#others are just standing next to the coals not willing to walk across it but complaining about the little steam

[absolutely-not-my-main-blog]

I think there’s a point when watching Always Sunny for the first time where all of a sudden, what they’re doing with the show and trying to do with the show just clicks, you know, the satire becomes clear but so does the psychological complexity of the characters, and it’s like crossing this threshold in your brain after the first shock of it subsides because it very much is shocking, but it’s also like walking on a bed of hot coals and if you’re one of the ones who doesn’t immediately run away at the first bite of the flame and you choose to endure/survive the shock of those metaphorical hot coals and think about everything just a minute or so longer, you get to experience enlightenment.

#iasip #it’s always sunny in philadelphia #You also get to experience the shock scrambling your neurons to think a little too much about Macdennis #and make you feel inexplicably glirsty #For some this happens in the first episode #for others it takes longer but if they choose to continue then they see #others are just standing next to the coals not willing to walk across it but complaining about the little steam #this metaphor analogy simile whatever is getting away from me #anmmbposts #always Sunny #this show makes me unwell #I remember the image of oh it’s a joke she says as she casually tossed aside a large rock vividly entering my mind at one point in s1 #and then my mind was freed #to think of all the rest of the depth they layered in there #it’s such a psychologically fascinating show I’m out of my mind with thoughts #watching iasip like frank in mfhp in just an I get it now moment of profound clarity #it did happen in s1 for me but I have no idea how to convey this 3rd layer of enlightened reality to others who look at me funny #when I talk of the depth #and the level of satire that’s so sharp that half the people don’t even understand it’s satire #it’s unlike anything I usually watch at all

[geraltrogerericduhautebellegarde]

A Series of Firsts

Pssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssst

@kuripon

I wrote you a thing 😘

The biggest of thanks to the most darling @jaskiersvalley for tearing this apart and telling me how to put it back together correctly <3

This was written for The Witcher Bog Mini Exchange! A little exchange we did within our Witcher Discord! (I also forgot the meaning of the word mini and now this is 4k - after I cut out 2 plot points 😬)

So here is some fluffy and soft Geraskier goodness, rated T

-

Geralt sighed as he watched Jaskier trip over another rock in the road. In the daylight. On a clear day. The man really was a disaster, tripping over nothing simply because he just wasn’t paying attention.

Winter was approaching and they had been planning on splitting up at the crossroads ahead, Jaskier to head for Oxenfurt and Geralt to head for Kaer Morhen. Normally, when the two split for winter, they were close enough to Oxenfurt for Geralt to be able to leave the man there, but this year they had been nearly on the other side of the continent.

Geralt wouldn’t be able to get him to Oxenfurt safely and then make it to Kaer Morhen before the pass froze over, though, so they had agreed to split up.

Geralt wasn’t convinced that Jaskier would be able to make it to Oxenfurt by himself.

Sure, the pair had split up over the two or so years that they had been travelling together but typically Geralt left Jaskier in a city where he was relatively protected and could find safe travels with troupes or caravans should he leave for elsewhere. But here, in the middle of the road, Geralt wasn’t feeling overly confident about leaving the bard to his own devices.

He supposed he could escort Jaskier to Oxenfurt, then make his way to Novigrad and winter there, he had friends in the city. The biggest problem was how expensive it was and how few and far between contracts were in the winter months.

Geralt watched as Jaskier wagged a finger at the rock that had tripped him with amusement, still wracking his brain for a good solution to getting the man to Oxenfurt safely. Although, Geralt did suppose there was a chance Jaskier would be willing to travel with him for the winter, to Kaer Morhen. It certainly would be an adventure for the man, and he loved those. And Geralt wouldn’t truly mind the man’s company over the winter. There were a lot of tomes and poetry books which were thought lost to time that were still in the library at Kaer Morhen and Jaskier, always boasting about how much of a learned man he was, would surely love to see them.

Yes, it would be a good solution. Geralt would be able to keep an eye on the man and know he was safe, he would get his company over winter, which was truly no hardship, and Jaskier might find the idea fun. He supposed he could at least suggest it.

Clearing his throat, Geralt interrupted Jaskier’s rant about how rude it was to trip people, “Jaskier, would you like to accompany me this winter?”

Jaskier turned around to face Geralt, his mouth wide and a confused look on his face, “Accompany you?”

“Yes. To Kaer Morhen.”

Jaskier opened and closed his mouth a few times, looking rather like a fish, Geralt thought.

“You want… me, to go with you? To your secret witcher keep? For the winter?”

“If you would like to join me, yes.”

Jaskier was staring at Geralt, his blue eyes shining brilliant and bright in the sunlight. He looked confused, not an expression Geralt often associated with Jaskier, the man was rather quick witted, his mind seemed to race on even faster than his mouth sometimes.

But it seemed Geralt had stumped him.

“You don’t have to if you don’t like. I just thought you might like to see the keep. And there are some books in the library that I think you would find interesting.”

“Some books you think I would find interesting?” Jaskier asked, sounding faint.

“Yes.”

Jaskier blinked a few times rapidly, looking around as if trying to find a solution for his obvious confusion before settling his gaze back on Geralt and shrugging, “If you’re offering then, yes. I would love to accompany you.”

Geralt nodded, “Alright then.”

And it was settled.

Jaskier still looked confused.

-

Jaskier felt his mouth open as he stared in awe at the massive keep in front of him. He had been astounded as they reached the gate and then again when they reached another entry way and now, actually facing the keep, he was amazed.

It was absolutely stunning. Crumbling in places, sure. Maybe a bit worse for wear in other places as well, but truly just gorgeous.

“I thought you were cold?”

Fuck. He was, he really was, and he had wanted nothing more than to run inside the keep at the first opportunity and plant himself firmly in the middle of a fire, directly on the coals, but when the stone keep had appeared in front of him, stealing his breath from his lungs, he had forgotten all about the ache of his ears and the fact that his nose had long since gone numb.

But Geralt was right, he needed warmth and soon. He could come back out and stare at the glory of Kaer Morhen later, when he wasn’t about to die from hypothermia and lose a couple toes to frostbite.

When Geralt pushed open the doors of the keep, Jaskier felt the warmth wash over him in a comforting wave and he hurried behind Geralt to hopefully find the source of said heat.

Looking around in amazement, Jaskier’s eyes danced over the beautiful, if dilapidated, tapestries and murals decorating the giant walls of the main hall of the keep. It was glorious. Everywhere Jaskier looked, there was something new to feast his eyes upon, and every time he looked back at somewhere he had already studied, he found new details.

As much hesitance and confusion as he had felt taking Geralt’s offer to join him for winter, Jaskier didn’t regret his decision for a moment. If he hadn’t gotten to see this then… well, he supposed he wouldn’t know what he was missing, but now that he did know, he would never be able to go back. The history of the keep, literally written on the walls, be it in intricate murals or damages from the attacks, were screaming at Jaskier, begging to be immortalized in song. He could see the music dancing through the air as he looked around.

“Jaskier?”

Jaskier jumped, looking to where Geralt was staring at him, “Sorry… it’s just… amazing in here! Geralt, why didn’t you tell me how amazing it is?”

Geralt looked around quickly, a frown on his face, “It’s just… home?”

Jaskier felt himself soften at Geralt’s words, “Yes, it is, darling. And I’m very happy to be here. Now, if you could kindly escort me to the fire, I would like to lay down in it.”

Geralt huffed out a small laugh and Jaskier could see the corners of his mouth twitch up, “Come on, it’ll be warmest in the kitchen and you can sit as close to the fire as you dare.”

“Right in the center, then!”

“I don’t know if I’m feeling roast bard for dinner tonight.”

Jaskier laughed loudly, his shoulders shaking as he followed Geralt to the keep. His laughter bounced off the walls, echoing around them.

Geralt had been right, the kitchen, a smaller room right off of the main hall, was certainly warmer, and Jaskier was able to pull a bench right up to the fire where he held his hands and feet dangerously close to the blissful heat.

“You’ll get blisters,” Geralt commented wryly as he shuffled around the kitchen, getting bowls out as he messed with a large pot. It smelled delicious, whatever it was. Jaskier couldn’t quite place it, though it smelled herbal.

Geralt filled the bowls and walked over to sit next to Jaskier on the bench, holding out one for him, “Here, eat this to help warm you.”

Taking the bowl with a grateful smile, Jaskier wasted no time digging in. He had never tasted anything quite like it before. It seemed to be a stew, certainly the heartiest one Jaskier had ever had, filled with venison, potatoes, carrots, and a number of herbs he was certain he had never seen before. It was delicious.

“Mmm, who made this?” He asked between bites.

“Vesemir.”

Nodding thoughtfully, Jaskier kept eating. Geralt didn’t talk much of the other witchers of Kaer Morhen, though he had mentioned them all a few times here and there. Jaskier had always gotten the impression that Vesemir had become something of a caretaker to Geralt, though he wasn’t sure exactly how they related to each other. But Geralt spoke of the other man as if he were a mentor, so Jaskier had always suspected Geralt had learned a lot from him.

If only Geralt would learn to cook a stew like this, Jaskier would never feel the need to spend coin in another tavern for dinner again.

-

The sound of the kitchen door closing startled Jaskier, and he spun around on his bench to see another witcher, grey haired and kind faced, standing just inside the kitchen, staring at Geralt meaningfully. Geralt shrugged.

Golden eyes fixed on Jaskier.

“Hello,” Jaskier said, suddenly feeling hesitant, “I’m Jaskier.”

“The bard.” It wasn’t a question. An acknowledgement, more like. Maybe even an accusation, Jaskier couldn’t really tell.

“Ahh, yes. That would be me.”

The man nodded, “I’m Vesemir. Welcome to Kaer Morhen.”

“Oh! You made the stew!”

Vesemir raised an eyebrow and nodded.

“It’s delicious!” Jaskier declared, gesturing to his third bowl, “Truly the best stew I’ve ever had. You’ll have to teach me how you do it, Geralt certainly can’t accomplish anything that tastes so good.”

Vesemir approached the table and sat across from Jaskier, both ignoring Geralt’s indignant grunt as the pair began to discuss why Vesemir’s stew was so delicious and why Geralt’s never seemed to measure up.

-

Jaskier laughed loudly, his head thrown back in glee, as Vesemir told another story about the havoc a young Geralt would cause and his subsequent punishments. Jaskier had been nervous to meet the older witcher, worried he wouldn’t be welcomed into the keep despite Geralt’s insistence he would be.

He needn’t have been worried.

Vesemir proved not only to be incredibly inviting but also happy to have a guest, particularly one gifted in music.

“I’ve dallied,” he admitted finally, after a long conversation with Jaskier about the best qualities in lute strings.

Jaskier couldn’t help but grin as he held his lute out to Vesemir, “Go on then, show me what you’ve got!” 

“I couldn’t.”

“You can and you will!” Jaskier gestured to the lute again.

Steady hands gripped the lute, holding it with care, making Jaskier smile, “Alright, play us something!” 

In only a few moments, Vesemir seemed to have fallen back into an old skill as he picked at the lute strings expertly. Jaskier wouldn’t say that the older witcher’s skills were comparable to his own but they were rather better than many other professionals Jaskier could think of.

Like the troubadour of Cidaris, for instance.

The sound of the lute resonated through the kitchen and Jaskier took a moment to appreciate it, appreciate sitting back and enjoying the music instead of being the one to provide it.

An idea popping into his head, Jaskier spun around to look at Geralt where he sat by the fire, watching the other two.

Jaskier held out his hand, beckoning the witcher, “Dance with me?”

“I don’t dance,”

Jaskier scoffed, “Don’t give me that, Geralt. Come on, dance with me!”

Geralt shook his head, “No.”

Whining, Jaskier strode over to Geralt with a pleading expression on his face, “Please, Geralt! I never get to dance, I’m always the one playing. Please, please, please.”

“Will it shut you up?”

“Never!” Jaskier smiled brilliantly as he threaded his fingers through Geralt’s and tugged, urging the witcher to join him.

And Geralt, much to Jaskier’s utter delight, did so.

“Now I’m sure you aren’t overly practiced in the art of dance, but you can’t be too terribly bad at it.”

“I wouldn’t know, never done it.”

“Never… wait you’ve never danced? Any dance? Ever?”

“No. Who would want to dance with me?”

“Well I certainly do.” Jaskier felt an indignant anger swell up inside of him, angry at the world all of a sudden, bitter that it would treat such an amazing man so poorly.

“You’re strange and have no self preservation. It’s a miracle you’re still alive.”

Spluttering, Jaskier floundered for a moment, shocked at the accusation, but just before he could start ranting, Vesemir switched tunes, playing something lively and good for dancing.

Choosing to ignore Geralt’s slight at him, for now, he grabbed Geralt firmly by the waist and maneuvered him into position, “Just do what I do, my dearest witcher, and you’ll be a dancer in no time.”

Geralt rolled his eyes but still went along with it, his fondness for Jaskier showing in his eyes, his every movement. It warmed Jaskier through far better than the fire and stew had. It was a simmering warmth Jaskier felt every time the witcher proved his affections. Proved they truly were friends.

Geralt never did so with words but actions, as they say, speak much louder than words and Geralt was certainly a man of action.

Unable to believe his luck, Jaskier sent off silent prayer to Melitele. He felt a thrill run through him as he gripped Geralt by the waist. Geralt in his arms was truly a dream he had never thought would come true. He wouldn’t fool himself into thinking that this was more that it was, that Geralt felt the same as he did, but he would still enjoy the friendly embrace, he would give himself that.

Jaskier had, of course, been right. As he led Geralt through the steps, the witcher picked them up quickly, his training in footwork for fighting translating perfectly to dancing.

And, if you were to ask Jaskier, he would say Geralt’s first dance went rather well.

As the song came to a close, Jaskier took a chance, swinging Geralt around and dipping him. The only sign of surprise Jaskier could see was a slight widening of Geralt’s eyes, but he still allowed him to do as he pleased, pulling him up out of the dip, cradled close in Jaskier’s arms.

And then they were kissing.

Jaskier wasn’t sure who moved first, though it must have been him, surely. All he knew for certain was that their mouths were pressed together, open in a filthy kiss, and then the warmth of the witcher was gone.

Jaskier watched, a forlorn feeling settling over him, as Geralt strode swiftly from the kitchen, the door slamming behind him.

Turning slowly, Jaskier looked to Vesemir, who merely quirked an amused eyebrow.

Jaskier groaned, “Bollocks.”

-

Jaskier should sit, really. With the way he was pacing, he would wear a hole into the bearskin rug thrown on the floor of Geralt’s room. He should sit in a chair by the fire that Vesemir had politely started for him after showing him the way to Geralt’s room. He should curl up and do some writing or reading or anything to keep his mind occupied, distracted.

All he could think about was the kiss.

Jaskier still wasn’t sure what happened, how it started, but it was truly everything he had hoped for, for… far too long. And the more he thought about it, focused on the moment, the less confident he was that he had attacked Geralt with his mouth and the more he wondered if it hadn’t been mutual. Geralt had certainly pressed them together even tighter as if it had been.

But was he overthinking it? Was he putting emotions where there should be none. Creating something that didn’t exist. Was he simply projecting his desires where they were unwanted?

Maybe he would know the answer if Geralt hadn’t run off. Like he did every time something serious happened.

Jaskier knew, had known from very early on, that Geralt struggled with processing his emotions. He wasn't sure if it was an issue of how Geralt was raised or perhaps hearing a life time of hateful people saying he had no emotions or if the mutagens he was subjected to really did affect his emotions in some way, or maybe some combination therein, but he did know that Geralt struggled. And that was okay, truly. Jaskier didn’t mind. He saw the way Geralt put in the effort to communicate with him, though it wasn’t ever really with his words. But he did put in the effort and that’s what Jaskier had always focused on.

Now, though, he was rather frustrated. If Geralt would just stay when things got tense, take a moment to calm down and then use his words, then maybe things would be easier on the both of them.

Maybe-

Maybe Jaskier wouldn’t trip on the edge of a bearskin rug and knock his head against a table.

Groaning, Jaskier sat up slowly and cradled his head in his hands. He could already feel a bump forming, the spot throbbing dully. Of course he would manage to hurt himself when he was getting all fired up, ready to confront Geralt.

And of course that would be the moment Geralt decided to walk in the room.

“Jaskier?” Geralt rushed over to Jaskier’s seated position, kneeling on the ground beside him.

A gentle hand pulled Jaskier’s away from his head and Jaskier whimpered as it was exposed to the air of the room.

“Jaskier are you okay? How do you feel?”

Jaskier winced, taking stock of his injuries. His knee felt rather bruised and his arm certainly ached some but it seemed that his head had taken the brunt of the damage. “I think I’m alright.”

Geralt made a tutting noise, one Jaskier had only heard him use when something was wrong with Roach. Any anger that he might still have held left him with that single small noise. He knew Geralt cared about him, he knew that without a singular doubt, so really there was no point in getting angry. He just needed Geralt to talk to him.

Jaskier looked into Geralt’s eyes, the concern reflected in the brilliant amber nearly overwhelming. “I’m okay,” he said, taking hold of Geralt’s hand, “thank you for being concerned. Can we talk?”

Furrowing his brow, Geralt disregarded the question, “Are you sure you’re okay? I should get something to put on your forehead.”

Shaking his head slowly, trying not to make it ache worse, Jaskier broached the subject again “It can wait. But we should talk.”

Geralt nodded, a resolute look on his face.

-

Geralt should have known that this would be a bad idea, inviting the bard to winter with him. Sure, it was an excellent way to keep an eye on him, make sure he was safe and sound, but it put Geralt at risk of revealing feelings, both to himself and Jaskier, that he would rather keep locked away.

He thought his heart would burst from his chest when he saw the amazement shining in Jaskier’s eyes as he took in Geralt’s home. He had pleased him, given Jaskier that coveted thrill of wonderment he always spoke so highly of. And then Jaskier had laughed, bright and loud, the sound echoing through the main hall of the keep. Geralt would never be able to get that sound out of his head. It warmed him, made his stomach flip and flop in strange ways.

It was terrifying.

Throughout supper, watching Jaskier get comfortable in his home, watching him and Vesemir bond, Geralt couldn’t help but let his thoughts stray. It wasn’t something meant to be, Geralt knew that, knew he wasn’t destined to spend his life alongside someone, to have a family outside of his fellow witchers. It was a miracle he had managed to travel with Jaskier and enjoy his company for as long as he had.

No one really wanted to spend their time with a witcher. No one except one really strange, clingy, chatty, loud mouthed bard. Whom Geralt loved.

Fuck.

He knew better than to admit this, admitting it made it real, gave him thoughts best left alone. Geralt did his best to lock down the feelings as Jaskier offered Vesemir his lute. Steeling his will, Geralt did he best to be resolute in his decision, determined to stay strong and never admit this weakness. And then Jaskier turned to him, eyes wide and pleading, and asked him to dance. That one look, that simple request, was all it took to break him.

Next thing he knew he was spinning around, held in Jaskier’s arms, in his home, and he felt content. Safe.

It was too much and not enough and then they were kissing. Geralt wasn’t sure who started it, but he did know he leaned in greedily, clutching at Jaskier tightly, unwilling to let him go. But he wasn’t allowed this. His life, his destiny, would never allow this happiness. This moment would turn sour with time. Even if Jaskier did want it now, he wouldn’t forever. He would grow tired of the witcher’s life, grow tired of the Path, grow old and weary of Geralt’s wandering ways.

He couldn’t have this.

So, he ran.

It maybe wasn’t the most responsible decision, and maybe it would do more damage, but it could be no worse than staying. Staying and looking into Jaskier’s eyes again and crumbling even more, falling hopelessly headfirst into the love he knew he felt.

That he knew he shouldn’t feel.

He left the keep and the courtyard behind, climbing up to the old bastion, jumping up on its now crumbling walls, ignoring the wail of the ghosts below. And there he sat, staring into the distance, slowly growing colder and colder, and the whole time all he could think of was Jaskier.

Geralt had never needed. He never wanted for anything. He never yearned.

And yet…

Jaskier’s eyes and his smile and the way he strummed his lute thoughtfully when composing and the way he danced around carefree and happy whenever given the opportunity and the way he worried endlessly over every injury Geralt may face, from mundane scratches to gaping wounds.

Geralt loved him. Had loved him for some time. And now, in his home, where he felt safest, he couldn’t hide it anymore. Not from Jaskier and not from himself.

Fuck.

-

He knew Jaskier was waiting for him, he could smell his scent, chamomile and honey, coming from his room. He could hear Jaskier’s heartbeat. Faster than it should be.

Speeding his strides, Geralt threw open the door to his room to see Jaskier slumped over on the ground, his hands clutching at his head, his face screwed up in pain. Geralt could feel a lump in his throat, the worry he felt for Jaskier instant and overwhelming. He rushed to the bard’s side, taking Jaskier’s hand in his as he inspected the knot forming on his head.

And Jaskier insisted he was fine, deflecting the injury and instead asking Geralt if they could talk.

Geralt knew they needed to. They probably should have had this discussion, and many others, a long, long time ago. But Geralt didn’t like talking and Jaskier had always humored him.

He nodded.

“I’m sorry I kissed you. I shouldn’t have. Not like that. I should have made sure you were interested first.”

“Jask-”

“No, let me say this, Geralt. I’ve wanted to kiss you for a long time now, I’m sure you know that. I’ve not kept my attraction to you a secret for some time now.”

Geralt… hadn’t known. Jaskier flirted with him, of course, he flirted with everyone. Geralt had never thought much of it.

“But I think there’s more to this than me being… over excited and kissing you when I shouldn’t have. I think we need to discuss our feelings for each other.”

“I agree.”

Jaskier’s eyebrows raised in surprise before he winced slightly. “Well… in that case, shall I start?”

Geralt nodded.

“Alright then, Geralt, I love you. I love you dearly. With every bit of me. And I want to spend the rest of my life travelling with you.”

Geralt’s breath caught in his throat. “I love you, too, Jaskier.”

“You do?” Jaskier asked softly.

Geralt smiled, cupping Jaskier’s cheek, “I’ve never said that to someone before. I’ve never wanted to until now.”

“I’ve never meant it, not until now.”

#bog exchange #the witcher #the witcher fanfiction #the witcher fandom #fanfiction #geraskier #geralt of rivia #jaskier

[chysgoda]

Marketing

Fun with @scrollsfromarebornrealm featuring Augustine Seymour

Art’imis tapped the edge of the folder in her hand on the corner of the table as she walked up to where Augustine was sitting at The Last Stand. “And how is Ul’dah’s favorite Ishgardian pretty boy this evening?”

The Ishgardian paladin jerked just a bit startled by the sharp sound. He frowned for just a breath at the Raen woman before giving her a warm smile, “I could ask the same of Ishgard’s favorite Ul’dahn export.”

Art’imis laughed, an easy sound that rolled out of her throat and sounded like it should come from someone much larger. “Only in some areas, there’s a few clergy who would dearly like to see me banned for how I handle being a champion in the tribunal.”

“If they worked with Aymeric on Justice reform they wouldn’t need to keep suffering that embarrassment would they?” Augustine smirked. He waved a waitress over to take their orders. “It is good to see you somewhere that we aren’t shouting behind shields.” 

Art’imis slid the folder she’d brought across the table to Augustine and then braced a hand on the back of her bench. “X’rhun found those while attempting to bring order to my desk at home.” 

Curious, and with a bit of trepidation Augustine opened the folder. His face flushed red when he saw the prints that had been used as the base for posters in the coliseum. And a few that had not made the cut. “Fury save me, I thought these had all been lost.”

“Now don’t be like that. Once you relaxed there are some excellent shots in there.” 

Art’imis laughed as the younger man thumbed through the photos getting progressively redder. “You remembered what we talked about that second morning in Costa del Sol?”

Augustine set the photos down and gave a fond half smile, “I remember contract negotiations beforehand and how you drug me over the coals getting me comfortable with haggling.”

Art’imis snorted and glanced down at the photos remembering the morning herself…

“Augustine are you actually willing to get out of your comfort zone and commit to this or am I going to bill you for dragging me out here for no reason?” Art’imis huffed as she sat on the down on the beach next to where the Ishgardian was standing. 

Augustine looked down at his hands and then at the rising sun. “I just don’t get how this is supposed to help my performance in the ring.”

Art’imis sighed, absently she picked up a handful of sand and let it fall through her fingers before absently repeating the process. “Why are you looking for the prize money from blood sands fights?”

“Pardon?” Augustine blinked and looked down to the mismatched gold and silver eyes that met his. 

“You're Ishgardian, so what is it? Getting together a sister’s dowry? Paying off a debt to some soft handed noble? Or trying to get back into someone’s good graces?” Art’s tone was matter of fact and she snorted at the startled look. “Your not the first one to come down from on high to fight in the sands. Everyone has a reason for coming down to the sands.”

“Something like that.” Augustine looked away again. Something about how blunt the other gladiator was made him want to squirm with more discomfort than his embarrassment. 

