#this stream is dissolving into pure chaos | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

kazeofthemagun · 2 years

Text

Anonymous asked the summoner:

You fight Chaos so diligently. Your war against White Cloud comes to a halt - unification, intertwined souls. Together you arc across the sky, a beautiful stream of color. Your aim is true, his blades is sharp. You impact Chaos without any hesitation, without mercy or remorse. It's not deserved. You feel victory as all that was once Chaos disperses, dissolves, fades away. The day has been won, a long journey can finally come to an end.

You lay down your head, weary warrior. For the first time no blue flowers bloom, not a single nightmare finds you. Your limbs become restless but you realize it's only because they don't know peace. Your trigger finger aches from a lack of use and it has only been a short while since your victory. You ache, crimson curse, you ache for the violence you were made for but now there is none.Your duty is done. You find yourself fading, leaving your body. You look upon the universe you saved and you see... you see Chaos, the smallest heartbeat, out within the abyss. Between the stars that will one day provide the necessary conditions for life to grow. You see the the birth of worlds, new civilizations that have not known the horrors of Chaos. But they will. Another pulse, another heartbeat. It's alive but you're already out the door, you're already the soil you once loaded into the Magun.

You destroyed Chaos but is Chaos ever really gone? All that you did, all your success, it only birthed a new version. A Chaos that comes from the aftermath of war and the struggles of mortals in their attempt to rebuild. They call it a time of peace but the energies that be know better. You should have known better.

But now your story is over, isn't it? There are no Unlimited to take care of this. It's not your problem, the things that will inevitably come to pass. Even if you know the sorrows and trials the future holds. All that you have done is no different from the tales you once heard. You were nothing but a character who struggled, a character who thought he won - only for the author to undo everything in the sequel.

We're all stories in the end, Hunter of Chaos. Reduced to nothing but words that eventually fade, like memories. Dispersing like sand in the wind.

Stories Once Told

“Yes. From his very first days, he was nothing but a story. Written in Temple doctrine. Kiichimarichuril, crimson curse. That was all he was to them. Some pages in a book. And then he was Marduk. Another tale, another convenient name. And he was Bahamut too. And the Hunter. A prophecy walking - his ending predetermined from the very start. He was never merely himself.”

[Epilogue drabble. 3k+ words, post-series. Continuation to Escape. References Genesis-Dichotomy heavily.]

[content warnings: blood, character death, mental abuse]

It was done. It was finally done and the two warriors raised their Weapons for the last time. He could feel a sharp pain in his heart and time halted. The last thing he ever saw was his Little Moon lifeless on the ground. He did not have the time to reflect on that view before lights flickered out.

...But then, time resumed. Somehow. No, there was no possible way he could have survived -

The Hunter's eyes shot open, and he found himself standing upon what seemed to be the surface of a boundless ocean of silver. Silver was the ocean and silver were the skies, drowning the world in a single shade of silence. He recognized this place from a long time ago, before time even began to have meaning to him - to Bahamut, his life - and longer yet before it lost it. No winds stirred the water, an expanse so infinitely deep and yet he was hardly sinking. His body felt weightless, almost numb. His mind was foggy, comprehending but only barely.

...He had died, had he not? For the last time. This was.... what was this? A dream? A limbo? Mayhaps this was the hell he readily embraced - to linger forever in an empty space? To go back to where everything had begun? To that pure emptiness, before the Soil and Mist had even formed...

He tried to walk. It was more like willing his form to move forward because he could not feel his feet touching anything. Briefly, he pondered whether this was what White Cloud's hovering felt like.

....White Cloud. Seejvariil...! Was he here as well?

The Hunter's heart would have beat faster if he still had one. Blue eyes widened and a yell burst from his lips, a desperate call. And yet, no voice came. He was mute. This place enforced its silence - it had never even known the concept of sound.

....For eons they only had each other. He saw now what hell truly entailed. To separate them. Two halves of one soul, and the universe would tear them apart after everything. After all they had done it would simply take them and discard them somewhere and not even let them fade. Only linger, alone. Aware.

He fell to his knees, hand clawing at the side of his head. Silver talons, just like everything else here. He'd rake his claws over his skin and scream torment if only he could still feel his body and excavate his voice. A soul of white flame crying out in quiet agony and yet he could also feel a sense of hope. Maybe his Moon was free, after all. Would the Dark Unlimited truly wish for the Light Unlimited to stay in this very same place? In this... endlessness, forced to bear the burden of continued existence even now? Even when they had released the world from Chaos? Could they simply not rest?!

He was yelling. The ocean devoured his sound but he was still screaming. Yes, that was right. This was what he deserved for all his atrocities. Even if they had saved the universe, the blood price was too high. And yet... that sense of hope was like a light in the darkness, a ripple in the death-still seas. He could not feel the Swordsman here. Maybe he was free. Maybe he was in a better place. That was all... that mattered.

That was all that mattered now. He calmed his breathing - if it could still be called that - and noticed the rings that spread across the perfect mirror beneath.

His tears. His tears alone touched the immovable silver and stirred its waters. The ripples spread out with every drop that fell, every tortured glimmer that poured from blue eyes. His tears. He had not cried in thousands of years. What was this feeling? A desperation, a call for the truth. Please, at least tell me he's safe.

At least tell me he isn't suffering.

Eventually, the tears ran dry, and the man - and the beast - rose, gaze lifting slowly towards the hollow sky. An inkling of a feeling, a connection somewhere in the back of his soul igniting. He was not alone.

....He was not alone, and that connection was hardly Seejvariil.

A pulse from beyond the sky. From a coffin, exhumed; A heart that should never beat again. Tendrils stretching out, tasting the world after a deathly absence. The Hunter's very spirit froze to its core. Chaos was alive.

Chaos was alive. No, no, no no no nononono NO NO THIS WAS NOT SUPPOSED TO END LIKE THIS -

He ran, pointlessly and blindly and clawing at the beast beyond the sky as though a ghost could even move a feather. He ran and he screamed all his pain and madness, running until he could feel his legs, until he could almost feel them hurt. Running until what little energy he still had faded away, leaving him collapsing into indifferent water. An ocean that opened up to swallow him whole.

We're all stories in the end, Hunter of Chaos. Reduced to nothing but words that eventually fade, like memories. Dispersing like sand in the wind.

....He's never had any real agency in this. He had always been merely an illusion of change, a castle of sand against a tide of inevitability. Him and Seejvariil - from the day their old worlds fell - they were set on an impossible path. And when they finally achieved it, when they finally fulfilled their duty, after countless millenia of suffering - the universe merely spat in their faces. For all the blood, all the tears they had shed until they had ran dry as bleached bone - it told them with a sneer they had been nothing more than a story all along.

A story. Pages in a book. Words that ultimately held no meaning, because the universe did not listen.

He aspirated water. It felt cold. He recalled what it was like to drown. To go back to where it all began. Ladnajredvi, risen from the sea. And the sea had come to reclaim him and never again let him go. Mayhaps if he never broke free of its grasp, he would not have gone on to kill so many for a pointless quest. Yes, this was a fitting eternal prison. If he could not have death, he would have this.

At least what little remained of the worlds would be safe from him, even if it would never be safe from Chaos.

....

"Come on, fenlai. There is no rest for the Unlimited. I know you'll finish this. For all our sakes... Soil or otherwise. End Chaos, so that life may grow and express itself freely. Have you forgotten what our name means? Now wake up and swim for Winds' sake."

A familiar voice, a replaying memory. What weight was there to it now? What weight to the soul it belonged to? A soul long gone. Dear... Gunmetal. His friend did not see what his path had culminated in. Never once did he rest, working to fulfill the destiny laid out by the old Architects. By the Cosmos itself. Tireless, even if so thoroughly broken. And yet...

Ladnajredvi. What a long-lost name. Whose name was it...? Was it his vessel's...?

His lungs were burning but he was not dying. No, he was already dead and this was his punishment. It felt like Mist unable to spill free. A sensation he recalled from the time Wonderland linked his consciousnesses to the Swordsman's.

His lungs were burning and he could not breathe. Water was filling up the emptiness inside faster than he could process. A cold burn. Even if he wished to swim up, to gasp for breath; The shell of the broken Magun weighted him down. It was who he was, he could not escape it. Not in life, not ever. Sins were a persistent stain. Death provided no miracles, no magical escape. He should have known better.

....

"Brother, isn't it beautiful?"

Her voice reached the tall man beside her, and a head of crimson turned. The girl smiled, long hair tied into many braids moving on the gentle wind along with both their garments. Truly, it was a spectacular sight. How the sun reflected off the cerulean waves, as though the sea was one gigantic, evershifting crystal. There was a reason the Grand Blue was sometimes called the Jewel of Windaria.

Despite both their names - they had never seen the sea before. Nor the town their clan hailed from. Ladnakutri Malatuur, the city of the sea, a birthplace to their ancestors. Ancestors by spirit, anyway - neither of them came of the Ladnajredvi by blood.

And yet, ever since they took up that name, they were bound to view the great sea at least once.

...Aura looked ever so beautiful with the breeze ruffling her locks. The air smelled of salt and somewhat of fish guts but nothing could quite compare to that moment. He could feel her fingers become interlaced with his. How full of mysteries it was. The sea, reflecting sunlight like a mirror, hurting the eyes - and yet, hiding the vastest dark within.

Together, they made the sea. She was his light... the light that illuminated the shadows roiling beneath his waves. And suddenly, they were hardly as scary.

Golden Aura... he could never quite forget her name...

Save me.

“Open your eyes.”

....Chaos?

He obeyed. It was dark, so dark. And yet - was the water... red? Or were his eyes simply playing tricks? Blood. Of course it was. Somehow, he could communicate with the beast if only he wanted to. This place hardly followed the laws of physics.

"Hunter of Chaos, who is worse between us? Is it me, a force of nature, or you, who spilled an ocean's worth of blood to rebel against the universe's own perfect order?"

....Yes, I suppose we are similar, after all.

The demon's faint light seemed to smirk.

"We are both Gods of Destruction in our own ways, after all. Correction; Were. Now only I remain."

....He remained silent. He had no more say in anything anymore, after all. So he'd bear the voices. As he always had.

"....You know what you still are, though, Black Wind, Unlimited of Dark? You are a story."

Yes... he supposed he was. A story was predetermined from the start. From the very first page, the protagonist was already dead.

"You are a tragic story... a told tale... and I alone listened to it. You had been very entertaining."

Yes. From his very first days, he was nothing but a story. Written in Temple doctrine. Kiichimarichuril, crimson curse. That was all he was to them. Some pages in a book.

And then he was Marduk. Another tale, another convenient name. And he was Bahamut too. And the Hunter. A prophecy walking - his ending predetermined from the very start.

He was never merely himself.

What was a character to do when the book was put down? They still existed, frozen on a page, in limbo. Awaiting the next time the tome would be picked up and opened. Powerless, unable to take the reins of fate. Mere ink upon yellowed paper. A lesson, a teaching, their existence always for others but never themselves.

There would be no next time, no retakes. Only this deep watery crypt.

But he could be at peace here. Damned be Chaos, damned be all - he only wanted to know if he was okay. The beast could play and mangle their bodies and minds in life but it will harm them no longer in death.

"Chaos.... Is White Cloud alright..?"

Silence. A mocking silence of silver waters turned red. Of course. It was not his right to find out. Oh Black Wind, you should have known better.

The blue flowers bloomed again. Not in him, but they bloomed nonetheless. Salvation. It was not theirs to deliver. Perhaps, it was nobody's.

The Magun, gun of Destruction. The Maken, sword of Salvation. Well, they (mostly he) destroyed plenty but saved jack shit in the end. Hah. Those weeds ran deeper than that. Deeper than they could ever dream to reach.

Wingless Bahamut, you never deserved to fly, only drown. Wretched Hunter, never shall you escape your name. Forever shall it haunt you; Your duty was all you ever were, and still you failed.

You failed Aura. You failed Kupo. You failed Lou. You failed Tiamat. You failed Seejvariil.

Yes, yes he did.

"....And Seejvariil failed you."

The Hunter's eyes shot open. "No. Serpent tongue, tarnish my name but know that he never failed me. Not once."

Not once. Even when he himself failed time and time and time again he stayed. He stayed and he granted him the wings he needed to lift from his madness.

Not once did the Wolf's guiding Moon fail him. Not once did the Sun's counterpart fail to rise.

So... he could only hope.. wherever a soul of Mist went, he could fly free and never see the wildfire stirring in their absence.

Chaos chattered weakly from its faraway nest. "Oh he failed you alright. He left you here, in the Cradle's memory. Alone."

The Hunter's blue eyes merely fell closed again, serenity in his silence. He had endured Chaos' lies for so long - no more would they affect him. He would remain here, beneath the silver sea, and soon enough his spirit would sink so deep the demon itself could never reach him again.

But, ah... before the darkness rightfully took the last of his sight... to feel the light one last time.

His left hand stretched out, fingers reaching for the ever-more-distant glow. A brilliant silver light, the heartbeat of still-living stars. Even if this had all been predetermined, even if it always had been set in stone - before Chaos could erase the universe to its last, life could still live on with the time the Unlimited had bought it.

Yes... they had not lost... if there was no victory to begin with.

The light seemed to shine brighter. As though it was getting... closer? The fallen general's eyes blinked against the water, suddenly blinded. The sea shone like a jewel, casting columns of white into the darkest, coldest depths.

Isn't it beautiful?

How he wished he could have taken Seejvariil to see Malatuurese shores as well. If only doing so had not been a promise of bloodshed... They had both seen so many worlds in their lifetimes, so many seas much brighter, much wider. But... back then.. they weren't as numb and could still truly appreciate beauty.

It was the Gods' love of the boundless ocean that inspired them to seek beauty. It was the ocean world that became the Cradle of all life. The womb of blossoming emotion which eventually summoned Chaos. Where life was, Chaos persisted. He saw that long ago and almost, in complete insanity, decided to eradicate life to weed out his foe. What a fool he was. He understood it all so clearly now.

Seejvariil was sent to save this universe from him. And he succeeded. He succeeded. And for however long yet, life may still thrive. His fate? It felt deserved. Felt right... let his final rest be here, and nowhere else. The Hunter's hand slowly began to close, the last of the silver rays slipping past numbing digits.

...And then, he felt touch. Fingers interlacing with his own, and a strong arm pulling. Water, suddenly not nearly as deep, releasing his form like an uncoiling serpent. Bringing him out of his solitude like Tiamat's light did Bahamut.

Eyes blue as the sea widened, and so miserably wet he could not even tell if he had begun to cry. His other half smiled - a scene of both happiness and sadness - his soft gaze of jade meeting Kaze's own. "That is simply not true, and you know it."

Bewilderment stared through the Wind's normally steeled orbs. "Wh..."

Thoughts raced at a million miles per hour, faster than even the great Beast could have ever hoped to fly. That pure white robe, snowy hair and those green, green eyes. A tightness clenched the cavity of his hollow chest and he stifled the sobs that shook his frame. He could feel the connection again. Ignited like a brazier to ward off the dark. Chaos' taunting voices suddenly seemed so very insignificant. It snarled and screamed somewhere distant and he understood that even Chaos was afraid of loneliness. Well, now, in a world without the Unlimited, it would consume the remnants of the Cosmos, and undying it would be left for eternity. The hollow silver prison was never meant for him, after all. The fallen gunmage's gaze shifted, briefly, to the empty space behind the Cloud - the void where his spirit's vessel once rested. The Maken; It was gone. Jade greens immediately noticed the wandering of his counter's stare, knowing all to well how jarring it all must have looked. Instead, there was simply a single, quiet request.

"Take my hand, Black Wind."

The Hunter hesitated for a moment, body still frozen and disbelieving despite the tangible presence he could feel. His left hand rose, almost shyly, and a question hung within his eyes.

"No, not this one. Here."

The White Prince’s smile was the gentlest thing, chasing off all the suffering from the living world like his Sword once chased off Chaos. Chased off, not killed, but he thought... he was at peace. He looked deep into his counter’s jadelight orbs and saw that he was at peace with it all as well. So what if they had been only a story? So what if one day, there would be no living spirit left to read it? They had done all they could. They have done all that could have been done. It was thanks to them that a hundred thousand Grand Blues could still shine among the vastness of the universe, and a hundred thousand children could admire them. Living the lives the Unlimited never could. A hundred thousand souls and a hundred thousand times more - families just like them. Like Raiya-antaam, he, and Seejvariil-antaam. They were alive. Yes.

Let their story be one of happiness... for this brief moment at the end of all.

A paler hand reached for the Weapon at his side, and the man of the winds lifted the sarcophagus to meet it.

He lifted it, and gold shattered into a hundred thousand shards that rained down and the sea swallowed them all to the very last. He saw now...

Seejvariil was... his Salvation, too.

And his right hand's fingers laced with the prince's and the old Wolf wept, for his guiding Moon had found him even here. Seejvariil smiled - widely, beaming. Just like all those years ago. And Svaardzjetrorahm did as well.

...Let us go. They are waiting for us.

#two drabbles in one day? dafuq #honestly ive been writing them both for a few days now <3 #thank you thank you thank you for this beautiful ask that inspired me to write this longass reply ahah #[[ask response #[[anon #[[drabble #[[Stories Once Told #[[Shining like the Younger Moon ║ White Cloud #[[Our Antithesis ║ Chaos

2 notes · View notes

theladyofdeath · 4 years

Text

In the Bleak Midwinter {13}

A Throne of Glass Period AU: 1920s.

Summary: 2 years after Arobynn Hammel is killed by Rowan Whitethorn, Maeve has returned from Eyllwe with a vengeance. Meanwhile, Rowan is getting married, Lorcan is a father, and Lysandra is finally ready to give her heart away. There’s been peace in The Cadre’s Orynth for 2 years, but peace never lasts.

