#her brother's face is cast in dark relief from the gold of his flames but she can still see

[icangiveitback]

i did not draw what i wanted to with this but oh well

some fate!bend

#art tag #zuko atla #azula atla #fire hazard siblings #fatebend #fatebend azula #fatebend zuko #zuko was the prodigy #azula was banished #[zuko's hands wreathe in golden flame almost white-hot in the center #she remembers when those swords had been red-hot daggers fisted in small hands #her father had not been pleased at the trivial imitation when zuko could have been practicing /real/ firebending #/azula/ had not been pleased when her father barely glanced at her acceptable (but not. perfect.) katas because zuko was playing games #now the comet flares and the little flame daggers grow to a pair of incandescent blades the heat of which azula can feel from paces away #her brother's face is cast in dark relief from the gold of his flames but she can still see #somehow #the barest reflection of her older brother in his eyes... ]

[heartshyuck]

Pairing: Jisung x fem!reader

Genre: fluff, angst,slow burn, strangers to lovers au, first love, early 1900s au.

Synopsis: Lavenders symbolise purity, silence, devotion, serenity and grace. All endearing characteristics of the gorgeous boy, you met in the fields of purple.

Placed in the late 1930s , just before World War two starts, you flee from your family who are forcing you into a marriage. You lie low in a small village where you meet Jisung in a field of lavenders.

Word count: 23k lmao

Warnings: female reader, misogyny and very backwards ways of thinking, forced marriages, world war two + historical inaccuracy for progression of the plot, drinking

a/n: this is the longest fic i have ever written and honestly it was a mission, it took about a month to write and I am genuinely so proud of it and really happy with it. Please don't be scared by the length but when I say slow burn, I really mean it!

Your legs seem to be moving on their own, feet hitting the ground at a steady and fast pace, you don’t look back and can’t seem to see what lies ahead but still you run until your lungs burn, run until the bitter metallic taste is at the back of your throat where bile threatens to rise. You run until finally your legs collapse, knees hitting the ground, grazing them and it’s the slight sting of the sediment seeping into the cuts that stop you from passing out. You’re not sure how far you’ve ran or how long you’ve been running, you don’t know where you're running to but you have to escape. 

Escape the life they’ve laid out for you, the one they’ve planned without your input, you can’t live a life where everything is set out, where ’everything is expected and perfect. A life where you’d get married at 18 to a stranger who was of a worthy social class, attend formal lunches with the wives of your husband’s work colleagues and host dinner parties and occasionally large balls in a manor that always felt empty no matter how many paintings you bought to hang on the never ending amount of walls, no matter how many more bookshelves you tried to fit into one room, a place that you’ll always hate. Then to have children by 20, as many boys as possible of course to then not have any say in their upbringing and watch nurses tend to them, your husband educate them and then watch them get married, meet your grandchildren and when you’ve reached a respectable age, death will meet you in your sleep and you’ll be mourned and then forgotten. A life filled with regret, a constant numbness, no fulfilment and no meaning.

You saw your mum live that life, a smile that never quite reached her eyes, always plastered on at any given moment as she walked around the large hall with a glass of nothing but champagne in hand greeting the hundreds of guests that you were never able to comprehend how she managed to remember them all. She never spoke unless spoken to, never put in any input and always obeyed your father even when you could see the frustration bubble up inside her as her eyes glinted and her jaws tightened with the urge to say something.

She would buy gifts upon gifts and shower you in expensive luxuries, spoil you in riches as a form of love and yet it always held another meaning behind it. There was a slight sadness in her eyes as she passed a gift every birthday,christmas and any other reason she found, almost as if she was saying sorry for the life you were going to live and how she’d use these moments as blackmail for when that time came. You’d overhear her quiet sobs when you would sneak around the house late at night, read letters she received from someone you didn’t know and how they wished for her life to get better and for her to find happiness in a world where happiness didn’t exist. You saw your mother cry when your father died, eyes bloodshot red in fear rather than grief. Her life was now uncertain and that's when you decided that you couldn't live an empty life, regretting choices and wishing for death to come to you first.

Your father had always made sure that you would receive a proper education, one where you'd read hours upon hours of the finest English literature, works of science and learned of the past and present politics. He always said "a lady should know about the world around her but should never venture off on her own" you hated that phrase but it was better than what you overheard your friend's father saying to her when she asked for him to explain the concept of communism, "a women does not need to busy herself with politics, for your brain could not even begin to comprehend it" he announced with his nose high up in the air as if he had just said the most inquisitive statement known to man. It baffled you how one could even think that, let alone truly believe it enough to announce it so stupidly in the open, it was obvious that women were capable of understanding concepts like politics, maths and science for you were living proof.

You did better than your brother at grasping algebra, better at them with understanding Versalius's "De humani corporis fabrica" and it didn't take your friend long to understand Karl Marx's theory on communism once you explained it to her. It angered you that this was dismissed especially when your brother soon went off to universities for they had outgrown your father's enormous library and knowledge, there was no more he could teach them but there was still much to learn and you yearned to do the same but as you approached a suitable age for marriage, your everyday classes on Shakespearean English, Tudor monarchy, Greek mythology and Italian art had now been replaced with sewing, crochet, dining etiquette and the differences between napkins, white laced ones for formal lunches, gold embroidery for important dinners and regular silk for everyday use, you'd recite to your mother and the many maids who were on standby.

You've left that world now, left the bustling streets of industrialised London where a black smog always hung around the air and the smell of burnt rubber that stung your nose, you always hated both. Though you grew up in a large estate where there seemed to be a never ending amount of land on the outskirts of London, you never were allowed out to explore. Only allowed out with your mother to pick out fabrics in the markets, surrounded by military men that guarded the general's wife and daughter but now you were alone, no guards, no mother and no black smog to block your view of what lies ahead, only the sun and the ocean sky, clear of clouds as you breathe in fresh air that cleanses your lungs from the toxins that hang in the city air, surrounded by vibrant lavenders that arrive with a strong, sweet smell of pollen which you welcome to replace the bitter rubber your sense of smell only seems to know.

You close your eyes and bask in the warmth of late August , the sun gleaming down on you, rays striking against your skin with the wind between the strands of your hair, blowing the lavenders and they slightly tickle your arms. You’re not sure how long you were in your euphoric trance but you weren't ready to leave yet when the dark shadow was casted over you.

Your eyes lazily open and beauty lies ahead, the sun gleaming behind him, lights him on flames and he burns with a presence so strong you can see it as his aura swirls around you, engulfing you. His features,strong and yet his eyes are soft and even as he's turned away from the sun they sparkle infinitely as they hold the brightest stars, his stare pierces through you and it makes your gut clench as you feel small under his gaze but you don't turn away, daring him to continue staring down on you, well that's what you tell yourself as you can't help but get lost in the beauty of his eyes. His face wears a worried expression, his hand out forwards for you to take and place in his and it takes you a while to realise he's trying to help you up, even longer to comprehend the words that leave his mouth, as you just watch his cherry red lips move. You're dazed and for the first time you're not thinking straight, your legs won't move to carry you back up onto your feet but your hand instinctively moves towards him and your own mouth gapes open as it does, and again he repeats himself emphasising the words as his eyes widen further “are you feeling well?” you stare blankly at him, no response until you feel the burning sensation of his hand in yours. A heat that sends shocks through every nerve, it runs through your bloodstream lighting you on fire and as if you were burnt you pull back, shaking off the dizzy spell you rise to your feet, your body finally responding to your screaming brain. A sense of relief washes over you as the fear of losing your mind slowly seeps out as the haze in your mind clears, until your eyes meet his again. “Really y/n, not for a boy” you cry out in your head as your mind seems to be lost in awe looking at him.

You shuffle uncomfortably and it’s just now you realise how much of a mess you look as the embodiment of beauty’s eyes fall down. Your expensive dress torn up, what was once a full sangria and silver ball gown was now rags that wrapped around you with the bottom half missing as it stopped just above your knees, an uneven hem due to the rough ripping which took all of your strength, the white net underneath was visibly stained a brownish yellow, the cuts on your knee not being the only thing the dirt seeped into  but his eyes don’t even seem to stop there, they didn't even seem to notice, only meeting a piece of paper that lied on the floor. He reaches down for it, his eyebrows perk up slightly before handing it back to you.“You dropped this” he avoids eye contact, continuing to stare down, his hand abruptly extends out in front of him and he clears his throat, adding to the excruciating awkwardness between you and you wince at the sudden sound.

“Oh thank you..” you can hear your voice waver and crack and for the first time in your life, your voice isn’t confident, seems like a day full of firsts, your mother would’ve been proud if she saw you acting like this, like a lady she would have put it. Quiet, reserved but really it was just a suffocating stiffness that lingered in the air.

“Jisung” he completes your sentence, a small, shy smile appears on his face as his eyes look at everything but you, the letter still in his grasp he shakes his hand at you slightly urging you to take it. Your fingers brush past his ever so slightly as you take the letter back into your possession, a spark is sent through you and your fingers twitch, as if wanting more but you stop them from moving any further, your eyes slightly widen as you catch yourself falling so easily and if Jisung catches the weird expressions on your face, he chooses to ignore them not saying anything. “You are not from around here, are you?” His voice is light and airy as he speaks softly, as if you were made of glass and any harsh tone could break you, you can’t tell if it’s because of the immense awkwardness or because of the pity he must feel seeing you in such a state. You hope it’s the former and decide that’s what it is, when he starts playing with the edges of his white shirt.

“No I live in London” the words die as soon as they leave your mouth, you used to live in London, you don’t anymore. This only adds to Jisung’s awkwardness and it reminds you no matter how beautiful he is, he’s only just a boy who’s probably around your age. So you smile at him, letting out a small breathy laugh in hopes of lightening the mood, it works as he visibly unstiffens. “Used to” Jisung doesn’t press on the matter any further, doesn’t ask anymore questions, just nods. The unsettling atmosphere sets in once again and your incapability of standing in silence for more than a second, you clear your throat "do you know where this address is?" your tone light and airy, you sound almost clueless and it’s now you realise the true meaning behind every etiquette class, the role of the women is the domestic war, the war on power. For one to rise they must make powerful allies and that’s what this voice is for, to obtain the power of a man and trick them into helping you; so you're glad when Jisung takes the letter back into his grasp and examines the writing at the front, it’s worked.

“I’ll show you the way” and you nod with a slight smile as a thank you, Jisung leads the way and you follow soon behind, with his face no longer in my sight you can finally observe the rest of him. Judging by his height and build, seems like he comes from a well off family. Though there wasn’t a day you felt hungry, you weren’t blind to the outside world no matter how hard your parents tried to shelter you from it. The world is living off rations but the wealthy still have access to more, Jisung must have some sought of status or most likely works for a household with high status considering it seemed like he was running errands, why else would he be in a field full of lavenders and it’s only reinforced by the fine silk that flows as wind rushes past you. Somewhat similar to the material that makes up your gown, or what’s left of it, it’s an expensive material imported from colonies in the empire. He walks with no flaw and so you guess he didn’t serve in the war, meaning he has to be around your age; this new life is exciting and scary, you’re not sure what you want yet but you certainly wouldn’t mind if the boy in the lavender field stuck around for a while.

Jisung’s steps slowed and soon came to a stop outside a large estate, it was nowhere near as big as your parent's manor but comparing it to the small petite houses in the village you could just about see; it definitely was the biggest house in the village. You turned to thank Jisung, mouth slightly opened as the words were prepared to leave until you saw him pull out a key and a heat rose up your neck onto your face, in both slight embarrassment and excitement as you realised that Jisung must live here and your mouth couldn’t help but confirm your thoughts, “do you live here?” you blurted quickly with a slight lift in your tone, which you hope wasn’t too obvious in exposing your excitement.

His eyebrows rise, a small smile appears but he doesn’t answer your question, continuing to unlock the doors and allows you to step in first, a women who barely makes it past Jisung’s shoulders calls out to him, embracing him as she tightly wraps her arms around his waist, Jisung leans back slightly as a way of hoping to loosen her grip as his face scrunches up in pain as the struggle to breath sets in but there’s a constant smile on his face right until he peels her off. It’s then she punches him in the stomach, making him crouch down below her, holding onto his stomach.

“How many breaths must I waste in having to tell you to make sure you fulfill all your duties before you head to the fields'' she nags him and a smile is brought to your face at the violent display of affection, you guess he must be a part of the service team that works for the master of this house, which was exceptionally beautiful in the inside; much bigger than what it lets off from the outside, your eyes can’t help but linger elsewhere and observe the hidden beauty in all the small intricate designs. “Young master” the lady continues to punish him for his action and you head whips around at her words, she hasn’t even noticed you but Jisung’s eyes are constantly on you watching your expressions change as more as more information is being released to you, a smile appears on his face and at first it seems like a smirk but soon you notice the constant pink dust across his cheeks and you realise he’s embarrassed. There’s a strange feeling in your chest, a warmth that spreads and has you clutching your fists as you think at how adorable he is, your eyebrows furrow and you shake both the thoughts and the smile off.

Finally after what seems like hours of you staring at Jisung but in reality was no longer than a few seconds, the petite woman turns to you and acknowledges your presence,  her eyes widen in surprise and she rushes to your side. “Oh lord, my dear child are you okay?” she grabs your hands and ushers you down the hall into a secluded room that takes up a big portion of the ground floor of the house.

The kitchen, filled with plenty of workers,busy hands and food; she shouts at a maid to move a few things around and to make some space for you around the small table that holds vegetables and freshly cut meat. There’s the smell of spices that are definitely too exotic to be from these lands, parcels with German writing and several people cooking dishes you don’t recognise.

You're pushed down onto a small wooden chair that slightly rocks and it is by far the most uncomfortable place you’ve ever sat but you don’t dare complain even after the minutes pass and your legs begin to ache. The maids ran around you and even as you left that world behind, you still somehow ended up in the same position and then you realise it’s the fine silk you wear that sets you apart, the rows and rows of pearls around your neck and rings on your fingers. They don’t ask any questions, just wiping away at the dirt on your legs; the same women at the door pouring a type of alcohol over your cuts and it stings drawing out a hiss from you, “sorry” she whispers and blows slightly on the irritated skin. The kitchen quiets down and the other maids exit, leaving you and the same women who scolded Jisung, she didn’t bother to ask him any questions and quickly sent him away to carry on with the work he didn’t finish, she doesn’t ask you any questions either for it’s not her place to ask. 

She wraps bandages around your knees and your eyes wander around, landing on a picture of her with three little boys, you recognise the smallest to be Jisung, she catches your eyes and smiles “the masters, when they were little devils” she remarks making you and her both let out small laughs, “though they aren't much better now” she smiles fondly as she continues to wrap the bandages, you see love in her eyes and can tell that she raised them.

“The smallest is Jisung, am I correct?” you ask just to confirm your assumption, she nods and smiles, “i can tell by his awkwardness, it’s radiant even in pictures” you scoff and she laughs. "Who are the other two?" Your curiosity seemingly has no end.

"The tallest is master Jeno and the one in the middle is master Jaemin" she says as she cuts the bandage. You take note of their names and match it to their appearances though you assume they've probably changed quite a bit. The tallest, Jeno has crescent moons for eyes as his smile pushes them up, it's adorable. The middle, Jaemin also has a bright smile, probably the prettiest you’ve ever seen but Jisung still stands out the most to you, maybe it’s because you’ve seen how he looks now; the change is definitely visible, he’s grown much taller and into his sharp features. He's definitely handsome, epitome of beauty but by the way he timidly walks you’re not quite sure he knows it.

“Will these do, ma’am?” her hands hold onto a set of clean clothes and you only nod at her as you take the clothes from her hands, calloused and rough from years of labour. "Please just call me y/n" you tell her trying to remove your status and she only nods in return. "And what may I call you" you ask her.

"Daphne" she replies and you notice that she smiles at you, a full smile nothing quite like you've seen before and you'd like to think this what a smile should look like. Genuine. Instead of all the small smiles you recieved, the ones with hidden agendas and meanings, the ones because of who your father was, the one because of your status, name, title, money and a persuasion for your hand in marriage. So many smiles yet none truly considered one. God you hated that life.

"Now y/n let me show you to a room" she leads you out the room and you follow her upstairs, all the maids rushing back into the kitchen after you have left. She turns left and right and you find that the upstairs is far more complicated to navigate, with many different rooms. When she finally reaches a long corridor, she stops to point at the room that awaits at the end. "That will be your room ma'am" and before she even could finish her sentence properly, "y/n" you correct her and she only nods, giving you a soft smile as an apology."Please call for me if anything isn't to your liking" she says and just as she's about to step away, ready to leave you to get comfortable.

You call her back, "Daphne, can you please tell me who this is" you lift up the small blue letter that leads you here to this address, to finally put a name to the mysterious woman who only seemed to want the best for you and your mother. She takes the small letter from your grasp, examining the small font that's slowly fading due to the number of years it's collected dust. Her eyes widen as she reads the letter, her head snapping up to look at you, her lips parting slightly as if her jaw threatened to drop.

"My god" she says as she continues to read, shock written all over her face, "this is from the master's mother, dear" she tells you and you join her in shock as your jaw hangs a lot more obviously in shock. "She worked for your family when she was young" she continues to tell you and the ripples of shock continue to pulse through your body. Your mother and her are good friends from what you've gathered, reading all the letters you found. Yet your mother never even allowed you to mix classes, always telling you to stick with your own people, people who can pay for your time, literally. Yet here she was being friends with a woman considered below her, even considering sending you away to her. The hypocrisy is what shocked you the most, for you didn't think your mother could build relationships if it weren't for a social advantage.

"Can I meet her?" you ask, excited until you see sadness seep into her eyes, she looks down and she shuffles slightly. Her eyes glossy with tears threatening to fall and your own shoulders droop down and a frown is formed on your lips. "I'm sorry" you apologise but she shakes her head and wipes her eyes slightly.

"Don't be silly, you didn't know and it's better you found out through me anyways." She tells you and you're glad that you found out through her too, you don't think you would've been able to handle it coming from Jisung. "If you do not mind me, but when did she pass" you ask carefully as to not break her.

"Last May" she tells you and you hear sadness in her voice , as it slightly cracks and you release a deep sigh as to rid your body from the contagious mood. With that she hands the letter back into your hand and leaves you to wash up, "Dinner will be ready soon, please wash up" she urges you to go into the room.

You walk down the corridor, steps heavy as your heart grieves for Jisung and as you're reminded of your own father's death, though he planned on marrying you to a stranger you didn't love and never truly wanting you to live happily. You loved and still love him with every ounce of your being, all making grief an impossibly hard process. For your heart hurt and your mind could not comprehend why.  Your eyes stung with tears and your hands trembling with pain and still the mind was questioning why you felt sad. Then the guilt blooms, hovering above you, for this man raised you and cared for you and yet you question your grief as you sit by his deathbed. Yet you remind yourself that questioning your grief is better than not feeling any at all, you remember looking over towards your mother who wore black and instead of grieving her husband's death, she felt grief for her widow status that crushed her social status, for who was she without her husband.

So as you remove the many pearls and diamonds around your neck, gifted to you by your mother, you’re reminded why you left that life behind. You won’t be defined by your husband but by what you have achieved and for who you are. Yet you leave on the thin golden chain with a single pendant on your neck, as a reminder for where to come from and how far you’ve travelled. It was a gift from both your mother and father, the one gift you like to think wasn’t used as a symbol of your wealth to attract men in asking for your hand in marriage, the simplicity of this necklace led you to believe that this was a genuine gift of their love.

Changing out of your ball gown or the remainders of it, you feel anew. Stripping out of your old skin and into much comfortable and humble ones, you feel as if your new life is finally starting and though it’s far from what anyone would have wanted for your life to be like, it’s what you want. You’ve been here for just under an hour and instantly you're on cloud nine, floating to where only the sun is. The rays dancing on your skin and euphoria runs within your veins, this is life.  

You’re not sure how long you’ve been in a daze but soft knocks on the door is what awakens you and you're quick to open the door, not wanting to leave the person on the other side waiting but you’re met with a fist, that seems as if it malfunctions as it goes down by the side of the same person who seems to waking you out of all your dazes recently. Jisung stands there awkwardly, legs crossed and hands behind his back, he stutters as he says “dinner is...um.. It is awaiting” and with that he cuts himself off, rushing the words out of his mouth and quickly turns around, rushing downstairs.

You can only smile at him, how was someone allowed to be that cute. Following soon after him you enter into the dinning room, the smile on your face completely wiped off by the shock of two other men sitting around the table. Your back straightens as your body stiffens, by habit, you’ve been taught to look most confident when caught off guard.

“Sit here y/n” Daphne takes out the seat opposite of Jisung and next to a man you don’t know until he smiles your way, you recognise that smile and it’s still as pretty as it looks in the picture hanging in the kitchen. You smile back at him as you make your way by his side and take your seat.

“Hello, I’m Jaemin” he turns to you, dropping his fork and it clatters as it hits the plate, a beautiful smile across his face and you finding it comforting to think it hasn’t changed at all. He then lifts your hand to his lips, placing them softly on your knuckles all whilst keeping that damn smile held across his lips and staring straight into your soul, heat rises up your body slightly thrown back and he can see the shock in your eyes . Your well crafted facade cracking. His eyes are still boring into yours and you can’t move, stuck looking into his eyes, hands stuck to his until a kick. Coming from across the table, a force hits Jaemin’s shin causing him to yelp, instantly turning away from you and dropping your hand, you notice a small smile on Jisung’s face as he tries to conceal his laughter. You turn to look at where such a force came from, fierce strong features and an intimidating stare yet when he turns to you crescent moons appear, his aura changing immediately and the child in the portrait comes to life. “I’m Jeno” his voice is soft yet clear and all you can do is smile back before replying simply your name “Y/N” you tell him and he nods your way. 

Thinking that silence would now set in was foolish of you, for you should’ve guessed Jaemin isn’t the type to let there be silence and looking back now you could definitely tell he was itching to ask you so many questions. “I guess you have already met Jisung” he turns to you again and you only nod, looking up at the tall boy in front of you but he only stares at the soup in front of him but you know he senses your gaze as he twitches slightly in his seat, holding himself back from looking up and directly into your eyes. “He is not usually this quiet, he will warm up to you soon” Jaemin apologises on behalf of Jisung yet he grimaces at the words that leave Jaemin’s mouth but you smile at Jaemin ignoring Jisung’s expression.

The rest of dinner is filled with small talk between you and Jaemin, him asking you your favourite colour and trivial things like that, you discussed different authors and scriptors to which Jeno also chimed in on the conversation, both very impressed on your knowledge though you aren’t sure if they were impressed because you were a woman or genuinely impressed by the vast knowledge you had accumulated over the years spent in your father’s library however you brushed that thought aside, carrying on with the conversation, eyes drifting to Jisung at times who just sat there playing around with spoon, twisting it between his fingers instead of daring to look at you let alone to add to the conversation. Finally as Daphne takes away the plates, Jeno stands up dismissing himself from the table, “It was a pleasure to meet you Y/N, I hope you stay a while it was fun having you” he tells you with those same moons for eyes and you thank him for his hospitality “It was a great pleasure to meet you too, thank you for allowing me to stay” you say them at Jeno and Jaemin but they’re mainly directed to Jisung who brought you here.

“If there’s anything you need, don’t hesitate to tell me” Jaemin smiles, a hand on your shoulder as he stands next to where you sit and you only nod at him, he then comes to your ear, lips so close you feel them brush against the shell “Jisung will come around, I’m sorry if he’s making you feel uncomfortable” he apologises on his behalf for the second time that night and you wave him off with a smile. You could already tell that Jisung is shy and awkward but it’s not confused for hate or resentment, he simply doesn’t know how to act around a female and it’s clear the way he trips over his words and his very own legs but to be fair they are very long.

After everyone left the table and made their ways to their own rooms, you too made your way to bed. Laying there you think back to how far you’ve come, a few months ago this all would have been nothing but a dream and now it’s a reality and the euphoric feeling you imagine is everything and more. Freedom is worth anything is what you’ve learnt, the freedom to live your life the way you want. To be in control of all your decisions, living with the consequences but not a single shred of regret because you chose it and therefore it must have been for a reason. It’s new and exciting but so scary as the colony of butterflies bloom in your stomach, all the possibilities panning out in your head and for some reason as you drift off to sleep that night, you see Jisung in this future of yours.

The sun shined in through the sheer curtains of your room, sunlight dancing on your skin and the warmth made you feel alive as it tingled. The house was quiet and as you look out the window you realise that even the Sun has still yet to wake fully, still sleepy rising out of the horizon. The birds chirp and the lavender fields roar as the wind dances but there in the middle of it all is a figure. Jisung. Your eyes light up and your legs are quick to move, still in your nightgown, hair in a mess you rush to meet him there. The stairs creak as you step down them slowly, as if a child trying not to get caught, you try your best not to wake a soul.

Once out the door you run out towards the purple sea, the cold morning air refreshing to the midday humidity that sticks your clothes to your skin, instead the wind blows through you and you feel free as all boundaries and confinements are washed away but then it hits you, causing your legs to halt. Jisung barely knows you, how weird it would be for you to run up to him at the break of dawn? Very weird you decide as you slowly make your way back to the house, hoping to not make any noise that might draw his attention your way.

Stepping back inside, your back against the heavy wooden door you let out a deep sigh as your eyes fall closed in relief. Thank god he didn't see you, you think to yourself as you just stepped into the living room and your heart dropped down to your stomach, lungs stopping as you see him there. Jisung flicking through a book, his eyes come up to meet yours which are blown out in shock as you stare between him and looking back at the door, his lips fold into a line and you practically see the questions forming in his mind as he scratches the top of his head.

“Good Morning” you say with a smile but the embarrassment isn’t covered well, eyes everywhere but his. He softly replies with a mumble you’re unsure if he actually said anything back or if you just made it up but as your eyes land on the book in his hand and all thoughts are banished. You rush round the table, Jisung’s eyes wide now as it’s his turn to be shocked as you sit down beside him, taking the book out of his hand to have a look at the title. “Ah a classic” you say as your fingers run over the title and Jisung only nods at your words. “Is it your favorite Shakespearean play?” you ask in hopes of starting up conversation, all you get in return is nod of the head but that does nothing but urge you to talk again to fill the silence. “I like Hamlet but i think Macbeth is my favourite. The best character being Lady Macbeth, a strong ambitious women” you state and Jisung only laughs at this causing you to turn back to him.

“She had lost her mind” he laughs again and you smile

“Yes but as a woman she exerts power and it’s not really seen much in female characters in stories and real life” you tell him, explaining how a woman like her is admirable for her strong spirit.

“Yes but doesn’t Shakespear describe her to have a masculine soul that within a femine body, he is saying the ambition and power are masculine and therefore is she really a good embodiment for strong powerful females?” he argues back, questioning you and you can’t help but smile.

“But he uses her and the witches to plant the idea of murder in Macbeth’s head, he shows that they are powerful and can achieve what they want through manipulation which he explains to be a women’s method, they are in control of the men and it shows that if it weren’t for social confinments that they would pursue their ambitions for themselves, is Macbeth really the one in control?” you question him back and he smiles

“You win” he laughs and pride is struck through you, there’s no feeling quite similar to winning a debate but there's sadness at the bottom of your gut as you remember and miss your brothers who you would debate with until frustrations would burst out of you all and it leads to punches being thrown around.

“Let me guess, you hate Romeo and Juliet” he expects you to say yes and you know it’s because he probably thinks their love for each other is shallow but you can’t say you do.

“I don’t actually, aside from the whole love at first sight, I somewhat relate to it” you tell him eyes staring at him but unfocused as you think back to how your own life was in comparison to Juliet’s, “the being forced into something you don’t want and dying for your freedom, in this case her freedom was Romeo but i don’t think he was the only reason she chose to flee, I’d like to think ran away for herself and to allow herself her own choices in life” and then silence as Jisung took in your words, a perspective he had never really thought about, the story was always solely based on romance but then again he had never been put in the position of being forced into something so life changing such as marriage. Jisung couldn’t begin to comprehend how it felt to be used so obviously for social gain and being stripped and deprived of anything else that would hinder that.

 Sensing stiffness in the air, you had to do something about it, you finally got Jisung to actually have a conversation with you. “Still Macbeth is the best” and again you manage to get a laugh out of him. The sound is so sweet that angels come down to listen to it, the heavens split open at the first bubble of laughter that leaves his mouth and your eyes light up as your body tingles with pride for causing it, you’re addicted to it and you're itching to hear it again. You need to hear it again.

The moment is cut off though with the entrance of Jaemin and Jisung’s eyes avert to his brother greeting him a good morning as quietly as he did to you and Jaemin sleepy replies in a yawn, rubbing his eye  before sitting down opposite you. “Morning y/n” he greets you and you smile before greeting him back, turning back to Jisung to hopefully start up the conversation again. “So what else are you reading?” you ask and your eyes light up as you scan over the many books on the table before you.

“Oh y/n, you know how to read!” Jaemin jumps up, it wasn’t expected for someone to be literate to the extent they could read Shakespeare or any higher educational scriptures, unless of a high class, let alone a women but your father taught you all he could and then you leached off your brothers who were lucky enough to be sent to school but Jaemin had already been aware of this “Yes my father taught me” you tell him and he nods rapidly.

“Yes I know, I just thought you’d like to know that there’s a library upstairs if you ever get bored and want to read something” he tells you and excitement bubbles up inside you and the instinct to run up there and have a look at their book collection is something far harder to conceal then it should be and Jaemin laughs at your eagerness. “Jisung could use someone like you, he’s always trying to get away from his studies” and you hear Jisung let out a nervous laugh as you turn towards him, completely offended.

“You have the privilege of being able to study and you want to run away from it” you gasp and it causes Jaemin to laugh again but this wasn’t a laughing matter, you were completely serious. You would die to be in his position and something about the way Jisung holds an apologetic look makes you think he knows you would.

“I guess you’ll just have to be with him to help him study” Jaemin offers a solution and your eyes light up at this, the excitement running through your veins. You all know exactly what that means, yes it’s babysitting Jisung to make sure he gets all his work done but it also means you get to study whatever he’s learning and expand your knowledge as far as you can. Jisung seemed hesitant at first but after seeing how you visibly lit up at the suggestion he couldn’t help but agree to take you along with him when he had to study.

After breakfast Jisung led you up to the library, it was a large room filled from ceiling to floor with books, the sight alone made you dizzy with excitement, as you stepped in the beloved smell of old books filled your senses and your hands instantly rushed to run along the spines of every book. Your eyes sparkled as you looked over each one and Jisung watched as fascination completely engulfed you, he couldn’t stop watching as you pick out a book, couldn’t take his eyes off you as your eyes skimmed the blurb, he was mesmerized by what he wasn’t too sure of. His eyes didn’t seem to be able to move on from your figure until you turned to face him, time stood still as he watched more and more of the bright smile that was held across your face be revealed to him, you were beautiful. Once met with yours, his eyes scrambled away as they always do and he was quick to turn around and seat himself at the desk that sat in the centre of the room.

You too situated yourself on one of the more comfortable chairs, opposite to Jisung, you watched him begin to write, his head slanted and both arms splayed out on the table, he was the height of beauty and grace, the gods carved him from marble, so ethereal Aphrodite herself was jealous of his perfection, Apollo envied his grace. Though you were here to study, read as many books time allowed you, your eyes were distracted and little did you know they were distracting Jisung as well. Your gaze causes his breath to halt, his hands to sweat and pink dust to decorate his skin. You were dazed, stuck in a trace of his beauty and had to do something to get out of it, you clenched your hand; nails digging into your palms, pressing hard to wake you. You forced your head to the side, eyes looking at the bookshelf once again but your actions caused Jisung to look up, you can feel his stare on you and a shiver is sent through your spine, too scared to look back at him, afraid you’ll be pulled back into his trance.

“You have a lot of German books” you say, hoping your nervousness isn’t obvious and just to be sure you get up and head towards the books. You feel him staring at every step you take and you just pray you're the only one that can hear the loud thumping of your heart against your ribcage as a colony of butterflies bloom in your stomach. Fingers tracing over the German writing on the spine of each book, you try to distract yourself from him and try to compose yourself once again but then his voice echoes through the room, deep and smooth it sends shivers rippling through you.

