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capituloperdido1 · 3 years

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ACOSAS

Chapter 1

Here is the first chapter, please let me know what you guys think! Warnings: Anxiety Attack, mentions of SA

There was not a night, in which the shadowsinger did not wake up sweating after his night terrors. It had become a routine for him, to see the flames in his dreams, to see the smiles and dark eyes of his so-called brothers while they laughed at his pain. At first, he would find ways to comfort himself, he would read, pray to the Mother, and even journal (a suggestion given to him by his blonde friend). However, after the years passed, and his nightmares did not disappear, he had come to realize that the nightmare was a punishment from the cauldron. The scars, the nightmares, the fact that he did not have a mate; it was all a punishment for the horrors that he had committed. So he accepted the nightmares, he accepted the scars, the accepted the loneliness, he accepted the punishment Azriel rolled over the bed, taking off the sheets that had covered his body; and sat at the edge of the bed. He took a couple of seconds to look around his room. Five... the grey walls, the black wooden desk, the leather chair in front of the fireplace, the basket of dirty clothes, and the book that the priestess had let him borrowed. Four... the satin sheets on his bed, the trim curls on his head, the fleece black pants he wore, and the wooden decorations that surrounded his bed. Three... the chirping of birds in the morning, faint music from Velaris, and the sound of trees moving with the wind. Two... whiskey and roses. One... the taste of the chocolate pudding the house had given him the night before. He exhaled as his mind acknowledged reality. Sometimes, when the nightmares were too real; he woke up afraid to be in that cell... prison that his childhood self had called home. He stood, looking for his fighting leaders as he got ready to go to the training ring. Maybe the day ahead was not going to be bad, maybe something good might happen. Maybe, a certain auburn-haired priestess would be there. -.-.-.-.- The sun was just rising, the cold autumn wind tickled his wings as he flew up the house of wind. As if she had guessed he wanted to see her this morning; Gywn moved with gracious velocity while she tried the new obstacle arrangement that was meant for that morning. Azriel smiled to himself, one thing that he admired of the priestess was her willingness to overcome any challenge. She had become known around Prythian, the priestess, and her Valkarie friends, as the fiercest women in their territory. Some feared the group of females, others wanted to become like them. After the Valkaryes had conquered the mountain, many more priestesses had come to train with them; even some Illyrian females, not more than a dozen, had decided to learn the ways of the warriors. Nesta, Emerie and Gwyn had to help him and his brother train the new recruits; so they had resolved that the hour after the normal training would be focused on the three of them. However, over the last few months, he had a few one on one training sessions with the priestess. Once her smell hit him, his shadows became restless; one mischievous shadow shooting towards Gwyn and flying around her. They always reacted to her that way, as if they were anticipating throughout days and nights when they would see her again. At first, Azriel had been mortified; he worried that being surrounded by his shadows would make her uneasy, afraid or even disgusted. But, as always, the priestess had surprised him by smiling and opening her hands every time she saw them; welcoming his shadows with eagerness, not fear. -I was wondering if you would come today- she said playing with his shadow. Stop, come back he said to the shadow; but again it ignored him and flew around her hair as if saying i'm not leaving until i want to. -I had a feeling you were going to fail the training course, i could not miss it- he said jokingly. -mhm, sure shadowsinger- she smiled, taking a sip of her water - we both know I'm faster and more agile than you ever were- He laughed and took his leather jacket off A moment passed, and he confessed,- i couldn't sleep- -me neither- she said smiling sadly. They had never talked

about it.

What kept them up at night, they didn't need to. They resorted to talking about books, trains and make snarky remarks to each other. He had to admit that her competitiveness matched his own; and in some way, it helped him forget about his nights. -well... how about you time me, and then i'll time you shadowsinger- she said. He smiled, he appreciated that she never pushed him; and in return, he never pushed her. He knew her terrors, he had been there to witness most of them. But unlike him, he prayed to whatever deity existed that she could overcome them. If there was one person in this world who did not deserve one bad dream was Gwyneth Berdara. -hmm... but let's make a bet priestess- he smirked. -you win, ill bring you the stash of chocolate brownies Nesta hides in the house. I win and you will let me look at more of your notes on mind-stilling- The priestess had come one night with stashes of papers in her hands; she had dumped the papers in his lap and said - i have not finished it, don't judge the writing. But read it, and try some of the exercises, it has helped me with... you know- From that moment on, he read mind stilling exercises for his anxiety after a bad dream. Gwyn smiled, tying her long hair up in a ponytail. His shadows stilled for a moment, not in fear, but in admiration. -sounds like a deal shadowsinger- He dared to open his mind to his shadows, curious to hear what they were thinking; beauty, they said, autumn beauty. -.-.-.-.- Somehow, they ended up training until Nesta and Cassian came up the stairs. Neither of them had completed the course without busting their asses in the sand at least once. However, she was happy to convince him that even if there was no winner she would let him borrow another copy. Azriel knew that meant he would have to bargain with the house (who somehow held the brownies away from anyone) and exchange some smut books for at least one or two. His brother approached him smiling; after the Blood Rite and all the mess that had been the last couple of months, Cassian and Nesta were finally able to plan their mating ceremony. Azriel never pictured Cassian as the man who would talk for hours about how Magnolias and Lilies could not go together. But his brother was so happy, so excited to plan his ceremony; that he had been part of every decision made until that point. Nesta was more than happy to lay off the decisions of lighting and colors for their mountain ceremony; she was more focused on the guests. Cassian had insisted on inviting some of the high lords; to satisfy Rhys and make it somehow a place to prepare for Koschei. Nesta had refused and had threatened to poke Rhysands eyes out if someone other than Hellion, and Kallias arrived to their ceremony. -hey Az, you look like a whole building fell on your face man- said Cassian while tying a bun with a string of leather. -and you look like you need an ass-kicking, should I tell Nesta to humiliate you in the ring again?- he responded, smiling while he remembers the oldest Archeron sister kicking his brother out of the ring in their last hand to hand combat As the rest of their class arrived, Azriel took the chance to get near Gwyn. - Listen, I know I didn’t let you go back to your chambers. But... thank you, for ... you know being here - he said while scratching the back of his neck. She smiled. And his shadows danced happily looking at her dimples and red lips, beautifully matching her hair. -you know Azriel, I know I’ve never said it. But as your friend, I will be here whenever you need me. If you need to talk, fight, or read some smut... I’ll be here - Gwyn said. He nodded and attempted to show that her words had not just opened a light inside him that for five hundred years had disappeared. -thank you Gwyn-. -.-.-.-.-.- After the training, Azriel walked to his chamber when he heard the voice of his brother in his head. I need you, there is a mission that needs attending. Now. He sighed, he hated that Rhys sounded upset every time he talked to him; but after the mess during solstice, he had not been able to make

things right with him. With anyone for that matter; he had avoided Rhys and Elain, too scared to face the feelings that surged when he now thought of the seer. He flew to Rhys house, landing at the roof where his brother watched the bright morning of Velaris. - Azriel- his brother acknowledged him with a nod. After a couple of minutes, his high lord spoke. -how close are you with Gwyn, the priestess-. His eyebrows furrowed -why? Am I going to have to stay away from her too? - he said with an intentional bite in his tone. Rhys looked at him angrily -no. I need you and her for a new mission. One that requires trust, and your head on your brain, not your pants- -I would never think about her like that Rhys, not knowing what she had endured- he responded in a low voice. Rhys got close to him and put a hand on his shoulder - you’re right, I’m sorry. I know how much you respect and connect with her- -which is why I need you to take her to Helions library for a couple of weeks, I need her to do some research on the possibility of a fourth trove and how to help Vassa- It took Azriel a minute to process what his brother was asking of him... No, what he was asking of Gwyn. -no- he responded. Rhys grabbed his shoulder a little harder -what? What do you mean no?- -I mean that Gwyn will not leave the library under your orders. She is not ready for that- he said, his voice rising at the anger and protectiveness he felt in his chest. -how do you know that?- Rhys responded with the same tone. -because... because I know- Azriel answered -and you keep making decisions without regarding people’s feelings and fears, and that’s not okay Rhys- He knew that was unfair; his brother did what he did for the sake of the court, for the sake of the world. -Azriel that is not your call to make- his brother said in a softer voice. -neither is yours, especially because you don’t even acknowledge her existence. Or any of the Valkyries for that matter- he moved away from his brother. It took him a minute to look at Rhys, who had a pained look in his eyes. -you’re right, I can’t argue with that- he sighed-I’m sorry, I know I should’ve talked to her first; and now I will. However, if she says yes, I will task you to protect and help her. I can’t send Cass because he is ... mated now- Azriel laughed sarcastically. Of course, he thought, leave it to Rhys to make his cut bigger with a few words. -of course my lord- he said, and shot up to the sky without saying goodbye.

-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.

At the library at the bottom of the house, things were usually quiet. That was one of the reasons why Gwyn had begun to train; the library offered no distraction to her mind, no way to still it if thoughts raced through her. She had been shelving books that Merril had given her for the past hour; thinking and avoiding the memory of last night's nightmare. The blood, the rough hands holding her down, the children screaming. It was all too much, it was all too real. She had gone up in the morning to the training pit. To avoid sleeping, yes, but also because she somehow knew that Azriel would be there. She hated that he had to go through what she went through, but she was grateful for his presence at the moments when she needed him the most. Steps sounded at the end of the hallway, and Gwyn stiffened. They sounded male, heavy, and loud. She knew it was not Azriel, his shadows always let her know that he was approaching. She looked up from her book nervously, ready to run away if needed.... But that was her high lord looking at her with a sweet smile on his face -hello Gwyn, Valkyrie, Carynthian warrior- he smiled. And she realized that out of the three brothers, Azriel had the best smell. She liked the smell of night-chilled mist and cedar, the others smelled too sweat and too flowery for her taste. -high lord- she courtesy nervously. -please, don’t do that, we are practically family right ?- he said while offering her a bag that she had not noticed he carried. -I’m bringing you the best chocolate croissants in the city, Feyre told me you and Nesta enjoy chocolate at the same rate. I hope you like them- he placed them in her cart, knowing she would not touch him. Another set of steps sounded at the distance, and her sister appeared walking with rapid-fire towards her. - I told you to wait Rhysand- Nesta said. -I...it’s okay Nesta, thank you High... Rhysand— Gwyn said, opening the bag and smelling it. Damn... that was dark chocolate in the croissants; her favorite. -what can I do for you guys?- she said while taking a bite of the soft, sweet bread. -we were wondering if you wanted to dine with us tonight, here in the House, only Az, Cass, Nesta, Feyre and me- The High Lord said. - we have a proposal for you, but we want to talk to you about it first-. She looked at Nesta, who was stealing some of her croissants. - su...sure... I’ll gladly accept. It would be an honor - she smiled. -.-.-.- After her shift with Merrill ended, she went to her chambers to bathe quickly. She should change, she knew they dined casually, she wanted to fit in with the group. So she bathed, braided her hair and decided to wear a flowery blue dress that showed the mid of her back; it had a tight bodice and a skirt that flowed until the top of her knees. It had been a gift from Nesta, she had told her to use it whenever she wanted to practice what she would do when she went to Velaris for the first time. As she climbed up the stairs, she imagined what life would be like if she was brave enough to leave the library. Gods she wanted to be in the city, wanted to try the food, hear the music, look at the people. But it all scared her too much. She was waiting for an opportunity, she said to herself, an opportunity to escape the library and be dragged to the real world. The smell of roasted potatoes, beef, and vegetables filled her nose; she thanked the Mother that the house cook. she approached the dining room and smiled at hearing Nesta laugh so hard, probably at something her mate had said. She was happy that her sister had found a man that grounded her, filled her (in every sense of the way) and that respected her. She was a bit jealous that she had found a mate though, she had studied the relationships of mates for months, and understood that they were rare but only rare among powerless faes. Which meant, that the possibility of finding hers was minimum... or as Merril liked to say an absolute zero. -you came!- said Nesta, smiling. Gwyn strode down the hall to sit beside Nesta; her eyes looking around the room to acknowledge everyone who was there.

-thank you for inviting me - she said, coming out as barely a whisper. Rhysand approached with a smiled that brightened the entire room, - thank you for coming, Gwyn, i know the effort it must have been but i appreciate it-.

She smiled -those chocolate croissants were really persuasive my lord-. Rhysand got even bigger -look at you, already teasing me as Cassian does-. The house placed food in front of her, adding extra vegetables. To which she frowned "i didn't know you cared for my vitamins". She ate silently, admiring how the dynamic between all of them was. She couldn't deny the jealousy that threatened to rise, she missed having a family. No, she missed being able to enjoy family without the fear of the outside world suffocating her. Minutes, hours passed and they all kept talking. Azriel had changed his seats to be in front of her, the shadowsinger looking deeply at her while she played with her water. She felt even more comforted now that he was near her. Rhysand stood and cleared his throat -well, i'm sure Gwyn has had enough of our voices; so let's get to the point-. He approached her slowly and passed her a paper she had not noticed he carried. -we want to officially invite you to be part of this court- he started. -Everyone that is here admits that there is no one more deserving and capable to be the official scholar of the Night court-. He laid the paper in front of her. A contract, offering an obscene amount of money. -you... want me to work for you?- she said -yes, if you are comfortable doing this of course- he responded. The contract asked her to inform, research,and educate the leaders of the court, on different matters she would be asked to. -Before you accept- Azriel spoke softly, looking at Rhysand, -you should hear what the first mission would ask from you-.

Rhysand nodded, -we are looking for the possibility of a fourth trove, and we can only do so in the biggest library of the country.... in the day court-.

Leaving the library, she would not only leave the library but also the night court.

Was she ready for that?

-Would i go by myself?- she asked him

-No, you would go with Azriel as your bodyguard, or assistant, whatever you need from him- Rhysand responded.

She smiled, looking at the shadowsinger. - And you accepted this?-

His mouth quirked upward -if i didn't we would have had Nesta to deal with-.

This was it, this was the push she had asked for.

-Rhysand, i would be honored to be the scholar of your court- she said, - and i thank all of you for trusting me, i will not let you down-.

She looked around the room to find every single one of the court's members looking at her with loving, proud eyes.

She would go to the Day Court, she would find a way to help her friends and her world.

Gwyneth Berdara looked at her future companion, the beautiful male with eyes of honey that she would daydream about.

Who knows? Maybe this mission would bring them closer. Maybe they would finally talk about their nightmares, their fears.

Maybe she would finally be able to show Azriel how she felt about him. And maybe this time, he would listen.

#gwyn acotar #gwynriel #gwyneth berdara #azriel #azriel fanfic #fanfic #acotar #post acosf #nesta archeron #nesta and gwyn #acotar fanfiction

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memecucker · 3 years

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Tell me more of this Ice Cream Man comic. Comics have always seemed like a difficult medium for horror. So much of it relies on visuals, so a single weakness in the art can being down the whole story. Especially in modern comics where things may be handled by 2-4 people who don't always communicate with each other.

So I’ve only read four of the volumes currently out but if you want a stupidly simplified summary of the premise- The Ice Cream Man is a horror anthology series with mostly self-contained stories (youre still supposed to read in order and there are plenty of connections between stories but each issue is its own full narrative) wherein the eponymous Ice Cream Man (also known as Rick, because he’s also an actual ice cream truck driver) is a malevolent entity with near godlike powers who torments the inhabitants of a mid-sized town relentlessly. His overt participation in the stories varies greatly in that sometimes he seems to trap souls in a special version of Hell where they endure an endless loop of their most traumatic moments and sometimes he whispers to someone enough they become a murderer and sometimes he just outright kills someone.

But what makes the comic special imo (and I’m not gonna pretend to be an expert on horror comics) compared to lots of horror media I’ve seen recently is how the Ice Cream Man relishes in a very specific type of despair, he doesnt inflict terror on people rather he wants to see them crumble from the inside. So in the issue where he whispers to a girl and drives her to become a serial killer, the goal isnt to feed on the fear of her victims or something like that, rather the object was the emotions of her father and his simultaneous (and somewhat contradictory depending on how you view it) feelings of having lived a wasted life while also having boundless love for his daughter and to see how those pillars of the father’s psyche respond to the revelation of his daughter’s actions.

And I dont wanna spoil too many things but Issue #4 is one that seems to stay with a lot of people (so maybe think about checking it out if you want fresh eyes) and in that the first half of the narrative is a very human drama where you have this protag guy who goes to the funeral of his friend that had suddenly died of a disease and while at the funeral runs into his friend’s deadbeat dad (who had kept his distance during the actual ceremony out of guilt) and unwittingly ends up getting some drinks with the aforementioned deadbeat dad at the latter’s insistence. While having drinks protag guy (who is married with a pregnant wife) starts to loosen up about his feelings and asks the dad guy how he was able to leave his family while quickly mentioning that the question was not own of judgement but of understanding because protag guy has been feeling that between his boring job and his marriage and upcoming family life that his own life has been taken away from him and he’s just feeling incredibly empty and keeps thinking about how the dad abandoned his friend’s family many years ago and fantasizing about doing it himself. The dad then gives a recounting of what he did after he left and a pretty touching rebuttal to the friend entertaining similar ideas because they have a heart to heart where the dad talks more about how he basically had very similar feelings and that he thought leaving his family would bring him to a new world of possibilities when in fact the world is full of locked doors and abandoning his wife and child he hadn’t opened possibilities but shut off the most important one which was a relationship with his child. And like its all very sweet and touching and the protag has a change of heart and stuff but Rick the Ice Cream Man had yet to make his appearance yet and when he does its by revealing that he has captured the soul of the deceased friend and despite him being a perfectly innocent person subjects him to an eternity in hell cycling through various tortures before finally settling on one that was most ideal- to make him a little kid again and have to spend the rest of eternity reliving the singular moment his father had walked out of the family home for the last time over and over again with the feelings of trauma never lessening. Right after the living deadbeat dad had such a touching sequence of how deep his guilt is and how he wants to stop others from making the same mistake.

And if youre reading anything metaphorical about infliction of trauma in a general sense thats intended because something I really enjoy about the comic is the amount of symbolism that gradually unfolds. Like I wont be giving multiple examples of this but one quick one that doesnt involve much spoilers is how the Ice Cream Man is an ice cream man in the first place. Because what do people say to little kids that only want to eat ice cream? That its gonna rot their teeth. And Rick the Ice Cream Man wants to see people rot, whether the rot is from something “good” or “bad” doesnt matter because it can be jealousy or it can be compassion as long as they break and become covered with insects (which visually feature very heavily as well like this is not a comic for “maybe the curtain’s are just blue” types).

So yeah, I recommend it. Not every single story I’ve read is like what I described above. Like some stories have fantastical or historical settings and also some are “horror” in a very loose sense like Tale’s From the Crypt comics (which btw I’m certain Ice Cream Man is heavily inspired by also if you haven’t check out the original EC Comic’s Tales from the Crypt stories like you’ll be surprised how good the writing is considering its from the early 50s but those were pre-CCA and the CCA was an utter blight on creativity oh yeah this is supposed to be a parenthetical remark) in that its more “weird stuff happening” than something actually “horrifying” and some that I’d say are really more existential and maybe tragic than “horror” per se but yeah whatever memecucker reccomendation

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serendipityseulgi · 4 years

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8 Ways of Love;

— park seonghwa

according to the ancient greeks, there are eight different types of love. here is:

･*:༅｡ the one known as pragma, the enduring love.

aka, the kind of love that matures and develops over a long period of time, and somewhat rare to find.

8 ways of love series; version i

A love story that shows the progression of yours and seongwha’s relationship from the moment you two become friends, to lovers, to exes, and everything else in between.

love catalyst: the subconscious.

At the age of six years old you declare Park Seonghwa to be your boyfriend, solidifying your “relationship” with a hug.

“Eww, y/n, you have cooties!” your best friend barks, pushing you off him.

“Wha- hey no I don’t!” you squeak.

“Yes you do because Mingi told all the boys not to touch the girls because they have a disease and it’s going to eat our bodies alive!” he practically screeches getting up from the sandbox about to walk away from you.

“Seonghwaaa he’s lying!” you whine out and he huffs turning around to face you.

“Well all the other boys are listening to him so he has to be right.”

“Well I touched you yesterday when we were playing tag and you’re fine!” you defend. “And if all girls have cooties then how come your mommy still hugs and kisses you goodbye in the morning? Wouldn’t you be dead now?”

Even at the age of 6 you were the biggest smartass Seonghwa knew.

After a moment of deliberation, he sighs. “Okay fine, you’re right.” your friend huffs.

“So are you gonna back so we can play again?” you ask, arms crossed over your little body.

Seonghwa nods before grabbing onto your hand to drag you back into the sandbox.

The two of you return to making your sandcastle and it’s only a mere two minutes later does your friend speak up.“Am I actually your boyfriend now?” he asks suddenly and you whip your head towards him.

“Well I hugged you so yeah.” you roll your eyes at him and his soft little laugh makes your tiny heart jump.

Within the next week you two forget you’re “boyfriend-and-girlfriend” and go back to being the best friends you’ve always been, playing in the sandbox after school, watching cartoons at your house, and never missing a single dinner together while your parents listen to the two of you talk your little heads off.

For the record, there wasn’t much of a difference in your so-called relationship and your friendship in the first place when you were just six years old.

At thirteen years old, your best friend confesses he likes you.

“Okay I know this is weird because, I should see you as like, a sister or something, I don’t know!” Seonghwa rants, pacing back and forth in your bedroom as you watch him frantically explain the way he feels about you.

“You know what I mean though? You’re like, practically family to me! Right? Right...” you figure he’s talking more to himself than to you as he asks himself questions that he’s quick to answer to. “Like you’re probably gonna think I’m weird or something, but you are my best friend and I don’t want it to be weird-”

“Seonghwa for the love of god can you just get to your point.” you interrupt impatiently.

“I like you okay?” he says quietly, avoiding all eye contact with you.

His heart is beating so fast he feels like it’s actually going to rip right through his chest. He’s never been nervous around you ever. You’re his best friend, and you have been since you were 5 years old, and he doesn’t know why he suddenly feels like you’re the only girl he wants in his life.

When he hears you laughing at him his heart drops to his stomach and he braces himself for the upcoming rejection.

“Can you come sit next to me.” you ask, gesturing to the empty spot on your bed.

Seonghwa complies, yet his anxiety is rising by the second. He has never been so nervous in all the thirteen years he’s been alive. He almost wants to vomit as his stomach churns at the thought of you telling him you didn’t feel the same way.

“You’re rejecting me aren’t you...” he sighs, plopping down onto the spot next to you.

You shake your head with a smile. “No idiot, I like you too. Obviously.” you roll your eyes at him.

“Wait, what? Seriously??” he almost goes into shock. “Are you joking?”

“I mean, I thought it was pretty obvious.” you shrug. “I was throwing subtle signs at you for the longest time.”

“Like what?!”

“Like the time I kept pestering you to take me to the Valentine’s Day dance, and when I made you hold my hand during that scary movie when you know I never get scared of horror films. Oh, and the time you kept badgering me about why I rejected Hongjoong for no good reason. I kept telling you that you were the only guy I needed in my life and you were too oblivious to realize I didn’t mean it in the friend way anymore.” you chuckle.

“Oh... Oh,” Seonghwa realizes. “I really am oblivious then.”

“It’s okay, I already knew you liked me back anyways.” you smirk at him, grabbing your remote off the bedside table.

You flip the TV on as you feel Seonghwa’s heavy gaze on you. “So does this mean you’re my girlfriend?” he asks you and you pause.

