#and everything is a circle bc my thoughts keep returning to themselves (◡ _ ◡) | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

high-lady-of-earth · 3 years

Text

A Strained Solstice (in which Mor speaks without thinking)

Hi!!!! This is a one shot requested by @mitchloveswriting

I combined it with an anonymous request for fluffy Az x Reader. At this time, I don’t write anything 18+ but maybe in the future!!

Thanks for the requests and I hope you like it<3333

Azriel x Reader

Prompt: “az reader where everyone keeps asking when he and elain are getting togethr but reader gets sad bc theyve secretly been a thing for years pls?”

“Happy birthday, Feyre!” Everyone yelled at the same time.

It was a picture perfect moment. Feyre blew out the candles on her ridiculously elaborate birthday cake (courtesy of Rhysand, of course) as the Inner Circle looked on. Rhys stood next to his wife, Nyx in his arms, as he smiled at her. To their right, was Nesta and Cassian, mated and glowing as they held hands and looked at Feyre with love. You stood to Feyre’s left, with Amren and Varian next to you. Standing opposite of your High Lord and Lady at the table was Mor and Elain, the former with tears in her eyes and the latter with a broad, beautiful smile.

You instinctively knew that Azriel stood by the door, forever sticking to the shadows. You could feel his presence under your skin, almost like a sentient force that pulled you towards him with every fiber of your being. Your situation with the shadowsinger was sort of complicated, you had feelings for him and he reciprocated, leading to a few steamy makeout sessions during the year that you had been in the Night Court, but he had never deepened it. Never mind the fact that you wanted him to. You yearned for him to come to your side and be yours publicly, but you were too afraid to tell him.

The cake magically cut itself and you were handed a small slice of cake, the perfect size that you wanted. You silently thanked the House for knowing you so well. This year, Rhys splurged on Feyre’s birthday cake. It tasted amazing. The delicacy melted on your tongue and the frosting was so sweet that you moaned in delight.

“The cake must be phenomenal.” Said a voice behind you.

You whirled around to find Azriel casually leaning against the wall. You blushed as you realized what sound you had just made.

“It is pretty good.” You replied, a little embarrassed that Azriel had heard you. He walked towards you and you held your breath as his hand moved toward your face. The shadows that always surrounded him began to disappear a little.

“You’ve got some frosting on your cheek.” Azriel said softly as his thumb brushed against your face.

You stilled as you felt his callused finger linger a few more seconds than was necessary. Then, you watched his thumb move towards his mouth and kept staring as his tongue darted out and licked the frosting that had been on your cheek. You felt heat begin spread throughout your body as you saw your desire mirrored in Azriel’s eyes.

“Azriel! Do you want some cake?” Cassian yelled.

The moment was over as Azriel’s shadows returned and you saw the usual mask of ice harden his features.

“I’m fine, Cas. I stole a bit of Y/n’s.” Azriel replied to Cassian.

You felt your hope die a little as Azriel so casually dismissed the moment you two just shared. The all-too-familiar disappointment rushed back in and you once again felt the longing for what your friends had. Ever since you had been rescued from Hybern’s prison by the Inner Circle, your heart longed to find its mate.

“I would like to open presents now. Rhysand, please be a dear and bring them to the family room.” Amren announced. You knew the petite female was itching to get her hands on her new jewels.

You didn’t wait for Azriel as you walked into the family room and took a seat on the couch next to Mor. She looked so elegant in a purple gown and matching amethyst jewelry. You probably paled in comparison in your pink dress that seemed to be loose in too many places. Your worries melted away as Rhys brought in the solstice presents.

Of course, Amren opened her gifts first, receiving a majority of jewelry. You had given her a diadem of rubies to match the necklace Varian had given her years ago that she loved. Next, Rhys and Feyre opened the gifts for themselves and Nyx. It was no surprise that they received a lot of baby stuff, with your contribution being a magical baby rocker. Cassian and Nesta opened their gifts, which was made up of weapons and tactical gear. Mor got a lot of dresses and clothing while Varian received miscellaneous items. You gave Elain gardening stuff, like most people. Your gifts consisted of different things, from books to clothing to a painting from Feyre.

Lastly, it was Azriel’s turn to open his gifts. He received pretty much the same thing as always from everyone— weapons. You had his gift in your hand because you wanted to give it to him personally. Azriel was opening Elain’s gift when you heard Mor speak up next to you.

“When are you two going to get together? You’ve both been beating around the bush for years and I think I speak for everyone when I say put an end to our misery.” Mor said to Azriel and Elain.

Both Azriel and Elain blushed and you felt tears come to your eyes. The Inner Circle seemed to have no idea how much you cared for Azriel. Or maybe you were a fool, and you couldn’t see that he liked Elain. That would certainly explain why Azriel had never made the two of you official. You were just something to distract him from Elain, who he was forbidden to touch so that they could keep the alliance with Lucien and therefore Jurian and Vassa. The tears were threatening to spill over so you abruptly got up and muttered something about getting more wine as you made your way to the dining room.

You had just reached the table when you realized you still had Azriel’s gift in your hand. You set it down and asked the House for a wine glass, which appeared in your hand. You filled it with wine from the bottle on the table and sat down to wipe the tears from your face. You played back what had just happened in your mind, noting how Elain looked at Azriel like he was her savior. You were so deep into your thoughts that you didn’t notice someone softly sitting next to you.

“Is everything alright, Y/n?” Cassian asked you. He put a hand on your shoulder and looked at your face with concern in his eyes.

“I’m fine, Cas. It’s just another migraine.” You lied. He could tell you weren’t telling the truth.

“Is it because of what Mor said? You know she says stuff out of turn sometimes.”

“I’m fine.” You repeated. You held the wine glass tightly in your hand. Cassian sighed and got up, presumably to go back to the others.

“You know, Az is fool. You’re so much better than the rest of us. Even Elain left Feyre to take on the responsibility of feeding their entire family. But you, your kindness has no boundaries, even after what you went through with Hybern.” Cassian said.

“Will you tell them I had a migraine and went home?” You asked. He nodded and went to join the rest of the Inner Circle.

You put on your coat and and the House put your presents in a bag for you as you stepped into your slippers. Before you had the time to start descending the ten thousand stairs to your apartment in the city, Azriel appeared. He walked towards you, his presence dominating the room.

“Where are you going?” He asked. Azriel kept walking towards you, and he seemed a little angry. You had no idea why he thought he had the right to be angry and you weren’t going to be scared by his demeanor. You refused to yield a step and stood nose-to-nose with Azriel as he stopped in front of you.

“I had a migraine and I’m going home to rest.” You stated. Azriel narrowed his eyes, but you weren’t cowed.

“You haven’t had migraines in a month. I would know.” He said. You pricked at his last sentence.

“Would you really know? You seemed to be too focused on Elain to notice anything.” You accused. Azriel took a step back a laughed. He actually laughed.

“So that’s what this is about? You’re jealous of Elain because of what Mor said. Elain has a mate.” He said incredulously.

“That doesn’t seem to stop her.” You muttered as you finally looked away from him. Azriel lifted his hand to your chin and brought your face to look at his once more. He brushed a lone strand of hair away from your eyes.

“Let me fly you home, Y/n.” He said.

What did that mean? Did he want you? Was he just trying to apologize? Azriel saw your hesitation and quickly said, “It doesn’t have to mean anything.”

You nodded and he picked you up, bridal style. Azriel’s arms lay under your knees and back and you silently reveled in the feeling of his muscles. His shadows closed around the two of you and you barely felt it when he took off into the air. You buried your face into Azriel’s chest. You never liked flying, but it was better than the alternative of descending ten thousand stairs and walking to your apartment. You felt Azriel’s slight stubble on your cheek as he leaned down to whisper in your ear.

“I never licked the frosting off my thumb from Elain’s cheek, Y/n.” He murmured in your ear. If the words themselves didn’t make you curl your toes in excitement, then his husky tone did. Azriel’s voice caressed you as you blushed. You stayed there like that, in Azriel’s arms until you were both out of range of the House and he winnowed into the cozy living room of your apartment.

He set you down and you took a couple moments to orient yourself properly. Winnowing, no matter how many times you did it, always made you dizzy. You set the bag containing your presents on your coffee table and noticed Azriel’s present on top. You reached into the bag and took it out.

“I got a present for you.” You said.

“I have one for you too. I wanted to give it to you in private.” He replied.

You handed him the wrapped parcel in your hands. Azriel unwrapped his present and looked at you questioningly.

“The others don’t notice the shadows under your eyes. I know you aren’t sleeping, Az. It’s a tea I made. It’ll help you sleep.” You said. Azriel took a deep breath.

“How did you know?” He asked. You moved closer to him and put your palm on his cheek.

“I can see through the mask you put up for the others. I can see the purple smudges under your eyes.” You replied. Azriel engulfed you in a big embrace.

“I’m sorry that I haven’t given you my all, Y/n. I’m dealing with a lot of stuff, but I’d like to revisit us after we deal with the human queens.” He said.

You nodded and Azriel kissed your cheek. He pulled out a little package from his pocket and put it into your hand. You opened it and drew in a breath when you saw a key nestled in a velvet box.

“I have a house outside of Velaris. Only Rhys knows about it. Sometimes the city is a little much and I need to escape it and I wanted you to be able to have somewhere as well.” He said sheepishly. This time, you hugged Azriel and gave him a broad smile.

“Thank you.” You whispered.

#azriel x reader #azriel #inner circle #azriel x elain #acotar #acomaf #acowar #acofas #acosf #feyre archeron #rhysand #cassian #nesta archeron #amren #varian #mor #elain archeron #acotar fanfiction #submission

340 notes · View notes

heyitsyn · 4 years

Text

Keeping Up With Seijoh Ep. 4

a/n: uwuwuwuwu @animesportboys and i were just talking about this and my heart was just bursting at this thought 😭

for more seijoh content, check this masterlist out!

also requests are currently closed right now since i have like nearly 30 to finish so please be patient with me and wait for me to finish it all and until then i can open them up again. however, dont stop sending me cute stuff okay? 🥺

summary: its the time of the month for seijoh’s manager 🥺

@ yn when shes extra moody and mean during that time and does this every time she hears anything even come out of the boys’ mouth

oh dear

so basically

it’s,,,,,, a natural thing that most girls go through every month for more than half of their lives and its absolutely D R E A D F U L

the boys ofc knew what the hell a period was bc hello health class so they knew you would become this,,, other version of yourself

youd be moodier, childish, and easy to annoy and snap to everyone

but you would quickly realize how you’re acting then be all regretful and teary and cry easily and then youd forget about it then start the cycle again

you’d stick your tongue out at them and tease them mercilessly, making them run even more laps and pushing them harder

‘I SEE THOSE ARMS SHAKING, IWAIZUMI HAJIME. ADD 15 MORE TO THAT ROUTINE’

‘WHAT?!’

‘IF I SEE YOU EVEN A STEP BEHIND KINDAICHI, YOU WILL BE RUNNING 8 MORE LAPS KUNIMI’

‘NOO!!!!’

‘CHECK YOURSELF OUT ONE MORE TIME, YAHABA, I WILL GOUGE OUT YOUR EYES’

‘HAVE MERCY!!!!’

dear god they hated it

when it was time, they would protect themselves and work even harder and be more perfect to make sure you couldnt see their faults and point them out and try and kill them

it was like war for everyone

but they didnt know the exact date it started so they didnt really know when to start preparing for war until it came

this time, you didnt either

you didnt even know you were starting as you were extra busy booking the buses for away comps and collecting and emailing teachers for any missed homeworks for the team

so when it did start,,,

oh dear part 2

it wasnt really something you found out when you woke up that morning but you noticed you must be getting close since you were feeling extra cranky and you havent even been awake for more than an hour

nothing really happened throughout the day so you were just thinking that you didnt get enough sleep last night so you were just tired and wanted to sleep

but then it happened

you were standing next to iwa, reviewing his spike percentages when you shifted your weight to the other leg and then your eyes widened

your water broke

i saw this tiktok of this one girl and she was about to start filming with her friend when her eyes widened and her friend knew immediately and her caption was ‘my water broke’

iwa was worried as heck on to what was going on with you and even followed your gaze to see it on the wall and nothing out of the ordinary

‘y/n?’

‘oh god’

you mumbled and you wanted to run but you were too scared that you leaked and probably have an obvious redness on your white track pants

yep it def was your time bc you felt tears welling up in your eyes and you sniffled, embarrassed and upset for this to happen now, of all times

then oikawa tooru bursted through the doors

iwa, taking his eyes off of you and to the captain, started to yell at him until he noticed the brunette’s flushed face and panting form, hunched over as he gripped on the door handle with the plastic bag

you, too busy trying to think of a way to get out of there like deciding to waddle or to just crawl, didnt see oikawa as he approached you

the team paused and watched as he took a black hoodie from the plastic bag and wrapped it around your waist

‘hmm, y/n-chan, better get dressed so we can go now’

he hummed and you snapped out of your panic and looked up at him with watery eyes

‘oikawa-san’

you whispered and he nodded, eyes knowing what was going on

‘coach, theres a planetarium special tonight’

oikawa shouted without tearing his gaze away from you and coach irihata instantly knew, knowing the code that oikawa came up with when you became a part of the family team

the elder coach made a noise of agreement and oikawa didnt wait to up and carry you in his arms and waved to the team while pushing your head in his chest so you can hide

‘work hard everyone!’

‘oi, shittykawa! what the hell-!’

but an intense side-eye from his best friend shut him up and he knew something happened so he didnt say anything since he trusts oikawa to fix it

‘i trust you will take care of them, iwa-chan’

iwaizumi nodded firmly before shouting to resume back to practice and he himself went back to the line for spikes

you were carried to the bathroom so you could change into your emergency undies and pad and after you did your business, oikawa noticed you uncomfortably waddling towards him so he took you back into his arms

oikawa continued to carry you like his bride down the street towards an unknown destination, humming a children’s show tune that takeru loved to watch, while you maintained curled around yourself, partly due to the shame but also from the pain in your abdomen

you wiped the few stray tears that spilled past your eyes and oikawa chuckled when he noticed you aggressively wipe them off

‘hmm, y/n-chan, you shouldnt do that to yourself. it irritates your eyes and the skin around it so gently dab it next time, kay?’

you nodded, burrowing back to his chest and breathing in his scent

french toast

he smelled like french toast as the smell of caramel and vanilla wafted into your nose

‘howd you know’

you mumbled against the fabric of his jacket

oikawa stopped his humming and replaced it with a chuckle

‘oh, y/n-chan. oikawa-san is a reliable senpai, dont you know? i got a tracker! just for you!’

he answered and your eyes moved from his arm to his smile and you gripped his jacket tighter, fingers curled around it as if it was your lifeline

‘thank you, oikawa-san’

your words of appreciation made oikawa’s heart thump and he faltered a little, blush creeping up his neck, but he fought it down, covering it up with a smirk

‘you should be, y/n-chan! girls would kill to be you right now!’

you rolled your eyes at the return of his cocky attitude but you knew better

the real oikawa tooru was under that mask

turns out, he carried you to his home as his house was the closest while yours had to be taken by a bus

thankfully his parents were out and his sister and nephew were in a trip in tokyo that you had the house to yourselves without anyone asking questions that might make you uncomfortable and them misunderstand

he shut the door with his foot and made his way up the stairs with ease, his strength truly impressing you at that moment, before settling you down on his bed

it wasnt even on purpose but you curled yourself on his blanket, head buried in his pillow

his heart combusted and tooru had to look away or else he wouldve jumped on you and coddled you forever

instead, he quickly ran over and knelt down under his desk to reach for the box that he has prepared for you

‘y/n-chan, i never knew your pattern until last month so i was able to prepare for you now’

you looked up from your position on the bed and sat up enough to see him standing there, grinning with a mint green box

‘wh-what is that?’

you asked and he shuffled over, sitting next to you

‘this, is the y/n care love box! this special box was created by yours truly with everything you want and need during this dreadful week. theres your favorite food, warm socks, coupons you can spend like watching movies and eating ten tubs of ice cream while we talk shit about the boys’

he listed, gripping the box nervously

‘so? do you like it?’

he looked away from the box and to you but his smile slipped into a panicked one when he saw you silently crying and biting your lip to keep the sobs in

‘y-y/n-chan! i-its okay if y-you dont like it! o-oikawa-san can-’

‘no!’

you cut him off and lunged to hug him with all your might

hehe all might

E A T T H I S

‘i love you so much, oikawa-san! so much! thank you!’

you sobbed into his neck and he tightly hugged you back, lifting you so you could comfortably sit on his lap straddle him if you want me to be straight forward

oikawa gently moved so he was leaning against the wall that his bed was pressed against while you were pressed against his warmth

his fingers were drawing small circles on your back and whispering corny jokes or puns that made you giggle and laugh and occassionally, he would kiss your nose and you would whine at the ticklish feeling

eyes fleeting around the room, your eyes settled back on the box and you reached out, wanting to grab it until oikawa beat you to it and snatched it for you then placed it on your hold

‘whats inside, oikawa-san?’

you cutely mumbled, sitting comfortably back on his thighs so you could open the box in front of you

oikawa laughed

‘just open it and figure it out yourself, y/n-chan’

you pouted at his tease but smiled widely when you revealed the contents inside

‘oikawa-san!’

his eyes followed your surprised expression and his hands gripped your waist

‘you like it?’

he whispered and you nodded, looking back up at him and kissing his cheek, his

‘youre so sweet, oikawa-san! like-like this candy bar! howd you know i like this?’

you held up the treat and he shrugged

‘i keep seeing you get it whenever we go to the store’

you continued to sift through the things, seeing a dvd of your favorite movie, a f/c heating pad, a note that said your favorite ice cream was in the fridge, a bag of your favorite chips, fluffy socks, the goodies

you didnt even notice yourself crying again, only realizing it when there were wet spots beneath you

oikawa saw this and he quickly but gently put the box to the side and cradled your face with both of his hands, softly wiping the tears away with his thumbs

‘aw, dont cry, my little baby. princesses should never cry’

you sniffled and choked a laugh

‘hah, n-not a baby. j-just hor-monal’

you complained and oikawa snickered but shook his head then kissed your nose again

‘youre my baby’

you didnt have it in you to complain so you went back to snuggling into him

oikawa squeezed you and went back to drawing the circles on your back and he felt you relax into his touch and slump against his form, slowly starting to snore

your head rested on his shoulder and he turned slightly to watch your eyes flutter and nose scrunch when a strand of your hair fell on it

his heart continued to beat faster and faster and it showed by the way his fingers shook as he carefully lifted the hair away from you

he slowly bent down to give you a kiss on the forehead before laying you down to sleep more comfortably

‘good night, princess’

he sweetly placed a last kiss on your cheek before getting up to go prepare your heating pad for when you wake up

the next few days were possibly the best period days youve ever had

maybe because it was oikawa telling the team that you were in,,,,, satan’s domain currently and they should be careful with you so they tried their best to lift the weight and burden off of your shoulders

however,,

the next day after the incident,,,

they still didnt know what was wrong with you and oikawa forgot to text the gc about your condition so they were still unknowing

like today

during your classes, you were feeling off, almost nauseous but eating little bits of your chocolate treats were helping you get through until lunch

ofc kunimi noticed bc hellow he sits next to you and he doesnt pay attention during class so hes been watching you sneak little bites so the teacher doesnt see and ducking under your book

he was just amused with the way your eyes would widen if you thought the teacher caught you

kindaichi and kunimi and you usually ate lunch together at your classroom since you three only got to hang out as first years during lunch

so they know you usually have a bento with you and have a general idea of how much you eat

and kunimi thought since you ate all those chocolates earlier, you wouldnt eat as much food but then he saw you scarf down your bento, eat 2 more bags of chips and was finishing last chocolate bar

kindaichi,,,, wasnt even finished with his own bento and was watching you, amazed, at how easily you ate all of it

they didnt say anything since they thought you just didnt eat dinner last night but even during the walk towards the gym for after school practice, you were complaining that you were hungry and was eating another chocolate bar

they thought something was truly wrong bc you were eating so much more than usual

kunimi watched you chew on it as you opened the gym door and still ate even when you were talking to mattsun about his jump height

‘man, you sure are hungry, aren’t you, y/n? thats like your fifth chocolate bar today’

kunimi teased, grabbing a ball to spike but he froze, seeing you with the coldest and angriest look hes ever seen

you blinked at him, grip tightening on the treat, and mattsun slowly backing away from you

you advanced towards the blep boy, treat already forgotten and shoved to be held by mattsun

despite your shorter height than kunimi, he trembled slightly as you looked up at him

‘are you calling me fat, kunimi? are you? am i fat? do you think im ugly? im a piggie?’

you ranted and slowly started crying, making kunimi frantically scramble to stop you before the other upperclassmen see or worse, oikawa-san

‘y/n-wait-no!-um’

‘y/n-chan?’

kunimi shut his eyes tightly in fear at the deadly sweet voice of his captain and kindaichi and mattsun sent a quick prayer to their fellow teammate before he was going to get killed

‘uh oh, i think we’d have to start looking for a replacement for kunimi’

makki, who just arrived, teased making kindaichi fearfully look at him

‘eh?!’

