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coffintownkids · 3 years

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Alrighty! Ch. 32 is done and such brings an end to the 朝露 arc. I’m sure y’all remember the cute scene in The Untamed/CQL when WWX comes across a group of kids playing make-believe about the Sunshot Campaign. This is the chapter where that takes place. However, as previously mentioned, we’ve actually never met pretty much any of the characters involved first-hand. So this is again slowly filling the readers in about how the world perceives all these characters.

I couldn’t decide what part I liked best...So you get the entire scene! Very long post beneath the cut.

*EDITED* @weishenmewwx was nice enough to help me fix a couple of errors. Thank You!!!

The group of children stopped chasing it, then gathered together to start seriously wracking their brains over it, “What do we do since no one shot down the Sun? It fell by itself, so who’s the Leader now?”

One of them raised a hand, “It’s obviously me! I’m Jīn Guāngyáo and I killed the greatest villain from the House of Wēn!”

Wèi Wúxiàn sat on the inn’s front steps and watched on with great pleasure.

In games like this, there was boundless high regard for the Chief Cultivator Liǎnfang-Zūn. Of course, everyone would welcome playing that role the most. Although his background made people too embarrassed to speak of it, it was precisely because of it that him climbing to the highest position made people gasp even more in admiration of his achievements. During the Sunshot Campaign, he had acted as a spy for a number of years and had been a natural at it. He had run around in circles deceiving the entire Wēn Sect of Qíshān both inside and out, having them divulge countless secrets without even realizing it. After the Sunshot Campaign, he was fawned over in every possible way with terrific amounts of cleverness and an extreme variety of methods. Finally, he took the position of Chief Cultivator and became the person fully deserving of ranking first among the multitude of cultivation Houses. Such a life can be called legendary. If was playing, he would also want to try out for the part of Jīn Guāngyáo. Picking this little boy to be the Leader was just common sense!

So JGY is super well-liked by everyone, or so we’re led to believe at this point in the story. It’s mentioned in the novel very early on that he is JGS’s bastard, but it’s definitely pretty much glossed over and this certainly makes it sound like nobody cared about his “embarrassing” history. (We will come to learn this is, in fact, bullshit.) BUT, WWX does seem to think quite well of him.

Fun language bit about the “fawned over in every possible way with terrific amounts of cleverness and an extreme variety of methods.” The sentence uses 百般, 千般, 万般 to show the increase of how much praise got heaped upon him as 百=100, 千=1,000, and 万=10,000.

My other takeaway, which I think the show did a pretty bad job at conveying, was the passage of time and that JGY was actually with the Wēn Sect for years.

Moving on.

Another one of them protested, “I’m Niè Míngjué and I’ve won the most battles and have had the most captives surrender to me. I should be the Leader!”

‘Jīn Guāngyáo’ said, “But I’m the Chief Cultivator.”

‘Niè Míngjué’ raised his fist, “So what if you’re Chief Cultivator. You’re also my sān-dì, so you won’t see me running off with my tail between my legs.”

As expected, ‘Jīn Guāngyáo’ was rather well-suited at getting into character. He hunched his shoulders and ran away.

Sān-dì (三弟) just means third brother. AKA JGY was the youngest within 3zun.

Then another kid said, “You’re the one that died young.”

Since he had chosen to be a certain cultivation head, he naturally had been looking forward to being said cultivation head a little bit. ‘Niè Míngjué’ got mad, “Jīn Zixuān, you died earlier than I did. You had an even shorter life!”

‘Jīn Zixuān’ was unconvinced, “So what if I died younger? I was ranked Number Three!”

“Being ranked Number Three just means your looks were ranked Number Three!”

At that point, one of the little boys seemed tired of both running and standing, so he slowly walked over by the steps and sat down by Wèi Wúxiàn. He waved his hand like he was some sort of mediator and said, “Alright already, there’s no need to fight about it. I’m the Yílíng Lǎozǔ, so I’m the most awesome.”

Wèi Wúxiàn, “……”

He glanced down and, sure enough, the little kid was carrying a little branch at his waist that was probably meant to be Chénqíng.

There was actually a child pure enough to not bother arguing about good and evil. He was only debating the value of combat abilities and had willing taken up the honor of being the Yílíng Lǎozǔ.

Another kid said, “No way. I’m the Sāndú Shèngshǒu and I’m the most awesome.”

The ‘Yílíng Lǎozǔ’ rather understandingly said, “Jiāng Chéng! What can you do that’s better than me? When haven’t you lost to me? How is it a good idea for you to say you’re the most awesome? Aren’t you embarrassed?”

‘Jiāng Chéng’ said, “Hmph! How am I better than you? Do you remember how you died?”

Wèi Wúxiàn’s faint smile got wiped right off his face once his meaning sunk in.

It was like being jabbed with a highly poisonous needle without warning and it sent faint prickling pain throughout his entire body.

Oof. That is a lot.

The ‘Yílíng Lǎozǔ’ next to him clapped, “Look at me! On my left is Chénqíng, on my right is the Tiger Seal. Plus I have the Ghost General. There are none beneath Heaven that are my equal! Hahahaha…” He had a stick in his left hand, a stone in his right, and was laughing hysterically, “Wēn Níng, come out!” A kid in the back of the crowd raised his hand and weakly said, “I’m here…that’s…I want to say…during the Sunshot Campaign, I didn’t die, either...”

Wèi Wúxiàn felt that he couldn’t not interrupt.

He said, “Fellow cultivators, can I ask you a question?”

The children had never had an adult take part when they played this game before, let alone one that didn’t scold them and was completely serious about asking them a question. The ‘Yílíng Lǎozǔ’ was giving him a strange and guarded look as he said, “What do you want to ask?”

Wèi Wúxiàn said, “Why don’t you have any people from the Lán Sect of Gūsū?”

“We do!”

“Where are they?”

The ‘Yílíng Lǎozǔ’ pointed at a kid that hadn’t opened his mouth to say a single word from the start, “That’s him.”

Wèi Wúxiàn looked at him and, sure enough, he was completely fine-featured and looked like a charming child. He had a clean, white string wrapped around his forehead to serve as his head ribbon. He asked, “Who is he?”

The ‘Yílíng Lǎozǔ’ disdainfully curled his lip and said, “Lán Wàngjī!”

…Great. This group of children grasped his essence. If you’re playing the part of Lán Wàngjī you really ought to shut up and not talk!

Then suddenly, the corners of Wèi Wúxiàn’s mouth began to curl again.

That little poisoned needle got pulled out and he didn’t know what cranny it got tossed into, but all the stinging pain had instantly been swept away. Wèi Wúxiàn said to himself, “It’s both wonderful and strange. He’s such a stuffy person. Why does he always make me feel so happy?”

*yelling* Why does he make you so happy, WWX? Any guesses?

I’ve seen this translated as “boring” instead of “stuffy” so I’ll explain a bit. The word used is 闷 (mèn) which can be read as boring, so that’s not wrong. But, it’s a little more nuanced than that. It can also mean something “sealed tight” or “suffocate” or “shut indoors.” Like how a hot room without circulation can be called “stuffy.” But in English, we can use stuffy to mean someone that’s kinda old-fashioned and very stuck on being prim and proper. Which certainly is someone people might consider “boring”! I just didn’t think “boring” alone really captured it though.

Of course, this is when LWJ finally emerges from his Fortress of Solitude (after needing time to get through his Gay Panic.)

When Lán Wàngjī came downstairs, he saw Wèi Wúxiàn sitting on the steps and sharing a steamed bun with a group of children. Wèi Wúxiàn was eating his bun while directing two children that were back-to-back in front of him. “……There are currently countless Wēn cultivators before. They’re all armed and they’ve got you completely surrounded. Keep your eyes sharp. Yes, just like that. OK. Lán Wàngjī, pay attention. This isn’t the current you during peacetime. You’re covered in blood! Your killing intent is so heavy! Your expression is so fierce! Wèi Wúxiàn, get a bit closer to him. Aren’t you going to twirl your flute? Let’s see you twirl it one-handed. Have pizzazz. Do you know what pizzazz is? Come let me teach you.” ‘Wèi Wúxiàn’ made an “oh” sound and handed over the thin stick he was carrying. Wèi Wúxiàn rather skillfully and swiftly twirled ‘Chénqíng’ around between two of his fingers, causing the group of kids to whoop with excitement.

Lán Wàngjī, “……”

He quietly walked over and Wèi Wúxiàn saw him coming, so he brushed off the dust from his backside and called out his goodbyes to the kids. It had been so easy to just stand up and walk along the road with a smile. It was oddly like being drugged.

Lán Wàngjī, “……”

Wèi Wúxiàn, “Hahahahahaha, I’m sorry, Hánguāng-Jūn. I ended up sharing the breakfast I bought for you with them. I’ll buy more for us in a moment.”

Lán Wàngjī, “Okay.”

Wèi Wúxiàn, “How about it? Weren’t those two kids just now cute? Who do you suspect the kid with the string around his head was imitating? Hahahaha…”

He was speechless for a moment, then Lán Wàngjī ultimately couldn’t help saying, “……What exactly did I do last night?”

It definitely couldn’t have been anything simple. Otherwise, why did it make Wèi Wúxiàn keep laughing???

Wèi Wúxiàn kept waving his hand, “No, no, no, no, no. You didn’t do anything. I was just being silly, hahahahahaha…Alright, ahem, Hánguāng-Jūn, I swear I’ll talk business.”

Lán Wàngjī said, “Go ahead.”

Apparently WWX missed his calling and should have gotten into theater!

And poor LWJ is still panicking.

So now they’re off to Shǔdōng and we’ll be starting the Yi City arc next.

#mdzs #ctk reads mdzs #mdzs translation #my translation

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everlarkficexchange · 3 years

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A Simple Choice

Written by: @justajjfan

Beta’d by: @sunsetsrmydreams

Prompt 83: Katniss is whipped instead of Gale in Catching Fire, Peeta’s the one who’s there to take care of her after. [submitted by anonymous].

Prompt 116: Peeta braids Katniss’ hair to soothe her. [submitted by anonymous]

Rating: Mature

Warning: Mention of whipping. Use of coarse language.

A/N: This is it…the very last chapter! Thank you to @everlarkficexchange - @javistg and @xerxia31 ; the 2 anons ; @sunsetsrmydreams and to all you lovely readers! 😘

~~~

Chapter 7 + Epilogue

Taking it as a reassuring sign we’ve reached our destination, my ears prick up to the sound of engines humming and people shouting at Gale to hurry. I’m further reassured when the terrain changes from dirt and tall grasses to black steel.

This must be our ride.

Gale runs onto the steel ramp just as it begins to close and sets me down onto a cold steel seat a little further into the belly of the craft.

“Peeta!”

I look around frantically to the sound of Katniss’ voice calling out my name and see her on the opposite side trying to free herself from the restraints of her own seat as two armed soldiers on either side try to convince her to stay seated.

“Katniss!” I shout back, awkwardly pulling myself up on my good leg only to feel Gale’s heavy hand on my shoulder pushing me back down.

“Strap yourself in. We’re about to take off,” Gale informs me.

Ooompff. I don’t have time to protest as Katniss pushes Gale out of her way and launches herself at me. I grab her tightly in my arms breathing in her scent as she peppers kisses over every inch of my face.

“My stupid leg…it wouldn’t work—” I try to explain but she continues to kiss me and I can feel the wetness from her tears on my cheeks.

“I thought I lost you,” she chokes between each word.

“Shshsh, I’m here now,” I say in a hushed tone, holding her tightly in my arms, “if Gale hadn’t shown up when he did, I would have missed our ride,” I tell her. “He saved me Katniss,” I say, lifting her chin to look at me. “Gale brought me back to you.”

Katniss lets out a shaky laugh and I flick my eyes to the side to where Gale now sits buckled to his seat, his head lowered. She kisses my lips sweetly before slowly turning to Gale, “Thank you,” she says in an almost whisper but Gale hears it and lifts his head to look at her and nods, a brief smile appearing on his face.

“The star-crossed lovers reunion can wait until we get to District 13,” Haymitch announces and I hadn’t even noticed he was sitting across from me.

“Thirteen?”

“You heard me. Welcome to the revolution lovebirds. I’m sure you’ve got plenty of questions and I’ll explain everything but for now buckle up, it’s going to be a bumpy ride.” We do as he says and Katniss takes the empty seat next to me holding onto my hand tightly.

As the hovercraft begins its assent, I take a moment to look around my surroundings and see most of the seats are filled with people from our district…survivors just like us.

At first estimate, I count in my head at least 200 hundred people. Amongst the small crowd, I’m surprised to see peacekeeper Darius who sits next to his look-a-like, both obviously happy to see the other and the resemblance is unquestionable. Brothers.

Haymitch begins his story by telling us about how he first joined the rebel underground after President Snow killed his family, his contact with District 13 after rebel spies discovered a plot to reap the surviving Victors for the quarter quell and how this planned attack was about freeing Panem from President Snow’s sadistic rule once and for all.

I scan my eyes further along the craft after Haymitch was done talking, hoping to find my own brothers. My breath hitches when I lock onto a small group of people unmistakably Merchant. Madge Undersee is the first person I recognise followed by a shell-shocked Delly Cartwright who has her arm wrapped protectively around her younger brother seated beside her.

But they’re not there.

“They could’ve made it out somehow,” Katniss says hopefully, noticing my gaze.

“Yeah…maybe,” I answer, kissing the top of her head softly. But deep down I know the probability is next to zero.

***

We gawk in amazement as our hovercraft lands safely in District 13. An impenetrable fortress made of concrete and steel strategically built deep underground.

Once the steel ramp of the hovercraft lowers and locks securely, a flurry of uniformed officials welcome us not as refugees but as new soldiers of District 13…a title I’m not sure I like.

We are quickly ushered towards a ‘clearance team’ waiting to check everyone, giving those who need medical attention priority. Hardly considering myself a medical priority, I’m nonetheless placed on a steel gurney and wheeled into a curtained partition of their hospital emergency room and assessed.

Katniss refuses to leave my side the whole time and holds onto my hand tightly insisting she can be checked just fine next to me, a fierce look in her eyes silently warning no one try and challenge her.

To my relief…no one does.

Temporary repairs are made on my prosthetic leg by a robotics technician and even though my gait is somewhat compromised, I’m grateful I can at least walk unaided. I’m to report to someone called Beetee tomorrow morning for further evaluation on my leg with the view of a more advanced replacement and think to myself maybe life here in Thirteen won’t be so bad.

Medically cleared, we are moved on to another team who measure us from head to toe before handing out a parcel each containing a set of clean clothes, shoes according to our size and a package labelled ‘personal hygiene’.

With parcels in hand, compartment allocation is next and my heart starts to sink knowing I’ll have to spend my nights in this place without Katniss.

“There she is!”

We both turn around to see Mrs Everdeen rushing towards us with Katniss’ sister in tow wearing the brightest of smiles. Katniss immediately locks Primrose in a loving embrace, ignoring her mother altogether.

“Gale told us you were here,” her mother says, brushing off her daughter’s cold welcome. “I was so worried Katniss. You shouldn’t have runaway like that,” she adds.

Katniss steps away and reaches her hand out for me to hold, “you gave me sleep syrup to stop me from going back for Peeta.”

“You almost scratched poor Gale’s eye out. It was the only way to calm you,” Mrs Everdeen says in her defence. Katniss doesn’t respond but I can see how much she resented being drugged. A feeling I know only too well.

“I’m glad to see you are safe Peeta,” Mrs Everdeen turns to me and says genuinely, breaking a moment of uncomfortable silence.

Katniss huffs but I smile and thank Mrs Everdeen just as an officer orders us to line up and register our details for allotted compartments.

“There’s no need for my daughter to register, she’s been assigned to the Everdeen family compartment; Katniss Everdeen; Level 32; Room 234a,” Mrs Everdeen informs the District 13 officer.

“No, I’m going to register with Peeta.”

“Don’t be ridiculous,” Mrs Everdeen responds. “Peeta will need to reg—”

Katniss doesn’t wait for her mother to finish her sentence and leads me to the registry desk in the middle of the processing room.

“Name…age…occupation…marital status?” the registry officer asks robotically, not bothering to look up and stares at the small screen on his device waiting to key in my answer.

“Peeta Mellark…17…baker…s—”

“Married.” Katniss answers the last question for me and squeezes my hand. I turn my head, mouth gaped open in surprise but I don’t say anything and play along with the ruse.

The officer raises his head from his device and looks at Katniss, “and you would be..?”

“Katniss Mellark…17…hunter…wife of Peeta Mellark. We’re married…to each other,” she gestures, pointing her finger between the two of us. The officer darts his eyes suspiciously from me to Katniss.

Holding in an anxious breath, I feel Katniss’ grip on my hand tighten but the officer eventually lowers his gaze and types in the information, allowing us to breathe a collective sigh of relief.

I hear a shocked gasp behind us which could only have come from Mrs Everdeen but I don’t dare turn my head to look. Primrose on the other hand, rushes over to hug me first then Katniss and whispers something in her ear causing Katniss to blush.

“That’s not true! She’s too young to be married,” Mrs Everdeen informs the officer who raises his head and huffs in frustration.

“I usually keep my noise out of people’s business but I’ll make an exception in this case,” Haymitch says, appearing out of nowhere accompanied by an older soldier and by the looks of his uniform, he’s someone of high-ranking importance.

“Sweetheart and the boy technically became of age the moment they became Victors.”

Shock covers Mrs Everdeen’s face, “but she’s only been gone for 2 days and Twelve’s traditions state—”

“There is no District 12!” Haymitch exclaims. “What matters is the here and now and if they say they toasted then it’s good enough for me, he announces. “Young love, Lily…have you’ve forgotten what that’s like?”

Mrs Everdeen swallows hard and looks across to Katniss and me as her eyes begin to glisten, “no…I haven’t forgotten.” she replies softly.

“We don’t know what the future holds for any us and these two have been through a lot. They deserve a little happiness…don’t you think?” Haymitch questions. Mrs Everdeen ponders his words before eventually nodding in agreement. “Now what do you say we leave the newlyweds to themselves while we enjoy a hot cup of tea in the dining room,” he suggests.

Mrs Everdeen agrees and before she leaves, insists Katniss accompany her to the medical clinic in the morning and another blush appears on Katniss’ face but she relents.

“Congratulations Mr and Mrs Mellark. Enjoy your honeymoon,” Haymitch says, giving us a sly wink before he and his friend, who introduces himself as General Maximus Jackson, escort Mrs Everdeen and Prim to the dining room.

The sound of someone clearing their throat startles us both, “so…you two married or what?” the frustrated officer asks with a raised eyebrow.

“Married!” Katniss replies without pause.

The officer then looks to me for confirmation, “married,” I tell him swallowing hard and hoping the blush on my own face doesn’t give anything away.

***

Stepping into our compartment, we take a look around and see it adequately furnished with a large bunk bed, a chest of draws; a small closet and an equally small bathroom but it’s nothing to complain about.

We haven’t said a word to each other since we were given our compartment passcode. But the burning question I want to ask Katniss must wait, both of us agreeing to shower before settling in.

Although brief, the warm spray of water felt good on my skin and I quickly changed into the clothes marked ‘bed clothing’ from my parcel. When I slide the bathroom door open, Katniss is sitting on the bunk bed dressed in her District Thirteen issued pyjamas, her hair slightly damp from her shower.

Katniss raises her head to see me looking at her and I’m mesmerised by the beautiful sight before me. “Will you braid my hair Peeta?” she asks softly, offering her hairbrush to me.

My breath hitches as she leans her head back and sighs in contentment when my hands whisper over her neck and sweep the dark mane to trail down her back. I begin to brush her hair, carefully working through the knots and snags caused by our harrowing race for safety. Katniss hums as I continue until the brush moves through smoothly.

I reverently run my fingers through the long locks before dividing them into sections then gently braiding them together. I’m struck by the intimacy of the moment, bringing my question bubbling to the surface.

“Why did you lie to your mother about us being married?”

Katniss straightens her back and turns around looking deep into my eyes, “I didn’t. You baked the bread and I asked you and you agreed…remember?”

With my forehead creased in deep thought it takes only a few seconds to understand what Katniss is saying and there’s no hiding the huge smile forming on my lips, “yes.”

“I know I’m not good with words but it was the same bread you gave me all those years ago and it was perfect,” Katniss says. “You’re not taking it back are you Peeta? You do want me as your wife…don’t you?”

My hands instinctively cup her cheeks, “Katniss Everdeen, a life with you has been my fantasy for as long as I can remember. I’ve dreamt of asking you to toast with me,” I start to explain. “I’ve wanted to say so many things to you, solemnly vow to honour and keep you safe for the rest of my life, then take you in my arms and show you how much I love you,” I say, feeling heat slowly creeping up my neck as the warmth rushes to my groin.

She steps away and I immediately begin to worry I’ve said too much. Katniss searches through the pocket of her father’s hunting jacket hanging over a chair and brings the napkin she grabbed earlier today and unfolds it onto the bunk.

There in front of my eyes is the untouched triangle-shaped piece of toast and I have to wonder how it wasn’t confiscated when we were being checked over.

Katniss smiles, the same blush appearing on her face, “it’s Katniss Mellark now but you can ask me to toast with you again if you want and the answer will be the same,” she tells me. “You can say all those words you’ve dreamt telling me…then when you’re done husband, you can show me how much you love me.”

…and so I do.

