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myfanwymusings · 3 years

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TAYLOR SWIFT / FEARLESS (TAYLOR’S VERSION)

These lyrics are from Taylor Swift’s 2021 re-recording of her 2008 sophomore album, Fearless. These lyrics may be modified to better fit roleplay purposes. Please note: every track from the new album has been included, except Love Story (Elvira Remix) and Forever & Always (Piano Version) due to their lyrics being duplicates of lyrics already in the album elsewhere.

FEARLESS

There's something 'bout the way the street looks when it's just rained

I'm trying so hard not to get caught up

You're just so cool

I don't know how it gets better than this

With you I'd dance In a storm in my best dress

I wanna stay right here

I'm not usually this way

You pull me in and I'm a little more brave

FIFTEEN

Take a deep breath and walk through the doors

Try to stay out of everybody's way

You know, I haven't seen you around before

When you're fifteen and somebody tells you they love you, you're gonna believe them

When someone tells you they love you, you’re going to believe them

We'll be outta here as soon as we can

All you wanted was to be wanted

All I wanted was to be wanted

Back then, I swore I was gonna marry him someday

I realized some bigger dreams of mine

I've found time can heal most anything

I didn't know who I was supposed to be

I didn't know who I was supposed to be at fifteen

LOVE STORY

We were both young when I first saw you

Hello

Stay away from Juliet

I’m begging you, please don't go

Please don't go.

Take me somewhere we can be alone

All there's left to do is run

You'll be the prince and I'll be the princess

It’s a love story, baby just say yes.

Baby, just say yes.

We're dead if they knew

They're trying to tell me how to feel

This love is difficult, but it’s real

Don’t be afraid, we’ll make it out of this mess

I got tired of waiting

My faith in you is fading

I’ve been so alone

I keep waiting for you but you never come

Is this in my head?

I don’t know what to think

Marry me, Juliet

You’ll never have to be alone

I love you, and that’s all I really know

I talked to your dad

Go pick out a white dress

HEY STEPHEN

I know looks can be deceiving

I know I saw a light in you

I didn't say half the things I wanted to

You might have me believing I don't always have to be alone

I can't help it if you look like an angel

I wanna kiss you in the rain

Come feel this magic I've been feeling since I met you

I can't help it if there's no one else

I can’t help myself

I've been holding back this feeling, so I got some things to say to you

I never seen nobody shine the way you do

I've seen it all, so I thought

I think you and I should stay the same

Why aren't you here tonight?

I could give you fifty reasons why I should be the one you choose

All those other girls, well, they're beautiful but would they write a song for you?

WHITE HORSE

Say you're sorry

That face of an angel comes out just when you need it to

I honestly believed in you

This ain't a fairytale

I was a dreamer before you went and let me down

Maybe I was naive, got lost in your eyes

I didn't know to be in love that you had to fight to have the upper hand

I had so many dreams about you and me

I'm gonna find someone someday who might actually treat me well

YOU BELONG WITH ME

She's going off about something that you said

She doesn't get your humor like I do

What you're looking for has been here the whole time

Why can't you see that you belong with me?

I can't help thinking this is how it ought to be

You've got a smile that could light up this whole town

Hey, isn't this easy?

You say you're fine but I know you better than that

I remember you driving to my house in the middle of the night

All this time how could you not know?

Have you ever thought just maybe you belong with me?

BREATHE (FEAT. COLBIE CALLAIT)

None of us thought it was gonna end that way

People are people and sometimes we change our minds

It's killing me to see you go after all this time

I don't know what to be without you around

We know it's never simple

You're the only thing I know like the back of my hand

I can't breathe without you, but I have to

I never wanted this, I never wanna see you hurt

Nothing we say is gonna save us from the fall out

It's 2 A.M, feeling like I just lost a friend

TELL ME WHY

You might think I'm bulletproof, but I'm not

You took a swing, I took it hard

Down here from the ground I see who you are

I'm sick and tired of your attitude

I'm feeling like I don't know you

You tell me that you love me, then cut me down

You know you got a mean streak

I remember what you said last night

I know, that you see, what you're doing to me

You could write a book on how to ruin someone's perfect day

I'm sick and tired of your reasons

I got no one to believe in

You tell me that you want me, then push me around

Why do you have to make me feel small?

Why do you have to put down my dreams?

YOU’RE NOT SORRY

I've been giving out chances every time and all you do is let me down

It's taken me this long, baby, but I've figured you out

You're thinking we'll be fine again, but not this time around

You don't have to call anymore

This is the last straw

I don't wanna hurt anymore

You can tell me that you're sorry but I don't believe you, baby, like I did before

You're not sorry

I might believe you if I didn't know

I could've loved you all my life if you hadn't left me waiting in the cold

You've got your share of secrets and I'm tired of being last to know

You used to shine so bright, but I watched all of it fade

THE WAY I LOVED YOU

I couldn't ask for anything better

You look beautiful tonight

I feel perfectly fine

I miss screaming and fighting and kissing in the rain

It's 2AM and I'm cursing your name

I never knew I could feel that much

You're so in love that you acted insane

He can't see the smile I'm faking

My heart's not breaking cause I'm not feeling anything at all

FOREVER & ALWAYS

Were you just kidding?

I don't feel welcome anymore

Baby, what happened?

He still hasn't called

You feel so low you can't feel nothing at all

I was there when you said forever and always

Was I out of line?

Did I say something way too honest?

I thought I knew you for a minute, now I'm not so sure

Where is this going?

Did you forget everything?

I don’t think so

You didn't mean it

THE BEST DAY

I don't know why all the trees change in the fall

You're not scared of anything at all

I know I had the best day with you today

How my friends could be so mean?

I don't know who I'm going to talk to now at school

I have an excellent father, his strength is making me stronger

You're the prettiest lady in the whole wide world

I know you were on my side even when I was wrong

I didn't know if you knew

CHANGE

I believe in whatever you do

I'll do anything to see it through

These things will change

Can you feel it now?

These walls that they put up to hold us back will fall down

The time will come for us to finally win

So we've been outnumbered, raided, and now cornered

It's hard to fight when the fight ain’t fair

We're getting stronger

They might be bigger but we're faster and never scared

There's something in your eyes says we can beat this

We never gave in

JUMP THEN FALL

I like the way you sound in the morning

Your laugh is the best sound I have ever heard

All I can think is we should be together

Don't be afraid to jump then fall

I'm never gonna leave you

I'll catch you

The time is gonna come when you're so mad you could cry

I'll hold you through the night until you smile

Every time you smile, I smile

Every time you shine, I shine

UNTOUCHABLE

I'm reaching out and I just can't tell you why

I'm caught up in you

When you're close, I feel like coming undone

Say that we'll be together

I won't wait here all day

I want to feel you by my side and standing next to me

COME IN WITH THE RAIN

I don't wanna go there anymore

I know all the steps up to your door but I don't wanna go there anymore

I'll leave my window open

I'm too tired at night to call your name

Just know I'm right here hoping that you'll come in with the rain

I could stand up and sing you a song but I don't wanna have to go that far

I've got you down, I know you by heart and you don't even know where I start

I don't know what else I can say

I'm too tired at night for all these games

SUPERSTAR

This is wrong but I can't help but feel like there ain’t nothing more right

I can't help but wish I could see your face

I knew from the first note played I'd be breaking all my rules to see you

I'm no one special, just another wide-eyed girl who's desperately in love with you

Loneliness comes around when I'm not dreaming about you

I knew when I saw your face I'd be counting down the ways to see you

I'm invisible and everyone knows who you are

THE OTHER SIDE OF THE DOOR

In the heat of the fight I walked away ignoring words that you were saying

This time I've had enough

I'm so mad I might tell you that it's over

Leave

I'm in love with you

All I need is on the other side of the door

I keep going back over things we both said

If you know everything tell me why you couldn't see when I left, I wanted you to chase after me

I can't even look at you

I don’t need you, but I do

There's nothing you can say to make this right again, I mean it

TODAY WAS A FAIRY TALE

Today was a fairy tale

I used to be a damsel in distress

Time slows down whenever you're around

Can you feel this magic in the air?

I fell in love when I saw you standing there

It's getting so much clearer

Nothing made sense 'til the time I saw your face

YOU ALL OVER ME (FEAT. MAREN MORRIS)

I lived, and I learned, had you, got burned

Swore that I'd get out of here

No amount of freedom gets you clean

I've still got you all over me

The best and worst day of June was the one that I met you

Don't you wish you had me?

Every breath of air I breathe reminds me of then

I watched a part of myself die

MR. PERFECTLY FINE

I've been waitin' for you all my life

Every single day until the end, I will be by your side

It takes everything in me just to get up each day

Hello Mr. "Perfectly fine", how's your heart after breaking mine?

It's wonderful to see that you're okay

Everything revolves around you

Well, I thought you might be different than the rest, I guess you're all the same

'Cause I hear he's got his arm 'round a brand-new girl

I never got past what you put me through but it's wonderful to see that it never fazed you

WE WERE HAPPY

When it was good, baby, it was good

No one could touch the way we laughed in the dark

Goodbye's so much harder 'cause we were happy

I hate those voices telling me I'm not in love anymore

THAT’S WHEN (FEAT. KEITH URBAN)

Need some space to think about all of this

When can I come back?

All this playing, did you ever think of me?

I'll be waiting at the front gate

I did you wrong, made mistakes and put you through all of this

I'll come back

DON’T YOU

I knew I'd run into you somewhere

It's been a while

I didn't mean to stare

I'm sure she'll make you happy

Don't smile at me and ask me how I've been

Don't say you've missed me if you don't want me again

You don't how much I feel I love you still

Sometimes I really wish that I could hate you

I swore I wouldn't do this

BYE BYE BABY

It wasn't just like a movie

This is the last time I'll drive this way again

I still love you but I can't

I was so sure of everything we thought we'd always have

Seems like I'm becoming part of your past

There's so much that I can't touch

You're all I want but it's not enough this time

I can feel you like you're slipping through my hands

I'm so scared of how this ends

I want you back but it's coming down to nothing

#Taylor Swift lyrics.#inbox memes.#roleplay memes.#roleplay starters.#rpc #rph #rp sources #rp memes.

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sundiscus · 3 years

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wangxian dragon age au: ficlet

[part of a larger au i’ve mapped out + started drafting, but want to post as snippets for now! i’ve taken many liberties with the worldbuilding, and as such i think most can be inferred with context if you’re unfamiliar with dragon age.

part one now here

this snippet: the meet-ugly, ~1.7k]

✨✨✨

When Lan Wangji wakes up, he isn’t alone.

He doesn’t realize it right away. The first thing he notices is that, this time, there are no shackles. He shifts his hands the slightest bit, enough to confirm they are indeed free. The movement pulls at the little cuts on his fingers and forearms from where the shackles shattered apart, already scabbing over—so he has been unconscious long enough for the magebane to burn out of his system, which he confirms, finding his meridians free and clear. He’s lying on his back, something that feels slightly too soft to be a stone floor under him and something that feels slightly too rough to be a blanket draped over him. An odd green light pulses against his eyelids and the only sound is a muted, continuous hiss, like a distant waterfall. Wherever he is, it isn’t the cell from earlier.

It doesn’t matter. He won’t be here long.

He takes one more slow breath, listening closely. There. To his left, a few paces away, he hears a tiny, cut-off inhale. Now he knows where to aim. His eyes fly open as he launches himself upright, summoning his sword into his raised hand, and—

It’s like expecting the ocean and finding only a puddle. His sword flickers into existence for the barest moment, its glow illuminating a circle of stone walls, a pallet beneath him, and then Lan Wangji’s lungs stutter, pressure squeezing his temples, as if all air has been sucked out of the room. Bichen dissipates and Lan Wangji is left gasping, one hand still raised uselessly in the air.

From the shadows, someone says: “Ah, that’s not going to work.”

Lan Wangji is already looking to the side. He sees only a figure at first, because when his sword disappeared so had the strange, omnipresent green glow. The glow returns now, slowly illuminating a young man curled against the opposite wall, his hair a dark, tangled wave over his shoulders, wrists chained together with thick iron manacles. For a moment his eyes, staring right back at Lan Wangji, are the brightest thing in the room.

“What do you mean?” Lan Wangji demands, finding his voice. “Is there a suppression array?” It must be powerful to choke off his magic so finitely. If he can see it, though, he can figure out how to undo it.

The man wrinkles his nose. “Not exactly. But—ah, ah,” he says as Lan Wangji starts to stand, “don’t move too fast, the blowback from that is going to be pretty harsh.”

Lan Wangji understands almost instantly as a wave of vertigo hits him. His knees buckle before he’s halfway to his feet and he collapses back on the pallet, bracing his weight on his elbow to keep from falling entirely. When his ears stop ringing he can hear his own ragged breathing.

Enough, he thinks, and forces himself to even his breaths. To shift focus. Clearly whatever precautions Wen Chao and his soldiers have taken to secure this room go beyond magebane and a simple suppression array. He won’t be able to escape by sheer force like last time, but this will still be no more than a brief detour on his journey. He will make sure of it.

Yesterday—was it yesterday, now? The chamber has no windows, just the eerie green glow emanating from the walls—Lan Wangji had been traveling with a retinue of junior enchanters to retrieve research texts from the Circle in Hedong, where scholars claimed to have promising studies related to fade rifts. They were nearly there when a raven alighted on Lan Wangji’s shoulder, bearing the message: Siege on Gusu Circle. Reconvene to the north. He’d sent the junior enchanters ahead and turned back before the raven even took flight.

(The note had not mentioned his brother, so his brother must be alive. Rumors were already spreading outward from Gusu as he rode, saying Wen Xu had an archdemon, Wen Xu burned the Gusu library to the ground. They did not say Wen Xu killed Zewu-jun, Wen Xu killed a mage with a glowing hand. So his brother must have escaped. Knowing this did not stop Lan Wangji’s heart from racing as he spurred his horse faster, past refugee settlements and Templar camps, toward the distant gash in the sky.)

And then: a poisoned arrow biting into his arm, his horse crumpling on a hardpacked road outside Lingchuan. The Wen soldiers, ready for him. (Not ready enough, when at least six of their bodies fell before Lan Wangji did.) One day in the first cell, his failed escape attempt.

And now: magicless, trapped in a strange room with a strange, sharp-eyed prisoner watching him struggle to sit upright, the slow crawl of time a physical weight on Lan Wangji’s shoulders.

“Honestly, just ride it out,” the prisoner is saying. He has his chained hands up and open, like he’s trying to calm a spooked animal. “You’ll feel better in about an hour. Maybe less, if you’ve had a good meal recently.”

Lan Wangji’s head spins sickeningly. He ignores it, pushing himself up until he can prop himself against the wall, putting himself eye-level with the prisoner, at least.

“Or sit up anyway, I suppose,” the prisoner says. His voice has a ragged edge, as if it’s scraping its way out of his throat. “Sorry, I’d offer you some water, but I drank it all before I knew I’d have company. What are you doing here, anyway?”

If First Enchanter Lan wants his nephew back, he’ll have to lend us a few books, Wen Chao had mocked from outside the first cell. And if he wants you back with all your limbs attached, he’ll have to throw in trading deeds with the eastern lyrium mines for good measure. Do you think he can deliver that before you die here?

Wen Chao wanted demonic texts, Lan Wangji had guessed, the ones hidden deep within the library. No doubt for some dangerous, power-hungry scheme, and no doubt connected to the rifts. From there, it wasn’t hard to piece together that the attack on the Circle was meant to discover which texts were critical enough to be rescued and transported away, and likely steal them in transit. There are protocols for such events, Lan Wangji knows, and his presence here means the raid was unsuccessful, and he will be used as leverage for a second attempt.

If Wen Chao meant to scare Lan Wangji with his demands, he had only succeeded in doing the opposite. Because if all they want from Lan Wangji’s family are books and deeds, it means they don’t know about his brother yet.

Lan Wangji doesn’t share any of this. “Political prisoner,” is all he says.

“Ahh.” The man nods. “I figured, what with the…” He gestures at his own forehead, chains clinking as he does. “You’re obviously a Lan. Someone will pay well to have you back home.”

“They should not have to pay at all,” Lan Wangji bites out. Something about the prisoner’s casual attitude grates at him. The world outside is quite literally falling apart at the seams, and Lan Wangji doesn’t have time to be used as bait in Wen Chao’s small-minded games.

The prisoner shrugs. “Yeah, but there’s not much choice at the moment, is there? For now you’re stuck here with me. I’m—my name is Wei Ying, by the way. What should I call you, while we wait?”

“Do the Wen soldiers enter this cell often?” Lan Wangji says instead of answering. “Is there a chance of overpowering them?”

A grimace. “Often enough. And no, I’ve tried. They’re stupid, but they’re prepared.”

Lan Wangji casts another glance over the man—Wei Ying—and carefully keeps any skepticism out of his expression. Then he looks around properly for the first time. Wei Ying is right—there’s no visible array on the floor, no glyphs on the circular stone walls. The green glow fades as it climbs the wall, leaving the ceiling cloaked in shadow and dizzying to look at, like an endless tunnel. Disturbingly, there isn’t a visible door, either. There isn’t much of anything but the one straw pallet, a lidded pot against the wall, an empty bowl next to Wei Ying, bone-dry, and Wei Ying himself.

“A Lan,” Wei Ying says when Lan Wangji is silent for long enough, pitched low, almost like he’s talking to himself. “I’m surprised Wen Chao would be so bold. He has to know that won’t go over well in the long run, I wonder if his father has any idea? No, he would’ve sent Wen Xu. Maybe Wen Chao thinks that by the time someone comes for you, he’ll have—” Wei Ying cuts himself off. Blinks. “You are real, aren’t you?”

Lan Wangji narrows his eyes. “What do you mean?”

“Oh, you’re not…” Wei Ying waves a hand at the room around them. “But, ah, why would I dream up a whole Knight-Enchanter? A Lan at that? You felt real enough, when I dragged you onto the pallet, but it’s still hard to tell.” Lan Wangji must have some reaction to that—to knowing this stranger’s hands have been on him, when he was unconscious—because Wei Ying adds, defensive: “What was I supposed to do? They left you on the floor.”

Lan Wangji doesn’t have an answer to that.

Wei Ying tips his head back against the wall. “Well. Your Circle, they have your phylactery, right? They’ll find you. Pay the ransom, or lay siege to Wen Chao’s little fortress here. That would be nice.” He casts his gaze over Lan Wangji again. “Looks like our captors were gentle enough in the meanwhile.”

There’s dried blood tugging at the hair of Lan Wangji’s temple, and he still has the nauseating sense that if he moves too fast he might collapse again. Gentle isn’t how Lan Wangji would describe his treatment so far. But it is also far below the threshold of what he can withstand, so it doesn’t seem like a point worth arguing. “And you?” he hears himself say.

“Uh.” Wei Ying shifts and holds up his shackled hands. “Less gentle, I suppose.”

“I meant—who will be paying your ransom.”

Wei Ying drops his hands into his lap. “Oh. No one.”

“Then,” Lan Wangji says, “why are you here?”

For the first time, Wei Ying flashes a smile. A hooked dagger in the dim light.

“I have something they want.”

#poor herald lxc 😔#this au is going to be equal parts h/c + dreamsharing + Dragons #because i am nothing if not predictable #this started months and months ago as a secret santa gift for eli #eli ilu!#wangxian #ficlet #my words #DA AU

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yoongi-sugaglider · 3 years

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Jungkook x reader

fairy/soulmate au

Warnings: fluff, mentions of war, mentions of bodily injury, ummm...fluff? lol

Word count: Exactly 10k on the dot!!!

A/n note: So this was supposed to be my secret santa/ winter project for December 2020 but some life stuff came up aka my dad had some very severe health issues that kinda broke my brain for a while. He’s doing better now though and I finally was able to just sit and give this story the love it deserved. To @birbdae I am so sorry this is late but thank you so much for being patient with me~ Happy belated birthday and I love you bunches~

“Mother, tell me the story again?” The young girl whispered as she clung to the Queen’s multitude of skirts.

“Hush now my love.” The elegant lady gathered her child into her arms, eyes struggling to see her tiny face in the dusky twilight that surrounded them.

“Please Mother, I’m scared…”

The woman sighed, allowing her silvery hair to fall into her eyes as she pressed her forehead to her child’s and allowed the icy chill that surrounded them to comfort her into speaking.

“Once upon a time, there lived a young maiden so fair that kingdoms bowed down at the very mention of her name.”

“Queen Merialiies, the most powerful of the frost fae.” The little princess sighed, settling into her mother’s arms and allowing the familiar words to comfort her.

“Aye, that she was. And the kindest. A great war ravaged her country. So devastating was it that half the world lost their lives and the balance of life and death were in chaos.”

The Queen clutched her child closer, shivering as her eyes trained intensely on the entrance of the isolated cavern. “When the war was over the maiden emerged from hiding, seeking out her people and gathering them from their hiding places. She knew that if they were to revive the world they would have to come together, for their strength lay in their bond with each other.”

“Because our joined power is always greater than if we are alone.”

The Queen chuckled, nuzzling into her daughter’s hair and placing the most gentle of kisses to her forehead. “Am I telling this story or you my love?”

The child smiled up at her, giggling as she patted her mother’s cheek. “I’m sorry Mother, please, would you keep going?”

“Alright, where was I?”

“You were about to come to the best part!”

Smiling the Queen nodded, though her grip on her child tightened. “The maiden persevered, gaining strength from her people as they guided the world towards rebirth. But something was wrong. The poor dear, though surrounded by those that loved and adored her felt alone. Something was missing in her life. A love that she could have all to herself. She began searching, hoping to find one who could see through her strength to the innocent and lonely woman within.”

“And she did Mother! She found her own truest love.”

“Shh, quietly my lovely.” Her panicked gaze wandered the dark, listening intently to the wayward sounds that filtered in through the stone and ice.

“You’re right. She found her love. A twin flame to melt away the loneliness in her heart. The one who carried not only a burning love for her, but also the twin pair to her wings.”

The youngling sighed, burying her face in her mother’s chest as her tiny fingers wrapped in the delicate silk of her bodice. “Twin souls. They were happy right? Finding each other?”

“Of course my love. Finding your twin soul is a cause for celebration. And they did. They celebrated for weeks after. Two kingdoms joined together to celebrate the greatest love story in the history of the fae. There was no war, only peace and prosperity.”

The sounds from outside gained in volume. Explosions and cries for help echoed through the cavern as the two held each other close.

“Mother…”

“I know baby. I’m here. It will be okay…”

***

“My Lady where are you?”

The young woman flinched, tucking herself farther into the frost covered tree as she watched her jailer...lady in waiting, search for her in the gardens down below.

She’d been avoiding the poor harried woman for hours, hoping to not be dragged back to the small cabin they called home and be forced to sit down and study her histories again. The tutor they’d found liked to drone on and on, more busy with facts and numbers than the great stories of heroes and villains that the young woman preferred to daydream about. He’d taken on the job willingly, a poor clumsy scholar that tended more towards the clumsy side despite the brilliance of his mind.

“My lady! Sir Namjoon awaits you! Please stop hiding and come so that he can teach you like we hired him to!”

The woman snorted, knowing she’d be able to hide as long as she needed if it meant she didn’t have to hover protectively over her inkwell while the man droned on. Luck was not on her side this day though. Where normally her fingers would have done their work, gripping tightly to the course bark that wrapped her beloved tree in silvery protection, today they faltered in the cold.

She barely had a moment to react, a silent oh! of surprise slipping from her lips as she took her tumble. The ground rushed up to meet her, its snow covered embrace announcing her hiding spot with a resounding crash.

A gasp echoed through the clearing, swallowed by the sound of rushed footsteps crunching their way through the freshly lain snow. The fallen woman groaned, eyes filled with the sight of the uncaring forest staring down at her as she lay resigned to her fate.

“My Lady you mustn't lay on your back like…” The maid stuttered to a halt, delicate fingers coming up to cover her lips as her eyes filled with misty tears. “Oh...oh your ladyship I...I’m so s…”

“Hush now Solaris. It’s been 14 years.” The woman sat up abruptly, dusting the snow from her dress and rising to brush it off of her back. “I’ve had enough of these woods. Come now, Sir Clumsy britches is waiting for me.”

Solaris couldn’t help the tittering giggle that slipped from her lips. She bowed her head, giving the young woman a small curtsy as they began making their way back towards the village.

“Might I ask why you’re always climbing that tree my lady?” She couldn’t help her curiosity. It seemed her charge was always running off, attempting to find some adventure or another in any attempt to escape her duties.

“Honestly? I’m not sure. I just…” The young woman sighed, fingers brushing at her skirts as she ducked beneath a wayward tree branch and stepped out into the clearing that housed their small cottage. “I’ve always felt like I was searching for something. Even as a child. I suppose I thought if I could see more of the land, see more of the world from up high I’d be able to figure out what that something is.”

“And have you found it my lady?”

The melancholic woman shook her head, pausing at the door to the cottage and glancing once around the clearing. It was a modest little place they called home, situated just inside the wall of trees that surrounded the capital city of their kingdom. They managed to live quietly here, benefiting from the security of the centuries old trees and forest while still being close enough to the large city to fulfill all of their living needs. It was home, though not the one she’d grown up in. That was a fairytale now only to think about in the quiet nights when she tossed and turned with nightmares of the past.

“No...I haven’t found my twin flame. Not...not yet anyway.”

***

“Your Highness! There’s news from the capital!” A hurried Solaris burst through the front door, eyes wide and panicked as she struggled to catch her breath from the obvious nonstop run from the market to their home.

“Goodness Solaris. Take a moment, calm yourself.” The young woman rose from her chair, absolutely grateful for the interruption from Sir Namjoon’s usual rantings as she guided her breathless maid to the chair she’d been occupying.

“Sir Namjoon, would you kindly draw Lady Solaris a cup of water? I’m sure she’d be grateful.”

The usually calm man grew flustered at the request, rushing towards the tiny kitchen area and rifling through the items for the requested object. Surprisingly nothing fell or broke though as the man returned with a tall cup of cold water and handed it to the maid with trembling hands and the tiniest of a dimple filled smile.

“Y...your...your water my Lady.” He muttered, scurrying back to his large stack of books as if terrified to have Solaris’s attention on him for too long.

After allowing the woman to take a few sips to calm herself her mistress took the cup, placing it off to the side and handing over a handkerchief to allow the woman to wipe at her sweat covered brow.

“Now, what’s got you so flustered that you had to burst in here in the most unladylike of manners?” She smiled in amusement as the woman inhaled sharply, almost as if preparing for the most magnanimous of speeches.

“Your highness! The king! He’s come to the capital and he’s calling all the maidens of the kingdom to attend him! It’s required that all, no matter their status, must see him at once!”

“That conquering tyrant.” Where normally she would be calm the woman suddenly burned bright red with a strange fury. “First he takes our country and now he wants all of the maidens to attend to him?” She turned from her hand maid, fury twisting her features as she stomped over to the window to glare out at the surrounding forest.

“No my Lady, you’re mistaken.” Solaris stuttered, sitting up in her chair as she finally allowed her thoughts to settle. “It’s for the First Prince. They’re wanting a marriage of good faith to allow the two kingdoms to integrate peacefully.”