“I mean technically we never broke up when we were six so you’re basically just re-asking me out.” you tease, pulling the blankets on both your bodies as you settle on a show to watch.

“Oh god, you still remember that?”

Of course you do.

“Obviously, how could I forget you screaming to the entire park that I had cooties.”

He laughs at that and you can’t help but smile widely hearing him. You both lay comfortably next to one another, watching intently at the show in front of you, yet both your minds were racing at the fact that officially, you could say you were boyfriend and girlfriend.

“So when did you start liking me?” he asks you.

“Honestly, I think I always did.” you answer truthfully. “But, like actually realizing my feelings for you?” you pause for a moment to think. “I think it was when you got really sick that one time and your parents were away for a business trip, and my mom made me drop off soup to your house. And I was only supposed to drop off the soup but I took care of you because even when you were all snotty and gross and barely awake to hang out with me, I kinda just realized I’d rather spend my time with you doing that than anywhere else.”

His eyes soften at you. “Aww.”

“Buuut then before that, there was also that time that Ashley told you she liked you and I got super jealous and I was actually going to shove her into a brick wall, so ...I kinda just figured...” you add.

“Way to ruin a sappy moment, moron.” Seonghwa playfully shoves you and you laugh.

You cuddle up next to him returning your attention back to the show in front of you. Only a few minutes pass before Seonghwa speaks up again, and his question catches you off guard.

“What if we break up... like eventually?”

You think about it for a second. “Then we go back to being best friends.”

“That easy?”

“That easy.” you nod.

“For the record though, I don’t ever want there to be a time where I don’t like you. I hope there isn’t.” he says.

“I hope there isn’t either.” you assure, and just like that, you two go back to watching tv.

You’ve always had a soft spot for Seonghwa so it never came as a surprise to you, or anybody for that matter when you figured out you had a little crush on your best friend.

In a hypothetical situation, if somewhere along the way your feelings ever started to fade, you still couldn’t picture a life where he wasn’t right beside you no matter what. He was your person, and he has been since you two were five. There was nobody in this world that could replace the bond you had with him.

Even at the age of thirteen, you knew you wanted Seonghwa to be there for the rest of your life.

At the age of fourteen and a half, you and Seonghwa have your first ever fight where he conveniently declares that he loves you for the first time.

seonghwa <3; received 4:24 pm

y/n can u not be like this and talk to me :(

plsssssss

i’m sorry

can u let me come over and talk to u

Your phone continues to buzz as you stare at it beside you, rolling your eyes at his insistent messaging.

You try your best to ignore it but the continuous beeping irritates you to no end.

you; delivered 4:26 pm

i’m mad at u.

seonghwa <3; received 4:26 pm

you; delivered 4:27 pm

can u like do smth with ur life instead of bothering me

seonghwa <3; received 4:27 pm

ouch.

Okay, you admit. That one was a low blow and for a second you almost feel bad until you’re reminded of the fact that you were still royally pissed at him.

you; delivered 4:28 pm

ur actually annoying

seonghwa <3; received 4:28 pm

ya ik i am

but yk what i’m not

someone who is going to do nothing about their gf being mad at them

so open ur window bc im climbing up so i can apologize

stop being a meanie and let me say sorry

Despite how mad you still are, your heart can’t help but skip a beat reading his messages. No matter how hard you wanted to stay angry at him and tell him to go away, you knew you wouldn’t be able to resist him even if you tried. Seonghwa was charming like that, always managing to sweet talk you in every way.

You crack open your window and see his tuft of black hair climbing up your ladder. As he hops into your bedroom you fold your arms across your chest, not daring to say a word to him until he speaks first.

“Look, I’m sorry for being an ass earlier.” Seonghwa apologizes, and all you do is look at him. He sighs before continuing. “I was just having a bad day and took it out on you and I shouldn’t have blown up on you during class. I get it. Dick move.”

“But then you had to go and talk to Ashley about it?” you added. “That was like the worst part of it! Do you trust her more than me or something?”

“What? No! Of course not!” he panics.

“You, and everyone else and their mother knows she’s like obsessed with you!” you shout in frustration. “She’s liked you for so long, do you know how stupid you made me look running off to her knowing how she feels about you?!”

“That wasn’t my intention-”

“Were you trying to make me mad?”

“No, y/n.”

“Did you do it to make me jealous?”

“No!”

“So why Seonghwa, did you have to go and vent to her after you yelled at me in front of everyone when all I did was try to help?”

“I don’t know, okay!”

“I just don’t understand why me of all people you had to take it out on. When all i’ve literally done for you for like the last ten freaking years of us being friends was listen to you when you had a bad day or try to cheer you up when you were down! Never once when I was feeling crappy did I take that out on you. Never.” you explain with a heavy sigh.

“I’m sorry.” he doesn’t know what else to say because he knows he’s in the wrong.

“Do you like her or something?” your voice is quiet and the hurt is evident. “Cause if you do just tell me.”

Seonghwa is quick to shut you down as he pulls you into his arms.

“No, no, no. Y/n, I don’t like her. I don’t. Please believe me.” he begs. “Look, I don’t know why I went to her when I should’ve gone to you. I couldn’t even begin to explain what was going through my head at that point because I don’t know. But I love you, okay? I would never, ever like Ashley.”

Your eyes widen and you pull away from him. “W-what did you just say?”

“I... um...” Seonghwa starts to fumble over his words because he didn’t exactly intend to tell you, but it sort of just came out and now he’s starting to panic.

“Do you mean it?” you ask.

He just nods, a little embarrassed at his sudden declaration.

“I love you too.” you say softly, and he relaxes.

“Really?”

“Yeah.”

"I’m really sorry, y/n.” he pulls you close to him, burying his face into your hair as he hugs you tightly.

“I’m sorry too.” you murmur against him.

“I hate fighting with you.” he mumbles.

“Me too.”

“I promise I’ll never take my anger out on you again. And I’ll never talk to Ashley again. And I’ll literally do whatever you want me to if it means you won’t stay mad at me because I don’t like it when you’re mad at me, and I hate making you sad.” he rambles and you let out a small chuckle.

“Just come lay down and watch Friends with me.”

“Okay.”

And you ultimately forget that you’re mad at Seonghwa because you decide that you can’t really stay mad at him after he tells you that he loves you. And although all is forgiven, he still decides to grovel for the next week as a reassurance that he really meant his apology.

So at fourteen years old, you have your first, and last fight with him.

At the age of sixteen, you celebrate your three year anniversary with Seonghwa, and decide you were ready to lose your virginity to him.

“Okay I know you said that the expensive dinner date was enough of a present for you, but you know me and always overdoing it....” he says behind you as you hear the crinkling of a bag behind you.

“Seonghwa...”

“Trust me, babe. You’re gonna love it.” he assures as he walks over to you.

Your eyes instantly fall onto the small red velvet box in his hands and your mouth falls open.

“This was expensive wasn’t it?” you pry and he shrugs.

“Maybe, but I was saving up for it for a while now.” he responds, sitting next to you as he hands you the box.

“I always feel bad every time you spend money on me.” you sigh as your fingers smooth over the velvet.

“I know but it was worth it, trust me. Open it.” Seonghwa urges.

You pull apart the bow and lift up the lid, your eyes widening in awe at the shiny ring placed inside. You lift it out gently noticing the small engraving on the inner part of the band, with both your initials and a small ‘i love you 4ever’ written underneath.

“Oh my god,” you utter. “I love it.” you place the ring on your finger.

“Good because I have a matching one too.” your boyfriend grins at you as he pulls out another box lined with a silver band with that very same engraving.

You pull him in for a hug as he wraps his arms around you instinctively and all you can feel right now is an overload of gratitude for him.

“I actually love you so much.” you say, pulling his face towards you to press soft kisses all over his face.

“Yeah, I know I’m the best,” Seongwha chuckles. “But I love you too baby.”

Your lips mould together perfectly, the kiss slow and soft at first. His hands wrap around your waist and your mouth moves gently against his. But soon enough you’re clinging to him and his body is pressed against yours, the kiss growing more needy and intense.

You knew when things started to get heavy he would stop the both of you from going further, never wanting to push you to discomfort. The furthest you had gone with one another was only third base, but it never went further than that and Seonghwa always left that decision up to you if you wanted to take it there.

You figure if you don’t speak up now, he was going to cut this short, so it’s only then at this very moment do you decide you wanted him to be your first.

“Do you want to have sex?” you blurt out suddenly and you swear you’ve never seen your boyfriend’s eyes go so wide before.

He opens his mouth to speak but he can’t seem to find the right words to say. “I- um, wait, are you being for real?” he stutters. “I mean, I do want to, but, are you sure you want to?” he asks, still in disbelief from your question.

“Shit, sorry I know that was really sudden to ask, but I do want to.” you assure. “But only if you want to.”

“Of course I want to.” his eyes soften, and his hand finds yours in an instant delivering a comforting squeeze.

“Okay so come here and kiss me again please.” you say quietly.

And just like that, Seongwha’s soft lips land on yours once more. Without breaking apart he gently guides you to the head of his bed, laying you down underneath him as your bodies press up against each other.

You swear you can kiss Seongwha for hours and never grow tired of the feeling. You get drunk off his kisses, unable to think of anything else but him. It’s dizzying really, but you love it. You find that off all the things you love about him its his lips, and how impossibly soft they are and how familiar they feel against your own. How much comfort it would bring you, and how all you had to when you had a bad day was just kiss your boyfriend for however long he let you.

It felt like home.

His lips trailed lower to your neck, littering soft pecks across your skin. Quiet noises escape your lips and Seongwha can’t help but grind against your lower half. His hands travel across your body and the ache between your legs grows by the second, and the only thing you can think of is how much you love him, and need him.

Your mind kind of blurs because the next second you find yourself both naked and he’s fiddling in his drawer to find what you assumed to be a condom. He notices your curious stare as he opens his mouth to speak. “M-my dad told me to keep these in here,” Seongwha stutters. “He said to be prepared in case the time comes, and well, here’s the time I guess.” he laughs lightheartedly and the very sound makes your heart swell.

“Nice call on Papa Park I guess,” you joke and Seongwha chuckles.

He climbs over you and delivers another peck to your swollen lips. “Okay, no more mention of my dad please when I’m about to put my penis in you.”

“Sorry, sorry.” you chuckle nervously as your boyfriend pulls you in for another kiss.

"Okay, if it hurts tell me to stop and I will, alright?” his eyes stare deeply into your own.

You nod at him with a small smile, admiring what little of his face you could see in the darkness of his room. “I will, don’t worry.”

“Okay.” he sighs, positioning himself in front of you. “I love you.” he whispers against your lips.

“I love you more, baby.” you say to him before you feel him push himself inside you. You gasp at the feeling and he stills in his spot to let you adjust.

And once you signal that it’s okay for him to move, he does at a slow pace, and you gasp at the intense pleasure. Even though the pain has subsided his thrusts are still slow and controlled, and you don’t know if it’s because he’s afraid to hurt you, or if he just wants to revel in the feeling of you around him. Either way your heart fills with love for this one boy.

“I love you so much, you’re the best thing that’s ever happened to me, you know that?” he whispers in your ear and your eyes shut at his words and the newfound feeling you would grow to love. “and thank you for trusting me right now...” his breathing grows heavy. “because I would do anything for you, and I just want you to know that, okay?”

You almost feel like you could cry because above all the pleasure that you’re experiencing right now, his words feel different, more intimate, and all the more meaningful to you.

And you believe every word he says because you know he truly means it.

“I would do anything for you too.” you repeat his words back to him and he buries his face into your neck as he continues to thrust into you.

So at sixteen years old, you have your first time with the love of your life. And you tell yourself that no matter what happens between the both of you, you were never going to regret giving that part of yourself to him.

At the age of eighteen years old, you do the unthinkable.

You decide after a long and heavy conversation, you two were going to break up. You were both set to leave town to pursue your studies at your dream schools, and you felt that parting ways at this point was the better option.

While you two could figure out a way to make things work while half way across the world from each other, you had to take into account all the factors that would drive you two apart. The time difference, the long distance, the fact that you were inevitably going to meet new people, and that you simply did not want to hold each other back from experiencing a life without one another.

Because all you’ve known almost your entire life was being with Seonghwa, and him with you. You knew it was only fair to give each other the chance to explore something new, and now was that time.

It wasn’t an easy decision by any means, and although it was an amicable split, you’ve never felt the pain of a broken heart before. It hurt really bad.

Your friends and family decide to throw you both one last goodbye party, wanting to celebrate this special milestone with you. And of course there was no way you and Seonghwa could pass up the last good night you two would have together as a couple.

The party was fun at first. The dancing, the singing, the laughing, and the endless exchange of pictures as you guys shared the last few memories you would have as high school graduates.

But as the night started to creep in, you both realized that in less than 24 hours, you two would no longer be attached to one another like you had been for the last thirteen years. And after five years as a couple, you still couldn’t believe that your relationship would come to an end, just like that.

You hear the faint music in the background of your house, as you and Seonghwa sit in your backyard, gazing up at the stars.

“This fucking sucks.” Seonghwa sighs, resting his head on your shoulder as you lean your head on top of his.

“I know.” your throat burns, suppressing the urge to cry.

“I just didn’t expect this day to come. I never thought we would actually break up with each other.” he admits, and you nod your head in agreement.

You grab onto his hand rubbing comforting circles onto his skin, and you feel Seonghwa’s body start to shake next to you. You don’t want to look at him because you know if you see him cry, you’ll cry too.

You close your eyes trying to control your heavy breathing and the quivering of your lips. Your eyes are watering but you refuse to let your tears slip, and your heart hurts like it’s never hurt before, and you don’t know if the pain will ever go away.

“Seonghwa I really love you.” your voice breaks and you finally let the tears fall.

“I know, baby.” the pet name has always affected you, but now more than ever it tugs at your heart strings in a bittersweet way. “I really, really love you too. Always.”

“You know you’re the love of my life right? You’re always going to be.” you state and he delivers a squeeze to your hand in acknowledgement.

“And you’ll always be mine.” he answers back. “You’re my best friend in the whole world and the last five years with you as my girlfriend will forever be the greatest five years of my life. I will always stand by the fact that you are the best thing to ever happen to me.”

As you stare at one another with teary eyes, he knows you’re saying the same exact words to him. He doesn’t need to hear you say it, nor does he expect you to. Your eyes say more than enough to him.

You look down at the rose gold band around your finger and you realize how long you’ve kept it on, never once taking it off since that day Seonghwa gave it to you. “Do you want your ring back?” you utter, your eyes watering once more.

Seonghwa shakes his head. “Please keep it. Because I still mean it. And I always will. I’m gonna love you forever, y/n. Even if you decide to take it off, if that’s the last reminder you have of how much I love you, then please keep it.”

Your heart is hurting, and the tears seem never ending as they continue to fall down your cheeks. “I don’t want to leave you Seonghwa.” a sob escapes from your lips, and Seonghwa squeezes your hand again.

“I know, baby but you have to. You’re going to the school you’ve dreamed of going to since you were in the fourth grade. You’re going to accomplish so much and a build a great life for yourself, y/n. And even though I won’t be physically with you, I’m always going to support you every step of the way.” he assures.

You knew in a perfect world you two didn’t have to break up. But long distance was a bitch, and you moving across the world was never going to be easy on him. You couldn’t force each other to wait for the other. Not when the both of you had to start a whole new life separately. You had to let each other go.

You turn to face him, your teary eyes staring into his own. “I’ll always support you too, okay? No matter what. I want you to make the most of your time in Seoul, study hard, surround yourself with good people and have the most fun you’ve ever had. You’re gonna make so many friends and pursue the career you’ve always wanted and experience new things that you’ve never done before. And most of all, you’re going to meet a girl and love her just as much as you loved me. And you’re gonna fall in love all over again, and just be happy. Just promise me that you will make the most of your time over there and live your life to the fullest. Don’t look back, don’t wait for me. Just live until I get to see you again.” your voice breaks. “And if somehow we find our way back to one another, then just know everything we did up to that point was worth it.”

Seonghwa lets out a sob and nods. “I promise.” his voice breaks and you pull him in for your last goodbye kiss.

At nineteen, you visit your hometown for Christmas, which was the first time you’d be back in a year and a half.

Having missed out on the chance to visit last year with your busy schedule, you made sure not to pass up the chance to see your family and friends. The more you grew accustomed to your new home you managed to find a good balance between school, work, and your personal life, so you found that this year was finally a good time to return back for a visit.

And there was no better time to come home than for Christmas day.

“Yeah, just landed at our layover and waiting for the next flight.” you say to your mother over Facetime.

“That’s great honey, I’m so excited to see you.” she smiles at you and you return the gesture.

“I missed you mom.” you say.

“And I missed you even more.”

You two continue conversing amongst one another, as she filled you in on all things you missed while you were gone before a voice interrupts your conversation.

“Hey babe, here.” Juyeon says, handing you a coffee as he presses a small kiss to your forehead.

“Oh thank you.” you murmur with a small smile as your boyfriend sits down next to you.

“Oh hey miss y/l/n!” Juyeon greets seeing your mom’s face plastered on your screen.

“Juyeon!” she squeals excitedly. “I can’t wait to finally meet you in person instead of over video chat. It was about damn time.” she states and you and your boyfriend chuckle. You hand him your phone allowing them to talk with one another and you smile fondly at the newfound bond between Juyeon and your mother.

“I know, I can’t wait to meet all of you guys too! I know y/n’s been really excited, it was all she could talk about for the last three weeks.” he teases. “And she says you make really good pie so i am definitely looking forward to that.”

“That is such an understatement, I make the best pie.” she scoffs. “And I made one specifically for you.” your mother beams.

After a few minutes of playful banter exchanged, Juyeon hands your phone back to you. “I’m gonna go to the bathroom before we board, I’ll be back.” he excuses himself and you nod in acknowledgement.

“Oh y/n, I just thought I should mention Seonghwa and his family are coming over for Christmas dinner as well.” your mom says and the sheer mention of his name as your heart beating in your chest.

“Oh he’s back in town too?” you ask casually and she nods.

“Yup, he’s also bringing his girlfriend.” she adds.

“That’s great, I’m really happy for him.” you say with a smile.

And you meant it, truly.

You knew of his girlfriend from the few photos he posted of her on instagram, and he seemed genuinely happy. Aside from his newfound love, he was clearly enjoying his time in Seoul like you had hoped, and it was everything you wished for him.

You two hadn’t really spoken over the last year, and it wasn’t really on purpose, you two just kind of drifted, as expected. You two were starting fresh in an unfamiliar place, and you both were finding your way around your new homes. You two were also preoccupied with school, and meeting new people so it was sort of inevitably really that you two grew apart. Of course there were the few times you two would chat, but it never lasted long due to time differences and busy schedules.

Although you missed him immensely, you were beyond happy for the life he started for himself, and you knew he was happy for you too. He did exactly what he promised you the last night you spent together, and that was enough to make you happy.

“Flight 219 now boarding.” the announcer calls and Juyeon meets you right on time.

“Okay mom, that’s us. I’ll see you in a few hours, bye, love you.” you bid your farewell before hanging up, and Juyeon grabs your hand leading you to the gate.

“Ready to go home?” he smiles at you, and you beam excitedly, nodding your head.

As the days pass leading up to Christmas, you spend all of your of time with your family and friends, using every second to catch up with your loved ones. You find that Juyeon is adapting well to your home life, bonding with your father and making your mother love him even more than she already did. You introduce him to your childhood friends and he instantly wins over Mingi, Hongjoong, Yunho and Jennie. You admire how much of an effort he put into forming a friendship with them because he knew how much it meant to you.

You were thankful really, to find a guy who was almost perfect for you.

But still, in the back of your mind, even though you loved Juyeon beyond belief, you knew Seonghwa would always have that special place in your heart.

On the day of Christmas, you and Juyeon set the table as you await the Park’s arrival. You were slightly nervous, obviously, given the fact that you had not seen Seonghwa in over a year and you would be meeting his girlfriend. Although you were happy for him, you still felt anxious to see him and her, and you could only hope that she was good for him, because he deserved that much.

Only a few moments later do you hear a knock at your door and your mother walks over to greet your longtime neighbours. Juyeon stands next to you as he wraps an arm around your waist comfortingly and you relax against him.

You see Mrs. Park first as she walks inside, giving your mother a friendly hug. Mr. Park follows suit as he greets your mother and your father with a wide smile on his face.

And then you see him.

His hair is slightly darker and he does look a little older. But other than that his face is so familiar to you and your heart beats wildly in your chest as the two of you make eye contact. His face softens when he sees you and you deliver a small wave to him as he smiles. His girlfriend trails behind him and you take notice of how beautiful she was. You smile at her too and she returns the gesture and your heart kind of warms seeing how shy she is because you always kind of knew Seonghwa would pick someone similar to him.

“Oh my y/n, how long has it been!” Mrs. Park calls towards you and you hug her tightly.

“I missed you!” you say to her and her arms wrap tighter around you.

“I missed you too, darling. And you look even more beautiful than the last time I saw you!” she compliments. “And who is this handsome man?”

“This is Juyeon, he’s my boyfriend.” you smile, and Juyeon shakes her hand.

“Nice to meet you, Mrs. Park. Y/n’s talked a lot about your family.” he says politely.

“Y/n’s picked a good one, I see.” she winks playfully as you notice Seonghwa and his girlfriend make their way towards you two.

“Hey y/n, long time no see.” Seonghwa says and you almost melt at the sound of his voice. He pulls you in for a hug and you notice how he still wears the same cologne that you had bought him all those years ago.

“Yeah, it’s good to see you again.” you smile at him, and although it had been well over a year since you two last saw each other, there was no hint of awkwardness, just nostalgia.

“Oh, this is Juyeon.” you introduce and Seonghwa delivers a warm smile to your boyfriend, shaking his hand respectfully.

“Nice to meet you.” Juyeon smiles.

“It’s nice to meet you too, I’m Seonghwa. Y/n’s... childhood friend.” he decides to say.

“I know she’s mentioned you a lot in her stories.” your boyfriend acknowledges. “From all the things she told me you were one of the people I was looking forward to meet the most. You seemed really great to her.”

“I could only hope so. She was my best friend after all.” Seonghwa glances at you, and you know there’s a deeper meaning behind his words. “And you seem like a really great guy, so I’m glad she has good people in her life.” Seonghwa returns and you find it heartwarming how well their exchange is going.

You look at the girl beside your ex and she’s staring at you with gentle, curious eyes. “Hi, I’m y/n.” you smile at her, extending your hand out for her to shake.

“Rosé,” she beams at you and you don’t even really know her but there was something about her that assured you she was good fit for Seonghwa. “I heard a lot about you as well, Hwa’s always talking about his life back home so I’m really glad I got to meet his best friend. You were really special to him.”

You smile softly. “I’m glad I got to meet you too.” you say.

“Okay, time for dinner everyone!” your father announces and you all take a seat at the table, passing over plates of food and catching up with one another.

“So Seonghwa, how’s Seoul treating you?” your mother asks as everyone turns their attention towards him.

“Uh really good actually,” he responds. “I joined a band actually! Uh, I became friends with these really nice guys. San and Yeosang. They basically recruited me after they found out I could sing and now we play at this local bar every week on Friday’s and Saturday’s. It was really good for me, I think. It helped with my stress and stuff. And that’s actually where I met Rosé.”

“That’s amazing.” your mother comments with a warm smile.

“Yeah he was really shy at first but San kind of forced him to talk to me which I was really thankful for because I was eyeing him for a while and was too shy myself to approach him.” Rosé says. “I still remember the night he asked for my number and he was stumbling over his words and I swear he looked like he was going to pass out.” she chuckles, and everyone at the table laughs along with her.