A/N: (:

All characters belong to SJM. I am no more than a fan with a plot.

**Warning: mature content - language, alcohol use, drug use, sex, murders and shit.

Links & masterlists:

Fanfic Masterlist

Ask me

The Cadre - 1920s AU {TOG}

In the Bleak Midwinter {The Cadre, Part 2}

It was a traditional gypsy funeral, honoring their people, their heritage.

Connall was placed in a wagon, surrounded by his favorite earthly possessions, and set on fire.

The others watched, still amazed that it was happening. Connall shouldn’t have been one to go. He was too loyal, too pure.

It made no sense.

Another cruel twist of fate.

As the wagon and all inside turned to ash, becoming one with the land, Fenrys found himself wondering what Connall would come back as, in his next life.

Twins are unique in the sense that they are different people, of course, yet they’re two halves of the same heart, the same soul. Could he move on, Connall, in the afterlife, and come back as a sparrow or a mountain cat or a wolf if Fenrys was not there to be reincarnated alongside him? Would he be sent to some otherworldly waiting room until Fenrys took his departure from the earth, from his current life?

How could one twin move on when the other doesn’t?

Half of Fenrys' soul had been ripped away from him, from the world, and there was nothing he could do about it.

Fenrys just wanted to know what truly happened after death, where his brother was, and if he would ever see him again.

Because the thought of anything less had his heart shattering into a million pieces.

Over and over and over again.

~~~

Three weeks after they laid Connall to rest, Rowan sat in his office, smoking a cigarette.

It was a quiet afternoon. It was the universal nap hour - Lucy, a disgruntled Lorcan, a cranky Natalia, and a pregnant Aelin.

Aedion and Lysandra had been holed up all day, Gavriel still spent most of his time hiding from Natalia, and Vaughan was still healing. Fenrys kept himself distant - reading and drinking and staring up at the moon.

It left Rowan to have a little bit of alone time during the day, even though he didn’t really like it. He used to hate being around people, but now he had to keep around them to make sure they were safe.

Although he felt like he was doing a shitty job at that.

Elide.

Connall.

The next person would be Maeve.

A part of him longed for the life he used to have. Before the estate and all that came along with it. Perhaps if he was still the little nobody from the west side of Orynth that only did the little jobs, Maeve wouldn’t think he was worth the time of day.

Everyone would be safe.

Elide and Connall would still be alive.

Rowan wouldn’t constantly be sitting on the edge of his seat, waiting for something, anything to go wrong and hating himself for all the negative thoughts and constant anxiety, but he just couldn’t help it.

And with Maeve being silent for three weeks, it only had Rowan even more paranoid.

She was waiting to strike.

He knew it.

But he just didn’t know how.

All he knew was that when she would come, he would be fucking ready.

~~~~~

Lorcan laid awake, staring at the ceiling, wondering if he would ever see the inside of his own home again. He didn’t mind the estate, and it was nice to be surrounded by so many people after the loss of Elide, but he missed his own bed, the bed that he shared with her. With an ache in his chest, he looked over at the small portrait that sat on his bedside table.

Gods, she was beautiful.

As she usually did when he was alone and was thinking about her, she appeared to him. This time, she wore an evening gown of dark blue with long, dangling diamond earrings and white gloves that went up past her elbows.

“Hello, my love,” she sang.

Lorcan didn’t say anything. He just stared at her, breathed her in, memorizing the image before she disappeared, once more.

Elide strolled around the room before meeting him where he laid on his bed. Her fingers brushed down his cheek, but he didn’t feel it, he never fucking felt it.

“Do you see Connall there?” Lorcan whispered, once she resumed her walk around the bedroom. “Wherever it is that you are?”

Elide stopped, slowly turned to where Lorcan laid and cocked her head to the side. “Connall?”

“He’s dead,” Lorcan breathed. He had told her that, though, when he saw her last. He knew he had.

“Am I dead?” she responded, her smile soft. “Why are we talking of such morbid things, my love? I came to talk about us.”

Lorcan told himself to look away from her, to look away from the figment of his imagination that was his wife, but he couldn’t. He needed to drink in her beauty, dwell in it, for just a little while.

“What about us?” he whispered, unable to help himself.

“How I love you, of course,” she said. “How I wish you were here with me.”

He shook his head, slowly. No, it was he who wished she was there with him, not the other way around. Lorcan didn’t wish for death.

At least he told himself as much.

He couldn’t.

Wouldn’t.

And yet, the ghost of his late wife held out her hand. “It doesn’t hurt. It’s so easy, so soft. Just follow the light, and it will be peaceful.”

For a moment, he truly thought his wife was holding out her hand to him, as if he could simply take her slender, pale fingers into his and he would be carried away, from one life to the next.

The life where Elide waited.

But she wasn’t.

The tips of her fingers were mere inches away from the bedside table, where his revolver sat, metal glistening in the bright light streaming through the window.

The light.

Lorcan hadn’t realized he was crying until he said, his voice soft and broken, “I love you.”

“Then come to me,” she begged.

“You’re a ghost,” he whispered.

“I am whatever you want me to be,” she promised. “Our love remains, even with this distance between us. Imagine how lovely it would be without such distance.”

It took every ounce of his being, but Lorcan closed his eyes and wept in the silence of the estate.

~~~

Lorcan was the last one into the dining room, but Rowan didn’t chastise him for being five minutes late. Instead, he looked around the table at the Cadre and flicked the ash from his cigarette.

He wasn’t sure where to begin, he never was. A greeting seemed pointless on normal days, during normal times, but now, when tensions were high, greetings seemed offensive.

What was the point of small talk when loved ones had died and their world was dissolving into chaos?

“People are getting nervous.” Rowan began, after another long drag from his cigarette. Gavriel nodded, slowly, while Vaughan watched Fenrys, wearily, as the young lad sat slumped in his chair, cap pulled down far over his eyes. Aedion was there, too, sitting next to Lorcan, who was playing with his lighter.

When it was clear that no one would be asking any questions, Rowan continued. “We’ve disappeared for two months, and people are starting to ask questions. So, I suggest we host a charity event. Here.”

The room went silent.

Then, it was Lorcan who said, “Don’t fucking act like you care about the people of Orynth. You’re trying to set a fucking trap for Maeve.”

Rowan remained silent at the head of the table.

Lorcan scoffed as he shook his head. “You’re insane. You would willingly be letting her into-.”

“The event guests will come by invitation only,” Rowan interrupted, tired of the protests even though they’d just begun. “The only people inside would have passed through a security checkpoint. Everyone inside will remain safe. We haven’t left this house in three weeks, which is why I assume Maeve has been silent. If we host an event, people will be here, cars and carriages, and Maeve can slip onto the lands with her men, waiting for one of us to step outdoors, no doubt. But Rhoe and his men,” Rowan said, nodding toward Aedion, “will be hunting them down, one by one, already hiding before Maeve’s men step onto the land. Ready. That way, we kill them off, while also keeping our image in the public eye.”

“The public eye?” Lorcan’s hostility continued.

“Yes,” Rowan spat, through gritted teeth. “Like it or not, the people of Orynth have given us our success within the last few years. We lose their interest, their trust, and we will be nothing once again.”

“And where has it gotten us?” Lorcan asked, shaking his head as he stared at the long, sleek cherrywood table. “Rich and lonely.”

Rowan cleared his throat. “The event will take place next Friday. I’ve already sent out invitations. We’ll auction shit off, all proceeds will go to the new library building.”

He slipped his cigarette between his lips and pushed back his chair before rising to his feet. As he began his exit, Lorcan said, “What’s the point of these fucking meetings if you’re just going to decide shit on your own?”

Rowan froze and the room went silent, once more. With his hands shoved into his pockets, the cigarette hanging loosely from his lips, Rowan turned to meet Lorcan’s hard gaze. In a quiet, cool, steady voice, Rowan said, “So you’ll be ready.”

~~~

When Aedion made it back into his bedroom, Lysandra was out on the balcony, her elbows leaned onto the railing as her dark hair blew in the cool breeze. He met her there, standing beside her, his elbow brushing hers.

“How’d it go?” Lysandra asked. As always, she was invited to the meeting, should have been there, according to Rowan, but she needed a break from the negativity.

Aedion didn’t blame her.

He didn’t answer her question, though, only reached across the short distance between them and took her hand into his.

“I’ll let you know after I process the information.”

Lysandra huffed a humorless laugh and nodded, squeezing his hand as she did so. “Fair enough.”

He snuck a glance at her, at the way the sunlight hit her emerald eyes just right, making them glitter, shine, captivating him. She was so incredibly beautiful, so perfectly lovely, and she didn’t even know it. Aedion had been in love with her for so long, since he was no more than just a child. It had taken him years to gain her love in return, years that he waited patiently for, years that he would wait patiently for all over again.

“You’re staring,” she said, although her eyes never left the vast landscape beyond.

“Yes,” he agreed. “I am.”

“Why?” she asked, humored, finally turning to meet his gaze.

“Because you’re nice to look at.” Aedion grinned as Lysandra snorted. “And, because I love you.”

Lysandra’s smile faded away as she turned her gaze back to the distant hills. “Something happened in the meeting, didn’t it?”

Aedion didn’t answer. He didn’t want to talk about the meeting, didn’t want to talk about Rowan’s plan, didn’t want to think about any of it. All he wanted to think about was the incredible woman before him.

So he took her hand and tugged, and when she slowly turned to look at him, Aedion’s smile had vanished.

“What is it?” she whispered. “Aedion, you’re scaring me-.”

“Marry me,” he breathed.

Lysandra sucked in a breath, hesitating.

“I know I’ve said it a million times before,” he began, shaking his head, “but this time, I’m asking. I love you, and I have always loved you, and with all this...shit going on, Lysandra, I just…” His words trailed off, and he didn’t know how to make sense of all that he was feeling, so he just stopped trying, and repeated, “Marry me. Please.”

He hadn’t realized he’d begun to cry until Lysandra reached up with trembling fingers to wipe his tears away. Her fingers trailed down his cheek, her thumb brushing his bottom lip.

“You mean it?” she asked, green eyes shining.

“Yeah,” he breathed, then laughed because he had no idea how she could possibly think he didn’t mean it. “All I want is to be your husband. All I’ve ever wanted was to be your husband.”

A slow tear rolled down her cheek. “Why do I feel like you’re only asking me this because you fear that you’ll die?”

Aedion let out a long, slow breath. “If you marry me, Lys, I promise to endure whatever hell comes my way so that we may have a long, happy life together. Alright?”

It was a promise he knew he couldn’t make. She knew it, too, because those tears flowed freely, but she only nodded, and closed her eyes as her forehead met his. “Then marry me now, Aedion Ashryver. If that’s what will protect you, marry me now.”

Their lips met in a slow, deep, tender kiss. Aedion could only hope that they could marry soon, and that such a marriage full of so much love would be enough to protect him.

To protect them both.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

@mariamuses @garnet-29 @writer-reader-traveller @rowaelin-cressworth @space-buns-arsinoe @negativenesta @empress-ofbloodshed @the-regal-warrior @starseternalnighttriumphant @westofmoon @sammyjojaaaa @theoverlyenthusiasticwriter @carbconnoisseur @acer6437 @lorcansalvatearupmyheart @cool-ish-nerd @mynewdreamwasyou @mourning-razorlust @thespiritualrider @rowaelinforeverworld @didsomeonesayviolin @gloriouspaintercreatorbandit @yeah-just-ignore-me-thanks @queen-of-glass @the-dark-swan @http-itsrebecca @holdingon-21@babycardan @tswaney17 @mollycateoc @chemicha @bat-wing-rhys @exersize-me-i-dare-u @thespiritualrider @luna-the-little @morebooks-pls @shyvioletcat @hermajestyanna @a97girl @stardustsroses @queenofthemoon22 @alifletcher2012 @awkward-avocado-s @faerie-queen-fireheart @cwheart @lovemollywho @emilyrose111294 @nerdperson524 @sleeping-and-books @cursebreaker29 @flora-and-fae @feyrethedarklady @the-dark-swan @rowaelinforeverworld @sjmsstuff @januarystears @mis-lil-red @acourtofmoonlight @rowaelinforeverworld @courtofmaasdestruction @jjellybean @thewayshedreamed @wind-drinker @aelin-rowan-whitehorn @starseternalnighttriumphant @hurema @http-itsrebecca @lorcansalvatearupmyheart @cityofchelsea16 @januarystears @iliketoasterstrudels @lightitup-bryce @yikesitsmaddie @feyrethedarklady @i-love-all-books @keshavomit @sleeping-and-books @scarznstars @http-itsrebecca @cat5313 @moondancer-204 @booklover242 @belamoonbeam @they-call-me-cuatro @b00kworm @mu-si-ca-l @thegayerpotato @abraxos-is-toothless @keshavomit @musicdreamer003 @superspiritfestival @sailorsassley @mymultiversee @alxanxah @viviaannvu123 @mysweetvillain @theghostlyharrypooperfan @highqueenofelfhame @shyvioletcat @maastrash @the-third-me @rinad307

#tacmc itbmw #the cadre #fanfic #fanfiction #lysaedion #rowaelin #elorcan #sjm #period au #PB au

148 notes · View notes

sasorikigai · 3 years

Note

“I’ll stay with you while you’re up.” (( For MK2021 Scorpion boi ! ))

Insomnia starters || @yetremains || accepting

▬▬ι═══════ﺤ 🔥 || Stillness, the kind that seems unsettling for a minute stretches over seemingly eons of time; but it cannot truly be unsettling, because Scorpion has been waiting for it, and as raw truth and openness of his torment marinates in unwanted wakefulness as they refuse to dissolve, the wraith finds himself more fixating on details, as he continues to drift in the throes of all-consuming, heart-wrenching deaths and emptiness that follows thereafter. How Scorpion helplessly drifts, as contents of dream floods his thoughts seconds at a time, like bursts of memory, too close to reality to know what’s real. Without time to analyze their existence, his heart would race and his thoughts would spiral. He feels as if the wind has been knocked out of him as the traces of the tormented spirits become a hundred, a thousand. Echoes of captured madness that would penetrate deep in him, in his soul. Writing each line of Japanese in haunting lines, etching amaranthine spine and skeleton as he stayed hushed like the sounds of graves.

After seconds strong enough to flip his world around, the pure terror he just experienced would cause him to nearly choke, tremble and shake. How he would pant against the ground, staring blindly at his sweat-slick hands bracing him from collapse. Persistent guilt, as his heart and soul fills with the chaos of anger, sorrow, and despair, the triad of things that will eventually drain his resolve and resilience. A thought, uncomfortable and forbidden, still occurs to him. The notion of his internal sun exploding, scattered and disintegrated into nothingness; as the flowing flames burning ablaze would suffocate and drown beneath the vigorous downpour, as the brighter and stronger the flame becomes, the quicker it would go out. And what use is eternal glory when he does not live to savor it?

To reach the pinnacle of achievement one day, only for it all to end the next, and never being able to experience the little moments that make life worth living. If and when he finds himself at the crossroads, Scorpion will always yearn and desire to rid of impurities this world which has tainted him. All along the road home, even as Scorpion struggles against the thick impervious ashen dust of the windows of his soul that erode the yearning, fading bright, unravelling obsidian black. As mucked stream of thoughts pass through his entirety, Scorpion lets the soliloquy of his thoughts spill through the shared red string of fate.

“There is an emptiness to my nights and I cannot really put my finger on it, but I guess I am just trying to gain some sort of equilibrium, seeking answers. What happens to a cloud when my flame is all out of fuel? What happens to the sun when it is all out of energy? What happens to a human when it is all out of life, but he is still alive? Perhaps I am at a state where I am a means to an end,” Scorpion nevertheless keeps on pushing, keeps on breathing, and keeps on living. His strength is to turn back on the prospect of death and stagnancy with the void on his heels, as he will continue to enjoy the knowledge that he could suspend above the abyss and to find enjoyment in the strings which holds him afloat. “I find myself, in the embracing of nothingness, or utter nullity, I come to an intimate understanding of love through loss and death I have endured.”

After all, it is only by appreciating the absence of things can he appreciate anyone’s existence, including Yang’s. As he careens his head towards her, as he lays down all that torment and agony in order to stare at her in respect, reverence, and resurgent love. However still unadmitted it may be, Scorpion’s love is a hard-earned facet that will trudge hell and beyond, in-between realms and breaking even the construct of time. “Go to sleep, Yang, I would not want to burden you. Although, I would offer you to do the same while you catch some shuteye.” ▬▬ι═══════ﺤ 🔥 ||

#✗ the ineffable testimony of spawned hellfire (scorpion)#✗ hellfire fibrillating beneath his skin (iv)#(mortal kombat 2021)#(fire-threaded)#(relationships; yang)#yetremains

3 notes · View notes

monchikyun · 4 years

Text

13. Tell me something I don’t know

Connor is lying on the grass, mesmerised by the fluffy clouds drifting across the blue sky and the flowers singing their favourite songs to him. Everything feels light and inconsequential. He would think that this is nothing but a pleasant dream, but for that to be true he’d have to be a little less mechanical. There are no dreams for androids, only memories. And this particular scenario hasn’t happened to him in real life, not yet at least. He can’t remember ever feeling this carefree. The world has shown him many things in his short lifetime, but never something this beautiful and pure.

