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philliamwrites · 3 years

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The Dawn Will Come [Chpt.4]

Fandom: Fire Emblem Three Houses

Pairing: Dimitri x Reader, Claude x Reader, Edelgard x Reader, Yuri x Reader, Edelgard x Byleth, lots of minor pairings

Tags: #gn reader, # platonic love byleth & reader, #reader is a tactical unit, #angst, #slow burn, #subplots, #unreliable narrator, #pining, #remporary amnesia, #reluctant herp, #canon divergence, #lost twin au, #many chapters, #original content

Words: 7.7k

Summary: Waking up in a forest without any knowledge of your past and who you are, you join the house leaders of the Officers Academy to search for a way to return your memories. Unfortunately, the church has different plans for you, and Fate places you in the centre of a cruel game with deadly stakes. It certainly doesn’t help to fall in love with a house leader who is doomed to be your demise.

Notes: Chapter 3 | Chapter 5

Chapter 04: Demands of the Faithful

I stretch lame hands of faith, and grope, And gather dust and chaff, and call To what I feel is Lord of all, And faintly trust the larger hope.

[Alfred, Lord Tennyson, In Memoriam A.H.H.]

“I’m glad you could make time,” Byleth says, carefully placing her fine cup on the small bottom plate. If she notices how uncomfortable you feel, sitting in the centre of the yard, drinking tea, she ignores it. “Let’s think together about what we want to teach during the mock battle.”

“This is a bad idea,” you say, nibbling on your cup. “A very bad idea.”

The late afternoon hours are quiet, but it certainly helps that the tea arrangement is tugged away in a far off corner in the courtyard, hidden behind tall hedges that allow privacy. The sweet smell of chamomile tea and strawberry pastry is a nice exchange from the usual savoury smells you’re used to in the cafeteria. All around you, the high, spiky roofs of the monastery’s towers stand out against the fiery, orange sky, throwing longer and longer shadows as the sun sets behind the mountains. The clouds are soft, pink cotton-candy, blushing at the warm touch of the sun.

“I think it’s a good idea,” Byleth continues, cutting through a piece of cake with her fork. “We’ve seen what the house leaders are capable of. It’s time to see what the rest of the students can do.”

“Don’t take me wrong. I think a mock battle will help them grow,” you agree. “I just don’t really understand why it’s me who has to lead the Blue Lions.”

“I think Professor Hanneman is not present at the day of the mission,” Byleth explains. “It seems on the last day of Lone Moon he always leaves the monastery for a private reason. And I assume Lady Rhea means to see the extent of your power.”

That’s what you expected as well. In the last couple of days you realised your power is a muscle, to be exercised daily, never to be pushed to the extreme. It was a strenuous task to try out how much is too much; where there’s still room. Under the keen eyes of Hanneman, you two practised day after day, trying to figure out how much your body can take before exhaustion sweeps over you and renders you immobile. Crests usually don’t have a limit; depending on their nature they grant a permament boost to the bearer’s abilities. Muttering under his breath, Hanneman had made quite a show to remind you what a curiosity the Crest of the Herald is. Like you wouldn’t know.

“Since we’re going to be on the field as well, you might want to get more practice with the sword,” Byleth proposes, and you groan. She has a way of being brutally honest, and so far no one’s been spared to get the brunt of it. “I’m not letting my students hold back. Not even against you.”

“You really are a voice of confidence, you know.” Shoulders drooping like someone took the wind from your sails, you throw your head back and drink the rest of your tea. Byleth’s expression doesn’t change, and you wonder why you even try being funny around her.

After clearing the table, Byleth accompanies you to your next lesson hall. It’s nice in theory, but her vigorous way of trying to drill sword techniques into your head on the way doesn’t hide her true agenda. Only slowly, you begin to realise that is maybe her way of caring for someone. Brutish in appearance, but once you look past the first impression of indifference, Byleth’s silent demeanour speaks louder than words.

Students linger in small groups in front of the class rooms, their exhausted faces from a full day of lessons and hard training visible in the way they carry their bodies. If you had a say in it, you’d cancel the evening lessons and let them rest; a reoccurring debate inside the faculty that doesn’t go anywhere. Byleth stops in front of the class room, surveying the students with a cool gaze, when suddenly Claude and Hilda jog towards you, and by “jogging” they decided Hilda to be the only one running while carrying Claude bridal style like he weighs nothing. As they pass you, Claude tips an invisible hat in your direction, calling “Hey, teach,” and then immediately “Bye, teach!” as they cross the courtyard.

Your gaze follows them. “What just happened.”

Byleth doesn’t even bother to look. “Claude and Hilda happened.”

Heavens, you don’t know if you’re able to handle them later.

After exchanging goodbyes with Byleth, you tackle the next forty minutes with a belly full of sweets and a mind occupied with worrying about everything you might do wrong next week. Forming two groups, you hand out two different manoeuvres you dug out of books, and present the task, “Work out the pros and cons of each battle tactic, and present them to the class. Explain where you would have done things differently, and why.”

Sylvain raises his hand.

“Yes, you can leave to bathroom breaks without asking me,” you say.

Sylvain drops his hand. Then raises it again.

“No, you can’t bring animals you find on your way back to your seat,” you say.

He drops his hand. Beside him, Ingrid fails to stifle a groan.

Twenty minutes later, the first group stands in front of the class. Mercedes’s steady hand draws the perfect copy of the manoeuvre on the chalk board while Annette recites every step flawlessly. They’re a powerful combination, and that’s only half owed to their friendship. Mercedes is soft; she’s the silk hiding the dagger that Annette’s sharp mind is. There’s strength in kindness, and both have honed this ability to a razor-sharp weapon. There’s still a pouch of unfinished cookies Mercedes has baked for you left in your room, something to keep in mind for the next tea hour with Byleth. Felix and Dedue don’t add much, and you’re a little afraid to ask, seeing how Felix’s eyes burn holes in the back of Dedue’s head. There’s been rumours going on about a dispute, but no details, and you gladly leave that sort of teacher-student business to Hanneman.

The remaining students do their job almost just as good. But the thought of children being so confident in ways of war and killing leaves a painful twinge in your chest. You wonder what will become of them all in a few years, what battles they will win. What battles they will lose—this fear lingers at the edges of your consciousness like an ever-present shadow. To push it away, you try to refocus on the task at hand.

“Look at the battalions you have,” you advise, tapping a finger against the cool surface of the board. It comes away white with chalk, leaving a white smudge on your robe as you wipe it off. “Where are they placed?”

Ashe clears his throat. “Two Lance Soldiers, that’s Infantry. One Magic Squadron, also Infantry. The latter is stationed far northeast on that island. Two Pegasus Corpses, which are Flying Types. We put them behind the mountains to ambush the enemies on their way to one of our Infantries.”

“A good idea in theory,” you acknowledge, and don’t miss how Ashe exhales in relief. “And where are you enemies?”

“They’re facing our Infantry and the Squadron,” Dimitri steps in now. “The Flying Unit engage from the back. After their victory, Infantry and Flying close the last opposite unite off on the bridge, and join the Magic Squadron in fighting.”

“Okay, okay,” you nod. “And now look at the terrain of this last unit you want to take on from the front and back. The one on the bridge moving towards the Squadron.”

The room is quiet for a minute, and then a silent “Oh” from Ashe.

“Yes. Oh. The Magic Squadron moves slower through the woods. You’ll lose them. And one of the Lance units is probably the next to go.” You draw sharp lines across the board with red chalk, changing the battalion’s movements. One goes across the whole board, crossing out the word Sea. “Wouldn’t it be smarter to have your Pegasus Companies move this way across the water, join the Magic Squadron and then close in from the right to join the Infantries?”

“But Herald.” Ingrid raises her hand, but doesn’t wait for you to pick her. “If Infantry and Flying take out the first enemy, we’ll still win. The remaining unit will be trapped on the island without a possibility to retreat. Wouldn’t it be wiser to sacrifice the Magic Squadron just for that?”

“I agree with Ingrid,” says Sylvain. He’s sitting on a desk, and swings his legs back and forth. “With or without them, we won the battle, and that’s what matters.”

You turn back to scan the manoeuvre one more time. They’re right—blocking the enemy’s escape routes off proves a solid guarantee to win, and yet you’ve somewhat hoped they wouldn’t settle on this option. There’s a bitter taste in your mouth, turning your lips upside down as if you’ve bitten into a lemon.

“Sometimes, you don’t want to win the battle,” you start slowly, the thought blossoming from a dark place deep inside you. “Sometimes you want as many as possible to live.” Which is easier said than done, and no one in the room agrees on your statement because they know just as much that such a choice isn’t always granted. Before the silence stretches on too long, you quickly add, “I guess it is more important to know there is no right or wrong answer. You make decisions later on that will either grant you victory or death, and you will have to live with those decisions.”

Unanimous murmur sounds from the students, a topic nobody wants to dwell on too long, and you grant them that wish; this precious little time they’re still allowed to be children and make mistakes before responsibilities catch up to them. The rest of the lesson flies past without disturbances, and when the bells announce the break, they jump from their seats and scurry outside.

“Don’t forget there’s going to be a test after the mock battle,” you call after them, knowing they’ll forget anyway and then boycott. The Lions are finally done with lessons, but there is the Deer House who have the misfortune to attend the last period of the day. As you prepare their unit of instruction on different terrains, Dimitri approaches you, his expression a mixture between confidence and tension.

“Herald.” He stops in front of your desk, shoulders squared into a declaration of deference. “I have prepared instructions on everyone’s weaknesses and strengths. Please, do consider to take a look. Since one of the rules is that only six units will be stationed on the field, I hope this will make your decision easier who to choose.” Placing the papers with outmost care on your table, Dimitri hesitates a moment before continuing, “What you said earlier … truth be told, I think the same. To limit the loss of lives as much as possible should be a priority to a leader as well. To hear that from someone like you … I was quite glad.”

“Someone like me,” you repeat, but you’re more surprised to feel your fingers itch to take the papers and get a first read on everyone. After going through similar notes from Linhardt, you’re now excited to learn more about your proteges, and with luck someone from the Golden Deer students might provide you with a first survey as well.

“Someone responsible for tactics and strategy,” Dimitri quickly clarifies. “Someone tasked with bringing absolute victory.” He gives you a look that is somehow both caressing and calculating at the same time. “I understand that those sometimes compete with one’s own beliefs regarding the value of life. One’s conscience is as much of a weapon as a sharpened blade. If it breaks, what use is there to a person.”

“Those are … some mature thoughts.” You don’t know where this observation goes. Of course he is mature, he has to be as the successor of a noble lineage. “For someone your age.” You press your mouth into a thin line, cursing your inability to think of a better response. But Dimitri simply smiles—a smile that is like a light suddenly being turned on in every room of a dark house.

“Oh, but I do not want to bore you with such matters. I just wanted to add, I really do look forward to have you on our side during the mock battle.” He gives a little courtesy bow. “Let us discuss the details on the day before the mission. A good evening to you, Herald.”

Dimitri leaves with a little bounce to his step. It’s probably better he’s in high spirits, even though you aren’t sure what exactly made him happy. It would be a real shame to extinguish his excitement by being an utter failure during the battle, so you make sure to read whatever he managed to put together about his classmates as soon as possible. There’s still some minutes left before the first Deer students will enter. Exhaustion lulls you into resting your eyes, and the moment your head is cradled in your arms, you doze off.

It’s the third time you have this dream after joining the Officer’s Academy, though calling it a ‘dream’ is a stretch—there is nothing happening, nothing to see. Only white, as pure and unblemished as a young lily blossom in early spring. Only this time this picture—maybe a memory, but of what or where you can’t say—is different.

Wake up, a voice whispers, barely recognisable and dull, spoken behind a wall of water. Wake up.

Your hands weigh a ton. Unable to reach out and grasp it, the dream blurs, slipping through your fingers like sand.

Wake up.

“Herald, wake up,” Claude persists. “You’re drooling on my test papers.”

His hand brushes your shoulder and you jump, all focus on the dream dispersing. Multiple voices fill the room in a shower of sounds, not helping to regain your senses of where you are. It doesn’t help that your right eye throbs dully, and as you rub it to somehow reduce the sensation, white spots dance across your vision.

“So sorry, Herald,” Claude smirks with his hand still hovering over your shoulder. “Didn’t mean to wake you from your beauty rest, but Hilda planned to draw obscene things on your face, and we can’t have that now, can we.”

“Liars never prosper, Claude!” comes Hilda’s response from somewhere in the back of the room. You groan, narrowing your eyes at him. Going back to sleep and stumbling about to try and figure out what’s going on sounds more pleasing than dealing with Claude’s shenanigans.

“Man, what a bummer you won’t join our House during the mock battle,” he continues as if Hilda hasn’t said anything. “If someone asked me, I think to have you fight for the Blue Lions is cheating.”

“But no one asked you?” you offer, indulging him with a weak smile.

“The audacity, right?” Claude rolls his eyes towards the ceiling, leaning against the teacher’s desk. “Just imagine the brilliant schemes we two could work out. Oh, I have an amazing idea. How about you ask Lady Rhea—”

“I’m not asking to be by your side during the battle.”

“Ouch.” Claude places a hand over his chest, right above his heart. “Immediately shut down. Who knew our dearest Herald would be such a heart breaker.”

You shoo him away, not only because he’s getting on your nerves, but there’s also Ignatz and Raphael standing in line, waiting for your attention.

“We’ve heard the students from the other Houses gave you some insight in their abilities,” Ignatz says, tugging a stack of papers to his chest. “We decided to give you one as well.”

“I’m sure you’ll like them,” Raphael chimes in, looking more excited than usual. “I gave Ignatz instructions on how to make our report the best. Forget boring words, Herald, we’ve prepared the real deal!” He rips the papers from Ignatz’s hands and slams them on your table. A crack sounds on the underside, and Raphael leans his whole weight upon the surface, completely oblivious to the protesting creak of the wood.

“Here, we started with Claude, since he’s the big shot and all that,” he explains, opening the first page. It shows Claude, a surprisingly accurate portrait of him, if not a little bit scrawny. He’s wielding a bow, nocking multiple arrows. Seems like Raphael wasn’t the only one giving instructions.

“And here is Leonie, and there’s Lorenz, and oh! That’s us working together as a team!” Raphael beams as he turns the page. In this picture, everyone is assembled, fighting against angry looking soldiers and horned monsters. There’s Lysithea and Marianne shooting lightning bolts from their hands, zapping their opponents. Raphael is carrying a huge stone, on top of it stands Hilda, wielding a mighty axe.

“These are the most accurate file reports I’ve seen,” you say for lack of better words. “It really is a shame I can’t join you for the mock battle.”

“There’s gonna be a next time, no worries!” Raphael gives you a thumbs up, then retreats to his seat, Ignatz by his side. They’re a funny duo, not just because of their different build. Their personalities seem the complete opposite, and yet strangely fit like a child’s box to sort blocks into the right shapes.

The difference between the Golden Deers and Blue Lions, for one, is the noise level. Instead of waiting for you to call them up one by one, they love to shout answers whenever they see fit. Judging who was the first isn’t really easy when four people scream at the same time, so you’ve given up on that—Claude’s policy whoever screams loudest didn’t help all too much as well. Maybe it’s time to ask Byleth about some tips how to handle them. When the bell tolls for the last time for this day, announcing everyone to be relieved of their work, the student clear out faster than during fire drills, leaving you with a turmoil of thoughts and worries and two little voices bickering about how much of a disaster next week is going to be.

After seven days and nights of restless sleep and vigorous training under the vicious supervision of Byleth, the green fields stretching before you end boarding on lush woods, its treetops protruding into the sky. It’s a wonderful day you would enjoy much more without knowing this is a battle field, and the people behind you wait for your command.

“Black Eagle and Golden Deer are in position. Captain Jeralt said the mock battle begins in roughly ten minutes.” Dedue gives you an expectant look, and you give him a curt nod, your mouth dry.

“Thanks. We’ll have a last briefing. After that, we’ll deploy our units.”

Dedue joins his classmates, leaving you to your troubled thoughts. With luck, none of your opponents will reach you, and you won’t have to fight. It’s as if you can feel Byleth’s taste for your blood all across the field, even though right now she’s just a blurry, dark blob in the distance, surrounded by her students.

“Do not worry, Herald.” The hard metal of a gauntlet on your shoulder makes you flinch, backing away from Dimitri. The worry on his face is a mirror of your own, albeit for different reasons. “Everyone will do their best to follow your orders, and fight with everything they've got. Your leadership will lead us to victory.”

“Oh, yeah!” You don’t meet his eyes. “For sure.” Zero pressure and all that. You don’t say that, seeing that most of the students don’t appear to be as nervous as you. Confidence is key, and even though you see none of it in tangible proximity, you can at least fake it until you make it.

Six minutes left. With a deep breath, you try to get hold of yourself, and face the Lions.

“Since we don’t know who will be deployed by Manuela and Byleth, prepare for everything. I want to split the group. Dimitri, Dedue and Mercedes move to the northern forest. Felix, Sylvain, you’re moving west with me.”

Felix pulls a grimace, but before he can say anything, Sylvain throws an arm around his shoulders and leans on him, gracing you with a full grin. “We got your back, Herald.” He earns a whack on his back from his friend.

“Why are we splitting up if our plan is to take out each group separately?” Dedue inquirers. “Isn’t that what we agreed on before?”

“I think the Herald plans to let our opponents think we plan on taking them both on at the same time.” Dimitri throws a quick glance at you. “We’ll draw them in our direction, and once they are near, we close in from both sides.”

You nod. “Precisely. We know the Black Eagles will start far north from us. The Golden Deers are northwest. As soon as one of them moves towards us, we’ll have to defeat them immediately. It will be easier fighting one House, not both at the same time.”

“Look at you, Your Highness.” Sylvain pats him on the shoulder, looking proud. “Someone’s been paying attention in class!”

“Sylvain—” Dimitri’s chiding meets deaf ears as Sylvain already turns away, checking his lance for a last time. But he does beam a little, you think. Or maybe it’s just the sun making everything look much brighter. It’ll go into your report nonetheless. Chances of a victory look good—even if you have to retreat, the Blue Lions might make it on their own.

The bressy sound of a horn echoes across the valley, reverberating in your bones. The mock battle begins.

The weight of the wooden training sword hanging from your hip is foreign; it’s as though you only expect to trip over it. Determined to keep it in its holster, you approach the grove, flanked by Sylvain and Felix—and not a minute too soon. Moving towards you is the first line of enemies, Ignatz, Lorenz and Marianne.

“I think they didn’t see us—” Sylvain starts just as the first arrow flies past his head and hits the trunk beside him with a thunk. For safety purposes, all arrow’s tips are wrapped up in stiff cloth, not intended to leave permanent wounds but surely still capable to deliver nasty bruises like the training swords and lances.

“I think they saw us—” Sylvain’s brilliant new observation ends in a yelp as Felix shoves him out of the line of fire.

“Get down, dumbass!”

You three duck behind bushes and trees, cautiously observing how the others advance, their weapons drawn.

“I’ll go for Ignatz,” you say. “Felix, you’re fast enough to reach Marianne and take her down before she starts healing everyone.”

“Fine, we’ll try your plan.” Felix has his sword drawn already, gripping it tight enough his knuckles turn white. “Try not to get kicked out too soon, will you.”

You blow a strand of hair from out of your eyes, squinting at his back as he jumps out of cover. The last couple of weeks you’ve put in some extra hours of sword practice with Felix. As an exceptional swordsman, noble and diligent in his training unlike anyone else—safe maybe for Dimitri—you imagined no one could teach you as much as possible in the short amount of time until the mission. It took some convincing, but the decisive argument that sold him was your desire to become better to finally have at least a chance against Byleth. If she is stern during practice, Felix is vicious, exploiting the tiniest opening you give in order to make you learn from your mistakes. Your body was a medley of pain and aches after every evening, but now the memory of that very same melody is your marching song towards battle. Then there’s always the knowledge that if you three can distract them long enough before the rest of the Golden Deer students arrive, Dimitri and the rest will close in on your position, and taking down your opponents won’t be difficult.

“Sylvain, Lorenz is yours.”

He answers with a simple salute, grip tight around his training lance, and as you both follow Felix out in the open, an image flickers before you, there and gone like a flame going out with a last glint. An arrow, headed straight at you. Your body moves in instinct, dodging the projectile not a second too late. Judging from the direction of its origin, Ignatz must be just beyond the rocks only a few hundred yards away. You throw a MiasmaΔ in his direction, the black ball carving its path across the grasslands. It hits the stone, chipping parts away and revealing Ignatz, crouching behind it. He looks up, dirt on his cheeks, and adjusts his glasses before ducking out of his cover, another arrow already ready on his bow.

Another arrow hits him on his back, hard enough to get him down on his knees. Mercedes’ accuracy isn’t as good as Ashe’s, but the determination carved into her face makes up for lack of skill. Dimitri and Dedue are right on her heels, but a single look thrown over your shoulder shows that Felix and Sylvain have everything under control. Coming out victorious as well, save for Sylvain pressing a hand against his ribs, they were still complete. The knowledge of that makes you sigh in relief, a new surge of hope soaring inside you.

“I knew we shouldn’t have listened to Claude’s dubious plan.” Lorenz’s bickering is still audible, even as the three proceed to leave the battle grounds to meet up with Jeralt. You’re really curious to see what exactly Claude had in mind, but diverting your focus for just a second could become dangerous. Instead, you turn towards the students.

“Stay close,” you order, waiting until Mercedes is finished checking Sylvain's injuries. “We’re going to move further towards the Golden Deers and eliminate them first.” Flexing your fingers against the slow growth of getting used casting spells, your group begins to move further north.

Out of the corner of your eyes, you notice Dimitri buckling and unbuckling his spear from his back. Out of lack for the right words, and because the first rush of adrenaline still courses through your body, you jostle against him, wearing a grin on your face.

“Look lively, Your Highness,” you advise. “All that nervous fumbling isn’t what a leader is supposed to do.”

A tiny gasps leaves him, more an exhale than anything else, but he turns towards you, slightly flushed. Bringing his hands to his sides, it’s too obvious he’s tensing his body so they don’t stray again—like a statue that’s on the edge of shattering at the tiniest movement.

“You’re right, of course.” He lowers his head a little. “I just keep thinking that the Black Eagle students wait for us in that direction as well. Some are surely moving towards us as we speak.”

“Are you worried about Byleth?” you wonder, and more as an afterthought add, “Or Edelgard?”

“Anyone who is not worried about Byleth is a fool, if you ask me,” he replies with a crease between his pale eyebrows. “And well, this is our first chance to prove ourselves, being the heirs to the ruling factions. I know Edelgard is exceptionally strong. And Claude surely has an ace up his sleeve. You are right, Herald. Nervousness is a sign of hesitation, of weakness. I will be better than that.” A new fire comes alive in his eyes as he strides onward, catching up to Mercedes and Sylvain to compliment her on the excellent shot from before.

The epiphany really comes only now, fast and hard like a lightning bolt, that these children will drink in everything you have to offer—advices, orders, simple words of encouragement—simply for the title that is strapped around your neck. The weight of that responsibility slows your steps, which allows for another worry to quickly catch up: has everything you have taught them so far been right? Do they really know how to exploit the advantages certain classes have over others; will a strategic retreat even occur to them in the right time before it’s too late.

Doubt is like poison, slowly eating you from the inside. This mock battle won’t just be a lesson for the students. It will also test if you have put them on the right path, and the realisation unfolds a new conviction inside you, breathing new wind into your sails.

You quickly catch up to them, another rush of encouraging words on your lips when another image flickers on and off, painting your sight red. You freeze, raising an arm, hand formed into a fist.

“Halt!” you shout, processing what you just saw. The students pause, forming a loose circle around you. The throbbing from before settles back in, more persistent now like someone’s knocking against the back of your skull to get your attention. You try to ignore that and focus on categorising every student’s ability in alphabetical order.

“Linhardt,” you gasp, eyes wide open and glued on Dedue.

The students exchange worried glances. Sylvain is the first to speak. “No, Herald,” he says. “Linhardt’s the pretty boy with all the books, you know. Who sleeps just about anywhere, like a cat. That’s our Dedue here.”

