances.

“I have to say, when I was told I had a visitor, you are the last person I might have expected to see.”

This was answered by a distant, polite smile and another bow from Nie Huaisang.

“I did not expect that I would get to see you, Zewu-Jun,” he admitted. “But I had to try regardless. May I sit?”

Absolutely not, was Lan Xichen’s first instinct, and from this point on, he would insist that no guest be brought to him until he had been given their name. He had had so few visitors these last three years that he had never felt the need for wariness. This had just changed.

Still, since Nie Huaisang was already there, and he was a sect leader, it would have been rude to send him away. Lan Xichen motioned for him to take a seat, which Nie Huaisang did with careful grace.

“Is there anything you wanted to talk about?” Lan Xichen asked, serving the tea that had been brought along with his unwanted guest. “I doubt you still want my advice after everything that happened.”

Nie Huaisang’s smile did not falter as he took the glass of tea offered to him, turning even that simple gesture elegant.

“I have taken it upon myself to visit some of my old…” he hesitated for a brief moment. “Some of my old acquaintances. I came to Cloud Recesses to see Wei Wuxian, but since he’s absent I thought I might try and make the best of my trip by trying to see you.”

“How thoughtful of you. What prompted this, I wonder? Nostalgia?”

The younger man sipped on his tea silently, and put down his glass on the table with barely a faint click as the ceramic touched wood.

“Regrets, if you can believe it.”

“I’m not sure I can,” Lan Xichen replied with a bitterness he could not quite contain. “Please be honest. I think I deserve this, coming from you.”

The distant smile on Nie Huaisang’s smile wavered, but remained. How had Lan Xichen never realised how perfectly in control that boy always was? Even the faint trembling at the corner of his lips might have been faked.

“No, I don’t suppose you would believe me,” Nie Huaisang graciously conceded. “I have earned your distrust. Still, I will say this: I am sorry for what happened. If I could have found another way, I would have. You…" he paused, either unsure of his words. Or pretending to be at least. "You were kind to me, and I would have preferred not to see you hurt." 

Lan Xichen stared at the younger man, wondering how much of this was sincere and how much was an affectation. If he had learned one thing from this disaster, it was that Nie Huaisang was an unprecedented actor who had no time for remorse.

"Clever as you've proven to be, I'm surprised you found no other way to bring justice to your family," Lan Xichen replied. 

"Peace, not justice," Nie Huaisang protested, something shining briefly in his eyes before he could control it. "My brother's soul deserved to be brought to rest. You knew him, Zewu-Jun. Do you think he would have been satisfied with anything less than the death of his enemy? If the killer had been anyone but Lianfang-Zun, wouldn't you have praised me for doing this?" 

Lan Xichen's grip on his glass tightened. Three years had passed, but his mind still struggled to reconcile his private image of Jin Guangyao with what had been revealed to the world. To have it thrown in his face once more was a hard blow.

"Ah, that was uncalled for," Nie Huaisang said, frowning but not so much it would distort his features. Even in acting, there was a vanity to him. "I came here to apologise, but in the end I am only hurting you again. Perhaps I had better leave you alone."

"Perhaps. A question, first. That day, in Guanyin temple. What did you really see?" 

Lan Xichen did not expect an answer to that question, but found Nie Huaisang looking right at him, an air of rare determination on his face. On someone else, it might have passed for a moment of sincerity.

"You answer this first: if he had lived, what would have happened to Lianfang-Zun? Would he have been brought to any sort of justice? Or would he have been allowed to hide in seclusion, never paying for his crimes?” 

He paused, giving Lan Xichen a chance to answer. Faced between the option to lie or to comfort Nie Huaisang in his decision, Lan Xichen chose silence. 

“I did what I had to do, Zewu-Jun. I cannot say I made the right choice… But I doubt I made the wrong one either.”

That was as close to an admission of guilt as Lan Xichen would ever get out of Nie Huaisang. The younger man had manipulated him into killing his oldest friend, there was no longer any doubt possible… not that Lan Xichen had doubted very much in the first place. Jin Guangyao had said he would never have hurt him, and that was something Lan Xichen believed to be true. He had to hold on to something, and he held on to this: Jin Guangyao, whatever else he had been to the rest of the world, had been his friend. He would not have attacked Lan Xichen.

"I think it's time for you to leave," Lan Xichen announced, struggling to remain polite. "It is getting late, and the road is long to Gusu." 

Taking this as the firm dismissal that it was, Nie Huaisang rose up, only for his legs to tremble under him and his face to turn deathly pale. He bent over as if he might fall, prompting Lan Xichen to reach out for him, but regained control of himself just in time. 

"I stood too quickly," he said with a small smile, his tone indicating this wasn't an uncommon occurrence. "Thank you for seeing me today, Zewu-Jun. I won't take any more of your time. I am happy I got to see you again, though I doubt it will happen again. Farewell, brother. I hope someday, your pain will fade." 

"Goodbye," Lan Xichen replied, upset by this fake demonstration of weakness and refusing to partake in whatever dramatic demonstration was going on. He would leave his seclusion someday, and meet Nie Huaisang at discussion conferences if nothing else. No need for a farewell. "Have a safe trip home." 

Perhaps, after Nie Huaisang had gone, Lan Xichen stared at the door, wondering how the sweet, innocent boy who used to care for nothing but fans and pretty birds turned into that man who lied and used others to kill… 

Or perhaps he refused to let his mind wander on such a path, so he wouldn't have to see who might have inspired such a change. 

Nie Huaisang did not leave Cloud Recesses. As he reached the gate, he had met Lan Wangji and Wei Wuxian, who had insisted on having him as a guest. At least, so the servants said in the morning, bringing him both his breakfast and daily news. It was unpleasant to think of that young man still in his home, but he supposed his brother might have felt a debt of gratitude. Lan Xichen decided he would keep to himself that he had tried to send away Nie Huaisang. It might upset Lan Wangji… or it might not, which would be worse. It would have been Wei Wuxian’s idea to keep his old schoolmate around, and Lan Wangji indulged him in everything.

It was not a great surprise when that night, Lan Xichen received a visit from his brother. That Wei Wuxian had tagged along was more surprising, but not as unwelcome as it might have been, once.

The topic of conversation that Wei Wuxian chose was definitely unexpected though. 

“How well versed are you on the topic of curses?” he asked, as casually as he would enquire about the weather. 

“Likely not as well as you, but I will help if I can," Lan Xichen replied, pouring tea for all three of them." Why do you ask?”

Wei Wuxian opened a box of cakes that they had bought on their trip. "I've been questioned about a very odd curse. Never seen it before. Could something very old, could be something brand new… but it’s unusual for sure.”

Wei Wuxian should have looked delighted at the perspective of a mystery to solve, even one that was putting someone in danger. He could be a little careless about such things, although to his credit, he usually tried to avoid letting people suffer unnecessarily even while he was having fun. The seriousness on his face was odd to say the least.

“It is rare for you to be stumped that way,” Lan Xichen commented. “How serious is the curse?”

Wei Wuxian shrugged, grabbing a glass of tea for himself and pushing another towards his husband. 

“Hard to say. From what I can tell, something is making that man's meridians close off. He’s already lost most of his spiritual energy, and his golden core will be under attack soon. He has a month or two left, then he'll likely die. He'll get more time if I can find a way to slow it. I’m sure I will. Still, it’s a nasty thing to do to someone.”

Lan Xichen stared. As far as curses went, this one sounded particularly cruel to say the least. Someone must have hated that man a great deal to inflict such a fate on him.

“Does he have suspicions as to the perpetrator?” Lan Xichen asked, suddenly hit by an unpleasant intuition regarding the victim, yet unwilling to ask directly. If Wei Wuxian had given no name, it might have been meant to remain a secret.

“He’s not too sure,” Wei Wuxian replied, something almost wistful to his voice that secured Lan Xichen’s suspicions. “He thinks it’s likely someone from Lanling Jin sect. He had some dealings with Jin Guangyao and there’s always someone to miss the tyrant.”

