#and whom i wish would assume good faith on my part as well- i do think we let trans women get away w shit that if trans men | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

softyoongiionly · 3 years

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For Whom the Bell Tolls

Just outside the boundaries of your town, deep within the trenches of the forest sits a massive tower made from smoke-stained ivory. Decrepit and ominous, it looms over your town like a warning- like a shadow...

There are opposing rumors as to what resides in the tower.

One of them, the one that just so happens to appeal to you the most, is that there is a deity living in that tower.

The one who knows.

The one who blesses and curses the deserving and offers wisdom that no mortal can.

And now, faced with the imminent demise of your family- you have no choice but to seek answers in the darkness.

What, in god’s name, will you find?

Pairing: Jimin x Reader

Genre: demi-god! au, demi-god! Jimin, mythology, slight angst, smut, fantasy

Word count: 8k (THIS WAS SUPPOSED TO BE PWP)

Warnings: likely inaccurate representations of greek mythology lmao, unprotected sex (wrap it up plz), mentions of violence/death, slightly spooky??? allusions to corruption and murder (non-explicit), JIMIN (cause he’s always a warning), probably a messy plot cause I went feral with this one. parts are unedited oops.

A/N: i have nothing to say. this was supposed to be demon porn and now we have a completely new au. SOMEONE PLEASE STOP ME. okay anyways,,,, i love u.

Corruption.

It ran rampant through your town like the plague, devouring everything in its path. One right after another, you have seen it swallow those who you had come to respect; good town folk, who at one time, moved through the world with a moral compass stronger than the one you felt you possessed, had now fallen ill to the disease.

And you understood...to an extent. The universe was not a benevolent dealer. It randomly assigns cards to its patrons and cares not about the outcome- or the losses. You understood that sometimes people were simply without a winning hand.

But the need to win was still present.

However, your town was spoiled with a type of greed that wafted through the streets and turned everything to mold. Neighbor betraying neighbor, partner betraying partner- even mother’s betraying their children...

All to please one man...

Lord Instinctus was the ruler of your province. Born into nobility, he took over the position after his father passed away and began turning the tides in his favor. Taxes were raised, work hours following suit and, harsh punishments were administered to anyone who dared questioned the new system. He forced your town to pledge their loyalty to him on the day he took over and sent ‘enforcers’ to hide out in the town in search of any signs of rebellion.

However, his cruelty was not unique. Too many men have followed the path paved before them and suckled at the teet of avarice, until they were compelled to out do one another.

To outkill one another...

What made Lord Instinctus unique was the fact that he had never shown his face before. During his initiation into the noble court, the townspeople were given blindfolds and told to face away from their Lord and simply listen. Few people broke the rules but, the ones who did were immediately executed.

You still remember the shudder that ran through your body as you heard the sound of your townspeople hitting the pavement. From that point on, the tone was set. Insubordination means death; the terms were simple.

The lack of knowledge and the possibility of death didn’t stop speculation from blooming. In fact, the appearance of the Lord was essentially the usual topic of conversation at every pub on the main street. After the freeing of spirits, both liquid or otherwise, the rumors begin pouring into the atmosphere.

“He’s probably horribly deformed...”

“Inbreeding is common amongst the nobility; it would make sense...”

“My cousin walked by the villa the other day, he said Lord Invictus had a tail!”

“A tail you say?! So is he some sort of hybrid?!”

“Oh please, that’s preposterous- he's probably just hideous...”

You bite your bottom lip, as you wipe the whiskey from the chestnut countertop, resisting the urge to smirk. Bartending was certainly not a glamorous job but, it paid your taxes and helped put food on the table for you and your family.

Glamorous it was not but, amusing it definitely was.

“I bet you he still beds a new woman every night though...”

“A pretty face ain’t worth more than all that gold he has aye?”

“Maybe he’s cursed...”

“That wouldn’t surprise me either- I hear noble families make deals with the magic folk all the time.”

“If you all want to know so bad, why don’t you just pay the tower a visit?”

With that meager suggestion, the bustle of the pub comes to halt- all eyes now on the man who mentioned a topic that is normally banned from public spaces.

“What? You can’t tell me you haven’t wondered what was up there...”

“We know what’s up there-”

“Or rather- who's up there.”

It’s said to be the home a monster.

The tower was used as a prison for the most dastardly of criminals. For years, just before the establishment of your town, it served as a last resort for the rotten underbelly of society. Countless lives were taken, madness ensued- until the revolution came. The tower was set aflame by revolutionaries but for whatever reason, it did not crumble.

The ivory merely sizzled and turned gray and then over time, it turned black. For years it was abandoned until one day, just after sunset, light emanated from the tower once more. Onlookers who were near the building went inside to see if some vagrant had moved in.

And they never returned...

Several spiritual advisors have visited the town, including religious figures from various faiths, and they have all arrived at the same conclusion: a demon has taken residence in the tower. Despite the efforts to bless the building, the light comes on every evening.

Thus, it is assumed that the demon remains unharmed.

“What about Mrs. Jeon? She left offerings for the beast and her son was cured of the plague the next morning.”

“Or Mr. Kim- he left one as well and found gold in his backyard that very night...”

“You aren’t suggesting there is a benevolent being in that tower, are you? Should I remind you of how many disappearances have occurred?”

There are opposing rumors you suppose.

One of them, the one that just so happens to appeal to you the most, is that there is a deity living in that tower.

The one who knows.

The one who blesses and curses the deserving and offers wisdom that no mortal can.

“Hey here’s a thought- how about Jacob tests his theory eh? Why don’t you go down and find out yourself? Report back to us with your findings...”

The pub erupts with laughter now, the uneasiness slowly melting away from the room.

You elect to keep your thoughts to yourself, as you finish up counting the money you had made from that evening- making sure to leave a portion for the incoming team.

The bite of the winter wind is harsh and untamed as it scraps across your skin, causing you to hurriedly put your coat on. It feels like winter never ends in your town and if it weren’t for the fact that your family stocks up throughout the year, you would be worried where your next meal is coming from.

Walking down the street towards your home, you catch sight of the tower in the distance. The way the windows begin to glow, almost makes you feel like it’s somehow staring back at you- taunting you.

You would be lying if you said it didn’t tempt you.

It always has.

Even as a young girl, you remember being drawn to the infamy, to the danger...

Your mother always told you that being curious was a good thing, that it led the greatest minds of humankind. You kept that with you as you moved through life, trying your best to understand what your purpose was.

But times were hard...

With a malevolent lord hanging over the morale of your town, digging his fingers into the heart and soul of your people and crippling them with eternal debt, it was causing you to look for answers.

And you were beginning to look in some unorthodox places.

Dinner with your family soothes the aching curiosity in your chest as you try and remind yourself of all the things you have to be grateful for. After your meal, you wrestle your little brother into his bed before telling him his favorite bedtime story. Once his eyelids have kissed, you turn out his light and move into the main room to wish sweet dreams upon your parents.

And although the pleasantries are nice, there are a few things throughout the evening that disturbed you.

The limp in your father’s movement.

The blisters on your mother’s hands.

The bags beneath the otherwise unburden gaze of your little brother.

Exhaustion was palpable.

Living beneath the weight of a corrupt leadership will do that to you.

As your head hits the pillow, you can hear your mother murmur in desperation.

“I won’t have enough to pay him this week...what are we going to do?”

“I can work extra hours at the mill- we will figure it out.”

“How could you possibly work any longer-”

You feel your chest twist with guilt as you hear the crack in your mother's voice.

“You’re falling apart my love...if you continue pushing yourself this way, I’m afraid I will lose you and I can’t- I can’t-”

The muffled nature of her cries suggests that your father has pulled her in for a hug, trying to erase the inevitable with his affection.

“We will endure, I promise. Just hang on a little longer.”

With your father’s final words, their conversation begins to die down.

This can’t possibly go on much longer. You might be able to pick up more hours at the pub and, perhaps procure a second job but, the dues will never end.

Your family will never exist for any other reason aside from paying to the noble family.

So you make a decision. Hard work clearly isn’t the answer and revolution would only shed innocent blood. If the practical world had nothing else to offer then, you would seek answers from beyond.

Your parents retired to their rooms shortly after their conversation but, you wait until you’re sure the house has fallen silent before you make your next move. Embarking on this mission would be simple but what lies at your destination is anything but; so, you try to be prepared for the possible outcomes.

Wrapping yourself in the thickest coat you can find, you slip your dagger beneath the onyx material and slowly creep out of your bedroom.

The streets were still bustling with life; your town rarely ever rests and the pubs and shops are open well past midnight.

It might sound like the product of a vibrant town but, it’s mainly due to the ever-present demand for profit.

Limited hours mean limited sales.

Thankfully, no one really notices your presence as you traverse your way down the streets and through the alleyway. The noise echoing from the main street slowly diminishes and makes way for the sound of the wind dancing through the trees. The forest itself does not frighten you. You grew up memorizing it with your father as he taught you the fundamentals or foraging and gardening. The sound of the owls is expected as is the chill that runs up your spine with the increase of the breeze.

However, as you near the tower- fear begins to slither its way into your veins. It’s quite a sickening feeling as it seems to stop you in your tracks but, you push on anyway- determined to finish what you have started.

The wrought iron surrounding the tower is stained with rust, corroded and crackling with age, the creaking of its bars alarms you, stopping you in your tracks and forcing you to look up.

And there it is: the tower.

It stands above you like a menacing giant and although it’s presence should deter you, it doesn’t. Making an effort to be as silent as you can, you slip past the opening in the gate and begin walking up the broken cobblestone pathway.

There is nothing but dirt surrounding the perimeter of the tower and other than the moon, the only light before you is coming from the very top window. It’s glowing but the color isn’t stable- it's as if it were shifting slowly from red to green to blue and then back again. Faced with the wooden French doors, you question the idea of knocking.

If someone truly did live here, it would only be polite...right?

With a shaky hand, you knock three times as loudly as you can. For a moment there is nothing, but just as you ready your hand to knock again, the door groans and begins to slowly creak open.

The already unstable heartbeat in your chest begins to rattle without mercy as you brace yourself for whatever horrible creature might lay on the other side. Instead, however, there is no one.

The door opens entirely to reveal that instead of the simple but filthy interior you expect from an abandoned tower such as this one, there is a rather decadent home. Large marble pillars extend upwards seemingly holding nothing in place while glamorous furniture positions itself through the foray. Everything is cooled tone with greys and shades of blue, black often lining the borders of the funiture. There is no lantern, the moon lighting up the interior of the room just as it led your path up to the door.

The layout doesn’t make sense.

The tower is cylindrical and doesn’t offer enough space for such an open floor plan so, how is it that the inside looks like lavish mansion?

You swallow your fear and newfound confusion as you tentatively look around the expanse of the room.

“Hello?”

Nothing.

You take a deep breath and decide that the likelihood of someone (or something) answering that call is slim, especially given the way you were welcomed into the tower in the first place.

You place your hand inside your pocket, gripping the dagger for good measure before beginning to make your way towards the staircase. The moonlight is sufficient enough at first but for whatever reason, as you begin making your way up the stone staircase, the interior of the tower seems to slowly darken. Your grip on the dagger tightens as you stop walking, frozen in your steps, cursing yourself for embarking on a journey so reckless.

Suddenly, all of the light from the room vanishes, forcing a gasp from your throat. You manage to grip the railing to steady yourself but you have no idea what you are to do next.

And then, someone speaks.

“Well- you’re awfully far from home...aren’t you?”

The sound of the voice rushes through your senses much like the wind did. It’s too sweet for your liking but, it entrances you none the less.

“Who are you?”

As much as you try to steady your breathing, the way your voice cracks, gives you away instantly.

Laughter bounces off the stone walls, sinister and playful all at once before the voice speaks again,

“Don’t you think that’s a question I should be asking you? You are the intruder after all...”

Disembodied or not, the voice makes a valid point. You did walk in unannounced and you most certainly weren’t invited.

“I’m Y/N Y/L/N.” The strength in your voice comes back slightly as you grip the railing a bit tighter, “I came here because- “

“I know why you’re here...” The voice is much closer now, likely positioned at the top of the stairs, “Humans are so predictable; always looking for a handout.”

This offends you greatly and regardless of the amount of danger you might be in, you let the voice know anyway.

“I am not looking for a hand out. My family and I work from sunrise until sunset to make ends meet. I’m here to make an offering- not merely to take whatever miracles that you make.” Stronger and stronger, your voice rises to the occasion, preparing itself to either spar with the beast or scream for help.

“Miracles hm?” Sinister laughter slinks down the staircase, practically teasing the exposed skin of your neck, “Is that what you think I do?”

You swallow the bile that creeps up your throat, “I’ve heard many stories- but I wanted to see for myself. Some of my people claim you’ve blessed them but, the clergy said a demon lived here...”

“Oh?” It rises with inquisition, “And you came anyway? Do I have a heretic in my presence?”

Shaking your head does nothing in the darkness but it’s instinctual, “I don’t believe in demons- at least, not the kind who dwell in abandoned towers.”

“Is there a kind you do believe in then?”

There is something in you that urges you forward, captivated by the sweet sound of the voice above you, desperate to view the owner and desperate to see the moonlight again.

“Hell is nothing but a metaphor and it’s demons all the same. There is plenty of evil here, plenty of suffering- by definition, there is a demon ruling over my town- he is draining us of our resources for his own gain. I couldn’t imagine a more accurate representation.”

Suddenly, you hear the sound of boots clicking slowly and steadily down the stone stairs. You brace yourself, still feeling frozen in your place- wishing to see whoever or whatever is front of you.

“If I did make miracles,” It muses and, now you’re able to discern that it’s only a few steps in front of you, “What exactly would you be offering me in return?”

Taking a deep breath through your nose, you place all your effort into trying to make out whether or not there was an actual owner to this voice. Finally, your eyes adjust enough to see the faint shadow of a figure which appears to be sitting on the second set of stairs.

“Name your terms, I will do my best.”

“Ah ah-” The voice corrects along with a side of twinkling laughter, “That isn’t how this works...”

You’re growing frustrated with the apparent mind games but, you know it’s in your best interest to be patient; you still don’t know what you’re dealing with.

“How does it work then?”

Silence passes through the air for a moment before the voice speaks again, “You must bring me the thing you treasure the most so, that I may know your true intentions- I cannot help you until I can see you properly.”

You snort, “You’d be able to see me if you hadn’t wiped the light from this room...”

Laughter comes again but this time, it’s lower and deepened with suggestion, “I’m not referring to physical sight, human. You might not be able to see in the dark but, I can.”

For whatever reason, its response sounds salacious and riddled with an innuendo that you’re slightly afraid to comment on.

And the reaction it creates within you, only frightens you further.

“I’ve just told you that I barely have enough money to scrape by- I don’t have anything of value to give you.”

“I never asked you to bring me anything of value nor did I ask you to give it away- you’re not listening very well...I don’t know how I’m supposed to help you if you can’t follow instructions.”

It sounds irritated and fond all at once, prompting you to nod immediately, not wanting to upset your only shot at freedom.

“I’m sorry.” You breathe, “I’m just-”

“Don’t lie to me...”

Your gaze strains to try and make out the expression of the figure in front of you but, its futile- the darkness impeding your effort.

“What do you mean?”

“You were going to tell me that you’re scared.” The voice accuses, “But you’re not- even though, you most certainly should be.”

It wasn’t wrong. You should have ran when the door opened on its own, when the lights began to dim, when a voice began speaking to you...

But you didn’t.

You were undeniably intrigued.

“Are you going to hurt me?”

An insidious bought of laughter comes from the figure before it sighs, “Hmmm, maybe a little bit.”

When your lips part with something that resembles shock, the laughter comes again only slowing to a halt for the sound of the figure’s tongue tutting against its teeth.

“You are a curious girl...” It observes, “...promises of harm should not excite you and yet- excitement flows from you anyway. Why?”

It kills you to refrain from denying it but, you have no choice.

“Your voice-” A sigh leaves your lips, “it’s very intriguing.”

Maybe it’s part of the creature's abilities, you think, its voice is the main weapon to lure unsuspecting and vulnerable humans into its clutches. The only question is- what happens once it has you.

“Is it now?” The voice sounds intrigued, “Most humans don’t seem to think so. Are you sure you’re hearing me right, girl? I’ve been told my voice is the thing of nightmares.”

This perplexes you; how could anyone possibly think such a voice was frightening? Despite this creature being anything but human, it sounds very much like a man- a warm and mischievous man who seems hellbent on getting you into bed.

“What does my voice sound like to you?” It asks, a smile in its tone.

You ponder this question for a second, realizing very quickly that you can’t exactly tell this creature that it sounds like it’s trying to seduce you. But still, that does seem to be the only appropriate description.

“Sort of...like a melody.”

Laughter comes again but, this time it’s paired with the moonlight slowly fading back into the tower, covering every surface until it finally reveals the appearance of the figure.

Beautiful.

Not an it but a he...

A man with wings.

On the steps before you, he stands, leaning casually against the railing now. Atop his head is a tousled mop of sapphire hair, just below are his eyes- nearly black and hooded with the same seduction as his voice and cloaking his figure is a black linen ensemble fitted only by the same color corset. His pillowy lips and soft skin would be a masterpiece on their own but coupled with the giant pair of onyx wings protruding proudly from his back- his visuals become simply devastating.

“What do you see?” He smirks, licking over his lips.

Unable to resist, you shake your head in complete awe, all of the sensible words dying before they leave your throat, “You- are you an angel?”

The light allows you to see him now as his head tilts another round of laughter, “Try again...you’re very close.”

Perhaps the clergy was right...

“A demon then...” You resign because despite your previously-held beliefs, if this really was a demon, then you know very well you shouldn’t be dealing with him. “I should go.”

His smirk broadens, “But I thought you didn’t believe in demons?”

“I didn’t but, that’s clearly what you’re alluding to. If a winged man tells me he’s a demon, I think it’s wise that I return home.”

Through your moment of clarity, your desire for him persists- especially now that you see what he looks like. But you know better than to make a deal with a demon, even if you are desperate.

“Do you think the universe is that simple? Angels and demons? Good and evil? You don’t think that maybe- in all of his vastness, there is a chance for the inbetweeners?” He presses and now his black eyes seem to glow, his gaze slightly hypnotic.

Tightening your coat around your body, you stay staring at him for a moment before you respond, “Is that what you are? Something in between?”

He licks his lips, his eyes finally allowing themselves to wander over your figure. There isn’t much of you showing but, he still drinks you up regardless, exposing and exciting you all at once.

“I was sent by the underworld to do business for the gods...” He drops his voice to a near whisper, his gaze burning a hole in you, which now aches to be filled.

You take in a shaky breath through your nose, nodding in understanding, “Did you kill the people who disappeared here? Is that what happens when their judgment goes south?”

He arches his brow, tilting his head with his inquiry- his voice dripping with darkness, “Maybe I did...maybe I didn’t. I don’t see how that’s relevant- especially since you’ve already decided you were leaving. Which of course-” He waves his hand then, the wooden door behind you creaking open, “-you are free to do.”

There is something about him you haven’t touched on but, it’s beginning to eat you up inside. He may be an otherworldly being, possessing the tower like a beautiful virus but, he is starting to look familiar. This of course, is hard to imagine because his beauty is so striking that you don’t see how you could ever forget it. But nonetheless, you feel like you’ve seen him before.

And this is what has kept you frozen.

“Will you not give me any answers?” You border on pleading but, attempt to keep your tone firm.

He chuckles, “You didn’t come to me for answers. You came for help- which I’ve already agreed to give you.”

The supernatural discourse that has transpired, thoroughly distracted you from the reasons for seeking him out in the first place. Your situation had not changed; you were still desperate for money, desperate for justice and desperate for peace.

“You won’t hurt my family...” It’s not a question, and it leaves no room for any other response aside from the one he gives you.

“I won’t.”

Nodding, you glance behind your shoulder towards the door, “I have to go home. I don’t have the item you asked for. I can be back within the hour...”

For the first time, he looks slightly disappointed but as you complete your sentence, he shakes his head, “No. Don't come back tonight.” He insists, “If you wish to do business with me- you must return tomorrow after midnight. I will wait for you at the shoreline.”

This confuses you, “The shoreline? Why can’t we meet here? The water is dangerous after dark.”

The smirk returns to his tender lips, “I know.”

With that, he waves his hand again- causing the door to swing open and slam against the tower walls.

Jumping at the sound, your gaze shoots back behind you before returning to where the creature stood.

But he had vanished.

You have no choice but to heed his requests and rush away from the tower, the curiosity inside you almost too much to bear.

Nothing is out of the ordinary as you walk back home, at least not at first. But when you pass the massive clock tower in the center of town, you realize something strange...

The clock hadn’t moved, not even a second.

You remember very clearly reading the time as you hurried past it on your way to the tower and now, even as you’re staring at it, it stands perfectly still. Until suddenly, without warning, the hands of time begin to move again. The clicking almost startles you, your brain filling with a million questions despite your decision to turn away and return home.

Time had seemingly stood still whilst you were in the tower.

Slipping beneath the covers, you try your hardest to get to sleep despite being bombarded with images of the haunting man you had just encountered.

You know you should be terrified.

You know you should be wary.

But the familiarity of him has possessed you and, you’re determined to understand why.

The next night, with your treasured object tucked securely in your coat, you make your way back to him.

You make sure to check the clock tower before you do, logging the time away for later to see if last night had been more than just a fluke.

12:32am.

The clock tower has never lied but, you’re starting to think it might be influenced by whatever resided in the tower- magic, beast, or otherwise.

As you pass through the many trees, you begin to hear the chaotic crashing of the waves in the distance. The tower may be frightening but, few things could match the malevolent temper of the sea. In fact, you’ve always believed that nothing could. The sea was unrivaled in her cruelty, consuming the world at will, just for the fun of it- you've theorized that she likes the screams. During the day, she simmered- blue and serene, allowing boats to decorate her surface like candles on a birthday cake. At night though, her temper worsens and it’s as if she suddenly remembers all the injustice she has faced. Her waves swell to horrific heights, smashing into the seawalls built around your town, creeping over like a titan looking for vengeance.

You’ve always felt pity for her. It must be hard: being the heart and soul of humanity, being responsible for the very nature of things- only to be forgotten. Only to be mistreated...

Your boots are discarded near the last patch of grass before the sand and, your toes brace themselves icy chill of the sea breeze. You’re especially thankful for the coat now as you suspect that your teeth would have already begun chattering had it not been for the thick fabric protecting you.

The waves haven’t begun their violent dance just yet but, you can sense their temper beneath your feet. They will begin soon.

“The sea-” The voice from the tower is behind you, “it suits you.”