“Any road you're here to make gil, and possibly a name for yourself in the bargain. The sands isn’t soldiering, or adventuring, or trial by combat. Think like that and you aren’t going to get what you’re after. We’re entertainers, circus acts, skill in ring might keep butts in seats but it doesn’t get them there in the first place.” Art’imis looked back to the sea herself. “Stuff like this, posters and appearances and stories, gets people excited, gets them to buy tickets. Which means you get more off the gate. And well there’s no rush quite like a couple thousand people chanting your name to get the blood pumping… or knock another fighter off their game. It’s your choice how you want to go about things, but if you’re not committed I’m going back to the main complex and getting myself a liquid breakfast.”

Augustine pressed his lips into a thin line. He took a long breath in through his nose. It was just another kind of duel, if he kept telling himself that maybe he could get through this. “Let’s get this done.”

Art’imis gave him the grin he’d seen on the sands, all teeth and cheeks. She jumped to her feet and brushed sand off her pants, “To work then! We do this right, we'll have ladies throwing their smalls at you on the sands.”

“WHAT?!”

“Fury be good, I didn’t think you were serious about lady’s smalls at the time.” Augustine shook his head and took a long pull on his drink. 

Art’imis flashed that familiar grin that was all teeth and cheeks. “Franz the Fabulous was so damn jealous, it was great”

Augustine chuckled as he handed the folder back to his friend. The thick card folding over the photos made the time since then feel heavier. They’d both changed since than, new scars, new hopes, the crows feet that were just beginning to show at the corners of Art’imis’s eyes. He’d become the confident knight he’d dreamed of, and she no longer had the sense of barely contained madness that had dogged her steps when he had first met her. The waitress brought their meals and they settled into gossip and catching up. 

Art stretched when she stood up many hours later, “best get going so the staff can get cleaned up and go home.”

Augustine stood himself. He paused thinking of something, “Art has Mathye seen these?”

“See you around Seymour,” Art’imis grinned, once again all teeth and cheeks. As she walked off she waved the folder in a lazy goodbye. 

Augustine felt blood drain from his face, “Art’imis wait?!”

#ffxiv #ffxiv fan fiction #ffxiv rp #Augustine seymour #Art'imis Chysgoda #gotta get butts in seats it get gil in pockets

[serendipitystation]

Holding Hands - a Kanej fanfic

Read it here, too: AO3

Summary: Several times that Inej and Kaz hold hands and what follows. Slow-burn, oneshot.

Length: Short

A/N:  Writing for these two is difficult, but that's a testament to Leigh Bardugo's wonderfully complex writing more than anything. Cheers, friends :)

i.

The first time that Kaz and Inej hold hands, they stand together looking down at the ship that will take them far apart from one another. To Inej, it is a miracle, a blessing; to Kaz, it is a gift, a tool for good in hands cleaner than his own. They both understand how their paths are destined to diverge, but there is no peace needing to be made with this. Divergence calls to reunion as light calls to dark. Their souls have been in close quarters long enough that a few thousand miles won't shatter their bond. As they watch a boat unload its newcomers to the city, they feel a joy that only the knowledge of better days can create. The darkness will return, but not today. Today is for joy and reunions and the most shockingly pleasant smile that Inej has ever seen on the face of the lord of the crows. Her happiness knows no end. Any prick of pain in Kaz's soul is easily ignored.

ii.

The second time that Kaz and Inej hold hands, Jesper and Wylan are singing the absolute worst song either of them have ever heard. While Specht helps Inej hire a crew for her ship, she and her parents are staying at the Van Eck home at Wylan's insistence. In the moments during which she leaves her parents' sides, Inej watches Wylan graviate towards the warmth of her father's countenance and Jesper flirt in shameless jest with her mother (he backs off slightly when Inej threatens to revoke his skillet bread priviledges). Kaz is the lone statue in the waving grass- he is cordial and as friendly as he's ever been, which doesn't say much, but he keeps a slight distance. One night, after dinner has been devoured, Wylan picks out a folk tune and sings lightly, while Jesper accompanies him with the most off-key harmonies to be heard any side of Ketterdam. As Inej feels Kaz's discomfort like a fog seeping across the floor, she melts into the shadows of a hallway just slow enough for Kaz to catch on. Under the nearly-dark sky of the back garden, they sit on a bench and watch the stars wink to life. Inej gently eases the glove off Kaz's right hand, feeling him tense up and relax with a slow shudder as the glove comes free. As the discordant sounds of their friends float in the cool air, Inej traces the creases of Kaz's hands and Kaz wills himself to not react, to keep his head above water, to let desire overrule history. Each time they touch, he gets better at floating.

iii.

The third time that Kaz and Inej hold hands, Kaz watches Inej giving orders aboard her ship as they prepare for their maiden voyage. She takes to the role of captain like a fish in water, the surety in her actions a strength she will need as she meets the unyielding sea. If she seems green at all for a captain, her crew know better than to question her due to her reputation as the Wraith, if not for her knives. Kaz can see her in his mind's eye, acting as justice's henchwoman among the waves, a puzzle piece that fits perfectly into its surroundings and completes them. He respects her abilities as much as he loves her. Loves. Kaz's mind has used the word before, yet using it now feels like a revelation. If any god were to call out from the heavens and announce him a Grisha, it would be less discordant to Kaz's nature than love in any form. Still, Kaz knows better than to deny the truth. He loves Inej and, in a few days, he will watch her sail away. When Inej comes to stand beside him, a look of satisfaction on her face, Kaz shakily slips his hand into hers. As he does so, Kaz swears she begins to smile.

iv.

The fourth time that Kaz and Inej hold hands, they are saying goodbye. Kaz doesn't do goodbyes- sentimentality shows weakness and he's long vowed to never look weak again. For Inej, however, he makes an exception, at least in private. In the mist of the morning of the launch, he slips onboard the Wraith and down the bustling deck to the quarters below. When he walks into the captains' quarters, Inej doesn't turn her head- she knows he's there; she could hear his lopsided gait all the way down the hall outside. They trade pleasantries about the ship, the voyage, everything but the inevitable goodbye to be faced. It is Inej who breaks gracefully; as Kaz prepares to leave, she walks up to him until they are but inches apart, takes both his hands, and reassures him that she will return. She can see the ice of his eyes melt and lets him thaw. Inej has known that she loves him for some time- unlike Kaz, her trauma isn't rooted in betrayal and she never feared the vulnerability of caring. Her love is a candle that she chooses to let burn, even as she acknowledges that love and destiny are not one and the same. As Kaz bends towards Inej, his forehead touching hers as light as a feather, the candle's flame grows stronger.

vi.

The sixth time that Kaz and Inej hold hands, Kaz's fingers trace a scar on Inej's arm. They sit in Kaz's office in the Slat, where prying eyes can make no assumptions about anything. Inej spent five months at sea before returning to Ketterdam, a length of time that ticked by at a glacial pace on Kaz's end. After regaling Jesper and Wylan with tales of her exploits upon her return, Inej had stolen away to the quiet safety of the Slat where the company was quieter. As Inej answers Kaz's questions with the patience, she adjusts the buttons at her wrists, revealing a flash of ropy skin on one arm. With a frown that stretches into shadows, Kaz reaches out to gently slide up Inej's sleeve, bringing into light the full fresh scar that zigzags up her arm. Kaz's face settles into its familiar scheming expression as the red of rage clouds his vision. Only Inej's voice, the featherlight sweep of her finger across his creased brow, and the shiver that travels his limbs like lightning bring him back to reality. As he wills the anger to subside, he reviews what he knows to be true; Inej is capable, strong, and not needing to be saved. She's no longer his investment- she's here because she chose him. Why his ego is so unperturbed by it all, he doesn't really know. Until Inej speaks up, Kaz doesn't realize that he's smiling.

viii.

The eighth time that Kaz and Inej hold hands, the ghosts that frequent Kaz's room watch them. Night has long fallen over Ketterdam and the prospect of Inej embarking on her next voyage looms over Inej. Her desire for life has not changed, nor has her mission, though it hurts to leave. Tonight, Inej has lingered far past the setting of the sun in Kaz's company. Getting back to her ship would be no problem- captain or Wraith, she walks the streets free of fear- but she doesn't particularly want to leave. As Kaz removes his waistcoat in his bathroom, Inej lays back on his bed and watches him. Out of the corner of his eye, Kaz catches her gaze and sarcastically offers to share the bed. What he doesn't expect is for her to strip down to her vest and pants tuck herself in. When Kaz puts out the lights and slides into the bed that barely fits them both, there's a strange weight that settles in their chests. They stay apart, both unsure. Then Kaz slips his hands into Inej's and the weight lifts and it feels like the world has fallen into place. They watch the dim light of the city carve through the shadows on the ceiling and, as they fall asleep to each other's breathing, the ghosts take the night off.

xii.

The twelfth time that Kaz and Inej hold hands, their faces are grim in the coal-streaked dawn. The hour for casting off from the harbour approaches the Wraith too fast for anyone's liking, but especially for Kaz. Caring is a weary task and a luxury that shadows can't afford, even as his soul becomes more intertwined with the captain whose knives protect a heart he longs to hear beat next to his. In the light of day and surrounded by the waking city, Kaz looks the part of Dirtyhands, all sharp lines and sharper glances. Inej knows that the persona is just that- a front crafted with years of practice, however jaded and survivalist he has become. She can see his mortality in the tells only she knows- the set of his mouth, the crag of his brow, the care with which he watches the crew. She doesn't need to hide anything, not like he does, but no smile graces her lips all the same. When it comes time to cast off, Inej holds Kaz's palms in hers and takes a piece of his heart. Kaz wasn't sure he had one to give away. As he watches the Wraith disappear on the endless gray horizon, he feels the painful pull of it moving farther away. He'll never get used to the sensation.

xiii.

The thirteen time that Kaz and Inej hold hands, it's a bright afternoon. The sea air wends its way through the streets of Ketterdam close to the harbour, stray gulls slicing through the air of the nearby alleyways. Kaz doesn't pass the docks on his way across the city; he rarely needs to these days. With his shares in Fifth Harbour long gone and the sea busy only with the usual flurry of trading ships, there's no reason to visit. If he wishes he had cause to do so, he tells no one. Only Inej would know otherwise, were she present- secrets can't hide from her.

When Kaz makes it to the Slat, it's quiet, as most afternoons find it. The crew are out and about on their assignments, as they should be, even though a few stray folk keep the din of the house to a reasonable level. Kaz walks into his office, fully prepared for a day of reviewing the week's profits, but he knows that the day will prove eternally better the moment he walks in. He can feel Inej's presence before he sees her sitting behind his desk. Inej won't tell him that she bribed Anika to keep the news of her arrival away, nor does she need to mention that she took the rooftops to reach the Slat- he'll already have figured it out. He doesn't need to say he missed her- she can tell from his face and the way he comes around the desk and intertwines his fingers with hers, all while telling her to take her boots off his desk. Neither of them need to say anything. They both know they're where they belong- together.

#inej #inej ghafa #kaz #kaz brekker #kanej #six of crows #crooked kingdom #grishaverse #love these two and their dynamic #leigh bardugo #writing #fanfiction #seren writes

[rouiyan]

𝘖𝘍 𝘛𝘏𝘌 𝘏𝘌𝘈𝘙𝘛 [ 𝘭.𝘫𝘯 ]

⧏ the first volume of rouiyan’s debut series, till death do us part ⧐

synopsis: prince jeno is willing to trade his heart and soul for the throne. but lee jeno is also willing to trade his heart and soul for you.

✧ prince!lee jeno x crown princess!reader ✧ royalty au

✧ genres : fluff, angst ✧ word count : 7.0k ✧ disclaimers : brief descriptions of nudity (nothing sexual), allusions to sex (nothing explicit), malintent

✧ author’s note — i have a bad case of 'lee jeno will forever sit atop my bias list, unmoved,' but i guess this is just my way of coping. happy reading, loves.

back to series masterpost: till death do us part.

prince jeno will never be king. he will never sit atop the throne and his plates will always be silver, not gold. he shall be addressed with 'prince' prior to his name, always and perpetually, and until he's wrinkly, gray and even through the eons after he passes, he will only ever be 'prince jeno.' and this is only because of his stoic-faced brother, crown prince doyoung, who is always a step out of reach. born a little more studious, a little more driven, a little more empathetic, and born a little earlier. jeno knows this, his parents know this, even the kingdom is fully aware, that jeno is an example of what a future king should look like, but also that doyoung is the epitome. 

but if there's one thing that jeno excels at, in greater lengths than his brother, it'd be his sense of independence. at the ripe age of one, jeno was already on his own two feet, quick and adept. at three, he could eat solid foods and put on his clothes without aid. at six, he'd gone out of his parent's willingness to learn professional swordsmanship. and at ten, he'd sworn, one sudden night in a fit of angry tears, that he would never marry. he was ten, just touching on double digits, yet he'd never felt such fervent ardor for any one thing. lee jeno was convinced, by none but himself, that he was better off alone, in marriage, in friendships, in brotherhood, in family. he needn't no one but himself for he knew more than anyone, his own capabilities. but he also knew that no matter how ardent he was in his endeavors, he would never be king, at least, not of the southern kingdom.

as he draws himself straight, emerging from the black marbled carriage drawn by horses of black mane, he sets his sights on the scene that unfolds before him. the northern castle is fortified in pristine white; white footbridges, posterns, battlements, towers and pinnacles, and all that meets the eye upon first glance. in the moment, the sunlight is cascading down between passing clouds, reflecting across the rounds of the turrets like thick coils of luminescence. the castle itself, though, serves as a halo of radiance that rests above a breathing orchard which is then, set behind a pathed meadow of gently mowed lawns. there's a noticeable wind that courses through the splaying fields, gurgling the water of the moat he'd just passed and ruffling the wildflowers. jeno's spirits lift as clusters of petals lift from their stems, undulating with the chorus of the wind and wafting a delicate scent.

the prince is accompanied, on either side, by his guards dressed in black and gold accents, he himself, wearing an ensemble of a similar but more explored palette. he's guided by a man of the recipient kingdom, dressed contrastingly in white, that strides a few paces ahead of the arriving group through the orchard of dew-laden trees, their boughs offering bundles of green apples low enough to be grasped by the hand.

it's easy for jeno to momentarily forget the reason he is here in the first place.

he stands, that night, under a flurry of blinding crystal chandeliers and in line with others, kindred to his age and stature, first as a guest and foremost as a suitor. a man enters from the archway on the left, stout but tall in posture, and he announces, "arrival of crown princess y/n of the northern kingdom, followed by the king and the queen of the northern kingdom."

jeno fails to notice how his own breath hitches, but notices the man next to him stir at the sight of you. for good reason, he thinks. your dress is nothing short of seraphic, a layered piece of cream silk upon silk, built up into a fitted bodice and sweetheart neckline. a pearled bodkin swirls back the upper half of your hair, allowing the supple skin of your face to spangle in the light. it's from this he understands that the rumors of your beauty are not half moonshine. he disregards the soft features of your face and focuses on the way you curtsy, gentle but profound, for each member of the line, a bow sent in return for each adjacent man. jeno is careful in his observations but he cannot seem to find a fault in your movements, each tailored to the exact second. your eyes, your attention, your pleasant countenance, spends no more time on himself than the others. this is one of the two things he notes during the feast, the second being your father, the king, taking a blatant liking to whom he knows to be the crown prince of the western kingdom, na jaemin.

an alliance as solid as marriage between the western and northern kingdoms would perhaps be the turnover of the century, a threat to be reckoned with. the aqueducts of the western kingdom, the pure water it provides for the region and its people, paired with the flourishing arts and wealthy merchants of the northern kingdom would yield tremendous power over the agriculture of the eastern and the coal mines of the southern. jeno is sharp in calculations, his resolve shifting and with this, the arranged trip becomes a lot clearer in purpose. he stares ahead, knowing that he has little charm to offer to the miss, but imagining himself on the throne of the northern kingdom for a change. albeit, next to you, but he'll find it in him to deal with that in the long run and for the time being, divert his attention to the young highness.

dinner clears out and the party moves into the nearest drawing room in the west wing of the palace. the princess and her parents are escorted earliest and jeno utilizes the opportunity to make his objective clear with whom he sees as his primary source of competition, the prince of the western kingdom. prince jaemin has a smile gracing his face at all times, a habit that jeno has come to despise the more time he spends looking at. "how do you fair with the princess' impression, mind i ask?" jeno is taken off guard when the boy speaks first, now standing beside him, both gazes held up front instead of at each other. he rights his expression before replying curtly, "a sight to behold, no doubt, but i find her to provide amusing company withal."

"and is that all you see her for? an eyeful and merriment?" jaemin's tone gives way to how he's condescendingly sneering at the prince, in distaste by means of long forgotten familiarity.

jeno doesn't bother to answer for it is now within his knowledge, and the other's, that his intentions are unearthed. jaemin continues, his voice light but carrying heavy weight, "i'd hope that she chooses wisely. the princess deserves her throne." 

they are ushered from the vicinities of the dining parlor into the drawing room. the space is lit with candles that glint and flit across the pale green plaster, lined with golden leaf molding and wainscotting. the walls encasing the room are at least a bountiful twenty feet high, the echoes of thirty or so people colliding off the ceilings and upon the polished floor. nothing remarkable can be said besides the fact that the churnings in the pits jeno's stomach become painfully acute with each step you take towards him, and that he, in turn, can't help but take further steps back.

jeno returns to his assigned quarters without a word spoken to or from you. he does not feel belittled by the others, in fact, he knows his royal blood gives him a hefty advantage over the sons of advisors, distant cousins, older merchants, and others of far off importance. he retires into the crisp white sheets after he blows out the already billowing candle by the bedside. prince jeno only dreams of the throne, the only visions he has ever come to see behind the veil of his eyelids, but it's tonight that he's met with you. smile wide in response to something he's said, an act of jest maybe. he smiles along and towel dries your hair lovingly, brushes through it with tender fingers, lays you upon the bed in fluid motions. it's the morning after that he wakes up with no recollection. 

the following day is open to any and every pastime the palace has to offer, the only program being the ball in the evening, a gathering of formal introductions by footwork and intense stares. jeno doubts the princess will have enough stamina to follow through with thirty or so consecutive dances, each with different men, but he's adamant to be one of the few. he's ambling directionless in the castle, unaware of which halls leads to what and in the forefront of his mind, he's looking for you, as he is sure many others are as well. he stumbles upon a dusty balcony, evidently unused, by the landing of the fourth level that opens up to an expanse of flowers, rows and rows of varying genera, each blooming in full vigor. it's here that he finds you, frolicking among the reposeful blossoms, mirrors of your countenance that rise to your waist. from what he can see, you're walking alongside the small dirt paths with a brown haired boy of sun kissed skin. hand in hand you walk, and he can almost see the pleasant smile the boy adorns and the vibrancy you radiate. 

jeno learns from a maid with a adoring smile, that the boy is prince donghyuck of the eastern kingdom, the youngest son of four and therefore the most unfit match for a crown princess, a spiteful thought that jeno can't help but think. he also learns that he is the one boy, the one person, you've been the closest with since birth and that, out of anger and disapproval, your mother had invited the suitors for the purpose of serving you a more worthy husband and future king. the maid now sports a frightful expression, knowing that she had crossed her bounds by oversharing. jeno is glad though, and reassures her that the secret is safe with him.

he dresses accordingly for the ball, and while many of the fellow suitors donned garments of white to match your family's signature, jeno cannot find a single piece of his that holds the same hue. the color black oozes from the lapels of his pressed suit jacket, from the tie and shirt underneath. the color is second nature to him, one of his own family, and he gives it no thought.

perhaps it's the color, though, that catches your eye that night because you prance over to him not a half hour after the ball commences. kind eyes that feel so welcome on his skin, and though the churns and froths have resurfaced in his gut, he offers his hand in the first and last dance of the night. you say yes to both but the last is when he starts to chip off the guise of royalty to reveal the ramblings of a young girl.

"i'm not in love with him, most certainly not, but i feel strongly that if i were ever granted a say in marriage, it would not be of anyone in this room, no, i would marry my dearest companion." jeno fails to admit that the smooth vibrations of your voice are enough to set fire to his resolve, the purpose behind your hand on his shoulder and his around your waist. 

he draws you in, "and why not marry for love?" though he's sure he doesn't mean to.

"and why not should my love for a close confidante count? is it not love all the same?" you pull from him and jeno follows in step of the music to twirl you back into his embrace, just the way a prince should.

"i believe the love you speak is of the head," jeno counters. the ball is in his court, but he pays it no attention, sincere in obtaining an answer, "i am asking why you should not marry for love of the heart?"

"of the heart," you repeat to yourself, an utterance that jeno finds so endearing but cannot bring himself to immerse in. "i've yet to encounter such an emotion. may i ask, has the prince himself ever held such affection towards another?"

he chuckles, "i only know of once where another held my gaze captive. i know little of her, yet i can speak quite arduously on her behalf."

"what a sight she must be," you muse, partially uninterested now that your partner has declared the purpose of his attendance entirely political by speaking of his one true love whilst in your presence.

prince jeno stops, the hand of his on your back slots for more support and he lowers your figure down by the waist, hie eyes never leaving yours and your noses touch, "yes, you are quite the sight." 

prince jeno's passed the golfing greens, the rose gardens, the hiking trails, and the fencing grounds, but he has yet to find something that catches his eye, something he has never seen. as a southern kingdom native and royal, the northern kingdom is easily foreign territory. the air is clear here, there's no soot to brush off when you head inside, and a step outside the walls of the palace, he knows he'll find artisan markets that run for miles instead of coal sites. the artisan markets, he thinks, is where he wants to go. 

he's just tipping into the edge of the thick forest that lines the southeastern bounds of the estate when his ears pick up on the babble of a creek. jeno's quick to brush through the creepers and ramblers until the trees give into an expanse of open air. the creek he'd thought he heard is in actuality a wide bathing pool, the water a clear green. he spots a level bronzed rock on which you lay, bare-skinned, the direct sunlight engulfing your figure in glorification. quickly, he diverts his eyes and clears his throat to announce his presence. you're also quick to your feet at the sound, scrambling to grasp at your robes strewn about. 

to your surprise, the man, whom you've now identified as the second prince of the coal mines, has not left and is simply standing still, his back turned to you. it's now you that clears your throat and he understands well enough by turning back around to face a clothed you, the flames of his cheeks withstanding. 

"it's quite alright, you know, nothing to be embarrassed about." he hums in response and you proceed with your thoughts, "but i'd like to affirm it was by chance, was it not?"

jeno clasps his hands behind his back, willing his eyes to yours, "surely by chance, i would no- never- not dare, such intentions are not-" he's cut off by your chuckles, light and airy, like bouts melancholy chords to his ears. the prince, a boy who had been schooled by only the finest etiquette scholars of the region, finds himself blundering for words. jeno is undeniably embarrassed by now, but his eyes soften as you take steps towards him, fingers fumbling to tie your robes shut. 

the heat in his cheeks is still very noticeable but his shortness of breath is not. the prince even goes so far as to close the distance between the two of you himself, hands coming to your aid in lacing the strands of ribboned satin together, gently tugging it into a looped butterfly. you think his favored form of communication is the clearing of his throat for he does it once again, "will you allow me hold account for my mishaps?"

"you hardly did much wrong, your highness." his nose scrunches at the formality.

"then may i repay you for your forgiveness?"

your expression isn't shy to conceal your incredulity at his persistence, "my, now i cannot help but be a tad bit intrigued. what can you offer than i cannot already find on my own land?"

"allow me," he pauses, a smile forming before he can even let you in on his gracious idea, "to give you a tour of the artisan marts, what do you suppose?" the smile is contagious, infectious even, spreading onto your face as well, "a mineral boy to guide me through fine arts? i think i ought to say yes."

your peals of laughter are imminent in the air of sundown. he thinks the painted coasters are plates, he sees the tapestries as scarves, the delicate ribbons as horse whips. but when the two of you come across an array of jeweled accessories, he has the gall to sneak a sapphired hair pin from the display and slot it between your locks, the hood shielding your identity from passerbyers  falling back. you're eyes are blown wide at this but jeno simply smiles, fingers coursing through two entangled tresses, courtesy of the abrasion on the rough commoner's fabric. 

"a pretty face like yours should never have to hide," he chides. jeno's eyes form soft crescents and he's subtle when he takes your hand in his, "wouldn't want to lose you, princess." you see him slip a gold coin for the dear madam selling the goods before he's off, jogging lightly and pulling you close to his back. the destination is unknown to you but the man seems to lead with an air of awareness. he slows a few blocks down, allowing you to catch your breath as you note that his hood has also been brushed back. returning the favor, you go on your toes to ruffle the strands into place, not missing the surprised flinch his composure gives way to. people left and right are starting to notice, it just so happens that the two of you are stood right in the middle of all the commotion that comes with the afternoon wave of customers. "over here."

jeno's hand is in yours again and you wonder if it's the cause of the heavy hammering in your heart. you wonder, because though it is certainly not an unwelcome feeling, you doubt you've ever felt it beat so hard. his hand gives your own a squeeze and it's as if your heartstrings have been strummed like a guitar, his ragged breaths music to your ears, a remedy for your aches. the narrow alleyway he's entered hosts a light at the end and it opens up into a view of the town, the terracotta-tiled roofings, bronzed candle streetlamps, public works funded by your mother, and all the townspeople going about their days, now in miniscule movements. the sun is just about setting but from the looks of it, it might as well be seen as rising. afterall, who is to say that only sunrises bring new days? new times, new beginnings, new understandings, new loves are all brought about just as much from sunsets as sunrises. and if there's one thing to prove that, it's the way jeno's hand never leaves yours, not for the rest of the night. 