‘oh, you first years have never seen oikawa mad, have ya? well, you’ll get front seat of it!’

mattsun clapped him in the back making him gulp

you werent sobbing but you were definitely crying, tear tracks quickly being wetted by the numerous amount of tears that fell

kunimi scrambled to his knees and folded himself, forehead resting on the floor by his hands

‘I APOLOGIZE! PLEASE DONT KILL ME! I APOLOGIZE! PLEASE FIND MERCY IN YOURSELF AND FORGIVE ME, Y/N-SAMA!’

it was certainly a sight to see

normally calm and collected and chill and relaxed hippie kunimi begging to be forgiven

oikawa stepped forward but you quickly felt the change of your mood, feeling bad for your boy and scrambling to pull him back up

‘oh kunimi-kun! dont kneel like that! the floor is too hard and might give you knee pain!’

it was like whiplash

iwa stepped in the gym and saw the team’s confused and bewildered expressions and saw you, kunimi, and oikawa and he shook his head

this aint even half of bad as he has seen

oikawa gently took you away from kunimi and held you to him instead, giving you a smile, to which you returned, and looked at kunimi, a deadly glint in his eye

‘what happened, y/n-chan?’

the tone of his voice sent a chill to run down everyone’s spines and even iwa, the boy who’s seen this a handful of times, shivered and nervously watched oikawa, ready to jump in

but you just blinked, completely unaware of the change of atmosphere

‘oh, um, i overreacted. i was eating too much food today and mustve annoyed him or something’

you sheepishly mumbled but oikawa was having none of it

‘no, its fine. youre literally bleeding out as we speak! dont feel the need to validate yourself!’

he lightly scolded while you hung your head low and continued to apologize but he gently bonked your head before scolding you again

the team definitely knew now that you were in that,,,, time and they definitely knew now, especially kunimi, that even if youve seen oikawa mad, youd think that the devil was more merciful than him when it relates to the topic of you

a/n: i swear to GGGOOOOODDDDDD im an oikawa whore who cant seem to stop writing for him!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

458 notes · View notes

highfaelucien · 3 years

Text

Babysitting the Heir - An Inner Circle Fic

Repost from 2016 (god I’m old) that I redrafted bc it’s cute and wholesome af. And after all the salt and angst I have provided, I felt it was only fair to bring some fluff to the table.

Title: Babysitting the Heir

Summary: Azriel and Mor babysit Feyre and Rhys’ young son, Nyx, so the two of them can have a little time to themselves. He ends up taking quite a strong liking to Az... Fluff, pure fluff.

Teaser: ‘The moment he slips into Azriel’s arms again he pillows his head calmly against his chest and settles completely, gazing up at him with big, innocent eyes.

Mor grins.’

Notes: No content warnings to speak of. Originally posted in 2016. Rewritten to update with (some) current canon, but also with some of my own additions, like happily queerplatonic Moriel. Because I can. And because this shit is adorable.

AO3: Link

“Be good for Aunt Mor, okay?” Feyre says, dipping forwards to kiss her son's forehead. “Does he understand the concept of ‘good’ yet?” Mor chirps conversationally.

Tilting her body she shifts in place and adjusts Nyx in her arms to allow Rhys to kiss him goodbye as well. “Why don’t you debate that with him this evening over some fine wine, Mor?” Rhys drawls.

The soft smile on his lips is very patently for his son; the words dripping with sarcasm very obviously for his cousin. Irritated by the baby balanced in her arms and her resulting lack of free hands with which to offer her cousin some obscene gesture, she makes do with snapping at him. “Why don’t you take a long walk off a very short balcony. Without wings. You sardonic pri-“ “We,” Feyre interrupts pointedly as Rhys starts smirking in a way that would have forced Mor to hand Nyx back to his mother so she could do something about it, “Are leaving,” she announces.

Grabbing her still obnoxiously smiling mate by his upper arm she begins to firmly drag him away from Mor before serious damage is done to his pretty face.

“Now,” Feyre adds in a slightly threatening growl as Rhys looks more than ready to continue bickering. “Thank you for this, Mor!” Feyre calls over her shoulder as she frog-marches Rhys to the door at the other end of the corridor.

“And you Az,” she adds with a smile and a wave, both hello and goodbye, tossed in the shadowsinger’s direction as he drifts serenely down the stairs to see what all the fuss is about in the hall. Mor lifts Nyx’s little hand with her first two fingers and has him wave goodbye to her parents while Az presses quiet kiss to her temple. His eyes fix on the baby in her arms with an air that suggests he’s seriously considering the possibility he might suddenly explode at any moment. “I’m going to the roof to train for a little while,” he murmurs quietly into her hair, his voice smooth and cool as ever. She nods, softly kissing the top of Nyx’s head, “We’ll be fine,” she says, shooing her partner upstairs, suppressing her eye roll with difficulty as she does so. “I’ll give you a shout if we need anything.”

Az nods his agreement then retreats silently back the way he had come leaving Mor to take Nyx into the living room alone. It’s not surprising. He does this every time they babysit for anyone. She knows that he’s more uncomfortable than the rest of them around any of the children, even if he secretly dotes on them, and she’s never pushed him into keeping her company unless she’s overwhelmed on her own. Which doesn’t happen often; usually only when Elain and Lucien’s twins are staying with them. Two years older than Nyx and already holy terrors in their own right. She chuckles to herself at the thought. She and Nyx have a nice afternoon that involves nothing more strenuous for Mor than setting him on her knee, holding his hands and bouncing him up and down until he giggles.

“Your parents are going to have so much fun when you start flying,” she teases as his small wings furl and unfurl excitedly. After an hour or so a servant interrupts politely to ask Mor if she could deal with something that’s arisen from some Court of Nightmares emissaries staying with them.

Nodding, Mor apologises to Nyx before gently popping him into the cot in front of the large floor to ceiling windows. Then she turns and hollers up the stairs for Azriel. He appears in moments and she stands on her toes to press a soft kiss to his cheek and give him her most winning smile, which immediately makes him look nervous. As it should.

“Would you keep an eye on Nyx for me?” she asks him, nuzzling affectionately against his taut chest. “I have to deal with the idiots from the Court of Nightmares. It shouldn’t take more than fifteen minutes or so.” Azriel frowns at this.

Mor sighs. “He’s a baby not a bogge, Az,” she reminds him, thinking that he’d probably rather tackle the latter on his own. She keeps that to herself however, looking beseechingly up at him. “Are you sure?” he deadpans, looking down at her, hazel eyes glittering. Mor beams and presses a hasty kiss to his lips that catches more cheek than mouth in her hurry as she darts for the door. “I won’t be long, thanks!” she’s calling over her shoulder at him, without him ever having quite agreed to this plan of hers. Then she winnows from the house and Az sighs; though he’s unable to entirely banish the small, affectionate smile that tugs at the corner of his lips in response to her. Padding into the room he gathers up the toys strewn around the room from earlier, wondering both how they ended up with so many and also how Mor had managed to scatter them so widely around the room in such a short space of time. He shakes his head slightly as he fishes one out from underneath the breakfast table, eyes twinkling at the whirlwind that is his Morrigan as he does so. He’s just setting everything back into the box in the corner when Nyx starts crying. Wincing at the sound he pads tentatively towards his cot, his wails increasing in volume with every moment.

Crouching down he gently rubs his tummy with his hand to soothe him. Trying not to cringe at the sight of the twisted, burned flesh touching the young child. Gentle hushing has no effect on him whatsoever and when his cries could more accurately be described as howling Azriel finally decides there’s nothing else for it.

Standing he tentatively reaches down into the crib and scoops him up into his arms. He’s held him before, naturally – neither Mor nor Feyre gave him any choice in the matter when he was born and continued to coax him into it afterwards – but it still feels...wrong somehow. His rough, scarred hands, hard with the calluses from his training are stained with more blood than he cares to remember. They were shaped to hold blades and handle the violent killing power that burns in his blue siphons, not children. He’s never been entirely comfortable with something so small and precious and fragile entrusted to his battered arms. Morrigan was one thing, but the little one... Slowly, he starts bouncing Nyx in his arms, the way Mor does to get him to quiet down. This plus the fact that he’s holding the child close to him seems to help.

He still sniffles faintly but he’s stopped screaming as though he’s trying to bring the place down at least. After a few minutes of gentle rocking and soothing murmuring he settles against his broad chest. “You were just being dramatic because you wanted some attention, weren’t you, little one?” Azriel muses quietly to him.

Mor, he’s noted, seems to talk away to him. all the time. Regardless of whether he understands, it's something he appears to like, so Azriel continues.

“That’s your father’s fault,” he informs him placidly. A broad smile spreads across his face as though he’s understood what he’s said and Az can’t help his own smile at the sight of it.

Nyx bats happily at his cheek, searching and grabbing at every bit of him he can reach from his arms.

Then the little fingers start to grab at his wings and he tenses, blinking down at him. “No, no,” he says in alarm as one small hand grips tightly onto the hooked, pointed talon at the crest of his wing and the other just grabs at whatever other part of it he can reach. “That’s not- No! Nyx, please-“ he tries hopelessly.

Prising his surprisingly strong grip off of him gently while still keeping one arm locked tightly around him proves to be near impossible.

He wonders vaguely if all children his age have such stubborn, iron grips or if this is a trait he can thank his mother for.

“Nyx-“ he pleads hopelessly as his small, nails dig into a sensitive spot of the membrane of his wing. A low, throaty chuckle interrupts his helpless floundering and he looks up to see Mor leaning artfully against one of the broad wooden pillars in the room. He’s rarely seen her looking so amused. “He’s one, Az,” she smirks at him, seeming to find his current predicament immensely amusing. “You can’t reason with him.” “Would you please-“ He gestures mutely for her to take Nyx back and somehow have him release his hold on him. Still laughing, her warm eyes dancing with merriment, Mor steps forwards at last and obliges him.

She scoops Nyx smoothly into her arms, detaching him from Azriel’s wing with ease.

Azriel shakes out his wings with relief and tucks them very firmly against his back. More so than he usually would. Something that's not missed by Mor, who gives him a wicked grin that has him groaning.

"Poor baby," she croons, voice playful and teasing.

Az gives her a half-hearted scowl in answer, starting to tidy the room again.

Mor's voice returns to normal as she kisses Nyx’s head and chuckles, “Wait ‘til we tell Uncle Cassian that all he has to do to bring the fearsome shadowsinger to his knees is not let go of his wing.”

Az shoots her a playful growl at the remark and Mor laughs again. Nyx, who had taken fairly well to being handed from one to the other of them like a solstice gift, had merely reached behind Mor to find something else to occupy himself.

While being obviously displeased by her lack of wings, he soon seems to decide that grabbing fistfuls of Mor’s beautiful golden hair will do just as well.

As Mor begins to carry him away from Azriel, however, he starts fussing again, his large, striking violet eyes fixed firmly on the retreating form of Az. Arching an eyebrow Mor wanders experimentally back to him and Nyx immediately reaches out for Az again, little fists grabbing the air insistently.

He blinks in surprise as he continues to squirm and fuss in Mor’s arms until she hands him over and coaxes him to take him again.

The moment she slips into Azriel’s arms again he pillows his head calmly against his chest and settles completely, gazing up at him with big, innocent eyes. Mor grins. “No,” he protests feebly, looking from one to the other of them and knowing he’s beaten long before he gets out, “No, Mor, I don’t want-“ She pats his shoulder consolingly, ruining the effect by laughing through it. “You can’t say no to your future High Lord, Az,” she trills, grinning broadly at him as Az blinks down at the baby nestled peacefully in his arms. “Mor, I,” he stumbles, looking down at her again, fear gripping him as he says, “What if I drop him? What if I hurt him?” He’s being as gentle and as careful with him as he can but... “You won’t,” Mor says, the laughter instantly easing from her voice as it drops, becoming even and soothing. “Come on,” she says, tenderly hooking her fingers between his forearm and Nyx’s soft, warm body and leading him over towards the comfortable couches by the fire. Patiently, Mor shows him different ways of holding Nyx to help him become more comfortable with the babe and stop him worrying about dropping or hurting him somehow.

To his credit, the little one is incredibly patient with being pushed and pulled into various different positions and doesn’t seem to mind as long as Azriel is doing most of the holding.

He snorts when Mor mentions he’s lucky he decided to discover this new side to himself with the very placid Nyx rather than the twins. Neither would have been nearly as accommodating of all this poking and prodding. When Nyx finally does seem to tire of training Azriel in how to deal with him and starts to become fussy again, Mor heads to the kitchen and brings back a bottle for him to feed him.

She watches the two of them fondly as Nyx sucks contentedly at the warm milk, his big violet eyes blinking serenely up at them both.

Az smiles down at her the whole while, his scarred hands cradling him gently. When he looks up and catches the faint gleam in Mor’s eye he carefully slides an arm around her shoulders and gathers her in against him. With a faint, contented hum he presses a soft kiss to the top of her head. Nyx successfully keeps Az in thrall all night. Each time he tries to leave him for more than a few minutes he makes his displeasure about his departure known to most of Velaris. “

You’re a devious little one,” he murmurs softly to him, after the third or fourth instance of this, tickling his tummy as Mor did, and watching him giggle happily in his lap. “That’s Rhys’s fault too.” Mor smirks. “What else was Rhys’s fault?” she enquires playfully, arching a golden eyebrow and plastering a wicked grin across her lips. Azriel smiles faintly.

“His flare for drama and need for constant attention,” he responds simply. Mor tips back her head and howls with laughter at that, so loudly that Nyx blinks at her and nuzzles in against his chest, alarmed by this outburst. Azriel gives her a gentle nudge to coax her to stop for the babe’s sake and she desists. “Well he’s clearly fond of you.” Mor observes, looking down at the small, placid bundle in his arms. “That level of sense can only come from his mother.” Az chuckles at that and the shadows that flit around him gather around his chest at the sound. “Do that again,” Mor says suddenly, her head tilted slightly to the side as she peers down at Nyx. “What?” Az asks, confused, not aware that he’d been doing anything more than absently rocking Nyx back and forth in his arms, something that seemed to soothe him “With the shadows,” Mor says and he tightens at the mention but she shakes her head, “Make them gather around your chest again,” she instructs and he obliges her uncertainly. At once, one of Nyx’s little hands shoots out, trying to grab them. Blinking in pleasant surprise, Az coaxes the shadows a little closer. He had deliberately kept them light, something that was never hard with Mor around, and away from Nyx in case he scared him. But he seems oddly transfixed by them. Again he reaches out, trying to grab at them, his little fists closing over air. Azriel starts to make them dart around him in little bursts and he keeps swiping for them, like a cat chasing a mouse, until he’s giggling wildly and Mor is laughing beside him at the sight.

Cautiously, Azriel reaches down and brushes Nyx’s soft pale skin with his shadows. His eyes go wide and his whole body stills. He repeats the gesture and he begins to laugh again as he tickles her with them.

Mor beams with delight, the unreserved joy on her face more intoxicating to him than a bottle of faerie wine at the Solstice. As the evening begins to draw to a close, both Mor and Nyx fall asleep on top of Azriel. Nyx sprawls flat against his chest. Meanwhile Mor presses in against his side, her head tucked into the crook of his neck, her legs curled up under her as she presses in against him.

Azriel smiles quietly at the sight of both of them, one hand underneath Nyx to keep him supported, the other trailing absently through Morrigan’s golden curls, absently stroking them and soothing her in her sleep. That’s the position that Feyre and Rhys find them in when they knock on the door and Azriel calls for them to come in several hours later.

Feyre smiles at the sight of them and hurries over to Azriel. She leans down and trails her fingers through Nyx’s soft, downy black hair. Mor stirs at the arrival of Feyre and Rhys and stretches away from Azriel like a cat, rubbing the sleep from her eyes and smiling dozily around at the scene. Azriel gets carefully to his feet and very gently hands Nyx to Rhys who soothes him almost instantly with a few quiet words when he wakes in response to all of the movement around him.

“That’s typical of Aunt Morrigan, isn’t it?” Rhys murmurs to Nyx, grinning at Mor over his son’s head. “Falling asleep and leaving poor Uncle Az to do all the work and cover for her.” Mor looses a rough growl at him and Az hastily snakes a hand around her waist, tugging her gently to his side and pressing a calming kiss to the top of her head while she glowers good naturedly at her smirking cousin.

“Well if that’s how you feel, cousin,” she says loftily, all anger suddenly smoothed away by a thought, which should only ever be read as concerning, “You won’t need to ask me to babysit when you want a date night again. You can just ask Az to do it all by himself, since he’s done ‘all the work’.”

Az felt himself pale at that, in spite of himself. Something his brother must note, because he quickly cuffs Mor on the back and says, “I don’t know what I’d ever do without you, cousin.”

“That’s what I thought,” Mor mutters under her breath, and Az gives her another small squeeze and a smile. “Was everything all right?” Feyre asks, looking between them, fondly stroking Nyx’s cheek as she moves to stand beside Rhys. “Everything was fine,” Azriel says smoothy, giving her a soft smile that instantly seems to reassure her. “Thank you again for having him,” she says, leaning forwards and embracing Mor then kissing Az’s cheek. They both assure them it was no problem and they’d be happy to do it again. Once Feyre and Rhys have left the two of them tidy up then flop down onto the couch. Mor immediately settles herself in Azriel’s lap, sprawling across him as though he’s a cushion. Az waits patiently for her to make herself comfortable and then settle down against him. Her smaller, more delicate form melts easily against his as she drapes her arms lazily around his chest. “So,” she says, a clear smirk tugging at the corner of her mouth, “You’ll be happy to help me the next time we babysit for Feyre and Rhys?” He smiles faintly “Feyre and Rhys?” He says, arching an eyebrow and lightly tapping her nose, “Yes,” he agrees, “Not Elain and Lucien.” He clarifies with a shudder at the thought of facing the twins alone. Mor laughs again and burrows affectionately in against him. “It’s okay,” she promises him, arching up to press a soft kiss to the tip of his nose, “We’ll tackle the two of them together.”

Azriel just wraps his arms around her, lightly kissing the top of her head and humming contentedly, closing his eyes. He’s asleep with his arms around her in minutes.