“P..peacefully??” She sputtered as she turned from the window. Throwing her hands in the air she couldn’t help but to rant. “Those hot heads should have thought of that BEFORE they burned our crops and raided our villages! We’d have easily come to a compromise of some sort had they come bearing that same mentality before taking up arms against us!”

“Madame, they…”

“Yes yes I know.” She waved off Namjoon’s words dismissively. “My father didn’t want to send me there. Didn’t want his precious daughter to ‘descend into that den of thieves’” She tossed up air quotes, sarcasm dripping from every word she spoke. “Really, you men and your misplaced pride. It’s ridiculous how foolish you can be when you think with your sword instead of your minds.”

“With our...m..Madam!” The look of shock on the poor scholar’s face would have been priceless any other day. But for some reason the stately lady of the house just wasn’t feeling the need to tease the scholar.

“So how are they doing this?” She made her way to her favorite chair as she spoke, dropping into it with a huff and staring out of the small cottage’s window. The drifting snowflakes outside caught her attention and she watched them dance their way to the ground as she listened to Solaris explain the situation.

“They’ll be sending soldiers to each house bearing invitations for each eligible female.”

“They’ll be tallying each one up too. Make sure they can count each household while they’re at it.” She grumped as she folded her arms on the window ledge and plopped her chin on her forearms.

“More than likely, yes. And adding to that they’ll send the same soldiers out the day of the ball to come and collect the women.” Namjoon chimed in. “They’ll claim it’s a safety precaution but more so it’s to ensure none of them run off.”

“Why would they do that?” Solaris blinked innocently, her dazed expression and glazed eyes giving away how little she understood of the situation. “A ball! Just imagine all of the beautiful dresses we would see. And all of the handsome young men!” Her giggle echoed through the silent cabin. It quickly died off when she realized neither of her companions were sharing in her excitement.

“Honestly, I forget sometimes you weren’t old enough to remember the war and how horrible things were for our kind.” Standing from her window seat she brushed at the gossamer fabric of her dress as if attempting to rid herself of some imagined dust. “When is this ball they have planned?”

“In three days. They’ll begin sending out soldiers in the morning.” Solaris replied, hanging her head sadly.

“I see. Sir Namjoon, we’ll resume my studies once I’ve returned.” She turned away from the teo, making her way to her room and beginning to pack a small selection of her belongings.

“Wh...Miss...what are you doing?” Solaris demanded as she sidestepped the whirlwind of a woman who was now packing small packages of dried meats and medicines from the storage area of the kitchen.

“I can’t be there. If they find me, find out who I am? I just...I have to go.”

She finished packing, mind a cold void as her determination was already set. After informing the two where she was going she set off, hoping to escape whatever fate was trying to force her way.

***

The woods were lovely, dark, and deep.

She found herself sighing at the sounds that greeted her as she stepped from the tree line to survey her surroundings.

Before her and stretching far off into the horizon was a massive frozen lake, it's surface dappled by the hoof and paw prints of the many animals that dwelled in the safety of the forest beyond and refused to sleep the winter months away. A rare smile graced her lips, one almost as secretive as the hidden cave she turned and began to make her way towards.

Her steps became lighter as she crunched through the snow, the weight of the sudden announcement lifting from her shoulders as she stepped beneath the glistening blue stalactites. The interior was dimly lit from the light that gently filtered through from the ice that protected the entrance from prying eyes.

The only sound that echoed in the place were her unhurried footsteps and a gentle dripping that whispered to her from somewhere further back in the darkness. She'd visited here many times before, a quiet reprieve she'd found several summers ago when she'd come to the lake to escape the insufferable heat of the season.

The locals didn't visit it,claiming it to be haunted by a human's soul that'd taken up residency in the place a millennia ago, back before the wingless race had died off. It suited her perfectly well as it gave her the solitude she needed to allow her poor broken wings a chance to be free.

And she did just that as she dumped her pack beside the cold ashes of the firepit she'd made during her last visit. Unsnapping the corset that since her waist she allowed it to drop beside her pack and stretched out what remained of her wings.

The nerves had died off long ago, the burnt ends though still stung with the phantom pain, a dark reminder of the night her entire childhood was ripped away from her. She sighed, glancing over her shoulders and imagining the wings as they used to be, a swirl of silver color patterned with flames and snowflakes that gave her the glorious joy of flying through the freezing winter air.

Fluttering them once and then twice she stretched them, letting the cold cave air cool them after being compressed within her body heat for so long. It was a shame really, but she didn’t allow herself to dwell on it for too long, she had a camp to make and some relaxing to do.

***

Jungkook had had just about enough of his aides. They hovered at all hours of the day, incessant in their rambling about court protocol and how important it was to not start any fights with the locals. He was well aware.

He’d never even wanted the war that had ravaged the Winter Kingdom. Had begged his father and the generals to try peace over everything else. But in the end the words of a child had gone unheard by the war blinded adults.

So here he sat, shivering violently from the cold as those blasted tittering fools for his aides dashed around his chamber. He could have called on his flaming core to warm him, but after the first day of doing so only to find himself collapsed in the hall from using far too much energy, he’d just decided it was better to suffer the cold than to appear weak in front of his unfortunate enemies.

“Sire! We must leave now. You mustn’t be late for Lord Hoseok’s dance lessons!” The tiny mouse of a man squeaked, trying so very hard to appear contained and in charge despite the dark circles of worry beneath his eyes.

“Jimin, you know that even if I’m early Lord Hoseok will still grind me into the dust for not learning that infernal winter waltz faster.” The Prince frowned, taking in Jimin’s fear-streaked face.

“That may be Your Highness. But should you dally any longer you’ll be late for sword training with Sir Yoongi as well as etiquette lessons with Lord Seokjin. We have to stick to your schedule or they’ll all be displeased and tell your Father!” Jimin squeaked again, petite hands fluttering up to cover the trembling of his lips.

“My father is too busy planning out his next conquest to even pay half a mind to what’s going on with me or my ’schedule’. Never mind…” He sighed, getting up from the window seat he’d been staring out of and making his way out of his room.

“Have Taehyung meet me at dinner. I’ve got something to discuss with him.”

***

The day continued on, lesson after grueling lesson eating away at what little patience the prince had left.

He collapsed into his chair at dinner, too exhausted mentally and physically to pay any mind to the meal scattered out before him.

“Sire, Lord Taehyung has arrived.”

Jungkook glanced up, a tired smile being all he could come up with for his friend.

“You look like a dog dug you up in the yard and used you as a chew toy then reburied you and shit on the pile of dirt.” The young man commented as he took his place beside the monarch in training.

“You know I could have your head for that.” Jungkook grumped as he tossed a pea from his plate in the young Lord’s direction.

“Ah, you could. But they’d have to catch me first.” His statement was emphasized by the pea he’d caught between two fingers.

He was nothing if not quick. He’d worked long ago as an assassin but now sat as Jungkook’s right hand man as well as his best friend.

Jungkook smiled, probably the first pleasant expression he’d worn in quite some time.

“So my great and glorious super Prince, future king of all that is boiling and frozen, to what do I owe this most prestigious of honors of being called upon and humble myself in your magnanimous presence?”

Jungkook just about choked on his water, laughing and coughing at the ridiculousness that was Taehyung’s words.

“By the flame you’ve been hanging out with Lord Seokjin again haven’t you?” He snorted, dabbing a napkin at his nose to clear out the water that’d streamed out while he was laughing.

“I mean, the man has great taste in puns. As a Master of many things it behooves me to learn the delicate art of insulting royalty at every turn without actually offending them.” Taehyung shrugged, spearing a chunk of glazed carrot and waving it through the air as he spoke.

“Well, I called you here for a favor actually.” The prince leaned forward, eyes taking in the unaffected assassin who’d busied himself munching on the food that Jungkook was decidedly ignoring.

“Is that so? Whelped a brat that needs hiding?”

Jungkook sputtered, cheeks a bright crimson as his eyes darted around the empty dining room.

“Taehyung!!”

“That’s a no. Only virgin cheeks brush that brightly at a subject like that.”

“I’ll have you know!!!”

“Hush now, poppa’s thinking.” Taehyung smirked at the flustered royal. “If it’s not that..hmm…” He tapped his chin, pretending to think long and hard while Jungkook tried to gather his bearings.

“You’ve insulted a young maiden and her father’s come a calling wanting reparations and you need the family off’d?”

“For the love of...Taehyung please!?” Jungkook collapsed forward, head buried in his arms as he screamed silently into the table cloth. “You’re never allowed near Seokjin again I swear.”

Taehyung snorted, eyes dancing with glee at having gotten under his friend’s skin.

“So, you’re tired of the court and want to escape is it? Get away from the ball daddy King face arranged so you don’t have to marry some country bumpkin ice queen?”

“I!! Wait. No you’re right. That’s exactly it.” Jungkook’s head jerked up, his face a picture of surprise and awe at how astute the man before him was. “How did you know?”

“We’ve been friends for going on 12 years now my little dongsaeng. How could I not know that you’ve been pushed to your limit and need to escape?” Taehyung smiled, reaching across the table and patting Jungkook’s elbow.

“Don’t worry. Hyung will get you out of this castle. I’ll meet you on your balcony at midnight. Pack light and wear that disguise you’re hiding in that secret compartment at the back of your closet.” Taehyung rose, grabbing one last chicken leg as he began to make his way out of the room.

“How did you…” Before he could finish his sentence though the assassin was already gone, having disappeared into the shadowy hall with one last flirtatious wink thrown over his shoulder.

***

The escape from the castle was simple thanks to Taehyung. A cloak and some heavy clothing were enough to disguise the wings that marked the young Prince as the royal that he was.

The two friends departed with reassurances from Taehyung that he’d lead the guards on a few wild goose chases just long enough for the ball to have come and gone. Jungkook counted his lucky stars in thanks for the effectiveness he’d come to rely on in his friend for so many years.

He took flight, the snowflake and flame veins that marked his wings becoming a blur as he darted through the snow covered canopy of the woods that marked the southern boundary of the Winter kingdom’s capital city.

It didn’t matter where he ended up, he just flew, darting here and there through the trees with a freedom and joy he hadn’t enjoyed in flame only knows how long. He allowed his mind to wander, thoughts a chaotic jumble of hopes and dreams he only allowed himself to think of when he was alone in his rooms at night.

Something gave him pause as he flew. He’d been going for quite some time, but a strange light had flashed at him out of the corner of his eye. A blue glittering affair that’d appeared between the trees despite the woods being pitch dark and most of his vision having been obscured by the blur of fluttering snowflakes.

He pulled up quick, wings only barely straining to keep him from slamming into the trunk of a massive tree that’d been in his way. He twisted in the air, eyes seeking the glow and spotting it as the reflection of a strange light glittering off of the surface of a massive frozen lake.

He moved towards it, allowing his curiosity to guide him on. Stopping short at the edge of the lake he hovered, shielding him from view of the woman dancing on the glowing ice.

It was the strangest thing he’d seen, the way the light shone on her twirling frame as she danced through the snow. It was almost as if the entirety of existence had paused for this one moment. Icicles on the tree branches around him chimed their tune, a melody gifted to his ears from the whispering wind to lend a soft winter’s melody to the racing of his aching heart. He couldn’t take his eyes off her, the whirling ice Princess giggling in the snow.

His wings fluttered, prisms of warm light glancing off her form and highlighting the broken and burned stubs of her wings. He knew the look of those wounds and it hurt to think that at some point the war that had torn their nations apart could have taken the joy of flight from such a beautiful fairy. Without thinking he allowed himself to be lifted through the air, his body reacting first to the pull of the sight of her and second to the musicality of her voice as she sang to the winter’s breeze.

The effort of drifting against the freezing weather proved to be too much for the flame that flickered in his core though. His wings faltered, frost having formed along their tips and weighing them down. The ice of the frozen lake rushed towards him and he couldn’t help the cry of fear that broke free of his chest as he crashed through the thick ice. The last he saw of the enchanting maiden was her panicked gaze, eyes wide at the intrusion and lips parted in a frantic yell as his head sunk beneath the surface.

***

A warmth brushed against his skin and he shivered, subconsciously shimmying his body closer to it. His eyelids felt weighed down by the cold, unable to open as he groaned in protest of the aching cold that stiffened his joints and limbs.

“Hush now, the fire will warm you. Just rest and let the heat do its job.”

The soft melody of the femanine voice eased his mind and he buried himself deeper beneath the heavy furs that surrounded his body.

The woman meanwhile continued to stoke the fire, having long since dried herself after diving in to save the hulking form of the foolish fire fairy that’d allowed himself to be pulled into the lake.

She turned her head, shyly eyeing his form as he breathed softly beneath the furs. She couldn’t help but allow herself to admire his soft sleeping face. Watched as his long eyelashes brushed his cheeks and admired the chiseled shape of his jaw.

She was sure that if he were awake his smile would be soft but wide, imagining teeth nibbling at his lower lip as he chuckled at some joke while doe like eyes glittered with his mirth.

Shaking her head she slapped her cheeks. What was wrong with her!? No matter how handsome he might seem this man was an enemy to her people! She scoffed at her own foolishness, though the sound was caught short as she began to question herself.

If he was an enemy why had she risked her life to save him? She’d known instantly from the way the frost had clung to his wings from the brief glimpse she’d caught of him before he’d been pulled beneath the surface of the waves exactly what he was. And yet when she’d seen those soft...brown...panicked eyes sink within the icy grip of the lake something had screamed from within her to save him. It had been pure instinct at the time.

And now as she sat by the fire, admiring the flames as they danced across their wooden fuel she allowed herself to turn her attention back to the strange ache that twisted at her shoulder blades. It’d crept up her spine as she’d been dancing earlier. As the moon’s rays had shone upon her and just before she’d spotted the crashing flame fairy.

She stretched her arms above her head, willing the dull pain to go away. And though her muscles relaxed and her mind stilled the ache remained, just at the base of her wings and tingling up nerves that she’d assumed long dead and gone. It had to have been the heat of the fire.

And so, after tossing a few more logs upon the flame and checking that her rescue was well and truly asleep and tucked in she walked back out into the cold. Her hopes were that the freezing snow would numb the nerves that seemed to want to awaken. As much as she missed flying through blizzards and dancing through the air with the winter cardinals she didn’t much mind having lost them. It was preferred honestly, as those things she missed always reminded her of the one who’d taught her those joys and she just couldn’t bear the thought of being reminded of her beloved and dearly departed mother.

After an hour or so of allowing herself to wander the secluded forest she made her way back to her cave, wings sufficiently numbed and mind at ease. Though the peaceful mindset was instantly chased away when she came back to see the young man she’d rescued moaning and tossing beneath the furs.

Dashing over she dropped to her knees, fingers frantic as she chased his forehead and placed her icy palm against his burning cheeks. Hissing she jerked her hand back. It was known the flame lords ran much hotter than those of her kind, but this amount of heat was worrying. Rising quickly she raced to her pack, pulling out herbs and medicines, sorting through them and selecting a few she knew to be safe for him.

Back to the fire she went, grabbing her tea kettle and filling it with snow from the entrance to melt above the flames. As the kettle began to boil she tossed in the herbs, eyes anxiously darting back and forth to the trembling form that groaned feverishly for his father .

“Hush now dear, I’ll help I promise.” She mumbled, more to comfort herself as she waited for the medicine to brew.

Once it was ready she ladled it into a cup, blowing desperately on it to cool it as she knelt once more by his side. Pushing away a portion of the skins she lifted his head into her lap, brushing at the black hairs that clung to his forehead from the sweat as she cooed softly to him.

“Here now dear one, open your eyes, I need you to take this.”

He was much too weak to reply to her, muttering in his feverish sleep about poisons and dungeons.

“It’s not poison. It’s holy basil and chamomile. Now drink. It’ll take the fever away.” Her whispered words seemed to calm him. Bringing the cup to his lips she smiled softly as he drank eagerly from the medicine. Eventually he turned his head away, breathing heavily and moaning to himself. The deep husk of his voice twisted her insides, causing a blush to rush to her cheeks as the silken strands of his hair brushed down over his eyes.

She hadn’t noticed that the sides of his head were shaved, something those in the military and the aristocrats of the fire nation tended to do when important events came up.

He must have been intending on going to that fool prince’s ball. She hummed to herself, finding it hard to allow the bitterness that would normally form at the sight of him to rise up within her. He just seemed far too innocent while he slept in her lap.

Shaking away the butterflies that tried to rise in her stomach she laid him back down on the makeshift pillow she’d made of a rolled up deerskin and tucked the pile of heavier skins back around him. It would take a dose or two more of the medicine to break the fever but she was determined now. He just had to live or the emotions that rose within her would never let her live her own life in peace again.

*** It was unfathomable how two days of caring for someone in such a state could raise such an attachment in her. She’d wiped his brow so many times she’d become familiar with every scar and divot on his face, making up stories for each as to how he could have gotten them.

On the third day he finally awoke, still groggy from the medicated tea but coherent enough to begin eating the gruel she’d made for him.

“Eat slowly now. There’s no point in rushing if you’re just going to throw it all up later.” She whispered to him, knowing that if she spoke any louder the echoes of the cave would only give him a headache.

“Why are you caring for me like this?” he asked, glancing up at her through his eyelashes as he spooned another bite into his mouth.

“I...well.” She paused for a moment, fingers picking at the frayed wood of the stick she’d been using to stoke the fire.

“My mother always taught me that kindness is more important than any grudge we could hold.” Looking up she gave him a soft smile, though a bit of her pain showed through at the mention of the dearly departed Queen.

“She must have been a great lady.” Placing the bowl and spoon at his side he leaned back against the roughened cave walls, finally allowing his gaze to take in the woman that had saved his life.

She was just as beautiful as his glimpsed image of her had led him to believe, though his heart sank one more when he spotted the burnt nubs that were her wings. He thought for a moment to question her on it, but common sense stopped him halfway to opening his mouth. There was no way that wasn’t a touchy subject, so he left well enough alone.

Instead he allowed his gaze to wander the cave, taking in the rough hewn walls and the way she’d seemed to have made the place her own. Herbs hung from the walls on pegs, bundles of various types each used to treat various injuries and ailments. Though by the way they were hung he suspected they’d been put there more as decoration than anything else. The fire lit the area up nicely, allowing him to see much further into the cave than he’d expected.

Looking closely he noticed that a lot of the formations he thought to be ice drippings were actually some type of crystal. Though he didn’t recognize them he realized pretty quickly that they were absorbing the light from the fire and projecting that light almost like a torch.

“So...is this your home or…”

“Oh goodness no. I reside in town, I’m just here to get away.” She shook her head, giving off a soft giggle that had his heart soaring.

“I can understand that sentiment. Things were rapidly becoming stifling out there. One could hardly blame a lovely young fae such as yourself for wanting to get away.” He chuckled, his grin widening as she blushed at his compliment.

“Is...is that why you were out in the storm? To get away?”

He nodded as he tucked his hands beneath the fur skins. “Duty to your people can only push you so far before it starts to take over who you are. I wasn’t about to let my father dictate who I was going to become any longer. He’s made enough rash decisions to ruin an entire kingdom, I won’t have myself become a part of that any longer.”

The young man’s words rolled over in her mind, bouncing off the image before her along with the events that had brought her to this very cave.

It wasn’t too hard to put together that he was the young prince and a moment of anger had her clutching the stick in her hand and very seriously considering killing him right then and there.

His father was the reason her parents were dead and her kingdom had burned after all. There was no one here to witness it if she did. And yet a small voice in the recesses of her mind held her back and stayed her hand.

She thought over his words once more, realizing he’d wanted the war no more than she had. What his father had chosen and done should not have been laid on his shoulder.

Placing the stick beside her she began speaking to him. Asking him questions about his childhood and giving her own answers when he asked in turn. They spent the night like this, conversing on any subject that came to mind while avoiding their own identities as much as possible.

The sun outside began to rise and still they spoke, bonding over shared misfortunes and shared goals and dreams when it came to their respective kingdoms.

Unbeknownst to them their mutual feelings for each other began to grow. When she led him out into the light on unsteady feet and he slipped but a little, only for her to catch him, an exchange of touches, barely brief though it may have been, ignited a flame within them both.

He wrapped his arms around her, pulling her close and breathing in the frozen scent of her, a crisp smell like the first cold snap of winter.

“You are...ethereal...did you know that?” He whispered, his lips a hair’s breadth away from her own.

She hummed, mind a haze as her eyelashes fluttered close.”You smell of ash and coal...like roasting over an open fire on a warm summer’s day.”

“Oh?” He chuckled, the sound sending a thrill of excitement through her. “And is that so bad little snowflake?”

“No...I don’t think it is…”

***

The day finally came when the young Prince found himself strong enough to walk on his own. His fever had long since gone and the color was finally beginning to come back to his cheeks.

“You know...we could always just stay here.”

She glanced up at his words, pausing in stirring the stew she’d been cooking over the fire. “What do you mean?”

“Neither of us wants to go back. And well...I rather prefer things out here compared to the hustle and bustle of my normal life.” He picked at a loose bit of string on his clothes, refusing to meet her gaze as he let her mull over his proposal.

“I...hmm.” Sitting back on her heels she stared into the fire. It was tempting, the idea of leaving the stress of her life behind. Having to pretend she wasn’t who her people needed her to be.

“They’ve been too long without a leader.” She whispered.

“I’m sorry?”

Their gazes met, each burning with their own inner fire.

“My people. I may be broken, but they need me. Just as yours need you. One day we’ll have to lead and running away isn’t going to make any of what happened okay.”

Simple words though they may have been they struck a cord in him. More so than anything the multitude of scholars and aids and so called guides could have done. He nodded, determination filling him.

“I may not be able to change much, but one day I will lead, and things will have to change. My father is getting old, as are his war mongering generals…” His words stuttered to a stop, a blush coloring his features as he realized his misstep. “I uh...I mean…”

She couldn’t help but to chuckle. “Don’t worry little Prince. I am well aware of who you are.”

“But..how..”

“Your words may seem subtle or simple but your demeanor can’t be hidden.” She rose, abandoning the spoon she’d been using in the pot.

“And now, I am Y/n the last of the winter fairy monarchs, Princess of Winter and future Queen of my people. It’s an honor to meet you Sire.” With that she bowed, a hint of a smirk tugging at her lips.

“Wait you’re what?? Who?? But how, we were told you and your family…”

“Burned?” Straightening she turned slightly, her wings on display. “My father died fighting yours. And my mother died protecting me. No I did not come out of that battle unscarred.”

“But...why…”

“Why am I telling you?” She tilted her head at him as she returned to stirring the meal.

“I saved your life and nursed you back to health, your people call this a life debt, no?”

He nodded, suddenly realizing just how much he owed her.

“Well, consider this calling in that life debt. A pact between friends you could say. Keep my identity a secret, and on the day you ascend the crown you will find yourself an ally in me.” She smiled, passing him a bowl of the stew.

“That…that’s putting a lot in a man you’ve barely known a fortnight.” He accepted the bowl graciously, barely suppressing a moan at the flavors that danced across his tongue.

“That may be. But life debts are held over everything in your culture. I can trust that above anything else you could give me.”

He huffed, running his fingers through his hair and scratching the back of his head. She’d noticed it was something he did when he was thinking hard on something and had come to find it endearing.

“I mean, I’d have kept your secret even without the pact but...if you insist on calling that as your favor I supposed I truly have no choice.”

The giggle that spilled forth from her made his heart clench and he couldn’t help but grin at her in return, his cheek dimpling and his nose crinkling like a snow bunny.

“It’s settled then.” She announced, standing and taking his now empty food bowl to be washed out.

“Oh? What’s settled?” He stood as well, pulling the empty stew pot from the fire to cool.

“I’ll be taking you back to town come morning and...oh…” She stumbled, her legs suddenly buckling beneath her.

If it hadn’t been for the flame fairy’s quick reflexes she’d have surely injured herself. But his strong arms wrapped around her,pulling her close and checking her over to make sure she was okay.

“By the flame, you’re going to get yourself hurt doing all that!” He frowned, fingertips running along the ridges of her shoulder blades as he watched her blink blurrily up at him.

“What’s wrong?” He asked his frown deepening as she leaned into his touch, lashes brushing her cheeks as her eyes fluttered shut.

“Y/n?” Panic surged through him as he lifted her limp form into his arms.

Where normally her skin was as cold as a winter’s stream it now burned almost as hot as he was and that set him on edge more so than anything ever had in his life. His heart raced as he trudged through the cave and out into the cold morning snow of the forest.

He thanked his flame for the sense of direction Taehyung had instilled in him so many times over the years as his body instinctively turned in the direction of the winter city they’d come from. His wings gave an experimental flutter, barely lifting him off the ground and for the first time since his fall he actually cursed at himself for his midwinter plunge into the icy lake. Walking was his only option.

He continued on through the forest, moving here and there through the trees in as direct a path as he could manage, all the while whispering soft sweet words of comfort to her when she would toss about in her feverish state.

The only time she paused and relaxed was when the sun would shine through the tree, though Jungkook paid no mind to this, only grateful that she allowed him the reprieve to march on with little struggle.

“N...Namjoon.” She whispered, and for a moment his heart sank. Who was this Namjoon she spoke of? Some lover she never mentioned in all the time they’d spent together.

“Scholar...physician…”

A spark of understanding coursed through him and his steps quickened with a renewed vigor as he came to the edge of the city. A few curt words and ignored glances and he’d arrived at the physician’s clinic, panting from the exertion and praying to every deity he could name that the one she’d spoken of was home.

“Sir! Good Physician! I have need of your aid!” Jungkook announced, using his elbow to force the large wooden door open.

The sound of crashing and halfhearted curses came from some dark corner of the clinic and a tall winter fairy emerged, glasses barely hanging off the tip of his nose as he squinted across the room at the Prince.

“What can I do for you today?” He asked, voice gruff from sleep as he moved closer to Jungkook.

“W...y/n?? Wait, how did she?”

“You know her then? We were out by the lake when she suddenly took ill. I don’t know..what or how but she’d burning up!”

“Bring her to the table!” The physician rushed off, motioning to a large wooden table towards the center of the room.

Jungkook complied, ever so delicately placing her down and stepping back to allow the man to work.

As he began examining her he threw a slew of endless questions at the shaken prince who himself was near to collapsing from exhaustion.

“I...I don’t know. She was eating just fine, talking and laughing and it seemed like she was okay. But suddenly...she just collapsed. I just…” His fingers nervously tapped a rhythm on his thighs as his eyes darted around the clinic, searching or hoping for something to look at to ground his mind in the moment.

“Mmm..I’m sure it’s just a cold, or some sort of illness. Though...she’s never been sick a day in her life..” The bespectacled man mumbled to himself as he pressed his fingers against her wrist, checking her pulse and sighing to himself as he stepped away.

“There are a few things I can try just to ease the fever and whatever pain she may be feeling but this is going to take some time…”

“I...I’ll stay with her! I can’t just leave her like this!”

“Your highness...You really should be getting back to the palace.”

“How…” Jungkook’s jaw dropped, eyes bugging out as he stared in fear at the man before him.

“You carry yourself too well to just be some fire nation soldier off the street. And besides, I was there during your coronation. You held yourself well considering the obvious hangover you were sporting.”

