#breaking my tumblr silence bc i cannot stop thinking about this

[lettowkaminsky]

it’s unbelievable how much join us for a bite fits re7

#breaking my tumblr silence bc i cannot stop thinking about this #elliott.txt

[babiesdreams]

+18 (Adult content)

The devil’s choice +18 00 line sixsome

Warnings: Sixsome ofc, oral (g and r), degradation, deep throat, praise, hard dom shit, overstimulation, anal, idk what else.

Reposting bc Tumblr flagged it.

“Let’s just get the assignment done alright?” You shout, stopping the mess going on by the boys surrounding you. You loved your friends but sometimes they could be a pain in the ass. They were just too messy god. “They started it” Donghyuck spits out, but Renjun gives him a look. “Excuse me, should we talk about last night?”

“Don’t you fucking dare” Hyuck replies glaring at him with a serious look. “Why?? I’m sure Y/n wants to know” The boy replies teasingly. “Dude, stop it” Jaemin says grabbing renjun’s arm trying to shut him up. “What would I want to know?” You ask innocently and Yangyang, who’s been sitting next to you the whole time, caress your knee saying a soft “It’s nothing”

“No, I wanna know” you say getting up. Everyone looks at you with a weird expression “What’s it?” You scream, wanting answers. “We talked about...” Jaemin starts saying “Dude shut up” Jeno stops him inmediately. “They were arguing about who would fuck you better” Yangyang spits out.

“THEY?” Haechan screams at him. “I remember you being so enthusiastic about it as well” Jaemin says teasingly, pointing at Yangyang. “And what was your conclusion?” You say looking at Haechan who instantly tsks at you. “It was obiously me” He says proudly, and at first you think he’s just being full of himself as usual, but when nobody protest, you chuckle.

“Oh my god y’all are soooo wrong” You say walking away from everyone towards the kitchen. “Hey, he was basically begging to win, what did you want us to do?” Jeno explains farther more as you dissapear through the corridor.

You start searching for something to eat while you hear a new chaos forming in the living room. You take your time as you think everyone’s going crazy with the fight. “I know Hyuck wouldn’t be the best one” Renjun whispers to your ear as his body gets closer to yours. You can feel his bulge against your butt, slightly hard.

“W-what?” You stutter, feeling the boy’s hand around your waist before he turns you around, forcing you to look at him. “I know I’m the best match for you in here” He whispers getting closer to your lips. “R-renjjun” You whisper trying to get off his hold.

“Hey, get off her, you pervert” Jaemin screams from the door frame and Renjun walks away from your figure, kind of leaving you with some weird neediness. You whimper unconciously by the sudden emptiness the boy leaves you with. Both of the boys’ gazes turn to you, analyzing what just happened.

“Did you just...?” Renjun starts asking and Jaemin looks at him confused “Did she just...?” You turn completely red and shake your head. “Let’s go to the living room” You say walking fastly pass the boys.

When you arrive to the living room the other three boys are standing right next to each other, arms crossed and waiting for you to come back. “We decided that we are gonna let you choose” Jeno says and you start laughing. “What is this Fuck, marry, kill?” You ask confused.

“Kinda” Haechan says flirtly. “I’ll kill Haechan then” You say sipping on the drink you grabbed from the kitchen. “And who would you fuck?” Yangyang asks right away. You choke on your drink, laughing out loud right after. “You guys are so needy, you need to get railed” You say jokingly.

“Said the whinning girl. Bet you’re craving for all of us to fuck you now” Renjun says teasingly. “WHAT?” Haechan asks confused. “She literally whimpered when I got off her in the kitchen” Renjun explains. “That’s true” Jaemin admits.

“No it’s not. And y’all need to calm down” You shout at them, already done with the conversation. “Just admit it” Renjun shouts back, making you back up a little. “I do not-”

“You could have just told us if you were so needy baby” Jaemin says getting closer to you. “You’re so dirty that you want a sixsome? I couldn’t have guessed that, miss innocent” Yangyang spits out, making you blush. “Okay, fine stop” You say, making everyone freeze in their places.

“I-I may be down, but-” You were about to set some rules, but Haechan grabs you before you can say anything. His lips shut yours up, making you unable to protest as his hand travels down your hips. His body direct you to the bedroom, where he lets you fall onto the big bed. You can hear footsteps following you, though you’re unable to tell who they are from, as you keep your eyes closed, getting lost in the kiss.

You eventually feel some hands over your body, but you’re unable to tell who they’re from. “Let me taste her too” You hear Jeno say. Haechan gets pulled away from the kiss by Jeno’s strong arms. The younger boy’s lips get replaced by Jeno’s, who kisses you deeply and heatedly.

You can hear hyuck’s protests mixed with some belt tingling. Someone’s hand starts getting your clothes off, letting you feel the cold air of the room against your warm and wet cunt.

You moan inside Jeno’s kiss when you feel some fingers inside of you, and someone’s tongue pressed against your clit. “She’s so wet, dude” Yangyang says, revealing his position.

On your upper body, you can feel two people sucking on each of your nipples, each one following a different pace and technique. The sensations are overwhelming to say the least.

Jeno gets off the kiss with a heavy breath, allowing you to get some air as well. The view is even more overwhelming. Renjun was the one licking your clit and the two other boys were on eash side of your body licking your breasts. Yangyang looks at you while he fingers you, winking teasingly at your desperate expression.

You let your head fall back, while you feel Jeno’s tongue drawing paths on your neck, in between whispers that you are not quite able to understand. “Who do you want to fill you in first?” Yangyang ask looking right into your eyes. You moan softly, unable to make any sense of your thoughts.

“I’ll be last” Renjun says, stopping his actions for a split second and then coming back. “That’s not fair” Haechan says leaving your nipple with a wet pop. “Let her decide” Yangyang says angrily, stopping his fingers for a moment.

“I-I, Yangyang” You manage to say, just wanting the discussion to be over at last. The boy smiles at your words, getting his pants and boxers off. You close your eyes, not wanting the view to overwhelm you farther more.

You soonly feel Yangyang’s tip against your entrance, concentrating on the feeling of his length stretching your walls, even if the rest of the sensations are not easy to ignore. His veiny dick hits every little spot inside of you, not leaving a single empty space.

“Fuck, she’s so tight” He growls out. You get distracted by Jeno’s whispers on your ear as he says “Good girl, you’re doing great...” And a whole bunch of sweet nothings. You’re too driven by his words that you don’t notice how Yangyang’s thrusts speed up fastly.

Renjun, had climbed out since the boy entered you, getting to your belly, drawing wet paths with his tongue and then repeating them with his fingers. Haechan and Jaemin had stopped sucking your nipples long ago, as they were already too redish.

They were now competing on who leaves more hickeys along your breasts and neck. You are not looking, but your skintone cannot be seen anymore as the purpleish marks are covering your it completely.

Yangyang’s moans mixed up with your own, forming a nice harmony that fills the silence in the room. His dick twitches inside of you, hinting you on how close he actually is. You can also feel a wave of arousal coming, as all the different sensations mix up in your brain.

Before you notice, your walls are completely painted in white, as Yangyang gets out of you. Everyone praises your exhausted self, and caress your body in different ways and parts. After you calm down from your high, Hyuck and Jaemin position themselves.

Jaemin gets behind you and hyuck on top of you. Both of their tips hit your entrances. While hyuck enters inmediately, Jaemin lets his fingers play inside your butt, prepating yourself for the incoming painfully satisfying sensation.

Hyuck starts with a fast pace, as he’s aware of how overworked your body may feel and he doesn’t want you to. Jaemin finally enters you, after a long foreplay with his fingers. And it still feels somehow painfull, even though pleasure brushes the pain away. “Fuck, you’re so tight and so good for me baby” Hyuck moans out, while his sweat makes his skin glow down the lighting of the room, making a perfect picture on front of your eyes.

Both penetrations coordinate and uncoordinate at different timings, making you confused for determing who’s inside of you at the moment. Jeno, has taken his pants and boxers off as well, making you suck on his dick. Though your movements don’t really make sense as your brain is really unable to think anything.

Hyuck cums first, letting his cum mix with yangyang’s as the both come out of yous insides slowly dripping down the mattress. You shake out of pleasure at the warm feeling. Jaemin is also close, though he makes you cum first, drawing circles on your clit as he thrusts into you faster and deeper.

He hits places you didn’t know that existed, making a second climax brush over your whole body. He cums right after with loud yet low moans, filling your ass with his white hot cum. You lay down, heavy breathing, taking another break from the situation. They all repeat their praises, including Jeno, who gets his dick out of your mouth, to let you rest for a bit.

After some minutes, you collect yourself and sign the boys to continue their actions. Jeno drags you to the floor, getting you into a kneeling position. He grabs your hair strongly as he guides you through his length, hitting the back of your throat with his tip.

You gag everytime he does, and it seems to somehow motivate him, as he keeps doing it faster and deeper. Precum starts coming out of his tip, mixing up with your saliva as it drips down your mouth. The view is quite something. Everybody is just watching in awe at how beautiful you look like that.

He finally cums inside your mouth, making the dripping even messier as it falls down the floor. He pulls out of your mouth, letting you breathe after you swallow his cum. His hand caress your cheek, making a soft gesture after his brutal actions.

“You did great babygirl” He says placing a kiss on your soft lips. Your whole body shakes due to the overwork and the new neediness Jeno worked out on you. But still you smile at him, eanting to give back some of the love he was giving you.

“Are you too tired?” Renjun asks kind of tired of waiting. You shake your head at him, blinking slowly as you collect yourself once more. Renjun’s eyes are fixed on your figure, analyzing the truth behind your words.

He stands up getting closer to your kneeling figure. His arms grab you in the air, letting your legs surround his waist. He drags you back to the bed, putting you down as he does. Your body gets hug by the nice texture of the bedsheet’s fabric.

The softness of the sheets drives you in as you get lost in the feeling of his hold around your body. His tip enters you as soon as you fall into the mattress. His length enters completely getting the rest of the boys’ cum to move in your walls.

Everyone stays aside as Renjun’s posture is basically not allowing them to be nearby, so they are basically forced into watching how he fucks you senseless.

His hips move fast as he thrusts you, his hands wiping the sweat off your forehead. Tears start falling down your cheeks as pleasure overwhelms you. His fingertips wipe them off. “Look at you, crying for my dick, how pathetic” The sudden degradation makes you blush, and the boy notices right away, getting encouraged by it.

“You have just been craving for my cock all day huh?” He growls out as he speeds up. Your moans leave your lips uncontrollably. “That’s right, I’m the one who fucks you the best after all, aren’t I?” He asks teasingly and you simply nod. “SAY IT” He shouts at you, rubbing your clit in fast circles.

Your whole body shakes as his moves drive you crazy. “You are the best, renjun” You manage to say in between desperate moans. He stops his fingers, keeping his pace steady on you. “You fucking love this don’t you? God you’re such a whore” He growls, getting closer to his own climax.

“Cum for me, baby, let them know, who’s the best” Renjun says under his breath and shortly after you cum again, losing count of your highs. He cums shortly after, but unless the rest of the boys, he stays inside of you, caressing your neck, collarbone, chest, belly, and all the way back up, while you calm down.

“You did an amazing job Y/N, he says kissing every spot his fingertips already touched. The rest of the boys keep praising you as well, getting closer now. And just like tha in between soft touches and kisses you fall asleep peacefully.

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Masterlist –requests open– How to request?  Check out your score.

#nct scenarios #nct imagine #nct smut #nct reactions #nct dream smut #sixsome #kpop scenarios #kpop imagine #kpop reactions #kpop scenario #kpop smut #wayv smut

[lifesabe-ch]

full scoop - jj m.

summary: after returning to the outer banks for spring break, you’re pleasantly surprised to see JJ again. Apparently, he missed you more than you thought

request: I love ur writing it’s so good :’) if ur taking requests, can u do #4 from the prompt list with jj 💕 “Are you flirting with me?” “You finally noticed?”

pairings: jj maybank x reader

warnings: spilled ice cream

a/n: reposting this bc it got no notes and I absolutely love this so ...tumblr do better

“Hey, sorry to bother you, but I was hoping you could tell me where the beach was?”

As you turned, you extended a hand towards the direction of the pier, “Yeah, it’s just down… JJ?!”

The boy in front of you grinned at your shocked expression, eagerly returning your quick hug. You hadn’t seen him since the summer the two of you had gone your separate ways.

After graduation, JJ had decided to take a gap year. Or a couple. He wasn’t sure. He had always assumed you would do the same, or at least stay local, but your plans had changed. You had applied for a school in the North East without his knowledge earlier in the year, assuming you wouldn’t even get in. But you did, and they offered you a scholarship. Even if you wanted to, your parents wouldn’t let you pass up the opportunity.

The day you had told him had been one of the worst for the both of you. It felt like when JJ had lost John B. to Sarah. Except, with that, he had gotten the chance to know Sarah. He wouldn’t be able to follow you to your school, nor would he get to meet all the people you met.

You had tried keeping in touch after you had left, but it hadn’t lasted for much longer than a few phone calls. You were busy with school, and JJ was busy with the other Pogues. You both knew during that last phone call that things wouldn’t be the same. The two of you felt like instantly, in that moment, you were shifted worlds apart.

It has been just over a year now, with you having just returned from college for spring break.

As the two of you pulled away, you tucked some hair behind your ear, subtly taking him in. He looked the same, but somehow different. Happier.

“Long time no see,” He teased. “How’s that fancy college treating you?”

You laughed as you responded, your words accompanied by a small shrug, “It’s nice. It’s big and I love it but…”

“It’s not the Outer Banks,” he finishes, gauging your expression.

“Exactly.”

The silence that followed was awkward. It wasn’t that the two of you weren’t brainstorming ways to continue your conversation, it was that you both couldn’t seem to decide on how to keep it going.

Clearing his throat lightly, he beat you to it.

“I was heading down to the beach… if, you know, you wanted to join me?”

You weren’t busy. That much was obvious. But you still took the time to think over his offer. You weren’t sure why you hesitated, but you did.

“Okay,” You nod, flashing him a tiny grin, “I’d like that.”

TIME slipped away from the two of you much too fast for your liking. You had spent the day trying to learn how to surf. It was a lot of falling off the board and getting made fun of by JJ, but you had fun. It felt easy between the two of you, the remaining awkwardness fading almost as soon as you had gotten into the water.

He’d even bought ice cream for you both.

You smile as you remembered the encounter from just hours earlier, and the way he had mentioned the hangout you two had first had in the same place.

You were both so awkward around each other. And by both, you meant you. JJ was his charming self.

“No, I swear, I was super nervous when I took you there!”

You shook your head at the boy in front of you, shoving a spoonful of your ice cream into your mouth, “Nu uh! I was nervous. I thought we were on a date the entire time and then you just mentioned that we would be really great friends at the end of it!”

He groaned at the memory, eliciting a laugh from you as you watched his cheeks tint red in embarrassment, “I can’t believe I said that. I had planned to kiss you but then I chicken out and—”

“And friend zoned me.”

“Yep,” He solemnly nodded, an apologetic look on his features, “I’m sorry.”

Waving him off, you shrugged, “JJ, don’t even worry about it, we were kids. It’s water under the bridge now. You were right, anyway.”

“Yeah,” he speaks, before pausing.

“Right about what, exactly?”

“Us being good friends,” You smile at him, gesturing with your hands as the two of you walk along the sand.

“I didn’t think we would at first, if I’m being honest. But we were. You were my best friend.”

“Were?” He nudged you, chuckling.

“Hey, you were the one who stopped calling me!”

“Only because you were always too busy with your new college friends.”

“Not true,” you reprimanded, clicking your tongue.

“I made new friends, but I always liked my old ones more.”

“How was that, anyway? Making friends and… stuff.”

Ignoring the weird infliction of voice when he said stuff, you just shrugged, “It was okay. My roommate was the one who introduced me to people, mostly.”

JJ nodded, smirking at you, “I bet you managed to land all of the boys up there. That’s why you never called, you didn’t have time with all of your new boyfriends.”

You laughed loudly, shoving his free arm with your own, “Don’t even. We both know that out of the two of us, you’re the one who pulls.”

You watched as he stumbled dramatically from your push, flashing you a smile that caused those all too familiar butterflies to flutter in your stomach.

“We both know there’s only one girl for me.”

Ignoring the way his stare burned into you, you glance down at the sand before looking back over at him. A smile instantly erupted on your features at your own idea, as you took off.

“Race ya!” Was all you could manage to call back, laughing as you heard JJ’s groans of protest as he hurried to catch up.

Naturally, you had won. You had made it to the small tree further down the beach seconds before JJ, jumping in excitement for your own victory.

“Hah! I won!”

As you hopped around, you topple over your ice cream, gasping loudly as it spills onto the sand. Just your luck that it would spill not as you were running, but rather right after you stopped.

Still trying to catch his breath, he laughs as he watches you kneel besides the mess, hurriedly scooping whatever you could back up with your spoon.

“Bet you don’t feel like a winner now.”

You frowned as you glanced over at him, still hunched over, clutching his own ice cream protectively.

“JJ… it’s ruined!”

“Just wipe the sand off.”

You stared at him in disbelief, scoffing lightly, “Right, maybe I should just wash it off in the ocean while I’m at it?”

“That’s honestly not a bad idea! It’d wash away the sand.”

He wasn’t joking. In fact, he was the most serious he had been the whole day.

“And the rest of the ice cream! It’s water. Salt water.”

JJ has to ponder your words. He was playing out different ice cream washing scenarios in his head, trying to figure out which would cause the least damage. He didn’t think you were right, but he pretended that you were, for your sake.

Sitting down besides you, he offers up his own, smiling, “Have mine, then.”

“That’s not fair to you.”

He shrugged, smiling sweetly at you, “It’s fine, Y/N. You want it more anyway.”

Taking the cup he was practically forcing into your hand, you pout, “I feel bad.”

“Don’t, it’s fine. And stop pouting, it’s cute but it won’t work.”

Blushing slightly, you roll your eyes, grabbing a spoonful and holding it out for him, “Whatever. But we’re sharing.”

Gladly taking what you were offering, JJ smirked as his lips wrapped around the spoon before pulling away, causing your blush to darken even more.

Dipping it back into the ice cream, you twirled it around before bringing it up to your mouth.

“This is kind of gross. We’re swapping spit right now.”

JJ laughs at your comment, leaning back against the tree bark as he watched you, “Too bad it’s like that. I could think of a better way.”

His response sent you into a stunned silence, your eyes staying focusing on the grains of sand in front of you. If you had to pick between counting out every grain of sand on this beach and feeling as awkward as you currently felt, you’d immediately start counting.

“I… are you flirting with me?”

“You finally noticed?”

You felt like your heart would simultaneously beat out of your chest and stop altogether. Had he really just said that?

“What?”

Moving forward to tuck a strand of your hair behind your ear, it was JJ’s turn to blush, “I’m always trying to flirt with you. You just never respond. I was starting to think you just really didn’t like me.”

“I… I thought you were joking! I didn’t think you could be serious, I’m not your type.”

He rolled his eyes in response, shaking his head, “You’re the only person who’s ever been my type.”

It was quiet for a moment between the two of you, gazes flickering from lips to eyes, back to lips. You both leaned in slowly, careful not to move too fast in fear of making the moment disappear.

When your lips finally touched, the kiss was soft. JJ’s hands found their way to your face, cupping your jaw as he held you close to him. Your hands stayed in your lap, desperately clinging to the small ice cream cup in your hands, your body leaning forward to keep the space between the two of you minimal.

You were the first to pull away, grinning widely at the boy sat across from you,

“That’s really cheesy.”

“You know what else is really cheesy? This dick!”

“JJ, I cannot stress this enough, I find you utterly repulsive.”

With a wide grin, he pulls you the rest of the way to him, resting his forehead against yours, “Fine, then I’m taking my ice cream back.”

Gasping, you pull yourself from him, holding the cup out of his grasp with a glare, “You wouldn’t dare.”

“Try me.”

As you get up, he follows, chasing you around the sand as the two of you laugh. Eventually catching up to you, he wraps his arms around you from behind, lifting you off the ground and knocking the cup over in the process.

“JJ! The ice cream!”

“Next time I’ll buy you two,” was all he muttered, lips already finding their way to your cheek.

#jj maybank #jj maybank x reader #jj maybank x y/n #jj maybank outerbanks #jj outer banks #jj maybank imagine #jj maybank outer banks #jj maybank x reader imagine #jj maybank x you #jj maybank outer banks #outer banks #outer banks imagine #outerbanks #obx

[bloopbyoop]

weep woop

ayo. ive read my scheduled email and its time for freewriting shit again. lmao. I want this post to be like a small light from a lit match stick inside a very hollow, icy, and numbing cave. (sounds cartoonish right? I know. Im obsessed with Adventure Time.) I want all people to be genuinely happy.  Spiritually, emotionally, and physically. Upon reaching my 24th anniversary in this world, I finally learned how to truly embrace all my emotions. Some are more overwhelming than the other, but we have to heed in our treacherous yet perplexing minds that everything is fleeting and we are in control. The feeling of extreme sadness fades, but so does joyful states. Everything can change in a matter of minutes or years. You are in control of all your emotions. You are in control of all your life choices. Your actions. Your words. Your perspective. It feels weird to actually write about it. I've wanted to talk about it. I never wanted help from anyone as I firmly believed that I was alone. Sure, I have a family and friends, but it is hard to see that when your head is clouded with negativity. I've even come to the point where I was too overwhelmed, I found being physically hurt less painful. The pain I felt distracted me from what I was thinking. My mind tended to go bonkers. lmao. But bro, I was so good at concealing my bonkers mind. It's easy to fake any emotion that you have. Slap anything sunshine-y or happy to anything and people would believe you. It went on for years. Long story short, thousands of bracelets collected, it became worse. The physical pain could no longer withhold the emotional pain. Couldn't sleep. Couldn't stop thinking. And voila! I found a good amount of self help books (from tumblr) and novels. Novels that brought me to different places. Self-help books that made me understand what I feel and what to do. I've read that taking the easy way out will leave everyone sad. AND IN THE FIRST PLACEEEEEE, I NEVER WANT THATTTTTTT. I want everyone to be happy. I would act foolish and do dumb shit to make everyone happy in a heartbeat. So, that idea made me push a few more years. Later on, the crippling shit came crawling back again to my head, sooooooo I needed new shit to keep me distracted again. Films, series, music, and short clips from YouTube helped me out a lot. Every single time that my mind is going to think like anything that can think of, even to the point that I was just going to think that I might be hungry, I'd watch something. There's just something about silence for me. Because of this new habit of mine, I've learned more about myself. I love different types of things. I like horror. I like thriller. I like comedy. I like romance. I love all types of films, but there is something about the horror genre that interests me. I still can't point out what, but I love watching horror films. With regards to music, I've learned that I love Indie, Punk Rock, Rap, and Pop. We all can't like a specific genre. It's stupid to ask "what genre of music do you like?". It's not actually stupid-stupid, it's just stupid. Ya know? Anyway, passing this phase, I needed to find something again because it's not doing the shit that it was supposed to, I tried investing more time on video games. By investing more, I mean a whole shit lot. I love video games since I was young cuz.... u know.... they keep u... try to guess it! oh yeah. you got that right! distracted! I love the aggressive plays and trashtalks that my friends and I make. The short stories we tell one another. The rants. The lame jokes. The late night we sound drunk but we are not drunk jokes. The roleplays. The lame jokes. The memes. And once again, The lame jokes. Something about lame jokes and the laughs and curses after that always gets me every single time. Oh shoot. Yup Yup. Few years later, I finally noticed the pattern that my sadness is temporary. I got over it one way or the other (or another. depends on how you wanna read it. i dont wanna say another cause i might write about one direction like what im doing now so-). Happiness is temporary as well. But, we are the ones who are actually in control of our emotions. If you wanna feel sad, be sad for a while. You're getting too sad? Try hanging out with your funny friends. Can't do that? Find an alternative. Watch a movie, knit a sweater. Anything your mind could think of as long as it will keep you mentally distracted from being physically and mentally hurt. I do have a few notes though. We cannot and should never assume what people are going through. It may be petty for you, but it may be very crucial to them. So never everrrr say things like: -Some people have it worse than you -At least you have ..... These sheetsss are annoying as heckkk and could really down someone. I know it is not your intention to annoy but people react differently. alsooooooo, it is not okay or normal to hate on things for bandwagon. that is just plainly crazy and stupid. let people enjoy things. anddddddd never suppress your emotions. admit what you feel inside and try to think of a way to resolve ittttt. keeping it to yourself will just make it worseeeeee. find your own outlettttttttt. hihihi ️ alsooooo. being more spiritually full with God's words and ideas really help me to be spiritually happy. ps. im christian but i dont discredit other religion and even applaud other religion's ideas and beliefs. this is a really long, selfish post so i might as well recommend some things I like : Songs with their lyrics that made me go through life. “I’ve got soul but I’m not a soldier” -All These Things That I've Done, The Killers “It's not too late, I'm still right here” -Breaking Your Own Heart, Kelly Clarkson "And the salt in my wounds / Isn't burning any more than it used to / It's not that I don't feel the pain / It's just I'm not afraid of hurting anymore / And the blood in these veins / Isn't pumping any less than it ever has / And that's the hope I have / The only thing I know that's keeping me alive" -Last Hope, Paramore “There is not a single word in the whole world / That could describe the hurt / The dullest knife just sawing back and forth / And ripping through the softest skin there ever was / How were you to know?” -Hate to See Your Heartbreak, Paramore "It's holding on, though the road's long / And seeing light in the darkest things And when you stare at your reflection / Finally knowing who it is / I know that you'll thank God you did" -1800, Logic "Did some things you can't speak of / But at night you live it all again / You wouldn't be shattered on the floor now / If only you had seen what you know now then" -Innocent, Taylor Swift (My bb) "10 months sober, I must admit / Just because you're clean don't mean you don't miss it / 10 months older, I won't give in / Now that I'm clean I'm never gonna risk it // Rain came pouring down when I was drowning / That's when I could finally breathe / And by morning gone was any trace of you, I think I am finally clean" -Clean, Taylor Swift “I guess I always knew / That I had all the strength to make it through.” -Believe in Me, Demi Lovato "I'm addicted to the madness / I'm a daughter of the sadness / I've been here too many times before / Been abandoned and I'm scared now / I can't handle another fallout / I am fragile, just washed upon the shore / They forget me, don't see me / When they love me, they leave me" -I Hate You, Don’t Leave Me, Demi Lovato “I'm overwhelmed / I need a voice to echo / I need a light to take me home / I need a star to follow / I don't know” -Nightingale, Demi Lovato "I'm a walking travesty / But I'm smiling at everything. // Arrogant boy, Love yourself so no one has to." -Therapy, All Time Low "I tried it once before but I didn't get too far / I felt a lot of pain but it didn't stop my heart. / But maybe I'm alive 'cause I didn't really wanna die / But nothing very special ever happens in my life / Take the blade away from me I am a freak, I am afraid that / All the blood escaping me won't end the pain / And I'll be haunting all the lives that cared for me / I died to be the white ghost / Of the man that I was meant to be" -Ghost, Badflower "Are the pieces of you / In the pieces of me? / I'm just so scared / You're who I'll be / When I erupt / Just like you do / They look at me / Like I look at you" -DNA, Lia Marie Johnson Movies and series to try : -The Perks of Being a Wallflower (The book is bomb af. if yall havent tried, ur missing out) -The Kings of Summer -Never Let Me Go -The Art of Getting By -Silver Linings Playbook -Winter’s Bone -The Lovely Bones (The script. The words) -Me and Earl and the Dying Girl -American Horror Story -Black Swan

pps. remember that every one has their own pace and point of view. don’t push yourself too hard, and don’t overthink. give yourself time, and respect all your emotions. analyze them but not more than like 5 minutes as anything beyond that might cause you to overthink and be sadder. and sad is not rad. hehe. you got this. you got you. self love is the best even though it can be tricky to do. nobody else is like you. you’re the only one of you (i just remembered me.......... i might have hummed it while typing it mid sentence). consider other people’s opinion but do not let it cloud your own judgement as you know yourself best. dont let other comment’s define you. spread love. vibe people you vibe with. ayeeee lets go!!! 

