#Because he just sort of accepted his fate and that's heartbreaking every time I think about it

[saltpepperbeard]

I have to wonder how many times Edward must have been lead on and/or emotionally manipulated to make him give up at the pier. He didn’t try to look for Stede in the woods. He didn’t seem fearful that Stede could have potentially been hurt. He just almost seemed to accept that he had been abandoned, again. That his perfect little dynamic with the perfect and bizarre little man had all been too good to be true, again.

He just sat out there all night, because he knew. He was waiting for that other shoe to drop just as it always did. 

So, how many times must he have been robbed of happiness?

#OFMD #Edward Teach #Revenge Rambles #It kills me man #It absolutely KILLS me #Because he just sort of accepted his fate and that's heartbreaking every time I think about it #He must have sat out there for hours just KNOWING #All the while a little part of him was screaming for it to not be true #That there's no WAY it could be happening again #That there is no possible WAY Stede would follow that pattern #ALSO SOBBING AT THEM ACCIDENTALLY TRIGGERING EACH OTHER'S PAST TRAUMA #ACCIDENTALLY STRIKING RIGHT WHERE IT HURTS #Because Stede left drowning in guilt and thinking he had ruined the love of his life #Thinking he had ruined yet ANOTHER beautiful thing #As everyone had always told him for his entire life #And Ed left thinking Stede was just like the rest #That he only liked him for Blackbeard #And that he dipped like the rest when it became too much #LIKE #L I K E #GOD #HEY DAVID I'M GOING TO NEED YOU TO UHHHHHHH #ABSOLUTELY NOT DO THIS TO ED ANY MORE K THANK YOU SO MUCH HSDKLS </3 #I genuinely hurt for him so so bad #Both of them of course #But Godddd EDWARD #He deserves nice things #Beautiful soft amazing things #I want him to be secure in his happiness #For him to know that he WON'T lose it

[thedialup]

THE ENDING WAS SO. GOD EVERYONE ABANDONS HIM (sort-of) AND THEN HE DIES AGAIN. ALL HE HAD TO DO WAS NOT MOVE FORWARD IM SO SAD.

Also grian will forever have to force scars hand or kill him he will never be able to interact w that man normally (something something grian is Orpheus scar is Eurydice grian will always look back at scar etc etc) -ll anon

I TOLD YOU LL ANON ITS SO SAD HE WAS ALONE AGAIN HE GIVES UP HIS HEART AND YET HE IS STILL ALONE

and just like the way it fades out, no music, no outro, just the sizzling of lava and the sounds of the pistons over and over- it's heartbreaking. and all he had to do was not move forward.

but he wanted friends, he wanted grian, ge didn't want to be alone- and he takes the step forward. i think at that point he realized he was completely alone, he could've moved out of the trap, he had done so earlier in the episode but he gives up. he accepts his fate as he dies alone.

oh fr desertduo are soooooo doomed in any narrative they're in those fuckers can never interact normally and that's what I love about them you're right it is like Orpheus and Eurydice- every time we retell the tale, somehow thinking that it'll have a happy ending this time, that Orpheus won't look back- but he always does. because he lives Eurydice. because grian and scar live each other.

#pigeon answers asks #last life anon

[professorspork]

Floating Array Anon here! Those are all really good points! And I'll concede that "weapon" was probably not the best term to use. I just think there's a really interesting debate to be had about the moral implications of creating (or raising) a sentient being for a specific purpose, especially if that purpose involves violence and death. There's a conversation somewhere in there between Penny and Pietro that I really want to see, since Pietro might blame himself in a way for his daughter's fate.

Oh, absolutely! [And here’s that Floating Array post, for those of you just tuning in.]

Part of what’s interesting here is that the show has encouraged us not to think of Pietro that way, because Ironwood is right there. I was going to make a “Penny has two dads” joke about it, but the crux of it, really, is that she doesn’t. She has one boss, and one dad. Whereas Ironwood consistently talks about her like a tool to be used (“Penny is completely under my control”) or a robot as unfeeling as he is (“If there is no Mantle then there is no reason for you not to work with me”), Pietro unequivocally thinks of her as his daughter. That’s what he tells the kids-- “my daughter’s told me so much about you.” Obviously the big crowning moment of this is in Amity, when he straight up says he does not care about saving the world, he doesn’t want her in danger. He wants her to live her life. But that wasn’t an eleventh hour first-time admission. He’s been consistent about this as long as we’ve known him. I’m thinking about his conversation with Ruby in Worst Case Scenario as a sort of prime example. He frets over “what people want to do to my girl,” and then explains:

Pietro: When the General first challenged us to find the next breakthrough in defense technology, most of my colleagues pursued more obvious choices. I was one of the few who believed in looking inward for inspiration. Ruby: You wanted a protector with a soul. Pietro: I did. And when General Ironwood saw her, he did too. 

Every time Pietro talks about Penny in terms of what she can do, her purpose... it’s voiced through other people. The General wanted defense technology. Ruby’s the one who calls her a protector; he just agrees. 

The moral quandary Pietro needs to reckon with isn’t that he made a weapon and called it a girl (see: Rhodes and Cinder), or that he raised a girl and called her a weapon (see: Marcus and Mercury Black). It’s that he was asked to make a weapon, and instead he raised a girl, and now he buries his head in the sand and despairs when she and everyone around her still talks about her in terms of violence and utility. Penny believes she’s not a weapon, most of the time, but she’s a little shakier about what she is, instead. And no wonder, because Pietro’s been dodging the question since day one. He delivered the opposite of what was asked for and then let himself pretend that’s not what happened. Ironwood asked for a thing-- a thing that would stand between Atlas and the darkness, a thing that could protect people... ostensibly so PEOPLE wouldn’t have to get hurt. But Ironwood isn’t squeamish about this because of human cost, he’s intent on it because of efficiency. What’s better, squishy soldiers or an army of combat drones? A dozen tiny Huntsman or one fuckoff giant mecha? Of course he greenlit the Penny Project; it’s all the benefits of a human combatant-- the improvisation, the discernment, the ability to prioritize-- with, as far as he’s concerned, none of the risks. There’s no death for a thing that can be rebuilt, and no pesky feelings to deal with. As far as he knows.

But the problem is Pietro made a person instead, and loved her. But everyone else still needed and expected her to be something else, because that’s what was commissioned. And I don’t know that Pietro knows how to process his own hand in that, and how poorly it went, without framing it as regret for making her, which he absolutely doesn’t. So what would coming to terms with that look like, instead? If Pietro were to blame himself, he’d say something like “I never should have let them use her like that.” But she was made to be used-- he would never have had a Penny to lose in the first place if he hadn’t agreed to make a military asset. There is no scenario where he could have woken up one day and made himself a daughter; he’d never have gotten the funding or materials. He must learn to accept the chicken with the egg. How does he square his complacency with the Atlas war machine with his pride in what he did in spite of it? How does he make amends to someone he doomed by making, when she became so much? I don’t know. That’s not an easy question to answer. Ozpin’s had thousands of years to dwell on it and he still hasn’t figured it out.

Because the thing is, Pietro’s waffling over her purpose got Penny’s sense of identity caught in the middle. She’s getting mixed messages. So many of her most important conversations are about her struggling to figure out if her experience is universal or only her burden to bear. Ruby (and to some extent, Winter) must reassure her over and over: no, that’s normal, everyone feels like that, your emotions are relatable and also valid. She feels so much guilt-- for not being optimal, or for not following orders. She wasn’t able to single-handedly keep the Grimm out of Mantle and therefore ensure everything else could go as planned; she wasn’t able to save Fria; she stole Winter’s destiny from her. If she were what they made her to be, surely she wouldn’t have failed, right? It’s why it’s heartbreaking when she pulls Ruby aside in Refuge:

“I was the protector of Mantle, but now, I am much more than that... and I wish I was not.”

But the thing is, if they bring her back-- and this is one of the many reasons I believe they have to-- she won’t be.

Finally.

This has been the goal all along. Ruby outwitted Ambrosius because she was desperate to get Penny out from under the burden of her terrible purpose-- to do what she’s ordered to, to be at the beck and call of those who outrank her, or die trying. And then Penny went and sacrificed herself anyway, which: of course she did. Because she was taught it was all she was good for, if you want to be mean about it, or-- or because she thought it was the right thing to do, if you’re forgiving. It’s the same thing any of her friends would do, if they were in her shoes. I’m giving you a head start. That’s what love looks like; it’s the choice heroes make. Isn’t it?

But to get at the root of the problem, we have to rewind back further. Penny was reactivated the first time not because Pietro wanted her to be (though surely he did), but because she had a job to do. The contract wasn’t finished; Ironwood wasn’t going to give up on his fancy new toy just because it fell apart. But now? There’s no more Mantle to protect. Atlas has fallen. And beyond that-- her friends don’t need her to be the Maiden, either. That’s a mutable title, and one that has passed her by; they still have one, even with her gone.

So this next time around... she’ll have the chance to process why she made the decisions she did, and to move past it, because she’ll know how much she’s worth to them. Not the Penny Project, not the Winter Maiden, but Penny Polendina.

Which is to say: they don’t need her, they just want her. 

They want her. 

#Anonymous #penny polendina #rwby #pietro polendina #the family polendina #i waffled over including this because I know it will drive Helen bonkers but #this is Will and Lyra shit #‘Memory's a poor thing to have. It's your own real hair and mouth and arms and eyes and hands I want. #I didn't know I could ever love anything so much.’ #but Leah you say #that's nuts and dolts stuff and they asked about pietro #YES AND THAT'S WHY IT'S IN THE TAGS YOU SEE #I HAVE OUTWITTED THE SYSTEM

[screamingatanemptyroom]

Please Fix the Story pt 21 - Sci Fi

New part is here! Hoping this makes up a bit for the heartbreak of the last part!

I have no idea how long this spurt of energy and and inspiration will last, but I'll keep writing until it runs out!

Master Post linked here

Enjoy!

____________________________

“Did you hear me?” Chris’s voice was filled with patience and warmth. “I’ll save you. I’ll be your Connector.”

I looked at him silently, knowing that I should feel relieved.

Whether my alternate memories were caused by the mental degradation, or if I was truly some sort of traveler tasked with saving this world, his offer solved all my problems. Forming a match with him would stabilize my mental condition, allowing me to fully understand what was real and what was not. It would help me become not only a true Guardian, but a powerful one that could help take on the Hive and save the world, completing my mission.

I should have felt relieved. I should have felt grateful for his generous offer.

But instead, I felt sick and wanted to run away.

“Thank you for offering this, but you have a dream, Chris. You want to be a Guardian more than anyone else.” I found myself arguing passionately, hoping he would withdraw his offer. “I can’t let you sacrifice all the work you’ve done, the trust others have placed in you. Besides, you already have a Connection with Princess Ilene...”

“Alaira.” He frowned as I finally managed to free my hand from his grasp and leaned back to put some distance between us. “None of that is as important as your wellbeing. Ilene understands that.”

“Maybe you don't have to sacrifice all that though. Maybe there’s another match out there for me…” I was grasping at straws, not even sure why I was arguing. But I knew it, felt it deep in my soul.

I didn’t want to match with Chris.

“There’s no one else. I am your only chance to be a Guardian.” The warmth was gone, his face and tone were serious. “Either you match with me, or they’ll put you on indefinite leave, and you’ll never be a Guardian again. “

WARNING! MISSION FAILURE IMMINENT!

TOTAL COMPLETION 2%

MISSION FAILURE WILL RESULT IN WORLD COLLAPSE AND DESTRUCTION OF THE SOUL. PLEASE COMPLETE THE MISSION.

“I don’t want to force you.” He reached out to smooth my hair, becoming visibly frustrated as I pulled back further, refusing to let him touch me. “I’m just trying to save you.”

“…”

“Trust me.”

____________________________

“Trust me.”

The man in front of me threw up his hands as he paced back and forth. “Everything will go a lot smoother if you STOP CHANGING THE STORY!”

“I thought that was why we were here, though?” I sighed, leaning back in my chair, adjusting the ballgown out of the way and cleaning my nails with a blade. “To fix the lower realms, to save these worlds? That requires change, right?”

He paused in his movements, glaring at me. “Stop acting stupid! These worlds are broken because they didn’t follow the rules. We know the rules. We have to follow them perfectly.”

“I don’t want to though.” I shuddered. “No offense, but if the rules are going to require us to have a romantic relationship, I’m finding a different way. There's always an alternate solution.”

“That’s what the story requires, you have your role to play. I am the hero of this world, the prince, and you are the damsel in distress. I was supposed to save you. You were supposed to fall in love with ME. Why did you have to stab the witch yourself?!"

I flipped the knife in my hand. "She was asking for it."

"You can't keep doing this. You know the consequences of not playing the right part.”

“No, there’s always different paths to take." I sighed, "You’re a good friend, and I’m glad to have you by my side, but that’s different than love.”

“…”

“You clearly don’t love me either, so why are you making such a fuss about this? As long as we complete what we came here to do, that’s all that matters, right?”

“…”

“Right?”

He stepped closer to me, his atmosphere slightly threatening. “Why are you so different from what you are supposed to be?”

“What are you…?”

“Why can’t you just ACCEPT...”

His hand grabbed my wrist, the grip painful. I raised the knife in my hand, but hesitated to stab him.

“YOUR.”

He pulled me closer until our faces were inches apart. His bright blue eyes were blazing with anger as they stared into my own. Each word burning itself into my soul.

“FATE.”

Letting me go, he walked away, putting some distance between us, before turning back to face me.

“This lower realm is stabilized. We should return.” His smile was cold. “The next mission is a little different from our previous ones. We’ll talk about it later.”

“…”

“And next time…?” He laughed, a bitter sound. “You’ll play your part whether you want to or not.”

____________________________

The memory was slow to fade, my heart still beating quickly with residual anxiety and anger. My hand tried to grasp the knife from the vision, but it closed on empty air instead.

“Alaira. Why aren’t you answering?”

I will not accept my fate.

I didn’t even know what fate I was rejecting, but I knew deep down in my soul that I had to fight.

I blinked a few times, focusing on Chris’s expectant face.

“I really appreciate you being willing to put aside your dreams to help me, but... Can you give me tonight to think about it? I’m just… I’m still really overwhelmed with all the changes that have happened.”

“…” He studied me closely before nodding with a polite smile. “Of course, Alaira. Like I said, I don’t want to force you. This will be the start of a beautiful partnership.”

Reaching out, he caught my hand again before I could pull away. He squeezed it tightly, almost painfully, before letting go and stepping back.

“The hero and the heroine… together… as it should be.” His mumbled words reached my ears and I felt sick and panicked once more.

No.

“Have a good rest, Alaira.” He closed the door behind him, and I heard the lock click into place.

I was trapped. I wanted to panic, to get up and pound at the door. To try to escape. Instead, my head started throbbing once more, and exhausted, my body pulled me back to sleep again.

____________________________

I woke up to three young women sitting next to my bed, staring at me.

I let out a startled shriek, scrambling to sit up and back away until my back hit the headboard of the bed. Looking around, I was still in Chris’s dorm room, but it now seemed much smaller and crowded with the trio who seemed intent on watching my every move.

“Hey guys, what’s up?” I waved a hand weakly, feeling scared by their intensity.

“… We wanted to see how you were feeling.” Princess Ilene was staring at me, her face unreadable.

This feels very uncomfortable.

“Why?”

The girls looked at each other at my question, before turning back to focus on me once again.

“We know what Chris offered to you.” A young lanky woman, who I recognized as my classmate Allie spoke up. Wasn’t she the one who sent me all the threatening messages in class?

“He’s willing to give up everything to save you.” Wen, the engineer who had confronted me early on, spoke solemnly, her face grim.

Ilene snorted bitterly. “Even if it means breaking up our partnership.”

“… Are you here to beat me up?” I don't think I can fight in my current condition. “Because if that’s the case, let me go ahead and say that I haven’t agreed to his proposal.” And I don’t want to. “ If you want to talk him out of it, that’s fine with me…”

“Are you stupid?” Ilene interrupted, rolling her eyes. “You should be grateful that someone as wonderful and caring as Chris is willing to sacrifice his dreams to save you. And you want to waste that?”

Allie chimed in. “Yeah. We may not agree with him becoming your Connector, but we all care about him, and if you’re that important to him… then we need to respect that.”

Glancing around the room, I shuddered at the intensity of the atmosphere. “You all care about him… romantically?”

“Yes.”

“Yep.”

“Of course!”

The girls answered in unison.

“And he cares about you all the same way?”

“…” There was an awkward silence, before the petite engineer spoke up.

“We are important to him, obviously. But now isn’t the right time for him to get involved in romance. He’s pursuing his dream of being a Guardian. One day things will settle down, and we’ll know which one of us is in his heart.” She smiled at me. “I’m sure you understand. You’re the same way, after all.”

“I’m the what now?”

“You’re in love with Chris.”

Umm, No.

“Sorry, there’s been a misunderstanding.” I rubbed my forehead as I tried to explain. To be fair, ALAIRA had been in love with Chris. But me? Not so much.

“I… respect him. “ It wasn’t completely a lie. I did respect his ability to completely ignore reality and charge forward without any doubt his actions were right. “But I’m not in love with the guy.”

Allie patted my shoulder. “Don’t worry, you’re in a safe place. You can admit your feelings here. We all love Chris. Even if he’s too busy becoming the strongest Guardian ever to return our affections.”

Have I… accidentally been admitted in the male lead’s harem? I sighed, wishing I could bang my head against a wall. Someone SAVE ME!

“We just wanted you to know that we will support you and Chris becoming partners.” Wen smiled, standing up, preparing to leave.

“You really don’t have to…”

Allie stood up as well. “I’m just glad you’ve come around and want to work WITH Christ instead of trying to embarrass him…”

“I really don’t…”

“And you better appreciate what Chris is willing to give up for you.” Ilene still looked angry. “He’s too good for you.”

“I don’t want…”

“We’ll be cheering for you at your next match with Chris” Wen pulled Ilene to her feet. “Don’t let him down.”

I was getting REALLY sick and tired of not being allowed to finish a sentence. “I AM not going to be his partner!!!”

WARNING! MISSION FAILURE IMMINENT!

TOTAL COMPLETION 1%

MISSION FAILURE WILL RESULT IN WORLD COLLAPSE AND DESTRUCTION OF THE SOUL. PLEASE COMPLETE THE MISSION.

The girls ignored my words, leaving with smiles and waves. Frustrated, confused, I slammed my fists against the bed, screaming. The bright blue words warning me of my upcoming demise slowly faded from the world, as if they were never there.

SCREW THIS! End of the world… destruction of the soul… I DON’T CARE! I am not going to be forced into matching with Chris. He gives me the creeps. I’d rather have my mind splinter than let him into it.

Feeling a strange mix of recklessness and calm, I sat up in the bed, taking a deep breath and staring at the clock in the wall.

Just a few more hours, and everybody should be asleep. And then…

I leaned over, picking up a small hairpin that dropped on the floor from Ilene’s head when she stood up.

I make my escape.

____________________________

Time passed slowly. I felt as if each hour was taking a century to pass, sitting in Chris’s room, not knowing if he would come back. Not sure if the blue words would pop up again, announcing that I had failed my mission, that my soul would be destroyed. I was having trouble focusing, my thoughts tangling together inside my head, difficult to separate out. I took slow, deep breaths, trying to sort out what I knew.

I don’t want to match with Chris.

I knew that for a fact.

I don’t have a better plan to save my mental state, or complete my mission.

Also fact.

I might die.

The facts were really depressing, actually. Just looking at it like this, it still seemed as if my best option would be to agree to Chris’s proposal.

____________________________

"We know the rules. We have to follow them perfectly.”

____________________________

The man's words from my memory echoed in my head, but I ignored them.

Like the me in those memories said... There's always an alternate solution.

I won’t match Chris.

It wasn’t rational or smart. But I couldn’t give in.

So, if I don’t have a better plan, why bother to escape?

I leaned back against the headboard of the bed, trying to come up with a single goal after leaving this place. It didn’t take long, as a familiar face came to mind.

Liam. I want to find Liam.

It didn’t make sense. It wouldn’t help my mission, as he couldn’t form a connection. We didn’t even know each other that well, only spent a few hours in each other’s company. But deep down inside me, the only thing I wanted to do was see him again. He was the only person I trusted.

Chris said he returned home, though.

Hopefully he was lying. And if he wasn’t… well, then I would just have to search for him then.

The clock chimed. It was midnight, and almost everyone should be asleep. Getting to my feet, I took a moment to steady myself, ignoring the searing headache and lightheadedness that had gotten worse the more awake I was.

It must be the mental degradation. Who knows how much time I have left?

I moved quietly towards the door, studying the lock. Alaira had been a good student, spending all her time studying military tactics and Mech technology. She had no idea how to pick a lock.

____________________________

I was an assassin, crouching in front of a door, easily forcing it open within a few seconds.

“Amateurs.” I whispered to myself with a grin. “Thinking you could keep me out.”

____________________________

The memory faded, but my hands were already moving, inserting the hairpin I had found into the lock and rearranging the tumblers inside. As I felt the last one slide into place, there was a loud clicking noise, and the door swung open.

“I’m not Alaira.” I whispered. “These memories aren’t hallucinations.”

Which was probably not a good thing, given that I was about to fail my mission, and have my soul destroyed. But I was still happy.

I am not Alaira.

I crept down the main hallway of the men’s dormitory, having to hide a few times to dodge security guards. The throbbing of my shoulder served as a steady reminder to keep close track of my surroundings.

“Report.”

Just as I was entering a entrance hallway to the dormitory, someone called out. At the sound of the voice, I ducked under a table, hiding myself in the shadows, glad I was wearing my dark uniform still.

“Everything has been quiet, sir.” A security guard stepped into my vision, looking nervous.

“You’re certain?” The voice was quiet, but was still easily recognizable as the one I wanted to hear the least right now:

Chris? What’s he doing up at this hour.

“Yes, sir. There’s been no movement around the dorms tonight.”

“Good.” Chris stepped into view, his polite façade gone, in its place a grim, ruthless man. “As I’ve said before, Guardian Alaira is deep into mental degradation, and is a danger to herself and others. I've kept her here solely for the purpose of her safety, but she can’t understand that in her current state, and may try to escape.”

“Are you sure…?” The guard seemed nervous.

“Do YOU want to be responsible for General Gladus’ only child being harmed?”

He straightened up, shaking his head back and forth vigorously. “No! No of course not!”

“Then do what you are told. And remember, Prince William��”

Liam? I leaned in, interested.

“…whereabouts are unknown, so keep an eye out.” He sighed. “He was supposed to go home after receiving that written summons. But he hung around instead, and has been trying to see her.”

“Why can’t they…?”

“He’s the reason she has refused to match. As a Connector without the ability to make the connection, he hopes to keep her like him, not caring that her mind is almost completely broken. “ Chris held out his hands helplessly. “Even if he’s a prince, we can’t let him do this. Not to General Gladus’ family, right?”

Liam didn’t go home?! He’s nearby! I felt excited, almost not hearing the next part of the conversation. The sound of my name dragged back my attention.

“Alaira and I will be forming the Connection tomorrow. So we just have to keep an eye out until then.”

“She has agreed?”

“She will.” He smiled, the expression terrifying in the shadows. “She has to.” He moved off to the side, his boots only a few feet from my face, picking up something from the table above me.

“Or she’ll fail the mission, and her soul will be destroyed.”

He whispered the last sentence, but it struck me like a bolt of lightning.

HOW DOES HE KNOW ABOUT THE MISSION?! ABOUT THE WARNING? I clapped my hands to my mouth, preventing a sound from leaking out as my frenzied brain tried to make sense of this new information. Is he a traveler too?

Does he know who I really am?

“Well, congratulations on a successful match, then.” The guard responded cheerfully, unaware of the grim threat lurking behind Chris’ words.

The two separated, leaving me frozen, still hiding underneath the table.

Who is Chris, who am I? I clutched at my head, the throbbing pain worsening. I don’t have time to figure this out!

I started moving forward, ignoring my growing panic and confusion. Ignoring the agony of my mind falling apart.

I was going to find Liam.

I crept along the side of the room, making it to the front door of the dormitory.

What if there are guards on the other side?

I pushed away the panicked thought, and mentally prepared to fight my way out.

I’ve already gotten this far. I won’t give up now!

With that, I took a deep breath, and pushed open the door, rushing out, ready to start swinging.

I ran straight into a firm chest.

Fight!

I cocked a fist, swinging it towards the man’s face, when I head a single word.

“Alaira?”

I froze, looking up into familiar dark blue eyes. “Liam? What are you doing here?”

“Trying to rescue you! What are you doing here?”

“Escaping.”

“Awesome!” He grabbed my hand, pulling me along. “Let’s escape together!”

We ran away.

____________________________

Quickly moving through the different winding hallways, I lost track of where we were going. The doors flew past us, the soft glow of the emergency lighting a blue blur. All I could see was Liam’s back in front of me.

And I feel a whole lot safer than I ever did sitting in that quiet dorm room.

Finally, Liam pulled me into a classroom, dragging over a chair for me to sit on. Once I sat down, he brought a desk over, opening up a backpack and setting a thermos and a container down next to me.

Opening the container and thermos, I shook my head “How on earth did you manage to bring along hot tea and sandwiches to a rescue attempt?”

“I was worried that you might not have been eating properly.” He muttered.

A brief flash of a smiling man peeling an apple by a campfire filled my mind. “Support spouse?” The muttered words came unbidden to my lips, and I rubbed my temples.

Liam blushed, “What did you call me?”

“Nothing, sorry. My mind is having trouble keeping things straight right now.”

“The mental degradation?” He reached out, his hand pausing in the air before dropping back by his side. “How are you doing?”

I took a sip from the thermos, realizing from the empty feeling in my stomach that I hadn’t eaten anything in the whole time I had been trapped in Chris’s dorm room. “Honestly… I don’t know. Things are getting jumbled… I’m having trouble figuring out what’s real and what isn’t.”

“It’s already that far along?” Liam’s face was full of concern. “And there’s still no high enough match for you to make a connection and reverse the process?”

Chris’s offer crossed my mind, but I shook my head. “No.”

“…Alaira.” He spoke my name quietly. “ What about Chris? “

“…”

“I don’t know what’s going on. All I know is that you disappeared from the infirmary last night, and all of a sudden I received a communication telling me to return home immediately. When I tried to track you down to check on you first, I couldn’t find you. Finally I narrowed it down to the Chris’s dormitory, but he had the place locked down like a fortress.”

Liam sat down next to me, staring down at his hands. “I heard that he has a high enough resonance match with you to make the connection, but he’s always refused in the past.” He glanced up at me. “But that’s not the case anymore, is it?”

“…I don’t want him in my head.”

“Even if it means your mind degrading further?”

I thought over the mission warning. “Even if my soul were going to be destroyed. I won't match him. It would be worse than death.”

“…okay.”

Shocked, I stared over at him. His face was serious, his eyes concerned as his gaze met mine. “Really? That simple?”

“I won’t force you to let that person into your mind. If it’s against your will, my attempt to save you could destroy you.” He broke the eye contact. “I just wish more than anything that I could make the Connection.” His voice cracked on the last word. “I’m useless.”

____________________________

“I’m useless.” The man in front of me, usually confident and smiling, was broken, his hands clutching tightly onto my own.

“Don’t say that.” I was breaking down, barely able to lift my head to look at him.

“It’s true. Something has changed... the world has changed. This place is rejecting you. My blood doesn’t work anymore. You’re going to be forced to leave, to go back to… “ He held his face in his hands. “And I can’t stop it.”

“Hey, lean closer.” I whispered, a small grin on my face despite the pain that wracked my body.

He leaned in, his dark blue eyes curious.

I grabbed the front of his shirt, pulled him in closer, and kissed him.

____________________________

I blinked, the memory still gripping me tightly, and realized that something was very wrong:

I was still kissing someone.

I was kissing Liam.

My hand gripped the front of his uniform tightly, the fabric wrinkled in my grasp. My other rested on his shoulder, feeling his trembling beneath my hand. His own hands braced against the chair and desk, keeping him from falling down where I had already obviously pulled him out of his seat. Our lips pressed together tightly, a comfortable warm feeling.

Did… I just jump Liam while in the grip of a memory?

…Also, I should probably stop, right?

I slowly released him, embarrassed as he sat back in his chair with a loud thump, his eyes wide with surprise and his face red.

“I … I’m sorry, I was confused…I didn’t mean…” I stuttered, wondering how to explain.

“I felt that.”

“I’ve been getting flashes of memories, and I’m not sure what they mean, or what’s real…”

“Alaira.”

“I shouldn’t have grabbed you, and… done that. I’m sorr…”

“ALAIRA.” Liam’s uncharacteristically loud voice startled me into silence. I stared at him warily, unsure if he was mad or not.

His hand grabbed my own, shocking me. “I felt that.”

“I don’t…”

“I felt it… without the barrier.” Liam was still blushing, but his eyes were filled with an excited light instead of the defeated expression that had been there before.

“You did?”

“Yeah… um…” He swallowed uncomfortably, glancing at me before looking away. “Can we do that again?”

“…”

Seeing my strange expression, he waved his hands frantically. “Not to take advantage of you or anything! I mean I can try to match you if my barrier is down, and that’s the only way…”

I raised an eyebrow. “So you’re saying you don’t want to kiss me? You just want to see if we’re a high enough resonance match to form a connection?”

He hesitated, and then covered his face. “No. I want to kiss you again too.”

“Good.” I moved closer this time and leaned in with a smile. “Me too.”

We kissed again.

This time, beyond the warmth of the physical connection, I felt an electric pulse between us, a surge of power that was foreign to myself, but all too familiar at the same time.

We must be higher than a 50% match! Enough to stop the mental degradation!

Before I could break away to tell Liam, I felt his hand gently slide around the back of my head, his fingers tangling into my hair. The kiss deepened, becoming more passionate. The power exchange between us grew exponentially, the tangling of Alpha and delta waves binding our souls together.

He’s making the Connection. I responded fully, throwing all my power into it. Immediately my headache lessened, the vague sense of uncertainty that had been haunting me faded away.

After what seemed like an eternity, we broke apart, catching our breath. My heartbeat was frantic in my ears as I stared at Liam. I could feel him still, inside my self, tangled with my mind and spirit, a constant presence within me.

This is more than a simple Connection.

Liam nodded, looking overwhelmed. “I’m not sure exactly what happened… I think we might be a really high resonance match.”

“Why…” I paused, trying to sort out my thoughts. “Why does it feel like we’ve always had this connection… we’re just getting it back now?”

“Maybe we did in another life. ” he grinned, his face still red. “I felt tied to you the moment I met you.”

I sighed, resting my head against his shoulder. “Same.”

There was a comfortable silence, as we sat in the dark classroom, the tea in the thermos in front of us long gone cold. Finally I spoke up, refusing to move from my position of leaning on him.

“What now?”

He thought it over. “I guess we tell everyone we formed the Connection, and that you don’t need to be suspended anymore.”

“And after that?”

“Not sure.”

There is still the mission, I guess. “How about we save the world?”

His arm tightened around me. “If it will make you happy, anything.”

We waited out the night, together.

#writing #please fix the story #sci-fi #lost memories #more background #liam is here #Some sweetness to offset the bitterness of the last part #world hopping

[ohmysparkle]

🌙 Part I

🌙 Pairing: Jung Jaehyun (NCT) x Reader, Johnny (NCT) x Reader

🌙 Genre: Angst, Soulmate au

🌙 Word count: 3K

🌙 Warnings: the sadness of it all!!! Drinking, mentions of abandonment and cheating, mental illness and bad coping.

🌙 Series Masterlist

🌙 Note: This series was sparked by an ask from my first account. It’s been collecting dust for a few months, but I’ve always had the intention of finishing it!! It’s been slightly rewritten.

🌙 Tag List: @justineasian

Life was…

Well, something.

Sometimes you would say it was horrible. Horribly lonely, horribly difficult, horribly pathetic. Sometimes you would say it wasn’t worth living. Sometimes you looked back on all of the milestones in your life that brought you to where you were and you’d say it wasn’t worth it all. But then, you had one thing in this complicated life that sometimes made life with living.

