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twelfth-harbinger · 3 years

Note

Hello!! I just finished reading your Zhongli piece and it’s so so good! I love the way you write and your descriptions, unlike other writers who just dive into dialogue and feels very 1D, yours is 3-D!! I love it! Do you plan on continuing the Zhongli one with part 2 NSFW?!?

Also, may I please request a NSFW Diluc piece with female reader, who’s his co-worker/bartender who works at angels share with Charles?

Thank you for your hard work!

A/n: Firstly, yes!!! & thank you!!!, ilysm <3. Secondly Diluc is fucking hot & this is something I couldn’t get out my mind once I read your request. Pls Enjoy ^^

Mentions: Master Diluc likes being called...Master Diluc. Don’t taunt him it’ll lead to something spontaneous and igniting! Bar sex.

Warnings: Nsfw! So spicy hehe

The Angel of Angel’s Share

He spotted you on his occasional endeavors to Angels Share, being an outstanding and tremendous help to Charles when it came to cleaning up and serving drinks to the patrons of his humble business. You insisted that Charles let you help out once in a while as a side job — you needed the mora. Upon getting Dilics rather passive approval in a letter you got in! You spend most nights tidying up, wiping down tables and cleaning glasses periodically. Many of the bar patrons converse with you. Calling you the literal Angel of Angel’s Share. Your beauty was no secret, every man and woman there simply adored you. How could they not? You were friendly, outgoing and most importantly, kind. Your smile was as radiant as the sun itself and of course Diluc had to witness it with his own two eyes. Word did not spread around his establishment without him in the loop. Kaeya frequented the bar more often to flirt with see you; he was a regular before, but now? You rarely go a night where you don’t see him, even if it’s for a short while. Charles has to make snide comments about him slacking off to get him to leave.

All it takes is one night for things to burn brightly into something new, a night akin to this one. Diluc stood behind the counter to relieve Charles for the night shift — he had been there all morning and the night before. You walked in as Diluc was speaking to Charles, you wasted no time in maneuvering to the second floor to clear those tables first.

“Enjoy your night off Charles, I’ll take it from here.” Diluc waved him away and well, it left you there with him. Not alone of course, not yet. As the night pressed on you entertained the customers, served them delicious drinks Diluc prepared and made friends with Stanley?? The busy happy hour of Angels Share gave you no time to take a break. Not until it was well after hours and Diluc had locked the doors to Angel’s Share for the night.

“Good work today.” You chirped happily, as you sat at the bar of the counter atop a stool. Diluc prepared you spiked wolf hook juice on the house; it had a bearclaw kind of taste to it. One of Dliuc’s hands held an empty glass whilst the other dried it with a plain off-white dish cloth.

“I should be saying that to you, you overachieved tonight.” He didn’t mean for his comment to come off as brash, even though it did. You glanced up at him over the top to your glass, your eyes narrowing slightly in amusement. He quickly corrected himself with a light clear of his throat. “Not...that, that’s a bad thing. You..did well.”

Talk about awkward, you and he hadn’t spoken much since your employment over the past few months. You were undoubtedly curious about this handsome man with hair the color of fire. All dressed in black and a wielder of a claymore. He had to have some form of immense physical strength to do so and it only made you wonder what else he could do.

“Why thank you Master Diluc.” Your lips curled into a coy smile as you peeked up at him over the rim of your glass once more. His eyes were like flames too, and his gaze made you burn. It’s strange, so many people address him as Master Diluc regularly and yet you were the only person that was able to stoke the fire within him. Intentionally or not he enjoyed the way it rolled off your tongue and he wanted to hear it again. His hand stopped moving in the glass and he set it down neatly next to the others that were lined up.

“There’s no need to thank me, everyone deserves recognition for their hard work.” He played it cool, you’ll give him that. You stood up, hopping off the stool to the bar, only to walk around it and move past him. You were shorter than he was, he saw the top of your head. He was in the midst of asking you what you were doing but you stopped in front of him to drop to your knees. He fucking froze, he watched you completely unsure of what was going to happen next. He prayed to the gods that you weren’t going to do what he wanted you to do. He wouldn’t be able to keep it together otherwise and he doubted he’d stop you. With a cheeky grin you stood back up with a large jug of homemade grape juice in a hand. He exhaled quietly, letting out a silent sigh that caught in his throat. His face remained straight with a hint of a slight irritable frown threatening the corners of his lips. You proceeded to stand in front of him, turning your back to him to pour a glass of his favorite beverage.

“I know you don’t drink and I heard you liked grape juice from your brother. Why not sit and join me for a while?”

His eyes drifted down the back of your figure before he stepped aside shamefully, Kaeya rubbed off on him more than he cared to admit. Even so, he was ignoring any and all signals you were sending him. Or at least he was trying his very best to. Certainly nothing came that easy— a passing thought you both shared. He sat beside you at the bar, it was silent for a little while. You looked at him with a slight turn of your head and moved to place a hand on your cheek. He lowered the glass from his face and looked over at you. Seeing him up close was making you nervous, you thought you had it in you to seduce this man but you began having second thoughts. He stared at you as if he was trying to read you like a book. It only made things more complicated which lead to you doubting yourself even more. Kaeya never made you this nervous even when he flirted with you.

“My brother told you I liked grape juice what a nuisance.” He said, breaking the silence; he had to the cat ripped out your tongue. You looked at the glass jug and then at him and finally smiled, breaking a light sweat from your overthinking.

“O-Oh, yes haha.. he was teasing you quite a bit.” Diluc didn’t find it amusing Kaeya could get under his skin like it was his job. A light ‘tch’ left his lips as he raised his glass. You followed suit needing more liquid courage than you initially thought. “It’s okay,” You sighed out, you cheeks warming from the bitter sweet drink. “Apple juice is superior in any case.” Diluc looked at you and a light smile crossed his features as he shook his head.

“It’s not.” He stated, “At all in fact.” You caught his semi playful gaze, you narrowed your eyes a little at the comment. “Sunsettia juice is even better in all aspects.” You chuckled and lowered your hand onto the table.

“Coming from the juice enthusiast himself why am I not surprised.” Diluc smirked a bit, finding your comment funny. He looked at you and your radiantly warm smile; it really did resemble that of the morning and setting sun. The two of you remained there conversing with each other well into the night, losing track of time. He hadn’t felt this at ease with anyone by his side in a while. Jean was a great friend to talk to but she was so busy he rarely got to speak with her. He was too in his own right, running the wine industry in Monstadt was no easy task.

“Do you enjoy working here?” He asked as you stood up to stretch, the tables in the back still needed to be cleared, a few drinking tankards, bottles and glasses were scattered about. His question made you think, you loved the night atmosphere of the tavern and the people that came with it.

“Of course I do, it’s very inviting I dare say more than Cats Eye.” You looked his way with a grin he stood up along with you a faint smile playing at the corner of his lips. “Though I do have my work cut out for me here.” You quipped lightly before making your way to the back of the bar where a wooden bench table sat nestled in the corner with a small cabinet and barrel behind it. Diluc followed after to aide in an easy clean up you worked hard enough for tonight. With your back turned you bend over the table without fully walking around it to reach for the glasses and tankards. Your arms were quite short given your stature, without thinking too deeply into his actions Dilic stood halfway behind you to grab the bottle.

“It’s fine to take a break once in a while. There is no need to overwork yourself.” He stated plainly as he picked up the second bottle that sat next to the first. Unbeknownst to him you felt his presence the moment he stepped up behind you. He smelled like a freshly lit fire in the middle of the Whispering Woods his warmth drew you in. You stepped back somewhat unintentionally, your backside grazing him lightly as you turned around to face him. Even on your toes you wouldn’t be at eye level, he stared down at you a bit embarrassed by what he believed was his fault. He opened his mouth to apologize, you couldn’t stop yourself from stealing a kiss. When your lips pressed against his in a sweetened and heated kiss, you noticed Diluc tensed up. The bottles he had fell over onto the surface of the table. Upon hearing that you pulled away and stood flat footed against the edge of the able. You avoided looking at him and tugged on the ends of your hair sheepishly.

“Sorry I...don’t know what came over me, I thought maybe...“ With your half hearted apology you trailed off looking up at Diluc who stared down at you with a perplexed look in his eye. With his gloved hand he reached up to cup your cheek and leaned down to press his lips firmly against yours. His other hand moved up to hold the other side of your cheek. He wanted to kiss you the moment everyone left. Your lips moved in time with his, your hands finding themselves holding onto the sides of his coat. Without breaking the kiss, he lowered his hands to your waist and then to your thighs. In one swift movement he effortlessly lifted you to sit you on top of the table. The bottles on the surface rattled upon him doing so, slightly moving the table in the process. Your hands moved up his chest from his sides as his own slipped further down your legs to hold onto your waist. His pants were growing tighter by the second, you were so beautiful and he hadn’t voiced it yet. Not that he was given the chance to, the moment you both came up for air you pulled him into another fierce kiss, you legs locking around him in efforts to draw him closer. You needed him to ruin you on that table top and he wasn’t going to deny you of one of life’s simple pleasures. After all this man made it so that people could drink happily within the safety of Angel’s Share. Your tongue moved past your lips and Diluc gladly glided his own over yours to gain access. His hand moved back up to your cheek only to slip down to your neck to hold you in place as his other hand moved up the side of your thigh to squeeze. His leather gloves felt so good on your skin, you wanted to feel more of him.

Your hands moved from his sides to his pants, fumbling with the belts and buttons to try and get them loose. Diluc moved to kiss your neck, his warm lips trailing hot kisses against your soft skin. He made an audible sound, a muffled moan as he kissed the nape of your neck. You tugged him closer upon finally undoing his bottoms. His hand wandered down your side and moved to hitch up your work tunic, the other pulling onto the string to your top. He yanked it down to reveal your bare chest, as he exposed your legs and thighs. He was going to thoroughly enjoy fucking you on top of that table. A slight smile crossed his features as his index finger and thumb moved down to grip your chin, he tilted your head up to look into your eyes. Never has a man made you this weak with such a simple gaze.

“Is this what you want?” He asked quietly, he wasn’t going to begin without asking you. Your brows furrowed in need and you nodded as your eyes searched his face. His own were a bit complacent when he didn’t move to give you what he knew you wanted; he wanted to hear you say it. He only moved in to kiss you once more before his lips found the skin of your neck again.

“Diluc..please.” You whined, he smiled lightly against your neck and kept kissing. You wondered why he was only kissing you, unbeknownst to you his hand moved down in between your legs and his crotch to free his fully hardened member from the confides of his trousers. “M-Master Di—“ Your breath hitched in your throat and you moaned out the rest of his name, a deep growl moving past his lips as he slipped inside of you. He stretched you out continuously as you contracted around his length in utter bliss. Your legs squeezed around him and his hands gripped your waist and thigh. Pulling you closer to his chest as he bottomed out inside of you. Your eyes rolled back as he pushed himself further; your lips parted in a light moan and your hands tangled in his red locks. Diluc’s hand moved from your thigh to your neck to hold you in place briefly as he leaned back to look at your face. It was intoxicating, if he could get drunk off your facial expressions he would. He pulled back and thrusted hard into you, your body jerked up and the table moved along with the bottles and glasses on top of it.

You cried out in pleasure and your hips bucked against his. He bit down on his bottom lip to surpress a groan, he thrusted once again, finding a hard and steady rhythm that left your body jerking upwards against the table and your chest exposed for him to see. An alluring sight that made him thrust even harder and your loud moans to fill the atmosphere of the bar. Mixed in were his own light goans and mild grunts, even as he laid you flat onto the table he didn’t stop. Though the pace slowed a bit, he became more forceful with his movements which made your back arch into his chest and your legs shake. You were going to cum a lot harder than you expected, you could feel it and so could he, you caught wind of a faint smirk that slipped across his face as he kissed you. A kiss deep enough where you could lose oneself. Your hands tugged at his hair and your face pleaded with a need for release.

The bottles, tankards and glasses had since fell onto the floor of Angel’s Share. Not that either of you could be bothered by it now. As your climax rushed at you like a battering ram Diluc groaned out low into your ear the sound made your body quiver, you were about to milk him dry. Your hands slipped out of his hair and fell back onto the table as you convulsed in an intense high. Diluc held you in his arms and sat you back up, with your legs wrapped around him once again. He turned and sat on the edge of the table with you on top, allowing you to ride out the rest of your orgasm as he filled your depths with his hot seed. The feeling itself made you shutter as he buried his face into your chest and his arms wrapped around you, the moan he let out was something you could never get tired of hearing. The area in Angel’s Share that you two both shared had grown hot, the sweat you broke out was enough to cause your breathing to be ragged.

“Master Diluc...” You mumbled into his hair with closed eyes and a smile, his hands rested on your waist as his head rested on your chest. He moved back to look up at you, his hand moving to brush your cheek. He kissed your cheek as he pulled back to look at your face.

“Yes?” He replied, a smile crossing his features, you grinned at him finding the humor in his answer. You kissed him once more, this time slowly to savor the taste of his lips. He looked up at you, his eyes flickering like fire. “There’s going to be a shipment at the Dawn Winery from Liyue, Charles usually comes to pick it up but, I trust you enough to be there in his stead.” Upon hearing those words you knew you’d see him again.

“I will gladly be there, Master Diluc.”

Bonus

After your visit to the Dawn winery a few day ago, you decided to get an afternoon drink at Angel’s Share. Outside you ran into Kaeya and Diluc sitting at one of the tables outside. Kaeya spotted you first of course and when your eyes met Diluc’s a smile surfaced onto your face and his own softened a bit. Which, caught Kaeya’s attention quickly; being the absurdly perceptive man that he was.

“You’re here early, I thought your shift doesn’t start until sundown.” Kaeya spoke with a smile that was suspiciously sly. Diluc sat there with his arms crossed and a placid frown on his face, you sat with them and looked at Kaeya unamused.

“I thought I’d get a drink before my shift, I’ve been quite busy as of late.” You replied moving a hand to rest on your cheek, Diluc was silent and Kaeya looked between you both before his eye settled on you.

“Have you now? You know, a few days ago I went to the Dawn Winery looking for you and Diluc seeing as Charles said you were going to be there.” Kaeya held up a letter from grandmaster Jean and waved it in the air idly. “I needed to deliver a letter from the active grandmaster to Diluc and hoped I’d run into you there and yet...I couldn’t find either of you.” Diluc frowned deeper and your smile began to fade slowly, your hand moved up casually to cover your mouth a bit and Kaeya’s smile grew as he went on. “So, I took it upon myself to look around given your maids told me you were in his study.” Diluc’s expression shifted from displeasure to pure annoyance. You were a bit nervous though wondering if you two had been found out already. You knew the answer in the back of your mind though. “When I couldn’t find you there I saw a maid walk out of the west wing hallway with blush staining her cheeks so, naturally I went that way and much to my surprise there you two were behind the semi closed doors to dear brothers bedroom-“ Diluc snatched the letter from his brother and narrowed his eyes. He stood up and narrowed his eyes at him.

“You finished ?” He asked, short tempered as always, you were a blushing mess on the other hand, with your face covered in attempts to hide your embarrassment. Of all the ways to be found out, it had to be Kaeya happening across you two at the Dawn Winery! Kaeya chuckled lightly and leaned back in the chair.

“Ah-Ah you interrupted me brother, I was just getting to the good part.” You peeked up at him and shook your head Dliuc let out and irritable sigh and turned his back to Kaeya and then looked over at you, a smile on his face one he’d only show to you really.

“I’ll see you later.” You nodded with a warmth to your cheeks as he walked off ignoring Kaeya all together. The three of you knowing Diluc was working tonight with you again. It left you two sitting there in a painful kind of silence where only one of you were inflicted and the other found it jovial.

“He must like you.” Kaeya sighed raising his wine glass to his lips, you glanced over at him with a slight glare and he smiled your way.

“Your point?” You retorted, it lead to him shrugging lightly as he finished the drink. He stood up, preparing to take his leave, moving to place a hand on his hip.

“None really, it’s just he got to you before I could.” Kaeya wouldn’t admit to him being beaten at his own game, he also wouldn’t voice at how it made him proud and happy for his brother at the same time. You looked at him with a straight face and he chortled. “You’ll make each other happy, especially with the sex you’re having. I’m not worried.” He patted your shoulder before he walked off in the opposite direction of his brother. Leaving you there blushing and with the future to think about, one where both you snd Diluc shared.

#genshin impact #genshin impact imagines #genshin impact x reader #genshin impact x you #genshin impact diluc #diluc ragnvindr #diluc #diluc x reader #I deadass had to open the game to describe the bar and where he was fucking you lmfaooo!!#I feel like Diluc is a great kisser bc Kaeya gave him tips on how to do it right randomly one day #like — Kaeya: You’re awkward with women so let me tell you how to kiss right Diluc: :/ go away #genshin impact x gender neutral reader

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flowerflamestars · 3 years

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okay i’m still obsessed with your idea of nesta and tarquin together!! would you mind giving us a little more on that, like how would they first interact, what would nesta think of him, all of that? thank you so much!!!! 💚💚

I would love to!!!

The important thing to remember about the Tarquin Draft is that is has the same main story as Daylight: Nesta in Day, Nesta the Library, Helion’s grumpy best, best truest friend ride or die companion.

So Nesta doesn’t actually meet Tarquin again until she’s halfway to okay. It’s plotwise timeline closest to where she is in the most recent chapter- feeling at home in her body, really hitting her stride as Librarian, gaining a reputation as just an absolutely formidable force who helps anyone who asks.

There’s been correspondence between the Library and Summer- Nesta, acting as a go-between for Kallias- but remember, no one uses her name.

So it’s a big surprise when the Librarian arrives in Summer, pulls down her black and gold hood and...there is Feyre Archeron’s face, like a nightmare. Except not- wearier, sharper, older, devastation and salvation like the sunrise after a storm at sea- Nesta, who laughs in Cresseida’s face when the Princess of Adriata calls her a Night Court spy.

Nesta: wouldn’t that require belonging to the Night Court? Try my baby sister, if you’d like to yell about idiotic plans. Where are the books that keep eating people?