Breathless, you turn to face him and even though you’re more prepared for his beauty than you were last night, it still shocks you.

He’s wearing a black silk gown, that drapes effortlessly off his body, the sleeves made out of French lace and extending well past his fingertips. His wings are shuttered behind him, folded almost modestly against his back.

“Thank you.” It’s the only response you have before you reach into the fold of your coat, “I have the-”

He holds up his hand, his voice commanding but gentle, “Wait. I want you to walk with me first. I don’t like rushing through my business deals.”

Your hand slowly retreats from your coat as you warily look behind you, “You want to walk along the shoreline? I told you, it’s too dangerous- at least for me it is, I don’t exactly have an escape mechanism attached to my back.”

He smirks, his tempting gaze flourishing with fondness you cannot place, “What causes you to mistrust the sea so much? Surely she wouldn’t hurt one of her own...”

Your brow furrows, “What do you mean?”

Extending from the confines of silk, his fingers reach out to you, fluttering with invitation, “I will show you.”

And really, you’d be a fool not to accept.

Interlacing your fingers with his, you feel electricity simmer ever so slightly beneath your skin. You’re assuming it’s from the power that likely resides within him but, you don’t expect it to affect you so much.

The sound of the waves begins to softly roar in the distance but the water isn’t close enough to the shoreline to pose any immediate threat.

Not yet at least...

You begin walking alongside him as he leads you both in the opposite direction of your town border. For quite a few moments, he just gazes at the eternal stretch of sand before you, his soft mouth curved up ever so slightly. He looks pensive and serene all at once and, it confuses you.

“May I tell you a story?”

His request surprises you but, you aren’t really in a position to say no. And if you’re being honest, you really didn’t want to.

“Yes.” You murmur, feeling compelled to keep your volume at a minimum.

He smiles softly to himself, glancing towards the water briefly before beginning.

“The water has many gods...” He speaks softly, letting out a sigh, “Lir, Irish god of the sea, Tefnut, Egyptian goddess of the rain, Amimitl, Aztec god of lakes and fisherman...” His explanation already has you interested. You were taught much of the stories beyond your land but, it had always fascinated you, “The gods of the sea are known for the temperate nature, they often stay away from humans and avoid interfering with the mortal coil. Death by water is merely a request they carry out for the gods of death and destruction and thus, there is goddess who rules over the violence of the sea itself.”

Just as he finishes his sentence, the temper of the sea seems to roar to life, the swollen waves crashing aggressively, still not close enough to reach you.

Not yet at least...

“Cymopoleia, is the goddess of violent sea storms. Poseidon, her father, tasked her with overseeing the malignant waters and tending to the causalities. She was not the creator of the storms but she carried the ability.” He moves through the story as if he has told it a 100 times but he seems captivated by it nonetheless, “When it came time for her to bear a child. She conjured up a spirit from within her very core. She crafted them out of the essence of the sea and placed them inside of clamshell in her palace. She was awaiting the full moon when someone snuck into the depths of the ocean and stole them from her.”

The gasp that leaves your lips cannot be helped, you didn’t realize how engrossed you were until suddenly you recognize the port from another town nearby.

You had been walking awhile.

“Why would someone do that?” You press, shaking your head.

He sends a solemn look your way, “Many thoughtless humans believe that if they capture the essence of a god, they will become one themselves. Foolishly, he opened the clam shell and released the spirit into the world. By the time the goddess found him, it was too late- but she delegated his fate anyway. She took his life beneath the depths of a violent storm and placed a curse upon anyone who shared his bloodline. She made it so that any one of his descendants would bear the physical embodiment of his fate.”

“So, they look like they’ve died at sea?”

He can’t help but smirk, a bit of the darkness you saw at the tower, beginning to creep back. “Indeed. They are horribly disfigured and regardless of their efforts, they all meet the same fate. His lineage believes that if they send enough offerings out to sea or if they build high enough walls, that they will somehow escape their deaths. But of course, this if futile- the goddess vowed that she would continue to collect them until her spirit was returned.”

His story ends and it’s like something clicks within you. Without warning, you squeeze his hand, slowing both of you to a stop, just before the light of the upcoming pier hits you.

“Does this have something to do with my town? Is that why you’re telling me this?”

Lord Invictus certainly fit the description for a descendent of this thief and, although it bores no sense of logic- you have no choice but to believe it anyway.

It all fits together too well...

He turns towards you now, his smirk now a small smile, “It has to do with you Y/N.”

Your brow furrows, “Me? What do you mean?”

He nods to your coat, something otherworldly lingering in his eyes, “I’d like to see what you’ve brought with you now.”

Still riddled with confusion, you reach inside your coat and find that the item you had brought with you (a beaded necklace gifted to you at birth by your parents) had turned into something else.

And now, sitting in the palm of your hand- was a clamshell.

“What is this? This isn’t what I brought to you- I-” You begin to panic, confusion and fear starting to take over, “Did you do this? Did you take my necklace?”

Finally, the sinister smirk returns as his wings begin to unfurl from behind his back. Along with his shift in expression, another danger is brewing very close to you- you can feel it.

The sea is growing irritated and whipping the wind and the water up into a frenzy. As you look toward the water, you have no choice but to look on in horror as you see the beginning of something deadly.

A rogue wave.

The grip on your hand tightens as his extraordinary strength keeps you in place.

“I think it’s time I formally introduce myself-” His voice is loaded with bad intentions but it sounds sweet anyway as he burns his gaze into yours, “My name is Jimin. Son of Tartarus, the god of punishment and Nyx, the goddess of the night.”

Your eyes are wide with desperation, not fully registering what he said before he’s yanking you against his chest and turning you to face the sea. Standing behind you, he unleashes a spell of wicked laughter as his wings unfurl from behind is back to wrap around the both of you, so that the only thing you’re able to see is the wall of water coming for you.

“I have to come to send you home Y/N...your mother has been waiting for you a very long time.”

His arms are wrapped around you now, crushing you against his chest as his wings begin flapping- the wind picking up furiously around you.

“Jimin!” You scream, eyes welling up with tears, “You promised you wouldn’t hurt me! You promised! Why are you doing this to me?!”

He laughs at you, and it isn’t necessarily malevolent but merely amused, as if he in on a joke you weren’t part of.

“Shhhh, quiet down my little sea nymph...” He whispers salaciously into your ear, “...your fate will be painless.”

You’re crying now, digging your nails into his skin, attempting to break free as the massive creature that is the ocean rushes towards you without mercy. The crest of the wave arches above you proudly, the swirling darkness of the water mocking the mere audacity of your existence but, as you brace for impact- it never comes.

Only the darkness does...

And it’s the darkness that consumes you.

“Jimin!” A voice breaks into your subconscious, luring you out of what you hope was a nightmare, “You couldn’t have brought her home without scaring her? She was practically driftwood when she arrived here.”

That familiar twinkle of laughter sounds then and, it forces your eyes open.

“I’m sorry your grace- it's just in my nature.” He defends poorly, still chuckling to himself, “I can’t imagine my brothers are doing much better.”

You are somewhere extraordinary, that much is certain. Above your immediate line of sight is an ornate glass ceiling that seems to glow a cerulean blue. All around you are gold furnishings, each decorated with various moldings of sea creatures.

“She’s awake!”

Your vision, still slightly cloudy, now lands upon a being so beautiful- that you have to blink a few times to ensure you’re seeing the right thing. Draped in blue silk and decorated with gold and pearls, is a woman who looks at you with nothing but love in her eyes.

“Oh my- its really you...”

She seems tentative but, you’re suddenly overcome with joy- filled with an almost cosmic sense of peace.

“Mother!” You cry, rushing off of the bed you were laying on and into her arms.

She takes you in her arms immediately, her skin cool against yours like the tepid waters of the bay. She sniffles, tightening her grip on you,

“I knew you’d come home...I knew one day I would find you.”

And it really doesn’t make much sense does it?

How could your life swing so violently from one direction to the next?

Your life on earth seems so insignificant now...now that you’re back with her.

Cymopoleia- queen of violent sea storms and, your mother.

She explains it all to you, gently stroking your hair and fawning over you.

The spirit in the depths was you. Born into a human body, you were fated to one day meet with the demi-god of darkness, who with a bit of trickery- would return you to your rightful place in the cosmos.

Your mother assures you that your mortal family would be relieved of your memory until it was safe for you to visit them, until the gods of fate decide. In addition, Lord Invictus would be the last of the bloodline to pay for what his ancestor had done and, the fog of greed and corruption- which begin the day you were born, would soon be lifted.

The explanation is long and doesn’t leave you completely fulfilled but, your mother assures you that you have all the time in the world to understand the complexity of the universe.

Hours later, after you’ve had a decent feast, your mother instructs Jimin to escort you to your bedroom.

As he leads you down the hallway towards your chambers, you send a playful glare his way, “So- how much of what you told me was a lie?”

He merely smirks, “None of it.”

You scoff, “Even the part of about your voice? And all that nonsense about excitement and me being curious? You knew all along what was to happen- you just tricked me.”

Jimin chuckles darkly, stopping just outside your bedroom door before turning to you, “The part about my voice frightening people wasn’t a lie, Y/N. My father is the god of punishment, any mortal that hears my voice usually cowers in fear...”

“Is that why I felt so drawn to you? Because you were meant to take me home?”

His smirk broadens, “No...you feel drawn me because you want to fuck me.”

Your mouth goes completely dry at his bold statement but, you are unable to deny it- your fingers suddenly twitching at your side.

“Wh-”

“It’s not your fault really...” He murmurs, his body shifting towards you, “...it’s just the way I was made. I am used to people lusting after me- however,” Jimin reaches out then, to brush his thumb over the swell of your cheek, “-I have never known true lust until I had the pleasure of meeting you.”

“You lust for me?” You whisper, completely drawn up with desire- finally allowing your true nature, the nature of a demi-goddess pour out of your soul.

He licks his lips, his gaze upon you timid as he presses his thumb into your face, “I do.”

You turn to the side suddenly, capturing his thumb between your lips, “Show me.”

It's all it takes: that one phrase of consent being enough to unleash all the urges within him.

You’re inside your chamber seconds later, Jimin clawing at the fabric of your robe, his fingers digging into your skin as he does, his lips latching on to every part of you he can reach.

“I knew the moment you walked into my tower-” He grunts, “I knew- there was no way a mortal could be tempting, so dreadfully seductive.”

You sigh hopelessly, raking your hands through the sapphire tendrils on his head, your lips ghosting along the swell of his cheek, the tail of his brow, the shell of his ear...

“In the underworld...” He’s practically growling now, scratching his nails up the newly exposed skin of your back, “We are never taught to refuse our desires. You were my greatest challenge- it took everything in me not to devour you right there.”

You smirk now, positioning your lips at his ear, “I wouldn’t have known what to do with you though- aren't you glad you were patient?”

He grunts again, pressing his hips against yours defiantly, “Patience is for virtuous gods- “ He doesn't answer your question but, you know that he means yes. In spite of his darker nature, Jimin still believes in doing the right thing.... most of the time.

He has you on the bed moments later, his wings spreading proudly. He’s panting, his eyes completely black with lust as he nudges your legs open, determined to finally taste what he’s been craving.

For the demi-god of darkness, denying his desires for even a second is painful. He aches to fufill them over and over again...

You were certainly no exception.

But you want to keep teasing him...

Reaching down, you spread yourself open for him- feeling the visceral substance of your arousal sticking to your inner thighs.

“What are you waiting for then?” You lean up, grasping your hand behind his neck and staring directly into the abyss that is his gaze, “Defile me...”

Jimin growls, sliding into you instantly, his hands quickly bracing themselves on either side of your head. He smirks as your eyes roll back the sheer pleasure of him inside of you causing your nipples to harden.

“Oh look at that-” He chuckles, his own expression unstable with pleasure, “Are you going brain dead already hm? Is this cock that good?”

Your eyes come back into play as you stare up at him, your hands gripping either side of his face as he starts a power rhythm within you.

This wasn’t meant to last long, the carnal desire too much for either one of you to handle...

Perhaps, if your feelings permitted it- you'd make love another time.

Nodding, you moan as he increases the rhythm, pressing your forehead against his own.

“You feel so good.” You whisper, “I didn’t know it could- oh...” A whimper leaves your lips as he hits that spot inside of you, the pleasure completely ruining your ability to speak.

“Of course you didn’t- you’ve only ever let mortals play with your pretty cunt haven’t you?” He laughs, mocking you and cooing all at once, “And now that I’ve gotten ahold of it, you’re never going to want anyone else. I will ruin you ugh-” He finally breaks, his own brow furrowed with the onslaught of his release as you tighten around him, “-ugh fuck yes. I can feel how badly your cunt wants me- it's like you’re begging me to cum.”

“I want you to cum,” You whisper shakily, kissing at his mouth, “Fill me up please, I need it.”

He growls, kissing you back with just as much fervor, his hips moving so fast that the pleasure fucks with your vision.

“I’m going to make a mess of you, they will smell me on you until I can come back-” He promises, smirking ever so slightly, “and then- I'll paint the inside of you all over again won’t I? Such a masterpiece this cunt will be...and you’ll be all mine, cumming only for me.”

And he wasn’t wrong because, mere seconds later- the two of you are cumming all over one another, ruining the silk sheets with your release and clawing desperately at one another.

With the mutual utterance of your names, Jimin collapses beside you and, moments later- when you get your wits about you, he is ushering you onto his chest.

Sweaty, exhausted and satisfied, you lay together in silence for quite a while.

Until finally you speak, “I’m not quite sure what came over me.”

Jimin chuckles but this time, the sound is much warmer than you’re used to, “Immortal lust, it’s a blessing and a curse but, eternal life has to stay interesting somehow.”

You trace patterns on his chest whilst he covers your body with one of his wings, the feathers teasing at your sensitive skin.

“Did you mean it?”

And he doesn’t even bother asking, he knows exactly what you’re referring to.

“I want you.” He affirms, “If you’ll have me- I felt quite possessive of you then but, I won’t insist on anything you aren’t comfortable with.”

You smile, tracing a heart directly over the spot where his heart would beat, “It fits doesn’t it? You and I?”

If the past few days have taught you anything, it is that sometimes- it is appropriate to succumb to fate. Sometimes, believing in the simplicity of destiny works out. Being with Jimin felt right and, for now, this was enough.

“It does.” His statement is simple but his expression says it all: he is elated.

You fall back into comfortable silence once again before one more pressing question leaves your lips, “Did I hear you mention something about your brothers earlier?”

Jimin nods, his eyes half-closed as he cuddles closer to you, “You did. I have six of them.”

“Are they- like you?” You murmur, unable to stop your curiosity.

He nods again, “They are.”

You think one more question will suffice but, his answer will unfortunately bring about a thousand more, “Are they all on missions too?”

Jimin’s trademark smirk shows itself once again as he snickers, “They are-” He repeats before a great sense of pride comes over his expression...

“I was just the first one to return.”

A/N: should this be a series? asking for a friend...

#ficswithluv #bangtansorciere #jimin #park jimin #bts #bts jimin #jimin smut #jimin x reader #bts smut #bts writing #jimin writing #jimin fanfic #bts au

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cryoqi · 3 years

Text

in a different life we lived.

"i think that in a different life, the two of us actually, you know, fell in love."

with xiao.

in 1.9k words.

tags reincarnation au, fluff with angst if you look hard enough, but its really just fluff, ft. xingqiu but just a little.

“...And my dream was so detailed, you know? As if I’ve actually lived it out in real life. But the thing is… I’ve never lived that out before, all that falling in love and stuff, and especially not in the way I had in my dream. We were holding hands, even though skinship wasn’t his favorite.

“He took me to his favorite spot, hidden away where no one else could find it, and told me that he went there often, just so he could be alone. And, he said, that now that I was with him, we could be alone together. Ah, I don’t even know how I remember all of this. It’s so vivid, like it was a past memory of mine.

“Do you think it’s something like my past life…?” You turn to the boy next to you. “Are you even listening?”

The boy pulls his nose away from the book and turns to you with a soft gaze. “Ah, sorry. Could you repeat that again?” You hardly know this young man—just having only met him—and yet he’s getting on your nerves.

“Xingqiu—if that’s your name—you invited me to sit next to you and talk with you. You said, what, that I looked like I had a lot on my mind and that I could talk to you about whatever was troubling me,” you say, exasperated.

“And you are,” he tells you calmly, and this time he turns to you. “You know, reincarnation could be real. Do you really believe that what you’re dreaming of are the memories of your past? It’s very plausible.”

“Maybe, I don’t know.” You turn away from the scenic view in front of you and face reality. “Well, I’ll just head back home. It was nice meeting you. Hopefully, if I ever see you again, we can have a nice talk once more.”

“Farewell,” he says, eyes glossing over inked words on paper. Then, he turns back to call out one last thing before you disappear. “Ah, also, maybe you should try visiting that spot you mentioned in your dream.”

You scoff—so he was listening, after all. You gather your things and make your way back to Wangshu Inn. You’re grateful for their warm and welcoming arms that have allowed you to stay since last night. Though there were few backs that have faced you upon your arrival, you paid no attention to those cold gazes. Now that it’s getting late, you’d best be returning before your place gets dusty.

Though, you realize, Xingqiu’s parting words do have some sense to them— you turn to walk towards not the Inn but where your legs seem to know the location of your supposed hidden paradise. It’s like this place is of this world, though you have no recollection of it, but as you near the area, the empty feeling in your hands increases. You put your hands to your chest, in hopes to relieve it of the loneliness, and you continue on in your path.

The scenery around you grows familiar, and you see the placement of trees and their branches in all the right places. Ducking beneath leaves, you enter the secluded area—it’s just as you remembered in your dream. In fact, the entire location is identical.

Even more so, there’s someone sitting on the patch of grass that the sunset blesses among the shaded area. His arms are behind him, hands planted on the ground, and one of his arms is fixated in such a position that it looks like he’s made room for someone to sit next to him, as if he was waiting for someone. What catches your eye, however, are the tattoos on his right arm that remind you of memories that never existed.

“Who’s there?” he asks calmly, as if he’d been expecting someone to arrive. He doesn’t look behind.

You stop in your tracks, wondering whether you should leave or not. Your hands grab hold of the surrounding branches behind you, ready to push them aside as you’re about to leave before saying, “Ah, sorry. I really… don’t know why I’m here.” You turn to leave, head hanging down, but before you could take a step further, you notice that there’s a little dandelion standing tall next to your feet.

You bend down to pluck at it, telling him before finally returning to the Inn, “Sorry, I just saw this dandelion. It’s my superstition that if you pluck one and then blow the seeds away, it provides you with good luck and happiness.” You pause— you’ve spoken far more than you had wanted. “Okay, I’ll take my leave now.”

The man turns around. “Do tell me,” he tells you, “more about the dandelion you’re holding.”

“What do you want me to tell you?” You stand still. The space between you two grows awkward, and you’re left with discomfort settling in your chest. Now you feel you’ve invaded someone’s privacy and yet they’re asking you to stay, despite how uncomforting it must be for the man.

Though, he seems to be interested in you; he prods for more information about topics you know hardly anything about. “Just anything that you know,” he says.

You think for a second. “Well, I heard that if you give this,” you motion to the dandelion in your hand, “to a loved one, it is a promise of total faithfulness.”

The man exhales and turns back around.

‘Somebody else once told me that, long ago,’ he thinks.

“Come,” he tells you, not once looking back. With the way he stiffly pats the spot at which he beckons you to sit, you think that he’s not used to having people intrigue him—or talk to him, for that matter—that often. “Sit by me. You remind me of someone.”

You hesitate, then you deny the offer. “Ah, no. I really shouldn’t— it’s getting late, and I’d best be heading back before something comes up and…” You trail off, not knowing what to say next. However, his silence makes you question your decision, and as much as you’re unwilling to loiter any longer, you take your seat next to him, save for some space between you two as you’re still wary of him.

He looks solemnly up at the sunset that dips behind mountains. Camps from far away have lit up their torches, and if you look hard enough, you could see the orange lights of Liyue harbor that awaken. No words are exchanged between the two of you until the man beside you introduces himself.

“My name is Xiao.”

Though, why does that not seem like an introduction but more of a reminder?

You introduce yourself with the same lowness in your voice.

Xiao dips his head down to look at the ground below him. ‘Even their names are similar,’ he ponders.

Again, silence falls like the night sky that makes itself known. You wouldn’t have thought you’d have roped yourself into this situation, finding yourself sitting next to a stranger that you seem to know. “Life really does have its strange twists,” is what Xingqiu would say. You smile to yourself.

“Why do I remind you of someone?” you ask him after the millionth star in the sky flashes into existence.

“A time ago, I met someone— you could call them my lover. They had the same superstition as you, the one about dandelions, and they were the only one I told about this hidden spot of mine.

“One day, they had to leave so suddenly. Before they did, they took a dandelion by the grass and gave it to me, telling me, ‘I was once told that if you give a dandelion to a loved one, it is a sign of total faithfulness.’ They said that one day, they would return, and that I would know, because I must have faith in them. Then, I was told to blow the seeds away the second they were out of view, as it would provide me with great luck in finding them once more.

“Ever since that day, they never returned.” Xiao never once turns to look at you. His amber eyes fixate on the stars above you two, hoping that one day they align and he’d find his lover once more— or, at least that’s what you assume. He’s wondering if he should tell you if he’s found his lover in you, and he does. “I believe that today, they returned.”

You’re not sure what to say, so you stutter out a “You think I’m…?”

He nods his head once. “The reincarnation of whom I once loved.”

—

Xiao’s hands are on your waist, one of yours holding onto his shoulder with the other over his cheek. He seems to melt into your touch, despite claiming in the past that being close to him could harm you, but as his kisses against your jaw and over your lips grow more fervent, you know he’s thrown all those words over the shoulder. Your heart feels so full; his allowing you to kiss him and letting you know how much he loves you brings your head down into the crook of his neck.

Then, you pull away and look up at the night sky. The view is extraordinary from the hidden spot the two of you share, much better than wherever you were previously located. The lanterns up in the night sky do wonders to let you notice the blush dusting on his cheeks when you turn to face him, even though you know that if you were to mention it to Xiao, he’d deny it outright.

“Look up, Xiao,” you tell him softly. “One of those lanterns up there is mine.”

His eyes stay fixated on you. “What did you wish for?” “Now, I can’t tell you that,” you jest. “But maybe if you look up at the lanterns, you might find mine and see what’s written on it.” It’s a desire you hope will pass into your next life.

So, he does. Xiao’s eyes light up like they’re lanterns too, and he’s just in awe. He’s never paid much attention to the annual festival, as it’s become redundant to him, but now that he’s spent this year with you, perhaps he’ll get to view the lanterns a little differently. Xiao doesn’t want to admit that his jaw drops just a little, but you can see how his mouth opens in amazement. Have lights always been this beautiful?