“My father was stationed in Germany” he tells you as his eyes finally move away from your figure, a sense of relief washes over you as he continues to write once again. Yet you're still too nervous to turn around, too nervous to look at him, he who is the epitome of beauty.

“Still?” you ask, filling in the silence as you pull out another book, examining the words on the front cover but you instantly regret it as Jisung’s eyes fall back onto you.

“After the war he was assigned a higher position in the Rhineland and then after they were dismissed he was asked to stay along the French borders'' he tells you and once again your curiosity gets the best of you and you ask him another question. If you remember correctly, it’s been 10 years since the dismissal of the troops in the Rhineland.

“So when was the last time you saw him?” and instantly you regret the words that leave your mouth, your curse yourself a million times over. Jisung’s silence is all too overwhelming and your chest grows tighter as guilt takes over your body and just as you’re about to apologise, he answers

“He visited last year” Jisung simply states but you can hear the strain in his voice, the pain he’s tried his best to cover yet it seeps through and your glad you can’t see him right now because you couldn’t bare to see the sparkle in his eyes fade slightly as you remember the passing of his mother, that most probably led to his father returning back home. Silence settles again and your frozen by the shelves, the air so heavy it feels as if weights were holding you down, your mind hazy as you space out and as the common pattern goes, Jisung wakes you out of the depths of your mind with a voice as smooth as honey, it provides a comfort that sends shivers down your spine.  “He’ll be back soon though, he’s officially been discharged for retirement” he tells you as if he can feel your stiffness and out of the corner of your eye you see he’s giving you a small comforting smile, just to make the air seem a little lighter.

Time seems to fly past as you both sit there, Jisung’s hands busy writing away as he refers back to scriptures and your eyes busy as you read up on German politics and the structure of the Weimar constitution, that revolutionised democracy, the sun was now high in the sky as noon approached. You didn’t even notice until Jisung let out a loud yawn, arms above his head as he stretched and let out mumbles of how you should stop for today or at least take a break. You only nodded in response as you stretched your own limbs out, you had ended up curled up in the chair with your legs tucked away as you leaned into what you were reading. Jisung couldn't help but smile as he looked up occasionally to see your eyebrows furrowed as you read and he can't help the soft laugh from escaping his lips now as he watches you stretch. "And what is it that you find so funny?" You question him, eyes narrowed but your lips are clearly fighting back a smile and the sight of it flusters Jisung, stammering over his words ``N-Nothing" he answers and you let out a small smile to let him know you were only kidding.

As you both leave the room, you can't help but follow Jisung "and what is it you do after you are done studying?" Your question startled him as he visibly flinched at the sound of your voice and he mentally tells himself to get used to your unquenchable curiosity. "Except for picking lavenders" you tease. He lets out a soft laugh, the same sound you've been itching to hear since this morning.

"Nothing much" he tells as he makes his way down the stairs. Following him down, he makes his way towards the drawing room, sitting himself down in an old velvet chair, you place yourself beside him in a matching one. Your eyes peering over towards his hands that pull at needle and thread and you’re astounded by the sight in front of you, a male who knows how to sew is as rare as diamonds, as impressive as gold. Jisung continuously stuns you, his nimble fingers work diligently as they pull the thread to make patterns across the once plain cloth.

He can feel the burn of your stare on his hands, his chest tightens and his nerves are lit on fire, he is hyper aware of every wander of your eyes. His mind clouded by the mere thought of you watching him, his mind so fixated on impressing you, for a reason he’s not sure of, he doesn’t pay much attention to the needle any longer; a mistake he realises once the sharp point collides with the soft skin of his index, drawing blood. He flinches back away from the sharp contact as you leap forward to cup his hand in both of yours. Pressing your thumb against his finger, applying pressure in hopes of stopping the seeping blood, you slightly blow upon it to relieve it of any pain but Jisung can’t feel any pain not when your overwhelming heat rolls of you and radiates on to his skin, with every touch sparks fly on top of his skin fizzling underneath and seeping into his bloodstream. A fluttering blooms in his stomach and Jisung has no idea what this feeling is, it’s new and exciting. He craves it as his eyes drift to your worried face and once your eyes meet his, the emotion is buried by the overwhelming nervousness he feels engulfing him, his cheeks flush and his breath is caught in his throat. He pulls away from you and quickly stands “I’ll” he pauses thinking what to say next “I’ll get a bandage” he spits the words out as soon as his mind comes up with the excuse.

“I’ll get it, sit down” you stand up and ready to head towards any one of the maids that could help you but your steps are interrupted by Jisung’s voice once again.

“No it’s fine, I’ll get it” he blurts out, hand stopping you as he places in front of you, your head moving back on reflex, and with that Jisung runs out the room; feet moving fast as his left hand tightly wraps around his right index.

You sit there for what felt like forever waiting for Jisung’s return but in reality it was no more than 10 minutes, you were never one to hold patience. So you rose to your feet, eager to find the tall boy that let awkwardness roll off of him. Heading to the direction you saw Jisung turn, you make your way to the familiar kitchen, many busy bodies work their way around preparing for dinner as the clock is nearing sun fall. Your eyes wander the familiar walls with the same pictures you stared at upon the first day of your arrival, until they stopped on the figure they seeked. There he stood by the wooden table that just about reached his waist. He poured flour into a bowl, followed by two eggs and your eyes watched his every moment again and as if he could sense you, his rose to meet you once again. You smile because it just comes so naturally when with him and he smiles back, how could he not?

Inviting yourself in, you step closer towards Jisung, “A cook too” you say, you’re impressed and it’s evident in your voice.

“It’s a basic necessity” he says yet there’s a pink coating that dusts his cheeks, you know he’s flattered by your words despite his own.

“Basic necessity?” you question as you sit down, legs crossed, on an empty wooden chair just by where he stands “I guess I should learn” you state nonchalantly, not expecting the reaction it would provoke from Jisung. His head snaps to turn to you, his eyes searching your face for any indication that you were only pulling his leg, that this was only a joke but those indications never showed because this wasn't a joke, you were serious.

“What? Does a girl have to know how to cook?” you question him in a scoff, an eyebrow raised as you question his thoughts that control his expressions.

“No they don’t but I can be surprised, I know you are surprised I can” he rebuttals, calling out your hypocrisy but to this you only smile, you were glad Jisung could stand his own ground, it wouldn’t be fun otherwise.

“More impressed than surprised” you state, earning a smile from Jisung once again, you pat yourself on the back each time you manage to pull out that sweet, healing smile that seems to wash all worries away.

“Who’s to say I’m not impressed” he questions you once again and continues to mix the batter, adding more ingredients, again you smile at his words and Jisung feels his heart flutter at every stretch of your lips. He craves to see it more.

“Can you teach me?” your question catches him off guard and his eyebrows leap up into the soft brown hair that covers his forehead, “what I’m not totally hopeless, I’ve read a book on it before” you pout. Laughter rings through the air as Jisung has doubled over, unable to hold in the snorts and his breathing unsteadies as your words register in his head and this only makes your pout more prominent and your eyebrows knit together.

“I’m sorry” Jisung laughs out as his eyes fall onto your expression but he can’t hold it in, a few bubbles of laughter spilling out as he tries to calm his breaths, his eyes glossy as tears threaten to fall and you try to fight back your own laughter as the corners of your lips slightly perk up. “Did you say you read a book on cooking” he can’t even get through the sentence without laughing but he’s quick to reign it back in to allow you to answer.

“Yes” you say proudly, head still held high and Jisung bites down on his lips as the splutters of laughter threaten to escape again. “It’s obviously not the same thing but I’ve read basic methods” you state in defence.

“You make it sound like science” he scoffs at your words and you roll your eyes at his.

“Is it not, the mixing of substances to achieve a product. It sounds like alchemy to me” you explain your thought process and Jisung nods in agreement. Though you can tell he has something to say.

“Alright then, let us say cooking is science” he begins and you raise your eyebrow in questioning as to where this is leading “reading a method for an experiment is not the same as doing the experiment, there are things that are not accounted for, practical errors, measuring errors. The method tells you what to do but not how to do it” and before he can even finish his sentence properly you jump up, startling him slightly as he flinches back.

“And that is where you come in to teach me, guide me through the experiment” you plead but it sounds like he doesn’t really have an option, you’re practically telling him. He sighs but he has to give, how could he not when you're giving him your sweetest smile and when your eyes are practically begging him.

“I’m surprised you want to learn” he questions you “I thought you’d avoid anything that would have been forced upon you” he explains as he hands you an apron.

Your smile extends ear to ear as you take the apron from his hands, tying in behind your back you explain your sudden want to learn “Yes but I’m choosing to learn, this isn’t about adding another quality of a wife to my resume. This about extending my knowledge and as you said it is a basic necessity.”

Jisung only nods at your answer as he hands you another bowl, some ingredients already placed inside “follow after me” he says as he cracks an egg and pours it’s insides into the bowl and then turning to you he see you struggle, knocking the egg against the table softly you try and mimic his actions “Did the book not mention eggs?” he laughs and so does Daphne who observes close by as you send him glares that wish him death.

“Like this” he says as he places his hands over yours, guiding you but your eyes aren’t focused on the egg in your hold, you’re focused on Jisung who’s so close, too close. You feel his breath on the side of your neck and goosebumps arise on the surface of your skin as shivers are sent down your spine. The scent of cotton, jasmine and of course lavenders invade your senses and blur your mind. You can’t help but stare at Jisung, perfection personified as he concentrates on explaining how to assure no shell falls into the batter. Yet the words enter one ear and exit the other as you watch his lips move, your eyes stuck and it’s only when his eyes move up to meet yours does he also realise the little space between the two of you. His hands still holding onto yours, his eyes move down. Slowly they trace the features of your face, the bridge of your nose, the dip of your cupid’s bow and then they stop at your lips. His breathing halts, his heart skips beats as it dances in his chest and when he feels unbearable heat take over him he forces himself away from you. Quickly flinching back, his warmth leaves you, he clears his throat and turns from your gaze that still stares, he continues showing you what to do and no more words are exchanged as the heaviness in the air sets in.

Many weeks go by where you and Jisung spend all your mornings in the library, which had now become your favourite spot in the house, you look forward to picking up a new book every morning, look forward to watching Jisung so focused on his work, telling him all about what you’ve learnt and occasionally sparking up a debate but you also find yourself staring out the window wishing for the sun to only raise itself higher and higher as you wish for midday to arrive, to run away with Jisung down into the kitchen where he continues to teach you how to cook, some days he would take you into town to pick out fresh ingredients or some days into the drawing room where he attempts to teach you how to sow. After a few failed attempts, your patience wearing thin and much blood being drawn from your fingers, you give up on sewing however cooking is a much greater achievement and the outcome was worth every bit of it. The smile on Jisung’s face every time he’d taste something he’d liked, every time you remember a part of a recipe and every time he would sit down at the dinner table and Jeno or Jaemin would compliment your cooking. He felt immense pride in you and it fostered a love for cooking within you.

Other days when the weather prohibited it, Jisung would take you out into the lavender field. You’d sit in between the rows and rows of purple, picking at the prettiest ones.The sun high in the sky, august warmth embracing you as the wind blew over the roaring fields, dancing between your hair. “Look I learnt this from a book” you sit beside Jisung, his head snaps up and his attention is on your fingers now as they twirl the thin stems in and around each other to form a knot. “Purity, silence, devotion and grace are what a lavender symbolise” you begin to tell him “and you Jisung” you place the intertwined lavenders behind his ear, he’s visibly flustered as his cheeks turn hues of pink and it only urges you on “are exactly that” you whisper to him as if the lavenders had ears and could hear your confession, for these words are for Jisung’s only.

Jisung’s eyes widened as each word that was revealed to him, his heart thumping in his chest and his mind set on fire as chaos engulfed him. His thoughts scrambled and instantly his mind went to countless different possibilities as to what those words meant but looking up at you his mind cleared for he only saw beauty. The beauty your eyes held, as they sparkled infinitely each time they skimmed over the countless words on a book, the beauty your smile held when someone complimented your new found cooking skills, the beauty in your voice each time you called on him as the new found nickname “sungie” which caused his heart to melt, the beauty you held in the way you carried yourself never letting anyone put you down. Jisung adored you in every way, embers in his chest that grew into a flame, which spreads through his entirety burning all. A blissful pain sits at the core of him, aching, he longs for you but do you long for him? Is he but a fool to fall in love with a stranger, the stranger in the lavender fields. Is he a fool for falling in love with you? Is this even love? His eyes fixated on your lips, he examines the curve of them, the colour, their beauty. As if they were magnets he’s drawn to them, slowly inching himself forward, so close he could feel the warm air that made it past them.

So close and yet so far is he to you, the sweet smell of lavenders is dizzying, the sunlight burns your skin but against Jisung’s it only illuminates his, he glows. The urge to place your lips on top of his, eats away at your skin, the want crawls under and down your spine, shivers resonate throughout your body as he nears. The world falls away, the slight buzzing of bees fade, the tickles of the grass dissipate and you only feel Jisung. His presence, the brush of his knee against yours and the warmth that radiates off him. Your heart stops, you stop breathing, anticipating what’s about to happen next until suddenly Jisung’s head snaps to the right and reality comes flooding in as you hear both your names ringing and ripping through the air. “Jisung! Y/N!” Daphne shouts and Jisung jumps up answering for both of you “We’re coming!” Left completely stunned you sit there, mind in chaos as your embarrassment engulfs you. Your eyebrows furrowed, you think to yourself how you could allow for yourself to fall into his spell. What were you thinking? That’s the problem, around Jisung you can’t think, everything happens on pure instinct and desire. Then as if you had rewinded time, a shadow is casted over you, a hand is placed in front of you to take and as he did on that first day, he snaps you out of your daze. “Are you feeling well?” he asks in that same soft voice. Your hand twitches to move towards him and it takes everything in your power to stop it from falling into his grasp once again.

“Fine” it comes out much colder than you expected it to as you rise up to your feet on your own, his hand is left hanging awkwardly to which he slowly closes before placing it behind his head as he bites his bottom lip and your eyes can’t help but fall on them again, they which were so close and yet so far. “Let’s go” and this time you lead him out of the lavender field.

The walk back to the house is silent, the same awkwardness that hadn’t made an appearance in so long settles in the air, it’s thick and heavy and you can feel it weigh you down. Upon arriving back to the house, a carriage awaits outside, a military emblem on the back and your heart drops, eyes widen and your steps stop. “It couldn’t be” you let out at barely a whisper.

But the slightest sound from you is enough to have Jisung’s head snap up towards you, for he’s been waiting for you to make a sound, any sound to rid this atmosphere. "What is it?" He asks also hushed, his eyes follow yours and there it leads to the carriage, a smile rips through his face and he runs ahead.  Confused you rush your steps but the anxiety building up in your chest stays, the lump in your throat is still hard to swallow.

“Y/N!” Jaemin calls you whilst waving his hand eagerly, calling you to come quickly and as you step closer the constraining feeling in your chest dissipates as the figure that steps out of the carriage is an unknown one to you. You stand by Jaemin’s side, who radiates excitement off him and you can’t help but smile as the little boy in the picture is standing right before you, the same eager stance and pretty smile that even the sun envies. The man exists and immediately pulls Jeno into an embrace so tight and you swear you see Jeno’s eyes sparkle as tears threaten to fall. Jisung is much less subtle at concealing his tears, he sobs into the man’s shoulder and it’s only then you presume this is their father. Jisung’s eyes are red and he sniffles as his father let’s go of him and your heart clenches at his adorableness. Jaemin is as happy as ever, hugging his father as tight as ever, eyes closed in pure bliss. You’re smiling like a fool as the heartwarming scene unfolds in front of you, so busy looking at the happy smiles and the stray few tears that are still running down Jisung’s cheeks you don’t notice the new acquaintance step in front of you until he clears his throat and you jump to meet his gaze.

“You must be Y/N” he smiles extending his hand and you place yours in it, shaking it. “I’ve heard a lot about you in all my son’s letters” your eyes widen and your turn to the three boy, Jaemin with that damn smirk on his face, Jisung avoiding your eyes and as always finding his shoes much more interesting, thank god for Jeno who offers a comforting smile assuring it’s all good things. “Sir you’ve raised three fine men, who have all welcomed me” you bow your head in thanks and he smiles once again.

“I couldn’t possible take any credit for it, it’s all thanks to their mother and Daphne of course” he turns from you to her and she pulls him into an embrace “Thank you for looking after them” he says barely audible but Daphne catches it and just as softly replies “but of course”. As everyone heads inside you wait until Jisung is by your side to start heading in as well, “Crybaby” you whisper with a teasing smile you nudge him with your elbow, he scoffs as he’s wiping his tear stained cheeks but he can’t help smile back at you.

Seated around the dining table, as always by Jaemin’s side and opposite Jisung, their father sits at the head of the table and more food than ever is being served tonight in celebration. You’re much more quiet tonight despite Jaemin continuously making sure you feel involved in the conversation, you’re eternally grateful for him. “So Y/N, why did you leave home?” their father asks so casually it almost goes unnoticed by the boys but Jisung almost chokes on his water, Jeno’s eyes widen and Jaemin almost immediately tries to shut down the conversation “Father” he gives him a pointed look, jaw clenched, eyebrows furrowed as he shakes his head.

“Jaemin, it's okay" you smile towards him, "freedom i suppose sir" you answer the question and Jisung's father squints his eyes, as he lets out a hum in acknowledgement of your answer. "Even after all your family has done for you?" He continues to question "you come from the family my late wife used to work under, am I correct?" And you simply nod "yes I do".

"The late General's daughter" he states "I wonder if he's turning in his grave at this moment" Jisung's grip on his silverware tightens and you notice his knuckles turn white and once again Jaemin's stare is begging his father to stop as Jeno looks over to see how affected you are by his cruel words. You don't falter though, you know what you've done can seem selfish but it was necessary "I'm sure he is" you laugh out "but he's always known I'm never one to listen" you continue to pick away at the food on your plate and you can feel all there gazes falls onto you, as you look up Jisung’s eye bore into yours as he mouths a soft “sorry” to you and you smile back at him shaking your head.

“I assume you’ve run from marriage” Jisung’s father starts up conversation again and you only nod as an answer “Are you against marriage?” he asks and it’s if he wants tears to fall from your eyes as he keeps pushing where he knows it’ll hurt. “Of course not but I would like to pursue a higher education or experience the world first” you explain, still keeping your calm.

“You think a woman is capable of doing such things?” he asks again and it’s this question that really makes your skin crawl and your jaw tighten. Questioning your methods of gaining freedom is one thing but looking down on all women and claiming them unable is one you can’t stand for. “I think we are very capable, I think the suffragettes have made that very clear and sir didn’t you work with the Weimar Government, they were the first government to allow women to vote I would think their initiative would have rubbed off on you” and he only smiles at your answer.

“I was stationed in Germany and worked under the Weimar Government up until their collapse, you’re correct” he begins to tell you “I have to tell you that I agree with your view, I’ve seen much that women are capable of doing” he says and your eyes widen at his words “I think what you did was brave and admirable, my three boys could learn from you, I hope you can lend Jisung some of your courage” he smiles at you and your jaw still hangs as does everyone else's around the table and as you look up to find pink hues invading Jisung’s cheeks once again, if you didn’t know any better you would have thought it were always like that regardless. You nod at their father before answering back “I think I’m the one who’s learning a lot form Jisung sir” and the shades of pink darken

The atmosphere had lightened again somewhat although the topic on war was not a light one at all, as their father expressed his worry about sending his three sons off to war and how in ruins the country would be again, worry sat in your chest. Jeno and Jaemin are strong all physically, emotionally and mentally but Jisung is the sweet boy who wouldn’t hurt a bee. “What do you think of the current situation of our country Y/N'' Jeno taking you out of your thoughts, you head snaps up to him “I think the war is unavoidable despite our economic stance, Germany has already invaded Czechoslovakia and it’s only time before they invade Poland meaning our involvement in the war is definite whether we want it or not'' the table falls silent as they process your words and it’s not until Jisung’s father begins to nod and expand on your thoughts but you zone out as you watch Jisung fiddle with the knotted lavenders you had gifted him and your lips can’t help but curve.

The next morning a book awaited you on your vanity, a scarlet red cover with gold print, you ran your fingers along. “Sonnets'' it read and as you flicked open to the first page, familiar handwriting appeared “A collection of my favourite - Jisung” a smile spread across your face as it usually did when your thoughts ran to Jisung. You sat down flicking to the first poem “Sonnet 18” a giggle escaped your mouth and like a schoolgirl already aware of the beauty Shakespear's arguably most famous sonnet holds, the giddy feeling of butterflies blooming caused your heartbeat to quicken and a heat to rise.

Shall I compare thee to a summer’s day?

Thou art more lovely and more temperate:

Rough winds do shake the darling buds of May,

And summer’s lease hath all too short a date:

Sometimes too hot the eye of heaven shines,

And too often is his gold complexion dimm’d:

Annotations surround the poem as Jisung highlights and picks out certain lines. The second line is underlined and next to it he writes “Though you are lovely, temperate is definitely up for debate” he teases and you scoff at his words. You read on and lines four and five are underlined and his annotation reads “The eye of heaven is you who shines gloriously throughout the day and yet too often you allow yourself to dim. Don’t.”

And every fair from fair sometimes declines,

By chance or natures changing course untrimm’d;

By thy eternal summer shall not fade,

Nor lose possession of that fair thou owest;

“You are my eternal summer, your beauty is one that isn’t possible to vanish, it’s infinite unlike summer which collapses in winter” you read on as lines nine and ten are underlined.

Nor shall Death brag thou wander’st in his shade,

When in eternal lines to time thou growest:

So long as men can breathe or eyes can see,

So long lives this and this gives life to thee.

The the final annotation as the last three lines are highlighted, Jisung says “Your beauty shall remain eternal so long as my heart beats, so long as i live and breathe, so long as my eyes can see your beauty, I only seem to think of you now as i read this poem and in this poem the memory of you shall live on” you heart beats erratically in your chest, you’re breathless as his words halt your breathing. Forgetting such simple acts as thinking and even breathing seem to be a regular side effect in the presence of Jisung, just the mere thought of him. Your palms grow sweaty, your heart clenches reading over the words again and again, you pinch yourself. For this moment, seems like nothing but a dream, your heads in the cloud, you're living in the heavens. The feeling is suffocating, your own throat is closing in on you, the pain in your chest spreads like wildfire, your whole body aches with admiration for him. Yet the constant question looms over your head, what does he really mean by this? Is his feeling the same as yours? Or is he portraying the beautiful friendship you both have built over the weeks? One thing is sure and it’s that you can’t ruin that, can’t let the heavy air seep in once again and weigh you down.

The days folded out as normal, Jisung’s presence still as overwhelming as ever but you couldn’t help but find serenity in it, he was soft spoken yet his silence speaks the loudest for him, his grace and beauty as  were one to be envied by all but you were nothing more than grateful for being able to witness it day after day, it were as if he had walked out of your dreams. The stolen glances, lingering stares as he smiled or laughed, he stole your heart and he wasn’t even aware it was his anyways. Sitting opposite him, you stare not caring if he or anyone catches you for your far past the point of holding any shame and allowing your eyes to do as they please.

"I have something to announce" Jeno suddenly speaks up, breaking the silence, all eyes turn to him and he audibly gulps. You’ve never seen him so nervous, fiddling with his silverware you almost mistook him for Jisung. He clears his voice before speaking, taking in a deep breath he prepares himself for the words that are about to leave him, “I am to marry” he says quickly waiting for a response, an outroar, a gasp and maybe a few tears but none of them come.

“About time don’t you think” Jaemin laughs out causing the rest of the table to release small giggles at Jeno’s expense, “You have been all giddy and heart eyes at that girl in the village since we were all but five- OW" Jaemin's face twists in pain, hands rushing to his shin as he's cut off by a harsh kick. Jisung and you burst into laughter not being able to hold it in any longer.

"And what are you two laughing at" Jeno punches at Jisung’s shoulder, immediately causing him to halt his laughter as he rubs his shoulder “Well brother, it’s not like it is a secret. Even Y/N knows” and you giggle again as Jisung enlightens Jeno on his obvious swooning.

“What?” Jeno’s eyes widen as he turns to you and you can’t help but laugh even more. “We visited the village and your eyes were stuck, Jeno you walked straight into Jisung” you burst out laughing as you recall the memory. Once the laughter, the teasing, the amount of huffs that leave Jeno quiet down your left with comfort, a bliss that you’ve never felt before, a smile that just won’t leave your face. It’s a beautiful feeling and you wish to memorise it for if numbness overtakes your body, you can relive this exact moment of the solace you found in those around this table.

“Is that three out of the four of us in love?” Jaemin smirks as he lifts his glass to his lips, looking around the table, Jeno scoffs at his words but confusion is written all over you and Jisung. Did Jaemin know that your heart only seems to beat for Jisung? How did he know? Who was the other person? Was it Jaemin or Jisung? If Jisung, who did he love? The questions ran through your mind in circles and it only spewed more questions to follow, your head was spinning stuck in the spiral of curiosity, but curiosity always killed the cat.

But cats have 8 other lives right? That is what you had decided later that night, sat beside Jisung on the stone wall, letting curiosity take over you - slightly. Your legs dangled, swinging them back and forth, whilst Jisung’s gaze was set on the crashing waves of purple as the moon pulled them back and forth; yours were stuck on him. The moonlight illuminated, captured his beauty in a way the sun couldn’t, it seemed the goddess of the moon saw greater beauty in Jisung than Apollo could ever begin to understand.

“I could not fail to realise that sonnet 23 was not amongst your favourite” your eyes darting out towards the fields as his turn to you, “It’s one of my favourites” you tell him.

“I’m sorry to disappoint but do you not think it’s a bit cliche” he laughs and your eyebrows shoot up in slight disbelief “and sonnet 18 is not” you scoff, finally meeting his eyes.

“Sonnet 18 is beautiful” he argues and he swings into you, nudging you slightly, rolling your eyes you nudge him back “Sonnet 23 is just as or dare I say more” and he smiles slightly, eyes turning back to the night sky, the clouds running over the moon and Jisung is left amongst the stars. “How so?” he dares to question.

“It is, for one, far more romantic” you begin “the thought of one loving you with so much passion, so unconditionally that it can not even be professed by words yet the love they feel is so strong they need an escape, to tell that person what they can not truly express fully, to let them show you how much they love you. To hear with eyes as Shakespear so beautifully put it” you nudge him again and he looks down at you, a smile as radiant as the sun,moon and stars combined graces you and again Jisung has stolen your heart in complete silence

“Yet what I love about Sonnet 18 is that it is not too romantic, that the love that Shakespear professes can be for a lover or a friend, he speaks of all the imperfections of summer yet still he loves it, he describes the person he loves as someone who defies all the imperfections for in his eyes they are perfect imperfections when it comes to them” he nudges you back with a slight giggle but you can’t return his happiness for you have been stung as his words seep into your mind.

“Oh for a friend” you whisper, he hears your words but not the sadness behind them as he continues with that bright smile “and that is why it was so perfect to give to you” his words are daggers to the heart, piercing through, it shatters and the fine pieces scatter throughout you and the sadness seeps through every fibre, cell and atom of your body.

“Are you feeling well?”he asks and worry sweeps the smile off his face as he finds the glossiness of your eyes, the slight redness as well as the unusual silence from you. “Fine” you answer jumping off the stone wall, “Just tired” you say looking out to the goddess of the moon one last time, unable to turn and look at the art she admired most. “Goodnight Jisung” you say as you turn back to the house, not sparing him a glance for he stole your heart and then broke it. 

Though that night your tears mixed with moonlight until Morpheus took you to dream and then the next morning tears mixed with sunlight as Apollo pulled his golden chariot, with swollen eyes and a throbbing head you promised this wouldn’t affect the beautiful friendship that had bloomed. Jisung may not love you the way you would like but he still loved you, as a friend. The mere thought of the word stung, another aching rippled through you and your bones quacked.

Many dusks and dawns had passed and since,you’ve managed to create some distance between you and Jisung but as once said distance makes the heart grow fonder and you curse whoever uttered such truth. For every stolen glance and accidental touch seemed to make your dormant heart beat with every intent of being heard as it rose to your throat, suffocating you.

Jeno’s upcoming wedding being the greatest of all excuses to run away from the burning presence of Jisung, for you would flee to the village with Daphne and pick out materials, help Jeno’s fiance pick flowers, handwrite invitations with Jeno and accompany Jaemin on whatever errands he had been sent to do. No one questioned how you decided to spend your time, other than of course Jaemin who couldn’t help but let his curiosity lead the words that spewed out of him, to which you told him he’d regret someday.

“Just tell me Y/N” he groans as he carries the large basket of apples “Why spend your time with me instead of Jisung” he continues to pursue the answers you deny him of.

“Maybe because, and I dare to say, I like your company more” you pinch his cheek and laugh at the pout that forms on his face “What answer are you looking for Jaems, what would you have me say?”

“I want you to say you are helplessly in love with my brother who is just as in love with you however both of you are too busy quoting literature that is up for interpretation rather than professing your feelings because you lack the courage to do so” you freeze at his words and he also comes to a halt, turning towards you his eyes, sympathetic “you both are as obvious as Jeno” he lets out a small laugh.

“He does not love me Jaemin” your voice stern as you try to convince one who believes in fairytales, your steps quicken and he chases after you “and how exactly do you know?” he questions, curiosity endless.

“He said so, he said he gifted me Sonnet 18 as a friend.” You scoff at the absurd word that causes so much pain and you say it with spite everytime.

“Like I said he lacks courage and as my father said you, Y/N, can help him gain it” he tells you, eyes wide with hope and you admire Jaemin for being a hopeless romantic and you only hope he meets someone who completely fulfills his ideology of love.

“I don’t think I possess such courage anymore” you break it to him for Jisung has broken your heart once, how can you have the courage to allow him the chance to do it again.

Jeno’s wedding arrived much sooner than expected, as the weeks rushed past in much haste as the many busy bodies prepared for the beautiful evening and as hard as you tried to separate yourself from Jisung, the universe liked to disrupt those plans. To the place it all started, so close yet so far apart, you stood rows away from Jisung picking only the prettiest lavenders as per Jeno’s request. The air was thick and heavy despite the August breeze that ran through the fields, an unfamiliar heaviness sat between you two for even as strangers you were far more comfortable. Maybe it’s due to the curiosity you held back then, for the boy in the lavender field, beauty that wasn’t done justice by the word but now that you know him, adore him and are in love with him and now that your heart belongs to him but his not to yours. There’s a void left for the seeping awkwardness to fill, an uneasiness sat in your gut and every moment was excruciating to bare as your heart pains at every beat that belongs to him who does not seem to care.

“Lavenders wouldn’t be my first pick for a wedding” he speaks up first, the silence with you was something he wasn’t used to, you always made sure to replace it with continuous talking and contagious laughter and now that you weren’t, it didn’t feel right to him but you only nod in response not entertaining his thoughts any further. Jisung preferred silence, his thoughts more coherent, his emotions understandable, the silence was comfortable and not overwhelming but with you he couldn’t stand it, mind always wondering what you were thinking, what you were feeling, he needed to know. 

So he carries on speaking, “If it were up to me, Irises and carnations” he expects an interrogation, your endless curiosity asking why that would be his pick but it never comes. So he continues speaking, giving you the answer you didn’t ask for “Irises mean faith, fitting for a lifelong vow” he laughs as he looks over to you stoic expression, cutting off his soft laughter he again begins to speak “and carnation, white ones that symbolise-”

“Eternal love” you cut him off, turning to him, finally speaking yet your tone is monotonous and there is no emotion evident on your face. There’s slight fear in him and it rises, a lump forming in his throat that he can’t quite seem to swallow “Exactly” he choked out, voice strained.