“No, I mean Linhardt has Nosferatu,” you quickly explain, flailing your hands in hope to express yourself better. It doesn’t look like it helps. “Linhardt is the only one left who can use Nosferatu, and he’s going to land a good hit on Dedue. And with good, I mean bad. If he hits you, you’re down, Dedue.” Because only that makes sense, as Marianne is already standing on the sidelines and you haven’t heard about anyone else learning the skill. Undoubtedly a Nosferatu will hit Dedue if you don’t change course or take the spell caster out first.

Dedue steps forward. “Should it give us an advantage against our enemy, I will gladly face the opponent and go down if it means it won’t interfere with our progress towards the Golden Deer students.”

“Sacrificing yourself for a mere praise from the boar, is that what you hope for?” Felix demands, or more like snarls, his handsome face crumpling into an ugly look of contempt. “Pathetic.”

“Sacrifice is a big word to throw around during a mock battle, don’t you think,” Sylvain unhelpfully throws in, his posture a little too relaxed in the light of the conflict that’s about to break out.

Dedue shakes his head. “I am simply fulfilling my duty,” he states. “Anything that will bring His Highness victory.”

“You would also run head first into an ambush and get yourself killed, is that it?” Felix grimaces. “Blindly following orders—”

“Okay, okay, that’s enough!” Your raised voice makes them pause, and you use that second to grab lead of the conversation. “We don’t even know if Linhardt is going to be alone or joined by other Eagle students. What do you think will your little act accomplish, Dedue?”

He sets his mouth into a grim, hard line, unable to come up with a satisfying answer that isn’t a repeat of what he just said.

“You’ll have a tough time going against Black Eagles with all their magic users, so stay with Dimitri. Go and deal with the rest of the Golden Deer students. And you—” You meet Felix’s glare with narrowed eyes. “A battlefield isn’t the place to throw around petty disagreements. You would do well to remember that.”

“Understood.” He rips the training sword from its holster. “But let me go take down that mage. I’ll cut him down swiftly.”

“We’ll go together. I’m not leaving any of you on your own. Take care of Claude,” you tell Dimitri, showing with a nod that you fully trust in his leading ability. “We’ll meet east from the barricades in exactly one hour.”

He doesn’t shy away from you glare. “Understood. Take care you two.”

Felix takes the lead with long, eager strides. As you follow him, you rub your eye, wincing at the pinprick-like pain. The dull throb doesn’t cease this time, and if you had to take a guess, there’s only once left for the Crest to activate before you reach your limit. So far, nothing has helped you to ascertain when exactly a foresight occurs, and leaving it to pure chance is like grasping a loose rope in hopes that it is tied to something somewhere as you take the leap. Maybe Hanneman will make more sense of it laters.

“You should have stayed with the others,” Felix says after a moment, scanning your surroundings for any sign of the enemy. It sounds more like a simple statement than an accusation. “I can handle someone like Linhardt on my own.”

“I said before, we don’t know if he’s alone. I highly doubt it.” It’s like Dimitri said before: Underestimating Byleth will surely end in casualties and defeat. You don’t consider it far-fetched that she has sent a non-magic class with Linhardt, but who that will be is left to be determined.

“No matter how many accompany him. Be it two or three or all of them, I will take them down.”

“It takes more than one person to win a war.” Though you don’t doubt Felix might try it by himself anyway. “You’ll notice soon enough that you will rely on your comrades.”

“I will rely on them as long as they don’t get in my way.”

“So charming,” you mumble to yourself as you two round a mound. It really is none of your business, but you're actually curious about what is going on between him and Dedue. The moment you finish outweighing the pros and cons of trying to go down that rabbit hole, the air around you changes, barely noticeable save for a change of wind—it completely stills for a second, but that is enough to realise what’s happening.

“Felix—” you manage before the Nosferatu explodes in front of you, knocking you to the ground. Before the mock battle, all magicians were instructed to weaken their spells; no lasting damage should befall any of the participants. Only because of that you manage to climb back on your feet, only left with dizziness that makes the world spin. The jarring sound of metal clashing against metal clears your mind a little, and when you turn around, Felix and Ferdinand are clashing blades.

You turn further, and there he is, a hand raised in your direction. “Sorry, Herald,” Linhardt says. He doesn’t sound sorry at all. “The professor threatened with extra homework if we would hold back against you.”

“Of course she did,” you mumble, grabbing your sword with sweaty hands. Two against two is fair, and you have no doubt that Felix will hold his ground against Ferdinand. The only solution to your little problem named Linhardt is to get as close as possible, and make use of your advantage in meagre sword skills.

Another Nosferatu is sent your way, but this time you dodge, the hair on your neck standing on end. Somehow your body automatically shies away from Faith magic like a cat fleeing from water. Just one more hit will surely be enough to throw you out of the mock battle, and you can’t have that, not when the picture of Dimitri’s resolute expression is carved into your mind.

You close the distance, all nerves tensed in anticipation, completely focused on trying to feel where the next spell is going to land. As Linhardt retreats into the woods, his sight obscured by trees, you dive after him, shoving twigs out of your way. A shadow moves through the undergrowth; every muscle in your body locks up, but you plunge forward, sword raised—

Linhardt gasps when he finds himself pressed against a tree, your sword at his throat. With both hands up, he doesn’t move an inch, simply blinking at you. Somewhere above you, a bird cries out; a branch breaks. Linhardt makes a face like he jammed his foot in a door he slammed shut himself.

“I surrender,” he says. “Getting beat up and spending time in the infirmary doesn’t sound as good as reading tomes in the library.”

“You sure?” Your heart beats so loud in your chest, it’s a miracle it doesn’t break through your ribcage and fly off. “Byleth might drown you in homework for that.”

He shrugs. “I call it a strategic retreat. I’ll just have to—” A yawn. “—convince the professor.” Another yawn. You begin to see the ulterior motive behind his surrender. Squinting at him, you proceed to bind his hands with a dark spell. Black shackles appear around his wrists, locking them tight together. As you make your way out of the grove, you hope Felix had the same success.

That thought immediately dies when you return to the plain and see Jeralt heaving an unconscious Felix on the back of his horse, a battered Ferdinand by his side.

“Ah, Herald.” Even though beaten up black and blue, Ferdinand still manages a smile. It looks a little lopsided with his swollen cheek and the dried blood on his upper lip. “I don’t mean to offend, but I hope you return because Linhardt defeated you in mighty combat?” A second too late he sees the magic binds around Linhardt’s wrists. His face falls. “My, Linhardt.”

“You don’t quite look so good yourself,” Linhardt throws back without any heat in his voice. He sounds rather bored. Tired.

“Excuse me, but what happened. What’s wrong with Felix?” you ask, turning to Jeralt. Before he can answer, Ferdinand chimes in, “He fought splendidly! Though I had no doubt in that, he is a noble after all. Yet, after ringing me to the ground, he lost consciousness. By my honour as the heir of House Aegir, I cannot take advantage of that. We both shall step out of battle.”

“He passed out?” Now that you take a good look at him, he’s still pale, unhealthily so. Slick sweat glues his dark hair to his forehead, and the skin beneath his eyes shimmers slightly blue—lack of sleep.

“Overexertion, I guess,” Jeralt says now. He pulls Linhardt to his side, and gives his shackles a thoughtful look. “I’ll take these three with me. You go and continue the mock battle, Herald.”

“But…” It doesn’t feel right to leave Felix alone. Even though he technically isn’t, you imagine it would be better to wake up to a friendly face.

“He’ll be fine.” Jeralt gives you a strange sideway glance. “The other brats rely on you right now, don’t they? Go to them.”

He’s right, of course. The mission isn’t over yet, and with a strong combatant like Felix missing, victory has just slipped from your grasp.

There is the meeting point. There it is, and no student from the Lion House is in sight. The minutes pass in long stretches, ticking away until it’s impossible to tell if time moves on or holds still. Holding out between the trees, you look in both directions—for your comrades and the enemy. For whatever reason, Byleth has decided not to advance to your position, and you aren’t sure what that’s supposed to mean. More minutes pass in aggravating silence, heavy and oppressing, and then—

“Herald!” Dimitri’s voice rings through the woods. Your head snaps to him, and there they are, the Blue Lions tearing through the woods, a yellow flag with a deer on it waving behind them.

“You did it!” Joy and relief spreads through you as you stumble towards them. “You guys really did it!” They shuffle around you like kittens searching for warmth, and something tight uncoils inside your chest. Is this what Byleth always feels when she’s in front of her class?

“Hilda and Claude were mighty opponents, but nothing we couldn’t handle,” Dimitri reassures, but then a shadow jumps over his features. “Unfortunately, Mercedes had to leave. We couldn’t reach her in time to step in.”

“Step in,” Sylvain repeats, muttered under his breath as he brushes red locks from his sweaty forehead. “I want to see you stepping in when Hilda swings that axe like a lunatic and not scream like a little girl.”

“Where is Felix?” Dedue inquirers, ignoring Sylvain.

Your shoulders drop. “Well, Linhardt was accompanied by Ferdinand, and while I pursued Linhardt, they fought. None of them emerged unscathed, although I feel Felix drew the shorter straw.”

“Felix?” Dimitri repeats. He sounds as if you just tried to convince him it’s going to rain butterscotch pie later. “Our Felix lost?”

“Not exactly the fight, but I’m sure his pride took a hard beating.”

“Well, that leaves four against four.” Dimitri brings a hand up to his chin, a worry crease between his eyebrows. “And they still have Edelgard and the Professor.”

“And we got the Herald and you!” Sylvain beams. “I say we wrap this up and celebrate our victory with a nice dinner and maybe some ale? How does that sound?”

“Sacrilegious.” Your voice is drier than the crisp leaves cracking under your feet. “Aren’t you too young for alcohol?”

“Too young and irresponsible,” Dimitri agrees with you, looking tired of Sylvain’s antics. “But I don’t object to a celebratory dinner.”

“That is, if we win.” Dedue reads your mind, and brings the conversation back on the right course.

“I assume the Black Eagles are holding position. They’re waiting for us,” you say, briefly checking everyone’s state. Safe for dirt and scratches, they’re still doing good, though having fought already, the Blue Lions are on a slight disadvantage. You can only hope some of Byleth’s students dropped out facing the Golden Deers.

“We shouldn’t keep them waiting then.” Sylvain winks, playing with the grip of his lance. The smile that flirts with his lips is threatening.

“Keep your guard up.” Dimitri shares a single, meaningful glance with every one of you, then leads your little group out of the forest. Whatever Byleth has planned, you hope that you’ll be ready for it.

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speedypandaweasel · 3 years

Text

One Big Adventure - a Wilford Warfstache and Abe story (Non-Ship) (2,914 Words)

Thank you for the request @canceltheact! I hope you enjoy reading this as much as I enjoyed writing it!

If you would like to submit a request, see the information at the Masterlist and submit through the Q and A!

PSA - THIS IS NOT A SHIP oke, let us begin...

Dazed images fog up the minds of two *very* hungover men as they stagger their way up to the apartment. Abe fumbles his way through the door and over strewn clothes. He continues on and manages to put together the kaleidoscope of scenery that is right in front of him. To his left, a saggy sofa sits and a cheap TV dangerously hangs off the stripping wallpaper by a thread. To his right, a grimy kitchen is on display which even the worst chef in the world wouldn't waste his time in. The other man, however, is blabbering away, slurring his words like a car on an icy motorway. "HA!, I tell *hick* you Abe, I'm so glad I remembered you, you see *hick*, I can't even remember where I put my-" Aaaand he's gone. His body moulds into the cushions that poorly support his droopy frame, and his scuffed platform boots dangle over the side. Abe smiles, slightly soberer than before. Who would have thought that this stock still of a man, whose only aesthetics were the colour beige and veterans, would somehow have a goofy, lighter side to him? All the criminals he's met and caught among the years...

Hold up, has he met anyone? He can't remember any experiences where he HAS met any, so why did he think that? Hm, must be the Tequila talking. Abe hopscotches over the empty Wine and Martini bottles that are decorated across the stained carpet. Damm, William has not been taking care of himself. Mind you, neither has he so he can't really say anything. He arrives into the walk-in kitchen and opens a dusty cupboard. His tired eyes only meet with shot and tumbler glasses.

How much does this Man drink!? Shuffling used plates and greasy cutlery out of the way, he fills a scotch glass with water. Dowsing the liquid felt like heaven. His exhausted physique felt like a body that's been stuck in the desert for a considerable amount of time and didn't know it needed water to survive. Oh, now he feels the headache coming on.

Reader, you know when water tastes funny? It's because your brain hasn't been receiving enough H20 because you've been drinking too many energy drinks. Yeah, that feeling is exactly what Abe is feeling right now. CONTINUING ON!

The scotch glass watches from the draining board whilst the Detective plays the quietest game of the floor is lava, whilst the moustached man is making much more noise. He manages to reach a corridor which he thinks leads towards the bedroom and tiptoes down the tight hall to find a vacant room. On the way, he passes another room. It was Barnum's. His mind was split in two, Does he go in? Or stay out? Through the crack in the door, the catastrophe has indeed spread into his sleeping quarters. A mountain of flamboyant disco clothes gathers dust in front of his Chester draws, the bed's not made and more liquor bottles are having a social gathering on top. Oh William, you may be a murderer, but you need to prioritise yourself. He takes a last look at his passed out flatmate down the hallway, before shutting the guest bedroom door. Grey. It's all he's met with. Much like his exterior. He slips his shoes off and starts to unbutton his off-white shirt. he runs a hand down his chest and over the scar. How the Hell did he survive that? He can't be bothered to go into it right now, he's too tired. He snuggles into bed and does the infamous cold bed dance.

You know the one.

Abe gets out of the tempting bed once more and walks back into the living room. He creeps over to William, the man's mouth catching flies. He carefully takes his enormous shoes off and places them on the floor. Barnum's mismatch socks disappear underneath the blanket. "Night William."

~ A gorgeous smell of Breakfast wanders its way through the apartment and Abe groggily wakes up. His eyes peel open and with a yawn, he trudges through to the living room. Remembering from earlier this morning, he needed to position himself for his dance routine around the non-existent floor. "What are you doing my main man?" Barnum brightly asks, a hearty chuckle accompanies the question. Resided in the pristine kitchen, his big, strong hand holds a Skillet and two China plates are centred on the pebble grey marble island. Abe, however, is currently squatting as though he was playing a game of leapfrog with some imaginary friends. The Detective goes to jump but then is taken back at the sight. The apartment is now spick and span, no more Wine Bottles, no more strewn clothes. The windows are tied wide open and it overlooks the sketchy neighbourhood that they reside in. "How did you do this?" "Do what?" "You know, clean up this quickly?" Barnum checks his watch. It's 7:30 am "Oh well you see, I ironed a nice pair of jeans and found a lovely dandelion coloured shirt. Accompanied by some rainbow braces I think I look quite dashing don't you think so?" "No William, I-I mean the Apartm-AAH!" Abe clings his hand over his head, damm this- "Headache is killing you?" William slides a glass of water over with an Aspirin pill. "And no, I didn't clean the apartment, she did." Wilford looks- wait, why are you looking at me!? "Anywho, we need to get going my slightly hungover companion! But first, breakfast!" Wilford sets a serving plate down of a full English Breakfast: Sausage, an Egg, two cooked Tomatoes, Bacon rashes, Baked Beans and a slice of Buttered Toast. Wow. He didn't know William could cook? The two men got stuck in right away and the TV is turned on. Two bright and very similar faces appear on the screen "Badgers the secret Killer?... And now for the weather, Jim?"

The camera pans to, what they believe, is Jim. Their face resembles a deer in headlights. "I swear, they don't know what they're doing. It's hilarious!" The Detective says with a mouthful of Toast. Barnum laughs, wipes his mouth with a napkin and takes a swig of his Orange juice. "Right! I mean, who is their boss anyway?!" The men eat and laugh their way through their plates talking about what topics they would cover if they were reporters. After a while, they both recline back into their bar stools and the cook starts to tidy up the dirty dishes. "Oh, no, let me do it. It's the least I can do." "You're alright my man, I've got this. Besides, you need to freshen up!" "But whe-'" "First door on your left"

They share a light chuckle. "Thanks Wilford, I really appreciated that," Abe says before going back down the hallway, whilst Wilford rolls his sleeves up and starts to clean the less-silver cutlery.

He smiles. That's the first time he's ever said that to him. "No problem Abe."

The passenger door slams shut on the Detective's Vintage SUV and Wiford pulls out a gigantic map from his pocket. This map includes hundreds of paths scrawled with crayons and a hint of Martini can be smelt.

"Are you sure, you know where you're going?" Abe questions. Judging by what that map reads, they are going to get lost very easily.

"Of course I know where I'm going! I am Wilford Motherloving Warftsache after all." A pang of guilt hits the Detective, he genuinely can't remember who he was.

"Ok, Wil, you can drive."

After playing at least 3 rounds of rock paper scissors, or when Wilford won, Abe hesitantly let the murderer drive. God knows where though.

Wilford excitedly thrust the keys into the ignition. He couldn't wait for what the day entailed!

"Careful Willford, you're gonna break the keys!" Abe says through gritted teeth.

"Oh pah-lease! I know how to drive" he retaliates. His brown boot floors the pedal and reverses straight into the iron fence.

"Yep, it's working."

The Detectives face, now pale, grips tighter onto his seatbelt and his feet are glued to the floor. "Wil, of course it's working. Now, step on the ga- nope, that's the brakes Wilford."

Pedestrians quiver in fear as they see a horribly driven brown vehicle screech to a stop and then start again. They have to clamp down on their ears as the monster of a car drives past them down the alleyway, swerving left and right much like the driver's speech the other night.

The SUV survives to the end of the road and dents a stop sign perched, well once, straight on the kerb.

"Will, which route are we taking?" Abe asks as he takes the map from the driver's hands.

"It's the one marked Highway of Life, it's gonna be a good one, trust you me."

"Well, this has got off to a surprising start so why not go for an adventure?" Abe says. He's given up at this point.

"LIFE IS A HIIIGHHWWAYY! I WWAAANNNA RRIIDDEE IIT ALLL NIIGGHTT LOOOOONNGG!" The two pop stars start belting out of the car as Wilford drives them to their last stop. Who would have thought that two polar opposites positions of the law would be in the same car together, let alone blasting Disney songs out of the car.

Wilford's hair whips away from his face as the SUV's top winds down.

"LIFE NEEDS A BIT OF MADNESS EH ABE?"

"HELL YEAH IT DOES"

The Afternoon sun blazes down onto their blacked-out sunglasses and the Golden Gate bridge paints a picture for the Detective that prescribes him with a carefree attitude.

Life was his to choose and he was here for it.

The SUV turns off the Highway onto Richmond Street. The Afternoon sun glowing dimmer.

Just in time.

Now reader, if you haven't read my WKM Tumblr Song series, then you won't understand this next section.

The SUV passes bountiful shrubberies and picket fences. Cherry Blossom dust drift its way into the car and Wilford starts to tear up.

"You ok Buddy?"

"Yeah, I'm ok." After all his years of interrogation, Abe knows that that answer was a lie. Yet, he didn't want to push it.

The car comes to a halt and is parked underneath a summer coated oak tree.

"Why'd we stop?"

"I want to show you something."

Abe opens the vintage door and steps out. In front of him, wildflowers and grass sway on the cliffs breeze and small pink flowers grow on its edge. Overhead, a sea glistens with sunlight rays and pink and amber hues dust the sky.

Man, this is enough to make a grown man cry.

The cars driver door can be heard shutting and a shadow walks up behind him. An intimate silence roots itself between the two men.

"You may be wondering why I brought you here."

Abe nods, still looking forward, yet intriguingly listening.

The man sighs, "I used to come here all the time as a young lad. We used to have picnics and dance until dawn. We were so free up here. Away from life, away from Duty, and she was away from Him, that was all that mattered. "

His voice breaks.

"But things change, people change and suddenly, I couldn't do that anymore.

That's why I want you to see it."

Wilford wanders over to their spot and picks up one of the pink flowers sprouting through the grass.

"You may have thought of us as the scum of the Earth Detective. But there are two sides to every story."

The Detective joins the Murderer and puts a hand on his shoulder.

Wilford chuckles. The last time he was here, he was completely and utterly alone. He was like- like a freshly born fawn still trying to find his legs into this world that didn't make sense.

But now...but now things are looking a little brighter.

"If there is anything I can do to make it up to you, just name it."

"You can't do anything really, it's just the way this messed up world works."

The two friends sit down in the grass, making fresh new imprints into the cliff edge, next to two fading ones.

"Can I ask you a question?"

"Sure" "How many people have I killed?"

...

That question lingers in the air for an uncomfortably long time. All that can be heard are the lapping of the waves below them and the occasional swallow talking in the trees.

...

"I don- don't know Wilford," Abe breaks the silence, "I should know, but I-I don't.

...

Abe looks at Wilford, his broken and tear-stained eyes manage to glance back before returning to look out at the sunset.

Abe must do something here. But what? He said himself that nothing can be done so what can he do?

He reminisces on the day they were reunited. So much anger, so much confusion. But Wil was so cheerful, not a care in the world!

Now look at him.

And it was all his fault. If only he didn't get involved...

A second flashes by and Abe does something he should have done the second Will did it.

He hugs Him.

...

"I'm sorry Will."

...

Moments cling on for seems like forever and the embrace is broken. The two tear-stained friends look up.

The afternoon sun has now gone beneath the horizon and is replaced with the all too familiar twilight scenery, which glows softly for miles and miles, each star a lantern that has been entrusted with keeping something special.

"There was another reason why I wanted to bring you here."

Wilford wipes his eyes with his sleeve. "Do you see that star, the big one?"

"Yeah" "That's the Evening Star. That Star is the reason why I have hope. And now I want to share that hope with you. I know we got off the wrong foot but since we're in the same boat now, I think it's time I opened up about where I've actually been."

Abe swallows, this man is truly broken, and he can't do anything about it.

"Thank you for trusting me." "We're not done yet. It's your turn!" "What?" "Make a wish." Cautiously, the Detective slowly stands up from his permanent grassy imprint and walks towards the cliff's edge. The man looks around and sees only patches of shrubbery and wildflowers.

And his newfound friend encouraging him to proceed.

He clasps his hands together and wishes hard. His eyes scrunch together as he becomes a child once more as well. His once tight shoulders have finally become relaxed. After so many years of searching for answers, he doesn't need to worry any more.

A single tear is swept away from the Murderers face as he watches on from the patch of grass. He remembers that feeling and the dream he wished for all those years ago. Yet now, his wish is slowly changing.

Granted, he can't remember who he was but bully does he know what he wants to be. And being here for him, at this very moment, is a wonderful way to start it.

Abe's hands fall to his side and he stares out onto the ever stretching view. His feet are glued to the spot and his mind is only fixated on that one goal. Wilford slowly joins his side, already having a hunch on what he dearly wants.

"What did you wish for?" The Murderer asks.

The Detective huckles, "Now if I told you, it wouldn't come true, would it?"

"Very true my friend."

Little did the men know that their newly found wishes were the same.

"Don't you mean, Best Friend?"

CRACK

The heartwarming moment is abruptly stopped by the sky blasting wide open and millions of sounds exploding across the cliff. The light breeze has rapidly sped up into a storm and is propelling thick gusts upon the two.

"WHAT THE BLOODY HELL NOW!?" Wilford yells at the hole, completely unfazed.

"YOU KNOW WHAT THIS IS!?" Abe yells at his Friend.

"OF COURSE I DO, IT'S TIME FOR WORK."

"WORK!? SINCE WHEN DO YOU HAVE A JOB!?"

"WE ALL HAVE A JOB - WE'RE ACTORS! I'LL EXPLAIN EVERYTHING IF WE DON'T GET SPLIT UP."

"IF WE DONT GET SPLIT UP!? WHERE ARE WE GOING!?" "I HAVE NO IDEA! BUT THAT'S THE FUN OF IT! AFTER THREE, WE WALK IN."

"ARE YOU CRAZY WE'RE GONNA FALL!"

