#and for some reason i never once thought that 'oh yeah they might have betrothed daemon and viserys if daemon were a girl'

[navree]

Does Daemon wants to fuck Viserys??? And that's all ryan could come up with? The reason of Daemon's actions it's because he has a boner for Vissy..?

The thing is, I don't remember exactly what Ryan said but he didn't say much on it so his reasoning is a bit Open To Interpretation. The way I understood it is that a lot of what motivates Daemon's desire for Rhaenyra specifically, particularly once she's a bit older and he's been pushed much further down the line of succession by Alicent's children, is that he does, on some level, desire Viserys, and views her primarily as an extension of Viserys, and her interest in him as Viserys wanting him and valuing him more than he thinks Viserys does. It's the motivation for his pursuit of Rhaenyra that changes, not all his other actions wrt things like the Stepstones or Laena or his daughters or the succession, or his general bloodthirstiness.

And truthfully, I think that's an incredibly interesting tract for Daemon as a character. I know people weren't into it because it seemed kind of out of the blue and the Daemyra shippers were up in arms (no shade, nothing worse than a writer seeming to belittle your ship when you're really into it, I get y'all), but as someone who's, like, not really into Daemon at all except for the little moments that Matt Smith tries to add in where he can, it's very fascinating. Daemon's mother Alyssa died when he was three, and we don't know how present, if at all, Baelon was in the upbringing of his sons, giving Westeros customs and gender norms, not to mention that Baelon became heir to the throne and thus Prince of Dragonstone when Daemon was only ten. So the person Daemon was likely closest to, the person he looked to almost as a parental figure, was Viserys. Viserys occupies a role not just as an elder sibling to Daemon, but also as a parent, in a way, and as they're the only siblings they have, they were likely incredibly close. The book doesn't say anything about it, but in the show, Daemon's also written to be bisexual,, and given that Targaryens aren't raised to socialize with their siblings as siblings, but rather as prospective romantic and sexual partners, Daemon likely viewed Viserys as much through a sexual lens as a parental/brotherly one, made only worse by the knowledge that, if Daemon had been born a woman, he likely would have been chosen as Viserys's wife. So you've got this situation of someone who can feel same sex attraction without any of the hurdles of, like, incest is wrong, with a lot of issues of transference and some psychosexual hangups due lost and distant parental figures, and it does make sense that at some point Daemon loved Viserys as more than a brother, desired him as something more than a brother, and that Viserys became the one thing he couldn't have.

We also know that Daemon has a severe chip on his shoulder about the fact that, specifically, Viserys does not appear to want him around. He says as much in episode one, he views his marriage to Rhea not as a way to shore up alliances, but as a way for Viserys to get him out of his hair, that Viserys doesn't want him around him but all the way in the Vale with someone else (and also someone lesser, as if Daemon isn't worthy of Viserys, or any Valyrian bride, given that he's also a clear Targ supremacist on top of all his other stuff). He views any promotions he gets as further evidence that Viserys doesn't want him, that Viserys is shunting him off to the Treasury or to the City Watch because he doesn't want him, as he said, by his side. He doesn't realize that he's not the Hand because the Hand is a political job for a politician who can think politically and understand the politics of the realm, and that he has the political acumen of a blueberry bush, he views it as Viserys not wanting him around, not wanting him as his right hand, not trusting him or wanting him at all. As much as he wants the crown and thinks he should be king because he's better at it and it's his right according to Westerosi law while Viserys only has a daughter, he also just wants Viserys to want him back, in any way, and he feels like he's consistently getting proof that Viserys doesn't. It's hinted at that, even beyond the stunt on Dragonstone to get Viserys's attention, a lot of Daemon's military exploits in the Stepstones are motivated by wanting Viserys to notice him, to acknowledge him, and the reason he gets mad about Viserys's attempt to offer aid is because he views it as Viserys saying "you're not good enough". It's why he doesn't have any issue in giving up his role as King of the Narrow Sea and why he immediately goes into "poor little meow meow forehead touchy touch" mode the second Viserys welcomes him back with open arms. It's why, as he grows bitter and more jaded with his age, he lashes out primarily at Viserys on Driftmark, it's why he's so visibly discomfited by Viserys ailments in episode 8 and why he's so immediately willing to help him in spite of all their history in the throne room, it's probably why he's so immediately certain Viserys was killed despite the man actively rotting before his very eyes, because he can't logically comprehend a world without Viserys in it.

And so with all of that, the idea that Daemon saw Rhaenyra as the socially acceptable option, a Targaryen woman who also clearly wants him back, and who can offer him power to boot (along with his admittedly gross preference for young girls my God Daemon) and immediately latched onto her as the next best thing works. He sees Rhaenyra as someone that he could have been, Viserys's heir and someone Viserys loves and accepts and wants around him. But he also sees her as a version of Viserys, a more malleable version of Viserys and still someone that has a part of Viserys in her, and again, most crucially, a version/extension of Viserys that wants him back. That probably wants him more, who is the one actively seeking him out this time and desiring him, when Viserys would have never done, and never, in fact, did that. And once he and Rhaenyra are older, and once it seems his relationship with Viserys is just permanently damaged, then why not go for the next best thing, someone who's basically a part of Viserys's body and who reciprocates what he's offering, who might actually feel it more. It's not necessarily that there are no reasons for him to want/be in love with Rhaenyra on her own merits, those merits are likely there (I'm not a Daemyra shipper but I'm trying to be objective right now), it's that a huge part of WHY he was willing to go there, and continue going there, and was even interested at all, was because of loving Viserys and wanting Viserys to love him back.

A Daemon that wants Viserys, that lusted for and loved and pined after Viserys in a way that was never going to be returned is a boy wanting acceptance and love from a father or mother, a man who wants to stay by his brother's side, a lover who knows that it's always going to be one sided. And that's actually a facet of the character that can be extraordinarily interesting when merged with all the other fun potential for him and the kind of man he is.

[scriptaed]

cherry blossom avenue.

❀ genre: angst/fluff; arranged marriage!au; f2l!au;

❀ pairing: jin x reader; 

❀ length: 23.0k;

❀ synopsis: college would’ve been unbearable if it weren’t for your wallowing sessions with your best friend jin over a shared “forever alone” woe, so it really was only a matter of time until the two of you sealed a shoddy promise to betroth the other at the age of 27. perhaps it was only a silly joke to you then, but you should’ve known better nonetheless; because when a wedding invitation arrives five years later down the road with his name signed next to another’s, feelings that were once buried begin to blossom once again.

“Don’t be a homewrecker.”

What was supposed to be a light-hearted tease over your fleeting glimpses in his direction bears much more weight than even reality should have; and unbeknownst to her, even if your friend’s commentary strikes a fear in you, a fear that has some creature eating away at you and a horrifying drop in the twisted pain of your chest, the daunting knowledge of a potential truth behind her words pale in comparison to the anguish brought upon by a familiar face of the past. 

Because even as you stand far and hidden behind the crowd of overly dressed classmates and unacquainted businessmen all painted by a silhouette of dimmed black, you manage to observe him through the few albeit sure opportunities; for when the passersby chatter, cross, and weave through the lavish ballroom floor at the perfect time, place, and space for you to peep through the pinholes seemingly formed by pure happenstance or a cruel wish casted upon by fate, the clock returns to a buried state of mind.  

It’s a state of mind seven years stale, mistakenly manifested and deliberately buried. It’s a transition in mindsets when fondness sours into a longing for something that could never be, for his reciprocation of affections means much less than its origins. It’s a heavy moment when you’re finally sure he would never come to speak the language of your enamored being. It’s that fractured frame in time when everyone freezes in their tracks but a reverberating pain transcends the laws of the universe, almost as if on a personal quest to oust you; and even if you vehemently down yourself with another magical shot of liquor, nothing can quite ease the internal war stirring within.

One hand grasping a glass of red wine worth much more than a month of your salary and one arm crossed under the bosom draped over by your only presentable black satin slip dress, you’re almost numb to the turmoil that is irony. How cruel is it that even after seven years of having believed you had moved on, nothing has really changed after all? Your heart still melts in the wake of his dorky grin, your chest still winces over the buried buds of a coveted love, and your blood still runs intoxicated by the presumption that this phase of infatuation would pass with time. 

Your friendship, your feelings, your shared promise, a youth that no one had paid witness to except for you, him, and that cherry blossom tree down that street, nothing has really changed. In fact, you feel as though you could still march across this room and nonchalantly probe at your best friend’s cheek with the ultimate goal of eliciting a shriek from your best friend. 

And yet, the circumstances that have brought you back to him in this very room must have been the one cruel exception. 

“A ‘homewrecker?’” you feign a light-hearted chuckle, swirling your drink and taking another sip as you peek at the distorted glass-image of the man and the woman beside him. ���And why would you say something as horrifying as that?”

“Didn’t you say you and, what’s his name,” Alex pauses before nearly gasping, “ah, Seokjin! Didn’t you say you two used to be best friends in college? You might have been his best friend but she’s his fiance now, Y/N! Plus, she’s got a baby in her, too.” 

She might have been joking, and it really should have been if you had been truthful about your feelings for said best friend, but maybe this is the price you’re paying for so dutifully holding onto your dignity; so, instead, the deep undercut of her remark instigates a stirring irritation within you. Raising a questioning brow at your friend is all you can muster without spilling your secret as well as your brewing storm. 

“Oh, so you actually do remember what I say when you’re only a minute from blacking out?” 

“Hey,” your friend recognizes the anger seeping through your body language, stifling a giggle as she tries to bump your elbow and stumbles over her heels, “it was a joke, okay? I’m just looking out for my friend!”

“Right, what is there to even look out for?” 

“Well,” she points a finger at the direction you had just been staring off into a minute prior and leans in to whisper, “you’ve been staring at the newly engaged man for much longer than the woman beside him, if that says anything—”

“—uhuh, as if, hey!” you almost yelp as you help her stand upright once again. A scoff of disbelief escapes your lips over the sight of your friend letting herself go. Grabbing her glass and swiftly placing it onto the tray of the many passing waiters, you squish her cheeks and give her a light pat or two. “The only person you need to worry about is yourself. Why are you even wearing those ungodly stilettos when you can’t even wear kitten heels without whining all day at work?”

“Hey,” Alex pouts, bending one knee and jutting her hips to show off those torturous pink devices on her feet. “I told you about my ex from high school, don’t you remember?”

“So it’s okay if you’re trying to impress an ex from high school, but I’m not even allowed to glance at my old best friend?” you quip, pressing your lips into a thin line as you take another gander at your friend up and down. “And what does excessive drinking even have anything to do with it?” 

She flashes you a mischievous grin, “for confidence.”

“I can’t with you,” the roll of your eyes must have agreed, “and what about the classmate friend who actually invited you to her engagement party?”

“Oh,” Alex glances at the woman beside Jin and shrugs, “she’s alright. She’s that typical good girl. Too smart, too kind, too good at everything that you really want to hate her but have no reason to do so. I’m sorry, Y/N, but your best friend is devilishly handsome and I’m not surprised she’s marrying someone of her league.” 

“Pfft, why are you apologizing to me?” you scoff, ushering her to the washroom and shaking your head along with the stream of confusing emotions that hit you like a truck. “Go wake yourself up before she or, gasp, worse yet, your ex spots you.” 

“Oh my God, you’re right,” she gasps, shuffling in her skintight red bodycon dress and whirling around once more to call out before finally disappearing, “let me know if any boy comes looking for me!” 

“Uhuh, yeah, sure,” you shoo her away, taking another sip from your glass and muttering under your breath, “...how am I supposed to recognize your high school classmates?”

Now that your friend is gone and you’re left all alone to your thoughts, you go against your own advice and down another glass of liquor. 

You may have been his best friend but she is his fiance. 

Well, if Alex is a good judge of character, then at least a good man like your best friend has found an equally respectful woman. It might have hurt to hear her words, but Alex isn’t exactly wrong. At the very least, you could sigh in relief having known you’re genuinely happy for your best friend’s future. 

It’s just that the truth hurts sometimes. 

Relief isn’t an excuse for lingering onto a soon-to-be-married man, regardless of when these emotions came about. 

People are chattering all around you, strangers and former acquaintances are bustling about, familiar college classmates are greeting the bride-to-be’s high school classmates, and yet here you are: aloof and isolated even in a room of hundreds, fixated and more distant than you have ever been to the boy you had once cherished as the closest anyone could get to knowing the real you. 

No one would know but Jin. 

The real you.

The you who could not have moved on because she couldn’t recognize her own feelings until seven years down the road with a wedding invitation in hand, seven years after the buds had been sowed, seven years too late. 

The one who stands pathetically here in the corner of a room, secretly hoping for him to approach her but also wishing for the night to pass unnoticed just like she had wished for her buried affections to pass.  

So you shuffle in place awkwardly, pondering whether you should’ve caved into Alex’s pleas and attended this posh get-together, debating whether you should dip once your friend realizes her high school ex just isn’t worth it, sipping the remainder of opulent liquor and taking one last peek at the boy, when, your heart strikes loudly against your chest…

...because his eyes catch yours, a pair amongst hundreds, one invitee amidst an endless swarm of crowds, almost as if on a planned rendezvous, a secret unbeknownst to everyone in the room but the two of you.

Eyes widening in shock, the drums of your chest hammer against you, each strike pumping a nearly painful high that fuels your fight or flight mode. The debate between confronting your longtime friend and fleeing said friend did not even cross your mind at the start of the predicament. Quickly whirling around, head down and hands gripped to your drink, your feet move on its own. 

A familiar series of clicks echo against the polished marble tiles. You don’t even have to turn around to recognize those homecoming footsteps, those awe-inspiring confident strides as he makes his way across the room. If this were you from seven years ago, you would have welcomed him with open arms and he would have claimed you were just acting sweet to bargain for some fresh pastry, but the unfamiliarity of a stranger you have yet to reconcile with has you in an unexplainable panic. 

After all, it’s hard to explain why exactly his persistent pursuit after you, after seven years of distance, both emotional and physical, frustrates you to no ends. 

Your hands form fists, your feet storm down the halls, and your mind could repeat nothing but the words you had excused as “just a light-hearted joke.” 

You may have been his best friend but she is his fiance. 

Don’t be a homewrecker.

A baby in her.

A baby.

His fiance. 

A homewrecker.

The accusations echo and echo, as though screaming at you in the endless cave that is your mind, until the party fades, the crowd disappears, and the ear-piercing classical music wanes against the walls of your temporary solace, the bathroom. Finally, entrapped in a world of black—black tiles, wine colored walls, and dark red roses perched on top of what seems to be a black granite sink—you’re left alone to your thoughts. 

Alex wouldn’t understand a seven-year-long regret because she doesn’t know the real history between you and Jin. In fact, no one invited to this engagement party nor does anyone in this whole mansion know of the soon-to-be groom’s past. 

It isn’t as simple as people might make it out to be on the surface, because no one but you, Jin, and the street down your block had paid witness to a shoddy, spontaneous promise that should have never been made. 

Turning on the faucet and splashing a fresh handful of cold water onto your face, your eyes eventually wander from the stream of water that flows down the drain up along the glass bowl of a sink and into the mirror to meet the sullen eyes of a girl, seven years older with a stain of regret that spans much longer that a mere seven years. 

❀ ❀ ❀

“Waaah,” the boy exclaims as you watch your own reflection narrow its eyes at the image beside you. The spectacle persists to angle his chin every which way until he’s finally satisfied with the protrusion of his jawline; and as the boy resumes his daily activity of marveling at himself in awe, you have to wonder once again, for the hundredth time by now, just how you two had possibly become best friends. “Looking good, Jin. Looking real good.”

“Ugh,” you roll your eyes and feign nausea, “narcissist.” 

Jin pauses in the midst of his inspection, allowing his phone to settle into his lap and turning to glance at you with his head as high—well, almost as high—as his ego. “When you look as good as this,” he gestures at himself and your eyes follow his crafty fingers up and down, “don’t even try to tell me you wouldn’t be all up in yourself.”

You blink your eyes blankly and start with the most accusatory tone you could muster, “excuse you, Kim Seokjin, but are you saying that I don’t look good?” 

“You’re insisting that yourself, not me! It’s not my fault you can’t appreciate your God-given looks,” Jin raises his hands mercifully and you almost miss his latter, back-handed compliment when you become entranced by those double-jointed fingers of his. “Plus, I said ‘when you look as good as this.’”

“Psh, yeah,” you mumble, “and yet here you are, still as forever alone as ever.”

“Hey,” he snaps, narrowing his eyes at you even as he raises his phone to take yet another selfie, “and what does that say about you?”

“...and that’s exactly why,” you chirp as you hastily smush your cheek against his and throw a peace sign just as he snaps a photo, “we’re gonna be forever alone together!” 

“Hey, why’re you ruining my selfie—” he pauses in the middle of his camera roll “—oh, we actually look good.”

Glimpsing at one of many candid photos of you and him, a helpless smile spreads across your lips. A warm breeze blows and you can practically smell the impending spring that breathes life into the pink buds hovering on the cherry tree above you. The sun’s embrace against your bare legs that lie beside your best friend’s on the red and white checkered picnic is a perfect compliment to the equally bright phenomena that are his high-pitched giggles; and like the many days you’ve spent the past year, the only thing that could possibly elevate this moment of serenity would be a bite of his weekly pastry batches.  

Speaking as you chow down on the carbs, you quip, “you mean you look good?” 

“That, too, but I meant us, together—” he articulates, cutting himself off abruptly when he snaps his head to find you digging into one of his many bread “—hey, who said you could start testing without me?!” 

“Too many selfies, too slow, too hungry,” you lean your head back to plop the remainder of the custard-filled bread into your mouth, “shmorry Jin, but dish ish delicious.”

Just as you lean forward and take another large bite out of the batch, Jin catches right up to you, snatching the remainder and plopping it right into his now-stuffed cheeks instead. Lips falling agape at the disappearance of your bite-size donut, you gawk at your best friend whomst chomps happily away with your piece in his mouth. 

You can still recall the heat of your cheeks after the first time he had ever proclaimed something that was yours as his—in fact, it wasn’t much long ago when Jin had nearly regurgitated a mouthful of mocha frappuccino after discovering you had sneaked in a sip or two prior—but now? Sharing commodities has become such second nature to you two that sometimes you wish he could return to his germophobic days just so you can hog all the food…

...and maybe to relive whatever magical flutters that had befallen you on that very first day.

“Of coursh ish delicious!” he manages to exclaim incoherently. “Kim Sheokjin baked it afta all!” 

“Yeah,” you take a long moment to gulp and make room for more food, “I think I prefer the ones with custard—”

“—so it’s a perfect batch just like m—”

“—almost perfect.”

You could see yourself wink through the prideful glint in his eyes quickly plummet into a glare that has you laughing at the downfall of his indestructible ego. His playful glare through the corner of his narrowed eyes silently commences yet another one of your daily staring challenges. Maybe that’s why the two of you made such a perfect pair amongst the thousands of classmates at school. After all, how would Jin ever find someone as tolerant of his incessant dad jokes and perpetual ego as you are? And how would you ever find someone who would bake you goods and cook you lunch and, not to mention, spout such peculiar humor? 

All of your classmates had dubbed the two of you as the perfect comedy duo—the dumb and the dumber, the silly and the sillier—that, apparently, is the essence of a match made in heaven, albeit probably meant to be more platonically than romantically. 

Both too stubborn to lose, even in a meaningless game of a staring contest, not even the heat of the sun rays that has you two nearly sweating bullets could deter the match. Eventually, seconds turn into minutes and minutes turn into a frenzy frozen moment in time as you start to fall into the sudden abyss you found yourself in that is the warmth pool of his eyes. 

Perhaps it’s the angle at which the rays strike theatrically on the apples of his cheeks, illuminating his dewy skin and enhancing the chocolate hues of his orbs hidden underneath the matching brown locks of his all whilst his eyes happen to be staring right back at you. You’ve never quite felt this way before—heart palpitating, throat constricting, and mind panicking—but for the first time ever, you’re hesitant in allowing your best friend to peer through the windows to your soul. 

This isn’t good. What would he do if he were to discover your frenzy? Would he tease you to no ends? 

Worse yet, would he falsely assume that you’re hardcore crushing on him…?

“Oh God,” you blurt out, breaking eye contact to avert your head to the side across the street. Your lips begin to mumble whatever comes first to mind, “uh, wow, look at that couple. Ugh, PDA—” your eyes flicker to find Jin raising a brow just before your eyes avert once again and he follows your line of sight “—am I right?” 

“Oh c’mon! Just admit it,” Jin chides. “You’re only using this to disguise the fact that you were just about to blink, weren’t you?” 

“I was not about to blink,” you insist but your shifty gaze tells the both of you otherwise, even if the true lack of confidence is unbeknownst to Jin. “You suck at staring contests. How many times have I won before? I was just distracted, okay?”

“Oh yeah?” Jin crosses his arms. “Distracted by what, then? Huuuh? By my devastatingly good looks?”

“No!” you exclaim almost too adamantly that you have to add in a nervous laugh at the end, which only has Jin staring at you in utter disbelief. Feigning an apologetic pressed smile, you gesture your hands in the direction of the couple supposedly hidden behind a fence but clearly exposed to those on a hill, otherwise known as you two. “I meant them—”

“—ew!”

The both of you exclaim in unison, selflessly covering the tarnished eyes of the other and ducking away from the moment of intimacy that you two had just intruded on. 

“Aw, cmon! Even after graduation, too?” Jin remarks, mouth gaping and hands falling from your shielded eyes only to be thrown to his side in bewilderment. “Does everyone really have to remind us just how lonely we are even on our last day?” 

“You mean how lonely we are and how lonely we will be for the rest of our lives?”

“For the rest of our lives?” Jin quirks a brow at you before shaking his head and shrugging. “Dang, that wasn’t exactly my plan, because the world will be forced to acknowledge my looks sooner or later, but I mean, in your case…”

“What?!” you gasp in disbelief, slapping his arm hard enough for him to wince. “What do you mean ‘in your case?’ I bet you haven’t even kissed someone yet!” 

Jin snarls at you as he pulls his arm back and retorts, “yeah? And I bet you haven’t either!” 

“Actually, I have, with Joon at that party last year,” you say smugly, crossing your arms with a chin held high, “and you just admitted you haven’t had your first kiss yet.”

“Psh, yeah, I haven’t, and?" the boy holds his head high akin to a child arguing with his body and not with his words. “Because I prefer to save it for something meaningful unlike someone here.” 

“Hey, are you insinuating that it wasn’t meaningful?”

“You’ve always told me how much you hated parties!” he throws his hands up. “Plus, you don’t even like Joon! You said his breath stinks!” 

“Well—” you pause but no words come to you except for a loud grunt “—ugh, fine. You’re right.”

“Of course I’m right,” he turns away, leaning into his right hand with an elbow propped against his crisscrossed lap. “I’m Kim Seokjin, after all.” 

Following suit, you mumble into your propped hand, “I guess that’s why we’re friends in the first place. Together and, yet, still forever alone.”

“Hey, I said I don’t plan on being forever alone.”

“Right, right,” you brush him off, “tell me that when you actually get a girlfriend—actually, tell me that when you find someone to marry who doesn’t run for their life just one month into your relationship.” 

“‘Marry?!’” he gawks at your demand. “I haven’t even had my first kiss yet and you’re talking about marriage?!”

“What?” you turn to face him, cheek resting in hand. “Didn’t you say the world would soon recognize your charms?”

“Hmph, well,” he says with a jutted lower lip, “definitely sooner than you.”

“Really?” you gape at his bold proclamation despite clearly being the one with the upperhand. “You really think you’re gonna get married before me?” 

Your best friend doesn’t even bother glancing at you before answering, “bet.”

“Okay, if you win, then I’ll eat the crust to your breads whenever you want. I’ll even throw in a bonus for you and spare your wife from having to see fetus photos of you in college,” you can only snicker at the lightbulb that goes off in his widened eyes. “And if I win, then you’ll have to eat my crust and delete all the ugly photos you have of me on your phone.”

“Sorry, can’t do. That would take me an eterni—”

“—shut up.” 

“Okay, fine, bet,” he cackles, straightening his back and stretching his arms out before him, “and what if neither of us ever get married?”

“Hm,” you purse your lips, “good point. Should we set a time cap to our bet? Ideally, if I want to have a stable job and income by 25, have children by 30, enjoy two or three years of marriage without kids, then…”

“Why do you have to have children by 30?” Jin frowns. “Why set all these unrealistic standards on yourself?” 

Putting a finger to hush his lips, you almost find yourself distracted by the plush warmth against your skin. Quickly, you answer, “long story short: parents.”

“Ah,” he utters even as your fingers are pressed to his lips, “ditto.” 

“Let’s set the cap to 27,” you propose. “If neither of us get married by the age of 27, then we’ll just call off the bet. But damn—” the two of you simultaneously lean your chins into your palms “—that means we’re really gonna be a disappointment to our parents forever, huh?” 

A loud, heavy sigh escapes the both of you; and while you stay pouting into your hands, staring into the fresh green grass on the downside of the hill off in the distance, Jin props his hands back against the blanket and cranes his neck back to look off into the distant sky. You hadn’t noticed it until now, but for a devilishly dashing guy like Jin—broad shoulders, facial features that could only be gifted, and a prominent Adam’s apple, especially with his head rolled to the back like this—you have to admit his lonely status must have been much more of a choice to Jin than it is for you; because even for someone like you, his best friend who gets to stare at his profile for as long you desire in all its glory, you have yet to become desensitized to his dazzling visuals that is anything but normal.

As much as you hate to admit it, even now, with a clear blue sky, an array of warm pastry aroma, and a field of freshly cut grass, you can’t help but become enamored by the person before you. 

And when another sigh befalls his lips and the two of you have settled into a comfortable silence and a breeze passes by the both of you, rustling a dozen or so of the hovering cherry petals to grace the surrounding air, he speaks. 

“Let’s get married if we’re still single by then.” 

“...huh?”

“I said,” only his eyes move to peer down at you effortlessly, “if we both lose the bet, then let’s get married.”

Your eyes pop and you can only utter the few words that reach you, “to each other?” 

“No, to food,” he says sarcastically, grabbing a piece of his bread and stuffing your face with it when you continue to stare at him and he shuffles awkwardly in place. Looking away, he mumbles, “of course to each other, who else, dummy?”

“Uh….huh,” you blankly nod your head as a series of laughs are stifled by the bread. “Okay, and you’re being serious?”

He doesn’t look at you when he answers, “uhuh.”

“Pffft, and you’re saying you would keep that promise? That you would even remember this moment? We’re just gonna marry? Like that? And you’re assuming I’m just going to agree?”

“Hey,” he turns to frown at you, “why wouldn’t you agree? I’m offering you a once in a lifetime opportunity!”

Munching down on the bread, you continue to play along in amusement, “really? And what exactly are you offering me? You know I have high standards, right? I’m not just going to accept any proposal.”

“I know. That’s why you’re still single…” the boy deadpans, even as you glare at his remark, “...but, that’ll all change when you witness my proposal! Hear me out. First, I’ll cook every meal for you for the entire day.”

“You almost already do that except for breakfast.”

“Okay, but I’ll hone my skills by then. It’ll be even better than any restaurant we’ve ever been to.”

You raise a brow, “so you think food is the way to my heart?”  

“No offence, but yes, that’s why we’re friends,” he quips before continuing, “second, I’ll bring flowers to you at work. Everyone at your job will be burning with jealousy!”

“Because of your public display of affection, which we both clearly disdain?” 

“No, because they would wonder how you have such a handsome boyfriend like me!” he wags his finger. “Plus, who doesn’t like a little PDA when they’re about to be proposed to?” 

“Okay, fair enough, but those are two promises you’re making for the proposal. A marriage is a lifelong commitment. Why would I want to marry you just for food and flowers?”

“Hmmm, even for someone like you, I’m surprised you have so many requirements,” Jin hums, tapping his finger on his chin. “How about this, I’ll make three more promises for our marriage.”

“Quit saying ‘our marriage,’ I keep shuddering at the thought of it,” you remark as you rub your arms. 

“Third promise, I won’t break your achey breaky heart,” he deliberately emphasizes each word in a fruitful attempt to send shivers down your spine. “Fourth promise, I’ll remember all of my promises.”

“Okay… and fifth?”

“I’ll keep all of my promises! And I’ll do it all right here at this spot. Our spot.”

“What? That’s dumb,” you giggle. “Just keep it at four, then.”

“No,” he grabs the bagel in your hands and fills his mouth without a second of hesitation, “ish eashier to wememba fibe promishesh.”

“Right, right, right,” you nod, pressing your lips in a vain attempt to muffle your chuckles. “And what promises would you want me to make?”

“You?” he quirks a brow before shaking his head. “Nothing. You’re fine. I like you just the way you are.”

Huh. Has Jin always been this nice? Because you don’t quite recall ever feeling the heat of an oncoming blush of your cheeks or the bashful flutters that come with your best friend’s witty remarks. Maybe the topic of marriage has thrown you off today or maybe it’s the aftermath of a high having just graduated college and being thrusted into adulthood, but the stretched smile that adorns your lips is an undeniable fact that your confidence and spontaneity has reached its pinnacle.

Grinning, you lean across Jin’s lap to grab and unlock his phone to access the camera, “okay, wanna take a photo to commemorate this moment?”

“Gee, if you want a photo of me that bad, you could just ask me to send you a selfie, y’know—what the,” Jin starts to cackle when you raise the phone into the air and suddenly press your cheeks against his without warning. With a side-finger gun to frame his cheeks and chin, your best friend readies his pose as you wear a mischievous smile. “Hurry up and take the picture already, Y/N. My time is money.” 

“Hey Jin,” you call out to him with your eyes still fixated to the phone screen, as does his. 

The boy almost drags his words, “now what?”

“You’ve never had a girl kiss you on the cheeks before either, right?”

“What—”

—click.

“There,” you chirp jubilantly, grinning at the stunned look on his face, his eyes popping and his lips just slightly parted but failing to utter a single word as his hand grazes the spot on his cheeks where your lips had just touched, “now you have zero excuses to forget our promise!”

❀ ❀ ❀

That must have been the last time you had met up with Jin in person. Shortly after graduation, the two of you had parted ways as many are forced to do in order to embark on their lives as full-fledged adults. Being born with a silver spoon in his mouth, Jin had been lucky enough to receive a job offer straight out of college with the help of family connections; although, even without his family name, you whole-heartedly believe he still would have managed on his own based off of his unparalleled work ethic that you had the chance to witness firsts-handedly. 

On the other hand, your parents had advised you to stay home, which happened to mean you would be stuck in the same town of your college, until you finally landed a decent job where you had met Alex and established a new life. Unfortunately, like life always does, all that busywork meant sacrificing contact with your best friend somewhere along the way.

“Hey, Y/N! Wait!”

“Ah, shit,” you mutter under your breath as you stop in the midst of your tracks down the black-marbled hallway, gritting your teeth and composing yourself just as you’ve done countless times around your less than friendly colleagues. Taking a deep breath in and out, you put on a pleased smile and whirl around to find the face of a familiar boy in your most recent reveries. “Ahh, hey, Jin... It’s been a long time, hasn’t it?”

“Ah,” the man, who seems to have grown at least or three inches since you had last seen him, scratches the back of his head. “I didn’t expect to see you here tonight… how have you been?”

This is awkward. So painfully awkward. 

“Me? Oh, I’ve been alright. Life. Adulting. You know the drill,” you press a thin smile. “Actually, I’m surprised to be seeing you here tonight. I still remember us whining all throughout college over being forever alone, and yet here we are… at your engagement party… life can be funny, huh?” 

“Y—” he stutters, scratching the back of his neck “—yeah… it can be.” 

“So,” you chirp in a fruitless attempt to lift the suffocating atmosphere, “the wedding is coming up pretty soon! Feeling good or is someone getting cold feet?” 