“I should make a wish as well,” he tells you.

“You should,” you urge. “You should have come down with me to the harbor. We could have written our wishes on the lanterns together.”

Xiao shakes his head. “I don’t know about that,” he says. “I’m not particular with crowds, you know.”

You agree. “But you like me, though, right?”

“Of course I do— I love you. Now, as for my wish… It should be fairly obvious as to what it is.”

You tease Xiao, telling him you’re clueless. You really are, though— there’s no telling behind his cold features.

All he does is sigh. “It’s… for you to return to me once you’ve gone away.”

For a moment, you go silent. All that you hear is the bustling of the festival-goers down in the harbor and the beating of your heart. You swallow dryly and embrace him in your arms. Xiao takes a while before he wraps his own around you.

He’s reciprocated your wish.

“...I’ll never leave you. With all my lives I have yet to live, I’ll always come back to you.”

#genshin impact x reader #genshin x reader #xiao x reader #genshin xiao x reader #gi xiao x reader #genshin impact fluff #xiao fluff

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pars-ley · 4 years

Text

Your eyes tell

Pairing: Prince Jungkook x Female Reader

Summary: When your best friend’s a prince and inherits the throne, he needs to find a wife to rule alongside him as Queen, you’re more than happy to help him choose an eligible bachelorette. But what happens when you, who only wants to marry for love, are forced to be one of the participants?

Rating: (SFW) 13+

Genre: Royal au / Arranged marriage au / Angst / Fluff / Unrequited love

Word Count: 6400

Warnings: Serious angst. It will make you sick.

Prompts: Everything makes sense when you’re by my side. + I didn’t believe in love, not until I met you.

A/N: This is for the Golden Closet Network’s ‘Jungkook Birthday Project’ I stepped out of my comfort zone for this one, so hopefully it paid off. It’s from their two different perspectives. Italic font is Jungkook, normal font is reader. A big shout and a hell of a lot of thanks to @wheresmymoniat for helping me endlessly, especially through some serious writers block with the ending. She’s a darling.

Banner: @yeojaa honestly, she’s a goddess who went above and beyond to help me with this when I was struggling and offered out of the kindness of her heart, she also made the break lines for me cause she’s the BEST💕😘!

Beta reader: @papillonsgf 😘

Meet Prince Jungkook...

As you hear the announcement escape his mouth, like a 'breaking news' headline silently screaming at you from behind bold, black print, all you can do is stare. The calmness in his voice, unmatched to his words echoing around in your mind, bouncing off the emptiness that has overcome you.

Your eyes sweep over him, the dark circles hanging heavy under his eyes, the exhaustion etched in his handsome face and the anxiety that rolls off him in waves.

A pain in your chest pulls at your emotions, a direct line to your heart just for him. Your body flung itself at him before you had time to register the action.

His arms curl around your waist, squeezing you, keeping you locked in place. His fingers digging into your back, making your anxiety for him creep up into your throat. You try to swallow it down, wanting to be strong for him but your mouth is suddenly without moisture

Your best friend is going to be King of Kalinia, that much you knew and that’s what is expected of a Prince but not now, not yet.

All you can do is stand there, unmoving while he relays the details of his father's illness and his decision to step down from the throne. Meaning, all of it falling onto Jungkook’s shoulders.

How could he bear all that weight on his own? Any normal man would crumble.

However, he is not any normal man, he is strong, determined, loyal, generous and one of the kindest men you know. But seeing him now, a shadow of all you know he is, you want to take it all away and harbour the load yourself, just to give him his freedom a little bit longer.

The studying and travelling he’s been doing, all that now comes to an immediate halt, just as he had started to live his own life, it all comes crashing down around him.

It’s your job to pick up the pieces and you’re more than happy to assume that role but it also means that your plans for travelling would have to be put on hold too.

Your arrangement had been to meet Jungkook in Italy and travel around Europe together over the course of 2 months before returning to continue studies, but the idea of visiting these places alone, without him by your side, now seems a lot less appealing.

His slightly painful grip on your back, fingernails desperately digging in to provide some kind of anchorage for him, pulls you back into the present.

"Hey," you lean away so you can cradle his face in your hands. "It's just me right now, you can be honest. You don't have to pretend with me."

His wide eyes seem to tremble as they meet yours. "I just wasn't expecting this so soon." His voice interrupts the silence, slicing through it like a knife straight into your gut at his words. “I don't feel...ready for this. I thought I’d have more time to prepare and now, I have to find a wife. A WIFE!”

The sorrow and anguish that fill his eyes overwhelm you with a heaviness in your chest, your pumping organ sinking like a rock to the pit of your stomach. But your mind is frozen, stuck on those last words you hear them rattling, echoing around in your mind, crashing against any thoughts you had like giant waves against rock. Wife? WIFE!

The ascending King cannot rule without a Queen by his side. That is the law of your country and the way it’s always been. You knew this, so why do you feel this way? How exactly do you feel? Sick. Panicked. Sombre. All of the above maybe? You just feel for the hardships that your friend is facing, that’s all it is, you tell yourself.

“I know, I know this has come as a shock but let me tell you, you’re meant to be King and you’re ready, even if you don’t feel like it. I have complete faith in you, Kook and I’ll be here every step of the way. I’ll even help you choose the right...wife.” You hesitate slightly, the words tasting like ash in your mouth.

He pulls you to him again. “I don’t know what I’d do without you.”

Well, after he’s married and King, he’ll have to do without you. There'll be someone new to take care of him and do all the things you do together; to comfort him like this, to spend evenings star gazing and staring at the moon, to pick flowers in the Queen’s garden and have secret picnics in the meadows off grounds.

All of these moments with him won’t exist anymore.

You feel empty at the thought. Almost as if someone reached inside and stole the most vital parts of you and put them on display behind an inaccessible, glass cage to watch beating and working without you.

As you cling to him, fingers gripped in his hair, cheek resting atop of his head, cradling him like your most precious possession, a tear escapes.

Your friend is slipping through your fingers, down into the depths of a world you won’t be able to follow and there's nothing you can do to stop it. You will lose him, that much you are sure of.

You glance over, her expression a smooth and flawless mask, never giving anything away. But you know her well enough to know that something has changed. She has not been the same since you revealed the news of your new-to-be title three weeks ago.

Her usual brilliant, almost blinding light had dimmed into a burnt out candle, flickering on the last threads of its wick. No matter what you say to her she just smiles and says ‘I’m fine’. You might be clueless but you are determined to discover what’s changed.

As you sit here, discussing who, out of the fourteen eligible bachelorettes in the Kingdom, is most suited for being your future wife and Queen, you can’t help but find yourself thinking of only one.

The one you wish you could have, the one you’d give anything to spend the rest of your days with but is the one who would never see you in such a way.

As she sits across from you, tucking a strand of hair behind her ear, her delicate fingers tracing down her neck. God, how you longed for it to be you caressing her so tenderly, to be able to hold her and tell her what she means to you, to have her by your side instead of these paper faces staring up at you waiting for paper rings. All of them from good families, smart, pretty, the perfect persona for the outside world to see but completely and utterly tedious to you. There wasn’t a single thing written in this bleak print that held your interest even a fraction of the way y/n could.

“Your majesty?” An indistinct voice snaps you out of your trance.

Her eyes flash up to meet yours and you look away quickly, hoping no one has noticed your forlorn stare at the true object of your affection.

“Yes?” You reply, trying to seem present in the room discussing your future as if you weren’t even here.

“Who are you choosing, your majesty?” An advisor asks nervously.

Her. Always her. A thousand times over. In this life and the next and any other after that may follow.

“We need a final three, so we can move on to the next round of tests.”

Round? Tests? This was your life and here it is being discussed as if it were a gameshow.

Your stomach twists, fear rises in your throat making it feel tight. You take a gulp of water, allowing the coolness to sooth you, and look at the sheets placed in front of you. The faces blurring along with the writing.

“Y/n, what are your opinions?” You ask, genuinely curious who she’d pick for you.

She’d choose someone who was strong enough to rule but also sensitive enough to be a decent match for you and that was all you could hope for at this point, a decent match. The three words everyone aspires to describe their life partner.

You wait with baited breath for her response, somewhere deep down in the pits of your heart where hope was long ago locked away and buried beneath years of friendly rubble, it makes an alarming surprise visit, breaking through the debris with ease. You cling to the book of secrets that’s been held captive there in a vault created from torment and in the dark corners you’re on your knees, praying to a god you don’t think will listen. Praying you hear her utter all the impossible things you know she never will. The desperation inside you, clawing to escape out of the refined, solid cage you built, you’re clenched fists under the table fighting to keep it down along with your breakfast.

Everything stills and slowly starts to wither away back to its original place, the place where it belongs, when she nonchalantly reads off three names...none of them hers.

"You've been ordered to participate y/n." The royal adviser informs you, his words ringing like high-pitched sirens in your ears.

"I'm sorry, ordered by whom?" You frown, not understanding, the very idea of what he’s suggesting baffling your mind.

He sighs awkwardly, it’s obvious he did not want to be the one standing in front of you with your hot molten glare on him.

"Who gave the order?” You persist, when his silence is the only response you receive.

He looks down, away from your blazing eyes. “Her majesty, the Queen.”

You freeze, the ground feeling as if it would break away under your feet. What!? Why would she force you to participate in this? She knows you do not want to be Jungkook’s wife and that he would not want you to be his?

This makes no sense. You’ve always had such a lovely relationship with his parents. When you befriended Jungkook, they welcomed you in with open arms and loving smiles, encouraged your friendship and supported you with every decision along the way, so why do this?

“I need to speak with her majesty.” You say through gritted teeth, not only from anger but your attempt at trying to keep down the bile you can feel burning your throat like lava.

He gives you a sharp nod and leads you to her quarters, not that you needed to be shown, you know this castle like the back of your hand, everything in it was both familiar and safe.

As he announces you, you swallow, desperate to wet your dry throat pinching the air that passes with every breath. You hold back your cough in favour of clearing your throat, hoping to relieve the desert patch you feel, gravel grazing your insides down into the pit of your stomach.

When you enter she greets you with a broad, bright smile, a smile that contrasts so drastically to how you feel and, for once, you can’t bear to return it.

Her face drops slightly, but you see a twinkle of amusement in her eyes that makes your blood boil hot and irate in your veins. “Oh y/n, don’t pout, it doesn’t suit you.” She pats the seat next to her on her plush ornate sofa where she resides and places her book on the table in front.

You close the distance between you and sit rather woodenly at her side.

“The rules are the rules y/n, it’s nothing personal but I wouldn’t be doing my duty if I treated you differently. You know that.” Her eyes are so honest, a window right into her soul, lighting up and giving you a glimpse as to what it’s like to play her role.

“But I can’t be his wife!” You exclaim. “He would never want me that way.” You urge, shaking your head at the sheer hilarity of the idea.

You’re met with a poker straight stare, unmoving, her skin still smooth after all these years, unreadable and hard as stone. Picture perfect, a royal portrait ready to be framed with gold. “If that’s the case, what are you worried about?”

You open your mouth to respond but the words are squeezed around your panic induced, contracting throat. Your words seem far away, as you grapple desperately for them.

She places a gentle hand on your knee, the touch calming you instantly. "Y/n listen to me, I know this whole situation has come as a shock to you and to Jungkook, believe me it's still processing for the King and I, but this is our life, however unfortunate, we have a duty. Now, you are not bound to this life by any means, but participating in this is your duty."

She watches you for a moment, her intense gaze making you shift in your seat, as if she was seeing straight into you, everything you held laid bare for her own personal exhibit. "I know it’s hard, the idea that someone will take your place at his side, but he needs a wife and we know you don't want it to be you." Her piercing eyes driving a quick, sharp needle into yours, you look away unable to hold her intruding stare.

"Of course not." You retort with a snort.

She sits back on her sofa, her posture softening, relaxing against the cushioned back. She smiles staring at her hands placed in her lap, as if amused by an inside joke you're not privy to.

"You need to start listening to your heart more than your head, y/n, it will save you a lot of heartbreak in the future."

Perplexed by this unexpected turn in conversation you find yourself frowning. "What do you mean?"

Kindness stretching her mouth into a friendly curve. "My child, it seems I know you better than you know yourself. Your eyes tell."

"Tell what?" You shake your head trying to clear the mud in your mind, making her words impossible to understand.

"Everything." She sighs and stands. "I'm afraid I cannot get you out of this but as you said, you know he won't choose you, so there's no need to panic, is there?"

She saunters gracefully out of the room leaving you with only your bewildered thoughts.

There's a double meaning in her last words but you struggle to determine what it could be.

And how would she know you better than you do? There's a hint of anxiety at what she saw in your eyes, at what you'd apparently given away to her. Your thoughts race, unable to connect her words to your reasoning and you leave the room feeling more frustrated and perplexed than when you entered.

You lean over the pages of the final women you have to choose from, head down eyes unwavering from the same spot you’ve been looking at for what feels like a lifetime. You’ve gone from three possible wives to four, the latter you’re sure if you take your eyes off the page it will disappear before you.

Can this be real? Did she agree to this? Did she nominate herself to take part? Hope blossoms dangerously in your chest, flowering around your heart, encasing it in a prison of promise. A prison you’re creating, you know it but cannot stop. Your thoughts run away with you, visions of your dreams becoming reality within your grasp.

You and her sneaking off grounds for picnics and play dates in the sun, trekking through the forest and taking the row boat out around the river bend, travelling to Paris and visiting the Notre Dame; somewhere she’s always wanted to go, the two of you snapping your own love lock on a branch of a tree with your initials entwined together and throwing away the keys in a nearby river. All the hopeless romantic things you’ve wanted to do, becoming a possibility, the excitement causing butterflies to fly rampantly in your stomach.

You push your chair out, finding your feet and rushing out of the room to find her.

As you parade down the golden ornate halls, feeling as though you’re being carried by eagles wings, floating across the grounds being pulled in her direction. Her face; the only thing guiding your vision, maybe cupid’s arrow finally aimed in the direction you were hoping for, maybe god finally heard you.

You find her by the fountains, her favourite place here, sitting staring at the water as if it holds the answers to all life’s problems. She hears your approach, her eyes snapping up to yours before quickly looking away to hide the tears you’ve already seen and brushing her face with her sleeve.

You step down off the wings, coming crashing back down to earth, the butterflies turning to acid in your stomach and tasting it in your mouth as you rush to her side. Pulling her against you, wrapping her up in a cocoon of comfort and love.

“Y/n, what’s wrong? Tell me.” You urge, panic tightening your gut, squeezing your insides in a vice.

“I’m sure you’ve seen. I’ve been forced to participate in your bride-to-be pageant.” She spits bitter words aimed at you, hope clams up and collapses inside you.

You realise how foolish you’d been to let yourself believe that she could want this like you crave, that she could see you anything like how you admire her, that she could feel for you the way you worship her. Your heart feels heavy, sinking in your chest and resting in the loveless hole gaping open, revealing your insides. The dullness overtakes you, seizing your limbs one by one, you’re unable to listen to the words she angrily ranting. A cloud of darkness swallowing you whole and you gladly take it by the hand, allowing it to draw you in. Maybe you’d forget if you stayed in there, in the dark. Maybe you’d forget about her if you just gave yourself the chance.

She doesn’t want this, she doesn’t want you, that much is clear. So how can you choose her? Even if that is what you truly and honestly desire more than anything. You could not put her through that. She deserves to feel the way you do about someone, even if that person can’t be you, she deserves it, she deserves love. It was time to release her, to let her go.

The thought had tears prick in your eyes, you quickly blink them away.

“You don’t have to worry Y/n, it’s just a formal procedure. I won’t choose you, you’re off the hook.” The words leave you quickly, before you change your mind and sound like they belong to someone else. You would never say them, would you?

She pauses and looks up at you, her tear stained cheeks; you itched to reach out and wipe the shiny, salty trails away but you clench your hand into a fist to stop yourself. “You won’t?” She asks in disbelief.

“Of course not.” You try to give her a reassuring smile but it feels false, painted on like the many royal portraits you grew up staring at.

She stares back out at the fountain, back stiff against you. Your arms fall loosely away from her. “Oh, well, that’s a relief.” She sighs and yet, her reaction perplexes you. You thought she’d seem happier, instead she just seems blank.

“Hey, chin up.” You nudge her jaw with your fist, a friendly gesture you had done many times. When she arches away from it, the action makes your insides twist, unable to understand.

What have you done wrong? You couldn't win, nothing seemed like the right decision anymore.

Why did she seem to be slipping further and further away from you? Even though she sat right next to you, your arms lightly touching at the proximity, she had never felt further away from you. Just out of reach of your grasp.

He had spoken the words you hoped for and yet, you couldn't describe this overwhelming feeling that had draped over you almost instantly, like a blanket of despair. It has enveloped you more and more over the passing weeks.

As you watch him and her, his chosen bride, from your perch of loneliness you felt annoyance grow inside you. You're his friend, his best friend, you should be happy if he's happy.

You watch him smile at her, occasionally he might take her hand in his or tuck a stray lock of hair behind her ear. Things he used to do with you, but it seems different with her, more intimate. And yet it’s funny how you know neither of them have romantic feelings for one another, it's all a façade, it’s all forced.

Why would anyone want to live like that? A loveless marriage. You couldn't wrap your head around the concept.

Was she so desperate to become queen? It's not like she has much of a choice though, those of you within certain households, certain names and certain social standing had a duty. It has been drummed into you since you can remember. That had only acted to make you more determined not to live like that.

You were free, he'd told you himself and yet you couldn't help but sit here; consumed by hopelessness.

Not for yourself surely, but for him. He now had to live the life you dread.

Maybe you should have said you'd marry him, put your selfishness aside and given him a friend in marriage instead of a stranger but it was too late now. Any hope of saving him was out of your reach, all you could do was watch as he made the biggest mistake of his life.

He should be with someone who knows when he's upset just by the look in his wide eyes, who knows each crease in his face when it crinkles when he smiles, who knows each line of his secret tattoos he always keeps hidden. He needs someone he can be himself with, someone who would do anything to see him happy, someone who would do everything to protect him and keep him safe. Someone he can have adventures with as well as make tough decisions with, someone who will bear him beautiful children and raise them to be just as loving and kind as him. He deserves all that and more.

Miss what's-her-name will never be able to give him that. She'll never be good enough. She'll never know what he wants or needs, not like you would.

You know him better than anyone. You could make him happy. So why wouldn't he pick you?

If he's not choosing for love why wouldn't you be first choice, surely that's obvious. Then again, why should you want him to choose you?

You were free to marry whoever you wanted. So, why now did the thought of Jungkook marrying her weigh you down with a rock in your gut, consuming you, making it impossible for you to move without thinking of anything other than her being with him. Touching him. Possibly loving him. Being his wife and her stomach being full with his children.

Why did it burn you so much you could hardly breath? Clawing for air with ragged breaths, you had to uproot your feet from their planted spot and go. Go anywhere the sickening sight of them wasn't, the last image of them walking through the palace gardens hand in hand was enough to overflow the salty dam in your eyes, crumbling with your resolve to hold it in. Your realisation, as you turn away from him, hitting you like a ton of bricks.

The blanket of night that had been covering you - concealing you from the light, from the truth, had finally been lifted.

How could you not have seen it?

How could you not have known?

The way he could make you smile through anything, or the way your stomach fluttered sometimes in his presence, or the way he knew you better than anyone and always seemed to know what you were thinking.

He was your glowing, peaceful moon lighting up the dark sky. The colourful morning sunrise, warming the chill of the night. The roots of your tree, keeping you grounded and yet the bright blossoms in the field bringing you comfort.

After all these years...you finally understood.

You tuck a stray strand of hair behind Charlotte’s ear, the action almost mechanical, something you should do as opposed to something you want to.

With y/n it was an excuse to feel her skin against your fingers, a chance to give her a caring caress and a subtle way to show her how you care. It fell on deaf ears or blind eyes, rather. All your efforts to show her your feelings, to attempt to get her to notice your heart, wide open and ready for the taking, went unnoticed. Maybe you should have uttered the words into her ear one day, laying in the meadow, basking under the sun.

But you didn’t.

You’ve made your decision. It’s Charlotte. She is to be your wife and your queen.

Perhaps, one day, you might feel something more deeply than the awkward discomfort making your toes curl. After all, tomorrow you will be standing in the palace with an audience and a live broadcast as you announce your bride and their queen to be.

It's your duty, there's no escaping it, you know this. And yet, your chest is weighed down, tight with an anchor pulling you underwater as you fight and kick against the waves of emotions crashing against you. Clawing your way to the surface and fighting for breath as hopelessness fills your lungs. The box your heart was kept in for her, now feels like an empty cage. Hollow. She left, not physically but in spirit, and took your beating organ with her, the life slowly draining in her absence.

But here you are still standing, unable to give up and let go.

You had to. You needed to move on and away from her, perhaps one day you'll be able to stop picturing her face, hearing her laugh or the smell of her skin.

Your agonising thoughts running rampant in your mind made you want to scream up at the sky. At a god you were rapidly losing faith in.

You needed to be alone and get yourself together.

You made your excuses, apologising to your fiancé - an invisible noose around your neck pulling tight from the very thought of who she was to you and who she would be for the rest of your life - and left, albeit rather abruptly.

Rushing to the stables and guiding your horse out of palace grounds, racing away from decision making and royal duty.

The wind against your face, cool air relentless as you speed across fields but cooling your burning skin, ablaze with frustration. The sound of hooves thundering against the ground seem to echo out around you in otherworldly quiet, giving away your position to everyone.

They'll search for you soon, you know this but you just need to breathe. You need to feel your lungs expanding and shrinking on their own, moving how they should, without barbed wire squeezing around them, digging in with every draw in of air and stopping you short.

You needed a last moment of freedom, before the tight noose of your responsibilities squeezed around your neck and choked you.

Your breathing came hard and harsh as you pushed your horse as fast as he could go, until the meadow came into view, your meadow and hers. You'd ended up here, again. This special place, holding so many memories.

You climb off your horse and sink down into the grass, each blade a page of remembrance tying the two of you together. A bond you thought indestructible and yet, here you are desperately clinging onto her in fistfuls of grass.

You understood, your life is on the cusp of changing forever, no going back, it's a life she cannot be a part of in the same way. Of course she'd want to move away from it all, if you could…it's irrelevant because you can't.

Duty to country before anything and everything else. Being a good ruler should be your main concern right now. And yet, you are plagued with the thought…'what if i had told her?'

What if.