One thing, one person: your soulmate. Now, everyone had theirs. Everyone was destined to meet them at least once. Most of the time, they spent their lives together, in love and union. Other times, they would meet at the wrong time and place, or already be enamoured with others. Regardless, you looked forward to meeting yours, and you mustered the strength to start every day with a smile, just in case today was that day.

Some people described meeting your soulmate as a sort of ping in their mind, others as if the world was colorless before and then became full of color, some even said it was like a magnetic force pulled them towards each other. Something would happen that would make you undeniably certain that you had met them - something monumental.

You felt giddy and giggled at the thought of what you would feel. Would today be that day? When you finally had someone beside you, someone to build a home with? ‘Could I be that lucky today?’

Maybe you were too focused on it. You longed for it. It was the answer to everything you had ever asked for. Love - which had been so absent in your life, had been a difficult thing to find. For years now, without your parents, you had been lonely and searching for someone you could feel loved and protected by. Perhaps that led you to so desperately and easily throw yourself into the arms of the wrong men, assuming that the most superficial things meant true love, meant happiness and security. When the veil of your enthusiasm, and your ignorance, finally peeled back, reality would crash down on you - leaving you feeling betrayed, hurt, and worst of all stupid.

Maybe you shouldn’t excite yourself so much over the prospect of your soulmate? What if it was just another heartbreak? You’d heard these stories before - it could happen. People aren’t born a certain way, they become a certain way as they live life, as they live as their own selves and it was possible to stray so much from your original self that the love you were destined for at birth was no longer fated to be.

Maybe, just maybe, you should have prepared yourself better for that horrible, horrible outcome.

As you had just begun attending university, you had slowly acquainted yourself with the campus. Today of all days, you decided to sit down at an unassuming coffee shop that rested in what seemed to have once been a residential house. The tables were plentiful among rooms strewn with books and old furniture, there was a stale scent from the old paper and wood, matched with some sweet brewing chai and rich coffee. It wasn’t too full, moderately quiet. You thought it would be a nice replacement to your usual table at the library.

You snake through the tables and bulky chairs as you try to find the perfect spot, your hips occasionally grazing the furniture, when -

“Excuse me, you dropped this.” Someone says as you’re nearing a table, and as you turn to see the stranger holding up your student ID, you feel it.

A dizzying, pleasant sensation that elevated your senses to a new standard. Everything seemed brighter, clearer, more vivid, and it all drove you to him, his eyes, his face, his voice, even his scent. Whatever it was, he could feel it too, as his eyes went wide while looking into yours. It was like you were absorbing everything in your surroundings with every fiber of your being, but all of it began, and concluded, in your perception of him.

You slightly dipped backward from the intensity of it all, your knees going weak from the sudden onslaught of feelings, but he caught you in his arms, and it felt so right. Your ears rang, and at some moment, which you hardly perceived, both of you were sitting down on a small couch that he had steered you towards.

It took a moment for the two of you to regain your senses, and naturally you looked towards each other.

“I’m Y/n.” You finally say, looking at him with a beaming smile… until… he casts his eyes downward.

“What’s your name?” you finally ask him. Had his resolve been stronger, he would have resisted the sweetness in your voice. He would have ignored you, he should have left you.

“Jaehyun.” He finally says. It’s all he says, he has already said one word too many.

“Jaehyun. I like that name.” He was probably feeling nervous, you reason, he most likely is at a loss of words.

“Look, Y/n.” He says while abruptly getting up and standing in front of you. “I know what we just felt means we’re soulmates, but I can’t do this. I don’t want to do this. And look, this isn’t about you, you’re probably a nice girl, but you should just forget this happened and go find yourself someone who actually wants to love you.”

And after that rant, which left you completely frozen and baffled, he left.

He just left.

As if you had dreamed him up and he hadn’t even been there in the first place - he was gone.

You didn’t understand. It didn’t make sense. You were still dumbfounded and after that encounter you had been so distraught that you just headed home. After hours of replaying the scenario over and over again in your mind, you finally settled to cry over it until you fell asleep.

Your only conclusion was to find him. You needed to see him again, talk to him, and reason with him. What had been so wrong about him meeting you that he abandoned you like that? He abandoned you as if you meant nothing to him.

It’s odd now, that after meeting your soulmate you felt so lost. It was a bit stupid on your end; every day went on to the next based on the hope that you would meet the one, but it never occurred to you to think beyond. What comes after?

There was no splendid meeting, no love at first sight, only rejection. What else was there for you to look forward to? What happens now?

So, after that, waking up in the mornings went back to what they used to be. One horrible day after the other, mustering the strength to start the day with a smile, just in case today was that day when you’d meet your soulmate - for the second time. It would have been worse to surrender to the fate that you’d never see him again, because then the days would become voids; nothingness heading toward nothingness.

It’s funny how you measure time. Time is energy, energy forcing yourself to get up and live, energy spent and consumed, replenished with food and drink and sleep, and then all over again, like a battery draining and recharging itself. Except there is no purpose to this energy, it was just existence.

It was actually three days. A dozen or so cycles of your ups and downs, and on one dreary walk to a campus cafeteria to grab lunch, just when your energy was about to deplete, you saw him.

It was like a bolt of lightning shot through you and you were awake again, aroused from the limbo. He didn’t see you, he was at a table with his friends, and you still don’t know if it was the connection that blindly led you to him, or your need for answers, or just the desire to see if he would accept you the second time around. Nonetheless you approached, stubbornly.

One of his friends noticed you first, handsome, and he nudged the one sitting beside him with a suggestive raise of his eyebrows, a sort of ‘check her out’.

“Can I help you with anything cutie?” Says the first young man.

“Um… I need to talk to him.” You answer, meekly pointing towards Jaehyun who sat near the pair.

“Oh, do we have a date?” Said the second, teasing and flirting.

“No, I need to speak to Jaehyun.” You say a little more loudly, and at this, his eyes raise from the notebook he was preoccupied with, and again they go wide. It was as if time froze when he looked at you, and as he stayed frozen in place his friends gradually caught on to the strange interaction.

“Jaehyun, can we please talk?” You say again, firmly and resolute. It took a shake from a third young man who sat beside him for him to finally react.

“No, sorry.” He said as he buried his nose back into his notes. His third friend looked up at you in confusion and sympathy, and it was obvious that some of his friends had been taken aback by his abrupt tone. But you stood your ground.

“Jaehyun, you and I should speak.” You surprised yourself with the steadiness of your tone since you felt your emotions begin to build up. The heat spread upwards from your neck to your face. After years of being cast aside, these situations no longer made you feel small or saddened, but the anger still managed to escape from you. Indignation - this wasn’t right. This wasn’t how it was supposed to be.

And yet here you begged.

Jaehyun simply acted like you weren’t there. You gave him a few seconds, the same third friend leaned into his ear to insist that he “say something”, but Jaeyun acted as if nothing was happening. Others at the table looked at you with a bit of pity, another thing that made you angry. It all made you furious.

“You can pretend all you want that I’m not here, but we both know perfectly well that you shouldn’t be avoiding this. At least have the decency to talk to me, you coward.” The tears stung at your eyes and your voice began to pitch upward and shake as your words progressed. Frustration, anger, rejection. The words were spit out like venom, and before they could see a single droplet of the pain spill from your eyes, you had left.

But at night, after you went home and kept crying, it was that same old sadness and smallness that absorbed you.

How many days had or hadn’t you slept by now?

You didn’t count.

How many classes had you missed?

No idea.

Meals and water?

Sometimes when you felt like you needed them, other times when you just felt like it; be it less or more. Drunkenness and candy highs. Hunger and coffee. No decent meals to be seen though. Water on occasion.

You’d been going to the nearby 7-11 so often that a couple of cashiers knew your name by memory now, memorized from your ID. They’d throw you a concerned look when they watched you walk out with nothing but junk food and alcohol, sometimes at unreasonable hours.

It’s during one of these supply runs, when you’re sipping wine from the bottle while walking back to your apartment on a particularly hot afternoon, that someone stops you.

“Hey! Hey, excuse me! Hey!” You can hear someone running behind you. Oh goodness, this is not something you’re looking forward to. Why can’t this wine just be drunk in peace?

You don’t even turn to meet the source of the voice, instead, you find him running around to your front to stand face to face with you and cut off your path.

“Hey! You’re Y/n, right?” He asks breathlessly. You slurp some wine from the bottle, holding it flimsily from its neck while your other arm carries another bag full of more depression supplies.

“Yes.” You answer, regretting you were not yet tipsy. He looks a bit concerned at your state. A stained tank top with a strap hanging off of your shoulder, worn out denim shorts and flip flops, a careless bundle of hair. Sure, it was a reasonable look for the hot afternoon, but in your current disposition, he could tell you weren’t doing well.

“Can we talk somewhere?” He asks with worry.

“No.” Goodness, just move out of my way. You begin to walk past him but he backtracks so he’s still in front of you and he grabs you by your arms.

“Please, it’s about Jaehyun.” He finally says. You wanted to say no, but something compelled you to agree. No, nothing really compelled you, it was more just the ease of agreeing. You didn’t have the energy in you to fight back.

“Fine. Come along.” You say, moving to continue the short walk towards your apartment building, on which he wordlessly trails behind you.

Despite your current humor, your apartment managed to stay clean. It looked neat, tidy, cozy, like it belonged to someone in better spirits. That was something that Jaehyun’s friend found entirely surprising.

“Sit.” You gestured toward the small living room while setting your bag on the kitchen counter, not once letting go of your wine bottle. His friend sat, and wondered how to best approach the subject at hand.

“You’re his soulmate, aren’t you?” His friend suddenly asks and you chuckle before bringing the bottle up to your lips again. “I - I’m sorry that’s not how I should have started out.”

“You’re right.” You simply state.

“I’m Johnny.”

“Hi Johnny.”

“Look, I know this sounds weird, but I felt like I needed to talk to you. Jae sometimes… he’s difficult.” Johnny sighs, “I kinda guessed what had happened and I felt like someone needed to tell you about it.”

“Shouldn’t he be telling me about ‘it’?” You reply flatly. Standing before him, looking down at the tall man, you begin to feel a bit regretful of your coldness towards him. He didn’t seem ill-intentioned, and the more you looked at him and puzzled together his reason for approaching you, you assumed he’d been there to extend a bit of an olive branch. You sighed too, and Johnny saw the firmness in your posture soften a bit. It surprised him though, that you sat beside him, and his heart broke a little as he saw your downcast eyes.

“What do you need to tell me?” You ask in the softest of voices.

“I tried to talk to Jae about it… about why you came up to him the way you did and why he ignored you like that.” You hum in response, letting him know you were listening.

“At first I thought you were just another one of those girls.” He continues, “But Jaehyun had seemed different for a while so I asked him about you.”

“What do you mean ‘another one of those girls’?”

“Well, Jae’s pretty popular… and he’s got a bit of a reputation.”

“I’ve never heard about him before.” You reply, “I just started studying here.”

“Well, maybe it’s best if you hear it from me then. But Jaehyun, he’s not good - I mean he is a good person - he just… does bad things sometimes.”

“… Johnny?” you ask after a while of silence.

“Someone hurt him, really bad. It was the first time he had fallen in love, she was his first everything… and she was sleeping around with people behind his back the entire time, but Jaehyun caught her. She claimed that the guy she was sleeping with that time was her ‘soulmate’, and that it was a moment of passion, but she was going to tell him… just a bunch of excuses…”

“And?”

“Turns out he wasn’t… just another guy she was sleeping with. It took him a while to piece the entire story together, but you can guess how he felt about it.”

“Oh.” You still don’t look at Johnny.

“The way he treated you… it isn’t about you. He’s spent the last couple of years breaking one heart after the other. He just can’t love - and it’s his way of getting back at her, I guess.” Johnny grabs your shoulder and turns to look at you but your eyes still avoid his. “He’s not a bad person. I tried talking to him but he never listens, he knows he’s not right but I’ll try to make him listen, I promise.”

You begin to cry, curling into yourself and Johnny can’t help but hug you. You let him. It only felt natural.

“I waited for this my entire life..” You sob with a cracking and hideous voice, and with awfully wet sniffles. “This isn’t fair! He could love me and you’re telling me he’s just too mean to! It’s not fair.”

“You’re right, and I’m sorry, I promise I’ll talk to him. For you.” His words were reassuring, but you found more comfort in the gesture of it all. Johnny - who you had just met - was Jaehyun’s friend, but at that moment he felt like he was yours.

He stayed there for a while, rubbing and patting your back. You could tell it wasn’t the first time he had tried to mend the broken hearts Jaehyun had left behind.

You lifted your head up, meeting his eyes just inches away from his face. Your cheeks and lashes wet, your face hot and eyes red. He couldn’t help but swipe the tears away with his thumb, and your natural reaction was to lean your face into his palm.

“Thank you, Johnny.” you tell him once he’s stepping out of your apartment, “Thank you for everything.”

“Don’t worry. I’ll talk to him, I promise you.” He sends you one final solemn smile before turning to head out.

It’s odd that now, after meeting your soulmate's best friend, you didn’t feel so lost.

#nct angst #nct jaehyun angst #nct Johnny angst #nct imagines #nct au

[chudleycanonficfest]

Rewrite the Stars

Day 7, Post #1 is by @adenei

Title: Rewrite the Stars

Author: adenei

Pairing: Ron/Hermione (Romione)

Prompt: Songfic

Rating: PG 

TW: Depiction of blood purity/discussion of prejudices against Muggleborns, Violence/Murder mentioned (but not graphic)

************

*This fic is inspired not only by the song, but also Anne and Philip's relationship in the movie The Greatest Showman.*

Summary: AU In a world where there’s no Voldemort, but blood purity is strictly enforced, Ron and Hermione must navigate their budding relationship, and all the trials and tribulations that come with it.

********************

“Are you sure this is alright?” Hermione asks as she smooths the front of her dress, checking for wrinkles for the fifth time in as many minutes.

  “Yes, it’s fine! You look beautiful,” Ron assures her.

  He places a warm, comforting hand on the small of her back as they enter the grandiose ballroom where the Auror department is hosting their annual dinner. A handful of Aurors are honored for their achievements, but over the years, it’s turned into an event for the upper classes and Purebloods.

  Hermione knows she doesn’t belong here, amongst the men and women whose wealth and social status put them leagues ahead of anyone else, and it’s rare to receive an invitation to such an event even as a Halfblood. But as a Muggleborn, Hermione braces herself for an onslaught of jeers and slurs. If Ron wasn’t being honored for his success on a case he’d worked six months to solve, she wouldn’t be here at all.

  Ron has always encouraged Hermione to follow her dreams, even during their Hogwarts days. Though they were sorted into different houses, the two shared many Prefect rounds together. Being named Head Boy and Girl also brought them closer together, where they began seeing each other in secret . Neither had intended to break things off upon graduation, but when Hermione received rejection after rejection for potential jobs within the Ministry, she pushed him away too. 

  There was a time years ago when she hoped to be working within the Magical Law Department with dreams of making the magical world a more accepting place for every witch and wizard, no matter their blood status. But those bright-eyed and bushy-tailed dreams have long since dissipated. The rules are archaic, and there’s no chance of overturning something so set in stone until there’s a new Minister of Magic who would be open to the possibility. 

  So, for now, Hermione tends to a job that gives her equal satisfaction. She teaches young Muggleborn students in a special school that she founded with the help of Professor McGonagall. Hermione earned her certification to teach the primary levels at University after graduating from Hogwarts, and now works with Professor McGonagall to teach those students between the ages of five and eleven how to prepare for the world they’ll enter when they’re old enough to go to Hogwarts. This is in addition to all of the regular courses that Muggle England expects them to study.

  The prep school is what reconnected the pair, when Ron was assigned to work the case of an eight-year-old that disappeared last year. It was determined that the child was abducted by Fenrir Greyback and turned into a werewolf. Ron found the boy’s body deep in the Forest of Dean, where it was determined that Fenrir became too bloodthirsty on that particular hunt. 

  Hermione was distraught over the outcome and took comfort in Ron, who was equally shaken by the case. As the weeks following the case progressed, Hermione found herself spending more and more time with Ron. Slowly but surely, they found their way back to each other and had only just rekindled their relationship a couple of months ago.

  Since their relationship still feels so new to Hermione, they’ve kept things quiet. But she knows how important tonight is for Ron, and she wants to be there for him. To support him the same way he supports her. Hermione knows he will be by her side through it all, and has assured  her that no one will make any comments. 

  Ron leads them around the room, exchanging pleasantries and mingling with people Hermione’s only heard stories about. Thus far, everyone she’s encountered has been polite. They are about to make their way to their table when a voice calls out to them.

  “Ron! There you are, dear! We’ve been looking everywhere for you.”

  Hermione turns to see a plump woman with hair the same shade of red as Ron’s. A man follows in her wake who peers at them through half-moon spectacles with the same cerulean eyes that she’s so familiar with, only they’re attached to a different face. They’re much colder than the warmth Ron’s eyes emit, and that’s when the dread begins to expand from the pit in her stomach.

  “Oh, I didn’t realize you were both attending tonight,” Ron attempts to hide the surprise as he greets his parents.

  “And miss the opportunity to see our son receive an award for his hard work? Don’t be silly,” his father responds with a wave of his hand.

  Hermione has yet to meet Ron’s parents. A chill crawls up her spine as they talk to their son as if he is standing by himself. Suddenly, all of Ron’s promises become emptier than the desk of her former student.

  “Er, right. Mum, Dad, I’d like you to meet someone.” Ron gestures toward Hermione.

  She can see his mouth moving, but no sound comes out, at least not that she hears. The blood drains from her ears, causing momentary deafness as she stands under the scrutinizing stares of his parents. Hermione holds her head high as his mother admonishes his choice of a date. There’s no empathy for them whatsoever.

  “...What will everyone think? You come from a certain class of people, and we need to uphold our status. At least go for a Halfblood, darling.”

  Years of following the mantra ‘hold your head high, don’t let it bother you, stay in your lane’ have still not prepared Hermione to endure this moment. She is a strong-willed woman, she fights for what is right, and she refuses to stand here and take this woman’s judgmental words all because of the family she was born into. 

  This is the exact reason why Hermione insisted on keeping their relationship private. Her feet move on their own accord as Hermione tears herself away from Ron’s side and weaves in and out of the clumps of people. She manages to find the visitor’s entrance and exits to the bustling streets of London. Refusing to cry, she rushes along the cobblestone sidewalk and down a deserted alleyway. 

  Hermione forces herself to forget the sound of Ron’s voice calling after her as she disapparates away from the Ministry of Magic. She finds herself in her classroom, staring at all the empty desks in front of her. Desks of students who would be forced to meet the same unfair limitations that she lives day to day. She feels so helpless, not knowing what to do in an effort to make their lives easier. 

  Looking down at the elegant maroon ball gown she’s still wearing, she feels dirty. This isn’t the life she’s meant for, no matter how many assurances Ron can give her. She doesn’t belong in his world. Thank goodness she keeps an extra outfit in her coat closet, which she rushes toward before shedding the expensive formalwear from her body. 

  Once she’s changed, Hermione sits down at her desk, staring at the piles of papers left to be graded. Ron insisted she leave them there so they could spend their weekend together. A heartbreaking realization enters her mind as she thinks of his name.

  We can’t be together. This is never going to work.

  It’s as if he knows that she’s thinking of him as the floo lights up and he stumbles out. Ron sheds his dress robes, leaving him in his starched white dress shirt and pressed black trousers. She refuses to look up even though she can feel his gaze boring into her as he stands at the head of her desk.

  “Hermione.”

  She says nothing because what is there to say?

  “They’re small-minded people. What do you care what they think?”*

  He reaches for her hand, but she tugs it away as she sits back in her chair.

  “It’s not just them, Ron. You haven’t lived this life. You don’t know what I’ve been up against. You’ll never know what it feels like to be looked at the way your parents looked at me tonight. The way they spoke down about me to my face. I can’t—I can’t be subjected to that. The way people will look at us because we’re together. I don’t deserve to feel that way.”

  Hermione stands up and exits the classroom, stepping into the abandoned hallway. She can’t do this anymore— it’s too painful. She’s learned to pick and choose her battles. It’s better to let people like the Weasleys think they’ve won while she keeps fighting on her own.

  You know I want you, it’s not a secret I try to hide.

I know you want me, so don’t keep saying our hands are tied.

You claim it’s not in the cards, that fate is pulling you miles away and out of reach from me,

But you’re here in my heart, so who can stop me if I decide that you’re my destiny?

  “Hermione, don’t do this. Please. I don’t care what they think. I want you, and nothing else matters.”

  She stops and only turns her head slightly to see him leaning out of the doorway, his hand gripping the door jamb as he calls after her.

  What if we rewrite the stars, say you were made to be mine

Nothing could keep us apart, you’d be the one I was meant to find.

It’s up to you, it’s up to me, no one can say what we get to be

So why don’t we rewrite the stars, maybe the world could be ours tonight.

  “Please, love, don’t let them dictate what our life looks like.”

  The desperation in Ron’s voice is what makes Hermione turn all the way around to face him. She begins to walk a few paces toward him before the voices in her head get a hold of her. He’d become an outcast if she stayed with him. She can’t let him risk everything he’s gained by choosing her.

  You think it’s easy? You think I don’t want to run to you?

But there are mountains, and there are doors that we can’t walk through.

I know you’re wondering why because we’re able to be just you and me within these walls

But when we go outside you’re gonna wake up and see that it was hopeless after all.

  “You know it’s not that easy. We can’t just run away from everything so we can be happy. Your family would never forgive you, or me for that matter! Everyone will do everything in their power to tear us apart. It’s not worth it.”

  “So, what? You’re saying we’re not worth it?”

  No one can rewrite the stars. How can you say you’ll be mine?

Everything keeps us apart, and I’m not the one you were meant to find.

It’s not up to you, it’s not up to me, when everyone tells us what we can be.

How can we rewrite the stars? Say that the world can be ours tonight.

  Hermione reaches out and clasps his hands with her own. “No, you’re not listening to me. You’re worth so much to me that I have to let you go.”

  “But what if I don’t want to let go?”

  All I want is to fly with you. 

All I want is to fall with you. 

So just give me all of you.

It feels impossible (It’s not impossible). 

Is it impossible? (Say that it’s possible.)

  “I don’t want to let go, either, Ron, but I have to. You mean too much to me.” 

  She knows it’s better to be hurt on her own terms than to let someone else hurt her instead. Ron will see reason eventually. He has to. Hermione wraps her arms around him, tighter than ever before, putting all her feelings into one single embrace, hoping that he can understand. 

  How do we rewrite the stars? Say you were made to be mine?

Nothing can keep us apart, cause you are the one I was meant to find.

It’s up to you and it’s up to me, no one can say what we get to be

And why don’t we rewrite the stars, changing the world to be ours… 

  There are many things she can change, but her blood status isn’t one. Above all else, she’s proud of being a Muggleborn, and she’ll keep teaching her students to be proud of their roots as well. She’ll keep her memories of Ron and how wonderful he is locked up tight as she finds a way to navigate this world without him. Hermione has made her decision as she kisses his cheek and lets go. Perhaps in another lifetime, they’ll be able to be together with nothing standing in their way.

  You know I want you.

It’s not a secret I try to hide.

But I can’t have you.

We’re bound to break and our hands are tied.

  “I’m sorry.”

  Her voice leaves the faintest echo among the abandoned halls. Before she loses her nerve, she turns on the spot and apparates away, leaving the hurt look that is etched on Ron’s face burned into her mind as she leaves him alone.

#chudleycanonficfest2021 #HP fest #hp canon pairings #canon fest romantic #submission #romione #ron x hermione #tw: blood purity #tw: prejudice #tw: violence (non graphic) #tw: murder (non graphic)

[kroerms]

Half-way (Part two)

pairing: Akaashi Keiji x y/n (gender neutral, I think I stayed clear of using any pronouns for reader, please correct me if I made a mistake)

genre: angstish with a little bit of an open ending

warnings: aftermath of a break-up. Mentions of unhealthy coping strategies (bad eating habits, kinda isolation), usage of the word death twice, my bad writing skills ^^

a/n: this is part 2 out of 3 of this fic. I really love interactions very much, so feel free to tell me what you think of this :) Reblogs are greatly appreciated. Part 3 will follow some time this week I think :)

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Two weeks have passed by since “the dining table incident”, as you call it. Your days consist of laying in Atsumu’s guest room, refusing to exit it. If it wasn’t for Atsumu bringing you food twice a day and sitting next to you on the bed until you’ve eaten all of it, you would probably have starved to death by now. You just don’t have the energy to go out and do stuff. You just want to lay in bed with the blinds closed and reminisce about Keiji and you and how it all began.

Keiji and you met way back when you first moved to Tokyo. You were a very shy, very anxious, and most of all, very lost young person, trying to find your way to the little bookstore your friend told you about. To be fair, you never were big on orientation. Your father used to say you’d get lost on the way to your bathroom if it weren’t for your flat being so...cozy…

So you were just wandering around the streets of the city, looking like a lost puppy and -just your luck- it started to rain cats and dogs. And of course, you being you, the new umbrella you bought was sitting at home. Just as you found refuge under a hotel entrance, hugging yourself to find some sort of comfort and already wet to the bone, a voice next to you spoke. “Excuse me, but is this your phone?”

You slowly turned to face the person attached to the deep, raspy voice. You locked eyes with a tall, very handsome dark haired man with an unreadable facial expression, holding a (your!) phone in his hand.

“Oh my god, could this day get any worse?” you said, anger evident in your voice as you inspected the broken screen of your very new phone.

“Seems like Murphy’s law strikes again.” The man next to you spoke.

“Huh?”, you looked at the man with furrowed brows. You were absolutely not in the mood to entertain a stranger right now. You let your eyes wander over the young man standing next to you. His dark hair was wet and drops of rain ran down his forehead. His blue eyes were soft and his smile seemed genuine.

“What I mean to say is, it seems that your day is not going all too well, considering you kinda said so yourself. So - Murphy's law.” He smiled at you again, wider this time.

“Oh, well yes, it seems like everything is going wrong today, that is right indeed.” You answered, a small smile making its way to your lips. You bowed to the man with no name.

“Thank you very much for saving my phone. My name is y/n, may I ask yours?”

“Name’s Akaashi Keiji. Nice to meet you y/n. This may be overstepping a bit considering you don’t know me. But would you let me take you out for a coffee to cheer you up?” Keiji’s smile widened at your nodding.

“That would be very nice of you, thank you very much, Akaashi.” you answered shyly.

“Please, call me Keiji.”

You nodded again, a smile spreading across your cheeks.

Keiji led you to a small café. Ironically, the café was right next to the bookstore you were looking for. You giggled as you noticed, making him look at you in confusion.

“Sorry, it’s just funny how I was looking for that store right here for hours today and then I meet a stranger who brings me exactly where I wanted to go.”

“Well, this is fate then, don’t you think?” Keiji offered you an even wider smile as before. You didn’t think it was possible but he became more attractive with every minute you spent together.

The two of you sat at the café for quite a while. Keiji asked you why you moved to Tokyo and you asked him about his job. Keiji seemed very interested in you and you couldn't take your eyes off of him. His entire being intrigued you. It became clear very fast that the two of you had a lot in common. For one, you both liked to read. He told you about his friends and about his time in highschool, you told him about your family and your dreams. Time seemed to fly by, without neither him nor you noticing. It wasn’t until the waitress asked the two of you to leave because the shop was closing that you checked the time on your phone.

“Oh, it’s late already. And I didn’t even get to go to that bookstore,” you say, blushing slightly "don’t get me wrong though, I really enjoyed your company, you actually did cheer me up today Keiji. I really appreciate the effort.”

“Oh, I am sorry you didn’t get to go to that store. It’s actually really cute and they have lots of antiques as well. If you let me, I would like to take you on a date there some time? Maybe Saturday afternoon, say 2pm, what do you say?” Keiji’s eyes held something similar to hope in them. And who were you to destroy that? So you agreed.

The rest was pretty much history.

Keiji and you took each other out on different dates almost every other day for two months before he asked you to be his on a late sunny afternoon the two of you spent sitting and reading to each other in the park. The kiss that followed was a bit reluctant at first but tender and passionate nonetheless.

After that, the both of you became almost inseparable. You met his friends, he met yours and a little after a year the two of you moved in together. Everyday spent with Keiji was filled with love. From cooking dinner together to waking up next to him, his arm slung over your side, chest flush against your back, everything felt like home. Keiji became a home to you when you weren’t even looking for one.

Going through all these memories that connect the two of you makes you tear up again. You just wish for Keiji to come back to you. But since the break up you haven’t heard anything from him. It is killing you, at least that’s how it feels. But death would be too easy, so you are left suffering that loss.

At your shared apartment, Keiji is reading your letter for the nth time over and over again. Tears fill his eyes, the sound of his heart breaking audible in the sobs he lets out. And as if to punish himself, he reads your words again:

My dearest Keiji

I know you think taking a break from us is the right thing to do. And although I disagree, I nonetheless accept your decision. It hurts, I am not gonna lie to you. But I do understand where you are coming from. I just want you to know that I will always be here for you. If you decide that you want to end things definitely, I will accept it. But if you come back to me, I will be here with open arms.

Just know that you always were and always will be enough for me even in times when you don't see yourself as worthy. You are the most kind and most loving person I know and you make me feel so loved. And I can just hope that you feel the same way when thinking about me. If I did something to make you doubt yourself I want you to know that I would never doubt you. Sure, sometimes you annoy the shit out of me but I know for a fact that I not once doubted your love and affection towards me. And that, my love, will never change. I will never see you as anything less than the best part of my life. So if you decide to come back to me, I'll be here.

I love you today, I love you tomorrow and I'll love you every day after that for the rest of my life if you let me.

Forever yours

Y/n

All he can think about is that he wants to hold you again. He needs to, otherwise his life will never feel complete again, this much is obvious. He knows he fucked up bad by sending you away. He needs to make this right, he thinks. So he takes a piece of paper and writes down a plan. A plan to make the heartbreak end. A plan to bring happiness back into his life. The happiness he knows in the form of you.

He knows love is real because he can feel it. He can feel it with every fiber of his being when he thinks of you. He can see it in the way his eyes are dark and lifeless and the bags under them are the embodiment of the loss he feels every night when he can’t sleep because you are not laying in his arms.He knows love is real because it is what he feels whenever he looks at your pictures or when he reads your letter. And all he wants is to make you his again.

#keiji x y/n #keiji x reader #akaashi x reader #akaashi x you #akaashi x y/n #haikyuu!! #haikyuu x reader #haikyuu angst #akaashi angst #akaashi keiji #haikyuu fanfiction #akaashi fanfiction #akaashi x gender neutral reader

[silentprincess17]

A Proposal Gone Awry

Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3 | Part 4 | AO3

Summary: Link has been touring the breadth and width of Hyrule to clear out the remaining monster camps, and soon enough, he reaches Zora’s Domain. Mipha asks him to wait before he heads back to the castle, which he was intending on doing... but some mischievous children may have other plans.

Part 4 (Final)

Mipha floated in the pool, the water cascading in gentle waves over her prone form.

It was the fifth time she had left her own private pools after a prolonged period of recovery. She waded her way through a sea of guilt, shame, mortification, longing, pining and despair. Heartbreak was a painful thing, and it was a shame her Grace couldn’t heal it. Still, her time in almost near seclusion had helped her to come to several key realisations, which she could freely admit after the initial torment and hurricane of emotions drifted into colder water.

Number 1: She realised how much she had fooled herself.

Really, she had never even talked to Link about her feelings, planning to use the armour as her segue on the topic. An armour given at an engagement! What had she been thinking? How had she deluded herself into it?

Number 2: The answer was that she was simply too scared. Too terrified to ever voice her affection for him. And it had all backfired so spectacularly. There were so many signs that she had, simply put, ignored. All the way from Link saving Zelda during their journey, to finding out who they really were: soulmates bound through all of time and fated to be together. Her cheeks coloured, from thinking of all of the ridiculous explanations she had made up in order to continue living in a fantasy she had constructed in her mind.

Number 3: All of this could have been avoided, if she had talked to him properly.