You let out a breath that seemed to be weighing you down, you couldn’t let him continue talking about the meaning behind the flowers, your heart couldn’t take it for aching stops momentarily and instead it flutters and swoons across your chest but then reality hit and it shatters all over again, the pain shooting through your bloodstream.

“Are you feeling well?” he asks as he always does and you answer “Fine” as you always do, even though you both know it’s a lie but he doesn’t push any further as always. The longing feeling for you to look at him and spill all your worries and feelings to him is so great but he doesn’t want to push you to nor does he expect you to trust him with that vulnerability when he himself does not have the courage to do the same back to you.

“I’m going to leave after Jeno’s wedding” you announce working up the little courage you have left, if you say it out loud then you’ll have to follow through. “Thank you for everything” you brace yourself to meet his eyes once more as you turn. “What? Why?” concern so evident in the way his voice wavers, eye glossed over as tears threaten to fall.

“I left to seek my own happiness in life, to make a mark on this Earth yet instead I ran from relying on my family to relying on you and yours” again your voice is completely void of emotions, yet every part of your body was screaming. Longing for the warmth, solace and peace you had found here and it’s at this point you curse yourself for memorising that bliss for all you will do is miss it.

“Did you not feel happiness here?” he screams out, harsher than he expected as he voice comes out rough and broken and you stand there eyes wide for this was the first time the pure,silent and serene boy that stands in the lavender fields has allowed so much emotion to course through his body and you can tell by the way he shakes, the way he struggles to breath and the shock that immediately washed over him upon hearing his own voice raised “I’m sorry” he mumbles in a heavy exhale.

“Thank you for everything Jisung” you offer him a smile as you leave, avoiding his question, leaving him standing alone in the lavender fields.

Leaving the basket of lavenders with Jeno, you rush up the stairs and only when behind the safety of your door do you allow the tears to come streaming down your face, sobs escaping and you hold your mouth to conceal them as you take deep shaky breaths to steady your breathing. Your whole body aches and shakes as it mours the end of your stay, the tears cloud your vision and as you lay down to ease the heartbeat in your head, you cry yourself into a slumber. Even as the dreams swirl around you, pulling you into the unconscious, reality never truly slips away, it haunts you as even in the world you build you can’t stray away from it. The ability to dream of anything further isn’t a possibility, he doesn’t love you and that’s the reality. Why bother dreaming of something that isn’t meant to be. Yet you can’t help but dream of him. His eyes, his smile, his warmth, the pink dust that always decorates his cheeks, his laugh and his existence.

In your days you are held hostage by the daydreams, the what ifs. It felt like you had loved him in every lifetime, you wonder if any had got it right? Had any been loved by him? Your body lies stiff, falling in and out of consciousness but your mind never leaves him. Days go by but time becomes nothing but a construct, eating only becomes a chore.

“Y/N?” a soft voice calls as the door narrows open, a steady stream of gold shining in. You don't move, your head feeling like it's weighed down but you can easily identify the soft voice that speaks. "I brought you something to eat" the footsteps near you, the heavy thuds vibrating through your head. Your eyes peek open to meet Jaemin who crouches down beside you. He moves the few stray strands of hair behind your ear, noticing the wet glimmer of your cheeks he wipes away the tears that stain them.

"What's wrong?" He whispers as if any harsher tone would break you, as if you weren't already broken. You shake your head as your only reply, voice too weak and broken to speak up. You would love to talk to Jaemin, to spill all your worries and heartache but this is a pain too painful to speak of. His hands hold onto your cheeks wiping away any of the stray tears that still fall. His warmth is comforting but it only makes you yearn for Jisung’s more.

Jaemin doesn't leave you that day, he sits by your side in silence. He holds your hand and wipes away your tears, he doesn't attempt to mend your heart, he just sits beside you as it cries out the pain. "It will heal, it will mend itself" he whispers to you as you drift off into the unconscious once again.

It’s the constant knocking at your door that drags you out of the depths of your slumber, pulling you back, the light that streams in as the sun is about to set and you wonder how long you have slept, what time it was and what day it is. Then another knock calls your attention from the window and Daphne steps in “Y/N” she says and her voice is high in surprise as she examines the puffy redness around your eyes. “I was expecting you to be already awake, it is almost time to head to the wedding” she chooses to ignore the wet stains on your silk pillow, choosing to bite her tongue. You choose not to answer her back afraid your voice was raspy and would break, you crawl towards the edge of the bed and swing your legs over as you make your way to the chair that neatly holds your gown for the night, the night that has finally arrived,your last night.

You can see her face change, each one expressing the internal turmoil within her as she questions whether or not to say something. “Just say it Daphne '' you sigh out in a weak smile as you change into the many layers that need to be placed under the gown.

“Ah well” she begins nervously as she fiddles with her loose strings of her apron, she stutters and stumbles over her words but you’ve been taught patience by Jisung as he’d do the same.You smile at the memory of him stuttering, blush across his cheeks as he got nervous causing him to stumble over his words more. You loved seeing him so flustered, loved seeing him progressively become so comfortable around you he never stuttered, became so confident and articulate it was as if he became another person but the same dust of pink never faded but the more you think of him the more it pains and your heart swells as it aches. “You see y/n” she finally spits out as if she had been wrestling the words “If this is your last night, would you not want to leave with a loving memory?” she asks nervously. 

“So it seems word has travelled” you let out a small laugh as you turn to her to pull the strings of your gown and as her hands move to tie knots she laughs as well “Nothing gets past me” and her nervousness visibly dissipates. No more words are exchanged as she helps you ready for tonight, no more words are needed as she sees you slip into the depths of your mind, thinking of what your next act is.

As she places the same pearl necklace you wore the day you came here around your neck, clasping it, she finally turns to leave and through the mirror you see her hesitate but she turns back around a smile across her face “It was a pleasure to meet you ma’am” she says with teary eyes “Y/N” you correct her as you rise quickly, wrapping your arms tightly around her and from the corner of your eye you see Jisung standing at the end of the hallway, witnessing the goodbye he run back down stairs. You saw the glossiness of his eyes and though you would love to leave as a happy memory, would he allow it?

You nervously make your way to the drawing room, there he sits in a black suit, his hair neatly styled yet it looks not much different to everyday. He should not look this good but he does because he is the epitome of beauty. He is beauty personified. You let out a deep breath before you step into his line of view, preparing yourself for whatever is to come next. “Jisung” you call softly but he refuses to look up at you, you can hear him sniffle and his breathing is heavy and you almost could trick yourself into believing he loved you the way you loved him. You sit beside him and take his hand in yours, rubbing small soothing circles by the knuckle of his thumb you attempt to speak, “I am leaving” you choke out,the words are stuck in your throat and he rips his hands away from yours, turning completely with his back towards you. You sigh once again, “Let’s me leave with good memory” you beg, voice small and shaky. This was not the y/n Jisung first met, not the y/n he knows now and definitely not the y/n he fell in love with for you were never one to speak so quietly, yet here you are broken. So he puts away his own selfishness to feel sadness, anger or whatever pulsing emotion that runs course throughout his body.

He turns back to you, eyes glossy and a pout on his lips as he raises a long string of black silk. “I cannot tie it” his voice breaks slightly and you can’t help but smile at his cuteness. You take the silk from his hand and wrap it against his neck, slowly weaving it in and out of itself, you form a knot. “Learn this from a book?” he teases and you can’t help but scoff and roll your eyes. Falling back to where you were with Jisung was never hard, falling in love with him all over again was never hard. “my father taught me” you say as you pull the silk slightly causing his head to jolt forward. A smile perks at his lips as he lets out air from his nose as a form of laughter and you don't realise the lack of space between you two until you feel it brush against your skin and you near closer, eyes drawn to his lips. Your breathing stops and your heart sporadically jumps around in your chest, beating louder than ever.

Jisung’s eyes are closed as he waits for your lips to be placed upon his but they never come and his eyes jump open at the sound of Jaemin’s voice, your warmth escaping him. So close and yet so far, his eyes land on you who’s now moved as far as possible from him. “Y/N, do you know how to tie a tie?” he walks in looking down at the balck silk he holds around his neck but he cuts himself off as his eyes rise to find you and Jisung awkwardly sitting beside each other. “Oh am I interrupting?” he asks in a chuckle as he raises an eyebrow and you shoot up onto your feet, making your way towards him “No not at all” you wave your arms as if it would convince Jaemin. You grab onto both ends of the silk strand, repeating the same movements as earlier and looking down at the silk you can practically feel Jaemin’s smile that beams from above. You weave the string in and out of itself and pull tight around his neck causing Jaemin’s head to pull back “OW '' he huffs out in a pout, you pat down his tie and with a smile as gleaming as his was a mere moments ago, you apologise. 

“Oh y/n you know how to tie a tie, thank god” Jeno rushes in with his father soon after him both holding the same black silk around their neck “Does nobody in this house know how to tie a tie” you laugh in disbelief. “Our mother used to do them,” Jeno whispers as your hands make their way up to form the same knot you’ve made twice already. He thanks you silently with a sweet smile, those crescent moons you adore showing up.You move on to their father, tying his tie neatly and much more carefully than the rest. “Thank you for everything, y/n” he bows his head to you and you whisper “It’s nothing” shyly. “It’s been a pleasure having you become a part of our family” he continues and his words are like a stake to your heart, the same aching reappearing as nothing fails to remind you of your departure.

“Thank you for welcoming me bu-t'' you're cut off instantly 

“no buts y/n, you are family” Jeno interrupts and if it was anyone else you don’t think those words would have held such meaning for Jeno is a silent lover, showing his affection through sweet smiles, concerned looks and kind gestures; he was never one for words of affirmation. So you smile, ignoring the tears that prick at your eyes, ignoring the deep breaths that leave Jisung and the solemn sadness on Jaemin’s face.

“We need to go” Jaemin looks down at his pocket watch, as always sensing the tension in the room and ready to dissipate it, he urges everyone out the door and as you’re about to step out, a warmth engulfs you as Jisung catches your hand in his. Turning back you are met with a smile but it doesn’t quite reach his eyes that hold a sense of sadness as they glimmer in the setting sun.

Hours after the sun had sunk into the horizon, the moon well into its reign, music rang through the center of town as everyone gathered to celebrate the new chapter of Jeno’s life. A ceremony so beautiful, you were sure you witnessed true love when Jeno’s eyes set on his bride that walked the altar.

After all the tears, it was finally time for the bubbling of champagne to intoxicate your bloodstream and to allow the music to take control of every swayed movement of your body. Standing under the yellow dimmed lights, Jisung glew a gold you didn’t know existed but easily was the prettiest you had ever seen. His cheekbones high and lips painted pink, golden flute in hand and silk tie loosened you could easily say he was the prettiest here, outshining all. For Aphrodite, the goddess of beauty lived through him, simple acts such as greeting guests left you stunned. Eyes chasing every movement of his, from the way his hands moved as he spoke, to the way he smiled once seeing an old friend, the way he laughed softly in conversation and when his eyes travelled back to you when he thought you weren't looking.

And to pull you out of that trance was none other than Jaemin, “Would you and Jisung stop exchanging lover eyes and dance already” he whispers as he places himself beside you, you scoff at his words and slightly nudge him with your elbow.

“Are you so bored that your eyes follow mine?” you question and his simple and instant “Yes” make your eyes roll as far as possible but you can’t help but smile. “When will you find your own love story? This is one hopeless”

“So when were you planning to tell me you were leaving after tonight” his words don’t come as a surprise, nothing goes past Jaemin but it still doesn’t fail to make your every movement halt as guilt overtakes you, turning to him you begin to explain “I was going to tell you as soon as the night was over, it was unexpected I promise” you say softly.

“I don’t suppose i can change your mind in any way?” he asks hopefully, still with the knowledge he wouldn’t be able to. You shake your head slowly, unable to say the words that will so obviously ruin the both of you but Jaemin is never one to sit in sadness, always being his priority to make you feel better. 

“Would you allow me this first dance?” he bows down asking for your hand and with that you place yours in his, placing a soft kiss to the knuckles he pulls you into the center of the floor. Legs moving to the beat, Jaemin’s hand on your waist he guides you through the waltz, breaths heaving and smiles plastered on your face he bends down once more to place a kiss on your knuckles as the music dies down declaring the end of the dance, a sad smile spreads across his face and he whispers “Goodbye” against your skin, looking up to meet your eyes who hold nothing but despair. Yet the hardest is to come when you turn and automatically your eyes find Jisungs, who just happened to be looking your way.

You offer him a smile before heading towards him “And why are you not dancing, I’m sure plenty of girls are just about dying to be your first dance” you tease him and he laughs along with you, hands rising they scratch the back of his neck as he prepares to confess to you “I actually do not know how to dance” he spits out fast hoping you don't catch his words but you do. Eyes widening and mouth agape, you let out a gasp 

“Jisung you do not know how to-” you're cut off by his hand on your mouth as he looks around to see if anyone has heard the sentence about to leave you. 

“Quietly, I think the whole of London can hear you” he says in a whisper still looking around. Removing his hand, you roll your eyes at his antics.

“Let me teach you” you whisper back and he turns to you, eyebrow raised as he assesses how good of a dancer you could be.

“I am not entirely sure, who did you learn from? A book?” he teases, still completely in character until you shove him and his laughter comes spilling out “You used the joke once already” you roll your eyes 

“I was taught by trainers actually, do you forget I was to be wed” you scoff at his assumption and rise to your feet, hand extended for Jisung to take. He stares at you, watches the way the light bounces off your skin causing you to glow, your eyes glimmer, smile bright and the confidence and charm you carry in inexplicably attractive as you stand under the moon, offering to be Jisung’s first dance and it’s here he decides you’ll be his last.

The moment his hand is in yours, you drag him straight to the crowd, the music is quick to start and you waste no time in giving out instructions. “Place your hand on my waist” you order

“Your what?” Jisung’s eyes are wide as he cluelessly asks

“My waist” you repeat again, emphasizing each word and you drag his hand up and place it on your waist for yourself. Then putting your own hand on his shoulder, you pull him a little closer. “Just follow my lead” you reassure him as you witness the petrified look on his face.

“Left foot forward” you say to him as you move yours back, “Right foot forward, feet together” you continue to guide him through the dance as you spin around the room, ‘Now left foot back, right foot back, now feet together” you repeat the sequined dance around the room, music thumping through your body and you convince yourself it’s that you feel and not the heavy beats of your heart as the space between you and Jisung seems to close more and more. As he leans in so close you can feel the air that leaves him, fanning over you. You look up and his eyes are set on you, only adoration is held in them and Jisung thinks it’s now or never as he tries to fully close the gap between you two, to place his lips on yours but then you let go, head turning to the right “Now we switch you” you say as you land into another man's arms, repeating the same steps you did with Jisung moments ago with another. So close and yet so far is all Jisung can think whilst his eyes watch you twirl about the room.

Once finally back in his arms, the music seizes and he’s forced to remove himself from you. You can’t help but smile at him as he looks down at you, breathing heavily with a flush of pink to his cheeks yet he seems to be gleaming in the buzzing sensation of a waltz. The air is heavy with sweat and alcohol, the room is filled with chatter and loud laughs but that all falls away once you look at Jisung. So you dance to every song as if you were the only two people to exist, for this was your last night and this was your last dance.

Endless glasses of champagne later your dancing feet carry you outside, the cool summer nights air washes over you, clearing your mind of the foggy mist of alcohol yet the coolness of the moonlight is overwhelmed by the warmth of Jisung’s presence as he stumbles next to you, tripping over his own legs he lands in your arms. “I think you drank a little too much” you laugh down at him.

“No I am perfectly fine” He quickly stabilizes himself, straightening out his clothes and you can only smile as he shakes off your support. “If you say so” you turn to the night sky, looking up to the moon who you haven't had the courage to face since. The wind rushing past you, crickets croaking and the stars blazing across the sky, your legs about to give way as the alcohol circulates your body, you find purchase on a stone bridge, Jisung following soon after you. The water trickles down under you, the calming sound washes over you and the solace you so missed seems to make an appearance once again as you allow yourself to surrender to Jisung’s presence. Silence sits between the two of you but it’s not the one you wish to fill, insead you choose to let it engulf you not wanting words to taint this moment. Your last moment.

Jisung however doesn’t think he can hold it in anymore, the liquid courage is just about enough for him to declare his roaring love for you, a flame that won’t go out no matter how far he pushes the idea of you away. He wasn’t sure if this was love but the ache in his chest all these days proved it could be nothing but love. The longing to be by your side as you found happiness, found your own way into this world and to watch you become who you want, is unbearably strong. This is his only chance before the goddess of the moon takes you away with her, for when the sun rises, you'll set into nothing but a memory. So here Jisung turns to you, staring at your beautifully carved features, moonlight highlighting every perfection; deep breaths he calms his nerves. Adrenaline rushing through every nerve, he finally builds the courage and out the words he never knew would feel so good to pronounce “Y/N I love you” it comes out in a whisper but by the way your eyes widen, breathing halts, Jisung knows you’ve heard.

“Jisung you are drunk” you laugh off

“Drunk lies are sober truths” he says in all seriousness, his eyes are begging for yours to turn to him and so you give in to their silent cry. “I’ve loved you from the moment I met you, for I thought soulmates were nothing but a fairytale until mine spoke to me upon laying eyes on you. I denied my feelings towards you, for I didn’t know if it was love I felt for you or not but I do. Love, adoration, affection and warmth. The moon only looks beautiful with you under it, the sun only shines with you beside me.” he professes and the sincerity in his voice strucks you, for every fiber of your being longs for these exact words but can you believe him?

He inches closer, his scent and warmth trapping you in a trance and you can’t find it in yourself to back away as he moves towards your lips, his breath mixing with your own, the flush off his cheeks that are illuminated by the moonlight. Everything is perfect except he’s drunk. Though your heart screams for you to close the gap, place your lips on his and kiss him until he’s breathless, your head scream the opposite, move back, wait till the morning when his head is in the right place, don’t allow him to make a mistake that’ll hurt you and when were you ever one to not listen to your mind. “You are drunk”  you whisper to him, so close he can almost feel your lips move against his, flinching back, ignoring the cry of your heart that desires nothing more than to feel Jisung’s confession. Jisung’s eyes open to find you pulled away, for once again he was so close yet so far.

“We should return” you jump up, step fastening back to the crowds of people who were still dancing and laughing. Jisung’s hurried footsteps rush beside you, his hand holding onto your wrist, he pulls you into him. Arms wrapping around you so tight, he’s afraid you’ll pull away and that he’ll lose you. You already pulled away from him once, you’re not sure you have the power in you to do it a second; so you let him hold you. His face hidden into the crook of your neck, he speaks into your skin 

“Love for you fades the exhausting hours till Kingdom come, for even then my soul only speaks of you, my heart only beats for you. Let me love and let me give, for both are infinite” he confesses once again.

Your arms instantly wrap around his figure, you allow your love to course through your body to his, you hope he can feel your heartbeat, the steady pace that keeps you alive for his existence, and him only. For without him what was the purpose of living? You stand there under the moonlight, red strings wrapped around you, Eros’s arrow shot through you, and hold onto each other.

Walking back, hand in hand, smiling like fools. The air smells sweeter, the world seems brighter as your heart skips a beat every now and then “In all honesty” Jisung breaks the blissful silence, his voice deep and smooth and it sends shivers down and through you just as it did the first day. Once your eyes are on him, giving him your undivided attention he continues “I lacked the courage to gift you Sonnet 23 but I wanted to” he tells you “Promise” he makes sure you believe his words and you can’t help but smile.

“You still lack courage, this is the alcohol’s courage” you tease him, swinging your arms back and forth as you walk on. He giggles at your comment because he knows it’s true, if it wasn’t for the liquid courage he doesn’t think he would have been able to confess to you but he’s glad he has because if he hadn’t, would he ever get the chance to?

“So will you stay?” he asks, voice hopeful and eyes pleading as he pouts, in hope it would convince you but you didn’t need anymore convincing, for if you want to follow happiness and happiness just so happens to follow Jisung, who were you to seek for more elsewhere. “Perhaps” a smirk makes it way up your lips as you give him vague answers. “I will take that as a yes” he laughs out, holding onto your hand a little bit tighter, to ensure you really weren’t going anywhere.

Love is a complex feeling, one that causes an unbearable amount of pain; as if your chest had been slit open, heart pulled out and crushed. An aching pain resonates throughout your whole body, endless tears and you don’t think you can live to see another sunrise yet it’s euphoric in every way. From the tingling sensation at just the sight of your love, the shivers, the heat that takes over, the trance you left in as their words hypnotise you, the warmth of their presence and sweet scent. In Jisung you found peace,solace,serenity and love.

“Jaemin” Jisung calls out as he can just about make him out in the distance “Y/N said she has decided to stay” he shouts out like a child, excited he’s jumping up and down and you find yourself smiling and laughing again, for with Jisung it’s the only thing you seem to be able to do. Yet as you draw closer to Jaemin and the guests he happens to be wishing a farewell too, your smile and heart both drop.

“Y/N” one of the two men calls out as your figure becomes more apparent to them, disbelief held in their voice as they call out to you. Jisung and Jaemin eyebrows shot up in shock, eyes widening as they wonder how you are acquainted.

“How do you know our y/n?” Jaemin asks, always being the first one to dissolve the awkward silences, the men are taken aback clearly by the way their jaws hang slightly.

“She is our sister” the taller stutters out, your blood rushes cold as the words leave his lips, what would happen now? Would they allow you to just roam free? You thought for a second before you mentally scolded yourself, they would never allow that. They will force you back. “I am not returning” you spit out, not beating around the bush, you get straight to the point.

“But you must, mother is left worried" he tries to grab onto your wrist but you move back not allowing him to get a hold on you.

"Worried for me? Or that the season is almost finished?" You question him and guilt is evident in his eyes as your question takes him aback.

"Don't be silly" your younger brother tries to calm you, "we just want you home" he tries to convince you.

"I am perfectly fine on my own" you stand your ground even though you see the frustration in your older brother, creep closer and closer to the surface "I have no intention of returning" you continue to press forward.

"Do you not feel shame, what would father have to say?" He dares ask. Shame? The word linger in your head for you to wonder if your brother truly knows the definition of the word or were all those years at Oxford a waste. For how had this brought shame upon you or your father, how does a want for purpose,happiness and freedom lead to shame?

"For if father was alive, this problem wouldn't have occurred. He would have listened" you hissed, jaw tight as you teeth clenched and the words slipped out through the small cracks.

"How naive of you to think'' he laughs and finally latches onto your wrist, holding tightly he's prepared to drag you to the carriage until another holds you back. Jisung’s hand holds onto your arm, pulling you back, looking back you don’t think you have never seen such fierce eyes. A red you never thought you’d see engulf Jisung, he’s not prepared to let you go. "Let go" your brother's voice is stern as he clenches his jaw yet Jisung doesn't budge.

"Jisung this isn't our place" Jaemin whispers, defeat in his voice and he is right. What say do they have in this? If you don’t even have a choice, who are they to decide but then again you are certain a man’s opinion will most definitely be heard by your brother over your own anyday. “Let go of her,” Jisung threatened.

Your brother couldn’t help but scoff at his words “She belongs to me, I am her blood and she holds mine and my father’s name” his grip tightening around your wrist as he pulls you towards him once more, your eyebrows furrow and you wince in slight pain, Jaemin instinctively flinches forward before stopping himself, getting involved will just make it worse he reminds himself. You smile at him weakly in hopes it can put him at ease but as both your arms are being held hostage, both cuffs tightening as the seconds go by not one daring to back down.

“She doesn’t belong to anyone” Jisung spits back “She is free to do as she pleases and she chooses to stay here” he continuously argues in hope of changing his mind , yet what can he possibly do? Now that they have found you, what is left for you to do? They will not let you live on how you wish, they will not leave without you and even if they didn’t take you tonight, they will come back for you. It’ll only cause chaos, you will again become a burden on someone else. “You do not own her” he repeats.

The words you so despise form on your tongue and as you open your mouth to say them, Jisung’s eye beg you not to. He knows what's to come and even as every ounce of your being screams and cries as the words are spoken, you let them leave you regardless. “Let go Jisung” voice weak, shaking.

“But you said you would stay” his voice shaky, encased in sadness, his grip weakens but his hold stays, unable to let you go once he’s finally got you but you were always a dream to him, one that never seemed quite real and though you mixed with reality, almost coming true, he was but a fool to believe you could be his.

“I said maybe” your voice quiet, breaking a promise you didn’t make, breaking his heart and breaking yours that was just put back together.

“She said for you to let go” Your brother interrupts, a smirk on his face that Jaemin has a dying need to punch off but he retains himself. Jisung lets go of you hesitantly, his hand still lingering onto the skin of your forearm and you take in his touch one last time. He watches you leave, tears falling from his eyes for you were so close yet so far.

The tears from that night, months ago, have yet still to dry for every living and breathing moment is lived in agony, longing turning into nothing but numbness as it engulfed your being and became you. Days and nights merged, smiles are a forgotten act for it felt awkward even attempting. The large manor is silent, it perfectly resembles the void in your chest. You live as a ghost, sleepless nights and empty days your mind always occupied with the thought of Jisung.

His eyes that held the universe, his warmth the sun envied, his smile were solace was found, his laughter that was contagious, voice that was soothing, beauty unmatched, the gods were both proud and envious of their greatest creation. The years went by and yet the image of his is as clear as ever, preserved in your memories, you live on in your dreams that can’t escape reality. So close and yet so far from each other.

You sit in the empty rooms, walls bare for the art never compared to Jisung’s beauty, you never found art that could express the definition of art as well as Jisung did. Each time looking at Jisung you found a new feature to adore, hidden beauties that appeared when the moonlight hit his skin, features highlighted by the golden rays of the sun. No art seemed to do that, no art seemed worthy of showcasing.

Your library remains empty, clearing it out of all books, you couldn't bear to look at one again. For everyone of them taunted you with the memory of him. The way he used to sit in the center of the room, arms sprawled out on the desk, his head so close to the paper as he would write. Your eyes would follow every one of his movements, so distracted you would forget about the heavy book in your hand. Yet now with a book in hand, your eyes search for distraction. Yearning to find him, to make the pink blush, that you so missed, appear as he couldn't take your stare any longer. The adrenaline of when his eyes suddenly come up to meet yours, the scrambling of his when you catched his stare. You missed it all.

“Shall I compare thee to a summer's day” the performer begins, as you sit around the large table for dinner. Your every movement halts as the words leave his mouth, your mind runs back to the lavender fields, into the small room at the back of the house, finding the scarlet red book. “Thou art more lovely and more temperate” he continues on but no you are not temperate. Your heart aches, your eyes sting and a wave of nausea over takes you. Your fist smash into the table, legs standing up, you push the heavy velvet chair back

“Stop!” you shout, voice hoarse and broken, you can’t help the tears that roll down your cheek. You can’t help the way your whole body shakes upon hearing those words, you can’t help but miss him. The whole room stares at you, a heavy silence settles, the only sounds are your whimpers as you sob in your palms, falling to your knees. Their eyes lingered, terrified. No one dared to speak to you first, let alone the events of the night. Afraid they would cause you to break down once more but they failed to see it was they, who stole happiness away from you, stole freedom and ripped your heart out of your chest. You wandered aimlessly through the many halls, staring out of windows you wanted the sun rise and fall, watched the goddess of the moon shine down on the earth yet neither held the beauty they did when Jisung was by your side.

Summer has come to find you once again, those who say time heals have never been broken. Time doesn’t heal. Time forgets, the world may move on but you do not, you cannot share the same ecstasy the birds sing, the happiness in summer flowers, For now you hate flowers, you hate how their beauty and meaning are only reminders of your longing.

“How about lavenders for the drawing room ma’am, I’m told they are your favourite” the maid asks, her mission to make you smile, to rid you of the constant tear stained cheeks; nothing but a failure is awaiting her. Just the mere thought of lavenders causes your skin to crawl, for nothing symbolises him more than the vibrant violet. Yet you turn to her, a weak smile and you nod because maybe the scent will help ease your heart and just maybe you’ll find serenity in them once more.

Though days were long, summer left in a hurry for now autumn was here once more. The leaves had already begun to brown and the vase filled with lavenders, which sat upon the grand piano, had wilted now - their scent and comfort decaying with them.

And soon followed the day, the world knew would soon be coming, had arrived upon us, September 1st 1939:

“we shall fight on the beaches, we shall fight on the landing grounds, we shall fight in the fields and in the streets, we shall fight in the hills; we shall never surrender.” you read Winston Churchill’s words in the papers, war has arrived. The heavy ring sits on your finger as you stare out the window reminiscing the day you were watching the carriage be prepared and though it is your two brothers and the Earl’s son leaving you can’t help but let your mind imagine Jeno,Jaemin and Jisung, For the war will take them further away from you, to barren land filled with death, guns pointed at them, bombs dropping at anytime. Though the war has imprisoned many,taken from others, you thank it’s timing for it has liberated you momentarily. The Earl’s son waved goodbye to you and though you raise your hand to send him off to a war you’re not sure he’ll return from, you have no intention of calling him your fiance whilst he is gone and if he returns you have no intention of calling him your husband. You pity him in that memory.

“Ma’am” a voice calls out to you, you don’t recognise who it is for every voice sounds the same but regardless it pulls you back to the world of the present for the war was already well into its sixth year. Though your body is here, your heart and soul never left Jisung for he had stolen that long ago. You turn to find a small envelope, blue like the ones that found you happiness. “To y/n'' the handwriting is familiar but to you all letters were painted the way Jisung’s hand did, for your eyes can simply not forget but it is what the letter contained that brought a soul into your lifeless shell.

As an unperfect actor on the stage

Who with his fear is put beside his part,

Sonnet 23 with annotations is what your eyes fall upon, the second line underlined it reads: “With great courage I put aside this fear to confess to you such words that I cannot express on my own.” Your hand runs over the lines, the smell of gunpowder but there is a scent that you so long for. The scent of lavender still lingers onto the parchment which ripples under your clutch. .

Or some fierce thing replete with too much rage,

Whose strength’s abundance weakens his own heart;

The next lines highlighted “For this feeling was just as strong as rage yet it was where I found peace, my heart weakened at the sight of you and from that moment onwards it belonged to you.” A smile naturally took over you, the flutter in your chest an ecstatic feeling you forgot.

So I for fear of trust forget to say

The perfect ceremony of love’s rite,

And in mine own love’s strength seem to decay,

O’ercharged with burden of mine own love’s might.

O, let my books be then the eloquence

And dumb presagers of my speaking breast,

Who plead for love and look for recompense

More than that tongue that more hath more expressed.

O, learn to read what silent love hath writ.

To hear with eyes belongs to love’s fine wit.

“Know that I cannot express the words my soul speaks, for we are worlds apart so allow the empty words of the English language, attempt to convey my love. Look not at my words only but at the way the fool I make in your presence for my mind is clouded with you, heart beats for you and soul yearns for you. For you are my sonnet 18 as a friend and sonnet 23 as a lover.” Tears fall unnoticed, for you hear his voice so clear in your head, for six years you waited for a single word from him and here he has gifted you a sonnet between lovers, so how could you possibly love someone else.

“Yours forever Jisung, the boy who waits in the lavender field”. You sob as you read those words, a fresh new wave of tears staining the parchment as the longing to be in his warmth and comfort is washed upon you as if it were that day you were forced away from him. Opening a wound that never could fully heal.

Waiting is a virtue of love, it proves your love, for it feels equivalent to death and yet you still wait but there is a point in time where you can wait no longer, where you must stop waiting and strive for love now. At this exact moment, it is time. For you are ready to give up the world to run to Jisung, to find the beauty in the moon once more, to find solace in the sweet smell of lavenders once more, to find the warmth of the sun once more, to find happiness once more. For happiness was the only reason worth living.

You're not sure how long you’ve been running, legs moving on their own, you don’t look back you’ve learnt never to look back, never return. As the metallic taste at the back of your throat rises, oxygen running thin and your legs almost collapse from exhaustion. It’s as if you jumped out of the past, gown torn at the train station, you’re left in rags but it’s different this time. For before you ran to find your happiness and now you run to where happiness lies. In a field of lavenders.