36 notes · View notes

hxwks-gf · 3 years

Note

Helloo i hope you're doing good! I was wondering if you'd be able to write a little something where Bakugou kind of helps y/n through a slump? Like they get stuck in their own thoughts a lot and it kind of throws them off their game a bit? (They start forgetting things, kind of sluggish, always staring off into space, quiet all of the sudden, they throw themselves into their work and end up getting really irritable bc they can't focus, etc etc.) It's cool if you don't feel like writing it! I'll understand :)

a/n: this came straight from the heart (and also i self indulged with the artist bit) because i know exactly what it’s like to get caught in a slump and absolutely lose yourself in your work and becoming irritated with everything so here’s some soft bakugo taking care of you ~

Bakugo quietly set his spare key down on the counter and shed his coat before entering the living room. He paused near the couch and watched the back of your head as it was bowed over your latest piece of art. His crimson eyes sidled over and scanned the mess of your apartment: laundry on the floor, dishes in the sink, paint brushes and canvases scattered around you like a strange summoning circle.

You still hadn’t realized he had walked in, and he shook his head in disappointment. “Hey,” he called over to you, crossing his arms and frowning. “How long have you been working at that?”

His disappointment only furthered when you didn’t even turn your head to look at him. You fervently painted over the canvas in front of you, shoulders hunched and one leg dangling off of the stool.

“Hello?” he said, moving to stand behind you. “Are you just going to ignore me?”

“I’m not ignoring you,” you finally answered, still not looking at him.

“Why didn’t you answer me?”

“Katsuki, I’m really trying to focus here,” you snapped, dunking your brush into the water and drying it with a towel. “You know how important this is to me.”

“You know what else is important?” Bakugo said as he picked at the t-shirt you wore, dirty with various patches of dried paint. “Basic hygiene. When was the last time you had a shower?”

You shrugged away from his fingers and scowled over your shoulder at him. “Why do you care all of the sudden?”

The muscle in his jaw twitched as he returned the scowl. “Because you haven’t been answering my calls or my texts, dumbass. I know how you get when you fall into a slump: you overwork yourself to the point where you’re barely functional.”

You looked away. “That’s not true.”

Bakugo glanced around the messy apartment. “Isn’t it?”

“I haven’t been able to finish this piece in weeks,” you said quietly, staring down at the canvas. “I figured if I just forced myself to keep working, I’d be able to. I haven’t been inspired lately and it’s making me question my skills.”

He squatted beside you and placed a hand on your knee. “I’m going to be honest with you, because no one else will, alright?”

“Alright.”

“The painting is gonna come out looking like shit if you keep forcing it,” he said, tilting his head. “You’re a damn good artist, (y/n). Stop doubting that.”

Your eyes flickered between him and your work, before you finally sighed through your nose and nodded. “I know.”

“So stop overworking yourself and take a fucking break,” he said, getting to his feet and holding out his hand. “You stink.”

“You’re an asshole,” you muttered, but you allowed him to guide you to your bathroom where he sat you on the edge of the tub and began running the water. Once he was satisfied with the temperature, he dumped an obscene amount of lavender bath salts and pointed to it.

“Take the bath, dumbass. I’ll clean up the kitchen and make you something to eat.”

You reached over and caught his hand as he passed you on his way out. Bakugo stopped and turned to face you again, but you kept your eyes on the tiled floor and simply squeezed his fingers.

He squeezed them back.

“Thank you,” you mumbled, still not looking up at him.

“You’re welcome.”

After he left you alone to sink beneath the heated water and watch the clouds of steam billow throughout the bathroom, you wondered what you had done to deserve a friend that cared about you like Katsuki Bakugo. Perhaps you’d never know.

Perhaps you would simply enjoy him, because the world always seemed so colorless without him.

#i will forever and always be obsessed with soft bakugo #thank u for this sweet request anon #bakugou katsuki #my hero academia #boku no hero academia #bnha #bakugo fluff #bakugou katsuki fic #bakugo fanfic #bakugo imagine #bakugo x reader #bakugou x you

137 notes · View notes

joontier · 4 years

Text

The King’s Guard | Chapter 4

–> Pairings: kim seokjin x reader; jeon jungkook x reader ; min yoongi x reader

–> Rating: R | Genre: historcal drama, smut, angst, fluff | warnings: explicit language, intense pining, swearing, infidelity, implied dubious consent! (drunk yn, implied coercion), dom! daechwita yoongi, oral male receiving, unprotected sex, v rough sex, choking kink, pain kink, boobie spanking, edging, basically yoongs wanting to fuck yn’s brains out, voyeurism, sweaty sex, jk hates yoongi’s blonde hair with passion

–> Word count: 8.9k

–> A/N: This chapter is dedicated to the araw to my gabby @mintseesaw and tkg enthusiast @dameleia ILYSM BOTH u guys dont know how much i value the support you have given to me and this fic!!! I told yall i was gonna post this tomorrow but here we are BC I AM A: 🤡 Feedback is always appreciated! <3

The King’s Guard - Masterlist || navi.

The King’s Guard | Chapter 4

“Ugh, what kind of rat is trying to bother me now?” the man mumbles, dragging his poorly-worn, boot clad feet against the soil. It’s far too late in the evening, and he swears to his ancestors he will not hesitate to choke this man to death if all this noise will be for nothing. The banging won’t stop, and the servant finds himself uncharacteristically exerting more energy in quickening his steps as a neighbor shouts about keeping the noise down.

“What in the king’s name do you-“

The man comes face to face with none other than the captain of the royal guards himself who’s already handing him a pouch containing more payment than he will ever receive in his life. “I need you to do something.”

Once Jungkook had told the man of his orders, he turned on his heel, leaving the man to return to his house. With no hurry, the captain heads back to the palace, letting himself drown in his thoughts, reminiscing the past as he kicks a few stray pebbles along the path.

“Jungkook-ah, catch this!” Yoongi pretends to throw the ball in the air as Jungkook lurches forward, looking up. The older boy bends over in laughter, one arm hooked around the ball he ‘supposedly’ threw. Yoongi’s chest beams with pride, and mirth, having fooled his younger brother yet again.

“Hyung! That’s unfair!” Jungkook stomps his foot on the ground, a cloud of smoke dispersing around his feet at the strength of it. Their mother watches with adoration from where she’s preparing their lunch inside their house. Shaking her head at their foolishness, Min Misun continues to add their homegrown herbs onto the chicken stock, occasionally peering at her two sons.

They’ve been arguing more often these days, fighting even over the simplest of things. Misun is well aware though that the alleged ‘despise’ they hold against each other is nothing but playful banter between her two boys. At the end of the day, they know they enjoy each other’s company the most and that they hold the strongest bond between siblings.

They are coming of age soon too, and that endless stream competitiveness coursing through their veins is something brought about by their youth and will remain the same as never anything more than two boys playing around. The two would always make Misun choose her favorite between them, but she’d just shrug them away and tease them incessantly about not telling who her favorite was, much to her sons’ demise. She loved them both equally with all her being.

Quite astonishingly, while one was lacking in something, the other would be extremely good at. Not that they were already good at everything – as their father had taught them a vast majority of things, passing on the importance of being knowledgeable in the many fields of life.

While Yoongi excelled at swordsmanship, Jungkook was an expert at archery. One was unbeatable at field sports while the other genuinely enjoyed games that required more thinking than physical movement. They were polar opposites most times, but when they teamed up together to play (or fight!) against the other boys at the village, they were unbeatable. They knew each other’s strengths and weaknesses the most and used their unspoken dynamics to their advantage.

Just like that one time Yoongi found his younger brother getting pushed around by stronger, bigger, and older boys in the marketplace. Yoongi immediately leaves the sack of rice with his mother, running towards the circle they’ve formed around Jungkook. The older sibling pushes his way through the small crowd of boys around their age. Yoongi finds poor Jungkook trembling with fear in the midst of it all, but maintains his head held high, trying his best to appear brave even when he feels his cowardice taking over him. As soon as Yoongi reaches the center, he takes hold of his brother’s hand, dragging him out of the commotion. But definitely not before taking out the biggest one – delivering a punch straight to the boy’s face that had him falling backwards. “Pick on someone your own size,” he told the boy and threatened him with an even more painful punishment if he dared to hurt his brother once more.

Or that one time when it was Yoongi who found himself in trouble, having been accused of stealing a chicken when he was merely passing by the merchant’s stall and the actual thief slammed the chicken against his chest. With Jungkook trailing a few steps behind, seeing the whole fiasco, he placed a foot out to trip the robber. The thief unfortunately stealthily avoided his foot, getting away. He caught a glimpse of his brother concurrently being confronted by the stall owner, and takes another look at the man who was getting farther. Cursing under his breath, Jungkook takes after the robber. The young boy, being blessed with strong legs, catches the thief in no time and dragged him back to the merchant, demanding his brother to be freed from captivity.

A few more moments pass and Jeon Yeongkwan arrives from the forest after having collected firewood all morning. Yeongkwan greets his wife with a kiss, while the children scurry towards their father to greet him with a hug.

As Yeongkwan joins his children in playing, the family’s lone horse starts neighing wildly, signaling someone’s arrival. He immediately ushers his children and Misun inside, telling them to stay quiet until he deems it safe for them to come out.

He’d retrieved his trusty sword he’d kept on the bottom drawer of his closet, he takes cautious steps towards the threshold, warily gripping the weapon in his hands. He hates the fact that he’d have to use this a little too soon after the Great Colonization, but if it means keeping his family from harm’s way, he’d gladly wield it with all his strength.

With the southern city nearest to the neighboring countries, it makes the city most susceptible to colonizers. And just because the turmoil had already ended, it wasn’t enough assurance that there weren’t any foreigners left on their land lurking around to make another attempt to take their lands once more.

Peering from the corner of the brick wall surrounding their house, Yeongkwan watches a nearing horse carrying the city’s emblem. He visibly relaxes at the sight, but remains wary nevertheless. There had been rumors of foreigners impersonating citizens, taking the emblems for themselves and posing as residents of the country, and he could never risk the safety of his family

As the horse draws nearer, he sees the man atop the steed clad in the palace’s uniform. What other reason could bring a palace worker here when he’d already retired from his position as general of the southern army? He’d already made his intentions clear with the king; that he wanted nothing more than to spend his remaining days in a quiet place with his family.

It was a difficult time for the entire country, undoubtedly, and citizens had not fully recuperated from the recent conclusion of the war. Yeongkwan hopes that this man’s arrival doesn’t bring with him news of new trouble. If he was being honest, it had been a great honor to have served the king and to have fought with him side by side, and eventually spared him from death at some point. Yeongkwan loved the south clearly, he was born and raised there after all, but when he had wed Misun and blessed him with two sons, nothing else mattered more to him than his family of four.

Yeongkwan had only joined the army because of the king’s orders that at least one man from each family join the militia – a proclamation nobody in the city could contest. But it was the thought of his family well-being and safety from the colonizers that kept him alive. He’d instantly been promoted to general as the previous man holding the title had been slain in battle, and Yeongkwan was the one who plunged a sword into the colonizer who tried to stab the king at the back. He was grateful for the offer of a high military ranking but had expressed his desire not to continue working for the militia. Gratefully, the king had honored his request after the war had ended.

Now that another palace worker has found himself back to Yeongkwan’s family home, the patriarch can’t help but worry over what might be the cause of this man’s unexpected arrival.

The man pulls at the reigns, definitely making the horse halt its trotting. “Are you Jeon Yeongkwan?” The man hesitates for a moment before giving away his identity. “Yes, that is me. Can I…help you with anything?” He glances at the sword he’d rested against the wall.

The messenger doesn’t say anything, but instead retrieves a scroll from a satchel attached to the horses’ saddle. “To Jeon Yeongkwan, a message from King Daesin, ruler of the south. You have been invited to a private supper with the King tomorrow evening in celebration of the successful cessation of the foreigners from colonizing our country. The rest of your family’s presence will be highly appreciated.”

Yeongkwan nods in acknowledgment, this time truly breathing a sigh of relief. The messenger re-rolls the parchment and places the same on Yeongkwan’s hands and leaves without any other words. Misun approaches her husband as soon as the mysterious man was out of sight, placing a comforting hand at the small of his back. “Who was it?” His two sons likewise approach him.

“The King has invited us for dinner tomorrow evening.”

Misun immediately squeals in excitement, surprising the three boys of the household. “Does that mean we get to see the palace? Oh! We need to get new clothes then? How am I supposed to sew you three new clothes? We only got old ceremonial ones kept in our room but I don’t think those will still fit any of you…” She taps her chin subconsciously, deep in thought and worry.

Yeongkwan, absolutely smitten with Misun’s hidden charms and unable to control his adoration for his wife, places a chaste kiss on her cheek, “I think you’ll look beautiful in anything, my love.” Their two sons gag at the sight, passionately cringing at their parents. Yeongkwan chuckles, as Misun hides her reddened cheeks in the crook of his neck.

“In the near future my sons, when you get to marry the woman you love more than yourself, you’ll understand.”

Misun had worked on their clothes all night, and by the time she finished, the sun had already risen. She worries that she might not look presentable enough with the darkening circles under her eyes for having stayed up late, but with her husband’s constant reassurance and praise, he managed to convince Misun that she looked more than presentable.

As they reach the royal hanok, a royal guard knocks on the door once, announcing the arrival of the Jeon family. “Jeonha, former General Jeon Yeongkwan has arrived with his family.” The door opens, revealing a majestic room, one nearly thrice as large as the boys’ shared sleeping quarters.

Yeongkwan kneels to the floor, bowing in courtesy. The two boys continue to marvel at the room, mouths agape as each of their parents tug at their pants to follow suit.

The king of the south rises from his seat, approaching the family he had wanted to meet for so long. “Rise, my old friend.” King Daesin places a hand on Yeongkwan’s shoulder, beckoning him to stand up.

“Are these your boys?” he asks the former general, ruffling Yoongi’s and Jungkook’s hair at the same time. “Fine young men, you are. Just like your dad...A few years back that is,” the king observes, squatting down so he can face them at eye level. Yeongkwan smiles at the king, while the latter lets out an amused chuckle at the former’s sons who are unabashedly staring at the king of the south.

“Jeonha, it is my greatest honor to introduce to you the love of my life, Min Misun.” Yeongkwan steps aside to reveal his wife. Misun bows, letting her knees touch the floor as courtesy. When Misun rises, they meet eyes, and Daesin’s lips part lightly in astonishment.

Misun was definitely a wonder to take in. During the recesses of the war, he had been told of stories of the lady by the husband himself, who claims that there was no other woman in the nation who could compare to his wife. Daesin just wasn’t expecting that Yeongkwan’s stories had not been biased after all.

The king of the south recollects himself and bows curtly to the lady as well. At that point Yeongkwan knew, this was a battle he wasn’t going to win, because what the king wants, the king gets.

As the brothers aged over the years, the two learned to reconcile their differences and bonded over their similarities and strengthened their own abilities. Then came the subject of girls, when the now young men found attraction towards the opposite sex, both spending more time talking over the fairer sex rather than arguing over small things.

“Hyung…”

“Continue your reading, Kook. You know our father’s sentiments about our studies.” Yoongi reprimands, not bothering to spare his little brother a look as he continues to indulge himself in Confucian canon and likewise jotting down his remarks on a separate notebook.

Jungkook opens his mouth to speak, but Yoongi beats him to it, again. “And stop painting when you still have three more books to finish.”

The younger boy deflates at his brother’s words. “Hyung, you know how I feel about studying right?”

“Yes, and unless you want to get scolded at by both our parents, I suggest you put that away now and continue it later, when we’re done studying.”

“Fine. I will, but you have to answer my question first.”

Yoongi quickly puts his book and brush down, looking up to face Jungkook. Better to get this over with quickly, than to reply with a snarky comment and eventually exert more energy trying to banter with his brother.

“Have you ever liked a girl?”

The older sibling gets genuinely caught off guard with Jungkook’s query. “Well?” the younger man raises a brow expectantly. There is no escaping this now, Yoongi thinks, pursing his lips as he racks his brain for an answer.

“I-...yes,” Yoongi sighs, accepting his defeat.

“Wait...what?! For real? Well, well, well - I’m surprised some girl managed to soften my perpetually stoic, cold-blooded, ruthless animal of a brother.” Yoongi narrows his eyes. Of course, what was a conversation with Jungkook without his little brother trying to rile him up. Yoongi gets back to Confucius.

“Hyung, hyung,” Jungkook tries to get his attention once more, ceaselessly tugging at his sleeves. If Jungkook literally thinks, that after years of having to deal with this - that he can still annoy him by doing this, well...he’s definitely right.

“What now?”

Yoongi closes his eyes, trying not to release all the pent-up frustration he’d been holding in for years. Once again, Jungkook’s lame methods of trying to divert both of them from focusing on their readings had proven effective.

“Let me guess, you have a thing for Head Court Lady Kyo don’t you?” Jungkook teases, now poking at Yoongi’s sides, who’s desperately trying to keep his ticklishness at bay. “What?! No! The old lady can flirt with whoever she pleases for all I care!” The younger man laughs at Yoongi’s indignant reply.

“Hmm, if it’s not Head Court Lady Kyo that you’re fantasizing about every night, it must be a younger one then? I never took you for someone who’d find girls calling you ‘orabeoni’ quite...arousing,” Jungkook snorts, pouring himself a cup of tea and raising the same right in front of Yoongi’s face. “Well, geonbae to you, hyung. Don’t worry, I won’t judge you. We all have our preferences anyways, right orabeoni?” The younger sibling emphasizes his last word with a shrill voice, clutching on Yoongi’s arm and rubbing his face against the silk.

“You’re disgusting Kook. Stop trying to make ridiculous excuses just so you won’t continue your reading,” Yoongi reminds Jungkook once more, though he can’t deny he also got distracted himself. With a deep exhale, Yoongi closes his book and sets aside his readings. They have the rest of the day to finish it anyways.

“Fine, ‘wanna see her?”

Jungkook raises his fists in triumph. “Of course! Let’s see if you have good taste in women.” Yoongi rolls his eyes, momentarily stretching his limbs after having remained seated for so long. “Let me warn you Kook, she’s nothing like you’ve ever seen before so, so…don’t fall in love with her, okay?” He isn’t sure if his tone was serious enough for Jungkook to see right through him, but he prays for the same nonetheless. ‘Because she’s mine. I’ll make her mine,’ comes the final words of Yoongi, voice barely above a whisper. Thankfully, Jungkook doesn’t hear him.

“Honestly, hyung, I doubt we even have similar tastes. Considering you have history with Head Court La-”

“Say her name one more time and I’ll cut off your balls in your sleep.”

That effectively shuts the younger boy up.

The pair traverses halfway across the South’s palace, Yoongi leading Jungkook to the southern princess’ hanok. “Hyung, we aren’t supposed to be here. Didn’t mother specifically tell us to not to go anywhere near the royal families’ private hanoks?”

“Relax. We’ll watch from here, and then you tell me if my girl is anywhere close to your beloved Head Court Lady Kyo.” Yoongi grits through his teeth, taunting Jungkook with a quick raise of his brows.

“Whatever you say, hyung,” the younger one chuckles, this time genuinely curious who’s the mysterious girl who had managed to snatch his brother’s heart.

If only Jungkook had enough guts to tell his brother even half the truth… at the same time, he feared that if he did such a thing, Yoongi wouldn’t have taken him seriously. It wasn’t really that he wasn’t genuinely curious who’s the girl his brother won’t stop daydreaming about, but he too, had grown affections for someone as well, and Jungkook thought if maybe he heard Yoongi speak about his feelings, he would have an inkling of an idea how to handle his own.

The two brothers were nearly inseparable, but with Jungkook’s introverted self and Yoongi’s stoic character, they never really found themselves talking about things on the more serious side. They were close, but not close enough.

Yoongi, being the ‘perfect’ son that he was, used his idle time reading and training as what their parents had strongly reiterated them to do. While Yoongi was busy being the ideal child, Jungkook was out on the fields of the palace, constantly satiating his hunger for the practicality of all things natural instead of reading it from books with Chinese symbols.

Jungkook dislikes reading with great fervour. Actually, most of the other boys his age in the same village share the same sentiments so he can’t seem to figure out why Yoongi keeps on reading.

With Jungkook out enjoying the real world, he’d taken great interest venturing the ins and outs of the Southern palace, particularly the woods by the western gates.