“Wei Ying,” his husband said, glancing at his brother. Wei Wuxian grimaced.

“Right, right. I just meant that power changes are always bad for someone, and there’s probably a few people out there who wish the truth hadn’t been revealed. Jin Ling is quite determined to set things right in his sect, too, so a few people have lost a lot. No surprise someone would want revenge.”

What went around, came around, Lan Xichen thought. If the cursed man really was Nie Huaisang… With everything that he had done in the name of revenge, he could only blame himself if he suffered the same fate.

But that was perhaps an unkind thought to have. Jin Guangyao too had deserved his death, by that logic. And while he had ruthlessly put countless lives in danger, Nie Huaisang had only caused the death of two men whose actions had been… reprehensible. Some of that had been sheer luck though. Children could have died in Yi City, and a number of cultivators were seriously harmed in the Second Siege of the Burial Mounds. Nie Huaisang had only been lucky that Wei Wuxian had been around to save the day… though since he’d orchestrated his return, perhaps calling it luck was inexact.

Still, there was Mo Xuanyu then, a really innocent victim. A proof that Nie Huaisang was as bad as the man whose death he had provoked… though perhaps still not bad enough to deserve that curse. It sounded like such a cruel thing to do, made worse by the common knowledge that Nie Huaisang’s cultivation had always been somewhat… lacking. He would have had the strength to resist what was happening to him and it would have overcome him very fast. How else to explain he was already so close to the end when he came looking for help?

“Well, we won’t bother you anymore,” Wei Wuxian sighed. “I hoped maybe you’d have an idea what could be happening to him. I guess I’ll just have to do my own research.”

“I imagine such a mystery would pick your interest.”

Wei Wuxian’s face did something weird, something between a smile and a grimace.

“I could have done without that one,” he muttered. “That little idiot is…”

“Wei Ying,” Lan Wangji interrupts softly. 

If Lan Xichen hadn’t been here, he was sure his brother would have reached out to comfort his husband. They avoided showing their love in front of him, though he’d heard they’re quite shameless about it around everyone else. Lan Xichen suspected they had the wrong idea about him and Jin Guangyao, that they were trying to be considerate.

In a kinder world, one that had not so strongly twisted Jin Guangyao’s mind when it came to intimacy… but this was not the world they had lived in. Jin Guangyao would never have allowed anything that could brand him as being too much like his mother, so Lan Xichen never asked. He had long thought that they both wanted, though. Now, after everything, Lan Xichen wasn’t even sure of that. If Jin Guangyao had only used his affection to blind him…

“We’ll come visit again some other time,” Wei Wuxian promised. “Well, I’m sure your brother will.”

After his brother had left with his husband, Lan Xichen attempted to meditate. It had been his main occupation these last three years, and would likely remain until he felt ready to rejoin the world. Soon, probably. It was unfair to leave so many responsibilities on Lan Wangji’s shoulders. Besides, Lan Xichen was coming to the slow realisation that meditation was doing little to assuage the guilt of what had happened at Guanyin temple. A different approach might be worth a try. Drowning himself in work, the way his brother had done to deal with his own loss, was starting to become an attractive option. If nothing else, it might exhaust him enough that the nightmares would no longer matter.

That night, as expected, meditation only served to make him restless. Well past the accepted Lan bedtime, Lan Xichen gave up on finding any peace and decided to go for a walk around Cloud Recesses. He liked seeing his home in the moonlight, quieter than ever, the details drowned in darkness so it was less obvious how new the buildings still looked. He could almost have pretended nothing wrong had ever happened in this beautiful place, that there had been no fire, no death, no pain. It would be a pleasant lie to imagine, but a lie nonetheless.

Lan Xichen decided to leave behind the buildings, and with them the temptation of lying to himself. He had no precise goal in mind, but found himself coming near one of the ponds. To his surprise, there was already someone there. A slender figure sitting in the grass, gazing upon the water.

“I see you have not gone to Gusu after all,” Lan Xichen noted, coming closer.

Nie Huaisang startled at his voice, but did not turn to look at him.

“Do you want me to go?” he asked, his eyes firmly set on the water.

“It is past curfew,” Lan Xichen replied. “But we make exceptions for guests.”

“I meant do you want me to leave Cloud Recesses,” Nie Huaisang clarified. “I imagine it’s unpleasant to know I am here.”

It was, certainly, though at least Lan Xichen’s seclusion meant he had a good excuse to avoid this new guest of theirs. And yet, there they were.

“It might be unwise. Do you not need Wei Wuxian’s treatments?”

“He seems to think so,” Nie Huaisang said lightly, as if it did not concern him what Wei Wuxian might want in this case.

It would have been easy then to leave him alone. A day earlier, Lan Xichen would have continued his walk, or returned home to meditate and try to forget this unpleasant encounter. A day earlier, he hadn’t known that Nie Huaisang was dying and likely looking for his murderer. 

“You came to see me yesterday. Do you suspect me of inflicting this curse upon you?”

At last Nie Huaisang turned around, propping himself on one arm and opening his fan in a vain effort to hide his laughter.

“You? Zewu-Jun, as if you could even want to hurt someone that way!”

“I would have said the same of you, once.”

Nie Huaisang’s laughter died down, but he remained hidden behind his fan.

“But we are different you and I, Zewu-Jun. You are a good man, while I... was never what I should have been. I used to wonder what that must be like.”

“To be good?” Lan Xichen asked, fighting the urge to point how he wasn’t. He’d let people suffer around him. He had blood on his hand, long before Guanyin temple. Everyone who took part in the Sunshot Campaign did, but as a commander Lan Xichen had to bear the weight of losing the men who served under his orders as well as those he killed himself.

“To be able to trust,” Nie Huaisang corrected, raising the fan until only his eyes showed. “I’m not very skilled at that, I must say. It comes slowly to me, and in the end the one I’ve trusted the most was… unworthy of it.”

Lan Xichen thought of the way Jin Guangyao, after being accepted at Carp Tower, never saw Nie Huaisang without bringing him a present of some sort, how he took a keen interest in what the boy loved, how he tried more than once to convince Nie Mingjue to accept that his little brother would never be as fierce as him. At the time, Lan Xichen had taken it as a mark of kindness or pity for a boy who cowered in the shadow of a great man, and knew Nie Huaisang might have felt the same.

But perhaps none of those gestures had ever been about Nie Huaisang. What surer way could there be of angering Nie Mingjue than to encourage everything he despised in his brother? Even if it had been genuine at the time, the memories would be tainted by doubt. Just as Lan Xichen’s were.

“I am sorry for being so chatty,” Nie Huaisang sighed, closing his fan and playing with it. “I’ll be returning to my room shortly.”

“I can walk you there,” Lan Xichen offered, out of habit. Cloud Recesses was an easy place to get lost in, especially in the dark.

The offer made Nie Huaisang tense so violently that it had to be genuine. No one could be that good of an actor… or could they? 

“Please don’t take that pain,” Nie Huaisang said quietly. “I was thinking of sitting here a little longer.”

He sounded perfectly calm, but the hand holding his fan couldn’t contain a small tremor.

Lan Xichen thought back of their conversation the day before, the way Nie Huaisang had nearly collapsed at the end and treated it as something perfectly normal. The curse was attacking his meridians, Wei Wuxian had said, and had nearly blocked off all of them. If that was true (and Wei Wuxian would have checked so it had to be) then it was already nothing short of a miracle that Nie Huaisang had made it from the Unclean Realm to Cloud Recesses. 

Lan Xichen, in spite of himself, found that he pitied that young man sitting in the grass. Nobody deserved that sort of death.

“If you cannot get up on your own, I’ll help,” Lan Xichen offered, holding out his hand.

Nie Huaisang did not take it.

“I would have thought you’d had enough of helping me by now,” he retorted, sounding almost like the boy who kept running to Lan Xichen and Jin Guangyao for advice. “You don’t have to force yourself, Zewu-Jun. I’ll manage.”