Every fiber of your being pulses with the need to see him, hear him, touch him. To feel his warmth once more, to have his voice send serenity through you, to see his eyes again and to smell the sweet scent that lingers around him. You’re not sure what souls are made of but whatever it is yours and his are the same. For your heart yearns for him, desperate, it aches every living second of everyday without him. For a life without love, is a life unlived.

The rows and rows of purple are in sight and there in the middle of it all stands him, waiting. Jisung doesn’t need to turn around to know who it is, he can tell by your footsteps, your breath, your scent and the sudden ease he feels. You are there. Yet he does anyways for the memory of you has haunted him for the past 6 years, on the battlefield, in the barracks, he would only see you, only hear you but he couldn’t touch you; for you were merely a dream mixing with reality.

But here you are standing in front of him, Your expensive dress torn up, now rags that wrapped around you with the bottom half missing. He smiles as nostalgia washes over him, was this real or were you just a fragmented memory. Was he simply remembering happier times, a time where you were in his grasp. “Jisung” you call out, voice soft and unsure, a hand reaching out for his own, to make sure what you saw in front of you wasn’t a hallucination, a cruel trick your mind played on you. Slowly a warmth overtook your hand, sparks sent through your skin and into your bloodstream and the beating of your heart returned. Tears formed but never fell because one of you needs to be strong, Jisung sobbed as he fell into your embrace, gripping onto you. “Never leave again” he chokes out, breathing heavy and uneven. “Promise me” he whispers into your hair.

Pulling him back to face you, his eyes are red and puffy yet they burn with passion, his cheeks stained with tears but the pink dust is always still there, you smile at him closing the gap and finally placing your lips on his. The taste of salty tears invade your mouth and your lips move against his and he kisses you back, placing his hand on your cheek he pulls you closer, thumb brushing over the top of your cheekbone. Your knees weaken and you grip at his shirt, desperately clinging to him as your knuckles turn white, as he kisses you with passion overflowing with each soft movement, sincere and full of the love he can't express through words. The scent of lavender is overwhelming and intoxicating, you press yourself against him. Your lungs burn as he kisses you breathless, sparks flying into your bloodstream and unbearable heat takes over whilst your lips move as one. Pulling away, chests heaving as you pull in as you regain all the oxygen you exchange, Jisung places his forehead on yours, his cheeks pink and in between breaths you whisper against his lips “I promise” and again he pulls you in, lips crashing on yours.

This is your first love, it may not be your last but it will be the one you remember most, for it taught you how to love, it taught you the struggles of love and it taught you to feel loved. In search of fulfillment and meaning, you weren't looking for love but it found you and soon after fulfillment and meaning came in the form of a boy in a lavender field.

© (jisungiest) 2021. All Rights Reserved.

#neowritingsnet #neothestars #nctcreations #nct #nct dream #nct 127 #nct 2020 #nct fics #nct au #nct fulff #nct angst #park jisung #jisung #nct jisung #jisung fluff #jisung fic #nct jisung fic #jisung angst #jisung x reader #jisung x y/n #jisung x you #nct x reader #lavender fields #loml jisung #happy birthday jisung #park jisung fic

[straightouttaneptune]

Luna

Pairing: Harry Potter x Slytherin!Reader (past), Dad!Harry Potter x daughter!Lily Potter

Warning: This is like... legitimate angst. Honestly, it’s so bittersweet. There’s mentions of blood, but I mean, it is Harry Potter.

Summary: Harry tells a story about a girl, Y/N Y/L/N, his first girlfriend. Ginny’s out for the night, and Harry’s daughter, Lily Potter, is more than excited to hear about her father’s teenage romance.

A/N: This came to me while I was daydreaming during class. Amazing what a weekend of binge rewatching Harry Potter will do to you, lmao. Also, I’m debating on making an alternate ending to you and Harry’s story. Oh! Also it’s super long!!

—————————————————————

“Dad, was mum your first girlfriend?” The 9 year old Lily Potter whispered to her father with a faint blush appearing on her cheeks. 

It was a snowy winter night, the day before her brothers, James and Albus returned from Hogwarts for Christmas break. Her mother, Ginny Potter was out for the night, preparing for the other Weasley-Potter kids’ return. 

“Well, do you promise to keep this a secret between us?” Harry replied enthusiastically, sitting down on Lily’s bed as she sat up with her girlish excitement twinkling in her eyes.

“Definitely. So it wasn’t mum?” She giggled as she got situated to hear this very exclusive bed-time story, her sleepiness cast away, nowhere to be found.

“No, although I love your mum very much. My first girlfriend’s name was Y/N Y/L/N.” He paused for a second, for just speaking your name brought back so many memories that made him almost tear up.

“That’s such a pretty name! Was she in Gryffindor, like you and mum?” Lily reacted, and with that Harry resumed the story.

“Actually, cupcake, she wasn’t. She was in Slytherin.” Harry smiled, watching Lily’s face turn into a look of absolute shock as she gasped.

“A Slytherin? Really? Was she pretty?”  

“The prettiest girl at Hogwarts. You see, in our first year, me, Uncle Ron and Auntie Hermione, we had to face this big, scary troll in the girls bathroom. She saved us, because she knew a lot of charms, even as a first year!”

“So she was smart, too!”

“Yeah. She was brilliant.”

December, 1993 Outside the shrieking shack

“He was their friend!” Harry yelled out angrily, hopelessly, powerlessly. He was so frustrated, so sad, and yet he was so powerless in that situation. He couldn’t possibly go after Sirius Black, he didn’t even know where he was. He couldn’t go back in time to save his parents. He could only feel hatred. Intense hatred.

Just when the dark, black smoke of anger started to crowd his senses, his head snapped upwards, his darkened eyes making contact with your unbelievably bright and gentle ones- as your warm hand enveloped his affectionately. The thick smoke vanished in a second, a wave of tears replacing it. He weakly wraps his hand around yours, feeling the small moon-shaped charm on your bracelet to calm himself.

You held him silently, as Ron and Hermione watched him helplessly weep into your shoulder. 

November, 1994 Outside the champions tent

“Harry, you’re brilliant.” You sighed happily, each breath filled with adrenaline as you went to greet him first thing after his first task in the Triwizard tournament.

“Thanks to you, Y/N. You taught me the accio spell.” Harry chuckled proudly, the golden egg heavy in his arms like a trophy worth billions of galleons. 

You rolled your eyes with a grin, laughing as you shove him into the crowd of Gryffindors waiting for him. “No Harry, you just are brilliant. You were amazing.”

You stand there smiling at him and his friends, one by one telling him how they believed him now, and that he was doing justice for the Gryffindor house. That was all you ever wanted for him- to be happy. 

He glances at you with a hint of guilt, his gaze flickering down to the green emblem on your robes for just a split second. If only you were in Gryffindor. He thought multiple times. Because even though he didn’t care at all, the others did. Teachers did. Fate did. 

But you only smile back at him and raise your brows, as if to say “Go, have fun with your friends.” With the overwhelmingly kind look he couldn’t find even if he searched for it in the eyes of the whole Hufflepuff house. Only in yours.

“Why were you talking to Potter? Come on, then.” Pansy pulls on your robes, pulling you away from the bright, cheery crowd of crimson red and yellow.

December, 1994 Gryffindor common room

“You really should just gather your things and come live with us.” Hermione joked, watching you nibble a candy cane while you faced your potions report in the Gryffindor common room that has now become your second home.

Looking up from the parchment at the three of your favorite Gryffindors sitting on the couches, you nodded in agreement. “Honestly, ‘Mione, I would if I could.” 

Harry and Ron burst out laughing, imaging you packing up and moving into the Gryffindor dorms. “You should!” Harry encouraged.

“And- Y/N, have you decided who you’re going with to the Yule Ball yet?” Hermione asked rather hesitantly, her eyes locked with Harry’s.

But you don’t notice, replying “No, the person I really wanted to go with hasn’t asked me yet.” You mutter bashfully, everyone in the room, except Harry knowing who you meant exactly.

“Oh, that’s a shame. I’m sure he’ll ask you soon. I know you’ve already got plenty of asks, he should hurry.” Hermione sends Harry a death glare, her head cocking towards you, demanding him to ask you right now. Harry blushed intensely, gazing at you pondering whilst your stare bore into your unfinished report.

“That’s cause Y/N’s the pretty Slytherin princess, who wouldn’t ask her?” Ginny interrupted for a brief second, giggling at your reaction to the nickname the students had given you.

“For God’s sake, Harry!” Hermione blurted out, sending Harry into a state of complete panic.

“Okay! I get it! Y/N, willyougototheyuleballwithme?”

“Huh?”

“Hermione, what’s a god?”

“Ronald, this is not the time!”

“Y/N!” Harry yelled, practically everyone in the whole common room listening now. “WILL YOU GO TO THE YULE BALL WITH ME!” He screamed, your mouth hanging open as you stared at the chosen one in shock.

After a brief second, everyone bursts out laughing, and in the midst of the uncontrollable laughs erupting from your stomach, you wipe a tear away and scream back, “YES!” 

And the cheers go wild.

June 1996 Ministry of Magic

“Harry!” You yelp, dashing towards the limp figure laying in the sand, ignoring every other adult there that tried to stop you.

Harry, trying to fight the daunting whispers of Voldemort, gets a sudden surge of power hearing your voice. He can feel you close by, kneeling down next to him. The warm, strong yet inviting aura of yours makes him feel invincible as he regains control of himself. 

“Harry.” You sigh a breath of relief as he wakes, clutching onto your arm of dear life. He dives into your arms, and you slide your arms under his, head buried in his shoulder. 

His voice is tired and deep, but you still hear it very clearly.

“I love you, Y/N.”

“I love you too.”

August 1997 The Burrow

“Love, you look... brilliant.” Harry gravitates towards you in the after-ceremony of Bill and Fleur’s wedding. He admires your amazingly attractive figure wrapped up in the gold and royal blue dress that reminds him of the night sky. 

“You’re supposed to say that to Fleur, y’know. But... you look good too, darling.” Your shy, yet bright smile ignites an eternal flame in his heart, wondering how he managed to snag such a brilliant human being. 

“Speaking of, have you seen how beautiful the sky was tonight?” Your soft hand takes his and he lets you lead him out of the crowded tent- if he was being honest, he’d let you lead him anywhere.

“Well, you know, they’re alright.” Harry joked, earning him a light punch on the shoulder from you. “One day, do you think we’d marry under the moonlight like tonight’s?” He knew it was forward, but he couldn’t help but to ask. Every day felt more and more rushed, and he wasn’t sure if he was going to be alive the next day, the next week, or the next year.

You squeezed his hand gently, meeting his brilliantly emerald eyes as he desperately searched for an answer in your gaze. “We will. I’ll love you forever, Harry.” 

His heart feels like they’re about to burst through his ribcage, as he hastily closes the gap between your lips. Your lips taste like vanilla, and he savors every second, feeling your warmth, your soft skin, until the moment is broken by the chaos inside.

March 1998 Malfoy Manor

“Throw the three into the cellar! I... want to have a chat with this one!” Bellatrix Lestrange stomps over to you, recognizing your face immediately. She ignores Harry’s cries of threats and drinks you in dangerously. You stand tall, with nothing to hide, even though her presence sends chills down your spine.

“So... Y/L/N, that’s your name, isn’t it, girl? Your parents told me ALL about you, Y/N! Associating yourself with blood traitors! Mudbloods! Friends? With Gryffindors? Hufflepuffs!” She circles around you, like she was debating with herself on what she should do with you.

“Your parents... disowned you, I heard! You! Are a traitor to your blood!” With a swift flick of her wand, a deep cut appeared on your right arm. You screamed in pain, trying to supress the want to collapse on the floor.

“To your house!” Her wand swishes through the air, and another long, claw-like cut. This time almost slicing off your left leg. Your throat itches from the force as you let out another heart-wrenching scream, horrified at what she might end up doing to you. 

You didn’t want to die. 

“Y/N!! We have to help her. Please. Open, God-dammit! Bellatrix, she’ll kill her!” Harry yelled, tears splitting from his darkened eyes in the lit cellar, feeling the dark knot form in his stomach, hinting at something horrible that he felt was going to happen. He continuously banged his fist at the metal bars, but everyone knew it wasn’t going to come down.

Ron held Hermione silently as she cried.

“Bella, stop, her father-” Narcissa Malfoy’s fearful shout made Harry drain all colors in his face. 

“Harry, I love you.” You whisper under your breath.

“Avada Kedavra!” 

Harry, Ron, Hermione, and the remaining prisoners in the cellar found themselves on the beaches of the shell cottage, all confused on what had just happened.

“No... Y/N, she did this.” Hermione gasped, tears blurring her vision as she looked out at the blue sky that seemed like it stretched out for miles.

Harry let out a pained shudder. Without even checking if you were here or not, he could feel that he lost you. That you were gone. From his grasp. You said forever. That you’d marry him under the moonlight. You said, you loved him. He was supposed to defeat Voldemort, and live the normal life you both craved. The realization that he wouldn’t be able to hear your voice, or your laugh, and he wouldn’t be able to feel you against him, your angelic eyes on him, dawned on Harry’s fragile heart. He let out yells of agony, knowing that no matter what he did, nothing would bring you back.

But you said forever.

“Oh, no.” Lily gulped, seeing that just talking about it pained her father, still. “But I don’t understand, what did she do before...” Lily trailed off, curious as to why your death resulted in the rest getting saved.

“It was ancient magic she used. Even Auntie Hermione didn’t know the incantations to it. She’d only read about it years ago. Before Y/N’s death, the charm would grant her to use one last spell without her wand. She used it on the disapparation and apparation for the 6 of us.” Harry looked distantly into the air, his hand reaching for the bracelet on his wrist.

“This was hers, cupcake. Recognize anything?” Harry held out your charmed bracelet in front of Lily, her eyes twinkling as she figured it out instantly. 

“My name?” Harry nodded with a hopeful smile on his face.

“Lily Luna Potter.” 

-

ps. Lily was named after you. You had always worn the moon charmed bracelet, and Luna = Moon. Many people thought it was after Luna Lovegood, but in reality, it was you.

#harry potter #harry potter imagine #harry potter x reader #harry potter x you #harry potter x y/n #harry potter fluff #harry potter angst #harry potter x slytherin!reader #gryffindor x slytherin #hogwarts #ron weasley #Hermione Granger #Lily Luna Potter #Ginny potter #triwizard tournament #harry potter and the sorcerer's stone #harry potter and the chamber of secrets #harry potter and the prisoner of azkaban #harry potter and the goblet of fire #harry potter and the order of phoenix #harry potter and the half blood prince #harry potter and the deathly hallows #voldemort #bellatrix lestrange #narcissa malfoy #harry james potter #Harry James Potter x reader #Harry James Potter fluff #Harry James Potter angst #Harry James Potter x you

[fanfoolishness]

in the long night (Hawke x Varric)

Written for @oneshallop and also up on AO3.  They requested Hawke and Varric on the Deep Roads expedition with some early hints of pining.  I hope it fits the bill!  2836 words, Hawke, Varric, Act 1 of DA2.

***

It was dark.

Varric almost roared with laughter at the thought.  Of course it was dark.  It was the Deep fucking Roads, wasn’t it?  

Sure, maybe in old dwarven tales these tunnels were supposed to be awash with red-gold, welcoming light, but every kid in Hightown’s dwarven quarter knew the Deep Roads had been overrun centuries ago.  There were still some intact corridors here and there where you could see the magma channels lighting the way as they’d been intended… but there were far more lonely and dangerous areas, where the magma had long ago been freed in cave-ins and cooled into just another kind of rock. Those corridors sat empty in the long-forgotten dark.

The thing was, though, it wasn’t pitch black, at least not where they’d set up camp for the night.  They had the torches and the campfire made of magelight to thank for that.  The orange-yellow of torchlight, the blue-white of mage-fire, they cast deep and disturbing shadows in the dark.  It disquieted him.  He almost wondered if it wouldn’t be better to let the lights go out, except that was complete crazy talk.

He hunkered down, trying to find a comfortable way to sit.  He could sit on this broken lump of rock, but then there was no back support.  Sit on the ground and that would take care of his back, but then his ass would start aching.  He decided on the floor, groaning under his breath.  

This lead of Bartrand’s better pan out , he thought sourly.  He cast a glance over his shoulder, where Bartrand and his crew had taken over most of the lower level.  Their torches lit the place up a little more, but the murmuring echoes of the mercs he’d hired were weird and distorted in the high open ceilings.  He tried to ignore the sound and the way it made his spine tingle.

A rustle at his side.  He nearly reached a hand toward Bianca, but this sound was familiar, somehow.  Safe.  He followed it to the source and saw the elder Hawke slipping out of her tent to tend to the fire, her hair mussed, her robes rumpled.  

“Trouble sleeping?” Varric asked.

A startled look crossed her face, followed by a shrug once she realized it was only him.  Shadows pooled along her cheekbones, dark semicircles cupping her keen eyes.  “I could ask the same of you.  Isn’t your bigshot brother paying for extra guards?  No need to keep watch, I thought.”

Varric chuckled, letting discomfiting thoughts about the long tunneling dark fade away.  This was a good distraction.  “You really think Bartrand managed to convince quality muscle to come along with us?  Oh, Hawke, he talks a big game, but I wouldn’t trust him farther than I can throw him.”

Her eyebrows leapt up somewhere in the vicinity of her hairline.  “You do realize this doesn’t exactly inspire confidence in the expedition.  Or in the Tethras name.”

Varric waved her protestation away.  “Bartrand not having an ounce of charm in his body is his problem.  I, fortunately, do not suffer from the same issue.  Ergo, I was able to find some decent people for this thing.  Such as yourself, partner.”

She let out one of those sharp-edged laughs he was beginning to know well.  “You do have quite the silver tongue, dwarf, I’ll give you that.”  She bent over the fire, concentrating.  It flared up before her, dancing bright blue-white against the shadows.

“Thanks,” said Varric.  

“I can’t stand it being so dark down here in the lower levels,” she said, leaning against a chunk of paving stone that had been torn from the main floor.  “It’s unnatural.”  Then she glanced at him.  “Er, I mean, for humans,” she said clumsily.

Varric held up his hands.  “Believe you me, Hawke, I’ll moan and complain about the Deep Roads as much as any human.  Dwarves get some things right, sure -- they know what they’re doing when it comes to smithing and bullshitting -- but living underground forever, it’ll never play right for me.”

“You were born on the surface, then?” Hawke asked curiously.  

“Born and raised,” said Varric.  “Family had a nasty fall from grace in Orzammar when Bartrand was a little kid.  They were forced to run from their fuckups down here up to the surface.  My dad died not long after I was born, and my mother never recovered from the move.  Not sure if Bartrand ever did, either.”  He gazed into the fire.  Silver-white sparks leapt from its flames.

“Oh,” said Hawke, first looking taken aback, then her face softening.  “I’m sorry -- I didn’t realize.”  She could be startlingly empathetic when she wanted to be, he’d noticed.

She sighed, shaking her head.  “Family.  Dreadfully inconvenient, aren’t they?”  Then again, she was just as likely to laugh the big stuff away, just another joke.  He liked that about her.  Liked it in himself, too.

He chuckled.  “You realize Carver is literally five feet away, right?”

She glanced over at her sleeping brother.  He’d said he felt claustrophobic, setting up a tent in a closed tunnel, and had instead opted to sleep out in the open.  She watched his chest rise and fall for a few beats.

“Carver’s different,” she said, “despite the way we fight.  It’s our fighting, right?  That’s the important bit.”  She flashed Varric a too-tight grin.

Varric thought of Bartrand, all family name and getting ahead, all Brother, you have to take this seriously or they’ll eat you alive.   He thought of just how often he’d been an absolute shit of a little brother, and how much Bartrand had really deserved it (completely, most of the time).

“There’s something to that, I suppose,” he said cautiously.  “But Bartrand really is an ass.”

“So’s Carver,” Hawke laughed in that bright, airy way of hers.  For a moment, though, her face slipped into genuine fondness. “That’s part of his charm.”

Varric snorted.  “That’s one word for it.”

“Hey, hey, hey,” said Hawke in mock-offended tones.  “As the eldest sibling, I’m the only one permitted to say such dreadful things about my own brother.  Which I have before, and which I’ll do again, thank you very much.”

Varric shifted positions, sitting up on top of his chunk of rock, seeing if that would help his aching back.  Eh.  Not much difference.  

A thought struck him, one he knew he shouldn’t say.  You never talk about the other twin that way.   But that was something private, wasn’t it, something he’d only gleaned from weeks of dropped references in casual conversation with the Hawke siblings.  At first he’d wondered if Bethany was a cousin back in Fereldan; a distant relative long-forgotten.  It’d taken an overheard conversation between Hawke and her mother for Varric to figure it out, and an aside with Aveline, plied with more than a little ale, to confirm it..  

He stuffed the information back down, watching the firelight flicker in her eyes.  If she wanted to tell him about Bethany, she’d do it, and it didn’t gain him any advantage anyway, knowing the blow she and Carver had suffered.  He held his tongue.

“You’ve gone quiet,” she observed.  “You never did say what you were doing out here.  Something nefarious, I’m certain.”

“Oh, you know me,” said Varric loftily.  “I’m just here for the scenery.”

Hawke giggled, loudly enough that Carter grumbled and rolled over before lapsing into a loud snore.  She stifled her laugh, just barely.

“Ah, yes.  Creepy empty caverns, moldering ruins, the endless dark.  You really know how to show a girl a good time,” she teased.

He shivered.  Or was he blushing?  He wasn’t sure.  Something squirmed in the pit of his stomach.

“Where better than the ass end of Thedas for a little romance?” he asked, in a voice that felt a good deal less smooth than he’d meant it.

Hawke wiped a tear away.  “This is why I like traveling with you.  You’re right.  If Bartrand had been doing the talking, Carver and I would never have thrown in our lot with you.”  She let out a long breath.  “Ah, thanks for that.  I’ve been feeling rather uneasy down here, to be honest.  A good laugh’s a bit of a relief.”

“Varric Tethras, at your service,” he said cheerfully.  Funny, though, that little bit of disappointment threading through his words.  Why was he thinking of Bianca now?  He shook his head.  “Well, Hawke, you’re not the only one with the creeps down here.  I thought maybe keeping an eye on camp would make things feel more normal, but turns out the place is damn spooky no matter where you sit.”

She nodded.  “I could see my fire fading through the gap in the front of my tent.  Didn’t feel right to let it go out.  So I’m keeping an eye on it, for now at least.”

“Seems like you’re getting better at them to me,” said Varric.  He didn’t know much about magic, but he’d long noticed that Anders was the one running around throwing fireballs while Hawke was much more likely to somehow conjure up a miniature earthquake.  

“That’s sweet of you to say,” said Hawke. “Anders is much better at elemental magic than I am, but since he’s still up surface-side, I figured now was a good time to practice.  It wasn’t my father’s strength, either, as far as I know.  Or maybe he thought it’d be harder to hide fireball lessons out back of our farm.”  She shrugged.  “But I’m learning things, much as I can with the Chantry breathing down my neck.”

“Maybe it’s for the best Anders isn’t here.  I gather he’s spent way more time in the Deep Roads than any sane person would ever want to,” said Varric.  He could just hear Blondie’s complaints starting up in the back of his mind.

“It’s one reason why I didn’t ask him to come with us,” said Hawke cheerily.  “Felt sorry for the poor fellow.  I’m sure he’s enjoying the sunshine from Darktown.  ...come to think of it, it’s not that far off from being down here, is it?”

Varric laughed.  “Good point.  Though sometimes I swear you can see the sun through holes in the walls there… and it smells better here.”

“Do you miss it?  Not Darktown, obviously.  Kirkwall,” said Hawke.  “It’s been… what, a good three weeks now?  It’s the longest I’ve seen you away from the city.”

Varric considered.  He’d gone on long journeys before, been away from Kirkwall for weeks, even occasionally, months at a time on Guild business, especially after their mother died.  Bianca flitted through his thoughts again, Bianca and intrigue and furtive meetings in shitty towns.  But none of that felt right to bring up here, not to Hawke with the fire’s reflection in her darkened eyes.  

“I miss the Hanged Man,” he said honestly.  “Every time I try to lay down for bed here, I just think back to my bed back in the inn, and think ‘Tethras!  You’ve gone insane.’”  

“Ugh, you and me both,” said Hawke.  “I think I’ve got bruises on bruises from all these rocks.  Hopefully we’re not down here too much longer.”

“We can always dream,” said Varric, but the words felt hollow in the dark, and he drew his coat closer around himself.

Hawke nodded, but she seemed pensive.  “I suppose,” she said.  She shifted, sinking deeper into her robes.  “Hmph.  Well, as long as we aren’t sleeping, care to join me in a snack?”

“Depends,” he said cautiously.  He’d had her cooking before.  Carver’s was far and away the better meal.  

“I’ve been saving these.  For a special occasion, as it were.”  She rummaged in the pack beside her.  “I figured the special occasion would be for when I absolutely couldn’t tolerate another bite of Lowtown hardtack, but what d’you know, sharing it with a friend sounds all right, too.”

“You actually have something good in there?” Varric asked in surprise.  The perishable stuff had all gone a few days ago, and he’d started his grumbling about the salted pork that morning, right on cue.  

Hawke pulled free a waxed paper bundle, tightly wrapped.  “I may have tried a spell of stasis on these,” she said.  “I’m still working on the technique, but I think I’ve got it down for little things like this.”  She unwrapped the bundle and a tiny flash of light dissipated from the contents, the spell breaking at its maker’s touch.

“Chocolate almond biscuits, from Camille’s in Hightown,” she whispered, looking downright conspiratorial.  “It was the end of the night, that last night in Kirkwall.  The bakery was just about to close, but I saw them packing these up off the cart outside.  The baker’s girl told me they were getting a bit stale, but did I want to buy them anyway, half price?  Carver ate his straight away -- didn’t see the point in them getting staler -- but I wanted to save them.  Don’t know why.”  

Two biscuits sat in their waxed wrapping, delicate golden squares worked with scrolled lustrous chocolate, stamped with the Kirkwall crest.  He’d passed them up a hundred times, sweet sugary nonsense meant for nobles with more money than sense.  Bartrand would have scoffed.  But they smelled amazing.

“Aw, come on, Hawke,” tried Varric.  “They’re yours.  You should have them.”

“A good biscuit’s better shared, or at least it’s what my father used to say.  Probably so as to keep his children from fighting amongst themselves for the last one, but it’s a nice sentiment regardless,” said Hawke.  She shoved the biscuits at him.  “Go on, then.”

“All right, all right.  If you insist.  Only because you’re a powerful mage and I don’t want to get on your bad side.”  He reached out and took the top biscuit. It was a solid thing, sturdy in the hand.  The chocolate beneath his thumb tip began to melt, soft and silky against his skin.

“Cheers, Varric.”  Hawke took up the other biscuit and nudged it against his, then took a bite.  “Mmm,” she hummed, closing her eyes.  “Just as I’d hoped it would be.”

Varric bit into his biscuit.  It snapped satisfyingly against his teeth.  He tasted buttery almonds first, then a deep, complex sweetness tempered by smooth bitter chocolate.  He paused, savoring it.  “Damn.  No wonder they charge an arm and a leg for these.”

“Worth every copper,” Hawke agreed, a silly grin spreading over her face as she finished her biscuit.  Varric finished his a moment later, regretfully licking the last of the chocolate from his fingertips.

“Thanks, Hawke.  You didn’t have to do that.”

“Oh, I know,” she said, her eyes twinkling.  

The fire rolled and flared, almost a living thing, fighting against the shadows.  He half thought he could see a pattern to it, a heartbeat, a touch of Hawke herself within the flames.

Silence grew between them, a comfortable, familiar thing like the weight of a good blanket.  Or the taste of secret chocolate in the dark.  It felt good, until it was broken by a yawn Hawke tried to hide.  

“You should get some rest,” Varric said softly.  “The fire’s a good one, Hawke.  You don’t need to worry.”

“Hmm, but I worry all the time,” she chuckled, yawning again.  “But don’t tell anyone.  It’s a secret.”

He felt a pang, though he wasn’t sure why.  “Dwarf’s honor,” said Varric.  “Assuming you put stock in such things.”

“In yours?  Of course I do,” she said.  She gave him a tired smile.  “All right, then.  I’ll get some sleep if you promise to do the same.  It wouldn’t do for us to be too tired to carry back our fabulous treasure.”

“Imagine if we’d have to leave it behind due to exhaustion.  It’d be a crying shame.  We’d never live it down,” said Varric.  “All right, you’ve convinced me.”  

He got to his feet, his back and ass aching as predicted.  He reached out a hand to Hawke and she gripped it, hard, her calloused hand small but steely against his own as he helped her up.  “Thanks, Varric.”

“No problem.  See you in the morning, Hawke,” he said.

“If you can call it that,” she said.  “But I’ll see you then.”  She slipped back into her tent, and Varric returned to his.

He stretched out on his bedroll, staring up at the ceiling.  The blue magelight -- Hawke’s light -- seeped in through the cracks of his tent flaps.  He watched its delicate choreography through drowsy eyes.

They had this.  He knew it now in his bones.  Bartrand had his team and his map, and that was all well and good, but Varric had Hawke and her people, and he’d put the money on them every time.  No matter what they found on this crazy expedition, they’d be ready.

He smiled tiredly.  Yeah.  He had Hawke.

The tent was still and quiet.  His eyes fell shut; his breathing slowed.  He drifted off to sleep in the long night of the Deep Roads, still tasting chocolate.

#hawke x varric #hightown funk 2020 #hightown funk #varric x hawke #dragon age 2 #varric tethras

[prettylilhalforc]

For your post about asks!

How about Loki and Tyche TP-ing Thor's house? :) For shits and giggles.

@yespolkadotkitty dearest, thank you for such a brilliant ask!

This was an absolute joy to write, once I started, I found it near impossible to stop!!!

Have tweaked the scenario ever so slightly to fit with in Pre Thor cannon.

I do hope you like it lovely!!!!!!!

Fortune Favours the Bold

Warnings: Fluffy mischievous goodness with a dash of pining. F!OC (though am totally down to make a Hermes/Loki fic because you KNOW those two would be trouble with a captial T). Allusion to sexy times.

Rating: M at best, please no under 18s.

Summary: Two gods of mirth and mischief meet once again during diplomatic talks. No one is safe. Chaos ensues.

Tension in the air was positively electric. The glorious feast hall brimming with dignitaries and diplomats alike. Raucous laughter drowns out the jaunt of lyres and lutes. Ambrosia flows like water. Satyrs and Valkyries entwine in celebration, sailing across the marble floor.

A commemoration of months of negotiations culminating to a head.

Finally.

The Olympian delegation had sent their finest emissaries to engage in age-old diplomatic negotiations.

Wise Athena, clever Hermes, and blessed Tyche.

Counsel between the two empires had dragged on for what felt like aeons. The solidification of military alliances had given way tedious litigation. Delving into infuriatingly pithy details of trade agreements and petty squabbles. Either party proved to be as formidable within counsel chambers as they were in the heat of battle.

Steadfast, stubborn, and cunning. No stone left unturned. No treaty left untouched.

Honestly, it was a sheer miracle that either of them managed to contain themselves as long as they had.

Fortune and Mischief.

Antics almost as legendary as the diplomatic talks themselves.

For the past several hundred years the duo had become notorious for their pranks. Each year outdoing the last. Not a single soul, Asgardian nor Olympian, was safe from their machinations.

Across the banquet hall, two pairs of eyes meet. One emerald, one amber; both brimming with diabolical glee. The raven-haired god offers a silent toast to his compatriot. The feminine figure shoots him a roguish smirk before mirroring the gesture. In almost perfect synchronicity, both drink deep from their cups.

Save for the watchful gaze of Freyja, none would be wiser to the fact that neither party were actually present at the feast.

It was time for the real festivities to begin.

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

A slow, soft clap echoes across the dimly lit corridor. Flames of nearby torches casting a deceptively long shadow of the smaller, robed figure.