“Oh my god I know what you mean, he also cracks his fingers a lot and starts to turn really purple when he’s nervous.” you add and Rosé points at you nodding in agreement.

“Yes! I notice that all the time!” she laughs, and you can’t help but laugh with her.

“Trust me, I have the most embarrassing stories of him when we were kids.” you say.

“Oh god, you have to tell me all of them.” Rosé giggles.

“Obviously, we have the whole night for that.” you wink at her, and you realize how easy and natural it was to talk to her, and that confirmed that you indeed really liked her.

Seonghwa watches the exchange between you both, and as you two make eye contact with each other, a small smile appears on his face as you nod at him, silently approving of the girl he chose to bring home for this special day. His heart grows full seeing how well the two of you got along, and he’s forever grateful at how amazing of a person you were that you were so willingly to form a friendship with his new girlfriend.

Although he loved Rosé dearly, there was still a piece of his heart where he’d always love you. And that piece grows a little more when he realizes how you continue to support him, even through this unconventional situation.

Seonghwa decides he’s going to do the same for you, because just like you were happy for him, he was happy for you too.

Of course he was glad you found someone who could put a smile on your face like he once did, and he knows that for you to have willingly dated Juyeon, he had to have been just as great as you were. You always had the best judgement of people.

“So Juyeon, how’d you and y/n meet?” Seonghwa asks genuinely and he notices the way his face lights up at the mention of your name.

“We had a lot of mutual friends and they introduced us. It’s funny actually, I could tell y/n didn’t even really like me that much at first, she was always so disinterested when I would try and talk to her.” Juyeon laughs.

“Probably stressing too much about trivial things.” Seonghwa chuckles.

“Yeah she does that a lot, so overly anxious all the time” Juyeon notes, and Seonghwa agrees.

“Hey,” you interrupt and Juyeon apologizes.

“Sorry babe,” he chuckles. "but yeah, I finally sweet talked my way to get her to go out on a coffee date with me and then the next day she asked to go out for lunch after our lecture. We kind of just ended up hanging out more often and well, the rest is history I guess.”

“That’s great, I’m really glad she found someone that makes her happy.” Seonghwa smiles, and you feel a sense of gratitude towards him.

The rest of the night your families converse with one another and share a few drinks, as you and Seonghwa share old stories with Juyeon and Rosé. If you told yourself three years ago that you would be sitting by the fireplace on Christmas day with you and Seonghwa as exes exchanging stories with your new lovers, you would’ve never believed it.

But you don’t think it’s a bad thing at all. In fact you’re immensely grateful that despite not being as close to Seonghwa anymore, you were able to see each other grow and adapt with your new lives. A life where you made new friends and made new memories. Where you tried things you’ve never tried before, and explored new places. And where you could love other people and still be so insanely happy for one another.

This was a good thing.

At one point during the night the two of you find yourselves alone, a comfortable silence filling the room as you stared at the fire in front of you, basking in its warmth.

“I missed you.” Seonghwa is the first to break the silence.

“I missed you too.” you return. “And I’m really happy for you, you know?”

“I’m really happy for you too, y/n.” Seonghwa smiles at you. “And I really like Juyeon. He seems really great, and he makes you happy, I can see it. That’s all I ever wanted for you.”

You hum in acknowledgement. “And I think Rosé is amazing. She’s perfect for you. And I’m forever grateful that you two have each other. I know we’ve drifted over the last year, but you’re still my best friend in the whole world. And even though I don’t say it often, or even out loud, I’m supporting you through everything. As long as it makes you happy that’s all I care about.”

His heart warms at your statement and he locks eyes with you. “And you know I’m always supporting you too. Seeing you happy and thriving is the best thing that’s ever happened to you. It’s all I want for you.” he states.

Neither of you have to say it, but you know this is your unspoken way of saying that you both still loved each other greatly. You still stood by the fact that Seonghwa was, and always would be the most important person in your life, and you in his. Seeing one another content and happy despite not having each other around anymore, was the one thing that mattered to you both. The maturity and support you continued to show was only because of the immense love you have, and have always had for one another.

The kind of love that lets you give up the person you love the most so they can have a better life without you.

And the kind of love that’s okay with it.

At twenty-one years old, you and Seonghwa meet again.

It’s during one of your breaks where you find yourself extremely homesick. You don’t even give your family a heads up until you’re outside your childhood home knocking at your door.

It was an impulsive decision but it’s not like you were currently in school. You had the time and the money, and you missed your hometown so incredibly bad that it only took you one second to make that decision to come back.

“Coming, one second!” you hear a male voice call behind the door and your eyebrows furrow in confusion.

“Well, that’s is definitely not my mom, or dad.” you say to yourself. “Did they move out without telling me or something-” your internal conversation is cut short as the door swings open and you’re greeted by an unexpected figure.

“Y/n?” the boy says in surprise.

“Seonghwa??” you say even more confused.

“Who’s at the door Seonghwa?” now that’s your mother’s voice you hear and she gasps as she walks over to the door. “Y/n! Oh my god why didn’t you tell me you were coming back?!” she pulls you into her arms.

“Surprise.” you chuckle. “I kind of sort of felt really homesick and impulsively bought a plane ticket last night so I could fly back so... here I am.”

“Well come settle in! Seonghwa was just helping with some renovations in the house but I’ll let you two catch up.” your mother grabs your luggage, carrying it up to your bedroom. “Go grab a coffee or something!” she yells upstairs.

You look over to Seonghwa and he shrugs. “Let’s go then.” he smiles and your heart swells.

The two of you walk comfortably beside one another as you take in the scenery around you, missing the familiar place you once called home.

“I didn’t know you were back in town too.” you say after a few moments of silence.

“Yeah, it was pretty impulsive too actually.” he admits as he looks at you.

“What was your reason?” you ask curiously.

“Break up.” he states and your mouth falls open.

“Wait, you and Rosé...”

He nods. “Yeah, things just kinda, fizzled out. You know, we grew apart, wanted different things, came to a point where we were in different stages in our life.”

“Oh wow.” is all you say. “I’m sorry to hear, she was really sweet. I really liked her.”

“Yeah, she was,” Seonghwa sighs. “I mean, we ended on good terms. We’re still friends, actually. I don’t even think I’m necessarily sad about it to be honest, it’s just different, you know? Like I know we weren’t even dating for that long, like two and a half years at most. But I just got so used to being around her and spending so much time with her, and then things just weren’t really the same after a while. It just felt odd not having someone. And being alone made me miss everything I had here so I came back.”

You nod your head in understanding. “Yeah, I totally get what you mean.”

Seonghwa raises his eyebrow at you. “You mean... you and Juyeon too?”

“Mhm,” you hum. “I think for us we just realized we were better off as friends than as a couple, you know? Like after a while the attraction kind of went away and we were only really together because it was comfortable. And we didn’t want to stay together if we weren’t in love anymore, it wouldn’t have made sense. The break up was easy and it felt right when we ended things, I kind of wish it happened sooner but, I was still thankful for the time we spent together. He is still one of my best friends so I’m grateful for that at least.”

“That’s good.” he smiles softly.

“Hey at least we both can confidently say we have a track record of smooth break ups, right?” you joke lightheartedly.

“Thank god for that.” Seonghwa says with a laugh.

When you two enter the coffee shop you’re once again hit with a feeling of nostalgia as you think of all the times you, Seonghwa, and your friends would spend most days after school, drinking hot chocolate and eating pastries together as you all talked for hours and hours.

“I’ll get our usuals, you can wait by our spot.” Seonghwa offers, and you nod making your way towards your designated table.

The moment you sit down you’re hit with a wave of flashbacks you shared in this very space, and a small smile creeps onto your face as you look back on all the old memories.

After your brief moment of reminiscing, Seongwha sits across from you handing over your cup.

“Sometimes you don’t realize how much you miss home until you’re actually back in all the places you grew up in,” you note as you take notice of the small engraving in the corner of the table marked with yours and all your friends’ initials. Your fingers ghost over the mark and when you look up at Seongwha you see that he’s also eyeing the engraving.

“I remember when we put that there,” he recalls with a smile. “After five years of coming here and sitting at this same exact table with our friends we claimed our ownership by putting that stupid engraving that took us forever to do. As if that stopped people from sitting here anyways.” you both chuckled.

“Well at least Jennie and Hongjoong were brave enough to kick out the people who stole our spot.” you laugh.

“Yeah,” Seonghwa smiles fondly at the memory. “I still remember the days where Mingi and Yunho would bet the barista on how many butter croissants they could eat in one sitting so we could all get a supply of free hot chocolate for a year.”

“And it was only after Mingi threw up everywhere that it turned out all we had to do was ask her, and she would’ve done it anyways because we were regulars here.” you finish with a soft chuckle.

A comfortable silence fills the air as you two reminisce on the old memories of your teenage years.

“Can I ask you something?” Seonghwa says.

“Of course.”

“When you finish university,” he starts. “What are you gonna do afterwards? Like do you plan on living abroad permanently? Or are you gonna come back home?”

You pause for a second. “Honestly, after the first year there, I fell in love with the city. And I truly was planning on starting my life there and making that my permanent home, ‘cause I had Juyeon, and I had my new friends, I had jobs lined up for me after graduation, and just an overall great home.” you say. “But after splitting up with him, and sitting with the fact that I was constantly homesick, I kinda realized that this is my home, you know? Like, no matter how much I loved my new friends, and loved the city, it would never be as special to me as here. Nothing over there compared to everything I have here. And I knew you were gonna come back from Seoul after graduation, and Jennie and Yunho were gonna come back from New Zealand too. And Mingi and Hongjoong, and the rest of them were all still here... I didn’t want to be the only one gone. All my real friends are here, my family’s here... you’re here. I didn’t want to leave that all behind.” you exclaim and Seonghwa’s face softens.

“I’m really glad honestly.” he responds. “Because I missed you a lot. And it would’ve really sucked to know you weren’t gonna be here anymore when I moved back. I just really miss spending time with my best friend.”

Your heart skips a beat. “Well, you have the next two weeks to do that.” you smile up at him.

“I have an idea.” his eyes light up and you raise an eyebrow at him. “Do you wanna have a sleepover tonight? We can have a move night and order take out like the good old times.” he grins at you.

“You had me at sleepover.” you say with a smile and so he grabs your hand, pulling you towards the exit.

When Seonghwa lets you into his house you almost forget the fact that you haven’t been inside in almost three whole years. This was practically your second home and you found comfort in the fact that nothing really changed since you last saw it. Everything looked almost exactly how you remembered it, minus the new couch and dining table, and a few new paintings hung up on the walls.

“Your mom didn’t change much over the last few years.” you observe.

“Yeah, she was going to do a whole renovation like your mom, and she even planned a whole design out, but she opted out last minute. She said she wanted me to come back home to something I remembered.” Seonghwa answers. “I didn’t get why at first but it only started making sense to me the more I started visiting and realized this was like my safety net.”

“Yeah, that makes sense.” you say.

You and Seonghwa walk upstairs to his bedroom, and of course nothing changed inside either. It almost seemed like it had been untouched aside from the fresh bedsheets and clean floor. You notice the small picture frames neatly placed across his dresser table and you realize most of them are pictures with you. You pick one frame up as you remember the day so clearly. A faint smile forms on your face as your fingers ghost over the photo.

“I asked my mom to put those up again recently.” Seonghwa states from behind you. “I was gonna put more with our friends but I realized we didn’t take many with them. They were mostly just of us two. I hope you don’t think it’s weird.”

You shake your head. “No, of course not. I would never think it’s weird.” you say, placing the frame back onto his dresser.

Seonghwa tosses you one of his shirts and a pair of your old shorts that you always left at his house during your impromptu sleepovers. And suddenly you’re once again hit with a wave of nostalgia.

“What do you wanna do?” he asks and you flop onto his bed with a deep exhale.

“Let’s just lay here for a second.” you say pulling him down next to you. “I just wanna remember everything that I missed while I was gone.”

Seonghwa settles beside you and you can’t help your racing heart as he inches closer to you. As you lay next to one another looking up at the ceiling, your breathing relaxes and you revel in the feeling of just being so comfortable and at so at home.

“You don’t know how much I missed this,” Seonghwa whispers next to you. “even though we haven’t seen each other in years and we don’t talk as much anymore, when I’m with you it’s like we never even left each other. Like we just pick up right where we left off. You’re the one person who’s always brought me comfort and I never feel like we have to force things with each other, no matter how much we drifted.”

You feel heat rise to your cheeks and suddenly the room feels so much warmer. Your heart beats fast and you realize how much of an effect Seonghwa still has on you after all these years.

“I think about you everyday, you know that?” you confess, turning your head to look at him. “Every time I’m out somewhere there will always be little things that remind me of you. And I think about all the places in the city I would take you, and the places I know you would love. I think about all the things you would tell me when I was feeling down, and how you would react to certain situations as if you were right there beside me the whole time. I miss you all the time.”

You both stare at one another and your eyes flicker back and forth to his lips and when you look into his own eyes you notice him doing the same. After a moment of just staring into each other’s eyes, unsure of what to do next, Seonghwa pulls you towards his face and kisses you, and the feeling absolutely overwhelms you in all the good ways.

It’s far from soft and sweet, instead heavy and messy, and so intense that your chest burns with desire. You don’t dare pull away from him even when you needed to catch your breath, because the feeling of his lips on yours after all these years intoxicates you and has you yearning for more. He’s pulling you closer to him and you feel like your body is on fire.

Seonghwa rolls on top of you and your bodies mould perfectly with one another, as if you were both the two missing pieces of a puzzle. You can’t exactly describe the feeling but it’s overwhelming and very reminiscent and brings you back to all the times with Seonghwa that brought you so much happiness years ago. It’s a feeling you didn’t know if you would ever feel again and you missed it more than anything.

The ache between your legs becomes overwhelming and before you know it you’re begging him to touch you, and without any hesitation he does. Your bodies press tightly against each other and your desperate need for him only grows the moment he grinds down on you.

The next thing you know, you’re both unclothed and fully exposed to one another, and you see each other in your most vulnerable states for the first time in years. When he finally pushes himself inside you the pleasure is significantly magnified as the fire inside you only intensifies at the feeling of him.

It happens quick at first but Seonghwa decides he wants to take his time with you. Like you, he didn’t know if he would ever feel you in this way again and he was going to use every second with you that he could.

You don’t know how much time has passed but by the end, you both are exhausted and sore, and panting heavily next to each other. It’s dark outside and the room is warm and even though you’re both sweaty and gross, you haven’t felt this good in a long, long time.

“Was that okay?” Seonghwa asks, pulling your naked body into his arms.

“Yeah,” you say with a small smile. “It was perfect.”

So you lay in each other’s embrace for a while and your heart feels warm and fuzzy, bringing you an endless amount of comfort. You feel content at this very moment, and your worries are pushed to the back of your mind as you fall asleep soundly together.

It’s only at 2 o’clock in the morning do you wake up in a haze and through your fatigued confusion does your brain recall the events that took place a few hours ago. Unable to make out your surroundings in the darkness, your eyes widen not knowing if what happened earlier really happened. When you attempt to sit up you feel a pair of arms wrapped securely around your waist and your body relaxes. Soft snores escape Seonghwa’s lips and you snuggle closer to his body to feel his warmth.

It dawns on you that you still are very much in love with Seonghwa, and of course deep down you knew that you always would be. You also knew given the chance (like now) your feelings would resurface because well... they never really left in the first place.

The unknowingness of this outcome has you shifting in your spot and anxiety creeps in as you think of leaving him all over again. Because after tonight, you don’t know if you can bear the thought of parting ways with him and returning to your life abroad where you can’t tell him exactly how you feel.

You don’t realize right away that Seonghwa has woken up next to you and he only does so because of your constant shifting. It’s when he delivers a gentle squeeze to your waist do you finally take notice.

“Are you okay?” his voice his deep and tired and the sound is enough to make your heart beat fast.

“Yeah.” you reply unconvincingly, but Seonghwa has known you all his life and was also the one to date you for five whole years. He knew you better than you probably knew yourself so in an instant he could tell there was something bothering you.

“What’s on your mind?” he asks.

Your back is leaning against his chest, and you can feel his soft breathing on your neck, and instinctively he starts to rub small circles on your arm knowing that was the one thing that could calm you down.

“It’s stupid.” you say, your voice is quiet and laced with a hint of embarrassment.

“Do you regret what we did?” Seonghwa asks and you’re quick to shut down his claim.

“No! No, of course not.” you return. “It’s not that.”

“Then what is it?”

You exhale, letting out a heavy sigh. “Seonghwa I still love you.” it’s almost inaudible to him but he knows he heard you correctly.

He lets out a soft sigh and a smile smiles forms on his face.

“I still love you too, baby.” and when you hear him call you by the name you loved so much, you feel like you’re going to melt in his arms. “I always would remember?”

Your eyes start to water because it’s been so long since you’ve been able to say that to him, and to hear him say those same exact words back to you has a weight lifting right off your shoulders that you didn’t even know was there.

“Why’s that upsetting you?” he questions and you feel him press soft kisses to your shoulder.

“I don’t want to leave you all over again.” you admit.

He sighs next you and attempts to pull you even closer, if that were possible.

“Well we’ll spend the rest of the time we have together and enjoy every second of it. And after graduation we’ll come back home and we’ll pick up right where we left off like we always do.” Seonghwa tries to reassure you and you shake your head, sniffling.

“That’s not what I mean...” you say. “I mean that I don’t want to go back and not be with you. I don’t want to wait out till graduation and know that we aren’t together because I don’t think I can. Not after tonight.”

It clicks in Seonghwa’s brain and he knows exactly what you mean, and so he decides now’s the time to ask you what he’s been wishing to ask you for so many years. He knows he wasn’t supposed to wait for you, but he always knew he would.

“You don’t have to then.” he states.

“I don’t?”

“Do you want to get back together?” he asks and your heart almost stops. “I mean we only broke up ‘cause of the distance right? And we both fulfilled our promises to each other that we would experience a different life and learn what it was like to not be together. We’re in our last year of uni, we’d only have to be apart for a few more months and then we’ll both be back home in no time, permanently. We would never have to be apart again.” he reasons with you.

And it did make complete sense. He was right in every way, so in truth, there really wasn’t anything stopping you from being together again. You don’t have to think much about it because the decision was already made deep down. You knew you wouldn’t hesitate to be with Seonghwa again if you had the chance, and now was that chance.

You turn to face him and even though you two can’t see each other, there’s a small smile painted on both your faces and you lean in to press a kiss to his lips.

“Okay, let’s get back together.”

So at twenty-one years old, you and Seonghwa officially reconcile, and spend the next two weeks together like you planned, catching up on everything you did while you two were apart.

And just like he said, it was like you two never left each other.

And now, at twenty-two years old, Seonghwa pops the question.

And you finally marry him.

"Family, friends, and all loved ones. We are gathered here today to celebrate the union of Y/n and Seonghwa. We stand here to support this couple and share the joys of their love and commitment as they solidify this partnership, choosing to spend the rest of their lives together.”

“Through this marriage you make a lifelong promise to one another to always love, respect, trust and honor each other through anything, and everything. You promise to stay committed, and loyal, and most importantly, share your dreams, your happiness, and your sorrows with each other.”

“From today, and this moment on, you will forever be united as one.”

You stare at Seonghwa and your heart beats hard against your chest as you stand in front of him watching his eyes light up and his smile grow by the second. You feel like you’re in a dream and everything around you feels so surreal.

Your eyes scan the alter and you see your mother beside Mrs. Park, both of them clinging onto each other as tears of happiness running down their cheeks. Their smile is wide and filled with so much love and you knew this day was something the two have been waiting for, for as long as they could remember.

You see Mingi, and Yunho, and Hongjoong, and Jennie, your best friends who witnessed every progression of your relationship with Seonghwa from the moment you two met. They’re all grinning from ear to ear and you can’t help but laugh as they silently cheer you on from the pews.

You see your dad, and Seonghwa’s dad, and both of your grandparents, and the entirety of yours and Seonghwa’s family joined together as they smile brightly at the two of you.

And then your eyes meet with Rosé and Juyeon as they mouth a “you got this!” to you and Seonghwa, delivering a thumbs up in your direction, and your heart kind of warms because even after splitting up, the friendship between you four remained and it was evident through their support on this special day.

When your eyes lock with your soon-to-be-husband his lips quirk up into a warm smile as you mouth out an “i love you.”

“Now Y/n, Seonghwa, please join hands” the officiant states.

"Do you, Park Seonghwa take Y/N Y/L/N to be your wife?”

“I do.” he states softly, eyes gazing into yours.

"And Y/N Y/L/N, do you take Park Seonghwa to be your husband?”

“I do.” you respond beaming.

"Seonghwa, please repeat after me.” the officiant says. “I, Park Seonghwa, take thee, Y/N Y/L/N, to be my lawfully wedded wife.”

“I Park Seonghwa, take thee, Y/n Y/l/n, to be my lawfully wife...” he repeats.

"...To have and to hold from this day forward...”

“...For better for worse...”

“For richer for poorer...”

“...In sickness and in health...”

“...To love and to cherish...”

“...And to honour you all the days of my life...”

“Till death do us apart.” Seonghwa finishes and your eyes start to water.

“Now, Y/n, please repeat after me.” the officiant calls on you. “I, Y/N Y/LN, take thee, Park Seonghwa, to be my lawfully wedded husband.”

You exhale before repeating his words. ““I, Y/N Y/LN, take thee, Park Seonghwa, to be my lawfully wedded husband.”

"...To have and to hold from this day forward...”

“...For better for worse...”

“For richer for poorer...”

“...In sickness and in health...”

“...To love and to cherish...”

“...And to honour you all the days of my life...”

“Till death do us apart.”

As Jennie walks over to hand over the rings she smiles brightly at you, as the crowd watches you and Seonghwa each place the new band on your fingers, signifying the start of your lifelong commitment to one another.

“Well! By the power vested in me, I now pronounce you husband and wife!” the officiant shouts with a smile. “You may now kiss the bride!”

And without a second wasted Seonghwa pulls you in kissing you like he’s never kissed you before and the loud shouts and cheers in the background fills your ears as everyone hollers around you. And when you pull away you can’t seem to wipe the smile off your face as Seonghwa carries you out of the alter.

“Here’s to our new life together, Mrs. Park.” Seonghwa says with a grin as you kiss him once more.

“I love you so much.” you say.

“And I love you even more.” he returns.

So at twenty-two years old you know that you’re never going to stop loving Seonghwa, and that love was made permanent by the unity of your marriage. From the moment you declared him as your boyfriend at the age of six, to the years you spent learning everything together as a couple, growing apart and reuniting, you know that this was a rare kind of love to find, and one that had to mature and progress over a long period of time.

And so you remember the words you said to him all those years ago the night you parted ways, “if somehow we find our way back to one another, then just know everything we did up to that point was worth it.”

Which stayed true four and a half years later, and for the rest of your life thereafter.

LA FIN.

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yeenybeanies · 3 years

Text

Slaying Monsters

i started this three months ago, and decided it was time to finish it. i’ve been wanting to write a piece with dev & some other gang members for a while now i didn’t proofread it yet don’t @ me

red dead redemption | charles smith & devin clarke ( oc )

3,728 words

language, blood, & animal death warnings

thanks for reading!! reblogs > likes!! patreon | ko-fi

Unattended bags are always tempting to a borrower. It’s partly survival and partly curiosity that draws the little beings to bags and boxes and other such vessels that contain stuff. Ideally, that stuff would be useful.