Lan Xichen ignored his protest and grabbed him by the arm, pulling him to his feet with more easy than he’d have expected. Nie Huaisang, always slender, weighed nothing. That was for the best, because his trembling legs could not support him and he fell against Lan Xichen’s chest, clinging to his robe with what little strength he had.

“You didn’t need to do that!” he complained, the words muffled against the fabric. “I could do it on my own, I just need to do it… a little slower than that.”

To prove his point, Nie Huaisang tried to push himself away from Lan Xichen, only to lose his balance. He would have collapsed if the older man hadn’t grabbed his arm and pulled him back against him.

“Perhaps you should not wander alone if the curse affects you so much,” Lan Xichen scolded him, falling easily into old habits. They had sometimes had to hold Nie Huaisang in that manner, right after his brother’s death, when he was still half a boy and didn’t know how to handle his new responsibilities. Or had he already guessed at the truth, was he already playing with their emotions a decade earlier?

“I really am fine!” Nie Huaisang protested. “If I don’t move too quickly, it’s… it’s not that big of a deal. And if I fall somewhere… does it really matter?”

“What do you mean?”

“I have no regrets, my sect will be taken care of,” Nie Huaisang said, his voice hollow. “My brother’s head disciple will finally have the title that he deserves and we’ve started taking steps to see if he can be spared from Qi deviation. I have no family left to cry for me. No friends I haven’t alienated when I used them as pawns. And I knew that my life would be short. It always is for leaders of the Nie sect. I could avoid my sabre, but fate caught up anyway.”

“Are you really satisfied with that?”

“No," Nie Huaisang retorted hotly, his mask dropping for a second to reveal an expression that wouldn't have been out of place on his brother's face. He soon regained his composure, smiling almost as sweetly as before. "Nobody wants to die, and I’m not different. But if it must happen, I need to make my peace with it. I cannot risk…”

He shuddered in Lan Xichen’s arms, another reaction that felt genuine.

“Your brother’s fate was exceptional,” Lan Xichen remarked. “You would not return in the manner he did. You might not die at all,” he added after some hesitation. “Wei Wuxian sounded confident that he could lift the curse.”

“Wei Wuxian thinks he can solve everything if he just tries hard enough,” Nie Huaisang muttered. “Maybe he could have, if I came earlier.”

“How long have you known you were cursed?”

“Long enough,” Nie Huaisang replied. “I thought I had more time, but being an inadequate cultivator has always been my weakness.”

(and that’s all I got. Of course they’d figure a way of saving him and lxc while still angry would realise he doesn’t want nhs to die. Probably there’d be a lot of discussion of how jgy influenced both of them)

#nie huaisang #xisang #huaichen #lan xichen #mo dao zu shi #fanfic #I really don't know what to do with this because bleh melodrama #I'll still write an actual thing about them someday I swear #mdzs

[tiaragqueen]

Dubious Honor

✂ Pairing: Yandere! Jeon Jeongguk x Princess! Reader

✂ Word Count: 2k+

✂ Trigger Warning: Possessiveness, mentions of death

✂ The story is fictional and for amusement only. I don't believe any of the members would do this in real life. As always, thank you for reading and I hope you have a good day!

Do not re-upload my writing to another website or use it without my permission.

[Edited]

***

If you like my writing, please support me on ko-fi!

“I’m growing madder by the day. It doesn’t matter, anyway. Over dramatic and insane, but you look at me so differently. Oh, me specifically.” - Problematic [Get Scared]

         To be engaged with a stranger or an acquaintance was common in the royal family. It might sound restricting because that meant you would be married to someone you barely knew, but the life of royalty had always been predestined since birth. Clearly, it wasn’t all wealth and elegant garments like most people thought. They had an image; a reputation to uphold. One blemish was all it took for everything to go downhill, and for them to lose their honors.

          Jungkook was the second and the last son of the Jeon siblings. However, just because he wouldn't be the next king, doesn’t mean he had more freedom than his brother. He was still a prince after all - had an area that he needed to look after as his responsibility - and a prince needed his partner as well. Jung Hyun, his brother, was already betrothed with a princess from the Gwangju Kingdom. Thus, with Jungkook's 19th birthday drawing near, his parents decided to drop a bombshell on him.

          “Darling,” Queen Jeon spoke up once her younger son had seated in front of them.

          The butler had approached him after his meeting with the officials, asking for his assistance in the great hall as requested by the king. Jungkook was confused but obeyed nonetheless in case it was important.

          “Your father and I have discussed regarding your future partner. We know that you’ve received a lot of marriage proposals from other kingdoms. Thus, we elected Princess [Name] from the Daegu Kingdom as your consort.”

          She paused, taking in Jungkook's silence before her husband continued. “We shall visit them tomorrow after breakfast.”

          Jungkook remained quiet. He supposed he should be angry that they had decided such an important thing without his knowledge – for God's sake, they wanted him to marry a woman he had never met! – but Jungkook felt... content. Content because that meant he shouldn’t have to undergo the laborious process of wooing and courting. That, and because Jungkook was too shy with the opposite sex. So with this engagement, he just needed to proceed without having to worry about who he would marry later.

          “This engagement will strengthen our relationship with the Daegu Kingdom. I hope you understand, Jungkook.” Queen Jeon said softly, fearing that her son might lash out to them. Not that he would, though. Jungkook had always been an obedient child, and a tad naïve too.

          He nodded dutifully, much to their satisfaction. “Of course, I understand.” he murmured.

          “I’m glad, son.” King Jeon reached out to pat him on the shoulder, smiling proudly for Jungkook's compliance despite the guilt that gnawed on his chest.

          Every parent wants their child to be happy, and this arranged marriage was less than ideal. Yet how he could object, when he had been ordered to marry Queen Jeon either? Sure, they had eventually 'grown' to love each other - to make the best of it because they didn't need to trouble their families - but to marry someone that you loved would better.

          “But I should forewarn you that Princess [Name] can be a little... aloof. So I hope you don’t take her attitude too personally.” King Jeon said, his expression turning a bit serious.

          Jungkook shook his head. “I won’t, don’t worry.”

          ‘A little’ was an understatement. You were as distant as your oldest brother, Yoongi, if not more. Taehyung, the middle child, was friendlier and slightly eccentric. Although he did retain a somewhat aloof aura like the other two. Jungkook noted it was a trait that ran in the family, despite the fact that their parents had made the efforts to be more welcoming.

          Even though Jungkook had been informed by King Jeon regarding your demeanor, he couldn’t help the sadness that prickled his chest by your lack of enthusiasm over their arrival. Other than a curtsy, you didn't bother to start a conversation with him. Jungkook might be shy, but he still wanted you to be comfortable around him. How would he know about your true feelings concerning this betrothal if you refused to talk?

          The answer came very soon – fortunately for him and unfortunately to you – when your mother asked you to bring him to the garden for a ‘chat’. You complied without a second thought, leading him to a huge backyard. Flowers and plants of various sizes, types, and colors bloomed magnificently under the warm sunlight. Dare he said it was bigger than his own garden back at home.

          “You have a gorgeous place,” he murmured as an icebreaker. His chest squeezed painfully when he picked up the sound of your quiet scoff.

          “I don’t like you,” you said bluntly, face emotionless and lips stretched into a thin line.

          Jungkook's eyes looked like they were about to pop off from their sockets; the abruptness of your response completely threw him off guard.

          “The only reason why I agree with this engagement is that I don’t want to have unnecessary problems with your kingdom. Because, obviously, a peaceful relation is more important than a loveless marriage. I don’t even know you.”

          You sneered, oblivious to the tears that stung his eyes when you said those acrid words. Did you really hate him that much even though you claimed that you didn’t know him? Wasn’t it a bit unfair though? You hadn’t given him a chance to show more of his personality yet. How could you suddenly decide that you despised him?

          “Why...?” he whispered, afraid that if he raised his voice any higher he would accidentally break down. He wasn’t a weak man, but even he wasn’t insensitive to pain. Just because men are often taught to be tough, doesn’t mean they don’t possess feelings. Just like women aren't always sensitive and a crybaby.