He tried to leave at first, wanted to resume his life out there where he has a chance to do something real, where he can make his existence matter. But can barely move at all, and the sweet scent in the air has intoxicated his will to do anything but let his mind float. The need to know how he got here or what series of events lead him to end up in a place that doesn’t exist has slowly faded away. It’s gotten veiled by the realisation of what it all means. He has never been so sure about anything and still, he can’t make himself believe that there isn’t some other possible explanation. After all, there are so many things he wants to experience, so many people that he can’t afford to abandon. Especially one person out there deserves to hear him say the thing they’ve been putting off so long. And now it’s too late, and the detective will never learn just how much he… not that it is important anymore. An irrelevant sentiment, given the circumstances, but forever and always true. He wishes he still had his heart somewhere near, so he could be reminded of just how much it hurts. The only thing he can do is to close his eye, that’s something that hasn’t been taken away from him. There is not much to choose from here, really. The empty everything or the hopeful nothing.

He just isn’t, for a while or for a very long time, no one can tell.

When he reopens them again, there’s someone,... something standing over him. All the faces he’s ever seen all merged in a shapeless, broken creature. It takes his hand and the pain he has been deprived of vaguely transmits from the distorted fingers right into his dissolving body and he receives the saddest smile for it.

“You’re dead, Connor.”

Its voice is the rustles of leaves on a windy day, so sharp and excruciatingly honest. Making him laugh, in desperation or relief, he doesn’t care.

“Tell me something I don’t know.”

He can’t hear his words, for they weren’t spoken. But the faces understand.

“Or you think you are. So why are you here then, if you’re no more. How can we have this conversation.”

Why does everything have to make sense? He can’t send this response out, it gets blocked by the right answer.

“Someone out there loves you, and they won’t let you move on.”

That sounds like something Gavin would do, stubbornly deny reality till there’s nothing else left. And not only him, but there are also plenty of other people who he has grown close to, maybe they too would want him back no matter how final his departure is.

And Connor? Well, he still has some unfinished business that requires his presence.

Not like he has a choice anyway, because he’s already being pulled into a stream of bright light and deposited somewhere in the chaos that is reality.

Somewhere nice, for one of the faces is here with him, the one whose owner he wished to meet most.

“You’re alive.” Happy crying, something he thought only humans had the ability to do. Turns out it’s a gift that belongs to the both of them.

The warmth emanating from their joined hands courses through him, slowly restoring all his functions.

“I couldn’t very well leave without letting you know how much I… love you.” The sob caught in his ears pierces his heart and nothing he felt back there in his personal heaven could compare to the joyous sensation of being alive.

“You think I am not aware of that already, you stupid tin can.” He’s had an inkling that might be the case.

“Should have told you before… all this.”

“No, I think this is a perfect time.” Gavin’s chuckle is translated into a myriad of colours. “I love you too, by the way.”

“I know.” There has never been a doubt in his mind.

#convinseptember #convin #this one is a bit shorter to match my patience :D #also I never get the chance to write about confessions so here it is

17 notes · View notes

monstersandmaw · 4 years

Text

Winter Solstice - Chapter One (undergoing re-work; new chpts posted on Patreon)

PLEASE NOTE THAT THIS IS AN OLD, FIRST DRAFT, AND IS CURRENTLY UNDERGOING A COMPLETE RE-WRITE. I’ve left it up in case you’re interested, and I intend to release it in full as a self-published novel. Consider this a tease/sneak peek.

Who remembers my Fae Realm? Well, here's Chapter One of a new story set in that universe, released on Winter Solstice night (it happens at 4.19am on Sunday 22nd December in the UK, so I think this counts).

I hope you enjoy it! See the links at the end for more stories set in this universe.

It’s been up on Patreon for only a couple of days (to keep it roughly Solstice-relevant), but the second part will be up on there for longer before it gets its Tumblr debut. As it was a surprise post, it was also available to all patrons, from the Shadows tier up.

Content: female character attacked in the woods by a mysterious dark fae creature, rescued by a shadowy fae with one wing, and the Prince of the Winter Court himself... Wordcount: 1678

___

On the longest night of the year, when the veil between the Mortal Realm and the Fae Realm is at its thinnest, its weakest, she, like the chump she was, found herself riding alone through the forest between the harbour town and her little village.

Foxfire danced between the trees as the sun’s last rays dissolved in the watercolour sky above her, and she tried to keep her heartbeat steady as she trod the familiar path back home with her saddlebags empty and her coin purse full. She’d finally sold the last of the pendants that she’d made from old iron horse-shoes to protect mortals against the advances of the Fae, but of course, she’d not left enough time to get home.

Her ears picked up almost nothing save for the whisper of snow falling all around her. The woods were silent and empty save for the hiss of the wind in the bare branches and the steady, creaking crunch of her horse’s hooves on the old forest track. No birds sang; no deer moved between the sentinel trunks of the ancient trees; no rabbits scampered through the thorny arcs of purple-limbed brambles.

She had just leaned forwards to pat her mare’s coarse, white mane, the dapple of her coat blending in with the winter around, when the silence of the woods exploded into chaos.

Something erupted out through the trees with such force that her ears rang from the crack like a thunderclap, and snow sprayed in a thirty foot arc, spattering against trees, and sending her horse rearing up, hooves lashing out as the mare neighed an equine scream of pure terror.

She fell from the saddle and landed heavily on her back, the wind knocked from her lungs and her vision sparkling. The heavy-set mare launched herself into a plunging gallop away through the trees, tail streaming behind like a banner, leaving her rider exposed beside the frozen, woodland stream and wondering what in the name of all the realms had just happened.

Then she heard it; a slow, deep growl, and the prowling footsteps of something creeping through the mist of disturbed snow up ahead at the point of impact. Her heart thudded in her ears, almost drowning out the sound of the creature, but as she scrambled backwards in blind panic, she saw it crawling out of the debris on all fours, turning its head this way and that, snuffing and scenting the air like a hound trying to find a trail.

Its body was as big as a bear’s, but it was skeletally thin, hairless, and with gangly arms and long, spindly fingers. Its skin was a mottled greenish grey, and as it swivelled its head around and fixed its gaze on her, she was met by two enormous, moon-like eyes, glowing with a horrid, dead light.

The scream that tore itself from her throat sounded foreign to her ears. She scrabbled to her feet and grabbed the first thing her hands fell on, which happened to be a stout, fallen branch. The creature skittered this way and that, bouncing playfully off the trunks of the trees, lunging after her like a cat at play, and then it opened its maw. Horrifically, its jaw split into four, fringe-like sections, like some hideous flower, and the inside of its mouth was blood red and filled with row upon row of needle-like teeth.

She scrambled to her feet, desperately trying to find traction in the mucky slush beneath her, and swung at the creature as it made its final dash towards her, quick as a spider and as unstoppable as a charging bull.

The branch collided with the side of its head, and it staggered and veered away, snarling and snapping that grotesque mouth and narrowing its enormous eyes. The drool that dropped from its four-fold lips hissed and sizzled as it hit the snow.

A blueish light shifted in the trees a little way off behind the monster, but she didn’t have time to call out for help as it darted for her once again.

This time it was too quick and she screamed again as its vile mouth clamped down on her neck and collarbone, sinking its myriad venomous teeth into her skin. Searing pain shot through every nerve and she dropped the stick, her fingers going almost instantly limp. Its disgusting breath stung her nose, its continuous and delighted snarling filling her ears, but she could barely breathe through the pain as it tightened its grip on her and brought its long, gnarled fingers to her waist and drew her close to its foul body.

She was going to die. It was Winter Solstice, and she was going to die in the rotting claws of some foul creature from the Fae Realm.

Her arms were clamped to her sides by its terrible grip on her, but as the long, hard handle of her belt knife dug into the inside of her wrist left, she thought vaguely of freeing it somehow so she could at least try to gut the creature who was going to take her life. It had to be a Fae creature, though she had never heard of one like this before. As the best blacksmith and farrier within thirty miles of the lord’s castle, she had seen the Fae pets that the nobles kept on iron chains, parading them around like exotic animals for everyone’s entertainment. Fae on this side of the shield between the realms were not supposed to be able to access their powers. This one, however, was strong and quick, lithe, and gods above, her neck was on fire with its venom.

Finally loosing the knife as she twisted, choking on the pain and screams which lodged together in her throat, she rammed the six inch blade deep into its gut. Foul black liquid gushed out, burning her hand, but the creature released its hold on her neck immediately. She staggered and fell backwards into the snow, her right hand darting to her neck that was a mess with ragged puncture wounds. The pain was indescribable, searing beneath her skin in waves of rippling needlepoints and clenching her lungs and throat so tight that breathing became almost impossible.

The creature writhed on the ground, reaching for her with its taloned fingers, scraping them through the churning snow and mud as if determined to drag itself towards her and finish her off, no matter the cost to itself. She managed to kick it in the face with her heel before she slumped back into the snow, dizzy, cold, and sweating.

“I don’t want to die,” she rasped, turning her blurring vision up to the lacework of black branches above while the snow pattered down around her. “Please…” she prayed to no one in particular.

Hoof-beats pounding through the slush made her turn her head dazedly, and a second later, a burst of darkness exploded out like a drop of ink in water, and the creature screamed. A human-shaped figure now stood beside it, and she squinted as her own vision began to dim. She thought the figure that had erupted from the pure, writhing darkness had wings, but when he turned, she saw that in fact he only had one wing, and where there should have been a second protruding from the special slits in the back of his leather armour, there was only a ragged, black stump. The right wing hung like a giant bat’s wing down his back, and she could see dapples of moonlight through its shredded membrane.

Before she could take in much more about the figure, he had clutched the creature’s head in his hands and torn it clean off in a spray of gurgling, black ichor. The thundering hooves drew close and a second person swung down from the saddle of a huge grey stallion. The horse’s hooves danced in the snow while he whinnied and snorted at the scent of the creature’s blood.

“Is she alive?” she heard a rasping male voice ask from above her.

“Yes, highness,” the winged figure swathed in shifting darkness replied. “Looks like she did our work for us though.”

“What do you mean?” he asked, and suddenly he was crouching beside her.

His clothes were simple fighting leathers, but they were tooled with silver filigree and studded with a glimmering metal that was not of the Mortal Realm. His long, silver-white hair was tied back in a simple ponytail at the nape of his neck to reveal tapering, elegant ears, and he wore a simple band of white metal around his head. As he turned to look at her, she caught a glimpse of the right hand side of his face and gasped. Where his left cheek was smooth and pale as polished marble, his right seemed, to her blurred and fading vision, to be made of quicksilver, or iridescent ice. All the planes of his face were hard as crystallised ice and his eyes were a blue so pale they were almost white.

Their voices warped, her hearing failing as the poison in that creature’s maw got to work on her body in earnest.

“She’s going to die,” the prince remarked, in much the way that a housewife might comment that someone was nipping out to the market.

“Please,” she hissed, her fingers - slick with the creature’s black blood - groping for a hold on him. She found his hand and he wrenched it back from her clutches with a look of disgust on his beautiful face. “Please… I don’t want to die. I…” Her throat closed, but as the world tilted back into darkness in a wash of agony, she caught the flare of curiosity in his grey eyes and hoped it would be enough to move him to pity.

It didn’t occur to her that asking a Fae for her life without waiting to hear the price - and on this night of all nights - was a very, very foolish thing indeed.

Part Two

Fae Realm Stories

Prince of the Court of Night x female reader *commission* (nsfw) Part Two (nsfw)

Male winged shadowborne fae (Shaer) x female reader (nsfw) *commission* (long!)

Male reptilian fae (Adan) x female reader (nsfw) *commission*

Male triton Fae (Kaerio) x female character (sfw) *commission*

—

I really hope you folks enjoyed this one! Don’t forget to let me know if you did enjoy it by leaving a like and/or reblogging it!

For all early releases, character art and bios, upcoming story info, and much, much more, join me over on Patreon!

You’ll have access to stories before anyone else, and you’ll get instant access Patreon-only content as well, including polls and an exclusive monthly story for those on the Pixies and Goblins tier or higher!

#fae realm #fae #fae lover #fae boyfriend #fae prince #exophilia #fae x female character #sfw

209 notes · View notes

chickensarentcheap · 4 years

Text

Best Part of Me -Chapter 57

Warnings: none

Tagging: @innerpaperexpertcloud, @c-a-v-a-l-r-y, @alievans007, @ocfairygodmother

Even with five children under the age of six, she can’t remember the last time she experienced this level, this particular brand, of exhaustion. Not even when caring for infant twins and a one year old or during the most difficult pregnancies that came with numerous complications, more than a handful of legitimate scares, and eventually complete bed rest. Not even the three years that had followed Tyler’s initial return to the game, which saw her practically raising three little ones alone while he devoted every waking moment to Nik and whatever job she brought his way; hostility and anger quickly building and joining the ranks with profound stress and worry. Even then she hadn’t felt like this; the seemingly chronic brain fog, body running on autopilot while simply going through the motions of everyday life. So tired that she actually can’t sleep; her body ready to give in and surrender completely, yet her mind running on all cylinders. So many things running through her already troubled and worried brain. The last minute questioning of if she is doing the right thing for her children and if everything needed is packed away in the staggering amount of suitcases cluttering the living room. Is her sanity going to survive not only travelling with that many kids? And will she be able to keep them happy and occupied and oblivious to all the drama and chaos once they get there? There’s no telling how long they’ll spend in Mumbai. It could be just a few days. It could turn into a few weeks. It may even stretch into a month of two. It all depends on just how smoothly things will actually go. There’s no such thing as an easy, uncomplicated job. Each one is dangerous and unpredictable in their own way. And with someone like Mahajan serving as agitator, the stakes have never been higher. Money and influence go a long way. As does intimidation. And he has plenty of all three.

Tanner stirs in his sleep; a handful of quiet whimpers and heavy sighs and tiny sniffles. He’d had a rough day both at school and upon his return home; dissolving into tears at the drop of a dime, complaining about both stomach and headaches, turning down even his preferred activities and favorite foods. Not even Saju and his puppy antics and cuddles with Mac who refused to leave his side had done the trick. Not even the slightest of smiles playing on his face when his twin brother and older sister did their best to try and cheer him up. He’d been his worst at bedtime; crying for nearly half an hour in the darkened room, until his sobs became so powerful that they actually made him throw up. After giving him a bath and getting him into fresh pyjamas, she’d taken him to bed with her. His mood improving slightly at the idea of being able to sleep in the big bed with her and being able to use his dad’s pillow, yet refusing to settle until he was allowed to wear one of Tyler’s hoodies. The garment miles too large, but effectively soothing him when the zipper was pulled up as high as it could go and the hood over his head.

He’d quickly fallen asleep after that, comforter by the familiar smell clinging to the sweater and the warmth provided by both it and his mother’s body. Laying on his side with an arm across her chest and his head in an awkward spot on her upper arm; hand falling asleep a long time ago, and the accompanying -and almost painful- pins and needles serving as yet another thing preventing her from finding rest. Even with his baby face and smooth, flawless features, Tanner looks even younger in his sleep. Smaller, even. Seeming much more fragile and vulnerable than she knows he actually is. He’s the tinier of the two boys, but far tougher than he’s ever given any credit for. So sick, fragile, and weak when he’d been born that none of the doctors or nurses had thought he’d ever make it out of the NICU alive; even given her and Tyler numbers for social workers and bereavement counsellors and contact information for funeral homes that were considered the best at handling babies and their grieving, distraught parents. It had come as quite the surprise to all of the naysayers when he’d fought back as hard he had; released from the hospital a month and a half later without any of the long term and life alternating complications they’d been told he’d have.

Now he’s the healthiest of all the kids. Barely getting even a runny nose or an ear infection let alone something more serious like the flu. He’s not a big kid; not nearly as tall or as heavy as his twin. But he’s a strong one. And she watches him as he sleeps; lips slightly parted, impossibly long, dark eyelashes skimming the tops of pale, smooth cheeks, those wayward locks of hair -the exact ones his father has when sporting that same haircut- falling across his forehead. So pure and so innocent; so many deep and powerful emotions existing in such a little body. And when she reaches across her body with her free arm and uses gentle fingertips to push his hair from his face, he gives a long, shaky sigh and his hand grabs a hold of her t-shirt; fist tightly gripping the fabric.

“Mommy…” Tanner whimpers, lips curving into his infamous pout.

“It’s okay, baby boy.” Her voice barely above a whisper as she combs her fingers through his hair and presses a kiss to his sweaty brow, each eye, and then the bridge of his nose. “I’m right here. Mommy’s right here.”

“Don’t leave,” he pleads. “Don’t leave too.”

“I’m not going anywhere,” Esme assures him. “I’m staying right here with you. But can you do me a solid and lift up for a second? You’re on my arm and can’t feel my fingers anymore.”

His eyes are still closed as he sits up; groggily swaying from side to side. And she breathes a sigh of relief when she’s finally able to pull her arm free. “Daddy falls asleep on that same arm all the time,” she says, as he settles down next to her once more, this time in a fetal position with his butt pressed into her side. “You’re awfully heavy for a little guy.”

“I’m not little,” Tanner protests.

“To me you are. You’ll always be little to me.”

“I’m strong.”

“Yes, you are. Very strong. Like your daddy. You’re both very, very strong.”

“One day I’ll have big muscles too.”

“One day. But not for a long while. I don’t want you growing up that fast. I want you to stay little for a while longer, okay?”

“Okay, mommy,” he sleepily agrees, then yawns noisily.

“Now go back to sleep,” she gently orders, rolling over onto her side and wrapping an arm around that slender frame when he wiggles closer to her; always needing the security of touching her in some way. “It's late and we have a long day tomorrow.”

Tanner slips over onto his side to face her; blue eyes sparkling in the moonlight that streams through the windows. “I wanna see daddy.”

“You’ll see daddy as soon as he can come and see you. I know you miss; I miss him too. But what he’s doing...the people he’s helping...it’s very, very. VERY important and he can’t just drop everything to come and see us. Even if he DOES want to.”

“He wants to see us?”