One day, after lunch, the young boy found himself back in the woods by the west gates, this time bringing along his beloved bow and arrow with him. He’d figured this was the best place he could practice his skills in archery. As he was getting ready to target a bird resting on a high branch, Jungkook hears the rustling of leaves nearby, the sound immediately making hide beneath a tree.

He had company. Jungkook chews on his bottom lip, immediately regretting not heeding to his mother’s specific orders. “Never venture near the royal families’ private hanoks.” Her stern voice rings throughout his head. With a deep sigh, he throws his bow and arrow to the side, putting his hands up in surrender as he moves from the trunk of the tree.

He walks forward cautiously with his eyes closed, face twisted in an exaggerated grimace. Jungkook waits for someone to grab him, yet nothing happens. Prying one eye open, he’s surprised to come face to face with a girl, who’s wiping away her tears with the sleeves of her jeogori.

Genuinely astonished at the sight he wasn’t expecting, he takes another step forward, studying her appearance. She was wearing clothes of the finest silk, one that could only have been afforded by nobility. There’s mud all over the bottom of her hanbok though, which probably meant she’d been in the woods for quite some time, and judging by her distraught condition, Jungkook only presumes one thing and one thing alone: she’s lost.

“A-are you okay?”

His question only seems to have driven the girl to cry harder, because she’d gone full-on sobbing, shoulders shaking violently as she cried into her palms. “Hey,” Jungkook hesitantly extends his hand out, unsure of whether he should be touching the girl or not. He settles on patting the girl’s hair lightly from a distance. Albeit the distance being uncomfortable and awkward, Jungkook’s ministrations effectively seems to calm the girl down.

Jungkook’s eyes widen in surprise when the girl surges toward him, enveloping him in a hug. With one of his hands still awkwardly hanging in mid-air, he lets it fall gently back to the girl’s head, continuing his earlier actions. The two stay like that for some time. Jungkook’s arm is starting to get sore, but he can’t seem to bring himself to complain, not when the girl in his arms is still hiccupping her tears away.

“I’m…sorry,” the girl says, pulling away from her embrace. Jungkook wants to tell her she could stay in his arms for as long as she wanted, enjoying the feeling of being someone a stranger could literally, and figuratively lean on.

“Are you okay?” Jungkook repeats, gesturing to a fallen log nearby to make her sit and get some rest. Beside her, Jungkook patiently waits until she’ll give him an answer, genuinely concerned at her condition and what could have possibly led her to the woods all by herself.

The sat there on the log for quite some time, and the girl finally speaks. “I was following a butterfly around home,” the girl says, toying with her skirt. “I thought I was still near where I lived but the next thing I knew, I’m already stuck in the middle of the forest.”

“Did you get lost too?”

Jungkook shakes his head no, and the girl finally faces him. The boy is rendered speechless. Even with a few small traces of mud on her face, this girl seated beside him has got to be the prettiest girl he’s ever seen in his entire life. Admittedly, he hasn’t seen plenty of girls, but she has got to be on top of the list.

Jungkook opens his mouth to say something, but holds back. Instead, he retrieves a piece of cloth from the pocket sewn by his mother on his pants. “You’ve got a…um…something…face…I um…” the boy gestures to his face, fingers pointing to a portion of his face and hoping he gets the message across. “Oh!” The girl’s eyes widen in realization. She wipes her face with her soiled sleeves, only adding to the dirt on her face.

The young boy bites his lip, trying to fight the wide grin that etches itself on his face. “Here, let me help you,” Jungkook offers, rising from where he’s seated and nears the girl. Gently, he places a finger to tilt her head up, and tenderly wipes the dried mud off her face.

Every brush of Jungkook’s fingers against her soft skin sends a spark through his veins. He tries his best to focus on the task at hand, but being blessed and cursed with the attention span of a three-year-old, he feels his fingers start to tremble slightly. Plus having to resist just taking your face in his hands, to have and to hold your smooth skin against his palms, his hands start to get all the more clammy.

When their eyes meet, Jungkook feels his heart thudding heavily against his chest, before he finds himself blinking rapidly. He lets out a cough as he looks away, not noticing the blush that mutually spreads across their cheeks.

“What’s your name?” she queries, secretly fanning her face to cool the heat on her cheeks. Jungkook ponders for a moment, remembering his father’s daily reminders of not talking to strangers. He’s thankful his father didn’t mention anything about talking to pretty strangers. He settles on a nickname he’d made up at that moment.

“Call me Kookie.”

Jungkook swipes at his sleeves furiously for the hundredth time. “Will you stop fidgeting?” Yoongi complains, narrowing his eyes at his brother. “Can’t you see? There are insects crawling everywhere! I get it okay! This is my punishment for disturbing your studying. I apologize already!” Jungkook continues swatting at the poor insects who’d been callously flung from the boy’s silk-covered arms.

“Are you even waiting for someone? Or you just brought me here to suffer?”

“Shush it, will you?!” Yoongi huffs, getting annoyed at Jungkook’s nagging. Well if his brother won’t stop irking him, Yoongi decides he might as well have brought him here as punishment. “Shh, here they come!” Yoongi gives a sharp tug at Jungkook’s sleeves, nearly causing the latter to fall into a shrub. The younger teenager follows Yoongi’s line of sight – the now opening doors of the private hanok of the southern princess.

Four rows of court ladies file out, hanboks with shades of turquoise and blue walking in unison as they leave the princess’s quarters. “Keep your eyes open! She’s coming.” Yoongi whispers harshly, placing his two palms around Jungkook’s head to make sure he doesn’t lose focus. “There are so many of them though!”

“Not the court ladies, pabo! Her!”

At the end of the line was the girl Yoongi was pertaining to – she was still young, yet the stance that she held and the aura she gave off was equivalent to that of a queen’s. It was the princess of the south, dressed in her ceremonial clothes: multiple layers of red silk, embedded with the emblem of the south and a dragon imprinted on the back. Her head was adorned with several hairpins of pure gold and rare gems – determinative of your rank in the royal family. It was the princess. Yoongi had a crush on the princess. A girl of a rank way out of their leagues.

The princess of the south was rumored to have this beauty like no other, with the face and wits of no ordinary girl. She was revered as the hidden treasure of the south, someone who could bring two battling nations together as one.

Unfortunately for Jungkook, the princess of the south was also the same girl he’d helped not so long ago, the girl who came crying into his arms when she got lost in the woods, the girl who was the only reason he enjoyed visiting the palace after lunch just so she could tell stories of her daily activities, the same girl who exclusively called him Kookie – the same girl he fell for. Jungkook hears his heart rip into two.

It was you.

“Jeonha, the captain of the royal guards is here to see you.” Not bothering to wait for Yoongi’s permission, Jungkook pushes the guard aside and lets himself inside the guest’s hanok, likewise ordering the southerners to leave them be.

“They’re not your people, Kook. You can’t tell them to do things just like that.”

Jungkook lets a smug grin adorn his face. “You’re right. They’re not just yours, they are our people. So leave, now.” From one corner of the room, the General of the Southern army - Hoseok, remains seated with a steely face as he eyes the younger man, the grip on his own cup of wine tightening. ‘How dare he talk to the king like that?’ Yoongi nods curtly at Hoseok, wordlessly telling them to leave them alone.

“So, are you here to finally give your hyung a proper welcome?” Jungkook remains silent, staring at his brother. The younger man watches as his hyung discards his headband, throwing the black piece of cloth to a nearby table. Jungkook sneers, finally taking in his brother’s appearance. What was with the yellowish hair? What a disgrace to their family - what a disgrace to all of humanity.

He isn’t sure if it’s the jealousy speaking, definitely not used to his brother hogging all the ladies’ attention in the palace. Was there something wrong with having normal black hair? Since when did strange locks become a thing with women? Yoongi speaks, drawing Jungkook back to reality and away from his brother’s golden locks.

“You know, wearing the emblem of the capitol doesn’t instantly make you one of them, Kook,” Yoongi starts, pouring himself a cup of wine. Jungkook disregards his brother’s comment.

“Where is Seokjin?”

“Why are you asking me that?”

Just as Yoongi parts his mouth to say something, the hanok’s door slides open, and a disheveled man enters. “Jeonha,” the man bows from the waist, immediately scurrying to his king. He whispers something to the blonde-haired man, a scowl forming on his face as the man finishes what he has to say.

“My sincerest apologies, Jeonha,” the man bows again, not daring to look at the king of the south. Yoongi has his jaw set at the news brought by this stranger, Jungkook observes, crossing his arms over his chest as he watches his brother. Yoongi nods his head towards the door, once again ordering the man to leave the premises.

Jungkook is tempted to ask what the man reported to Yoongi, but he knows better, definitely sure that his brother wasn’t going to give him anything. “Where is Seokjin?” he repeats, emphasizing each word through gritted teeth.

“What’s it to you anyways? Don’t tell me you’re getting soft for the queen?” Jungkook stops himself from bellowing - it’s far too late to disturb anyone in the palace. “A bit rich coming from you, isn’t it?”

Yoongi’s brows furrow in confusion at his brother’s words. Of course, Yoongi doesn’t know. He was never one to ask about Jungkook’s feelings anyways. The older sibling decides to let go of his brother’s questionable words.

“I have other things do. Excuse me.”

Yoongi walks past his brother, leaving his brother inside the hanok as he searches for something to eat. Jungkook grabs at a near vase, hands tightening around the neck of the ornament in an attempt to control his anger. He intends to smash the China to the ground, but returns the vase back to its place, takes a deep breath, and decides to follow his brother. Just like old times.

“Jeonha,” Hoseok rises abruptly from where he’s seated as he sees his king exit the hanok. “What are we to do now my King?” General Jung questions, pertaining to the man’s report just earlier. Yoongi cards a hand through his hair, fingers stopping just before the ponytail. “I…I’ll think of something.” Anxiety is evident in the king’s voice, so Hoseok decides to say nothing else, quietly trailing behind his king.

As Yoongi vocalizes his intentions of heading to the kitchen, he decides to go the long way round, wanting to pass by your hanok before he grabs something to eat. Yoongi finally reaches the corner of your hanok, surprised to see light flooding onto the wooden pathway. You leave your doors open this late at night?

When the two reach your door, they take a peek inside revealing you dancing around, a vessel in one hand and clothes with the other. There aren’t even any guards around your hanok. “Jeonha, I never knew women of the capitol enjoyed solo drinking sessions as well? You two would seem like a great pair.” Hoseok nudges Yoongi a little too strong, that the king of south bumps against the door, the sound exposing their cover. Yoongi glares at the general who deflates under his king’s stare.

“Who’s there?” Yoongi hears you giggle as you call out and he sees a court lady crane her head to the threshold. “Can I help you with anything, my Sirs?”

“Just passing by, right Jeonha?” Hoseok coughs, side-glancing Yoongi with wide eyes. His king disregards him completely. “What’s your queen doing?” Yoongi turns to Chaeyoung who gulps and takes another look at you who’s busy twirling and swaying gently as you hold the fabric close to your body.

Yoongi takes a closer look, realizing that it wasn’t just any fabric you were clutching onto, but your husband’s royal garments. “Is she okay?”

You’re clearly not okay.

“Am I okay?” you ask yourself, laughing obnoxiously at no one in particular. “I’ll take care of her, you can retire to your quarters now.” The blonde-haired man says to Chaeyoung.

“You can’t make her leave, Yoongi. If you want her to leave, I have to take one of yours as well.” You point a finger towards Hoseok who’s eyes widen at your proposal. “M-me?”

“Do I look like I’m referring to somebody else?”

Yoongi chortles at his general. The amount of skills he had in fighting was on some days…the same amount he lacked up there. Yoongi places a hand on his shoulder and proceeds to give Hoseok a pat on the back. “Go on then. I’ll be alright.” Hoseok sighs, escorting Chaeyoung with him. “Agassi, shall we?”

Yoongi finally lets himself inside your hanok, sliding the doors close behind him. He strides towards you, placing a hand over your grip on the vessel of rice wine. “Come on, Jungjeon-mama. That’s enough.”

“Oh, since when did you start addressing me by my title?”

“Would you rather me address you by your name then, __________?” Your name sounds nice falling from his lips, enjoying the way you’re letting him to call you casually like this.

Your grip won’t budge on vessel either, so he resorts to poking your waist, hoping you were just as ticklish as he observed years before back at the southern palace. You let out a giggle that Yoongi concurrently deems music to his ears, and takes advantage of your loosened grip on the vessel. He sets the wine down on the table, now tempted to take a sip for himself.

“Where’s your husband, __________?”

You don’t answer. You aren’t going to give this man anything he asks for despite your intoxicated state. You silently pray that sobriety will soon fall upon you, as you don’t think you’ll be able to stand being in the same room as your unexpected visitor. Strangely, you likewise wish that you could’ve drank just a little more, just so you won’t feel his presence in your room. As you remain silent, busy with your thoughts, the king of the south answers his own question.

“Word spread around here that he’s left to pacify the South,” Yoongi shrugs, taking a step towards you and craning his neck forward, seemingly gauging your reaction even when your back is facing him.

“Well, absolutely no turmoil is going on in the South, else I wouldn’t be here gracing you with my presence. I can personally assure you that fact.”

You feel your stomach drop, getting more sober as you feel him take another step towards you. Seokjin couldn’t have lied to you, or worse, couldn’t have kept anything from you - especially something this big of an issue. On top of that, everybody knew it was the southerners who were causing all the trouble. Or was it now?

“Gracing me with your presence?” you echo, the statement laced with venom on your lips. Letting out a scoff, you turn on your heel to face the obnoxious king of the south.

“I guess nobody told their beloved queen it was the west that was causing all this trouble? Obviously, what better way to alarm the entire country by using the emblem of ‘the traitorous South’ as you people would call us.” Yoongi rolls his eyes as he takes a sip of the wine. “On the bright side, it’s nice to know we still have that certain effect on people, even years after the Great Colonization.”

“Poor girl you are...with an even sadder fate for her husband.” Yoongi pours himself a cup of the wine you’d carried all the way from the kitchen. Your jaw is clenched, gaze set hard on Yoongi who seems the least bit bothered. Sadder fate for your husband?

“Oh right, I’m betting you’re also unaware of the fact that the shortest way from the capitol to the south was through a narrow path through a forest located in the West?”

You’re dumbfounded, secretly wishing Yoongi hadn’t seen the look on your face as he told you about the west, but you couldn’t help it. Surely, he’s trying to take advantage of your drunken state and would attempt to coerce you into something against your will by lying straight to your face.

“Still don’t believe me? Why do you think King Donggeun hasn’t come down from his throne when Crown Prince Baekjoon has already turned of age? Surely, you must have taken notice that the west has least casualties of the ‘uproar’ we had supposedly caused in this country? Not to mention the casualties in their city are not even that significant – in fact, the villages that were attacked were those nearest to the borders of the south and the north, majority of which housed citizens coming from both cities…”

All sorts of emotions boiled inside of you. Yoongi’s revelation felt like a whole log just fell on you, and you were absolutely helpless. You were beyond perplexed, finding the need to rest your behind on the bedside table.

“But, it’s never too late you know… Being the merciful king that I am, I can help your husband. Send him a handful of my men if you must.” You gulp as you look him in the eyes. Yoongi will most certainly not be willing to help your husband just like that, especially when Seokjin has already made proclamations that had definitely brought dishonor to the name of the south. The thought of Seokjin having to face danger all by himself crossed your mind, betraying your thoughts and your heart once more.

The price you will have to pay for Seokjin’s safety will surely to come at a large cost – that you already know. But for your husband, you were willing to have yourself at Yoongi’s disposal, whatever the price may be. You stand up once more, turning away from Yoongi. You presume he isn’t one to give anything for free.

“And at what is the price I have to pay for your assistance, perhaps?” He doesn’t see you gulp.

Yoongi sets his cup of wine down, simultaneously darting his tongue out to moisten his lips. Slowly, he pads over to you until he’s almost pressing into you. Close, but not asserting his certainty of having the upper hand now. “I think you already know what I want, Jungjeon-mama,” Yoongi whispers salaciously, words ghosting against the shell of your ear.

It’s shameful how agonizingly hard he is under his pants – but he couldn’t help it – he finally had you in his arms. This proximity alone shouldn’t have affected him that much, but he couldn’t help it. All those years of pining after you, watching you in secrecy back at the Southern palace as you went about your royal duties, sneaking glances at you when you visited the training grounds where he studied sword fighting.

Tonight he wanted to get himself on you, to fuck you until you won’t even remember your own name when he finishes - this was your payment and it is not for your wish for him to send Seokjin reinforcements.

This was your payment for making him long after you, even after all these years and after all the women he’d met – he still chose you in a heartbeat.

He hated that you had to leave the Southern City, he hated how your stepmother had to treat you so badly, giving you enough reason to run away from the palace, he hates how everything he had done in the past just to get close to you was all in vain. He hates how he ran after you that night, only to see you already in Seokjin’s arms. He hates Seokjin for having married you, being proclaimed as the perfect husband when he could have done a totally better job at it. Yoongi could’ve worshipped the ground you walked on, but yet here you were alone in the palace while your own husband just left you with the responsibility of taking care of the whole nation just like that.

He hates the fact that you’ve completely snatched his heart from the day he first saw you, accompanying your father to the training grounds. You had shot arrows straight into the sack targets with no trouble, easily beating the rest of the boys training in the field. As cliché as it sounds, it had seemed like you shot an arrow through his heart as well.

But most of all, he despises the fact that he loves you. And he hates it all the more that he knows his own brother had fallen for you too.

Snagging your hair between his fingers harshly, you let out a gasp as he makes you look into his eyes. His hands move to discard your robe and wildly grope at your chest. A smirk grazes his lips when he feels your nipples harden under his touch.

He highly doubts that he has the same effect on you as you have on him, but at this point he couldn’t care less. He wanted to get himself off on you, intent on making you feel at least a hint of what he’s felt throughout the years.

Yoongi smashes your lips together, the bittersweet taste of wine on his mouth pressing roughly against your own. He grinds his erection against your lower stomach, effectively causing you to gasp one more time. Taking advantage of your surprise, he closes the distance one more time, slipping his tongue inside your wet cavern.

The king of the south pushes you further towards the bed until the back of your knees hit the edge, instinctively making you sit on your bed.

“Undress me,” he orders, placing his hands on his hips, likewise pulling his top upwards for your convenience. You glare at him through your eyelashes, and returning your eyes to his crotch. As you see his dick twitch beneath the confines of his pants, a smirk etches onto your face. Two can play at this game, and you’re going to make sure he gets a taste of his own medicine.

Languidly, you lightly trace the outline of his dick, watching intently as it twitches one more time you feel a small wet patch near the waistband of his silk pants. You continue trailing the pad of your finger against the smooth fabric.

“I don’t like being teased, princess.”

“The queen doesn’t like being ordered around.”

Sending him another glare, you give in to his whims, pulling his pants down his legs. His cock springs free, standing tall and proud. The pale expanse of Yoongi’s skin is a sharp contrast against the angry, red tip of his dick like it’s begging for your attention.

“Like what you see?” the man says from above. You don’t answer, unwilling to give him the satisfaction he thinks he deserves. Yoongi shivers as you take the base of his cock in your palm. You revel in his responsiveness, loving the way he basically shudders under your touch.

He doesn’t know if he’s going to last as long as he wishes tonight, but he swears to the gods above and to all his ancestors that he was going to try. He hates the fact that this is the only way he was going to have you, that never in a million years would be willing to give yourself to him.

Yoongi is drawn back to reality as you place a light kiss on the bulbous head of his cock, you languidly pepper kisses along his length. Yoongi looks down on you with hooded eyes and a swollen bottom lip that he’d bitten down on for so long.

He taps the tip of his shaft against your lips, coating them with the semi-transparent liquid that’s veiled the tip of his length. With bated breath, he nudges the head against your mouth, urging you to part your lips for him. “Open up, jagiya.”