ppps this is my last post bc im happier now and know myself better. i no longer limit myself on the age that I want. I want to live as long as how God wants me to be. hehe. 

x :D

[teatitty]

Jailhouse Rock

A/N: Hey remember when I said I wanted to write a traditional fantasy AU with Patrochilles and DiarCu? This is based in that. I hate copy-pasting things to tumblr bc it never keeps my italics and I’m too lazy to edit this so here it is on AO3 as well

Days of peace were rare for Patroclus; even rarer still were the days without Achilles or Cu Chulainn around to stir up mischief. On his own, Patroclus liked to think he was a perfect example of good behaviour and that his own troublemaking was nothing more than a direct result of knowing two of the biggest arseholes this side of the continent, but whenever he voiced such a thing out loud, the response from his companions was always an intense roll of the eyes and a bark of laughter, so maybe he was just lying to himself.

Given his current predicament, that certainly seemed to be the case. In retrospect, he should’ve figured he’d end up getting arrested one of these days, but when you spend most of your time in the company of two people who somehow - consistently - manage to get themselves out of trouble, well, you sort of forget that consequences for your actions are a thing you need to worry about.

In his own defense, he hadn’t planned on getting arrested. It isn’t much of a defense, because he cannot recall a single person who has ever wanted to get thrown into a jail cell with shackles on their wrists (it didn’t matter that his own had been taken off earlier, it mattered that they’d bothered to put any on him in the first place), but he also hasn’t met every single person on the planet, so he supposes the defense counts for something.

He wonders who Achilles will be angrier at when he finds out about this; Patroclus, for punching the stupid fucking Guard in the face and breaking his pompous nose, or the Guard himself, for calling re-inforcements and manhandling Patroclus into this dingy, damp little cell. It’s not a matter of if Achilles will find out, so much as when he finds out, and Patroclus can only hope it’s soon, because he’s only been in here for a few hours and he’s already bored out of his god-damned mind.

The Guards posted outside of his cell won’t even talk to him. It’s extremely rude, in his opinion, not to entertain a guest when they’re groaning pitifully on the floor, even if said groaning was mostly due to the head pain. He really needs to learn the name of the Guard who clonked him. Bastard had a real mean arm and Patroclus itches to get some sort of revenge for the hit.

Alas, it doesn’t seem as though he’ll be getting that information anytime soon. He’ll just have to track the guy down once he gets sprung from this place and then clonk them from behind and see how they like it.

“You know,” he says conversationally, “if you ask me, I did you all a favour. I mean, he just has one of those voices, you know? The really annoying ones? The ones that just invite you to hit someone?” Nothing. Typical. Patroclus sighs up at the ceiling with exaggerated effort. “I love our little talks. Can’t get enough of them, truly.”

Maybe, if he talks long enough, one of them will actually tell him to shut up instead of just trying to glare holes into him through their helmets. Patroclus snorts at the thought. If that worked, then Achilles would’ve been dead a hundred times over by now. Or just covered in a lot more scars than he already has. Which is none. Obviously. Ugh, he really needs to get better company.

As if the Gods themselves heard his plea and were, for once in their lives, actually offering to help him, a commotion from the halls causes him to sit up with immense interest, and the Guards by his cell close their eyes and actually groan.

Whoever is being led - in chains? Sounds like it - down the hall, everyone clearly knows them, because even the other prisoners, who’ve been silent until now, start murmuring curses to themselves.

Finally, Patroclus thinks, some variety.

“ - I just think that in the grand scheme of things - and purely for everyone else’s interest, of course - that stealing a few rings from the locals isn’t that big of a deal when I’m just going to be selling them later. I’m helping the economy! Helping you pass money from one hand to another and get it circulating. How’s your wife, by the way, is she still getting the bad cramps? Of course she is. I can see it in your face. You really should take my advice and -”

“Diarmuid.” A Guard has never sounded so long-suffering before.

“Hm?”

“Shut up and get in the damn cell.”

Surprisingly enough, with a huge stroke of good fortune, the cell that this blessing in disguise - Diarmuid, his name is Diarmuid, Patroclus reminds himself. He’s never been very good at names - is dancing his way into, happens to be Patroclus’ very own, and he finds himself looking at a man who is decidedly, one hundred percent, not human at all.

Patroclus grins, absolutely delighted by this turn of events. Diarmuid, noticing that he is not alone in this cell, cocks his head to the side and just sort of. Stands there. Presumably blinking at him, but it’s hard to tell behind the tinted glasses perched on his nose. “Oh my gods,” Patroclus says before he can stop himself, “are you an elf?”

“No,” replies Diarmuid slowly. “But I can see why you’d think that.”

“He’s a menace,” one of the Guards mutters and Patroclus’ grin only widens.

“I knew you could talk,” he tells them and then to Diarmuid he says, “you have no idea how long I’ve been trying to get them to say something.”

“Oh,” Diarmuid says, “I’m not hallucinating then.”

“Not used to having company?”

“Not usually.”

He looks - well, if Patroclus had to hazard a guess, he’d say that Diarmuid looks completely out of his depth. “Don’t worry,” Patroclus tells him. “I don’t bite.” Which isn’t entirely a lie. He doesn’t bite usually but all bets are off when tavern brawls happen.

Diarmuid’s nose wrinkles. “Is that a hickey?”

It is, actually, though it’s a wonder he can see it at all amidst the other bruising. “I don’t bite,” Patroclus repeats, “but my boyfriend’s a bit of a dick.”

Something in Diarmuid’s posture relaxes at that admission, which is very interesting, and Patroclus pats the spot beside himself invitingly. He’s actually surprised when Diarmuid sits next to him. He’s less surprised that there’s an obvious gap being kept between them and that, unlike himself, Diarmuid’s posture remains straight and alert.

“Soooo…” Patroclus starts, “what are you in for?”

“That’s the best you could do, huh?”

Oh, a snarky one is he? Good thing Patroclus is used to that, or he might actually find this guy irritating. “What do you want me to start with, then? The fact that you’re apparently a regular visitor here? That you probably know everyone’s first names and family histories?”

“I wish he didn’t,” mutters the other Guard forlornly.

“Shut up,” hisses the first one, “don’t encourage them.”

“Too late for that,” they say in unison. The Guards curse.

There’s a long beat of silence as Patroclus waits to see if Diarmuid will reply to his earlier question. His patience pays off when, finally, Diarmuid sighs and says, “I got caught selling stolen goods for twice the profit.”

Patroclus whistles. “Impressive.” He means it. Sure, he got caught doing it, but the fact he had the balls to try at all - and, by the sounds of it, actually managed to make some of said profit - is worth applauding.

“And you?”

Patroclus shrugs. “Broke someone’s nose.”

“Holy shit,” Diarmuid breathes, “you’re the guy who finally shut Claudius’ trap up?”

“His name is Claudius?” A nod. “No wonder he’s such a dick, then. Hey! Tell your boss that I don’t regret what I did, alright? With a name like that, he had it coming to him!”

“You’re going to get a longer sentence if you do that.” Diarmuid sounds amused as anything. Patroclus grins back at him. He wonders how long Diarmuid’s sentence is and how many times he’s gotten his way out of it.

“Nah,” he says. “I’ll be out by tomorrow.”

“Because of your boyfriend?”

“Something like that.”

“Lucky,” Diarmuid whines. “I have to rely on my natural charm, and here you are getting Out Of Jail cards for free.”

They’re only ‘free’ if you don’t count the cost on Patroclus’ brain cell capacity, because for all that he loves Achilles with his entire soul, his boyfriend is, in fact, an idiot, and this has only seemed to get worse since they met Cu Chulainn a few years back. How does that saying go again? ‘Birds of a feather flock together?’

What does it say about him that he’s part of this flock? Nothing good, probably, so best not to think too much about it.

“Are you a vampire?”

“Okay, now you’re just naming every creature with pointy ears.”

Patroclus slumps down in his seat. “I don’t have much else to go on.” And it doesn’t look like Diarmuid is going to willingly give him any hints. “A dragonborn, maybe?”

Alright, maybe that one's a little bit of a deep cut, given how rare they are these days, but, hey, if he’s going for every race with pointed ears then…

“Also,” he continues, “you’re not a ‘creature’ you’re just a different race to a human.”

“Flattering,” Diarmuid says dryly. Patroclus doesn’t really get how any of that is ‘flattering’ in any way, shape or form but then what does he know? He’s human, after all, so maybe he really has just said something that - whatever. Doesn’t matter. He’s making friends! Cu will be so proud of him.

Does he have a concussion? Probably. None of his thoughts are making any sense today.

“I’m not a dragonborn.”

Okay, strike two off the list.

“Or a vampire.”

Strike three.

This would be so much easier if he wasn’t just relying on ‘ears pointy’ because that...really doesn’t narrow it down a whole lot. Are there really that many races with pointed ears? How has he never noticed this before? “You sure you’re not an elf? Or, like, elf adjacent?”

“If you were anyone else,” says Diarmuid, “I would’ve hit you for that. Luckily for you, I’m pretty sure you’re just a mouthy moron like I am, so congrats on saving your own skin, I guess.”

“It’s a gift,” he grins.

Diarmuid snorts. Progress is being made. Fuck yeah. “You’re not used to being in a cell, are you?”

Patroclus shrugs. “Not particularly.”

“First time?”

Oh now that’s just too easy a line to pass up. “Being in the company of a gorgeous man like yourself?” His lashes flutter and Diarmuid actually looks a little bit bewildered. “Hardly.”

“You...have a boyfriend.”

Astute of him.

“I do,” he agrees. “We have a comfortable and confident relationship.” By which he means that they’re allowed to flirt with whoever they want, whenever they want, it’s just dating and sex that are off limits until further discussion. Diarmuid - doesn’t really seem to get what he means. Which. Okay then. “Flirting is fine,” he clarifies with an easy tone.

“Oh.”

He still sounds a bit miffed by the whole thing so, in an effort to bring them back to their earlier comfort levels, Patroclus says, “lets play a game.”

Diarmuid stares at him. “A game,” he repeats.

“Just something to pass the time.”

“Am I going crazy or are you always like this?”

“It’s just me.” He feels no embarrassment in admitting it either. His mouth often moves faster than his brain can catch up, or his brain will move faster than his mouth, and rarely do they ever operate at the same capacity as each other. He forgets that not everyone can keep up with his rapid changes in conversation. Achilles’ mother is the only one who can understand him all of the time, but she’s back home in her river, so he has to - make an effort to slow down a little bit here.

How annoying.

“Ever heard of 21 Questions?”

The silence continues for long enough this time that Patroclus is almost completely certain he’s just gotten rejected. Diarmuid sighs. “Sure. I reserve the right to refuse answering anything personal, though.”

For all his earlier chatter, he’s surprisingly guarded and private. This, along with his keeping his own race a secret, intrigues Patroclus a lot more than it should. There’s a dull and distant warning bell ringing in his head; caution, it screeches, CAUTION.

“I reserve the same thing, then.”

Diarmuid blows some hair out of his face and, presumably, rolls his eyes behind his glasses. “I suppose,” he sighs dramatically. His lip twitches into a smile. Generously, Patroclus lets him go first. “What’s your name?”

He blinks, startled, and then laughs. “Oh I’m such an idiot,” he says and then holds out his hand. Diarmuid is wearing leather gloves under his shackles. Interesting. “It’s Patroclus. Pleasure to meet you.”

His grip is a little firmer than Patroclus expected but nowhere near the strength of Cu Chulainn’s. Which is a bit of an unfair comparison considering Cu’s specific bloodline but. Well. He doesn’t have a whole lot of non-human references to go on. Diarmuid holds himself as though he’s waiting to get shanked in the gut and Patroclus, ever so politely, asks, “what’s your favourite drink?”

Diarmuid blinks. “What?”

“Ah-ah-ah,” he chides, wagging his finger. “Not your turn to ask a question.”

“...tequila,” Diarmuid says at last.

“Oh that’s strong! I thought you might be an ale drinker, what with all the leathers and the -” he gestures to the window of the cell, hoping to encompass the city as a whole.

“Ah,” says Diarmuid. “Ale’s too bitter for me.”

“And tequila isn’t?”

His lip quirks. “Not your turn.”

“Right you are! Continue, then.”

“Who's your boyfriend?”

He doesn’t hesitate to answer. “Achilles.”

Diarmuid promptly chokes, as do the Guards outside. “You’re kidding. You don’t mean - you can’t mean -”

Patroclus inclines his head, delighted by the reaction. Achilles is famous here! Who knew!

“Holy shit.” Diarmuid’s voice raises a few octaves. “He’s going to kill me.”

“I doubt it,” says Patroclus dryly. “He’s more likely to whine about me getting better prison company than he did.”

“I’m not talking about Achilles,” hisses Diarmuid. “I’m talking about Cu Chulainn!”

Wait.

Wait a second.

Patroclus takes a step back to examine the man before him. Dark, curly hair? Check. A penchant for getting arrested? From what he can gather, check. Pointy ears? Absolutely. And -

He leans closer to try and get a whiff of whatever scent Diarmuid carries.

-- the distinct smell of a winter breeze.

A lot of different things fall into place at once.

“You’re the friend that Cu’s been looking for. The one that lost his favourite jacket.”

“I’m dead,” says Diarmuid. “I’ve been trying to get it back for him and now I’m going to die before I get the chance.”

“Is that why you were selling stolen goods?”

Reluctantly, Diarmuid nods. “I know where it is,” he admits mulishly. “I just don’t have the money to buy it back.”

Patroclus thinks this over. He doesn’t have any money either. Fuck it, he thinks, we’re already criminals anyway.

“Okay,” he says. “If you can get us out of here, I’ll help you get it back.”

“Don’t even try it,” warns Guard number one.

Diarmuid gives Patroclus a pathetically hopeful look. “You will?”

“Yes. On the condition,” he continues, “that you return it to him in person.”

“You know where he is.”

“I know where he is.”

Diarmuid considers this for all of two seconds. “Deal.”

And then he slips out of his shackles and shatters the fucking window with them.

#fate series #my writing #2.6K words of crack tbh #i dont know what this is please just take it

[unpeumacabre]

my kingdom for a horse: chapter 3

the year is 1601, a messenger has been sent to dongnae, and he has not returned. lord cho-hak-ju advises the joseon king to send crown prince lee chang to dongnae to investigate, but the plot he unravels there threatens the safety of the entire kingdom, and the stability of the dynasty.

a rewriting of kingdom, and lee chang finds love.

Rating: Mature

Relationships: Lee Chang/Yeong-shin

Read on AO3 (bc tumblr might mess up the formatting + more extensive author’s notes on the story)

Count: 7k

<-- previous next -->

It is a hard ride to Sangju. The day grows long and the shadows grow darker, and they hear the growling of the monsters begin to rumble the ground behind them.

“They are all around us!” Mu-yeong calls, and Lee Chang only detects the tinge of fear in his voice because he knows him so well. “They are coming from the forest, from the plains – we must go faster!”

“How can we possibly outrun them?” howls Cho Beom-pal. “Aah, father, uncle, gods – is there anyone who can help us?”

“Save your breath and do something to be of use!” barks Mu-yeong furiously, as his horse stumbles over a rocky patch. Seo-bi clings on tighter to him as the horse almost falls, but then thankfully rights itself.

Suddenly, two monsters careen out of the woods from beside them, hands extended in claws, and jaws slavering. Lee Chang feels Yeong-shin let go of the saddle behind him, load up his musket, and fire with not a split second of hesitation. The shot catches one monster straight through the neck, and its head blasts right off. The other monster finds itself beheaded by Mu-yeong’s blade.

Lee Chang feels the heat of Yeong-shin’s body seep into his skin, from where they are pressed against each other. It burns him like fire.

A shriek comes from beside them, as another monster leaps at Beom-pal’s adjutant. The man lashes his reins and digs in his heels, cursing his horse and urging it forward.

“Yah! Yah!” he yelps, lashing the reins again. The mare charges forward, eyes rolling and mouth foaming. As it feels the fetid breath of the monster against its rump, it squeals in terror and rears. Yeong-shin discharges another shot from his musket, which blows the head of the monster off, but the damage is done – the adjutant has been tossed from his horse, and he hits the ground with a sickening thud and a cry of pain.

Lee Chang swiftly reaches out and catches the reins of the man’s horse, yanking hard and bringing the mare to a stop. He leaps off his own steed and hauls the adjutant to his feet, quickly checking him over – it appears nothing has broken or sprained, although he will likely have a nasty bruise in the morning. Lee Chang hefts the man back onto his horse, and just as he is turning to return to his own steed, the bang of the musket echoes right next to his right ear, setting off a ringing sound that sends him reeling. The gore from a now-headless monster splatters his face.

The air whistles and rings in his ears, and he stumbles, disoriented by the discharge of the gun. Suddenly, the weariness of the past few days begins to tug at his body, and the sun suddenly seems too bright - while he urges his limbs on, somehow they begin to give way -

Then a hand grips his shoulder roughly and heaves him closer till he feels himself bump against the warm flank of his horse. His fingers dig into the rough hair of the beast, and it grounds him. Dazedly, in spite of the bright spots dancing across his vision and the tinny roar in his ears, he manages to pull himself back into the saddle. Hands grip round his waist, tentatively at first, then firmly.

“Apologies for the familiarity, Your Highness,” comes Yeong-shin’s voice from behind him, the edge of it smoky and dark, “but you would have fallen off the horse without it.”

Abruptly he feels himself sober up, and he blinks away the dots clouding his sight. He lashes the reins again, choosing to ignore Yeong-shin’s words, and the horse is off. He cannot, however, ignore the weight of Yeong-shin’s arms around him, and he wonders why the heat of the other man’s skin burns him so.

Finally, they manage to outride the monsters with few other incidents, save for when a monster had grabbed hold of Seo-bi’s skirt and almost yanked her off. She would have died then, if not for her deathly-firm grip around Mu-yeong’s waist, his quick reflexes, and his blade.

When they are sure that the monsters are far behind them, they make camp. The moon is high in the sky, and more than half the night is gone. Mu-yeong lights the fire and unloads the supplies from the horses.

They eat in silence, each of them on tenterhooks, just waiting for the moment when the monsters break through the trees around them. But that moment, thankfully, never comes.

When they are finished with their meal, Mu-yeong lays out the bedrolls and comes to Lee Chang’s side.

“Your Highness,” he urges, and the carefulness of his voice chafes at Lee Chang’s skin. “You must sleep. You’ve not slept for two days now. You must take care of yourself, you’re not used to so many nights on the road and such difficult circumstances - ”

“Is any man naturally used to such hardship?” interrupts Lee Chang, and he feels his jaw clench, involuntarily. “No man is born used to such circumstances, and so I must bear them as any other man must.”

“We should take the watch in turns,” Yeong-shin says quietly, and they turn to look at him. He is watching the forest, his eyes still bright and alert despite the exertions of the day, but he tilts his head in their direction in acknowledgement of their attention. “There is no use depriving ourselves of the rest we need. I can take first watch.”

A pause, then Lee Chang acquiesces reluctantly – no use fighting against such logic. He bids goodnight to Mu-yeong, hoping the gentleness in his voice conveys his regret at his previous irritation, and from the guard’s response, all is forgiven.

He lays down in his bedroll and stares up at the sky, counting the stars. They are much clearer here than in Hanyang, he finds himself thinking. There are too many bright lights in Hanyang.

“Lord Cho and I will hunt some food in the forest,” the adjutant is saying, as Lee Chang drifts off to sleep. “Fresh meat would be good for a second meal. His Lordship – and I’m sure the Prince as well – is accustomed to having freshly-cooked meat on his table.”

“Hunt for food?” comes Cho Beom-pal’s voice with obvious unwillingness. “But we already had dinner. And I only just got out my bedroll - ” There is a scuffling noise, then suddenly his voice falls silent. Yeong-shin says something in a voice so low Lee Chang cannot catch the words, then comes the sound of footsteps tromping off into the woods.

He falls asleep to the rhythm of Mu-yeong’s breathing next to him.

***

The plant grows only in the coldest of valleys, and holds the key to undying life.

Seo-bi wonders if there had been truth to her master’s words. At the time, she had thought it mere drunken ramblings on the part of a man who was unused to drink. It had been just about a week ago, when she had returned to her master’s office from a day of gathering herbs and tending to the sick, and she had discovered her master stone-cold drunk.

It had been an alarming experience for her then – not because he was a violent drunk, no, but simply because she knew him not as a man who was addicted to the bottle. And yet that day he had been out of his mind in a drunken haze. She knew it must have been a grave matter indeed that had driven him into such a state.

As she had tidied away his bottles and helped him to his bed, he had stared at the ceiling with a terrible melancholy, and suddenly his fingers were around her arm in a vice grip.

“The resurrection plant,” he had whispered. “Ah, it will be my undoing…”

His words must have been true then, she thinks. How else can she explain this awful phenomenon? She shudders in pity to think of her master as one of the monsters – her master, who had been so very dear to her and the rest of the nurses, with his brilliant mind and his endless patience and capability for kindness. He did not deserve such a fate, she thinks, and neither did her fellow physicians – but then again, no one does. Not even the most evil of men.

Grubbing around in the dirt and absorbed in her thoughts as she is, she does not realise she has company until she hears raised voices from somewhere nearby. It sounds like the magistrate of Dongnae and his assistant, and she looks up, a cautious greeting ready on her lips - when she realises that the two are in the midst of a fierce argument, clearly not meant for the ears of anyone else.

It is not her way to eavesdrop, and so she is about to make herself scarce, but she catches mention of the Crown Prince, and it stops her in her tracks.

“We cannot run,” protests the magistrate. “The Crown Prince - ”

“Will not be Crown Prince for much longer,” the other man hisses. “Your cousin the queen is pregnant, and will birth a son very soon. You are a member of the Haewon Cho clan! Once the royal heir is born, no one will be able to touch you, even the Crown Prince. We should run to Hanyang and claim credit for fighting back the monsters in Dongnae, for our own. Your uncle will reward us richly.”