"TRUST ME, WE WON'T."

Wilford grabs Abe's hand and he stares at him. Abe stares back, fear-stricken. Finally, he nods.

"TOGETHER?" "TOGETHER."

"ONE"

"TWO"

"THREE!!!!" The two Actors charge straight over the cliff and into the blinding light.

Wilford finds himself in some kind of leather chair with neon lights surrounding him. A script in one and his prop gun in his other.

No pants on, no wonder he feels too comfortable.

He scans his scene and sees his co-actor, Kathryn, running her lines on the other side of the room.

A chair sits opposite him and behind that, a red T-30 minutes until showtime sign is displayed for him.

Abe, however, isn't needed on set yet. His adventure hasn't begun.

But both of their characters will have to cross at one point or another, it's just a matter of time. Yet for a fact, no one can edit their Friendship; Their Joint Wish.

Because, as they say, Life is a road that you're travelling on, when there's one day here, and the next day gone.

#wilford warfstache #abe the detective #wkm #who killed markiplier #tumblr songs #markiplier #story #william j barnum #markiplier egos

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gintokisimp · 3 years

Text

Whatsername

short angsty fanfiction that I wrote, based on the song “Whatsername” by Green Day. I recommend to listen to that song before or while reading.

Enjoy! Or not..

The sunset blossoms upon the clouds, replacing the light blue color of the heavens that perfectly mirrored the delicate pattern of the lone mans yukata, with a deep sky of fire. The orange gold stretched above him, reflecting in his crimson eyes that gazed into the endless depths.

Hollow, dead eyes. Half-closed as if he was tired of taking in the world around him. Wavy silver hair lined his face, slowly swaying in the light breeze of an early autumn evening. The thick fabric of his cloud white attire rested on the hard stone. A run-down wooden sword scratched over the surface as it moved, tugged in his belt under his deep breaths. The rock he was sitting on was still warm from the sunlight and his fingers welcomed the fading heat. Maple leafs in the most vibrant hues covered the surrounding ground. It was strange. The tree he was sitting beneath was the only one who shed its gown early. He was motionless, transfixed at the colorful dome above him. Was he enjoying it? No. Every day felt like a loss. With the progressing seasons, the evenings were getting shorter and colder and with each new sunset he grieved more and more. The grip of his fingers on the stone tightened as the wind around him picked up and send cold shivers down his spine. Deep in his heart he knew something, or rather someone should be here now, right beside him. Keeping him warm.

The breeze blew down the takegasa placed next to him. It took some time until he was able to tear his eyes from the red ocean above him and he looked down on the woven straw hat. The leafs were blown into it and almost covered it completely. Gintoki struggled to move his body down the rough surface. The sound of wood scratching against rocks harmed his ears and he flinched in discomfort. Bending his stiff back, he reached down for the hat and shook out the dead matter. One of the leafs was stuck between the stalks and he plucked it more carefully than he needed to. Holding the golden brown leaf between his fingers, he caught a trace of a sweet, womanly scent.

Remember

Everything reminded him of her.

The memories flooded him in regular intervals. Hurting him more and more with each repetition.

This leaf.. it reminded him of her soft Kimono snuggling around her curves. Moving gracefully with every step, gleaming softly in the sun of their last warm summer day. He visited Yoshiwara that day to help out Hinowa. At that point he already decided to leave everyone behind. He was prepared. Gintoki didn't have the heart to say no to her.

"Something up? Ya have been avoiding everyone since.. recently." Tsukuyo asked him. She awaited him in front ot the elevators after he finished his business.

"Nothing" re replied abruptly.

She simply smiled at his answer, blowing her smoke from her kiseru in his face. A warm breeze drove through her hair and carried her scent, covering the disgusting smell of the burnt ashes. Gintoki turned around and left her standing in the sun, feeling her eyes in his back.

His sword.. it reminded him of the countless times she was by his side.

His arm guards.. it reminded him of her fishnet stockings reaching up her long, perfect legs. Leading up to the high slit of her kimono, flattering her whole body.

His takegasa.. it reminded him about that one time when she was screaming in agony while he was badly wounded. This sound never left his head and pursued him ever since.

Just everything. The trees, the sky, every single thing around him.

Being alive reminded him of her.

The love incense only made it worse. It overwhelmed him so much, he even confessed to her. He played it off as the fault of the drug but he desperately suppressed everything since then.

Though he didn't realize it until he left her.

Whatever

It seems like forever ago

Forever. It really felt like forever. The days flew by so fast and yet so slow. They were separated for nearly two years and it got only worse.

He looked at his hand. He was still gently holding the leaf in between his fingers. Minutes had gone by. Black was crouching over the horizon and started to cover up the warm colors. He tried to crumble the leaf, but it was soft and kneadable in his numb fingers.

The regrets

A goodbye and farewell? He did not give it to her. He just couldn't do it. He just left her.

He didn't leave the town straight away. He prepared his lone endless journey. Buying new clothes, leaving everything familiar behind.

Edo, that cursed town that gave nothing to him. Back then he didn't realize how wrong he was. He was not preparing his mission. He was delaying his escape. His escape from everyone.

The feeling of being loved had become too much for him, especially coming from her. She never told him about her feelings, but he was too stupid to realize it sooner. His longing, growing feelings for her, made him weak. What if he lost everything again. He would not be able to recover from that. It was easier to leave everything behind and die alone. Alone with the guilt that was eating him alive.

Gintoki rembered the last time seeing her. He could never forget it. This memory was burnt into his eyes, worse than the sun leaving its trace while staring directly into it. They neither talked, nor had she seen him. On his way through the busy street, his takegasa hiding his face, he heard Shinpachis voice, whom he had avoided in the last days. Fleeing into a small alley, he noticed him leaning on a wall talking to.. her. Observing her from under the shadows, his heart was beating painfully. He knew he would never see her again and his body didn't comply with that. He felt his limbs weakening, forcing him to sit down in the dirt. Resting his face in his hands, he heard one sentence from Shinpachi.

"He's gone."

In his memories, the last glimpse of her face through his fingers was the most beautiful and heartbreaking sight he had ever seen.

She had tears in her eyes.

Gintoki stumbled away, clouded sight, deeper into the alley, farther away from her.

Are useless in my mind

She's in my head

Love is painful. Oh and how painful it was. Emotional pain is the worst thing in this entire universe. You can't take any medicine. It takes years to recover, if you recover at all. Each passing day since then dragged him down further and further.

Love is supposed to be symbiotic, not parasitic. But this loves dissolved him from the inside, leaving an empty shell gazing at the heavens.

I want to feel something again. Anything. Gintoki didn't stray far away from this rock for days. He couldn't feel hunger nor physical pain from his inconvenient resting situation. He wanted to feel it. But it could not get through. He only felt pain.

His mind told him, separation from her would take care of his emotions, but it was wrong. The pain of separation seeped into his bones, rendering him immobile for longer and longer terms each passing day.

But It will get better. I'll be okay. Give it time.

Time.

I must confess

He loved her. The burning pain will eventually take over parts of his brain, turning him emotionless.

It was too late. It was over.

Dusk was replaced by the gloomy night. The breeze cooled his skin as his eyes drifted back to the sky, caught by the infinite pattern of the gleaming lights. Stargazing, his head fell in his neck. Bathed in the light of the invisible sun, the full moon 月 was an even more beautiful poem 詠 than he remembered it from last night, composing a song with the pathetic little dots around him.

The moon.

A single tear ran down his cheek.

And in the darkest night

If my memory serves me right

I'll never turn back time

Forgetting you but not the time

#銀月 #gintsu #fanfic #fanfiction #gintama #gintoki #tsukuyo #gintama couple

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kaiokentimesten · 3 years

Note

hiiiii <33333 - mare

Mare, you get the honor of getting assigned my favorite candle in both my collection and in general: Bath and Body Works' Midnight Blue Citrus

Notes: Juicy Tangerine, Airy Beach Grass, Sweet Orange Blossom, Amber with Natural Essential Oils

This candle. Oh my god this candle. It's so fucking good. It smells like literal heaven. The citrus is VERY clear, but it doesn't give me a headache. It's like, smelling citrus fruit on a warm summer night. It's so fucking good. Literally god tier.

(link to game)

#holleh.ask #candle ask game #actively smelling this candle rn and crying at its glory

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hesesols · 4 years

Text

The Good Life

“Stop seducing me in front of my daughter!”

Day 1 of IR month 2020

Prompt: Once Upon A Dream

Word count: 2.5K

"You're pathetic!"

Grimmjow grouses from his perch among the low-lying branches of the cherry blossom tree. The erratic movement causes a shower of pink petals to descend. Carried by the wind, the rainfall of petals flutters and trails along the faces of both father and daughter before succumbing to the pull of gravity, kissing the earth and becoming one with the world again- heralding the beginning of spring with their fall from grace.

The circle of life is full of stolen moments, enshrined in the poetry of flowers and their decay; each one unique, each one fleeting, tender and surreal- no two ever the same for man or time.

Violet eyes widen at the sight of them.

Clapping her hands excitedly, his youngest tugs at him, pointing out the bright colours to him, making funny little noises as she jabbers gibberish. Her enthusiasm is infectious but Ichigo is frowning as he dusts off the pesky things.

He should have never let Rukia talk him into planting them in the gardens, now every spring is just a personal reminder of how big brother is always watching. Byakuya has eyes everywhere, even at his own backyard. That has certainly proven to put a damper on the mood when he's trying to have a few moments of uninterrupted bliss with his wife.

"Hmph."

His non-committal grunt deepens Grimmjow's scowl. Feline grace marks his leap as he jumps off the tree and lands perfectly next to Ichigo.

"Don't just sit there on your fat ass and hmph, you lazy fuck! Get up and fight me! I swear you get lazier every fucking time I see you."

Ichigo snarls, hastily covering his daughter's ears as he glares.

"Oi! Language, asshole!"

Fatherhood mellowed him out pretty nicely but that doesn't mean he isn't a hot minute away from throwing hands with that blue-haired freak if it comes to that. Especially if his little girl's first word turned out to be a swear word because of someone's potty mouth.

"You do this every month," Ichigo rolls his eyes, shifting his hold on his daughter when she starts wriggling on his lap, "Give it up already, Grimmjow! I'm not going to fight you! Come back next month, maybe you'll get lucky."

"C'mon!"

Grimmjow swears that he's not fraternizing with the enemy here. Lines and loyalties are clearly drawn between Shinigamis and Arrancars. He simply laments the fall of a fellow warrior. How the mighty have fallen!

When and how exactly did the saviour of the three realms get reduced into this?

This... blob of passivity and stagnancy?

He eyes the baby- cherubic, rosy cheeks, bright eyes; the root of all evil, the devil dressed in a bunny onesie- with something akin to apprehension in his gaze and feels a shudder running down his spine; to think that a hero will willingly bend the knee and let himself grow weak for this insufferable… creature that does nothing but sleep, eat and poo all day.

It gurgles at him, makes an attempt to grab at him with her grubby hands and he flinches, hissing as he backs away instinctively.

Truly children and babies, especially babies, are the worst!

He briefly contemplates if he will get away with it if he snatches the creature away from her father's hands and runs for the hills the minute he did. That should teach the punk a lesson! It could work in theory, he muses- a Garganta with one hand, hell spawn in the other. Diabolical plan in the works, his lips curled into a smirk as he creeps forward. He'd like to think that he almost got away with it too if he hadn't made the rookie mistake of looking into Ichigo's eyes.

If looks could kill, Ichigo's glare would have been sharp enough to cut him down a million times over.

"Don't even think about it!"

A father's instinct to protect run deep and being parent to a pair of rambunctious pre-schoolers means that hardly anything surprises him anymore. Nothing- especially not a sneak attack aimed at his youngest- gets by him. His grip tightens as he cradles the tiny body against him. Grimmjow is a dead man if he takes another step forward.

Of course not everyone appreciates his efforts. Hisaki, for one- the literal baby of the family and already a full-fledged Kurosaki when it comes to getting things done her way- is not amused by the tight hold. She squirms, pouts and makes an angry face at her father while she makes persistent attempts to lunge at the other man.

"Urhhh-urhh…”

Baby talk is hardly the most eloquent of speeches but Ichigo tries. Her pinched face as she gestures wildly and wills him to let her loose is entirely too precious to be ignored. The doting father follows her line of vision and snorts when he notices her fixated stare at Grimmjow's colourful hair. Okay, so maybe Rukia was on to something when she said that Kurosakis are born with little to no sense to recognize danger and run from it.

He laughs, kissing Hisaki's cute button nose.

Maybe when she's older. Right now, he doesn't even trust Renji with her and that man's got years of experience in dealing with children compared to the almost-feral Arrancar in front of him.

Gently, he bunny kisses her chubby cheeks, blowing raspberries against them until her attention shifts and he becomes the focus of those big violet eyes again. She giggles- delightful little sounds that melts his heart down and has him smitten all over again since the day he first held her.

Bloodlines don't lie and she is perfect- a blend of Rukia and him sieved and condensed into this little bundle of joy. Don't get him wrong, he loves all his children equally but fathers are allowed certain liberties in playing favourites, especially when it comes to their baby daughters.

He runs a hand through her hair- soft, orange tufts that smell like baby shampoo dipped in an assortment of syrupy goodness, honeyed, sweet; heaven on earth- but that face, that pointy little chin and those unworldly eyes that gleam in the dying day; that's all Rukia.

His baby girl is going to be a heartbreaker someday, just like her mother and Ichigo is both a little excited and worried at the prospect. Someday, he thinks; the line of boys queuing up for her love and affection is going to be long enough to go round Seireitei and he needs to be prepared- will have to keep his blade sharp and ready if only for better crowd control.

As if to ease his troubled thoughts, his daughter yawns and snuggles her tired little head against him. Well- he adjusts his hold, wrapping both hands around her. He is getting ahead of himself there. For now, this is already enough excitement for the one-year-old and clearly past her naptime.

He eyes his long-time rival- deeply scowling with no signs of leaving any time soon.

"You're never going to leave until I say yes, aren't you?"

"Damn straight!"

"Fine! Just let me put her to bed first."

He slips in through the back door, wanders inside the house with his bare feet.

The pictures on the wall, silly little knick-knacks from the Living World decorating the shelves- the story of a life he built together with Rukia. A mishmash of new and old; the past and present- still them but better, fuller, happier with each other- of them on their honeymoon, of them at the Ishida's wedding, of them with Chad as he opened his veterinary clinic, the happy little family at the birth of each child, of his eldest's hatsu-zekku, and the most recent picture taken with their extended family- Shibas, Kurosakis, Kuchikis brought together to celebrate Hisaki's first hinamasturi.

Pockets of happiness preserved in stillness. Each one infinitely more precious than ever; chronicles of their evolving journey through life together. The sheer joy, the softness in their eyes; he can't help but mirror and smile back.

"Let me guess? He won't leave until you fight him?"

He looks up from the smiling faces frozen in time to see his reason for being. Sunshine filters through the open window from the kitchen and his breath catches. He sees her gilded and golden, crowned by the halo of the setting sun.

He heaves an exaggerated sigh as he presses his sleeping daughter to her.

"I can't catch a break! I'm supposed to be on paternity leave."

Paternity leave is supposed to be time spent with family, with his wife, especially his wife. Instead he spends it fending off old frenemies, being reminded of his brother-in-law's presence every five minutes while Rukia tackles her paperwork indoors. She only returned to active duty a few weeks ago and it has been a constant nightmare since then to catch up on the backlog of paperwork.

According to the newly minted Captain and mother of three, he's a distraction to her work progress, and can't be trusted not to mislay official documents in a bid to lure her to back to bed for the pursuit of sleep and other carnal activities, so to the gardens it is.

Ichigo doesn't bother denying it. He's simply saying that Captain Kurosaki-Kuchiki needs to do a better job of saying no, of actually pushing him away rather than deepening the kiss or groping at his ass every time he comes on to her.

It does, as the presence of three growing children attests, take two to tango.

Rukia rolls her eyes, "Most paternity leaves don't last a full year."

Ichigo shrugs unapologetically.

"Anyone who's got a problem with that can take it up with the Soutaichou himself. Kyoraku signed the papers- official seal and everything. I'm on paternity leave until further notice. Even Byakuya agrees."

It was nothing less than a miracle. He and Byakuya never agree on anything.

Rukia snorts, pokes at his sides as she teases, "Well, a little sparring might be good for you. You're starting to look a little soft and round around the edges there."

"Oh I'll show you 'soft'!"

With a playful growl, he pounces- grabbing her by the waist as he nuzzles against her soft hair, breathing her in- desperate and reverent, until the world melts away and all that's left is Rukia, sunshine, warmth and home. A hand rises to touch her face, his thumb tracing the fullness of her lips. There's the woman he fell in love with all those years ago. Proud, spirited; still breathtakingly beautiful but now a fuller figure to hold onto at night, a few more laugh lines dotting her familiar face, and maybe- just maybe, a little softer in the exasperated looks she shoots him whenever he annoys her; but still a fighter in every sense of the word.

She fights for him, for them and their little family, and he is so hopelessly in love with her- the undisputed queen of his heart.

"I'll be back by dinner."

"Come back before then."

Rukia pulls him down for a kiss. It is needy, sensual; a familiar ache that tiptoes a fine line between her wants and his needs. Passion flares and there is fire in her touch as she runs her fingers up and down the length of his bare arm- playful, teasing. There's a teenager lying somewhere in him still- eternally seventeen and reeving to go once she gives the signal.

He remembers long hot summer nights, naked bodies coiling in the dark; violet hazes that streak and colour his world when he gives in. Rukia's touch is magnetic and he is drawn irresistibly to the pull.

"The boys can stay a little longer with Nii-sama and Kukaaku-san today and Hisa sleeps like the dead once she's out," she whispers dark and tempting. Teeth nipping at his lips for good measure as she pulls away. He's all putty and labile in her hands and she knows it.

"We can have the whole house to ourselves."

He almost whimpers. The things she does to him-

He groans, forcing himself to look away from her sultry bedroom eyes. It's been too long.

"Stop seducing me in front of my daughter!"

Rukia laughs, tenderly brushing the stray wispy hair away from Hisaki's face. "You mean our daughter."

Swaddled in her mother's arm, his youngest looks even tinier than usual; her face small enough to fit into one of his palm and a little drool escapes the corner of her mouth as she fusses, tiny little digits flexing then bunching at her mother. His lips curve, wondering what she's dreaming about and if she can comprehend just how happy she makes him just by existing.

They were in his arms before he even knew it. His heart so full that it seems to burst at the seams with the love he has for his little family, smiling so wide that his cheeks hurt.

There is nothing that he wouldn't do for her, for them.

"I'll be back."

Fingers brush at his cheek. Rukia's eyes are soft and smiling as she watches him leave.

Knowing what he knows now, Ichigo will be the first to admit that there's still a whole lot out there that he doesn't know but this much is true: life is a mystery and anything can happen in the blink of an eye, so when good things happen you don't question it.

You don't look a gift horse in the mouth, or scorn at your good fortunes like a little shit and ask why. No, you count your blessings, grab hold of them and run- praying in vain that you'll somehow outrun time itself and the fates never catch a glimpse of your happiness long enough to be envious of it.

Somehow, somewhere; he was at the right place, asked the right questions at the right time and Rukia said yes to all the important ones.

Life begins anew and he hasn't looked back since.

All is well.

Tags not showing up properly. Please consider heading over to FF or ao3 for full version and author’s note. Read, review, comment, reblog etc to send love my way~~~

#ichiruki #ichirukimonth2020 #irmonth2020 #mine #fanfic #bleach #future fic #warning: FLUFF #d1: once upon a dream #once upon a dream

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camiddletonxox · 4 years

Text

A Walk and A Rose

Pairing - Dr Ethan Ramsey x Dr Charity Middleton

Rating - General, this is pure romantic fluff

Setting - This is during the pregnancy of Oscar after Charity and Ethan get married. They found out the gender of the baby and are on a small break from work

Taglist - @drakewalkerfantasy @ao719 @princess-geek @polishchoicesfan @binny1985 @adriansbiss @desireepow-1986 @i-bloody-love-drake-walker @hatescapsicum @itscassandral @gardeningourmet @thequeenofcronuts @heauxplesslydevoted @kaavyaethanramsey @choicesolivia @dailydoseofchoices @regencylady1810 @waitingforalana @sanchita012 @sushiharrington @storyofmychoices @akshara16 @choicesficwriterscreations

Ethan Tags - @ramseysno1rookie @aylamwrites

————————————————

Prompt - August Choices challenge day 13 ‘rose’ @choicesmonthlychallenge

Summary - Mr and Mrs Ramsey take a walk and Mr Ramsey treats his wife to a flower...

Word Count - 1138

————————————

Charity

It was a perfect sunny day in one of my favourite places ever in Meredith of New Hampshire me and Ethan had been over to visit my friends I went to med school with for a while before we had to return to work and before our baby boy was born. It had been so perfect, so serene and it had been the loveliest week. We had another week to go of blissful ness. It was so lovely to know that after so many years, I had the most amazing friends still, who had gushed over mine and Ethans wedding and then the news of baby Ramsey.

We were Watkins through the beautiful scenery, hand in hand, in a comfortable silence, the baby kicking me when he got the urge to, but I really have gotten used to the feeling. And when you are walking with your husband nothing could ever be better.

“It is so peaceful here” Ethan comments as we walk along and I smile taking in my surroundings, it is a truly mystically beautiful place for me. The trees were all the colours of fall, greens, oranges, browns. The wind was light.

“I love coming here, it reminds me of med school, when Paul and Julianna and I would just sit in the park over there, and talk. There was this time when I brought my boyfriend from high school here he picked me a rose” I smile and Ethan looks at me, he had a sweet look on his face.

“I would pick you a rose, anyway. I will get you a bouquet if that makes you happy, Mrs Ramsey” He smiles and I feel my whole heart blossom like a rose. How can this man be the Ethan Ramsey who once pushed me away like I was a annoying fly.

“I know you would, all I ever need is you” I whisper and he looks at me, his eyes so full of love and adoration for me, how did this man become mine?

“Its funny that Charity, I feel the same about you” He kisses the top of my forehead, and we walk along.

“I love you, Ethan.... so much” I whisper and he stops walking, facing me, tilting my head so I look at his beautiful eyes, They captivate me constantly. He presses his soft lips to mine, in a love full of burning affection, his lips are as soft as a rose petal.

“I love you too, my Rookie” He whispers and I look at him, how did I get so lucky to have this man in my life. He is perfect. We start to walk again, in a loving silence before I speak again

“I can’t wait till I see you with our son, I can’t wait to see you with him, I know you will love him as much as you love me” I admit and he smiles, looking at the sky, almost as if he was looking at the sky trying to figure out how his life had turned out this way, but I hope he is thinking that in a good way because he is my rock, my best friend.

“I can imagine we will constantly be taking walks to try and get the baby to sleep once he is born” Ethan comments and I put my hand on my stomach, gently rubbing my baby bump.

“My parents used to walk me outside to get me to sleep when I didn’t get to sleep when I was a baby” I recall and Ethan squeezes my hand again, there is just something super romantic about walking together.

“You want to rest, yet? I do not want you to tire yourself out too much, Rookie” Ethan says, his Dr Ethan Ramsey side coming out. I face him, walking backwards, pulling him towards me. He looks at me. He has concern. In his eyes, I guess being married to a doctor and being a doctor, we spend so much time worrying now we are having a baby together.

“I will be fine, we have barely walked 10 minutes, and I don’t feel breathless, please just relax” I say and he frowns, ok maybe saying that to my own personal doctor and my husband wasn’t good. He cares about me and the baby, no... he loves us with all his heart so he is bound to fuss about us, sometimes it just gets a bit annoying, because walking right now with the beautiful scenery, it is just too perfect.

“I can’t relax, Rookie. My Rookie, my wife is 5 months pregnant with my son and I need to look after her” He whispers and he pulls me close to him. His warmth is my comfort, my everything. He makes me feel so loved and he makes me feel like the most important thing ever to exist.