~~~

Epilogue

Katniss

My eyes are closed but there’s a sense of comfort and mellowness blossoming inside of me as I take in a deep breath to enjoy the familiar scent I’ve come to love.

In my relaxed state, it takes some effort to force my eyelids to open and when I do, my eyes focus on the edge of the bank as a paddle of ducks swim lazily across my father’s lake.

Gone are the electrified fences. The curfews. The peacekeepers. The fear.

This was the first place I took Peeta to see after the war had ended. So many lives were lost during our fight for freedom but for now, there is peace. So, we rebuilt our towns and our families and we vowed to honour the dead by living well.

As I take in the peaceful surroundings, the smell of freshly baked bread invades my senses and all thoughts of death and destruction is forgotten when I feel a pair of warm, muscled arms wrap around my rather large and protruding stomach.

Bringing a child into this world was something I told myself I would never experience and the idea of new life growing inside of me should seem utterly terrifying. Yet as my hand rests on top of his, waiting for our little one to let us know she’s awake, what I’m feeling right now has nothing to do with fear.

I lean back into his loving embrace and instinctively tilt my head to the side allowing him full access. The moment his lips start to trail kisses down my neck, an enticing shiver courses through my body and I hum my approval with great fervour.

“We don’t have to be afraid anymore,” he whispers softly.

“No, we don’t have to be afraid,” I whisper back, as we stop to watch his favourite colour slowly disappear below the horizon.

The End

#Springtime Edition 2020 #justajjfan #prompt 83 #prompt 116 #submission

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welcometothemxdhouse · 4 years

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OFFICE CALLS

Hi this is my application to Chilton stan tumblr. I spend so much time reading @prurientpuddlejumper ‘s fics i thought it was maybe about time i tried to write my own. I hope it’s not too bad lmao.

I think tumblr ruined the format oh boy anyways

Warnings: smut

You were sat on the worn, brown couch of the staff room with your colleagues desperately hoping that your day would be over soon. Working at the hospital was hard work but you were lucky to have made good friends in the people you spend your days with. Unfortunately, the one topic you disagreed on was the current discussion taking place. Your co-workers sat around the room talking about your boss, Doctor Frederick Chilton. You saw no reason to dislike him (in fact you’d rarely spoken to the man) and you believed his arrogant, uptight appearance to be a facade. You were apparently the only one who thought so.

“He’s just so annoying”

“He acts so prim and proper yet he can’t even control his own hospital”

“I would be surprised if he’d ever even touched a woman nevermind dated anyone”

You continued to sit in silence and listen. You wondered if Doctor Chilton could hear what they were saying. There were enough cameras around the hospital to hear every whisper so you assumed the answer was probably yes. Something about your conclusion struck a cord in your chest-did he really deserve the shit he got?

A few minutes later lunch was over and you all rushed back to work.

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

“Y/N, i would like to see you in my office.”

You looked up from your food, today’s lunch conversation involved one of the inmates at the hospital and you were grateful for the change from yesterday.

Your colleagues whistled like school children and teased you about being in trouble as you stood up from your seat and walked towards your boss who stood stoic in the doorway.

“Is everything okay, Doctor?” You asked as you walked alongside him towards his office.

His reply of a simple hum did nothing to calm your nerves. Was there a problem with your work, your pay? Were you being fired? You felt a knot form in your stomach as you contemplated the possibilities.

Doctor Chilton pushed open the door to his office and you realised you had not been in this part of the hospital since your interview 6 months ago. His office was grand and lined with books. However, you noted, there was nothing personal about the room. Nothing that portrayed an ounce of the man behind the “Doctor” mask.

“Sit” he grumbled at you, pointing at the chair in front of you, before taking his own place on the other side of the dark wooden desk. After a long silence he spoke again;

“Are you happy with your job here, Y/N?”

You looked up, clearly not hiding your confusion particularly well as your boss tilted his head and cocked an eyebrow at you impatiently.

“Yes sir”

“Do you believe you will continue to work here?”

“For now, sir, at least”

Your curiosity was at its peak now. Your elusive, mysterious boss whom you’d seen only twice had taken you away from your lunch break out of concern for your happiness? Your eyes locked onto his hard gaze for a split second and an unwanted pulse spread through your core. This was the first time you had spent any time with Doctor Chilton and it was providing you with the opportunity to notice how attractive he was. An image flashed across your mind and a blush rose on your cheeks as you forced yourself back into the room.

“Y/N are you listening?”

“Yes, sir, sorry” you stammered.

Doctor Chilton stood and you watched his slender fingers wrap around the head of his cane. He walked around the desk and perched lightly in front of you, leaning forward slightly.

“I don’t believe you”

He was close enough for his smell to surround you. His thick, expensive cologne filled your nose and you instinctively took a deep breath. Lifting yourself to sit straight in your chair and tilting your head back to look at him you regained something akin to confidence and stated;

“I was listening, sir”

This time it was Frederick’s turn to blush. Your little nickname was having an effect on him which he was desperately attempting to suppress. Not well enough. You noticed the burning in his cheeks and as your eyeline began to drop towards your feet you spotted the rapidly growing tightness in his designer trousers and your breath hitched. You glanced up and caught Frederick’s chin in your hand as he leaned forward to kiss you;

“Can i?” He whispered. His sudden nervousness was adorable.

You push forward and press your lips to his. He tasted like coffee and you revelled in it as you lightly bit his bottom lip, causing him to gasp and allowing your tongue to explore his mouth.

After a few minutes of making out you were starting to get impatient, the dampness in your underwear increasing by the second. Your hand wandered down his neck and chest, eventually landing over his crotch and squeezing. A small whimper escaped Frederick’s lips and holy fuck it was hot. You decided in that second it was the only sound you ever wanted to hear for the rest of your life. You massaged him for a few more seconds before reluctantly pulling away from his lips and dropping to your knees. With trembling fingers you pulled down his zipper and freed his straining erection. He was big, bigger than you’d ever taken before and in that moment all you wanted was for him to bend you over his desk and take you with everything he had. You placed a gentle kiss to the leaking tip and licked your lips, tasting the salty precum that had gathered there.

“Please...fuck please” Frederick muttered, his head was thrown back and his hands gripped the table so hard his knuckles had turned white. It was obvious he didn’t do this very often.

You licked a stripe along the bottom of his dick before wrapping your lips around him and taking him as far as you could, your hand pumping the part your throat couldn’t handle. He groaned above you and wrapped a hand in your hair to push you further down, guiding your movements as you bobbed your head. You brought your other hand up to grasp his balls and before he could even vocalise a warning Frederick cried out a guttural moan and you felt his hot release slide down your throat. The shock made you gag and you tried desperately to swallow every drop.

“Shit i’m so sorry i’m...” he paused as he watched you come off his dick with a pop and lick your lips, cleaning up any mess that had escaped your mouth. You stood up and placed a delicate kiss on his swollen lips.

“You have nothing to apologise for” you replied as your straightened out your uniform. You smiled up at him as you headed towards the door.

“Will you be needing to speak to me tomorrow too, sir?”

#frederick chilton #frederick chilton x reader

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captainseaweedbrains · 4 years

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Happy Birthday, Peeta

I rewrote a fluff prompt I got ages ago and thought I’d post it again. Enjoy!

Post-Mockingjay, during the time where they grew back together.

Can also be found on Ao3

His birthday was coming up and Katniss wanted to do something special for Peeta, something homemade.

"He does so much for me," she told Haymitch while they nibbled on the rye bread Peeta had left them for lunch. "I want to return the favor. He deserves it." And Peeta did deserve it. After these rough few months of trying to repair themselves and figure out what they were, she wanted something normal, something happy. Or as happy as they could possibly reach.

"I'm just not very good at gift giving," she confessed, picking at the bread.

Haymitch ripped another piece off the loaf and shoved it into his mouth. "I don't know what it is with you two and owing each other, but he's not expecting a parade, sweetheart." Katniss squirmed in her seat at the thought of being paraded in front of a crowd again. "Just do something any normal girlfriend would do."

"We're not dating," she quickly insisted. "We're just...us."

"Fine. Whatever. Make the boy dinner and, I don't know, get him paper or something to draw on. He should be happy with that."

The idea did sound good, and Peeta always made dinner. A birthday dinner would give him a night off, let him relax. Yes, a surprise dinner would definitely be a good gift for him. She'd make his favorite meal, maybe steal a bottle of Haymitch's finest to lighten the mood. It was perfect.

The only problem was she didn't know his favorite meal. At least something she could make. Katniss tried to think back to every meal they'd ever had together, but her own mind had been so transfixed on her plate she'd never noticed what Peeta ate.

She would just have to find out before his birthday.

Peeta was pouring vegetable soup into her bowl for dinner when she decided to ask. "You make soup a lot," Katniss observed, waiting for him to sit before lightly blowing on her meal.

"Can't go wrong with it," he smiled.

As expected, the soup tasted wonderful, with hints of spices Peeta kept to himself, saying it was a family secret. She tapped the spoon on the side of her bowl and sighed, wondering how to go about asking him without making it too obvious what she planned to do.

"Is something the matter?" His eyebrows were scrunched together in concern, his hand gripping hard on his spoon. Katniss patted his hand and told him she was fine.

"I'm just thinking about the soup," is all she said, taking another timid sip.

"Oh."

The dining room grew quiet, the only sounds were the scrapes of their spoons against bowls and Buttercup begging for scraps at Peeta's feet. It was typically how dinner went for them, but Katniss didn't want to chicken out about this. She wanted to make sure what she was making Peeta would be something he'd like.

"You know, when I..." A lump formed in her throat at the thought of her family. She cleared her throat and started again. "When I was little, my father used to make this dandelion salad and my mother had this special dressing she'd pour on top. It was really simple, nothing like...like the Capitol food, but I'd always get excited whenever I'd see him walking back with a bag full of dandelions. It was my favorite meal."

It was too much, too obvious, and she shoved a spoonful of soup in her mouth to avoid blurting out anything that would trigger any emotional episode. Peeta wasn't stupid, and he always figured out whatever she was planning because he was perceptive and good at reading people, and Katniss was lucky if she could spit out a sentence every once in awhile.

He didn't seem to notice, empathetically smiling at her, like he always did whenever something from their past was mentioned. He understood how much it hurt to talk about the dead and the hopeless, and she was so thankful for that. Another reminder why Peeta deserved a special birthday dinner.

"I could call your mom for the dressing recipe. We could make it together."

"Yes," Katniss said slowly, "we could make it together. So now you know what mine was. Um, so what was your favorite meal?"

His eyes gleamed over in thought as he leaned back in his chair and thought for a moment. It wasn't often they talked about trivial things like favorite childhood foods, but it wasn't on the list of triggers Dr. Aurelius had given and that was all Katniss was concerned with as she watched his face carefully. Just because it wasn't on the list didn't mean Peeta would react lightly to topics of his family. His episodes were sparse, but it was always best to be safe.

"It sounds silly," Peeta chuckled, pulling her out of her worry, "but I loved when my dad would make fresh bread for dinner." It wasn't the answer she expected from the baker's son and her face must have shown her surprise. "I've told you we always got stuck with the stale bread—the bread no one wanted," he explained, "but on special occasions, Dad would make a fresh loaf of bread for us. Sometimes add in raisins, if we were really lucky. It was really rare, but I remember jumping up and down whenever I'd smell bread baking in our apartment's kitchen." He sheepishly smiled and looked down at his bowl of soup. "It's stupid, I know, Katniss, but it is what it is."

"I don't think it's stupid," she comforted, taking his hand in hers. "I...I think it's sweet, Peeta. I'm glad those memories aren’t—aren't gone." His hand squeezed hers back in response and they resumed eating in silence.

Baking bread was a lot harder than Peeta made it out to be.

It was ridiculous, really. She'd made bread plenty of times with the tesserae grains her family received. But everything seemed simple back then—her mother and sister, their tiny, dilapidated house in the Seam. Even the bread was simple, but nothing made sense any more. Not even the stupid, complicated bread recipe.

She followed every step closely. Double-checking just to be safe.

She put in every ingredient with care, like she’s seen Peeta do a thousand times and more.

But when it came time to pound out the dough, the whole project went awry. Images of Snow and Coin and Plutarch consumed her thoughts as she pounded the soft, malleable dough. Their faces smirking, toying with her, wanting. Her hands grew rougher with the dough, feeling used and spit out. They used her. Used them. Discarding them like unwanted waste when their purpose was done. And Prim. Prim. Prim. Prim. Sweet, little Prim.

Her vision went black. Her chest heavy, lungs filling with smoke from the bombs. The bombs that killed little Prim.

Prim Prim Prim Prim

A sharp pain in her hand snapped her back to the kitchen. She was home, safe. Not the Capitol or the arena. Home. The pale dough was smeared red with her blood, her knuckles bruised and battered.

My name is Katniss Everdeen, she began her list, taking deep breaths in, eyes closed. I am at my house. I am safe. I am making bread. Today is Peeta’s birthday. I am making Peeta's favorite bread. I want to make him happy. Today is a Peeta’s birthday.

Her heartbeat slows. She cleans her hands, wrapping them in gauze, before pulling out the ingredients to start once more.

She double-checked the steps closely, pouring the ingredients into the bowl with care, just like Peeta.

Bread should not be this complicated.

The bread was almost finished baking when the grandfather clock tolled the hour, telling her Peeta would be home any minute. Katniss sat on the floor, face pressed against the oven window, still covered in flour, and watched the loaf continue to bake. Her face was tear stained and puffy, her knuckles still ached after all these hours, but part of her felt proud for sticking it out and finishing the bread for Peeta, instead of running to her bed or closet. It was definitely an improvement from months ago.

The front door opened, startling her from her bread watch, and Katniss scrambled to her feet and patted some of the flour off her pants.

"Happy birthday!" she cheered when Peeta stepped into the kitchen.

His face broke out into a smile and laughed, looking around the flour covered kitchen. "I see you've been busy." He ran a finger across the countertop and rubbed the flour between his finger and thumb. “Flour? Do I smell bread?”

"I made dinner. Your favorite meal."

She couldn't help but laugh along when he asked in surprise, "You did?"

"For your birthday,” she explained, taking his coat and tossing it aside. She pulled out a chair for him and told him to sit as she went and got him a drink. “You always do the cooking, but not on your birthday. We’re making birthdays special now. And I wanted to make your favorite meal because I thought it’d—you know, make you happy.”

His hand found hers, his thumb lightly tracing her bandage. Her breath stilled, unsure if he’d ask about it and ruin the happiness she felt stirring in her chest, seeing him happy, like her Peeta. But his smile grew, his blue blue eyes warming, causing her smile to grow until they both looked like deranged fools. The aroma of baked bread filled the small kitchen, making their stomachs growl.

“It’s perfect, Katniss. Really.” She shrugged like it meant nothing, but her stomach fluttered more when his hand didn’t let go of hers, and she told him the bread should be ready any minute.

The bread wasn’t burnt, like a certain loaf all those years ago, and it wasn’t perfect, like the loaves he made, but Peeta proclaimed it was the best bread he’d ever had.

“I just wanted to make you happy,” Katniss shyly told him again, blushing at his compliment. “After all you’ve done for me, it’s the least I can do.”

“Thank you for making this a memorable birthday, Katniss.” The earnestness in his voice proved he meant every word and it was then that she felt that familiar stirring, deep inside her. It felt warm and full and without even thinking about if this would set them back, she kissed him. Soft on the lips.

“Happy birthday, Peeta,” she whispered and laughed when he quickly pulled her closer for another.

#Everlark #Everlark fanfic #The Hunger Games fanfic #OTP: Survival #My writing #Enjoy!#Let me know what you think!#:)

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dagiftexchange · 3 years

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DA Secret Santa Gift: mirelia853

Fenris is used to Kirkwall now. How things get worse and the outlook seems grimmer, and then Hawke comes in with that shit eating grin and heart of worry that she carries with her and saves the day. He sees the weight of it in the small moments. When he looks at her, and knows he should not. He long lost the right-- if he ever had it. But he can’t bring himself to turn away from the moments that Hawke seems so alone. He wants to give her privacy. He doesn’t want to imagine what moments in her mansion alone must be like. Like when he left her there. He doesn’t deserve to turn away from something he took part in causing, and neither can he leave her alone again. Not again. They’re all at the Hanged Man, drinking on Varric’s tab after a particularly exhausting misadventure on the coast. Varric loudly complained and made the mistake of offering drinks if he could get back to the city right away. He acts majestically put-upon now, in his seat at their table with a tankard next to him and the laughter of his closest friends around him, but they all know him too well to believe him.