He shakes his head weakly, “I wear socks to sleep.” 

“Wh—” you pause for a quick second, blinking blankly at his soft chuckle and following suit shortly after “—why do your jokes sound like you’re 22 again?” 

The man shrugs with a helpless smile hinted in the corners of his lips; and when it happens—you don’t know how or when the silence had whisked you away into a past time—you find him gazing at you with that fondness of a sole friend who endlessly shared and fought informidable woes with you. Perhaps you’re a hopeless romantic frozen between the fork of two roads that have long closed, for you swear you can see your own reflection through his warm brown eyes and you surmise the only possible answer to the question that lingers in your mind. 

He must see the same friend in you, that girl he would only call friend.

“You’ve been preparing your whole life for this, or, actually, maybe I should say we’ve been preparing,” you smile to stifle the lurching ache in your chest, “I guess I’m the only fool waiting for her turn now.” 

A weep cracks the laugh you force out of your knotted throat. Immediately, you turn your head to avoid his watchful gaze and tuck a lock of hair behind an ear whilst discretely ridding any traces of waterworks welling in your vision. You think you must have gotten away with the feigned laugh and turn, a routine you had mastered at your previous work, but the gradual dissolution of the curve on his lips settles into an unreadable flatline more resembling a frown than anything; because even after all these years, he can still read you like an open book. 

So, if he could see through your every facade even now, then why does he not remember? You know you shouldn’t hold it against him, such a silly promise built on a lonesome pair of naive hearts,  but you can’t help it when a single word paints your conscience. 

Why?

Why can’t he remember? 

Your shared promises, your birthday, your memories, and... you?

“Y/N,” Jin begins gently, hesitating in place once he takes a step forward and you flinch, “about the wedding date…”

He waits for you to reply, supposedly for ‘whenever you were ready’, as he always does during those fragile lows of yours. 

To avoid letting loose any more unneeded drama, you can only manage a hum, “mm?”

“I…” he pauses and sighs. “I know it’s your birthday.”

A hitch in your breath is audible. You clamp your lips tightly and nod, uttering lowly, “yeah.”

“I want you to know I didn’t decide the date, Y/N,” he says firmly, “my father did.” 

“And?” you quip suddenly, eyes darting to shoot a glower deadly enough for him to twitch in evident hurt. There, you went ahead and did it. As hard as you had spent the past months muting your rawest reaction to the envelope in your mailbox, all the pent up frustration and sheer sorrow for a lost future came whiplashing just as hard. “And you couldn’t tell your father to change the date? Maybe one day after? Or two?” 

“You know I would have asked if I could, Y/N,” he bites his tongue to state sternly, “but how would he understand? Change it for… for what—”  he laughs cruelly in the midst of his burst “—for the birthday of a best friend I lost contact with for five whole years?! That’s so… so dumb—” 

“—dumb…?”

The crack in your voice leads to a stagnant silence over what is clearly a no man’s land. Betrayal visibly paints across your face, the momentary display of having wronged his closest ally stains his own. 

“Sorry, I didn’t meant that...”

“‘...yeah, you’re right,” you scoff, “I’m dumb for waiting five whole damn years’ because you wouldn’t fucking text me or call me to ask how I was doing!”

“Me?” he asks in disbelief, gawking and pointing an accusatory finger. “You wouldn’t even pick up your phone! I called you for a month after I moved!” 

“I couldn’t pay for my phone, alright?! I was living with my parents and scrambling to find a job, any fucking low wage job, and I couldn’t sit all day in my room waiting for your calls because I’m not born with a silver spoon stuck in my ass!” 

At this point, the conversation had somehow contorted into an all out brawl of words, a challenge to see who could blame the other for the unsaid confessions lost in communication. The two of you staring down the other, chest heaving and jaws clenching and brows knitting, if it weren’t for your fortunate location tucked in the hallway hidden from the main room, you would not have allowed yourself to fall, lost somewhere in the depth of his eyes. 

“Why are you so upset?” a weak, hopeless laugh tumbles from his confused, pained expression. “Aren’t you supposed to be happy for me?” 

“I—” something gets caught in your throat and you have to choke it out “—I am. I am happy for you. I’m not upset, no…”

Jin reaches a hand out to your cheek when he notices your tears but immediately retracts his notion when you flinch backwards. The boy frowns in concern, “Y/N… I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to yell. How did I upset you?”

“Nothing,” you frantically shake your head that hangs low, using the back of your hands to smear every sign of contradiction on your face. “I just—” your breath shakes and an impending series of hiccups begins to kick in “—I’m silly. I should be happy for my best friend. I mean, I am happy. I’m just being dumb.” 

“What?” Jin carefully takes a step forward. “No you’re not—”

“—I’m dumb, okay, Jin?” you finally muster the courage to lift your sights to find his own confused ones. “It’s been five whole years and I’m embarrassed for taking a joke of a promise so seriously when my best friend doesn’t even remember making it!” 

The scrunch in his brows and lost resolution only reverberate the deafening ache in your chest. “The promises…? Y/N, I—”

“—it’s fine,” you blurt. Shaking your head and stumbling backwards, you look him straight in the eyes to say your last words before the fading knocks of your heels against the wood are all that he hears. “It's my fault for believing in a foolish fairytale anyways.”

❀ ❀ ❀

It’s almost like a fever dream when you recall just how confidently you had spat those spiteful words and furthermore dared to depart with that sheer satisfaction and the slightest aftertaste of alcohol residing on your tongue that night; but now that you’re awake, sober, and without the power of liquor, there’s nothing that can pull you out of your greatest nightmare most recently manifested into reality. 

“Why the hell did I do that? Why the hell did I do that? Why the hell did I do that?” 

The incessant grumbles tumble freely from your lips whilst you pace back and forth in the corner of the office. Typically, your colleagues would describe you as composed, reserved, and the level-headed half of an otherwise wild pair with Alex. This morning, however, they begin to question everything they’ve ever known about you as they watch through the corner of their averting eyes. 

“I knew I shouldn’t have left you alone!” Alex hisses under her breath along with the threatening glares she shoots at the audience. Considering how long you’ve been going at your mental breakdown, it doesn’t take very long for your shuffling footsteps and mumbling gibberish to transcend into yet another white noise in the office; and once the majority of the passersby settle on the new revelation of your hidden crazed nature, Alex hastily storms to your side as you begin banging your head against the wall. “Why would you throw a tantrum at your best friend’s engagement party?”

“That’s exactly what I’m saying…” you pause momentarily to groan before proceeding to damage whatever is left of your seemingly deteriorating brain. “Why the hell did I do that? Why the hell did I do—”

“—not to mention, an ex best friend who never even knew about your unrequited feelings—”

—she comes to an abrupt stop when she finds the deadliest scowl in your dart-like eyes. No words are exchanged but the lethal consequences are clear enough to grant you her silence and the continuance of your destruction. 

“Why the hell did I do that, Alex?” you whimper, taking a break from your antics because, damn, your forehead is really starting to hurt. “Whyyyyyyy did you have to leave me alone? Maybe Jin wouldn’t have found me and I wouldn’t have had to confront him over something that shouldn’t even matter anymore! I-I barely even know him… it’s been five years and, suddenly, here I am, voila! At his engagement banquet, yelling in his face and getting mad over feelings that aren’t even his fault!” 

“I told you to go easy on the alcohol.”

“I told you to go easy on the alcohol,” you retort. Taking a deep breath, you let out a sigh along with the scowl plastered across your face. Your next words come out more as a helpless confession of fear than a rhetorical question to be answered. “Do you think he… hates me…?”

Alex observes you for a lingering second, perhaps contemplating between a merciful albeit exacerbating answer and a merciless albeit helpful answer. She speaks carefully, treading dangerous water, “well… would you like him to?”

“I don’t know,” you shut your eyes to heave yet another sigh because that weight in your chest refuses to leave you alone. An unapologetic swinging of the door and a series of loud, wide strided footsteps that follow have your brows furrowing and it takes everything in you and Alex, judging by the sudden shuffles you hear by your side, to finish the rare heart-to-heart conversation. “I think… I think if he hated me, maybe that would extinguish that part of me from the past. If he hated me, I would be able to get over it. Maybe I would hate him too, out of spite, but at least I would be able to get over—””

“—it…? Over what, Y/N?”

Over what? It takes you much longer than it should have for you to surmise the most probable answer to her question, an answer you were never willing to admit and an answer you aren’t quite sure you’re ready to admit even now. 

“You know what I’m implying, Alex,” you sigh, shutting your eyes even tighter when a rising heat marks your cheeks. “I want to get over—”

—but your words are cut short by a familiar voice that has your heart racing and striking an unprecedented strife in the mayhem that is your systemic state...

“You can’t possibly hate me, Y/N,” he proudly proclaims and you can practically hear him smiling, “no one ever hates Kim Seokjin.” 

...and when your eyes finally flutter open, you find the man, who had only seemed like a phenomenon of your feverish dream a second ago, standing before you and adorning that signature smile with raised cheek apples and crescent-like eyes that has yet to change under the influence of time and distance. 

“W-What are you doing here…?” you barely manage to utter. Eyes flickering around your surroundings, from Jin’s broad shoulders that shield nearly the entirety of a helpless albeit buoyant Alex, to your colleagues who fail to discreetly whisper over the lavishly suited mystery of a man, and finally back to the bouquet of pastel flowers wrapped with a bright pink bow. Brows furrowing, you struggle to organize your thoughts and even go so far as to check for the dent in your reddish forehead in a vain attempt to dispel the mind tricks. When the mirage before you fails to dissipate into thin air like sand, you slowly turn to face the wall again only to have your antics disrupted by his refreshingly cold hand on your burning forehead ; and when you turn, you find Jin’s mischievous smile growing wider by the second. “H-how do you know where I work…?”

“I’m your best friend, Y/N. Have you somehow forgotten after all that head banging?” Jin scoffs in disbelief, gawking with a chuckle. Suddenly, he leans in to grab your right hand firmly in his own, squeezing twice as he had always done and leading you toward the exit. “C’mon, let’s go recover those memories of yours, eh?” 

“Wait, wait,” you nearly stumble over your own feet at the pace he’s going, struggling to catch your breath when he bursts through the last door and a blast of freezing wind envelops the clash of the heat reverberating from your beating heart. “I have to go back! I still have work! And, and… and where in the world are you even taking me?” 

“Tsk, tsk, tsk, Y/N, so many dumb questions for someone who always topped my grades,” the boy holds the bouquet of flowers out toward you, refusing to continue until you reluctantly accept his gift with your left hand against your chest. Smiling at your reluctant acceptance, Jin turns his back on you and proceeds to march into the parking lot but his now warm hands intertwined with your now cold hands never loosens its grip. 

It’s been a long five years of waiting to finally relish in the hold of his familiarly slim, often teased albeit self-praised double-jointed hands, but, now that you’re finally living in it, you’re sure it was all worth it… even if the crashing flames at the end of this road is an inevitable, foreseeable future.

“Jin,” you frown as you stare at Jin’s opening of the car door and gesture of an invitation, reluctantly seating yourself in his sumptuous car. “I failed half of my exams... remember?”

The boy’s laughs can still be heard even through the closed door as he makes his way around the car front, all whilst swinging the keys in his forefinger. His cackling steps an abrupt many levels of decibels higher when the opposing door opens and he plops into the driver seat. “That never stopped you from boasting, did it?” 

Without the flare of your usual clever quips, you purse your lips in silence and subconsciously hug the bouquet closer to your chest to keep his space as unoccupied by your presence. The sudden turn of events has your head spinning and your heart racing enough for the thumps to be felt by your hands. 

How did he find out where you worked? Where was he even taking you and what was he planning to do with you? Why was he acting as if you had not angered him just two nights ago? 

You don’t think you’ll be getting the answer any time soon, particularly the latter question, but when your stomach growls loudly, eliciting a crackle of a laugh from Jin, the awkward tension in your muscles eases ever so slightly. 

“...s-sorry… I skipped breakfast.”

“I know,” he puts the car into neutral at the red light and turns to peer at you with a smug look that says he could still read you like an open book, “because you always skip breakfast. I hid some pastry in the bouquet.” 

“What?” you scrunch your nose but immediately dive your scavenging hands into the flowers; and sure enough, you find your favorite cream-filled bread of his warm in your hands and you can’t stifle the smile that spreads on your lips. “Why would you even do that?”

“Well, in case you suddenly got really jacked and physically refused to come with me, then at least you would have something to eat.”

“No,” you giggle, “I meant why would you hide the bread in the bouquet…”

His eyes brighten like a lightbulb, as if only now recalling the genius plan he had crafted himself, “oh, because then you can sneak a bite without having to leave your desk! It always worked with our backpacks, didn’t it?” 

Your sights fall to the bouquet and you can only reply with a sheepish grin, “right… it sure did.”

The engine purrs to life again when the light turns green and the remainder of the car ride is filled with the smooth drift of his ride and the ceaseless albeit completely welcomed humming from his lips. The old Jin never had enough of an incentive to drive, although his parents always suggested gifting him a brand new car and you had begged him to take the offer out of boredom and a never-ending desire to escape far away from university, but something about this moment in time has you feeling cozy, belonging, and at home. It’s almost like it was meant to be. 

But the silver ring shining around his finger under the angle of the sun is a dreadful reminder that it isn’t. 

So, as a slap to yourself back into reality, you fracture this perfect moment you would have once framed in that hopeless mind of yours, “so… how did you find out where I worked?”

“Ah,” his right hand casually slips onto the back of your headrest. “Still haven’t figured out, rank 292?”

“No, I haven’t, rank 295.” 

“First,” he raises a finger, “I asked some people through the grapevines and eventually your friend Alex gave out.”

Grumbling under your breath, you curse, “damn it, Alex.”

“And second,” he raises another finger before proclaiming firmly, “I’m proving you wrong.” 

“Proving me wrong?” you articulate with a scoff. “You’re going to prove me wrong? Right, keep dreaming.”

“I’m not going to prove you wrong, I am proving you wrong," he insists before shifting the car to neutral and leaning in toward you, gaze brimming with conviction locked with your own wary ones, as if ready to spill a secret sworn by the two of you and hidden from the rest of the universe. 

He's close enough for his minty breath to graze your burning cheeks, to breathe a vigorous life previously unknown by your dull five years. Heart pumping and lungs barely working, daring not to budge for being caught under the sway of his gravitational force, you can hardly catch him when he finally speaks.

"I haven't forgotten, Y/N,” he utters, “I'm a man of my word."

❀ ❀ ❀

Promise one. 

"I'll cook every meal for you for an entire day."

Promise two. 

"I'll bring flowers to you at work."

His unabashed, overly detailed tactic to ask for your hand in marriage still echoes from a time long past. Hopes for those promises were weakened by each passing second but unequivocally unassailed at birth. Eventually, smothered and disheartened, you had been forced to cut ties and confront the reality of broken promises and broken dreams. You had once somehow convinced yourself things would never return to the ways they once were, and, yet, here he is having returned by your side and here you are enraptured by the utter joy in his laughs after all this wavering time. 

It's like a dream come true; and if this indeed all just a nightmarish dream bound to death, you wish you never swore allyship to this alcohol, for now your only wish is for it to succumb you into a deep, long slumber. 

“I toooooooold you I don’t like paaaaasta!” you whine, the drag of your voice manifesting in white puffs in the still chilly spring air. The sudden transition between the warmth of his house to the frozen world outside has you spiraling into a series of trips and stumbles; and as always, your best friend Jin is the only one to hold you up, which is a good thing considering how you would’ve been tumbling into the death trap of a river beneath this bridge. “So whyyyy did you make me pastaaaaaaa? Whyyyyyyy?”

“What? Why’re you blaming me?” he retorts, obviously taking offence. “You always loved pasta! You ate it every single day at uni!” 

“I diiiiid love pasta,” you say through barely parted lips, “but it’s all just… just carbs, carbs, carbssss…” 

“Since when did you care about carbs?” Jin frowns, poking your cheeks that lean against his sturdy arms. “Should I call the police?” 

Your brows furrow and you lift your head to narrow your eyes at him, “what? Why?” 

And as soon as those words slip from your lips and he raises his finger-gun hands, you wish you hadn’t asked in the first place. 

“Because I think you’re an impasta,” his finger guns transform into jazz hands after you stare at him in dumbfounded silence, “...badumtsss….”

A series of empty blinks are exchanged, as if neither of you had just witnessed his most tragic dad joke to date; and so, you swiftly continue with a sigh, “I think… I think I started caring ever since heee mentioned I was getting fat.”

“I can’t believe you just ignored my unprecedented joke…” he grumbles to himself but lets out a little huff when he catches you from tipping over. Wordlessly, he hooks his arm with yours to keep you close to him. “And this ‘he’ you mention, who’s he?” 

“Heee.” 

“Who? Who’s ‘heeee’?” he spouts with pouty lips and a raised chin, flailings his body, and therefore yours, about every which way like a toddler. “Who’s this man I have to beat up, huh? He better square up!”

“I don’t think you could beat him up…” you mumble, eyes heavy but determined enough to reach his own flabbergasted ones. “It’s Jooooon, dummy, Kim-Nam-Joon, the boy I shared my first kiiiiss with…”

“Kim Namjoon?!” his eyes widen. “You think I wouldn’t be able to beat up that nerd?!”

You almost manage to push Jin away the foot of the bridge if it weren’t for his firm lock around you. “Have you seen his muscles?! He might not look like it with his books and all but he worked out all the time!”

“Yeah, well,” his lips sputter, “well, have you seen my muscles?!”

“No—” you freeze when you realize the sturdiness of his arm against your head is existing proof against your word, and maybe it’s because of his obvious flexing at this moment, but you could not believe just how built his arms had grown in the past five years, “—and I don’t want to.” 

“Hah! You just don’t want to admit that I’m right. C’mon, I’ll show you. You feel it, huh? You feel it?” he flexes persistently, twisting and turning to maximize his little showcase. “So? You think I can beat him up now?” 

“Well…” your voice trails off, mind clearly preoccupied with sticking your cheeks to his arm like glue in a somewhat fruitful attempt to hide the flush in your face. “You don’t really need to beat him up…”

“What?” he almost yells. “Why not? He called you fat!”

“Well, he…” your shoulders rise with each confession, “he said one of my dresses looked tight on me…”

“And?”

“...and he wasn’t exactly wrong…”

“So?”

“...so he didn’t actually say anything offhandedly…”

“What? You should’ve told me earlier!” Jin exclaims, arms thrown high into the air and consequently pushing your helpless self onto the hillside grass beside the run of the river. Lips gaping and eyes popping, you watch him in full offense as he mumbles to himself before resuming his stroll down the hill. “And here I am getting worked up over nothing… can’t believe I thought I could play hero for once…”

“Hey, Jin, what do you mean by that?” you call out to him. “Wait! I said wait for me, Jin!”

When your rhetorical questions are answered with silence, you hasten to your feet in order to catch up with those damn wide strides of his. Damn it, how did he make it halfway down the hill already? Each of your exclamations are unsurprisingly disobeyed by the boy who just throws his head back over his shoulder with that cheeky grin of his as he quickened his pace. Following suit, your strides turn into a jog and your jogs turn into a full out sprint until the both of you are full on running the 100 meters dash, one chasing and one fleeing, wind blowing refreshingly into your heated face and into your tangled locks and inflated lungs that relish in the breath of life. 

In the midst of all the chaotic bliss of an epiphany, you find yourself screaming and laughing at the top of your lungs...

“Hey! Jin! I swear I”m gonna kick your ass!”

...and it’s at this moment in time that you realize having forgotten what it means to be a fool who lived and not to live to be a fool. 

At some point in time, after having caught up to the knucklehead and giving a piece of your mind, the two of you settle down along the concrete ledge beside the river after a jittery, welcomed high. The sunset that followed was a pleasant surprise that had you two reminiscing over the countless mornings and evenings you had spent watching the sun rise and set together whilst churning throughout tireless exam nights. Pink, golden streaks now hidden behind a thick coating of midnight blue embellished by magical glitters all throughout, tonight’s stargazing becomes a first for the two of you. 

As much as you hoped you could numb yourself from the inevitable aftereffects of this death wish of a dreamy day, you can’t help but smile, thankful to have been completely sober to engrave this night into memory. 

“So...” Jin’s utter is the first to break the silence. He turns his head to give you a playful look of eyes that beams with wary curiosity, “...you started dating Namjoon after I left?”

“Mm… maybe,” you hum, “why? Got a problem with that?”

“What? Psh, what? Why would I have a problem with that?” he snorts. “The only problem I would have is the fact that you never asked me for permission.”

Your eyes widen, almost threateningly, “are you saying I need permission from a man to date another man? Not to mention a man who abandoned me without warning!” 

“Okay, first of all, it’s not my fault you cancelled your phone plan! I called and called, I tried everything I could even though I was deadbeat tired every day. It’s not my fault I thought you hated my guts! So please just understand that I didn’t abandon you, alright?” he spills in an endless stream akin to a water faucet left on the highest setting, clearly a performance either practiced in private or incited by years of pent up pressure. You can practically see the steam shooting out of his fiery red ears and the accompanying whistle manifesting into words; and by the time his chest is heaving, his lungs are panting and very dramatically so, and his eyes flicker nervously between you and the passing water, you can’t help but snicker. Unsurprisingly, your lack of empathy elicits an unamused look on his face. “Hey, hey, what’re you laughing at, huh?” 

“Me? Oh, nothing,” your hands move into your laps and you bat your eyes innocently, “it’s just that I can’t believe you’re blaming me, a helpless, poor girl with absolutely no connections, for cancelling her phone plan as a last resort to make ends meet.”

“Hey, hey, hey,” he warns with an accusatory finger, “don’t you dare think I’ll fall for that eye blinking and whatever cute act you’re playing up again!” 

“Why?” you pout, almost cringing at your own antics. “Am I not cute?”

“No, you’re hurting my eyes. Plus, if anyone’s cute here,” he declares adamantly before puffing his cheeks and poking one with his forefinger, “it’s me.”

The both of you stare at the other for a stagnant few seconds, one completely dedicated to his performance and the other utterly flabbergasted by what plays out before her. 

The only word you manage to crank out is a, “uh…”

“What do you think?” he raises another finger to poke his other cheek. “I practiced just for you.” 

“Um… you’re 27 now, Jin.”

“So?” he tilts his head in the other direction. “Still 22 and young at heart.”

“Yeah? Then I’m still 22 and still equally disgusted by aegyo—” just as he parts his lips to provide another rebuttal, you quickly add in “—by your aegyo.” 

And just like that, the man drops his boyish character just as quickly as he had stepped into it. He mumbles, dropping his hands and shooting an equivocate look at you, “okay, tough crowd. Sorry, ma’am.”

It shouldn’t have been that hilarious nor should your response been so delayed, but it only takes a split second of his surrender for a thunderous cackle to slip from your lips. Throwing your head back and peering at the dangling stars above, you allow yourself a moment to close your eyes and take a deep breath of the incoming wind. The fresh petrichor of spring and the earthiness of mowed grass whisks themselves into the cold, clean breeze from the vast body of water. Thin locks of hair grazes across your cheeks, swaying in the wind as does your spirit. Years are lifted from your shoulders and all that is left is the heaviness that remains in your chest; nevertheless, you have never felt so free from the past. 

“Also,” he adds nonchalantly, cocking his head to look at you, “I wasn’t speaking from the position of a man. I was speaking as a best friend. As your best friend.” 

And just like that, sitting side by side and sharing a cool breeze, it’s almost as if all these moments of remorse, spilled tears, and unreleased frustration were made to build the climax to this grand finale: the night you can finally speak your truth. 

“It’s funny how things never change, huh?” you say when your eyes flutter open and you find Jin looking over with a fondness identical to the one you’ve spotted years before. “We can split for five years, thinking one hates the other’s guts, and reunite again as best friends… as if nothing had ever happened.”

Jin chuckles, hands grabbing to the ledge and head lolling back to join you but his eyes remain fixated on you, “I’m not sure if that’s a good thing or not. Are we vampires and we just don’t know it?”

“Yeah, well, I’m not sure either… not sure about the good thing and not the vampire thing, that is,” your laugh settles into silence when you spot the reflected light inflicted by the ring around his finger, sitting on the ledge just an inch away from yours. Close enough to touch but far enough to confirm an unequivocal truth. Sighing, you turn your head to meet his intent gaze with a bittersweet upturn to your lips, “normally, I really despise the idea of change; but lately, when I think about how things might never change between us, how we’ll always banter as a pair of stupid best friends, I start wanting it more than ever.”

Is this the moment? Is it all really happening right now? Judging by the course of your blithe actions, if change is what you’re looking for, then change is what will surely ensue after tonight. Whether for the good or for the worse, you’ll take a reluctant guess of the latter. 

The man scrunches his brows before playing it off with a nervous laugh, “what do you mean things haven’t changed? You dated Namjoon, probably got it on a few times here or there—”

“—what—”

“—please don’t confirm,” he butts in with a raised hand, “and I have, too. Sure things have changed!”

“Ooh?” you raise a brow, genuinely shocked. “You finally got some experience under your belt? I’m impressed, Mr. Kim.”

“Hey,” he scolds, “what do you mean by ‘impressed?’” 

“Well, I should’ve known… figuring you’re about to be a married man and all…” you mumble, forcing a smile despite the sudden dip in your mood. Turning your head to stare off into the opposite end of the river where the black silhouette of skyscrapers lie, you curse yourself mentally. You really thought you could get away with the inevitable truth for the entire day? “You know, I can’t believe I almost forgot that you’re getting married in less than a week. Almost like how I couldn’t believe you almost forgot our promises.”

“I told you Kim Seokjin is a man of his words.”

“You sure about that? Promise one: cook for me for an entire day. Check. Promise two: gift me flowers at work. Check,” you turn around once again to look him firmly in the eyes and it’s almost as if the both of you know what’s about to come next. “What about the three other promises, Kim Seokjin?” 

“Y/N…” his voice trails off but his gaze never leaves yours, almost as if too afraid to be misconstrued as another betrayal. 

Quick-mindedly, you chime, “stop looking at me so seriously! I’m just joking! Promise three: you won’t break my heart. How could you after a wonderful day like this? Promise four: you won’t forget our promises. Clearly, you remember. And promise five: you’ll keep all your promises. Check.”

“Y/N,” he stifles every wince but you can tell by the way his feet have stopped kicking into the void. “I don’t think I’ve kept all those promises.” 

“Well,” you shrug, pressing your lips into a line tightly, “I only see checks in my book, Jin. You’re good to go—”

“—no, Y/N, you need to listen to me,” he says sternly; and when your mouth falls agape and your head slightly nods, his wary eyes searching for a steady sign in the windows to your soul, he continues calmly, “my marriage is actually an arranged marriage.”

“Your—” you blink blankly, jaw almost falling to the floor “—your, you, what?”

An arranged marriage. 

All this time, all this pain, all this heartbreak of wanting to do something about your feelings but remaining hopeless because of an unrequited love… turns out to be an active, fully conscious decision? Not a falling out of love, not a helpless affection for another woman, but a matchmaking handcrafted without the heavens?

“My,” he has to stop himself just as his breath hitches, “my father... arranged it. ” 

“What? Why? Is it because he prefers you with a well off family?” 

“What? No,” he shakes his head with a slight upcurve to his lips that you’ve never quite seen before. Watching him hook a hand to the nape of his neck, clearly avoiding your eyes, you have an inkling of something much worse than the presented news. “You know my father would never do that… it has nothing to do with money...”  

“But you left this town for money, didn’t you? For a better job, a better pay, a better life, and for the sake of your dignity as a dutiful son, are you telling me none of those were related to money?” 

His eye twitches by your name-calling, clearly pained once again despite knowing very well of your precedent dislike toward his silver spoon background and his nonnegotiable obedience. Each second of silence culminates a tension even more formidable than the last. Guilt intoxicates your boiling blood enough for you to bite your tongue and hold yourself back; because after accusing him of holding onto his dignity, you, yourself, could not forfeit that of your own either. 

Worse yet, you’re a complete hypocrite. 

“Why can’t you just tell him to call it off?” 

You never knew silence could be so deafening.

“So… so do you...” you begin hesitantly. Usually, with your eyes locked with his, a thousand words would have been exchanged with each passing second; but now, with gazes that wade through the tides of the unknown, for the first time ever, you don’t recognize the mystery before you. “Do you... love her?” 

His lips part slowly, but no time in the world would be enough for him to find the right words. To you, his silence is as clear as any possible answer. Something sinks in you, perhaps after acknowledging the implications behind his choice to leave your question unanswered, but your blood boils from the audacity of those apologetic eyes that, even now, never stray from yours… as if this minute of sincerity would be enough to mend the inevitable decade of scars. 

You begin slowly, failing to hide the shakiness of your deep breaths, “...then what about the baby?”

“What baby...?” his face contorts with a frown until, out of the blue, something flickers across his numerous expressions: confusion, remembrance, contemplation. His hesitation that ensues might have been fleeting but its infliction upon your shattered trust will surely remain. “Oh, that… that was just a rumor my aunt spread because of the sudden marriage.” 

“And,” you force yourself to breathe, scattering for something, anything to throw at him, “and you don’t think you could’ve told me sooner?”

The man scrunches his brows, “and that would’ve helped, how?” 

“‘How?’” you repeat, as if it was the dumbest question you had ever heard. Mirroring his expression, your eyes avert between him and the river as scoffs of utter disbelief escape you. “‘How?’ What do you mean ‘how?’”

“I mean exactly that!” his voice suddenly escalates to a level of frustration you’ve never quite heard from him before. “How would it have changed anything? Why would you need to know earlier?”

Gawking, you exasperate desperately, “you know why!” 

“No, I might be your best friend but don’t expect me to just read your mind!”

“It’s cause...” you swing your leg over the ledge to face the sidewalk with your back on Jin as soon as you could feel an incoming constriction at the back of your throat, a notorious sign shared just between the two of you that waterworks were about to appear. Breathing slowly and doing just about everything to keep your voice from shaking, and fruitlessly so, you mumble before standing to your feet, “...you know what? I don’t even know anymore. I’m sorry. Nevermind.”

Why did you ever think you would have a chance? 

Is this it? Is this really it? The end? 

The questions come crashing into you as you make your retreat, head hanging low and palms drying the inconvenient tears that mark your face. After all the confidence you had built up, after finally thinking—actually, believing—you could get over him tonight, how humiliating is it that you’re now running away from a reality that would eventually and inevitably engulf you? 

The worst part of it is, Jin, like the best friend and good man that he is, persists to chase after you. You don’t have to hear the quickened footsteps of his usual wide, well-paced strides to know he’s coming. You don’t have to hear the calls he makes on the top of his lungs for you to know he’s on his way. 

As someone who so helplessly fell in love with their best friend, you just know he would be there through thick and thin—whether you like it or not. 

“Y/N!” Jin hollers; and when he finally catches up to you, having to sprint and consequently inciting for you to surrender with an abrupt stop to your path, every bit of air is knocked from your lungs. Arms wrapping over your waist and enveloping you into a tight hug, you can feel his heart pounding against your back. 

To most, it should have been the perfect method to comfort a crying friend; so, damn it, why does it only make you cry harder? 

“What?” your voice cracks as you just barely manage to smear the following tears within the wrap of his bear hug. “Damn it, Jin, why can’t you leave me alone for once?”

Head resting on yours, his voice is muffled by your hair as he murmurs, “I can’t just leave my best friend crying like that. I shouldn’t have yelled. I’m sorry.” 

He embraces you. He embraces you not only physically through the silence but also through the emotional rollercoaster that comes with it. He, Kim Seokjin, your best friend, holds you through the ups and downs and the rights and the wrongs. He even holds you now, comforting you in the hurricane that you brewed without ever knowing and never caring that he had, in fact, not committed any wrongdoing. If anything, you must be in the wrong. 