Cresseida is so wary, but Nesta, of course, isn’t actually going to leave before handling the cursed trove some Summer sailors pulled from the sea. She’s the Librarian.

Tarquin just...doesn’t want this. Doesn’t want to be proved inexperienced, that he can’t act for his people’s good by a beautiful woman again. But Nesta aggressively wants to help, and ultimately, he lets her.

And Nesta acts nothing like Feyre.

She takes off that cloak of office (listen, I’m picturing like, the coolest wide-legged, sleeveless white linen jumpsuit that has EVER existed, chic but functional), puts on a sunhat that she...magicked into her hand? and stomps into the shallows. Starts pulling sailors souls out of the treasure and hauling them to shore.

It’s terrifyingly efficient. And listen, Tarquin doesn’t give a shit about rank, so he, after some very blushy surprise because no, he did not know he had a competency kink and Nesta Archeron has tiny adorable little freckles on her shoulders- gets in the waves to help.

Nesta doesn’t even look at him.

What she does is save the lives of twelve of his men, pick up the faintly hissing, utterly cursed chest of books that started all this, and ask Cresseida is there’s a room where she can work.

So they take her to the palace.

The beautiful ambassadors rooms, windows and silk and the sound of water.

It becomes clear that the curse is in fact, just a curse, but one that can only be broken under the full moon, which is two weeks away. So Nesta stays, being the only person who can keep that magic from spreading. The only payment she wants is to take the books back when she goes which leaves Tarquin, arms full of the traditional gift of pearls, VERY embarrassed.

But he gets over it. Tarquin is genuinely chill- he has baggage from the weight of his responsibility, of being fooled by the Night Court- but he’s also so, so young. Kind. Curious. He doesn’t want to judge Nesta on the actions of people related to her, and once she proves herself, he doesn’t.

And meanwhile Nesta is like, cool. Cool, cool, cool- I can’t sleep while I’m here, I can’t winnow home and sleep because the Library can’t suppress a curse from hundreds of miles away, I’m not going to steal the books like a fucking thief in the night like Feyre-

So Nesta does a lot of exploring.

Tarquin comes into the harbor one morning, pink still streaking the sky. He’d been up in predawn doing Manly Boating Things with his navy- he walks through the harbor, lets the sounds his happy people sooth the rush of magic that still surprises him- to shape the sea, to cease the waves, to bend the world, to call the tide- and goes looking for breakfast.

Instead, he finds Nesta.

In line a line waiting for fresh bread and pastries, in another insanely attractive white outfit, looking at the sky. She’s alone- he’d given her guards, servants, knew damn well Cresseida was watching her- holding a basket, drinking coffee with her free hand.

So Tarquin joins her.

It cannot be overstated how genuinely charmed they both are with how normal it is. No death and war between them. No magic drawing them together. No real history- Nesta isn’t Feyre in the slightest- just a man with salt drying in his hair and a beautiful grin, asking if he can buy Nesta breakfast.

Just Nesta, and the only High Lord she’s ever met besides Helion who isn’t aggressive. As she says, Nesta has as many problems with High Fae men as they tend to her- the siren song of power, challenge called to challenge by her very primordial being.

And listen, Tarquin is a huge, very physical dude. Summer faeries are touchy, in a friendly way. But he also, like Helion, is smart enough to pick up on how screamingly uncomfortable men make Nesta. He doesn’t know why, and noticing it made him feel a little sick- but he’s careful. Kind, funny Tarquin, whose managed in knowing her just a few days to figure out how to approach her without triggering her.

So Nesta says yes. Nesta probably says something snarky as hell about his High Lordly hospitality.

And Tarquin laughs- genuinely, beautiful.

He’s still laughing when they get to humble little window, and Nesta goes still.

Tarquin clocks it- handles what they’re doing, gets Nesta out of the line of people without unnecessarily touching her. He sort of thinks she’s having a panic attack?- finds a nice quiet bench under a tree. He’s also pretty sure he’s making it worse just by being present, but he’s not going to leave her alone like this- so Tarquin just like, sits on the ground.

Which startles Nesta. She looks up- he doesn’t know her well enough to know what’s going on, so he’s extremely confused when Nesta goes: why is she here?

Tarquin: ???

Nesta: the HUMAN

There’s part of Nesta thinking the worst possible scenarios- what her past and the Night court taught her.

But Tarquin just like, blinks? Sets down the pastry bag on the bench for Nesta and is says well, she was shipwrecked. A whole passenger ship from the continent last summer- she was going to the North, to start a new business. But she liked it here, and decided to stay.

Nesta: that human woman, owns a business? Here.

Tarquin, who’s starting to get what is happening here: Yes. She’s a Summer Court citizen.

Nesta eats a pastry. Nesta, face wry, eventually hands a pastry to Tarquin, who’d seemingly decided she needed them more than he did. Tarquin wolfs it down in three bites, just enough time for Nesta to grumpily confess: I’ve never seen a free human, above the Wall.

Tarquin, haltingly, shyly is like: well, I want it to be different. We all share the same world. Acting like we’re not all the same is how Hybern almost took over-

By the end of the sentence he’d managed to look up. That was the voice a High Lord, a man who had power and would use it.

So they have this truce, a spark of very real, pretty damned charmed interest. They walk back to the Palace across the whole city, talking.

The next day Nesta is deep in working Librarianing while she’s there- and Tarquin just pops up. Draws as little attention to himself as possible to be like, here. I noticed your hat blew away yesterday? So I brought you a new one. And some coffee. Do you like it cold? Don’t let me get in the way, what you’re doing is important.

What he means by important: incredible.

It had taken him ages to find her, because Nesta is apparently spending her spare time- does she sleep??- winnowing all over his territory, solving any problems anyone asks of her, bringing books to schools. Talking to regional leaders about what their educational needs are. Chatting with sea monsters so the fishermen understand they’ll be totally safe, so long as they always throw back in that one kind of crab that the baby krackens exclusively eat.

And look, it is a coping strategy. Nesta CANNOT rest by the sound of the sea- but she’d also realized this kingdom her sister had fucked with had been hit so, so hard by Amarantha, and then the war. That she can help, so she will.

But she just kind of stops. Tarquin left as quickly as he came she’s just there like- coffee. hat. BEAUTIFUL RESPECTFUL MAN. It’s not the vibe of her and Helion. It’s flirty but not...pressing? It’s nothing like how any faerie man (see: Cassian) who wanted her has ever, ever treated her and it’s just...so, nice.

He’s nice. Gorgeous. Easy to be around, which Does Not Happen to Nesta ever.

Nesta breaks the curse and leaves.

Keeps her promise to the schools, visits to sit on the shore and talk to sea monster babies, so much more prodigious now that they have enough food.

Tarquin thinks she’s amazing, and he starts writing to her. For real Lordship reasons, but also just to see what she’ll say- he wants to know how humans live. How his cities could integrate them. Can they use magic? Will they, if it’s available to them?

Tarquin finds someone- witty, beautiful, so intriguing- who believes in the value of his most difficult dreams. Nesta finds someone who looks at the most fraught, hurt parts of her- humanity lost, a terrible human life, that she still, even now, asks herself sometimes if she can belong, and treats those things as important and integral.

And they fall in love.

It’s a story about a lot of things- Nesta, who drowned to become, learning the whole seas of world will still for her, protect her. Tarquin who does revolutionize his kingdom, and spend centuries counting Nesta’s freckles as they peel and disappear.

Love of choice. Nesta, in the sun, being adored. Tarquin, who so many people think is foolish, a reckless dreamer, defended by the most loyal person on earth.

There’s small details i love so much it makes me want to go to the extremely troublesome work of writing them their own story- Nesta inviting the mermaids from the Night Court waters to live in a place no on is afraid of them. Tarquin who is both sort of a golden retriever but ALSO a proud, petty bitch when tried, draping Nesta head to toe in rubies for inter-court events.

With Tarquin the story really embraces the idea of eternity- of possibility. They’re young, they’re equals in this eternal life. There’s so many years ahead of them, so many things they can do: they have time to go slow, to make changes, to learn each other inside and out as they become the people they want to be.

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brownandblackpearls · 3 years

Text

📜 🖋 𝒞ourting with 𝒟r. 𝒟evorak (Julian x BlackReader) Pt.1

PART 1 SUMMARY:

You are a reputable, young beauty of means in Vesuvia, enjoying the winter courting season. An odd letter from an odd doctor finds its way to your door. You decide to respond.

─── Julian x black female reader

─── imagery + fiction

─── explicit smut

─── regency/historical/fantasy, courtship rituals, wealthy! MC, love letters, drama, handsome redheads

☾ next.

.・゜゜・✧･ﾟ: ✧･ﾟ:.・゜゜・✧･ﾟ: ✧･ﾟ:✧･ﾟ: ✧･ﾟ:・゜゜・．✧･ﾟ: ✧･ﾟ: *

“Letters for you, Miss!” The scullery maid calls through the door.

You pause your writing, hesitating over your final line before turning to answer the call.

“Come in!”

The maid strides in with your daily mail on a silver platter. As expected, there is a heap of them from various suiters, all interested in seeking your hand.

Some young, some old, some men, some women, some wealthy, and some positively blue-blooded, they are all voracious. Usually, your interest tends to wane after weeks and weeks of these greetings each season. The feeling especially set in after getting the particular suspicion that the lords, duchesses and dukes reaching out to you were having their own maids and butlers pen these letters, a copy of an inquiry to every potential young beauty in the region.

Consequently, many of the letters did not seem to genuine, remaining vague and distanced. Polite.

Today, however, you find your lessons to be going slow. You decide to take a break and browse through the inquiries.

“Read through them for me, Delilah?” You call out the request as you lower your pen and clean your fingers in a warm, sudsy bowl of water on your desk. Drying your hands, you apply a spot of scented lotion on your fingers before smoothing it in and sliding your delicate gloves back on.

Delilah clears her throat, interested in the letters herself.

You had no doubt the contents of the proposals would make waves throughout the household by sunset, but all of your staff were well-meaning. Just bored during these slow winter months. Honestly, you didn’t blame them for indulging in your courting dramas.

“Well,” Delilah begins, “Here is a letter from a Clarence Dunford Winthrop, hailing from Bremens County! He greets you and wishes you a very warm winter. ‘I am most pleased to write to you, Miss ------. I possess a healthy 34 years in me, and I seek the opportunity to meet and possibly enter the idea of courtship with you. Are the tales true that you are quite fine and b-buxom…? Goodness, how forward!”

You bite back a chuckle, allowing Delilah her scandalized looks and comments. After she’s thoroughly read Winthrop’s letter, she moves on to the next.

“This one,” she exclaims, “is from a young, Fiorentina Agosti, hailing from the Suthlands. She greets you amicably and wishes you a cozy winter. ‘Dear Miss ------, I am most delighted to write to you. I am a young woman of etiquette and good breeding. I am 23 years old, and yet for one so young, I am more certain of my passions and ambition than most grown adults. I seek the window of opportunity to introduce myself and my estate to you, as I am seeking to build my relationships with the nearby families of standing. I favor women only, as I’ll need a good, feminine eye to steer my estate towards a glorious future…what a boastful girl! I hear she is very attractive, though…”

Delilah goes on, examining letter after letter, reading aloud excitedly. Finally, she lands on a slightly ragged one, with a wax seal bearing no crest. Only a simple plant pattern with dried flowers and ferns trapped to the note.

“My,” Delilah wonders, flipping the envelope, “what a...humble introduction. Let’s hope that the contents are more splendid than the package they came in!”

Delilah adjusts the paper before her and begins.

“This one,” she explains, “is from a young…doctor…in the capital, near the palace. Oh, I think I recall this one? He is of great renown, but markedly odd. Hmm…He greets you fondly and asks if…if you have ‘seasonal allergies’...? He is more than happy to forward any herbs or teas that can help soothe inflammation…as a ‘show of good faith and possible friendship’—yes, very odd...He would like to know if you would be interested in accompanying him as an honored guest to his annual medical tools gala. There will be anatomical displays as well as guest surgeon speakers. Afterwards, he would like to take you to attend the opening night of a Vesuvian theatre drama, and then dinner. I—that sounds more exhausting than eventful. Goodness….“

Despite Delilah’s somewhat opinionated concerns, your interest perks at the oddness of the inquiry and the oddness of the planned date. You’re not so sure a medical gala will be of interest to you, as you’ve never attended one before, but you would like to try.

“Delilah, please. No more commentary. What does the rest say...?”

Delilah harrumphs, moving on. “Well, he seems certain that you will find the engagement eventful and enlightening on his personage and he hopes to show you how good of a ‘provider he can be for a woman of your means’. He has ‘no grand heritage or acreages’, but he does have one of the ‘best practices in Vesuvia’ sporting several underling surgeons and plenty of business. New blood, instead of blue blood from the looks of it, if you ask me.”

You pause, thinking it over.

The letter all sounded personally tailored and individualized for your reception, and clearly not something that was drafted up in the monotonous manner of house staff doing as ordered.

The doctor seems very keen in meeting you...

...You can’t help but feel the same.

“What is his name?”

Delilah levels you an uncertain look, noticing your choice, before sharing.

“The suitor signed off as a Dr. Julian Devorak.”

“Devorak,” you try out, rolling the name around in your mouth.

It feels good.

“Thank you Delilah. You may place the letters in my box, save for the doctor’s. Please bring his to me, as well as my pen and good ink. I’ll also need the courting stationery.”

Delilah sours slightly before perking back up and doing as ordered quickly. She clearly does not approve of the choice but remembers her place, and knows that you are not one to be bossed.

You wait until she delivers the stationery and retreats from your room before turning to your pen and paper, glancing at the letter from the doctor.

You perfume the parchment slightly, and use a fine, shimmering ink to dot the thick, French paper. You being to write, peering at your refined, swirling letters.

“Dear Sir…I take the first opportunity to acknowledge the flattering letter with which you have favored me…your discernment is of my deep interest, as well as your detailed plans for our hopeful outing. I consent to the date and time, and I look forward to your academic gala, as well as the theater and subsequent dinner. I implore that you arrive to chaperone me long before the sun is high in the sky, as we may need much time together that I am wont to spend with you. I will admit, I find you very curious and am interested to learn more of you. Warm Regards, ------.”

You finalize the paper with a neat calligraphy of your signature, before cleanly folding and pressing the letter. You choose a lovely envelope and seal it with wax before stamping and sending it off with Delilah to be mailed.

“Hmm. Odd man,” you murmur to yourself, before moving on to send responses to the other requests of interest.

The days pass by, eventful.

You go on several dates, some of note and some not so much.

A few remain in your mind of potential. There was a beautiful countess seeking companionship after a split from her count…Nadia. Buxom and svelte, she was also the epitome of regality, and a brown-skinned beauty like yourself. You couldn’t help but feel drawn to her.

There was also Asra, a mischievous but enchanting merchant king. You suspected a penchant for the occult on his end, but his beautiful face was too good of a distraction to focus on what may hide behind it.

Then there was Muriel, a mysterious man with one of the largest claims of land in Vesuvia. He was fidgety and reserved, but you sensed a deep soul in him.

Portia, the jeweler of the aristocracy, and her passionate stares paired with her down-to-earth jokes were enough to make you lower your guards and raise your spirits.

Lastly, Lucio. Oddly enough, he turned out to be the count that split with Nadia. You found his countenance alarming at first, only to later find a subtle charm in his passion for life, luxury and you.

All of them were far more interesting than the duds you’d went on dates with the past few weeks.

Valdemar, the ambassador, had spilled soup all over your dress during a brunch while he spoke wildly about some conquest of his past. Then there’d been Volta, an odd little thing that insisted on trying all these unappealing, exotic dishes. There’d been Vlastomil, a weevil of a person who seemed more eager to gossip cruelly than to learn of you. And lastly...most memorably...there was Valdemar…you weren’t too sure what Valdemar did, but you were certain whatever it was, you wanted absolutely no part in it.

Weary from all the courting, you put your best face forward and hoped this day ended up being a delight instead of another disaster.

Foregoing flat-ironing, blowouts, presses, braids and twists this time, you decide to arrange for your servants to outfit you in lovely, long locs for the evening. You line them with fine silver trinkets, baubles, and rings before arranging your makeup to perfection and dressing in your finest, warm regards from the tailor.

Today was the day with the doctor, and you wanted to see exactly what kind of man he was.

You donned a beautiful gown beneath your long, furred coat and lined your neck with a shining collar of diamonds. The winter snow would reflect stunningly off of them, as well as you.

Perfumed, plucked, and preened, you stand, assessing yourself in the mirror.

Vesuvia’s treasure.

You laugh, satisfied with the show stopping look, before leaving your room. You almost bump into a servant, rushing in to announce to you that the doctor has arrived with a carriage for you both.

“Let him in,” you say kindly, glancing out the window. Sure enough, a large, black carriage awaits. You lift your chest, square your shoulders, and raise your chin, allowing your lashes to lower and your aura to project.

You descend the stairs of your home into the grand hall, your eyes pinning the man that entered and awaited below, greeted politely by your staff.

‘Oh,’ you realize.

He’s gorgeous.

Your eyes widen slightly at the sight of him. Tall, tousled, and terribly attractive, Julian Devorak watched you, open-mouthed, as if you are some sort of ethereal being that decided to grace his mortal existence. Descending the marble stairs, you feel him watch every step you take until you finally reach the landing.

You decide to close the distance and break the ice when he makes no move, still in awe of you. No need for those stars in his eyes, you think. You want him dazzled, not anxious or elevating you to something or someone that is inaccessible.

He is here in your home, after all. If you were inaccessible to him, he wouldn’t be.

“Hello Dr. Devorak,” you grace easily, smiling. “I’m ------. It is a pleasure to finally meet you.”

“J-Julian, please, no need for extraneous titles,” he insists in a light stammer. “The pleasure is all mine, I can assure you.”

‘Aaw,’ you think to yourself, looking fondly at him. You’ve heard the line so many times before, but somehow, the words sound so genuine coming off of his tongue. You also like the sound of his voice very much. He sounds like how he looks, you realize.

