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unholyhelbig · 7 months

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Crescent 9/? | Natasha Romanoff x Moonknight!Reader

Summary: When Natasha Romanoff takes a job as head of security for Dina Jackson she has an ulterior motive- to find the tomb of Egyptian artifacts that the art world is racing for. Dina’s disgraced niece is charming, awkward, and under the influence of Khonsu, the God of the Moon.

Warnings: Airplanes, angst, and really bad grammar

[A/N: Hm, long time no see. I really miss writing for Natty.]

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The flight from New York to Cairo took ten hours and 30 minutes, most of which you spent in the bathroom at the back of the plane. It was cramped and smelled hot. You filled your lungs with the scent of orange cleaner and the specific type of rot that Khonsu carried like a burden. He cursed under his breath, head dipped, the ceiling too short.

“Can you please just accept the fact that she actually wants to help us?” You asked in a hushed voice.

The flight attendants had informed you all that it was the middle of the night, though it was hard to tell this high up in the clouds. The lights were lowered, and businessmen began a soft cacophony of snores. Natasha kept her sunglasses on despite the darkness. Hangover, she said. It was easy to recognize an ex-avenger, though and you understood that.

Dina wasn’t on your flight, and neither was Chip. It was a small blessing. The last thing you needed was to get detained by the in-flight agent before the wheels even touched Egyptian soil. For right now you had to settle with the idea that they were behind you instead of ahead of you, but you feared the latter.

She is an Avenger. They have a god complex. Must always do good.

“She was an Avenger. She gave Dina a fake scarab. Doesn’t that serve in our favor? Come on, Khonsu, your favorite game is using people until they’re not useful anymore.”

You struggled to appeal to his good side if he had one. There was no telling what he would have you do the second he had what he wanted. If he would leave you, your wounds bloodied and hands quivering. It was selfish, you knew, wanting to hold onto Natasha for as long as you could.

There was a small knock at the door.

“Occupied,” you said, louder than your ears were used to. “Either way, you’re getting to the tomb. This is what you wanted, right? Sit back and enjoy this lovely 10-hour flight.”

I have better things to do.

“Right, yes, do those.”

“Y/n?”

Natasha’s voice flitted through the small crack under the door. You gave Khonsu a smart smile. He let out a rumbling sigh. If you could see his eyes through the soulless sockets of his crumbling skull, you guessed they would be rolling. He dissipated into a cloud of sand. You flicked the door unlocked and were quickly pushed back, Natasha joining you.

You breathed her in, the small of your back pushed into the counter. “Oh, ouch”

“Hi,” She smiled.

“Hi”

“Were you in a business meeting?”

“I wouldn’t’ call it business. Certainly not pleasure. I mean, there’s only so much fun to be had when you’re in-flight. Especially in the bathroom.”

Natasha narrowed her green eyes at you. There was a heat that pooled in your cheeks. She was close and you were conscious of her warmth, her lavender scent, the devilish look in her stare. She swiftly gripped your hips and lifted you onto the counter, standing between your legs. That certainly freed up some space.

“Are we alone right now?” She asked.

“There is an entire group of people right outside of this door.”

“Not what I meant.”

Her lips grazed against your pulse point, breath warm. Goosebumps rose on your skin. You chuckled, wrapping your ankles around her waist and pulling her close. Natasha trailed soft kisses down the side of your neck, to your collarbone.

“The mile-high club, really, Nat?”

“Oh, are you opposed to it?” her words vibrated into your skin. “Because I can stop.”

“No, don’t.”

Natasha looked at you tenderly, then, both of her hands on your cheeks. They were warm compared to the cold cabin air. She had moved her head to a 45-degree tilt, the smallest of smiles against her lips. There was a vulnerability there, and you both knew it, despite the small, cramped bathroom. You wanted her to lean forward, you wanted her to touch you and that ache radiated into a craving to return the favor.

Instead, she leaned forward and kissed the tip of your nose with a deep chuckle that you could feel in her chest. “I’m afraid they’ll come looking for us if they know we’re missing. We shouldn’t get air marshalled above the North Atlantic.”

You groaned into the soft spot in the crook of her neck “Can’t you pull some Avenger bullshit to get us out of it?”

“Ex Avenger, Malen'kaya Luna”

Admittedly, when you got a spare moment, you googled the easy Russian that slipped her tongue. She had been asleep next to you, curled under your sheets as the dull glow from your phone was kept low enough not to wake her. Little Moon. It warmed your heart, squeezed it like her hand on your knee now.

You leaned forward and kissed her again. Natasha hummed into your mouth, fingers ghosting over the back of your neck. Oh, how you wished you had stumbled upon the woman in front of you in any other circumstance. No moon gods, no secret temples. And certainly, no evil aunts.

Natasha begrudgingly led you back to your seats at the center of the plane. The flight attendant raised both of his eyebrows at you before realization clouded his expression and the tips of his ears turned a cotton candy pink. Nat placed her hand on the inside of your thigh protectively, chills moving across your spine.

“We need to come up with a plan for when we get to Cairo.”

“Truthfully, I was just going to follow your lead.” You said, giving your best pout. Natasha narrowed her eyes at you. “Fine, yes, fine. I actually have a map.”

“A map?”

You pulled your backpack from under the seat. Apologizing to the man next to you who grunted, pulling himself closer to the window in annoyance. You produced the sketch book that you took to the museum every day.

The lights on the plane dimmed automatically as you flew through the night. You could hear the muffled sounds of in-flight movies humming through the issued headphones. Two kids in front of you were playing a game on a switch, quietly chittering to themselves. A flight attendant walked through the aisle and offered out sleep masks. The man to your left took it gratefully.

“The coffin of Lady Madja was brought in by Chip a year ago. It was a great find, in-tact and the art across the outside was still readable.” You whispered, flipping through the pages that you had scribbled on. “It took a long time to decipher, but the hieroglyphics tell a story about the Valley of Kings, and where to find it. But it’s not something easily translated. It took me months.”

You finally got the page that you wanted, each drawing had been analyzed, highlighted and deciphered. There were charcoal smudges and the crossing out of things you didn’t quite understand. Natasha’s eyes lit up.

“The scarab is important, sure. It’s like a key that unlocks the tomb. But it’s equally important to know how to get there. The mask had clearer instructions carved into it. Dina just didn’t realize that it was right under her nose the entire time. She didn’t’ look hard enough.” You pressed your finger at the green highlighted numbers at the bottom of the page. “These are the coordinates. They lead us straight into the desert.”

However, Natasha wasn’t looking at the notebook, she was staring directly at you. Her breath was warm against your cheek. You ran the pads of your fingers nervously over the indentation in the paper, giving her the smallest, brightest of smiles.

“You’re incredible, you know that, right?”

“Oh, I wouldn’t go that far.”

“I would.” You felt your cheeks warm up with a rush of blood. Even in the dim lights, it was nearly impossible to get anything past Natasha. You went to flip the book closed, but instead, she put her fingers in between the pages. “Y/n, what’s that?”

“This?”

You couldn’t very well hide it now. By no means did you classify yourself as a top-of-the-line artist. Sure, you had the studio, but most of your stuff was abstract, curated like you had been taught to do. But you did sketch diligently.

Some of your sketches were of Natasha. Namely from the trip the two of you had taken. During the long comfortable stretches of quiet on the road, you had captured her profile as she drove. The curve of her jaw, the way stray pieces of hair had fallen from her baseball cap. There was admiration there, infatuation flourished every line drawn.

“A half-baked hobby.” You watched as she furrowed her brow and looked up at you like you had just said something blasphemous. “You’re impossible to capture, you know that, right?”

“How so?”

You swallowed the dryness in your mouth. “Everything is subjective, but your beauty is concrete. There is always room for interpretation, for improvement. You, Natasha, are infinite in your words, in your actions, in your complexion. Charcoal and paper cannot even begin to encapsulate.”

Natasha let out a shuttered breath that tickled your collarbone. She moved forward, she kissed you slowly, careful and quiet. You pulled all of her in, smoothing your thumb against the edge of her jaw. You wouldn’t stop drawing her anytime soon, or at least attempting to do so.

By the time you landed in Cairo, your neck was aching. Natasha had dozed off against your shoulder, and you were careful when laying your head on top of hers. She had to be roused when it was your turn to exit the plane. She had an adorable, sleep ridden pout on her face that you resisted kissing away.

The heat in Cairo hit you both and slowed your movements. It was balmy, the sun warmed your skin and your cheeks. You hadn’t been in Egypt for a long time. Your last visit was under the boney wing of Khonsu, a small meeting between the God’s and their avatars.

Sure, you had gotten a chance to see the sites, but part of you knew that Khonsu was receiving a slap on the wrist for his less desirable habits. You had gotten the chance to see a few things, and make some friends.

“Layla is going to meet us inside.”

“You’re sure we can trust her?”

Out of all the avatars that you’d met over the years, Layla El-Faouly was the most trustworthy, as was her master, Taweret. You’d only met the Goddess of Woman and Children once, but she could level Khonsu with a single pointed stare. You’d seen it during the meetings, had stifled a smile that Layla wasn’t too keen on hiding.

You had shot her a message before boarding the plane, and she waited in the dusty Egyptian heat. She leaned against an old dark-red Nissan that rested among the hustle and bustle of families picking up friends, and workers making deliveries. Natasha shifted rigidly as the woman pushed herself off the side of the car.

“Y/n,” Layla grabbed your free hand and pulled you into a warm hug. She smelled like freshly turned soil, metallic and alluring. She moved back, keeping her hands on your arms “Ugh, it’s so good to see you. We have so much to discuss.”

You laughed, taking her in. It was always nice to see other avatars, but especially her. You’d both been thrown into this life at the same time, living in the city and talking over stale bodega coffee. The memory blocks were the worst, eventually fading away into nothing but the cold feeling of always being watched by your master, doing their bidding.

Taweret had a softer hand, you both admitted, but you had grown used to the way Khonsu had done things, even if he kept you in the dark for most of his plans. Natasha had gotten further than you thought she would. Rather- Khonsu had allowed you to usher her towards the endgame.

“I’m being a dick,” Layla put her hand out “I’m Layla.”

“Natasha,”

“Romanoff, right? I’ve seen a few press conferences. You’re very impressive.”

The Russian spy tentatively reached out and returned the handshake. She was guarded like any agent would be. There was a heat to her cheeks, almost as if the sun had already likened them to ripe strawberries.

She led the two of you to a nearby café and the shade that the awnings offered instantly quelled the heat. Layla ordered them drinks without looking at the menu, and you were frankly thankful for that. The words blurred, and while most of them were in English, you still knew that you would butcher the pronunciation regardless.

“Alright, so, give me the rundown. What does Khonsu have you chomping at the bit for?”

You scoffed “Chomping at the… I think I’m being very level-headed.”

“No such thing, not with you.” She took a long sip of her drink “While Taweret doesn’t have an explicit say on who I associate with you are not her favorite.”

“Oh, ouch. I thought we bonded!”

“Was that before or after you lifted a shabtis from the Smithsonian?”

Natasha eyed you “You what?”

Suddenly you were interested in the drink in front of you, humming into the cup as you gulped down the cold liquid. Layla laughed. “My point is, Khonsu blurs the line between ethical use of immortality, don’t you think? If you contacted the Black Widow and me, then you’re in some deep shit.”

“We are in deep shit.” Natasha said, her hand finding your knee in a domestic act of familiarity. “And need to get to the Valley of the Kings as soon as possible.”

“The Valley of Kings? That’s a little further than most tourists go. It’s a good forty miles of nothing but sand and heat. A team of archaeologists have been digging out there for years now, searching for a key. But I can get you out there.”

She leaned back on the chair, sizing the both of you up. “You have the key, don’t you?”

“We’re not the only ones that do.” Natasha kicked you under the table, a small warning tap, nothing that you wouldn’t gain feeling back in after a few minutes. “Ow! Okay. No, Layla. We don’t have the key. We would like to go sightseeing.”

You smiled sweetly at the both of them. The heat was starting to get to you. It didn’t’ seem to be bothering Natasha or Layla. They rolled their eyes at you, almost in unison that made you swell with an odd bit of pride.

“I don’t want anything to do with what’s inside of the Valley of Kings, trust me. It’s a construction zone at this point. But there are rumors. And in good conscience, I can’t help you unless I’m certain that what you’re doing won’t add fuel to the fire.”

Layla was staring at Natasha when she spoke, shifting her weight on the metal chair. How wasn’t it burning a hole through the fabric of her pants?

“I have no reason not to trust you. You’re a literal Avenger going after Avenger level threats. But Y/n…”

“I’m in the room.”

Natasha put a domestic hand on your shoulder, effectively shutting you up. It was such a tender gesture, one that you had seen your parents do, and even your aunt when Chip took too much liberty with the conversation. For now, you were content to sit and listen.

“I assure you, Layla, I will do everything in my power to keep things in order. I may not be associated with Nick Fury and his practices anymore, but my goal remains the same. Protect the general public and if Khonsu pushes further than he should then I will not hesitate to push back to a certain degree.”

There was a hard swallow. You were suddenly reminded of the press conferences the Black Widow had to take part in. There were flashing cameras and microphones shoved into her face. She had to smile and assure the world that its fate wasn’t detrimental.

“Okay,” Layla shrugged non-committedly “I’ll take you both out there. But y/n, don’t think for a second I won’t call upon Taweret the second you step out of line.”

You nodded, keeping quiet, as promised. The journey ahead would be long, and undeniably hot, and while you didn’t’ want to question Layla’s power and skill, you knew that with the promise of resolution within your grasp, Khonsu would only grow stronger. You’d sit and behave, drinking down the last of your water and instantly regretting the decision to do so.

There was no doubt in your mind that the rest of the gods had caught wind of Khonsu being back in Egypt. While you had entrusted Layla, there was still a lingering feeling of fear that you would be stopped by something stronger than one God with a warrior. There were hundreds, and you were simply one.

Natasha hummed quietly “I can’t let you do that. Y/n leaves with her life.”

“I can’t promise you that. Most God’s are selfish, they pick avatars based on their brokenness. They mend them and use them, but at the end of the day, they discard them. And we let this happen simply because we crave that second chance.”

You scooted forward, letting your elbows rest on the metal of the table. It scorched your skin. Your heart clenched at Natasha’s obvious worry for you. It was cruel- bringing her here, just to watch your potential demise. But you couldn’t do this without her.

“You knew this?” Natasha asks, and her voice is filled with a certain type of regret and sorrow. “That you had no full control of the God that governs you?”

“There… was a 50/50 shot that things would go wrong, and that still stands. I’ve been loyal to Khonsu for years now. Part of me wants to believe he’d be benevolent and spare me.”

“And the other part? The part that leads you to the Valley of Kings in the first place?”

You swallowed the dryness in your throat, fingers twitching with anticipation to reach out and comfort the woman in front of you. Her green eyes were dilated, and her lips were pursed with contemplation. She had every right to turn around and get on the next flight back to the States.

“That part is fucked.”

#Natasha Romanoff #Natasha Romanoff x reader #Natasha romanov #Natasha Romanov x reader #Moonknight!reader #Moonknight #Marvel #Marvel au

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gotafewtricks · 6 months

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dear my new fav kiri writer,

if you saw the le sserafim collab (kiri's hot, fite me), you know that romance dynamic where it's like idol x fan but the idol is the fan's bff and the fan (who has big crush on idol to the point they buy ONLY merch of them) has no clue said idol is their friend (and the idol's real struggle of "do i tell them i'm idol or i just watch them be an absolute dork at simping me") lmao

if you can pull it out of a hat, i'll love that lol

★ I'm (maybe) fearless

Really? I'm pretty honoured. I wrote like, two sentences with her and you already like my interpretation of Kiriko? Honoured <33 Anyways, YES, mhm—I have seen that! I've been meaning to play around with this dynamic, anyways :3

I could see Kiriko as a popular singer and dancer; though, I could also see her as a YouTube personality as well. I'll settle with a singing Kiri for now :3

As a vocalist, Kiriko had to work her way up to the top. It was rather difficult having to hide all of that at first; knowing damn well how it would affect her life outside of the showbiz. Scheduling was something she'd worry herself to death over; knowing that her easygoing personality wouldn't fair well with having to keep up with dates, knowing the promises she's made to her friends back home, and her fans.

Being a close friend of Kiriko was such a rewarding experience—you knew how determined she was at her job, with clearing out the yakuza scum of Kanezaka. You'd worry about her often, with how it may even take her a few days, to weeks, or even a month to get back in touch with you. You understood that those were times where she was busy with the Hashimoto; as it wasn't just tiring, exhuasting local work. She has explained to you about their, the Hashimoto's, extensive relations with other criminal organizations around Japan.

Though, what you didn't understand, was that Kiriko wasn't just occupied with beating up some petty criminals in her absence.

As much as she hates to lie, she knows that she cannot be visible as a pop star. Not only she would become a much bigger target, she already keeps her work more on the downlow with the Hashimoto—and, even then, she is recognized as one of the heroines of Kanezaka. Alongside with the reputation of her mom being a formidable foe with the blade, and her dad being a known weapons-maker... it makes the girl's head hurt having to process what'll happen.

You were a huge fan of Kiriko's idol persona—really, really huge. Photocards upon photocards would be decorated with cute stickers, slid inside holographic heart sleeves to add to your ever-more growing collection. It'd embarrass you if you actually tallied the amount of money you've spent.

You were there at the beginning of her career, finding her randomly by chance whilst refreshing your recommended feed. Taking a listen to a few songs she was cast in, and you were automatically hooked. Either it was just her energy, voice, looks... everything about her was just something, someone rather, that you could find some ultimate comfort it.

Although, you were not on the verge of it being a disturbing obsession—as you were rather worried about your favourite idol. You'd understand if she had to post something about taking a brief hiatus, as you'd imagine yourself being so, so exhausted being in such a position. There was just something so relatable with her that makes you connect all the better to her—she just really felt real.

Often times, many people would put up a fake smile; a façade, in front of fans that only like them because of a shared attribute. Either just appearance or that "Ah, yeah, you sound good!" aesthetic, you were glad that you saw the girl on stage and acting like herself. There was such an energy would would always be commented on in interviews that the idol would have, and you always wondered how she was always so energetic.

Maybe she was an incredible actor, you'd muse.

The thing you hated most, though, was not being able to watch any of the videos as soon as they'd drop. You knew to not disturb Kiriko by messaging her during important missions, but you can't help but send her some screencaps of some really adorable pictures of your favourite idol, now, can you? Kiriko would laugh whenever you'd complain about how she always has to go out whenever there were tours going on.