And when you put it that way, how could you blame yourself for falling in love with him?

“Jin… I’m sorry, I tried everything to stop myself but,” your voice shakes but your courage prospers, “but I just, I just really, really love you.” 

A second passes. 

Now, two. 

Then, three. 

Something strikes against your chest when the surreality of the situation settles into reality. His silence could mean many things, but the tightening of his embrace could only mean one. Blood flushes your cheeks as you lament over his sensation of your fervent heartbeats. Secrets thrown out into the spring air, your heated cheeks are equally exposed to the passing, chilly zephyr. 

He knows you love him. At this moment, he can physically feel the proof of your love and there’s nothing he can do about it. 

“Sorry,” you manage to blurt under your breath, “I shouldn’t have said anything. Forget I said—”

—the remaining words dissipate into thin air when he places his hands firmly on your shoulder and whirls you around. Face just inches away from his, you barely catch wind of his declaration before the unthinkable occurs…

“Too late. I don’t want to.”

...and his lips meet yours. 

It’s everything you have ever imagined. Years of admiring those plush lips, wondering what it would be like to feel the warmth of those wonders pressed against yours, are finally coming to fruition… except they don’t. His hands fall from your shoulders to the small of your back, but your hands don’t intertwine behind the back of his neck like you imagined. Instead, they hover in midair, hesitant to embrace him in your arms. Why? With your eyes and his fluttered closed and an audible deep sigh that signals a desire finally satisfied from the both of you, reality still manages to twist a dream-come-true. 

Does he actually love you or does he only pity you?

Finally, and ever so suddenly, your hands firmly push against his chest to plant an arm’s distance from you and him.

“Sorry…” you pant, avoiding those intense eyes. “We… we can’t do this.” 

“What?” Jin raises a brow, taking a step forward as you take one back. “Why not?”

Wordlessly, you point at his ring finger.

“Oh,” he chuckles nervously, hand scratching the back of his neck. You can only watch his every move, your stare gradually becoming a glare. Rosy hues coloring his cheeks, he speaks sheepishly, “I forgot we’re in public.”

His nonchalance irks you to your core. There isn’t any other way to put it. Blithe and dense have always been your favorite traits of his, but now that he’s here? Planting buds he could never sustain and sending mixed signals despite knowing of your feelings in an unfitting circumstance were never things you knew Jin for.  

“I-I don’t get it, Jin,” you shake your head. “I don’t think we should see each other any more. In any context. Not even after the wedding.” 

With his hands buried into his pockets and shoulders high enough to hide his reddened ears, he glances up at you, alert. “What? Why? What don’t you get?”

“It’s ‘cause... I just don’t get… this. I don’t get us,” you articulate, struggling to find the right words. “Why are you so… nonchalant about this? Why are you kissing me? Is it out of pity? Is it because I said I liked you—”

“—Y/N,” he says lowly like the drop of his previously cheerful mien, “you know I would never do something like that.” 

“Then why?! Why are you doing this to me? Do you love her or not?” you pause for a second to stifle the crack in your voice but, alas, all is in vain. “...and do you even… love me?”

He frowns, the tension in his body evident by the knitting of his brows as he struggles, “I… Y/N...”

“So you can’t admit that you love her and you can’t even lie to say you love me. So why the hell are you throwing away an entire marriage just to kiss me?” your scoff comes out more so like a plea. “You’re confusing me, Jin—”

“—that’s,” he abruptly pauses to stop himself from exploding, taking a deep breath before continuing, “that’s exactly why I can’t say it, Y/N! I don’t want to confuse you. I don’t want to disappoint my father. I-I don’t want to complicate matters more!”

“Then why the hell did you kiss me?!”

“I don’t know, okay?!” he throws his hands in the air. “I don’t know! It was a spur of the moment! I couldn’t stop myself from chasing after you and when I hugged you—I-I just wanted to, alright? I’m sorry.”

He’s... sorry. 

Sorry for kissing you, sorry for acting as if your feelings had been reciprocated, sorry for breaking all the promises he made and pretending like he was going to patch things up again tonight. Speaking your mind and hearing his words are all that you need to finally understand what you need to do. Your heart drops but you hold your head high because your final verdict is the right thing to do. Maybe this time you’ll finally be able to cease these useless feelings. What's the point in pursuing a hopeless love? 

The only one you would be hurting is yourself. 

This epiphany, in itself, is enough to drape an ephemeral clarity over your frenzic self; and just like a bandaid over a scar, you’re able to function, if only just temporarily.

“Hey, Jin?” you call out softly to the boy kicking at nothing on the bare sidewalk. It’s hard not to melt under the delicate glance he throws over his shoulder. “I’m not… mad. Well, I kind of am. But that doesn’t change the fact that I’m sorry for everything that I said about your upbringing. I know how close you are to your family. I’m sure you’ve been under a lot of pressure…”

“No, Y/N,” he shakes his head, turning his body to face you with a low hanging head, “it’s my fault. Even considering all that, I still shouldn’t have done that or any of this. I… I’m sorry for confusing you.”

Forcing a composed smile, you persevere, “do you have your fiance’s number?”

Head lifting with a frown, he answers, “yeah, what kind of a fiance would I be if I didn’t? Why though?”

“Right,” you say to yourself under your breath, hearing his ‘fiance’ echo relentlessly in your head. “I just need it, okay? To… to sort out everything...”

And just when you wonder how insensitive could this boy get...

“What?” he chuckles. “Are you going to fight for me?”

...it gets worse.

Rolling your eyes, you give him a hard, well-deserved slap against the chest before snickering at his loud wince and declaring your one last confession of the night. 

“No, I could fight for us, but I won’t singlehandedly fight for you,” you then declare with a bitter smile, “I will, however, tell her how jealous I am.”

And that's your most irrefutable confession, one that has Jin stupefied for the future midnights to come.

❀ ❀ ❀

Morning arrives much sooner than you had anticipated. White puffs mark the air whilst you wrap yet another layer of scarf around your neck. It seems as though the breeze from a night ago had intentionally danced around town, lingering and spectating on the resolution of your five year long love conundrum. Ironically enough, the two of you reunite at the very spot where everything had first started… except this time, everything will finally end.

The pain he had marked in you inflicted by the words he could not bring himself to say still stains your every waking second.

“You have to do this. You can do this,” you incessantly chant to yourself, pacing back and forth beside the most prominent cherry blossom tree in town. “You have to do this. You can do this—”

“—Y/N, is that you?”

What you presume to be Youngji’s voice perks your ears. Looking up, you spot her holding a phone in her hands as she flickers between you and her screen. A quizzical quirk of the brow plasters across your face as you wave at her and she jogs over to you as quickly as she could in that pink, wool poncho and those tan, fluffy boots. “Hey, Youngji, right?” 

“Yeah,” she says in between each pant of breath, “that’s me.” 

Her hands immediately find refuge on her knees whilst she bends over to catch her breath. Typically, you’re the very self-aware type, but there isn’t anything you could do to stop yourself from staring. The girl strikes you as… flamboyant. With her dark red pigtails, bright smile, and dainty attire, she’s everything you’ve always imagined a female version of Jin would be like. It’s hard not to wonder… maybe an arranged marriage really can be a match made in heaven, but you force yourself out of that rabbit hole before having another breakdown in front of an innocent stranger. 

The tang of jealousy, however, refuses to budge. 

“Sorry, for,” she pants, holding her hand up to show you her phone screen, “calling out to you like that.”

“No, it’s fine,” you squint at the sight of the screen displaying a candid photo of you, taken on this very street on that very day, as you stuffed one of his breads in your mouth. Drawn on your face is a mustache and a unibrow. “Did Jin do—”

“—Jin gave me a terrible reference photo.” 

Scoffing, you cross your arms, “damn it, Jin.”

Youngji crackles into a firework of uncontrollable laughter, rendering you stupefied. After a literal minute passes by, she finally manages to speak in between the bursts of giggles that follow, “you two—” giggle “—really are—” giggle “—close, huh?” And as a grand finale, she slaps her stomach with a loud sigh of relief that her laughs have come to an end. When she notices you staring at her bewilderedly, a light bulb flashes through her as she gasps and feigns a whimper, “o-oh! Ow! M-my baby!”

“You know you don’t have to pretend, right?” you can only let out a laugh of disbelief because you still can’t take in the mirror image your best friend. “Jin already told me about the fake pregnancy.” 

“Oh, in that case,” she smiles widely before giving her stomach one more big, satisfying slap, “see, you guys really are so close!” 

“I… I guess. I’m not sure if taking me out for one day after five years of radio silence really counts as close, though,” you then quickly add in with raised hands, “he only did so out of obligation, though! I swear it was nothing more!”

“Hmmm?” she hums, leaning in a curious ear with a cheshire-like smile. “Is it because of those promises he made?”

“...yeah, wait, he told you about those?” 

Of course he did, idiot, they’re engaged. 

“Well, something like that,” she shrugs, “so how much did he tell you?”

“About?” 

“About the wedding, silly!” 

“Uh, nothing much really. The pregnancy was a false rumor, the marriage was arranged by his father…”

“Father?” she inquires, watching you closely with those big, round eyeballs of hers. 

“Yes?” you hesitantly nod. “Father?” 

“Ah,” she nods, as if she finally catches drift of something, “I see.” 

“Oh yeah,” you add, “I also found out it’s on my birthday.”

“What?!” her eyes grow wider, if they even possibly can. “Jin never told me that! What the heck, man? A wedding? On his best friend’s birthday?!” 

“Yeah, yeah, I know right?” you nod passively before coming to an abrupt stop. “Wait, what? Why does it matter to you?”

“Of course it matters to me! You’re Jin’s best friend, aren’t you? You have no idea how much he talks about you back home. I know you so well that sometimes I feel like you might be my best friend,” she chimes before reaching out to cup your hands in hers. “Let’s celebrate properly with Jin after the wedding, okay?” 

“Um, sure…”

But you don’t exactly plan on unnecessarily sticking around his life for any longer than the wedding… except, seeing how close she must be with Jin in addition to her loose-lip impression, you decide not to tell her that. 

“So,” she drops her hands to the side, “what did you need to tell me?” 

Why did you call her to meet you here again? After witnessing her flamboyant entrance, it’s hard for you to keep yourself from derailing. 

“Oh, um,” you scratch the back of your head awkwardly, “I just wanted to meet my best friend’s fiance, that’s all.”

“Ahhh, I see.”

The woman pauses, nodding at you intently almost as if waiting for the real intentions to be revealed. Damn it, either you’re a literal open book or she reincarnated from the same soul as Jin’s. 

“So…” you purse your lips. “Are you okay with it? The arranged marriage, I mean?” 

“Well,” she shrugs, finally dropping the smile from her lips. “At first I hated the thought of it. I felt like I didn’t really have a choice, but… when I met Jin—” a smile is hinted in the corner of her lips and in the sparkle of her eyes “—I thought ‘I’m pretty lucky girl, aren’t I?’ I think the world must have finally taken pity on me.”

A soft, stifled laugh slips from you as your eyes fall to the ground and a bittersweet smile accompanies your lips, “yeah, you’re pretty lucky.” 

“Don’t get me wrong though,” your eyes immediately shoot up to find her raising defensive hands, “it wasn’t some sort of a love at first sight. He’s handsome, sure, but—”

“—a marriage is a lifelong commitment—”

“—exactly,” she sighs, “I didn’t really know him, but when I was forced to spend time with him… I thought if I had to get married, then he would be the best option. He’s not a bad guy.” 

“No,” you smile in your reverie, shaking your head, “he's not a bad guy at all; and when you really get to know him, his stupid dorky self, I think it’s impossible not to fall for him.” 

“Yeah?” 

“He’s mean when he jokes around but he’s actually very kind, he’s sensitive when you poke him where it hurts but he hides it deceptively well, he’ll apologize for being wrong when the both of you clearly know you’re in the wrong, he’ll cook and wear the hottest pink clothes he can find because ‘to hell with societal norms,’ he’ll tell you the dumbest dad jokes but I promise you’ll get used to them eventually, ” you let out a reminiscent laugh that comes out more like a sigh, “and, sometimes, very rarely, he’ll hurt you unintentionally, of course, but he’ll always go out of his way to make it up because that’s just… that’s Jin. That’s my best friend.” 

A breeze passes by to perfectly mark the end of your cadence. Branches rustle above you and freshly budded cherry blossom petals flutter their way toward the grass underneath the two of you only to be risen once again by a following zephyr. Having been there throughout his and your lives, it’s almost as if the long-standing tree is agreeing to attest to your words. 

“Wow,” Youngji finally says after witnessing your truthful albeit embarrassing spoken love letter, “I… I wouldn’t doubt any of it… but why are you telling me? Shouldn’t you be telling Jin?” 

“I’m telling you, because,” you emphasize, “because I'm jealous of your position but I can't do anything about it so I want you to take good care of Jin. I just… I need to know he’ll be in good hands. I want him to be loved like the way that he loves. You’ll do that, won’t you?”

Youngji just nods. It’s the most somber response you’ve ever seen from her. Almost like the joining of hands in marriage has finally become reality. 

“Do you…” you struggle to squeeze out of the knot in your throat, “do you love him…?” 

“Y/N—” she begins but suddenly lets go of whatever she must have had planned “—yes, yes I do.” 

“And… you’ll take care of him?” 

Youngji bobs her head lightly, “yes, I will.”

“Promise?” 

“...promise.”

“Okay, then I’m entrusting him to you, and,” you smile, leaning forward to shake her hands before heaving one last sigh, “and this time, please keep the promise.” 

❀ ❀ ❀

A curse sinks into the thickness of the sapphire dusk that quickly descends upon the hushed city. Keys tinkle to decorate the silence of tonight’s resting wind, a silence that would have been accompanied by an equally passive woman and an oblivious man whose hands persist to fumble to his guest’s dismay. 

Standing before a small willow, vintage-looking store tucked away in the corner of downtown, an inaudible breath ascends a cloud of white that momentarily shrouds the grand interior peeking from spotless windows that line the exterior. Golden warm studio lights illuminate the gorgeously exquisite ivory gowns from the trailing trains up to its waterfalls of dainty veils. Velvet suits and satin neckties accompany each headless mannequin, welcoming each passerby to imagine themselves in their wildest fairytales… your hand in his and his in yours as a fleeting moment becomes a sealed promise of a lifelong loyalty. 

Breath completely taken away, you, yourself, almost fall prey to your own far-fetched dreams. 

“I thought I said we shouldn’t meet up anymore,” your forced mutters drag you from your short-lived reveries, “why did you bring me here?”

“You said we shouldn’t meet up anymore, yet here you are,” Jin chirps before cheering to himself under his breath once the key finally clicks into place, “yes! Old man must have purposely given me these rusty old keys.”

Crossing your arms, you retort, “I came because you said your close friend from home would be here, too.”

Turning around to face you with his back to the door and a hand on the golden knob, he raises a quizzical brow, “and… are you not my close friend from home?” 

“I thought you meant the other—”

“—this is my home, Y/N,” he says firmly, looking straight at you, “and I want my best friend to see me in my wedding suit before anyone else.” 

“But why me…?”

“Because I only care about your opinion.”

He answered without hesitation, but in your head you figure he must have forgotten about Youngji, the true spotlight of the show.

Gritting your teeth, a staredown begins between the two of you; but the longer you face those unequivocal looks of determination in his eyes, the hotter your cheeks become in the middle of a contrastingly chilly night.  

“Alright, fine.” 

“Thanks,” he gives you a small, lopsided smile before pushing the door open with his back and ushering you in with a slight bow, “ladies first.”

Your eyes roll but not for very long when you step foot into the store and your mouth falls agape. The ceiling is much higher than you had perceived from outside, the sides are lined with grand, wooden staircases that lead to a second floor where hundreds upon hundreds of white dresses and black suits find purchase along the hangers, and the click of your heels against the marble tiles of the entrance floor echo into the extravagant expanse. 

The wooden insulation of the store proves infallible when the door closes behind Jin and the shrewd air leaves you to a much more bearable surrounding. Standing affixed to the entrance, you watch as Jin strides toward the carpeted floor where a taupe curtain hanging from the ceiling drapes over a raised platform sits across its partner platform in the opposite of the room. 

“I don’t think I’ve ever seen you so enraptured by something aside from me,” Jin chuckles as he begins stripping the suit off of a black, velvety mannequin before pointing at the mannequin standing beside the opposite platform, “oh, why don’t you try on some dresses while I’m at it?” 

“What?” you scoff, finally taking a step onto the carpet. “First off, I never stared at you like that before. Second, why the hell would I do that? It’s your wedding, not mine.” 

“I asked the store owner for permission and picked a dress for you to try on,” he continues, finally stopping in the midst of unbuttoning his white, collared shirt when he looks up to find the fear in your eyes. “Hey, haven’t you always wanted to try one of these?”

“Yeah,” you laugh in disbelief because he actually listened to your past rambles, “but never under these circumstances.”

“C’mon, you never know if you’ll ever have a chance like this again,” he gestures once more when he notices the start of your contemplation, “c’mon, go on!”

You really don’t want to. It’s that nagging feeling of something going completely wrong tonight if you were to succumb and let yourself go. After all, your worst fear is yourself. It doesn’t feel right and you begin to wonder if it’s alright for you to hold onto this moment you’ve always dreamed about: dolling up and swearing your vows side by side with Jin. 

If you were to live out your fairytale, just for tonight, would you finally be able to sleep dreamlessly at night? 

“...fine,” you groan and storm across the room, tossing your purse into the ruby sofas and stepping onto the platform. Turning around to face a gleeful Jin, you’re about to scowl at him until your eyes flicker between the cheeky grin on that youthful face and those sculpted abdomen of his elevated by the lighting above. Cheeks flushing red, you gulp at the unseen sight before clutching the curtain in your hands and swinging it closed with a mumble, “and at least have some decency and use the curtains, God damn it…”

The freezing touch of your hands doesn't hold a candle to the heat of your face. Trying to calm your racing heart, you curse to yourself at the way he merely cackles at you and, even worse, the way your heart intensifies in response. 

“Yes, ma’am!” 

“...shut up,” you say more to yourself and your deafening heart.

The gown standing before you, however, is no help to your case either, for when you glance over the dress, the long train that could awe an entire room, the complimenting silhouette that doesn’t scream too over-the-top but enough to fulfill the little girl within you, and the classic lace sleeves that you’ve gushed over whilst skimming through magazines, you realize Jin had always been attentive even when he was stuffing his face with bread or even when he was being petty over an argument and you tried to rectify with incessant small talk. 

It’s at this moment that you acknowledge the rabbit hole you had just willingly fallen into and the impossibility of its towering escape.

“So,” Jin calls out to you as the sound of rustling clothes fill the silent air, “what do you want for your birthday tomorrow?”

“My birthday? Oh, right,” you slam palm to your forehead, having dwelled over the marriage and consequently forgetting your own birthday. “Uh, nothing really. I haven’t really thought about it this year.” 

“Really? You? Y/N? Not planning her own birthday?” he gasps. “Who are you and what did you do to Y/N?”

“Oh, shut up. With age comes other problems to deal with...”

...problems like you.

“C’mon,” he chuckles. “You have to have something. You can’t tell me you’ve gotten every single thing checked off of that old ‘birthday gift ideas’ list you gave me.”

“I mean… I wouldn’t say I’m very far from it and it’s not like you were actually going to give me everything I asked for. Say, what did I even have on that list?” your eyes wander to the towering curtains that envelop you as your hands reach behind to the buttons on your back. “A bowl of your tofu soup, some pocket money, a matching sweater, a pair of earrings, a necklace, and a… ring.” The word slips from your lips and it floats in the stagnant air before you can even do anything about it. His silence rings in your ears, so you quickly add in, “but I don’t want materialistic stuff like that anymore.” 

“...oh, really?” 

“Nope,” you heave a heavy sigh and pat the poofy material of the skirt down, “I think I’ve come to realize that… I just want to be loved. I don’t need a dress or a necklace or a ring…  you wouldn’t understand, but I don’t just want to hear those words. I want to feel them. I want to be loved.” 

But only by him.

A lingering silence drifts long enough for you to start panicking until, finally, he answers, “no, I understand.” 

“...well,” you quickly chirp as you fumble with the lacey material of your dress, “enough about me, what do you want for your big day, hm?”

“Why would I need a present from you?” he remarks. You can hear him finishing his final touches and you can barely stop your heart from leaping out of your chest. “You’ve given me enough already.”

“You mean I’ve given you enough earfuls and tears,” you retort, clutching onto the curtains as you shut your eyes to muster every courage within you. “Isn’t there anything I can give you? Anything you want?”

Counting down to yourself, the curtains and drawn open in one, swift swing; and when your eyelids flutter open, you find him standing on the platform across from you, dressed in a classic black and white suit with the curtains clutched in his hands like a mirror image of you. He glances over you from head to toe, as you do to him, until the both of you settle in each other’s gazes for what seems like an eternity, willingly lost and ever-so-enraptured.

You almost forget this isn’t actually your wedding.

“This,” he answers with a soft smile, “this is enough.”  

“...stop it.”

JIn frowns, “stop what?”

“Stop… looking at me like that,” you articulate, hands covering your bashful grin. “It’s making me feel self-conscious.” 

“Hey, it’s not my fault I have such a good eye at picking clothes for you!” he says whilst pointing an accusatory finger. “I guess 22 year old Jin had a pretty good sense of fashion after all.” 

“You picked this five years ago…?” 

The man shrugs but his high chin says otherwise regarding his humility, “I told you Kim Seokjin is a prepared man of his word.” Eyes peering across to wink at you, he continues a bit more seriously, “I might not be able to fulfill all of our promises, but this is the closest I can to it.” 

“Jin… you’re…” you laugh in disbelief, bashfully avoiding his intent gaze, “...you’re so incredibly stupid that I can feel it from all the way here.” 

“Oh, yeah?” he grins mischievously and takes a step toward you and off the platform. “How about now?”

“Stop it, don’t spread your stupidity to me.”

He spreads his arms out wide whilst taking another few steps forward, “why not? Aren’t we supposed to be together through thick and thin?”

“No, not really,” you adamantly shake your head amidst a hysterical fit of giggles, “don’t come any closer.” 

“Oh, no,” he feigns worry. Another footstep. “I can’t stop myself.” He approaches even closer. “The stupidity is spreading!” 

With him just a footstep away, you cower behind the shield of your hands, “stop it, stop looking at me like that—”

—and just as you squeal, his arms wrap around you to pull you into a tight embrace.

Like two lost puzzle pieces, his hands fit perfectly in the small of your back and his chin rests comfortably in the crook of your neck. His hair grazes against your burning cheeks. His scent envelops you into a rosy haze. He could probably feel the beat of your chest against his, but you wouldn’t know when you’re preoccupied by the thuds of his own. You had never been aware of the lonesome emptiness you’ve felt all these years until now, under the warmth of his touch that completes your other half. 

You almost forget to breathe until he takes a deep breath and lets out a slow, dreary sigh. 

“You are so beautiful.” 

Under any other circumstances, you would have smacked him for lying. Perhaps it’s the stir of the starry skies or the impending occasion or even the look he made on his way to you with a gaze that oozed with absolute adoration, but something tells you he’s being his genuine self tonight… and that’s what you fear the most. 

“You shouldn’t be saying that, Jin,” you say, stroking his head buried in your shoulder, “and you shouldn’t be looking at any women but Youngji with those eyes.” 

Whether he’s quietly reflecting or stubbornly disagreeing, Jin remains silent. His breath entangles with yours, syncing with the wavelengths that you two have been running for an ongoing seven years and, perhaps, beyond. 

He frustrates you to your wits’ end. There’s nothing he hasn’t made you question. At times, when you’re tossing and turning in bed and hoping for a way out of that cavern of a mind, you wish time could skip to a year in which the voices no longer haunt you at night; and yet, when you’re here buried in his arms, you would do anything to freeze and relish this fragment in time. 

It isn’t right. You two aren’t right and you know it isn’t right… but how do you deny yourself of the cure to those deep scars when he, himself, wishes to be downed? 

It takes everything in you to finally drop your hands from his locks to his shoulder. Just as you’re about to deny the tempting elixir, Jin lifts his head along with his gaze that now meets yours, “Y/N, I have something I need to tell you.”

“...y-yeah?” 

The windows to his soul twinkle underneath the dim chandeliers above. Those starry dark brown eyes simply take your breath away.

“My dad,” his voice quivers like the water that wells in his eyes; and when you know he’s about to bawl, you pat his head ever-so-endearingly. Gulping, he finds the courage to continue, “he’s sick.” 

“Oh... oh, Jin,” you murmur, quickly wiping the few tears that drop onto his flush cheeks before bringing him into another tight embrace. “I’m sorry.” 

“I only moved—” and that’s what cracks his buoyant front into a full on bawl  “—I only moved to take care of him!”

“I understand.” 

He shakes his head, “I didn’t want to abandon you!” 

“No, Jin, I know,” your voice is buried underneath his whimpers, “I’m sorry for saying that. I didn’t know. I’m sorry.” 

“I didn’t know things would turn out like this!” he cries, holding you even closer. “I didn’t know!” 

“It’s okay, Jin. Really, it’s okay. It’ll be okay.” 

“No, it won’t be okay,” his voice hitches in the midst of his hiccups, “my father is dying and now I’m walking down the aisle with a woman I don’t even love!” 

Your strokes come to a temporary stop because how could fate be so twisted? Who is it to decide whose time shall begin and whose time is up? You have to hold your breath along with the waterworks that sour your eyes. You can’t cry now. He needs your stability.

He needs you. 

“Did you…” you take a shaky breath, leaning back to watch him cover the messy state of his face, “did you tell your dad?”

“I-I couldn’t,” he stutters, voice muffled by his voice, “you know how long he’s been waiting for this.”

I know,” you ponder for a second before hesitating to continue, “...why didn’t you consider me?” 

“I—” his hiccup interrupts him as he roughly smears his tear-stained cheeks with his palms “—I thought you hated me. I didn’t think you would agree. I thought our promises were just a joke. But when you confessed that night, when you said you would fight for us—” his voice cracks again as he laughs at himself, eyes to the ground “—I thought damn, fuck, how did I mess up so hard? I should have fought for us. I’m so stupid—”

“—no you’re not—”

“—so fucking stupid!” 

His self-reprimanding curse echoes in the room. Each of his demeaning scorns inciting a fiery justice in you. 

“No,” you state, “you’re not stupid.” 

Without the dignity to face you, his hands clenched into fist and he continues with bangs shrouding his sorrowful eyes, “I’m sorry, Y/N. I hurt you—”

“—no, Jin, you did not—”

“—I messed us up—”

“—no, Jin, look at me, hey, look at me,” you place a finger under his chin to lift his spirits until those bloodshot eyes of his find refuge in yours. Smiling, you speak, “see? I’m okay. So what are you apologizing for?”  

“Aren’t you… mad?” 

“Mad? No, silly,” you laugh, wiping another tear. “Sad? Maybe.”

“See—”

“—sad because I wasn’t there by your side when you needed me… and maybe a bit sad that I won’t be the one holding you like this tomorrow,” you apologize with a soft smile over the latter jab that incites a wince from the boy. “Why didn’t you tell me about your father?” 

“I didn’t think it was that serious,” he hiccups, “and when I found out, I tried to call you but it didn’t go through.”

“Shit,” you curse under your breath, “I’m sorry.” 

“No,” he takes a deep breath to calm his high, “it’s not your fault.”

“And it’s not yours either,” you affirm, breaking out into a laugh when you take another look at his reddened eyes and dampened cheeks. “Look at you! Why are you looking like a mess on our wedding day, huh?! At least let us be ignorantly happy for one day!” 

“What…?” he frowns whilst hastily smearing every last evidence of his breakdown on his face. The result is an equally red, irritated skin across his cheeks. “What’re you talking about? Kim Seokjin never looks like a mess… hey, what’re you laughing at?!” 

“Look at your tie, idiot! What kind of a rich son are you if you can’t even tie it correctly? Come over here,” you say just as you grab the end of his necktie to pull him up onto the platform. With his necktie now at your eye-level, you begin to unravel whatever knot he had attempted. All the while, you can feel his gaze as he watches you do your thing, completely enamored. This time, it’s your turn to turn red. To distract yourself from the rising self-consciousness, you clear your throat, “call me whenever you’re going through a hard time, okay? I’ll give you my new number…”

The piece of fabric flails around into equally atrocious knots that Jin had previously created until you groan in frustration and disassemble everything. You had practiced this so many times while he was gone, foolishly believing it would come in handy the day he returned, but why does nothing ever work out the way you want it to? 

“I swear it worked last time I tried…”

Your best friend just watches silently, chuckling as you wrap the fabric around your own neck this time; and when he speaks, much steadier like the Jin you have always known, he looks you directly in the eye. “Youngji told me about your guys’ conversation.”

“Huh?” you pause as soon as your embarrassing declaration of love begins reciting itself in your head, but not even the resumed work of your hands could distract you from the ever-growing shade of red. “O-oh, that… what about it?” 

“I heard what you said about me.” 

“Yeah?” you hum nonchalantly, even though the trembling of your hands and the avoidance of your eyes from his give you away. “Well, did she tell you about all the complaints I made, too? About you being a stupid dork?”

“She did,” he utters before placing a finger below your chin to avert your attention to those dazzling works you desperately avoided, “but would you still be willing to marry this stupid dork?”  

“This isn’t even a real wedding,” you feign a frown under the spotlight of his intent gaze, “why are you asking me a question like that?”

“Sorry, I didn’t have the funds to hire a real priest.” 

“You don’t need to for a fake wedding.”

“I thought you said we should be ‘ignorantly happy for one day?’” 

The bantering just never stops, does it?

“Okay, well… to answer your question,” you mutter, eyes averting to the side, “under normal circumstances…”

“Under normal circumstances…” he repeats.

“Where you aren’t engaged…”

“Where I’m not engaged…”

“And your father approved of me…”

“And my father approved of you…”

“Then yes,” you say without hesitation, eyes returning to find a newfound comfort in his relieved gaze, “yes, I would marry you.” 

“And that’s why I love you,” Jin smiles, chuckling softly. “I’ll always want to marry you.”  

And just as a nearby clock tower strikes its church bells to signal the stroke of midnight, Jin grabs the end of your necktie and pulls you in to press his lips onto yours. The body of his warmth and the acceptance of an inevitable end to your paths serve as the last page of a book never to be read again; and yet, he holds himself close, refusing to let you go. 

But when the end nears and the magic of the bells resume time once again, the two of you pull away to catch your breaths. Forehead against yours, Jin gives you one last, fleeting kiss. 

“Happy birthday, Y/N.”

❀ ❀ ❀

Deja vu would be the perfect term to describe this feeling.  You can almost see yourself in the room of hundreds, stealing glances at the man from afar. It only takes one blink for you to relive the rollercoaster of jubilance and confessions and tears. In the split second of darkness, the past week flickers before you like a film reel: breaking down in the middle of the hallway right in front of Jin, staring bewilderedly at the large bouquet in the hand of a man at the office, confessing with tears that stain your face and sobs that conquer your voice, meeting the woman who had stolen your spot beside Jin, and holding him in your arms as he cries his heart out at the stroke of midnight. 

And just as quickly as the whirlwind of memories had taken you on a trek of time, your eyes flutter open to find yourself in another suffocating room of hundreds once again. 

Youngji [8:39 P.M.] Hey Y/N do you think you can visit me real quick? 

The glaring text on your phone screen glows in an otherwise dimly lit reception room. Thumb hovering over the screen, your mind goes blank. People pass by you, commotions and laughter fill every corner of the room, and you stand there frozen and affixed to the floor beside the table of food with a glass of red wine in your hands. 

