#being alone in the woods w/ jade would be.... | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

noir0neko · 4 years

Text

salt and salvation- jjk

“The sea is emotion incarnate.”

genre: mermaid!au w/ fluff, angst, v light smut | 11.8k words

req: hi! i’d love a mermaid!au with jungkook x reader! the reader hates the beach but one afternoon runs into an injured jungkook there and falls in love? i love mermaid aus but honestly this could apply to any supernatural/mystical au you want! thank you in advance if you do do this request! thank you!

I hate the ocean.

Everything about it.

I hate the salt that seems to weigh down the air. I hate the granules of sand that get stuck in between my toes. I hate the froth of the water and how it collapses against the land like it's trying to swallow the earth whole. Like it swallowed my mother. I hate the wind and how it always seems to make my clothes rustle as I try to slip quietly without being seen or heard.

Like it’s doing now.

I try to pull my cloak tighter around me to quiet the sound. Why did my mother have to leave me her beach house when she died? She knew I would have loved the quaint cabin in the woods. The one with the big roof made of dark timber logs and windows painted by her hand. But she had left that to no one, and therefore, it reverted back to the Duke, with his stupid long face and slithering stare. I had tried to locate the cabin multiple times since my mother’s death, but no matter how many times I waded along the pier and into the thick woods behind it, I could never find it. Almost like it vanished like she did.

The sea probably swallowed that, too. I think, bitterly, not looking out at its vast expanse next to me as I walk on towards the sea cottage.

The property had been inherited by my mother through generations of noble women. When she fell in love with my father, though, a peasant farmer from across the border, she was denounced of her titles and forced out of the Duke’s estate. Not before she seized the deed to two very secluded properties: the beach house and the cabin. They were far enough from town to be acceptable to her still doting mother, but not far enough that gossip didn’t spread and damage the family name.

The problem with the beach though, much to my chagrin, is that everyone else wants the land my mother's property sat on, despite the name that owned it. Merchants want it to build a port and extend the current pier further down the island's coast to encourage trade. Nobles want it to build an estate with a view of the water to impress their wives, mistresses, and rivals. Even the Red Revivals want it, to build a new pleasure house that would allow for ultimate discretion and easy access in and out of the establishment. I don’t want it at all. But it is the last thing of my mother’s that I have.

And I will happily tell the Duke’s son, Marquess Savoa, where he can stick it if he asks me for my price again. He has been courting me for the better part of two years about the property, ever since it came into my possession. He had started out pretending like he didn’t want it, following me into the woods at night when I tried to find my mother’s cabin and talking to me as if we were old friends. Part of me knew I was still here at the mercy of his father, especially living alone as a young woman. But another part of me wanted to scare him away so he, and everyone else, would leave me alone.

When my mother died, it was almost as if all of her “indiscretions” against her household were forgiven. I received letters from aunts and uncles I never met, welcoming me back to the Duke’s estate and into the family fold. They said that family was so important during these trying times, and they would see to my education and manners, even though it was well past the time. I burned all of the letters or flung them over the small cliff by the cottage and into the sea, pretending the wind was my mother’s laugh as she read them below the waves. Where were they for the past near two decades of my life? Where were they when my mother died and before they found out I was alone?

I had been taught to read, to write, to do arithmetic and to dance. My mother taught me and my father in tandem, both of us giggling behind her back when she’d chastise us for not paying attention. I don’t know where my father is now. He left after my mother died on what he told me was a visit to see his family, and never returned. Part of hopes the sea swallowed him too. That would be easier than thinking he left me of his own free will. Until I truly was, I thought I knew what loneliness was when up alone as a child. But I didn’t. Part of me feels like I still don’t.

I almost turn back around when I see a shape standing near the door of the house, tailcoats blowing in the wind and a hat resting in his hand. I roll my eyes and steel my breath, watching him knock on the door and call my name again, as if trying to rouse me from the sleep I’m not in.

“I hope you don’t make a habit of coming around at this hour.” I grumble, staying at the bottom of the porch stairs. He turns around and looks down at me, a smile playing on his lips. Another unfortunate thing about this property: because everyone wants it, everyone knows where it is. And that I am its only resident.

“There you are!” Marquess Savoa exclaims, bowing slightly for pretense.

His shock blonde hair glints off the moonlight, tan face and dark lips turned up. His green eyes are swimming with expectation, excitement, and nerves? I look him over, taking in the black of his coat and trim length of his trousers, neatly tucked in to long boots with shiny silver buckles and a white undershirt billowing slightly in the wind. He looks more kept than usual, despite the jittery twitching of his hands.

I thin my eyes at him. “What can I do for you, Marquess?”

He waves his hat at me. “We are too well acquainted for titles.”

“I didn’t know we were well acquainted at all,” I say, flatly, hoping he’ll get my hint and leave. He is here to give the same speech he always is: we are friends, I want to impress my father, what can I offer you? Please let me see inside?

He doesn’t get my hint.

“Such fire!” He exclaims, holding his hat over his heart in mock hurt. “I surrender.”

The marquess always does have a flare for the dramatic. Some days, when he would walk with me in the woods and teach me about the different types of trees and flowers, I would allow myself to admit that I didn’t mind it. I would allow myself to let him pick my favorite flowers and put them in my hair and say sweet things to me. But right now, with another failed search under my belt and the stench of the ocean clinging to my clothes, I want to push him off my porch and board my door.

He climbs down the stairs with his long legs, pocket watch chiming against the inner silver of his coat rhythmically with every step. As he approaches, I can see the pink of his cheeks, the pearly white of his teeth, the perfect line of his eyebrows. He is a fine man to look at, especially with the moon reflecting off every shiny buckle and belt, and I hate that the thought crosses my mind. Unfortunately, for all of my experiences, I still remain a romantic at heart.

“I have another letter for you,” he says, reaching into his coat and pulling out a neatly folded creme envelope with my family’s deep purple seal. I sigh inwardly, forcing a smile to my lips as I take it from him.

“Thank you,” I say, not letting our fingers graze during the exchange, “I’ll reply soon.”

He gives me a knowing smile, as if he can see right through me, then regards the sticks in my cloak and slightly frizzy hair with disdain. “You went without me? Did you find it?”

I shake my head, swallowing back the tears of frustration that rise in my throat. I have been looking for nearly two years. When will I be able to let go? When will I admit to myself that I won't ever find it. That the Duke probably tore it from the ground and used its beautiful amber wood to build a stable house.

“I asked my father about it,” Savoa pipes up, and I can’t help but feel a slimmer of hope rise in me before he continues. “He said he never remembered claiming a wooded estate. And that, if he did, it was probably removed or the deed returned to the family.”

Another thing about the marquess, his iron honesty.

I always told him that it didn’t serve him well in court.

He always replied he was only honest around me.

I didn’t know if I believed him.

He seems to sense my defeat and annoyance, because he hurries on. “I will continue looking for it though. We can go everyday, if you like. My education is over, Father rarely allows me to sit in on business matters, favoring little brother, and I know how to ride,” he rushes, out of breath. “I could bring you a horse! I could teach you. Every Lady should know how to ride.”

I can see the regret on his face as soon as the words come out of his mouth and I slam back into reality. No matter how handsome or how thoughtful he may be, the marquess and I are from two very separate worlds, and even he subconsciously understands that. He steps closer to me and I can smell the fine lotions and soaps of the estate on his skin. He wants to fix me. To take my “wild” and “uncivil” upbringing and groom me into a pleasant, silent, noble woman.

“I’m not a Lady,” I reply, meeting his eyes indignantly.

“I didn’t mean that,” he backtracks, hanging his head like a sad puppy. “I’m sorry.”

“I don’t think a Marquess is supposed to apologize,” I say, trying to make my tone flippant as I look beyond him at the house. It looks eerie in the night, with the moon shining through its windows and blue wood shimmering, almost iridescent. I stare up at the slats, unsure of how I never noticed it before, the wood seeming to sparkle blue and purple and jade, like the glitter of sugar candy or the scales of a-

“Marry me,” Savoa’s voice comes crashing into me almost as hard as the waves on the cliff side. I refocus my gaze on him, still standing in front of me, a small box lined with velvet and trimmed in gold between his palms. My stomach bottoms out, unsure of how I can navigate this situation on my own.

Mother? Father? House? Please help.

“Do what?” I sputter, ungracefully.

“Marry me,” he repeats, more firm and sure. I think back to the times I had gone into the main square on errand, listening to the gossip that the young peasant and Lady’s alike whispered, pretending they thought I couldn’t hear. They always talked about how handsome Marquess Savoa was, how he would never deface his name by consorting with those below his station, how he would marry a Princess or another Duke’s daughter and the world would be as it was meant to.

He opens the box in his palm and my eyes widen as I look at it. The ring is pure silver, glowing with small, almost clear purple and green gems weaving in a beautifully intricate pattern atop the ring with diamonds glittering around the back. Purple, for my house. Green, for his. And the pattern, like lavender. My favorite flower. How conveniently that worked out for him.

And how bad it worked out for me.

I open my mouth, unsure of what to say. How to say anything.

I can’t say no. I can’t say yes.

The wind lashes at my cloak, the midnight fabric coming unlaced to reveal my simple, pale pink dress underneath it. The marquess reaches forward and catches a strand of my dark hair in his fingers, still holding the ring in the other. I watch him in silence, begging him to take it back. Willing the universe, the gods, to let me wake up from this nightmare already.

They don’t.

“Marry me,” he repeats for the third time, eyes pleading. “We can keep the cottage for ourselves, we can join our families, we can search for the cabin in the woods and when we find it, we can stay there and I will pick lavender for your hair, and our children’s-”

“Savoa,” I cut him off abruptly, correcting myself and rushing on. “Marquess. I-I’m flattered by your offer. And I have come to know you as a dear acquaintance, but… I can’t.”

“You can’t?” He asked, the puppy look filling his face once more.

“These letters,” I explain, holding them up, “did you ready any of them?”

He shakes his head side to side, light hair brushing his forehead. Maybe in a different life I would have married him. Maybe we would have grown up together and been promised to each other before we could walk. Maybe I would run my fingers through his light hair and let my lips run over his perfectly bronze skin. But not in this life. And not on this island.

“My family,” I start, treading slowly, carefully, “they’ve been looking for a match that would be most advantageous to the family since my mother passed. I got word a few weeks ago they found a young man from across the Delta. He’s to be here any day to ask for my hand.”

“Across the Delta…?” He trails, “another foreigner? Haven’t they defamed your family name enough?”

His words sting, but I brush them off, shrugging. “I suppose not. They would rather embrace the reputation and turn those notions into something positive.”

He studies me, wetting his lips and blinking. “But I haven’t heard a word of this.”

“I hope not,” I reply, tucking the letter back into my pocket before he can ask to read it. “My uncles would like to keep it a secret until it is sealed, in case things don’t work out. None of us want another situation like my mother’s on our hands.”

The words taste wrong in my mouth, like ashes, and the waves seem to crash even harder against the cliff. I swear that Marquess Savoa’s stare is full of suspicion, but before I can examine him, it falls into hurt. He was never good at hiding his feelings, another quality that didn’t serve him well at court.

Luckily, that was one realm that I succeeded greatly in.

“Well,” he starts, closing the box with a snap and trying to mask his disappointment behind false cheer, “I hope to meet him soon. He’ll arrive at the estate within the week?”

“Yes.” I lie, wishing I hadn’t.

“Until then,” he almost whispers, turning around and climbing the rocks alongside the cottage to the main road, no doubt to where his carriage waited. I take in a deep breath, trudging up the steps of the house with thousands more pounds of weight on my shoulders. I sag with my back to the door once I enter, the fire I stoked before I left still burning lightly. Throwing off my cloak, I pull the letter from my pocket and immediately feed it to the flames.

I don’t know what it says, but definitely nothing about a mysterious foreign suitor.

Adding more peet to the fire, I sit at my desk and draw a piece of creamy paper from the cache, positioning my quill over its blank surface. I don’t know what to say. Or how to even begin. How does one talk to a family that they’ve never met?

I write out my best attempt at redemption, seal it with thick purple wax and place it in the small box outside, marking it as full for pick up. In the morning, the page boy would come, he would deliver the letter, and I would wait for a miracle.

---

Two days later, the miracle didn’t come, but the letter did.

I had refused to go back into the forest for the past few days, tired of feeling disappointed and hopeless. I just sat in my cottage, desperately trying to think of a way out of the lie I had spun. I could say the engagement fell through, that my family would never admit to it to save face. I could say my family had only tricked me into believing there was a marriage to get me back to court. I could say a million things. But the worst one was that I could marry Savoa and that all of those excuses would push me into that.

His matrimony would give me anything a proper girl could ever want: money, status, and noble children. It would put to rest all of the sneers and jibes by the town girls and court women. I could be reunited with my family and build bonds that would allow me companionship. It could pull me away from the wretched sea and further inland, with the trees and fields of blooming lavender.

I think of the marquess, ring in hand, expectant eyes, and a pool of dread fills my stomach. He is a great man, just not for me. I would never be an equal to him, never anything more than a girl that he saved. His charity case to try and catch his father’s attention. No matter what he says, he would always consider his marriage as a debt to me that I would need to pay by servitude and obedience. He wants me as a noble lady, not as a woman.

I groan, shaking the thoughts from my head and breaking the wax seal open with my fingers. I recognize the elegant script of my aunt immediately, the tall and flowing letters seeming more alive than usual. Her excitement at my engagement is palpable. The letter explains her pleasure at me finding a match, especially one I claimed as royal from across the Delta. I told her the connection was made through my father, who had worked on his estate farms for some time, with my mother making an initial introduction on a trip across the small sea. I said we had been communicating through letters since then, and he recently asked for my hand, saying he was coming across the Delta to meet my family and wed me. When writing, I felt ridiculous, fraudulent, like whoever had received this letter would see right through my facade.

Luckily, this aunt did not.

I told her my suitor would arrive on the shores in three days, one from now and that it would be my honor to present him. She ate it up, declaring she would arrange for a gathering to celebrate both my return, and my marriage. She couldn’t wait to meet us.

Leaning back against the chair, I blow a low sigh through my teeth. Instead of burning the letter, I clench it in my fist. I have no reason to be upset with her excitement. I am the one who got myself into this mess by deceiving the marquess and writing my aunt in the first place. Throwing on a thick wool cloak and boots, I trudge out my door and into the mid afternoon light. The sun is setting over the sea, reflecting off the froth and blinding my eyes.

I won’t look away. I think, begrudgingly. You can’t have me too.

The waves crash against the shore in response, in challenge. Tucking the letter into my inner cloak pocket, I breathe through my mouth to avoid the salt as I trek down the cliff and towards the tree line. I know I should be staying inside. That I should be devising a plan. But my legs itch, my mind is racing, and all I can think is how desperately I need to be out. Out of the cottage, out of earshot of the ocean, out of this reality and into another one.

I don't notice the body until I am tripping over it, stumbling in the sand. I bite back a scream, looking down to find a boy beneath me, drenched in water and bleeding. He’s on his stomach, face turned away from me, and completely nude. I shove down my embarrassment and kneel down to flip him over, shocked and relieved to find he is still breathing. Shallow, but any breath is a sign of life. And life is good.

I push the wet hair from over his eyes and forehead, noticing how soft the black tendrils are to my touch. His face is more pale than I have ever seen on a human being, especially on this island. He is bleeding from his arm, a shallow cut, but still heavily flowing. His torso is lined with light muscle, planes and ridges quietly defined and covered in flawless skin leading down to his-

“Hello?” I place my hands on his chest, pumping up and down in a steady rhythm.

I can feel his pulse, slow and weak in his throat. I am terrified that I will watch this boy die before me. That I will watch the sea take another victim and have no power to stop it. Inhaling deeply, I place one hand on his jaw and the other over his nose, bending down to place my mouth over his when he suddenly gasps violently, shooting up and nearly knocking me in the head. He looks around wildly, big brown eyes settling on me. His thick, pink lips are wide with astonishment, and when he moves his good arm to push his hair back along his scalp again, I can’t help but notice how handsome he is.

A miracle, indeed.

“Who are you?” I ask, tilting my head to the side, still very aware of his nakedness.

“Jungkook,” he replies, voice scratchy, but deep.

“Jung..kook?” I test the name in my mouth, the syllables rough and foreign.

He nods, looking around as if to gather his bearings.

“Do you know where you are?” I ask him.

He nods again. “Dashni Island.”

I give him a reassuring smile. “Where are you from?”

He turns back to me, voice stronger. “From the Delta.”

“The Delta?” I inquire, “do you mean across the Delta? On the mainland?”

“No,” he replies, sure. “The Delta.”

A pirate then. Or an orphan forced to work on a pirate ship. Maybe both. I have heard stories in the main town of ships being unloaded with human cargo, as well as raw goods. The people are usually orphans or servants from the mainland, who are either indentured to estate houses on the nearby islands or who serve for captains aboard merchant ships.

“Where are your clothes?” I ask, deciding to return to the past topic later.

“I don’t know,” he admits, but doesn’t try to cover himself. “I must have lost them.”

I nod slowly, taking the cloak from around my shoulders and handing it to him. He smiles at me, almost as blinding as the sea foam, when he takes it. I stand up and brush the sand from my dress, turning away as he rises and wraps the cloak around himself.

“Your arm…” I say, with my back turned. “What happened to it?”

“Must have scraped it when escaping the boat,” he says. Definitely an orphan or servant, then. “It’s not deep,” he continues. “It should heal quickly. You can turn around now.”

I do so, the wind seeming to slow. The boy, Jungkook, is now standing, his frame tall and lean. His face is angular, yet soft, cut like an angel. His eyebrows are thick and airbrushed on his face like a painter created him. His hair falls over his forehead in wet clumps, the black strands pasted to his skin. Sticking my hand into the space between us, I introduce myself, attempting to calm my rapidly beating heart as his impossibly soft hand shakes mine.

“Do you have anywhere to go?” I ask.

He shakes his head side to side, looking from the ocean to the tree line.

“I have a cottage just up the cliff,” I say, jerking my hand in that direction. “You’re welcome to stay there until you heal and can find work.”

His face noticeably brightens, the lost boy in him perking up. I smile at him and let him follow me back up the rocks and into my home. The stew I put on the fire earlier is still warm and I offer Jungkook a bowl of it while I move into the spare bedroom. I have kept the door closed for months, not wanting to release my emotions by opening it to find what’s inside. Inhaling, I turn the knob and push it open, the scent of must and dust hitting me like a ton of bricks.

All of my mother’s and father’s things are piled in the small space, paintings, porcelain, books on agriculture and art. My mother’s jewelry boxes are full and overflowing, the gems and pearls glinting in the light. I cross over to the armoire and open it, wistfully running my hand over my parents clothes. While my father had taken the majority of his items when he left, there were still a few pairs of trousers and tunics left. Pulling out the smallest looking ones I can find, I firmly close the door behind me and go back out into the main area.

Jungkook is sitting at my small dining table, cloak hanging off one shoulder to reveal the bare expanse of his torso. Despite his looks, he eats slowly and dignified, as if he was raised royally instead of as a merchant orphan. I watch him before he notices me, studying the regal lines of his face and upright posture. An idea flits through my mind.

“Jungkook,” I begin, folding the clothes on the table before him. “What kind of work do you do?”

“My trade… is complicated.” He says, looking intently into his soup.

I sit across from him, waiting for him to elaborate and continuing when he doesn’t. “How long have you been in the Delta?”

“All my life,” he replies.

“You don’t eat like you were raised on a ship.” I challenge.

“Maybe I wasn’t,” he counters.

I study him more and this time, he studies me back. I watch his eyes roam over my face and torso, over the length of my hair and from my shoulders to my hands, which are now placed on the table. A slight smile bewitches his lips, and I clear my throat when I feel myself start to blush. He obviously likes what he sees.

“Were you in the company of merchant nobility often?” I ask.

“Yes,” he says, slurping his soup softly.

I hum, forcing myself to continue before I lose my confidence. And my only chance. “What would you say if I told you I had an opportunity for you that can make you money?”