Pulling down the hood of her woven cloak, Tyche winks, “Bravo, you scamp. Never thought I’d see the day that the great Orator himself would be caught tongue tied. ”

Emerging from the shadows, the Trickster god gives a flourishing bow, wry smirk writ on his face. “One would be remiss to pass such an opportunity to point out such a glaring oversight in litigation to the God of all Merchants.

Rising gracefully, Loki flicks his raven locks from his face, full of mirth. "Merely doing my duty to ensure the prosperity of either kingdom. As any good consul would.”

Pure laughter bubbles forth from her lips as she leans against the cool marble, “Indeed, rightfully so, Prince of Asgard! Remind me never to cross you on the battlefield. If your blade is as sharp as your tongue, I would surely meet my end. Now, philon, how long would you wager before brother dearest finds himself neck deep in nymph?”

Ebony eyebrow cocked, Loki folds his arms over his leather bound chest. “What fiendish scheme has the vixen of Olympus concocted this time?”

A faint flash of gold illuminates the darkness; a large, sealed amphora appears seemingly from thin air in her delicate hands. Tyche’s warm eyes light up with delight as she leans toward the Asgardian, gently tapping the prince’s nose.

“If you’re keen to find out, we best make haste.”

Turning on her heel, she dashes forth through the corridors laughing with childish glee. The lavender linen of the chiton billowing behind her. Loki gives chase, winding the well-worn paths from their youth.

Breathless the pair find themselves in front of large oaken doors of Thor’s chambers.

Glancing about fervidly, Tyche man’s watch, clutching the earthen vase to her chest with one hand whilst cloaking the duo with the other. Loki’s nimble fingers lace his verdant Seidr through the enchanted lock. Thor had grown wise to his brother’s mischief and sought additional measures from to secure his chambers since the last delegation.

Though, this had proven to be naught but a challenge. An opportunity to hone his skills.

Footsteps resound through the stone hall. The pair share a look of pure terror, eyes widening as the steps approach. Neither deigned to breathe, hearts thundering in their chests. Each second stretching for an eternity.

“Hurry! Before they round the corner!” Tyche hisses.

Sweat beading at his brow, Loki manages to secure the last tumble with a desperate flick. Not a moment later, those same nimble hands grip her frame, all but flinging the small goddess into his brother’s quarters.

Upon regaining her composure, Tyche twirls around in girlish excitement, laughing wildly before falling into the luxurious bed. Her companion chuckles deep within his chest, shaking his head at her antics.

A tiny voice emerging from the depths of his psyche, noting that it was a sight one could become very accustomed to.

Snapping the God of Mischief from his musing, Tyche exclaims, “A gift from sweet Athena herself!”

She holds the amphora aloft like a prized laurel in both hands. Bolting upright, Tyche hefts the earthen vessel towards him with an impish grin.

Catching it with feline grace, lithe fingers pry open the ruddy wax seal revealing length after length of translucent strands of near viscous spider’s silk.

Loki’s vibrant greeneyes widen in disbelief as he steps nearer to the bed, handsome mouth opening and closing several times, “How did she let- Why- Is that what I think it is?! ”.

“Arachne’s thread? Indeed, it is, my Prince.” Tyche states, before spitting out, “After the audacity of that blond oaf to insult our honour after yesterday’s proceedings, my dear cousin was easily persuaded to turn a blind eye.”

Lok’s handsome face splits in to sheer, unadulterated joy. Rubbing his hands together he exclaims, “Never have I been more eager to see my brother eat his words. To work, shall we?”

A broad, pale hand extends forth towards the Goddess of Fortune. With it, an offer to dance.

And what a beautifully chaotic dance it is. The pair dip and weave from post to pillar, as the near invisible strands are strewn across the crimson expanse of the room. Flashes of green and golden light bounce off the gleaming marble, followed by peels of laughter.

Norns how he had missed this.

Soon the chambers transformed into a hidden web, ready to ensnare Thor and his amorous companion.

And not a moment too soon.

A voice resounds beyond the door, booming like thunder followed by saccharine giggles.

In a flurry, Tyche grabs the Trickster god by his leathers, dashing through the heavy velvet curtain onto the nearby balcony.

Another deep chuckle threatens to rumble forth from Loki’s chest, cut short by the gentle press of a warm to his lips. Tyche cocks her head, motioning for her counterpart to listen, worrying her bottom lip.

Loki’s gaze drifts to the plump lip caught between her teeth. How had he not noticed the plushness of her sweet mouth before now?

The resounding slam of the heavy chamber doors hurls him back to the present.

Within the chamber, giggles give way to soft gasps and groans.

The chill night air suddenly a welcome relief as the amorous activity causes a flush to rise the column of his neck. In it hangs something foreign yet all too familiar. Neither mischief maker dares to make eye contact, shifting awkwardly as the amorous sounds grow in volume.

Thankfully a shrill shriek cuts through tension, followed shortly a resounding bellow,

“LOKIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIII! TYCHEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEE!”

Two pairs of eye meet, one emerald, one amber. Both brimming with diabolical glee. In almost perfect synchronicity, the pair cackling wildly as they descend to the gardens below.

#ask requests #thank you for the inspiration! #yespolkadotkitty #goblin tries her hand at letters #loki x F!OC #pre thor #a pair of scamps #Loki #God of Mischief #please don't hate me

[thebiasrekkers]

Shadow’s Birthright | MYG

Chapter 00: Prologue

Plot: Riding in on thunder and lightning, two princes are born. But a crown cannot be shared. It can only be worn by one and one alone. The hands of man have separated the brothers, allowing one to live in wealth and comfort inside the palace while the other grows up among commoners. But Fate cannot be destroyed by the hands of man. A shared destiny reunites the brothers; one to become a king who descends into madness and the other will rise as a dragon whose journey has only just begun in order to claim a crown he does not desire to have.

Rating: NC-17 // NSFW

Genre: series | historical!au | fantasy!au | angst | romance | drama | tragedy

Pairing: Min Yoongi (Lee Yoon) x Female OC (Kalina Shuri)

Warnings: Historical setting, caste system, magic/sorcery, graphic violence, disturbing graphic images, religious tones, angst, slow burn, smut

Links: FAQ || BTS Masterlist || Admin E’s AO3 || [ REQUESTS ARE OPEN ]

Word Count: 2,128

Tag List: @luxekook​, @pinkpjmin​, @btsaudge​, @flowerwrites06​, @stillcopingxx​, @taevkimchi​, @aroseforyoongi​

AN: I’ve teased you all enough with this. I’ve been doing it since Yoongi dropped that damn MV (you all know it by now, don’t act like you don’t). And now here we are. Me. Again. Teasing you with a prologue. But it will be worth the wait, my loves. It will be worth the torture that I am about to put you all through. Because it’s a story I think needs to be told. I know I’ve seen some one-shots out there, and while that’s great, I want to put my Korean History knowledge through the ringer and really put you guys on a roller coaster. If you love this story, show it love. I’m writing this because it’s a story featuring a subject I’m passionate about and one that I will put all of my heart and soul into. Just like with Make It Right. So I present to you the start of this journey, this trilogy series (yes, I said it) full of heartbreak, magic and love.

P.S. Please bear in mind that while the historical accuracy will be mostly correct, I am setting this in a time period in Joseon history where there was no such thing as a king who had a twin brother. Obviously that’s where the fiction/creative freedom is going to come in. Everything else will be period accurate, trust and believe. 

© thebiasrekkers (Admin E). All rights reserved. Reposting/modifying our work is prohibited. Translations are not allowed. Plagiarism/stealing is not tolerated by any means. Legal action will be taken in instances of theft.

“The more a thing is perfect, the more it feels pleasure and pain.” - Dante Alighieri - The Divine Comedy

Thunder rumbled across the skies as a pained scream tore through the night. 

Hurried footsteps echoed through the palace halls as maid servants and eunuchs piddled about. Some carried brass basins full of water, others had armfuls of fresh linens. Royal physicians moved in and out of the White Lily Pavilion, urgency in their steps, and everyone was talking at once.

“The water isn’t hot enough!”

“Are those fresh linens?”

“The tonic is almost ready!”

“She’s sweating far too much!”

“We need another pillow!”

“Her legs are swollen. We need cold compresses!”

“Elevate them for now!”

“Her Majesty needs some water!”

Suddenly, there was a sharp gasp from one of the maidservants as an approaching eunuch appeared, followed by a small entourage of soldiers, eunuchs and handmaidens. She stumbled forward when another servant ran into her back, nearly knocking the fresh basin of water from her hands.

“His Majesty, The King, has arrived!”

Those who were able to, prostrated themselves before the king immediately. He wore deep crimson robes with golden dragons embroidered on the sleeves and chest. The topknot was held together with a golden ornament that resembled flames - a dragon pin pushed through to hold the item in place. His eyes were wide, full of concern, and burned a rich umber that was reflected from the crack of lightning that lit up the sky.

“How is she?” he asked as the royal physician approached, wringing his hands clean of blood. “It’s been hours!”

The Royal Physician sighed, sweat beading out over his forehead and nose. “It is a difficult labor, Your Majesty. Truthfully, I’m worried about Her Majesty’s safety.”

The King glared at him, causing the doctor to flinch slightly. “If she dies, I will have your head. Do you understand?”

The physician bowed deeply, as did his assistants. “Forgive me, Your Majesty. I will do everything in my power to ensure that the Queen has a healthy delivery.”

Suddenly, one of the maid servants appeared, a smile on her face. “The baby is breaching, Sir!”

The Royal Physician made haste, following after the servant and back into the pavilion. The King watched, his hands locked together as he began to silently pray for the safety of both his Queen and his child. His eunuch and bodyguard sidled up on either side of him, whispering encouraging words to help ease his anxieties. 

After what felt like hours of listening to the doctors and servants yelling encouraging words to the Queen, a shrill yell of agony broke through the night. On the tail end of the scream, a baby’s cry could be heard. The King felt his legs give way and he was held up by his attendants as he laughed in relief. But just before he was allowed to enter his Queen’s chamber, he heard something concerning.

“My Lord! Another one! Another child is pushing through!”

“What?!” the physician yelled, confused. This concerned the King, but since the Queen was still in labor, he was not granted entrance into her chambers. “Bring more linens and fetch Her Majesty’s tonic! Hurry!”

More urging words were given to the Queen as she continued her labor. The tension was so thick in the air that it could be sliced completely in half with a sword. Every so often, an attendant would tap at the sweat collecting on the King’s brow and temple. The storm that threatened to rain down on them continued to make itself known until another young voice pierced through the sky.

The King didn’t bother halting his steps as he all but ran toward the entrance of the Lily Pavilion. He kicked off his boots and his sock-clad feet thundered against the polished wood flooring. Two servants quickly slid the doors open to allow the King to enter the Queen’s chambers. His haggard breathing escalated when he saw his Queen’s complexion was even paler than when he’d last seen her. The servants and physicians quickly moved aside to allow the King to situate himself at her bedside. 

“Choon-jung,” he whispered, his hands immediately moving to grasp her own as she reached out to him, “you did very well.”

Tears leaked from her eyes as she smiled weakly up at him. “Cheon-ha,” she managed to croak out, her dark bangs clinging to the sweat on her forehead and cheeks, “forgive your servant for her lack of grace.”

“Nonsense.” He stroked her cheek with as much affection as he could without allowing his emotions to overcome him. “You must rest now, my Queen. It has been a long night.”

“Your grace is immeasurable.” Again, she smiled. For a moment, all they did was look at each other. Finally, she huffed out a breath and craned her neck in different directions. “The Royal Physician?”

“I believe he went to go fetch your tonic, my Queen.” The King watched her nod again. Just as he was about to speak, two maidservants appeared. Each of them were holding thick silk blankets; one gold and the other emerald green. The King’s happy mood slowly grew dour. “Are they princes or princesses?”

The two servants seemed to sense the tone shift in The King’s expression and voice. They both looked at one another before lowering their heads solemnly. When he slammed his hand on the floor, they immediately fell to their knees while cradling the children and prostrating themselves at the Queen’s bedside.

“Forgive us, Your Majesty!”

“My King,” called his Queen, attempting to soothe his ire, “please, you must remain calm.”

“Are they princes or princesses?” He asked the question again through clenched teeth. He would not ask a third time. 

One servant lifted her head to meet the King’s harsh gaze, gasping and then dipping it back down again. “F-Forgive your servant’s insolence, Your Majesty,” she stammered, clinging to the emerald blanket for what he could only assume was out of comfort, “they are both healthy princes.”

“Dojin-ah,” the King called, his hand already extended out in waiting. His bodyguard approached and placed a small dagger in the King’s palm. The two servants huddled even closer together as the King stood. “Which of the princes was born first?”

The Queen sat up fully, arms flying outward to cling to the lower half of the King’s robes. “Cheon-ha! I beg you to show mercy!” She tightened her grip on the silk fabric and he could only flash a pained expression as he stared into her fearful eyes. “They are your sons, My King!”

“You know that I cannot do that, Choon-jung,” he replied softly, his brows furrowing, “twin sons will only create turmoil in the Royal court. I do not want my sons fighting over the throne in the future. Nor will I have them be used as tools by any of the noble factions to obtain more power for themselves.” 

Tears spilled from the Queen’s eyes and her hands slowly slid from his robes. He knew that she couldn’t argue with him. It wasn’t her place, and even if it were, she had no counterargument to dissuade him with. Reaching down to stroke her cheek, he gave her a silent apology with a mere look. He slowly unsheathed the dagger, his gaze hardening as he looked back at the two maidservants. 

“Which of the princes was born first?” he asked again, pointing the tip of the dagger in their direction. “Do not lie to me or I will take your lives from you. Do you understand?”

The girl holding the golden blanket shuffled forward on her knees, holding the child swaddled inside out to the King. “This is the first-born prince, Your Majesty.”

He hummed, turning to face the servant holding the emerald blanket. “Give me the child.” Her head shot up and she turned a frightful gaze to the Queen. For a while, all the Queen could do was avert her gaze. “NOW!” The King’s booming voice shook the young servant girl from her frozen state and she slowly stood to approach the King.

When the child was placed into his arms, the King looked down at the young prince. His hair was jet black and his complexion was a bit red from having been brought into the world finally. The child fought sleep for a few seconds before he blinked up a set of dark, curious eyes at him. The King’s heart skipped a beat when the child sputtered a tiny giggle and smiled at him. 

For a moment, the King of Joseon believed he would not be able to do this.

Before he could stop her, the Queen was up on her feet and wrenched the child from his grasp. She stumbled backwards, landing hard on her bedding. Her hair and robes were completely disheveled and her servants were immediately at her side as they began to straighten her appearance as best they could. Clinging to the child, she glared harshly up at the King.

He sighed. “Choon-jung,” he said slowly, his eyes narrowing, “do not do this.”

“I cannot let you kill him!” She pulled the baby up to her cheek and buried her face into the blanket, sobbing openly into it. “I will not let you do it!”

The King hated seeing his beloved Queen in this state. For as long as they’d been married, before he’d even been crowned King of Joseon, he simply wanted to live a fulfilling life with his wife. They’d tried many times over the years to bear children, but to no avail. And now, when they were finally granted a miracle from the Heavens, they were instead cursed with two sons. 

He’d never wished for the twins to have been princesses more than in that very moment.

Again, the Queen reached out to cling at his robes. He knew that she was desperate and he wanted nothing more than to grant her every wish she desired. But bloodshed often ran rampant in the palace. It took place when he was a child many years ago. He didn’t want that life for his sons. 

“Please, My King! If you must deny this child’s existence, then send him away!” Seeing her tear-stained cheeks upset him and he slowly lowered himself down to her. “Please don’t kill our son. I’m begging you!”

For a long moment, no one said anything. The only sounds that could be heard were the tiny coughs and sleepy sneezes of his sons. Finally, he sighed and lowered the dagger at his side. He could not win against her.

“Very well,” he said, causing her to release another sob; this time from relief. 

His bodyguard, Dojin, was about to retrieve the dagger. But before he could get his hands on it, the King shot his arm out to snatch his son out of the Queen’s arms. Before she could stop him, the King brought the dagger’s blade down on the child’s face. Blood wept from the right cheek and the infant screamed in pain. The Queen’s own screams intermingled with the noise and while it hurt his heart to do this, he knew that it had to be done. 

He rose to his feet, handing both the dagger and the child to Dojin. “Take him, Dojin-ah. Take him and leave the Capital at once.” His bodyguard blinked, holding the child close to his chest. “You are not allowed to return unless summoned. Do you understand?”

Dojin’s lips parted slightly. “B-But Your Majesty…” 

“He is your son now, Dojin-ah.” Reaching into the sleeve of his robe, he pulled out hiding inside of his palm and shoved it into the silk belt wrapped around Dojin’s waist. “When the time comes, give this to him. You will know when.”

He watched his bodyguard and dearest friend frown. “Your Majesty…”

“This is my decree.” The King placed his hands on Dojin’s shoulders, giving them a gentle squeeze. “Go. Go now!”

He watched Dojin lower his head sharply and then hastily made his retreat just as the Royal Physician returned. He looked over his shoulder curiously and the King quickly swept his arm out across his body. “The Queen only gave birth to one son. That is what the entire Kingdom will know from this day forward.” His eyes narrowed as the servants and physicians all looked between each other. “If I so much as hear a whisper of anything else within these palace halls, I will bathe the royal gardens with your blood.”

Sharp gasps and hushed whispers were thrown between everyone. The King stomped his foot, commanding for silence. “Am I making myself clear?!”

“Yes, Your Majesty!” All the servants lowered themselves, their heads bowed deeply to hide their faces. “Your grace is immeasurable!”

#ficswithluv #btsbookclub #btswriterscollective #hyunglinenetwork #btsnoonanet #bts suga #bts min yoongi #agust d #bts agust d #agust d fanfiction #bts yoongi #min yoongi #min suga #bts imagine #bts fanfiction #bts fanfic #bts imagines #bts scenarios #historical fiction #bts historical au #bts period au #bts time-slip au #bts angst #yoongi angst #min yoongi bts #thebiasrekkers #bts thebiasrekkers

[rabid-heart]

Intertwined

For @sefikuraweek 2021 Day 5: Prompt - Gloves

The fairytale of the Princess Cloud, and her SOLDIER, the General Sephiroth.

Rating: Teen and Up Audiences

Notes/Warnings: Genderbend/Royalty AU! Mentions of war. And, I guess, the fact that I watched too may royalty/period dramas and this is the brain-rot that resulted?

Read on Ao3 | Previous Day’s Post 

---

It is a bittersweet affair, as farewells usually are.

The hall is decorated with luminous candlelight, flames flickering beautifully against the crystal chandeliers dangling from the ceiling. It looks almost like starlight, like the cosmos, twinkling above, contrasting with the night sky and the dark curtains shadowing the windows. Equally as dazzling are the people of the Midgar Court, the men and women all in their finest garments and jewels, rounding out the perfectly glossy picture of prestige, wealth and power. The sight might have been pleasant, had it not signified something much darker. As it is, General Sephiroth has trouble hiding his frustration and his anger at this unfettered decadence.

The ball is meant to be a celebration of the General and his fellow SOLDIERs, an elaborate sending off before what would hopefully be the final few months of the Wutai War. The last round of negotiations following the temporary ceasefire between the Shinra Empire and the Wutai Kingdom had fallen through, largely in part to King Shinra’s greed and pettiness. Thus, in spite of the costly war effort, in spite of the numerous lives lost, in spite of the suffering of his men, they are to be forced to take up arms once more. When Sephiroth had delivered the news to trusted officers, the disappointment on their faces had be more than evident. But there was nothing more they could do: in the end, the world had been crafted for kings and emperors, and soldiers, no matter how powerful, merely played pawns in the grand scheme.                  

It leaves little choice now but to try and enjoy the evening, though that proves to be a far more difficult gauntlet than Sephiroth is currently willing to endure. It is a special type of torture, watching his men, his friends, his companions, try to hide their fear over the coming months behind pleasant smiles and fake laughter, all for the benefit of the nobility. For a moment, he thinks about destroying the whole thing, tearing down the castle stone by stone, setting fire to the greed and the cowardice to purify it from the face of Gaia. But he does not and knows he cannot – for many reasons, including one that he holds so secret in his heart.

As if on cue, the court pages begin to sound their trumpets, and all heads in the room turn toward the towering doors separating the grand hall from the rest of the castle. The orchestra simmers into silence and, in the ensuing quiet, a servant calls out, “The Royal Family of Shinra, the King, the Crown Prince, and the Princess!”

The grand doors open. There is the King, dressed in robes of purple and gold, the emblem of his dominion emblazoned across his chest. He stalks his way through the doors and down the steps into the ballroom, trailed by his two children. They say the King had once been a handsome man, and there are some shadows of his lost youth in the shape of his jaw and in his height and proud stature. In fact, the clearest sign of his former vitality is embodied by his son, the heir apparent Prince Rufus, debonair and devastating in his white suit and slicked back hair.

But the true beauty of the family belongs to the fair-haired Princess Cloud. She walks behind the men, dressed in a gown of blue, with cap sleeves that just dip from underneath her shoulders to showcase an enticing decolletage. Her arms and hands are encased in gloves of the most expensive white silk, and around her neck sits the sapphire jewels of the royal family, a brilliant blue that is remarkably overshadowed by the absolute beauty of her glowing eyes.

On this night, and every other night since he had first laid eyes on the Princess, Sephiroth finds he cannot tear his gaze away.

The family walks to the center of the room, and the king lifts up his hands to further corral attention. “My citizens, my Midgar, tonight we celebrate a truly momentous occasion. Because this night marks the beginning of the end of our Wutaian enemies.” The man turns to take a chalice from a servant standing nearby and lifts the golden cup into the air with a haughty flare. “To our brave men, our unparalleled SOLDIERs, who will bring the Shinra Empire the greatest glory and the highest of victories, this night is for you.”

A roar of applause sounds through the crowd in response. But Sephiroth does not care. His eyes are fixed on the Princess, standing beside her father in the middle of the hall, her head slightly bent. To all others, the gesture would have appeared to have been out of respect – and there is some truth to that statement. But Sephiroth knows better – because for the briefest of moments, her blue eyes turn to him, and there is nothing there but sorrow and regret.

The King, however, fails to notice the exchange. Instead, he offers another toast. “For the glory of Shinra, for the power of the Empire, for the strength of our nation!”

“Huzzah!”

The festivities begin anew, and music once again flows through the air. Sephiroth watches Cloud, the way she gracefully bows to her father and brother as the two leave the floor to talk to the other nobles, the way the candlelight of the room highlights the radiance of her eyes. He had spent hours upon hours getting lost in that blue, like flying through a mountain sky, airy and free. The imagery only exacerbates the irony of just how trapped they truly are – a Princess meant to sell her happiness out of duty to her family, and a SOLDIER crafted as the perfect weapon, whose only purpose was to destroy in the name of the kingdom. The very facts that they commiserated over, that drew them together, would likely be the very reasons they would be torn apart.

And yet, in her arms and looking into those eyes, Sephiroth lets himself imagine a different life, one full of beauty and liberty and light and promise and hope. How he longs for it, longs for her, how he cherishes the secret kisses and furtive couplings. It had been a love at first sight, an attraction he hardly knew what to do with, one that haunted his evenings and consumed his waking thoughts. It took every ounce of his trained discipline to stay away. And yet, to his surprise, the affection had not been one-sided. When Cloud sought him out, forced a confrontation, kissed him with a fierceness and a fire that seemed to pull his very soul out of his breath, Sephiroth realized then that he was not dealing with a delicate sapphire jewel, but a sword of the strongest steel.

It only made him fall for her harder.

Her companionship had brought him a relief and a joy like no other, but they always had known it was forbidden, that Cloud would eventually be promised to another nobleman, that he would eventually be shipped off to some far corner of the planet, a tool bent her father’s will. But those facts did not stop them from indulging in the beautiful fantasy, even though they both knew exactly how it would end.

It is this very conflict that stirs in Sephiroth’s mind now. He knows he should look away, knows that the Midgar Court already whispers about them with scandalized delight, knows that if her father ever found out about their relationship, he could very well be executed on the spot – grand General or not. But tonight, he finds himself caring little for the gossip, the royal protocol. Because tonight, in Cloud’s wonderful and ethereal beauty, the loss of her is almost too much for Sephiroth to bear.

(And if he is destined to die for the Shinra royal family, he is at least determined to do it on his own terms.)

That strange mixture of grief and defiance is what carries him forward, striding across the ballroom with a purpose so evident, it parts the crowds around him. He only stops when he stands in front of the Princess, her expression startled at his approach, and yet yearning all the same. Around them, the people murmur, though Sephiroth pays no heed to what they have to say. The tones of the current song have begun to fade away. That is when Sephiroth makes his move.

“Your Royal Highness,” he says smoothly. “May I have this dance?”

The Princess’ eyes flicker between surprise and joy and fear. Not once out of the several balls and banquets hosted at court have they done this, knowing full well that adding any more fodder to the rumor mill could push the King into forcing a separation. But that concern is now a moot point. Tonight, all he desires – and all he knows she desires – is for one last dance.

Cloud bows to him now, but even in that deference, she still displays her formidable nature, in the sharpness of her blue eyes and in her cool disregard of the stares and whispers that the court sends their direction.

“My dear General,”’ she responds, taking his hand firmly and confidently.

The music resumes and the two begin to move, swept up in the melodies and the steps and the notes. As they progress, Sephiroth begins to feel like he always does around Cloud. It is as if the entirety of the universe melts away, collapses to its center – and for him, that center had become none other than her. With his arm around her waist and their eyes locked on each other, he cannot resist the spell that she casts to hold his attention, keep him in her thrall. And from the way her smile lights up to her eyes, to the gentle touches of her hand caressing the back of his own, he can feel her affection for him, just as strong as his own.

But like all good things between them, the song ends all too quickly, the moment fading. The time to say goodbye creeps closer. Sephiroth steps back and offers a serene bow. “Thank you, Your Highness,” he whispers, hoping all the things he wants to say aloud but can’t are conveyed in those words.

Cloud lets out a breath, her eyes glistening with unfallen tears. This is the cycle between them, the beautiful rush of the fantasy falling away, crushed under the relentless malice of their reality. For what else could they be than this – stolen kisses, brief dances, whispered words? Tomorrow, Sephiroth will begin his journey to Wutai, and they will be apart again in all ways, once more. He wishes desperately that it would not be so, but that is a choice that he cannot make.

But then, suddenly and in the quick and determined and bold manner that made Cloud so powerful and so alluring, the Princess chooses for him. She takes his hand and begins to run, pulling him along, out of the ballroom, out of the castle, into the gardens. In the rush, she ignores the startled gasps and hushed commentary of the courtiers, the guards, the servants, and even the King, with whom Sephiroth locks eyes with for a brief and revelatory moment before being swept up and away by Cloud.

He knows, he realizes. He knows.

If this is to be their last night on Gaia together, that fact hardly matters. And regardless, Sephiroth cannot pull away from Cloud, cannot help but run after her, because in his heart, he knows he would follow her to the very edges of creation itself.

Cloud finally stops in a quiet corner of the grounds, pushing him up against the wall of shrubbery and kissing him, gasping and desperate. Her sentiments spill into him, and Sephiroth finds his hands clinging to her waist, roaming over her shoulders, cradling her neck. Any modicum of distance between them feels like an aching sore, and tonight, of all nights, he would do anything to take away her pain.

His lips move, from hers, to her jaw, to her ear, her neck. She sighs, in that lovely way she does, in the way that drives Sephiroth to the very edge of his restraint. His fingers find purchase around the buttons on the back of her dress, and almost as if on instinct, they begin the process of undoing them, one by one.

Cloud’s breath hitches, and she pushes back and away slightly. “I don’t want you to go,” she whispers. “I don’t want you to die.”

“I won’t,” Sephiroth promises, reaching forward to kiss her again.

She dodges the kiss but wraps her arms around his shoulders anyway. “You are fighting a war that you do not believe in. That does not lend itself well to success.”

“Do you suggest I run, then?”

Cloud places her hand on the back of his neck, runs her fingers through his long silver hair. “Maybe we should. We could run. Find a corner of the world that is just the two of us. Where no one could ever reach us.”

For a moment, Sephiroth is tempted by the beauty of the wish – the idea of Cloud, forever his, on a house by a lake somewhere where wildflowers grow. Somewhere he could kiss her without fear of scorn, derision, discipline, or death. Somewhere he could love her, freely and truly. But it sounds too good to be true, because it is, and they both know it.

“I cannot abandon them, my friends and my men,” Sephiroth whispers back, squeezing her tightly in apology.

Cloud lets out a quiet whimper, but he knows she understands, knows that his loyalty is one of the reasons she loves him so deeply. “Then what do we do?” she asks, burying her head in his chest. “I can’t keep living like this. Knowing that I love you and I can’t be yours.”

Instead of responding outright, Sephiroth reaches down and takes her left hand, bringing it up to his lips. He slips the glove off her finger gently, tenderly, with all the love he has in his entire being, allowing the silk to slip to the ground. Then, he himself begins to fall, down to one knee.

“When I return, I’ll put a ring here,” he says, gently kissing her fingers. “And I’ll make even greater vows to you.”

Cloud watches him, eyes wide. “You…are serious, aren’t you?”

“Yes.”

“My father will not let you.”

“I don’t care about your father,” Sephiroth says, turning her hand to press more intentional kisses to her palm and her wrist. He then pulls back and gazes up at her with expectant eyes. “I’ll fight his war, because that is my only way back to you. But once I return, I have no intention of letting you go. If you let me fight for you, then I swear to you that nothing will stop me until you are freely and truly mine.”

The tears now stream freely, slipping softly from those dazzling blue eyes. But Sephiroth knows Cloud enough to recognize that they are not from sadness, not in the slightest.

She bends over to cradle his face and tug him gently upright. Once he stands in front of her, she takes his left hand, and just as he did hers, slides off his glove with equal affection, dropping the black leather atop of her own white silk.

As she kisses his knuckles, Cloud whispers with all the passion and fire in her soul, “Then as you fight, so will I. For us. So I too can make more promises to you when you return.”

Their fingers intertwine. And in the garden, underneath the real starlight and away from the prison of the palace, they seal the first of their many vows with a loving, hopeful kiss.

#sefikuraweek #sefikura #sephiroth x cloud #sephiroth #cloud strife #final fantasy vii #final fantasy vii remake #sfw #prompt: gloves

[bellatrixobsessed1]

Speak No Evil (Part 17)

It is different now she isn't sure how but somehow it just is. The air still swelters but she doesn’t feel so sapped and spent by it. The sun is no brighter than before, but it kisses her skin with more pleasantry. Azula stops and uncorks her waterskin. She has a small sip, enough to alleviate the dryness in her throat without draining it completely.

“We only have a few miles to go.” Seicho notes.

Azula nods. She thinks it bittersweet that their journey is coming to an end just as she is starting to see the worth of embarking upon it. But then, it is just as well, they are running low on supplies and she would like to sleep on a bed again. Would like to wear some clean clothes.

She is also back to speaking through snapped twigs and fire now that she has used up all of the parchment. Mostly this is okay, but there are some things that are significantly harder to convey without it. Things such as, ‘look out for that spider-wasp’. Usually by the time she gets the message across, the sting has already happened.

She can also do without having sore feet and red, blistered ankles. Seicho sits her down and purses her lips, “you have your shoes laced way too tightly.”

‘I was tired of dirt getting into them.’

“Yes, well now your ankles are swollen. Look at this!” She gestures to Azula’s throbbing ankles. “I already carried you down the side of a volcano and then some, don’t expect me to carry you anymore.”

Azula shrugs and carefully rolls her ankles, trying to work out at least some of the knots.

“We can take a break.”

She doesn’t leave any room for protest, not that Azula has any this time around. Her ankles aside, she still finds herself somewhat hazy and disoriented. She hasn’t exactly had a moment to process the events of this hike. She supposes that the time will come when she is lounging in the beach house. Even still she isn’t sure of how she should be feeling. There is relief sure and a refreshing helping of euphoria. But it is still there, the stresses and the sadness of a loss that she hasn’t quite accepted yet. Two of them actually and she doesn’t know which stings more the absence of her voice or the absence of TyLee. That isn’t true. She misses TyLee terribly. But, Agni, if she doesn’t feel somehow lighter regardless. Especially when she hears Seicho laugh. She isn’t sure what the woman is laughing at, but it takes some tension out of her.