“Of course he does. He’s not staying away because he wants to. It’s because he HAS to.”

“Are the people he’s helping more important than us?”

“Baby boy, no one is more important to daddy than us. Everything he does is for you and your brothers and your sisters. And me. You’re little right now and it doesn’t make much sense, I know. But daddy loves you so much. More than else in the world.”

“Even more than surfing and vegemite?”

“Even more than those.”

He manages a small smile. “That’s a lot. He loves me THAT much?”

“There are no words to even describe how much he loves you. If you tried to count how much, you wouldn’t be able to because you’d run out of the numbers; none of them go THAT high. And you remember what he told you? About how it was his idea that we go to India?”

Tanner nods.

“It was his idea because he wanted us to be closer to him and not so far away. Because he would worry about us THAT much. Everything your daddy does is for you. For all of us. It’s hard to understand when you’re little.”

He’s silent as he considers her words, fingers fidgeting with the pendant around her neck. “He’s going after bad guys, yeah?”

“There’s a few bad guys he needs to take care of,” Esme confirms.

“Is he going to die?”

“Why would you ask that? Why would he die?”

“He almost died. Before I was born. Before you found out Millie was in your tummy.”

“That’s a long time ago.”

“But it still happened. He still almost died.”

“But he didn’t. And that’s what matters. Is that what you’re afraid of?”

Tanner nods, lower lip and chin wobbling as tears sparkle in his eyes. “I don’t want daddy to die. I’d miss him so much. And he said he wasn’t ever going to go away again and he did. So what if he dies this time?”

“Tanner...come here…” She gathers him into both arms, pressing kisses to his forehead and his cheeks and his lips. “Daddy’s very strong and he’s very smart. Way smarter than the bad guys. He’s going to be fine. He may get some bumps and bruises and maybe some stitches and a broken bone or two, but he’s going to be okay. He’s tough, right?”

“He’s the toughest.”

“That’s right. He is. But he’s also very smart and very careful. Especially knowing that he has you guys to come home to. And there’s no one else in the world that you can trust like you can trust daddy. He’s the person I trust.”

“I trust him. And you. ‘Cause you’re mommy and no one loves me like you do. When I was a baby and I was sick, you used to stay at the hospital with me.”

“You were really tiny then,” Esme muses. “Like Addie. Well, no one is tinier than Addie. But you were a wee, little baby. How do you know I was there?”

“Daddy told me. He said you wouldn’t leave me there by myself. So he stayed home and took care of Millie and Teej and you stayed at the hospital to boss the doctors around.”

She laughs. “Is that what daddy said? That I bossed the doctors around?”

“He said that you’re tough and you’re like a momma bear and no one crosses a momma bear when it comes to her babies. And you made the doctors and nurses take care of me properly and that’s why I’m here. ‘Cause you wouldn’t let them give up on me.”

“No. I wouldn’t. And you’re here for MANY reasons. Because you’re tough and you’re strong and you’re smart and loving and so damn cute.”:

Tanner giggles when she covers his face with kisses.

“And you’re meant to be here,” she adds. “Just like daddy is. Which is why he didn’t die and why he won’t die this time either. So don’t ever worry about that, okay? Nothing can stop daddy from coming home to you guys. Nothing. Trust me. I’ve known him for a long time.”

“Like a hundred years?”

“Okay, maybe not that long.”

“Fifty?”

“Just how old do you think I am, young man?”

“Not as old as daddy.”

“You are so lucky you said that,” she places a noisy kiss on his forehead, and he once again dissolves into giggles when she tickles his sides and tummy. “Do you want to try and sleep in your own bed again?”

“I wanna stay here with you. So you won’t be sad and lonely either. I know you get sad when daddy’s gone. So I’ll stay with you to make sure you don’t cry.”

“You have such a big, good heart. I want you to close your eyes and try and sleep, alright? We have a very busy day tomorrow. An exciting day. Can you do that for me? Try and sleep?”

Tanner nods.

“That’s my boy.” She kisses her forehead once more, then pulls him even tighter against her. Gently combing her fingers through his hair until she finally hears his breathing soften and even out and feels his body relax against hers.

****

It’s eight in the evening in Mumbai when he calls home. Hesitating at first; it’s after midnight in Australia and their flight for India leaves at seven in the morning. It won’t be an easy trip to make with five kids in tow; even with Kyle helping and being able to travel by one of Anil’s chartered jets instead of a commercial airline. But his earlier promises to Millie that he’d call her mother had been somewhat waylaid when a two hour workout in the hotel gym had been followed by a long, hot shower and a two hour nap. Only woken up by Yaz pounding on the door; a bag of take out food in one hand and a carry tray of drinks in the other. It felt good to hang out with him again. Sharing tales of old jobs both dangerous and relatively smooth and easy, laughing over the rare lighthearted and humorous times, even shedding a couple of tears for all the friends and colleagues that they’d lost during their years in the game. And then the talk turned to marriage and kids and Yaz’ fears and worries about becoming a father and time seemed to get away from them far too easily.

He calls her cell instead of the landline; less chance of waking either Kyle or the kids or sending Mac -with his bizarre gear of the ringer on the phone- into a frenzy. And she answers on the third ring, voice quiet and tone calm and even, but sounding very much awake.

“Someone should be asleep,” Tyler teases, as he relaxes in the middle of the bed, back against the headboard, legs stretched out in front of him.

“Someone was supposed to call hours ago,” Esme playfully retorts. “Are you okay? Is everything alright? What time is it there?”

“Only eight. And yeah, everything’s fine. I’m good. Time just got away from me. Worked out for a bit, fell asleep, Yaz showed up and we hung out and got talking. I wouldn’t have called so late, but…”

“I don’t care how late you call. As long as I get to talk to you. Hear your voice. Are you sure you’re okay? Nik called earlier and told me about the shit show that went down. That you almost throat punched Koen.”

“I didn’t even come close to throat punching him.”

“But you wanted to, by the sounds of it.”

“Well if you hadn’t have told him to babysit me…”

“First off, it’s not babysitting. It’s keeping an eye on you. Making sure you keep your head in the game and not fall back into old habits and bad patterns. And I know you know what I’m talking about. You admitted yourself you were slipping and if you’re alone, it WILL happen. And I know it’s the last thing you want; going back to the way things were. Drinking, the pain meds.”

“I’m not THAT weak. At least not as weak as you think I am.”

“I don’t think you’re weak. I think you’re stressed. I think you’re anxious. And when all that mixes together and the PTSD kicks off, the result is not good. I’m worried about you. And it makes me less stressed if I know someone is keeping an eye on you. I’m trying to hold it together too, you know. And it helps if I know you’re okay and that there’s someone that cares about you like I do.”

“I don’t need him up my ass twenty four hours a day. You’re not up my ass twenty four hours a day.”

“I agree that maybe he’s going a little overboard and he’s been a little protective.”

“A little?”

“But he’s your oldest friend and he’s seen you at your worst and he doesn’t want you going back to that,” Esme reasons. “And I trust him. Because I need you to be okay and come home to me and the kid and if I know he’s watching out for you…”

“You act like I don’t know what I’m doing. Like I’ve never done any of this before. I was into this long before you came along.”

“And long before I came along, you were an alcoholic addicted to pain meds and you were maybe a week away from killing yourself. I asked him to keep an eye on you because I love you, you insufferable, stubborn, pain in my ass. You are the strongest, toughest person I know. But even tough, strong people can break and I don’t want that happening to you. And I also don’t want to fight. Especially over this. And you can’t tell me you just called to fight. It’s like we can make up in our favourite way.”

“Of course I didn’t call to fight.”

“Then just accept that this is an argument you won’t win. I do what I do because I love you. Because I want you to keep your head on straight and you shit done so we aren’t stuck in Mumbai forever. So we just call it a day and come home and go on with our lives. And I know that’s what you want too.”

“What I really want is to be home right now,” Tyler says. “With you. With my kids. And not even worrying about all of this shit. That’s what I really want.”

“Trust me, that’s what I want too. There’s nothing in this world I want more than that. Well, except for that thing you do with your tongue.”

He grins. “What thing? There’s about two dozen. You gotta narrow it down.”

“You know which one. Besides, I can’t go into too much detail. Phone sex is off the table for tonight, sorry. I’m not alone.”

“Which one of the five?”

“Tanner. And two dogs. No wonder I can’t sleep. Both the dogs and the kid snore almost as bad as you do. And he pouts like you do. EXACTLY like you.”

“I don’t pout.”

“Yes, you do. I’ll even take a picture of him and send it to you. He’s doing it right now. In his sleep. It’s so cute. HE’S so cute. He’s looking more and more like you every day. You’re both so cute.”

“I’m going to let you have that.”

“You ARE cute,” she insists. “In your own way. You have your cute moments. He’s starting to sound like you, too. His accent is stronger than Millie’s and TJ’s put together.”

“Is he alright?”

“He had a rough day at school. The teacher said he was distracted and emotional. It didn’t get any better when he got home. Just crying at the drop of a hat, nothing cheering him up. He made himself sick he was crying so hard at bed time. He’s having a hard time. He misses you. We all do. But him most of all.”

“I remember when he practically didn’t even bother with me,” Tyler recalls. “Like he forgot he had two parents.”

“He’s always been a momma’s boy. Since he was a baby. But you saw him after New Zealand; when you came back. You saw how he feels about you; how much he loves you. And he’s so sensitive, Tyler. And he feels and loves so hard core. He’s so much like you. More than either of us realize.”

“I fucking hate that he’s going through this. That he has to deal with it all. Crying until he makes himself sick? Because of me? And you wonder why I think I’m selfish for bringing kids into this? That’s why. You think I want him feeling that way over me? He’s five. He doesn’t deserve this.”

“Have you ever stopped to think that maybe this is a sign you’re doing things right as a dad?” Esme counters. “That your child loves you THIS much? That he misses you like he does?”

“But he shouldn’t have to suffer like this. He’s a little kid.”

“He’s not suffering. He just has a lot of emotions inside that little body of his. He loves you. He loves being with you. When you were a kid and your dad left for even a couple of hours, were you sad or were you relieved?”

Tyler frowns. “What does that...?"

“Did you cry over him? Or were you happy he was gone?”

“Happy. He was a fucking dick, you know that.”

“Well your son is miserable when you leave. Because he loves you with everything that’s inside of him. He misses his daddy. Because he loves when you’re around and he loves all of the things you do together and all the ways you make him smile and laugh and make him feel loved right back. I hate him seeing him so worked up, too. But don’t think it’s an amazing thing that your child loves you THAT much? Or would you rather he not give a shit whether you’re here or not?”

“I’d rather he not have to deal with this shit at all.”

“But we ARE dealing with it. And we’re dealing with it as a family. Doesn’t this prove to you that you’re doing it right? That you’re NOT screwing them up? That’s you’re an amazing daddy and they love you and worship you. I mean, your Millie’s entire world. If that doesn’t make you realize that you’re a good dad, I don’t know what ever will.”

A smirk tugs at the corner of his mouth. “You know what…?”

“What, Tyler James? What possible argument could you have to topple me?”

“I love you. So much. And you keep me sane when I think I’m fucking losing it.”

“You’re going to be okay,” Esme assures him. “Just rely on your gut. Your instincts. Those two have never, ever wrong. I mean, your gut told you to still go along with Nik’s Dhaka plan even AFTER you were told you had to be ‘pretend married’ to a mess like me. I think listening to your gut worked out pretty damn well for you.”

“Yeah,” he grins. “It did. I’m glad I went along with it. No matter how stupid it sounded.”

“The best thing I ever did was let her talk me into that job. Everything should have been telling me NOT to do it. That it was going to be a big mess.”

“Well it did kind of turn into a big mess. At the end, anyway.”

“But we made it through. And we got a beautiful out of Dhaka. If there ever was a silver lining, Millie’s it. She made the bracelet by the way; to match yours. She wouldn’t go to bed until she made it. There’s no one earth she lives the way she loves you. I guess she takes after me in that respect. I feel the same way about you. No one else on earth the way I love you, either.”

“If you’re trying to make me cry, you’re doing a pretty good job.”

“I’m not exactly trying, but you’re beautiful when you cry. You’re a beautiful crier.”

“You’re a little off the reservation, you know that? Are you okay? You’re feeling good about all of this?”

“As good as I can, I guess. I’m holding it together. Mostly for the kids. And for you. And this whole thing with Nik…”

“I wanted someone there with you,” Tyler explains. “When it comes to the job, there’s no one I trust like I trust her.”

“It was a good call,” Esme says. “I trust her, too. At least when it comes to that. And she seems sincere; about wanting to patch things up and be friends again. I just don’t know if I can do that. Trust her in THAT way. Look how far she was willing to go to fuck things up between us. I don’t know if I can forgive her for all of that. Can you?”

“I don’t know,” he admits. “Her shit caused a lot of fucking damage. And it could have been a lot worse if either of us were weaker people.”

“I want to trust her. I even want to forgive her. But when someone is continuously trying to get your husband to cheat on you and she goes to lengths she did to make it happen…”

“But I didn’t. Cheat on you. I never have. I never will.”

“It’s not you I don’t trust, and you know that. And some of the things she said? Even when I was pregnant with Millie? Even the night before we got married? That was hurtful shit. It never...ever...should have been questioned if Millie was yours. And it’s been six years and sometimes I still think Nik feels that way.”

“I don’t know how she can. Look at the kid. It’s pretty damn obvious she’s mine.”

“That shit hurt,” Esme continues. “Everything she did hurt. And I can trust her to keep us safe, but I sure as hell can’t trust her around you. And if that makes me an insecure, possessive, overprotective wife…”

“I know how to say no,” Tyler reminds her.

“You’re not the problem and you know that. I’m just not ready to trust her that way yet. And I hope you can understand if I never can.”

“Baby, I always have your back. It’s a strictly business relationship. That’s it. We’ll keep it that way with Nik as long as you want us too. But I want her there at the house with you and the kids. Because it would be a huge weight off my shoulders if I didn’t have to worry so much about you guys. So if you could at least try and be a bit friendly…”

“Can you kiss and make up with Koen if I promise to?”

“You’ve seen him. You think I really want to kiss that face?”

“He’s only worried about you. He doesn’t know ‘job you’ like I do. I know you can handle it by yourself. He doesn’t. So cut him some slack, okay? He’s your friend. He loves you. He just wants you to keep it together.”

“Esme, I’m fine. I don’t need him constantly up my ass. Especially when I’m trying to get shit done. I know what I’m doing.”

“I know you do. But he doesn’t know THAT Tyler. He’s never been around him, So give him a break; he means well.”

“If I cut him some slack, you do the same with Nik?”

“I already said I would. And I appreciate her even offering to help you or even agreeing to come keep an eye on us. Are you really okay?”

“A little better today. I’m homesick.”

“I never thought I’d actually hear you admit that out loud.”

“There’s a lot of things I don’t say out loud that I should,” he says. “Never been able to swallow all my pride, I guess. But I love you. So much. And I’m sorry; for every time I hurt you or broke a promise or I made you feel like the job was more important than you. I know I’ve been a shit husband a lot of the time.”

“No. You haven’t. We just went through some bad times,” Esme reasons. But we got through them, right? Every single one. Hey, we’re the ones that are still together. Remember when everyone thought we wouldn’t get past the first year, never mind six?”

“I’m pretty glad you showed up on my front porch that day.”

“I’m pretty glad I lost all my common sense when Nik told me about the job and I actually went along with it. I know you think you’ve done a lot of things wrong, Tyler. That you don’t see yourself the way I do. But my life would totally suck without you in it. I should be pissed off at you for knocking me up in Dhaka, but I think it worked out for the best.”

“Yeah,” he grins. “So do I.”

“Hang on for a second. Someone is awake. And by someone I mean your son.”

“Let me talk to him. Maybe he’ll feel better if I do.”

“Okay,” she says. “Hang on.”

There’s a slight rustling as the phone is passed from one person to the other, followed by whispered conversation between mother and son.

“Who is it?” Tanner sleepily inquires.

“Someone who wants to talk to you,” Esme replies. “Say hello and find out.”

“Who dis?” The five year old asks, and Tyler can hear his wife both laugh and gently scold their son.

“Who do you think it is?”

“Daddy!” It comes out as a choked sob. “Daddy, I miss you!”

Emotion chokes at him, and he swallows noisily and blinks back his own tears. “I miss you, too. What’s going on? Mommy says you’re having a hard time. Wanna tell me about it?”

“I’m just really sad that you’re gone. And you won’t be there when we get to India. Why can’t you be there to see us? Why won’t you come and say ‘hi’ at least?”

“I wish I could, mate. But there’s reasons I can’t. Because I have to stay away for a little bit.”

“Are you sick? Is that why? Are you sick and you don’t want us to get sick?”

“Naw, I’m not sick. There’s just some things going on I can’t tell you about. And I wish I could tell you about them, but it’s adult stuff. You don’t need to know those things.”

“Adult stuff with the bad guys?”

“Exactly.”

“Why can’t you just beat them up and then come see us after? You could do it. You could beat them up and then come right away to visit.”

“It doesn’t work that way. I need to stay away for a little bit. Just a few days. And then I’ll come and see you guys. I’m not staying away because I want to. It’s because I need to. Because it’s what’s best for you and your brothers and sisters and your mom.”

“But you want to see us, right?”

“Of course I do, mate. I didn’t want to leave. I HAD to leave. I’d never leave you unless I had to. You believe me, right?”

“I believe you.”

“You don’t need to worry so much. I’m fine. Nothing’s going to happen to me. And in a few days I’m going to show up to see you and you’re going to see that for yourself. But right now, I need you to be strong, okay? For your mom. She needs you to be strong. Because she’s pretty lonely and she’s pretty sad and I need you to cheer her up.”