He looks up at me through his thick lashes, lips wet with broth. “What do you mean?”

“I need someone who is - or at least acts, like a royal to go to a ball with me in two nights.”

His eyebrows raise and an almost comical grin consumes his mouth. “A ball?”

I soothe out my dress, trying to sound dignified. “It’s a long story.”

His lips twitch into a smile, the action making my heart jump a bit in my chest. I shake my head minutely, dispelling the sinful thoughts. I may not worship the Gods as I once did, but I know trouble when it crosses my mind. Jungkook takes his lower lip between his teeth, as if taunting me.

Refusing to back down first, I raise my eyes to meet his. His smile broadens, cheeks puffing out to give him a slight baby face. I wonder how old he is, how he learned to eat this way, to talk this way. How he came to be on the beach, naked and alone and hurt. The blood that I can see on his exposed shoulder has dried, crusted and red. Relenting from my staring contest, I get up and soak a rag in freshwater.

“We should clean that,” I say, changing the subject by referring to his wound.

He nods silently, turning sideways to straddle the bench as I sit next to him. He pulls down the shoulder of my cloak further, revealing more of his arm and torso. If I look down, I would be able to see straight down the lines of his body. Expelling those thoughts again, I swallow and focus on his cut, wiping at the dried blood with the rag.

“What happened to your parents?” Jungkook asks.

I try to hide my surprise and discomfort at his question. “They’re gone.”

I can feel his eyes on me, watching my face as I work. He had been bleeding so much when I found him I thought the wound was deep enough to expose bone. But now, as I reveal it, it barely has scratched the surface of his pale flesh. I draw my eyebrows together, puzzled.

“Mine are too.” He says, voice solemn.

I can still smell the ocean on him, salt stuck in his hair and on his skin. He exudes sorrow and something deeper I can’t place. He starts to hum slowly, a wistful tune that makes me feel haunted and enchanted at the same time. It is slightly whimsical, with varying notes and sounds that rise effortlessly from his throat. Shivers go up my spine, and I take my time wiping his arm down, wanting to get lost in his melody forever.

“I’ll help you,” he stops to murmur quietly, the tenderness in his tone causing me to look up at him. Our faces are a mere inches apart and if he leans in any closer our noses would be brushing. The breath catches in my throat.

“You will?” I say, hushed.

He nods, the corner of his deep pink lips turning up in a smile. I can feel my heart beating wildly in my chest and heat rising to my cheeks. He is looking at me so deeply, as if I am the only person on this planet. I swallow, unsure of what to do with the weight of him. The depth of him.

“Thank you,” I say, dropping my hands and studying the bloody rag. “I’ll make it worth your while.”

“I know you will.”

His response makes my knees go weak and I am suddenly very grateful to be sitting. The tone of his voice is impossibly deep, making the roar of the ocean go silent in my ears. I can’t tell if I am reading into his response or if his tone is trying to say more than those four words are. Biting my lower lip, I get up and clean the rag, desperate to get some room to breath and clear my head.

If I am going to pull this off and save myself misery later, I need to leave my heart behind.

---

The next morning, the mail boy gives a curt knock on my door. Before I can get there, Jungkook is opening it, an undershirt billowing in the morning wind and a goofy smile on his face. The boy’s eyes widen to the size of saucers, handing over a large purple box with deep cobalt ribbon holding it together. I peek around Jungkook’s shoulder to take the box, thanking the mail boy swiftly and closing the door.

“You know, you’re going to spur horrible gossip about me,” I quip.

“Oh?”

“It’s not proper for a young, unmarried woman to have men in her home, especially not without male supervision.” I explain.

“I’m a male,” he counters, giving me a knowing quirk of his eyebrow.

“Not the kind of male fit to supervise.”

He hums, the low melody instantly turning me to mush. I don’t know what it is about his voice that makes me forget everything I’ve heard before. The extreme range. The beautiful tragedy in the tunes he chooses. The way his notes flow and rise on one another like he was born a song. Like music is a part of him, like hands or feet. Placing the box on the table, I carefully untie the ribbon and open the lid.

“Wow,” I breathe, unable to help myself.

I place the letter embossed with my family seal aside carefully, and run my hands over the beautiful dress that sits inside. The color is the richest shade of purple I have ever seen, bordering on amethyst, with silk and taffeta flowing to the floor. Small lavender jewels glitter on the bodice, interlacing with diamonds to create an intricate pattern that must have taken hours to weave and a fortune to create.

It makes me think of the ring Marquess Savoa tried to propose with.

Swallowing thickly, I fully remove the dress from its packaging and two boxes beneath it, also carefully tied with purple bows. Picking one up, my mouth nearly falls to the floor when I open it. A gorgeous diamond necklace sits inside, gems gleaming and glittering against the morning light. Setting aside the hefty box with as much care as possible, I unwrap the next one. It looks like a tie, soft purple silk tightly wound in a coil. Pulling it out, I turn to Jungkook, who is watching with mild interest from behind me.

“It’s for you.” I say, extending the sash to him.

He comes closer, head turned to the side and takes the material from my fingers. It’s perfectly sewed and extremely delicate, the silk softer than anything I have ever owned. He flips it around and I can see that on the inside of the sash, there is a golden emblem stitched, it’s of my house sigil. An overwhelming sense of shame washes over me. I have ignored these people’s pleas for my company for years, burned or drowned their kindness, citing their faults. I reached out only when I was desperate for help, when I needed them to back a different marriage than the one to Savoa. I had only neglected them, and they’ve shown me kindness, generosity, and faith.

I pick up the card, thick paper embossed with a seal, and break it open. The letter is from my aunt, wishing us safe travels to the estate in the carriage she will be providing and saying she is excited to watch us dance the first waltz to announce our engagement. I inhale deeply, trying to imagine the steps my mother had taught us in my head.

“Bad news?” Jungkook asks. He had put the sash on, the immaculate and expensive material looking out of place on his chemise.

“Do you know the waltz?” I give him my best hopeful smile.

To my amazement, he nods, pretending to wrap his hands around an invisible body as his feet trace the steps. He is always surprising me with what he knows. With how familiar he seems but also so foreign. An answer to all of my prayers bottled up into one ridiculously handsome package.

“My mother taught me when I was young,” I begin, watching his steps. “But, I’m not sure I remember it all.”

Jungkook moves forward, reaching out for me to practice with. I step back involuntarily, inhaling sharply. His hands linger in the air for a second and he quirks his eyebrows up in invitation. Suddenly, I feel extremely naked in my shift, with my robe coming open. Jungkook licks his lips, repositioning himself in the waltz position and starts to hum to the tune of his steps, as if nothing happened at all.

The low tenor coming from his throat sounds nearly identical to the violins the dance is set to. His Adam's apple bobs up and down when he swallows, only taking quick and even breaths in between his melody. Half embarrassed and half mesmerized, I can’t stop watching him, how he moves and how he sounds. Without thinking, I place the card on the table and step forward into his outstretched arms.

He doesn’t break his hum, putting his arms tightly around my waist and waiting patiently until I settle into my position. The weight of his hands on my hips is deliciously heavy and hot, goosebumps pricking on my skin. He lowers his tone, as if he is encapsulating us with a bubble made of his song. I can see the slight black of stubble on his jaw, the melted chocolate in his eyes. He smells of salt and sand, two scents that typically repulse me. But now, surrounded by it and by him, it feels like I am being called home.

“Were you classically trained?” I ask him, dazed and trying to ignore the rapid pounding of my heart. He slows down his steps, seeming satisfied with my progression, before looking at me.

“You could say that,” he gives me a devilish smile, before breaking away to neatly fold the sash in a pile with the clothes he had worn yesterday. I can never seem to read him, to figure him out. An orphan raised in the Delta? Who can dance and is classically trained? It doesn’t add up. Against my better judgement, I push my suspicions aside, blaming the fact that I’ve been alone so long for my hesitation. I know nothing of character. Of human contact. Besides the marquess. And I don’t know what I classify him as, but he and Jungkook are in a whole other realm of man.

Jungkook looks back and catches me staring, flashing a grin in my direction. Blushing profusely, I turn around and hurriedly put the dress and jewelry back in the box, nearly running to my chamber. I can’t seem to remove my heart even if I try. This is either going to be my best choice or the worst mistake I ever make.

I’ll know by the end of the night.

---

The carriage arrives right before dusk, the sky bleeding from black to purple to orange on the horizon. Jungkook and I had spent the afternoon tailoring one of my father’s old suits to fit him, which mostly consisted of me trying not to look at him so I could try and ignore the heat on my skin and pace of my heart and him making sly comments and jokes about the situation I had gotten us in by lying.

We step out of the door, me feeling ridiculous in my gown and Jungkook looking artfully royal in the suit. It was a crisp gray, dark purple of the sash perfectly complementing both the color of the outfit and his hair. By some miracle, my father’s only pair of clean dress shoes fit on Jungkook’s feet and I can’t help but feel a surge of pride that I am really pulling this off. Two days ago I thought my life was ending, that I would be forced to turn my hand and marry Savoa. Now, I am being escorted to a party being thrown in honor of my engagement to an extremely attractive foreigner. I prayed for a miracle and it came. He came.

Jungkook smiles at the driver, asking him how his night is and if he is being treated well. It doesn’t dawn on me until we are seated in the carriage and it’s bumping down the road that he was talking to the driver in a different language. I stare at him, trying to burn a hole in his apparently incredibly diverse brain. I know he can feel me looking at him, but he decides to ignore me and stare out of the coach’s window, inhaling the ocean air.

The carriage is small, lined with purple velvet on the inside with studded seats and a small glass window on top of both carriage doors. I can hear the horse hooves clomping outside, taking the path towards the estate quickly and efficiently. The horses make me think of Savoa, his comments about teaching me to ride. I’m not his charity case. His little cottage girl that he can fix up and parade to his father. But then, what am I doing? My family is doing the same thing with me. I am doing the same thing to myself.

Agitated, I put my attention back on Jungkook. “How do you seem to know everything about everything?” I ask, trying and failing to hide the bitter awe in my voice. “Where do you come from?”

“I told you,” he replies, clasping his hands behind him, “I came from the sea.”

“Only death comes from the sea,” I bite back, more irritated.

He looks at me for a moment, as if considering my words. My face flushes lightly at my drama, fiddling with a piece of my hair. I feel ridiculous, like I’m a glossed up show pony about to be taken on the course. The dress is open and breathable, but the heavy cloak I laid over it is making me sweat in the carriage.

Jungkook swats the hand from my hair, his fingers impossibly cold but causing heat to surge through my wrist and arm. “Stop that,” he says, voice melodic and teasing. “If you act like you’re out of place, then people will think you are.”

“Such wise words,” I muse, peering at him. “Where did you learn to be so diplomatic?”

“Not here, clearly.” He gives me a teasing, pointed look. The carriage stops and the driver opens the door, giving Jungkook a reprieve from my ire. After Jungkook exits, I step from the coach and let him take my hand into the crook of his elbow.

“If I’m to be your stand-in fiancé,” he responds to my inquiring look. “Then I should at least play the part.” I hate how he can be so humorous, how he can make me smile with a single word from his languid lips.

“An actor too,” I raise my eyebrows at him. “What exactly do you do in the Delta, Jungkook?” I stress the syllables of his name. Each time I say his name, it churns into a sweeter butter in my mouth, so different from when I first fumbled over it at the beach.

“My trade is… complicated,” he repeats his words from the other day, vaguely. “But I can assure you, on a fake fiancé’s oath, I’m rich and powerful.”

Before I can press him any further, we reach the green groves that line the estate gardens, my heart pounding loudly in my chest. Bushes are trimmed into the shape of roses, horses, and deer, leaves floating to the ground in the crisp autumn air. Jungkook holds my arm a little tighter, as if sensing my trepidation. My fear.

“Just stand up straight and pretend you belong here. If you believe it, they’ll believe it too. That’s what I do.” Jungkook whispers in my ear. I barely have time to look at him and register his sage wisdom before the ten foot tall gold estate doors are opening.

Multiple people I hardly recognize rush forward from the estate doors, their purple cloaks billowing in the wind. I see the dark waves of my mother’s hair on one woman, the round shape of her face in a man, the gait of her stride in a set of twins. With a start, I realize, these people are my family. They hurry towards me as diplomatically as they can, embracing me in deep hugs and giving me kisses on the cheek. We exchange introductions hurriedly and, the aunt that I have been exchanging letters with, who has a round face and solid build, pushes me towards the estate with a rush.

“The festivities have already started.” She says excitedly, taking my arm into her elbow and leaving Jungkook with my three uncles. “Oh! We are just so happy you’re here, dear!”

They pull me towards the estate, my stomach twisting in knots. I can hear the sound of violins and organs playing, a beautiful and upbeat melody that reminds me of my mother’s bubbly laugh. If she could see me now, what would she think? The doors to the estate are pure and solid gold, buff guards opening them before us and allowing us inside. There is chatter, music, and the smell of food wafting through the entry hall and I can’t help but gape at the estate’s interior.

Lining the walls are hundreds of intricately hand sewn tapestries and more gold everywhere I look. It’s bordering on gaudy and excessive, even the stone and brick of the walls seeming to glitter with flakes of gold. I immediately feel out of place again, thinking about Jungkook’s words to me as we entered the gates. Throwing a look behind me, I see him easily making conversation with my uncles, probably divulging more of his mysterious past to them than he has to me. As if sensing my gaze, he flicks his eyes to me and gives me a smile, all sweet with a hint of that Jungkook deviousness I have become so fond of.

We turn down the main hallway and walk to the left, the sounds of celebration getting louder. Is this the life that Marquess Savoa leads everyday? Is this where he goes to after he ambushes my forest adventures? To a waiting party full of women and wine and dancing? Why would he ever want me over that? From the few men I have made acquaintance with, that seems to be their greatest dream.

“We are about there,” my aunt stops and turns to me, pinching my cheeks and looking me over. My uncles bring Jungkook up to my side and arrange us in a position very similar to that of matrimony; with his hand atop mine and our elbows just barely touching. I feel like royalty being introduced to society for the first time, all dressed up and paraded. Part of me loves it, after being alone for so long. Part of me feels like a fraud.

“You look beautiful,” Jungkook says when my family falls behind us to allow us to enter first, his voice quiet and sincere. “Don’t be nervous.”

His words send more butterflies into my stomach, swallowing deeply as we continue to approach the ballroom. There is heavy light flooding into the hallway from the open doors and I feel the warmth of Jungkook’s hand like a fire of its own. We round the corner and into the space, the amount of people and smells and sensations completely overwhelming me. I blink, going deft from the rushing in my ears. The people closest to the entry turn, looking us over and studying our faces, our postures, our clothes. I stand up a little straighter, walk with a little more confidence, and smile a bit when I hear the hushed whispers of women and men appraising us.

The whole room is gold and silver, chandeliers hanging from the ceiling with strands of diamonds and pearls. The food is plated on gold, the silverware shiny and clean. The floors are a beautiful patchwork of tiles and large banners of the Savoa house line the walls. Everything is so bright, even all of the women’s dresses catch the firelight and sparkle luminously, like a thousand suns. More and more people turn, parting for Jungkook and I as we make our way to the center of the room. This is when we dance, this is when I am truly put to the test.

I swallow down the bile rising in my throat, inhaling deeply. Jungkook had reminded me well, he said he would lead the way, but there would be no hiding it if I screwed up, if I turned wrong or stepped on his feet or fell on my face in front of all of these strangers. Dancing with your mother as a child is very different from dancing with a man in a crowded ballroom.

Surveying the space, I don’t see the Duke anywhere, unsure if this display is for him or for the pleasure of my aunts. I don’t see the Marquess either, a surge of irritation coursing through me. I didn’t persuade Jungkook into doing this and dressing up and coming all the way here so the marquess could just decide not to attend. I was under the distinct impression I would never hear the end of his platitudes and be forced to accept his proposal if I didn't silence him with this charade. I huff under my breath, the sound turning into a sharp gasp as Jungkook circles his arm around my waist and pulls me in closer.

His grip is strong and sure, yet light like a butterfly, making me completely forget about my annoyance with the marquess. I don’t understand how Jungkook can be so many different things at once. Strong, yet sensitive. Devious, yet kind. Beautiful, yet tragic. I don’t comprehend how I have known him for so little time and yet I feel as if we have been in love all of my life. In love.

I look at him, his dark eyes glittering and a small smile gracing his thick lips. He smells so much like the ocean and I am baffled by how little it bothers me. How the sea has seemed to become something less evil with him, something more peaceful and more human. He licks his lips, my eyes following the blessed movement. He has completely and utterly enraptured me in just a few days' time, my feet easily following the rhythm of the music and of him as we move. We quickly fall into sync, as if we are one body and one soul coming together as he softly hums the melody of the waltz.

He moves in closer when he brings me up from the final dip, his breath on my face before he seals my fate with a light kiss on the cheek. I close my eyes, the feeling of him on me melting my core and igniting my soul. The music slowly fades as people clap and I part my lips, ready to be kissed for real. Everything in me is screaming that I need him, that I have to have him. That he is the best thing the ocean has ever given me and I long to taste the sea on his tongue.

His breath brings shivers up my spine, voice hot and low.

“We can’t kiss. Yet.”

I open my eyes, completely dazed as he brings us into a fully erect position and bows.

I curtsy back, stunned and with only half of the brain cells I had before. The feeling of his lips on my cheek has left a mark on my mind, like a brand. His words burn and solidify in me like wax, the anticipation of what could be so palpable and tangible between my fingers. A servant offers me a flute full of sparkling liquid and I take it while the party resettles and Jungkook is pulled away by an uncle to talk more, a million things on my mind. As soon as I finish the flute, a servant hands me another one, my dress feeling too tight and my skin feeling too warm. Before anyone can stop me, or rush to meet my acquaintance, I hurry through the crowd and out the ballroom doors.

Everything looks so much more rosy and sweet than it did before out in the hallway. The ornate walls lined with tapestries and gold that seemed like too much when I first came, are now so impressive and respectable. The floors, a slab gray stone, are so colorful and filled with fun patterns for me to jump over. I meander down the hall, the opposite way from where we came in and try to calm the inhuman racing of heart and fever of my brain. I think about Jungkook, the solidity of his hold, the surety of his step, the softness of his lips, and the steadiness of his voice. I don’t know how I wander so far from the main event, but next thing I know I am standing on a terrace at the end of the hall, overlooking the gardens and basking in my thoughts.

Everything is so perfect here. Every detail tended to and no expense spared. I bet each blade of grass is trimmed to the exact same inch, to ensure precision. No wonder all of the girls in the village looked at me the way they did. This estate was a far cry from living in town and the prospect of living here, or even spending a few hours here, is probably all they pray to the gods for. The night air is cool and refreshing, my tight lungs opening slowly with every breath.

“You’re missing your party.” A voice comes from behind me.

I turn around, startled, and instantly start to sober. The marquess is behind me, his head tilted to the side in question. The black suit and combed hair does his frame such sweet justice. I can see the lines of his torso and arms through the waistcoat, the tan of his skin contrasted with the crisp white of his shirt and white of his hair. He wears a golden brooch with his family sigil on his lapel, directly above his heart.

Marry me. I hear him say.

Swallowing thickly, I face my back to him and place my hands on the terrace railing.

“It was too warm in there. And besides, you’ve been missing it too.”

I feel him come closer to stand beside me, tall and confident, looking out over the gardens. He stays quiet, a rare occurrence for him, and I can count the times I wished to sew his mouth shut, but now, in the night, at this party, at his home, the silence feels too thick. I find myself wanting him to say something, anything that will break it. That can puncture the wound between us like a clean hot knife.

“He seems very foreign.”

That's not what I was hoping he would say, the tension continuing to rise. “Yes, he is.”

“And that’s what you want?” He asks.

I don’t know if it’s the alcohol or the fact that I am practically engaged to another man, but I answer him honestly.

“I don’t know.”