Such is Devin’s idea upon approaching a lone saddlebag. They’ve been watching it for a while now. It has remained unbothered and undisturbed atop a tree stump for over an hour. Surely there’s bound to be something good inside, what with the many members of the Van Der Linde gang constantly coming and going. And surely, whatever those contents may be, small amounts won’t be missed.

The coast is clear. The camp is preoccupied in tending to the daily duties; no one is paying the bag any mind. Devin makes a break for it, keeping low as they run through the grass, to the stump. They pause at the base and give the camp a quick look, pleased to see that no one has taken notice of their presence. For just a moment, they allow themself a prideful smirk, then they refocus on the task at hand: climb the stump and get in the bag. The former is hardly a challenge; deep cracks in the bark provide handholds enough that the borrower doesn’t need their hook or climbing equipment to scale it. Despite the strap and buckle keeping the bag shut, Devin is small enough to slip through a gap and reach the interior.

The space is dark and cramped, but some light filters in through the gap they’d entered. The first thing Devin notices is the smell of leather and sweat, and fabric beneath their feet. Clothing. It’s best not to take anything from these; missing scraps from a shirt or a pair of pants would definitely be noticed. Deeper down, past the clothes, another smell becomes more prominent: something earthy and floral. That could be useful. Devin crawls through the mounds of fabric, navigating the musty space, until their hand brushes something soft. A bit more pawing around reveals it to be an umbel of little flowers. Intrigued, they grasp the stem and pull the plant into the light for better inspection.

“ What the hell…. ” White flowers, jagged leaves…. Devin scrunches their nose, confused. Is their plant identification knowledge failing them? Or is the owner of this bag an idiot?

Pondering is short-lived. Footsteps approach from the outside––a human. Devin’s heart speeds up. They drop the plant and dive for cover within the clothes just as the bag is lifted. It sways in the air with the human’s long strides, most disorienting. When the swaying stops, the borrower remains hidden, knowing full-well that they are not safe yet. There’s an exchange of words overhead, a brief moment of stillness, and then the world starts tumbling. Devin clutches hard onto the clothing concealing them. Much to their chagrin, this particular jostling is painfully familiar. They’re on a horse.

Somehow, being in a saddlebag is worse than being stuck under a hat.

Fuck.

Suppressing the sickening feeling in their stomach and the myriad of emotions swarming their brain, Devin fights against the horrible shaking and pushes their way out of the fabric folds. Climbing is significantly harder, but they still press on, going so far as to use their knife and hook for more purchase on the tough leather. Slowly but surely, they manage to reach the opening they’d initially climbed through and peek out. The wind whips and frays their hair and makes it difficult to see much of anything. They catch glimpses of the ground speeding below at breakneck speed, and at the horse’s white-and-grey spotted pelt.

Most surprisingly, and to some relief, though, is the rider. The long, black hair and the big, sawed-off shotgun identify the man: “Charles!”

Alas, their voice is unheard over the wind. Devin growls, frustrated, and retreats back into the relative safety of the saddlebag. There’s no use trying to get his attention right now. They’re just going to have to endure the bouncing and the shaking until he slows down. They can only pray that it’s soon.

———

Only an hour or so elapsed by the time the galloping slowed, though, to Devin, it felt like a lifetime. Despite their queasiness (courtesy of the bumpy ride), the borrower pushes free of the mountains of fabric and scrambles up the leathery interior, to the opening. They pause at the rim and focus on swallowing the bile in their throat, then, once it’s clear, level the back of the human’s head with a hard stare.

They breathe in until their chest burns, and let out the loudest yell they can muster: “CHARLES!”

The man jumps in his saddle and whips his head around, one hand to the shotgun on his hip. His eyes scan the horizon behind him, well over Devin’s head.

“Down here. Hey!” They wave an arm, trying to ignore how foolish they feel. Even after months of being around Arthur, it still goes against everything they know as a borrower to flag down a human.

Were the situation different—were Devin not currently fighting some ferocious nausea—they might find it comical how Charles’s expression changes. First he’s struck with recognition, eyes still on the horizon, and then the color in his face pales with realization and horror. Slowly, as if he were making every effort to delay the inevitable find, his gaze lowers to the gap under the saddle bag flap and the little borrower peeking out.

“Devin?” It still takes him a moment to process their presence, and then he’s all but falling out of the saddle (much to his horse’s displeasure). After he’s got his feet on the ground and his balance under control, the man unbuckles the saddlebag lid and flips it open. The color is rapidly returning to his face in a heated flush. “M-Miss Clarke, I didn’t know you were—why are you in my bag?” His hand nears them, but Devin waves it off.

“Don’t. I might puke. It’s a marvel that I haven’t already.” They try to suppress a shudder. “I didn’t know this was your bag. I just saw it sitting back at the camp, untouched for some time. Thought I could get something useful.”

Charles grimaces sympathetically and lets his hand come to rest on his horse’s flank. He isn’t thrilled to hear that someone was rummaging through his belongings for things to scavenge, but such behavior is to be expected from a borrower, he figures. It does make him feel a little better to know that Devin hadn’t been targeting him specifically.

“I should take you back to camp. Arthur would kill me if something happened to you.” Never mind the berating Charles would give himself. He might not know Devin as well as Arthur does, but their charm is infectious. They are well on their way to having another human wrapped around their teeny tiny finger.

“I’d like that. Eventually. But I don’t think I can take much more galloping right now. Riding in Arthur’s hat was better than riding in here.” The borrower leans over the leather with a quiet groan. The nausea is subsiding, albeit slowly. They do stiffen just a little when Charles lightly rubs a knuckle to their back, but the gentle pressure draws another, more content groan from their tiny lungs.

“I'm alright,” they say after a minute. They glance up at Charles, offering him a weak but grateful smile, and then look to their surroundings. It’s not anywhere they recognize, but that’s not surprising. “So where are we going? ”

“Well, I was going out foraging,” the man says. “Now that you’re here, though…” He trails off, uncertain.

“Oh! Speaking of foraging–––” the borrower vanishes back into the bag, leaving Charles perplexed. Once they emerge again, they hold up a sprig of white flowers. “What the hell are you doing with this?”

Charles squints at the plant, then raises his brow in realization. “You know what that is?”

The surprise in his voice is a little insulting. Devin scrunches their nose. “Don’t patronize me, Mr. Smith. I’ve lived in the wild most of my life. I know what water hemlock is.”

He holds his hands up and offers an apologetic shrug. “That’s actually what I was going to forage for. I found some while I was out with Javier the other day, but I didn’t have time to collect more.”

“Okay.” Devin inspects the flowers, twirling the stem between their hands. “Still doesn’t explain what you’re going to do with it. Are you planning to poison someone? Is it that Micah guy?”

That earns them a snort. If only. “No. I use it on my knives and arrowheads. That and oleander sage. Gives them an extra kick.”

Devin frowns, just a smidge disappointed. “I suppose that’s a good alternative use. I used to do the same with my knife when I could find hemlock.” They drop the sprig and watch it fall to the ground far below. “It’d be so easy to poison Micah though…” They say so only half-jokingly.

“Don’t I know it.” Charles shares the sentiment, but he shakes his head. Much as he’d like to see that snake gone, it’s not his place to do anything about his presence. Yet.

Now that the nausea has passed (for the most part), the borrower pulls themself from the bag and climbs up the saddle, making their way up to the seat. “I’m okay now,” they say. “We’ve already come this far. We might as well go get that hemlock. I can use it too.”

Charles looks a little uncertain, but when he opens his mouth to protest, Devin levels him with a hard stare that makes him think twice. He clears his throat. “Why don’t you ride up here with me?” he offers. “It’d probably be a bit smoother.”

Smoother would certainly be welcomed. Devin nods and climbs onto the man’s hand when it’s brought down to their level. His skin is warm and rough, similar to Arthur’s hands. Unlike Arthur, though, he carries them with greater caution. Devin pats his thumb.

“Relax. I’m not made of paper.”

“Er… right.”

They can’t fault him for his caution. Charles has significantly less experience handling Devin than does Arthur. If anything, it’s comforting to know that he is actively trying to keep them comfortable.

He grabs the saddlehorn with his free hand and hauls himself up. First he brings them to his lap, and then, after thinking, lifts them higher to his shoulder, where they climb off. Devin sits just outside of his beaded necklace and takes a handful of his hair.

“Is this going to bother you?”

“No, it’s fine. Use what you need. Let me know if you start to slip.”

Once he’s sure Devin is secure––as secure as they can be on his shoulder––he spurs his horse gently in the ribs. They set off at a slow canter, something a bit less bumpy than the gallop before. Charles is correct: it’s more comfortable riding on his shoulder than it was in the bag, if only a little bit. Devin resigns themself to the reality that they will likely never enjoy travel on horseback, but this is at least tolerable.

Charles is silent for the most part, which doesn’t bother Devin. They find themself occupied looking at the scenery. From their usual vantage point on the ground, they don’t much get to appreciate views of mountains and trees and vast prairies. Even on the off occasion that they hitch a ride on Arthur’s person, they often take to hiding in his scarf, thus dashing any chances of catching the view.

Despite the ride’s discomfort, Devin finds themself enjoying this. They are grateful, though, when Charles tugs the reins and brings the horse to a gradual stop. He spares them a glance when they sigh.

“You doing okay?”

“Just peachy.” Devin gives the shoulder beneath them a pat. He dismounts rather awkwardly, trying not to jostle them too much.

It strikes Devin that they have not just one, but two humans invested in their safety and comfort. It leaves them with mixed feelings fluttering about in their chest.

Best not to dwell on it right now.

Walking is a little choppy at first, what with Charles figuring out how best to adjust his gait with Devin on his shoulder, but, once he figures out a good rhythm, it smooths out. He steps carefully, eyes scanning the ground for the plants he seeks. Devin watches too, though they’re less focused on the hemlock and more interested in… well, everything else. Hemlock is but one plant in a new area full of things to explore.

“Hey. Let me down.” Devin gives the man’s hair a light tug, drawing his attention back to them. Though he can’t fully look at them from where they sit, he still furrows his brow in an uncertain expression meant for them. Devin rolls their eyes. “Don’t look at me like that. I’m a big boy, Charles; I walk around on my own every day.”

“I’m sure, but–––”

“Either you let me down or I’m jumping.” That seems to work. Charles acquiesces with a reluctant sigh and gingerly helps the borrower down to the ground. He remains crouched after they hop off of his hand, still looking unsure. Devin waves up at him. “Go on. Keep doing what you were doing. I’m fine.”

“Yell if you get into trouble,” he says, voice stern. Devin chooses not to take offense.

“Sure thing.” They part with a final wave and dart off into the grass, out of the human’s view. Still he hesitates, but he does eventually get up and carry on with his task. Devin breathes out an exasperated breath.

Having the care and concern of two humans is endearing, yes, but it can also be annoying. Devin might need to have a stern talk with the both of them if they keep this overprotective behavior up. They aren’t a child.

Charles does not feel good about just leaving Devin on the ground, but it wouldn’t have been right of him to hold them like some helpless creature. They’ve reminded him twice now that this is the life they live; he makes a mental note to try and be more respectful of that. After all, he reasons that he wouldn’t much appreciate it if someone else tried to keep him from doing the things he does every day. He isn’t palm-sized, but he imagines Devin still doesn’t care to be doted over. So he bites back his unease. He came out here for water hemlock. That’s what he’s going to find. Devin will be okay.

Following the nearby creek, Charles begins his search. He tests the soil beneath him with his foot, feeling its spring, its moisture, then starts scanning. Familiar white flowers speckle the banks. A faint smile creeps onto his lips. There’s plenty here for him to make use of.

–– –– ––

Devin pushes through the tall foliage, looking high and low for anything that might be useful. They find medicinal herbs, and spices for seasoning. Mentally they commend Charles; he sure knows where to look when it comes to valuable natural resources. Some of these plants are a rare find back at Horseshoe Outlook. They pick and take as much as they can carry, stuffing their bag full.

All is going fine. It’s going great, even. They’re making their way back down to the ground, munching on a sweet, juicy raspberry. The red fruit soaks their hands, their face, and their clothes, making them appear as though they’d just mauled something. It makes them snicker, thinking how Charles will react to see them like this. Their good humor dies suddenly, though. Devin feels a chill rush down their spine. They pause, alert, head on a swivel.

In an instant, everything seems to slow down. Devin drops to the ground as a pink, gaping mouth sails just a hair’s breadth over their head. It snaps shut, long fangs closing around air, and the scaly head of a rattlesnake retreats back to its coils, gearing up for another strike. Berry forgotten, Devin pulls their knife and their hook out. They stare the snake down just as it does them. It’s big––not just to them, but by rattlesnake standards. It’s a big fucking snake. The borrower’s heart races in their chest, but they don’t run, nor do they back down.

–– –– ––

Charles takes several clippings of water hemlock and carefully stows them in his satchel. He doesn’t take everything that he sees, not wanting to clear the area of the deadly plant, but he’s pleased with his haul so far. Already he has enough to coat his knives twice over, so he thinks that he could probably give Arthur and Javier some as well, so as not to waste it. He takes a few more stalks, then stands and stretches his back, arms held out to the side.

“That’s enough,” he mumbles to himself. He turns back to where he’d left Devin and scans the ground. Their tiny footprints are just barely visible in the dirt, and disappear into the grass.

“Miss Clarke?” he calls, taking a knee near the footprints. They don’t answer. “I think I’m just about done here, so I’m ready to go when you––woah––!” The man jumps back as a rattlesnake head pushes through the grasses. Layers of alarm spike in his brain: it’s a big-ass snake; Devin isn’t here; it has blood on its face; Did it eat Devin––?

“Just ‘Devin,’ Charles,” says the tiny voice. Charles flinches again. He swears he heard that voice coming from the snake. Did it eat them? He stares on in confusion, pondering whether or not he needs to cut the damn thing open, when its head flops to the side. Hauling it along is the little borrower.

“Oh my god. Are you––did the snake–––?” He stammers over his words, which surprises Devin. Arthur stammers here and there, but Charles is always so clear and calm when he speaks. They glance down at themself, noting the red stain and slick coating their hands, their head, their clothes…

“Ah! It’s okay! This isn’t––” they drop the snake and wave their hands, trying to placate the man, “I’m okay! This is all snake blood! And raspberry juice.”

Charles still looks horrified, glancing between the borrower and the rattlesnake. He does note that the blood seems to be coming from a deep wound on its head, right between its vacant eyes.

“You… killed it?” He gathers himself on his knees and leans forward, gingerly prodding the lifeless body.

“It tried to kill me first,” they say, sounding almost indignant. “Kinda lucky, though. I haven’t taken down a rattlesnake in a while. I can use it’s fangs and its venom.”

Charles lifts the carcass from the ground, testing its weight in his hands. His eyebrows shoot up at its heft. When he stands with its head at eye-level, its rattle-tipped tail still touches the ground.

It’s a big fucking snake.

“You… killed this monster?” He can’t hide the disbelief––or perhaps it’s awe––in his eyes as he looks back down to Devin.

They huff back up at him, trying not to take offense. “Yeah. I did,” they say, arms crossed over their chest. Charles waves his free hand.

“I don’t––I don’t mean to doubt you Miss––er, Devin. Sorry, I’m just… impressed.” Impressed would be an understatement.

Devin rolls their eyes. They adjust their bag and their knife, then trudge on towards Charles. Before they can ask him to, he stoops down and lowers a hand for them to climb onto. Once he has them at his level, Charles can see their annoyance clear as day.

“I tell you––both you and Arthur, you need to understand that I’m not helpless. I’ve lived my whole life out here. Half of it’s been alone. So spare me your patronizing looks and comments.” There’s venom in their eyes, in their words, as present as that in the venom in the snake’s fangs.

Charles has no hand free to hold up, but he does dip his head apologetically. “You’re right. I admit, I underestimated you. And I’m sorry for it. I’ve never met anyone like you before, and it’s a learning process.”

Devin’s features soften a little. They sigh and run a hand through their blood-slicked hair. It’s gross, but it’s not the first time they’ve been covered in blood. It won’t be the last time either.

“I like you, Charles. A lot. It’s a learning process for me too.” They offer him a half smile, though it does look a bit daunting with their red visage. “I think I’m ready to go home now.”

The man grimaces. “Think you want to… wash off first? Arthur is going to have a fit if he sees you like this.”

Devin looks down to themself, returning the grimace. “...yeah, probably. What I can, at least.” The blood wasn’t going to come out of their clothes without any soap, but they could wash their skin and hair off. Maybe they could hide their outerwear from Arthur, too. They had their underclothing on that wouldn’t show bloodstains.

Rattlesnake draped around his neck, Charles carries the borrower down to the creek and crouches at the bank. He brings his hands down for them to hop off and clean themself off. When they start stripping their outerwear, he turns his head to give them some privacy, and waits for them to draw his attention again when they’re done. Damp, but cleaner, and left in their long underclothes, Devin climbs back into Charles’ hands and scurries up to his shoulder, right next to the snake carcass.

“You good?” He asks.

“Yeah, I’m good,” they say. They give his shoulder a pat.

Charles stands, still a bit awkward with his passenger, but less so than before. “Pearson is gonna love this snake,” he says, tongue in cheek.

Devin bristles and glares daggers at the man. “This snake is my prize. That man is getting none of it. You can have some of it if you want, since you’re carrying it home, but I’m not sharing it with anyone else.” There’s that venom again.

Charles snorts. He pulls himself into his saddle and spurs his horse, gently pushing her to start trotting. “Right. Of course. My apologies, Devin.”

#g/t #g/t fiction #g/t writing #rdr #g/t rdr #charles smith #devin clarke #hyena ocs #i'm not in love with this but i'm tired of looking at it #& i wanted to finish it so i can feel less bad about starting something new #hyena writes

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ibijau · 3 years

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Futures Past pt 11 / on AO3

Nie Huaisang and Jin Zixun chat while punished together, and discover they have more in common than they'd like.

warning for brief mentions of past physical and verbal violence against a child

Nie Huaisang had hoped that he would be allowed to wait until his nose had returned to its usual shape before his punishment. A hope quickly extinguished when Lan Qiren pointed out that he didn't need his nose to be kneeling and thinking about his behaviour. And so, one day after that fight, his face still swollen, Nie Huaisang found himself kneeling after class inside the discipline hall, next to Jin Zixun.

They’d been ordered to kneel inside the courtyard, with their backs to the gate. That way the gravel dug into their knees, and they were exposed to the view of anyone passing by, their shame on display for good, dutiful young people to behold.

Nie Huaisang didn’t much care about shame, but he certainly minded discomfort, and he was in plenty of it. Kneeling like this for so long, without any movement allowed, was the most cruel thing he’d ever been forced to endure in his entire life, he quickly decided. And he had to remain unmoving. Lan Wangji, who had been tasked with watching over them even though he was their junior, had announced that if one of them didn’t stay still, they would both be given lines to copy in punishment. He’d meant it, too, and already Nie Huaisang had gotten them two such sets of lines to do later.

“I’ll break your neck if you don’t stop fidgeting already,” Jin Zixun threatened in a whisper after the second time.

“I’m doing my best,” Nie Huaisang replied in the same tone.

“No talking,” Lan Wangji ordered.

He didn’t say they’d be punished if they chatted again, but of course he didn’t need to. This was the Cloud Recesses. Everything got you punished in this hellish place. Nie Huaisang missed home so badly, more than he’d ever thought possible. When he got home, he would be a good, dutiful, obedient brother, and he would never again complain about the way they did things in the Unclean Realm. Maybe that was the secret to Lan Qiren’s success in turning young men into perfect gentlemen. Everyone was so terrified of being forced to deal again with Gusu Lan’s rules and its awful food that they behaved just enough to never be sent back.

Bored to pieces, his knees hurt by gravel, and his legs cramping, Nie Huaisang tried to entertain himself by mentally reciting every bit of poetry he’d ever enjoyed. Then he tried to see if he could remember every rule of Gusu Lan. Then, in despair, he decided to compose some poetry of his own, all of it about the pains and horror of being far from home and among cruel strangers.

When he glanced at the sky, the sun’s position told him that only a quarter of a shichen had passed, if even that.

It was going to be a very long week.

After an eternity, Nie Huaisang heard something near the gate and spotted Su She lingering there. It made him smile. Probably it was coming close to dinner time, and Su She wanted to catch some time with him on the way to the dining halls. Su She didn’t dare come too close of course, not when Lan Wangji was there, so severe he might have been forty instead of fourteen. But Nie Huaisang was glad to have a friend nearby, and it made the whole thing feel a little less unpleasant.

A little after, Nie Huaisang noticed that Lan Wangji was looking at something. He threw another glance back, only to discover that Lan Xichen was there too, quietly talking with Su She. Neither looked very happy to be in such company, while also making great effort to pretend otherwise. It made Nie Huaisang snort, and that in turn made him wince because of his nose.

When he checked toward the door one last time, both Su She and Lan Xichen were gone. Soon after, the bell calling for dinner rang at last, and Lan Wangji announced that his two victims were free to go.

“Return after dinner,” he reminded them. “If you are late, there will be more punishment.”

After staying so long in the same position, Nie Huaisang found that he almost couldn’t stand at all. His only comfort was to see Jin Zixun didn’t appear in much better shape in spite of a higher cultivation. Together they hobbled toward the dining halls, both pretending not to see the other. By the time they arrived, everyone else had already started eating, but the Lans very generously didn’t remark on that. Nie Huaisang quickly found his place with the other Nie disciples, who served him food and slipped him some snacks they’d sneaked in. For once that their young master acted like a proper Nie, they were determined to encourage him, perhaps in hope that next time he would not just start a fight but also win it.

The second day of punishment was much like the first, except this time Su She didn’t come to visit. It was probably for the best if he didn’t come anywhere near Jin Zixun for a while, Nie Huaisang thought, and he was half sure Lan Xichen must have come to the same conclusion. Perhaps Lan Xichen had asked, or even ordered, that Su She stay away for the time being.

Nie Huaisang tried not to feel upset about that.

He also tried to count how many shades of grey he could differentiate in the gravel of the courtyard. At a little over two thousand, he stopped counting and decided that being bored was, in fact, less boring than that.

On the third day of punishment, a different disciple was overseeing them, one a little less vicious than Lan Wangji. That boy, older than them by a few years but not old enough to be called a man, looked as though he enjoyed being there as little as they did. While Lan Wangji usually either meditated or studied while watching over his victims, that Lan boy quickly grew restless and took to walking around. At some point he even went out the doors to check on something, leaving Nie Huaisang and Jin Zixun alone.

While Nie Huaisang didn’t dare to move, in case Lan Wangji popped by to check on them, Jin Zixun immediately started stretching his limbs, even sitting cross-legged for a little bit once he figured the Lan disciple went for a long walk.

“So, your merchant friend didn’t come around today either,” Jin Zixun said, apparently unable to not be an ass for even an incense stick’s time. “Guess you forgot to pay him his due for the week? You’d have to pay him. How else would anyone spend time with someone like you?”

“Unlike you, I don’t have to pay people to be my friends,” Nie Huaisang replied, still a little unhappy that Su She hadn’t tried to come again but refusing to let it show. “Or do you think those other Jin guys hang out with you because they like you?”

“Shut up!”

“Well, I guess it’s really your uncle paying them to stay around you,” Nie Huaisang mused, carefully stretching a little as well. “It must be costing him a fortune, too.”

“Maybe you’re not paying them, but you think your brother isn’t forcing his disciples to hang out with you too?” Jin Zixun scoffed. “You think your merchant friend would have bothered with you if you weren’t so high up in Qinghe Nie’s hierarchy? Someone like you, aside from your connexions, what’s your appeal?”