Would it have made any difference? Probably not.

Would your friendship have been ruined? Probably.

But at least, if you had been brave enough to utter the words, even once, then you wouldn't feel as incomplete as you do right now. On your knees, gripping onto the turf as if to hold you in place, head against the ground and eyes squeezed shut.

If there's one last thing you should say, even to unburden yourself after all these years and remove the heavy shawl of emotion that’s been draped across your shoulders, weighing you down, it should be your truth. Finally.

Not for any expectation of reciprocation but to know that you did everything you could. No regrets when you look back at the choice you've had to make.

Just the truth.

The horse was already moving as you had one foot in the rung of the saddle and the other straddling across it.

"Jungkook's missing." The words from the royal advisor replay anxiously in your head, making your heart pound violently against your ribs, playing its own panicked score.

He left the palace hours ago on his horse and hasn't been seen since. The way your gut twists at the direction your thoughts take has your fists clenched painfully around the reigns.

You bolt out of the palace gates, hoping you know exactly where he'll be.

Trees whip past you at alarming speed but you dare not slow down. You need him to be ok. You need him to hear what you have to say. You need him.

Scanning the distance frantically, looking for the break in the trees, revealing the meadow, your heart almost stops when your eyes finally land upon it.

You spot his horse first, then see his hunched figure leaning over in the grass and fear takes your heart and locks it in a vice grip so painful tears fill your wild eyes.

You're already climbing off before the hooves have stilled.

"Jungkook!" You hear his name in a strangled scream and realise it's you the distraught voice has escaped from.

As you sprint in his direction, he sits straight up, surprised eyes shooting up to you and relief washes over you like rough waves crashing against the shore.

Your body collides heavily with his, a thump sounding out all around you into the usually calming silence. The air leaves his lungs in a hiss as he's flung backwards to the ground.

You squeeze your arms around him, holding him so close and so tight, frightened he'll be carried off into the wind like the seeds from the dandelion puff balls surrounding you.

His arms hesitantly wrap around your waist as if worried you'll break.

You pull yourself back to look at his beautiful face, to make sure he's ok and in one piece but the shock that widens his doe-like eyes momentarily distracts you.

"Y/n, what's wrong!?" He fusses, wiping softly at your tear trails with gentle thumbs. Cradling your face in his hands, worry lines wrinkling his forehead as if he has reason to worry about you.

Hot tears fall fervently from your eyes, unable to be stopped. You smile at him, tracing his smooth cheekbones and sharp jawline with your fingers.

Seeing him and looking into his eyes in this moment, it's undeniable your heart belongs to him.

How you never realised is truly mind blowing, it's so obvious now, all your confusing thoughts and feelings towards this entire situation suddenly made clear.

Overwhelmed to the point your chest is so full of him it feels ready to burst, sprinkling your special place with heart-shaped confetti etched with his name.

"I have to tell you something, before it's too late." You say taking a deep breath and straightening your back with determination, as you sit almost on his lap.

His worrying eyes search yours, frantically going from one to the other, trying to read you, trying to find answers to unasked questions.

"Over the past few weeks, I've been trying to understand...all of the memories we've made, and the places we've spent time together, they're very special to me, I hope you know that? I hold them very dear. And I was afraid of you having this other person to share them with and that i would be pushed out —"

"Y/n, I would never do that." He insisted, cupping your face in his hand. He means it too, it's written all over his face, your own personal scripture of truth.

"I know." You say softly, smiling and interrupting him before you lose your nerve to continue. "My point is, I thought it was the idea of being replaced by her that was bothering me so much but I realised something…I've been an absolute idiot." You laugh to yourself, feeling freer than ever.

He stares back at you with bewildered amusement.

"It's never been where we were or what we did that made everything so special...it was you. You are the centre of it all. You're the person who knows me better than anyone. You're the one who makes me endlessly and purely happy. You make me feel safe and protected. You are...home. Everything makes sense when you’re by my side. Wherever you are, I want to be. Whether that be as your wife, your queen or just your friend...if your decision is still to be with Charlotte, I will support you throughout —"

"Wait, I'm confused. At the fountain the other day, you were distraught at the idea of marrying me, you were relieved when I told you I wouldn't choose you?"

You look down at your hands that are now in your lap, ashamed you didn't realise then in that moment what is so clear to you now.

"I didn't understand then. But I wasn't relieved, my heart felt like it was caving in on itself. I didn't want to be in the running because I never thought you'd choose me. I told myself I didn't want you to, I didn't want to be a part of it, when the actual truth of it is I wanted to be your only choice, not the best out of a bad bunch but I couldn't face the idea that you might not choose me."

You feel your cheeks tinge crimson from your words, feeling sheepish for your naivety.

You peek up at him shyly through your lashes. He's frozen and wide eyed, staring at you curiously.

"So what exactly are you saying y/n? So I can understand this correctly." His quiet, breathy voice makes your heart pound faster and harder than ever. Each thrum vibrating through you with the sound of his name to accompany its beat.

You gulp loudly, digging deep for your last ounce of courage, to utter the words. To say them out loud makes it real, equally as the possibility of affirmation or rejection. You take another breath, your eyes meeting his, those pools of ebony you could so easily get lost in. "I'm in love with you."

The silence that follows is almost deafening as you prepare yourself for a sweet, gentle refusal. But you're perplexed when you see his perfect lips upturn and stretch, beaming at you like a ray of sunshine. He moves forward to you quickly, you lean in anticipating his next words. But when his lips crush against yours instead, it doesn’t register for a moment or two, you stiffen before your body's primal response takes over and your hands find their way up into his hair, skating your fingers through his silky locks.

The feel of his soft mouth on yours was undeniably alluring, pulling you in deeper with each movement of his lips. Your heart pounds frantic in your chest as the feel of his hands around your waist, holding you flush against him, your bodies moulded tight almost as one was enough to enthral you entirely. When he abruptly pulls back, you feel cold and needy. Your heart, now an open wound, seared by his kiss, bleeding love uncontrollably.

He holds your face in his hands, foreheads touching and breathing heavy. “How I have longed to hear you say those words.” He whispers.

Your eyes bulge at his admission but as you open your mouth to speak, he lifts a finger against your lips to silence you.

“I didn’t believe in love, not until I met you. I could only ever imagine a life and a marriage destined to be only friendly and passionless. But I have loved you since that first summer we met and I have wished everyday since for you to feel even a fraction of the way I do for you.”

He tucked a stray strand of your hair behind your ear, his fingers lingering gently on the skin of your neck. “Tell me again.” He pleads.

“I love you.” You lean forward and kiss him again. “I love you.” You utter the words between quick, desperate kisses causing him to groan against your mouth. His arm snakes around your waist and the ground leaves you, air breezing through your hair. You’re on your feet before you know it and your gaze is drawn downwards to him, in front of you, on one knee.

He tightly grips your hand in both of his. “I have waited long enough for you. I saw a glimpse of a world without you by my side and it was monochrome and cold. I don’t want that. I want to see the colours when you look at me and smile so sweetly. I need to hear your laugh, my personal symphony. And if you would take my hand and walk the path into tomorrow and forever with me as my wife and my Queen, I will spend the rest of my life trying to make yours as colourful and joyous as mine will be. Marry me, please?”

You feel hot tears sting your eyes as happiness blooms deep in your chest. A bright orange tiger flower blossoming for him, a beacon of light and joy calling to you, showing you your rightful and chosen path. All these wasted years shall be no more and new ones accompanied by new memories await.

“Yes!”

366 notes · View notes

your-eternal-muse · 4 years

Text

Sight For Sore Eyes

Heather Series Part 9

Part 1 Part 2 Part 3 Part 4 Part 5 Part 6 Part 7 Part 9

BONUS: Readers Card Confession BONUS: Spencer’s Take Series Playlist

Summery: Reader bares witness to the final moment of Spencer and Heather’s relationship, and when comforting Spencer, something unexpected happens.

Words: 2k

Warnings: Swearing, Mentions of Cheating, angry Spencer

Pairing: Spencer Reid x Female!Reader (It’s happening fuckers.)