“I promise, when I get tired, I will let you know, trust me” I utter softly and he looks into my eyes and he smiles, a smile that I see but few people, apart from me, see. He is my world. My absolute universe.

“I just worry about the two of you” He justifies himself even though he knows he really doesn’t have to, I am his wife and he is my husband, he should never ever justify himself to me.

“I know, Ethan” I say and ret my head on his shoulder and he tilts his head on top of mine before something catches his eye and he leads me in a slightly different direction than we were heading but I don’t complain, he leads me through a wood gate that must be at least 20 years old because it is so worn down, the smell of fragrant flowers fill my nostrils and Ethan walks us across the park. He reaches for a beautiful pink rose and he passes me it before he smiles at me, oh he is the sweetest, most amazing husband I could ever ask for.

“A beautiful rose for my beautiful wife” He whispers and I take a deep inhale and smell the floral heaven that a rose smells of.

“You really are the best husband I could ever have wished for” I whisper and he looks at me, he looks so moved, so delighted by that comment, which is to be fair only the truth.

“You are the best wife I could ever wish for, I have no idea how you love me the way you do, but each day I am grateful you choose me” He whispers, and I put my hand with the rose by my side as my other hand rests on his chest and I press my lips to his, and he kisses me with the love of a doting husband. He is beyond perfect.

#choices stories you play #pixelberry #choices #fanfiction #choices fanfiction #choices fanfic #dr ethan ramsey x mc #choices ethan ramsey #choices open heart dr ramsey #dr ethan ramsey open heart #choices open heart #open heart #oh ethan #dr ramsey x mc #dr ramsey choices #ethan ramsey x charity middleton #ethan x charity

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myukulelegentlyweeps · 4 years

Text

Nowhere Man - Part IV

Pairing : George Harrison x female reader

Summary : George was sick of the Let It Be sessions, took the day off and met (Y/n), waitress and amateur musician, who happened to be performing the song Nowhere Man at the exact time when he felt like one.

Previous chapters : Part I, Part I bis, Part II, Part III

In this chapter : Geo cuddles his girlfriend (a.k.a you)

Tag list : @givemequeen

Word count : 1.3k

A/n : The long awaited Part 4! So basically this is pure fluff and I really enjoyed writing (Y/n)/George dialogue, but you could consider it a “filler-transition” chapter...I strongly advise you read it anyway :)

Warnings : Descriptions of a healthy, happy relationship in its honeymoon phase

February 1969. You and George had been dating for two months now, and it was heaven. Every conversation was full of meaning, every touch filled with intention, and every kiss made you feel like you were the most important person in the world in his eyes. You would not have imagined it beforehand, considering his laid back public persona, but the man was clingy : especially now that the Let it Be sessions had ended, he called you at the most random times asking to see you - he even rang you at work occasionally, which your boss found less amusing than you did.

You told each other everything, to the point where you seemed like the oldest of friends to the outside eye. Come to think of it, this relationship was different to your previous ones, since you actually felt completely at ease with George. There was no need to impress the other person and keep them interested in you, as you both loved and admired each other as equals. Silence was as comfortable as conversation : if either of you was too tired or not in the mood to talk, you would find the nearest couch and simply exist in each other’s arms, listening to each other breathe.

So you found yourself here. It was Saturday afternoon. You and George were spooning on the couch of his living room; he had picked you up the previous day at the end of your shift and you had driven to Kinfauns to spend the week-end together. His arms were wrapped around your waist and his hands rested on the naked skin underneath your white button-up shirt. His fingers were slightly cold, but he made up for it in body heat : with your back pressed against his chest, you had your eyes closed and a small smile painted on your face. You could have stayed there all day.

“If you could be anything in the world instead of a human, what would you be?”, he asked you out of the blue. It was not completely unexpected : you two had a sort of running competition for who could come up with the most ridiculous open-ended question - this might have been the best one yet. You shifted your position to face him. “It’s a good question, I’ll give you that”, you admitted. He flashed you a toothy ‘I know, right?’ grin, but you were not finished: “But how would it work? Like, do you mean if I could turn into that something right now, and know that I’ve been a human beforehand? Would I still have my (y/n) conscience while I live in this new body? And would I be able to transform back into a human again at some point?” “Always the smart one aren’t you, with your follow-up questions”, he teased, a slight smirk appearing on the corner of his mouth. You chuckled in disbelief : “But that’s the entire point, isn’t it?” “Dunno, it seemed like a pretty straightforward question to me before you started takin’ it apart.”, he shrugged, making you sigh in defeat. “Right. You answer it, then”, you stuck out your tongue and went back to your original little spoon position.

You expected him to have an answer prepared, instead you were met with only silence as he buried his nose in the back of your neck, making you squirm. “That - tickles -”, you complained breathlessly, but he only tightened his grip around you. Slowly, the initial tickles morphed into a warm tingling sensation moving down your spine, and you settled into the hug in pleasant defeat. “Your hair smells great. I wish they made nice shampoo like that for men.” You shook your head at the remark : “Is that what you would be, then? A bottle of orange blossom shampoo?” Considering your suggestion, he cocked an eyebrow. “Well, no, because bottles run out. It’d be a very short and uneventful life, seeing only someone’s bathroom…Although I wouldn’t mind it if it were yours”, you could almost hear him wink at you. “George, you see me naked all the time. No need to find strategies get into my bathroom, we’re not in middle school.”

After a few minutes of more cuddling, he broke the silence again. “It’d be nice to be a tree.” “Hm?” “Think about it. I’d live a quiet life, constantly surrounded by nature, watchin’ it change with the seasons…Have all sorts of birds make their nests on my branches…” You nodded slowly, trying to picture his words in your mind. Life as a tree. It did sound pleasant. Growing slowly ; never fazed by the elements, being able to enjoy the rain and wind. Grounded by your roots, though still able to touch the sky with your crown…“But you like travelling,” you pointed out. “Could you really enjoy staying put in one same spot for hundreds of years?”

“There’s other ways to travel. That’s what meditation’s all about. Without going out of your door, you can know all things on earth,” he explained, brushing a stray hair strand out of your face. You instantly recognised a line from The Inner Light, the song on the B side of Lady Madonna. “Quoting your own songs, are you now?”, you mocked jokingly, making him chuckle. “Didn’t know you knew that one.” “I was a Beatles fan before I was your girl, remember?” “Oh yeah?”, he smiled, acting all fake-surprised despite it being very old news. “Who was your favourite?”

You did not reply right away. Not that you didn’t know the answer, which was George, through and through : something about his voice had always pulled you to him, and there was a magnetism to being “the quiet one”. Even before you had met him, Mary (the bigger Beatlemaniac out of the two of you) used to tell you you were a “George kind of girl” all the time, referring either to your moderate shyness, your spirituality or your constant snacking. But you did not want to give him that much satisfaction quite yet.

“Paul.”, you finally decided, managing to keep a perfectly straight face through the lie. “Really?”, his smile only widened. You could tell he didn’t completely believe you, but at least you had installed a tinge of doubt. “Funny, I’d pegged ye more as the John type.”, he teased. “John? Never. I do love his songs, but he seems like the most likely to grab a girl’s arse without her consent.” “Well, you’re not wrong…Ringo?” “He’s the sweetest. Love him to bits.” “And rightfully so.”, he agreed.

George went silent, as he often did when the mention of something or someone became a train of thought. Ringo had been the easiest to work with at the studio during the recording of Let it Be - being his good old laid back self, occasionally trying to diffuse the tension, not getting on anyone’s nerves. Had someone asked George about his favourite Beatle at that time, he would have definitely gone with Ringo. Of course it did not mean he disliked John or Paul, as he tried to separate his friendship with them from the recent developments of the band dynamic… They had known each other for ten years, it would not just crumble to the ground the moment someone was being petty. John was still his mate, Paul was still his mate. “But you said Paul was your favourite. What’s it you like so much about ‘im, then?”, he asked as he shook his head back to reality.

“That it would push your buttons the most. Of course you’re my favourite, dummy.”, you brought your lips onto his, pulling him into a sweet kiss.

“I figured. Since you’re dating me and all that.”, he gave you a toothy grin once you had pulled away. “So you don’t like Paul then?” “Never said that. He seems nice enough, and his songs are beautiful. But he’s too attractive, I don’t trust him.” He couldn’t help but laugh at your straightforwardness.

“Well, it’s a good thing you don’t hate him, because I was thinking, it’s about time I introduce you to me mates.”

#nowhere man #part iv #let's see how long I can keep the Roman numerals up #Beatles x reader #fanfiction #fluff #the beatles #George harrison #George Harrison x reader #beatles fanfiction #Beatles imagines

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ragewerthers · 4 years

Text

One With Nature

Summary: Gladio takes Ravus out of the city to enjoy a bit of the wilderness he loves so much. However, getting the man to see what he loves about it may be a little more difficult then he anticipated.

A/n: This is another fun f3s prompt from my friend @bgn846! She gave me the prompt:

'Ninja kiss!! Promptio or Ravilus “Will you get down from there?!”

I hope that you enjoy it my friend!

And you can also read on AO3 at: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25250872

Enjoy! :D

Word Count: 1957

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

There really was nothing like the great outdoors. The smell of the wildflowers and the trees. The feeling of shifting sunlight and shade as you walked along the trails. What could be more peaceful? Where could you find such serenity? “AAAAAAAAHHHHH!!!”

Sighing heavily Gladio dropped the hammer he had been using to drive the tent spikes into the ground. “Everything alright, Ravus?” he asked, turning to find the man flailing. He had one hand holding a can of bug spray and the other waving frantically around his head, trying to combat some unseen pest.

“NO! These beasts won’t leave me alone!�� he called out frantically, his hair a mess as he glanced around with wild eyes.

Gladio took a moment to look around, not seeing what beast he was talking about. “Um… sweetheart? I don’t know wh-..,”

“THERE IT IS!” Ravus cried as he shied away from his left and made a mad dash for Gladio, rushing to stand behind him and glaring at his previous location.

Narrowing his eyes, Gladio could just make out the soft flutter of wings and the delicate colors of a field butterfly.

Snorting a bit and trying to play it off as a cough, Gladio turned his head to the side to try and catch a glance of his boyfriend. “I think you’re safe, love,” Gladio tried to reassure, watching as the butterfly began to lazily make its way to a patch of flowers nearby.

“LIES! Everytime you turn your back it comes for me!” Ravus grumbled, his eyes still narrowed at the small insect. “I don’t like flutterby’s,” he mumbled and oh that was the most precious thing Gladio had ever heard.

“What did you call it?” Gladio asked, chuckling softly as Ravus finally stopped his glaring to look at him.

“A flutterby? Like everyone else?” he said again and Gladio could’ve cooed at the sweetness of it.

“Butterfly.”

“That’s what I said!”

“No you didn’t. Say it again.”

“Flutterby!”

“See?!”

“I said it just like you!”

“Butterfly!”

“Flutterb-.... Oh…,”

When recognition lit up Ravus’s expression followed by that adorable blush, Gladio finally couldn’t help himself. Laughing softly he turned around and wrapped his arms around the flustered man. Ravus instantly hid himself against his chest and shook his head.

Pressing a soft kiss to the top of his head, Gladio smiled all the more and soothed a hand over his back. “Would it help if I said that was adorable?” he murmured, earning a little groan from his darling.

“No. Makes it worse,” Ravus grumbled, causing Gladio to chuckle a bit more before pressing one last kiss to his head. Stepping back he looked down at the shorter man, still noticing the blush that stayed over his nose and cheeks.

“Well I’m afraid you’ll have to deal with it… because it really was adorable. But I have to go and grab some kindling for our fire tonight so I trust I can leave you to fend our territory from the… flutterbies?” he teased, earning him a little swat to his chest and making him laugh as he shied away.

Ravus, regardless of the blush, was smiling and shook his head. “I’ll do my best. But I make no promises you won’t find me in the car when you get back,” he warned and honestly, Gladio wasn’t sure he was joking.

“I mean… if they really are giving you that much trouble you can always come with me?” he offered, glancing behind Ravus and noticing a few more butterflies slowly drifting their way. “I think they’re attracted to your shampoo.”

Turning to follow Gladio’s line of sight, Ravus noticed the incoming monsters and gasped, quickly scurrying to once more stand behind Gladio. “Well what would you have me do?! Roll around in a mudpit like some sort of ruffian?!” he growled.

Gladio put on a contemplative expression, soon feeling a little pinch to his side making him squawk and jump to the side with a loud laugh. “O-okay! Okahay! I was only joking,” he said lightly, turning to look at the man. “So do you want to come with me? At least then I can protect you.”

It seemed that the prospect of staying behind with the flutterby troubles was more than Ravus could stand and after a moment he nodded. “I’ll come along. But I swear if I don’t start to see the magic of camping soon we are sleeping in the car with the air conditioning and the lack of creepy crawlies.”

“Fair enough,” Gladio conceded. He knew it had taken moving heaven and hell to get Ravus to leave the comfort of their apartment to try and experience the fun and relaxation of the outdoors and he refused to give in just yet to showing him how good it could be. “Come on then. While we still have the light working with us,” he said softly, grabbing his gear pack from his camp chair and standing at the edge of the haven, waiting for Ravus to follow.

The white haired man bit his lip nervously, still looking slightly uncertain, but one quick glance to the impending butterflies easily sent him moving forward to follow Gladio into the surrounding woods.

As soon as they entered the forest Gladio couldn’t help taking in a deep breath. There was something so soothing about the smell of the trees and ferns that just made him feel relaxed in a way the everyday humdrum of the city couldn’t. He loved what they had in Insomnia. He loved their bookstore and what they had built together, but sometimes it was nice to recharge in a setting like this. “Oh! Look at this, Gladio!” Ravus murmured from behind him. Pausing, Gladio turned around to find Ravus stepping off the path and glancing up into a tree. It really was impressive. The base of the tree was wide enough that he and Ravus combined wouldn’t be able to wrap their arms around it. Moss and ivy intertwined with some of the roots that were bent up out of the earth and the light that filtered in from the canopy sent dappled green hues over everything below.

Trying to find out what it was that had drawn Ravus’ attention, Gladio tried to follow his line of sight and instantly spotted what had caught his eye.

The tree was flowering in anticipation of the fruits it would bear. The flowers were a soft white with fluffy yellow centers that seemed to sparkle almost ethereally. They grew in bunches and the scent that came from them was absolutely intoxicating.

“It’s a Duscaen Orange tree,” Gladio explained as he came to stand beside his partner. “The flowers are used to make perfumes around the Eos and have medicinal purposes, but the best part is the fruit. You can thank this tree for your morning glass of orange juice.”

Ravus gave a little hum of acknowledgement and turned to Gladio. “While I highly doubt this particular tree has helped in my daily dose of vitamin c… I definitely appreciate it a bit more,” he said with a soft smile, turning back and moving closer to touch the trunk of the tree. “And… I suppose I can also appreciate your proclivity for nature. It’s… rather beautiful at times. When it’s not trying to nest in your hair.”

Gladio snorted at that and shook his head, setting down his backpack and moving closer to the tree as well. “I’m glad you’re starting to see it,” he said lightly, looking up at the monster of a tree and getting a mischievous little smile. “But to really appreciate nature… you gotta really embrace it. Become one with it, ya know?”

This time it was Ravus’ turn to snort in amusement. “Is that so? And how exactly do you do th-... Gladio?” Ravus glanced next to him where the man had been standing and found nothing but foliage. “Gladio? Gladiolus?” Blossoms slowly began to drift down from the canopy, landing in Ravus’s hair and making him look up. What he saw instantly made his eyes widen with fear.

“Gladiolus Amicitia get your arse back down here this instant! Are you crazy?!” he shouted, watching as his titan of a boyfriend acted as some sort of jacked squirrel, climbing his way up the branches and sending even more petals raining down upon him.

Gladio chuckled and looked down at his sweetheart. “Why don’t you come up here and join me? The view is amazing and you really feel like you’re one with nature,” he called back down and could practically feel the glare he was being given. Really it only served to make him laugh more and he shook his head. “Alright, alright. I’ll be right down. Give me a sec.”

Ravus huffed as he watched Gladio shimmy back across the branch before sitting down on it halfway and then… he tipped back.

As soon as he saw his partner falling backwards, Ravus instantly shouted and rushed forward arms out ready to catch his behemoth of a partner.

“Gladiolus! Look ou-mmmh!”

In an instant his words were paused by soft lips meeting his own, the arms he had extended to attempt to catch the man frozen in midair.

Gladio couldn’t help smiling against Ravus’s lips, leaning back a little where he hung upside down and giving him a roguish little smile. “Everything okay, Ravus?” he asked softly, looking at the slightly dazed expression on his partners face, the soft blush of his cheeks and the way his arms still stretched out ahead of him.

That all changed in an instant.

“What is wrong with you?! Are you crazy?! Are you part squirrel?!? You’re worse than the flutt-… butt-… fluttubberblies!” Ravus began to chide, obviously worked up from Gladio’s little display of bravado if his attempt to say butterflies again.

“How on Eos could I be worse than a fluttubberbly?” Gladio chuckled, watching as Ravus scowled and swatted at his chest making him laugh a little more.

“Incorrigible! Absolutely incorrigib-!,” once more his words were cut off as Gladio leaned forward, just so, to capture his lips. The smile on his face almost matched the pout on his partners. However, it wasn’t long before the kiss was being reciprocated and Gladio happily lost himself in the moment, the scent of the orange blossoms making the moment all the sweeter.

Slowly, the kiss came to its end and Ravus helped to lower his hulking partner from the tree and back onto the ground where he belonged.

“I still can’t believe you did that,” Ravus murmured, the two of them already starting back on the trail to find a few pieces of kindling for the fire.

Gladio smiled softly, reaching over and wrapping an arm around his shoulders, drawing in the silver-haired man who easily followed. “I promise I wasn’t trying to scare you, though seeing you rush to save me was really sweet,” he teased softly, making Ravus grumble and elbow him lightly even as he smiled.

“What can I say? I’m chivalrous like that,” he teased back making Gladio’s own smile grow.

“Chilvary doesn’t have you running behind your significant other to escape bugs,” he teased and Ravus sputtered in indignation.

“Have you seen them?! Monsters, Gladio. MONSTERS!”

As Ravus began to list off all the qualities that made the butterflies beasts of the sky, Gladio couldn’t help the way his heart fluttered and his smile grew.

While Ravus may never come to appreciate nature the way he did, he hoped that for years to come the scent of orange blossoms or a glass of his morning orange juice would bring a smile to his partners lips just as much as he knew it would for him.

#f3s #my fics #non tickle fic #raviolus #ravus nox fleuret #gladiolus amicitia #I hope you like this my friend!#I loved this prompt a lot!

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lsbaird · 3 years

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The Devil’s Luck - Chapter Two Preview!

It’s a nice long one today, folks! Maybe snug up with a cup of coffee. If you’re just now joining in, the prologue is here, and chapter one is here! Today’s installment tells us more about Chancelion, the unfortunate Evern, the maybe more unfortunate Frey, why squirrels are bastards, and why you should lock up your books when Etienne comes to visit.

Etienne woke up late the next morning feeling almost cheery. It had been too rainy the night before to do a thorough scouting of the rooftops, and he had retired early. His garish bed made up in feather ticking what it lacked in subtlety, and none of it could be seen in the dark anyway. He had slept like the sainted dead, though he still had to suppress a yelp when he woke and saw the room by daylight. It was that damn cherub.

He opened his curtains onto the gardens—the view was as lovely as promised, if still somewhat waterlogged—and took a deep breath. All would go well. A rocky start did not predict a rocky end, after all, and if he was going to make some flubs on his mission, it was better to make them at the beginning rather than at a more critical moment. He repeated these things to himself until he started to believe them, and turned away from the window to face his first morning at Chancelion.

The tea and soup from the night before had not yet been cleared away. Frey's servants had heeded his order not to disturb Lady Elsa, and even if they had tried, the chair Etienne had put under the door handle would have prevented it. He was pleased to see it had not shifted an inch. Trustworthy staff, Etienne thought, adding the tidbit to his growing list of household details.

His dress was still unpleasantly damp, even after spending the night spread over two chairs by the fire. Etienne had three gowns with him, which was enough for his deception, but any real noblewoman would feel destitute with so little. Etienne padded across the bright carpets to the wardrobe lurking in the far corner. Wearing a frock of his fiancé's choosing was a sure way to his heart, and as Lady Elsa's lady-maid and trunks of clothing were all fictitious, it seemed a shame not to have a look, at least. It couldn’t be as awful as the rest of the room, could it?

Etienne tugged on the brass handles of the wardrobe doors, instinctively braced for whatever horror might await him. But here, once again, Chancelion—or at least Chancelion’s master—surprised him.

Shades of cool green and black washed over Etienne like a refreshing waterfall. In the letters to Frey, which had been concocted by Ephaseus and written by Etienne, ‘Elsa’ had mentioned her preferences when it came to such things: an emphasis on clothes that would be best suited for the concealment of weapons, and for activities where accidents could happen. Every least detail had been taken into account, even her (Etienne’s) antipathy to lavender. All the linens smelled of mint leaves, instead.

She would not be used to the cold, and as a result, there were three handsome wraps as well as a fine wool dressing-gown in Lady Elsa's favorite emerald hue. Pearls were her favorite gem, and the embroidered bodices were stiff with them, no matter the outrageous price they commanded in Easting. She enjoyed riding and hunting with birds, and so a green damask riding habit hung in the nearest corner, along with fine hawking gloves decorated with gold silk tassels. A lady's riding boots occupied the bottom of the wardrobe, along with several different pairs of slippers. An evening dress, suitable for a royal ball, was downright crunchy with its yards of thick gold lace; Etienne mourned that the neckline was far too low for his disguise. Jewel boxes nestled on the shelves contained ropes of pearls, gold chain, and actual emeralds. Etienne at once lost his vain little heart to a particular pair of pearl drop earrings, thinking they would look elegant on Elsa and rakish when worn with his usual black leathers.

Perplexed by his findings, he looked at the room again, as though to make sure its hideous state had not been some fevered imagining on his part, but it was as outlandish as ever. The wardrobe and its contents seemed to have come from some other chamber, possibly one in a different house.

Etienne fingered the soft velvet of a split sleeve. The gown was a simple one for day wear, easy enough to get into on his own, and the already demure neckline could be made even more modest with a fichu hanging nearby. After a moment's consideration, he pulled the dress from its hook and his mostly-dry corset from the windowsill, where he’d thrown it the night before.

Dressing took him time and care; it was, after all, as much his arsenal as his disguise. The pins in his wig could pierce a man's heart, the flutter of lace at his throat concealed a fine length of garroting wire. Poisons he had as well, of various sorts, but one in particular—the powder of the humble grensel blossom, concealed beneath the ruby on his forefinger—was for Etienne alone.

Etienne carefully measured out a tiny portion of the deadly nitoxis powder from the compartment on his ring, swirled it in his half-finished cup of tea from the night before, and drank it down. It tasted like nothing but cold chamomile tea and orange peel, but he couldn't repress a faint shudder. Playing dice with his own mortality was a dangerous business, but his immunity had saved his life six times so far. Of course, the time he failed to keep up his doses the withdrawal almost killed him, but that was a hazard of the job. It was a price he paid for being careless, and he'd learned, very quickly, to never be careless.

His weapons and dress secured, Etienne smoothed the sleeve of his gown to be sure the crimson brand on his wrist was well-covered, and swept out the door for breakfast.

Once again, however, the actors had failed to assemble for the performance. This time, it was the leading man that was missing, and Etienne was in the dining room before he found any of the other players at all.

“Out at the cattle barn, miss,” Tobias whispered, as the maid dished up oat porridge and poached eggs on toast for Etienne, alongside fat sausages and potted chicken liver and fried apples and all the other morning delicacies of the country. “One of the yearlings took ill in the night, and suffers naught but the Master to nurse it.”

“He is good with animals, then?” Etienne asked, napkin balanced on one hand to eat with a young lady's poise. It would not do to give in to his own peculiar habits, such as pouring massive globs of honey on his sausages.

“They take to him, aye,” the butler went on, in his creaky voice. “But the stableman hopes that some of the Master's good fortune will rub off. None he's nursed yet has fared poorly after.”