“Hey, Y/N,” someone whispers into your ear and you immediately turn your phone off only to find Alex on her tiptoes, “what’s the matter?”

“Oh, um, nothing,” you respond under your breath, “it’s just that someone wants to talk to me.” 

“Well, you better hurry then,” she ushers you with a gripping hand on your left arm, “the ceremony is about to start anytime now.” 

“O-oh, okay,” you nod, allowing your footsteps to follow the momentum of her push. 

This isn’t exactly what you had planned, for the original plan involved your complete avoidance of the groom and bride, but it’s unsurprising that things never quite go your way. Nothing could quite topple you like last night’s revelation anyways. Taking a deep breath, you weave through the audience, wandering about the venue until you finally find yourself in front of a door with a “BRIDE WAITING ROOM” printed in gigantic black letters taped to it. 

Hesitantly, you knock, “hello? This is Y/N…? Youngji called for me—”

“—Y/N!” The wooden door swings wide open with a highly distressed Youngji hiding behind it. Before you can reply or even confirm the identity of the woman, her hands clutch yours and pull you into the room with a force unimaginable for a human of her size.  Practically lurching forward, a heap of air is knocked from your lungs just as the door slams closed. Coughs force their way through your throat, but Youngji wastes no time to rush to your side. “Y/N, this is an emergency! I need help!” 

“W—” you wheeze, peering up at her as you’re doubled over “—what in the world are you talking about?” 

“I don’t know,” her hands jitter as she paces back and forth, “I don’t know why I feel so… so nervous!”

“Hold on,” you frown, finally straightening your back, “that’s perfectly normal. It’s your wedding—”

“—please don’t say that word again,” she begins biting her freshly white-coated nails.

“What word? Normal? Wedding? Your—”

“—I can’t believe it’s my wedding…” she says repeatedly, hands flying to her head and disheveling her previously perfectly conditioned curls. She suddenly turns to face you, eyes wider than ever with a look that screams of an epiphany. “I-I don’t think I can go there. Y/N, I don’t think I can go out there!”

“What?!” you almost yell, flabbergasted. Recoiling from your outburst, you start much more softly this time. “Are you sure? I’m sure it’s just your nerves getting to you. You’ve been okay with it for at least a year, right?”

“Why?” her eyes widen to unprecedented diameters as she grabs your arm for support. “Is it because it’s too late? Do you think I should back out, Y/N?”

“What? No, no, no, calm down, follow me,” you shake your head, grasping her hand and guiding her to the chair in the center of the room where an entire photo shoot has been set up. Lowering yourself to a squat, you give her a squeeze as firm as the smile on your lips.  “Hey, you’ll be okay. It’s just the jitters. Everyone gets them. I’m sure Jin is freaking out in his room, too.”

“...okay,” she nods, pouting as her eyes lower to your hands that hold hers. Peering up at her from below, you can’t help but notice how beautiful she looks dolled up on this special occasion. From the extravagant poof of her princess gown to the gorgeous glow of the bride herself, you find yourself lost in a trance that burns with heart-panging jealousy. You almost miss her when she murmurs, “how are you so calm, Y/N?”

“Huh?” you raise a brow and laugh. “Why would I be nervous? I’m not the one getting married here.”  

“But… your best friend is getting married,” she shifts to get a clearer look of you but finds you with your eyes to the floor, “are you sure you’re okay with that?”

“Of… of course. I’m happy for him,” you say through barely parted lips and stand to your feet before making your way to the door. “It’s not exactly traditional, but do you want me to get Jin? Maybe he can calm you down—”

“—do you know why Jin agreed to this arrangement?” 

Freezing in your tracks, you throw a glance over your shoulder to meet her distraught gaze. 

“Why are you asking me that now?”

“Because,” she blurts, clearly without thinking as words fail to follow through, “because I want your blessing! I want you to be okay with it!” 

“Blessing...?” 

“Yes,” she nods. “I can live with marrying a man I don’t love because I know I’ll come around, but I don’t think I can live knowing I’ve broken your relationship with Jin.”

Your weight shifts from your left to your right but the force of burden weighs immeasurably heavier on your very being. There’s nothing that would have prepared you for her request. Preparation, however, proves unnecessary, for your mind runs on its own and the words come to you as if rehearsal is all it's ever done. 

“I don’t think I’m in the position to grant you permission. That’s your decision and Jin’s,” you say, “and if my blessing is what you’re asking for, then I can give you it as many times as it takes to convince you. But if you’re asking for me to be okay with it, then I’m sorry. I don’t think I’ll ever be able to give you that.” 

Those are your last parting words as you slump on the wall behind you and a heavy sigh is shared between the two women on opposite sides of the door. Head low like a woman unjustly ashamed for speaking her truth, you take a deep breath with those heavy shoulders that carry the weight of a woman who had essentially cursed the joining of two hands. Nevertheless, somehow, you persist to make your way through the halls just as the ceremony begins; but as the audience settles and the light dims, something tells you the guilt that intoxicates your blood would have a longer-lasting aftermath than you had first expected. 

“Hey,” Alex leans into you, whispering, “is it just me or does Jin seem really jittery?”

“...no,” you answer, making sure to keep yourself hushed amidst a room of seated spectators. From the second bench to the front, fortunately on the opposite side of where Jin’s parents sit in the front row, you get a clear view of Jin and Youngji in between the black silhouettes of a couple heads; but anyone in the room can tell the bright studio lights and elevated platform don’t help his constantly shuffling case. “I don’t think it’s just you.”

“I see… so both the groom and bride are getting cold feet, huh?” 

“Well,” you utter, quipping, “in Jin’s case, he’d probably just say he forgot to sleep with socks on.” 

Alex turns to you with sheer confusion across her furrowed brows, “huh?” 

But before Alex could inquire further, the priest clears his throat and begins the opening ceremony. The officiality of it all, a long-dreaded image of Jin standing by another woman’s side manifesting into reality, has you subconsciously sent into a frenzy. 

“Dear Beloved, we are gathered here today in the presence of these witnesses, to join Kim Seokjin and Heo Youngji in matrimony commended to be honorable among all…”

The clearing of his throat strikes once and hard against your chest. Each word that reverberates in the room echoes the vibrating pain in the blood pumped from a gaping wound. Your chest heaves and heaves and your lungs struggle to maintain composure, and while your breakdown may have gone unseen by the rest of the universe, you know for sure only two would catch sight of your state.

You and him. 

“...if there is any person who can show cause why they should not be joined together…”

The priest continues and the tension in the audience rises by the second of a stress-inducing prompt, but the moment Jin catches your eyes and the panic painted across it, his every attention remains on you. Guilt should’ve painted your expression now, having stolen the groom’s admiration from the rightful bride by his side, but all you can do is relish in a fleeting moment you deem the least this cruel world owed you. 

Maybe he feels the same way, because something catches in your throat like the hunch that has chills running down the nape of your neck. You don’t dare move an inch. You fear any movement would give you away, though you’re sure he already knew the second he met you halfway.

His eyes, those dazzling eyes that could single-handedly freeze any moment in time, they ask you for a permission only he could grant. 

“...let them speak now or forever hold their peace.” 

No one speaks but the thick air that engulfs every witness in the room is telling enough. Holding a shared, bated breath, everyone awaits and prays for the quick passing of this deafening silence. Your heart is pounding so hard you worry your passing out would be the one interruption to the ceremony, if not anything else. It takes everything in you to remain hidden, glued to the chair. You can hear every single movement in this room, the squeaking of a nearly retired bench, the rustling of clothes amidst a fidgeting audience, the anxious tapping of someone’s heels against the wooden floor, yet no one dares to speak now. 

The priest sighs a soft breath of relief. 

Everyone but you follows along. 

The priest clears his throat and pro—

“—I would like to speak.”

A loud gasp travels across the room. Every witness, including the priest himself, stares at the young man, wide-eyed. The knot in your throat inhibits you from following suit, but the hammer against your chest works harder than ever; because there he is, your best friend, standing boldly before the audience with a puffed chest and a tightened fist that brace for the repercussions. 

It all happens so suddenly, so swiftly. The strings that were left raveled now unraveled, the paths that were abandoned now explored, and the love of a lifetime whomst once bid you farewell now holds on with a determination that tells you they aren’t quite ready to let go, by happenstance or by conviction, everything falls into place. 

You had reprimanded yourself relentlessly for envisioning a moment like this and you truly believed this would be the worst case scenario, so why is it that only now, as your peering eyes are enamored by the sparkles in his, you find yourself smiling proudly and thinking to yourself… that’s your man. 

“Father, mother,” Jin turns to face his parents in the front row, declaring loudly and firmly, “I don’t want to marry someone I don’t love.” 

“What,” Alex shrills under her breath as she clutches your hands, “what is going on, Y/N?!”

Her voice doesn’t reach you and neither do her cold, nudging hands. The ongoing commotion around the room are like white noise in your background. You can’t even spare a second of your attention to the picturesque vision before you, the man who fights not for you but for the two of you.

Jin bows, head hanging low to his parents and the audience, “I’m sorry for saying this too late.” 

Everybody watches as his mother attempts to hold her husband in place. All is in vein, however, when one look of the baffled expression on her husband’s face conveys enough to everyone of the mayhem that is soon to ensue. He rips her grip apart from his arm and storms to his feet, pointing a finger at his apologetic son.

“W—” he struggles to find his breath “—what are you saying? You said you were okay with this just last week!”

“I did,” Jin affirms with his head still hanging low, “I thought I was okay with it until this week.” 

“How—”

“—honey…” the mother murmurs.

“No, changing your mind is one thing, but changing it at the very last second is another,” his father shakes his head, yanking his hand and stumbling on his feet before his distraught son could lend a helping hand. “Did I teach you to inconvenience others like this? Do you know how much trouble you’re causing Youngji and her family?”

“I do,” he says. “I’m sorry.”

His father grunts, “don’t you see, Seokjin? ‘Sorry’ can’t fix everything—”

“—actually, Mr. Kim, it’s not just Jin,” Youngji bounces to Jin’s side then pivots to bow to her parents who sit in the row before you, “I, too, don’t want to marry anyone until I really know them.” 

Physically, the spotlight remains affixed to the stage. Mentally, it feels as though everyone’s attention is gradually creeping its way toward you. It takes everything in you and the grip of Alex’s hands not to run from the prying eyes. 

“What?” their parents gasp. “Didn’t you say you were okay with it if it were Jin?”

“I did!” she insists, suddenly retracting. “I did, until…”

“I’m sorry,” Jin lifts his head to turn to Youngji’s parents before bowing once again, “this is all my fault.”

“No, no, you wouldn’t do this... tell me, son,” his father takes a step toward the stage, beckoning for an explanation, “tell me who did this to you?” 

Jin lifts his head, brow furrowing and lips thinning as he chooses to remain silent to his father’s question. Suddenly, it’s everyone’s duty to catch the perpetrator. The audience begins craning their neck every which way to skim over the possible candidates. Your heart sends threatening waves of pain that foreshadow the inevitable chaos you’re about to be dragged into. 

You can barely move from staring at the floor in between the groom and bride but you can spot the gradual direction of his mother’s eyes making its way toward you… and when they finally spot you, a lightbulb flashing across her eyes the second you make the lethal mistake of meeting her gaze for the first time in many years, it’s as though her son’s rebellion is the only thing that makes sense in this universe. 

Only naturally, his father catches onto his partner’s maternal instincts along with the rest of the crowd as their diverged attention converges, one head turning after another, to stare you down—some with awe plastered across their jealous front, some with ghastly colors than drain their face of blood. 

“Is that… you, Y/N?” his father’s voice echoes in the room. “Seokjin, don’t tell me…”

“No, father!” Jin jumps in, holding up a defensive pair of hands as he attempts to quell the fiery in his father’s temper. Wide-eyed and panicked, he glances between you and his father. “It isn’t her fault. I swear. I”ll explain—”

“—don’t tell me you’re going through all this trouble for a childish crush from five years ago?” 

A loud shriek began the chaos the second Jin’s father exploded, lurching forward with a vexing fist. Everyone in the front rows jump to their feet to hold him back, whereas people in the back rows stand to their tiptoes to get a better view of the climactic show, which includes a once-to-be-groom insisting his father punishes him and a once-to-be-bride slapping her ex-partner in the head for his submission. 

People are hysterically laughing, crying, screaming, yelling, fighting, but you sit there, frozen and petrified, until a hand shakes your entire being to your feet. 

“Y/N, Y/N, God damn it Y/N, earth to Y/N!” Alex raises her hand, just about to give you one hard slap to the cheek when you suddenly flinch awake. She then hastily pushes you toward the door in the corner of the room whilst everyone is too distracted to notice your discreet escape. She looks you directly in the eye, “you need to run before things get too crazy. I’ll handle things here for now.” 

“But Alex, I’m at fault here—”

“—yes, I mean, maybe,” she corrects herself with the shake of her head, “but you being here doesn’t help matters. I’ll help Jin and Youngji.”

“But—”

“—now go,” she starts your momentum with an encouraging push, “go!”

Nodding, you begin your long trek of the night. You run and you run and you run. Your mind runs blank but your feet run a mind of its own. You sprint down the dimly lit streets, you pay no mind to the traffic lights of endlessly empty streets, and your hair twirls in the wind that impedes your speed down the hills. Your surroundings become a blur as your arms swing desperately, your chest heaves incessantly, your eyes sting with tears, and your lips spill anguished sounds of incoherency until somehow, under the sway of the town’s cold spring air and your flux of emotions, you find yourself in a familiar street of your greatest dreams. 

Depleted of gas, your feet stumble into a trot that has your knee nearly buckling, which then turns into a jog that then drifts into an untroubled walk in which your lungs try to catch up and your mind is scrambling at a hundred miles per hour but you, yourself, have gone elsewhere. 

The luminescence of the full moon is blinding but all the more soothing as you navigate your way through this street you’ve walked one too many times before. For some reason, perhaps out of habit or a hope for something waiting at the end of the tunnel, you begin to count each passing light post. Seven fluorescent lights, you count, seven lights resembling the rays of moonlight until you finally reach your old acquaintance of many years at the corner of the street. 

Leaning your head back to stare at the familiar white text on a green sign post, you smile at the homely sight. 

CHERRY BLOSSOM AVE

A comforting breeze blows by you, the branches above you rustle in the wind, and the cherry petals from your old pal flutter into the air to envelop you in a solace you had long sought but failed to obtain. It’s like the calm after a storm. Not quite disconnected from the string that loops around your fourth finger to those of another man’s—no, you couldn’t unravel it after all this heartache—but at least away from the prying eyes that could tear you apart and away from the people who whispered gossip of matters they had none in. 

Hours seem to pass in the clouds that retire to reveal patches of new twinkling ornaments. You would have believed it if someone were to tell you all control of time lies within the blink of your eyes. The silence was calming initially; but the longer you stand here and the more the numbness begins to fade, the more you become aware of your lonesome circumstances. 

The silence is deafening. It knows your greatest fears and your innermost thoughts. You can’t handle it. You can’t bear the thought of being left alone to that voice in your head. 

You have to go. 

Where? 

You don’t know. You just know you have to go somewhere. You can envision all the places you can run to but all the roads lead you to one destination. Yes, anywhere would be fine, anywhere that leads you to him. 

“This marks the second time you’ve ever been so enraptured by something other than me.” 

Whirling around, seconds seem to become milliseconds and gravity becomes a law unbeknownst to earth, for you can’t believe the sight your eyes lay upon. There he is, standing by the tree just a few meters away with a loosened necktie and disheveled hair, almost as if a pitiful albeit wondrous mirage crafted by your shoddy prayers to the moon above. 

“Hey dummy,” he simply utters, taking a step or two toward you before poking your forehead, “what? Why’re you staring at me like I’m a ghost?” 

“What?” you manage to say under your breath. “I’m not staring…”

“I was just joking, you know?” he chuckles. “I wouldn’t be jealous over a street post. Psh, I’m not that dumb—”

“—why…” you frown when he quirks a brow, “why are you here? How are you here?”

“Oh no, she’s gone crazy,” Jin laughs at the stupefied look you give him. “At least an hour or two has passed since you left. Somehow, I managed to sit my father down and explain myself.” 

“And… what did he say?” your hands begin fidgeting. “He must hate me, doesn’t he…”

“I wouldn’t say ‘hate,’ per se… he’s perfectly okay with you. In fact, he likes you, really. He’s just mad at how things happened. After he calmed down, though, he understood where I was coming from.” 

Cautiously, you peek at those eyes that peer down at yours, “and your mother…?”

“She said she saw it coming from a mile away. Apparently she saw us arguing at the engagement party and knew right away,” Jin purses his lips. “Psh, yeah, as if I’m that easy to read.” 

Allowing yourself the smallest of laughs, you still can’t seem to rid yourself of that panging guilt. “And… what about Youngji?” 

Jin stares intently at your expression before cracking a smile and chuckling, ruffling your hair, “don’t go crying on me now, Y/N. Don’t worry about it. I’ll take care of everything.” 

“But I just,” your voice cracks, “I just hate myself for ruining everything for everyone—”

“—hey,” he cups his fingers underneath your chin to lift your gaze to his, “you did not ruin anything for anyone. I did this. I chose to fight for us.” 

Hesitantly, you nod and he smiles in response. 

“Youngji’s still explaining to her family right now. She told me to find you and Alex told me you would probably here.” 

Frowning, you mutter to yourself, “how did she know…?” 

“Well,” Jin drops his hand from your chin to raise them in the air, “we did promise to swear our wedding vows here, didn’t we?” 

“So what?” you deadpan. “You’re gonna marry me now after all this mess?” 

“I know you really want to marry me as soon as possible, but I think I’m gonna have to take a break from weddings for now.” 

Rolling your eyes, you mumble, “ditto.”

“But hey, I may have already broken the third promise,” one corner of his lips curve into an apologetic smile before he shrugs, “but that doesn’t mean I can’t marry you in the future! Plus, I may or may not have promised my father I would marry you in the near future to make up for it, so...” 

Scoffing, you gawk, “and who said I would marry you?” 

“Who wouldn’t marry me?!” 

The two of you stare at each other in silence, but the mirrored grin that stretches across your lips are undeniable. Soon enough, a loud fit of giggles and cackles fill the air. It happens all too quickly. The banters come to you like second nature, the conversation flows like a river through time, and somehow you find yourself lying beside him on the blazer he had laid out on the grassy hill and star-gazing for hours on end. 

It’s almost like you’ve seen this all before, just five years aged. 

“So,” Jin speaks, “how’s your birthday been?” 

“Oh, shut the hell up.” 

“What?” he cackles, getting up to lean on his arm whilst hovering you. “You know it’s not too late to tell me what you want for your birthday!” 

“I already told you,” you narrow your eyes at him, “I wasn’t joking when I said what I said.” 

Jin smiles, “in that case…”

He leans in to diminish the distance between his lips and yours. A lulling zephyr blows gently on the cherry petals as you close your eyes and you can picture the way they gracefully descend upon the two lovers below. Having witnessed the unforeseeable promises from start to finish, it’s almost as though an old accomplice was applauding a long-awaited finale. 

And when he finally pulls away, eyelids fluttering open just as yours do, he speaks, “happy birthday.” 

“What was that for?” you giggle. 

Jin’s mouth falls agape, “I’m giving you what you wanted for your birthday!”

“Well,” you purse your lips, “where’s my ring to confirm it then?”

“After all this time, do you really need a ring at this point to confirm my love for you?” Jin rolls his eyes. “You know I’ll always want to be by your side, married or not.” 

A fit of laughs escape you as your hand reaches up to squeeze his cheeks, “I know, I know. I’m just joking.”

“Well, good, cause I’m bankrupt at the moment,” Jin sighs, plopping back onto the grass beside you. A momentary silence passes before he turns his head to look at you, “just to make sure, you said you wanted love, right?” 

Turning to meet those sparkles in his gaze, you answer, “yeah?”

“You said you wanted to feel love, right?” 

Your grin grows wider by the second, “yeah?” 

“Well,” he says, “do you feel it?” 

“I do,” you answer. “What about you? Do you feel it?”

The vows hold a truth much closer to his heart this time around, and he smiles as he swears...

“I do, too.” 

[wherethewordsare]

Sign Sealed and Delivered

Part 2 to This Fic Here

It had been easy for Jaskier really. There were so few people in the world that he had truly trusted, but giving Geralt his cloak had felt as natural as breathing. He knew what his clan would say if they knew, the traditions that he was breaking by giving his cloak so freely to not just a land walker, but a witcher, a monster hunter, would have been beyond scandal. He just hoped that some part of Geralt didn’t realize what Jaskier had truly done.

It wasn’t every day you asked a witcher to accept a betrothal pact.

He had never felt safer though once Geralt held his cloak, knowing that as long as he lived, the cloak would be kept safe. What he hadn’t expected, however, was the way Geralt had asked him to return to Kaer Morhen with him for the winter.

“I want to keep it there. I don’t feel right traveling with it. What if something were to happen? You’d be at risk as long as I was?” There was a worry to the crease of his brow that softened Jaskier to near puddy. “But I want you to know that it’s safe. It only makes sense that you come with me.”

“Of course I know it’ll be safe, dear heart, that’s why I gave it to you,” Jaskier laughed, hoping that the heat he felt in his face wasn’t showing too much.

“Please?” Geralt asked softly. His hand twitched on his thigh as they sat by the fire, the autumn settling in around them.

Jaskier looked over and nearly lost his breath. Golden eyes stared back at him with a warmth he hadn’t been expecting. “Yeah, alright. I’ll come with you.”

That was how Jaskier found himself following his witcher up into the mountains as the first frosts clung to their bedrolls each morning. After the first particularly cold night, Jaskier woke up to find Geralt slipping into his bedroll and wrapping an arm around him.

“‘S cold, and it’s only going to get colder,” was his only explanation as he settled in against Jaskier’s back. It made sense to stay together for warmth and it wouldn’t be the first time but something felt different about this time that Jaskier couldn’t quite name. Maybe it was the way Geralt’s hand splayed over his ribs like he wanted to keep him safe. Maybe it was the way his cold nose buried into Jaskier’s nape.

It became a routine quickly for them to share a bedroll, to walk a bit closer along the path up, for Geralt to give small reassuring touches to Jaskier’s arm or the small of his back when the ground grew uneven.

Once Jaskier’s feet found a patch of ice before his eyes could and he would have been flung down into the slush of mud had Geralt not grabbed him around the waist and pulled him close. They stood like that for a moment, Geralt looking particularly smug and ready to say something to match the mischief in his eyes.

“Not a word, witcher, or so help me, only one of us is making it to this keep of yours,” Jaskier sniffed, righting himself though Geralt still had yet to let go.

“Hmm.” Geralt kept his council but still smirked as they continued their way. He hadn’t mounted Roach once since they had set off, keeping beside Jaskier the entire trek. He pointed out species of trees and roots that only grew on the mountain, ones that he used for certain potions, ones Eskel used for cooking, and ones Lambert used for other purposes that made him scrunch his nose.

“We have narcotics in Oxenfurt, Geralt. I’m not some naive village waif you’ve picked up along the way,” Jaskier only laughed when Geralt shot him a look. “Oh please, Remember when you picked me up just outside of Foam that one year and I stuffed myself on those rolls from the market?”

Geralt stopped walking, looking around him as if he had just noticed where he was. “This was a mistake. I realize you and Lambert should never meet. I won’t survive the winter.” He looked almost forlorn though the corners of his mouth tilted slightly.

“Sorry, was that a joke? Are you making jokes right now? Who is this? Where is my Geralt, hmm?” Jaskier was still laughing though fairly winded as they hiked the steep incline. But then Geralt was looking at him, his eyes soft and the smile almost fond.

“Your Geralt, hmm?” He took a long stride ahead of Jaskier before reaching back and offering him a hand up. Roach was wandering up the hill slightly ahead of them, sure of the path she was taking.

Jaskier snorted, looking away. He felt caught somehow though, as a selkie, he had already given himself away if Geralt knew. Did Geralt know? There was no way he could know. Selkies weren’t exactly common anymore, and on top of that, they made a habit of staying clear of land usually.

After that, they had found it hard to keep a conversation going. Jaskier had been surprised to find that Geralt became such a conversationalist. He wondered if it had to do with them getting closer and closer to his home. When they finally arrived Geralt looked at him, almost grinning before walking down the slope. He must have seen someone Jaskier couldn’t because he was shouting for someone.

Another witcher appeared. “Well, pretty boy, finally made-” The witcher stopped, looking at Jaskier with a raised eyebrow disappearing into his dark hair. “Well, hello there. Geralt didn’t mention his bard was-” he didn’t get to finish the statement as Geralt’s fist connected with his stomach.

“Good to see another year hasn’t done anything about that mouth, Lambert,” Geralt grumbled as Lambert heaved, still bent over. It suddenly dawned on Jaskier that that time outside of Posada, Geralt may have held back some.

“Leave off of him, Geralt. He’s just mad his cat isn’t here.” Another witcher appeared at the gate, a series of scars across his face.

It happened so quickly. One second the three of them were standing there, nearly perfectly still, the next there was a brawl spilling out into the courtyard beyond them. There were curses and fists thrown in every direction. Jaskier simply looked at Roach who laid her ears flat and huffed, otherwise unbothered.

“What have I walked into, Roachie girl?” He looked around and could make out the stable. “I think this might take a moment. Let’s get you seen to.”

Jaskier led Roach away from the courtyard and into the stable, finding a clean stall for her alongside three other horses. Looking around he noticed that there had been room enough for many more but otherwise, the stables were empty.

“I guess when there aren’t many witcher’s left, there isn’t need for witcher steeds, hmm?” He said softly, undoing her tack. He had watched Geralt do this enough times that it was easy to get her settled though she would nip at him unless he bribed her. “You can’t keep doing this to me. You’re going to get me in trouble.”

“You do that by yourself, plenty, Bard.” Geralt deadpanned from the door. “Move over, you’ve missed a good portion of her flank.” He took the brush from Jaskier but didn’t push him away, letting him stay in the small space. His face was a mess of mud and blood and marks.

“You win?”

“Hmm, I don’t think so, but the season has just started. I’ll get Eskel back,” He mused, brushing down Roach. She knew better than to nip at him for sugar. Jaskier gave her some anyways.

“Got to stop spoiling her, Jask,” Geralt sighed but he didn’t make an effort to stop him. He picked up their bags, carefully slinging the one with Jaskier’s cloak in it over his shoulder. “Come on, I’ll show you-” He licked his lips and looked down for a moment. “Come on.”

Jaskier followed him, his eyes not being able to take in enough at once. The hall though in a state of disrepair still held the ghosts of its grandeur. They went in near silence, Geralt only turning every so often to make sure Jaskier was still following. There had been a handful of times when he had to stop to wait for him. The walls were nearly a maze, and the stairs didn’t seem to have a rhythm or reason to them. After several flights, they stopped outside a large door and Geralt set their bags down.

“If you don’t want to stay here, I can find somewhere else. I just thought since-” He didn’t say anything else, pushing the door open slowly and sliding in before Jaskier. He stepped back to let Jaskier look around, taking in the simple four poster bed, the little bit of furniture, the large bay window that looked out over the mountains.

On the mantle a few small personal objects made up the only decoration of the place. It took him a moment but Jaskier recognized a few of them. There was the small wood carved wolf’s head he had given Geralt during a festival years ago, an ornate flask that Geralt said wasn’t practical but apparently hadn’t tossed away like Jaskier had suspected. There was a pressed flower laying on a book, the bright blue of the bloom faded slightly but Jaskier thought it looked familiar.

“This is your room,” he realized, whirling around and taking in the large bed again and Geralt still standing by the door. He hadn’t set his bags down just yet, watching Jaskier.

“Yes,” he said simply.

“You want me to stay here, in your room,” Jaskier’s heart pounded against his ribs so hard he knew Geralt could hear it.

“Yes,” Geralt looked down, frowning.

“With you?” It was too much to hope for but he had to hear it.

“There’s another room down the hall if you would rather. You don’t need-”

“I’d love to, Geralt. I mean, stay here. With you, if you’d-” something bubbled up in his chest, light and floating like sea foam. The room already tasted like him. “If you’d have me, of course.”

Geralt didn’t say anything, only set his bags down finally and began to unpack. Jaskier made himself comfortable on the bed, watching as potions and clothes made their way to where they belonged. Their kettle and pots were hung by the hearth and Jaskier’s things seemed to be put away along side Geralt’s. The last bag was placed beside Jaskier and he knew what was in it.

“I could keep it here, if this is where you think it would be safest,” Geralt almost whispered. His thighs were pressed against the bed and he hovered over Jaskier slightly.

Jaskier bit his lip, knowing full well that laughing was not the response here. He reached up tentatively, his hand wrapping around Geralt’s wrist as he slowly pulled him down. He kept his fingers loose so as to not make the witcher feel trapped. “Geralt,” he said softly, shifting up on his knees, they were nearly chest to chest now. “I know I’m safest where you are.”

He let Geralt close the distance between them, his mouth slotting against Jaskier’s in a firm line, crowding him back onto the bed. Jaskier let himself be maneuvered, the laughter he had been holding back spilling over, bright and warm and safe as Geralt wrapped his arms around him.

The mattress wasn’t the most comfortable and the furs needed airing out and they both still had weeks of travel clinging to their clothes but Geralt was kissing him breathless and the ache he had been carrying for well over a decade finally slipped away from his chest.

Finally Geralt pulled away, his hand sliding up to trace along Jaskier’s brow, fingers brushing back his fringe. “I’m going to earn that trust, over and over,” his arm still around Jaskier’s middle gave him a light squeeze and he dipped down to press another kiss to his face before sliding out of his arms again.

Jaskier made an indignant sound in protest which only made the witcher chuckle. “Oh no, you don’t! Years I’ve been waiting for this! Where do you think you’re going?” He groused, reaching for Geralt again.

“Dinner,” Geralt hummed smugly.

At the mention of food, Jaskier’s stomach growled and he flopped back into the pillows with a groan.

“Come on, I got to tell the others I came home with a seal-wife.”

Geralt caught the pillow that came flying at the back of his head with very little effort and it only made Jaskier more petulant as he tried to burrow down into the musty furs. “Go to land, Jaskier, it’ll be fun, Jaskier. Fall for an ass hole of a witcher, Jaskier,” he muttered but he couldn’t help the smile that was threatening to split his cheeks.

There would be time enough for the other things he wanted. For now, Jaskier could sit through dinner with witchers and know that he was safe and wanted but still free.

[secondgenerationnerd]

@wasnt-expecting-that requested this and I can’t say no to her 😘😘

—————————

To say Damian, Maya, and Sin had unusual childhoods would be an understatement. The things they learned to do, were forced to do, and experienced go beyond anything their teammates grew up with. Not a bad thing, but definitely isolating at times.

How do you explain to people that their lives have a price? That they can be cut down before they realize what’s happening? How do you, a child, explain to an adult that you needed protecting long ago; no one came then, why now be different.

They understood each other.

Once a month, the three of them meet up. Always on a rooftop, always in their civilian clothes. They trade off on who brings snacks and drinks. Sometimes they’d just talk about what was going on in their lives. Sometimes they’d confess to the things they did, the things they witnessed, the things they experienced.

Then there’s times like this.

“Alright, Damian,” Maya points a celery stick at him, “Dream job?”

“Easy. A vet.” The boy wonder sips his water, not bothering to hide his grin. “Figure working with animals is better than humans. What about you, Sin?”

“Oooof…A streamer, possibly a video game designer.” Sin catches the sandwich Maya tosses at her. “Maya?”

“Kathy and I have the flower shop. That and the farmers market so we’re set.” Maya feels her heart flutter at her girlfriend’s name.

“Branden is treating you properly, correct?”

The girls snort at Damian’s question. Maya throws an orange at him, “Yes, Dames, she’s wonderful. Just because we were betrothed doesn’t mean you have to worry.”