Hawke snaps back to herself at that peel of laughter that Varric primmed and primed for her (Fenris is not the only one who watches Hawke) and she joins in the chaos like a duck to water. Their gatherings are warm, and familiar and a safe haven for them all. Even him. Even her. Even though they complicate it for each other. They leave the sticky countertops and drunken shouting of the Hanged Man far later in the night than they should, but Hawke is smiling. She’s smiling and chatting about anything and everything that comes to her mind with wild gestures and antics that make her point (whatever that is) further. Fenris can’t be bothered to care about anything but the cut of her smile and the sparkle in her eyes. He’s a bit worse for wear too, but that hardly matters. They stumble and laugh and shush each other all the way to Hightown. Aveline had left at a far more reasonable hour so it’s just them tonight. She muttered something about Hawke and Fenris only having a copper of sense between the two of them while she did, but Donnic waited for her so… A copper of sense should be enough to get them there, Fenris thinks. It’s not like they have any reason to rush home. Hawke trips at the top of the stairs, or maybe he does, and they stumble into each other. Hawke laughs loudly, and Fenris curses. The fall down to Lowtown would certainly take care of that single copper of sense left. Hawke giggles, “I’ve never heard you curse in common.” She still hasn’t. “Common is clumsy,” he tells her. “Not enough emphasis.” “You’re clumsy.” “Am not.” “You are!” Hawke ducks from his arm that had somehow found its way to her waist. Then she pokes his shoulder pointedly. The force makes him sway. “See!” Her smile is wide and triumphant, and Fenris loves the glee in her eyes. So he keeps arguing. “You are the one who nearly made us fall down the stairs.” Hawke gasps in offense. “No— that was you!” Her beautiful, proud face is indignant and so, so offended. He has to laugh. He laughs deep and loud and too much for a simple drunken conversation he’s becoming too sober for. But that’s how it is with Hawke. It’s always more than he bargained for. He doesn’t think he should tell her that— it doesn’t sound right. But it’s how he feels when he’s with her. Utterly unprepared. They’ve drifted closer together, inexplicably and inevitably. Hawke’s grin is wide and happy. Her eyes are as bright as gems. He could count her lashes as they brush against her cheeks. He could so easily step closer, cage her in his arms and then— He stills. Regrets. Vast kaffas, he regrets so much. It’s ruining him. He can’t let it ruin her. It’s so hard to be careful with her sometimes. He knows he should be. For both their sakes, but it’s so easy to lose himself in the freedom she provides every time she’s near. He sways backwards, and this time he feels the ledge of the step too late. Hawke’s eyes widen and she moves like sunlight across the sky to snatch his hand. She pulls and he crashes into her like a heavenly collision, the warmth of her radiating into his chilled bones. They stand chest to chest, gazes locked. He wonders if it’s her heartbeat he feels thundering against his ribs, or if it’s his own— shouting a benediction his mouth can’t. He almost hopes so, now that she’s close enough to hear. It would take the choice away from him. It would make all of this so much simpler. Hawke’s eyes are clear as crystal. Her fear for him cleared the clouds of inebriation almost completely. Heavens above, hells below, whatever is actually true-- he-- that-- what did he do to manage to become something Hawke holds in her heart of worry. How did he become another person she had to sweep in and save?

Always, a voice wiser than his own whispers. So when did it become a problem? Hawke swallows. He watches the movement, transfixed.

“Are…” she sucks in a breath, “are you all right?”

No. He was not all right. And that was the problem. “I’m fine,” he answers, then adds, “thank you for saving me.” He means it for more than this, and with the way Hawke’s eyes glisten, she knows.

Seems he wasn’t the only one to play up the drink. His heart pangs painfully. Are they really so alike in this?

He watches her face fall and her emotions rise and it’s too much. Too much for both of them.

He escorts her home. It’s quicker, now that pretense is gone and fear is high. Fear of getting too close again and fearing the outcome.

She smiles at him when he bids her goodnight. It’s beautiful and fraught with painful understanding. It’s maybe the worst part of this— the way they understand each other’s pain and how it limits them. Being understanding of those limits. And wanting. Always the wanting even still. Fenris doesn’t sleep that night. Instead, he manages to get on the roof of his mansion and stare at the sunrise as it pierces the sky with light. It doesn’t help, but the freedom of a new day makes it feel like she’s there.

***

Fenris still watches the sunrise now, but it’s far less lonely. He promised her his future, if he had one. Seems like he did-- that he does. It’s been years of knowing Hawke. Years of loving her with the fullness of honesty. They’ve grown past the past, and Fenris is… happy. He likes to think Hawke is, too.

They’ve been through the years together. Hawke likes to tease they’re old now, and maybe she’s right. Fenris only knows it’s hard to feel any other way than free when she’s near.

Their life has not been quiet, even still. If they’re old it would be a sort of accomplishment. They’ve had some close calls, just as many (if not more) grief-stricken conversations of promises not to be so stupid, of promises to come back laced with the understanding they’ve always had of each others’ pain. Pain and duty.

They’ve never stopped each other from doing what needs to be done, no matter how painful it is. This is another of those situations, it’s not even the worst one they’ve been in. He’s more worried for Hawke than himself, but he thinks that this is something they need to do-- maybe Hawke more than him. They’re going to visit Varric, who has somehow and some way found himself the Viscount of Kirkwall. Fenris nearly laughed himself horse when he read the letter. Hawke had read it five more times afterwards, then announced they were going. Not too long after, Isabella picked them up in Garen and now they were on their way.

The sunrise over the sea is breathtaking. “Oh come on now, pretty eyes!” Isabella calls, Hawke at her side and hands on her hips. “It won’t be that bad!” Isabella is trying to rope them into working with the crew. Normally, not an issue-- Fenris has had to work his way to Kirkwall from Tevinter, after all. His grace and strength make quick work of the rigging and his scowl warded off most of the unwanted attention. But… He’s pretty sure he’s seen one of her and Varric’s chapters of friend fiction start like this. He lifts an eyebrow at his hopeful and salacious old friend. He’s not a big sharer. “Isabella’s just bossy and taking advantage of the situation,” Hawke says with a smile and a playful roll of her eyes. “What can I say? I like to be in charge.” Isabella winks and Hawke laughs. Her eyes are still bright like gemstones, her smile still beautiful. Maybe they are getting old, or a least wiser, because that smile feels like a call home every time he sees it. And he doesn’t resist anymore. He walks across the deck to them. Hawke is right there so he loops and arm around her waist and makes sure his stance is good (it is) if she wants to lean into him. She does. Isabella wrinkles her nose under her rather impressively feathered hat. “Oh you two are old now, aren’t you?” Hawke laughs brilliantly. Fenris raises that eyebrow again. “Jealous?” Isabella guffaws, “I’m never getting old, sweetness.” “Hm.” Hawke elbows him. Isabella scowls, but there’s laughter in her eyes. “All right, no free rides! Get over there and trim the sails!” She points to the front of the ship and with an exaggerated salute and an “Aye Captain!” from Hawke, they go. “I have no idea how to trim the sails,” Hawke says casually, walking beside him and dodging the actual crew when necessary. “I’m not sure it’s even a term,” Fenris says. He supposes that Isabella doesn’t know the Tevene translation for him to know for sure. Hawke snorts, her hair dancing in the wind, “So the command was really ‘please get out of my way, sweet cheeks.’” He rumbles a laugh, and they get to the stem. They settle naturally at the railing, leaning against it and looking out at the sea. “We haven’t been back in years.” “No,” he agrees. “We haven’t.” Hawke is quiet, and Fenris turns to lean his back against the wood to watch her thoughtful face. He waits. “Are you scared?” She asks, not looking at him. “To see it again?” He thinks about it, but his answer doesn’t change. “No. I think Varric has things well in hand, or he wouldn’t have asked us to come.” Hawke sighs, and bites her lip. “He didn’t really ask me to come. Of course he wouldn’t but…” She does look at him then, and her eyes are so worried all over again. “He sounded so hopeful that I would. I couldn’t just…not come.” Fenris stays silent for a moment. “Are you scared?” “I’m terrified.” She admits, “I couldn’t tell you until there was no going back otherwise I wouldn’t go and I think I… I think I need to see it again.” Her strength awes him even still. Her skin is golden in the sunlight, and the wind tosses her hair and her eyes are shining up at him. “Whatever you need, I will be with you.” She smiles then, his favorite smile of hers. Soft and content and warm. She drifts to his side and he welcomes her in his arms as she presses a kiss to his jaw. “I love you.” He smiles at her voice, the softness of it caressing his neck where she’s tucked her head and the words warming his heart like a sunrise. A heavenly collision he once called this— in the dark streets of a city that took so much from her. One that won’t anymore, so long as he can help it. “I love you, too.” Hawke likes to tease they’re old now, and maybe she’s right. Fenris only knows it’s hard to feel any other way than free when she’s near.

#Dragon age #Fenris #Fenris/F!Hawke

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choicesfanatic86 · 4 years

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Through The Storm: Part 3

DISCLAIMER: All characters belong to Pixelberry Studios, except characters unique to my story. Those belong to me. ;)

PAIRINGS: Riley (MC) x OC, Riley (MC) x Liam, Liam x Riley (MC) x OC, Olivia x Drake, Bertrand x Savannah, Maxwell x OC

SUMMARY: Riley Lawson returned to New York a broken version of herself after a failed whirlwind romance. Years later, she has put the past behind her and rebuilt herself into a successful event planner who is happily enjoying her fast-paced New York lifestyle. However, just because she’s put the past behind her, doesn’t mean it won’t come back to haunt her. When an unexpected letter turns up on her doorstep, she’s forced to face the people and feelings she ran away from all those years ago.

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06/09/2020 - Part 3 is up! I hope you enjoy this revitalized version. As a FYI, as I post a new part of the revamped version, I will be taking down the old chapter. This is just so that people won’t get confused between the revamped version and the original version.

PART 3 - Here We Go

Please Come. The words stared back at me as I read the tiny slip of paper over and over again. He wanted me to come back. Apparently, he also wanted me to email him. I smirked. He knew of my aversion to telephone conversations. He probably figured I’d be more willing to email him than to actually pick up the phone and call him. Reading his email address, I couldn’t help but giggle softly. He was still as childish as ever. Of course he would still have the same ridiculous email address. He’s Maxwell. All the anxiety and apprehension that had been troubling me seemed to fade away. Then again, when Maxwell was involved, it always seemed to fade away.

“So, who’s getting married?” Andy asked, interrupting me from my thoughts. She tried to lean over to get a better glimpse of the invitation in my hands.

“Maxwell’s brother, Bertrand.” I smiled, scanning over the beautiful calligraphy. “Bertrand Beaumont, Duke of Ramsford cordially invites you to the celebration of his marriage to Lady Savannah Walker at the Beaumont Estate on Saturday, May 5th. Formal attire required. ” I recited the perfectly proper wording off of the invitation. “I would expect no less of the Duke of Ramsford.” I snorted.

“It sounds so stuffy.” Andy crinkled her nose. “Are all of Cordonia’s people like that?”

“Well, if you met Bertrand, you’d understand,” I chuckled. “He’s all about all things prim, proper, and respectable. He’s a traditionalist through and through.”

“He sounds like a bore,” Andy said, shaking her head. “So, are all of them like that? That Maxwell guy you mentioned?” Andy pressed on.

I shook my head, thinking about Maxwell and Drake. “Not everyone.” I smirked. “The groom’s brother, Maxwell, he’s anything but boring. If anything, he keeps everyone on their toes with his crazy antics,” I laugh to myself thinking of his break-dance moves and the countless Beaumont bashes. “The bride’s brother, Drake, he’s as common as they come, and he is probably the most down to earth fellow in all of court. He really looked out for me while I was there. He was such a genuinely decent guy. Court is hard for commoners.”

I bit on my lower lip recalling all of the hardships that I had encountered at court. “Most nobles only care about titles and wealth. Drake had neither, so it made him an outsider.” I frowned a little. “Just like me.”

“Well, I’m happy you had someone who knew what you were going through while you were there. Court seems like a pretty lonely place.” Andy said decisively. She paused for a moment before continuing. “That being said, maybe you should think about going.”

My head snapped up. “What?”

Andy reasoned, “You know …time heals all wounds and all that jazz. It might be good for you to go back and get some closure.”

“I have closure,” I said in exasperation. “I just figured out how to move on with my life . . . I don’t need to go stirring things up again,” I said firmly.

“Hear me out for a second,” Andy said.

I suddenly couldn’t breathe again. I looked at Andy as I paced around the living room. I suddenly felt betrayed. I had just spilt my heart out to her . . . telling her how tough court had been . . . how broken I became . . . and after all that she still thought it was a good idea for me to go back there?

“They obviously want you to come back. You say you have closure, but what about them? Maybe they need closure, too. From the sounds of it, even though you keep saying this is all in your past, it’s still having a pretty big effect on you. I’ve never seen you like this. We’ve been roommates for over a year now, and you have been a pillar of strength. But Ri, I’m starting to see some cracks in that pillar,” she said softly.

”What are you talking about?” I questioned angrily.

“You get this invitation and suddenly all hell breaks loose. Sweetie, you’re a hot mess right now. And if you get like this over a simple wedding invitation, Lord only knows how you were when you first came back to New York.” Andy gently continued. “You are not doing okay, Ri. Something is obviously bothering you and I think you need to go back there and figure it out.”

I shook my head like a maniac. “No way,” I said as I quickened my pace walking around the living room. “Are you insane? I haven’t seen any of these people in two years. TWO YEARS. Plus, I left pretty much telling everyone not to talk to me ever again. I think my exact words were to forget I ever existed,” I cried as I started to wave my hands back and forth frantically.

“Riley,” Andy started to say.

“No. You don’t get to talk anymore. You need to listen.” I said firmly. “How am I supposed to go anyway? It’s all the way in Europe … in like three weeks! Not to mention there’s all these pre-wedding festivities listed here that request the pleasure of my attendance. It’s going to be galas and parties and rubbing elbows with all the people that tried to ruin me,” I rambled. “I just can’t jet off to Cordonia on a whim. I have a job. I have the Mitchell grand opening to worry about. Paul just got back from Boston, I doubt he’d even be able to be my plus one, and I’m certainly not going alone. I just can’t drop everything and pretend I don’t have responsibilities. I did that once before and it bit me in the ass.”

Andy sat on the couch staring up blankly at me. I couldn’t blame her. I had never flown off the handle like this before. I watched as she stood up and grabbed me by the shoulders, pulling me into a hug.

“Calm down, okay? I’m sorry,” she said softly. “Obviously, this place . . . these people did a number on you, and I was wrong to push. I know this is hard, and it’s probably something you never thought you’d have to deal with, but from everything you just said, you are clearly not over everything that went down way back when. Don’t you owe it to yourself to officially close this chapter of your life?”

I blinked rapidly, processing her words. “It has been closed for two years,” I whispered angrily. “What are you a psych major now?” I muttered. I closed my eyes, kicking myself for taking my frustrations out on Andy. I know she didn’t deserve it. She had only been trying to help.

“Andy, I’m sorry. I’ve just … lost my damn mind.” I grabbed the invitation and threw it on the coffee table, staring at it as if that alone would will it away somehow. “You’re right . . . I’ve worked so hard to forget about Cordonia and the people I met there, that I never really took the time to really sort everything out. But I’m in a good place now, and I’d hate for all the progress I’ve made in moving on to get thrown out the window,” I exhaled deeply.

“Well, what do you want to do?” Andy asked. “What does your gut say?”

“To throw that thing in the trash and forget it even got delivered.” I said firmly, even though I knew that was impossible. That invitation had seared itself into my brain. There was no way I could forget about it now.

Andy snorted, clearly thinking my plan was ridiculous.

“I told you, ignorance is bliss.” My phone dinged with a text message from Paul. I breathed a sigh of relief. “Look, I gotta go. Paul just got into a cab and he’s on his way to Russo’s.” I explained. “I love you for worrying about me, but I’m fine. Okay?”

She looked at me in disbelief.

“All right, I’m not fine, but I will be,” I said with certainty.

“Go touch up your make up,” Andy relented. “You’re a blubbering mess, and I don’t want you to not look good for your date with Paul,” she said. “Although, you could meet him dressed in a paper bag and he’d probably compliment your creativity,” she added with a little bit of an eye roll.

I couldn’t help but chuckle a little as I headed to the bathroom. My waterproof mascara had served its purpose, and I only had a few smudges of make up here and there. I rushed to clean myself up as quickly as I could. I didn’t want to keep Paul waiting for too long, especially after he travelled home early just to see me. As I rushed out the door, I could hear Andy yelling after me.

“Don’t forget to think about what I said!”

I couldn’t help but cringe. She was never going to shut up about that damn invitation.

Once on the street, I hit the pavement running as quickly as I could. The thing about New York was that everyone got everywhere by walking, catching the subway, or taking a cab. I was fortunate enough to live in a pretty central area that allowed me to have access to some great restaurants and a plethora of stores. Russo’s was only a few short blocks away. If I hauled ass, I’d get there in ten minutes.

As I walk-ran toward the restaurant, I couldn’t help but let Andy’s words eat away at me a bit. I should have been ecstatic about seeing Paul, but now, I had the burden of Andy’s words and the stupid invitation weighing heavily on my mind. Was Andy right? Should I make an effort to go? But then, what if he was there? Who was I kidding, of course he’d be there. It was impossible for him to not attend Bertrand and Savannah’s wedding. Could I handle seeing him face to face after all this time? Could I even pretend that what we had between each other meant nothing? I tried to push the thoughts aside as Russo’s came into view. I wasn’t going to worry about it anymore. I had made my decision – I wasn’t going to go. I had Paul to think about. And my job. I couldn’t just drop everything to go jet setting to the Mediterranean. New York was my life now., and Cordonia was just a really bad memory. The invitation was getting trashed as soon as I got home.

I entered the restaurant as I attempted to quickly smooth the wayward strands of hair sticking up from my fast-paced walk. I spotted Paul sitting in our booth. We had come to Russo’s on our first date, and instantly fell in love with everything about the little corner restaurant. Back then, the waiter was kind enough to seat us at the booth in the quietest area with the best view. In the dozens of times we had come back here since, Paul would request the same table each time. We liked to joke that we had exclusive rights to the table since we had probably sat there more than anyone else. I know it was silly, but Paul loved the sentimentality of it all, and I’ll admit, it held some pretty fond memories for me as well. It was where Paul had first started to piece the shattered parts of my heart back together.

My eyes met Paul as I approached closer to the booth. Paul, as always, was meticulously dressed. He was wearing a perfectly, tailored navy suit. His tie was a matching He had impeccable style. As he got up to greet me, he pulled a beautiful bouquet of wildflowers from behind his back. As if my heart could swoon any more. I smiled brightly and leaned in to kiss him softly on the cheek. I didn’t deserve him. He wrapped me in a warm embrace and I melted into him, letting the tension of the afternoon fade away.

“I’ve missed you.” He murmured in my ear. “Wildflowers for my wildflower,” he said as he handed me the gorgeous bouquet.

“You sir, are too much. You just get back from your business trip, and you’re bringing me flowers?” I shook my head smiling. “I’ve missed you too. I’m so sorry I’m late,” I apologized as I squeezed myself into the booth. “Andy and I got into a bit of a fight before I came here, and it just kind of set things back a bit,” I exhaled heavily.

“That doesn’t sound too promising. What happened?” He asked in concern.

I shrugged. “It’s not important. I mean, things aren’t exactly resolved, but they will be when I get home,” I waved him off. “We can talk about it later. Right now, I just want to spend time with you and eat some amazing Italian food.” I looked for the menu, but found that it wasn’t on the table. My eyes shot to Paul, “Did you order already?”

He nodded. “I just got you your usual. Although, I probably didn’t even have to order. Reggie knows our order by heart already.”

“True.” I smiled warmly at him. See? Perfect. He knew absolutely everything about me. “What did I do to deserve you?”

He grabbed my hands from across the table. “Oh, nothing special. You were just your endearing self.”

And just like that, all was right in the world again. I looked down at our joined hands and realized how happy I truly was. Why would I give all of this up for more heartbreak?

“So, how was Boston?” I asked, as I pulled a slice of bread from the basket.

“Terrible.” He growled. “I wish I never had see that city again. Well … not so much the city, just most of the people ithere. Plus, there have been so many headaches with the McCullough merger. It’s a nightmare. Truly. No one wants to budge. Looks like we’re going to have to meet a few more times before we come to even some semblance of a deal.”

“That’s too bad. Hopefully the merger resolves quickly so that you don’t have to take too many flights back to deal with things.” I could see the dark circles under his eyes and felt terrible. All of the traveling back and forth was taking a toll on him, and even though he would never admit it, I’m sure it would probably be easier to just stay in Boston until everything was resolved, but he flew back and forth so that he could spend time with me.