"and they'd asked if i should want to extend the stay for anyone."

prince jeno crosses his room and leans upon the footboard of his bed. a week certainly isn't enough to develop a bond of marriage but he is glad to acknowledge that it doesn't get any better than this. "and did you?" he knows where you're going with this, you know that he knows, the whole palace knows that you know that he knows. why else would crown princess y/n head down to the guest quarters, to ask for the room number of a specific boy, if not to tell said boy, whom she had spent almost every second of the week with, that she would like it if he stayed? 

"yes, i did, i requested your stay. late yesterday, in fact, but i didn't have it in me to inform you until now." you're blushing and he's thrust into the awareness that the feelings you subject him to aren't customary. "will you be staying?" his eyes are unwavering on yours as if to tell you exactly what he means to say before he eventually does, "it'd be my pleasure."

a knock on the door breaks the moment, but jeno is quick to call the maid in. a letter is tucked between her fingers and upon delivery, the prince recognizes his name printed in the neat scrawl of his mother. an absentminded, "thanks" is followed up by the zealous unsheathing of the letter, a ill-minded idea of the content already forming in the forefront of his mind.

our dearest jeno,

it has come to our attention that you plan on extending your stay until a month's time. officials of the northern kingdom are already working in conjunction with our advisors to plan a date. of most excitement did it certainly incite within your family. had i known you'd be married off to a lass of such prestigious blood, i would have sent you much earlier. your father would love to hear of your methods of courting, perhaps your brother could do well with it no doubt. i've no time to spare, the schematics of your succession are coming fast in the drawing room. expect no less than the best and send my warmest regards to the young highness.

all the best, your dearest mother.

"she'd like to welcome you to the family, that's what's said." jeno's thankful that you decided to teeter over to him now, after he finished skimming through the damned article. he has time to fold it closed before you're by his side, fingers reaching for his. he's rubbing smooth lines into the ridges of your palms. "i suppose they are all thinking the same thing, marriage."

you speak, "do you suggest that it's wrong of them?" but jeno wishes you'd get to the point so he can tell you just what he means.

"not wrong, but natural. if i was my father i doubt i'd think any different."

"then, if not your father, how would you think?"

"i think," he's drawn to the way your teeth bite down on your lips. "i think i'd like it." his thoughts block out everything except the image of your lips and he ponders following through with the ideas plaguing his mind. jeno goes in when you draw back, turning to hide your flushed state. you're retreating even further now, taking an exit all together but not before clearing the air. "breakfast tomorrow at seven, east wing. ask a maid if you are unsure."

next time, he thinks.

breakfast is silent sans the clattering of cutlery on plates but jeno finds baseline joy in the shy glances that you sneak at him across the table. he does not, however, particularly like the prolonged stares your father blatantly spends on him. jeno thinks he's about to look away, for the sixth time at that, when the elder decides upon the moment to speak, "a striking young man, i'll let that. y/n, dear, pray tell me your decision was not built on his good looks." your father is rather speaking to you.

your face burns up in tinged mortification, "father, that is hardly an appropriate question to bring up over the course of a family meal-"

much to your chagrin, the king pays no heed to your interjections and resumes, "preposterous as it may seem, i would despise if our ranks were to be infiltrated by those of the miner's kingdom. our liberal arts are not so often mixed with a line of lowly traitors, an observation may i add-"

"father! oh, how lowly it is of you to be restricting a kind young sir of royal blood to the bounds of his heritage!" your mother has halted in her tracks, setting a golden spoon aside and retreating her hands to her lap.

"must you forget that the blood in him courses silver not gold?" your father's voice never raises, never lowers. you fail at maintaining the same composure, distress budding between outbursts. 

"color does not render the propriety of one for better or worse. i believe that was what you'd taught me to rule by but for laughs or for naught, a king you so-call yourself!" 

breakfast is silent once again, but this time, not even the aid of cutlery against plates is around to sheath the tension in the air. jeno's enlightened to learn of this side of you. your eyes are hardened, your jaw left slightly unhinged, and deep breaths are taken to retain any sort of semblance. he sees determination in your eyes, lined with a raw and unearthed air of conviction, and there's no other way to describe the look on your face except to say that you are solely driven by a vehement passion for righteousness. but drawing back from the you who has captivated him, he's left with the realization that he hasn't given a second thought to his original resolve since setting foot in the palace. and while the four of you sit in silence, glares and glowers being thrown about, prince jeno is daunted by the fact that more than ever, he feels the fervent ardor that in order to be a king, deserving of accolade and reverence, he needs you by his side to be his queen.

"what my father thinks is beyond me, really. i'd only hope what he said doesn't deter you all that much." you pop a cherry into your mouth, fingers clasping the stem and tugging it off with a pop. jeno looks down at you in adoration, the events of this morning a figment of the past. "not much at all for me, if it doesn't bother you." the soft smile that fills his countenance is given as if to say, 'as you wish, my love.'

you sit up abruptly, the thin cotton cloth scrunching under your thighs. the grass is still dewy from the morning showers but you slip off your sandals in favor of the bare grit of soil beneath your feet. the sun is beginning to stutter from its position overhead but not so fast, you think, the day has just begun. with one last look spared for the bewildered boy, you mouth a 'catch me if you can,' before bundling up the folds of your linen dress into your hands and taking off into the open fields. native flowers of poppies and calendula, orange and white, are trampled in your wake but you don't mind because prince jeno is hot on your heels. he is hot on your heels with a grin of mirth gracing his expression and strides that are long and fast. so fast that you are caught within a matter of seconds, encased in his arms before you even know it, feet lifting off the ground and squeals of protest in response. the adrenaline in your system is slow to subside as you land on your feet once again, eyes lit up like a child's in front of santa claus. the verdant grass looks a murky brown behind your rose-tinted glasses but prince jeno continues to look ethereal. grasping his dark locks in a fistful, you tug him down so that your lips meet and in no time, his lips are working fast against your own. the sensations are nothing short of paradisiacal, as opposite ends of the planet meet, the sun and the moon, the sky and the earth, summer and winter, water and fire, and silver and gold.

wet and slippery, you laugh at the strand of saliva that spreads thinner as you part from his lips. jeno repositions so that you are situated on his back and he allows you to catch your breath before strolling aimlessly across the grounds, as if what happened seconds beforehand didn't just mark the beginning of time. he takes you back inside once the sun has set and your eyelids are half closed. he waits outside in your chamber as you bathe and he stands behind you as your sit in front of your vanity, hair dripping wet and a towel in hand. jeno is gathering your hair in his hands, smoothing over your wet locks with the cloth when he remembers. he remembers the dream he had just over a fortnight ago. the one where he stood in this exact spot. he remembers it just as he sees you give a small chortle in the reflection of the mirror in response to him playfully pulling your hair a little too hard, an act of jest. the trickling feeling of déjà vu hits him so terribly hard but he can only live out the dream in real time, his fingers gently raking your now dried hair. he spins you in his seat and decides that whatever vision he was granted hadn't been revealed to him until now for the very reason being that he simply wasn't ready. the jeno of two weeks ago wasn't ready to love another, to accept another, to cherish another as he does now. now, for you. 

prince jeno's eyes are glazed over in awe and revelation as he feels the way your hands draw him closer to you by his waist, entwining your bodies. he's overcome with the need to be the one to make you feel the same way you do unto him. gingerly he lifts you from your spot, hands hooking under the crevice beneath your knees with your arms riding up to his shoulders while effectively removing his shirt in one fluid motion. he's glad that you share the same idea. 

that night is the first of many where he shows you the sheer magnitude of which he loves you. he lives for the look of your star-studded eyes, rolling back into your head and the way your toes curl as you call out his name and his name only. he breathes for the way your fingers are in a world of their own as they scour every inch of his hair, pushing and pulling the same way the moon teases its waters. his mere existence is reliant on the shine of his arousal on the bare skin of your stomach. with each time, jeno is reborn.

it's the crack of dawn when he hears your voice, barely scathing the absolute threshold, "i am still very much awake."

"as am i," jeno lifts his head to look across the room, past the dirtied sheets, the swathes of clothes on the ground, to the doors of the balcony that are swung wide open. the sky is of a distilled blue, not yet bright, but still illuminated by the crown of the sun.

"would it be deemed a waste to simply lay here for the duration of the night?" you question, but move to sit up in decisiveness. jeno answers offhandedly once again, even now revelling in the feeling of your skin on his, "i would feel so, yes."

"shall we take a trip to the study? i recall you mentioning a desire to visit." the prince smiles at this. curt again, "if you'd like."

"yes, a warm cup of tea and agreeable literature is an ancient remedy for sleeplessness. my, morning it is already. i don't suppose a morning nap has ever been heard of, though i'd think i'd like just that at this moment." you mumble out the last half, partially rambling to yourself. 

"light a candle, my dear, my eyes aren't half as sharp in the dim light." you chuckle at that and reach for the brass pricket set on your bedside table. upon lighting it, you are met with the boy's face irradiated in such a way that accentuates everything from his sharp jawline to the apples of his cheeks. he smiles as takes the instrument from you to allow you to don some clothes. the same is done for him and the two of you make quick time in rushing across the stale floors of the palace to the opposite wing. 

the main library, situated on the third floor but occupying large parts of both the third and fourth, is certainly the pride and treasure of the palace, the crown jewel of the northern kingdom even. the separate floors are each sixteen feet in height, filled wall-to-wall with encased book upon book. the collection dates back to the romans and as far forward as your most recent journal entry. jeno pads upon the floors that boast a parqueted mahogany, the same that runs along the integrated shelving and the carvings that crown the skylight above. the windows are made of giant panels of stained glass, mosaics that depict the landscapes just beyond, and as a result, the little light the sun has to offer is cast in shades of blue, green, and red. an assemblage of the masterpieces of ettore forti, genuine, he suspects, are hung in individual alcoves and molded with golden embellishments. jeno thinks the northern kingdom simply cannot have anything better to offer than this. except for you, he thinks.

a maid delivers your tea promptly, a gentle brew of loose leaf herbs, ginger and rooibos by the taste of it and you settle into the plush velvet of the segmented lounge. the work you're reading aloud is enough to keep you awake for the better half of an hour before you begin dozing off. your soft and even breaths are enough for jeno to be shaken from his attention on a few select poems, and he's careful when he moves to replace the leather-bound diary in your hands, with a hand of his own. jeno uses his other hand to cradle the side of your face, as any besotted boy would do, caressing by the means of docile strokes. he feels a mellow calm when you're persistent by his side, even in your sleep. tucking a strand of hair behind your ears, he's leaning in for a quick kiss to the temple when the door of the study is propped ajar, a boy of briefer height emerging from the unlit halls. 

jeno recognizes the boy almost instantly, the image of you walking hand in hand with him still as unrelenting in his mind as it was on day one. lee donghyuck, of similar surname but a long-diverging lineage, the fourth prince of the eastern kingdom of agriculture. jeno isn't hit with jealousy, per se, but rather annoyance. 

donghyuck's steps halt the moment he sees the still figure on the juniper-stained chaise. his brows draw in suspicion but he's prudent of the expression he lets on. a dialogue of whispers ensues.

"prince jeno, is it?" donghyuck's face darkens when the other nods. "ah, i've heard of the tidings, may i pass on sincere felicitations to you and your betrothed."

"much obliged, prince donghyuck, i presume." obverse, the aforementioned boy nods.

despite all his efforts, donghyuck can't help but let loose a sliver of his composure, "i have little credit i can give to your word, but i'd like to hear what you have to say in regards to the arrangement."

prince jeno is ticked off now, to say the least, he hides his vexation by keeping his reply as formally insincere as he can muster, "elated, the arrangement could not have been better dealt with." 

"and you are a man that deals in the prospects of union?" donghyuck does not mean to nitpick but there's no way around it when the prince in front of him is so obviously indignated by his presence. you could say that he's been provoked.

voice held level, jeno proceeds, "i am a man of virtue and i come in good faith, i assure you."

"i must inquire, a man of virtue and good faith? i'd like to know of you and your families' conspiracies, falsities, machinations." a snide and low-shot remark, no doubt, but it riles up the taller of the two fair enough.

jeno sussurates, raspy voice and all, "and who are you, brave enough to speak in such a fashion to a second prince."

"gold by marriage is synonymous to silver by birth. why count the numbers when we are one and the same?" donghyuck's voice is still a bare undertone, but harsh and course in resonance. 

"a pity you weren't raised to tell the difference." neither of the princes bother to conceal their malignity for the other. if you were awake, neither would know, too caught up in the heat of their frustration. 

donghyuck is fed up with years of spite and built-up distaste. in between all the blundering he has found a point, a target to aim for. he may not see jeno as a harm to you but he knows there's an unspoken wedge that revolves around his family. donghyuck glows in his opportune moment, then he strikes, "and you were raised upon your father's supremacy. do tell, do you believe your father to be an honest man?"

he is met with jeno's silence, compliance, submission.

the leisure sport of swordsmanship is what prince jeno sets out for first thing after ensuring you had woken and eaten something fulfilling. he is in the need to exert his energy on something, or someone, that isn't an acquaintance of yours, for fear that he has done more damage than good by manifesting himself as an enemy in the eyes of your closest companion. he requests your court's highest ranking knight and is surprised and slightly jarred that the man before him is of a smaller stature, a few inches shorter with narrow shoulders and lean muscles. renjun is the name he goes by and he dominates without the need of force. jeno tells the boy to display his best effort, that a scuff here and there is fine, but he severely misconstrues his opponent's abilities. 

renjun, as it turns out, finds amusement in jeno's stances, flaws evident in ways that only he can see. undermining the prince's pride is what he aims for and he does exactly that, successful with three strokes, two that flit like sparks in the air and the last that scathes the skin of the prince's left wrist. it's small in area and deep in puncture, the raw film underneath unfurling within itself, but it's enough for him to call the session off. jeno's hand withdraws from the new wound and he's met with the sight of red.

the prince is drawn, in many ways more than one, to the red as it seeps between the clasp of his fingers. as it begins its descent towards the fast-approaching floor, the floor of white limestone. he's drawn by the depth he sees within the color, the solidarity he feels towards the hue. in the silver ichor that pools by his feet, he's drawn to his blood red reflection.

jeno finds you retired in your room that night, in exhaustion of formal meetings and other circumstances that required a princess' supervision. despite this, your visage still lights with joy upon seeing the prince. "would you prefer if i let you rest?"

"depends, what will you propose if i refuse?" the lilt to your voice has him almost coddling, his thumbs running circles on the skin behind your ears down to your neck to release the tensions. "i'd propose a midnight adventure, stargazing maybe." 

you give a modest snigger, "a bit of a romanticist, aren't you?"

"only for you i must admit." his tone is humorless. "are you up for it, dear?"

your face returns taut, "yes, needless to say, only for you." 

prince jeno takes you by the hand, he leads and you follow. he makes rounds about the same halls, you think he's unsure of where he is heading, but he comes to a stop at the precipice of the fourth landing. the balcony that leans off to the side is one that you have never stood atop of before though you're unsure why. the outlook it bestows upon you is breathtaking, even in the dead of night. just barely are the outlines of the flowers oscillating in the drafts shown, even fainter are the hills that overlap in the distance, but oh-so-clear is the moon. 

it's quartered today, the slope of the curve is round and prominent. all of a sudden, jeno is quoting ray bradbury, a classic text he knows you'll know a little too much about. "and if you look," he nods to the sky, "there's a man in the moon." as he conjectured, you're quick to catch on the act before the moment dissipates, "he hadn't looked for a long time."

"do you believe in the man in the moon?"

"i believe in the man and the moon, but the man in the moon is very much apparent as well." your eyes are set in the stars. "he is astray and far from the ground, from earth. he does not seek what we all should seek, but rather he dives headfirst into the superficial."

"and what is it that we all should seek?"

"the one thing in the world that carries any significance at all: happiness."

it is now that prince jeno sees himself as the man in the moon, chasing after mirages of aspirations when in truth, he does not find solace in power, he does not revel in the destruction of others, he does not take lightly when the lonely are forsaken and he shall never partake in the atrocities his father subjects him to. but the man in the moon is a conscious past of his, a living memory of growth, for jeno finds happiness in you; you who grounds him to the earth.

lee jeno thinks the world of you and, as the greatest russian poet ever wrote, "she is a beauty. yes, a marble nymph; angelic eyes, unearthly lips…" (Alexander Pushkin, The Collected Works; "A Suite of Lighted Rooms")

read volume two here: overcast skies and those who die.

copyright © 2020 rouiyan all rights reserved.

#nct ff #nct fics #nct scenarios #nct jeno #jeno x reader #jeno x you #jeno angst #jeno fluff #jeno ff #jeno fanfic #rouiyan fics #rouiyan writes

[thefreakydeaky]

"Another?" Simon made to pour you a shot of rum.

You covered your glass and shook your head.

Dwight's hand landed heavy on your shoulder.

"Come on, Y/l/n. You gotta be able to hold your liquor if ya wanna run with this crowd." His thin lips were pulled up in an uncharacteristic smile.

You chuckled lightly and held your cup out to Simon.

"I get the feeling, I'm being tested."

Simon only smirked.

"Well y'all sons of bitches are in for a surprise. My blood used to be 90 proof."

Dwight snickered.

You couldn't help but turn your gaze in the direction of the man who's approval you needed the most.

Negan watched on, not the barest hint of a smile on his lips. You sat up straight as you held up your glass.

You gave Negan a nod of respect, "To the good health and prosperity of El rey del sur, Our King of The South."

His dark eyes narrowed at your words.

The men around you remained half frozen, unsure how the enigmatic man would take your speech.

The corner of his mouth twitched. It was the closest you'd ever gotten to a smile from him. He nodded and the celebration resumed.

Your eyes followed the movement of his body as he stretched out his long legs, crossing them at the ankle.

There was only one thing Negan had that you truly envied, the luxury of being his authentic self.

Hazel eyes glared right at you. You looked away.

As the night wore on, the saviors began to trickle out of Negan's sitting room and into the adjacent rooms with some of the wives.

Crude sounds and lusty moans pervaded the air.

And then there were three. You thought sharing an awkward laugh with Dwight.

"Welp," He said standing. "It's getting late. I better turn in."

Your gaze strayed to Negan and found that somehow you were only the width of a sofa cushion away from him.

Your shoulders tensed.

His olive and honey eyes met yours, a dare in their depths.

"I'll walk you." You offered to Dwight and started to stand.

You swayed and would have lost your balance if Negan's hands hadn't suddenly been there to steady you.

"He can walk himself. Can't you, D?" His husky voice interrupted. His hands on your hips eased you back into your seat.

"Uh, Yeah. Thanks, Y/l/n, but I'm good."

You frowned, but didn't protest.

"Night." Dwight said again and left you alone with Negan.

Although he was no longer touching you, you could feel him staring.

You uncrossed and recrossed your arms over your chest.

"You are so tense right now, I bet if I stuck a lump of coal up your ass, I'd have a big fucking diamond by sunrise."

"What're you gettin into the jewelry business?" You huffed.

"Your little comedy act might work on my saviors, but it ain't getting you anywhere with me. So you might as well cut that shit out."

Your mouth opened in surprise.

"Why the fuck do you try so hard? What do you get out of being a fucking clown?"

You pursed your lips.

"I want to be liked."

Negan snorted in derision. "Being liked is of absofuckinglutely no value."

"Well, it was valuable enough to get you to the top." You replied morosely.

"Are you serious? You mean to tell me that after everything you've fucking seen, you think being liked is what got me this gig?"

You couldn't bring yourself to look at him.

"From what I've seen, it's a balance. You are feared, because you aren't afraid to get violent." You fixed your eyes on the empty glasses scattered across the coffee table.

"You are respected because you take the responsibility of protecting the weak. You charm people with your joking and teasing."

Negan scoffed.

"Not everyone can be naturally attractive and charming. Respect, I can earn by doing my share and having their backs when we're out there doing pick ups. Will they fear me? Probably not, but I am smart and I know how to be funny. God willing making people laugh will make me well liked enough to bring me opportunity."

He became quiet.

You groaned internally.

Had you been too honest?

"Opportunity for what?" He gazed at you intently.

"Opportunity for advancement of course." You said evenly.

“Are you fucking flirting with me?”

Your eyes widened.

" You are aren't ya? You're fuckin flirting with me." He grinned.

"I was just being honest with you. How is that flirting?"

Negan smirked.

"Well let me fuckin see here, you called me naturally charming and attractive. Add to that the many times I have caught you eyefucking me."

Your face became hot with embarrassment.

"Unless you're looking to challenge my leadership, the only opportunity you've got is filling the recently vacant position of wife number seven."

You looked over your shoulder at the door and cursed yourself for letting Dwight leave without you.

Negan stretched his arm over the back of the couch and leaned in close.

Your pulse quickened.

"Look at me." He commanded.

You wondered not for the first time, why his husky voice had such an effect on you.

Regardless of what he was saying, the sound of him always made you think of sex. It also made you want to do everything he asked.

You turned toward him, slowly.

Negan cupped the side of your face, stroking your cheekbone lightly.

You gasped at the unexpected gentleness of his touch.

He leaned in. You felt his warm breath on your skin. He smelled like a combination of aftershave, sweat, and the whisky he'd been drinking. Unfortunately for you, you found the scent alluring.

He tipped your face up toward his.

You half wondered if you had passed out on the sofa. Perhaps this was a bizarre alcohol induced wet dream.

He licked his lips.

You swallowed nervously. He seemed like he kissed well. You hadn't been kissed in such a long time. You worried that you had forgotten how-

"You implied it."

"I-what?"

"Your reaction to me invading your personal space is proof that you meant it."

Your gaze slid from his olive and honey eyes to his lips and back again.

"You find me attractive and charming."

You could see by the smug smile already forming on his ruggedly handsome face that he wasn't going to let you live this down.

This could not stand. You made the first counter move you could think of. You slapped him.

Negan's eyes widened in surprise as your palm hit his cheek.

"ohmygod ohmygod ohmygod I'm so sorry!" You covered your mouth with your hands.

A smile that was as dazzling as it was dangerous spread on his face.

Your breathing excelerated at the thought of what he might do to you as punishment.

Your mind flipped through the horrors you had witnessed at his hands, the iron, the smell of burnt hair and burnt flesh, His fists pounding relentlessly into a guys face, the sharp smell of blood, lucille coming down on some poor sonofabitch's skull, making it rain skull fragments, blood, and brains.

"I am going to make you pay." His tone was filled with promise as he yanked you to him by the collar of your jean jacket.

Your hands went to his shoulders with the intent of pushing him away.

Negan was on you in a heartbeat stealing your next breath with a brutal kiss.

He left you no choice but to mold your mouth to his. He slipped his tongue into your mouth and found yours.

You attempted to take control of the embrace.

He nipped at your lower lip in warning. His tongue delved once more tangling with yours in a battle for dominance.

You refused to submit.

His fingers hooked their way into your belt loops. Strong hands pulled you by the waist, propelling you forward, effectively forcing you to straddle the erection straining against his pants.

Your hips ground against his. He sucked at your lower lip and rocked up against the apex of your thighs.

Your breath hitched.

"I knew you were into me."

You turned your head to prevent him from kissing you again and rolled your hips.

He groaned.

"I am not into you."

Negan held onto your hips, threw his head back and laughed.

"Well I'll be damned. You finally said something funny."

He ran his hands over your ass, kneading your ample cheeks.

"I think we should fuck. Are you interested in the full experience or are you gonna settle for just a taste?"

"I wish you would stop saying shit like that. It makes my pussy go dry."

His jaw clenched in annoyance.

"You are a much better listener than I thought you were."

Rather than fly into an angry rant riddled with 'fuckyous' his hand shot out, pressing at your throat.

"Why is it you think you can get away with saying whatever you fucking want?" His fingers applied pressure to the side of your neck.

Your pussy clenched, dampening your panties in anticipation.

"Answer me." He demanded, pressing harder still.

A dulcet moan passed through your lips.

Negan's eyes narrowed.

He brought his other hand up to encircle your neck and squeezed experimentally.

You couldn't help the needy whine you emitted. The tension in your shoulders began to melt away as his thumb stroked along the curve of your neck.

"Ho-o-ly shit, You're really fucked up aren't ya?"

"You have no fucking idea." You purred.

[arthurmorgan-s-heart]

Arthur Morgan x F!Reader: A Matter of Trust

Summary: It’s a job like any other - just a way to make a quick buck or two. Then why is Arthur feeling this way?

Warning: Smut

--------

Arthur knows he shouldn’t be jealous.

He’d seen it all before, dozens of times - you, flirting with the mark the both of you had picked out in the crowded saloon, laughing and smiling as you touch a stranger’s hand, his arm, his shoulder, just as you’re supposed to, lulling him into a false sense of security until an opportunity arises to rob him blind.

It’s a show, of course, a ploy; you’ll come back to him, as you always do, as you had said you always would, as Arthur knows you always will - and yet, even as those thoughts linger in his mind, tonight, he simply can’t bear to see you do this. 