A brilliant blush rose on the Prince’s cheeks as he attempted to sputter out a response. The physician chuckled, patting him amiably on the shoulder.

“Worry not, I’ll do everything I can to ease her pain. I’ll send word to the palace once I know anything. Be off M’lord, you’ve duties to attend to.”

Jungkook couldn’t help the lingering longing look he gave her, a sigh escaping his lips as he resigned himself to the waiting game.

Namjoon frowned as the prince finally left. It’d taken a considerable amount of bribing and fussing to get him to finally walk away but the fact that the young man lingered so long worried him.

“What did you get yourself into this time…”

***

Panic filled the small room of the physician’s clinic.

He’d spent the last few hours trying every remedy and potion he could find and still her condition deteriorated.

A scream of frustration built in his chest, only barely suppressed by the need to care for her. He sat at his desk, pouring over tomes of old and tossing each aggressively across the room when they proved to be of no use to him.

“Fate’s sake!” He growled, standing from his desk and shoving the chair out behind them.

She’d begun whimpering in her feverish state, every now and again whispering desperate pleas for help and wrenching the knife deeper in his chest. He felt useless, dropping to his knees on the floor beside her and clutching at her hand.

“Tell me, please? How can I help you? What is it that you need?” He whimpered, tears filling his eyes. “How do I save you?”

“M...mommy….tell me a story…”

The words didn’t register at first. Another sentence to him in a long line of whispered desperation.

But a brief flash of recognition hit. “Merialiies…”

He bolted upright, eyes wide and wild with inspiration.

“There’s no way!”

Racing back to his desk he shoved the books and papers out of his way, searching for the small book of tales he’d picked up at the shops a few weeks back.

A shout of triumph burst forth as he held it aloft, eyes glistening with hope as he flipped the pages to one particular story.

“The Heart’s Twin Flames.” He turned to y/n, watching her shift on the table as if trying desperately to escape some pain in her back. “There’s just no way…”

Making his way back he ever so gently turned her to her side, eyes widening at the inflamed skin spreading out across her back from the base of her wings.

“Could it be?” Dropping everything he lifted her into his arms, cringing at the sounds of pain coming from his precious cargo.

“Just hold on, I’ll take you to him. If I’m right...you may just get your wings back.”

He hurried from the clinic, not even paying mind that he’d left the front door open to swing in the wind.

“Move! Please get out of my way. This is an emergency!” He shouted, shoving his way through the crowd of villagers lining the walkways as he raced towards the castle.

The front gates loomed before him, almost imposing if it weren’t for the sheer amount of panic flowing through him.

“Halt! State your business.” A soldier stepped before him, massive sword held at his throat .

Namjoon showed no fear, spine straight and shoulders squared as he stood his ground against the intimidating soldier.

“I’ve come at the request of his Highness Prince Jungkook of the Fire Fae kingdom. It is of the utmost importance that I speak with him immediately.”

The soldier continued to glare as a second stepped forward and the show of force began to deflate him.

“You don’t understand! I need to see him! It’s his twin flame! He found her and now without him she will die!”

“A likely story! Today is the day of his ball and you expect me to believe that suddenly a woman is his twin flame and without him she will die?” The guards chuckled together, heads thrown back with laughter as they continued to mock him.

“Sir, please! I couldn’t make this up if I wanted to! She’s dying. There must be something we can do?!”

The guard shook his head, a steely gaze pinning the poor man in place. It was obvious he wasn’t moved by their story.

“No matter the reason these gates were ordered to remain closed. Should you have proper documents the case would be different but there is nothing I can do for you. Find her a doctor, or some sort of specialist. But find them somewhere else.”

“Have you no heart man!? We’ve seen the doctor, hell I AM the doctor! There’s nothing more to do for her but get the Prince’s help! Please you must understand?? Surely you’ve heard the legends, are they not told to your children? They are fated to be! The proof is right here!” Namjoon was practically purple in the face by this point, spittle flying as he screamed in the face of the guard who’s grip was forever tightening on his spear.

Unbeknownst to the arguing pair and barely conscious woman the fae in question had heard everything.

“Sir?” One of the many aids that had been walking with the future ruler gave him a questioning stare, wondering what their next action would be.

“There’s no harm in finding out Jimin. I’m more than suited to handle things should there be any threat.” Prince Jungkook smiled, a rare sight on the man as he handed over the documents they’d been going over as they walked from the main castle to the stables.

“Alright. I’ll take these back to the stable master in your stead. Don’t do anything stupid while I’m gone.”

The prince grinned, bumping his aid in the shoulder with his elbow. “Now when have I ever done anything stupid?”

“Need I remind you of the state you were in last night?”

“Can’t hear you! Walking away now!” Prince Jungkook tossed over his shoulder as he made his way to the woven metal grating that served as the castle’s front gate.

For a moment he hung back in the shadows, eyeing the tall bespectacled man who seemed to have an almost vice like death grip on the tiny quivering bundle of rags in his arms.

The snow that had been falling began to ease up, revealing a small crowd that had gathered behind them all. As the guard and nameless man argued the townsfolk began to chime in, screaming curses at him and bickering with every word he spoke.

The Prince’s temper only flared when the first stone was thrown, something seemingly so small that it would have been noticeable if it weren’t for the fact that it’d hit the bundle’s back, causing a small squeak of pain to echo through the gateway. He knew that squeak.

“What’s going on here?” He puffed his chest out, spine straight and eyes fierce as he allowed the flames of rage to flow through him. Striding forward with all of the ego and confidence that his position afforded he stepped between the man and the crowd. The mere sight of him had those gathered scurrying away, hollered apologies tossed over snow covered shoulders as they dashed off to whatever tasks they’d been attending to before allowing their chicken like rubbernecking to get the better of their attention.

“Y..your Highness. I just...” The man stuttered, shifting the tiny bundle of cloth in his arms as he struggled to push through his own confusion and panic at seeing the regal object of his desperation appearing before him.

“Guard, can you explain to me why it is that you’ve allowed a mob of people to gather at the entrance to my future home?”

“He was...he just wanted…”

“Sire please! It’s y/n, she needs your help!”

“Y/n?” This peaked his interest. “Is she alright? Is...what happened? I only just saw her a few hours ago!”

“Sire, she fell terribly ill and what was left of her wings has begun flaking off. If we don’t act quickly there’s...there’s just no hope of saving her.”

Prince Jungkook glanced around, indecision causing him to hesitate for a moment as he watched his guards scanning the surrounding area.

“Alright, bring her inside, we’ll take her to my physi…”

“Sire please, she doesn’t have time for that!” Namjoon couldn’t help the tone of his voice as he shouted at the intimidating man. “You have to help her now, she’s dying the longer we talk about this!”

He dropped to his knees, unwrapping the blanket from the woman’s trembling form and carefully laying her body on the glistening snow.

Jungkook’s feet crunched through the snow, eyes squinted as he shielded them from the glare of the sun reflecting sharply off the glow surrounding the dying woman’s form. A strange itch began in the center of his shoulder blades, that spot he could never reach where his wings joined with the muscles of his back.

Shrugging off his cloak he knelt beside her, heart racing as the strange feeling in his wings slowly spread to the rest of him. The sun burst through the clouds, shining brightly and warming his exposed skin as his fingers brushed her cheek.

“My liege, all you have to do is allow the sun to shine through your wings and onto her. That alone is enough.” Namjoon whispered as he stepped back from them and allowed them their space.

Jungkook couldn’t help but to hesitate. There were so many things that could go wrong should he allow himself to listen to this strange man. If it were a track of some sort his kingdom would suffer if anything happened to him. But as he watched her pained face scrunch once more and as the sound of her pitiful whimper reached his ears his resolve steeled.

Leaning forward he spread his wings, allowing the light of the sun to cast a prism of reflected light over her body. The air filled with a magic the kingdom hadn’t seen in a very long time. Golden dust motes filled the air, sparkling like fireflies out in the mid-day glow. It attracted those that’d hurried away, gathering them in the square and on the streets.

The soldiers shouted, weapons raised in alarm as they watched their fearless leader begin to rise into the air alongside the small wingless form that he cradled so closely to his chest. But just as suddenly as their alarm and rage and fear rose it began to vanish, replaced instead with a calm joy that thrilled through their veins quicker than an adrenaline fueled march into the battlefield.

The people began to cheer as the two bodies were engulfed in light that shone so bright it began to rival the sun. And all along the young man couldn’t take his eyes off her form.

The woman that’d given him shelter in that freezing midnight cave. Her once frail body began to fill with life, color returning to her cheeks and her weak fingers gaining strength as they clung to his royal clothes. Her eyes fluttered open, a gasp escaping her lips as where once there was only burned stumps, now beautiful crystalline wings sprouted forth from her body, fluttering on the breeze before quickly gaining the strength to allow her to hover on her own.

And his own wings lost their brilliant red glow, cooling and shimmering as he beat them gently to keep him aloft.

The glow surrounding them faded and a hush fell over the crowd at the sight. A tiny waif of a girl engulfed in the strong arms of the royal flame.

“My love.”

“My twin flame.”

“I never got to thank you for saving my life.” His words caused her to blush as she looked at him through her eyelashes.

“I think you just did…”

Their hushed voices whispered words of comfort as their bodies slowly returned to earth. They’d only had eyes for each other, but as their feet returned to the earth that’d born them they turned to the people, each smiling with a joy that the once warring people felt throughout the lands. Warriors dropped their weapons, embracing the people they’d fought with for so very long.

Jungkook turned to the winter maiden, long,calloused fingers engulfing her own as he leaned forward to touch his forehead to hers.

“My love, how could I not have recognized you for what you were?”

“My sweet future king. Fate has a strange way of finding lovers and putting them together when the world needs their love the most.” She smiled, warm tears filling her eyes as her heart filled with a warmth only he could provide.

As one they turned to their people, joined hands raising into the air as Jungkook announced.

“I have found my Twin Flame. May peace rain on our kingdoms with the union of our joined blood! May you all find the joy my heart has been seeking. For from this moment on there will be no war, there will be no fighting. WE ARE ONE!!”

The people cheered, warriors embraced farmers, aristocrats feasted among peasants. Fire embraced ice. And as their lips met in a dewy kiss filled with all of the passion of new love, peace did reign. For they were now one.

#castle bangtan #bts fanfic #jungkook fanfic #bts fluff #jungkook fluff #soulmate au #bts soulmate au #jungkook soulmate au #bts fairy au #bts far au #jungkook fairy au #jungkook fae au #bts angst #bts imagine #bts reactions #bts fic #my writing

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immortalcoelacanth · 3 years

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Between the Walls, Chapter 1: Roommates (Dream SMP fic)

I've noticed there's an unfortunate lack in Borrower AU content, and as that shit is my jam I'm putting forth the content I wish to see into the fandom XD

To quote my friend, "I do not control the hyperfixation"

Word count: 4497

Summary: At first retirement had sounded like an excellent idea. Make a house far away from everyone else, get some peace and quiet, no longer concern himself with the total garbage that was the local government. Nice things, relaxing things.…

But then the scratching in the walls started happening.

Techno groaned as he flopped backwards into his chair, tired eyes staring into the glowing fireplace as he relaxed after his busy day. A day full of building, repairing the damage dealt by the creeper population, and…

A day spent trying to find any signs of his thief.

You see, Techno had assumed that retirement would be an excellent way to unwind from the massive amount of blood that had been shed after L’Manberg went up in smoke, as well as the aggravation he felt towards his sweet, innocent cows being slaughtered and his bunker being raided.

Raided and dismantled thanks to Phil stealing his bookshelves and in turn chunks of the wall.

It was scuffed, horribly scuffed, and left him with one option.

Relocation.

That, combined with the wanted posters Quackity had hung up demanding his capture and subsequent execution after what he had done. Honestly, talk about the biggest character arc for Quackity, going from fearing him to taking an active role in trying to end his life.

Too bad for him that Technoblade never dies.

But still, having to constantly deal with being attacked while no longer having a truly safe and secure base was troublesome, so he had sought out to make a new home far from L’Manberg and all other communities.

The isolation did not scare him, on the contrary he liked having a space all to his own with no worries about socialization or someone bothering him. Besides, Phil could always visit him if he wanted some company.

Fortunately, constructing his new home had taken relatively little time once he had found the best spot for it, and with some help from Phil, moving all the important resources and equally important fixtures of his home had taken even less time.

All in all, Techno had managed to acquire a new sanctuary away from all the plotting and scheming, although he had a feeling someone would try to mess with him at some point, and he had plenty of space to make a brand new vault. He had achieved peace and quiet, and was even in the process of planning on making a turtle farm. Surely all these positive developments would mean he was happy, right?

Well, he would be if it weren’t for the fact that there was a thief rummaging through his home.

It started with small things, like his chests becoming less and less organized over time. Yes, there were moments where he simply chucked whatever useless items were in his inventory into the nearest empty chest, but he would never clutter up chests containing important items, like potions and enchanted books.

So, finding several misplaced items as well as random blocks of dirt and stone, practically pebbles given their size, while also finding certain resources such as wood and leather missing was the first sign of something strange going on.

The next was the odd noises that seemed to come from the walls of his home. Faint scratches that would be inaudible to anyone but himself due to his heightened hearing. It reminded of a rat infestation, and he unconsciously shuddered.

Not due to fear or discomfort, but the sheer amount of work it would take to get rid of a pest infestation. At that point he might as well take his house apart and build elsewhere.

However, despite his suspicions and hypothesis, there was practically no evidence to support. There were, thankfully, no signs of rat activity, or activity from any other pests. No scratches, bite marks, signs of wood decaying, or anything like that. Other than the noise and the strangely messy organization of his chests, there was no sign of the thief.

And he had looked.

Intensely, as best he could. Logic and inductive reasoning had led him to this conclusion. There was a thief, so there had to be signs of this thief somewhere. A lack of footprints meant they must use pearls to get around. The fact that his rarer resources had not been stolen, his potions of strength and enchanted books, meant that his thief was either unconcerned with stealing things of value from him and just wanted to mess with him, or they were a cocky idiot.

… So it was either Ranboo or-

His ears perked up, cutting off his train of thought as he glanced over at the nearby wall. His eyes narrowed and he pushed himself up and out of his chair before striding over to the wall, cape swishing about behind him.

He pressed the side of his head against the wall, eyes closing as he tried to focus on where the sound was coming from. It was here! It had to be! There was something hidden in this very wall. The source of his annoyance, his thief.

Well, there was only one way to find out.

Techno readied his axe, and swung it down-

xxxxxxxxxx

There are times where Tommy can’t stop himself from looking in the nearest reflective surface and asking how he managed to fuck things up this bad. It was painful to recall the steps that had led him to this outcome, the signs obvious but he had been too stupid and ignorant to pay them any mind.

Causing trouble was in his blood, something the local borrower community had reluctantly accepted over the years, helped by how eager he was to throw himself into dangerous situations. Something that should have been concerning to the adults who watched them, taught them how to borrow, how to gather items and even hunt in order to survive, but he had learned that lesson at a very, very young age.

The lesson that no one would step in to help him if he was in danger. That he was on his own and had to prove his worth in order to stay, constantly putting his life on the line for the slightest crumb of respect.

To hear someone say that he had done a good job, to be thanked for his hard work instead of always being brushed off and ignored.

Of course, his friendship with Tubbo helped to soothe that constant within him, dulling the sting of rejection while reminding him that there was one person who truly cared about him. One person who would always be there for him, would lift him up when he was down, and jump into any situation to protect him.

Orphans had to stick together, after all.

And it was a good thing they did end up working together as the duo balanced each other out perfectly. Tommy was far more outgoing and blunt, hotheaded being the best word to describe him. He was willing to do whatever he needed, always ready to speak up when he thought there was bullshit going on, and spoke his mind freely.

It was an ironic honesty, a trait that one assumed would help to attract friends but only aided in driving them away.

Meanwhile, Tubbo was much softer in some ways. Much more reserved than Tommy, he was more of a thinker and planner. Nowhere near as comfortable with spontaneous action as his friend, but he had the knowledge and skills to reign in those impulsive actions before things got dangerous.

They were the best of friends, pals to the very end.

Even though they would never see each other again.

And it was all his fault.

Tommy had ruined everything.

The plan had been simple, easy. All he wanted to do was mess up Mrs. Brigsburry’s house. Just a tiny touch of crime and freaking the old bat out.

She deserved so much worse because of that day. The pot that had been thrown at Tubbo and how much blood Tommy had seen running down the side of his face. The bitch’s shrieks and curses as she insulted them over and over again.

Swearing they both should have died with their parents-

How was he supposed to know he accidentally left one of her rags near the lit stove, the fire within causing the piece of fabric to ignite and in turn allowing the flames to spread to the rest of the house.

It was a good thing she lived on the edge of Borrowton, the fires thankfully only burning her home to the ground.

No one wanted to live near an asshole like her.

Tommy, who had been feeling proud of himself, quickly experienced true regret and fear once the meeting started. Shouts, demands, and insults had flown through the air, many of the people he had grown up with insisting that he be tossed out for what he had done, exiled from the only home he had ever known.

It had been terrifying to see how quickly everyone had turned against him, how they refused to give him the chance to defend himself or even explain why he had done what he did. Not even Tubbo had been able to protect him from the crowd’s wrath, his attempts at standing in front of Tommy and blocking him from sight thwarted when one of the adults grabbed his arm and dragged him elsewhere.

He would never be able to forget the haunting sight of Tubbo reaching for him, tears pouring from his eyes as he screamed his name over and over. It was the last time he had seen his friend, too.

And yet, this was not the worst part of his punishment.

He had been given an hour, one measly hour, to pack up everything he had ever owned before being forcefully exiled from Borrowton. The realization of what was happening had slammed into him all at once, leaving Tommy trembling and unable to move.

He was going to lose everything he had ever known, everything he had worked so hard to build, Tubbo-

He was going to lose his Tubbo.

And there was nothing he could do to stop it.

No amount of begging or pleading had stopped the adults who dragged him to his shoddy, shared home. He had groveled on his hands and knees, promising to change, to do better, to do whatever they wanted if they just let him stay.

Don’t take my Tubbo away. Don’t take him away. I need him, I need him-

Smack!

The harsh sting of his cheek and the painful sensation of his neck snapping back from the force of the slap was enough to snap Tommy out of his trance. He blinked and looked around, feeling all the more disconnected from reality as he noticed the two bags that had been placed beside him.

One for food, and one for clothes and tools.

… He was really getting exiled, wasn’t he?

“You have no one to blame but yourself for this.” The adult beside him grumbled, dragging the stunned teen up to his feet and shoving him towards the door.

“Front gate. Now. And if I find you causing more trouble, you’ll be leaving with nothing but the clothes on your back.” The man sneered.

For a moment that spark of anger rose up in him, rage flowing through his veins and making his fists clench while he ground his teeth together. The urge to lash out, both physically and verbally, was strong, and yet…

As quickly as those feelings emerged, they faded, and Tommy was left feeling hollow and drained. What was the point in fighting back if all he did was get himself into more trouble. It was obvious they weren’t going to change their minds, he would be exiled no matter what, and if he did lash out-

Tubbo screaming his name as he was dragged away, snot and tears flowing down his face. Thrashing and struggling in a futile attempt to reach him.

… The risk, the damage he could do to his friend, was far greater than the satisfaction of breaking the man’s knobby nose. So, with extreme reluctance, Tommy left the house and made his way towards the front gate. The streets were surprisingly empty, he had expected to see a mob of people cheering while watching him leave, maybe even get the occasional bit of dirt thrown his way.

Treated like the trash they thought he was.

His send off lacked all formality. Only the usual guards of the gate were present, and even then they paid him no mind. He was simply shoved towards another borrower, a lady this time who, based on the immense amount of foliage covering her clothes, spent most of her life out in the wild.

God, how would he ever survive out there. Between the wild animals, the shitty weather, and the mobs that would wander the lands when darkness fell, he was doomed.

He had only ever known how to survive in his community, where you could barter for goods and depend on someone to help you. Now he wouldn’t have any of that. There would be no shelter, no safety in numbers-

No Tubbo.

Numb, Tommy was shoved towards the woman and quietly took note of the presence of the animal he could not see before. It was a fox, quite large compared to him and the other borrowers, and domesticated since it wasn’t ripping anyone apart.

… Or maybe it was just waiting until he got outside, then it would rip him to shreds. Wouldn’t want any blood splatters staining the inside of the gate.

He was so absolutely, royally fucked.

“C’mon, we gotta get moving.” The woman barked, grabbing his arm and pushing him towards the fox with little care for his comfort and the fact that she was adding more bruises to his arm. Tommy hissed in pain and rubbed the aching spot while glaring at her.

Everyone in this place was a fucking asshole.

“Alright, alright, chill the fuck out. I’m moving.” Tommy grumbled as, after a moment of hesitance, buried his hands in the animal’s warm fur and climbed up its side. A moment later, the woman jumped up to join him, taking a seat near the fox’s shoulders while Tommy struggled to pull his bags up as well.

Finally, once his meager supplies had joined him, it was time for them to set off. He had nearly been thrown off as the fox stood up, and when the animal sprinted out of the hidden tunnel and into the fading sunlight-

Well, it was a good thing he managed to grab hold of his bags before they were knocked off. He shuddered in the sudden, stinging breeze, and did his best to hunker down into the warm fur below him. He had no idea where they were going, no clue what far away biome he would be abandoned in, and quietly decided to not think about it further. The last thing he wanted to do was to start crying.

… Even if he had been ever since they first left the front gate.

He quickly rubbed at his face, trying to dry the lingering tears so there were less signs as to his degenerating mental state, and instead decided that it would be best to strike up a conversation, something that would help to distract him from what was going on.

Tubbo, Tubbo. He missed Tubbo. He wanted to see Tubbo again-

“Name’s Tommy!” He called out. “What’s yours?”

Silence was his answer.

“... Well fuck you too then.”

Much like the start of their journey, the rest of the trip was silent as the fox ran through various biomes, fields, and forests. On multiple occasions they stopped, the woman gathering some sort of herb every single time.

… Perhaps she was making drugs.

Tommy snorted to himself at the joke, mood lifting just the slightest bit before plummeting back to bedrock. God, he was tired. His body ached from sitting still for so long, as well as the general discomfort from the fox nimbly jumping from cliff to cliff, ducking around trees, and just being an agile shitbag. It was annoying and he hated it.

… Hated the fact that he was getting further and further away from his friend. Hated the fact that the fox could cover far more distance than he could ever hope of traversing on his own, and that the odds of him managing to reunite with Tubbo at some point were growing slimmer with every block they crossed.

Eventually they reached the coldest biome Tommy had experienced yet, ponds covered by ice and snow layering the ground. The snow seemed to muffle their surroundings, the only sounds coming from the snow crunching under the fox’s paws and the animal’s panting as it started to feel the strain of their journey.

And yet, for as desolate as this tundra seemed to be, Tommy spotted something in the distance. A structure that was definitely man made and appeared to be well taken care of, which meant there was someone living there.

Someone he could mooch off of and boost his chance at surviving his exile.

It had been a stroke of pure luck that he had managed to convince the borrower escorting him to change their route, practically begging her to take him to the lit house that was just barely visible through the snow.

The sounds of Tommy sniffling and sobbing since the start of their journey had probably helped to wear down her resolve to take him to wherever he was originally supposed to go.

In the end, she had agreed and directed the fox towards the house. It was interesting to see her previous confidence of navigating the cold tundra diminish the closer they got to their destination, as though she was unsettled by the house.

Strange, but then again she probably thought the same of him and how much of an idiot he was for getting kicked out of somewhere perfectly safe.

Safe aside from the prying eyes, the cruel words and harsh hands. His salvation was Tubbo and their whispered promises. They would leave one day, set out into the world and make their own home.

The moment they arrived at their destination, the woman wasted no time in metaphorically, and literally, kicking him off the fox. He dropped into the freezing snow, landing face first, and pushing himself up seconds later to cough out the chilly substance that had invaded his mouth.

The memory of Tubbo laughing as his snowball hit Tommy in the face, the other teen turning to the side and yelling about how “cold as shit” it was.

“Maybe you should try keeping your mouth shut for once.” Tubbo teased as Tommy, snow still stuck to parts of his face, flipped him off.

“Fuck you.”

Tubbo’s laughter rang out around them, and the teen kept laughing until his face was red and tears leaked out of the corners of his eyes.

… Damn, it was cold.

Trembling, he stood up just in time to dodge the bags that had been carelessly thrown his way, getting a concussion from one of his tools would definitely be a death sentence in this situation, and he promptly flipped the woman off.

“Oi! Watch where you’re throwing that shit!” He shouted before crouching down to inspect his supplies, quietly relieved that nothing seemed to have been damaged. “Fucking bitch...”

She just rolled her eyes in response to his insults and looked unimpressed as he grumbled, huffed, and got himself organized. No words were exchanged between the duo, no goodbyes or wishes for good luck, just the howling of the winds while the borrower made his way to his new home.

As Tommy had trudged through the too tall snow, he had been oblivious to the way the woman stared at the house, eyes wide with some sort of emotion. Was it fear? Not quite, it was more a combination of dread mixed with reverence, emotions fueled by her knowledge of the being who resided in this place. A whispered phrase floated through the air, much too quiet for him to have heard. It was a simple sentence that made her stance and understanding of the situation clear.

“Blood for the Blood God.”

Then she fled, leaving Tommy alone to deal with whatever fate he had stumbled into by breaking into the house.

And what a house it was.

All pretty and neatly designed, complete with various floors and tons of storage, and even some decorative flowers outside the windows, which meant Tommy had many things to rummage through. The roaring fireplace was an added bonus since the cold was one of the things he had been the most worried about.

Knowing those assholes, they had probably planned to abandon him somewhere in the tundra, leaving him alone and freezing in the cold…

Honestly, all things considered, this was a good place to settle down in. He had basically everything he needed, as well as access to some rarer resources too. It was ideal, practically perfect given how easy it would be to create small, unnoticeable entrances into each chest for him to use to snag items, but there was one downside to his new home.

His roommate.

He was tall, far taller than anyone Tommy had ever seen before, and he looked… weird. Like one of those pig monsters he had heard stories about back in Borrowton. Monsters from hell that craved gold and bloodshed. With his pig-like features, including a set of tusks that poked up from his lower jaw, he was a perfect match for those nightmarish beasts.

… But, they weren’t in hell, and this man seemed to be far less gold and bloodshed obsessed than the stories had said, even with the various scars the borrower had seen littering his body.

It was weird, he was weird, and the weirdness had only increased the more time Tommy spent in the house. Despite his regal attire, consisting of a flowing cape and golden crown, it was obvious that the pig-man was no prince or nobility. Plus there were those shitty reading glasses Tommy had seen him wearing once, stuck together with taping and looking like they were on the verge of breaking again. He was the strangest combination of loud-yet-awkward behaviour, something that the borrower actually related to quite a bit. His roommate was not “normal” and acted how he wanted, whenever he wanted, with little regard to how “improper”, “violent”, or “rude” he was.

Like Tommy…

He found it comforting to know that there was someone else more like him out there, someone else who was unlike everyone in Borrowton, someone else who would know what it felt like to be treated as an outcast, like he did not belong there or anywhere. Stuck in this new place, he did not feel as alone as he originally expected.