A/N: I don’t really have anything to say, except go nuts. I almost screamed writing this.

~~~~~

Eavesdropping isn't really my thing.

I find it impersonal, and kind of bitchy.

I mean, you're basically listening on someone else's conversation, snooping on drama that doesn't concern you.

Only, this kind of does concern me.

Since, you know, if it weren't for me, Spencer and Heather wouldn't be huddled in a conference room, arguing about their impending divorce

I should feel worse about it than I do.

But I don't.

Spencer is broken.

She ruined him.

And trust me, I know because I'm the one who he's been coming to.

The whole thing sort of forced us back together, but if I'm being honest, I didn't really fight it. Like, at all.

Again I should feel bad, about how selfish it is to take pride in the fact that a man who's going through a divorce finds solace in my arms.

But you know what?

I really don't give a shit anymore.

I've spent the past almost three years doing everything to appear nice and selfless and it led me down a road that almost killed me.

So fuck it.

I exposed her cheating ass, punched her in her stupid face, fell asleep with her husband while laying on my couch and now I'm listening in as he serves her the divorce papers.

I'm not even trying to be subtle about it, and the team isn't being subtle about finding my snooping funny.

JJ passed and asked for an update, Derek just chuckled, and ruffled my hair, Hotch closed his blinds so he can have plausible deniability and the rest of them just smile as they watch.

I do have a back up plan though, just in case.

I hold a file in my hand that I can open and pretend to be reading as I walk in to get Spencer's opinion. Or something.

Right now though, I'm leaning against the door frame, listening and watching through the sliver of a crack that the door is open from when Heather closed it.

Heather sits with her back towards me, her hands folded in her lap, the papers and a pen sitting on the table in front of her, while Spencer stands, stoned face in front of her, his arms crossed over his chest.

"Sign the papers, Heather."

I can hear her sniffle, and she shakes her head. "No. I love you, we can make this work."

“'We’ aren't doing anything. 'We' are getting a divorce because 'you' cheated on 'me' for almost our entire marriage. Sign the papers."

He was assertive, the pain and anger evident in his voice as he points to the packet on the table.

I'm not gonna lie, it's kinda hot.

"It's only been six months. What do you want me to do? It was a mistake, a stupid mistake." She's actively crying now, and she stands, making her way over to him, wrapping her hands around one of his biceps.

He stares down at her.

"I love you, Spence."

Hey bitch, that's my nickname for him, get your own. Wait no, I take that back. You can just fuck right off, how's that?

One of her hands comes up to cup his cheek, and anger boils in my stomach.

He uncrosses his arms, and brings a hand up to cover hers, and I hold my breath.

He wraps his fingers around her wrist, pulling it from his face while he pulls her hand from his bicep with his other hand.

He holds both of her wrists in his hands, pushing her away from him.

"That's not love."

Haha. Bitch.

"And it wasn't a mistake. You kept going back to him. Over and over again, instead of dealing with your problems and talking to me. Now," he turns her, and pushes her towards the table. The way she falls forward, stumbling into it makes it look like he shoved her harder than he did.

"Sign the fucking papers."

She grabs the pen, crocodile tears streaming down her face.

Her look goes from pleading, to furious in a second.

"You're gonna run back to her, aren't you?" She scoffs, straightening up. "How do I know you didn't cheat on me first?"

He leans in close to her, brushing hair behind her ear.

I almost fall into the room, leaning in so close to make sure I can hear what he says, my heart pounding.

"What or who I do, is no longer any of your business. Now I'm not going to ask again. Sign the papers, or I will gladly get my lawyer and make your life a living hell."

She's no longer crying, but the annoyance is radiating off of her.

She's pissed.

She huffs, leaning forward, and signs her name. She flips through, repeating the action until she's done.

She tosses the pen onto the table.

"You're gonna regret this. I'm the best thing that's ever happened to you."

He actually laughs, and I want to applaud him.

"Yeah, sure you are. I want your stuff out by this weekend."

She grabs her purse off the table, walking towards the door at a quick pace.

Shit shit shit shit shit shit.

I barely have time to open my file and take a few steps back to make it seem like I was walking up before she's opening the door, almost running into me in the process.

Her eyes meet mine, and I can't help the smirk spread across my face.

She glares, her hand coming up to her still bandaged nose, before shoving past me.

I watch her walk to the end of the hall before turning back to the room, where Spencer now stands with his hands in his packets.

I hold up the file, ready to start my spiel, but he starts talking before I can get the chance.

“I could see you.”

My mouth falls open and he smiles.

How the fuck…

“I could also smell your perfume.” He looks down at the papers, starting to flip through them to double check that she signed everything.

He could smell my perfume?

I walk into the room, closing the door fully behind me.

Wouldn’t want anyone to listen in now would we?

“How do you know it’s mine?” I place the file on the table, as he closes the packet.

He looks up at me, and my knees turn to jello.

“Because I smell it on your skin every time we hug.”

Butterflies erupt in my stomach, but he keeps talking.

“Smells like home to me.” He runs a hand through his hair, shifting from one foot to the next, now looking down at the table instead of me. “You’re home to me.”

You’re killing me, smalls.

I walk over to where he’s standing, and open my arms.

I watch as his shoulders deflate as he sighs, walking forward and wrapping his arms around my waist.

My arms slink around his neck, and I now understand how he can smell it. His nose is pressed to the crook of my neck, right where I put it in the morning.

“You’re my home too.” I whisper, turning my head, and inhaling the scent of his hair. It’s such a uniquely Spencer scent. I wish I could bottle it, make a candle out of it so that I can smell him whenever I want.

We break after a few minutes, and I trail my hands down his arm.

He entangles his fingers of one hand into my own.

“You okay?”

He sighs, looking down at our hands as he plays with my fingers. “I will be.”

He sits on the edge of the table, and I follow suit, being sure not to break the link our hands have created.

“If I hadn’t seen you, if you hadn’t been there watching, I’m afraid of what I might have done.” He swallows, and his eyes won’t meet my own. “It scared me.”

He finally looks up, and a small fire is lit behind those hazel eyes of his.

“It scared me, because for a moment, I wanted to hurt her. She has made me so, angry, she’s made me feel so fucking stupid and all I wanted to do was make her feel that too.”

I fully grab his hand, the absence of his ring pressing against my palm.

“I know that feeling. But, as much as you wanted to, I don’t think you would have. You’ve got too much of a good conscience to do something like that.”

I feel him squeeze my hand.

“However, I am more than willing, so you tell me what you want me to do and I’ll do it.”

That got him to laugh, and he shakes his head at me. He becomes quiet quicker than I’d like.

“You have too much faith in me.”

“Hey,” I reach up and grab his chin with my free hand, forcing him to look at me. “I have the perfect amount of faith in you, Dr. Spencer Reid. You’re a good man, no, a great man, through and through. I guarantee you that you are the best thing that has ever or will ever happen to her. If she doesn’t realize that, well, that’s her loss. Not yours.”

I swipe some hair out of his face, and his eyes bore down into mine.

Something about the look on his face makes my heart start to race.

It resembles what I assumed I looked like that day in the restaurant, only he also looks like he’s about to cry.

My face scrunches in confusion. “Are you okay, Spence?”

“God, I love you.”

His hands are on either side of my face and his lips are on mine.

His lips are on mine.

He’s kissing me.

Spencer Reid, the man whom I have been in love with for the past ten fucking years is kissing me.

Kiss him back, you dumb bitch!

My hands immediately go to his chest, bunching the fabric of his shirt in my fists, pulling him as close as possible to me.

I have dreamt about this moment.

Since the day I met him, I have dreamt about what kissing him would feel like.

And now that it’s here, I can safely say, that my dreams don’t compare to the real thing.

His lips are soft and they lead in such a way that doesn’t make it feel like he’s doing all the work.

It’s the perfect amount of push, the perfect amount of pull.

Kissing him is perfect.

But then he breaks it, as if remembering where he was, and the moments that had led up to it.

He looks utterly terrified, like he just ruined the one thing he had left.

We're both breathless for a moment, and then he speaks.

“I’m sorry.”

Before I can react, he picks up the packet of paper and all but runs out of the door.

I come to my senses quick enough to go after him, following him out into the bullpen.

“Spencer!” I stop, out of breath, and confused as hell.

He exits through the glass doors, his hands grabbing fistfuls of his hair.

“Hey hey hey, what’s going on? Did something happen?” JJ walks up, eyes looking at the space that Spencer had occupied before turning to look at me. “Seriously, you look like you’re about to cry. What happened?”

My fingers float over my lips, still warm from the energy of the kiss.

“He kissed me.” It’s barely above a whisper, like if I say it louder than that, it’ll cease to exist.

“He did? Why did he run then?”

“I don’t know.”

The kiss isn’t what's confusing me at the moment though, oh no.

What’s making it hard to breath right, let alone think, was the statement he whispered right before he kissed me.

A statement I never even thought I would hear him say.

God, I love you.

I must be hearing things. That can’t be what he said. He told me himself, that night on the balcony, he doesn’t love me.

No.

I may not have a memory like his, but I could never forget something like that.

He loves me.

Spencer Reid loves me.

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#spencer reid #spencer reid series #spencer reid angst #spencer reid x reader #spencer reid x female!reader #criminal minds #criminal minds series #criminal minds self insert #mathew gray gubler #mgg #heather #conan gray #song fic

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ibijau · 3 years

Note

I saw a post about, not sure where god!lxc fic goes next? I assume nhs insists on going back to the cave to make a proper offering. Lxc accompanies b/c nhs is still a little sick and nmj is busy. Nhs continues panicking about this uber-powerful god. Lxc enjoys the offering, it's nice, but not the panicking, and hey he committed to being honest? so he tells nhs he's the god. This does not have the calming effect he was hoping for --the anon who got super excited about god!lxc can't read sideplot

ok so, didn’t quite use all of that, but big thanks anon for giving me a way to at least write a little more on that AU which is very dear to me

Price of Wishes on AO3 (can’t remember my tumblr tag for it... orz)

Lan Xichen stares at the altar.

It is a small one, hurriedly installed among others inside the Unclean Realm. Its only decoration is a bolt of pale embroidered fabric from which Nie Huaisang apparently once wanted to have a robe made, and a portrait of Lan Xichen that Nie Huaisang personally painted, as promised in the temple. It doesn’t look like Lan Xichen does in this mortal form, and it probably doesn’t look the way he once did as a god, but the main attributes of his last remaining statue are there.

How long has it been since he was granted a new altar? Not since before this Nie sect even came to be, he thinks.

And now not only was he given this altar, but there are offerings on it. Nie Huaisang put incense to burn and offered flowers and rice, yes, but surprisingly others did the same, and thanked Lan Xichen for keeping their young master safe when he ran away. Even the stern Nie Mingjue, who clearly didn’t share his brother’s certainty about a godly intervention, still lit up some incense and bowed before the altar, simply because he realised how much it mattered to Nie Huaisang.

It had been a flight of fancy to help that boy and get him into the temple, just a sudden impulse to feel like a real god again, but Lan Xichen finds himself more than rewarded for this kindness. If he can keep this up, if they continue honouring him, he might well survive a century more.

Lan Xichen had forgotten what hope feels like.

But hope or not, Lan Xichen knows to whom he owes this. As days pass, he sticks close to Nie Huaisang, who is currently his strongest believer. Even the old lady, dear to Lan Xichen as she is, never had such unwavering faith in his power. She prays to him mostly out of habit, while Nie Huaisang does so out of conviction. Being near him feels like stepping into the sun after an eternity in darkness, and Lan Xichen cannot get enough of the sensation.

Besides, if they are to be married, he needs to know more about the young man whose life he will share.

Nie Huaisang is an interesting person, Lan Xichen thinks. He acts a little spoiled, but of course he is young, and Lan Xichen vaguely understands that the Nie family has gone through rough times in the recent past, and Nie Huaisang’s childishness might be how he dealt with it. At his core, Nie Huaisang is more serious than he lets on. For example, he is determined to fully repay the debt he contracted toward Lan Xichen. The altar he set up is but a first step. In spite of his brother’s warnings, Nie Huaisang has inquired what it would cost to have a safe road to the mountain temple, just as he promised to do. In fact, he goes beyond his promise, determined to find every possible detail about Lan Xichen so that he may be worshipped properly. To that end, he spends day after day in Qinghe Nie’s immensely rich library, reading through books with a speed which astonishes Lan Xichen, writing letters to make inquiries as if it is the easiest thing in the world.

Lan Xichen thinks Nie Huaisang might just be the cleverest person he has ever met, and the most stubborn as well. Both are qualities he appreciates in a follower, and in a person.

It’s quite funny to Lan Xichen to realise that Nie Huaisang is considered lazy. Perhaps he only puts efforts into things that interest him. Lan Xichen, of course, is glad to be one of those things.

In general, he’s just glad to be around Nie Huaisang. The steady warmth of belief is quite nice, of course, but that’s not the only reason. Nie Huaisang, although he apparently realises to some degree that Lan Xichen shouldn’t exist as a mortal, still tries hard to be kind to him. He gives him delicious foods, and tries to find subtle ways to look for gaps in Lan Xichen’s knowledge of the mortal world so he can fill him in and help him fit in better. He is a pleasant person to talk to, a pleasant person to silently spend time with, a pleasant person to look at even, his youthful face showing every sign that he will develop into a handsome man someday.

In just this little time, Lan Xichen finds himself quite fond of this little mortal. It won’t be unpleasant to marry him as agreed.

First, though, Nie Huaisang must mature. And part of that means heading out toward the Cloud Recesses, where Lan Xichen himself is supposed to come from, according to the narrative Nie Huaisang demanded in his prayer. It is a stressful perspective, since Lan Xichen isn’t sure he is quite strong enough to shift reality around people who have much stronger reasons to refuse his intrusion into their life, but he will try his best. It is the deal he made with Nie Huaisang, and he will see it through.

To Lan Xichen’s relief, just before they are set to head south toward Gusu, Nie Huaisang begs his brother for a full ceremony at the mountain temple, with incense and prayers and everything that can be done to honour Lan Xichen. Nie Mingjue grumbles and complains and even gets angry, but he eventually gives in, as seems to be common for him when his brother makes a request. Nie Mingjue is a wise man, and he apparently understands that little can be done when Nie Huaisang is in a mood to be stubborn about something.

So the three of them head out into the mountain, followed by a few Nie disciples who carry food offerings and some tools to clean the temple.

The temple’s floors are swiped clean. Rubbles are removed. The nearly faceless statue has its layers of dust carefully cleaned away by Nie Huaisang who climbed on its pedestal so he can reach every part, revealing details that Lan Xichen himself had forgotten. There are even some traces of colour here and there.

“I’ll have to make another portrait,” Nie Huaisang notes. “Mine isn’t accurate at all after all.”

“I’m sure this god is already more than happy with what you have given him,” Lan Xichen says, lifting his gaze from the altar he’s wiping clean. It is a struggle to keep himself from crying from joy, and his voice comes out a little strangled, but Nie Huaisang doesn’t appear to notice.

“I need to do better,” Nie Huaisang says with a shiver. “I cannot risk offending him.”

He sounds almost afraid, and his hands tremble slightly as he carefully dusts the statue. Lan Xichen stares at him a moment more, and sighs.

However pleasant everything else has been, this is one thing that doesn’t sit right with him. For whatever reason, Nie Huaisang seems to be afraid of his god self, and it taints his every prayer. This doesn’t change the value of those prayers, it doesn’t make his belief any less strong and valuable, but Lan Xichen can feel that fear almost constantly and he doesn’t enjoy it. He is too used to the old lady’s belief, simple and companionable. She treats him like an old friend to whom she can make requests, and he wishes Nie Huaisang would do the same. They are set to be married, it is the deal, and Lan Xichen doesn’t like the idea of a union set in fear.

“I am sure that god would not be offended,” Lan Xichen quietly insists. “You haven’t found anything about him in all your books and your letters, have you? So he must not be a very important god, and your efforts are sure to have been noticed and appreciated.”

“But it’s not enough,” Nie Huaisang retorts, gritting his teeth. “It can’t be enough. Nothing I do is ever enough, there’s got to be more I could do!”

Lan Xichen frowns, and looks around until his eyes land on Nie Mingjue. He heard this, and is staring at his brother with some concern.

From what Lan Xichen understands, the reason Nie Huaisang took refuge in his temple a few weeks ago was because of a great argument with Nie Mingjue regarding his capacity to do… nearly anything, really. Nie Mingjue, taking Lan Xichen as the confident Nie Huaisang asked that he be, admitted to him one day that he is terribly worried for his brother’s future. There might be a war, he said, and Nie Mingjue could die in it and leave Nie Huaisang alone to lead their sect before his time. Nie Mingjue confessed he is terrified that the elders of their clan won’t respect Nie Huaisang because his mother was of lesser birth, that some of their cousins will attempt to rob him of his birthright, that even if he becomes sect leader he will not be respected and some people will try to take advantage of his inexperience. So Nie Mingjue pushes his brother as hard as he can, demanding more efforts, more results, but it is all in vain because Nie Huaisang has stubbornly decided he isn’t good at anything that matters, and refuses to try anymore.

It was a terrible argument they had that day, Nie Mingjue said. And then, proving all his fears right, Nie Huaisang nearly died after running away and catching a fever, showing to all his future enemies how vulnerable a target he would be without Nie Mingjue to protect him. At the same time, that Nie Huaisang was ready to run away showed that he took it to heart every time he was scolded for not doing more, and now Nie Mingjue doesn’t know how to handle him anymore.

After Nie Mingjue confided in him this way, Lan Xichen promised he would look after Nie Huaisang, no matter what. It is part of the deal, as far as he’s concerned, because spouses must support one another, but also…

Lan Xichen is quickly becoming quite fond of this pair of brothers. Having been lonely for so long, he finds joy in the closeness they share, no matter how strained it might be at times. It is clear to him that Nie Mingjue loves his brother, though he struggles to show it when he has so much on his mind, and Nie Huaisang feels the same, to the point it was inconceivable for him to marry someone who wouldn’t be friendly with Nie Mingjue.

“Nie gongzi, you’ve done all you could for that statue,” Lan Xichen says, grabbing Nie Huaisang by the waist and pulling him down from the pedestal.

Nie Huaisang squeaks in surprise, fighting for a second before going rigid with fear as Lan Xichen puts him down. His face is a bright crimson when he looks up at Lan Xichen, who wonders whether that’s anger at being manhandled this way, but the other Nie just start laughing at his expression.

“Don’t seduce my brother like that, Xichen,” Nie Mingjue scolds, more of a joke than a real warning. “Look at him, he’s two heartbeat from asking for your hand now.”

Amazingly, Nie Huaisang manages to blush an even brighter colour, and leaps away from Lan Xichen. Nie Mingjue laughs again, apparently content with his brother’s perceived crush. Perceived, or real. Lan Xichen isn’t really sure what goes on in Nie Huaisang’s mind. He can feel is never ending flood of belief, the undercurrent of fear, but no particular affection so far. Then again, with fear that strong, it would be hard for any other emotion to flourish. Lan Xichen hasn’t wanted to talk directly about their situation yet, assuming that Nie Huaisang might want the illusion that this is all perfectly normal, but he’s rethinking that strategy. It is clear that Nie Huaisang, for whatever reason, is immune to the narrative that Lan Xichen created for his sake, so why not talk about it openly? If it can make Nie Huaisang any less afraid…

That is a problem for later. Right now, the temple is as clean as can be achieved with what little time they have available, so Nie Mingjue conducts the ceremonies necessary to consecrate the temple again, and invites Lan Xichen to inhabit again this place dedicated to him. Incense is put to burn for him, offerings are left on the altar, thanks and prayers are presented to him. Even Nie Mingjue, so openly reluctant to believe that there was any divine intervention to help his brother survive in the mountain, does provide a small stream of belief, hinting at a mind just as strong as his brother’s. Lan Xichen hopes that they can truly become friends over time, though he is unsure that’s possible with the lies he’s had to weave so he could fulfill Nie Huaisang’s request.

Still, there’s no harm in trying. If Lan Xichen is to spend one lifetime as a mortal, he wants to make the best of it, not only as a god in need of believers, but also as a person left alone far too long.

#xisang #nie huaisang #lan xichen #mo dao zu shi #mdzs #jau writes #that's not the tag I've used before but it'll do until I can find the right one again #Anonymous #xisang wishes au

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butwhatifidothis · 3 years

Note

r/Edelgard seems to have completely turned against Claude now. But the weirdest part is that they keep calling him an imperialist, while at the same time denying Edelgard is one.

It was only a matter of time before they did honestly. While Dimitri and Edelgard more directly oppose each other ideologically, even if it’s merely stated as so by the game Claude and Edelgard are presented as being “closer aligned” in terms of ideals, and any character shown to be a potential ally to Edelgard is seen in a good light in their eyes and any character that is shown to be unable to be an ally is a villain/bad person, so he was given some leeway until recently.

Look at how they bend themselves trying to make AM the villain route, how they sometimes completely discard Rhea’s words in favor of Edelgard’s despite the former literally being present when history was happening and the latter having Imperial Telephone tell her the totes fer reel correct version that happens to paint humanity as pure good, at how Edelgard’s treatment of Seteth and Flayn is excused and sometimes justified, at how Dimitri defending his land against an invading force that has the explicit goal of conquering them is painted in the worst possible light. It’s a consistent tendency to put down every character that could even potentially make Edelgard look bad... so Claude was never going to escape this treatment forever, since he arguably makes Edelgard look the worst. Not because of what she did to him - that trophy is being valiantly fought by Dimitri and Rhea - but because of his actions and goals and accomplishments compared to hers.

Remember Edelgard’s supposed goals, according to her stans? Claude does them, with far more peaceful results.

“Reform the Church” - Edelgard gets rid of it entirely in the majority of her endings and has it state-sanctioned if she does allow it to stay all the while actively persecuting the faithful in the Empire during the war, Claude always has the Church around and it is stated to be going through more natural reforms under Byleth and Seteth’s guidance and like the rest of the non-CF routes gives refuge to the said persecuted faithful.

“Unify Fodlan” - Edelgard forcefully unites Leicester and Faerghus back under Adrestia’s banner and erases their cultures while doing so, Claude unites Leicester, Faerghus, and Adrestia under a new banner (the United Kingdom of Fodlan) with no explicit mention of the erasure of the former nations (unlike “the Holy Kingdom of Faerghus and the Church of Seiros both vanished from the people’s memories” like in CF’s ending narration).

“Reveal the truth of Fodlan’s history” - Edelgard only tells a “truth” that goes directly against everything established by the game’s foreshadowing and never looks farther into what she assumes to be true, Claude finds the actual truth and does so by asking Rhea, someone who would for sure know the truth of what happened (all while risking the chance of her blowing away his previous assumptions of what’s been happening)

“Reveal the truth of Fodlan part 2″ - Edelgard/CF has multiple instances that reveal that portions of history are being deliberately covered up (Dorothea/Edelgard endings revealing censorship, Ferdinand/Byleth endings revealing certain battles not being recorded “ History books extol Ferdinand's success as a lord of his territories, but they do not make mention of the hard-fought battles he endured alongside his wife. Thus, half of his life's work is lost to time”), no mention of such things happening in Claude/VW’s endings

“Better relations with Almyra” - this is a throwaway line in Edelgard’s story that is completely optional and easy to miss as well as never appearing in any of her endings whatsoever (as well as any mention of bettering foreign relations), this is Claude’s entire goal which he is stated and even somewhat shown to have accomplished in the course of his story

“Looking out for the weak” - Edelgard intentionally strips the weak of support by taking away most any semblance of a church and explicitly states that the weak will inevitably learn how to grow strong by themselves, Claude acknowledges the Church’s importance to the people even if he personally doesn’t like religion and explicitly believes that strength is found by relying on, opening up to, and believing in friends and close ones

“Looking out for the weak, part 2″ - Edelgard explicitly states that she is completely willing to sacrifice her men as well as the people of Fodlan as a whole in order to achieve a greater good and then goes on to endanger her people, Claude explicitly states that such methods are too bloody and goes on to go out of his way to protect the people through evacuation or by placing himself in front of them or keeping them out of the fighting entirely

“Achieving a peaceful Fodlan” - The majority of Hubert’s endings reveal the need to constantly spy on the populace and/or put down rebellions/assassination attempts, the only mention of something similar occurring in VW is putting down Imperial loyalists + TWS’ attempts to disrupt the peace

“Wanting help from others” - Edelgard never attempts to reach out a hand in friendship to anyone at any point of the game, Claude tries multiple times to do so with Dimitri and actually succeeds in doing so in AM (not to mention him giving his help to and asking for help from the Church in non-CF routes)

This is just what I can readily think of off the top of my head, but we see that Claude manages to accomplish much of what Edelstans say Edelgard wants to do with better results, and that’s not even getting into how Claude needs no “softening” from Byleth in order to be a more approachable person, how he never initiates fighting towards Faerghus (as in, not the Kingdom army but the nation itself, unlike Edelgard) and never tries to conquer it whatsoever (again, unlike Edelgard), how he keeps his word and assists in helping Rhea despite not liking or trusting her unlike how Edelgard claims to want to make peace with Rhea despite thinking that her and her kind need destruction, how Claude mourns the deaths of his friends and allies while Edelgard says nothing if any of her friends and allies die (even Hubert, someone she’s known for close to 20 years, one of the longest relationships of the academy students’ circle. she says nothing of his passing) save for Bernadetta whom she can set on fire, and, again, other things that aren’t coming to my right off the cuff. He makes her look horrible

And, well, ya know what that means. Claude’s actions can’t be actually good, because they make Edelgard, the hero of 3H, look bad, so there has to be some kind of catch everywhere.

Claude bringing in Almyran reinforcements, with the approval of the Alliance’s most renown general, to help secure Fort Merceus in a more secure way (and is actually shown to have possibly actually helped in pulling off the ruse, seeing how SS tried the same thing without them and failed)? Him doing the same in some of his endings, where he sends Almyran forces to help settle the Imperial revolts that are happening? This is actually him trying to invade Fodlan, sending Almyran forces as a show of force and establish Almyra’s superiority over Fodlan, not him showing that Almyra wishes to help Fodlan reform so that their centuries long feud can finally begin to be properly set aside and allow for positive change to occur between the two countries.