However, as much as he wants to walk over to you and pull you away from the man, as much as he wants to kiss you senseless and remind the whole world that you’re his, he knows it would put you in danger, draw too much attention; so he grits his teeth, sits, and waits.

He only stands when he sees you pull the man toward a shadowed corner of the saloon to get away from prying eyes, and he shoulders his way through the crowd as he follows you from a distance, ready to jump in should things turn sour. No one pays you any mind, assuming you to be just another working girl. The man is so drunk that he can barely stand, holding himself up with one hand against the wall as you press yourself against him in a way that makes Arthur’s blood burn. Your hand slips into the man’s pockets as he paws at you clumsily, nimbly relieving him of his valuables and tucking them away in your own clothes before you step away from him, promising to come back with another drink - you won’t, of course, but by the time he realises it, you’ll both be gone. Your eyes sweep over the crowd, looking for Arthur, giving him a slight nod from afar when you find him. He answers in kind - you’ll meet him at the hotel later, just as you’d planned. He stands in place for a moment as he watches you slip away, before his gaze shifts to the man you’d just robbed as he stumbles his way to the nearest chair, letting himself fall into it in a heap. Despite the man’s pathetic state, Arthur can’t help the white hot rage that leaps to life inside him when he looks at him, and he turns away before it can get the better of him, crossing the room in long strides before stepping out of the saloon and making his way to the hotel across the street. He ignores the clerk’s greeting as he steps inside, quickly climbing the stairs to the room he’d rented earlier in the night, throwing the door open and stepping inside before slamming it shut behind his back. He sighs loudly, leaning with his back against the door for a moment before stepping further into the room and letting himself fall into the armchair tucked away in a corner, trying to reason with himself. He had seen you do this many times over the years, too many to count - the smiling, the flirting, all things that had never truly bothered him -, and never before had it made him feel so unnerved, so irritated - jealous.

Simply thinking the word is enough for him to scoff at himself. He trusts you - more than John, more than Hosea, even Dutch - and he’s not even sure what’s making him feel this way now - is it seeing you with another man, no matter how much of a lie it might be? Or is it seeing someone else touch you in a way that only himself should? He shakes his head, sighing again as he takes off his hat, putting it on the small side table next to his chair as he runs his fingers through his hair and wills himself calm while he waits for you.

A few minutes trickle by before he hears footsteps outside his door, followed by knocking - the three short, irregular raps you always used to announce your presence. You let yourself into the room without waiting for an answer, reaching for the pins holding your hair up as soon as the door closes behind you, shaking it free with a breath of relief before looking at him. You smile, and he feels his mind settle some, watching as you put your hairpins away before coming to sit on the arm of his chair. You pull a pocket watch, a silver ring and a small coin purse from the folds of your skirt, dangling them in front of his eyes for a moment before you put them down next to his hat.

“How’d I do?” you ask lightly, taking his hand and pulling it into your lap. You gently stroke his wrist with the tip of your fingers, and a memory of you doing the same to the other man earlier flashes behind his eyes, lighting the flame of his jealousy anew - no, he tells himself. Enough.

“Good,” he answers, perhaps a few seconds too late and with more tension in his voice than there should have been. He sees you frown slightly out of the corner of his eye, one hand gripping his tighter while the other reaches for his face, cradling his cheek to try and make him look at you, but he tenses, refusing to go along with your motion.

“You alright, Arthur?” you ask quietly, trying to meet his eyes, though he keeps them obstinately trained on the floor.

“Yes,” he answers, too quickly this time, and you sigh, your hand leaving his cheek while you weave your fingers through his with the other.

“Arthur…” you say warningly, but with enough concern not to sound chastising. He still doesn’t dare look at you, lest you see what he’s really feeling - and resent him for it.

He feels your hand on his cheek again, and this time he doesn’t resist when you make him look up to meet your gaze. He doesn’t dare breathe for a few moments as you search his eyes, ready for you to laugh, or scoff, but you say nothing, your frown slowly fading as your eyes soften, and you smile, gently, tenderly, before leaning forward and laying a light, chaste kiss against his lips.

“I’m yours, Arthur,” you whisper, pressing your forehead to his, and he feels his restlessness slowly melt away, even as your words wake something else inside him, a primal urge that has electricity spreading through him in an inescapable wave. "Only yours."

Mine.

His free hand rises to cradle the nape of your neck, his fingers tangling into your hair as he draws back slightly, meeting your eyes for half a heartbeat before leaning in to kiss you - forcefully, unyieldingly, almost harshly, swallowing your surprised gasp as he frees his hand from yours so he can draw you into his lap with an arm around your waist, pressing you against him as he kisses you, the hand in your hair slowly gliding down to your neck and all along the line of your spine, reclaiming every inch of you that the other had touched. He feels you grip his shoulders after a few moments, your initial surprise quickly forgotten as you open your mouth for him, kissing him back just as fiercely.

Yours.

His hand stops at your hip, gripping tight for a moment before it moves to your thigh, bunching in the fabric of your skirt as his lips move away from your mouth to brush down your neck, pressing warm, open-mouthed kisses to your skin that make you shiver. Your hand moves from his shoulder to find the back of his head, your fingers weaving through his hair as you bask in the feeling of his lips, his tongue, his breath, every touch sparking wave after wave of electric heat that spread from your stomach to the rest of your body. 

"Up," he growls against the hollow of your throat, a few seconds passing by before your hazy mind registers the word, and you feel his arm loosening from around you as he allows you to stand - he follows you, immediately drawing you back into his arms as soon as he's standing, as if reluctant to be away from you for even a second. One hand threads through your hair again, bringing your face back to his to allow him to kiss you, before gliding down to the buttons of your shirt, both hands now working on getting them undone, which he does quicker than you would have thought possible. You shrug the garment off without prompting as soon as it falls open, earning yourself an approving hum as his hands find your shoulders, burning like hot coals through the thin cloth of your chemise as they roam down to your breasts, lingering there for a moment before lowering to your waist, and then, finally, to your hips, pulling you flush against him again as he slowly kisses and nips his way down the side of your neck. You let out a shuddering breath when you feel his hips grind into yours, your hands tightening their grip on his shoulders as sharp points of pleasure run up your spine with every touch of his lips. You feel him start working at your skirt, and in a few seconds it falls to the floor, pooling around your feet, and you take it upon yourself to slip off your undergarments - they quickly join your other clothes on the wooden floor, a deep groan ripping from his throat as he feels the bare skin of your thighs beneath his palms. He parts from you as he grips the hem of your chemise, his eyes meeting yours briefly before he impatiently pulls it up and over your head - it was barely more than a second, but it was more than enough for you to see the smoldering heat flashing behind his eyes, a heat that seems to spring into a roaring pyre as you feel his eyes rake over you when you're finally bare before him; you watch him throw your chemise aside as he devours you with his gaze, tendrils of fire slowly spreading over your skin wherever his eyes linger - and when they finally meet yours again, you feel as if you're about to burst into flames.

He kisses you again when he pulls you back into his arms - greedily, demandingly, though he knows that everything you're giving him now already belongs to him. He pushes you back a few steps, toward the bed, and you let yourself fall back on the mattress as soon as you feel it at the back of your thighs, pushing yourself back until your head is resting on a pillow. He quickly climbs on top of you, barely allowing you time to breathe before his mouth is on yours again, holding himself up with one hand next to your head while the other comes to cradles your cheek, his shirt and pants rough against your bare skin. You snake your hands down between the two of you to find his belt, intent on starting to undress him, but his hand snaps down to one of yours, gripping tight, stopping you before you can even begin. He pulls away, just enough to meet your eyes, and you feel him lace his fingers through yours as he brings your hand up to his mouth, kissing your knuckles gently, almost imploringly. Let me take care of you. You can't help a questioning look, but when he lets go of your hand to bring his back down to where yours was a moment before, hovering just a few inches away from where you want him most, you decide it doesn't matter. You bring your other hand back up as well, one gripping his shoulder while the other twines through his hair.

I trust you.

He bends his head, trailing his lips down from your jaw to the curve of your shoulder as his fingers linger against the soft skin of your thighs, tantalizingly close to the pulsing point of heat between your legs, and you almost think he might tease you, make you wait - but then his fingers press against your center, the delicious pressure making you arch your back slightly as he wrenches a quiet, almost surprised moan from you, and you've never been so glad to be wrong.

He starts slowly, even though you can feel his impatience in the kisses he tracks over the lines of your collarbones - and yet, his touch is even, measured, tracing wide circles around your center that don't quite feel the way you would want them to, and you angle your hips up in a wordless plea, choking out a quiet whimper when his hand leaves you, until you feel his palm splaying over your lower stomach, pushing you back down to the mattress as he looks up at you, eyes dark.

Be still.

You swallow the whine that had started to climb out of your throat, nodding, and a few seconds trickle by before you feel his hand on you again. You squeeze your eyes shut, willing yourself still with every ounce of your rapidly fraying self-control, letting out a shuddering breath as his lips return to the skin of your chest, trailing fire in his wake as he kisses his way down to your breasts. He lingers, his warm breath making you shiver as he traces the curve of one breast with his lips before catching your nipple. His tongue darts out, and you feel the warmth of his mouth as he lays licks and kisses against the sensitive bud, slowly unraveling you with his mouth and fingers, effortlessly wrenching moan after breathless moan from you. Despite his earlier warning, you arch your back, begging for more, and you're so close, so close, the telltale shiver running up your spine as you feel yourself tighten and -

You almost sob when his hand pulls away from your core to grip your thigh, his mouth leaving your nipple to kiss your ribs instead, and you force your eyes open, craning your neck to look down and meet his gaze - his eyes are dark and commanding, his message clear.

Not yet.

You open your mouth to speak, to plead, to beg, but you feel his hand squeeze your thigh, just hard enough for your breath to catch in your throat, and you let your head fall back against the pillow, eyes fluttering shut again. He rewards you with a gentle touch of his fingers to your inner thigh, brushing up and down, up and down, coming teasingly close to your center and yet never touching. You feel him start to kiss his way down your body again - your ribs, your stomach, your hips - as he rearranges himself; you feel him shift himself down, the hand he had kept next to your head to hold himself up sliding down to splay over your chest as he lays down before you, and you can't help a breathless sigh when his warm breath fans over the apex of your thighs, feeling something coil inside you in anticipation. He pushes your legs further apart with one hand, kissing the inside of your knee before guiding them over his shoulders, anchoring you against him. He hooks one arm around one of your thighs, placing his palm on your stomach, wide and warm, and, finally, you feel him, a wave of relief washing over you as the first few careful strokes of his tongue relieve some of the pressure that had been gathering low in your belly. You can't help a shuddering moan, lifting your hips to his mouth, and he growls against you, pushing you back down again, though he doesn't stop this time - you dimly wonder if he even wants to. The hand on your chest slowly smooths down, cupping one breast for a few seconds before shifting lower still, until he finds the dip of your waist, gripping tight to keep you against him as heat bolts through you with every measured swipe of his tongue.

You know he could make you fall apart in mere moments if he wanted to - yet he lets you linger at the edge of your pleasure, seemingly always pulling you back at the last second, only to rile you up again, over and over, until you reach down to thread your fingers through his hair, pulling slightly, and he groans deeply, seemingly too focused on his task to care about your transgression. You're almost there again, and you try and choke out a desperate plea - you can only manage a thin moan, and he still doesn't seem inclined to allow you your release; his touch becomes lighter, the pressure of his tongue not quite what it should be, and your pleasure flickers and starts to wane, just as it had before. But you try again, fighting through the fevered haze that constricts your thoughts, willing a single word out of your throat, loud and urgent and desperate, feeling as if you might just go mad if he doesn't take pity on you.

"Ar - Arth - Please - !"

For a moment, you think he might not have heard you, or that he had decided to torture you a bit more, but then he touches you in the way he knows you need, and it only takes a few more seconds for you fall apart with a loud whimper, his mouth coaxing you through your pleasure and beyond, until you can't take any more, only parting from you when you whine and pull on his hair, hard; only then does he pull away, and you stay like this a few moments more, trying to catch your breath - you feel yourself shiver when he kisses the inside of your thigh, reflexively pulling on his hair again and drawing a quiet chuckle from him. When you finally open your eyes and look down, you see he's already looking at you, a satisfied smile on his lips, and you can't help a breathy laugh as he untangles himself from you so that he can come and lay next to you, cradling your cheek and pulling your face to his for a long kiss. You turn to lay on your side, cradling the back of his head with one hand while the other moves down toward his belt again, lingering at the buckle for a few seconds before shifting lower and pressing your palm against him through his trousers. He's hard and hot and aching, and a low moan escapes him - yet he reaches down again, gently taking your hand in his, bringing it up to press it against his chest as he pulls away from you slightly.

"Wanted to remind myself that you’re mine," he says in answer to your silent question. He leans in again, pressing a tender kiss to your lips, and you smile against his mouth at his next words. "I ain’t never gonna forget again."

Day 649: still horny for Arthur Morgan. More at 10.

@morganmarston​ I don’t even remember when you sent me this - all I know is it’s really, really old. Sorry about that.

#arthur morgan #arthur morgan/reader #arthur morgan x reader #female reader #arthur morgan/f!reader #arthur morgan x f!reader #red dead redemption #rdr #red dead redemption 2 #rdr2 #writing #fic #smut #requests

[schrijverr]

What’s up with that Sims guy?

After the Apocalypse Jon becomes an uni teacher, three students take in interest in what’s up with this weird new professor.

On AO3.