He did not consider the possible problems this could cause in the future, of course. Tommy had never the best at planning ahead since that had been Tubbo’s specialty-

But, the positives ended there as he realized that trying to survive in this relatively small, isolated house was going to be far more of a challenge then he had originally anticipated, with his roommate presenting the greatest obstacle to his success. Breaking in had been easy, actually situating himself and building a decent base within the walls of the house was downright impossible in these circumstances. At most he had managed to dig out a shitty hole close to the fireplace where he stashed all his stolen goods.

And even if he wanted to leave, it was impossible thanks to all the snow and how bloody cold this damn biome was!

So, here Tommy was, having essentially trapped himself with some creepy pig guy who owned too many weapons for comfort and was decked out like he was about to fight the whole damn world. Sure, his house was pretty nice, there was tons of food for him to steal and snack on, and the resources were plenty, but he would have rather had anyone else as a roommate in this situation.

At least this guy was in retirement, or whatever that meant.

He let out an annoyed sigh, arms dropping as he allowed his axe to rest against the wooden floor of the passage he had been carving out. While most of the house was made out of concrete, Tommy had focused on carving passages through the wooden supports in order to have a network of tunnels he could easily move around in without being spotted. All in all, it was a good plan, even if it was a massive pain in the ass to make.

It was like every time he started making a tunnel, no matter what time of the day it was, that piggy dipshit would show up and start stalking the walls, looking for him!

… Granted, maybe it wasn’t the best idea to make boar-face all suspicious by messing with his chests, but Tommy needed the resources! And it was pretty funny hearing the surprised sounds the man would make echo through the house.

His trouble making nature might have been the cause for his exile, along with some other bullshit, but that did not mean he would try to suppress it, even if it would be better for him in the long run. That was like asking to stop breathing. It was just a part of him that could only be controlled and never truly stopped.

… He missed Tubbo. He missed him so much and the ache in his chest still had not faded, and he felt all hollow and empty, without purpose-

Unfortunately for the borrower, the world refused to give him a break as he spiraled, his negative emotions distracting him and preventing him from paying attention to his surroundings.

Like the footsteps that were slowly getting closer to his location.

Without warning, the wall beside him cracked and split open, and Tommy let out a terrified shriek. He jumped backwards, dropping his axe in the process as light spilled into the carved out passage.

The now exposed passage.

A passage that had been cracked open by a certain pig man who had clearly been awake instead of asleep like he had assumed. Brilliant red eyes met terrified blue, and Tommy swallowed nervously.

Of course, of fucking course! As if the world didn’t hate him enough as is! Now he had to deal with that pig shithead who’d been tormenting him for days with his stupidly good hearing, preventing him from making any progress in creating his new home.

And of course the second he tried to make a tunnel this bastard just had to appear and ruin everything!

On the plus side, he had not actually done anything yet, although Tommy was certain things would turn south soon based on the axe the man was holding. So, he would live for now, and his shocked state allowed the borrower to make the first move.

“How do,” Tommy greeted, tilting his head to the side and smirking. “You ugly motherfucker.”

If he was going down, he would go down swinging.

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

Technoblade, holding up a cup containing Tommy: So I found this, anyone wanna trade a book of mending for him- Tommy: *feral screaming intensifies*

#my story #fanfiction #dream smp #dream smp fic #borrower au #dsmp tommy #dsmp techno #dsmp tubbo #mild angst #tw mentions of abuse #borrower!tommy #the lads are orphans #the start of found family #dream smp borrower au #sleepy bois inc #sleepy bois inc fic

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otome-on-the-side · 3 years

Text

Pearly Golden Whites

Characters: Mammon, Lucifer, Diavolo, Barbatos

Angst (ish)

Word Count: 1, 497

Mammon was far too pleased with himself.

Getting dragged to the human realm wasn’t supposed to be a treat, it was supposed to be business; the trade route humanity called ‘the silk road’, was booming with new and rare trade goods. The new spices, teas, and weaving patterns had caught the prince’s attention and had asked Lucifer to look into it. There had been mischievous gleam in the wink Diavolo had given Lucifer when he’d suggested he bring Mammon along on the trip, maybe to help carry the new goods as penance for another attempted artifact theft. Lucifer had been more than happy for the excuse to use him as a pack mule.

Unfortunately, on the last day of the trip, business, to Mammon, included stashing his burdens in a tree, in the middle of nowhere, and making off with an allowance he’d pilfered from Lucifer.

The eldest was livid by the time he had tracked mammon down again; dragging him from the crowded dice game he’d been entertaining himself with, and dragging him and their purchases straight back to the Devildom. He was extremely lucky he’d only taken an initial five grimm and gambled until he had earned an extreme pot. If Mammon had stolen as much gold as what capped every fang and molar in his mouth, Lucifer would have tied him to the tree he’d found his purchases in and ripped the pilfered gold from his mouth with interest himself. Mammon, obnoxiously, had the gall to pat himself on the back for this.

“We only came back half a day early.”

Every time he spoke, he flashed a tacky grin.

“My haggling skills were so great, we got everything Lord Diavolo wanted and more, with change to spare!”

Ignoring the fact that he’d pilfered from said change. “Aw, c’mon Lucifer, it was five Grimm. I’m supposed to be the greedy bastard.”

Mammon had stuck it out for the majority of his ‘punishment’ in the first place. And he’d suffered the consequences of hanging from the ceiling for a week well enough. His younger brother had earned what crowned his teeth in the first place- even if only in the barest sense of the word. With a huff, the eldest let it go. His little brother already had such bad luck with money; it might do him some good to have a stash no one would dare touch. It only took so long to prove this assumption foolish.

One night, Mammon had come home late enough that Lucifer assumed he was spending the night somewhere else. The angry slam of the front door heralded that one of his brothers was indeed home. Neither Lord Diavolo or Barbatos were rude enough to enter in such a manner, nor would any other demon alive dare approach, let alone slam doors. It was enough of a ruckus that the eldest put his paperwork down and left his office, curious.

It hadn’t been just Mammon out that night. Asmodeus had left for one of his clubs when the night was still young. A book release of a theatrical production had caught both Leviathan and Satan’s interest, thus the two were supposedly in line for its limited run. And the twins… well. It would take more than the front door slamming to wake up Belphegor on any night, or Beelzebub when he was glutted on a post fridge raid. Especially on a night when he was home.

Lucifer found Mammon in the kitchen; his wings were tucked behind his back, but still very much present.

The smell of burnt flesh permeated the air. Runes pockmarked the skin around his neck, down his arms, and around his waist. If Lucifer recognized them correctly (and he did), the burns were very likely to be on his thighs and ankles as well.

An extremely nasty mortal spell; but one of the rare few that could hold the avatar of greed.

Mammon either hadn’t noticed him looming in the doorway, or was ignoring him. Based on the set of his shoulders and how his jaw clenched as he stirred salt into a glass of tap water, it was easy for Lucifer to know it was the latter.

The eldest let his brother have his drink. Letting mammon meander as he dutifully refused to make eye contact, wincing a little as he leaned towards the kitchen’s faucet. Then, Lucifer decided he’d had enough.

“Just what were you expecting?” He asked, breaking the tense silence.

“I dunno,” Mammon spat the words out along with bloody salt water into the kitchen sink. “Those stupid witches to let me have something for once?!”

From the twist of Mammon’s mouth and lack of any lisping, lucifer could already tell that his younger brother’s fangs were growing back; though not enough for him to be spared his other brothers’ mockery if any returned soon. Mammon likely hadn’t wanted Lucifer to see him like this either, but the eldest held little sympathy for him there. If he didn’t want to be seen, he shouldn’t have slammed the door.

Knowing this, he continued to avoid eye contact with Lucifer as he grabbed his glass of salt water and stormed out of the kitchen, most likely to tend to his wounds in peace.

For the most part, Lucifer let it be. He refrained from commenting when Leviathan and Asmodeus mocked him for his financial loss, but forcefully changed the subject before it could get far enough for the others to join in.

Not for Mammon’s sake, of course; he had a meeting with Lord Diavolo tonight and needed to be sure that there would be a home to return to.

Lucifer departed with the usual amount of bickering and cutting comments as could be expected from his brothers, but left knowing everyone would be home. For better or for worse, they would be together while he was away.

Lucifer was welcomed with the usual grace and cheer as was befitting the prince of the Devildom and his butler. It was… almost relaxing, discussing things with them both over a glass of demonus. After a few glasses, the rigidity in the set of his shoulders was long gone.

Diavolo cringed in sympathy as Lucifer spoke of the state Mammon returned home in- not in any detail, but enough to speak of his brother’s loss of crowns. If Mammon hadn’t been so miserable in memory, either in their drunken state might have been tempted to make a pun.

Instead, there was a heavy weight in the room as Barbatos weighed in, collecting a few of the discarded bottles with ease as he looked to Lucifer. “You mentioned Mammon had spell burns from a mortal spell?”

Lucifer hummed an affirmation as he took another sip from his glass. “Likely from the witches that have him leashed.”

“Is it truly a wise idea for mortal witches to have the very avatar of greed’s teeth?”

Diavolo blinked at the suggestion made realization dawn on him. “If they thought to use it for magic, either for spell ingredients or for channeling… That’s a very good point, Barbatos.”

The butler inclined his head, closing his eyes in a graceful response.

Diavolo turned his sights on Lucifer, straightening with a command.

Lucifer wanted to give a weary sigh, but refrained. His lord was right; even if he hadn’t spoken yet. He maintained his drunken almost slouch.

“Do you think you can retrieve Mammon’s teeth from his witches? You know we can’t let mortals free reign with demonic power.” His eyes looked pleading, almost as if this truly was a request.

“Of course, my lord. I’ll take another trip to the human realm and retrieve the… teeth, the day after tomorrow.” He spoke with another reverent tilt of his head. “That should give me time to warn my brothers that I won’t be home and time to nurse my inevitable hangover.”

That startled a laugh from the prince. Only a definitively drunk Lucifer would admit to the very idea of the firstborn being able to have hangovers.

The days passed in a relatively normal fashion for Mammon; He went to R.A.D., shirked what he could, went to work, and sent what cash he had to the pact holders that mooched off of him. He dearly looked forward to when he could swallow those witches’ souls, if not their bodies, whole.

It really shouldn’t’ve shocked him to see his teeth again, safely stoppered within a small, glass bottle.

But it did. They almost glittered in the light of his room as the bottle sat, innocent, on top of his poker table.

Mammon’s vanity was never something great- it could never be compared to the likes Asmodeus’s- but, gold: gold was always gorgeous. Especially when it was capping off his pearly whites.

There was nothing to be done with them now, honestly, but there was something deeply satisfying about tucking the treasure- his treasure- into a drawer, safe and out of sight.

#text #obey me #obey me!#obey me! shall we date?#obey me mammon #obey me lucifer #not going to tag dia and barb specifically though that could be annoying #obey me fanfic #this could technically be hurt and comfort but lucifer doesnt really comfort well unless things are REALLY bad #i hope i wrote i nailed the older sib vibes but we'll see #deeply funny to see 'be nice to mammon!' as I write about his teeth getting yoinked #next time i write you mammon i swear!

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alisonembers · 3 years

Text

Cogs and Queens (D&D Eberron Fan Fic) - Week 6

This one is a longer one, I hope you enjoy it.

Content Warning: Blood, Course Language, NSFW scene included in full version inside Google Drive link.

—————————————————–

Google Drive Link for correctly formatted version: https://drive.google.com/file/d/1-jnvaN0ui2c-7yUR0BzSNwkpD63Lzhmo/view?usp=sharing

Cogs and Queens - Part Six

“You’re just the cutest little thing,” Elisen says, standing almost a foot taller than Mercury.

“Oh? Am I?”

Elisen unwraps a leather pouch, revealing medical tools. “So, Mercury, how did this happen?”

“I tried to get back at a man and failed.”

“Ah,” Elisen kneels before Mercury, pulling out a pair of tweezers and a scalpel from the leather pouch. “Have you ever been operated on, my dear?”

Mercury wiggles the damaged fingers on their left arm, hearing the slight whirring of stuck motors.

“Of course. Is it okay if you take your top off? It will make getting at the wound easier.”

“Oh, sure,” Mercury slides their coat off and then unbuttons their shirt. They slide it off their shoulders, sitting topless in the chair.

“Oh dear,” Elisen says. “What happened? Your shoulders…” Elisen stands, looking over them, noticing large bruises on their back, along with scaring and cuts. “Are you okay?”

“Just the life of a Mercury.”

“Excuse me, good woman, but getting yoursel-”

“Please don’t call me a woman,” Mercury says sternly.

“Ah.”

“Now, are you going to fix the damn hole in my stomach?”

“Oh, of course,” Elisen kneels back down and applies pressure around the wound. “You’re lucky it hit nothing important.”

“Oh, that’s good, minus the blood loss.”

Elisen pokes around with the scalpel. “Found the bullet.”

“Yeah?”

Elisen reaches for the tweezers. She reaches towards Mercury’s stomach, poking them into the wound.

“Ah, lords!” Mercury screams.

“You said you’d been operated on before!”

“I was unconscious, okay!?”

“Almost got it. Stay sill.”

Mercury clenches down on the arm of the chair with their right hand, their toes wriggling in pain.

“Got it!” Elisen pulls back with the metal bullet held by the tweezers. She places her hand over the wound. “By the shine of the flame, heal this poor soul.”

Mercury hisses in pain as a searing devine burn impales their stomach. They bat Elisen away. “What in Mabar did you do to me!?” they look down and notice that their wound was completely healed.

“Better?”

“Divinity.”

Elisen stands up. “So, where are you off to now?”

“Honestly… I have no idea. I kind of need a nap.”

Elisen looks over her shoulder. “Bed’s large enough for two.”

“It is,” Mercury says.

“Don’t get any ideas, little devil.”

“Lady, please. I just got shot, fell thirty feet onto a roof, and cried in pain from divine magic. I just want to sleep.”

Elisen giggles. “Be my guest,” she gestures to the bed.

“What are you doing!? You can’t just leave, *******,” a taller human man says, wearing a black cloak.

“Stop calling me that, for waste sake!” Mercury yells back, standing in a small doorway.

“And what of the deal, *******? Do you not care what the headmaster will do to us if you leave? To your own mother and father?” a human woman in purple robes says.

“Burn for all I care! I want nothing to do with you and this cursed place!” Mercury storms out the front door.

“ *******! Stop! Come right back here, you disobedient child!”

“The same child you cursed at birth!? Made my life not my own, but a guaranteed pre-paid sacrifice to your patron!? You disgust me, you vial humans! I hate you!”

Their father rushes towards them, grabbing them by the collar, and starts pulling them towards the house. “You will not leave us. Your life is here. In this sanctuary.”

Mercury pulls grabs a dagger from their belt and spins around. They cut their father all along the bottom of their arm. “I am not your experiment! Your sacrifice! I will claim a life you deny me!”

Their father lets go of them, cursing a thousand times.

Their mother runs out with a look of horror. “How could you do such a thing!?”

Mercury pulls their ragged coat closer and pushes into the rainy afternoon, ignoring their parents in pain.

Mercury opens their eyes, spotting Elisen lying beside them, reading a book. “Where…”

“Bad dream? Your tail was thrashing around quite a bit.”

“It’s always bad dreams. You get used to it…” Mercury pulls themselves up, back against the bed head. “Didn’t say anything in my sleep, did I?”

“No.”

“Good.”

“Tell me, Mercury, what is it that you do?”

Mercury begins laughing.

“What’s so funny, pinky.”

“I raid cargo, shoot criminals, get shot, drink alcohol, gamble. That’s what I do.”

“I see.”

“The sharn guard is included in criminals, by the way.”

“Ah.”

“What do you do? You’re a doctor?”

“A psychologist. I work in the upper city, and sometimes the skyway. Though I am practicing to be more than a psychologist. These are… practice tools.”

“Of couuurse you work for the elite. You’re an aristocrat,” Mercury lays their head against the back of the bed.

“We’re not all bad, you know.”

Mercury looks at them with dagger eyes. “Really.”

“I helped you, didn’t I?”

“Yeah.”

“Does that not count for something?”

“Maybe. I don’t know. I haven’t decided if I like you or not… Why are you staying in a tavern if you’re from here?”

“Ah, in the middle of a divorce with my ex-wife. Better to stay in a tavern away from them, give them space.”

“How old are you?” Mercury turns to them, legs crossing.

“Never ask a woman their age. It’s rule number one,” Elisen says, giggling. “Two hundred.”

“Elves, huh?” Mercury says.

“Yourself?” Elisen asks.

“I don’t actually know, and I’d rather not find out,” Mercury lies.

“Odd. Where were you born? Surely there’d be a record.”

“Demon wastes.”

“Oh, you’re a tiefling. Of course.”

“What’s that supposed to mean? Tieflings cant be born elsewhere?”

“I didn’t say that!” Elisen yells.

Mercury smiles.

The sound of shouting erupts from outside the room. “Find me that fiend! I’ll make an example of it!”

“This is my queue to leave, princess!” Mercury runs for the window, vaulting out of it into the alleyway once more. Shit. Where do I go from here?

They moved on from the alley looking for a way down,

They sought for another night under the queen's crown.

Their metal hand was ruined from a hard days fight,

They’d need to get it fixed before the end of night.

The Dwarf man would mend it getting further into debt,

But Mercury would push on hard and never seemed to fret.

“Mercury, when are you going to stop?” Dandran asks, leaning over the railing of the store's porch.

“Stop what?” Mercury asks, sipping ale.

“All of it. Theft, taking part in heists, killing people. You need to stop,” Dandran says.

“Why should I?” Mercury takes another sip.

“Because you’ll end up dead, Merc.”

“I’m gonna end up dead soon anyway. Not much time left, right? Tick tock, Dandran.”

“Listen here, you son of a bitch,” Dandran walks over to Mercury. “You’re like a damn son to me. I taught you all you need to know about this damn city, raised you from when you were a weed. I don’t want all that work dying.”

Mercury looks at him, taken back. He had never come at them this aggressive before.

“You should take what life you have left and use it for good. Not wasting your days away,” Dandran begins breathing deeply, trying to calm down.

“Dandran… That ain’t me. You know it ain’t me.”

“Mercury, from this day onward, I am no longer repairing that arm of yours. You work out a way to do it yourself or find another artificer willing to tinker with it. If you’re going to get yourself killed, go get yourself killed. I can’t stop it anymore!” Dandran storms into the store, slamming the door behind him.

Really fucked it up, haven’t ya, Merc… Mercury walks down the stairs into the empty street, continuing to drink their ale. Time to buy some equipment, I guess… I could use a drink.

Mercury watches the street, quieter than usual, out the front of the Cogs and Queens tavern. As they take a sip of whisky from a small glass, they cough. The liquid turns a vibrant red as strands of blood weave through the liquor. Fuck. They tip out the whisky into the street.

A black cat runs through the street with a rat in its jaws. Its eyes glow like a candle in the void.

Mercury sighs, squeezing the glass with their right hand.

Davil walks out of the tavern, spotting Mercury. “Hey, you okay? Wondering where you went.”

“Just a mid-life crisis, I’m afraid,” Mercury says.

“Anything, in particular, going on? Or…”

“You know that man who took my arm? Yeah, well… I tried to take him on.”

“How did it go?”

“Terrible. Got shot in the stomach, killed some men… I did break the join at his elbow, though. So, for what it’s worth, he, too, also has one working arm.”

“That it?”

“I fell about thirty feet or something, destroyed an expensive prototype weapon, crashed a rich girl's room, bled on her floor, slept in her bed- not with her, just…”

They both watch the silent street for many moments, the sound of steam engines and elemental machinery whirring in the distance.

“I don’t know how you do it, Mercury.”

“Do what?”

“Keep fighting. Your life is so complicated. Do you ever think about just settling somewhere with what you got, earning honest money? I mean lords, I’m a prostitute, and that’s a stable enough income here.”

Mercury turns completely facing Davil, gesturing with open palms.“Well, in my years, you come to learn that the world hates you, no matter what you do. You can make friends, maybe even love someone, but in the end, the elite just fuck ya over and take it all away through exploitation.”

Davil squints at Mercury. “You look young. Didn’t realize you were so old.”

“That change your opinion on me?” Mercury teases.

“Not if I get another taste of cupcake.”

“Is that so?” Mercury smirks. “Cupcake?”

“I mean, well, if you get pink icing, you know, you’re pink,” he leans against the outer wall of the tavern.

“I’m sorry, it seems I am all out of coin,” Mercury says.

“If I’m the one asking you to sleep with me, shouldn’t I be the one paying you?” he chuckles.

Mercury moves closer, their tail flicking behind. “A bottle of the cheapest wine you can find, pay for the room, and you have a deal.”

“Oh, do I now?” Davil says.

Mercury moves their tail across Davil’s crotch as they walk by, pushing open the tavern door.

Davil follows behind, ruffling through his pouch for some coin.

Time passes as Davil and Mercury listen to the rain drop into the lower city through gaps above, the cold air wisping through the cracked window they watch out of. Mercury rests their head against Davil’s chest as they sit between his legs. They hold the wine bottle upward to Davil.

Davil takes the wine and sips from it.

“You know, I could live in this moment forever,” Mercury says. “Never have to gun sling again.”

“I’m not gonna comment on that. It’s all your choice,” Davil says, passing the wine back to Mercury.

“Sometimes I think about leaving…” Mercury takes a sip.

“Leaving? To do what?” Davil says as he strokes Mercury’s jaw.

“When it’s over, and Coltan is dead, I might leave to the outskirts. Maybe find a small town to settle down in, become a farm ranger.”

“You, Mercury, ‘The Pink Fiend,’ horny Mercury. You. You are gonna go out and become a simple farm ranger?” Davil takes the wine, taking a larger sip.

“What? Just because I like sex, it doesn’t mean I can’t work a farm.”

“I just can’t imagine an outlaw like you doing such a thing.”

“The only reason I am even considered an outlaw is because the Sharn guard, who are corrupt, deem me so. The Sharn guard is nothing more than a gang of thugs working for rich thugs.”

“Have you ever killed an innocent? I’m not going to judge you.”

“No, never. No member of the Sharn guard is innocent. So don’t even start that.”

“What about tavern patrons I watched you get into fights with?”

“They were outlaws themselves! Worse than me too!”

“True…”

“Look, if fighting the guard makes me evil, so be it. I embrace it.”

“You’re not bad, Mercury… Just a different approach might be better.”

Mercury shrugs, gulping down the last of the wine. “I don’t know. People see a price on my head and want to cash me in. I’m lucky I got you,” they say as they wiggle deeper into Davil’s arms.

“I think I’m the lucky one,” Davil says, keeping Mercury close.

To be continued.

#dnd fanfic #eberron #tiefling #dnd #dnd oc #d&d #d&d fanfic #dungeons and dragons #fantasy writing

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thimbleswrites · 4 years

Text

with the lights out, it’s less dangerous | the last time

Pairing: Frankie Dalton x Original Female Character

Genre: Angst / Drama

Word count: 4k

Warnings: love/hate relationship, implied smut, suicidal thoughts

AO3 link: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3884773/chapters/8685547

Author’s note: I wrote this a long time ago but I’m posting all my fics on my writing blog. I explain more about the Blood Donors concept in the a/n on A03 if anyone’s interested, click the link above.

Summary:

Anita, a human that Edward has been harboring in his house for years, struggles with the isolation of living as a fugitive in a world full of vampires. With the threat of being reduced to nothing but a Blood Donor looming just outside the walls of Edward's house, she must decide whether it is time to end it all or find a way to deal with the desolation.

But is the dangerous game she finds herself playing with Frankie Dalton, Edward's human-hunting brother, the best solution to her loneliness?

Set pre-Daybreakers.

Next: honesty hour

"Goddamn it, Frankie, I have until sundown to get some sleep before a shit load of work tomorrow – I'm not having this conversation again; it's done!"

A beat of silence follows the words as the dismissal rings heavy in the air and a resounding snarl tears through the tension. Anita grimaces at the sound of footsteps up the stairs and tries to press herself back against the hinged door, into nonexistence – a thin hand clawing at the threshold as she waits with bated breath.

No matter how many arguments she heedfully witnesses, how many times Edward tells her that she is safe after Frankie blows in and out of their lives over and over again, how many times she manages to make it just one more day without being caught and forced as a Blood Donor: the dread that makes her stomach clench in an almost paralyzing sort of fear is a constant reminder that she is never safe.

The comfort of safety is not a luxury she can afford – not anymore.

The years spent hiding with a decreasing amount of fellow human who had refused vampirism had not been wasted with pointless dreams of a secure future. Those days were harsh, dirty, and cruel – but in each other there was at least a small repose of normalcy. Humans living (well surviving, because what they had been doing was not actually living) with other humans.

A human living with one (sometimes two, she remembers with a tingle up her spine) vampires, though.

She wants to laugh at the thought of such an illusion as safety for someone in her position, but seeing as it's the one thing standing between her and becoming a daily juice box, she refrains. That is if she could remember how to laugh; the muscles surrounding her mouth are usually only ever exercised into a frown and she imagines that the act of straining them upwards might be foreign and difficult.

Her attempt at becoming a chameleon is at once deemed futile under the fierce gaze of Frankie Dalton as he passes in the hall. He's only just gotten back from his most recent tour of duty and as per usual he is staying at Edward's during his break, unable to afford an apartment he would scarcely ever use.

The first few days of his return are always the worst; Edward almost never remembers the day of Frankie's arrival and the latter's mood turns sour the moment he comes home to see his welcome party consists of one: a somewhat interested (and punctual; she doesn't have much to look forward to these days and even his return on the calendar is something) Anita holding a propped open book in one hand and the world's tiniest banner reading Welcome home, asshole! in her other as she lounges comfortably on a sofa in the office room, ready to leap to her crawl space at a moment's notice.

Just as she thinks that maybe, just maybe this time he will continue to his seldom-occupied bedroom and ignore her, he stops walking and looks her down as if she is a lower species; a turkey attending the Thanksgiving dinner. There is distaste clear in his eyes, rage too, and something even darker that she recognizes somewhere in the back of her mind but does not want to dwell upon.

Anita glowers bitterly up at him, willing him to feel her disgust at him, too, for him to know that this isn't exactly the ideal living situation for her either. A small part of her feels ashamed for those sort of thoughts – the last thing she wants Edward to think she is is ungrateful. She owes him her life, however useless it may be now.

Once, a couple years back, when on a supply raid with her group she had been wounded by a lone poor, starving vampire who had found them and attacked. Her party had left her there, assuming her to be dead, so it was not abandonment – not really, she would have done the same.

Self-hatred burns her insides with the knowledge that this new world – one with the rule of vampires and the hunt of humans like livestock – has charred her soul black to the core, a sense of meaningless survival (what is the point to her life?) taking control on instinct so that she has to fight every day to remember what humanity truly means.

But with an abundance of luck and patience on Edward's part, he had found her bleeding out (thankfully not infected; she'd rather die) and managed to get them both back to his place to nurse her back to health. Her constant attempts at his life or escaping had slowed things down considerably, but she eventually healed and came to the hard realization that her pack was gone. She knew by then they would be cities away and that she was alone. It was with little hesitance that Anita had accepted Edward's offer of shelter and food. Protection, too, but that was taken lightly.