The magistrate still looks torn, as his adjutant continues. “It will do us no good to be associated with the current Crown Prince,” he urges the magistrate. “Once the new Crown Prince is born, this prince will be an enemy of your clan. We must disassociate ourselves with him as soon as possible.”

“What about – what about Seo-bi?” and Seo-bi starts at the sound of her own name coming from the magistrate’s lips.

“Who?”

“The physician,” he amends, looking down at the ground.

“Aish - forget the physician!” snaps the assistant. “There will be many more women in Hanyang. You will soon forget her plain face and plainer clothes. She is nothing compared to the beauties of the capital.”

“But…” and the magistrate’s voice fades to a murmur as they tromp off noisily, deeper into the forest.

Seo-bi gathers her roots and herbs, and hurries soundlessly back to camp. The prince’s guard, Mu-yeong, is taking his turn at guard duty, and looks up with a tired nod of recognition when she comes back into view. She looks at the prince – he is fast asleep in his bedroll, and so she approaches the guard instead, and tells him of what she has overheard.

“We must tell the prince,” she says. “They are planning to abandon him.”

The expression on Mu-yeong’s face is grim, and he thanks her for bringing him this news. He glances at the prince, sleeping like a baby in his bedroll, then he shakes his head.

“Let them run,” he says contemptuously. “The prince need not have saved that foul man’s life – he will forfeit it at some point in his miserable life. They are nothing but dead weight to us. We must not trouble the prince with this – he has much on his mind, and he needs his sleep.”

Some of her hesitance must have shown in her face, for Mu-yeong sighs, and shakes his head again. “You do not know how sheltered the prince is,” he murmurs. “His father’s status has always shielded him from the worst of the outside world. We must let him take his necessary rest, if he is to be at his best tomorrow.”

Privately Seo-bi thinks, he is not a child, and he seems plenty aware of the world to me, but it is not her decision to make.

“Very well. But I would not trust them with a shift on the night watch,” is her last parting shot, and she returns to her pallet to sleep.

***

As soon as the sun crosses the horizon, Lee Chang snaps back to wakefulness. Yeong-shin, who had been the last one on watch, is cleaning the barrel of his musket and staring watchfully out at the sunrise. He had taken more than his share of shifts last night – Lee Chang is ashamed to admit that he had been barely able to keep his eyes open during his turn to keep watch, and halfway through, Yeong-shin had volunteered to take over.

“I cannot sleep,” was all he had said, “and it would be better for just one of us be sleep-deprived, rather than two.”

Lee Chang looks around, counting his companions. Mu-yeong is rising as well, and he can see Seo-bi shivering in her bedroll, covered by a thin sheet of fabric.

They are missing two pallets.

“I let them run,” Yeong-shin says quietly, as Lee Chang leaps to his feet. At his words, Lee Chang whips round to stare at him, and he lifts hooded eyes to meet Lee Chang’s. “Rest assured, I didn’t let them take any of the food.”

Lee Chang looks around him, and none of the others seem very surprised.

“You knew about this?” he directs his question to Mu-yeong, who nods and gets up.

“Seo-bi overheard some of their conversation last night,” he explains. “They were planning to flee directly to Hanyang, to seek refuge with Lord Cho – I believe the magistrate is his nephew.”

Lee Chang sighs. Well, it hardly matters to him anyway – they are hardly worth wasting thought over. At least Yeong-shin had saved them their food and water. It is not as if either of the two had been particularly useful to them anyway.

They pack up quickly and quietly, as the sun ascends and paints the bare tips of the trees with golden light. Lee Chang shivers, and draws his robes closer around him. His breath makes mist of the air; he wonders idly if he will be back in Hanyang before winter truly breaks.

Likely not, with the way things are going.

Again, they ride hard and fast to Sangju. By Yeong-shin’s count, they will be able to reach Sangju by the afternoon, and Lee Chang is glad for that – any time wasted outside of the citadel is time that they will have to spend fighting for their survival against the monsters.

Later, as they are riding on the banks of the Namhan River, with the gates of Sangju in sight, Mu-yeong spies a body floating on the water. It is with a grim sense of trepidation that Lee Chang urges his mount forward.

He and Yeong-shin gaze upon the back of the adjutant, his pricely silk robes and garments now soaked through with dirty river water, and nibbled at by curious fish.

“He died a coward’s death – he did not stand before them as a man would, but fled like a rat,” Mu-yeong hisses, riding up behind them, and spits into the water. They can all see for themselves the path of the bites along the dead body’s back.

“They must have run into the monsters,” Lee Chang decides. “Those are the teeth marks of a human.” And for good measure, he descends, and slices the man’s head from his shoulder. The head floats upwards now, his ghostly face peering up at them from the water, expression contorted into a ghoulish one of terror.

“Where then is the magistrate?” asks Seo-bi.

“Oh, he’ll turn up sooner or later,” Yeong-shin speaks up for the first time in hours. He shrugs. “That man strikes me as the kind of man who somehow survives anything life throws at him.”

“Are we speaking of the same person? Cho Beom-pal, the magistrate of Dongnae?” Mu-yeong asks sceptically, and Lee Chang cannot help but agree – the man might not have been as conniving as his assistant, but survival skills had not seemed to lie on his list of merits.

“Just a feeling,” Yeong-shin says cryptically, and says no more on the matter.

***

It is late into the afternoon when they reach Sangju, and it is with a sense of foreboding that they approach, for they can see a crowd of people banging at the doors, but the gates are not budging. Up on the walls are archers, who occasionally fire a warning shot into the ground, or into the shoulder of a peasant who is brave enough to scale the wall. Lee Chang recognises some of the people who had fled Dongnae, although other faces are foreign to him – they must belong to refugees who have similarly fled the monsters, from other villages around Dongnae and Jiyulheon. His fingers tighten around the reins, and he feels a cold fury shake his bones.

As he and his companions approach, some of the people recognise him, and one of them almost faints in relief. “Your Highness!” cries the old man who had taken charge of Dongnae before. “They will not let us in – they say they do not have space to house all the refugees! Please save us, Your Highness!” and he drops to his knees with difficulty, to kowtow.

“Please save us, Your Highness!” chorus the rest of the people of Dongnae, as they recognise him, and even the refugees who did not come from Dongnae soon catch on and follow suit. An uneasy murmuring starts up on the fortress walls as the chants grow louder, and the archers halt their attack.

Lee Chang lifts his head, and he feels the light of the waning sun slant across his face. “Magistrate of Sangju!” he bellows, and the soldiers on the walls are shocked into silence.

There is no response for a few moments, then a man cloaked in armour leans over the walls.

“The magistrate is otherwise occupied,” he shouts back. “State your business with the Lord of Sangju!”

“Does the Crown Prince need a reason to speak with the Lord of Sangju?” Lee Chang replies wrathfully, with a sense of déjà vu biting at his skin. The soldier’s mouth drops into a perfect ‘o’, then he retreats hurriedly. It is a few moments before he reappears, almost tripping over himself in his haste.

“Crown Prince Lee Chang!” he calls. “It is an honour! Please enter the citadel. We cannot accommodate your companions, however – please understand, we do not have sufficient food nor housing for all the refugees!”

“Why, those - ” Mu-yeong starts forward furiously, but Lee Chang halts him. He looks at the people around him, their expectant eyes and gaunt faces, and abruptly his decision is made for him.

“I will gain sanctuary for all of you,” he murmurs, softer so the men on the walls cannot hear. “All I ask in return is your trust – your trust that I will deliver.”

There is no answer from the people, who remain prostrate on the ground. The air is very still, and Lee Chang waits with baited breath. From the corner of his eye, he sees Yeong-shin watching him intently.

Then the old man looks up, the gaunt lines and shadows of his face even more prominent in the fading light. “We trust you, Your Highness,” he croaks. “You saved us from the monsters in Dongnae – you will save us again here in Sangju.”

Lee Chang involuntarily expels a breath of relief, and he feels the tension leave his body. He had not expected them to place their confidence him so easily, for these people are obviously hard-worn by hard winters and harder masters. He had sensed that their trust would not come so easily – and yet, they do trust him. The weight of their faith touches him, and he vows to protect them with all the power that he holds.

He nods, then turns back to the soldier on the walls, who is awaiting his reply.

“I will enter with my royal guard,” he replies, and he cannot help the sardonic edge that then slips into his voice. “Surely he is not too much of a burden on your resources as well?”

The man executes a quick bow. “Thank you, Your Highness!” he calls in answer, and disappears once again. A few moments later, the gates creak open, and soldiers peek out, weapons extended to block any peasants who would attempt to rush in beside Lee Chang and Mu-yeong. Thankfully, none of the peasants make any move to break through the barrier, and therefore no casualties ensue.

Yeong-shin swings himself off the horse, and looks up at Lee Chang with dark eyes. As Lee Chang watches him descend, he finds Yeong-shin’s name slip out of his mouth, unbidden, unsought-for. Yeong-shin blinks up at him questioningly.

“Do you trust me,” Lee Chang asks, softly, so softly that none but the two of them can hear his words; and he does not know why it matters so, to him – the answer of this man, in particular.

Yeong-shin hesitates, then his mouth twists, and he nods. It is no certain answer - but it is an answer nonetheless, and Lee Chang finds himself curiously comforted by it.

He is met by the magistrate of Sangju as he enters, an old man with an overly-deferential manner which immediately rubs him the wrong way. As the gates slam shut behind him and Mu-yeong, he hears the cacophony of wails and cries outside the walls magnify in volume, and it only strengthens the resolve in his heart.

“Thank you for understanding our situation here, Your Highness,” natters the magistrate, as they walk through the streets, heading for the main building and his office. “There have been monsters besieging our citadel for the past few days – they first appeared in our midst a few days ago, and we had great difficulty chasing them out, but we managed to drive them out in the end with the help of Lord Ahn Hyeon and his men. They were visiting at the time, and they managed to send the monsters running with the aid of their blades and flame. Please watch your step – yes, please be careful, the steps are quite old… And this is my office, Your Highness, please take a seat…”

The moment they enter the room and the guards close the doors behind them, Lee Chang lifts his fist and delivers a solid blow to the jaw of the governor.

He falls, howling and cradling his chin, and staring in angered bewilderment up at Lee Chang. “Your Highness!” he says, aghast. “What – why – what sin have I committed, to deserve such a punishment?”

Lee Chang towers over the man, taking vicious pleasure in the way he cowers back under Lee Chang’s shadow.

“What has happened to the officials of Joseon, to make them so,” he hisses. “Cowards, the lot of you, and undeserving of your titles. Did you not take the oath to protect our people when you ascended to your position? Have you forgotten that your duties and your protection extend not only to the rich and decorated, but also the poor?” He takes a moment to savour the fear in the man’s eyes. He is not usually cruel, but the thought of the people of Dongnae and its surrounding villages banging helplessly at the gates of Sangju – gates which they had no hope of opening – makes him crueller in his reprimand.

“Not only have you denied asylum to the people at your gate,” he roars, “but you have also denied your own people of Sangju their needs. You and your men look well-fed and satisfied, while I counted no less than ten beggars on the streets we passed. Men are dying both within and without your walls, while you sit by and do nothing. You disgust me.”

“Your Highness,” comes a calm, familiar voice from behind him, as the rustle of the doors slipping open echoes through the room, and Lee Chang whips around, furious at the interruption – but he is greeted by the sight of a very dear friend, and his former master.

“Lord Ahn Hyeon,” he says, mustering a smile. “Master.”

The man steps in, accompanied by his faithful guard, and shuts the door quietly behind him. He stands over the magistrate on the ground in silence, his face blank. Lee Chang takes this as his cue to continue.

“Let the people of Dongnae in,” he says sternly. “Will you have their deaths on your conscience?”

“I cannot,” says the governor stubbornly, his face hardening into a pugnacious mask. “We do not have enough supplies to accommodate so many. It will be certain death for all, if we let those refugees into Sangju.”

“Then you are relieved of your duty,” Lee Chang says, very calmly. The man stares up at him with comically-wide eyes.

“You cannot,” he says in disbelief. “You – I have been given this position by the king himself - ”

“How dare you speak to me as if you were above your station,” Lee Chang says. “You dare to drop honorifics with me? Who do you think you are?” Mu-yeong unsheathes his sword and steps forward threateningly. His shadow looms large against the flickering light of the lamp. They have little time, Lee Chang knows, and his patience is wearing thin.

“The people under Sangju will be under my protection from now on,” he says quietly, and the tremor in his voice betrays the strength of his feeling. “You are dismissed.”

As he spins around and strides through the door, he catches Lord Ahn Hyeon’s eye. The man betrays no emotion, as usual – he has always been good at keeping his poker face, Lee Chang remembers – but he nods slightly as they leave, and Lee Chang feels the warmth of his approval spread through his chest. He inclines his head in return, knowing his master will deal with the magistrate – well, the now former magistrate - and steps out of the room.

He goes immediately to the walls above the gates, where the man in armour who had greeted him on the walls is waiting. The man is evidently a commander of the battalion, from his garb, and so Lee Chang directs his orders to him.

“By royal command, the former governor of Sangju has been removed from his position,” he says abruptly, wasting no time and continuing so the man cannot interrupt. “I have taken over command of Sangju, and my first command will be this – open the gates and allow the entry of the refugees from Dongnae and its surrounding inhabitations. Quickly, before the sun sets and they are at the mercy of the monsters.”

The man is commendably quick on the uptake, and he bows in answer with no rebuttal. “As you wish, Your Highness, so it will be done,” he says, and hurries down the stairs. He barks several sharp orders at the soldiers, and they hurry to the gates, which they pry open. The people flood in quickly, some who had been pressed against the gate falling and almost being trampled upon by the rest. Lee Chang espies Seo-bi and Yeong-shin entering with the rest of the people, and they look up and catch his eye.

The movement is slight and Lee Chang almost misses it, but Yeong-shin inclines his head, and his eyes still burn like an inferno.

“Your Highness. Your Highness!” Lee Chang starts, and realises that Mu-yeong has been calling his name for a while. He blinks, and Yeong-shin is no longer looking in his direction.

“Yes,” he says, turning to his guard. “What is it?”

“Lord Ahn Hyeon has asked you to meet him in his lodgings,” he murmurs. “He says that he has important things to speak of, with you.”

“Thank you,” Lee Chang says, still rattled. He shakes his head to clear his thoughts, then smiles weakly, and pats Mu-yeong on the shoulder. “Let the guards know to provide the appropriate lodgings for Seo-bi and Yeong-shin – they must be rewarded for taking the dangerous path with us. Then you must go and rest, Mu-yeong. You have had a difficult past few days. Enjoy your dinner.”

“As you wish, Your Highess - then I will see you later.” Mu-yeong bows, and takes his leave. Lee Chang follows the guard who had been sent to fetch him to Ahn Hyeon’s study.

He ducks his head to avoid hitting the beam of the door, and enters. His former master is seated at his table, facing the door, scrolls piled neatly next to him, and one unfurled in front of him. The room is clean and spartan, barely-lived in, and the sparse light from various candles flickers across the room.

Lee Chang has to suppress the urge to smile. The scene is almost painfully nostalgic, in a way, and it makes him feel like a nine-year-old child again; eager to see his accomplished master, eager to spend time with the man who had had the most faith in him at the time.

“How many years has it been, Master?” he says quietly, as he takes his place at the table. Lord Ahn Hyeon looks up at him, and the edge of that sharp gaze has not been dulled by time.

In fact, Lee Chang is struck by how little he has changed in the intervening years. A touch of grey in his beard, perhaps, or a few more creases by his eyes, or a little more looseness in the skin about his jowls; but otherwise, the line of his jaw is still stubborn and strong, and his movements are still careful and measured as he puts away the scroll he has been reading.

“Far too many years, Your Highness, for you to still be calling me your master,” Lord Ahn Hyeon replies calmly. “How have you been keeping yourself?”

“Still alive, as you can see,” Lee Chang answers, and they share a smile of weary amusement at the old joke. “And you – you are still in Sangju.”

“It has only been three years since my dear mother passed on. I stay here to pay my respects to her.”

“As you should. But this matter – with the monsters - ” Lee Chang hesitates, at a loss as to how to continue, and so he just launches straight into an account of what has transpired the past few days.

When he has finished, Lord Ahn Hyeon sighs. It is the only sign that betrays his agitation, for otherwise his posture remains rigid and composed.

“So Dongnae and its surrounding villages have fallen,” he murmurs. “And thus it has come to Sangju.”

Lee Chang leans forward. “How did the infection start in Sangju? From the monsters in Dongnae?”

Lord Ahn Hyeon shakes his head. “As far as we can determine, no. One of the guards on watch at the food hut was the first to contract the disease, and so we lost an entire contingent of guards before the alarm was sounded.”

“How did the infection start?”

“We do not know, but our investigations have shown that he was not bitten, and the infection was planted in him somehow.”

Lee Chang pauses, and frowns. “Investigations?” he asks. “How - ?”

Lord Ahn Hyeon nods. “We managed to confine some of the infected in the jail cells. We wanted to find out what cause the illness and how it develops, and so we have been conducting a few – tests – on them.”

“Tests?” Lee Chang says slowly, and the meaning of the word slowly dawns on him. He rises to his feet, and his fingers dig into the grain of the table. His repugnance brings the incredulity to his voice. “You mean – experiments? These were once human beings, master – you cannot be allowed to experiment on them. Killing them is one thing, but defiling their bodies in such a way even after their death - ”

“Your Highness.” Lord Ahn Hyeon cuts him off, and the sternness in his voice stops Lee Chang in his tracks. He does not meet his eyes, but carefully lifts himself from his seat. He stands by the darkened window, and it casts the lines of his craggy face in shadow. Lee Chang can no longer see his eyes.

At last he speaks again.

“Your Highness, I understand you were sheltered,” he says, very slowly, each word quiet and measured, as if he is reading from a script; a script over which he has spent nights and days pondering. “But this is the reality of war. And we are at war, with these monsters. Of course I regret our actions, but we have no choice. The necessity of this is undisputed.” He turns, and returns his placid gaze to Lee Chang. “Remember, these are no longer human beings. They are no longer alive.”

I am not sheltered, Lee Chang wants to stay, the sting still fresh from Mu-yeong’s words – overheard, as he had been awoken from his sleep by the tail-end of Mu-yeong and Seo-bi’s conversation the previous night. I am no longer a child. But the words stick in his throat, and he finds himself flushing instead, with what he is sure is an ugly flush. He cannot realise a rebuttal to his master’s words.

“Fine,” is the word he settles upon, and he profoundly hates the childishness of the word, “fine. I accept the necessity of the action, but not its morality. At least – I have brought with me a physician who was in the employ of Lee Seung-hui, the former court physician – I do not know if you recall him? She was the only one of his physicians left alive from Jiyulheon. Let her visit the jail cells tonight. I am sure she will have something to contribute.”

“As you wish, Your Highness,” Lord Ahn Hyeon says, with a bow. He resumes his seat, and if Lee Chang were a few years younger, he would quailed under the intensity of his gaze – but, now, somehow, he manages to hold his own. “What will you do now, Your Highness? Will you return to Hanyang with your report?”

“I will send my report to the king soon via messenger, but as for myself, I wish to remain, and investigate the origin of this plague,” Lee Chang answers. “It is an odd pattern – the disease has not spread organically, from city to city, but rather – as individual sporadic events in different cities. Almost as if… as if someone is deliberately inducing the disease in different areas.” As the realisation strikes him, he jerks up from his chair.

“This must be some plot of the Haewon Cho clan,” he says softly. “Even as they solidify their hold on the throne with the incipient birth of the new Crown Prince, so also do they seek to draw the king’s eyes elsewhere, to distract him from their plots and plans.

And to distract me.” The second realisation comes upon him again with a sudden and startling clarity. He turns to look at Lord Ahn Hyeon, and he feels the cold fingers of fear grip his heart. “They wanted to bring me here and get me out of the way.”

“Do you have any proof, Your Highness?” is his master’s only answer. His eyes hold few discernible answers, as usual, and only a deep and questioning wisdom that Lee Chang cannot fathom.

“No,” he concedes, angrily. “I have no proof, only surmise.”

“You will need proof if you are to present your suspicions to the king,” Lord Ahn Hyeon says quietly. “Especially with accusations against so powerful a clan.”

“I will find proof,” Lee Chang says, with a conviction he feels he does not have, but somehow, saying the words gives him confidence. “As for the present, the important thing is to light the signal fires – we must alert the other cities that there is danger amidst them, if my suspicions are true, and to tell them that there is someone sowing the seeds of disease among the various cities. I will journey to Jecheon tomorrow, to warn them in person. And tomorrow, you must prepare for an assault on Sangju’s gates. The monsters from Dongnae will be coming towards us in full force, in addition to the remnants of Sangju’s creatures, and the city must be prepared.”

“Those are good plans, Your Highness,” says Lord Ahn Hyeon. “But for now, you must take your dinner, and sleep – it will do you no good to be deprived of rest. Tomorrow will be a difficult day for all of us.”

“Thank you,” Lee Chang replies. “May I take dinner with you? There is much we must catch up on. The last three years have been too long without you.”

“I usually dine with my men. However, I can make an exception for tonight,” Lord Ahn Hyeon says, but Lee Chang shakes his head, an idea forming in his head.

“May I join you and your men?” he asks. “I will enjoy the company.”

“If you are sure, Your Highness,” his master answers, his eyes widening in surprise, but he hides the emotion quickly, and bows. “We will see you later tonight then, when the dinner gong sounds, in an hour’s time.”

Mu-yeong is waiting for him outside. He informs Lee Chang that he has taken his dinner, and that he has asked the servants to draw up a bath for Lee Chang in his rooms. Lee Chang thanks him for his efforts, and suddenly he remembers Seo-bi and Yeong-shin.

Where are they, he asks of Mu-yeong.

“Seo-bi is resting in her rooms,” Mu-yeong says in response, and a shadow crosses his brow, “but of the tiger hunter – I know not where he is.”

“Is he not in his rooms as well?” Lee Chang says, as they walk towards his rooms. Mu-yeong shakes his head.

“I asked the guards to provide them rooms, as you bid me do, and after my dinner I visited their rooms – but only Seo-bi was in hers. I do not know where the tiger hunter is, only – one of the guards said that they saw him slipping out past the guards, but I did not have time to find him before I came to see you.”

Lee Chang frowns. “It is dangerous outside,” he says, “even though it is not yet full dark. Why has he crossed the walls?”

Mu-yeong comes closer then, his eyes darting to the side, as he leans in. “Your Highness,” he says urgently, “Did you see how he handled that musket? I have heard that he is merely a deserter from the army – but that is patently untrue. He is no ordinary soldier. No ordinary soldier would wield a gun with such familiarity and aptitude. Who knows if Yeong-shin is even his real name?”

“And so?” Lee Chang asks, stopping in his tracks and turning to look at Mu-yeong’s honest, upturned face. “Who do you think he is, then?”

“He may be a spy,” whispers Mu-yeong. “You have many enemies in the court of Hanyang – he may serve one of them. Perhaps for Lord Cho, as a means of keeping an eye on you while you are out of his reach, here in the south.

“He is a chakho,” Mu-yeong continues. “He said himself that he is a tiger hunter. I am sure of it! Only a chakho would be so experienced with a gun, and with dealing out death so casually. Those men are mercenaries, Your Highness – they’d easily sell their soul to the highest bidder. You must be careful of him.”

“Fine,” Lee Chang snaps, irritated, although he does not know why, and he immediately regrets the annoyed edge to his voice when Mu-yeong recoils, surprise and hurt clear on his face. “Fine,” Lee Chang tries again, and the edge in his voice is smoothed. “I will find him, and speak to him. No use putting him on his guard, if he is indeed a spy.”

“I will come with you - ” Mu-yeong presses, but Lee Chang shakes his head.

“Go and sleep,” he says. “I know you barely slept last night, even while I slept like a baby. You must take care of yourself – and trust in me.”

“I worry for you,” says Mu-yeong, in a rare display of forgotten deference. It is times like these that Lee Chang remembers his impending fatherhood.

“I know,” Lee Chang says, kinder than he had intended his tone to be. “And I thank you for your worry. But you must trust in me. I can keep myself safe.”

Mu-yeong holds his gaze for a few moments more, the fear and doubt evident in his gaze, before he tears his eyes away and nods.

“If he dares touch a hair on Your Highness’ head,” he vows, “I will tear his throat out. Chakho or no chakho.”

“And that is why I have had you by my side all these years,” Lee Chang murmurs quietly. “Thank you for your loyalty and faith in me, Mu-yeong.”

He watches the guard leave with an unfamiliar lump in his throat. As the man disappears round the corner, Lee Chang sighs, and heads for the gates, his bath forgotten.

It does not take him long to find Yeong-shin, seated by the banks of the river. He is watching the forest, and Lee Chang can hear the rhythmic whisper of his movements as he cleans his gun. He makes no movement to acknowledge Lee Chang as Lee Chang comes to stand behind him, except for a soft breath he expels through his nostrils, and a very slight hunching-in of his shoulders. Lee Chang does not know how to begin the conversation.