I just met Jungkook. I don’t know who he is or where he comes from. Besides the Delta. I don’t know his family or his mannerisms or his preferences. But I know Savoa’s. And something about that, the familiarity amongst all of this unmarked territory, is so comforting. For a moment, just a moment, I fall into it. The comfort of not having to be someone else.

“The ring… the lavender.” I begin, looking at his side profile. Strong slope of his nose and cut lines of his jaw. His face was built stronger, more fierce than Jungkook’s. If I hadn’t known Savoa better, I would think he was as stoic as a rock. “It was beautiful and so incredibly thoughtful.”

He turns to me, a slight smile etched on his even lips. “I designed it myself.”

“You have exquisite taste.”

His eyes roam my face, the strands of my hair, the diamonds at my neck, the purple length of my dress. “Not exquisite enough.”

The words hit me like a ton of bricks, inhaling sharply and shifting away from him. “You’ll find someone who can appreciate all you have, and more.” I try to sound reassuring, but it sounds so patronizing from my tongue, like I am lecturing him after I broke his heart.

“I don’t want someone else,” he states, plain and factual.

“We come from two very different worlds,” I reason, “regardless of where my family comes from. I didn’t grow up here. I didn’t learn the ways of court life. I wasn’t groomed to be a lady. And you were raised to be with one.”

“And Jungkook wasn’t?”

“Jungkook…” I sigh with frustration, running my hands over my face. “That’s different.”

“How?” The marquess asks, closing the distance I had put between us.

I open my mouth to reply, but then shut it. I don’t know. I don’t know how it's different. Because I think Jungkook was raised as an orphan? Because he had worked for his life? Because he had suffered? Like I had? But the marquess didn’t know any of that. He couldn’t.

“I don’t know. He just understands me,” I end up saying, lamely.

“I understand you. I understand you more than you know.” Marquess Savoa counters, placing his hands on my upper arms so he can turn me to him. I can see something burning in the green of his eyes, like wildfire, barely kept at bay beneath the surface. I’ve never been this close to him before, and I can see a small scar on the side of his cheek, a white line that so obviously sticks out from the rest of his skin. Why hadn’t I seen it before? Had I really been looking?

“How would you feel if I kissed you?” He asks, voice barely above a whisper.

“I don’t know,” I repeat.

He does it, leaning in to place a featherlight kiss on my lips. It’s barely a graze, just the slightest touch, like the whisper of the wind. He smells smoky, like firewood. The opposite of Jungkook, who smells of salt and wet clean air. Savoa is still holding onto my arms, his grip slackening and sliding down to my wrists as he keeps his lips on mine.

My stomach turns, but I can’t tell if it’s from the marquess or not.

I would be able to tell with Jungkook. The thought bubbles to the surface without me allowing it to, causing me to stumble away until my back is against the terrace railing. I can feel the cool night air on my back, smell the flowers and green grass from the gardens below. Savoa just stands, looking at me with slight confusion on his face, as if the kiss didn’t feel how he thought it would either.

I’m not sure if that is a good thing or a bad one.

Licking my lips, I push down the rising blush on my cheeks and hurry towards the hall, noises of the ongoing party ringing in my ears like a war drum.

“I… I should get back.” I stutter, awkwardly stammering away.

I scurry back down the hallway, focusing on the click of my shoes instead of the rushing of my brain. I focus on the smell of roasted pig and toasted pastry. I focus on the intricate tapestries and golden torches lit with burning fire. I focus on everything and nothing at the same time, willing my mind to quiet and everything around me to get louder.

Well, not everything.

I slam into a warm body, hands immediately going out to steady me as I trip backward. It’s Jungkook. His hair artfully disheveled and sash off kitler on his gray suit from the impact of my body. I can feel the warmth of his hands on my arms, so different from the way Savoa’s felt. I can feel his lips on my cheek, kindling a flame in me that Savoa never could.

“Gods,” I say, out of breath. “I knew I smelled the ocean.”

“Aren’t you island people supposed to like… worship the sea?” Jungkook’s lips tilt in an infuriatingly handsome smirk. “You always say it like a curse.”

I take my lower lip between my teeth, chewing on it thoughtfully. “My mother drowned in it two years ago. And my father disappeared across it and never came back.” I say, honestly. His gaze intensifies, taking my hand in his. I can see the sorrow in his eyes, but no pity. Nothing but support and understanding. I fall harder for it. In the dim glow of the candle-lit sconces and the shadow of the moonlight, he looks devastatingly handsome. His skin seems to sparkle in shades of blue and purple, reminding me of the cottage under the moon. He looks ethereal, like he has transcended this world and stepped into a different one.

“Would you like to go home?” He asks, softly.

Home. The cottage. A place that never felt like home before this.

I nod, letting him take me under his arm and lead me back down the hall to say our farewells and show our appreciation. The ball room is buzzing with laughter and music. I can see the Duke, an obnoxious smile taking up the bottom half of his face as he flirts with young court women. He is gulping wine from a golden chalice, wife nowhere to be found. Just like his father, the marquess’s younger and more favored brother stands at the other end of the room, talking animatedly in a war uniform with another set of young women. The apple fell about as far from the tree as it could get with Marquess Savoa.

“We were starting to worry!” One of my aunts says in a shrill tone, pulling me from Jungkook with a wink. “It’s all set up.”

“What is?” I can barely say before I am being pulled by my aunt to the front of the ballroom. I can’t see Jungkook, looking around for him wildly as my aunt holds me firmly by her side. I pretend to be interested as she introduces me to some of her court friends, who discuss my beauty in relation to my mother and nothing more. Suddenly, the band stops abruptly and the crowd turns to the orchestra.

All of the musician’s are waiting, poised and ready for the music to begin once more. To be directed into a melody. Standing in front of them, his lean frame tall and dignified, is Jungkook. He looks completely at home on stage, in front of hundreds of watching eyes. He finds me quickly in the crowd, throwing me his signature devilish grin before he begins to speak.

“I never thought I would have the opportunity to be here,” he says. “To meet the woman of my dreams and fall in love.” He pauses for effect, the entire crowd hanging on his every word. Some girls, that I recognize from the village, turn to look at me, half in jealousy and half in amazement. Clearly one of us had underestimated the other.

“I want to dedicate this song to you, my soon to be wife,” Jungkook continues, the words burning lava through my core. My aunt holds onto my hand so tightly I lose blood flow to it while she dabs at her tearing eyes with a handkerchief. The music begins slow and steady as Jungkook gives the signal, a sharp raise of his artful hands.

He begins to sing. And the room goes completely silent and still. He sounds like one of the gods, his voice so incredibly soft yet powerful. I don’t know how he pulls such a deep sound from his throat, gliding over the notes in a dance even more entrancing than our waltz. I can feel myself falling harder with every sound from his lips and I no longer care. I let myself get lost in listening to him. I let the sound and sight of every other guest go away until it is just us. Me and him. He always has this uncanny ability to make me feel as if I am the only person he sees. I have never felt less alone in my life. I could have him and only him and be the happiest girl on the Earth.

I can barely hear the loud eruption of claps as he finishes, barely feel the release of my aunt’s hand from my arm. I hardly register the quick goodbyes I make and the walk from the ballroom to the carriage. All I can hear is Jungkook’s voice, playing like a loop in my brain. He sounded celestial, paradisiacal. I could hear nothing else but his voice my entire life and be satisfied.

I keep my head on Jungkook’s shoulder the entire ride back from the estate, feeling as if I am floating above the ground as we disembark and walk towards the cottage. When we reach the landing, Jungkook sits on the step, but only to take his shoes off. He looks dazzling in the night, looking up at me through those thick lashes.

“What are you doing?” I ask, the sound of my own voice guttural compared to his.

“Let’s take a walk,” he says, a hint of mischief in his tone.

I smile at him, bending down to slip the heels from my feet. A few days ago, the idea of a midnight walk along the beach would have repulsed me. But now, with Jungkook at my side after such a magical night, I couldn’t think of anything more I wanted to do. To keep me from cutting my feet, Jungkook takes me amply into his arms and carries me down the cliff side, like we are a newlywed couple. I feel giddy, short on breath and full of life.

“Your voice… it was…” I can’t find the words, at a complete and total loss.

“I’m told I’m a beautiful singer.” He says defensively with a smile, pretending to hear pity and disgust in my tone. I giggle, giggle, like a little girl, inhaling his scent as it effortlessly mixes with the sea.

Once we reach the sand, Jungkook sets me down, brushing his hands over my cheek and sending shivers down my spine. He holds my hand and walks me along the shore, my feet bare and the sand deliciously cool on my feet. The wind whistles through my ears, the waves lap at my ankles, and Jungkook’s presence is radiating heat through my body. I am on with the gods, high on champagne and the sound of Jungkook’s voice in the ballroom. He truly is inhuman. I have never met anyone like him in my life.

He stops and turns to look out at the ocean and I look at him. His hair, so beautifully black and soft, waving in the breeze. His skin, flawless and glowing in the moonlight. His frame, the lean build of his body beneath the suit and my family sash on his broad shoulders. His long legs in the trousers, cuffs wet with sea water. His feet and ankles shift as the water slides over them, sparkling and glittering blue and purple and jade. I get hit with a damning sense of deja vu, but I don’t have time to think about it before he’s there.

Jungkook kisses me. My stomach completely flips and turns and I know it’s from him, his passion, and his hunger and his heat. His lips hot and brimming with desire; hands two burning masses on my side, nose and hair and cheeks barely grazing my face, yet setting me ablaze.

And gods, I can practically feel my lungs emptying air into him. I can feel my heart speed up incredibly fast, then slow to a languid pace, as if I am giving him my loyalty, my love, my life. His hands clasp around my waist, the pressure deliciously sweet on my spine. My knees buckle at his touch, but, as if expecting it, Jungkook’s arms catch my fall, my fingers hooking under the waitband of his trousers for purchase. His lips are everywhere, running through my veins and stopping the blood in them like lead.

I want to open my eyes, to see him, but I can’t.

Screw my heart, he can have it.

All I feel is him. I don’t even need to breathe when he’s kissing me like this. He can have my air, he can have my blood, my balance, my life. He can have whatever he wants. He can have the ocean and the forest and the desert and the sky. His tongue snakes along mine, the air getting caught in my throat.

My eyes pop open. I can’t breathe.

I unhook my fingers from his trousers, trying to stumble back to find he won’t let me. He’s still kissing me, his hair on my forehead and leaving cuts in its wake when he moves. I can feel his torso singeing my skin through my purple dress, the fabric billowing smoke between us. I attempt to say his name, but all that comes out is a cough.

Jungkook pulls back from me minutely and I take the space to my advantage and push him roughly, falling to the sand without him holding me up. His lips are an unnatural blue color, his skin whiter than the foam of the sea, and his exposed arms, neck, and face seeming to glitter in the morning light; purple, blue, jade. Like the scales of a mermaid.

I convulse in the sand, unable to fill my lungs with air. Jungkook watches me with mild fascination, his eyes the color of dark amethyst and his neck pulsing with power. His words come rushing back to me as I look at him, every single time he tried to warn me and I didn’t listen. Every time I only saw what I wanted to see.

I came from the sea.

My trade is… complicated.

We can’t kiss. Yet.

I’m told I’m a beautiful singer.

Water begins pouring from my throat, mixed with blood and mucus. My eyes fill with tears, Jungkook’s figure blurring as he kneels down beside me. His eyes look… remorseful. Sad, even. Like he feels sorry for doing this to me. For entrapping me with his beauty, with his siren song. Maybe if I hadn’t been so desperate, I would have seen it. If I had said yes, if I hadn’t lied. If I hadn’t told this lie.

Jungkook brushes a piece of hair from my face, his hand wet and sticky, like he’s just come from the water. I writhe, my body finally shutting down and my brain giving in. I would die just as my mother had, drowning in an ocean. I would die with the waves and with them carrying my body out to sea. I would die with the wind and the sand and the froth. With Jungkook.

“You were right,” Jungkook says before I go, his voice broken and beautiful and melodic, like a siren's call, “only death comes from the sea.”

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

a/n: I’ve never written anything mermaid before and I had so much fun doing it omg thank you for the request @celestialgguk! Sorry, not sorry, for the length, I really wanted to flesh it out and I didn’t intend it, but the story turned more angsty than I thought in the end and took me fOREvER to finish. Sometimes the story just goes where it’s meant to. Hope everyone is staying safe and healthy! <3 Much love! Requests are still open for anything, not just BTS stuff. Also, the beautiful quote at the beginning is by Christopher Paolini.

~Admin Eggplant

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chocosvt · 4 years

Text

⚬ pairing: seungcheol x reader. ⚬ word count: 4865. ⚬ warnings: drinking / smoking. ⚬ genre: mostly angst, fluff, some suggestive/borderline nsfw scenes. a casual life!au? (meaning he isn’t an idol)

✧✎ synopsis: seungcheol knows you’re no longer together, that he should’t be thinking about you as often as he does, and yet, you keep appearing. his heart doesn’t know how many times it can afford to split.

✧✎ a/n: i really wanted to write smth as i work toward finishing that other massive fic. so HERE. bc i miss seungcheol ;-; and idk i just like angst lol.

Seungcheol doesn’t know if it’s right for him to be looking at you like this. It doesn’t necessarily feel wrong, but there’s a distinct craving in his gaze that spots him with doubt. You’re not together any more. The chapter where your lives were once romantically intertwined was coldly shut months ago, leaving little room for reconciliation or even the most surface-level of acquaintances. Yet, Seungcheol is struck with a sudden pining as his eyes inspect you from top to bottom across the room, finding it pure luck you were both at the same new year’s party.

There’s a doorway from the living room that leads into the kitchen. Seungcheol is sitting on the sofa with a jade-tinted bottle in his hand, though the amount of alcohol he’s consumed since first arriving has greatly subsided. He’s too distracted by you to even raise the bottle to his lips, nor does he adequately listen when Joshua attempts a conversation. You’re talking to some people he doesn’t recognize, your eyes rather milky and a shiny can in your hand. He stares at the side of your neck and thinks it would be nice if he were giving you a hickey right now.

“Hey.” Joshua bumps Seungcheol’s shoulder and the boy finally turns his head.

He sees Wonwoo and Hansol as well, who give Seungcheol a warm glance. He notes that Hansol is carrying his signature black lunchbox.

Joshua then leans toward Seungcheol’s ear in order to whisper over the music: “We’re going outside to smoke, you coming or not?”

Seungcheol shakes his head. “Pass,” he says, “I don’t really feel like it.”

He pays attention to the beer in his hand, titling his head back as he gulps down a significant amount of the tangy, bubbly flavour. It doesn’t taste that good, and the bottle’s not even cold at this point, but Seungcheol figures he should just finish it anyways. Joshua sees you in the kitchen, leaning generously against the sink while you attempt to smile at the strangers who converse with you. It was worth a try to get Seungcheol off the couch and away from lamenting at your lost relationship, but he’s unimaginably stubborn when he wants to be.

“Okay,” Joshua replies, patting his shoulder, “don’t get too hung up or anything.”

Seungcheol watches the small crowd weave their way through the congregation to reach the patio door, the last he glimpses of Joshua being his bright blue hat before he slips into the chilly night. Quickly, Seungcheol polishes off the remaining alcohol inside the jade bottle, heavily swallowing the deep burn that melts down his throat while deserting the glass on the arm of the couch. He senses a distant thrumming in his cranium, knows he’ll regret every sip by morning, but for now he cares so very little.

As he leans back in his seat, Seungcheol comes to focus on the body that’s suddenly standing right in front of him. It’s weird, who would do that? However, the breath instantly whisks from the boys’ lungs when he realizes that it’s not just some intoxicated, fucked up stranger who isn’t even cognisant of what room they’re in. It’s you. You’re standing in front of him, to which Seungcheol poorly hides the stupor that colours his face. Before he can stumble out a single word, you’re straddling his lap and settling your hands against his firm shoulders.

Evidently, Seungcheol doesn’t know what the hell is happening. Neither of you are in a sober headspace. Furthermore, he hasn’t touched you (let alone been this close to you) in almost three months. Out of habituality, he grabs the familiar warmth of your waist, the simple contact with your skin igniting an emotion that was once wholly repressed. Staring into your eyes, he sees how foggy they are. He knows his can’t look much different.

“W-What are you doing?” Seungcheol stutters, his cheeks hot and sunset pink.

At first, you don’t speak, only crack a small smile while wrapping your arms around his neck, bringing your faces in close proximity until you’re practically breathing the same air.

You blink at him heavily. “Kiss me.” You whisper against his mouth.

Seungcheol doesn’t believe he’s capable of ever denying you.

The next few hours seem to seamlessly blend together. Seungcheol remembers the intense make-out that ensued on the couch and the little regard he carried for the environment around him. Once he tastes the sharp liquor from your lips, he completely submits to that catastrophic buzz you give him. Feeling your weight push down against his lap, how your fingertips slip through his soft, onyx hair, the way it feels morally wrong to welcome your tongue into his mouth, but so physically right that Seungcheol can only pull your hips closer.

He remembers the warm, open-mouthed kisses he nipped to your sensitive neck, murmuring in a slurred, gritty tone: “let me take you upstairs, baby.”

Joshua might throw the remainder of Hansol’s stale bong water over his head if he discovered what you and Seungcheol did. Somehow, there’s an empty bedroom available at the end of the dim corridor. After falling onto the sheets, you hastily pull the white top over your head and fling it toward a dusky corner, reaching for Seungcheol as he climbs over top your body. While pressing more heated kisses against your throat, already bruising and marked with indents from his teeth, Seungcheol’s hand rubs a sweet friction between your thighs, right over your jeans.

He hears you release a small cry of his name, your nails dragging down his back.

Nothing has ever made his heart shake more.

ii.

Seungcheol is confused as to what time is it. There’s no alarm clock on the bedside table, and his phone is buried within the pocket of his navy green jacket slumped at the end of the bed. He can’t hear much from the level beneath him. Looking toward the blinds, he can only gauge slits of the night sky. All of a sudden, there’s a sickly coughing noise from behind the shut bathroom door, to which he views a small sliver of yellow light underneath. Seungcheol notes the empty space beside him. He hears another cough, followed by a pained and irritated groan.

Damn – you have to be hungover.

Stumbling drearily out from the bed, Seungcheol brushes away the black strands of hair that flop before his eyes. He almost topples over trying to get his boxers back on. The pounding in his head isn’t unbearable, and he figures he’ll be fine after getting some water in his system and dozing off to a few painkillers. Seungcheol taps his knuckles against the bathroom door.

“Hey,” he calls out, his voice still thick with sleep, “how bad is it?”

There’s a moment of silence. Seungcheol assumes it must feel bizarre to have your ex consoling you through a hangover, especially considering the history of last night.

“I don’t know…” comes your weak response, “I think I’m dying.”

Seungcheol leans his head against the wood and laughs. “You’re not dying, honey. Can I come in?”

The door swings open, and Seungcheol sees you half-dressed in your white t-shirt and underwear, a watery film in your eyes and a look of pure exhaustion draining your countenance. Then, you’re immediately collapsing back to the cold tiling, leaning your head against the side of the bathtub while the toilet sits across from you. This doesn’t feel like an unfamiliar scene. Seungcheol used to always nurture you through your intoxication, and at least this time you possess enough strength to stand without your legs trembling.

“You want me to get you anything?” Seungcheol asks. “Water? A wet cloth? Some pills?”

He doesn’t know where he’ll get the pills. It’s probably three in the morning, but he figures the convenience store in town might still be open.

You swallow tightly and wrap your arms around your knees, the fluorescent lights gleaming against your balmy, flushed skin. It seems as though you won’t look him in the eyes. Seungcheol understands. This isn’t supposed to be happening. Neither of you should be in this bedroom.

A poignant sigh escapes your chest. “What’s wrong with me?” You ask, the water glimmering bright in your eyes. “Why did we do this?”

Seungcheol stiffens. When he catches a glimpse of his body in the mirror, he can read the hazy extent of your night together. The bruises are tinted like cherry and violets, smudged against his chest, his collarbone and neck. Even now, as he really concentrates, Seungcheol can feel the cool air sting dully against his back, which he can only hypothesize is decorated in long, deep scratches that will possibly burn like hell in the shower. His body hasn’t looked like this in months. There’s a clandestine part of him that wishes the marks will never lose their vibrancy.