Kiriko, at first, would be extremely flattered. She does have a crush on you, and has had one for a while, but she didn't want to ever complicate things.

Seeing you gush about her idol career, and how you related so much to this celebrity—and how you loved literally everything about her, Kiriko couldn't help but feel just oh-so flustered over... "Heh, wow... my crush likes me?"

There was something that Kiriko did take notice of, and it was with how you phrased everything that she did appreciate. Not just the compliments, and even if you did just praise and praise her vocal talent, perfomances, and looks—there was something that Kiriko did enjoy listening about, and it was how you really felt, in comparison. Because, all-in-all, Kiriko loves her fans. Every single one of them.

If she could sign autographs all day, if she could talk to everyone at a meet-and-greet, if she could spend hours and hours rambling at panels and conventions—oh, she would. She adores how she was able to build up such a community, and how it thrives off of interaction. Not just from her, but how everyone else is just so supportive. It really makes her feel like she is doing so much more for not only just the town of Kanezaka, and not just for Japan—but for the countless, countless others out there in the world.

There was something special, though, with being best friends with a fan.

You'd talk to her about a new single release, talking about what your interpretation of the song was. You could easily tell that it was experimental, as the lyrics were not written by her herself—rather, someone else. Her phrasing would have more wordplay—her cadence would've been more casual and loose, to reflect on her more teasing, playful nature she likes to exhibit on-stage. You'd explain, with stars in your eyes, about all of those little details you've noticed.

Kiriko would nod along, affirmingly so. It's not like she's had to be in the studio, recording for hours and hours at a time to get the perfect take—having the mixers work at the vocals and instrumentals.

It took Kiriko a long while to think about this, but she finally did come up with a way to express her view, and to finally fess up to you.

Kiriko wasn't one to lie, as it made her feel dirty. Obviously, she does have a trouble-making stream to her name—running around the streets of her hometown whilst trying to get to the bakery first-thing was something she'd always get motherly chided for. As with her career, she felt like she really had to tell someone. It wasn't illegal for her to be an influencer, but it felt like she was lying to her best friend—lying to you.

She didn't know how you'd react. There was a surprising amount of comfort she did feel whenever you'd talk about her idol persona, considering you didn't blindly just love the music and her looks—rather, her personality, and how real and tangible she felt. How she was able to make such a committed, compelling fanbase that you were proud to be apart of, and to contribute to it. With everyone else having nothing but praise for the young rising star, Kiriko would be a bit scared at the fact of someone only liking her just due to a shallow reputation.

Though, over the course of this life, she felt both fulfilled in not only receiving the love of many others; but giving it all back in her work. Either with her songs, or some pest (Hashimoto) control, she's in debt to all of her fans. She really couldn't thank them enough.

As her heart drew heavy, the worries increasing everyday, she just might as well spit it out. With your concluded reasoning, Kiriko thought that you'd understand why she had to keep it a secret—obviously—and not go around telling anyone else. She knows about the industry, and how celebs with lovers are treated, so she just needs to be careful—teetering across those rules.

Whilst the two of you were together out at night, hanging out behind the arcade—per usual—you offered Kiriko one of your earbuds. It was playing one of her songs, and you were bopping your head to the rhythm; whispering the lyrics to yourself.

"Do you want to know something?" Kiriko would then ask, and she immediately felt her heart thump. Just being close to you already makes her feel so, so anxious; it felt as if she wasn't a pop star, and wasn't an expertly-trained ninja—just a little schoolgirl again.

With a hum, you'd turn your attention to her, adjusting your position on the ground to be more comfortable. With your legs in the right spot, you then settled down. "Yes? I'm sorry, this song is so good."

With a laugh, Kiriko would reassure you that it's okay. God, how she loved just seeing you so happy, and with how she was able to leave such a positive imprint on you with her hard work—it felt as if you were her world. Her everything.

"Eh, don't worry." Kiriko's little chuckle was contagious, as you smiled as she gestured her hand towards you. "There's something really funny about this track, actually. I'd be surprised if you didn't already know it; you nerd."

You two then continued on with your banter, and then you listened to what Kiriko had to say about the song. After a moment, the chorus came on, and then Kiriko started to explain her thoughts out—her voice in that tender tone, reserved for the ones closest to her.

"The lyrics were actually written for someone in particular. There's a theory floating around that it's for this idol, or for this other person but..." She'd then laugh, tucking her hair behind her ears. "Pay more attention to the words. You're smart; you can figure it out."

The chorus was then explaining about the singer's love for their best friend, and with how everything matched up so perfectly—the vocalist musing about past childhood memories, talking about certain interests, and explaining their want to fully express yourself... you blushed. You looked up at Kiriko, she was wearing a smirk, and then down at your phone at the song currently being played. You didn't want to just assume it was you, as you didn't want to embarrass yourself, but-

"I dunno if you know their name or not, but they do look awfully a lot like you. Maybe I should make the two of you meet, huh?"

#overwatch x reader #ow x reader #kiriko x reader #kiriko kamori x reader #idol kiriko #kiriko yamagami x reader #x reader #gn!reader #gender neutral reader #kiriko x gender neutral reader #req #reqs open

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helloalycia · 1 year

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watching TV [three] // kate bishop

summary: after your feelings come at you in full force, you're not sure what to do with your relationship with Kate.

warning/s: mentions of injury and violence.

author's note: this is the last part! i hope you all liked it :)

one / two / masterlist / wattpad

The night of the event soon arrives and as if worried that Kate will somehow back out last minute, Kate's mum sends over a driver to stop by both of our places and pick us up.

Always the people-pleaser, I have no choice but to wear the dress she bought for me. It isn't actually too bad, but the pressure of wearing something extremely expensive (because I have no doubt it costs more than all of my belongings put together) and not damaging it is intense.

I'm picked up first and Kate doesn't live far, but the last thing I expect when the driver stops outside her place is for her to be wearing the exact opposite of what her mum left her. In fact, instead of the strapless, elegant blue dress she was given, she's decided to wear a scarlet-coloured tuxedo. She pulls it off extremely well, I'm not blind, but it's hard to appreciate when I know she's only done it to piss of her mum.

"Wow, you look beautiful," is the first thing she says when she sits beside me in the backseat.

I give her a look of disbelief, ignoring her bright smile and the way my insides go all mushy at her words. "Seriously? Kate, what happened to the dress?"

She shrugs, putting her seatbelt on. "Wasn't feeling it."

I sigh deeply, leaning back into my seat as the drivers sets off. "Your mum is gonna kill you, you know that, right? She gave me one job. Get you there in a somewhat-respectable outfit."

"Hey, this is respectable!" she defends, tugging at her bow tie and grinning at me. "Don't I look great?"

Trying my very hardest not to give in to her charm, I give her a sideways glance. But of course, the most adorable expression is staring back at me and she really does look good. She must notice I'm giving in because she starts to laugh.

"I knew you loved me," she decides, smiling to herself as she looks out the window.

"Luckily," I mumble, trying to fight the smile from my own lips.

When we arrive at the hall booked out for the event, I'm not surprised at how lavish and amazing everything looks, from the venue itself to all of the wealthy people in it. I don't expect anything less from the Bishops. But it still takes some getting used to.

Kate's mum finds us in no time, greeting us, (scolding Kate), showing us around and then leaving us to acquaint ourselves as she gets ushered away by some guests. Again, this sort of thing isn't my cup of tea, neither is it Kate's, but I put on my best pretence and try to at least look like I'm enjoying myself. Kate is a lot more transparent with her feelings however, so it seems that distracting her is the only way to get her to behave.

"Okay, your mum has glared daggers at us three times from across the room because you won't stop messing about," I tell her after removing the breadstick from her hand that she is pretending is a magic wand. "How about we play a game?"

"A game," she says, unconvinced. "What game?"

I bite my lip, looking around the room for inspiration. Something has to keep Kate occupied apart from torturing her mother. But the only thing here are a bunch of guests whom I know nothing about. It's some sort of networking event for all the people in Kate's mum's circle – nothing that I can get involved in but definitely something for Kate if she was interested.

"Kiss, marry, kill," Kate suddenly says, and I glance at her with a raised brow.

"Pardon?"

She smiles cheekily as she always does. "Let's play kiss, marry, kill with the people around us. C'mon, it'll be fun."

"Will you sit still for two minutes if I say yes?"

"Cross my heart," she mutters mischievously, motioning across her chest with her finger.

I groan quietly, grabbing two drinks from a nearby waiter as they walk by. "Fine. Let's go find a seat."

She accepts the drink I give her and we take a seat in one of the few seating areas. It's occupied by a few other guests, but Kate and I are able to snag a small couch with the perfect view of this corner of the room.

"Okay, me first," she says with a childish excitement, eyes scanning the guests. "Okay, I've got one. That couple there and the old guy behind them."

I follow her gaze, spotting who she's talking about. "The woman with the curly hair?" She hums, so I answer, "Easy. Fuck the old guy, marry the woman, kill the boyfriend."

She snorts with amusement. "Really? Fuck the old guy?"

"He gives off better vibes than the sleazy boyfriend, what can I say?" I say with a shrug, making her laugh. "Seriously, what is it with pretty girls dating gross guys?"

She rolls her eyes playfully. "If only we knew."

"It's a phenomenon that needs to be studied," I say seriously, before looking around. "Okay my turn. That woman over there by the table. Red dress. Dark hair. Her, the guy who looks like her son that she's talking to. And the lady beside him."

She scrunches her nose up, laughing. "Oh, Y/N, c'mon! That's gross! It's incestuous!"

I chuckle. "I said they looked related, not that they were! Now answer."

She nudges me slightly before getting comfortable and narrowing her eyes. After staying deep in thought for a moment, she decides, "Okay, fuck the red dress, marry the daughter-in-law, kill the son."

I laugh at her bluntness, before slapping her leg. "Kate, why did you have to say it like that?!"

She turns to me, eyes flickering between mine as an amused smile tugs at her lips. "What? I don't know what you mean."

She definitely does, but I let her have it as I shake my head dismissively.

"Okay, make mine challenging like I did with yours," I tell her, before taking a sip of my drink.

"You found me a MILF, it wasn't too challenging," she jokes, making me stifle another laugh because the nearby guests are definitely sending confused glances our way.

"A MILF?" I return the teasing, raising an eyebrow. "Right, where's your mum at?" She gasps as I continue the bit, looking around and saying, "Eleanor Bishop? Do you see her?"

"That's disgusting!" she exclaims, yanking me back and slapping me on the shoulder as I sink into a fit of laughter. "I'm gonna throw up. Actual vomit is rising in my mouth, god!"

"I'm kidding," I say between laughter, tears forming in my eyes because she looks disgusted and I love it. "Well, kind of. Your mum scares me, don't get me wrong, but she could technically be classified as a MILF."

Kate makes a vomiting gesture with her hand and mouth, making me grin.

"Don't worry, I prefer her daughter anyway," I say reassuringly, not realising it's slipped out until she does a double take.

Oh my god, why the hell did I say that?!

Hoping to play it off as mere friendly banter, I look the other way, distracting myself with my drink.

"Your go then, c'mon," I say nonchalantly, trying to change the subject.

I feel her nod beside me and wait, wondering if it is suddenly hot in here or if it is just my embarrassment haunting me. Glancing over at Kate, I see she's smiling to herself as she too distracts herself with her drink, and immediately look away because– nope. I'm not even going there.

A few hours pass and Kate and I are having a blast. Luckily, I manage to keep her out of her mum's laser stare for most of the evening, distracting her with silly games and the snacks table. It works, until Eleanor herself finds us and unfortunately has to excuse Kate from me so she can introduce her to some of the company's investors. After giving Kate a warning look that meant for her to behave, I let her go and busy myself with making a plate of food.

"Can I just say that I love your dress, sweetie."

I look up when I realise someone beside me is speaking to me. It's an older lady, gorgeous in every aspect of the word and whom I've never seen before. Actually, now that I think about it, she might be one of the women Kate and I deemed a MILF in our fuck, marry, kill game earlier tonight. Trying to erase that from my brain, I smile at her gratefully.

"Thank you," I say, before returning the compliment. "I love yours, too! Red really is your colour."

She waves a dismissive hand, though is smiling all the same. "Please, I just threw this on."

I chuckle a little, before looking back to my plate, wondering if she's going to leave, but she doesn't.

"You're here with the Bishops, right?" she asks, making conversation as she too makes a plate of food.

"Yep."

"Eleanor's daughter, Kate... her girlfriend, right?"

"Yep." Then my eyes widen and I look up. "Wait, what was that?"

The woman pauses, confused. "Kate? Your girlfriend?" She smiles kindly. "I saw you both together and you look lovely. It's sweet she brought you along." She laughs as I digest her words, leaning in and adding, "My husband did the same with me, but between you and I, I'd rather have stayed home."

I smile awkwardly, though I'm still reeling from her assumption. "I, erm, sorry, but I think you've misunderstood." At her head tilt of confusion, I clarify, "Kate and I– we're not– we're just friends."

Gosh, why am I so flustered right now?

"Really?"

"Uh-huh."

Embarrassed, she laughs uncomfortably. "Oh, my, wow, I'm so sorry for assuming! I just– as I said, I saw you both around all evening and you were together, laughing and looking all cosy and– never mind. I'm sorry. It's nice of you to have joined her anyway."

Wishing the Earth would swallow me up here and now, I merely smile awkwardly and nod. She looks as uncomfortable as I and smiles once more before leaving with her plate of food.

After doing the same, I find an empty standing table with the intention of eating, but all I can think about is this evening. Yes, tonight has been fun and a lot of that is down to Kate, but that's not any different from any other night, is it? We're just friends.

I look up, searching for the girl in question and hoping she's almost done with her mingling – it seems that whenever I'm left alone, I start to overthink every single thing. I find her across the room, stood slightly behind her mother as she's talking to some guests. Kate's smiling politely, nodding and surprisingly behaving, but I know her well enough to know she's extremely bored. Glancing around thoughtlessly, her eyes catch mine and she immediately brightens up, smiling for real. I return her smile with my own, watching as she looks back to her mum when she's involved in the conversation.

She's saying something, earning a laugh from the guests, before she's bored yet again. Her eyes catch mine once more and she tries to suppress her smile as she widens her eyes, looking to the guests next to her.

Behave, I mouth to her with amusement, but she doesn't listen.

She looks back to her mum and the guests, but I notice her hand behind her back, making a chatterbox gesture. She's doing it on purpose to make me laugh and, goddamn it, I hate that it works. Glancing at me again, I spot a mischievous glint in her eyes, even from across the room, and it makes my insides go warm and fuzzy.

Oh, God, there it is again. It keeps happening, a lot more than usual tonight. Am I falling for her? It can't be. Because it will ruin everything. Sure, I sometimes see her and think 'wow, she's just effortlessly pretty today' – but that's mere appreciation! And the cosy feeling I get whenever I'm around her is nothing more than a safety net because she's my best friend. It isn't anything more, it can't be. It's not allowed to be.

Fuck, I think it is.

My palms grow clammy with nerves as I begin to panic slightly. Fuck, fuck fuck. I don't like Kate. I don't.

Liking someone, especially someone as important as Kate... No. Memories of Hannah comes to my mind. What she said, how I felt when she just decided to leave, just like that.

No. I refuse to have that happen again.

A tap on my shoulder interrupts my panicked train of thought and I jump, looking up. It's Kate, smiling humorously as she looks between my plate and I.

"Are you done hoovering the appetisers?" she teases, but my heart feels like it's going to beat out of my chest and I can't find it in myself to smile.

"What's up?" she asks with mild concern, lowering her head to find my eyes, but I can't meet hers.

I can't be here any longer.

"I'm not feeling well," I say, mouth dry.

She snickers. "It's probably all the bread rolls you've put away."

I shake my head, stepping back and making her drop her hand from my arm. "I've gotta go home."

Realising I'm serious, her smile drops. "Wait, what? What's wrong?"

She reaches for my hand, holding it lightly and taking a second to study my expression. The simplest of touches makes my skin burn, and it doesn't help that she's watching me with the utmost concern. Blue eyes are softened, twinkling, beautiful... She's always cared this much, hasn't she? I've just never noticed.

"I'm just not feeling entirely well," I try to reassure with a small smile. "Maybe I did eat too much. I should go before I throw everything up."

"Okay, I can come with you," she says.

"No," I say quicker than I should have, making her raise an eyebrow. "I mean, it's your mum's event. It won't look right, you leaving early. Stay, please."

She frowns, eyes flickering between mine. "Are you sure? I'd rather be with you."

My heart swells instinctively, touched by her words, and I try my hardest to stop feeling this way, but the only way it will stop is if she stops looking at me like she is.

"I'll be fine," I promise her, needing her to let go of my hand because I can't feel it anymore.

"Okay," she gives in reluctantly, letting go. "Call me if you change your mind and I can stop by."

I nod, forcing a smile and avoiding her eyes. "Will do. Have a nice evening, Kate."

Just when I'm about to turn and leave, she steps forward and hugs me. It's brief, but my whole body is on fire by the time she lets go.

"Feel better," she says sweetly, smiling.

Oh, I'm fucked.

It's hard not to overthink every single interaction I've ever had with Kate following the evening of her mum's event. I can't help it.

Back when we first became friends at university, she's always been so considerate, so easygoing, so lovely to me. She's just a naturally caring person and she's never let me down, not once. And I've loved and appreciated every part of it, though nothing more than in a platonic appreciation sort of way. It had to be like that because I was with Hannah, and why would I think of my best friend in any other way when I had a girlfriend at the time?

But lately... I don't have a girlfriend anymore, and now my feelings for Kate are no longer platonic. I try to ignore it, but every touch, every glance, every sweet thing she says to me is misinterpreted on my end. I know I'm falling too hard too fast, but I can't stop it. Why now? What's so different now versus three years ago?

I don't know. I just know that every moment I spend with her, I can't not feel how I do when I'm around her. Elated, fuzzy, warm. She doesn't know and I'm not planning on telling her. I don't think she feels the same, and if she does? Well, all the more reason to keep this to myself because it would only lead to the inevitable, and that's something I'm actively trying to avoid.

I can't say it's going too well though.

Kate has been on a mission for the past two weeks and I haven't missed her this much in a long time. So, when her return date finally arrives, I bring a box of doughnuts and head over to her apartment to see her.

"Kate?" I ask, knocking on the door before pulling out my key. "It's me, I'm letting myself in!"

When there's no refusal, I do just that and look around, only to find her sitting on the couch with a bag of frozen peas on her shoulder and a compact mirror in her hand. My eyes widen when I see the fresh cuts on her face, matching the black eye forming.