          “Isn’t it obvious?” you huffed as if his question wasn’t worth answering. “I don’t like you. I’ve said it a few minutes ago if you bothered to listen.”

          Jungkook scowled. “You're so judgmental.” He didn’t intend to be sassy, especially at first meeting, because his parents had told him over and over again to make a good impression before they arrived. Yet, your senseless hate was starting to irk him.

          “Aren’t we all?” you retorted offhandedly. Jungkook noticed your gaze drifted towards a man in the distance, crouching near the roses. It was discreet; others might dismiss it as you staring off the distance.

          But Jungkook wasn't a fool.

          The man looked about in his mid-twenty; with big physique, natural black hair, and handsome profile. Maybe too handsome for a mere worker. He wore a plain top with brown overalls and dirty dark boots. He carefully cut the flowers, brows furrowed and pink lips pouted. Sweats dripped from his forehead, and Jungkook observed the way your eyes watching them disappear under his shirt intensely.

          Jungkook pushed his tongue against the hollow of his cheek. It didn’t take a genius to know that you liked him – that gardener. Both sexually and romantically. Your body language practically screamed longing and attraction; lingering yet wistful glances, one foot pointed towards that man's direction, body shifted slightly to him, head turned away a little, brows furrowed, and lips lowered. However, you refrained from approaching him due to Jungkook's presence, as it could indicate disrespect to the current partner.

          At least you knew how to be polite, despite your bluntness and captiousness.

          Still, that just wouldn’t do.

          Growing up as he did, Jungkook was used to people paying full attention to what he said. And now, here you were, ignoring him and instead of indulging yourself in watching some lowly worker.

          He needed you to focus on him, and him only.

          If you said that everyone was judgmental, then surely you wouldn’t mind if he was being judgmental to that scum?

          “I see now...” Jungkook nodded to himself, ignoring your curious and confused glance. He raised his head and stared straight into your eyes.

          How pretty, he thought. If only you’d look at him the same way you looked at that man. After all, Jungkook was your betrothed. Not that man. Jungkook deserved better treatment than this. And if he couldn’t get it with a gentle approach, then he just had to use the hard way.

Jungkook didn’t want to do this, but boundaries need to be drawn. He was a prince; he wasn’t born to be treated like trash, especially by his own fiancée. The one person who should revere him the way he revered her.

          “It is pleasant to talk with you, Your Highness. Now if you’ll excuse me, I have to tend to some important matters.” He bowed and headed inside before you had a chance to reply.

          Of course, just because that bastard was the object of your affection, doesn’t mean you were free from punishment either. But Jungkook was a lenient man; willing to overlook an error as long as you learned your mistake and promise not to repeat it.

          The next month, he visited the Daegu Kingdom again. This time, he came without his parents' assistance. You appeared in the threshold of the castle, having been informed that he'd like to see you in person, with a stoic face. Yet, one could see the deep sadness and grief in the crevices of your hollow eyes. And although Jungkook felt a bit guilty to see your state, he knew that it was the right choice to make.

          Nobody messed with Jungkook and stole what was his.

          “Your Highness,” he bowed respectfully and deeply because even if you were rude to him before, you were still a princess. And you deserved your honor.

          Jungkook was optimistic that you would open up to him very soon. How could you not? All a grieving person needs is reassurance and consolation, and Jungkook was more than happy to share them with you. Thus, a closer bond would eventually be formed.

          It was such a simple plan, yet it still required great thinking and accuracy. Everything needed to proceed according to his bidding; to ensure that there would be no evidence left. Jin’s body shouldn’t be found in any way, be it a strand of hair or even a lint. He had to disappear. Literally and figuratively.

          Jungkook frowned, assuming the front of a concerned prince. “Your Highness, you seem a little pale. Is everything alright?”

          You nodded, unable to look at him in the eye like you used to. Jungkook mentally scoffed at your stubbornness. It was obvious that you weren’t in your best condition, as you appeared that you would rather be on the bed than here. But Jungkook understood the importance of appearing healthy even if you weren’t.

          For the sake of other people. It was always like that. Unchanging.

          “I’m fine. Thank you for asking,” you mumbled. Jungkook detected the slightest crack in your voice and resisted the simper that twitched his lips.

          “I’ve heard about what happened to your gardener...” he trailed off, discerning your tensing shoulders. Great reaction, just as he expected. “It was truly an unfortunate accident.”

          You looked down. “I know...” Was all you said before drops of tears trickled down from your reddened nose.

          “Oh, Your Highness.” Jungkook gently pulled you into his embrace and noted with great satisfaction your lack of resistance. Instead, you accepted it as if it was the last hug you would receive from a living human being. “I’m sorry. It must be hard to lose such an important person.”

          You merely sobbed against his chest, unaware of the emphasis he purposefully put on the edge of the sentence. Not that you needed to know, anyway. Jin was already gone. Once and for all.

          “He left...” you hiccupped, your tears staining his crimson vest but he didn’t care. “He left... just like that. He didn’t even say goodbye...”

          “Shush,” Jungkook stroked your hair affectionately. He knew it was rather inappropriate to exhibit an intimate action like this, especially when there were a lot of guards nearby. Then again, since when did Jungkook ever care? You were finally in his arms, and he’d be damned if he let such an opportunity to pass by. “It's all right. You don’t need to say anything. Just let it all out; I promise I won’t judge you.”

          It was true; you really didn’t need to say anything. Because Jungkook knew. Because he was the real mastermind behind Jin’s accident.

          Because he was the manipulator. The cause of it all.

          Not that you needed to know, anyway.

#yandere jungkook #yandere jeongguk #yandere bangtan sonyeondan #yandere bts #yandere jeon jungkook #yandere jeon jeongguk #yandere jungkook x reader #yandere jeongguk x reader #yandere jeon jungkook x reader #yandere jeon jeongguk x reader #yandere kpop #yandere au #jungkook x reader #jeongguk x reader #jeon jungkook x reader #jeon jeongguk x reader

[wistfulcynic]

Honeysuckle

Summary: Emma finds herself in a precarious position while trying to return some library books and shy librarian Killian comes to her rescue. He’s sweet and kind and Henry’s bookworm hero but there’s also something about him that she doesn’t know. 

(Something good)

a/n: All the thanks to @shireness-says for letting me borrow the adorable cinnamon roll that is Librarian!Killian, and also for inspiring this fic with her actual life. Librarian!Killian is a bit Deckhand Hook, a bit Lt Jones, which is a version of Killian I’ve never written before. It’s been fun, and not coincidentally this is the only thing I’ve ever written with a G rating. 

(Thanks also to @katie-dub whose beautiful fic Her Happy Beginning inspired me to try a new style of narration.)

@whimsicallyenchantedrose @captainsjedi @kmomof4 @thejollyroger-writer @darkcolinodonorgasm @winterbaby89 @ultraluckycatnd @hollyethecurious @teamhook

Rated: G

On AO3

Honeysuckle: 

Life, as some wise person once said, is just one damned thing after another. It’s full of frustration and elation and misery and comedy and so, so much embarrassment. And sometimes, on those most rare and exquisite of occasions, all of these factors coalesce into one grand, transcendent experience that makes the person living it wish simultaneously to die of humiliation and live in that moment forever. 

Dear Reader, such was the experience of one Emma Swan, medical assistant and single mother, on the third day of the sixth month of the twenty-eighth year of her life. 

The day began as an unremarkable one. Emma dragged herself from bed at the unholy hour of six-thirty am, banged on her son’s bedroom door on her way to the kitchen, and spent the next ten minutes mainlining coffee and forcing herself into full consciousness. When Henry appeared she poured him a bowl of cereal, kissed his forehead, and headed for the shower. So far so ordinary. 

Things didn’t start to go wrong until Emma, showered and dressed and with her still-damp hair pulled into a practical ponytail, took the opportunity of Henry’s regular morning dawdling session to reread the latest letter from her secret pen pal. 