“One can only hope.” He agreed. “I’m probably going to fly out there at the end of the month again. He rubbed circles around my hand as he held it. “But anyway, enough about McCullough. I’ve got my best girl in front of me, and that’s all that matters now.” He looked at me longingly. “So ah … while we wait for our meals, I was hoping we could talk about something. If you recall during our earlier conversation, there’s been something on my mind and I just can’t wait to talk about it.”

I sat up a bit straighter in the booth. “Of course. What was it that you wanted to discuss? Is everything okay?”

“Yes, of course.” He smiled brightly. “Everything’s perfect. It’s just while I was in Boston I did some thinking. I missed you every day. The texts and Facetime sessions were great, but it wasn’t the same as having you by my side.” He reached up to stroke my cheek, and I felt myself instantly flush over his gentle caresses. “And every night I went to bed, I wished for you to be right there next to me, and then it had me thinking that maybe it’s time to take the next step.”

“The next step?” I looked at him a bit confused. “What next step?” I asked.

“Of our relationship.” Paul broadly smiled.

I licked my lips nervously. Next step? As in marriage? My eyes widened a bit, and I could feel my leg bouncing nervously under the table. Well, this escalated quickly. Marriage wasn’t even something I thought was on the table. At least not right now.

“Oh?” I asked, my voice a bit hoarse from being caught off guard with his suggestion. “But don’t you like where things are at right now? I mean, we’re pretty happy, right?”

“Well, of course.” Paul exclaimed. "Things are going well. Really well. I love you, Riley, and I know you aren’t ready to say it yet, and you don’t need to … but we’ve been together for eight months now, and I know that you’re it for me.”

I felt my mouth dry out. Oh crap, he IS talking about marriage. Oh my God. I felt the heat from my anxiety rising up my neck. I quickly let go of Paul’s hands and reached for my glass of water. I took a large gulp. “But we’ve only been together for eight months … how could you possibly know …” I trailed off, my face becoming hotter and hotter by the second. There was no way I was ready for marriage. Holy crap, I was so in like with Paul. A lot. I could even love him. Someday. Down the line. When my heart wasn’t damaged. He was funny and sweet and sensitive . . . but marriage?

“I’m not proposing or anything, Riley. I just think that we should start seriously thinking about moving in together.”

“Whew,” I exhaled a loud breath that I hadn’t realized I had been holding in. As much as I cared about Paul, and enjoyed our time together . . . I hadn’t given any thought to a long-term future with him. I loved spending time with him, and I loved our long conversations . . . but I didn’t know if I was IN love with him. At least not yet. And moving in with him? God, that’s like a major step toward lifelong commitment. Isn’t that the sort of thing you did after being together for a couple years? “Moving in together?” With everything that I had been dealt today, this was just the cherry on the sundae.

“Well, yeah. I’m not getting any younger Riley. I’m 39. I know I work a lot, and I’m on business trips more than I am at home, but I want a life with you.” He reached for my hands again, gently rubbing my fingers. I could feel my hands relax against his. “I think moving in together will give us a whole new perspective on our relationship – it’ll bring us closer together.”

I sighed deeply. “That’s a big step. A very big step.” I had missed him terribly while he was in Boston. I missed snuggling with him, and talking to him . . . but moving in together meant being with one another all the time. What if it ruined what we had?

“It is, but I think it’s the right one.” I could tell that Paul sensed my hesitation, so I tried smile a bit, but it probably came out as more of a grimace.

Paul frowned at me. “Is it because you haven’t said you love me yet? Is that why you’re holding back? Because I don’t care about that. I told you that I’m not in a rush for you to say it. I don’t know what happened before. I know you don’t like to talk about your past relationships, but I want you to know that I’m not like those other guys. I will wait for as long as it takes. I’m not going to give up on you. I’m not going to give up on us.”

My heart flip flopped once more, and I could feel my eyes water as he spoke. I will wait for as long as it takes. After everything that happened today, I found myself thinking about him once again. He had said those very same words to me two years ago, except, he didn’t really mean it. I was almost certain that Paul did.

“Hey, I didn’t mean to upset you.” Paul reached in his jacket pocket and handed me his handkerchief. “No tears. This is supposed to be something exciting.” He smiled. “I thought you’d be excited about it, too.”

I reached for his handkerchief gratefully and dabbed at my eyes. “I’m so sorry, Paul. I’m just overwhelmed,” I said between sniffles. “I’m not freaking out about the whole moving in together thing,” I paused. “Well, maybe I am just a little. I just . . . I’ve had a rough day,” I sighed.

He stood up and scooted into the same side of the booth with me. “The fight with Andy?” He asked in concern. “When I spoke with you this morning, you were having a great day off,” he added. “Everything okay at work?”

I squeezed my eyes shut and inhaled deeply. “It’s not work,�� I paused once more. “The thing with Andy . . . it was a fight over a letter I got today in the mail from an old friend. I’ve been invited to a wedding.”

“And that’s what you’re freaking out about?” He said slowly, puzzled as to how that would make me so upset.

“In a way, yes.” I nodded. “Remember when we first started dating, I told you that I was still getting over something … well someone.” He nodded. “It was some sort of fling you had before moving back to New York right?”

I contemplated his choice of word. Fling. It was so much more than just a fling for me. It meant everything to me, but maybe that’s exactly how he saw it. A fling with an American who got swept up in the grand romantic notion of love. A fling. The word still stung though.

“Something like that,” I sighed, suddenly feeling very uneasy. “There’s a lot more to the story than I actually told you.” I cringed at the thought of having to relive everything that I had just told Andy just an hour ago. I cleared my throat and started to recollect everything – the moment I met him, the journey to Cordonia, falling in love with him, the heartbreak . . . all of it was finally laid out on the table for him to see – the good, the bad – the heartbreaking. All the secrets I harbored from him for the last eight months came spilling out. As I spoke, his eyes never left mine. I didn’t cry this time. Perhaps I was all cried out . . . or maybe just numb. He didn’t speak or interrupt or even ask questions. He just held my hand and squeezed when it seemed like I couldn’t get the right words out. I tried my best to keep a brave face so that he knew that I was fine. I wondered if he could see through the façade.

After I was finished, there was an uncomfortable silence that lingered between the two of us. I couldn’t tell if he was angry or upset or confused. He was just staring at his hands, seemingly processing everything I had just told him, until a soft chuckle escaped from his lips.

“Well, suddenly I feel very inadequate.” Paul deadpanned quietly.

“Huh?” I said in confusion.

“I mean, when your girlfriend tells you that she used to date a Prince … wait I’m sorry … a King … and almost married him, it kind of puts corporate lawyer on the lower end of the spectrum in the dating pool,” he snorted.

I looked at him, mouth agape. That wasn’t the reaction that I had anticipated. I had expected yelling, or worse, him breaking up with me. “What?” I asked again, still not comprehending how he could be so calm and relaxed about all of this.

“I mean it’s kind of hard to show up with flowers when you used to be with a guy that could have given you a whole kingdom.” He smirked a little. He was clearly joking, trying to make me feel better about everything.

I shook my head, lightly slapping him on the arm. “Not funny,” I murmured, even though I was having a hard time stifling my own laughter now.

“It was two years ago, and honestly, from what I can see, there’s no competition.” I said honestly. “It didn’t work out between me and him, and now that there’s been a lot of distance, I realize now that it probably never would have worked out between us. I always felt like I wasn’t enough for him.”

I looked down at the table remembering the engagement tour, how he proudly walked around with Madeline on his arm. I remembered the public interviews and newspaper articles about what a loving couple they were . . . while in the background, he was sneaking off to meet me on secret late night rendezvous. Just as Cordonia was my dirty little secret . . . I was his. It all felt so contrived. He wanted the best of both worlds. He kept promising me that things would work out . . . the truth would eventually come out. He kept asking me to be patient. For our sake. He kept telling me to be patient, to give it time. Then, suddenly time ran out.

Paul’s voice broke through my thoughts. “Hey . . . if he didn’t think you were enough for him, that’s his problem. Not yours. He’s the one that gave up the most amazing woman I have ever met. His loss, is most certainly my gain,” he assured me. I blushed and murmured a quiet thank you.

“So . . . you mentioned something about a wedding?” Paul said, quickly changing the subject.

“Yup.” I nodded. “Maxwell left me an email address to contact him at. I’m assuming to give him my RSVP. Andy thinks I should go.”

Paul was quiet for a second, mulling over my words. “Do you want to go?”

“No . . . for obvious reasons. I don’t really want to dredge everything back up,” I shrugged. “I know . . . I know maybe it will bring me closure,” I rolled my eyes.

“I wouldn’t say that,” he shook his head. “It might be nice of you to visit with the people you’re still friendly with,” he admitted. “But I’m not sure if it’s worth you getting hurt in the process,” he said honestly.

“Thank you,” I said. “That’s exactly what I was trying to explain to Andy,” I explained.

“Andy really wants you to go huh?” He reasoned. “That’s what’s making this harder on you.”

“Well, yeah.” I nodded. “You know how Andy is, she wiggled her way into my conscience and had me second guessing everything.” I sighed. “I just don’t want to see him.”

“Sounds like you have a lot of thinking to do.” Paul said simply.

I shook my head. “I made up my mind, I’m not gonna go. Anyway, it’s in like three weeks . . . and I’d have to be there for like two weeks,” I scoffed. “Totally not possible with the Mitchell event coming up,” I said.

“When is the wedding?” Paul asked.

“May 5th,” I replied.

“Well, I’d like to say that if you changed your mind I’d go with you, but I’m heading back to Boston at the end of this month, and I’d probably be stuck there well into the middle of May,” he said as he looked at his schedule on his phone.

“See? One more reason for me not to go,” I affirmed.

“You know I would go with you in a heartbeat, baby,” he said.

I nodded. “I know you would,” I said honestly. “God, why are we even still talking about this? I’m not going to go. It’s crazy that I even considered it. Why should I drop everything for a few weeks to go to a wedding for someone I haven’t even talked to in two years,” I said shaking my head. “I should listen to my gut. Maybe I’ll just send them like a nice punchbowl set or something . . .” I shrugged.

He nodded. “I support you in whatever decision you make, sweetheart.”

“Thank you,” I smiled earnestly. “I appreciate how much you care about me and want the best for me. I’m so lucky.”

“We’re both lucky,” he said. “Maybe I’m lucky enough that you’ll say you’ll move in with me?” He pressed. “Will you at least think about it? I know there’s a lot going on right now, but just think about it.”

I forced a smile. "Of course, I’ll think about it,” I squeezed his hands in encouragement. “I just have so much on my plate right now, and like you said, you’re going to be going back to Boston at the end of the month,” I reasoned.

“I was actually hoping to have you moved in before I left,” he said sheepishly.

“Wow . . . um . . . that’s really fast,” I said quickly. “I just . . . wow,” I said again. “There’s so many factors to consider . . . I mean, you want me to move into your apartment? I mean, babe, it’s amazing. The view is spectacular and there’s so much space. I can pretty much fit my whole apartment in your bedroom . . . but it’s also so far away from my office. The commute is going to kill me. Plus what about Andy?” I asked. “I can’t leave her high and dry without a roommate. How will she afford the rent? I’d be such a crappy friend if I just up and left her to fend for herself,” I exclaimed. I saw Paul’s face drop and zipped my lips. I was rambling. I squeezed his hands tightly. “I’m sorry. I’m not thinking clearly right now,” I shot him a half-smile. “I promise that I will give it some serious thought,” I assured him.

He tried his best to smile, but it didn’t reach his eyes. “Of course, that’s fair.” He smiled again, this time, it was a bit brighter. “Looks like the food’s coming.”

I took a deep breath, thankful for the distraction. At least the moving in conversation was put on hold for right now.

The rest of the dinner flew by without further mention of either of the bombshells of the night. We fell into a comfortable conversation about a few of the upcoming parties I was planning, as we finished our dinners. As we settled the bill, Paul led me out into the street, swept me into his arms, and placed a chaste kiss on my lips. I couldn’t help but smile as butterflies floated freely in my stomach.

“Raincheck on movie night?” he asked, looking back at me with tired eyes. “I didn’t get much sleep last night with with the excitement of coming back early,” he explained.

“Oh my gosh, don’t be silly. We can definitely do movie night next week,” I assured him. “You go home and get some rest. I’m sure all that travel is catching up with you.”

He placed a soft kiss on my head and squeezed me tightly. “Want to split a cab home though?” he asked.

“Nah, it’s such a beautiful evening, I think I’ll walk,” I motioned around me.

“Alright, beautiful.” He pulled me closer to him, tipping my chin up as he kissed me gently.

“Goodnight,” I murmured against his lips, falling into his embrace one more.

He softly ran his fingers through my hair. “Until next time, sweetheart,” he replied as he walked down the street to hail a cab home.

I spent the rest of the walk back to my apartment mulling over Paul’s words. Sounds like you have a lot of thinking to do. I started to have second thoughts about my decision. I mean, no one would really miss me if I didn’t go right? Then again, Maxwell went through all the trouble of tracking me down . . . shouldn’t I put all my fears and worries aside and do this for Bertrand? It’s only a couple of weeks. I could survive that surely? Maxwell and Bertrand were like the brothers I never had . . . and never really wanted, but that was beside the point. When they took me in, I suddenly had a family again. And for a while, it felt wonderful to belong somewhere. Should I go as a thank you? I mean, I was there when he reconnected with Savannah . . . I had helped him through the shock of finding her again and learning about Bartie. I’d watched as Bertrand came back to life. It’d be amazing to see them finally get their happily ever after.

And what of Maxwell? Sweet Maxwell who was hoping beyond hope that he’d be able to reach out to me and bring me back to them. That hope never faded after all. He apparently couldn’t … or wouldn’t move on. The invitation and email address made that clear. It would be wonderful to see Maxwell again. I actually kind of, sort of missed him. I feel bad about how things ended and how I treated him when I came back to New York. He didn’t deserve that.

But what if I went to Cordonia . . . would I be forced to see him? Them together? I don’t think I could stomach seeing Madeline’s conniving face. What if they had a family now? Could I pretend to be okay when the man who I thought I was going to spend the rest of my life with had moved on?

What if I lost myself again? What if I got caught up in the whirlwind of court? I can’t go through another round of rumors and whispers from the other nobles. Was my scandal ever resolved? Did they ever get the truth out of Tariq? Or was I still the court slut who slept around to get ahead?

I’m doing it again. I’m spiraling and I need to stop. These unsavory thoughts were going to do me in. This just proves that I can’t go back there. I’ll end up breaking down. Maybe this time it will be worse.

When I got back to my apartment, I saw that the living room lights had been turned off, and I breathed a sigh of relief. I was not ready to go for round two with Andy tonight. It looked like Andy had called it quits for tonight and went to go hibernate in her bedroom. I threw my keys on the kitchen counter, and glanced at the coffee table. The invitation mocked me from where I had thrown it earlier. I ambled over to the table, picked up the invitation and tossed it into the kitchen trash. That was that. It was done. Now all I needed to do was email Maxwell with my regrets and ask where I can send a gift so that I could put this whole nightmare behind me.

I walked over to the fridge and grabbed a bottle of wine, and poured myself a generous amount in my favorite glass. I plopped back onto the couch, pulled out my laptop and got to work. How hard could this be? Exchange a few niceties, thank him for thinking of me, and tell him I can’t make it. Easy peasy.

As I logged into my email account and clicked on the new message button, I found myself stuck. How do you start an email to someone you haven’t spoken to in two years? I took a sip of my wine pondering how I would start and what I would say, then began typing quickly.

Dear Maxwell, Hi, it’s been a while. Got the invite. I can’t make it. Would love to send a gift though.

I frowned. That was terrible. It sounded like I didn’t even care. I sighed, gulping down some of my wine and crossing my legs on the couch. I tried to type again.

Dear Maxwell, I’m so sorry that I haven’t kept in touch. Things were hard when I came back to New York, so I thought a clean break would have been better.

Oh my gosh, that’s totally off point. I paused, thinking again, pouring a bit more wine into my almost empty glass.

Dear Maxwell, How long has it been? Two years? Wow time sure flies.

Nope. Now I’m not even addressing the elephant in the room. I sighed, a bit stumped about what to say. I stared at the laptop’s screen, at a loss for words. This hadn’t seemed so hard in my head. I sighed again, and tried to type something else.

Dear Maxwell,

I got your invitation to Bertrand and Savannah’s wedding. First of all, I’m so happy for them. Happy for all of you. But I can’t come back. I’m so flattered that you thought to invite me after all this time, but my heart

I stopped typing, hit the delete button, and started again, drinking just a bit more wine than before.

Dear Maxwell,

I received a beautiful invitation in the mail announcing Bertrand and Savannah’s upcoming marriage. It will be a beautiful day . . . that I won’t be attending.

I crinkled my nose. That’s a bit too harsh. I stabbed the delete button once more, took another gulp of my wine and started again.

Dear Maxwell, House Beaumont must be knee deep in wedding planning, and I can only imagine how busy things must be for all of you. Thank you for thinking of me and wanting me to be a part of such a special occasion. I’ll admit that I was more than a little surprised when I saw the invitation. I am so happy that you thought to include me in their special day, but for reasons of which I’m sure you’re aware, I am unable to attend.

I read and reread the paragraph, and deleted it once again. God, why am I spazzing out about this? Why can’t I just say no, with regrets and be done with it?

As I went to pour myself another glass of wine, I realized that the bottle was now completely empty. In the course of the last hour, I had drained an entire bottle of wine by myself. I bit my lip. This wasn’t a job for wine anyway. I needed something harder. I stood up and headed over to the liquor cabinet, sifting through the various bottles until my hand landed on an unopened bottle of whiskey. I pulled the bottle down, grabbed a glass, and poured the amber liquid in generously. Whiskey certainly wouldn’t solve any of my problems, but I would happily indulge in something that might numb me for a while. As I sipped from the glass, I could already feel the smooth liquor working to calm my nerves. With the liquid courage entering my system, I started to type once more.

Dear Maxwell, Hey, it’s Riley. I know it’s been a while, but I am reaching out to you because I received your invitation to Bertrand and Savannah’s wedding. Let me first start off by saying that I am so happy for them! They truly deserve a happily ever after, and am so happy to hear that they are joining their lives together. That being said, I am unfortunately unable to attend. I run my own business now, and can’t really be away for an extended period of time. I hope you understand. Please let me know if they are registered anywhere as I would happy to send along a gift in celebration of their nuptials. Please send my regards to all of them, and I hope you are doing well. Sincerely, Riley

My eyes started to get heavy, probably from all the alcohol I had consumed. I pushed my laptop to the side, intending to send the message tomorrow morning after I had a chance to read through it once more. As I felt sleep begin to take me, I snuggled up closer into the couch as my eyes fell heavily closed.

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i-need-you-fictions · 5 years

Text

When Midnight Strikes

Disney Series (Role Reversal) : 1 of 7

Jin wiped away the sweat from his brow as he had finally finished his morning chores. The sun warmed his skin as he placed a hand over his eyes to peak up at the cloudless sky, a small smile tugging on his lips.

“Seokjin!” he heard his name being called from inside the large house.

He sighed quietly as he dusted off his hands on his torn pants, proceeding towards the house.

“Yes?” he called. His stepfather rushed up to him as he pushed him quickly up the steps.

“There’s a change of clothes and bath awaiting you upstairs. Hurry, boy.” Jin’s lips split into a wide smile, that could only mean one thing. His mother was on her way home. Jin nearly tripped over his feet as he made his way to the second floor. He stripped off his clothes as he saw the bathtub filled to brim with water.