Still, it was too late to regret it now, but with hindsight, she should have done everything differently from the start. She could have saved herself so much pain. The only saving grace she had was that Link thankfully had no idea what was going on. She didn’t even want to consider what would have happened had he realised.

The flow of the water changed, and Mipha instinctively looked up, as Bazz walked in, holding a bloom of Blue Nightshades in his hands. Every day since she had returned from the castle, he came carrying a small bundle of flowers as an apology. He had noticed how reclusive she had become, and the blanket of sadness that covered her like waves covered the ocean. She had reassured him multiple times she wasn’t sad because of his little stunt, and he didn’t need to bring flowers, but the poor boy had taken it to heart.

He had even brought the whole gang over on the first day that she had left her rooms, each of them bearing a gift. Bazz himself had brought her purple hyacinths, which apparently “symbo-bolises forgive-ness”. Gaddison had polished her treasured Lightscale Trident, something which Mipha hadn’t held for over two months. It had felt so good to wield it in her hands again. Rivan had given her a hearty blue snail, whilst Sidon had given her a huge hug, and a pendant that had Vah Ruta engraved into it. She knew her father must have helped him, but she still appreciated the effort he had put in. Once she had hugged him, he had softly whispered in her ear that she was his Hero, and he wanted her to smile again, like this, and he had given her the best gift of all- his trademark smile and pose.

It had made her feel comforted and helped her realise that she had a family here. She had responsibilities. She couldn’t just hide away from the world because she didn’t have the courage to talk to the man she loved, and now he had been taken away.

She was Mipha, Princess of the Zora, a daughter, a sister, a warrior. Yes, Link had played a large part in her motivations. She had always wanted to protect him, ultimately. First by healing his wounds, then by fighting the lynel with him, to finally creating an armour containing a piece of herself. But what she had failed to realise then, and she understood now, was that it wasn’t just all for Link. It was for her Domain, for her people who she would eventually rule over.

After that fourth realisation, it became easier to ease herself out of her rooms. To slowly begin to partake in the council meetings. To swim in her home’s beautiful waterfalls. To allow herself to heal.

She smiled as Bazz shuffled closer, his sword still scrapping the floor with every other step. He held out the peonies he had gathered today, and this time pressed a letter into her hand. She raised an eyebrow, but he didn’t say anything, just shrugged. She flipped it open, and it was about an event at the Flight Range. She read, and reread the short brief,

To all the children in Hyrule,

I, the Great Revali, Champion of the Rito, will be offering free lessons in the all-important field of archery.

Should you want to participate, convince your parents/guardians to bring you this Saturday to the Flight Range.

Teenagers are welcome on the following day and for those who do not possess this basic knowledge, I mean Sunday.

Remember that if you do come, I will expect nothing less of excellence, or at least, the maximal effort to be demonstrated until you achieve said excellence.

Master Revali, Champion of the Rito

Well, she never would have guessed Revali liked children. Or indeed teaching. He… well, she wouldn’t say he was the most patient of the Champions. Still, it was good of him to do… probably. She wasn’t sure he would have many students left after the first session.

But why had Bazz given this to her….? She got her answer when she looked up to Bazz’s huge, silently pleading eyes. She sighed. The children had done a lot for her these past few months. It was the least she could do to supervise them on a short trip. It was highly likely Revali would scare them all away, if she was being honest, which would be the main reason she wouldn’t want to bring them. Still, if they wanted to go, then she would accompany them. It was only right she gave back a little of what they’ve given her.

She smiled as she heard Bazz screaming to the other three and lifted herself out of the pool. She was out of practise with her spear, and she was certain Revali would notice. Not that she cared for his crass comments, especially considering what she had gone through these past two months… but she was still competitive and just in case he asked her to practise like they once used to, she needed to make sure she wouldn’t fail within the first minute.

The children squabbled together on the swim to the Rito Village. They were excited for their first time out exploring Hyrule, and she had to remain vigilant if any one of them decided to pop up for air and sit on the bank to appreciate the views. Whilst she did understand how shockingly green the world must appear to them when compared to the Domain, there were still monsters around, and these children were all her responsibility.

Soon enough they arrived, threaded in amongst the throng of people present in the Flight Range. Revali was at the entrance, by a giant board of names. He held the chalk in his hands as he wrote down the name of each child at a specific time slot, before directing them towards the bonfire that was burning in order to stay warm. From what she could make out, around half of the slots were filled, with lessons starting at 1 pm. As this was the sign up session, no one had been assigned into classes yet. She assumed it would be dependent on the numbers that turned up today…

She made sure the children were organised in file row by age, with the eldest first, (Gaddison, Bazz, Rivan and Sidon) before she approached Revali.

He merely nodded at her, wrote down the four names and directed her in much the same way as everyone else. Well, she wasn’t expecting favouritism, but surely in light of their history he could- wait- actually… What did she want him to do? She had only had a few training sessions with Revali, and aside from the battles they had fought together, she had rarely interacted with him. He didn’t tend to stay for the informal sessions they had as Champions, and, as he rubbed a lot of their group the wrong way, she had never paid much attention as to why that was.

She only smiled, asked if he needed any help, “No thank you, Mipha. Just head to the bonfire.” And Mipha understood his curt dismissal. He looked stressed, and she wouldn’t want to exacerbate that.

After a couple of hours, it was the Zora children’s turn. All of them headed off towards the Flight Range, were given basic instructions in how a bow works by Revali, and a brief guide into using a paraglider as an emergency safety check. The main benefit of practising at the Flight Range was that even if they slipped, or lost control, the wind was so strong it would buffet them in the air until Revali himself would pick them up. Anyway, no one would be flying out unless they fell; the first lessons would take place on the deck whilst aiming at the target just across.

Mipha was not afraid of anything going wrong. She trusted Revali. Despite their differences, Revali would never let any of one of them down.

Gaddison did the best, she adapted well to the new weapon, a swallow bow, managing to hit the inner turquoise ring after five arrow shots, whilst Bazz came in second hitting it after eight. Rivan managed in twelve, and Sidon could only hit the outside ring. He was perhaps too small for this sort of venture. Mipha understood his need to participate though; she knew he really wanted to be accepted into Bazz’s brigade, and she wouldn’t stop him from trying to fit in.

Whilst the children were firing at the target, she came to stand by Revali. He was intently focussed, but she thought she could perhaps try to get him to relax a little.

“This is a really good thing you’re doing Revali… training the next generation of potential archers.”

He fixed his emerald eyes on her, funny, how she had never noticed the startling colour before, “Well thank you, Mipha. Not all of us are handed our legacies. I have to make my own.”

She paused… hesitated a little as she thought over what he meant. It was true: she had never realised but all of the other Champions were in positions of power. She was a Princess, Urbosa was Chief of the Gerudo, Daruk was Chief of the Gorons. Zelda was Princess of Hyrule, and Link was Captain of her Royal Guard team. Except for Revali. His only title was Champion… “Perhaps that is a good thing. Self-made legacies are the ones that people remember the most.” He didn’t reply, so she asked another question. “How did you come up with the idea of making the Flight Range a training centre?”

He wrapped both arms around his chest, which she read as a little defensive, “Teba. His son, Tulin, trains here. Well. I guess I should say, ‘will’ train here.” He shook his head, “Anyway, I also don’t want to be remembered solely by the Rito for having trained Rito warriors. I want this to be an endeavour that spans across Hyrule. Archery is just as, if not more, important than simple swordplay.”

Ah. There it was. She wisely chose not to say anything else on the matter, “It’s an admirable aim, Revali. And from the volume of people here… I’d say you are in a good position.”

He merely shrugged. “It’s only the first session, Mipha. It would be foolish to assume the same pattern for the future.” He hesitated, looked at her ornamental silver again, before his gaze flickered away onto the children. He cleared his throat, risked another glance at her, before speedily asking, “Why did you change your armour?”

She was about to respond to his initial statement actually, to reassure him that it would work, and that he was a Champion which would undoubtedly make people want their children to be taught by him, but he had caught her completely off-guard. “What do you mean?”

He jabbed a feather at her clasp. “That never used to be there.”

Oh Goddesses. How would she explain such a thing? How had he even noticed such a small difference? “Well, one of the scales needed to go. It happens sometimes.” There. That wasn’t a lie. Technically, the scale had to go, and it didn’t happen often obviously, but she wouldn’t have to explain the ins and outs.

He paused, just for a second, before continuing on, “Is it susceptible to attack?”

“Well, yes-”

He jutted in, “Would you like to train then? It’s important to maintain your defence. Especially with such a pronounced wound that anyone could take advantage of.”

She did not mention the wound was, in fact, sealed completely by the clasp. But she appreciated his offer. It had been so long since she had properly trained with a Champion. And… now actually, she could remember him doing the same thing at the ball. Had he spotted it from then? Had he wanted to ask if she was okay from then? Had he wanted to train… to help her better defend herself from then? She wasn’t sure why she found that surprising, but it felt good to know he cared. “Okay.”

“Monday evening… at the Domain, for your convenience?”

She nodded, and with that, it was the end of the children’s turn. She established what time, exactly, on Monday evening, and invited Revali to come over for dinner. He hadn’t had a chance to visit the Domain properly in all the chaos of the Calamity, but there was no such rush now.

Mipha had a giant pile of things to do, and she tried her best to do it all quickly. First, she dropped the children back to their home familial pools, reassuring their parents that everyone had been well behaved. Then she informed her father that she had invited Revali to dinner so preparations could be made in time. Finally, she visited her Divine Beast, Vah Ruta... She paused at the entrance, smoothing her hand across the door. Ruta was pleased to see her Champion back, and Mipha found herself falling back into her routine of caring: she gave Ruta good clean, and even ended up having a late-night bonding training session to attempt to prepare herself for Monday.

In all her haste to do it all, by the time she finally reached her pools, she was so tired she immediately blacked out.

It was only in the morning that she realised, for the first time that night, in the span of two months, she didn’t think of Link. Of her failed proposal. Of her shame and embarrassment at reading the whole situation so wrongly.

And she finally braved the courage to pull out the package that she hadn’t touched since that evening. She decided it was time to post it to Link. She wrote a short note about completing his armour set, and she didn’t mention anything else. By letting go of it, and subsequently of the feelings that were associated with it, Mipha finally felt lighter than she had for a long time.

She grabbed her Lightscale Trident, keen on getting some practise before Revali came. Who knows, maybe he could teach her some archery too. Whatever it was, she was keen to finally put her trident to some good use again. For the first time in two months, she had something to look forward to… a goal she could achieve.

Perhaps her proposal had gone awry… but it had given her a much needed wake up call.

She was more than a girl who loved a boy.

She was Mipha, Princess of the Zora, Champion of the Zora and of Vah Ruta, a warrior and healer that contributed to the destruction of the Calamity. She was Sidon’s hero, and it was time she lived up to it.

Mipha stepped forward, her Grace poised in her movements, bold, determined, and ready.

#a propsal gone awry #zelink #zelink fanfic #mipha #revali #miphvali #silent writes

[theolympusfiles]

rereading the PJO and HoO - part one: the lightning thief

before i start, all italicized parts are from the lightning thief by rick riordan. they're not my words and these are not my characters. my thoughts are the only thing that are mine :)

• "mom, you're coming too." her face was pale, her eyes as sad as when she looked at the ocean. "no!" i shouted, you are coming with me. help me carry grover". - the first(ish) appearance of percy's fatal flaw! i love the early establisment, especially because it helps foreshadow to the sea of monsters when fatal flaws are formally introduced.

• "that's -" "pasiphae's son," my mother said. "i wish i'd known how badly they wanted to kill you." - sally is underappreciated. she's smart as hell and clearly took the time to research demigods. yes, she was a little bit selfish with keeping percy out of the loop and not sending him to camp. but can you blame her? she lost all of her family and if she sent percy to CHB at an early age, that most nearly means she won't see him often (he'll attract monsters because he's aware of his status as a demigod and will most likely be at camp full-time). but sally ensured that she knew enough about the demigod world to protect percy because she knew that her selfishness would come with consequences. best mom.

• i was crying, calling for my mother, but i held on to grover - i wasn't going to let him go. - percy's first loss as a demigod and i am broken. honestly, so sad to think of, especially knowing all the losses he'll face in the future books. this line is also his fatal flaw showing once again (refer to first bulletpoint)

• "it (america) is the great power of the west. and so olympus is here. and we are here." - if olympus follows the west, where would the next location be? obviously, america is still a big powerhouse in terms of western civilization but that's not going to last. my bet is south korea but who knows? would love a fanfic on this tbh

• "the truth is, i can't be dead. you see, eons ago the gods granted my wish. i could continue the work i loved. i could be a teacher of heroes as long as humanity needed me. i gained so much from that wish... and i gave up so much. but i'm still here, so i can only assume i'm still needed." - how will it be decided that he's not needed? honestly, can't imagine CHB without him but chiron also deserves retirement

• i started to understand luke's bitterness and how he seemed to resent his father, hermes so okay, maybe gods had important things to do. but couldn't they call once in a while, or thunder or something? - percy has always showed some hesitance when accepting the demigod world, so i wasn't really surprised to see doubts like this pop up, especially with luke's influence. i'd think most demigods feel this way, luke and percy are just the ones who exhibit it the most in the series. i'm really interested in the parallels between the two and i'm looking forward to reading more and examining them

• "during the winter solstice, at the last council of the gods, zeus and poseidon had an argument. the usual nonsense: 'mother rhea always liked you best', 'air disasters are more spectacular than sea disasters', etc. - despite the fact that the gods are all-powerful beings, i appreciate the petty sibling spats that are mentioned briefly

• "so let me get this straight," i said. "i'm supposed to go to the underworld and confront the world of the dead." "check," chiron said. "find the most powerful weapon in the universe." "check." "and get it back to olympus before the summer solstice in ten days." "that's about right." i looked at grover, who gulped down the ace of heaers. "did i mention that maine is very nice this time of year?" he asked weakly. - this would be perfect for those 30 second trailers

• "gee," i said feigning surprise. "who else would be stupid enough to volunteer for a q uest like this?" the air shimmered behind chiron. annabeth became visible, stuffing her yankees cap into her back pocket. - the way he knows her pretty well already, i-

• the truth was, i didn't care about retrieving zeus' lightning bolt, or saving the world, or even helping my father out of trouble. - early on, we see from the get go that percy has a dislike for the gods. it's small mentions like this that really gets me thinking. he never really showed any dislike of the gods when he first arrived at camp (understandable) but he was hopeful for his father. it wasn't until luke planted the seed into his head that these thoughts came to light. i love this little detail, especially as we know that towards the end, luke does seem to think he can turn percy against the gods. his plan backfired a little bit on him in the end but like i said before, the parallels between luke and percy are so glaring. riordan definitely thought it out extensively

• do not be a pawn of the olympians, my dear. you would be better off as a statue - this is said to percy by medusa and again, feeds into his dislike of the gods. i wonder if monsters have some opinion on this. most would probably hate the gods but i wonder what their stance is on demigods. we know that they work with them (see kronos' army). the real enemy for monsters are the gods, the demigods killing them are just pawns to the gods so maybe that's how some monsters see them

• "so, what's your status?" luke asked me. "chiron will be sorry he missed you." i told him pretty much everything, including my dreams. it felt so good to see him, to feel like i was back at camp even for a few minutes, that i didn't even realize how long i had talked to him until the beeper went off on the spray machine. - there's no doubt that percy really considered luke a friend. he wasn't hesitant to tell luke about his dreams, something that he didn't share with annabeth or grover until later on the book. luke was a sort of mentor to percy and it was conveyed pretty well through their interactions, which makes his betrayal even more heartbreaking

• "you think you'll ever try living with your dad again?" she wouldn't meet my eyes. "please. i'm not into self-inflicted pain." - my heart breaks for annabeth and her relationship with her father. i've read most of the riordanverse books and the growth in annabeth's relationship with her family is definitely something i'm looking forward to watch grow as i make my way through the books again

• i looked over at the desk and saw a girl sitting there, also wearing a straitjacket - so i never paid the dreams any mind but now that i think about it, they're really good for analysis. for example, the straitjacket could mean something like the gods are keeping them restrained. maybe i'm overthinking it or have been analyzing text too much in AP english but i think that the dreams are worth some deeper thinking

• i pretended not to see annabeth wipe a tear from her cheek as she listened to the mournful keening of cerberus in the distance, longing for his new friend - i need to see annabeth play with cerberus again D:

• i turned and faced my mother. i desperately wanted to sacrifice myself and the last pearl on her, but i knew what she would say. she would never allow it. i had to get the bolt back to olympus and tell zeus the truth. i had to stop the war. - percy's growth as a character really shines through here. the lightning thief is a pretty short book and the journey they took was less than 2 weeks but despite that percy's grown immensely as a character. his goal was always to save his mother but in the end, he sacrificed her because he knew it was his duty to save olympus and i respect that

• "you have made an enemy, godling," he told me. "you have sealed your fate. every time you raise your blade in battle, everytime you hope for success, you will feel my curse. beware, perseus jackson. beware." - ares cursed percy to be unsuccesful in battle but does his curse ever take effect? i don't recall any mention of this curse later on the series. obviously, percy is the main character and a really good swordfighter but the curse might have affected some battles right? but then again riordan has a lot of plotholes so i wouldn't put too much thought in it

• i knew dionysus must've filled it out, because he stubbornly insisted on getting my name wrong. - i've always accepted the fact that dionysus called the demigods by their wrong name for humor. but what if it's deeper? what if it's a way to put some space between him and the demigods, just as an extra precaution so he won't get attached. or it could be a ploy to showcase that he's more powerful than them and that they are beneath him, which is why he doesn't need to know their name. i like the former headcanon more though :P

• i opened my eyes. i was propped up in bed in the sickroom of the big house, my right hand bandaged like a club. argus stood guard in the corner. annabeth sat next to me, holding my nectar glass and dabbing a washcloth on my forehead. "here we are again," i said. - the parallel

well, that's everything i had notes on. overall, i liked rereading it. i really do miss this series and i'm finding my love for it be rekindled by rereading. i miss the humor of the early books (i could literally make a whole post of underrated lines). the last time i read the series in its whole was when i was 7 and now that i'm 16, i have more thoughts and can analyze the story better. also loved seeing baby percabeth as they're my OTP. i'm excited to continue with the series. to the sea of monsters!

#Percy Jackson and the Olympians #PJO #Pjato/hoo #reading #rereading #books #Greek Mythology #percy jackson #annabeth chase #luke castellan #Grover underwood #analysis #the lightning thief #pjo series

[httphonsool]

unpleasantly peasant

synopsis; in which king agust d is a backstabbing brother, and he just wants a wife he can control, but min yoongi doesn’t think he likes either of those ideas very much.

word count; 8.4k

time taken; too bloody long

warnings; cutting, blood, people die, heartbreak, angst, sexual activity is mentioned a few times, reader curses out a servant, yeah i think that’s all but please let me know if there’s anything else

notes; this was supposed to be out much earlier, a few months earlier actually, I’ve spent too long on this and I still feel that I could have done better, however I will be writing more often now, my serenity series is on hold for now, I’m writing a spy!jungkook au which I think you guys may be interested in ! Anyway I hope you guys like this, let me know if there’s anything else you’d like to see me write.

-

Seven years ago…

 “You’re a bloody bastard, I swear on God,” Min Yoongi spits.

“And you are not the king.”

“But I should be…you were illegitimate, your mother left you at the feet of the throne, she was not married to our father yet you were still born, you have no fucking right!” Yoongi cries, pain evident, sliding his sword out of its sheath and slicing a cut down his brother’s eye.

And all he gets in return is a laugh, right in his face; just before two guards come take hold of Min Yoongi’s arms

“I told you. You are not the king. I make the decisions.”

“The fuck is wrong with you!? I took you in, took care of you, and loved you when no one else did! Even our father rejected you and I still loved you! You were my brother!” Min Yoongi bawls while he struggles to get out of the guards’ grips.

“And that’s why he’s dead. And you’ll be dead soon too. So I’d run if I were you, you’re being given the chance.”

“I hope the woman you wish to marry is the one that stabs you in the back the hardest. Though, I’d be surprised if you are still alive by the time that happens,” and that’s the last thing Min Yoongi is able to spit at his brother before he’s thrown out of his own home.

He doesn’t know when, or how, but he will seek out his revenge.

But right now his name was forgotten in a series of memories a woman would seek to delve in and retain many years later.

 Seven years later…

 Agust sits on his throne, lazing around, immersing himself in the golden, intoxicating paradise he unrightfully owns, one ear listening to the names of women whom he could marry, the other ear listening to his greed, smiling at the treasure around him.

“Kim Eunha, she…your majesty?” his advisor asks.

“No, tell me something else. I do not want hear about women, why marry one when I can be unmarried and have them all?” Agust chuckles, chuckles turning into full blown laughter. Oh, how obscene King Agust is.

Silence is marred by the filthy sound of footsteps and heavy panting

Loud footsteps carry across the throne room, a breathless man’s voice echoing and bouncing off of the walls.

“My lord, dear, there is a kingdom, in the far off land, they need our troops. They are willing to…” A small, pudgy man curled on the floor forces out, “they are willing to send you their daughter, her hand in marriage,”

“How far is this kingdom?” Agust asks.

“Twenty-one days, sir, we can make it in nineteen if we lessen breaks in between,” the man pants out.

“How old is this daughter of theirs?”

“Just turned twenty.” Ah, the poor girl is four years younger, so innocent, so pure, what a shame her purity will now be tainted.

It’s a shame she is having to give her freedom away this quick, but then again, not everyone is as lucky as to be as free as King Agust.

Not everyone is that obscene either.

And exactly nineteen days later Agust is circling around a fair maiden, examining closely her beauty, every inch of her skin.

And God this kingdom did not disappoint with their women, especially this princess.

Not a speck marking her skin, no flaws, she was perfect in every sense, in every glance, and that is what made the decision. Agust would provide the kingdom support, and power, in return, he would be gifted the kingdom’s first, and only, princess.

Agust doesn’t care about how the woman (barely a woman) feels- for him her beauty is enough to capture his attention more than any other woman has or ever will.

It’s like someone has hit him with a rock: he’s in shock with the pure, unmarred sight of her, his inside coiling in pleasure at the thought of marrying her.

Who cares if Agust didn’t want to marry? He does now.

Maybe it’s the way she looks, maybe it’s her posture, the pure innocence she radiates, but he, the King, truly, really, wants her, more than he has ever wanted anything ever before.

How sweet, how pure, is love at first sight?

In most cases, it does not get sweeter than the bliss you feel in a peaceful spring afternoon, for others it does not become bitterer than your relative’s final words.

But he does not care for the bitterness nor the sweetness; he cares for his future queen.

It’s a shame his love was bittersweet and toxic to the core.

  19th July, twelve weeks before your wedding...

 A man once told you that when you face times of trouble, you must stand your ground and work the situation through single-handedly, but you have never been strong enough to do so, or to exercise this practice. The only way you knew to defend yourself was through your words and your sword, in some cases the words became your sword.

But what do you do when you cannot use either?

You’ve never thought you’d end up walking around a palace that isn’t yours late at night trying to find an escape route, yet here you are, running around, the soles of your feet pressing against the floor with the cold marble being the only thing your sensitive feet can feel, it was not usually this cold at night back in your kingdom.

When you were first told the only way to save your country from being thundered by your enemy was to be gifted to a King, you accepted, you already knew your people came before you, but dear God did you make a mistake.

Yet now you’re to be wed to him. You’ve also been made into a mere dancer, someone that would be given no respect in your Kingdom, the anklet full of bells constantly ringing was the consistent reminder of your status. It’s almost like you’re a concubine. You have no power, and whereas you used to have enough energy to defend yourself, you know that if you try anything now you would end up in a position much worse than how you are right now, all because you gave yourself away.

And it was on your own accords.

You’ve never looked so pathetic, scurrying around, messing up your skirt and almost stabbing yourself with a sword strapped loosely with string (taken from the loose threads of your clothing) to the waist of your embroidered clothing, just to find an escape route.

The main doors aren’t a possibility since they’re guarded. You cannot leave through a window, there are guards surrounding the whole place, you’ll be caught and given a fate which is worse than death…so maybe-

A shuffling sound. It’s almost like leaves rustling.

You whip out your sword, cut yourself on the arm in the process, and slash it around only to be met with the hard, shattering clang sound of metal. You can’t think properly, you’ve never had to actually fight, especially not against a foreigner for God’s sake

Your body goes numb, your mind goes blank and all you can think is intruder, intruder, intruder, intruder. For all you know this could be your last breath.

And all of a sudden you’re pressed up against the wall with a blade against your throat, your own sword now on the floor and prayers flowing out of your mouth whilst you stare into the eyes of your attacker, a face so familiar but a feeling so different.

He looked almost exactly like your fiancé. He just has shorter hair, black, and from what you could tell in the faint glow of the moonlight, he has the same scar, but it looks prettier than his lookalike’s, there was a certain beauty about him, but you can tell he could not care any less than he does about being caught by you.

“Who are you? You’re not from around here.” Neither is he, he looks like he belongs with the peasants from the way he’s dressed.

“Neither are you.” You spit.

“Where are you from? Are you that bastard’s whore?” The boy leans in closer, pressing the blade of sword even harder against you until you have no more space left to move.

“I could kill you,” He tells you when you refuse to answer him; your vision goes blurry with tears threatening to spill. It’s not normal for you to shed tears; you’re used to holding it in because you have to set an example for the younger girls back home.

“You wouldn’t kill a princess,” You whimper, it’s like something clicks in his eyes immediately, grip loosening against his sword and swinging it back into place to rest at his hip.

“So you’re a princess? You’re useful,” a small smirk plants itself on the man’s face.

You shouldn’t trust him, but you cannot help it, he is the most normal person you’ve met in this place so far, in fact he is the only other person you’ve met and have talked to, so maybe you are just desperate, or maybe you are trusting your instincts too much, but you are already in a difficult position, it cannot get worse than this, than being stuck in a foreign land and having to marry a king who couldn’t give a shit less about you and your feelings, just his desire.

But something about him is comfortable; it tastes sweet, sweet like a summer’s day spent in the forest near your home feasting on the most extravagant delicacies your homeland could offer.

“What’s wrong with you? Why the hell are you so pathetically quiet? I thought you were a princess not a slave.” He spits. Oh, if only he knew. “And what were you doing? What were you doing in the middle of the night? Trying to leave? If there was a way out, you would have left by now.”

How does he know?

“Who are you? I’ll call the king, I’ll call his guards! Don’t even think about touching me.” Ah, you’ve finally regained some sort of brain. Though you are lying, you would not call the king, not when this man is your only hope so far.

“Shut your dumb mouth. I don’t want to touch you. Not when you are quite clearly his property,” he pauses, looking you up and down, a smirk etched onto his face, one you didn’t even mind, “though, you are a pretty sight.”

“No, I’m not his property, I am a princess, and I’d appreciate it if you could treat me with the same respect which you would treat your king with. Especially assuming that I am about to become his wife,” you step forward towards him, faking absolute confidence.

“Mm, but I don’t respect this king you talk about. I don’t respect manipulative fucks who use me to get what they want,” what is he on about?

“What?” You ask, confusion taking over your sense.

“You want to go back home?”

“Well obviously, isn’t this what we’re discussing?”

“Well…”

“Well what?”

“I’ll spoil it for you now: no. No, you can’t go back, you do not belong to your country anymore. I mean they basically sold you didn’t they? You no longer have any worth even there, let alone here.” He laughs, “so pathetic, really, but, if you really wanted to get out of here…” so this was what it was, this was what he wanted out of you.

And you are so pathetic, so stupid you’re actually giving him what he wants.

“Please. Tell me.”

“Hmm, help me rip his life apart. You’re a warrior princess. I know where you come from, what they teach you. Help me kill him.” Him? Who is him?

“Him?”

“Your beloved fiancé, my dearest, bastard brother,” He chuckled, “who else? You really think I look like him for no reason?”

Oh, in God’s name what will you do?

You are not one for battles and murder; you have trouble even lifting your sword before someone else does.

What are you going to do? Kill him in his sleep? Rip his throat from his body? Please, that’s absolutely ridiculous; you barely have the power let alone the strength.

Who even is this man, besides having the role of being the King’s brother? How come you have not seen him before?

“Who are you?”

“Are you that stupid? Are you that dumb?”

“I asked a question,” you step forward once more, regaining your confidence.

“So did I,” He spits, “I’m his brother, he threw me out of here, now I’m back, look, do you want to leave? Or do you want be stuck in a marriage that promises you nothing but pain?”

“Why are you telling me? I could tell my fiancé.” He steps into you, a dangerous glint in his eyes as he pushes you back into the wall with a hand wrapped around your neck.

“You don’t really want to marry him, do you? Look me in the eyes and tell me,” he whispers. You falter, he’s right, you were just looking for an escape route, he caught you, and of course you will not speak to his brother.

“I want out,” a tear makes its way down your cheek, “I’ll do whatever,”

“Don’t worry for it, it’ll be handled, princess…” his hand makes its way to your face, gently tracing the outline.

And this, this is how you know you are with the right man in the moment, the sense of comfort felt was unspeakable, it almost felt like…

You were supposed to marry a man who treated you like a whore, but now you are not sure whether you will be marrying someone at all.

And maybe this was the perfect way out.

-

You meet him a few times more, discussing the plan and strategy; these meetings being in the safety of your dimly lit chambers, a little bit more up close and personal, and honestly you enjoy this closeness.

And it’s unfortunate really, but you seem to have taken a liking for the bastard king’s brother, it’s almost pathetic that you’re discussing your escape plan.

“Have you eaten? Has he hurt you today at all?”

“No, he ignored me today,” truth be told, you’re not sure why King Agust is ignoring you as such, it makes you wonder is he maybe that you met his brother? Or maybe he was sick of you and sick of your voice, your dancing, everything, maybe he would finally let you go? Unlikely, but you still wished for it.

“He must have smelt me.” Truth be told, you’re not sure why you’re so surprised to hear this either.

“What?”

“He must have smelt another man’s scent on you, we need to be careful, don’t come close to me.” But you like being close to him, you haven’t felt so comfortable being close to someone in such a long time.

“But I like this, I like you.” You thought maybe this would fluster him, but his face remained void of any emotion at all.

“I don’t have time to be friendly, I’m here to keep you company simply so that you trust me. And we’re going to the market place tomorrow, I’ll sneak you out, don’t worry, he won’t even notice you’re gone.” His hand comes up and cups your soft cheek, stroking your cheekbone, “stay safe, princess.”

And then he’s up and gone.

-

What does he even do here? You wonder as you stroll around the market place linked hand in hand with the man who had promise to save you from an unwanted marriage, and as much of a dick he can be, he’s still so pretty to look at. 

And you know deep down he is so much nicer than he’ll ever show to you in a public place.

You’ll never tell him but he’s ten times better looking than his brother, because at least he does not force you to do things solely for his pleasure, and at least he’s gentle, and at least he cares; at least he isn’t an idiot.

Or maybe he is forcing you into things...but you’re gaining from this too.

And besides, for some fucked up reason you feel way too much affection for him.

“You know...you never really tell me how you are, it’s a little scary,” you don’t tell him how you are either, but you know it’s only because he doesn’t care.

“I’m fine. And you?” You don’t understand why, but hearing him talk so straightforward, so politely, well...politer than he’s ever been before to you anyway, but it makes you laugh, a pure chuckle. “What? What is it now?”

“No, nothing, you were just...being polite, it seemed too sweet,” you giggle uncontrollably to the point the people around you start staring too.

“Sweet? I don’t do sweet, it sounds disgusting, I think what you mean is that I’m playing nice, and in that case, if it’s such an issue, I can go back to being a dick, if you would like, so you can dislike me all you want, I don’t care,” that’s a lot of talk for someone who doesn’t care, it only just makes you giggle more, until it finally settles in your head what he’s just said, you stop him from leading you further down the market, linking your other hand in his as well.

“I hope you realise that I never disliked you, Min Yoongi, not even in the beginning,” and that’s when the giggles erupt again, just at the sound of his name. You like that. You like his name, even if it’d been corrupted by a man who should not even have the right to say it.