(Secret only because Emma was perhaps overly conscious that having a ‘pen pal’ in this day and at her age might be seen by some as rather ridiculous. Not even Henry knew, although she’d had the pen pal far longer than she’d had the son. Since she was ten years old, in fact, and her fourth grade teacher had arranged a writing exchange with a class in England. For reasons Emma could never fully articulate she had bonded instantly and strongly to the boy across the sea known to her only as ‘K’ —again for ‘reasons’, these best known to themselves, they addressed each other by their initials only— and throughout her life of foster families and failed relationships he remained the only person who had never left her. Virtually anonymous though it may be, it was by far the longest and most stable relationship of Emma’s life and nothing but Henry had ever been more precious to her. But she kept it secret because it was ridiculous. Yep. That’s what she told herself.)   

But back to the letter. 

On my way to work yesterday I came across what I think must be some of the first lilacs of the season and I thought of you, it read. I always think of you when I see flowers and I can never decide which one suits you best, which probably makes sense since I have never seen your face. Are you sweet and springlike as lilacs are, or are you more of a full summer flower like a rose? Maybe you are a slim and elegant calla lily, or perhaps a tall and slightly terrifying sunflower? (Don’t laugh, E, sunflowers are scary! Have you ever seen one? They remind me of Triffids (that’s a book reference, love, and before you ask yes there’s a movie as well. Read the book first) and the way they move to follow the sun is creepy.)

(I know you’re laughing at me. Stop it.)  

It is true I regret to say that Emma had laughed the first time she read the letter, also the second time and possibly the third. But this being the sixth or seventh (tenth) reading the words elicited a smile that came less from mirth and more from a sort of sighing wistfulness as she imagined her never-seen dearest friend sniffing lilacs and thinking of her. 

She wished she knew what he looked like. 

She had tried many times to paint his face in her mind, one that fit the beauty of his words, but found she very literally could not imagine it. Emma’s experience with men was one that is sadly not uncommon among beautiful women whose positions in society are tenuous. As a single mother with only a high school diploma Emma had encountered more than her share of creeps and assholes, men who mistook her vulnerability for weakness and attempted to take advantage of her.

It was a mistake they did not make twice, but the sad result was that Emma had soured on men and relationships and all but given up hope that she would ever find someone who loved her. And as for a man so sweet and kind that he stopped to admire lilacs and wondered what kind of flower she might be, well, he was an impossibility in her experience, simply too good to be true.

She knew of course that K was real. Someone had been writing to her for nearly twenty years. She had no desire to meet him, though (she did) for fear of the crushing disappointment if he didn’t live up to the image she had of him in her mind. No, he was much better left to her imagination and the pages of his beautifully written letters. She couldn’t bear to lose those letters.  

She was just indulging in speculation over what sort of flower he might be when Henry’s voice and the thud of the books he dropped on the table in front of her brought her back to reality. 

“Mom, these books are due back today,” he said. 

“What? Why didn’t you take them back yesterday?”

“I forgot them at home. I didn’t even remember they were due until Killian reminded me. But we can return them now, can’t we?”

Emma tried to remember that he wasn’t trying to exasperate her, he was just absent-minded. “Henry, we are already late. Can’t you take them after school today?”

“No, I have D&D after school.” 

“I’m sure you can miss it one time—” 

“No, Mom, we’re in the middle of a campaign and I have to be there.” 

Emma threw up her hands. “Okay, fine, but you’ll have to take the bus to school.” 

“Mo-om!” 

“No, I do not have time to take you to school, then go to the library, then work. I’ll drive you to the bus stop then swing by the library and put your books in the drop. Hurry up now, are you ready?”

“Yeah, just let me grab my backpack.” 

He ran to get it and Emma absently slipped the letter into its envelope and the envelope into one of Henry’s library books before gathering the books in her arms and slinging her tote bag over her shoulder and herding her son out the door and into her car. 

(I wonder if you can spot where this is going yet?)

Ten minutes later Emma pulled into the library parking lot with as close to a squeal of tires as her creaky Bug could manage and grabbed Henry’s books from her passenger seat. Hurrying to the book drop she tipped them in…

And remembered. Far too late. 

“My letter!” she cried, and without thinking of anything beyond recovering the treasured words, Emma dove headfirst into the book drop, trying to catch the book that held her letter before it fell. She was a slender woman and the book drop more sizeable than most, but it was decidedly not designed to accommodate the ingress of any size of human, and so all she accomplished was to wedge her shoulders tightly into the narrow space with one arm stretched out in front of her inside the chute and the other sticking out of the drop’s opening at an odd angle. With the toe of one foot she could just touch the ground while the other one dangled helplessly in the air. She kicked with her leg to try to yank herself free but succeeded only in sending her practical flat shoe flying off her foot and landing with a splash in what she felt certain was a mud puddle, just as the sound of Henry’s books landing in the bin at the bottom of the chute reached her ears. 

Perfect, she thought. Just perfect.  

This, as I’m sure you have deduced my lovely Reader, has been the embarrassment and yes also the comedy portion of our tale. The former feeds the latter until it is fat as we all know from our own lives, and in the years to come Emma would learn to laugh when telling and retelling the story of her predicament. Though it must be said that, as is often the case with embarrassing things, she saw absolutely no humour in it at the time.

The frustration came into play moments later as Emma made further attempts to extricate herself from the drop, only to find that the position of her shoulders and her hands and her legs left her entirely unable to get enough purchase on any solid surface to provide sufficient counterbalancing force to un-wedge her. She was well and truly stuck, profoundly uncomfortable, and by that time almost certainly late for work. 

It was then that the misery kicked in. 

“Fuck,” she shouted, and the word reverberated down the metal chute, echoing back to her in a way she considered almost insultingly on the nose. She closed her eyes and let her head fall against the side of the chute and wondered just what the hell she was going to do now. 

(It will not, I feel certain, have escaped your notice that we have not yet had elation. Fear not, gentle Reader, for it is to come, and far sooner than Emma expects.) 

Fortunately both for Emma and our story a rescuer soon arrived, not on a white charger as in a fairy tale but aboard a practical secondhand Volvo in a rather nice shade of blue. 

Now Killian Jones may well have wished, deep in his heart, in that remote corner where he kept his love of adventure stories and even fancied himself a bit of a rogue, for something sportier, something a touch more dashing. But Killian Jones was a librarian, and the financial realities of our world dictate that librarians do not drive sports cars. So Killian had sighed for what was never to be and bought the Volvo —and adamantly rejected the silver one, he was not a vampire, sparkly or otherwise— and it had to be said that he’d never regretted it. 

All he regretted that morning was the broken shoelace that had made him too late to walk to work and smell the lilacs. 

As he pulled into the parking lot he was surprised to see a yellow Volkswagen Beetle parked haphazardly in the closest spot to the door that wasn’t reserved for the differently abled. It looked very much like the car that he’d frequently seen young Henry running to, the one that would naturally be driven by his mother…

Impulsively Killian pulled into the space next to the yellow car instead of continuing to the employee lot. His heart had begun to pound and his mouth was dry. 

It’s probably not her, he told himself firmly. There have to be other yellow Bugs in the neighbourhood. 

(There definitely weren’t.)

But if it was her he couldn’t pass up the opportunity to stutter a few incoherent words before excusing himself awkwardly and fleeing to a private corner where he might catch his breath, which was what happened every time he tried to talk to Henry’s mother.

Now Killian Jones, as, dearest Reader, you well know, was a handsome man, and one not so caught up in books and fantasy that he was unaware of this fact or of the effect it had on women. He could be smooth enough with the female species when he put his mind to it but something about Henry’s mother —he didn’t even know her name— tied his tongue and stopped his throat and robbed him of every shred of eloquence he may otherwise possess. 

This didn’t stop him from trying, though. The humiliation was worth it to see her smile. 