Ships: JonMartin

Warnings: none, but tell me if I missed anything or if you want me to tag something!

~~~~~~~~

Time and space moves differently around the Fears, something that could be confusing and strange, but also pretty handy as Jon and Martin had discovered during the Apocalypse. It meant that when they’d turned the world back to normal, banishing the Fears far away, no one had even noticed it had happened.

With Elias, uhm Jonah, gone their ties to the Institute had lessened. However, Jon was still depended on statements, but Martin had decided that being away from it all would be better for him, so Jon was now working part time, while Martin kept an eye on the place.

Which is how Jon had ended up as a professor at a university. He was filling in, because the current professor had gotten pregnant and they hadn’t been able to find someone more suitable than Jon to replace her temporarily.

Jon knew he didn’t have the credentials necessary, but he Knew everything with the help of the Beholding, so he hoped that would be enough to get him through the year.

So here he was, standing in front of a big hall that was slowly filling up with students, who were eyeing him with a mix of curiosity, confusion and uneasiness.

Once everyone had settled down he took a deep breath and started: “Hello everyone, I’m Jonathan Sims and I’m replacing your previous professor until she returns from her maternity leave. I have an oversight of what you all need to know and do this semester, so lets get started with that right away.”

~

Jane looked down at their new professor and shifted in her seat uneasily. He was strange, or at least had a strange aura surrounding him. Jane wasn’t once for judging on appearances, but it was hard not to wonder what the Hell had let a man such at him to this.

He was short, sure, but he wasn’t small and he had a big presence to make up for it. His black hair was streaked with gray, but he had a youthful face that didn’t quite match up, although the tiredness that hung around him seemed old.

Beside that he was also littered with scars. It was hard not to notice the white circles that contrasted with his dark skin, it could be acne scars if they hadn’t been on his exposed forearms as well and so perfectly round. And those weren’t even his only scars, the entire palm on his right had was covered with a burn mark and the open buttons on the top of his shirt exposed a white thin scar across his throat.

So, yeah, strange.

He started to introduce himself and his voice was posh and low, but overall pleasant to listen to, she supposed. This didn’t stop her from exchanging a small look with Jesse, her best friend. Jesse raised her brows at her and the message was received, they were so going to talk about this later.

Later came as soon as they were out the door. Jesse leaned over and said: “Tell me I wasn’t the only one who got a weird vibe from that guy.”

Jane laughed and shook her head and answered: “You weren’t, I mean, this who building is filled with stuffy academics and suddenly this random dude walks in with the scars of a thug? That’s weird.”

Jesse nodded and asked: “What do you think happened to him?”

“I don’t know.” Jane shrugged, “But it seems pretty rude to just ask.”

Jesse sighed, then perked up with a realization: “We could plant a seed in Sams head.”

“No, you wouldn’t.” Jane said, mischief bubbling up inside her eyes. They had known Sam since their first year and were pretty close with the guy. Sam was also known for not being the most delicate or observant and unafraid to ask personal questions. If he was curious, he would ask.

“I would.” Jesse grinned back, she tugged her along through the crowd with an: “Come on!”

They found Sam easy enough and Jesse plopped down next to him and started: “Hey, Sam. What did you think of our new professor?”

Sam shrugged and scratched his forehead as he said: “Dressed like every other pretentious asshole in here, posh accent. But seemed to know his stuff. Normal teacher if you ask me. Why?”

Jesse inflated: “Come on. Don’t tell me you haven’t even noticed!”

“Noticed what?” Sam asked with a frown.

“The scars.” Jane said.

“Oh, were they scars.” Sam said, “I thought he had weird freckles.”

“Weird fr-” Jesse began before cutting herself off and asking: “Aren’t you curious why they’re there? I’ve never seen scars like that.”

“And the burnt hand and the scar on his neck.” Jane continued, “Those don’t appear randomly.”

Both looked at her now, heads to the side in confusion. Jane said: “Oh, didn’t see those?”

Jesse and Sam shook their heads. “Well,” Jane explained, “He has this burn on his hand like he gripped a hot burning coal or something and this line here,” she drew on her neck with her finger to signal where it was, “like someone tried to slit his throat. Makes me wonder what he did before this job.”

The three of them fell silent. Lost in thought to what could’ve happened to their new mysterious professor before all of this.

~

The next lesson didn’t clear anything up in the slightest. While they were discussing the 17th century literature circles Sam had raised his hand signaling he had a question. Jane and Jesse, who had decided to sit behind him tensed up. He got called on and asked: “Dr. Sims, what did you do before this?”

Dr. Sims frowned and pushed up his glasses, before saying: “You don’t have to call me doctor, it wouldn’t be deserved. Just Sims is fine, or Mr. Sims if that feels better. And I’m the A- an archivist.”

“Am?” Sam blurted out.

Sims laughed humorlessly and said: “Yeah, part time now.”

Then he went back to the lesson and didn’t acknowledge any more questions about his life. Jane didn’t know how he did it, but he seemed to just know which people had questions about the lesson and which about him.

She walked out the hall with Sam and Jesse, who said: “That wasn’t insightful at all.”

Jane agreed: “Yeah, in what danger would an archivist be that leaves that kind of scarring?”

Sam shrugged and pulled out his phone as he said: “I can Google it.” the he muttered more to himself: “What kind of danger experiences an archivist, cool yeah.”

Jesse strained her neck to look on his screen and asked: ‘Well, what does it say?”

“Nothing much actually. Just a bunch of online archives and stuff.” Sam said.

Jane had a bit of a light bulb moment and suggested: “What if you type in Jonathan Sims?”

“Jonathan?” Jesse asked.

Jane shrugged and said: “It’s how he introduced himself during the first lecture.”

Sam typed in the name and his eyebrows crept further up to his hairline as he read the results of his search. Jesse couldn’t take it anymore and ripped the phone out of his hand, quickly scanning the page and gasping. Jane was now also curious and asked: “Well, tell me.”

She showed her the screen and Jane read the headlines. ‘Explosion at the Wax Museum, two survivors.’ The small excerpt reads: Last night there was an explosion at the wax museum, cause is still unknown, but suspected attack. Two survivors were found on the scene. Basira Hussain and Jonathan Sims, the latter of which is in a coma…

Underneath that is another headline. ‘Attack at the Magnus Institute unearths body of former archivist Gertrude Robinson’ with a picture of a big fire brigade, some police and an ambulance under it, she can vaguely make out Sims getting loaded into the back of one of them.

And lastly a small report into the murder of Gertrude Robinson, listing Jonathan Sims as one of the suspects along with one about an older guy, who was apparently found dead in Sims office.

Jane leaned back and whispered: “What the actual fuck.”

After that the rumors spread over the campus and by the time the next lecture rolled around the whole room was buzzing with nervous energy. Sims took one look around the room and sighed: “You are probably not going to let this go in favor of learning something that will actually be useful. Correct?”

A murmur went through the crowd, they had realized that the rumors had most likely reached Sims, but they hadn’t realized he’d be so straightforward about it.

“Okay.” Sims said, “I am willing to sacrifice ten minutes of my lecture for inquiries, but I will not promise to answer.”

Then he waited. Sam was the first to raise his hand and when called upon he asked: “How did you get the scars?”

Sims thought about it, the class thought he was thinking about how to bring it delicately and thoughtful, but inside Jons mind he heard Martin laugh at him and tell him he was an idiot after Jon had told someone the round scars had come from tripping. In hindsight it hadn’t been a good excuse, so Jon decided that vague was probably the safest way to go and said: “A workplace incident.”

Without raising his hand this time Sam asked: “Did it happen during the attack on your workplace? Why would anyone even attack archives?”

“The Archives are a small place in a big organization.” Jon began to explain, ignoring the fact that the Archives had been the target, “And in the end it turned out to be an aggressive infestation, just an accident.”

“Why your institute then?” Sam asked.

“Depends on if you believe in the paranormal, but you have to excuse me, Mr. Jacobs. It seems you are not the only one with questions.” Sims replied, then he turned to the other side and said: “Yes, Ms. Hendrickson?”

“Did you murder anyone?” she asked, clapping her hand over her mouth afterwards in shame of the question that she had blurted out.

Sims didn’t react to the harsh and accusatory question, just said: “If I murdered anyone, I wouldn’t be here, but in prison, don’t you agree?” then he smiled, but somehow Jane didn’t feel comforted by it.

Jesse spoke up, causing Jane to duck into herself in the hope that she wouldn’t be noticed in her seat next to Jesse. She asked: “Then who murdered them?”

Sims huffed a breath, blowing a strand of hair out of his face in the process and answered: “That would’ve been my former boss, I have to say I’m happy to see him gone and his replacement is more than capable.” he looked at the clock and clapped his hands, making more than a few people flinch. Then he stated: “That’s enough questions, time’s up. Lets get back to the symbolism in poetry during the Renaissance.”

And so life continued with Sims as their professor. There was still something uneasy about him, like he was just a sliver off in a way you couldn’t pinpoint, but felt in your bones.

But he was actually quite nice. Which was weird in itself, since he could be pretty prickly and snappy if he found your reasoning or answer particularly stupid or ignorant and he was generally grumpy, but that changed completely if you actually had a problem and needed help. He would listen and then explain with the things you could understand, it was as if he could look at you and know what you needed to understand. That was also strange, but it was nice to have someone explain so correctly.

He was also a walking encyclopedia. He had fun fact about everything and when they said everything they meant everything. When he noticed Mary had died her hair he said: “I like your hair, did you know hair dye contains over 5.000 chemicals.”

Then when Jamie asked what kind of tea he was drinking he answered: “Lady Grey, it was created by Twinings in the early 1990s to appeal to the Nordic market, which found Earl Grey too strong.”

While discussing Oscar Wilde he commented: “Funny how important this guy is, since he has only published one novel in his life.”

When Kyra stumbled in late telling him the taxi had broken, he replied with: “Well cars have about 30.000 parts, so it isn’t far fetched that something broke.”

The funniest part about it was that it just happened to slip out it seemed. He was also just as surprised as them when something like that tumbled out of his mouth and he always covered it up with a small cough, before ignoring it had happened and moving on with his lesson.

It had become a bit of a game among students to make him say a fun fact. Sims had caught on to it, but he didn’t seem to mind all that much, his lips only tightening the littlest amount and his eyes tiring slightly.

So all in all, after two moths of lessons they felt like they knew the guy. He was nice in a grumpy way, could tear you apart verbally if he wanted to, had a lot of facts and worked part time as an archivist, which was apparently a pretty dangerous job.

Jane, Jesse and Sam had become pretty close to him, often staying after class to ask a few questions about the subject, help clean up, try to pry into his private life. The last thing never seemed to work, but it was fun to try and Sims had never let on that he minded it. He even seemed to enjoy their little chats.

Then one time after class, he suddenly looked up, frowned and stalked out of the hall. Quickly sharing glances the three followed after him, curious what had gotten his attention so suddenly.

They walked through a bunch of the main halls, then through a few quiet corridors until they were much further than hearing range, making them slightly uncomfortable. There was a kid, first year probably, barely an adult still very much baby faced, crying on the floor, knees drawn tight to his chest.

Cautiously Sims approached him and gently lowered himself to the ground. The kid looked up at him with a startled face, but Sims shushed him and gently asked: “What’s wrong?”

There was something off about the words, something compelling. The kid starts to speak, he had a slightly northern accent: “It’s all so different here with the big buildings and large crowds with loads of people everywhere, still I’m all by myself. No one want to talk to the dumbass from north, who has trouble with the tubes, you know.” he sniffled a sad chuckle, “And everything is just so overwhelming and I have no one to guide me or to talk to and I hate it. Then I saw everyone just talking about a party and I know it’s dumb, but I heard them say they were going to invite everyone and someone asked even me, but then they laughed and said of course not and I just couldn’t anymore, so I went here and I cried.”

It seemed he was finished and went back to small sniffles and silent tears. Sims gently put a hand on the kids knee and said: “Did that help?”

“Yeah,” the kid looked at him, “bit cathartic, honestly. Sorry for the trouble.”

“Oh, it’s no problem, Edward.” Sims said.

The kid didn’t seem to realize it, but the three silent watchers noticed the kid had never mentioned his name.

Sims went on: “If you like, you can come over to my lecture hall. There are a few older years there, nice people, who I’m sure will want to help you. And a cup of tea.”

Edward rubbed his eyes and said: “They wouldn’t want to talk to me, I’m a loser and I don’t want the to think I’m even more one by telling them what happened.”

“I’m sure you won’t have. They’ve been where you are.” Sims responded, there was a bit of an edge to his voice and they realized he knew they were there and he was right. Jesse had been too brash, Jane too shy and Sam too blunt, it’s what had made them flock together. It was much better now, but they all remembered those awful first weeks. Without saying a word they hurried back to Sims hall.

When he came back they were making tea and lounging around. Jesse greeted him: “Hey, Sims. Where were you suddenly off to?”

Jane pushed her slightly and said: “Don’t pry.” then she turned back, “Want a cuppa, we just put on the kettle?”

Sims smiled and said: “I’d like that, could you make one for my friend, Edward here, as well. I had forgotten I was going to meet him, he’s curious about the Minor course and I thought maybe you could tell him a bit about it. If it isn’t any trouble, of course.”

“Of course not.” Jane smiled, then gestured to a chair: “Here, come sit with us.”

Edward did and later left feeling much better with a few new friends.

Friends, who were beginning to be suspicious about their teacher. They had a lengthy discussion about his knowing stuff and his spooky vibe. But no certain conclusion could be made and they decided that the mission for this year was finding out at least one personal fact about their teacher to prove he was at least somewhat normal.

They didn’t have to wait long. Their classes had been thrown around due to an unfortunate miscommunication. So two classes were switched, causing Sims to teach on Wednesday instead of Thursday for just one week. He looked a bit pale that day, but nothing out of the ordinary. It was the season, so no one spared it a second thought. Until a larger man came through the door after a gentle knock.

He was tall, about 6ft2, and chubby with a crème sweater and jeans. His face was freckled and he wore a gentle smile like it was second nature. His hair was curly and looked very soft, he in his entirety looked soft, you know, like the kind of person you know gives good hugs the moment you see them.

Sims was the only one who didn’t seem startled by his knock, just looked at the man and frowned as he said: “Martin, what are you doing here?”

“Sorry, sorry, Jon.” the man, Martin, said apologetically, “I know you said not to come and such, but I saw you had forgotten your statement and I know how you can get without them, so I thought I’d bring them to you.”

“I was going to read it tomorrow.” Sims said, “It can wait for one day. It’s not like it used to be.”

“Yeah, I know that as well, but we agreed that a rhythm would be good for you and your body to get used to.” Martin replied, holding out a folder.

Sims grabbed the folder and sighed: “You’re probably right, annoying as that may be, but couldn’t it wait till after I was done?”

“No, I’m meeting Daisy to discuss the proper storage of a Hunt artifact and you know how Daisy can be.” he answered.

“Yeah, I know.” Sims chuckled, absentmindedly touching the scar on his neck.

“Besides, I wanted to see you.” Martin said, then he brushed a lock of hair, that had freed itself from Sims’ messy bun, behind Sims ear and pecked him on the cheek. Turning to leave immediately after calling out over his shoulder: “Read it, Jon! And don’t forget to pick up milk on the way back if you want any good tea.”

Martin opened the door and Sims smiled, like a real and soft and dopey smile, as he touched his cheek and yelled back: “I will, say hi to Daisy from me.”

Then Martin was gone and the silence that had fallen over the hall with Martins entrance was broken. Multiple people called out questions and it was a bit of a chaos. It took a few minutes to get everyone settled down again and Sims returned to his lecture as if nothing happened. Sam called out from the second row: “Really, Sims? Nothing?”

Sims shoulders sagged, he had clearly hoped he could get away with it and was sad that it hadn’t worked. He said: “Mr. Jacobs, although I appreciate your interest in my personal life, I hope that I don’t have to explain how normal it is for my husband to come bring me something I forgot at home.”

The hall exploded again, but Sims ignored it all again telling them there were more important things to talk about, for example the lecture, which will be on the exam.

For Jane, Jesse and Sam it was enough. Their teacher was weird and off, but he was nice enough and if someone as soft looking as the Martin figure was willing to marry him, then he was good enough in their opinion and not worth the detective work.

#RR writing #the magnus archives #the magnus pod #jonathan sims #jonathan sims x martin blackwood #martin blackwood #jonmartin #martin x jon #ocs #tma #tma season 5

[sahbibabe]

The Fiction of Love

The Fiction of Love

Soulmate AU: Where whatever your soulmate writes on their skin appears on yours.

Genesis Rhapsodos/Fem! Reader

In which you finally meet the source of the daily recitations of Loveless on your arm: Genesis Rhapsodos.

IT STARTED LIKE everyone else's soulmate experience─the writing appeared one day, out of the blue, on the skin of your forearm like a tattoo. They were always quick to fade, the magical ink devoured by your body's immune system, but they lingered long enough for you to notice them.

And, weirdly enough, the first words your soulmate wrote to you were the words of a poem. Whoever they were, they wrote in an amazingly talented hand, the calligraphy putting your awful, cramped words to absolute shame.

'Infinite in mystery is the gift of the goddess,' they wrote on your arm that morning,'we seek it thus, and take to the skies.'

From then on, every day since then, you would be sure to find phrases of that poem written somewhere on your body. On your arms, forearms, hands, knees, legs, but the most common was always the inside of your wrist, written there as if it was some secret, some thrilling note that you could look at when no one was around.

You hated it.

Unlike the rest of the women in your office building, you despised that poem─and the play─with every fiber of your being. It was one thing to hear it every day at work, brought on by the cooing assistants who fawned over the main male leads of the play and lusted for their numbers. But to be hounded by it even as you relaxed at home, unable to forget those damned words because they appeared on your skin almost every hour on the dot?

It was ridiculous.

Your spite had extended to your replies to your soulmate, so much so that you never replied at all once your hatred took hold of you. It had been nearly two months since you had stopped, six months since they had started to begin with, and yet your soulmate soldiered on, leaving the little phrases for you to find─in obvious spots, none of them ever inappropriate─and going on with whatever they did for a living.

It had to have been something time and attention consuming, because the one time you wrote back, drunk during mid-day, you didn't get a reply until well after twelve in the morning. You had just wrote, pretty awfully,'Why Loveless?' and passed out on the couch, dead to the world.

You woke up right in the middle of the reply appearing on your skin as they wrote it, the curls of their handwriting fascinating as every whorl and slash bloomed upon your arm like wicked black flowers.

'Why not Loveless?' They had replied.

Needless to say, the irritation had rose up as you had expected it to, and you pulled a hoodie on for the rest of the night to hide your arms from your line of sight. If you would have pulled up your sleeve just a bit then, you would have caught the extended reply that they added on to it.

'I'm just joking. Why Loveless? Because it is a truth; it is deliverance. It is a meaning.'

Unfortunately for you, the ink had been devoured long ago and replaced with another Loveless stanza, this one a little bit longer than the others they had written for you… and not at all part of the official poem.

'Even if the morrow is barren of promises

Nothing shall forestall my return

To become the dew that quenches the land

To spare the sands, the seas, the skies

I offer thee this silent sacrifice.'

It was then, staring at your arm as you stood in front of your office copier, the glow of the mako reactor shining upon your skin, that you realized this poem was much more than a means to annoy you. This was their passion, their joy, their hobby, all wrapped into one poem.

You made a decision then.

You booked the tickets, the priciest seats you could afford, rented out a modest but elegant dress for the evening, and made a reservation at a nice restaurant just across the street from the theater, even more pricey than the tickets.

'Theater #2, front steps, 8:30 P.M. Dress nice. Don't be late.'

That reply had been instantaneous.

'I wouldn't dream of it.'

The date set and your dress hanging comfortably in your closet, you began wondering what your soulmate looked like. Could you pick them out of a crowd? Or were they plain and unassuming, able to blend in easily, like camouflage?

You asked them, just to be sure.

'What do you look like?'

'Let's leave that as a mystery. I'm sure I'll be able to find you.'

Stumped, you stared at your arm with wide eyes, before scratching through your question and doodling a smiley face with the tongue sticking out of the side.

'Not if I find you first.'

'I look forward to the challenge.'

By the time the date rolled around and you were dressed and waiting by the steps of the theater, you were so nervous you could throw up. You were a little early and tried to settle your nerves with a small can of soda, but all that succeeded in doing was making the butterflies worse. You were lucky they had even agreed to the meeting in the first place; some people just never got that chance. And that didn't guarantee you would even get along, did it?

After a few minutes of failing to calm yourself down, you got on your phone and scrolled through the new ShinRa announcements, eager to take your mind off of the wrecking ball going off in your stomach. It only helped a little bit.

And then, something odd happened; like the proverbial red sea, people parted for someone walking through the crowd at a leisurely pace, except the 'red' was a man, and not a sea at all. Just from your distance, he was gorgeous, with russet red hair and mako green eyes that sparkled under the fluorescent lights.

Whoever got him as a soulmate had earned the jackpot, you thought wordlessly to yourself, watching as the crowd continued to part for him. Really, really lucky.

Then you realized, belatedly, like a sucker punch to the gut, that he was headed your way, those insanely green eyes trained on you with the focus of a predator. It was suddenly very hard to breathe, your lungs constricting at the disbelief in your mind, your phone very heavy in your hand.

There was no absolute way in hell--

"I told you I'd find you," he said with a smooth grin. His voice was like honey, rich and smooth with all of the right cadence, and sat right in your stomach like molten gold. You swore if you weren't so awe struck that you would have teetered back and fainted right then and there. "I win."

"I guess so," you replied faintly, barely a whisper. He seemed to acknowledge the effect he had on you because his eyes crinkled up just the slightest with a smirk that made you want to, quite literally, rip off that red leather jacket he wore and show him who was boss. "I'm [Name]."

"Genesis." You watched the emerald earring he had in his ear dangle and catch the lights, adding to his features spectacularly. "Are you ready to go inside?"

You had to stop yourself from sounding too eager. Your plans had went from having a nice time at a play, to dinner, and parting your separate ways and straight to watching a play, having dinner, and hopefully taking him back home with you if he was willing. "Yes, please."

Genesis smiled and tucked your hand into his elbow, like a gentleman--you could feel your face growing as hot as coals--and escorted you up the stairs, careful not to let you trip and fall. As you walked with him to the stands to give the doorman your tickets, you noticed that he didn't exactly walk with the awkwardness of a normal person. His gait was smooth, fluid, elegant and refined, as if someone had drilled him to always be light on his feet. Add that to the sword you could feel at his side and the beautiful green eyes, and you knew you had a SOLDIER for a soulmate.

"You're a SOLDIER?" You asked quietly as you entered the quiet zone of the play stage.

He chuckled lightly. "What gave it away?"

"Let's see… Other than the sword and the way you carry yourself?" You teased, stomach jolting when he moved his hand to the small of your back to urge you towards your seat. "Your eyes. I've never seen such a concentrated color before."

"Yes, the tell tale sign of mako energy," he lamented, if only to earn a laugh out of you. "But yes, I am a First Class SOLDIER."

Your head turned so quickly that you were sure your neck would have snapped. "First Class? And you're here with me, not on some elite mission?"

"Of course." He blinked, tilted his head, and furrowed his eyebrows as if he was the one who should be confused. "Why would I turn down the chance to see Loveless with a goddess such as yourself?"

Oh, you felt the heat now, curling down your spine like a snake and he the charmer. It should have been cheesy, given the situation and his love for a poem mentioning such a goddess, but for some reason, it wasn't, and it made goofy feelings rise in your chest, along with understanding.

It was more than just a poem.

He grinned when you brought your pamphlet up to fan yourself, leaning back in your chair and mumbling,"Let's just watch the play, okay?"

Genesis was, thankfully, tame during the entire thing. He was just as absorbed into it as you were, those pretty green eyes taking in the play actors with relish, and absentmindedly stroking his leather clad thumb over your knuckles as if it was natural to him.

When the play was over, the actors gave out cute silk flowers as a souvenir, thanking everyone for their attendance and citing their next performance as sometime next week.

Dinner, you came to find out, was fair game for Genesis.

Not only did he pull some strings behind your back to pay for it himself, he also switched your reserved table to the most secluded one in the entire building: the Elite floor where only people like Rufus Shinra dined and held their meetings and drank fine wine.

There were only three other tables on the floor, each one hosting a couple, and the room was dark, barely lit by glowing red lanterns as a centerpiece. Clearly it was a popular spot to be wooed.

You caught envious stares from the waitresses, a few offering you winks and a thumb's up, as you made your way up the stairs, Genesis behind you and making sure you didn't fall. You half guessed he was also in it for the view as well.

When you were seated and left to order your food, Genesis spoke up.

"So, you know what I do for a living, but you have yet to tell me anything about yourself." He propped open his menu and looked over it to you.

"Well… There isn't much to say." You shrugged and focused on trying to undo the straps of your heels with your feet, feeling your toes ache with the added height. "I'm a bit boring compared to you."

"I digress," he hummed,"but go on."

"I work in an office building for twelve hours a day," you deadpanned, much to his amusement. "It's boring."

"Allow me."

Confused, you opened your mouth to ask what he meant, but all of the breath left your lungs once again when his fingers wrapped around your ankle and unbuckled the straps to your heels with nimble fingers. He took his time, sliding his palm up your leg to take a hold of your calf as he removed the shoe from your foot.

Relieved from the pressure of your shoes, you let out a pleased sigh, but when you looked back across the table at him, those green eyes were glittering dangerously, trained on your face for a solitary second before getting to work on the other shoe.

You couldn't help the sudden heat rising in your belly. That look alone had made you tingle.

Before he could open his mouth and say something that would probably make you forego dinner plans entirely and drag him back to your house, the waitress came back, sheepish, and took your orders.

When you finished ordering--a salmon filet drizzled with soy sauce and wine--Genesis was busy studying you, watching you toy with the strap of your dress nervously.

Unfortunately, he never did make any more moves on you for the rest of dinner, but your stomach was glad for that because every time he looked at you even slightly, you would feel food get lodged in your throat.

You spoke well into the morning hours, getting tipsy enough that Genesis had to carry you all the way back to your apartment because the cabs weren't running that late. He was amused, if anything, and laughed whenever tried to come on to him, slurring sweet promises in his ear.

Every time, he would say,"Perhaps later when you're not so drunk."

"If not now, when?" You whined pathetically, leaning against your door as he picked the lock, unwilling to take the plunge down your bra to retrieve the keys.

"Soon," he said, his voice full of dark promise, enough that your alcohol addled mind could make out the desire in his voice like an arrow to the heart. "Soon."

He left you with just that promise, vanishing down the hall and into the night.

You remembered the look on his face, the tone of his voice, even when you woke up, and took maybe five seconds before you were yanking a pen out of your nightstand and writing on your arm.

'Now?"

A few seconds passed, then three minutes. And there it was, written in his elegant penmanship: your answer.

'3:40 P.M. Don't be late.'

#final fantasy #genesis rhapsodos #genesis rhapsodos x reader #soulmate au #soulmate #final fantasy crisis core

[imjustthemechanic]

The Price of a Soul

Part 1/? - Agent Russel Part 2/? - The Letter Part 3/? - Miss Lake Part 4/? - The Stewardess Part 5/? - An Assassination

Peggy finally catches up with Miss Lake, but not quite where she expected to.

-

As the sun went down, Peggy found herself with two men, standing outside the cell containing Johann Fenhoff.

He looked very different from the harmless and put-upon little man they’d pulled out of Russia years ago… part of it was that he was now rather better-nourished, but the way he carried himself had also changed.  Peggy had been taught how to read people, and ‘Victor Ivchenko’ had the body language of somebody who was resigned to whatever life decided to throw at him next.

Events since had made her very much less secure in the ability to tell what people were thinking based on how they held their heads, but it was still a very different man who was sitting there in that cell. Even with a muzzle on so he couldn’t try to sweet-talk his keepers, he sat rigidly upright with his chin held high, glaring at her through eyelids half-closed, like a cat biding its time.