"Oh my god, Kate!" I exclaim, shutting the door and leaving the box on the kitchen table before rushing over to her. "What the hell happened?"

She smiles, though it's pained. "Minor incident on the mission. Not a big deal."

I sit beside her, raising my eyebrows. "Seriously? Don't they have an infirmary at the Compound?!"

Lowering the mirror, she tuts defeatedly. "Ah, you got me. The mission went fine, but there was a mugging happening close by on the way here and I couldn't just watch it go down."

Sighing, I can't help but look at the swelling on her eye and the small bleeding cuts. "That's very heroic of you, Kate, but you need to be careful. You're not invincible."

"Well, if you were getting mugged, wouldn't you hope somebody would step in and help?"

"Yes, but–"

"There you go then," she cuts me off with playful smile. I give her a disapproving look, and she merely winks and gets back to cleaning up the cuts on her face in the mirror.

Rolling my eyes, I take the mirror from her hand and close it. "Let me help, idiot."

Relieved, she gives in without a fight and explains what to do. After listening, I take over and finish cleaning up the cuts, applying little plasters to help them close up. Thankfully, it's nothing too serious, but I definitely don't feel good about seeing her in pain like this.

When I'm done, she thanks me before lifting the frozen peas from her shoulder with a wince.

"Do you need to see a doctor?" I ask with concern, taking the peas from her hand and putting them to the side.

She shakes her head casually. "Nah, I'll be alright. It's just bruised. The guy got a good whack with his bat."

I frown subconsciously, hating the thought of her fighting a thug as is. She's capable, I know, but reckless, too.

"How have you been anyway?" she asks, leaning back into the couch with a content sigh. "Tell me everything I've missed these past few weeks."

Reluctantly, I share what I've been up to. Nothing exciting, mainly work stuff, but she listens intently all the same, a captivated smile on her face.

"That's me, anyway," I finish. "I just came by to see how you are. Brought some doughnuts, too. If I'd known, I would have brought a doctor."

She rolls her eyes with amusement, before her eyes settle in the kitchen. "You didn't have to, but I can't say no. One might say, I dough-nut mind if I do."

It's such a terrible joke, but it brings a small smile to my lips anyway. Satisfied, she smiles before attempting to stand up quickly. She flinches instantly and sits back down, hand falling to her shoulder.

"Easy, Kate," I tell her, keeping her still and resting my hand atop hers. "You can't rush around like that."

"Sorry," she mumbles, frowning at the pain before sighing once it passes.

"You seriously need to be more careful," I tell her sternly, eyes roaming her face. "Returning to me all banged up and bloody isn't what I want."

Instinctively, my hand raises to touch her face, fingers wavering over the cuts that are now cleaned up. My thumb barely grazes her black eye before falling to her lips, particularly the cut just next to it. I find myself getting distracted by her lips in general, thumb moving over to them, almost tracing them before I realise what the hell I'm doing.

Clearing my throat with embarrassment, I drop my hand and look up to her eyes, an apology on the tip of my tongue. But she's distracted, too, eyes half-lidded as they focus on my lips. I hold my breath when she leans in, but my eyes close when she closes the gap between us. It's a simple brush of her lips against mine, making my heart skip a beat at the contact. I'm barely thinking straight, unable to comprehend what's even happening as everything works on autopilot.

I feel her hand lift to the back of my neck before she presses her lips to mine again, this time with more intention, and I fall into it so easily like it's always supposed to have been like this. Her breath tickles my nose when she parts for a second, sending shivers down my spine, but just like that, she takes my bottom lip between hers and presses her tongue to mine. I let her, melting under her touch and not giving it a second thought.

Only when we run out of breath and part for seconds longer than before do I realise what's just happened. And then panic begins to set in, making me back away and stand up quickly.

"Y/N, oh my god," she says suddenly, standing up when she too realises what's happened. She takes a step forward, but I take one back, lips swollen and heart racing. "I'm sorry, I– please, wait, I–"

"I should go," is all I can think to say, still reeling from the taste of her.

Nope, can't think about that.

Turning on my heel, I speed-walk to the door, but she races after me, stopping before me and making me stop, too. Wincing at her shoulder from the quick movement, she pulls a face before meeting my eyes with pleading ones.

"Just wait, please," she says breathlessly, holding her shoulder.

I swallow thickly, staring at her feet because I can't seem to look up without staring at her lips. I wait.

"I'm in love with you," she finally says.

Suddenly, I feel sick at her words, definitely not expecting her to say that of all things.

"I have to go," I say, before pushing past her gently and leaving.

Thankfully she doesn't follow me, and I'm glad because otherwise I'd have to explain why my heart is beating so loud I can't seem to hear anything.

It's horribly unfair to avoid Kate after the kiss, but I can't help but do that, finding it easier to shut her out whilst I try to figure out what to do. A few days goes by and I still feel like I'm stood in her apartment, watching as she tells me she's in love with me. It's replaying in my mind, no matter how hard I try to avoid thinking about it.

How can we come back from that?

She tries to get in touch with me, but I can't talk to her or text her or hear her voice because I need to collect myself. She's in love with me, and I think I'm in love with her, too.

No, I know I am.

The kiss was perfect. And that's why it's wrong. I just want to be friends, it's so much easier this way. But how? The line has been crossed. It's too late now.

I'm returning home from work almost a week later, tired and cranky and just wanting to collapse on my couch. But when I walk to my floor and approach my doorway, I recognise Kate's figure waiting outside. Pausing, I wonder if I can slip away before she's seen me, but she notices me anyway, standing up from the floor instantly.

"Please, don't leave," she says desperately, eyes widened.

I swallow uncomfortably, keeping my eyes on the keys in my hand as I attempt to open the door. "I don't have time for this. I'm tired from work and–"

"Y/N, please," she pleads.

"Sorry, Kate," I say, finally unlocking my door and hoping to get in quickly. "Not now."

I suppose it's my idiocy that makes me believe I can get in without it her managing to slip in behind me. She is a superhero after all.

Groaning, I turn around to politely tell her to leave, but she's already talking before I can.

"I'm sorry for what happened," she says earnestly, a slight frown on her lips. "I know you want space, but I need to fix this. I didn't mean to kiss you. Or– well– I did, but I didn't mean for it to ruin everything."

I shake my head and step past her, heading to the kitchen. "I can't do this now, Kate. I need time to think. I–"

"I'm in love with you," she says, and it makes me stop in my tracks.

There she goes again. So easy of her to say.

"You're not," I mutter, unable to face her. "You can't be."

She doesn't answer straight away, but her footsteps sound closer and then she's stood before me, searching for my eyes as she lowers her head.

"I am," she says with certainty, blue eyes sparkling as they find mine. "I have been for three and a half years."

Every part of me feels like it's on fire when she keeps staring at me with such adoration that I don't know what to do with it. Three and a half years? We've known each other for four.

"I am," she repeats, nodding slightly.

"No..."

"You kissed me back," she points out, voice so soft as if she's afraid I'll kick her out or find a way to leave the conversation.

"I know." I look away again, unable to hold her gaze for much longer.

"So...?"

I close my eyes, squeezing them shut as I try to calm my raging heart. She makes everything seem so easy. Though, if she's been in love with me for so long, maybe it hasn't been as easy as it seems.

"Y/N–"

"I love you, too," I finally admit aloud, opening my eyes to be met with her surprised expression. "But it can't happen, Kate. I can't lose you."

Recovering from her momentary surprise, she shakes her head. "You won't. Why would you?"

Subconsciously, I begin to tense my jaw. She's doing it again, watching me like I'm everything to her. And it hurts so much, reminding me of why this can't be. I've seen that look before. It's only temporary.

"You're going to realise," I start, and my face immediately heats up with embarrassment because of the lump in my throat and the tears stinging at my lids.

"What?" she prompts, resting a hand on my shoulder with concern.

I suck up a breath, looking to the side. "You'll be in love for now, but not forever. You'll realise that I'm not worth loving and then you'll just leave. And I'll be alone again. Not only losing my girlfriend, but my best friend, too. And I can't have that, Kate, I can't lose you. Not another person I love. Not after last time."

"No, no, no," she rushes out, clasping my face and wiping away some stray tears. "It's not going to happen, Y/N."

I meet her eyes, my own staring bluntly. "Nobody plans for it to happen, but it could."

It's happened before.

"It won't," she says with such conviction that I almost believe her. "I didn't stick around for this long just to stop loving you one day. That's not how it works."

I carefully pull her hands down from my face. "Kate–"

"No," she says sternly, clutching my fingers in hers and holding my stare. "I'm in love with you, Y/N! Every part of you. Even when I was certain you wouldn't feel the same. I didn't care that I'd only ever have you as a friend because you're just that amazing. That loveable. And I'll spend every day for the rest of my life showing you that, telling you that, if I damn well have to."

My eyes are blurring again, myself unable to stop the tears from forming. Why is she saying this? Why did she believe it?

Why hadn't I seen it sooner?

"Don't push me away," she begs. "Please. I won't hurt you. I won't do what Hannah did. I wouldn't dare."

Squeezing her hands gently, I start, "Kate..." But I don't know what to say. All I know is my heart is thumping in my chest and I can't think straight when she's pouring out her heart to me like this.

Her eyes dart between mine, as confident as ever. "I once told you that you deserve the world and every good thing in it, but that you would just have to settle for me. Well... I'll live up to that, Y/N. For you."

She holds my gaze, patient as I try to make sense of everything. Never has she been so vulnerable with me and I feel like an idiot for not noticing all of this sooner. Nobody has ever loved me so dearly or made my heart burst with adoration as much as she has in just this conversation.

I rest my hand on the back of her neck and pull her close, hugging her tightly. Her hands lift to my back, holding me, too.

"You're already everything good in this world," I murmur into her neck.

Pulling back, I keep ahold of her, eyes flickering between hers. I want to believe her. I think I might. How can't I? She makes it sound so easy and she's quite convincing when she wants to be. I'm terrified, nothing will change that. I never want to experience what I did with Hannah, especially not if it means losing Kate. But sometimes it's better to give it a go than push it away. If I don't act on my feelings, I still lose Kate. Either way I lose her.

I can't lose her.

"I love you," I tell her firmly, needing her to know that I feel the same way. That I'm not doubting it anymore.

She's quiet, content with holding me close and studying my expression. I can't help it anymore, and I close the gap between us, pressing my lips to hers. She sighs before pulling me close by the waist, and the feeling of her fingers against my shirt in such a tender movement makes my heart skip a beat.

I'm not sure what will happen, but I know I trust Kate. I always have.

#marvel #marvel imagine #mcu #hawkeye #hawkeye imagine #kate bishop #kate bishop x reader #kate bishop imagine #hailee steinfeld

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o0anapher0o · 8 months

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Oh hell, I promised myself I wouldn’t get involved in the gender discourse because for one I know my knowledge in gender studies (and connected race theory) is severely lacking, but mostly because the vast majority of those takes are annoyingly reductive and just people trying to make a point rather than analysing what is actually there. But this is the nth time I’ve seen the argument ‘Louis is housewife coded because he cleans the house’ which pisses me off because IT HAS NO BASIS IN THE TEXT.

There is no indication at any point of the show that Louis ever does any chores in the house at all. None. Instead it is heavily implied they have servants for the first half of the show. Lestat mentions them in ep. 1 and when Claudia comes back she tells them ‘You need a housekeeper.’ Not ‘you’re living in a dump’. Not ‘you need to clean’. No, she specifically refers to a housekeeper because as someone who grew up with a certain wealth in the early 1900s she expects servants. And even after that we never see Louis do anything around the house. It’s Claudia who handles the clean up. Yes, Louis is injured but the point remains: Louis does not visibly do any chores.

More than that though, Louis being the one who cleans the house is completely contrary to his characterisation. You’re telling me rich boy Louis, ‘the big man in the big house’ full of servants that we see on screen, the guy who spends his entire human life projecting ‘I’m a powerful and manly man’ would even know how to use a broom? You want me to believe Louis with his fancy suits, expensive shoes, nice sweaters and chic little glasses spends his nights scraping his daughter’s half dried macaroons off the walls? Please. There are several scenes in ep. 2 that imply Louis needs to be taught to take the trash out, let alone that he would know how (or have the time) to clean in an era where that was a lot more difficult than just plug in the vacuum.

Obviously the reasons for this argument is 1) Claudia calling him a housewife, which is clearly an insult aimed at the power dynamic in their relationship and Lestat neatly filling the stereotype of cheating husband in that moment and is absolutely no indication of whether or not Louis is fulfilling any housewifely duties, and 2) the fact that the house falls into disrepair during the depression years.

The thing about that is that for most of that time they’re very clearly both depressed to a point were putting on clothes is too much effort, so neither Louis not Lestat cares about the mess enough to clean it up. But it’s also a correlation isn’t causation incident. Yes, the house became a mess when they got depressed and stopped caring, but they also went no contact with the outside world at the same time. Which means no more servants. When you’re trying to get the world to forget you exist you can’t have people going in and out of your house, gossiping about how no one knows where the masters go during the day but they’re never home, how some of the rooms feel smaller than they should be, the weird stains in the wineglasses or ‘I don’t know what they do with their clothes, Dorothy, but that suit which was perfectly fine last time I saw it, would have easily lasted another ten years, is suddenly gone, like they must have thrown it out and that’s the third suit this year. I mean, I know they’re rich, but such a waste…’ They are depressed so they don’t make an effort to clean up after themselves, but there is no reason to assume the mess gathers because it was Louis’ job to clean up before.

Yes, there are definitely moments in the show when they clearly have the dynamic of a heterosexual couple with Louis occupying the role of the wife to Lestat’s husband. But the opposite is equally true for other parts of the story (you cannot tell me that if those were both white men Lestat during the honeymoon years wouldn’t be 100% read as playing the trophy wife to Louis the businessman). And at no point is any of this because either of them is housewife coded.

#wife coded yes #housewife coded (as in responsible for the household) no #louis de pointe du lac #amc itwv #interview with the vampire

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labellefleur-sauvage · 9 months

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The Highland Fox and The English Rose

Summary:

Elain Archeron, the middle daughter of an enterprising English merchant, has been raised with one goal in mind: become the wife of a respectable Englishman. Everything else—her interests, her desires—didn’t matter. But when her father convinces her to enter into an arranged marriage with a brutal Scottish Laird to save their family from ruin, Elain is suddenly forced to reevaluate everything she thought she wanted in life.

As the newly appointed Laird of a derelict clan with a crumbling castle, marriage was the last thing on Lucien’s mind. His entire life is thrown into disarray when he is forced into a marriage contract he didn’t sign, to an Englishwoman he’d never met.

But Lucien harbors a dark, ruinous secret that affects more than just himself, and he is determined to resolve the issue at hand. Together, the Highland Fox and the English Rose will go on a journey that will force Elain and Lucien together—or drive them apart.

Read on AO3. Masterlist.

XXX

Chapter 3: You Have Taken What is Before Me and What Is Behind Me

“Beg yer pardon, maam, but I doona’ think ‘helping out in the kitchen’ is somethin’ the Lady of the Hoose like yerself should be doin’, y’ken.”

Elain scowled, then turned and put on her most charming face for the head maid. “But Alis, surely going downstairs to conduct a thorough review of the kitchen and its staff is well within my duty as Lady of the House, correct?”

“Frankly ma'am, tis no’,” Alis replied shortly. “As head maid, it’s mah job to oversee the runnin’ of the castle, especially those areas tha’ the Laird and his wife should never haf tah see.”

“It’s not going to kill me to go downstairs and get my hands a bit dirty,” Elain shot back, hands on her hips.

“It verra well might!” Alis said, a hand on her chest, like the thought of Elain going into the kitchens gave her heart palpitations.

“Yes, death by oats, I’m sure we’d be the shame of Scotland if that were to happen!”

“Aye, tis it exactly!” Alis replied, triumph in her dark eyes.

Elain frowned. She needed to try a different tactic. “I know the castle has been without a Lady of the House for quite some time—“

“Aye—the old Laird was a confirmed bachelor. I’ve been managin’ this keep for well over fifty years!”

“And you’ve done a wonderful job,” Elain said placatingly. She was being somewhat serious—despite being slightly drafty, barren and missing a few stones here and there, the castle at least ran smoothly from what she had seen, all held together by the slight woman standing in front of Elain. “But wouldn’t it be nice to have someone else helping you?”

“Aye, it would, but it won’t be ye,” Alis said with a finality that made Elain realize she lost this fight. “It’s no’ proper for the Lady of the Hoose to wander down to the kitchens, or, or, gallivant outside in the woods, or ask to dust, for goodness sake!”

“Well, perhaps I can—“

“No,” Alis said. “There are plenty of other things ye can do to occupy yer time, like reading, or sewing.”

“For twelve hours a day, though?” Elain cried.

“Ye’ll be much busier when ye and the Laird start having bairns,” Alis said shrewdly, and Elain’s stomach dropped. “If there’s any advice ye need on getting started…”

“Er, no, that’s quite alright,” Elain stammered, blushing wildly. “I think I do actually have a bonnet to sew, goodbye!”

Elain fled, Alis’s throaty chuckles fading behind her as she rushed down hallways and staircases, uncaring of where she was going. She found herself at the doors of the library and pushed them open, sighing with relief when she saw that Nesta had vacated the premises for a time.

Elain sat down wearily on a low couch. How embarrassing, for Alis to point out what surely everyone in the castle knew: that Elain and Lucien weren’t even resting in the same bed at night together, much less seeing enough of each other to make a child.

The embarrassment she felt now still paled in comparison to her wedding night two weeks ago, when she brazenly dropped the bedsheet hiding her bare body from Lucien’s gaze. Elain had been a little tipsy, true, and wanted to be the brave and fierce woman she needed to be to thrive in Scotland… and apparently she thought showing her naked body to her new husband would accomplish that.

Not that Lucien had objected. She had watched him staring at her flesh, dumbstruck, as his eye slowly traveled down her body, his mouth gaping like a fish. Elain had observed him, too, particularly the bulge under his kilt that grew and grew the more he openly looked at her body. Rather than frighten her, as her aunts had warned her, the sight of his covered manhood had only excited her.

She groaned. Elain hadn’t been able to even look Lucien in the face the next morning at a terse, private breakfast between the two of them, and she had excused herself at the first moment she was able. Since then, she and her husband had been playing a competitive game of cat and mouse, with the twist being neither one wanted to win. At this point, though, Elain wouldn’t object to running into Lucien, frustrated and embarrassed as she was, if only because it would give her something to do.