Azula stares at the sky, it is cast in a haze of orange and gold with splashes of pink just on its fringes, where the clouds linger. Likely they will make it back to the beach just after nightfall.

.oOo.

The atmosphere around Azula has changed notably, it is less tense, if only a little and she is significantly easier to talk to. Less hostile and standoffish. Seicho thinks that she must have burned herself out on resentment and is now left with a bizarre sense of peace. Albeit, a fragile sense of it. She is more willing to talk now. If only that hadn’t wasted all of the parchment. So Seicho does most of the talking.

Several times, the woman stops to frown and massage her ankles.

“Do they hurt that much?”

‘I’ll manage’.

Seicho sighs, she supposes that they don’t have that far to go and if she can carry the woman down the side of a volcano then she can manage this. She scoops her into her arms, ignoring gestures and facial expressions of protest. “It’s probably better if you don’t push your luck, it takes a while to heal broken ankles. I’m assuming that you like being able to walk.”

Azula nods and settles into the woman’s arms with no further qualms. She closes her eyes, leaving Seicho to drink in the flutter of the palm fronds and the squeaks, squaks, and chitters of the jungle critters as the hastily make way for the night dwellers.

“It’s a beautiful night.” Seicho notes. She feels Azula nod her head affirmatively.

Without the ability to scrawl messages in the dirt and too close to Seicho to make any fire without hindering their hike, the woman is once again as silent as ever. So Seicho fills it for the both of them, “Maybe I can spend the night at your house? I think that it might be closer than mine.”

Azula doesn’t answer in favor nor in protest.

“I’d like to keep talking to you, if you don’t mind.” She still isn’t sure how the woman feels about her. She does know that she has taken a shine to her though. “I can introduce you to my brother. I can also show you some of the pottery I made.” Every now and then, Azula meets her gaze. “I can teach you to make pottery too if you don’t mind getting clay on your hands.”

Azula gives another nod. Seicho isn’t sure if it had been an agreeing one or a disproving one.

The next time that she makes an attempt to speak, it is to direct Seicho to her beach house. It is only when she stands before it that she finally connects the dots that she probably should have connected right when the woman scrawled her name down.

“It’s huge.” She remarks, mouth agape. Huge and fancy, standing out like a gleaming candle under the freshly risen moon.

Azula, princess Azula, gestures to be put down. She winces slightly when her full weight is shifted back onto her ankles, though she makes her way up the stairs anyhow and beckons for Seicho to follow.

Her head is still reeling with the seemingly sacred knowledge that the crown princess, at the very height of her power, had used her head as a cupholder. Seicho chuckles to herself as she follows the woman into her vacation home.

“Do you need me to call out and tell Zuko that you’re home?”

Azula shakes her head. Apparently she has a much funner way of doing so. She wanders up to the decorative gong at the far end of the room and gives it a very sturdy strike. Seicho hears a thud overhead followed by a string of curses and a very self-satisfied smirk from Azula as she fixes the mallet back in place.

The Fire Lord emerges from the stairwell. “Ravaa’s tendrils, Azula! What the hell!?”

‘I’m home.’ She spells plainly in flame.

“Clearly.” He grumbles and rubs the back of his sleep tousled hair. Alright, so it was several hours into the night when they emerged from the jungle. A little later than Seicho had anticipated. “Where the hell were you?”

‘Jungle.’

“I thought that you told him you left.” Seicho frowns. The words leave her mouth before she recalls that the woman wasn’t planning on coming back at all. She stares at the Fire Lord. He doesn’t know how close he had come to leaving Ember Island by his lonesome.

Azula shrugs. ‘I did.’

“I thought that you were just going for a day-long hike.”

‘Your assumptions are your own fault.’

Zuko exhales.

The gravity of bringing the princess home is accentuated by her brother pulling her into a tight embrace. Her cheek smooshes against his chest, the rest of her face bunched up in disapproval as though the hug were a minor inconvenience to her brooding. He would probably hug her tighter still if he did know how close he had come to losing her.

.oOo.

Azula breaks away from the embrace and gestures to Seicho. Zuko gives her a small wave, “who are you?”

Seicho sticks her hand out. “I’m Seicho. Azula and I went on a...camping trip.”

Azula breathes a sigh of relief. For as chatty as she is, at least the woman knows what things to leave unsaid. She isn’t sure when or how she will tell Zuko of her unfinished intentions. She isn’t sure that she will tell him at all. It hadn’t come to fruition, so really there is no sense in brining it up at all.

She wanders her way to the nearest chair, flops down, and tugs off her boots. The relief is almost instantaneous, though she knows very well that her ankles will still be swollen and sore in the morning.

Zuko takes notice. “What happened.”

“She was wearing her boots too tight. Apparently swollen ankles are better than dirty feet.”

Azula gives a haughty and dismissive sniff.

“Nothing some ice can’t fix.”

‘Good luck finding ice on Ember Island.’ Her statement dissipates in a curl of smoke.

“I’ve been living here my whole life, I know where to find ice.” Seicho shrugs. “We’ll have to wait until tomorrow though.”

Azula doesn’t have any qualms about that. She is tired. Extremely so. She can already feel herself drifting out. Though she isn’t sure if the exhaustion is physical or mental. She thinks that it might be a combination of both.

“Do you want to spend the night here?” Zuko offers.

“That would be great.” Seicho replies. She spares Azula a glance. The princess isn’t sure what to make of the look. “You going to walk yourself to bed?”

Azula shakes her head, she will just sleep here. She is too sore and spent to do anything else. Seicho leaves her no room for protest before picking her up again. “Which way to your room?”

“Her room is the third door to the right.” Zuko fills in.

Seicho sets her down on the mattress with a foreign sort of gentleness. And she pulls the covers up to her shoulders with a cheerful smile. It is surreal to be on the receiving end of such care--to be so suddenly and fully struck by the realization that she has been for a while. It is just one more thing that her mind has to catch up to and process.

Someone cares for her. Enough to tuck her in. Enough to put up with her moods. Enough to carry her so far away from her own dark ambitions.

At least this realization, though just as jarring as every other thing that still has to settle in her mind, is pleasant. Soothing. Something that she can cling to and fight for.

“Good night, princess.”

She mouths a good night in return.

“I’ll show you to the guest room.” Zuko offers. He lingers in the doorway for a moment. She thinks that he wants to say something. Though, ultimately, he decides to let her get to sleep. Her dreams are kind.

#Avatar The Last Airbender #Azula #TyLee #TyZula #Fanfiction

[laces-of-life]

Spoilers for A Court of Silver Flames

Enjoy this extra scene featuring Azriel from the BAM! edition of A Court of Silver Flames. 

The river house had finally fallen quiet after the raucous Winter Solstice party, the faelights dimming to cast little pools of gold amid the deep shadow of the longest night of the year. Amren, Mor, and Varian had finally gone to bed, but Azriel found himself lingering downstairs. He knew he should get some sleep. He’d need it come dawn, for the snowball battle up at the cabin. Cassian had mentioned no less than six times tonight that he had a secret plan regarding his so-called impending victory. Az had let his brother boast. Especially since Azriel had been planning his own victory for a year now. Cassian wouldn’t know what was coming for him. And Az fully planned on capitalizing on the fact that Nesta likely wouldn’t let Cassian sleep much tonight. Az snickered to himself, to the listening shadows around him. Sleep, they seemed to whisper in his ear. Sleep. I wish I could, he answered silently. But sleep so rarely found him these days, Too many razor-sharp thoughts sliced him any time he grew still long enough for them to strike. Too many wants and needs left his skin overheated and pulling taut across his bones. So he slept only when his body gave out, and even then only for a few hours. Azriel surveyed the empty family room, presents and ribbons littering the furniture. Cassian and Nesta hadn’t reappeared downstairs, though that came as no surprise. He was elated for his brother, and yet... Azriel couldn’t stop it. The envy in his chest. Of Cassian, and Rhys. He knew he’d be swallowed by it if he went up to his bedroom, so he’d remained down here by the dying light of the fire. But even the silence weighed too heavily, and though the shadows kept him company, as they always had, as they always would, he found himself leaving the room. Entering the foyer. Soft steps padded from under the stair archway, and there she was. The faelights gilded Elain’s unbound hair, making her glow like the sun at dawn. She halted, her breath catching in her throat. “I...” He watched her swallow. She clutched a small gift in her hands. “I was coming to leave this on your pile of presents. 1 forgot to give it to you earlier.” Lie. Well, the second part was a lie. He didn’t need his shadows to read her tone, the slight tightening of her face. She’d waited until everyone was asleep before venturing back down, where she’d leave her gift amongst his other, opened presents, subtle and unnoticed. Elain closed the distance, and her breathing quickened as she again paused, now a scant foot away. She extended the wrapped gift, her hand shaking. “Here.” Az tried not to look at his scarred fingers as they took the gift. She hadn’t bought her mate a present. But she’d gotten Azriel one last year—a headache powder he kept on his nightstand at the House of Wind. Not to use, but just to look at. Which he'd done every night he’d slept there. Or attempted to sleep there. Azriel unwrapped the box, glancing at the card that merely said, You might find these useful at the House these days, and then opened the lid. Two small, bean-shaped fabric blobs lay within. Elain murmured, “you put them in your ears, and they block any sound. With Nesta and Cassian living there with you...” He chuckled, unable to suppress the impulse. “No wonder you didn’t want me to open it in front of everyone.” Elain’s mouth twitched into a smile. “Nesta wouldn’t appreciate the joke.” He offered her a smile back. “I wasn’t sure if I should give you your present.” He left the rest unspoken. Because her mate was here, sleeping a level up. Because her mate had been in the family room and Azriel had needed to stay by the door the whole time because he couldn’t stand the sight of it, the scent of their mating bond, and needed to have the option of leaving if it became too much. Elain’s large brown eyes flickered, well aware of all that. Just as he knew she was well aware of why Azriel so rarely came to family dinners these days. But tonight, here in the dark and quiet, with no one to see... He pulled the small velvet box from the shadows around him. Opened it for her. Elain sucked in a soft breath that whispered over his skin. His shadows skittered back at the sound. They’d always been prone to vanish when she was around. The golden necklace seemed ordinary—its chain unremarkable, the amulet tiny enough that it could be dismissed as an everyday charm. It was a small, flat rose fashioned of stained glass, designed so that when held to the light, the true depth of the colors would become visible. A thing of secret, lovely beauty. “It’s beautiful,” she whispered, lifting it from the box. The golden faelight shone through the little glass facets, setting the charm glowing with hues of red and pink and white. Azriel let his shadows whisk away the box as she said softly, “Put it on me?” His head went quiet. But he took the necklace, opening the clasp as she exposed her back, sweeping her hair up in one hand to bare her long, creamy neck. He knew it was wrong, but there he was, sliding the necklace around her. Letting his scarred fingers touch her immaculate skin. Letting them brush the side of her throat, savoring the velvet-soft texture. Elain shivered, and he took a damn long time fastening the clasp. Azriel’s fingers lingered at her nape, atop the first knob of her spine. Slowly, Elain pivoted into his touch. Until his palm lay flat against her neck. It had never gone this far. They’d exchanged looks, the occasional brush of their fingers, but never this. Never blatant, unrestricted touching. Wrong—it was so wrong. He didn’t care. He needed to know what the skin of her neck tasted like. What those perfect lips tasted like. Her breasts. Her sex. He needed her coming on his tongue Azriel’s cock strained behind his pants, aching so fiercely he could hardly think. He prayed she didn’t peer down. Prayed she didn’t understand the shift in his scent. He had only allowed himself these thoughts in the dead of night. Had only allowed his hand to fist his cock and think about her then, when even his shadows had gone to sleep. How that beautiful face might appear as he entered her, what sounds she’d make. Elain bit her lower lip, and it took every ounce of Azriel’s restraint to keep from putting his own teeth there. “I should go,” Elain said, but made no move to leave. “Yes,” he said, his thumb sweeping in long strokes along the side of her throat. Her arousal drifted up to him, and his eyes nearly rolled back in his head at the sweet scent. He’d beg on his knees for a chance to taste it. But Azriel just stroked her neck again. 

Elain shuddered, drifting closer. So close one deep breath would brush her breasts against his chest. She looked up at him, her face so trusting and hopeful and open that he knew she had no idea that he had done unspeakable things that sullied his hands far beyond their scars. 

Such terrible things that it was a sacrilege for his fingers to touch her skin, tainting her with his presence. 

But he could have this. This one moment, and maybe a taste, and that would be it. 

“Yes,” Elain breathed, like she read the decision. Just this taste in the dead of the longest night of the year, where only the Mother might witness them. 

Azriel’s hand slid up her neck, burying in her thick hair. Tilting her face the way he wanted it. Elain’s mouth parted slightly, her eyes scanning his before fluttering shut. Offer and permission. He nearly groaned with relief and need as he lowered his head toward hers. Azriel. Rhys’s voice thundered through him, halting him mere inches from Elain’s sweet mouth. Azriel. Unrelenting command filled his name, and Azriel looked up. Rhysand stood atop the staircase. Glowering down at them. My office. Now. Rhys vanished, and Azriel was left standing before Elain, who still awaited his kiss. His stomach twisted as he pulled his hand from her hair and stepped back. Forced himself to say, “This was a mistake.” She opened her eyes, hurt and confusion warring there before she whispered, “I’m sorry.” “You don’t — Don’t apologize,” he managed to say. “Never apologize, It’s | who should...” He shook his head, unable to stand the bleakness he'd brought to her expression. “Goodnight.” Azriel winnowed into shadows before she could say anything, appearing at the doors to Rhys’s study a heartbeat later. His shadows whispered in his ear that Elain had gone upstairs. Rhys sat at his desk, fury a moonless night across his face. He asked softly, “Are you out of your mind?” Azriel donned the frozen mask he’d perfected while in his father’s dungeon. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.” Rhys’s power rippled through the room like a dark cloud. “I’m talking about you, about to kiss Elain, in the middle of a hall where anyone could see you,” he snarled. “Including her mate.” Azriel stiffened. Let his cold rage rise to the surface, the rage he only ever let Rhysand see, because he knew his brother could match it. “What if the Cauldron was wrong?” Rhysand blinked. “What of Mor, Az?” 

Azriel ignored the question. “The Cauldron chose three sisters. Tell me how it’s possible that my two brothers are with two of those sisters, yet the third was given to another.” He had never before dared speak the words aloud. 

Rhys’s face drained of color. “You believe you deserve to be her mate?” 

Azriel scowled. “I think Lucien will never be good enough for her, and she has no interest in him, anyway.” 

“So you'll what?” Rhys’s voice was pure ice. “Seduce her away from him?” Azriel said nothing. He hadn’t gotten that far with his planning, certainly not beyond the fantasies he pleasured himself to. Rhys growled, “Allow me to make one thing very clear. You are to stay away from her.” “You can’t order me to do that.” 

“Oh, I can, and I will. If Lucien finds out you’re pursuing her, he has every right to defend their bond as he sees fit. Including invoking the Blood Duel.” 

“That’s an Autumn Court tradition.” The battle to the death was so brutal that it was only enacted in rare cases. Despite being an outsider, Azriel had wanted to invoke it when he'd found Mor all those years ago. Had been ready to challenge both Beron and Eris to Blood Duels and kill them both. Only Mor’s right to claim their heads in vengeance had kept him from doing so. “Lucien, as Beron’s son, has the right to demand it of you.” “I'll defeat him with little effort.” Pure arrogance laced every word, but it was true. “I know.” Rhys’s eyes flickered. “And your doing so will rip apart any fragile peace and alliances we have, not only with the Autumn Court, but also with the Spring Court and Jurian and Vassa.” Rhys bared his teeth. “So you will leave Elain alone. If you need to fuck someone, go to a pleasure hall and pay for it, but stay away from her.” Azriel snarled softly. “Snarl all you want.” Rhys leaned back in his chair. “But if I see you panting after her again, I’ll make you regret it.” Rhys had rarely threatened punishment or pulled rank. It stunned Azriel enough that it knocked him from his rage. Rhys jerked his chin toward the door. “Get out.” Azriel rucked in his wings and left without another word, stalking through the house and onto the front lawn to sit in the frigid starlight. To let the frost in his veins match the air around him. Until he felt nothing. Was again nothing at all. Then he flew to the House of Wind, knowing that if he slept in the riverside manor, he’d do something he regretted. He’d been so vigilant about keeping away from Elain as much as possible, and had stayed up here to avoid her, and tonight . . . tonight had proved he’d been right to do so. 

He aimed for the training pit, giving in to the need to work off the temptation, the rage and frustration and writhing need. He found it already occupied. His shadows had not warned him. It was too late to bank without appearing like he was running. Azriel landed in the ring a few feet from where Gwyn practiced in the chill night, her sword glimmering like ice in the moonlight. She stopped mid-slice, whirling to face him. “I’m sorry. I knew you all were going to the river house, so I didn’t think anyone would mind if I came up here, and—” “It’s fine. I came to retrieve something I forgot.” The lie was smooth and cool, as he knew his face was. His shadows peered over his wings at her. The young priestess smiled—and Azriel thought it might have been directed at his curious shadows. But she just hooked her coppery-brown hair behind an arched ear. “I was trying to cut the ribbon.” She pointed with her sword at the white ribbon, which seemed to glow silver. “Aren’t you cold?” His breath clouded in front of him. Gwyn shrugged. “Once you get moving, you stop noticing it.” He nodded, silence falling. For a heartbeat, their gazes met. He blocked out the bloody memory that flashed, so at odds with the Gwyn he saw before him now. Her head ducked, as if remembering it too. That he’d been the one who'd found her that day at Sangravah. “Happy Solstice,” she said, as much a dismissal as it was a holiday blessing. He snorted. “Are you kicking me out?” Gwyn’s teal eyes flashed with alarm. “No! I mean, I don’t mind sharing the ring. I just... I know you like to be alone.” Her mouth quirked to the side, crinkling the freckles on her nose. “Is that why you came up here?” Sort of. “I forgot something,” he reminded her. “At two in the morning?” Pure amusement glittered in her stare. Better than the pain and grief he’d spied a moment before. So he offered her a crooked smile. “I can’t sleep without my favorite dagger.” “A comfort to every growing child.” 

Azriel’s lips twitched. He refrained from mentioning that he did indeed sleep with a dagger. Many daggers. Including one under his pillow. 

“How was the party?” Her breath curled in front of her mouth, and one of his shadows darted out to dance with it before twirling back to him. Like it heard some silent music. “Fine,” he said, and realized a heartbeat later that it wasn’t a socially acceptable answer. “It was nice.” Not much better. So he asked, “Did you and the priestesses have a celebration?” “Yes, though the service was the main highlight.” “T see.” She angled her head, hair shining like molten metal. “Do you sing?” He blinked. It wasn’t every day that people took him by surprise, but . . .“Why do you ask?” “They call you shadowsinger. Is it because you sing?” “I am a shadowsinger—it’s not a title that someone just made up.” She shrugged again, irreverently. Az narrowed his eyes, studying her. “Do you, though?” she pressed. “Sing?” Azriel couldn’t help his soft chuckle. “Yes.” She opened her mouth to ask more, but he didn’t feel like explaining. Or demonstrating, since that was surely what she’d ask next. So Az jerked his chin to the sword dangling from her hand. “Try cutting the ribbon again.” “What—with you watching?” He nodded. She considered, and he wondered if she’d say no, but Gwyn blew out a breath, steadied her feet and balance, and sliced. A beautiful, precise blow, but it didn’t sever the ribbon. “Again,” he ordered, rubbing his hands against the cold, grateful for its bracing bite and the distraction of this impromptu lesson. 

Gwyn sliced again, but the ribbon remained unyielding.

“You’re turning the blade a fraction as it comes parallel to the ground,” Azriel explained, drawing his Illyrian blade from down his back. “Watch.” He slowly demonstrated, rotating his wrist where she did. “You see how you open up right here?” He corrected his position. “Keep your wrist like that. The blade is an extension of your arm.” Gwyn tried the movement as slowly as he had, and he watched her self-correct, fighting against the urge to open up her wrist and rotate the blade. She did it three times before she stopped falling into the bad habit. “I blame Cassian for this. He’s too busy making eyes at Nesta to notice such mistakes these days.” Azriel laughed. “I’ll give you that.” Gwyn smiled broadly. “Thank you.” Azriel dipped his head in a sketch of a bow, something restless settling in him. Even his shadows had calmed. As if content to lounge on his shoulders and watch. But—sleep. He needed to at least attempt to get some. “Happy Solstice,” Azriel said before aiming for the archway into the House. “Don’t stay out too much longer. You'll freeze.” Gwyn nodded her farewell, again facing the ribbon. A warrior sizing up an opponent, all traces of that charming irreverence gone. Azriel entered the warmth of the stairwell, and as he descended, he could have sworn a faint, beautiful singing followed him. Could have sworn his shadows sang in answer. He slept as well as could be expected, but when Azriel returned to the river house to gather his presents before dawn, he found Elain’s necklace amid the pile. He pocketed it. Spent the rest of his day, even the blasted snowball fight, with every intention of returning it to the shop in the Palace of Thread and Jewels. But when he returned from the cabin in the mountains, he didn’t go to the market square. Instead, he found himself at the library beneath the House of Wind, standing before Clotho as the clock chimed seven in the evening. He slid the small box across her desk. “If you see Gwyn, would you give this to her?” Clotho angled her hooded head, and her enchanted pen wrote on a piece of paper, A Solstice gift from you? Azriel shrugged. “Don’t tell her it came from me.” Why? “Does she need to know? Just tell her it was a gift from Rhys.” That would be a lie. He avoided the urge to cross his arms, not wanting to look intimidating. He blocked out the memory that flashed—of his mother cringing before his father, the male standing with crossed arms in such a way that made his displeasure known before he opened his hateful mouth. “Look, I. . .” Az searched for the words, his voice becoming quiet. “If there’s another priestess here who might appreciate it, give it to them. But I’m not taking that necklace with me when I leave.” He waited for Clotho’s pen to finish writing. Your eyes are sad, Shadowsinger. He offered her a grim smile. “I lost the snowball fight today.” Clotho was smart enough to see through his deflection. She wrote, I'll give it to Gwyneth. Tell her a friend left it for her. He wouldn’t go so far as to call Gwyn a friend, but . . . “Fine. Thank you.” Clotho’s pen moved once more. She deserves something as beautiful as this. I thank you for the joy it shall bring to her. Something sparked in Azriel’s chest, but he only nodded his thanks and left. He could picture it, though, as he ascended the stairs back to the House proper. How Gwyn’s teal eyes might light upon seeing the necklace. For whatever reason . . . he could see it. But Azriel tucked away the thought, consciously erasing the slight smile it brought to his face. Buried the image down deep, where it glowed quietly. A thing of secret, lovely beauty.

#a court of silver flames #acosf #special edition #bam edition #extra scene #a court of silver flames special edition #azriel #elain #gwyn #rhysand

[magnolia-penn]

Future Vision

Chapter One: A Blast To The Past

Hahaha YEET. Here comes chapter one right at ya. I thought maybe people would be more interested if I shared the actual first chapter so here we go!

Warnings: Swearing, Ocs, Spoilers?(A little later in the series), Oc Death(I Glossed over it tho) lemme know if I missed anything

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       Love comes from the most unexpected places. You certainly weren’t expecting to find love when you felt yourself suddenly lurch forward and land face-first into some sand.

 

          Sand? You thought to yourself. How in the hell?

 

          You were just in your bedroom, about to be picked up by your friend for a snow-filled weekend at her family’s winter cabin. Sand seemed like a million miles from you, and yet, there you sat, in the sand.

 

          “Look out!” A voice cried from behind you.

 

          In an instant, you were lifted from the ground by the back of your jacket heaved to the side. You were just barely out of the way as a burst of lightning struck where you just sat. All you saw was a flash of purple before you were tossed unceremoniously into the awaiting arms of a man dressed in red robes.

 

He carefully pulled you into his chest as a burst of flames erupted from his side with a … squawk? That definitely sounded like a bird. 

 

You pulled yourself out of the strange man’s chest long enough to see where the fire was directed. There, surrounded by a few other men, was a gigantic swirling mass of colors, seeming conducted by the man on one knee below it.

 

“Don’t look.” The man holding you instructed.

 

You did as you were told and buried your face back into his robes. He was warm, you noticed, in a comforting way. You were at a distance, but you could still hear the words of the man on his knee.

 

“Try as you might, but Liv will bring an amplifier to Lord DIO’s World!” You could feel the piercing stare from the man. “No! That’s not the right one!”

 

You felt an invisible force start to tug at you, pulling you in the direction of the man. There was a sharp tug before it was cut off by a voracious cry from the same purple being that previously pulled you to safety.

 

The colors quickly disappeared from the air as the man took his last breath, beaten to death by the purple manifestation. The man holding you let you go, only to scramble to keep you from falling to your knees.

 

“Easy there, Miss.” He caught you by the back of your legs and hoisted you up bridal style. He gently carried you to where the others stood.

 

They were discussing something when you were brought to them. You took note of all of their appearances. They were a strange bunch.

There was an old man at the center of the group, dressed in clothes you would see adventurers wearing in movies. Khakis, tan short-sleeved shirt, hat, all the works. You guessed it made sense with all the sand. He was grey in his hair and beard, but his broad shoulders and muscled physique left no doubt your mind that he could throw you quite far if so prompted. 

 

He was yelling at a teen dressed in a thick black gakuran with a chain attached to the high collar. He also donned a black hat that was adorned with gold charms and torn in the back.

 

The old man also took the time to scold a man with silver hair slicked up with gel. He was wearing a black, one strapped tank top that barely contained his pectorals and had cute little broken heart dangle earrings. Every time he would whine to the old man, he spoke in a distinctly French accent.

 

“And what are you laughing about?” The old man’s fury was directed at the hardly concealed chortling of the last remaining member of the group. He was also a teen wearing a gakuran, although his was slim fitting and green. His hair was a cherry red and had a long curl that fell in front of his face.

 

You also took a moment to study the man holding you. His body heat and thick robes had you concerned for him, but there wasn't even a bead of sweat on his brow. He didn't show any sign of faltering, even after holding you for almost ten minutes. The most notable feature on him was his interesting… scars? That accentuated his facial structure. 

 

They were all very attractive, you noticed. Each in their own ways.

 

“Um,” You quietly got your embracer’s attention. “What’s going on?”

 

“That will take some time to explain.” He responded.

 

          “Oh.”

 

          You didn’t say anything after that. The two of you stood in silence as the old man continued to yell at the other three.

 

“Yare yare. I don’t see the problem here.” The teen in all black grumbled. “Killing Eli was the only way to stop ‘Receiver’, so I did.” 

 

The old man glared hard at the teen, his left hand twitching with audible metal clicks.

 

“The problem, Jotaro, is without Eli to open ‘Receiver’, we can’t send her back.” He pointed a thumb back at you, still in the arms of the dark male.

 

“He said his sister has the same Stand.”

 

“That’s not the point, Jotaro! She’s also with DIO, and now that we killed her brother, I doubt she’ll want to help us!”

 

The two began to bicker again as the teen in green and the man with white hair slid closer to where you stood, slightly hiding behind the man. The other two fought for quite a while, although it was primarily the old man talking.

 

You asked to be sat down, and the man complied. He was gentle and introduced himself as Muhammed Avdol, and his Stand, Magician’s Red. The other two peeped in and introduced themselves as well. The teen was Noriaki Kakyoin and Hierophant Green, and the man was Jean Pierre Polnareff and Silver Chariot.

 

The fight between the old man and the teen dressed in all black looked like it was about to escalate into something physical before Avdol spoke up.

 

“Mr. Joestar, I don’t believe that this is any way to behave in front of a lady.” He scolded.

 

The old man, Mr. Joestar, suddenly clamped shut and turned to face you. He quickly started to sprout apologies for both him and his grandson, the presumed Jotaro.

 

“It’s alright,” You said with a chuckle. “I’ve had my fair share of stubborn and edgy teens while in school.”

 

“Edgy?” Mr. Joestar repeated, puzzled by the adjective.

 

“Huh? Oh yeah, it’s a term used to describe dark, brooding people who act tough.” You explained. “It’s a dead meme, but I still use it.”

 

“Meme?”

 

“Are you that old? Memes are internet jokes.” You knew that some people weren’t the dankest of meme lords, but you don’t have to be that dank to understand what a meme is. It’s 2020 for crying out loud! Who doesn’t know what a meme is?

 

“Internet? Like the big clunky computer thingamajig?”

 

“Computers, laptops, phones, tablets, gaming consoles, anything with a wifi connection.” For emphasis, you pulled your smartphone from your pocket.

 

There was a collective gasp from the males, concerning you. You could understand Mr. Joestar, but the other young adults made no sense. Anybody who’s anybody has a smartphone these days.

 

Slowly, as you put more thought into it, your face began to drop. You knew about Stands, both from having one yourself and from your friend, Magnolia, who worked at the Speedwagon Foundation and taught you how to use yours. Yet, you could never imagine a Stand being powerful enough to...

 

“Avdol?” You called out quietly. “What year is it?”

 

“1989.”

 

“Excuse me a second.” 

 

With that, you stepped away from the group and crested a sand dune. As soon as you got out of sight, you cover your mouth with your hands and screamed out a muffled, but still quite loud, 

 

“HOW IN THE ACTUAL FUCK!!”

 

You took a moment to scream wordlessly into your hands before regaining your composure. You turned to walk back up the sand dune when a green head popped up from the side where the men were.

 

You recognized it as Hierophant Green, Kakyoin’s Stand. You sent it a reassuring smile and activated your Stand. Your Stand, Chemical Romance, was an incredibly short-ranged Stand that allowed you to touch, talk to, understand, and locate other Stands. You extended your arm to allow the emerald Stand to enable it to climb up it, a gesture you often offered to Magnolia’s serpentine Stand.  It took the Stand a second to process what you were doing, but as soon as it did, it raced up your arm and wrapped itself loosely around your neck.  

 

You gave it a gentle pat on the head and giggled when you heard Kakyoin yelp from the neural connection amplified by your Stand.

 

You slid down the sand dune and almost tripped at the bottom, your embarrassing face plant postponed for another time because Hierophant Green used his coils to catch you. You cast a haphazard smile to the group before picking the Stand up and off your shoulders. Hierophant stretched and turned to a semi-solid mass, the same way cats do when picked up, and you could see Kakyoin shiver from the amplified feeling of ghost hands.

 

“Sorry about that, I needed a minute. How much of that did you hear?” The priceless looks you got confirmed that they heard it all.

 

“So, uh, what’s the issue?” Polnareff asked hesitantly, not wanting to set you off again.

 

“Nothing much. Just the fact that I was dragged 31 years into the past.” You replied innocently.

 

Your words received a couple of nods, and a sigh of relief as the meaning of what you said glossed over their heads. You didn’t say anything, knowing their reactions would be hilarious when it finally hit them.

 

It was Mr. Joestar who broke first.

 

“OH MY GOD!!”

#Future Vision #FV Chapter One #kakyoin #kakyoin x reader #jojo kakyoin #noriaki kakyoin

[bang-to-the-tan]

Moth to Flame Chapter 2

Reader x OT7

► Vampire!AU

Smut/Porn With Some Plot

Warnings: Somewhat Dubious Consent/Hypnosis, Possessiveness, Vampires (Biting, Blood-Sucking, Reference to Death), Language

↳ Summary: Robbed of your memories and intended as a birthday present for a deadly creature of the night, you unwittingly become the center of a territorial dispute between two covens of vampires. Tensions are rising and the brothers are getting hungry...

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You come to slowly.