She's never been one to depend on others; she likes to pull her own weight, and her current title of hidden house guest makes her restless. When she had first began living with Edward, she had offered him her blood – not straight from her veins, obviously, but with the proper equipment she would have given him enough, regularly but not nearly as much as she'd have to if she became a Blood Donor, to cushion the blow of his blood-bill. But he had refused; said he didn't drink human, and it would have been a lie to say she was too disappointed. The same offer was never given to Frankie – probably because she knows now, and knew then, that he would not have refused.

"Well, if it isn't the root of the problem." Frankie grinds out, his jaw clenched as he takes a step towards her. "Tell me – do you think Ed sees your face on the humans at his company or just dollar signs?"

She blinks indifferently, keeping her silence. They've danced to this song before, and honestly, she's grown too phlegmatic to be baited so easily.

"Probably not the money." He adds, his voice hard. "He pities you humans too much for his own good. And you in particular, doesn't he?" He chuckles darkly and points at her with his index finger. "No, you're his favorite little stray kitten – here to stay."

At his sneering words she looks back at the small opening across the small office that leads to the crawl space she spends her time in when the sun falls and darkness resumes – a pathetic excuse for living quarters but she is none the wiser, having been in worse conditions while on the streets. At least she has the sleeping bag to herself now.

She is allowed out during the day or when Edward is home and does not have company, but rarely downstairs and always, always she must be quiet (so quiet it is like she is not even there) in case the neighbors can hear. He cooks her food mostly (something she wishes she could do for herself; Edward is an appallingly bad chef) and she is permitted to have a shower every few days even though she has to use his toiletries. She does not mind much, though – things like that have not been a problem for her in a good long while.

It is not that Edward wants to keep her on a short leash so much as he is very meticulous in ensuring that she remains hidden, for his sake and hers. Every single thing is planned and routine; if he is to buy too much extra food or household necessities or if his guest notice that he seems to be housing three occupants, it might raise unwanted suspicion that would be better to avoid entirely. Paranoid, maybe, but it works. And although she will never dare to complain, living in such circumstances is taking the wear and tear out of her.

While food comes easier now than what she has been used to (having been malnourished since she was barely a teen) she is still unhealthy; her skin too pale from the lack of sunlight and the natural growth of her body stinted by the crawl space, making her appear pinched, and so much smaller than she should, too emaciated and frail to the point where she wants to avoid mirrors at all cost on some days. The perpetual dark rims under her grey eyes from many sleepless nights give her the appearance of a ghost, and her hair is almost always in a wild tangle of mousy blonde strands, but sometimes on her more vain days, she manages to run her fingers through it enough to tame the mess. Throughout every thing that has been lost to the war of vampires against humans, vanity seems to trail behind her in a race to catch up; not quite there but never too far behind either.

She looks hollow, dead in the eyes, and it's only fitting, really – she feels the same way.

Anita wishes that she could take pride in her quiet strength – she yearns to think of herself as one of the heroines from the books she reads to assuage her boredom (Edward has books everywhere, scattered in piles in all the nooks and crannies of the house and then some), biding her time before she can join the Revolution with her fellow humans, but honestly, the fear and cowardice that is still present, hidden beneath the bitter sorrow and ferocious contempt, only makes her feel weak. Weak from the tears that wet her pillow at night when she is by herself in the crawl space, holding her arms around her middle as if it will help the sickness, left with nothing but thoughts of death and blood and the unfairness of life.

She misses her family more than she ever thought she would, and it's unbearable because it leaves a gaping, festering hole in her chest that makes her want to lie still until she just stops breathing. At those times, more than usual, it stumps her how anybody could want to live forever. It's a consuming, mindless sort of grief that leaves her breathless and exhausted, hating herself for dwelling on the past when her current standing in the food chain demands all the focus she has.

Anita hates weakness.

And Frankie makes her feel weak.

Especially when he is this close to her, his head tilted down so he can meet her wide eyes, and his body so near her that she can feel the coolness of him. She hates the terror it instills in her at the thought that he can infect her with a smile on his face and her flesh in his teeth if he so desires. And he does desire it – he's told her so, after the two brother's verbal throw down matches over Edward's aiding and abetting a human criminal in his own house, a house that Frankie inhabits ("By knowing and not saying anything it makes me an accomplice, Ed!"). Edward thinks his threats of turning them in are empty ("He won't say anything . . . he owes me." Ed told her once when she had voiced her concerns) and he hasn't yet, however, Anita wouldn't put it past him. She can't turn a corner in a house that Frankie's in without having a threat to turn her thrown in her face.

Even more than that, though, she absolutely despises the other feelings he sparks in her too. The ones that make her flush with heat in her veins and an ache between her thighs from the longing to be close to someone again. Anita despises him for being a selfish monster and she despises him even more when he's not. She despises the salacious want he infixes in her when he glances up with sharp, trained eyes from whatever he is doing to watch her walk back to the office after a shower when she is in only a towel. But more than anything, anything else she despises herself for having allowed him to toy with those feelings periodically over the last four months.

As Frankie stares at her, something akin to understanding glints in his eyes and he takes a quick step in her direction, making her fall back two. After a moment she has enough sense to worry he might have recognized the look in her eyes as more than offense at his words. There is a familiar sort of triumph in his voice as he sneers, "Something bothering you, pet?"

The sound of the taunting sobriquet he had long ago christened her coming from his lips is far too palatable for her to handle so she imagines what the screams of the humans he has hunted and forced into the Blood Revenue Agents hands would sound like instead, so loud and terrible that it can banish those bad, bad feelings that surround her off to another place where things that are wrong go to.

For the moment, it works.

"Yes – you are standing too close," Anita finally murmurs, and something frightening in her roars at the covetous flash in his eyes as they narrow at her, but she silences it by biting her tongue, unable to resist the opportunity to wipe the smirk off of his face. "And I can still smell the blood of my people marring your precious honor, sir."

The corners of his mouth twist down at her mockery and he raises his chin, trying to intimidate her with his authority, but the vampire soldier card no longer makes her shrink in fear as it once did. She has had quite a bit of time in the weeks of Frankie's absence to prepare herself for his overwhelming presence that has always had a different effect on her than Edward's. She will no longer permit herself to be a distraction for him to amuse himself with whenever he likes purely because he can. She is more than his filthy little secret, and certainly better than him.

Her lips thin and she brings herself to full height, which is only a wee few inches shorter than him, but still her neck cranes up slightly to meet his gaze. She has pushed off from the door and he moves backwards to avoid physical contact. The fact that he is the one who falls back weighs heavy on him and his frown deepens in anger.

His relentless harassment over the years has been all too entertaining for him because of the easy prey she has always presented him with. His ability to read her like an open book is almost congenital – Frankie knows Anita to her very core; her thoughts, her fears, her dreams, he knows exactly what to do to provoke her. He can send her into a furious rage with a few casual words or tear her apart by a single deliberate look. But now the game has changed. She has surprised him with this sign of defiance; this charge of offensive play, and he does not know how to react to it.

A small thrill shoots through her from his falter, and the courage it gives her comes out in the smooth words she spits into his face, "Something bothering you, Frankie?"

She can almost taste victory in her mouth when his ochroid eyes flash and he quickly leans into her, a smirk curling onto his face, making her stumble back away from him and warily glance at the protruding fangs that press into his pale lower lip. He smiles widely to show her his teeth more clearly; a wolf's grin, and watches her clenched jaw tremble beneath the unspoken threat, eyes dancing and alight with the prospect of a challenge.

"Careful now, pet, wouldn't want to cross lines you can't come back from, would you?" He cautions.

The air feels weighted with the tension, as if electricity is crackling against her skin, sending sparks through her nervous system but she holds her ground and straightens. The warning is obvious in his voice; he wants her to know that he is in control. She hates that.

He is so close she can feel his breath fanning her face, and although it makes hers come in faster than she would care to admit, Anita resists the urge to swivel her head to the side. "Fuck your lines."

The curse word feels strange on her tongue, although she is pleasantly surprised at the evenness of her tone, and she enjoys his confounded look at her having taken a page from his book – he frequently uses the crude terms, and at least one adolescent innocent tendency has always made her wince when he casually refers to them – but it had sounded sharp and primitive and she is impressed by herself. She instantly realizes that she likes how fierce it makes her feel.

"Ooh, such language, Nita. Wouldn't expect it from you." He grins at her, his tongue grazing briefly over one fang, so quickly that she barely notices it with a sweeping sensation sent straight to her toes, and continues, "And while I appreciate that imitation is the sincerest form of flattery, maybe you should mind your manners for now. After all, pets who misbehave must be . . . castigated."

Her knees quake, nearly giving out at his tone: almost a teasing threat, and that realization makes her stomach flutter in equal parts fright and excitement. She inhales deeply, pulling down the frayed sleeves of her sweater past her fingers.

Frankie's smile fades as his mouth contorts into a thoughtful expression and his eyes size her up. The hairs on the back of her neck stand up, but she is not sure if it is because of the dread in her stomach or the heat that flames in her cheeks and along her ears when he steps forward with his arms extended out on either side of her head, efficiently trapping her between the door and his body. He pushes a strand of hair from her darting eyes with a gentle motion; a mocked sign of affection, and lets the tip of his finger rest on her temple.

He is pushing her, stretching their interaction like a rubber band, testing to see how far he can go before she breaks. He doesn't have to push far this time – a simple movement; he bites gently and deliberately into his lower lip and his eyes drop to her mouth – and then she is shoving his arms away scathingly, hitting him with her fist as she turns to her crawl space.

Frankie catches her readily around her waist and flings her back against a wall, grabbing her wrists in his hands when she tries to struggle and pinning them above her head. His face is close enough to hers that she can clearly see the smile lines in his right cheek when the corner of his lip quirks up in that crooked grin that makes her loathe these moments with him as much as she secretly looks forward to them, although, she will never admit the hold he has on her; a strong fist around her rotting heart, forcing it to pulsate when the beats begin to degenerate.

Sometimes she wishes he would just let her die.

He thrusts a knee between her legs, pressing his body onto hers, and she can't breathe – she can't even muster the energy to ignore the way her body responds to the familiar feeling of him against her; the way her hips cant upwards into him, all but unwillingly.

And sometimes she wants nothing more than this.

"Fuck you." Anita seethes, because he looks so smug, like such a smug bastard that her blood practically boils and she feels alive.

"Hm, fuck me?" Frankie muses. "You're being rather straightforward today."

"Well, you know what they say." She returns with a sharp grin on her face that she saves just for him. "Bold is beautif – oh!"

He had ducked down into her neck, his mouth opened wide, and for only a moment she considers that he is finally making good on his threat to tear into her jugular vein, but it's not his teeth. It's his tongue, and she thinks that might be worse. He's kissing the base of her throat, ravaging the skin there (because Anita will shit a brick if she ever sees Frankie being tentative in his actions), and it almost hurts; she knows there will be a bruise there in a few hours.

There always is.

"Wait." She protests wearily, her heart beating a tattoo of his name onto her rib cage. "You said it was the last time. We agreed – we agreed the last time was it."

"I changed my mind." He says easily, his mouth trailing up to her jaw. "God, you're so fucking warm."

And the low, guttural sound of his voice makes her knees actually give out this time. He only tightens his fingers around her wrists, though, and his thigh between her legs keeps her upright, but oh – his thigh between her legs. She trembles.

Her eyes fall closed with a pleased, drawn out sigh and he lets out a breathy laugh.

"You want this just as much as I do, don't you, pet?" He taunts, scraping his fangs lightly over her skin.

Anita growls but before she can retort he presses his lips to hers and kisses her in a way that only he's ever done; hard, deep, angry. He releases her right hand and she presses her palm to the nape of his neck, holding him in place as she responds to his jabbing remark by nipping at his bottom lip. She makes a noise at the back of her throat when his tongue invades her mouth.

He's cold – all vampires are. But Anita doesn't see it like they do in the old YA novels about the then-mythical vampire, it is not just some side effect of being a dashing creature of the night like the young heroines think it is; it's one of the things she hates the most when she's with Frankie like this, because it reminds her that he is dead. He has no pulse, no heartbeat. Frankie is cold like a corpse, a walking disease.

This thought gives her resolve a burst of renewed strength and she tugs her other hand free from his grasp, holding tightly to his shirt as she pants, "We can't keep doing this." But even as the words leave her, she allows her hand to drift down towards his stomach, feeling the taut muscles of his abdomen beneath her exploring fingers.

Jesus, help me, Anita thinks desperately, he's my Kryptonite.

He's undeterred – his mouth hovering over hers, golden eyes watching her intently as his hands go to her hips and he hooks his thumbs into the waistband of her pants. "Why not?" He asks, softly, the words drifting over her lips.

She pauses, distracted by the way his fingers stroke circles onto her skin.

He smiles at her hesitancy, touching his lips lightly to hers.

The tenderness throws her into momentary surprise, but he suddenly grips the back of her thighs and lifts her up, propping her against the wall as her legs lock instinctively around his waist, and there's nothing tender about what's digging into the inside of her thigh. She gasps when his hands slide up her sweater, one at the small of her back and the other on her breast.

She kisses him fervidly, nearly slicing open her tongue on his fang, and cradles his jaw in her hands – he grins into her mouth, apparently satisfied by her response, and her body screams this is the last time, just once more.

"I'm not into necrophilia – you son of a bitch," Anita murmurs, short of breath, but even she hears the fond way the words are spoken.

"Shut up," Frankie groans as his mouth goes to her collarbone, his hand tugging one of her legs higher over his hip while his groin steadily rocks into the apex of her thighs as if to prove his next words, "D'you think I want to want this? I've taken playing with my food to an all new level."

And she doesn't even try to stop the morbid laugh that leaves her as he carries her to his bedroom.

It's the last time, after all.

#daybreakers #frankie dalton #edward dalton #daybreakers fanfiction #frankie x original charcter #michael dorman #thimbles fics

4 notes · View notes

margridarnauds · 5 years

Note

for the ship headcanon thing, peyronan + whichever you most want to answer!

I have been Summoned by the word “Peyronan”

5. Who says ‘I love you’ first?

Ronan, while they were mid-cuddle and he was on the verge of going to sleep. It takes Lazare, like, several days to croak it out himself because he’s still in utter, absolute shock and trying to recover. If he ever does before You Know What happens, in which case it’s one of Lazare’s biggest regrets. And Ronan dies believing that Lazare, despite everything else, never truly loved him.

14. When one has a cold, what does the other do?

Laz is TERRIFIED that Ronan’s going to die from it, like...he consults his regiment’s physician and everything, trying to figure out the PERFECT cure, he fusses over Ronan day and night, constantly checks his temperature, it’s utterly adorable. To everyone except Ronan (though Ronan isn’t above feigning sleep so that Lazare will press his hand to his forehead longer), who really, really wants to get up and walk around and...no, Laz, I promise I won’t die if I take two steps out of bed. Yes, I’m sure. He gets a chicken soup recipe from his company’s physician and MAKES IT HIMSELF, spoonfeeding it to Ronan.

Ronan has simultaneously never felt so touched or so smothered in his life.

Meanwhile, Lazare firmly believes that he CAN’T get a cold, because obviously, if he could, then he would have gotten one as a child. Completely ignoring that he DID get them as a child, but Grandpapa de Fuck made him do drills through them anyway, even when he really, really shouldn’t have.

Spoiler alert: He can. And he does. About a week later. Then it’s up to Ronan to take care of him, and for all of his complaints about mother-henning, Ronan’s not THAT much better. The regiment’s physician, and the regiment as a whole, have never been so GRATEFUL to see The Colonel’s Peasant Boyfriend in their LIVES, because Lazare is not a particularly easy patient. He can take orders with everything BUT the doctor telling him that he needs to stay in bed and off the job for a few days.

15. When they watch a film what do they choose and why? Who gets the final vote?

Lazare is perfectly happy to watch a science documentary most of the time. Ronan tends to like the crappiest films imaginable so he can poke fun at them (though his taste is bad enough that what is ACTUALLY crappy and what is a Bonafide Ronan Favorite is very, very thin.) Since Lazare is ALSO perfectly fine leveling snark at the worst films imaginable while his boyfriend "discretely” tries to cuddle up to him, they tend to go with that. (It is not discreet. At all. Because it’s Ronan, but Lazare at least PRETENDS to be taken aback when he looks down and sees Ronan there, popcorn in hand. Lazare doesn’t even know HOW Ronan got popcorn, but he did.) GENERALLY, Ronan gets the deciding vote, but if nothing else, they’re both pretty fine with just doing their own things on their laptops/phones.

16. When the zombie apocalypse comes, how do they cope together?

Can neither confirm nor deny that I have a longstanding 1789 Zombies AU in progress that...one day, I REALLY need to do work on, because I had that one well-plotted out and everything and it’s been well over a year now. But, suffice it to say, they actually get a lot closer, because one of the things that’s kind of a staple of zombie stories from The Night of the Living Dead onwards is that societal boundaries just kind of...collapse. Things that are SUPPOSED to be important, like funerals, just...stop being as important, as people rush to defend themselves. So, with Peyronan, a lot of the things that would NORMALLY matter to both of them (homosexuality still being on the books as a crime, their social statuses, the tension between the revolutionaries and the Monarchy)...I’m not going to say they STOP mattering entirely, but they become a lot less important in terms of the larger goal, which becomes survival.

I do think, though, that the casual way that Lazare deals with the zombies really horrifies Ronan at first, as he tends to see it as one more sign that Lazare is A Murderering Murderer who doesn’t have a conscience, but then as time goes on it becomes VERY obvious that Lazare is doing this off of experience. He’s already figured out how the transmission of the virus works via trial and error, he’s figured out that there’s NOT a cure for it, and that the only way to ensure that a zombie isn’t formed is...well...making sure that the body doesn’t survive long enough to become one and then burning it for good measure.

17. When they find a time machine, where do they go?

@lochley and I have a long, longstanding AU with Lore and everything where they...don’t INTENTIONALLY go to the Cretaceous Era, but they end up there anyway. So, yes, Ronan + Laz + Dinos: A winning combination.

In terms of “Things that I could see the two of them actually doing In Canon...” I honestly think it would be hilarious to see the two of them fucking up the age of Louis XIV. Alternatively, Ronan and Laz + the Romans. Because there’s SUCH a huge classical influence at this point in time that I can SEE it.

18. When they fight, how do they make up?

They have some absolutely FURIOUS arguments, usually with one of them storming off (generally Ronan), they have several hours to cool down, possibly cry a little (though if either one of them SEES the other crying, it tends to immediately end then. Because neither one of them can really see that and hold onto the anger,) then they go into Pining Mode, and then one of them will inevitably awkwardly knock on the door and they’ll actually TALK. Neither one of them can fundamentally EVER stay mad at the other for too long.

19. Where do they go on their first date?

Most of the time, I’m going to have to say “The Bastille” for obvious reasons, but in at least one reincarnation AU I’ve considered, they run into each other at college. Ronan’s initially pissed because the prissy law student wasn’t looking at where he was going and bumped into him, then somehow this all led to said prissy law student asking him out to the coffee shop in the library in-between classes as an apology.

20. Where do they go on holiday?

Bold of you to assume that Lazare understands what the word “holiday” is.

21. Where do they get nervous about going with one another?

The Jacobin Club, Versailles...besides that, really anywhere out in public. For obvious reasons. Even if people thought they were FRIENDS, it would be cause for scandal, much less the truth.

In the Modern AU, things have thawed a lot, but Laz still doesn’t really feel comfortable with Ronan’s friends. It’s not even that they actively hate one another, it’s just...they’re RONAN’S friends. And Laz is still a socially awkward parrot in any timeline.

Also, the Chateau de Peyrol. That place REALLY creeps Ronan out. Really, really, REALLY creeps him out, and Laz really doesn’t like going there either. There’s a REASON why Laz tends to stick to Paris for the most part when he can, or else going around the provinces.

22. Where does their first kiss happen?

In terms of Canonverse, I do tend to lean towards the Bastille. It’s the easiest place to assume a relationship upgrade. (And the fact that we do have this.) Not really original, but...well....Les Amants de la Bastille. And it’s not like they have THAT much range as far as locations, anyway. Given the whole “secret relationship” thing.

23. Where is their favourite place to be together?

Underneath a tree somewhere, watching the stars together on a cool night. (Bonus if Lazare *has* to share his coat with Ronan because it suddenly turned chilly.)

25. Why do they fight?

The sad thing in the canon verse is that, while there are probably about two-ish months that you can wiggle in where they weren’t quarreling (From ~May 3, when Ronan “escaped” the Bastille to June 2, when the printing shop was raided and Ronan re-joined the Revolution and then, depending on whether or not we’re going with the Takarazuka/Toho timeline or not, from June 2 to June 20th with the Tennis Court Oath. Which...in that timeline is DOUBLY sad because Lazare would have been fully under the belief that Ronan had given up the Revolution for him. And then...well...canon happened. Ronan Was Ronan), a LOT of their relationship was spent under fire.

Most common topics tend to be their respective loyalties, Lazare’s increasing brutality towards civilians, where the Revolution is taking Ronan, Ronan wanting Lazare to leave the Army in favor of him, etc. (Ronan tends to see the Army + Laz relationship in very simplistic terms: Remove Laz from the army and he has his beloved boyfriend back and whole and safe, without the darkness of the Comte de Peyrol. The problem, obviously, is that it ISN’T that simple. Laz can’t easily remove himself from something that’s been his WHOLE LIFE, just like Ronan can’t easily remove himself from the Revolution.) Sometimes, Ronan doesn’t really understand Laz’s attempts at lessening the tension via buying things, thinking that Laz is trying to buy him off somehow, when...to Laz...that’s really the only MODEL that he has for this kind of thing. Aristocratic men keep their lovers in fancy apartments and buy them things regularly, that’s just...how it goes. But Ronan doesn’t love The Comte de Peyrol, he loves Lazare, and the reminder of how different their experiences are...doesn’t always sit well.

And then there are the usual domestic disputes that boil over quickly.

Personally, I think that had things gone better for them in canon, those disputes, while a FEW of them would have obviously lingered, would have lessened. Laz might have very well left the Army of his own accord post-1789, it would have DEFINITELY been a possibility post-1791, Ronan might have felt less pressure to be a Revolutionary™ in the time between the October Days and the Varennes Flight, he might have been more willing to run away with Laz to someplace far away.

They just had the misfortune of getting into a relationship in a very, very tumultuous time and not having the time to really sort it out. On one hand, they’re having this rush of being in their first real relationship and having all these new, terrifying feelings, but then they aren’t REALLY given the chance to explore them before it’s all snatched away.

26. Why do they need to have a serious chat?

...When do these two NOT need to have a serious chat, for some reason or another? See the above for a laundry list of reasons, which still doesn’t mention the whole “Killed Ronan’s father” thing.

I found this in my R/L folder and had forgotten it was in there.

29. Why do they fall a little bit more in love?

Ronan lives for those little moments where Laz is ever so slightly more HUMAN. Those moments where Laz comes to bed late and pulls him closer as soon as he gets in or nestles his head into his neck, those little half-smiles that he’s pretty sure are reserved almost exclusively for him, the dry jokes that it takes Ronan a few moments to realize ARE jokes because he’s so used to Lazare being perceived as humorless, dinnertime discussions where Ronan tries to see how many awful ways he can flirt with Lazare before he gets The Eyeroll™ (it’s never made it to more than two times), getting to curl up on the couch with him, the little moments where Laz is so CONCENTRATED on something that he doesn’t even notice Ronan (and he does try, like a cat, to see how much he can distract him. He WILL sit on Lazare’s lap when he’s in the middle of harpsichord practice), the forehead kisses that mean so much MORE coming from someone who he knows they don’t come naturally to, the hand kisses that are so reverent that it knocks Ronan off his feet every time that Lazare does it, getting to fall asleep to the steady beat of Lazare’s heartbeat.

That’s his Lazare, and it’s the Lazare that the world can absolutely never know.

And Lazare falls in love with Ronan’s life repeatedly. The tackle hugs, the kisses whenever he gets home, his terrible, terrible attempts at jokes, the moments when they’re fighting where Ronan looks him eye to eye and on one hand Lazare is furious but on the other hand he’s also impressed, his idealism, whenever he turns over and sees Ronan asleep and vulnerable and his heart just clenches at the thought of anything happening to him, the moments where Ronan can SEE that he’s too focused on his job at the moment and pulls him away (and Lazare can admit that, yes, his work was all the better for having a few moments of break), his absolutely garish choices in outfits, the way that he plays with Lazare’s hair when they’re waking up in the morning, how DEFENSIVE he’ll get of Lazare whenever Lazare offhandedly mentions something about his childhood or his later career, the compassion that he shows, albeit in his own odd way, towards the underdogs, even if Lazare believes that it’s ultimately futile. (”Futile” in this case means “...Of course we’ll adopt Stray Dog #10).

30. Why does it work (or not work) between them?

Is this the second time I’ve used this gif today? Yes. Do I care? No.

They have their issues, definitely more than the average couple, but ultimately they’re both stubborn, they’re both DEEPLY devoted to one another, they both act as a push-pull force on one another to keep each other in check (with Lazare’s level-headedness serving as a buffer for Ronan’s impulsiveness and Ronan’s spark and idealism motivating Lazare), both of them ultimately learn a LOT from one another and their perspective, and, even though fighting all the time is obviously not the sign of a happy, well-adjusted couple, they TEND to default to an Old Married Couple dynamic, especially since a lot of their bickering, sans near the end where Lazare goes over several lines, is primarily bourne out of WORRY for one another. Both of them feel like the other’s side is using them, both of them are right, but unfortunately they don’t have the same hindsight when it comes to their OWN side.

And, even though they have SUCH a massive power imbalance between them, especially at the beginning, Lazare is so...shocked, really, by the turn of events and so infatuated for the first time that Ronan really, really does have most of the power there, and he mainly uses it for good, bringing Lazare out of his shell as steadily as he can. And sometimes he overreaches, sometimes he missteps or blunders or doesn’t know the full scope of a situation before he throws himself into it, because he’s RONAN, but ultimately, he does care for Lazare and Lazare still cares for him.

Had things been different and they’d had to part ways post-canon instead of The Thing Happening, I don’t really see them taking anyone else on BECAUSE they’re so really...focused on one another. Like, anyone who Laz would so much as LOOK at (which is impressive in its own right since Laz is...very, very picky. I lean towards him being either demisexual or gray-asexual, but the point is that the boy does NOT normally find people attractive) would have to be compared unfavorably to Ronan, and Ronan is going to compare anyone to Laz, and they’re simply not going to match up, because for better AND worse, the two of them have had such a cataclysmic impact on one another’s lives.

And no matter what, they WILL reconcile at the end of things. It might take them into the afterlife, but they will figure out a way to make things work. It’s there in the French, it’s...not as present in the Zuka, but there’s at least the implication that Ronan is seeking out Laz in the afterlife even if Laz is rejecting that redemption at the moment, and Toho was homophobic and simply gave us Angel Ronan on a Platform. (Okay, not a LITERAL angel, but like. Ghost who’s ascended to a higher plan of existence.) But it’s so IMPORTANT to me that the French begins with Ronan seeking out revenge against Lazare and ends with their wedding reconciliation in the afterlife. Both sides FINALLY find peace.