A few moments drift past, and Lee Chang senses that he is the only one uncomfortable by the silence; Yeong-shin does not seem fazed. Lee Chang clears his throat awkwardly. The crickets chirp, as if mocking his discomfort.

“You must be tired,” he murmurs. “The hour is late.”

“Mm.”

Lee Chang sighs. From his position, he cannot see Yeong-shin’s expression, but he can sense the weariness emanating from the other man’s body. He forms a strong, stable figure, despite his smaller stature, and his stalwartness makes Lee Chang forget that he, too, has been through the strains of the past few days – but the signs are there, nonetheless, for those more astute to find.

“The walls and the guards of Sangju are strong. They will protect us from the monsters. You must rest.”

“That is not what I am worried about,” Yeong-shin answers, but does not continue.

He suddenly stands, holding his gun close to his body. Suddenly afraid he will leave, Lee Chang blurts out, “Lord Ahn Hyeon was my master as a child.”

Yeong-shin slowly turns towards him, his eyes blank. Lee Chang does not know what had possessed him to bring up Lord Ahn - it had been the first thing on his mind, and an unlikely subject for conversation, given that Yeong-shin probably does not know his master; but still, he forges on.

“He was my master when I was younger. He looked after me – there were many people after my blood, when I was a young prince. I was not born of the queen, but of a lowly concubine, and so it made me greatly misliked.” Lee Chang utters a soft, mirthless laugh. “He was the only one I could trust. It was he who taught me to be wary of gifts of food and drink, he who taught me the palace customs, he who taught me how to fight. When he left me three years ago, I thought I would be twice the man I was, when next we met. And yet now I am still no wiser than when he left, and it humbles me to stand before him.”

Yeong-shin does not reply for a while, and Lee Chang feels the flush of embarrassment colour his cheeks – he is thankful for the darkness that now hides his face. He does not know why he has said so much. It leaves him feeling uncomfortable, and vulnerable.

“If you are expecting me to feel sorry for you,” Yeong-shin finally says, so softly that Lee Chang has to strain his ears to hear his words, “you will be disappointed.”

“I do not seek your pity,” Lee Chang says quietly. In truth, he knows not what he seeks from the other man.

“Why did he leave you?” Yeong-shin asks, suddenly.

“To mourn his mother’s death. It was beyond his control.” Lee Chang is startled by the question, but answers quickly.

He looks up, and watches Yeong-shin stare pensively out into the darkness, jaw clenched. He thinks there is a curious tragic melancholy about the planes of his face; a story is there which he knows not, and he has the feeling that it is an important one.

“I have dismissed the magistrate of Sangju, and I plan to leave Lord Ahn Hyeon in his place to govern the city,” he says. “He is a good man, and a good master. He will take good care of the people of Dongnae, and Jiyulheon, and Sangju – all the people within its walls.”

“As long as you have such faith in him,” Yeong-shin answers, cryptically. Lee Chang sighs, and wonders why Yeong-shin seems so opposed to his master. It must be his natural wariness and general unwillingness to easily trust others; but Lee Chang senses that there is something deeper there which Yeong-shin will not tell of.

The dinner gong booms, the sound dissonant in the quiet night air.

“We must return for dinner,” Lee Chang murmurs. Yeong-shin nods, and they make their way back to the citadel in silence.

As they part ways, and Lee Chang heads for his master’s dining hall, he realises that he had completely forgotten his original purpose of seeking Yeong-shin out. No matter, he thinks. There will be plenty more opportunity to sound the man out – but for now, he remains an intriguing mystery.

He makes it to the dinner hall in time, and a hushed silence falls over the company as he enters. They fall forward in their haste to bow to him, and he accepts their obeisance, then bids them return to their food.

“I apologise,” he says, with a wry smile, making his way to the empty seat next to his master, “but I had other business before this – I did not have time to bathe before joining you for dinner.” Some of the men make unintelligible sounds, dismissing his apology, while others avoid eye contact and stare down wide-eyed into their rice.

When he sits down, silence descends. It hangs like a suffocating curtain over their heads. Out of the corner of his eye, Lee Chang notes the indulgent smile on Lord Ahn Hyeon’s face – the man is clearly enjoying himself, and Lee Chang feels a sort of fond irritation at the thought. He clears his throat, once, twice, then makes a vague sort of gesture at the dishes.

“You may eat,” he says, stiffly. “Do not hold back on my account.”

Although the men are at first wary, they soon warm up to his presence – they are good, honest, sincere men, as one would expect of those in Lord Ahn Hyeon’s trusted circle. They speak of their wives, daughters and family, and exchange raucous tales of wartime and drunken antics.

At first, Lee Chang sits apart, sipping quietly at his cup and picking at his food, and he is surprised when the man to his right fills his cup and lifts it to him, calling for a toast. The room falls silent at the man’s drunken impudence, and they all turn towards him, eyes comically wide, as if awaiting divine punishment.

Lee Chang sighs, and lifts his glass to knock it against the guard’s. The room erupts in a cautious cheer, and they return to their meals with heightened merriment. From then on, the braver of the company make a few attempts at including him in the conversation. While he is never truly integrated into the group – he is far too novel and elite a character for that to happen – they do succeed in bringing him some laxity. The wine leaves him loose-limbed and satiated, and he sits calmly in his seat, joining in occasionally with a glib observation here and there. His master presides over the assembly, his words few and far between, but each one clearly treasured and held dear by the men.

“I bought this talisman for my daughter,” one of the men says, and he brings out a square of purple fabric, embroidered with gold thread. “It cost me a pretty penny too! Her mother may not thank me when next I return to Daegu.”

“You should have bought one for her as well,” the man to his right says, laughing. “Women! It is easy to satisfy them with bright, valuable things. I bought this binyeo for my lady, myself. Made with bamboo and engraved with a peony! It will be an excellent addition to her lovely hair.” He brings out the item in question, and it is truly exceptional; the other soldiers ooh and aah over it.

“That is nothing compared to this norigae I bartered for my wife,” boasts another of the men, pulling the accessory out of his pocket. It is a double-jewelled norigae, and its rope of its tassels glimmers in the lamplight. Lee Chang feels his eyebrows rise; the jadeite used to embellish it would not have come cheap. It is a fine piece indeed.

The other guards sigh in appreciation, and the man next to him reaches out as if to touch it, but he snatches it away. “Don’t you put your uncouth paws on it, Kim Joon-sa! I almost lost it two days ago. Bumped into an old man wandering around the food huts, and almost dropped it. Aish! If not for my quick reflexes, it would have been smashed to nothing, and I would’ve had to face a right scolding from my good wife when I return home.”

“Your quick reflexes?” teases another guard, taking a large chug of his drink. “More like the reflexes of the guard on duty – he caught your precious norigae, not you. I was there with you, as you seem to have forgotten.”

The norigae-wielding man flushes, and sighs. He takes another drink. “Aigo, you’re right,” he murmurs desolately. “He was a good man. What a pity he’s gone now. It was a fate I wouldn’t have wished on my worst enemy.”

The table goes silent for a while, as they all pay their respects. And although the room is well-heated by lamps and the like, suddenly, Lee Chang feels a cold shiver go down his spine. It is a cruel reminder that, while they spend their time here in mirth and merriment, it may be the last night they spend together alive.

It will not be their last, Lee Chang vows silently to himself. I swear it on my mother’s grave.

#changshin #kingdom #kingdom netflix #lee chang #yeong shin #upm works #upm #kingdom fanfiction #changshin fanfiction #lee chang x yeong shin

[jo2ukes]

Hello! I’m hildahilda from tumblr and I saw you taking prompt requests for 50 ways to love your partner (which has become one of my fave dmileth fics). May I suggest... Dimitri and Byleth debating/arguing over political concerns or having long horse rides together? Just getting these ideas from their paired ending lol. Thank you!

HELLO LOVELY!!! Aaa your comments are always so sweet i always look forward to reading what you have to say slkdfjslkd  thank u for requesting smth ilysm~

I’m SO SORRY this took so long - I’ve been working on it off and on, but I slacked off too much at work last week so things kind of blew up and I’ve been living off of energy drinks. THAT BEING SAID, this is for YOU!!! I’m gonna upload to ao3 later as well, just not rn bc I’m at work lol :-)

spoilers for like. post game and blue lions stuff, though i tried to be pretty vague!

It was never typical for diplomatic meetings to go smoothly. Not that Dimitri is naïve enough to expect them to be easy. Even in times of peace, there are always areas for improvement. Dissatisfactions to be addressed. Relationships to maintain. Something about having his work cut out for him makes these meetings easier – though solving the issues are certainly more time consuming. Uniting Fódlan has been no small undertaking and he is grateful for all the assistance he receives from his friends. He is painfully aware that destruction is his forte – his hands and mind have only recently been converted to the goal of healing and restoration. To lead, you have to be able to both destroy and create, Byleth has told him. She’s right. United Fódlan and the relative peace they have now wouldn’t exist had he not destroyed Edelgarde and her dissenting Imperial forces. While the beast in him once relished in the idea of putting an end to El’s machinations, taking her life was one of the most painful trials he’s had to endure. The perspective motivates him. Encourages him to listen to his people and create a world where no destruction is needed, where no one is unjustly taken.

 He constantly reminds himself of this goal. It makes the sleepless nights worth it.

 The current roundtable has gone on for hours at least – Ferdinand, Lorenz, Byleth, Seteth and a handful of other nobles – mostly from former Faerghus territories – are in attendance. Unofficially, Ferdinand speaks for nobles of former Imperial territories, while Lorenz speaks for former Alliance territories. They’ve been instrumental in the restructuring efforts. While the three of them were not particularly close before, Dimitri counts them among his close friends now.

 “I hate to mention it on top of everything else,” Ferdinand bites his lip, “but there’s one last item I feel needs to be addressed before we adjourn. We’ve had trouble with the Western Church in the Aegir territory. We’ve repelled a few initial attacks. At first we thought it was bandits, but… well, we’ve confirmed the worst. Normally, my pride would never allow asking for assistance, but with our resources and attention spread out as it is, namely correcting my father’s corruption, I’m not sure this is a matter I can handle solely on my own. I don’t want to cause any more chaos in my territory than need be.”

 “You are correct to bring it up,” Dimitri says, furrowing his brow. “Aegir territory is a long way to go to cause trouble.”

 “If the Western Church is mobilizing again, it will certainly affect the trade routes we’ve established,” Lorenz observes. “The few merchants that can afford to travel certainly can’t afford losses to their inventory or company. Our trade routes are the most vulnerable. As former Imperial lands are in the most chaos, what with the complete restructuring needed post-war., it makes sense the Western Church, whatever their goals may be, would seek to cause disruptions there. If we truly seek to provide aid and maintain good relations with the nobles in the south, surely this conflict requires more attention. Wouldn’t you agree?” He looks back at Ferdinand.

 “Respectfully, yes,” Ferdinand nods solemnly. “Though, I understand the Central and Western Churches have their summit planned later this month, which surely makes matters precarious.”

 Eyes turn to Byleth and Seteth.

 “You are correct,” Seteth nods, addressing the nobles. “We are aware certain sects of the Western Church are mobilizing, though we had not heard of any activity in the Aegir territory. You can trust the matter will be dealt with. Her Grace has asked that I lead a fraction of the Knights of Seiros to investigate these disturbances while she attends the summit later this month. Ashe wrote to us several weeks ago, disclosing Western Church movements in the Gaspard territory once again. Since then, we’ve been keeping a watchful eye.”

 “How watchful, if they are mobilizing in areas you are not aware of?” Lorenz asks. “Your Grace, your Highness, I know the Church is quite busy with restructuring efforts, but perhaps it would be wise to focus more resources in this area.” He taps his upper lip thoughtfully. “Perhaps if we sent forces that were not affiliated with the Church it wouldn’t complicate things at the summit. The Western Church can feel safe in trusting the Central Church, and the people can feel safe that something is being done about these attacks.”

 “I agree,” Dimitri hums after a beat. “Very well. Seteth, I want you to take some of Fhirdiad’s knights with you. As things are a little more stable in the capital than anywhere else, it is less of a burden on our resources. Ingrid and her company should be available, I believe. I’ll send word they’re to accompany you back to the monastery. I’ll want to be kept in the loop, of course.”

 “With all due respect, your Majesty,” Byleth says, clearing her throat, and breaking her silence, “this is a Church affair. While I appreciate your offer for assistance, we must decline.”

 “On the contrary,” Dimitri shakes his head, “It stopped being a Church affair when it started threatening to plunge all of United Fódlan into another war, your Grace. These are not random attacks, they seem rather targeted.”

 “The Western Church simply does not have the resources or manpower to launch a full-scale war,” she shakes her head. “I do not believe that is their intention this time. They’re recovering just the same as the rest of Fódlan. If you’ll remember, the last time the Western Church created conflicts, there was a larger power at play. As relations with the Western Church are already delicate at best, I’d ask that you let us investigate internally first, at least until the summit has concluded. A month’s time, that’s all I’m asking.”

 “It is not that I distrust your ability to manage your own, I simply wish to prevent further harm to the already suffering villages.”

 “I understand your concern, your Highness. My wishes are the same,” she straightens her back, looking him square in the eye. She looks truly regal and imposing. For a moment Dimitri thinks it’s a shame the others get to observe her in her authoritative splendor, that it’s not a look only he can witness. But the thought only lasts a moment – he’s more than familiar with that determined glint in her eye. He’s in for a fight.

 “However,” she continues, “I cannot hope to restore faith in the Church if we are constantly shown to be unable to handle our own. Say what you will, but Edelgarde’s war has damaged the Church’s reputation, strengthened seeds of distrust. Whether that distrust was well-placed or not is of no consequence. The reputation of the Church must be restored. Through transparency, through rooting out corruption and self-serving officials, so be it, but it must be handled by the Church. We’ve only just concluded a war built on that same distrust – what message would it send if the King had to step in? How would that offer any reassurance to the people that things are different?”

 “You suggest, then, that the people will be more willing to accept the Church should be allowed to continue to govern its own?” he asks, folding his arms.

 “I’m suggesting we be given a chance to prove ourselves. If the leaders cannot trust the Church, the people cannot hope to hold the same faith.”

 “It is a risk,” Ferdinand interjects, “but I believe Her Grace has a point. Restoring faith in the Church should be a priority, and that task begins with our actions here.”

 Lorenz and Seteth both begin to speak, but whatever they start to say is lost to Dimitri and he focuses on his wife’s voice, rising above the others. When she and Dimitri disagree on topics, the others in the room cease to exist to the two of them. While they do not always agree, he trusts her above all else. He respects and values her opinion, as she has led him down the right path time and time again.

 “Rather than bandaging a severed limb,” Byleth continues, “We should treat the root of the problem. I believe this is not the Western Church, but some unnamed force. Without revealing too much of my own hand, I have reason to believe Edelgarde’s… unsavory allies may have resurfaced.”

 “Is this truly information that should be held by the Church alone?”

 “For the time being, yes,” Byleth nods. “As you said, we do not want to cause further damage to those that are already suffering. Mobilizing too early may do just that. Again, a month is all I ask.”

 “If Ingrid and her company were instead mobilized to the Aegir territory to assist in repelling potential attacks in the meantime, would that be sufficient?” Dimitri asks. It’s more of a thought than a command. He’s willing to let Byleth win this round as he can’t begin to fathom some of the complications that come with running the Church. He takes an interest, supporting her how he can. In private, she tells him of her duties and concerns – an odd topic of conversation for pillow talk, but he likes that she trusts him with some of her burdens and worries, as she’s helped him shoulder his own for so long.

 His main goal is to protect the people. Byleth has always been better at keeping her attention toward the future, while his attention is usually focused on the short term. Perhaps it’s one of the reasons their compromises work so well. Sending troops to assist Ferdinand would fulfill his intention of keeping the villagers safe, at least until the end of the summit. Not to mention, the increase in feelings of unity.

“I have no qualms with that solution,” Byleth says, a smile forming at the corners of her mouth.

 “We would be grateful for your assistance,” Ferdinand addresses Dimitri, giving a slight bow of his head. “I’m humbled, your Majesty.”

 “It’s settled then. I will pass word along to Ingrid,” he scribbles a note for himself. “In the meantime, perhaps we should adjourn for the evening?”

 A collective sigh of relief seems to spread throughout the hall. The various lords stand, bowing to Dimitri before exiting, ready to rest and enjoy the few hours of downtime they have before meetings resume again the next morning, servants coming to escort them to their various rooms. Ferdinand and Lorenz excuse themselves as well, familiar enough with the castle they feel comfortable roaming the halls without guidance.

 Once the room is empty, Dimitri turns to his wife who stands behind him.

 “I thought that went rather well,” he says, offering his hand. She takes it. “Though the Archbishop seems quite determined to give me a hard time,” he jokes. She squeezes his hand gently.

 “You’ll have to forgive her, your Majesty. I hear she’s rather stubborn,” she smiles up at him before standing on her tiptoes and placing a kiss on his cheek.

 “If that is official guidance from my Queen, I suppose I shall take it under advisement,” he laughs. The two of them walk hand in hand through the corridors. “You’re sure the investigation into the Western Church won’t be difficult for you, beloved? I worry about your safety.”

 “I can’t promise the investigation won’t come without dangers,” she replies truthfully, “but I will exercise caution. I have Seteth watching out for me.” She sighs, her mood immediately lightening, “At any rate, that’s enough talk of politics and official business. I asked Cyril to saddle the horses before sundown. If I haven’t been too stubborn, perhaps you’d like to join me?”

 “I’m quite fond of your stubbornness, you know,” he smiles, letting her lead the way to the stables.

 “I know,” she laughs.

#anyways hildahilda i hope u kno i would die for u #ask #writing tag #fe blogging #fire emblem three houses #fe 16 #dimileth

[madokasoratsugu]

have you no idea that you're in deep

[fritz/varg; witch/familiar au]

summary: It is always a war with the elements when he angers, when he despairs, a sorrow so profound even the heavens would bend a knee to. Were he not shackled by the curse, surely his magic could overturn even the scales of Fate itself. 

Silly notions they are - but such fanciful ideas strike Varg, when he sees Fritz; when he saw Fritz drenched in moonlight, saltwater lapping at his calves, clothes wetly clinging to his skin, casting a lovelorn look over his shoulder with sparkling eyes and unbridled laughter. Varg doesn’t peg himself a poet nor a romantic, but it is easy to spin such words when he has spent his life next to such loveliness. 

(in which Fritz is a witch cursed to staggered eternal sleep, and Varg is his steadfast familiar who struggles to understand why he stays, what love really means.)

a/n: uh. yeah! enjoy lol. read on ao3 if u can bc idk if tumblr messed up anything (as always lmao) and happy valentine’s day !

read on ao3 or below

People complain about such trivial things in relationships. Varg’s heard almost every mundane issue there is, and then some.

Being late, not shaving, not replying to messages within the hour. Those people on Yahoo answers and subreddits think they have it hard. 

Boo-hoo, Varg thinks. Try having an amnesiac, narcoleptic witch as a boyfriend.

Said boyfriend is currently leaning against his chest, nibbling on his lip. Varg curls his arms around Fritz’s middle, and Fritz leans his head into the crook where Varg’s neck meets his shoulder. Varg can feel Fritz’s lashes fluttering against his collarbone, and his heart leaps miles until he feels Fritz shift deeper, awake.

Fritz has not spoken much since he woke up. Had only blinked blearily, looked around, confused, before the look in Varg's eye killed the spark of curiosity in his.

This has only happened once before. Varg’s own eyes threaten to shut with the memory, a physical withdrawal from the thought. 

At least this time, he is quiet.

When Fritz is loud, nothing silences him, an unbidden strength drawn from his sadness that breaks more than glass and stone. When he is loud, he cries enough to drown a river, an ocean, himself, a million times over.

It is always a war with the elements when he angers, when he despairs, a sorrow so profound even the heavens would bend a knee to. Were he not shackled by the curse, surely his magic could overturn even the scales of Fate itself. 

Silly notions they are - but such fanciful ideas strike Varg, when he sees Fritz; when he saw Fritz drenched in moonlight, saltwater lapping at his calves, clothes wetly clinging to his skin, casting a lovelorn look over his shoulder with sparkling eyes and unbridled laughter. Varg doesn’t peg himself a poet nor a romantic, but it is easy to spin such words when he has spent his life next to such loveliness. 

Yet long as Varg’s spent by Fritz’s side, he still doesn’t understand how anyone could devote themselves so wholly, so unconditionally to something as fickle as magic.

But to love - maybe, he understood, just a little. It is nights like this when Fritz is soft and warm against him that Varg thinks his fingers are brushing against the concept of it, yet still too far to fully hold on to. 

A fleeting notion that his fear and the even breaths of a curse-induced sleep do not allow him to embrace. 

But tonight, arms full of Fritz, every beat of his heart synchronised to Varg’s, he lets the fear ease and the sensation of his lover pressed against him to wash over him instead, the prickling joy of closeness shared only when both are awake.

Quiet though he is, Varg knows he is upset. Running a thumb down his ribcage, Varg hums questioningly. Another day he would make a joke about having to prod and strum Fritz like an instrument before he offers even a hat for Varg to drop a penny in exchange for his tumultuous thoughts. 

Tonight he will not. Tonight Varg knows to simply wait as Fritz brews, tentative and new and quiet. 

So Varg closes his eyes, settles, and waits. Varg did not use to be so good at staying silent. But decades of experience have trained him well.

Eventually, Fritz tilts his head back. His lip has been worried till it chapped.

“So this isn’t...Brugantia?” Fritz asks, voice so small Varg aches. 

Varg swallows a sigh. Pulls Fritz closer by his waist, resting his chin atop his head. 

“Technically? Yes. But humans have redrawn the borders, so geographically, no.” 

The answer comes easy. Not from rehearsal or practice, but repetition. There is something funny in it, Varg thinks. To yearn and wait and repeat the heartache of succumbing to the ordeal of love again and again; to let yourself fall in love for a night and watch it wither to sleep the very next.

There must be, or why else does laughter bubble anxiously in his chest when Fritz looks at him like the morning sun when his eyelids finally flutter open, when Fritz touches his cheek and calls his name, when Fritz kisses the corner of his lips like it’s been a day and not decades.

“Huh.” Fritz blinks, then pulls a face. “Again?”

Varg laughs, a low rumble that has Fritz pressing his back into with a content sigh. 

“Again.” He confirms, squeezing Fritz.

A smile flitters across Fritz’s face, the first of the night. It is so sudden and breathtaking Varg finds his mind lapsing for the next part of the conversation. 

But Fritz’s smile is just as quick to fold into something more uncertain. He shifts so he is kneeling between Varg’s legs, face to face with the raven. 

Carefully, he slides his hands across Varg’s chest, over his shoulders and neck, threading through his hair. Varg hums, a lower note that Fritz delights in, in the way his fingers twitch a laugh and scratch his nails on his scalp. 

It isn’t until his hands stop at the brim of his boater hat that Fritz’s hands stutter. Tracing the lip with the pads of his fingers until his hands are on either sides of the hat, Fritz chews his bottom lip, lowering his eyes to Varg’s. Curiousity and nerves glint in his eyes, his paused movements. 

Varg dips his head, laughing softly at Fritz’s yelp when the hat slips into his grip. Permission given, Fritz gently lifts the hat off. 

A pair of fluffy wolf ears pop into view, and Fritz’s frame sags with relief. 

“There they are.” Fritz says, scratching the back of one. Varg leans into the touch, tail thumping on the floor, embarrassedly happy. Dust kicks up behind him, a sight that only makes Fritz’s smile grow.

Yet Fritz’s teeth only sink deeper into his lip, eyes still holding a faraway touch, a held back question. Scratches growing slower the deeper he sinks into his doubt, fingers tangling in thick hair and fur alike. 

Tilting his head to press his mouth to Fritz’s wrist, Varg feels his eyelids drop at the thrumming pulse against his lips. 

“I’ve got pennies if you’ll sing.” Varg murmurs, a hand coming up to caress Fritz’s side. He runs a soothing hand from the side of his chest down to his hip, resting on the bone to rub circles with his thumb. 

“We’re not -.” Fritz starts, hand flat on the crown of the hat, pressed tight to his chest. “This isn’t the eighteenth century, is it?”

Varg’s smile turns crooked. “Nope. Try twenty-first.”

Horror overwhelms Fritz’s features, twisting them into a pallid mess. “Twenty - Three centuries? I’ve been asleep for three - ?”

“You’ve woken up four times before.” Varg says. Humour somehow still manages to leak into his callous tone. “This makes it five.”

Words can hardly leave Fritz. He gapes down at Varg, flapping his mouth like a stranded fish. 

Then his arms are thrown tight around Varg’s neck, a vice grip as he flattens his face into Varg’s hair. There’s a stuttering inhale, and just as quickly, Varg is winding his arms around Fritz, pulling him flush against himself.