Elain absentmindedly grabbed a book laying on the table and flipped it open. She had been spending more time in the library here than she’d ever spent in one before, if only because it was somewhere different than her formal sitting room. There she could sew, or gaze out the window at the pretty loch with its brilliantly blue waters… and that was it.

Now, she found herself looking at a map of the Scottish highlands, with major towns and monuments drawn in along the numerous clan lines. Her eyes darted over the page—there were the Vanserra clan lines, far to the southeast; to the east were the Norse-descended MacDonnells. There was a large port town called Adriata to the south, a bog not too far from here, a sprawling settlement in the northern mountains called Velaris, a lonely island off the northeast coast with a single monument called Sangravah—

There were a few knocks on the door. Elain closed the book and tossed it on the table—it was probably Nesta, coming to check on Elain for the hundredth time in the past two weeks. “Come in,” she called dully.

“Ye look like ye could do with some cheering up.”

Elain lifted her head. The beautiful, red-haired woman Lucien had looked so happy talking to at the wedding was peering around the door, taking in Elain all alone in the library. “Unless ye prefer the company of books over people.”

Elain stared, too shocked at the woman’s abrupt appearance to offer a greeting or ask her who she was.

“You doona ken who I am, do ye?”

At Elain’s shaking head, the woman sighed deeply. “I hate to break it to ye, Elain, but yer husband is an eejit. Cannae even be bothered to let his poor wife know that company is coming. I’m Vassa Fraser, Laird of Clan Fraser.”

Elain was stunned. “Laird? Women can be lairds?”

Vassa shrugged, shutting the door behind her and walking towards Elain. “Me dad didna have anyone else to pass the title to.”

“And everyone just… accepted that?”

“Och, no,” Vassa said, smiling cruelly, “but I made it quite clear that if I wasna the next Laird of Clan Fraser, there would be no Clan Fraser at all.”

Elain swallowed, unnerved by this new Laird. “I apologize that I wasn’t here to greet you, Laird Fraser,” Elain said stiffly, resorting to the politeness that had been drilled into her at a young age.

“Tch, say nothing of it,” Vassa said, sitting down casually on a couch across from Elain. “It’s no’ yer fault yer fool of a husband cannae be bothered to notify his wife of visitors. I can give his ears a good clapping, if ye want me to.”

She spoke so plainly and intimately of Lucien. The jealousy that she’d felt at seeing Vassa and Lucien talking at their wedding flared inside her. “Do you know Lucien well, then?”

“Aye,” Vassa said cheerfully. “He helped me take the Clan’s title by force several years ago. He literally beat back the other contenders so I could claim the throne, so to speak. Lucien’s deadly with a sword when it comes down to it.”

There it was—more casual violence from these people. Elain wasn’t sure she’d ever fully get used to it. Still, the trepidation Elain felt towards Vassa was nothing compared to the envy she felt at this woman having some type of closing relationship with Lucien. “Is that the extent of your… relationship with Lucien?” she asked coldly.

Vassa’s eyes widened slightly at Elain’s frosty tone. “Aye, it is,” she said, far more gently than Elain thought she’d respond. “We’re verra close friends and fellow lairds—nothing more.”

Elain exhaled. “I—good, thank you.”

“Besides,” Vassa smirked, “I already have my hands full with my own man. He’s English himself.”

Elain perked up. “Really? How did he come to be up here?” With you , went unspoken.

“Part of the English military sent to crush the, er, slight rebellion my own wee fight to take the Fraser title caused,” Vassa admitted with a wince. “He took one look at me and threw down his weapons right then and there.”

“I see. Sounds… exciting.”

“More exciting than sitting alone in a library in a cold castle,” Vassa noted. “How are ye getting on?”

Elain blinked, startled at the abrupt shift in topic. “All right. I’m settling in.”

“Has Lucien been showing ye around? Helping ye?”

“Er, well, he’s very busy, isn’t he?”

Vassa huffed an unimpressed laugh. “Aye, but ye should be his priority at the moment. Tell me plainly: how are ye doing?”

Elain took a moment to study Vassa. Her bright red was cut short, falling to her shoulders in slight waves. A pair of the brightest blue eyes she’d ever seen gazed back at her steadily, undeterred by the foreign English woman in front of her. Vassa was fierce and proud, a true Scotswoman. She remembered Eris’s advice from the night of the wedding: speak plainly and be direct.

“I’m bored,” Elain began, sitting up straight. “I have nothing to do here. The staff won’t let me do anything they fear is unbecoming of my station—I can’t go outside the castle walls, nor do anything to help run the castle, even though I’m its new Lady.”

“Are ye surprised the staff at the castle are so similar to your English staff across the wall?”

Elain blushed. “Yes. I thought—“

“That we’d be boorish brutes eating out of our hands and sleeping on the ground?”

Elain scoffed. “Well now, I didn’t think it was quite that desperate up here.”

Vassa grinned. “That’s alright. The Highlands aren’t as fine as what yer accustomed to in England—”

“I’m not concerned about that,” Elain tsked. “I had few freedoms in England. I thought Scotland would be different, that as a married woman I’d have more allowances than before, but it’s been the opposite. I could at least take a stroll into the neighboring villages by myself back in England. It’s incredibly frustrating,” Elain ended bitterly.

Vassa sighed. “Aye, most Scottish women aren’t too limited in their day to day lives but yer no’ a Scottish woman. I know, it’s no’ fair,” Vassa said when Elain tried to interject. “Some folks this far north… don’t care much for the English, and Lucien is a new Laird himself. Suddenly he has a foreign new wife, rather than marrying the daughter of one of his minor lords or land owners, to gain their favor? Until people can be trusted, ye may need to stay safe in the castle,” she ended delicately.

"So I am to suffer alone until Lucien’s people decide they’re not going to harm me?”

“Well, ye have yer sisters for a time, don’t ye?”

Elain huffed a laugh. “My sisters are driving me insane with their constant worrying and nattering and complaining. My eldest Nesta does nothing but make snide remarks about the state of the castle and Lucien, and Feyre leaves in order to explore the countryside on her own, regardless of the consequences. They bicker about everything, then tut about how sorry they are that I’m stuck here for life.” Elain took several deep breaths to calm her racing heart. “It’s so annoying!”

Vassa chuckled. “I’ve no sisters but plenty of girl cousins—it’s the same everywhere. They’re always criticizing me and fussing over me in the same breath.”

“How do you deal with it?”

“I ignore them,” Vassa said simply. “At the end of the day most of them are a bunch of daft bampots that are taking their frustrations out on me. And I have Jurian to talk to, relieve some… stress, y’ken.”

“Must be nice,” Elain muttered.

Vassa arched an eyebrow. “Do ye not see Lucien enough?”

Elain held her tongue. Perhaps the worst indignity of her entire situation was that her new husband couldn’t even be bothered to check on her and make sure she was settling in alright. She knew Lucien was busy— running a clan was difficult—but Elain was apparently dead last on his list. The resentment towards Lucien that had slowly been growing ever since their wedding day threatened to bubble over, but Elain kept herself in line.

“That’s something I can discuss with him the next time I see him, whenever that might be,” Elain said bitterly.

Vassa swore and shook her head. “That fuckin’ doolally,” she muttered to herself. “Absolute roaster.” Vassa looked at Elain thoughtfully. “Do ye enjoy the gardens?”

Elain raised an eyebrow. “The flowers and trees, outside,” Vassa went on. “Do ye ken where it’s at?”

“Yes,” Elain said slowly, trying to figure out why Vassa changed the conversation so abruptly.

“It’s particularly lovely at night, under the full moon, like tonight,” Vassa replied, looking at Elain pointedly. “It might be good for ye to be out there. Tonight especially.”

“Er, alright,” Elain said unsteadily. “Perhaps, after dinner—“

“No! Ye should definitely wait until much later. Midnight, or just before.”

Elain tilted her head. “Is this some sort of joke?”

“Not at all, Elain,” Vassa said happily. “The garden is so lovely at night—“

“As you keep repeating.”

“That I think it would be verra good for ye to be out there tonight,” Vassa ended, looking far too pleased with herself.

“Perhaps I shall take a midnight stroll in the garden then,” Elain said slowly. She didn’t think Vassa was trying to trick her or be cruel but it was a very peculiar insistence to ask of Elain.

“Good, good!” Vassa stood up. “Is there anything else on your mind?”

“Actually,” Elain began slowly, remembering something that had been bothering her since her wedding night, “how exactly are Lucien and Eris Vanserra related? Lucien said they were brothers but they have different surnames.”

“Ah.” For the first time, Vassa looked supremely uncomfortable. “They, ah, they’re blood brothers.”

“So Lucien was born a Vanserra?”

“Aye,” Vassa hesitantly agreed, looking anywhere but Elain’s face.

“But he’s somehow Laird of Clan Macpherson?”

“His mother was a Macpherson.”

“If Eris is older than Lucien, why wasn’t he chosen to become Laird of Clan Macpherson?”

“Will ye look at the time,” Vassa said, looking around. “I have a meeting to attend—with Lucien, I’ll make sure to clap him around the ears for ye—so I’ll see you at dinner, aye?”

“Yes, but—oh! Goodbye!”

Vassa flitted away, her long tartan dress trailing after her. Elain was left with far more questions than answers.

Nesta came into the library shortly thereafter, and just like she had been doing the past two weeks, immediately began alternating between complaining about the castle and clucking after Elain. Feigning a headache, Elain rushed back to her bedroom and threw herself on her bed.

She shouldn’t have set such lofty expectations for herself, Elain realized. She was only setting herself up for disappointment and heartache. It was clear Lucien wanted nothing to do with her, and while she had hoped for that on the way to Scotland, Elain at least thought he’d spend some time getting to know her, or that she wouldn’t be a prisoner in her new home.

Elain sighed and began getting ready for dinner. She’d go to the garden tonight, as Vassa had urged, and she’d begin the long and sad process of accepting that she was in a lonely marriage for the rest of her days.

XXX

“So, how’s the pretty new English wife?” Tamlin asked.

Lucien grit his teeth. If one more person asked him how his marriage was going…

In truth, most days he forgot he was a married man. He and Elain slept in separate beds in separate rooms nowhere near each other, they never supped together, and they never exchanged more than a brief hello when they passed each other in the halls, and even that was rare.

And for what would be the best part of a marriage for any man, well… it was difficult to convince your wife to lay with you when she wouldn’t even look at you. Not that Lucien had even tried to convince Elain of the mutual benefits of a sexual relationship.

Was he tempted to risk everything he’d been planning for months on the chance to spend some time between his wife’s luscious thighs? God help him, he was. Whenever he thought of their disastrous wedding night, the only thing he could remember was a flushed and angry Elain proudly and unabashedly standing naked in front of him before his bed, her curvy body on full display. It was the most unexpected sight he’d ever witnessed, and Lucien thought that perhaps his English wife wasn’t quite the meek dormouse he had assumed she was. He had never gotten so hard just from seeing a bare woman before. His mind often wandered on its own, imagining what she tasted like, how she’d feel wrapped around his cock, what sounds would escape that pretty little mouth as he fucked her…

But he couldn’t get distracted. Between caring for his lands, the castle, managing his new trade routes and the fragile relationships he was cultivating with various lords and lairds of all of Scotland, and putting the finishing touches on his soon to be enacted plan, he had no time to spend any time with his wife, sexual or not. Lucien did feel a little guilty—he could imagine how frightened Elain must be, cooped up in a drafty castle with no one but her sisters to keep her company—but Lucien couldn’t think of that right now. At least, here in the castle, she was safe.

“She’s fine,” Lucien answered eventually. Probably true.

“Is she adjusting to Scotland well enough?”

“Er, aye, I believe so. Some of the food is a bit off putting for her, but she’ll get there.”

“It’s a shame her father left so soon. Perhaps that would have settled her down a bit.”

“Small mercies,” Lucien muttered. Mr. Archeron had hopped onto a departing wagon train the morning after the wedding, barely waiting to say goodbye to his daughters before he left to inspect the trade routes and roads to which he had bartered his daughter and forced Lucien into.

“Do ye see her much throughout the day?”

“Eh, not so much,” Lucien answered awkwardly. “We, uh, both appreciate our solitude.”

Tamlin nodded like he understood this perfectly. “All of the sisters appear to appreciate their own solitude.”

Lucien grunted noncommittally, too focused at the moment on balancing the estate’s ledger. They were only slightly in the red at the moment, rather than swimming in it like in previous months.

“Nesta does spend a significant time alone in the library,” Lucien said. “And Elain…” What was Elain up to? He certainly never saw her enough to ask, and none of the staff bothered to keep him up to date on her comings and goings. “Elain is learning how to run the estate,” Lucien finished lamely.

“Feyre spends much of her time outdoors,” Tamlin supplied. He stood at the window, staring out over the wide forests that stretched beyond what their eyes could see. “She’s quite the huntress.”

“Interesting,” Lucien deadpanned, trying to look engrossed in his work so Tamlin would take the hint and leave.

“Perhaps I will arrange a hunting party and ask her to come.”

“Sure.”

“And perhaps I’ll invite her to my lands when she and her sister depart, for a short stay,” Tamlin went on, eyeing Lucien from the side of his gaze.

“If it pleases ye,” Lucien said, making a show of rubbing his eye and fiddling with his eyepatch.

Tamlin hummed. “I think I see Feyre in the courtyard now—perhaps I’ll see if she needs someone to accompany her.”

“Aye, aye, very good,” Lucien said, quickly standing up and escorting a thoughtful Tamlin out of his study with a few thumps on the back. “Feel free to borrow one of the horses—not Ajax, he’s a bit of a bastard, but one of the mares, like Daffodil.”

Finally Lucien was alone, but not for long. Three soft raps on his door, then Jurian quietly let himself into Lucien’s office.

“Where’s Vassa?”

“Said she needed to make a detour before our meeting. She'll be along when she’s ready. Is everything all packed? Food, clothes, maps, weapons?”

“Aye,” Lucien answered. “I’ve double checked everything, left plenty of notes without the exact details to Dougal, ye and Vassa and her men will patrol my borders while I’m gone—I think we’ve done everything we can.”

“What are you doing if the weather delays you?”

“Press on even at night,” Lucien answered, their practiced what-if scenarios fresh in his mind. “Trade Ajax for a fresh horse, if it comes to it.”

“And what if the roads aren’t as friendly as you expect?”

“Put my sword to good use,” Lucien said darkly. He didn’t want to have to kill anyone on his journey, but if it came between him and his goal…

“Not your pistol?”

“Only for emergencies. I doona have much ammunition, and it’s more for decoration than protection,” Lucien admitted, taking the heavy gun out from his desk. It was one of the few possessions he had taken from Clan Vanserra when he left, more as a final statement to Laird Vanserra than anything else. It was covered in bronze plating and delicate, black filigree along the barrel and chamber. “Lot of good this’ll do me on the road.”

They continued rehearsing the plan. A nervous weight settled in the bottom of Lucien’s stomach. So much was riding on him, and so much could go wrong at any one moment.

The door to his study slammed open and Vassa strode in, her eyes blazing with fury. Both Lucien and Jurian shrunk back as she advanced on them.

“Ye, Lucien, are an ass!” she shrieked, swinging her arm back and punching his shoulder, then unsheathing her dirk and pressing it to his bare neck.

“What the hell are ye on about?” Lucien gasped, his shoulder aching and heart racing. He tried to lean away from the metal at his skin but Vassa only pressed it harder against him.

“Have ye been completely neglecting Elain for the past two weeks? She’s miserable and lonely! Have ye even uttered a friendly word to her at all?”

“I’ve been busy, as you well know!” Lucien snapped. “After this is taken care of—“

“Oh, ye were just casually going to go on yer way and come back months later and expect Elain to be waiting like a faithful pet? What’s wrong with ye, ye daft fuckin’ fool!”

Lucien flushed. “It’s safer for her this way!”

“Perhaps, but ye could have at least gotten to know her a bit, taken her for a damn walk, do the bare fuckin’ minimum a husband should do for his wife!” Vassa’s eyes were blazing and her hand was shaking with rage. Lucien winced as he felt the trembling dirk in her hand nick the soft skin of his neck.

“Vassa,” Jurian said sharply, “I doubt slashing Lucien’s neck would make Elain any happier.”

“I’m no’ sure about that,” she said darkly, withdrawing her blade and sheathing it. “She asked me what happened to ye that made ye take the name Macpherson.”

Lucien froze, his hand half-way to his throat. “And what did ye tell her?”

“That she’s better off asking ye directly. And ye will, I’ll make sure of it.”

Lucien relaxed. “Aye, I will. But if I tell her that, I’ll have to tell her everything.”

“And what’s so bad about that?”

“The less she knows, the safer she’ll be,” Lucien snapped. He brushed his hand over his throat; his thumb came back slightly bloody. “Ye know what some of those Lairds would do to someone like Elain if they turned their attention to her, just based on where she’s from. She’s so innocent and delicate—“

Vassa snorted. “I doona ken about that, based on what she had to say to me. But promise ye’ll talk to her before ye leave.”

“I promise,” Lucien said, his stomach tightening even further as he lied to his dearest friends.

It was far too dangerous to trust Elain with this, to bring her into his closet circle so soon after meeting her. Afterwards, when everything had settled, he would woo Elain properly—she deserved that, and selfishly, Lucien didn’t plan on staying celebite for the rest of his life.

To get to that point, he had this one final task in front of him. Unrolling a map, the three of them bent over his desk, making the final preparations for his journey.

XXX

Dinner that night was an awkward affair.

As there were numerous guests at the castle—Vassa and Jurian, and another Laird friend of Lucien’s, Tamlin Stewart, plus Nesta and Feyre—the staff had nicely done up the ornate wooden head table that hadn’t been used since Elain’s wedding night. A fine lace tablecloth was spreading over the table, and the most delicious scents and foods—mouthwatering roast chickens, the skin golden brown and crispy; individual rabbit pies, spiced and slightly sweet; potatoes basted in butter, slathered in salt and mustard; delicate and herby greens; and freshly baked loaves of yeasty bread—filled the hall.

Elain sipped her wine. Perhaps Alis had a point—Elain would only be a nuisance in the kitchen for a feast like this.

Nesta sat stiff in her chair, shooting small, distrustful glares at the Scots around her. Elain hadn’t told her much of what was—or wasn’t—happening between her and Lucien, feigning marital privacy, but it seems Nesta still found a reason to be angry with her hosts.

Feyre had no such qualms. Her and Tamlin—a hulking beast of a man, with wavy, shoulder length blonde hair, green eyes and a crooked nose from one too many fights—sat together at one end of the table conversing quietly with each other.