Jin inhaled a sharp breath as the cold water touched his skin, goosebumps erupting along his body.

“How do you like your cold bath?” Jin turned his attention to the voice. His two stepbrothers were standing in the doorway, smug expressions gracing their handsome features.

Jin smiled kindly at them as he slipped fully into the bath. “Thank you for the bath Kibum, Minho. It was awfully kind of you to set it for me.” He heard their snickering.

“Hear that Minho? He thinks we’re being kind.” Both boys laughed sardonically. Jin watched as they approached the bath.

“Mother’s coming home soon.” Jin watched as the blonde boy glided his fingers over the waters surface, before sending a large splash into Jin’s face. “Don’t forget to wash your face.” Jin blinked the water away from his eyes as he saw the twins high five each other.

“Nice one, Key.” He watched their retreating figures and when the door was shut, the smile fell from Jin’s lips as he submerged his head under the water. Wishing his mother would be home for good this time.

“Where are my handsome boys?” Jin was buttoning the last button on his crisp white shirt as he heard his mothers voice call. He couldn’t contain his excitement as he ran down the stairs, seeing Kibum and Minho already greeting his mother with warm hugs and sweet words. Her smile reached her eyes, how he had missed her crescent shaped eyes. She peeked over the tall boys and her eyes seemed to light up.

“Seokjin!” A wide smile spread on Jin’s face as he welcomed his mother’s embrace.

“Mom, I missed you.” He breathed quietly into her ear. Her familiar scent filled his senses. She pulled away, taking his face in her hands.

“I missed you too, my precious son, so so much.”

He smiled at her before a knock was heard at the front door. His mother turned away from him as she proceeded to the door, revealing two castle guardsmen.

“For all eligible young men in the household.” He handed her a wrapped parchment before they turned to leave.

“What is that?” his stepfather came over to peak as a seal from the king was stamped upon it.

“It’s from the King.” Jin approached as his stepbrothers hovered around his mother. His mother removed the seal as she read the paper aloud.

“All eligible young men are here by invited to a ball held in honor for the princess, soon to be queen. The King would like to formally send an invitation to all the young men of the Kingdom as the princess searches for her new husband and King. Regards, The King.” Jin watched as his brothers began to leap around in joy, beginning to talk about the suits they would wear.

Jin smiled as he thought about being invited to the palace, he knew he’d never be a choice for a King but this was something he never would have imagined.

“Oh mother can we go shop for new suits?” Minho pleaded.

“Of course, this calls for new wear, come!” she pulled Jin’s hand into her own as his stepbrothers all but ran out the door.

Here they stood as Jin looked around, his brothers had piled clothes upon clothes asking his mother and stepfather if they suited them well before finding something wrong and throwing them to the side. The village streets were mostly empty as Jin knew all the other young men were getting ready for tonight as well.

“Jin dear, does nothing interest you?” He turned to his mother and shook his head.

“I have a suit at home, I’ll wear that one.” he smiled.

“That old thing? Son, we should by you a new one, tonight's a special occasion.” His mother grabbed one from a nearby rack.

“How about this one?” Jin shook his head at the powder blue suit. He took her face in his hands.

“If you buy too many things, you’ll have to leave again.” he whispered. He saw the sad smile in his mothers eyes as she patted his shoulders.

“You’re always thinking of me.” she whispered back before placing a kiss to his cheek. “But if you change your mind, pick one.” she pressed. Jin smiled before nodding. The sun was beginning to fall and they were running out of time to get home.

“Mother I’m going to take a look around.” he called. She nodded before helping Kibum into a red jacket.

Jin sighed as he exited the shop walking down the dirt roads of the market place.

“Excuse me.” Jin turned to the voice to see a young woman in a black hood. “Do you know where I can buy some apples? Everyone seems to be closing down early today.” She laughed and it was harmonic to Jin’s ears.

“If the apple shop is closed, there’s nowhere else to buy them.” Jin responded. She sighed heavily.

“Thank you.” she murmured as she turned away from him.

“But I know where the apple trees are, it’s a bit of a walk but I can give you some if you don’t mind.” Jin watched as she turned back around, flashing a smile to him.

“That would be lovely.” Jin felt his heart skip a beat before turning away from her and walking in the direction of the apple orchards.

“The shops don’t usually close this early, it’s because of the ball tonight.” Jin tried to make small talk, not wanting the atmosphere to become awkward.

“Yes, so I’ve heard.” her voice was flat, uninterested.

“Are you attending tonight?” he asked.

“Unfortunately.” came her simple reply. Jin let loose a loud laugh. She turned to him, a perplexed expression on her features.

“Sorry, I’ve just never heard anyone sound so bored at the thought of going to the castle.” She smiled.

“I guess it just doesn’t interest me.” She sent him a smile. “I suppose you’re going?” she asked.

Jin nodded.

“Are you hoping the princess will pick you as her husband to be?” she questioned.

Jin shook his head. “She wouldn’t be interested in me, but just the thought of being able to set foot in the castle is exciting.”

“Can I ask you a question?” Jin turned to her.

“Of course.”

“What do dream of?” The question took Jin by surprise.

He pondered for a moment, a small smile coming to his lips. “I dream of happiness and love.”

The girl remained silent as they walked before speaking again.

“I like that answer.” Jin smiled at her as they arrived at the apple orchard. He picked one before rubbing it on his sleeve to wipe any debris away from it before handing it to her.

“Why do you dream of happiness and love?” she questioned.

“My mother has to travel for work and I stay home with my two stepbrothers and stepfather. So, I never get to spend a lot of time with her before she leaves again.” He watched as she removed her hood and his breath seemed to escape him. She was beautiful.

“I understand.” she murmured. “My mother died at a young age, it’s only been my father and I.” Jin felt empathy wash through him.

That was how he spent the rest of sundown. Talking about his past with her as they exchanged childhood stories and memories.

When night had crept on them he stood abruptly.

“It’s late, I have to get home and ready for the ball.” She shot up quickly.

“Me too!” she nearly screamed. “I must go, my father must be worried. It was a pleasure meeting you.” She pulled her hood over her head once more.

“Seokjin, my name is Seokjin.” Jin called to her. She turned around smiling.

“I’ll tell you my name if you find me tonight.” she called before rushing off. Jin felt a fluttering in his stomach. He would find her tonight.

Jin rushed home as he entered through the back.

“Jin is that you?” he heard his mother’s voice call.

“Yes mother!” He rushed into the main hallway as he saw his brothers in their prim new suits. A blood red suit for Minho and dark purple suit for Kibum. They eyed Jin with disgust before turning back to their father, listening on how to catch the princesses attention.

“Seokjin.” He turned to see his mother holding a beautiful royal blue suit with white stitching around the collar and breast.

“Mother...” he trailed off. She smiled up at him happily, pushing the suit into his hands.

“You deserve this, son.” She placed her hand on his cheek. Jin felt his eyes water as he blinked away the tears. He brought his mother into his embrace.

“I love you.” he whispered into her hair.

“I love you too.” she whispered before pushing him towards the stairs. “Now go get changed, we’re already late.” She laughed as she ushered him up. That was when he took in her appearance. Hair tied up beautifully, a pink gown fitting her small frame. Jin rushed up the steps as he eagerly put on the new suit.

When he rushed back downstairs only his mother lingered in the entrance.

“Mom?” he questioned. She turned and smiled at him, but it seemed forced.

“Where are Kibum, Minho and father?” He saw her jaw tighten before she grabbed his hand in hers.

“They left without us. The carriage arrived shortly after you went up stairs and they saw fit to leave without waiting.” Jin became solemn.

“I’m sorry mother. You should have left without me.” His mother turned to him.

“You are my son. I will always wait for you. I will always be by your side.”

Jin felt burdened. The path to the palace was long. His mother traveled enough and looked weary every time she came back. Today, she wasn’t able to rest her feet or her eyes.

Jin knelt in front of his mother. “Get on.” He tossed a look back at her.

“Seokjin.” she scolded. “I’m in a very tight corset and damn these frills.” Seokjin laughed as he stayed on one knee, patting his back.

“We’ll just be later the more you argue with me.” He smiled. He heard his mother scoff but saw the smile that engulfed her features. He felt her weight shift on top of him before he hooked his arms under her knees, hoisting her up with him.

“Oh my Jinnie is so strong.” She cooed.

Jin let out a joyous laugh. “No, you’re just extremely light.”

There was a brief moment of pause. “Mother, are you eating well?” Now that he noticed, she felt thinner in his hands. Her eyes held more wrinkles then the last time he saw her. Her face had thinned, her cheeks sinking in slightly.

“The journeys are long sometimes. Quite a bit of distance from town to town.”

“You’re lying.” Jin spoke quietly.

“Seokjin!” She scolded in his ear.

“You’re lying. You send all the money you earn back to father don’t you?” Jin grit his teeth as he recalled their reckless spending with his mother’s money. New clothes and shoes for his stepbrothers every week. The best meat in the town bought with his mother’s hard earned money. The money she bled, sweat and broke her back for.

“I keep some of it, for necessities.” she whispered softly. “But I would rather the money be used towards you and your brothers.”

But it’s not. Jin thought bitterly. Jin gets the bare necessities. One pair of torn pants, one raggedy old shirt and left over food from after his step-brothers and step-father have eaten, if he cleaned properly to deserve a meal.

“How is it?” His mother pulled him from his thoughts.

“How is what?” Jin asked back.

“Your step-brothers and step-father. Are they treating you kindly?” Jin ignored her question as he saw the bright lights of the castle, signaling their arrival.

“We’re here.” he spoke cheerfully, setting his mother back on her heels. She fixed her dress as she linked her arms with his.

“Ready son?” She beamed at him.

“Ready mother.” he beamed back at her.

The castle was breathtakingly beautiful and huge. The porcelain floors shined, casting reflections of all the guests. Paintings of all passed kings and queens adorned the main hallway to the ballroom. The chandeliers were large, made of gold as they loomed above. Seokjin soaked it all in, the beauty of the paintings. The clear glass of the windows. The gold trimming around the walls. A large double staircase caught Jin’s attention as it was to the far east of the ballroom. There were at least 200 people crowded into the ballroom, with plenty of room still to spare. He began to scan the faces closest to him, searching for the woman from earlier.

“Seokjin, darling, I see your father.” He let go of his mother’s arm as she rushed over to him.

When he saw his mother reach his step-father, he began to walk farther into the ballroom, still looking for her.

“Who are you looking for brother dearest?” He turned to the twins, a glass of champagne in their thin fingers.

“No one.” he murmured.

“Don’t even think you have a chance with the princess.” Kibum scolded.

“I don’t.” Jin responded back.

“Good. Someone like you should know their place.” Minho added. Their gaze was full of hate as they stared him down.

“If you’re lucky, we’ll consider hiring you as help.” Both of his brothers laughed obnoxiously in his face. Seokjin felt his jaw twitch in irritation.

“It would be my pleasure.” He responded. “But she can only pick one of you.” Jin responded coolly.

“Of course it’s going to be me.” The twins responded at the same time. That was when Jin knew they would leave him alone, at least for the time being. Choosing to bicker about a most unlikely possibility.

“Champagne, sir.” Jin turned to the small man, holding a tray in his hand. Jin took in his full appearance, a crisp black butlers suit, not a wrinkle to be seen.

“Thank you.” Jin bowed as he took the drink.

“You’re very welcome.” the man smiled genuinely at him.

Jin continued to scan the crowd, trying to find the familiar face. He wanted to know her name, needed to know.

Loud horns blaring from the large double staircase pulled Jin’s attention.

“Announcing the King of Dradel.” Loud applause was heard as Jin watched the king descend the stairs, stopping at the balcony before the split staircase. He was dressed in a gold suit, red fur cape hanging behind him. He raised his hand to silence the crowd.

“I would like to thank you all for joining me. As most of you may know my daughter has been away for some time. I thought she would find love as she traveled across all the kingdoms, she did not however.” The king chuckled as did everyone else in the room. “For this, I hope that she may find a suitor that fits all her dreams and desires, regardless of class. If you do catch my daughter’s eye, I will welcome you with open arms into my castle. I will pass my crown proudly to you as long as you promise to love and care for her. With that said, I introduce my daughter.”

“Announcing the Princess of Dradel.” The horn player called.

Jin’s mouth fell open in shock as he recognized who she was.

-o-o-o-

You stared at yourself in the floor length mirror. You adjusted the small strap around your middle finger as it hooked onto the sleeve of your dress. The dress fell off your shoulders, exposing your collarbones and neck. The beautiful white see-through cape was clipped around your thin neck. Your small crown was placed around your forehead as your hair was pulled tightly back, allowing some curls to fall out of it to create a more elegant feel.

“Princess, it’s time.” You turned to the hand-maid, nodding. Grabbing the bottom of your dress in your fists, you pulled it up slightly to not trip as you walked towards the entrance to the double staircase. Four hand maidens, retouched your garments, spreading the cape behind you so it would flow easily.

“Announcing the Princess of Dradel.” That was your cue. You walked slowly down the steps, remembering your many classes of elegant walking. You reached your father as he took your hand in his, gesturing towards the large ballroom. You let your eyes scan the faces, trying to see if Seokjin was here. That was when you saw him. His face was contorted in one of surprise, staring blankly at you before you saw him turn his back. You watched him as he walked through the crowds of bodies before he reached the outside balcony. You felt your throat grow dry as your hands became sweaty. Did he not like you now? Just because you were the princess?

“Let the ball begin!” you heard your father cheer. He gave you a quick kiss to the cheek as he proceeded down the right side of the staircase. You started down the left side, noticing a large group of men awaiting your arrival. You kept yourself from rolling your eyes as you approached them.

“Princess, hello.” A handsome man in a red suit grabbed your hand in his, placing a chaste kiss to the material covering the back of your hand.

“Hello.” you forced a smile, casting a gaze over to the large balcony doors.

“My name is Minho.” You pulled your hand from his, only to have another man take it in his. A blonde man kissed the back of your hand.

“And I’m Kibum.” he purred.

“Pleasure.” you grimaced. The other men surrounding you grabbed at your hands to place small kisses as they introduced themselves. They were slightly shoving each other trying to get closer and closer to you without invading your personal space too much. The attention was overwhelming and all you really wanted was to chase Jin.

“I’m feeling awfully parched.” You fanned your face with your hand as you watched their gaze.

“I got it!” they all but screamed together before rushing across the hall to the refreshing station. You saw this as your opportunity as you nearly bolted towards the balcony. Your father sent you a questioned look and you pleaded with your eyes. Your father nodded before signalling guards to block the balcony entrance, giving you a moment to catch your breath.

You sighed, thankful for the moment away from the men before beginning your search. That was when you saw him. He was a few feet away from you. His back resting against the large pillar as he sat on the balcony edge, one knee up with his arm resting on it for support, face looking up at the moon. The glow cast on his features seemed to take your breath away. He was just as beautiful as you remembered.

Talking with him earlier was so easy, you felt comfortable with him. Would all that change now?

You approached, your heels making soft clanking sounds against the marble.

“Seokjin.” you called softly. He turned to look at you and you felt your breath catch in your throat. He looked like a handsome prince.

“Princess.” he spoke back. You shifted uncomfortably with the way the word left his lips.

“I was going to tell you.” you started, making eye contact with him once again.

“Were you?” he asked. “Do you enjoy this? Toying with peoples emotions and then revealing your true identity?” his voice was cold, gone was the joyous tone from your earlier evening.

“That wasn’t my intention. I didn’t know my father was going to make an announcement to the ball. Usually we enter quietly and float around. If I knew this was how it was going to be I would have told you.” you pushed as you approached him, reaching out a hand to touch his arm, but you stopped before you did. “I swear.” you whispered. He remained quiet, staring out at the town in the distance below.

“Someone like me can’t be with someone like you.” he whispered after some time.

“And why not?” you questioned. This time you grabbed his arm, allowing your other hand to cup his face and turn his attention to you. “That’s the whole point of this.”

Jin shook his head. “I’m a nobody. I’m nothing more than a servant in my own home. I’m unworthy to even be in your presence but yet,” he stopped, wetting his lips. “Earlier was one of the best times I’ve had in a long time.”

“Me too!” you added. Hands remaining on his arm and cheek.

He met your gaze. “We talked so easily, so freely. Now that I mention it, I should have censored myself more if I knew you were the princess.” he laughed, hand going to the back of his head to rub it in embarrassment.

“And that’s why I didn’t tell you.” You whispered, letting your hands fall to your sides. “Every time I tell someone who I am they change around me. They try to impress me more, be something their not or watch their speech. It’s aggravating.” you huffed as you shoved his leg off the balcony so you could pull yourself up next to him. You could feel the heat radiating off his body, as his thigh was pressed against yours.

“I’m not trying to impress you, I just think I shouldn’t have been so vulgar around the princess.” You turned to him to see a smile on his face.

“That’s what I like about you.” You watched as Jin’s eyes widened, a small blush rising on his cheeks.

“I like you too.” he cleared his throat. “I mean earlier, it felt as though we had been friends for a lifetime.” he chuckled.

“It did, didn’t it?” you smiled shyly, shoving your body into his side, pushing him lightly. The smile that engulfed his features had your heart skipping a beat again.

“Princess!” you heard the guards call. “Your father requires your presence.” You nodded at him. You watched as Jin jumped off the balcony, landing on the marble as he turned to you.

“Princess.” he held out his hand for you to take.

“It’s _______.” you replied, taking his hand in yours as he helped you down from the balcony.

“________. A beautiful name for a beautiful girl.” You blushed, turning your face from his smiling one. You pulled him through the large balcony doors.

“Dance with me.” you smiled as you grabbed his other hand in yours, placing it on your waist as you placed yours on his shoulder.

Jin blushed as you pulled him closer to you. “I don’t know how.” he replied bashfully.

“Step with your left, then back with your right and repeat. You’ll be leading me, Seokjin.” you winked playfully at him. His cheeks grew a deep red as he followed your instructions, pulling you along with him. You followed him easily, allowing him to find the rhythm. Soon the two of you were gliding across the dance floor, the crowd vanishing into the background as you could only see him. Was it the same for him? You wondered as you stared into each others eyes.

You were pulled out of the moment as the song came to an end and applause erupted around the two of you. You noticed no one else was dancing, all eyes on you and Jin.

“Thank you.” he pulled away from you. “I’ll cherish this memory.” As he went to turn his back to you, you grabbed his hand in yours pulling him along.

You came to stand in front of your father, whose eyes were gleaming.

“And who is this handsome young man?” your father spoke cheerfully.

“Dad, this is Seokjin.” You turned to Jin as his face had all but drained of color.

“Your majesty.” he bowed after regaining his composure. Your father clapped him on the back.

“Nonsense my boy. I see my daughter has taking a liking to you. You can call me father.” Seokjin stammered over his words, trying to make a coherent sentence but failing miserably. You bit your lip to keep the smile from spreading across your face. He was cute when he was embarrassed.

“Seokjin!” you both turned to see who was calling him. A man with stern look on his face was waving him over.

“Seokjin,” you began but he turned back to you smiling sadly.

“It was an honor, princess.” He bowed once more to your father before he went over to the man.

“Is he the one?” your father whispered next to you.

“Yes.” you whispered back, still watching Jin. The man seemed to be angry with him as a small woman next to them tried to calm the situation. “He’s everything and more. He’s kind, sweet, charming.”

“All of this from a few minutes on the balcony?” your father laughed cheerfully.

“No, I met him earlier.” you turned to give your attention to your father.

“Ah, so that’s why you were late.” your father nudged you happily. The smile that split its way across your lips told your father everything he needed to know.