Julian mistakes your silence for something bad, and rushes to fill it.

“I-I can’t tell you how…how long I’ve anticipated today.”

“Oh?” You ask, tilting your head in wonder.

Were you the only one he was querying? That wasn’t possible. There had to be others. You respond pleasantly.

“I’m honored...’Julian’. But I’m sure an interesting man such as yourself is entertaining many acquaintances and possess many options.”

Julian blushes, surprising you. He shakes his head, fingers fidgeting at his sides.

“Not exactly,” he offers, leaving it there.

Your brow lifts in wonder.

“Really...? But I loved your letter. I’ve reread it several times and am not afraid to say so. I find you quite striking.”

If possible, Julian blushes even harder at that, daring to hold your gaze. You see an odd sort of mask arise on him then, a false yet endearing bravado. You don’t call it out and simply watch as he does his best to disguise his rampant shyness.

“Ah...thank you madam! But not nearly so striking as one such as yourself! Why, I remember the feeling of when I first laid eyes on you. It was as if lightning had struck me.”

Your eyes widen in pleasure, curious.

“Such flattery! Where did this occur?”

Julian smiles triumphantly, happy to visibly pique your interest.

“The theater! I noticed you in your private box and it was then I decided that I must inquire to learn more about you.”

Your smile broadens, and you can’t help but step closer. Julian feels very comfortable and warm, even with the pomp.

“So that’s how you knew I’d enjoy the theater!” You exclaim. You had wondered about it since his letter first arrived. He could’ve invited you to any event, any activity, and yet he knew the theater was the right choice...

Julian tenses as you near, unsure of where to look. You can’t tell if he wants you closer or farther away. You decide to hold firm and give him time to sort it out for himself.

“I-uh…yes.” He swallows thickly. “Allow me to enlighten you of the day’s activities in the carriage…?”

You nod, realizing that your questioning is holding the both of you up from your date. You step back, cowed.

“Of course! My apologies.”

Julian swiftly holds out a broad, gloved hand for you to take. The gentleman’s escorting hold.

“No need to apologize,” Julian insists, guiding your offered palm gently, “I...I actually should be the one to apologize.” He bites his lip, thinking of some unknown err.

You glance at him as the two of you step out the front door together, waved off by your staff.

“Whatever for…?”

Julian looks sheepish, rounding you both to the carriage door and opening it for you.

“I....well!” He pauses, the words sticking in his mouth. “I was...told by a confidant very recently that the medical gala may have some things that are not...er, conducive for a romantic atmosphere. So I must ask...you’re not squeamish of leeches, are you?”

.・゜゜・✧･ﾟ: ✧･ﾟ:.・゜゜・✧･ﾟ: ✧･ﾟ:✧･ﾟ: ✧･ﾟ:・゜゜・．✧･ﾟ: ✧･ﾟ: *

AN: Do not copy, repost, or edit. If you see someone do so, please let me know.

☾ next.

☾ check my blog for more imagines.

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sanghyukstattoos · 3 years

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SF9 as orchestra members

A/N: These are just crumbs from the last time I was in an orchestra everybody

Youngbin:

Dawon's biggest fanboy because he's always laughing at his jokes and asking, ''Borageu?''. It's why he's always confused about which bar you are practicing from, he does not always listen, sometimes dreams.

The type to think about some joke when playing and randomly giggle. Is also the type to laugh for so long that when you come back next week he's still laughing.

Gets you coffee from the cafeteria when you stay back to practice and when you become a couple, he takes you to the best places after practice. You find solace in his peaceful nature but then you meet his friends 😃🔪

Plays louder when piano (soft) and quickly when the tempo is slow, it's because he loves the feeling of hearing all the sounds at once.

Inseong:

A team player, ropes in your whole group (of people who play the same instrument) and practices together with him leading or switches with you sometimes.

Has some hidden leadership qualities but is hidden because of his awkwardness and nervousness when speaking in front of strangers.

Beautiful side features but you can't help but laugh when he's concentrating, he looks at you very intensely then. Teases you about your little mistakes but don't take them seriously hehe

Continuously speaks, even when you are playing and you don't know how. You can't even speak when playing let along twitch the corner of your lips to tell him that you enjoyed his joke lol

Is always hungry, ate when he sat down next to you, ate during the first and second break. Offers you some but it's out of kindness, huffs a little when you take some because he's salty like that.

Jaeyoon:

The one to always smile at you in a heart-fluttering manner, so sweet that you instantaneously smile back.

He's ultra nice, willing to let the stand be on your side even if he has to lean just a little bit to see the notes.

The two of you will have small talks in the line to grab some food, he gets one of those small bag of crisps and offers you one even though he does not need too.

When you make a mistake the first time around, he'll correct you nicely, telling you where you made it and demonstrate how to play it.

He's humble, basically perfect and like an ideal husband, enough to entice you to say ''I love you'' and kiss him on the cheek, sending him flying into outer space.

Dawon:

The type of lean in close enough and have a discussion when the conductor is not looking.

Makes his snarky comments then and even imitates the conductor and you have to hold in your laughter because you were just counted in.

Always has questions while you are officially performing but asks every once in a blue moon so?????

The type to stand up for you when there's competition for the first seat (I can't even remember what it's called now, the one closest to the conductor)

Is the most relaxed person in the orchestra but wait till there's five seconds before you are about to perform, suddenly he'll be nervous, telling you that he's nervous, making random noises and try to hide behind you and then he pulls the ultimate switcheroo by playing better than with you with the straight face on him you've never seen before.

Rowoon:

Definitely the type to grumble when you or him make a mistake, ''Ah, that sounds wrong, what is it?''. Either does not know how to ask for help or does not want to bother you so he does not ask you for help and plays it wrong for the first hundred times.

You facepalm and help him and if your advice is good enough, he practices through break.

If ever grateful for you because you don't want him to stay hungry and get him some snacks.

He repays you with even snacks of his preference and before you know it, the two of you are twinning and doing couple stuff while not being a couple.

The type to make you practice with him as soon as you receive the materials just so you are ahead and everyone is sitting there struggling. Sometimes, you can almost hear him chuckle.

Zuho:

The one that people always think is scary but you know that he's far from it. This is because:

He volunteers to hand out sheets and you help him; he comes early and helps to set up the stands; chuckles when he hears other people complain but when you do, he immediately turns serious and asks where you find difficulty. If you say that it not about the difficulty, then he'll relate to you.

He's got that cute smile that makes you swoon and abide by his suggestion of giving him the easier parts (when it comes to splitting parts)

In a way I am kidding, it truly depends on how he feels. If he's lazy, he gives you the harder parts but he secretly loves how the two of you sound on your instruments- such beautiful harmonisation.

He even tells you, ''We sound amazing'' or ''That was beautiful'' with a tone of appreciation and if you look close enough, he's smiling exactly like you.

Best partners and stay that way for many, many years. Even those with more years of experience than you admit it.

Taeyang:

He focuses on the small details, so asks the person behind him for help instead of your great self.

Refuses to worship the ground you walk on so in your anger, you don't share the stand with him.

Maybe the tip of your shoes touch and that's when you begin to feel the love-hate.

Such a nice face, his beautiful smile contradicts his body language. Primarily seen when he smiles at you as he moves his feet (and the stand) away (to his side) from you.

If you don't get along, good luck because you'll be feeling the heated stares of the rest eight members. I sincerely pray for you then (I don't even believe, my friend).

Hwiyoung:

So attractive, you are just as nervous as him, greeting each other for the first time with bowed heads and he can't stop smiling.

His cheeks light up like they usually do but there's a faint trace of pink. He then clears his throat and starts a conversation.

You better hope that you are better than him, otherwise you will both be stuck when you are being counted in and don't where to start from because you were both busy dreaming.

If you have more experience, he'll make it a point to ask you a question, your patience (if you have some) and kindness (so disappointing as I write this, you should be nicer ^.^) entice him to ask all the questions in the world (hopefully you can keep up)

If you are not better than him then he'll switch partners. Sorry, life is hard, next time when you practice.

Chani:

When you first sit next to him, he's slightly nervous and can't help but show it.

He thought that Taeyang would sit next to him but the beautiful person next to him makes him nervous, like you are about to be great just because you are good-looking

Practices during break before skipping along to Taeyang and you know that he's just spoken about you by the way Taeyang looks back to see you with that curious expression on his face.

If he sees you, he'll hold the door for you like he'd do for anyone else, don't feel fooled by something as small as that, your standards need to be higher. Respect is basic.

#sf9 #sf9 reactions #sf9 writings #sf9 fluff #sf9 fanfic #sf9 fantasy #youngbin #inseong #jaeyoon #dawon #lee sanghyuk #zuho #rowoon #kim seokwoo #yoo taeyang #hwiyoung #kim youngkyun #chani

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atinybitofau · 4 years

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[PART 2] S A N ⇲ royal series au

RECAP: san is king of eden, you’re queen of elos under one nation with 7 other lone kings. and now you’re forced to go on a bonding retreat with san cause seonghwa told you to. enjoy boys and girls.

• series masterlist •

⇩ PART TWO ⇩, click here to read part one.

You bid adieu to your humble armored soldiers before unveiling the fur scarf you had thrown over your arms and back. Supper had come to an end and camp had been set up. Now you were going to get ready to share a tent with San for a night where you find him in his half naked glory, adjusting the straps to his cloth under garment pants.

Your heart races suddenly when he knows of your presence but thinks of nothing of it— something rare of your nobility, heart palpitations. A lack of respect and honor. Though, you somehow subbed attracted to it uncertain by your hidden desires, liquid-lacing your insides. You have your palms held together as you wait to greet the back facing King. A greeting you were taught to do by your late father even if you hate the honor you stand upon.

San moved effortlessly with his back muscles flexed in calm rebound. He laces back a loose fitted blouse of black silk before turning to you with hazy eyes. Your fingers play at your palms as you bow courteously at his highness, your eyes blinking wide at the ground with heavy anticipation.

“Princess, we need no sense of aristocracy in our quarters.” He chuckles you off though bowing his head when you raised yours. “We may be of an honorable class but we don’t need to implement them in the bedroom.”

Cheeky.

You sigh making your way to your hidden room in the tent, masked by only a sheer curtain of cloth. You could see his silhouette staring at your side of the shelter as you strip from your dress facing in that direction. God knows why you did it, but you don’t. (Hidden desire maybe). You changed into your new drawers and a past-knee cut night gown in that you would sleep in for the rest period. San clears his throat, his silhouette visibly moving now after watching you blindly undress.

Immediately you thought of his eyes. A picture your mind drew unintentionally while you had gotten ready for bed that one time he smiled may be the best thing that happened since you last saw your fathers.

So bright. Hiding so much pain. The only real emotion that can truly expose a person’s feeling with millions of muscles moving. A smile.

To that, you get into your cushioned bed.

“Princess.” You hear San mutter from opposite of the sheer wall between the both of you.

“Yes?”

“I’ll be blowing out the candles soon.”

“Yes. Thank you.” You mumble sleepily in your blanket. “It’s still quite early if you’d like to take a stroll.”

“You’d j-join me?”

Your slowly shutting eyes batted open and you stared at his shadow in pure horror.

Did you sound like you were inviting him?

“N-no.” You shoot up in your blankets with a red blotched face. “I meant for you— well it’s early so I though you’d want to walk around for a little before you sleep. Y-you can leave the light on is what I meant to say..”

He seemed disappointed with silence.

He sounded more stressed when he hurried out not even saying goodnight. You sigh feeling dumbed out by your own reply somehow finding San’s feeling of confusion curious.

You remember the boys telling me stories of their childhood. How San felt singled out and acted somewhat strange. San rarely spoke and when he did seeming indifferent by people’s responses. The way you see it, King San was just as human as any of you. If not, a little more. And he may as well have wanted bad things to happen to your father through intent.. but he was afraid. Just like everybody else. You couldn’t blame him for that.

Feeling restless now, you stand up from where you laid and slung on a warm robe and slip ins to follow the poorly lead individual on his night stroll.

Mingi was awake and stopped so forth. Eyebrows furrowed he asks, “Where are you off too, young lady?”

You smile at the taller man. “San wanted to take a stroll earlier. Did you see the direction he took from here?”

“Your grace, it’s far too dangerous to be frolicking on your own.” He insists pushing his sharp sword into it’s protector. “San can take care of himself.”

“And I’m sure I for my own.” You place your hands on the worried bachelor. “The sun is nearly up. Get some sleep, Mingi.”

“I’ll wait for you both to arrive back safely.” He says standing up with pride though bloodshot eyes reading exhaustion. “He mumbled something about seeing a cliff far off north. It’s probably where he’s headed.”

“I promise I won’t go wandering.” You hide your head under the hood of your robe and grab a weapon of choice. “If we don’t return till the sun reaches it’s highest point, I want you to send a rescue team. He couldn’t have gone that far off.”

“Please don’t say that.” He cringes. “A precaution is like waving a white flag.”

You chuckle at the boy and pull at his royal suit. “Mingi, I assure you I’ll be fine. Please get some rest.”

The boy looked uncertain, his eyes wavering in mine.

Mingi was— he’s someone you relied on in the past and someone who never failed to make you feel special.

You loved him in a special way. As far as your love goes at least.

You lay a soft kiss on his stubble cheek before walking off in the direction you think may be where San went.

With dawn upon you now, you could see well enough. You managed to catch a glimpse of a shadow and sounds of crunching dry grass near by. A few quick paces straight forward, you finally see San.

You vaguely remember what he wore before wanting to sleep but in the rising sun, he looked humble. He looked close to a royal but in a form of a free soul. His chin was pulled forward as he basked in the warmth of morning. He walks forth like a child with no sense of direction, dimples sucked in with a soft smile painted on his porcelain face.

You catch up eventually and the soles of your shoes crunching awoke his attention.

He snaps at you enguard with his sword obviously startled by your unannounced appearance. When you remove your hood off your head, he sighs in relief and bows slightly.

“Princess, don’t scare me like that.” He breaths. “I almost cut your head off.”

“I know you want to but let’s try to keep each other alive before we get back to Aurora.”

He coldly turns away from you and follows his initial steps forward. Frantic, you follow behind him like a lost puppy not wanting to get lost now that you’ve found what you were looking for: him.

“I must amend your navigation skills. It was a curvy path I took to get here.”

You glance up at him taking larger strides to catch up. “Well whatever path you took must’ve gotten you back on track. I’ve only walked a straight line. I’m terrible at directions.”

Seeing your struggle, San frigidly takes your balancing hands to help you through the uneven rocks.

You ignore the tumbles in your stomach before saying something else. “There was a cliff Mingi said that caught your attention. Is that where you were going?”

“I thought you didn’t want to accompany me on a stroll.” He shuts out your actually question with his own. “Change your mind out of guilt perhaps?”

“Please.” You snicker. “I was only afraid you’d get kidnapped.”

“I have doubts of your bravery, Princess.” He laughed at that cradling you as you. struggled more when the ground got steeper. “Though I must say for a woman, you have the persistence to get through.. rocky situations.”

Very cunning. “Always so endearing, King San.”

“If I must.”

You reach where you initially thought he’d end up, staring out into the wild sunrise with pure delight. You seemed hypnotized by nature’s beauty pulling at your dress to sprint towards the cliff. San basked in the warmth. You basked in the view.

Your kingdom was close to waters, dams and unfortunately with the weather conditions, rarely saw past an acre. You were ecstatic to see stranded villages and quaint homes that covered maybe parts of Aurora or maybe San’s Kalos Kingdom that was not too far off edge.

“Have you ever seen such a view?” You turned at San bouncing in your place. “It’s beautiful.”

San was quiet behind you. No sounds of movement, no sounds of whispers. You turn around with a beaming smile to see him laying across the ground with shut eyes.

Immediately your face gawks. “You can’t be serious, San.”

He turns at you and opens his eyes. “What did I do now?”

“The view is breathtaking and your just gonna sleep there the whole time?!”

He hums curtly and resumes his previous position. “Absolutely. I’m tired from basically carrying you here.”

Your jaw drops. “Did you just entail my weight, San-ssi?”

“Yes.” He confirms without further ado. “Yes I did.”

“You are seriously a royal pain in the ass.”

“Why don’t you come and lay here and see why I’m doing it instead of barking over there like a dog?”

You kick dead grass at him hoping he chokes on it.

“What was that for?!” He cried coughing out the dirt and specks that reached his face.

You cock your hips with your hand on top it and point a finger at him. “Have some decency, San. If a woman tells you to enjoy the view with her, you must. It’s all in the book.”

“What kind of— What in gods name— and WHO in their bloody right mind would intentionally write a book with those words specifically?”

“An intellectual.” You annunciate with a wide mouth.

“We have eyes to see, y/n.” He pans with seriousness, tiger eyes glaring at you with fuming frustration. “I can open them later before we go. I don’t need to enjoy a view. Especially that of with a woman.”

I roll my eyes nearly flicking him on the forehead. “Has it ever occurred to you that maybe god gave us nature to revel in? Not manipulate.”

“He gave it to us for health and well being. And gave us eyes to learn.” He retailiates huffing with his chest puffed. “Animals are our main resources. Plants give us life, sun gives us warmth, and the night our rest. There is no room for it’s beauty. It’s a fickle thing.”

“Nature is the most beautiful thing on this planet.” You firmly smile feeling satisfied with your answers before turning around to look at it. “Give me something more of that and maybe I’ll let you off.”

Silence.

Weird from someone who hates losing a verbal battle.

You whip around to see San full on face red, eyes blinking rapidly away from you. Confused and concerned, You pull up at your dress robe to approach him again.

“Cat got your tongue?”

He snaps at that. “N-no. You’re right. Nature’s absolutely the most beautiful thing on this world.”

He gives you another look. One you’ve never seen on him before. Until you realize the camp has sent a warning flare at the sky in consideration.

You gasp interrupted, San sighing in front of you. “We’ll talk about that look later. We need to get back to camp.”

You hear him mumble something under his breath as you drag him away from your temporary rest area, your mind blurring at the unimportant words he bumbled.

“After you.”