For a moment, there’s nothing but silence and the harshness of the truth in the air.

“I’m sorry.” 

Varg closes his eyes, clenching his jaw. Again. This was always the part he hated most.

“I didn’t - Fuck.” The swear is punctuated with a choking sob, a rare display of anger doused out with utter upset. “I’m so, so sorry.”

“To be -,” Varg pauses with a forced laugh, willing it to calm Fritz enough to still the apologies. “To be fair, the curse said you’d sleep, not forget. Hardly your fault he screwed us both over.” 

Fritz vehemently shakes his head, grip only tightening. “I made an oath to never leave your side. A promise.”

“You were.” Varg tries, but his attempt at silencing his partner ends with him being silenced instead, with the sudden chill as Fritz pulls away. Instantly, Varg’s hands fall to Fritz’s hips, holding him in place, the cold uncertainty of departure still looming over him.

Gripping Varg’s face with both hands, Fritz fiercely glares at him. But his anger doesn’t hold up as well as his sadness does, tears already glazing his champagne eyes a dizzying hue.

“I wasn’t. I couldn’t be, when I’d forgotten. Don’t deny that I wasn’t there, that I couldn’t keep my - my promise.” The gravity of the situation sinks in deeper, and Fritz falls forward, as if weighed by it, knocking their foreheads together. “I’m sorry.”

“...God, stop fucking saying sorry.” Varg says, vicious. Discomfort crawls beneath his skin, anger at the situation and at Fritz unearthing from a place he’d tried so hard to bury. “It’s not your fucking fault.”

Fritz bites on his bottom lip again. It is hard when your lover’s existence can be acknowledged in full only by you. It is harder still when the guilt cannot be absolved by words, only time. 

“I hurt you.” He quietly admits. “I didn’t….I didn’t mean to, but I am.”

A familiar look of guilt paints itself on Fritz’s face. Before he can pull away, run, as he is prone to do - prone to believe he should, Varg hooks an arm around him, drawing a startled yelp from the witch.

“You did. Shouldn’t have followed that shitty witch and got cursed.” Varg says, rolling his eyes. 

“No, I...I shouldn’t have.” Fritz echoes. The lighthearted tone must not have translated, because Fritz is dropping his head, hands curling into the hat instead of Varg’s hair.

“Joke. It’sa fuckin’ joke.” Varg snorts, tapping Fritz’s cheek with his knuckles. “You’re the fool for trusting him, but he’s the asshole for cursing you.”

Fritz looks up, frowning. “I can’t tell if you’re cheering me up or not.”

“Yes.” Varg says, straightfaced.

Fritz squints at him, prompting a smirk out of the raven. That has Fritz pulling the hat back atop his head, squishing his ears into the accessory in the process, earning an uncomfortable grunt from the familiar.

“Ass.” Fritz says, voice stupidly fond. Letting go of the hat, Fritz’s hands come to a rest on either side of Varg’s face. Despite his resurfaced anger, Varg cannot deny the comfort Fritz’s touch brings, the longing it soothes. “...Are you upset with me?”

Varg’s lips twitch at the question. Again, Fritz’s insecurities rear its head. Indignation simmers in Varg’s middle; the thought that Fritz could never hold onto the memory of repeated forgiveness, of repeated rows and shouts they've had over this same topic.

“Yes.” The reply makes Fritz duck his head in shame. Lifting his chin with a crooked finger, Varg looks at Fritz, amused. His reaction was always the same. And so would his answer. 

Maintaining steady eye contact, Varg leans in. “I’m upset that you left on your own. I’m angry that you tried to throw your life away for me. I’m suicidal too. Let me do it next time.”

Fritz’s eyes blow wide in shock, then narrow. “No. I’m the magic one. You’re not taking any hits, not when I'm still here.”

Their eyes lock, holding the stare for one long, tense moment. 

Varg pinches Fritz’s chin, dragging his face closer. Teeth bared, a low growl emits from the werewolf’s throat. 

“I said, no.” Varg snaps. 

A flash of anger that no doubt mirrors Varg’s own crosses Fritz’s face. The fierce overprotectiveness steeped in obstinance - it reminds too starkly for Varg to fold; the same look he’d seen before Fritz left the cottage and returned cursed.

“No.” Varg repeats, louder. “What, being amnesiac and narcoleptic not good enough for you? Should I go get another witch to pull out your teeth and cut out your tongue so you can’t agree to stupid deals anymore?”

Pressing closer until their breaths mingle, Varg grins sardonically. Relishes in the way Fritz only defiantly glares back, champagne eyes gleaming with the vivid opalescence of trapped moonlight. “Know what? Pull up a chair, I'll get some pliers and do it myself. Maybe then you’ll listen to me.”

Fritz leans in, eyes darkened through his long white lashes. His thumb smooths Varg’s jawline patronisingly, pressing painfully into the dent behind his earlobe. “Oh, I’d love to see you try, Varg.”

Another beat of silence follows.

It is times like this that Varg detests Fritz’s stubbornness, the reluctance to allow himself to be protected for once, the need to always stand strong running through his veins in lieu of blood.

Where did that lead them? To a cold cellar with naught but a coffin full of funeral flowers frozen in time.

Yet Varg cannot deny the way his heart had sung at the sacrifice, the distance his lover was willing to cross just for them. The way he’d cried as much as his heart had soared at the act, over the shallow rise and fall of the sleeping witch lain still amongst full blooms.

In the contradiction of what it meant to love and the love he sought, Varg finds Fritz; yet finds himself still yearning more, craving more of Fritz, of that intersection that is a mere side of him.

What was he seeking, really? Validation? Fritz’s reliance? Love? 

Glancing an absentminded thumb over the sore lip, Varg doesn’t know the answer. All he knows is when Fritz’s lashes flutter at the pressure over his lip, moonlight eyes cracking into stars, his heart patters a little quicker, a little more insistently with the need to close the distance between them.

Slowly, Varg leans forward to kiss the familiar indent in Fritz’s bottom lip, eyes slipping shut to the sound of a breathy sigh. Cradling the back of Fritz’s neck as the other slants his head to slot their lips in a more familiar pattern, the kiss is tender, a reassurance translated through the gentleness they share.

When they part, Fritz’s eyes drift shut for a moment. His expression is soft, dreamlike, as if awakening all over again when his eyes slowly reopen. 

Fritz hums, the sound exhausting the trepidation in Varg’s bones. His canines poke Varg when he presses another chaste kiss to the corner of Fritz’s mouth.

“Next time.” Varg promises against the skin. Fritz pauses, leaning back to look at Varg in amusement. “Floss and a door would do the trick too.”

Fritz rolls his eyes. “Sure, and while you’re distracted tying floss to the doorknob, I'll take the pliers and render you toothless.”

Varg fakes a loud gasp, laying a hand on his chest. “But I need them to survive!”

“And I need mine for my spells, so we’re even.” Fritz smiles primly, patting Varg on the cheek. 

“Asshole.” Varg grumbles. 

“Takes one to know one!” Fritz replies cheerily, pecking him sweetly on the lips. It makes any other words of discontent die in Varg’s throat, a satisfied hum sounding in its stead. 

The whiplash speed of which their relationship switches moods could give anyone vertigo - one moment it’s daggers and poison and the next is roses and honey, sticky sweet and soothing for the throat sore from swallowed knives. It’s a fast paced dance, unmatched by any other but a learnt partner who can predict your next step before you even take it. 

He’s missed this, Varg thinks, as he rakes a hand through Fritz’s hair, pushing the long bangs away from the left side of his face. Pinning the hair back, a few loose strands escape his grip, falling across Fritz’s face in a familiar pattern. 

“You should put your hair up again.” Varg says, as Fritz presses his cheek against his arm.

Fritz crinkles his nose in consideration. “Maybe. Or maybe I’ll cut it.”

“Nah.” Varg says, slyly smiling. “Give me something to pull.”

Fritz barks a startled laugh, flicking Varg’s nose. “Watch yourself.”

The raven only laughs in return, teasingly digging his nails into the witch’s neck. Fritz jolts at the sudden sensation, and sends Varg a halfhearted glare. Varg only smiles innocently back, languidly tracing the base of Fritz’s neck with his nails, comforting the red lines with the dragging heel of his palm.

Unable to hold back an embarrassingly contented purr, Fritz flops facedown onto Varg’s shoulder. Despite the clear enjoyment, his shoulders are jittering in an effort to keep his giggles down. Cheek to hair, Varg grins. Fritz has always been ticklish in the weirdest places.

“Feeling sleepy already?” Varg teases, even as he does not give up the stronghold he has around Fritz’s waist, even as he feels his words stick to his tongue before they are verbalised.

“No?” Fritz replies, smile evident as pressed against Varg’s shoulder. Varg’s heart trips at the sensation, and trips again when Fritz turns his head to look up at him through his lashes, past his mussed bangs, a curious brow arched. His eyes are sparkling wide and aglow, fetching in the moonlight, undeniably awake. “Would be weird if I was sleepy now.”

“You’ve slept at odder times, love.” Varg sighs. The pet name slips past unbidden, the relief and moonlight reflected in Fritz’s soft gaze loosening his tongue. He flushes immediately.

Meanwhile, Fritz’s spine straightens instantly, face positively lit, an absolutely delighted smile splitting his face in half.

Before Fritz can say anything, Varg is crushing his mouth back onto Fritz’s, although it is less kiss and more a forceful manner to keep the witch silent. To Varg’s chagrin, the leaking giggles from his lover tells him it is a futile effort.

“Love, huh?” Fritz says the moment they part, eyes twin mirthful crescents. His cheeks are a bright rosy hue, mischief dancing in his eyes. “I haven’t heard that in a while.” 

Varg groans wordlessly, headbutting Fritz, who only giggles louder. At that moment, Varg feels his crushed spirits rise as much as they deflate. It is a surprisingly humbling moment that does not last long against his personality. But it happens, and Fritz pounces upon it with a vengeance. 

“Sa-ap.” Fritz singsongs, thumbs tapping to every syllable on Varg’s cheeks. “You’re a big fluffy sap.”

“I’ll throw you out.” Varg threatens.

“Of my own house?” Fritz tilts his head with a wide grin. “You don’t have that power, freeloader.”

“I paid your bills for three centuries. I’ll do whatever I want. Including this.”

Without hesitation, Varg mercilessly begins tickling Fritz’s sides. Fritz’s retaliation is to immediately fall on his side with an uncanny shriek, dragging Varg down with him.

They land in a tangle of limbs and wild laughter, uncaring of the cold where the wooden floor meets bare skin. There’s sure to be bruises forming from Fritz’s windmilling arms and Varg’s prodding fingers tomorrow, and maybe even a floor to repair. 

But tonight, there’s nothing but the two of them and their endless peals of laughter, warmed inside out from happiness and embarrassment, and the knowledge that they are alive, and awake, so, so awake.

Varg stops laughing long enough to turn his head to Fritz, and his smile only grows fonder at the sight. 

Upon the chestnut wood, white hair halos around Fritz, one arm lying across his eyes while the other clutches his middle in a pitiful effort to control his laughs. Shafts of moonlight stream through the blinds, cutting his figure into panes of light and shadow. Yet somehow his entire being appears to be aglow when he lowers his arm, tilts his head to look back at Varg, cheeks a pretty red and grin all teeth; utterly picture perfect.

When Fritz’s eyes find Varg’s, his expression falters, creases into one more somberly sweet, in the way his eyes still smile even as his lips lose their grin. 

Turning on his side, he reaches out across the small distance between their faces, fingertips brushing Varg’s cheekbone. It’s only then that Varg realises his own smile has slipped, facial features twisted into something surely ugly and bittersweet, from the tender way Fritz caresses his cheek.

“I know you don’t want to hear it, but I want to say it.”

Varg clicks his tongue, but it is less spite and more habit. “Should have known I can’t shut you up for long.”

Fritz only smiles; tucks himself into Varg, forehead to forehead, nose to nose. Every touch feather soft and certain - a scream and a whisper of presence all at once. 

“I’m sorry. And I’ll say it as many times as I need to.” 

The inherent sincerity in the whisper makes shivers tumble down Varg’s spine. There is an ache in Fritz’s words that Varg has long since tired of hearing, long since fallen in love with.

Varg only mutely nods. He is not gracious enough to separate the wants from the rights, not gracious enough to shut down the unneeded apology. Not when the pain still hollows in his chest. 

It is a knowledge they’ll both share again in the future. Maybe on another day, maybe not. But it will be shared, either to an awaiting ear beneath the sun or to a silent body bathed in candlelight’s glow.

But the way Fritz looks at him tells Varg the knowledge is already shared, unspoken as it is. 

Varg leans in, pressing a soft kiss on the eye of his other half a soul. Fritz closes his eyes as he does, a silent sigh brushing lightly on Varg’s collarbone.

“Tired?” Varg asks again. This time the question is a tentative murmur, too aware of past proceedings to trust. He lays a hand flat on Fritz’s chest, waiting for the thrumming of his heartbeat to slow, for their time together to once again hasten to an end.

“No.” The rejection is immediate. Fritz’s hand comes to rest upon Varg’s, lacing their hands together backward. “But you are, aren’t you?”

Varg laughs, quiet. “Maybe just a little.”

The witch tugs his familiar downward, shifting just so that they fit neatly against each other, with his cheek upon Varg’s head. Fritz begins carding his fingers through Varg’s hair, scratching lightly behind his animal ears. Varg sinks into his embrace, eyes shutting to tune into the sensations on his scalp, the light hum his lover makes whenever he exhales.

“Then sleep.” Fritz says, voice barely above a whisper. “I’ll be here when you wake up.” 

It is a fool’s promise. Varg would be one himself if he believed in it. 

But Fritz’s voice is a soothing lullaby, familiar and gentle like the moon he worships. 

As he slowly drifts off, Varg can’t help but think maybe this was love, to be warm and not so content and worried, but trying to trust in it still; maybe this is where he’s meant to be, gravitating towards Fritz with his ocean of unnameable emotions, yet dreadfully warm all the same, dreadfully heartachingly sweet like his lover’s lips. 

For the first time in perhaps decades, Varg lapses into a dreamless sleep buried in the scent of petrichor and dust; the only sweetness that lingers into his sleep not that of funeral flowers - but the press of Fritz’s lips upon his crown.

Warm, and so very awake.

.

.

.

Varg’s first memory was lying on his back beneath a full moon, the pungence of burnt grass mixed with rain, a man whom the smell clings to, undercut by the scent of a sharp spice.

His face filled with open wonder as he stood spellbound over Varg, eyes wide as saucers and pretty enough to get drunk from.

Then he’d laughed, hands coming together in a singular clap. And Varg’s heart had leapt, the joy shared with him so suddenly and intensely he couldn’t do anything but stare.

“Nice to meet you.” He’d said, voice ringing like a clean bell. Holding a hand out, the cut on his palm was already healing. He’d grinned, unconcerned of the blood that dripped down his arm. 

Dangerous, Varg’s instincts screamed. This man could ruin him with a snap of his fingers. But his eyes were kind and when Varg clasped his hand a profound sense of safety washed over him, certain and tangible as the pool of moonlight they were enveloped by.

“I’m Fritz. Please take care of me.”

.

Varg’s first incantation was one of anger, of morbid desire. 

His words had twisted, turned whiplike and pointed, coalescing into the fire of dying stars - 

Until Fritz slammed a bloody palm down and over the circle beneath his feet, an intermediary of a different catalyst forcing the spell to a fizzling halt.

Both had stared at each other for a long moment, one’s eyes wide with shock, the other in horror and confusion.

Fritz’s lips are pulled in a tight line of what Varg is certain to be held back reproach - the thought makes his hands curl into fists, defensive.

Before anyone can diffuse the situation, the moment is broken by a burning hiss of disagreement between ground pomegranate seed and blood.

“Maybe.” Fritz mumbled, deep in the night when Varg had stopped pacing long enough to sit next to Fritz’s bed, arms pillowing his head. It had taken the better half of the evening for the witch to convince his familiar to return home. The moon had been high by the time he had surreptitiously came out the back forest, only to find Fritz sitting on the front porch shaking a bag of dog treats. Mockery was the best bait, Fritz had said when Varg demanded an explanation. He wasn’t wrong, which only infuriated the werewolf more. “Maybe it was the date I called for you. That’s why your magic is so - unstable.”

Fritz’s bandaged hand played with the hem of his hand knit blanket, staring up towards the ceiling blankly. Varg fought down the itch to reach over and still the movement, scowling.

Seeing his twisting expression from the corner of his eye, Fritz’s expression falls, reaching out a hand. 

“Don’t.” Varg said, ears flattening against his head, voice still with a raw edge to it. 

Fritz hesitated, but only for a moment, before tentatively scratching at the tender spot at the base of his animal ear. Varg bared his teeth, but Fritz only scritched harder, another challenge posed in response to the challenge. 

Were it not for their bond, Varg thought he should bite off his hand. Physical damage did not carry through their unique bond, anyway. 

"I'm sorry for scaring you. I promise it won't happen again." 

All thoughts turn to a standstill in Varg’s mind. Fritz’s hand now strokes his hair, slow and staggered from the mild discomfort of the bandage.

Averting his eyes, Varg's tail flicked back and forth restlessly. "Issokay." He mumbled, the unexpected apology making him feel inexplicably guilty - for burning him, for running away, or maybe for even existing at all; cruel, angry and vicious.

Fritz smiled, rubbing a gentle knuckle into his head, making Varg grumble half-heartedly. "Promise I won’t make you want to run away again, too." His tone is light, but his heart stutters and jumps too quick to pass off as such, a telltale giveaway for his true anxiety. 

And Varg felt it, every staccato of Fritz’s heart - in Fritz’s trembling hands, in his own chest.

It unsettled him in a way it shouldn’t, and Varg disguised the discomfort with a scoff. "I’m gonna come back eventually. Don't have anywhere else to be anyway." Despite his flippant words, his ear gives a telltale flick of nerves.

Fritz turned, an arm tucked under the pillow supporting his head as he looked at Varg sideways. 

“So you'll stay?" Fritz's eyes are bright with hope. The sight twisted Varg’s middle into knots. From irksome, surely.

"What else can I do?" Varg asked wryly, tail swishing. Embarrassment coloured his face, the darkened cheeks visible even in the dark.

Hearing that, Fritz’s hand stopped, the battle between speech or silence clear on his face. Biting down on his lip, Fritz slowly inhaled, pushed himself up. Unwittingly used his injured hand, causing a flinch to run through his arm. 

The urge to reach out was instantaneous, but Varg caught himself at the very last moment, jaw set as he watched Fritz gingerly sit up. Watched Fritz glance at him, at his knees, then back at him again, an indecipherable look hidden in his eye, in his small smile.

"Nice to know my partner isn't going anywhere." Fritz said, and his smile cracked a little wider, a little shyer, but still undeniably brilliant even in the darkness of the room.

And the next heart that skips a beat -

Surely, it had been the witch’s.

.

Varg’s first, and only, regret is listening to Fritz.

“I’ll be fine.” 

Fritz had stood on the boundary between their cottage and the town, feet one step away from the circle of protection. Tall grass and overgrown weeds swayed in the gentle night breeze at Fritz’s feet, welcoming the witch into the night air.

Under the canopy of stars, Fritz’s smile had been as bright as always, as if stolen from the veil of night itself. In his basket were peace offerings - a pie and two bottles of wine. Hidden beneath, a vial of moonshine, a bundle of honeysuckle and a silver knife. 

Friends do not bring magic tools for casting into each other’s abodes. Friends do not take precautions against each other. Varg had said as much, earning a forlorn chuckle from the witch as he packed.

Yet Fritz stayed resolute, looking out the window as his hands paused over his scattered belongings on the table. The night had been beautiful, with skies so clear metal and petal alike glinted in the overabundant moonlight that filled their home. 

And when Fritz looked back at Varg to silently smile, his eyes catching in the light, Varg had found his ability for speech stolen from him.

“I’ll be back soon.” 

At the doorway, Fritz had curled his hand around Varg’s, careful and gentle, cautious. Touched their foreheads together, closed his eyes and inhaled softly, brows slightly furrowed. He had held onto the moment, the wolf, as if trying to etch the instant into his mind; the cool air turning Varg’s skin lukewarm, every wrinkle in Varg’s palm, every scent that Varg has carried since that first night under the full moon.

Varg had not done Fritz the same courtesy of shut eye. Instead, he chose to drink in the vision of the witch; of silver moonlight dancing on his cheekbones, of soft radiance settling into his nearly-white hair and lashes; of starlight that he appeared to be born from, all at once vulnerable and powerful and wished upon. 

When Fritz opened his eyes, Varg found himself unable to speak, unable to think all over again - already drunk from the champagne hue.

“Wait for me.” Fritz had breathed, a plea and a promise both.

For the first time, looking at him, with an intensity Varg had to swallow at.

“I will.” 

.

.

.

In another memory, another time, when Varg was still desperate and the pain of being apart still threatened to tear him into ribbons of pain with every beat of his shared heart, he was alone with Fritz. 

Late sunlight streamed lazily through the open windows, pooling at their bare feet and curling over their forms, curling into every whorl and lock of opalescent hair. The oaken table between them creaked with every shift of weight, every cautiously lifted hand. Day curtains flapped carefreely around their heads, occasionally wrapping itself around their shoulders before gently falling back. 

Fritz sat across from him, beguiling in the heat haze; chin in palm, other hand resting on his upper arm. Cool silks and gauzy fabric arranged loosely around his frame, pulling in the wrong directions; hints of rich sepia skin peeking through, blended soft through the translucent fabric. Eyes half lidded, concentrating only on the board game laid in front of him. 

Almost artful, but mostly a lovely, silken mess. 

In the air there hung the intoxicating scent of spices and myrrh, mingling with the heat, the knowledge that this was different, somewhere farplace and away - away from everything and anything, a slice of something nearly perfect for just them two.

In this lifetime, Fritz had awoken in a cramped room, amidst pillows of every size and shape, the warm scent of the sun and star anise clinging to him. Glided across the room to press a kiss on the back of a freshly tattooed neck, hummed “good morning” and asked no questions. Only looked out the window to the raucous, colourful street beneath and raised a brow, glancing back at Varg.

“We’ve traveled far.” 

Varg had thought of the sleepless horseback rides, the rattling caravans they’d stolen away in, the forest they’d crossed before it gave way to the town nestled deep in a seemingly eternal desert. 

“You wanted to explore.” Varg had smiled, heart lifting at the sound of Fritz’s returning laughter. 

There had been no snide remark, no wry comment on missing out on the sights, only a featherlight touch to the back of Varg’s neck, fingertips gliding over the familiar sigil. 

Illusory sight, to hide, secret. Fritz’s fingers traced the interlaced patterns, and asked no questions. Only drew another sigil lightly over the ink with his nail, too faint for Varg to parse.

A humid wind swept through the room, brushing through their hair and loosely fitted clothes. Varg had not dared to turn his head, not even when Fritz pressed a kiss to his shoulder and encircled him in a loose hug from behind.

He did not apologise. Only peppered kisses across the exposed panes of skin, laughter a touch softer when basking in the midday sun. Lips skimming the sensitive ink, a sorrowful sort of understanding translated in the way he had only lingered upon it.

Varg thinks maybe that is why it is his favourite memory; the memory he revisits when he is cold and leaning against an oaken coffin surrounded by candles, hand sinking as if endlessly into the chilled petals of hyacinths and lilies.

Back in the tiny room, Varg’s hand had rested upon warped wood, hot despite the setting sun. The balmy climate affects even the encroaching night, the golden hour turning all that it touches into something resplendent and warm.

Gazing only at the person before him, radiant in the filtered sunlight. A picture of slipping fabric and contentment, rolling a game piece between long fingers, movements languid in a manner that coerces the world to stop for him.

Outside, the indiscriminate chatter has given way to the buzz of cicadas, the strings and songs of a passing minstrel. Mellow and ascending, the lyre sings bright and full, accented by the hum of Summer heat. 

Fritz has tilted his head towards the window, a smile unravelling like the notes of a love song. Loose silver-white bangs framing his face, long lashes fanning his cheeks. Flecks of dust catch in the light, almost appearing aglow in the slice of weak sunlight he was framed in.

Enchanting even in gold, even in silver. Varg had felt his heart racing, slowing, bursting all at once, a messy emotional cacophony expressed by the minstrel’s low baritone, soaring and powerful to the lyre accompaniment. 

It had been new, it had been young, a dawning realisation that Varg had not understood, still does not. 

Watching Fritz’s features smooth in the light, the heartache eases for the first time, teetering into something sweeter, like a thorny rose in bloom.

So lost in the picturesque scene, it is another belated moment before Varg notices the even pattern Fritz’s breaths had slowed to. But it hurt a little less with the heavy scent of myrrh suffused in the heat, clinging onto Fritz’s skin and shawls, prominent as Varg gathered the sleeping witch in his arms.

Intoxicating, treacherous, the way his lips still curved in a smile as his head lolled against Varg’s chest; body carrying the sharp smell of star anise and sunshine, different and familiar yet adored all the same. 