He doesn’t know how to soothe your conflict.

Instead, Seungcheol takes a seat on the edge of the bathtub and stares down at you tenderly.

“I don’t know,” he replies, “we don’t always make the right decisions.”

You tilt your head back and meet his eyes. Seungcheol’s chest flutters.

For a moment, you look like you want to say something; however, an immediate grimace wrinkles your face and a tight hand is curling around your stomach. You scoot close to the toilet, holding onto its rim while a heavy cough burns acrid against your throat and suddenly, you’re upchucking the potent, venomous liquor from last night. Seungcheol collects your hair in his hand, pulling it back from your face. Once the surges calm for a few minutes, you’re too energy-depleted to do much apart from hang over the toilet, Seungcheol rubbing your back.

It’s three in the morning, but he feels like he would do anything for you.

iii.

Seungcheol opens his wallet and forks out the bills necessary to cover his lunch. He slides out from the booth first, accompanied by Seokmin and Jeonghan who suggested they go out to eat after their basketball game. Seungcheol trails behind them on his phone as they walk down a slim corridor toward the front of the restaurant. He’s texting Joshua about what their fridge looks like, and if it’s necessary to ask Jeonghan about making a stop at the supermarket. The afternoon light is dull as they enter the front house, and Seungcheol sees it’s raining outside.

“Wait—,” Jeonghan stops them before they can leave. “Let me try the gumball machine. Does anyone have ten cents?”

“The gumball machine?” Seokmin laughs. “Are you a child?”

“Shut up.” Jeonghan tuts in response. “I want a pink one. Now do you have ten cents or not?”

“Sheesh, give me a second, I’m checking.”

Seungcheol has developed the skill of tuning out their innocuous banter. He looks through the windows and into the downpour, which ripples unforgivingly against the glass and slicks the pavement. For their sake, he’s glad Jeonghan was able to find a parking spot across the street. As the boy gets down on his knee and crams the small coin into the slot, cranking the handle, something manages to catch in Seungcheol’s peripheral vision. His heart skips a beat. You’re looking out the window while nibbling worrisomely upon your bottom lip.

“Are you freaking kidding? Orange? That’s the worst.”

“Why does it matter?” Seokmin quips. “They all taste the same.”

Jeonghan huffs petulantly. “But I wanted pink! Do you have another ten cents?”

Seungcheol hasn’t seen you since your wicked hangover at the New Year’s party. Though it’s a moment of the past, he remembers the situation so vividly, even more so how restless he felt afterward. He was unable to remove you from his mind, and he thought about you so often that he felt the ache with his whole chest. You haven’t noticed him yet. Seungcheol wants to approach you, though he’s not sure how kindly you’ll react or if you’ll brush him off.

“Awe, yes! Pink!”

Jeonghan stands triumphantly from the gumball machine. He holds the pink candy between his fingers and gets ready to pop it straight in his mouth, and yet, the slippery thing flings from his grasp at the last second. The gumball hits the floor, rolling outside into the rain just as someone runs indoors with their umbrella. Seokmin starts cackling, and Jeonghan just looks like he wants to go home. But Seungcheol can’t leave right now. He decides he has to talk to you.

“Meet you guys in the car,” he says, “I have to do something first.”

Seungcheol taps you on the shoulder. You jump slightly, and he feels bad about scaring you, but he’s relieved to see that your expression is cordial rather than aggravated. It blatantly feels strange. You don’t resemble a stranger, yet you’re not extremely clear to him either.

“Seungcheol? Did you eat here?”

The boy nods. “Yeah, I came here after basketball with some friends”

“O-Oh,” you stutter, looking off to the side, “I’m just waiting.”

You then gesture out the window, toward the grey, heavy rain. Seungcheol spots Seokmin and Jeonghan walking across the street, sporting their jackets pulled over their heads, looking somewhat like imbeciles who he has a soft spot for. At one point you were close with both of them, but now Seungcheol doesn’t even know if you still keep in touch. When you broke up, your worlds started floating apart, and that included contact with each other’s friends.

“Right,” Seungcheol snaps his fingers, “you’re still doing the tutoring thing at the library, huh?”

A timid smile pulls on your lips. “I’m tutoring someone today, but it’s so rainy out. I don’t think it’s gonna pass very soon.”

Seungcheol finds that he doesn’t even process what comes out from his mouth. There’s a sudden rush of giddiness in his veins, and he feels like his nervous, sophomore-self that once crushed on you before your relationship even started. At the same time, it’s an offer he used to make without thought when you were dating, and it warps into a conflicting, emotional mess.

“Do you want my windbreaker?” He asks, plucking at the black and white fabric. “It’s waterproof and stuff.”

Your mouth hangs open for a little bit.

“Uhm… I just—I don’t know, you don’t have to—,”

“It doesn’t matter, seriously.” Seungcheol replies, staring into your wide eyes with a soft expression. “Just give it back whenever we see each other again, okay?”

You lick your lips, swallowing tautly before nodding your head. Seungcheol removes his jacket and helps you slip into the material. It’s a little bit big on you, and the hood droops down far over your face, but, god, seeing you in his clothes engenders Seungcheol’s heart to beat so unbelievably fast. He experiences a concoction of different emotions, different memories. He remembers how it felt seeing you wear his t-shirt after the first time you slept together, how he felt when you’d set up a long distance skype call and you’d be dressed in his old hoodie.

Everything comes rushing back. He doesn’t want to walk away from you, but he knows it’s wrong to linger. You don’t belong to each other anymore.

But at least he’ll get to see you again.

iv.

Seungcheol bounces the basketball a few times against the lacquered floor, feeling the leather texture brush beneath his palm. Then, he takes a deep shot, watching the ball suction perfectly into the hoop just before it echoes against the ground. He was the sole person occupying the gym after a late-night practice. Seokmin was with him about ten minutes ago, but he ended up packing his things and heading off to shower stalls, wishing Seungcheol a goodnight. Even though Seungcheol said he would be leaving shortly, he didn’t know why he was still here.

He picked the ball up and tossed it again, hearing the satisfying swish of the net.

The gym doors suddenly squeak, loud and metallic, to which Seungcheol takes out an earbud assuming that maybe Seokmin forgot something. However, the face that smiles at him doesn’t belong to Seokmin at all, and Seungcheol feels his heart soar. You’re holding the windbreaker that the boy let you borrow during the downpour last week, and he hears a relieved sigh.

“I figured I might catch you here.”

Seungcheol smiles and sets his earbud back in. It astonishes him that you can recall the days he has basketball practice, though Seungcheol supposes it makes great sense considering you used to attend all his warm-ups and games. He grows oddly fond seeing you from the court again.

“Just put in next to that black bag on the bench.”

“I never got to thank you for letting me use it,” you explain while returning the windbreaker to the rest of his belongings, “it was really pouring out, but I was definitely less wet than if I had nothing. I wasn’t too sure if you would still be here. Of course, I knew when I saw Seokmin.”

“It must’ve been weird for him to see you coming back here.” He replies. You would never come to the court unless Seungcheol was there.

“He said hi to me,” you admit, scratching your arm, “he looked kinda nervous though.”

Seungcheol can’t help but note that you seem a little saddened by the interaction. The break-up between you two was all but civilized and pretty. There was shouting, tears, bitter and cold words shanked through the thick air with infinitesimal regard for the other’s feelings. Seungcheol remembers you pushing a picture frame of you two together off the shelf, how the glass cracked, different shards scattering far across the floor. He remembers storming into his bedroom and throwing all your clothes into one heaping pile, demanding that you leave, swearing that he hopes to never see you again. Now, everything feels so pointless and stupid.

The falling out crumbled an entire web of ties between you. Seungcheol understands why Seokmin would be nervous to see you, but he hates to know how it’s upset you.

“Hey,” Seungcheol calls out, attempting to lift the depressive mood, “Wanna shoot?” He bounces the basketball.

You immediately tense. “Uh – no. I haven’t touched a basketball since we were dati—I mean, well – you know. I haven’t played at all.”

Seungcheol smiles, rolling his eyes. “Just come here.” He beckons. “I’ll remind you.”

“I-I don’t know, my friend is in the car. I shouldn’t keep her waiting.”

“It’ll take two minutes.” He reasons. “I promise.”

The boy is delighted to see you comply, even if you are hesitant and approach him with bleeding apprehensiveness. While he shows you how to hold the ball as well as the correct motion to make with your wrist, there’s a smile blooming from one corner of your mouth to the other. Sometimes the past feels exactly like it should: the past. At this moment, a warmth ignites between you two, a spark that feels passionate and ever-lasting. Once he gives a few examples, the ball is suddenly in your hands, and he watches brightly as you sink a basket.

Seungcheol collects the ball, smirking. “You wanna play?” He then asks, checking the ball straight into your chest.

“No,” you respond, sending it back harder, “you know I just said I have someone waiting.”

“It hasn’t been two minutes yet.”

“There’s probably thirty seconds left. We have no time.”

“Fine,” Seungcheol shakes his head, “be a loser.” He doesn’t wait for you, and flicks the ball through the hoop.

It hits the glossy wood, bounces a couple times, and proceeds to roll slowly across the ground. You look at Seungcheol, and Seungcheol looks at you. There’s a small moment of silence.

Until you’re both racing across the floor with arms extended, practically throwing yourselves toward the basketball. It just ghosts under your fingertips, and somehow you manage to secure it against your chest, though you’re unable to even rise from the floor as Seungcheol straddles your waist and attempts to whack the ball out of your grip. The chime of your laughter echoes loudly through the entire gymnasium. You’re too slippery and end up weaseling away, scrambling haphazardly to your feet and using your last breath to sail the ball toward the net.

Seungcheol is too late. He reaches for you, but the ball has already gone through.

As the boy wraps his arms around your waist and hugs your back against his firm, hard chest, you cry out triumphantly, pumping your fists in the air. To anyone who observed from the outside, you wouldn’t exactly paint the image of a broken relationship. You were laughing, celebrating, making harmless mockery pertaining to the other with stupid grins on your faces.

“You’re such a cheater.” Seungcheol says.

Wriggling to face him in the comfort of his grasp, you slide your arms around Seungcheol’s neck and scrunch your nose.

“How did I cheat? That was fair!”

Seungcheol grabs your hips tight, pulling you in close against his body until he can almost count the individual sparkles in your eyes and smell the sweetness of your hair.

“Uh? You said you weren’t gonna play.”

“I wasn’t!” You giggle. “Until you called me a l—,”

The metal doors squeak again. At the speed of light, you and Seungcheol detach from each other, the playful mood disintegrating as the girl who’d been waiting in the car comes looking for you. Seungcheol sees the light drain from your eyes. He watches your shoulders slump, and the deep lump you forcefully swallow upon being interrupted. Seungcheol is utterly disappointed too. His heart doesn’t quite beat the same when you bid him the tiniest, quietest goodbye before running over to your friend, apologizing to her for the unexpected wait. The doors rattle once more, and then the gym is completely empty. It stings worse than anything.

Seungcheol doesn’t understand why he can’t just have you back.

It’s sometime after ten-thirty when Seungcheol finally leaves Hansol and Wonwoo’s house. It’s not a long walk back to his miniscule apartment complex crammed in the middle of town, and he loves to soaks in the calm beauty belonging to the clear, star-speckled sky. He only went over to smoke after a tiresome day at his job, but he ended up staying much longer after Wonwoo revealed his game console. They took turns playing Portal and Grand Theft Auto. It was fun, a perfect way to unwind, and now Seungcheol is ready to wash up and go to bed.

He’s wearing his earphones while walking through town, listening to old songs that remind him of you, a playlist actually, one he started making before you were even together. No matter what happens – Seungcheol is always thinking about you these days. He misses you in a way that aches deeply, like his heart has been split in two by a sharp and jagged stone. In fact, while standing at an intersection, waiting for the light to glow in a walking man symbol, Seungcheol almost mistakes someone sitting at the bus bench across the street for you.

A moment passes, and he squints through the meagre lighting. Wait—that is you.

Your gaze keeps flitting nervously from the lurid phone in your hand to the dimly lit area that surrounds you. Your knee is quickly bouncing, and Seungcheol can sense at a distance how nervous you’re feeling. He doesn’t know why you’re sitting alone in the dark, but he can’t just leave you there. Instead of walking his usual route back to the apartment complex, Seungcheol approaches you, calls out your name softly as to not make you afraid. At first you respond to him with a moonfaced expression, but then you recognize his face and your heart quiets.

“Everything okay?” Seungcheol asks, taking out his earphones.

You gulp thickly and reflect a jittery smile. “Um, kinda. My boss made me stay late for closing. I tried texting my friend to pick me up, but she’s not responding.” A frozen breeze rifles through the air and you shiver. “I-I just, I don’t want to walk home alone.”

Seungcheol doesn’t hesitate to extend his hand.

“C’mon, I’ll take you.”

A grateful smile warms your face. Standing up from the cold bench, you grab Seungcheol’s hand and interlock fingers. Your address is still fresh in his mind, to which he easily navigates the streets with you beside him. At one point, a loud dog starts barking from a few blocks over and you nearly jump out from your own skin, though Seungcheol just slides his arm around your waist, gently pulling you further into his solace. He feels you instantly relax against him. An indescribable light fills his chest. To be able to make you feel safe, like he used to, it’s aweing.

“This is it, right?” Seungcheol asks upon approaching the house porch. He knows it’s right, but he waits for you to confirm it.

“You’re right.” You tell him in a tiny voice.

His hand grazes the small of your back as you walk up the steps together, stopping before the door and its weathered, white paint. A bitterness stings against Seungcheol’s throat, a truly horrible bitterness. He doesn’t want to say goodbye – he wants to stay. He wants to take you inside and wait on your bed as you get ready for the night. He wants to experience that beautiful fluttering in his stomach when you crawl into his arms and shut off the light, his hand stroking your spine as you fall asleep, your soft, slow breaths fanning against his neck.

Why does it have to hurt like this? Seungcheol hates that he’s so in love with you, but he’d never want it any other way. Even if he has to endure this pain, it’s better than never getting to know you, touch you or love you. He swallows the hot salt and gets ready to bid his goodbye.

“Sleep well, okay? Maybe I’ll see you agai—,”

Suddenly, you’re hugging Seungcheol. Your arms wrap securely around his waist and you bury your face in his neck. He takes a slight step backward, caught off guard by the blitz of affection. He hears you suck in a trembling breath, and then he feels wet, cold droplets slide against his skin. Instantly, he holds you, one hand dearly cradling the back of your head while the other passes up and down your back. You shake in his arms and he doesn’t know why. Seungcheol just hugs you tighter. If he has to, he’ll hold you for the entire night.

“S-Seungcheol,” you release his name in a sob, lifting your head from his neck. His heart beats wildly as he looks directly into your teary eyes. “I’m s-sorry.” You cry to him. “I-I’m so sorry…”

“What?” He cups your face, collecting a few thick tears with his thumb. “For what, honey?”

“E-Everything,” you hiccup, grabbing his waist tighter, “for the st-stupid fights, the p-picture, all those h-horrible things I yelled at you – I hate my-myself because of it.”

Seungcheol shakes his head and brings your face in closer to his, brown eyes glistering. “I don’t care about that. I don’t. I said horrible things too, sweetheart. I yelled at you, I told you to leave, I made you so upset, and I know exactly how you feel.” He rubs his thumb tenderly below your damp eye, and you ease into his touch. “But that was a different time. No matter what, I’m still in love with you. What happened months ago doesn’t change that. I promise.”

You sniffle back the new pearls that nearly stain your face.

“Really? Y-You still love me?”

Seungcheol leans in. He presses his forehead against yours, his fingers delicately framing your wet, warm cheek. And then he’s kissing you softly, pouring every ounce of his heart into the contact. Your hand curls around the back of his neck. You respond passionately, keeping him as near as possible, nipping gently at his bottom lip while stealing each other’s breath. Seungcheol peers directly into your gaze. It’s glassy from the tears, but also sincere and welcoming.

“I never stopped.” He says earnestly.

He feels your fingertips thread through the black silk of his hair. You kiss him again, and his grip finds the familiarity of your hips, leading you backward until you press against the door.

“I love you too.” You admit to him between every peck.

In the rising heat, you whisper against the boy’s pretty mouth, “I want you back,” to which the words engender Seungcheol’s heart to positively melt. Seungcheol knows you already have him. It doesn’t take long before you’re unlocking the door with the key beneath an ancient flowerpot. You hop into his arms, and Seungcheol catches you like it’s nothing, sitting you on top of the corridor dresser while his kisses wander further down your neck. Every whimper he hears turns him fonder. You admit again that you love him and he smiles against your skin.

Seungcheol will always need you. He hopes he always has you.

#svt scenarios #svt fanfic #seungcheol scenarios #seventeen scenarios #seventeen angst #seungcheol angst #seventeen fanfic #seventeen imagines #svt smut #s.coups scenarios #TIME TO CRY!

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goldeneyedgirl · 3 years

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TwiFicMas2020 Day 1: Anathema

It’s that time of year again - when I bombard you with fic I’ve written over the year and haven’t posted, whether it is an outtake, part of a WIP, or something that ended up going sideways but still had some cool bits I was proud of.

Everything will be tracked under the ‘TwiFicMas2020′ and ‘FicMas2020′ tags. Most fics are incomplete scenes - “--” is a scene break, “//” means that there’s a cut - it’s probably not yet written.

First up is Anathema, the fourth or fifth attempt at the ‘Alice works in a mortuary/funeral home’ idea that refuses to solidify itself - though I think I’m getting closer. I enjoy the idea that Charlie Swan is in on Forks’ secrets (before Jacob strips in front of him, lol) and I am always here for the supernatural world being more than just vampires and shifters.

I hope you enjoy and thank you for reading!

The day the Cullens arrive in Forks, two things happen.

The first, I draw both Death, and the Wheel of Fortune. A combination that, frankly, sounds time-consuming. I lie in bed and contemplate them for awhile. The cards are soft, from lifetimes of passing from hand to hand (my dearest and most beloved Great-Aunt Jeanne passed this set to me when she died. At the time, I was too young to understand the true gift in cards that had never before been touched by Brandon hands - before mine.) The cards are illustrated so carefully, so detailed. They smell like dried lavender and the scrap of linen that I wrap them in, and there is something so reassuring about each and every card.

I draw my cards every few days before I get up. I find it calming, the shuffle of them against my fingers, as I let my dreams fade. It’s a quiet time, and one I savour.

Eventually, I do have to get up, though. No rest for the wicked. The cards go back into the wooden jewellery box some young man carved for some young woman in Jeanie’s family long before I was even a glimpse of a thought, and back into my nightstand drawer.

I - we - live on the first floor of the Brandon Funeral Home, a perfectly respectable converted Georgian house at the end of Main Street, where it sweeps around to Cedar Road. It’s a shit place to have a corner, and more than once speed racers have spun out; whoever’s scraped off the road and our front walk usually end up in the freezers in the basement.

But I digress.

Breakfast is mundane. Dulcie is there, hair in curlers, and a frown on her face when she realises I am not dressed. I sit crosslegged across two thrift-store chairs in my camisole and booty shorts, spooning jam onto toast with the precision of a good scientist and ignore her reminding me of my dressing gown (a sturdy pink-flower print flannel that is buried in my closet. My preferred robe, a thin grey kimono, is currently in my laundry pile) and ‘common decency’, as if my elderly great-uncle is looking to leer at the decided lack of anything I have up north or down south.

Dulcie is… Dulcie. No replacement for Aunt Jeanie, but a good woman. I find it funny that Uncle Freddie is an old man now, and he still reels ‘em in. Or he would if Jeanie’s death hadn’t broken, shattered, and wrecked him. Dulcie worked for us for a few years before she set her eyes on the top bedroom and changing ‘Dulcie Dunn-Stanley’ to ‘Dulcie Brandon’.