You comply, letting his dick slowly enter your mouth; he pushes his length inside until he hits the back of your throat. He withdraws and pushes his cock back inside, inhaling sharply as you graze your teeth a little.

“You take my cock so well, princess. Fuck,”

He pushes you roughly to lie on the bed, as his hand busies itself with fisting his cock as he waits for you to get comfortable. “Did I tell you to place your legs on the bed?” Yoongi tsks at you, spanking each of your breasts as punishment.

The king of the south harshly spreads your legs and without warning, Yoongi begins to impale you on his cock at a merciless pace, hands hooking under your ankles to bring your legs to rest against his chest. “You like that being fucked roughly, don’t you jagiya?” He doesn’t give you time to answer as he bends forward, bringing your legs to rest against your chest this time as his hands wrap around your neck. The rings on his fingers are cold against your heated skin, and the way he experiments and pressing his fingers tighter around your throat as he matches it with his pace. The combined pain and pleasure just seems to bring you closer to your high.

“I’m not done with you, ______. Don’t you dare cum just yet.”

He lifts you from the bed with no trouble, and you feel the rippling of his muscles even underneath his top. Without having to pull out of you, Yoongi settles you down on a table with the height just about Yoongi’s thighs so he could enter you at a better angle.

Miraculously, Yoongi slows down his pace, and you’re unsure if it’s in consideration of his or your welfare. This position doesn’t help with your impending orgasm as with every languid roll of Yoongi’s hips he easily hits that particular spot. He toys with your nipple, tweaking and twisting the bud between his calloused fingers. With nowhere to hold onto, your hands shoot up to his arms silk-clad arms digging tiny crescent moons on his skin even with the fabric separating your nails from his skin.

Yoongi was willing to fuck you against every piece of furniture if you’d let him, and if he’d have enough stamina to last for quite some time because the thought of having you writhing under his touch can easily bring him to cum.

Still not satisfied with this position he carries you toward a the wooden foundation in the middle of your room. He needs to have you begging for him, moaning endlessly on his cock.

“Tell me you want this, princess. Tell me you need me.”

He needs to hear it fall from your lips, because he knew this was only ever going to happen once, and he wanted this one moment to forever be engraved in his brain, because he knows you’ll never be his.

“Yes, fuck Yoongi, please,” you mewl, dragging your nails against the pale expanse of Yoongi’s back. As he continues to slam into you, your fingers find purchase on his hair, giving it a harsh tug as a particular thrust hits that sweet sweet spot inside of you.

You momentarily wonder at how Yoongi has managed to hold you up all this time and not lose momentum at all. As if on cue, Yoongi lifts you higher again, the hem of his top brushing against your clit. You were so, so close. You moan loudly at the sensation, letting your head fall onto Yoongi’s shoulder.

“Oh, you liked that princess didn’t you, hmm?”

He pushes you further against the foundation, if that was even possible, and takes one of his hands holding up your ass to transfer to the front, looking for your clit. Yoongi finds your nether bud in no time, and starts rubbing circles with the pad of his thumb.

Shortly after his punishing thrusts and the abuse on your clit, you reach your high, a high-pitched sob piercing throughout the room. Your body continues to tremble with the intensity of your orgasm as he cums inside you, rope after rope of white coating your walls.

Jungkook hears, sees, and feels you moan one more time, the lewd sounds of your fucking still ringing loudly through his ears. With a deep exhale, he turns on his heel, leaving the spot he’d stayed at for the rest of you and Yoongi’s… The captain couldn’t even bring himself to say the words.

Subconsciously, his feet bring him to a familiar hanok he has not visited for a while. He silently slides the doors open and heads to the room of someone he hasn’t paid attention to for the past few days. He takes off his boots and his scabbard, setting them down in a secluded corner of the room.

He spots Haesoo’s sleeping form on the floor. He joins her, hooking an arm around her waist. The young court lady wakes at the action, a scream escaping her lips. Jungkook is quick to place his palm on her mouth, pushing her shoulder backwards so she can properly see him. She relaxes at her realization, turning her body so she could face him.

“What brings you here Captain?”

“I missed you, is all.” What a lie.

“If you really missed me, why won’t you talk to me during the day?”

“You know we can’t, jagiya. Besides, can’t I just visit my favorite girl without having questioned if I really miss her or not?” Lie. Again. One more and Jungkook might just spend the rest of the night challenging himself how many more times he could lie in such a short time span.

Haesoo shies from Jungkook’s gaze, but Jungkook places a finger on her chin and makes her face him again. He inches toward her, lips not meeting just yet, each of their shallow breaths fanning against their faces. Haesoo takes initiative, pressing her lips against Jungkook’s own. The captain easily deepens the kiss, lightly biting on Haesoo’s bottom lip that effectively makes her part them instantly.

Jungkook quickly shuffles to get on top of her, grinding his erection shamelessly against Haesoo’s crotch. She gasps at the sensation, fingers quickly toying with the waistband of his pants.

“You really miss me that much, hmm?”

“Of course, darling.” Another lie. Third time’s the charm right?

Jungkook rips apart the sleeping robe Haesoo has on, his mouth instantly connecting with her breasts, groping and sucking harshly at the hardened nubs. He wasn’t usually this messy and urgent, but he badly needed to cum – painfully hard under his pants only because of you.

The captain doesn’t even bother to prepare Haesoo, plunging himself into her pussy without warning. Jungkook pounds into Haesoo unapologetically, fucking her into oblivion, just as Yoongi did to you earlier. He imagines that it’s you moaning his name right now, chanting his name fervently like a prayer, chest heaving like it was your last day. He wishes that it was his cock buried deep inside your cunt earlier instead of his brother’s and he knew he could have done a far better job at pleasuring you than Yoongi. The captain hooks his palm under Haesoo’s thigh, raising her leg up so he’s hitting her cervix at angle pleasurable to them both.

He’d fucked Haesoo on the floor, he’d fucked her against her closet too, and similar Yoongi, he’s fucking Haesoo against the wall too.

Jungkook ruts into her endlessly, with a silent wish that he flushes you out of his system with every snap of his hips, he wishes that he had never met you in the woods in the first place, he wishes that he didn’t have to join the King’s royal guards, he wishes that he wouldn’t have to see your pretty face the whole day, he wishes that you weren’t desirable at all – that way maybe he and his brother wouldn’t have fallen for the same girl.

He wishes he wasn’t in love with you.

Of course, another lie.

A single tear trickles down his cheek, and he hopes that Haesoo won’t notice with the fine sheen of sweat on his face. He feels his thrusts falter just like his resolve. His chest constricts once more tonight and it’s definitely not because of poor stamina, but because of his emotions overwhelming him.

“I love you,” he whispers breathlessly, resting his head against the wall. Haesoo hears.

“You love me?” Haesoo takes his face in her small palms, pushing his head backwards so she can take a proper look at him. She swipes at another tear that rolls down Jungkook’s cheek.

“Of course, jagiya.” Jungkook sends her a sad smile in her direction.

Maybe if he keeps lying, it’ll all come true at some point. She gives him a lingering kiss this time, resting her forehead against his. “I love you too.”

[taglist] : @aretha170 @strxwberri-milk @vivpurple7 @wheredoiwhaaat25 @hodginss

Korean vocabulary used will be posted on a separate post for easier viewing!

#bangtanhq #ficswithluv #btsgoldnet #btswritingcafe #btsguild #hyunglinenetwork #bangtanarmynet #btsghostie #bts smut #bts fluff #jeon jungkook #kim seokjin #min yoongi #yoongi smut #jungkook smut

174 notes · View notes

shikakunaras · 3 years

Note

80 or 90 for shikaku/shibi

I did both. I couldn’t resist.

80 - “Your comfort and happiness is more important than some stupid dinner.” 90 - “No more dangerous stunts.”

Ao3 link for Prompt 80

Ao3 link for prompt 90

Both are under the cut bc of length | there is minor violence and a mention of blood in prompt 90

Prompt 80

Shikaku sat in the restaurant for an hour, eating the rolls the waiter kept bringing out and checking his watch. When the door would open, Shikaku would glance over only to see someone other than his husband. Waiting was something Shikaku was good at, but this was hard.

He expected this kind of lateness from Kakashi but not Shibi. The man was always punctual, as long as he wasn’t on a mission. Which he wasn’t, Shikaku made sure of that when they booked the place a month ago.

Wedding anniversaries aren’t a huge thing with both men but considering that they made it this long and are still alive, they realized celebrating things like this is important - especially with the threat of the 4th war looming. Shikaku was to meet Shibi here after work but was surprised to see an empty table.

With a sigh Shikaku realized that he was stood up, for whatever reason, and he paid for what he had eaten and tipped the waiter for being patient.

The walk home was full of fear that something happened to Shibi, the man did like to wander into the Nara forest and it’s mating season for the deer. Shikaku paused and took a deep breath, telling himself that Shibi was not maimed by an angry stag, he’s stronger than that. It had to be something else.

Pushing all the negative thoughts back he sped up the walk home and went straight for the back bedroom.

Shibi was sitting on the edge of the bed, with his head in hands. It made Shikaku's imagination jump start and his anxiety spike. Maybe Shibi didn't love him anymore. The Nara took another deep breath trying to dispel any negativity. Shibi didn't acknowledge Shikaku, instead he just sniffled.

“Hey, what’s wrong?” Shikaku moved to sit next to his husband, placing a hand on his back.

“I’m sorry.” Shibi was quiet and reserved most days, only when he is alone with Shikaku does he let himself be vulnerable. Both men do it and they are fully aware as to why.

“For what? You didn’t do anything wrong.” Shikaku shook his head, even though Shibi wouldn’t see it. He could feel Shibi's anxious heartbeat while he rubbed his back to soothe him.

“I got to the doors and saw the crowd, the amount of people in the restaurant was too much for me today. I should’ve gone inside and told you instead of letting you sit there thinking of the worst.” Shibi finally lifted his head and sighed. His face was drawn and tired. He knew Shikaku always thought the worst outcomes. It was his job, he was paid to find holes in plans and fix them. It was no surprise that Shikaku can't just shut it off when he gets home.

“Your comfort and happiness is more important than some stupid dinner.” Shikaku smiled and Shibi returned it with a frown.

“It’s not stupid to you.”

“I just wanted to spend time with you. Shikamaru and Shino suggested the restaurant.” Shikaku shrugged and stood up. “My stomach is screaming at me to eat something other than bread. Let’s make dinner together.”

Shibi’s face scrunched up, thinking about something to say, before just nodding. Shikaku held his hand out and Shibi took it, the Nara pulled his husband to his feet and drew him close.

“The kids are away tonight.” Shikaku winked and kissed a flustered Shibi, who despite being with the Nara for twelve years, still wasn’t used to the man’s flirty nature.

When they separated Shibi raised an eyebrow and Shikaku just laughed, knowing full well the silent question his husband was asking.

“Hungry.” Shikaku led Shibi to the kitchen where very little cooking was done that night.

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

Prompt 90

Shibi didn’t register that the Juubi Bomb was headed towards Shikaku until it was too late. He stood in stunned silence as the flaming ball flew through the air over his head and off to the distance. It wasn’t until he heard Shikamaru shout at Ino and the explosion hitting the Command Post when he connected the two.

He didn’t have time. He didn’t get to tell the man he loved goodbye. Shibi felt a hand on his shoulder and he knew his son was trying to comfort him. He was in the middle of a war, he had to bottle up his anger and his sadness. Save it for when they won and they could breathe.

Which they did win. Naruto, Sasuke, Sakura, and Kakashi saved them all. Now the sun was up and they could assess the damage, it was time to heal and cry. Normally Shibi would hold off how he felt until he was utterly alone but being with someone for so long, Shikaku’s death ripped a hole in his heart. The Aburame calmly walked into an empty medical tent, sat on a cot, and placed his head in his hands - letting the sorrow out. He heard the tent flap rustle but he assumed it was just the wind, until he heard someone clear their throat.

“Dad said he was sorry he couldn’t tell you goodbye, but he wanted me to tell you that he loves you.” Shikamaru's voice was thick with emotion. Shibi noticed Shikamaru looking at him a few times while they set up camp, like he wanted to say something, now that he has spoken all Shibi wants to do is hold the kid.

“It’s okay, I understand he wanted to get the plan out and to tell you goodbye.” Shibi wiped his eyes, trying not to seem too heart broken - at least not in front of Shikamaru.

Shikamaru opened his mouth to speak but was interrupted by a scream. Shibi’s blood ran cold - the fear of the war not being over sent shivers up his spine. Before they could leave the tent Ino opened the flap, tears streaming down her face.

“They’re alive! All of them!” Ino nearly shouted before leaving the men in the tent, confused.

Shikamaru and Shibi exchanged a glance and then raced to see who she was talking about. It didn't take long to figure it out.

Standing in the middle of a small crowded circle was a tired looking Inoichi and Mabui. They were covered in dirt and blood but alive. Ino was clinging to her father, crying. The rest of those who were in the Command center were trailing behind, battered and bruised but alive. Shibi moved closer to the crowd hoping to see Shikaku and stopped dead in his tracks.

The Nara was sitting at Inoichi’s feet, his arm in a makeshift sling and his jonin jacket in tatters. His eyes were closed, almost like he was trying to calm himself or reset.

“How?” Kakashi was the first to ask, confusion and relief blanketed the small crowd that had formed.

“We used Mabui’s jutsu.” Inoichi looked stunned as if he didn’t think it would work.

“How did you manage to not die in process?” Tsunade took the next question.

“Shikaku came up with a plan for us all to buffer the impact of the jutsu with our own chakra. I was able to transport animals by using my own as a shield. He just took the concept and made it so I could focus all of my own chakra to transport us all.” Mabui smiled. The Raikage shouted from a distance and barreled his way towards her, happy to see his right-hand shinobi alive and well.

Shikaku finally opened his eyes and looked right at Shibi. There was warmth and love in the gaze and Shibi couldn’t stop himself from dropping to his knees and pulling his husband into a rib crushing hug. Shikamaru had joined the hug a few seconds after and they could feel Shikaku shaking. He was happy to be alive, just as much as the others holding him.

When they finally pulled apart, wiping tears and the mess they made of themselves, Shikaku let out a long sigh.

“Remember what you said to me before we split into teams?” Shikaku took Shibi’s hand and squeezed it.

“I told you no more dangerous stunts.”

Shikaku’s sly smile crept up and Shibi knew what his ridiculous husband was going to say next. Which is why the Aburame beat him to it.

“Just because this one time, it saved your ass and everyone else's, does not mean you can keep being reckless.” Shibi sighed.

“It’s okay, when I get home I’m retiring. The most dangerous thing I’ll be doing is cooking.” Shikaku chuckled.

“You retiring is more terrifying.” Shino shook his head. “That means Shikamaru is going to take over.”

“Very funny, bold of you to assume Dad won’t choose you or someone else like Neji.” Shikamaru smirked.

The boys continued to argue about who was going to take over while Shibi ignored everything and everyone around him, except Shikaku.

#shikaku/shibi #shikaku #shibi #shikaku nara #shibi aburame #prompt game #answered #anon #Anonymous

14 notes · View notes

ayeun · 3 years

Text

the only person I respect in Bling Empire is Anna (spoiler alert up to ep 5)

Anna - a queen. stays in her own lane but people keep going into hers and testing her. she’s confident, genuine and nice, expects nothing in return and actually has manners. gives sound advice and wisdom and living her best life.

Kane - on thin ice. i love his unfiltered commentary and social intelligence/awareness but hate the fact he’s a shit stirrer and enables/supports bad decisions knowing the consequences. ofc, the show wouldn’t be what it is without him planting those seeds. he’s v smart on who not to cross. honestly he reminds me of some people in high school i’d never want to befriend LOL..

Kevin - big dumb hetero energies. honestly i don’t think he’s as “hot” as people make him out to be. there’s this look on his face that makes me think “oh this guy isn’t smart”, and he truly isn’t. his face KINDA reminds me of an Asian Joe Rogan lmao. i think the thing that makes him the least attractive for me is him being a horndog and making inappropriate remarks in front of Kelly AND Andrew(no sympathy for Andrew, but who tf says they’re gonna fuck someone’s gf in front of them???) the whole salsa thing was hard to watch because of how fucking CRINGEY it is of how he attempted to dip and kiss Kelly like 3+ times. get a fucking clue, dude, and give her some space?? also hate Kevin’s FAKE vibes w trying to get on everyone’s good side to keep these rich people friends in his circle. Kevin’s supposed to be relatable to the “poor audience” but Kevin has a net worth of over $10M, which is double Kelly’s. yet this mfker pretends to be poor. also him defending Anna and then quickly making it up w Kim even though she still hasn’t apologized for the shit she did. it kind of feels like Kevin’s shooting his shot at all the “rich and hot” girls just so he has something to go off of and start a relationship w them after this all ends.

Kim - hate her. not only did she invade the space and privacy of someone who graciously INVITED HER OVER AS A GUEST, but she won’t own up to what she did wrong even when politely given the chance to. that shit’s on camera what you did, just own up to it?? also her doing shit bc “haha it’s for the camera” and chucking Anna’s shit out the window. why not just remove yourself from there, bitch? also i can’t stop looking at the bad/unnecessary contouring job on her nose and her face looking like she got an ig filter on it. girl just do ur smoky eye and call it a day. you actually look worse with contouring!!!!!! she’s also got those fake vibes and pretending everything’s cool with everyone when it’s actually not.

Kelly - sure whatever feel bad for her for being in the toxic relationship, but also this bitch leading Kevin on KNOWING that he likes her by accepting going to salsa with him and entertaining his fantasies by responding back. Just say no?? tell him to fuck off??? you’re rich you can distract yourself with thousands of other things and with other people. the feeling i get of WHY she wants to keep dating Andrew is to have that connection to a “well-known actor”, that she’s dating a celebrity, and that he’s white “to boot”

Christine - hate her fake ass “philanthropist” shit. the reason she’s throwing these events is just to boost her social status/standing amongst the rest of the rich people and showing off her “generosity”. the whole seating drama, inviting Anna over convo was cringe all over. the name dropping and then the trivia? typical holier-than-thou attitude lmao. people who try to flex their knowledge and then not know wtf they’re talking about themselves is just EMBARRASSING. i felt bad for her one point on the getting pregnant thing but then i thought to myself. wow, fuckin bitch. hope she really does have to take care of 5 children in the future but that should be okay for her so that she can brag about having 25th generation Song Dynasty princes and princesses. also her comment towards Cherie was so awkward. “woww you guys are not married and u got kids??? id get shamed for that w my family!” ALSO Baby G’s celebration..there was a fucking ballpit that SHE PUT in there and she gets ANNOYED bc Anna, whom she invited, jumps in and has fun?? LMAO lord...

everyone else i didn’t write about i don’t really care about enough to / they didn’t have enough screen time for me to truly judge

#ayeunpost #bling empire

17 notes · View notes

duskodair · 3 years

Text

further Noel lore, by popular demand (with the old bc why not)

The one constant in her life has always been him. One of them was born first, but they're not sure which. Names don't stick to them. Dozens of monikers have come and passed them by. They barely use names for one another, so it doesn't matter. They know vaguely which order the children they might have once been were born and named, but neither of them actually know to which of them each name belongs.

They come to the orphanage as a pair of red headed infants, identical and inseparable. Among the other children, they are easily lost in the muddle. They grow up holding hands and answer to both names. They come to answer to others as well, as staff members forget and rename them from the pool of other children.

The orphanage is a loveless place. They learn of the distant love of a God who has forsaken them from nuns who have no time for them. They learn to walk holding hands and make their own language to whisper the secrets they learn from watching places that the convent do not want them to see.

The nuns can't keep the right names pinned to the right child and by the time they leave the orphanage, their papers are muddled and merged, inseparable in their scarcity. At fourteen, they do honest work for a few months, pulling in a pitiful wage between them. They answer to the names that the nuns told them they were given as decide that it's not for them.