He belongs here, Varg remembers thinking, sunken in embroidered cushions and silken threads, cheeks coloured by heat and swathed in light.

But he cannot stay. He won’t. 

Lying sideways next to Fritz, hair spilling into each other’s in the small space, tangling his fingers with Fritz’s own, still warm, Varg leans into Fritz’s shoulder, and closes his eyes.

And in an uncharacteristic moment of weakness, wishes that Fritz might. 

But stay where, with who, he does not allow himself to wish, unspoken and wretched in his selfishness.

He only wishes, too lovestruck to do anything else more, too afraid to voice it as a promise.

He only wishes, back of neck burning with the ignorance of Fritz’s quiet confession.

Protection, safe harbour -

Home.

#cinderella phenomenon #cinderella phenomenon visual novel #cinderella phenomenon spoilers #fritzgerald aiden leverton #varg (cinderella phenomenon) #melon writes

[starsailorstories]

I’m just posting this bc, idk, I’ve gotten tired of not posting much writing on tumblr, and I’m not sure how much of this particular storyline is in or out of vol. 2 at this point so I feel like I can post it and...probably not be spoiling anything

Backstory here for those who don’t know it: Lionna Luneia Sola (whose full name, fun fact, literally means “north star, full moon, [local] sun”) is next in line for a very high and favored noble office titled by the Hyperians (so her power is tied to the aula’s--that’s important) and was pressured into a political marriage to the daughter of a wealthy shipbuilder in response to a direct request made of her aunt by the royal family. Her wife died pretty young just by chance, leaving Lionna positioned to inherit control of a huge business on top of her political duties, and a few quinturns later her parents made an ill-fated trip to the Milky Way and were lost in space. So for the past half-turn or so she’s been panicking alone at the top of the world, putting off her official instatement as a Marchiesa of the Outer Rings. Her only real confidant is Definite, a former umbralis who was assigned to serve her when they were both young teens and now is with the rebellion. She’s still posing as her umbralis because the proximity to power is really good for the rebellion’s intelligence situation, and at this point that’s all out in the open and Lionna’s become sympathetic and is trying to leverage her position to keep Defi and her allies as safe as possible, but there’s still a lot of baggage there. Also she’s been secretly in love with her since they were kids together, but that is SO taboo and also seems a bit exploitative so she’s trying to push those feelings away somewhere convenient. ANYWAY,

Lionna climbs the Aula’s thirty-six steps, lifting the few remaining corners of her mourning-scarlet drapery that aren’t folded over Definite’s arm. She’s come as discreetly as she can manage, but by design there isn’t really a discreet way to inherit a noble office in the Rings.

Particularly when you’re late.

“You’re late,” Maximata Caliopa observes, traveling diagonally to meet her halfway up.

“I know. I got stuck at security.”

“You would think they would know who you are by now.”

“Well, rules are rules,” she says, with what she hopes is a beatific, gentle smile worthy of someone who hasn’t been making up excuses all day.

“Never were truer words spoken,” the Maximata replies, taking her hand with a ferocity that overextends her elbow and nearly takes poor Defi down. “We’re only going to have a tenth hour to run through the fine points for the ceremony.”

“I know them,” Lionna answers softly, “it isn’t my first court season.”

At the gates one porter ushers them in; another takes up the train of Lionna’s robe and points Definite to a doorway on the side. They have a single instant to exchange invisible glances as she gives her tiny hand-to-shoulder bow and disappears. “Learned by sight is not learned by core,” the Maximata rebukes as they pass the threshold. “Oh,” she adds, as if she’s just noticed the color of the sleeve she’s holding, “sorry about your parents.”

The tenth hour of preparation feels to Lionna like something she might hallucinate, if she ever gets as far as hallucinations. Seemingly cradled in a dozen glittering gold arms at once, she is kissed from bended knee like a shrine statue, drilled in verses like a child before a school exam, and prepared for the empress’s scouring purity like a traitor on death row.

“Pray, first, for alignment in the orbits. Maximata Teleonara withered in a year after she became a lady-in-waiting and the lower lumini here say it’s all because she was unworthy in our most exalted lady’s presence.”

“Sounds like the worthy have nothing to fear, then.”

“Don’t be proud, it’s best to be on the safe side. We’re all of us subject to decay in this world. There might be some little thing you’ve forgotten.”

Lionna flashes her practiced cheeky smile--voidside warmth and Jenya sparkle--and says what it will let her get away with. “And what does your all-knowing chambermaid claim Teleonara was up to, senneta?”

“Oh, she--” The goldlighted Maximata refuses to corrupt her junior’s innocence for exactly a second before she lowers her voice. “You know. She had been a bit too affectionate with a certain clone.”

She doesn’t have time to decide if that, too, is an examination: others are offering condolences as more than an afterthought, bringing up family history in appreciative tones. All avoid the subject of the house signet she is to receive, which has been quietly re-cast--its ancient counterpart presumably floats somewhere far away, drifting as the void-currents bid--whether or not it remains on a Sola scionette’s finger.

As Caliopa predicted, a satellite’s satellite--handmaid to a lady-in-waiting, she’s pretty sure--comes curtsying in and announces that the empress has requested both of their presence well before Lionna feels ready. She kneels and puts her new gloves on, as suggested, in a kind of consecrated vestibule opposite the door to the great chambers. The threats aren’t quite enough to move her to pray for her own purification--the empress, after all, can’t be anything but a very old lady behind a screen, and on the brink of doing what she most dreads, Lionna finds it hard to be afraid of her. Instead she says Ella’s forbidden prayers, for the dead, for the seafaring. She asks for Avia, who certainly strove for wisdom in a way she never could, to find herself reborn somewhere just a bit less meticulously humble--somewhere she could relax a bit. She asks for her sennamiae to tarry somewhere close, where maybe somehow they can tell her what to do. And she asks, though she suspects it’s going too far in spirit if not in letter, that she never use the power she is about to receive to harm a lesser being, even by accident, even without knowing. 

Past the high polished doors and curtains of onyx beads that announce the boundaries between mundane and royal, the unnatural hush and cleanliness of the city is total. Guards and gold-trailing courtiers--favorites of the dynasty, elevated to proximal splendor--seem to float over their reflections in the floor, engaged in brief meetings of shoulders and hands that, while no sound or light is exchanged in their courses, manage to look significant. If it weren’t for the clear aisle laid across the floor, which they avoid, and the grand principa with a representative of the praeceptorate on her arm at the end of it, it might seem she has no particular role in this scene at all.

The empress is perfectly invisible. The enormous screen at the back of the room, with its Syfrae glyphs and sun lilies, stands for her, like brass circles for the goddesses in an Aivuran temple. Her presence presumably affords the hush, the courtiers, the guards, the officials, and all the other bits--but otherwise it casts no radiance. She cannot even see her light. 

It’s a relief, though she imagines for some it’s a disappointment. Where the aisle dead ends she sinks to her knees, pressing her folded hands to the floor the way she watched her wife do many times before her various relatives. This is how it feels, she thinks for an instant, and then immediately takes it back. A person’s place is more than a gesture, more than its trappings and symbols--more than its glyphs and sun lilies, more than its courtiers and guards.

Isn’t it?

The grand principa extends her hand; Lionna takes it, at light-level, between both her own. With the aula’s protocols of silence and obscurity at their deepest, homage is given wordlessly and taken with a nod. She closes her eyes and feels the principa’s other hand cross over to slide the signet ring over her thumb. She feels the covered stinger at her wrist catch, just briefly, on her sleeve as she straightens it. With a second nod the posture is dismissed. At last she raises--partly--the dense red lace that covers her face.

The little rhombus of lacquer takes only an instant to apply, from a tiny brush in the praeceptor’s hand, over top of her old First Daughter fiddlehead. She hasn’t been expecting to be regenerated atom by atom, but it’s certainly faster, softer, and less of a shift than she’s assumed. Becoming a Marchiesa, it turns out, feels exactly like coming of age, finishing school, and getting married: like absolutely nothing.

Suddenly she wants to scream. To break the silence irreparably, into a million shards. It isn’t that she didn’t walk in disenchanted, but the layers of forced profundity feel, now, personally insulting. How dare they set this, any of it, her, apart, when everything was so sickeningly random, when anyone wearing any ring could die. 

She places her hands and bows, a second time, in gratitude. She rises slowly, she takes even steps; eyes fixed forward on the shrine at the end of the hall. When she reaches it she stops, feeling the stares hit her shoulders one by one, and stays frozen until the doors are closed.

And still without a word, she runs.

It seems as if nobody stands in her way, but somebody must have noted her flight, because Definite waits at the door for her. She pulls her behind with a toss of her head--their familiar way, touching without touching--and clears the steps before anyone can breathe a word of congratulation to her. She is too fast for the valets; she finds her little ship in the long line by the violets twining up the nose. Before the lacquer is dry, they are together with their ragged breathing, shrieking over the rings in the voidward direction of home.

#sweet chariot #vol. 2 #lionna #definite #the aula

[moiraineswife]

The Expanse - A Clayleb Fic

OKAY SO I ASKED FOR WHUMP PROMPTS AGES AGO and have only done this one bc it got Long bc that is what i Do BUT SOMEONE SENT ME ONE FOR SHAKY HANDS BUT THEN TUMBLR ATE IT and my draft -_- SO I CANNOT TAG YOU OR REPLY TO YOUR ASK BUT I DID THE THING AND I HOPE YOU LIKE IT!!! 

Title: The Expanse

Summary: Prompt: “Another character spots their hands shaking, so they hide them.’ Set between episodes 36 and 37. After Caduceus’ near death experiences from drowning, he finds that he can’t sleep, and moves up on deck. He and Caleb have a conversation, and face their fears together. Caleb’s POV. 

Teaser: He considered him for a moment. It would be so easy to simply sit up here in his hidden nook, reading, ignoring what was happening. But as he continued to watch, Caduceus moved to the rail of the ship and gripped it, staring down into the ocean. He seemed to be shaking. A year ago Caleb had been alone. As Caduceus had been for some time before they had found him. He was not alone anymore. Nor was Caduceus. And he did not want to be again.Closing the book, Caleb made his decision. 

Link: AO3 

Caleb’s legs were cramping.

He was perched in the crow’s nest of The Mistake. The ship swayed gently at ease in the in the midst of the endless expanse of ocean while they took a rest. It was oddly soothing. The vast, gaping nothingness was surrounding him like an abyss. Blackness reigned on all sides. All that differentiated the sky from the rest of the looming darkness were the stars, twinkling down at him like the watchful eyes of the heavens. Cold, and remote, and dead.

When he’d been a child, after his grandmother had passed, his mother had taken him outside that night, after a day of endless quiet crying, and pointed up at a particularly bright star he’d never noticed before.

She’d told him it was grandma’s spirit, watching down on him from above. She was always there, mother said, but in the day it was too bright to see her. Only the night’s darkness could reveal her, but she would always be there, and that the night was nothing to fear.

The story had brought him so much comfort as a child. He no longer believed that story. He no longer wanted to. The thought of his family’s spirits staring down upon the waste of flesh and air he had become did not the faintest hint of warmth or comfort to him now.

Taking a breath, he sat down his book and began to work the knots of pain from his leg. As he did so, he caught movement on the deck below.

Curious, he sent one of his little globules of light floating down slightly closer to it. With a soft breath of relief, he realised that it was only Caduceus.

Caleb frowned slightly. It was late, well beyond the point they should all have been asleep. He certainly wished he was. But he accepted that sometimes sleep refused to claim him, and when it didn’t, he knew it was usually wise not to force it. There was a reason for it. And he had learned to listen.

He considered him for a moment. It would be so easy to simply sit up here in his hidden nook, reading, ignoring what was happening. But as he continued to watch, Caduceus moved to the rail of the ship and gripped it, staring down into the ocean. He seemed to be shaking.

A year ago Caleb had been alone. As Caduceus had been for some time before they had found him. He was not alone anymore. Nor was Caduceus. And he did not want to be again.

Closing the book, Caleb made his decision. Stowing it in one of his book holsters, he stood and stretched. Groaning at the sudden aches in his body, he gave himself a little shake, then began to descend from the crow’s nest.

Nott had initially refused to climb up into it. The height had given her a sense of horrible, dizzying vertigo and she had clung to Caleb the entire time. Caleb himself had never been bothered by them. He actually liked the feeling of being on high, watching everything unfolding below him while remaining aloof and unseen himself.

‘No-one ever looks up’ his father had told him when he’d been young. This had led to the unanticipated consequence of Caleb sitting on the roof of their small cottage for long periods of time.

He shook his head, banishing the memories. He didn’t want to think about that. He didn’t deserve to get any sort of pleasure or enjoyment out of the gentler parts of his past. He focused instead of where he was putting his hands and feet to get back down. It would be just like him to fall and break his neck in front of the traumatised Caduceus while he was trying to help him.

Once he had dropped safely down to the deck he padded towards the ship’s bow where Caducus was currently perched, staring out over the dark ocean. He paused, not sure how to interrupt, sure the firbolg knew he was there.

Clay didn’t turn, however, which was unusual in itself. Caleb had never known him to be anything other than entirely polite.

Glancing down, he realised the firbolg’s big, gentle hands were shaking.

Startled, he found himself blurting out, “Mister Clay, are you all right?”

Caduceus still didn’t turn to him, nor did he answer. He was quiet for so long, Caleb nearly gave up and returned to his book nest. Then, just as he was about to leave, Clay said, quietly, “I never imagined it would be so big.”

Caleb followed his gaze out over the seemingly endless ocean. Cautiously, he stepped up beside him, Caduceus didn’t protest, so he settled next to him and gazed out, too.

“The ocean?” he prompted, quietly. Caduceus could be rather deep at times, and it was impossible to know exactly what he was thinking at any given moment.

“Mm,” Clay agreed, nodding his big head slowly.

“I thought the same thing when I saw it for the first time,” he said, softly, feeling a pressure to break the silence for Caduceus’ sake, who he saw was still shaking. “I grew up in a little farming town in the middle of nowhere. We had nothing, nothing like this,” he gestured expansively beyond the ship.

Caduceus nodded slowly again. “There are a few sailors at home,” he said, Caleb had to take a moment to rationalise ‘home’ with ‘graveyard’ and remind himself that, for Caduceus, they were one and the same. “They talked about it, but...”

“But that cannot prepare you for seeing it,” Caleb murmured.

“Nope,” Clay agreed emphatically.

“I read books about it,” Caleb said. “I thought I understood what it would be like, but seeing it in person...”he shook his head.

He remembered his feelings on that day, as he stared out at the endless expanse of shimmering blue that stretched to, and beyond, the horizon. It had looked like possibility, and freedom, and the opportunity to escape everything forever. It had been beautiful and alien all at once, and he had found himself unable to stop staring at it. He still felt the same way looking at it now.

“I never realised how big the world was until I saw it,” Caduceus said, softly, almost taking more to himself than to Caleb.

Caleb felt a little smile tug at the corners of his mouth. Caduceus seemed so wise and deep most of the time, especially compared to their current band of merry fuck-ups, it was easy to forget how sheltered his life had been before.

“Ja,” Caleb said, softly, “There is a lot of it out there. And I imagine it feels even larger for someone like you, who has stayed in only one small part of it your entire life.”

“Yeah,” Caduceus said, nodding again, his eyes growing a little distant. “We had people come to us from all over, but it was only words, the places they had come from. I never realised, I never imagined...” he trailed off, unable to put his thoughts into words.

Caleb patted him slightly awkwardly on the shoulder, but he seemed to appreciate it.

A slight crease formed between his eyes as a sudden thought struck him and he said, “Did you want to see any of it?” he asked. “Before we found your temple and you felt we were a sign to go with, did you ever dream of travelling the world beyond your home?”

“No,” Caduceus said, with that simple, genuine honesty he had.

“I loved my home, my family, my tea,” he added, and Caleb smiled again. “I had no reason to leave.”

“I was desperate to leave my home when I was a boy,” Caleb confessed in a low voice. “It was small, and backwards. The world beyond it seemed infinite, and full of endless possibilities and potential for someone willing to seize it. I was determined to take it, to escape the lowly peasant place I grew up in and become something great. I was so sure there would be so many great things to discover. And there were,” he said.

His voice had now fallen so quiet it could be so easily snatched away by the sea breeze rippling past his coat, but he knew Caduceus’ sharp ears would catch every word.

“But there were a lot of terrible things, too, that I did not anticipate.”

I was one of them he thought darkly.

“There have been a few things so far that have been, ah, a little unkind towards me, I will say,” Caduceus said. “I don’t think I fully anticipated them, either.”

“Ja,” Caleb agreed, thinking of Caduceus’ two near drownings in as many days. “You have had a rough time of it so far,” he said, patting Caduceus once more, still awkwardly, on the shoulder. “Do you ever regret leaving home?” he asked hesitantly. “Coming with us?” he added, curious.

He felt none of them had really taken the time to get to know Caduceus. He would not go so far himself as to get invested. Not after the world had so recently and brutally reminded him why that was never a good idea.

Still, a few gentle questions couldn’t hurt.

Clay mulled this question over for a time, then said, “No. I might have, even though my home is dying and I want to help it. I thought I might have misread the Wildmother’s signs. Or maybe I had just imagined them because I was so desperate for one. I’ll admit I was ready to leave and go home at one point.”

“Why didn’t you?” Caleb asked, genuine interest making him blunter than he would have liked.

Clay didn’t seem bothered.

“Jester had a little talk with me,” he said,” Reminded me why we have faith, and what that means. That helped a lot.”

Caleb smiled again. “She is good at that,” he murmured softly, nodding his head.

“Yup,” Caduceus agreed.

“She is a good person. Strange, in her ways, as we all are, I suppose. But fundamentally she is a good person. Sometimes I wonder what she is doing with the likes of-“ he broke off, abruptly, catching himself.

Caduceus had a way of putting him at ease. Some natural magic of his made it easy to be comfortable around him, even let his guard down a little. The ocean was the same. They both exuded a strange, similar sense of freedom and escape. Their combination was a dangerous one.

Fool, he snapped at himself.

He had to be more careful. Clearing his throat too loudly, he averted his eyes from Clay’s mild gaze and said in an overly casual way, “So, Jester convinced you not to leave, but you still can’t sleep tonight? And you came up here this late instead?”

“Yup,” Caduceus replied, evenly, apparently not bothered by the brusque subject change and obvious shift of focus back onto himself. “For much the same reasons as you, I imagine.” His tone remained light, casual, and friendly, but there was an intensity to him all the same. “Kind of hard to relax and sleep when you’re always afraid.”

Caleb shivered.

“’Specially when the thing that’s making you afraid is sort of everywhere,” he said, blandly, but his eyes locked with Caleb’s as he said it.

Mouth suddenly very dry, Caleb forced himself not to react to the implied double-meaning and said, firmly, keeping the spotlight on Caduceus away from himself. “The ocean?” he prompted, firmly.

“I mean,” he said, with such an easy smile Caleb almost convinced himself he’d imagined the hidden meaning behind the words, “It has tried pretty hard to kill me a couple times now.”

“So it has,” Caleb agreed. He swallowed with difficulty, coughed, then said, “Well, my father always said that the best way to conquer fear was to face it.”

“He sounds like a very wise man,” Caduceus said, solemnly.

“He was,” Caleb replied, very quietly.

“Did you follow his advice?” Clay asked, jerking Caleb sharply back to the present.

In spite of the relative invasiveness of the question, Caleb found himself grateful for it, as it stopped his traitorous mind from wandering along the cliff edge of his sanity, teetering dangerously towards the abyss that always pulled at him.

He scrunched up his mouth without thinking and shook his head in a sharp, jerky fashion, “I would have,” he said, quietly, self-disgust lacing his words, “If I had been stronger.” He bowed his head, shaking it and muttering, “But I was a coward, so...” He shrugged his shoulders uncomfortably, trying to act as though this was of no significance to him.

He didn’t believe it himself. He highly doubted Caduceus would.

The firbolg watched him for a long time in silence, then, without warning, patted him gently on the top of the head.

This was so unexpected, Caleb started in surprise. The ghost of something that might have been a smile almost flitted across his face.

“You regret not doing it,” Clay said, finally, “That means you’ve grown since then. Maybe next time you have the chance, whenever that might be, you’ll be brave enough.” A soft, sweet smile lit up his face and he nodded, looking suddenly certain, “I think you will. Whatever it is, I think the next time you meet it, you will.”

Caleb shook his head bitterly, but didn’t speak.

“But even if you don’t, it doesn’t make you weak, and it doesn’t make you a coward,” Caduceus said, gently.

“I think that it does,” Caleb said, jerkily.

“Nah,” Caduceus said easily, shaking his head. “You’re still here,” he continued, “You didn’t give in to it,” he considered, then nodded, “You don’t give in to it. Don’t think you can be a coward in those circumstances. Now,” he said, patting Caleb on the shoulder again before he could say anything.

With two long strides he stepped off the slightly raised platform at the bow onto the deck, leaving a somewhat stunned Caleb standing where he had been watching him numbly.

Caduceus took a deep breath, then, without a word of warning, began to shed his armour and clothes.

Momentarily stupefied, Caleb just stared at him for a long second. Then, giving himself a shake, he stammered, “What are you doing?”

Caducues, now wearing nothing but his trousers and the loose white shirt he usually wore under his armour, pulling off his socks as he answered, smile gently at Caleb and said, simply, “Conquering.”

His hands, Caleb noted as he stood up and walked to the rail, were shaking again. But he clenched them into tight fists at his side to control them. Then, without another word, he stepped right to the edge, and jumped straight into the ocean below.

Caleb cursed in Zemnian and hurried to the rail himself.

“That is not what I meant, you-“ he hissed.

Staring down at the ring of bubbles marking the place where Caduceus had disappeared.

Silence.

The light sea breeze ran gentle fingers through his hair. The sails creaked softly as the wind stirred them. The ship swayed rhythmically like a cradle. Caduceus did not surface.

Caleb gripped the wooden rail so tightly it hurt. Frumpkin wound around his ankles, peering down, too, and meowing softly, as though in concern.

Still nothing.

Caleb was on the verge of running below to fetch Yasha, certain he would not be able to rescue Clay himself when with a lot of splashing, coughing, and expelling of water, he resurfaced.

Caleb breathed agin, as though he too had just vanished into the depths.

“It’s deep, you know,” Caduceus observed, matter-of-factly.

“I thought you had drowned,” Caleb hissed, realising he was still gripping the rail too tightly and relaxing somewhat.

“Nope,” Caduceus replied.

He was flapping and flailing so much that Caleb asked, suspiciously, “Caduceus, can you swim?”

“Apparently, yeah,” the firbolg replied with another of his easy smiles.

“Apparently?” Caleb repeated, feeling like an angry dragon about to spit fire at an oblivious cow. “You dived into the ocean with apparently?”

“Sure,” Caduceus replied.

Caleb’s eyes bulged with indignation.

“I mean,” Clay added, “I can sort of swim. We had a little pond back home. One of my sisters taught me a couple things.”

“A pond?” Caleb repeated, faintly. Then he snapped back into a more pragmatic mindset, “Come around this way,” he said, pinching the bridge of his nose and walking a few feet to his left, “There is rigging, you can climb back on board before you do drown.”

“I can’t do that,” Caduceus said, frowning slightly, “Not yet, at least.”

“Why not?” Caleb demanded trying, and failing, to keep the impatience out of his voice.

“I’m still afraid,” Caduceus said simply.

“You-“ Caleb began in frustration, “This is not the time, not-“ he broke off, composing himself, then said, bluntly, “You’ve proved your point, this is not necessary.”

Somehow, even while half-drowning, Caduceus managed to give him a stern look, “Not everything that happens is targeted at you, you know,” he said.”

“I never implied that-“ he began, but Caduceus interrupted.

“I’m not doing this to prove a point to you, I’m-“ he broke off, head briefly submerged by a wave, stuffing salt water into his mouth and smothering his words. “I’m doing it,” he ploughed on valiantly, choking a little as he spit up the water, “Because I need to learn and I need to not be afraid of this. ‘Specially since we’ll probably be in it again tomorrow.”

Caleb was quite impressed he’d managed to get any of that out at all in between bouts of coughing and spluttering while half-drowning. Not to mention more than a little humbled.

“But does it have to be done now?” he pressed, reasonably.

“No time like the present,” Caduceus said, “Something my father taught me.”

“No, there are better times,” Caleb insisted, “Times you can see, for example.”

“No,” Caduceus said, firmly, flailing stubbornly, “I could be in her again tomorrow with no time to prepare or practice. Or I could be struck by lightning and never get the chance.” He was ducked beneath another wave and popped up again, adding with a splutter, “Or I could drown tonight.”

Caleb cursed again under his breath in Zemnian. He was learning many things about the firbolg this evening. Prominent was the fact he had his own particular brand of stubbornness that nothing could overcome.

“Give me a moment,” he called irritably over the side, “And try not to drown.”

“Will do,” floated up to him amid splashing.

Still grumbling under his breath, Caleb stripped himself down to shirt and trousers, too, shrugging his coat and book holsters to the deck.