The first thing that occurs to you is that, for all you think you drank, your head actually feels pretty alright. Stomach doesn’t seem to be in any worse shape, either. Before you even open your eyes, you’re ticking off a mental checklist of all your limbs, all systems. Everything seems to be functional. When you go to shift your legs you realize you’re embarrassingly sticky in the downstairs zone, for some reason. With a start, you sit up, casting a confused look about your surroundings. You’re sitting on a four-poster bed easily three times your size, thick maroon drapes tied back to reveal the rest of a sparsely decorated but ornate room. Leaning forward, you gape at what looks like a faded painting on the ceiling—painted directly onto it with a hand no stranger to details and gold paint that shimmers when you move. Huge windows, covered by heavy curtains, decorate the far wall. It’s dark, but there are dimly lit lanterns that lend a soft glow to your sight. Old, very old lanterns, fitted with electrical lights.

You take a steadying breath, moving to slide off the bed and peering about your surroundings with a hesitant glance. For all intents and purposes, it seems you’re alone.

Trying to remember how you got here is futile. A sharp flash of tongues slipping against your neck. Hands caressing the apex of your thighs, murmured promises at your ear. You shudder at the memory. Unfortunately, that seems to be all that you can recall, especially with the fog in your mind that refuses to abate. Instead of dwelling too hard on it, you decide to focus on getting a better understanding of where you are. The door makes a small noise when you pull it open, and you flinch at the sound, but nothing else disturbs the stillness of the outside hallway. It’s long, peppered with a handful of other doors. The rich carpet muffles your steps as you follow it towards an archway that seems to be emitting more light than anywhere else. Peeking through reveals a wide entrance hall preceded by a wide staircase. The ceiling here is massive, decorated with a huge chandelier that casts slivers of light about the room.

It only takes another look at the luxury of the staircase before you make up your mind to go down it. Besides, the huge double doors to the front must be the way out. Maybe you can get a better bearing from out there, find your way back…somewhere. You aren’t really sure where else you’re meant to be—only that it doesn’t seem like it should be where you are. The staircase echoes your dainty footsteps, the railing smooth under your hand. Halfway down the steps, the carved mahogany doors creak once, and begin to slide open from the outside. You freeze.

Through the doorway steps a tall man, his gaze on the floor. Broad-shouldered, raven-haired, and so very tired as he comes through and closes the door behind himself. You can hear him inhale from here, as though about to sigh, but he stops before the exhale, ceasing all movement. Your blood turns to ice, and you briefly consider running. Could you make it back up to the room before he saw you? But thoughts of escape vanish into the ether when he turns slowly, weary gaze immediately zeroing in on you. Plump lips like rose petals part as he blinks in surprise.

“Hello,” he greets, his tone confused.

“Hello.” You echo, startled by the sound of your own voice.

He pauses, and you can feel the heartbeat lodged in your throat ticking the seconds away. His eyes are dark almonds as he regards you, curved and heavy with bags that betray so many nights without proper sleep. A slender finger suddenly raises to gesture at you, sculpted eyebrows rising almost comically. “You. You are the ‘problem’ I’ve been dealing with all night.” You aren’t sure how to reply to that. He blinks hard, and makes a long-suffering noise. “Of course you are.” When he looks back to meet your gaze, his expression has softened into something like sympathy.

“Come here. Let’s take a look at you.” He extends an arm, holding out a hand, an inviting smile appearing on his face. You’re already tapping down the rest of the stairs, gravitating towards him as obediently as though pulled by an invisible string. The closer you get to him, the better you feel, the more like you belong. His large hand engulfs yours when you place it within his grasp, eager to comply. He searches your eyes like he’s looking for something in particular, the corners of his mouth shifting upwards even further. His other hand rises to cradle your cheek, and you press into the warmth and the softness of his palm. Your eyes almost flutter closed at how good it feels against you. This must have been what you were looking for, seeing as how you’re so immediately put at ease. What a relief that you found him.

“You’re a sweet thing, aren’t you?” he breathes. He recaptures your attention with a tilt of his head. “Has anybody hurt you?”

You shake your head.

“That’s good.” His voice shakes briefly, but he clears his throat. He pulls you closer, his hand releasing yours to curl around your waist, and you can feel the heat radiating off of him. Your heartbeat quickens at the sudden thought of throwing your arms around his incredibly wide shoulders, dipping nearer to taste the softness of his lips. “I’m guessing you don’t remember much.” When he speaks, it’s hushed. Soothing.

You shake your head again. He hums, visibly distracted by your jaw, his thumb brushing your cheek. He swallows, Adam’s apple bobbing, but hesitantly draws you even closer, so that your breasts press into his chest.

“You are in so much danger,” he murmurs so lowly you almost don’t catch it. His head inclines, fingers tilting your face to the side, and you feel his mouth just below your jawline, sliding across your neck. You can’t help but mewl quietly--serving only to spur him on to press a firm kiss there, the heat of his tongue tasting your skin. A deep noise rumbles through his chest, hungry, needy, and you whine. But his arm disengages from your middle to place a hand on your shoulder and push you away, hair tickling your cheek as he steps back, his other hand returning to his side. He looks no less tired, but now there is a darkness in his eyes that belies his gentle nature. You shiver.

“Do you want to explain this to me?” He speaks so plainly that for a moment, you think he’s talking to you until he cranes to address a familiar shape standing on the stairs. Red hair, youthful face, standing in the shadow cast by the enormous ceiling and sprinkled with pinpoints of light cast off from the chandelier. Cherry’s eyes flit from you to the older man, wetting his lips nervously.

“I wasn’t…I wasn’t done with her.”

“Why not?”

The boy shifts, uncomfortable, leaning against the railing and looking to the side. “We had to leave.”

“Did you.” The lack of amusement in his voice sends ice crawling up your spine. You wish he would go back to touching you some more instead. “Why was that?”

There is no reply from the youth, but for a brief moment, he glances back at you and away.

“You were over our borders, weren’t you?”

“It was just for one night—“

“Goddamnit, Jungkook.” Jungkook. You faintly remember the driver calling him that, too. “The borders exist to protect us, to keep you safe, all of you. You disrespected an entire coven of your elders. I’ve been running damage control all night because of you.”

“I—“

“I thought you knew better. I thought I could trust you.”

‘Jungkook’ visibly flinches at that, excuses dying on his tongue. He turns back slowly, his expression shining with regret.

“I…I’m sorry.” He starts moving again, down the stairs, towards the two of you. His tone is genuinely apologetic as he speaks in a soft voice. “I thought…I thought it would be okay if I brought my brothers with me. Just for one night. I didn’t mean any disrespect.”

The other man just sighs through his nose, shaking his head.

Jungkook stops just in front of you, looking to you only long enough to reach for your hand, which you immediately submit for him. His palm is warm clasped to yours, firm and strong.

“I can take care of this,” he says gently, placating. Hopeful. “And tomorrow I’ll go apologize to Namjoon myself.”

“I appreciate that. Really, I do. But the only reason you came back from their territory in the first place was as a warning; to you and me. They knew you were there long before you’d realized. You go in again, unannounced, and they’ll tear you apart. Plus…”

Two sets of dark eyes slide to you in tandem and you feel so incredibly small between them.

“You stole from them.”

“What? I didn’t—“

“She was on their turf. She was theirs, by all counts. Honestly you’d be in worse trouble if you had finished.” He raises his hand to your face, curling his fingers under your chin, pressing his thumb against your lip. You try to subtly kiss the tip but he disallows it, holding you in place. “At least this way, we can just give her back and maybe this whole thing will blow over.”

“That’s not fair. Jin, that isn’t fair. She’s my birthday present. I-I already got so close. I’m so hungry, please.”

“We’re all hungry, Jungkook. You’re just going to have to hunt somewhere else instead of stealing from others.” The elder male’s hand slips from you and he steps back again.

“There isn’t anywhere else,” Jungkook continues to protest, “Our territory’s shrinking. There’s been too many disappearances—“

“I guess you’ll have to be careful, then.” He turns to leave, but spins on his heel one last time, pointing towards you.

“Keep a closer eye on her. She doesn’t need to be wandering about the place; you know she was about to walk right through the front door?”

“I was just waiting for her to wake up...I didn’t think she’d try to leave so quickly—“

“And don’t touch her. I’m serious. I’ll send word out to Namjoon to try and fix your mess before it gets any worse.”

“You’ll send Jimin out to Namjoon, you mean,” Jungkook grumbles.

“Your brothers and I were the only things that saved you tonight. Don’t forget that,” he shoots back, his glance back less pointed than tired. “If you were with any other coven, you’d be ashes by now. Don’t be an ungrateful brat.”

Jungkook looks like he wants to continue arguing, but he hesitates with a sharp inhale. Instead, he nods to the side, red fringe doing little to hide the sour expression curling his face. You’re vividly aware of your heartbeat in the quiet that follows, and absently squeeze his hand for comfort. Exchanging glances with him, you simultaneously try to offer a hazy smile and re-grasp the train of thought you’d been chasing before this encounter, now that the discussion seems to be over. Certainly there was something on your mind. Something of vague importance, you’re sure. Was it following that man? It might have been.

“It’ll wear off in a few minutes.” Jungkook says after a moment. You nod sagely. “It’s not as strong with us cos we’re younger.”

You nod again. A rueful grin crawls across his face, slowly, before he shakes his head.

“Aaahh, look at you,” he mumbles. “How am I supposed to leave you alone?”

You don’t know. You didn’t understand any of their conversation, really.

“Are you hungry? Is that why you were going out?”

You are starving. How could you forget that? That must have been what you were doing. He’s so smart, you’re glad he’s here to take care of you. You nod.

“Come on.” He tugs at your hand, but releases it after a second’s hesitation, fingers brushing yours. Both his hands instead find themselves jammed in the pockets of his black jeans as he starts to walk in the opposite direction of the other man. His head jerks towards the corridor. “Kitchen’s through here.”

You follow him through the hallway, throwing him a cheerful grin every time he looks over his shoulder. He acts as if he’s only making sure you’re still there, which is odd because you’re pretty sure you haven’t got anywhere else to be. When he turns and the light glances off him just right, you catch a better glimpse of his backside, and your immediate appreciation of its musculature triggers more memory from last night. You almost trip over your own feet at the strength of the sudden wave of arousal that washes over you.

“I can’t guarantee we’ve got a whole lot for you,” he interrupts your filthy thoughts, stepping through a doorway into a sizeable, tiled kitchen. It’s not just clean—it’s untouched. No dishes anywhere, nothing to suggest anyone has even used it in the past century. Jungkook drifts over to a cupboard at random and flings it open, digging through. The strange thought occurs to you that he hasn’t actually introduced himself, and this time the spark of apprehension sticks in your mind instead of dissipating into compliance. It takes root, spurred on by the simple fact of its absence and replacing the steadily growing heat in your stomach with ice. Why do you trust him if you didn’t even know his name?...

“Crackers.” He says, oblivious to your inner turmoil, retrieving an old box and blowing the dust off the top of it. He turns it in one large hand, doe eyes appraising the packaging, one eyebrow cocked. “Good for another four years, I think.” He wets his lips, smacking carelessly before he shoves it towards you. “Here.”

You stare at him. You don’t accept it, grasping at the sudden rebellion that rises inside you, the tiny voice that screams to plant your feet. To keep your hands to yourself.

His head bobs encouragingly, jiggling the box within your reach. “Take it.”

You don’t want to. But you reach up slowly, anyways, and pluck it from his waiting fingers. He watches you expectantly as you stand there, dumbfounded, cradling the box of crackers to your chest.

 You weren’t looking for the other man when you came down here. You were trying to go out the front door. Why didn’t you go out the door? Jungkook chuckles at your expression of confusion, nose scrunching.

“I told you it would wear off. Pretty potent shit, huh?”

“What is?” You finally manage to whisper. Your voice is hoarse and you realize that you haven’t properly used it since you woke up.

He shrugs, casting a lazy glance around the room. “Jin has the most powerful haze out of all of us. Don’t tell him I said this but I think it’s mostly just because he’s old. He’s spent forever perfecting it.”

“He doesn’t look old.”

“You should tell him that instead.”

You peer at him, eyes narrowed. “…Ok.”

He stares at you for a while, shifting to lean against the counter. You busy yourself with opening the box and retrieving a handful of the small crackers, munching thoughtfully as you consider the possible meanings of this new information. The most powerful ‘haze’.

“I do feel hazy.”

“Mm.”

That just about does it for you as far as thinking goes. Probably best to leave that train of thought for later. You’re less light headed than a few minutes ago, but whatever it is hasn’t left your system completely.

“Feeling better?”

You hum agreeably through a mouthful of starchy goodness. Well, not exactly ‘good’. These things probably have a ridiculous shelf life for a reason. Thinking on it they kind of taste like cardboard. You’re not even sure why you’re eating them. You’re not that hungry.

“Good girl.”

When you glance at him, lightning strikes down your spine and roots you in place, frozen. Bottom lip caught between his teeth, jaw set, eyes half-lidded and dark. Knuckles white from how hard he’s gripping the counter beneath him. Barely breathing, aside from an indulgent inhale he draws in as you stare. He’s looking at you like there’s nothing in the world he’d like better than to tear you apart and swallow the pieces whole. Something heavy settles between the two of you in the stillness, like a thick-pelted blanket. You half expect him to start stalking towards you with a face like that, and the very thought has your stomach coiling in anticipation. Disjointed memories from last night once again flash in your mind--those perfect teeth at your neck, those nimble fingers stroking at your panties. He sighs, shuddering, as your face threatens to flush.

“Fuck. This is impossible.” Jungkook whispers hoarsely. You’re inclined to agree, despite the fact that you still aren’t sure what exactly is going on.

“I should take you back to my room until Namjoon gets here.” He clears his throat, his gaze darting furtively away from you. He straightens and gestures to the crackers. “You should, uh. You should put those away first. Wouldn’t want you making a mess.”

 You nod, slowly, and begin to skirt around him, reaching upwards for the cupboard he’d retrieved them from. The entire time you’re only acutely aware that he hasn’t moved, the heat coming off of him so intense it makes the rest of the room feel cold by comparison. But the shelf is just that little bit too high, just a fingertip out of reach, despite your efforts. When you bounce on your heels to try and get maybe an extra inch or two, you hear him exhale and move. The light darkens and his hand slides into view just to your side, grasping the box. Your heartbeat kicks and restarts at the sensation of his breath tickling the back of your head, his chest almost touching your back. As his hand curls around the box, taking it from you, you automatically step backwards, pushing yourself into his body. His other hand rises as if to catch you, fingers clutching at your waist, but it stays there. Lingers there, while he settles the box back in its rightful place. His arm comes down to rest by your side again, and you can feel his head bow by the movement of his breath, now caressing the nape of your neck. He hums, whines, leaning forward to press you closer together, the countertop digging into your torso, the firm heat of his chest burning into your back.

“Should take you upstairs,” he mumbles. His lips brush, feather-soft, against your neck. You feel the hand on your waist squeeze, thumb rubbing back and forth. “For Namjoon.”

When you crane your head towards him, he lifts his own to meet your gaze over your shoulder. His eyes are so dark, already threatening to blow out from lust. His eyelashes flutter as he casts over your face, dropping to your lips. He sighs again, hand flexing on your waist, and leans forward. You copy him, neck twisting. And finally, your lips brush together. He kisses you so lightly, so gently. He’s barely touching you at all, but it’s enough to steal your breath. He captures your bottom lip, sucks on it, lets it go with a huff and a groan, and the kiss is over. You feel his warmth tear violently away as he quickly moves from you, forcing his hands back into his pockets and staggering back a few paces.

When you turn, he avoids your eyes.

“You need to go to the room,” he says, voice thick.

Jungkook stalks out of the kitchen, and you follow him. He doesn’t speak again until you get to your destination, and neither do you. You want to touch him again, want to hold his hand, curl your fingers in his hair. But following those desires you’ve got a deep intuition as though that is a terrible idea. So you don’t.

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#bts x reader #bts smut #jungkook x reader #seokjin x reader #bts vampire au #bts fanfic #moth to flame

[holdyourfire]

taylir gar tracyn

hold your Fire (Mando’a)

Chapter 1  Chapter 4

***

Chapter 5 - Flame

No warnings for this chapter.

2.2k words

      ***

      Poe was guiding the Ember into Naboo’s atmosphere when a loud thud sounded behind, startling him. 

      He whirled around in his chair to see Deccol grinning and he scowled heavily.

       “Really!?”

      “I told you, I like startling people.”

      “Not while I’m piloting, thanks!”

      She slumped into the chair next to him, still smiling to herself.

      “Where should we land? Somewhere outside the city, right?”

      “Um, no,” she began, frowning slightly. “We should set down in the city. In a landing bay. This ship won’t draw many eyes, so a city bay would be more convenient.”

      “Yes, but is it safer?”

      “It’ll be fine. I know how to deal with cities. If we land on the outskirts, it’ll look as if we don’t want to be noticed.”

      “And… we don’t want to be noticed,” he countered, knowing he was aggravating her. “So where’s the harm?”

      She turned her chair to face him, obviously getting bothered. 

      “But we don’t want them to know that do we? The best way to hide is to blend in. A city landing bay will do that.”

      Poe smirked and Deccol just gave him a sharp look.

      “You were doing that on purpose. Arguing just to argue. Just to be annoying.”

      She shook her head as he continued to grin. 

       “This is going to be a long mission,” came a sigh.

       ***

       Theed was beautiful. 

      Deccol and Poe leaned into the viewports to see the city below as they flew over smoothly. 

      Cream-coloured stone buildings, with tall pillars and arches, topped with blue domes. The warm glow from the street-lights turned the roads and paths gold. The setting sun had cast the west-facing sides of the buildings into pink and red and the rest into darkness. Arched bridges littered Theed’s winding rivers.

      In the distance, rolling plains of grass surrounded the city.

       “It really is beautiful.”

       Deccol just hummed in reply, still absorbed in the view. 

      A beeping noise sounded from the dashboard.

      “We’re being hailed by city landing services,” said Poe shifting to press the flashing button.

      “Hailing the Ghtroc Seven-Twenty, please proceed to Landing Dock E, Pad 3. The south side of the city.”

      “Pad E3, copy that.”

        The landing was swift and hardly a jolt was felt as Poe directed the Ember down. 

      Deccol disappeared to her cabin to change and Poe sauntered down the freshly lowered ramp to meet the dock officer waiting below, BB-8 at his heels.

       Naboo’s cool air was a sharp contrast to D’Qar’s humid climate and he sucked in a breath, filling his lungs, enjoying the sight of the river on the other side of the landing pad.  

       The smartly uniformed dock-officer was approaching.

      “Hi there!” 

      “Hello, sir,” she replied, “may I have your ship’s manifest please?”

      “Of course. BeeBee?”

      BB-8 whirred and extended the Ember’s projector chip in his claw.

      “Any other crew or passengers?” the officer asked, taking the chip and slotting into her datapad to read.

      “Just my co-pilot.”

       Though Deccol wasn't really his co-pilot.

       Poe waited for a few seconds, until the officer looked up with a polite smile, tugging the chip out from her datapad to hand back to BB-8.

      “You’re all good to proceed. Payment for the use of the landing pad can be organised up in that building there,” she said pointing towards a building across the river. “Enjoy your time here.”

      “Thank you.”

       “Oh, one last thing,” the officer called just as he was turning away. “Blasters are not permitted in public,” she said, pointing to his empty holster.

      “Oh, alright. I’ll keep that in mind.”

        Poe strolled back to the ramp, only to find Deccol coming down. She had changed, removing all her armour and was just wearing a simple black shirt on black pants and a dark grey scarf tied around her neck. Her blaster was tucked into her holster at her hip.

       “All fine?” she asked peering at the departing dock officer.

      “Yep. No blasters allowed in public though.” He gestured at her gun. “Ok, so what's the plan then?”

      She jerked her head behind her. 

      “We should talk inside.”

       They ended up outside the kitchen to discuss, Poe leaning back against his cabin door and Deccol standing in front of hers.

       He got the feeling she always stood so straight because everyone was taller than her.

      He had to hold back an amused smile at the thought.

       “Tonight, we should just go out and find out what we can about this Luc Shinn guy. If we even can. If we get enough information, tomorrow the mission can be completed and we can be out of here.”

      Poe frowned.

      “Don’t you want to spend more than just a day here? I mean, it’s so nice. We’ll also have extra time to plan.”

      “This is an assignment, not a holiday, Dameron,” she said, exasperated. “We need to do these tasks as quickly as we can.”

      He sighed.

      “Yeah, yeah, fine. It just seems like a nice place.”

      “Hmm. It does seem nice,” she admitted, nodding. “So, ready to head out? I’ll just go remove my holster.”

      “Same, one sec.”

      He turned, ducking into his room to quickly discard his holster and grab his commlink. 

      “Ok, let’s go.”

       ***

       About fifteen minutes later, Poe was leaning against a light pole on a street corner as he waited for Deccol. BB-8, the poor thing, had been left behind on the Ember. 

      Deccol was just across the street, talking with a couple of locals about where to find the best cantina in town.

      It was a known fact that if you want to know who people are and what’s happening in the area, a cantina was where to go. All information just seemed to flow through bars.

       He glanced down the street. Not many people about, the occasional loiterer or the groups of people who were out for a late evening stroll. 

      The sky was dark blue now, just a hint of an orange glow to the west. 

       “Hey!” 

      He turned at the call. 

      It was a man who had just come around the corner. He was swaying on his feet and he had a slight leer on his face as he stumbled towards Poe.

      He stiffened, suddenly uncomfortable as the man neared. He was just reaching out to roughly grab Poe’s arm as he backed away, when Deccol appeared next to him, seemingly out of nowhere. 

      She firmly stepped in between Poe and the drunk man, lightly shoving him away.

       “Is there a problem here?” she snarled as she squared her feet.

      The man scowled and backed off, mumbling incoherently as he stumbled away from them, down the street.

       “C’mon let's go. There’s a cantina down that path and-”

      “I can take care of myself y’know,” he snapped, annoyed at the pang of relief he’d felt when she’d intervened.

      “I never said you couldn’t. Now let’s go.”

      She turned, walking toward the path she’d pointed out. 

      Poe followed, pursing his lips.

             The cantina was bustling with people. One long and crowded serving counter expanded across the back wall with human and droids serving the various people their drinks. 

      Dialects from all across the galaxy could be heard, in shouts and whispers alike. The lighting was dim, and the air was hot and muggy due to the crowd.

      “Seems like travellers and locals come here regularly,” Poe muttered, leaning down into Deccol’s ear.

      “Good for us. We’ll blend in,” she whispered back. “Drink?”

      “Obviously. I’ll get them. What’ll you have?”

      “Ask if they have tihaar. If not just get me one of whatever you have.”

       Tee-har? 

       “I don’t know what that is, but I’ll ask.”

      She nodded her thanks and he slipped through the mass of people to reach a gap at the countertop, raising a hand to catch the attention of a drink-droid.

       “Hello, sir, what will you be served today?”

      “One bottle of Elba beer and do you have a drink called tee-har?”

      “It appears we do,” the droid replied after a second of computing. “It is a Mandalorian beverage, if my memory banks are correct.”

       It clunked off to fetch the drinks and Poe turned his attention to the people in his surroundings.

       A trickle of music from a group of musicians in the far corner of the cantina accompanied by a low beat was encouraging some to dance sensually with drinks in hand. Two Twi’leks were getting very friendly against a wall and Poe couldn’t help smirking at the sight, watching for a second before a sharp noise drew his attention to the other side of the cantina. 

       An argument appeared to be taking place between a Keshian and a member of a species he didn't recognise. Increasing in volume with both almost shouting, until the Keshian received a slap, followed by the furious exit of the slapper. 

       Poe huffed a laugh, wondering what they did to get that. 

      The Keshian glared around the room furiously, as if daring anyone to say something and ended up locking eyes with a grinning Poe. 

      The smile was hastily wiped off his face as he turned back to the counter, trying to avoid any trouble.

       “Sir.” 

      The drink-droid had returned. 

      “Here are your drinks.”

      It handed over the familiar-looking bottle of Elba beer along with a small glass of a clear liquid.

      “Thanks,” he said, handing over credits.

       Holding the drinks, he turned on his heel peering through the crowd to search for his partner. 

       There she was. She was standing near the band, deep in conversation with two locals.

      Spotting him hovering a few paces away, she waved him over.

       “They had it,” he said, holding up her drink.

      She smiled, delighted. 

      “Thank you.”

      He took a sip of his and she took a large gulp of hers with a satisfied sigh, before introducing him to the men she’d been talking with.

       “This is my friend, Snap,” she said, gesturing to Poe. 

       Snap? Huh. 

       Poe nodded politely in greeting.  

      “And this is Jaeto and Enri,” she continued. “They’re brothers who tell me they used to work at a nearby plasma mine. However, they don’t anymore, as it’s been bought by a new owner who seemed to have also brought in his own workers.”

      Poe looked to the two brothers in surprise.

      “An entire mine was just bought? Must be wealthy,” he remarked sipping his beer.

      “Yeah. All of us workers were put out of our jobs,” said Enri. “Apparently this guy has influence in the Galactic Senate. Must’ve been able to pull some strings or something, because that sort of thing never usually happens on Naboo.”

      “Yeah, rumour has it he’s a big shot in the First Order,” Jaeto added in a low voice.

       Poe and Deccol exchanged a look. 

      “Oh? That’s not the best news. I always get uneasy when I hear about them,” supplied Poe, trying to ease into the conversation.

      The brothers nodded enthusiastically in agreement. 

      “They're a nasty piece of work that’s for sure,” muttered Jaeto.

      “This new mine owner, is he from Naboo?” 

      “He is, actually. From one of the wealthier families in Theed. House Shinn. Although I don’t know why we still call it a family. The parents are dead, it’s really just him now.”

       Poe struggled to keep his face neutral. 

      There he is. Time to hunt down a First Order plasma miner.

       “Is plasma mining the biggest industry on Naboo?”

      “It is, after all, the planet is pretty much made of the stuff. And it’s used all over the galaxy too, so it’s not just important for Naboo.”

      “What is it used for, most commonly?”

      “It can power weaponry and transport, mostly.”

       Both very important things for the First Order.

       Poe suddenly grabbed Deccol’s arm in an attempt to look urgent.

      “Oh, Maker! We said we’d meet Jess five minutes ago. She’ll be upset that we’re late!”

       Deccol caught on quickly.

      “Oh, kriff, you’re right!” She turned to Jaeto and Enri. “I’m so sorry, I forgot we had a place to be.”

      “Oh, no worries. It was nice to meet you,” said Jaeto, and Enri nodded in agreement.

      “You too, I hope the job search goes well for you,” said Poe as he and Deccol backed away.

      “Goodbye!”

      Deccol gulped the last mouthful of her drink before setting the glass down on an empty table they walked past. Poe elbowed her triumphantly, chuckling before swallowing more of his beer as they walked through the cantina’s doors. 

      She looked up at him with a smirk.

      “Done well,” he said.

      She nodded.

      “That was way quicker than I expected. Things like that usually take a long time. Now let’s go meet Jess.”

      He grinned.

      “Do you know the way back?”

      “Of course I do.”

        They walked by a river for a part of the way before turning down an alleyway. 

      Halfway through, Deccol stiffened.

       “We’re being followed,” she muttered out the side of her mouth.

      “You sure?”

      Two figures appeared on the path in front. 

       Deccol stopped moving, pulling Poe to an abrupt halt with a hand on his wrist. He glanced over his shoulder.

      Two behind them as well.

      He swallowed nervously. 

       Now was really not the time to get jumped.

       He slid a small knife out of his pocket, gripping it tightly in his right hand, the blade pointing downwards, opposite from his thumb.

      Deccol pulled out a vibro-blade from under her left sleeve and another from her right boot. Automatically they shifted, standing back-to-back.

       “What are you looking for?” Deccol called, voice level.

      “Oh, nothing in particular,” came a reply from a shadowed face. “Maybe some credits. Those vibro-knives look good. I have one just like them.”

      “You’re not getting anything without a fight,” Poe said, surprised with how calm he sounded.

      "Fine by us.”

      ***

E/N:

   Chapter 6 coming soon :)

#poe dameron #poe dameron x ofc #poe dameron x original character #poe dameron fic #star wars #oscar isaac

[heartshyuck]

Pairing: Jisung x fem!reader

Genre: fluff, angst,slow burn, strangers to lovers au, first love, early 1900s au.

Synopsis: Lavenders symbolise purity, silence, devotion, serenity and grace. All endearing characteristics of the gorgeous boy, you met in the fields of purple.

Placed in the late 1930s , just before World War two starts, you flees from your family who are forcing you into a marriage. you lie low in a small village where you meets Jisung in a field of lavenders.

Word count: 2.3k (preview), projected to be around 16k?? (5th of February)

Warnings: sexism and very backwards ways of thinking, forced marriages (for preview)

a/n: let me know if you wanna be on the taglist, also please listen to the merry go round of life whilst reading this (from howl's moving castle). The full fic is hopefully to be released on the 4th of February

Your legs seem to be moving on their own, feet hitting the ground at a steady and fast pace, you don’t look back and can’t seem to see what lies ahead but still you run until your lungs burn, run until the bitter metallic taste is at the back of your throat where bile threatens to rise. You run until finally your legs collapse, knees hitting the ground, grazing them and it’s the slight sting of the sediment seeping into the cuts that stop you from passing out. You’re not sure how far you’ve ran or how long you’ve been running, you don’t know where you're running to but you have to escape. Escape the life they’ve laid out for you, the one they’ve planned without your input, you can’t live a life where everything is set out, where everything is expected and perfect. A life where you’d get married at 18 to a stranger who was of a worthy social class, attend formal lunches with the wives of your husband’s work colleagues and host dinner parties and occasionally large balls in a manor that always felt empty no matter how many paintings you bought to hang on the never ending amount of walls, no matter how many more bookshelves you tried to fit into one room, a place that you’ll always hate. Then to have children by 20, as many boys as possible of course to then not have any say in their upbringing and watch nurses tend to them, your husband educate them and then watch them get married, meet your grandchildren and when you’ve reached a respectable age, death will meet you in your sleep and you’ll be mourned and then forgotten. A life filled with regret, a constant numbness, no fulfillment and no meaning. 

You saw your mum live that life, a smile that never quite reached her eyes, always plastered on at any given moment as she walked around the large hall with a glass of nothing but champagne in hand greeting the hundreds of guests that you were never able to comprehend how she managed to remember them all. She never spoke unless spoken to, never put in any input and always obeyed your father even when you could see the frustration bubble up inside her as her eyes glinted and her jaws tightened with the urge to say something. She would buy gifts upon gifts and shower you in expensive luxuries, spoil you in riches as a form of love and yet it always held another meaning behind it. There was a slight sadness in her eyes as she passed a gift every birthday,christmas and any other reason she found, almost as if she was saying sorry for the life you were going to live and how she’d use these moments as blackmail for when that time came. You’d overhear her quiet sobs when you would sneak around the house late at night, read letters she received from someone you didn’t know and how they wished for her life to get better and for her to find happiness in a world where happiness didn’t exist. You saw your mother cry when your father died, eyes bloodshot red in fear rather than grief. Her life was now uncertain and that's when you decided that you couldn't live an empty life, regretting choices and wishing for death to come to you first.

Your father had always made sure that you would receive a proper education, one where you'd read hours upon hours of the finest English literature, works of science and learned of the past and present politics. He always said "a lady should know about the world around her but should never venture off on her own" you hated that phrase but it was better than what you overheard your friend's father saying to her when she asked for him to explain the concept of communism, "a women does not need to busy herself with politics, for your brain could not even begin to comprehend it" he announced with his nose high up in the air as if he had just said the most inquisitive statement known to man. It baffled you how one could even think that, let alone truly believe it enough to announce it so stupidly in the open, it was obvious that women were capable of understanding concepts like politics,maths and science for you were living proof. You did better than your brother at grasping algebra, better at them with understanding Versalius's "De humani corporis fabrica" and it didn't take your friend long to understand Karl Marx's theory on communism once you explained it to her. It angered you that this was dismissed especially when your brother soon went off to universities for they had outgrown your father's enormous library and knowledge, there was no more he could teach them but there was still much to learn and you yearned to do the same but as you approached a suitable age for marriage, your everyday classes on Shakespearean English, Tudor monarchy, Greek mythology and Italian art had now been replaced with sewing, crochet, dining etiquette and the differences between napkins, white laced ones for formal lunches,gold embroidery for important dinners and regular silk for everyday use, you'd recite to your mother and the many maids who were on standby.