“Oh, how curious. Is he so very lucky?” Etienne sipped his at his tea like a bird tasting the air of a winter morning. It had been put out for milady’s breakfast on ormolu trays, served in cups of a fine porcelain as fragile as frozen milk, but was weak enough to read a gospel through. Coffee, to Etienne’s abiding regret, had not yet caught on in Easting. With a flash of longing he thought of Ephaseus' comfortable, parchment-scented study, a battered silver pot of black coffee laced with cacao powder at his elbow, and a thick book in his lap, leather armchair pulled up to the fire. Resigned, Etienne contemplated swift murder, and dutifully drank his impotent tea.

“Luck is what the unfaithful call the will of God,” Tobias wheezed, and it was lucky he had his back turned as he attended to the sugar tongs, so he missed the expression that crossed Etienne's face. It was as much for the sanctimony as the weak tea. “But it would seem heaven has seen fit for Lord Reichwyn to be uncommonly blessed in that regard.”

Etienne lifted his eyebrows, and wondered how quickly the uncommonly blessed Lord Reichwyn would sink in a swollen Easting stream after his lungs were punctured with a knife. “When might you expect him back?”

“He asked me to proffer his apologies, my lady, and inquire if you would do him the honor of going for a ride with him this afternoon.”

Etienne's smile was winning, and genuine. There were so many ways one could die, out on horseback in the country. “I should be delighted.”

“In the meantime, he bids you feel free to look around the house and grounds, and hopes you find them to your liking.”

Etienne remembered that Elsa was supposed to have every intention of making Chancelion her future home, and as a result should take an active interest in things like the main hall carpet and the gutters. For himself, Etienne wondered if there was a decent library. He finished his breakfast in spite of Tobias hanging off his elbow like a dried-up dungball, and went off to get a better grasp of the manor's layout.

Excepting the dearth of coffee, Chancelion was a well-appointed estate. Frey, in his two years of holding the title of Lord Reichwyn, had devoted considerable time and effort to converting the neglected property into one of the finest holdings in the north. Etienne spent the morning wandering the halls, not only checking to see which doors and windows were regularly unlocked but, more and more, with a genuine interest in the house. It would have taken all day and some of the evening for a complete survey of the rambling manor, which he fully intended to do, until he was distracted in his reconnaissance by the scent of books.

He was not prepared for the library. Country manors were rarely outposts of learning, and at best one could expect to find an old volume of St. Justicia’s teachings, or an archaic treatise on mushrooms, or doggerel poetry about cows. Or so Etienne supposed, and he was delighted to be proven wrong. It was not expansive, that was certain, only a simple square room with one window. But it was quality. Etienne knew that by the smell of old leather and quality parchment, as well as beeswax, which meant the room actually saw use. Within a minute he had vanished into the library’s inviting shadows, and the rest of the morning slipped by with astonishing speed.

He had just persuaded himself to resume his work, and was heading for the other wing of the house to do so, when there was a commotion from the entrance below him. Etienne gathered up the weight of his green velvet skirts (which had been made heavier with the weight of one or two rare editions that he was sure no one would miss) and peered over the balustrade into the stone-flagged entryway below.

Freyton Reichwyn Landry had just returned from the stables, as muddy and strawy as any cattle-hand, beaming in spite of the state of his boots and coat. His hair was falling out of his queue again, and his good spirits gave him the appearance of a boy returning from some successful caper. He was wholesome enough to make Etienne shiver, as would any explorer in a foreign land when confronted with some strange and innocent animal. Etienne didn’t think they even made them like that anymore. Or ever.

“I think she'll pull through, Tobias,” Frey announced with triumph, shucking out of his waistcoat. Etienne bit his lip and leaned slightly over the railing, watching closely, but Frey kept his shirt on. Even going out to the stables he had it buttoned to the wrists. His neckerchief was modest in terms of ruffle, but he wore it wound up to his jaw like an old-fashioned city lawyer. Etienne let out his breath in frustration as Frey put on his more gentlemanly boots. “But it's coming up another rain, I'm afraid. Touring the grounds with Lady Elsa will have to wait. Have you seen her?”

“Lady Elsa is inspecting the house, sir,” Tobias answered.

“Ah, well, I hope she hasn't gotten herself lost!” Frey pulled on the coat Tobias offered, a somber thing of brown velvet and gilt buttons, more suited for his role as manor lord, trading it for the threadbare tweed he had worn for nursing cattle.

Etienne pondered the advantages of making an entrance just then, but chose instead to retreat backstage to his rooms for the moment. For one thing, he wanted to dispose of his stolen books in his traveling bag, and for another, there was a trap to be laid.

Etienne paused by his dressing-table for a brief dose of powder and perfume, and then went out in the corridor and proceeded to get lost. Not terribly lost, of course, only a little bit lost, just a short way inside the unexplored wing of Chancelion and out of sight. He knew his perfume would do the rest. He also knew, from the sound of boots on the carpet down the hall, that a splendid, fated rendezvous was imminent.

Etienne positioned himself at a cross-corridor, between a suit of archaic tilting armor and a large ceramic urn, and put on his very best winsome and bewildered expression.

For once, the leading man knew his cue. Frey appeared around the corner with impeccable timing, redoing his ribbon and whistling a country jig. His eyes lit up at the sight of his betrothed in the corridor, and he quickened his pace along the landing.

“Here you are! I hope you haven't been too dreadfully bored, have you?”

“Oh!” Etienne said, wringing his hands and turning in surprise, as though he had not in fact been counting Frey's boot-falls, and had not known full well just when to look up to best effect. “Lord Freyton! I'm ever so glad to see you. I'm afraid I've gotten turned around entirely. Is this the way back to the east wing?”

Frey shook his head. “I must beg your forgiveness, Lady Elsa. I have been terribly rude to abandon you this morning, without even a guide around the house! I should have sent Tobias with you to show you the lay of the manor.”

“We'd still be in the foyer,” Etienne muttered, and then caught himself with an internal curse as Frey’s eyebrows shot upwards. Elsa would never say that! Not about such a dear, kind old soul! “I mean,” he hastened to add, “He is elderly, and I fear it would be too much strain for me to drag him all over at my pace, and…” Etienne hit on it all at once, and it was so obvious, he was ashamed it had taken him so long. “Well, the truth of it is, I was searching for a room.”

“A room?” Frey echoed, with a careless smile. “Well, there are dozens of them, Lady, you may have your pick. Is your chamber not to your liking?”

Etienne's laugh was a little thin. That had been a close call. “Not for me, My lord. One room in particular has caught my fancy,” he continued. “I have heard a legend told of this place: the great ghost story of Chancelion. In Ivanis City, they say that your great-uncle Evern Reichwyn played a hand of cards with the devil, and lost, and was dragged down to hell for payment. Is it true that the room where they gambled is still locked up, untouched?”

All of the good humor had fled Frey's face. For a moment Etienne thought he had gone too far, and some fast back-stepping would be required, but Frey shook himself and dredged up a smile from somewhere. It was a thin ghost of the previous one, however, and did not reach his eyes.

“Ah, I should have known you would be curious,” he said, sadly. “I suppose even in the south, the misfortune of Chancelion is known?”

Etienne clutched his hands in his skirts, consternated. “Forgive my inconsiderate curiosity, my lord. Of course, it is a family matter here, and a serious thing, not some scandalous fireside rumor told in a salon in the city...”

“Frey,” Frey said, with a touch of his old humor. “Call me by name, lady, and I will grant your desire, any desire.”

Etienne felt his pulse quicken, in spite of himself. He told himself it was only the hot blood of the chase. “So he did play a hand with the devil? There is such a room?”

Frey shrugged. “I wasn't there at the time, so I don't know about the devil or not. But there is such a room, yes, and it is indeed untouched, as far as I know. It's a morbid curiosity, really, and in my eyes it is the sad remnant of a man who went mad and nothing more. But I cannot deny the air of the place, and I've no heart to disturb it. The servants refuse to speak of the room at all, so one can hardly expect them to go in and tidy it up. There is only one key, and it is mine. I am not sure if such a place is suitable for you, even if it is only a legend.”

Etienne's curiosity was now well and truly piqued. So Freyton Reichwyn Landry—who if Etienne’s information was true, was the Devil's Heir apparent himself—doubted the legend of Chancelion, and his own great-uncle's fate? “I assure you, Lord Freyton, I am not prone to histrionics or fainting. I can endure the sight of a dusty chamber with a tall tale tacked onto it.”

“Then I will show it to you,” Frey said, and reached for the ring of keys at his belt. “Provided, of course, that you meet my condition.”

“Your condition?” Etienne echoed, and then remembered. “Ah yes.” He paused to taste the name a little before letting it out. “...Frey.”

His suitor smiled once again, and it was as though the sun had come out, though rain still hammered down like musket-fire on the leaded glass windows. “That is much better,” he said, and swept his arm towards the left-hand corridor. “This way, my Lady.”

Frey knew the passages of his rambling house as though they were the contours of his own bedchamber. Even though he had only lived there for two years, he could recite the date of every tapestry, the tournaments won or lost in every suit of armor, the artist of every portrait. Knowledge of his ancestral home was a matter of some pride for the young landholder, and as he had been unaware of his birthright for most of his life, he took it as both his duty and his pleasure.

Etienne did not have to feign interest on Elsa's behalf; he had a weak spot for history and the halls of Chancelion had their wealth spread out in a tasteful sheen, instead of the overcrowded luxuries of his room. Frey led Etienne across a landing and through a side-passage, then down a staircase of coiled squares, the railing-posts mounted with exquisitely carved hawks.

“They were an addition of his,” Frey said, patting one of the birds on its shiny head. “He liked it a great deal, I've heard. Hawking. You enjoy it as well, don't you? Perhaps tomorrow it will be dry enough to go out.”

“His?” Etienne repeated.

“Uncle Evern,” Frey said. “I never met the man, but Tobias was here at the time, you know. Much younger, of course. He knows everything about the place. I'm a mere amateur by comparison.” Frey had paused at the landing, under an ornate window with stained glass in the pattern of the Reichwyn arms, emblazoned on a shield held by a pair of rampant cats. On a sunny day, it would have splashed them both with blues and golds, but in the rainstorm, it was darkened as though in mourning. The device featured crowns and stars and moons and suns—-the same as Evern's ill-fated round of card suits. Etienne wondered if Frey had picked those motifs when he came to inherit, or if his Great-Uncle had chosen them when he won Chancelion. Etienne shuddered as he turned his back to the window. Perhaps it was only that the Archdemon had a wretched sense of humor.

“This way,” Frey said, once he had finished adjusting a bit of the stair-carpet that had buckled up under its rod. “Bloody thing is always coming up. Someone's going to trip on it and break his neck, honestly.”

Would it were that easy, Etienne thought, but he took note of the step, just in case. Maybe on the way back.

They soon left the refurbished parts of the house, plunging back into older, dusty passages. Bits of plaster had fallen from the walls to reveal bare stone. Crates were stacked against the walls, and moth-eaten hunting trophies glared down at them from the high walls, their glass eyes disturbingly lifelike in their gaunt heads. Frey and his guest had encountered no servants in their journey, and there seemed to be little chance of doing so now.

“I must apologize for the state of this wing,” Frey said, shoving aside an old oak table to allow more room in the passage for his lady's copious skirts. “My predecessors in the title were an unscrupulous lot, though I pray Saint Justicia had mercy at their souls' trial. They ransacked the house and sold most things of value. I've only just gotten the present rooms in a fit state to live in. It's something of an ongoing project—oh, damn.” A suit of armor had collapsed on itself, scattering pauldrons and greaves across the hallway like the wreckage of an upset carriage. Frey reached back a hand to help his lady across the mess. “Mind that spur, it can't be at all nice to step on. In truth, when I took the house, it all looked like this, and there wasn't much left in the coffers.”

“You've done splendidly with the manor,” Etienne murmured. “I had no idea it was in such a state when you came to your title.”

“Well, to be honest, it was worse than this. They were keeping pigs in the great hall, and had burned most of the furniture and banisters for firewood. I'm only glad they didn't touch the library. For one, I doubt they could read, and for another, Tobias locked the doors and claimed to have misplaced the key. Lucky thing he did. You enjoy reading, my lady?”

“A great deal,” Etienne answered, with honest enthusiasm.

Frey was delighted in turn by his bride's delight. “Then you must see our library. Do you know we have an ancient account of the binding of the Archdemon, in the very hand of the scholar D'Grassa?”

“Do you really?” Etienne said, his eyes wide, showing no sign that the leather-bound original D'Grassa was in his traveling case at that very moment. “That's extraordinary.”

“I can't read it, of course,” Frey said, apologetically. “But you mentioned—in your second letter, I believe—that you dabbled in the pre-Justician letters? I'd be honored if perhaps you could go over some of it with me. Some night after supper perhaps?”

“I shall do my best,” Etienne said, hoping his smile wasn't too fixed. He either needed to find a way to smuggle those stolen books back into the library, or to brain his fiancée before the subject could come up again. Though it was a pity, he thought. So few people want to learn the old letters in this day and age. I finally find one who wants to, and I have to kill him instead.

Frey was counting tapestries. “Seven, six... ah. Here it is. The one with the hunt on it.” Faded figures writhed across the wall-hanging, racing their dogs and horses pell-mell into the yawning holes made by age and vermin, all in the determined pursuit of a stained-looking stag.

“Was it always a hidden room?” Etienne asked, as Frey shoved up the tapestry with his elbow, and jangled through his ring of keys in search of the right one. “I mean, doesn't it strike you as a bit odd, that Evern would be playing cards in some hidden room?”

“Oh, no. It wasn't always hidden. This is the old armory. Evern had it converted into a games room, and Tobias tells me he always came here after dinner to play cards or dice with his friends. There were no guests the night of the last hand, but he would dice on his own.” Frey had found the key he wanted, a rather elegant one for such a room. Etienne had been expecting a slab of iron with a rough tooth, the sort for locking manacles. “The room was shut up and covered afterwards, by some superstitious second cousins of mine who inherited next. They weren't here long; the lady of the house went mad and wound up drowning herself in the duck pond. The staff insists her ghost’s been sighted regularly around the grounds ever since, not that I've run into her myself, but we did just have a scullery maid quit a fortnight ago after supposedly seeing her.” The lock gave a surprisingly well-oiled click. “There. Mind the tapestry.”

Etienne held up one arm to ward off the moldering folds of the hunt scene, and followed Frey's gesture into the fabled chamber. The overwhelming impression was one of dust, but that was only to the eyes. There were other senses to be assailed, other messages to heed, and they presented themselves at once, to the detriment of all others.

The moment Etienne crossed the threshold, the crimson tattoo on his wrist burst into pain, burning as though freshly inscribed. Etienne could feel every needle-stroke of the protective seal upon his skin. He put one hand to his wrist, grasping the mark hidden by his sleeve, and struggled to think past the agonizing warning. For Etienne was far more than a common-garden villain and garrotter. He was a sworn and bloodied member of the Order of the Crimson Seal, founded by Vynae himself after the defeat of the Archdemon centuries ago. Etienne was an elite soldier standing against a tide of black magic and foul sorceries. His was a sword of brilliant reason in the darkness, and he was branded and oathed to Ephaseus and his cause.

Frey left the door open behind him, though the tapestry tumbled down after and a few of the hounds lost their snouts in the crumbling threads. “You see, it is truly not much to—” He broke off, in alarm. “Elsa! You've gone white! Are you ill?”

With effort, Etienne pried his fingers off his wrist, and his teeth apart. The air of lingering evil was so palpable in the room, he marveled that Frey could stand there oblivious to it. “It’s—it’s nothing,” he said. “Only some dust in my lungs, it made me quite giddy.” He pulled a kerchief from his artfully constructed bosom, and held it delicately over his mouth as he forced his mind to clear, to focus past the pain. “I should be fine in just a moment.”

“I should not have brought you here,” Frey said, scowling. He had one hand on the small of Etienne's back, to catch his bride-to-be should she faint. “Your bravery is commendable, but there's no need to go further—”

“I'm quite all right now,” Etienne said, tucking his kerchief away, and making a grand show of fussing with his cuffs. “Now, we've come all this way to see this place, I should like to see it! Don't frown so, it was only a spot of stale air.” Etienne put a finger to Frey's lips, teasing, and it was enough to startle a smile out of his betrothed.

Etienne's head was clearing at last, even though the mark of the Order still buzzed like the stings of an entire beehive. The room was small, even cozy, though the air of neglect made it seem that much more empty and echoing. He had always pictured the famous duel taking place in a bare chamber with a splintery wood table and two chairs, like in some hidden dungeon. But this had been a delightful room years ago, one designed for leisure and pleasant pursuits. The high, narrow windows had all been boarded over, but several of the planks had fallen in, letting in a watery light. Dust lay thick and undisturbed on elegant tables and chairs; a settee sat decomposing in the corner, tapestry cushions lumpy grey in the colorless light. The beams of the ceiling had once been painted in bright, lively patterns, now they only looked like faded graffiti. A shadowy portrait peered down over the mantelpiece. Logs still waited in a neat bundle by the hearth, where black ash was scattered around the gnawed rug in tiny trails.

“Squirrels,” Frey said, following Etienne's eyes. “They'll have the whole room nibbled to floorboards in another year or so. I was going to have a grate put over the fireplace to keep them out, but I haven't found any workmen willing to do it.”

“Ah.” Etienne took a few steps forward, his skirts sweeping a clean spot through the dust. “This is the man himself, I assume?” He tilted his head far back to get a better look at the painting, but in the gloomy room—and under the dirt on the paint varnish—Lord Evern Reichwyn was a yellowed ghost, dark-eyed and fair-haired and elusive, sitting at ease with his hand on the head of a hunting dog at his knee. He was handsome, even in shadows, and wore his shirt open. Etienne could see an echo of Frey there, somewhere in his slightly-arrogant face, a whisper of familiarity beyond just coloring.

“I wanted to put him in the great hall,” Frey said, with a little sigh. “But one of the chambermaids swooned at the very idea of it, so I'll have to wait a bit longer to dine with my uncle, I suppose. I can't really blame the servants. They've all become superstitious. I only hope the painting's not ruined by the time I can have it brought out.”

Etienne took a step backwards to see the painting better, but his skirts bumped into something behind him. “Ah! I didn't even see... oh.” The something was a chair lying on its side, on the floor. Etienne knelt to right it again, and noticed the dust heaped up against the toppled legs. The chair had fallen decades ago, knocked aside from the delicate little table behind it. The matching chair on the other side was scooted a short distance from the table, as though someone had pushed it back to rise, maybe to refill his glass. But it was the table that drew Etienne's attention. Almost invisible under a thin film of dust, there were cards scattered on its surface. They had curled with age and one—the ace of crowns—lay on the floor. One corner had been chewed by a rodent. Frey was on the other side of the table, looking down at the three crowns and seven suns that lay there, just to the side of a grimy crystal glass. A bottle was on the table, empty save for some flakes of brown dirt, and the other cup was overturned, cracked and empty. Its contents had made a darker patch, long ago, on the table and the carpet below.

Etienne stood up without moving the chair from its resting place. “This is it, isn't it?”

“It is,” Frey said, heavily. “Sad, is it not? He even laid out another hand of cards and a glass. I suppose the loneliness of the place in winter must have driven him mad.”

“So you don't believe the Devil sat here, and answered Lord Evern's challenge for an opponent?” Etienne's fingertips hovered over the stack of undealt cards in the middle of the table. They had slipped sideways into a heap.

“Don't mistake me, Elsa. Every Sabbath I've a grateful hymn on my lips for Saint Justicia. But this speaks to me more of madness than of a curse. Though I suppose that's devilry enough, is it not?”

“So why the tales?” Etienne said, moving to the other side of the table and trying not to flinch as his tattoo went to pinpricks again.

“Tobias found Evern in this room the next day. Just like this. The wine for two, the cards laid out so, and Evern out of his wits with his hair gone snow white. Of course it went round to the servants in a flash that Evern was yammering nonsense about the Devil and a curse and payment due, and if someone asked him directly what happened, he would only gesture to the cards. He wandered off into the moors the next night. He's never been seen since. All the servants except for Tobias left Easting right after.”

“How awful,” Etienne said sadly, as Elsa would have. “So the curse—”

“Is a myth, of course.” Frey looked up at him, intently. “I know my cousins had hard luck at Chancelion, but they made their own misfortune. I've been here six years now, and it has been nothing but blessed for me. Surely, if there was a curse, I would have been victim to it? No. I show you this to put your mind at ease, Elsa. It is a sad room, but nothing more. No split-hoof prints burned into the carpet, no eternal ring of fire, no ghosts showing up on the anniversary of the game to replay it again in transparent pantomime. You need have no fear of it.”

“I'm not afraid,” Etienne said, though that did not mean he agreed. If there was no curse, then Etienne would not be standing there, tricked out in green velvet, with murder on his mind. If Evern had not gambled away his soul in that room, then why were there no coins on the card table? Even a madman playing himself would know a bet had to be laid as well as cards.

“I'm glad to see you are as brave as you are intelligent,” Frey said, and smiled at his bride-to-be. “And as lovely.”

Etienne turned away, wishing he’d thought to bring a fan with him to hide behind. “You do me to much honor, sir. I am only too curious for my own good, as my Aunt would say. But I thank you for being so honest about the room. Another man would not even have permitted his bride to see it, for fear of making her hysterical or overwrought or some nonsense.”

Frey's hands tightened on the back of the Devil's chair. “Honest?” he asked, as though to himself. “Hardly. In truth, Elsa, I only agreed to bring you here so that for a moment we could be most assuredly alone, and unobserved.”

Etienne's pulse tripped with warning. What was this, then? Surely Frey was not about to make an attack on his lady's chastity? “Oh?” He forced out a laugh, but it rang as hollow as a specter's in the room. “You choose a strange place for courtship, Frey.”

Frey did not warm to the teasing; if anything, he looked more grim. Etienne wondered for a split second if there was a beast under his veneer, one who would prey on an unsuspecting female, but dismissed the idea at once. If anything, it was Frey who should be worried about his bride's intentions.

“Elsa,” Frey said, and his handsome face twisted a moment with dismay. “I have... there is something I must tell you. Tobias suggested I wait until the wedding night, but that is dishonorable, and no lady deserves to be so willingly misled. I would give you the chance to refuse me. I don't think a sensible lady would reject my suit on such grounds, but you deserve the chance to do so.”

Etienne took a step away. For an assassin it was practical: he wanted some distance, something solid behind him if need be, and room in which to fight. But in his gown and wig and paints, it looked perfectly authentic as trepidation. “What are you talking about?”

Frey pushed himself off the chair, and raked back the hair that was always slipping out of its ribbon. “Elsa. Darling. You know I think this curse business is nonsense, correct? I'm a man of faith, believe me, but I will not be dogged by imaginary devils. Nor would I see you live here in fear, when my only wish is for you to bring warmth to this place... and... and children.” His face was flushed with crimson, and to Etienne it was the only color in the entire room. “For the two of us to give Chancelion life again. I never dreamed of achieving such things when I was a fatherless boy growing up in a tavern, playing cards to earn my mother's bread, without even a home to call my own.” He looked at Etienne in something like desperation. “But the moment I came here I have loved this house from cellar to spire. Yes, even this wretched room. It grieves me to see it so. All I have ever wanted was for fortune to shine on this place once more. And for two years, it has. Never have I been more convinced that there was no curse than I was the moment you accepted me as your future husband. It was the most wonderful day of my life, even more so than the day I was informed of my inheritance.”

Etienne felt his heart sinking, oozing down into his belly like the drowning wick of a tallow candle. Frey continued on, as though his confession was being dragged out of him with an inquisitor's red-hot hooks.

“But there is a reason—a trifling coincidence and one I give no credence to—that you might think such a curse exists. I speak not of Evern's madness, or the foolishness of my late relatives. It is something about me, specifically.”

Etienne wished he could loosen his corset. It felt like he couldn't breathe, and his one consolation was that his anxiety must be convincing. “...What is it?”