What you thought meant you walking in front of him, really was an add on to his sentence prior. Still blank to you, with time only telling when you’d get the real truth behind Choi San.

A troubled child trapped in a prevalent King’s body.

p.s rough edit

@atinybitofau

a/n: this series will NOT be followed by the other members. but San’s was pretty much drafted in my archives so I decided to continue his for the time being. long overdue lol but pls let me know if you’d like to keep this story going 😭

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elliemarchetti · 3 years

Text

Red Queen Pride and Prejudice AU (Part 4)

I wanted not to publish this part until I had reached at least a dozen notes on the third, but I’m a clown and I wanted to share this so bad, so, here we are. Hope someone is still interested, hope someone could enjoy something so silly in this trying times.

Tag list: @lilyharvord

Part 1

Part 2

Part 3

Masterlist

Words: 2456

The day passed practically as the previous one: Miss Samos and Lady Haven spent a few hours with Wren, whose health continued, albeit slowly, to improve, and in the evening Mare joined the others in the living room. The table game, however, hadn’t been organized and the General was writing to his grandmother while Miss Samos, sitting next to him, controlled the progress of the letter, of a considerable length, and continually diverted his attention with messages for the recipient and congratulations for her friend’s handwriting and the regularity of the lines which, together with the complete disinterest with which they were received, formed a curious dialogue, in perfect coincidence with the opinion she had of both.

“You write at an extraordinary speed.”

"I'm sorry to admit you're wrong, in fact, I write rather slowly."

"How many letters do you have the opportunity to write in the course of a year?" she asked, though she didn't seem particularly interested in the answer. "Many will be about business. I guess you’ll find them hateful. I certainly would."

"Your guesses are becoming less and less correct day by day, my dear Evangeline," he replied, sardonically, and although she didn't seem particularly pleased with the answer, she asked him to tell her grandmother that she wished to see her again as soon as possible, which she must have already done, given his reaction. A brief period of time passed, in which all three were silent, when she started again , this time asking him if she should fix his pen, but the General replied he was fine and that it was anyway a job he always did by himself. The more time passed, the more Mare could understand that young man, whose pride was gradually diminishing, revealing he was actually unable to converse or stay in a company, a sign he must’ve had a cold and rigorous childhood, without friends or confidants, full of mentors and teachers, books and lessons.

"You always write her letters so long and beautiful?” she asked, and just then her brother walked in, accompanied by Lady Haven, which annoyed Mare a little, since she still hoped he and Wren could soon begin an official courtship.

"They are generally long, but as for always being beautiful, it’s not my job to judge,” replied the General who, although he had registered the newcomers, didn’t lift his head from the sheet.

"For me, it’s a certainty: a person capable of writing a long letter can't easily misspell," interjected Lady Haven, who had quickly rushed to snoop in turn. Mare didn’t agree with her, anyone could write long letters, even with a not particularly large vocabulary and a bad grammar, yet she said nothing, determined not to draw further attention to herself and too interested in the conversation, which had shifted to the General's use of extremely refined terms, evidently also in the letters addressed to his friends, something in sharp contrast with the writing style of Mr. Samos, which his sister defined as a set of sloppy scribbles.

"My ideas flow so quickly that I don't have the time to express them, hence sometimes my correspondents can't understand practically anything."

"It means that you let your heart write and not your mind," Mare commented, "and this does you credit, because you show yourself vulnerable to the people you love, something in stark contrast to your character with the rest of your acquaintances."

Mr. Samos seemed surprised by the compliment, while the General didn’t seem to like it, but Mare wasn’t in the mood to endure his malevolent comments, which always showed an ill-concealed wickedness and a stubborn decision to contradict her, so, before he could reply, she asked him if he didn't care about the influence of friendship and affection.

"The respect for the writer often leads me to overlook possible errors of little importance, but I would do better, perhaps, to wait for Mr. Samos to write something for my eyes before judging."

"It wouldn’t be advisable, before pursuing this topic, to agree with a little more precision on the degree of importance to be attached to this letter, as well as on the degree of intimacy existing between the parties?" the General asked, and before Mare could reply, it was the person directly interested who interrupted the discussion, which almost resembled a quarrel, with a joke, bringing his friend to end his task , while the three young ladies devoted themselves to analyzing the music sheets placed on the grand piano that dominated the right side of the room. Lady Haven sang with her friend, and while the two were busy, Mare couldn’t help but notice how the General's gaze stopped very often on her. She certainly couldn't suppose to be the object of the admiration of such a great man and that he looked at her because he disliked her would be even stranger. Eventually, she could only imagine that he turned his attention to her because there was nothing more out of place and reprehensible, according to his ideas of correctness, in any other person present. The hypothesis didn’t bother her: she liked him too little to hold on to his approval. After playing some Italian songs, Miss Samos started something more lively, and soon after General Calore, approaching Mare, asked her if she didn’t feel the strong desire to take the opportunity to dance. She smiled, but didn't answer. He repeated the question, a little surprised from what could be interpreted as a shy reaction. The truth was that she had heard him the first time, but had found herself undecided on what to answer, as she was sure that her interlocutor hoped for her assent, so he could denigrate her good taste, but for her it was always pleasant to upset these kinds of plans and deprive people of their premeditated contempt, so she replied negatively, with the sole purpose of offending him just as she had been offended by his comment when he called her not beautiful enough to tempt him. He, however, was incredibly gallant and found himself thinking that if it weren't for her humble origins, he would’ve found himself in serious danger because that young woman had bewitched him like no one before. Though she seemed too busy at first to notice, Miss Samos saw everything, and her strong impatience for Wren's recovery was somewhat reinforced by a desire to get rid of Mare, which risked to seriously jeopardize her plan. In this regard, she tried to instil in Cal a dislike for her own guest, talking to him about the alleged marriage and offering him a glimpse of the happiness that would follow such a union.

"I hope," she said, as they were walking in the grove next day, "that you’ll give your mother-in-law some advice, when this desirable event takes place, about the advantages of holding her tongue, and that you can limit the younger girl’s desire to run after officers, not to mention the delicate subject of your lady’s presumption and impertinence.”

"Do you have anything else to propose for my domestic happiness?" he asked, but before Evangeline could answer they ran into Lady Haven and Mare herself, coming from another path.

“I didn’t know you were going to take a walk,” she noted, a little embarrassed for fear of having been heard.

"You treated us horribly," Lady Haven replied, glaring at her, "running away without telling us you were going out."

Then, taking the General's free arm, she left Mare to walk alone. The path had room only for three and when the young man realized the rudeness he immediately proposed to move to the avenue, but Mare, who had no intention of staying with them, replied laughingly, before walking away with a brief farewell, that they formed a charming group and that a fourth person would ruined the picturesque appearance. From the window, Wren, who had felt strong enough to get up, saw everything and decided that she would come downstairs for a couple of hours that night. Making sure she was well protected from the cold, Mare accompanied her into the living room, where she was greeted by her two friends with many manifestations of joy; she had never found them more pleasant as in the hour that passed before the gentlemen’s appearance, and the demonstration that their remarkable ability to converse weren’t limited only to describing precisely the receptions they had attended but it was also extended to reporting anecdotes with a sense of humour and laughing at their acquaintances made her feel invigorated nearly as much as Ptolemus’ attentions who, on his arrival, spent the first half hour poking the fire and made sure she sat on the side of the fireplace farthest from the door. When he finally sat down next to her, he barely spoke to the others, which Mare noted with great pleasure. Once they had tea, Lucas Samos reminded his cousin of the game table, but in vain: Lady Haven had learned, in a completely confidential way, that the General hated cards and the few times he had played it had been only to not offend them, so suddenly everyone had lost interest in it, and seemed much more determined to devote themselves to reading, although Miss Samos's attention was much more concerned with checking the progress of the one she wished to make her husband soon than to read her own book; she never stopped asking him questions or peeking the pages, but she couldn't draw him into the conversation as he just answered her questions and kept on reading. Finally, completely exhausted from her attempts to amuse herself with her own tome, which she had chosen only because it was the second volume of his, she gave a loud yawn and said: "How pleasant it is to spend an evening in this way! I feel like saying that basically there is no entertainment like reading! How quickly one gets tired of anything other than a book! When I have my own home, I would feel really miserable not to have an excellent library. "

No one replied, then she yawned again, put aside what, in her words, should’ve been her new favourite pastime, and glanced around the room for some amusement when, hearing that her brother was talking to Miss Skonos about a dance, she immediately turned to him, reminding him that for some of those present a dance would be nothing but torture. It was evident that the dig was thrown at the General, but he let his friend answer for him and raised his head only when Mare joined Miss Samos, by invitation, to stretch her legs. The platinum-haired young woman invited him too but he refused, noting that he could only imagine two reasons for that choice to walk back and forth in the room, both of which his participation would interfere. Miss Samos was dying to know what he meant, and as Mare was of no help to her, she insisted on her childhood friend, who replied that the first reason was that the two women had suddenly become intimate and had private affairs to discuss, and the second was to be admired, which he would’ve been able to do much better while sitting.

"I've never heard something so disgusting!” exclaimed Miss Samos. “How will we punish him for such a speech?”

"Nothing easier, if only you feel like it," Mare said, perplexed by the fact that her interlocutor had taken her by the arm, as if they were great friends. "We are always able to torment and punish each other. Tease him, laugh at him. As intimate as you are, you sure know how to."

"On my honour, I don't know. I assure you that intimacy still hasn’t taught me to tease such a quiet temperament without losing in the attempt, and as for laughing, we shouldn’t expose ourselves for laughing for no reason. I suppose he can congratulate himself.”

"Miss Samos gives me more credit than how much is due. The wisest and best of men, or better, the wisest and best of his deeds, can be made ridiculous by a person whose main purpose in life is to joke."

"Sure," Mare replied, "there are people like that, but I hope I'm not one of them. I hope I never ridicule what is wise and good. Extravagance and nonsense, tantrums and absurdities amuse me, I admit, and I laugh at it every time I can. But these things, I suppose, are just the ones from which you are immune."

"Maybe this isn’t possible for anyone, but in life I’ve always tried to avoid those weaknesses which often expose even a remarkable intelligence to ridicule," he replied, and it soon became apparent that a conversation of that rank would only take place between the two of them, though it also attracted Lucas and Elane’s attention.

"Even vanity and pride, then."

"Yes, vanity is undoubtedly a weakness. But pride... where there is real superiority of intellect, pride will always be under careful control."

Mare had to hid a smile, and Evangeline, who hadn’t understood what had just happened, asked her what the outcome of her study was.

"I am perfectly convinced that General Calore doesn’t have flaws. He himself admits it without a doubt."

"I've never demanded such a thing," he corrected her. "I have several flaws, but they don’t concern, I hope, the intellect, even if I certainly cannot vouch for my character, which I believe is very little accommodating, certainly too little in the eyes of the world. I cannot forget the follies and vices of others as much as I should, nor the offenses done to me. My feelings don't shift at each attempt to move them, my character could perhaps be called touchy and my respect once lost is lost forever."

"This is a real flaw!" Mare exclaimed. "A relentless grudge is a stain in a character, but as a flaw it’s chosen well, so I can't really laugh at it. In mine opinion, you’re safe."

"In every temperament there is, I believe, a tendency to some particular sin, a natural imperfection that not even the better education can defeat,” he went on, "and if in my case it may seem that I hate everyone, which isn’t true, in yours it certainly is obstinacy in misunderstand them."

Mare would’ve liked to continue that conversation, but Miss Samos, tired of hre inability to take part in it, proposed to make some music and after a brief moment of reflection, Cal decided that it wasn’t a bad idea: he was beginning to clearly feel the danger of giving Miss Barrow too much attention.

#pride and prejudice au #p&p #red queen au #marecal #ptolewren #mare barrow #cal calore #ptolemus samos #wren skonos #evangeline samos #elane haven #lucas samos #anabel lerolan

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moon-forest-princess · 3 years

Text

An In-depth Elven perspective on Mind Power Subliminals (p2)

This is PART 2 of my post HERE. Please read that one first if you haven't!!

She goes on:

"...I am tired of people thinking this work is about subliminals. I do not give a s--t about the subliminal community or what they think of me. What I do is so far beyond this. That community is a pebble compared to the mountain I offer."

"I never even shared my magnum opus. The most powerful beautiful hybrid to exist. Affirmations are thousands of words long and the most beautiful affirmations ever written." "What kind of inspiration graces such a person? [...]They trashed me because they wanted an excuse to steal my work for their own. They wanted to tear me down so they could rise. They are not able to match my level of creation."

"I shall not ever make a subliminal again. This was a gift I was preparing to give. These humans showed me they did not deserve such a gift."

"You think you should be held at the same level as me? I am looking for generals, captains, and warriors. You first have prove yourself to me as soldier before you can be upgraded to a captain or general. I want to forge you to be among the most powerful in the cosmos."

"I won't give power away freely. I will test you and put you through the trials. You have to show me you are worthy. You want me to write a post to prove myself to you? It is you who needs to prove yourself to me! I have shown you who I am."

Hey, maybe I'm being a hypocrite for saying she can't gatekeep the Elven Path this way, while claiming she is not part of the Path herself... but it all comes down to one truth for me:

This is not Elven wisdom. This is not Elven love. All of what she said is just... arrogance--dare I say human arrogance--plain and simple.

And I am fairly certain she doesn't even identify as Elven herself, she is just speaking for us.

But it's bullying and arrogance under the guise of 'tough love'. As the old saying goes, you'll catch more flies with honey than vinegar... and all of her posts and interactions with others just reek of vinegar. She was trying to vet her followers by being as offensive as possible, to find those who she could make the most promising of lemmings out of.

I am trying my best not to sit here and armchair diagnose her, but I will say this reminds me of a narc's rage fit. The temper tantrum they throw when no one wants to take the bait and follow them into their highly decorated cave. We are all foolish idiots and ungrateful peons who are ~ jUsT jEaLoUs ~ for not accepting their bait gift.

The very phrase "I won't give power away freely" goes against the nature of the Elven Light Path. It is not a lineage of power passed down from a great Elven leader to their followers. It is a journey unique to each who walk it. We are here to inspire others to find their power within themselves and Light inside of them. We are not able to "give away" any power of this sense because we are not the makers of our power, we are the wielders of it. And that goes for any human person on this earth, in this universe, no matter what your soul connects to. No one is above or below another. We all hold the same amount of power. It is simply a matter of claiming and wielding it. But NO ONE can give it away or grant it to someone else. We simply are to share our gifts and inspire others to do the same. It doesn't mean life will be all sunshine and rainbows, or to ignore the bad things that happen.. quite the contrary. It means we focus on the darkness to bring in the Light.

And we do this with the powers we can give away. The power to inspire and encourage and give hope. To heal. Or to warn and help others understand. These are the gifts we are given to give away, but these are not the powers she is talking about.

She talks about making soldiers or warriors out of her listeners/users quite a lot.

"Not all warriors are equal. Not all beings are equal in power. You have to work for what you become." "I am exactly what is needed to prepare us and get us through what is to come. I fight alongside my warriors. I lead the charge into enemy lines. You have yet to see the full power of my wrath."

Seeing herself as a the General and commander of it all, of course. But what she seems to fail to understand is that while yes, not all warriors ARE equal, that doesn't mean they have less power. It just means they hold a different type of power.

I am one who she would probably call a weakling. I am a novice Priest, and a Lunar Elven Soul. But I do not fight the way she fights. I am not hardhearted or determined for justice a way a solider on the frontlines might be. The way that she describes a soldier to be.

The real war is not with flesh and bone. It is not a physical war that can be fought with rage and wrath against people here and now. It is a war that takes place in the spiritual. The mental. The emotional. The psychological.

It requires wisdom, kindness, love, compassion, empathy, a humble spirit and a servant's heart. It requires the ability and strength to not allow human conditioning of pride and power to cloud your mind. It requires knowing when to speak and when to hold your tongue. It is more akin to a chess match, not a game of tag.

Yes, an army needs foot soldiers who can directly combat the real world forces here against us... but to deny and discount the true war in the spiritual is a real red flag.

Alright. I've been rambling for a while now and I think I've made my point. Mind Power is a woman who took the concept of the Elven Light Path, as if she was speaking "for the Elves" and was using it as a way to...well, control others. Or attempt to. So the claims of her trying to control people? Not so far fetched.

She does not speak for us as Elves, for the non-human bodied Elves, or those who walk the Elven Light Path. If you have been drawn to the path, but stepped away out of fear because of her, I can assure you, that is not what this path, nor those who truly follow it are like. One can follow it alone, or walk it with friends. While we have shared experiences and are able to connect, the Elven Light Path is NOT a cult or exclusive club and should NEVER feel that way. If you are truly curious, I would suggest learning about it through the High Elven Wisdom and Love videos.

Anyway...

I am glad Asherah Aphrodite is far from the subliminal community and seems to stay out of the Elven Light community online as well (at least on Facebook and Youtube, from what I can see). Her Facebook group seems to still be up, and has a good number of members. I can only hope they realize the kind of person she is soon.

I know it's kind of old, stale news but I wanted to give my input because I wasn't around during the height of the drama surrounding her, and as someone familiar with both subliminals and the Elven Light Path, I felt compelled to give my perspective on it!

#mind power #mind power subliminals #subliminals #subliminal videos #subliminal community #elfkin #elvenkin #elven soul #elven awakening #elven light path #elven light #spriritual #spirituality #my ramblings

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thorne93 · 4 years

Text

The Softest Fire (Part 9)

Prompt: Rosaline Vaughan had it all: fame, money, power, glory, a high status job. Until, one day, she woke up, and realized something was missing from her life.

Word Count: 1612

Warnings: dealing with animals(??), manipulation, angst

Notes: First Fantastic Beast fic! I could NOT have done this at all without @arrow-guy. They have created a counterpart to this fic, writing it from Nora Vaughan’s perspective (Rosaline’s cousin/adopted sister). Fic aesthetic done by @mrs-dragneel-stark-solo.

I awoke in a dark room, not by lack of light, but by the deep blacks and greens all over the sitting area. I was laid in a chaise lounge, with Gellert across from me in a chair. He was leaned back, watching me, observing me. Other than feeling groggy, I felt perfectly fine, relaxed even.