Knowing their letters, at least, gets them into interesting places. Gossip slips by them. They come home with stories and whispers of crimes committed in distant towns. There's nothing truly behind it, but it intrigues them.

They leave the town they were raised in with the collection money for the convent's charity children. They never saw any of it whilst they were there, so they reckon it's theirs to take.

They do it sensible, though, no grand heist and sudden exit. One day two nobodies walk the streets and the next they are gone, notice properly given and a forwarding address passed along to those it may concern. Perhaps they go where they say they are going, perhaps they do not. The convent only realises the theft far later than it could be solved. And by that point, they are dust on the plains.

'New town, new names' is their policy. It gives them something to do on their journeys. Their childhood gives them a wealth of options as they work their way through the Good Book. She chars for a family as Leah, subtly learning to mimic the habits of those born into money as she beats dust out of the curtains. As Mary she is a gentle lady, down on her luck, willing to watch the children.

She never does a con without him. It starts with petty theft, enough to tide them over. But they grow confident as the years pass, and still the sheriffs fail to put out a bounty for names they've left behind.

Both of them claim to do the most work in their enterprise. She scoffs and says he's far too distracted by pretty stable boys and saloon lasses for his case to be true. He argues that she's too busy staring at her own reflection in things to possibly be doing the most work.

She kicks him, out of principle, before grinning. They're nearly done with this town. Regretfully, they're about to have a family emergency and the gentle seamstress' assistant and the errand boy will have to leave. It will be a while before anybody notices that old Mr McCoy hasn't been seen in a while. Well, perhaps the young ladies he used to shout at might notice, but the twins don't think they'll miss him.

Noel swings out her legs one last time before depositing them in Jonah's lap. She leans back as she considers the best way for Miss Miranda DuVal to break her incoming family crisis to her employer to potentially receive offerings of sympathy. In the last town she'd received a lovely pair of hand me down boots. She's hoping to do much better here, and well, there's some lovely stuff in the Atkinsons' unpaid tab.

The breeze picks up a little. Nothing like a peaceful walk and a casual picnic to enjoy their last day in this town. She looks away from the disappointing straggle of houses that make up the town, towards her brother. He's lying down in the prairie grass, staring up at the passing clouds. She thinks he's probably thinking about a barmaid again. He's got that look on his face.

She rips up a bit of grass and tosses it at him, 'keep your raunchy thoughts off your face. I don't want to know'

He tosses the grass back at her, 'I can do what I please. It's my own bleedin face'

With that, he rises, pushing her legs from his lap.

'Now come along, sister dearest, I'm sure we are missed. I must see if Old Man Thomas needs any more of those crates lifting, and I'm sure you have embroidery to do'

She lets him read her disdain before rising and schooling her features into the amiable Miss DuVal. 'Of course, brother, shall we go, then?'

She takes his arm and they head back to finish the performance before the appointed hour of departure. They make their arrangements and say their goodbyes. Jonah receives his kisses and Noel her tea gown.

On the road they pick new names, write a new story. When she stumbles in a gopher hole, he christens her Grace. She makes a hand gesture that the nuns certainly would not have approved of and accepts the name.

Town after town they pass through, weaving their way West, across the country. Their cons become bigger and grander and their budget grows.

For all their griping, they make an excellent team, she thinks, as he combs out her hair for her next performance. Their plan is to land a quiet jackpot in the town of Danser. It's been in their sights for a while, a little passing place, irrelevant. Perfect.

They have a few weeks to go before they arrive, appearances to make along the road. They call themselves Underwood for the branch that Jonah stumbles into as he stumbles around their camp after dark. They turn the branch into a lumber business and laud their wealth to one another.

Noel laughs into the fire as she weaves stories of their loving Papa, whose only desire in life is to see his daughter married off to a reputable man. Jonah grins as he fleshes out the tragedy of their gentle mother, taken too soon.

At least, Noel thinks, she won't have to wear the fashion of a widow too long, as Jonah will, of course, have to return her to the loving safety of her father, if there is nobody left in Danser to provide. She checks the Derringer strapped to her thigh and consigns her new life story to memory. Yes, she thinks, Noel will work as a name for a while.

______

Danser is quiet the day the Underwoods ride into town. On the surface, they bring little change, just a business deal and a wife for the wealthy Mr Tobias Lloyd. Noel rides into town as a bartering token for her family's lumber business, a symbol of an alliance sealed.

Jonah Underwood brings her into town, red hair tousled in the wind as the twins drive, laughing, down the dust scattered road. He's going to stay in Danser as she gets settled.

He'll probably stay longer than expected, loath to leave her. They've never been more than a week apart throughout their short lives. Where she goes, he follows, but this time, he cannot.

Noel is prepared, she thinks, for a husband. Her trunk is packed with all her worldly possessions and the wood of the carriage is steady under her hands.

The town spreads before her, barely a stopping point out from the city. Home, it seems, now. She's a long way from Tennessee. She's a long way from their smaller cons. Jonah meets her eyes. They're ready.

Her fingers dust over the derringer that she carries strapped to her thigh. She smiles. The plan is simple. She can do it. Jonah guides the horses forward into town, nodding to the old man on his stoop outside the general store, before heading to the Emerald Hotel.

She holds her head high as Jonah makes arrangements. The role is easy, she smiles and nods and watches. Noel is quiet and demure, but ever watchful, cataloguing her new neighbours. She plays naive, batting doe eyes at passers by, luring people in to speak with them.

They spend a day getting settled, researching, making appearances. They go to church, make nice. They start tabs and pay them off, respectable like, with the money of dead men. They find out about Mr Lloyd. He's wealthy and removed, just their type. His employees dislike him, after a few drinks, and when Jonah reports back, so does she.

She is all smiles, however, when Jonah presents her with promises of lumber money. She twirls the loose curls that soften her cheeks around a finger, and in that motion, she has him. Soon the hair around her finger becomes a ring and she becomes a wife.

Tobias Lloyd is, fundamentally, a disappointing husband. Everything he tries to teach her, she already knows, and quite frankly, he's barely competent. He tries to run her in circles but his fall short of the ones she's running around him.

Jonah rides between Danser and the city, keeping the financial side of the con running as Noel pushes her hands into the running of the household. She takes control, bringing home arsenic for cleaning and for rats.

She makes appearances with her husband in the Emerald Hotel, a doting wife out for coffee. She wears fine gowns and resists gossip, staying upstanding, but never cold. She likes to think that she's making her mark in the town, becoming known. If she is, she's doing her job properly, settling her character witnesses.

Everything is going perfectly until it isn't. Jonah slips. Noel doesn't even discover how until it is too late and the gunfight is lost and Jonah is bleeding out in her arms, his tab with God unsettled and their victory bleeding away.

She buries him in the churchyard, demure and sweet, watching the stone with the wrong name mark her brother's place. Later, she rides out and screams, hands still stained red with his blood. She remembers his unsettled tab and sets out to match it, so that one day she can join him once more.

She returns to town and puts on her gloves. Tobias loves her, she is the perfect wife, so attentive to his bouts of illness and so concerned.

Noel forms the perfect cover, she plays her part perfectly. With a little sacrifice, she covers for Jonah's slip. She helps collect funds for the new church floor, embroidering kerchiefs with dainty patterns for the pastor to sell. The new pastor admires her faith, he smiles and says one day she'll see heaven. She does her best to ensure that won't be so.

Tobias grows sicker and sicker and Noel worries more and more. At least, in public. Old Man German at the store grows tired of her asking after medicine. There is never any coming in.

Calling for the Doc is a risk, but a necessary one. Fortunately, it pays off, he patiently assures her that he's not a doctor and he cannot cure her husband. He's the best Danser has, however, and all her husband will see. She grows fond of him on his visits, another respectable alibi and connection for when she is alone.

She forges ties and prepares for widowhood. She ties her hair up neat and slips into the saloon instead of the hotel on a Friday afternoon, seeking the Doc, looking to keep herself in his mind. She's going to need a new husband soon, anyway, and it's always a good idea to plan ahead.

#chill to reblog #a town called danser #noel #jonah

4 notes · View notes

luthienne · 5 years

Note

How does one let go? Of another, of one's self, of the life you thought you were living. Do you know any fitting poems or quotes describing the phenomenon of moving forward?

I’m not sure that I’ve ever let go of anything in my entire life. This Anne Carson quote always seems to sum up my thoughts in four succinct lines:

I find the phenomenon of letting go so inextricably tied with the idea of healing or recovery, perhaps because that’s what the desire to “let go” and move forward looks like for me. How do you let go of something that happened to you or within you, something that has altered your conception of the world from one day to the next, that has altered your own perception of yourself, of who you thought you were or could be, of what you thought your life would be? How to come to terms with the reality that there is no return to who you were before?

For me it’s less a deliberate choice to brush my hands together and “let go”, but more simply putting one foot in front of the other every day until I find myself in a (perhaps even just slightly) different place than before. It’s allowing myself to grieve what I thought my life would be, and also allowing space to hold gratitude for what my life contains. It’s waiting for everything inside of me and around me to shatter, and meanwhile still moving forward. It’s allowing myself to realize that I’m still here and I’m still a whole person, even if the pieces of me have shattered and rearranged themselves into something I don’t necessarily always recognize. It’s sitting alone with myself, with the silence that sometimes makes a home of my throat, with the restlessness beneath my skin, with the fear that who I am becoming won’t be enough, and moving anyway in any direction but back. It’s sitting with grief and shame and bitterness and groundlessness, and understanding that these feelings are temporary, and not things be used to validate my fears or distortions.

I think the deliberate choice involved for me is the one to allow space for growth, to not cling so tightly to past hopes or ideas that there is no longer any room for anything else, anything new, anything different. It’s allowing myself the belief and compassionate understanding that I can be something other than I thought or hoped I would be, and it’s ok. I think sometimes we deny ourselves chances to grow or change because of the shame we feel that we have failed, and to deny ourselves those opportunities for growth would be the real shame. What others believe does not matter—that we have invested ourselves utterly in a relationship that failed is no shame on us, that we have invested ourselves utterly in a dream or a hope that just didn’t work out is no shame on us. I think the worst thing is to remain in a place that is no longer serving us for fear of appearing the failure to others. There is so much opportunity to be had in letting go of one thing, anything, to make room for something else.

I don’t know that this compilation of poetry, essays, literature, and letters will offer any insight, or comfort, or guidance. Letting go must surely be an intensely personal process, an intensely personal thing, a different kind of animal for everyone—but still there seem to be some universal experiences. So these are some of the words that came to mind for me—whether they touch on grappling with the impossibility of letting go and moving forward, the hope of it, the desire for it, the loneliness of it, or the frustration with it (bc of course it’s something that cannot be forced, only something that can be allowed):

“What could I have grown up to be? What kind of human woman, what kind of simple, happy thing? If I had never been broken on a bird’s wing. If I had never seen the world naked. I want to be myself again…I want to stop knowing everything I know.”

Catherynne M. Valente, Deathless

“On the surface, I was poised, cool, indifferent. […] The discrepancy between what I would show the world and the chaos I felt grew steadily more intense.”

Louise Glück, Proofs & Theories: Essays on Poetry

“There were glimpses, moments, breathing spaces of calm, but all the rest of the time it was like living in a house that couldn’t be cured of the habit of catching on fire, on a ship that got wrecked every day.”

Katherine Mansfield, “At the Bay”

“Words can’t describe the wound. / Perhaps more importantly / words alone / can’t heal the wound.”

Emily Pettit, “Hands Like Lighters”

“But sometimes words are the only hands / we have to touch a bruised memory / or cleanse a wound that never healed / or lift a body we carried for years / at last to the pyre of shared grief.”

Fred Dings, Eulogy for a Private Man

“I sat on a gray stone bench / and placed my grief / in the mouth of language, / the only thing that would grieve with me.”

Lisel Mueller, Alive Together: Poems

“I am not myself, and cannot ever be / again. I am my own emptiness, trying to fill my emptiness / with words.”

Robert Kroetsch, “Letters to Salonika”

“Now that I’m free to be myself, who am I? / Can’t fly, can’t run, and see how slowly I walk.”

Mary Oliver, from Blue Iris

“Can I never escape this interminable mourning for myself?”

Susan Sontag, from Reborn

“The light of the moon poured down; its beauty, / its radiance. / And I grieved and grieved. I grieved for so long.”

from Phoebus was gone, all gone, his journey over (tr. Eavan Boland)

“When will, when will, when will it be enough, / the saying and lamenting?”

Rainer Maria Rilke, Uncollected Poems

“…she was only trying to smooth out something she had been given years ago folded up;”

Virginia Woolf, To the Lighthouse

“It seemed increasingly impossible to remember a time when I had been fully alive, impossible to imagine a future in which I would live that way again.”

Louise Glück, Proofs & Theories: Essays on Poetry

“Everything is so fragile. I feel so lost. I live off secret, radiating, luminous rays that would smother me if I didn’t cover them with a heavy cloak of false certainties. God help me: I have no one to guide me and it’s dark again.”

Clarice Lispector, The Stream of Life

“Make a place for yourself in the darkness and wait there. Be there.”

Denise Levertov, To Stay Alive

“Losing is also ours; and even forgetting has its shape in the permanent realm of change. Things we’ve let go of circle; and though we’re rarely at the center of these circles: they trace around us the unbroken figure.”

Rainer Maria Rilke, “For Hans Corossa” (tr. Edward Snow)

“Someone I loved once gave me a box full of darkness. / It took me years to understand that this, too, was a gift.”

Mary Oliver, “The Uses of Sorrow”

“Things take us hard, no question. / How do you make it, all the way from here to morning?”

Adrienne Rich, Diving into the Wreck

“Following a fearful night I do not quite / remember came a kind / of dawn, not light, / But something we could see by.”

Edna St. Vincent Millay, “Dream of Saba”

“Afterward, you go back to the old place—all that remains is char: blackness and emptiness. You think: how could I live here? But it was different then, even last summer. The earth behaved as though nothing could go wrong with it. One match was all it took. But at the right time—it had to be the right time. The field parched, dry—the deadness in place already so to speak.”

Louise Glück, Averno

“…the longing, not for something distant or remote, but for what is lost forever, something that can never return.”

Henia Karmel, A Wall of Two

“When a thing’s gone, it’s gone. It’s over and done with. Let it go then! Ignore it, and comfort yourself, if you do want comforting, with the thought that you never do recover the same thing that you lose. It’s always a new thing. The moment it leaves you, it’s changed.”

Katherine Mansfield, “Je ne parle pas français”

“I cannot go back now. […] For me to go back is impossible, now or later.”

Marina Tsvetaeva, from a letter to Boris Pasternak

“There comes a day when the trees / refuse to let you pass / until you name them.”

Lisel Mueller, Second Language: Poems

“Anyway, it’s in grappling with things at the source that you can tell best whether a thing is worth continuing or not… In other words, everything is worth investigating, wasting time over, if it interests you. There is always a deep, unconcealed reason why it interests you.”

Henry Miller, from a letter to Anaïs Nin

“We only live by somehow absorbing the past—changing it. I mean really examining it and dividing what is important from what is not (for there is waste) and transforming it so that it becomes a part of the life of the spirit and we are free of it. It’s no longer our personal past, it’s just in the highest possible sense, our servant. I mean that it is no longer our master.”

Katherine Mansfield, from a letter to J.M. Murry

“…only one thing is urgently needed: to attach oneself with unconditional purpose somewhere to nature, to what is strong, striving and bright, and to move forward without guile, even if ithat means in the least important, daily matters. Each time we tackle something with joy, each time we open our eyes toward a yet untouched distance we transform not only this and the next moment, but we also rearrange and gradually assimilate the past inside of us.”

Rainer Maria Rilke, from a letter to Adelheid von der Marwitz

“Keep busy with survival. Imitate the trees. Learn to lose in order to recover, and remember that nothing stays the same for long, not even pain, psychic pain. Sit it out. Let it all pass. Let it go.”

May Sarton, Journal of a Solitude

“One must let life run its course. The human being destroys so many things on his own, and it is not in his power to restore anything. Nature, by contrast, has all the power to heal as long as one does not eavesdrop or interrupt it.”

Rainer Maria Rilke, from a letter to Anita Forrer

“Do not try to be saved, but let redemption find you, as it certainly will. Love is its own rescue; for we, at our supremest, are but its trembling emblems.”

Emily Dickinson, from a letter to T.W. Higginson

“To take things easy, not to fight against the ebb and flow of life, but to give way to it—that was what was needed. It was the tension that was all wrong.”

Katherine Mansfield, “At the Bay”

“If you find yourself disappointing—drop self-expectations. What you are turning into you cannot expect to know, but you can trust it, and believe that if it is other than you planned, it will also be better than you planned—however different.”

Kahlil Gibran, from a letter to Mary Haskell

“To live in this world / you must be able / to do three things: / to love what is mortal; / to hold it / against your bones knowing / your own life depends on it; / and when the time comes to let it go, / to let it go.”

Mary Oliver, “At Blackwater Pond”

#this response is abominably late i know #i frankly could not bear to grapple with putting to words the concept of letting go this past year #i was in the midst of it (though tbh i think i always am)#ask #letting go #words #poetry #lit #letters #compilation

665 notes · View notes

hongism · 4 years

Text

finding beauty in your darkest places - chapter 8

Pairing: TBA (i have no clue at the moment, ot7 for now)

Genre: Psychiatric Clinic!au, Heavy Angst, Fluff

Word Count: 6094

Warnings: strong language; deals with mental and emotional illnesses and disorders as a heavy theme of the story, future graphic depictions of disorders - please do not read if this makes you uncomfortable

Chapter specific warnings: discussions of character death, graphic depictions of anxiety attacks, discussion of suicidal thoughts and actions

Rating: PG-13/Mature

Summary: Everyone has their issues, and everyone deals with them differently. Jungkook thinks that avoiding his problems is the best option out there.

aka

Jeon Jungkook is the newest patient at the Omelas Specialized Psychiatric Clinic, and he just wants to get in and out as quickly as possible so that he can go back to university and be with his friends again. Of course, that doesn't work out according to his plan.

a/n: hello hello this is somewhat of a surprise chapter because i didn’t have this on the schedule or planned in my mind really. However, i find it easiest to write my feelings and since i’ve been feeling down recently, this chapter was easier to write and i felt more inspired to work on it. It’s also been quite some time since i posted, and for that i am hugely and immensely sorry. time slipped away from me and i put this story on the backburners of my mind for too long.

Also, this chapter contains a small surprise for my boo @maptoyoongi bc Mari has been so helpful and kind and lovely about helping me with this story and supporting me big time when it comes to this story. I never feel as though it’s enough to just say thank you and i wanted a way to thank you in a special way ;-; even now, i don’t feel as though this is enough to say thank you <3

(it’s been so long that this is the first time i’m actually using the tag list omg)

tag list: @succulentjinkook @mxrzan

7 | 8 | 9

Finding Beauty in Your Darkest Places

Chapter 8: Black Waters

It's cold. The edges of autumn have seeped their way into the clinic, bringing brown and red leaves to the trees around the basketball court, and the season is windier than usual. A gust of wind passes over Jungkook's body. He doesn't brace himself against the breeze despite being in a typical short sleeved white shirt. Rather he remains where he is, sprawled out in the middle of the basketball court and staring up at the clouded sky with an equally clouded mind.

Cold.

Everything is cold. His fingers are never warm anymore, the cold seeping to his palms on occasion. Part of Jungkook knows that he should be worried. It's a concern, maybe a serious health concern in fact, and yet...nothing.

Cold.

Jungkook would rather be cold.

"For the longest time, I only saw that reflection when I looked in the mirror. It took a long time to separate Kim Namjoon from the disorders the doctors labelled me with. What do you see in the mirror, Jungkook? Do you know who you are or do you just take the labels doctors give you? Are you “Jeon Jungkook, Panic Disorder” or someone else?"