Tanner sniffles. “How?”

“I don’t know. Whatever way you can. Tell her she’s pretty. As often as you can. Tell her you love her. That she’s the best mom in the whole world.”

“She is. She IS the best mom in the world. And the prettiest.”

Tyler grins. “We’re pretty lucky, yeah? That she’s so pretty and she’s the best mom and wife in the whole world?”

“Yeah. We are.”

“I need you to get some sleep. It’s a long way to India and I don’t want you being grumpy and giving your mom a hard time. And once guy guys are here, I can call more often. No more time difference. You tell our mom I said to call me as soon as you guys are here, so I know you’re safe.”

“I will. I love you, daddy.”

“I love you, too mate. So much. Now go to sleep and let me talk to your mom again. I’ll see you in a few days.”

“You promise?”

“I promise. You be good.”

“You be good too,” Tanner says. “Give the bad guys shit.”

He can’t help but chuckle. “I will.”

“I think he’ll be okay now,” Esme says when she gets back onto the phone. “He’s smiling again, at least. And he’s wearing one of your hoodies. The brown Emery one. He looks so cute in it. I’ll send you a picture of that, too. We always say TJ is your mini me, but with the hair and now wearing your clothes, I think Tanner is taking over. Are you sure you’re alright?”

“I always am when I talk to you.”

“And tomorrow’s the day?” she asks. “Everything starts?”

“My part at least,” Tyler sighs. “I’ve got two guys to take care of. In the morning.”

“At the same time”

“Yep. In an elevator.”

“Intriguing if not a little worrisome. Do you know how you’re going to do it? You can’t really walk into an elevator and start shooting. Or wearing a vest. They’ll see that for sure and know something is up. You are going to wear a vest, right?”

“Under my shirt. Hoodie over that. Doubt they’ll be paying enough attention to notice it. But you’re right; definitely won’t be able to just go in shooting. I’ve got it all figured out. Should go okay. Good thing is they won’t expect it, and we’re in a tight space so they can’t run.”

“And that means you can’t get away either if you need to. Please be careful, Tyler. I know you’ve done this hundreds of times, but it doesn’t mean I won’t worry. I know you can do it. I’ve seen what you can do. Still…”

“I’ve got it under control, baby. I promise. You need to get some sleep. Gonna be a long day.”

“Still wish you could be there when we arrive. Maybe I’ll just go ahead and keep my fingers crossed that you’ll somehow manage it.”

“Stranger things HAVE happened,” he reasons.

“Yeah. Tell me about it. I got with the likes of you,” Esme teases.

“Now THAT’S cold.”

“You know I love you. And I miss you and can’t wait to see you. Be careful tomorrow. Be safe.”

“I will,” he assures her. “Call as soon as you get to India. So I know you guys are okay. I’ll see you when I see you.”

“You definitely will. I love you, Tyler.”

“I love you too, Esme. I always have. Always will.”

“So you say. I bet you’re still going to trade me in for two thirty year olds when you turn sixty, though.”

“Never,” he grins. “I’m trading you in for three twenty year olds.”

“You wish,” she laughs. “Talk soon.”

“Very soon,” he promises, and then disconnects the call.

#Tyler Rake #Tyler Rake fan fic #Tyler rake fan fiction #extraction #best part of me #chris hemsworth character

7 notes · View notes

dreadwulf · 4 years

Text

#4 With this Kiss I Pledge My Love

(previous chapters)

Jaime Lannister should have ridden back to King’s Landing weeks ago.

He had fully intended to, after putting the Riverlands to order – to return to his son the boy king, and offer his protection. Get him a proper Small Council who will advise him wisely, and a real Kingsguard to protect him, and get Cersei somewhere well away. Garrison the Lannister armies wisely to maintain order, clean up the mess his lord father has made of the kingdom.

Instead Jaime has been wandering about in a fruitless search for an unimportant girl. Spending weeks riding through snow and freezing cold in a gods-forsaken corner of the Vale with a motley party of leftovers who don’t want him there. He has told not a soul where he has been nor where he is going. He has been gone from his post for so long that the Crown has declared him dead and replaced him on the Kingsguard, and the army he had commanded has been rerouted by unknown orders away from the Riverlands, which will surely swiftly descend into renewed chaos.

He should go back. He should abandon this pointless quest and return to his duties. Jaime has no reason not to, except that he swore a vow and meant it. Under duress and foolishly perhaps, an oath sworn to a dying woman who didn’t die after all, but an oath still. I am yours and you are mine. He is keeping his oaths now, even if no one expects or even wants him to.

There had been no cloaks, no kiss, and no pledging of love, only their hands bound together and him speaking the vow. But even if she had not spoken the same vow back, and the marriage bond will soon evaporate into the air as though it had never been, it will not be him that breaks it. He can be stubborn too.

So he wakes on the cold ground each day and she says barely a word to him and he speaks hardly a word to her as they ride to the Gates of the Moon, and the sands trickle down in the hourglass that is their marriage until only days remain.

Jaime has ridden with her every day through deepening snow and treacherous ice until finally they reached their destination and made camp here, her and Podrick and Hyle Hunt and the Hound, alongside all of the other travelers who have come to rest at the Gates of the Moon.

The Gates are no more promising than anywhere else they have arrived. There is an extensive encampment here of hopeful hedge knights and nobles from the highlands, but none have time for an odd woman in armor and her questions about red-haired girls of four-and-ten. There are no further rumors of Sansa Stark here, or of her sister, although there are a great many more interesting rumors about the rest of the kingdom in the progressing winter.

Jaime collects these rumors and opinions with some interest, mingling himself with the men at camp over food and drink for several days running. Turns out there are a great many things that a person will tell a traveler in the Vale that they would not tell to Lord Commander Lannister. Some of those things are pure nonsense, but others are rather illuminating.

It is not so bad, being dead. He gets many more smiles and greetings as a dead man, and not so many sneers and whispers. He keeps his stump shoved under his travel cloak, has muddied his hair and beard so that they are not quite so golden, and it makes him nearly invisible. He is another middle-aged hedge knight trying to relive his glory days at tourney, so far as anyone knows.

Not so far off. He could not hope to compete there now. Left-handed these green boys could take him, and without his fearsome reputation to dissuade them his life would be in real danger.

He sits at supper and looks at the farm boys and young lords, in the spring of their youth and the peak of their skills. He imagines Brienne defeating them all, beating them down into the mud until they beg for mercy. It’s a shame she won’t enter the tourney; he’d like to see that. Would any one of them be a match for her, at her full power? They are nearer her age, their reputations as spotless as their unbloodied swords. If she had awakened from her long sleep married to one of them, would she be so aggrieved?

The competitors like to talk, and the spectators even more so. They spin tales about the fighters who have come hoping to be Winged Knights, their family connections, their sweethearts and patrons. They tell him all about Lord Baelish and his natural daughter Alayne Stone, who have organized the tourney.

These tales in particular catch his ear. If Littlefinger has a natural daughter I’ll eat my boot. The man is too careful for that. Only the Spider is less likely to produce a bastard offspring, and only out of physical impossibility.

He asks questions about the fabled daughter, and her upcoming marriage to Harold Hardyng. An awfully advantageous match for a Stone, marrying the next in line to the Vale. Conveniently Petyr Baelish seems to have gotten charge of little lord Robert, and rules the Eeyrie as Regent. Jaime wonders if there might be an accident in store, once that wedding is complete. Maybe several accidents. Sweetrobin and Harry the Heir cleared away, and the Vale belongs to Lord Baelish.

He would very much like to meet this Alayne Stone.

That’s more difficult than he would like. She will attend the tourney when it begins, but thus far has remained out of sight. He will have to wait for the tourney and possibly for the very final rounds to lay eyes on her, and that is likely to happen after his deadline is passed. Not that it makes any difference – the one has nothing to do with the other, no matter how persistently his mind makes the connection. Finding Sansa will not stop the marriage from ending.

It will be a relief to have it over and still he is increasingly agitated at the thought. He lies in his tent each night and he thinks on the Hounds Tooth inn when he had shared a room with Brienne as his bride. He had passed that evening most pleasantly, and even though nothing of import occurred he finds himself thinking on it fondly. Brienne asleep and unguarded in his bed while he sat by the fire. Friendly strangers wishing them well, simply for having one another. Your lady wife. It was a night stolen from someone else’s life, a life he is never going to have.

For his own good the marriage must dissolve. It is inane to cling to an illusion and he has done that quite long enough with Cersei. He is never going to be somebody’s husband; he is a knight and he is the kingslayer and that is that.

He is chewing on just this thought as he rides back to his bed at sunset. He knows when he comes back to camp Brienne will be surprised to see him again, as she has been every day that he has not left their party. She knows very well he has other places to be, and is waiting for him to remember it and ride away. Yet he is lingering here and unwilling to leave, though what he is waiting for he cannot imagine. Brienne cannot imagine it either, clearly.

It’s making him cross, and distracted. He does not notice the riders gathering to his flanks until it is too late to evade them.

Jaime is pulled from his horse before he can draw a blade, and thrown to the ground.

Sellswords, plainly. Not expensive ones. Five of them, looking like they’ve slept rough half their lives and just barely know how to hold a blade. He’s a little insulted that anyone would think him no match for these.

He leans back on his elbows and contemplates them in a relaxed pose. “I haven’t any money, and if you want a fine horse, you’d be better off feeding mine to the one you’ve got. This one’s slow as molasses.”

“No money eh?” A skinny, toothless alley cat of a mercenary points a rusty longsword at him. “No Lannister gold?”

Jaime frowns. Clearly his disguise has not been so effective as he’d hoped.

Some of his mates are skeptical. “Can this be the golden lion? He looks more like a weasel.”

“No, it’s ‘im.” The tallest one spits a dark stream through his teeth and stands over Jaime. “Lord Baelish pointed him out to me personally.”

Well that’s irritating. Apparently Littlefinger was in the same room with him and Jaime never laid eyes on the man. Clearly he can cross “spy” off his list of potential careers after “swordfighter”.

“If you’re seeking out a ransom, you may have to wait some time to get it. Only ravens travel well now, and they don’t carry quite so much gold.”

“We got the gold already,” Toothless tells him. He jingles the money bag that hangs beside the knife on his belt. “Lord Baelish pays us well, and he only needs your head.”

Of course. He has asked entirely too many questions. And whatever his plans, Littlefinger has no intention of anyone outside the Vale hearing of them until it’s too late.

“The Crown will have all your heads for it,” he says confidently.

“You’ll be buried right here, Kingslayer, and they will never know. The Crown believes you dead already and no one will miss you.”

Belatedly, Jaime realizes he is right. Not one of his compatriots in the Kingsguard or the Lannister Army knows where he is, and his own house has already forsaken him for the grave. Next to no one will notice if he dies now rather than two months ago. And even fewer than that will mourn him. Possibly none.

He lunges.

The knife comes easily out of Toothless’s belt and into his side, spraying Jaime with blood. But the remaining four sellswords are on him in a moment, and it takes only a few kicks in the stomach before he lies still in the snow again. He knows this routine.

The tall man has his sword out now. “If you’ll tell us where to find the giant bitch, I can make it painless.”

“Nonsense.” Jaime brushes the snow out of his hair as carelessly as possible. “Let’s make it hurt. I can only die once, after all.”

“Happy to oblige.” The tall one shoves his face back into the snow and stands on him. Jaime doesn’t even know who he is. Some no-name cutthroat sent by Petyr Baelish. What a stupid way to die.

“What in the living fuck is that?” one of them shouts.

Horses approach. Abruptly the boot on his neck lifts, and Jaime spits out mud. Is there someone else here trailing him, after the Brotherhood and the Vale Guards? With any luck they will kill each other.

He wipes snow from his eyes and sits back on his heels. Two riders approach very rapidly, and one of them has a sword raised. It crashes into the sellsword who had just been standing over him, with such force it knocks him off his feet.

Brienne dismounts in a strikingly graceful motion, her sword drawn, and she stares them down.

“Unhand my husband,” Brienne growls at them.

Jaime grins. A more wonderful combination of words he cannot imagine.

“Already done,” he points out, waving his stump. “The bloody mummers beat them to it.”

She doesn’t hear him, swings directly into action.

The fight is brief. She holds Oathkeeper with both hands and leads with her left, with her right arm still healing. It should discomfit him how easily she switches her lead hand, how one left-handed blow knocks the blade from her opponent, but instead it makes him smile. She makes short work of their weapons, knocking them from their hands, and their owners from their feet, while Jaime kneels untouched among them.

He hadn’t known how pleasant it could be to be rescued. It’s really quite wonderful. Someone fighting for him, bleeding for him, spilling blood. When the immediate threats are downed she stands in front of him protectively, Oathkeeper in hand, and she looks like a song. A song only for him, for his sake.

“Kingslayer’s Whore!” one of the downed men moans from the ground.

“That’s Kingslayer’s Wife, I’ll have you know,” Jaime says irritably. “She’s made an honest man of me.”

“Hush.” Brienne advances on him. In the time it takes Jaime to stand, Brienne has the man under her boot with a sword pointed to his neck. “What do you want with him? Robbery?”

“Execution,” the wretched man spits. “For crimes against everything good and decent. Kingslayer, Oathbreaker, great golden cripple.”

“That’s right, you do not deserve to say his name,” Brienne tells him. “None of you do. Call him what you will, but you will not be half the man he is.”

Gods be good.

Jaime is pierced by those words, a clean wound right through his chest. It hurts like every time he heard the name and no one spoke up for him, all together, all at once. Paired with the balm of her defense it is almost unbearable.

At a moment’s notice Jaime knows what he wants after all. He wants to keep her. He wants to stay her husband, and her to stay his wife. Never to part again.

He wants her.

“Kingslayer’s Whore,” the sellsword repeats, spitting at her. “Got his cock out of your mouth long enough to ride? After murdering your liege lady Stark for him?”

His blade is drawn before he’s even thought to do it, and he’s walking briskly to Brienne’s side.

Jaime aims the end of his sword directly at the man’s mouth, descending until it falls between his teeth and the man is choking and whimpering against it.

“I don’t suppose sword-swallowing is one of your skills?” He pushes it a little further in, and the man gurgles in terror. “I hear in Braavos there are men who can take a sword right down their gullet and all the way to the hilt, and pull it out again right as rain.”

“Ser…” Brienne speaks up, cautiously.

“I wonder how you learn to do a trick like that - a little at a time, or all at once? Let’s find out.”

“There is no need,” she says quietly, putting a hand to his arm.

He meets her eye only briefly. She threatened the man herself only moments ago, but this is too far?

“My lady wife would have me show you mercy. Can you keep a civil tongue in your head?”

The man makes an eager noise, too afraid to nod his head, and Jaime pulls his blade back.

The scene has not gone unnoticed - they are not far from other encampments, and other fires. There are onlookers now, and among them Podrick Payne on his horse, his little sword drawn in their support. He threatens the onlookers with it, having them keep their distance.

“They were tipped off,” Jaime tells Brienne. “Littlefinger is here - Petyr Baelish. I don’t know what he’s up to but he wanted me dead, and you as well.”

“I have no dealings with him,” Brienne says quizzically. “Could it have something to do with Sansa Stark?”

Unwisely, the man on the ground speaks up. “There’s no Starks in the Vale, whore. No Starks anywhere anymore, thanks to you and yours. They –”

He is interrupted by a swift kick in the face.

Jamie hasn’t yet sheathed his sword, still thinks of feeding it to the man. He’s still angry. He has brought even more abuse on Brienne simply by his association and it infuriates him. His voice sharpens to a deadly point. “You will address the lady properly. Or you will keep no tongue in your head at all.”

“Lady Lannister –” the man corrects himself quickly.

Jaime startles at that, and Brienne stiffens beside him. Then he laughs. “Oh, we haven’t settled that bit yet. Lady Brienne will do for now. But there will be no more of this ‘Kingslayer’s Whore’. She is a noble lady, and a sworn blade of your precious Starks, and no one will speak so crudely of her in my presence and keep their tongue. Understand me? Tell that to your noble compatriots.”

The man whimpers agreement and Brienne lifts her boot, allowing him to sit up and rub his throat nervously.

The city guard, Vale soldiers, approaches in a thunderous pack. Brienne is cheered by their appearance, but Jaime knows better. Littlefinger will own them too; he is thorough like that.

Exactly as expected they take him by the arms as soon as they dismount holding Jaime between them. Guards will have to make a show of arresting him, so that they can murder him in private.

“Sers, these men attacked us,” Brienne tries valiantly to explain, appealing to the guards with her sword lowered. She still thinks they will listen.

One of them shoves her aside. “Quiet, you ridiculous bitch.”

So of course Jaime had to headbutt the man in the face, which hurts, but it drops the man like a sack of flour, which is satisfying enough to be worth it. For his trouble he is slung into the back of a wagon, a jailer’s hearse.

“For what crime?” Brienne questions them loudly. “We were defending ourselves from these sellswords.”

“Attacking a city guard,” the guard says.

Brienne considers that, visibly, head cocked to one side.

Then she smashes the man in the face with the hilt of her sword, so that his nose produces a most astonishing spray of blood, and is immediately thrown into the wagon right next to him.

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

“You could have stopped them,” he grouses to her later.

They are seated on the cold stone floor of a dungeon, daylight barely peeking into their cell.

“If by that you mean killed them, we would hardly get anywhere finding Sansa Stark if we run about murdering city guards.”

“We’re not going to find her in here!“

She is unbothered. “They will keep us but a night.”

“And wake us with a knife across the throat.”

“Pod rode for help,” Brienne says stubbornly, staring straight ahead. “He will find Ser Hyle and Ser Clegane. They will think of something.”