“She’s awake,” Queenie’s voice suddenly sounded in the room.

“Tell me about her,” he demanded in a smooth voice, positioning himself closer to me.

“She possesses great power… and she knows this…”

“How great?” he asked.

“Seems like she’s got something close to one Albus Dumbledore… You know him?”

He seemed to stiffen at the name. “Yes, I do. Go on, what else?”

“She’s got a broken heart,” Queenie explained, sounding a little perplexed.

At this, Gellert raised his eyebrows. “Oh, she does, does she? Who? Why? What happened?”

As Queenie dug, she gasped after a moment. I suppose I should’ve felt exposed, vulnerable, violated… But laying there, I felt as if I’d woken up from the most refreshing slumber I’d ever had.

“Newt Scamander… He loves my sister… Rosaline told him and he didn’t say anything in return. So she’s heartbroken that he loves someone else.”

“Ah, unrequited love… It truly does hurt, doesn’t it?” he asked as he got up and took a place by my feet on the lounge.

“She feels like a last resort…. Like she’s never good enough,” Queenie added. The truth of her words made my heart sting, even through the euphoria.

Gellert looked to Queenie, then nodded, as if to dismiss her.

“Darling, I would very much like it if you joined me.”

I smiled up at him. “Absolutely. Anything you need,” I uttered without hesitation or defiance.

“That is exactly what I like to hear. Now, we need you to use some of that Ministry and politician charm. Do you think you can do that for me, sweetheart?” he asked before picking up my hand and kissing it.

“I’ll do anything you ask.”

Gellert looked to Queenie. “So obedient she is. I love it.”

Queenie nodded once, seeming to agree with Gellert.

“Come, my dove, we must dress you more appropriately, to reflect that you’re sharing my views now.”

“Whatever you think is best.”

“That’s my girl,” he boasted happily before leaning down to steal a kiss.

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

“How is this?” Vinda asked, Gellert’s seeming right hand woman. She had brought me into one of the bedrooms, letting me try on an outfit of hers. She was full figured, not a twig by any means, and gorgeous. She had this stunning, soft beauty about her that even I envied.

“I think I like it,” I stated, looking at my reflection in the mirror. She let me have a long black skirt with a thick black shiny belt, topping it off with a coat that served as both my shirt and jacket. The jacket was velvet, black, empowering. I rather liked the sleek, long lines it gave my form. I was always fond of long styled garments, wearing calf length coats. This was floor length, not my usual style, yet it was absolutely flattering.

“Good. I believe I am to take you shopping tomorrow,” she informed with a sweet smile.

“Thank you,” I softly said.

“My pleasure. Grindelwald would like to speak to you now,” she explained and I nodded.

She led me through the home and we ended up in a small sitting room near the kitchen. As soon as she got me situated across from him, she left, closing the door behind her. We were alone, for the first time since I’d met him.

“Rosaline,” he began, staring at me with eyes in awe.

“Gellert,” I greeted.

“I would like to share with you my vision,” he continued, rubbing his hands slightly as they sat on the table, his gaze dropping down.

“Please,” I urged gently.

“It is my belief that many of the wizarding community think I hate the non-magical.”

“You don’t?” I wondered, recalling such thoughts myself.

He shook his head, making a face of slight disappointment. “No, no. No I simply want the Statute of Wizarding Secrecy abolished. That’s all. I don’t want to hurt the non-magical. I only want us to be free. For us to love freely, show our magic freely… Is that so wrong?”

I bobbed my head side to side. “No, I don’t think so.”

A side smile crept up on his face. “That’s good. I’m glad. Would you help me in this endeavor?”

“What would you need me to do?” I wondered, curious.

“Do you still have your connections at the Ministry?”

“Absolutely.”

“I may need you to get inside the heads of a few important people there. Help to spread our message, get the word out. Make people understand that they have my ideas all wrong. Do you think you could do that?”

A quick grin spread on my face. “Yes!”

“Delightful. I will give you the names of the people I would like you to sway. Meet with them how you please, but do it quickly. Time is of the essence.”

I nodded. “Yes. I understand. But… if these people you seek refuse to listen, shall I kill them?”

He seemed to choke on air before shaking his head. “No, no. There is no point for violence, sweetheart. No. If they do not listen, perhaps an Imperius curse?”

“Easy enough.”

“Glad you think so.”

“Anything else?”

“Would you care to join me for dinner? I’d very much like to discuss something else with you.”

“I’d be honored.”

He stood, kissing the top of my head. “It’s a date then. I will see you tonight, seven o’clock, here. Vinda will give you the names, make quick work, Rosaline. I’m counting on you.”

“I won’t let you down, Gellert.”

He smiled at me, his hand on the door as it opened. “I know you won’t. That’s why I chose you.”

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

We were now at Nurmengard Castle, with myself and Gellert in the library. I believe he was studying spells while I was going over potions. He sat across the table from me in the expansive room, kept warm by a roaring fire, staring at me.

“Something on your mind, Gellert?” I questioned with a coy smile, not raising my eyes from the book.

He shifted in his seat, leaning forward. “I must confess, I find myself puzzled by you. Your past. How you came to be who you are.”

I lowered my book and looked up at him. “What would you like to know?”

“Everything, I suppose. What makes you… you. You’re peculiar.”

“How so?”

“I can’t put my finger on it, but I do know I’d like to know more about you.”

I nodded. “Very well. I was orphaned at age four, taken in by my aunt and uncle, raised with my cousin Nora. She and I became close. I went to Hogwarts, became Head Girl, graduated top of my class, and went into the Ministry.” I laughed lightly. “I’m not exactly fascinating. Why do you want to know all this?”

“Because you’re very different from anyone I’ve met and I’d like to know why you are the way you are.” He frowned at me for a moment. “Why aren’t you married? Someone as stunning, bright, and successful as you surely had many suitors. “

Again, a gentle chuckle came out me. “Well to be quite frank, in school, I only wanted to focus on school. I just wanted to be the best witch I could be. Then I graduated and my job became my priority, thankfully, because it gained me a spot to be the next Minister.”

“And you didn’t go through with that? You had started your campaign, but you stopped -- why?”

I shrugged slightly. “I just… I wasn’t making a difference in the world, not really. I was capturing people who had done something wrong, but I didn’t really know their story. I didn’t get a chance to be a judge, just a person to help take the person to their sentencing. I just wanted to feel passionate and feel involved.”

“Is that when you sought out the Scamander boy?”

I shook my head. “No, actually, I was looking for any sort of fulfilling work, Newt just happened to be looking for an assistant.”

An eyebrow perched up. “I don’t see you being an assistant to someone like him. You’re far above him. Did you like the work?”

“I did,” I nodded. “Working with those creatures was so inspiring. I think in a way, they humbled me, a little.”

“A woman like you, of your talent should never be humbled, or anyone’s assistant.”

I blushed, looking down for a moment. “Thank you, Gellert. That’s kind of you.”

“Do you miss your cousin, your family?”

I frowned, thinking for a moment. That was an odd question to me, for some reason. “I...I don’t think so. No. I have you.” I looked up at him with renewed sparkle in my eyes.

He smiled fondly. “That’s good to hear. And Newt? I know you had feelings for him. Do you miss him?”

I shook my head, squaring my shoulders as my chin jutted towards the ceiling. “No. He’s in love with a witch from America and clearly I wasn’t good enough for him, so he’s not good enough for me.”

“Wise woman,” he commended with a coy side grin. “I really do admire that about you.”

“Thank you. Did I answer your questions?” I asked, hopeful that I satisfied all his curiosities.

“Yes, you did. Go back to your reading, my love.”

I smiled and did as he told.

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

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#the softest fire #newt scamander #newt scamander fic #newt scamander x ofc #newt scamander x oc

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etherealwaifgoddess · 4 years

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Kindred Spirits

Characters: Thor x Original Female Character

Summary: Thor meets his new neighbor and finds himself more than a little intrigued.

Content Warnings: 2% sad Thor, 98% sweet fluff

Word Count: 1.1k

Author’s Note: Hey lovelies, it’s been a while. Sorry I fell off the face of the earth for so long, I’ve been dealing with a lot of real life not fun stuff lately. But my writer’s block finally lifted and I was able to crank out this cute little ficlet earlier today. I started writing fanfic exactly one year ago as of last week, all thanks to seeing our dear sweet Thor in Endgame, and I wanted to put something new out in honor of that anniversary. Also, if anyone gets some legit grown-up-Luna-Lovegood vibes from Sage I am not sorry at all lol. Hope ya’ll enjoy! XOXO - Ash

Kindred Spirits

The first time Thor saw her, she was dancing in the rain. She was soaked through, head to toe, spinning around with open arms, long blonde hair flying wildly around her, and a giant grin on her face. Thor watched longingly from his cottage window as his formerly unseen neighbor spun around happily before plopping down into the wet grass. She looked so happy and carefree, two things Thor hadn’t been in many years. He had tried to reinvent himself after they beat Thanos but it had been short lived.

He tried to look away, he truly did, and even managed to get two steps away from the window when the sound of laughter spilled into his living room. Thor was drawn back into watching, trying to find what had caused her joy, but unable to see what was in her hand. He paced for several agonizingly long minutes until he couldn’t take it any longer. Pulling on his warmest sweater, Thor braced himself and went out into the world.

The woman didn’t seem to notice Thor’s approach, lost in her own little world. She was muttering something and looking at whatever was in her hand.

“What are you doing?” Thor asked by way of a greeting.

The woman jumped in her spot, fumbling as she tried not to drop what was in her hand. “Hello.” she replied, a little breathless from shock. Her voice had a lilting rhythm that spoke of Irish roots and it captivated the god. “I’m enjoying the storm and I’ve made a new friend.” She held up her palm where a tiny green snake was coiled up.

“What a charming little fellow.” Thor agreed easily, but the ghost of a frown passed across his face when he added, “My brother and I used to love finding snakes in our mother’s garden. They were our favorites.”

“How lovely.” the woman was still watching the tiny snake as she replied, now that the commotion had died down it was slithering around and exploring her hand. “Join me?” she motioned to the grass next to her with her free hand.

“Thank you, yes.” Thor lowered himself onto the grass, figuring all of him was wet from the rain anyways. “I’m Thor, by the way. I do not believe we were properly introduced.”

“I know who you are. I prayed to you when I was still a girl. Before we knew there was more to this world than our own kind. You and your father both, actually.”

“I’m humbled. I forget at times that Midgardians used to worship us.”

“That we did. I’m Sage, by the way.”

Thor watched as Sage let the little snake explore her hand, slithering along, testing the air with it’s tiny forked tongue. “Beautiful name.” he commented before catching himself. A dark blush stained his cheeks and he looked away quickly.

A smile formed on Sage’s lips. “I come from a long line of women who worship the old gods, my mother hoped I’d be another link in our family’s chain. Sage is a protection, a purification.”

“I see she got her wish then. How lucky for her.” A frown returned to Thor’s face.

“She said it was her greatest joy.” Sage assessed him with piercing smoke grey eyes, her head tilting slightly to the side. “You think your father did not know this same joy. It troubles you that you failed him. You didn’t, you know. He was so proud of the man you grew up to be.”

“What?” Thor sputtered in shock, “How did you…? Why would you…?”

“Another link in the chain.” Sage tapped at her temple with a wry smile. “I’m sorry if I overstepped though. There’s a reason I live alone all the way out here.”

“It’s alright.” Thor assured her, though her words had shaken him to his core. What a curious little Midgardian. He wasn’t unfamiliar with those gifted by the Norns, but finding a beautiful woman with such gifts, practically in his backyard, was certainly a surprise. “It can be hard to remember that not all wish to see with open eyes.” Thor quoted thoughtfully. At Sage’s inquisitive look he continued, “My mother used to say that. She was raised by witches too.”

“Ah,” Sage nodded, understanding. “She must have been a wise woman.”

“That she was.” Thor fought the wave of grief that threatened to crash down and drown him once again. He’d be running back into his cottage if he let it take hold. Thor slowed his breathing the way Bruce had shown him, trying to be present and mindful.

“I’ve caused you pain again. I should go.” Sage went to stand up, releasing the little snake back into the grass and shaking off her damp clothes.

“No, please.” Thor lumbered back onto his feet, huffing with the effort. “It doesn’t take much these days, trust me. It’s not you.” He chuckled self-deprecatingly.

Those smoke grey eyes pierced into him again, “That’s why you live alone out here.”

“Aye.” Thor agreed. “It’s better if I just keep to my cottage. For everyone.”

“I know the feeling well. What a beautiful serendipity we both live out here.”

“How’s that?”

“Well, we both know what it is to want to be away from the world. I don’t mind spending a little time with you though. Kindred spirits and all that.”

“Hmm.” Thor hummed, mulling over her words.

“I promised my mother I would go out once a week, even if it was just for groceries. She worries about me since she passed. Most weeks it’s difficult to go. But maybe, if you went with me…?” Sage trailed off suggestively.

“I go into town on Sundays. It’s not pleasant, but I go. It might be a little easier if I had a, what did you call it? kindred spirit?, to go along with.”

“It’s a date then. I’ll stop by around eleven.” Sage smiled, soft and genuine, up at him and Thor thought his heart would stop in his chest.

“It’s a date.” Thor found himself returning her smile; the first real smile he could remember in a very long time. He still wasn’t interested in rejoining the world but maybe things would be a little easier with someone who knew what he was going through.

They parted ways and Thor went to work making a shopping list, tidying up his kitchen as he went. Sunday was the following day and Thor didn’t want to risk being unprepared. He stopped midway through wiping down his dust covered counter top in disbelief. He never put any effort into taking care of the cottage. He had a reason to now though, and he found he didn’t mind it. Kindred spirits, indeed. Maybe a little neighbor witch was exactly what he needed in his life.

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thecheekbonesquad · 4 years

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MAG Dream Team - a challenge;

have you ever wondered what your MAG Dream Team would look like?

i’ve given it a lot of some thought because i don’t want to write my dissertation right now and thought i’d share it here. so, there are some rules:

1. you can choose five gymnasts for your Team, of any nationality, as long as they are a senior (16+ years old) and from a FIG-associated country; 2. you also have one spot for a Specialist on each of the six apparatus, and one spot on the individual AA, same specifics as above; 3. you can’t repeat gymnasts! that means if you choose someone to be on your Team, they can’t be used as a Specialist, and vice-versa; 4. retired and suspended gymnasts can’t be chosen! you can choose injured/recovering gymnasts though, we’ll just pretend they’re healthy lol; 5. standart FIG rules for Team finals apply: you can send three gymnasts to each apparatus, all scores count;

i had a rough time choosing because i’m emotionally attached to a lot of gymnasts, and feel like sometimes i’ve made choices based more on how I feel about them rather than their actual results lol but anyway, here’s my Team:

1. Kenzo SHIRAI (JPN): the twisting prince, a precious ray of sunshine, please take a moment to realize how beautiful his smile is; 2. ZOU Jingyuan (CHN): squeaky clean all the time, beautiful routines, commentators mispronounce his name 98% of the time; 3. Ryohei KATO (JPN): rock solid, cheekbones that can cut through diamonds, beautiful smile, blinks a lot, has a pretty cat; 4. Kazuma KAYA (JPN): also rock solid, great cheekbones, his roar can awake your ancestors’ spirits; 5. Artur DALALOYAN (RUS): super elegant, i like his hairstyle and his respectful bow at the end of his routines, doesn’t keep spitting on himself like his russian teammates;

FLOOR EXERCISE - TEAM; 1. Kenzo SHIRAI (JPN): i mean, no explanation needed, right?; 2. Ryohei KATO (JPN): great balance of difficulty and execution, good landings; 3. Artur DALALOYAN (RUS): very elegant and clean, his opening tumbling pass from 2019 (front layout + double pike with a half turn) is so beautiful; FLOOR EXERCISE - SPECIALIST; 1. Carlos Edriel YULO (PHI): his execution is just SO GOOD, he is so clean and precise, he looks underage (mostly because of his hair + he is 1.5m) but he is actually 20 years old;

POMMEL HORSE - TEAM; 1. Ryohei KATO (JPN): clean and precise, there is nothing this man can’t do; 2. ZOU Jingyuan (CHN): his form is beautiful, difficult and very well executed routines, i wish he'd do flares because it’d look awesome; 3. Kazuma KAYA (JPN): pommel horse guy, beautiful lines, i feel like he can step up his game a little bit and add some extra difficulty to his routine (like a triple russian between the handles or a spindle on flares); POMMEL HORSE - SPECIALIST; 1. LEE Chih Kai (TPE): known for flaring through 95% of his routine and it’s AWESOME, his legs look insanely long and his hand placement is just so accurate and precise. he looks very serious but has a pretty smile. he is the kind of gymnast i’d like to take to the park and walk and feed the ducks and talk about diplomatics and modern art, u know? i like him;

RINGS - TEAM; 1. ZOU Jingyuan (CHN): not insanely difficult but his routines are clean and beautiful, moves very smoothly between positions; 2. Ryohei KATO (JPN): again, nothing this man can’t do, he blinks a lot but his face is always so calm, even on the craziest positions; 3. Artur DALALOYAN (RUS): he is not like great on rings, but he is better than Kenzo and Kaya, so go Artur. but as usual he is very elegant and has beautiful execution; RINGS - SPECIALIST; 1. Eleftherios PETROUNIAS (GRE): the Lord of the Rings and a greek god, i still think he is the best in the world;

VAULT - TEAM; 1. Kenzo SHIRAI (JPN): not a surprise that Kenzo is here, i love all his eponymous vaults; 2. Artur DALALOYAN (RUS): he shall enlighten us with the second best double pike out there; 3. Ryohei KATO (JPN): usually does a 5.2 but his execution makes up for the difficulty, great landings. he also looks very good on round, Harry Potter-style glasses; VAULT - SPECIALIST; 1. Marian DRAGULESCU (ROU): this man is a living legend, very consistent, no one does a Dragulescu like Dragulescu himself;