Elain paused and took a moment to study her youngest sister. She’d rarely seen Feyre around the castle in the past two weeks and had quickly stopped wondering where she’d gone off to each day when she showed up for dinner each night. Feyre had proven she could take care of herself; why should Elain bother worrying after her?

Elain thought she had an idea of how Feyre was occupying her time as she watched her younger sister giggle at something Tamlin muttered to her. Elain nearly dropped her potatoes at the sound. Feyre, giggling like a schoolgirl, at a man, no less. It was nearly as foreign to Elain as hearing the same sound from Lucien.

Speaking of her husband…

Lucien looked more tense than usual. Elain could see the tightness in his shoulders and jaw, and the way he gripped his utensils to eat. Elain stared, transfixed, as one of his large hands poured himself another ale, as the muscles in his forearms flexed, his golden brown skin seeming to glow despite the dim firelight in the room—

“And how was yer day Elain?”

Vassa was politely looking at Elain as if she didn’t know exactly how her day was. She pulled her gaze away from Lucien’s body.

“It was fine. At this rate I’ll have the entire contents of the library read this time next year.”

There was a thump and Lucien suddenly grunted. “And do ye enjoy reading?” he asked in a pained voice.

Elain furrowed her brows. Vassa was looking at her far too innocently. “It’s an acceptable way to pass the time.”

“Anything in particular caught yer eye?”

Elain paused. “I’ve enjoyed flipping through the books on Scottish history and the maps of the clans, so I can begin to better familiarize myself with the different Lairds.”

“Oh!” Lucien said, his eye widening. “That’s… aye, verra good.”

And dinner ended exactly like it had every night before: with awkward silence between her and Lucien.

Elain wrapped her shawl tighter around her shoulders later that evening. There was a chill in the air. If she were back in England, this would be a perfect summer’s night.

But she might as well forget all about England and her family and everything from her old life, Elain thought miserably, sitting on a stone bench in the back of the garden. Her life was in Scotland now, and as a woman, that life now revolved around her husband.

What would her life be like if she had married Graysen, rather than Lucien? She’d actually know her husband, and would have had a choice in the matter. She’d be in a familiar setting around people she knew and understood.

But it would be the same monotony she’d spent her life up until now living. With Graysen in the militia, she would rarely see him, perhaps only a few weeks a month or less, if he were called away. She would spend her days reading or sewing or entertaining guests, would receive countless visits from her sisters, and would most likely have a child by the time of their one year anniversary. It would be the same sort of dreary existence that Elain found herself in now.

The only difference was that all the time and effort her mother put into raising Elain into the perfect Englishwoman wouldn’t have been wasted on some uncouth Scotsman. Though even that wasn’t fair. She’d seen enough from those working at the castle and Vassa to realize that the Scots weren’t the maniacal, faerie worshiping heathens the pamphlets made them out to be. It was just Lucien who couldn’t be bothered to be a decent husband.

Elain huffed a breath, standing up. This was stupid—Vassa was clearly playing a joke on her, getting some sort of sick amusement at the idea of an Englishwoman freezing herself at nothing but her own insistence. She stood up and made her way across the garden when a sudden movement caught her eye.

The light from the moon glanced upon a flash of red along the back wall. Elain wasn’t sure if she had imagined it until she heard a scraping sound come from the stone wall behind her.

“Vassa?” Elain asked, moving towards the sound. “Vassa, is that you?”

The sound stopped. Elain rounded a large bush and came face to face—or face to chest, rather—with Lucien.

“Oh!” she gasped, nearly falling down before Lucien caught her by her shoulders and steadied her. They looked at each other in shock. Elain could see Lucien’s remaining eye widen with surprise before he let go of Elain like he had been burned. “I—I didn’t know—“

“What are ye doing out here?” Lucien asked, frustration filling his voice. He hadn’t managed to relax since dinner; his shoulders and neck still looked tight.

Elain’s eyes widened at Lucien’s tone. He seemed frustrated with her ? “Is this garden not part of my new home, and am I not allowed to wander the castle freely?” Elain snapped back.

“Aye, but no’ when it's night and pitch dark out! Why are ye out here?”

Elain considered telling him that Vassa told Elain to be out here, but decided Lucien didn’t need to know everything Elain did. “Perhaps I enjoy visiting the garden at night, when the light of the moon can… shine down on all the lovely plants.”

Lucien stared at her incredulously. “What sort of dumb English bollocks is that? Is this how ye spend yer nights, skulking about in the dark?”

She pursed her lips, a hand on her hip. “And what if it is?”

“It’s a bit odd and I’d prefer it if ye brought someone with ye when ye take yer midnight strolls,” he said, looking up at the bright moon anxiously. “Come on, I’ll get ye in—“

“No! I’m fine out here!”

Lucien tsked. “I can see ye shivering. Stop being so stubborn, lass, and come inside with me.” He reached out a hand for her.

Elain took a step away from him. “I don’t want to!” Elain was aware she sounded like a petulant child but Lucien’s tone of voice grated on her, her resentment towards him rising within her. How dare he try to tell her what to do, when he hadn’t spoken a word to her in days before tonight?

“And what were you doing out here? You’re also ‘skulking about’ in the dark, same as me.”

“I’m, er, conducting a sweep of the grounds,” Lucien replied, looking anywhere but at Elain. “We’ve reports of seeing foxes in the hen houses.”

Elain raised an eyebrow. “Interesting. And you thought the middle of the night—in the garden, nowhere near the livestock—was the best time to conduct this search?” She looked him up and down. “And aren’t you a bit overdressed to look for a simple fox?”

Lucien avoided looking at her. He was wearing a kilt, the same green, dark blue and gray pattern he’s worn on their wedding day, knee length worn brown boots, a thick white shirt and a brown jacket. A dirk hung from his hips, and his back—

“Is that a crossbow?”

“It’s a verra wilely fox,” Lucien said evasively, looking at the moon again. “Let me get ye back inside.”

Elain glared at him. “First you compare me to a dog, then you ignore me for days, brazenly lie to me about what you’re doing, and attempt to coddle me like a child. What a fine husband you are!”

“Well, yer acting a bit like a bairn at the moment!” Lucien hissed, advancing towards her and reaching for her again. “Come along!”

“Ah, yes, are you afraid that the fox you’re hunting is going to attack me?” Elain sneered, dodging him again. “At least being attacked by a fox would be more exciting than how I spend my days now!”

For once, Lucien looked a bit guilty. “I’m sorry, Elain,” he said quietly, grimacing slightly. “I ken the past few weeks have been difficult for ye. I’m a bit busy with… some things at the moment.”

Elain recognized that Lucien appeared sincere in his apology, but she was too worked up, too angry to accept his kindness and docility so easily. “Too busy that you couldn’t bother to come find me and talk to me at all in the past two weeks?” Elain goaded.

The guilt vanished from Lucien’s face, replaced with a look that reminded Elain of their wedding night. “Doors open from both sides, ye ken.” He looked at her fully, glancing down to gaze at her body before settling on her lips. Elain was suddenly aware that she was only wearing a thin shift and the shawl around her shoulders. “But now that ye have me here—“

Elain hadn’t realized she was backed against the garden wall until Lucien stalked towards her and Elain couldn’t back away. She gasped as Lucien towered over her, his strong arms bracketing her head.

“Well, wife,” Lucien said huskily. “What do ye want to talk about?”

This was completely unexpected coming from Lucien, given his frosty behavior before, but not entirely unwelcome. Elain mentally cursed herself for being so weak when it came to Lucien, that all it took was a heated glance to melt her, before she remembered her anger. “You—you’ve been ignoring me!”

“Aye, I have,” he said softly, lowering his head so he was barely inches from her face. This close to Lucien, Elain could make out a tiny scratch on his throat. “Though it pains me so.”

“Does it really?”

“Aye, it does.”

“You’ve a horrible way of showing it,” Elain snapped, fighting to resist Lucien’s charm as his warm lips brushed her temple. She gasped softly at the touch, and felt her knees start to shake. This close, she could smell him so clearly, his long hair dancing across her face: crackling wood from a fireplace on a cold, rainy day, a touch of sweetness like a freshly baked apple pie, and a deep, rich scent that reminded her of the ale they served at dinner. Elain closed her eyes to steady herself. “And I’ve been so lonely and bored here.”

“Verra unfortunate,” Lucien whispered, his lips barely landing over her full cheek and continuing their downward path.

“You couldn’t bother to let me know that we had visitors today. It made me look–” Elain shuddered as one of his large hands settled on the indent of her waist, his long fingers spanning her body and tightening against her flesh– “very foolish as the new Lady of the House.”

Based on the shaky breath he let out, Elain knew Lucien was as taut as she was. “A tragedy of the highest order.”

“And, and,” Elain swallowed, losing her train of thought as Lucien kissed his way along her jaw. He stooped down to trail feather-light kisses down the column of her throat, and Elain couldn’t stop the small moan that escaped her lips, especially when his lips continued going down, down, down…

She felt Lucien chuckle against the sensitive skin of her throat, his warm breath dancing across her skin like embers from a fire. “And what, Elain?”

“And you left me alone and naked on our wedding night.”

Lucien groaned, pressing his lips into her forehead. “Which I’ve sorely regretted. How would ye have me apologize to ye?”

Elain looked up at Lucien through her eyelashes. His face was half-cast in shadow; all she could see were the silver scars on his face and the rough eyepatch covering the space where one of his eyes should have been. He looked dangerous and feral, and Elain felt desire suddenly and swiftly course through her body like a raging river.

It made absolutely no sense. Elain shouldn’t desire him like she did right now, especially after the abominable way he had treated her and the rude things he had said to her, even if he had apologized. She had been raised to expect gentle civility and respectful kindness from her peers and eventual husband.

But Elain didn’t want gentle or kind from Lucien, at least not now. His lips lightly sucked the skin under her ear, and Elain couldn’t contain her moan. What Lucien was doing to her body with so little effort was unnatural, like a clever and dangerous fae trying to seduce and tempt her into running away with him, and she was powerless to resist.

Elain had never seen or met such a wild and dangerous man as Lucien, a man who wore his mysteries like a cloak and for whom violence was like a second skin.

Elain wanted him desperately.

“You owe me a proper wedding kiss,” Elain breathed.

He groaned softly, then barely brushed his warm lips against her cheek, a whisper of a promise of more to come. “Like that?”

“I thought the Scottish had more fire in them than that,” Elain shot back, breathing hard and keeping her sharp eyes on Lucien.

“Aye, we do,” Lucien growled, his eye ablaze. His hand skimmed down her waist to her hip and roughly squeezed her flesh, his touch branding her even through her nightgown as Lucien tugged her close to him. Elain gasped at his aggressive touch—it was exactly what she needed, a way to feel something and let out some of the frustration that had been growing inside her the past two weeks. Elain reached up and gripped his biceps as hard as she could, wanting Lucien to feel the same pain and yearning she felt for him.

Based on the groan he let out, Lucien understood her loud and clear. “It seems my wee English wife isn’t the quiet, demure lady I thought she was,” Lucien rasped. Quick as a hawk, his hand not gripping her hip cradled her jaw. Elain stopped breathing, the fire in his eye turning her to stone as his thumb rested on her full lips.

Elain was truly ensnared under Lucien’s spell—that was the only explanation she had as her tongue darted out and barely stroked the pad of his calloused thumb. Just from that small touch, Elain got a taste of rich, loamy, soil, freshly washed linens, and an unknown, bitter aroma as they all wafted across her tongue.

Lucien slowly dragged his thumb down her lips. “An e bana-bhuidseach thu, air mo chuir gu mo mhilleadh?” he asked thoughtfully, almost to himself. His hand stroked her jaw, his resolve hardening. “Damn e uile—bidh mi gu toileach air mo bheò-ghlacadh leat, a ghràidh.”

Elain had no idea what Lucien was saying but she didn’t care, not when he was staring at her with more feeling and want in one eye than anyone with two eyes had ever looked at her. Elain couldn’t breathe, not when his gaze darted to her lips, not when he gently tilted her head back, not when he licked his own thick lips, and not when he slowly lowered his head towards her. She had never wanted anything more in her life than to feel Lucien’s lips against hers, and Elain knew, when his lips touched her own, his fire would start an inferno within her that neither of them would be able to put out—

Somewhere close by, a twig snapped loudly, followed by some loud jeers and laughter. Elain and Lucien froze as the sounds on the other side of the garden wall gradually dissipated away, the silence of the night overtaking them once again.

Elain glanced up at Lucien, who looked stricken, all traces of his desire gone. “I’m sorry,” he whispered. “We—I shouldna’ have let it get that far.”

Her heart cracked a little. Her and Lucien had finally started forging a connection between the two of them, and he instantly regretted it when it was over. Elain pushed him away and righted herself, ignoring the throbbing between her legs.

“You’re right,” Elain said angrily, tears burning the corner of her eyes. “God forbid you spend time getting to know your wife!”

“Elain, I didna mean—“

“I think you meant exactly what you said. Leave me.”

“I can walk ye back inside.”

“I don’t want you to!” Elain snapped, her vision blurry. “You ignore me, play with me, then say such hurtful things.” She balled her fists up, her nails digging into the palms of her hands. Her eyes stung with unshed tears, but she refused to cry. Elain looked Lucien straight in the eye. “I had very little say in this marriage, but I’m at least trying to make it work. You’re a horrible husband and I want you to leave now.”

Lucien looked devastated. “Elain—“

“Leave me!” she yelled, her resolve crumbling. “Just leave.”

Elain was aware of Lucien walking away but of little else. Sobbing, she made her way to a bench and sat down, letting all the frustration and anger and sadness leave her, wishing, with all her heart, that she had listened to Feyre and leapt from their carriage and gone back to England.

XXX

Translations:

An e bana-bhuidseach thu, air mo chuir gu mo mhilleadh?: Are you a witch, sent to ruin me?

Damn e uile - bidh mi gu toileach air mo bheò-ghlacadh leat, a ghràidh: Damn it all-I will gladly be enchanted by you, my darling.

#elucien #elucien fanfic #a court of thorns and roses #elain archeron #lucien vanserra #acotar #the idiots be idioting in this chapter #i tell you what #this is about as tense and angsty as I get #i dont know how some of yall write chapters on chapters of angst #my poor little heart can't take it #my fic #my fics #would anyone be interested in a tag list?#i can also ask this separately as its own post #but let me know!

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ineffableaddiction · 1 month

Text

Part 12: Meetings

A Good Omens Fan Fic

The day had been perfect according to Muriel. Crowley had taken them for a drive in his car… the first time they’d ever been in a car! The two of them went to a park near a river and sat on a bench watching the people, with Crowley teaching them what the humans were doing, and explaining reasons why what the humans did might make sense in human terms. What was explained didn’t always make sense to Muriel, but they assumed it would take some time since humans are weird and their actions weren’t always logical.

Crowley had dropped Muriel off at the bookshop and drove off. Going into the shop, they contemplated opening it up again in order to practice being more human-like. Determining it best to discuss this option with Crowley when he returned, Muriel turned their focus on trying other clothing styles. They wanted to keep the current outfit, so when they tried on a new style, the previous clothing appeared neatly stored in a wardrobe. Muriel smiled, thinking they must be getting the hang of appearing more human.

Parking his Bentley in an old but familiar location, Crowley attempted to relax. There was too much running through his mind, and he needed to be away from the bookshop for a time to process things. Solitude sometimes suited him.

He had been chasing hope, but the timing was off. What he really needed now was to focus on how to prevent whatever it was that was being planned. “It seems that Aziraphale has everything under control in heaven. I wish I could say the same about Earth.”

Crowley had a habit of talking to himself. Stemming from a time with few people and little to do, it kept his mind occupied. There is a danger in too much solitude, too much quiet, even for fallen angels.

A rapping on the window pulled his attention to Shax standing outside the Bentley’s door. He rolled the window down but said nothing.

“What do you have for me?” Shax looked at Crowley expectantly.

“Um… about what?” Then, “What are you doing on Earth? Aren’t you supposed to be tormenting demons or something?”

“Furfur…. Well, he didn’t work out. We haven’t chosen his replacement.” Shax acted like this was a normal thing.

“Ah, gotcha.” Looking at Shax, Crowley raised an eyebrow, waiting for her to continue with her line of inquiry.

Trying to look menacing, but not quite accomplishing it, Shax started again. “What have you learned about what your bookseller is planning?”

Sighing and looking unimpressed, Crowley just stared at her for a moment. “I thought we’d discussed this before. I don’t talk to him. He’s up there,” he pointed up, “I’m down here.” After another pause, he continued, “I do, however, have alternative ways of gathering information. Slower, yes… but it all accomplishes the same thing.”

“Well… ?” Shax was getting impatient.

“It seems that our former lot wants to end the world.”

“How will they accomplish that? We need to be prepared.”

“The how I haven’t quite figured out yet. The when though… that I’ve narrowed down. It should start in 5-7 years according to my sources.” Crowley was tired of these games and wanted to be alone more than ever.

“Let me know when you have any more information.” And with that, Shax disappeared.

Crowley was finally on his own. “Alright, now what?” After a bit of time, an idea planted itself, slowly blooming into one of the most beautiful things he’d ever grown. With a small smile, Crowley convinced himself, “Yeah… that just might work.”

Aziraphale walked, towards what exactly he was unsure of. He assumed that he’d been doing a good job as supreme archangel, having spent time fostering relationships and trying to improve things. The suggestion box had been a great success, and had resulted in several areas of great improvement in the quality of celestial existence. The forthcoming event on Earth had been planned, and the groundwork was laid to make it successful. Still, he was unsure what awaited him.

Appearing in the location of the summons, he waited until the Metatron arrived. As opposed to a giant floating head, as Crowley would say, he appeared fully formed. This surprised Aziraphale. As far as he knew, the Metatron had never presented himself in this manner in heaven.

“Hello Aziraphale. I think it’s time we had a conversation, don’t you?” Not waiting for a response, he continued, “We must discuss the plans. I’ve been advised that some changes are needed.”

“Changes?” Aziraphale was confused, and nervous. He should be careful, he reminded himself.

“Yes. It appears that the timeline has moved up from what we originally discussed.”

“May I ask who made these changes?” Aziraphale was confused. The only one that he could possibly be referencing is God herself, wasn’t it?

The Metatron gave Aziraphale a hard look. “I am the voice of God. What is said to me is said to God, and what is said through me comes directly from God.”

Smiling slightly, Aziraphale cautiously asked, “Would it be possible for me to meet with God? For something as important as this, I’d…”

Interrupting Aziraphale mid-sentence, the Metatron advised, “I’m afraid that is not possible Aziraphale. God isn’t accepting visitors, but is busy with other things. All of her plans will be communicated through me, so we know what is to be done.”