Time is passing fitfully as the light slowly fades. Their cramped cell is barely big enough for the both of them and it's freezing besides, and they sit just near each other, not touching, their breaths visibly hovering in the air around them. Brienne pulls her knees closer to her chest, for either warmth or protection. Without her armor she is probably short of both.

A dozen things to say flit through his mind, and he says none of them. Instead Brienne speaks up next, some time later.

“You did not have to do that,” she says softly. “To threaten the man on the ground. Or attack that guard.”

He snorts. “Certainly I did. What else would I do, the dishonorable Kingslayer.”

“I mean that you did not have to defend my name.” She shifts, angling her face away from him. “I am accustomed to being insulted.”

So is he. But Jaime is not accustomed to her being insulted, at least not by someone other than him. “Where did that particular insult come from, I wonder? Kingslayer’s Whore. The Brotherhood said it too, well before the Quiet Isle. Did you ride about declaring that I had sent you? Not a great stratagem.”

“The lions on the sword might have had something to do with it.”

“Ah.”

He swallows and thinks about the rope marks around her neck. Perhaps it had not happened because she had any great feeling for him, but it is his fault all the same. He gave her a sword covered with lions and sent her after Sansa Stark, and they broke her arm and tore her face and hung her.

“If you are going to attack anyone who calls me names, you will have to fight the whole of Westeros from one end to another. Do not bother.”

She is so calm. He wants her to be angry and rage about it, and it isn’t in her. She is resigned to this. It makes him want to shake her.

“If people must make arses of themselves it is one thing. But for you to take abuse on my behalf… that I do not like. Your reputation should not suffer for things that you did not do.”

“It’s my reputation too, now,” she says mournfully. “Already the Vale knows I killed my liege lady and disbanded her Brotherhood. I did do that, and I can hardly dispute it. It will be everywhere before long.”

“You cannot possibly be troubling yourself over that.” Jaime grimaces even to think on it, it makes him sick inside, in an entirely familiar way. “You had no choice.”

“I did have a choice, and I made it. I chose to break my oath, and I knew the consequences. I learned them from you.” She looks over at him finally. “You made a choice as well. And you have still carried the guilt all these years, haven’t you?”

His mouth goes bone-dry. Only Brienne has ever seen how he blames himself for breaking that oath, even all these years later. Despite every reason why he could not have done otherwise.

“Yes,” he says quietly.

“Sansa Stark is my last chance for honor too. I can only make up for my failure by her mother by keeping my promise, and seeing her safely returned to Winterfell.” She leans her head back against the wall, closing her eyes. “At least then I can hold up my head and know that I did the best I could. I was no kind of knight, and I failed from one end of it to the other, but I cannot go back to Tarth until I have found her.”

Brienne looks so bone-tired and forlorn at that moment that it aches to look at her.

The protective instinct in him rises up, the most powerful instinct he has, and Jaime is totally unable to resist it. Something is hurting someone dear to him and his most natural reaction is to fling himself at it. He doesn’t have a sword and the enemy is nothing he can protect her from, but Brienne is hurting and he cannot think how to make it stop.

So he grasps her shirt at the collar and pulls her to him, kissing her.

Brienne goes very still and softens all at once, melting against him. Her mouth is warm and sweet and his heart is racing and he is pulled by a current far more powerful than he can swim against. The world rushes by very quickly, a blur.

Her hands struggle up to his chest as if to push him away but they only sit there preparing, always about to.

The thought floats by without his leave. With this kiss I pledge my love. His lips speak it to hers.

But then she does push him back. He stands against her hands catching his breath. Her eyes are so blue and so wide and so full of hurt.

“How could you?” She chokes out the words painfully.

“Like this,” he says, trying to kiss her again.

“Don’t.” She jumps up to her feet, backing away from him as though he had attacked her. “Why would you do something like that?”

Because he wanted to, that’s all he can think of. And he can’t tell her. To simply say, out loud, what he wants? Jaime doesn’t do things like that. A person cannot just admit to the things they want, not out loud. If you reveal what you really want, someone will take it from you, someone will use it to get what they want from you. A person keeps those things inside, and they try not to think on them, so that no one will discern their secrets. With enough practice a person will not even remember the things they want. Or know what they are in the first place.

“I wanted you to stop talking,” he says, too frustrated to think of anything better.

“You…” she sputters angrily, and paces over him. “Did you think you can do as you like because we are still married? Did you think for a moment that I might not want my first kiss in a filthy dungeon…?”

“Your first?” That had not occurred to him.

“Oh, gods.” She covers her face and he can see she’s blushing all down her throat, where it disappears down into her shirt.

That old instinct again. How can he make it better?

“I wanted to. I wanted to kiss you.”

"You wanted…?” Her face tightens painfully. “Why?”

Jaime thinks of Red Ronnet and his rose, and he would very much like to find the man and hit him again.

“I lost my senses, all right?”

“Stop talking,” Brienne snaps at him, and shoves herself down into the farthest corner away from him, still blushing.

Jaime congratulates himself silently on making everything infinitely worse, and then things get worse again, all on their own.

A woman walks into the dungeon. They know immediately it is a woman, well before they see her, from her carefully measured, delicate steps. She is tall, though not so tall as Brienne, and she walks to the bars of their cell and looks down upon them calmly.

She takes down the hood of her winter cape, standing over them, and it reveals rather than a noble lady a young girl, no more than five-and-ten, if that. She is dressed plainly but elegantly, in fine homespun clothes of a lovely warm caramel color that matches her hair, and looks quite out of place in a filthy dungeon.

Jaime searches out her face in the dim light. “Alayne Stone, I presume.”

Alayne nods. “I am. And you are the Kingslayer, and this lady is your wife, Brienne of Tarth. The woman who murdered Catelyn Stark.”

#WHOOPS PLOT #okay this was going to be the last chapter and then it got long #because me #so now there is going to be a Chapter Five #From This Day Until the End of My Days #braime #tumblr fic

109 notes · View notes

dongyucks · 4 years

Text

Coach - Choi Soobin

~Your little brother adored basketball, and you didn’t really mind taking him to his practices when the coach was so cute. ~

Choi Soobin, Txt. [4k]

Hey guys, this wasnt requested, but its my way of saying I’ll now be accepting TXT requests as well should you wish. Thank you!

You’d just finished your last class for the day, meaning you had to quickly pack up and get ready to go pick your brother up from his school and take him to his little league basketball practice. It had become your job to take him to and from the practices on a Thursday night after your mum picked up an extra shift, leaving you, as the only person remaining who could drive, to be your brother’s personal driver. You hardly minded though, the joyful smile on his face the whole drive was enough to show how much he truly loved it.

It was hardly troublesome though, as you found last year that the gym was quite a good place to do your homework, seeing as you couldn’t exactly procrastinate it if you wanted to avoid talking to the other parents there. The city library was only a two minute walk down the road, but you’d decided to stay in the gym instead after you noticed that most of the other kids parents stuck around for them, you couldn’t help but want your brother to have that kind of support too.

“I’m a little nervous today” Your brother mumbled as he got into the back of the car.

“For the new coach?” The coach last year when you’d stared taking your brother was the boys basketball captain from your own school, but he had graduated at the end of last year, meaning there would be a new coach from here on out. You figured it would be the new captain, Yeonjun, but you weren’t actually too sure.

“I’m sure he’ll love you just as much kiddo, you’re a good player”

You lost yourself in your physics homework almost immediately after arriving, finding a seat on the benches that lined the court, leaning on your binder as you wrote. You has been the first to arrive, seeing as you’d come straight from school, so your brother was now messing about on the court after getting changed. You figured the new coach would arrive any time now to set up for the practice, so you kept an eye out as you worked on your things.

Sure enough, it wasn’t long before the door opened to reveal a boy ducking through, his hair pulled back from his head with a headband. Your recognised Soobin almost immediately as he waved at your brother with a wide smile before dumping his bag to the side of the court and moving to set up some cones.

It wasn’t hard to recognise Soobin, everybody knew the boy. He was int he basketball team at your school and had been for a while, but he was mainly known due to his friendly disposition. From what you knew, he was a lot like his friends, the popular group of boys you never bothered to get to know, but they seemed nice enough.

Losing your interest quickly, you went back to your homework until the rest of the kids had arrived, leaving you to greet some of the returning parents and exchange a courteous amount of small talk as you watched the boy’s practice for a bit. You had to admit, Soobin was good with the kids. He just had that charm to him that made the boys want to listen, and he seemed incredibly patient too. After you’d decided you’d exchanged enough polite conversation, you went back to your homework and the hour and a half passed quickly.

In fact you only really looked up again when your little brother came bounding up to you to grab his water bottle and tell you all about his practice as if you weren’t there the whole time. You didn’t mind though, he was too excited for you to shut him down. He didn’t spare a detail, and one of those details was about how much he adored the new coach Soobin. You chuckled a little when your brother asked you if you knew each other, to which you had just replied not well. So when your brother packed away all his things and you were ready to leave, you ushered your brother towards Soobin once more, you close behind, to thank him.

Soobin glanced up at you when you came up behind your brother, but you just watched as he listened intently to your brother talking about how much he enjoyed the practice today. It was only when you sent the young boy away with the keys to go wait in the car that you actually got to thank Soobin yourself.

He was taller than you’d originally thought now that he was standing fully upright instead of leaning down to listen to your brother. He also adorned a kind smile that, you couldn’t lie, made your heart flutter just a little.

“Thanks Soobin, you did well today” Soobin smiled a little brighter at your praise, his cheeks dusting red.

“Ah thank you, y/n” He seemed a little conflicted for a second before he raised his hand to scratch his nape as he talked again. “So younger brother or?”

You couldn’t help but stifle a laugh, assuring him it was your brother and watching as he awkwardly apologised. He was kind of cute, you couldn’t deny that.

“Well I’ll be off now, but thanks again” Soobin smiled brightly again, bidding you a friendly goodbye as well.

You thought that was the end of your thoughts about the boy, but for some odd reason, Soobin’s smile had stayed in your mind as you willed yourself to fall asleep that night.

Nothing more happened for a few weeks, just a wave at each other when Soobin walked in to the gym and noticed you and your brother, and a friendly thank you conversation as you left. You appreciated it though, the way Soobin seemed to genuinely smile a little brighter every time you and your brother came up to him at the end.

And it stayed that way until you began to wave at each other in school too, which was of course accompanied by teasing from your friends about your newfound friendship. You only shared one class with Soobin, in which he sat with his friend Beomgyu, and you sat by one of your class only type friends, seeing as no one in your friend group took chemistry. It was maybe five weeks into your friendship with Soobin that Beomgyu had been absent, and therefore Soobin seemed a little awkward as he sat by himself. It took all of your bravery, but you approached.

“May I sit here?” Soobin looked up at you, noticing who you were and instantly brightened up a little, the puzzled look on his face dissolving immediately.

“Please.” The lesson passed quicker than ever, with the two of you mucking about as you did your book work, everything seeming easier with Soobin’s constant jokes and requests for help. You couldn’t help but smile every time he asked for help despite the fact it was kind of distracting, purely because of the shy smile that pulled at his lips as he begged you with those beautiful eyes. You realised as you were packing up your things up at the end of the lesson, still locked in a conversation about how cute bunnies were, that you may just like this boy more than you thought.

“Can I walk you to your next class?” You couldn’t help but send Soobin a puzzled look. Why was he offering to walk you to biology? It was only a bit down the hall, and you knew he had history next which, he had mentioned earlier, was across the campus. Upon seeing your look, Soobin’s eyes widened a little before he stuttered out a sentence. “I feel like there’s, uh, more to discuss about bunnies?”

A little bud of hope formed in your heart then, that maybe, just maybe he was indeed doing what it appeared and stalling for more time with you. The thought of that even possibly being the case made your heart flutter slightly as you smiled and agreed. Soobin had really managed to make you fall for him quickly, hadn’t he?

You didn’t sit by Soobin the next day, seeing as Beomgyu was back again, but every time you looked up, he seemed to be staring at you, a gentle smile on his lips as he hurriedly turned away to avoid you noticing. Someone really needed to tell that boy he was not subtle, but you found that it always brought a smile to your face as well.

Things continued like that for a while, shooting each other smiles and waves in the halls, catching him smiling at you in chemistry, and helping him set up for the kids practice every Thursday afternoon. You were quickly finding it your favourite part of the week, when you would walk with Soobin laying out cones, joking around with him as he balanced one on his head and trying to balance it. It was fun, and your brother had even joined in a few times to compete with Soobin on who the better cone balancer was. (Definitely Soobin, but he always faked the cone falling off to let your brother win)

You couldn’t help but let your attention drift from your homework back to him during the practice either, watching him interact so softly with the kids. It was as if the light streaming through the windows onto the court just highlighted his ethereal beauty, as the small beads of sweat of his forehead, exposed by the headband that pushed his hair back, made him look even more attractive. Tonight it was raining, but the dreary atmosphere had definitely not followed the boys inside, seeing as they were all still as hyper and energetic as always, creating a barely manageable chaos for poor Soobin.

You couldn’t help but laugh as the boys played a shooting drill where Soobin was trying his best to guard all the 16 boys as they took their shots. It was clearly impossible, but the laughing squeals of the boys made it entertaining for all watching. It was in the midst of this that one of the boys tripped, grazing his knee of the floor. Soobin was quick to check on the boy, and you watched in awe as he calmed him down, the boy’s parent being of the few not present at the practice. When the boy was no longer crying, Soobin got him onto his back, telling the rest of the boys to keep shooing, and began to walk towards you.

You shot him a questioning look as he approached, but he just brushed it off with a smile.

“This is the nice lady who will help you, she’s y/b/n’s older sister” The boy sniffled a little as Soobin letting him down, and Soobin returned his attention to you. “Still got that first aid kit on you?”

You had offhandedly told Soobin about the little first aid kit you carried in your bag for emergencies in the passing early on in your newfound friendship, and you couldn’t deny that it made your heart flutter a little that he had remembered even something as small as that.

“Course I do,” You reached into your bags front pocket, pulling the small white box out and opening it up.

“I’ll leave this little soldier with you then?” You nodded and went back to finding the band aids you had as he walked away to return to the rest of the boys.

You looked up at the boy as you applied the antiseptic cream, watching as he stared at the boys practicing with small tears in the corner of his eyes. “Does it hurt?” The boy shook his head firmly, turning to look down at you. “Reckon you’ll join back in when you’re all stitched up?” A smile and a firm nod.

“Are you coach Soobin’s girlfriend?” His question made you freeze halfway through putting on the band aid, but you quickly laughed off his words and finished putting it on.

“No, what made you think that?” The boy shrugged a little, watching you smooth everything over with you hand before sitting up next to him again. “There you go little one, back off to practice you go then”. The boy muttered a thank you before running straight to Soobin, who’s head snapped towards you as he laughed. He simply shook his head before handing the boy a ball and getting on with the practice again.

The rest went by quickly, and your brother had bounded up to your side to tell you all about it once more as you packed up your things. You laughed at his enthusiastic words as you stood up, walking with him towards Soobin who had started to pack up already, having bid the kids goodbye already.

“Hey coach! Thank you” Your brother high fived Soobin, who smiled as the young boy then sprinted for the door, eager to go home.

“Sorry for sending you the injured soldier” You smiled at Soobin’s name for the boy before he continued, “but I remembered that you carried band aids, so I thought you might’ve been able to help”.

“It’s no worries, really. I’m surprised you remembered that actually” Soobin’s classic shy smile tugged at his lips again, leaving him to scratch his nape, a habit you noticed he did when he was nervous. “Well thank you, I’ll you see tomorrow in chem?”

“Definitely”

But the second you walked into your chemistry class the next day you knew it wouldn’t be as good as you’d hoped. The words ‘group projects’ were scribbled on the board, leading you to groan as you took your seat next to your seatmate.

“Can we be partners for this?” Your friend gave you an apologetic smile before she replied, which pretty much told you all you needed to know already.

“I already promised to do it with Shin-Hye sorry y/n” You pouted a little as she apologised again, but you weren’t all too upset. There were other people who might still be helpful. Your eyes trailed to Soobin subconsciously, who was in a conversation with Beomgyu. You figured they’d do the project together, so you sighed as you placed your head on the table and listened to the teacher explain it.

When it came time to partner up, you finally lifted your head to scan the room, seeing who was left over to partner up with that hadn’t already done so. There weren’t all too many good choices, and you felt your heart sink a little. You hated group projects.

“Y/n?” You turned to face Soobin as he looked at you hopefully, his binder in hand as he stood behind the now empty seat beside you. “Have a partner yet?”

You felt your heart flutter for the millionth time as you smiled and shook your head, moving your own binder aside for him to place his things down.

“I thought you’d be Beomgyu’s partner?” Soobin laughed a little as he looked across the room at Beomgyu who was, at that very moment, glaring holes into Soobin’s head as he sat down next to the kid who seemed to always be asleep.

“Yeah I was supposed to, but you looked absolutely hopeless sitting here alone” You laughed at his words, watching as Soobin set up his things neatly.

“Ouch, but happened to bros before hoes man? Beomgyu looks mad” You met eyes with the aforementioned boy, only for his glare to break into a smile andlet out a laugh under his breath before turning around.

“Have you met Beomgyu? The boys the definition of a hoe” The lesson passed by just like that, full of jokes and laughter as you worked through the outline of the project, deciding what needed to be done and when.

You found yourself quite excited to go to chem within the next few days, with Soobin being quite the partner, both in the fact you were having fun and genuinely getting things done. It was only the week before it was due that you began to panic a little, despite being on track to finish on time. You couldn’t hide your fidgety fingers as you wrote hurriedly and joked around less with Soobin in class, feeling a little guilty whenever you barely reacted to his jokes and comments.