PARALLEL BARS - TEAM; 1. ZOU Jingyuan (CHN): 2017 and 2018 world champion, would’ve been on 2019 too (i’m not over this yet). unparalleled combination of difficulty and execution, so beautiful and elegant. commentators always talk about how light he is on his moves (i was curious and he weights like 46kg). i’d totally go out for a brunch with him; 2. Ryohei KATO (JPN): probably not his favourite event and i’m sorry to inflict this on him, but he is very precise and clean and i like his performances; 3. Kazuma KAYA (JPN): nice work, very clean and elegant, he can step up his game here too; PARALLEL BARS - SPECIALIST; 1. Oleg VERNIAIEV (UKR): he is not as clean as Yuanyuan but he is pretty elegant, nice difficulty. has some issues with consistency but he is a very good pbars worker. he is also very humble and has a nice smile;

HIGH BAR - TEAM; 1. Kazuma KAYA (JPN): has some cool German giants, very flexible and clean, nails the landing most of the time; 2. Ryohei KATO (JPN): he fell on his Voronin (B skill, back uprise + piked vault with a half turn, basically the move where they just jump over the bar) on Rio 2016 AA final and my heart is still shattered, but i trust him, he is awesome; 3. Artur DALALOYAN (RUS): very elegant on his releases, i like his style and the way his hair flows during giants; HIGH BAR - SPECIALIST; 1. Kohei UCHIMURA (JPN): there is absolutely no way that i’d leave King Kohei out of this. i was crushed when he said he wouldn’t be defending his olympic AA title, but i totally understand him now. he is nailing the Bretschneider (full twisting Kovacs) now, and he can also do a Liukin (full twisting Tkatchev, not insanely difficult but i like how it looks) and some pretty neat connections. beautiful, great balance of difficulty and execution, elegant, precise, nails the landing, long live the King;

ALL-AROUNDER; 1. XIAO Ruoteng (CHN): i like him a lot. has some small issues with consistency but he is very reliable, can deliver great routines, nails his landings. he grinds his own coffee beans every morning and cuts his friends’ hair. has a very particular way of vaulting, doesn’t sprint like other usually do. he could snap a neck if he wanted to, he is always humble and friendly and he uses an electric toothbrush. i like him. i’d go jet-skiing with him;

wow this took so much longer than i thought, but i actually enjoyed myself a lot doing this. sooo, feel free to take the challenge too! i’d love to see what you guys come up with! <3

#men's artistic gymnastics #mag dream team challenge #kenzo shirai #xiao ruoteng #zou jingyuan #artur dalaloyan #ryohei kato #kazuma kaya #kohei uchimura #marian dragulescu #lee chih kai #eleftherios petrounias #carlos edriel yulo #oleg verniaiev

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victoodles · 4 years

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Cruel World I’m Gone (Chapter 6)

back again with another chapter, edited by the fantastic @verai-marcel! follow the series on AO3 and make sure you read part 1 / 2 / 3 / 4 / 5

Arthur has unconventional definitions of love. One he originally believed started with Mary. But after years of reflection and introspection, Arthur realized it ran deeper, began sooner.

He’s a young boy, with a father he loathes and silently mourning a mother he still thinks about fondly. A father who is a “no good bastard”, who taught him nothing but contempt and that wickedness could have a face.

Blood is thicker than water?

What a crock of shit.

They’re bitter memories, painful. But a sweetness tinges them, immortalized in the form of six pink flowers and a weathered portrait he still keeps beside his bed - even to this day. Sentimentality is a blessing and a curse.

Now he’s fourteen, on the cusp of manhood and something else entirely. He’s angry. Angry at a dead father who left him with nothing but the hat on his head and a measly mugshot. Angry at the world that couldn’t give a shit about him but still insists on taking, taking, and taking.

But mostly he’s alone, scared; he can snarl and bare his teeth all he likes but he’s still just a child. Arthur yearns for companionship, for a family that he never truly had growing up. For things he was wrongly denied.

It’s unorthodox, but eventually, he does find what he’s looking for. In the form of a younger Dutch and Hosea: the curious couple and their new unruly son.

The blood of the covenant is thicker than the water of the womb.

And for twenty long years, he had a father - two in fact! They took him in off the streets, taught him how to read, write, shoot. Raised him from a boy to a man capable of finally taking back from this cruel world and then some.

From Hosea, he learned empathy, humanity. And from Dutch, loyalty, a code of honor.

Despite all his hypocrisies, Arthur can’t wash away and deny that he is who he is because of Dutch van der Linde.

Arthur tries to focus on the good years as much as he tries to forget the ugly, warped ending to that chapter of his life. It’s a continuous uphill struggle but that’s nothing new for him, just more difficult to deal with.

Thinking of some good years…

He’s traversing through his twenties now.

Arthur has had a tryst from time to time as a young man, reveling in the experiences of his first kiss and other means of getting handsy. He was awkward at first, as any boy is when they delve into the unknown fruits adolescence bears. Fumbling hands, a nervous flush dusting his cheeks, all bundled in a veil of naivety.

Hosea used to tell everyone, drunk around the campfire, the humiliating tales of a younger Arthur. His particular favorite being when Arthur came to him, on the verge of tears, thinking he now had to marry a local stable girl because he dared to kiss her behind dear old daddy’s barn.

But then there was Mary.

Mary, Mary, Mary.

Formerly known as Gillis, and soon to be Linton. A name no one dared to whisper around camp for years. In a life filled with killing, robbing, and running from the law, Mary was possibly the most complicated aspect of it.

She yearned for things Arthur couldn’t give or be. Wanted a man that Arthur couldn’t become despite his best efforts.

Loyalty is the only thing that matters…

A belief that cost him happiness time and time again.

It wasn’t just Mary at fault - Arthur couldn’t deliver on his promises either.

In the end, he tried. Tried to mold himself into someone worthy of her and her cantankerous father’s expectations of what a man should be. Tried to be one of those Saint Denis socialites with their coiffed hair and perfectly tailor suits. But despite all the gussying, primping and grooming, he was just a rugged outlaw playing at a gentleman. A wolf in sheep’s clothing.

It took him a while to overcome his heartbreak, to realize she had her own heavy crosses to bear the same as he did. Roles to fill, people to placate despite the pining of the ever-fickle heart. Coming to terms with that wasn’t easy despite the ever apparent facts. And like many before him, Arthur shared his sorrows with the bottom of a bottle and buried them deeper between the legs of a stranger.

Eliza…

Her name still fills him with guilt, albeit it a dull ache now in contrast to the agonizing stabbing he once felt on his heart. She was just a girl trying to get by, barely on the cusp of twenty, who just happened upon Arthur in a disgustingly familiar drunken stupor as he wallowed in self-pity and the bitter taste of whiskey. She humored him, at least he thinks she did. Or it could’ve been a kindness, he can’t quite recall after all these years.

But she slept with him, let him indulge in his therapeutic carnal desires all the while he sputtered out another woman’s name. He was reckless, careless and he couldn’t give less of a damn at the time.

And as a result, it got her…

It got them…

He can’t dwell on it now, refuses to. The thoughts weigh heavy on him, crushing his ribs in a vice and stealing the breath he counts himself lucky to have from his lungs.

He tries to distract himself, instead focus on things more lighthearted to ease his troubled thoughts. He starts with something tangible, for instance, the small ring in his pocket that suddenly feels ten times heavier than the burdens he that weigh on his bad shoulders. And the girl he intends to give it to...

You.

He doesn’t think he can articulate how much you mean to him, but that doesn’t stop him from trying within the confines of a new leather-clad journal. No longer does he write harsh words of self-deprecation and hopelessness. They’re kinder, eloquent and beautiful. Soft lines that make out the shape of you adorned with hearts. He melds into your embrace all too easy now, and despite two decades of bloodshed and dodging Death’s scythe, he’s never felt safer than in your arms.

Arthur never thought life would deem him worthy of second chances. Dealing him a fortunate hand with a new life, new purpose, new love. Absolution was not a word his tongue was familiar with, yet here he stands on the porch to his - your home. The stains of his past don't follow him beyond the mountains and rolling hills.

The Van der Linde gang is gone - scattered, dead, or both. Arthur Morgan, Dutch’s right-hand gun has turned in his holsters and bandolier and has now found work as a simple carpenter in Annesburg. He spends his day building and expanding the ever-growing civilization he was trying to run from. A law-abiding everyday man. The irony isn’t lost on him. But it’s good work, honest work. The kind that only cares if you’re strong and able and doesn’t focus on the minute details of one’s extensive criminal record.

And he’s proud to say that after months of arduous labor, he managed to save enough for the ring that seems to be burning a hole in his pocket. It’s humble but elegant with a single diamond resting in the middle of a pale gold band.

Like her, Arthur idly muses with a smile.

Ideally, he would’ve loved to grace your finger with some luxurious rock as a grandiose display of his affection. A massive diamond that would glint perfectly in the light atop the rare platinum. It would’ve been all too easy to hold up some pompous jeweler, the routine and its step all but muscle memory at this point. But that’s not how one does when trying to leave behind the life of an outlaw and it wouldn’t be a proper way to start your marriage.

Marriage.

The concept alone has him frozen in front of his own home, trembling with excitement. He thought Mary would be his everything at one point - the future Mrs. Morgan. When she left he felt as if she took that possibility with her along with the shards of his fractured heart. There's a hint of fear in him as well, a nagging sense that history could repeat itself once more. Round and round the thoughts go in his head as he opens the door with a shaking hand, rattling painfully in his skull.

I’m not ready for this.

Dread surges through him, rough seas raging against his chest as his heart threatens to burst. He’s been shot at, beat, and tortured but this plunge he’s about to take might possibly be one of the scariest things he’s ever done.

Arthur somehow manages to get the door open, feet heavier than lead as he makes his way through the threshold. The sound of your singing from the garden out back restores his composure, lulling him into a serenity once more. He’s refocused, and the tremors that plague him gradually cease. There’s a reinvigorated sense of purpose, sparked to life once more, and he eagerly calls your name in response.

“Out here, Arthur!” You chirp back and Arthur wastes no time following the sound of your voice. He doesn’t realize how quickly he rushes to the backdoor until the afternoon sun is blinding him. When he regains his vision he finds you tending to your plants, a basket of freshly picked vegetables at your side and a tender smile on your lips.

Beautiful.

“Happy to see me, are we darling?” Your voice has a teasing lilt to it - he hadn’t realized he’d spoken that last sentiment aloud. A flush creeps up the back of Arthur’s neck, spreading up to his ears and painting them an embarrassing shade of red. He hopes you don’t notice in the sunlight but when your smile turns into a playful smirk, he knows there's no chance of hiding it now.

Arthur clears his throat, “Always am, sweet pea.”

Your impishness seems to have passed for the time being, your simper losing its bite as you turn your attention back to your gardening. “How was work today?” You ask idly as you go to work pulling another carrot from the dirt.

It was the same as any other day, building more housing for the miners in the ramshackle town of Annesburg. Who can think about something so mundane when there were bigger picture things for him to be concerned about? But still, he answers back with a simple, “Good.”

You titter at that. “How positively exciting, Mr. Morgan.”

Arthur wishes he had more to offer in terms of a response but he’s too distracted by you. There’s dirt smudged on your cheeks and hands, skirt a wrinkled mess, and hair in a messy braid to keep out of the way of your gardening. Some might find you disheveled but he thinks you look absolutely lovely- as always.

A voice in the back of his mind whispers, She’s not her.

He finds himself imagining what you would look like in all white, waiting for him at the altar of a church. Maybe at the cathedral in Saint Denis where the colors of the impressive stained glass would shine down on you, casting you in an ethereal rainbow glow. In your hand is a bouquet of the finest flowers: lavender, honeysuckle, daisies. A gossamer of silk covers your face, that same breathtaking smile on your lips as Arthur makes his way towards you and-

“Arthur?” You snap him out of the daydreaming he inadvertently slipped into. “Are you alright?”

“I-” He struggles to find the right words, any words, but comes up short. You look at him expectantly but that only makes him more tongue-tied. Christ, he’s a grown man, this shouldn’t be so difficult.

“You…” You try to ease him into something resembling a response, bless your heart, but still, nothing.

So instead he opts for action.

Arthur gets down on one knee in the dirt with you, going for the ring he still has nestled in his jacket. Your eyes go wide at the gesture, and even wider when he silently presents the ring to you.

“I,” he begins again, voice a little stronger in its conviction. “I love you. More than you could ever know.” He takes your hand with his free one, running his fingers over your knuckles softly. Tears begin to well up in your eyes and you can’t help as they begin to trail down your cheeks.

Arthur continues, “You are my heart, my soul, my everything. Without you, Hell, I wouldn’t even be in front of you to ask this. When I’m with you, everything makes sense. And I’m ready, really ready to start over, good and proper. With you.”

It’s time to leave Arthur Morgan the outlaw, the man shackled by so many fears and doubts behind in the ashes of what once was. His rebirth comes in dreams of the future, hand in hand and growing old by the fireplace.

Together.

“So I was wonderin’...what I’m trying to ask is you would-”

“Yes,” you whisper, unable to find your own voice now. You heart is hammering fiercely, galloping like a wild horse at the sheer intensity of Arthur’s proposal.

He can’t help but chuckle at your ardor, endearing (and relieving) as it may be. “You didn’t let me-”

“Yes! Yes, yes, yes a thousand times yes you silly man!” you exclaim with no hesitation this time, throwing yourself on him and peppering him with kisses. “Yes,” you repeat over and over and over, as many times as you can to reaffirm you aren't dreaming. That this isn’t your own self-made mirage that could vanish at any moment.

Arthur is momentarily stunned and brings you as close to him as possible, burying his face in the crook of your neck as he finds his own tears starting to form. The same voice is back, no longer a whisper but a firm reassurance of, She isn’t her. She isn’t any of them.

And she never will be.

“Say it again.”

Let it be real.

Your lips find his now, in between each kiss marked with a, “yes”.

A single syllable has him enraptured, spellbound. Such a glorious admittance, the most heavenly sound he’s ever heard.

And as he slips the ring onto your finger, the both of you grinning madly, he thinks “I do” will sound even better.

#vic's fics!#red dead redemption 2 #rdr2 #arthur morgan #arthur morgan x reader

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theclaravoyant · 4 years

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AN ~ At long last; a *very* belated Roaring Twenties Rarepair Exchange gift for the amazing @bobbimorseisbisexual (lazyfish), who prompted “Scis & Spies + Regency AU".

This fic was inspired by the show Gentleman Jack, which is technically set in the Georgian era but it's pretty close! It’s also the longest thing I’ve written in like a year, and my first ever S&S fic! Though it may not be apparent from the appalling lateness, I had a great time writing this; I hope you enjoy it too <3

Rated T. Mostly fluffy. Relationships: Scis & Spies (Bobbi x Simmons x Fitz x Hunter, polyamory)

Read on AO3 (3800wd)

The Jacks and the Gentlemen

Barbara Elizabeth Morse was a woman of a peculiar kind. She always had been.

Ever since she had developed the capacity to loathe things, for example, Barbara had loathed her name; in particular, the foremost. But the fact that she insisted on being addressed as “Bobbi” instead was merely the first in a long line of deviations she took from the expected norm of her assigned sex so that by young adulthood, she had permanently marked herself as quite the oddity.

Growing up, Bobbi had no interest in the banal niceties expected of a woman of her station, and less than none in frills and petticoats or tending house. Even learning the arts and languages and traipsing around her family’s estate on horseback became dull and boring after a time. What was the point after all, Bobbi reasoned, of broadening one’s horizons if one was only permitted to gaze at them from the safety and mundanity of one’s lace-curtained bedroom window? What was the point of developing a sharp mind if it was allowed only to consume and perform as it had been told? It was a gilded cage to be sure, but a cage nonetheless, and so Bobbi dedicated much of her life to spreading her wings and flying free of it.

To this end – and despite much protest from her hand-wringing family - Bobbi left the comforting cloister of her estate and travelled the world; whereupon she discovered and indulged in many a fascination that had been denied her for so much of her young life. She experimented with tailored coats and hats, trousers, cravats… She studied science and medicine, biology, strategy… She delighted in romantic challenge and chase and left many a heart broken in her wake. She was even married for a time, to a disgruntled British naval officer, but it didn’t stick. Few things did as, quite the opposite of bored, Bobbi became rather restless; all but consumed by the need to discover what the world held in store for her.

When came the news that she had to return home, it was devastating. Without the benefit of hindsight, it hardly seemed to Bobbi that there could be a new and equally enticing journey about to begin. Yet, she had never been one to be cowed by things not going her way, and so she held her head high – a little too high, perhaps, when she insisted upon driving the carriage home herself; fearing, not that she would admit it, that her recently-returned nightmares of the carriage walls closing in around her would finally come true.

Bobbi endured the talk of her home town with as much dignity as she could muster – and as both a woman of high class and exceeding stoicism, that amount was not insignificant. Still, she could not entirely pretend, to herself at least, that it did not bother her; the way they all seemed to talk about her as though she was the small one, the poorly achieving one, having done nothing with her life but travel and dabble in knowledge after knowledge. Even the ones she thought might understand seemed to be hopeful that her return was a sign she was ready to settle down, and the more times this was insinuated, the more Bobbi wanted to cut off her own hair, denounce all civilisation, and steal away into the night. She had the skills and the courage to do it now. The only thing stopping her was the need to rebuild her estate before her family’s finances collapsed entirely and left a few dozen good people out of work and home.

… Although, if she were being completely honest, it did not hurt matters that she had also been invited for tea with the newest and most curious of her neighbours, one Miss Jemma Anne Simmons.

Miss Simmons was a pretty young woman, but her arrival was making a splash in the papers as much for her scientific mind as for her elusive inventor fiancé, and her appearance of apparently Shakespearean beauty. So, as much as Bobbi had been weighed down by tired social occasion after tired social occasion with the socialites that flittered through town on the ever-changing wealth of this new age of industrialisation, she had a feeling in her gut that this one was going to be different.