“Very good then. What does God wish to be done now?” Aziraphale had a feeling of dread, and the reminder of the conversation justified those feelings.

After intently focusing on the changes, Aziraphale nodded. “I will begin working on this right away. I would like to make a request, if you don’t mind.”

After receiving affirmation, Aziraphale explained, “With these new changes, I believe that it is time for me to go back to Earth for a brief visit. I’ll need to relay the changes to those who are planning this on Earth.” He paused, and decided to continue. “I would also request permission to try to convince Crowley to come back to heaven. I believe he could be very useful.”

The Metatron responded too quickly, as if he’d been expecting this. “Do you think you could change his mind Aziraphale?”

“I’m not certain. I haven’t talked to Crowley since I came back to heaven, but I’d like to believe that there is a possibility. He’s had plenty of time to think about the offer. If anyone could possibly convince him, it would be me.” Aziraphale added, almost as an afterthought, “But I do understand if that isn’t allowed. We have a lot of work ahead of us.” Smiling brightly, Aziraphale tried to appear as unconcerned as possible.

“Our plans are not to be discussed unless Crowley agrees to return. You have leave, but not for too long. We need you here.” The Metatron was evaluating Aziraphale. Since his return to heaven, there has been nothing to indicate any resistance. If they could get Crowley back to their side, it would be beneficial. “If he refuses, we will need to determine who his loyalties are with. I need you to find out whether he’s working with hell or protecting the humans.”

Aziraphale continued smiling. “Of course.”

“Very well then.” The Metatron started walking away, then turned back to Aziraphale. “It would be a shame if Crowley chose the wrong side.” He then continued on his initial path.

Aziraphale sighed, wondering if there was actually a possibility Crowley would agree. He doubted it, but had to try. War was approaching, and much faster than any of them were ready for.

#good omens #crowley #aziraphale #ineffable husbands #good omens fanfiction #metatron #muriel

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hamburgerhelpersotherhand · 11 months

Text

Snap

Will Graham x Reader

Warnings: brief crime scene description, violence.

Notes: Will becomes your chiro. HONESTLY -- this isn't even an x reader, at this point. However... what is an x reader, if not an opportunity to discover facets of relationships that exceed platonic and romantic? Anyway, I wanted this out of my drafts.

It was nearly morning by the time you’d arrived to the scene.

An unpleasant phone call had roused you from your sleep, interrupting what was meant to be one of your only nights off from work. Days typically felt endless, and the few nights you had to yourself shortened considerably. It hadn’t been for nothing, however… For the entire span of a month, an unavoidable tension and haunting silence settled upon the precinct. These types of cases rarely made for good conversation anyway, but you'd be damned if you said you didn't want the current atmosphere to just snap and dispel back into the playful chatter that once occupied the air. In short: you never quite found yourself catching a break.

When you finally managed to roll over, stretch your arm out, and answer the call, you were met with the familiar gruff voice of one Jack Crawford.

While he talked, you grunted in acknowledgment. Or, at least, you had hoped the strained sound that escaped your throat evoked it all the same. Either way, you agreed to his unpleasant request and returned the phone to your side. You had desperately wished for more sleep -- at every word and syllable that left Jack's mouth, you held on to the dream that he'd allow you some rest before the day would begin. Jack didn't care about your aspirations today.

And so you had begun by dragging yourself out of bed, pulling your smelly clothes out of the hamper and back over your arms and legs, and pouring yourself whatever was left of your cold, day-old brewed coffee. You hung your badge on your hip and decidedly brought your flashlight along. It was still dark out and most wouldn't be awake for another five hours. Unfortunately for yourself, you weren't most.

The car ride was achingly tedious, with street lights feeling brighter than you'd remembered them being.

When you slowed near the address, you parked across the street, on the side of the road, and stepped out of the car. Outside the house, right across from you was the cruiser tasked with an overnight stay, overlooking the crime scene's privacy.

You made your way over to the vehicle, noticing the officer inside had dozed off to sleep. He's from the precinct, you recognized. You lightly tapped the window.

He nearly jumped at the sound, opening his eyes and looking your way. A beat later, he starts the cruiser and rolls down his window.

"Has Graham left yet?" you ask, opening your flashlight and pointing it toward the ominously parked car behind him.

The officer rubs his eyes thoroughly, looking in his rearview mirror. The only other car on the road, a Volvo, was parked directly behind him. It was empty.

"No, he hasn't. Did you get Crawford's call?" he responds, and you yawn before shuffling through the pockets of your coat.

"Yes... He's still inside then?" the officer looks past you, watching the home's kitchen light turn on. He straightens his back suddenly and you turn to watch the house.

"Someone definitely is."

You turn back to him in an instant and flash him your badge, exasperatedly.

"I'll get him," you say, sighing. "but, hey... maybe don't sleep on the job?"

You pulled the caution tape over your head as you passed through and made your way toward the front door.

It was quiet inside, and dark. An ongoing investigation meant the bank couldn't put her back on the market just yet — not that she'd sell well in this state, without a thorough and deep cleaning. An entire family being butchered in their own home wouldn't quite leave the air of such a tight-knit town either.

The light in the kitchen suddenly turns on, noticeable by the faintest click and a sudden warm glow that peered through the doorless arch. You stopped yourself from moving any more, noticing yellow evidence tags littering the floor where dried blood grotesquely stretched. Without the sudden light, you might've stepped right into it.

"Will?" you call out.

Nothing but silence.

Stepping into the kitchen, you’re quick to notice the toppled-over vase, dead flowers, and scattered glass shards. With a quick look around, you see the light switch across the room and by the dining room arch. The thought of shutting the lights off crosses your mind, and so you make your way further into the room and around the kitchen island, careful not to step on anything on your way. The yellow tags continued into this room.

You jump at the sight of Will, his body walking into the kitchen with only a few steps from the dark dining room. The strangest goosebumps suddenly littered your skin.

You shift uneasily.

“Will, you shouldn’t be here at this hour.” You state bluntly, but he should already know this. He doesn’t react as he continues to stare you down with familiar, distant eyes.

Will Graham is not a violent man, or rather… he doesn’t give the impression of ever having been one. You recall the few past instances of him interacting with evidence — that same glassy look in his eye as he’d do so. Jack was always there to catch his attention and to snap him back to the present but, much like you find yourself now, you’ve not always been so fortunate to have him around.

“C’mon. If you’re not feeling great, I’ll drive you home. We can pick your car up in the morning.”

Will’s lips move momentarily, but nothing reaches you. He’s too quiet. You take a sudden step forward and, at that same moment, his hand shoots up to the light switch. The lights are shut off. In that mere fraction of a second, your hand reaches for your gun, no — your flashlight — and you stumble back.

“Will —!“ you begin to call out, unhooking the cool metal object. Just as it unfastens, something makes contact with your gut.

You keel forward with a wheeze, your hands grabbing onto what you immediately realize to be a coat — Will's coat. You hold onto him for dear life, chasing your breath with quick and uneasy gasps.

You make an attempt to speak, despite breaths of air being difficult to come by, but a firm and quick jab hits you straight in the throat.

No sound escapes you as you fall backward, hitting your back against the solid wood floors just outside the kitchen and displacing many of the yellow evidence tags. You're stunned, curling in on yourself the very instant you landed, and just as your mind attempts to reel itself back together. You can't find the air you so desperately need — you can't move off your own volition — hell, you're certain you dropped your flashlight back there.

Unfocused, you barely take notice of Will's few steps forward before a click sends a bright light straight into your watering eyes. You squeeze them shut and flinch away, your eyelids suddenly painted with bright blinking spots. He must've picked it up.

After a moment, he turns the light upwards and the brightness becomes more bearable. A few blinks bring your sight back onto him, a sinister upcast glow on his grizzly face as his eyes remain vacant and familiar. You wheeze uncomfortably and hold your neck.

"I punch you in the throat so you don't make a sound. Your screams would alert the neighbours," he says, a tilt of his head giving away his roaming yet unregistering stare. "and we can't have that."

He takes a step forward and, just as his free hand reaches for you, your leg shoots upward to kick him in the jaw. He trips back into the kitchen with a crash, the flashlight waving about as pure darkness comes and goes, and you waste little time rolling over to crawl as far away as possible. The floor is sticky and unpleasant.

With a grunt, Will rights himself and walks back into the living room, the flashlight pointed to your back and casting your shadow along the floor. He gently places it at his feet and reaches you in only a few drawn-out steps, dropping to your level and restraining your arms behind your back with ease. Before you are the large shadow of his silhouette, looming over with sinister intent.

“I focus my attention on the spine.” He grunts, reeling your arms in further and causing a painful pull to your chest. “At this point, permanent damage doesn’t matter.”

Another wheeze leaves you as you attempt to plead, desperate. He hears nothing as he places his knee on your upper back and shoves down with all his weight.

#will graham x reader #hannibal x reader #hannibal lecter x reader #yandere will graham #yandere #yandere hannibal #x reader

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secondsonaym · 1 year

Text

The Vessel Project - Just How Life Goes [Kallamar 2]

(read on Ao3 here)

--------------------------

After eating with Lord Verchiel--A wonderful meal of various kinds of seafood as well as imported goods from the other territories--I decided to take a walk around the temple, and properly acquaint myself with the layout. Despite having lived here for some time, I had never actually looked around too much, and only knew a few other members of the order.

The first ones I ran into were Peridot and Amber, two lobsters that served as Lord Verchiel’s personal guard. They stood just outside the archway to the small chamber where we had eaten, and gave me simple nods when I passed by. I figured talking to them would distract them from their duty, so I merely left it at that as I moved down the hall.

Strangely enough, I found myself drawn to a certain room in the eastern portion of the temple, near where everyone’s sleeping quarters were. I could smell a distinct mix of herbs, strong but not necessarily offensive, long before I reached the door.

Poking my head in, I could see that this looked to be an infirmary. Several cots were lined against the walls, with only a couple on the far end of the room being occupied by sleeping forms.

A few shelves stood at the front of the room, stocked with various bottles and jars of substances I didn’t recognize, as well as bandages and materials for setting splints. I was so enthralled with reading the various labels, that I didn’t notice the figure at the desk just a few feet away, only managing to snap to attention when they spoke up.

“Hello, do you feel unwell?”

My head snapped to the source of the voice: A shark, looking up from a book to gaze at me expectantly. Her expression was soft and kind, but something about her surprised me to the point I couldn’t respond right away.

Instead of an eye, a purple gem sat in her left eye socket. Though I was used to the crystal adornments the members of the order had, I had never seen one such as this.

“Hah, yes, people do tend to be a bit in awe when they first see it.” She laughed, gently touching it with the tip of her fin. “A gift from Lord Verchiel. He said the color really suited me.”

“It is quite pretty.” I agreed, still needing a moment before I could take my eyes off it. “S-Sorry, I didn’t mean to stare.”

“It’s quite alright, little one.” She assured me, her warm laugh spreading to her voice and smile. “People staring proves the value of Lord Verchiel’s gift. But you didn’t answer my question…”

Her question? Oh, right she had asked a question when I came in.

“I f-feel fine.” I stammered as I answered, still a bit embarrassed. “I’m just looking around the temple properly for the first time since arriving here. I’m Kalla-Er, I mean, Opal.”

At this, her eye widened, and she stood up to give me a formal bow. Why would she do that?

“So you’re the disciple Lord Verchiel has chosen! Well, it is such a pleasure to finally meet you, Opal. I’ve heard quite a bit about you.”

“You have?” I couldn’t help but ask.

“Many of the acolytes passing through here have mentioned you once or twice. Everyone seems to have high hopes in regards to your training.” She explained, sitting back down. “I’m happy you’re here simply exploring, rather than needing my services.”

“This is the temple infirmary?” I asked, to which she nodded, confirming my earlier assumption. “It’s pretty basic, isn’t it?”

“For what it is, I suppose so.” She agreed. “Lord Verchiel handles any major sickness or wound that passes through, so for the most part my job is setting casts or watching feverish sleepers.”

Then she gasped, clapping her hands on her cheeks.

“My goodness me! I completely forgot to introduce myself! How rude of me!”

Oh, now that she mentioned it, she hadn’t given me her name at all…

“My name is Ametrine. I’ve served here in the temple for a few years now, though I’ve only been in charge of the infirmary for a few months.”

“That’s a pretty name.” I commented with a smile. It certainly suited her.

“Aww, you’re sweet. Thank you. It’s actually the same kind of stone set in my eye. I think Lord Verchiel chose it on purpose. He’s always had an eye for gems and crystals.”

“Do all acolytes get gems that match their names?” I asked without really thinking. I wasn’t sure why such a thing interested me, but considering Ametrine’s comment, I was curious.

“I think Lord Verchiel tries to make it so, yes.” She nodded. “I’m unsure if there’s any specific criteria, but it usually isn’t the first gem they get.”

Strange…

Back home, jewelry was reserved for priests and other officiants of the churches. In fact, you were expected to dress modestly most of the time, and to not stand out too much from your fellow worshipers. I still sort of dressed that way, with an attire largely made of one hue. Would I be expected to wear more colorful garb the longer I stayed here?

“Is there anything else you need, if you’re not in need of medical attention?” Ametrine asked, breaking me from my thoughts.

“Um, no, I suppose not…” I admitted. “Like I said, really just looking around and all that.”

“Then can I ask you a question?”

Huh? Well, if she had a question, why didn’t she just ask it? But rather than say that, I merely nodded, prompting her to go ahead.

“Lord Verchiel left with you to go visit one of the other bishops, right? He had stopped by this morning to ask how to easily clean blood and mentioned something like that.”

“Er… Y-Yes, we did. To Raziel’s temple, specifically.”

“What was the surface like?” She asked, tenting her fins together in an excited posture.

Right… Anchordeep was under the water, and not many people actually ever had the opportunity to explore the surface. Of course some would be curious.

“Well, we specifically went to Silk Cradle, which is a territory that is a bit… Unique.” I began. “It’s like the trenches we have here, but without any, uh, water. It was very dark, too. I didn’t see a lot of the outside, though, we spent most of our time in the temple.”

“Ooooh, but what you describe still sounds so interesting!” Ametrine squealed, making me jump a little. “Trenches, but with no water? Oh, I would have loved to see them myself…”

Her tailfin swayed back and forth as she rocked a bit in her seat with excitement. It was actually kind of nice to see, after Chambersite’s harsh attitude this morning.

“Sorry if the question sounded weird.” She then said, still smiling, though apologetically now. “I just find the surface so fascinating. The most I ever see of it is via our medicinal ingredients.”

My eyes turned back to the jars on the shelves, and I gestured to them when I looked back to her. “You mean those?”

“Mhm. Say, if you want to know a little bit about medicine and healing, I’ll gladly teach you some things! Especially if you tell me more about the surface, should you ever go again. Here, grab any jar that interests you, and I’ll tell you about what’s inside!”

Well, I was curious… And the offer she had made certainly seemed fair! I took a moment to look on the shelf, before picking up a narrow jar full of bright red petals, setting it on the desk in front of her.

“What about these?”

She glanced at the jar before gently clapping her fins, beaming.

“Ah, these are camellias! They’re a lovely red flower that grows in a territory I’m told is called ‘the Darkwood.’ Their use is as a natural antibiotic, meaning they help stave off infection, and can also be used against fevers.”

“Oh, wow…” I said, looking incredulously at the little blooms tucked into the jar. “And how do you use them?”

“Usually, you grind them into a powder,” Ametrine explained, “To either be eaten straight or mixed with other ingredients, should you need any other benefits. For example, combined with ginger, it can help stave off ailments like the flu!”

“They’re really useful, then!” I gasped.

“Oh, yes, quite possibly my most-used ingredient, honestly. Their versatility is a godsend.”

I looked at the camellias for a bit longer before returning the jar to its place on the shelf. I definitely wanted to learn more about all the stuff Ametrine had, but I had probably spent more time than necessary in the infirmary. Besides, at that moment, somebody new walked in.

“Alright, Ametrine, I’m here. I didn’t forget this time.”

Through the doorway scuttled a hermit crab with a striking blue carapace. They wore a simple scarf adorned by a brooch with a blue gem, and their shell was covered in smaller crystals that shimmered slightly as they walked.

What surprised me most about them, however, was their size. Usually hermit crabs got pretty big, even in their early age, yet this one wasn’t much taller than I was. I would have mistaken them for a kid as well, if it weren’t for the fact I knew there were no other children in the temple.

“Oh, Lazuli, there you are!” Ametrine said. “Good, I was wondering if I was going to have to come get you.”

“Chambersite barged in and kept nitpicking my latest project. Got so pissed, I couldn’t focus on my work. So I told him to fuck off and decided I’d rather--”

“Oh, um! Lazuli!” Ametrine interrupted, face flushing as she glanced to me. “This here is Opal, Lord Verchiel’s chosen! Perhaps you should watch your words around such an impressionable boy, hm? ”

“Ah. Hell.” Lazuli said flatly as they finally turned their eyestalks to notice me. “Yeah, I guess I probably should, huh.”

“Anyway, let’s get on with that check-up, shall we?” Ametrine prompted, rising from her seat and gesturing to an empty cot for Lazuli to sit on.

“I should probably get going now.” I said, bowing my head a little bit. “Thank you for your time, Amet--”

“Nah, nah.” Lazuli said once they had clambered up onto the cot. “It’s not gonna be anything intensive, and I wanna talk to you a bit, so stay.”

I paused at the doorway, tilting my head. Lazuli wanted to talk to me? Well, I had already seen firsthand that my reputation preceded me, but it was still a bit odd…

“Are you sure, Lazuli?” Ametrine asked the question burning in my mind. “Because I wanted to also look at your, um, shell--”

“It’s fine.” Lazuli said with a wave of their claw. “‘Sides, can’t pass up on my first opportunity to meet with Lord Verchiel’s chosen.”

“Well… If you’re alright with it…” Ametrine mumbled before gesturing for me to grab a seat.

I found an empty stool and carried it over to the cot, taking a seat while Ametrine stood next to Lazuli, picking up one of their claws in her fins.

“Let’s start with a general look-over of your carapace.” She said.

“So,” Lazuli said, looking me over for a moment, “You’re this ‘Opal’ I’ve heard a lot about, huh?”

“I suppose I am.” I said, kicking my legs back and forth out of habit. “I did hear your name mentioned, before I came here, actually. When Lord Verchiel told Chambersite to go see you.”

“Ah, is that so?” Lazuli commented, handing their other claw over to Ametrine. “Well, allow me to properly introduce myself, then. I’m Lazuli, resident sculptor and organizer for all ‘beautification’ projects in the temple. Tend to have a bit of a foul tongue, though--apologies for my language a bit ago.”