Frey looked at him, a long, searching glance, and then he took off his velvet coat. He flung it on the back of the Devil's chair, and sent his waistcoat after it.

“My Lord!” Etienne began, forgetting to call him Frey.

Frey did not answer, but his silk cravat unraveled to the floor like a serpent's ghost, and then, with only the barest moment of hesitation, he pulled his shirt off over his head.

Even the dim light of the room was not kind. Etienne's wrist burst into flames of pain, and he put a hand over his mouth, knowing his noise of horror would not be a woman's cry. From throat to wrists, and shoulder to belly, all over the smooth muscles of Frey's torso, tiny red lines writhed across his skin. They twisted and bent and curled like live insects held above a candle flame, and Etienne's stomach clenched with revulsion at the sight of them. He struggled to hang on to his ruse, and in no small amount, to his sanity as well. Elsa would only be shocked at the marks, surely. She would be aghast, but would think them only lines, blemishes.

But Etienne could read them. He knew the horrors inscribed across Frey's skin, and understood the terrible doom they foretold as they burrowed down Frey's ribcage. Death and chaos had been dragged over Frey's body like corpses behind a charnel wagon, leaving bloody paths behind. The letters screamed with rage inside Etienne's mind, the rage of a demon from the depths as he wrenched at the splintering bars of his cage. Those splinters made those awful letters, scribed in the highest tongue of hell. When Etienne could tear his eyes back to Frey's, he found them shining with grief.

“You refuse, then,” he said softly. “Lady. I do not blame you.”

Etienne gulped past the taste of bile in his mouth. “No!” he gasped, but he looked away and could not bring himself to look back again. “I am not so shallow, Frey. But they—what are they?” It was all Etienne could do to feign ignorance. He was possessed with a wild urge to take a blade to Frey's skin, to peel away the marks as one would a rotten spot on an otherwise perfect and luscious peach.

“Birthmarks, I assume.” Frey answered, subdued. “I've had them my whole life, though when I was a child they were mere mottling. My mother told me I looked as though I had been born flayed, they were so thick on my skin. But as I have aged they have thinned, sharpened. It's my hope that some day they will fade away entirely. But save for my head, my hands, and my feet, no part of me is unmarked by them. I believe them to be mere lines, like the strain of a vein broken beneath the skin, but—-tied to Chancelion as I am, they easily seem to take on a more evil meaning.” Frey had pulled his shirt back on, and though the demonic scribbling was still visible at his neck and wrists, Etienne felt a good deal saner without them shouting their horrific threats at him.

Etienne forced himself away from the side table, tearing his hands away from its marble top. His fingers had left damp, sweaty patches in the dust. “I am your betrothed, am I not? I fail to see how that should change. You do me little honor, Frey, to think such a small thing would sway me.”

The gratitude and adoration in Frey's eyes was heartbreaking, even to so small and shriveled a heart as Etienne's. “When you asked to keep our engagement quiet, out of respect to your aunt's endeavors to find you a suitor on her own, I admit, I was grateful. I knew then you could refuse me without bringing undue shame on yourself.”

Etienne drew himself up straight. “Shame? My shame, Frey, would be to refuse the heart of so worthy a suitor.”

Frey took a step forward, arms outstretched, and Etienne knew he must do the same. If he was to continue his role, then he would have to submit to being kissed, and kissed he was. Earnestly, and as chaste as a blushing milkmaid's dream. Etienne’s thoughts, however, were elsewhere. Frey had the marks, and only that confirmation made Etienne realize how desperately he had hoped otherwise. But it was so. Frey was the Heir, his doom was sealed by Ephaseus' decree, and Etienne was sorry. More sorry than he'd ever been for any blackguard nobleman seeking black powers, or for heartless beauties who cursed the lovers who spurned them. Those he had snuffed without a thought, serene in his duty. But once, just this once, Etienne had been beginning to hope Ephaseus was mistaken.

He should have known better. Ephaseus was never mistaken.

Etienne's duty was clear. Frey must die, and quickly, before the fate inscribed on his flesh could be allowed to manifest. And really, what better place to do that than in the hidden chamber? Frey was the only one with a key to the room, in a distant and unused part of the house. No one had seen them pass this way. Etienne could dispose of Frey here, lock the room, and then Elsa could protest that she had not seen her beloved all day. Who would look for him here? In the chaos it would be easy enough for Elsa to take her leave of Chancelion, for good. With any luck, by the time Frey's body was found, he wouldn't be in a fit state to show how he had met his untimely end. He would be another victim of Chancelion's curse, and would follow Evern into legend.

Etienne leaned harder into Frey's kiss, trying not to think about the state that warm mouth would be in, in a few days’ time. He'd sent enough men to the worms, there was no reason to go getting squeamish about it now. He was doing Frey a mercy, though the man didn't know it. The only question was how best to go about it. Poor bastard, Etienne thought. Probably it was best to be quick and painless, so he wouldn't know what had happened. He could go straight to Saint Justicia's arms with his true love's kiss still on his lips, dreaming of all the sons that would not be born.

Etienne put a hand back to the table, as though to steady himself. The other he tangled up in Frey's hair. To Frey, it must have seemed quite an ardent gesture. Etienne, however, was only looking for the best place to clonk him. Evern's empty wine bottle on the table was dusty and cold against Etienne's other hand, and he grasped it. Sometimes the best weapons were already provided. One blow to the head, and then if Frey was still breathing, the gentle pressure of his lady's hand over his mouth and nose would end that. It was perfect, really. As sweet a setup as Etienne had ever dreamed of. Etienne felt his belly tighten, and he brought the bottle up in an arc that would end at the back of Frey's skull.

Death was an eventuality for everyone, Etienne thought. It was only his job to speed things along.

It was at that moment, just when the murder was shaping up so splendidly, that it happened. Actually, it was several things, happening all at once. The first of them was only a tickle, a little tug on the strap of Etienne's ladylike shoe. It was not worth note until it was followed, alarmingly, by the unmistakable sensation of something large and alive wriggling under lace-edged linen drawers and crawling up Etienne's leg.

It was instinct; it was involuntary. Etienne shrieked and the bottle flew out of his hand before it was even a third of the way through its course. It crashed into the fireplace and exploded; the overturned table scattered cards up into the air. Frey started back with an oath on his lips, still quite alive, and Etienne was forced into a frantic kicking jig, at last flinging a bewildered and very much offended squirrel out of his undergarments. It shot beneath the settee and up the chimney, leaving Etienne swearing at it in words that Lady Elsa should by no means have even known, much less dreamed of using.

Etienne caught himself halfway through a tirade involving fornication, the nine fires of hell, and leeks, and whirled to face Frey. Surely, what with that and murder and misfortune and squirrels for the love of reason, Etienne's mission and his ruse were both lost.

But Frey, honest, guileless Frey, was only hanging off the Devil's chair, laughing until he couldn't breathe. For a moment Etienne hoped he might laugh himself into the grave and spare Etienne the trouble, but there was no such luck.

Actually, there was plenty of luck, and all the wrong sorts.

It was not a pleasant evening for Etienne. Not only did Frey tell the story of the squirrel to Tobias as he served the couple dinner, but Frey was only more enamored of his bride for their adventure, and for her presumed acceptance of him. He spent the meal gazing at Etienne in pure, unashamed adoration, and that evening kissed him again before saying good night: a frustrating experience for Etienne as there was no good opportunity for death in it. At nine thirty, he was left in his garish bedchamber with no company but his own frustration and that hideous cherub.

And then, of course, to top it all off, Etienne had to sneak out in the middle of the night and put the D'Grassa volume back in the library.

#the devil's luck #l.s. baird #indie publishing #queer lit #reblog to save a life #probably Frey's

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anthonyed · 4 years

Text

Day 4 + 5: On A Date + Kissing

-//-

There was a time when Tony remembered things. Things like the time of the day, the date and the last time he’d eaten and showered. Right now though, his mind is a swamp of all things but miscellaneous.

The smell of burnt metal had sunk into his pore and become one with him. Which means, “Urgh.”

A light chuckle issues from somewhere within the four walls he’d trapped himself in and Tony straightens up, suddenly alert. His eyes scan around the wide area, for a while seeing nothing but wires and furniture and projects and projects and -.

“Steve!” He exclaims in delight, face helplessly splitting into a too wide grin. His skin tingles upon spotting the small bundle of perfection curled up in his favourite piece of furniture of all time; like a little cocoon of heaven carved especially for Tony because that is all he needs after his head finally stopped spinning with problems.

A soft purr satisfaction rumble in his chest as he rolls himself all the way across the work station to where his heaven’s situated, “Hey, Tony,” Steve greets when the chair comes to an end at the foot of the couch. He looks soft and warm, all wrapped up in Tony’s cosiest blanket which he keeps draped over the couch and he’s curled up with his sketchbook, pages open to a work in progress.

Tony stretches and pops his stiff joints with little happy sighs while Steve observes with a fond smile. “Finally came to Earth?” He asks once Tony’s done and Tony pokes his tongue at him impishly. His stomach rumbles then, betraying his mundanity and while Tony glares at it in disdain, Steve chuckles and holds up a plate of saran wrapped sandwich in his sight. “Eat,” he says while Dum-E rolls up, helpfully presenting a bottle of water.

Tony says his thank you to both of them and starts digging in. Halfway through his meal, he realizes that Steve’s staring and guiltily offers a bite to which Steve shakes his head, no, then keeps on staring until Tony’s nape prickles and he puts down the empty plate, starting on Steve with a full mouth, “Whu?”

Steve colours high on his cheeks and the tip of his ears, shaking his head as he ducks and laughs nervously. Tony takes him in and wishes he’s bestowed with the liberty to lean in and kiss Steve on the nose.

On the mouth, along his neck, down his chest, and – well, you get the gist.

Harrumphing, he gives a slight kick to Steve’s curled up legs and makes a face. “What?” He asks again after swallowing. When Steve looks up, he’s properly blushing, neck flushed red and he scratches the back of his head and says, “Nothing,” and then, “I should go.”

“Why?” Tony asks with a poorly suppressed whine. He’d just pulled out the zone and now Steve’s leaving? Already?

“Well…,” Steve trails off before pulling a breath and looking Tony straight in the eyes as if he’s trying hard not to burst a vein. “If I don’t go now, then I won’t make it for our date tonight,” He says softly. Too soft that Tony gulps the shock and replies with a dumb “Whu?”

Steve blinks, blue eyes searching and he looks like he’s panicking. Tony feels like he’s going to faint himself; two second away from smashing his face on the coffee table. His heart is racing, pulses jumping and he’s feeling uncomfortable hot. Throat dry and all.

“Our date.” Steve says faintly.

Tony swallows painfully, “Oh.” The fuck? “Right, of course.” What the actual fuck? “Our date. Which is at…,” He drags, hoping Steve will fill in but Steve doesn’t so he ends with, “Tonight. Clearly.” He huffs a nervous laughter. Play cool, play cool – Jesus.

“Chop, chop.” Tony chases him when Steve starts squinting suspiciously at him. “Hurry up and dress pretty. I like my date looking pretty.” He babbles, pushing Steve to the exit as his ears ring in panic. Steve blinks like a deer in the headlight; wide and adorable but wide – panic, wide. Tony winces. “Or just come like this, your wish. I like you anyway. That’s why we’re going on a date!” He finishes ceremoniously, hands thrown wide apart like ‘tada’ and he waves at Steve opening and closing his mouth like a gold fish on the other side of the glass door.

Dammit.

“Jarvis, pull up the shop’s footage from when Steve entered.” He orders between clenched teeth, grinning and waving as Steve boards the elevator and once their door closes, Tony’s grabbing for his hair and yanking. “Did I ask Steve out?”

“Yes, sir. At precisely five past four this evening.” JARVIS replies with a subtle peppiness to his tone which Tony squints at but ignores for the footage of himself sitting ram rod straight in the middle of the workshop surrounded by a sea of holo-screen and there’s Steve walking up to him with a plate of sandwich.

“Volume up, please,” Tony murmurs distractedly, zooming in to the two men on the screen. He watches unblinkingly and listens carefully to every word spoken; the usual reprimands for keeping long hours from Steve and Tony’s witty replies even in his zone-out stage – which is frankly, impressive, he knows, he’s been told before too.

Then the bickering leads to mild flirting until it isn’t mild anymore because Tony says something about; “Yeah sure, like you’d date me,” to Steve who not only looks offended but recovers quickly to retort a haughty, “Why wouldn’t I?”

To which then Tony says, “Seven o’clock today works for you, Cap?”

“Only if it’s Italian,” Steve smirks and Tony – Jesus Christ – leans so close into Steve’s space that on screen it looks very much like they’re kissing - which is no way, because Tony would remember such if something like that happened right? Like, come on! His life’s dream is to be with Steve and if he fucking forgets something so crucial like kissing Steve, he’s about to set himself on fire and send his arse straight to hell – and says something too soft to be registered by the system. And Steve appears to ask him something, again, too soft and Tony yanks hard at his hair in the present.

For a long time, he’s frozen. The footage plays until it stops and Tony’s looking at himself looking at the footage on the screen. It’s JARVIS who interrupts his state, clearing throat like a through gentle-AI, “Sir, may I take the liberty to remind you that you have date with Captain Rogers in exactly thirty minutes from now.”

“Oh fuck.” Tony expresses faintly, feeling extremely light headed as disbelief clouds every single section in his brain. But, in for a penny and all that right?

Right.

“I have a date.” He stands up. “With Steve.”

“Indeed, sir.”

Then louder and clearer, he repeats, shaking off the disbelief. “I have a date with Steve Rogers.”

“In 29 minutes -,”

“JARVIS!”

“Glad to be of service sir.”

A quick shower and a brief meltdown in the closet after, Tony’s about as ready as he can be to a date he doesn’t remember asking but has every bit dreamed of. To make things worse, Steve looks utterly delectable.

“Hey,” He says, as if he’s not melting Tony on his feet looking like he does in a form fitting navy dress shirt. He got a blazer on his arm and a nervous look in his baby blue eyes, “Not sure if I need a jacket or not.”

Tony wants to whip him back upstairs, straight to his bedroom and strip him naked. You don’t need anything, “You’re perfect.”

Steve blushes and Tony inhales sharply, making sure that he’s still grounded and not up in the air, floating.

Tony takes Steve to that one place he’d never taken anyone to before; the one place that exists in his memories only because it’s where Maria used to take him to when Tony does well in his exams.

It’s stuffy, there is way too many tables in a too small space but never is it ever crowded. The walls are decorated with tasteless vintage photos and art pieces. The entire place is run by a pair of too old Italian couple; the husband runs the kitchen whilst the wife takes care of the customers and neither of them speaks English. Tony absolutely adores it.

Steve’s taken aback the moment he enters the place, but Tony reminds himself that if anyone can see the beauty of this place and appreciate it as much as he does, it’s Steve.

It’s why he decided to bring him here. It was as clear as the day the minute he asked himself; fuck, where do I take him – and Tony had just known.

And he was right. Two minutes after, Steve is glowing with the light of discovery, gushing, “I love this place,” and Tony hasn’t even showed him the best part yet. He waits until he’d placed their orders, tongue rolling smoothly in fluent Italian as he kisses Elena and asks for permission while Steve observes with an unfamiliar intensity in his eyes.

Manuel usually takes some time to whip up the orders. Although Tony had asked Elena a favour and reserved the entire place for only them, it still isn’t going to make Manuel any quicker on his old bones and creaky joints. So he stands up and offers a hand, palm side up, to Steve who takes it with an interest and follows as Tony wordlessly leads him behind the counter and up an immediate staircase hidden in the corner.

It’s a spiral iron staircase that is too narrow for even a perfectly standard sized male body like Tony’s. But Elena is petite and Tony knows for a fact that she still uses it because she had just said so. Confidently, albeit a little anxious because he can’t help it – he’s on a date with Steve! – Tony pushes open the old wooden door and steps out into the rooftop of the three storey building.

The evening breeze is pleasantly cool for a summer evening and Steve’s hand in his is deliciously warm in contrast. Tony closes his eyes for a brief second and relishes it before he turns to regard Steve.

Steve’s looking at him and only him; singularly focused, uncaring of the bright orange night sun that’s too stubborn to slip past the horizon or the cooing birds in the distant. Uncaring that even by Tony’s standard, this is the most beautiful roof top scenery he’d ever seen in his entire life – with potted plants and their blossoming flowers surrounding them - and right then, Tony feels incredibly privileged to feel the heat of Steve’s gaze on his face.

He wonders what Steve sees though, as he squeezes his hand in his. His own eyes dart all over Steve’s handsome face, searching, and he decides he’ll just ask him. But the moment he parts his lips, words ready on the tip of his tongue, Steve decides to speak.

“You’re stunning.” He says, stepping closer. Tony holds his place and lets Steve curl a hand around his neck, thumb pressing gently over his pulse point, caressing. “I could paint you like this” he murmurs, letting go of Tony’s hand to trace a curve over Tony’s ear and back before he fits the heel of his palm under Tony’s jaw, gently nudging Tony’s chin up and when he steps in impossibly close; both of their breaths intermingling; hot and heady, their foreheads touch.

“Tell me I can kiss you?” Steve’s breath brushes over Tony’s lips, his mouth barely an inch away from slotting perfectly with Tony’s and it aches to wait, hurts to even breathe out a ‘yes’ but Tony manages. Daze as he fascinates himself with the curl of Steve’s fair lashes and the ridiculously gorgeous golden way they glow under the sun.

He can point the precise second – down to millisecond - when Steve’s lips meet his. He knows he’ll remember it by the way his heart stutters and jump circuits, and the exact pressure, in mmhg, with which Steve’s fingers press into his skin and pulls him closer. The exact temperature and the direction of the wind; Tony knows.

He knows, but all those details blur out in the back of his head like a swirl of paint dropped into a jar of water. They’re present, but insignificant to the greater details of how Steve feels against him, his body temperature, the hitch in his breath, the way he kisses – him, him and all him. Nothing else.

Tony drowns, willingly helpless, into Steve and Steve, he drinks him in.

The sun is red when they finally resurface and realise that there are things more interesting around them and only each other. But still, Tony thinks Steve’s the most of them; the most interesting, the most brilliant, and all.

It’s that giddy love-stupid brain of him, fuelled by all those happy hormones yada, yada - he knows. But he doesn’t care as he intertwines Steve fingers with his and giggles. He’s been in enough relationships to know that this high will fade in time, but right this second, he’s happy and is unapologetic about it, because it’s Steve and Steve likes him enough to go on a date with. To kiss him, and well, Tony’s over the moon.

He hasn’t even shown Steve Maria’s favourite blossom before Elena’s curious head pops out. Reluctantly, he leads Steve back downstairs for their dinner, marvelling how for the first time in forever, Manuel’s faster than him. He tells Steve that; about Manuel and Elena and about those potted plants and one of them which Maria loves the most. He tells him about Maria and Steve takes his hand, asks Tony if they can come back again.

“Next year, same place, same time.” Tony jokes, but not really. Eyes anxiously searching for Steve’s and relief floods in when Steve smiles in that mischievous way he does when he’s up for the challenge and is bloody sure he is going to win it.

Love-high fades, Tony knows. But the love itself, that he feels for Steve? That is staying because it’s stayed for years now and it hasn’t gone anywhere. He knows Steve like the back of his hand, knows him and loves him with all of his heart, so with utmost confidence, he says; “It’s a date.”

#long post #stevetony #stony #steve x tony #steve rogers x tony stark #30 days otp challenge #inkiniris writes

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darth-aarys · 4 years

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this is a little work inspired by @bend-me-shape-me post about Dean and Cas holding hands on the bunker’s roof 💞🌈

The sun was painting the sky red that evening, a blaze of colors adorning the already crimson clouds which looked like hovering up there just before the darkness would have taken over all that beauty, and replaced it with glowing stars.

Nobody knew the bunker had a terrace, nobody but Cas. Oh, well, that wasn’t a real terrace, more a sort of flat-roof where weeds and small bushes had found the perfect habitat.

The angel discovered it few weeks earlier, right after one of the pointless arguments with Dean happened. He was looking for a place to relax his nerves, somewhere away but not too much, because he needed to be ready to help in case of danger. So he exited the bunker all alone and climbed up a rusted iron ladder skirting the building thick walls. It was on time of sunset, and his heart felt like skipping a beat while admiring that amazing natural phenomena. There weren’t sunsets in heaven, unless the person’s paradise was on a beach or something. Sadly, he couldn’t visit all the paradises in Heaven, though at the time, he believed no one rested in such a wonderful dream.

Cas thought to fix the terrace as soon as he stepped on it, he was pretty sure the boys would have loved sitting in a kind of personal garden up there. The garden took weeks of cleaning, planting and finding new accessories, however the result came out better than he expected. He had even set a beekeeping for himself and a couple of lawn chairs.

The boys soon started to suspect on him, since every time they saw their friend, he didn’t pay attention to them, he was always in a hurry, his mind lost god knows where. Luckily, monsters weren’t particularly active those times, so he totally could dedicate himself to the gardening without the threat of an imminent tragedy.

[...]

A warm May evening, Sam and Eileen were out hunting together, while Dean and Cas stayed in the bunker. Dean was doing something with his laptop, maybe watching some “fourth category” movie, wondered Cas, who was both bored and excited about his amazing work.

« Dean... » He prompted softly « ...Can I show you something? »

The angel wore down a little noticing his boy wasn’t even listening to his words, caught up in something far more interesting playing on the desktop, then he peered at the clock and closed Dean’s laptop angrily. « Dude! Are you nut? Cas, since when do you touch my things and — »

« Dean I want to be listened. I’m trying to talk to you. »

« Oh well, couldn’t you just ask me stuff, huh? »

« I did. But you were too distracted. I… I made something for you and Sam. »

« You serious? And how? » The hunter got out of his chair.

« Come with me and see, Dean. »

Dean startled and stared at his angel in confusion, refraining from telling something bad. Cas, instead, straightened up his head and grasped Dean’s shirt fabric nervously, dragging him along the corridors. « Jeez, Cas, what’s wrong with you! »

He kept pacing up, without really bothering to answer. And then, they found themselves on the roof. « Cas when did you get your powers back? »

« I don’t know. » He replied steadily.

Although Dean was nearly pissed off at him, he couldn’t help but stare at the landscape in awe. Orange, red and pink shades filled the sky, clouds floating as if they were cotton candy made, the air scented with Spring blossoms and fresh grass smell. Dean found himself enraptured by that atmosphere, his mind finally emptied, reminding few happy moments he didn’t relive in years. Like the last time he saw such a breathtaking sunset, and he was like 20-25 years old. « Hey Cas… You knew this? »

« This is what I was talking about. » He answered calmly, their faces enlightened by orange lights, Dean’s eyes shifting from five different tones of green and almost wet, Castiel smiling softly at the sky. Next he searched for his hand and found his calloused fingers halfway. He assumed Dean was thinking to do the same, both seeking each other’s hand now. « Would you sit and drink a beer? I’ll take it. »

« Yep. Wow, you really did a good job here, I’m proud of you. I’m not sure if those chairs are gonna hold me or Sam, but I appreciate it. Thanks buddy. »

The Winchester sported a joyful and lighthearted grin, gazing his angel’s face, catching Cas doing it as well. He did love Dean’s freckles, most of all, he did love counting them. Now that the sun was shining on his cheeks, nothing else mattered but his flawless imperfections.

And after they retrieved beers and blankets, they sat on the old, flabby chairs, hand by hand, drinking their favorite thing with their favorite partner. Cackles and words were echoing between the two lovers, when the night fell and only the moon was watching on them. « I made this for you only, honestly. I wanted it to be special. »

« This is perfect. Cas, I… love you. »

#supernatural #castiel #supernatural fandom #destiel #deancas #fanfiction #spnfamily #spn fanfiction

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7joonie · 5 years

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fics I’ve read ♡

i’m making this post so i can keep all my favorite fics in one place!! lots of different ships, and the stories range from fluffy to smutty to both and everywhere in between, but i loved them all omg, they’re not really organized in any particular way, but here take them. also, i formatted this on desktop, so i’m sorry if it looks weird on mobile ♡

.　 . • ☆ . ° .• ✮ °:. *₊ . ☆ ° . *₊ ☆ ✮ ° . ☆ *₊ ☆.　 . • ☆ . ° .• ✮ °:. *₊ . ☆ ° . *₊ ☆ ✮ ° . ☆ *₊ ☆.　 . • ☆ . ° .• ✮ °:. *₊ . ☆ ° . *₊ ☆ ✮ ° . ☆ *₊ ☆

wonder by wordcouture (jikook, rated teen & up, 7604 words)

["I wanted to surprise you."