That feeling certainly was not nerves, Bobbi insisted to herself as she stepped over the threshold of the Fitz-Simmons house – and then again, as she was announced and ushered into the parlour, to find Jemma in all the resplendent glory the papers had promised. The woman seemed delicate, refined, and delightfully feminine in all the ways Bobbi knew she herself was not and Bobbi – who had always been a rather brash sort – felt herself oddly humbled by Jemma’s smile.

“Good afternoon,” Jemma greeted, “it’s Barbara, isn’t it?”

Bobbi couldn’t help but cringe. “Please,” she requested, “call me Bobbi.”

“Oh yes, of course. My apologies.” Jemma curtsied a little – and was that a blush? “It’s lovely to have you, Bobbi. Would you care for some tea? Of if you would prefer, I can send for coffee…”

She reached for the bell, but Bobbi raised a hand to stop her.

“Tea would be wonderful,” she agreed. “Young Hyson, if you have it - black, with no sugar. Thank you.”

“Of course.” Jemma nodded, and began to pour. And yes, that was definitely a blush. Bobbi was even feeling a whisper of her own as Jemma added – as if she was trying to hide how desperately she wished Bobbi to acquiesce –

“I wonder if we might take tea outside this afternoon. I’ve been positively beleaguered with meetings today and I must see to my plants.”

A woman after her own heart. Bobbi smiled.

“Of course. We should stretch our legs after all.”

“Then it is decided.”

Bobbi’s heart dared to flutter in her chest as Jemma’s cautious hostess’ smile erupted into a beaming grin. The woman took hold of her skirts – revealing boots much like Bobbi’s own, rather than slippers that might have matched her otherwise refined ensemble – and took off out of the parlour door with great gusto. Finding herself drawn to follow, this time undeniably by more than her botanist’s interest alone, Bobbi strode after Jemma as best she could while reeling at her own spoonishness.

As they traipsed across the lawn, Bobbi marvelled in the delight Jemma seemed take at being out of doors, and drank in the prelude to the greenhouse – half snatched away by the wind though it was – with which the other woman was regaling her. Bobbi found herself entranced by Jemma’s spirited expression; the way she revelled in the trials and tribulations of seeking and transporting her large collection of exotics, unfazed even as the wind began to pull locks of her perfect hair from its arrangement and blow them unceremoniously into her face. And then –

“Oh, excuse me, Bobbi,” Jemma pleaded, and her expression narrowed into a scolding sort of glare. Bobbi followed the line of it and saw a ladder propped against the side of what appeared to be a disused chicken coop, and a figure hunched atop the rickety roof in an overcoat and goggles, fixing some contraption or other to the highest point of the pitch.

“Ho, Fitz!” Jemma hollered, as the figure lost hold of a tool and it fell to the dirt. He cursed.

“That’s Fitz?” Bobbi blurted. “Your Fitz?”

“You sound surprised,” Jemma noted.

“I meant no offence, it’s just – I’ve met quite a few of these entrepreneurial types and generally they’re rather… obnoxious.”

Jemma scoffed. “Oh, believe me: he’s plenty obnoxious.”

Resolute, she handed her cup of tea to Bobbi, hitched her skirt up a little higher with both hands and made a bee-line for the chicken coop, until she was close enough that her boots were in the muck.

“Fitz!” she called again.

“Yes, love?”

Fitz’s head jerked up at the call, and he saw her and Bobbi and apparently not the loose tile on which he had stepped. Before he could do any more than yelp in surprise, he had slipped and fallen flat on his back, coughing and spluttering and winded. His curls looked madder than ever as he lay there in resignation, and spat a soiled feather from his pouting mouth.

“Ugh, Fitz!” Jemma lamented. She locked an arm with her fiancé and hauled him out of the sludge. “I told you to wait until Mack could come down and help with all this.”

“Mack and I are building the mechanical milling machine,” Fitz corrected. “This is a sonic fox repellent. It’s just a prototype but – Oh, sorry. I’m Fitz, by the way. Leopold Fitz, technically, but please don’t call me that.”

“Barbara Morse, technically,” Bobbi greeted. “But please don’t call me that either. I prefer Bobbi. Sonic fox repellent, you say? Let me know if it works – I might have to purchase a couple for myself.”

“Well, uh, thank you, but um –“

“But Mack will be here any minute, dear,” Jemma interrupted, waving Fitz toward the house. “Go and clean up now. Go! Honestly.”

“Yes, dear.” Fitz rolled his eyes, but smiled at his fussing fiancé as he retreated toward the house. Jemma slogged the rest of the way to the chicken coop and retrieved the screwdriver he had dropped, setting it on a step of the nearby ladder in case he went looking for it later. Bobbi looked on with nought to do but hold the two teacups steady, and she was a little surprised to find that despite what perhaps should have been a heart-wrenching reality check - to discover that the most recent object of her affection was indeed happy with someone else - Bobbi felt nothing but delight. No jealousy, no despair. And, if anything, a redoubled sense of yearning.

“Sorry about him,” Jemma apologised as she returned to Bobbi’s side to fetch her tea. “He’s a lovely man, really, and very intelligent, but he’s not accustomed to being complimented by beautiful women.”

“Well, with you around you think he’d be used to it by now.”

Jemma laughed, and raised an eyebrow as she took a sip. “Careful, Ms. Morse, you’ll give a lady ideas.”

The delivery of it was coquettish, light-hearted, but still Bobbi couldn’t help feeling that she’d crossed a line. She thought of poor sweet Fitz, and her heart sunk.

“I- I’m sorry, Miss Simmons. I meant nothing of it. Just that… Mr Fitz is a very lucky man.”

Seeing that she had sent Bobbi skittering, Jemma hurried to backtrack so emphatically that she almost spilled her tea.

“Oh, please! No need to apologise, it is all in good spirit – It was I who misspoke without the proper context. You see, Bobbi – may I still call you Bobbi? – your reputation precedes you in this regard but perhaps mine does not. Oh, dear.” Flustered, Jemma paused to gather herself and suddenly wished very dearly for a side table on which to deposit the lukewarm, useless beverage in her hands. “You see, I have been known to uh, entertain the attentions of the fairer sex myself. Not only am I not in the slightest offended by your perfectly innocent compliment, but I- I’m afraid I must confess I’d rather hoped you were being flirtatious.”

Bobbi gaped. “But… Fitz? I couldn’t. You’re engaged. It’s- it would be-”

“Fitz and I have an understanding,” Jemma clarified. At least, she phrased it like it was a clarification, but Bobbi only stumbled deeper into her confusion. She’d only seen the pair interact for a few odd minutes and already the connection was clear.

“He doesn’t- He’s not in love with you?” That man? Are you sure? Perhaps she would have to rethink her own calibration for stoicism if he had managed to keep that a secret.

Jemma shook her head.

“I’m not explaining this right. It never comes out simply, does it?” She clicked her tongue, tutting to herself as if musing on a new location for a particular pot, and not resolving the several short circuits sparking off inside Bobbi’s mind right now. It seemed like hours before she finally began again to explain:

“Fitz and I have been friends for the longest time,” she said. “As we grew and discovered that each of us had rather taken to those of our own sex we thought, if we were to live and love as our true selves well then, why not make it a marriage of convenience? Of course, he went and fell in love with me, didn’t he – and I him, do not misunderstand me: by some very blessed coincidence, we are very much in love. But our arrangement still stands. Fitz would not take offence in the slightest if you and I were to… explore any possibilities that may… arise.”

“…Right.”

“I can see that you need some more time to process,” Jemma observed. “Well, if I haven’t scared you off entirely – let’s say no more of it, for now. Come. Let me show you the greenhouse.”

They said no more of it for the rest of the afternoon, and for several days after that. They wrote little notes back and forth, about tea and chickens and foxes and plants, and very much not about the other topic of the day. Jemma waited for Bobbi to broach it and Bobbi – despite thinking about the arrangement with increasing regularity as time went on – dared not. The exact reason for it eluded her; did she fear that perhaps she had misread something, and that Jemma had not in fact, meant what she had said after all? Did she fear being the other woman – as she had been asked and offered many a time by men and women alike who did not have such an arrangement with their partners? Or did she fear the opposite instead; that she had finally found someone as unusual and brilliant and queer in every way as she herself was? Perhaps even two someones?

No doubt, there was some combination of all three tangled up in this knot in her chest, but it was the latter that kept Bobbi going to her desk in the middle of the night, pulling out a pen and paper, and not… quite… putting… the words down.

Or putting them down, and crossing them out.

Or putting them down, and throwing them in the fire.

As she watched the pages curl and blacken, Bobbi could taste the bitter memory of the last time she’d found herself in such a position. She had few regrets in her life, but one of them was that day; the day she’d let (or rather, driven) her former husband’s last words to her fall into the fire. There had been a lot more anger involved that time around, she recalled, and no shortage of jabbing at sparks with the fire iron, to make sure she’d got every last bit. This time, it felt like a step in the wrong direction. Like she was waiting to release the breath she was holding, or for the knot in her chest to untie and it never would.

I fear I must, were the last words she could discern now, from the letter she had burnt. She reached for the poker with a tremor in her fingers, and gritted her teeth. One good jab, and it would all be over. Then again, there was a blank spot just there. She could save it, if she were careful – and quick, as the words were already shrinking before her eyes.

I fear I

I fear

Fear

And then they were gone. And her breath was still caught in her chest but she lifted her head. She may have burned her bridges with the Midshipman after all, but she could still remember that infuriatingly rakish daredevil smile of his.

“Come on, love,” he used to like challenging her. “A little fear is nothing to be afraid of.”

It was something that had always bound them; the rush of taking risks, the revelling in new horizons. It was every reason she had to have left her home in the first place; perhaps that was what had made their relationship last so long, despite the warning signs. And as Bobbi reflected upon this image of herself, kneeling at her hearth, clutching a fire poker with a shaking hand at some unearthly hour in the morning - and not for the first time at that - she had to laugh. This was exactly the reason Hunter had broken up with her and after all this time she had to admit, the limey was right: as much as she purported to be bold and confident, to love a challenge, she was a coward when it came to affairs of the heart.

But Bobbi was no fool. She knew regret, and she knew the value of a wasted opportunity. She had regretted leaving Hunter enough times in her life thus far; she dared not waste such an opportunity again.

So she stood, and reached for her coat. Never mind the nightgown, never mind ringing for Davis; Bobbi figured, she could tack a horse herself just as quickly and if she didn’t take action now the fear might just get the better of her. Perhaps the boots, though, rather than these flimsy slippers – yes, she should take the boots.

She pulled them on in a fluster, hopping in through the stable door, and tacked up in the dark as fast as her fingers remembered how. Of course, she could walk to the Fitzsimmons’ – they were only next door after all, just a little ways down the road - but it was far too late at night for that, and God forbid it would give her too much time to think.

Fortunately, Belle was fleet of foot and it was not long at all before she was clattering up the FitzSimmons’ driveway, her heart in her throat. There was a carriage she did not recognise in a nearby pen. Did they have a guest? Should she turn back? Belle whinnied low as if warning her, and Bobbi swallowed her fear once again. If she did turn back, no doubt she would find herself achingly alone by the fireplace for many more nights in her life, and as much as she treasured her independence, she didn’t want it to be like that. Not when it didn’t have to be.

Bobbi slid from the saddle, and as she tied Belle to a nearby post she spared a thought of gratitude that she had decided to wear boots for a little relief against the chilled and dewy cobblestones. With a deep breath, she approached the threshold, and knocked, and rang the bell.

Seconds passed, and though she counted them along their way they still somehow felt like minutes. Like hours. Bobbi watched every breath steam in front of her and after the third she closed her eyes and reluctantly wondered what it would be like to just give in to the dread, and forget the whole thing.

Just as she was on the knife’s edge of giving up, however, the door opened a crack.

It was Fitz, with his soft curls and his shirt loose and dishevelled, and upon recognising the figure who stood at his door, a rather bewildered expression.

“Jemma, dear,” he called, “I think- I think it’s for you.”

And so Jemma came to the door as well, and looked Bobbi up and down. A frown crossed her features, concerned and curious, as she ushered Bobbi inside.

“Are you alright?” she wondered. “I… hadn’t heard from you.”

“I know.” Bobbi bounced on the spot. With adrenaline keeping her blood pumping, she hadn’t realised it was quite so cold. “I know. It’s my fault. I meant to tell you so- so many things. I was flattered- I am flattered. Exceedingly so. I just…”

“It’s perfectly understandable,” Jemma assured her. “I should never have sprung something so… unconventional on you like that!”

“But being unconventional is why I like you.” It blurted out with no restraint, and Bobbi felt her heart warm when Jemma smiled. “And it’s not the- the arrangement itself that worries me. I suppose I thought you were mocking me; that you might not have been taking me seriously.”

“Bobbi.” Jemma looked her square in the eyes, and very deliberately reached out a hand to take hers. “We were very serious – and still are, if you’ll have us.”

Fitz nodded his agreement earnestly, and at last, Bobbi felt the knot in her chest begin to untie.

“Well then,“ she confessed, “I suppose my answer is yes.”

Jemma beamed, and clapped in delight.

“Wonderful!” she cried. “Won’t you come in for a drink to celebrate?”

“Certainly,” Bobbi agreed. The fear was fading much faster than she had anticipated, and she smiled at her companions with genuine warmth in her heart. “I would love a brandy, if you have it.”

“I’ll pour you a glass,” Fitz said, and scoffed. “If Hunter hasn’t taken the last drop.”

“If- who?”

Bobbi stammered, and let Jemma and Fitz usher her into the lounge without protest, with hardly a thought as she checked back over what she had heard. Surely it couldn’t be…

“Where’ve you been, lovelies?”

That voice, she knew it. The spinning, slightly drunken dance he was doing as he poured himself a glass. Even that scruffy beard, and the medallion of St Anthony that gleamed on a leather thong around his neck as he turned away from the fireplace and back toward the door - Bobbi couldn’t see it from this far away but she knew, she knew that’s what it was.

Apparently, he knew her just as quickly too, as he froze mid-dance and mid-pour and stared. Not too long ago, he would have made a snide comment to try and to get a rise out of her – speak of the devil? she could imagine he would say - and a rise she would gladly have given him. But this time he simply… stared.

“Uh…” Fitz wondered from the sidelines. “Do you two know each other?”

Jemma elbowed him, and hissed for him to hush, but it barely registered to Bobbi. She was too busy watching Hunter, waiting for him to burst the bubble of nostalgia and rose-coloured glasses she had no doubt shaded him with. Any second now.

Instead, he smiled, and held the last glass of the brandy out to her.

“It’s good to see you, Bob,” he said.

“It’s good to see you too.”

#aosfic #scis & spies #agents of shield #aosficnet #roaring 20s rarepair exchange #marvel #polyamory #clara's fic tag

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likesomekindofcheese · 4 years

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soo, can you write a hc (fem.)gemini x george harrison? i have a BIG™ crush on him 👀

Of course! And I totally relate! From the first picture I saw of Joj, I was...

Okay, so moving on with the HC...

You are George have so much excitement at the beginning when you meet, flirt, talk, and start dating. You are both like little kids or teenagers in deep, sappy love.

All throughout your relationship, you flirt with George. You give him compliments that make him feel valued and the occasional cheesy pickup line (and sometimes he throws one back!!)

George is a soft boy. He kisses the ground you walk on and overidealizes you.

Very often he will take you to gardens or even pick out bouquets of flowers for you. Sometimes they are wildflowers that grew from the wild nature, sometimes they are hydrangeas that grew in his garden, and sometimes they are store-bought red roses from a grocery!

He is even a little whipped for you, heh heh. If you even suggest being a little hungry, he would find a place to get a three-course meal kind of whipped.

Your beginning is very playful. You both love to joke around and laugh. He even tells you the funniest stories about the band and every now and then he comes up with a quip that sends you into stitches until midnight.

You both have a full calendar! Often you two will go out or you will go with him to Beatles events. Though people are obviously curious about who on earth is lucky enough to date a Beatle, they find themselves surprised that you are more playful and talkative and outgoing and George is the one who is quiet and smiling, if not leaning a little on you or just humbly holding your hand.

As time passes, you grow curious about each other and learn almost every little thing about the other. Every day with each other is like a new beginning and its beautiful

Taglist: @queenlover05

#carriewrites #beatles zodiac series #george harrison x reader #george harrison x you #george harrison x y/n #george harrison imagine #george harrison headcanon #george harrison hc

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cherryfi · 5 years

Text

Bedtime Stories

Word Count: 4424.

Plot: Siren!Doyoung x female reader. The only way to get your kids to sleep is with a bedtime story and this time you tell them about how you met their father.

A/N: It’s Halloween Hoes!!! I’m kicking off the series with some fluffy Doyoung goodness! I’ve been sitting on this one for like a week now :(. I’m a little disappointed with it but, tell me what you think.

Requests are open!! Let me know if you have any other idols/ pairings you want for the series!

“Can you put them to bed for me?” Your husband’s frustrated voice calls out from the top of the stairs down to the kitchen; where you sat working on your next book. The sound of socked feet padding down the stairs quickly followed. With your deadline fast approaching, you were working double time, trying to pull extra hours so that you could finish it on time.

Technically, it was finished but, following the success of your first book, there were obviously expectations set for you to write something bigger and better, the added pressure was stifling your creativity and making you question the directions you took your stories in. A lot of the added pressure came from within. You were a perfectionist by nature; and you wanted to prove to your fans that you could consistently produce incredible works but, you also wanted to silence your critics.

You weren’t a one hit wonder; you were here to stay.

“Y/N? Did you hear me? Can you put them to bed for me?” Now normally, your husband wasn’t this easily frustrated but, it was the holidays and both of your children: your 6-year-old daughter and 3-year-old son were at home all day because it was the holidays. Which meant their father (your husband) had been watching them all day while you worked on your novel.

“Just one more line and then I’ll take over, I promise.” Doyoung wraps his arms around you from behind, squeezing you tightly and rested his head on your shoulder. A small sigh leaves his mouth, his lips next to your ear.

“I’m sure it’s perfect already, you’re just a massive worrier so everything looks like crap to a perfectionist like you. Plus, you’ve been looking at that screen all day , you need a break before you go mad. Anyway, the kids want you to read them and I need to head out. You’ve got it covered yeah?” You kiss his cheek and quietly agree.