“Are you stressed about not finishing on time?” Soobin’s voice was very gentle, a sharp contrast to the loud room and the heavy patter of the rain outside. You turned to look at him taking in a deep breath before just deciding to come clean.

“A little, sorry for being no fun today” Your lips pulled into a thin line as Soobin looked taken aback.

“You’re always fun y/n.” It felt like a million butterflies exploded in your stomach as he spoke, so you quickly turned back to your book to hide your flushed cheeks. “But if you’re stressed, your welcome to come to mine this afternoon so we can finish it, you know, to take the stress off.”

“Really?” You couldn’t hide your relief as you turned back to him, blush forgotten as you thanked him.

“Sure, if you don’t mind waiting through my basketball practice, otherwise we can do it tomorrow?” You’d forgotten that Soobin actually played basketball as well as coaching it, which made you almost face palm.

“If your team wont mind me being there?” Soobin smiled at that, his eyes crinkling closed.

“They won’t mind at all”

Soobin stayed true to his words, his team hadn’t minded you being there at all. They did however, tease Soobin about you the entire time. You found it quite amusing actually, how close they seemed to be, Soobin’s friend group especially. You only really knew Yeonjun personally out of his friends, having met him a few times in the past few years through classes. Beomgyu, Taehyun and Hueningkai you hadn’t had the chance to get to know yet though.

You worked on the project as Soobin practiced, the rain outside making a steady beat to keep you concentrated as you sat on the bleachers of your own school’s gym this time. But, like always, your eyes trailed back to Soobin. He looked different than usual when he was practicing, the look of pure concentration on his face as he played with a high level of skill replacing the gentle smile he always seemed to wear. He was good, and despite the sight of the hairband pushing his hair back being normal now, he looked so much more attractive in the moment.

The practice went by quickly, with you working on the project and admiring Soobin for about equal amounts of the time. It was only when the boys were packing up to leave that you stood up wandering down to meet Soobin and head to his house that you actually caught on to the situation of the moment. Soobin was pouting while the rest of the boy’s just laughed at the poor boy’s attempt at explaining why he couldn’t stay behind to pack up this time.

“You know the rule, you bring a girl you pack up after practice” Taehyun mocked the boy as he turned to walk away, the rest of the boys in tow as they all laughed. Soobin couldn’t help but laugh either, but he still felt bad for you.

“That has literally never been a rule you ass!” Soobin only turned to you when he heard you laugh, finding you already down and bleachers and now just behind him.

“Sorry bout that, I’ll help you pack up” You put your bag back down next to Soobin’s as you went towards the gear to pack it up.

“You don’t have to its okay Y/n” You only shook your head at him in protest, picking up the cones as you ignored his words. The task somehow turned into a competition of who could pack up their half of the court faster, and soon, you had ended up with only the ball rack left out. The rain still poured heavily outside, and Soobin was signing off the use cards for the gym, so you moved to grab a ball, walking up to the hoop and taking a shot.

Soobin turned when he heard the ball bounce on the rim of the net, circling it before falling off and not going in.

“Oh yeah I reckon I’m senior team material,” you turned towards Soobin, only to find him watching you with a fond smile and a look in his eye you couldn’t quite pin, “Right?”

“Oh yeah definitely” You laughed at the amount of sarcasm dripping from Soobin’s words as he walked over, taking a ball for himself and shooting from behind you, it sinking through the net with no difficulty at all.

“Oh shut it Mr show off” you turned to Soobin, practically finding your head pressed to his chest by how close he was. You took a small step back, looking up at him with pink dusted cheeks, only to find his were the same way as yours. It felt like your heart skipped a few beats as you turned back around, ball in hand as you thought of a small mischievous plan for yourself. “Teach me how to shoot then, oh great one”

Soobin laughed as you lifted your arms up to shoot, placing his hands over yours as he readjusted their placement. His hands covered yours almost completely, the size difference expected but still enough to send warmth straight to your face. It was only when he took them away that you realised how much you wanted to hold this boy’s hand.

“Try now.” You did, and the ball went in without too much worry, but that was the last thing on your mind. You took a deep breath in, gathering your courage as you turned around, finding Soobin still very close to you as you looked up.

You waited a moment, looking into his eyes trying your best to guess what his reaction to your next words would be, only to have him speak before you.

“I like you Y/n” Your heart skipped a beat. “I like you a lot and I think you are the most beautiful person inside and out and I’d really like it if you wanted to go out with me sometime” Your heart skipped two beats. “Its okay if you don’t like me back, I just needed to tell yo-”

You interrupted him by reaching up and pressing your lips to his, feeling his hands come to settle on your waist before you pulled away, still holding each other close.

“I like you too”

“Thank god” You couldn’t help but chuckle at Soobin’s comment before he leaned down to press his lips against your once more, expressing the pent-up feelings you’d had for each other through the gentle touch.

You found yourself reluctant to pull away, but you knew you had things that needed to be done. So, with a slight pout you pulled away and took a step back. “Now, we should really finish our project before we forget about it completely”

“You have a point”

They rain still poured on you as you ran to Soobin’s house, but you found you barely minded when your hand was laced in his as he held his binder over your heads in a pathetic attempt to keep you dry.

You only stopped to regain your breath when Soobin pulled you under a bus shelter, and you couldnt help but let out a breathless laugh as you met his eyes. His hair was plastered to his forehead, his bright smile still shining despite the cold.

“Do you remember that boy who tripped in practice a while ago?” You nodded, waiting to see where Soobin was going with this. “Well when he came back to me after you’d helped him he told me I should go out with you”

You watched as Soobin ducked down again, quickly pressing his lips to yours just once more as if to check that this was really real.

“He was so right”

#TXT #tomorrow x together #choi yeonjun #choi soobin #choi beomgyu #kang taehyun #hueningkai #soobin #soobin txt #imagines #scenario #au #basketball #kpop #writing #fluff

75 notes · View notes

foolishgamers · 2 years

Text

every time tommy or wilbur join a vc it automatically increases the chance of the stream dissolving into pure and complete chaos by like 80%

#crimeboys make streams 1000% funnier #mcyt #tommyinnit #wilbur soot #crimeboys #tubbo #tubbolive #live-blogging

53 notes · View notes

supergenial · 4 years

Text

[translation+lyrics] Liberation by Seraph

youtube

It's another Seraph album, guess I’m overcompensating. I remember when I first heard the crossfade for this I was mildly disappointed because the cover artwork far exceeded what I was hearing, but upon hearing the whole thing it was actually a lot better than I expected, so here it is. Ironic that the Irori tracks lack a little, but the guest composers really pick up the slack. Lyrics down below and see you all next time.

------------------------------------------ Vocals for the whole album: 海紅

Exceed Destiny

Composer: Irori

koe ga kikoeru mayoi no naka mada yamenai de todoku wa

I can hear a voice while I wander and it won't stop reaching me

katamuku tsuki wa mawari nagara kage wo tsukuru no nigashite ageru

so long as this leaning moon keeps spinning it'll keep casting it's shade

mayoeru kohitsuji ni wa hakanai yume ga niau taikutsu na okimari no serifu ukeireta jibun yurushi tsutsukeru no?

like lost lambs in a fleeting dream the words from this boring routine will you forgive me if I keep saying them?

nobashita yubisaki kuu wo gaku hibi ga yagate tsukitsukeru mirai wo keshisari anata no kodoku to watashi no kodoku ga yobiai kasanaru kiseki nara teraseru unmei sae koeru monogatari wo

reaching out with these hands trying to take back those days from thin air even though that future's been extinguished your solitude and my solitude call out to each other, for a miracle to join them our story that challenges fate

itami wa kizu wo tomonawazu ni hitori kakaeru kurayami

my pain is accompanied by these scars as I hold the darkness all alone

yoru ga egaita ibitsu na yume te wo hiite ima kowashite hoshii

the night depicts a distorted sky how I wish my hands could hold it and break it apart

aragau kohitsuji ni wa busama na sei ga niau danzai wo motome warau koe mimi fusaida mama obie tsutsukeru no?

an unsightly life is quite fitting for rebellious sheep as a judgmental voice laughs at our plight maybe if I cover my ears it'll go away

te ni shita yaiba wo dochira ni mukeru ka chigau michi sagasu toki mo nai hibi ni anata no negai to watashi no inori ga tokeai nagareru hazama de nemuritai itsuka kawaru hazu to shinjiteite

where should I point this blade I hold your wishes and my prayers from those days where I wasn't afraid to pick the wrong path have dissolved and drifted away but I'll keep believing this will all change

kazashita te no hira suri nukeru kaze ga ame wo yobi nurashi ato wo nokoshita kara anata no kodoku to watashi no kodoku ga yobiai kasanaru kiseki nara teraseru unmei sae koeru monogatari wo

as I hold out my hand the wind grazes it I can feel the traces of the rain your solitude and my solitude call out to each other, for a miracle to join them our story that challenges fate

Wishing Liberation

Composer: 熊本哲也

chikara tsuki nagedashita shiroi hada ni haeta toge hohoemi wa ne wo oroshi yuruku kubi wo shimeteta

running out of strength, I give up thorns sprout through this white skin taking root at the smile as they slowly strangle the neck

mayowazu osorezu kake dasu no ni itsumo dokoka daremo kitto tooku ni miteta

not lost, unafraid and marching on at all moments there's someone looking on from afar

ikanaide yo ikanaide yo sono kokoro wo zenbu sosoide kimagure ni ataenaide nakusu toki wo omou no wa iki sae dekinu hodo itaiyo

don't go, don't go away let me fill up your heart I can't hold back my desires when I think of the time we've lost it hurts so much I can't even breath

itsuwari no sekai demo kawaku mune wo nurashiteta hontou no egao demo itsu no ma ni ka kieteku

despite this world being a sham you hydrated this dry chest yet your true smile faded away without a warning

kizutsuki naku yoru kakushi nagara kowasanu yo ni nakusanu yo ni sugoshita hibi wo

such painful nights of crying in which I hid away yet unbroken, not lost yet so my days went by

nukedashite yo nukedashite yo kono kokoro wo hitotsu nokorazu kiyasume ni tsukawanai de kibou wo motsu sunao sa wo itsudemo dakishimeteitai yo

let's run away, run away until we're a single heart towards joy even if temporary I sincerely do still hold hope for you to always hold me

Time is Life

Composer: HINODE

toki michibikarete ikudo me no surechigai deshou yobiai nagara mo taguru ito yubisaki de karame

guided by time unseen by so many eyes yet calling to each other as the string linking us keeps tugging

mitasareta sekai ni ikite nani wo sagashiteiru no? nee keshite misenai sabishisa no naku koe ga suru

Living in a plentiful world what are you searching for? hey, even if I can't see your sadness I can hear your crying voice

toketa yoru no saita mukou de wa jiyuu shirazu ita kako ga yureru keredo hito wa ima wo nozomu kara asu no kiseki wo shinjite nemuru no daremo shiranai yoru wo

as the night fades away I head out not knowing freedom, with an uncertain past yet even now wishing for that person I sleep trusting that there'll be a miracle tomorrow who knows what the night holds in store

toki hiki sakarete mayoi naku tebanasu no deshou akirame nagara mo kireta ito nigiri shimeteita

torn apart by time finding ourselves by reaching out to each other as long as we don't give up this string will keep joining us

nukegara no sekai ni ikite osoreru furi wo shite wa nee hontou wa itsumo owari wo machi nozonderu

living in a world of corpses in inconceivable adversity really, all along I've been wishing for it all to end

daremo ga minna saigo shiru no nara kitto susumeta no osorenaide keredo hito wa kibou idaku kara asu no fuan dakishimete nemuru no daremo shiranai yoru wo

since no one knows how this will end I'm not afraid to move on since I hold on to hope I sleep embracing the uncertainty of not knowing what the night has in store

toketa yoru no saita mukou de wa jiyuu shirazu ita kako ga yureru keredo hito wa ima wo ikiru kara asu no kiseki wo shinjite nemuru

as the night fades away I head out not knowing freedom, with an uncertain past yet even now wishing for that person I sleep trusting that there'll be a miracle tomorrow

tomosu mirai ima wa miezu tomo kitto omou mama te wo nobashite itsuka hito wa kibou tsukamu kara asu no fuan dakishimete nemuru no kagirareta toki no naka

I can't see a bright future ahead But I'm still reaching out one day we'll grasp hope So I sleep embracing the uncertainty of tomorrow Amidst this forsaken time

Innocence

Composer: Paspal

Haruka shiroku kedakaki sora ni kakowareta fukashin no kuni kieta tsuki ga utsuru minamo kara nureta hokorobi yume ga tsugeru

in a gorgeous white sky in the distance there's a sacred land sealed away the new moon is reflected on the surface which seems out of a dream

inishie no jumon dake wo fuujitemo kakushi kirenu kodou hane wo hirogete tooku wasure kaketeta keshiki omoi dasu no

sealed away since ancient time and it's hidden heartbeat has stopped I'll spread these wings to fly to that distant forgotten scenery and remember

mune ni saita irotsuku hana kuchihateru koto de shika muku to ikirarenu sekai de wa asu ni yakare kuzure ochita nanimo kamo sashi dashite mo nao akogarete wa kogashite

a colored rose blooms in my chest remaining pure among all that has rotten away in this unliveable world as tomorrow burns and crumbles and everything it had to offer that I yearned for, is extinguished

itsuwari no koe nagasu namida kurikaesu mujou wo ikiteiru akashi toshite itami sae mo kizamitai

a fake voice and streaming tears this never ending uncertainty serves as proof of our existence so gravely that it hurts

marude otogibanashi no you ni kaserareta yakuwari seoi itsumo mukerareta akogare no me enji teru te ni wa nanimo naku

like in a fairytale this role was imposed onto me of always yearning with these eyes without actually playing a part

arishi hi ni hisomu kagi wo atsumete mo tadoritsukenu kodou iroaseta doa toraerareta kokoro no oku de kitsuiteru no

in those days past I really had gathered the key but as my pulse waned the door faded away within my captive heart I could realize that

mune ni saita irotsuku hana kuchihateru koto de shika muku to ikirarenu sekai de wa asu wo shitte takanaru mune obiete mo motome tsutsukete wa akirame sae sagashite

a colored rose blooms in my chest remaining pure among all that has rotten away in this unliveable world this beating in my chest will still be there tomorrow and by its will I will continue I'll keep searching without giving up

te wo nobasu koto tamerau hodo nozomi nado idakezu kuzureyuku seishin nara risei sae mo oikoshite

I'll keep reaching out beyond doubt holding onto my wish as my spirit crumbles for I've passed the limits of logic

tokoshie no chikai dake wo te ni shite mo mayoi yureru kodou kage wo otoshite nidoto modoranai ima sae mo keshite yuku no

Holding in my hand this eternal vow but my pulse wavers as the shadows drop never to return to this reality as they fade

mune ni saita irotsuku hana kuchi hateru koto de shika muku to ikirarenu sekai de wa asu ni yakare ushinau dake nani hitotsu owaranai mama de eien ni tsutsuiteku

a colored rose blooms in my chest remaining pure among all that has rotten away in this unliveable world even if tomorrow burns and is lost this one thing will still not end going on for eternity

suri kirete yuku omoi koso ga watashi no inochi nara irotsuku hana daita mama kono sekai wo nukedashite

these fading feelings of mine are my life itself so I'll hold on to this colored flower and escape this world

Fake a Joker

Composer: Life Rubato

konton habikoru geeto koete rojiura ni hisomu aku wo hameba sotto ukabeta emi wa, uzuki seinaru chikara naredo osore, tedashi dekinai sou kamihitoe deshou?

overcoming the gate amidst the chaos as evil lurks around every corner and a slight smile that emerges twitches painfully due to the holy power frightened, unable to grasp anything does it really make that much difference?

uso wo misukashi mekuru shinjitsu kuchi wo soroe kasaneta uragiri nado tomeru sube motanai watashi wo

seeing through the lies winding up the truth traitorously joining our lips there's nothing that can stop me

koyoi mo koji matowaritsuku dake no kyomu ni wa nijimu kotoba somekaeru akai kyouki ga niau

let's keep the act today since we're already covered in deceit the color of these words changes to a maddening red

subete wo nakusu sabaki no kakugo wo kimeta nara oroka sa nageite ima yurushi wo koe

were I to lose everything I've already prepared myself for that fate though I'd still foolishly beg for forgiveness

senaka awase no yami ga uzumaku tenshi no emi wo tataeta mama de

the weight I carry is a revolving darkness as I keep putting on an angel's smile

sora wo saite hibiku raimei ga abaki dasu kawaku daichi mitasu you ni sosoida mizu no arika

piercing the skies a resounding lightning reveals an arid and unfulfilled landscape being poured with water

utagai sae kuchi ni dekinai boukansha wo inochi shirazu no piero ga warau

being doubted by onlookers who won't speak as the unliving joker laughs

koyoi mo kuruui kumi ageta tamashii tsurushite sakasa no kage umidashita kuroi omowaku ga saku

let's drive ourselves mad this night again let's hang out these lost souls as our shadows grow together our dark thoughts emerge too

yukue wo shimesu kakushin ni wa mada furenaide karamitsuita sadame ga hirefusu made

point towards our direction and with conviction we'll reach it and bow to our intertwining fates

Flame Wings

Composer: Irori

garakuta ni umoreta kokoro wa doko wo sasu no muishiki no oku soko kokyuu wa todokanai

buried in the wastes where could my heart be in this abyss of unconsciousness my calls can't be heard

te wo nobaseba fureraretemo tomonawanai hibiku netsu ga

even if I extend my hand and feel around I can only feel a resounding heat

tamerau tabi kanjou sae mo ushinatte doushite mada koko ni iru no

in this time of doubt I've lost all feeling how can it be that I am still here

furikireta kokoro wo mushibamu yoru kazoete kawaku nodo wo saita himei wa todokanai

this severed heart counts the passing nights but these screams that cut my throat just won't reach anyone

moeru hane wo tsutau netsu wa nani ni deau tame no inochi

as my wings burn the heat only makes me wonder why'd I have to live

hodokareteku kanjou dake ga wasurenai kowarete nao yobi tsutsukeru

I'm coming undone but at least these emotions can't be forgotten as I'm breaking up I continue to call out

tojikometeta meijou koso ga shitteiru dakara ima mo koko ni iru

I'm trapped despite being confused, I know that much however, right now I am still here

majiwaranai sora to umi no sono saki wo tsunagu tame ni tobi tsutsukete

unconnecting are the skies and sea ahead but to connect them I'll keep flying

#seraph #liberation #translation #lyrics #seriously hope you're all appreciating all the internet you have #I get online for one second and suddenly feel like I've grown wings

2 notes · View notes

sulfurousdreamscapes · 5 years

Text

After the Premier announced that the Union was to be dissolved, he asked us to be watchful for another announcement later that night. No one was watchful that night. Sweetshops ran out of what little stock they had, and stolen fireworks dotted the sky. They were singing songs in the street that I'd only ever heard as lullabies.