Yoongi jerks his hand out of yours.

“God, the only reason I even held your hand was so that I wouldn’t lose you, not so that you can get all sickly sweet and sentimental, please keep that between us in private.” 

And that only makes you giggle even more.

Dear God, this is going to be a long day, Yoongi thinks, he almost wants to drown himself right now with the way you just can’t stop giggling.

But at the same time it’s kind of endearing.

And maybe he loves it…just a little bit.

-

“You know, I have never visited a marketplace. Not once.”  You tell Yoongi, he doesn’t actually care, he probably isn’t even listening.

“And you’re telling me....why?”  Yoongi asks.

“Because I want to tell you, so listen, or God forbid I’ll have my people stake you,” you jokingly threaten him.

“Okay, princess, tell me, or ask me, whatever you want,” well you didn’t expect that one, but you’ll accept it either way.

“You said he threw you out...tell me what happened,” it’s not even a question, more of a demand, and you know he’ll tell you. Min Yoongi pauses, his muscles tensing underneath your fingers from where you gripped onto his arm.

“he killed my father, that greedy bastard killed my mother too, then he told me to leave or he’d have me killed so I can join my parents, and well I guess he didn’t have the heart to kill me, we were always close growing up, I always took care of him like he was my younger brother...because well  he was, but then he killed my father, and my mother, just because he wanted the throne, because he was tired of being ‘second best’, I miss it, I miss him, but after what he’s done to the people, and me, someone has to dispose of him.”

“The people?”

“Well, look around you, does anyone seem happy?” You stop in the middle of the market, taking a full three-sixty-degree turn and looking at people’s faces, full of sorrowful expressions, sunken eyes and hollowed cheeks.

“They look so downcast, so unhealthy.”

“They are, he can’t take care of a kingdom, he was never trained for it, and he was just greedy for power and...Women and money, he takes so much money from us that we’re left not being able to buy food to feed our families, or whoever we live with.” 

“If this is where you live, why were you in the palace that night?”

“Let’s say I’m lucky I lived there my whole life. I know a woman that I grew up with, she lets me in when I want to see her. I don’t think I could live without her.”

Oh. There’s a woman.

And he can’t live without her.

Then why does he act so affectionate in private?

“Anyway, you told me you wanted to introduce me to someone in the market place?”

“Yeah, we’re almost there, there’s several places I needed to take you,” Yoongi drags you all the way to a butcher’s stand.

“___, this is my friend, he’s a butcher….he also um, executes in his spare time,”

“Oh.” You state, a sense of confusion settling in your brain.

“I think you know why you’re here, ___,” Yoongi whispers your ear.

“You need a favour from me, son? A favour just like last time?” The butcher asks, despite his overall gruff look, his voice is much smoother and silkier than you would have imagined.

You don’t know what favour Yoongi asked, and you don’t want to know either.

“When’s the next execution?” Yoongi’s voice lowers, almost as if he’s asking a secret.

“Day before the King’s wedding, why? You need me to sneak you in?” The butcher asks, an untamed brow being raised.

“Me and my…” Yoongi stares at you, eyes softening, “…accomplice, will be hopefully running away.”

“Ain’t that a crime?”

“Exactly. We’ll be caught; I’ll make sure of it.”

“Son, why are you telling me all of this?”

“When we’re presented in front of you to be executed-” Yoongi, eyes him.

“He won’t execute ‘er, he’ll fuck ‘er, chain ‘er up, but he won’t kill her…heard he’s been too whipped for this soon to be bitch of his to be able to do something of the sort,” you gasp at the vulgar language the butcher uses, raising your hand almost as if to slap him.

“How dare you? How dare you use such vulgar-” Yoongi places a hand on your shoulder, your anger suddenly disappearing and transforming into nerves, Jesus Christ, why does he do that?

“I apologise, she’s not used to such areas-”

“My God, if I didn’t know any better I’d think you’ve both been meeting each other behind the King’s back with the way you’ve been looking at each other,” The butcher chuckled loudly, a hard blush covering both yours and Yoongi’s cheeks.

Was it truly that obvious how you were towards each other?

-

“Imagine if he knew my whole plan,” Yoongi mutters to himself, “he isn’t a quiet lad, he’ll go around telling everyone.” He places his head in his hands, sighing.

“Hmm, the way you look at me…” you tease, rolling over in your bed and squishing his cheeks.

“Oh, God.”

“How do you look at me…I know you weren’t too fond of me that first night…” you dreamily place your hands around his neck, he calmly grabs your hands from around his neck, and places them back by your sides.

The sting of rejection injected in you had never stung worse.

“I mean at least I don’t hate you. It could be worse. I could be like him; at least I’m not going to beat you because I get mad at you at times, at least I treat you as I should.”

Oh.

“Oh.” You state, tears welling up, it’s pathetic really, and why are you crying?

“I’m sorry.” Is he? Is he really?

“You act so strange sometimes, it’s like one minute you’ll caress me, and make sure I’m okay and the next you’re ashamed of me. Do you know how embarrassing that is?”

“I’m sorry, princess.”

You don’t reply after.

You don’t meet with him that night either, and he doesn’t bother showing up.

-

It’s midnight, and you’ve never been in worse pain…not after how you’ve been treated. On this day especially, the cut you accidentally made on yourself the night when you met the emotionally unavailable brother of your soon-to-be husband had finally made itself aware. The beating you got for accidentally marking up your skin was nothing compared to the deep cut he sliced on your shoulder blade in order to shame you for the stench of another man being found on you.

His proclamations of love meant nothing when he did this to you. He wasn’t a king he was a coward.

“Why are you not asleep?” You know who it is. He’s your only hope in this country, and with less than a week until you are to be wedded to his brother, you can’t afford to disobey him, not when you owe your life to him for saving you earlier.

His brother. His brother…a man that had absolutely no right to be on the throne, a man that treats you like exactly how a dancer would have been treated in your kingdom. He knows it too, what being a dancer for the king means in your culture; just the sound of bells wrapped tightly around your ankles was enough to strip you of your dignity, making you dance was just another way to ridicule you. All in all, nothing could prepare you for the slice his sword left just next to your left shoulder blade; nothing prepared you to be treated like a bitch on heat left to bleed to death later.

“It makes me uncomfortable,” you state, don’t let him know your weakness; don’t let him know your weakness, you’re stronger than that, are you not?

“Oh, really?” he doesn’t seem sympathetic at all, you can hear his footsteps nearing you, can see his face in the dim light of the burning lanterns scattered across your chambers as he sits in front of you, closer than ever before, and that is right when he draws his dagger out, using it to uncover the white netted shawl from back home that’s draped across your body, your mother gave it to you before she died.

What is he doing?

He moves his dagger into the burning candle wick, heating the blade. You are not quite sure what this man is doing, he could be about to kill you, he could be about to slit your throat, let you bleed out. Like what they did to the meat back home.

“I saw you dancing.” He states, sighing, the flame of the candle reflected in his pitch black eyes, “You dance well.” Now this man whom you trusted is just mocking you, does he not know how degrading it feels to be a dancer? To be stripped of your status, your name, and your home, your family only to be made a dancer for pleasure? For no other than the man who gave your father support in exchange for your hand in marriage?

“I’m a princess, not a dancer, I certainly shouldn’t be-” he presses his scorching hot dagger to the wound on your shoulder blade, pressing your head into his chest, allowing you to cry.

As much as the pain made you suffer, you couldn’t help but sigh with relief at the heat, tears escaping the seams of your eyes, and at the very least your wound will not be infected now. A small tickle, right inside of your ear, “You are not a princess, you are not royalty. You are a mere slave; if you had any noble status over here…you wouldn’t be dancing for that sick bastard of a brother. And if you knew what was best for you, you would run when I let you go.”

“Besides, I think your dancing is beautiful. Not for pleasurable purposes, I swear, princess, it takes skill to be as talented as you, you shouldn’t be mocked for it. I don’t see why it’s such tradition to be mocked for something as intricate as dance.”

It hurts the most because he is right; your status of being a princess means nothing to those in this kingdom, you’ll only be important once you are married to the poor excuse of a king yet you know that in this king’s eyes, you’ll only ever be his whore. But not if Min Yoongi steals the throne, then you could be free, even if it only leads to you wanting to go straight back to him, because over the past week, you’ve learnt how much you need him.

Yoongi presses the dagger harder against your shoulder blade, more tears escaping from your eyes, full sobs running out of your mouth, and all of a sudden the heat is gone, and so is the comfortable warmth of Yoongi’s embrace. You are unable to tell which one is more hated- you want him back either way.

Two dark orbs meet yours, and even in the dim light you admire his scar, only adding fire to his delicate, beautiful features, one that both brothers marked each other with-

For vengeance.

And it looks like Min Yoongi finally will claim his vengeance.

“Give me your hand, princess,” you are far too weak to give him your hand, so he takes your left hand himself, knowing that it is only adding to the pain in your left shoulder blade.

“I thought I wasn’t a princess? I am a slave…no?”

Yoongi plainly ignores your comment, placing his dagger in your hand.

A wave of shock passes through you. A man giving a woman his dagger back in your Kingdom meant much more than just a gift. It meant he was infatuated with you.

But Min Yoongi couldn’t.

“You may not be a princess to him, my brother may not respect your status but I will, and I always will, even after I’ve overthrown that son of a bitch, and even if you decide to leave me,” his fingers trace the outlines of your eyes, your nose, your jaw and finally, your lips. Contrary to his appearance, his touch is much softer than that of the linen used in the clothing your father used to have custom-made for you, his touch was softer than the soft hue of blue that painted the sky, and more comfortable than gossamer touching your skin. In return, you lift your left arm up, fingers extended, bearing the pain because infatuation is not delivered without at least some, and gently trace your finger over the beautiful scar left vertical across his eye. You are lost in the map of his undeniable beauty, so much so that you almost forget that you owe him for stopping an infection from forming in your wound.

“Take,” you pause, a searing pain bursting through your shoulder, Yoongi’s hand immediately comes to rub circles on your back, as you raise a fist clenched with your shawl, the same one your mother gave you, “this is a sign of my gratitude, for helping me, sell it I’m sure you’ll get money for resources or something, you can leave now if you must,” he blinks, facial features void of any expressions or feelings. And then it happens, rapidly, sharper than a blade, he swipes the dagger out of your hand and carves the lightest scratch beneath your collar bone which causes two more tears to trickle down your throat, the scratch is light, but still more than visible and you know you will be receiving a heck of a round of shame tomorrow when you see the king, he does not appreciate you being marked even further.

“How can I leave an untended wound? Isn’t that immoral?” He asks, “You realise, you still owe me one thing,” he trails off, and you can practically see the cynical smirk on his face.

“Me. I’ll gift you myself. I don’t want to marry him, so you take me instead.” You tell him, not a single second of hesitation, Min Yoongi stares at you dead in the eyes, all evidence of mischief and emotion drained from his face, taking your shawl and wrapping you in it, “Sleep, princess, it’ll be easier this time round,” clearly, Yoongi had no care for the way you felt.

“Don’t leave, please, I’d never leave you even if you let me go.”

But you didn’t expect the sting of rejection in your heart when he left. He didn’t want you. You misunderstood.

You are not wanted by Yoongi. And here you thought maybe someone really wanted all of you, but no, he just needs you for his damned plan.

-

Hand-holding seems like such a sweet, affectionate thing to do, but when you’re holding the hand of a man who clearly doesn’t care for you, it feels like more of a trap, especially when you have to announce a marriage to the people of his kingdom.

And it hurts worse when the man you’re seemingly in love with is standing behind a curtain, slightly visible only to you, staring at you with both admiration and pain evident in his eyes.

“…And to celebrate…grand execution…to rid our homeland of those who take it for granted…” you’re too focussed on your Yoongi, who’s staring ever-so cutely at you, emotions, for the first time in the period you’ve known him, showing.

It’s strange afterwards to say the least, there’s a slight look of betrayal on Yoongi’s face, and a sad sort of happiness in his eyes.

“I’m sorry,” he says.

“What for?” You ask him

“I’m sorry,” he repeats.

“Why?” you ask again.

“I’m sorry,” anger fills his face, tears drip down from his eyes, he pulls you into your chambers, gripping your face and squeezing it lightly.

“You better not change your mind about wanting to leave because if you do, God help me I will never let you leave,” he tells you, grabbing your forearm and squeezing your wrist.

“And what will you do? If I leave, what will you do?” You ask, tears rushing down your face, because maybe you were right. Maybe he did want all of you.

“I’ll find you, I’ll chase you-” he pauses, slipping the dagger hidden in your skirt out, dragging the tip of the dagger over the outlines of your face, and finally down to the surface of your throat, “-I’ll kill myself, and I’ll kill you too, and then maybe we would finally be at peace with each other, far off and away from Earth, with no one but each other.” a sad smile covers his face. If anyone were to be watching the scene they would have thought you both were psychotic, but you understood, he would never really kill you, but he’d never let you be someone else’s either.

You’re not sure where the sudden affection has appeared from as two nights before he completely ignored your statement about your love for him.

“…I’d let you kill me.” You let out a soft chuckle as he places a soft kiss against your forehead, taking his hands back and placing them on your waist.

“Even if I end up marrying him anyway, I’ll still spend the consummation with you.”

Yet, still, he doesn’t kiss you.

-

That night when Yoongi is ten minutes later than usual for the meeting in your chambers, something is off, something is different, smells different, there’s something wrong.

And all comes crashing down when he brings in a woman with him, neck bruised with her love bites, body stinking with the stench of his woman’s perfume. And you resented it.

Why would he do this?

“Princess, meet Jihyo, you may recognise her.”

“I do not.”

“Princess, I serve you breakfast each morning how could you not remember me?”

“I don’t care for you, I don’t care for him either, I don’t even care for myself.” You’re miserable, and you want him to see it, to see if he really cares.

But things were fine this morning? Had he not made it clear how he felt towards you? Why did he have to break you now?

“Jihyo will be helping you go the morning you run away, I’ve changed plans so that you won’t have to get hurt by him, I wouldn’t want to muck up on the day of the execution and have you executed, so I’ll be sneaking you out the morning of the execution, he’ll be busy so he won’t come seeking for you.”

“What the absolute fuck, Min Yoongi?”

“Princess-”

“Do you have no shame? I’ve confessed my never-ending love for you several times now, I’ve made it clear I won’t be leaving even if you want me to, so how dare you come in here with this whore of yours covered in marks she made and covered in her stench. You disgust me. You’re no different from your brother.”

Even Jihyo had nothing more to say.

“I knew you’d hate me in the end. But I’ll tell you anyways, my love, you’d be better off with someone in your own kingdom, and so you need to move on, and I, too, need to get you off of my mind before I make a decision I regret.” Yoongi says, refusing to make eye contact with you.

“No.”

“Doesn’t it hurt you? To see me marked by a servant, doesn’t it disgust you that my standards are lower? Doesn’t it make you want to leave?”

“It does, it truly does,” you weep, tears spilling, your heart heavy with pain.

You hate him, you hate him, you hate him.

“I’m sorry, princess,” Jihyo rushes out of your chambers.

“I won’t be coming to see you again, my love.”

And you won’t be trying to find him either.

-

Jihyo throws your minimal belongings into a weakly knit rucksack while you watch, staring intently, unwilling to move.

“Princess, he won’t change his mind, he wants you gone and far away…and safe.”

“I won’t leave.”

“But he wants you to, don’t you want him to be happy.” It’s sickening to think that this entire time he just wanted you for the crown, he didn’t feel anything towards you, and he just wanted his crown back.

“Princess, he doesn’t love you. Don’t you see what I did to him?”

“I hate both of you.” You get up and grab the rucksack from Jihyo, storming out, finding your way through the halls to the courtyard, where you know the execution is taking place, you may as well bid your King farewell.

You really don’t understand what you’re trying to do, you shouldn’t be doing this because it’ll ruin Yoongi’s plan completely…but there’s a fire inside of you that’s encouraging you to keep going, and you won’t stop yourself.

But maybe you should have because it hurts even more than rejection when you see Yoongi on his knees blindfolded, with his hands bound by rope behind his back and a blade swinging towards his neck. You’re frozen; this wasn’t a part of his plan, was it? He was supposed to have escaped the ropes by now, why is he still there? And he’s not even bothering to move?

And neither can you, your body’s unwilling to move; knowing that if you do you’ll regret it, it’ll pain you terribly.

But you end up doing it anyway.

“No, stop!” All heads turn to you as you swing yourself at your king, sobbing uncontrollably, lungs gasping for air, “Yoongi,” you breathe, slipping his blindfold off.

“Why are you here, you should have left when you had the chance-” the bruises on his neck were long gone now, and he no longer smelt like Jihyo’s wretched perfume, just how you preferred it.

“I should have known,” the king scoffed, “you bloody slut,” Agust drags you away from Yoongi using your hands, cuts and scrapes make their way onto your knees, drawing crimson liquid, “I should have known when I first smelt someone else’s scent on you. You’ve been having an affair behind my back haven’t you?” Gasps pass around the courtyard; you forgot you had an audience for a moment.

“N-no.” He slaps you, grabbing your neck and choking you.

“Don’t lie to me, whore.” The king presses his nails so hard they cut into your skin, “How long since you’ve been seeing him,”

“A couple of months, when I first came,” You cry, struggling in his grip.

“My brother of all people, seriously, you could have-” the both of you can hear the movement behind you; it’s a rustling noise, heavy breathing and it takes you back to the night you first met Yoongi. The king and you both turn your heads slowly to see Yoongi trying to free himself out of the rope. The king scoffs and bellows with laughter, ripping his hand off of your neck and pulling Yoongi towards him, dragging him by his shirt.

“Yoongi?” You call, knowing it could get you in trouble.

He never listens anyway.

You can hear the grunts and shoves, and the yelps of pain coming from both of their mouths, but you don’t watch.

You don’t watch as the love of your life gets beaten by his brother.

You don’t watch as you hear them struggle to kill, hear the punches and grunts and the violent matter being dealt with, because you’ve never been able to handle the mere sight of blood.

There’s a long silence before you hear the sheer sound of metal slicing someone’s neck open and you look up to see your king holding a bloody sword.

You knew what that meant.

But you couldn’t bring yourself to look at your ex fiancé’s body lying dead and cold on the floor.

-

The weeks go on by with a new king in place, the rightful king in his place. You haven’t talked to Yoongi since that day, scared to open your mouth in case he’d offer to send you back home, and you don’t want to go, you want to stay here, stay with Yoongi, so you’ll sit here quietly and play in this intense game of fear. He still invites you to eat with him though, tries to make small talk and smiles at you, but nonetheless, you remain ignoring him, barely eating and avoiding eye contact at all times.

There are times where you’ll be tempted to say something though, and tonight happens to be one of those nights.

“Is your room comfortable, I can have them give you a more comfortable room?” the bed makes my back ache.

“If you don’t like the food I can have them prepare something else for you?” the food’s fine, why won’t you just let me be.

“My king,” you hear a new voice, “we have some…enquiries shall we call it?”

“Yes?” Yoongi responds, placing down his cutlery.

“The previous king never married, the country’s been missing a queen for a long time now, it would be in your best interest to marry, don’t you think?”

“Mm, very well, who do you have in mind?” Yoongi responds. Is he fucking joking right now?

“There are many suitors who are interested…how about Miss Areum, she is your acquaintance since childhood, no?” Unwillingly you growl, extremely un-ladylike but you couldn’t help yourself.

The king can’t help but chuckle, a handsome chuckle at that, too.

“I think Princess ___ would make quite a perfect queen don’t you think? If only she would talk to me, then we could discuss it further.”

“Really?”

“Ah, so she does have a voice? I thought my queen-to-be lost her voice for a while.” Yoongi laughs and it’s a pure, joyous laugh, not cynical or evil like your late fiancé’s.

“I’m sorry, I was scared you’d be reminded of how you wanted to send me back if I spoke.”

“I only wanted that for your safety, princess, but the threat is gone now.”

And for the first time since the death of your fiancé, you laugh and you eat a full meal.

-

The days go on by yet again, winter approaches with heavy thunder and not a word has been spoken about your lover’s subtle marriage proposal, you wonder if he meant it at all.

So far you’ve spent your days scurrying around helping servants, making yourself useful, running around the market place and sewing. Yoongi doesn’t approve of you mixing with people in the market place, scared you’d get hurt or make a scene due to your uneasiness in the country; you ignored him per usual.

But yesterday whilst helping the servants with their tasks you saw Jihyo, and you couldn’t help but feel for her; you cursed out her name when she was really just doing her job, it’s not like she wanted to take part in hurting you, but she did anyways. So you talked to her, though you wished you hadn’t; you wished you hadn’t seen the hollow look in her eyes and the sallow skin on her cheeks: she was suffering, starving probably, and you wonder why Yoongi doesn’t do anything about it since he claimed he was so much better than his brother.

“Jihyo?”

“Oh, Princess!” She smiled, bowing her head slowly, weakly, and her smile didn’t meet her eyes.

“Jihyo, I wanted to apologise for cursing you.”

“Don’t worry about it!” why she was being so positive when quite clearly your words had cut through her, you had no idea, but you knew she was hurting as much as the other servants were, but she looked worse than all of them.

“Jihyo, you need to eat.”

“I have, I ate bread for lunch, Princess,” she sighed.

-

“Ah, my queen, I wondered when you’d come see me, I’ve been missing you, you know? Today I realised I still haven’t even kissed you.” Yoongi claims, wrapping one arm around your waist and the other he swung around your thighs getting ready to lift you, but you stop him.

“Yoongi you’re king now.”

“Yes.” He says like it’s the most obvious thing in the world.

“You need to raise the servants’ wage.” You state. He stays silent, thinking for a moment.

“You know, I was so wrapped up in our stupid little plan to kill my own brother, I didn’t even think about what I would do if I were king.”

“Then figure it out, and then you can kiss me, and marry me too, if you wish.”

You wish Yoongi had figured this all out before so you could be happy together now, but unfortunately for him you won’t be marrying someone who hasn’t even thought of the people of his kingdom, you won’t let him be selfish like his brother.

-

As time goes on and as summer solstice passes you notice the changes, the cheerful workers and servants that pass you, and you can tell Yoongi’s stuck to his word, and this time when you see Jihyo, you’re not worried for the sake of her health, she looks healthy, and she has a ring around her fourth finger.

“Jihyo, is that really you?”

“Princess! You seem much more mature since the last time I’ve seen you.” Jihyo giggles.

“I’m sure I do…is that a ring? Who from? Are you married now?” A sick feeling rises in your stomach, though you knew Yoongi loved you, or had some sort of feelings for you since he still hadn’t properly confessed his love for you, you still couldn’t shake off the fact that Jihyo had marked him at one point, and while it may have been to convince you to leave, the image of it still bothers you.

“Not quite yet, but I’ll be married off by the end of this month to some rich family in the south, I’ll be gone,” a sigh of relief passes through your lips, “though, I will miss you, princess.” Blood rushes to your cheeks, painting them a flowery pink colour.

“I’ll miss you too, I hope your husband treats you well, Jihyo.” You smile at her, knowing that this was Yoongi’s doing, if he hadn’t raised their wages maybe Jihyo would still be looking as sickly and as weak as she was before.

“It is the king’s doing, you know? So maybe you should go see your lover, princess, maybe you’ll be married off by the end of this month, too.”

And maybe you will go see this lover of yours.

-

“My king? I’ve missed you.” You drag out your words to tease Yoongi, watching as a blush creeps up his cheeks.

“Can I finally kiss you now? Are you happy with what I’ve done?” He slowly reaches his hands forward and rests them around your waist.

“I saw Jihyo today, she’s getting married off did you know that?” You ask him.

“I didn’t, I haven’t talked to her since…the time in your chambers…” his voices drifts off, your heart feeling heavy in your chest. Yoongi places his fingers under your chin, kissing your forehead, “I’ve never doubted your love for me, I suggest you don’t doubt mine for you either.”

“That’s easy for you, I’ve laid my heart bare for you to see, yet you took advantage of that and played with mine this whole time.”

“I’m sorry for that, my dear, but you know I’m not amazing with women.”

“You were pretty amazing with Jihyo.” You shouldn’t have said that.

“Don’t do that, don’t bring her into this, you know why I did what I did.”

“I don’t want to be played with; your brother did that well to me.”

“If I was my brother I wouldn’t have listened to you. But I did listen and look how happy everyone is.” He’s right, you know he is.

“Okay.”

“Okay?” He questions, brushing stray hair strands out of your hair.

“Okay,” you laugh, pushing yourself onto your tippy toes.

Yoongi gently grabs your face, pulling you towards him, and the moment your lips touch; you fall weak at the knees, all that wait was finally worth it as you both fell to the floor stripping off your clothes as you do so, and when Yoongi picks you up to carry you bridal style to his bed, he pauses, muscles tense.

“What’s wrong? If you don’t want to do this we don’t have to.”

“Oh, I forgot to ask you if you wanted to marry me.”

Needless to say you said yes.

#yoongi x reader #yoongi #bts #bts fanfic #x reader #min yoongi #bts angst #bts imagines #angst #daechwita #royalty #jimin #jungkook #taehyung x reader #taehyung #oneshot #imagine

[blossom-hwa]

To Find Solace in Your Arms - JANGJUN

Well uh. Here it is. Guard jangjun written in five days :D I’ll accept some blame but refer to casey @thepixelelf​ if you want someone to beat up for introducing the assassin thing because she suggested it not me I swear! Anyway, this universe is still dedicated to casey because without her it wouldn’t have happened <3

(Reading To Bloom in the Night/Weaver (linked below) is not necessarily required to understand this story; however, it may offer explanations for certain events!)

Pairing: Jangjun x gender neutral!reader

Genre: fluff, angst, fantasy, guard!au, assassin!au

Triggers: cursing, implications of death, semi-graphic depictions of blood (reader is an assassin)

Word Count: 16.5k

Broken and lost, you find your last chance at redemption in a cursed prince’s loyal guard.

To Spin a Yarn | Golden Child Masterlist

Once upon a time, in a kingdom of song and music, there lived a prince who ran away. Cursed with death, he had found the only person whose life could prevail under his voice, a gardener with the sweetest song, and there was nothing he would not do to keep them close – even giving up his crown. When the gardener was arrested for accidentally learning the secret they willingly pledged to keep, the prince and his guard broke them away and fled into the night, whispering goodbyes to the loved ones they left behind.

The king and queen labeled it a kidnapping, led a manhunt for months, espoused heartbreak and sorrow for their son lost to his disloyal guard and a scheming gardener. Few believed the words of two cold-hearted monarchs, but enough did not care – bounty hunters and assassins pledged their services to the crown’s gold, resolved to kill the alleged kidnappers and return the prince alive (or dead, apparently – the palace, for all its shiny words of heartbreak, was not keen to have him back). However, one by one, they failed, either bled to death in the woods or forced to give up when all leads vanished.

One contractor was left, the most ruthless of all. Few had the coin to pay for the service of any one of his employees, but those who did were never left disappointed. With all else failed and their son still eluding capture, the palace paid for one assassin, asked for the best their money could buy. The contractor gave his due and tasked the job with his favorite employee who had recently fallen out of favor with a mission gone awry – they would have one last chance to redeem themselves.

When the guard sensed a follower, he only sighed and readied himself. The prince and his gardener had gone on further as he had forced them to – after all, he was the odd one out, the one who wasn’t truly needed. His purpose was always to protect even at the cost of his own life. He could keep an assassin off their trail for at least enough time to get away, and all of the others whom the palace had sent had failed eventually. He was the one who was still alive.

But desperation turns claws stronger, knives sharper, pain deeper.

And the guard never expected to come face to face with a ghost.

Neither guard nor assassin left the fight uninjured, both in body and in mind. Memories of ages gone, long pushed away but never forgotten, would plague them as the months passed with fight after bloody fight, knives clanging and words bantering and eyes flashing with emotions suppressed but finally brought to light –

Yet they did not stop. They had their loyalties and they had their duties, and even if they somehow felt at home with their snipping words and clanging blades, none of it mattered. None of it mattered. None of it mattered, not when the assassin learned the truth of the guard’s role in his prince’s kidnapping, not even when the guard looked deep into bladed eyes and saw into the human inside.

Until a secret came to light, and for the first time, a loyalty deeper than that of duty forced the assassin to drop their knife and lead the guard to a home he had despaired as lost forever.

And yet home was not home, even in the warm arms of a second ghost come to life, not when the curved knife of a teasing smile had disappeared in the forest, glittering eyes lost to the night. He prayed to the moon, to the watching stars, that the assassin would someday find their way home to arms that would welcome them as warmly as the ghost’s who had welcomed him.

His arms.

This is the story of a guard charged to protect and an assassin bound to kill, paths fated to intertwine once more after they first diverged, who found solace in knife-bladed smiles and laughing eyes the night they first met under the moon.

. . . . .

“Y/N.”

You turn around from the clothing stall, eyebrows furrowed. What’s Minho doing here, interrupting probably your last moments with your only friend before your employer decides to cut you off? “What are you doing here?”

His eyes remain impassive. “He wants to see you.”

So it’s time. 

You sigh, turning back to your friend and her piles of clothing. “Sorry, work calls.” An easy smile falls onto your lips, masking the anxiety that races your heart. She doesn’t know that you might be six feet under within a day, and you don’t intend to tell her. “Anyway, I left a little something at your house. Make sure to take it in.”

“Oh my – Y/N, seriously?”

But you’ve already turned away, fluttering your fingers in the air as you throw a last smile in her direction. It’s the least you could do – your little gifts will probably end after today, and with her business, she needs any bit of money she can get.

Quickly, you match your steps to Minho’s, ignoring her fondly exasperated shouts as you follow him through the crowded market. “Did he say anything?”

“No.” Minho shrugs, though a glint remains in his eyes. You mentally take stock of every knife concealed on your person. “But you can imagine.”

It takes a lot of restraint to not plunge the blade you’re twirling in your hand into his side. He’s probably expecting it, anyway – you’ve been at each other’s throats ever since you first punched him in the nose, all those years ago. “Yeah, I can.” You keep your eyes perfectly blank, even though fear of death pounds your heart as the two of you pass into the richer community, where your employer lives when he’s in the country. “Bet it’s something fun for you to think about.”

You don’t need to look to see the smile curving Minho’s lips. He’d like you dead, wouldn’t he? Of course he doesn’t say anything, but there’s a reason you remain aware of the knives hidden in your sleeve. Plus the one in your hand.

Finally, you reach the door. A servant pokes his head out. “Name?”

He knows your name. You hate having to say it anyway. “Y/N,” you reply curtly.

The door opens fully. You take a deep breath and sheathe the knife.

“Good luck,” Minho says cheerfully. Your neck crawls where his breath puffs against your skin.

The servant closes the door, leaving you alone with him in a large, open room full of light. The sun’s warmth streams through the windows, burning your skin. But even with that burn, the sunlight turning your skin to ash, you’d rather stay there than follow the servant to the back of the home, the darker rooms where your employer likes to conduct business.

But you follow, step by step, even as your fingers begin to shake and you have to clench the handle of one of your knives to keep them from trembling. You’ll fight. You’ll fight, if he orders your death – it’s all you know, fighting, and you’ll go down the way you lived – it doesn’t matter if he’s your employer, it doesn’t matter if he’ll have someone in there to take care of you when you inevitably fight back – if you’re going to die and have lived as a fighter no one can expect you to just give up –

The servant stops suddenly. You just manage to avoid bumping into him. He knocks on the door, oblivious to you. “They’re here, sir.”

“Enter.”

His voice turns your blood not to ice, but to sludge – slow, barely-moving, clogging your veins until you begin to choke, silently, barely able to move your legs to walk inside the now-open door –

Only one person is inside. You fight to keep the surprise off your face. Why is there no one here? Does he actually think you’ll go down without a fight? Or that he can take care of you himself?

“Sir.” You dip your head sharply.

“Look up.”

You do.

He sits in an upholstered chair, eyes piercing. The chair and the eyes have stayed the same, even as skin has sagged, hair has grayed, and some decorations have been moved out while others have come in. His gaze pins you down and like you’re a teen again, seeing him for the first time after all the horror stories you were told, you shrink under his attention, even with all the knives hidden in your clothes.