Jungkook feels tears prickling at the edges of his eyes again as he digs a small, thin book from the large pocket in his new pants. The Little Prince. "Me too."]

au: apocalypse / space opera

the superior jikook fic!!

will absolutely make you ugly cry

up we go by oh_hey_tae (taegimin, rated teen & up, 100331 words)

[Warmth. The memory of it. Sun-drenched earth beneath his feet. A piano song, shivering in the morning air. Wet handprints on his shirt, his waist. Laughter. The scent of orange blossoms and cypress.

“We,” Taehyung starts, grasping at his chest where his heart has begun to hum. “We… Have we…?”]

au: modern with magic / witchcraft

tw: implied/referenced character death, references to depression and suicide/suicidal thoughts, anxiety

this might be my favorite fic i’ve read, it’s so beautifully written

it broke my heart into a billion pieces and then put it back together (mostly...i feel bittersweet okay)

i just really love poly fics

lots of fluff, romance, hurt/comfort

slow burn

happy ending

i cried a lot, just read this fic okay??

canvas by daebon (yoonseok, rated E, 94922 words)

[When Hoseok had told the elder that he wanted to make love to him, he hadn't lied. Of all the things to fall from his lips in the last few months, this was the only truth. That first messy time in this very place had felt like heaven, like a sweet dream coaxed from him during a lazy afternoon nap, but this feels heady and consuming, like a strange rite of passage. He knows he'll never be the same after this, but neither will Yoongi.]

au: non-famous/normal life

tw: implied/referenced sexual assault, some internalized homophobia

the amount of angst in this fic almost killed me

there’s softness too

smut of the artsy variety!!

hoseok is an artist and yoongi is his muse

stripper jungkook & jimin

angst with a happy ending

lovely bloodflow by aetoms (taekook, rated M, 5246 words)

[“If we’re never able to marry here, promise me we’ll go somewhere else, that we’ll fly to some place pretty and far away from here…?” It came out as a question at the time, the hesitation present in his voice. Jeongguk didn’t know what he had to be hesitant about.

“Oh, darling,” he had said on a sigh, ruffling his fingers through the choppy fringe that stuck to Taehyung’s forehead. “That’s a promise I intend to keep.”]

au: non-famous/normal life

tw: major character death

this fic is written so beautifully, it’s so descriptive and i could really feel the characters emotions

just know that this fic broke my heart made me sob for 20 minutes so read at your own risk!!

the castle on the hill by bellamees (yoonkook, rated M, 33098 words)

[i'm in love, jungkook thinks briefly, watching the sky change colors above them as nighttime starts its conquering. he's in love with all of them, the lost boys and their mismatched clothes, their boyish chaos, their accent, their smell of fresh paint and the blueberry lollipops stuck between their teeth.]

au: hyyh (hyyh yoonkook is superior)

yoongi is bad at feelings

angst and softness

red string of fate aka bangtan are soulmates and we been knew

bangtan are lost boys

hurt & comfort

some drunk fun times / drunken kissing

the ending of this fic had me sobbing into my pillow at 3am, seriously i just re-read the last few sentences and teared up again oh my god

read it!!

taste of your lips on me, i can't forget by locks (taekook, rated E, 2420 words)

[It started off something hot and dangerous, and the fire has yet to burn out. Jeongguk hopes it never fucking burns out. He's not just in it for the rebellion, that actually doesn't have a lot to do with this, and a lot to do with the beautiful boy that never strays far from Jeongguk's mind.]

au: church

literally this is just pure filthy smut with lots of beautiful dirty talk

church sex, porn without plot

enjoy

everything is waiting for you by 777335 (taegikook, rated teen & up, 12110 words)

[It’s both of them in his daydreams, when it aches so much that he lets himself daydream like it will ease up the pressure inside his heart. It never works, never eases up. He lets himself do it anyway, sometimes. And when he does, when he daydreams, in the little house he has built for them in his head, it’s the three of them and their dogs and their bed is big so they can curl up and look at the rain out the window and talk and talk and talk, Taehyung’s voice like riptides and Jeongguk’s voice like tide pools, and both of them rogue waves and—

them.]

au: non-famous/normal life

soft soft soft, omg so soft, pure fluff

this fic left me feeling so happy and warm, i just really love poly taegikook

so much love, just read this, it’ll make you happy i promise

to live again by mindheist (taekook, rated E, 29984 words)

[“I love you more than anybody.”

“You can’t.”

“I can, and I do,” Taehyung says. His voice is tired, but stubborn, the dreamy haze of his orgasm dissolving in the wake of his insistence.

“I love you too.” It sounds like a dirty secret, the way Jeongguk whispers it for only Taehyung to hear, but Taehyung cups them in his hands like newborn black-and-scarlet koi. “First I love you, too.”]

au: historical

tw: some light violence

forbidden love!!

smut

this fic is so original!! omg i love it

pov of namjoon reading the historical book of taekook’s story

this fic made me cry, it’s so beautiful and bittersweet and it really broke my heart

please read it

love, i have wounds by sharleena (taekook, rated E, 79451 words)

[There's a pause then a small laugh “I like you so fucking much.”

Jungkook smiles “I know you do.” he says, when in reality he wants to tell him that he's in love. So in love.]

au: college/university

angsty but also fluffy

lots of smut, some rough some soft

themes of loneliness and depression

friends with benefits turned lovers

artist tae, photographer kook

they are so in love it’s SICK and twisted

light themes of abuse so be aware

this fic feels so real!! please read it

bad boy by xiajin (yoonkook, rated M, 26427 words)

[“you scared?” yoongi murmurs against the kiss marks on his neck, pasting over the ugliness left there underneath. jungkook scoffs, pushing at his shirt, begging closer. “i don’t scare easily.”

“how did i get so lucky to meet you?” yoongi asks, marvels, voice heavy with the weight of his breath.]

au: college/university

tw: themes of possessiveness/stalking/unhealthy relationship dynamics so be aware

angsty and soft

this fic scared me, but in a good way

angsty yoongi

they’re both whipped af omg so in love

kinda slow burn

some violence/sexual assault (not between main characters)

they’re both subtle / not so subtle sociopaths what can i say

it’s also written in all lowercase which for some reason i love

this fic shocked me and it’s written so well, it’s so DARK DARK DARK and the writer really draws you in, i just really love it okay?

strawberries & cigarettes by notyoongs (yoonkook, rated E, 129328 words)

[“you are so special, jeongguk,” says yoongi. “did you know that? i feel very, very lucky to know you. i feel very lucky that you choose to show me parts of your heart like that.”

“i trust you with it,” whispers jeongguk. “my heart, i mean.”

“i’ll keep it safe, then,” says yoongi. “i promise.”]

au: non-famous/normal life

mutual pining

CUTE CUTE CUTE i was blushing reading this fic

slow slow slow burn omg so slow

SOFT, shy jungkook, soft bad boy yoongi

so much great fluff, very light angst

some smut

so freaking cute, so much love, omg read this now

384.400 km by bellamees (yoonkook, rated GA, 6457 words)

[“i met someone like you once,” yoongi huffs. “he was in love with the sky, too.”

“i’m not— in love,” jungkook sniffs, shifting on his weight. “you can’t love something like that.”

“ah.” and something of the likes of bittersweetness stains yoongi’s face. “yeah, i guess not.”]

au: magical realism

i’m tearing up right now as i type this

this fic is so beautiful and bittersweet

i cried a lot

please read this fic it’s going to hurt you so much but it’s so beautiful

logical thinking by only_a_fangirl (namgiseok, rated E, 135153 words)

[“Let go,” Namjoon says, locking eyes with Hoseok. “We’re all close. You can come, let go.”]

canon compliant

this is literally pure filth i’m SO SORRY

rap line threesomes what more can i say

if you love me, won’t you say something by 777335 (yoonkook, rated E, 102213 words)

[“It lives in the center of my soul,” Yoongi whispers finally, opening his eyes, “how I feel about you, Jeon Jeongguk.]

au: college/university

the superior yoonkook fic!!!! omg it’s my favorite

mutual pining

they are both oblivious and WHIPPED

sloooowwww burn

tons of domesticity and time jumps *chef’s kiss*

some smut

soft af!!

bangtan friend group!!

some drunk fun times

light angst

i know i already said this but it’s the superior yoonkook fic

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itsakpopalypse · 5 years

Text

Lost In a Dream

moodboard made by @memoiresofaneternaldreamer (thank you again for inspiring this fic with this beautiful moodboard and collabing with me, you're the ABSOLUTE best!!!) Original post is here please go give love also!!

Cold sweat mats your hair to the back of your neck and around your hairline. Your breath comes heavy and hot, barely flowing out between quivering lips.

Kihyun.

His fingers so gentle, so soft, lips pulled back over pointed teeth gleaming in low light, flickering fire in the corner- playing orange and yellow on his skin. The air is full of him. The world is glitter and holographic rainbows and silken sheets and desire. It’s unheard of, the spark within you, far from mundane and far too perfect to explain.

You’re rolling at his gentle direction, granting him the entirety of your bared soul and silky skin from your shoulders to the widening of your hips. His hands follow a path made for them, slowly trailing across your burning body. “Petal, the sun will rise soon. The fog will wipe this from your mind.” His voice is resigned but sure. You know he’s right and the panic builds in your chest at the reality. Flowers and moss surround the bed, the smell in the air is so fresh, it always is like this near him. Alive. Clean. Meaningful. The air nearly sparkles when he speaks.

“Don’t leave me.” You whisper into the pillow, lips touching feather soft against the nape of your neck have you reeling, his fingers loop into your hair to pull it away, granting him further access to the expanse of skin beneath. His breath is warm and damp, you can feel the desperation in his touch.

“You have me.” He replies. True to his kind, you will get no solid answer. “You have me and I have you. What is a little distance when your heart beats between my ribs?”

You roll over, pulling him to hover above you so you can see the sincerity you know is there.

“I want you whole. Real. Not pieces stuck in my imagination. "

"I am real. This is real. The only thing you are imagining is that-" his finger points to the door which is opening, streaks of morning light cutting through the darkness. "That is a distraction. "

You can feel tears teasing your lashes. "I don't want to. I don't want to."

You are a petulant child and you fight the slow slip into reality, you grasp the fullness of his cheeks,thumbs brushing under his eyes.

His eyes are warm and his smile is gentle, and he holds your soul inside his as he murmurs soft promises and bids you farewell. "You must wake. But you're still mine. "

The soft rumble of his voice pulls you away. The edges of heaven slip out of your grasp and the real world crashes down like cold water. Reality is hateful and dull, leaving you weighed down and burdened. Your skin itches with memory. You cannot see a face, you cannot recall the substance of the dream but you're on fire with longing. Someone is missing you as you miss them. Someone is out there. A sweetpea sits beside your bed,one that was not there when you fell asleep. Delicate, pleasure, bliss, departure after having a good time.

It never made sense, but you had been receiving flowers with similar messages for as long as you could remember.

Soulmates weren't anything new, but most people remembered the face from their dreams. All you remember is fog and velvet kisses. Promises and a whisper. It's not fair, honestly. It's unheard of. Everyone sees their soulmate and when they meet them, it clicks. You're scared to tell anyone you can't see their face when you wake, so when asked you avoid it or act as though you're too shy. The flowers also, were inexplicable.

There's services to contact to look based on description but you don't have one to give. So you deflect and hope when you see them you'll just know.

You begin getting yourself ready for work, knowing another boring day awaits, and wish you could return to the world that lives in your mind.

------

“Y/N! There’s a customer downstairs, can you check in please?” Your boss calls from the hallway, poking his head in to catch your attention. You look up from the plants your misting gently.

“Got it Sebastion.” You reply with a smile, setting down the spray bottle. “I’ll be right back.” You whisper to the plants, fingers gently tracing the edge of a leaf as you leave your favorite part of the job for a few minutes.

“Hello, welcome to Dream Blossoms, can I help you make a selection?” You ask as you approach the customer. He turns, and your momentarily struck. He has light pink hair, shaggy around his eyes which are warm and smiling. The corner of his lips tick up in greeting, and some warm tingle runs down your spine. You can’t explain it. It’s not the bolt of lightening you have heard is from soulmates, but the tingle is far too strong to go unnoticed.

When he speaks, his voice is quiet but firm and it draws you nearer, your feet following a path you don’t yet know yourself.

“Hello. I do think I could use your help.” The base of your neck feels hot, like someone is breathing on it. It isn’t unpleasant, as it would normally be, instead it’s welcoming.

“I am looking for a flower that expresses sorrow. Maybe one for longing… “ He pauses pursing his lips thoughtfully in a way that is far too attractive and makes the apples of your cheeks color. “Something about incandescent happiness.” His hands are in his pockets, but when he turns his body toward you, the draw pulls harder.

“I can throw something together, is it, for a lover?” You pass by him, and notice vaguely that the air near him smells less like a person and more like freshness. Clean and lively, and so so inviting.

“It’s. For someone who is very special. They’ll understand it all together. Perhaps you can incorporate forget-me-nots?” His eyes wrinkle when he smiles, and for a moment, the very edges of his teeth seem sharper than they should, and his eyes, did they change color?

The dreams must be getting to you, in your lack of sleep you are imagining insanity.

You eye him for a moment, desperate for a read on him. Deciding the bouquet is likely for his soulmate, you continue in your job, pushing the strange longing away. “Okay, give me a moment I think I can convey a feeling for you.” you incline your head to the chair in the corner flanked by orchids. “Have a seat please.”

You’d need white tulips, lily of the valley, blue bells, cutting and arranging various flowers to fit his description. Something appeared off. Unbalanced, without a thought, you grab some white sweet pea and add it into the bouquet, pulling the entire message together .

Upon returning a short while later, you gesture to the man. “Here, I think this should be right.”

He hurries to your side, something sparkling in his eyes as he looks over your work. He looks more excited than you’d expect, his skin brushing against yours a few seconds longer than you would expect. It feels natural and you want to sigh when he pulls his hand back and clears his throat. “It’s lovely. Can you.. Tell me why you chose what you did?”

“Of course. White tulips are best for a sincere apology, lilly of the valley indicating the return of happiness, and the blue bells for devotion, and you asked for the forget-me-nots so I assume you know they have several meanings. It’s sort of what inspired the others I picked. “

“Remembrance, connection even over time and distance, loyalty… Yes.” He nods, there's something sly in his smile, but you continue.

“Yes.”

“And the sweet pea?” He steps a little closer, “ Why that?” He seems nearly out of breath when he asks, leaning close to you, invading the bubble you kept to yourself. You shouldn't be okay with it, but you allow it, unable to bare backing away from the warmth that radiates from his being. He feels like life and happiness and it sends a rush down your limbs that you can’t describe, and he hasn’t even touched you.

“It was more of a haunch. You’re apologizing but trying to show your affection. It didn’t seem like it was something too heinous, more like you had been lost to them but are coming back. Did I assume too much?”

His smile widens, his eyes wrinkling and cheeks nearly covering his eyes. Oh. It’s a beautiful sight, and one that doesn’t belong to you, you remind yourself.

“It’s better than I could have hoped.” He replies and after paying, gives you a final smile and wave on his way out.

You wish you understood the way your heart followed him through the doors. It was silly, and wrong. You shook off the feeling and got back to tending the flowers. Your dreams must be altering your expectations.

---

“You nearly had me.” He whispers into your neck, trailing gentle kisses across your collarbone. “This will all be better soon, I promise.“

You heave a sigh into his hair. Casting your gaze to the bouquet on the silver side table, engraved and ornate. Fireflies dance in the air around you and the skylight lets in the moonlight. You don’t know where he has taken you but you know you trust him with your everything.

“Why must we go so slow. If you found me, isn't that all there is?”

The tinkle of his laughter fills your ears, a sound you will never get tired of. “Not so simple, Petal. You are a woman of much distrust. I have to snatch you up the way my kind always must, if I’m to have you.” His nose scrunches as he meets your eyes with another light giggle.

"Remind me why you won't just tell me? After all this time and you've finally found 'day' me, but you won't just tell me who you are to me?"

You know you're pouting but it doesn't feel fair. You're getting to an age where people are going to wonder if you're undeclared… if your someone is already gone somehow. A cruel twist of fate before you'd even met.

You don't remember those things, of course, only the concepts around them, since your days slip from your mind at night the same way your nights slip your mind during the day. It's unfair, but loving Kihyun is worth it, will always be worth it.

"I'm sure you'd respond wonderfully to 'Hello, I'm Kihyun. I'm a fae living in the woods past a ‘glamour and I help bring the flowers. Oh, also I'm the man of your dreams.’" He poked your cheek gently with a laugh. "Oh! Literally. "

You scrunch up your nose in distaste but can't help the small huff of laughter. "Okay. Fine. If I heard that line I would likely never speak to you again. Cheesy."

"You love the way I am. You have to. That’s what soulmates mean.”

You shudder as the room begins to fade, and fear clouds your eyes-you reach for him. “Not again. I’m not ready to forget you.”

He gives you the same saddened, resigned face as every night. “You must wake. But you're still mine." His fingers begin to lose warmth against your cheeks as everything blurs. “You’ll be with me again soon. When this is over there will be no end to us.”

The streaks of light cloud your vision and you rub your eyes. The smell of fresh flowers sours.

You wake, and all is gone.

----

“I never thought I’d see you sneaking around. Aren’t you supposed to be the good son?”

Kihyun turned to meet his brother’s eyes, unsurprised he had been followed by the light footed prince. He wore a teasing smile and his dark prowling outfit, no doubt on his way into a colony somewhere to experience the nightlife without the guards. Byeongkwan was a bit more… Outgoing, than himself.

Kihyun preferred to follow the rules, but the current situation was getting desperate. He was tired of the empty ache in his stomach when you weren’t there. He was tired of waiting for you to figure out something that was a bit too mystical for the human mind, and he was a bit too excited to hold you in the day time. It wouldn’t kill him to bend the rules a bit, just this once. After all, he was going to visit an artifact maker, not overthrow the Sirens.

“Yes well. Priorities.” He replied finally, watching his younger sibling’s smirk grow as he stepped into Kihyun’s space. Byeongkwan’s eyes sparkled and he genuinely looked full of glee at the discomfort Kihyun felt about disobeying. It wasn’t like he couldn’t do what he wanted… he was next in line for the throne… but there was a way things were done, to keep the glamour safe, and he wasn’t used to messing with the tried and true methods.

“Priorities,” Byeongkwan replied, stepping back with mischief in his eyes still, hand raising to show the dangling chain he had unsurprisingly picked off of Kihyun.

Always did have incredibly quick hands, that one.

“So it’s related to your lady, then isn’t it. Y/N.” He sat in the windowsill, holding the necklace up for inspection. The royal jewel pendant on the end glittered with a rainbow prism when the light filtered through it, something akin to moonstone but with more magick, more fire.

He squinted at his brother and held his hand out to receive the necklace. “Yes yes, you are a master of whispers and a knower of all secrets. I am suitably impressed. You can return it now.”

Byeongkwan sighed, placing it directly in Kihyun’s palm. ”Taking it to the enchanter, hm? You want her to know. Everything. I think it’s nice.” He smiled, wholesome and for once without a hint of teasing. It would have been a pretty smile, if he hadn’t ended it with one flicked up eyebrow, closing Kihyun’s hand around the pendant.

“Don’t lose this again.” He leaned in closer, this time with a glint that left Kihyun a little worried. “They won’t like this, and they already know.” His lips didn’t move, and his voice was too low to be picked up, it was likely he had used an enchantment of some kind, one without an incantation, which meant he genuinely believed they were being watched at this moment.

It took everything in Kihyun to not react or look for the source of the spying. Instead he smiled back in his most warm way. Nodding as he stepped back.

“She means everything, I won’t let this opportunity pass me up.” Kihyun watched Byeongkwan’s smile take on the knowing edge that made him as dangerous as he was. The message had been received on both sides. Kihyun needed to see you tonight, after dropping this necklace off.

----

“Loosen up, Y/N. You never know, you might meet your soulmate here! It’s not unusual for you to run into them in places like this.” Your friend laughed as she made a gesture to the rest of the dimly lit bar. It was open mic night and the person singing now was… less than fantastic.

Your head hurt and you wanted to leave. It was smelly and crowded and there were too many bodies in the tight space. “Right. Soulmate.” You nodded, knowing that wouldn’t happen. You couldn't even see his face how would you see him? You didn’t want to let out your secret so you forced a smile and lifted your drink to your lips. It was sweet, something that your friend had picked. It didn’t feel great going down, somewhat burning and the tingles it left in your fingertips were the only blessing. Perhaps with a buz it wouldn’t seem so sad that you were in this place when you wanted to be at home under your fuzziest blanket in your biggest shirt. You tugged at the hem of your dress, something a bit tighter than you were used to, but more than fitting for the scene.

“Yes. Soulmate. We are getting to be an age where we should and could meet them anywhere!” Your friend loved the idea, her smile sparkly and genuine. You matched it best you could and nodded to the change of singer, an older woman in her mid 50’s singing off key to Journey.

“Maybe there's yours.” you teased and your friend rolled her eyes, laughing off your joke as she motioned that her glass was empty and made her way through the crowd and from your table to get a new one.

You focused on the inside of your glass, uninterested in the crowd pushing in, when the song changed again and a voice that could only be described as hypnotic hit your ears. You looked up, shocked to find the man from the flower shop on the small stage, and somehow, his eyes found you as he sang. It stirred something in your chest, aligning the same as the other day. This time you would blame the combination of loneliness and alcohol, though. What you couldn’t explain away was the way his eyes burned into you as he sang, drifting closed only to hit notes that seemed far outside the average person’s vocal range.

Something about him was too enthralling to miss a second of, so you drank him in thirstily, unable to quench the longing in you. When he finished and the entire bar erupted into applause, you swallowed thickly at the lump that had formed in your throat. You heard someone sit opposit you, and fully expected your friend, but were met with someone else's eyes.

This guy… you’d seen him here on other nights. He was attractive, but he was a bit smoother than your tastes desired. His middle part exposed a regal brow set with a stud, eyes piercing and strong beneath them. He was far prettier than someone who belonged here, and he prowled the joint enough that you knew what he came here for.

“Did you enjoy the song?” He asked voice so deep it resonated in your chest, banging around like a caged bird. His eyes flitted from the low neckline of your dress back up to your lips before settling on your eyes.

“I think everyone did.” You replied as nonchalantly as you could. “He belongs on a real stage.”

For some reason, that amused your guest. He grinned, eyes sharp suddenly, leaning forward, all aloofness suddenly gone.

The room felt fuzzier somehow, when he neared. “He certainly doesn’t belong here. You are right about that.” He seemed to say it more to himself than to you, and it was strange that you felt the air a bit tinglier than before. You glanced at your still half full second glass… you shouldn't be feeling this much this quickly. You'd eaten.. and you'd been here over an hour…

"I.M. I think I saw your friends looking for you. Maybe you should go and meet them.” It was him. He had come your way, the man from the shop, who sings so beautifully. However, this time when he spoke, instead of a gentle voice, it had a sharpness to it that was unfamiliar. He seemed... Irked? Jealous? His handsome face was tight and lacked the soft smiles you had grown to love far too fast. Any trace of the pleasant wrinkles and endearing nose scrunches far gone.

The man in the other seat, I.M as he had been called, was smirking knowingly at the Flower Guy. They stared silently at each other, one stoic, one amused. It wasn’t a cruel smile but there was an edge to it, like they were silently exchanging a conversation you weren’t privy to. After a moment, his smirk turned to a full, bright smile, and he turned back to you, grasping your hand gently and placing a soft kiss on the top. “Pleasure to meet you, I’m sure we will see each other soon.” His deep voice had not lost its charm.