“Go get him then.” he pointed. You followed his direction as you saw Jin leaving the ballroom, shoulders sunk in despair. You turned back to the man and woman from earlier, she was livid. The man seemed unfazed by her words.

You didn’t have to think twice as you all but ran towards Jin. You were stopped abruptly as the man from earlier, name you had long forgotten, blocked your path. You watched Jin’s form disappear behind the doors. You turned to the intruder, anger creasing your features.

“Princess, can I have this dance?” spoke the tall, dark haired man.

“No.” you seethed. The look of shock that crossed his features was quickly replaced with arrogance once again.

“I don’t understand.” he tried to keep calm. “You’re supposed to find your King tonight.”

“I have and you’re presence is keeping me from chasing him.” you quipped. Now his mouth fell open in pure shock, not regaining any composure.

“Seokjin? You’re choosing Seokjin?” he all but raged.

“Is there a problem, princess?” You turned to your guards that were glaring daggers at the man.

“Yes, this man is blocking me. Also, keep anyone else from leaving or following me. I’ve found my King.” They nodded your way, before plucking the man from your path as you ran towards the doors.

Jin was nowhere to be seen, so you headed out the castle doors.

You kept running down the path before you saw a silhouette in front of you.

“Jin!” you called out. You watched as he stopped, turning around.

“_______?” he called back. You unclipped the cape from around your neck as it seemed to only hold you back as you ran to him. He stood there shocked, not believing you were actually chasing after him. You leaped into his arms as he wrapped them instinctively around your waist.

“What are you doing here?” he questioned, still shocked.

“I can’t explain this feeling I have for you. I’ve never felt this way so suddenly. But I know this, I want you Seokjin. I want to know everything about you. I want to spend the rest of my life with you by my side. Will you stay with me?” you looked up at his handsome face. Seokjin stayed quiet as your nervousness grew.

“Are you sure you want me?” he whispered after some time. You could hear the hesitance in his voice. He didn’t know exactly how beautiful he was. So you would show him.

You stood on your tiptoes as you placed a soft kiss to his lips.

“Forever.” you whispered after pulling away. He smiled down at you as he picked you up and spun you around.

“I thought I was mad for feeling what I was feeling, but you feel the same!” he cheered, crushing your body to his.

“We can be mad together, my King.” You spoke happily as he set you back on your feet.

“To forever than, my Queen.” he whispered lovingly as he cupped your face in his hands and kissed you.

#bts scenarios #bts jin #jin #kpop scenarios

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coeurdastronaute · 6 years

Text

Essays in Existentialism: Monarchy PRIDE

“I’m not doing it.”

“Yes you are.”

“I’m not!”

At the sound of a voice raising, the queen piqued an eyebrow and looked up at her pacing daughter.

“I’m sorry,” Lexa sighed.

Normally the middle child was composed to the outside world. The mother knew better though because beneath the prim and structured demeanor was the most passionate person to exist in the family. She had the breeding of the cool and calm and never ruffled, and yet Lexa felt everything, all of the time. Make her walk over coals, beat her within an inch of her life, break her bones until they were splinters, and she was fine, she was great, she was nonplussed. Make her feel something, make her have to contemplate how something made her heart feel, and she was frothing, flaming, fighting it.

“You’re going to do it, and you’re going to be gracious and kind and honored,” her mother began again.

Despite how tightly strung she was, despite how much it hurt, and despite how hard it was to relinquish, the princess deflated and crossed her arms petulantly in the chair across from her mother’s desk.

“But I really don’t want to,” she tried again, hoping her pitiful face would sway her mother, though she knew the truth.

“I don’t want to do pilates every other day or have lunch with that miserable wife of your uncle, but I have to. Fifteen hundred years of ruling this country means we have to do things we don’t want to do. This is what the ancestors fought for.”

“For me to accept an award for being gay?” Lexa asked disbelievingly.

“Yes, honey. That is what your relatives dreamt of when they cultivated the most violent medieval tribe and conquered the rest.”

Lexa pursed her lips and looked out the window before sighing heavily. Her mother watched her jaw flex and her knee go from fidgeting to still.

“Pilates, huh?”

“An hour, every other day.”

“It shows. You’re looking ripped.”

“Don’t sweet talk me.”

Lexa grinned and ducked her head, pure mischief and charm and cunning, pure cunning above the rest.

“A whole night based around celebrating me being someone who stands out because of who they fell in love with?” she squinted her face and cocked her head. “I cannot imagine a worse way to spend my time.”

“Lunch with Aunt Gertie?”

“I will go to a years worth of lunches if I don’t have to go accept this gay award.”

“Really?” the queen grinned.

“No.”

For a moment the quiet sat between them. Despite herself, Lexa smiled because her mother was such a pain and she had nothing else to do. Of course it was already decided that Lexa would be at the awards banquet and she’d accept the award and she’d smile and be happy no matter what. Before she even heard about it, she was bound to go. Her mother was the chess champion.

“Do I take a date?”

“If you can find one,” the queen teased.

“Clarke is going to hate me.”

“Send her flowers.”

“Hey, hey,” the door opened with the king entering, his nose in his phone. “Oh, Al, perfect. I still can’t figure out what I’m tweeting.”

“She has to go to a fitting,” his wife stopped him in his tracks.

“I run this country, and no one will help me get anything done.”

“You’re not tweeting.”

“I’ll help you,” Lexa offered, jumping at the chance.

“Go to your fitting, get your date.”

“Send her flowers. Chicks dig flowers still, don’t they?”

Before she could say anything else, the queen gave her daughter a warning look, and Lexa snapped her mouth shut before looking to her father for help.

“Don’t look at me. You know she runs this place,” Alex shrugged and scrolled again on his phone.

“I am going to ask Anya to abolish this place when she takes over. Kick me out or something. Bring back exiling,” Lexa huffed as she sat up and rolled her eyes.

“She should bring back the Olympics, too,” her father added. “I haven’t been able to get those again. We hosted such nice games.”

Only the king and queen were left in the office as their daughter sighed and grumbled under her breath. They shared a look and smiled.

“Your mom is not going to like that,” Clarke grinned as she leaned against the doorway and watched her girlfriend check herself out in the mirror.

“Hey, she’s the one who told me I had to go accept this award and be super gay in front of the entire world. This is what she gets,” Lexa muttered as she adjusted her tie, tilting her chin up and appraising over her cheeks, not satisfied with something.

Clarke just surveyed and appreciated, quite shamelessly. She was in her own dress and had already been given too many accolades by her girlfriend. There was no way she was going to miss the opportunity to fall a little more in love. She couldn’t help it, even if she wanted to try. Instead, she just sighed contentedly and watched.

“You’re looking very hot.”

“But with the tie? I liked it at the designer’s, but I’m not so sure now. There’s also,” she explained, leaning over and picking up something else from the garment bag laid across her bed. “The bowtie? What do you think?”

Nimbly, hands moved to tie it around her neck, and Clarke swallowed, because it was impossible for her girlfriend to get more attractive, and then….

“I’d feel better if you just stopped looking so good in everything.”

“I’m not sure,” Lexa grunted and shook her head before tugging the tie undone and scrutinizing herself even harder.

There weren’t many tells with the former soldier who flew helicopters into dangerous zones. She was an expert poker player. But Clarke learned them, and she knew that the antsiness was just nerves, and she was freaking out a lot.

“You are spectacular, and you deserve this award. What you’ve done in the past few months has be--”

“I didn’t do anything except be born with a crown and an unwavering hankering for the fairer sex, especially doctors,” she shrugged. “Nothing noble in it.”

“Stop saying that!”

The raising of the voice made Lexa turn around quickly, not accustomed to the doctor sounding like that. To be fair, she knew it was just a matter of time before she learned it. She was her father’s daughter, and they were known to be quite taxing.

Clarke inhaled deeply before finally pushing off of the door and making her way across the large bedroom. She gave her girlfriend a firm look before she began straightening her collar.

“You came out to the entire world, as the first person in a royal family. That’s not nothing,” Clarke insisted.

Lexa simply tilted her head and let her adjust her shirt, pressing her palms flat over her chest and smoothing down the cloth around her neck.

“I haven’t done anything worthy of an award except exist,” Lexa insisted again. “It feels unfair.”

“It was very brave. You might not realize it, but you’ve helped people. You will never meet them, you will never see them,” she explained with a small, small smile. “But you did something, and you did it even with the fear of losing everything.”

“I don’t like getting awards.”

“Too bad.”

“I don’t want to go,” Lexa whispered, swallowing a large gulp.

“I didn’t get all dressed up for nothing.”

“You look fantastic. Have I told you that yet?” she offered, still oddly sheepish. “You look spectacular. They haven’t invented words for how good you look.”

Clarke fixed the pristine suit jacket for her girlfriend and smiled while staring at her lips. There was a blush beneath her makeup, and Lexa knew it.

“Keep talking like that and see where it gets you.”

She kissed her girlfriend’s cheek, made sure she didn’t leave any trace of lipstick, and made her way toward the door.

“I know where I hope it gets me,” the princess muttered, giving herself another look in the mirror and giving up at ever feeling comfortable.

The red carpet was absolutely terrible. Nothing happened to make it that way, but simply because it existed, it was a pain. They’d done a few together already, making waves as a cute couple, as the most talked about pairing in the world. But this was different, and Lexa knew it. So she smiled a little more and relaxed, becoming The Princess.

Lexa held her girlfriend’s hand, placed her hand on her lower back to guide her. They moved along the carpet and did the interviews. For only have a few months of media training, Clarke did well, enough to amaze everyone. But of course, Lexa wasn’t surprised. Her girlfriend stayed up all night studying for a party.

When it came time for her to accept her honors, Lexa kissed Clarke’s cheek and made her way to the stage, more nervous than she could remember being in her entire life, which was an impressive feat to beat in her history of appearances.

For a beat, as the applause surged around her, deafening all else, Lexa stared at the statue in her hands and smiled slightly before clearing her throat.

“I want to thank you, for this amazing honor,” she began. “I stand among many great people tonight and am in awe of each of you. I’ve been given many things in my life. I exist in great privilege. And all I did was fell in love. I didn’t do anything other than what everyone else does every day, what everyone should have a right to do, but don’t in 72 countries in the world. I did something that could get me killed in eight of those countries. I did something that cause almost 30% of young members of our community to attempt to commit suicide every year. I did something that gets 20% of LGBT youth into homelessness. I did something that gets people killed every year, and of these hate crimes, 4 out of 5 are minorities. I did something as simple as fall in love, and have been fortunate enough to be able to enjoy because of the hard work of many Trans, Gay, Lesbian members of this community who go largely forgotten because of the color of their skin. I went and fell in love with a woman and caused a near collapse of a centuries old monarchy. And it shouldn’t have been that way, but it was, and it is. And I am here because I am proud to stand beside you all, and prepared to topple everything.”

The crowd applauded as Lexa grew passionate. From her seat, Clarke held her breath.

“Standing here tonight though, amongst such greatness and kindness and empathy, reminds me to always do and give more. I will treasure this honor you’ve given me, as an icon, as a crusader, I think this will be the most precious thing I’ve ever done. And I am grateful you’ve given me the chance to become a force for good. My parents have been nothing but supportive. My siblings have been protective and sweet. And my girlfriend,” Lexa smiled again.

“She has been a well of strength for me. I have found the world to be a much more habitable place when I am my true self, and I promise to spend my time and privilege finding ways to help everyone experience this same gift. It is not lost on me that I am standing here in place of many more deserving activists and humanitarians and volunteers because of the simple randomness of birth. You are not missed or forgotten. Your work is noticed, and it is doing things.”

The applause came again and Lexa took a shaky breath before looking down at the statue in her hand and fiddling with it slightly until it quieted.

“Today I was reminded quite briskly. That what we might do, the lives we might touch, they will happen without us knowing it. You don’t do good works, and try to fix the world because you need to see it. There are lists of names of those who have died with the hope of one day, the world allowing a night like tonight, to honor our community and celebrate our progress, who died when it was illegal to fall in love in more than 72 countries. Today I was reminded by the smartest person I know, that we make the world better than we found it, even if we can’t see the changes. I am deeply humbled and honored to accept this award, and to be your gay princess. This award is for the little ones who know can see that you can love whoever you want, and still wear a tiara. Thank you.”

Lexa didn’t hear the applause. She didn’t see Clarke standing. She didn’t see the entire place applauding her. Instead, she waved and ducked her head before leaving the state. She certainly wouldn’t have known that her mother was wiping a tear away from her cheek and applauding her from her office. She definitely didn’t know that her father smiled to himself and leaned back on the couch with a giant exhalation he didn’t realize he was holding until she finished speaking. How could she know that he pushed up his glasses and nodded to himself while muttering “that’s my girl,” as he picked up his phone and tried to tweet again. There was absolutely no earthly way that Lexa could have known that when it was shared in the following days, a ten year old finally let out a breath they’d been holding for their entire life because a princess felt the same way she did.

No. Lexa didn’t know. She got off the stage though and earned a hug from her sister that she hung onto longer than normal, and she stopped shaking, and prepared for pictures, becoming The Princess once again.

The floor was littered with expensive clothing. A pair of trousers and a black bra were crumpled together, while a heel had bounced under the bed and its mate went to the other side of the desk. Proudly, a trophy sat on the nightstand as the sun came up and the world intruded, reminding the sleeping pair that it didn’t care.

Despite the deep sleep, Lexa felt the body shift in her arms. She kissed the skin of a shoulder that still had the lingering smell of perfume and her bed on it. She felt the body still itself and push into her front.

“We have to get up. It’s almost ten,” the voice came with the moving and the stilling.

Hands wrapped around her ribs, and Clarke was alright with it. She didn’t mean the words. She meant the curling into Lexa, and they both knew it.

“Sleep more.”

“We have to get ready to be gay again today.”

“It’s so much damn work,” Lexa grunted, tossing her leg over Clarke’s hip.

“I fell asleep.”

“Do it again.”

“No, I mean, I feel asleep in the palace again,” Clarke realized, her eyes opening finally.

“I do that every night almost,” Lexa complained, burrowing as best as she could. “It’s not a big deal.”

“Lexa…”

“Please be quiet and sleep. I love you, I do,” she murmured. “But I need two more hours and so do you. And you’re keeping me up, miss I’m-not-afraid-of-mortar-fire-but-the-queen-makes-me-shake.”

“That’s quite a name I have.”

“That’s it,” Lexa huffed, unwrapping herself and turning the opposite direction. In a flurry and snit she tugged a pillow over her head, only mumbling more words that couldn’t be understood.

“I can’t hear you,” Clarke called over her shoulder.

“I said, I get an award for being a good gay, and I can’t get two hours of sleep,” she muttered from beneath the edge of the pillow. “All because you took advantage of me in the palace.”

“Dating you is hard. I deserve the award.”

Clarke rolled over and made herself comfortable until Lexa relaxed into her arms. She kissed her neck to help ease the crankiness.

“Two more hours, please?”

“Deal,” the doctor nodded. “You just wanted to be the little spoon.”

Lexa smiled to herself and shrugged.

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a-very-fond-farewell · 5 years

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Bagginshield North & South au 1/4

Ok folks, I thought about how to make a North & South au (based on the BBC miniseries, not the actual book) without looking at any fic on the matter, because I didn’t want to be influenced by their (certainly brilliant) adaptations. So bear with me for the time being.

This is just a list of things that I would like to see in a N&S!au fic... but I have no energy to write that myself.

ATTN!1: I have changed many things, and it came out pretty angsty, with lots of pining and secrets that must be kept at all costs.

ATTN!2: I would have loved to explore the trans!Bilbo trope (either transwoman!Bilbo or transman!Bilbo), but I feel like I’m not the right person to give this idea the justice it deserves. I’m sure someone else could feel empowered in exploring that particular trope on their own, so it would be better for me not to rob them of such an opportunity.

ATTN!3: I’m just a nonbinary bean with terrible grammar and a knack for angst, also English is not my first language. I WILL ADD TO THIS.

Enjoy!

First Part:

In the mining town of Erebor, up north where the weather is crisp and the fog is as blinding as ever, the main source of income comes from the mithril veins hidden deep into the Lonely Mountain. Still fairly unknown to the masses as a viable alternative to steel for industrial products, mithril is considered to be nothing but a lower metal of very little use a part from being modeled as framing works for jewelry coming from the west.

Bilbo Baggins has followed his parents in this particular corner of the world after certain indiscretions had spread in the southern town of Bag End. At his cousin Prim’s wedding in London the previous summer, in fact, Bilbo had found himself rejecting the unwanted advances of a certain gentleman right before being discovered by his mother as the two men were parting ways from a very heated discussion in a secluded room.

In order to not let others know about such circumstances, Belladonna had shared her intention with her sister Mirabella to uproot in the north, at least until the rumors had dissipated. Bungo, as loving and trusting as ever, had simply accepted her decision and disposed for them all to move to Erebor. In doing so, he had consequently left his position as a parish in Bag End, not wavering in his faith, but merely willing to give his family what they needed to be happy.

Bilbo himself is no longer a lad: close to reach his thirties, many have speculated around the truth about his sudden return to his father’s home leaving his studies at Oxford out of the blue. Up until now, Bungo had protected his son by simply stating to the citizens of Bag End how needed Bilbo was, and Belladonna had made sure no mouths could run and shame her son in the meantime. But those days are over now, and their new town might not be as easily outsmarted this time around.

Heavy with sorrow for making his family move, Bilbo has resigned to keeping his life on check from now on, willing to sacrifice his happiness in order to keep his parents safe and healthy. Not being able to walk without a cane after his last days at Oxford, Bilbo finds himself constantly torn between revealing what had happened there and run away from all those eyes watching his every move. Luckily, in Erebor no one expects much of him, and any possible question regarding his lack of employment while he could no more benefit from being the only son of a parish is met with a simple gesture towards his bad leg. People seem complacent enough to overlook his poor excuse of a lie as long as they can speculate over his father’s decision to move up north.

Filled with guilt at the inability to defend his father against the rumors, Bilbo is reassured over and over again by his mother that they had made the right decision. The price for her understanding, however, seems to be an even greater burden for Bilbo: never speak of his true nature ever again, not even to his parents. Not even to himself.

Gandalf Gray, an old friend of Bungo’s, close enough to the family to understand the implications of their sudden uprooting, has decided to take Bilbo under his wing and show him around while his father has a chance to meet the pupils Mr. Gray has gathered for him to talk to. Having traveled all other the world, Mr. Gray is not new to the hardships Bilbo has encountered and his honesty and desire to help comforts Bilbo while he navigates the wastelands of melancholy that moving so far away has ensued.

While visiting one of the many mines belonging to the Durinson household, Bilbo finds himself shocked at the sight of its master beating one of his miners out of the mountain in a fit of rage. Little does he know what perils hide into the tunnels eroding the Lonely Mountain one inch at a time, or what are the dangers that fire and gas can bring to those working in the dark, with only the aid of candles and caged birds to save them from death.

Still, Bilbo tries to reason with said master, not knowing Thorin to be their landlord and one of his father’s pupils on top of that. Only thanks to Mr. Gray Bilbo is spared from Thorin’s anger by introducing him as a dear friend of his, but this doesn’t protect Bilbo from receiving yet another shock as the man simply turns and strides away after the worker he had just beaten up.

Meeting the man in his own home later that very same week, Bilbo is confronted with the absolute necessity from his part to embody a perfect son and the perfect guest, no matter how much he despises sharing a room with their landlord. But given the circumstances, he tries not to think about him too much while Bungo teaches Thorin all about philosophy and literature: he listens to their lessons half expecting to be invited to share his thoughts on his father’s many interpretations of the ancient sources... but eventually feeling much more at ease staying quiet by his armchair while the other two talk.