He got out of the car as quickly as possible, cursing as he caught the strap of his satchel in the door, then hurried to the library’s main entrance, looking around in a way that he hoped didn’t make it too obvious that he was looking around. Where would she be? he wondered. If she was here that is, if it was her. Come to think of it, why would she be here? Why would anyone? Who went to the library an hour before it opened to, what, stand around in front of the door and wait? 

His attention was finally drawn, after a moment or two, to the after-hours book drop when the person stuck inside it began banging and shouting loudly enough for even the most distracted bookworm to notice. 

Wait… the person stuck inside the book drop?

Killian turned to look, mouth gaping open in astonishment, too taken aback to even feel ashamed that he very definitely recognised that arse. 

So that’s where she was. This simultaneously answered several questions and posed a good few more. 

He hurried over, knowing that he ought to do something, but very uncertain as to what that something ought to be. 

“Um, hello?” he ventured. “Excuse me?”

Her voice was muffled but the annoyance came through loud and clear. “Oh thank fuck, I thought you’d gone,” she said.  

“Um. What?”

“I heard your car door slam so I started banging to get your attention, but then no one came and I thought you’d left, or gone in another direction or something.” 

“Ah. Er, no. I’m, uh, I’m here. What, um, what can I do for you?” He winced even as he spoke the words.

(She robbed him of all eloquence, you recall, even when all he could see was her backside. Perhaps especially then.)

She paused just long enough to make her opinion of his question clear. “Get me out of here!” she shouted.

“Aye, of course, lass, but, er, um—” Killian assessed the situation from three different angles just to be sure that there was no other option, that it wasn’t simply his physical attraction to her getting the better of him “—I’ll have to, uh, there’s no other way except to, er, touch you—”

“Yes, yes, I know that’s fine, just get me out!” 

“Aye, all right, um, can you push on the inside of the chute at all?”

“Yes, but I can’t get enough purchase on the ground to counterbalance, so I can’t force my shoulders out.” 

“Ah, yes, I see. All right, well you push and I’ll just, um—” Cautiously he wrapped his arm around her waist and braced his hand against the wall of the library. “I’ll brace you. Are you ready?”

“So ready.” 

“Okay, on three. One… two… three!” 

Killian planted his feet firmly on the ground and he could feel her muscles tense and flex as she pushed on the wall of the chute, and with her body braced against his she was able to un-wedge her shoulders from the narrow space and then with a final heave she freed herself from the drop, the force of it sending her stumbling backwards against Killian, whose other arm automatically wrapped itself around her and held on tight. 

She smelled like honeysuckle, was all he could think.

Too soon she was straightening up and he forced his arms to let her go, and she turned around with a smile that nearly ended him. 

“Thanks,” she said. “I thought I’d be in there at least until the library opened.” 

Emma was trying to be cool but the truth was that even from inside the chute she’d recognised the voice and accent of Henry’s favourite librarian, his hero really, the man who had recommended all his favourite books and who always had time to discuss them with him. Henry talked about him almost nonstop. 

“Ah, it’s Killian, isn’t it?” she said. “We’ve talked a few times before, I’m Henry’s mother.”

Killian swallowed hard and forced himself not to panic. “Aye, I remember. Er— sorry, I don’t know your name.” 

He’s so cute, thought Emma. She’d always thought so, if she was honest, not just his face but the adorable way he couldn’t quite manage to talk to her. It was sweet, and frankly a blessed change from the way men usually acted around her.

“It’s Emma Swan,” she said, and held out her hand. Killian took it gingerly, like he was afraid it might bite him. 

The jolt of sensation that went through both of them at the contact seemed to confirm his fears.  

They both pulled their hands away, laughing nervously, and thorough the haze of his confusion something prickled in Killian’s mind. E. Swan, he thought, just like…

“You must be wondering how I managed to get stuck like that,” said Emma, interrupting his thoughts, attempting to brazen through her own jumpy nerves by talking.

“Well, yes, I confess it did cross my mind.” A complete sentence in her presence, that was a first, he thought. 

“Yeah, it must be a pretty weird thing to encounter first thing in the morning.”

“I assure you, lass, we’ve seen weirder in this library.” Two complete sentences, what had come over him? 

“That’s nice of you to say. Okay, here’s the thing. I kinda… left something really important in one of the books I returned, and… look I’m so grateful to you for rescuing me but would you mind maybe going to see if you could find it?” She kept her face calm but he could sense her anxiety in the way she twisted her hands together. “It’s, well, it’s personal and I don’t want to lose it, or you know have strangers reading it—”

He waved his hand to cut her off. “Say no more, it would be my pleasure to retrieve it for you. Um, what is it?”

Her smile shone relieved and brilliant, and Killian’s powers of speech abandoned him yet again. 

“It’s a letter. In an envelope. I mean, just like a normal envelope. But… open.” 

He nodded, groping desperately for his words. “Letter. Envelope. Got it. I’ll, um, go now. Uh, stay here.” 

“Where else would I go?” she asked his retreating back. 

Killian hurriedly unlocked the main doors and raced down the stairs to the bin at the bottom of the book drop’s chute. He realised he’d forgotten to ask Emma —he felt a small thrill using her name— which book she’d left her letter in, but fortunately he remembered which books Henry had checked out during his last visit. They’d had a long conversation about each, after all. He ruffled through the first one but no letter fell out, the same result for the second. The third, however, produced its treasure, an ordinary, unremarkable white letter envelope. 

One that looked strikingly familiar. 

Killian stared at the letter in his hand, addressed to one E. Swan, in a firm, flowing, elegant script.

A script he recognised. 

Because it was his own. 

Bloody hell. 

(Be honest, now, kind Reader, you aren’t going to tell me you didn’t see this coming?) 

Killian wanted to hyperventilate. (Is it possible to want to hyperventilate?) His favourite patron’s mother, the woman he’d admired (and yes, done a bit of pining for) from afar was also, somehow, the pen pal he’d had since he was ten years old. His dearest friend. 

It was too ridiculous. It was impossible. 

(It was actually just a very strange coincidence, and who among us hasn’t experienced one of those? But Killian was feeling rather dramatic in that moment, so we’ll give him a pass.)

 (Now Reader, you are likely wondering how it is possible that two people who communicate via letter, a medium of communication that requires the knowledge of one’s recipient’s address as a matter of course, could possibly be unaware that they lived in the same neighbourhood of the same small town, mere blocks from one another as it turns out? The simple explanation is this: Both some years ago had arranged P.O. Boxes for their letters to each other, finding it easier (and if we are honest, more securely anonymous) to simply ask the post office to forward their letters as they moved around rather than keep updating each other directly. Killian’s P.O. Box was in Syracuse, NY, where he had gone to library school and his first port of call in the USA while Emma’s was in Tallahassee, FL, where she had stayed for two years after Henry was born.

Could they have saved themselves a fair bit of time and no small amount of loneliness had they just used their real addresses? Or, you know, their actual names? 

Yes. Yes they could. But then we wouldn’t have a story.) 

As Killian reeled from his astounding discovery, Emma was sitting on the hood of her Bug, wincing as her shift supervisor (and friend) laughed, so long and so hard Emma feared she’d give herself an aneurysm. 

After a while she began to hope for an aneurysm. 

“Oh my God,” Ruby gasped, once she was finally able to speak through her mirth. “That is the funniest thing I’ve heard in a long time. Years, probably.”

“Not helpful, Rubes. I only called to tell you that I’ll be in as soon as possible, I can probably get going in about five, ten minutes or so. I’m really sorry.” 

Ruby’s appreciation for a good joke did not affect her empathy for a friend in need. “Look, Ems, we’re not busy today, three patients have already cancelled their appointments. I can cover what’s left. Let’s just call this a sick day for you and if you want you can make up the shift this weekend. Go home and rest. You’ve had a narrow escape after all.” 

Emma groaned. “I hate you.” 

“You love me, and don’t forget I’m covering your shift today so you really shouldn’t be stuck up.”

“I mean, that’s just terrible.” 