Claude keeping the Alliance out of the war? This is actually him biding his time to strike back against both countries so that he can win the war and he only succeeds if he manages to trick Byleth and the Church (and Dimitri, in AM) into helping him, not him recognizing that the Alliance is weak even if fully united (let alone in the divided state they’re in) and wanting to keep his people as far away from the war as possible.

Claude giving the leadership of Fodlan to Byleth? This is actually him giving an ambitionless puppet rulership so that he can control Fodlan through them (even though even pre ts he doesn’t believe Byleth has no ambitions and will full on deny the belief that they don’t) and not him putting his faith in Byleth that they will be able to rule Fodlan justly

Claude showing concern over his friends’ wellbeing? This is actually him only trying to make sure his “tools” are kept up nicely, not him genuinely caring about those around him.

Claude coming across as insensitive in his Jeralt’s diary scene? This is actually proof/a hint of Claude’s true persona as a manipulative sociopath, not a genuine fuck up on his end (or, if you want to be nicer, a look into how he himself deals with traumatic events, though that’s up for interpretation so not the main point)

Claude saying that he wants to be supreme ruler of the world to Edelgard? This is actually him outright revealing his plans and showing regret that Edelgard managed to thwart him.

Oh, and we can’t forget how Claude actually wanted to wage war himself and was only stopped by Edelgard, and how he stole all of the progress Edelgard was making in changing Fodlan’s society, and how he never would have been able to do anything without Edelgard, and how him not siding with Edelgard is proof that he never wanted the best for Fodlan, and how the warmongering Almyrans would never want to make peace with Fodlan with that being more proof of Claude’s “true” ill intentions since he’d totally know that’d be the case

The second to last point being, of course, the only time you should take Claude at face value. And again, these are just the points that readily come to my mind as of right now.

Like I said, there was no chance in hell Claude was going to stay in r/Edelgard’s good graces, given how so much of his character directly shits on Edelgard’s. Friendship ended with r/Edelgard, now Dimitri and Rhea are Claude’s best friends.

#ask #anti edelgard #Anti-edelgard #Edelgard discourse #edelgard critical #just to be safe #like yeah I'm surprised Claude went this long without being shat on

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mrsjadecurtiss · 3 years

Note

A different ask! What do you think Roose actually feels about Ramsay? Just before the Red Wedding he talks very dismissively about how Ramsay could be executed for his crimes, but obviously he knows Robb's never gonna get the chance so maybe he cares more than that. But Ramsay (probably) killed precious Domeric? What does he actually feel about him and potential Walda baby(-ies)?

Thank you for your question :) I have divided my answer into points regarding the different aspects of your ask.

What do you think Roose actually feels about Ramsay?

In regards to the Roose-Ramsay relationship, some facts are important:

Roose did not raise Ramsay, and as far as we know did not interact with him in his childhood beyond the two times the miller's wife came to him after his birth. ("She was never to tell the boy who had fathered him." - Reek III, aDwD) All he knew about Ramsay was that he was his son, had his grey eyes, and was "wild and unruly" (the reason Ramsay's mom demanded a servant).

"Lord Bolton has never acknowledged the boy, so far as I know," Ser Rodrik said. "I confess, I do not know him." - Bran II, aCoK

Ramsay only came to the Dreadfort in 297AC (after Domeric died). This is extremely recent - for context, we have Dany chapters in aGoT taking place as early as 297AC, and the War of the five Kings starts at the end of 298 AC according to this timeline.

As a consequence, since Roose leaves the Dreadfort for the War of the five Kings, he assumed a paternal role for Ramsay in between 297AC and at most very early 299AC (The timeline has the battle of the green fork in January 6 and he'd need to travel to the south before that in the first place). This is only between 1-2 years depending on how early or late that year Domeric died (Shoutout to @blueagia who made me realize this timeline years ago).

Ramsay is violent and cruel, but not stupid (Roose even says he is “cunning” in Catelyn VI, aSoS). He was able to present himself as an ally to Theon in aCoK, and it stands to reason he might have given a salvagable impression to Roose at the beginning while he was testing the waters. Ned Stark is a just man who tried to execute the remote-living Jorah Mormont for slave trade; Since he never went after Ramsay, we can assume whatever Ramsay did during his time with Roose was discreet enough that word did not get to Lord Eddard, and so at the beginning Roose must have had no reason to complain too much about Ramsay's conduct either.

Eddard Stark had never had any reason to complain of the Lord of the Dreadfort, so far as Jon knew. - Jon VII, aDwD

"No tales were ever told of me. Do you think I would be sitting here if it were otherwise? Your amusements are your own, I will not chide you on that count, but you must be more discreet. A peaceful land, a quiet people. That has always been my rule. Make it yours." - Reek III, aDwD

Roose gets a legitimization for Ramsay as part of his benefit from doing the Red Wedding, showing that back then he still had an intention of keeping him as his son and heir. However, returning from the war in the south shows Roose how bad Ramsay's political decisions are when left on his own, including:

Leaving Donella Hornwood for dead, horrifically abusing Theon who is a valuable hostage and a potential ally, being unable to keep good optics and alienating his allies ("Surely you misspeak. You never slew Lord Eddard's sons, those two sweet boys we loved so well. [...] How many of our grudging friends do you imagine we'd retain if the truth were known? Only Lady Barbrey, whom you would turn into a pair of boots … " - Reek III, aDwD), abusing his wife "Arya Stark" who is beloved by their Northern allies, and more...

We see in the aDwD Theon chapters that Roose is still giving Ramsay advice and counsel (see again the Reek III quote), however he also appears to be despairing of him:

"I know." Lord Bolton sighed. "His blood is bad. He needs to be leeched. The leeches suck away the bad blood, all the rage and pain. No man can think so full of anger. Ramsay, though … his tainted blood would poison even leeches, I fear." - Reek III, aDwD

We also see in later Theon chapters that he frequently holds meetings without Ramsay:

[Roose:] "The hall is not the place for such discussions, my lords. Let us adjourn to the solar whilst my son consummates his marriage. The rest of you, remain and enjoy the food and drink." - The Prince of Winterfell, aDwD

Lord Bolton was not alone. Lady Dustin sat with him, pale-faced and severe; an iron horsehead brooch clasped Roger Ryswell's cloak; Aenys Frey stood near the fire, pinched cheeks flushed with cold. - A Ghost in Winterfell, aDwD

[Lady Dustin said] "Roose is not pleased. Tell your bastard that." - The Turncloak, aDwD

Implying he is losing faith in his son, or otherwise does not trust him or value his input when it comes to political situations; a bad omen considering heirs like Robb usually sit with their fathers in councils.

My impression is that Roose initially adopted Ramsay as an heir for the following reasons:

- Sentimentality, since Ramsay is a son of his own blood ("I should've had the mother whipped and thrown her child down a well … but the babe did have my eyes." [...] "Now [Domeric's] bones lie beneath the Dreadfort with the bones of his brothers, who died still in the cradle, and I am left with Ramsay. Tell me, my lord … if the kinslayer is accursed, what is a father to do when one son slays another?" - Reek III aDwD). As a member of a patriarchal society, Roose was raised with the expectation that he will continue his bloodline, and so likely has the wish to be succeeded by his son.

- Practicality, since Ramsay is already an adult, so he doesn't have to raise and invest in another child for years ("That's for the best. I will not live long enough to see new sons to manhood, and boy lords are the bane of any House." - Reek III, aDwD). [Speculation: For a new son, he would also have to remarry, and both his prior wives are implied to not have liked him ("The two before her never made a sound in bed" - Reek III, aDwD) while he also doesnt speak of them with fondness - so he might also prefer to be single and raise his bastard instead of having to deal with yet another unpassionate/unloving marriage (considering he's middle aged and uncharismatic, a young new wife wouldn't be thrilled about him), until he finds a marriage that provides him a good benefit (like the Frey money + alliance).]

- The belief that, despite Ramsay being raised a peasant and having violent tendencies, it is possible to "educate him" so that he becomes a functioning member of society (see again my point about Roose counseling him). Roose possibly initially projects some of his own personality on Ramsay (Compare this meta i wrote).

During aGoT-aSoS he must have still thought Ramsay viable, which is why he has him legitimized by the crown. He has not known Ramsay closely for long; This explains why he kept him around even though he is so unfit as an heir (it takes time to fully realize that), but also explains why he is so dismissive of him, as that short time of knowing him as an adult would not make him fond of Ramsay the same way one might be fond of a child they raised.

Roose then realizes after the war, as seen in a Dance with Dragons, that Ramsay is not a fitting heir. What this means for the later books is open for now... Will he abandon Ramsay? Use him as a scapegoat? Or still try to salvage him? I personally believe he is starting to see Ramsay as a danger, and is starting to think about how to best get rid of him.

Just before the Red Wedding he talks very dismissively about how Ramsay could be executed for his crimes, but obviously he knows Robb's never gonna get the chance so maybe he cares more than that.

My belief is that Roose is fundamentally selfish and worried about his own skin. While he has the goal to establish Ramsay as a capable heir, he prioritizes his own safety and reputation. By distancing himself from Ramsay's crimes in front of the other Northmen, he can't be blamed for them; by using Ramsay as a scapegoat for Bolton crimes, he himself can wash his hands from the involvement and won't be hurt if any crimes come to light. If he keeps pointing attention at how Ramsay is wild/cruel/treacherous, then the northmen are more likely to suspect/blame Ramsay than the "peaceful" Roose. Also, even if he cared for Ramsay, he would never openly admit it because it's something that could be used against him (same reason as to why he generally keeps his emotions under wraps).

If you compare this scene from aCoK (where Ramsay is believed dead) with the scene you mentioned from aSoS, you can see that to prioritize his own safety and reputation he will sacrifice Ramsay; but he will also defend Ramsay ("Yet he is a good fighter, as cunning as he is fearless.") as long as it serves his interests, of course while still keeping an emotional distance.

One important thing about Roose is that he does not always say the things he actually thinks; When looking at his quotes it is not only important to look at what he says, but which intentions he has with his words and what effect he wants them to have on the person listening. Compare this quote by grrm:

Lord Bolton may well have all sorts of things in mind. Whether or not he would act on any of those thoughts is another matter. Roose is the sort of fellow who keeps his thoughts to himself. - SSM

But Ramsay (probably) killed precious Domeric

"Ramsay killed him. A sickness of the bowels, Maester Uthor says, but I say poison." - Roose in Reek III, aDwD

This is speculative, but I personally believe that case is not as clear-cut as it is made to look. Poisoning Domeric does not necessarily seem like Ramsay's style; i often see people in fandom suspect that his mother is actually the culprit. I personally suspect the first Reek of killing Domeric - we know he once stole perfume, meaning he knows his way around the castle, and he also got looked at by a maester implying he might know the maester’s chamber where poisons could be kept. He has ample reason to hate Roose, who let him live with the pigs and had him whipped and later sent him to live with Ramsay, but also seems to have interest in improving Ramsay's status ("She made him, her and Reek, always whispering in his ear about his rights." - Reek III aDwD). He is also known to be inseperable from Ramsay, so if Ramsay went to meet Domeric, Reek would come with him.

Either way it could be that Roose just didnt initially believe Ramsay killed Domeric since it looked like he died from sickness, and only later changed his mind on this issue - note that Barbrey Dustin, whom he is implied to have regularly spent time with shortly before the quote about Ramsay killing Domeric, seems to be a believer that Ramsay was the murderer, so she might be the one who convinced Roose; And maybe Ramsay's bad conduct during the time of the war aided to make Roose believe her. Changing his mind on this could influence his decision on what to do with Ramsay come the Winds of Winter.

Or alternatively, if we’re keeping closer to the text, he just thought the positives of keeping Ramsay outweigh the negatives of him being a kinslayer; however it seems odd that Roose, who is so worried about his safety, would adopt a man if his first act he knows of was this treacherous and dangerous. Then again he frequently verbally states that he does not see Ramsay as a threat, which can be read in different ways depending on if you take it as a literal statement or as a tool to enact dominance over his dangerous son.

"All you have I gave you. You would do well to remember that, bastard.” [...]

“I know what he said. You're to spy on me and keep his secrets." Bolton chuckled. "As if he had secrets. Sour Alyn, Luton, Skinner, and the rest, where does he think they came from? Can he truly believe they are his men?" - Reek III, aDwD

What does he actually feel about him and potential Walda baby(-ies)?

I think he would like to have a son that continues his values and manages to be a capable heir to continue the Bolton line. Domeric was the ideal son, talented and competent, and Roose invested a lot of time and money in giving him a great education. Now that Domeric died and all of this is down the drain, and Roose himself isn't getting any younger, he wants to have a new heir in a way that's the most convenient for him. It appears to me like he is currently weighing the positives of each option (Ramsay or new Baby), and it might even be that he has already come to a decision, considering how he is starting to grow frustrated with Ramsay.

"I have become oddly fond of my fat little wife. [...] Ramsay will kill [all the sons she bears me], of course. That's for the best. I will not live long enough to see new sons to manhood, and boy lords are the bane of any House." - Reek III, aDwD

In line with my earlier point about Roose’ words also being about the effect and not just the message, I believe the line about him being ok with Ramsay killing his sons might be very calculated towards the fact that Roose knows Theon is to report everything he hears back to Ramsay. If Ramsay hears this, he is placated, because it confirms that he is still the main Bolton heir - which means that he does not have to think about harming Lady Walda (because the sons are no threat to his position), and he does not have to think about harming Roose (because he just has to wait until he can succeed him).

Of course all of this post is based off the first five books, so the interpretation may change once the next book comes out or through a different reading of the lines.

#asoiaf #roose bolton #ramsay bolton #asoiaf meta #meta #asks #i have a cold i hope this is coherent as a whole... if you have questions feel free to come into my ask box #mzyraj

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dwellordream · 3 years

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“…When the two lovers meet after Parliament's decision, Criseyde offers Troilus the opportunity to "ravish her" as her uncle has suggested. She begs for his aid, crying "Help, Troilus!" (IV, 1150) and falling into a dead faint. For once, she wishes that another would take control and make decisions for her. Not realizing that Troilus has relapsed into an impotent, emasculated state, Criseyde expects him to interpret successfully her intent and to act boldly in order to rescue her from her terrible plight. Troilus, however, is no longer the valiant, empathetic young man transformed by Criseyde's love; consequently, he fails to play the role of the manly hero. He does not seize this moment to carry the maiden off; instead, he convinces himself that she has died and poetically beseeches the heavens to hasten his own demise (IV, 1191-1211).

His behavior contrasts greatly with Criseyde's when he had fainted. She roused herself to action, doing all in her power to revive her lover, who, like Criseyde in this later scene, seemed at the precipice of death. Criseyde begins to argue eloquently upon the advantages of biding her time behind enemy lines only after she awakes to discover that Troilus has not heeded her cry for help. A careful reader would recognize, how ever, that she still yearns for her lover to prevent the exchange, for she interrupts her own argument to assure Troilus "what so ye me comaunde,/ That wol I don, for that is no demaunde" (IV, 1294-95). In arguing in favor of removing to the Greek camp, Criseyde tests the extent of Troilus's affection. …Criseyde thought that surely a man willing to slay himself for her would be willing to risk ruining his reputation for her love, but Troilus finds himself incapable of performing such a heroic feat.

When Troilus fails to make even the slightest attempt to rescue his ill fated lover, Criseyde realizes that she must bring about her own salvation. As she spins out her plan, she gains more confidence in her abilities to effect her own rescue. Sheltered within the walls of Troy, Criseyde knows little of the true horrors of war, only what she has gleaned from gossip and from the books that she has read in her cloistered garden. Her overconfidence stems both from her ignorance concerning the actual situation facing her nation and from her earlier successes in effecting her will.

In contrast, Troilus has been out in the trenches, and he should recognize the implausibility of Criseyde's plan of action. His attempts to dissuade her, however, seem half-hearted at best. Indeed, he feels relieved that she seems to exonerate him from taking any rash action, for such a view accords with his own and enables him to rationalize his impotence as simply a chivalric attempt to uphold his lady's desire: This Troilus, with herte and erys spradde,/Herde al this thyng devysen to and fro,/And verrayliche him semed that he hadde The selve wit. . . (IV, 1422-25) Although Troilus finally does argue with Criseyde that they should elope (IV, 1503), he does so only to determine the extent of her loyalty, for he beseeches her "That of hire heste he myghte her trewe fynde" (IV, 1439).

For nine stanzas he dwells on his potential desolation should Criseyde forsake him and displays little concern as to whether she might suffer from the trade as well (IV, 1436-98). He does not want Criseyde to abandon her plans but only to assure him that she will remain stead fast in her love for the Trojan prince. Troilus now behaves like Percival's maid, arguing against his lover's bold plan only to make her more resolved to carry it out. He succeeds, for Criseyde dismisses his worries, assuring him that she can achieve all that she has set out to accomplish. Thinking of the state of her city that "hath now swich nede / Of help" (IV, 1558-59), she chides Troilus for wanting to abandon his home, reminding him that he plays a vital role in his city's defense.

Concern for his city, however, does not motivate Troilus in his insistence that he and Criseyde run off; rather, his hesitancy to allow her to leave stems from his hitherto unwarranted fear that Criseyde will prove untrue. After Criseyde's eloquent argument, which included an impassioned declaration that she would remain constant in her love (IV, 1527-54), Troilus still asks her to leave with him: "But for the love of God, if it be may,/So late us stelen priveliche away;/For evere in oon, as for to lyve in reste,/Myn herte seyth that it wol be the beste." (IV, 1600-1604)

After listening to this plea, Criseyde finally experiences an awakening, realizing that her lover does not hold the values that she herself cherishes. She recognizes his plea stems only from jealousy and not from any noble concern for her or for their country's grave situation. Sighing with exasperation, she once again defends herself against the charge of infidelity: "I se wel now that ye mystrusten me, For by youre wordes it is wel yseene./Now for the love of Cinthia the sheene, Mistrust me nought thus ca?seles, for routhe,/Syn to be trewe I have yow plight my trouthe." (IV, 1606-10)

Criseyde now recognizes that Troilus, who had shunned jealousy during his earlier blissful state (III, 1805-6), has relapsed into a suspicious suitor, one who holds little faith in his love's sincerity. He has forgotten that the last time he questioned Criseyde's trustworthiness he nearly lost her favor (III, 1054-85). Troilus's hypocrisy at Criseyde's departure serves only to alienate her further and to make her resolve to return to Troy begin to evaporate. The Trojan prince not only refuses to heed Pandarus's advice and openly declare his love; he also feigns joy at the arrival of Antenor (V, 77). Even if he believed that openly expressing his love for Criseyde would imperil her, he need not seem joyous concerning the exchange. Criseyde does not mask her emotions so easily but instead weeps piteously as Diomede leads her away (V, 82). She feels distraught not only because she must leave Troilus and Troy but also because she now recognizes that she has misread her lover's nature.

Troilus's behavior undercuts the narrator's contention that the young prince refuses to act only because he fears some harm may befall Criseyde: But why he nolde don so fel a dede,/That shal I seyn, and whi hym liste it spare:/He hadde in herte alweyes a manere drede/Lest that Criseyde, in rumour of this fare,/Sholde han ben slayn; lo, this was al his care./And ellis, certeyn, as I seyde yore,/He hadde it don, wi thou ten wordes more.(V, 50-56) These assurances concerning Troilus's desire to behave valiantly seem to reflect anxiety on the part of the narrator, who suspects, perhaps, that he recounts not the tale of a hero but of a coward.

W. A. Davenport believes Troilus's poetic apostrophes to his lost love as he waits for her in Troy indicate that the young prince's despair is primarily a pose. Troilus's letters also reveal that he continues to play a role. These solipsistic missives to Criseyde seal his fate, for they leave no question that Troilus remains a courtly lover. He does not consider the needs of his auditor, for instead of tender, solicitous queries concerning the hardships she must have endured, he stresses his own affliction. Cox comments that "Troilus sings of his woe with little regard for Criseyde, . . . and his letter, . . . full of fin’amors platitudes, blames her for going to the Greeks."

As in Book I, where he allowed his misery to paralyze him, Troilus has succeeded in making himself overwrought. It is as if the communion he experienced with Criseyde in Book III never occurred, for the Trojan prince once again acts like the lovelorn suitor of a lady he scarcely knows, whom he can address only in the most artificial, contrived manner. Troilus pens his letter ostensibly to convince Criseyde to return to Troy. Such a demand, however, is absurd, and he knows it. He, who remained completely passive while the Trojans forced his love to leave, now expects Criseyde to risk her life by rushing across the battlefield to return to him. Even if she succeeded in reaching Troy, Troilus knows his father would send her back to the Greeks.

Troilus does not really expect Criseyde to reunite with him; rather, he expects her to behave like a proper lady and die for her love. One can speculate that he wants her to act like the nondescript tragic heroines in the Legend of Good Women, to pine away like Ariadne or to commit suicide like Dido. Such behavior would prove a fitting end for the object of Troilus's desire, enabling him to compose tragic lays about the death of his beautiful, beloved dame. Criseyde sees through Troilus's importunate letter, and, instead of playing the expected role of the bereft lady, she assumes the role of a courtly lover herself. As Davis notes, "when his [Troilus's] thou becomes an it, it rightly opts out." Criseyde might have risked her life or wasted away for the valiant Troilus of Book III, but she deems this poseur unworthy of such deep, abiding affection.

John McKinnell contrasts the structure of Criseyde's letter to Troilus's, noting that her epistle flows eloquently and follows the rules of artes dictamen. Criseyde's controlled prose reflects her nature; she will determine her own actions and certainly will not be dictated to by a man whose own convoluted letter displays an utter lack of composure or self-discipline. The time for impulsive behavior on the part of Troilus has passed. He should have displayed such passion when Criseyde was taken from him; he should have acted rashly when such behavior would have proved effective. Now his raving falls on deaf ears, and his former lover tersely retorts "Nor other thyng nys in youre remembraunce, / As thynketh me, but only youre plesaunce" (V, 1607-8).

In abandoning Troilus and accepting Diomede's suit, Criseyde behaves like a male lover jilting a woman with whom he has grown weary. Criseyde knows that men behave in this manner, for prior to accepting Troilus's advances, she complains about the faithlessness of men: "ek men ben so un trewe,/That right anon as cessed is hire lest,/So cesseth love, and forth to love a newe./But harm ydoon is doon, whoso it rewe:,For though thise men for love hem first torende,/Ful sharp bygynnyng breketh ofte at ende."(II, 786-91) Criseyde follows the consummate courtly lover's, Pandarus's, advice to Troilus, an act that leaves both uncle and lover astounded. Her behavior provokes Pandarus's violent exclamation "I hate, ywis, Cryseyde; / And, God woot, I wol hate hire evermore!" (V, 1732-33), as well as his wish that she will die soon, a desire to which Troilus, by not gainsaying, seems to give his silent assent.

Criseyde's unconventional behavior confounds the narrator as well. He cannot quite grasp why she gives Diomede Troilus's brooch, for instance, despairing that there "was litel nede" for such a deed (V, 1040). The narrator cannot admit that Troilus deserves to be abandoned by Criseyde, for to do so would be to recognize that he has recounted the story of a dithering, self-consumed man. By giving Diomede her brooch, Criseyde sends Troilus a clear message that no matter how much he rants and raves she no longer will accommodate his desires. She lets him know that not only does she refuse to return to Troy; she also refuses to waste away for love of him. Criseyde never wanted to involve herself in an affair constrained by the rules of courtly love, and she takes up with a new lover, who, like her, eschews such conventions.

Diomede's desire for Criseyde does not emasculate him, and he never complains of her cruel heart or hints that she causes him great pain. Instead, he treats her as his equal, engaging her in an intellectual conversation concerning the siege and seeking her opinion about the war: He gan first fallen of the werre in speche Bitwixe hem and the folk of Troie town;/And of th'assege he gan hire ek biseche To telle hym what was hire opynyoun. (V, 855-58) Diomede understands Criseyde's nature, for he recognizes that she is a woman interested in much more than silly love games. Instead of harping about himself, as Troilus tends to do, Diomede at least feigns empathy for Criseyde's plight, telling her he has noticed her sorrow and wondering if she laments a lost love (V, 871-82).

His concern indeed may be motivated merely by lust, but compared to Troilus's self pitying posturing, it strikes the Trojan beauty as a welcome change. In Criseyde's estimation, Diomede now seems much closer to the ideal she seeks than the Trojan prince, for Diomede pretends at least to admire both her beauty and her intellect. Indeed, Chaucer hints that Diomede may prove a much better match for feisty Criseyde than the young, oversensitive prince. The poet reveals that the Greek warrior and the Trojan beauty share the same pragmatic philosophy. Determined to court Criseyde, Diomede reminds himself that "he that naught n'asaieth naught n'acheveth" (V, 784). His words echo Criseyde's own, who, while contemplating Troilus's suit, mused that "'He which that nothing undertaketh, / Nothyng n'acheveth, be hym looth or deere'" (II, 807-8). Troilus, significantly, does not subscribe to this self-sufficient view.

Readers should not scorn Criseyde for turning toward Diomede. After being so bitterly disappointed in Troilus, who proved himself incapable of transcending the conventional, Criseyde continues to believe in the possibility of attaining the ideal in love. She may not remain loyal to a man who has failed her, but she does remain loyal to the notion of a healthy, wholesome love, a love based on mutual desire and a meeting of minds. Her passion for Troilus has changed her; she does not revert back to the cynical young widow of Book II, who regarded love as little more than a trap set by men. For one fleeting moment, Criseyde found her affair with Troilus liberating, because it enabled her to express and to sate finally her own desires. She embarks on a relationship with Diomede yearning to recapture the bliss that she once felt with her Trojan prince. Diomede, she hopes, will prove a more worthy recipient of her stalwart heart.

Troilus also finds himself altered by his love affair with Criseyde, but his transformation occurs only after his death. His demise releases him from the courtly love conventions that he found impossible to escape while on earth. In Reading Lolita in Tehran, Azar Nafisi describes the metamorphosis that occurs when her female students remove their mandatory black robes in the sanctuary of their professor's apartment. Freed from these black garbs, symbols of the repressive Iranian regime, they indulge in the luxury of laughter. Upon his death, Troilus finds himself similarly released from the strictures of his society. He can now shed his pose as a courtly lover, and, looking at the world from his heavenly perch, he too can laugh, both at his weakness in constantly allowing the values of the majority to dictate his actions and at the temerity of the woman he once loved, who refused to do so.”