But I stayed home, and my eyes were trained on the television screen.

"A time of new beginnings," the Premier was saying through black-and-white scanline display. "A new era, a new nation, a new world. It is only natural that none of you know what to expect. If I said I knew, I would be wrong."

He had always been fucking wrong.

"It is only fitting, then, that this new nation be full of new people. A new populace, unburdened by the shackles of the past."

Outside, they were starting to scream and shout. The building opposite ours reflected a bonfire. I didn't have to wonder whose effigy was on it.

The Premier shook his head with illusory regret. "In view of this goal, our brave safekeepers in uniform have started cleaning the impurity of memory from our minds."

In the streets, they were bursting firecrackers now, ones that sounded just like the rattling of a machinegun. The crowd cheered. I raised the volume of the television.

"Our patriots are ensuring that as our nation is reborn, so are the people. In the Rebirth Camps, you will come to forget your life in this fading era. The Rebirth Devices will provide you with a new understanding, a fresh understanding. A clean slate. A new nation demands a new populace."

I got up and looked out of the window. Those weren't firecrackers I'd heard, and the crowd hadn't been cheering.

From behind me, the Premier’s corvid voice blared. "Like children, we will be pure and free, curious and bright. No memories of this nation, no memories of this life. A truly new start, as befits a rebirth."

No memories of this nation. No memories of this life. The words echoes in my ears. Outside, the patriots were grabbing the revellers and shoving them into vans and trucks. No memories of these atrocities. No memories of injustice. No memories.

A pair of patriots opened my front door for me and with routine precision, one of them searched my flat to see if anyone else was there. The other grabbed my wrist with a wrench-tight grip, and pushed me into the corridor. The residents of the building were streaming out in a shambling line, down to the vans and buses and trucks and cars.

"Come, let us build a new future," the Premier's voice sounded through open flat doors in the corridor. "We are each granted the power of forgetting so that we may forget the bad things in our lives. Let us now forget together, for once. Let us bury it, so that we may re-emerge like—"

The sound of the televisions was drowned out by the chaos and the motors outside.

I will not forget, I told myself then.

I did not forget, I tell you now.

56 notes · View notes

kanna-ophelia · 4 years

Text

Love’s Pure Light

31 Days of Ineffables Day 7: Silent Night Dedicated to the lovely and talented @alltheprettygirlsintheworld

On AO3

On Wattpad Somewhere in New Zealand, 1990

The starry night was silent, or as silent as nights generally get, which is to say there were the sounds of wind, bugs, sleepy sheep noises, and, in this case, cursing and pleading.

"Turn around, just fucking turn around, you stupid bloody sheep, I--"

Glory streamed from the sky. Golden light pulsed, trumpets sounded, choral music swelled. An angel descended, white wings spread, arms held out, their face concealed by radiance too great to look at. "BE NOT AFRAID."

"Fuck fuck fuck--" The shepherd, if that was what it was, scrambled back in panic, utterly failing to be not afraid. "Look, don't get mad, can see you're busy, I'll be getting along now, popping back to Hell, no need for a fight."

The glorious angel tittered. Distinctly tittered, as the radiance faded and they took a more ordinary, if immaculate, human form.

"*Aziraphale." Crowley hesitated, torn between relief, fury, joy and amusement, and settled on the last one. He flung his head back and laughed and laughed. "Oh, you bastard. Come here." He lunged himself forward and his arms around the angel, and it was only when Aziraphale stopped giggling and stood suddenly stock still that Crowley realised he had never embraced him before. He stumbled back for the second time this evening, and they stared at each other. For lack of anything else not revealing to say, Crowley repeated "You bastard."

Eventually they found themselves sitting side and side on a log, staring at the sheep. "You really are a bastard," Crowley said. "I thought you were Gabriel, coming to announce the next messiah. Or Sandalphon announcing the first. Did you ever get a firm confirmation from Headquarters on that one?"

Aziraphale pursed his lips, wrinkled his brow and looked unhappy, which Crowley knew well enough to read as She doesn't talk to us about things anymore. He felt slight compunction over his urge to keep prodding, keep encouraging Aziraphale to question, keep--keep what? He didn't really want his angel to fall. Just to keep him company. That would be more evil than even a demon could contemplate.

He wanted to apologise and couldn't. Instead he rambled on. "Or Michael. You have no idea how terrifying that would be."

"Why Michael?" Aziraphale, looking curiously at him, sidelong under perfect long lashes. Crowley wished he wouldn't, and wished he would, and couldn't sort it out at all. "You always seem to have it in for her. She's a bit strict, but she's not so bad, really."

"You imagine sitting in a paddock full of sheep and your Dad shows up. Especially when she's a straight-laced wanker."

"Oh." Those pretty lashes blinked. "I don't know why that surprises me. You had to be Created somehow. Born from tears, eh?"

Crowley would do anything to stop Aziraphale looking at him in that tender, compassionate way. "So what are you doing here, angel? I thought you hated this neck of the woods." Aziraphale hummed under his breath and didn't answer. "On assignment?" Aziraphale stared at his plump fingers, twining and entwining, and still said nothing. Crowley was very good at seeing in the dark, and he was almost sure there was pink creeping up from Aziraphale's neck.

Is it me? Did you come see me? Oh, angel, it's been twenty-three years. Tell me you missed me. Tell me that was slow enough. Tell me you came looking. To New Zealand, of all places.

"What are you doing? You seemed to be yelling at some sheep."

"Oh, yeah. Well, it was a great idea." Crowley beamed. "This was practice. Do you know there's thirty-nine million sheep in this place? Imagine how much terror and chaos it will cause if one morning the humans wake up and every sheep is facing in the other direction."[1]

"Brilliant, my dear," Aziraphale said politely.

"Yeah. Only they're stubborn, sheep. And apparently have no terror of demons. Or at least of me." Crowley sighed, resisted with practiced skill the impulse to take Aziraphale's hand, and leaned back, staring at the sky.

"I'm sure you're very intimidating."

"Oh, shut up." Crowley felt ridiculously happy. Here, under the stars, the baaing and bleating of sleep, the warm presence of his angel by his side. He felt a surge of courage.

"Let's have a picnic tomorrow," he said casually. Aziraphale tensed by his side, and he rushed on. "The cheese here, it's amazing, you need to try it." Every time he had tasted some, he had thought of Aziraphale, what he would look and sound like taking the salty creaminess into his mouth. "And they have these coffees--flat whites. Ristrettos with the glossiest, most velvety textured milk. They think they invented them."

"Didn't they?"

"The Australians think they invented them." Crowley grinned to himself. "Simultaneously. But each thinks they are first and the other country tried to steal the credit. You have no idea the amount of bickering and bad feeling between the nations it causes."

"And who invented them, or do I really need to ask?" sighed Aziraphale.

"I always did like coffee." Crowley grinned. "And pointless hostility and resentment between otherwise friendly nations. Ask me about pavlova some time."

Aziraphale gave him a suspicious look. "No flavoured syrups in flat whites?"

"Who do you think I am? I'm not that evil."

"I think you are someone who has four sugars in your tea. Pure chaotic wickedness."

Crowley laughed, tried not to hug him. "Come on." He couldn't manage puppy-dog eyes, not with these yellow snake-like things, but he was good at pleading eyebrows. "A picnic. You promised."

Aziraphale's mouth and brow were worried, but his eyes were very soft and liquid. "All right. See you tomorrow night. Here, at the same time."

And he was gone, leaving enough time for Crowley to panic thoroughly and over-cater. Even if you could over-cater for Aziraphale.

* * *

Aziraphale oohed and aahed satisfactorily over the local cheeses Crowley produced. Buffalo mozzarella,, camembert, burrata, maasdam, washed-rind, ash-coated goat's cheese, ricotta, haloumi.

"I wasn't sure what you'd like, so I bought them all," he said nonchalantly, pulling out some old gouda and blue cheese. Bread, crisp around the edges and fluffy white inside. Manuka-smoked cultured butter. Local honey. Crayfish salad. A pavlova, creamy with cheese and miraculously unsquashed, adorned with berries and kiwi fruit. Flat white coffees, miraculously still hot and velvety. And in pride of place--

Pan-fried pāua, nestled back in their shimmering blue shells.

Do you remember Rome, angel? The first time you approached me, rather than the other way around. The first time you asked me to spend time with you and seemed eager for me to agree. I was so sad, so sickened, on the point of giving up on the humans and going back to Hell--and then you. Luminous, kind, and taking such joy in those damned oysters, so much pleasure, so that I kept forgetting to eat and just kept watching you. My light, hope to a demon. Look at these, Aziraphale. Pretty oysters--well, pretty snails, I guess. Gleaming like you. Remember, remember.

He has no idea if oysters in Rome even meant anything to Aziraphale.

"Oh, it looks all delightful," cooed Aziraphale, spreading gooey camembert on a stick of bread, and Crowley tried not to smirk bashfully. He leaned back to watch the show.

It should be daylight. He should be watching his angel lit up by sunshine, playing in the pale curls, warm and golden on the soft curves of his cheeks and neck. But if moonlight and starlight was what he got, he would take it. Aziraphale unselfconsciously gathered up some camembert on his finger and licked it off, and Crowley shivered. Yes, he would take it.

He watched in fascination as Aziraphale tried everything, chewed and tasted and made small sounds of appreciation. He wondered if the angel had any idea how enrapturing he was in his unabashed enjoyment.

"Won't you eat too, dear?" Aziraphale asked softly. "You went to all this trouble."

Crowley cut a slice of aged cheese, popped it in his mouth, savoured the umami and salt as he chewed slowly and swallowed, but the real pleasure was in Aziraphale's increased joy, the gentle lifting of his thin expressive lips.

"Are you happy, Crowley?"

Crowley blinked. He had never, in his entire existence, been asked that except in angry, blaming tones. Now he was here with Aziraphale, looking at him kindly, looking as if his happiness was important. He wasn't sure how to handle it.

"Demons aren't supposed to be happy. Pleasure and enjoyment, yeah. Happiness, no." Aziraphale's face fell, the wrinkles in his forehead deeper, and Crowley reached out, clutched his hand. "Yeah." He passed a thumb across the back of Aziraphale's hand, and told the truth. "I'm happy."

"I'm so glad." Aziraphale was actually glowing in the dark. "Do try this honey, it's amazing." He dipped a spoon in the honey and held it out to Crowley. Honey. RIch and golden and sweet and--oh, it felt like Aziraphale was offering himself, and that was a ridiculous, insane, dangerous thought. Crowley parted his lips, and let the honey pass into his mouth, held it there, let it dissolve.

"It's beautiful." His voice was thick.

"Try the butter." Aziraphale's voice was strange too, his movements quick and jerky as he spread butter on bread. "Here." He broke off a piece, and held it to Crowley's lips.

Crowley had imagined, so many times, hand-feeding Aziraphale. Dreamily imagined it, as they shared meals together. Meltingly, when he saw something his angel would like. Desperately, frantically, ashamedly, alone and consumed with craving, carried away with the thought of doing something, anything, that would mean he was causing the angel pleasure, admitting to himself that he would rather make Aziraphale made a pleased sound with than any carnal pleaure with anyone else, admitting to himself that desire was fiery and demonic and, yes, carnal.

Crowley had never imagined Aziraphale hand-feeding him. He felt vulnerable and exposed, and saw the same expression in Aziraphale's face. Eating--eating was special to Aziraphale. A special pleasure. And he was sharing it... Aziraphale's hands were trembling, which was only fair, because Crowley was trembling from head to toe.

He took the bread into his mouth. The cultured and smoked butter was tangy, nutty. Sweet from the honey, creamy. And the salty, burned taste of the smoking, a whiff of Hell in all the heaven. Not ruining it. Making it better.

"I've missed you," breathed Aziraphale, and Crowley surged forward and kissed him.

Too much, too fast, he warned himself, but Aziraphale's shoulders were rounded and warm under his clasping hands and Aziraphale's lips, sweet and salty with cheese and honey, were returning the kiss, warm solid arms coming up around him as if helpless to do anything else. He was kissing the angel, and the angel wasn't kissing him away, he was returning the kiss so sweetly, so tenderly, so longingly. Crowley didn't dare deepen it, didn't dare risk losing this miracle, the lips against his, the arms around his back in the quiet night.

Just let me have this moment, he prayed, to--God? Satan? Aziraphale? I can live in this moment forever, whatever else happens. I love him so desperately.

Aziraphale pulled away eventually, and Crowley stared into his face, so pale in the moonlight, his eyes looking dark for once--night time or desire? He didn't know, could only hope. "Aziraphale," he whispered. "Please."

Aziraphale shook his head violently, the moment passing, fear coming back. He dropped his arms. "Not here. Anyone--anyone could see."

I want to kiss you here, Crowley thought rebelliously. Kiss you and kiss you and claim you, right under heaven, so they can see you belong to me, see you choose me, see you are mine.

And then what? his conscience asked. And why did he even have a bloody conscience? The pathetic angelic remnant was just a disadvantage to a demon. You want to take being an angel away from him?

"Come back to my hotel, then," he said, anyway. He was a demon. Selfish. "We can be alone--angel. Please." He was pleading without hope.

Aziraphale shook his head. It was inevitable, but it still hurt. "Don't make this harder. We are enemies--with an Arrangement."

Crowley wouldn't cry. Wouldn't manipulate Aziraphale that way. "Then let me buy you coffee tomorrow. You haven't drunk yours."

He thought Aziraphale would refuse. The angel was chewing his lip and looking down as if he was going to say no and flee.

"Yes. You worked so hard on flat whites. I owe it to you to taste them."

"Thank you."

Aziraphale's mouth twisted, as if Crowley wasn't the only one trying not to weep. "Don't thank me." He took a breath. "Anyway, I should thank you. This picnic, it was marvellous."

"Don't thank me," Crowley echoed, bitterly.

Aziraphale stood, fussily brushed crumbs off his neat trousers--and what was wrong with Crowley that watching those pampered hands brush Aziraphale's wonderfully thick thighs still sent fire lancing through him?--and looked down at him.

"Well. At least let me show my gratitude." Aziraphale flicked his fingers in the air, and there was a disturbed bleating.

All the sheep in the paddock were facing in the other direction.

"Angel." Despite all his mixed emotions, Crowley felt a grin creep over his face. "Just here?"

"All over New Zealand, I'm afraid." Aziraphale paused, then a glimmer of a smirk crept across his face. "And Australia."

"Angel," Crowley repeated, adoringly.

Aziraphale's smirk increased, then Crowley was alone in the silent night.

* * *

Something like thirty years later, when there had been many kisses, and many picnics, and much much more, when they could walk openly together hand in hand under the sky, and kiss there, Crowley stopped at a coffee stall and bought a flat white.

Aziraphale made a face. "They don't make them properly in England, you know that."

"Don't care. " Crowley looked at the slimy mess that was supposed to be milk microfoam, and sipped it dubiously. They had used a long shot of espresso, not ristretto, and burned it to boot. "It's a good memory."

"Yes, it is. The first time my husband kissed me."

"My glorious, terrifying angel."

Aziraphale pouted. "Oh, you make have quaked a bit, but you've never been afraid of me."

"No. No, somehow I never have been." Crowley snapped his fingers to dispose of the awful excuse for coffee, and went for Aziraphale's mouth, which was much sweeter instead. "But don't pretend to be Gabriel again."

Aziraphale shuddered. "Never." He smiled up at Crowley, whose heart turned over and over. "Shall we have another picnic today, my beloved?"

"Only if you promise to hand feed me," he said, and Aziraphale laughed happily, and, oh.

All was calm, and all was bright.

* * *

1 Inexplicable phenomena were not in themselves unusual on the Discworld. Rains of fish, for example, were so common in the little landlocked village of Pine Dressers that it had a flourishing smoking, canning and kipper-filleting industry. And in the mountain regions of Syrrit many sheep, left out in the fields all night, would be found in the morning to be facing the other way, without the apparent intervention of any human agency. --Terry Pratchett, Reaper Man.

Notes:

1) I've never actually been to New Zealand, but gosh, their cheese. Fun note: I'm lactose intolerant.

2) Pāua are incredibly beautiful mollusks (of your choice). Fun note: I hate seafood.

3) Seriously, thank you again for all this support for this series of fluffy first kisses.

4) See you tomorrow for "Choir"! @drawlight

#31 days of ineffables #azicrow #Aziraphale/Crowley #Good omens fanfic #Ineffable husbands fanfiction #silent night

6 notes · View notes