Judging from Thorin’s curiosity and will to learn, Bilbo convinces himself to have misjudged the man based on what he had seen at the mines, and later on investigates the matter further with his father and with Mr. Gray over a cup of tea. Apparently, after the sudden death of both of his parents when he was just a child, Thorin, his brother Frerin and their older sister Dis had been entrusted to the care of their grandfather, Thror: a man driven mad by his lust for gold to the point he had closed the mines twenty years before just to barricade himself inside the mountain in search of a vein of gold that never existed. Thorin’s little brother Frerin, small enough to wiggle his way in between the wooden bars Thror had used to close the openings, had looked for his grandfather anywhere before the main tunnel had collapsed on both of them one cold night of December.

Horrified by such a discovery, Bilbo has already spent many a day trying to find the courage to apologize to Thorin by the time he meets Bain, Sigrid and Tilda. The boy and his younger sister approaches him one day at the park, reminiscing of the way he had confronted Thorin at the entrance of the mine, where Bain works as well, while their older sister seems a little wary of Bilbo and apologizes to him for disturbing him so suddenly. On the other hand, Bilbo is overjoyed to have been met with such enthusiasm after weeks of isolation from actual social interaction and offers the siblings to walk them home... just as their father Bard comes into the picture, assuring Bilbo his services are not needed.

Intrigued by that little family, Bilbo tries to know more about them by lurking around the wooden houses destined to the miners skirting the suburban area at the bottom of the mountain, determined to pay them a visit with a basket of food to thank the kids for their kindness to him. Here, Bilbo gets to know the families of many of the miners, all relatively close to each other be it for family ties or friendship alone, that -surprisingly enough- seem more than happy to teach him a thing or two on how to survive the likes of Erebor and its masters.

From them comes the realization of how exactly Thror had compromised the economy of the city when he had closed the mines twenty years before. Many of the workers had found themselves jobless that year and, after the main tunnel had been deemed too dangerous to cross, new masters had come to the city and made their way with new holes into the mountain with no regards for safety. So many holes, indeed, that some workers avoided entering the Lonely Mountain for fear it could fall onto itself at any moment.

In all this, Thorin had been only sixteen and had to provide for his family now that his only guardian had perished in the depths of the main tunnel along with his little brother. Dis had been twenty then, and married a man coming from one of the richest families in town, who had provided for her and for their two sons up until his death, fifteen years before. Thorin, who had been fired to leave his studies in order to gain back his family’s honor by working for other masters, at twenty-one had made enough of a name for himself to be able to care for his older sister and nephews once more, as the customs required.

Dis, on the other hand, after losing her parents, grandfather, brother and husband, had accepted to go back home to her younger brother feeling like a caged animal, but not ungrateful enough to disregard the importance of the mines that brought them stability and wealth. Thorin, on the other hand, getting sterner by the year and low in spirits because of his newfound role as the head of their household, had become extremely protective of his family... just as much as Dis herself, the both of them manifesting some of the traits their own grandfather had shown by the time his obsession had piqued.

Even Bard and his kids had been willing to share some information with him by the time Bilbo discovers exactly how far the Durinson’s had prevented the growth of the town by limiting the number of caves under their watch. Bard himself seems set on hating the siblings for life, convinced the mountain could offer work to everybody without restrictions if only the Durinson’s were to let more people inside. He insists that gold lies under that mountain and that not even the Durinson’s should claim that vein for themselves while other masters have promised a job for everyone in town were the Durinson household to perish.

Struck by all those new revelations, one day Bilbo finds himself too overwhelmed to properly welcome Dis Durinson and her sons inside their home while his mother gets dressed upstairs. The woman strikes an imposing figure, just like her brother, dressed in all black with sober, yet quite beautiful blue earrings bringing out the coldness of her light-blue eyes. The oldest of her sons, affectionately called Kili by her, is roughly eighteen or nineteen years old and seems agreeable enough, asking Bilbo what wonders he has seen in London and what the south has to offer: curiosity getting the best of him contrary to his mother’s best judgment. Fili, instead, looks more lost than anything, not young enough to depend on his mother approval, but still not quite old enough to rebel against her composure and regal attitude.

Then, just as his mother welcomes them in her house, Bilbo notices how Belladonna has lost weight and how skirmish she looks. Being so distracted himself by his quest for knowledge in regards of Erebor and its history, Bilbo has completely overlooked him mother’s conditions and guilt overcomes him once more. Knowing that people were still talking about them because of the insinuations about his father’s decision to leave the Church, Bilbo is faced with shame and anxiety just by thinking how hard it must be for his parents to endure all of that pressure from the telltale coming from the upper society in town.

As he looks at Thorin’s sister and her impenetrable mask, he wonders how she must have felt when she had been married off to a rich man in order to save the family from disgrace. Because that is what the Baggins’ and the Durinson’s have been foreclosed to address, even if I’m different ways: disgrace. Profound and nasty disgrace.

Bilbo finds himself jealous of their luck in regaining control over their fate by hard work alone, but doesn’t voice his feelings as the woman and her sons leave. Nor does he want to speak of the matter with Thorin... until he does, while listening to his and Bungo’s usual lesson one day: feeling left out of the conversation, fed up with the way his family walks on eggshells around him, and impossibly frustrated with himself for not being able to seize Thorin’s character in his head, Bilbo accuses the man of being too full of himself to even care about the struggling miners, ready to strike in order to be allowed to look for gold in the mountain.

Immediately regretting what he has just said, already missing the opportunity to listen to Thorin’s deep voice asking intelligent questions, knowing how the man has been desperate to educate himself now that he had the opportunity to do so...Bilbo can only watch as Thorin greets him coldly and leave their house. Possibly to never return.

#bagginshield #the hobbit #n&s!au

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rcmvncv · 5 years

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❝ And what if it turns out there is no other? ❞

Anneli and Alexei was never political. Until it was all they were. She wasn’t the one he dealt with when he did business with Finland but she was always present. He exchanged words with her occasionally and often she gave him surprisingly witty responses considering how broken her Russian was. They stuck with him. Her face stuck with him.

They had no reason to go on professional dinners but they did, he made them happen, and they spoke about the issue for one second until the conversation drifted into a new direction. She’d switch back and forth between Russian and English, and he’d speak as slowly as possible. They both knew the meeting were far from innocent but they were both cautious people so taking it slow, getting used to the concept of the two of them was important. He has always liked how rough around the edges she is. She is in control of herself when she needs to be, when it’s important to be prim and proper, which was the way she was with him in the beginning. But he swears, every single time she slipped, let out a blunt comment or expressed her opinion over something controversial without thinking about it too much, he fell in love just a little bit. It was, is, endearing. It’s genuine.

He isn’t really sure where he found the courage to kiss her for the first time but he’s glad he did. It was a nice but short kiss in a corridor in the Winter Palace. She had accompanied her father but stayed away from meetings --- Alexei had hardly seen her. He hadn’t said a thing to her and she was already leaving! So he uttered a few words, something she replied to curtly. There really hadn’t been anything to say. Neither of them liked silly shallow questions but he wanted to do something. Tell her to visit more often or even to stay for a few extra days. But no, he cupped her face and kissed her. She left a few moments later. He didn’t dare to ruin the moment with a goodbye.

Their relationship evolved quite naturally from that. Slowly they discovered new sides of each other, heard secrets that hadn’t been shared with anyone else, picked up habits from each other, her Russian got better. Even though they both are important political figures, they made their life together very normal. They found happiness in very mundane things and it was the kind of detail that was hard not to appreciate and cherish.

Reason why Anneli was and still is so important to him is that she listened to him, or more specifically heard him. She could read between lines, she could hear the things he left unsaid because he was too afraid or it just pained him too much. She understood him on a level that no one else ever had. It’s an invaluable connection. It wasn’t just about how nice and easy and cute they were. It was about the comfort and safety she offered him. Her words kept his mind clear and helped him to understand himself better. She was probably the one who helped him the most when his father passed --- with the sorrow, with the new responsibilities that he had shoulder.

Since they didn’t see each other on a daily basis, it was easy to live in an endless bliss. It was hard to get tired of the other when you only got two or three days here and there during a month. So when fights happened, they were big and they left marks. Both of them are very principled. Both of them know their worth. Both of them have got their priorities set straight. Depending on the severity of the fight, it took them a week or two to get back to each other. Their biggest fight during their relationship is the Novgorod hassle.

Which really was the beginning of the end. It was when the relationship wasn’t just a relationship. It was when she wasn’t just Anneli but Anneli of Finland and he wasn’t just Lyosha but Alexei of Russia. Very quickly everything that had been right about them was wrong. Since they had a long distance relationship, communicating didn’t happen on a daily basis but when messages and calls happened once a week, both of them knew it either needed to be fixed or let go of. Anneli made the decision for him, perhaps she made it the day she touched those papers. Because to Anneli, personal happiness and love never got the top spot on her priorities list. It was where she was so different from Alexei because no matter how much he cares about his country, he would never do what she did. He cares about his people, not the concept of Russia. If an action isn’t necessary, he sees no reason for it, and he certainly would have never given up Anneli for it.

He hates her for it.

He hates that she made him feel insignificant. He hates that she washed five years of their lives down the drain. He hates that she let politics come between them. He hates that he cannot truly hate her.

Perhaps if the relationship had ended because they had ran out of love, he could have shrugged and carried on. But because the reason is what it is, there’s always that very small sliver hope that maybe, somehow, in the future, their paths could cross again? Because he can’t lose it all. He can’t lose everything she gave him. His ability to forgive her, look past her great mistake comes from the simple fact that the war is not only Anneli’s fault, of course it took her father and the parliament to go through with the plan. What really bothers him though, is that she didn’t stop it. “I didn’t want to!” The words cut him deep. She really picked a meager patch of land over him? He feels worthless.

❝And if I can’t have you, feels like no one else deserves you or should love you. ❞

Despite the bitter betrayal he experienced, he pities her. She is letting her worst flaws control her and he can recognize the way she shuts certain parts of her in order to continue. It’s no way to survive. Perhaps the saddest fact is that she sacrificed him, sacrificed a lot, only to lose? Even if he doesn’t understand her motivations, he can see how much Karelia matters to her. And she is not going to win. The plan will be an embarrassing failure for her country. He feels slightly bad that he has to put her through it but it’s all her fault. It eases his guilt. If she put Karelia before him, he can with a clean conscience put Russia first.

#hshqtask023 #( ** task. )#( ** task. >> 023. )#( ** anneli. )

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tinywriter2018 · 6 years

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Jon & Sansa: Act II

Word Count: 1731

Loosely Based on William Shakespeare’s Antony & Cleopatra.

Jon stood over the water basin, washing his hands of blood. He could feel his hair still not as clean as he wished it to be.

“Jon have you been listening?” Jon grabbed a cloth, quickly whipping his hands dry once more.

“Mostly.” He smirked at his brother. Aegon shook his head, beckoning him to the table.

“We were speaking on the matter of your Uncle. He is still walled up in the hideous castle of his.”

“Hey, that is to be my castle, once his over.” Aegon defended his future estate.

“The Red Keep isn’t much to look at, but the views of the ocean are wondrous.” Jon pointed out.

“Women folly.” Joffrey scoffed under his voice.

“There wasn’t much Women folly on the field today. Didn’t see you anywhere close to it.” Jon sat down in his chair, glaring at the boy.

“My strategy won us the battle.”

“My men, won us the battle.” Jon grabbed his cup, taking a sip from it.

“Don’t you mean the Queen in the North’s men?”

“Her majesty, Queen Sansa didn’t grace me with any of her troops. This was a southern’s war. A southern’s war it will remain.”

“The wildings than? Are they not of North lands?”

“The men that followed, became apart of my army. They are looking for lands to settle down south. Easy to farm. The Riverlands is all I asked for from my uncle, and from you. For the refugees of the great winter war we had fought.”

“I consent of course. People need a place.” Aegon agreed.

“But their savages.” Joffrey scuffed.

“You are savage to them.” Jon retorted back. Joffrey slammed his cup down, his eyes growing bright.

“I think you are untrustworthy. There's nothing that is binding you to this war, no agreement that is in place to earn my trust. The Riverlands share a border with the kingdom of the rock. What makes me think that after this war is done, you wouldn’t push onto my lands?”

“Don’t you mean your Grandfather's?” Jon quipped.

“Jon.” Aegon spoke up. “Joffrey, its a simple fix. Jon recently lost his betrothed. Your sister, Myrcella, is without a husband or a betrothed.” Jon glared at his brother.

“You speak to freely Aegon.”

“Would a marriage match put your mind at ease?”

“Aegon-”

“It would.” Joffrey stood up after a few moments of silence. “I will leave you to think about it. I expect an answer in the morning.” Joffrey sauntered out of the tent, a winning smirk on his lips.

Jon slammed his fist on the table. His eyes glaring at his brother.

“No.”

“Jon, please! Think about it.”

“I will not be marrying his inbred sister.”

“You don’t know that to be true!”

“Fine you marry her!” Jon, knew he was being harsh to a girl who didn’t deserve it, but being sold off another time was not something he would agree to.

“I can’t. I’m already engaged to Margaery Tyrell. Besides Joffrey isn’t convinced of your allegiance, not mine. It wouldn’t mean anything to him.”

“I can’t Aegon. I can’t I already-”

“If you want to protect those you saved during the great Winter war, you need the Boy’s approval.” Jon’s thoughts went to the villagers he fought for. The children who would grow up not scared of the noise at night. “If you want to protect the Queen in the North from his wrath, I suggest you take the deal.”

“I’m not under Queen’s payroll.”

“No but if rumors are true, your in her bed.” Jon reached over taking a sip of wine. Her red hair flashing in his mind, her gentle smile looking down at him while they laid under the heart tree in the Godswoods.

Peace.

He thought. That’s what she gave him. That’s what he is giving up.

“For your people Jon.” He finished off his wine, nodding.

“Fine. I’ll agree to the match. Only if my people are safe.” Aegon smiled, clapping him on the back.

~❆❆❆~

Sansa sat under the heart tree, her fingers laced in Lady’s hair. Her eyes dry as could be, yet her she felt her heart slowly turn to ice. Fixing the cracks that formed from his betrayal. She held the note in her hand, a message from Cersei Lannister, informing her of her daughters marriage to Jon Targaryen.

Jon Snow, my Jon.

She thought, clutching the raven’s message.

“Dark Wings, Dark words.” She heard from behind her. Sansa looked up, her eyes meeting her sisters. She can’t remember the last time she heard her sister approach. Not since she disappeared for a couple of years and came back from the Many face gods.

“Jon has married the Baratheon Girl.”

“Don’t you mean Lannister?” Arya sat down, her own direwolf lurking in the woods behind them, probably fetching a deer or two.

“That can’t be proven.”

“Gendry looks like a mini version of his father, with his dark brown hair and brown eyes, opposed to his blue eyed mother.” Arya pointed out. “He always said a wise man, said that that the Seed is strong in Baratheon boys.” Sansa gave a slight smile to her sister.

“When are you going to make an honest man out of that Blacksmith?”

“Here I thought you would make me wed a lordling.” Sansa shook her head.

“No. I only threatened you with that, so you wouldn’t run off again.”

“Wouldn’t that make me run off?” Sansa clutched the letter to her chest.

“I hear she’s the most beautiful thing to come out of the south.” Arya shook her head.

“You are prettier. You’re a Queen, what is she? A bastard who doesn’t know who her real father is?”

“Arya-”

“No. You’re better than she is. You’re smarter. Do you think little miss lion cub could do what you did. You saved the north.”

“Jon saved the North.”

“But couldn’t have done it without you. You saved us sister. Give yourself some credit.” Sansa reached out taking her sisters hand.

“You know you would be a great mother if you tried.”

“I don’t want children.” Arya shook her sister off. She stood up, Sansa’s smile returned. “You always and will be the better mother out of us two girls.” Arya turned her back. “Little miss prim and proper.” She muttered, earning a snowball to the back. Both girls laughed, throwing snow at one another. The note forgotten in the snow.

~❆❆❆~

Jon had arrived to King’s Landing to meet his betrothed. She was a delicate thing, young and madly in love with someone else. He could tell just off their first meeting. She would do her duty, forced if she had to, but she would. Jon knew that both were being forced into something they didn’t want.

He was sitting in his room, looking out at the city, wishing he saw trees insteads of buildings. Smelling winter air instead of seawater. He was lost in thought, when his door was swung open. He stood up, seeing two of his men he left in the Riverlands.

“Tormund? Edd?” Jon took them in. Each man, was covered in mud and blood. Tormund was still bleeding from his arm, the droplets dripping on the floor. “What happened?”

“It was the stags!” Tormund yelled. “The people fled back up north. At least the villages we could save.”

“They came out of nowhere Jon! I’ve never seen such brutality, not since the Long night. Women and children, they were just farming, living when they cut them down.”

“Jon?” All three men, turned to see the blonde haired girl standing shocked in the doorway. “Is everything alright?” She was coming by for her usually daily visit. At least to try and get to know him. He walked over to his bed, grabbing his sword and motioned for ghost. The direwolf came off of his sleeping bed, excited about what was happening now. Jon walked over putting a gentle hand on Myrcella's cheek.

“I hope you find happiness.” She smiled, knowing what he meant.

“Thank you.” She whispered, quickly running off towards the one she really wanted.

“Let’s go.” Jon made his way to the stables.

“Go where? Our people are scattered.”

“North! That’s where they will go.” Ghost howled, knowing he would be home soon.

~❆❆❆~

It had been three months since Sansa had received news of Jon’s wedding. Everyday she walked to the Godswoods in the morning, wishing to find him there, like she used. Lady who was walking beside her, stopped in her tracks, before quickly taking off forward. Sansa quickly followed, to see Lady playing with Ghost. The white direwolf whining in happiness, excited to see one of his own again. Summer was with them, even nymeria out from the woods to see her long lost brother. Sansa quickly turned, heading towards the gates. She stopped, once she spotted him, hugging her sister. Bran was smiling, knowing this was always going to happen. Sansa took him, quickly running to met him, embracing him. Her lips on his, while he held her close.

“I thought-”

“I know-” he whispered, holding her closely. Arya smiled, her eyes looking over at Gendry, who nodded at her.

“He’s not married.” She called out, to Sansa. Sansa looked at her sister, before looking at Jon.

“Married?” Jon questioned.

“I got news you had wed Myrcella Baratheon.”

“No, it was a betrothal. I had no intention of following through with it.” Jon wiped away a tear from Sansa’s face. “I would never betray you like that. Not again.” Sansa nodded, looking behind him to see Tormund and Edd. She quickly tried to regain her footing.

“What happened?” She asked, taking in their appearance. “Gendry, get a Maester.” She called out to him, she noticed Tormund was still bleeding.

“I’m fine.” He said, shaking his head. “Just a little blood. Most of it is not mine.”

“What happened?” She demanded. She looked behind them to see women and children in all different types of ways. Somewhere hurt badly, somewhere fine, but mostly everyone was tired.

“Baratheon. They went against their word and attacked the refugees in the Riverlands. Sansa say Jon’s eyes, both matching their intensity.

“Let’s get them some food, before we do anything else. She left Jon’s grasp, quickly moving Arya and her people around to help those who needed it. Jon smiled, knowing he was finally back where he belonged.