Oh, that sounds very jaded. It’s mutual, Freddie and Dulcie. Their courtship was glacial and it’s really only recently that Dulcie’s been hinting about heading to the court house. And, honestly, whatever makes Uncle Freddie happy. Dulcie’s kind to me, we mostly get along, and her attempts to mother me are so far inconsistent - but she is usually pretty respectful.

My uncle lingers over his food; he’s got a new book open at his elbow, and no one can pry my uncle away from his books. They’re usually hardcover, non-fiction. Most of the boxes stored in the third floor are my uncles books.

After breakfast, I am banished to get dressed for work, which is in the basement today, where I am to be the hands as we prepare one Lewis Fletcher for his Saturday morning funeral. There’s a sack of bagged organs resting in the chest cavity, from the autopsy (elk or deer attack, the report says), and I get to stitch Lewis back together, get to fill him full of chemicals, seal things with putty, and get to face painting. The Fletchers are a pretty ordinary family locally, and the service will be simple - they were very agreeable when Freddie met with them last week.

I put my music on and hum as I prepare my kit. It’s no secret that an unqualified teenage girl doing this work probably breaks a lot of laws, but Freddie’s hands aren’t as steady as they used to be, and he’s old enough to remember when a family business meant that the younger generation was trained by the older at home, no degrees or certifications necessary.

Sometimes I wonder what Jeanie would have thought, me working down here like this. Would she have understood? Would she have been mad or upset or disappointed?

We’ll never know.

Freddie fetches us both a cup of tea, and hovers at my shoulder as I piece together Mr Fletcher’s chest cavity.

“Smaller stitches, Alice,” Freddie says, inspecting my work carefully. “Redo that section, stitch closer together, and small stitches.”

I nod, turning around to grab a scalpel from the tray beside me to cut the wonky stitches free and start again, and I freeze as the ice-cold feeling envelopes me. No, no, no it’s been so long…

For a moment, I am unfixed in time and space. I am still in the basement, with the buzzing fluorescent lights, and smooth metal drawers and cupboards, the stink of formaldehyde. But instead of a clean, bare second table, I am lying there. But I’m not dead, and I’m not alone. It’s him. The boy - man? - I’ve been seeing for so long, in visions and dreams. He’s hovering above me, a veritable sculpture of pale flesh as he peels off his shirt, our mouths still fused together, my hands gripping his hips. I am a much less collected figure, with my tights around my knees, one shoe still on and my shirt hiked up over my bra. Vision-Me pulls away to say something, and He laughs, and it’s then the light catches his eyes. Dark gold.

Golden-eyes.

“Oh fuck,” Real-Me says, and somehow Vision-Him knows I’m Seeing and looks right at me, where I’m standing with a scalpel in my hand.

“Alice?” My uncle’s hand on my shoulders brings me right back to the right point in time and space.

It’s at the point I hit the floor, manage to stab myself quite viciously with the scalpel and my uncle starts cussing.

It’s been a while between visions.

The Council was basically the reason Freddie and I stayed in Forks. It was a fifty-fifty split between honouring Jeanie’s wishes, and keeping me safe and out of sight - as if my aspirations were towards a Vegas nightclub act or international pop star. I wasn’t entirely clueless.

Forks was built in a special place. A place where the barriers between the ordinary and the extraordinary were a little thinner, where the supernatural were drawn to. Jeanie had theorised that was why the Quileute were able to tap into their spirit wolves so easily, and why the gene remained so strong, father to son without a constant presence of their enemies. I didn’t know enough of their history to have an opinion, but Forks was definitely a place with an interesting history that very few people knew - even I only knew a fraction of everything that happened, past and present. There were very few written accounts; most of the histories were oral and passed down on a strict need-to-know basis.

The Council were definitely in the know, and had been for generations. There was Billy Black, Sue and Harry Clearwater representing the Quileute tribe, there was Charlie Swan representing Forks and everyone not in the know, and there was Freddie and I. Freddie, was technically Jeanie’s representative, and was the Mediator between the Ordinary and the Others. Jeanie’s family had been Mediators for generations, but she’d never had children, so all of that had somehow fallen onto Freddie - and me.

It was extremely useful to have the Police Chief and a Mortician working the Council - we’d had to fudge more than a few deaths. There was always someone or something passing through the Olympic Peninsula, and we’d negotiated, challenged, threatened, and banished more than a few creatures over the last few years.

Technically, all parties were allowed to bring their apprentice representative, but I was the only one of the next generation who attended. Charlie Swan had made it clear he didn’t want his daughter involved in any of this, and both Billy and the Clearwaters had decided that their kids were too young to know exactly what went on around here. I figured in a decade or so, it would just be me, Seth, and Jacob Black (no way would Leah hang around just for this shit show), drinking beer in the woods and deciding whether to burn or bury.

But tonight’s meeting was Special. Despite the fact I’d been drawing nonsensical cards for days now - the Star, the Tower, and Justice - no visions had appeared beyond a dream about a locket with ‘W’ engraved on it. I’d expected a fairly normal meeting, until Freddie had let me in on the plan - we were, apparently, meeting with the Cullen family. No one had informed me exactly what or who the Cullens were, only that they had a ‘fourth seat’ in the Council that they’d been entitled to since the ‘30s. I’d have to go through Jeanie’s diaries again - there were boxes of them in storage, and Jeanie had useful tidbits dotted throughout.

So that was why I was in the forest with my grandfather, shivering underneath two coats and in my new fleecy boots, standing around a fire pit that didn’t really do much more than illuminate the burning wood; the lanterns we’d brought were more effective.

Some days I really wished Leah or Seth or Jacob Black would attend these meetings; they’d certainly liven up these meetings a bit.

“They’ll be here soon,” Billy Black said grimly. Billy Black had it worse than the rest of us - getting out to this part of the forest was awkward and time-consuming with his wheelchair. Since these meetings were clandestine, we couldn’t build a proper track.

“The terms are staying the same?” Charlie asked, sipping from a paper cup of coffee Sue had pressed on him.

Billy frowned. “We aren’t here to renegotiate, but we will listen to their petition if they have one,” he said finally.

“What are the existing terms?” I asked, nudging a mossy rock with my toe.

“We’ll go over that later on, Alice,” Freddie said, watching the woods carefully.

Fine, obstruct my completely transparent attempt at finding out what was actually going on. I was definitely intrigued by the idea this clan had a ‘seat’ at the Council, but it involve negotiations? The only creature I could think of that would fit that kind of profile would be some kind of shifter.

I was bored.

And then the mysterious Cullens arrived.

They came out of the woods like a mist; slowly but all at once. They kept a respectful distance away from the fire pit, clad in pristine new clothing that was a touch too light for the cold weather but was good quality. There were three of them - a blond man, a brunette woman, and a red-haired boy - all three of them taller than average, and pale as snow. And they were lovely, as if Grecian statues had climbed down from their plinth and wandered off.

“Hello,” the man said, nodding at us politely. “Thank you for welcoming us to this meeting.”

“You’ve a right to be here, as outlined in the treaty,” Billy Black said sternly. “This is the current Council - Charlie Swan for Forks. My self, Billy Black, and Harry and Sue Clearwater for the Quileute tribe. Fred Brandon as Mediator. Carlisle Cullen for the Cullen Coven.”

Coven meant vampires. That dampened my spirits a little; my history with vampires was messy. Plus the few vampires that had ventured into this area had been unpleasant experiences. But as I stared at the Cullen coven, I noticed their eyes.

Golden, like liquid light.

Was He one of them? Was the Cullen coven only these three, or where there more?

“And the young lady?” Carlisle Cullen said, looking in my direction.

“My niece,” Freddie said in a no-nonsense tone. “Shall we begin?”

“I assume Ursula Altis has since passed? My condolences to her family,” Carlisle Cullen said. “I had a great respect for Ursula.”

“Yes. Ursula’s apprentice passed on several years ago, and she named Fred and Alice as her successors,” Harry said.

“I am sorry for your loss,” Carlisle Cullen nodded at Freddie and I. I half-smiled back at him. Jeanie had been gone a long time but I still missed her.

“This is my wife, Esme, and my oldest son Edward,” Carlisle gestured to his two companions.

“Oldest son?” Charlie Swan said sharply.

“Yes - I have three others, but we did not want to overwhelm you,” Carlisle said. “They are here, if you would like to meet them?”

“Yes. We want to know the entirety of your coven,” Harry said bluntly.

Carlisle grimaced and nodded. “Of course. My other children - Rosalie, Emmett, and Jasper.”

Three more Cullens materialised from behind Carlisle Cullen - a tall blonde girl who was utterly breathtaking to look at, had a displeased expression, and was wearing the genuine designer version of my knock-off winter coat. The second was a bear of a man, with the friendliest face, and curly black hair, who winked at me as he wrapped an arm around the blonde girl’s shoulders.

And then a lanky blond boy with a dark expression and wavy blond hair, who hovered in the shadows, his features mostly obscured. All of them had the same golden eyes, the same pallor and dark under-eye circles. But they didn’t look or behave like other nomads that had passed through. They looked… like a nice family.

Maybe in a decade, Jacob, Seth, and I would be joined by Emmett Cullen for the ‘burn or bury’ booze up. He looked like he’d be the most up for livening up these meetings.

“Your family has grown.” Billy’s voice was accusing, and I turned to look at his stern expression.

“My son, Jasper, joined us in 1965,” Carlisle Cullen said politely, “Looking for a different lifestyle. We have abided by your terms, and would not have returned to this area if we were not prepared to continue to do so.”

The Quiluetes weren’t thrilled with that news, and Charlie just looked kind of tired. Freddie was taking notes on his phone, and I was just cold and getting bored again… until I noticed movement out of the corner of my eye.

Jasper was prowling away from the others, closer to me, where I stood at my uncle’s side. Both eyes were on me, like liquid amber, and I finally got a good look at him.

Jasper was Him - the boy hovering over me, half-dressed on the gurney; the boy kissing my scar, and sliding in behind me in the shower. The boy that had hovered at the edges of my visions and dreams since I was young, with adoration in his eyes and gentle touches.

The boy I’d love so fiercely and deeply…

Talk about a terrible time to finally meet.

“Oh fuck,” I said, as I looked at him, eyes wide. All those wretched cliches that terrible books write about happened at that moment. I was enchanted, besotted, and absolutely irrevocably attached to this Jasper Cullen. He was mine.

“Step back!” Harry barked out, but Jasper Cullen ignored him, watching me carefully. I couldn’t help myself; I smiled brightly at him, and he kept moving towards me. Flashes of knowledge were appearing in my head, and for some reasons I kept seeing the Lovers card, still in my deck at home. I could hear people talking, getting angry, but it was like the buzz of insects as Jasper Cullen got closer to me. His hand reached out slowly, to stroke the curve of my cheek, studying me with the strangest look on his face.

And then the pain hit, like someone had shoved an ice pick through my left eye and into my brain. The visions were folding over and over, like origami, before I could decipher them. Choices being made, minds changing, so fast I could keep up. I heard myself cry out as I fell, and then everything was dark.

Then I was seeing things in real time. The way I fell, blood running from my nose, to everyone’s utter horror. My eyes were rolled back in my head, and my body jerked in a seizure a few times before I was still.

But no one could get near me. As soon as I had fallen, Jasper had crouched over my prone form, with a horrified look on his face. Everyone was yelling and trying to get closer, and Jasper let out a snarl that was, frankly, terrifying before refocusing on me, taking my hand and plucking my glove off it, to rest against his own cheek. Whatever that was supposed to achieve did nothing, and whilst everyone else was yelling and bickering, he let out a low whine that was so pathetic, if I’d had any control over my body, I would have sat up and given him a hug.

Then Carlisle Cullen placed his hands up to the Council in a gesture of peace and nodded to Emmett before approaching Jasper.

The conversation would have been too low for anyone else to hear, but not me, in whatever kind of vision this was.

“Jasper, I understand,” Carlisle Cullen said in a low voice. “But she’s got a medical condition, you need to let her people take care of her.”

Jasper growled low, Emmett’s hand on his shoulder.

“Bro, c’mon,” he said. “You’re scaring them,” he nodded over his shoulder. Sue’s face was white with fear, and I was scared that Harry was going to stroke out on the spot.

And I was there, Sleeping Beauty, with a smear of fresh blood on my face.

“I can’t,” Jasper seemed to force out between gritted teeth. “She’s mine.” It was said with determination and desperation, and a deep tenderness.

I was pleased that whatever my embarrassing collapse had been, at least I knew we were on the same page -that we knew each other and we knew each other.

And just like that, like they were magic words, my eyes open and I was back in reality, staring up at the man-boy who was staring at me like I held the secrets to the universe.

“Alice, did he hurt you?” Freddie called out in a strained voice.

“No, that was me. Too much new information,” I said, as I began to sit up, Jasper sliding my glove back on my hand before I realised it was still missing. He held out his hand to help me up, his touch so careful and gentle.

“Okay, good. Come over here,” Freddie motioned for me to move to where the group seemed to have bunched across from the Cullens. Charlie Swan looked murderous. “She’s nothing to you, boy, just let her go.”

I winced when Freddie said that, realising immediately it was like a red flag to a bull, and all of a sudden there was a lot of motion. Jasper growled, attempting to shove me behind him - to protect me? - whilst Emmett and Carlisle Cullen decided it was time to get Jasper physically under control, and pulled him back towards where the rest of the family was standing.

I tripped over a rock and stumbled but righted myself as Jasper was bodily dragged back to where Esme, Rosalie, and Edward Cullen were waiting, looking worried.

“Are you okay, sweetheart?” Mrs Cullen asked as I moved back to Freddie’s side, where he quickly clasped me to him, giving me the once over.

“I’m fine,” I said before catching Emmett having bent Jasper’s arms behind his back at a hideous angle, his knee digging into Jasper’s spine. “Oh, don’t hurt him! Please!” I made a move towards them but Sue grabbed my arm, and Jasper turned to stare at me with what I can only describe as hope.

“I think this meeting is done,” Charlie Swan said finally. “You agree to maintain the existing treaty - that’s all we need. Thank you for coming.”

“Of course, we don’t want to cause any issues,” Mrs Cullen said, and Freddie snorted, shielding me with his body.

I felt like a prisoner being frog-marched back to the car.

“Back at the Brandon’s?” Charlie said, as we arrived at the cars.

“Of course,” Freddie said. “Coffee and debrief.”

#twificmas2020 #ficmas2020 #jalice #alice cullen #jasper hale #cullen family #fandom #my writing #fan fic #my fic #wip #charlie swan #my fic: anathema

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revol-lover · 4 years

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nope i do need to vent

the thing is like i guess i’m just upset and got triggered by something today because like i can accept i guess what happened to me. well i guess i dont know if accept is the right word but it happened. i cant go back and change a single thing. i know that.

but whenever i’m reminded that what happened wasn’t ok and wasn’t normal and was literally so rare and so abnormal it just makes me so fucking sad because i wind up in the mindset of what if it didn’t happen. what if things went right. the way they were supposed to. who would i be right now?

i get reminded of who i was before the trauma. i was in such a GOOD place. i was SO happy. i was FREE from a toxic environment that i had patiently waited for YEARS to get out of. it was finally happening. everything was falling into place and i was so happy with my life. and i was so freaking happy to be having my baby, finally. and a daughter too, which was surprising to me because my whole life i was convinced i’d have a son and that like, me getting a daughter would never happen (i wouldve been happy regardless i guess i just never genuinely imagined having a girl so it was a huge happy shock)

and then it all happened and everything came crashing down. starting with not being able to go into labor on my own. being 2 weeks late. being induced. labor forever (over 24hr). push for almost 3 hours. baby not doing well. low apgars. birth injury. immediate nicu transfer. not able to see her except for a quick minute before they sent her to another hospital and even then it was a glimpse, didnt get to hold her. going to bed that night in complete emptiness. complete fucking emptiness. why. why did it have to happen that way? being left alone the next morning so kevin could be with her (this was hard but i wanted one of us to be by her side.) having to suck it up and try my hardest to LOOK “ok” so that i could be discharged early and be able to go with her. have to suck up my pride and call my parents to drive me to the other hospital. mom comes. i get a call from kevin that babies having seizures. i cry. obviously. midwife (she was determined negligent so a lot of all of this is her fucking fault) told me that it was “normal” and “Happens sometimes” “but you pushed her out though!” i wanted to fucking slap her. it wasnt normal. and who cares if i pushed her out? if a c section would’ve prevented this i wouldve gladly done so for my child’s wellbeing the fuck.

midwife approves d/c. leaves room. i cry. because wtf is my life. wtf is going on with my baby. everything is a disaster. my mom slams her fist on the food tray and tells me “stop crying!!! youll get that post partum shit!!”

...

because that’s how it works

...

i could go on and on about how the day and day after my baby was born were the worst days of my life not the best. the worst. because i literally almost lost her. she could’ve died that night. she had to be in cooling therapy for 3 days so we couldn’t hold her until she was 4 days old. by that point we already got the talk about the future. about how they didnt know if she’d ever walk or talk or if she’d have behavioral or learning problems etc because of her brain injury .it was a fucking lot. not to mention at the same time i was so sick physically myself (couldnt keep food down. was trying to pump breast milk for her, but would vomit after every time. it was horrible and i stopped before we took her home) i definitely shouldnt have been d/c 12 hours after birth but i had to because i wasn’t going to be away from her for longer .but it just all was so terrifying and we had a hard time bonding initially because of all of this and it was truly such a horrible time. and then the denial from our family. telling us doctors could be wrong and “she looks fine”. people dont realize how hurtful and not help that is. you can be in denial all you want because it is not YOUR child. and no you cant “see” a brain injury.

and when there’s no reason to think of all this i can go a long time without thinking of it but then it happens

the triggers.

the pampers commercial. the perfect birth story. a photo of a newborn on their mother’s chest.

and all those emotions just come flooding back and it sucks. i grieve for what life could’ve been if this hadnt happened. i grieve the fact that my daughter didnt get to be held for those first 4 days. that her little body had to go through what it did. that she had to lay on a cold pad (it helps slow down the bodies response to injury, which can prevent further damage) for 3 days after being warm and safe inside me for her whole existence.i grieve because although my daughter is doing well, it still should not have happened. shes not out of the woods. kids w her diagnosis have seizures return during developmental points of childhood.i have no idea what school will be like for her -- and the thing is like its ok. i am capable of handling that when/if we get there but. it just sucks and none of it should’ve ever happened and i cant change anything. i know that. but sometimes i cant help but wonder what wouldve happened if things had gone right. would i have bonded better? would i not have had such a hard time adjusting to new mother hood? would i have had another child by now? would i have continued on that journey of feeling so happy and content with my life that i was on before all of this instead of just feeling kind of empty and jaded a literal 1/2 of the time? not with motherhood, necessarily, because after the first year i started to find myself as a mother more and thanks to the encouragement i got from her early intervention nurse, i really feel certain that i did well that first year especially. like we both (kevin and i) did our best for her and are partially responsible for her good outcome. but i mean with life. i feel so jaded half the time. because life is unfair. and i knew that but man. no. life can be REALLY fucking unfair and idk where i’m even going with this anymore. sometimes i can find the way to having a mindset again of, we aren’t in control and all that, i get it but, idk. certain things still shouldnt’ happen and sometimes i really wish i could go back to who i ws before all this, when i had a genuine sense of optimism, because i thought, i had been through some of the hardest days already, and that was naive of me to think, but i just could have never predicted what was coming. and i’m still grieving that.

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weaveroftruth · 4 years

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The Starweaver’s Descent

Facing the Devil, pt 3. [Part 6][Index]

ft. @velarishiku — written by @velarishiku with edits by @weaveroftruth

CW/TW: mentions and somewhat descriptive writing of violence.

Taking the back streets had slowed down the Miqo’te a little, not as quick on his feet as he used to be after years of being out of the killing business, but he hadn’t wanted to be seen carrying a woman that was soon to be dead. Stealth won over speed in this circumstance, didn’t it? He briefly wondered if he could frame the half-elezen woman she’d come here with, but shoved the thought aside for now.