Who is he? According to the voices scampering through his head without rest, he's a number of things. Loser, asshole, trash, garbage, piece of shit, dirty, crazy, a disappointment. A liar. Jeon Jungkook is a dirty fucking liar, and he knows that to be the truth.

The worst thing he could do is dwell on the past. Think about all the ways in which he wronged Taehyung, you, Namjoon, Yoongi, Hyewon, maybe every patient in the clinic. His brother...mom...father. Jungkook's head begins to tingle, a faint sensation starting in the back of his skull and quickly travelling to the space between his eyes.

“It’s far better to know people for their heart and not their mind. A person’s mind can be fucked up and distorted. But the kind of person they are, what they do for others, how they treat others — that all tells you much more. We are all souls with a house of flesh and bones, wrestling with a mind that is not our own. For some people it gets to be too much. They just want out of the cage they feel trapped in, and society is the one keeping them there. They don’t see their body as anything good, it’s only a trapped feeling, and sometimes they try to get out. They try to get rid of a certain part of themselves, kill the mind that isn’t completely theirs.”

Namjoon's words stay with Jungkook and cling to the loose bits of his brain only to eat away like a parasite. Kill the mind that isn't completely theirs. In the first few days after that conversation with Namjoon, Jungkook wanted nothing more than to do just that. It would have been so easy, so quick and painless, he could've just done it. Should have. And yet, he lives to see the clouded sky another day, back cold from the pressure of the concrete under him, and surprisingly at peace with being alive.

Nevermind the nagging voices in his mind telling him he's a coward who can't kill himself properly. Jungkook is content.

His birthday came and went without any celebration, which is exactly what he had wanted. None of his family came to visit before or after the day of his birthday, and when each Sunday ended without their presence, Jungkook found that he was not upset in the slightest.

At peace.

Such a strange concept.

When has Jungkook ever felt at peace with anything in his life? Where did this sensation come from? Namjoon's understanding and endless wise words provided relief, yes, but Jungkook wouldn't go so far as to say that they put his fears and anxieties to rest. They haven't gone anywhere. They're just...quiet, but not in a relaxing or easing sense. Jungkook flips between being content and on edge throughout the day constantly. Because it feels like they're waiting. Waiting for something, the drop of a pin, the perfect trigger, the slightest misstep.

On edge may be an understatement.

Dr. Martin requested that Jungkook begin to attend group therapy sessions at his last meeting with the doctor. The idea, in and of itself, sounds like a cruel form of torture for a person like Jungkook -- one still wrestling with the weight of what's wrong with him, the issues swirling through his body and mind.

It will be beneficial, the doctor had said.

Jungkook mentally called bullshit. How could it be? A sit down chat with other patients where he has to talk about himself and his struggles? Fuck that. Jungkook would rather have a fork stuck through the back of his hand. Besides, another huge concern that looms in the back of Jungkook's mind is that Taehyung may be at one of these sessions.

The two are still doing a fantastic job of avoiding each other, and considering they are roommates, Jungkook is impressed they've been able to keep it up this long as it is. But he can't run away when trapped in a room for a group therapy session. He has to sit there and take it, facing the person whose trust he broke, whose relationship he ruined, and whose condition has regressed dramatically in the past few days.

All my fault. My fault. I did that. It was me.

Jungkook's eyes flutter shut, blocking the sky from his view and letting the blackness behind his eyelids sweep over him.

"We need to talk."

Jimin had caught Jungkook by the arm after breakfast two days ago and uttered those four words, eyes narrowed and expression grim. For a moment, Jungkook had thought that he did something wrong or something to upset Jimin. Of course he did, he single-handedly destroyed Taehyung, but Jimin was not angry. His expression softened a moment later, and he had said that he wants to help fix things.

Again, Jungkook mentally called bullshit.

"Fix things". A load of bullshit by itself, but also something that Namjoon said was unnecessary. Fix what? The countless problems Jungkook has caused since arriving in the clinic? Or fix Taehyung himself?

Jimin never approached Jungkook after that, however, which left Jungkook to wonder when the older man is going to approach him, if he does at all. He certainly isn't going to be the one who makes an effort to bring the topic up with Jimin.

Jungkook sits up on the pavement, eyes snapping open again, and he blinks at the intrusion of light through the clouds above. With a quick glance at his watch, Jungkook scrambles to his feet and rushes for the door. His group therapy session starts in two minutes, and the room is on the other side of the clinic. Moving quickly, Jungkook manages to sprint over to where Dr. Martin's office lies, coincidentally across from the room where group therapy sessions are held. The door lies cracked open, and through the small space, Jungkook can see multiple forms already seating inside. No voices arise from the room, however, so Jungkook can at least rest in the knowledge that he isn't late.

That peace of mind dissipates the moment he steps through the door. There Taehyung sits, directly across from the door in a rickety plastic chair. He stares forward and locks eyes with Jungkook as soon as the door moves. Both men freeze, stare at each other with eyes growing wider with each passing second. Panic.

Jungkook's brain is firing warning signals everywhere, the cold in his fingertips grows to a dull ache, and he curls his fingers into his palm under the skin almost breaks. Panic.

Taehyung's face relaxes into a deadpan expression, wide eyes returning to a hooded gaze. Jungkook glances at the people on either side of him, Hyewon on one side with her platinum blonde hair that blends in too much with the white of the clinic around her, and Eunbi on his other side. Both girls wear similar expressions, but when Hyewon makes eye contact with Jungkook, she beams brightly at him. Jungkook offers his own weak smile in response but it doesn't linger. Rather, he steps around the circle of chairs and moves to the seat across from the girl, one beside Seokjin, who seems about as happy to be here as Jungkook is.

"Hi, Seokjin."

Jungkook's greeting is met with a small grunt rather than words, which catches the younger off-guard. Seokjin never fails to be bright and cheerful, chatty even when no one else seems to be in the mood to talk. The Seokjin before Jungkook now is not the one he knows, not in the slightest, and that realization itself sends a chill down the back of his neck.

"Good afternoon everyone!"

A bright and warm voice intrudes on the silence of the room. Jungkook glances up, eyes finding the door again and spotting a young woman dressed in a set of pale blue scrubs. Her smile is too bright, a foreign expression from a nurse at the clinic, and Jungkook almost hazards a guess that she's faking it. However as she steps further into the room, her grin remains. She wastes no time in coming to sit at the last available chair one seat over from Jungkook.

"I'm seeing a few new faces today. First of all, I'm so happy to see that and welcome. I hope that we are able to help you all and this session offers you some peace from the harshness of what's inside your head. Secondly, I'll introduce myself for those of you who may not know me. My name is Dr. Mari, I take care of the group therapy sessions here at the clinic. Would you please each introduce yourselves so that everyone can know each other's names? Oh, also share one interesting fact about yourself! A simple icebreaker to help keep the tension at bay." Dr. Mari motions to the girl sitting on her right, asking her to start wordlessly.

"I'm Hanuel and um, I-I like dogs?" The girl shrugs a bit after her introduction. Seeing her fidget in her seat, eyes wavering and not meeting anyone else's in the room, and the sheer expression of panic across her face as she introduces herself sends Jungkook's mind into a panic of its own. He grips the fabric of his sweatpants tight between his fingers, knuckles white from the force of his grip, and the rapidly accelerating drumming of his heartbeat in his ears begins to resound. His mind shuts down in that moment, blocking out sensory functioning and clouding all his judgement with the constant rhythm of panic in his body.

Before he can stop it, the anxiety attack washes over him like a tsunami. Cold, even colder than before, yet hot at the same time. His throat is burn, skin scalding around his neck, and he's almost certain that his face looks much like a tomato at this point. Jungkook knows what comes next. The distortion, the confusion, pain -- oh so much pain.

Idiot. Dumb fucking idiot. Why did you think it was a good idea to come here? You think you're normal compared to these people? No, look at you. Look at you barely functioning. Dumb fucking idiot. Worthless, I told you you were worthless.

Can't fucking kill yourself properly?

At least do it like you mean it, you worthless disappointment.

Jungkook sinks. The water plunges over him, filling his lungs and throat with black water that freezes his insides. He's thrashing, fighting to get out, but to no avail.

Jungkook has been here before. This is familiar. A hand closes around his throat, and he can no longer breathe. It's familiar.

Something wakes him up from the reverie, well someone to be more specific. A hand comes down on his thigh, and Jungkook jerks his whole body, finding the culprit staring at him with wide eyes. It's Seokjin. The fingers that close around his thigh simultaneously pull him from the depths of the black water in his mind. He nods twice. Jungkook takes the hint and glances around the room, seeing waiting expressions.

"Oh, uh, I'm Jeon Jungkook...the--the newest patient here."

Dr. Mari offers a soft smile, her eyes twinkling as she does. "We're so happy to have you here, Mr. Jeon. Thank you for coming." Jungkook nods a few times in response. He fights to gain control over his breathing again as the girl on his right introduces herself. Seokjin's grip gradually lessens until Jungkook doesn't feel the pressure of his touch any longer, and when he glances down to where the man's hand had just been, he swears the skin tingles with lingering warmth.

"We will open the discussion today as usual. Remember anyone can jump in and talk, there doesn't need to be any specific order, and you don't have to speak if you don't feel comfortable doing so. Hopefully it's helpful to some extent and encouraging to hear others open up in front of you. Now, how are each of feeling today?"

Silence meets Dr. Mari's question. A moment passes when each patient glances around the circle as though pleading another to speak up and make some sort of conversation, but no one does. Dr. Mari remains quiet and patient though, eyes soft as she glances over the patients before her.

"W-Well..." It's Eunbi who starts up the discussion, her voice quiet and hesitant. She doesn't continue her train of thought, at which point, Dr. Mari nods at her.

"Go ahead, dear."

"Well, I've been feeling down and distracted recently. Um, Miyeon might be leaving soon. I-I'm really happy that she is getting better and could leave shortly, but...and I know it's a selfish thought, but I don't want to see her leave. She's my best friend, and she's always been here for me. I don't know what it'll be like to not have her here. She--she helps keep everything in check, keeps all the pieces glued together, so I'm scared. I'm sc-scared about what might happen if she leaves." Dr. Mari hums as Eunbi finishes speaking.

"Does anyone have any advice or words for Eunbi?"

Taehyung doesn't hesitate. He leans forward, quick to offer some sort of reassurance with his words. "Jimin and I will always be here for you. Even if she does leave, we'll still be here." Eunbi smiles at Taehyung, not saying another word and instead shifting her gaze to the floor. Silence creeps into the circle once more. Dr. Mari waits a few moments before cutting the quiet with words of her own.

"Seokjin, you're being awfully quiet today. Is anything in particular on your mind?" Jungkook follows the doctor's gaze to Seokjin.

"No, it's just that I was up late last night talking with my roommate," he explains. "We were having a chat and it ended up being a lot longer than anticipated, so I went to bed very late."

"I understand, that's alright. Why don't you each tell me about one thing that made you happy this week? Seokjin, we'll start with you if you don't mind."

"That's perfectly fine. Um, I spent a lot of time in the library with Namjoon this week. I was able to make it through almost half of a book without getting detached. I remembered most of the content too, so I was happy to finally able to talk through things with Namjoon after reading the book. I haven't been able to do that in a long time."

Eunbi picks up after Seokjin, talking about something related to Miyeon, but Jungkook doesn't pay the words much attention. Dr. Mari's question lingers in his mind. What made you happy? Jungkook doesn't need to think for long because his answer is nothing. If there was anything that made him happy, it's been blocked out and erased by the bad memories. Nothing. It sounds too depressing in Jungkook's mind, and he's sure that if he were to admit that out loud, Dr. Mari would talk to the doctors about his condition. Maybe he'd get new pills, new therapy, more appointments, more and more pointless diagnoses that aren't entirely accurate simply because it's what works best for the system.

"And you, Jungkook?" Dr. Mari cuts through his thoughts.

Maybe it's best that way. Take more and more pills until you're a husk of a human being. Then they won't ask if you're happy.

"Nothing good happened to me this week," Jungkook says without looking up at the doctor. He expects to hear her sigh and click her tongue against the roof of her mouth as a show of disappointment. Neither sound comes.

"Did anything at all make you happy?" She inquires instead.

"No." Jungkook dares to glance up, finding Taehyung's eyes across the room, and the other man wears an expression of sadness for a moment.

"I understand," Dr. Mari says in a quiet voice. Her tone remains level and soft as she consoles him. "It can be tough to have a week like that. But know that things will get better. Whether it happens today, tomorrow, in three weeks or three years -- this will pass, and you will be better and stronger because of it. We're here to help along the way and support you when you don't feel like you can do it by yourself any longer. Now, I would like for you all to share one thing that made you upset this week. Jungkook, would it be alright if you started? You seem to have a lot on your mind, so I'd like to talk through that some if you don't mind." Jungkook's eyes flit over to the doctor. He expects to see the cold and retrained expression that always covers Dr. Martin's face, or the slight look of disdain from some of the nurses, but he sees neither. Rather, Dr. Mari blinks back at him with brows furrowed, gaze soft, and expression reading pure concern. Something about her expression eases Jungkook's mind.

"I'm not sure where to start."

"That's alright, you can just say whatever comes to mind first if you'd rather."

"I...I had a falling out with someone." Jungkook shifts in his seat, daring to look in Taehyung's direction. They meet eyes for a second, then Taehyung ducks his head and refuses to look at him any longer.

"Do you want to talk about what happened?"

Jungkook debates it, considers telling the truth and being honest for once. Just once, he really wants to be honest. He wants to get it off his chest, be open, but to do it in front of these people? People he doesn't know well, some people he doesn't care to know and vice versa, people who could use this against him. Yet Dr. Mari's expression of interest and concern compels him to speak.

"We had a disagreement, and I didn't consider how my actions would affect him mentally or emotionally. I...it's selfish, but I don't want to be responsible for harming him or the relationships he has with others."

"Do you feel bitter at all? Towards that person?" Jungkook jerks his head to find the source of the question. Taehyung's eyes are on him once more, eyes wide, and teeth gnawing his lower lip now that he's put the question out in the air.

"No, not at all," Jungkook admits. Taehyung dips his head. "I just--well, I feel guilty, I guess, for hurting the other person. I wish I could explain that to him but it seems like he's avoiding me. I want a chance to ask for forgiveness, but I don't feel like I deserve it."

"Why would you think you don't deserve a chance for forgiveness?" Dr. Mari asks.

"It feels a bit like I've hurt him too much to be forgiven."

"Maybe...maybe the other person overreacted some because he didn't know how to handle the information," Taehyung speaks up again. "And maybe he isn't upset with you, but he said some hurtful things that shouldn't have been said."

"Taehyung is right. Communication is key, especially when it comes to disagreements. I encourage you to talk with the person again and maybe explaining the situation a bit more will help. That may also help you have better days and find more happiness in things." Jungkook nods along with Dr. Mari's words. "Thank you for sharing, Jungkook. Would anyone else like to share?"

"Um, I-I would," Taehyung pipes up again. He fidgets in his seat before speaking again, a small sniffle accompanying his movements. "I, uh, I called my mom earlier in the week. She said...she said my grandmother passed away. I-I don't know why, but she helped raise me and has always been there for me no matter what. I wish--I wish that I could have been there for her before this happened. It doesn't feel fair."

"I'm so sorry to hear that, Taehyung. I understand how much she meant to you and how it must be very hard for you to handle while being at the clinic. It must be very hard for everyone here. It's hard to feel as though there is no way out, no way to see family and friends, and live your own life. Everything you do is under watch, someone is there with you, you're required to follow all these regulations and rules. While, yes, they are meant to help your betterment and assure safety, it must feel very suffocating at times. However, each of you has come to this place together, all suffering and struggling with similar things, and you are with each other at the same time for a reason. You should be a beacon of hope and a light at the end of the tunnel for each other. When something bad happens, rather than stepping away from each other, you should step towards one another. Be there for each other and treat this place as a new home. While it may be a temporary one, it is an important one. This is a place where you can have a new family, not a replacement per se, but a family full of people who know what you go through each and every day and understand how you feel.

"I understand each of you may have qualms with each other or with the staff here at the clinic. It can be hard to feel surrounded by people who seem not to care about you or want you to get better, but I assure you there are people who want to help here. Whether it be a doctor or a nurse or a patient, people want to see you be better and stronger, to return to your life outside the clinic.

"Everyone is at the clinic for a reason. Obviously you each know that, the patients are here for their specific reasons. The reason I came to the clinic, however, is because I wanted to make a difference and be a person who could help in some way. When I was your age, I didn't have anyone to rely on or go to when I struggled. For many years, I struggled alone, and it was the most terrifying experience of my life. I'm here to make sure that each of you don't have to feel that way, to give you an option, a choice to not be alone. I love seeing progress in each of you, and growth, but I adore seeing you grow and rely on each other to get better. Medication can only do so much. There has to be a change in the heart and in the mind in order to overcome your struggles. That is what I want to see as a doctor here. I want to see patients come together and help each other because we doctors and the nurses lack in many areas. You can do so much more for each other since you understand each other. Now, I will leave you all with that thought for the day. Thank you for coming, thank you to our newcomers, and you're free to leave now."

Jungkook moves to get up, but a hand clamps down on his leg, keeping him planted to the seat. He looks to the man on his left in confusion. Seokjin doesn't say a word, nor does he even spare Jungkook a glance, and he keeps staring forward at the floor in silence. Dr. Mari is the first to stand, followed by a few of the female patients, while Taehyung lingers in his seat as well. A few moments later, the room is empty except for Taehyung, Seokjin, and Jungkook. There doesn't seem to be any reasoning behind why they're lingering, and Jungkook can only blink between the other two in wonder. Taehyung won't take his eyes off Jungkook, lips slightly parted as though he's about to say something. Words never come.

A minute passes, then two, then three in silence. There's an itch under Jungkook's skin now, the anxiety crawling its way back into his system. Then, a creaking noise rises, and Taehyung stands up. He heads for the door without saying or doing anything, leaving Jungkook to wonder what the hell just happened. Once Taehyung is out of sight, Seokjin releases a deep breath.

"Did something happen between you and Taehyung?" He asks.

"No." The answer comes a bit too quickly, perhaps the lie is too transparent, and Seokjin can see straight through him. "Nothing happened. Everything's fine." Jungkook ought to stop talking, he's only digging the hole deeper at this point. He won't be able to drawl out of it once Seokjin catches on that it's a lie, but luckily enough, Seokjin makes a noise of approval.

"Sorry for bothering you. I just--it seemed--I most likely misread things. I make too many assumptions anyways, according to Yoongi at least."

"Ah, no! Don't worry, it's fine." Jungkook rushes to reassure the older man, and Seokjin smiles back in gratitude as he does. "Would it...be alright if I asked you a few questions actually?"

"Oh, me? That's fine. Ask away!" Seokjin grins at Jungkook, the lines around his mouth and nose scrunching up with the gesture.

"How long have you been at the clinic?"

"Hm, I think it's been about a year for me now. Might seem strange, since Namjoon, Yoongi, and Y/N have been here for a lot longer."

"How did you start talking with them then? Or become friends, I mean." Seokjin leans back in his chair, squinting at the ceiling.

"Well, Y/N was the person who showed me around the ward at the time. Back then, she was a lot less bright and happy." Jungkook does at double-take at the words.

"She doesn't seem bright or happy at all now," he scoffs.

"It used to be a lot worse. I have no clue why, but she was absolutely hellish back then. Even so, I found her interesting and I was grateful that she showed me around, so I kinda just pushed myself into her life. After I found out that Yoongi was my roommate, I thought it was sort of meant to be? That sounds odd and cliche, but that's the reason why I spent all my time with the two of them. Namjoon was obviously there as well, though at the time he didn't spend all of his time with us as he does now. Thinking back, it was hard dealing with both Yoongi and Y/N since they were both so hellish then, but Namjoon was good at placating it. Y/N and Yoongi would argue all the time, back and forth with no end whatsoever. Namjoon would just say "stop" and they would shut up. I don't understand it, even now that it's a lot better and way different than it used to be."