 Ruby laughed. “Call me later. I’ll be waiting so don’t think you can wriggle out of it.” 

“You are the worst and I’m hanging up now. Goodbye. And thanks.” 

“Any time, doll.” 

Emma hung up the phone just as Killian came through the doors holding, she was relived to see, her letter. 

And with a very peculiar expression on his face. 

She felt her heart flutter. He looked… intense. It was a good look on him. 

She remembered how his arms had felt around her and the flutter became a gallop. 

He handed her the letter. 

“You’re honeysuckle,” he blurted. 

“I— what?” Emma blinked in surprise. 

“Honeysuckle. Not lilacs or roses, or sunflowers, thank goodness.” 

How could he… no! she thought wildly. He couldn’t, he wouldn’t have. He seemed so nice. 

“Did you read my letter?” she cried, somehow feeling more betrayed than angry.

“No! That is, I sort of did, but—” He ran a hand through his hair, looking distressed. “Oh, I’m doing this all wrong.”

“Just what exactly are you doing?” she snapped. 

He took a deep breath, and looked her in the eye. “Let me introduce myself,” he said. “We really haven’t been properly introduced. My name is Killian Jones. Killian with a K.” 

Emma gasped as the import of his name plus the fact that he knew what was in her letter hit home. K. Jones. 

“You— you’re K?”

“Aye. I mean yes, I am. And you’re E. Who smells of honeysuckle. I’ve always wondered.”

“You wondered what I smelled like?”

“I’ve wondered a lot of things about you, love.” He smiled, not the awkward, shy smile he normally gave her, but a bright and brilliant one full of joy and just a hint of mischief. It made her feel feather-light and ridiculously happy. This man she could definitely picture sniffing lilacs and thinking of her. He was real, and right in front of her, and her imagination had utterly failed to do him justice. 

“Listen,” he said, more confident than she’d ever seen him but with nervousness just creeping in at the edges, rubbing at a spot behind his ear and looking just over her left shoulder, “Would you, um, like to have a drink with me? You probably have to get to work now, but maybe later—” 

“I have the day off.” The words were out before she could stop them. 

Hope lit in his eyes. “You do?”

“As of five minutes ago,” she confirmed. “My boss said I’d clearly been through enough already today and told me to take a sick day. But, I mean, don’t you have to work—”

“I’ll take a sick day too,” he said hurriedly, pulling out his phone. “Just give me a minute.” 

The phone rang only twice before Belle picked up. She was nothing if not efficient. 

“Hi, Belle, it’s, er, Killian.” Of course she knows that you numpty she saw your name come up on the screen, he thought. 

(Killian is a terrible, terrible liar.)

He cleared his throat and continued. “I’m, um, so sorry but I’m not well today.” 

“Not well,” repeated Belle.  

“Er, no, I think I’ll have to stay home.” 

“You sound fine, Killian.” She sounded strict, when she was usually so kind. He forced himself not to panic, and attempted a little cough. “No, I assure you,” he said, “I’m very ill.” 

“Very ill, you say.” 

“Er, aye.” Why is she repeating everything?

“Too ill to come to work.” 

“Um, yes.” 

“Too ill to come to work and not in fact currently standing in the patrons’ car park with Henry’s mother?” 

He gaped. “How do you—”

She laughed, a familiar, warm sound, and Killian felt the knot of tension in his chest begin to melt. “I heard you come in through the main door and I came to see what was going on,” she said. 

Killian felt a stab of guilt. “Belle, I can explain—” 

“You don’t have to. At least, not yet. I’ll be demanding a full explanation tomorrow, when I feel certain you’ll be well enough to come to work.” 

“Of course. Thank you, Belle, you’re a treasure.” 

“Just be sure you actually talk to her this time.” 

“Aye, I think I can manage that.” It was easier now that he knew he’d actually been talking to her for the best part of twenty years. 

He ended the call and turned to smile at Emma who smiled back at him, and now, my darling Reader, we come at long last to the elation. The sheer, shining joy of experiencing something you’ve wondered about for years and finding it surpasses even your most elevated expectations. 

They went for coffee. They walked to the coffee shop, past the lilacs which were just beginning to fade, and they sniffed them together. 

Their conversation flowed with surprising ease, or perhaps not so surprising. In a way of course they had only just met but in another way they had known each other for years, and they were pleased to discover that there was no awkwardness between them other than that which results naturally between two people who are wildly attracted to each other and only just beginning to explore it. 

They explored it eventually. And thoroughly. 

And when the following year they stood in a country garden with Belle and Ruby and a Henry who was almost dancing with excitement and exchanged rings and promises of love and fidelity, the trellis above their heads was heavy and fragrant with honeysuckle in full bloom. And not a sunflower in sight. 

(Ah, I love a happy ending, I hear you sighing, beloved Reader. I do as well but I fear this is not one. It is of course a happy beginning.)

#cs ff #cs ff au #cs fic #deckhand hook #lieutenant jones #captain swan #fluff #omg so fluffy #tooth-rotting fluff #captain cobra #librarian killian #honeysuckle #profdanglaisstuff #one shot #rated g

[365daysofsasuhina]

[ 365 Days of SasuHina || Day One Hundred Nine: It Is Elegant ] [ Uchiha Sasuke, Hyūga Hinata ] [ SasuHina ] [ Verse: To Rule Them All ] [ AO3 Link ]

A knock sounds against the door, lifting Hinata’s eyes from the book she’s reading.

“My lady? It’s time to be fit for your gown.”

The words spoken beyond her room earn a soft sigh. Another ball, another gown. “Very well. You may come in.” She dog ears the page to mark her place, standing from her desk and watching as a team of seamstresses enter.

Over and over she’s had new gowns made over the past several months since her coronation. All in an effort to pretty her up for all of the parties her father throws in search of a proper suitor. His eldest daughter is of age, now. The sooner he can have her married, the better, in his opinion.

But as of yet, she’s not met any who’ve caught her eye...nor, apparently, she theirs. There have been no talks of marriage or even courtships.

...though that may have something to do with her knight.

The same day she took the title of lady after seventeen years a girl, so too was Hinata appointed a knight: one pledged to her and her alone. Her bodyguard, her sword and shield. The younger son of the main Uchiha line. While the elder may have had the birthright, Itachi’s persistent illnesses meant a frail body...so he instead took to developing his mind. He now sits on her council, instead.

And that left Sasuke as the first in line.

Clearly proud of his heritage, Sasuke had stepped up to the mantle with dignity. While most might have shied from being withheld from battlefields and glory, he’d known that being chosen to guard one of royal blood was all the glory he could ask for.

And the day they’d met, she’d asked him to promise her something.

To protect her from all threats...including those perhaps not quite so dire.

Hinata knows well enough she can’t avoid marriage forever. But to be thrown so quickly into what will likely be a match made more in politics than affection makes her feel so...hopeless. Her youth may not last forever, but a bit of time to enjoy it first is all she wants.

Hence her plead.

And his agreement.

As per their arrangement, he lingers with her every spare moment...including the many galas Hiashi has hosted since their meeting. Ever hawkish, he’s looked every suitor over with a keen eye, clearly conveying one thing: this is the woman he owes his utmost allegiance. Harm her in any way - including ways of the heart - and he will not hesitate to act.

Needless to say, it’s been rather effective thus far.

But, for now, she has yet another party to endure.

She’s carefully peeled out of the layers she’s already been dressed in today until left in her barest of clothes. Measurements are taken along every limb, around every curve, until there’s nothing left of her they aren’t privy to.

All the while, the details of the guest list are rattled off to her...as if any of it matters. Half a dozen eligible heirs are coming, each with high hopes of being matched with the princess. Hinata doesn’t even listen. It doesn’t strike her: the only thing she’ll care about is their manner, and she won’t know that until they meet.

And if it should go poorly...she’ll simply have Sasuke drive them off.