As he finally reached the docks, he boarded a boat that would take him to the Ruby Price, where he planned to switch to a different boat, making his movement difficult to track. He ignored the linkpearl that began to ring, unable to really answer it given the woman in his arms.

Finally arriving at the Ruby Price, Vel could be spotted immediately scanning the area, checking the other boats - spotting the man boarding another boat. The half elezen then burst into a full sprint - way faster than anyone should be able to, given the full plate armor weighing down her small frame - chasing after him, aiming to make it to the boat before it leaves.

Having previously arrived at the Ruby Price, K’wata had made a switch to the other boat, feeling like he’s home free, when he spotted the woman running towards him at a full sprint — an immensely terrifying sight. A curse under his breath could be heard, as if he knew wouldn’t have enough time to leave before Velari reached them. He then simply dropped Jade onto the floor of the boat, a sickening thud reverberating as he pulled out his dagger — the only weapon he currently had on him.

”You sure she ain’t paying ya, darlin’? I could double it, I’m sure…”

As she neared the boat, Vel drew her shield and sword, sprinting at full speed, aiming to slam him directly in the chest as hard as possible with the wide shield, away from Jade. He was going to regret this.

All of it.

The shield made full contact with his chest, knocking the wind out of him and his body far from the other half-elezen. In the process, he dropped his weapon, a fact that now had him attempting to curse between pained breaths.

Orange eyes focused on the armored half-elezen woman, feeling fear for the first time in a very long time as he felt the intense amount anger radiating off her, anger that seemed like it was creating a static-filled tension in the air. “Who… Who are you…?” He muttered out between laboured breaths, still trying to recover from the pain that had overwhelmed his form. “W… What are you..?” His eyes darted over to the woman that still lay motionless upon the floor, bruises beginning to bloom up on her skin from where she was dropped. ”Why..? She’s worthless.”

Velari slowly walked towards him, casting aside the sword and shield, menacingly adjusting her gauntlets as her entire body shook with rage. Rage at the one who had been the one to bring all this hurt, all this pain, all this torture to the one she cared about.

"I told you my name, scum. You're not going to hurt her any more... Or anyone, for that matter." She stepped closer... and closer... and closer still. Each step heavier, and louder than the last.

"What have you to say in your defense, before I beat the life out of you?" Vel loomed over him - an incredibly intimidating sight with the anger and hatred that emanated from her - the way she looked down at him, there was no mistaking it: she thought less of him than dirt, and he would be made to know it.

The Miqo’te began to tremble slightly as the woman stepped closer, trying to scurry backwards despite the ache that dwelled within his body. He didn’t get very far though, it already hurt too much to move, having taken the brunt of the shield like he had. He looked away from the woman, trying to ignore the gaze that told him that she was nothing in his eyes, less than that in fact.

”What… What if I pay you off and we can forget about this, huh? I’ll leave her—” he spat the word in disgust. “—alone for your sake. How’s that sound, darlin’?”

Bright green eyes stared at him in disgust. "Absolutely vile. Disgusting. Pathetic." Vel leaned back, forcing a right hook directly into his face, putting all of her weight into it; she knew exactly how to hit him, and it hurt.

"What makes you think you're going to leave here alive? If anything, you've done me a favor... Leaving the city, coming into an area controlled by pirates...? They won't bat an eye at me killing you, you know?" There was a smirk that followed her words, one that would be ingrained into the man’s mind as his last moments. She was going to enjoy this.

There was audible cracks as fragments of his cheek and jawbones shattered when the gauntleted fist came into contact with his face. The Miqo’te let out a yelp of pain, the only thing he was able to do as he tried to force his body to scurry further away.

Knowing the woman was right, that nobody would bat an eye at his death here, he attempted to climb to his feet, a partially successful feat as his body fought against every move. He then grabbed at his weapon that lay nearby and ignoring the half-elezen woman entirely, tried to make a dart for the still motionless woman. At least if he got to her, all of this would’ve been worth it. No matter the outcome…

"How stupid can you be? You could at least try to stab the one killing you..."

Vel grabbed his arm as he tried to pass by - the one with the knife in hand - and simply snapped it in two as if it were nothing but a twig, bending it all the way backwards at the elbow with a sickening crack.

She tossed him by the now broken arm back into the spot he had tried to dart from. "Really, you're making this harder on yourself. All you're doing is making me want to hurt you even more.”

She stomped down hard on his foot, with a crunch under her heavy plated boot as the wood splintered beneath them.

There was a scream of pain that came from the Miqo’te as his arm was snapped in two, the bone fragmenting into separate pieces. As he landed back where he’d previously been, his other arm came up to cradle the now broken one as she continued to talk, before there was a sharp pain that ran up his leg, radiating from his foot as heavy plate shattered another part of bone, bringing another yelp from K’wata.

The miqo’te began to shake heavily as he gazed up at the woman with eyes full of fear, that seemed almost pleading as he frantically shook his head. “Please…” he managed to mutter out, despite how much it hurt him.

"Are you going to sit still, or do I need to break your other arm, too? Tell me why I shouldn't kill you right here, right now."

She picked him up by his collar, lifting him up completely off the ground, dangling him in the air.

"Maybe if you give me a good answer, I'll make it quick.."

As he was picked up, he began to struggle frantically against her hold, hoping to find a way to get the woman to let him go, “I… I don’t have one…” he muttered out.

As the woman continued to hold him there, he glanced over at Jade, noticing small movements and sounds from her injured form that indicated she was starting to wake up.

“Do you really want her to see this?”

"Do I want her to see this? Do I? Yes. I want her to see how pathetic you are. How worthless you truly are. How weak you are. You are nothing. A bug. No, even less than that. Calling you a bug would be an insult to bugs. Yes, I want her to see this. Why do you think I haven't killed you yet? I could have done it the moment you were within range..."

#ffxiv #ff14 writing #ff14 rp #of jade green #the starweaver's descent #how the flower blooms #violence

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redroseinsanity · 5 years

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Ōmagatoki - Day 2

@daisugaweek2019 | Day 2 - Haste/Wish

Chapters: 2/7

Summary: In the Kamakura period, a fallen samurai undertakes a journey to pray for the mountain god’s mercy as a famine threatens his people, but instead meets an enchanting tree spirit. Daichi knows that the kodama is possibly the most dangerous being he has ever encountered, and yet, he falls.

—

“What if I told you that there’s a price to pay for saving your people?”

“What kind of price?”

“A sacrifice.”

One | Two | Three | Four | Five | Six | Seven

Daichi woke with the dawn. In the early strains of morning light, the clearing that he had decided to take a chance and fall asleep in proved to be a good choice, with a thick amount of vegetation providing ample buffer from the chilly night winds.

As the night’s memories streamed into his consciousness, he glanced around and found that he was alone. With a wry grin, he shook his head. A dream, after all.

The alluring stranger was nothing more than a figment of his exhausted mind or the result pushing his body too far after months of inactivity. Nevertheless, he shut his eyes and recalled the way his name had sounded in that musical voice, holding it the way one held a piece of candy on their tongue.

Daichi.

He drew a deep breath, and proceeded to banish it from his mind.

After washing up in a stream nearby, he ate some of his rations and drank his fill before moving off, taking care to mentally mark his route lest he lose his way.

He had no clear idea what he was looking for, but if he were to believe the stories, he would know it when he found it. A place or a landmark or something that he would see, and know in his bones that it was where he ought to be paying his respects.

By midday, he had plunged so deep into the heart of the mountain forest that he had the nagging feeling he might have gotten lost. The logical part of him demanded that he turn back and head down the mountain, go home and return to the meaningless wallowing in self-pity that he had indulged in prior to this.

But he hadn’t found what he was looking for and he refused to revert to the despondent creature he had been. Daichi’s sense of duty had been unwavering even in the blur of his purposeless moping, and it had been the sense of responsibility he felt for his people that had dragged him out to practise his combat drills, to take tours to see the extent of the problem and eventually, had forced him up this very mountain. So, on he pressed, past hanging vines and gleaming blades of immaculately shaped leaves, careful not to disturb intricately constructed webs.

In the thick of the woods, he grew increasingly uneasy as he manoeuvred across fallen logs and mossy stones. A stream trickled along in the distance and by this point, he was fairly certain he had chanced upon some kind of untouched paradise, given the surreal beauty of the scenery.

Yet, there was a cold prickling at the back of his neck and something in his gut had his hand clasped loosely around the hilt of his katana. This place was perfect, too perfect, in fact. Was this it?

“Daichi?“

Keep reading on AO3 or read after the cut

Daichi whirled around, half drawing his blade as he struggled to locate the source. From the thicket, the stranger seemed to have been pulled from thin air, his figure rippling in the wind while Daichi blinked, trying to focus on him.

"It is you,” the stranger’s hazel eyes were no less beautiful in the daylight than they had been at dusk, but they held a measure of concern and something sharper, something Daichi tried and failed to put a finger on.

You’re real, Daichi thought in disbelief, his gaze flickering over a slight build clad in pale jade cloth and faltering at the same silver spun hair, dripping over his shoulders.

“What are you doing here?” The stranger asked, taking bold steps over just as he had quietly and unhesitatingly sidled up to Daichi the night before.

“I could be asking you the same question,” Daichi shifted into a defensive stance, “Who are you? Why are you here?” How is it that I have not met you sooner?

The stranger seemed surprised, then a delighted smile lit his face and Daichi promptly forgot all the other questions he had.

“You can call me Suga,” he stopped right in front of Daichi, bringing the faint scent of cedar with him, “I am wandering, just like you.”

Up close and in the light, Suga was far more beguiling than Daichi had anticipated and he groped for words or any form of coherency in his brain while valiantly attempting to recover the power of speech.

“I am not wandering,” he managed to say firmly, “I am searching for a specific place so I suppose you can say that I am questing.”

“Well, I can tell you this is not the right place,” Suga declared cheerfully, turning towards the direction he originally came from and starting off.

When he realised that Daichi had not followed, he threw a look back and frowned.

“Are you not coming?”

“Do you know where it is? If not, I- I am afraid I must keep going,” Daichi fought down the instinctive urge to go wherever Suga did and willed his feet to stay planted where they were.

“I know what you need and I know how to get it,” Suga flashed a winsome smile, eyes twinkling as he continued in his original direction and now, Daichi hastened to catch up, heart pounding faster than his brisk walking warranted.

“How do you know?” Daichi asked, pulling back a branch to allow Suga to walk past it and was rewarded with a beatific curve of pale pink lips.

“I live here,” Suga replied simply, and as if to prove it, he hopped deftly over three ridiculously uneven stones to cross a stream.

Daichi hovered at the edge of the bank before deciding that he could clear it and took a single leap, stumbling a little as he landed on his bad leg only to catch himself and straighten quickly in a painstakingly rehearsed move.

He looked up to see Suga watching him with a peculiar expression and instantaneously, his stomach seized. He had no use for pity, not here, not when he had undertaken this precisely to prove (to whom, he had not yet figured out) that he was nothing worth pitying.

“I did not think there was anybody living here,” he blurted, hoping to distract Suga and feed his own curiosity at the same time.

“Of course there are,” Suga replied off-handedly, picking up his pace and trotting confidently on, “You people down there believe differently simply because none of you have met anyone who does.”

Daichi reined in ten different rebuttals and questions on the tip of his tongue to remind himself that the logic that had guided him for the past twenty four years seemed to evaporate on this mountain.

“But now I have,” He was unaware that he had spoken aloud until Suga whipped around to face him again, he smiled gently at Suga’s surprised look, “I’ve met you.”

He didn’t expect Suga’s face to soften into fondness, and he certainly didn’t expect his traitorous heart to fall out of beat for that moment.

“Yes,” Suga’s eyes, growing endeared and yet, filling with an age old melancholy, looked brighter than ever, “Yes, now you’ve met me.”

Standing there in a fern coloured set of robes, Suga seemed to fit right in with the foliage they were surrounded by and Daichi could see why he constantly failed to see him until he was practically right in front of the samurai. Not for the first time, Daichi speculated on just how much of this encounter was real. For all he knew, he had accidentally tripped into the spirit realm and was doing nothing more than talking to ghosts or figments of his imagination.

Just to be sure, he looked down at the dirt track that Suga was leading him along, eyes trailing past the hem of the cloth to where Suga was taking small but confident steps ahead. And his own gait stuttered.

There were no footprints.

Chancing a casual look back to his own tracks he saw his own sturdy shoeprints in the dirt and checking again, he ascertained that there was only one set of footprints despite there clearly being the two of them.

He supposed he ought to be frightened or that he ought to start running away in terror, but all he felt was a calm sense of acceptance, as though a piece he had been struggling to comprehend had fallen into place and that seemed about right.

He did not stumble again as he followed Suga, accompanied by the notion that nothing he knew held true anymore and simultaneously, that person in front of him was the truest thing he would ever know.

“This is further from the heart of the forest,” Daichi said dumbly as he got his bearings a long hike later. Suga had guided them into another small open patch on the crest of the mountain, adjacent to where Daichi had started out. This angle afforded him both a view of his land and the spectacular stretches of mountains that lay beyond it, and Daichi winced as he was reminded of how poorly his people were doing.

“The heart of the forest is not somewhere you need to go to save your people,” Suga came to stand next to Daichi, “It is not safe for you.”

As silently as he had approached Daichi, Suga left to recline against the slanted wood of a large beech tree.

“What if I told you that there’s a price to pay for saving your people?”

“What kind of price?”

“A sacrifice.”

Daichi mulled over it for a brief instant although he already knew the answer.

“Then I will pay it.”

Daichi wondered if they had arrived at the point whereby Suga would demand that he lay down his life for what he was asking. He waited but all that came was a scoff as Suga wiggled to make himself more comfortable.

“You say rash things for someone so steadfast,” Was the simple reply and Daichi let out an exhale, relieved and disappointed.

From where he stood, it was a steep dive down to the neatly fenced farming plots and village that Daichi was familiar with. Here, with the breeze toying with argon strands of Suga’s hair and the sky settling into a rich blend of reds and oranges, Daichi felt far removed from his life down below.

Not even when he was an unimaginable distance away fighting the war did he feel so far from where he called home. As he watched Suga’s lids flutter closed, observed the slow inhale, the way the other man seemed to lean into the touch of the tree trunk he was resting against, he could not help but feel as though he was much closer to the sky than he was to his land.

Guiltily, he wondered what it would be like, to keep going up, to stretch his fingers toward the horizon instead of tilting his chin downwards.

He was out of his depth, this he knew. He knew it when he was walking behind Suga and desperately wishing he could test the silkiness of that maddeningly silver hair. He knew it when he failed to get the answers he was looking for but believed that he did anyway because the voice that gave them was so enchanting. And he knew now, when the sun was setting and he had no idea what he was doing except that as long as it involved this mysterious man, he wanted to keep doing it.

“What are you hoping for?” The question startled Daichi out of his thoughts and he turned to see Suga still with his eyes closed and head pillowed on the dark brown of the bark.

“I’m hoping that I can find a way to feed my people, maybe a miracle so that not so many die when the winter comes,” Daichi confessed in a low tone, searching in the distance for an answer he did not possess. It was the tail end of spring, but one good harvest in the summer could be his people’s salvation.

“No, that’s what you want for your people,” Suga’s eyes opened languidly and he focused a glittering hazel stare on the samurai.

“What do you want?"

Daichi drew a blank. Samurai were taught to put their community and nation first. Nobody had ever asked him what he wanted before. Rather, no one had ever asked him what he wanted without having a standard answer that they expected to receive. His brows knitted as he slowly made his way over to Suga and dropped into the spot next to him.

Around them, dragonflies lit on taller blades of grass, as though surveying the area before heading back. Daichi thought of the picture they made, Suga’s light green fabric against his dark brown sensible clothes amidst the verdant field, the branches swaying overhead and the pale warmth from the fading day.

All of a sudden he was biting back a ‘You’ from the tip of his tongue. You, he thought, with surprise and abandon, I want to stay here with you.

Instead he cleared his throat, and pondered the question, deliberately avoiding the unnerving weight of Suga’s gaze.

"I think I would want to find peace,” Daichi said more to himself than anything, “To find purpose and to be at peace with the path that life has shown me."

He looked up to see Suga eyeing him thoughtfully, and for a cold second he imagined that the other man knew that he had not been completely truthful.

But Suga broke into a grin, a flash of white in the dimming light.

"Well then, Daichi, would you not say that it’s peaceful here?” With me? Remained unspoken, but it rang out in the evening regardless and as if on cue, the last of a flock of swallows hurtled past, racing to get back before nightfall.

Daichi smiled, shoving the clamour of uncertainty into the far reaches of his mind, clamping down on the urgency that prodded him to find what he was looking for and go home. He could not stay in this haven for long, he could not dodge his responsibilities forever and although he knew all of that, for now at least, he could linger just a little longer.

“Yes,” he gave that smile, wist swallowed only to leave a genuine albeit bashful crinkling of his eyes, to Suga, “I would say so.”

#daisuga #sawamura daichi #sugawara koushi #haikyuu!!#daisugaweek2019 #redwrites #haikyuufanfics

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sourhale · 6 years

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( michael b jordan, cismale, he&him ) — did you see DEREK HALE walking through town? i hear the 22 / 22 year old is a WEREWOLF, but that might just be a rumor. some say they are STEADFAST and HEADSTRONG, but that they can be STUBBORN and VOLATILE.

oh man derek ... where do i begin with derek i just ...

NAME : derek hale

AGE : 22

ZODIAC : scorpio

SPECIES : werewolf (born)

FC : michael b jordan (fuuuuuuuuuuuckmeup)

DISCLAIMER I HAVEN’T DONE ANY PLOTTING W THE CORA YET SO???? CHANGE ALL THE “LONE SURVIVOR” TO “ONE OF TWO” IF IT TURNS OUT HE KNOWS CORA IS ALIVE!!!

CHILDHOOD

his childhood began beautifully. born into a large terrific home full of life and werewolves that were prepared to teach him the ways of their world. well known, loved, and respected. that’s the world a young derek hale entered into - everything he could ever want handed to him by the incredible talia hale who loved her son ferociously and raised him to believe that even once he triggered the curse, he would always be his own man. he could be whatever he wanted to be, and he loved every bit of it. school, falling in love, running wild with his pack and feeling like the world was at is feet.

paige

at the age of fifteen, he fell in love with a beautiful girl who made beautiful music and saw the beauty in his heart, despite his nature. and when ennis gave her the bite against her will, for the first time, derek’s perfect life began crashing down. as she died in his arms with his claws in her chest and his eyes turned from yellow to blue - he knew nothing would ever be the same again. he was jaded now, having lost the love of his life who in her last moments told him she loved him too, having known the beast he turned into. for the first time, derek experiences pure heartbreak and loss - but it didn’t end there.

.. MOVING ON

he found love again by a woman called kate argent, a woman he trusted and pulled into his life. she helped him with the pain, helped him feel like he wasn’t worthless. she healed him, pushed him, revived him - till she was gone.

he was only sixteen years old when he lost every single person he ever knew except for his uncle, who lay comatose in a hospital while the rest of his family died painfully and suddenly at the hands of a raging fire that burned down his home and took everything away from him. he grew sadder, angrier, most sullen and withdrawn, he finished highshool and remained in the broken pieces of his childhood home, finding solace in charred walls which fueled his desire to do better - be better than every version of himself yet the pain weighed on him impossibly and he found himself feeling more alone in the worth than he ever had. he cut himself off from everyone he knew, trusting easily and finding heartbreak on every path. his mom had raised a kind, good man. a man without cruel intentions and one that saw the best in people.

and so he left, finishing high school and leaving the painful memories behind and finding solace with friends of his family in distant lands. it was the name laura hale that brought him back to town. he never thought he’d have to mourn another member of his family.