“What time is it anyway?”

“It’s 9, you’ve been on it all day. I’m only going to be gone for a few hours but if you’re not up when I get back; goodnight and I love you. Tell the kids I love them too.” He kisses you tenderly and heads out the door into the crisp night air. You watch him grab his car keys from the breakfast bar and the gold plate from its spot by the door.

You roll your shoulders and prepare to get your energetic kids to bed.

“Alright you two little monsters I’m coming to get you!” You hear shrills of laughter as you comically stomp up the stairs; making roaring noises as you go.

As you turn the corner into your son’s room, you see both children dive under the bed.

“I see you!” You drag them both from under the bed, all 3 of you in fits of giggles. You tickle them both until you’re all on the ground, tired from laughing .

“How about a bedtime story?” Quick to their feet both of your kids climb onto your little boy’s bed.

Wracking your mind for a good story to tell, you try to find one in the bookshelf when your daughter pipes up.

“No Mummy I don’t want a book, make one up please?” She bounces excitedly with a sweet smile and who are you to tell her no? Especially when your 3-year-old chants “No books, no books!”

“Alright, Have I ever told you about when I used to be a fisherwoman?” You give a pause and watch both kids dramatically shake their heads.

“No? All right then.”

Deadhorse was a small town, just south of nowhere, that lay along the coastline. It was a fishing town, with no discernible features and nothing interesting to do. There were no tourists here.

If you had the displeasure of being born in Deadhorse, you did everything you could to get the hell out of town.

It was that kind of town. The kind of town that wasn’t on any major map and didn’t connect to the freeway. With a population of 1000, it was relatively sleepy. Everybody went to the same schools and worked in the same places.

The biggest attraction was a beaten up, old pub: ‘The moon and mermaid.’

It was boring and filled with small minded and old people but, it was home and until you could escape, you would the make the most of your situation.

But, it also had it’s perks. Being a sea town there was never a shortage of sea shanties and fire-side tales.

In every small, rural town there are the legends.

Be it myths about harbingers of death in the form of old hags carrying brooms or rakes, or whistled songs from forest depths carried on the wind that lure people in; each town had its story.

For Deadhorse it was the sea.

The sea was a dark and beautiful mistress – calm on the surface but bustling with activity in its depth.

Many a fisherman came into the pub and shared stories of sea creatures who would protect their boats during heavy storms or, recount hearing eerie songs that wrapped around them like the briny air. Though they’d remember hearing the song, they could never recount what it sounded like.

But this wasn’t about them, this was about you.

It was the summer of your 18th birthday, and your life was finally beginning to take shape.

You were going to a big college in the city and you were so close to achieving your dreams you could almost taste them – the same way you could taste the sea brine on the air.

“Pass me the crab cage Y/N?” Your father’s voice breaks you out of your stupor and shake your head. Reaching down, you pick up and hand him the cage. Loose sand shakes itself from the cage and you dust it off your arm.

You loved your parents more than anything, they were kind, hard-working people. They’d worked hard to put food on the table and keep you safe. You weren’t ashamed of your humble beginnings, in the same way that you weren’t ashamed of Deadhorse; it just wasn’t what you wanted.

Fishing was never your dream (was it ever anyone’s?).

“We’re going to have to come in earlier than normal today, Pete called in last night and told us that there’s a storm brewing and the meteorology office just put in a warning to the rest of the guys – storm’s coming in at about 5 so we’ve got to be back by the latest 4. Plus, have you seen the sky? It’s fire red.” He shrugs, throwing the cage into the back of the boat and unties the rope from the harbour.

“Yeah. Red sky at night, sailor’s delight. Red sky at morning, sailor’s take warning.” He laughed as you rattled off the saying in a deadpan voice.

You and your dad were close in an odd way. You could spend hours together in silence, doing absolutely nothing or working on tasks together. You were always in sync and that’s what you had done the day everything changed.

You fished together, hauling nets and cages with the occasional remark until around 3pm.

The sky, that was previously a blazing red had gone black. As if the sun’s fire had been snuffed out.

If that wasn’t terrifying enough, the sea had gone eerily calm and there was stillness in the air that was choking.

It was the only time you’d seen your father scared. As an experienced fisher he’d seen his fair share of storms, so you knew this one would be huge.

“Let’s head in.”

“Yeah.”

You’d arrived home in the nick of time, as the waves had begun picking up as you headed back in.

It had gotten worse throughout the night, the thunder and waves beating a chaotic cacophony against the small town. Truly, it was the stuff of nightmares and had been one of the worst storms the town had seen in a long time.

But, in the morning, it was as if nothing had happened at all.

Everything resumed as normal.

Except it wasn’t.

It started with the singing.

Every night, just as the sun was setting a mournful song carried itself across the island – seemingly from the depths of the sea.

In the pub local fishermen debated that it must have been the sea itself.

“It’s the storm, brewin’ up all sorts of trouble. You know the sea’s alive. She needs to settle.”

“Don’t be foolish Pete! The sea’s not alive but, what’s in it is. I bet that storm probably woke some long dormant creature.”

“Maybe it’s the whalien.” Everyone turned to look at the new voice; curious to hear about this newly mentioned sea creature that they’d never heard of before.

“It’s this whale that sings at a different frequency to every known whale in the world. Apparently, it’s always singing because it’s lonely. Scientists think it’s probably one of the biggest whales in the world.” Sean was a level-headed, young Marine-biologist – he knew what he was talking about so, they agreed it must have been an amalgamation of all those things.

The Whalien, disturbed by the churning waves must have become scared and was calling out, hoping to find another whale like itself. It was plausible except for the fact that the song sounded entirely too human to be from any animal.

They were all wrong.

You’d heard the song and it wasn’t a whale.

It had to be a siren or a mermaid and to be fair, those that didn’t believe it was a whale were in agreement that it must have been some kind of Siren.

You’d read about them in the library (the only place where there was anything fun to do), you knew about them from ‘Odyssey’.

But that wasn’t what bought you to that conclusion.

2 days after the storm, you were walking along the beach in an area that was seldom travelled.

You hadn’t been searching for anything in particular; just walking. But the glare from the sun, reflecting off something in the sand made you take notice.

It was a gold plate.

It was heavy when you picked it up and to the best of your knowledge it looked like real gold.

There were inscriptions on it but, you couldn’t decipher anything – it wasn’t in any language that you could recognise (not that you were a linguistics expert).

You took it home to look at it later but, for some reason, it didn’t feel right to tell anyone.

The singing started that night.

Describing a siren song was hard. In Greek mythology, the song was meant to be captivating.

Sirens would sing of the loneliness they felt – trapped on their island and of the betrayal of the Olympians and the Muses.

It would lure pirates and sailors alike, who, hearing of these foreign tongued songs, would lose all care and steer into the island. They would be stuck there because their ships were ruined and would eventually perish not because (as is commonly thought) the Sirens would eat them but, because the Sirens couldn’t feed them.

They were immortals trapped on an island that had no need for food but, their mortal companions did.

They would forgo all human needs to hear the Siren song and would die.

This song, however, sounded like a warning.

It was a threat.

You didn’t know how to explain how you knew this; because you couldn’t understand its song and no one else in your small community seemed to have the same experience as you.

One thing everyone agreed on, was that the song was getting louder and seemed to take on multiple voices.

It had something to do with the golden plate. You just knew it.

The louder the song grew, the closer you knew the Siren was to the island – it was hunting you.

By the 5th day, the town had no fish.

Nets were empty and any catches made were often dead before they entered the net. The fish were avoiding the town.

This pushed the fishers into deeper, often unchartered, waters that still yielded no results. Savings were running dry fast and to top it off, the song was so loud that no one got any sleep.

You had to do something.

It was 2am on what would be the 6th day and here you were on the beach, plate in your satchel.

You took it out of the bag.

“Is this a scary story mummy?” Your little girl interrupts your flow, you’d lost yourself for a moment, almost able to smell the brine of the sea; wafting in your face.

Her blanket was up to her eyes and her brother was hidden behind it completely.

You sat on the floor opposite the bed. You quickly got up and picked up your daughter, setting her in your lap and pulling your son beside you.

“It might sound a little scary now but, I promise it has a happy ending. Should I continue?”

“Finish it please.” Your son responds hugging your arm tightly and you turn to your daughter for confirmation.

She gives you a toothy, gap-filled smile and nods quickly.

“Alright, where was I?”

“The plate!” They shout unison.

Yes, the plate.

You tried to hold it up above your head but, it was far too heavy.

Somehow, it had increased in mass (to the point where you couldn’t even hold it up) and was getting warmer, to the point where it soon began to glow white-hot.

“I guess you know that it’s here because it’s never done that before.” The singing had grown quieter and the plate was no longer glowing.

You kept talking.

“I don’t want it. I didn’t mean to take something that’s obviously so important to you, I just found it on the island. I’m guessing you lost it in the storm? I would love to return it to you. It must be awfully important given how loud you’ve been singing. Please bring the fish back. I was the one that did something wrong, no one else and I take full responsibility. You can get it whenever you’d like. Please just bring the fish back.” Honestly, you feel dumb.

Talking to the air, to the sea but somehow, you knew that the Siren was listening.

“Also, you have a lovely voice.”

You left quickly after.

In the morning, or well, the evening, it had become clear that you did the right thing.

The fish and crabs were back, almost as if they’d never left.

“How was today’s catch?” Your mother had asked. She’d been worried for your father. Aware of how tense he’d been since the storm. But his answer immediately put her heart at ease.

“It was good. The sea was kind to all of us today. So, I’m thankful. I also apologise for making you so tense.” Just like that the balance was restored.

But, that night, there was no singing.

This should have meant that you could relax but, you were restless.

The plate was still in your possession.

After hours of tossing and turning, you finally fell asleep.

Only to wake with a jolt.

Your bed was soaking wet. The air heavy with the smell of, salt.

You couldn’t breathe. There was something lying on top of you.

In your alarm, you tried to sit up, only to be pushed back down and what felt like a hand reached around your neck, squeezing a little.

It was a warning.

Your eyes couldn’t adjust to the dark, couldn’t see what was on top of you but you knew.

It was the Siren.

“Y/N.” A hissed whisper next to your ear confirmed your suspicions. The voice that spoke to you was much deeper than the one that sang to you.

Fear shot through you like a jolt of electricity and you tried to scream but then it placed a hand on your mouth.

“Y/N, you have something of mine, I would like it back. If you cooperate, I will let you live.” The voice continued as the siren sat up, straddling your waist.

Please let this be sleep paralysis, please be sleep paralysis.

“I don’t know what creature causes this paralysis but, I am not he. I want what is mine and then I will leave.”

“I need to find it for you, can I get up?” The siren gets up and sits beside you on the bed.

“Do what you must but, if you deceive me, I will kill you and I will enjoy it.” You’re terrified and the Siren knows this, smelling the air around and laughing.

“Human fear, it’s so strange to me. Why are you scared when I’ve said I won’t harm you?” He laughs.

You’re certain this Siren is a man.

It’s only confirmed when you turn on your bedside lamp.

You look back at him and despite how wet he is; he’s beautiful. His large eyes watch your every move, waiting for any sign of deception.

“Stop staring and do your part, human. Do what you promised me. Where is my Aegis?” Despite his hissing and the threats – he sounds tired.

“Here.” You take it from your bag and give it to, he holds it protectively.

“Hey, you’re bleeding.” His eyes are wide as he looks up at you, insulted that you would point out the obvious.

“Why is that your business?” You sigh as he looks at you, unsure. He curls in on himself defensively.

“Wait here.” Honestly, you don’t know what you’re doing. Maybe it’s because his aggression only came from the fact that he was injured or, maybe because you felt like you owed him (you did, after all, accidentally steal his property), you felt the need to take care of him.

Despite his obvious apprehension, he was still sitting on your bed when you got back. Your cat had taken up residence on his lap and was purring up a storm.

“I like your animal, this cat, he’s friendly.” You placed your first aid kit on the bed beside him and his large eyes immediately focused on it, his lips curled in warning.

“Yeah, that’s mouse, he’s a Maine coon. He loves everyone.” The cat meows in response, almost as if he knows he’s being spoken about and snuggles into the Siren’s lap. He shifts his stare back to you and juts his chin towards the kit, prompting you to explain.

“I’m going to clean your wounds, okay? It’s might sting a little but, I promise it’s going to help.”

“Are you an Apothecary? What is this cream? What is in it that will sting me? Is it venom?” He picks up the tube of antiseptic cream and sniffs it. You’re not sure if he’s a nervous talker or is just very curious but, it’s almost cute. As you watch him, curious yourself, you notice he’s a little green.

“It’s antiseptic cream. I’m going to clean your wounds with it and then dress them. You’re going to need to stay out of the water for a while; just until they close.” You clean the wounds, trying as hard as you can to be gentle.

It still hurts regardless, and he hisses at you when it touches his skin.

“How is this poison meant to help me when it burns this way? How do you know it won’t poison me? I am, after all, not of your kind.” That’s a good question actually – he’s clearly not human so how will it affect him?

You pointedly avoid his question.

“How did you find me? What are you anyway?” He smiles slowly; pointed teeth on full display. His dark eyes glinting dangerously in the dim light of your bedside lamp.

“You called out to me, with my Aegis, I followed your call.” He shrugs and goes back to playing with Mouse and you notice the webbing between his fingers.

Pointed teeth bare at you when you apply the liquid dressings a little too heavy-handed in your shock. Mouse only meows in confusion but, doesn’t move from his spot on the sea creature’s lap. You cringe.

“Sorry. What got you so banged up anyway?” He looks at you quizzically, eyebrows furrowed.

“What injured you?”

“It was the storm, I lost my Aegis; the plate you stole, when the waves became rough. It heals me of injuries. You seafaring people used to steal these from creatures like me, mainly because you think it will give you immortality. Or because you want to trap us.” He’s finally calm and you take this time to really take his features in. He’s very slight and shivers a little as the water on his body chills him.

You gasp when Mouse climbs out of his lap and curls up on your bedspread.

“You’re naked.” He looks at you, incredulously.

“I have no need for clothes, I am a sea dweller.”

“Well, you’re going to freeze because you’re wet, and this is land. I’ll get you some clothes and you can stay here tonight and heal up.” He smiles, his jagged teeth on display.

They still scare you a little.

You smile when you realise that both your kids are asleep.

Picking up your daughter, you quietly carry her to her room, hoping that she doesn’t wake up.

Gently placing her in the she snuggles into her pillow, turning on her side.

“I love you, Peanut. Your daddy loves you too.” You kiss your forehead and head back to your son’s room.

Tucking him in, you kiss his forehead as well. “Good night, Honey. We both love you so much.”

You laugh when you think about the first time you met Doyoung.

He had stayed the night, curled up on your bed with Mouse; while you took the sunbed under the window in your room.

He was gone in the morning, as was his ‘plate’.

You didn’t see him again until the summer was coming to an end.

The coastal winds were sending a chill across town and the days were getting shorter. It had been a month since Doyoung had ‘answered your call’; it didn’t feel real.

If it weren’t for the wet sheets and the briny smell in the air of your room, you would have been sure that it was a vivid dream.

In the weeks that followed, you’d spent every night at the beach’s edge calling out to him, the bitter night air whipping against your body and the moonlight casting an eerie glow against the crashing waves – he never responded, and eventually you gave up.

You walk to your balcony and take a seat overlooking the sea.

The waves looked much the same as they did, the night that Doyoung finally came back.

You were heading away to university, finally. You had bought a house, just off campus, with some of your friends and had all your things packed up.

As much as you’d always complained about your small, middle of nowhere, town; you were going to miss it and all the characters that lived there.

But you also wanted to see Doyoung, just to know that he was okay.

The night before you left you walked to the beach again.

It would be the last time for a while that you would get to see the water and be this close to the coast. It was probably the last chance you would ever have to see him.

So, you’d called out to the sea, one last time.

“It’s me again. I’m sure you probably don’t care to hear from me, to be fair, I don’t even know if you can hear me; but I just want to know if you’re okay. I won’t be home for a while because I’m leaving. So, I suppose this is goodbye, unless I see you again.”

The moon casting a white glow on the inky waves as it hung larger than normal in the sky looked the same as seas at home in Deadhorse. No matter where you went, the water always looked like home.

A ‘Super’ moon the meteorology dept. had called it. They’d issued a warning about the high tide to the local fishermen and coastal folk.

And like the tide to the moon, your husband was drawn once again to the water. That’s where he was now;

Somewhere out in the water, he was doing whatever it was that Sirens did. Was he looking at the moon too? Was he thinking of you?

When you and he first got together, you often worried that each time would be the last time you would see him. The call of the sea was powerful, and you feared that it would one day mean more to him than you. Maybe some day he would never come back. But, after 8 years and 2 beautiful children, your mind was at ease.

As selfish as it sounded, you always wanted him to be by your side; from the moment he walked into library and sat across from you, you were hooked.

“What are you thinking about?” You nearly jump out of your skin when wet, webbed hands place themselves on your shoulder.

It rattles your mind for a moment until Doyoung’s smiling face comes into your view, teeth pointed again.

He always turned when he went to the sea. You’d never seen what he looked like in the water but, you’d seen its after-effects.

“I told the kids about how I first met you and I was just reminiscing about everything.” You shrug, leaving out the part where you were worrying about him leaving you.

Doyoung sits beside you and rests his head on your shoulder, making you gasp.

“Ew, you’re wet Doyoung!” He laughs and shakes his head – splashing water droplets all over you.

“I just got out of the water, I’m still a little green but wait until I’m all dry, I’ll be back to normal. The water was great tonight, you should come with me on the next full moon.” He smiles and his jagged teeth show, slowly returning to a normal state. You smile in surprise.

Whenever Doyoung returned to the sea, it was his private time. This was the first time he’d opened the suggestion to you.

“Why now?” Doyoung dries his hair with a towel and wraps his arms around you.

“You’ve always been curious about that part of my life and I think it’s only fair that I share with you.”

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