“Frumpkin, guard,” he ordered the cat.

Frumpkin sat himself down ostentatiously on the coat pile and blinked at him.

That would do.

With that, Caleb too jumped into the ocean.

The water was freezing as he plunged into it, and it took all of his self-control not to scream as the ice cold burned at his skin. It had always seemed strange to him. For all the ravishing, devouring power of a flame, it could not burn like ice.

He surfaced and gasped, but forced himself to take deep breaths and not panic or seize up. Caleb cursed again and shook his head like a dog to get the hair out of his eyes.

“Nice of you to join me,” Caduceus said, smiling for some reason, “The water’s lovely.”

“It is not,” Caleb spat, teeth chattering, “It feels like death.”

“Yeah,” Cad agreed, “I just always wanted to say that.

Caleb sighed and moved towards the still flailing firbolg. “Come here,” he said, floating close enough to touch him. “Stop flapping, you are not a bird,” he instructed, “Besides, all that flailing about will only tire you, which means you will only drown faster.”

“You’re good at this,” Caduceus said, so mildly Caleb almost missed the sarcasm. Almost.

Huffing, Caleb chose to ignore the jibe, noticing that, in spite of his words, Caduceus wasn’t flapping about nearly as much as before, though he was now beginning to sink, and seemed distinctly dissatisfied by it.

Every time his head dipped beneath the waves he desperately flapped his arms as though hoping to take flight and escape the sea altogether.

“Calm down,” Caleb said, trying to make his voice low and soothing. “And lie back, flat, as though you were on a bed,” he said, echoing advice that had been given to him a long time ago.

Caduceus glanced at him, not entirely with suspicion, more a deep uncertainty in his eyes.

“Trust me,” Caleb coaxed, “You are safe, I will not let anything happen to you.”

It had been so long since he’d said those words and meant them. He hadn’t been safe for anyone to be around in what felt like several lifetimes. In truth, he still wasn’t, not entirely. But in the moment, he meant them. Caduceus seemed to know that and, nodding he did as he was told, though he still looked distinctly uncomfortable about it.

Caleb bobbed closer and slid a hand under him, but it was far more a psychological support for Clay than a physical one, the ocean was doing most of the work for him.

“There,” Caleb said quietly, feeling Clay relax a little, realising that he was all right. “You will float naturally in this position, especially in the ocean, due to the salt,” he explained in a low, measured voice. “If you are in difficulty in the water, stay calm, and allow yourself to float.”

“Huh,” Caduceus said. Caleb carefully removed his hand and the big firbolg flailed in sudden fright for a moment before settling and continuing to float. “Well that’s neat,” he muttered absently, and Caleb smiled again.

“Your body will follow your head in water,” he said, gently tilting Caduceus’ head up towards the star-spattered sky, “Look up towards the sun and you should be okay.”

“Thanks, Caleb,” Caduceus rumbled, sounding much calmer and happier already.

“You are welcome.”

“You know, this is actually kinda nice,” Clay said, his eyes closed now, his arms outstretched as though he really was flying.

“Ja, it is,” Caleb agreed flipping onto his back and mirroring Clay.

He gripped his wrist with one hand and the ship’s rigging with the other to stop them becoming separated and drifting away into the depths of the ocean. But apart from his tethers, he simply let himself be.

“It feels like...Like freedom,” he breathed softly, not sure why he was telling Caduceus, but going on anyway, “If I close my ees like this, it feels as though I am no longer here, as though the world no longer exists and I am alone in an endless soft sky where there is no pain. There is only me. And oblivion.”

“Yeah,” Caduceus murmured, and Caleb felt him shiver slightly. “I don’t know if I’d want to live in a world with just me and...Nothing,” Clay said, thoughtfully.

“It has its merits,” Caleb said, bitterly, without thinking.

“Well, sure,” Caduceus said, “But I would miss some things. My home. My work. My family. My tea. I think I might even miss all of you, too, and everything that’s happened. Some of it was pretty terrible, sure, but a lot of it was pretty great.”

Caleb relaxed as Caduceus lapsed into silence. He had been tensed, waiting for him to push him on what he’d just said, but to his relief, he didn’t say anything more, and allowed the silence to stretch into a comfortable moment of peace between them.

After a long time of drifting together in the darkness, however, Clay said, “Who taught you all this? Fjord?”

Caleb huffed a soft laugh at that. “No, he said, “A good guess, but no, it was not Fjord. It was my mother, actually.” In spite of himself, he smiled, still able to hear her cool, measured voice instructing him. “She grew up in a coastal shipping town, and she insisted that I know how to swim properly. She said it may come in useful for me some day.” His mouth twisted into a slight smile at the thought. “I doubt she had all this in mind when she was teaching me.”

“She was right, though,” Caduceus observed, lightly.

“She was,” Caleb murmured quietly. “About so many things.”

He wished he could tell her that.

Caduceus once again, to his relief, allowed silence to blossom between them. It went unbroken so long that something like peace settled over Caleb like a warm blanket on a cold, winter night. He felt he could almost have drifted into sleep at last.

He no longer felt the frigid sting of the ocean. He felt calm, and quiet, and good.

Then he felt Caduceus jostling him.

“Come on,” he said in a low voice.

Caleb made an irritable noise halfway between a groan and a growl.

“We need to get out and dry off, “Clay coaxed, more insistently.

Caleb di not want to open his eyes. He did not want the world and all its horrors to be real once more. He wanted to linger in this sweet, dreamlike oblivion just a little longer.

“Caleb,” Caduceus said, sounding urgent now, “The water’s too cold, come on, we need to heat you up.”

Reluctantly, Caleb let his eyes flutter open. The world and all his pain flooded back. He reminded himself that he deserved it.

“Okay,” he mumbled, a little thickly.

He felt heavy, and sluggish, and Caduceus had to help him as they made their way back to the ship and climbed back on board. Now that he was out of the water he realised just how cold he was, shivering violently and uncontrollably as he spilled onto the deck in a heap.

Frumpkin trotted over, meowing and nuzzling him in concern.

“Here,” cad said, gently draping Caleb’s dry coat around him and picking up Caleb’s books from the deck. “It’s okay, I’ll look after him,” he told Frumpkin reassuringly. Then, to Caleb, he said softly, “Come on,” he said, leading him firmly below decks and into his cabin.

A fragrant aroma filled it from all the different teas and spices he had, but it was not unpleasant. Caduceus steered him towards the bed and nudged him down onto it, ignoring his vague, slightly slurred protests about soaking his blankets.

Then he leaned over him and cast a spell on the metal bed frame. At once, it glowed red hot. Caleb sighed and leaned into the warmth like a plant stretching towards the sun’s light.

“Careful, not too close,” Caduceus said, pausing in what he was doing to tug Caleb gently away from the metal.

A moment later, or so it seemed to him, Caleb had a steaming cup of tea in his hands. “There we go,” Caduceus said soothingly, wrapping another blanket around Caleb’s shoulders.

The fussing felt unnecessary, and he wanted to say so, but was feeling very lethargic and sleepy all of a sudden, and couldn’t summon the energy to do so.

“Sorry about that,” Clay said, sitting down next to Caleb with a mug of tea of his own. “Forgot you couldn’t last in the cold quite so well. No fur.” Caleb nodded vaguely in agreement, though this wasn’t making much sense to him at the moment. “You should be fine now, though,” he reassured him, patting Caleb gently on the shoulder.

Frumpkin jumped lightly onto the bed, purring loudly, and nuzzled closer to Caleb. Clay ran a big, gentle hand along his back and his purring grew louder.

Caleb nodded vaguely again, absently patting Frumpkin on the top of the head.

Some distant part of his brain was screaming at him to be more wary, to keep his wits about him. But it was very difficult to feel that way around Caduceus. At last, when he felt able to speak again he said, “You are a very good person, Mister Clay.”

The firbolg smiled gently and said, “Thank you. So are you, Mister Caleb.”

Caleb shook his head vigorously, “no,” he protested,” I am a piece of shit.”

“Well,” Clay said, apparently considering this, “Shit is technically pretty useful.” Caleb blinked at him, wondering if he was starting to hallucinate. “Great fertiliser,” he added, matter-of-factly.

Caleb stared at him for a long moment. Then he started to laugh, only a little hysterical. He only stepped when he ached too much to draw in the breath required to continue.

“I think I am going to like you, Mister Clay,” he said, finally.

“You don’t already?” Caduceus said with a half smile. Caleb replied with a crooked smile but said nothing.

“I think,” he said, hoarsely, feeling suddenly lightheaded and heavy all at once, “I am going to sleep now.”

He registered, dimly, that he was still in Caduceus’ cabin in Caduceus’ bed, and should move to his own. But his body felt as though his bones had turned to lead, and he was slumping sideways onto the pillows.

“That’s fine,” Caduceus said, a smile in his voice.

That was the last thing Caleb heard before sinking, finally, into his temporary oblivion.

#critical role #clayleb #caleb widogast #caduceus clay #caduceus x caleb #text post tag #clayleb fic #my fic #taliesin said on talks that caduceus would face his fear of the ocean after nearly drowning #and this is my shippy clayleb take on how that happened #long post #mine

[so-gay]

There are no words to explain just how fed up I am. I gave my ex the entire world for two years. I spiraled out of control. I was depressed, unhappy, confused, and alone. I did what was best for me, and in the best way I knew how. Even after we broke up I tried. I tried so damn hard to be good to her, help her, love her. But here we are, 7 months later and I constantly feel like the world’s worst person.

Back in October she called me sobbing on the phone. She couldn’t breathe she was crying so hard. She was in such a vulnerable state. Broken and alone. Her girlfriend was breaking up with her for liking my instagram, or at least that’s what she verbalized to me. And in this time of distress, it was me who she called. I hadn’t spoke to her in so long prior to that. I was finally at peace with everything that had happened. Then she called me. She told me she missed me and wanted to be friends but her girlfriend wouldn’t let her. My heart broke all over again. She begged me not to tell anyone she was calling me, begged to not tell anyone what she said. I was overwhelmed and didn’t know what to do. The next day she told me they were fine again and that the next time we spoke it would be when she’s ready to be friends. It was a very hopeful tone. Then we speak again the other day and she tells me we can never be friends????? I’m not sure why I’m constantly subject to this pain. I just want to live my life and be happy but it’s so hard when every other month she changes her mind.

I love the fuck out of her and miss her. I don’t disrespect her, I don’t put her down. I try so damn hard to do what is right. But then she tells me I need to stop trying to find excuses to talk to her or ask for advice when I literally hadn’t spoken to her in months and wasn’t going to but then she called me crying bc she missed me. Like what was I suppose to think? Now it’s all over. Again. Another phone call of her telling me she never wants me in her life. And then her girlfriend had the audacity to text me saying to contact her with news about finding a replacement for the apartment? I just physically cannot do this anymore. I’m in so much fucking pain on a daily basis but I’m just attacked with accusations and things that never happened.

All I fucking wanted was for us to be friends. People break up all the time and stay friends. Everyone tells me to forget about her, move on, “you were always out of her league” “will you ever stop talking about her” “get over it“ - I’m sorry? That was the love of my life I can’t just get OVER it???? I don’t think anybody understands that no matter what happens in this life, I would drop anything for her. I would do anything for her. No matter how many months or years go by. That’s my best fucking friend and I’ll always respect her, love her, and want whats best for her. I’m doing exactly as she asked, only speak to her if it relates to the apartment.

How is it that no matter what happens, I’m always going to love her as a friend??? I’m sick of being told I’m crazy for that. When you love someone the way I loved her, then we’ll talk about being crazy. When you understand how much I fucking hate myself for being depressed and unable to comprehend love anymore, then talk to me about how easy it is to get over it.

I’m a wreck, and I’m sad, but for some reason I’m still hopeful, and I always will be. My ex Moranda and I weren’t friends for years, and now look where we are. Moranda is the face of hope for me. I’ll always wait for Ashley to come around. I know deep down she wants to be friends. I specifically said to her that I know if sam wasn’t so uncomfortable with us being friends we would be, and she was dead silent. Answered the question with silence.

I’m sick to my stomach over this. I want to be friends with sam, I don’t want her to have resentment towards me. I want to vent on my blog about my depression and know no one is judging me. I don’t come on here to talk ABOUT her, I utilize my tumblr as a diary to express my thoughts and emotions that tear me apart. I do this for self care. I want peace to find my restless mind, I want to be okay. I want Ashley to have her space and not be so mad at me for whatever reason she’s mad at me about. Breaking her heart maybe? But that was so long ago and she’s in a new relationship. I want us to be okay. I want to stop having depressing, anxious episodes. I want to not have urges to self harm. I want to just be fucking okay.

“Move with time,” it’s the only thing I can do. Maybe one day, years from now, I’ll hear from my best friend again and not be so heartbroken anymore.

#personal #ex #lgbt #ash

[coshayphinelove]

acts of sincerity for solitude (coshayphine fic)

[EJ’s Note: presented w/out comment bc holy shit this is amazing.  thank you so much for thinking of me.  thank you so much for sending this.  your writing is incredible.  you’re incredible.

I added some formatting stuff so you’d get credit and added a read more. everything else is as-is]

submitted by @metapersoncrusade:

Hello :) You probably remember me. I sent you a drawing some weeks ago with another tumblr account. I’ve created this one to actually use it for references and inspiration so this is me now.

Having read about your current situation and period of stress, I’ve taken your “not filling prompts” message as a prompt and I’ve written something for you, to make the attempt of cheering you up. Sorry if it doesn’t work. And sorry because, this is the very first fanfic I’ve written in English. This is the very first anything in English. I hope you don’t feel offended by my aberrations. (Also, I wanted to upload it to AO3, but I don’t have an account yet, so that will have to wait.)

There it goes. Have a lovely day.

Acts of sincerity for solitude.

Embracing each other, backlit, with the first languid rays of sun stroking them from behind, the two figures swaying at a slow pace in the center of the living room almost seemed like they were being formed for the first time. They were dancing to a soft, intimate melody sans words, which reminded of an ancient song, one telling the story of a creature being born. And as this creature began to stretch and discover their surroundings, both figures melted into one another sharing one single existence.

The beauty of the image was being witnessed from the uncrossed threshold of the hallway. Shay was mesmerized, fully aware that everything happening before her eyes –inside her ears- did not belong to the conscious stratum of energetic exchanges. She couldn’t bring herself to make a noise that would announce her presence, to disrupt the fragility of the veil covering them. She knew she would be welcomed to that little space of protection, but she also knew that she would draw a crease between one scene and another, and Shay just wasn’t ready for that unique moment to end. For the deep steady breathing emanating from one half of the swinging figure to change its rhythm, for the golden curly shine on top of it to reflect another kind of light, for that smooth, gentle voice coming out of parted lips, articulating random syllables to quiet.

So, hidden by the darkened hallway, Shay restrained herself from walking into the room, but not the tears that had been swelling in the corners of her eyes upon listening to the transfixing foreign tune. She lowered herself to the floor, leaned against the wall and craving one note after the other, not understanding the sudden longing within her heart, silently participated in the journey.

The echo of the shutting door dissolved.

The airy scented oxygen settled.

Shay ventured to break the silence.

“She was singing in the shower.”

When there is a sense of tacit knowledge, words don’t need to feebly caress a certain shape, blowing in its direction is enough. Cosima smiled, her eyes fixed on the mug she was cradling, imagining Shay’s words interlacing with the steam coming out of her tea.

“She was.”

Shay followed Cosima’s gaze. She blew.

“And two days ago when I came from the store because we had run out of dill and she wanted to make that French soup.”

Cosima’s lips displayed a smile not entirely for Shay to interpret. She sipped at her own beverage without removing her eyes off Cosima, the mystery of her silence heating Shay’s blood. She decided not to blow, not to caress, but to grab.

“She stopped. She stops singing whenever I’m in the room.” The random patterns and scribbles Shay was imaginarily drawing on the tablecloth were increasingly becoming intricate. She felt Cosima’s hand upon hers, soothing, stroking knuckles. Shay raised her gaze to meet Cosima’s whose quiet smile was reflected in each of her features.

“She gets kinda shy with the singing. I know, right? I don’t get it either. She doesn’t allow anybody to listen. At first I thought it was like a complex or an insecurity thing, but… Maybe that’s not it. Maybe it has something to do with her family. They are, like, totally weird.”

“Weird how?”

“It’s not a topic she likes discussing. But I’m sure if you ask her she will tell you.”

Shay nodded playing with Cosima’s fingers, both women observing absentmindedly the slow dance of their joined hands.

“So you think it is some sort of trauma? She lets you listen. She sings to you.”

Cosima’s closed-mouthed grin widened as she tilted her head. She released a little chuckle as if she was re-living a past moment privately.

“Yeah… Sometimes I suspect that she knows she has this… magic power she doesn’t know how to control. But, she wants to use it for good.” Cosima raised her free hand to rub at her forehead momentarily before seeking the heat of her porcelain mug with her palm. She leaned towards the steam, to breathe it, or perhaps to hide a rueful smile. “I guess we’ve been through some situations in which she was desperate enough to try it.”

Shay released the hold on her mug and used both hands to massage the other woman’s hand deeply, her bones, her tendons as if trying to reshape it.

“Quite a power she has…” Cosima eyed her, a question in her gaze. She waited expectantly until Shay noted it and managed to find her words. “I listened to her singing to you a couple weeks ago. It was… I don’t know how to describe it. It felt like mother Earth telling the trees to grow, telling the mountains to move.”

“Scary, huh?”

“I was scared. I mean, that song sounded like something forgotten, forbidden. Bigger than you and me.”

“You are so poetic.” Cosima leaned forward to tuck a strand of blonde hair behind Shay’s ear.

“But I’m serious. It feels like a secret I cannot grasp.” Shay shook her head, her eyes lost, unfocused. “A lover I cannot reach.”

Cosima fell silent for a while. Neither of them able to move.

“Yeah… I know the feeling.” Those were her words and both of them knew they were meant to signify several universes.

“I just… I want her to feel comfortable with me. I want her to be every version of herself she wants to be freely. But I don’t want to push her.”

“If that worries you, you can tell her.” Cosima shrugged stretching her hands. “Though I’m sure you two will be cool. She adores you. I mean, how could she not?” Cosima gestured with her hands in the air eliciting a smile from Shay. “She just probably needs some time with her magic… stuff.”

“You seem very sure.”

“Let’s say I have empiric evidence.” Cosima flashed a toothy grin, folded her arms on top of the table and rested her head upon them, sighing. Shay mirrored her posture, closing the bubble forming around them when their eyes meet.

“Explain yourself.”

Another sigh and wandering eyes were the preamble of Cosima’s answer.

“She is private in a way that may seem like… she judges herself, but she’s the bravest person I know. And even though she hides in the shower to sing, she opens herself to love shamelessly. And that’s probably a good thing for the rest of the world, because discovering the layers of Delphine Cormier has been tough, but also, like, one of the best experiences I’ve ever had.” Cosima’s eyes found Shay’s one more time. The tacit knowledge reared its head blowing a mild wind in their faces. Cosima shrugged, anticipating. “I know what you are going to say. That this is not a very scientific proof, but…”

Shay leaned her resting head to the side watching Cosima lovingly with a soft smile on her lips. She closed her eyes for a moment, inhaled deeply and released the air opening her eyes.

“I think we both know that you can’t always touch empiric evidence with your hands.”

Tacit knowledge built a home on that moment. A home made of warm hands, of blurry angels, of sweet tea and Neruda’s verses.

Sometimes Shay discovered a roaming place in the universe where she felt like a traitor. The place would move around silently awaiting not giving hints of its attentive watching activity. The place would hide behind rituals, behind kind words, behind the beauty of tiny snowflakes melting on a patch of grass among avenues, presaging a sense of childhood. With a sudden jump, the place would face her, making itself visible in the miserable eyes of those who Shay tried to help day after day, and she would attempt to avoid the place and the feeling of being outside her person.

One day, the place manifested in death. Not in loss, not in uncertainty, but in the unfinished path of someone who departed without creating a home for themselves in the world, no matter how much they tried. Shay found herself huddled in a corner of the place, watching another person with her body shouting obscenities towards the ceiling. She felt that, somehow, this ceiling was her beloved being insulted and humiliated.

When she arrived home, her back numb for having to carry the weight of the place, her ears sore for having to hear the pain and the denial, she found the living room empty. Dragging her feet, she let her body incarnate the defeat in a way only solitude has permission to witness. Without realizing, she was trying to gasp away the place.

A silhouette slid behind her entering the bedroom. Taken aback, Shay turned around and felt relieved sawing that it was Delphine, her hair damp, exuding a bare, intimate air, as if she had also been caught on a similar act of lonesomeness. Both women, breathing each other breathe themselves, stood in absolute silence, until the solitude finished performing.

“Shay… You are crying… What’s wrong?”

Shay touched her cheeks and felt the droplets on her fingertips. Her hands fell and she shook her head looking away. She couldn’t understand herself in the place, so she let her mouth speak unconsciously, simply, sincerely.

“It’s just… I don’t…” Shay was controlling herself not to cry, instead, her body release some tension shuddering. Delphine remained quiet and unmoving. “I-I try to believe everything happens for a reason. I try to be thankful to the universe all the time. But today… today has been really hard not to hate it, not to be mad and…” Shay’s voice broke. “Why can we all see-? Why are there people who have to die without feeling-? Why are people so sad?”

The last two words came out slowly, as a broken weep. Shay covered her face with a hand suddenly too small, too exposed, the two images of herself battling on her mind. Delphine took a step forward reaching for Shay with her harms to fold her into a hug.

“Come here, come here.”

Shay let the cry overflow her, not understanding, not wanting to understand in that moment. She attempted to raise her arms to embrace Delphine, but she was only capable of getting hold of the hem of her tank top. Delphine rocked them back and forth, rubbing Shay’s head and back. Shay felt like it had been years since she last cried, since she last allowed herself frustration and anger towards the world.

“I hate hating this…” Tears kept on falling. Shay felt Delphine’s mouth on the shell of her ear murmuring.

“Give your feelings the value they have. You have every right to feel like this.”

Hearing those words, Shay could not help releasing a laugh aware that she was the one who used to say them whenever the occasion needed it, calming and reassuring. However, today she was also the figure of the traitor, screaming with fury towards the ceiling of the place and the figure sitting in the corner, scared, judging the outburst of rage inappropriate, unwise, dishonest.

Shay did not speak again. Instead, she abandoned herself to the soft humming sprouting near her temple, growing to swallow her into its shelter.

“I’m home, beautifuls!”

Only a low melody responded Cosima’s message. She tiptoed through the house, the humming intensifying, traveling from the ghost realm to alive clarity. Bathed by the dim light of the bedroom, she found them tangled on the bed with their eyes closed. A petite body being hold by a willowy figure. Delphine laid with her bare legs interlaced with Shay’s, one hand stroking slow and relentlessly the ribcage of the smaller woman, whose head rested in the crook of Delphine’s neck, tears wetting her throat and clavicles. She was singing.

Cosima approached the bed taking off her shoes, leaned down to kiss Delphine’s forehead, laid on Shay’s back, making full contact with her body from behind and kissing her nape, extended her arm to touch Delphine’s hip. Breathing Shay’s scent, she closed her eyes.

Cradled by Delphine’s lullaby, the three of them travelled to a bastion of healing, a home where tacit knowledge cuddled at their feet. Shay discovered in Delphine’s voice another place where she could cry two different kinds of tears and did not feel like a traitor. A place where that traitor was just another version of herself to love. Where acts of sincerity for solitude were exposed as young ballerinas unfreezing their movements, learning how to dance together.

‘I can be this person today.’ Shay decided. ‘As long as you keep singing.’ That was going to be her next thought, but before she could formulate it, Shay was sleep.

#cosima niehaus #shay davydov #delphine cormier #coshayphine #/holy shit/ #fic rec #a;osijfa;o #this is so soft #im emo #thank youthank youthank youthank youthank youthank youthank youthank youthank youthank youthank youthank youthank youthank youthank youthank #submission

[tsekooh]

bet yall want yet ANOTHER post with 150 things about yours truly!!! buckle up!!!!!!!

1. Who was the last person you held hands with?

hghgkjhjsjkhkjsdghjkgs

2. Are you outgoing or shy?

shy!!! but i can be really outgoing i think? if i have One thing i want to work towards i will do it (college doesnt count shhshhshs)

3. Who are you looking forward to seeing?

MEG!!! HOLY SHIT I CANT WAIT TO SEE HER

4. Are you easy to get along with?

i.. hope so!! i dont hate anyone 

5. If you were drunk would the person you like take care of you?

she’d do her best for being in australia

6. What kind of people are you attracted to?

do i.......have a type?

all my friends are gay 

7. Do you think you’ll be in a relationship two months from now?

OF COURSE

8. Who from the opposite gender is on your mind?

i only have like 2 o/g friends so i thought abt jace right away

9. Does talking about sex make you uncomfortable?

only if serious/about real ppl or me

10. Who was the last person you had a deep conversation with?

meg LOL

11. What does the most recent text that you sent say?

“SARCASM IS KEY i would know im the sarcasm queen”

12. What are your 5 favorite songs right now?

eeeehhh

-shelter / porter robinson

-honey / magic man

-find a way  / safetysuit

-collect call / metric

-wildfire / marianas trench

13. Do you like it when people play with your hair?

ABSOLUTELY

14. Do you believe in luck and miracles?

YES BC I HAVE ONE RIGHT HERE (picks up meg)

15. What good thing happened this summer?

i saw rina!!!! i love them ;; 

and i met meg after that!!