#otp: he would be troubled if you died on him #peyronan #food tw #1789 les amants de la bastille #i just...i love my sons. so much #they love each other so much #and i have no idea how much of this is coherent given it's an ungodly hour where I'm at but OH WELL #am i ever REALLY coherent when talking 1789?#the answer is no #vierschanzentournee

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etoilesdephan · 7 years

Text

Burn bright for my constellations (Chapter 3)

Chapter masterpost Read it on ao3!

Word count: 4.1k

A/N: Whoop! This take longer than intended, and I'm sorry about that but I hope you enjoy this chapter nevertheless! From now on I will be updating this every 1-3 weeks according to how much school workload I have to deal with in between. Sorry about that but I want to give you all quality updates <3

===

It had taken a while, but finally Dan pushed the door to his room wide open, a pack of biscuits under his arm, only to toss them at Phil when the other boy looked up. “Mum seems to like rearranging things in the most bizarre ways lately,” He lied easily as he motioned at the sweets and Phil gladly grabbed one and bit into it happily.

“Your collection is impressive,” Phil complimented, too distracted by the rows of CDs and the box of vinyls to note the way Dan had been absent longer than he should have been, even in his roughened up state. Dan was thankful for the distraction though, and carefully watched as Phil reached out to pull one of the CDs out and Dan took the moment to switch the song that was playing in the background, lowering the volume before he settled down on his bed, partially out of laziness, partially - tiredness.

“I've been trying to get my hands on this!” Phil waved the CD around in a way Dan could barely make out the cover, “But it's always either sold out or I can't afford it on the go.”

He shifted at that, leaning his weight forward, a little bit, his feet on the ground keeping him from toppling over, the stiffness too prominent in his lower back again, “I usually raid the second hand stores and there's a couple of forums where you can exchange with other people,” He explained, something in him desperate to clear the situation. It was like a knot in the centre of his being was making him fear something that didn't make any sense, words taking lead over thought easily, “I can show you.”

Somehow the boy in front of him seemed to be the exact opposite of Dan, relaxed completely and fitting in so easily with his surroundings though it was a space Dan had created for himself.

It was scary in a way that Dan couldn't explain.

There was something so genuine in everything Phil did and said. When his emotions changed, they took over the entirety of his features. When he moved - it felt like he was doing it in a way that shifted the world around him instead. Something about the other boy seemed so open, all evil purified as soon as it touched him, despite how cliche Dan realised it sounded.

He was an absolute stranger to Dan, yet something about him felt like had known one another for ages.

And perhaps it was the familiarity that made him tense; Dan had never made actual friends easily, always careful about their intents until they proved themselves harmless in some way. It was not like Dan to feel this thoroughly comfortable in someone's presence and that, ironically enough, made him uncomfortable.

“You can borrow some, if you want?” Dan found himself saying and it was clear at that moment that Phil didn't know him at all, that they had no real past that their interaction would bounce off. Because anyone who knew Dan, knew how protective he was of his collection.

They would ask him what changed his mind? Or why he didn't give his usual list of rules.

Instead what Phil responded with was unashamed joy.

“Really? I promise I'll take a good care of them!”

And for some reason Dan believed him.

===

“How do any of these even make sense?” Dan dropped his pen on the open book in annoyance when the calculations kept getting away from him, no matter how carefully he tried to write them down in the notebook.

The pack of biscuits laid empty on the edge of the table, the crumbs dotting the surface around it.

“Honestly, I've never been good at maths,” Phil scratched his head with the back of the pen before he lied back on Dan's bed.

It had taken about fifteen minutes of going through the CDs, Phil carefully picking out a couple to borrow, and another five before he had comfortably settled on the edge of Dan's bed as the two discussed the genres and even managed to argue over the best songs within the albums in question.

It was such a nice, natural change, that Dan felt a bit of peace with the world settling in his bones, easing the numb tingling that was ever present. The discomfort liked to melt away as if Phil's voice had the power to wash it out of Dan's system effortlessly.

It made Dan almost feel like he was leading the same normal life as before, that nothing had interrupted it, changed it.

But that magical sensation shattered when Phil's phone buzzed once, twice, a dozen times that couldn't be ignored, and finally the other boy sheepishly excused himself to reply to whatever had come up.

Dan wondered about the friends Phil had and what they thought when Phil had left. Did they miss him? Probably, because it hadn't taken even two minutes until the phone buzzed again and Phil rather hurriedly turned to respond.

Dan wondered - did they feel the same as Dan felt when thinking of Tuck.

Probably not, Dan soon concluded, because Phil was alive and whenever someone messaged him, he responded. Meanwhile Dan could only longingly look down at his phone, knowing that it will never again carry the voice of his friend, no matter the amount of calls and texts Dan would end up receiving. He was gone for good while Phil had only moved from one place to another.

There was a bit of jealousy that sparked in Dan's being but he swallowed the knot in his throat, shaking the feeling away before it could make its home in him.

“Somebody sure misses you,” Dan finally commented when the phone buzzed for the millionth time and Phil just laughed.

“Yeah,” His response was curt and the way it was said left something hanging in the air. When Dan looked over, he saw the way the screen turned dark again and how Phil pocketed the device all whilst still lying on Dan's bed like it was his own.

“Screw this,” Dan said, finally giving up when he looked down at the numbers again and realised that they had lost all their meaning in the small moment of distraction. He slammed the book shut and leaned back in the chair, spinning himself just enough to fully face Phil. “I don't even want to study mathematics after I'm done here.”

“Tell me about it,” Phil followed suit, reaching out to push his book off the bed and it fell flatly on the floor with a muffled sound against the carpet.

It was a strange reminisce of something inside Dan's skull and he felt how his whole body tensed, only to shudder visibly before the tension passed. Cold bled into his limbs, making him feel colder than he already had and absentmindedly he wrapped his arms around himself to try and keep himself warm. It took a moment until he noted that Phil was looking at him, having pushed himself up enough to lean on his elbows.

Dan knew the feeling though, as sudden and strange it was. He swallowed and he felt how his chest was tight with the beating of his heart and how the ringing in his ears mixed with the heavy thumps. He felt the dryness in his mouth and the way that the cold took over more and more and he wanted to hug himself tighter as if holding himself would help with keeping the warmth from escaping his body.

“Hey, Dan,” The voice sluggishly drew him out from the inside of his mind where numbness had settled in a terrifying manner that no matter how hard Dan fought on his own never quite retreated as easily as he'd will it to. He blinked several times until his eyes focused on the other boy who watched him with his brows slightly furrowed, a crease in his forehead forming concern.

It was then that he realised that he was shivering violently.

“J-just cold,” Dan cleared his throat, feeling his lips tremble, making the words less legible. He pushed himself onto his feet, the world underneath them feeling extremely unstable and his ankle suddenly less reliable than he had hoped it would be. He didn't even realise that he had stopped until he felt a light touch to his shoulders and the weight around his shoulders.

“I shouldn't be hogging up all the blankets, your room is pretty chilly,” Phil was close and had draped a blanket over Dan's shoulders, carefully wrapping it around the shivering boy. The words were genuine and there was worry in Phil's eyes but it was soft and open, it wasn't dark with sorrow. It was silent and it took a moment before Dan realised that he was staring. He shook his head, trying hard to clear it and felt as the initial feeling began to pass.

“Sorry, I think I've exhausted myself in the last days,” Dan lied weakly, lips forming a half-hearted smile and even if it was clear that Phil saw right through it, the other boy didn't point it out. Instead he nudged Dan lightly and Dan followed suit, sitting on the bed, cocooned in the blanket, back against the headboard. His lids were heavy, but he wasn't tired enough to sleep, so he let them close.

The music kept on playing in the background, and he could hear Phil as the other boy shifted. He could hear the clothing rub together as the other moved, and the sound of Phil's phone unlocking and then locking again a moment later.

“Thanks for being so nice to me,” Phil's words were sudden and Dan opened his eyes, the world bleary before them momentarily, indicating that perhaps he was more tired than he had realised. “It's so hard to find your place when moving, and starting at a new school. I mean people have been nice and all, but it never goes beyond the basic pleasantries at most.”

At that moment Dan noticed the way Phil dragged his vowels in a Norther manner; it wasn't something that he had paid attention to before. The music changed to a calmer track in the background and Phil was fiddling with his shirt, now silent as he sat at the foot of Dan's bed.

“Why did you move?” Dan's lips formed the words and as soon as they were out, a little bit of blush coloured his cheeks, and he shook his head, “I mean-- You don't have to explain. But you brought it up and I know nothing about you yet you're sitting on my bed and-- Bloody hell, that sounds wrong, but you know what I mean--”

It was the sound of a light laugh that finally shut him up. Something had changed in the air around the two boys, and though Phil was still smiling, there was something incredibly sad about his expression too. It felt familiar, and it dug into Dan's heart mercilessly.

“I don't mind, it's just...” Phil as if tried to find words, the sound long and thoughtful, each syllable heavy on his lips unlike any other words that Dan had heard him say. It wasn't like Phil was unsure if he should trust Dan and more like he was trying to find a way to explain it. So Dan sat quietly, allowing the thought to form words.

Finally, Phil heaved a sigh, his hand finding the back of the head, long fingers rubbing through the short hair at the nape of his neck, “See, my parents divorced when I was seven, but they've been keeping in touch this whole time. Now dad's sick and we decided to move in with him to help him through it, because he's always been wholeheartedly supportive of us after the divorce. I couldn't fully understand it until I got a bit older, but now it's time for us to be one whole family again.”

Dan blinked at that, “Mister Lester is sick?” He felt the corners of his mouth turn down; he'd known the man for years now - the friendly older man had always been a neighbourhood favourite, willingly helping out those in need with household fixes and always with an abundance of smiles and reassurance to share with those who needed it.

There had been a lot of speculations why he lived in such a big house alone, but the adults had trusted him so Dan didn't question it. Somehow it had never crossed his mind to actually find out more about the man, he was just a normal constant in their lives for as long as Dan had lived there.

Phil smiled a small, crooked smile but it was as if the sadness was seeping through the smallest of cracks, and his eyes were downcast for once, staring at where the fingers were pulling at the threads slowly before he released it with a sigh, “Yeah, he's been struggling for a while now.”

The silence was strange, though filled with the background of music and that same low hum ringing in Dan's ears, it was all muffled in exchange for the heaviness of the information that hung in the air between the two.

“I'm sorry,” It was very quiet, but the words escaped him loudly enough so that Phil could understand. Instead of accepting Dan's words, Phil shook his head as if brushing them off.

“Please don't, Dan,” There was a pause, like he was trying to gather his composure though nothing had implied the budding anger, - was it anger?, - beforehand. Finally though, Phil smiled and it was without a doubt to Dan that the thin line was forced.

Dan bit at his lip, and then finally, shyly added, “I guess we're both sick and tired of pity, huh?”

It was as if he'd spoken the magical words and Phil's tension melted away and the smile turned from a grimace into something a bit more genuine.

“I guess we are.”

===

“Dan, we're home,” The front door closed louder than it had opened and the sound along with his mum's voice registered to the two boys who had settled both on either side of the laptop between them on the bed, watching old episodes of Phil's apparently favourite show (if the excited commentary in between every five words was anything to go by).

Studies had been long forgotten, the strange equations having eaten up all their will to put effort into them.

“Oh no, what's the time?” Phil jumped as if burned, nearly slipping off the edge of the bed, and dug into his pocket for his phone where it had been left muted. He unlocked it only to make a face when he checked the notifications and when Dan gave him a questioning look, Phil returned it with a sheepish, “Mum tried to call me half an hour ago.”

“Yikes,” Dan slowly shifted to get off the bed, stretching uncomfortably, “You better get back to her soon.”

Phil merely hummed back in response, distracted by whatever was on his phone's screen. “Yeah, I'll head home now. I'll see you tomorrow at school?”

When Phil looked up all hopeful and genuine, Dan couldn't find it in himself to say no.

===

“Who was that, honey?” His mum was quick to ask when Dan finally made his way into the kitchen, but he ignored her until he had settled by the table, ready to join the family for dinner for once when he noted the absence of the two other family members.

“Where's Adrian? And dad?” His heart was fast to take a leap, but it was a touch to his head, his mum running her fingers through his hair in a soothing manner that calmed him before the full panic could begin though he knew it irrational.

“Adrian wanted to go to that fair, remember?”

Though vaguely, he acknowledged the flaky memory of his brother talking about the event; he couldn't quite place what it was about and no matter how much he tried to rake his brain for details, they seemed to be escaping him. It made him grumble in annoyance.

That is, until a sudden pinch at his head made him jolt, when his mum quickly pulled out a hair, “Ow, mum! What the hell?!”

“Language, Daniel,” She reminded before waving in front of him a single hair, “A random grey hair. I used to get them your age when I was stressed.”

“Right….” He looked at the hair for a second before turning away. His hood over his head again, he leaned onto the table, his back straining momentarily before the relief set in as he tried to focus on the surroundings, the sounds calming him successfully.

He could hear his mum bustling around the kitchen, the clinks of dishes and the sound of the stove a welcome interruption in his thoughts and he closed his eyes, a small smile gracing his features slowly.

It had been a strange day. A lot stranger than he had expected, and suddenly Dan realised that maybe he had made a new friend.

A new friend whose number he didn't even know, but it was a start.

“So,” His mum began and it went without her continuing that she was still pushing the earlier question.

“He came by to bring me homework since he lives next door,” Dan mumbled so unclearly that it made him wonder if she even understood, but when he heard the curious sound she made, he continued, “He seems cool.”

“Does this 'cool' boy have a name?” Her curiosity was endless and though Dan could often appreciate it, sometimes it was too much. He shifted, nuzzling his face into his arms for a quiet moment before he finally looked up, a little bleary-eyed, but there was a smile on his lips when he pronounced the name.

“Phil. His name is Phil.”

===

“Phil,” Dan raised his voice the next day while he limped through the corridors of the school, noticing the incredibly lost-looking boy once more looking around with a deep crease in his forehead again.

“Dan!” Phil's face seemed to light right up and it made Dan's earlier doubts about attending for the day begin to dissipate slowly. Though the day had been nice, nightmares had been quick to swallow that feeling, the memories of the crash mixing with a strange warped mess of other thoughts and ideas that he couldn't really remember after he had woken up, his whole body aching and covered in sweat, his chest heavier than felt healthy and heart beating fast enough to make him dizzy.

“Right on time to save me from being late for a class again, aren't you?” There was a joyful softness in those words and Dan felt like a bit of a superhero under Phil's excited gaze. A temporarily mildly disabled one, but he could forget even that for a moment.

“Only if you buy me a chocolate bar at lunch,” Dan retorted with a slight tease in his voice, only to begin laughing when Phil began to pat around his pockets and then dug into his backpack.

“I'll one up you byyyyyyy...” Suddenly an actual Snickers bar was nearly jabbed in Dan's face, making him wobble a little when he took a step back, “Giving you one now in exchange for directions and some company during the lunchtime?” And by the end of it he looked so hopeful that Dan had to put a hand over his mouth, the laughter begging to escape his lips.

“What?” Phil questioned, lowering the candy bar, when Dan didn't answer and cocked his head in a manner that made Dan think of a curious dog.

It was, to say the least, - endearing.

“You're such a dork,” Reaching out to grab the candy bar out of the other boy's hands, Dan admitted and there was a momentary hesitation in Phil's expression that made him elaborate pointedly, “In the best way possible.”

That seemed to calm Phil down and Dan pocketed the candy bar before leaning against the wall and motioned towards Phil to give him the schedule, the crumpled paper soon in his hands and it was clear that Phil had folded and unfolded it more times than the material was originally intended for, the ink cracking on the folds, making the words on the creases hard to read.

“Oh, we have Biology together,” Dan smiled and admittedly his chest filled with a joy that he hadn't expected and it felt like Phil felt the same because when Dan looked up, he met excited blue eyes staring right at him, unashamedly. And perhaps there was less of a distance between them than Dan found naturally comfortable, yet he didn't mind it now.

“Oh my God. I swear, Daniel, for someone on crutches you're still too hard to find,” Louise as if emerged from thin air, startling both of the boys and Dan realised instantly that Phil stepped back right away, arms wrapped around himself protectively.

“Louise, stop trying to make my heart stop,” Dan whined, but when she frowned he rolled his eyes, “And stop giving me those looks.”

Her attention, however, was drawn away from him quickly, “And who is this dapper man?” She was loud and happy, her voice always upbeat in a way that Dan felt jealous of at times.

“Louise, this is my friend, Phil,” Dan introduced quickly before he could even check if Phil was fine with it, but when he looked at the other boy, Phil was smiling widely, and Dan understood - they were on the same page. “Phil, this is Louise, my partner in crime since fifth grade.”

“Pleasure to meet you,” Phil awkwardly extended his hand towards her in a similar manner that he had done with Dan just the day prior and Louise, her eyes wide, glanced at Dan for a moment before taking it as they shook.

“Pleasure's all mine. You're new, aren't you? What brings you here?”

She sure didn't waste her time.

Awkwardly, Dan shifted and lightly placed his hand on her shoulder, trying to draw her away from interrogating Phil, “Did you bring me the book?”

It worked like a charm.

“Of course! I also brought you my notes,” The two boys watched as Louise went through her belongings, and shoved several books into Phil's hands before she finally found the right one and held it out to Dan along with a flowery notebook, “You better go through all of them this time, she was very adamant and you know Mrs. Barlow, she doesn't joke about her tests.”

“Thanks,” Without even giving the book and notes a look, he began to shuffle to get them into his own bag.

“Thank you, love,” Louise meanwhile began to collect the books from Phil.

“You better be as lovely to Dan, or else we'll have to have a talk,” Though her voice was the same cheerful, there was an edge to it and even Dan looked up surprised at that, mouth agape for a moment as he surveyed the shorter girl who was actually staring at Phil enough to make the tall boy shift uncomfortably under her gaze.

“Louise, what--”

“Shush, Daniel,” She brought her hand up to shush him and instead stepped just that bit closer to Phil, reaching out to pinch his cheek lightly, “If I hear you mistreating him in any way, I swear I will flip.”

“I-uh, y-yeah?” Phil was clearly at loss of words, his eyes seeking out Dan who stared back at him with just as much confusion.

“Good! Well, I have to go, but I'll catch you at lunch,” She was smiling brightly at the two as if nothing had happened, before turning to pull Dan into a light hug, Dan's arm awkwardly wrapped around her shoulders momentarily before she took it and Dan felt a piece of paper placed into it.

“What was that about?” As soon as she was out of hearing distance, Phil asked, clearly unsure of how to process the situation he had just experienced.

“I have no idea,” Dan responded, looking down at the piece of paper in his hand and there was something that made him want to throw it in the trash instantly but instead he stuffed it into his pocket. When he looked up again, Phil was silently watching him, arms busy hugging his stomach again, “She's usually not like this.” Dan promised softly.

Phil opened his mouth, but the bell rung, interrupting whatever he wanted to say and Dan swore under his breath, in turn making Phil laugh, “Rude.”

“Your mum is rude,” Dan shot back without thinking and threw the bag over his shoulder, beginning his awkward traipse down the hallway, “Come on!” He called out when Phil didn't instantly follow.

He hadn't seen the change on Phil's face, where the expression had softened considerably.

#myfanfic #phanfic #phanfiction #phanfic au #phanfiction au #phan #phandom

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ellanainthetardis · 7 years

Photo

Today we hear from our favorite worried escort and we learn things can alwasy get worse ;)

[FF] or [AO3]

Chapter 8 : Watch Yourself, Abernathy

The sharp ringing of the phone made him groan against the frayed fabric of his couch. He had insisted Peeta helped him back to his own house as soon as possible, despite Aster’s pleas that he stayed at least another day and night so she could check on him. The Everdeen’s house had become crowded. Thread and his Peacekeepers had been busy. There had been more injured people trickling by as the day had gone on. By noon, Haymitch couldn’t take it anymore and had begged out.

They had burned the Hob to the ground.

Some people hadn’t made it out in time. Others had been caught and punished according to their perceived offense. There had been more whipping, arrests, searches of some houses… No execution yet but it didn’t look good for some of the people parked in jail.

He had collapsed on his couch, on his stomach, and he had remained there, listening to his phone ringing off the hook. He didn’t have the will to drag himself to the kitchen to answer. It would hurt far too much and he wasn’t sure how to explain what was going on anyway.

The funerals were yesterday, he remembered. That must have been why Effie was so determined to talk to him. That or because she was worried by his lack of answer.

Cinna and Portia’s deaths seemed so far away after everything that had happened…

The phone stopped ringing after ten minutes and it somehow made the familiar silence in the house seem louder. He kept his eyes on the window, watching as the sky grew darker and darker.

He heard the backdoor opening and closing around fifteen minutes after the phone had gone dead. There were some noises in the kitchen – things being put away in cupboards.

“You shouldn’t be out after curfew!” he shouted. That was the last thing they needed, for one of them to be caught breaking the law yet again. He so wasn’t up for another lashing.

“They’re patrolling toward the gates.” Peeta said, coming into view. “And I’m spending the night here anyway.”

He lifted his eyebrows at the confident tone. “Sorry, but the couch’s taken.”

“I’ll take the armchair.” the boy countered with a shrug, sitting down on the edge of the coffee table. “I’ve brought food too. You haven’t had lunch. Or breakfast. You can’t live on alcohol alone.”

“I can try.” he snorted and then sighed. “So. How much trouble am I in?”

To his credit, Peeta didn’t try to pretend he didn’t understand what Haymitch meant but he also decided to be a little shit about it. He liked to tease Haymitch about their escort for some reason – the main one being that he wasn’t as blind as Katniss and that they may not have always been as discreet as they should have during the Tour.

“Effie called me.” the boy grinned.

“You don’t say.” he deadpanned, rolling his eyes.

“She was worried because you weren’t picking up.” Peeta explained, suddenly less amused. “She was… on edge.”

He hoped she hadn’t been stupid enough to say or do anything that could be viewed as anti-Capitol. That was the last thing he needed. “You calmed her down, yeah?”

“I did my best.” the boy promised. “But… I couldn’t lie to her…”

“You could have told her I had the flu.” he snapped. “She didn’t need to know about…” He vaguely waved at his bare back. “She’s gonna worry even more now.”

“You are under strict instructions to call her as soon as you can walk around.” Peeta winced. “And… she was planning on calling Katniss next.”

He didn’t know if he wanted to laugh or be irritated. “Wouldn’t mind hearing that one. She’s in for a long dressing down.”

And there was nothing Effie did best than lecturing.

“Effie was… angry.” the boy confirmed.

Effie was a train wreck he needed to stop from happening. Cinna and Portia’s deaths and the subsequent fear that he would be next… He had told her to move on for a reason when they had parted after the Tour. He didn’t want her to be caught in whatever this was. He had lost a girlfriend to the Capitol, he wouldn’t lose… whatever she was.

And he doubted she was truly angry with Katniss. If the girl had been hurt instead of him, she would have been just as incensed, if not more. But Katniss was the safest most obvious target at the moment. He was certain he would get an earful too when he would finally get to speak to her.

“Any other news?” he asked.

Peeta hesitated a second and then shrugged again. “They closed the mine. There was too much unrest after the Hob.”

“People are gonna starve.” he commented, even if it was only stating the obvious.

The mines were the main work prospect in Twelve. Without them… There would be no money to buy food. The families in the Seam would suffer first. Children would be forced to take tesseraes. Some of them would starve anyway, the little ones… Children were always the first victims. And those who survived… When the Reaping would come, they would barely be strong enough to stand, never mind winning whatever the Capitol had in the work for the Quell. It would be particularly horrible. Quells always were.

“They’re raiding houses.” the boy added.

“What are they looking for?” he frowned.

“Honestly? Anything they can arrest someone for.” Peeta scoffed. “Proof of poaching or trafficking… I meant to talk to you about that…”

“We need to hide the booze.” he winced.

“We need to get rid of the booze.” the kid corrected. “They’re not kidding around, Haymitch, and I’m pretty sure they will pay you a visit sooner rather than later.”

“Shit.” he spat. “Shit. Shit. Shit.”

He knew the boy was right but he didn’t like it. Without the Hob, there would be no easy access to liquor. He could make an official request for a shipment from the Capitol – that would be legal – or he could ask Effie to send a box or two but… if they really wanted to make his life a living hell – and it seemed they were committed on that – then he wouldn’t see the bottom of a bottle anytime soon.

“I’m sorry.” Peeta offered. “But it might be for the best. We can sober you up and…”

“Yeah, my being a drunkard is really not the point here.” he cut him off, pushing himself to a sitting position. He clenched his jaw against the pain but it wasn’t enough to prevent a wince.

“You don’t need to do anything.” the boy protested. “I’ll take care of it. They won’t come tonight and…”

“The booze’s only the tip of the iceberg.” he cut him off. “Go get me a shirt, yeah?”

Peeta hesitated but, in the end, he obediently ran upstairs to grab some clothes. Standing up and walking around was torture. He swallowed a few mouthfuls from a bottle of moonshine he had abandoned on the mantelpiece as he made his way to the bookshelf, thinking fast. He needed a place to stash everything but it couldn’t be in the house and it couldn’t be at the kids’.

He had a nice heap of books on the couch when Peeta came back with a shirt and a woolen sweater that was missing half its buttons. He answered the questioning look the boy tossed him with a dismissive wave of the hand, struggling to get dressed.

“In the study, there’s a metal box in the desk’s drawer.” he told him, still picking out forbidden volumes off his shelf. He had gathered a respectable collection over the years and he would be damned if those books ended up destroyed. “The key to the drawer’s in the ugly vase next to the dead plant.”

Peeta was good enough not to ask what was in the box but he looked a little alarmed all the same.

There was nothing illegal in there per se but it was far too personal to let a Peacekeeper put his dirty paws all over it. There were two rings he had bought after his victory, before leaving the Capitol and learning about his family’s demise - one shaped like an iris that had been intended for his mother and the other one an engagement ring - there was the only picture of his family he had left, the pink faded ribbon that had been his token once upon a time and that he had stopped carrying around only a few years earlier, two Polaroid pictures Effie had slipped in his pocket one day that really weren’t meant for eyes other than his own, a few other small mementoes… He wouldn’t let them soil his most private secrets.

“Is there anything else?” Peeta asked when he came back with the box, studying the pile of books with concern. “The books, the liquor, the box… What else?”

“Some leftovers squirrels from Katniss.” he said. “She needs to clean out her house too. They can’t find any game or…”

“She already did.” the boy said. “We agreed on that this afternoon. She won’t go hunting until it’s safe either and she will check with one of us before she does.”

He was pleasantly surprised. Maybe their chat had been useful after all.

He thought hard while they went through his kitchen, trying to find anything that could be damning evidence, and came to the conclusion that there was only one safe place to stash everything. They would search their houses but they wouldn’t search the empty ones. He exposed his plan to Peeta who nodded but he was already sweaty and nauseated from the exercising they had just done so the boy refused his help when it came to actually moving everything.

They ate the cheese buns Peeta had brought and waited until the dead of night before sneaking out. Well. The boy sneaked out while he was left to wait.