“I don’t suppose anybody’s told you why we’re here,” said Peggy.

He could have nodded, shrugged, or shaken his head. His hands were free to gesture. But he chose to give no sign he’d heard her at all.

“We are here, Dr. Fenhoff, to save your life,” she told him.  “Apparently the Soviets have decided you’re enough of a liability to eliminate.”  She held up the drawing of Miss Lake.  “Do you know this woman?”

Fenhoff continued to sit there, just watching her.

She lowered it again.  “Your unhelpfulness will not earn kind treatment from your jailers,” Peggy pointed out.

He evidently did not care.

Peggy turned away from him.  If she could read body language, she could also write it – and she wanted to let him know that if he weren’t willing to help, he mattered not at all.

“You really thought he was going to tell you something?” one of the men asked.

“One never knows,” said Peggy.  “He might have thought he could get something out of it… but I see he agrees with me, that he deserves no better than this.”

And with that, the watch began.

There was one small window in Fenhoff’s cell, through which Peggy could see the sky darken to indigo.  Shortly after, the floodlights outside came on, pouring in to fill the edges of the room with coal-black shadows.  The prisoners were supposed to be asleep now, but Fenhoff stayed sitting up in bed, facing his guardians.  With his face in shadow, Peggy couldn’t tell if his eyes were open… she knew from experience that anyone who’d been through a war could sleep sitting up.

One of the men watching with Peggy dealt a hand of Spades, and they sat down to play by the shaft of light through Fenhoff’s little window.  Time began crawling by.

The prison was a surprisingly loud place at night. There was the sound of the patrolling guards with their heavy boots and their dogs, and boats chugging by on the river outside.  Prisoners would make noise and be shushed by officers banging on the bars of their cells. An owl hooted.  Somewhere a cat screamed in heat.  By day the sounds would not have bothered Peggy at all.  In the darkness, expecting an assassin, they set her on edge.  If her ears could have swiveled like a deer’s to take in the direction each one came from, they would have – she felt as if they were trying.

Her attention was repeatedly drawn to the window. It was too high off the ground to show when the guards and dogs walked by, but with the light shining directly in like that, anyone who tried to use it as an access point would cast a shadow directly across their game of Spades.  It was thick glass on the outside and bars on the inside, too close together for any human being to slip through… but it was still an access point directly from the outside.  If not for the glass, the muzzle of a gun could fit through easily.

One of the dogs barked not far away.  Peggy heard footsteps, but nothing seemed to happen, so she returned to the game.  Fenhoff was still sitting up in his bed, and Peggy suddenly wondered if he were already dead.  She swallowed.

“Dr. Fenhoff!” she called.

He started and turned his head to look at her.

“Sorry,” she said.  “I just wanted to be sure you were still alive.”

He sullenly resumed his former position.

That was when Peggy heard a small noise… a sort of pop, like a piston firing, followed by a soft groan… and then the heavy sound of something soft falling to the concrete floor.  Electricity seemed to run up her spine.  She jumped to her feet, scattering the cards.  “Dr. Fenhoff!”

Fenhoff stood up and looked around, very much alive. For the first time, he looked directly at Peggy, and she could see that his eyes were wide, frightened.  He pointed at the cell on the right.

Peggy dashed over to look.  In the next cell there was a shape on the floor, a mass of limbs and bedclothes where they’d rolled off the cot.  In the light from the widow, a dark stain was seeping into the blanket. For a moment Peggy almost wanted to laugh.  Had Fenhoff really been saved because their Soviet assassin got the wrong room?

But a man had still been injured.  “Get a doctor in here at once,” Peggy told the men, “and sound the alarm!”  Then she ran for the nearest exit.  They were on the river side.  The assassin must have come in by boat, and was planning to leave the same way. Maybe there was time to stop her.

Outside, the lawns were awash with the brilliant white of the metal halide lamps.  Beyond Westerley Road was the gravel bank that ran down to the river.  No boat was visible there, and as Peggy stepped out onto the lawn, she heard the alarms go off.  Guards who’d been having a smoke suddenly leaped to attention.  Dogs began to bark right and left, and the buildings lit up.  Whoever had been here now knew they were caught.  How were they planning to get away if not by the river?  Or was Miss Lake hoping to swim?

You think like them, Thompson had said.  What would Peggy do in this situation, with people alerted to her presence so that she couldn’t make the getaway she’d originally planned?

She would steal a car.

She made a mental note to be annoyed with Thompson later for being right, and ran towards the car park.  There were an unusual number of vehicles there for this time of the night, since there were dozens of SSR men there in addition to the usual guards and employees.  Sure enough, a set of headlights flickered to life, and an engine roared.

With no better ideas for the moment, Peggy threw herself onto the hood as the burgundy Ford sedan backed out of its parking space.

The driver immediately stamped on the brake, but had not been going fast enough for this to dislodge Peggy.  She held on and turned herself to see who was in the driver’s seat. The figure was small enough to be a woman, with her hair tucked under a black knitted cap and her face smeared with charcoal so that her fair skin wouldn’t stand out against the darkness. She looked astonished to find Peggy on her hood.

Peggy was not astonished at all.  Her emotions were, frankly, triumphant.

“Katherine Lake, you are under arrest,” she declared.

Lake then did exactly what Peggy would have done, and hit the gas to try to throw her off.  The car backed up sharply and collided with the one across the aisle. Peggy grabbed the sideview mirror and braced a foot against the hood ornament – the latter snapped off and jingled on the asphalt.  Lake made a hard left, drove right over the grass and onto the little bridge that crossed the train tracks.

Peggy got one arm through the window and a foot onto the running board.  She knew very well that Lake was going to go right through the prison gate and if Peggy were still on the front of the car when it happened she would be crushed. She made it with seconds to spare. Bullets pinged on the metal and shattered the back window as they passed the watchtower, and then splinters sprayed as the gate gave way.  Another right turn took them onto Hudson street, and the fugitive sped up as police sirens sounded behind them.

Peggy climbed through the open window onto the seat next to the driver.  “Stop this car!” she ordered.

The woman glanced at her, then put up a hand. Peggy moved to defend herself, but Lake – it had to be Lake – effortlessly twisted Peggy’s arm back and reached into her jacket as if to pull out her gun.  Peggy caught her wrist, and for a few moments the two women arm-wrestled over the weapon.  The car veered wildly left and right across the road, until Peggy finally got the gun out of her jacket and threw it into the back seat, where neither of them could get at it.  Lake couldn’t use it against Peggy, and Peggy couldn’t get carried away and kill the driver of a moving car.

“I said stop the car!” she repeated.

“Or you’ll do what?” Lake demanded, eyes on the road again.

They were coming to the end of Hudson Street. Peggy grabbed the wheel and forced it to the right.  The car ploughed into the bushes of Sparta Park.  Again, the two of them fought for control of a machine, until the car went right down the incline and into the Hudson River.

Lake kicked her door open and climbed out.  Peggy scrambled after her and jumped on her as she tried to crawl up the stony slope.  Together they rolled back into the water.  Peggy ripped Lake’s hat off and yanked on her hair.  Lake responded by driving her elbow into Peggy’s gut and then wrapping an arm around her neck.  Peggy reached back and yanked Lake’s legs out from under her.  Lake grabbed Peggy’s jacket with one arm to stop herself falling, and with the other pulled a small object out of her pocket.

For a moment Peggy thought this was a grenade.  Then the moonlight caught it, and she saw that it was… a perfume bottle? A fine mist from it sprayed in Peggy’s face.

She just barely had time to wonder what that was for, and then it was as if everything caught fire.  Her eyes, nose, mouth, throat, ears… everything was burning.  Tears poured down her face.  She couldn’t see.

Something hit her in the jaw, hard, and she fell forwards into the river. Peggy wouldn’t have thought it was possible that the pain she was feeling could get any worse, but it did, as if rather than putting a fire out the water just made it hotter.  She clawed her way out onto the shore and scrubbed at her eyes with her knuckles, but that made it worse, too.

She heard a startled cry and a honking horn.  Voices shouted.  What was going on?

“Carter!”  That was Thompson.  “Carter, where are you?”

“Down here!”  Peggy raised a hand and waved it, hoping she was facing the right direction.

The sound of shoes on stones approached her, and she flinched at the feeling of a hand on her back.  “Carter?” asked Thompson’s voice, right beside her now.  His other hand went to her waist, which she would have normally objected to, but if she were going to get anywhere she needed the help. “What did she do to you?”

“I have no idea.  What does it look like?” Peggy asked.

A flashlight light shone in her eyes, which was insanely painful but also somewhat reassuring – it meant she hadn’t been totally blinded.  “You’re bright red,” said Thompson.  “And swollen. We’ll get a medic in here.”

He helped her up the hill and back to the road, where the lights from two or three police cars illuminated a shifting mass of colours and shapes that refused to come into focus.  People were shouting and dogs were barking, and every light and sound seemed to drill into Peggy’s skull.

“We’ve got another for the ambulance!” he said.

“Another?” asked Peggy.  “What happened?”

“The blonde,” Thompson said.  “One of the cops ran into her.”

“See if you can find the perfume bottle.  That’s what she sprayed me with,” said Peggy.

She could tell that Thompson was enjoying the chance to swoop in and rescue her from something, but she was hardly in any shape to protest as he and another man helped her into the back of the ambulance. Somebody offered her cold water for her face, but Peggy refused emphatically.  “I think I need soap,” she said.  “Whatever it is, water alone does nothing for it.”

She could still see only lights and shadows, but sounds told her they were loading Miss Lake into the ambulance next to her. “How badly hurt is she?” Peggy asked.

“She’s unconscious,” a male voice replied, “but she doesn’t seem to have broken any limbs.”

“That’s good,” said Peggy.  “We need her alive to question her.”

The ambulance doors closed, and Peggy sat back, shutting her eyes.  She wasn’t sure if that helped or not, but at least it didn’t seem to make it any worse. It was only as they pulled away that she realized she had no idea who Miss Lake had shot, or whether the victim had survived.  She would have to ask Thompson when he came to see her.

#fanfic #agent carter #captain america #peggy carter #steve rogers #steggy #fix it fic

[scapegrace74-blog]

Gratitude

A/N  When we last saw Jamie and Claire, they’d crashed, burned (somewhat literally) and declared their mutual interest in each other in their individual ways.   Whither now, our pair?

All other parts of the Metric Universe are available on my AO3 page.

The song by Big Red Machine (another guest artist!) that inspired the title is here.

June 1, 2018, Costa Coffee, Whitechapel, London, England

“It feels like ye might be avoiding me, Sassenach.”

It occurred to her that Jamie knew her schedule and habits to an uncomfortable degree for him to be at her favourite coffee shop at exactly the point in her shift when she could no longer resist the siren call of caffeine.

Since the fire in their building and Jamie’s subsequent profession of love, they’d been living under separate roofs.  Claire was sleeping on the couch at the home of one of her fellow medical students, and Jamie was bunking down with his uncle.  Their flat had escaped the flames, suffering only smoke damage, but it would be at least eight weeks before the building was declared structurally sound and they could move back in.

Heading to the counter, Claire purchased her usual extra-large oat milk cortado with a fruited teacake, then added a flat black with raw sugar for Jamie.  Settling across from him, she slid his coffee across the tiny table before splitting her teacake and balancing half on his saucer.  He nodded his thanks, but was otherwise silent, waiting her out.

“I don’t know how to do this,” she began, surprising them both with the frankness of her opening salvo.  It helped, she found, to be paying undue attention to stirring her coffee as she spoke.

“That doesna sound like ye, mo nighean donn.   Why don’t ye tell me what part is vexin’ ye, an’ we can see if we canna bash our brains t’gether til we come up wi’ a plan, aye?”

She knew what he was doing.  Cleverly depersonalizing their situation so that she could approach it like any other problem.  Part of her resented his easy manipulation, grounded as it was in how well he knew her.  But there was a secret part of her that thrilled at the emotional intimacy.  To be seen, truly seen, in all her messy complexity, was a novel experience.  Jamie knew the architecture of her heart, all its dark corners and blind hallways.  He must have recognized something worthy, to be willing to so patiently coax her away from her solitude.

Plus, she’d spent the last year training him to leave the toilet seat down.  That wasn’t the sort of work you just walked away from.

“It’s... god, where do I start?  It’s having no idea what it means to be in a healthy adult relationship.  And the crippling fear that if I fuck this up, it’ll ruin our friendship, which is so important to me, Jamie.  I don’t think you have any idea...  Plus our living situation...”

“We arenna livin’ t’gether for the moment, Sassenach,” Jamie interrupted.  He had leaned forward across the table as she stammered through her recitation, and his curls had flopped across his brow in that boyish way they had.  Her chest tightened, torn between affection and blind terror.

“No.  That’s true.”

“With yer permission, I’d like tae make a suggestion.”  At her cautious nod, Jamie continued.  “For the next two months, we willna be roommates.  I’d like tae... court ye...”

“Court me?!” Claire blurted out.  “What, like in a Jane Austen novel?”  She couldn’t help but smile at Jamie as he blushed, but he continued undeterred.

“Aye, like that.  Ye’re used tae havin’ all the answers, Sassenach, but this isna one of yer wee tests tha’ ye can study for.  We’re gonna have tae wing it, and see where it takes us.  But I promise ye, I willna play ye false and I willna walk away.  Will ye at least give this thing between us a chance?  If it doesna work, we can go back tae livin’ t’gether as friends, no questions asked.”

At some point during his speech, their hands had met across the table.  She could feel Jamie’s trembling through his fingertips.  He was scared too, but he was being brave because he felt it was worth the risk.  How could she dare to do otherwise?

“Alright,” she conceded, and his smile warmed her face like sunshine.  “What do you propose, then?  Shall I don my best parlour gown and set out the petit fours, Master Fraser?”

“Och, I dinna mean tae be makin’ me call me master quite yet, Sassenach,” he teased, delighting in her blush.  “I’ll be at yer door t’morrow.  Three sharp.  Wear somethin’ comfortable an’ bring a jumper for after dark.”

Finishing his teacake in three large bites, Jamie hopped up from his seat and brushed the crumbs from his jeans.  With a mischievous grin and a cock-eyed wink, he raised her hand to his mouth and kissed her knuckles.

“Until tomorrow then, milady.”

Jesus Christ, what had she just done?

***

To her relief, Jamie showed up at Joe’s front door in his usual jeans and Henley, not a frock coat and jodhpurs  He wasn’t even carrying flowers.  Joe tried to buttonhole him with talk of the previous night’s football match, but after a few minutes of polite chitchat Jamie ushered Claire out the door, joking that he’d have her home before curfew.

She wasn’t quite sure what to make of his behaviour.  The Jamie she knew had always been charming, when he wasn’t busy putting his foot in his mouth.  Now she marveled at his apparent ease as they descended the steps into the Tube.

Heading west on the District Line, thoughts continued to assail her.  Was he always this self-confident on a date?  How often did he go out with other women, anyway?  She’d assumed she knew everything there was to know about Jamie, but maybe she was wrong.  Before Frank, her last date had been back in nursing school, and a VHS player and copious cheap beer had been involved.  Despite the over-zealous air conditioning in their train, her palms began to sweat.

“Ye needn’t be afraid of me, Claire,” Jamie’s soft burr interrupted her quiet panic attack.  “I’m no’ going tae suddenly turn into some man ye dinna recognize, just because I’m tryin’ tae romance ye a wee bit.”

Once again, with only a few words Jamie had peeled away her layers of confusion and doubt to strike at the core of what was bothering her.  She forced herself to take a deep breath and immediately recognized Jamie’s scent; a blend of laundry detergent, his vetiver bar soap, and a touch of chlorine left over from the morning’s swim.  It set her at ease.  He hadn’t worn cologne.  His left boot had a frayed lace that had needed changing since March.  His cuticles were as inexplicably perfectly formed as always.  He was her Jamie, and she could trust him to behave in accordance with what she already knew of him, even in this uncharted territory.

“So, where exactly are we going?” she asked after the crackling announcement for St. James Park had died away.

“Would it ease yer mind a wee bit, tae ken?”

“Maybe a wee bit,” she confessed.

“Well, then, how can I refuse?  Have ye e’er been tae the Chelsea Physic Garden, Sassenach?”

***

As it turned out, by some grievous oversight she hadn’t.  Wedged between a high brick wall and the Thames was a three hundred and fifty year old urban oasis, filled with plants that could either treat your ailments or kill you.  Naturally, she was enchanted.  Jamie followed her between the beds and down the shaded lanes of pea gravel, a soft smile held between his lips.

When the garden closed, they walked along the Embankment and over the Thames at Chelsea Bridge, stopping to watch the sun set over the murky water.  A food truck beckoned with its aroma of chips and burgers, which they ate on a nearby bench, going back for extra napkins when their choice in toppings proved especially messy.

It was the least romantic meal she’d ever eaten, and she was soothed and smitten in equal measure.

Washing grease from his hands in a drinking fountain, Jamie turned to her in the half-light.

“Now, I have a verra important question of ye, Sassenach, and how ye answer will determine the future course of our evening t’gether.”

Here it was, she balked.  The hook at the end of the line. The sour amongst so much sweetness.  She shouldn’t have expected...

“Are ye,” Jamie continued, unaware of her inner monologue, “afraid of heights?”

... no different than any other man, with his...

“Am I what?” she blurted, once her brain caught up with her ears.

“Afraid of heights?  An’ a bit of a scamper up some scaffolding?”

Jamie was pointing over her shoulder.  She peered into the night, but all she could make out was the hulking shadow of the derelict Battersea Power Station.

***

It was a convoluted story, but the outline went something like this: the massive coal-fired station, with its four spire-like chimneys, was slated for redevelopment.  Jamie had taken part in an onsite review of the location by the London Fire Service, and had befriended a representative of the developer.  Somehow, this friend had granted Jamie access to the site, which is how Claire now found herself over fifty metres above the ground, climbing a seemingly endless series of metal steps, with her curls trying to escape the confines of a workman’s hard hat.

“You really know how to show a girl a good time, Jamie Fraser,” she grumbled as they came to a landing made out of scaffolding.   Above them, a white chimney ascended into the dome of the sky.

“Ye canna say I dinna take yer breath away, Sassenach,” he teased.

She was about to retort when they stepped around the base of the chimney tower, and all words failed her.

Rolled out far below their feet, the Thames was a black carpet reflecting millions of pinpoint gems skyward, broken by belts of light where it was traversed by a bridge.  Beyond the eastern bend in the river, the City glowed with its eternal hum.  The colossal space taken up by the station was a palpable presence behind their backs.

“It reminds me of yer Uncle Lamb’s saying, about makin’ our present out of the bones of our past.  Twasn’t the original plan, but here she stands, still vital and strong, being remade anew.  An’ a beautiful vision fer all tha’.”

She wasn’t convinced that Jamie was talking about the power station.  

A cool breeze blew off the river, and she shivered.  A jacket still warm with body heat immediately covered her shoulders.   They stood side by side in silence, just taking in the view.

When their hands bumped, it seemed the most natural thing in the world to thread her fingers with his own.

“You’ve set the bar impossibly high for any future dates, you know,” she commented eventually.

“Ye’re only sayin’ that because ye dinna ken what I have planned next.”  His grin was impossibly smug, and she fought the urge to kiss it right off his beautiful mouth.  He must have read the impulse in her eyes, because his face was slowly approaching her own, eyes a volatile mix of hope and trepidation.

Her own eyes fluttered closed in anticipation.  Just as their lips should have been meeting, their was a ductile crunch, and their heads bounced apart with comedic timing.  Their hard helmets had collided.  Jamie swore softly beneath his breath, but Claire couldn’t stop giggling.

“Oh, thank god.  It is you.  I was beginning to wonder.”

***

It was late when they finally exited the Tube, but Jamie insisted on accompanying Claire all the way to the Abernathy’s front door.  She handed him back his leather jacket, feeling suddenly awkward in the brightly lit hall.  The date had been magical, far beyond her wildest expectations, and it felt strange to return to the prosaic reality of their lives.

“Thank you for a wonderful time, Jamie.”

“Twas my pleasure, Sassenach.   I’ve missed ye, these past few weeks.  And I really hope... well, you’ll tell me if you want to do somethin’ like this again, aye?”  His hand went to the back of his neck in a gesture she knew well.  Bless the man, he had no idea the effect he had on her.  It was well past time to let him know.

“I’d love that.  Truly.  I’ve got final exams to study for, but maybe sometime next week?”

"Well then,” he replied, clearly delighted with her response.  “I should let ye get some sleep.  Good luck on yer exams, Sassenach.   And thank ye, fer bein’ willing tae give this a chance.  Twas a day I’ll ne’er forget.”

He began to walk away.

“Jamie!”  He turned around.

“Aye?”

Walking forward to the beat of her pounding heart, she halted when their bellies were practically touching.  Lifting up on tiptoe, she pressed into his mouth.  Time slowed to a syrupy drip as their lips met for the first time.  His rough exhale was the only sound in the cocoon of sensation that enveloped them.  It felt like she was falling through an endless cloud. Too soon, she had to pull away to capture her breath, and the spell was broken.  Judging by his moonstruck expression, Jamie had been equally affected.  She smiled when she realized his arms were still held aloft, like he was trying to hold on to the memory of their kiss.

“Goodnight, James Alexander Malcolm Mackenzie Fraser,” she purred before she disappeared from his sight.

#my writing #outlander

[baekberrie]

heal me - bbh

✨Genre: Romance, angst, fluff, hearing loss and outcast au (if that makes sense)

✨Pairing: Baekhyun x reader

Everything surrounding you started seeping into brighter colors the first time you saw him.

It wasn't a particular day. The sun was hiding behind fluffy clouds painted in streaks of gray, the breeze fluttering the curtains by the big windows felt colder than it should have been in the mid of May. While the adorable daisies were eagerly starting to pop in the grass, it was hard to grasp the spring with such unstable weather. Your gaze was lost in the immensity of the sky, it was one of those days. Those days who blended in with the rest, those who were blurry whenever you tried to recall them- and you- you just existed, sitting by the desk in the classroom while people walked past you, sat in their seats and acknowledged each other. You were there and yet it felt as if you were just invisible. A sigh pushed past your lips as you mentally encouraged yourself. It was going to be another of these unbearable days, treated like you were absolutely nothing more than dust, but you knew you were going to make it until the end of the day, like always. While the sun was up, you allowed yourself to show only one expression, only when you were in the safety of your home would you finally let the loneliness overwhelm you. You let it take your breath away from your lungs and spill from the edge of your eyes, into small but infinite tears.

The ringing bell was just a distant sound while you tried your best to swallow the growing lump in your throat. Thinking about how lonely you felt would always end up in you hurting your own feelings. But for the first time, you didn't have to calm your own frantic heart, for when the teacher entered with a new student next to him you totally forgot about what was going through your head. It had been a while since a new face had entered this class. In fact, you had memorized everyone's face and names on the very first day, while you were sure that no one even remembered yours. The boy looked tall next to the teacher although his height was just average. Your heart skipped a beat, there was something that struck you when gazing at him. It wasn't his incredibly intriguing droopy eyes, nor the way his brown hair fell so beautifully down his face. And although you were taking notice of all of these things, it was neither the way his smiley-like lips pronounced his name or how his voice was the most melodic sound you'd ever heard.

"I'm Byun Baekhyun, please take care of me." He introduced himself shortly and you found yourself slightly flinching when his orbs pierced right into yours as he spoke. That, that was what struck you. You had never seen this boy before, and yet- as no one had ever done in many years, he hadn't looked just past you, right through you as if you weren't there. Instead, he had held your gaze while his serious expression had shifted into a gentle smile that you had never had directed to you and you just could not comprehend it, nothing of it- that someone had just acknowledged you, although in the most minimal of ways. It might be something completely irrelevant for anyone, but you couldn't just help the swelling heart inside of your chest, how it trembled so eagerly that you felt it rub against your ribs.

As if a sheet of paper splashed with watercolor, you felt yourself absorb its colors and slowly but surely you became a part of the world you were living in, and no longer a mere wallflower.

The second time you shared contact with him was a good amount of days later. You had to admit, his mere presence had made your life so much more interesting, it felt as if you had discovered a new book that you just knew you were going to love, and perhaps, you had become more eager to live it. Every morning you would wake up with anticipation buzzing through every inch of your body. It was a feeling that you couldn't help, nor did you know how to handle it, the curiosity that bloomed within you as if flowers in the wild. Were you being odd? It wasn't like you followed him around or anything of the sort. You contented yourself with stealing glances at him in class, and little did you use the excuse that he was answering the teacher to stare at him a little more freely.

It was lunch break for everyone, and just like any other day you were wandering in the gardens of the school while taking tiny bites of your only sandwich, trying to make it last longer although that didn't sit too well with your hungry stomach that wanted all of it right away. It was when you saw him sitting in your usual spot that you completely forgot about your empty stomach and the half-eaten bread in your hand. Baekhyun who was sitting on the grass underneath a tree with his eyes squinted to his notebook and his hand scribbling away while surrounded by small daisies looked like a beautiful photograph, and you would've taken one if you didn't stand religiously by privacy rules.

You did feel extremely timid but still fought against the feeling and willed yourself to take a step into his direction, and one more, one more, until you were standing behind him. You were to be surprised when you saw that he had actually been drawing. His hand moved incredibly skillfully across the paper as he quickly drew lines here and there, picturing the small flowers proudly peeking from the grass. Only when he extended his index finger to smudge the coal on his drawing did you notice the pretty shape of his nails and fingers, and for a short moment, you felt slightly jealous of his unfair beauty. It was strange that he hadn't noticed your presence behind him yet, and to be frank, you would have never imagined that you could ever be capable of speaking to a stranger first, but there was an urge in your chest. You really wanted to know the reason behind your sudden eagerness toward someone that had simply graced you with a smile.

You swallowed before crouching down so that your heights were the same, for a moment, all you could do was chew nervously on your lip.

"Your drawing is very pretty," You finally managed to breathe out and all you could make out for a moment was how your heartbeat echoed like loud drums in your ears. But soon enough it was confusion taking over when the boy did not budge the slightest. You frowned as the confusion morphed into slight hurt and thousands of doubtful thoughts clouded your mind. Perhaps you had been too hopeful to believe that a little smile had been more than a mere coincidence. He probably meant nothing with that, he was not the least interested in what you had to say. Teeth drilled into your lip as you stood up to leave, the embarrassment washed over you like a bucket of ice-cold water, crawling into your chest and you had to squeeze your eyes shut to try and lessen the feeling.

"Did you say something?" You immediately spun around with your eyes widening when Baekhyun suddenly called out to you, only to see him plug something into his ears. Hesitantly, you nodded, taking small steps closer to him.

"I said that your drawing is very pretty." You repeated while desperately trying to hide the insecurity in your trembling voice, crying inwardly for how your it cracked in the middle of your sentence. Baekhyun's questioning expression had like that one time, softened into a smile that made his eyes disappear into small, twinkling crescents as he muttered a shy thanks and rubbed his neck.

"I'm sorry if it seemed as if I was ignoring you, actually I..." The boy trailed, reaching out to his ear and picked the hearing aid off it, mustering it to you. A loud gasp left your lips and you couldn't be more ashamed for having assumed so many things about him without even knowing better.

"I have an extreme hearing loss, and well," He chuckled, "sometimes these things get uncomfortable so I take them off." He owed you no explanation, and yet there he was, being extremely friendly at the same time as extremely oblivious to the fact that you had in head your dragged him to the same corner of toxic people that were in your class. Regretfully, you imagined yourself dragging him out of that corner and apologized.

"Uh, no, actually I am sorry- I..." To your surprise, he laughed without even letting you finish your sentence. You had no idea what he found so funny, but the warmth in his voice felt like the sweetest medicine for your wounded heart. His chuckles faded into thin air and as soon as it was over, you found yourself wanting to hear more of it.

"Sorry for what?" He shook his head, "It's okay, it happened a long time ago, it's not a sensitive topic." he explained calmly, fearlessly keeping the eye contact. Compared to you, he wasn't scared to hold other people's gaze as he spoke.