“Oh, I worry for Branden’s safety, frankly.” He grins and throws the orange back at her, “Have you thought about marriage—“

“If you’re asking, Dames, I hate to break it to you—“

“-tt—“

“Ooooo,” Sin laughs, “You got a -tt- out of him.”

“What I meant was ‘have you thought about marrying anyone in the future?’” Damian asks.

Maya smiles warmly, looking down, “Yeah. Kathy and I have already talked about it. She wants to get married in a few years.”

“Have you talked about kids?” It’s Sin’s question this time. Maya nods. “And?”

“We both want them, which we knew before we started dating. We even talked about some names.” Maya nudges the other girl’s foot with her own. “What about you? Kids? A partner?”

“Nah. I have you guys, my parents, and now Connor.” Sin grins, still thrilled to have a brother…even if he’s from another dimension, “I have a lot of things I want to do…and honestly I don’t think kids or a partner are part of those plans.”

“That’s fair.” Damian looks out on the city, his leg dangling over the edge. Relaxed, Maya and Sin can understand why people find him attractive. Handsome isn’t the right word in their opinions. Beautiful fits better.

“What about you, Damian?” Maya asks.

“What about me?”

“Do you want kids one day?” They weren’t really sure what to expect. A smile plays on his lips and, surprisingly, he nods.

“Really?” Sin feels his forehead, “Maya, I think he’s hallucinating—“

“Oh, fuck off.” Damian laughs, swatting her hand away. “It’s not that important”

“For other people maybe. For us…” Maya doesn’t finish her sentence. She doesn’t need too. “Would you want a boy or a girl?”

Considering the question for a moment, Damian shrugs, “I believe I’m supposed to say ‘I don’t care so long as they’re healthy.’ Which is true.”

“But…” Sin presses.

“….I would like a daughter.”

For whatever reason, the image of Damian with a baby girl makes them laugh. Not meanly, never that, but for whatever reason, if he had a child, they would have thought he’d want a boy more than anything.

“A little girl, huh?” Maya teases, “Sure you can handle that?”

“Yeah, tea parties can get intense.”

Chuckling, Damian just shakes his head, “I have a younger sister and three nieces. I’m accustomed to more ‘girly’ things than you might think. In any case, Mar’i made me do tea parties with her when we were young.”

“I’m almost afraid to ask,”Maya snorts.

“Well, if I ever rejoin the League of Assassins, Tamaran will be a neutral force. All it took was three chocolate chip cookies and mustard.” They laugh at that image. Damian and Mar’i might refer to themselves as uncle and niece, but they behave more like siblings. She was his first real friend after arriving at his father’s home.

Maya gets it. Kathy and Jon were her first friends after her father died. Sin had some friends from school, but joining Epsilon is what made her feel…not alone.

“Is there a reason you’d want a girl?” Sin asks, breaking the silence.

“…I worry I might be too harsh on a son.” He looks at them, “There’s still many of Grandfather’s ‘lessons’ I’m unlearning. Most misogynistic, but none the less, I would like to think that…I’m not sure really.”

“That having a girl would help break the cycle?” Maya guesses. She hates how easy it is for her to get in people’s brains. When Damian nods, she looks out at the city with him, “I get it. I told Kathy, when we have kids, I want to carry. Like…like I need to have physical proof that I was here and real. Is that bad?”

“Maybe.” Sin shrugs. “Depends on a lot of factors. If you’re just having kids to make yourself feel better, don’t have them. If you’re having kids because you want to be better, then you’re fine.”

They consider that for a while. The sun sets slowly over the buildings, illuminating the trio with its fading rays.

As children, they learned night was their friend. Easier to sneak through the shadows. To sneak up on a target. To get what they need. They learned what horrors can happen when the sun sets. But, no matter what, it would always rise. Always a new day with new possibilities. A new future to be made.

“If I have a child…” Damian starts softly, “I hope I can be the parent they need. Not just the parent I want to be.”

“Me too.” Maya agrees.

“If it helps, I think you two will be great parents one day.” Sin nudges them both with her shoulders, “Even if it means we have to accept that our polygamist marriage will never happen.”

That makes the other two laugh, easing the tension in their chests. Maya winks at Sin, “I’m sure you’re heart broken that we can’t be sister wives.”

“Pretty sure Irey secured her spot as Damian’s one and only.” Sin fake sighs, “Suppose it was bound to happen. After all, both your types are ‘dorky girls that can also kill me’ and mine is ‘no.’”

“I’m bi, ma’am—“

“Name one boy we know you’d consider dumping Kathy for.”

“….Fuck you.”

“Not interested.”

Soon it will be time for them to go. Back to routines, chores, school. Back to the mundane reality of their civilian lives.

Lives they never thought they’d get to have.

[heyiwrotesomethings]

Winter Sunshine

Haley (Stardew Valley) x They/Them Reader

A/N: As far as warnings go, the only thing that may not be your cup of tea are the suggestive themes in the last bit of the fic like, last couple sentences. Nothing explicit. Hope you enjoy! Also I’m adding word counts now because it's even a surprise to me how much I’m actually writing on the tiny screen of my phone lol. Word Count: 1,672

“This better be worth it.” Haley grumbled to herself as she trudged through the slushy snow. Her arms wrapped tightly around herself did nothing to fight back the bone chilling wind that burned her nose and cheeks, relentlessly blowing her hair into a tangled mess and undoing the hour long efforts to make it look nice for her farmer.

“It’s their fault I’m out here in the first place. If they have a problem with my hair, I’ll tackle them to the ground and give them a whitewashing they’ll never forget,” Haley told herself. In previous winters, nothing could make Haley leave the warmth of the home she shared with her sister. The snow while admittedly charming, somewhat romantic, did not impress Haley at all. Not when it meant she would have to freeze her ass off. There was no beach combing or sunflowers in winter, ice cream lost its appeal, and her photography suffered because again, it was too cold! Mittens made her clumsy, Haley would hate to lose her camera in a snowbank. Even with her mittens, her fingers felt frozen. It simply wasn’t worth it. But for her farmer, she would brave the ice and snow just to see their stupid, cute, face.

It was only five in the evening, but the sun was already good as gone. The faint glow of (Y/n)’s porch light helped guide Haley through the frigid fields, her boots finally clomped onto the the solid steps of the porch. She stomped her feet to kick the snow free from her boots, thuds resonated off of the sturdy wood.

The noise stirred movement from inside the house. The front door swung open revealing the farmer, looking, in Haley’s humble opinion, overly enthusiastic.

“Haley, you made it!” (Y/n) grinned, stepping out of the warm house and closing the door behind them much to Haley’s dismay.

“What are you doing? You aren’t even wearing a coat, it’s freezing!” Haley scolded, wrapping her arms around the farmer for no other reason than to keep them warm. No ulterior motives here.

“Don’t worry. It’ll be plenty warm where we’re going. So, you think you can walk a couple dozen more yards?” (Y/n) asked, fixing a couple of Haley’s stray hairs.

“Ugh, if I must.” Haley groaned.

“You don’t have to. We could just head inside right now and have warm tea and cuddles. Far be it from me to tell you what you have to do,” (Y/n) laughed and Haley rolled her eyes.

“Let’s just go already. If I have to stand here any longer I’m going to lose my finger and toes to frostbite.” Haley bounded off down the steps, nearly falling backwards after she hit a patch of ice. Luckily (Y/n) caught her, smiling down at the blonde in their arms, they helped her regain her footing and took her hand.

“This way,” they said. (Y/n) would have loved to tease Haley with some cheesy line about falling in love and the like, but Haley’s patience was already running thin. Best not to comment on the close call and just take it in stride.

(Y/n) guided Haley to the opposite end of the farm, becoming more excited with every step, earning a look from their companion that was equal parts suspicious and amused.

“Where are we even going?” Haley asked.

“You’ll see. Almost there. If you look ahead, you might see it.”

Haley squinted against the darkness and sure enough, she saw a large building looming just ahead.

“I can’t believe it. Did you commission Robin to build another barn?” Haley asked, incredulously.

“Not quite!” (Y/n) chirped.

“You have wayyy to much free time on your hands now that winter is in full swing. Just what have you been up to?”

(Y/n) didn’t answer, instead picking up the pace and tugging Haley closer. Ignoring Haley’s complaints until they stood in front of the large glass building.

“Whoa,” Haley breathed out once she finally caught her breath. “How did you manage this?” She asked, not disguising the awe in her voice.

“Let’s just say I got a little help from some friends,” They shrugged, “Do you like it?”

“You didn’t just drag me further out in the cold to look at the outside of a greenhouse did you?” Haley asked. “Let me in and I’ll think about giving you an answer.”

“Alright, you drive a hard bargain.” (Y/n) nodded. “But could you do something for me first?”

“You’re stalling. It’s winter and I’m dying of cold, and you’re stalling.” Haley stated dramatically. “Hey!”

(Y/n) laughed and pulled Haley’s knitted hat over her eyes. They took Haley’s hands before she could pull it back up and give (Y/n) a piece of her mind.

“Come on, just for a second, I promise.” (Y/n) swore. Haley scoffed and allowed herself to be tugged forward.

Haley heard the door open and she couldn’t help the relieved sigh that escaped her lips as a humid warmth enveloped her body. (Y/n) led her further into the space, then let go of her. They quickly moved behind Haley to shut the door then came back to hug Haley from behind.

“Okay, you can look now.” (Y/n) said. Haley could detect a slight tremor in their voice as they spoke against her ear. Were they nervous? Why?

Haley pushed her hat back and blinked, rubbing her eyes over the harsh brightness of the lights. (Y/n) must have turned them on. Once she regained her sight, Haley’s eyes blew wide at the sight before her.

“(Y/n), oh my Yoba!” Haley gasped.

“Surprise! Do you like them?” (Y/n) asked, wringing their hands.

Haley turned to look at them, her features painted with ecstatic disbelief. “Are you kidding? I love them!” Haley smiled so brightly (Y/n) couldn’t help but match her enthusiasm full heartedly. “I mean, sunflowers, growing in the dead of winter. It’s amazing!”

Haley turned away from (Y/n) again and walked up to the nearest sunflower, growing just as well as it would have on any normal summer or fall day. She touched its petals gingerly and felt its warmth work its way through her very soul. How had she been so lucky to find someone as attentive and endlessly sweet as the farmer behind her?

She felt the arms snake around her again and she eagerly held them to her stomach, anything to show how much this gesture meant to her.

“I’ve been thinking about you and winter a lot lately. You’re right in saying that the season gives me quite a bit of free time.” (Y/n) spoke in a soft tone resting their chin on Haley’s shoulder. “And I thought that maybe, this could give you something to look forward to when the snow and ice have got you down.”

Haley turned in (Y/n)’s arms and wrapped her own over (Y/n)’s shoulders, clasping her hands behind their neck. “I love it, I really do and I love you too, so much. Yoba, how am I ever going to get you something even close to this!” She whined, burying her face in the farmer’s chest.

“Haley, just having you here to share this with is more than enough for me,” (Y/n)’s voice wavered again and Haley looked into their eyes.

“(Y/n), what’s wrong? Why are you so nervous?”

“I also had another idea of how to make winter special for us. Something that would help you have memories to look back on fondly every winter. I’m just-“ they took a deep breath, “man, I was so ready this morning but now that the time is finally here-“

Haley silenced (Y/n) with a kiss. It was chaste, quick, but it helped (Y/n) ground themself.

“Come on, you’ve fought monsters in the deepest, darkest parts of the mines from here to the Calico Desert. You shouldn’t be scared of your own girlfriend.” Haley giggled good naturedly, earning a chuckle from (Y/n) as well.

“Yeah, I suppose you’re right,” (Y/n) simpered. They stepped out of Haley’s hold and reached into their shirt pocket. Withdrawing their fist, they presented it to Haley who analyzed the closed fingers intently. “Haley, in the dead of winter, where all is cold and dark, will you become my warmth, my light, will you marry me?” (Y/n) opened their clenched fist and Haley’s hands flew to her mouth as the bright blue pendant was revealed.

“(Y/n)!” Haley cried, her voice muffled by her gloved hands. “Yes, I’ll marry you!” She lunged forward, grasping (Y/n)’s back for dear life and buried her face in their neck.

“Really?” (Y/n) sniffled holding Haley just as tightly.

“Of course! Nothing would make me happier!” Haley asserted, pulling away just a hair, “Please help me put it on.” She frantically took off her scarf, mittens, coat, and hat, throwing them off to the side. Then she turned away from (Y/n) and held her tangled hair up, allowing her newly betrothed to slip their hands through her arms and secure the pendant around her neck. Haley turned the shell in her hand and laughed breathlessly. She turned and launched herself back into (Y/n)’s arms for a kiss much more involved than the last.

“I love you,” Haley said again, holding (Y/n)’s face in her hands, a small, mischievous smile gracing her lips. She pulled away from (Y/n) and much to the other’s confusion, she walked backwards into the tall sunflower stalks until (Y/n) couldn’t see her.

“Haley?” (Y/n) called after a moment of silence. Somewhere from the back of the greenhouse, (Y/n) could see a shirt get tossed into the air before fluttering back down into the dense vegetation and they couldn’t help but laugh. “Wouldn’t you rather do this back at the house?”

“We’d have to go outside first, by the time we got back I might not be feeling so generous.” Came the faint reply.

(Y/n) watched as another article of clothing was thrown upward and swallowed thickly. They grabbed Haley’s winter coat from the floor and darted into the crops, following the sound of giggles and rustling leaves.

[scarlettwitcher]

Úlfur minn Part One

Request: by @laneygthememequeen​: Hello lovely! I just saw that youre open to requests and are itching to write something for soft boi geralt! If you’re open to it, can I request a geralt x reader where reader seems like super innocent but is like an actual warrior/badass and he’s just like in awe. Or maybe where the reader is in like a dress for some reason and she usually doesn’t wear dresses because they’re inconvenient for fighting and ends up having to fight in the dress. take care and I hope you have a wonderful day💖

Summary: After Jaskier is finally able to convince Geralt to be his bodyguard for Pavetta’s betrothal dinner, shit goes down and Geralt has to make the decision of whether or not he should tell Y/n how he really feels.

Characters: Geralt, Reader, Jaskier, Calanthe, Eist, Mousesack, Pavetta, Duny, mentions of secondary characters in the show.

Word Count: 2336

Warnings: Cursing, mentions of guts, lots of angst, canon typical warnings, also the title is in Icelandic, it was just something cute for plot.

Author’s Notes: So, I’m not gonna lie, this one got away from me. I found that Episode 4, Of Banquets, Bastards, and Burials fit this request perfectly. This will be a four part mini series. I’m actually really excited to release this to y’all. Million of thanks out to my girl @queenxxxsupreme​. She’s been such an amazing help with writing The Witcher. Everyone send her lots of love! I am accepting requests so please, send them in! If you’d like to be a tag as well, just let me know! Thanks for reading and feedback is always welcome!

“I tell you no lie. It swallowed the whole village, it did. Not a bone to be found!” The man took a second to breathe before scowling at another. “Of, don’t give me that look, shitling. That’s why we had to call him…” The man stood up for emphasis as he recalled the events he had witnessed earlier. “The White Wolf! And he stood in the middle of that frozen lake like he knew it was coming for him. The ice cracked open and a Selkiemore shot out! Oh, you’ve never seen one, but it’d take down a ship with its cavernous mouth full of devil’s teeth!” You tried to stifle your snort as everyone gasped. You took a drink of your ale, quickly scowling at the cup for the foul taste. “And it… swallowed… that Witcher… whole!” 

“Oh, this is brilliant!” You giggled quietly to yourself as you heard Jaskier and slowly reached over, poking his head gently making him look up at everyone staring at him in confusion. “Oh, sorry. It’s just Geralt’s usually so stingy with the details. Uh… and then what happened?”

“He died.”

“Eh… He’s fine.”

“Look, I was there. I saw it with my own-” The door swung open, cutting the man off as Geralt slowly walked into the room, a thick awful smell filling the room. Everyone parted immediately, giving Geralt room to walk straight towards the man. Your eyes widened as you saw him, covered head to toe in guts and it took everything in you not to rush to his side to see if he was okay.

“See?” Jaskier let out a loud laugh and you elbowed him as you stood, making your way over to Geralt, touching his elbow gently before moving to the other side of the tavern, knowing Geralt would make his way over there.

“Oh… What’s that stench?”

“Selkiemore guts. Had to get it from the inside. I’ll take what I’m owed.” 

“Toss a coin to your witcher. O, Valley of Plenty o-oh-oh” As you heard the song leave the bard’s lip, you smiled softly to yourself knowing how much Geralt hated it. Soon everyone joined Jaskier and cheered as they were now monster free.

Once Geralt received payment, he made his way over to you, laying his sword on the table as you smiled up at him and pulled out your handkerchief that you always carried with you and started to wipe his face. Geralt watched you with a reserved softness that he only had for you. Before either of you could get a word out, Jaskier approached behind the both of you.“You're welcome. And now, Witcher, it’s time to repay your debt.” The bartender handed Geralt a mug of ale but before you could advise him not to, he took a sip, and immediately spit it out to the side, getting some on your pants as he stared the bartender down with what could be called rage. “What debt, you’re probably asking yourself in your head right now. Well, I’ll tell you. I’ve made you famous, Witcher. By rights, I should be claiming ten percent of all your coin, but instead, what I’m asking for is a teeny, teeny-weeny little favor.”

“Jaskier, let the man breathe would you. He’s covered in guts.” The Witcher shot you a soft glance. He’d never admit it to anyone but he loved the way you cared about him. He never knew how you could be so kind, caring, and...innocent.

“Y/n, please. Geralt’s already ready for the nex-”

“Fuck off, bard.” You giggled as Geralt gave you a side smile and Jaskier rolled his eyes at your antics. He knew you both had some kind of feelings for each other but would never admit it, because frankly, you both were stubborn idiots.

“Listen Geralt, for one measly night of service you will gain a cornucopia of earthly delights. The greatest masters of the culinary arts crafting morsels worthy of the gods. Maidens that would make the sun itself blush with a single comely smile. And rivers of the sweetest of drinks from the rarest of-” You watched in amusement as Geralt turned around to leave, showing he didn’t care for what the bard was offering. “Fuck! Food, women and wine, Geralt.” 

This made Geralt stop in his tracks before slowly turning to look at the bard. Jaskier’s eyes drifted to you for a second, a bit of guilt creeping in as he saw the way you had momentarily slumped into yourself at the mention of women. Geralt sighed before nodding once, making his way out of the tavern, you and Jaskier following him in haste as you made way to an inn. Before long, you had rented a large suite for the three of you. You walked into the bathroom and prepared a bath for Geralt as he silently followed you into the room, carefully stripping himself of his clothes, not wanting to drop guts on anything else in the room. You knew what he was doing and instantly turned your back to him, feeling your cheeks heat up. You already saw him shirtless and felt the need blossoming in your chest like it always did when you saw him or any part of him. 

“You didn't have to.” 

“I w-wanted to. It gives me a chance to see how you are. Besides, Jask has been on you since we left the tavern and we have a few minutes now, Úlfur minn.”

“You worry too much.” With that, Geralt slowly sat inside the tub. You finally turned around to look at him and it took every ounce of strength of your being to not look down. He knew he was affecting you as your cheeks turned a darker red and smirked as he watched you.

“A s-simple thank you would've been nice.”

“Thank you Y/n.” Geralt mumbled softly. You felt yourself melt at the way he said your name and cleared your throat, moving around the room, getting the necessary items to help him wash off the monster guts now dried on his skin and hair.  You grabbed a chair and sat behind him, laying the objects on the floor. You rolled the sleeves of your shirt (or in this case, Geralt’s shirt that you suspected he never noticed you took) and scooted closer to him. If he didn't stink so much, you could have sworn on your life you would've laid a kiss on his head. Before you could even do anything, Jaskier barged into the room and grabbed the bucket of water you had on the side, dumping it on Geralt's head. He grunted angrily at Jaskier as he looked up at him with disdain. 

“Now, now, stop your boorish grunts of protest. It is one night body guarding your very best friend in the whole wide world. How hard could it be?”

“I’m not your friend.”

“Oh. Oh, really? So, Y/n is your friend but I’m not? Do you usually just let strangers rub chamomile onto your lovely bottom or even Y/n?” You looked at Jaskier with confusion as you looked down at Geralt and you could’ve sworn he sunk a bit in the tub as he remained quiet and watched Jaskier, his eyes watching his every move threateningly. You took this opportunity to grab some soap and rub it into his hair, washing away all the grime he had. Geralt immediately relaxed under your touch and even leaned into your hands, relishing in the way you dragged your fingers in his hair, grunting quietly when a finger got caught in a knot. He would never say it but this was one of his favorite things: when you played with his hair.

“Yeah, well, yeah, exactly. That’s what I thought. Every lord, knight and twopenny king worth his salt will be at this betrothal. The Lioness of Cintra herself will sing the praises of Jaskier’s triumphant performance!” Geralt watched unfazed as Jaskier threw salt into his bath and you smiled proudly at Jaskier’s confidence and even did a tiny fist bump in the air for him to which he responded back with a tiny, dramatic bow.

“How many of these lords want to kill you?”

“Hard to say. One stops keeping count after a while. Wives, concubines, mothers sometimes.” Geralt scowled at him, already regretting the decision he knew he was going to have to unwittingly take. You scrunch your face at Jaskier, wondering how he could sleep with so many women, how the both of them could. You would never admit it to the Witcher but it always pained you to watch him walk off, knowing he was in search of a warm body for the night. Jaskier always consoled you in those dark nights but after a while, you became used to the pain. 

“Ooh, yeah, that face! Ohh! Scary face! No lord in his right mind will come close if you’re standing next to me with a puss like that.” Geralt grabbed the mug of ale you had brought him earlier, bringing it to his lips, but before he could take a sip, Jaskier had plucked the cup and moved it away from him. “Ohh, on second thoughts… might wanna lay off the Cintran ale.” Geralt groaned and you moved your hand quickly to his back, gently massaging him. It worked and he relaxed once more under your touch. Jaskier could only watch in amusement. You both acted like a couple but were just friends. ”A clear head would be best.”

“I will not suffer tonight sober just because you hid your sausage in the wrong royal pantry. I’m not killing anyone. Not over the petty squabbles of men.” 

“Yes, yes, yes. You never get involved. Except you actually do, all of the time." Geralt glared at Jaskier before leaning into your touch once more. “Ugh, is this what happens when you get old? You get unbearably crotchety and cantankerous? Actually, I’ve always wanted to know, do Witchers ever retire?”

“Yeah. When they slow and get killed.”

“Come on, you must want something for yourself once all this… monster hunting nonsense is over with.”

You knew Jaskier was poking the bear. This wasn't the first time the bard asked Geralt this and probably wouldn't be the last but you hated how Geralt responded every time. You always scolded Jaskier when he asked the Witcher this. Jaskier was the only one who knew of your feelings for the big, white haired man and had bestowed the honor upon himself of getting you two together. But it never worked. It just confirmed your fears over and over. Geralt didn't feel anything for you other than strictly platonic emotions. Jaskier looked at you with sympathetic eyes before they dropped down to Geralt. He saw the conflict behind his eyes. His answer was always you. He wanted to tell you but since the first time you met, you made yourself perfectly clear that you only wanted to be friends. Ever since, he's got amazingly well at hiding his feelings for you. “I want nothing.”

Jaskier could only internally groan as he wanted to scream at the both of you. “Well, who knows? Maybe someone out there will want you.” Jaskier stared at you as he spoke and your eyes widened as you shook your head violently. Jaskier sighed as he looked at Geralt. You looked down at your hands, thinking of an excuse to get away from the two men. You didn’t notice the way he turned to look at you, his eyes softening. He turned back around to Jaskier, his face hardening quickly.

“I need no one. And the last thing I want is someone needing me.”

“And yet…” You stood up so quickly, the chair you were sitting on fell back onto the floor. You almost ran out of the room, feeling your eyes hot with unshed tears. Jaskier sighed and shook his head, pointing towards the door where you had run out of. “Here we are.”

“Hm... Jaskier, don't start with this again.”

“If only you could see the way she looks at you.”

“I said don’t.” Geralt needed a distraction as his head was now invaded with thoughts of you. The way you ran out because of his words gave him just a little sliver of hope that maybe, just maybe, everything Jaskier bugged him about, day and night, was true. “Where the fuck are my clothes, Jaskier?”

“Ah. Well, uh, they were sort of covered in Selkiemore guts, so I sent them away to be washed. Anyway you’re not going tonight as a witcher and neither is Y/n going as the healer she is. I’ve got clothes for both of you, don’t worry about it.”

With that, Jaskier took his leave into the next room where he found you sitting on the bed with your head in your knees. He slowly approached you and rested a hand on your shoulder. You looked up at the bard, red rimmed eyes, staring down his sad ones.” I didn’t think he'd answer so….I’m sorry Y/n.”

“I-it’s okay Jask. You’ve just been wrong. He really doesn't even look at me as more than a friend. That's all I am, a friend. Besides, he doesn't want a prude like me.”

“You're not a prude Y/n.” You stood and took a deep breath as you walked around the room with pensive thoughts clouding your head. “Look, I was able to get you a rather beautiful dress and I might've bedded a hairdresser...She agreed to help.” You frowned at Jaskier as you quickly shook your dress.

“Dress? Oh no, no, no. I don't like dresses. You know this Jask.”

“You're gonna have to deal with it Y/n. If Calanthe can wear a dress, then so can you.” You groaned loudly at him as he laughed softly. You nodded at him to show you the dress and thus, you all prepared to attend the dreaded event.

*~*

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[natusvincere]

A Talk to Remember || Morgan and Vic

Who: @mor-beck-more-problems and @natusvincere Where: Morgan and Deirdre’s house When: Current What:  Vic wants her dagger back, Morgan wants to chat first. Warnings:  Mentions of suicide ideation

It was a familiar trip to Morgan’s home, but somehow, each time Vic made the journey there, the unfamiliar anxiety associated with the journey swelled a bit stronger.  Today was no exception.  She kept telling herself that the only reason she was even taking such a journey was to get her dagger back, but even she wasn’t so disillusioned to think that was the whole truth.  The multiple spare daggers she had back at home weren’t the only thing that proved it.  The things Morgan had been saying had been swimming in her brain, and she didn’t know if she wanted to hear more of it or set her friend straight for good.  She’d been mulling over it for weeks now, exhausted at the back and forth her mind was constantly flip flopping between.  One minute she’d be convinced Morgan was wrong and ready to write her off and the next she’d be drowning in guilt at the idea of Morgan being right.  The latter seemed to be happening more frequently. After several moments of internal struggle, she found herself rolling her eyes as she buzzed the doorbell, switching her weight back and forth to quell the anxiety.  Her face remained blank when the door opened, but her stomach flipped uncomfortably. There was so much she wanted to say, but “I was in the area” was all that came out of Vic’s mouth.

 Morgan knew Vic had too much pride to come straight to the house as soon as they made their plans and too much pride to never show up at all. But it still came as a surprise when the doorbell rang and her friend, or once-friend, appeared on the other side. Morgan took several moments to process the woman’s presence and decode whatever Vic was hiding under, I was in the area. Maybe nerves, maybe agitation, but hell if Morgan knew what for, exactly. 

“Uh. Hi.” She said at last. “Can I help you…?”

 The silence between them was loud, and Vic was sure she’d squirm right out of her skin if Morgan didn’t say anything soon.  And then she did, and Vic wanted to squirm away even more.  She looked between Morgan and her car, contemplating if she should just turn and run back.  Instead, she said, “You have my dagger.  Did you forget?”  There was something keeping her from holding Morgan’s eye contact, her gaze instead traveling from her chin to the doorknob to the plants she kept on her porch.  “I just want it back.  Then I’ll leave you alone.”

 “No, I remember,” Morgan said, smirking. “Come on in, have a seat in the kitchen. I have to grab your knife from the shed anyway, so I can get stuff for a blood cocktail while I’m at it. Your kind can still taste stuff, right?” As frustrated as she was with Vic, she got some satisfaction in confounding her as often as possible. “That wasn’t a request. You’re gonna deal with my rusty southern hospitality or you’re not getting that knife back. How’ve you been, anyway?”

 Vic couldn’t suppress her eye roll at the sudden change of plans.  She had not expected to be invited inside, and it threw her off completely.  At the invitation, though, she stepped through the door, her eyes quietly searching for evidence of the girlfriend Morgan spoke so fondly of.  “That wasn’t the deal”, she said, hanging by the doorframe of the kitchen.  “First it was I have to come by to get it, now we have to chit chat?”  She blinked, crossing her arms over her chest.  “I’m not thirsty, thank you.  And I’ve been great, just dandy, Morgan.”  No existential questions coursing through her brain at all hours of the night. None at all.  Her voice held a bite of sarcasm that she usually shielded Morgan from. “How about you?”  She hadn’t planned on being cross, and yet here she was pushing away the only person who’d been patient enough to listen for years.  She wanted to rip her own hair out.

 “In Texas, it’s rude to turn down hospitality, Victoria,” Morgan said. “But, if you must know, I’ve been doing alright. I’ve recently become the guardian of a really great kid, I’ve just managed to hold onto my job for another semester, and my girlfriend and I are like, pre-engaged. I don’t know if that’s a word, but I don’t know what else to call deciding we want to get married but wanting to wait for a better time to do some fancy proposal stuff. Don’t know what we’ll do about the cats whenever we eventually honeymoon but--oh!” She squealed as Moira padded up and butted her head against her legs. Morgan laughed and picked up the little cat, smiling indulgently. “But we’ll figure it out. It’s a long ways away.” She held out the cat to Vic. “Do you wanna hold her while I get the stuff? She’s real friendly and with how much me and Deirdre carry and cuddle her, she’s used to cold bodies. Doesn’t bother her a bit.” 

 “We’re not in Texas.  But I’ll be sure to remember to never relocate there.  It sounds horrible,” Vic answered, though she was slowly losing the bite and bitter tone she had first entered the home with.   She blinked in surprise at the new information, letting herself leave the doorframe and enter the room further.  She was intrigued, admittedly, and desperate to know more.  “A guardian?  For a child?”  She couldn’t imagine how something like that just fell into someone’s lap- even someone like Morgan with all her southern hospitality and gentle charm.  The next bit of information Morgan fed her was perhaps even more intriguing.  “Engaged to be married?”, she asked, wishing to clarify.  The term was so different now than it was when she had been engaged.  Barely anyone was betrothed anymore.  Instead, young people of all classes and creeds had a choice in who they spent their lives with, and even freedom to leave when things became unbearable- and with barely any societal backlash.

She had been deep in thought when the cat was held out to her, and so she leaned back suddenly, looking at it in front of her with her eyes nearly crossing to refocus.  She wasn’t sure if she trusted that the cat wouldn’t hate her- she smelled like dog and death and any cat worth her salt might be wary of such a thing.  She looked up at Morgan hesitantly before she reached out to it, pulling it against her chest immediately.  “What’s her name?”, she asked, scratching behind the small beast’s ears and pressing her lips against its head.  “And where are your w- Deirdre and child?”

 “Well, a grown child but, yeah,” Morgan said with a shrug. It still felt weird to say, and her results were definitely mixed at best so far, but playing nonchalant while Vic sputtered to catch up with what a woman’s life could be in this time gave her a shot of confidence. “And, technically not engaged because no rings, which we both want, but, I guess we have what you used to call an understanding?” She put on her best BBC voice as she said the word. “We’ve done the grownup part, but not the romantic, fluffy part. You know that’s a thing two women can do now, right? We don’t have to surrender our happiness by default, and we don’t have to hide it either.”

Her voice tapered off, softer, as she watched Vic handle the kitten. The vampire already knew where to scratch, and how to hold her, and Moira was curious and interested as ever at the prospect of making a new friend. “Her name is Moira. She’s only a year and a half old right now. Still a big baby.”