(Those horror stories were all true. More than once, when you were still new and hadn’t made your mark just yet, you were one of those called in to clean blood off the floor.)

Your blood is going to be wrung out of the carpets, soon. And it’ll be a lot of blood if you have anything to do with it.

He stays silent, still pinning you with his eyes. You clench your fists beneath the table. Breathe in, out.

“You disappointed me last time.”

Your stomach curdles. You only bow your head in response.

“You know what happens to those who disappoint.”

Blood seeping into carpets, staining the wood floor beneath. Small, shaking hands scrubbing dry red and black with buckets of soap and water. 

Maybe you won’t try to leave behind so much blood, after all. You have a little sympathy left after so many years of fingers and backs aching from rubbing rough cloths against the ground. Spite is powerful, but sometimes sympathy weighs more.

“If you were any of the others, you would be dead by now.”

True. Your last few days of freedom, you assumed, were just because you happened to be a favorite. A sort of last meal served before a prisoner’s execution.

Silence stretches. You keep your head low, shoulders tensed, nails biting into your palms, ready to lunge. You’ll fight. You’ll fight. You can picture it now – a blade aiming for your heart. You’ll dodge, knock the knife away, slide the weapons from your sleeves and throw, hoping they pierce dark eyes before someone rushes in and throws you to the floor, carves open your body until your blood soaks into the ornate carpet –

One hand appears in your line of lowered vision, a piece of thick, creamy paper sliding onto the table. “This is your next mission.”

Your head snaps up. Next mission?

“The prince has disappeared, and the palace now pays a large sum for the capture of his kidnappers within one year.” The paper slides closer. “A gardener and a royal guard. And the prince does not have to be brought back alive – if he was maimed by his kidnappers or caught in the crossfire…”

Somewhere deep in your mind, you understand the subtext. The royal family doesn’t care so much for the prince as it does about maintaining its reputation. But the forefront of your brain is still trying to comprehend the fact that the crown paid your employer to carry out this murder, and despite your last failure, he still chose you.

“You have one year to complete this mission. Shouldn’t be too difficult, no?” your employer says, finally forcing you to look up. He looks faintly amused, almost sadistically so – he has to have known how you expected to be dead already. “The royal guard may give you some trouble, but not more than you can handle.”

You almost question him – why are you receiving this mission and not some other assassin who may not be as efficient as you but still has a cleaner record, zero percent failure versus whatever percent that last mission cost you? But your employer hates being questioned, and more likely than not, he’d take the contract away with a cheerful, “Perhaps I did choose wrongly,” and then where would you be?

“No, sir.” You swallow hard, finally letting go of your fists. Crescents burn in your palms where nails bit into the skin.

“I suppose you are wondering why I chose you for this mission rather than one of those who have not disappointed me yet.”

You don’t dare to nod.

He leans forward. “I considered others. But you have always been the best assassin.” A smile splits his face, like a slit throat. “You remember what I have told you from the start. The best killers are not the bloodiest. They are the most efficient. You do not have to enjoy blood to become a killer.”

That’s true. You’ve always hated the feeling of sticky red liquid soaking your skin. Yet here you are, an assassin.

“Others forget. You have not.” He leans back again. “So I am giving you a second chance.” The smile disappears. “Do not disappoint me this time.”

You’re not going to die. You’re not going to die. You’re going to live to see another day, you won’t have to fight for your existence, you’ll be able to keep your friend safe and support her longer – you even have a mission. A second chance.

Tears of relief prick at your eyes and you bow, fighting the lump in your throat. “Thank you, sir.”

He’s smiling when you rise again, eyes narrowed to slits. “Do not disappoint me,” he repeats.

You swear you won’t.

. . . . .

Jangjun is once again being followed.

Internally, he groans. Seriously, after all those assassins and bounty hunters he and Joochan left dead or in the dust, he would’ve thought the palace had given up by now. Can’t they just let them all live in peace after making their lives hell for so long?

But the king and queen don’t care about any of that, and Bomin probably has only a little influence, if he even knows about the assassins in the first place. Jangjun sighs. At least he sent the other two up ahead first – Jangjun’s just the guard, the odd man out of the trio. His duty is to protect, and he’ll do that to the last. The others are more important. They need time to be happy.

He keeps walking, even as the sky grows darker and the moon begins to rise. The follower stays on his path, but by all the gods, they’re good. Jangjun can’t tell where they are, can only feel something stalking him.

Then there’s a shift in the air. Jangjun stops.

And ducks just in time for a knife to whiz past where his head was less than a second ago.

Before he even hears the blade thunk into a nearby tree trunk, a figure leaps from the foliage – almost on top of Jangjun if he hadn’t whirled away at the last second. Metal rings against the sheath of his sword and he swings it just in time to catch the long knife slashing towards his face.

You’re good. Too good. Way better than any of the others sent to kill him or the gardener, to bring Joochan back to the palace. Metal crashes and leaves fall as you dance away from his single blade, twin knives glinting like lethal stars from the sky – there’s a natural grace to your movements that almost remind him of Donghyun’s sister and the way she moved so fluidly through the air, only your grace slices deadly and sharp while hers flowed supple and soft.

But that isn’t the only familiar thing he sees.

Sharp eyes meet his, glinting dangerously in the rising moonlight. It almost distracts him into thinking – where has he seen that sort of glint before? He knows he’s seen it before, but on who, where, and when – but then a second blade slices towards his side and he remembers he can’t think, he can’t think, thinking is what gets you killed in the middle of a fight –

Animals burst out of hiding as you and Jangjun trample the forest floor. He nicks your arm and you hiss, retaliating with a two-bladed strike against his single sword that makes his teeth chatter with the reverb – and all the while he’s fighting, there’s that nagging thought in the back of his mind that he refuses to entertain, the thought that screams he’s seen those eyes or at least that glint on someone he says he’s forgotten but hasn’t really, has only pushed the memories back after so many years because they never mattered. He would never see them again, not the sharp-eyed pickpocket he fell in love with –

Them –

Oh, gods, them –

Jangjun trips over a tree root. He regains his balance quickly, but it’s more than enough time for you to duck under one flailing arm and slam him against the trunk, wrenching his sword out of his hands and knocking the air of his lungs. One knife rests against his side while the other lodges under his chin, blade pressing into his throat.

He closes his eyes. If this is how he dies, then so be it. Joochan and his partner have gone up ahead and he told them not to come back, to wait until morning and if he didn’t meet with them by then, to continue on their own. If he dies now at the hands of an assassin, he’s performed his duty as a loyal guard to one of the few good people left in this world.

“Where are they?” a voice rasps, raw with panting exertion and pain.

Jangjun opens his eyes. Racks his mind for something witty to say, something that’ll anger you and maybe throw that glint into your eye again, that glint he thought he’d never see until he died. It would be a nice sight to take with him even as he goes, even if it isn’t on the same person who’d disappeared from the orphanage so many years back –

His eyes widen. Your mask fell off at some point during the fight and now your face is bare, visible under the moonlight.

You –

You are the same person –

Jangjun tries to reconcile the images, one of a smirking teenager pickpocketing some rich man on the streets, another of the sharp-eyed assassin holding a knife to his throat. There’s no way – you have to be different – but with your mask torn away, revealing the rest of your face, all Jangjun can see are the growing similarities between the teenaged orphan who disappeared and left him alone at the orphanage all those years ago.

“Where are they?” you hiss again, pressing the knife further into his neck.

Breathing shallowly – he can feel tiny drops of blood beginning to trickle down his skin – he stretches his lips into a trembling smirk. “You don’t remember me anymore, Y/N?”

Your eyes remain blank for a second longer. Then they widen and your grip goes slack with realization –

Jangjun has barely left your hold when you shove him back against the trunk with even more force than the first time. His head hits the bark and he sighs, trying to ignore the aching pain. “Oh, come on, Y/N. You know how I feel about tree bits in my hair.”

“By all the gods –” You groan. “Of course the prince’s guard would turn out to be the most insufferable asshole in the orphanage.”

“And of course the assassin would turn out to be the slickest pickpocket with the worst mouth in the same orphanage,” Jangjun replies. The smile comes easier, now that you’re not actively pressing the knife into his skin. He missed your eyes. “I’m offended you didn’t recognize me at first.”

You snort. “You seriously expect me to remember your face after all these years?”

“I remembered yours.” Jangjun blinks innocently. Of course he did – he couldn’t forget it, no matter how much he tried to tell himself you were probably dead in the weeks after you disappeared –

“You’ve changed,” you snap, though he can see the beginnings of a smile lifting your lips. Curved, knife-like, but familiar in its snark.

Beautiful.

He smirks. “Did I become more handsome?”

“How did you become a royal guard with a mouth as stupid as this?”

“My pretty face and sparkling personality.” Jangjun grins. “Mind taking the knife off my neck? It’s a little hard to breathe.”

In response, you press it in harder, eyes growing dark. Oops, wrong thing to say. “Tell me where they are,” you reply conversationally, “and maybe, in the spirit of old friendship, I’ll kill you quickly.”

Jangjun fights for breath as more blood drips down his neck. The blade in his side is digging deeper, too. Damn, you’re good. “How about in the spirit of old friendship – ow, that hurts – how about you just let me go?”

All traces of a smile leave your lips. The glint in your eye disappears fully, leaving behind only a wild, desperate darkness that Jangjun hasn’t seen before. 

That’s different. 

“Can’t do that, I’m afraid,” you say. “Now, if you don’t tell me right now –”

“Behind you,” Jangjun warns.

You scoff. Damn it. “You seem to think I’m the same idiot from when we were back in the orphanage. That’s almost offensive.”

“Well, it was worth a try.” He shrugs as best he can with your blades in his skin and back pressed against the trunk. “And I’m sure you aren’t all that offended. Are you going to get on with it, now?”

Your eyes narrow. You shift your stance. The knife tightens against his side, but in that one second of shifting, the other lifts just slightly off his throat –

Jangjun hooks his leg around your knee and you buckle, blade dropping from his neck just long enough for him to escape your hold and dart away, scooping up his fallen sword. You snarl, already following, but Jangjun isn’t interested in fighting. He’s only running away.

And, just as he hoped, he’s a little faster.

“See you soon, Y/N!” he yells, sprinting into the darkened forest. Moonlight barely shines through the dark foliage – somehow, he’s certain, you won’t take the risk of following. You’ll hang back, wait until day, track him, and strike when he seems most vulnerable.

He almost misses your words in reply.

“Count on it.”

They send shivers up his spine.

. . . . .

By the time of your next encounter with Jangjun, you have allowed several things to settle in your mind that you didn’t have the time to process during your last fight. You mull them over, one by one, as you walk around the marketplace, picking up the things you need.

First, and most importantly, Jangjun’s good. Too good. Not to say you couldn’t take him – if it weren’t night, you feel reasonably confident that you could’ve followed and taken him down – but you did not realize royal guards were trained to this caliber.

Not your fault. Missions rarely force you to tangle with royalty or their guards – this is a special case. But even then, to have a guard at the same level as some weaker assassins, possibly even on par with you…

“Shouldn’t be too difficult, no?” Your employer’s words echo through your mind. “The royal guard may give you some trouble, but not more than you can handle.”

Your fingers tighten around the handle of your bag. You underestimated him last time. You thought he was still the same boy you left back at the orphanage. You won’t make the same mistake again.

Second, bar his fighting skills, Jangjun is still the same snarky asshole from the orphanage when you two were teens. His brand of humor is unique – it stuck with you through your early days working up through the ranks, even when you went through your grueling training – and it proves that the guard you fought with is the boy you were forced to leave, even more than the smiling eyes that still mark his “pretty face.”

Well, he does have a pretty face. You won’t deny that. That face has been pretty since you met him at the orphanage, pretty enough for your teenage heart to fall a little in love with, and it makes sense that it’s stayed pretty since then. But that same face will be six feet under by the time you’re finished with him, pretty or no, so you don’t dwell on it. You’ve been given a second chance to live, courtesy of your notoriously ruthless employer. No, in the face of such an opportunity, nothing matters, not old friends or even something more.

Your heart twists. Seriously, didn’t you lock those feelings away all those years ago? When you were certain you’d never see Jangjun again after too many failed escapes? It’s just a twist, though, not much more – hopefully the feelings have faded, even if they still exist.

You swallow. It doesn’t matter. None of it matters. Nothing matters anymore but you and your best friend – she’s all you have and you’re all she has. If she dies because you weren’t there to support her, because you let some old feelings get in the way, you… You don’t even know. All you do know is that you can’t waste this opportunity, not when two livelihoods depend on it, not just one.

The back of your neck prickles. You go back to examining threads, pushing thoughts of assassination away. This isn’t the time for murder, so which of these colors would your weaving friend enjoy?

“Fancy seeing you here.”

Speak of the devil.

Calmly, you pore through a few spools of thread in varying shades of blue, trying not to tense visibly. Of course you would meet Jangjun when you’re not actively following him at the moment – yes, you technically followed him here, tracking his traces along with two others to the town, but you didn’t come here with the expectation of completing your job immediately. It’s a respectable place, not the slums where anyone will look the other way should a murder come to pass, and besides, you’d like the trio to lower their guard a little before you strike next. You’re here to watch and observe, maybe catch a glimpse of the prince and see if you can haul him out before taking care of the other two. However indifferent the palace might be, you don’t enjoy killing more than necessary. Two murders is always better than three, unless in exceptional circumstances.

If Minho was the life in limbo, for example, you might choose to make that third murder after all.

The presence doesn’t leave, even as you pick out a few spools of thread in varying shades of blue. You remember your friend saying she was running out of the color, so this should suffice for another few months. Thanking the shopkeeper, you turn around, ignoring the boy who has now begun following you through the crowd.

He catches up quickly. “You know, it’s rude to ignore people when they speak to you.”

With a sigh, you turn around. “You know, it’s weird to come up and talk to an assassin who’s been hired to kill you. Usually, people stay away.”

“You won’t kill me here.” Jangjun’s eyes glitter with a certainty that almost unnerves you – how can he be so sure of what you will or won’t do after so many years apart? “Too crowded. Too many people. Too respectable. And besides, I have information.” His lips curl. “I’m valuable.”

“Oh really?” Your free hand slips up one of your sleeves just barely, letting a small knife slip between your fingers. Jangjun’s eyes widen a fraction when you press the tip to his side. “Keep walking. Keep smiling.”

He does.

“If I pushed this knife into you right now, you’d bleed out within seconds,” you whisper, nodding your head to a few people who pass. You place a hand on his shoulder in a fashion that might look intimate to passersby, but when your thumb reaches around to press a point on his neck, Jangjun stiffens. “If I pressed here just a little harder, you’d be dizzy enough that I’d have to carry you somewhere else, maybe, oh, because of heatstroke or a migraine, and what would happen to you then?”

Jangjun doesn’t say a word.

“Let’s not mention all the other pressure points I know that you might not, all the perfect places to stab someone so that they die with minimal blood flow, all the ways I could slam you down and knock you out if I was that pressed.” You remove the knife, twirling it once between your fingers in a flash of bright metal before tucking it back into your sleeve. “Don’t get too cocky, Jangjun. You seem to have forgotten I’ve been trained in ways to kill for years.” Your eyes narrow, the genial smile sliding off your face. “I’m not exactly the same teenager from the orphanage all those years ago.”

He looks at you. Scrutinizes your face, stares into your eyes. For some reason, even though you were the one holding a knife against him just seconds ago, it now feels like he has the upper hand.

“Eh,” he finally says, a pinch of color returned to his cheeks. “Maybe in that, you’re different, but don’t worry.” He winks. “Tragically, I think you’re still affected by this pretty face. Careful – it might just distract you into letting me go one day.”

You open your mouth to say something, then only scoff. It’s getting harder and harder not to let a smile spread your lips. You might not agree with Jangjun that you haven’t changed, but he definitely hasn’t. “I don’t think I’ve ever met anyone with this keen a death wish. Why are you even talking to me?”

“I think that if you really wanted to kill me, you would’ve done it by now.” He looks at you out of the corner of his eye – less certain, now, but still decently sure. You’ll take it. “Why waste all this time talking?” His eyelids flutter obnoxiously. “Unless you really enjoy listening to the sound of my voice.”

“As if.” You snort. “But you’re right, this time.” A glint of metal purposely flashes from the inside of your sleeve. “I’m not planning to kill you just yet, not when it’s such a nice day, there are so many people, and most importantly, I just want to get some shopping done. So.” You look at him. “Why are you talking to me while I’m running errands?”

He looks at the bag in your other hand. “What are the threads for?”

“Threads?” You look down. “Oh, you noticed?”

Jangjun scoffs. “I was standing right behind you, it would’ve been a little difficult not to notice.”

“I have a friend who likes needlework,” you say. “She doesn’t always have the money to experiment, though, so I take her things when I can.” You smirk. “Even assassins have a little bit of a life, you know.”

Something unreadable – longing, wistful, more emotions than you have the time to decipher – flashes through Jangjun’s eyes. It’s gone almost as quickly as it comes, though, and you chalk it up to some old memory he never shared with you. “Well, it can’t just be murder all the time.”

“You’re right. Maybe you should’ve become an assassin instead of a royal guard,” you say. “Gotten snatched off the street and all instead of me.”

Jangjun’s face crumples. It’s fast, so fast you barely see it – even faster than that wistful longing present just seconds ago – but even though he’s mostly back to normal by the time you blink, there’s enough of a haunted look in his eyes for you to frown. “Jangjun?”

“What?” He looks at you, easy as ever.

Both of you have stopped in a sea of moving market-goers, you narrowing your gaze at him, Jangjun narrowing his eyes right back. The stare-down lasts several seconds, but when he doesn’t let up, you mentally shake your head. There’s no point in asking if he wants to hide it. Besides, you shouldn’t even care – he’s nothing but a target that you can’t kill just yet because he has information. The banter is fun, but in the end, one of you will be alive and the other dead.

You don’t plan to be the latter.

“Nothing,” you finally say. “Now go away. Enjoy your freedom while it lasts, yes?” A smirk curls your lips. “I’ve got things to do, so watch that pretty face of yours before I decide to put it into the ground.” With that, you begin moving through the crowd.

“You think I’m pretty?” Jangjun calls.

You roll your eyes.

. . . . .

Freedom doesn’t last more than a few days.

Jangjun really had hoped for longer – hell, he spent a whole morning talking to you, making sure you weren’t out stalking his friends while they went on to the next town. The conversation stretched even longer than he thought it would – carried away by you threatening to publicly kill him, a thought that still makes his blood run a little cold, even if it warms with the reminder of your smile.

Your smile. Jangjun needs to stop thinking of it. Even when your lips are curved in a smirk and not a genuine grin, it brings back so many old memories he thought he’d successfully suppressed – bladed, dangerous, mischievous, like a crescent moon glinting in the sky –

(The last time Jangjun caught himself thinking that way, Joochan asked why he suddenly looked so constipated. His partner had to remind them they were on the run for them to finally shut up.)

But you’re good. Too good. And even though that knife-like smile brings back good memories, it conjures more fear than Jangjun is used to. He should expect the worst from you – it’s all you’ve shown, after all.

Still, he doesn’t expect to wake up to a shadow standing in the corner of the room in which they’re staying, blade poised over a sleeping gardener’s chest.

Jangjun leaps off the futon, silent save for the rustling of blankets. You turn around – at some point you’d gotten yourself a new face mask – but he’s already tackling you to the floor before he can register it, trying to wrench the knife from your fingers –

It whistles past his ear with a flick of your hand before thudding into the wooden wall. Jangjun freezes for the briefest second, by the gods, that came way too close to taking him out –

You flip him around, slamming his head against the floor so hard Jangjun can see stars. He struggles against your hold but you’re clearly not interested in him as a target, more focused on the gardener who’s now sitting up on the floor, eyes wide in the moonlight.

Jangjun catches your foot and pulls just as you lunge toward them, another knife flashing. “RUN!” he yells as you crash to the floor with a sharp yell, blade stuck in the wooden floorboards. 

The gardener looks at Joochan, whose eyes have just blinked open as you kick back, releasing Jangjun’s hold around your ankle – he groans as your foot connects with his face but he still locks eyes with the gardener and snaps, “I SAID RUN!”

“GO!” Joochan yells, now fully awake as he takes in the mess of the room – a knife in the wall, Jangjun on the floor, an assassin beginning to sit up, sharp metal already flashing between their fingers – where do you keep your infinite supply of blades because Jangjun seriously wants to know – and finally the gardener slams the door open and footsteps begin pounding down the hall.

A hiss sounds in the darkness. Jangjun turns back to the dark mass rising from the floor, eyes glittering dangerously in the moonlight. “Interesting. Why is the prince so intent on keeping his kidnappers safe?” A knife twirls between your fingers. “Is it because you’re dead either way, with your captors or at the palace?”

Jangjun blinks. Dead either way?

“I was never kidnapped,” Joochan snarls, sword drawn even though the long blade won’t be of much use in such a small room. “Trust me, my life is better on the run than it ever was back in the palace.”

For the first time since Jangjun revealed his identity in that first fight, you look confused. The fire in your eyes fades, replaced with narrowed curiosity. “You ran away,” you state, eyebrows raised. “Well, that’s something I wasn’t told.”

Hope burns in Jangjun’s chest. Maybe you’ll stop following them now that you know the truth, that whatever the palace told you wasn’t true – maybe you’ll have sympathy, knowing that Joochan is running away from something worse –

The fire returns. “Then would you rather be dead, Prince, instead of my returning you to the palace alive?”

“Let him go,” Jangjun snaps before Joochan can respond. Betrayal buries itself deep in his heart – betrayal at what, he doesn’t know, you never promised to keep him alive or anything once you heard the true story (if you had, he would’ve told you everything within a heartbeat), but the cold detachment in your voice rubs him the wrong way – and he stands, placing himself directly in front of the prince. “Y/N, can’t you just have sympathy –”

Jangjun barely blocks your twirling knife. Metal clangs and your eyes bore into his as you bear down on his too-long sword. “Assassins aren’t trained to have sympathy,” you say, cold, unrelenting. The blade presses harder, screeching against his. “And even if I was different, my life isn’t the only one resting on this mission.”

Somewhere in the background, Joochan scoffs. Jangjun shoots him a warning look, but the prince has already opened his mouth. “What kind of cold-blooded killer protects anyone but themselves?”

All of the weight leaves Jangjun’s blade and suddenly he’s pressing against nothing but air. He falls to the floor, arms trembling, as you whirl around to face Joochan.

Jangjun should feel relief. You’re not holding the knife in a dangerous position. He’s also free from your overwhelming strength. But your voice…

Your voice drips with pure ice.

“Don’t presume to know anything about me, Your Highness,” you snarl. Jangjun rises – he needs to get Joochan away, needs to get him out of your line of vision, why did he have to say anything at all – but a blade thunks into the wood next to his hand and he freezes. You barely even looked at him. “Don’t presume that all cold-blooded killers have absolutely zero capacity for any warmth.” You take a step closer. Jangjun can only get up slowly, silently, pray that you don’t do anything to Joochan before he’s fully risen. “After all, knowing you have someone to protect makes it so much easier to kill, doesn’t it?”

Jangjun stands up, just as shouts and footsteps begin to pound at the end of the hall. “Y/N –”

“Oh, we have company,” you cut him off, eyes glittering like ice shards in wintertime. You step back from Joochan, thankfully, and hoist yourself onto the open window – shit, that’s where you must have come from. “Sadly, even I can’t fight an army alone. Mull on my words, Your Highness. It seems you have some people you’d like to protect – maybe we’ll understand each other better next time.”

“Doubtful,” Joochan snarls. Jangjun flinches at the animosity in his tone. “I don’t kill. Not if I can help it.” His words, full of anguished certainty, grate at Jangjun’s ears – he knows his prince is speaking of the curse.

It doesn’t seem to affect you in the same way. “But you would’ve killed me just now, wouldn’t you?” You turn away, letting a small shower of coins fall from your hand to the floor. “Pay the innkeeper for the damage, yeah? I’ll take responsibility – if you’d like to mention I was an assassin, of course.” Your eyes glint in the moonlight, nothing like anything Jangjun remembers. “I’ll be seeing you again.”

. . .

In hindsight, Joochan was a little too quiet while his partner was off sorting out the mess with the innkeeper, but Jangjun still doesn’t expect him to drag him away at the first opportunity and immediately snap.

“You knew them,” he hisses. “You knew them, Jangjun – you said their name. How?”

His hackles rise. All Jangjun has done this entire time is try to protect him, and now he wants to make a fuss over a name? “I wasn’t always a royal guard,” he snaps. “I had a life before I joined, and it wasn’t a savory life, either.”

“So how did you know them?” Joochan demands again. “An assassin?”

“They weren’t an assassin when I knew them at the orphanage!” Jangjun crosses his arms. Might as well give the full truth. “They just disappeared one day and I thought they were dead, but then they turned back up as… this.”

“Gods above,” Joochan mutters, putting his head in his hands. “And after all the times you’d fought them, you just conveniently forgot to tell me?”

“What – it wasn’t relevant!” Jangjun snaps. “What was I supposed to say to you? Oh, hey, I know the assassin who was sent after you because it totally matters –”

“You might’ve said something about their skill –”

“I did! Didn’t I come back injured that one time –”

“– can’t believe you know an assassin – they almost killed –”

“They’re not completely inhuman, Joochan –”

The prince snaps his head up, eyes blazing. “Really? So you bought all that bullshit about ‘protecting’?”

Jangjun feels his lips curl in anger. You may be an assassin now, but the protective streak hasn’t gone away – the look in your eyes was the same when you talked about your needlework friend as when you spoke to him, all those years ago. “No, I didn’t buy that bullshit about ‘protecting’,” he snarls, leaning forward. “Because there was nothing to buy. You never knew them – I did, once.”

Joochan scoffs. “It’s almost like you know them too well.”

Too well.

Too well.

Jangjun’s fists clench at his sides. He can’t hurt a prince, can’t punch him, can’t slap him – he’s sworn to protect –

“I’ve spent all these months fighting off assassins for you,” he says lowly. “I killed people because you wouldn’t use your voice and I respected that. I made you two go up ahead as much as I could so that I would be more likely to die than both of you. I even talked to this same assassin for a whole morning and stalled them so you could get away – and now you’re going to insinuate that I have been working against you this entire time?”

Joochan’s jaw tightens, but he doesn’t back down. Jangjun itches to punch him, to knock him over and yell –

“Are things fine over here?”

The voice of Joochan’s partner brings both of them back to the present. They look between them unflinchingly, arms crossed. Jangjun almost feels chastised. “We need to move before the assassin comes back.”

Bit by bit, Jangjun forces himself to untense. They’re right. The moon is still high, the stars still bright, and they don’t have anywhere to stay anymore – they need to start moving. “Fine.,” he says roughly, spinning towards the forest. “Let’s go.”

He doesn’t speak to Joochan before morning comes.

. . . . .

Meeting Jangjun the next time feels different.

He’s alone, this time. Prince and gardener have probably gone up alone like they usually do. You grind your teeth – Jangjun may not quite be your equal in fighting, but he has a knack for staying one step ahead that you really hate – but you spring out anyway, knocking him to the ground.

“Oh, fuck off,” Jangjun gasps, barely dodging your slash. He rolls over and kick – you avoid his leg, leaping out of the way as he lashes out with his own sword. “Now?”

“Would you have preferred next week?” you snap. A knife tip slides between your fingers and you hold it up, watching him closely. “This has been dragging on long enough – wouldn’t you like to get out of this limbo sooner rather than later?”

“I’d say yes if I didn’t want to stay alive, but I do.” Jangjun’s lips curve, though the smile doesn’t reach his eyes. It makes you blink – did something happen to him? “So, sadly, I’ll take limbo a little longer over death.”

“Of course,” you mutter. “That would make my job too easy.”

He lunges towards you in reply. You dance out of the way only just in time, frozen for a second because –

Jangjun doesn’t do offense. He hasn’t been on the offense, hasn’t made the first move in all the times you’ve fought.

Which means he’s now trying to kill you just as much as you’re trying to kill him.

Ah. So that’s what was different.

You bare your teeth, dodging another strike as you swipe under his arm. He hisses as your blade rips through flesh, blood dripping from his side onto the ground. “You know, you’d have an easier time staying alive if you gave up your royal duties and just left the prince to his own devices,” you say, nimbly whirling around as his sword flashes.

Jangjun’s eyes darken. You barely avoid his next hit. “He’s one of only a few I trust to help make life better for people like me.”

Blades clash. Sparks fly. You spin away, eyebrows furrowed. “People like you?”

He doesn’t mean orphans. That’s too generic. He would’ve said “people like us,” then – you fall under that category too, and Jangjun hasn’t forgotten. People like me…

Another person flashes through your mind, a seamstress forced to put her skill into peasant shirts and clothes when her fingers should be flying through colorful threads and shimmering silks, weaving stories into cloth and tapestries.

“I wish you didn’t have to hide,” you say. “Your art is more beautiful than anything I’ve ever seen.”

A bitter smile, fingers deftly embroidering a small piece of silk even as she looks at you. “People like me will always have to hide.”

People like me…

A memory returns of Jangjun, looking at the threads in your bag like they were something precious.

Your eyes widen. Gods, how did you not put it together before? “You’re a weaver.”

Jangjun freezes halfway across the clearing you two have torn up in your fight, fingers clenched so hard around his sword that you can see his knuckles turn white. “What, just another reason to kill me?” He laughs, cold, desperate – it chills your spine even more than your employer’s deadly gaze. Jangjun never laughs – laughed – that way. “Collect an additional reward for the murder of a weaver?”

You school your features. “All are equal in the eyes of death,” you quote, readying your knives. “And what makes you think that prince of yours will do shit to help you? His own family killed yours.”

He doesn’t move, though his jaw tightens, the rest of his body tensed to spring. “I don’t,” he finally says, voice sharp but with the slightest wobble at the edge.

The old urge to hold him close itches in your fingers. You clench your knives harder. The urge doesn’t leave.

“I don’t,” he repeats, “but he’s the closest thing I’ve got to hope. And…” His eyes meet yours, cold, betrayed. Any trace of a smile on his face has gone. “He’s one of the few who never left me.”

One of the few who never left me.

Who never left me.

Never left me.

You almost take a step back as the words pierce your chest. “You – you think I meant to leave? You think it was my fucking fault I disappeared?”

Jangjun doesn’t flinch. “Do you know how much it fucking hurt when you left?” he snarls. “It might not have been your fault, but you still left – and you know that my sister disappeared too, how do you think I felt when I’d just convinced myself you were dead and then you came back like – like this?”

“You think it was all sunshine and rainbows for me?” you spit. “Seriously? You think I didn’t nearly get myself killed all four times I tried to escape? You think I didn’t try to convince myself that you were dead too just so I’d give up that stupid hope that you were still alive – and then I come back to see you as one of my targets, someone I’m supposed to kill – you think that was fine for me, too?”

He holds your gaze. “You honestly never seemed to have a problem with it.”

Shit. Gods, why did you say anything at all? Why didn’t you close your mouth – now he knows, now he fucking knows how much it initially hurt to realize just who you had to kill in order to keep someone else alive –

Too late. The words are already out of your mouth, Jangjun has interpreted them, and you don’t know what to say in response. “I do have a problem with it,” you finally say. “But I have a new life now.” You stare into eyes that once used to keep you alive. “And I’m not going to give it up for anything.”

Not for anything.

Not even for you.

Jangjun laughs, short, brief. “You’d die for this friend you have, wouldn’t you?”

This time, it’s your turn to hold his gaze. “In a heartbeat.”

Wind whistles through the trees. Then Jangjun breaks the silence, his voice low, fractured, almost broken. “There was a time when you would’ve died for me, I think.”

Your heart twists. Yes, there was a time, a time when you were younger and more naïve, just another orphan of many at the overcrowded orphanage, when you would’ve died for Jangjun. But such a time never came, not until now.

When it’s already too late.

“We’ve both changed, Jangjun.” You raise your knives. “We both have different people we want to protect.”

His gaze shatters for a moment before it turns flinty, cold. “For the record,” he says softly, “there was a time when I would’ve died for you, too.”