With nothing to do and since he was up anyway, he called Effie.

Taking the time zones in consideration, it wasn’t that late for her.

“Hello?” she answered at the second ring, sounding downright apprehensive, as if she had been waiting next to the phone for bad news.

“No proper way to answer the phone, that, is it?” he teased.

“Haymitch.” she breathed out with obvious relief. “Peeta said you were incapacitated.”

“Yeah, well… Got some motivation to move my lazy ass.” he snorted, wincing when a sudden move stretched one of the wounds.

He took a swing of the only bottle of liquor he had kept with him – it was one quarter full and it would barely be enough to stop the shakes but he would need to start rationing himself anyway. And if he couldn’t figure out a way to get his hands on liquor he would need to cut down entirely. He wasn’t thrilled about that.

“How are you?” she asked. He snorted. What was the right answer to that? Like he had been tied up and whipped? She sighed. “Yes, I suppose it is rather a stupid question. I had a talk with Katniss, you will be glad to hear. I am confident there will be no more misbehaving in the future. She fully understands the consequences of her foolishness.”

“Yeah? Did you ground her, too?” he mocked. “Told her she couldn’t have dessert anymore?”

He could almost hear her rolling her eyes. “Why, if you are your insufferable sarcastic self, you cannot feel that bad. Peeta probably exaggerated.”

He wasn’t sure if she truly meant it or if she was trying to convince herself.

“Probably did, yeah.” he offered. “It’s nothing, really.”

“I thought so.” Effie huffed. “Imagine that. Punishing a victor in public like a commoner. Unthinkable.”

“How was… the thing, yesterday?” he asked carefully.

Her breath itched but that was the only sign of distress. Her voice was cheerful, her escort persona perfectly handled. “It was a lovely ceremony.” She paused and then cleared her throat. “We have been assigned a new stylist.”

Her voice remained bubbly but the way she stressed that word told him everything. District teams weren’t assigned stylists, escorts were responsible for picking them – and since nobody wanted to work for Twelve, they always ended up with the worst ones.

“Yeah?” he asked flatly. “How’s that going?”

He shuffled his weight from one foot to the other, trying and failing to relieve the pain in his back. He couldn’t sit down either, it would be worse. He needed to lie back down.

“She is… interesting.” she ventured. “She reminds me a bit of Salia, you remember I trust?”

Oh, yeah. Salia had been their stylist for the Seventieth Hunger Games and she had been horrible. She had made the kids cry, had treated him like dirt and he had thought Effie would pop an aneurism dealing with her. It had ended up with their escort firing her in a very public display with an oath to ruin the woman’s reputation. She must have followed through because Haymitch had never heard about the stylist again.

“Nice.” he deadpanned.

“Quite.” she replied, a tad harsher. “As for the photoshoot I mentioned the other day? About the wedding dresses? It is off. Plutarch thinks the Quell’s announcement will be enough excitement in itself after all. It is for the best really. We do not want too much publicity. It will create an interest and it will allow us to cash on it with sponsors during the Quell.”

There was nothing like too much publicity in the Capitol so he heard what she didn’t say. They were shutting them out. Out of sight, out of mind. They were hoping to lessen the interest for the star-crossed lovers.

“Any idea what that will be about?” he asked. This time the pause she marked was not only longer but more hesitant. “Sweetheart?”

“There is chatter between escorts and Gamemakers.” she answered, her voice light and as fake as it could be. “But it is ridiculous and I do not believe a word of it. Nobody can know anyway. The Quells envelopes have been sealed decades ago. Nobody can know.”

“What’s the word?” he frowned. Whatever it was, it seemed to have her in a state. He hoped it didn’t mean more dead kids than usual.

“Nonsense.” she deflected. “It is not worth repeating because it will never happen, I assure you.”

“Effie.” he growled just as Peeta passed the back door. He gave the boy a glance over and clucked his tongue once in annoyance. He wouldn’t talk freely in front of him. “I gotta go.”

“Very well.” she agreed too easily. She sounded almost relieved. “I will call in a couple of days to check on you. Do not get into any more trouble.”

“Sure. Night, sweetheart.” he answered distractedly before hanging up. He turned to the boy. “We’re good?”

“The books and the box are hidden in the bathroom’s cupboard two houses down the street.” Peeta answered. “I’m not telling you where I put the booze. You will need to ration it and I don’t trust you not to go on a binge.”

He argued about that until he was blue in the face but the boy wouldn’t relent. Not even when Haymitch kept grumbling about it once he was back on his stomach on the couch, complaining about how he was abusing his weakened state.

°O°O°O°

No Peacekeeper showed up at his house the next day but Aster lectured him at length about almost popping stitches and overdoing it. She was almost scarier than any squad of men in white could have been.

Days passed without anyone threatening to kick his door down. The kids took turns keeping him company, having apparently decided between themselves that he needed a bodyguard at all times. He wasn’t sure how that made sense to them because, by all accounts, they were the ones who should have been the target. Maybe it was losing Cinna and Portia… Maybe it made them afraid something would happen to him.

He wasn’t sure he was glad for the company or not. He was too used to his loneliness for it to be really enjoyable but he couldn’t pretend he didn’t like the fact they obviously cared for him.

The situation outside kept getting worse but there was nothing at all they could do about it. Some people had tried to protest the unjustified closing of the mines and would probably have gotten executed as an example of what happened to people who defied the Capitol if Undersee hadn’t deployed all his skills at diplomacy. The mayor had spared them death but not a public punishment.

By that point, half the District had taken a turn at the whipping post anyway.

They were looking for any excuse they could find, apparently intending to subdue everyone through force. It was complete madness and it drove Haymitch crazy to know what was happening out there but to be helpless to stop it. He supposed it was also part of his own sentence.

It was becoming obvious he wouldn’t get a quick exit like Cinna had. They would draw it out, give him a perfectly tailored hell for him to waste away in. A bed of ash to lie on.

The worst, by far, was the morning the Peacekeepers searched Katniss’ house, following an ‘anonymous’ tip that she might have been partaking in illegal poaching in the woods with her ‘cousin’. They didn’t find anything – they had all been very thorough in cleaning their respective houses – but it contributed to keeping everyone on edge, anxious to see what the Capitol’s next move would be.

After three days spent lying on his couch, the pain decreased enough that Haymitch started walking around again. He was restless, unable to sit still for too long. Aster kept warning him to take it easy because the wounds weren’t properly closed yet but he couldn’t help it. Dread and nervousness twisted his stomach in knots. He spent his time roaming the house, couldn’t quite focus on anything for more than five minutes, and had terrible cramps that left him bent in two.

He knew where that came from.

The headaches, the nausea and the tremors were indications enough, if anything.

Aster knew too but she was tactful enough not to voice it out loud. She conferred with the boy behind his back about it. It made him furious but there was nothing he could do about that either.

Peeta had refused to tell Katniss where he had hidden the booze because he believed she would cave to Haymitch’s pleads. Haymitch resented him deeply for that – mainly because it was probably true. The boy had self-appointed himself in charge of his alcohol consumption. He was careful about the amount of liquor he allowed him every day and he kept reducing it a little more every day.

After five days, it wasn’t enough to stop the shakes anymore.

Perhaps it was a good thing because when Head Peacekeeper Thread finally showed up with a squad to “search his house under suspicion of trafficking” and came up empty handed, his claims that he had no liquor in the house were a little more believable.

He had been playing chess with Peeta when the Peacekeepers had barged in and he couldn’t place a piece down without knocking off two, he lacked dexterity. His skin had also taken a yellowish tinge that had Aster pursing her lips. He was always cold despite his brow being clammy and hot to the touch. He looked ill.

He tried not to mind when they put his house upside down. He sat there and encouraged the boy to play because it was his turn. Peeta’s jaw was locked but after a sharp glare at the Head Peacekeeper, he caught up with Haymitch’s plan and moved his knight. Haymitch could have won in two moves but he drew the game out instead.

As long as he was focusing on the chessboard, he wasn’t seeing the mess they were making. They tossed all his books on the floor to search behind the shelves, they broke vases and upturned furniture… Cupboards vomited stuff he had no idea he still had, clothes he had accumulated on his trips to the Capitol over the years mainly.

“Watch yourself, Abernathy.” Thread warned as a parting line.

“It’d be nice if they sent one with some repartee some day.” he snorted once the Peacekeepers were gone, standing up to close the door they had left open. “They’d make Brutus look like a genius.”

Peeta was already starting to pick things up. “You don’t like Brutus?”

“Sure, I do.” he protested, righting an upturned armchair and wincing a little because of his back. “He’s always willing to buy me a drink. Speaking of…”

What Peeta brought him was barely half a glass and he glared at the kid until the boy shrugged. “There’s not much left, Haymitch.”

“Then, find some.” he snapped.

He knew better, of course, and so did the boy.

But it didn’t make anything easier.

#hayffie #effie trinket #haymitch abernathy #into that good night

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imherebecausemymomdoesntloveme · 7 years

Text

HummingBird (part 2/?)

Peter Parker X Reader

Summary: readers first official day at school and first crime

word count: 2090

Part One

The first class of my day was pretty uneventful. I had precalculus with Mr. Evans which was fun. Who are you kidding dude you took calculus last summer. It’s not like I was gonna say that? I don’t wanna be that show off kid that knows all of the answers. Yeah well not participating makes you have conversations with yourself so sucks to be you nerd.

Jeez I really was having a conversation with myself. I was that bored with APUSH that I was arguing, with myself. Of course I loved US history, but the whole class made me miss Mr. Star Spangled Banner. Maybe I could just check my phone for any alerts of crime in the city.

“Ms. Carter,” Mr. Jameson said, catching my adrift attention, “Could you tell me about the Maryland Colony?”

I heard a few snickers come from behind me, clearly thinking I didn’t know a thing about history and unaware that Steve used to read history books to me at night instead of story books.

“The Maryland Colony was founded in 1634 by Lord Baltimore. It was to be a place for persecuted Catholics to find refuge, a safe haven. Made as an act of toleration.”

“Very nice Ms. Carter,” he continued. I turned back to find the boy who had laughed at me and gave him a real, genuine smile which really threw him off guard.

The rest of the class went well and before I knew it was lunch time. I was honestly surprised that for the first two classes, no one really thought to introduce me or guide me anywhere and as much as I didn’t need it, I did need to make friends. It was already lunch and I had nowhere to sit, or rather, no one to sit with. I scanned over the cafeteria, looking for a place to sit when I found a relatively empty table.

“Thats a lot of food you’ve got there,” the girl adjacent to me commented, “not like it’s a bad thing. You should be able to eat as much as you’d like.”

“Oh no it’s fine,” I laughed, “I just have a condition.”

“Diabetes?” She asked, probably feeling worse about her comment. She seemed like a nice girl.

“No-no, I just have like,” I paused, thinking about a lie, “A really abnormally high metabolism. If i burn more calories than I eat I pass out.” Well, I guess that was only half a lie. My powers entailed that I needed to consume more sugar than regular so I don’t black out. It wasn’t pretty. “Anyways, I’m Aurelie, but my friends call me Bird. What’s your name?”

“Michelle, and I don’t have any friends” She responded. I was going to say something back but by the time I figured out what to say enough time had passed that a response would just be awkward and sad. Lunch soon ended.

Physics was my next class, I sat next to this kid named Ned. He was pretty cool actually, we were lab partners and I helped him with the worksheets.

“So what school are you transferring from?” He asked, scribbling down some notes.

“Oh, I was homeschooled. Parents thought I ought to be socialized or something.” I responded with a chuckle.

“Like in meangirls?” He asked.

“What?-”

“Nothing.”

My last class of the day was P.E. with that same kid who had made fun of me in APUSH. Apparently his name was flash or something? LAmE. It appears that me totally owning him earlier on in the day wasn’t enough for him and so he decided to try and own me on a physical level as well.

“Twenty bucks that new kid drops out of the pacer before it hits twenty,” he announced, the teacher either not knowing or not caring.

“Four hundred bucks said that the new kid is gonna be the last person still going,” I childed, another genuine smile flashed at him. He and most others burst out in laughter.

“What are you doing?” Ned asked me (He was in this class too.), “this is a mixed class, seniors regularly score over the hundreds.”

“Oi Ned, chill dude. Trust me.” I put my hair up into a ponytail, the kids that had made it a point to beat me were showing real game by doing pushups and sit ups. Some of the girls had began to do stretches too to show off.

“Maybe you should.. Um.. show off too,” he suggested. I shot him a look. “I mean look at them! They’re practically asking for it!”

“And who am I to give those meanies what they want,” I chirped.

“Are you even sure you can do this? Four hundred dollars is a lot of money…” Ned gulped. I only gave him a knowing look.

“The FitnessGram™ Pacer Test is a multistage aerobic capacity test that progressively gets more difficult as it continues. The 20 meter pacer test will begin in 30 seconds. Line up at the start. The running speed starts slowly, but gets faster each minute after you hear this signal. [beep] A single lap should be completed each time you hear this sound. [ding] Remember to run in a straight line, and run as long as possible. The second time you fail to complete a lap before the sound, your test is over. The test will begin on the word start. On your mark, get ready, start.” I began to run to the beat of the weird elevator torture music and one by one people began to drop out. When Ned left (around 23) the group cheered and encouraged me to follow my friend. I gave him a look that said I will avenge you and I hope he got that message. By the time we hit one hundred and thirty two, the last of them had basically dragged themselves off the floor, giving me wicked glares as I lightly jogged across the way, a small smile on my face. Flash had dropped out around one hundred and twenty seven, and I was pretty sure that Ned was recording me. I was pretty sure the teacher was going to turn off the tape but he didn’t and I began to think that he had heard my little bet with Flash.

As the numbers increased the other students got angrier and angrier and eventually the tape stopped. I had ran all 21 levels, all 247 laps.

I walked off the court over to Flash, a cheerful grin on my face. I was sorta out of breath and definitely sweating more than I’d like but hey, it wasn’t that awful.

“Hey Flash” I greeted with a friendly smile. He handed me the four hundred.

“This isn’t over, Carter,” he spat, a grimace on his face as the teacher gave a blind eye to us.

“Hey, it’s okay,” I comforted in a sickly sweet voice, “What really counts, is that you tried! You did your best. Did you break your own record today?” he nodded, “See! There we go. With the right motivation you can do anything.” I booped his nose with the tip of my finger.

With that, I walked over to Ned, handing him the four hundred. “Here you go sir, four hundred dollars.”

“What? I can’t take it from you!” He exclaimed, clumsily trying to give it back.

“Dude, I have a lot of money, I don’t need it. Just use the money to make something cool and then show it to me.” I reassured him.

“A-are you sure?” He asked, still wary of accepting such a large quantity of money.

“Positive.”

After school I busted through the doors and down the street as quickly as possible, people looked at me weird because my hair was still wet from my post pacer shower but I didn’t care. I was ready to fite™ some crime. The only other person who was out of school by now was that kid that ned sat with at lunch.

I went into an allyway and began to strip, which was something that probably came out of a bad porno. I put pulled on my suit that Tony had made and hid my backpack in an empty garbage can. The suit matched my alter-ego The Hummingbird™ with its dark iridescent fabric. The fabric was also very lightweight and feather like in texture. I had my own AI built in that I named Orzo. I pushed off the floor and flew up into the sky at high speed, shaking my head like a dog to dry off my hair. Hopefully the local vigilante wouldn’t mind some company here on the streets.

I flew higher into the sky, hoping to get a good scope of whatever was going on. This was my first chance at action since, well, ever. Tony never let me help him whatsoever (though he knows I am fully capable.) He didn’t even let me help him in Germany! He let Spiderman, a vigilante he’d never even met join but not the girl that he practically raised! Not only that, but I didn’t even get to meet him. I’ve only ever heard about him through the news and other media. Anyways sorry I got a little bit heated.

Though I expected New York to be just busting with crime 24/7 it honestly was pretty calm. There wasn’t much to do for a while. Very minor things to do. A couple of people stealing purses, I helped a homeless person move to a different street?? Ralph now lived on 22 and third. By seven o’clock not only had I done nothing that day, but I also hadn’t even encountered the spiderkid! Then, almost like the world was answering my prayer (not saying that I wished for crime and anarchy but I was bored) I heard a crash come from not more than down the block. Fresh crime, crime so fresh that my police tracker app hadn’t even gone off yet. I took flight, zooming across the city, trying to stay out of sight. The, yet darkened, streets were filled with life and pedestrians, some checking to see what the commotion was and many fleeing in the other direction.

I entered the store that was currently being robbed. It looked to be some type of antique jewelry store raided by the average thieves.

“Pals, I don’t think they’re open. Maybe you should come back later,” I said to the men, making them aware of my presence. They were taken aback by my appearance and probably my voice as well. By vibration my vocal chords at a different frequency, I could modify my voice to sound louder and have a similar reverb to that of a hum (at normal human pitch).

“And who are you? Spiderkids protege?” One of them snickered.

“I’d hardly say that,” I seethed bumping my head on the ceiling. I silently cursed myself. When I get excited or really invested into something I begin to hover which isn’t that helpful.

Two of the three men charged at me while the other one tried to grab their belongings and leave. I used my speed to use their strength against them, quickly finishing the job and knocking them out. I grabbed onto one of the feather/scales of my suit and pulled it out which transformed it to a larger, sharp feather which I used to pin them both to the floor. I darted out of the store and into the alleyway that the third thief had escaped.

“You come any closer and I’ll have to stab you!” He bellowed, pointing his knife at me. Wow, dude didn’t even think to bring a gun. I put my hands in the air and began to sob.

“Oh my god, you found my one fear, small knives.” I hung my head claiming defeat.

“Wait really” He asked, a look of genuine surprise on his face. I pulled out another feather and threw it, pinning his sleeve to the wall.

“No,” I chuckled out in disbelief, “anyways, I’ms sure when the cops get here you’ll have had enough time to figure out a reason why you’re stuck in an alleyway with lots of fun jewels in your bag, good day sir.”

I flew back into the sky just to see the one and only spiderkid zooming towards the shop.

“Hey dude! I already got it, you’re good. See ya” I hollered, waving good bye and flying around a bit to ward off any arachnids if I needed to. Maybe I shoulda talked to him?

TAGS: @sushidoesntneedtoknow (comment if you wanna be tagged)

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kpopfanfictrash · 7 years

Text

The 7th Prince (VII)

Author: kpopfanfictrash

Pairing: You / GOT7

Rating: PG

Word Count: 7,035

Summary: Summary: A land under a curse. Seven mysterious princes. A decision that will make or break the Kingdom. (idea from this post here, by@cyjsgirl)

The two of you stare at the horizon, watching the sun inch higher. Illuminating drifts of smoke set against the blue sky. “This is madness,” you whisper, breeze shifting your hair. “Yugyeom. We have to do something.”

“But what?” he asks, gaze questioning.

Turning away from a burning Septum, you look up at your castle. “I’m going to speak at the next council meeting,” you determine. Ignoring your brother’s small intake of breath and hitching up your skirts. Sweeping back inside and trying to ignore the tremble in your legs.

Standing before your mirror, you recite to yourself over and over. “Mother, father. Today I want to call an emergency meeting of the Council.” Wincing, you shake your head. “Mother, father,” you try. “At the next council meeting, I’d like to speak to the matters at hand.” Still wrong. “Mother, father –“

“What are you doing?”

Whirling, you exhale when you find yourself face to face with Yugyeom. “Oh. It’s just you,” you sigh, turning back towards the mirror.

Your brother laughs as he enters, shutting the door behind him. “Just me?” he repeats, walking over. “What were you doing?”

“Practicing.” Sighing, you turn away from the mirror. “It’s nothing.”

Yugyeom sits on the end of your bed, looking back at you. “Spill,” he demands. “You told me that you were planning on speaking to the council. Were you just practicing what you’re going to say?”

“Yes,” you admit, smoothing the front of your dress. “The only problem is, everything I try to say keeps coming out wrong.”

Uncrossing his legs, Yugyeom leans on his hands. “Well, what do you want to say?”

Pausing, you stare at yourself in the mirror. For starters, you want to say the marriage law is stupid. No – that’s not what you want to say. There are a lot of things wrong with this world, and you being forced to marry is only one of them. More problematic are the traditions being upheld just because they’re there, not because they’re right.

There are deeper problems at play, like the Council’s terror of magic. Treating magic itself as the enemy and not the witch. Or Morsus fighting the same battle over and over, never trying anything new. The path you’re currently on isn’t working and you’re not sure why you’re the only one who seems to see that.

Sweeping your skirts forward, you turn to face your brother. “I have a lot to say,” you frown. “I don’t even know where to start.”

Yugyeom stares into the distance and, after a while you think maybe he’s forgotten but then he sighs. “You need an in,” he says, glancing up. “Someone in the Council who will support your speech. They’re not going to listen otherwise.”

“Why,” you ask, expression darkening. “Because I’m a girl? That’s not fair – our mother is a valued member of the council, she –“

Yugyeom cuts you off, chuckling lightly. “Not because you’re a girl,” he amends, “but because you’re you. You’re new and young. This in addition to the small matter of you being the one with the most to gain by the marriage law being abolished.” When you move to protest, a tiny smile plays at the corner of his lips. “Don’t deny it – it’s the truth.”

Sighing deeply, you move towards the door. “I know that you’re right. There’s no reason they’ll listen. But who would possibly support me?” you ask. When you glance at Yugyeom, he also seems to be at a loss.

“I don’t know,” he admits, standing. “But I’ll help you find someone.”

Smiling, you link arms with him. “You’re too good to me,” you tell him, walking out the door. “Honestly. I hope you know that.”

“Oh, I know it.” Yugyeom bobs his head. “I keep a log of my good deeds. Every night I write down all the favors you owe and one day, I’ll come to collect.”

Laughing, you hip-check him. Yugyeom almost stumbles, grinning as you reach the main hall. It’s not as hectic as it was the other day. No one runs, though the air is still fraught with tension. The attack on Septum still hangs like a cloud, casting its dark pallor over your breakfast table.

Your mother and father are in quiet conversation when you enter, heads bent at the far end of the table. The Queen points to an open book, mumbling something as your father shakes his head. Pointedly, you clear your throat. “Good morning,” you say, and they both raise their heads. You and Yugyeom sit, pulling your plates closer as you move.

Your mother and father exchange a quick glance before she slowly shakes her head. Noticing this, your eyes narrow. “What?” you ask, pouring yourself a cup of coffee. “What was that look about?”

“Nothing!” Your mother’s voice is bright – too bright – and you’re instantly suspicious.

Switching your gaze to your father, he winces. “Dad?” you smile, ignoring the look your mother gives. “What am I not being told?”

His eyes dart sideways, wiping his hands on his napkin as your mother frowns. It’s funny – everyone always assumes because of their public demeanors that your father is the stronger of their two personalities. He’s the better public speaker, that’s for certain. It’s why he so often communicates with the public, discusses with the people.

It’s not so in every Kingdom – in some, like Tribus, the Queen is the figurehead. She’s the one the people know, the one they relate to. It’s why you think Jinyoung is so sensitive. His outlook, his wants and desires are all very intuitive of others. He’s empathetic, a trait you deem mostly influenced from his mother.

In your Kingdom, your mother operates behind the scenes. It’s she who makes the policy, she who turns the gears of Senary. Your father is the communicator of said decisions. It’s how things have always been – your father looks towards your mother now, hesitating.

Finally he turns to you. “There’s going to be a tournament,” he confesses.

“A what?” Taken aback, you glance between the two of them. “A tournament?”

Your mother exhales, setting down her tea. “Tomorrow we’re holding a tournament in your honor.”

“In my… honor?” you repeat, testing out the words. Not liking them. You shake your head. “What exactly does that mean?”

Your father shifts, uncomfortable with the conversation. “It’s just for fun,” he says. “Tomorrow will be a national holiday with the seven kingdoms competing in various events throughout the day. Anyone can participate, anyone can compete – the only thing to do with you is the fencing tournament.”

“The fencing tournament – for my honor?” you say, teeth gritted.

Even Yugyeom looks slightly appalled. “You’re just going to hand her over to whomever fences best?”

“No, no,” your mother jumps in, shaking her head. “It’s all for show, nothing to do with which Prince you actually choose.” At your expression she sighs, setting down her fork. “The Kingdom is burdened, Y/N. What with the recent attacks and chaos – the people could use a day off.”

So that’s what this is all about. Setting your own spoon down, you wipe the corner of your mouth with your napkin. You’re to play puppet master. Pretending everything is fine, providing a distraction from the current situation. Though it makes your stomach sink, you slowly nod. You know that this idea is coming from a good place – now that your mother has explained her reasoning, it does makes sense.

A holiday isn’t a bad idea. It will distract the people from the war, raise morale and give you time to rebuild. The only danger is if the witch finds out and tries to raid the Kingdoms during the ceremony. When you say this, your father shakes his head.

“It seems we may be safe for a bit,” he explains, glancing at the Queen. “Septum was able to land a crushing blow to the witch’s baseline camps during the other night’s raid. The witch’s army will be rebuilding for a while.”

“Crushing blow?” Yugyeom sounds curious. “I didn’t hear of that.”

“The information hasn’t been spread,” your mother explains. “Septum only shared this very recently. It appears they have a secret weapon, one they’re loath to share.” The Queen sighs, considering the idea of secrets within the city-states to be distasteful at best. “All I can say is that –“

Very politely, your father coughs.

“Ah.” She looks sideways. “Anyways, the tournament will be tomorrow and all Princes will be in attendance. There’ll be food, music, dancing and the main event, of course: a fencing tournament held amongst the seven city-states, in Y/N’s honor.”

“Seven?” Yugyeom looks up. “But Septum has no heir.”

“True, true,” your mother nods. “Septum has appointed a champion to compete instead.”

“Really?” You’re surprised by this. Usually when such things occur, Septum chooses to sit them out. “Who are they?”

“I haven’t the slightest idea.” Your mother frowns as she pours another cup of tea. “I think someone from the army. Whatever the reason, I could hardly decline. Septum has been hit worst of all this spring – they need something to cheer about.”

This very sobering statement wipes the smile from your face. “And what is my role?” you ask.

“You will preside over the tournament,” she informs. “Watch, make commentary and crown the champion. That’s all.”

“That’s all?” You exchange a look with Yugyeom. That actually sounds reasonable. It might even be nice, you think, to have a day just for fun. “That all sounds … fine.”

Your mother looks up, surprised. “I’m glad you agree.” Setting down her cup, she smiles at Yugyeom. “I hope you haven’t been skipping your daily lessons, Gyeommie. We’ll need you to shine in Senary’s honor.”

Yugyeom just laughs. “Not to worry,” he grins. “I’ve been practicing – the others won’t know what hit them.”

“Good,” your father chuckles, clearing his throat. “The Council will meet the day after that, Y/N. This will be your first attendance, so this will be a good chance for you to get your face out there. Make yourself seen.”

Without quite meaning to, you and Yugyeom look at one another. Tomorrow you can scope out the other members of the Council, determine who you need to get on your side. You can see then who’s amendable, who’s not, who you might win over.

This might just be the opening you hoped for.