As she backed away, ready to give Vic some time to get a little less tightly wound, she couldn’t help but choke down a snort. Did she just try to call her family her women? “Uh, Bexley, the girl I take care of, is out with her girlfriend. Deirdre has a thing.  Which means you’re stuck with me. When I get back in a minute, at least. I’m sure you’ll find a way to manage, right?” She winked, then backed her way out to the garden yard. She intended to take just a little bit longer than she needed to. She wanted Vic to have the chance to feel like a person and she didn’t know if there’d ever be another one after her sort-of-friend went home.

 “However did something like that fall into your lap?”, Vic wondered curiously.  There was no way the government could just place a teenager with a stranger to be raised unless they asked for it, right?  Had Morgan been seeking out raising a child all along?  Had Vic been too self-involved to even realize that it was something so important to her?  Her focus was brought back to Morgan, and she had to press her lips together to suppress a smile at Morgan’s silly voice. “An understanding”, she repeated with a nod after she pulled herself together. “It seems that that’s what most young people come to these days before engagement.  I know- I remember when the law allowing people to get married as passed”, she recalled nonchalantly.  In truth, she had sat by her television with rapt attention that day back in 2015, unable to focus her attention on anything else until she knew what the ruling would be.  “Have you ever hidden it?”

“Moira”, she whispered, pressing her forehead into the cat’s.  “You’re rather funny looking”, she remarked, giving the beast another scratch behind her ears.  “Winnie is 5 and still a big baby.  I doubt she’ll ever grow out of it.”  Vic had been wishing to see both Morgan’s new teenager and her… betrothed, for lack of a better word, but for now she’d just have to settle for groveling for her own dagger.  Her shoulders seemed to drop when she was left alone with the cat, as if tension had physically escaped her body.  She let Moira on the table, holding up a hair elastic she had in her pocket for her to swat at.  

Moira rolled onto her back, lazily grabbing at the elastic and the tips of Vic’s fingers, eliciting a small chuckle from the woman.  “How lucky you are to live without worries”, she whispered, playing tug of war with the cat. 

 Morgan left Vic’s questions linger in the air for when she got back. She wasn’t sure if ‘fallen’ was the right word, or how to tell what had happened without sounding a little conniving, even desperate. And then the other thing. She shouldn’t have been surprised that Vic assumed she’d always been out and confident. Vic seemed to think the best and worst of everyone, whichever way kept them as far away from her as can be. 

She plucked the knife off its shelf in her shed and wrapped it up in a nice cloth and put it in the bottom of a basket, which she then piled with some bottles and then filled with blood from the murder shed. No death should go to waste, not if she could help it. 

She lingered in the entryway when she returned, beaming as she watched Vic play with Moira. Animals had a funny way of revealing people, and Moira was showing a version of Vic that had been hiding for years. “Am I interrupting?” She said, beaming. “I’ve got everything right here, but that doesn’t mean there’s any rush.” She passed Vic a bottle of blood to make her point. Relax, make yourself at home.

“Also, I owe you some answers: the twenty-something kid is…complicated. We weren’t actively looking for each other, but we had similar social circles, she was my student for a semester, and she was staying with me here for a while before anything became even semi official. We just sort of…fit. Little by little. I feel kind of unfairly lucky to have her around.” Morgan shrugged it off, not wanting to get into her shortcomings. This talk wasn’t about her. “And as for the other thing: yes, I hid myself a lot and very well. The area I grew up in wasn’t kind to people like us, but thanks to ignorance, most assumed that a woman who likes flowers and dresses could never be one of them. And I say this casually now, because I’m out and I’ve slept around and dated, and now I’m this—” She gestured vaguely to the house, the frame of her life. “But that doesn’t mean those years didn’t kill little parts of me every day, parts that’ll never grow back. That doesn’t mean it wasn’t lonely and dark, or that I didn’t ever wake up hating the world almost as much as I hated myself. It just means the hurt has scarred over, and I get to be a whole person now. And I need you to know that you can be a whole person too, Victoria.”

 “Yes”, Vic teased, albeit pulling the elastic back from the creature, choosing instead to scratch behind her ears again.  She gazed inside the basket, her eyes searching for the dagger.  When the bottle was placed in front of her, she closed her eyes and swallowed, only opening them again to gaze at Morgan.  “Was this harvested ethically?”, she asked, her hand wrapping tentatively around the bottle.

She didn’t feed in front of people- she didn’t much like to feed at all, truthfully.  It felt animalistic and vulgar and monstrous to do it so callously, but Morgan seemed to expect her to drink right here, as if they were simply eating lunch in the park together.  Didn’t she see it was so much more horrible than that?

Her hand flexed and tightened around the bottle as she listened to Morgan explain.  “A found family”, she clarified with a nod, having heard the term more than once but never really grasping what it could mean.  “Is Deirdre also comfortable with this arrangement?”, she wondered.  Her explanation of her youth was a lot easier to comprehend- a life hidden and masked was definitely something she relate to.  “How old were you?”, she started.  “How old were you when you decided to let people know?”

She looked away as Morgan concluded her speech, leaning back in her chair in shaking her head.  “I’ve been hiding parts about me and letting them die since long before I realized I’m attracted to women, Morgan”, she explained, her eyes distant as if she were remembering some far away memory.  “It’s not just… that. It’s not as simple as you want it to be.  I can’t just undo who I’ve become.  Not after 400 years.”

 “It’s not human if that’s what you mean,” Morgan said with a roll of her eyes. “What kind of person do you take me for? It’s a very nice deer from yesterday, hit by a truck and left by the road. A fine vintage in the world of animal blood.” She watched Vic wrestle with this knowledge, or maybe just being treated as a person and a vampire at the same time, and sat back, making herself comfortable. 

“Deirdre’s fine. She’s...we’re not doing this particular thing together, per se, we’re in different places as far as that’s concerned, but she doesn’t resent me or the girl and she does care for her well in her own way. I don’t know what more I could ask for.” She sighed, feeling the space between all she knew she could have and all she wanted and all she dared not ask for. 

Vic’s next question took her out of her thoughts. She straightened and looked at the woman, her expression plain, her voice frank. “I was eighteen when I told my mother, because I thought my gayness was causing the literal curse that brought suffering to my family, that it was the reason my dad had died driving me to work. And I was twenty-four when I went to my first women’s only gay bar. And I was thirty, when I stopped being too scared to let women get close to me at all. It’s not something that happens all at once for anyone, I don’t think. So even if it is simple, or straightforward if you prefer, it’s not easy. A lot of straightforward things are really, really hard and that’s why we come up with complicated ways of getting around them. That doesn’t mean you shouldn’t try, Victoria. You can always make new choices.”

 With a lick of her lips, Vic let herself fully grip the bottle at the new information, her fingers fully wrapping around it as the need to study it dissipated.  “Okay”, she said hushed and tentatively.  Her eyes watched Morgan’s as she brought the bottle to her lips, but she put it down before she let herself take a sip.  She didn’t like to eat in front of anyone because for one, not many of the few people she let into her personal life actually knew what she was.  It was easier to keep it a secret, because the opposite would most likely mean losing them anyway.  But two, there was so much wrongness associated with it.  So much death and hurt and pain and… shame.  It made her feel vulnerable in a way she didn’t appreciate, and vulnerability in front of anyone was a recipe for disaster. 

And then there was the issue of fangs and red eyes while she was feeding.

It was too much, especially for Morgan to see her like that.  Like the monster she was deep down inside.  She let go of the bottle, choosing to cross her arms casually on the table instead as Morgan explained more.  

“She seems incredibly understanding”, Vic remarked, sitting back a bit in her chair.  She wanted to ask ‘Do you think she would like me?’, but it felt childish to ask something so frivolous.  It felt childish to care.  

As she listened to Morgan, her expression crumpled into one of sympathy.  “It must have been an incredibly awful burden to feel that way, Morgan.  Of course it wasn’t, you know that now, right?  I mean… to me it seems…”, she paused, gesturing around Morgan’s kitchen, “that all of this is because of who you are, not in spite of it.”  Morgan had a way of waxing poetry with her words, an artist in her own rite.  But her poetry couldn’t bend reality, not always.

“New choices, like putting an end to turning vampires in to hunters?”  She knew this is the conversation they’d been dancing around all along- the reason why she’d attacked Morgan in the woods and the reason she couldn’t face her after.  She knew the whole truth now, besides the details, and it was clear she didn’t approve.  “I decided after ten years that I’d make up for the monstrosities that come with being who I am now forced to be.  And the only way I know how to do that is by doing what I’m doing, Morgan.  Who am I if I just let myself be one of them?”

 Morgan saw Vic’s hesitance to drink and met her eyes sympathetically. Apropos of nothing, she rose when the woman finished, saying, “I think I need a snack too, actually.” One Pyrex of brain balls later, she was back, and nibbling on them with the help of a kebab skewer. After some more silence, she found the words she was looking for, or at least the only ones she knew she was going to find.

“It was terrible, yes. And even after I found out that, no, we were cursed because my great grandmother Agnes pissed off the wrong witch, eighteen years of hating myself didn’t just disappear. Sometimes I wondered if the curse made me gay so I could suffer more, and worse. That isn’t true either, but my point is: it took time and therapy doing things differently for me to figure that out. And yes, I think not conspiring to murder every vampire you meet might help you figure things out. I think not lumping yourself in with the people who wronged you would help. What I really think will help is admitting that every sapient vampire is as different from each other as you and I are. You are smarter than reducing your world to a flat simplicity for the sake of convenience. And I think you can be braver than that too. I think you might even want to be.” 

Another long, thoughtful bite of brains.

“Who is it that you think you’re being forced to be? You’re in control of your own choices, what monstrosities are there for you to ‘let’ yourself do that you don’t want?”

 There were two deliberate blinks from Vic; the first one of confusion, and the second of understanding.  Morgan was showing her that it was okay, in her own way. Their diets weren’t all that dissimilar, and neither was the way of acquiring them, she supposed.  Was hers really all that worse simply because she was a vampire?  This wasn’t a question that would have even crossed her mind a month ago.  

Letting out a slow breath, she built up the courage to grip the bottle again, taking a sip before she had the mind to stop herself.  Her eyes changed rather quickly, she was sure, and she could feel the fangs sprouting from her mouth; always so ready to reveal what she truly was.  Her mind flashed back to the early days after she was first turned, when she would stubbornly stare into mirrors for hours at a time, as if looking long enough might change the lack of reflection that stared back at her. Later, when she’d finally succumbed to feeding, her sire taunted her with the description of how she looked during (a punishment, she was sure, for her insistence that she would see her own reflection again). She spent years smashing every mirror she found after that. 

She hoped Morgan wouldn’t bring attention to it.   

“But the curse… is it over now?”, she asked, concerned.  Morgan was right that years of self-loathing didn’t just go away because you wanted it to, but the thought of going to therapy about such a thing felt so foreign to her.  “I’m not murdering anyone.  I’m a middle man”, she insisted, her body becoming rigid.  “Do you think hunters are murderers?”

“Forced to be a ...vampire, I mean.  I didn’t ask to become this, Morgan.   I would have much rather… I was so close to d-...”.  Vic swallowed, closing her eyes before taking another sip from the bottle.  “This wasn’t who I was meant to become.  This isn’t the Twilight, Morgan.  We do not sparkle in the sun and attend high school classes.  You wouldn’t believe… the thoughts that ran through my head when I was first turned.  The ones that do now if I don’t feed often enough.  They’re not natural...they’re not right.  And what if stopping all vampires I can is the only way I can stop myself from becoming who those thoughts want me to be?”

 “Oh, yeah, it’s very over. Witch magic fades after death, so after the ghost-girl who cursed us killed me a year and a half ago—” Morgan made an open gesture. “No more curse. No more magic. Just one zombie girl. Also, I would like to point out that I said conspiring to murder. Which, you have to admit fits the bill, right? And yes, I think hunters are murderers. All of them. Even the ones I like. If they intentionally kill a sapient being, they’re murderers. Some murders are…’necessary’ for lack of a better word. Because some people will refuse any solution that doesn’t end in death. But just because Vampire Serial Killer Number One won’t stop until they make someone stop them, doesn’t make what happens to that vampire anything but murder. If you’re going to extinguish a life from this world, you need to admit it and carry it. And I say that as someone who has murdered several people.” The soft humor her words had started with faded as she went on. By the time she stopped to pause, she could barely keep her eyes on Vic. This was bad, bad, dangerous shit to be admitting to. And even though she could fight, even though everyone knew where she was and who she was meeting with, Morgan’s cold blood prickled into ice under her skin with fear. 

She swallowed a lump in her throat (guilt; even if she didn’t have regrets for all of her crimes, she definitely had guilt) and pressed onto everything else Vic had brought up. “What you are isn’t who you are. And I get it, I do. I didn’t ask to be what I am either, and I spent a long time wishing that I hadn’t. That I had just died. It wasn’t a bad death. It was better than whatever’s waiting for me now. And it would have hurt so much less. And I didn’t feel like Morgan Beck, witch and teacher and chronic mess. She died, and I—this person who used to be her and will become someone else—woke up. But who I am, Morgan Beck the Second, the Undead, is not defined or limited by what I eat or what happened to me.” Slowly, she reached out a hand for Vic’s. “I don’t know if you know this, but zombies are born starving. And when we starve, the world is…small and clear. There’s one feeling, something strong and powerful and good and sick, and all you have to do is try to satisfy it. The ground is just a path to feeding. The wind is just a hindrance, or something that carries the smell. We don’t even think, really, we just do. And the early cravings…sometimes, I could feel it coming. Like having a second voice in my head, another shadow, something that took people apart like they were pieces of cow at the butcher, something that remembered what parts taste best, after brains, of course. And I live in fear of that…impulse, that piece of me. But I also live knowing that it isn’t me.” Reaching out farther, in earnest now, she looked into Vic’s eyes, pleading, “Is there anything you thought when you were young and lost and hungry that’s so different from what I did? And—-who told you that exterminating someone else will change something that’s a part of you? It won’t. You can’t change yourself by killing or erasing other people. You can’t change yourself with all the hatred in the world. You’ve had four hundred years; if it was possible, that would’ve happened by now. So what if—what if the way to become someone you like and can be proud of is to accept that you’re a real person who can be kind of wonderful when she gets out of her own way?”

 “Oh, it was her who-...  That makes sense.”  Vic blinked, processing what Morgan was saying to her.  After a long pause, she responded.  “I suppose, if that’s the sort of cut and dry definition we’re using, that would make me a murderer, too.”  She didn’t break eye contact with Morgan until the other woman looked away, and even then she still studied her face.  “In the beginning.  I didn’t know there was any other way to be.  And, well-  ...I suppose I murdered my sire as well.”  Her eyes fell back to her hands at that, as if she could witness herself doing it all over again.  There was no shame associated with what she did to her sire, but her stomach did flip flops at admitting it outloud.  How sweet it had felt when her thirst for revenge was finally satisfied.  How sick she felt to revel in that sweetness.  With a look back up at Morgan, it appeared she might have been experiencing a similar back and forth about her own murders.

It would have hurt so much less.  That was a thought that Vic had never heard articulated into words before.  Wishing for death felt so morbid and wrong, but had she been allowed to succumb to it, the hurt could have ended right then.  And for so long, she was sure she was alone in that feeling.  There were thousands of vampires and zombies walking around as if everything were perfect- like they were happy their life had turned into an afterlife.  Vic couldn’t believe how affirming it was to hear someone share her sentiments.  She looked down at the hand that settled into hers and listened and listened and listened as more of Morgan’s experiences seemed to mesh with her own, mixing and swirling like paint on a paper, until you could no longer differentiate between the two unless you tried your hardest.

She looked up into Morgan’s eyes, fresh tears prickling at her own.  She shook her head at the question posed, though it was slight and small, and if Morgan blinked, she would have missed it.  Nothing was different about their origins, not really.  Not when you dug deep and looked at them transparently.  

There was a long, teary pause before she finally answered again.  It was a collection of composure, more than anything.  “I wouldn’t even know how I would begin to stop what I do, Morgan.  I’ve hurt… so many people.  And interacted with so many slayers who would do the same to me if they found out the truth.”

 “I know,” Morgan said, coming around close to Vic and pulling her into a hug. “I’m not saying it won’t be hard or that it won’t hurt in its own way. But I am saying that it will be better than where you are right now. And you are a person who deserves a chance of happiness and peace and love. And you can be forgiven. And you can choose different for yourself. I’m saying you’re worth trying for. Okay?”

Against her better judgement, Vic let herself melt into the hug.  She let Morgan’s words cover her like a blanket, warm and reassuring and hopeful.  She wanted to believe what she was saying- that if she tried hard enough, everything could be okay, somehow.  It seemed much more likely that Morgan was wrong, but in that moment, she didn’t care.  She was seen.  Her experiences, as wild as it sounded, weren’t only her own.  And as she and Morgan held each other, Vic realized that that might have been the biggest evidence of hope she could ask for.

“Okay.  I’ll try.”

[jawritter]

The Arrangement

Part 4

Summery: You are a young girl that was raised in a small church in Dallas, TX. One of the only churches left in the state that still practices arranged marriages. When your betrothed ran off to California you thought you'd escape the fate you were trained for ever since a small child. Now upon the death your parents your fate seemed to be inescapable as he's returned, and is ready to take you as his bride.

Book Warnings: Arranged marriage, loss of virginity, smut, unprotected sex, angst, language, suicide attempt, battles with anxiety, struggles with mental illness, age gap (about 11 years), I think that’s it, chapters will have warnings of their own!

Chapter Warnings: Scared Reader, insecure reader, angest, pre smut, drinking, I think that’s it.

Word Count: 2626

A/N: This book is a book about Christian and church based arranged marriages, I would like to take this moment to say that I DO NOT have ANYTHING against the Chirstian faith, and mean absolutely no harm to anyone! Especially Jensen’s family! This is a complete work of fiction, and should be treated as such!

Beta’d by the amazing @deanwanddamons who was awesome enough to do all this for me! It was a lot of work, and she deserves all the praise for it!!

Pairing: Jensen Ackles x Reader

Want More? Check Out My Masterlist!!

***MASTERLIST***

***SERIES MASTERLIST***

The rain was pounding down on the windshield in sheets, and the traffic seemed to be moving impossibly slow due to the horrible weather. The only sound in the car is the sound of the windshield wipers dragging across the window, and the rain pounding down on top of the car. 

Jensen hadn't said a word to you, or looked at you even since pulling the car out onto the highway. You tried to tell yourself that it was just because he was trying to concentrate with all the bad weather and traffic. 

Your self-consciousness was screamed past your own reasoning.

'Look at him, he's freaking gorgeous! He's probably regretting this already, and you haven't even gotten to your hotel yet. He’ll probably return you to the church by morning, and not even try to consummate the marriage. Someone as attractive as him could never be attracted to someone like you.' your mind screamed at you.

You looked out the window, even though all you could see was pouring rain. Trying your hardest to fight back the tears that threatened to spill over onto your checks, you felt like he'd already rejected you. Your own thoughts quickly become your worst enemy.

You were so engrossed in your own thoughts that you nearly jumped out of your skin when he reached over and took your hand in his, and entwined your fingers together, your gaze snapping over to him.

"You okay?" he asked you, looking quickly over at you and then back to the road. You had to clear your throat to make your voice work clearly.

"Yeah, I'm okay."  You were once again having trouble thinking clearly, your mind on his thumb that was running little patterns on the back of your hand. His strong callous hand holding on tightly to your own. Your hands looked so small compared to his.

You looked up to notice that you seemed to be heading outside of town. You didn't know that you were leaving Dallas tonight. Where was he taking you? You could feel your heart racing in your chest. Was he going to bring you to California?

"Jensen...." you say tentatively, not wanting to test his authority as your husband and head of your house. Like the preacher said, like it or not, your body was no longer your own.

"What's wrong sweetheart? Are you sure you're okay?" he asked, looked nervously between yourself and the road.

"Yeah.. I'm fine, just wondering where we're going? I'm sorry, I shouldn't have asked." you quickly looked away from him, and back out the side window, bracing yourself, not sure what his reaction would be to you questioning him. 

You'd only been married for fifteen minutes, and you already felt like you were screwing it up and making him want to get rid of you.

"Oh I'm sorry, I was concentrating on the traffic, this weather is something that I hadn't expected when I got here, and I forgot to tell you. I booked us an Airbnb to stay at for a few days while we get to know each other a little, and decide where to go from there. We're almost there, just about five more minutes." he said, squeezing your hand reassuringly.

You nodded your head, and decided you lucked out this time and he was more patient than you anticipated, still it was best not to push your luck.

"You know you don't have to be afraid of me." he said, looking over at you, his eyes meeting yours. He looked concerned, not angry, which surprised you. "I'd never do anything to hurt you. I feel like you're sitting over there terrified of me."

You mentally kicked yourself for sitting there acting like a child afraid of the monster in the closet. You were making your new husband feel like you were terrified of him, when really you didn't know what you were terrified of.

He pulled the car into the driveway of a house, which isn't what you expected at all. It was quite a cute little house, almost like a little cabin on it's own piece of land. Not some big motel, with people wondering around everywhere. 

"We're here." he said, putting the car in park and looking over at you. "Is this okay? I thought it might be more private, you know than a hotel."

"No, this is perfect! I just didn't know what to expect. I've never stayed at anything like this before."

His eyes softened as he looked at you. The rain had let up significantly, and the sun was starting to go down behind the tree line, casting just enough light in the car for you to clearly see him. Each time you looked at him, you couldn't help but feel like he took your breath away from you. He was so painfully handsome, which only amplified your insecurities that you fought to push down with everything you had.

Shrugging himself out of his suit blazer he reached over, and threw it across your shoulders, the smell of his cologne surrounded you, and immediately calmed you. He jumped out of the car in the rain, and ran around to open the door for you, pulling you close to his side as you stepped out into the steady drizzle, before running to the small porch that was attached to the house.

Once safe out of the rain Jensen reached in his pocket, and pulled out a key and quickly unlocked the door.

You waited for him to either open it or move out of the way so that you could go inside, but he did neither. Instead he turned around, and pulled you close to him, looking at you in a way that made your knees week.

Slowly, gently so as to not scare you, he leaned down and placed a feather light kiss to your lips. Your body responds to him in an instant , even though it only took you a moment to kiss him back. Your lips moving in time together, like it was second nature. For some reason that was comforting to you. If kissing him was this easy, maybe everything else would be to.

Finally breaking the kiss, Jensen pulled away, leaning his forehead to yours for a moment before gently leaning down, and as if you weighed nothing at all, picked you up into his arms. Turning to the door you didn't even notice he’d opened, he walked you both into the small little cabin.

His lips found yours again as his foot kicked the door closed, and he gently placed you on the couch in the living room, hovering his weight off of yours. Breaking the kiss he backs away from you, stopping long enough to place a light kiss to the top of your forehead.

"I'm going to go and grab our bags from the car, then I'm going to order us some takeout."

You blinked at him. Your heart sinking in your chest.

'He really didn't want you.' your mind was screaming at you again. 'See you weren't good enough for him'.

Sensing your confusion he leaned down, and placed a small kiss on your check before kneeling down beside the couch where you were sitting, putting his hands on both sides of your hips. His thumbs running little patterns on your skin just under your shirt.

"I know what you were expecting, but we have all night to get to that. You've been through a lot today, I thought maybe you might want a little time to yourself before we..." he looked down at his knees, almost like he was shy. 

That surprised you. A man that looked like that.. Shy? You didn't feel like you were anywhere near his equal. Why would he be shy around you?

"I'll go draw you a warm bath, and I'll let you know when dinner gets here. Then I'll get myself cleaned up  and we're going to get this old house cold enough for penguins to habituate, curl up in the bed and just let this happen naturally. I don't want to force this." he said, playing with your bare left ring finger before kissing you on the top of the forehead, and walking toward what you assumed was the bathroom.

You were grateful that he wasn't being forceful, and you did like the idea of having a little time alone before you had to officially become his 'wife' in the biblical sense. Maybe this wouldn't be as bad as you thought it was going to be.

Five minutes later you walked into a decent sized bathroom that had a very nice jacuzzi bath on the wall of the room. Jensen had obviously put a bath bomb in, and turned the jets on for you.

The room was filled with the smell of lavender, and he'd dimmed the lights down to make it more relaxing. Looking over the vanity that sat across the room on the opposite wall, Jensen had laid out a towel and washcloth for you. It made you smile that even though he was stranger to you really, he'd taken the time to try and make you feel better in an uncomfortable situation.

Sinking into the warm water, you let it relax you, pulling away some of the stress that had been hanging over you like a dark cloud over the last week. Everything had all happened so fast. You woke up one morning and your whole life changed all in one week. 

Your parents were gone, and now you are married.

Thinking about being married brought a whole new stress to mind. 

You'd never been with a man before, even though you were 29 years old. You'd never even been given the opportunity to court anyone. Your parents always hoped Jensen would come back and claim you "when he comes to his senses." as your father always said.

From the point you were very small, you were told what was expected out of you once Jensen had claimed you as his wife.

Cooking, cleaning, nursing him back to health when he was feeling ill, baring his children if he so chose to give you any, and then raising those children, making a comfortable and safe home for him to come home to at the end of the day.

None of that scared you.

It was the fact, as your pastor not so delicately put it. "Your body is no longer your own, it belongs to him."

You were always told never to deny your husband when he comes to you. It was against the law of God to deny him the pleasure that you owed him for providing for your family. You were to under no circumstance turn him down. Period.

You were also told by friends you had made in the church that were already claimed by their husbands, that the wedding night wasn't ever really pleasant. Usually the first time being with your new husband was painful.

Just thinking about it, your stomach twisted in knots, and your hands started to shake. You knew what was expected of you. You knew in order to be fully bound to this man the way God intended, and even the law intended you had to have sex with him.

As fear of pain and blood rampaged through your mind while you lay there in the bath that he'd so graciously drawn for you, a soft knock on the door nearly made you fly out of your skin and land on the ceiling like a cat.

"Baby, the food is here."

"Baby?" you thought to yourself as you climbed out of the warmth of the water, and wrapped the towel around you. "

Are pet names normal this early?"

"Okay." you yelled back toward the door, afraid if you didn't respond he'd come in. 

You listened as his footsteps made their way back toward the living room and kitchen area. You sighed in relief as you walked over to look through your overnight bag that you'd carried in the bathroom with you.

Dressing quickly in your favorite pair of Pajama pants, and black t-shirt you made your way into where you'd heard Jensen disappear to.

He'd already gotten the food out and plated for the two of you, and was pouring wine into two glasses. He smiled softly as he heard you enter the room.

"Feel better?"

"Yeah a little." you said, your voice barely above a whisper.

Jensen brought the two plates of food over to the coffee table, trying to keep the situation non formal and comfortable probably. 

"Sit down and eat sweetheart." he patted the spot on the couch next to where he'd placed his own plate, and retreated to grab the wine he'd poured for the two of you out of the kitchen.

You looked at the dark red liquid that he'd placed down in front of you as you slowly started to make your way through your food. You'd never drank any sort of alcohol before. Your father hadn't allowed it.

"I thought it might help.." Jensen said, watching you closely. "You know if you were a little more relaxed tonight."

So he thought getting you tipsy would make this easier for you. Great.

You said nothing, knowing better than to challenge his authority. 

You picked up the glass, and took a test sip of the substance it contained. It wasn't an unpleasant taste, though it was different. Satisfied that you were eating Jensen turned the TV on in front of you, and tucked into his own food. Watching the highlights of the local college football game.

The sound coming from the TV was oddly comforting. It was a sound that you remember hearing every Sunday after church. Your dad would come home and turn the TV on to catch the highlights of the game that he'd missed. That little piece of home, or the alcohol you'd started to consume relaxed you a great deal.

Once you both were about two glasses in of wine, and your plates cleaned, you gathered up everything and brought it to the dishwasher. Jensen had done more than you probably should have let him already. He didn't protest, just watched you closely as you loaded the dishwasher.

Coming up behind you, he put his arms around your waist, and turned you away from the sink that you were standing in front of to face him, looking into you (y/e/c) eyes for a moment before bringing his lips to yours, kissing you with a little more force than he had before you'd gone to take a bath earlier. It damn near knocked the breath right out of you.

Jensen slipped his tongue between your lips, slowly exploring your mouth, taking his time running his tongue over yours, kissing you like you'd always dreamed someone would. Memorizing everything about you as his hands traced the hem of your shirt lightly, sending chills down your spine.

Finally he pulled away, looking into your eyes with his head resting on your forehead, his thumb tracing lightly over your cheek bone.

"I'm going to go grab a really quick shower, you wanna wait for me there." he said, jerking his head toward what you knew was the bedroom was located that was attached to the master bathroom.

You said nothing. Taking a deep breath, you nodded your head, and he placed a feather light kiss on the side of your mouth before walking away into the bathroom.

You knew you couldn't put it off forever, but the fear that gripped you was unreal as you made your way into the master bedroom and pulled the covers back, climbing in the cold sheets to wait for your husband.

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Tag List: @deanwanddamons​ @imabitch4jensen​ @rvgrsbrns​ @bi-danvers0​ @onethirstyunicorn​ @i-love-superhero​ @akshi8278​ @lyss-dw79​ @magssteenkamp​ @lemondropirwin​ @squirrelnotsam​ @hobby27​ @spnbaby-67​ @mrsjenniferwinchester​ @defenderrosetyler​ @screechingartisancashbailiff​ @thecreatiivecorner​  @aflamboyanceofgays @vicmc624​ @busy-bee-angel-misska​ @justanotherwinchester​ @brilovesdeanwinchester​ @idksupernatural​ @lyarr24​ @amandamdiehl​

[argylemnwrites]

Fight or Flight - Chapter 14: Help

Pairing: Drake Walker x MC (Riley Liu)

Book: The Royal Heir (canon divergent from the end of book 2)

Word Count: ~4100

Rating: R (language, 30 diamond scene)

Summary: About three weeks since The Walker Absconding

Author’s Note: With my state surging so badly that the CDC had to come up with a new category for coronavirus monitoring, and my hospital group changing policy constantly, even the illusion of an update schedule is pretty much out the window at this point, so thank you to all of you who are still sticking with this series! I saw that in canon, our crew just now decided to go on the run, but my MC and Drake have been on the lam for a while at this point, hahaha, so thanks for going on this wild ride with them!

This series follows the Walkers, their friends, and Cordonia as a whole after they flee the country with their daughter during Barthelemy Beaumont’s attempted coup. To catch up on this series, check out it’s masterlist. (link can be found via my bio - sorry, Tumblr is once again not putting my posts with links in tag searches)

Olivia let out a sigh as the privacy divider in her town car finally finished closing, tipping her head back and tugging the pins out of her hair. “God, what a nightmare.”

Liam hummed in agreement. “Yes, I suppose it is.”

“Are you sure you don’t want to stay at the palace tonight? It might be good optics, keeping you in the thick of things since the social season just started.”

He shook his head as he shifted slightly next to her. “After Hana’s conversation with Kiara and all its revelations, we need to be able to discuss things openly. With everything that has already happened, I don’t trust my assigned quarters at the palace to not be bugged.”

All Olivia could do was let out a little shrug. She knew he had a point, but she was worried about his overall approach here. All the strategizing and discussing in the world wouldn’t matter if he didn’t maintain an image of strength and dependability. Trotting back to the seclusion of Lythikos consistently would absolutely weaken the perception others had of him.

“So, I think we can safely assume that Amalas knows about this alliance between Barthelemy and Auvernal. It would explain why she was so eager to strike a deal with us,” Liam continued, reaching up and loosening his tie as he stretched his neck.

“But why would Aurvernal agree to work with Barthelemy? He wasn’t exactly supportive of them when they were trying to force Drake and Riley to solidify the betrothal. Hell, he used that mess to argue against their suitability to raise Bridget.”