Blades meet in a crash of metal and sparks.

. . . . .

The gardener’s song isn’t as strong on wounds as it is with plants, but Jangjun welcomes any last bit of respite from the pain that he can get. At least the blood has stopped flowing, even if the cuts still sting.

His head hurts more than the wounds do, anyway.

Jangjun sits awake in the alley, staring at the sky of stars. He only barely got away from you, leading you out of the forest and into the town before ducking into the first open place he could find, some old tavern full of seedy people. No one gave him a second glance – people walk into bars injured and bloody all the time, apparently – and he’d waited with his heart in his throat, praying his instincts were right, that you wouldn’t be waiting for him outside and that you wouldn’t follow him to where Joochan has promised to meet him, an alley they’d found when the prince had had to come here to visit one time.

You didn’t follow, as far as Jangjun knows. You never popped out of the shadows to ram a blade through his chest, never dropped down from a roof to slit his throat. For all your bravado, you always seem to take the hard way of killing him – was it that foolish of him to believe you didn’t want to kill him?

But if you weren’t lying, knowing that you have him as a target hurts you, too. You just have other people you care about more.

Jangjun doesn’t think you were lying. That’s not the type of thing someone says as a lie in the middle of a fight. But now, as he’s beginning to realize just how different you are from the teenager he remembered at the orphanage, how can he trust what he thinks?

Gods. Jangjun buries his head in his stinging hands. One of the cuts has probably opened up again.

Why is it so hard to accept that you’ve changed?

Something shifts. Jangjun’s head whips up, ready to dodge a flash of silver in the dark –

It’s only Joochan, startling awake from some nightmare or another. His eyes blink open with a gasp, glittering in the moonlight, and then he winces, rubbing his neck. Jangjun hears a hiss of pain and meets Joochan’s eyes out of habit.

Discomfort crawls up his spine. They haven’t spoken much since that last night at the inn where his gardener nearly died (they would’ve died, definitely, if Jangjun hadn’t woken up at the sound of light footsteps), and neither of them has apologized. But Jangjun doesn’t look away and Joochan doesn’t either.

The prince speaks first. “I’m sorry, Jangjun.”

Jangjun blinks. “Come again?”

“I’m sorry,” he says louder.

A mocking grin curves Jangjun’s lips. “I know, I just wanted to hear you say it again.”

“You –” Joochan scoffs, exasperated, but Jangjun detects a little bit of fondness that lightens his heart. “Gods, you’re a nightmare.”

“And yet you keep me around.”

“For some reason, yes.” Joochan smiles slightly. “But really. I am sorry.” He swallows visibly, eyes still meeting Jangjun’s even if he can tell how hard it is. “It was out of line for me to say that you were anything but loyal. I was angry that they’d almost died, but… that doesn’t excuse it.”

“It doesn’t,” Jangjun agrees. “But I get it. And I’m sorry, too.” The grin falls off his lips as memories of a bladed smile, sharp eyes glinting in the moonlight flash through his mind. “It obviously doesn’t look good that I know an assassin, of all types of people, especially the one who’s after us.”

“You don’t need to apologize for knowing someone.”

Maybe I do, because I cared about them.

Cared.

Jangjun swallows the bitter taste in his throat. He still cares about you. It’s just…

What would he do if it was a choice between you dead, or Joochan?

The answer comes immediately. Joochan. For all the reasons he told you and more – Joochan is good, a truly good person. Even though he technically holds no royal status anymore, he has hope that the prince will be able to bring about some change for weavers, or at least provide a safe haven for him and any others he might find. He deserves Jangjun’s loyalty and more. Jangjun knows he would die for him.

His heart thumps, painfully. There was a time when he would’ve died for you. But…

“You’d die for this friend you have, wouldn’t you?”

“In a heartbeat.”

Maybe he’s changed more than he thought, too.

“Even then, they’re still out to kill us.” He looks up at the cold crescent moon, previously a comfort, now a reminder of your smile. “And you have to know that my loyalty is to you, not to them.”

Regardless of how much I care for them.

Joochan looks like he wants to say something, but he stops himself. His eyes rove over Jangjun’s face, leaving him feeling too open, too vulnerable – what if Joochan sees his struggle? What if he sees that even though Jangjun speaks the truth, his heart screams that it’s a lie?

But nothing comes of it. The prince just dips his head slightly in acknowledgement. “Thank you.”

On any other day, Jangjun would just flippantly say no problem. He doesn’t like to deal with sensitivity and emotions the way Joochan does, after all. But there is a problem. A lot of them, actually. So he just half-smiles and says, “You’re welcome.”

There will come a time when you two will fight again. Jangjun has never wanted to kill you before. He still doesn’t now.

But if he has to, he will. He will.

Because he has other people he needs to protect, too.

. . . . .

You’re back home.

Or almost. You weren’t born here, if the orphanage owners were telling the truth (they had no reason to lie, you’re pretty sure). But since the day you were snatched off the street, this has been where you spent the majority of your time. You don’t know why the prince and his little posse have come out here to hide, but at least it gives you a chance to see your friend before you have to move on again.

“What happened to you?” is the first thing she says when you swing by her stall. Her nose wrinkles in mock disgust, but you can see the concern in her face when you drop your bag of things on her counter, wincing when the strap digs slightly into one of your cut fingers.

“Nice to see you too,” you reply, rolling your eyes. “Is that the kind of greeting you give a friend who’s brought you all this nice stuff?”

“Y/N, honestly,” she says, eyeing the bag. “You don’t need to spend all this on me, it’s really fine –”

“Just take it,” you say, half-smiling. “You know I’m not going to stop giving you stuff no matter what you say.”

Because it’s an apology. An apology for keeping so many truths from her – what you do, who you really are – and for putting her indirectly in danger. Most assassins know to stay far, far away from here or you’ll rip them limb from limb (literally – Minho once tried to mess around with you and that was the only time you’ve ever seen him scared of you), but there’s always a chance that someone whom you’ve wronged will come back for revenge. And what then?

But you haven’t told her. You can’t – all the breath disappears from your throat the second you even think about it. Because what if you lose her, too, the only constant you’ve had since Jangjun, all those years ago?

Your lips twist. Don’t think about him.

“Y/N?”

Too late, you realize you’ve been staring into the distance for a while. “Sorry.” A smile plasters itself back onto your face, only slightly forced. “Zoned out. Thinking about work.”

The concern comes back in full force. Even if she doesn’t know exactly what you do, she knows it isn’t exactly legal – the stuff you buy her, the money you leave at her doorstep doesn’t speak of perfectly lawful causes, after all. She knows it’s dangerous, knows it’s not easy work, but you can handle her concern as long as you don’t have to explain the truth.

“Hey, it’s not bad.” You smile wider, crinkling your eyes to make it genuine. “Just a little rough, recently.” That’s putting it lightly. “How have you been?”

“I mean, I’m not bankrupt yet.” Her lips curl sardonically. “Thanks to you, really. But I’m staying afloat.” She looks around cautiously, then down at the several spools of thread and lengths of cloth sitting at the bottom of the bag. “Weaving… it keeps me sane.”

The gratitude shining in her eyes makes everything worth it, the lies, the pain. She deserves to be this happy and so much more. “Always glad to be of service,” you say, breathing a sigh of relief when your voice doesn’t crack at the end. “Do you have time to take a short walk?”

She looks up and down the small marketplace, whose activity has begun to wind down with the approaching end of the day. “Probably? Give me a moment, let me pack up a little.”

You weave through the thinning crowds together, talking as the sun sets further. Words come and go in waves, natural, and for the first time in days, you feel yourself relaxing as you finally put your mind to things other than murder and boys you knew at orphanages in years past.

But then her eyes fix on a spot in the distance and she stops talking mid-sentence. You furrow your eyebrows, following her gaze – she never stops talking about her latest miniature tapestries or clothing designs –

Your eyes comes to rest on a familiar head of black hair as it rushes through the throng.

All of a sudden, the thoughts of murder and boys come back, pounding every corner of your skull. But that’s normal, and you can deal with it – you can’t not expect to see the people that you’re stalking in the same town, after all. 

What isn’t normal is how your best friend looks like she’s seen a ghost. 

You call her name once, twice, three times before she finally shakes her head and responds. “Sorry,” she says, voice thin. “I saw… I thought I saw someone I knew.”

You look back, pretending like you didn’t see the exact same person. “Who?”

“Never mind, it doesn’t matter.” She shakes her head again, like she’s trying to convince herself. “I just…” A short laugh falls from her lips, bitter, broken. “I thought I saw my brother. Well, a grown-up version of him.”

Brother. She has a brother – you already knew that – but she never described him, never told you his name. All you know is that he was a weaver too and that they weren’t blood-related, her family took him in when his was killed and after her parents were executed, they somehow got separated and she never saw him again. Your heart broke for her the first and only time she ever told you the story – it breaks again, even now, to know that she thought she saw her brother in Jangjun’s face.

Unless –

Your eyes widen.

Jangjun had a sister. He had a sister who disappeared when he was young, after his parents were killed – he never saw her again –

No. You try to breathe. No, it’s not possible, it can’t fucking be possible – there is no way Jangjun is your best friend’s long lost brother, the brother she thought was dead all of these years –

He’s a weaver. He’s a weaver. It’s half the reason he’s stuck by the prince for so long even when he decided he’d had enough to do with royal life – Jangjun is a weaver and your best friend’s long lost brother was a weaver too.

“What – what was your brother’s name?” you ask softly, trying to keep the shake out of your tone. You pray for a name that isn’t the one pounding through your head, the name that gave you the courage to attempt four escapes before you convinced yourself the owner was dead, the name that’s haunted you for the past few months as you try to kill its owner and the two others he’s trying so hard to protect –

“Jangjun,” she says softly, eyes sparkling in the last glow of afternoon sunlight. “His name was Jangjun.”

Your heart drops like a stone.

. . .

You’re not exactly sure when you start breathing again, but luckily, it’s before your friend has the chance to see that there’s something wrong with you, too. She’s preoccupied with her own thoughts, which gives you a bit of time to compose yourself. “Hey, are you all right?” you ask, hoping your voice doesn’t tremble. “Maybe we should go back.”

“I – yeah. Sorry.” She looks down, shoulders sagging. “I was just rattled. Sorry that this got cut short.”

“Hey, shut up.” You nudge her slightly, curving the corners of your lips slightly even as your heart drags down, down, down. “If you’re not feeling well, it’s completely fine. I’ll hopefully be back in a couple of months, anyway – we can talk more then.”

You help her pack up the stall, walk everything back to her small house. At the door you bid her goodbye, and after tossing a pouch of coins inside, you run off into the forest, laughing as she yells fond obscenities behind you.

The laughter dies away the second you know you’re far enough away that she can’t hear you.

Jangjun is your best friend’s brother. Your best friend is Jangjun’s sister. They’re long lost siblings, siblings who loved each other, who miss each other like the earth misses the sky, who both believe the other is dead…

Your back hits a tree and you slide down against the bark. You don’t know. You don’t fucking know. You could be wrong. All of this is speculation, none of it might be true, she could have spoken of a different Jangjun with black hair, someone who isn’t your Jangjun, loyal guard to the prince, one of the targets you’ve been assigned to kill because you kill to keep yourself and your best friend alive –

Your head snaps up. She needs to stay alive. She has to. She’s all you have, no one else – there’s no one else you have, no one since they took you away from Jangjun and made you into this –

You have to kill him. You have to, or else you’ll be dead and there’ll be no one to support or protect your friend. Her business will fail and she’ll be forced to go into the dirty lines of work you dabble in, or worse, people who hated you might go after her. This is your fault – you cared about her so much that you couldn’t leave and now people know she’s precious to you, so you have to stay alive just to protect her from dangers she doesn’t even know, like assassins –

The thought of Minho getting anywhere near her makes you shudder. 

You have to kill Lee Jangjun, her brother, in order to keep her alive.

A dry, strangled sob escapes your lips. Who’s more important? Sister or brother? Both mean things to you, one a lifeline when you were a teenager, the other a lifeline now, one whom you loved as in a romance, the other whom you love as a dearest friend – who do you choose? How can you choose?

Your fists clench, nails digging into your palms. You’ve come so far, fought Jangjun so many times – even though you slipped up once, you’ve made it clear you will kill him for this best friend whom he doesn’t know is his sister. He’s tried to kill you, too – his loyalty to the former prince outweighs whatever he might or might not have felt for you.

You’re on even ground. Even ground, you tell yourself, even as the crescents in your skin begin to burn with blood. One of you will kill the other, no matter what – so all you need to do is keep this secret to yourself.

Another secret. It burns on your tongue. Another secret you’ll have to keep from your best friend, besides your job and how much danger it puts her in.

You swallow, staring up at the sky. It doesn’t matter. Once Jangjun is dead, it’ll only make true the false certainty she has in her mind. Jangjun doesn’t even have a clue his sister is alive – he’ll never know. Only you will know, and even if the secret eats you alive, you’ll keep it until the day you die. That way, it only hurts you. No one else.

The crescent moon hears your silent vow.

I’ll kill him. I swear I will, or I’ll die trying.

I have to.

. . . . .

Everything hurts. Everything either aches with a sore muscle or stings and burns with a bloody slice but instinct drives Jangjun to block your two knives as they arc down towards his chest, glinting coldly in the moonlight –

His teeth rattle in his jaw at the impact, the sound of metal against metal screeching in his ears. It takes all of his strength to keep his stance, to push back against you bearing your blades down even harder. Your eyes glint as they stare into his, wild, feral – he’s never seen you look like this before, not even when Joochan insulted you so many months ago at the inn.

Has it only been months? To Jangjun, it feels like you’ve been back for years, chasing him with your two twin knives, smaller blades flying from your fingers and ripping apart his skin –

You whip your blades away and Jangjun collapses from the sudden lack of weight. One stabs down, down and he rolls away, barely avoiding it as it plunges into the ground. Dirt stings one of his open wounds but Jangjun grits his teeth, rises on one knee to stand up again – he can do it, he has to do it, he has to because Joochan barely got a head start and if Jangjun doesn’t keep you occupied, you’re going to catch up and kill him –

His head slams against a tree trunk so hard he sees stars. Pain blooms from the back of his skull and he groans involuntarily, eyes closing as his sword slips out of limp fingers, falling to the ground.

Cold, sharp metal rests under his chin. Panting breaths puff against his face. “Tell me where they are,” you hiss, “and I’ll make it quick.”

Jangjun almost laughs. This is like déjà vu from the first time you fought, the first time he saw you since they took you away from the streets all those years ago. Only this time, there’s no banter. 

He could change that. 

“Oh, come on, Y/N,” he whispers, the corners of his lips rising briefly in a smirk. “Don’t you know how much I hate tree bits in my hair?”

Your eyes look shiny. Jangjun would almost believe they were teary if he didn’t know for certain you would kill him in a heartbeat, even if it hurt. You might cry later, but not now. Not now.

But does he know even that? Both of you have changed – all of his intuition could be wrong.

He’s right, this time. If those are tears in your eyes, they don’t fall. “Don’t worry.” Your voice doesn’t even shake – if you hadn’t said it yourself, Jangjun would have no problem believing you truly didn’t care that you had to kill him, your childhood best friend. “I’ll pick them out of your scalp when you’re dead, just so you look nice at the funeral.”

“Would you cry then?” Jangjun asks, voice barely a whisper. The knife is too close. “Would you?”

Your gaze shutters. Maybe you’re about to cry. Maybe you’re holding back tears. But you don’t cry, don’t sob, don’t even say anything, so Jangjun doesn’t know, and he’ll never know, anyway, because that knife is going to be stained all over with his blood in seconds. “Tell me where they are,” you repeat. “I’ll find them, anyway – you might as well give yourself a quick and easy death.”

The pain in Jangjun’s head is making it increasingly hard to think. “No.”

That wild, feral look comes back into your eyes, splintering your pupils in the pale moonlight. The blade presses in deeper and your lips thin, no longer stretched in the knife-like curve Jangjun fell in love with – is still in love with –

Deeper. Deeper. Jangjun fights for breath. “Why won’t you just get it over with? Is this your idea of making me suffer?”

Deeper. Deeper. “Seriously –” he gasps – “come on, Y/N.”

Deeper. Deeper. He’s surprised you haven’t broken skin. “I’m not going to say shit –”

With a sound that’s more animal than human, a sob mixed with a guttural cry, the knife begins to drag and Jangjun gasps, ready for the searing pain of skin ripping beneath metal –

The blade drops to the ground and Jangjun follows its path, sinking down without your weight to hold him up anymore. You stumble away, not even flinching when the knife falls dangerously close to your foot, eyes squeezed tightly shut as you take another step back, and then another. Your eyes glitter in the moonlight, the wild, feral look replaced by something even scarier.

Broken, bloody glass. Shards of something completely beyond repair.

“Why didn’t you kill me?” he asks, words wheezing, half air.

Your voice is barely a whisper. “You’re too valuable. You have information.”

Both reasons he gave so many months ago in a crowded marketplace under the sun, just before you pressed your knife into his side to show him just how much you’d changed. He didn’t want to believe it then – didn’t allow himself to believe it then – but now he does. You’ve changed.

But you bought thread – blue thread, he remembers – for your needlework friend. Spoke of her with a familiar smile. Something’s stayed the same, that protective streak. That giving streak.

His lips curve into the trembling semblance of a smirk. “You sure those are the only reasons?”

You snatch up your knife with a grace that belies your broken gaze, positioning the blade between your fingers. But you don’t throw.

“Go.”

Jangjun blinks. “What –”

“Go.” The word rips itself from your throat, grates in Jangjun’s ears – it roars and shrieks all at once, some unimaginable pain flaying his bloody skin. “Before I change my fucking mind.”

He scrambles up, pressing a hand to the wound in his side. You don’t move as he picks up his sword, sheathes it – not a muscle twitches even as he stumbles away between the trees, fleeing the unknown pain in your voice.

Your shattered eyes follow him into the dark.

. . . . .

There are only two knives up your sleeves today, another two sheathed in plain sight at your waist. You lean against the trunk of a tree, fingers clenching a folded, crumpled sheet of paper. Your tired eyes slip shut as the sun begins its descent into the sky.

You couldn’t kill him. You thought you could. Swore you would.

But three months ago, in the forest bordering this very town, you proved yourself wrong.

Your eyes squeeze even more tightly closed. Even though only paper rests in your hand, you can feel the handle of a blade against your palm, pressing it into his neck as blood began to bead on the skin. Moonlight glinted off the metal, off the red streaks painted on his skin – wounds that you had wrought with your own hands. You’d already caused so much pain. Why couldn’t you just end it right there?

“You’re too valuable. You have information.”

Bullshit, even to your own ears. But you didn’t want to say the truth, didn’t want to reveal anything more than you already had by admitting that one time that it hurt you to know he was your target.

“You sure those are the only reasons?”

You take a long, shuddering breath. It’s been three months and those words still haunt you.

How differently could that conversation have gone?

No, maybe you’d say. No, they’re not. There are too many more.

And then, bloodied and exhausted, Jangjun might still give you that tongue-in-the-cheek smirk as best he could and say, like my pretty face?

Or maybe not. You swallow. Maybe you’d have hurt him too much for him to joke like that.

But if he did, you’d shake your head and say no. Not his pretty face – or at least, not just his pretty face. The person who lies beneath that pretty face means more to you than the eyes, the nose, the lips all by themselves.

Then why?

Because…

Because you hurt him. You hurt her. In the process of trying not to hurt one, you hurt them both and even yourself, because all you know how to do is cause pain. All you know how to do is hurt. You slice skin and plunge knives into throats and watch blood drip from cold bodies because that’s all you know, even if you hate it. That’s how you live. It’s all you know.

No, it isn’t, some little part of you tries to argue. Maybe that’s the part that wants you to be the same as that teenager at the orphanage, the teenager Jangjun wanted you to be. You know how to care.

Your first instinct is to deny it. No, you don’t know how to care – if you did, you wouldn’t hurt people so much, would you? But you do. You even told the prince you did. You do know how to care – it’s just that the way you care brings pain to those you love. Always. Without fail.

You care. You fucking care. You cared about your friend so much that you couldn’t stay away even if it would keep her safe. You cared about her so much that you tried to make up for your inabilities with gifts of thread and silk and money. You cared about her to the point that you resolved to kill her brother so you would stay alive to keep protecting her from the danger you keep putting her in.

But you cared about her brother, too. You cared about Jangjun enough that you couldn’t kill him even for her, couldn’t kill him to keep you alive, couldn’t kill him to keep her safe. Somehow, you still cared for that stupid royal guard even years after you first separated, enough that you couldn’t do what you’d been trained to do at all costs. Murder.

You bury your head in your hands. Gods, life would be so much easier if you didn’t fucking care.

But you do. You care. Deeply. Just in all the wrong ways.

And the only way to distance yourself from that is to remove yourself entirely from the equation. No matter whether you live or die – and it’s more likely that you’ll die – you need to be gone.

Or you’ll only hurt them more.

You open your eyes, glancing up through the trees. The orange of the afternoon has finally dipped below the horizon, the first stars begun to twinkle in the sky. Hm. Maybe he isn’t coming. Not that you can blame him, thought – after all you put him through, no wonder he doesn’t trust you.

Then leaves rustle under soft footsteps, and Jangjun appears in a halo of hazy orange-gold.

You stare at him, eyebrows furrowed, lips drawn, shoulders tense. Even if he’s here, he definitely doesn’t trust you. It hurts, a little bit, but you suppose it’s what you had coming. After all, you were the one who was trying to convince him this whole time that you were dangerous. That you could kill him.

“I got your note,” he says flatly. His eyes glance over your figure, take in the two knives belted at your sides. “Almost thought you’d given up, honestly.”

The dryness in your throat makes it hard to swallow. You almost want to say something like I’m not here to commit murder, but even in your head, the words fall flat. After all you’ve done, you wouldn’t even trust yourself.

But if he thought you were going to do that anyway, why show up in the first place?

Doesn’t matter. You open your mouth to ask the rehearsed question. What was your sister’s name? The words sit on the tip of your tongue, ready to spill into the evening air –

“Do you think you could have killed me?”

Jangjun blinks. His eyebrows wrinkle further, though not with mistrust – just confusion. Then something else. But he doesn’t say anything.

You curse internally. “Never mind,” you mutter, turning away. “That’s not what I wanted to ask.” Even if I wanted to know the answer. You swallow. “What was your sister’s name?”

“Why?”

“Humor me.” You dare to glance back. “Just the first name.”

There’s a beat of silence. Then a familiar name falls from his lips, edged with pain.

You close your eyes. Confirmed. “She’s alive.”

A sharp intake of breath. More silence. “You’re lying.” Two words composed of disbelief, anger, betrayal…

Hope.

The corners of your lips lift, just barely. Jangjun deserves a bit of hope. “No, I’m not.”

“Is this your idea of a game?” he snaps. “Because, Y/N, this hurts more than anything you’ve ever done to me already.”

Ouch. But deserved.

You open your eyes. “I’m not lying,” you repeat. “And I didn’t know she was your sister until several months ago.” Before I broke down and tried to kill you for the last time.

“Fine. Let’s say you aren’t lying.” Jangjun crosses his arms. The betrayal in his face cuts deeper than any knife you’ve ever handled. “Why are you telling me? What kind of leverage do you want?”

“I’ll take you to her.” You pause, watching his eyes widen. “On one condition.”

His gaze immediately narrows. “I’m not saying shit.”

“You don’t have to.” You lift up the folded piece of paper that’s been slowly crumpling itself under your sweaty fingers this whole time, tearstained, messy, but truthful. You’ve only written the truth in its lines. No lies.

Your fingers shake the longer you look at the letter. She’ll hate you after reading it. She’ll hate you for everything you’ve done, even if it was for her, and the thought of your best friend hating you so much makes you want to rip the paper to pieces –

No. It doesn’t matter if she hates you. You’ll be gone by the time she’s thought of anything to say to you – if she wants to say anything at all.

You hold out the letter. “Give this to her. Don’t read it unless she allows you.” You force yourself to hold Jangjun’s gaze. “And when she’s done, take her somewhere far from here. As far away as possible.”

His eyes narrow. “You didn’t hurt –”

“Never.” At least, not in the way you think.

Jangjun takes the folded paper between two pinched fingers and slides it into a pocket. “Where is she?”

“Are you going to do what I said?” you ask.

A moment passes. Then he nods. “Yes.”

You turn around and step out of the trees, into the town. “Follow me.”

Evening dims to night as you walk through empty alleys and streets, Jangjun several paces behind. Not once do you turn around to make sure he’s following – you can hear his footsteps, and somehow, instinctively, you’re sure he won’t lose this tentative, temporary trust in you, not now.

Or so you hope.

You weave through the final buildings, emerging on a dusty street lined with dry, wild grass. The street ends not far ahead, but you push through the overgrown grass until you stand in front of a small house, windows boarded shut in a way that makes it look abandoned, but the faintest glow of warm light peeks through cracks in the wooden slats.  

You stop. “She lives here.”

Jangjun pauses beside you. Enough moonlight shines from the sky that you can see the painful hope in his eyes. “How do you know?”

What will he think if you tell him the truth?

You clench your fists, hard. It doesn’t matter, it doesn’t fucking matter what he thinks. He’s not going to see you again after this. “She was my friend.”

He’s looking at you. You know he is. His gaze bores into you like one of your knives digging into skin – he wants you to look back at him.

You don’t. “Go.”

One foot steps forward. Then another. Slowly, step by step, he walks up to the front of the house, as though in a trance, until he stands in front of the door.

And doesn’t do anything.

By all the gods. “Maybe you should knock,” you hiss in a carrying whisper. “You know, the thing where you hit the door with your hand.”

He looks back. It’s too dark to see his full expression, but it doesn’t look hateful, like you expected. Instead, he just lifts his hand and knocks.

Warm light spills onto the ground, darkened only by a figure in the doorway. She freezes – so does Jangjun –

Then she pulls him into one of her tight hugs that you’ve been on the receiving end of several times. You watch as Jangjun’s arms wrap around her too, slowly but with no less strength, and two figures twist into one with a love and care that you know you can only dream of.

Bittersweet coats your tongue. Yes, you can only dream of giving such care, much less receiving it. But at least you’ve done a little to alleviate all the pain you’ve caused, whether it be intentional or not, and there’s nothing more for you to do. Except stay out of their bubble of happiness.

You pull your hood over your head, turning away. This isn’t your happiness to partake in. Neither of them will notice you leaving, anyway, not even Jangjun – they’re still in their own world.

A little smile spreads your lips as you walk forward into the night.

By the time either of them looks back, you plan to have disappeared.

. . . . .

For the first few weeks, Jangjun tries to find you. You can’t have gone far, at least not in several days – he scours the town for you, then when they move, he searches the next town again and again until his sister sits down and makes him see reason, that if you don’t want to be found, you won’t be found. Besides, if you were still hiding out here, he would’ve at least glimpsed you already.

So he gives up his search. His sister is right – whatever happens, until you want someone to find you, no one will. Instead, he spends the days, weeks, months learning and relearning his sister, watching and accommodating and teaching himself how to be an older brother once more. Jangjun tries not to make the same mistakes he did with you – they’ve both changed, of course, even more so than you considering his sister was a child when they were separated, not even a teenager – but he still messes up, inevitably. So does she. Still, though, they learn. Together.

It’s more than anything Jangjun ever could have wanted.

But there’s still an emptiness in his chest, an emptiness he tries to fill with teasing his sister and laughing as she snaps back at him, learning new weaving patterns at the loom by her side. Joochan tells him he looks happier several months later, and Jangjun feels happier, too. There’s no denying that. But something eats at him as time passes. He knows what it is. He just doesn’t want to say it.

He’s waiting for you.

Jangjun doesn’t get it, not at first. He doesn’t understand what drives him out into the town to search for you from dawn to dusk, until someone finds him and drags him back. You tried to kill him – got close several times, too close – and you knew about his sister for three months before saying anything. You’re not the same teenager Jangjun fell for back at the orphanage, you’re someone different. More dangerous.

Yet he still wakes up from dreams of your curved, knife-like smile, and is disappointed when only a cold crescent moon meets his eyes instead.

When his sister finally lets him read your last letter, though, he understands. Through the tearstains and blurred words that mark the paper, he understands your motives, your actions, your apologies. He understands why you did what you did, he understands why you hurt people for the sake of helping others, he understands your overwhelming urge to protect those who’ve shown you kindness because that’s what he does, too, just in a less destructive way – a way that you could learn, if you ever came back.

“They meant a lot to you,” his sister says when his eyes finally lift from the letter. “Didn’t they?”

Jangjun can barely choke out the words to say you still mean a lot to him. Because even now, with all the parts that have changed, Jangjun still loves you, every part of you.

He doesn’t look for you, though, only waits. You don’t want to be found – your last apologies make that clear. You don’t even say goodbye in the end. It’s obvious you don’t expect any of them to want you back. 

Jangjun does. He wants to take your scarred hands between his, lace his fingers with your own, tell you that he forgave you a long time ago and that he loved you, still loves you, with everything he has. So he waits, hoping you’ll return – because if the gods forced your paths to meet once after they diverged, there has to be a chance they’ll let it happen once more.

Then, one day, you return.

He almost misses it. It’s the middle of the night, only a waxing moon spilling pale light through the window, and if Jangjun hadn’t woken up to get some water, he wouldn’t have heard the soft thump of something hitting the ground just outside the house.

Frowning, he pokes his head outside. No one else is awake, so it couldn’t be any of them –

A familiar figure freezes in front of a small package placed by the door.

Jangjun’s eyes widen. It’s you but it can’t be you, you didn’t have that scar under your eye and you weren’t as thin as this –

“Y/N?”

You spin around and sprint away.

Jangjun stays still for a moment, blinking – you came back, you came back –

And now you’re running away.

He sprints into the trees, crashing through fallen leaves and branches that seem to materialize out of nowhere. You’re up ahead – he can hear your footsteps thudding over the fallen grass, see your faint outline in the moonlight – and he’s calling your name but you don’t reply with anything but panting gasps and – are you crying?

It’s almost comical how easily he catches up. Just months ago, you probably could’ve beaten him in a sprint, but now he grabs your arm before you’re even that deep into the trees, spinning you around so he can look at you, just look at you, look at a face he’s been waiting to see for almost a year –

You fight. You struggle in his grip, sobbing now, hitting him with your free hand until he takes that one too, wraps his fingers around yours to stop your fight. “Y/N, please,” he begs, trying to calm you. “I’m not going to hurt you, just –”

“I know that!” you yell, twisting in his grip. “I’m the one –”

A knife slips out of your sleeve, probably loose from your struggle. Its tip digs into Jangjun’s wrist before it drops to the ground.

Beads of blood well up on his skin, glistening in the moonlight. Jangjun stares at the tiny cut, at the thin river of red beginning to trickle down his skin.

You wrench yourself away from his slackened grip, tears blooming in your eyes. Jangjun reaches out again, tries to take your hand – “Y/N, it doesn’t even hurt, it’s fine –”

“It doesn’t matter!” you yell. “It doesn’t fucking matter! All I ever do – you were never going to hurt me.” Your breath gasps, heavy and uneven. “I’m the one who’s only ever going to hurt you.”

Jangjun’s heart cracks at your broken voice. “Y/N, stop.” He takes a step closer and tries not to feel hurt when you take a step back. “Please, just – are you okay?”

“Why do you care?” you snap. “I tried to kill you for over six months!”

“But you didn’t kill me,” he says, holding your gaze even as you try to look away. “You didn’t.”

“So what? I still tried –”

“I did too,” Jangjun interrupts. “I tried to kill you too.”

“But I’m worse,” you snap, words almost a sob. “I’m worse – I’ve killed so many people and some of them I don’t even regret, I try to care but when I do I only hurt the people I’m trying to care for –”

“That last time, you asked me if I would’ve killed you.” Jangjun reaches out. You flinch, but you don’t fight him this time when he takes your hands. “At one point, I swore I would’ve. But now I know I couldn’t.”

Something like a laugh rips itself from your throat, but it sounds more like a wheeze and a gasp and grates at Jangjun’s ears. “Are you stupid? Why wouldn’t you?”