“Oh, that’s quite alright.” I assured them with a shake of my head. “I know what words are appropriate to say. You don’t have to mind your words around me.”

“You hear that, Ammy?” Lazuli snorted, making Ametrine jump a little in surprise.

“ Lazuli! ” Ametrine scolded, good eye narrowing a bit.

“ Ametrine. ” Lazuli corrected themself, though they didn’t sound too pleased with having to do so. “Anyway,” they turned back to me, “We’re probably going to be seeing a lot more of each other as you spend your time here and get on with your training.”

“How so?” I asked.

“Well, aside from all the decorations of the temple, I manage the decorations of the order members as well.” They tilted their head forward to allow Ametrine a better look at their back. “Used to be I had a partner who handled that stuff, but… Well, I’m doing the work of two people now, let’s put it that way. So when you start earning your necklaces and earrings and stuff from Lord Verchiel, it’ll be me who has to do measurements and gem cutting.”

“Is it fun?”

“Eh…” Lazuli waved a claw for a moment, not bothering to hide their grimace. “The sculpting is. But the gem-cutting, the polishing, the setting it into chains and all that… Is not to my liking. But nobody else in the temple has even half the skill my former partner did, so I’m kind of stuck with it for now.”

“What happened to your partner?” I found myself asking, before stiffening at my lack of consideration. That was probably a personal question, why did I even ask it? Splotches of yellow ran across my arms, indicating my unease.

“Well, simply put, they--” Lazuli began, but Ametrine suddenly turned and slapped her fin over their mouth.

“They stepped down from the position. Now they handle one of the transport lines for imported goods.” She said, with a smile I couldn’t help but notice was forced. “It doesn’t happen often, but sometimes people can feel… Stifled, here at the temple, since it’s not terribly active.”

Lazuli’s eyes narrowed, but they didn’t say anything when Ametrine finally removed her fin and returned to her examination.

“Yeah, that’s all.” They mumbled. “It’d be nice to have them back, but… Their happiness is more important. So I’ll keep on with what I’ve been doing in the meantime.”

“I’ve seen a lot of your stuff around the temple.” I offered, deciding to shift the topic. “It’s all very pretty. You’re really skilled.”

It was true. Several statues and ornaments stood in the halls and hung on the walls of the temple, each unique and clearly having had hours of time put into them. Sometimes I couldn't help but sit and stare at them at times, going over every last inch of the handiwork.

“Years of practice.” They said with a proud smile. “I’ve been carving stone and sculpting clay for nearly 20 years now--”

“You don’t look very old.” I commented, once again realizing far too late how inappropriate of a comment that was.

“My size probably complicates things.” They said after a distinct pause. They looked down to the ground for a moment, before lifting their head and turning their eyestalks to look at Ametrine.

“How’s it look, Ammy?”

Ametrine looked to me and then to Lazuli, as if asking them something without saying a word. When Lazuli gave her an approving nod, she turned back to the point she had been examining on Lazuli’s body: The opening of their shell, where the rest of Lazuli was tucked.

Her demeanor was more pensive now, to the point she didn’t correct Lazuli on the use of the nickname.

“It’s as I suspected. Any longer like this and it could cause serious damage to your body, Lazuli.”

The mood in the room seemed to shift, from a casual atmosphere to one of overhanging dread. Ametrine was clearly doing her best to hold back her feelings, but I could see the furrow in her brow. Lazuli, meanwhile, remained deadpan, instead looking to the floor as they thought.

“You need a new shell, before it’s too late.” Ametrine insisted, looking to Lazuli.

“I’ve been using this one for years. I can go longer.”

“To the point you’ll lose the use of your legs?” Ametrine snapped. “S-Sorry, but… My stance is the same as when I first spoke to you about this, Lazuli. It’s what all hermit crabs do, and you’re no exception.”

Oh… So from the sounds of things, Lazuli was getting too big for their shell--Or had been too big for quite a while. But… They refused to change it? How come?

“Why not get a new one?” I asked, not sure why Lazuli was risking their own well-being over a natural behavior of their species. “Surely it’s not that hard to find one you can use.”

“Hah.” Lazuli spat, tone suddenly turning bitter as they squinted at me. “The problem isn’t finding a new shell, it’s handling the old one.”

“Huh?”

“It’s… Nothing you need to be concerned about, kid.” They said, waving their claw. “I’m thinking over my options. It’ll be fine, I promise.”

Hm… I had a distinct feeling they weren’t being completely honest, but… Was it really my place to insist as such? I had just met them, after all, so perhaps it was best I didn’t involve myself in their problems…

“I think you should be on your way now, Opal.” Ametrine said quietly, giving me another small smile--this time a bit tired. “I’d like to speak with Lazuli in private.”

“Oh, of course.” I managed, getting up from my seat. I gave the two adults a bow of my head before heading to the door.

I recall, just as I had stepped past the threshold, that Ametrine had begun speaking again--Try as she might to whisper, she wasn’t very good at it, unfortunately. I paused, just out of sight, straining my ears to listen.

“I’m sure if you explained things, Lord Verchiel would make an exception, Lazuli. It’s not as if--”

“I am not going to end up like Lapis.” Lazuli barked, not caring about their volume.

“Still, I don’t think--”

“And what if Lord Verchiel doesn’t see it our way? You’ve seen His rage.”

“I… I still think you should at least try.”

Silence, and then--

“If I end up here on one of your cots with one of my claws torn off, it’ll be your fault… Ammy. ”

Not wanting to hear any more, I hurried off down the hall.

Just… What were they talking about? And who was Lapis?

I was so distracted by these questions that, in my haste, I neglected to look where I was going, and bumped head-first into somebody, bumping backwards onto the floor.

“Ah! S-Sorry, I’m sorry…” I stammered, shaking my head to clear it. I looked up to see who it was I had run into, only to stiffen, my skin paling considerably.

It was Chambersite.

He leered down at me, not the least bit unbalanced from the collision. After a moment, he gave a snort and held a hand out to me--I flinched, fearing he was going to take my arm again, but I then realized he was waiting for me to take hold of it.

“Where are ya in a rush to?” He asked as he pulled me up.

“Um, n-nowhere in particular…” I admitted, and it was sort of the truth… I really just wanted to get away from the infirmary, but my destination wasn’t really anything I had thought of.

“Well, yer lucky ya bumped into me.” He said, now folding his arms. “If yer done with yer little lunch break, we’re going to resume training for the day.”

Oh…

My stomach once again churned, making me feel like I should head back to the infirmary. That camellia and ginger mixture sounded like it would have really helped at that moment…

“Barnacles below, kid, calm down.” He rolled his eyes as he turned and began to walk. “It’s not gonna be combat this time. You’ve got scripture to go over.”

Scripture… Right… If I was going to be Lord Verchiel’s disciple, I needed to know all the verses by heart. At least it wasn’t fighting…

Calming down a bit, I hurried after him, his long strides making it a bit hard to keep up without almost jogging.

“So where’d ya even go after eating?” He asked, not looking back to me.

“Just… Around. I explored a little.” I explained. “I found the infirmary, and met Ametrine, as well as Lazuli.”

“Ah, so that’s where Lazuli ran off to. M’kay. Ametrine’s a nice gal. ‘d she pester you ‘bout the surface?”

“A little, yeah… But I wasn’t able to tell her much.”

“She gets really excited about that sorta stuff. I offered to take her up a few times on patrols, but she seems pretty skittish about actually seeing things firsthand.”

I stared at Chambersite, a bit confused by this more casual side of him. Now that he wasn’t being so gruff and brandishing a pole, he seemed… Well, almost nice. It was certainly odd…

“Um, Chambersite, sir, can I ask you something?”

“Knock yerself out, kid.”

“Who was Lapis?”

At this, Chambersite stopped walking, taking me by surprise enough that I almost bumped into him again. When I regained my balance, he looked down at me, a quizzical expression and a raised brow on his face.

“Didn’t think Lazuli’d tell you ‘bout them first meeting.” He commented.

“Well… They talked about them a little bit, but didn’t go into too much detail… Just that they used to be a gem cutter?”

I didn’t even know if that was true. I was just using context clues from what Lazuli had said earlier in our conversation, figuring Lapis had to be the partner they had spoken about.

“Yeah, they used to handle making all the various things people ‘round here wear. Think I was the last one they made anything for before it was just Lazuli.” He said with a shrug.

“Before they went to work with imports?”

Chambersite stared at me for several seconds, a flash of confusion on his face. He then shook his head, turning away and starting to walk once more, so I went after him.

“Yeah. Sure. Before that. Their transfer was pretty sudden, so Lazuli’s been a bit beat up about it, ‘s all. They were like peas in a pod.”

“Oh… Well that’s kind of sad.” I mumbled.

Part of me wanted to bring up what Lazuli and Ametrine had talked about--the fact Lazuli’s shell was too small. But then I remembered what Lazuli had said… That it wasn’t something I should be concerned about. It also wasn’t my business to go around telling other people about it… So I remained quiet.

“Stuff like this happens. Jus’ how life goes. Don’t worry ‘bout it too much. Now c’mon, we should hurry on over to the library ‘fore Citrine blows a gasket.”

And with that, we resumed walking, nothing but the sound of our footsteps echoing in the halls.

#usurper au #ch5 #kallamar #chambersite #ametrine #lazuli

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risualto · 11 months

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“You should go out,” my mother said, through a screen. Of course, having her voice in my ear for two decades meant that I could hear exactly how she would say it--she would try to sound like she was scolding me, but we would both hear the nostalgia in her voice from her own missed opportunities that made it sound soft, and I would pretend not to notice.

I, of course, complained that it was hot (81, I’d say, and then wonder again at when I would get around to learning to translate Fahrenheit to Celsius without manually calculating it step-by-step). But I did go out to the bakery my mother suggested, instead of the little sushi joint I’d been thinking of. That bakery, of course, was delicious. One of the most delicious bakeries in the whole city, and one of the most memorable restaurants anywhere in the world, for me. It just hadn’t been what I’d planned.

Shifting the planned sushi meal farther ahead in time was easier, ultimately, than taking the plate off the board and throwing it out on the designated trash day, so I went there for dinner, instead. I’d never been to that restaurant for dinner, actually. As I approached, I realized that meant the menu was possibly different in the evening, and the sign outside didn’t make it obvious how.

Still, I went in, and found the place busier than I’d ever seen it: four people at the six-chair bar, with none of the three other tables occupied. The hostess smiled at me, a little surprised but clearly happy I’d come back, and gestured to the seat at the corner of the counter. It did take a little deciphering to figure out the evening menu, but I settled on a course of nigiri that seemed similarly priced to my favorite lunch set. The names of the exact nigiri included were nowhere to be found on the menu, but I’ve only ever discovered a few sushi fish that I dislike. (The only food allergy I’ve ever found is kumquats, and--more crucially--I have a good poker face.) The moment my order was accepted, I quickly pulled my hair out of its tie and swept it over my left shoulder, both to make a curtain between myself and the other customers, and to avoid any attention on the back of my neck by the three older men sitting there.

The first point was, as it turned out, a complete failure. Putting up an obvious sign that I didn’t wish to be spoken to was no deterrent when weighed against my obviously out of place features.

“The couple over there,” the chef said to me as he placed the second piece of nigiri in my course on the bar before me, “would like to buy you a roll.”

(She eats sushi! She eats Japanese fish. How? I heard, from over there.)

“Is there anything you’d like? Maguro? Anago?“ asked the chef. His prompts were the two fish I said specifically that I loved last time I came here. Tuna and saltwater eel.

I turned towards the over-there side of the bar and bowed my head. “Thank you,” I said, and looked at the chef. “Anago, please.”

“With cucumber?”

“Oh, yes!”

“Anago-kyuu maki, understood!” said the chef, loud enough for the whole restaurant to hear. I ducked behind my hair, but kept a smile on my face whenever I wasn’t eating. Now that I’d been offered food by strangers old enough to be my parents, to look ungrateful would be just about the worst social faux-pas I could commit, and I would prefer to be remembered for my sushi preferences than a bad attitude by the one sushi restaurant within walking distance of my apartment. Some of my colleagues frequent this area, and half of my job is being a cultural ambassador, after all. Of course, anyone who has been such a thing understands that this actually means you’re a local celebrity. Your public presentation is an open invitation to speculate on not just your character, but the character of all foreign people.

Doesn’t that just make sense?

Now that I’d revealed myself to be capable of at least elementary Japanese, though, hair curtain or no, the two businessmen closer to me than the couple-over-there were determined to talk to me. “Where are you from?” asked the older one.

I told him. America.

“The West half or the East half?” he asked. Seiban or touban. Of course, if the words had been written down, I would have realized their meaning instantly--West half or East half--but I’d never heard them spoken before. The rarity of those words could be equated to asking something like, Occidental America or oriental America? With a few seconds to compute, one might be able to arrive at an understanding even without knowing the phrases fully, but a non-native speaker would be thrown for a loop. My confusion must have showed, because he rephrased the question. “West coast or East coast?” Higashi-kaigan or nishi-kaigan. Longer words, but ones that had been drilled into my head in my second year of language study.

When I answered him this time, the older man grinned and started telling me everything he knew about the area--the local baseball team, the time he’d seen Otani Shohei play there on TV, the abundance of casinos and how fascinating the process of minting casino chips was. His companion, who I realized quickly was both younger and probably subordinate to the excited man, watched me respond softly in disbelief, and his colleague with the same, but to an exceptional degree. I must not have been the first person to entertain this man’s excited tangents, I realized.

He was so excited to tell me all about how incredible the fish was in this city--”It’s a great success that you came here, and not to Tokyo!”--and this shop in particular, that I couldn’t help feeling a little warm to it. “If Osaka has okonomiyaki and takoyaki,” he said, listing their local specialties, “then this shop has seafood.” I chuckled.�� “She even understands jokes!” he said. I laughed.

Despite not being part of this conversation, clearly the couple-over-there were listening, because the chef came back to ask me if I liked shrimp tempura. I said yes, and he told me that I was being offered some by that same couple. So I turned over there and bowed, a little deeper this time, and thanked them a little more properly. The husband shook his head, laughing, and pointed to his wife. All her doing, he told me without words. I tried to catch her eye, but she was hiding from my line of sight as if embarrassed by her own generosity, so I just bowed again. She did assure me--through the chef--that I could take the food to-go if it was too much on top of my meal already. (I did, in the end.)

And now it was almost a competition, because the older businessman turned to the chef and asked if he had anything in specially today, and to get three plates of it. The chef did--I think what he had was a specific kind of tuna meat, but certainly not one I had ever heard of before. I did, however, receive a thorough lecture on how it was very different from any preparation of fish that could be achieved in America. (Pointing out that this man probably had no idea of all the ways fish were prepared in America would have thrown a wrench into the evening, so I just agreed that I’d never had this before.)

So I ate some of the most delicious maybe-tuna I’ve ever tried, and a free roll of eel and cucumber, with a box of shrimp tempura sitting beside me on the counter, as I explained that food was my initial inspiration for wanting to study Japanese, with music and history as close seconds. And in return, besides the food, I got recommendations for a few tourist spots in the city I hadn’t been to yet, along with the name of a comedy performance troupe to look up on YouTube.

In the end, the couple-over-there refused to be outdone in terms of generosity. They paid for my whole meal, telling me that I just had to make sure to come back to the restaurant. I’d lived there a year by this point and never met them before, so it seemed unlikely I’d ever meet them again. But it did make me think I should, perhaps, go to that restaurant for dinner every now and then to increase my chances, and perhaps speak to them.

The one point that everyone kept going back to during my meal, though, was that I understood the humor. I knew when they were joking and when they weren’t, and that somehow served as proof of my mastery over the language.

Actually, though I didn’t say as much to anyone in the shop since pride has always been my fatal flaw, mastery would be a strong word. The man I primarily spoke to, the businessman, was older (and so using very casual speech), excited, and at least a few beers in. I grasped the literal meaning of maybe 70% of what he said to me, and that’s being generous. And at times, I didn’t understand exactly what part of his delivery should make something he said particularly funny.

It’s not that I’m fluent in Japanese humor, or even textbook Japanese. It’s that the way your mouth curls and your tone embellishes your words is more universal than you want to think. I didn’t say this, though. Not because I lacked the vocabulary to say it in Japanese, but because I lacked an opening in the mood to slide something like that into the discussion. English and Japanese both have an expression that means “to read the room,” after all.

Being able to read people, however, is no substitute for learning languages. After all, I did my best for the beginning of the night to close myself off as much as possible, hoping not to be approached. Soft voice, no eye contact, hiding my face--and yet, things worked out the opposite way I’d hoped. Not badly, of course, but differently to what I wanted.

It is a crutch, however. One that got me enough of a leg up for about $35 of free sushi and a very good night, in the end.

#writing #risurants #idk this is kind of a story #too prose ish to be a journal but with too weak a main point to be an art piece

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leogichidaa · 1 year

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Psychoanalysis Sunday #34

Non-magical AU where Regulus is put in therapy with a psychoanalyst

Part 1 | Previous | Next

Walburga Black sits perched on the edge of the chair that her son typically occupies in the analyst's office and glances around at the limited and pedestrian décor with an expression of deep distaste.

"It is lovely to see you, Mrs. Black," Dr. Robertson says with a warm smile. "How can I help you?"

"You have been putting ideas in my son's head," Walburga replies. "And I will no longer sit idly by and tolerate it!"

"I am flattered that you think I have such a powerful influence on your son that I could put ideas into his head," Dr. Robertson says, his smile still in place. "It would make my job a great deal easier if I could, I'll admit. But Regulus is a strong willed child and his ideas are, I'm afraid, his own."

Walburga scoffs. "Do not lie to me, doctor. We both know that Regulus is easily led."

"I can understand why you might think that. You, of course, do have a powerful influence on Regulus, as his mother. He thinks very highly of you and is inclined to follow your lead."

"As he should! As any dutiful son would."

"Of course, Mrs. Black. He is not, however, easily led by outside influence. Or, at the very least, not mine."

Walburga narrows her eyes. "He came home last week with the most ridiculous notions. He asked me if he was going to be disowned."

"What did you tell him?"

"I beg your pardon?" Walburga asks, crossing her arms and glaring at the analyst.

"What did you tell him when he asked you if he would be disowned?"

"What does it matter? The point is that he told me you suggested the idea."

"I think it matters quite a bit, Mrs. Black. Your son is troubled and in need of reassurance. I may have put words to it, but he expressed his anxiety quite clearly to me. He is afraid of failing you, and given recent events, the consequence of failing his family seem very real to him."