" Do you want to see my drawing?" Baekhyun offered a closer look at his masterpiece and somehow, even if your legs were by now jelly, they held your weight as you took the remaining steps towards him and squatted down to see his art.

It was beautiful, but you couldn't help but think that his expression full of joy as he showed you was too, and more.

✨✨✨

If your life had been interesting in the first days of his arrival, right now, you believed it had turned into the most magical film- for one meeting with Baekhyun had turned into two, into three, until it became every day. At this point, you were sure nothing could ruin the happiness making your heart beat louder at the sole thought of spending your day next to him.

Underneath that big tree in the school's garden, was the place where the two of you would be together at every opportunity. The spring was bringing such lovely warmth and gentle breezes that caressed your skin in the most comforting of ways, it was a must to take part in it by sitting outside. Not many words were exchanged during those moments, and although you had grown so addicted to the sound of Baekhyun's soft and low voice, you didn't mind the peacefulness in the shared silence. In the end, you couldn't be more thankful to his sole company, sitting next to him like this was enough to curl your lips into a smile you had never known you were able to muster.

Baekhyun's back leaned against the tree just like yours, and you couldn't help but feel extremely aware of the fact that his shoulder and arm were pressed lightly against yours. But that wasn't merely it, you might have been a loner for a long time but you knew what physical contact was. You just couldn't understand the tingles taking place in your body, the extreme heat forming in that one spot where your arms brushed each other. Your favorite book was now aimlessly open in your hands as you couldn't recall when it had become so completely uninteresting. Little did you know, it was a certain someone stealing every single spotlight there was to claim. Like a sun drawing every sunflower to its brightness, he was.

The wind was softly fluttering his hair that was now a bit too long and would sometimes cover his chocolate eyes. Since both of you had opted for no talking, the boy had removed the hearing aids from his ears and let all of his concentration go to the new sketch that he had started. That was how it would usually go, Baekhyun sketched while you read your book. But this time, there was nothing you could do to hold back the extreme urge to look at him that was crawling underneath your skin. It was like his figure was magnetic and your eyes would restlessly pull to him no matter how hard you attempted to get a hold of yourself and stop staring.

At one point, you found yourself completely defeated as you leaned your cheek into your palm and succumbed to part of you that didn't want to do anything but observe him and his features that you had seen a million times by now. Though, multiple times you had been proved wrong. Baekhyun was like a painting and every time you'd look at him there would be something new for you to discover. This time there was another tiny mole on the side of his nose that entered the small constellation he already had.

While you were in a daze, Baekhyun had eventually felt your intense stare on him and so he turned slightly around to meet your gaze. As his questioning puppy eyes suddenly came into your view, you flinched back like a deer caught in headlights. Great. Couldn't you have been a little more obvious?

The boy cocked his head to the side questioningly, curiosity swam in his orbs and you could only cower underneath the intensity of his gaze. Biting your lips, you avoided his eyes and shook your head frantically, trying to dismiss the fact that he had caught you staring. The heart was crashing nervously against your ribs while cold sweat was prickling under your clothes. Heat gathered on your cheeks which did not go unnoticed by Baekhyun whose lips curled into a fond smile while his pretty hand reached out for your warm cheek. His fingers and gave it a short caress, his fingertips soft as feathers tracing your skin, making your blush turn from pink to scarlet as you froze completely in your spot.

"Liar," He whispered playfully.

Oh, how your heart was running ahead of you without giving you the chance to catch up.

✨✨✨

Pain.

A dazing pain traveled from your spine up to the back of your head after that someone had accidentally pushed you into the metal lockers. It ached, to the point of black spots appearing before your eyes. Your lips twitched at the pulsating sensation of bruises forming onto your skin while a groan pushed past your lips. Normally, you would have fled from the scene as quickly as possible, only to suffer alone in the school's bathroom. Though not a single muscle in your body induced you to run away as all you felt was a fit of overwhelming anger that heated the blood in your veins. Eyes searching for whoever had done such an unfair thing to you, a yell made its way from your throat.

"Hey! What the hell was that!?" You breathed out, nostrils flaring, "Can't you see I was walking here?" Sure, you knew you blended in with the crowd, to this day, you had never blamed anyone for bumping into you. But you were tired. So tired of it, of pretending to be fine with it. The person merely shrugged their shoulders while muttering a meaningless apology underneath their laugh.

The lump in your throat grew and your teeth drew blood from your lips when you suppressed the loud sob that threatened to erupt. It wasn't the fact that they had physically hurt you, but the completely unfair treatment that you could just not comprehend. How someone could be so repugnant to hurt someone they didn't even know and act as if nothing happened.

Only when you reached your favorite spot in the school's garden did you let the tears fall freely, knowing it would feel better to let them out than to let them burn behind your eyelids. You sniffed quietly while the cool breeze cut against the trails of salty water on your cheeks. After meeting Baekhyun you had thought that you were never going to feel like that ever again, but you were once again proved wrong. You got reminded that for Baekhyun you might be someone, but that did not make you any different from before in the eyes of others. The sigh that left your lips trembled along the shivers covering your body as the wind swept your hair behind your shoulders. Head buried in your knees and shut your eyes close, trying to find some comfort in yourself- but found only coldness, loneliness. You chuckled humorlessly by yourself, in the end, you were bound to be the same insignificant particle of dust they had made you out to be.

Rigidness made its way through your body when the faint noise of nearing footsteps reached your ears.  A slender hand squeezing your shoulder made you look up from your previous position and your heart skipped a panicked beat at the sight of a concerned Baekhyun. You didn't know whether to feel relieved or uncomfortable that was witnessing you in such a state.

"B-baekhyun-" You stuttered while hurriedly drying your cheeks in a failed attempt to hide the fact that you had been crying. "What are you doing here?"

"I saw you in the corridors earlier but you weren't in class, so I came looking for you." The boy explained softly, sensing how you were in a sensitive state. He sat down on the grass in front of you.

"But- you'll miss class,"

"It doesn't really matter right now," Baekhyun dismissed without even thinking twice and ran a gentle finger down your cheek, making you shiver. "What's wrong?" Baekhyun murmured soothingly while in his orbs pooled concern. You hesitated at first, but the warmth in Baekhyun's gaze made you melt and heal all at the same time.

With your gaze cast downwards on your hands that were clamped together, you sighed, "Sometimes I just feel like I'm nothing. Like nobody sees me. And I just-" your voice broke in the middle of your sentence. "I just feel so lonely." Tears gathered on the edge of your eyes, rendering your view blurry as you intensely stared holes into your hands.

"Hey," Came Baekhyun's soft whisper, Baekhyun's soft caress as his incredibly delicate yet warm palm cupped the side of your face. "Please look at me," He pleaded, "Look at me," he repeated weakly.

His hand gently led you to meet his eyes that were frantically searching for yours.

"You're here, and I see you. I always will." Baekhyun led you to rest against his sturdy chest and for a moment you felt your breath disappear inside of your throat at the sudden action. His words echoed into your mind while you couldn't help but note how this closeness was something so unfamiliar to you and yet something that you had never known you'd needed.  

Slowly but surely, he was able to chase the reason for your tears away. It felt so surreal, how warm he was, all of him. His arms, his chest, his hands that rested on the back of your waist. They were all so scorching hot in the most inviting way possible and you felt yourself melt in his embrace. Your heart was beating wildly in your chest, desperately trying to crash out of your ribcage and you were sure Baekhyun could feel it, for he started rocking your bodies ever so slowly. Soon enough you were able to calm down- because Baekhyun's heartbeat was right next to yours and its melody lulled you into calmness.

He was like medicine, like everything you had ever needed. He was a blessing and his soft voice murmuring words of comfort resembled such noise as of angels singing.

Maybe, after all, you weren't completely lonely. A faint smile graced your lips as you snuggled deeper into his embrace, no, you really were not lonely. Baekhyun might be the only person you had.

But if you had him, you also had everything.

✨✨✨

Classes had ended hours ago and by now most students had already gone home. Well, except for you and Baekhyun who had stayed after class to get an assignment done. You couldn't describe the fulfilling happiness and thankfulness that overwhelmed you every time you'd even just look at him. Day by day you felt yourself become happier, brighter, the better version of yourself you would have never reached if not for him. Inside of you was no longer coldness, nor darkness, but wines, leaves and colorful flowers blooming within every inch of your body.

You were happy.

The wind was remarkably stronger in the evening, but it felt even colder when leaning against the rooftop's railing, having it sweep against the frame of your face and fluttering your hair away into every direction. While you had been at it, Baekhyun had insisted for the two of you to look at the sunset. The sky had turned into every shade of pink and violet and it amazed you how even small streaks of orange had found their way into melting in the immense painting that was the sky. It was incredibly beautiful, but what was it, even more, was Baekhyun whose fair skin reflected every color of the sunset as if a canvas itself,  whose twinkling eyes mirrored the melted clouds, and the crescent moon in the sky.

How your heart skipped every beat for him and him only.

Baekhyun's ears were free from the hearing aids, you noted, wondering if you were a coward for what you were about to do. Certain words were dancing on the tip of your tongue while your fingers nervously fidgeted with each other and heat gathered on your cheeks. Your lips parted and you mentally tried to calm your throbbing heart down. It was futile. It wasn't anything you could control, it was as if your voice had a mind of its own as your lips pronounced meaningful words. A part of you felt relieved because you didn't know if you were truly ready to have him hear these words. But what you did not know was that just like you had a while ago, Baekhyun had found you way more intriguing than the breathtaking scenery.

"I think I love you," You breathed out into the breeze, looking up to the sky once again. But your sightseeing did not last long when a pair of hands suddenly appeared on both sides of your face, making you gasp. Baekhyun's soft lips came eagerly crashing onto yours without any warning. You felt yourself almost suffocating, completely out of breath, and dazed by his incredibly sweet scent clouding your senses. The boy parted away from you for a few seconds, barely allowing you to process what had just happened before leaning in again, this time way gentler. Baekhyun gently guided your lips apart before settling his own between yours, locking them into a slow, lingering kiss. They were warm, soft but most of all, tasted like strawberries, and you found yourself melting completely.

His lips detached from yours with a fond grin resting upon his face while his mischievous puppy eyes crinkled into an adorable eye smile. Baekhyun's hand was absentmindedly playing with a few strands of your hair.

"I may have removed the hearing aids," he stated matter of factly, eyebrow quirking playfully, his hand that had been playing with your hair cupped your face again, the pad of his thumb brushed against your lips.

"But I can still read your lips."

✨✨✨✨✨✨

...hello everyone! Yep, so idk if you can tell, but this was a desperate and painful attempt of me trying to get comfortable with my writing again.

Do I want to delete this right away? Yes. Do I feel anxious about posting? Yes. Do I wanna cry? Also yes-

No, but I have no idea why I have been feeling this way. I haven't been able to write a single word without feeling awful and ew just bad about everything. I guess I'm just very afraid of being irrelevant and not being as good as I was before. sigh, I sound stupid don't I?

Well, I hope this wasn't a complete, boring failure and that at least you guys could enjoy it! Please do tell me what you think, give me feedback, where I'm lacking or even some advice to get back on track with the positive thoughts. It would be nice💕 Have the nicest day, lots of love and hope, P💕💖

sorry for errors!

#baekhyun x reader #baekhyun angst #baekhyun fluff #baekhyun x reader fluff #baekhyun oneshot #baekhyun x reader angst #exo #exo baekhyun #bbh #byun baekhyun #nct dream angst #romance #hearing loss #wall flower #baekhyun college au #exo x reader #baekhyun imagine #baekhyun scenario #exo imagine #exo oneshot #exo scenario

[wormstacheangel]

Day 3: Demonic

Word Count: 1888

Pairing: Dean/Castiel

---

Rowena had someone coming for her crown and while the Winchesters aren’t for hire, having his Aunty Rowena on the throne has been a big help. They didn’t close the gates of hell or heaven but instead run them. Jack and Cas upstairs while Rowena ran hell with a little help from Sam. Dean was mostly on call from whoever needed him. Also, Sam likes to point out that Purgatory was all his for the taking according to the rumors.

Right now though Rowena needed him to find the demon making a secret army to overtake the crown. Simple enough that he said he’ll do it himself. It was just one demon and his dumb army. He just fought God and won, he’s surprised they’re any monsters still willing to pick a fight with them.

The thing was that nobody said this damn demon was going to be so annoying.

“Buddy, I know you got those kamikaze bombers going for the Queen so you might as well call them off,” Dean says as he leans against the desk in their dungeon with the demon trapped in the, well the damn demon trap. 

The demon hasn’t said a damn word since he brought him down here. Only smiled because he thought he was being a cocky son of a bitch but Dean was too tired to deal with regular demon crap. He wished they would just tell him what he wants to hear so he could be on his way but they never made it easy for him.

Dean sighed as he twirled the angel blade in his hands as he sat up and took the few steps towards him. To stand just at the edge of the trap. “You know, if you ain’t talking I don’t have to keep you alive. Shit, I would have killed you even though you were talking but I guess you aren’t useful to me after all. Probably not even the right demon. They said this demon was smart and he’s a leader demons can depend on or whatever but you…” Dean looked the demon up and down before shrugging. “Meh. You look like any other basic bitch. Nothing special.”

“I am the future of hell!” The demon hissed at him and Dean found his weak spot. His pride. Not really a surprise. “I will be a leader that will not roll over for the Winchesters or anybody for that matter! My army would kill that red-headed bit-Ah!”

Dean squirted the demon with holy water from Jack’s tiny water gun. He chuckled when he got him right in the eye but then glared back at the demon. “Now, let’s be civil and keep from the name-calling. Just tell me where your army is. I mean, don’t you wanna see how strong they are? If they can defeat me then damn I’m sure all of hell will follow you with no hesitation. Since, you know, I killed Hitler.”

“I don’t need my army to kill you. I can do it myself.” The demon laughed and it was darker, clearly knows something Dean doesn’t. “I forgot to tell you. We also captured a little leverage not that long ago. Why do you think I let you take me so easily?”

“Cause you suck?”

The demon, clearly not amused, continued his evil person speech that made Dean roll his eyes and groan as he paced around the trap. 

“Do you think we didn’t know Rowena would call on you two for help? We couldn’t stand by and let a Winchester rule alongside the Queen! What an embarrassment to be taking ordered from that overgrown son of a-” Dean waved the water gun around again. “So I took matters into my own hands. I figured we couldn’t get to your brother but sometimes the new God sends one of his Daddy’s to do some work here on Earth without supervision. Without back up.”

“Cas?”

“Oh, we have your precious little Angel somewhere hidden away from you and your God.”

Dean walked into the devil’s trap and held the blade to the demon’s throat. “You have five seconds to tell me where he is or I’ll kill you.”

“You will never find him without me and I will never reveal him until after my bomb-Ahh!”

“Time’s up.” Dean finally pulls the blade out of the demon’s chest as soon as his screams die out. Then he was on the phone calling the dumb angel that let himself be jumped again.

 After the third ring, Cas answers with a tired, “Hello Dean.”

“You’re a dumbass you know that.”

“I figured you will say something like that but I’m fine they just wa-oof!” Dean can hear Cas groan out in pain and Dean was already out of the dungeon with his keys in his hands. “Where the hell are you?”

“Dean Winchester.” Someone says and Dean was too mad to deal with another speech from demonic asshats. “What a nice-”

“Just tell me where to meet you and quick. I would like to kill you before dinner.”

A short laugh from the demon as she said, “Funny.” 

“Well I try my-” Dean started but then he heard a groan from Cas before a coughing fit started. That alone made Dean tense up as his boy heated up in anger that really should scare just about anyone who dared mess with family. 

The demon then quickly told him their location, an obvious trap but who cares now. The only problem was that they wanted a trade. The dead demon, that he was positive they didn’t know was dead, for Cas. Well, he hopes they like surprises cause the only thing they are going to get from Dean is a one-way ticket to the damn Empty for laying a damn finger on his husband.

The trip went just as expected. Dean pretended the demon was in the trunk of his Baby and killed the first few that came to check it out. Then he was walking inside the old-looking house with the angel blade in hand hoping that Cas hasn’t prayed to their son yet because then he’ll start to worry again.

Jack wasn’t the biggest fan of Cas going fully human, to be honest, Dean wasn’t either, for the same reason as Cas not being able to heal himself. Now they were constantly worried that the new fully human Cas scraped his knee somewhere. Or worse, made himself into bait by a bunch of demons who thought was a great idea to kidnap one of God’s dads.

As soon as he walked into the house he called out for Cas. He got some lady, probably the demon from the phone, answer from upstairs. While he made his way upstairs he noticed a couple of demons standing sideline downstairs but he can deal with those later. It’s not like he was in a hurry or anything. 

“Okay,” Dean walked over to the wide-open door where he could already see Cas tied up to a chair and unconscious. He knew this was a clear trap but he didn’t care as he ran over to his husband. Taking his head in his hands he quietly whispered, “Cas, honey, you okay?”

He found a pulse at least but Cas was bleeding from his nose and his cheek was starting to swell under the rag they were using as a gag. There were bruises along his wrist along with rope burns from trying to escape probably because of course Cas wouldn’t just stay put to wait for Dean to come.

“Now that you have your angel back or ex angel. A surprise that made it a lot easier for all of us actually,” Dean didn’t even turn around to face the talking demon as he started to untie Cas. “Let’s discuss our fair trade. I will ignore that you killed our people as long as you let our leader go.”

“Yeah, your leader is dead.”

“W-what?”

“Gone. Fin. Rotting in my dungeon at home as we speak.”

“But we had a deal!”

“What you got me here, didn’t you? I’m sure there was something else that was supposed to happen.” Dean says as finally unties Cas and then removes the dirty gag rag. “Oh man, he’ll have to get some shots after having that in his mouth. You know how long it took me to convince him to get a flu shot.”

Dean was then thrown against the wall because of course, he was. The angry demon stalked towards him and Dean realized he left the blade by Cas’s side. He reached for the gun in his pocket only to be pinned to the wall now, a not so new trick he was also tired of. 

“I’m gonna guess that you’re not happy,” Dean said between his teeth as the woman stood in front of him. Her fingers reaching to caress his cheek, not creepy at all but most importantly he didn’t know where her hands have been. Everything in this dump was dirty. Dean’s gonna have to burn their clothes after this. “So, you wanna share your big overthrow the government plan or…?”

Of course, she did. Dean was only really half-listening as other demons started to walk in and make a beeline for Cas, who still rested unconsciously on the dirty chair. Dean delivered a threat to them to not touch his husband but of course, that was ignored as they reached to throw Cas over one of their shoulders. 

Then he heard the demon lady’s words, “Wait, Cas’s the bomb?”

“Who else can get close to the Queen?” She smiled with her black coal eyes sparkling. “Don’t worry you’ll work for us too. Get that brother of yours out of the way.”

“That’s a terrible plan.” Dean tried to turn his head towards the voice of his husband who must have hidden the blade somewhere because the next thing he knows he hears screaming then another scream and one more for good measure. “You should pick me up like that more often, Dean.”

Dean smiled as he rolled his eyes fondly. “I’ll do that now but I’m kind of preoccupied with the whole being stuck to the wall thing.”

“You suck at rescue missions.” Cas teased him as the demon waved her hand to try to push Cas against his own wall but Cas was quicker as he threw the blade across the room to be buried into the demon’s chest. 

Cas was by his side at once as he kneeled down beside Dean and took his face in his hands now, giving him a once over. He rested his forehead against Dean’s own and for a second they just sat still like that, letting the relief of the other being okay run through them but the demons running up the stairs had terrible timing. They also angered the scariest human in heaven and Dean loved seeing how badass Cas looked in a fight.

They called Sam after it was all over to let him know what happened and it was a quick call because his husband was being too grabby now.

“Don’t you dare kiss me until you brush your teeth!”

“Then let’s go home and take a hot shower together.”

“Fine but it won’t be sexy cause I’m scrubbing you clean.”

#suptober20 #I don't know I was gonna write some fun sad stuff but then I was neh #think of something else and then this came out #so hope you enjoy lol #and dean being a bit of a germaphobe was just fun to add lol #My writing #silly me talking about me #Destiel #Deancas #Dean Winchester #Castiel #Cas #Dean #Supernatural #SPN #A More Profound OTP

[everlarkficexchange]

must work hard, tolerate cats.

Prompt 140: In Panem AU where Peeta is a Mail Order Husband. As the youngest son of a merchant class Capitol family, he has accepted he will never inherit the family bakery. But when his family contract him to an arranged marriage to further the business he will never own, he escapes by signing up to a programme to relocate and marry a district woman. Why Katniss needs a husband, is up to the author. Everlark endgame :) [submitted by @louezem] by @mendontprotectyou/lesbianophelia

The Everdeen women pick him up at the train station. As promised in the letter he received, Katniss is wearing a blue dress. She’s sure by his standards, it’s simple, but it’s actually the nicest thing she and her sister own. Not that there’s a lot of money to spend on stupid things like clothes. Just a few years ago, she would have been wearing this to a Reaping. Not to meet her husband. 

God. Her husband. She still isn’t sure Prim will survive to the end of the week for what she’s done. The worst thing is, Prim is right. There’s no other way to claim the Apothecary. One of them has to be married, and Katniss absolutely won’t let it be her eighteen year old sister. That doesn’t mean she wanted her to go off and pick a husband for her. Let alone one from the Capitol. Peeta Mellark. That’s his name. Apparently he comes from a long line of merchants – something that Prim is certain will work in their favor. Rich assholes from the Capitol who ran a chain of bakeries. Katniss really isn’t sure how that translates into him being any help at all at the Apothecary, but then – she isn’t really sure how she’s supposed to be much help at the Apothecary, either. It’s theirs, though. It belongs to them, rightfully. That’s what Prim keeps saying. It would have from the beginning, if their grandmother hadn’t so hated the joy her mother found with their coal miner father. And Prim is such a natural healer, and with their mother so recently dead in the war, isn’t this such a wonderful way to honor them? A wonderful way to honor them that apparently includes Katniss marrying some random asshole from the Capitol. Great. He kisses the back of her hand and she yanks it away before she can help herself. They’re in public, and they’ll need to be convincing in the Justice Building tomorrow, but also, god, she doesn’t want him to be touching her. He’s fine enough looking, she guesses. Medium height, stocky, blond hair. He’s got what’s clearly at least three holes in each ear from piercings he was clever enough not to wear to District Twelve, and the shirt he’s got rolled up around his forearms is probably made of fine enough fabric to keep them all in bread for a week. “Katniss,” he says, and his accent twists the name, makes it so much longer than it needs to be. “It’s so nice to meet you,” he says. “And you must be Prim. Pleasure.” His smile doesn’t quite meet his eyes. She doesn’t trust him. Not even a little bit. “So, is the Toasting–” She can’t help the absurd bark of laughter that escapes her. “We’re not Toasting,” she says, and something in his eyes lights, just a little. “Sorry to disappoint,” Katniss doesn’t feel sorry, but it escapes anyway, just manners. “I read–” “Katniss doesn’t need a husband,” Prim is explaining, something genuinely remorseful in her tone. “I’m sorry. I wasn’t sure if I was allowed to say so in the letter, but it’s why I talked about the Apothecary so much.” “You wrote the letter?” Peeta asks, and Katniss is struck by how open he looks, suddenly. As if she would have written those letters. Or the ad in the first place. Must work hard, tolerate cats. “Wait– so if you don’t need a husband–” “I need to be married.” Katniss’s voice is flat. They probably shouldn’t be getting into this right away, on their walk to the house in the Seam that they’ll probably get to leave tomorrow, assuming he goes along with this. “To get the store. And we need –” She cuts herself off, hating that she admitted to needing anything. “You could work with us. For us.” “I –” it’s obvious that he’s attempting to work this out. “Not – you don’t want a husband?” he asks, and there’s something in his voice that she can’t place, not at all. Not until a smile breaks across his face like butter across hot toast. “Okay.” It’s a full grin, now. “That’s – I can work with that.” … 

  He can do much more than work with that. By the time Katniss wakes the next morning, Peeta has gone to the Justice Building by himself. She wants to be irritated by the nerve when he slides what’s obviously a deed across the breakfast table, but it’s – oh. It’s in her name. Well. His name, too. Looks like he decided to change from Mellark to Everdeen. “Aren’t we supposed to be married for a week first?” Katniss asks, tracing her fingers against the embossed seal. “Yeah.” Peeta bites his bottom lip. “But I – uh. People tend to listen to me. Sometimes.” She hopes he doesn’t think he ought to get used to that. … 

  Her objections to a Capitolite husband begin to feel more and more stupid as the days drag on. Peeta doesn’t talk much about the Capitol, maybe because he knows Katniss doesn’t actually care, but she overhears him mentioning something to Prim about how he used to work twelve to sixteen hour days at his family’s bakeries. Of course he’s telling Prim and not her. Because she tries not to be alone with him if she can help it. He’s polite, but she hasn’t been exactly warm to him and he hasn’t seemed to care much, which seems odd for someone who was so prepared to come and have a Toasting. One night, in the darkness of the bedroom, Prim lays in the bed beside her and shares everything she knows about the man who lives with them. Starting with his family being horrible and ending with him making the decision that marrying some random District girl would be better than marrying the woman his parents picked for him, a woman from a long line of Gamemakers. It explains enough, she guesses. Why he was so relieved that Katniss didn’t want a husband. Why he’s so willing to work. And work, and work, and work. He never even complains, though she’s always waiting for him to crack and mention how irritated he was to have to haul the new delivery back from the train station. But he doesn’t. He even builds new shelves one weekend, sturdy and reinforced, and packs everything from the boxes onto them before either of the Everdeen women are down the stairs in the morning. Prim launches herself at him, hugging him so hard that it must hurt, and then he’s laughing, sharing pastries from the bakery next door – which he’s apparently set up a trade deal with – and telling them all about when he saw a cake stand go crashing to the ground because it wasn’t steady enough. And then he passes the bag to Katniss when all that’s left is the lonely cheese bun he managed to trade for and says, “Here. Your favorite.” And she can’t look away from him the rest of the day, try as she might. 

  …

  None of the Townie girls can, either. And she’s surprised, one day, to realize just how much that bothers her. It shouldn’t. Business is booming. It’s better than she ever expected it to be. “Do you get lonely?” she asks one night when she finds him still awake in the middle of the night, a mug of tea cupped loosely in his hand. “It just – doesn’t seem like you have friends.” He laughs softly. “Doesn’t seem like you have many of those, either,” he says. And she wants to be annoyed, she does, but instead she finds herself smiling. “Yeah,” she says. “But I have my sister.” “I think, technically, I do too,” he says, and before she can be too horrified, he clarifies. “She’s my sister-in-law, right?” “Oh.” Katniss shifts her weight. “Okay.” … “This is a good life,” Peeta says one evening. They’re out on the porch, watching the sunset. Prim went inside to get a drink of water. “It’s – better. Than what I left.” She’d like to be prideful. To hate him for lying to her, or something. But there’s something in the way he looks at her that tells her that this is the truth. Her hand finds his, and she’s somehow unsurprised when it flips over beneath her palm, large fingers threading in the spaces between hers. It’s nice, somehow. He’s nice, somehow. “It’s a good life,” Katniss agrees, half wondering if he might ever want to kiss the back of her hand again, the way he did when they met. “I used to work so much longer days, in the Capitol–” he starts, but she’s already worked up the nerve to say the next thing, and it falls out of her mouth before she can stop it. “You should take me out, sometime. On a date. That would be – I think I wouldn’t mind.” He squeezes her fingers, just softly. “I think I wouldn’t, either.” 

#Springtime Edition 2020 #mendontprotectyou #louezem #prompt 140 #early #submission

[rohad93]

Worth the Fight: Chap 3