AND NOW

with a renewed passion to find the person who murdered his sister, derek returned to mystic falls a different man. reserved and no longer believing in the humanity of people, he lives in the broken pieces of his childhood home, trying to piece together how his sister survived and who brutally murdered her while simultaneously avoiding the entire town. the town that looks at him through a veil of pity the moment they hear his last name - the only successful survivor of the famous hale fire. he tends to avoid any and all contact, preferring now to keep to himself and more than content with being known as the man who lives in that burned down house in the woods. for him, being alive is the ultimate guilt. he’s the only one who made it, without a scratch.

PERSONALITY

honestly i covered a lot of it i am tired love me

#vinctumintro

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svguavajelly · 4 years

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Patagonia

As lovers of mountains, Patagonia has loomed large in our imagination as a travel destination. We decided to make the trek to Patagonia while living in South America, figuring we were about 50% closer. Luckily my dear friend and climbing partner Mo also wanted to go to Patagonia, and Mo was game to backpack with us & our three kids! What a good friend!

It was tricky to plan the trip, as you have to book the camping sites in Torres del Paine National Park, Chile about 6 months in advance. We decided to do a modified W trek in 7 nights and 8 days. I did my best to plan an itinerary that would allow Tomu (age 6) & Jade (age 4) to hike the daily distances comfortably while also allowing the adults to see the most spectacular parts of the National Park, since it is a loooong way to get there, as well as expensive. As always when traveling or hiking or climbing with kids, it’s a compromise.

I realize that to most people, backpacking for 8 days with 3 small children sounds like a completely mad idea. I think that because I was a backcountry ranger in Olympic National Park in my 20’s, I have the idea that I can do it. That I can do hard things in the backcountry—I can carry a heavy pack, because I’ve done it before. In the months leading up to the trip, I went through all kinds of scenarios in my head for how we were going to do it. How would we carry 6 sleeping bags, 6 sleeping pads, many layers of clothes for 6 people, 2 tents, 8 days of breakfast & lunch food, 40 diapers, a potty, and a 23 pound baby between 3 adults? To me it sounded horrible to have a heavy pack, a baby on the front in a carrier, and walk at a 4 year olds pace. So I considered 2 adults hiking quickly, then one coming back to get the third pack, while one adult set up tents, and the last adult walked slowly with the 3 kids. Our kids have hiked a lot in Cajas, including one training hike the same length as our longest day in Patagonia (5.7 miles), and they have camped a lot; however, our previous longest backpacking trip was 1.3 miles to spend two nights at Third Beach. Also, Luz hadn’t slept in a tent in 7 months, so I wasn’t sure how she would do. So, there were a lot of unknowns for the trip…

We decided to buy dinners at the huts, rather than carry and cook our own food with the rationale that the savings in weight on our backs was well worth the $42 per dinner. That was definitely a good decision!! The dinners were 4 course meals, and they were delicious.

While packing for the trip in Cuenca, we were worried as we looked at the weather forecasts for Torres del Paine—every day rain! Mo said that sounds like type II fun for sure. We waterproofed our boots and rain jackets, fearing 8 days of rain and wind.

Our trip started early on a Thursday morning with a 3.5 hour van ride to Guayaquil, followed by a 5 hour flight to Santiago, Chile. The following day Mo met us at the Airbnb, and Tomu & Jade instantly jumped on her with giant hugs. That day in Santiago we went to a beautiful giant park called Quinta Normal. The following day we had to wake up at 4:30 am in order to meet the taxi driver at 5 to get back to the airport. It’s no fun waking up small children very early! We took a 3.5 hour flight to Punta Arenas, followed by a 3 hour bus ride to Puerto Natales, gateway to the park. Tomu, Jade, and Luz busied themselves with sticker books on the plane rides.

In the Guayaquil airport with strawberry milk.

Early morning baggage ride for Jade.

Bus buddies Jade & her godmama.

The crew in windy Puerto Natales.

Then we had one day to provision for our trip. Mo had brought a lot of food down from the States, but we had to fill in the holes for 8 lunches and 7 breakfasts. Unfortunately, that day Luz had a very cloudy pee in the potty, and Mo suspected a UTI, so I took Luz to the ER at the local hospital, leaving Mo & Riki to do the shopping with Tomu and Jade. Luz also had been constipated since we left Ecuador, as well as having an eye infection. They took a urine sample at the hospital, which came back negative for UTI, but the doc prescribed her antibiotics anyways, telling me to buy the antibiotics and he would text me in two days to tell me the results of the urine culture. Back at home, Luz had a fever of 102 degrees, and Mo said, give her the antibiotics anyways. Mo is a flight nurse, and I trust their medical advice! Needless to say, it was a VERY stressful day, dealing with a sick 1 year 9 month old while trying to prepare for a big backpacking trip.

One of our logistics problems was where to leave our extra baggage during the trip. The Airbnb said it wasn’t possible to leave it there. Here we were blessed by the kindness of a stranger. I had asked a woman, Carolina, in the airport in Punta Arenas if she knew of anywhere we could leave our bags, and she had replied no. Turns out her house was two doors down from our Airbnb, and we ran into her on the sidewalk, and she offered to store our bags for us. So kind! So we went over to her house at 10 pm, finally packed for the following day, to drop off our bags.

Day 1

We got up at 6 am in order to make our 7 am bus. It was a 2 hour ride to the park. When we got to the park entrance, it was raining. We all shuffled into the park building to watch a video about Leaving No Trace with about 75 other people. We were the only ones with kids, and we were the focus of a lot of attention. I’m sure they all thought we were crazy with our big packs and our three small people. We used the video time to put rain gear on and give Luz her antibiotics and eye drops. As we filed into the room next door to pay our park entrance fees, I said to Mo, “Look, another kid!” And Mo replied, “Day hiker”. I laughed.

We took a shuttle to the real park entrance, and Riki and I drank lattes while we waited for the rain to abate before beginning to hike. The lattes were from one of those machines where you just press the button, but they tasted great.

Finally, here we were. We set off hiking around 10:30 am. Luz is in a very clingy Mama stage—basically no one else can hold her if I am around. So that settled who would be carrying Luz; which is only fair since the trip was my crazy idea.

We hiked 3.5 miles that first day, mostly uphill. Luz at times complained about being in the carrier, so I let her walk some, which felt like a break for me. It turns out my pace with Luz & my pack was not that much faster than Jade’s pace after all; however, generally Riki would hang back with Jade. I was always surprised with how quickly they arrived at camp. It was really windy as we crossed Windy Pass, and Luz was fussing as we neared camp. I sure was happy to see the sign for Chileno camp!

At Windy Pass--Jade loved the wind!

Turns out that hiking in Torres del Paine is definitely not a wilderness experience—there are SO many people! Also, you can only camp in designated spots, on wooden platforms, that you have to pay for. And at each camping spot, there is a hut (resembling a small ski lodge) that serves beer, pisco sours, quesadillas, eggs & bacon, and $16 burgers. So if we ever felt like we were still hungry after lunch, we could just go into the hut & order some food. I brought 400,000 Chilean pesos (equal to $505) into the park, thinking it would be more than enough for the park entrance fee, the catamaran rides, and any food we wanted to buy. We spent all of it!!

A major bonus for us were the flush toilets and showers at each campsite. We managed to throw all of the wet diapers in the garbage cans of the bathrooms, so we didn’t have to carry 40 used diapers around. We brought the potty because Luz has been pooping in the potty almost exclusively since she was 6 months old, and we figured we would rather dig a hole and bury her poop than carry it with us. Luz was still constipated on the trip, so it helped for her to be able to sit comfortably on her own potty when doing her business.

Mo and Riki set up the tents while I stayed with the three kids inside the hut, out of the wind.

Celebrating a successful first day with Pisco Sours.

Day 2

This was a planned day hike day, up to the lookout for the Torres del Paine (Paine Towers), the most famous image from the national park. Mo sped up to the lookout alone, then came back and watched the three kids while Riki and I hiked up to the lookout. We saw a fox right by the lake, but unfortunately it was pretty cloudy when we arrived at the towers. Tomu, Jade & Luz had fun playing by river.

Actually that was one of my highlights of the trip—seeing how easily the kids amused themselves with their imaginations in nature. They made beds for leaves, turning over rocks and filling the holes with soft stalks of plants. They sent boats of bark or leaves down the rivers.

Jade burned herself on the wood stove at the hut this evening. She burned 3 fingers on her right hand, and they blistered immediately. She cried alternately during dinner, and we kept applying wet cold paper towels.

Day 3

We had to hike 3.5 miles back out the same way, then catch a shuttle to the bus to the catamaran. Mo began hiking with Tomu and Jade as soon as they were ready, about an hour before Riki, Luz and I left. For me, a highlight of this day was the reactions of the other hikers when they saw our kids hiking, and when they say me carrying Luz. One woman said to me, “when I get my baby, I’m going to do that, too.” Another woman said in Spanish, “Es mujer? Increíble, qué cabrona! Qué chingona!” I don’t think she knew I understood, but I smiled to myself—“Is that a woman? Incredible, what a badass!”. Almost everyone smiled at Luz when they saw us on the trail, and many had looks of amazement on their faces as they were struggling up the trail, then they saw us doing the same thing with 3 kids.

We made it back to the entrance station in time for our shuttle, and everyone got a treat drink: for Riki it was beer, for Mo it was Diet Coke, for me it was coffee, and for the kids blueberry juice.

On the one hour bus ride to the catamaran, Jade fell asleep. As I looked out the window at the amazing mountains, I thought, this is why we are here, for the love of mountains. They were just stunning. Jade woke up grumpy and coughing, saying she just wanted to sleep more. So we made her a nest and she kept sleeping while we waited an hour for the boat. We moved her onto the boat and she just kept sleeping. Riki carried her off the boat, and she fussed and cried. It was super windy at Paine Grande, and again I left Riki and Mo to set up the tents while I took the 3 kids inside the hotel. Jade promptly fell asleep again on the couch in the lobby.

It seemed obvious that something was wrong with Jade…we tried to wake her for dinner, but she just wouldn’t wake. I took her temperature, and it was 102.5 degrees. Poor kid. The only medication we had to bring down kids’ fever were some suppositories the doc in Puerto Natales prescribed for Luz. So, while I held up a jacket to shield them from view of the folks in the dinner line, Mo gave sleeping Jade the suppository. Once again, nice to have a nurse friend. When we woke Jade up to go out to the tent, she was actually chipper and energetic. She didn’t want any food, but we had some hope for the morning. The next day was our longest day of walking at 5.7 miles, and I was worried that sick Jade wouldn’t be able to do it. I asked at the campground if we could stay an extra night, and they said they would let me know in the morning.

When I took Luz out to the tent, she freaked out because of the high wind. The rainfly was flapping like crazy, and she was so scared. I thought she might calm once we got in the tent, but no. So I grabbed all my existing cash, and took her into the hotel to plead for a bed. The young woman at the desk said she could give me a bunk bed in room with 3 young women, and that she wouldn’t charge me! Wow, once again, so kind. I slept on the floor in my sleeping bag & pad next to Luz, and I was so relieved not to be in the windy tent with a crying baby.

That night was one of the low points of the trip—so stressful!

Day 4

Jade awoke cheery, with energy, and said she was ready to hike, so we decided to go for it. Mo set off with Tomu and Jade at about 10 am. Riki, Luz and I left around 11 am. It was so windy—like gusting to 50 knots an hour, judging from the spray off the waves on the lake. I was buffeted by the wind, often staggering to the side. Riki was hiking behind me, and he kept trying to hold on to me to support me. Luz hated the wind, and cried when it gusted. After an hour, we stopped, and Riki took the sleeping pad off my pack hoping that I would have less windage. As we walked, and Luz cried, I repeated a mantra to her: “No llores Luz, no llores. No nos gusta el viento, pero seguimos caminando porque somos fuertes y somos increíbles.” “Don’t cry Luz, don’t cry. We don’t like the wind, but we keep walking because we are strong. We are incredible.”. I was talking to myself as much as to her! The scenery was stunning this day, but I really hardly noticed. I was just intent on getting there.

We finally caught up with Tomu, Jade and Mo after about 2 hours of walking. I can’t believe Mo did that stretch alone with the two kids. Once the wind blew Jade down, and blew Mo over too. Mo had to jump over Jade so as not to squish her! I asked Tomu what his technique was when the wind gusted, and he replied to get into a ball like a rock. We ate a lunch of chicken packs, crackers, and baby bel cheese, and continued on. About a mile before reaching Italian camp, Riki said, let me take your pack for awhile. So he walked with my pack on his front, leaving me with Luz and Jade. Jade’s energy was fading, so I carried her piggyback with Luz on the front. Then Mo came back to get Jade. It was a real team effort this day. We took a second break at Italian camp, and then hiked the final 1.2 miles to French camp.

That night at dinner Jade complained of not feeling good, and she would hardly eat anything. She had a fever of 102.5 again, and just wanted to go to bed. I gave her some chewable Tylenol (a present from some Chileno hikers with kids), and took her to bed. As she lay in bed, I told her how strong she was, how she can do anything when she gets big, to hike so far in the wind being sick. Wow. I was so impressed by her. I also felt guilty—like was it too much? Was the very hike making her sick?

Day 5

Another planned rest day for kids/day hike day for adults. Mo set off to the British Lookout, in a basin at the head of the French valley, a 10 mile roundtrip hike. I had no energy and no desire to do the hike, nor did Riki. It didn’t matter that we had come such a long ways, that I probably wouldn’t come back to see that sight. I just didn’t have it in me, and I was fine with that. We stayed in camp, had pizza for lunch, played the card game castle on the picnic tables, and just relaxed with the kids. After dinner we all walked down to the lake to skip some rocks and play. The Chileans at French camp were so kind to us—they gave the kids peaches, chocolate, and chips. Luz turned into a chocolate addict on the trip, eating the chocolate chips out of the trail mix.

Day 6

It rained in the night, so we had to pack up wet tents, but we had just a short hike of 1.5 miles to the campsite called Cuernos, or Horns. It was actually sunny and hot while we hiked. My friend Steph, who had hiked the O loop, recommended Cuernos as the most beautiful camp site in the park. And I agree—it is just beneath the distinctive mountains, with their black bands on the top, and 3 waterfalls coming down. The kids were happy playing in a small sand patch next to the river before dinner.

Luz sleeping in her nest while we set up the tents.

Day 7

It rained again in the night, and my tent was wet inside at the foot of the tent. Both Mo and I had diarrhea in the night—I didn’t even make it to the bathroom (but I made it out of the tent at least!). Mo woke up really sick—they didn’t sleep hardly at all, their body ached all over, and they felt horrible, with alternate chills and feeling hot. Oh no! Riki and I took a little extra weight, and Mo managed to make it the 1.5 miles back to French camp. Mo slept all afternoon, and felt slightly better by the evening.

Day 8

Our last day—we had to hike 5.7 miles, back through the windy territory. I was hoping for no rain and no wind. We wanted to be in Paine Grande by 3 pm, in order to have time to get some food before the catching the catamaran at 5 pm. We figured on 7 hours, the amount of time it took Tomu and Jade for this stretch before. We left around 8 am. Mo carried their normal load and set off with the kids. At one point, Luz and I passed Mo & the kids, and then I realized that her boot had fallen off while she was sleeping. Luckily Jade found it! Luz hiked quite a bit this day. Luz liked to smush these red berries in her hands, so I was constantly on the lookout for them. It was a challenge to keep her entertained in the carrier, and whenever she fell asleep I tried to hike faster.

It wasn’t windy until the last .5 miles or so, and not nearly as strong as before. The kids did great, and we arrived at 1 pm, shaving 2 hours off our previous time.

Jade feeling sick again, and Luz copying her while we waited for the catamaran.

The kids played by the lake and watched a goose family. We had pizza, and as we were waiting in line for the catamaran Jade started to complain that her ear was hurting. She was crying from the pain. Poor kid. She slept again on the catamaran. I feared an ear infection, and finagled a seat on the 6 pm bus back to Puerto Natales for Jade and I, leaving the rest of the crew to take the 7 pm bus, which we had tickets for. I held Jade on my lap as she slept alternately and cried alternately. I told her stories of Princess Jade who liked to travel, and all the places she went. I told her I would take her to the doctor when we got back to Puerto Natales…but she said, no my ear is better now. She’s afraid of doctors because she thinks they will give her shots. She went to bed calmly, but cried a lot that night. Upon arrival in Puerto Natales, Mo went immediately to a pharmacy to get some antibiotics—their throat was killing them, and they knew it was strep throat.

Tomu was such a joy on the trip. He didn’t complain once about being tired—he seemed to have boundless energy, dragging sticks to make trails, picking berries for Luz, etc. He also walked the whole way in these cheap plastic Ecuadorian rain boots, which made some lines on his shins & calves where they rubbed. He carried his own backpack the whole way.

Jade was also amazing, especially considering she burned her hand and got sick! Jade had had a constant snotty nose since leaving Cuenca. She walked almost the whole way, also carrying her own backpack most of the time.

Luz did so well sleeping in the tent, and tolerating being in the carrier for long stretches. She would generally wake up once or twice every night, but go back to sleep when I breastfed her.

The following morning, after we showered, I took Jade to the ER of the hospital. They said she had a sinus infection, with a red inner ear. They gave me antibiotics, plus anti-histamine, and ibuprofen for pain, and a nose spray.

Then we got on a bus for Punta Arenas. We arrived in Punta Arenas with no idea how to get ahold of the Airbnb host or where the Airbnb was located, because Airbnb sent me a reminder with a wrong number for the host. That was pretty stressful. But I scrolled down to find the right number, and we made it there safely. Then another early morning flight back to Santiago the following day.

Watching a street performer in Punta Arenas.

A building in downtown Punta Arenas burned by protesters the week before we visited.

The kids were really excited about riding the underground train (the subway). I had promised them we would do it upon our return to Santiago, and they didn’t forget. We took the subway to the big park again, and the kids played in the spray park area. Mo, Luz and I had a nice dinner our last night, then I went out with Riki later after the kids went down for a second nice dinner.

Luz became a chocolate lover on the trip. She ate all the chocolate chips out of our trail mix, and chooses chocolate for her ice cream flavor.

In Santiago every available wall space is covered in graffiti, mostly anti-government and anti-cop. Also, there is a strong leftist culture—lots of folks with blue or green hair, tattoos, and lots of bike commuters—all things lacking in Cuenca.

“Until dignity is a habit”

“Blind we fight on” A large number of protesters in Santiago have lost an eye due to rubber bullets fired by the police.

“I have more rage than money for bread”

“Damned be the uniformed who wields his weapons against the people”

I almost lost it in the airport as I was walking with the three kids to our gate, and they were pestering me to buy them stuffed animals, and I had a roller bag and my backpack and I was hungry. (Riki had stayed back to buy some Crown at Duty Free). We arrived back in Guayaquil at 1:30 am Chilean time, woke up our 3 sleeping kids, walked through the airport, got a taxi to our Airbnb. And then the van back to Cuenca—we were all so happy to be home!