“Shut up, it’s not like that. Su-xiong doesn’t care about these things,” Nie Huaisang exclaimed, allowing his voice to rise higher than was prudent.

The Lan disciple in charge of them, alerted by the sudden noise, returned and mildly scolded them for not being quiet, though he said nothing about both of them having obviously changed position while he was gone. He didn’t leave again for the rest of their time in the disciple halls, for which Nie Huaisang was secretly a little glad. He hadn’t liked at all where that conversation was going.

Su She wasn’t the sort to use others for their connexions. He was too proud for that, too determined to succeed by the strength of his own hard work. He was Nie Huaisang’s friend, sincerely so. And just because Su She had not tried again to see Nie Huaisang since the beginning of his punishment, since Lan Xichen had been manipulated into taking his side at last, offering him the support within his sect he'd always wanted…

Nie Huaisang was angry at himself for having that sort of doubts, and angry at Su She for acting in a manner that allowed doubts to be formed.

But Su She had to have an excellent reason for keeping his distance, and Jin Zixun was just jealous because nobody would ever take a hit to protect him.

Besides, even if they both only had an entourage because people were forced to hang out with them due to their rank, at least Nie Huaisang had a better one. His brother’s disciples, even after three days, were still sneaking him sweets and medicine at dinner, to help him deal with his punishment, still whispering that the whole thing was unfair, that Jin Zixun had been asking for trouble and everyone knew the gossip about him was true. Meanwhile, the Jin disciples were mostly avoiding conversation with Jin Zixun unless he talked first, and didn’t appear to particularly worry for his well-being. Every time Nie Huaisang glanced that way during meals, Jin Zixun was looking sullen and quite lonely.

It made sense because Jin Zixun was the worst person in the world, while Nie Huaisang knew himself to be lovely and delightful.

Well.

He knew himself to be kind of funny and generous with sharing the perks that came with his position, anyway, and that was almost the same.

On the fourth day of punishment, Nie Huaisang ended up doing some comparison of his and Jin Zixun’s situation. He hadn’t meant to. But Lan Wangji was the one watching them again, Nie Huaisang was so bored, and he just didn’t have anything to occupy himself except introspection.

Jin Zixun, he promptly decided, was an awful prick and people were right to dislike him. But at the same time, there was a good chance that some people had disliked him from the start, just because of who he was and how he was born, which might have turned him into a prick as a reaction. Nie Huaisang knew he’d been close to doing the same when he was younger, except he was too lazy for that, and also he’d always had his brother who both sincerely supported him and didn’t let him get away with hurting others on those occasions Nie Huaisang had tried abusing his position.

There would have been nobody to be there for Jin Zixun like that, he figured. Maybe his mother, but everyone knew she kept away from the world these days. His uncle could, and certainly should have been a model and a guide, but since the uncle in question was Jin Guangshan, and with the whole scandal around Jin Zixun’s birth… At that point Madam Jin should have stepped up when her husband failed to take care of the nephew they were half raising, but that wasn’t going to happen, not when she was well known to despise all of Jin Guangshan’s bastards. And aside from these two, who could have dared to stand up to that young master, second in line to inherit their sect and with a personality so awful that he was sure to develop a personal grudge against anyone who opposed him?

Maybe in another sect, someone would still have had that courage. But Lanling Jin was a sect of ambitious cowards, or so Nie Huaisang thought after listening to his brother rant against them.

So the only difference between Nie Huaisang and Jin Zixun was that one had been raised right, while the other had barely been raised at all. It made for an unpleasant conclusion: they weren't so different.

And then, there was the matter of gossip. Both of their births had been tainted by scandals caused by adults who really ought to have behaved better. Nie Huaisang had suffered a little from it, mostly when he was very young, but it had been years since anyone but his father had thrown that to his face. But Jin Zixun… everyone knew about Jin Zixun, and everyone brought it up every time he was annoying, which of course happened a lot.

It had to be awful, Nie Huaisang thought as he knelt over gravel, stealing a glance at his companion of misfortune. And so, having reached that realisation, Nie Huaisang felt some guilt over the way he’d acted that day. Sure he had just been trying to protect Su She but maybe, just maybe, he’d taken that a little too far when he’d started insulting Jin Zixun’s birth instead of just his sect and atrocious personality.

Then, to make everything worse, Nie Huaisang realised that just like in his own case, everything about Jin Zixun might have just been baseless gossip, a complete invention.

That ruined his mood for the rest of the day. When he saw Jin Zixun being ignored by the other Jins at dinner, Nie Huaisang almost sprung from his sitting place to publicly apologise to him.

He might have, if he hadn’t disliked Jin Zixun too much to be nice to him in front of an audience.

When day five arrived, and it was again that rather less serious Lan disciple watching them rather than Lan Wangji, Nie Huaisang realised he really was guilty for what he’d said to Jin Zixun, guilty enough to consider making an apology. A real one, too, not just the tearful thing he’d already planned on reciting in front of Lan Qiren.

Because while Jin Zixun was, in fact, the most disagreeable person in the world, a bully, an asshole, self important, and just generally unpleasant… throwing it in his face that he might be an unwanted bastard was a low blow, and had nothing to do with the things that were so detestable about him.

Nie Huaisang waited until, once again, the Lan disciple grew bored of watching them kneel silently and went for a walk. He then waited a moment more to make sure they were alone, before finally daring to speak.

“So, I think I should apologise.”

“Keep that for later,” Jin Zixun snapped at him. “It’s Lan Qiren you’ll need to impress, not me.”

“Old man Lan is a different problem, I’ll convince him,” Nie Huaisang boasted. “But you… This is a real apology. I shouldn't have said that. About your father. I shouldn't have."

Jin Zixun glared at him, looking furious enough that Nie Huaisang feared he was going to be punched again. In the end though, Jin Zixun wasn’t stupid enough to do that again when it had gotten him in such trouble the first time, so he just shrugged.

"Everyone says it anyway. Why should I expect any better, especially from an idiot like you?"

"Because I should know better. I'm… at home, they say the same about me."

Jin Zixun threw him a suspicious look. Probably he'd heard that Nie Huaisang's mother had a bad reputation or he wouldn’t have mentioned her that time, but he'd likely never heard the actual story, though their parents' generation were usually aware of the scandal. Nie Huaisang himself avoided talking about it. It was something of a sore point to this day. He wouldn’t have mentioned it to anyone normally, happy to let the matter be forgotten, but then again he hadn’t really ever met anyone else whose situation was quite so close to his own.

And what was the worst that Jin Zixun could do anyway, when every grown up already knew the story? When they'd just fought so publicly, and sharing gossip would just be seen by other kids their age as a petty and pointless attempt at revenge?

"My mom was married to another man when she started seeing my dad," Nie Huaisang whispered, glancing around to make sure there were no Lans around waiting to punish them for chatting. "A magistrate, I've heard. A bad man, for sure. My father always said he was a very corrupt man, very cruel to the people depending on him."

Nie Huaisang paused for a moment. It was never easy to think about his father, even worse to think about his mother. He missed them both, even if he didn’t remember either too well, and what he could recall was unpleasant in both cases. His mother had died so young, and his father...

"I think my father killed that man, but I'm not sure,” Nie Huaisang continued. “Everyone says if he did, it was a good deed. But anyway, my mother was with child already when she came to the Unclean Realm, so of course people said…"

"With the way your cultivation sucks, they might be right," Jin Zixun said in a flat voice. Nie Huaisang looked around, and punched him in the shoulder. Jin Zixun didn't even wince. "What? It's true, you're terrible at this! What sort of cultivator faints just from being punched? But if neither of your parents are cultivators, I’m surprised someone like you made it this far."

"Shut up! My dad is my dad," Nie Huaisang insisted. "He always said he was sure of it, no matter how many others doubted it. He'd say my mother also was sure, and he never let anyone say otherwise. I was his second wife's son, so I was his son, and anyone who had a problem with it could fight him. And he never changed his mind about that!"

Not until his sabre broke and his mind with it, anyway. Then he'd taken to calling Nie Huaisang a bastard when they were alone, a conniving schemer trying to steal his true son's inheritance, the son of a corrupt man, no better than a cuckoo taking space in a nest that wasn’t his.

Nie Huaisang’s father had had many things to say, by the end, and Nie Huaisang, who’d been ten at the time, hadn’t been so sure anymore who his father was. Not until Nie Mingjue had started pointing out how much he looked like this or that cousin, how the two of them had their father’s eyes.

Nie Mingjue had protected his brother before and after their father died. If he hadn’t been there...

But those last few months didn't matter. That wasn't who Nie Huaisang’s father had really been. Just an empty shell with his face.

"Lucky," Jin Zixun grumbled.

Nie Huaisang thought of his father threatening to strangle him, a few days before finally dying, and nodded anyway. He was lucky, compared to some others.

He was lucky compared to Jin Zixun.

"My dad never defended me," Jin Zixun said after a moment of silence. "The idiot died too soon."

A little surprised that Jin Zixun would make such a confidence, Nie Huaisang still nodded.

It was a well known story, and the Jin hadn't managed to smother as efficiently as the Nie had done with their own scandal. Mostly, they hadn't really tried.

Jin Zixun's father had been Jin Guangshan's younger brother, and he had married a famed beauty who many men of their generation had set their eyes on. Jin Guangshan himself had tried his chance, only to be forced instead into a political engagement with a woman he didn't like while his brother got the true prize. Of course, being Jin Guangshan, neither his own engagement nor the lady's wedding to his brother had changed his interest in her. He had pursued her with ruthless persistence, while she had avoided him with growing desperation.

Only a few weeks after the marriage, the unfortunate lady became a widow when her husband died during a Night Hunt, and it said something about Jin Guangshan that whenever Nie Huaisang had heard that story recounted, everyone always felt the need to point out it really had been an accident. As for his sister-in-law, she immediately announced she would enter permanent seclusion, out of respect for her husband she'd said.

To put herself out of reach of her lecherous brother-in-law, everyone believed.

That seclusion hadn't lasted a month when it was announced that the lady was pregnant. She gave birth shortly after Jin Guangshan's wedding to the fearsome Madam Jin, only for Jin Guangshan to promptly announce that his sister-in-law's son would be his heir if he didn't have sons from his own wife.

With all this happening in less than a year, of course people gossiped. The true parentage of Jin Zixun, then and now, was a matter of much debate.

It didn't help that he looked so much like his uncle.

"I've heard that your mother has always denied all the rumours," Nie Huaisang said, more out of pity than conviction. "And, I mean, she'd know, right ? And if you were your uncle's son you'd have a real claim to Lanling Jin, so she could have tried to scheme and..."

"My mother is an honourable woman!” Jin Zixun barked. “She'd never have borne it!"

"And your uncle is a prick."

Jin Zixun grabbed Nie Huaisang by the collar, and dragged him closer.

"Take that back, or I'll find another part of your face to break!"

Nie Huaisang looked around, in case that outburst had been heard, then shrugged.

"Your uncle is a prick, or else he'd have done more to defend your mom's reputation. I bet he likes that people think he seduced her."

"I'll break your teeth!” Jin Zixun threatened, but he released Nie Huaisang's collar. “Uncle said nothing because gossip aren't worth his time. Only the weak and powerless care about rumours, so he refused to give them any consideration."

"And he likes to have people think he can seduce any woman,” Nie Huaisang pointed out, straightening his clothes. “You know, I've heard that he even went after Qin Furen, from Laoling. You know, that beautiful lady? And…"

"Shouldn't you know better than to spread gossip?" Jin Zixun snapped.

That was the whole problem of course. Nie Huaisang should have known better. It annoyed him to no end when people talked about his parents, because he knew the truth, and they’d told the truth to everyone, so it was ridiculous of people to still debate that.

But other people’s gossip was fun to collect, and sometimes fun to spread as well. Especially when it had a chance of being the actual truth...

"Shouldn't you know better than to bully people for their origins like you do for Su-xiong?" Nie Huaisang grumbled. "Anyway, it's not real gossip, it's real truth. My da-ge saw your uncle try to kiss Qin Furen once some years back, only he interrupted, and later she thanked him for it."

Jin Zixun gritted his teeth. He fell silent a moment, considering the information.

"She's very beautiful," Jin Zixun said with some reluctance. "And just his type. It could be true."

"Da-ge says you can usually trust the women when they speak about these things. He says my mom never showed any doubt at all, no matter how many people pestered her. And I guess your mom's the same. So don't worry, I think we're both our fathers' sons."

"Of course I am," Jin Zixun grumbled. "I didn't need some second rate cultivator like you to tell me that." He paused a moment, and sighed. "I guess I should say thanks anyway. Most people just say my mom wouldn't say it even if the gossip were true. And that's not fair. She's a good person, she wouldn't lie!"

Nie Huaisang looked away to hide a grin. Jin Zixun was a prick and a bully, but he might also be a bit of a mama's boy.

It was kind of cute.

"What's she like, your mom?" he asked.

"Why should you care?"

Nie Huaisang shrugged. He glanced back toward the gate, just to make sure the Lan disciple in charge of them wasn't returning. But they'd truly been abandoned.

"We can have a nice chat,” Nie Huaisang offered, “or we can continue reflecting on what awful people we are for having a personality, which is forbidden in the Cloud Recesses. C'mon, tell me something fun instead. Like how your parents met? And I can tell you about mine? Anything as long as I can forget how bad my knees hurt."

Jin Zixun huffed and puffed, but he started telling the story of his parents' meeting. He was a horrible storyteller, but Nie Huaisang balanced it out by being a great audience.

When the end of the week arrived, and they had to make formal apologies to each other, Nie Huaisang's was more earnest that he'd ever planned it to be. He thought, also, that Jin Zixun seemed a little sorry as well, but that might have only been wishful thinking.

#xisang #nie huaisang #jin zixun #mo dao zu shi #mdzs #jau writes #double time travel

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capsized-heart · 4 years

Text

l’ incendie

Pairing: Hal x Reader

Summary: You grew up as witness to the atrocities committed under the British crown. Lord Grey is your father and newly pledged councilman of the royal court. Now, England has a new boy king, one who is set on keeping peace in Europe. You are determined to see England burn, even if it means corrupting the lionhearted boy of Eastcheap.

Word count: 10k+

Warnings: explicit smut, strong violence, sacrilegious imagery a blowjob in a chapel lmao

A/N: l’ incendie ; French translation for fire

..so..I watched The King back in November and have had this idea in my brain for the past 2 months now?? It literally consumed me. All throughout my last few weeks of classes and final papers, this is honestly all I could think about, like I’ve been bumping the soundtrack and rewatching the film to plan this, I looked at Lord Grey’s true lineage (he aint Scottish btw I made that up..but he really was related to King Edward lol).......I’ve just had to get this out of me for so. long. and I’m so happy that I finally have! It feels like this huge weight is gone, but I’ve enjoyed this creative process so much, like it’s so exciting when you hyper-fixate find a new piece of media that you enjoy so much that you dive completely and utterly into everything about it that you can get your hands on, and this is my piece for this!

And my boy Timmy?? Had no fucking clue who this guy was before I saw the film, now I’m writing fics about him a;sdkfjskj but you’re here reading this so. we’re both guilty.

I love story arcs like this where you see a character’s slow descent into corruption and having it revealed that someone was talking in their ear the whole time....i eat that shit right up. Reader’s character is heavily inspired by Lady Macbeth. Using wiles, using sex, etc. Ooh baby. I had fun with this.

gif credit to @michonnegrimes

Scotland was once your true home. Moors, lochs, rugged mountains, biting cold, all. You remember the endless mist and gloom, the wet winters of your childhood that made the creaking wood of your cottage whistle and moan. Summers were warm and mild and the highlands bursting with rich green and sunlight, running through fragrant fields of heathers, bluebells, myrtle with your skirts damp with dew, shrieking and choking on laughter as your older brother, Callum, chased you all throughout your little village of Kirkcaldy. Laughing himself, grabbing at you and wrestling you down into the mud, blossoms, and river water.

“Yield! Yield to the English crown or perish, wretched witch!” Callum would boom in mock play, tickling your sides until you’re gasping for air and tears stung your eyes.

“Aye! I yield!”

“What? You mad girl! Take it back! We are Scots!”

And then Callum would descend on you with all the wrath of England and you’d be howling with giggles and screams.

Returning home at nightfall smelling of wind and rain with vibrant wildflowers tangled in your hair and dirt streaking the skin of your cheeks, still plump with baby fat. Scarce food, but stomach full of adventure and blissful naivete. You were happy.

Your father would scold you promptly before his voice would soften a touch, smoothing back your hair from your face. Round, curious eyes and missing teeth. A feral, untamed child.

Daughter of Lord Thomas Grey. His precious girl. So much of your mother in you, the same fight, the same spark and love for life. Until you had ripped her body from the inside out and she had lost too much blood, the wet nurses unable to stop the bleeding and she had given her last breath cradling you lovingly against her naked chest.

You had killed your own mother.

In your early years, Callum and your father gave you nothing but warmth and protection, the sole surviving daughter of Grey lineage. But a child can only be sheltered for so long. Your world is a man’s world. Your country is no stranger to bloodshed.

The Anglo-Scottish Wars have endured for as long as you can remember, rebel leaders beaten down by English captains and more Christian blood staining the lush lowlands with every day. Robert the Bruce. Percy Hotspur. Blood all the same.

You are bleak, wild, uncivilized in the eyes of the English.

It’s all your people have ever known. Weary, resilient Scotland.

You have no memory of your mother, your earliest memory being the image of William Wallace’s torso strung up in the village square and the ensuing riots that had truly put the fear of God in you, mounted soldiers and civilians clashing in a fury of slick, gory steel, longswords and blacksmith daggers, a fear so raw and primal it struck you frozen and you’d soiled yourself in the midst of chaos. Callum had grabbed you and raced the four miles home as you bellowed atop his back with great, ugly heaves, snot and tears dribbling down your chin.

You didn’t need to understand the politics of rebellion or Wallace’s stake in it all to understand a massacre.

You have no memory of your mother, only murder in the name of the English king.

But you’ve learned to nurture that little glowing kernel of survival, of the fighting spirit and grit inside you that had evidently cost your mother her life. You’ve kindled it, watched it ignite with every passing year of war, your body flourishing into the figure of a young woman with embers in her soul. A stable simmering of flushed coals beneath your skin, glistening in the pools of your irises, ready to flare up and burn all you touch should you choose to.

You feel it now as a jostling carriage takes you to Northumberland, England. You sit quietly, watching the hills of Scotland tremble by, eyes hungrily drinking up as much of its strong landscape as you can.

Your father and brother have already gone ahead to England to make arrangements for Callum’s recent engagement to Isabel, Countess of Essex and only daughter of the Earl of Cambridge. You are reuniting after a lonely week, perhaps your last, to ever see your homeland.

Callum’s betrothal didn’t come as much of a surprise, rather, you’ve been counting down the days until your village lifestyle was doomed for inevitable change; for years, your father has been preparing the two of you for noble life outside of Scotland. Son and daughter subjected to the arts of chivalry, proper etiquette, gentility. The best that your little village could accommodate.

Your father and his maternal ancestry have interestingly long influenced the English courts, as his title of Lord would suggest. Through his grandmother’s side, you are distant descendants of Margaret, Duchess of Norfolk.

King Edward himself. Now cold and buried in London’s Westminster Abbey.

The coals jump, flames twisting at the idea of relatives long dead sitting idly on the opportunity and resources for a coup d'etat, instead choosing to line their own pockets and watch your country crumble from the comfort of their English estates.

The carnage and murder of monarchy feel that much more personal to you.

With your brother’s new marriage, Callum will acquire lordship and be gifted property in Essex. Your father will be secured a seat in the king’s council. You will be given rooms and hospitality in the castle as a noblewoman available for marriage. As Lady Grey.

A lick of fire coils up your throat.

God save the king.

The switch cracks so hard against the skin of your knuckles that your lip draws blood when you bite back a scream. Pain diffuses up your arm in fractured, ringing jolts and your eyes flood with hot tears. You hazard a look at where an angry welt has already started to flush, red and pulsing on the back of your hand.

“Again.” Says Miss Hunt.

Your gaze falls to the open manuscript in front of you, to the passage that you’ve rehearsed aloud for the past two hours. Your tongue works nervously in your mouth, swallowing. Sweat glistens your brow. You think you may even be trembling.

You draw in a quick breath and begin again:

“Time and tide wait for no man.

The life so short, the crafts so long to learn.

People can die of mere imagination.

And gladly wolde he lerne, and gladly teche-”

Another crack and this time you can’t restrain the cry that leaves you. You blink back the heat blurring your vision, set your jaw when Miss Hunt clasps her hands coldly behind her back and looks down at you over her hooked nose.

“Your voiced consonants are absolutely horrid, girl. Don’t close up your mouth. If you are to perfect the King’s English, you are to completely forget that savage dialect before I cut out your tongue. Am I understood?”

Miss Hunt gives you a smart swat to your cheek.

You nod quickly.

Another stinging swat.

“Am I understood?”

“Yes, Miss Hunt.”

Satisfied, she turns on her heel, granting you a few precious moments of quiet, of rest. Afternoon light filters into the chamber in dusty, silvered shafts, hueing the book’s pages in a drab of diluted grey. The inked words of Chaucer bleed back up at you as you settle your breathing.

This English sits like gravel in your mouth, low and rough and choking up your throat. Sharply iambic, as if everyone is talking down to the other.

England’s English sounds slow and stupid.

You wonder if Callum had this much trouble mastering the accent. You wonder if Callum, as a Lord, has ever been slashed with a switch.

Since your arrival to England and for the better part of a year, Miss Hunt has dissected every syllable of your speech through bodily punishment and repetition, ripped out any trace of Gaelic, any remaining trace of Scotland on your tongue and sutured it back together with mouthfuls of Chaucer and pompous, exaggerated vowels.

But pain, degradation, and humiliation are wonderful motivators. And to your horror, it has worked.

Your father recently introduced you to a few councilmen out of courtesy and as the sister of the soon to be Lord Grey of Essex. You politely discussed politics, entertained banter and jests of marriage proposals. None questioned your status as an English noblewoman.

Masquerading with voice and poise.

But that hasn’t stopped your secret, unseen resistance.

Miss Hunt may have taken your language and cadence, but her practices have only shown you the true powers of speech, knowledge, shown you just how intimidated and afraid all of England is of the bold north, of any European empire threatening its legitimacy.

A cowering dog with raised hackles and snapping teeth, but only so out of mad fear.

The harder Miss Hunt pushes, the deeper you dig into your own studies. By day, you are her sole pupil. By night, by candlelight, you are the pupil of Cicero, studying rhetoric and the power of spoken influence. You’ve also begun to study French as a means to bolster your wiles and mental arsenal.

You are already a so-called savage by blood. Learning the language of England’s arch rival will do nothing to hurt your reputation.

You feel a bead of sweat slide down the base of your spine as the switch swishes impatiently in Miss Hunt’s clutches. Oral recitation and the simultaneous reduction of your accent demands every ounce of your concentration. You know already that if you are hit again, the skin will break and you’ll only be reprimanded harder. Miss Hunt is sadistic and cold with her beady eyes and that ugly high starched collar.

“Again.” Her voice clips evenly.

So, you inhale a strong, supportive breath and begin again, pushing down the smolder in your chest.