The next morning dawns bright and early as you wake well before the sun rises. Cecil helps you get ready for the day’s events, ignoring your yawns while guiding you into today’s dress. The color is ivory, scattered with emerald and silver embroidery. It’s stunning, like most of your dresses but you still feel like you’re somehow playing a part.

As Cecil laces and fits you, powders and teases – it’s hard to retain your grip on things. You find yourself slipping into the part of the Princess you’re supposed to play. It’s a part you do well, to be certain. Something you were born into, so engrained that by now it’s a part of you.

It’s exhausting sometimes to be like this. To be patient, kind, concealing your emotions and never speaking out of turn. Never overstepping for fear you’ll offend the wrong person. Being charming, amiable, friendly. Calm, quiet, composed. All this while somehow maintaining a steely demeanor and wit.

Exhaling softly, you smile. “Thank you,” you tell Cecil, rather wistfully looking towards the door. You know that this morning Yugyeom won’t be able to walk you to the stadium. He’ll be too busy preparing for the tournament, something which you’re very glad he’s allowed to compete in. It makes the whole thing seem less like a matchmaking scheme and more like entertainment – which it is.

Walking towards the door, you take a deep breath. Even though today is painful, you know that the people will love it. Everyone loves a good love story and yours is particularly fascinating. A Princess choosing between five Princes – it’s something whispered about on the streets. You hear the questions they ask the King, know the conversations in the taverns and know that outside of the war, your engagement is a key focus.

Something as public as a tournament will be fascinating. Something to discuss for weeks, mulling over who smiled, who laughed, which Prince caught your attention. It aches that you have to be the one to provide this distraction but at the end of the day, you don’t mind. If you can ease the pain for a while, it’ll be worth it.

It only serves to further deepen your wants, though. You want to solve the people’s underlying problems, help heal where they’re truly hurt. Not just distract from that pain.

The castle around you bustles, filled with people running to and fro. Holding flower arrangements, linens, expensive silver. Washing and scrubbing while people start to arrive. The doors of Senary are flung wide open, a warm breeze drifting from the lawn and you gaze out at the landscape.

A carnival is set between here and the village, winding through gardens and disappearing into the streets. You’re sure it continues on like this for miles – merchants and travelers setting up their wares to entice travelers. This event is a coup for them – citizens of all seven kingdoms, convened in one small space.

As you watch, you see that many are dressed in the colors of their own lands – something which makes you smile. It’s subtle, but you can spot the blue and chestnut of Quattor. Peach and green for Tribus. A flash of orange, green and blue as suddenly an arm links with yours, dragging you out of the doorway.

You gasp when you end up behind a potted plant, pointedly out of view of the castle busybodies. A laugh sounds in your ear, out of breath as Jackson attempts to regain himself. “Sorry,” he grins, flashing white teeth in your direction. “You look scared. Did I scare you?”

Shaking your head no, you attempt to recover some dignity. Smoothing your hair back while Jackson adjusts the thin, gold circlet atop his head. “No,” you say, blinking back at him. “I wasn’t scared. Just surprised.”

“Right.” Jackson smiles, looking you up and down. “You look beautiful today. Well, you look beautiful every day but today especially.”

Blushing at his bluntness, you weave your fingers together over your bodice. “Thank you,” you nod. “You look nice as well, Wang Jia Er.”

Chuckling, Jackson taps a finger to his temple. “Jackson,” he reminds, his eyes bright. “Call me Jackson.”

“Right.” You’re unable to control your smile. “Jackson. Just checking.”

“Checking what?” he asks.

“Checking that you still want to be close to me,” you admit. “I did run away the other night.”

Jackson waves a hand in the air. “Ah, yes. Did you ever find your cantaloupe?” At the look on your face, Jackson bursts out laughing. “It’s okay,” he assures, smile disappearing. “I know that night must have been fairly overwhelming.”

“Yes, it was.” Behind Jackson, you see Cecil enter the room. Scanning quickly from side to side, presumably looking for you. “I think my absence has been noticed,” you tell him, struggling to keep your voice low.

“Most likely,” Jackson agrees, though he doesn’t move. “We’re standing behind a plant, though. We’re invisible.”

A laugh escapes. You don’t know why, but you find that you don’t want to leave him. You’re having too much fun talking to Jackson. He’s too sweet, too kind – too perfect to walk away from. He also can’t seem to stop looking at you, a fact which in itself is startling. Men this perfect shouldn’t be allowed to stare at women like that.

“So,” you say, glancing at the ground. “Jackson.”

Jackson smiles. “Yes, Princess?”

The word brings color to your cheeks. “Do you truly want to marry me, Prince of Duo?” Barely daring to hope, you look up. There have already been several unsatisfactory answers to this question.

Jackson considers for a long moment. “I didn’t want to marry you.”

At his answer you pause, faltering. “You didn’t?”

“No.” Jackson shakes his head, gaze serious. “When I was little my mother said that one day I’d marry the Princess of my dreams. It all seemed very romantic, until I learned that the Princess of my dreams was a limited list.”

“Just me,” you supply.

“Just you,” Jackson agrees. He seems slightly embarrassed, rubbing the back of his neck as he speaks. “I resented you at first. The entire time I lived overseas I wanted nothing to do with you, nothing to do with this at all.”

Pulse pounding, you stare back at him. Jackson has always seemed so kind, so earnest that it never occurred to you he might not want this. “Do you still…” Swallowing quickly, you look away. “Do you still not want anything to do with me?”

Jackson waits until you turn back to him. “Do you know why I was the last Prince to dance with you?”

Silently, you shake your head no.

“I was watching,” he confesses. “Watching you dance with all the other Princes. Watching you laugh, watching you smile. Watching you look scared, nervous and more than a little angry.” He laughs at the memory. “It reminded me of well, me. That’s when I decided to meet you.”

You stare back, heart strangely fast. “And now that you’ve met me?”

Jackson’s smile widens. “Well. I’m here, aren’t I?”

“There you are!” Cecil’s face appears around the plant, frowning deeply. “Y/N, I’ve been looking every – Prince Wang Jia Er!” Quickly, your handmaiden drops into a curtsey.

Nodding at her, Jackson smiles. “No need for formalities, lady. I was the one who stole the Princess away.”

As Cecil straightens, she glances at the two of you. You blush at the look in her eyes, uncertain what she’s assuming.

“Will you accompany the lady to the tournament, Prince?” Cecil asks, gaze sliding to the man beside you.

Jackson shakes his head. “Unfortunately, I must go to the training pits. I doubt the Princess would enjoy being accompanied there.”

At his words, you remember that Jackson will be competing today. He’ll be fencing for your honor and surprisingly, the thought isn’t entirely unappealing.

Cecil sniffs. “I should think not,” she says. “Hardly a fitting place for the Princess.”

Laughing loudly, Jackson turns on his heel and steps from the plant. You and Cecil emerge shortly after, her looping her arm through yours – as though to ensure you won’t run off again.

Jackson stops a few paces away to glance over his shoulder. “You’ll be watching, right?”

Nodding, you fight back a smile. “I’m doing more than that. I’m the one crowning the champion.”

“Ah.” Jackson’s eyes light up and he takes a step closer. “In that case, I’ll be sure to win.”

He’s right before you, presence overwhelming in the best of ways. It makes you weak, unable to think of anything but how close he is. His scent drifts closer, smelling of citrus and something spicier. Before you can respond he winks, turning away. His whistle drifts back as he strides across the hall.

Beside you, Cecil’s mouth is open. She quickly shuts it, shaking her head. “Some people have all the luck.”

Before you can stop yourself, you laugh. Swatting her elbow as you walk through the hallway, outdoors and onto the path towards the stadium. You wind past merchants and wares, drifting between stalls and merchants. You stop at several booths, only able to briefly look before Cecil drags you on.

You arrive at the gates two hours to noon, exactly when you said you would. Your mother is already there, smiling genially at all who enter. When you arrive, she gathers her skirts. “Thank you, Cecil.” She smiles at your handmaiden. “I can take it from here.”

“Understood, Majesty.” Cecil raises an eyebrow, as though to warn against any troublemaking. Then she disappears, heading down the path towards the castle. It’s warm out today, air smelling of sunshine and flowers as you walks towards the entrance. Already you wish you’d brought a hat or umbrella.

Noticing your squint upwards, your mother waves her hand. “Not to worry.” She moves into the stadium, four guards immediately falling into place beside you. “We have a booth set up inside.”

You see what she means as soon as you enter. Opposite, dead center of the arena hangs a box. Hung with billowing banners of both Morsus and Senary, it’s completely covered from the sun. There are six similar boxes placed throughout the stadium, one for each of Morsus’ city-states. Senary’s is center though, as the tournament today is being held in your honor. You and the Queen are seated front row. You relax in your seat, glancing down the rows before you.

The seats are filling, despite the main event not being held until late afternoon. Smaller skirmishes will take place throughout the day. Jousting first, followed by the main event. You enjoy fencing more than jousting, perhaps because the latter is more elegant. Less dangerous, too. There’s always the risk in jousting that someone will be truly, seriously injured.

Beside you, your mother sinks downwards. Adjusting her crown and surveying the arena. “Thank you for doing this,” she says, her voice low. When you look at her, she quirks a brow. “I know how hard all this is, Y/N. I’m not blind. You’re doing a good thing, though – look at how happy the people are.”

At her gesture, you see that she’s right. The people are all waving, trying to catch your attention. You wave back at them, shyly before your grin widens. These are your people and honestly, all you want is for them to know happiness. The thought makes you wince since lately, it hasn’t seemed that way.

It’s hard sometimes to separate yourself from your country. Hard to put aside your wants and needs for what’s best but in this case, you happen to think the needs of your country demand change. True, the change might benefit you – but there’s a larger purpose to what you desire.

Beside you, the Queen adjusts herself on her seat. You struggle to emulate a similar grace, but it’s impossible. Your mother has been doing this for so much longer than you have. People filter in and out of your box as the day passes – advisors, councilors, nobility. You greet the Kings and Queens of the other city-states, rising from your chair whenever the occasion demands.

Food is served, along with wine. Your mother allows you one glass, which makes you raise your eyebrows. Rarely, if ever, does she condone drinking in public. Today seems to be a holiday, indeed. Three hours past noon, the arena is nearly full. The last levels of the stadium becoming crowded, people by now turning to face the ring.

The last of the jousters clears, the sport’s long, thin rail long since gone. The air is abuzz with excitement when a hush settles over the arena, a brightly dressed announcer walking towards the center.

“Ladies and gentlemen!” he calls, voice echoing across vaulted seats. Immediately the air is filled with the hushing and whispering of people being pulled downward. Turning their attention towards the main event. “Welcome, and thank you all for coming!”

The air fills with cheers. Immediately across is the entrance, its gates open for competitors to walk in. To your right sit the people of Quinque, Bambam’s parents already seated in their booth along with their court. After Quinque sits Quattor – and so on and so forth, with Septum ending directly to your left.

Struggling not to be too obvious, you glance sideways. Septum’s booth is blocked from view though, by your father entering to the tent and you settle back in your seat. Smiling gently and nodding to show there’s no hard feelings. He exhales, seemingly relieved as you giggle.

“Today we have a special treat for everyone!” The announcer waves an arm, so enthusiastic you’re afraid it might just fall off. From the corner of your eye, you see your father also shaking with laughter. “A representative from each city-state, competing for the ultimate honor! What do you say we skip all the formalities and just get started?”

The audience cheers, causing you to laugh. You smile, leaning forward as the announcer continues. The seven representatives have been pre-ranked according to ability, with the top-ranked fencer sitting out until the second round. Your eyebrows rise when Wang Jia Er’s name is announced. Perhaps he might just be able to keep his promise after all.

The first two fencers enter, waving before they turn to face one another. They’re both dressed in all-white fencing gear, outfits bright against the dark sand. The only thing distinguishing them are the colors sewn to their backs – you recognize the red and gold of Unum, the navy and chocolate of Quattor. Jaebum and Youngjae both adopt their fencing stances, thin rapiers held loosely in hand.

Jaebum lunges first, Youngjae parrying to knock him aside. The match goes by quickly, with Jaebum being the superior fencer. You watch wide-eyed as he easily sidesteps Youngjae’s offense, seeming to be enjoying this. Jaebum lets Youngjae get in a few more attacks before feinting, thrusting forward. There’s a sharp rap on Youngjae’s side as the referee calls out, “POINT!”

The bouts will go until five points, and it’s not too long before Jaebum is announced as the winner. He removes his helmet, waving as he smiles at the crowd. The final score is two to five and Youngjae removes his helmet as well, waving at the people of Quattor. They cheer just as loudly, proud of their Prince in the ring.

You recall hearing Youngjae is not athletically inclined. His talents are said to lie elsewhere, which seems to be the case. Jaebum catches your eye, waving as he turns towards the gates. You smile back at him.

The next two in the arena are Jinyoung and Yugyeom. You laugh, leaning over the ledge and ignoring your mother’s hiss of protest. “Yugyeom-ah!” you yell, much to Jinyoung’s displeasure.

Even with his mask firmly in place, you know he’s peeved. His head whips at your voice, spotting you in your box and shaking his head. Raising two fingers, he slowly points them at his eyes and then at you. Indicating he’s watching before turning to face Yugyeom.

You laugh, sitting back in your seat. You notice that Jinyoung looks… nice, in his uniform. More than a few girls are whispering, though this quickly stops when you turn to stare back at them. You’ve always been very protective of Jinyoung. It’s strange to find him suddenly a catch when the entire time you were growing up, you were his only friend. Jinyoung was stuffy and serious, never the object of anyone’s crushes. This appears to no longer be the case.

As Jinyoung and Yugyeom settle into position, the crowd leans towards the edge of their seats. From the start, the match is much more even than the other. Both Jinyoung and Yugyeom score points early on, circling one another after to check for weaknesses. The problem, you realize, is that they both know each other too well. Yugyeom and Jinyoung grew up fencing together and each is ready to block before the other moves.

It’s just as you think this that Yugyeom lunges, Jinyoung parries and thrust his sabre forward. He twists, feinting once before continuing the offense. Another few quick steps and – “POINT!” calls the referee. “JINYOUNG IS THE WINNER, FIVE POINTS TO FOUR!”

At the cheer of the crowd, both Jinyoung and Yugyeom come to a halt. You see they’re both breathing heavy by the rise and fall of their chests beneath their jackets. Jinyoung straightens first, clapping Yugyeom quickly on the shoulder as Yugyeom pulls off his helmet. He runs a hand through his hair, nodding and the same group of girls break into giggles.

When you turn around they blush, and you face forward with a smile. Who knew Yugyeom was getting popular with the ladies? Jinyoung takes off his helmet too, scanning the crowd and acknowledging the applause with a tilt of his head. Someone screams his name and he looks up, startled. He starts to laugh, covering his mouth with one hand.

When he meets your eyes he bows. You blow him a large, exaggerated kiss, watching as both he and Yugyeom turn from the stadium. Beside you, your mother sits watching. “What?” you ask, leaning back as you settle into your seat.

Merely smiling, she faces forward once more. “Jinyoung has become a very nice young man.”

Wincing, you nod. “I know that.”

“Not a bad husband, either.”

“I know that, too.”

The conversation thankfully comes to an end as the last two opponents enter the arena. Bambam, you recognize since his back contains the distinctive purple and silver of Quinque. Beside him stands his opponent, the mysterious champion of Septum. He’s slight, though build doesn’t always indicate skill in these kinds of things. He looks at the citizens of Septum and you find yourself doing the same.

The King and Queen sit up in their seats. It’s strange to see them out and about like this – they rarely leave their castle, too busy with the front lines of the fight. The King’s face is weathered, as though he’s looking through the scene rather than at it. His Queen sits beside him, though she doesn’t seem very connected to what’s going on. Rather, she keeps glancing down into the pit. Behind her, into to the crowd. Almost as though she’s looking for something, though you can’t imagine what.

Your gaze returns to the arena as you hear the call of the referee. “EN GARDE!”

The two of them adopt their fencing stance. It occurs to you then that the announcer did not give a name for Septum’s champion. Prince Bambam of Quinque and Champion of Septum. You lean forward, watching the bout with renewed interest.

From the very start it’s clear that this champion is a talented fencer. Similar to Youngjae, Bambam’s talents are just not enough to beat him. Bambam falters more than once, giving his opponent three points in rapid succession. Bambam manages to go on the offensive, doing a quick disengage and lunging forward.

“Point, QUINQUE!”

It’s over soon after that. The other fencer moves seamlessly, his muscles connected to the air around him and he finds two more points with little problem. When the bout is over, cheers erupt from your left, Septum’s enthusiasm piercing the air. You can’t help but applaud as well, despite Bambam being Yugyeom’s best friend.

Looking at the King and Queen of Septum, seeing the looks of joy on their people’s faces – you decide that today is worth it. Slowly standing, you curtsey deeply in the direction of Septum’s champion. He hesitates slightly, looking up in your direction as you wait for him to remove his helmet.

He doesn’t.

There’s an awkward pause and then, as though sensing the tension – Bambam decides not to remove his, either. He bows in the direction of Quinque and then Senary, waving happily at the crowd. Touching the champion of Septum’s arm as they leave, leaning in to say something. The champion nods as the two of them exit the area, waving grandly at the stands.

“Well, that was interesting.” Your father glances in the direction of Septum but both their King and the Queen also look confused.

The King shrugs, facing his Queen, who continues to look around the stadium aimlessly. You watch this with growing interest, curious as to what’s happening when suddenly the cheers start up again.

Jaebum enters for round two, having won the first bout with Youngjae. He’ll be facing Jackson, with Jinyoung facing off against the mysterious champion of Septum. Jaebum and Jackson walk into the arena together, helmets off as they wave cheerily at the crowd.

Well, Jackson waves cheerily. Jaebum smiles at least. He waves in the direction Unum, whose citizens are all on their feet for him. You stare in astonishment before remembering Jaebum is a war hero. Making brief eye contact with his father, Jaebum inclines his head. The King responds likewise.

Meanwhile Jackson hams it up in front of Duo. You laugh just watching him. Tossing his hair, Jackson strikes a pose. Miming a few dance moves before darting forward to actually kiss a baby in the front row.

Beside you, the Queen also laughs. “That Jackson is quite a character.”

“Yes,” you say, still smiling. “He is.”

In your peripheral, you notice your mother smile. Ignoring her, you focus instead on the announcer. When he yells, “EN GARDE!” both Jackson and Jaebum place their helmets on their heads. Walking over to the starting marks and adopting their stances.

“READY?”

Jaebum and Jackson both nod.

“FENCE!”

Jackson lunges first, attacking so quickly that Jaebum doesn’t have time to properly block. You’re reminded then that Jaebum is used to wielding a much heavier weapon, not a rapier. He makes a frustrated motion, clearly peeved when the referee yells, “POINT!”

The section of Duo cheers. When the two start once more, you’re breathless watching. Jackson’s moves are so quick, so perfect, you realize it’s not for nothing he skipped the first round. His second point is scored just as quickly and you realize that Jaebum is probably going to lose. Unless he’s been faking his skill set so far, which you highly doubt.

The next point is quick, as is the fourth and fifth – at this point, the crowd of Duo is on their feet cheering. Jackson removes his helmet to grin wildly, shaking slightly-sweaty hair from his eyes. Jaebum takes off his helmet as well, grasping Jackson’s hand and nodding.

The two of them turn to face Senary, bowing low. As Jackson rises, he looks straight at you. Dropping a quick wink before turning to leave. You blush, reminded of his earlier words. I’ll be sure to win.

The thought keeps your grin in place.

Next are Jinyoung and Septum’s mysterious champion. Jinyoung enters with his helmet removed, but the other’s is firmly on. It appears as though the two are talking, Jinyoung laughs as the mysterious stranger gestures sideways.

When the referee calls them to position, Jinyoung quickly secures his helmet. The other fencer does the same, dropping into stance before him. When they start, you realize their talent is fairly even. Despite this, the Septum fencer starts to pull ahead. The points are soon three to two, with Septum’s champion barely winded. He circle parries Jinyoung’s thrust, lunging on the offense.

“FOUR TO TWO!”

Jinyoung rubs his neck, circling backwards and you can tell he’s getting frustrated. You watch his chest rise and fall, knowing he’s trying to block out self-criticism. The other fencer watches, observing with a small tilt of his head and you wonder if he’s trying to use this to his advantage.

When the bout resumes, Septum’s fencer starts with fancier moves. You’re amazed by how quickly he sized Jinyoung up. Jinyoung definitely fences by the book. Executing well but not great at improvisation, at least when it comes to fencing. His opponent is fluid, darting forward and back. Feinting and attacking until Jinyoung fumbles once. That’s when Septum’s fencer flicks – a technique where the blade behaves almost like a whip, bending to reach the opponent’s body. Jinyoung grunts, stepping backwards but the referee has already yelled, “POINT! FIVE TO TWO!”

Septum has won, their crowd cheering louder than ever. Jinyoung nods removing his helmet. He’s smiling though, which is somewhat surprising. However much Jinyoung likes to win, he also likes when people can outthink him. It forces him to grow, he often tells you.

He’s talking to the Septum fencer now, probably asking about the move he just did. Beside you, the Queen stands. Jinyoung and the other fencer freeze at her motion, turning towards your mother to bow.

Beside you, she motions you stand as well. Obeying, you wipe your sweaty palms on your skirts. “You should announce the final match,” your mother whispers from the corner of her mouth.

You nod, facing the crowd. “The final match,” you say, waiting until all eyes are on you before continuing. “Wang Jia Er of Duo and the Champion of Septum!”

To roaring applause, you sit back down. Crossing your ankles and catching Jinyoung’s eye. He shrugs, not upset about losing as he walks away. The other fencer leaves as well but not without a last look in your direction. The hair on the back of your neck prickles and you stare after him, perturbed when you realize he has yet again failed to remove his helmet.

“Most peculiar,” your mother says. Then shrugs. “Ah, well. Perhaps he’s just embarrassed of his appearance.”

Smoothing the lines of your dress, you frown. After a brief respite, Jackson Wang and the mysterious Septum fencer both reenter the stadium. You find yourself sitting taller, leaning forward. Openly curious as to what will happen.

These two are the best of the bunch. That much is obvious by how easily they beat their previous opponents. What will happen against each other, you don’t know. You wonder if the mysterious fencer will take off his helmet if he wins. Perhaps that’s his real game here. To drum up interest and then reveal himself, surprising people when he’s a prominent noble or some such nonsense.

The two fencers adopt a starting stance.

“FENCE!”

The moves are quicker than you thought possible. Septum is good – very good – but he’s also no match for Jackson. Jackson is in a league of his own and now, faced with an opponent worth his salt, you begin to see how talented he really is.

If the Septum champion is fluid, Jackson is water. Lunging, parrying, feinting easily to rap Septum’s champion in succession. He does fancier and fancier moves, showing off for the benefit of the crowd.

It’s beautiful to watch and you find yourself unable to look away. Septum’s fencer scores once, making it three to one, in Jackson’s favor. They continue on, each moving in and about the other and before you know it –

“FIVE TO THREE. PRINCE WANG JIA ER OF DUO IS THE CHAMPION!”

A roar leaves Duo’s section and you find yourself smiling, clapping to their enthusiasm. It’s clear they truly love their Prince. The crowd is full of signs, banners, sayings which warm your heart.

What’s surprising to you is that Septum applauds just as loud. They appear excited by how far their champion went. Excited by the fact that he nearly won. Many stand, applauding their mysterious stranger when he bows, low, in Septum’s direction.

All too soon, they walk forward. A large, golden ribbon is pressed into your hands and Jackson Wang climbs the stairs to your box, stopping before you. He faces the crowd quickly, waving once before turning back to you.

When your eyes meet, his are dark and playful. The gesture is meant simply for you. “What did I say,” he murmurs, bending his head for you to drape the ribbon around his neck. “I told you I’d win.”

“That you did,” you whisper, pleased. After arranging the silk flat, you turn towards the crowd. “Wang Jia Er, Prince of Duo!”

Jackson stands, leaning sideways to whisper, “Back of the tent.”

And then he’s gone, disappearing down the steps of your booth. Walking through the stadium and exiting the gates. The fencer from Septum is long gone – you assume that he’s gone back to his section, but you can’t be sure. Your own gaze searches as you sit, heartbeat pounding.

Back of the tent.

Slowly, you glance behind you. Jackson couldn’t possibly – he couldn’t want you to meet him, right? The blood in your veins thrums at the thought and you find yourself leaving just minutes later. Both your parents nod, too engrossed in the acrobats performing to question deeply.

Just as you’re about to exit, a hand closes around your wrist. You’re pulled sideways for the second time today, finding yourself face to face with Jackson Wang. The silvery material of the tent drifts around him, outlining him in a halo of silver and gold. Gold like his circlet. Gold like the ribbon around his neck.

His hand is warm and you find yourself staring at it in yours. Surprised by the way your heart beats at his touch, loud in the otherwise silence. Rather than pull away, Jackson slowly takes your other hand in his. Staring as he takes a step closer.

“So.” His tone is serious. “I’ve been thinking.”

“Really?” you say, lifting your gaze to his. “About what?”

“This ribbon.” The wind blows the tent and Jackson takes a step closer. “A ribbon seems a small prize for what I just went through,” he muses, mouth lifting in a smile.

The resulting effect is dizzying. “Oh? And are you only satisfied with material goods, Jackson Wang?”

He chuckles, the noise low. “Never. Except,” he says, pretending to think. “You don’t happen to have any cantaloupe, do you?”

Suppressing a laugh, you shake your head. “No.” You’re unsure why you’re whispering. “Not this time.”

He’s so close to you that you feel his body heat. Feel his hands tighten, sliding to interlock your fingers with his. There’s a slight sweat to his skin – it’s unfair this only makes him look better. Unfair he’s daring to look at you in that way. As though you’re all he sees, all he wants to see.

“Good.” His gaze lightens, the shadows dancing over his face. “Because what I really want from you is a kiss.”

“A kiss?”

Jackson nods, somehow moving even closer. “Yes.”

“A kiss, from me?”

He nods. “Yes.”

Bending slowly, Jackson watches your expression. When you don’t pull away, his lips touch yours. Hands sliding into your hair as you arch upwards, mouth opening hesitantly. His lips are warm, eager and your feel your heart pound in your veins. His body presses closer and the feel is new, exciting and –

A crash.

You pull away, jerking from Jackson’s arms. Whirling to face the entrance, which you thought you were hidden from. The wind has blown things aside though, and you find two dark eyes staring straight at you. Dark eyes in a familiar face. The face sends a lurch through your body – and then he’s gone.

“Mark,” you gasp, hitching up your skirts to run after him.

[Master List]

Also thank you so, so much to the wonderful @this-part-of-town who sent in this BEAUTIFUL map of Morsus! I hope that everyone loves it as much as I do.

Author’s Note: WOW! So much happening in this chapter haha. Sorry that the word count got a little out of hand but hope you enjoyed! Thank you very much for reading ~

#kWritersNet #noonanet #got7 scenarios #got7 fantasy #got7 royal!au #got7 au #got7 royalty #got7 fanfiction #got7 fanfic #got7 fic #got7 #jackson wang #jinyoung #jaebum #youngjae #yugyeom #bambam #mark tuan #The 7th Prince

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