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sunaddicted · 7 years

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Shattering Stars (00qad)

Shattering Stars Q knew his lovers were just worried about him - understandably so since he had been hiding in the guest room for a whole week and barely spoke or ate - but their anxious glances and pleading inquiries made his nerves thrum with irrational anger, driving him progressively closer to snapping; when he felt his vocal chords itch with the need of shouting at them to shut the fuck up and leave him alone, Q gathered one of his cats in his arms and hid his face in their fluffy fur, using their possessive streaks as a shield. But cats weren't admitted at the dining table - James had been stern on that particular rule when they had all moved in together - so, he was left alone to fend for himself during breakfast. Danny attempted to card his clumsy fingers through his unruly curls but Q shied away from his tender touch: he was absolutely sure that his composure would go down the drain as soon as one of his lovers caressed him, making his impassive mask crumble to dust and leaving him defenceless against the despair eating him alive from the insides "Love, what's wrong?" Danny pleaded, eyes shining with tears and lips quivering, pain and worry etched allover his familiar features. Q let his fingers go slack around the fork and winced as its clattering against the china resonated unbelievably loud in the quietness of their kitchen "I need to get dressed" he stated coldly, eyes downcast to avoid looking at James' tired and troubled face and hiding from Alex's inquisitive gaze. On his way to the guest room, he stopped only to pick a mewling Turing up from the floor before his fussing could get on James' already thin nerves: he wouldn't hurt the cat but Q didn't want to unnerve him more than he already was. He closed the door behind his back, turning the key in the lock to silently attest his need for loneliness and to put a layer between himself and the chaos he knew was going to happen in the kitchen. Q heard a plate shatter in the sink and vividly imagined Danny shaking fingers clumsily dropping it, fingers that surely were tugging at his hair while his desperate sobs filled their silent flat; then a chair fell loudly to the floor, the beautifully carved wood no doubt splintering because of the hard impact, as if James had stood up with too much force from it - Alex would have never made such a racket, even while troubled by something; the more rational of his lovers was probably attempting to calm Danny down as he shot a reproaching glance at a maddeningly pacing James. Q curled on the messy sheets he hadn't bothered to change and blinked rapidly to keep the tears from falling on his cheeks, scratching Turing behind his twitching ears to reassure the worried cat even as he quietly hyperventilated: he didn't want to hurt them - he loved them more than anyone in the world; he wished he could open up, tell them why he was hurting so much, but they couldn't know a thing about his past and his family: he couldn't tell them his mother had died asking after the son she hadn't seen in ten years. Q had had a fairly peaceful relationship with his mother, despite the fact warmth wasn't in her nature; she was supportive and open minded, even towards his homosexuality and weird interest in computers, and it was thanks to her interference that he and his father had managed to interact without screaming abuse at each other. He missed her lilting voice that sang senseless lyrics while she did the chores and her twinkling laughter that made even his stern father crack a delighted smile; he missed the clogging scent of her rose-perfumed shampoo that tenaciously clung to her clothes and the crisp fragrance of the coffee she brewed for her sisters when they came to visit; he missed the way she would inquire after what he was tinkering with even if she didn't understand a fraction of his excited explanations and the proud kisses she would bestow on his brow; he missed the calls she made every Sunday to make sure he wasn't being overworked or starving; he missed the horrible jumpers she knitted for him every Christmas. He missed having a mother - a feeling his lovers would have understood well: James barely remembered his parents, Alex's family was so twisted up that he never had a 'mother' as commonly intended and Danny had spent his childhood in an unloving home, striving to be a good son. Q shook his head and forced himself to get dressed, knowing that James was waiting for him so he could drive him to headquarters. He threw on a pair of wrinkled trousers that he was sure were Danny's and a fluffy sweater Alex had gifted him for his birthday, uncaring of how the colours and patterns clashed vividly: geek chic justified almost everything. As soon as he got out of the room, James wrapped him in a scarf, subtly scanning his torso and frowning darker as he counted the bones under his digits "So thin" he muttered mournfully as he eased Q's limbs in a heavy coat; Q itched to point out he was well past the age of needing someone to dress him up, but wisely kept his mouth shut and let James care for him. Alex patiently smiled at him from the other half of the room, respecting his wish of lack of physical contact; Q couldn't fathom why everyone assumed he was some kind of unfeeling machine: of the four of them, Alex was the only one who could easily tune on the others' moods and act accordingly. Danny gave him a small Tupperware box, blabbering something about almond biscuits covered in white chocolate "Please, eat something" Q had to recognise Danny could be sneaky when he wanted: he knew he couldn't resist eating sweets, especially those Danny himself had baked. Q clenched his fingers around the box and let James steer him out of home, his spine stiffening under the gentle touch of his calloused hand "I need to pick some tea up: we're out of Earl Grey in Q-branch" James hummed as they slipped into the car "There's a Tesco on our way to headquarters" He reached for the touchscreen of the radio "Can I turn the music on?" he asked, remembering how music tended to unnerve Q whenever he was in a mood; at his nod, James selected a piece by Rachmaninoff he knew Q was particularly fond of and tried to pretend everything was fine. *** Q wasn't particularly surprised to be picked up from work by Alex and quickly slipped into the car to warm himself, letting Dvorak's "Romance for piano and violin, op. 11" wash the hectic day away from his mind. "You know we love you and you can tell us anything, don't you?" The words rolled down Alex's tongue smoothly, startling Q who hadn't been expecting Alex to 'attack'. "My mother died last Monday" Q blurted out and bit down on his lower lip, squeezing his eyes shut as he felt pain mercilessly shred his heart: saying it out aloud definitely was worse than consciously thinking about it. He felt the car sensibly gain speed and Q was grateful for Alex's prompt reaction and lacking of pitying words: now that he had let the truth slip from his mouth, he wanted nothing more than to curl in bed with his lovers and cry while cocooned in their welcoming and protective warmth. When they walked in their home, Danny immediately crowded Q, fingers fluttering against his stubbled cheeks to dry the tears that kept spilling from those jade-green irises "What happened? Are you hurt? Do you need a doctor?" he blabbered in a panicked voice, looking at Alex for guidance. "His mother died last Monday" "Oh, love" Danny sighed, immediately calming down and enveloping Q in a hug "You didn't need to keep it for yourself" Q hid his face in Danny's neck and breathed in the smell of the tomato soup he had been making for dinner "I-I've eaten the biscuits" he stammered while sniffling wetly. "Were they any good? I tried out a new recipe" Danny tried to make Q focus in something else as he and Alex steered him towards the couch. Q let himself be ensconced inbetween his lovers "I liked them" He sniffled some more and accepted the handkerchief Alex offered him "James?" "Out" "Where?" Alex shrugged "Who knows" The disapproval in his voice suggested that he thought James was out drinking "He's not picking up our calls" Q nodded and kissed his frowning mouth "That's how he deals with everything that emotionally troubles him" he sighed before dipping his tongue into Alex's mouth, tasting peppermint. "You should call James, he'll answer to you" Danny pointed out while getting rid of Q's scarf and rubbing his nose against the slightly sweaty skin of his neck "And possibly come home before drinking himself into oblivion" Q extracted his mobile from the pocket of his coat and dialled the number he knew by heart, counting Alex's heartbeats to keep track of how long it took James to answer. "Q, love, is something wrong?" James' voice came through crystalline and clearly still sober. "Could you come home?" he asked "I'm not hurt" he quickly added, not wanting to make James uselessly worry "I just need all my men with me" Q confessed, his voice wavering as tears threatened to spill again. "Give me ten minutes, love" *** James walked in the dark flat, not panicking only because of the music he could hear coming from the bedroom; he had never been a fan of the classical genre, but living with two men who greatly appreciated it, he had grown fonder of that type of music and even recognised his favourites - such as Beethoven's "Moonlight Sonata" playing in the dark. He quietly made his way towards the bedroom, shoes in hand in order to make as less noise as possible in case his lovers had fallen asleep. When he peeked in, a smile blossomed on his mouth at the sight of Q lightly snoring, curled on Alex's chest and holding hands with Danny: their bed had looked almost empty without Q sprawled in it, hogging the blankets and the pillows and whining that the middle was his rightful place. James got rid of his clothes and slipped under the covers on the other side of Alex. As if sensing his presence, Q grumbled in his sleep and wriggled in James' arms, kicking Danny in the ribs and elbowing Alex's cheekbone in the process "I'm here, love" he whispered as he gathered him closer to his chest. Q blinked owlishly "James" The younger man sniffled "James, my mother is dead" James squeezed Q harder and kissed his eyelids; he was torn between being glad Q was alright - he had started to fear he wanted do break up with them or worse, that he had discovered he had some kind of incurable sickness - and being sad for his loss "I love you, sunshine" he uttered in the end, knowing that only tune and support would chase the pain away. Gratefully, Q kissed him and fell asleep counting his heartbeats.

#my writing #my fic #00qad #00q #dannylex #007 #james bond #Q #quartermaster #danny holt #alex turner #london spy #bond verse #grief #angst #i found this #it was finished #but I never posted it

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ericjuneau · 7 years

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Reprise (Chapter 16) [Frozen/Tangled/The Little Mermaid]

CHAPTER 16: Room to Breathe

Not even the candles in the caravan dare fizzle.

"You knew her," Granny asked in a creaky voice.

"She was my mother... I thought she was my mother. She took me when I was a baby. When my mother... my real mother... was giving birth to me, she was having trouble. So they fed her this potion made from a magical golden flower. But they didn't know Mother Gothel had found it first."

"Use not that word for the witch. She is a mother to the devil only."

Rapunzel wasn't sure how to take that, so she continued. "The magic transferred to me. So she kidnapped me and took me to a tower. I never knew who I was or that I was the lost princess. Just that she was keeping me protected from diseases and thugs and things like that. And I wasn't ready for them. I was too gullible and naïve. But on my eighteenth birthday I met someone who helped me escape, and... well, we managed to take away the magic and she died."

Rapunzel closed her eyes and looked away, trying to shut out Gothel's death scream as she turned to dust. The caravan stayed silent, while tears formed at the corners of her eyes. She didn't know what else to say.

Ariel mouthed the words 'eighteen years?' to Elsa, who was just as astonished.

"Everyone! Leave us." Granny commanded. "And Nash..." She pointed her bony finger at Elsa and Ariel. "Treat these women like princesses. Or I'll hang you by your ears."

Nash backed away. "O-of course." He squirreled Ariel and Elsa out of the caravan without another word. Now it was only the old lady and Rapunzel, knelt like a woman at an altar.

"Rise, my child," Granny said. "Come closer."

Rapunzel leaned down. Granny's eyes were like black opals filled with stars. "I never knew she was one of you. If I'd-"

"Feh," Granny said. "Not one of us. Never one of us. May the devil boil her face in pitch until it cracks. Glamor hides the mark of Cain. A sundew's flower looks luscious to a fly, with droplets of water to sip. Do not forget this. Nature does not. It is full of deception. Man is no different. It is smarter than the sundew, and thus uses smarter traps. This is the advice I give you."

Granny twirled her finger around a swatch of Rapunzel's hair. "Eighteen years..." she uttered. "All that time... You have a greater spirit than mine, child. I've seen others descend into madness for less. Tell me, child--do you forgive her for what she did?"

"I... I don't know," Rapunzel said. She looked away.

"Well, don't!"

"Don't?" Rapunzel asked.

"She was a vain, selfish woman. She had no care for anyone who stood in her way. That is the worst kind of human being. If one can call her that."

"But... doesn't everyone deserve forgiveness?"

"What is forgiveness? The reprieve of sins? Release of the feelings of hate? No. She earned your ire. She took away eighteen years you can't get back. Eighteen years of your life. Forgive her nothing."

"I... I don't know. When I think back, I don't remember bad feelings. I became good at so many things--music and art and crafts and baking and climbing. I remember always looking forward to the next day. And I still do."

Granny lay back. "As so it should be, child."

Ariel and Elsa held their hands over the fire. Other gypsies sat near, but ignored them, laughing and eating stew.

"She really spent eighteen years locked in a tower?" Ariel asked Elsa.

"I guess so. I didn't know. I mean..." Elsa rubbed her hands together. "I knew she was kidnapped, but I thought she was just... raised somewhere else. I thought she lived a peasant's life, stolen by a crazed woman and raised as her own. I had no idea about the tower."

"She seems so... normal," Ariel said. "I would have gone crazy if I was her. I had the whole ocean to explore and it still wasn't enough. But now that I know what she went through, I feel, I don't know..." Ariel rubbed her shoulders. "Childish."

Elsa said, "When I was eleven, they closed off the castle to control my curse. We operated on minimal staff. Limited my contact with people. Especially Anna. Sometimes I'd find Anna sleeping outside my door, and I'd carry her back to bed. I rarely left my room."

"Wow. So you were kind of alike."

"But... my exile was self-imposed. Rapunzel believed it was for her protection. Mine was to protect others." She stirred the fire with a stick. "How she made it, I'll never know. She's a stronger person than me."

"She had no one, except her 'mother'. And Pascal. I had Daddy, my six older sisters, Sebastian, Flounder, Scuttle, a whole ocean of friends. Even on land, I started alone, but I made new ones."

"Land." Elsa looked at the sky. The sun was halfway behind the mountains.

"Oh no, I forgot," Ariel said.

"Excuse me?" Elsa asked a gypsy named Cooper. "Where are we to sleep tonight?"

"Figure you'll take one of our caravans. We can sleep under the stars." He pointed to a conestock wagon big enough for three. "I know she said to treat you like guests, but... er, honestly, that is the best we have."

"Fewest mouse droppings," another man interjected. "Due on that's where we sleep our hounds."

Elsa stood up. "Ariel and I are going to take a walk. Into the swamp."

"Er, you are?" Cooper asked.

"Yes. And if anyone follows us, they will regret it. Do you understand? I don't want any of your men in the trees following us."

Nash responded, "Ain't no one keeping track this close to camp. But you shouldn't be walking in the dark. What if-"

"You ask a lot of questions," Elsa said. "Do I have your word that we will not be followed?"

"You kept your word. I'll keep mine," Nash said.

Elsa held her head stiff as Ariel followed her. She brushed back the vines and the world dimmed. Pungent swamp gas had mellowed in the fall of evening. The dim lights of fireflies circled in the distance. Ariel used her trident as a machete, pulling back creepers and shooing animals.

"Do you have a plan?" Ariel asked.

"We need water. And we can't get it from them without raising too much suspicion."

"Right. They'll wonder why I'm taking such a long bath."

"If we can find a small pond, will you be okay? It's not salt water."

"I think I'll be okay. All I need to do is make it until morning."

They walked further into the swamp, following a stream up to its source--an overflowing pit of dark water. Moss overhung the edges, but it was clean as marshes went.

"I think this should do. We can't wait much longer anyways." Ariel took off her skirt. Elsa folded it while Ariel walked into the water, shivering from the cold.

She turned to Elsa, arms crossed over her chest. "What about crocodiles?"

"Can't you use your trident?"

"Not if I'm asleep."

"I can create a dome over the pond. Ice will keep everything out. But it might be a cold night."

"Better than being chomped on."

Elsa circled her hands. A white arc grew from one side of the pond, curving over the top. Ariel bit her lip as the hatch closed, leaving her with little light.

Elsa knocked on the dome. "You all right in there?"

"Just fine," Ariel said, lying through her teeth.

"I'll come find you in the morning. Have a good night."

Ariel played with the water while waiting for the change to come. Pain gripped her torso. She writhed, splashing against the dome's ceiling. When the transformation was complete, a lingering fire burned in her chest. She wasn't sure how much longer she could do this. Her mermaid body resisted the cold, but the darkness kept her uneasy.

Something scratched at the base of the dome. A badger curiously pawing at it?

Ariel sank into the water, hoping for the best.

When Elsa returned, she found Rapunzel by the fire. A Romani man played the lute while others laughed and clanked frothy mugs holding conversation with her. Three women weaved her hair with their bony fingers. "It's like working with spun gold," one cackled.

"Where's the red-headed one?" Cooper asked.

"She prefers to sleep alone. It's... it's how she was raised."

"That's a bit unusual."

"We're all a bit unusual," Rapunzel said. "I lived in a single room for eighteen years and my hair is seventy feet long." The gypsies laughed and continued their cups. Rapunzel's distraction had worked. "Is Ariel okay?" she asked Elsa.

Elsa sat down beside her. "I think so. She... found a pond, and wanted to 'sleep' there. I made sure she was protected."

Rapunzel nodded. "I asked Granny about Omis Ravir. She said the folk tale is that he lives in an old cathedral further west, deep in the woods. She's not sure if it's real or just a legend to scare people. Her people weren't exactly welcome near the church."

Elsa nodded. "Is he supposed to be a man? A monster? A wizard?"

"Granny wasn't entire sure. She thought it was once a man. But the stench of evil was so strong, she couldn't believe anything in there was ever human. She wouldn't even try burning down the woods, in case it survived and found its way out. Anyway, she promised to have us guided there tomorrow morning."

Someone handed Elsa and Rapunzel two bowls of steaming stew.

"Then... I guess all that's left tonight is to eat, drink and be merry," Elsa said.

In the morning, as Rapunzel finished hemming her stockings, she heard rustling vines. Elsa emerged, leading Ariel out. She was wearing Elsa's shawl.

"Are you okay?" Rapunzel asked.

"I can't w-w-wait to have this c-c-curse lifted," Ariel said. "I d-d-d-d-don't think I can d-d-d-do that ag-g-g-gain." Elsa rubbed Ariel's shoulders.

Nash finished tying his boots. The tin objects on his hiking pack jingled. "Ladies, I'm ready to go whenever you are."

"Is it far?"

Nash shrugged. "It'll take about half the morning to get there."

"Maybe the walk will warm me up," Ariel said.

They left the camp behind and traveled across the prairie. A jade forest swallowed them up, full of dense thickets and jungle vines the color of parrot feathers.

Nash led, hacking at the brush with a short sword. In the beginning, birds chittered overhead. But now deep in, only the wind creaked old boughs.

"All right," Nash said. "This is far as I'm taking you."

"We're not there yet," Ariel said.

"I'm not going anywhere closer. Sorry, miladies. I know Granny said I'd take you all the way, but I've gone further than I feel comfortable. And I'm not taking one more step if I've got breath." He pointed. "Just keep going that direction. You can see the cathedral from here, if you've a mind to climb a tree. Just don't... aw, never mind."

"What?" Ariel asked.

"Nothing. Did you bring any weapons?"

Ariel held out her trident. Elsa flexed her fingers.

Rapunzel said, "Um, should I have something?"

"I wouldn't go in with anything less than a king's battalion." Nash sloughed off his backpack. "Let's see... maybe I can give you something. There's a decent knife. It's a bit chipped. Um... Maybe I can whip up a sling, but... no, I don't have any leather." He turned the pack around.

"How about that?"

Rapunzel pointed at a cast-iron cooking pan hung off the strap.

"This? It's an old fry pan."

Rapunzel, bright-eyed, nodded. "That'll work."

Nash shrugged and unhooked it. "Okay... if that's what you want..." Rapunzel held up the pan to her chest, grinning, while Ariel and Elsa returned confusion.

Nash put his back pack on and huffed. "Good luck, ladies. May rain fall to your south and the rainbow touch your shoulder."

They waved goodbye as he disappeared behind a tall oak.

Ariel used her trident to push aside the branches, searching for the path of least resistance. All the trees were old and gnarled. The farther they went, the more grizzled they got.

Ten minutes later, they reached a clearing. Vines and dead branches draped everywhere, giving the appearance of a sun-dappled rotunda scooped out of the forest. Just beyond lay a brick facade, covered in thick bushes and ropy ivy.

"We found it," Ariel said, squealing.

The forest, try as it might, couldn't seem to reclaim the cathedral as its own. Heavy trees obstructed access to anything but the front wall. Shards of stained glass windows poked around the frame, some with branches snaking through. Weeds had grown through cracked steps and hassock melded with stone.

"That's creepy," Ariel said, pointing.

A stone statue stood in an inset above the cathedral doors. It was as big as an elephant, but shaped like a grand lion or dog.

"Some kind of gargoyle or manticore." Rapunzel said. "Should we go in?"

Rapunzel and Ariel approached, while Elsa stood back, unnerved by the statue. She couldn't figure out why it stood out to her. Empty coal-black eyes stared out from a face constructed from thick discs. Spires flared out around its neck like a mane. Something about its architectural style seemed off. Or maybe it was the stonework. Elsa couldn't put her finger on it.

Then Elsa snapped her fingers. It was the only object in the glen with no moss.

Before she could tell the others, Rapunzel and Ariel stepped on the walkway. Something started humming. The stone veneer over the statue's eyes cracked. Bright blue whorls lit up, lifeless like glass.

Stone pebbles and shards spilled onto Ariel's and Rapunzel's heads. They stepped back toward Elsa.

The monster shook its head, raining dirt and dust. It leapt off its perch. The ground trembled on landing. It adjusted its haunches, dropped its jaw, and roared.

"Oh boy," Ariel said.

#Ariel #Elsa #Rapunzel #Tangled #Frozen #The Little Mermaid #Disney #fanfiction #Reprise #fanfic #disneyprincess #crossover

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