The day of the wedding is cloudless and full of sunshine, a rarity for England. Callum has been bustling about the chapel’s back rooms in nervous energy all morning, fixing his hair and dress shirt over and over. You send your father to go and calm him down as you tend to Isabel, shooing him away quickly so your father’s mirrored jitters won’t affect her before the start of the ceremony. She gives you a small smile of thanks.

Isabel looks beautiful sitting in front of the mirror as her maids finish arranging her hair. Back straight as a board, plump lips and cheeks the color of a rosy, coral pink. You help to pull the veil over her face and the thin fabric does nothing to mute her radiance.

You see the flickering range of emotions in her eyes as she sees her own reflection. The life that all women are fated to live. Her last moments of true freedom, uncertainty for the future, and that small, significant trickle of vanity at having a perfect day of her own.

You see it all. After all, you are a woman.

She relaxes a bit when you lay a comforting hand on her shoulder. Her gaze finds yours in the mirror.

“You and I will soon be sisters,” she laughs softly. You give her a pleasant smile.

“I would want nothing more.”

Her throat works as she swallows tears, gives you another radiant laugh. “Someday, you will be sitting here, too.”

The truth of her words causes your smile to weaken, but you quickly hide it by busying yourself with her skirts and lace. Your world is a man’s world, even outside of war-torn Scotland. One man’s world, to be exact.

King Henry IV.

“And I expect you, my dear Isabel, to be at my side when that day comes.” You say to her. She nods kindly.

Your brother and Isabel are married a few hours later beneath the rainbowed, iridescent wash of stained glass and chiming church bells. And as the newly wed couple beam at you and their close company of friends and family, as you see Callum hold his wife proudly on his arm, you think that the bride and groom may truly love each other despite their arranged marriage. The possibility of such a happiness makes you grin wide and the familiar coals to simmer down ever so slightly.

The reception then moves to the chapel’s outdoor gardens. Ornately trimmed hedges, chirping birdsong, bubbling marble fountains, and the sweet fragrance of daisies and roses perfume the budding spring air.

The sun is warm on your skin, the air brisk and comfortable. You keep your fur lined mantle draped around your shoulders, your embroidered sleeves catching hints of daylight, the jeweled metalwork glittering about your waist. And with your hair twisted with ribbon and pinned back with a light linen caul, even Isabel herself murmurs that you look as refreshing and incandescent as the flowers surrounding you. You smile back teasingly, whisper that no one could possibly compare to the blushing bride.

As sister of the groom, you mingle politely, accepting congratulations and kind regards.

You see familiar faces, lords and fellow council members alike, and some of those not yet well acquainted. You meet Cambridge, Isabel’s father and a bird of a man. Gangly limbs and a flittering that accompanies his quick movements, but cordial and gentle. He tells you the union of your families will be prosperous, benign. You agree.

Then, Cambridge is pulled aside by a young man. Cambridge seems to recognize him instantly and clasps him into an embrace, chuckling heartily.

“Hal! You made it!” he exclaims. The two talk together briefly before the young man turns to you.

He’s tall and lean, broad chested with sloping shoulders. The angular planes of his face are undeniably handsome, a strong nose, full dark lashes and brows that frame his bold complexion. Black, unkempt curls and soft, hooded green eyes that hold an undertone of vigor, like his very gaze has commanded attention his entire life. They flicker over you quickly, as if you’d imagined it yourself, a trick of the light.

You don’t miss the way they linger at the exposed dip of your neckline, however.

“Aren’t you going to introduce me?” He then asks of Cambridge, his voice a soft murmur and his eyes never leave you.

Cambridge looks quickly between the two of you, as if acknowledging your presence again for the first time since this young man’s interruption. He burns bright red, stammering, then gestures to the stranger beside him.

“Of course. My lady, may I present my cousin, Henry. Prince of Wales.”

The suddenness and sheer absurdity of it all almost makes you burst out in laughter.

Cousin? King Henry IV’s eldest son is the cousin of your father-in-law?

With this marriage, you realize your family is now tied to the most powerful family in all of Britain. Yet, no one in the wedding party seems to have even acknowledged the presence of the boy prince dressed simply in dark cloak and tunic.

And then you remember. Prince Hal is a drunk, a dangerous playboy from Eastcheap. His claim to the throne is as illegitimate as the probable dozens of children from his bedded girls.

And asking for a formal introduction from his cousin? It’s utterly laughable, pathetic even.

Hal’s gaze is unwanted, skin prickling from where his eyes trace the curve of your chest in a way that makes you feel vile.

So, you wet your lips, pretend to wordlessly accept his flirtations and give him a slow flutter of your lashes. The reaction he so craves from you as his chin tilts back in delight, hungry to see more.

“Your reputation precedes you, my lord.” Your words drip with venom. Flowery girl with a serpent’s sharp tongue.

The barb makes Hal’s features tick in surprise, shock before settling back into a cool demeanor.

“Then you’ve heard of me.”

Your mask of amour stays firmly in place.

“It is hard to be deaf against such defamatory gossip.”

Hal hums softly with a hint of a smile, breaking his gaze to look out over the reception, ego obviously bruised. Cambridge goes pale as a sheet.

Isabel suddenly swoops in with the apology of wanting to introduce her father to a newly arrived guest and excuses him, hauling him away by the arm. Cambridge looks relieved to go.

And then it’s just the two of you beneath the halo of rose-tinted light.

“Beautiful ceremony.” He says simply. Hal is incredibly soft spoken for a prince and you find yourself unconsciously leaning in to hear him speak. Part of the intimate charm that makes him so alluring to women, you think. A whispered promise only for you.

“I thank you, sire.”

He takes a step forward. It startles you, enough for him to crowd you against the garden trellis wall. Ivy and lavender press into your back, dancing in the same breeze that peppers goosebumps down your spine. You shiver softly. Hal steps closer.

“I pray this is not the last of today’s festivities?” His words ghost over your throat, tickling the shell of your ear.

“No, sire. There will be a dinner tonight,” you reply just as quietly. You understand the game perfectly because it is the same one you have been playing your whole life. You indulge him, fire sparkling behind your fluttering eyelashes. “Surely your cousin will be expecting your attendance.”

Hal leans over you, hair tickling your face, green eyes glimmering. Up close, you see that freckles and beauty marks dot his skin. “I’m sure he will.”

You think you see him incline his head as though to kiss you. For a moment, you’re frozen, entranced.

You turn your cheek and his lips brush your temple. He hesitates with a low chuckle, keeping his close proximity.

“Then, I will see you tonight, my lord.” You whisper. Your fingers graze his arms as you sidle out of his reach. You can feel his eyes on you as you go and rejoin the other guests.

You leave him burning.

The tavern teems with merriment and the sound of fiddle, fife, and drum. You feast on broiled meats, roasted potatoes, greens, sweet breads and cakes until your stomach is full to bursting.

The glow of candlelight is lush and sensual, throwing shadows over the faces that only hours before you had shared with in prayer and communion in the church of God. Now, every attendant indulges in debauchery.

You’re drunk, blood pounding with mulled wine and spiced ale and cider. Pleasantly warm and head swimming, watching Callum and Isabel and friends and family dance about the room as if possessed, twirling in swirls of colored fabric that make you laugh and clap along in breathless euphoria.

You catch a glance of a figure standing in the doorway. You see the motion of a glass moving to lips, throat working to swallow drink. When the glass falls, you lock eyes with Hal.

You beckon him forth with a crooked finger. He grins wickedly and sets down his cup.

Despite the obvious wine in him, his steps towards you are sure and true and his hands feel good against you when they caress your waist, pull you against him.

You play coy and twist out of his arms. He groans.

He follows you like a dog until you’re in the midst of spinning bodies and then you turn to him. Giving him the permission to finally touch you.

His eyes ignite. He splays a hand on the middle of your back, perfect pressure, authoritative, the other gripping you tight and then you’re both cackling with drunken mischief as he guides the two of you across the creaking wooden floor.

You let him support you, lean against his chest, enjoying the sensation of being held so close. The thrill of feeling wanted.

Even if it is all a charade.

The strings and beat of thumping drums careen to a crescendo that has the entire tavern whooping and hollering in delight. You break apart from Hal to join in as the music flows through your limbs, absolutely enchanted, throwing back your head like that feral child from girlhood.

Hal looks just as wild, the rumored wayward prince. Long, dark locks falling in his eyes, tunic unbuttoned and disheveled. Light and shadow dancing across his face in a manner that makes him look devilish.

He pushes a glittering goblet into your hands, eases his strong fingers around your own to help bring it to your lips. You see the unmistakable red slosh of wine and wordlessly drink. He watches you tip back the goblet, watches rubied jewels of crimson spill down the sides of your mouth and down the skin of your throat.

“That’s it. That’s a good girl.” He cooes.

The flames feel desperately hot, flushing your skin and cheeks, burning bright behind your lips. Or perhaps it's the alcohol? Or the prince’s wandering touch that now seems to be cupping your breast, tongue lapping at the trails of wine…

The heat is suddenly too much and you push away to a secluded corner filled with empty tables to catch your breath. Hal slumps beside you. His head lolls, dipping to press another whisper of a kiss to your jaw and his weight feels comfortable against your side.

You don’t know what comes over you. Perhaps you truly are possessed.

You turn into him and then your hand is reaching between his thighs.

Hal exhales sharply in your ear. You harden your touch, feel him widen his stance to accommodate you. He braces an arm behind the small of your back, supporting himself on the space of the wooden bench as your fingers slip below the waistband of his trousers.

He gives a strangled sigh when you grip him tight and begin to coil your hand. His head lolls once more, nuzzling into the crook of your neck, panting, bursts of hot breath fanning over your throat. You feel your own breath quicken, feel yourself getting excited.

You mesh your other hand into his curls and pull him closer, press your body flush against his. Hal moans, keening, his arm now around your waist. You shush him quietly, tightening the hold in his hair.

To any patron, you look as though you’re only consoling a drunken boy, simply talking in the muted light. The shadows hide you both but the flames shine in your eyes.

“Enjoying the festivities, my lord?” You sigh into his cheek.

“Please don’t stop..” Hal whimpers.

You chuckle through a half-lidded gaze and work him harder. It’s delicious, erotic.

You hold all power, all of England in your delicate grip.

You watch his mouth fall open, dark brows furrowing, feel him tense against you before the eldest son to the crown spills himself onto your fevered palm with a sharp gasp, chest heaving.

“Good boy..” you murmur with a cheshire smile, running your fingers soothingly down the line of his jaw. Hal shudders with aftershocks, eyes closed, forehead glistening with sweat.

Before he can attempt to try and reciprocate the favor, you wipe your hand on his cloak and stand to fetch another drink.

You avoid Hal afterwards and don’t see him again for the remainder of the night. You think he must have gone home with another girl to satisfy himself and it makes you smile knowing you are responsible for laying that trap, for letting him taste pleasure, driving his desperation and taking it all away just as easily.

Your brother and Isabel spend their honeymoon in London before returning to her home in Essex. They write to you, informing of their safe arrival at the new estate and that you will have to come visit in the very near future. It warms your heart. You already miss them terribly.

Soon after, your father is awarded the scarlet, fur-trimmed peerage robes of the House of Lords and with your new rank, you experience the privilege of wealth for the first time.

Rich foods, dresses and flowing silk skirts, cosmetics, more books and manuscripts than you can imagine. You glow with health, beauty, pride, and sharpened wit.

But you have not forgotten your burning flame. Aided by money and status, your little light only grows stronger.

King Henry IV dies of sickness on a warm March morning. It had only been a matter of time, the stubborn man had been calling your father and the other lords to his bedside for the past several months to continue to discuss the politics of his own wars. In his dying breath, Henry IV saw that his empire had fallen to civil strife.

Court and kingdom are called to witness the coronation procession and as you stand with the lords and ladies of the crown inside Westminster Abbey, inside the church containing the tomb of your distant descendant King Edward and the generations of his forefathers, the same Gothic abbey where British monarchs have turned men into rulers and tyrants, you watch the archbishop anoint Prince Henry of Wales with holy oil.

His curls have been trimmed clean, his bare skin and body presented to be blessed with the sign of the cross. All old ritual, old prayer and Latin incantations that have been performed for over a thousand years.

So what is a new boy to wear the crown?

Beneath the arched stone cloisters, baptized in the sunlit streams of stained glass, you watch that same ceremony unfold again with burning heart. And harmonized by the tolling of bells, Hal is dressed in royal robes, regalia, scepter and all, shedding the title of prince as you all pledge homage to your new King of England.

“All hail King Henry.” The archbishop calls out to clergy, God, and country.

“King Henry!”

Neither you nor Hal feel the heat of embarrassment when the court is ushered into the dining chamber and you meet again in candle and firelight. The feast is an intimate setting, shared by the company of Hal’s new council, clergymen, and close family. Your father is seated alongside Cambridge, Chief Justice William Gascoigne, and the archbishop; even his sister, Queen Phillipa of Denmark, is in attendance.

Hal’s appearance and demeanor is surprising to you.

He looks striking, handsome as ever in his new robes and you can sense that familiar aire of charisma and confidence you remember from the wedding as Lord Chamberlain presents gifts from the monarchs of the world. A jeweled vase from King Wenceslas of Bohemia, a trinket of a mechanical bird from the Doge of Venice. Hal is jovial, good humored and merry.

The presence of his cousin and sister seems to comfort him greatly. And rightfully so, considering he now sits on the throne of his dead father. Dead as well is the alter ego of the delinquent prince.

Like a spoilt child opening wrapped packages at Christmas. The privilege of royal blood.

When the final trunk is presented, a gift from the Dauphin, you quite nearly let out a low snicker.

A ball for the boy king.

You see Hal hesitate before picking it up and the silence throughout the chamber is long, uncomfortable. The entire court seems to be holding its breath. Yet, you know there is an aspect of truth to the Dauphin’s gesture.

A boy indeed. You recall Hal’s touch and him gasping into your neck, his muffled begging, how quickly he had finished in your hand…

Then, the cool magnetism returns to his features. He locks eyes with you and you wonder if he is thinking of the same moment. You are both proud challengers, wielders of personal charm.

You wonder how long it will take to break him completely.

There’s a glimmer in his gaze you think to be from the blazing hearth as he tosses the ball once against the chamber’s stone wall, then catches it deftly with youthful poise.

After the coronation dinner, the court is dismissed and you find yourself to be one of the last remaining patrons as guests trickle out into the adjacent hallways and disperse through the rest of the castle. You deliberately hang back, watching your father, Cambridge, Phillipa, and William slip through the doors, slowing your step so that Hal can catch sight of you.

“Lady Grey,” you hear. His voice is galant, hushed with that same temptation of seductive promise. With your back still facing him, you can’t help but smirk.

You feign surprise and turn.

“Yes, my lord?”

Hal beckons to where he stands by the fireside. You gather your skirts and join him in the welcoming nimbus of light and warmth. When you bend to curtesy, his fingers find your chin, tilting your eyes to his own and forcing you to rise to your feet.

“None of that is necessary, my dear,” he whispers. He keeps your face cradled between thumb and forefinger, a delicate pressure, one that makes you feel precious as he holds you close. “Tell me, did you enjoy tonight?”

“Immensely.” You smile. Indeed, you have. The Dauphin might as well have spoken on your own behalf.

Hal hums, pleased. His thumb brushes the corner of your mouth, then eases in between the petals of your pink lips. You purse them ever so slightly and watch his self-control start to simmer. The candles burn low around the two of you, the only source of light emanating from the hearth itself. You are reminded of how the shadows flickered on the planes of his face the night of the wedding. Now, you see the same shadows again, but as king.

“I want you to have something.” He says finally.

He looks reluctant to break his touch from you, but you see his hand disappear within the folds of his robes. He then produces a glittering pendant with a golden chain, a necklace that looks ablaze.

Amber, you realize.

The surprise that crosses your features is genuine. Baltic amber set into teardrop sterling silver and gold, a gift from Rupert of the Palatinate and the kingdom of Germany. An extraordinary piece.

Hal’s hand finds your waist and you turn to offer him your bare neck, pulse pounding. You have no say, no power to even deny this token of affection.

His caresses against your skin as he fastens the chain are soft and featherlike and you can feel his breath on the top of your spine. The pendant is heavy, rich with precious stone and gilded metal, settling between the valley of your breasts. It feels cold, but shines like an inferno.

He lingers, tracing your shoulders when his mouth presses to your ear.

“Turn. Let me look at you properly.”

When you do, the weight of Germany itself, of foreign and fallen kingdoms and countries, conquered and pillaged and burned, simultaneously settles between the tender skin of your sternum.

Hal’s eyes cloud with dark delight when he sees the flaming amber. He takes your chin back in hand, angling your face every which way, studying how the firelight glints off the pendant with a sensual curiosity.

“Beautiful.” He murmurs.

Your body begins to react on its own accord, chest rising and falling with faster breaths, your cheeks blooming.

“I thank you, my lord.”

Still cradling your jaw, he brings himself closer with only a whisper between the two of you. His crimson robes seem to swallow you completely, like the gaping maw of Britain’s lion, a mantle of blood. He speaks into the gap between your mouths, yet you feel every word upon your lips.

“With this gift, I expect to see you more around my court, Lady Grey. Am I understood?”

The tension he commands is unbearable. He watches you carefully, dark eyelashes fluttering. Trapped like a pinned butterfly. Then, you understand he’s waiting for a verbal response.

“Yes, my lord.”

He releases you.

The pendant suddenly feels more like a collar.

You’ve underestimated Hal. He is just as much the player as you.

You keep your promise. You see Hal daily in passing, often dressed in full regal attire as he comes from the council chambers, your father, William, and the rest of his train tailing close behind. The twinkle in his eye when he sees you is discreet, reserved only for you. The amber pendant remains fastened around your neck at all hours of the day, even while you sleep and bathe, like fire and ice between your breasts. A piece of Hal always with you.

The two of you are a queer, twisted pair of sweethearts. You’ve yet to be fully intimate since that wedding night, but the pressure that ripples with every fleeting glance, every grazing touch of lips and skin is enough to prove your attraction for each other. Or rather, the attraction to the game.

You keep Hal on his toes, never fully give in even when he invites you out for evening strolls in the palace gardens and the safety of darkness envelops you both. It is your nightly ritual to walk the grounds together amongst hushed breezes and chirping crickets, you as a means to unwind before bed, and a way for Hal to clear his mind of the day’s tolling demands.

And tolling they are. Despite his bravado, he is easily irritable, tense. You listen when he speaks to you plainly about his frustrations for the court and archbishop, how they all expect from him the same swift retaliation of his father.

You find Hal’s consciousness of this want to break tyranny quite curious. Sons are typical to idolize their fathers and see past faults. It is why you know how cruel kingship has endured in Britain for generations; learned behaviors become expected and change more difficult. You’ve even seen that same behavior in your own brother.

And Hal’s trust in disclosing even this to you is telling. The thread to unravel the boy king.

Tonight, you dare to pull at it, heighten your girlish wiles and offer him a lingering kiss and soft words. You tell him that Christendom is damned and tease that it’s his own fault his council is made up entirely of old, graying men, your father included, when he could have anyone else.

Hal’s spirits seem to lift a little with a ghost of a smile, understanding you perfectly as his arm snakes around your waist. He pulls you into a secluded labyrinth and settles into the stone seat of a fountain, pulls you atop his lap. The kiss he returns is fierce.

Without the burn of alcohol to subdue your senses, every touch is intensified tenfold. Hal feels it too, his breath coming ragged as he breaks the kiss to mouth down the skin of your neck, the dip of your collarbone, your chest. His hands wander beneath your skirts.

“It is only polite that I return the favor..” You hear him say.

Your mind is reeling. You knew this moment would eventually come, yet you feel ill-prepared when his fingers brush your core, his other hand gripping the back of your neck. You gasp, finding his lips in another tangled kiss, straddle him completely.

It’s strange, exhilarating to be on the receiving end of your little game.

If you are to truly break Hal, you are to first make him believe that he holds any sort of power over you, to reverse that dynamic you had set the night of your brother’s wedding.

You are to let him touch you.

And like the flaming sword of Raphael, Hal’s pendant, it is time to finally draw upon your fire.

You hate how good Hal is at this. He knows just where to caress inside you, the right amount of pressure, the weak spots at your throat and just below your ear. Your competitiveness takes over and you push him back against the fountain, start to circle your hips, grind yourself down on his hand and grip at the rich fabric of his tunic to better anchor yourself.

His eyes pool with lust with every sigh from your lips, watching you closely. He rolls his thumb, picks up the tempo of his fingers, relishing the sight of you slowly falling apart on top of him.

But it isn’t enough. You lean in and wrap your arms around his neck. He responds in tandem, gathering you close as you rock against him, the friction of his thighs sending you closer and closer to that threshold of pleasure.

“Please..I need t-to…” you whisper into his neck, into his mouth.

Words of magic. Hal’s expression flares with masculine pride, the delight of pleasing a woman.

The last of the day’s golden hour spills over you both in glowing, peached splendor and with the sound of the fountain’s rushing water as your only witness, you muffle your final moan with a desperate kiss, bliss pulsing behind your eyelids. Hal keeps his fingers where they are, coaxing the last waves of your orgasm out of you, cradling your chin with his other hand as his lips part yours, slipping tongue as you come floating back down to earth.

You’re dazed, flushed, lazily kissing when he removes his fingers. Slick when you suck them into your mouth and taste yourself. The velvet of your tongue makes him shiver.

“Now, what ever are we going to do about your council, my lord?” You murmur once you catch your breath. You gently kiss his fingertips.

Hal only smirks and pulls you to him.

Your plan begins to take motion. With each passing month, you worm your way deeper into Hal’s heart with honeyed words and empty promises. He confides in you more and more as he grows wary of his councilmen, trusting only the pretty face he sees in the privacy of his bedchamber each night. Graced against silk pillows.

You sense the crushing pressure upon him, his own doubts and fears. You slowly leech away his magnetism, his charisma, and take it for yourself. His eyes dim, harden with resolve. Gone is the assurance for peace. Hal instead grows cold, timid, questioning his every move.

You only burn brighter.

There is talk that a French assassin has breached the castle.

You hear the conversation for yourself when your father and William are called down to the dungeons, hear Hal speaking directly to this assassin as you linger at the top of the stone staircase.

“Qui êtes vous?”

“J'ai été envoyé par le roi de France pour vous assassiner.”

Hal’s voice is cool, calm as he pries for details. The assassin’s responses are noticeably vague. You infer it to be out of his own self interest.

Then, nothing. Days go by with no direct action from Hal.

You grind your teeth. War with France would be the perfect fruition of your schemes, the final act in a tragedy deemed to be an epic of British monarchy. War with France would show Europe and the rest of the world the extortion and murder of the English crown; not that these neighboring countries needed such a reminder. But England and her king have been blind for too long.

Previous attempts at quelling war had caused Percy Hotspur to rebel, Prince Thomas of Lancaster to push on and die alone on foreign soil.

Is Hal not trying to prove himself in this same way? Proving he is not like his father? Just as Thomas had wished for his peers to see him as a commander and better equipped to bear the crown despite being the youngest son, is Hal not guilty of this same charge of public approval?

And having the privilege to sit idly atop a throne amidst all this makes your blood boil. Idleness is instability, you’ve learned this years ago.

You will be the one to push Hal to war.

You are sewing one afternoon in an empty chamber when the strained voices of your father, Cambridge, and William reach your ears. Hushed and argumentative, it draws you to your feet, possesses you to lean against the frame of the door and just out of sight.

You hear the disgust in your father’s tone when he speaks of the king. The weakness in forgiving France, the lunacy of Hal’s ascension. It amazes you, grips you tight at hearing such passion and loathing; you’ve never heard your father speak this way about anyone, let alone the head of England’s monarchy. Slander and defamation carry swift punishment.