- Mary Behrman, “Heroic Criseyde.”

#troilus and criseyde #geoffrey chaucer #medieval literature #mary behrman #courtly love

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frostsinth · 4 years

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Royal Flush - Pt. 1

The prologue to this story can be found HERE. I plan to redo/redesign the picture at some point. UPDATE: Redid the picture HERE

A new story (because fuck me, that’s why). This time between a Goblin King, and a young human Prince. Something new and fresh I hope you will all fancy. And hopefully a line up for another fic I have planned for the future.

As always, please visit my MasterList to see my other works, and feel free to BuyMeACoffee while you are there. If you have any prompts, ideas, thoughts, or insane ramblings, I love to hear from you. Please send me all the notes, tags, asks, or DMs your little hearts desire.

Enjoy!

“… Nikostratus, I… I know you are ...conflicted,” He started, and I felt my blood run hot again at his words, “But that is no reason-”

“My life is doomed to misery, regardless of what end,” I snapped at him, anger lacing every word, cutting him off, “… At least this way, Morgana will have a chance at finding happiness.”

He fell silent, his face a mask of horror, and I turned back to face the Goblin King. Stepping forward, I placed one arm over my chest, then bent at the waist. Bowing deeply to him.

“Your Majesty, I agree to your proposal.”

“I am humbled, and honored,” The Goblin King replied, and I could hear the smirk in his voice, even as I kept my eyes on the ground beneath me. “Come, we can discuss the details further in my private study… alone.”

I stiffened slightly at his request. But realized that the word he stressed was less suggestive and more… cold? As I slowly raised from my bow, I saw his scarlet eyes glaring harshly over my shoulder. I could feel the hairs on the back of my neck prickling, and tightened my jaw. Resisting the urge to look back at my guard. Knowing now exactly whom that tone had been for and not imagining I would enjoy the expression waiting behind me.

“As you wish, Your Majesty.”

The King gestured for me to follow him, leading the way across the floor to a door set into the side of the great chamber. With my will steeled, I followed after. If Gareth attempted to follow as well, I did not know. Nor what would become of him, left alone upon my exit with the Goblin King. And with the anger at his words still hot in my blood at that moment, I didn’t care.

“Thank you, Your Majesty.” I tried not to mumble as he held the door open for me.

“Please, call me Grier. Assuming all goes well, we are to be married soon, after all.” I couldn’t help but wince at the word, and my mouth felt dry. I saw his scarlet eyes flicker to me at their corners. “And what are you comfortable with being called, Your Highness?”

I hesitated, unable to resist flinching ever so slightly as the door clunked closed behind us. “My name is Nikostratus, if it pleases you, Your Majesty.”

“Grier.” He corrected, and led the way down the smaller side hallway. I hardly took notice of my surroundings, feeling hollow and numb. “And it matters not if it pleases me. It is your name, no? Though I will admit it is a bit of a mouthful.”

I didn’t answer. I wasn’t sure how to answer. The weight of it all was suddenly dropping onto me, and I felt my palms clasped behind my back growing sweaty. I swallowed, tightening my jaw. There was still much to discuss before the arrangement could be finalized. I had to keep my head level, for the sake of my people. I could not let the goblins take more than an inch in negotiations. Couldn’t let myself be razzled by whatever life I had just signed myself up for. It was entirely possible that had been his intent! Perhaps the entire ‘marriage’ would be an endless attempt to manipulate me into breaking; to gain the upper hand. Just how far would a goblin be willing to go for one of their pranks? An arranged marriage certainly didn’t seem out of that scope. Would it lead up to the ceremony? Beyond?

“Do you have any other names you like to go by?” He pressed, opening a grand carved oak door and standing back to allow me to enter first. I stiffened, but nodded appreciatively and stepped past him as quickly as I could. “A nickname? Or perhaps you wouldn’t mind if I choose a term of endearment for you?” His voice was light and teasing, but it made a chill run down my spine. “Perhaps ‘sweetheart’ or ‘dear’. I have always liked the term ‘pet’, though I believe it would be ill suited for our… situation.”

I swallowed hard again, grinding my teeth quietly as I stopped before the grand desk in the room. I turned my head slightly to watch him saunter around to the other side after closing the large door behind himself.

“I prefer Nikostratus.” I hoped my voice didn’t sound too dry.

His crooked smirk didn’t lighten the burden of my nerves, nor allow me any relief from the notion this whole mess was simply some ploy. Some elaborate goblin mischief. But he didn’t sit in the ornate chair behind the desk as I had anticipated. Instead, he gathered up an inkwell, a handful of quills, and a roll of parchment and brought it over to the overly plush chairs set before the grand fireplace of the room.

I used that moment to take stock of the study for the first time since entering. It was large, with tall stone bookshelves filled to bursting with old tomes. The smell of their ancient parchment as well as the smoke from the fire in the large fireplace suffused the room. There were assorted knick knacks dotting every available surface, from a golden astrolabe to a pristinely painted globe and even a silver sundial propped against one wall. Aside from the huge desk and plush pair of armchairs, there was a small marble table before the fire, and a silver cart piled with various shaped decanters and glasses. The entire room was disheveled and cluttered, with heaps of parchments and quills strewn about, tomes left half opened with numerous different things from ribbons to dried flowers tucked between their pages, and the evidence of projects started but never completed.

The study was also vehemently colored, with no two fabrics matching another. There were glittering crystalline mobiles and diagrams and draped scarves dangling from the rafters. Various pillows in different shapes, colors, and sizes pooled off the armchairs onto the floor which was covered with several overlapping carpets that absolutely had no unifying color scheme. It was overwhelming, and I couldn’t help but cast an apprehensive eye about as he settled in one of the two chairs facing each other.

“Are you hungry?” He offered, simply sweeping whatever had been on the small marble table onto the floor with a clatter to make space for his parchment and quills. “Perhaps some tea? I believe I have heard humans like tea.”

It took me a breath to realize he had spoken to me. When his red eyes lifted to my face, I straightened sharply, but shook my head.

“No, Your Majesty, thank you.”

He scoffed, waving one green skinned hand. “Grier.” He corrected me again. “Now sit. We have much to discuss if we want to have a proper marriage contract drawn up tonight.”

I let out my breath slowly between tight lips. I could do this. Write up a marriage contract. A peace contract, rather. I knew how to negotiate. How to write contracts. And I needed to make sure the terms were in my kingdom’s best interest. Slowly, I walked over, glancing down at the plush chair facing his briefly before lowering myself into it. I sat at the very edge so as not to disturb the large quantity of odd shaped pillows there. This would be easier if I just was careful not to remember it was my marriage contract.

“Now then, down to business,” He drew up his quill, scribbling a long, over flourished sentence at the top of the parchment. “And I would urge you to speak your mind here, my young Prince. We must be able to forgo formalities and niceties if we are to complete a formidable and agreeable contract.” He dabbed a note. “As discussed, removal of my soldiers from your kingdom is first.”

I nodded, eyeing him as his long fingers deftly maneuvered the quill into forming short, neat little letters. “We will need to redefine the borders between the two kingdoms as well.”

One thin eyebrow raised, and he glanced up at me through pale lashes. “However do you mean?”

I placed my hands on my knees, back still ramrod straight. “The skirmishes over the last decade have allowed disputed territories to fall into your control. We would need them returned.” I cocked my head ever so slightly to the side. “As a sign of your good faith.”

He tsked, but seemed amused. “You will find I have treated your citizens quite admirably while they were beneath my occupation.” His quill scratched across the page. “Perhaps they may not wish to return.”

I paused, but decided it was just an effort on his part to get a rise out of me. “Never-the-less… They will be returned. And our borders will become defined and respected.”

A soft ‘hrumph’, and he leaned back in his chair, re-reading what he had just written. “Very well… though perhaps I was under the misinformation that our kingdoms would become united with our marriage? Forming into one?”

I resisted the urge to flinch at his words, feeling my knuckles clench slightly with the effort. “A kingdom cannot have two Kings. Royal marriages unify countries, but they do not become a single kingdom. Borders are open, allowing for trade and travel ease for citizens, as well as lower taxes for goods produced.” My voice sounded hollow and distant, even to my own ears. “There is also the expectation of allied forces, should a conflict arise for either kingdom.”

“My kingdom will.” He mused, penning a note.

I blinked. “Excuse me?”

“Have two Kings,” He glanced up at me, his crooked smirk forming again, “My Kingdom will. Unless I have your future title wrong. Would you perhaps remain a Prince by human customs?”

I felt heat rising around the edge of the collar of my shirt. “The title is not important.”

The goblin sat up taller in his seat. “It is important.” He insisted. “I want to be sure you, as well as your people, are comfortable with all terms of this contract. These are terms of peace, not surrender.”

Then why doesn’t it feel that way? I wondered quietly, but otherwise didn’t comment further. Clamping my lips shut. I reminded myself again why I was doing this; for my people. For Morgana. He waited for me to speak for a moment, his red eyes locked on my face. For my part, I made a point to focus on the fireplace.

“Alright,” He relented finally, impatient, “You tell me. What title would you have? If this was a contract between humans, hm?” He twirled the quill nimbly between his fingers. “I want to be sure to use the proper terms, so there is no confusion.”

My hands slowly curled into fists on my knees. “The title is not important.”

He sighed impatiently. “Oh come now. If it’s not important, then it should be simple enough to answer, yes?” He twirled the quill again, and my eyes darted to it from their corners. “If this was a marriage contract between a human Prince and a human King, upon their marriage, what title-”

“There is no such thing,” I snapped, cutting him off as my temper flared, “Of a marriage between a Prince and a King. It does not matter what title you choose, the concept is abhorrent to my people, and the marriage will never-” I stopped short, closing my eyes and slowly letting my breath out through my nose. “...While it will be accepted as a valid and legally binding contract of peace… It will never be accepted as a true marriage.”

A tense silence stretched between us, and for a long moment, I feared I had ruined everything. That he would no longer feel an arranged marriage between us would hold the same weight. I felt the sinking dread that the loss of my temper had doomed my sweet little sister. Or perhaps my entire kingdom. For certainly such a slight would never have been permitted in our court. A proposed marriage contract that was not a recognized marriage? Unacceptable. I sat with my eyes closed, my lips in a tight line, trying to steady my breathing. To regain my composure.

“... If I have misjudged you,” He began slowly, his previous arrogance and teasing gone from his tone, “... Or if I have been misinformed as to your… preferences...” I may have winced at the words, but I was clenched far too tight to notice “-We do not have to go forward with this contract. I will not sign anything without the clear consent of both parties.”

I slowly opened my eyes, keeping them firmly focused on the table beside me. Not daring to lift my gaze to his, though I felt his own boring into my skull. He sat silently, perhaps expecting an answer. But I did not have the strength to give it just yet. My fists were clenched so tight they were nearly white. For all his words… he didn’t seem to understand. There were no other options for me. We had to go forward with this contract. For the sake of everything I held dear. And yet, to do so meant … I struggled to keep my growing emotions in check.

“... I will expect this to be a marriage,” He informed me after the brief pause, his tone growing harsh, almost angry, “With all things that come with that. Including its consummation.” I did wince now, and internally kicked myself for doing so. “And I will not enter into a marriage where I am required to rape my partner-”

“Enough.” I boldly cut him off again, shaking my head. My voice quivering with my own anger at his vulgar yet casual language regarding such an intimate topic.

He paused again, giving me another moment to take a few deep breaths to calm my nerves. His voice, when he did speak again, was flat, but firm. And I recognized its authoritative nature. I was reminded again why this man, short of all his other faults and no matter his species, was a King of a powerful people.

“Am I wrong, Prince Nikostratus, in my judgement of you?”

I felt as a child, being scolded by their elder, and my throat was dry for that sake alone. I would have to admit it, I realized. I would have to admit it out loud, for the first time in my life. I would have to face a reality I had consigned myself to deny and carry with me to my grave. I was a Prince, after all. And a secondborn Prince at that. I would never have the power or freedom to act as I wanted; I would always be held to the responsibility of my station. The necessities of my kingdom. And despite everything, despite the deep longing I had always held to be able to love whomever I wished… I found my lips faltering to form the words.

Part of me believed it was a trick still. Some long, drawn out plan of humiliation. Of shame. Of deceit meant to ruin my honor and reputation among my people. To expose me to my family. I felt the familiar rage bubbling up inside me, and clenched my jaw in an effort to quell it. All the while, I felt his red eyes still staring at me. Waiting for the answer I had prepared myself never to give.

“... Make no mistake, Your Majesty,” I began slowly, my voice soft but hard, “If there is one thing I am sure of in this world… it is that I love my little sister with every fiber of my being. And I would do everything in my power to protect her from the evils of this world.” Carefully, I raised my gaze to meet his. “Whatever face that may take.” He opened his mouth, but I jerked my hand sharply up to keep him from speaking, lest I lose my nerve. “I understand what I am agreeing to. I understand fully what will be... expected of me. And whatever my… “ I dropped off, struggling to find what I wanted to say. I winced at the first word that came to mind, for I hated it most of all. But spat it out bitterly none-the-less. “... conflictions may be, I enter this contract with full consent. I beg your indulgence that this is enough for you for now.”

I was proud that I never broke eye contact with him as I spoke. His startlingly red eyes watched me unblinkingly, and even as I finished, he stared. Turning my words over in his head. I felt sweat beading at the base of my neck, but maintained his gaze. Stubbornly resisting the urge to turn away or drop my eyes from his.

“If I hear what you’re saying in regards to your people,” He returned finally, and I let out a little gust of air I didn’t know I had been holding, “Then I can hardly blame you for struggling to… accept our situation, such as it is.” He drummed his fingertips on the arm of his chair. “But you are sure? Once we move forward with this contract, there will be no turning back.”

I nodded without hesitation, and I saw his smirk return to the corners of his mouth. “I am sure.”

“You will be King Consort, then,” He replied, picking up his quill again, “As is the custom for my people.” He scribbled a few lines quickly before continuing. “Your authority will be more or less equal to mine, but the difference in title allows for differentiation when referring to us.” His long nose twitched as his smirk returned to its full strength. “Pronouns can be tricky in such situations.”

“...I can imagine” I said dryly, finally letting my gaze drop.

“And since you are sure, perhaps we should move on to the more domestic qualities of the contract, yes? Now, how many children?”

I blinked stupidly, my eyes jumping back up to him in surprise. “...Eh?”

“How many children?” His voice was light and cheery, and I saw the mischievous glint in his eyes that left me quite annoyed. “I’ve always wanted a large family, but I am flexible on the matter.”

“...You’re joking.”

“Hardly.” He twirled the quill again. “As King, I am expected to provide an heir. There are several options available to us, but it is best we make these decisions now. Just to be certain we are on the same page and have the same expectations. It avoids arguments down the line.”

I struggled to keep my composure, and saw his smirk grow by a few molars at the sight. “What… what are the options?”

“Well, we could adopt, of course.” He mused, tapping one long finger against his angular chin. “Or we could hire a surrogate.”

“Surrogate?” I echoed, dumb founded. I had never heard of such a term before.

He nodded, eyes shimmering with delight. “Yes! A female to carry our offspring. Typically of good stock; the screening process is quite vigorous. We can each lay with her and let the die be cast in whatever way it may land. Or, with your consent, I will impregnate her-”

“Wh-whichever.” I blurted quickly, feeling my face growing hot. I hated how easily he managed to keep me off balanced, and each slip of my composure left me feeling guiltier than the last and more determined to maintain it.

“Ah, but then there is of course the magical route.” He continued, almost gleefully ignoring my reaction to the less savory parts of the second option which had the blush rising to my cheekbones despite my efforts.

“The… the what?”

“The magical route.” He repeated, steepling his hands together with a grin. “A simple, temporary spell that allows one of us to impregnate the other and carry our progeny to term-”

“You’re making that up!” I snapped despite myself, feeling my face flush even more.

He pretended to look much more appalled than I was certain he was. “I would never! Producing an heir is a very important matter which I take with the utmost seriousness!”

I struggled again to return to the stoic face of a stately Prince I had perfected over the course of my life. But his words had my thoughts reeling, and I couldn’t help my mouth dropping open slightly. Looking pleased with himself, he stood, walking over to the cart of drinks.

“I am parched. Would you like something? Or I can send for tea if you prefer?”

I managed to close my mouth, staring at the seat he had vacated for a long moment. I heard the clinking of glass, and cleared my suddenly dry throat.

“...Brandy. If you have it.” I rasped, my voice strained.

His laughter was almost melodic, and I heard the continued clinks as he dolled out a second glass. “Excellent choice, my young Prince.” He purred, returning with both drinks in hand. “I see we are a perfect match on that front.”

I took the glass numbly, sniffing the amber liquid instinctually. I was surprised to find it seemed of higher quality, and sipped it experimentally. Grier took his seat once more, crossing one leg over the top of the other.

“Now, which method do you prefer?” He mused, taking a sip from his own glass.

I nearly choked on my second sip, and sputtered momentarily. I glanced at him out of the corner of my eye to see his crooked grin. I shook my head, swallowing the burning liquid.

“...Umm, wh-whichever.” I almost winced at the improperness of my stuttering speech, gritting my teeth.

He raised one slender eyebrow, smirking. “Even the third? I hear it is quite the experience.”

I took another hurried sip of the brandy. “...Maybe not that one.”

He laughed again, and I felt my ears burning. I turned, focusing on the fire, watching the flames lick and pop. Trying to ignore the feeling of his eyes on me. Trying to distance myself from the idea of raising children of all things with this creature sat across from me. He’s just trying to get a rise from you, I told myself. Always, constantly. Poking and prodding. Trying to gain the upper hand in negotiations. Amused by my discomfort.

“We’ll write a ‘to be determined’ for now.” He declared, picking up the quill once more. “But we’ll discuss it again later.”

I snuck a peek at him while he wrote, studying him out the corner of my eye. His wild hair fell about his sharp features, and the way the light hit his green-grey skin it seemed almost warm to the eye. I found myself wondering at the thought of spending a life with him. Wondered what it would be like beyond this room. Beyond this evening. I took another steadying sip of brandy, pretending my hand wouldn’t be shaking if it hadn’t held the glass.

“How many then?” He pressed, glancing up at me. “I believe six is a good number. Even, but manageable. Yes?”

I looked down at the amber liquid in my hands. “I-I…” I dropped off, shaking my head, steadying my voice, “I had never thought about it.”

“Why ever not?” He quipped, dipping the tip to scribble another note.

I didn’t answer him, but felt my brow furrow. Of course, the real reason was because I had never expected to be able to choose. Had never expected to be married, and if I was, I would be grateful to be able to conceive at all. My marriage prospects had always been slim; the likelihood was of me being paired with a widowed partner whose late husband’s lands were in dispute, or an elderly monarch whose wealth would be our greatest asset. Whatever would best benefit the Kingdom. It didn’t matter the partner, not like my older brother’s, just what she would bring to the table. Therefore, planning children had simply never really been a thought of mine. And now that it was? I wasn’t sure what to think of it. Had no basis for what I wanted. Had no basis for what would be expected of me as a parent, nor how I would feel being so fully responsible for another life. My lips tightened, and I found myself at a loss for words again.

“Hmmm. Six it is then. But we’ll see where the tides take us when the time comes.” I almost sighed with relief that he let the matter go. A few more soft scratches. “Alright, lovers is next on my list.”

Again, I sputtered, nearly choking on the brandy halfway down my throat. “Lovers??”

He nodded, looking up at me with a coy twist on his thin lips. “Yes. Traditionally, human Kings take lovers I believe. But goblins tend to be monogamous in marriage, unless previously agreed before the ceremony. Do you wish to be allowed to take lovers?”

Again, it was simply not something I had ever considered. Nor had the foggiest notion of how to approach. Certainly it was not a concept boldly discussed in any capacity, regardless of the fact that it was common knowledge. High society dictated such things be carefully and politely ignored. Not discussed over a marriage contract. He waited, tapping his finger against the quill. Watching my face. I swore he was enjoying himself.

I shook my head. “I… I have no desire to…” I cleared my throat, then shook my head again.

He leaned forward, propping his chin on his slender fingers. Coy smirk playing about his lips. “You would remain completely faithful to me?” He purred, looking at me through his pale lashes. “I have no qualms allowing you to take lovers if it would make you more comfortable.”

I snorted faintly, burying it in my glass as I took another sip. As if anything about this conversation was likely to end with me being comfortable. The drink was already almost gone, and I could feel its effects curling tenderly about my insides. Warming my stomach, tickling the edges of my mind. I pretended it was the brandy making my cheekbones and neck flush, rather than the conversation. It was hard to separate the contract from myself when the bastard kept asking such personal questions.

“Monogamous.” I muttered finally, keeping my gaze fixed on my lap, even though it made no sense. My point was clear. After all, if I was going to do this marriage thing, I was going to do it right. Consign myself to my misery. And certainly not give this man any further ammunition against me in the future. Better to go it alone, as I always had.

His faint chuckle had me stiffening, but I pushed aside my discomfort. Reminding myself what this was all for. His quill scratched audibly across the page.

“Alright then, living quarters. Combined or separate?”

I nearly groaned. Another personal question? I ran my thumb over the lip of my glass. “Why is it necessary for that to be in the contract?” I grumbled, barely managing to conceal my irritation with his prying.

He tsked me, taking a deep sip of his own drink before flicking the feather of the quill at me pointedly. “We are embarking on a cross-cultural experiment, my young Prince. It is important all things be discussed. To avoid undue arguments and discontent down the line. No matter how trivial it may seem now.”

I almost snorted again but shook my head instead. “Kings and Queens traditionally have separate quarters.” I mumbled distantly. Would that notion matter in this instance?

“Really?” Breathed Grier, returning the quill to the inkwell and picking up his glass again. “I had heard such, but believed it more a formality than a common practice. How are conjugal visits managed?”

I glanced up at him, trying to discern if he was prying again. Trying to raise my ire. But he seemed genuinely curious, his red eyes sparkling in the firelight. I sighed deeply, raising one hand and rubbing at my brow.

“The Queen usually visits the King’s chambers regularly, until she becomes pregnant.”

“And after?”

I shrugged, raking my brain to remember how it had been between my own parents. “... Once an heir is produced, the visits are… less regular…” Likely because they were merely duty and obligation before. And once the coupling had produced a child? The King could return to his whores and the Queen to whatever her fancies.

He ran his finger over his lip, leaning back in his chair. “How absolutely odd. No wonder your people are so sexually repressed. You never see one another.”

Perhaps it was the now empty glass in my hand. Perhaps it was the fatigue from the long journey, or the emotional stress from the last few hours. But his words made me snort loudly, my facade of stoic calm dropping long enough to let a few short, soft laughs peter from my mouth.

When I looked over at him, he looked surprised. His eyes were wide, his slender brows high. My laughter faded, and I cleared my throat quickly, straightening.

“My apologies, Your Majesty, that was-”

“Please,” He stopped me again, reaching out one hand, “Just Grier. No ’Your Majesty’. And do not apologize.” He grinned, and for the first time, it seemed actually genuine rather than teasing or coy. “I am glad to see you are at least capable of laughter… Though I have yet to see you smile.” His smirk returned, and his eyes became playful. “I am not certain you know how.”

I rolled my eyes slightly, and a small scowl came over my lips. But I found myself not as annoyed as I had been at his teasing. I heard him stand, and his hand gently reached out and took my glass. I felt my heart skip a beat, though I berated myself for the foolishness as he returned to the cart with both.

He held my gaze for a moment too long as he passed me back my refilled glass, and I felt heat creeping up my neck. But I was careful to keep my face a careful mask of stoic indifference. It had been foolish of me to allow him to gain the upper hand thus far in negotiations. To let him put me constantly on edge with trivial questions that had nothing to do with the long term prosperity for my people. I was determined not to allow it to happen again.

Grier took his seat once more, swirling the brandy in his glass and taking a slow sip. Still, he watched me with those startling scarlet eyes. I felt my lips curving into a slight frown, but waited. As King, he should always be the one to speak first. It was not my place to address him unless I was first addressed. Perhaps he knew this, which is why he declined to speak. Instead fixing me with his unnerving gaze. Or, another part of me reasoned, perhaps he did not. Perhaps goblins did not have this custom, and he was waiting for me to speak first. As the guest. In which case, it was disrespectful for me not to speak.

I was still torn, debating which line of etiquette we were following, when he leaned forward in his chair and rested his elbows on his knees. My eyes flicked back to him at the movement, the only hint to my surprise.

“I find I am curious about you, Prince Nikostratus,” He said, sly smirk still dancing about his lips, “In truth, I did not expect you to agree to such an arrangement as this. And when you did, I was certain I would be able to call your bluff quickly.” My grip on my glass tightened, but I remained otherwise unmoved outwardly. “And if we are being completely honest, which I believe we should be, I originally proposed it to force you to trade your little sister for the sake of your own comfort and pride.”

I felt a chill run down my spine at his words, and my eyes narrowed sharply. “My sister?”

His expression faltered at the iciness of my tone, and even his smile shrank a few inches. The goblin quickly raised one hand. “Not for any untoward reason, I can assure you. More to gauge who you are as a person.”

I considered him, my gaze still chilled. A sinking feeling had grabbed hold of my nerves and dragged down the sensation from my fingertips with it. Leaving a tingling numbness slowly spreading through my body.

“Then you do not intend to keep this contract, Your Majesty?”

He chuckled nervously, finally dropping those scarlet eyes in the face of my cold, growing rage. “I feel we have regressed-”

“On the contrary,” I interrupted, eager to exploit his sudden off balanceness as he had so readily exploited mine, “I feel we have finally come to the end.” I started to stand, reaching out to place my glass on the table. “If you are quite done wasting my time, Your Majesty, I will return when you are ready to discuss a real contract for peace, rather than whatever sham you have attempted to ply onto me thus far.”