Act I ~❆❆❆~ Act III

#tinywriter2018 #Jonsa #Jon x Sansa #jon snow x sansa stark

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louezem · 6 years

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Happy Birthday, Notanislander

I wrote this little thing for my friend, @notanislander, who celebrates her birthday today. We first bonded over the agony that was reading Ronja’s “The Chance You Didn’t Take”, but I like to think our friendship has expanded way beyond tumblr and fanfiction. NOI has always been there for me in some tough moments throughout the last year. She has never stopped encouraging me to write, write, write, so this is for her. We talked about a story based on TLC’s “Say Yes To The Dress” and I tried to make it happen. This has not been beta’d, and I’m sorry its not complete, I didn’t have time but there will be possibly three more parts. Endgame is everlark, always.

Happy Birthday my friend. Sorry for posting this while you are at work. Time Zone Issues!

(Thanks to my daughter @turtlingturtle for pre-reading, and if anyone would like to make a banner for this, I’d be delighted..)

~*~ ~*~ ~*~ ~*~ ~*~ ~*~ ~*~ ~*~ ~*~ ~*~ ~*~ ~*~ ~*~ ~*~

Will You Say Yes?

Part 1 – The Fitting

Katniss sighed with relief as she pushed through the gleaming glass and mahogany doors of Templesmith Bridal, the most exclusive bridal salon in all of New Panem. She hurried through the plush carpeted hallways to the staff lounge at the back of the store hoping no one had noticed her sneaking in through the public entrance. She’d run all the way from the subway station but the icy rain had still managed to soak her to the bone.

Shivering, she shook out her wet hair wishing there was time to make some tea to warm up. They opened to the public in 20 minutes so she only had time to change into the smart black outfit she wore at work and re-braid her hair before joining the daily staff briefing.

“Good morning Katniss!” Effie, the Bridal Director and her boss greeted her loudly when she tried to slip unnoticed into the main salon where the briefing was already in full swing. “Thank you for joining us.” Katniss felt her face begin to burn as all eyes turned to her. Cinna, the salon’s Fashion Director, winked and gave her a soothing smile.

“I’m sorry I’m late Effie, my train was delayed…”

Effie waved her excuses away. “You’re here now so let’s not delay further. Everyone, your clients for today are uploaded to your schedules along with the usual details on each bride and their preferences. Remember, it’s your job to help your bride find the dress of their dreams for their big, big, big day! So smiles on,” Effie shot Katniss another pointed look, “ignore the entourages, and above all keep to your schedule—“

“—and if you have any problems or need assistance you can always come to one of us,“ Cinna added with his usual air of calm.

“Yes indeed, thank you Cinna.” Effie stood on her six inch heels and clapped her hands, the signal that the meeting was over. “Alright everyone it’s time to feed the monster! The doors are open in ten!” The staff scattered in every direction to get ready to greet their first clients of the day.

“Katniss, can I see you in my office for a moment?” Effie called out.

Katniss paused, her stomach dropping. Being called to Effie’s office usually meant one of two things. Someone had complained about her attitude or she was in danger of not making her monthly sales target.

“Effie if this is about my sales target this month I can explain,” Katniss began anxiously. Though selling wedding attire was only ever meant to be a temporary career for her, she couldn’t afford to lose this job right now.

Effie lifted a finger instantly silencing Katniss. “Take a seat, Katniss. That is not what I would like to discuss with you today.”

“It’s not?” Katniss was confused, watching with fascination as Effie began tapping rapidly at a tablet with two inch vermillion nails.

“I have a very special bride for you today,” Effie began. “Her wedding is in six weeks and she called me personally to request an appointment at short notice so I moved a few things around and managed to squeeze her in.” She leaned across her desk and handed the tablet to Katniss, the screen containing a brief bio of a bride-to-be, her measurements, and a few other details.

“Six weeks?” Immediately Katniss knew this was a significant client. Appointments at Templesmith’s were booked up more than a year in advance. For Effie to squeeze her in was a big deal. She scanned the open tab on her screen until her eye fell on the box marked budget and her eyes widened. Typed neatly in the box was the word, unlimited.

“I know it’s very short notice but I’m sure we can make it work. The bride is Glimmer Snow. She comes from a very wealthy Capitol family, old money, but she knows how to spend it like it’s new, so don’t be afraid to bring out our most exclusive lines for her.”

Katniss did not miss the suggestion behind Effie’s words. Their most exclusive lines were the most expensive. A sale with a big price-tag would really help her out with her monthly sales goal, and the commission would go a long way towards Prim’s tuition next semester.

“Effie, I don’t know what to say. Thank you,” were all the words Katniss could muster. Normally these type of clients were reserved for the more experienced sales consultants, not someone like her.

“Don’t thank me my dear,” Effie gave her a small smile. “Thank Cinna, this was his doing. Frankly, I had no one else with space in their schedule today and he said you deserved the opportunity.”

Katniss felt tears coming to her eyes. Ever since she’d started at Templesmith’s Cinna had been so kind to her. He’d taken her under his wing and taught her so much. His advice on the final touches - a lace veil here or a jewelled belt there - often helped her to close a sale and boost the commission added to Katniss’ paycheck every month.

“Cinna says you have quite a talent for fashion, you know.” For a moment Effie’s hard exterior softened. “He also told me how hard you’ve been trying and that you are looking after your sister. I believe effort deserves reward, so this is your chance. Enjoy it. You’ve earned it!”

“Ugh, this is so frustrating!” Glimmer whined, pulling at the gaping bodice of the lace dress she was wearing. Katniss winced as one of Glimmer’s stiletto nails caught in the delicate fabric. “Ever since I was a little girl I’ve always dreamed of ordering my wedding gown from Templesmith’s, but nothing you’ve shown me so far is doing it for me! Don’t you have anything else?”

Katniss looked at the seven dresses Glimmer had already tried on and discarded hanging against the wall. All fitted styles, lace, no lace, beaded, simple, feathered, tulle, nothing she showed her seemed to inspire Glimmer. Katniss had spent three long hours already with the bride and her entourage and she was exhausted. It didn’t help that Glimmer didn’t have any definite idea about what she wanted in her wedding dress, other than “it must be white and sparkle like snow!”

“Making such an important choice can sometimes be a little overwhelming,” Katniss made herself sound positive. “Would you consider trying a different silhouette? Maybe I could show you a ballgown?”

“No! I really want a dress that shows off my curves with lots of bling, but lots of lace too. Maybe I’ll try somewhere else,” Glimmer pouted.

Katniss groaned inwardly and resigned herself to the likelihood of the sale slipping away when the image of another dress flashed into her mind. Well, Effie did say to pull out all the stops for this bride, she thought.

“There is one more dress,” Katniss hesitated. “I’ll need permission to pull it for you as it is very special, a runway piece. We don’t usually sell those.”

“That sounds exciting! Let me see it!” Glimmer tossed her long blonde mane over her shoulder and inspected her lips in the mirror, pouting at herself.

Katniss nodded and left the room in search of Cinna. She found him in his office and explained what she needed. One quick call later to the designer for permission and they spent a few minutes searching for the vast stockroom for the exclusive runway dress.

“Good luck Katniss,” Cinna handed it over to her, “go close that sale.”

“Thank you Cinna. I’m aware I got this chance because of you,” Katniss squeezed his hand. “It means a lot.”

Cinna smiled. “You got this chance because you earned it. I’ll be lurking around the main salon if you need me.”

“I hope you like this one,” Katniss pushed her way into Glimmer’s fitting room. “I think it has everything you’re looking for. It’s mermaid style, with a corset front and back. It’s beaded all over with swarovski crystals—“

“Oh, my god it’s beautiful!” Glimmer jumped up from her chair and clapped her hands in excitement. “Let me try it on.”

Minutes later Katniss laced up the rear of the dress and heard herself gasp out loud at the image in the mirror. There was no doubt the unlined bodice and nude boning of the corset showed off Glimmer’s curves to perfection… and a lot more.

“It’s perfect! I can’t wait for Pete to see me in this!” Glimmer giggled as she turned to see the back. “I love it!”

Katniss smiled in relief at finally finding something the bride liked. “It fits like it was made for you. I don’t think it will much alteration, maybe a little off the length,” she noted, a good thing considering Glimmer’s wedding was only weeks away. “Shall we let your friends see it?” she asked.

Glimmer nodded and fluffed her hair in the mirror one more time before strutting down the hallway to the main salon like she was on a catwalk. Katniss walked behind her, holding up the train. She couldn’t help but admire Glimmer’s confidence. With her blonde hair, blue eyes and curvaceous figure she was beautiful and she knew it.

As she stepped onto to the raised podium all eyes in the room turned to her, which was exactly the reaction Glimmer was looking for. A huge smile lit up her face. “Well ladies, what do you think?”

“Wow.”

“Oh my God.”

“Damn girl.”

“It’s perfect on you Glim,” Clove, the dark haired matron of honor said, and the rest of the entourage immediately joined in making various sounds in agreement. “I think this is the one.”

“I agree, you should get this one Glim, it’s fabulous on you,” Cashmere, a bridesmaid tuned in. “You’re glowing.”

“Do you really think so?” Glimmer asked, tears appearing in her eyes and at the moment, Katniss knew the sale was hers.

“What’s the price tag on this?” the last bridesmaid, who’d introduced herself as Enobaria, asked.

“This dress is a once-off by Pnina, and it’s thirty-two thousand dollars,” Katniss spoke quietly and held her breath. Until now, not even Glimmer had asked what the dress cost.

“That’s fine, my Grandfather can afford it,” Glimmer waved the price tag away with a smirk, turning this way and that, inspecting herself from every angle. “How does my ass look?”

“Gorgeous. Way better then Pippa whats-her-name’s,” Cashmere giggled.

“So,” Katniss stepped forward when the giggles had died down a little. “Glimmer, do you think you can see yourself getting married in this dress?”

“Yes! Yes, this is definitely my dress!” Glimmer announced and a cheer followed by clapping and congratulations went through the entire room.

“Peeta will lose his shit when he sees you in this.” Clove stood up and hugged her friend.

“He’ll rip it of you with his teeth,” Enobaria winked and joined in the hug, soon followed by Cashmere until all four women were laughing and crying together.

Katniss felt her heart jump in her chest and all of a sudden she felt breathless. No, she must have misheard. Clove didn’t just say Peeta. Did she?

“I’m sorry, did you say Peeta?” she blurted.

“What?” Clove looked up, clearly annoyed by the interruption to the moment.

“You said Peeta. I was wondering if I misheard you,” Katniss withered a little under the little brunette’s fierce scowl. It was definitely competition for her own.

“Yes, my fiancé’s name is Peeta, Peeta Mellark. Why do you ask?” Glimmer raised a perfectly groomed eyebrow in Katniss’ direction.

“No, no reason,” Katniss stammered a little. “It’s an unusual name.”

“It’s silly, right?” Glimmer laughed. “Pete comes from a long line of bakers and bread related names are kind of a tradition in his family. I’ve asked him to change it to Peter instead, but he can be stubborn sometimes,” she sighed.

“If you ever have a baby girl you should name her Pnina,” Enobaria smirked. “It fits with his family tradition.”

“Oh no, I have no plans to let him put any buns in my oven anytime soon, though he’d love it… are you alright, dear?”

“I’m sorry, I’m feeling a little dizzy,” Katniss mumbled swaying on her feet a little. “It’s a little warm in here. If you’ll excuse me for a moment I’ll go and get a drink of water.”

“Of course. Would you be a dear and bring us back some champagne too? I think we need to celebrate,” Glimmer turned her back and began twirling in the mirror again.

“Sure, um, I’ll be right back.” Katniss fled the room. She pressed her hand against her stomach, hoping the roiling would stop. It wouldn’t do if she threw up on a thirty-two thousand dollar dress.

She fled down the carpeted hallway and into the stock room hoping that no one had seen her and buried herself in a dark corner, behind a rail of samples.

“Katniss?” A familiar voice found her. “What’s the matter?”

“Nothing, I’m okay.” Katniss reached up with shaking hands and starting pushing the dresses in front of her along the rail, pretending she was looking for something.

“Katniss.” Cinna reached up and stalled her hand. “These dresses are for the outlet store. I doubt you will find a dress Miss Glimmer Snow, granddaughter of the infamous Coriolanus Snow, will want to wear amongst them.”

“She is buying the dress,” Katniss mumbled. “The runway dress.”

“Congratulations Katniss, I knew you could do it.” Cinna pulled her into a gentle hug. “So why the tears? Tell me what has upset you.”

Katniss wiped her eyes with her sleeve, grateful she didn’t have time for makeup that morning.

“It’s Peeta,” she whispered.

“Peeta?” Cinna looked confused. “You mean your ex-fiancé Peeta? Has something happened to him?”

“He’s getting married.”

End Part 1.

~*~ ~*~ ~*~ ~*~ ~*~ ~*~ ~*~ ~*~ ~*~ ~*~ ~*~ ~*~ ~*~ ~*~

And there it is. I’m sorry Peeta does not appear in person in this part, he will appear in Part 2. :)

#notanislander #happy birthday #everlark

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miluette · 6 years

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Ignoct Week 5 ~ Devotion

(For @ignoctweek -- I forgot to post this when I’d meant to, oops. Still working on the other three. And more!)

Simple: Bed Sharing Situational: Oracle!Ignis AU

Rating: E for Everyone Tags/Warnings: n/a

(There’s still mention of bed sharing!)

I met Ignis when I was four. He seemed so much taller than me, and quiet; I remember asking if all oracles were this quiet. I remember smiling really big so that he’d be more comfortable.

I remember my father telling me that Ignis would always look after me while he was away on business -- not that I knew why. It seemed like we were the ones keeping Ignis safe, once Ignis told me that his kingdom had fallen. I remember saying that it’d all be fine, that we would always be friends, that we both had magic powers and could zap away all the “bad guys” if they started coming for us...

That was the first time I’d ever seen him smile.

When people look at us these days, they always say, “You were meant to be together!”

I take this how it is; we’re like brothers, after all.

We make the tabloids a lot whenever we’re away from the Citadel together, despite our best efforts. It may be my blue eyes, or it may be his ash-blonde hair. It might be that we’re always hitting the arcade or grabbing bubble tea -- Ignis entertains nearly all of my frivolities as long as I take care of my responsibilities. Something always gives us up in these familiar places. Headlines go on about my being the Chosen, his being the last of the Oracles. “Who will further the lines?” “Will these two powerful bloodlines intersect to no end?”

Were it only tabloids, it would be fine, but even the nobles do it behind my father’s back, and with even more fervor. Even then, my father had seemed particularly more and more interested in our mutual happiness since my coming-of-age; it was so embarrassing that I’d started distancing myself from any and all of this talk since then.

I may have distanced myself from Ignis, too.

Of course, I had been there at his Ascension, as the Heir. He had become the youngest Oracle to ascend and was already widely respected, even loved, for the efficiency with which he carries out his duties. The sheer power of his healing, which I had experienced a lot of first-hand, and the caring he shows people, is worthy of admiration.

The tabloid rumors didn’t stop.

For the first time, today, I consider how he may have felt about all of that.

This morning, he returned from another healing trip. We sat down for brunch, and I finally asked him, “What do you think about us?”

He responded by telling me The Prophecy.

The full Prophecy, passed from the mouths of the gods themselves to the Oracle of Oracles.

I ran from him until I couldn’t keep running. I fell into our garden, fell into a deep and heavy sleep beneath a patch of gladiolus.

Fraught with nightmares in all forms, I find myself awake after what feels like an eternity with a wet face and a concerned Ignis sitting near me, hand on my shoulder.

“Why are you still here?”

He shrinks away as if I’d spat poison. I drag myself upright, wiping my face, breathing out through my mouth.

Truthfully, it makes me sick to look at him. I should have let my heart be cold, I think -- should have closed it to the thoughts and beliefs that he and I could ever be anything more than our titles. I should never have imagined ourselves together in paintings of beach sunsets or golden fields swaying rhythmically in a gentle wind, because the more I had entertained those idle thoughts, the more real I had wanted them to be.

They will never be. I will die.

“You did not let me finish,” he says.

“Oh?” I wipe my nose with my hand, moving no closer to him. “Suppose the story won’t do without all the gory details about how I am to die.” As if I needed more nightmare fuel.

I should not have imagined his Oracle dress, prim and proper and shimmering white, much like him refining with age, replaced by a simple t-shirt and swim trunks; I shouldn’t have heard the flip-flops echoing in my mind as we’d amble down a busy pier, hand-in-hand.

Framed against lilies and lilacs, Iggy is the sight of perfection. His face shows only concern and a weakening resolve as his glasses catch the glare of the sun near its apex. I allow his eyes to lock with mine only a moment before tearing them away painfully. Rhododendrons pale by comparison.

“I, too, struggle with fate,” he says, arms drawn around his legs and eyes downcast. “Years ago, I’d have gladly given my life for you, but of late I’ve grown selfish. It hurts me; what I wouldn’t give to have my family back, how I’d throw this small life away so that they could continue to yield, yet now I would defy the gods and have a future with you.”

The thoughts that had rallied against my self-imposed distance flow like blood from my heart. Sunbathing, dining out, gardening. Falling asleep together with a good book, just as we had as children.

We had gone on a fishing trip, once. He and I had caught little, and what had been there was meager. I still remember the way he smiled when he pulled up his own common baramundi, how amused and how proud he’d been. I remember his satisfaction when he’d cooked and prepared it himself.

He had told me he’d learned to cook for my sake -- not that I wouldn’t cook, and the number of times he’s shoved a frying pan into my hand attests to that, but he’d known that the whole of mealtime would bring us closer. It would bring us back to cheerier times, when we both partook of his perfect recreation of an old Tenebraen treat. It would fill a void of loneliness left in our hearts as every day my father spent more and more effort on the War.

This, the War that beckons the Prophecy.

My father had tried to give me the one thing that matters, the only thing I could have asked for.

In all my emotion, I somehow only manage to say one thing.

“Why bother?”

“Noctis,” he says, slowly, drawing out the syllables, eyes falling to soft grass below. “Long ago, I wished, I hoped, I prayed to the gods that you would be the sort of person worth sacrificing, that your life’s purpose might be best served given to them in exchange for the world. I hold all life dear, yet I made this plea with my heart that they might not claim someone who deserves to live.”

I gasp.

As Ignis speaks, a deep loneliness dulls his eyes. It is a familiar look that suddenly becomes recognizable, plain as the light of day. It is a look that is ever-present when our time for the day has ended, a look that endures no matter his body language, no matter how upright and noble he appeared. It is a look that developed with age -- not when we would drift off together with our books and our plush toys, but as my inheritance grew imminent. With every royal meeting that parted us. With every Call to heal. Every day, a step closer to that Prophecy.

“Yet, from the moment you smiled up at me,” he continues, “I knew I would be wrong. I knew that the light in your heart, the light that, it was said, would banish the darkness, was pure. Each day more that I get to share my life with you… I feel it even more strongly.”

Who had realized how lonely Ignis had felt when my responsibilities had pulled me away from him?

Who had known the lengths to which Ignis would go to make me happy in the time that we have together?

He’s crying. “I do not choose fate. I choose you.”

I edge closer to him, placing my hands on his shoulders. Tears falling from his eyes, they nonetheless brighten as they lock on mine. The resolve comes back to them as he reaches for my hand.

“Ignis, how?”

“It will be a challenge. I’ll never leave your side.”

There’s still a lingering sickness in my gut as both our breaths heave with chests so tight. So close to him that I can almost feel his pulse, I allow our lips to fall together, and slowly, our tension melts, to be replaced by something else.

I should not have fallen in love with Ignis.

But I’ve always been his.

#ignoct #ignoct week #ignoctweek #ignis scientia #noctis lucis caelum #ffxv #final fantasy xv #ff15 #final fantasy 15 #fanfiction #drabble #mine

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