16. Would you kiss the last person you kissed again?

no

17. Do you think there is life on other planets?

yes

18. Do you still talk to your first crush?

LMAO NO i thought i was straight 

but if we’re talking abt an actual crush then ... rarely?

19. Do you like bubble baths?

yes!!

20. Do you like your neighbors?

dont know them

21. What are you bad habits?

nail biting

22. Where would you like to travel?

australia...

japan w meg ccoUGH

23. Do you have trust issues?

EHHHHHHHH only w ppl i have a reason not to trust?

24. Favorite part of your daily routine?

saying good morning to meg

playing games!! drawing!! talking 2 people

25. What part of your body are you most uncomfortable with?

stomach

26. What do you do when you wake up?

-turn alarm off and brightness down bc its 11pm and fucking blinds me

-skim notifications to make a mental note of who i need 2 reply 2

-unlock phone and say good morning to meg

-shower / eat

27. Do you wish your skin was lighter or darker?

my skin tone is so awkward....its hard 2 say cause anything doesnt match my hair

28. Who are you most comfortable around?

meg/jace/toby/ren

29. Have any of your ex’s told you they regret breaking up?

i dont have like...........any real exes LOL

30. Do you ever want to get married?

LMAO I CANT IMAGINE IT only bc if i introduced my wife 2 someone i would literally say “this is my girlfriend- i mean wife”

idc abt marriage like id be down but its not like........Essential 2 a rs

31. Is your hair long enough for a pony tail?

yep

32. Which celebrities would you have a threesome with?

sasuke

33. Spell your name with your chin.

im too lazy to move my head

34. Do you play sports? What sports?

im exercise my stress level in splatoon

35. Would you rather live without TV or music?

tv

36. Have you ever liked someone and never told them?

yep

37. What do you say during awkward silences?

nothingsfhdsghjk

38. Describe your dream girl/guy?

shes cute and plays video games with me and she loves me and never lets me forget that also her name is meg

39. What are your favorite stores to shop in?

i love. target. 

40. What do you want to do after high school?

LMAO so ive been out of school for a year so... i did want to go to college bt my mom wont let me so im just gonna move countries

Bye Bich

41. Do you believe everyone deserves a second chance?

yes..........at least if the harm was done to me.....

unless ur my mom/step dad/dad

42. If your being extremely quiet what does it mean?

im dissociating/have nothing 2 say

43. Do you smile at strangers?

i try not to look at ppl 

44. Trip to outer space or bottom of the ocean?

OCEAN

45. What makes you get out of bed in the morning?

meg

46. What are you paranoid about?

(:

47. Have you ever been high?

barely secondhand

48. Have you ever been drunk?

L O L

49. Have you done anything recently that you hope nobody finds out about?

i have no secrets

50. What was the colour of the last hoodie you wore?

green

51. Ever wished you were someone else?

sometimes but then i think i might be straight and im happy w who i am

52. One thing you wish you could change about yourself?

my disgusting social skills

53. Favourite makeup brand?

eyeliner idc abt brand

54. Favourite store?

amiami .. or target

55. Favourite blog?

softsuke is like my fave mutual theyre p chill 

56. Favourite colour?

PINK

57. Favourite food?

SPAGHETTI or chicken

58. Last thing you ate?

...spaghetti

59. First thing you ate this morning?

.........spaghetti

60. Ever won a competition? For what?

i never win

61. Been suspended/expelled? For what?

nope tho im surprised

62. Been arrested? For what?

nope!

63. Ever been in love?

yeah... (looks @ meg) (coughs)

64. Tell us the story of your first kiss?

idr i think it was spin the bottle and i kissed 2 people and i was like 16?

anyway that was my first and last HGJKSGHDUIFJAL

65. Are you hungry right now?

nah

66. Do you like your tumblr friends more than your real friends?

all my friends r my real friends

67. Facebook or Twitter?

twitter

68. Twitter or Tumblr?

both

69. Are you watching tv right now?

nope

70. Names of your bestfriends?

meg / jace / laura / ren / toby / rina 

71. Craving something? What?

2 be w meg gggghhj

72. What colour are your towels?

orange! 

72. How many pillows do you sleep with?

2/3 maybe 4

73. Do you sleep with stuffed animals?

yea

74. How many stuffed animals do you think you have?

AT LEAST 40

75. Favourite animal?

HYENA

76. What colour is your underwear?

pink

dont say anything

77. Chocolate or Vanilla?

vanilla

78. Favourite ice cream flavour?

.........vanilla

79. What colour shirt are you wearing?

green jacket

80. What colour pants?

pink plaid pj pants (so rn i look like a fucking disaster)

81. Favourite tv show?

NARUTO

82. Favourite movie?

mmmm... the road to eldorado!

83. Mean Girls or Mean Girls 2?

mean girls

84. Mean Girls or 21 Jump Street?

never watched 21js

85. Favourite character from Mean Girls?

i lov the goth girl and the gay guy i forget names

86. Favourite character from Finding Nemo?

dory

87. First person you talked to today?

meg

88. Last person you talked to today?

meg

89. Name a person you hate?

mom

90. Name a person you love?

meg

91. Is there anyone you want to punch in the face right now?

mom

92. In a fight with someone?

nope

93. How many sweatpants do you have?

idk LOL

94. How many sweaters/hoodies do you have?

A LOT

95. Last movie you watched?

UHH.. digimon movie i think?

96. Favourite actress?

emma watson is sooooooooooooooooooooo pretty

97. Favourite actor?

idk (spins a wheel) chris pratt

98. Do you tan a lot?

never

99. Have any pets?

my gma has a bunch of cats

100. How are you feeling?

TIRED I REGRET DOING THIS

101. Do you type fast?

NOT FAST ENOUGH

102. Do you regret anything from your past?

LOL YEAH

103. Can you spell well?

most of the time

104. Do you miss anyone from your past?

:3

105. Ever been to a bonfire party?

i burned a wacom tablet once

106. Ever broken someone’s heart?

i hope not

107. Have you ever been on a horse?

yes

108. What should you be doing?

uhhh... nothing that i know of

109. Is something irritating you right now?

nope

110. Have you ever liked someone so much it hurt?

haaehuhsghsu

111. Do you have trust issues?

I ALREADY ANSWERED THIS

112. Who was the last person you cried in front of?

grandma/sister one of the two

.......DAMN THAT WAS RLY LONG AGO 

113. What was your childhood nickname?

no

114. Have you ever been out of your province/state?

yes

115. Do you play the Wii?

SPLATOON BABY

116. Are you listening to music right now?

im listening to shiny rn.......from moana......(quiet cough)

117. Do you like chicken noodle soup?

eh

118. Do you like Chinese food?

ehh

119. Favourite book?

my name is riley, im 19, and i dont know how to fucking read

120. Are you afraid of the dark?

not if i know where i am

121. Are you mean?

i hope not

122. Is cheating ever okay?

stop

123. Can you keep white shoes clean?

NO

124. Do you believe in love at first sight?

shrugs

125. Do you believe in true love?

YES

126. Are you currently bored?

lil bit

127. What makes you happy?

meg and all my friends i love u all

and games

128. Would you change your name?

legally, yes,

im working on that

129. What your zodiac sign?

capricorn

130. Do you like subway?

not rly but sometimes i crave it for some stupid reason

131. Your bestfriend of the opposite sex likes you, what do you do?

THIS WOULDNT HAPPEN 

132. Who’s the last person you had a deep conversation with?

ALREADY ANSWERED THIS

133. Favourite lyrics right now?

my brain cannot process this question right now

134. Can you count to one million?

no

135. Dumbest lie you ever told?

fk if i know

136. Do you sleep with your doors open or closed?

CLOSED

137. How tall are you?

5′4′’

138. Curly or Straight hair?

straight

139. Brunette or Blonde?

brunette

140. Summer or Winter?

winter

141. Night or Day?

night

142. Favourite month?

december

143. Are you a vegetarian?

semi

the only meat i eat is poultry

144. Dark, milk or white chocolate?

milk

145. Tea or Coffee?

coffee

146. Was today a good day?

so far!! yea

147. Mars or Snickers?

neither

148. What’s your favourite quote?

dont look back youre not going that way

149. Do you believe in ghosts?

lil bit

150. Get the closest book next to you, open it to page 42, what’s the first line on that page?

NO FK THAT IM DONE BYE

#quiz thing #if u actually read these holy shit kudos

[unpeumacabre]

my kingdom for a horse: chapter 4

the year is 1601, a messenger has been sent to dongnae, and he has not returned. lord cho-hak-ju advises the joseon king to send crown prince lee chang to dongnae to investigate, but the plot he unravels there threatens the safety of the entire kingdom, and the stability of the dynasty.

a rewriting of kingdom, and lee chang finds love.

Rating: Mature

Relationships: Lee Chang/Yeong-shin

Read on AO3 (bc tumblr might mess up the formatting + more extensive author’s notes on the story)

Count: 3k

<-- previous next -->

In the morning, Lee Chang leaves Sangju with instructions to the soldiers to hunt for the monsters in the day, and destroy their bodies in the ways that would leave them permanently dead. The commander of the battalion also reassures him that they will further reinforce the walls and put into place new measures against the monsters, so that their defenses will hold.

Near the last few hours of night-time, nearing dusk, some more tenacious monsters had started banging on Sangju’s gates, but there had been so few of them that the guards on the walls had been able to hold them off. The men had reported a larger crowd of monsters that had been following, however, and had disappeared as the sun crossed the horizon. Lee Chang hopes there will be enough soldiers to thin them out sufficiently so they will not present a problem come the next night.

He leaves Sangju clad in thicker clothes, for winter is nigh upon them, and every breath comes out in a misty puff of air. And he leaves Sangju in Lord Ahn Hyeon’s care, as he had promised Yeong-shin.

“It is not that I am forcing you out of mourning; it is that the people need you,” he tells his master, seriously. “You must take care of Sangju in my absence.”

Lord Ahn Hyeon had gazed upon him with solemn, thoughtful eyes, then bowed and accepted with little protest. “I will see to it that the signal fires are lit, and that the men are deployed to find the monsters,” he murmurs. “Where will your next destination be, Your Highness?”

“I must trace the origin of the disease,” Lee Chang replies. “Someone is spreading this plague, very deliberately, so I must find its agent, and prove that he is an agent of Cho Hak-ju. I will journey to Jecheon, and if I do not find answers there, then on to Wonju, and so forth, to the other cities. I must stop the plague before it reaches Hanyang, and consumes the royal family.”

“You are certain you do not wish any of my guards as accompaniment?”

“I have Mu-yeong and Yeong-shin with me,” Lee Chang answers steadily. “And I wish to travel incognito – it will be difficult with an entourage.”

“Mu-yeong and Yeong-shin,” Lord Ahn Hyeon repeats softly, and his eyes dart towards Lee Chang’s left. Lee Chang feels Yeong-shin shift uneasily next to him, but otherwise, he makes no acknowledgement of Lord Ahn Hyeon’s gaze upon him.

“Yes, you will be safe with them by your side,” he acquiesces, and returns his piercing scrutiny to Lee Chang.

His eyes linger on Lee Chang for a moment more, then he nods, and sighs.

“If I may, Your Highness – I was wrong about you. You are not still the boy I left behind in Hanyang three years ago,” he says, so softly that only Lee Chang hears him.

“That boy would not have survived the past few days,” Lee Chang returns, with a dry smile.

“Mm, that is true. You make an old man long for his days back in Hanyang, Your Highness,” says Lord Ahn Hyeon, returning his smile; and it is on this bittersweet note that they make their parting once more.

The road to Jecheon is hard-going for their steeds, but it is quiet and with little distraction. They travel a great distance in the one day, and Lee Chang estimates they will likely reach Jecheon the next morning. They break for the night in a relatively-sheltered area of the plains, from which it will be easy to see approaching monsters, and then they divvy up the night watch as usual.

Seo-bi wanders off to gather more herbs to treat the various scrapes and wounds they have acquired here and there, and Yeong-shin volunteers to accompany her, both as a guard and to hunt meat for their supper.

The moment they are alone, Mu-yeong sidles up to Lee Chang, where he is seated by the fire and sharpening his blade with his whetstone.

“Did you speak to the tiger hunter last night?” he asks, glancing watchfully out towards the plains.

“I did,” Lee Chang says quietly.

“…And?”

“I do not know what to make of him,” he confesses.

“What to – Your Highness!” Mu-yeong splutters. “It is true that he has conducted himself well so far, but he is a dangerous man, and we do not know who he is, or why he has placed himself by our side for so long! He may well be in the pay of one of the numerous officials who wants you dead – oh!”

“It is alright,” Lee Chang murmurs calmly, swiftly pressing the fabric of his robe against his hand, where his carelessness has opened up a cut in the join of his palm. “My mistake. I was being incautious.”

Mu-yeong helps him clean and bandage his wound in a guilty silence, but he is not to be so easily put off the subject.

“Your Highness,” he presses, and his voice now holds a tinge of hurt, “Do you trust him more than you trust me, when I say that we cannot put our faith in him?”

“It is not a matter of weighing you against him,” Lee Chang says, a stern rebuff. He feels the sting of his fresh wound in his clenched fist, and forces himself to regain his composure. When next he speaks, his voice is cool once more.

“It is not that I do not trust your intuition in this matter,” he tries again. “He may very well have ill intentions. But my opinion on this is an opinion of necessity. He is a powerful warrior, and he knows these parts well. We would do well to have all the help we can get.”

“Then I will keep an eye on him,” Mu-yeong says obstinately. “I will protect you from his treachery, if indeed he proves to be a turncoat.”

“And I will rest well,” Lee Chang replies, granting Mu-yeong a soft smile, “knowing that you are by my side.”

Lee Chang takes the first watch that night, and even when his shift has been relieved by Mu-yeong, he remains sleepless for hours still, and tosses and turns in his bedroll. Yeong-shin is an enigmatic figure indeed, and yet he fascinates Lee Chang so. Lee Chang wonders why.

The next morning, they reach Jecheon in good time. It is a bustling city, smaller than Sangju but well-developed in its economy. The markets are in full-swing, and the shouts of customers and sellers alike fill the air. Seo-bi slips away to purchase more food and herbs, but Yeong-shin stays close.

“The crowds can be dangerous,” is his response, when Lee Chang asks him if he will not be making his own purchases.

“I am not helpless,” Lee Chang says patiently.

“And he has me,” blusters Mu-yeong.

“I know you aren’t,” Yeong-shin says bluntly, but still he doesn’t retreat. Lee Chang resigns himself to having two overprotective men plastering themselves to his side as he wades through the crowd. He almost trips over an old man buying crockery at one of the stalls, and bends to pick up the man’s straw hat when it falls to the ground. The man accepts it from him with a down-turned head and quiet words of thanks, and soon disappears, washed away by the surge of the crowd.

It seems an endlessly-long time before they reach the magistrate’s court, but finally they do. He is holding court, and as Lee Chang watches with aghast eyes, he orders a peasant stripped to his flesh and whipped within an inch of his life.

“My Lord – please believe me – the bull is mine - ” howls the man, but the governor turns a blind eye.

“How can it be your bull!” he sneers. “Tis the colour of gold – how would a lowly peasant like yourself be granted with so beautiful a creature? It clearly belongs to Lord Choi. Be grateful that I am being so merciful to you. Theft is punishable by death in my book, you know. Be grateful that I am only letting you off with fifty lashes!”

“My Lord, have mercy,” sobs the man, shrieking in agony as the whip tears at his flesh. “I have cared for this bull since it was a calf. I purchased it from Kim Oh Do in the marketplace – he can vouch for me!”

“Lies, lies, and more lies!” squeals a rotund man standing beside the magistrate. “I bought that bull from Kim Oh Do. You stole it from my farm two days ago!”

“Ten more lashes, for his lies,” orders the magistrate, and the poor man being whipped hardly has strength to react to the addition. His back is raw and torn open by the whip, and the copper tang of blood fills the air. Lee Chang can bear it no longer.

“Stop this immediately!” he roars, and strides into the court. The guards unsheathe their swords and step forward, but immediately Mu-yeong and Yeong-shin are beside him, sword raised and musket cocked.

“Your head would hit the ground before even you touched a hair on his head,” Mu-yeong snarls, and the guards balk.

“Who – who – who are you?” squawks the magistrate, shooting up from his seat in indignation. “And how dare you invade my court! Do you know who I am?!”

“Do you know who I am?” Lee Chang fires the question back at him, his voice cold. “By drawing your weapons on me, you have committed yourself to the annihilation of your whole family.”

A familiar figure stumbles out from the doors bordering the magistrate’s seat, and although it is initially difficult to recognise his face in the low light, the shape of his beard and belly give him away.

“It is the P-p-p-prince!” Cho Beom-pal whispers frantically into the ears of the magistrate. “The Crown Prince Lee Chang!”

Murmurs begin to spread among the residents of the court, then as one, they fall to the ground.

“All hail His Royal Highness!” wails the governor, his nose buried in the dust as he grovels. There is a sort of savage pleasure, Lee Chang thinks, to be taken in the way he and Lord Choi choke as they inhale sand up their nostrils.

“I have come here expecting a fair and noble man who justly deserves the mandate bestowed upon him by my father,” Lee Chang says, every word clear and crisp and cold, “and instead, what do I find? Help him up, and make sure he gets medical attention,” he says to the guard who had been flogging the peasant. He prowls towards the governor, who is now shrinking into himself and unconsciously wriggling backwards.

“Instead,” he murmurs, softly, and leans down to stare into the magistrate’s eyes, “I find a cowardly, unjust worm who serves only the rich and condemns the poor. It seems it is too much to ask, for a single magistrate in the south to fulfill their mandate to serve the people,” and he directs an icy glare at Cho Beom-pal, hunched over away to the side. The man shudders.

“Rest assured, my father will be hearing about this,” he says, straightening up and glancing around at the rest of the residents of the court. “I am sure he will be as disappointed as I am, that the nobles of this great kingdom have fallen so far in their stature.” He turns back to the magistrate.

“Get up,” he says dispassionately, “and prepare your soldiers for war. You saw the signal fires lit, did you not? There is a plague descending upon Jecheon, and it will be here by nightfall. Monsters that are half-dead, half-alive, and who crave human flesh as fodder, will come upon Jecheon in the night – monsters who can only be slaughtered by fire, or by separating their head from their body. You must send your guards to the gates to defend the city, and set up a barricade.

“Furthermore,” he continues, “there is someone spreading the plague internally, within the cities – you must send guards to investigate this matter, or you will be facing monsters both within and without Jecheon. Advise the citizens to hide in their homes and climb as high as they can, beyond the reach of the monsters.

“Dongnae has already fallen, no thanks to the man you have welcomed into your court,” and he directs another disgusted look at Cho Beom-pal, “and if you do not act, Jecheon will be next.”

“Yes, Your Highness!” answers the magistrate in a tremulous voice, finally daring to look up. “Your orders will be carried out to the letter – please be rest assured!”

“See that they are,” Lee Chang says coolly, “or your head will be the next one rolling on the ground. My blade will gladly do the honours.” He spins around, and makes for the entrance to the court. The guards part around him, and it descends into a scene of chaos, with the magistrate shouting out orders, and his men hastening to obey.

In an undertone, he murmurs to Mu-yeong, “Send a messenger to tell the king that someone has been spreading the plague of the resurrection plant around the cities of the south, and that I am investigating the matter. Tell the messenger to make sure my words do not fall into the hands of the Haewon Cho clan, and that they must be delivered directly to the king himself.”

“Yes, Your Highness,” Mu-yeong says, and with a final distrustful glance at the men in the court – and Yeong-shin – he departs.

“The more enemies you make, the more I find you need me at your side,” Yeong-shin says quietly, from his side.

On impulse, Lee Chang turns to him. “Will you dine with me tonight? Later, if we calm this madness?” he asks.

Yeong-shin’s eyes widen, the first time Lee Chang has seen him so fazed. “Why me?” he says, voice rough. “Will you not be dining at his lord’s table?”

“I feel no urge to take my supper with that worm of a man,” Lee Chang says in disgust. “And I…” he hesitates. Somehow, I am compelled towards you, he thinks, privately, but of course he does not say it aloud.

“Your prince commands it,” he ends lamely instead, and tries for a smile to show that he does not mean it seriously. It does not work, and Yeong-shin’s gaze is still confused. Confused, and guarded.

“You may decline if you wish,” Lee Chang says softly. “I will take no offence.” His fingers itch – but he knows it would be improper to touch a man of so much lower a station than him. Perhaps he would not have minded, if they had been in private – but now, they are in public, and so subject to many prying eyes.

“How could I decline when the prince of my nation asks me so courteously to honour my table with his presence?” A tinge of bitterness has entered his voice. It is difficult to see his expression, for his head is turned partially away, and Lee Chang frowns.

“Yeong-shin,” he starts, but Yeong-shin shakes his head.

“It is getting late,” he says. “Did you not intend to conduct your investigations?”

“Yes,” Lee Chang says quietly, accepting the change of subject and coming back to himself with a start. He curses himself. It is not like him, to be so distracted. They make for the city.

 I must find out who has been spreading the disease among the population, he thinks to himself. The guards at the gates will be a good place to start. And then… and then I will dine with him, later tonight.

Unfortunately, his search brings little fruit, as neither the guards nor the regular vendors in the market have observed any suspicious figures who had approached them. Furthermore, news of the monsters has spread throughout the city, and the people are in a panic, shutting themselves up at home and refusing his questions. It is a maddening state of affairs, but Lee Chang knows of no other way he would have handled matters. Jecheon needs to be prepared for the onslaught that will soon follow.

As night draws nearer and nearer, he grows more and more desperate. The herbalist is the last lead he has, but she knows nothing of a resurrection plant as well, and reports that no one suspicious had visited her either.

“Except for someone who came this morning,” she recalls, “asking the same questions you did. A lady, not fair of face, dressed in white and green. Quite suspicious, if you ask me, with blood spattering her coat - ”

“This woman I know,” Lee Chang dismisses her words, wanting to reprimand her for her careless words against Seo-bi, but chary of offending her and wasting precious time soothing her ego. “Is there really no one else you recall? Anyone who had been acting strange, anyone at all?”

The urgency of his tone compels her to think further, and she taps her chin with a finger, caught up in her thoughts.

“Well, there was that one man…” she murmurs, drawing out the words as she thinks. Lee Chang feels Yeong-shin brush against him, and he forces himself to stop tapping his foot against the floorboards in impatience.

“A man, you said,” he prompts, as gently as he can.

“An old man,” she says. “He asked where the hospital was – I told him it was just down the road, the first left and then three doors away, and I found it odd that he did not know. He must have been a stranger. He seemed like a doctor, a harmless old man, and so I hardly thought of him at first… but see here, have you heard the terrible news? That monsters will come upon us tonight craving for our flesh?” She starts quaking, and there is real fear in her eyes. “I do not know what to do,” she wails, and tears spill from her eyes. Lee Chang suddenly regrets his earlier impatience.

“Lock your doors, and climb as high as you can, if possible,” he advises. “They cannot climb without aid. And bring flame and blade with you, if you can.”

“Will Jecheon fall?” she turns her tearful eyes on him. “I fear it will. Oh, what am I to do! My son… in Hanyang… I fear I will never see him again.”

“Jecheon will not fall,” Lee Chang vows, and every word he says, he believes in. “As long as I live, none shall fall in Jecheon if I can help it.”

“As long as you – who are you?” she asks, eyes widening, but Lee Chang is already halfway out of the door.

“Thank you for your information,” he says quietly. “I will see you tomorrow morning, for you will still be alive. I know you will.”

“The hospital,” he says to Yeong-shin urgently, as they leave the herbalist’s store, “we must hurry there – this old man she speaks of, he must be the one - ”

Then he realises that he can no longer see Yeong-shin’s face clearly. The lamplight in the herbalist’s shop had blinded him to the falling of night-time.

A scream rends the air, and he smells the familiar stench of rotting flesh, and hears the terrible gnashing of teeth. There is a click next to him as Yeong-shin arms his rifle.

“Too late, Your Highness,” he says grimly, “It has begun.” There is a flash of white as he offers a quick smile Lee Chang’s way – not even a proper smile, more a baring of his teeth – and says, “We will have to put off that dinner for another day.”

“I will hold you to your promise,” Lee Chang sighs, and his heart begins to beat faster. He unsheathes his sword. Even in the dimness of the night it glitters and catches the faint glow from the moonlight.

His last coherent thought, before he dives into the fray, is a prayer for Mu-yeong, and a prayer for Seo-bi.

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