You learn that he and Cambridge have been approached by French agents. The three men debate quietly as you stand against the door, nearly panting. A coup d'etat? The idea excites you more than it should. But you perish the thought quickly before you can get ahead of yourself.

Why only approach the two of them? Surely to turn England’s people against their ruler, a greater number of conspirators would prove to be more efficient? You know distrust is not uncommon among Hal’s council, so possible traitors would not be hard to find.

This approach means your father and Cambridge have been judged weak in character by the French. Insecure, lacking, most likely to bend at the knee for candied prospects in exchange for loyalty.

And now as you eavesdrop on your own father, you know Lord Grey does not have faith behind his king and is too afraid to do anything with it. You know that if you had not gathered this knowledge for yourself, you would never have been told so, unseen as all women are expected to be.

These French agents and councilmen think they hold all power with their debates and their meetings in private, oblivious to the fact that it is women who move the world. Women like you, wielding their very sex to push these men as pawns.

Are men not born into this world by women? Do men not seek a woman’s tender embrace for love and comfort and to carry on long, unbroken lineages of royal blood?

Your own father, as all his peers, are blind to the influence you bear over Hal. Even Hal himself.

You find yourself in the king’s private quarters one cold night, sitting in front of the hearth and watching the crackling, shimmering flames that warm the room. The soft silence is comforting to you as you sit bathed in orange glow, wrapped in furs and waiting for Hal’s return.

Your mind wanders. You think of the French assassin still held captive in the dungeons beneath your feet, how the man had been granted asylum in exchange for a confession.

“Quel était le l'ordre?”

“Que je devrais tuer le roi d'Angleterre.”

And with the French approaching Cambridge and your father, it is certain, undeniable that tension is thick and stakes high for all of England.

You are standing on the very brink of war, standing flush at the edge of a swallowing cliffside with dragging winds and dark, inky waters swirling beneath you down below. Waiting to embrace you, like the jagged shores of St Kilda, the northern shores of Scotland. Calling you home like a siren’s song.

And Hal only needs one final pull before you both fall together.

The chamber door opens and the king steps inside. His presence is stormy, like a cold wind blowing into the room.

He’s dressed handsomely in a navy tunic and dress shirt, a mantle that drapes over his burdened shoulders. Yet, his hair is mussed and disheveled and you can see the tightness around his eyes. His once youthful glow now gone, but a sharpness to him that you think resembles a pike; diligent, wary, and still capable of hurting you if you’re not careful.

You pretend to quickly wipe away tears before you stand to greet him. Hal sees this and his brows draw together in concern, further contorting his expression into one of pain. He comes to the fireside.

“Good evening, my king,” you say as he takes your hands.

“What upsets you so?” he asks you directly. His voice is strained, sets your pulse aflutter more than it should. You give a small, breathless smile, a shake of your head.

“Nothing of your concern, just innocuous thoughts, my lord. Let us go to bed.”

But you do not move in the direction of the luxurious canopied bed, one you have grown intimately familiar with. You stay exactly where you are and let Hal’s mind race.

His fingers grip your chin and when you meet his eyes, they’re bold and smoldering, the first touch of life in them you’ve seen for sometime. His grasp is strong and a muscle ticks in his jaw.

“Speak freely to me. Please,” he whispers. “Of all people. My dear, speak true.” The last word falls like a plea from his lips. You suppose it is one as he pulls you closer. A boy desperate for truth, constricted and poisoned by a council of vipers.

Unknowingly turning to the girl with the pretty mouth as she pours poison into his ear.

At this, you bite your lips and summon tears that spill forth, pool your vision. You let the familiar sensations take over, the shortness of breath, the depleted posture, and pretty soon you’re trembling, weeping in Hal’s arms.

“This assassin. It frightens me,” you say finally, broken. “If he had fulfilled his order and taken you from me, left me here all alone…oh, Hal. I’m so afraid.”

His thumb circles your cheek, silent. You sense that dangerous cocktail of anger and darkness simmering just beneath his skin. Anger at the world, anger reserved for his dead father.

“France means to have you killed, Hal. Then what of us?”

Us? England?

Tears drip down your neck and onto your rising chest. Where you’ve left the first clasp of your blouse carefully unbuttoned. You press yourself to him ever so slightly, look up through tear-soaked eyelashes and embered iresis.

“Then what of me?” you whisper.

Hal’s lips are crushing against yours. You feel every ounce of his anguish, every bit of tension wound tight in his frame, every doubt, every fear. You feel the restraint as he cradles the back of your neck, his other hand finding your waist as he pushes you flush against him. The dichotomy to feel love, to feel comfort and safety and to relieve and dispel just a hint of the pressure building inside him. The dichotomy to conquer, the urge to channel this animosity in a way he must be familiar, to ravish you completely.

With your bosom rising and falling so sweetly, eyes glittering with tears, looking almost divine with firelight circling the shine of your hair in a golden halo, you watch Hal’s walls collapse. You let him succumb to that mirage of safety and warmth, to ease his conscience. You will both get what you want, eventually.

You break apart to kiss the line of his throat, his pulsepoint, where you know he’s weakest. Hal gasps as you thread your fingers through his curls, bring your lips to his ear in a soft lull.

“May I have you tonight, my king? Completely?”

His response is immediate, yet wordless when he tilts back his head and feels your mouth against his jugular, the hand at your waist tightening.

At last, you lead him to the bed with the intent of christening it.

He pulls you atop him, helps you unthread the bodice of your nightgown. Despite the blazing fire behind you, the air chills your shoulders, your chest as you slowly expose more and more skin, finally letting the thin fabric pool around your waist. The feel of his bare hands cupping your body fuels you, act as your catalyst. Soft, firm.

The amber necklace swings like a golden pendulum when you stoop to kiss him again, his fingers ghosting over the skin of your back. Hal’s desires are plainly stated as you feel him harden against your inner thigh.

There is no time for coy deception tonight. You make quick work of his tunic, leave his trousers and instead unfasten and pull him through, positioning where he wants you most. Hal is already nearly panting.

You arch as he settles inside you, a biting stretch that has both of you sighing when you bury yourself into the crook of his neck. Something long-awaited. You stomach the discomforting pressure and set a rhythm, one that has Hal cursing into your hair.

“You must protect the women of England, my lord,” you whisper. “Who will do so if you are gone?” You punctuate your point with a well-timed swivel of your hips and Hal moans low and guttural. “Your wives and children. Can you protect me?”

Hal’s arms wrap around you, nearly choking on pleasure. “I will. Anything for you. Please...”

Unseen by him, you grin. You can practically hear the crashing ocean waves, to feel the quench of water at long last! You think you could make him do anything in this moment with how enthralled he is in bliss.

You sit back and Hal’s hands glide over the smooth expanse of your stomach, watching his eyes grow dark, the amber pendant swinging between the two of you. The discomfort in your belly is gone and you start to mirror Hal’s pleasure, head falling back, sighs growing louder.

And as the two of you finally fall from the cliffside and towards the waiting waters, Hal gives a soft cry, vision rolling and you feel his heat spill onto your inner thigh. You kiss him until the strength drains from his body, a true succubus as Hal at last descends into sleep, relaxed.

You have the king’s word.

You awaken the next morning to find the bed empty and cold. Surprised, you dress alone and return to your chambers to call for your breakfast. When you send for your father to share his company, the servant returns and tells you Lord Grey is currently engaged and his presence cannot be requested.

“A meeting, you mean?” You ask the servant rather crossly. Why must everyone speak to you in riddles? You obviously did not sleep much the night before and had trouble long after Hal had finished, like a slumbering babe beside you. Typical.

Your mood sours further in that you won’t be able to share this meal with your father. You despise spending mornings in solitude. It seems like it’s been ages since you’ve last seen each other in private, with no councilmen lurking about.

“No, my lady,” the servant stammers slightly, the words stumbling out of his mouth. “Lord Grey is condemned and is forbidden from taking meals before tomorrow morning.”

“What?” You growl at his vagueness. Your anger and irritation rise hot and fast and you’re tempted to hurl the glass cup of strawberries at this blubbering young fool.

“Lord Grey and Cambridge await execution tomorrow morning for treason, by order of the king.”

Your world stops. You send the servant away with a ghost of a whisper.

When the door snaps shut, you laugh mournfully. So the gossip had come to naught. Hal had indeed kept his word. Your stomach turns in nausea. Food is suddenly the last thing on your mind.

You rush to your writing desk, overturning bottles of ink, hands shaking when you retrieve quill and parchment, attempt to pen a desperate letter to Callum with a fevered hand. But before you can draft a single sentence, your blood turns cold.

You have not heard from your brother, from Isabelle in weeks. Have your worst fears already come true?

Glass and fruit explode against the far wall.

You tear out of the room like a bloodied banshee in search of Hal, fingers tinted crimson from cut glass and mashed berries.

And if thy right hand offend thee, cut it off, and

cast it from thee: for it is profitable for thee

that one of thy members should perish, and not

that thy whole body should be cast into hell.

One of Miss Hunt’s chosen passages from the book of Matthew comes crashing into your mind. You are like Eve, you think. Bearing the burden of Original Sin with lust and curiosity. You have tasted the fruit and have seen the evils of mankind. Never in your wildest dreams could you have imagined your plan backfiring so horribly.

Now, hellfire awaits your father, for you when you draw your final breath your last day on this earth. Suddenly seeming to loom that much closer.

You approach Hal like Samuel’s ghost did to King Saul on the eve of war, the Philistines instead of the French. Interchangeable, cycles of warfare that have dawned for milenia and will continue until the end of time.

He looks terrifying, colder and more severe than you’ve ever seen, outfitted in those horrible blood red robes that one coronation dinner long ago you had once thought he looked becoming.

You know with one wrong word you could be joining the two men to die at first light. Your mind races.

“My lord, to think my own father had been plotting against you sickens me,” you speak slowly. The sentence stings like venom in your mouth, damning your father. Hellfire burns brighter. But it is the only way you can protect yourself. Your grisly appearance, your quick breaths, it is all to sell your story. “May I accompany you tomorrow morning as witness?”

Hal’s lips twist into a hint of a smile, the shadow of his former self. “Of course, my dear. Lord Grey may have failed his fatherly duties as protector, but I will not.”

And so, with your hands wrapped in fresh bandages and stitchings, you stand in a courtyard with wind whipping around you, the only Christian woman among councilmen and knights as you watch your father lay his head upon the chopping block. His hair has been shaved off to ensure the killing blow will be swift and true. Shivering, pale, and damp with sweat, he looks like a ghost. Soon, he will be one. You want him to see you in these final moments, for him to know that you will utterly destroy this king, but you cannot risk the danger.

Like the coronation, Latin prayers are recited, only this time they are prayers for your father and father-in-law to find peace in the afterlife. The last time you, Hal, Cambridge, and your father had shared company like this had been at the wedding. You know now that Callum and Isabel are truly dead. In the blink of an eye, Hal has slaughtered your entire family.

Weary, resilient Scotland.

You do not cry. You must show your loyalty.

“Requiescat in pace.”

Weak, fragile as Lord Grey starts to whimper aloud. No daughter should see their father, their protector through girlhood, like this.

The axe glimmers in the sunlight and is brought down with deadly precision. Your father’s head rolls grotesquely off of his shoulders in a wet gurgle. His body is shoved aside and Cambridge is pushed onto the block next, now slick with fresh blood.

Neither you nor Hal flinch.

You are now fatherless, Hal, kinless when you enter the neighboring chapel alone. You sit in the first pew respectfully, head bowed as Hal crosses himself and kneels before the altar. With his back to you, you study the firm line of his spine, his clasped hands with the beaded rosary held firmly between. Unmoving, statuesque. He prays for a long time.

Thou shalt not kill.

You wonder if God is so forgiving.

The images of angels, of Mary and Joseph and flawless purity are what drive you to march up to Hal and kiss him hard. He hums in surprise, brows furrowed, the pressure behind his mouth mirroring yours when you grip the back of his head.

You want to kill him the same way he had murdered your father. But you settle with digging your fingers into the back of his neck and relishing in the way he hisses against your lips. You fumble blindly with the fastening of his trousers.

“What are you doing?” he growls.

“Shut up.” You bite back.

You’ve never been afraid of Hal before today, you’ve had no reason to be. You’ve been so careful to build the reputation and the facade he sees, using words and sex to push him like the chesspiece you had thought him to be. And he’d pushed right back.

You want to hurt him in the only way you can.

He cries out when you suck him into your mouth with teeth and harsh pressure. You’re anything but gentle, taking him as far as you can so that you’re choking and Hal is grunting and pulling at your hair and the lewd sounds of your lips and tongue echo to the tops of the vaulted ceiling.

You’ve both lost family today. You are both selfish and full of quiet rage. The consequence of Hal’s choice is evident in how hard and wet you mold your mouth around him, how his hand tightens and pushes you farther down, wordlessly ordering you to finish him off in this holy church.

Like Christ Himself with bandaged hands, you twist and work at whatever you cannot fit between your lips. His hips snap forward, tears collecting at the corners of your eyes with burning throat, your scalp stinging from where he yanks back your hair, your linen caul disheveled. Saliva dribbles out of your mouth.

When his moans grow high and desperate, you take him out of your mouth and Hal’s release splatters white on the skin of your cheek, mouth still agape. He slumps forward on his knees, panting, as if still in prayer. The rosary dangles between his fingers.

Thou shalt not commit adultery.

The cross looms before you, silhouetted by candlelight. It is too much and you turn away.

If the change in Hal’s nature had not already been felt by all, it is seen in his dress. No longer does he donn the regalia of red cape and sceptre, but dark tunics and jackets that fit snug over the expanse of his chest. No more are the billowing robes, now replaced with tight military clothing and jackboots. A captain preparing for battle.

Hal recruits John Falstaff and countless other marshals for his campaign. It’s truly happening, you think. France will soon feel the wrath of England as your homeland and countless other countries have.

The amber necklace sparkles.

Tomorrow, Hal sets sail across the English Channel. Another crusade to add to the Hundred Years’ War. You wonder if French women are just as lustrous as the rumors suggest.

This is the last night you will be together like this for some time. The thought of Hal with another woman makes you quicken the hand you have around him and he gasps into your chest, spilling onto your thigh like that wedding night centuries ago. You’ve already made love countless times tonight, your bodies fitting together because it is only natural for two corrupt souls to find solace in the other.

Masquerading with voice and poise. A boy from Eastcheap and a Scottish girl.

As Hal shudders against you, kissing your throat and twining his fingers into your hair, he tells you he loves you.

You think you may love him too, in that twisted way of how fire craves oxygen. You need each other to fuel chaos.

You understand better than anyone the burden of a child forced to grow up, the weight of decisions and the toll it takes. Only the strong can endure such hardship, only the strong can triumph and come out on top. It has been so forever, a law as old as the world.

The speed at which Hal is already hard again makes you chuckle darkly. He pins you to the bed, hovering, eyes bearing into you before he enters you just the same.

“You were made to be beneath me,” he rasps, gripping your face with a single hand. His eyes glitter in the low light. The double entendre of his words make you rake your fingernails down his back in angry lines of red. He sucks a bite into the skin of your collarbone.

You know that when Hal returns from France, he will no longer be yours. He will be changed, most likely to marry a foreign princess to ensure peace. You think of Isabel and how she had evidently been the one to put you in this position of status, how a marriage is a man’s means to gain power. A law as old as the world.

Do you want him to be yours? The same way the English crown has raped and pillaged for the thrill of conquering the barbaric? A trophy? A prized kill? Still, the thought makes you bitter.

You say you love him back when he finds the spot below your ear, pushes your legs apart to drive into you that much harder.

There’s a bit of you that prays he will be victorious, that he will return to England and be yours again. But even if your paths do not cross in the future, you know you will see him again where the flames grow hot. Be that in his chambers or down below.

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olivia-anderson-fanfic · 3 years

Note

I literally found this blog recently and it’s awesome! But for your alternative ending, I was wondering what would everyone’s reactions be of Marinette missing for 5 months, to fighting her?

I honestly wasn’t really sure what this ask was asking for. I ended up writing their feelings about her going missing and seeing her for the first time in months. Sorry if this wasn’t what you wanted :(

(Also, thank you!!)

First part

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@solangelo252 asked to be tagged

Everyone ready? Let’s go!

Dick

Dick is the one who has to stay strong for the family. He’s always been aware of that. It’s fitting that the guy whose biological family died due to their lack of safety net as trapeze artists ended up being the emotional safety net for his adoptive family. He is always there with his calm smiles, his bad puns, his warm hugs.

… that being said, who was to be his safety net? Marinette had served that purpose as of late; many hours had been spent in a rented out gymnasium, stretching and venting about their problems. It was the closest he’d come to a give-and-take relationship emotionally since his parents had been alive.

But now Marinette was missing. How was he supposed to vent about his anxieties about the fact that she was missing when she wasn’t there to vent to? Could he somehow vent to himself?

No. But he had to stay strong. His family needed him to. Without the Grayson safety net, his family would fall into early graves yet again.

So, he’d pull on that perfect smile of his and get to work. He’d force everyone to eat and sleep, he’d go out on patrols and make sure no one broke The Rule or too many bones, he’d make sure they didn’t close themselves off emotionally, he’d remind them they weren’t at fault, he’d listen to their problems, give them advice, hug them, help them, help them help them helpthemhelpthemhelpthem --.

Days stretched endlessly but weeks whizzed by.

And then Marinette was there.

His eyes had landed on her and he almost couldn’t believe it. Maybe he’d finally snapped. He’d held in his emotions, his grief and his guilt and his anger, and he’d held them in too long. And now he was hallucinating her. Now his mind had created a new her.

Maybe he actually could vent to himself now.

But then he’d glanced at everyone else and found that they’d stopped walking, too. That their eyes were still glued on that one spot. That they could see her and she was there. She was really there.

Emotions bubbled in his throat and tears stung his eyes and she was there.

“Mari?” His broken voice broke through the silence.

She brought a hand up to rest over her heart, almost as if she wasn’t quite sure he was talking to her despite him using her name.

Jason spoke next. “Is that really you?”

“Maybe,” she’d said, a bitter smile stretching across her face.

But Dick didn’t care about the warning signs, about the new demeanor, about anything because she was THERE.

A hand grabbed the back of his shirt. Held him back. He hadn’t even realized he’d been moving towards her, but that didn’t matter to him. Because now he couldn’t reach her.

His gaze fell on Tim and his brother had better have a good explanation.

“You’re pale,” Tim pointed out, blue eyes never leaving hers.

She giggled a little, but it was a broken sound. It was the kind of laugh a person made when they were trying their hardest not to cry.

“Yeah. Lack of sunlight and chemical baths do that.”

Tim’s grip on his shirt had lessened but it wasn’t necessary at all anymore. Instead, an icy hand clutched his heart and held him there.

Because now he could take in the chill in the room despite the roaring fire under where Marinette had perched herself. The way her eyes were now a dull blue instead of the almost unnaturally bright shade they usually were.

He hadn’t been around to be her safety net, and now the Marinette he knew was dead and gone. He was staring at what was essentially Marinette’s corpse. She even had the pale, bloodless skin of one.

He’d failed her, and he had already learned that there’s nothing that can be done when someone’s already hit the ground.

Jason

It was his job to keep her safe, and yet he couldn’t do that. She’d been captured by the Rogues. It was possible she’d never come back. If she did come back she wouldn’t ever be the same.

And it was his fault.

He should have tried harder to get her to stop. Made her take a break when she’d accidentally killed that man in the convenience store. He’d killed before, he’d KNOWN how that would affect a person. He’d seen how distracted she’d been the previous few days, seen the cracks. He should have seen this coming. He should have benched her when he’d had the chance.

And now his protege -- his SISTER -- had been captured by the Rogues and who knew what kind of horrors she was facing at that moment.

Because they weren’t going to kill her. The Rogues were never that merciful, and especially not when they’d been slighted.

Marinette had betrayed them, had been sent in to pretend to be their friend and gather information and sabotage some plans. Rogues were many things, but they weren’t ones to fake being friends. They all knew their real standings with each other, their real opinions of each other, for good and for bad. No, to them, she was a heartless monster.

And they were going to make sure she paid dearly.

“Is that really you?” He asked, though he knew what the answer would be. There was no way she could still be the same her after what she must have endured.

And she’d said “Maybe”.

And, though he’d expected it, the confirmation and the way her voice had cracked just slightly on the word had made it all the more real.

“You’re pale,” Tim pointed out.

Oh god, he was right. She looked so much like…

“Yeah. Lack of sunlight and chemical baths do that.”

Jason’s heart clenched at the words ‘chemical baths’. Because he knew what that meant. He may not have been there for when Tim had become Joker Jr., but he hadn’t needed to be in order to know just how completely fucked she had to be. He’d heard about the weeks of torture he’d endured before Batman and Batgirl had found it. Seen the way his younger brother still tensed slightly upon seeing Joker or Harley.

Five months. Marinette hadn’t been gone for a few weeks like he had. She’d been gone for five months. If that was what he was like in less than a month, then what about her?

He wanted to wrap her up in his arms and never let go, to never let HER go again, to make sure she’d never come to harm.

But one thing was stopping him.

Because he remembered what Joker Jr. had been created to do. What she must have been forced to do.

And he could see how much she hated it. In the lines in her forehead, in the slump of her shoulders, in the sad smile playing across her lips.

But she was doing it. She felt like she had to do it thanks to whatever she’d endured.

She wasn’t meant for murder. She especially wouldn’t do well with murdering someone she had once cared for. Whatever pieces of her old self that remained would crumble to dust until she would be completely unrecognizable. Completely broken.

He’d failed her, she’d been hurt, and he was going to have to hurt her more in order to keep her from hurting herself.

Tim

You’d think that it would be easy to figure out where she was. After all, these were the biggest Rogues in Gotham. Surely, they couldn’t hide out for long without people noticing them.

But no.

Nothing. Common henchmen were out of jobs, competitors were encroaching on their territories, allies called for help… and yet they refused to make an appearance. It seemed the Rogues had just grabbed Marinette and gone off-world.

A painful memory kept replaying in his mind. Taunting him.

The two of them had been sitting on a park bench on one of their many not-exactly-a-date-but-yeah-it’s-basically-a-date things that they loved to go on.

He remembered her in the Red Robin themed hoodie. The brilliant smile she’d given him. The twinkle in her eyes. The teasing lilt to her voice as she explained why he was her favorite hero:

‘Of course! He’s super smart! I mean, I know Batman is supposed to be the greatest detective of all time or whatever but, considering ages and experience, I think that Red Robin is probably going to have him beat in… I don’t know, a few years?’

She’d been laying it on thick, he knew, she’d been aware of his identity by then and was doing it to fluster him… but he could tell she wasn’t lying. Even if that was more blunt than she tended to be, it was still what she really thought of him.

The memory used to make him blush. Now, it hurt.

He downed his third cup of coffee at the hour, eyes locked on the screen in front of him. There had to be SOMETHING. There was always something.

And, yet, there wasn’t. The place she’d been taken had clearly been prepped for her kidnapping. There was hardly any blood anywhere outside of a bit on the wall where she must have hit it, someone must have set up a tarp or something. The only things they could find were the broken pieces of her comm and two ears. Forensics confirmed they were hers; the earrings they normally bore were missing, but they could hardly care about that when the first -- and likely tamest -- thing they’d done was cut off her ears.

That was it. There were footprints, sure, but they got lost in the millions of footprints on the streets of Gotham.