They decide not to stick around the dark, beast filled, woods after the cockatrice attack and quickly packed up and headed back out on the path toward their destination, it's still pitch black other than the faint light coming from the moon, but Luz's light enchantment lasts the rest of the night until the first rays of dawn begin to streak across the sky, lighting up the seemingly endless stretches of wheat fields. Something Eda silently finds odd. When I spell is cast, how long are powerful it is depended on how much magic the user put into it, but before this moment, Luz had never been able to do any magic no matter how much she tried, so Eda isn't sure how Luz controls it, if at all, and it's just random. She doesn't know what to expect from her apprentice anymore.

Luz was tired, very tired, but she was still riding the remaining high of her very first monster-slaying, retaining just enough energy to keep her eyes open and her feet moving, but only just. It was an effort, but she somehow managed.

She can see the shadows of the city long before they reach it, the sun rising behind it cast long dark shadows across the fields and woods that surround its tall, stone walls.

The closer they get the wider Luz's eyes grow, along with Eda's smirk, as she watched her apprentice out of the corner of her eye.

It was much bigger than any of the other towns they had been to over the years. Its streets’ are paved with cobblestone and packed with people and vendors of all shapes and sizes, selling every kind of good Luz could imagine, and some she couldn't.

She stared in awe at the towering stone buildings all around her as they stopped in the center of the busy market.

“Welcome to the putrid, capital city of The Boiling Isles; Bonesburrough!” Eda held out a hand at everything.

"This is amazing!" Luz bounced excitedly on her toes and she looked around at all the hustle and bustle of the city's inhabitants. Very few people were even giving her, distinctly rounded ears, a second look as they made their way through the crowds, most people moving out of their way as King walked along beside them, looking almost bored at all the people that were quick to jump out of his path. "Are you finally going to tell me why we're here?" Luz looked up her mentor, eyes full of questions.

"Oh, right, I got word that a bunch of prominent and rich noble families need more hands guarding their shipments and things lately since the war seems to be ramping up. It's boring grunt work, but I was told that it pays exceptionally well," Eda explained as they moved through the market.

"Is that where we're going now?" Luz tilted her head questioningly.

"Nope, we're heading for the blacksmiths' first," Eda said, grinning down at her. “It’s time.”

"Time for what?" Luz's eyes narrowed in confusion, making Eda chuckle as she looked down at Luz’s thoughtful expression.

"After what happened last night, I think you're finally ready for your own sword; a real sword." Eda can barely finish the sentence before Luz is making an excited, high-pitched, squealing noise that makes King’s ear pin back flat against his head and Eda wince.

“I finally get my own sword!?” She was practically vibrating with giddy excitement. Eda slapped her hands on her shoulders to still her, the kid was making her tired with all her bouncing. All her exhaustion from last night has vanished in a puff of smoke.

“Yes, Luz. You’re getting your own sword, but you gotta understand that means from this point on you’re gonna have to pull your own weight from here on out, make money and feed yourself, it’s time for you to start the next part of your training; experience. You're going to start taking and completing jobs, you can't buy your own food, you don't eat.” She explained seriously, but still, Luz is beaming from ear to ear at the news and Eda rolled her eyes. They would need to revisit this discussion after Luz had calmed and was actually listening to her. "Come on, Kid." Eda waved a hand, beckoning her apprentice to follow.

They can smell the smithy long before they can see it, though they can see the smoke that billows from the open building even before that. King’s nose wrinkles at the odor.

The forge is billowing red hot flames when they approach and a lone figure in a leather apron, gloves, and plate metal mask is standing over it, running a pole through the fire inside, turning over the blistering hot coals and causing a fresh wave of heat to blast into the air.

"As if it wasn't hot enough around here…," Eda grumbled and wiped at the sweat that had broken out across her brow.

The figure looked up from the flames and shut the heavy metal door on the furnace, sucking some of the heat out of the air. They stepped back and lifted up the metal mask.

A young woman, maybe just a few years older than Luz at the most, is grinning at them, with soot smudged cheeks and dark brown hair tied up in a bun. What immediately catches Luz’s attention is the metal hook pierced through her right earlobe.

“Welcome to Griffin Smithy, what can I do for ya?” she asked, looking between the two of them, her eyes lingered on Luz’s ears for a half a second longer before meeting her eyes,

“Need a sword for the kid,” Eda said, hooking a thumb at Luz who is again, grinning madly with excitement.

‘Well, you came to the right place, come on back and I’ll show ya what we got.” The young woman nodded as she walked into the shop. Luz turned to Eda just in time to catch the bag of jingling silver coins Eda had thrown at her.

“Go on, Luz.” Eda crossed her arms and jerked her head toward the shop. “His majesty and I are going to go get our stay at the Redstone inn figured out, meet us there when you're finished,” she grunted and Luz smiled, nodding as she followed the blacksmith into the shop, tying the bag to her belt.

“Oooh!” Luz’s eyes lit up.

The walls were covered in all manner of weapons, many Luz was familiar with. Swords, maces, pikes and daggers, and some she couldn’t even guess at, like the long wooden shaft with a large circle of metal at the end filled with spikes.

“Neat…,” she hummed to herself as she moved around the room. “Oh!” She spotted something interesting from across the room and trotted over to the wall covered in hanging swords. In front of her was a sword longer than she was tall with a flamberge blade. Her face reflected back at her in the shiny polished metal. She grinned to herself as she wrapped her hands around the hilt and lifted it from its hangers. She grunted, muscles straining at the sudden weight.

She did not expect it to be as heavy as it was and stumbled backward a few steps as the blade tipped back toward her dangerously.

“Shit, shit, shit!” she wobbled precariously, nearly about to drop the blade back on herself, probably cleaving herself in two, before a leather-gloved hand snatched up the blade and gently took it from her hands and hung it back on the wall.

“Maybe something a little smaller?” the young smith chuckled at her and Luz’s face flushed crimson but nodded. “Can I see what you got?” she held out her hands and Luz blinked before realizing she meant her training sword. She pulled it from its sheath and held it out to the other young woman, who hummed as she examined it.

“Training blade, huh?” she handed it back and nodded to herself. “Well if you want something similar, but with more bite, of course, one of these long swords would be good.” she gestured to a few weapons hanging on the wall, the sunlight coming through the shop windows bounced off their polished surfaces in a blinding glare.

Luz hummed, tapping a finger to her chin as she examined the blades before finally pulling one off the wall. Its weight was solid but comfortable in her hands as she gripped the smooth, ebony-colored leather wrapped around the grip. The pommel was a distinctly shaped animal head. A wolf if she’d ever seen one. The silver guard flared out away from the grip in two straight bars, tripped with carefully rounded, curved points; fangs.

She hefted the blade into starting position, elbows raised and blade perpendicular to her face before giving it a few swings and twists, jabbing an imaginary opponent as Eda had taught her. It felt good in her hands, and she tried to remain serious even as excitement was threatening to spill over, but she couldn't keep the grin off her face as she swung it around experimentally before finally lowering back to her waist and running her fingers over the fuller of the blade.

“You know, don’t get many humans around here, even less buying weapons,” the smith finally spoke up after watching Luz’s masterful, and graceful demonstration, a far cry from when she’d nearly dropped the zweihander on herself a few minutes ago.

Luz’s shoulders seemed to hug her neck, as though willing her ears to become invisible. The young blacksmith was quick to notice.

“Sorry, I didn’t mean anything by it, just doesn’t happen much… or ever, really. I’m Viney, by the way.” The blacksmith introduced herself with a grin and Luz felt herself relax at the easy smile.

“Luz Noceda,” Luz returned the introduction.

“New in town? I feel like I would have seen you around before,” she asked. Luz knew what she really meant. If they didn’t get many humans around here, she would be a sure standout in town, not something she was looking forward to.

“Yeah, just got in this morning, we’re looking for work,” Luz explained.

“Well, you came to the right place, Bonesburough is the largest port city in the Boiling Isles and as the farthest south, ever since the war started raging just across the sea, there's never a shortage of need for help carrying or protecting cargo around here with the Emperor’s men constantly coming and going, restocking and all that.” Viney crossed her arms and shrugged.

That sounded like good news for her and Eda. Where there's fighting, there's money. Those were her mentor’s words anyway, it sounded boring though.

“Well I was hoping for something along the lines of monster-slaying,” she admitted.

“Monster slaying? No offense, but you don’t exactly fit the description of most monster hunters I’ve known.”

“Because I’m human?” Luz frowned.

“You’re tiny,” Viney said instead and Luz yelped. She was fairly tall, but she was quite lean and lanky, at least it appeared so when she wore her cloak, but after five years of traveling and training with Eda, she was actually all lean and toned muscle, thank you very much.

“I'm just lean!” she shrugged her cloak off her shoulders, letting it hang from her neck, and flexed both arms, making the much bulkier blacksmith laugh, but she was right, the human wasn’t nearly as stick-like as the cloak and baggy tunic had led her to believe.

“I stand corrected, you gotta admit, when you almost dropped that zweihander on yourself it left room for doubt,” she chuckled.

“I just didn’t expect it to be that top-heavy…,” Luz grumbled as Viney grinned. “I got this fighting a cockatrice!” she proudly pointed to the still very new and raw skin that is definitely going to scar when it heals.

“No kiddin’?” Viney gazed at the painful-looking wound. “Well, if you’re looking for jobs slaying malicious creatures, the locals often hire and the job board in the town square usually has some stuff,” Viney informed her and Luz nodded.

“Thanks very much.”

“So, what do you think about the sword?” Viney tilted her head and motioned to the longsword still gripped in one of Luz’s hands.

“It’s perfectly balanced. How much?” Luz tried not to let how eager she was show, she’d learned the hard way how that often led to merchant’s jacking up the price on her; that and just because she was human.

“Normally, with the extra detailing, I’d ask a little more for that one, but I’ll let it go for a hundred-fifty, a welcome to town discount.” The smith grinned at her and Luz perked.

“Deal” she nodded and they made the exchange before Luz made her way out of the door, waving as Viney called at her back.

“Don’t be a stranger!”

Luz walked proudly through the streets of Bonesburough, with her new blade fit snugly in its black and silver sheath, tied at her hip next to her old training blade. She wasn’t sure what she was going to do with that yet, but she finally felt like she was making progress. She had finally learned some form of magic and Eda had finally deemed her ready for a real sword.

Now she just needed to meet back up with her mentor.

She glanced around curiously. She had no idea where the inn was.

She sighed to herself, leave it to Eda to leave her alone in a strange new city with no instructions or even a general idea of what direction she should even be going. She really. Needed to learn to ask follow-up questions.

So much of the city looked the same, the general infrastructure anyway. Plain, gray stone walls, and people moving in every direction around her in a symphony of noise; it was disorienting.

She was so busy looking around at everything that she isn’t paying attention when she turns a corner and runs headlong into someone coming out of a shop and sending them both tumbling to the ground.

“Sorry, I’m sorry!” Luz was already apologizing as she scrambled to her feet, she turned to look at whoever she had just bowled over while not paying attention.

A young woman, her pointed ears giving her away as a witch, in a fancy magenta and gold-trimmed dress. She looked to be about her own age, with mint colored hair that hung just above her shoulders in a straight cut, longer sides pulled back in a short tail at the back of her head. Luz blinked, noticing the roots showing at the peak of her forehead, a bright bronzey auburn color. Her face was lean, with the sharp jaw and pointed chin that seem to come standard on most aristocrats.

Everything about her screamed ‘noble’, including the bright gold eyes currently glaring daggers at her from the ground and Luz, blinked at her, wide-eyed, finally realizing she was standing there, staring, like an idiot at a pretty noblewoman she had just barreled into.

"Let me help you." She held her hand out.

“Watch where you’re going, you half-wit!” she snarled, slapping Luz’s extended hand away and hauling herself to her feet.

“I’m sorry, I wasn’t looking where I was going.” Luz grimaced as the other woman scowled at her.

“Obviously,” she bit out, dusting herself off and noticing the long rip in the skirt and to Luz, it looked like someone had just told her something terrible by the way her face shifted to dread before quickly switching back to anger. “Look what you did!” she snapped, making Luz flinch back.

“I…” Luz isn’t sure what to say or how she can make this better. If anything her hesitation only seems to make the woman in front of her angrier.

“Just get out of my way…” she shouldered past Luz without a second glance and disappeared into the crowd within a few seconds. Luz frowned as she disappeared.

She was off to a great start today it seems.

She glanced up at the shop the other woman had just come out of and it met with an old painted sign.

‘Park’s Herbs & Tonics’

An apothecary? As good a place as any to get directions she supposed.

She pushed open the door and stepped inside and was immediately hit by a strong medicinal smell that quickly made her stomach churn.

“Ugh…,” she groaned to herself. She knows these smells. She’d been injured enough over the years that they immediately conjure a reaction in her.

“Welcome!” a cheery high-pitched voice greets her and her eyes zero in on a woman about her age, shorter, and a little rounder with short dark hair and dark green eyes behind a large pair of spectacles. “Can I help you with something?” she asked.

“Oh, uh, yeah…” Luz walked closer and the other girl’s eyes widened a fraction, but Luz noticed.

“You’re a human…,” she said with a quiet fascination and Luz tensed. “We never get humans in here…,” she stops and Luz expects something else but she says nothing else about it. ‘What can I help you with?” She smiled and Luz relaxed some.

“Oh, I…,” she starts but is cut off.

“Your cheek right?” the bespectacled girl asked, pointing to her left cheek and Luz blinked.

“My cheek?” Luz reached up and winced as her fingers brushed over the raw acid burn from last night. “I guess I could use something for that, yeah.”

“What happened.” The young apothecary asked, walking forward to better look at Luz’s face, adjusting her glasses.

“Cockatrice acid.” she shrugged and the girl’s eyes widened before she cupped her chin in hand, looking thoughtful.

“I have an elixir I’ve been working on, it should scar that right up, but it’s untested… it could have a negative effect. If you want to volunteer, I’ll give it to you for free,” she offered.

“Hmm… free, but could melt my face off…” Luz hummed thoughtfully.

“Nothing quite so drastic… probably,” The other teen laughed.

“Let’s do it.” Luz nodded and the girl brightened.

“I’ll be right back!” she called as she turned and disappeared into the back. While she was gone Luz wanded around the shop looking at the many glass jars and bottles filled with liquids, dried plants, and fermented things of all kinds, some brightly colored and some like mud or swamp water.

She stared into a jar of murky clear liquid and an eyeball stared back at her from the brine. She leaned down to better look at it and blinked. It blinked back, making her jump and stumble backward, nearly knocking over a shelf full of glassware. She grabbed it before anything could go careening to the floor and sighed in relief.

“Here we are!” The girl returned and walked straight up to her, a jar of bright yellow liquid in one hand and a rag in the other.

“Are you ready… Oh, I’m sorry, I didn’t even get your name!”

“Luz, Luz Noceda.” she gave a little bow, arm at her waist, and grinning.

“Willow Park,” she returned the greeting. “Ready?”

“As I’ll ever be.” Luz shrugged and Willow popped the cork on the bottle and Luz wanted to gag at the smell but she held fast as Willow poured some of the elixir on the rag before she gently pressed it to Luz’s cheek, who hissed painfully as it burned her skin, but only for a moment and then the pain faded into a weird tingling in her skin.

The rag was pulled away and Willow looked at it before a smile broke out across her face.

“Did it work?” Luz questioned.

“Have a look!” Willow smiled and started to gesture to the small mirror she had sitting on the counter but Luz pulled her sword from its sheath, making her jump as she angled it to see herself in the polished blade.

“Hey!” Luz grinned. Her raw, painful wound had scarred over near instantly creating a jagged scar that stretched from just left of her nose and across her cheek beneath her left eye nearly all the way back to her ear.

“Does it make me look dangerous?” She turned to Willow, brows raised in question. The apothecary laughed.

“That’s one word for it.” she nodded.

“Thanks, Willow!” Luz beamed and the shorter girl grinned.

“It’s what we do and why you came.”

“Actually… I was hoping to get directions to the RedStone inn,” Luz chuckled sheepishly. “But this is great too,” she assured.

“Oh! Why didn’t you say so?”

Luz leaves the shop with a healed face and directions for the city’s most popular inn.

It doesn’t take her long to find the inn, nor the room Eda had rented for the three of them. King sat up as soon as she walked into the room, tail thumping loudly on the bed.

“Hey, you’re back, so, what’d you get?” Eda craned her neck around from the bed to try and spy the new sidearm tied to Luz’s waist, which she presented to her mentor with a grin and flourish.

Eda whistled as she inspected the brightly polished blade and expertly molded guard and pommel.

“I take it there's no money left…” Eda frowned, looking up at Luz from her place sitting on the bed.

Luz blinked, confused by that, and pulled the leather sack of coins from her waist.

“There's plenty of money left.” She tossed the bag to Eda who eyed its contents and frowned further.

“Did you steal this?”

“What?!” Luz guffawed, making King’s ear’s perk up and swivel in her direction.

“Look, Kid, I know a good blade when I see one, and this is a four-hundred silver sword, easy, what did you pay for this?”

“One-fifty… Viney said she was giving me a ‘newcomer’ discount…,” she trailed off.

“Who?” Eda blinked.

“The Blacksmith!”

“Oh, the girl…” Eda smirked and Luz frowned at it. “Sounds like you got the ‘blacksmith thought you were good-looking’ discount.” Eda cackled.

“No, she was just nice!” Luz flushed.

“Sure, Kid, I’d never be nice enough to take that much money off a sword…I’m just sayin…” Eda shrugged, laying back on the bed, arms folded behind her head and smirking to herself, eyes closed.

“You’re not nice to most people…,” Luz reminded.

“Ha, got me there!” She peeled one eye open to look at Luz. “Either way, hope you're ready to use it. First thing tomorrow you're gonna head out there and start working if you wanna eat and pay your share of this room that is.”

“Ah, right, I got a tip on some jobs… So… are you done training me… am I on my own?” Luz looked at her frowning as she sat on her bed beside King.

“Essentially…” Eda sat up, face turning serious. “I’ve taught you everything I can technique-wise, outside of magic. You’re going to have to figure that out on your own, but you got that book to help you with that.”

“That’s true.” Luz nodded, fingering the hilt of her sword.

“If this is what you want to do Luz, you need to learn how to work independently, it can be lonely out there at times, so I’m not going anywhere just yet, we just got here and there’s money to be made! When I’m not out working I’ll be around to offer sagely advice, as always.” She grinned and Luz snorted.

Eda gave advice alright, but Luz wasn’t sure she would categorize it as even remotely ‘sagely’.

“So, rest up, Kid. The rest of your life starts tomorrow!” Eda grinned, slapping her back.

“Right!” she flopped back on the bed, with King at her side and her fatigue from that morning came rushing back and before she knew it, she’s out, curled up into a ball with King to keep her warm. Eda rolls her eyes at the two of them but grins all the same.

#Luz Noceda #Eda Clawthorne #Viney #willow park #the owl house #toh #eventual Lumity #King #fi #Medival Au #worth the fight

[redcameleon]

SSM 2020 Day 3

Prompt: Sleeping Soundly

Summary: Sakura has the ability to travel to people’s dreams and alter them. So she helps resolve Sasuke’s nightmares.

Rating: K+.

A/N: The story is set during ancient times when kingdoms still existed. This was inspired by the drama Mystic Pop Up Bar. Go check out the show!

Life is surely filled with mysteries. Mysteries of the mind and the body. One can argue that they both are just equally as important, equally dependent on each other, and equally strong. But Sakura would argue otherwise. The mind is the key to everything. A strong-willed mind can withstand anything. It can even push one’s limit beyond anything they imagine. Unbeknownst to some, it even has the ability to affect one’s body. When the mind is strong, the body is as well. And when the mind is weak, so too is the body. Thus, becoming the key to unlock one’s potential.  

This is what Sakura has control over. Not necessarily the mind itself, but the thoughts underlying it. One might ask, how is this possible? Through dreams.

A scholar once believed that the mind is the door that to peak into person’s subconsciousness. A dream is like a projection of one’s beliefs, thoughts, and hopes. Many things are uncertain, but one thing Sakura’s certain, is that she is not like other people. Ever since she was little, her dreams have never stopped being so vivid, so clear. Her mind has always been so alert and conscious, even during sleep, movements so clear and swift, she can practically do whatever she wants in the dream plane.

That’s when she realizes she’s special. She was ten when she found out her abilities can be stretched out to enter other people’s dreams. Seeing what they see, standing in the sidelines, watching the events unfold and change from one thing to the other.

She was thirteen when she found out she was able to alter those events. Creating her own playground in other people’s dreams, architecting rooms and houses, making things disappear or appear.

Back then she had to learn to manipulate her powers and hone them by using it on her friends. But soon, she realizes, it’s both a blessing and a curse. She was then feared by many. Feared that she is a puppet master who can control people’s minds to do whatever she wants. Feared that she will someday bring doom to their village.

The thing is, she did believe them. By the time she was sixteen, she decided to run away and leave her village behind.

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Sasuke’s day has finally come to an end. With a war coming, the palace is becoming more eager to manufacture weapons and armors. Bows, arrows, swords, and spears are constantly in the make each day. Constantly being surrounded by the hot furnaces, handling scolding metal and heavy hammers, Sasuke’s body aches all over.

The walk back to his house feels the most rewarding. A day at the forge earned him three days’ worth of meals. He can barely remember when he started working there. The only thing he remembers is the face of his brother going into war. It’s been two years since he last saw him. He wonders if he’ll ever see him again.

Boiling some water in a pot and cutting up vegetables, he settles for a simple meal for his dinner before deciding to sleep right away. All cleaned up from the coal and dirt on his body, he lays himself on the futon, closing his eyes.

Just as his mind is starting to drift, flashes of blood fill his mind. He can hear the screams of women, of children. He sees arrows lodged into trees and ground. He keeps running and running deeper into the forest, running as fast as his legs could carry him. His body feels sluggish, as if putting one leg over the other is the hardest thing to do. His whole body feels heavy. He looks back to see if anyone’s following him when he accidentally trips on a branch, rolling down a hill and falling into a dark endless pit.

His body jolts as he sits up, covered in sweat. This has been the nth time he’s had the same dream. They never fall far from similar themes of blood, war, and fear. It’s like he’s watching his memories on tape being rewinded over and over again. Memories of the civil war that happened in his village years ago. Sometimes he gets to see his brother in them and they’re not as bad as he thinks. But some days they’re worse because he sees his brother in them, dead.

He runs a hand over his tired face and ruffles his hair in frustration. He lies back on the futon and stares at the ceiling.

Brother, where are you?

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.

“Hey, Sasuke, Sasuke!” Someone finally snaps him out of his musings. He turns to the source of the voice.

“Careful with that.” The man points to the hot rod in his hand. Sasuke quickly sets it on the table before taking off his gloves.

“You okay? You look like you barely got any sleep last night.” It’s apparently too obvious that he didn’t get any sleep last night.

“I’m fine.” He goes to the back and splashes some water on his face. He lets it cool himself down as he stands there, staring at his reflection in the water. The man places a hand on Sasuke’s shoulder.

“Hey, you know what might help? I heard there’s a shaman in town that can give you good dreams!” Sasuke quirks an eyebrow at the suggestion. He surely is not one to believe in ghosts or spirits. He might believe in an afterlife, but hearing about someone who can supposedly give him good dreams is a bit too far-fetched.

“I’m telling you it really works! My brother went to see her the other day and he said she could really do it! Just try it once. You got nothing to lose, right?” He’s right. He doesn’t have anything to lose. His nightmares are already bad anyway, he can only hope that things get better from there, right?

He decides to give this shaman a try. At the end of the day, following the directions the man gave him, he comes across a small house at the edge of the village. The house looks small and humble. The yard seems barren except for the clay jars lined up along the sides. He notices the bell that hangs from the ceiling. He approaches the entrance and knocks a few times.

“Come in.” He hears a voice from inside. He slides the door and steps inside. He finds a woman sitting on the floor behind a table. He’s never been inside a shaman’s house before but he can say it’s not like anything he imagines. The room appears empty, except for a futon on the right side of the room, and an incense on the other side of the room.

She eyes him and chuckles.

“Wow you must really need my help.” Sasuke is beginning to re-evaluate his decision. But he might need her help after all. He steps closer and takes a seat in front of her.

“I’ve been having nightmares.”

“I see. And what kind of nightmares?” She’s probably heard this so many times, judging by the unchanging tone in her voice.

“People dying. War.” He can’t tell if it’s just his imagination but he can see her eyes widen a bit.

“That’s rare. You see most people say they want dreams of meeting their loved ones, flying, travelling.” She can tell that he only wants one thing. Peace. Peace of mind.

“Okay. I’ll help you.” She gets up and sits next to the futon. She gestures him to sit as well. He gives her a questioning look before he decides to follow her words. He sits there and Sakura hands him a cup of tea.

“This will help you relax. It’s chamomile tea.” He takes a sniff before sipping the beverage. He then lies down and tries to even his breathing. She’s lying of course. It’s not just any regular tea. It’s a special liquor of hers that can put a person into a deep slumber. Not long after that, Sasuke begins to drift into sleep. His eyes flutter closed.

Sakura grabs his hand in hers and touches his pulse. She closes her eyes and tries to match his breathing. Inhale. Exhale. Inhale. Exhale. She focuses on Sasuke’s heartbeat in her fingertips. A few minutes pass and she begins to enter his dream.

Darkness. Everywhere around her. The moon is the only thing lighting up her path. She notices she’s in a forest. She walks a few steps before she sees an arrow lodged in the ground, followed by a trail of blood. She then begins to hear screams. She keeps walking and starts hearing fast footsteps. She quickly steps to the side, hiding behind a tree. She then sees Sasuke panting and running. She follows behind him to see where he’s heading. He keeps on turning back, as if someone is chasing him. She looks back to see no one.

She keeps following him. Deciding that she should end his misery, she grabs both his shoulders, startling him.

“Hey.” He turns around, fear evident in his eyes. His face is covered in dirt and sweat.

“Who are you? Let me go!” He tries to break free, but she holds him in place, remaining calm.

“There’s no one here. No one will hurt you.” Sasuke keeps his gaze on the ground, seeming afraid to look at his surroundings. Sakura decides to brighten the surroundings. Literally.

The sun slowly starts to rise, a colorful orange and yellow hue appearing from the horizon. Sasuke notices this and looks up to the sky. He can see the woods clearer now. The arrows stuck on the ground begin to crumble and sprout branches and leaves. The blood on the ground and barks slowly fades to nothing.

His eyes widen in surprise. Fear and terror seem to have dissipated from his eyes and Sakura can’t help but let out a relieved sigh.

“Look, there’s nothing here that will hurt you.” She points towards the path behind him. He turns around to see a clear road ahead of him. The trees surrounding him appear livelier. Birds are singing and the sun shines down on him, engulfing him with warmth that he hasn’t felt in a long time. He breathes in the clear air.  

Sakura takes his hand and starts walking along the path. He lets her lead him to wherever they’re going. A village is starting to come into view and before he knows it, he’s arrived at the entrance of his village, of the village where he grew up in.

He takes in the surroundings. Children are running around laughing, women are carrying tubs of leaves, and the men are carrying a boar, laughing and patting each other on the back, celebrating their hunt.

He can’t remember the last time he’s seen his village this happy. He feels his mind is more at ease as he finally spends a well-rested night.

.

.

He opens his eyes, and finds sunlight peeking through the cracks and edges of the house. He rubs his eyes and looks around. He sits up and notices he’s still at the shaman’s house. However, the shaman is nowhere to be found.

He spends some time to recollect his thoughts and remember what had happened the night before. He remembers seeing sunlight and trees in his dream. He remembers hearing children laughing. He gets up to find the shaman to thank her before he hears a door being opened.

Unbeknownst to him, a door at the back of the house open and he sees her walk in with a bowl and a glass of water.

“Good morning. I see you must’ve slept well last night.” She sets the items on the table in front of him and kneels. He sits himself back down.

“Thank you.” It’s the best rest he’s had in years and he has her to thank for it. She shakes her head and smiles at him.

“I’m glad I can help. Here’s some breakfast for you.” He eyes the bowl of soup in front of him and thanks her for the meal before downing it all in one go.

He gets up to head out for the forge.

“My name is Sasuke.” Sakura looks at him for a moment before responding.

“Nice to meet you, Sasuke. I’m Sakura.”

Sakura.

He will surely remember that name from now on..

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.

tbc?

A/N: I have a few more ideas on how to expand the story. So let me know if you guys are interested in reading more :)

#ssff #ssfanfiction #sasusaku fanfiction #sasusaku #sasuke #sakura #otp #redcameleon!writes #ssm20 #ssm20d3