"If he does what is right and remembers his duty then he has nothing to fear. That is what I told him. He is an unusual child to be sure, but he knows what is expected of him.. He will be fine."

"I see," Dr. Robertson says.

"I am sure you think you do," Walburga says, rolling her eyes.

"Tell me what you think I am missing."

"I have neither the time nor the energy to explain to you everything about my child, whom I have known and nurtured since before he was born, to someone as short-sighted and ignorant as you."

"I would love it if you would try, Mrs. Black."

"Regulus will worry about ridiculous nonsense all day if you let him. You cannot indulge in his every foolish thought or he will worry himself sick and begin to act out. If you did not outright suggest it, you encouraged his fears and that can only lead to trouble."

"I appreciate the insight, Mrs. Black, and I do understand your concern. Regulus' anxiety certainly does seem to get him into trouble. In my experience, however, the only way to manage anxiety is to acknowledge it and confront it."

"If that is true, then why was he so distressed after meeting with you last week?"

"He was distressed when he walked into the room. And, as I said, he was in need of reassurance from you. You are incredibly important to his development and well-being."

"Obviously."

"Yes. And I know you do not think much of my methods, Mrs. Black, but I think it would be very helpful if we could work together like this more often."

"Hmmph. I am sure you would love it if I did your job for you, wouldn't you?"

Dr. Robertson bites back a smile. "Indeed."

#psychoanalysis sunday #no regulus today #walburga black #house of black

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twotangledsisters · 6 months

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What was Frederic and Arianna and the caps relationship/friendship like when they were younger in the prince and the adventurer?

I would absolutely love to talk about them! Thank you so much for this question! Yes!

So, first of: Cap and Frederic!

Because they were friends first. Sort of... Cap, isn't Captain yet but he's still avery promising guard, because of the promise he shows his main job in the early days of his career is the personal bodyguard of the Crown Prince Frederic.

Being of similar age and too occupied by work to have friends outside of work, they naturally get on pretty well. In fact, when Arianna brings a puppy into the palace Cap's first reaction is to track her down in private and tell her to fix the problem she's brought into the palace as that puppy is going to give Frederic trouble with his dad!

Cap keeps an eye out for Frederic in a way most others don't. And Frederic's aware of this, being a lot more open to Cap than other people.

Cap and Arianna at the start are both employees of the palace, and Arianna just sorta decides that Cap is her friend, and Cap doesn't really complain. If they're both off work and Frederic is busy you can expect they'll be together.

Cap often plays middleman between the two, he knows what Frederic goes through and understand the way of the palace. But he isn't as trapped in the palace as Frederic so he is able to understand Arianna as well.

He's definitely closer to Arianna than Frederic throughout most of the fic, partly because Arianna is just very friendly, but also because she's not royalty. Yet at the same time he'll more often than not side with Frederic on matter, but that's because Cap values protocol a lot and Arianna... doesn't even know protocol until quite late into the series.

I recall writing a scene somewhere where Captain referred to Arianna as 'You Majesty' and Arianna complained that "You forgetting my name on my wedding day has to be the worst wedding gift I got". But I cannot recall where I wrote that, if it's published or in drafts somewhere... But I remember writing it!

I do think they're still friends to this day! But they're just too busy with their respective jobs to properly enjoy that friendship. We see snippets of it in tangled sisters today such as the way Arianna and Frederic rush to Captain when they see his exhaustion after his time in Equis.

So yeah, Cap and Frederic are friends by default from work, Cap and Ari are friends by Arianna's decision, and the three of them together are a lot of fun to write! I hope when the time comes they'll be just as fun to read :D

#ask answered #captain of corona's guard #tangled queen arianna #tangled king frederic #tangled au

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severinesaloppe · 1 year

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Vincent Griffith at the farmer's market fanfic Ep 2

Vincent

" Got a fresh batch of spring onions Vince"

the vendor Sagine uttered while walking out of her van. I sped towards her and grabbed the wooden crate packed with a few herbs and radishes, and carried it over to her tent. I grunted from the feel of the heavy vegetables pulling down my arms. Behind me, Miss Sagine's feet shuffled on the grass

" Where do you want em?"

" You can put them on the table, it'll make the work easier with my back and all"

" No problem ma'am" I said , catching my breath and running a hand over my throbbing palm. I've been helping Sagine install her tent at the annual Black farmer's market since this morning—-an initiative the council chewed, argued, made casual threats on behalf of the people it would benefit to make it happen.

With agricultural oppression blowing so much breath at the back of our necks and the blinding indifference of white folks in this forsaken town, there was only one way to effectively pull this off and get everyone on our side— get Marcel invested. Urge him to see the light. Which is exactly what I did. I still remember the gleam in his eyes, that devilish grin that lived beneath his features waiting to be summoned at the right time, for the right ideas. This wasn't just about good will, although for me that would've been enough. Except, being entangled with the supernatural, I've learned long ago that for some, righteousness is hardly a motivator to enact good deeds. Money does, blood and the promise of status —-and dealing with someone like Marcel Gerard? Well, let's just say that the odds were leaning dangerously in my favor. How predictable.

Marcel knew in order to maintain the peace, he needed to apply pressure for every member at the city council to say yes. He knew catering to Black farmers in this city meant preserving the wealth of his blood empire, keep the human factor and witches wrapped around his finger—-which are the demographic this affected the most—-it meant more money flowing into the local economy, depends on how well that went, it meant more curious outsiders seething to get their hands on our local goods, to invest, travel and food influencers coming in. More buzz, more tourists, more tourists, more blood. We gathered 22 ay, only 9 nays at the final vote— My plan had worked.

Dozens of farmers and fishermen traveled from nearby counties to be here. Their laughter glazed over the early afternoon, while they replenished their supplies of cheese, bread, oysters, local honey and a ridiculous amount of veggies—Some I hadn't had the chance to taste myself. My cooking has been a bit rusty these days. Occupying my newest role in the community had its perks and equal sets of downfalls, a haze between meetings, counseling youths, long nights and days relying on takeout and boxed mac and cheese while revising old spells and developing new ones —not for the faint of hearts but the job had to be done. People were counting on me to maintain order not only in the ancestral realm but in the household of people who made up the 9 covens.

Sometimes that included making housing arrangements for those who needed it and making sure they had food on their table, that bills were being paid and their children were safe. I admit, it was at times emotionally draining. The shit going on around here, the housing crisis, the wage gap, stuff the average tourist had absolutely no idea about.

I clenched my teeth then released. Take a breather Vincent, you're good man, shoulders relaxed, your breath is a bundle of rosemary let the scent appease you, your heart your soul, every muscle.in our body. Feet to the ground, feet to the ground

I repeated this mantra a few more times in my head, allowing every syllable to penetrate every fiber of my being like smoke. When I cracked open my eyes, the trees, the clouds and dwellings in the distance became sharper. My feet settled, my heartbeat slowed and i can feel the ground beneath my toes. I was suddenly in the mood for coffee.

" I'm gonna go ahead and grab a cup of joe, miss Sagine can i get you an—"

The old woman waved me away before i could even finish. I grinned, amused by the annoyed expression on her face. She swatted flying mosquitoes lingering on her wrinkled arms " Get outta my face boy, you've done enough, go on stretch those legs, it's good for the health"

I raised my palms up " that's all i needed to know. Doctor's orders then"

" you're damn right" she offered.

The aroma of caramel and roasted coffee beans rocked me into an unusually good mood. I stirred some brown sugar into my americano with a wooden stick, examining the scene before me. Pedestrians carrying bags wandered, pointed and ate samples on paper napkins and plastic ramekins as they went.

Across the street a tent with bouquets of some of the healthiest eucalyptus i had ever seen sat in white buckets. They were wrapped in clear plastic sheets and pulled the attention of anybody that brushed past them. Adjacent to the aromatic plant was an installation of small jars filled with whipped butters I had seen Eva use around the house, soap bars and other toiletries laid on a riverbank made of colorful satin cloths. A woman with a flowy black dress cut to her upper thighs engaged in conversation with her customers. The matron I suppose, the woman with the orange hair I saw at the bar just last week. Her hair was wrapped in a bright purple headwrap today and she wore a series of earrings along her earlobe that flowed down to meet her bare shoulders. I don't think she could ever look any more stunning than the last time I saw her. Oh but she did. The frothy drink moved down my throat, to my chest like a warm and cozy hug.

The woman picked up a product on the table, showed it to the interested parties before proceeding to demonstrate the pasty substance on their skin . The golden bangles at her wrists moved up and down as she rubbed the product in and watched it melt. Whatever she was doing, had her focused on trying to make this thing work. That charisma alone was enough to make any customer fold, I know I would. Passionate people always had a way about themselves, I can recognize them from a mile away. That flame had once burned within when it came to my gift, the magic running in my blood. I'm not sure when that changed but sometimes i feel myself hovering on the edge of that void.

The woman's brows knitted in dedication, bringing a kind of intensity to her face that seemed foreign—her features struggled to adjust, not knowing what to exactly do with it but it looked good on her. I found myself admiring the dip at her cupid bow, particularly the bubbles of sweat piling up in there from the Saturday heat and labor. She reminded me of old books, a craft table smeared with old paint, suggestions of geranium leaf and metal still pungent in the room, more importantly she reminded me of dragonflies dancing with the southern sun on a summer afternoon. Something funny awoke in my stomach. I straightened my shoulders, zooming out to look for any sign of Marcel. He wasn't here. At least not yet. As much as I appreciated him vouching for this, I don't think his presence would've necessarily been a good idea. We were not on the best of terms, if ever. Our relationship was strictly business, and tie to a common cause. I avoided places he frequented as much as possible, carving new ones of my own.

So I plumped down on the grass, feeling the weight of the world hesitating to come down with me. This distance that I so often denied myself was perhaps a good thing, a necessary thing.

The woman counted money and pulled change from a fanny pack wrapped around her waist. She smiled and waved at her customers, excited by their brand new purchases. I reveled in their joy. They were a family of three. The little girl with afro puffs was blowing bubbles at her dog's face while her parents beckoned her over. I chuckled. When my gaze left them i was met with something so unsettling, earth shattering or maybe even pleasant. Pleasant? I thought. But that didn't make the woman staring at me any less intimidating. This could end here if I choose to. I could walk away, go about my business and never think of her again—-if i could get my legs to work. That was the power she iminated, without ever touching people . A goddess standing on her own, reeling you in towards her altar. A faint voice—-the irrational part of myself, the untouched, sanctified in innocence —who didn't care about my footmarks in this world wanted to see about this religion, its jubilees, its sacred texts—-i wanted to worship her.

Mélisse

The last thing I heard myself say to Simoli was something about me taking 5. I didn't linger much. I handed him the fanny pack, the car keys and trusted his common sense to hold it down while I was away, on a so-called coffee break. My toes plunged into the bed of grass coursing up the small hill, making my red painted toenails look like ladybugs. Just for a moment, I can pretend the beignet stand is the thing calling to me and not the guy who finally made eye contact with me at Rousseau's just last week.

I'm starting to think he's a weirdo that one, or a loner of some sort. Somehow, he strikes me as a religious man, or a man bound to a lifestyle that keeps him closed off, isolated and intense. Everytime i see him hanging around these parts he is always by himself. Something about him reminds me of bayou tree barks, incense, and old ancestor songs from the countryside back home. When I imagine safety, to hold someone's hands in the early mornings and being made love to by a running river, I think of him. I can't really explain it but the feeling is equally exhilarating as it is suffocating—-a pulse of peace i can't seem to necessarily wrap my head about. The plush and gentle expansion of it leaves me weary. An ache throbs in my underwear, circling around my needy clit and I am aware of the sweat trailing down my back. Great

When I make it to the small wooden table serving desserts and coffee, I place my order, and try to focus on the powder sugar dusted treats that await me and not the guy sitting a few feet away sipping on his coffee. On instinct i pull one of my coils and starts to mindlessly twist it around my fingers, i arch my back a bit more and start to think Mélisse what the fuck are you doing? Maybe I'm just a fan of the dress I am wearing today, that my ass surely looks good in and want others to notice it as well.

My heart thumps while I think of a million scenarios where me and stranger guy would be talking. I come up with none. Idiot. I bite on my lower lip whirling in this sudden interest I have to speak to him. Gosh I have a crush don't i? I groan, rolling my eyes at my own predicament. It's been a minute since I've had one of those. One forgets how tedious all of it can be, the yearning, the guessing, the tiptoeing at the beginning and knowing me, I hang on to people for a while. Once a person falls under my radar, I obsess over them for months, sometimes years. That's why I chose to be single for this long and try to keep my head down so I can make jardin the best that it can possibly be while i heal some of my shit out.

Doing so has allowed me to discover things that i liked outside of a romantic scope, like cooking, beading. In the past few years i've discovered a liking for dancing, reading, masturbating and oh how could i forget the joy of attending carpentry workshops so i can learn how to make my own furniture— mainly because i was obsessed with interior design and the shop has been my main domain to experiment with it. It would take a special kind of person to infiltrate all of this now. It has taken me a long time to build this nest around me, the heavens would be melting like candle wax out of the Louisiana skies before I ever let anyone barge in and ruin my focus. Maybe this is what i've been reading about, Old patterns is it? Abandoning the margins of my spiritual books to be more than just a theory, a conspiracy that happens to other people. A nuisance, a ghost long buried gearing up to take breath over my life. Fuck this.

"Medium coffee with milk and three beignets"

I jerk up and cease my rambling. I take the neatly folded white paper bag from the young cashier and my cup of coffee. I can smell the vanilla extract and fried bananas concealed inside. I look forward to sinking my teeth into them and forgetting about all of this. I am tossing the layers of temptations over my shoulders, shedding the flashes of his angular face and dark eyes, the thought of a smile meant for me spread across his face. I am determined to forget all about him by tomorrow morning when I hear someone shouting behind me, with running feet following. I pick up my pace, fixating my truck and table ahead. " Hey" the voice a panting mess comes into my periphery, I turn around to meet it ,startled but ready for a confrontation in case this is a catcalling situation.

My brows softened when the stranger came into view " Oh.." It's him. As I feared.

" Didn't you hear me calling you back there?" He says with a reprimanding tone, huffing and puffing. I tilt my head and narrow my eyes . What the hell? " No i…"

" You dropped a 20" he says, thrusting the crumpled bill in my direction. His thick brows shoot up to meet his hairline, his look expectant. I smile and shake my head, flushed with embarrassment. He's just trying to be nice. Be nice. I tuck my guards away

" I'm sorry" I say, grabbing the retrieved item from his hand, our fingers accidently touching the other's, sending a sliver of electricity towards my pussy. " it's been a long day" i chuckle " thank you."

" No big deal, we all have our days" he says with a plain shrug. My toes wiggle for more room inside my leather sandals. For a brief moment he looks at the paper bag still clutched under my arms. Then back at me. We wait for one another to speak, for someone to break the ice, but none of us do. I'm too busy averting my eyes, focusing on the things around him, the canopy of trees, the cloud patterns in the sky, the lint on his shirt, the way black beads adorn his neck, anything other than his thin umber lips that i so want to be claimed by. His gaze runs across my face with something like staggering awe ,caressing my cheeks like a florist examining a delicate flower. I swallow, my mouth dry. " w-well um i have to get back….thanks for this"

I flash him the now sweaty bill. He nods, clasping his hands behind his back " it's my pleasure"

" Kay. See you around… i'm gonna " my thumb darts towards my truck, my legs taking slow strides backwards

" of course…" he replies. I turn to leave.

" You're a regular at Rousseau's right?" His words bring me to a halt. The hairs at the back of my neck rise, the air suddenly crisp against my forearms. So he noticed. " I go there sometimes. You know the owner or something?" He smiles, tiny wrinkles creasing at the corner of his mouth and eyes. It's so contagious I can't help but smile too.

" No…but we go way back" he hesitates, then continues " a close friend of mine bartended there for what feels like centuries ago"

" That's nice. Friends are good, God knows I forgot how to make those " i supply rocking on my heels. It's true. The older I get the more difficult connecting with others has become, like a dormant muscle I can't seem to make flexible again. I quickly recover, biting my bottom lip " and you're the regular who has a habit of stuffing his face with french fries while reading shitty classics… very neat"

" Excuse me?"

I click my tongue, resting a palm at my waist.

" So was it not you?"

" W– well, technically yes, yes…. minus the shitty classics part"

" Oh! So you weren't diving head deep into some of the most boring volumes literature has ever seen?"

The space between his brows knits with tension, his lips curling up in amusement. He licks his bottom lip " You seem to have strong opinions about Marcel Prousts"

I take a sip of my drink, anxious that it might go cold amidst this conversation but more than anything I could use all the reinforcement that i can get. My heart lifts at the coffee's warm touch " There's no beef there at all, i just find your talent to skip over the good stuff fascinating" i drawl.

" Fascinating huh" he replies seeking comfort in the pockets of his jeans " i guess i deserve that. And the criticism over my reading habits is on behalf of?"

I smirk. Oh he is smart, more reason for me to give him my name. " Mélisse" .

He nods, trying to collect the name with the woman standing before him. " Mélisse" he repeats " Beautiful name…very botanical"

" What can I say, I have a green thumb!" I beam

" Mmh"

" I didn't catch your name?"

" Vincent" he responds with eagerness. Vincent, Vincent. " Nice to meet you Vincent"

" Pleasure is all mine Mélisse"

Not once have I ever seen him smile at that bar, not when he's alone or with friends and yet standing here talking to me, he couldn't help himself but do just that. I have a hard time associating this jovial side of him with the one I've previously been exposed to—- Intense, removed and always pensive as if measuring the weight of the world on his shoulders.

I cut the conversation short, making an excuse to rejoin my cousin, despite every part of my body instructing me not to. I was a bit disappointed when he stood behind and didn't fight back. I wanted him to, to insist more, to impose himself against my better judgment. I wanted him to ask for my number, invite me out for a drink, and I wanted to have exchanged more than a few words with him.

Throughout the remainder of the afternoon I searched for him, to no avail. When we pack I scout the perimeters one last time, hoping to say goodbye, but my assumptions tell me he had already left. What a shame.

Later that night, when I came home, took a shower and scrubbed the day off of me, I summoned him from my memories. His gentle fingers washing my hair, the stream from the shower head cascading over us, his beard oil and the scent of tree moss dissolving from the steam while we swap stories and long kisses. When I finally reach my bed and melt within the sheets, the aftershocks of my orgasm are still reverberating through me. I sigh, and close my eyes, Sade's voice serenading on the radio, weaving along the lace curtains. I drift into a peaceful sleep, knowing full well soon enough this man would become a delicious problem.

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