Liam frowned, his eyes dropping to his lap for just a moment. “The latter part of your statement I can see him spinning over the coming months. He can argue that he has met with neighboring leaders and struck more beneficial alliance terms than I was ever able to foster, making him better suited for the role of monarch. With the delay in the start of the social season, he’ll have plenty of time to sell it as believable.”

“We had to push Rashad to delay. Hana told us that we need to make sure-”

“-Kiara represents House Theron, I know. It’s just unfortunate the delay may also be desirable for Barthelemy’s camp as well as ours. It would be nice to catch a break for once.”

“Liam…”

He ignored her attempt at sympathy. “Oh well, that’s just the reality isn’t it? We need to figure out how Auvernal played into Landon’s decision. Have you been able to buy off any of their staff?”

Olivia shook her head. “Not yet. I have a couple of leads on a maid and a driver who might be loyal to you, though.”

“That’s something, I suppose. I guess we should probably try and gain some intelligence about the motives of Bradshaw and Isabella as well, shouldn’t we?” He sounded tired, his hands working to remove his cufflinks.

“Yeah, we definitely need to hit this from multiple angles, find out their goal and what they might have done to sway not only Landon, but Hakim and Adelaide. Barthelemy is absolutely going to challenge Bertrand for control of House Beaumont, so we need to gain at least two of those votes. Counting on keeping the Beaumont vote in our camp is just too… dicey at this point, don’t you think?”

Liam nodded, but didn’t seem to want to say anything, so Olivia just kept going. “Now, I think since it’ll be Kiara voting, and she’s been very willing to divulge things to Hana, that is probably our best bet. And I know I’ve been focusing on getting some dirt on Landon and Emmeline, but maybe Adelaide would be the easier pick up? She’s never had much interest in actual politics, so maybe if we had Maxwell just socialize with her repeatedly at the upcoming events, that might be enough? For whatever reason she’s always loved him.”

She glanced over, surprised to find Liam with his eyes closed, his head tipped back. Had he fallen asleep that quickly?

“Liam?” she hissed out.

“I’m still listening; I promise you I’m not asleep.”

“Do you have anything to add?”

He shook his head against the back of the seat without opening his eyes. “No, you seem to have things under control.”

“But, I was-”

“-I trust you, Olivia.”

His words should have been affirming and confidence boosting, but instead all she felt was fear. He should be more invested than this. He needed to be more invested than this. And honestly, she was sure he knew that fact. He would go through the motions of strategizing with her on a regular basis. But he always faded quickly, becoming distracted or introspective. He was ruminating instead of focusing and channeling that hurt and pain into something productive. 

But that wasn’t going to stop tonight. It was very late, and the drive back to Lythikos was a long one. So, Olivia just let him rest, pulling out her burner phone and scanning for any news bulletins about the Walkers being found in Athens, letting out a small sigh of relief when she found none. It looked like Leo and Riley had managed to pull it off. Combine that with Hana’s intel, and she knew the night had been more successful than not. She just needed Liam to start to see things that way. Otherwise, the upcoming months were going to be even bleaker than anticipated.

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

Riley kept her head down as she shuffled past a man in the hallway. With two large duffels, it was a bit awkward, and she didn't want the man to remember anything about her other than the fact that it was a bit of a tight fit with all her luggage.

Once he was out of sight, she unlocked the door to their hotel room, opening it as narrowly as possible to slide into the room. She had barely closed and locked the door when she felt a pair of familiar strong arms engulfing her. She dropped the duffel bags to the ground and spun in his embrace, wrapping her arms around his back.

"You're back," Drake murmured into her hair. She could feel his chest rising and falling rapidly, his whole body practically trembling. "You were late, and I thought…"

"Leo was almost an hour late," she said, her voice somewhat muffled by his chest because of how closely he was holding her. "I wanted to text you, but-"

"No, you made the right call." They had decided early on to avoid using their new phones to contact each other if at all possible. That way, if one of them got picked up and taken into custody, the other wouldn't be instantly traceable. It meant a lot of anxiety and fear when they weren't together, though. "I just… I… I was worried that…" Drake kept trailing off, almost as if he was unable to say his fears out loud.

"I know, Drake. I know. But it's okay. It all went okay." She slid her hands up, tracing between his shoulder blades, running her fingers through his hair, trying to soothe both him and herself. To call tonight stressful was a mad understatement.

“Leo had our stuff?”

She nodded against his chest. “In his hotel room. I obviously didn’t take the time to dig through it all, but I saw toys, clothing, documents, money.”

Drake ran his hands through her hair, then loosened his hold on her enough to lean back and look her in the eyes. “Did anyone… were you...”

“I don’t think anyone noticed me, Drake.”

He let out a shuddering breath, and then he was kissing her. Not some gentle, tender peck, but hard and deep. Like he used to kiss her when they were alone. Before she turned their lives upside down.

She missed this. She knew it was stupid. They were wanted fugitives and barely getting by in a foreign country. They were hungry and stressed and sleep-deprived. On top of that, they shared one room with their soon-to-be 11 month old daughter, so they had no privacy. Their sex life was far from their most pressing concern.

But… she still missed it, that sense of shared connection and intimacy, and that encompassed more than just the sex. She honestly felt like his teammate or coworker more than his wife far too often. They just spent so much time on the practical, discussing next steps, trying to arrange logistics. Moments of shared laughter and warmth were few and far between these days. And sure, they didn't really have much to laugh about, but it was still a loss.

When she’d sat on his lap yesterday after dyeing her hair, it almost felt like a sliver of their old life and dynamic was back. She’d teased him, he’d held her close. But moments like that were just not the norm for them anymore. Most of the time, even any physical affection was more focused on comfort in light of something negative. Holding hands, hugs, that sort of thing seemed to only happen when their world felt like it was crumbling around them. It’s like they shared nothing but worry and fear most of the time.

There was also the fact that Drake hadn't opened up to her about his own emotions. She knew him. She knew that his fractured relationship with Liam must be weighing on him, that he must feel mad guilty about so many things. But he wasn't telling her anything. He hadn't kept things from her like this in years, and it honestly scared the shit out of her. At first, she thought he was just trying to shield her from his own pain. She knew that her initial panic had probably sent him into hyper-protective mode. But that was weeks ago. She was pretty sure she was holding it together better now. At the very least, she didn't think she was a walking mess anymore.

But Drake was definitely still keeping everything bottled up, and she had to wonder if that was in part because he didn't trust her. Whether it was because her initial panic had meant that she had not considered him enough or because he resented her decision to take Bridget out of Cordonia and away from their entire support system or because he couldn't help but see her as the reason he was named a traitor she had no idea. And maybe he was still just trying to shield her from his own worries and anxieties, but the fear was there that in her efforts to protect her kid, she was slowly losing her husband.

While Drake was off busting his ass to keep their family afloat, she'd had a lot of time to think, and she knew that wasn't helpful. When Bridget was awake, playing with her kept her mind off of those awful thoughts, but they kept creeping back in when she napped and slept. There was only so long that playing Dopey Cat could provide a distraction, after all. So instead she wondered endlessly if she had only been able to keep Bridget by her side at the cost of the foundation of her marriage.

For so many years, those fears of never mattering enough to someone else, of always ending up alone in the end had led her to keep relationships superficial. She’d avoided vulnerability, and therefore pain, at all costs. But then she came to Cordonia, and she had Drake, Hana, Maxwell, and Liam. She’d come to trust and feel and it was beyond anything younger her could have ever dreamed up. But now she’d ruined things with Liam, was disconnected from Hana and Maxwell, and it seemed all too likely she’d damaged things with Drake, too. All those people, who actually cared about her. She’d made a mess of the best parts of her life.

And maybe she was overreacting. Drake still clearly loved and cared about her. Worried about her constantly, in all honesty. But she also worried that he was gradually pulling away from her, that some day would creep up on them where all they would share would be concern for Bridget. But tonight, after all the stress and anxiety and fears of the evening, he was kissing her like he wanted her, like he loved her, and she couldn’t get enough of it.

She let out a pathetically needy moan, the sort of noise that would usually draw a smirk and some teasing from Drake. But tonight, he didn’t. Instead, he just surged forward with a groan of his own, driving her back into the wall and hooking his hands around her thighs, hoisting her up onto his waist before she could even process what was going on.

Riley clawed her fingers into his shoulders, dropping her head back against the wall as he moved his lips across her jaw. She began rocking her hips against him, tilting her head to the side as he worked his way down her neck, biting down lightly as he went. She tugged at his t-shirt, and after a few moments, he finally got the hint, sliding his hands out from under her thighs, letting her drop to the floor as he pulled off his shirt.

Deep down, Riley knew they had a lot they still needed to talk about and that doing this wasn’t going to fix the ache that had been growing in her heart, day by day. But she also knew that after weeks of stress and the horrible possibilities about tonight that had been running through both their minds, maybe this was just something they really needed. So she scrambled to tug off her shirt and jeans, kicking her sandals somewhere towards the door as Drake unbuckled his pants, and in almost no time they were both adding their underwear to the pile of clothing on the floor.

They were back on each other in an instant, hands grabbing and stroking, mouths everywhere. Riley felt her feet leaving the floor, so she wrapped her legs around Drake’s waist as he held her under her thighs, slamming her back against the wall. And then he was sinking into her, dropping his head to her shoulder to muffle the groan he let out as he did so.

It was all quick and frantic, both of them thrusting against each other wildly. She could sense that Drake was just as desperate as her. Desperate to feel something besides anxiety and guilt and pain. She knew she was going to have bruises from his fingers with how tightly he was clutching her thighs, but she didn’t care. Hell, she wondered how badly she was scratching his back. None of that mattered.

She hissed out his name as his lips latched back onto her neck. She knew this was going to be quick, so as she slid one hand up to his neck, tugging on his hair, she also dropped her other hand down between them, letting her fingers trace circles right above where they were joined. It didn't take long before she felt a warmth spreading out, down her legs and up her back, and then she was gone. Drake must have felt her climax, because he muttered "Fuck" into the skin of her neck, only driving into her a couple more times before she felt him spilling inside her. He slumped against the wall, his weight the only thing keeping her from sliding to the floor.

After a few moments, Drake let out a sigh, placing his hands back on her thighs and easing her down as he took a step back. “You okay?” he asked, his head slightly downturned.

Riley closed the newly-created gap between them, stepping forward and sliding a hand up to his cheek. “Drake, I’m fine. Are… are you okay?”

He nodded, tugging her into a gentle hug. “I just… I think I…”

“It’s okay, Drake. I get it.” She didn’t like that he still apparently couldn’t talk to her, but if he’d needed a minute of physical comfort and reprieve, well that was pretty fucking understandable. So she didn’t push him, just joined him in getting cleaned up and dressed in a t-shirt and underwear. While Drake washed the day’s clothes in the bathroom, she checked on Bridget, passed out in the travel crib Drake had picked up a few weeks back. They hadn’t used it to this point, and Riley wondered why Drake had dug it out of the car tonight. It had been safely tucked away with the tent, sleeping bags, and ground pad since he bought it.

“I thought we should probably start trying to get her used to it.” Drake’s voice cut through the room, startling Riley and answering the question she never got a chance to ask. “We are looking at months of being on the run. We need to start… I don’t know, making things… stable for her, I guess.”

“Makes sense,” said Riley, giving her daughter one last look before turning around to face Drake. “How did she handle bedtime?”

He grimaced and shook his head. “I think she was scared or upset because you weren’t here. She was basically inconsolable. I contemplated taking her on a drive just to calm her down. I kind of figured the night couldn’t get any worse, so I might as well try the crib. She screamed for about an hour before she wore herself out.”

Riley walked over and wrapped her arms around Drake. He struggled more with the sleep training than she did, even if he talked a way bigger game about letting Bridget “cry it out” in the light of day. “Well, she’s asleep now at least.”

Drake nodded, running a hand up and down her back. “You ready to go through the bags?”

She nodded and gave him a little smile, sitting down on the end of the bed as Drake grabbed the duffels and brought them over. They slowly worked their way through them, item by item. Hana had included so many useful things, from the practical, like clothes appropriate for a variety of types of weather and spare contact lenses and Riley’s glasses, to the unessential but truly missed, like Bridget’s stuffed corgi and Riley’s good hair brush. There was a lot of money in there, too. Thousands of Euros, which probably wouldn’t be enough to get them all the way until January, but at least made their situation a lot less dire. Their passports and birth certificates were tucked in there as well. For the first time, it felt like they might have some options when it came to their next steps. 

After twenty minutes or so of sorting and unpacking, they reached the bottom of the bags. There were a handful of framed photos. Riley hadn’t mentioned any pictures as being something they wanted, so this must have been Hana’s idea. There were a couple that had been displayed in their bedroom and den. A candid Maxwell took on their wedding reception, Drake sitting down as Riley stood behind him, her arms looped over his shoulders, both of them looking at each other with stupid, cheesy grins on their faces. The two of them with Savannah, Bertrand, and Bartie taken down in Texas, the day before the wedding. A photo of the three of them that Hana had taken in the privacy of their home the day after the anointing with them in casual clothing, just curled up on the couch holding Bridget, a stark contrast from the pomp of the formal portrait for the history books and press release the day before. There were a couple of new ones, too. The corgis snuggled together on their massive cushion in the den. Hana and Maxwell grinning with arms thrown over each other's shoulders, clearly a selfie taken by Maxwell at a formal event. Liam and Olivia sitting on a couch at what appeared to be the Lythikos keep, Olivia with an eyebrow raised, Liam with a hollow-looking smile.

Riley glanced over at Drake, unsure how these photos would affect him. He just swallowed roughly before placing the stack of photos he was holding on the bed next to him. Riley leaned into him, resting her head against his shoulder. They were both silent for a few moments until Drake finally spoke.

“Was that everything?”

Riley shook her head. “No, there’s a letter. At least I assume that’s what it is. It’s an envelope with Hana’s writing.”

Drake didn’t say anything, so after a few seconds, Riley leaned forward, grabbing the envelope with “Riley & Drake” looped in beautiful cursive sitting at the bottom of one of the duffels. She slid her finger under the flap and pulled out a sheet of stationary with delicate pink and cream flowers in the corners. She held it between them so that Drake could read it at the same time.

Riley and Drake,

I hope that you and Bridget are all doing well and in as good of spirits as the circumstances will allow. I can only imagine how incredibly difficult this must be for you. 

In these bags, I’ve included the items you mentioned as well as a few more toys for Bridget and pieces of clothing that I thought would be suitable for when the weather gets colder. I know it isn’t much, but hopefully this will make your lives just a little more comfortable.

I also sent some pictures I thought you might like to have, both old and new. Whenever things get tough, just remember that you have people who love you and want the best for you and your family.

While this is probably the furthest thing from your mind, I want to assure you that I am not taking my position as Duchess of Valtoria lightly. I am setting up citizen meetings for the upcoming weeks. Judging by the protests outside of the estate, you have a lot of support still here, and when this is all resolved, I will step down if you would like to rightfully reclaim your titles.

I love and miss you both, and tell Bridget that Aunt Hana misses her, too. Maxwell said I should include paw prints from Anderson, Vera, Ellis, and Ilsa, but for the sake of the staff who would need to clean up that mess, I will just settle on saying they clearly miss you as well.

Keep safe, Hana

Riley twisted to look at Drake. She knew he would already be done since he was a faster reader than her. His face was very still as he stared over at Bridget’s crib. 

“Drake?”

He jerked his head over to look at her, giving her a very empty smile as he did so. “Your best friend is really something, huh?”

She frowned, trying to suss out how much she should read into that statement, but he kept his expression blank. When it became clear he wasn’t going to elaborate more, she settled on a light response, knowing he probably didn’t want to delve into things too deeply at this point. “She really is. But her assumption that we would be at all worried about our former titles is adorably naive.”

Drake let out a little snort of a chuckle, so Riley kept going. “Can you imagine us just rolling back to Valtoria after all of this and challenging Hana for the title?”

His smile became a little more genuine at that. “Well, being out of touch with reality is a common trait amongst the nobility. Maybe it would just be us finally catching up with the rest of them.”

She nudged him with her elbow. “Come on, let’s pack this stuff up and get some sleep.”

“Sounds like a plan, Walker.”

Riley stood up and offered a hand to Drake, tugging him to his feet as well. There was still a lot they needed to sort through and take care of, both practically and emotionally. She knew that. Even with everything given to them tonight, the months ahead were hardly going to be a cake walk, and she knew she would have to get Drake talking at some point. But for the first time in weeks, she felt true hope. Hope that they could make this work, that they weren’t two seconds away from failing their daughter and each other, that they were moving forward. And for tonight, that felt like enough.

Perma: @walkerswhiskeygirl @octobereighth @kimmiedoo5 @mom2000aggie

TRR/TRH: @iaminlovewithtrr @mskaneko @axwalker @jovialyouthmusic @marshmallowsandfire @kingliam2019 @sirbeepsalot @texaskitten30 @princessleac1 @ladyangel70 @debramcg1106 @masterofbluff @sarahx206

Drake/MC: @no-one-u-know @iplaydrake

FoF: @burnsoslow @bobasheebaby​

[heyyyharry]

Chapter 9: To The Grave

(from ‘The Winter and The Crown’)

…in which Harry remembers something.

Word count: 5.3k

AU: queen!y/n, commander!harry

Description: Y/N and Harry set off on a new adventure to find ‘the cure’ for an ancient curse, meanwhile, the enemies are plotting to take her kingdom.

Wattpad link (Reyna as Y/N)

.

.

.

Jo lit a lantern in the corner, shut the window, and started changing out of her heavy dress into her nightgown. She could feel Mary's intrusive gaze burning holes on her naked back. She tried to ignore it. She tried to ignore Mary. She didn't know how long she'd have to share a room with this witch. Probably until Y/N returned.

If Y/N returned.

Unfortunately, she couldn't even worry about that in peace with the witch stalking her like her own shadow.

"Don't you have better things to do than watch me change?" she asked, wrapping a thin coat around herself as she padded straight to her bed. She wasn't looking at Mary, yet she could feel a smile in the witch's voice.

"You're very pretty."

Jo thought about saying thanks. But she didn't. Mary didn't deserve her thanks. "Go to sleep," she said. "There's a lot to do tomorrow."

As Jo lay down on her back, pulled the covers up to her chest and placed her hands on her stomach, Mary was still sitting crossed-legged on the bed beside her, watching.

"I'm serious. Go to sleep."

"I can't."

"Lie down and close your eyes."

There was only silence. Mary still wasn't moving. Jo let out a harsh sigh then turned over, facing away from the witch. "Stay up then. I don't care."

"Thank you for today."

Jo hadn't expected that, so she was speechless for a moment. "What do you mean?"

Mary giggled softly. "I thought you hated me after what I'd said the other day."

Jo scoffed and shook her head. "All I did today was let you help the maids. It didn't change how I felt about you."

"Oh," Mary replied quietly. She sounded so sad that Jo almost apologised. But then Jo remembered that the whole reason Y/N was out there on her own on this cold winter night was because of Mary, and she immediately stopped feeling guilty.

"Thank you anyway," Mary whispered as Jo didn't speak. Jo heard the sound of sheets ruffling, and the candle beside Mary's bed was blown out. Darkness engulfed the room. Jo shut her eyes and listened to the crackling sound of wood logs burning in the fireplace. The Northwind was whistling outside her window. She let her mind wander, wondering what Y/N might be doing right now, if Harry was still alive, if Lance was still awake.

Those thoughts turned to worry, and worry kept her alert. She ended up lying there, staring at the window. Moonlight left a white square on the carpet. She could see the snowflakes twirling slowly as they fell. Her heartbeats slowed and her breathing became in sync with Mary's. She suddenly wondered if Mary had already nodded off. Why would she care, though? It didn't matter if Mary was awake or not.

"You can't sleep, either?"

The voice startled her even though it was the softest she'd ever heard. She looked over her shoulder to see Mary with her eyes wide open, gazing at the ceiling. Mary turned slowly, and their eyes locked in the semi-darkness. A smile messed up her already scarred face as she spoke, "You know what my sisters and I used to do when we couldn't sleep?"

Jo hated herself for wanting to continue this conversation. "What?" she asked with a sigh.

Mary excitedly sat up on the bed like a happy child. "We braid each other's hair! Distraction and concentration will get us sleepy."

"I'm not braiding your hair, witch."

"Oh, I'd do yours. You don't have to do mine. You have really pretty hair."

Jo squeezed her eyes shut as she exhaled sharply. "Fine."

"Yes!"

Jo pushed herself up. Mary got out of her bed. Instead of sitting down, she stood there, waiting for permission. Jo was probably too exhausted to think straight because, for a second, she thought it was so nice of her.

She scooted over and patted down on the mattress. Mary sat down crossed-legged as Jo turned her back to the witch, letting her luscious blonde hair fall to her lower back. She and Y/N used to do this all the time. Y/N wasn't good at lady-like things. Mary, on the other hand, was rather skilful.

"You were telling the truth. You've done this a lot," Jo remarked.

"What do you mean?" Mary giggled. "Why would I lie about braiding my sisters' hair?"

"I'm sorry. Trust issues," Jo said, making Mary giggle again. It was then that Jo realized that she liked the sound of it.

"I used to braid Y/N's hair. Not since she was crowned Queen, though."

"Because the King was always here?"

"Yeah," Jo said, trying not to sound sad or disappointed. She waited for Mary's intrusive questions, knowing she had plenty of those piling on her tongue. But there was only silence. "Go on. Say it."

"What?"

"I know you want to say something."

"Oh." Mary let out a snort, her fingers frozen in Jo's hair. "I just wanted to say that...the Queen is so lucky to be adored by so many people."

Jo curved her lips. "Well, I wouldn't say 'lucky'. Too much of something is never a good thing. Even if it's love."

"I wouldn't know."

"What do you mean?"

"I've never been loved. Never would be," Mary said, sounding more amused than upset and resumed working on the braid. "I was beautiful, you know."

"Yes. Y/N told me."

"Harry thought I looked like her."

"I could imagine."

"And I used to think that looks were all that mattered, but that's not true."

Jo swallowed as her shoulders slumped. She had thought beauty was a weapon, too. Using it so freely had been the biggest mistake she'd ever made. Sometimes she thought if it hadn't been for her, maybe Harry and Y/N never would have met. It wouldn't mean Y/N would love her, but maybe they would have run away together and have a new life in a cottage somewhere in the forest, far away from here, safe. Even so, she knew this was Y/N's destiny, and she was just a boring side character in it.

"Done," Mary said. Her cold fingers rested on Jo's bare shoulders, making her flinch. Jo thought about pulling away, but Mary gave her shoulders a squeeze and it was so comforting that Jo didn't even want to move.

"You're right," she said, staring at the moonlight on the floor. "I'm getting quite sleepy now."

"So am I," Mary said, yawning. Her fingers slipped right off Jo's skin, and Jo could finally let go of the breath she didn't know she'd been holding.

"Good night, Josephine," Mary said.

"Good night," Jo said, lying back down with her back facing Mary.

.

.

.

"Your Majesty! The emissary from Theros is waiting for you in the throne room."

All eyes skipped to Lance, who was sitting at the end of the meeting table. The announcement had struck him like lightning. He wasn't expecting any emissary, especially one from Theros.

"What's his name?" Lance asked, leaning back in his high chair.

"Lord Wallace, Your Grace."

George Wallace. Lance had met him once at one of Lance's father's annual balls. If Lance remembered correctly, Wallace was a short fat man with a kind face. He used to be King Edgar's most trusted advisor. The fact that he'd travelled all the way here on Calanthe's command was rather suspicious, yet it was unbelievable that he could be a part of Calanthe's evil scheme.

"Would you like to see him now or should I–"

"I'll see him now," Lance said, rising from his chair. The ministers all rose and bowed their heads as Lance made his way to the door and followed the guard into the corridor.

Did George Wallace know that Y/N was absent? Would he still speak to Lance without the Queen's presence? Should Lance be concerned already? There hadn't been any news on what Calanthe was up to, so this could be as bad as he feared.

Lance told the guards to make sure the gates leading in and out of the castle were secure, then he entered the throne room with only two escorts, not wanting to alert the emissary.

As expected, George Wallace didn't look shocked to see Lance instead of the Queen. His nonchalance made Lance's stomach shrivel. It seemed like Wallace already knew that the Queen wouldn't be here. But how could he know that when nothing from Isolde could cross the border to Theros?

"Sir Wallace," Lance said from the high throne. "What a pleasure to meet you again."

"It's my pleasure, Your Majesty," said Wallace with a hand on his chest. "I travelled all the way here to see Her Majesty. Is she not here?"

Even with that question, the look on his face revealed that he already knew the answer.

"No, my Queen is away for two weeks," Lance said, "but whatever you're here to discuss, you could discuss with me."

"Yes, Your Majesty," Wallace said with a scornful smirk.

Lance gathered his fingers into fists. If he could lock this man up for giving an attitude, he would do it without a second thought.

"Queen Calanthe of the high and low courts of Theros sent me here to discuss the matter of war and peace between the two kingdoms."

"War and peace?" Lance tried his best not to scoff as he rested his chin on his knuckles, drumming the fingers of his other hand on the armrest of the throne. "So your Queen admitted to wanting to start a war with Isolde."

"Well, Your Majesty, my Queen has always loved peace–"

"Surely," Lance muttered. If Wallace had heard him, it didn't show.

"But there has been some tension between the two kingdoms since King Egon sent an assassin to murder his own uncle, our beloved King Edgar."

"Has there been a trial?"

"Pardon, Your Majesty?"

"A trial for King Egon," Lance said breezily. "You called my betrothed's late brother a murderer in front of my face in her court, so I'm just wondering if I missed a trial or anything that proved that King Egon had been behind the murder."

Wallace worked his jaw for a second and soon managed to regain his composure. "No, Your Majesty."

"Then I advise you to watch your words, Sir Wallace."

"My apology, Your Majesty. May I say it again? There has been some tension between the North and the South since King Egon supposedly sent an assassin to murder King Edgar."

The corner's of Lance's lips arched in contempt as he chuckled. "Let's just get straight to the point, my lord. What does your Queen propose?"

"Our Queen has enough power to win this war if it's to happen, so she wants to give Queen Y/N a chance to keep Isolde. She wants to have power over twenty low courts in the North."

"You're joking."

"I'm afraid not, Your Majesty."

Lance narrowed his eyes as he sucked in a breath. "Bold of you to come in here and say these words to my face," he said slowly yet angrily.

Wallace, on the other hand, looked as calm as ever. "Those aren't my words, Your Majesty," he said. "I'm only the Queen's messenger."

Lance held the man's gaze for a long moment. He knew Wallace wasn't forced to be here. He was proud to be here and to witness Lance's reaction to this insulting offer to report back to his Queen.

"I'll have to wait for my Queen to return to discuss with her," Lance said coldly. Of course, he knew Y/N would never agree. He would never agree. Calanthe probably already knew it and had only sent Wallace here to taunt him. Whatever her motives were, it was better to have Wallace here and keep an eye on him than let him go back to that snake.

Wallace didn't look at all disappointed in Lance's response as he happily said, "I'd also love to stay to meet the Queen, Your Grace."

"Good," Lance breathed and waved for one of his guards. "I assume you must be tired after that long journey, Lord Wallace. You'll be escorted to your room and treated as our guest."

Wallace gave a bow before he followed the guards to the door where he stopped and turned around. "What a beautiful ring you have, Your Majesty."

Lance tried his best to look unbothered as he peered at the red stone on his finger. "It's one of a kind."

"It must be," Wallace said. "It's...glowing."

Lance mustered a single smile as he tightened his fists. With caution, he watched the guard escort the emissary out of the room.

.

.

.

Y/N knew Harry felt bad about what had happened because he would keep initiating conversations with her. She wanted to laugh and smile and act like nothing was wrong so he'd know she wasn't mad at him. Sadly, she hadn't felt good since she put the knife into that man's throat. It wasn't easy to kill someone and walk away like nothing had happened. She'd thrown up as soon as she'd woken up. Thankfully, Harry wasn't there to see it.

The old Harry wouldn't have judged her without knowing the reasons behind her actions. What was worse than the feeling of guilt she had to carry after killing that man, was the way Harry had looked at her before and after. He didn't trust her, so how could he expect her to trust him?

If she told him that her marriage with Lance was fake, and that she and Lance had been putting on a show and acting like they were in love to win the people's sympathy – the star-crossed lovers who could not live happily ever after because Calanthe was out for their blood – what could guarantee that he wouldn't run around spreading the words? He didn't have to tell every single soul he knew. Just one and the rest would hear it the next day. She could not risk that.

However, she should have told him about the deer, the moon lady, and the shadow man. She hadn't thought that she should, because it wouldn't have made any difference. She was the only one who could see the lady and the man, and only she could hear the deer talk. He wouldn't be able to help. Still, she'd need to tell him everything from now on. They were stuck in these woods together, and the only way for them to survive was to not keep secrets like that. She guessed she'd been at fault, too. They both had been wrong.

"Are you tired?" he asked.

She nodded even though she was holding onto the reins for her dear life. Harry stopped his horse, hopped onto the ground and helped her dismount Thunder. She felt like fainting, probably because she hadn't eaten since yesterday's afternoon. He gave her some water and bread and they sat by a tree, eating and watching the clouds roll by as if this was completely normal.

"We don't know where we're going," she said, hating the silence. "We could be walking in circles this whole time."

Harry blew out his cheeks as he rested both arms on his knees. "Well, if we can't find the lake, at least we could hope that we'd be able to find our way back."

Y/N said nothing. She could not tell him that the kind of magic that had erased his memory had taken away many years of his life. For all she knew, he could die tomorrow. If she told him that, would he be more determined to find the lake? Or would he want to give up for her own sake? Knowing Harry, she believed it would be the latter. He'd tell her that he didn't have anything to lose while she had too much to lose.

"You're not still mad at me, are you?" he asked, quietly.

When she looked up, he was giving her a speculative kind of look.

"No," she said flatly.

"Are you telling the truth?"

"See? You still don't trust me."

To her surprise, he burst out laughing. "See?" he mimicked her tone, shaking his head. "You're still mad at me."

She didn't reply, only sneered at him.

"Ask me anything," he said.

She blinked. "What?"

"Ask me anything and I'll answer honestly. To prove that I trust you."

"I know a lot about you, you know."

"I know." He grinned. "You could ask me something you don't know or something you already know to test me."

Y/N wetted her lips as she glanced skyward. She took a moment to sort out her thoughts. "Tell me...the most memorable day of your childhood."

Harry pursed his lips, thinking. "Well, I was seven or so. Kenny and I chased after this rabbit into the forest and found a rabbit family. We brought two little ones back home and were very excited to take care of them. The next day, they both ended up being cooked for dinner. Kenny and I cried so hard. I probably cried more than she did because I really loved my bunny."

He buried his face into his palms and burst out laughing as he finished his story. Meanwhile, Y/N sat there, gawking at him with a stone-cold expression. As soon as Harry saw it, his laughter died down at once.

"I'm sorry," he said, clearing his throat. "I should not have laughed. Poor bunnies."

Y/N shook her head as she mustered a smile. "No...it's just..."

"Just what?"

It's not the right answer, she wanted to say. She'd ask him this question before, and every single time, his answer would be the night he was working in the kitchen at her uncle's dinner party. Maybe that night didn't exist in his mind anymore. Because all the memories relating to her had been erased.

"Have I told you that story before?" he asked.

"Yeah," she lied.

He groaned in disappointment but was quick to smile again. "See? I trust you."

"I suppose," she sighed, rolling her eyes. "All right. Now you get to ask me a question."

"Really?"

"Yes. I just gave you permission."

Harry rubbed his palms together mischievously, making Y/N laugh.