“This was not any kind of deception-” He jumped to his feet as I stood, quickly skirting over as if to block my path. “Your Highness, please-” I moved to step around him “-Prince Nikostratus!”

I froze, then looked down at him, his hand firmly clamped on my arm. His pronounced brow was knotted, his scarlet eyes narrowed. I found his grip surprisingly strong, despite his diminutive stature. The goblin was about a foot shorter than me, but it was a fact easily forgettable considering the square of his shoulders and the determined way he set his angular jaw.

We stayed like that for a breath, staring at each other. I fixed the King with as cold a glare as I could manage, and I saw him searching my face for a long, quiet moment. I wasn’t sure what he was looking for, but I was careful to keep up my stoney visage to be sure he would never find it.

“I have spoken too brashly,” He interjected finally, his voice soft, “And have thus insulted you… Which was far from my intent.” He gestured with his other hand, back to the arm chairs. “Please, Your Highness, allow me a moment to explain myself.”

I glanced back over my shoulder at the chairs, and my lips pinched tighter together in displeasure at the idea of returning. Disgust rolled in my gut, and I felt bile rising in my throat. But I worked hard to cool my anger. Reminding myself that whatever monster I was dealing with, I had to best him at his game. For everything I had left behind, and for everything that may yet lay before me. And perhaps, for the first time since we had met, I had him on the defense. It might be best to keep him there.

So I gave him a curt nod. “As you wish, Your Majesty.” I agreed stiffly.

He dropped his hand, relief flooding his features. I considered that for a moment as he magnanimously extended his arm. Leading the way back to the armchairs. I stood before mine, but did not sit, instead choosing to cross my arms over my chest. I had been told, due to the athletic tone of my body, that this was a rather imposing gesture on my part. Morgana had once told me it made my arms, chest, and shoulders look twice as big. My advisors had dryly followed up by telling me to never do so, as it hardly left the impression of a stately Prince. More, they said, a warmongering savage. But at that moment, I didn’t care. I wanted to make the goblin King feel small. I wanted him to be fearful and on edge.

I saw his eyes running me up and down, saw his narrow eyebrows twitch. He declined to sit as well, instead choosing to stand and face me with his three fingered hands lightly on his hips.

“When talk of peace between our two Kingdoms first arose,” he began, “I was the one who proposed a union through marriage. I had thought it a sign. My advisors have long been pressing the idea of my marriage, but I had always been hesitant. After all,” He smirked slightly here, “You only get married once.” He straightened, his smirk becoming a frown, “But I was told that your sister would be my prospective partner, as the King’s only daughter. The prospect of marrying a child, for any reason, left me ill at the thought.” He shifted, tucking his hands against the small of his back. “So when I learned of your lack of interest in the fairer sex,” He continued, and I stiffened slightly at the implications, “I was relieved. You are an adult, after all, only a few years my junior, able to consent to the marriage of your own free will. You would understand what the arrangement would entail, and my conscience would rest easy knowing it was a consensual contract.” The shadow of his smirk returned to the corners of his mouth. “Imagine my surprise when I learned that your people would take a direct proposal of this nature as an outright insult! That they would rather I marry a child than a Prince.”

“And yet, Your Majesty, you chose to lay the insult upon me nevertheless.” I mused, my voice still cold. My anger still pounding in my breast.

He raised his hands defensively. “I did not plan to pursue that course of action. Not until I learned it was you yourself who would be coming to the peace negotiations did I see the opportunity to even do so.” He considered me slyly. “I had heard tales of your family, of your pride and snobbery,” He raised his hands again as my eyes flashed, but his voice remained light and teasing, “Though I much preferred an arranged marriage with you, I had assumed I would not find you an appealing match in the least.”

“Your Majesty, if you intend to continue this line of-”

“I put you to a test,” He interrupted, returning his hands to the small of his back, eyes dancing, “It was childish, perhaps, and I will honestly say, I did fully expect you to fail. I proposed the marriage to your sister, to see if you would agree to such an outrageous pairing. Then I offered you an alternative.”

I considered him quietly, mulling over his words. I thought about speaking then, in the silence he let settle about us. But I decided to wait to see if he had more to say. Though it seemed less a defense of his behavior thus far and more of a confession. So I waited, eyes slightly narrowed, arms still crossed over my chest.

“... So you see, I expected you to offer your sister to me, rather than risk your own image and honor. As I said before.” He paused briefly, and his head cocked ever so slightly to the side. “... But you surprised me.”

I gritted my teeth, scowling at him. “I am afraid, Your Majesty, that your so-called honesty has only confirmed my understanding that you were simply stringing me along. Intending to dishonor and embarrass me without any intent of-”

“I have every intent-” He interrupted me again “-Of marrying you. I always have.”

That made my breath catch in my throat, and my composure slipped ever so slightly around my eyes as they widened. I quickly reset my features, swallowing the lump forming in my throat.

He watched quietly, then gestured again to the chair. “Please, let us return to our negotiations. If we can move past this strife… For the good of our people, if nothing else.”

I hesitated, watching him sit as if the matter had been settled. There was still a question burning on my lips, but I was not certain I could continue on with any semblance of a level head if I knew the answer. For that reason, I chose not to ask it; not yet at least. I gritted my teeth again, studying him as he waited patiently, gazing up at me with those scarlet eyes.

“Your Majesty, If I find this is some long winded prank-”

“It is not.” He promised, then smiled his coy, teasing smile. “And please call me Grier, I beg of you. I cannot suffer the titles and formalities much longer than I absolutely must.”

I glanced back at the waiting armchair, at the abandoned glass of brandy. “What assurance do I have that it is not?”

Grier lifted one long, slender finger, tapping his lips thoughtfully. “We shall put it in the document, if it would set your mind at ease.” He declared, reaching out and picking up the quill once more. “Should it be discovered that either party entered this marriage contract under false pretenses, it shall immediately become null and void, and the offending party shall secede to the ruling authority of the other.” He ended the sentence on the page with a fancy flourish of the quill tip, and raised one brow at me. “Is that satisfactory?”

I resisted the urge to give him an un-princely grumble, and settled for a scowl instead. But I did return to my seat, slowly, stiffly, and after a moment reached for my glass.

“I believe we should discuss the ceremony itself.” He proposed tentatively, watching me through his pale lashes as he took another sip of his own brandy. “To be certain it is official and legally binding for both species.”

I swallowed my sigh, and gave a small nod. “As you wish.”

The goblin did not continue right away, cocking his head to the side again and studying me as he took a deep, slow sip of his drink. I waited, rolling my own glass distractedly against my palms. It was smooth, and cool to the touch. Almost as soothing as the liquid it held.

“But perhaps we can leave that for a later date.” I glanced over at him, and he flashed me a charming smile of pointed teeth. “I would like to hear what additions to the contract you would like to discuss first.”

I took a sip of the brandy, nodding much more resolutely. “Very well. The taxes levied on the people-”

He waved his hand, cutting me off. “No, no.” He sat forward in his chair. “Let the understudies and scribes deal with such tedious ticks. We will review them before the formal signing, but need not discuss the specifics ourselves.”

I frowned. “I beg your pardon, I thought you wished to discuss my additions…. What other addendum would you mean to discuss?”

Grier sighed deeply, and his lips twitched with amusement. “Those of a more personal nature, of course.” He swirled his brandy with a deft wrist. “We discussed those issues I felt might arise through the course of our marriage; children, lovers, living arrangements. You must have your own expectations for this union as well. Something to put in ink.”

I stiffened, and my gaze snapped down to the drink in my hands. “... I do not.”

He scoffed, waving his hand again. “Come now, there must be something. Summer castles, hunting trips, gifts, anniversaries, retirement plans. Perhaps religious beliefs? Dietary requirements?” I shook my head, and he rolled his eyes teasingly. “You must have some thoughts or plans for the remainder of your life.”

I took another sip of the brandy, letting it sit in my mouth for a moment before slowly swallowing it. “... I have no expectations.”

That set a deafening silence upon the cluttered room, and we sat in it for an extended period. Grier watched me, and I watched the flames flickering in the fireplace. Keeping my stoney expression flat and void. I forced all other thoughts from my mind to keep them from my face. As I had been taught and perfected through a lifetime of necessity.

“... It is late.” The goblin replied finally, clearing his throat and shuffling the parchment on his lap. “Undoubtedly it has been a long day. If you are agreeable, I will take you to our guest quarters for the evening so you may rest.”

I looked at the papers he placed upon the marble table. “The contract-”

“Will be there in the morning, when we are both more rested and fresh.” He finished, tossing his head back to drain the last of his glass and standing.

I followed suit, brushing my hands down my abdomen to smooth the starchy fabric there. He gestured to me as he moved towards the door, and the weariness of the day dragged at my shoulders. I found I had not the strength to argue further, and simply fell in step behind him as he pulled open the grand door and stepped back out into the hall.

I had never had a head for floorplans or layouts, and the twists and turns he led me down quickly became jumbled in my tired mind. Give me a war field with troops and battalions and I could coordinate and execute the most stunning and creative of maneuvers. Place me in a castle hall and give me directions to the kitchen and I would get lost. So I stayed at his mercy, allowing him to lead me deeper into his underground castle until we came before a set of old wooden doors.

“Here we are.” He exclaimed, halting and turning to face me. I stopped short to avoid running into his smaller frame. Sharp teeth grinned up at me. “You should find everything you need here. And I shall have an attendant at the door, should you find you require anything additional.”

“Thank you, Your Majesty-” I noticed his brow twitch slightly at the title, and I quickly clamped my mouth shut over the last syllable.

I saw him hesitate, glancing at the door, then back to me. I sensed there was more, and waited patiently. Even though my palms itched to open the door and have the peace of my own company. Even though my spine ached from holding so straight and perfect for so many long hours. I was well versed in patience; in serving the will of another at the expense of my own. So I waited.

“I would request your presence for breakfast.” He said, cupping his hands behind his back. “... Socially. For the pleasure of your company and to get to know you better, if you are willing.” Now it was my turn to hesitate, my breath catching in my throat. “You may decline, if you wish.” He added quickly. “I do not mind sending your meal to your rooms, then we may speak later to complete the final details of the marriage contract.”

My besotted mind could not quite fathom the full extent of the offer, and I belittled a sigh that managed to sneak out with a soft gust from my nose. My lips pursed, I nodded to the Goblin King, feeling the hairs on the back of my neck prickle even as I did.

“Of course, Your-.... Ehm…” I cleared my throat, then looked down at the floor. “Of course… Grier.”

His name tasted strange on my tongue, and felt wrong to say. But the way he beamed up at me with delight made heat scratch at the edge of my collar. I shifted my weight slightly, glancing back at the stone floor.

“Excellent! I will see you in the morning then, Prince Nikostratus.”

...

UPDATE: Part two HERE

#mxm #oc #Royal Flush #monster x human #monster lover #monster boyfriend #monster husband #slow burn #two kings #monster romance #terato #exophilia #goblin #goblin lover #goblin boyfriend #goblin husband #arranged marriage #monster royalty

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interloperoutoftime · 3 years

Text

(Extract- Link to full story posted on my A03 account attached bellow)

Letters (A Unlikely Love Story from A Collection of Letters, supposedly written between an Angel and a Demon)

DefiantCandle17

Summary:

An angel and a demon exchange love letters. Poetry Prose

Chapter 1: Reminiscence

To D

I pray this letter finds you well

And in good health,

And ask only that you are alone

As you read these words of mine

That I have ached to give to you

Yet could only convey in scribbled words

For want of speaking them to you

Face to face.

I remember the first day I saw you,

As our masters met on common ground,

Negotiating an uneasy treaty,

And exchanging gifts of good faith

That neither side would easily be parted from.

Sacred jewels, gems of iridescence

Relics forged from the times before

Changed hands in thankless

Grim ceremony,

And I in attendance could thank the stars

That exchanged words did not grow hot

And be fashioned to blows,

Even though I in secret craved

Some form of unsettlement

One moment of chaos, obscure

And random, to bewilder

The monotony and ill ease in which

Our lieges wove their trade and terms

When I first saw you

You looked so…alone.

So bound in thought by the way your lips were pierced,

Black and as succulent as forbidden fruit.

Your eyes were cold, and brimming with disdain,

And also impatience, with a yearning for something

Familiar yet not within your grasp.

You clearly did not want to be here.

I saw your hair catch the light of the dying day,

The way its shadows crept across your radiant skin,

In contrast to the aura of menace that you

By your sinfully sweet presence exuded,

Pure and light and perfect in your own

Dark and shadowy nature.

And I knew right then and there,

That I wanted you and you alone,

All to myself, selfishly, possessively,

And against my best judgement,

Perhaps, my better nature,

I let myself fall into the beauteous chasm

Of maddening beauty

That was the promise of divine ectasy

Within your piercing cold gaze which

Simmered with infernal passion.

And like a fool I imagined you loving me,

And it being all I would ever need.

There are days that I still do, and want for nothing else,

Then to be held in your arms

Your wanting embrace being met

By my own hold with equal ardour,

Our appetites for each other

Ever growing in lustful competition,

Mirrored only by our passion

For each other’s minds

And the knowledge of our hearts.

And the sound that would be sweeter than heaven

Issuing from our tongues

And mouths in mad, giddying laughter.

Sweetened even more with the brush

Of your lips on my cheek,

And your soft skin warming to my touch.

By heaven, I miss you,

And no beauty in the world

Made by the mind of God

And ministered by His Angels,

Could match the sunrise that blooms

In my heart when I let my unguarded eyes

Wonder in the direction

To catch

The verdant curves and pastures

Of your perfectly sculpted face.

Write to me again, Dear D,

If you feel compelled, do so in secret,

And be careful who sees you, if you should reply,

Your safety, more than my own,

Is what I fear for most,

In this, my first reckless letter.

Hopefully, one day, yours again.

To A,

Your letter found me well,

And per your request, I read this in secret

No prying eyes dare interfere with my business,

Lest they lose them for prying.

My, my, you have a way with words.

You claim to be so filled with your ardour

When you first laid eyes upon me,

Yet I assumed nothing, knew nothing,

From your humble and silent

Personage.

You acted and behaved accordingly

As any well mannered folk

Of your ilk were wont to act.

Well mannered and quiet,

All of you prim and trimmed and proper

Neat and dignified,

That I thought you to simply be

A fool entrapped in repression,

Your true self caged

By the snares of your upbringing

Afraid to do or be or act more than your

Incarcerating rules would allow you to.

Here I stood, under the banners of my lord,

Wishing to return

To my torture of souls

and visit upon them my bloody

Terrible retribution

meting out justice in her finality

upon those whom God had spurned,

Till I looked upon your face,

And all, from the feather-beat of your brothers

To the flickering flames of hell

Fell silent and still

Upon the joining of my eyes upon yours.

If you had remained entrenched

In your shyness, your noble upbringing

Proper and tame in outlook

That hid a passionate love for your fate and servitude,

I perhaps would not have noticed

Until your peering, doting eyes met my bored own,

And never before had I been so transfixed

By the gaze of you filling my world

With such paralysing beauty.

I admit, though my vain pride pains me

To abstain from disclosing as such

That when I first met yours,

So, simple, and sweet

And pure, too, in your own

Innocence filled aura,

I too, to my shame, was spellbound,

By the sincerity of your unmasked gaze

No witchcraft or sorcery

Could cleave my own dark heart

To anything more filled with bliss,

Then that first moment,

And every moment since,

That I looked upon your face,

As brazenly as a thief upon

Stolen treasure.

You surprise me with the bold words, sweet A,

For as you may easily recall,

Your shyness forbade you from demanding action

So it was I who sought you out

Intrigued by that divine flare

That bathed you in luscious wonder

More so than any angelic halo.

And had you, by the iron bars of your prohibiting laws,

Stayed true to the barriers which divided us

Been silent, and killed such dreams of affection

By stoic, barren words,

I would have been seen away,

And silenced in my hunger for you forever more,

But I found you, stole into your quarters

With no regard for rule or border

Declared by our warring states,

And in the discourse that followed,

I found no rejection or stinging words

To ward off my curious advance,

But a sweet lure, bathed in honey

In our gentle wordplay, seeding the

Grounds for a courtship in storm.

You in maddeningly polite conduct

And me like a wretch adoring every word

Of your lilting tongue, the play of

Such pleasing poetry flowing from your lips

And wondering how they would taste against my own,

I am heedless and reckless, and fear nothing

In seeking what I want,

And perhaps for your own benefit that night

You are fortunate I made that first move,

To enter and invade and

Immerse myself in your delightful gaze.

I stole away, elated, dizzy,

Alive to my very bones in my victory,

Little knowing that the blissful waters

I had so wilfully dove in,

Would mire me in a swamp of bliss

And wretched woe.

Yes, A, I remember the day we first met,

And the night after, and many, many nights

After I courted fate’s harsh wares,

And our master’s retribution,

By stepping to our little courtship dance,

But I remember too the pain,

The vile misery that our kind

Brought together would bring

Our sides are too different,

Our minds too opposed,

In our contrasting minds, such opposites

Drew on such wicked, volatile

Alchemy, that saw to the searing

Ecstasy of our union.

That was all our touted bond was,

A meeting of two extremes

That ignited like lightning and kindling,

And nothing more.

Do not pursue this course of action,

A, Do not seek to kindle embers

Long burnt out.

The coals do not still burn.

They are scarred ashen husks

Illuminated by the romantic red flame of

memory.

(Read more at link attached below)

https://archiveofourown.org/works/32455576/chapters/80482270

#angels #angel and demon #angelanddemonromance #poetry prose

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arsnovacadenza · 4 years

Text

Day 5-Stilts

Characters: Napoleon, Jean, Isaac, and Yukari (MC)

Pairings : Jean x Napoleon, Isaac x MC

Ao3 Link : Here

All was quiet, save for the soft pitter-patter of rain on the attic window. If it wasn't for his superior hearing, Jean might've missed the heavy sigh that escaped his companion's lips.

Napoleon was leaning on the sill with his cheek propped by the back of his hand. He looked neither sleepy nor deep in thought, gazing absent-mindedly towards the city down below.

They had been sitting this way for half an hour. Jean recalled how the emperor gently took his hand and urged him to come with him after sparring.

"I haven't spent enough time with you," Napoleon spoke sternly. "Can I borrow you for today?"

Jean was correct to let Napoleon lead him up the stairs, thinking that it was loneliness he saw in his eyes. This strange relationship between them, toeing the lines between amour and camaraderie, allowed Jean to see Napoleon's colors which he seldom revealed to anyone.

That 'anyone' apparently included Isaac, the subject of today's woes.

Jean was by no means unobservant. His newfound courage to come downstairs more often in daylight (which Sebastian applauded) meant he could observe the other mansions' residents more closely. Though he still had to dodge the troublemakers Arthur and Dazai whenever possible.

But that also meant he was able to discover new facts about his fellow residents, both directly or from other sources, namely Sebastian. Sometimes, when he entered the kitchen to ask for Rouge (at Napoleon's urging), he'd get roped into the butler's early morning gossip with the mysterious young woman whom he'd learned came from the future through that despicable count's door.

The girl, Yukari, was Isaac's paramour.

Jean supposed her arrival was instrumental in making Napoleon seek his company. What little time Isaac had when not teaching the children, he'd spend more of it with his lover, and less with Napoleon.

It must be boring being a reincarnated emperor, seeing as Napoleon latched onto Jean and his weapons shop. He even made Jean a new tutor in his makeshift school where he, Isaac, and Yukari, taught.

(Jean himself thought it was sweet seeing Napoleon interact with children).

Recently, he'd been sensing something amiss between the two original teachers. Isaac was more awkward with him than usual (and that was saying something), while Yukari's expression changed to a troubled one at any mention of Napoleon. But the woman always skilfully dodged Jean's questions when he asked if his partner had done something towards her.

( Not a very good liar, Jean concluded.)

Everything fell in place when one of the younger children casually asked if "Napoleone" was fighting with Isaac since they were now rarely seen together. " I don't know about that" was his answer, the same one he used when Sebastian suddenly spilled all his speculations on the physicist and former emperor's state of affairs and egged Jean for details.

"They're almost brothers, the two of them." Sebastian sighed. "To think they'd drift apart like this was unthinkable."

It's because of the girl Jean was tempted to say. But he decided to keep his peace instead. Napoleon would come to him in due time. That led Jean to where he was now, spending the gloomy rainy afternoon with a similarly gloomy man.

The taciturn soldier came to attention when the man before him sucked in a deep breath.

"Relax, Jean. I wasn't going to whip you." Napoleon snickered. It sounded hollow.

"Forgive me," Jean apologized for nothing in particular. Time seemed to halt at that very moment, emerald eyes locking with his.

"Isaac is afraid of getting hurt," Napoleon began. "So much so that Yukari even refrains from being frank with him, even when she needs to be. When they need to be with one another."

The eyepatched soldier gazed at him intently, waiting for him to finish.

"Handling people like Isaac, well, it requires you to be cautious both ways," He combed his bangs back with his hand. "If he wants to be comfortable with you, you will have to assure him that you don't feel burdened with his presence, that having him come to you is gratifying enough."

Napoleon paused, seemingly in conflict over what he was about to deliver next.

"In hindsight, maybe this was an error on my part." he sighed, for what was the umpteenth time this afternoon. "I told him, once..."

Jean closed his eye and nodded.

"'At this point, there is nothing that you can say or do to hurt me'" Napoleon repeated his promise he gave Isaac long ago." And trust me that no circumstance will ever cause us to part."

Jean's eye flew open. Yet he remained silent. His eyed one of Napoleon's hands, clenching and unclenching the fabric of his cape. Then, with the same trembling hand, the emperor reached out to graze his cheek. He leaned into the touch, thinking that it might offer Napoleon some respite.

It was true. The softness of Jean's skin was soothing. Warm despite the frigid air outside.

After some time, Napoleon withdrew and looked at Jean expectantly, allowing him to speak.

"But you hurt him instead," Jean stated, matter-of-factly. "And he is now avoiding you."

"Sure did," Napoleon mumbled, gazing out into the drenched city below. "Too many times over the course of their relationship, of course."

"You're worried."

"Well, why shouldn't I?" he barked. "I can't say this out loud. Won't say this out loud. Not even to my real brothers. I dote on him the same way I did them. I was stern, which I'm not with Isaac. I took responsibility for them as their guardian. Still, I need to respect my distance and believe that they'll make the best decisions for themselves even without my input."

"I've heard of historians and even courtiers of my time accusing me of steering my family to further my goals. Well," Napoleon paused to catch his breath. "They can say whatever they wish to say, but bold of them to assume that I waste my nights thinking about what my brothers do or don't do to keep their marriage afloat."

Jean took Napoleon's tirade in a sedated manner, mollifying the emperor's burst of anger to some extent.

Shame soon took over Napoleon's conscience as the lone dark eye regarded him calmly.

"In the end, I have to admit," Napoleon exhaled. "I do care too much about him. And Yukari too."

"I noticed little things that didn't sit well with me about their relationship. In good faith, I tried relaying my thoughts to Isaac, but he didn't take it well." He admitted. "I was a fool. It was a matter of Isaac's pride as a man. Who wouldn't feel wounded if an outsider came up to him and pointed out the faults in his intimate relationship with a woman?"

"I failed to think of him as a man," his lament continued. "I saw him as a brother and failed to acknowledge his worth as his own, mature man with responsibilities." Napoleon finished, burying his face into the crook of his arm.

Outside, the rain was ceasing. Jean could discern the arc of a rainbow in the far-off distance.

Gingerly, he covered Napoleon's hand with his own. He has long removed his gloves, eliminating the barrier between flesh.

"That wasn't a brother you were describing," Jean whispered. "You spoke of him as a son."

Once, they too had walked on eggshells with this particular subject.

Sebastian spoke to Jean once —in meticulous detail —about the King of Rome and Napoleon's distraught at being torn apart from his son. Jean pretended not to know about it afterward, only for Napoleon to bring up the topic himself one day when they were out in the fields letting their horses graze.

He allowed —nay, invited Jean to indulge in his nostalgia of lost family and friends, even his previous loves.

(Jean felt a tinge of irritation whenever Napoleon mentioned Josephine, though he supposed there was no point envying a woman long dead and buried.)

Jean understood Isaac by a fraction. The man saw relationships as walking on stilts, carefully balancing yourself lest you tip and crash.

And bring the other person down with you.

Jean had numerous other parables to illustrate his connections, but he'd rather not dwell upon them now. Not when the man who helped complicated them were here to seek comfort

(In him).

Napoleon's snicker brought Jean out of his reverie.

"I suppose I do play the role sometimes," he contemplated Jean bemusedly. "That would make you his mother, then."

"But I'm not —" Jean flushed upon realizing what he meant. " Napoleon Bonaparte. " He mock-threatened.

Napoleon laughed, a sound Jean had been yearning to hear.

"But I do like to picture us with children," Napoleon leaned back. "I bet they'd be just as beautiful as you."

Jean's blush grew redder at the moment, provoking the other man to tease him further.

"Knowing you, I hope you don't scare them too much," Napoleon cooed. "You frown too much. It breaks my heart to see that delicate face contort into a scowl."

"Stop it already," Jean was burning scarlet right up to his ears. "You're embarrassing me."

"But I know you'd spoil those tykes to no end," the Nightmare of Europe continued. "I wonder what they'd grow up to be, under our nurture."

Jean furiously wiped his face. "That's impossible. You know that."

"True," Napoleon smiled wistfully. "But what an entertaining thought."

The exquisite soldier peeked warily at Napoleon behind his sleeve.

"What?" the smirking man chuckled. "Was that a bit too sappy?"

Jean pouted at him impishly. "For an allegedly terrifying conqueror such as you? Definitely."

"But now that I've known you, nothing about you is ever surprising anymore, Napoleon." Jean lied. He knew there were still many layers of Napoleon that he had yet to uncover.

In that familiar attic, the two men beamed at each other in comfortable stillness, the problem of Isaac and Yukari temporarily forgotten.

They could hear Jupiter's cry in the open, a sure sign that the rain had ended.

Made for @kissmetwicekissmedeadly‘s Napoleon Birthday Prompt 2020. The prompt was “was that too sappy for you?”.

@kisara-16, @thedollarstoresatan @delicateikemenmemes, @ikesensrandomninjagirl, @ashavazesa, @hokkaido-fox, @nuclearwinterexe, @lulu-the-hedgehog, @longingkisses, @weird-profiterole, @napoleonstan, @scummy-writes, @an-otome-cally-correct, @nafeary, @orangenji

#ikemen vampire #ikevam napoleon bonaparte #ikevam jeanne d'arc #ikevam fic #jeanpoleon #riri tries ikevam

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