You nodded back, “Perhaps.” Was all you could think to say, your cheeks were burning but it wasn’t because of I.M’s low tones or flirty smiles, or even the way his lips had grazed your hands. It was the intense, unwavering stare of the Flower Guy. You felt nearly aflame under his gaze. As I.M departed you bit your lip, almost afraid to meet his dark eyes.

When you did, you were pleased to see the darkness had seeped out, instead replaced with a different type of intensity, but his lips were turned up at the corners now. You’d have sighed in relief but you didn’t want him catch on.

“Petal. Pleasure to see you here.” His voice was soft again, as it had been the first time you met. It sent tingles down your spine. Or was that still the drink? You didn’t know. The air was too full, too full of oxygen and you were nearly heaving from the high of it.

“Is it? I don’t even know your name, nor do you seem to know mine.”

An eyebrow lifted in response, tongue darting to the corner of his lips momentarily as he considered his response. “Mh. I know your name, Y/n. Petal fits you better.”

Oh. Oh. Why did that make the inside of your chest feel so full? Your head was still light and silly. It didn’t make sense, but the closer Flower Guy got, the more grounded you felt.

“Whole.” You murmured to yourself, slipping between your too loosened lips.

“What was that, Petal?” His teeth looked sharp again gleaming behind his lips. It must be a trick of the light dancing on their tips, and the fire water flowing in your veins.

“Nothing. Just thinking about something.” You replied, licking your lips and hoping he wouldn't inquire further.

Your phone buzzed on the table, blessedly giving you reprieve from his eyes.

I’m leaving with Matt. You good?

Your friend had rekindled with her on again off again fling clearly, and while you didn’t begrudge her a good time, you also weren’t sure you were going to sober up in time to be safely home. It was best to call for a car service, because you weren’t sure walking was a great idea in your state either.

“Everything alright?” His voice dragged you out of your thoughts, a finger gently unwrinkling your brow- you hadn’t even known that you had furrowed.

“Yeah. My friend is leaving, so I should probably try to find a way home too. I didn’t come here for me.” Flower Guy started to look concerned, his own brows so beautifully creasing. “I’d rather curl up in bed anyway, dreams are the best part of my day.” Your teeth dug into your bottom lip, realizing the whimsy in your voice was perhaps uncalled for with a new acquaintance.

Inexplicably, it seemed to please him though, his eyes darted to the table top and he covered his smile behind one hand, clearing his throat before smoothing his face into a more neutral position and asking you. “Soulmate dreams, then?”

“Ah.” you frown, unsure how to answer. “I suppose. I can never remember. But I wake up happy. Happier than ever.”

Something indiscernible crosses his face and he smiles again, it’s one of the extra dazzling ones where his cheeks cover his eyes and his nose scrunches. “Oh. I should assist you in getting to your bed then. So you can be happy.”

Your eyebrows shot up in shock. He-What? His hands were already rising in defense, shaking them back and forth as though to push your thoughts away, his face panicked.

“NO! Oh. No. I meant.” His cheeks puffed as he sucked in too much air and scratched the back of his neck. “I meant it in the way where I help you get a driver and make sure you get home safe. From outside. I won’t go in... to your bed. Where you sleep that's. Uh. That’s not what I meant and…” He was cute flustered, cheeks tinging pink and words rushing out on top of each other. You couldn't help but laugh, placing two fingers on his lips to stop the babble.

“I got it. Thank you.”

He nodded, clearly still embarrassed. It didn’t stop his lips from pouting out slightly into the pressure from your fingers, so soft and…

No. Not a safe line of thought. You had to admit that while you had initially found him attractive, every time you saw him it intensified. You were starting to wonder what made him smile. What made him infinitely happier. Was it the person he had gotten the flowers for?

Why were you still touching him??

He didn’t speak more as your fingers dropped from his lips, instead he stared at your hand in your lap and stood, clearing his throat again. Then he took your hand in his own to help you to your feet. It would have been suave, and gone perfectly, had not some very intoxicated patron bumped directly into you and set you off balance as you lifted yourself, so instead you stumbled and fell on Flower Guy fully. He caught you, gripping you in a sheltering way to his toned and warm chest.

When you looked into his eyes to thank him, the room seemed to slow. Nothing made sense for a moment. The entire universe took a moment to stem the tides of time and the only thing you saw was the shine within his gaze. The truth lay there, something about fate.

“Ah! Y/N!”

.....And just like that, the spell was broken, you righted yourself, pushing gently against Flower Guy’s chest to do so.

“Simon.” You nodded in the direction of the interruption.

“Why are you here? You hate going out.. You have always hated going out. It’s part of why we didn’t work.” Simon looked smug and you just wanted to turn and walk away. He didn't deserve your time, after sleeping with other people in clubs because you were ‘no fun’.

Before you could defend yourself, Flower guy smirked, that hardened expression back. Instead, he replied for you. “That’s why we are headed home. If you’ll excuse us.” You weren’t sure how he had so quickly read the vibe, but you were thankful, and now he had rescued you in some way or another, three times within the night.

Simon stood back, fumbling to reply as Flower Guy entwined your fingers and cast you a sultry smile, the type you had yet to see, but very much hoped you’d see more of, because it forced your heart into your throat.. “Let’s go, Petal.” Before leading you out onto the sidewalk.

He hailed a cab and still got inside, but not until assuring you he was only doing it so he could pay and take it to his own home.

You thanked him as you got out in front of your building, and asked him for his name. He only smiled and said. “Next time, Petal. Third time is always a charm.”

You weren't sure why, but as the door to the cab slammed shut before you, you knew your dreams were going to be more... intense this time.

----

"You're impossible. Irredeemable. I do not condone it." Kihyun is half serious and his scolding comes with the lightest of taps on your rear, as though punishment for your so called crimes. It doesn’t last though, and as gentle as it was to start with, he runs his hands over the spots he swatted reverently. “It’s naughty. You are in trouble.” His lips pout prettily with the words and you want to be serious but you can’t.

You're laughing, cuddled into his embrace, you don't take offense because his voice has that teasing note that means you're about to be complimented.

"Am I?" You ask with softly pouted lips, gazing up into his eyes through your lashes.

"Yes. You're in a lot of trouble, Petal. You draw others to you like wil o’ whisps to a lost traveler. AND those you draw are of my people, dangerous and seductive. " he is trying to frown, and you can tell worries lie behind his eyes, but he's too full of love for you make to you feel any true shame.

"Seductive? Are you being jealous?" You crave his jealousy. You know what nights it brings you when he is on fire with it. The way it makes his movements less careful and adoring, more desirous and heady.

You love it when he devours your love like the sweetest dessert.

"Jealous? Perhaps. Worried? More than I can say. Impatient for you to come to me? Ardently. I want to steal you away. Scoop you up into my arms and drag you to the veil. When I finally get you, you'd better be ready." Danger sparks in his eyes. The exact type of danger that makes your skin too tight and your fingers itch to wrap around him. You love it when he pushes you to the brink of desire…

"You're a silver tongued seducer on your own. Why would I ever turn to another?" You question, breathless and leaning in to him as a reed sways in the wind.

"You won't." And you know he's right. The words drip off his sweetened silver tongue so full of promises you know he will keep. After all… fae can't lie.

He's laid his soul bare for you so many nights, that games aren't what he wants. There isn't a riddle in the way between you. Just circumstances.

All deception would do is complicate your arrival and his impatience is too overwhelming.

"Because I'm still yours." You remind him, as the fog begins to roll in with the sun, and he nods, bittersweet and determined.

"I’ll make it right." He whispers.

You gasp awake, clutching your heaving chest and wondering why your skin felt alight. You swallowed and gazed at the sun coming up. For some reason, you felt so loved. Someone out there felt things for you that you could hardly fathom. You still couldn’t see a face, but some missing piece clicked now. You felt the emotions. Longing, happiness, affection, impatience. Something was different, this morning.

When you saw fresh sweet peas by your bed again you couldn’t bite back your grin.

It would be a new day

----

The line at the cafe was a bit shorter than usual and you considered yourself lucky, hustling inside before your shift at the flower shop. Your apron was hanging out of your jacket pocket and you were very ready for your daily cold brew. The wind wasn’t quite cold enough to bite your fingertips and force you to switch to your winter drink.

The jingle of the bell behind you didn’t catch your attention until you smelled that strange floral freshness that drew you in. Flower Guy, it had to be, no one else could elicit the same response, your heart quickening pace and your fingertips buzzing. Should you turn around and greet him? No isn’t that strange, considering you shouldn’t recognize him by smell??

Stay cool, y/n, stay cool. Instead you go up and order your drink, lightly sweetened and stand off to the side pretending not to see him out of the corner of your eye. Hiding behind your hair as you lift your phone as though you are texting someone. He’s watching you, and biting his bottom lip to hold back a smile. His head tilts to one side and you notice his hair has changed a little. It’s still soft pink, but now it also has an undercut, and the way it’s swooped away from his brow bone has your heartbeat quickening, even without a solid look at him. His eyebrows lift and he seems about to say something to you, but instead goes to the counter to order since the line has moved. You notice him settle in standing beside you as he waits for his drink.

“Petal. I told you there would be a third meeting, didn’t I?” His voice is as honeyed and smooth as ever, and you have to bite back the little noise you so desperately want to make.

Trying to act as though you are surprised it’s him, you look up and smile gently. “Oh. Hello. You also told me that on the third meeting you would tell me your name, didn’t you.”

He does that beautiful, breathtaking smile again, the one that causes creases to form beside his eyes and lights your soul up like the sun.

“I did. And I will. Let’s sit for a minute.” He tilts his head to indicate a nearby table. You check your watch, unsure if you have time to sit before work.

You have never been late before though, and your boss wouldn’t scold you if it wasn’t very late…

You meet his eyes and nod, taking a seat as he slides across from you. “I’m glad I saw you here… I was going to go by the shop soon in fact, because there’s something I needed to talk to you about. I thought it would entice you into coming somewhere with me.”

You want to blurt out that everything about him is enticing, alive, and enchanting but you manage to control it. Instead you laugh a little and look at your hands on the table, where his fingers slowly, and with plenty of time for you to stop him, gently lace in between yours on the table. Your palms don’t meet, and it’s not quite holding hands, but it means something and you can tell.

You don’t want to be conflicted but you are, because those flowers were for some one.

“What about your…” You search for the right word, eyes darting from his fingers to his lips to the fringe that tickles the side of his brow. “Person? The one you got the bouquet for.” You clarify.

He giggles.

Giggles.

“What if I told you that was a ploy to talk to you?” Mischief sparkles in his eyes and he brushes up and down your index finger with his thumb, the tiniest touch is making your chest feel tight and full and you are realizing it is getting harder and harder to deny that this feels what people explain. This feels like soulmates? But it was a slow fall, not that instant dunk into a freezing tank of water, instead, it was like you had been in water that was warm, and it was slowly getting hotter and hotter, and you had barely realized it before it began to boil.

It didn’t fit the descriptions, but it meant something, it had to.

“I would-" but you were cut off by the ringing of his phone. He gave you an apologetic smile and checked it. The frown that crept onto his face told you that it wasn’t good. .

“I have to take this.” He said, but he looked torn and hurt by it.

“It’s an emergency. We’ll catch up next time. Maybe fourth time is the real charm, for us.” You said with a small smile, trying to convince him you were okay with it. He squeezed your hand in his reassuringly before scuffling out of the coffee shop, forgetting his drink on the counter as he did. You got up to grab both drinks and saw a small blue box on the chair he had been in. As you returned to the table to investigate, you saw there was “Petal” written on it in neat handwriting. This was for you?

You picked up the box and put it in your jacket pocket, and hurried out in the direction he had gone, hoping to catch him in the parking lot with the coffee.

The wind was blowing your hair into your face and making it hard to see, but you were rushing too much to care. It took a moment to go through and realize that he was long gone, and you held the two coffees and chewed your lip, trying to figure out what to do.

“Look! A lost flower in the big city.” A deep familiar voice was too close, causing you to jump forward and spin to meet their gaze. I.M Strange, but he seemed to know your Flower Guy.

You greeted him with an uneasy smile. “Oh, hi, did you see… I-I don’t know his name?”

A smile slowly stretched across his face, eyes sparkling with some mischief. “Your darling? I can help you find him. For a price.”

You squint for a moment, something about the situation felt a little.. Off? “What kind of price?”

“Oh don’t worry. It won’t seem like much. But I may have need of a favor from you. No money or tricks. Just a no questions asked favor.” I.M looked more honest but you still felt uncertain. Flower Guy hadn’t seemed to like him so much, unless that was just jealousy… You didn’t have much of a choice, something inside you nagged at you that Flower Guy needed you for something. An inner calling that began beneath your ribs and wrapped into each one like a vine. The constriction was suffocating. You didn’t know why, but you knew you needed to go to him… Was it worth the price?

Deciding that it was better to give a favor to this man than to have something bad happen, you nodded. “Alright. One favor. Within REASON.”

The smile that slid onto his face made you question your decision but you stayed resolute. Something was wrong, and you needed to help.

He extended his hand to you in a deep bow, you scoffed but took it, and he lead you away.

----

The greenery around you was lush and vibrant, and the smell in the air was the same as that ozone smell before a storm. You felt uneasy but at home all at once, and it made your skin itch as you drew your arms across your chest in defensive posture.

Coffees long forgotten, the box in your pocket felt heavy for some reason, the air around you grew still. You eyed I.M as he turned around finally, eyes unreadable.

“We approach the faerie ring. Once you get inside, we will have to activate it, and that will get us through the veil.” He was explaining, but it didn’t make sense.

“The what? What are you saying?“ Your head was shaking and your hand instinctively went to your pocket again. The box was.. Vibrating?

He fully tuned to face you, heaving a sigh. “All right I will make this fast and lover boy can flesh out the details when everything is better okay? Let’s start here.” He waved around to indicate the area. “This is a portal. I protect the portal.” He points to the small grassy patch that while untouched with light, is brighter than the rest of the forest floor. It is a perfect circle lined with flowers of exotic beauty and the air around it shimmers a bit in the dim lighting. “Your lover boy and I are both fae. I don’t need to explain that do I?”

“Ah. Maybe? I don’t know. Magic is real?” You squinted in confusion but his face fell to full deadpan in response.

“Soulmates are basically magic, but fae are a stretch? Don’t be silly. Just like. Ground rules. Don’t give anyone your full name. Fake name or partial name only, understood? Also We can’t lie but we are really good at deceiving with words so be careful. The rest is less important. Anyway. Your darling is in there-” He points back to the ring again. “And he is probably in trouble. He gave you something today right?”

You nod. “Well, he was going to but he got a call and left. Which you saw. He dropped it on his way out.” You fish the box out of your pocket. “It’s buzzing. Is this magic?”

I.M looked slightly envious for a moment, tongue darting out before he replied. “Yeah. Open it. Now. You’ll need it.”

“I wanted to ask him about it before I-” You began but when his eyes met yours, steely and serious, you decided to listen. Opening the box gently, you pulled a chord inside. It was silvery but a bit heavier than one would expect for how thin the chain was. It was a necklace of some kind, with a stone hanging from the end pendant style that seemed to be shining with inner light. It was almost opalescent, rainbows sparking inside. When it touched your skin you gasped, and electricity leapt through your body in arcs that should have left you stunned but instead left you gasping and awakened.

The air got even more shimmery, and when you looked at I.M he looked startled, his mouth fell open and he pointed at you while you slowly rolled your shoulders against the thrumming in your veins.

Slowly, your regained your normal footing, realizing things felt different, inside and out. You felt different.

“Sly.” I.M said with a giggle. “You are one of us. Or partially. Guess my favor is even better now.”

“I don’t.” You began before things began to shift and bend around you, almost as though you yourself had a bubble around you refracting light… “I.M, touch me.”

His eyebrows raised, but he did as you asked, lifting his hand only to have it forcefully blasted back as he reached your bubble. Sparks arched from the place he touched, sizzling as though it would burn him if he tried again.

“You absolute… This is great, turn it off so we can go and get him?”

You nodded, concentrating on bringing the bubble in closer to your skin, then pressing itself back into the gem. You didn’t know HOW you knew to, but you knew it was the thing to do.

As you stepped inside the fairy ring, reality itself seemed to shift. You closed your eyes and when you opened them, you were in a forest much thicker, much more foriegn.

The wildlife was exotic, and shimmers danced into your vision.

Flashes of silk and skin kept playing in your head. Ki.. His name bounced on and off the tip of your tongue in the most irritating fashion. But you knew how he tasted, how he felt flush against you. How his lips felt pressed against the crown of your head. You knew he brought you flowers.

You knew he was yours.

But it wasn’t time to revel in memories, so you turned to I.M who was still regarding you carefully. “By now, they’ll have him cornered. Come on.”

You nodded and followed but still called out to ask him who has him and why.

“Usurpers. Your sweetheart is the 1st prince of the Seelie court, and word got out about you. You being human and all. It caused the already more tricky members of court to stage a coup. That’s where we come in. “ He waggled his eyebrows and it occurred to you that he genuinely was a good person, if a little feisty. You liked him more each moment.

“And how do YOU know about this plot?”

His smile was jagged at its edges as he cut through a passage and lead you further along. “Oh. I know people, you know?”

You didn’t know, but there wasn’t time to dig into I.M’s world too deeply when you were still recovering memories as they slid into place on their own.

Laughter in sheets and silvery moonlight, nicknames and promises. Years of it, years of being his without knowing.

You two kept mostly quiet as you slid through the tunnels. The air felt colder, but not quite damp, still, some pressure on your skin akin to humidity, but with more life set you on edge.

I.M motioned for you to come close, and pointed out into the opening ahead.

There was a ring of creatures, shades of blues and purples some with wings and some without, all surrounding Ki-, the man, your man.

Your prince

You corrected. He didn’t look overly concerned, in fact, he almost seemed confident even surrounded as he was. You couldn’t make out the conversation but there were weapons pointed at him, and panic filled your gut.

“What can I do?”

“We’re cloaked best we can be. You’re going to have to get right in the middle of all of that and activate the gem. Do you think you can?”

His laughter soft and happy in your ear, breath bouncing off your skin sending shivers down your spine. The way his fingers traced the sides of your face. Your soulmate, yours all along.

You nodded with firm conviction. You would have to. “I can do whatever I need to.”

I.M smiled back at you, gave your hand a reassuring pat and pointed. “Then go get him.”

----

You sucked your breath in and held in on approach. You could hear your heart beating in your ears but you knew there wasn’t a choice. Thinking quickly, you pretended to fall, the noise drawing the attention of the entire group.

Kihyun looked up at you eyes widened, alarmed and upset. His head began to shake and mouth formed an “O”. The panic in his eyes made you feel guilty, but he didn’t know your plan.

“Who is that? Is that her?” A blue skinned creature that stood roughly 6ft tall asked with a graveled voice.

Kihyun’s eyes were steely and angry, he looked ready to make a move and you wished you could calm him. There were too many of them and they were heavily armed. You needed to goad them into getting you closer to him.

“Aren’t we lucky.Now they can watch each other die.” A smaller one with sharp jagged teeth said, chuckling.

“If you even-” Kihyun began before a harsh slap rang out and he fell to the ground. You lunged towards him without thinking, only to be stopped suddenly.

“Please. Let me see him.” You begged, you needed to be sure he was okay.

When a pale fae with purple hair and sharpened claws grabbed your arm you winced, he was dragging you to your feet and into the middle. “You’ll see him. You’ll see him bleed out.”

You were pushed towards where he was getting back to his feet, he stumbled but he caught you in his arms, trying to wrap his body around you and check you for injury.

Electricity traveled inside your veins immediately, and for a moment you were lost in memories, lost in dreams...

Silver moonlight in pink hair. Giggles and secrets and kisses. Hot skin on cool nights and promises made between glistening lips. The feather soft beat of his eyelashes against your cheek as he sings softly to you. The way your heartbeat syncs into his and drags you home. Home is him, and it’s all real. It’s a blur, but then it’s part of you, he’s part of you.

You see him, much younger, much more excited.

“You belong here as much as I do, this power is as much yours as it is mine. You are one of us, even if it’s just a little bit.” His scrunched nose makes you weak with happiness and you feel the air sparkle with your combined magick. That little bit in your veins is enough to feel the words he says are true.

“So I really won’t remember you in the morning? We only just met!” You want to stay in this place with him.

“You won’t. Because I am not human, and neither are you. Or at least not all of the way. We’ll make it work, I’ll find my way to you.”

When you opened your eyes again, Kihyun was panicking, saying something to you, but your ears were still ringing. You smiled reassuringly and touched his face, cupping his cheek with one hand as you squeezed tight to the necklace in your pocket with the other, and the shimmering light enveloped you both.

He was smiling, then, and holding onto you as the fae outside began trying to attack, only to be bounced back by the shield that surrounded you.

“Hi,” you said to him, ignoring the ruckus, “It’s nice to see you again, Kihyun. My Kihyun. My soulmate.”

His eyes were watering and he was laughing, holding your face in both his hands as he realized you had returned to him. “It worked. It worked and you remember don’t you?” He peppered kisses across your forehead and cheeks, with giggles. “This is real! This is real and you’re mine.”

You didn’t think before you acted, only knew that he had to be closer to you. Gripping the back of his neck, you tugged his face closer to yours and tilted your head to press your lips to his. Softly, at first, and then firmly when he breathed into the kiss and tightened his hold, hands pressing into your lower back and pulling you up into him. You swear you had never felt so full and so alive at once, his lips the perfect blend of soft and harsh. This was the kind of kiss people wrote songs about, the kind of fairy tail nonsense that was fed to you as a child. But here, in his arms, there didn’t seem to be a single thing in the world more magical than the press of his lips desperate to know you as well in reality as they had in dreams.

You eventually pulled back, albeit unwillingly, your foreheads joined as you both caught your breath.

He glanced up, reluctant to look away but knowing the threat was still present. You followed his gaze when a huge smile lit his face.

“You didn’t have to wait so long to help out, but you always did have a flair for the dramatic.” He’s speaking to a smaller man outside the bubble, silver hair and a sneaky smile. He’s handsome too, with round eyes that tilt up at the ends.

“We had a plan. You should trust us more.” He insists as I.M joins at his side, there’s others in hoods and robes also all around, apprehending the group

I.M looks slyer than ever, “You still owe me, highness.”

“I’m not-” you begin, only to be cut off by Byeongkwan who is smirking and Kihyun.

“You will be, pleasure to meet you, sister in law.” He winks at you and turns to make a hand sign at the group around him. “We’ll take care of this. You guys head back.”

You slowly let go of the jewel in your pocket, retracting the shimmering light. Kihyun refuses to let you go, clutching onto your hand and lacing your fingers.

You walk off knowing that things will be okay, that whatever is next, together you’d figure it out.

----------------------------------------------EPILOGUE----------------------------------

The sheets are silken. The bedside table is silver. The room has a skylight.

You smell life and flowers and Kihyun and the scent of your skin combined.

There’s no fog to usher you back into the day, there is nothing rushing you away from this dream.

You snuggle deeper into his hold, he murmurs in his sleep from you shifting, eyes fluttering open to regard you blearily.

“Hello Princess.” His voice is lower and thick with sleep, you’re nearly overwhelmed with love,the way your skin tingles and your breath quickens at his touch.

“Hello, Prince.” You respond as his lips brush yours lovingly, starting soft and deepening as you tightened your grip.

His fingers danced along the skin of your collar bone, drifting down your arms to stroke your skin lovingly. The heat between you was always present, but as he grunted into the kiss and rolled you onto your back, teeth glistening in the dark, you knew that this was going to be a longer night. And you had all night...

This time, you weren’t lost in a dream, you were lost in him, and that was perfectly alright....

#fae! kihyun #fae! kihyun oneshot #monsta x #monsta x fanfic #monsta x fic #kihyun x reader #yoo kihyun #i have been working on this for like over a month i am so sorry but i wanted to get it right why is it almost 10k I am shocked #this had me in my feels #monsta x fluff #monsta x x reader #yoo kihyun x reader #yoo kihyun x you

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