“The same reason you couldn’t kill me.” He squeezes your limp, scarred hands. “Am I stupid for being in love with you?”

“Yes!” You try to tear yourself away again, but he keeps his grip. “Yes, you are, Lee Jangjun – I’m a murderer, a killer for hire, gods, I shouldn’t even have come back, this was such a fucking mistake –”

“Why did you come back?”

You bite your lip hard, as though debating whether or not to say something. Then steel flashes across your expression as you stare into his eyes. “I tried to find you,” you reply, voice tight, “because of that package I left by your door. Thread. Money. Gods, I don’t even remember what I put in there – I didn’t want any of it.”

Jangjun blinks. “Then what were you going to do?”

“I was going to just… leave. I’m a loose cannon.” You laugh, a cutting, brief sound. “I had a year to kill you. Then I didn’t. I’d failed my last assignment – it was either succeed with this one or die.”

His blood freezes. No wonder you were so set on your mission. “Y/N –”

“They’re dead.” Your voice is bleak. “I killed my employer. And several other assassins. Or they would’ve gone after you. And me. Again.”

Jangjun just stares. By all the gods, just how much did you go through in this past year?

“Now you know.” You try to tug your hands away again. “Why aren’t you letting go of me?”

That brings Jangjun back to the present. “Why would I?”

“You really are stupid,” you mutter. “Why do you want someone with all this blood on their hands to be anywhere near you?”

“You seem to think, that just because you’ve killed people and hurt others while trying to protect them, you’re evil,” Jangjun says slowly.

You snort. “Bingo!”

“You hurt yourself more.”

That takes you aback. “So what? I still hurt other people – I hurt you –”

“You’re not evil.” Jangjun forces you to look at him. “You’re just lost.”

“Broken,” you correct.

“Maybe,” he concedes. “But not unfixable.”

You fall silent.

“You’re not evil,” he repeats. “Not even unforgivable. I forgave you a long time ago. So did my sister. She misses you, you know.”

“Why –”

“You were there for her when no one else was,” Jangjun interrupts. “Not even me. You only ever tried to protect her, even if you didn’t always tell the whole truth.”

“Your prince probably doesn’t want to see me ever again,” you retort. “Doesn’t he mean something to you, too? He was there for you when I wasn’t.”

“He read the letter.” Jangjun runs a thumb over a thin line of scar tissue on your hand. The movement seems to soothe you. “And he said something that made me realize how lucky I really was.”

“Lucky?”

“I had people to care for and who cared for me,” he says. “Joochan, the second prince, several servants and other guards around the palace. You didn’t have anyone, did you? Except my sister, and even that was sporadic.”

A beat passes. You shake your head.

“He’s trying to understand,” Jangjun continues. “You know your struggle better than me, so you know better, but I think he’s at least on the way. His partner, the gardener – they already forgave you, too. Joochan’s just harder to crack, sometimes.”

Both of you fall silent, then, you probably trying to work through your thoughts, Jangjun trying to figure out what you’re thinking. Finally, you open your mouth. “What if I hurt you again?”

Jangjun’s heart crumbles at the waver in your voice. “You might,” he says. “But I might hurt you, too. We’re both learning, you know.” The corners of his mouth lift, slightly. “I’m still trying to transition from being a royal guard.”

“What are you now?” you ask.

He purses his lips, thinking. “A wood chopper. Gardener, occasionally. Cook. Weaver.”

“Your food is edible?”

Jangjun feels his heart lift at the slight teasing bite in your tone. “Probably more than yours,” he snipes back before continuing. “A brother, too. And…” Tentatively, he tangles your fingers with his. You don’t flinch this time. “Someone who loves you. If you’ll let me.”

The tiny smile that was growing slips off your face, but the broken glass look in your eyes fades slightly, less shattered than before. “What could I be?”

“I could teach you to weave or sew.” He looks at your tangled fingers, at the scars that cover your skin. They’re deft and you’re smart, you could pick it up quickly. “Even if you can’t tell stories the same way we do, there are other arts you could learn. Joochan’s partner might teach you to garden – you’ve never heard their song, it’s beautiful.” It might help you heal. “No cooking, though.” Jangjun smirks. “You’d probably burn down the kitchen.”

Your lips curve slightly. He soaks in the sight, the knife-like smile he loves so much, sharp and bladed but protective and somehow sweet. “Would you let me love you, too?”

Jangjun folds your hands in his. Your eyes sparkle – broken glass, yes, but shards on their way to mending, to becoming whole.

He smiles. “My heart is already yours.”

. . . . .

The palace was in fury. There was no trace left of the last assassin who had been sent, and upon investigation, little left of the original company at all. Money had been spent and havoc wrought, and nothing of it. Few cared enough anymore to find a lost prince rumored to be dead, much less the kidnappers who had taken him, and though the king and queen gritted their teeth in anger, there was nothing they could do.

The last assassin found a home in the guard’s arms, a steadiness in the heartbeat of his chest. Though they were hesitant to love at first, knowing how much they had hurt not just him but those who around them too, but the guard was gentle in his voice, patient in his care. Slowly, as the days, months, then years went by, the assassin allowed themselves to live again, to love, to care in the fiercely deep way they had learnt over years past, enough to give their heart to the guard.

Few would have noticed anything strange about the group of five that lived peacefully at the edge of the woods in a small town far from the capital. Certainly no one would have guessed there were two weavers among them, as well as a former prince, palace gardener, and trained assassin. This is where their story should end, with a motley family and their chaotic beginnings.

But someone knew of at least four of the five, and in time, he would ask them to risk their safety once more to bring about change. To topple a regime. For as those around him left to walk their own paths, he sought to find his way too – though in a world of peace and prosperity, not the iron rule of two monarchs whose voices pained more than they claimed to heal.

The words of this story now come to a close, with a furious palace and a tentative love. But the world is not over, not all ends reached. The lives told within still have years left to live.

After all, where one story ends, another only begins.

If you enjoyed, please don’t forget to reblog and leave a comment to tell me what you thought! Thank you for reading and have a lovely day <3

(1 reblog = 1 prayer for whoever’s story comes next <3)

#kpopscape #golden child #golcha #gncd #jangjun #lee jangjun #golden child jangjun #golcha jangjun #golden child scenarios #golden child imagines #golden child oneshots #golcha scenarios #golden child jangjun scenarios #golcha jangjun scenarios #golden child x reader #golcha x reader #lee jangjun x reader #jangjun x reader #golden child jangjun x reader #golcha jangjun x reader #fluff #angst #fantasy #tw death #tw cursing #tw blood #royalty!au #weaver!au #to find solace in your arms #scriptura-delirus

[fantasticallyfoolishidea]

So, what’s “Her Sweet Kiss” actually about?

There are a lot of posts about “Her Sweet Kiss” going around already. I might be kinda late to the party but hear me out. By now, plenty of people have started interpreting it as Jaskier’s song about his heartbreak over Geralt sending him and you know what? That’s great. Love it. Amazing. Superb.

But you know what’s also hella damn sexy?

Cold, hard, textual evidence. And damn, does the text deliver.

(Actual analysis starts underneath the line break bc this got longer than anticipated.)

edit 12/01/20: The whole thing’s now available in Brazilian Portuguese, courtesy of the extremely kind @sunshine-any.

So, just or a minute, I want you to forget all about Jaskier, and Geralt, and Yennefer, the events of “Rare Species”… Actually, I’d like you to just forget about the entirety of The Witcher until I get to the point. We’ll get back to them later. For now, let’s just pretend that “Her Sweet Kiss” is like any other song you might hear on the radio by an artist you’ve never heard of before.

And now, only now, without any of the show’s baggage, let’s have a look at what’s going on in this son(g) of a bitch, starting out with the first couple of lines:

The fairer sex, they often call it But her love’s as unfair as a crook It steals all my reason Commits every treason Of logic, with naught but a look A storm breaking on the horizon Of longing and heartache and lust

Okay so, you’ve got a narrator figure (whom, for simplicity’s sake, I’ll be using he/him pronouns for) and you’ve got a nameless woman he’s singing about. The song’s about love, but not the happy kind. Love robbing someone of all logic and reason is a staple of love poetry, but in this case the narrator frames it as a betrayal. The woman’s love feels “unfair” to the narrator, and he blames her for his loss of logic and reason. A single glance of hers and the narrator is overcome with a whirlwind of emotions – longing, heartache and lust. However, “a storm breaking on the horizon” suggests a sense of distance coupled with these emotions rather than a sense of immediacy.

She’s always bad news It’s always lose, lose So tell me love, tell me love How is that just?

These lines expand on the idea of unfairness. Her mere presence pains the narrator and “it’s always lose, lose”. In other words, there’s nothing he can do that will lead to a favourable outcome for him. A third party which the narrator addresses as “love” is introduced and he asks them “How is that just?”. It’s quite apparent that he feels wronged. At this point, the “love” he’s addressing could refer to a number of things. For example, he could be addressing the woman (think, “Why do you do this to me, my love?”); he could be addressing the concept of love, yet another staple of love poetry, (think, “Love, why do torment us humans like this?”). I don’t think it’s either of them, for reasons I’ll be getting to in a minute.

But the story is this She’ll destroy with her sweet kiss

The refrain is rather straight-forward, so I’ll spare you the repetition. By going out of his way to state “But the story is this” the narrator solidifies his position as a narrator figure, telling a story. You could take this as a suggestion that he’s not quite in the midst of things. He sings about how “She’ll destroy with her sweet kiss” but he’s vague about it. There’s no concrete mention of what she’s destroying. It could be their relationship, the narrator could be the narrator’s heart, let your imagination run wild, for now, because the second stanza clears all of that right up. Kind of.

Her current is pulling you closer And charging the hot humid night The red sky at dawn is giving a warning, you fool Better stay out of sight

Now would you look at that. Our narrator isn’t singing to himself, nor is he simply singing to a nondescript audience. There’s a third party (whom i’ll be using they/them pronouns for. Remember you don’t know anything outside of what’s written in the lyrics) he is addressing, who is captivated by the woman, and the narrator claims they are missing distinct warning signs. The narrator’d rather they stayed away from the woman.

I’m weak my love, and I am wanting

And this is where we start to get the whole picture. The narrator addresses the third person as “my love”. Which bears a lot of significant because it turns everything we’ve established so far on its head. (For one, it implies that when he asks “tell me love / how is that just?” it’s this “love” he’s talking to, not the concept of love, and certainly not the woman). He’s realised that “his love” is falling for the woman. The reason he feels the woman’s love is “unfair as a crook” and why it’s causing him so much pain isn’t because they’re involved in some ill-fated romance; it’s because the one he calls “his love” is the object of the woman’s love and he feels like no matter what he does, he’s bound to lose them one way or another. He’s pushed into the role of an observer while the woman and “his love” were getting entangled, hence his assumption of the role of a narrating figure rather than a figure with agency. Looking at “I’m weak my love, and I am wanting” and the following lines as a whole is kinda tricky because there’s a number of ways you could read that. It could be that the narrator is admitting that he’s tired of fighting the inevitable, hence feeling weak and wanting. However, the narrator could also be admitting to his shortcomings – as in “I know I’m weak and that I’m lacking [as a companion, perhaps? just one example]”.

If this is the path I must trudge I welcome my sentence Give to you my penance Garroter, jury and judge

Essentially, what’s happening is that the narrator is giving up. He’s accepted the way things are (or the way “his love” thinks things should be, as “sentence” suggests that some sort of judgement has been passed or a decision been made) and assumes responsibility for what wrongs he might have done his lover. By uniting the roles of “garroter, jury and judge” in “his love” he’s basically giving them (and them only) free reign over his fate. Cue the refrain.

But the story is this She’ll destroy with her sweet kiss

Now for the fun part. Because this isn’t just some random song created in a vacuum. Remember how it is a song sung and composed by Jaskier? And remember the episode it appeared in? There are some minor differences, of course. I won’t start guessing about how this might relate to Jaskier, Geralt and Yennefer’s relationship because then we’d be bridging over into speculative territory and I only wanted to try and figure out what’s going on with the lyrics. Some have pointed out that, in the episode, Jaskier originally debated making the line either “gorgeous” or “lovely garroter, jury and judge” before eventually using neither. Others have pointed out that, in-universe, Marilka also acknowledged that “Geralt” and “Garroter” sound somewhat similar, which could be interpreted as an intentional parallel from the actual writers’ side.

In conclusion, I’m shamelessly stealing someone else’s observation that “Her Sweet Kiss” totally is the “Jolene” of the Witcher-Verse.

Make of that what you will.

edit 06/01/20: Tiny caveat. I was too lazy to get into the whole thing about "real author” vs. “implied author” vs. “narrator” vs. “characters who just so happen to be writers”. Just, keep in mind, Jaskier is a bard who makes a living off his art. Writing songs is his job, and oftentimes a good song is one that makes people emotional. A lot of stuff in ep. 6 can be used to support the interpretation that HSK’s about Jaskier’s actual heartbreak over Geralt and Yennerfer’s relationship. But, I also cited “cold, hard, textual evidence” which, at the end of the day, boils down to “HSK is about a love triangle” and “Jaskier was working on Her Sweet Kiss around the time he and Geralt parted ways”. It’s a conspicuous parallel that may yet affect future episodes but, please, don’t misunderstand me as treating it as a foregone conclusion. What I was trying to say is, “here’s what we can gather from the lyrics themselves” and it can mean as little or as much as you want it to mean for Geralt and Jaskier’s relationship.

#the witcher #her sweet kiss #geraskier #gerlion #geralt x jaskier #fantastically foolish literary analysis

[hawkland]

Destiel fic recs #3 - the (mostly) longfic edition!

It’s been a while since my last rec post - mostly because I’ve been wallowing in a number of longer fics (50-350k!) so it’s taken me a while to have enough to talk about in one post (and boy do I talk a lot, here!)

With these longer fics, I do sometimes have some caveats with my recs - or at least reasons why they might not appeal to every Dean/Cas reader. But note that if I didn’t overall strongly recommend reading the fic I wouldn’t include it in my recs here at all, so any quibbles I bring up are minor compared to my overall enjoyment of the stories. Just, I don’t want someone to commit to a long read without knowing what they’re getting into and why it might not be their thing.

I’m still not into reading complete setting AUs at this time, but a lot/most of these are canon-divergence AUs, often written/set at the end of a season and giving an alternative take on what happened next. I love those kind of stories, as it’s often so interesting to see how fans thought of what might happen in the next season (especially when it’s better than what we actually got.)

Onto the recs & discussion behind the cut!

The Sinking Ship by UnfortunatelyObsessed (114k). This is a story that ripped my heart to pieces (in a good way!). I stayed up all night to finish reading because I simply couldn’t stop once I started on it and it gave me a massive fic hanger from all my emotions. Season 14 divergence, imagine if Dean did go into the Ma’lak box to trap Michael under the ocean with him forever...and once there, he discovers that Cas has stowed away with him. Because of course Cas would never leave Dean to such a fate on his own.

I loved literally. Every. Damn. Thing. About this fic. Cas telling Dean stories to pass the (endless) time. Their small intimate moments while realizing they can never consummate physically while trapped in the box but finding every other way to express their love. The absolute heartbreak that had me SOBBING when Michael fights for control of Dean and destroys everything they’ve built together and Cas thinks he’s lost Dean forever. Sam & Gabriel & Rowena & Claire & Jack doing everything they can to devise a plan back home to try to save them both while keeping Michael trapped. Also even just the wonderfully sensitive portrayal of aroace Jack still closely bonded with Claire and Maggie and just. And just. This is a story I’ve already re-read just to savor how much I loved it and its portrayal of everyone in TFW 2.0 and their extended family, it just hit my id in all the most incredible ways and I have nothing but absolute love for this one.

Beautiful Chaos by anyrei, mugglerock (141k). Season 9 canon-divergence, in which Dean doesn’t simply abandon Cas to fend for himself post 09x03. Instead he sets Cas up in a kind of squatter’s nest in an abandoned building near the bunker so he can keep tabs on him and help him out. 

This fic definitely gets the award for FILTHIEST, HOTTEST, SMUTTIEST Dean/Cas (and Cas/other) I’ve read in, like, ever, for human!Cas turns out to be a rather insatiable sex fiend/cock slut and Dean is too up his own repressed ass to easily give Cas what he wants/needs. It is dark at times, Cas ends up in some very unsavory/non-con situations, and the authors do mention that they tried to hone in on endverse!Cas’s characterization more than what we saw in Season 9...so you might roll with it, you might not. I adored their original character Jerry the tattoo artist in this, and like I said it was seriously hot (if you are good with total bottom!Cas and Cas with others, I know those are not everyone’s cuppa). I did have a few minor issues. For one, the last chapter felt a bit rushed and hand-wavey, but clearly the authors weren’t fond of the canon conflicts of season 9 & 10 (Abbadon, Mark of Cain) and just wanted to be done with them. Can’t say I really blame them. And I did have to laugh a bit at Lebanon, Kansas apparently having such a bustling gay bar/tattoo artist/etc scene being someone from a butt-fuck nowhere American small town myself. But, SPN was never all that realistic in how Lebanon was shown (and yes I’ve spent too much time roaming around it on Google maps), so if you can suspend some disbelief this is an awesome hot/angsty/occasionally heartbreaking read.

These Forsaken Lands by destielpasta (53k). I came upon this story when looking for fics that dealt in some way with the aftermath of Godstiel. This is a wonderfully atmospheric late Season 9 “fill-in” case fic (post Meta-fiction) where Cas ends up in a small town that had been visited by Godstiel...and while initially residents have reaped much good fortune, there has suddenly been a wave of deaths/bad events and he is determined to find out what happened and set things right. He calls upon Dean for help, but Dean is fighting the Mark of Cain and it’s going to take a lot to get past its control and find a way out for both of them. Together they work on repairing an old church while trying to repair each other and their damaged relationship.

I loved this story for how well written it was, really invoking a gothic small-town/Americana atmosphere. The original characters blend in very well with the case-fic at the center of it, and the author deals really well with Cas at a very fragile point when he’s running on borrowed grace and trying to navigate Dean’s MoC-enhanced anger. It’s Dean/Cas but actually much more of a Cas character study, so I highly recommend it to my fellow/compatriot Cas-girls who love a good wallow in his head.

Mixed Emotions by Tierra469 (50k). Canon 12 “parallel” fic that then goes canon-divergent with the season finale. I actually stumbled on this while in the mood to read some Cas/ or & Mary fic after enjoying their interactions in Season 12 (don’t hate me). This is sort of two fics in one. The first half focuses mostly on filling in the gaps with some critical S12 Cas episodes, especially Cas & Mary’s developing friendship (and one night of something more). But of course Cas’s feelings for Dean (and vice-versa) are always there, and when Cas figures out a way to get his powers fully back, the question is if Dean can open himself up to be vulnerable - and express love - the way Cas needs for this to work.

This was an interesting fic in a lot of ways. I loved the author’s take on angels’ connections to their vessels and grace, it was very consistent in a way the show sometimes/often wasn’t. Cas is very Cas in not understanding privacy and personal boundaries (so he does some questionable things, admittedly, which might squick some readers). The smut is fucking HOT - though I will caution at one point it involves Cas temporarily in a younger (NOT underage) female vessel (and the story does point out Dean’s discomfort with this and some of the consent issues involved, I don’t want to spoil too much). I wanted the Mary plot resolved more than it was, but I still recommend this story strongly for the quality of the writing and unique/well-developed take on angel lore and mechanics that was quite different from what I’m used to reading.

We Are Either Here Or Not Here by petramacneary (54k) A post-season 12 fic that goes on a different tangent to how Cas returns, and what happens in the meantime. Particularly, it offers a different take on what apocalypseverse!Cas would be like—as Mary makes her own way back from that world with AU!Cas as her prisoner.

What I loved about this story: first off, BAMF!Mary is awesome here. Dean is so heartbreaking, not quite knowing what the fuck to do with this different Cas who at times is just a painful reminder of who/what Dean’s lost...but then becomes a chance for Dean to say and express some of the things he always was afraid to in the past. And when (real/our) Cas finally returns, there’s some very interesting stuff that happens with both Cas & AU!Cas and Cas & Dean that I don’t want to spoil. (And let’s also just say that when real!Cas and Dean finally get together it’s AMAZINGLY awesome. Like, hot Impala!sex. So is the artwork that goes with this story.)

You Can Keep Holding On by NorthernSparrow (353k) The longest fic I read this time around and probably the one I have the most mixed feelings about, but a while on I do keep thinking about parts of it so I do rec it with some caveats. This is a canon-divergence after the end of Season 11. Dean & Sam find Cas after he’s been blasted out of the bunker...to the bottom of the Grand Canyon. Mary isn’t in this one except for a brief appearance/visit, which Dean thinks is Amara’s gift to him. Life seems good for a while, they’re enjoying dealing with mundane problems for a change, but then Cas seems to be pulling away from the brothers, spending less and less time with them at the bunker, taking a mundane job at another Gas ‘n Sip, and clearly preoccupied by something else. Or is it someone else? Dean is worried yet finally ready to accept that Cas maybe has a girlfriend, or a boyfried, but then it turns out that is not at all what Cas has going on. It’s something far more serious than that.

Honestly I almost stopped reading when the reveal happened - it’s a subject that’s very sensitive to me from personal/family experience and not something I usually like reading in fic (especially if there is a sad ending.) So I admit I jumped ahead to read how it would end first before committing to finishing it. And I am glad I did, because the author handles the subject matter with a realism and obvious knowledge of experience as well, not how I often see it in fanfic. There are a lot of emotional ups and downs but it’s nice seeing Dean in his momma-hen/mode, and Sam is so so good in this one! I think I enjoyed Sam’s characterization here most of all! And the author has a really cool/well developed angel/wing lore that hit my wing-kink pretty hard. I do think it could have all been edited down a bit - I found myself skimming parts, especially in the last third, just to get on with things. But it’s definitely a story you can disappear into for a good long time and I’ve bookmarked the author’s other works to read later, so again, I do rec it even with a few caveats.

A few shorter fics, too, just because I don’t want to forget about them...

Eleven Erogenous Zones of a Fallen Angel by almaasi (15k) Pure gratuitous wing!kink for me :) Cas uses the last of his grace to manifest his wings...but then is stuck with them in his human form and not even able to use them to fly as he used to. This presents a lot of awkward problems to deal with but also the excuse for Dean to help him keep them clean :) I did say wing kink, right? :D :D I loved how Cas seemed confused about the pleasure signals he got from bathing vs. sex vs. grooming and all of that. It’s sweet and hot and has my favorite kind of caretaking Dean in it.

Fossil Tracks by SegaBarrett  (3k). Dean & Sam & Cas and dinosaurs. How can you go wrong with that? One of the SPN stories from the Id Pro Quo collection I really enjoyed reading (and didn’t write myself, lol).

#destiel recs #my fic recs #deancas recs #fandom that ate my life hello #destiel fic recs #my destiel recs

[alia-turin]

For @golden-olea I know that came as your idea, I hope I did it justice. 

Fic Title: Last Words Fandom: The Witcher (Aen Elle) Pairing: Avallac’h/Lara Warnings: Break up, some harsh language. 

AO3 Link

Avallac’h held the piece of paper, his fingers gripping it so hard he had to try not to destroy it before he had finished reading it.

Reading it was a strange way to describe it. He was looking at Lara’s writing but he didn’t see whole sentences even if he was sure they were there. It was single words and phrases that actually reached his mind.

‘It is not easy for me…’

His heart was beating miles per minute. Lara has been absent a lot recently, exploring other worlds she had called it. Seeing new cultures. She was always curious and Avallac’h loved that about her. In his mind he could see all the precious memories of the two of them spending long nights and just talking about other worlds and other cultures. The curiosities they had seen together, the novelties they had experienced with each other.

‘...you will not understand…’

Did he push her too far? Was he too certain of what Fate had in store for them that he ignored everything? All the times he held her in his arms and all the kisses shared between the two of them, was that all for nothing? Maybe he was too persistent or the opposite? He had allowed her too much freedom where he should have been the voice of reason. Did he blind himself with love and all he was seeing was Lara but not the bigger picture? He was imagining it, he knew that but even now he could feel the softness of her lips against his even if they had not shared a moment of intimacy in months.

‘My own path…’

He couldn’t understand - her path? Her path was with him, their future and everyone’s future, they had duty, they had...it wasn’t about him and his ambitions it was also his heart. She had his heart in her hand. They had talked about that, what they would do, how they would change the Aen Elle together, allowing them a better life than what they had. Was that all a lie? Or was that his plan that she just agreed with to make him happy. It was not possible to have a path without him, that was just...he was her destiny as she was his, they were bound by more than just attraction and love.

‘...someone else…’

Avallac’h couldn’t go past that point. Someone else? Who? He started going through his mind. Yes, Lara travelled to other worlds a lot, but that was of no consequence - they all did, they lived for hundreds of years they all had to explore and learn especially someone in her position. Someone else - the words echoed in his mind as if she had pronounced them. It was just a letter but he could hear her voice, confident but kind telling him there was someone else. Who? Jealousy started crawling at the back of his head, thinking of every man or woman he had ever seen her with in Tir na Lia or otherwise.

Eredin.

Somehow the general’s name came to his mind. He knew Eredin had ambition, he knew he was ruthless, was he that ruthless? He started thinking and he couldn’t deny he had seen it - Eredin smiling at her, Eredin opening a door for her and giving her that look...he could even point to moments when Eredin was not in Tir na Lia, but neither was Lara. Avallac’h’s pain grew into anger. He was nothing but a common soldier, what right did Eredin have over his Destiny?

‘...a child…’

Avallac’h threw the letter in the fire without even thinking. Eredin was taking everything from him. Lara, his life, his future...just like that. Hundreds of years Avallac’h had waited for this moment and now someone had taken it from him.

He lashed out of his room walking down the hallways, not seeing anything around himself. He needed to find Eredin. That was absurd. He had no idea what he would do once he saw the man, probably kill him, although what good will that do, he had already stolen his Destiny. Ambitious and arrogant, he knew that he should have told that to Auberon years ago. Dangerous. Everyone knew it, Avallac’h knew it, he ignored it. Why wouldn’t he? A soldier, good soldier, but had no power beside that of his sword. And low cunning. He was hurt by Lara, but it hurt a million times more because it was Eredin. He had tricked her, he had used that brutish personality of his to attract her and trap her. How long had he been planning that? Years? Months?

Avallach stormed into the barracks passing soldiers who just gave him curious looks, it wasn’t common for a Sage to walk among them. He almost kicked the doors to Eredin’s room. The man was standing next to his desk talking to two of his men.

“Get out.” Avallac’h shouted, which surprised him as well. He couldn’t remember the last time he raised his voice at...anything. Eredin’s men did not follow orders from him. They both turned to Eredin with questioning looks.

“Go.” their general said calmly and made a hand gesture pointing at the door.

Avallac’h barely could wait to hear the door being closed behind him when he started - he didn’t want to shout but anger and heartbreak met somewhere in his mind and he could no longer control himself.

“You are irresponsible and arrogant.” Eredin raised an eyebrow but did not answer. Just looked at him with a smug face. Avallac’h could kill him just for that. “It wasn’t enough you took her away from me, but that? You had to go that far? Not just her, but...my life everything I had been working for so many years. But you couldn’t just watch and sit could you? Your arrogance would never allow you to admit that you are nothing but a simple horse master and you will never be anything but a border guard.” Both of Eredin’s eyebrows were raised now, but again no comment, nothing. “I don’t even understand what she sees in you!” that was a lie, he could see what any woman could see in Eredin - the arrogance, the looks, the bravery, the attitude...he couldn’t believe Lara would fall for any of that. “You waited for so many years and now you did it, now you had to take it away from her and from me, you have doomed her with nothing but suffering, the destiny of all of us is at risk and you wasted it for what? Ten minutes of pleasure? Was she even willing or you did her the same way you do your other whores? Probably you did, you are incapable of any sort of gentle emotion or compassion, sick ambition and bloodlust is all you know and that is what you have created now. This was supposed to be my child not yours!”

Avallac’h stopped, Eredin was just staring at him, calm, unmoving. He expected some sort of reaction, defence, insult...anything.

There was nobody alive who could walk in Eredin’s room and talk to him the way Avallac’h did. He would not allow even a king to do it and Crevan was far from a king. He found it amusing that someone like Avallac’h had completely lost control over his own emotions, but if he gathered the situation correctly, probably he would as well. Silly of him to bet all his money on one horse especially if this horse is a woman who, like everybody else, could just change her mind. There were few moments when it was hard to keep silent, the insults were just too...personal, but he kept his cool, he would pay Avallac’h for that with interest. Maybe in two hundred years, but he would.

“Anything else?” Eredin was leaning against his desk, his arms crossed at his chest. Crevan didn’t speak, but there was a storm growing in the man’s eyes. He pushed his hand down to his belt and let it rest on the pommel of his sword, he didn’t expect Avallac’h to attack him, not after the verbal waterfall of feelings, but Eredin had been known to provoke people. “I never touched Lara.”

“Don’t lie! You are low, but even such a blatant lie seems below you.” Avallac’h barked back.

“Crevan, if I came in your precious ticket for internal glory, would I deny it?” He didn’t need to explain further. He waited. He knew there was a drop of reason left in Avallac’h’s mind he just needed to reach it. Honestly he didn’t care if Avallac’h saw reason, he could lose his mind and jump off a cliff, not Eredin’s problem. But there was a bigger problem that the other man needed to see.

Avallac’h opened his mouth and closed it. Then he turned his head to the side like a curious puppy. There it was, the rationality taking over. The storm in Avallac’h eyes calmed, but did not disappear, different sorts of emotions started showing on his face, Eredin found all that amusing, Crevan who had always been so controlled in his actions and words, now the man who always had been a bit of a mystery was an open book from read and gloat.

“Who…”

“I don’t think it’s Aen Elle.” while Avallac’h had been busy looking for creative insults Eredin had been thinking and connecting pieces. He knew Lara would sometimes disappear for weeks or months. He also knew no one made a big deal out of it, including himself, she was young and she had power few others did. “It’s a human.” He had not taken the issues seriously, probably he should have. “One of my men is involved with one of her servants. Lara has been sleeping with a human.”

“And you are telling me that...now?” Avallac’h’s rage came back in his eyes. “You could have prevented all that, do you know what is at stake? We are doomed, Eredin.”

“I’m but a simple soldier, the dealings of the great Sages are beyond my understanding.” He threw Avallac’h words back at him, he had remembered the insult and that was not going to be the payment he collects, but it was sweet seeing Crevan’s reactions. “It is your job to keep her happy, not mine.” he could see Avallac’h about to launch at him again so he just raised his hand to stop him. “Crevan, if we lose her, we lose the portals. Let her have her fun, fix it after that.” If Eredin was in his shoes he would probably find the insolent human and drag him through the streets before he killed him slowly, the baby he would drown and it will be as if it never happened. Avallac’h was not him, and he knew the man would probably just accept it once his current rage had passed. Either way they had a problem.

“I need to speak with Auberon.” Avallac’h had finally found reason and walked out of his rooms as fast as he had walked in. Eredin could see his soldiers peaking through the door the Sage left open. He didn’t know if they heard anything but for sure they heard the raised voice.

Didn’t matter, everyone would know soon, he gave it a week. That created other issues for him, but it did open an opportunity as well. One head never hoped to have even in his wildest dreams. Eredin smiled.

#avallac'h #lara dorren #eredin breacc glas #the witcher #the witcher 3: wild hunt #my writing

[raendown]

Pairing: MadaraTobirama Word count: 4879 Soulmate au: The one where every pair of soulmates finds each other in different ways or through different soulmate tropes

Follow the link or read it under the cut! 

KO-FI and commission info in the header! 

Chapter 221

Watching the client who had come begging them for assistance with a typically ridiculous problem, Tobirama wondered what it would be like to have such an obvious connection to his soulmate as this man did. His already short sleeves were tied back even further as though to purposefully display as much as possible of the golden words flowing down the back of one arm, a greeting that must have been the first words his other half spoke to him. To have such easy proof of one’s connection, to know from the earliest ages that there was someone out there and how to find them, Tobirama could only wonder at the security this man must have felt in his bond from the moment he understood that it was waiting for him. It must have been nice. 