"What do you mean?"

"They care about each other -- Y/N and Yoongi that is -- but it's always seemed as though they have a really twisted way of showing it. I don't approve of it, but I'm not the person to tell them otherwise. It's not my place, first of all. Secondly, I can't do anything about it even if I wanted to. The only person who could have an actual impact would be Namjoon, although anytime I mention it to him, he shuts me down and refuses to talk about it." Seokjin's admission triggers something in Jungkook's mind, and he's taken back all the sudden to one of his previous conversations with Namjoon.

“Quit asking, Jungkook.”

“I’m so-sorry, I was just c—”

“I don’t want to talk about them so you shouldn’t bother.”

“Talk about Yoongi and Y/N?”

“Drop it now before I have to say it again.”

Now that he knows it's been a recurring pattern with Seokjin, Jungkook can't help but wonder what the cause is. Did something happen there for him to be so against talking about it?

"Eh, now that I think about it, I guess Y/N wasn't the absolute worst she could've been. When I first arrived, she really tried her best to help me and look after me in a way, even though I'm older than her. Over time though, she started helping me less and less. I think it's partly because I insisted that I was just fine helping myself. Maybe that's why she was cold to me for so long. Part of me feels guilty about having her help me, somewhat due to the fact that I'm older than here, but also because there isn't really anything wrong with me."

Jungkook blinks at Seokjin. ...isn't really anything wrong with him? But if that's true...why would he be here?

"I'm not sick or anything like that, so she didn't need to help me."

...Not sick?

"We argued about that at one point. I don't remember the exact content of the argument, but Namjoon took my side and of course Yoongi took hers. Things were tense for a little while after that but we cleared things up and talked through it. Turned out better in the end because now we're fine, and she knows that she doesn't have to help me anymore."

"Makes sense," Jungkook mumbles, more focused on the fact that Seokjin claimed to not be sick.

"Of course, she still tries from time to time," Seokjin continues as though Jungkook didn't say anything. "But it isn't as frequent as when she tries to help others like she does with Hoseok or Taehyung or even you."

"What?" Jungkook blanches at the mention of him. "She doesn't do that for me. She doesn't do anything like that at all, especially not compared to what she does for Taehyung or Hoseok."

"Oh, you can't see it?" Seokjin's eyebrows raise, and he swipes his tongue across his lower lip. "I know that she's trying her best to help, but it may not be obvious because of the kind of person she can be. She truly does care though, no matter what you might think. It's just--she, well, she has a tendency to believe that she can help others while keeping them at arm's length, even though that's almost impossible. Maybe that's what caused us to fight in the first place: we don't see eye to eye on a lot of things. At the end of the day, we respect each other. That's the most important thing: mutual respect and care. As Dr. Mari said, being there for each other is valuable and I wouldn't want any sort of petty argument to get in the way of that."

"I suppose so. Well, no, that's right. That's 100% correct. Just...difficult, I guess."

"So can we talk about what's going on between you and Taehyung now?"

"Huh? W-What? Nothing happened, I don't--I don't know what you're talking about."

"Bullshit." Seokjin releases a small laugh. "Whatever happened between the two of you is somehow affecting Taehyung's relationship with Y/N." Jungkook's heart plummets. He noticed? How did he notice? Did other people notice too? "Listen, Jungkook. Taehyung is one of the most important things in Y/N's life, the other thing being Hoseok. She doesn't feel as though she has any purpose or value outside of that."

"I...I know that, but there isn't--there isn't anything I can do." Seokjin grabs hold of his forearm, pinching the skin with his rough grasp.

"I was up late talking with Yoongi last night, and we were talking about Y/N. She came to visit Yoongi while I was gone yesterday. I was helping clean up and take care of dishes after dinner so Yoongi was alone. I--they--" Seokjin cuts himself off before he can say any more. "Maybe I shouldn't be telling you this. No, I'm sure it's fine. It's fine, I don't have to tell him everything." Jungkook leans away from the man, but Seokjin's grip only tightens around his arm. "Anyways, Y/N and Yoongi talked for a bit."

"You see, this is why we are better off not talking when we're together. Things that don't involve conversation always do more good for the two of us."

Jungkook narrows his eyes. "But...Y/N told me herself that they don't tend to talk when they're together." Seokjin's eyes grow wide, then he shakes his head.

"Uh, it's not my business to tell you the details of her relationship with Yoongi or to explain what the two of them do in their private time."

"P-Private time?" Seokjin presses his lips into a thin line. A second passes, then reality sinks in, and Jungkook suddenly understands what you meant when you said that. "Oh." Seokjin offers a weak yet understanding smile.

"Again, it's not my place to talk about that. But anyways, back to the topic at hand. Y/N had mentioned something to Yoongi about needing a distraction because Taehyung was acting strange and different. She apparently went to talk to him, and he flat out ignored her. She's scared that he's mad at her for not finding his bear sooner."

The black water laps at Jungkook's ankles. He's expecting another tsunami.

"Did Taehyung mention what happened between them or if it has something to do with whatever happened between the two of you?"

"No," Jungkook denies quickly. He tugs his arm out of Seokjin's grasp. "It's not my business to talk about that anyways." Seokjin purses his lips then opens his mouth to say something else. "I have to go." Jungkook stands up, excusing himself from the conversation before it goes any further. He doesn't want to know. He doesn't care to know about whatever is going on between you and Yoongi, or how hurt you are by Taehyung's behavior. It doesn't matter. It's not like I'm going to fucking stay at the clinic forever. Jungkook pushes his way out of the room, leaving Seokjin behind him, and doesn't care to look back and see whether the man decided to follow or not.

The black water is at his waist now, he feels the tug of the tide pulling and dragging him further in, and the cold black hand ready to close around his throat.

Your fault. Your fucking fault. Look what you did. You dirty fucking liar. You disappointment. Look at you. Can't do anything right, huh?

Jungkook stumbles on thin air.

Can't even kill yourself properly, can you?

Then all the sudden, he's on the floor, staring at the white ceiling with a dull throbbing in the back of his head.

"Jungkook!" It's not Seokjin's voice -- far too feminine for that -- but his mind is too swamped by black water to put a name to the voice.

"Y/N!" That's Seokjin, Jungkook recognizes it from having just heard it so much minutes ago. But that means, that it must have been you who yelled his name. For some reason, that realization causes the black hand around his throat to retract and sink back into the water, and the water recedes until it's lapping at his ankles again.

Hands find the collar of his white tee, pulling his shoulders up off the floor. Jungkook blinks a few times as your face appears before him. It stands out against the white of the ceiling, a blur to your features until Jungkook focuses his eyes again.

Then -- panic.

Oh god, is she mad at me? Does she know? She knows. Fuck, I'm screwed. She knows about the journal, about Taehyung, about everything. Fuck.

You smile.

Jungkook chokes on air.

"I found it, Jungkookie."

...

a/n: i hope you guys enjoyed this chapter! not a lot happened but at the same time a lot kinda happened?? i missed this story so so much and was so happy to return to writing it. i am excited to share more of this story with you guys, along with other projects that i have :3

consider sending me a ko-fi!!

This work is licensed under a Creative Commons Attribution-NonCommercial-NoDerivatives 4.0 International License.

60 notes · View notes

bekahdoesnerdshit · 4 years

Note

ask Two for the angst ones this time: 13 for raini, 5 (possibly will be pertinent come the end of this minicampaign) & 29 (she literally has Any Weapon w/ her pact so it's fititng) for ayen, 7 & 10 (hehe I know there's trauma in this one) for cog, and then mix and match 4, 17, 18 between Caspian, Ryker, and Brilliance bc I don't know them as well and I would Like To

My life is just below readmores now, I guess. Will I ever learn to shut the fuck up? No! And that is a promise

Raini

13. What does it take to make your character cry? Oh boy. Raini definitely isn’t a big crier, because she a) doesn’t really let herself get to that point and b) hard pivots into “angry” over “upset” and she isn’t an angry crier. She’s cried twice in game so far, and probably not many times before that. In both in game cases -and likely the always alluded to but never seen “before times”- the catalyst for her crying was being overwhelmed. In a good way, bad way, whatever, but that’s the trigger. Just- Looking at something, not knowing what else to do but let yourself cry about it, and not seeing any reason to stop yourself. (shfjsdjkfh the funny answer is: during sex. But can you IMAGINE jskdfskjdf)

Ayen

5. Would they ever turn on someone they just met in order to save themselves? Oh for sure. Without question. Not without guilt, in fairness, but without question. She’s pretty well adjusted, pretty “go with the flow”, but she did grow up in a pretty cutthroat world. She was spared from having to make those kinds of brutal decisions from a super young age by Shadow Mom, but she definitely saw the fallout of those choices and learned that, while it’s all well and good to do the “right” thing, it’s much more important to do the right thing for you. If that means condemning some stranger to die so you and yours don’t have to? So be it. Better people have done worse, because that’s sometimes just how things go. I’ll be honest! This character decision was a completely on the fly one when we were having that debate in the library about what we should do with the information we learned in the library. But I stand by it. In character, Ayen 1000% sees whatever’s going on as Not Her Business. It’s fucked up, sure! But, you know. Not her monkeys, not her circus. 29. What is their weapon of choice, and what weapon do they dislike using the most? Bro I love that Ayen doesn’t have A Specific Weapon SO much. Especially because Pact of the Blade specifically makes it so that, whatever weapon she summons, she’s proficient in while wielding it. So she sees somebody using a weapon, goes “oh! cool!” and summons it herself, and then just. Intuitively knows how to use is. How fucking funny is that conceptually?? Her go to if things are serious or she doesn’t have time to pick something obscure is a longsword. Dad uses a greatsword, and a longsword is pretty close to that! Image how cool they looked fighting off assholes, back to back, with two bigass swords? Is that the only reason it’s her favorite? No of course not!!!! That would- that would be silly. And childish. Swords are just cool is all. She hasn’t used any in game, but I think she honestly just doesn’t like any kind of polearm. It’s like, is it technically safer to be a little further from your enemy? Sure. Does it give you a small tactical advantage? Maybe so. But they’re so uglyyyy and they look weird and you have to use both hands and the balance is weird and >:( Spears can stay because you can throw them but you’re on thin fucking ice.

Cog

7. If your character was allowed to murder one person without any consequences, who would it be and why? Thank GOD Alex I wanted this one for Cog SO bad!!! Valentine WastelandGame! If you can read this! You’re a dead motherfucker!! This is for a variety of reasons including but not limited to: - Is responsible for the deaths of at least 3 separate world leaders! Uh oh! - Asked for my blood one time! To do Science on! Not cool! - Ace doesn’t like him. Enough said. - Called Ace “hotheaded” and “brutish” keep his NAME out of your MOUTH - Is fucking Maelo’s ex I think? Honestly I lost that plot on that one a little bit - Keeps taking Sunny on dates! We’re protective and Jealous?? Hard to say! We don’t have time to unpack this one let’s keep moving - Is convinced aliens exist? And are coming to attack the world? OKAY - Talks in fucking circles about philosophy and the greater meaning of “good” and “evil” in the context of the world. Like, no sir! Good is when you help people and evil is when you kill them! Except unless it’s me killing you which is going to happen because I can cast Finger of Death now and you better believe that spell has your fucking name on it. Freak boy. - Just like. Eats straight raw steak. Not Evil but really weird and probably not great for you? - Overall just a very bad slimy manipulative and stinky dude. 0/10 I’m gonna put an arcane bullet in his skull. Like. Everything Valentine does, everything she learns about him, convinces Cog more and more that the world would be a better, safer place if he wasn’t allowed to exist in it anymore. She was kinda neutral on the guy until he gave his grand speech in Cormir about how the only way to save the world is to ‘conquer and subdue it’ and tried to talk her in circles enough that she had to agree with him or seem like a hypocrite. Since then, it’s been a slow creep from “I don’t trust this man and don’t want to work with him again, even if it makes our lives harder” to “he’s dangerous and needs to be stopped” to “...if given the opportunity, I would kill him myself”. And now that she has our new friend the Shadow Demon whispering in her ear, telling her that “the world will tremble and change before her” and that she should “stride boldly, and fear not the consequences that may follow” honestly? The next time we see Valentine, he might be in trouble! 10. What were the character’s parents like? What was the affect the parents had on the character? Oh, is there trauma in this one? Is there? Alex? Is there? Maybe so!! We’re gonna talk about Cog’s dad first, because he’s a) still alive and b) I KNOW you’re fishing for more mom angst. Cog’s dad name is Conrad Grace! He’s the head of Lafaroh’s town guard, whatever that means for a town of maybe a hundred people. I feel like his day to day really consists more of making rounds to check on people than dealing with criminals, although he likely has to break up the occasional disagreement or toss somebody in the drunk tank for the night. He’s also in charge of making sure the Guardians -the gods that live deep in the swamp outside Lafaroh and protect the town in exchange for food, building supplies, the occasional corpse, and other resources- get their offerings (This is Important, because he does Stop doing that soon). He married into he Grace family (that’s RIGHT he took his wife’s last name because it’s 2021 and he’s Woke not because her family like runs the town okay moving on), initially because I genuinely believe he fell in love! They were probably pretty young, because Lafaroh is very much a Deep South Swamp Town Analogue, but I don’t think it was just a social power move. The most important Conrad fact? He told Cog that he became disillusioned with the Church when she left home, because he couldn’t imagine continuing to support something he could now see had so clearly been hurting her. And I, Rebekah, a homosexual who has had Words with my Christian parents about the way their religion has hurt me? OH buddy we were a little bit of a mess about it. DM Ryan! Don’t you know I’m projecting!! Please be more careful! (Editor’s Note: This is the moment that made me realize I was projecting. Whoopso!!) Cog’s mom name is Charlotte Grace Sr. because, I guess, we’re freaks. I hate that this makes Cog technically a junior because the thought of anyone calling her Charlotte Jr. makes me break out in hives, but it is, technically, correct. The distinction while Cog was growing up was, instead, “Charlotte” and “Charlotte Olivia” because, again, we’re southern as hell. Charlotte Sr. is, unsurprisingly, the head of Lafaroh’s church, which means she very much has more actual power than her husband does. She did love Cog, I think, but in a way that very much more felt like someone guarding an investment than raising a child, especially when Cog became a teenager. She had high, exacting expectations, and grew more distant from Cog the older she got. Whether this was an unintentional side-effect of Charlotte Sr. becoming more engrossed in the preparations necessary to allow Cog to become the “Conduit”, or whether it was a purposeful decision because she knew she would lose her daughter and wanted the sacrifice to hurt less is unclear. Cog’s dad is kinda just a dude, but we KNOW this bitch has mommy issues. I also think an important distinction to draw between the two is that while I’m willing to give Conrad the benefit of the doubt and say that he may have just wanted Cog to stay in Lafaroh when they party returned because he was worried about his daughter and wanted her home, Charlotte Sr. wanted Cog there because it was Where She Was Supposed To Be, because she had a destiny to fulfill. More than that, when Charlotte Sr. found out that Conrad had stopped sending supplies to the Guardians when Cog left and had instead been selling them to Bandits to get money to rebuild the town, she was not nearly so understanding. She accused him of heresy, and ordered for him to be, uh. Flayed alive. Which wasn’t great. It’s what got her killed ultimately; Cog had to choose between her parents, and after watching her Mama summon a shadow demon that very nearly choked the life out of Sunny? It was a choice with only one possible outcome.

Caspian

18. Would society call your character a good guy or a bad guy? What would they say they are? Caspian is. Caspian is Just a person. Like she is just out here doing her best, trying not to get killed by, idk. Pirates or ghosts or w/e. This is an endeavor that, statistically, could be going a lot better. I think the more interesting angle to look at this question from is the fact that she’s a monk from a well known monastery, and that there’s Expectations on how she conducts herself in the world as a result of that. She is Just A Person, but that’s not good enough. Not when she’s running around wearing Pelor’s holy symbol, representing his monastery, reflecting on him. For a long time, I think Caspian resented the expectation that put on her! Why can’t she just be a kid? Just a person? She didn’t ask to be raised by these monks in this kind of life. But when she left home and realized how suddenly lonely she was, there were quiet, sad moments it was easy to soften with prayer. Rekindling her relationship with her god was her way of staying connected to home, and I think it also made her want to go from being Just a Person to actually wanting to take pride in being a Good Person. And then her campaign lasted for two fucking seconds lmao so it didn’t even matter hahah! :)

Ryker

4. Has your character ever been hurt or betrayed by someone they thought they could depend on? What happened? YEAH BOY rye-bread got his SHIT handed to him lmaoooo His whole “why are you adventuring?” deal is that he fell in love with the noblewoman he was hired to escort across the country to her betrothed’s estate, and she played him like a fucking fiddle and convinced him -after her wedding, after she was pregnant with her husband’s first child and therefore heir- that she was in love with him too. But of course, because she was married, her husband would never let them be happy together. She talked Ryker into killing her husband, and promised to meet him the night he did it with horses and supplies for both of them. Anyone reading along at home with even a shred of common sense probably just said, “uh oh!” And uh oh indeed; she fully sold his ass out. There’s something emotionally devastating about slipping out of the bedroom of the man you just killed, his blood still on your hands, to find the woman you love standing between two enormous guards, but I can’t quite put my finger on what. Ryker figured out her plan in the following days he spent in a cell, awaiting execution. She didn’t love her husband, but by playing the role of grieving widow and anxious mother-to-be she could ingratiate herself with his family enough to be allowed to take control of the estate while her son, the true heir, grew up to run it. It was cruel, and clean, and if Ryker hadn’t managed to escape it would have gone off without a hitch.

Brilliance

17. Is your character afraid of death? Why/why not? Brilliance isn’t afraid of death, she’s afraid for what she’d leave behind. One of the songs on her playlist really leans into this (and I’m very excited to be posting her playlist soon! Stay tuned!), because she is terrified of what her death might do to Sienna. She never planned to become an adventurer, much less travel to the Hells to try and save an entire city. She was content, more than content, to guard Sune’s church, to help the people that came seeking her goddess’ blessing and guidance. When her city faced a sudden influx of refugees from Elturel after its destruction, she was even happy to volunteer to help the Flaming Fist keep order and root out would-be troublemakers. She never meant to get caught up in a job that would take her out of her home city, much less out of her home plane entirely. Every fight she got into in Hell, every time it seemed like she may be staring down something that might kill her, Brilliance had to swallow down the overwhelming guilt of knowing that if she died here Sienna would never know what happened to her. The image of Sienna, worried and pacing, looking toward the door to their apartment every time there was so much as a whisper in the hallway, desperate for any sign that Brilliance had come home-- It wasn’t delusions of self-importance or self-preservation that had Brilliance taking Glasya’s deal to save her from the narzugon’s clutches; it was the image of Sienna collapsing onto their bed and sobbing because she finally admitted to herself that Brilliance was never coming home. Still. Sienna needs her, but her party needs her too. They’re counting on her to be there for them, to take the big hits that they can’t handle. First one in, last one out; she doesn’t leave until everyone else is safe. She wants to survive, she wants to go home and marry the woman she loves, but she couldn’t live with herself if she did it at the cost of the life of someone who was depending on her. Brilliance isn’t afraid of death; she would die for her party members, even the ones she doesn’t particularly like. She just knows exactly what the cost of her death would be.

#sometimes.........i am a prose boy. sometimes....i write answers like 7 for cog. depends #rainivere #amnesia campaign #ayen morwraek #creepy campaign #cog #wasteland campaign #caspian #gos #ryker #brilliance #dia #syn-odics #answered #also idk if i've mentioned it before but it's very important to me that y'all know the bit about it being 2021 wasn't a joke #canonically wasteland game takes place in 2021 so folks things are Really gonna go to shit in the next four months lmao #uh oh!!#word count: 2633 #mine

3 notes · View notes