He threw his empty mug across the cave, but when it splintered on the ground he didn’t feel any better. It didn’t help him find her.

The moment his eyes landed on her, he knew.

He could recognize that look anywhere. Bleached-white skin, cherry-red lips… her usual pigtails had been raised in an imitation of Harley’s signature look...

Just like Tim had been Joker Jr., she was now Harley Jr.

Part of him wanted to assure her that she would be fine, that he was living proof that she would be okay again eventually. The other part knew that it was a lie, that she, just like him, would likely never be fully ‘okay’ ever again.

He blinked away the tears threatening to spill over.

He should not have allowed Dick to make him sleep, should have widened the scope of his search, he should have simply done so much more than he had.

No mystery was completely unsolvable. He had to have missed something.

He’d failed her, and now she was paying the price for his shortcomings.

Damian

Mother had taught him that relationships were a liability. They made you weak. They made you lose.

Father and Richard had taught him that relationships were tricky, but they were worth having.

But, if relationships were worth having, why did they cause him so much pain?

First Father had died. Then Richard had ‘died’.

Those had been temporary, at least. He had started to have difficulty feeling sad when people died. There had been three deaths in the family since he’d joined including his own, and they always came back within a few months. It had started to feel like the Wayne family was untouchable.

Then Alfred had been killed brutally by Bane. Even now, years later, he had yet to make a miraculous reappearance.

So, no, they weren’t untouchable.

They were assuming she was alive, that the Rogues were keeping her around for some big thing. But, as time stretched on with no progress or proof that she was even alive, he started to lose hope. Why were they so quiet? What were they planning? Had those plans gone awry? The Rogues could never match him on impulse control, so something might have happened…

He told himself it didn’t matter if she was alright or not. He knew it was a lie.

Despite their rocky start, he’d found himself attaching to her far faster than he should have. He was regretting it now. Maybe he should have put a distance between them, maybe then this wouldn’t have hurt so much.

It didn’t help that he couldn’t seem to stop thinking about her. It was the little things that seemed to hurt the most. The smell of coffee or baked goods, the place where she’d scratched her initials into a chair to claim it as hers, even the color red...

It was making it hard, if he were to be honest, to fight properly. He was constantly distracted. His mother had been right, his attachment to her was making him weak.

Not to mention the ring on his finger... He couldn’t bring himself to transform, not without his partner. Part of him wanted to tear it off his finger, to toss it off a pier and get rid of the constant reminder that she was gone, but he couldn’t.

It was all he had left of her, after all.

“Is that really you?”

“Maybe.”

No. The answer was no. He could see it in her eyes. Whoever was in front of them, they weren’t Marinette anymore. Not really.

“You’re pale.”

“Yeah. Lack of sunlight and chemical baths tend to do that.”

He clenched his fists tightly. The ring dug into his skin, but he couldn’t bring himself to care.

After all, he wasn’t stupid. He was aware of what had happened to Drake during his tenure as Robin. He knew what he’d been forced to do, and he was sure she was there to finish the job.

He readied himself for a fight.

He’d failed her, yes, but he couldn’t afford to lose another person.

#marinette dupain cheng #ladybug #maribat #alternate ending #alternative ending #shit's been Happening in my life recently so this fic may get updated again soon oof #joker #harley quinn #harley quinzel #tim drake #red robin #timinette #dick grayson #nightwing #jason todd #red hood #damian wayne #robin

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hysterialevi · 3 years

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Hjarta | Final Chapter

Fanfic summary: In an AU where Eivor was adopted by Randvi’s family instead, he ends up falling in love with the man his sister has been promised to despite the arranged marriage between their clans.

Point of view: third-person

Pairing: Sigurd Styrbjornson x Male Eivor

Author’s note: Holy shit I can’t believe it’s already the last chapter. Thank you guys so much for sticking with this story from the start, and for sending me wonderful comments/messages of support. I really had fun writing this fanfic and interacting with you all, so I hope you’ll enjoy this last part of Hjarta. This story seriously means a lot to me, and it makes my day to know how many of you liked it. Stay awesome :)

This story is also on AO3 | Previous chapter

THRYMR’S TOMB

A WHILE LATER

“Eivor!” Sigurd called out through the storm, forcing his way across the snow. “Are you there?”

The prince shielded his face from the frost with a protective arm and squinted, desperately searching for his lover as he wandered blindly through the fog. The young man had disappeared from the battle not too long ago, and seemingly taken Kjotve’s fate into his own hands. What became of either of them still remained a mystery to Sigurd, and as more time passed by, he found himself feeling increasingly worried for Eivor’s life.

“Eivor!” He repeated a tad louder this time. “Say something! Can you hear me?”

Much to his relief, a faint voice answered from a distance.

“...I’m here, Sigurd...!”

Inching closer towards the voice, the older man ventured deeper into the mist and peered forward, only to spot the outline of a familiar shadow trudging in his direction.

Eivor was sauntering underneath the sun’s blurred rays with a slight hiccup in his step, and fresh blood clinging to his axe. His face seemed to be wiped clean of all the energy that once burned in his eyes, and yet, he appeared to be... at peace.

A calming aura could be seen blossoming from his heart like a single flower in a barren field, and in a strange way, it almost looked as if he had completely forgotten about the war. Not a single hint of dread or terror weathered his blissful expression, and the ribbons of sunlight dancing above him only added to his soothing demeanor.

Sigurd picked up his pace and began jogging, eagerly rushing to rejoin his lover.

“Eivor...!” He said with a sigh of relief, immediately pulling the man into a hug. “There you are.”

Eivor allowed his head to sit on Sigurd’s chest, giving himself some time to breathe.

“...Sigurd,” he whispered out of exhaustion, “...I did it. I actually did it.”

The prince continued cradling the younger man in his embrace, providing him with a sense of warmth amidst all the snow.

“What happened to you, Eivor? Where’s Kjotve? I saw you run off with him earlier. Is he dead? Did you... did you kill him?”

Eivor nodded and closed his eyes, not even bothering to say a word.

“Truly...?” Sigurd asked, staring at the other man in disbelief.

Could it really be possible that the battle was already finished? It hadn’t been too long ago that the prince was barely evading death’s grasp, and now, the storm had suddenly passed. Part of him found the news too good to be true considering the path they used to get here, and yet, something in Eivor’s tone rang with sincerity.

Sigurd tightened his grip on the smaller warrior and chuckled out of elation, nearly breaking into tears. “Then it’s over. The war... is finally over.”

He brought a hand to Eivor’s chin, lifting it gently so that he could see his face.

“What about you, my love? Are you well?”

The Wolf-Kissed displayed a subtle smile, radiating as if he were the moon itself.

“...I am. For the first time since that night... I’m okay.”

Sigurd returned the smile and cupped the back of Eivor’s head, pulling him close so that he could plant a kiss on his forehead.

“Good.”

Staying snuggled in each other’s arms, the couple took some time to enjoy the peace as the storm steadily died down around them, allowing more and more of the sun to break through. The crippling mist that had built up during the battle was slowly beginning to fade, and soon enough, nothing but a vast blue sky remained hovering above them.

Unbeknownst to Sigurd however, a third party had already found them and walked in on their brief reunion, but had not yet announced their presence.

In the distance, Arngeir quietly watched the scene in front of him unfold with a sense of shock clouding his mind, causing him to gawk incredulously. Even though he suspected that the prince would be somewhere in the vicinity with his son, he did not expect the two of them to be enwrapped in such a loving embrace.

...How long had they felt like this, he wondered? Was their bond something that had been ignited due to the recent string of battles, or had this been carrying on ever since Styrbjorn first arrived?

The jarl was honestly at a loss. He held no disgust in his heart for the peculiar couple before him, but he couldn’t deny that he was taken aback. Despite his knowledge of Sigurd and Eivor’s friendship in the past, he never would’ve guessed that there was something deeper between them.

Though, the more Arngeir thought about it, he supposed there really was nothing peculiar about their relationship. The knot that intertwined their fates was made of pure, genuine love delivered straight from the hands of Freya, and to his surprise, he just couldn’t bring himself to interfere.

It was something he hadn’t seen in ages thanks to the horrors of this war, but now that it was over, Arngeir figured he may as well let his doubts die with it.

He had had enough of tragedy.

Turning on his heel, the jarl decided to leave the couple alone and returned to the other half of the island, ready to inform his clan of their miraculous victory. He still didn’t know whether he’d tell Styrbjorn about his unanticipated discovery or not, but one thing was for certain.

Kjotve’s kingdom had finally fallen.

In spite of all the obstacles Styrbjorn’s people faced, his entire bloodline had been struck down, and his throne had been left unattended. No one in Norway would ever hear of his clan again, and his fortress would be left to crumble under the weight of the absence that consumed it.

The barbarian king was vanquished. Just like his legacy.

~~~~~~~~~~

THE NEXT DAY

BJORNHEIMR, THE LONGHOUSE

Sigurd placed the last of his belongings in the crate sitting before him, reminiscing as he stood in the middle of his chambers. It felt like a lifetime ago that he was first packing his things in preparation for the journey to Bjornheimr, and now, he was getting ready to leave.

After ages of enduring this war and accepting it as his reality, the prince had suddenly found himself in a world where Kjotve was no longer a problem, and his clan had been reduced to ashes in the wind.

A new era had been brought about thanks to their victory at Thrymr’s Tomb, and the kingdom now celebrated in harmony to honor the peace that had finally been restored.

Despite the jovial mood of his people however, Sigurd admittedly didn’t know how to process the whole situation himself. Part of him rejoiced due to the fact that he’d never have to deal with Kjotve’s cruelty again, but he would’ve been lying if he said he didn’t have his regrets.

He didn’t come out of this unscathed, after all. The Raven Clan may have emerged victorious from their fight against the barbarian king, but there were still many wounds that needed mending... including Dag’s loss.

Sigurd still remembered his last conversation with the man as if it happened yesterday. Even though Dag proved to be a traitor in his final moments, the prince just couldn’t bring himself to discard the memories they once shared, or the fondness that followed. In his eyes, the fallen warrior would always be that same little boy who kept him company as a child, and pulled him away from the darkness when his mother passed on.

As for the Dag he executed, Sigurd would remember him as no more than a fragment of his childhood friend, and the result of a man who had been crippled by his own jealousy. He would be a reminder for the prince to never fall prey to his demons, lest he lose the soul he had fought so long to preserve. It was what he owed his parents after all these years, and to himself.

Letting out a remorseful sigh, Sigurd shook his head and silenced the thoughts that threatened to encompass his mind, not willing to entertain his grief any further. He would never forget the loved ones he had lost during the events of this war, but for his own sake -- he had to move on.

Lifting up the crate with a soft grunt, Sigurd secured the box in his arms and began striding towards the archway, only to stop in his tracks when he noticed someone waiting for him.

At the moment, Eivor was standing on the other side of the door with his hands linked together and his head hanging low, clearly disheartened by Sigurd’s upcoming departure. His gaze swept in the floor in an attempt to avoid confronting the absence he would soon have to accept, and even the sight of the prince himself wasn’t able to lift his mood.

“Eivor...!” Sigurd greeted. “You came.”

The Wolf-Kissed stepped tentatively into the room, staring at his lover as if this was the last time they’d ever meet.

“Of course I did. I wanted to see you again before...” his expression sank slightly, “...before you left.”

Sigurd took note of the shift in his lover’s mood and placed the crate down for a moment, gently gripping Eivor’s wrist in a comforting manner.

“Eivor,” he said in a gentler tone, “...you know I have to go.”

“I do. I just wish you could stay longer. We spent so much of our time worrying about the people we lost that... we forgot we still had each other. But now that you’re leaving, it’s all I can think about.”

Sigurd lifted a hand to Eivor’s cheek and brushed away a lock of hair, tucking it neatly behind his ear.

“You can still come with me. You know that, right? I realize we’ve had this conversation before, but if you truly want us to stay together, I can arrange that.”

In spite of his sorrow, the younger man remained staunch in his decision. “I’m sorry, Sigurd, but I must remain here. As much as I wish I could go with you, Bjornheimr needs me. My father needs me. I’m the only family he has left apart from Randvi, and she’ll be gone too.”

Sigurd nodded sympathetically. “Very well. If that’s what you wish.”

Eivor paused briefly, switching to a different concern on his mind. “...You will visit me, right? This won’t be the last time I’ll see you?”

“Of course not,” the prince reassured. “I can’t say when I’ll have the chance to return to Bjornheimr, but -- I promise you -- as soon as the opportunity reveals itself, I’ll be here again.”

The other man didn’t appear any less forlorn, but accepted the promise nonetheless.

“I’ll be waiting. But until then...” Eivor leaned forward, pecking a goodbye kiss on Sigurd’s lips, “...stay safe, my love. I wish nothing but happiness for you.”

The prince pressed his forehead against Eivor’s, cherishing their last few minutes together.

“The same goes for you. My duties may require me to start a new life in preparation for the throne, but I’ll never forget everything you’ve done. Thank you. I mean it.”

Taking a few more moments to bask in each other’s company, the two of them simply cuddled in silence before separating the embrace, and retreating to the shells they so often wore around the rest of the village.

The sun had managed to climb to the top of the sky’s apex by now, and most of the Raven Clan were already gathered at the docks. The longships were fit to set sail after an entire morning’s worth of preparations, and their people were eager to return home. The only thing they needed now... was the presence of their prince himself.

“I suppose it’s time for me to leave.” Sigurd noted somberly, reluctantly taking hold of the crate once again. “Care to join me for the walk to the ship?”

Eivor concealed his pain with a friendly veil and stepped to the side, allowing Sigurd some room to walk through the doorway.

“After you, my friend.”

~~~~~~~~~~

A LITTLE LATER

THE DOCKS

Walking alongside one another as they headed towards the shore, Eivor and Sigurd strolled silently through the village with a bittersweet relief resting in their spirits, clouding their minds like the smoke of a cold pyre.

It brought them both great joy to see Kjotve’s reign finally come to an end, but they couldn’t stop themselves from wondering what waited beyond the horizon now that the war was over.

Was this the start of Sigurd’s life as a future king? Would he and Randvi truly be the rulers of Norway one day? How was he even going to raise a family? The prince had never planned to be a father, and a part of him wanted to scream at the thought of being forced to hide his true emotions once again.

He didn’t want to forget Eivor, or the things they experienced together. These past few weeks had been some of the best and worst moments of his life, and he dreaded the idea of allowing their bond to fade into a distant memory. But for the sake of his kingdom, Sigurd knew he had to leave the man behind if he wanted any chance of becoming a decent leader.

It was his duty, after all. Styrbjorn had managed to keep his end of the promise in regards to battling his addiction, so the prince figured it would only be fair if he upheld his own. Personal thoughts and desires no longer mattered within the realm of royalty. From this day on, Sigurd would be living to serve his people -- not himself.

“There they are.” He remarked, gesturing towards the end of the pier. Eivor followed Sigurd’s line of sight, only to spot Styrbjorn, Arngeir, and Randvi all waiting by the longship.

“So this is it then,” he said, already missing the prince’s company. “This is where we part ways.”

Sigurd shared his partner’s disappointment, but tried to keep a strong face nonetheless. “For now. You and I will be separated for some time, but I’ll visit you as much as I can. And you’re always welcome in Fornburg too, should you ever wish to come to me instead.”

“Thank you. I’ll consider it.”

Eivor placed a hand on the side of the prince’s arm, saying one last thing while he still had the chance.

“...Wait, Sigurd. Before you go.”

The older man came to a pause, giving Eivor a curious glance. “Yes? What is it?”

The Wolf-Kissed stuttered, admittedly unsure of where he was taking this. He didn’t have anything in particular he wanted Sigurd to hear -- he just hoped to keep him around for a little longer.

“Erm, n-nothing. I just wanted to say I love you.”

Sigurd smiled warmly at the comment despite Eivor’s awkwardness and chuckled lightly, attempting to comfort him.

“I love you too, Eivor. Never forget it.”

Leaving the younger man with those words, Sigurd carried on with the task at hand and sauntered towards the ship, placing the crate down by the boarding plank as one of the oarsmen came to assist him. Meanwhile, Styrbjorn greeted the two men with a cheery temperament, happy to get things going.

“Sigurd, Eivor!” The king exclaimed jovially. “It’s good to see you both in one piece after the battle yesterday. We lost many warriors during the assault at Thrymr’s Tomb, but now, we at least have the luxury of saying that their deaths weren’t in vain...” he turned to the Wolf-Kissed, “...and it’s all thanks to you, my boy.”

Eivor bowed his head in a humble manner. “I only did what was required of me.”

Styrbjorn let out a soft laugh. “Nonsense. Sigurd has told me of the tenacity you displayed on the battlefield. You showed great courage, and you fought with honor. It is thanks to your efforts that Kjotve now lies in a frigid tomb.”

Arngeir joined in. “Indeed. Had it not been for your valor, we would all still be bound by Kjotve’s chains. Varin would be proud of you, Eivor. And Ulfar too.”

“Thank you, father.”

Eivor brought his attention to Styrbjorn, trying his best to hide the sorrow lurking within him. “...So, I imagine you’ll be departing soon?”

To his surprise, the king appeared to have other things in mind. “Actually, there is something else your father and I would like to discuss first. Something that concerns you and my son.”

Sigurd froze at that, already suspicious of where this was leading. “...W-What do you mean?”

Arngeir stepped forward, hesitant to speak any further. “Forgive my being candid, but we are aware of the relationship between you two.”

Eivor instantly felt the color drain from his face, and he could’ve sworn he saw his own soul fleeing from his body.

“You-- what?”

“Do not be alarmed, my son. I am not here to pass judgement. Only to offer a proposal.”

“But... how? How did you find out?”

Arngeir crossed his arms in thought. “Yesterday, during the battle. Sigurd and I left the fort in order to search for you. We noticed you had disappeared at some point, and feared you may be in danger. Though, by the time I stumbled upon you, you had already found your way to the prince.”

“That means... you saw us...”

“...Embracing one another, yes. I apologize, Eivor. I did not mean to intrude.”

The young man exchanged glances with Sigurd, terrified to see the outcome of this discovery. “So, what does this mean for us? Are we to face punishment?”

Arngeir shook his head. “No. Quite the contrary, actually. I realize it isn’t my place to speak about this -- and for that I am sorry -- but I admit I shared this news with Styrbjorn once we returned, for I had an idea in mind that I wished to broach.”

That caught Sigurd’s attention. “An idea? About what?”

Styrbjorn provided the answer. “About this alliance, of course. You see, when we first arranged this marriage between you and Randvi, we did so with the intention of forming an ironclad bond. A bond born out of love. We believed it would be a way to ensure that our clans never fell apart, since our families would be intertwined from that day on. Clearly however, we were mistaken.”

The jarl nodded in agreement. “Indeed. It seems that the bond we were looking for... had been between you two all along.”

Arngeir trailed off into silence for a moment, considering his next words.

“Listen, both of you. Styrbjorn and I had a long conversation yesterday once I revealed my discovery. We discussed many things pertaining to this alliance, and after our talk, we came to the conclusion that... this marriage is no longer necessary.”

Sigurd’s eyes widened in shock. “Wait, are you saying that it’s over?”

“Ultimately, the choice lies with you. If you wish to end this marriage, and if Eivor decides to go in Randvi’s stead, then I have already told Styrbjorn that I have no qualms with it.”

The prince immediately looked at his lover, radiating with a newfound hope.

“Eivor...! Think about it. You could join me, just like we wanted.”

The Wolf-Kissed glanced at Arngeir, double-checking with him first.

“But what about you, father? Are you certain about this? I don’t want to abandon you.”

The jarl gave him a reassuring pat on the arm. “Do not fret, Eivor. You’re not abandoning anybody. If you choose to stay with Sigurd, then Randvi will remain here in your place. Neither of us will be alone.”

Randvi suddenly jumped into the conversation, encouraging her brother to follow his desires.

“Go on, Eivor. It’s okay. Father and I will have each other. We’ll rebuild Bjornheimr, and return this village to what it once was. By the time you come back, this place will be thriving more than it ever did. In the meantime, go with Sigurd. A new life awaits you in Fornburg. Don’t let this opportunity pass.”

“She’s right, Eivor,” Arngeir said. “All I’ve ever wanted for any of you is to be happy. If you believe that being with Sigurd is best for you, then go.”

The young man stumbled over his words, rendered completely speechless by how this scenario had turned out. When he awoke this morning, he never imagined that he’d be given the option to freely roam the kingdom at Sigurd’s side, living with him as if they were family.

If anything, Eivor fully expected that he would be bidding the prince farewell, and left to wallow in the melancholy that had formed in his heart during this past month. So much anger and regret had taken control of his spirit’s reins ever since the news of Sigurd’s departure, and now... it was all gone. Just like that.

“I... I don’t know what to say,” he replied. “...Thank you, father. You can’t imagine how much this means to me.”

A gleeful expression spread across the jarl’s face. “I’m glad, Eivor.”

Randvi wrapped her arms around her younger brother, pulling the man into one last hug before saying goodbye.

“We’ll miss you, little cub. Take care of yourself, and each other. Alright?”

“We will. I promise.”

The woman gave him a playful shove. “Then get out of here. And make sure to knock plenty of skulls. Let the world know who we are.”

Eivor chuckled at the response, grinning from ear-to-ear. “The Bear Clan’s name will be fluttering from the lips of every bard in Norway when I’m done. I assure you. Until then, farewell, and thank you for all you’ve given me.”

The Wolf-Kissed walked over to Sigurd’s side, openly taking hold of his hand for the first time since they met. The prince’s eyes were twinkling with a vibrant ray of hope at this point, and a familiar sense of contentment had finally returned to his soul.

“Come, my love,” Eivor ushered. “Fornburg awaits.”

~~~~~~~~~~

LATER THAT DAY

Steadily gliding across the ocean’s hills, the longship broke free from the harbor and began heading out towards the vastness of the open sea, prepared to deliver its occupants back home after a long and arduous battle.

Petals of snow could be seen dancing along the surface of the vessel’s billowing sails, and in the distance, the sun’s light shone through the mountains, causing the water below to shimmer with a glittering streak.

Birds soared in harmony with the wind that guided the longship’s course and left a trail of feathers in their wake, accompanying the warriors who sailed beneath their wings.

All the creatures of Midgard seemed to band together in celebration now that the age of war had perished, and the earth cried out in relief due to the lack of blood littering its soil.

As for Eivor, the man simply rested against the longship’s walls and marveled at the view in front of him, listening intently while Sigurd entertained him with tales of Fornburg’s wonders. The prince spoke of his home with a great fondness and constructed vivid images using only the movement of his hands, painting a clear picture for his companion.

Meanwhile, the oarsmen behind them burst into song and began reciting a number of sea shanties, singing heartily as if they were performing for the gods themselves. Their voices rang merrily into the sky like a horn of victory, and the world around them seemed to bloom with revival.

It was the start of a new dawn. After countless years of pointless death and suffering, the clans in Norway had become united under one crown, and Kjotve had paid the ultimate price. His name had been blotted out with the stain of a mad tyrant, and his victims had been released from their ethereal chains in the afterlife.

Most importantly though, Eivor no longer felt the need to hide who he was. The fantasy that once haunted him in his dreams had become a reality, and now, he was free to love Sigurd as any man would love his wife. The times of fear and judgement were over at last, and the alliance between their peoples had been reignited with a different bond.

Their relationship would be the foundation of many things to come, and just like Ingrida once said, they had finally found their way home after decades of straying from their fate.

It was what the Nornir planned all along, and the one thing Varin always wished for his son -- the one thing he could never achieve.

Freedom.

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