It was also quite the pity for whoever had been the one to speak those words. 

Privately Tobirama could admit that a small bit of the attitude he could feel bubbling to the surface was motivated by jealousy, petty retribution against someone who had something he wanted for himself. Out loud, of course, he wouldn’t be caught dead even hinting at such an admission. 

“This is all very fascinating, Kirimoto-san, but I can’t help noting you have yet to explain what any of it has to do with Konohagakure. Were you perchance hoping to commission someone to record your story? Contracting a scribe would only be a D-rank mission, not the A-rank you proposed.” Lifting one eyebrow in judgement was probably going a little too far. If only he could bring himself to care.

“I was only just getting to that, Senju-sama,” their client spluttered. Anger flashed across his face but luckily for his continued health he was smart enough not to say anything. “The mission I came to contract your shinobi for is of vital importance! My son is a diamond among chaff; he deserves only the best! If the woman pressing suit upon him is truly so weak-hearted as to look at other men then she must be chased away!”

Tobirama blinked slowly. “And you wish us to…?”

“Why, to bring proof of her infidelity of course! I will pay the full price of an A-rank mission for two of your finest shinobi to approach her in disguise and seduce her away from my son! If her heart is as impure as I think it is then she will no doubt fall for such base tricks.”

He puffed himself up with the same false importance bred in to every idiot that had ever been born in the capital city, entirely ignorant of how little effect that would have on the one he was speaking to. When Tobirama got ahold of his brother he was going to throttle the man for taking today of all days off and leaving his duties to the next in command. Technically Madara would have been the next in command if he weren’t currently at home recovering from pushing himself too hard during training. No doubt that was exactly why Hashirama had taken the day off. Tobirama hoped the two idiots drowned in a teapot for making him deal with this particular client. 

Despite his petty irritation he didn’t actually want to offend the man. Or at least not badly enough for the idiot to file a complaint that would bring another lecture down on his head about playing nice with their patrons. Several slow deep breaths helped bolster his patience until he could be certain none of the contempt he felt for this utter waste of time might show on his face; only then did he speak again.

“If you wish to pay for an A-rank mission then we will gladly accept your commission. Do you have any other information that might help us choose the two best people to accept this task?” 

“You! I want one of them to be you!” For some reason Kirimoto-san felt the need to rise from his chair and point like there could be any mistaking who he was speaking to. They were, after all, the only people in the room. “I’ve heard all the rumors! Women from here to the capitol cry themselves to sleep every night over the hearts you break!”

Tobirama could feel one of his eyes twitching. He’d heard a lot of rumors about himself before but this one was new. Him? A country-wide heartbreaker? That went beyond laughable in to the territory of utterly absurd. If anything most rumors called him uptight and cold. Which, in all honesty, was certainly more true than the opposite. The last heart he broke was probably well back in his adolescence when one of his clanmates had taken some unnatural interest in him and refused to be turned aside with any gentler tactics than a flat out shredding of her ego. 

Clinging hard to his temper, Tobirama bit down savagely on his own tongue before asking, “I don’t suppose I could change your mind on that? My duties here are many and rumors are easily blown out of proportion. Seduction is… not one of my strengths, shall we say.” 

“Do...I want to know?” Hashirama’s voice asked in the same moment the door swung open. Their illustrious Hokage recoiled almost as soon as he stepped in to the room, eyes wide and confused upon being met with Tobirama’s acidic glare. Behind him trundled Madraa who looked a hell of a lot more put together than he had when Tobirama bullied him in to going home the night before with instructions to recuperate before he passed out over his own paperwork. 

“Ah Hokage-sama!” their client bowed hastily. 

“Hello! Um, honeypot mission?” The cringe in Hashirama’s voice was as obvious as the pain it caused him to think of his sibling in any sort of intimate context. 

Unfortunately Kirimoto-san managed to speak first. “Senju-sama here has agreed to assist me in the matter I wrote to you about! All we need is one mo- ah! Perfect! You’re perfect! Pray tell, what is your name, miss?”

If nothing else. Tobirama decided while he was busily choking on his own tongue, that right there was worth the shame of having to take part in this ridiculous farce. Madara, to no one’s surprise, didn’t seem inclined to agree. His expression was particularly thunderous when he crossed his arms and leveled their client with a deadly stare. 

“Uchiha Madara,” he growled. To Kirimoto-san’s credit he didn’t so much as flinch before breaking in to a massive grin. 

“Even more perfect! A man! And here I thought I would have to pay extra for you to dress as one. Most excellent. It absolutely must be the two of you!”

Madara sneered. “I don’t think s-”

“Well now!” Hashirama spoke over him. “I’m sure you understand, my dear sir, that these two are my most valuable shinobi both administratively and in battle prowess. To allow both of them to be deployed on the same mission would be a serious detriment to our productivity - not to mention our security in the event of an attack.”

“But I must have them! Only them!” 

“It simply doesn’t seem feasible. To fill the large spaces they would leave empty would mean keeping several extra people on active duty and I’m afraid the cost…” With a face of carefully constructed regret Hashirama sighed and Tobirama took a moment to reluctantly admire his brother’s ingenuity. People could say what they wanted about his overly active emotions. Very few ever realized how easily he manipulated them entirely because of that same buffoonery veiling their eyes to the wily genius underneath. 

Kami forbid the idiot ever realize Tobirama admired that quality in him, though. 

“Can I not convince you?” Kirimoto-san begged. “If it is a matter of cost I can of course make it worth your while to send them with me! Name your price, Hokage-sama, and I will pay it! Anything to ensure that my precious son lives his life only with a woman who will never betray him!” 

The poor sod didn’t even seem to realize the mistake he’d just made as Hashirama turned to him with a beatific smile on his face and dollar signs in his eyes. 

When he finally managed to leave the office Kirimoto-san’s face was as pained as his poor wallet was empty. Tobirama couldn’t find it in himself to even pity the man. Not when his own fate had been sealed with more than twenty thousand ryō above the typical asking price of an A-ranked mission. Regrettably, he hadn’t actually been lying when he said that seduction was not one of his strengths but apparently he would have to at least make an effort. It was hard to choose whether he regretted more that it would be a woman several years after he had finally accepted his preferences in the opposite direction or that, of all people, Madara would be there to watch him make such an utter fool out of himself. 

“How exactly”-he demanded the moment their client was far enough down the hall not to overhear them-”do you propose I disguise myself? At the risk of showing my own ego, I’ll remind you that I do have rather distinctive looks.” 

“You’re not the only one,” Madara growled with both hands going almost protectively to his extraordinary mane of hair.

Hashirama boomed a laugh that lacked even a shred of sympathy. “Oh I’m sure you two will figure something out! You could always wear a henge!” 

“And if she’s chakra-sensitive? I notice you failed to even ask about that!” Madara reached out to smack his best friend across the back of the head for such an oversight. Familial bonds dictated that Tobirama should defend his sibling but, as he rather wished he was close enough to do that himself, he opted to pretend he’d seen nothing.

“Sorry! Sorry! I’m sure we can work out something that will hide your hair. Like a big scarf or a hood or something you could tuck it in to!” Hashirama drooped and clasped both hands under his chin. “Please don’t be mad at me!” 

“That still leaves me,” Tobirama pointed out. 

Both of the squabbling friends turned to him in consideration for several long heartbeats. Hashirama spoke up first with a bright smile. “I know! We can cover your tattoos with makeup! Geisha use white makeup all the time, I’m sure we can procure you some in a discreet manner!”

“Covering my face won’t do much good if my hair is just going to stick out like a fox in a henhouse. The only bloodlines left that produce hair this color are all shinobi clans and as much as I would consider it a complement to be mistaken for a Hatake, that wouldn’t exactly help me fly under the radar now would it?” he didn’t bother to list all of the other shinobi clans he would likely take insult at being mistaken for but his brother, thankfully, had enough tact to skirt that entirely. 

Instead he went even deeper in to stupid territory because of course he did. 

“You could dye your hair!” he crowed as if with the triumph of a great idea. 

“I hate you,” Tobirama told him. 

Without another word he swept out of the office, calling over his brother’s whining protests that since he was here anyway he might as well finish his own duties for the day. More than anything he was angered that Hashirama’s suggestion had actually been a logical solution and in the depths of his private heart he admitted that his irritation stemmed entirely from self-image. He didn’t want to dye his hair. He liked his hair. Call him an egomaniac but he rather enjoyed standing out from the masses. 

Sending a clone to go pick out some dye from the infiltration core’s private storage room felt somehow less painful than doing it himself. At least when he received the memories of it the deed would already be done. Tobirama completed the handful of duties left unfinished at the tower and then left to wait at home for his clone to return. The first thing he did upon dispelling his copy was sit in his living room to study the instructions on the back of the dreaded box in excruciating detail. The only thing worse than going through with this idiocy would be somehow doing it wrong; this was already going to end in mockery one way or another, he didn’t need to give anyone more ammo than necessary. After making sure he understood exactly how to use the stuff Tobirama spun the box around again to study the color. 

Maybe he wouldn’t look entirely terrible with red hair. If the stars aligned in just the right way he might be able to convince himself he looked a bit like his sister in law. The Uzumaki, now there was a clan he would feel no shame for having a connection to and it would certainly be a logical assumption. They did have a rather sizable civilian population. 

Turning the box side to side in an effort to determine whether he thought the color looked like a natural one, he couldn’t help but let his eyes be drawn to the golden letters embossed near the very top, an elegant curling script that greatly resembled the letters Kirimoto-san bore along one arm. What would he do, Tobirama wondered, if at last he managed to discover his own soulmate and he wasn’t able to reach out because of this? He’d never been all that fond of undercover missions for just this reason. To meet his soulmate while he didn’t even look like himself, to risk that they might fall in love with a falsity. A deep sigh escaped him and Tobirama spun the box around so he wouldn’t have to look at the letters anymore. Everything about this mission was stupid - including the emotions he was letting it drag out of him. Best to just get this over with before he got too maudlin about things so far out of his control. 

All told, including the time he took to pause and investigate the chemical compounds, the dying process took just over an hour and Tobirama refused to look at himself in the mirror until he had thoroughly rinsed the mixture out of his hair and let the whole thing dry completely. Only then did he finally approach the bathroom vanity with trepidation and lift his eyes to take in the horror of what he’d done. He had just enough time to cringe in distaste before the front door of his home slammed open with a bang that ricocheted down the hall. 

“Tobi?” Hashirama’s voice called out to him in an oddly strangled tone. “You here?” 

“Unfortunately.” At his reply footsteps hurried closer. 

“We may have to apply a slight change of plaaaa-....ns...oh my.” 

“Anija I swear if you finish that sentence after I only just finished this nonsense”-Tobirama jerked an angry thumb at his own mangled hair-“I will make you regret ever being born.” 

His brother stared at him. Stared some more. Blinked several times and then continued to stare, all while Tobirama’s ire grew closer and closer to the boiling point. Finally he drew in a breath that rattled ominously. 

“Come with me,” he murmured shortly before spinning on one heel and marching back towards the front door. 

“Now hold on! Anija, what the hell?”

Annoyingly, Hashirama did not stop. His only concession was to pause long enough for Tobirama to tear an old jacket out of his front closet and pull the hood up tightly. Just because lots of other strangers were going to see him in this state didn’t mean he had to let all of Konoha in on his shame. Vanity, apparently, would need to be added on to the list of character flaws he hadn’t even known afflicted him until this thrice blasted village was built. 

Where the hell they were going he couldn’t tell since the hood of his jacket was pulled so tight around his head that it obscured most of the world around him. On sense alone he guessed they were bound in a general southern direction but for the life of him he couldn’t imagine what existed to the south that had to do with his disguise or suddenly needed to be attended to the moment his brother saw him. Tobirama did try to ask, of course, but for once in his life Hashirama seemed to have lost his capacity for words. If only he could be like that more often. Well, if only he could be like that any other time but for now when Tobirama needed answers that none of his increasingly irritated questions were getting him. He did recognize right away when they entered the Uchiha district. Walking past the uchiwa-embossed gates always felt much like stepping in from the cold to a place with a thousand warm fires all around him. It was, he hated to admit, a very comforting place to be for a sensor like him. 

It was also a great relief at the moment; Hashirama might profess to love the whole world but there were very few people he was actually close with and only one of them lived within the Uchiha compound. Tobirama frowned at the inside of his hood. It would make sense for them to go see Madara right now, he was the other half of this utterly ridiculous undercover mission, but it made no sense at all for Hashirama to be in this much of a tither over his best friend unless something had gone terribly wrong in the past hour since they had all been together. 

How much trouble could one man get in to within the confines of their own village? 

Despite how close the two of them were it was still a mild surprise when Hashirama let them both in to Madara’s house without so much as knocking. Tobirama wracked his brain trying to remember whether Izuna still lived with his brother while the two of them made their way down the hall. Since they were inside now, safe from the judging eyes of the general public, Tobirama allowed his fingers to loosen their hold on the material of his hood until he had enough vision to take in the home of the Uchiha clan head. Much more spartan than he had expected. If he were taking this first look a handful of years ago he would have expected bloodied weapons to line the walls and plaques bearing the heads of notable kills. He’d long grown past such childish assumptions but if he were honest he still would have expected this place to be a little more plush, a little more befitting the head of such a large and lucrative clan.

“Mads? Mads I’m back. Are you...okay if we come in?” Hashirama paused at the beginning of the hallway to gently wrap his knuckles against a plain shoji screen. 

“End me now,” Madara’s miserable voice drifted out. “If a single person in my clan sees this I will never hear the end of it.” 

“We’re coming in, okay?”

Hashirama waited just a moment longer to give his friend time for yelling if he was truly so opposed to them entering. When no protests came he nodded once and then opened the door, pulling Tobirama behind him as he walked forward in to the room.

Strange as it was to find himself in Uchiha Madara’s bedroom of all places Tobirama didn’t have time to even look around to see if the decor here was as barren as the rest of the house. He didn’t even have the time to ruminate on the odd places life had taken him just today. The moment he stepped inside the room all of his attention was riveted to the figure huddled on the bed with face in hands. Logic told him that was Madara. It sounded like him. Felt like him. His eyes, however, must have been playing tricks on him. 

“The...hell...is going on?” Tobirama pulled his free arm away from Hashirama’s grasp to poke at him with confusion. “I thought you said he was going with the scarf idea? How the hell did you get a dye that color to saturate this much hair in such a short time? And for that matter, why on earth did you give him the same color as me?”

“Oh I didn’t do this,” Hashirama said. 

“So he did it to himself?”

“No, I think you did it.”

Tobirama blinked slowly, one eyebrow rising. “I most certainly did not. You saw me when you came to get me, you know exactly what I’ve been doing since I left the tower.” 

In his indignation at being accused he missed the sharp movement of Madara’s head snapping up to look at him for the first time since he entered the home. Busy as he was jamming a finger in to his brother’s side, he didn’t see those eyes zero in on him like a kunai finding its target but he sure did feel the weight of them. At first he ignored it - this was hardly the first time he’d been stared at - but when Hashirama managed to bat his finger away and pointedly indicated the man whose house they had just invaded he finally looked over. 

“Can I help you?” he muttered, instinctively defensive under that much scrutiny. 

“What do you mean the same color as you?” 

His first reflex was to pull the hood tighter around his head. Then he realized how stupid that was. If the two of them were going on the same mission then obviously Madara would have to see him in this state at some point - and if anyone was going to understand the pain of having to dye his hair such a wildly unsuitable shade it would be the man whose head currently matched his own. A heavy sigh of defeat escaped him before, with great effort, he finally allowed his fingers to unclench so the hood of his jacket could fall back to reveal that his hair indeed was a perfect match for the ridiculous color of Madara’s. He expected the man to stare, of course. What he didn’t expect was for his jaw to drop and one hand to reach out blindly for Hashirama.

“You,” Madara croaked. “Go away. Now. I...I need to talk to...just go away!” 

“Okay.” In a move possibly more surprising than anything else that had happened so far, Hashirama turned to leave the room as easily as that, not a word of protest. Tobirama watched him go with both eyes wide and blinking. 

“I...how did you do that? I’ve never seen him leave so easily in my life. How did you make him do that!?”

Bed springs creaked and groaned like a symphony to announce Madara’s rise from the bed, eyes still locked on to Tobirama with all the intensity of the hawks he so enjoyed flying. He looked just as silly with the wrong hair color as Tobirama felt he himself did but something told him that mockery would not go over very well just now no matter that Madara was one of the few who could give as good as he got. The arguments they got in to were usually some of the highest points of Tobirama’s week. 

“You dyed your hair.” Unfortunately his intelligence didn’t always shine through quite as obviously, such as moments like now when he felt compelled to state the very obvious. 

“So did you,” Tobirama said with one eyebrow raised in judgment. 

“No I didn’t.”

After a pause Tobirama canted his head to one side and lifted the other brow. “Well then I suppose I’ll need to get my eyes checked very soon.”

“No! Shut up, you don’t get it! I didn’t do this!” 

“You’re claiming...what? Some kind of hair dye bandit snuck in and colored your hair when you weren’t looking?”

“I think it means we’re soulmates, you absolute fuck!” 

“Oh.” 

There were dozens of responses he could pretend he’d been expecting and that one would not have been even close to getting on the list. Tobirama opened his mouth only to close it, thoughts racing over each other in a jumbled heap because he knew exactly what Madara was getting at. Of course he did. 

And of course the universe would be so petty as to give them a way to find each other only through humiliating themselves. Sometimes he really did hate other people for how easily they discovered their bonds. Not him, though, oh no. He couldn’t have a red string tied to his pinkie, he couldn’t have been born with the first words his soulmate would say to him imprinted on his skin, he couldn’t even have the moment of unquestionable knowing when he heard his partner’s voice for the first time. Because it was him and because it was Madara they just had to do things the hard way, waiting until one of them dyed their hair so the change of color could be reflected on their other half. 

“That color looks awful on you,” was all he could think to say; perhaps a little too honest but from the very start of peace the two of them had silently agreed to never pull their punches with each other. Madara stared at him in disbelief for a half dozen heartbeats until without warning he burst in to raucous laughter. 

“Seriously?” he demanded. “That’s all you have to say?” 

Tobirama threw both of his hands in the air. “Well what do you want me to say? It’s not like I have some big speech prepared just in case I find out the other half of my soul has been riding around in you this whole time!” 

“No? That’s almost surprising. You’re usually prepared for pretty much anything.” The smile on Madara’s face gentled his words from insults to fond teasing and Tobirama wondered how long the possibilities of this had been hiding right under his nose. 

“I didn’t really want to go on this mission in the first place,” he mused. “Now I really don’t want to.”

“Because we match and it’s incredibly obvious that we shouldn’t?”

“No, dumb ass, because I just discovered my soulmate and I’d rather like some time to process that.” Tobirama rolled his eyes but there was a very telling hint of a smile on his own face as well. How could there not be? 

Madara hummed and shifted his weight, coincidentally ending up just a little bit closer when he settled, though Tobirama chose not to point that out. “How much do you think it would take to convince your brother not to send us out?” 

“Oh probably about a thousand yen more than whatever Kirimoto-san paid him.” 

“Hn. I’d have to dip in to the clan coffers. And then I’d have to listen to the elders bitch about squandering clan funds. Ugh.” Madara’s nose wrinkled. Tobirama mirrored him if for no other reason than annoyance that he’d never really noticed how adorable that was. If he looked back on all the past interactions they’d had he would probably be able to drum up a thousand different clues that they were meant to be together. 

Good thing he wasn’t the type to look back. Self reflection was so boring. 

The problem of his brother forcing them to go through with this mission still was just something they would have to figure out later. Probably a very quick later since they were still expected to leave some time later that same day but still, certainly a problem Tobirama was willing to put off solving until he absolutely had to. If Hashirama was really so dead set on making them do this when he very clearly understood what situation was happening then he could come get them himself. 

“Spot of tea?” Tobirama looked around as though he might spot a kitchen through the bedroom walls. 

“Ah, yeah, I guess it would be polite of me to get you some, huh?” 

Madara rocked back on to his heels and looked towards the door as well, the perfect opportunity for Tobirama to really look at him and take in all the little details he normally wouldn’t in another person, the shape of his jawline and the tiny amounts of baby fat that had never fully left his cheeks. 

“It isn’t like you to be concerned about being polite,” he pointed out. 

When his soulmate turned back to reveal an openly amused grin he thought maybe the universe did know what it was doing - but he was still a little annoyed that it had made things so difficult for him. Also quite annoyed that they were likely going to have to see this ridiculous mission through. What an absolute shame that he finally discovered his soulmate only for the poor man to bear witness to his complete lack of seduction skills all in the same day. He hoped Hashirama had already started running because he was going to murder his own brother for this. 

#rae writes #soulmate collection #madatobi #tobirama #madara #hashirama #fanfiction

[danny-chase]

Chapters: 1/1 Fandom: Teen Titans (Comics), Nightwing (Comics), Tempest (Comics) Rating: Teen And Up Audiences Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply Relationships: Dick Grayson & Garth Characters: Dick Grayson, Garth (DCU) Additional Tags: Titans (DCU) feels, Garth needs a hug, Garth gets a hug, Tula is dead, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Hot Chocolate, Sunrises, Snuggling, Hugs, Crying, POV Dick Grayson, sand dunes, Grieving, dick grayson is a good friend Summary:

The one where Dick Grayson comforts Garth over Tula's death.

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Dick crept through the dimly lit halls of Titans Tower. Well, he supposed it ought to be called Titan Cave or something, now that it was underground, but that was besides the point. His friends were light sleepers, and it was late, or early, he wasn’t exactly sure – it was dark outside, so someone was probably sleeping. He should be sleeping; at this rate someone was going to yell at him (a few someones already had), but he hadn’t been able to put down their latest case until he finished analyzing the evidence. It wasn’t his fault; if he tried to sleep then… it wouldn’t have gone well.

Passing Roy’s room, he heard a thud behind the door. Okay, maybe not everyone was sleeping. Donna’s room was noticeably empty across the hall. Dick couldn’t help making a face, yeah, the Titans were like family, but he considered Donna a sister (they sometimes pretended to be twins) and ugh. That was weird. He didn’t disapprove but like, nope, not thinking about it anymore.

 Pressing on, his eyelids heavy, a second open door caused him to pause. Garth’s room was empty. Alone, it would have been innocuous, but he’d seemed distant earlier in the night and retired to his room before the rest. A photo of Tula sat on the edge of Garth bed.

 Dick snapped to attention, shuffling in the room, scooping up the evidence. He flicked-on a nearby lamp, and held the photo close, finding exactly what he’d expected: the faint outlines of teardrops. Sleep be damned, it was time to find Garth.

 Garth had never been the same after Tula died. Dick had fully expected the two to marry; he’d already been working on a wedding gift when the news hit. It was still half finished, sitting in his workshop, collecting dust. Dick strode out of the room, dashing back towards the stairs. Garth didn’t talk about Tula, never to them, never grieved with them. And Dick was tired of leaving grieving teammates alone.

 He took the steps three at a time, mind sorting through the possible places Garth could be. He wouldn’t have gone back to Atlantis; the man was too loyal for his own good sometimes; he wouldn’t leave the tower when they expected him to be around. Likely not at the pool either, Garth would go someplace he could remember Tula, and though they’d swam together in the old tower’s pool, Tula had died before the new base was built. And so, that left one possibility, Dick sped up his pace; Garth was by the shore.

 He stopped on the level just before the surface, popping into the communal kitchen. He pulled one of his leather jackets off the back of a chair and pulled a couple travel mugs out of the cupboard. The Keurig was the single best investment the team had ever made (he again put it on the mental shopping list for his new apartment), and he grabbed a hot chocolate cup for Garth and extra-caffeinated coffee for himself.

 After starting the coffee, he leaned back against the counter, hopping up to sit on it. Closing his eyes, he could still picture Garth and Tula swimming together; the joy they exuded simply by being near to one another. He leaned his head back against the cupboards, sighing heavily. Tula had brought a lightness to the team, a lightness to Garth. He’d gotten so much more confident throughout their relationship, he’d always been kind and loving, but the two brought out the best in each other.

 It was painful to see the changes wrought by her death.

 Even more painful to think of Garth being forced to destroy her possessed body.

 Dick learned at a young age that this world was cruel. And he’d learned that lesson over and over again with every new friend he made.

 It wasn’t fair that Garth had been abandoned at birth. It wasn’t fair that Wally’s parents abused him. Or that Joey and Raven died. Or that Victor had lost everything but his mind. If he listed all the injustices against his Titans family, he’d be here all night.

 His coffee finished next to him, and he started the hot chocolate. He pulled his socked feet up on the counter, wrapping his arms around his knees. He took a careful sip, not minding as the coffee burned his throat. The sensation helped ground him back in the present.

 Bruce had taught him, that even though this world was cruel, there were things you could change to make it more kind. Dick could change himself. He could make Garth hot chocolate. That wasn’t enough, but at the least it was something.

 He refused to wallow, instead turning his thoughts back towards Garth. He hopped off the counter, doing jumping jacks and squats to get his blood flowing.

 By the time the hot chocolate finished, Dick was way more alert and awake then before. Grabbing the mug, he half ran up the stairs, careful not to spill a drop. He slipped on his crocs, flinging open the door with one hand, and balancing the drinks in the other.

 A shiver ran down his spine as the cool ocean breeze danced across his face, tossing his bangs in his eyes as he hustled across the beach. The stars illuminated his surroundings, they were far enough from the cities to avoid light pollution, and coming here from Blüdhaven, he was always stunned by the beauty of the natural world.

 “Garth?” He called. He couldn’t see past the sand dunes, but Garth had excellent hearing, so hopefully he wouldn’t catch him off guard. He was sneaky, but he wasn’t rude. Most of the time.

 He winded his way around, looking for his friend’s footprints. Unfortunately, they were nowhere to be found; the wind kept blowing the top layer of the sand, whipping it up and masking the presence of those who’d journeyed through. “Garth? I know you can hear me.” His shoes hadn’t been by the door. “I’m not sleeping until we talk.” He threatened, stopping in his tracks. He glanced around. A hand waved out from behind another dune.

 Dick rushed forward. “Garth are you…” the question died in his throat; Garth was tucked in a little ball, his face buried in his knees, arms blocking any sign of expression. “…oh Garth.” He breathed, squatting down and settling the drinks in the sand. Garth’s ragged breathing cut through the hum of the night. “Can I…” Dick raised an arm. “…do you want a hug?”

 Garth was unmoving, so Dick sat back in the sand, lying against the dune, listening to his painful breathing. He stared up at the stars, listening as insects chirped and waves lapped against the beach. He looked for a shooting one, because if he could, he’d wish his friend’s heartbreak away.

 If Dick controlled the fate world, things like this would never happen.

 He’d wish away all his friend’s sorrows in an instant.

 But messing with the timeline always had disastrous results. So really. Dick was the one thing he hated to be.

 Useless.

 Back on top of a platform, watching his loved ones fall.

 “I’m sorry.” He murmured, his heart sinking. “Garth, I’m so, so sorry.” His stomach clenched; Tula never should have died. He should have been there, done something more, led the Titans better. But, this wasn’t about him and Garth likely felt the same.

 Garth plopped back into the sand next to him, throwing an arm over his eyes. Dick was at a loss for words, but he continued anyways. “She would be so proud of you.” His brain ran through a list of platitudes he’d memorized. “I’ll always remember how she smiled when you were together. Remember that time she tried making you a cake for your sixteenth birthday and caught the oven on fire?”

 He didn’t move.

 “What about the time she-”

 “Dick?” Garth’s whispered, voice rough.

 “Yeah?” His heart raced.

 “I’ll take the hug if you shut up.” He let out a breath he didn’t realize he was holding.

 He sat up and pulled a half-limp Garth into his side, tucking him against his chest. He carded a hand through Gath’s course curly hair and rubbed circles into his back with the other. Garth trembled in his arms, his eyes squeezed shut.

 He bit his lip. He could handle victims of horrid crimes, but he had no idea what he was doing right now. No training in the world could have prepared him for this, no matter how many of his friends lost a loved one, it was different every time.

 He leaned back against the dune, tear drops staining the exposed part of his shirt as Garth began to sob anew. He held Garth tight, squeezing gently, reassuring his friend he was still there.

 They sat like that, for a long while, Dick only moving to take sips of coffee, because there was no way in hell he’d accidentally fall asleep. Garth’s breathing evened out as time went on, and eventually, Dick could pretend things were fine. He played with Garth’s hair for a few minutes more, not wanting to do anything to provoke more heartache.

 Garth let out a long, quiet sigh. “I’m pathetic.”

 “Nope, cut that out.” Garth sat back up, and Dick followed him, keeping an arm slung around his shoulders. “It wasn’t your fault.”

 “Not what I meant.” Garth glumly settled his head in his hands. “Tula… she wouldn’t want to see me like this.”

 Dick handed him the mug of (cold) hot chocolate. “Maybe not, but she’d want you to take as much time as you needed grieving.” Garth accepted it reluctantly. “She’d wouldn’t want you to ignore your feelings.”

 Garth snorted. “Dick Grayson. Lecturing me about ignoring my feelings. Oh, how far I must have fallen to sink to these lows.” He felt heat rise to his cheeks.

 “Hey.” He objected. Garth grinned, ruefully, apologetic.

 “I’m not ignoring them.” He assured, though his smile fell. “I’m managing.”

 “I’m just saying, you don’t have to manage alone.” Dick paused for a moment. “My door’s always open.”

 “I know.” Garth leaned against his side. “And I love you for it. But with all due respect, you don’t have time left to give.”

 “I-”

 “Neither does Wally,” Garth continued, cutting him off. “Donna and Roy, I don’t wish to interrupt, Victor is dealing with a lot, and the others wouldn’t understand. They didn’t know Tula.” Dick pressed his lips together. “I don’t intend on being a burden to the team.”

 “You’re not a burden, we wouldn’t exist without you.” Dick nestled his head on Garth’s shoulder. “Trust me, I’ll always have time for you. And so will the others.”

 Garth hummed, warming the cold beverage with his hand, and taking a long sip.

 “For real.” Dick continued. “I can take time off my job, I’ve been thinking about quitting anyways-” Garth’s laughter echoed across the water. “-okay fine, I get your point, but Garth, please you can talk to us… you can talk to me. But I get it if you don’t want to, or feel like you can’t, so promise me, you’ll talk to someone if it gets too much… we have people approved by the JLA.” Therapists. Psychologists. Psychiatrists.

 The sun was starting to peak up over the horizon, the sky lightening into a melancholic shade of blue, not a single cloud in sight. Garth nodded. “I promise.” Dick sighed in relief, his chest deflating at the words. He pressed his mug to his lips again. Empty. He frowned, tossing the cup aside. Traitor. “Promise you won’t worry?” He could hear the hope in Garth’s voice.

 “Sure.” Dick answered, nonchalantly.

 “Liar.” Garth accused. Dick grimaced. “You’re quite easy to read when you haven’t slept in two days.” Garth patted his shoulder placatingly. “I wouldn’t expect you to not worry.” Silence fell between them.

 “Thanks.” Garth whispered after a few minutes. Dick squeezed his shoulders in response. This was, at the least, something he could do.

 The sky turned purple and pink, chasing away the dreary colors and reflecting beautifully off the water. They sat together, watching the sunrise, huddled together against the harsh world. The caffeine was wearing off and Garth had dark circles under his eyes. If they were ambushed, his paranoia screamed, they’d be easy targets. But as he lay back down against each Garth and the sand, Dick didn’t resist the urge to let his eyes close.

 He snuggled close to Garth, content with the knowledge that some alarm would wake him if things went wrong, and aside from that, his friends were nearby. Here, with Garth, he felt safe, and it seemed Garth held the same sentiment. Dick listened as his breathing deepened, taking in the moment until he too drifted off to sleep.

#my writing #Dick Grayson #garth of shayeris #Titans #Tempest #Nightwing #god i read tempest and was so flipping sad i had to write about Garth getting a hug #how could they do that to him *cries* #emotional hurt/comfort #Garth deserves better