You've left that world now, left the bustling streets of industrialised London where a black smog always hung around the air and the smell of burnt rubber that stung your nose, you always hated both. Though you grew up in a large estate where there seemed to be a never ending amount of land on the outskirts of London, you never were allowed out to explore. Only allowed out with your mother to pick out fabrics in the markets, surrounded by military men that guarded the general's wife and daughter but now you were alone, no guards, no mother and no black smog to block your view of what lies ahead, only the sun and the ocean sky, clear of clouds as you breathe in fresh air that cleanses your lungs from the toxins that hang in the city air, surrounded by vibrant lavenders that arrive with a strong, sweet smell of pollen which you welcome to replace the bitter rubber your sense of smell only seems to know. You close your eyes and bask in the warmth of late August , the sun gleaming down on you, rays striking against your skin with the wind between the strands of your hair, blowing the lavenders and they slightly tickle your arms. You’re not sure how long you were in your euphoric trance but you weren't ready to leave yet when the dark shadow was casted over you. 

Your eyes lazily open and beauty lies ahead, the sun gleaming behind him, lights him on flames and he burns with a presence so strong you can see it as his aura swirls around you, engulfing you. His features,strong and yet his eyes are soft and even as he's turned away from the sun they sparkle infinitely as they hold the brightest stars, his stare pierces through you and it makes your gut clench as you feel small under his gaze but you don't turn away, daring him to continue staring down on you, well that's what you tell yourself as you can't help but get lost in the beauty of his eyes. His face wears a worried expression, his hand out forwards for you to take and place in his and it takes you a while to realise he's trying to help you up, even longer to comprehend the words that leave his mouth, as you just watch his cherry red lips move. You're dazed and for the first time you're not thinking straight, your legs won't move to carry you back up onto your feet but your hand instinctively moves towards him and your own mouth gapes open as it does, and again he repeats himself emphasising the words as his eyes widen further “are you okay?” you stare blankly at him, no response until you feel the burning sensation of his hand in yours. A heat that sends shocks through every nerve, it runs through your bloodstream lighting you on fire and as if you were burnt you pull back, shaking off the dizzy spell you rise to your feet, your body finally responding to your screaming brain. A sense of relief washes over you as the fear of losing your mind slowly seeps out as the haze in your mind clears, until your eyes meet his again. “Really y/n, not for a boy” you cry out in your head as your mind seems to be lost in awe looking at him.

You shuffle uncomfortably and it’s just now you realise how much of a mess you look as the embodiment of beauty’s eyes fall down. Your expensive dress torn up, what was once a full sangria and silver ball gown was now rags that wrapped around you with the bottom half missing as it stopped just above your knees, an uneven hem due to the rough ripping which took all of your strength, the white net underneath was visibly stained a brownish yellow, the cuts on your knee not being the only thing the dirt seeped into  but his eyes don’t even seem to stop there, they didn't even seem to notice, only meeting a piece of paper that lied on the floor. He reaches down for it, his eyebrows perk up slightly before handing it back to you.“You dropped this” he avoids eye contact, continuing to stare down, his hand abruptly extends out in front of him and he clears his throat, adding to the excruciating awkwardness between you and you wince at the sudden sound. “Oh thank you..” you can hear your voice waver and crack and for the first time in your life, your voice isn’t confident, seems like a day full of firsts, your mother would’ve been proud if she saw you acting like this, like a lady she would have put it. Quite, reserved but really it was just a suffocating stiffness that lingered in the air. 

“Jisung” he completes your sentence, a small, shy smile appears on his face as his eyes look at everything but you, the letter still in his grasp he shakes his hand at you slightly urging you to take it. Your fingers brush past his ever so slightly as you take the letter back into your possession, a spark is sent through you and your fingers twitch, as if wanting more but you stop them from moving any further, your eyes slightly widen as you catch yourself falling so easily and if Jisung catches the weird expressions on your face, he chooses to ignore them not saying anything. “You are not from around here, are you?” His voice is light and airy as he speaks softly, as if you were made of glass and any harsh tone could break you, you can’t tell if it’s because of the immense awkwardness or because of the pity he must feel seeing you in such a state. You hope it’s the former and decide that’s what it is, when he starts playing with the edges of his white shirt.

“No I live in London” the words die as soon as they leave your mouth, you used to live in London, you don’t anymore. This only adds to Jisung’s awkwardness and it reminds you no matter how beautiful he is, he’s only just a boy who’s probably around your age. So you smile at him, letting out a small breathy laugh in hopes of lightening the mood, it works as he visibly unstiffens. “Used to” Jisung doesn’t press on the matter any further, doesn’t ask anymore questions, just nods. The unsettling atmosphere sets in once again and your incapability of standing in silence for more than a second, you clear your throat "do you know where this address is?" your tone light and airy, you sound almost clueless and it’s now you realise the true meaning behind every etiquette class, the role of the women is the domestic war, the war on power. For one to rise they must make powerful allies and that’s what this voice is for, to obtain the power of a man and trick them into helping you; so you're glad when Jisung takes the letter back into his grasp and examines the writing at the front, it’s worked. 

“I’ll show you the way” and you nod with a slight smile as a thank you, Jisung leads the way and you follow soon behind, with his face no longer in my sight you can finally observe the rest of him. Judging by his height and build, seems like he comes from a well off family. Though there wasn’t a day you felt hungry, you weren’t blind to the outside world no matter how hard your parents tried to shelter you from it. The world is living off rations but the wealthy still have access to more, Jisung must have some sought of status or most likely works for a household with high status considering it seemed like he was running errands, why else would he be in a field full of lavenders and it’s only reinforced by the fine silk that flows as wind rushes past you. Somewhat similar to the material that makes up your gown, or what’s left of it, it’s an expensive material imported from colonies in the empire. He walks with no flaw and so you guess he didn’t serve in the war, meaning he has to be around your age; this new life is exciting and scary, you’re not sure what you want yet but you certainly wouldn’t mind if the boy in the lavender field stuck around for a while. 

#neothestars #neowriters #neowritingsnet #nctcreations #nct #nct dream #nct 127 #nct 2020 #jisung #nct dream jisung #nct fic #nct fluff #jisung fluff #jisung x you #jisung x y/n #jisung x reader #loml jisung #teaser #lavender fields

[fuzzballsheltiepants]

Andreil at a baseball game

This prompt made me chuckle, given Neil’s disdain for baseball.  Hope you enjoy this bit of fluff!

“I’m being punished, aren’t I.”  

Neil’s arms were crossed and his eyes were narrowed, and Andrew struggled to keep his face straight.  “Yes.”

“Ugh.”  Neil cast another glare in the direction of the stadium rising up in front of them.  “I didn’t mean to do it.  I can take her back, if you want.  It was just…she was looking at me with those eyes, you know?”

Andrew did know; Neil was looking at him with those same piteous eyes, just as he had a week ago when he had brought home yet another hard-luck kitten.  This made four, with fifteen legs and seven eyes and three tails between them, and Andrew had warned him after the last one what would happen.  Neil knew Andrew always kept his word.

Besides, it wasn’t like Neil would actually take the thing back.  When they had left the little tripod beast had been asleep in Andrew’s boot and Neil had gushed and taken seventeen photos with his goddamn phone before Andrew had shoved him out the door.

“You know the deal, junkie.  Add a cat, go to a baseball game.  Add two, and it’s season tickets.”  It was the only recourse Andrew had at this point, short of homicide.

By some gift of a minor deity they made it into the stadium and to their seats without being recognized.  Once Neil was slumped in his seat like a sullen toddler, Andrew left in search of alcohol.  At least this park had semi-decent beer; he ordered a comically overpriced ‘76 and a miniature plastic baseball cap heaped with moose-tracks ice cream and headed back towards his seat.

As he came down the steps he realized there was a strange hubbub down in their section.  A strange, Neil-related hubbub.  Of fucking course.  A cluster of college-age kids were all gathered around a flustered Neil, waving programs in his face for him to sign.  

“But I don’t even play baseball,” he was protesting when Andrew made his way into their row.  He was fully prepared to dump his twelve dollar beer on someone’s head if necessary, but it turned out conspicuously stepping on people’s feet and pretending you didn’t notice was a highly effective method of getting them out of your way.  Who knew?

Neil blinked up at him sheepishly.  “They’re, uh, fans.”

Andrew gave him his best “No shit” look, and Neil grinned when one of the fans squealed as they recognized Andrew.  

“Oh my god.  Oh my god, you’re Andrew Minyard.  You’re like my brother’s favorite player!  He has a fathead of you up on his wall!”

Neil snorted; the girl continued to gush despite Andrew’s flattest stare until her friends tugged her away.  “Well, now you know why they made you pose for that,” Neil said with sweet venom.  “It was all so one teenage boy could have a life-sized vinyl version of you forever on his bedroom wall.”

“Thanks.  That’s not fucking creepy or anything.”

It was already the bottom of the first inning and Neil hadn’t so much as glanced in the direction of the field.  They were close enough to see the sweat on the batters’ faces as they headed for first base, not that Neil appreciated the good seats.  Andrew wondered if it still counted as punishment if Neil succeeded in getting through all nine innings without watching a pitch.  Probably, judging by the restless jiggling of one long leg.  

Andrew finished his ice cream and sipped his beer, ignoring the twitching coming from the seat next to him.  Vendors wandered up and down the steps, and Neil bought himself a hot dog and onion rings, the latter of which Andrew mooched half of before he even noticed.  

By the top of the fourth, Neil had started to watch despite himself, the junkie.  At the bottom of the fifth, he leaned over.  “Fastball.”

Andrew studied the way the pitcher was eyeing the catcher, the angle of his shoulder, the stance of his feet.  “Curve.”

“Five bucks?”

“You’re on.”

By the seventh inning stretch, Andrew was twenty dollars richer and celebrated by escaping the off-key singing that reverberated through the stadium to get another beer.  This time he returned to find his idiot arguing with a hard-core baseball fan from the row in front over whether replay was killing the sport.  Neil had the glow in his eyes and flush across his cheeks that he got when he was fighting just for the sheer love of being difficult, and Andrew wanted to drag him out of there, if only to find a dark corner and kiss him senseless.  He wasn’t even paying attention to what Neil was saying, just the way he lit up and laughed at the response he got.

Play resumed, and this time it was Andrew having trouble concentrating on the game.  It was impossible.  Neil was impossible, with the sun highlighting the curve of his cheek, shooting gold through the flame of his hair.  He glanced at Andrew, the corner of his mouth quirking up and promising trouble later.  With a herculean effort, Andrew dragged his eyes back to the field; if his thoughts were racing ahead to newfound plans for how they would spend the rest of their evening, nobody needed to know.

The game ended with a strikeout from the young relief pitcher.  The roar from the crowd had Neil joining in, swept away in the noise and almost palpable joy that rippled through the stadium.  Andrew remained in his seat as his junkie leaped to his feet, silently shaking his head at how spectacularly his plan had gone awry.  

“That wasn’t so bad,” Neil said once they were back in the merciful air conditioning of the Maserati.  

“I’ll have to think up a different deterrent.”

The smile Neil shot him with was painful in its beauty.  “You know Lady Whiskerton has a brother.”

“You are not naming it that.”

“Too late.”  Neil caught Andrew’s hand where it rested on the gear shift and brought his palm to his lips.  “You’re stuck with us.”

A thousand acid retorts marched through Andrew’s brain only to die on his tongue.  He had been trapped in flypaper before, knew the sticky helplessness of it.  This was different; this was a plant turning to the sun.  It was warmth, and strength, and the slow sure deepening of roots through rocky soil.  This was every dark corner and recess being illuminated, every demon exposed by the sanitizing light, and saying yes anyway.  It was the opposite of stuck.

“You’re an idiot,” he said, keeping his voice as flat as possible.  But Neil—damn him, Neil was fluent in Andrew as he was in everything else.  He heard the truth behind the words, and the look he turned on Andrew was preposterously beautiful.

“Shut up.”

“I didn’t say anything.”

“You’re thinking at me too loudly.”

Neil laughed, bright and warm. Andrew could bask in the sound.  “You can hear what I’m thinking?”

Andrew could; after all, he was good at languages too.  And it was the same as the thought currently taking root in his own chest.  The words echoed through the car, unspoken but not unheard, as Andrew steered them towards home.

#aftg #all for the game #neil josten #andrew minyard #tfc #the foxhole court #drabble #my writing #andreil #baseball

[optimisticvirtuoso]

Incandescence

For @artsymeeshee !!! Happy birthday fren <3 <3 Summary: Ford was tired of that boat, looming over him every time he visited the beach since... well.

He was going to rid himself of it, once and for all.

You can't move forward when you're being dragged into the past.

AO3 Link

He had always found comfort in the smell of fire smoke, regardless of the fact that he had no positive memories associated with it. The lingering scent of burning wood could always lull him to sleep when he was having difficulty, but he found that the acrid smoke burned his nostrils when he was standing close to the source of it.

The box of matches hardly felt any different in his pocket physically. It was light and small enough that he didn't notice anything too out of the ordinary as opposed to the familiar feeling of having empty pockets. His mind was hyper-aware of the small object, however, and as he watched the flames build and devour the dry, old wood, it seemed to burn a hole through the denim.

There was a word for the bitter feeling in his chest right now, but he certainly didn't care to remember it. There were several words, actually, but he didn't want to place much thought into those either. Every second dragged by like cold molasses, yet seemed to rip past him and leave him dizzy.

The fire started out small, as he didn’t have any alcohol or gasoline at his disposal to speed up the conflagration. It didn't take long for it to build, regardless of the lack of flammable fluid. The night was fairly warm and dry for a beach town like Glass Shard, and the wood hadn't been touched by water in at least a month. The fire crawled across the planks easily and efficiently, destroying the many months' worth of construction that he and his brother partner had dedicated to it.

The golden light from the fire grew brighter and brighter, the temperature climbing higher and higher until he had to step back from the flames, squinting against the brightness. He watched his childhood project burn for only a few seconds longer before he couldn't stand it anymore. He did his best to leave any negative feelings he had about starting the blaze in the space he was putting between himself and the boat, letting everything he left unsaid to hang in the air.

He was approximately 100 yards away when he heard some sort of odd noise. It wasn't particularly high pitched and piercing, but some quality of it made the hair on the back of his neck stand up. It almost sounded like screaming, but that would make no logical sense. Nobody was around that he could see, and no sign of anyone's having been there before him. It was easy to dismiss the disconcerting sounds as nothing more than the wood creaking and groaning, beginning to become unable to bear its own weight anymore.

It was easy, until he rounded the corner of a 24/7 convenience store on his way back to the pawnshop and found himself staring at his brother's Stanley's car.

Ford had read all about fight-or-flight responses in several books pertaining to psychology, as well as anatomy and physiology. He understood the process step-by-step, knew exactly which chemicals and hormones went where, and that everything happened in the span of a few seconds. Logically, he could take this apart to easily understood pieces. He was familiar enough with the feeling of epinephrine flowing through him to recognize it and deal with it. What he couldn't explain was the gut-wrenching feeling that made every part of him freeze in place, only to dash back around the corner and stare at the flaming wreckage of the Stan O'War.

He didn't need to look into the store to know that Stanley wasn't in there. He knew where his twin was, and with a sickening tug in his stomach, he realized he had dismissed screams of torture as groaning wood. He stared at the inferno on the beach for a handful of seconds longer before he regained control of his legs and he was dashing toward the doors of the store, flinging them open and startling the half-asleep cashier. Ford was at the counter before they could say anything.

"Call 911," he breathed, "fire, beach, brother, burning-"

He didn't need to say anything else, as the cashier was already surging toward the phone, but he continued to babble, his mind racing. His hands trembled under the stress, and he snatched an empty bucket from the corner near the bathrooms and sprinted out of the store. He would have to apologize for property theft later.

His heart pounded in his ears as his feet slapped against the pavement, taking him closer and closer to the shore. He stumbled as the road gave way to sand, but he righted himself and kept at it. The flames were as bright and hot as they were when he had left, lighting up his left side and casting harsh shadows across his face as he made a beeline for the shore.

Normally, Ford was not one to enjoy getting wet unless he had planned on it. This included showers, swimming, rain, and fire alarms, amongst other things. Now, however, as he charged straight into the ocean, he couldn't care less about the water soaking his shoes and legs. He filled the bucket with water and didn't hesitate in splashing it on the remnants of the boat. Steam and smoke erupted from the places that the water touched, but ultimately it didn't make much of a dent in the fire. Desperately, he repeated his actions, hoping against hope that his brother was alright.

It was around the eighth time that Ford refilled his bucket when a crack rang out over the crackling of the wood and his own frantic breath. His heart dropped and chills ran across his spine as he whirled around to look at the boat. The weight of the mast had proved to be too much for the deck, and it collapsed with a sickening groan.

Faintly, he registered the sound of sirens in the distance, but all he could truly focus on was the wreckage in front of him. The teen sprinted into the fire, which was tamer than it initially was, immediately digging through the fallen lumber in search of the person he knew laid beneath. The wood scorched his hands and the flames bit at him, making him cry out, but he continued on, praying that he hadn't been too late.

The sirens were deafening now in comparison to earlier, and when various voices grew louder, closer, Ford almost wanted to cry with relief. For all the knowledge that he possessed, he didn't know how to properly help Stanley. Tears streamed down his face from both physical pain and desperation. Hands started grabbing at his shirt, seizing his limbs, and panic struck him like a spear to the chest. He fought for all he was worth when they began to drag him away from the fire. He knew he was hysterical, screaming, begging for them to let him go, his brother needed him, but he found that he didn't particularly care. For all the heaving sobs he was giving, he wasn't getting air. Everything was swimming and distorted.

Ford saw the beginnings of a fire truck pull onto the beach before his knees buckled and everything went black.

-=oOo=-

Stanford awoke in stages. Feelings began to trickle back to him, one by one, each new experience becoming slightly more overwhelming. The first thing that he noticed was deep-set exhaustion, weighing his body down and clouding his mind. The second thing was the chilliness of the room, making him want to shiver and burrow under the scratchy blankets that covered him up to his waist. Then he was aware of the incessant beeping of what had to be a heart monitor. The awareness of these separate things floated around in his mind for a good few seconds before everything clicked together.

He was in a hospital. He was in a hospital and he was trying to-

What was he trying to do?

Ford shifted a little bit and tried to ease his eyes open. It was a painfully slow process, having to adjust to the lights right above him, but eventually, he was able to look around with no issues.

The room he was in was bland, not like he was expecting anything else out of a hospital. The walls were cream in color, with a monitor on the left-side wall. The few accents of the room were done in white, and the door to the room was left open by whoever had been in there last. Medical personnel walked past the doorway, none of them paying him any attention. He went to pick at the blanket but paused when a dull ache shot through his hands. A glance revealed that crisp, white bandages completely covered his hands and half of his forearms.

Everything clicked. It was like someone unlocked an overflowing closet, memories and experiences coming back to him all at once, making his stomach drop and his chest to pang with anxiety. The gasoline, the matches, his muted anger as he walked away. The horror of finding the car, the mismatched memory of the convenience store, the bucket, digging through the embers for-

Stanley.

Was he okay? Did he get to him in time? Was he severely overreacting and assuming, and he wasn't even in the boat? Moses, that would be embarrassing. But what if he really was in the boat? What if he was-

The familiar sound of clicking heels temporarily brought him out of his thoughts. The only thing that Ford found more familiar than the sound itself was the quickness of the gait, that rushed I-have-somewhere-to-be quality to it. As the sound drew closer, his suspicions were confirmed when his mother entered the room, a paper coffee cup in her hand.

She was a mess, compared to how she normally looked. Her dark hair was frizzy and hastily put up, and her red-rimmed, puffy eyes were framed by slightly smeared makeup. The gold jewelry that she normally wore was absent. Her despondent face brightened slightly at seeing Ford awake, and she dragged a chair over to his bedside, perching gently on it. She reached as if she were going to take his hand, but thought better of it and retracted her arm, letting it sit in her lap.

"Good to see you awake, baby," she whispered, her voice soft and subdued. She wouldn't meet his gaze, instead fixing it on the manicured hands.

"How long was I out?" His voice was hoarse from screaming and then disuse. Caryn offered some of her coffee to him but he refused it gently.

"Hours, but the doctors said it was just regular sleep. I was worried anyway, you know your old ma." She chuckled, but there was no mirth in it.

"...Ma?"

"Yeah, sweetie?"

"Is Stanley alright?"

A beat passed, and Ford realized that he just said his brother's name for the first time since he got kicked out. Caryn looked like she was ready to cry (again, if her face earlier was anything to go by) and he didn't know what to do about it. He hadn't seen his mother cry since he was a little kid.

"Stanley, he's... there was..."

Don't let it be true.

"Ma?" His voice shook.

"There was hardly anything left of him," she whispered, and the tears that had welled up in her eyes spilled down her cheeks. A broken sob left her before she spoke again. "Stanley- oh, my little free-spirit Stanley..."

Stanford sat there in shock, his mind reeling. It can't be true. It can't. He was just fine two weeks ago. He couldn't be gone. Looking at his crying mother, though, he knew that she wasn't lying. Not even she could fake this kind of grieving.

What had he done? This was his fault. If he had just taken his anger out any other way, this wouldn't have happened. If he had decided to go look for his brother before doing anything rash, this wouldn't have happened. If he had just stuck up for Stanley, or talked to him calmly and rationally about his experiment, then this wouldn't have happened. His brother wouldn't be dead. He would be alive somewhere, doing Moses-knows-what with himself, but at least he would be alive, and Ford wouldn't be a murderer.

Murderer. The word stuck with him like sand stuck to their wet feet when they played on the beach together. He was a murderer, even though it was accidental. He was the one causing his mother this much pain. He was the reason Stanley was dead.

His chest was heavy with the weight of his guilt, and his heart panged emptily as he shuddered with a sob. He didn't care how pathetic it made him, crying over something that was his fault, or really just crying in general. All Ford could focus on was the oppressive feeling of shame and self-hatred pinning him to the hospital bed.

He cried for himself, because of his guilt, remorse, and selfishness. He cried for his mother, who had to lose the same son twice in a month, only in different ways. He cried for his father, who didn't have the morality or compassion to realize the mistakes he was making. He cried for the future, however dimmer and duller it was now than before.

But most importantly, he cried for his twin, who had too rough of a life in Glass Shard Beach, who grew up being compared to himself instead of being allowed to be his own person, who didn't get the chance to live his life. For Stanley, who's life really was too short.

Notes: I am unapologetic. Happy birthday angst, friend! <3

#ramblingwriter #angst #stangst #heavy angst #tw: fire #tw: major character death #tw: arson #yeah im back at it again with a 2k fic #that took me a month and a half to write #fight me #i need help tagging this #enjoy your angst #love you fren #<3 <3 #please dont kill me? #<3??

[ironforgedrp]

♛   ATTENTION THOSE IN SUNSPEAR !

     a plot point, occurring within the midsummer ball —

           as those at the ball begin to CAST THEIR VOTES FOR THE SUN GOD & SUN GODDESS COMPETITION at the midsummer ball, things are beginning to… — - happen whilst everyone is enjoying and revelling in the merriment.

     distracted by the merriments and her recent entry into the sun goddess competition, MORRA ( @captain-morra ) is unaware of the chaos —     ... right up until the moment panicked young girl grabs the ornate fabric of her dress sleeve and yanks it so hard that the riiiiiiip is heard loudly, beads scattering across the ground.  before the greyjoy woman has time to gather her anger, the wide-eyed and panicking cinder smudged girl hurriedly explains that the deck of the lady greyjoy’s ship is ablaze; sails eaten by fire and her crew scrambling out of their celebratory state to save the vessel before it is destroyed.   without many words exchanged, she gathers her skirts around her and roughly knots the dress out of the way as she takes off running to the utter shock of the surrounding nobles and royals.    she disappears towards the docks, with four of her best crewmen on her heels as the red-orange hue of the flames begin to push upwards into the night sky.

       after being told of lysella's robbery, NICHOLAS ( @nicholaslannister ) has a growing suspicion the man from the tavern earlier that night might have found a way into the keep and located his sister at the opportune time —     or maybe he simply wished to believe it, so he could get revenge over whoever had robbed his kin, left a mark on her skin and taken away her priced possession, his own mother's necklace.   filled with fury, the lord of casterly rock stormed out of the castle, the servants he passed quickly got out of his way as they marked his furious expression.    this time the man would be receiving his dues, there would be no cedric tyrell to step in and control the lion’s roiling anger.

    DOWN ON THE DOCKS — morra.

       MORRA / HANNAH:  you arrive, exhausted and breathless from running to the docks of sunspear, skidding in horror in the sand with shoes long gone as you behold the shadow tide wrapped in flames and plumes of black, acrid smoke. you know the smell of burning wood, you’ve seen it many times before but this smell is mixed with the smell of pitch. you know then that this is an intentional fire. luckily, the crew are working hard and have smothered most of the fire down but the heat from the charred wood is still strong, and the damage is clear. luckily, the hull is not breached and the ship is in no danger of taking on water but the shadow tide is grounded until further notice.  it takes another hour of work and countless buckets of water before it’s safe to board again, at which time the crew all fan out to inspect the extent of the damage.  the first thing that comes to your mind is the confidential documents and correspondence between you and your eldest brother, the lord reaper of pyke detailing the new changes to the iron fleet and the growing number of new vessels that have joined the growing fleet in the last two years since your father passed. arriving at your captains cabin you find, to you utter relief, that the fire only licked at the door and the solid wood and iron lock is still in tact, un-breached. you breathe a sigh of relief as a call from your loyal men pulls your attention, the crew headcount is complete: one member’s body has been found floating in the dark waters - having jumped to save himself from the flames but perished, several have burns to their hands and arms but nothing life threatening... however a long-time loyal member of the shadow tide’s crew, RED HARRAS, a bastard sailor from old wyk, is the only man unaccounted for.  as the last man aboard the ship on patrol duty you order a stern to bow sweep of the smouldering, blackened ship in search and then you move to inspect your chambers, a worrying feeling settling in your stomach.

your suspicions are proven right when you find the back window of your captains quarters smashed in and wooden boxes broken open: clothes, shoes, smashed wine bottles staining fabrics, bedding ripped apart, papers obviously strewn about, trod on and it is clear someone has been searching viciously through your belongings. you pour over the documents frantically, hoping the confidential ones detailing the fleets growth aren’t gone —  but deep down, you know that they aren’t to be located.  after the search of the ship, red harras is nowhere to be found... and a lifeboat is found to be missing along with some rations and a sick feeling of potential betrayal sinks into your stomach. that doesn’t end the chaos of the evening, when your first mate swears loudly, angrily and yells ‘captain!!’ — pulling you from your rooms, though you pause to lock the door behind you. rough bristled deck-brushes, hard work and fresh, sea water have revealed the shocking scorch pattern of the fires origins... and clear as day in the ruined wood of the bow’s deck is the thick outline of a seven-pointed star: the holy sigil of the faith of the seven. the followers of the drowned gods are riotous, an attack on the religion of the iron isles is beyond what was expected and the malcontent spreads quicker than the fire did.

LIST OF DAMAGE TO ‘THE SHADOW TIDE’: discovered after the fire is fully extinguished and morra, with the help of her crew, has taken complete stock of the damage over a few hours.

the flames have destroyed the fabric of all sails completely

the main mast is broken; snapped in half and charcoal red-black

the other masts are also broken, burned away into blackened toothpicks

the whole deck is charred various shades of black, covered in ash and soaked wet from the effort of the crew

the railings all around the bow are compromised and burned

the hull is charred but not breached

the bow-section of the deck is the most damaged, and clearly where the fire was started and burned hottest

the back window the captains quarters has been smashed inwards

MISSING:

a lifeboat, it appears to have been cut free

a half-sword, chainmail, rations of food, wine and water

confidential documents detailing the true numbers in the iron fleet (only morra knows of this)

pouch of gold dragons from the captains quarters

TASK: 

MORRA / HANNAH: write a letter to your eldest brother the ruling lord greyjoy in first person format. strictly informing him of what has happened, the potential traitor in the crew (red harras), the missing documents and letters, ultimately asking him to join you in sunspear in the wake of the attack.

  OUTSIDE ELIA’S SMILE — nicholas.

      NICHOLAS / CHERYL:  with each step, you find your anger growing, your thirst for revenge seeming like it would be near insatiable... but then, in the darkness of the dornish evening, your feet hit a semi-solid lump near tripping over, and a choked groan leaves the ‘lump’ —  which you now realize is a man.  you look down in surprise, eyes focussing in the shadowy lamp-lit street, to see a man.  he is shirtless with blood streaming from a messy head wound, giant bruises upon his chest and abdomen, his face horribly beaten up and mangled.   your first instinct is to kneel to help, but you pause as you recognise (just) the beaten mess at your feet.  some of those bruises you know are yours from earlier... but when you were pulled away the fool had still been able to stand.

the man gasps, coughing pitifully as he struggles to breathe, but before you can decide what to do, a shrill scream assaults your ears and you instantly look up from the wheezing, likely death-bound man to see the elegant signage of ELIA’S SMILE, dorne’s famed brothel.   you lock eyes with a dark-haired woman surrounded by other prostitutes as she stares at you in horror, disgust and fear.  you open your mouth to explain but she points her trembling finger at you,   ‘lord lannister came to finish the job, he was the one who beat up my sweet ulwyck and now he's murdered him!’  the woman shrieks, sobbing as the other women wrap their arms around the woman.

then all hell seems to break loose around you.  more dornish townsfolk, drawn out by the screams and sobbing, gather around the scene with their faces contorted in rage, all seemingly condemning you as guilty.  you try to convince the hoard of dornish men and women that ulwyck is indeed still alive, but they dare not approach you, nor do they seem to believe you. shouts of ‘murderer!’ ‘foreign dog!’ only draws more attention to the scene... but then among all the hostile faces of strangers you see a face you recognise, the only one with no fury in their gaze — it’s LOREN SERRETT ( @lordlorenserrett ), your brother's master of coin.   you decide to push through the crowd, trying to keep a blank expression in front of the mob hurling insults at you. grabbing hold of loren serrett, the two of you begin to quickly make your way back to the festivities, going through the backstreets to avoid coming across any more angry locals. you are in shock and furious upon the realisation that someone has set you up to look like a brutish and corrupt lord commander. 

TASK:

NICHOLAS / CHERYL:  1x1 thread with loren serrett who had been sent by arryk to keep an eye over the lannister lion; though it looks as though loren was perhaps too late. persuade loren serrett that you were not responsible for the state of the man, that you are being set up, and try to ensure that he keeps this between the two of them. work out which one of you will be the one to inform king arryk.

OOC NOTE:

if you have been assigned a task or paired thread, (not everyone will be, it is again up to  chance!)  please do complete it as we have put a lot of energy and time into creating these and tailoring them to each character or pair. there is no word count minimum, or any conditions save for completing the task within a fortnight/14 days of it being posted.    we cannot stress this enough: it does not need to be long, the point is to have your character react to what has happened to/around them. unless you have spoken with the admins, if you don’t complete the task, or respond/reply to the paired thread it will affect your activity come the applicable check, as well as this your character will not be eligible for the next random event selection.

  while this may seem quite stern, we don’t mean it to be. though we must impress that the admin and mods put several hours of work into these posts, we know and love how you all get very enthusiastic at the idea of the random events, and we are ridiculously excited to bring them to you all, but it is very discouraging when nothing comes of the plots we post up and we have noticed this has been happening.  if you have any problems please let us know via the main blog, but in the mean time —

           THE FABLED D&D DICE OF IRONFORGED HAVE BEEN CAST …

@captain-morra / @nicholaslannister … for better or worse you have been selected!

#plot point: a marauder in the night #plot arc: dornish summit #plot drop: midsummer ball