How quickly she’s come to rely on him. Though she tries not to overwork him, he’s nonetheless attentive. At first she assumed it merely out of duty: a thing he already took quite seriously. But there was a quick, unspoken attachment in their airs. Similar in some ways, different in others...and in all, thus far, aligning quite well. He swiftly grew used to her mannerisms, able to read most of her thoughts and ideas without a word. She, too, can glean a great amount from just the hold of his brow.

Though strangers mere months before, they’re nigh on inseparable now. Fitting to all edges without much effort.

In truth...it makes her wistful that a knight were of a rank suitable for a throne.

She, of course, can’t assume his feelings. Nor is she sure hers are so bold. But there’s something so...effortless in how they’ve come together. Hinata can only dream of finding a match with such chemistry.

True, knights have hard-won a princess’ hand before...but it is rare, and only after acts of great valor that prove his worth as both a knight, and a man. One worthy of ruling a kingdom he already swore to protect.

Either way...there’s little point in wondering. Her father would surely disapprove...and there’s no telling they’d be happy in such an arrangement, anyway.

For now...she will simply endure.

Measured and noted, Hinata is redressed and left to her own devices for the time being. Two weeks remain to have the gown finished for her to don at the gala. Until then...she can only dread it.

And like many dreaded things, it comes quickly.

It takes nearly an hour to dress and make her, corset laced tight and every wrinkle banished. Admittedly, it’s beautiful. Crafted of only the finest cloths, it varies from pale lilac to deep amethyst: an array of violet shades that bring out the shine of her dark hair in the light, and tinge to her eyes.

Once prepared, she’s given a moment to collect herself, instructed to report to the ballroom posthaste. Left alone, she takes in her image in the mirror.

...a knock then sounds.

“You may enter.”

A pause, and then the door clicks open. Donning his dress uniform, Sasuke peers in, a decorated rapier at his side...mostly just for show. “...Hinata?”

Relaxing a hair, she sighs. “...I’m coming. Just...taking a moment to b-brace myself.”

Stepping in and letting the door close behind him, he stands at relaxed attention. “Are you all right?”

“As right as I can be. Just dreading the night. Are all of the suitors here…?”

“They are. None stand out to me as of yet.”

She gives him a weary smile, tearing her gaze from her reflection. “Well...I suppose it could be worse.” A glance down to her gown, and then, “What do you think?”

Dark eyes, given permission, drop from her face to look her over. “...it is elegant.”

That earns a breath of a snort. “Please, you don’t need to be so...stiff.”

“It’s true. Your gowns are always...pretty.”

Her lips twitch. Clearly he’s not well-versed in fashion...not that she blames him in the slightest. “Thank you...as much as I dread these nights, I always love the dresses I’m made. I hope Father pays them well…”

“I’ll speak to Itachi. Surely he’ll change that if not.”

“I’m glad.”

They stand in a pained silence.

“...well, no avoiding it,” Hinata then sighs in defeat.

“No, there’s not.” Sasuke offers an arm, which she daintily takes.

“...if not for you, I’m not sure how I’d weather these shows of wealth and all these preening peacocks.”

Sasuke can’t help a huff of a laugh. “I’m sure you’d fare just fine. You don’t give yourself near enough credit.”

“You’re the only one of s-such an opinion, I assure you.” Sighing yet again, she dares to lean wearily against him for a moment. “...thank you...for all that you do. No matter what else might come to pass...I can face it, knowing you’ll face it beside me.”

He gives her a glance. “...you’re welcome. Shall we go…?”

“....we shall.”

     Goodness it's late and I've a long day ahead of me, so I'll be brief!      This is a sequel to day sixty-seven: where Sasuke was anointed princess Hinata's personal knight! They've done a little bonding since then, seems like :3c Surely a knight can marry a princess, can't they? Maybe he just needs to scare off all those suitors first...      Anyway! That's all for tonight - today was busy busy, and so shall tomorrow be! I'll see you then - and thank you for reading!

#sasuhina #uchiha sasuke #hyūga hinata #to rule them all [ au ] #365daysofsasuhina

[lachalaine]

Normally he'd let her sleep, but now he was feeling Jackie-Attention Deprived and that was just Unacceptable! So it was with a low, leopard whine that he started to nose at her sides in the attempt to rouse her. Nudge Nudge. He then nuzzled at her face, rubbing his cheek against hers for a few moments before accepting defeat. He huffed and slumped against her, his head coming to rest gently on her chest while his eyes were fixed on her face. Wake up, wake up, wake up. (he misses her shh ♥)

Unprompted //

@secrecykept​

Sleep, sleep, sleep – it’s honestly all a wonder on how she still manages to remain asleep. 

For her eyes are closed and her exhaustion remains heavy, an evident line of fatigue etched along the positions of awkwardly strewn limbs as she rests; and yet despite it all does she still remain somehow most vaguely – aware. Aware of the shift to the air, to the even padding that ushers stealthily across the mattress; a comfortable presence she’s come to recognize even when her eyes remain shut, only to be dully reinforced by the low whine that tugs at the strings of her consciousness - gently pulling her from the tranquil abyss of which still kept her buried beneath her easy slumber. 

A slight nudge felt, a gentle and somewhat tickling motion - certainly just gentle enough to rouse her slowly awake; as quiet, quiet, quietly does a breathy sigh exhale upon velvet lips - a gesture nearly as soft as the touch of checkered pelt that’d nuzzled earnestly against the curve of her cheek. 

Still, her eyes remain closed, and it’s a wonder, again, how she remains asleep at all. But then again, you had to ask, against all evidence otherwise — but is she really? 

For perhaps - in an all too likely notion - does she seemingly remain in this countenance in efforts to tease, for even while lethargic does the female vaguely catch on to what the feline was trying to do; prompting to evoke within her a most distinct delay, such intentions laced with a playfulness that’d fully indicated that she would be just slightly cruel enough that she would make him wait. 

Just a bit. Just a little, little bit. 

Yet a gentle slump upon her chest, and she finds she just can’t fully resist. 

And finally does she come awake with all the sense of a languid grace - the kind of which you might expect to see of a flower blossoming under the rays of the sun. It’s an elegance at odds with the chaotic image she makes of rucked up clothes and errant curls; yet it feels like one that fits her all the same. A stretch of svelte frame as eyes came to gradually open, a mere sliver beneath thick lashes as the veil of unconsciousness lifts; a peek taken towards the gaze of the large feline that’d settled comfortably upon her frame - blink against the sunlight, against the intensity of eyes so deeply focused upon her own - and just as seamlessly, and in quick order, does a soft, if not ever so delighted smile bloom.

Fingertips tracing a delicate trail along the length of his nape and settling just behind his ear, she gives him just a gentle scritchy-scratch in greeting. 

( what she’d give to just nuzzle against him all the same, though. so soft, soft, soft, soft, soft )

her heart heaves a wistful sigh.

she adores. 

“Good morning to you too, kitty~ you know my alarm hasn’t gone off yet, right?” 

Languid, sleepy, yet a thoroughly amused utterance, even as hands spread an even glide down the back of checkered fur in caressing motion; up and down and up again, giving him exactly what he’d wanted – a reward granted, even if he’d been admittedly insistent enough to prod her away much needed rest. 

Such a needy kitty, really, though perhaps she didn’t really mind. It was just as she’d said, after all, even if she’d playfully tried to delay it. She just couldn’t resist him. And really –

Why could she ever even want to? 

#bestiatexere #secrecykept #&& waste time with a masterpiece (answered asks) #&& sunkissed skin and leopard prints; your sunshine is apollo’s touch and my home is within the whispers of your heart (chesh&jackie) #/ dshsabhdbsahdbsahdbsadha this might be !! a mess !! my head be fuzzy 😭😭😭 #/ i hope this works bby !!! #/ i just !! she wanted !! kitty !! and i saw the ask !! #/ so i did it dsahbdhasb #/ but also i want to do bg kitty too 😭😭😭 #/ i HOPE I CAN GET TO THAT ONE SOON AAAAAAAAAAAAH ILY LOTS !!! #/ sorry if the writing sounds weird dhsbahdbsa thank u very much doki doki !!