"Oh, I was going to ask you something embarrassing," he said, "but I have a more important question that I've been wanting to ask."

"And that would be?"

Harry looked oddly reluctant, so Y/N was slightly worried about what he wanted to know. "I...um..." he began to stutter. "Well...the night in the cave...um...after I'd saved you from the river."

The fact that his face reddened as soon as he brought it up was too hilarious. Y/N was trying her best not to crack up and interrupt him.

"I tried to keep you conscious by asking you a question," he said. "I asked you to tell me your most precious memory. And you said...sunset. That was it."

"Oh."

"What does it mean?"

Y/N knew exactly what it meant. She could picture the scene in her head. Wind in his hair. Tears in her eyes. And she could still hear his voice telling her, "I fell in love with you at sunset."

"I don't know," she lied again, peeling her eyes off his in fear that he might notice her dishonesty. "I forgot. Maybe I just...didn't know what you were asking."

"Oh, that makes sense," he said, sounding unbothered.

And so she told herself that he believed her only so she could stop thinking about it. "We should get going. It gets dark quickly."

"We really should," Harry agreed, stood up and gave her a hand. Y/N got back to her feet then released him as fast as she could. And as she got onto Thunder's back, she could feel that his eyes were still watching her.

They kept on moving. It wasn't too long until the last daylight had faded and darkness took over the forest. Having spent over a week on this mountain, the dark shapes of trees had become familiar yet unusually comforting to Y/N. She still missed the palace, her soft warm bed, and sleeping in somebody's arms and not having to wake up crying over a nightmare.

But it didn't matter anymore, because she was now familiar with the cold and darkness; she was no longer afraid. Loneliness, however, was something she could never get used to. And the fact that Harry was with her this whole time, yet it felt like she was on her own, made her think that things could never go back to the way they'd been before she'd lost him. Sometimes, like earlier, he would look at her like the part that loved her was still fighting for its freedom. Sadly, most of the time, he felt like a stranger.

Maybe she should just give up, let him go like she'd said she would. One would always be happier without the burden of the past. It was easier for her to say otherwise because she had never been in his shoes. But it was human nature to choose the easy way out. So if the same thing had happened to her, she might have also chosen to forget.

It didn't have to hurt. They could still be happy. Just not together. She already had someone who loved her back home, someone she would marry, someone that would be by her side as she ruled a kingdom, someone whom her people would accept. And she knew she loved Lance; she just wasn't sure if it was the same way that she loved Harry, but feelings could grow, given time. As for Harry, he could travel the world, be whoever he wanted to be, or he could go back to his family, and he'd meet new people, fall in love and have children. She would get over him eventually. She'd lost so many people and moved on. She could do it again...

"Your Majesty."

Y/N blinked fast and caught Harry staring at her with an unreadable expression.

"You seemed distracted."

"Sorry." She cleared her throat, hurrying around the trees to catch up with him and the horses. The moon was bright tonight and the air was cold, so they'd decided to get off their horses and walk to keep themselves warm. "You were saying?"

Harry thinned his lips. "I said I remembered something."

"Yeah, what is it?"

"No...I mean...I had this vision just now...I remember something."

Y/N felt a hard quick pulse in her throat as shock froze her to the spot. She gaped at him as he looked skyward as if trying to keep that memory from slipping away. Her heart beat faster, pounding against her ribcage so hard it hurt.

"We were setting off on a journey," he started, his eyes pinched shut as he kneaded his temple. "You, me, the King and many others."

"And?" she prompted, impatiently.

"You...you told me to stay alive."

"It was the day of the attack," Y/N said quickly, her voice quavering. "What-what else do you remember?"

He swallowed, the look in his eyes softened as they met hers. "I-I wanted to hug you, but I think I wasn't allowed to. That...that was also the last thing on my mind before I lost consciousness...I wished I'd held you one last time."

Y/N could not utter a single word. She threw both arms around his neck and together they ended up in a heap on the snow-covered ground. She was laughing uncontrollably and he was, too, even though she could tell how confused he was.

"You remember..." she whispered, arms tightened around his neck.

Carefully, he placed his hands on her back and pressed her closer against him. "Well, not a lot, but–" she sensed a smile in his voice, "you do give great hugs."

She pulled back and cupped his face. "This is good. This is very good. Believe me. You will remember everything."

Was it the cold or had his cheeks turned a bit red? Well, it didn't matter. She was already too happy. The first memory of her that had returned had been the last one he'd had of her. Maybe he'd start remembering backwards. If so, it wouldn't be too long until he remembered how much he'd loved her.

It took Y/N a moment to realize that she was still on top of him, so she hurriedly apologized and pushed herself up off the ground.

He chuckled as she adjusted her clothes and asked him if he was all right.

"Your hugs are as violent as I expected," he teased, head tilted to the side. "But it's all right. I liked that." There was a quiet moment before he went on, "I think some of the things in my dreams were real memories, too."

"Yeah?" She hated how elated she sounded even though he didn't seem to notice as he gave a nod.

"I just can't tell them apart. I think I need more time."

Y/N swallowed, keeping her voice calm and steady. "I understand."

She hated it, though. Time. But she didn't mind waiting as long as Harry wasn't giving up.

"Please be patient with me."

At first, Y/N thought that those words were her own. When she realized they were his, she looked at him with her eyes wide and mouth open, wondering if he'd hit his head when she'd knocked him to the ground.

"What do you mean?" she asked.

He suddenly seemed reluctant and shy. "I thought about what you said, and...also...that memory of you made me think...you meant a lot to me in the past." He looked up and their eyes met. "So I want to remember."

She pressed her lips together, trying to compose herself before saying, "Good," with a single nod. Her heart blossomed as she watched dimples appear on his pink cheeks. There was a look of wonder in his eyes as he cocked his head to the side and said, "There's something in your hair."

She froze as he outstretched his arm, and his fingers brushed gently over a strand of her hair. A tiny bit of light dashed up over her head, startling them both.

"A firefly!" Y/N exclaimed.

There wasn't just one.

All around them, fireflies, thousands of them, appeared from the trees and the grass. It felt like they were walking through stars.

"I've never seen so many fireflies before," Y/N said.

"Maybe they're not really fireflies. Maybe they're the spirits of the forest trying to tell us something."

"I hope they won't kill us."

"What are you talking about?" Harry scoffed, waving away a swarm of light by his head. "They're harmless."

Y/N let out a nervous laugh as the fireflies danced around her feet. "This reminds me of the ballroom on my tenth birthday," she said. "They put up decorations that looked like a thousand fireflies!" Then she threw her arms over her head, got on her tiptoes and did a twirl. Harry chuckled as she offered him a hand. "Would you like to dance?"

He shook his head fast, hands clasped together behind him. "Oh no, I don't dance."

"Yes, you do," she said, giggling. "You're just not good at it."

"I'd rather not embarrass myself in front of you, Your Majesty," he made a face and glanced around, "or our new friends."

Y/N scoffed as she rolled her eyes. "Oh, please, come on. Don't kill the joy. I'll guide you." Without waiting for him to say yes, she grabbed him by the hand and pulled him in. He let out a surprised gasp. The startled look on his face was soon replaced by a nervous grin. "Put this hand on my waist. Now hold my other hand. That's right. Don't think. Just follow my lead."

And so they started to dance without music in a sea of fireflies. Harry was careless and kept stepping on her foot and apologising for it only to do it again. It took him a moment to finally relax and realize that she wasn't going to murder him for not being able to dance. Then it didn't matter who was taking the lead anymore; they were just dancing like they were the only two living creatures in these woods, like time had stood still, and this moment was all that they had.

If they died in the morning and this was the last memory they shared, Y/N would be happy to take it with her to the grave.

.

.

.

"There you are. What took you so long?"

"I had to wait for the Lady-in-waiting to sleep."

The tiny figure pulled the hood over his head, revealing his round face under the dim firelight from the lantern Mary was holding. They were in the courtyard. Mary had been in the castle long enough to know that the guard, who was supposed to be watching this area, would always give himself a long break at this hour.

"She killed one of our men," George Wallace said, glancing nervously around to make sure no one was here but the two of them.

"What?"

"That bitch," he hissed. "Soon Queen Calanthe will rule over one hundred kingdoms and I cannot wait to see what she'd do to the brat."

Mary wanted to say that Calanthe was around the same age as Queen Y/N, but she wasn't going to have a debate with Wallace right here right now.

"The Queen wants me to check on you."

"I'm fine," she said, putting an arm around herself guardedly. "They treat me well." Too well. Sometimes she allowed herself to forget that she was here as a spy, not a guest.

"The Queen doesn't care how they treat you, idiot," Wallace said coldly. "She wants to make sure that you didn't lie to her about the lake. It seemed like Y/N didn't know where she was going."

"The lake does exist," Mary said. "Believe me. Y/N is the only way for us to find it. Blood calls to blood."

She wasn't sure if her words had pacified Wallace. It was hard to tell as he always seemed harmless yet he was one of the most calculated men in the Theros court.

"I must go now," he said, securing his robe. But instead of leaving right away, he eyed her up and down and lowered his voice. "They have been treating you well, haven't they?"

"Yes."

"Mmmm." He lifted his non-existent chin. "If you betray the Queen, the Monks will know about it." Mary swallowed at the thoughts. "They'll make sure to put up your ugly head at the gate after we've won the war."

Just like that, he turned and walked away. Mary clenched her teeth and her fists as she waited until his tiny figure was out of sight to return to her room. She had wanted nothing more than to break Wallace's neck, but it didn't mean what he'd said wasn't true.

No matter how well these people had been treating her, it was either her or them. And she didn't survive this long to continue putting other people's lives above her own.

[come-on-shitty-boys]

// the king. oikawa tooru //

Warnings: mentions of death

Word Count: 1.9K

Notes: This is the final installment of the mini-series “Soldier, Poet, King” influenced by the song of the same name by The Oh Hellos.  I might make a second part to this or maybe just do a little drabble to finish it off?? i have to add the header later because my dumbass F O R G O T to make one and i wanna sleep ;-;

“You’re a monster.”

“I don’t care if you’re my husband.  I want nothing to do with you.”

“I refuse to sleep in the same bed as you.”

“You’re just like your father, only caring when it benefits you.”

Each hateful comment that you threw at him pulled the air from his lungs.  He’d never been talked to in such a way, but now, hearing those words drip like poison from the lips of his own wife was like a punch to the stomach.  Tooru knew going into the marriage that things were going to be rocky, but he didn’t expect it to be this bad.  He thought that given a few weeks, he’d be able to win you over with his charming personality and the two of you could enjoy a happy life together, ruling over one of the most powerful nations.

But, that was so far from the truth.  Any attempts at physical contact were shoved away.  Conversation was cut short by a snide remark from you, leaving the young king to sit with all of the gnawing guilt in his chest.  Because, every word that you uttered, he believed to be true.  He was a monster.  Well, maybe not him specifically, but his family was a completely different story.

There was a reason that the Oikawa family was the head of such an immense kingdom, one that stretched farther than one could ever fathom.  A feared kingdom and one with riches beyond your wildest dreams.  An intimidating military with ranks upon ranks of well-equipped soldiers.  Yes, that was the Riviere Kingdom, a kingdom that burned fear into its people and a king to match that scary demeanor.  The king that had worn the crown before Tooru, his father, was as ruthless as they come, building the once small kingdom into the powerhouse that it is today.  Smaller surrounding nations were on their knees, begging to be spared, but they were only swallowed by the overwhelming military force before there was even a chance to protest.  And that was the game for years.  Smaller nations were taken in, allowing the nation to swell in size and power, allowing it to move on to even bigger targets.  It was monstrous.  

But, it wasn’t like Tooru could do anything about it now.  What did you want him to do?  Give everyone their land back and let them break off into their own countries again?  They would starve and die.  People had become reliant on the aid of the kingdom, so who was he to just whisk that all away from them?  Everything was years in the past, he had barely been born when his father's rampage had reached its peak and he was only seven when the final obstacle was conquered, too young to think any ill of his father’s ways.

The Gledria Kingdom had been the goal from the very beginning.  It was the biggest and best, but late King Oikawa couldn’t have that, could he?  Tooru could remember that overwhelming swell of pride that his father carried as the royal family of the newly-fallen kingdom knelt before the king in defeat.  A king with weary eyes, dark circles and heavy wrinkles from years of stress, a queen with gentle features and lips that probably had the potential to carry the sweetest smile, and between them knelt a young girl, likely no older than the young prince himself.  Her eyes were puffy and there was a glisten of snot streaming from her nose, the fear evident in her body as she knelt there trembling.  

“I’d like to make a deal,” the fallen king states simply, his voice as commanding, steady, as if he was the one in charge.  “Your son, is he betrothed already?”

Tooru’s cheeks turned hot, the attention suddenly being turned to him.  “He’s not.”

“Then I would like to offer my daughter’s hand.  Before you refuse, I want you to think about what this could mean for you.  You are free of the burden of an even grander kingdom by letting us walk free and rebuild our home.  Not only that, we are now aligned with you, your majesty.  Our children will act as the peace treaty between our two kingdoms.”

It had been a tempting offer, one that was not refused.  And for ten years, the deal remained in tact.  The two lived in harmony, only engaging with one another when it was necessary.  But, things got boring and the death of King Oikawa was coming sooner rather than later.  It was his last mission.  Put an end to the Gledria Kingdom.

Tooru could still remember the look on your face when you were dragged into the castle on that fateful day.  You had been so eerily easy.  There were no tears, no pain, just emptiness hidden behind those deep eyes.  Your dress had been tattered, hair had been matted and tangled.  You looked like some kind of creature that Prince Tooru had only read about.  He could do nothing but watch as the handmaids took you away to clean the blood of your people off of your shell of a body.

Even now, years after the fall of your home, there was still hate and bitterness, but Tooru couldn’t even blame you.  On the night of your wedding, you had refused to speak to him, let alone consummate your marriage.  Shortly following the death of his father, when Prince Tooru was given his new title of King and you were crowned as his queen, there was nothing.  No words of celebration, no smiles were shared.  The tension in the air surrounding the young pair never dropped.  If you ever looked at him, it was only through narrowed eyes.  If you ever spoke to him, your words stung like a thousand wasps.  You were cold to him, refusing to even give him a chance, refusing to believe that he was not his father, refusing to believe that they were anything but the same.

The people noticed it in only a matter of months.  It was like the clouds had opened up and the sun was finally able to shine through.  After years of war, there was peace in the kingdom once again.  Aid was given to those who had lost everything and King Tooru was adament on purchasing his silks and fabrics from within the Riveire Kingdom to help support his people in an effort to get them back on their feet.  Festivals that had long since stopped from fear of the late king’s wrath, now filled the squares all over again.  From within the castle, there were nights where the merry cheers and laughter of people down in the village carried on the summer air as they rejoiced in a new sense of freedom that they hadn’t felt in a long time.  

And it was those nights that he was able to feel closest to you.  It wasn’t much, but every night that the music could be heard, he could find you on the balcony that extended from the bedroom that the two of you were meant to share.  Your hair would sway gently in the warm breeze, face aglow with moonlight, letting the night consume you in all of its beauty.  If he listened closely, he could hear you humming along to the tune of some song that he had heard you hum a million times, but would never tell him the name of.  Some nights, if he watched you long enough, Tooru could watch you slowly start to sway as you get lost in the song that echoed in your head.  

“We should go,” was all he had said to you.

It caught you off guard.  There was a sudden abruptness to his words, but the gentle tone that he always used when talking to you never left.  “What are you talking about?”

“A festival.  We should go sometime.  It could be fun, don’t you think?  Mother would never let me go when I was younger.  She thought commoners were filthy and when my father started his reign of terror, the festivals and parties stopped all together.”  Tooru leaned on the rail of the balcony a few feet away from you, giving you your space, while still being near you.  The fact that you didn’t immediately move away felt like a win in his book.  “Have you ever been to one?”

You simply nod.  You’re silent for a long time, he thinks the conversation is over until he sees your mouth open.  “We used to go all of the time.  If my father knew there was going to be a festival, he would take me.  We would dance and he’d lift me up and spin me around.  He would buy food and drinks for everyone there, so every single person could have a good time and not have to worry about expenditures.”  Tooru looked over at you as your words trailed off.  A soft smile graced your features.  It was the very first smile that he had ever seen from you, but it fell quickly.  “But that was before-”

“Yeah.  I know.”

“I really don’t think you do.  Do you really understand what your father did to us?  To every single kingdom that fell on their knees before him?  My people were slaughtered, Tooru.  I watched my parents die because your father betrayed them and you stand here and genuinely expect me to see you in a different light.  You may not be your father, but you’re still an Oikawa.  You carry all of that bloodshed on your shoulders now.  You could be the kindest king in the world, but nothing is going to reverse the past.”

“You’re right and I wish that there was something that I could do to fix everything.  If I could go back and stop him from doing what he did to your kingdom, I would do it in a heartbeat, but we didn’t know that it was coming either.  But, Y/N, we can’t keep living like this.  If you don’t want to love me, I can live with that, but I beg that you let me show you that I am more than just my father’s son.  I’m an Oikawa and that’s something that I can’t change, but I can change the feelings that come with hearing that name.  I wish nothing but the best for my people, our people, but that has to start here.”

“What are you saying?”

“Let me take you to one festival.  We can dance until your feet tire so much that I have to carry you home.  I’ll spin you around until you’re so dizzy that you can’t see straight.  We can eat and drink and laugh until your stomach hurts.  You don’t have to say yes, but I want to show you that I am King Oikawa Tooru and I am not the same person that my father was.  So, what do you say?  Will you do me the honor of being my dance partner for just one festival?”

[muertawrites]

Two Halves - Chapter Six (Zuko x Reader)

Part Five

Word Count: 2,100

Author’s Note: Wow it’s been a clusterfuck this week. I’ve been exhausted and unable to concentrate for the past few days, and then today when I tried to release this chapter for patrons it turned out that all of Cloudflare was down, so something like 12 million sites worldwide were just completely unreachable. I plan to force myself into going to bed early tonight so I can actually get myself back on track and be productive over the weekend (I have two requests I want to publish so they don’t get pushed back into all my ideas for next month, and I also want to look into other ad providers outside of Adsense so I can start saving up money for my eventual move out of the country). I promise that next week will be less of a bummer chapter. Here’s hoping sometime we’ll actually catch a fookin break, m8. 

~ Muerta

You stand in the portrait hall, awaiting its newest addition with Rina; she grips your arm, clapping giddily as the towering scroll unfurls to reveal the painted image of you and Zuko beside one another. 

In it, you're seated to his left side, mirroring the generations of other wedding portraits that line the massive hall; what's different is not only the color and style of your robes, but the fact that Zuko’s hand rests on your shoulder, yours clasped firmly within it. When he did so, the royal historian who was present instructed that the Firelord and lady were never depicted touching one another - you'd placed your hand over his in a unified stance of defiance. You'd also been asked to remove your betrothal necklace for the portrait, and had told the historian in a few choice words exactly why it would be staying on; you still feel the rush in your veins of hearing Zuko mumble “that's my girl” under his breath.

“Oh, it's gorgeous!” Rina exclaims, bouncing excitedly on her toes. “The Firelord looks so handsome in a Water Tribe silhouette; I'm so glad you did this!”

You laugh, hugging her by the arm that's hooked with your own and unable to deny the fact that the Southern style tunic you had the seamstress make for him does provide a nice view of his body, highlighting more of his broad shoulders and sturdy midriff than the billow of traditional Fire Nation robes. It also pairs well with his chest plate, making him look every part the skilled warrior he is instead of some aristocratic monarch ruling only by privilege. Beside him, his fingers locked between yours, your gaze steely and knowing behind layers of ink, you look like a weapon instead of just a wife; you start to think there might be much more reason Hakoda arranged your alliance with Zuko than just forming a concrete tie between your nations. 

“My lady,” one of the palace messengers addresses you, bowing respectfully as he approaches. “I’m sorry to interrupt, but Advisors Sung and Qiang request an audience with you in their offices.” 

You and Rina look between each other, Rina’s eyebrows raised in confusion. 

“Just me?” you ask. “Should I also send for the Firelord?” 

“No, your majesty,” the messenger says. “The councilmen asked that only you be sent for.” 

You nod, bowing to the messenger in thanks before taking Rina’s arm once more, walking in pace with her to the administrative wing of the palace. 

“They’re sure to send me out of the room,” Rina tells you, speaking in a hushed, conspiratorial tone. “I’m unsure about Advisor Sung, but Qiang has never trusted servants with any kind of information; he used to work information security under Firelord Ozai until he defected after Prince Zuko’s banishment.” 

“If he won’t allow you in the room, you’ll wait at the door,” you state. “Whether he likes it or not, I still have more power than he does.” 

When you arrive at the international affairs office, Qiang and Sung are seated around a small table, primed in wait for you. You make a point of not bowing in return when they do so upon your announcement, instead choosing to simply nod in greeting. Sung smiles at you in his polite, pleasant way as you sit, while Qiang eyes you with a cold, almost uncertain stare. 

“My lady,” Sung welcomes you, “I apologize for bringing you here on such short notice, but there are urgent matters that must be discussed. As you know, Advisor Qiang has taken the liberty of guiding me as I adjust to my new position as the head of international affairs, and we’ve been mulling over the matter of your wedding portrait for the past few days.” 

“More specifically,” Qiang interjects, “we’ve been discussing the stunt you pulled in deciding your wardrobe. Many people across the Fire Nation are not pleased to see their Firelord in Water Tribe garments.” 

“It was simply a tunic,” you calmly defend yourself. “The only other change was to the color. Has anyone taken issue with the fact that I wore a Water Tribe dress under a Fire Nation robe?” 

You glance between the two men, expecting the question to be entirely rhetorical - you know the answer already, but as you guessed, they’re either too cowardly or too correct to say it aloud. 

“We understand your intentions,” Sung replies after a beat, “but we’re uncertain the execution of your ideas is as tactful as it should be; I know I needn’t remind you that we’re still living in very unstable times as of the end of the war.” 

“I understand your concern, but I don’t think the nature of our mixed heritage is the most pressing issue at hand,” you say. “The world experienced a century of cruelty under Fire Nation imperialism - it’s important that we reform our militant image in every way we can. Dressing me like a traditional Firelady when I very clearly am not one would have upset far more people than just our citizens.”

“The Fire Nation is still very powerful,” Advisor Qiang argues, “even with the abolition of many of the Earth Kingdom colonies. Upsetting our people could have consequences that reach beyond the mainland’s borders.” 

His words are spat at you almost like a threat. You tilt your chin a little higher, meeting his gaze without faltering. 

“What do you suggest, then?” you ask. 

“We want to keep watch on you,” Qiang tells you. “Our aids will accompany you as you gain more freedom from the Firelord and guide you to ensure that your actions reflect the image the nation wants to see from their leader.” 

“This sounds like something Advisor Yong should oversee,” you evenly contest. “I'm certain my husband would like to have his say, as well.” 

“We simply wanted to present the idea to you,” Advisor Sung cuts in. “We thought it might give you more peace of mind to have someone beside you; teach you how to properly present yourself to the people of the Fire Nation.” 

“You can send your aids to keep tabs on me,” you reply, “but I am still your superior. Firelord Zuko has been more than an adequate mentor. I don't need another one.” 

“Do you suggest we have you answer to the Firelord on our behalf, then?” Advisor Qiang asks, sounding skeptical. 

“I'm stating that I don't answer to anyone,” you respond. “Zuko is my equal. You're the one born and raised in the Fire Nation - you should understand that better than anyone.” 

Qiang fixes you with the chilled, empty glare you noticed your first day in the council’s meeting chambers. You keep your own expression blank, refusing to avert your eyes from their lock on his. 

“My lady,” Advisor Sung addresses you, “I promise you, we mean no offense. We truly have your best intentions at heart; we understand that the culture of the Fire Nation is very different from that of the Southern Water Tribe, and only want to keep you safe in the wake of Advisor Fen’s passing. We believe taking extra care in how you interact with our people is the only way to move forward.” 

“Alright,” you say, standing abruptly. “I'd like some hands-on training, then. I need fabric to build my wardrobe with, and want to explore my new home. Gather your aids - I’m taking them to the market.” 

To say that people are shocked to see the Firelady out amongst common folk is an understatement. 

You travel in a rather large group, flanked not only by Rina, Iroh, and Toph, but three of Qiang and Sung’s aids and a small army of royal guards. People flee when you approach, some of them going as far as to fall to their knees before you, bowing out of fear; each time, you offer your hand and help them back to their feet, explaining that you're only out to do some shopping. Once more onlookers notice your kind, gentle handling of those who cross your path, panic turns to interest, many people staring at you as you pass or calling out to you, saying hello; a little girl manages to get past the guards, scurrying out of her father’s flower shop and through their legs, stopping in front of you with an adorably clumsy bow to present you with a dandelion she picked from between the cracks in the cobblestone street. 

“Why, thank you!” you exclaim, daintily taking the flower from her chubby little hand and bowing in return. “It's very beautiful, just like you.”

You twist the dandelion into your hair before walking the girl back to her father, who apologizes and thanks you profusely; you assure him it's no trouble. 

“How very touching,” Iroh says to you once you continue on your way. “I wonder what the aids will tell their superiors.” 

You huff, smirking at him out of the corner of your eye. 

“Probably that I don't inspire enough fear,” you mock. “I thought the dictatorship ended when my dear father-in-law was thrown in prison.” 

“The memories of his reign are still very fresh,” Iroh explains. “A brute hand is all much of the Fire Nation knows in a leader; it is hard to bring change.” 

“I still don't like our little entourage,” Toph remarks, loud enough that the men trailing you can certainly hear. “Aang never travels with guards, and he's got a way bigger target on his head than you do.” 

“Yeah, but he can also bend everything,” you remind her. “I've never even held a spear.” 

“I'm blind and I still kick hella ass,” Toph replies. “You don't have an excuse.”

You roll your eyes, grinning as you shove her sideways so she stumbles; she laughs, coming back at you with a hard punch to the boob and blowing a raspberry into your face. You can't help but cackle, taking her into a headlock and scruffing up her hair. 

“My lady,” one of the aids pipes up, her nose wrinkled in disdain, “this isn't proper etiquette for a Fire Nation queen.” 

“Oh, spirits forbid anybody be human,” Toph groans. “The war is over and this is a leisure trip. People have to get used to the Firelady acting like a person instead of a government puppet.” 

Rina takes hold of your arm, leaning in close to your ear. 

“I like her,” she whispers. “Can we ask her to stay?” 

You laugh, shaking your head.

“I wish,” you mumble back, “but Toph sort of just does what she wants.” 

You choose a small, cozy-looking shop to buy fabrics from, everyone in the group (save for the aids and guards, who have no choice but to wait outside) making easy, pleasant conversation with the owners; they're a relatively young couple from Omashu, who came to the Fire Nation after the war to trade fabrics that weren't widely available in either country, wanting to bring more options to each place. Their shop is filled with soft cottons and delicately embroidered patterns, many laced with shimmering metals and gems only found in the Earth Kingdom; you purchase a few yards of almost everything, leaving them a contact to the palace so that they can come and discuss expanding their trade routes. Everyone is pleased except for the aids, who look on with disapproving glares.  

When you return to the palace, you find not only Zuko awaiting you, but Qiang and Sung as well; you hardly acknowledge the two councilmen, instead going straight to Zuko’s side. 

“Rina sent me a message about your meeting this morning,” he murmurs. “I told Advisor Yong, too. They should have come to both of us.” 

You nod, taking him by the arm and leading him away from the larger group, out into an open corridor surrounding a courtyard that sits off the entrance hall of the palace’s administrative wing. 

“There has to be something we can do, right?” you wonder. “We’re above them. We have the final say in everything.” 

Zuko sighs, taking your hands within his and holding you close to him, chests pressed together. 

“We’re supposed to,” he says. “But my grandfather taught my father and sister how to manipulate their way into power. Lots of other government officials learned it, too, and it hasn’t completely gone away.” 

Advisor Qiang passes through on the other side of the courtyard, eyeing you with his signature frigid gaze as Advisor Sung and the aids trail behind him. You look away from him, focusing only on Zuko. 

“We have to keep the people on our side,” you murmur. “The government may be able to manipulate itself into submission, but they're no match for everyone else. The world beat them once - we can beat them again.” 

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[ruffboijuliaburnsides]

OKAY so last night i said something in tags about “ask me about my thoughts on atla post-canon polyamory” 99% because I had typed a bunch of shit in the tags and then accidentally CLOSED THE TAB thus losing said tags, so that was a bummer, BUT like 3 different people reached out wanting to hear about it so HERE GOES. (thanks to @taibhsearachd for rambling this out with me last night)

SO. this started bc we got somehow on the topic of how much we really disliked the whole Aang/Katara kiss at the end of the show.  Not because we’re against them kissing (Aang had to already have turned 13 by then, an innocent kiss is perfectly reasonable for a 13yo in my opinion), but because the placement of the kiss made it so... CENTRAL. We were talking about how we would’ve liked the kiss to have been earlier, preferably before the big finale, and then like... they still could’ve had a soft romantic moment on the balcony but it could’ve been like.  Hand holding or sitting together with Katara’s head on his shoulder.

And Birdie mentioned she’d always liked Zutara back in Ye Olde Tymes because the whole “Aang and Katara get together when they’re barely 13 and 15″ thing just seemed... really untenable if we’re going with endgame, AND it made a lot of sense to get Katara and Zuko together politically, especially since there’s nooooo princess up north anymore since she turned into the moon and all. But the resurgence of the fandom (thank you for once Netflix!) has opened our eyes to ZUKO AND SOKKA and that’s fuckin amazing but now we’re back to square one in re: Aang and Katara. But then I realized that we can fix all of this with a) allowing for healthy breakups of relationships that don’t work yet but might work when the people involved have grown/processed things, and b) extensive polyamory.

And so here’s my thought:

Aang and Katara break up for a while probably not long after the end of book 3.  They’re fucking kids, they’re traumatized kids no less, and they both have a lot of shit they need to deal with both personally and in the world that isn’t really conducive to “baby’s first serious relationship”.  They’re still friends, they view it as “well... let’s maybe try again in a few years if we’re both still interested”.  All their friends are aware of this and supportive and in the end it’s healthy for both of them bc their traumas and coping mechanisms didn’t always play nice with each other even BEFORE all the fallout from the finale and having to take on more responsibility in the world and such.

Zuko properly gets with Sokka and Suki during this time, though there’s no talk of like. Marriage or anything. Yes, Sokka’s politically got the same sort of appeal as Katara, but the thing about politically advantageous marriages at that level is there’s sort of the assumption that you’ll be, y’know, having heirs, so Sokka’s not really cut out for that and Suki flat out refused to be official Fire Lady or whatever.

So once Katara and Aang are older, like Aang’s 17 and Katara’s 19 and Zuko’s sitting over here at 21, and his advisors are all “ok but seriously Fire Lord Zuko, we really should look into at least a BETROTHAL of some sort” and he just sighs, and they’re bringing up all these Fire Nation ladies and he’s like “no it’s gotta be more diplomatic than that, she shouldn’t be Fire Nation” and so one of them’s like “well, uh, that water tribe lady you’re friends with, she’s set to be a pretty strong leader as she gets older, that would be a good way to do it.  Or that blind Earth Kingdom--” “NOT TOPH.” “ok but seriously, tho, think about it your majesty”

So Zuko’s torn because he really does like Katara, and she’d be an amazing Fire Lady in addition to being an amazing... whatever her title would be down in the Southern Water Tribe (I definitely picture her and Sokka basically being the leaders of the pan-tribal council - he handles military and adjacent stuff and she handles the rest).  But Katara’s with Aang again FINALLY not that they’ve made a big deal of it outside their friends.  BUT he knows that y’know... people can be with more than one person.  Hell, look at him and Sokka and Suki, right?

So he goes to talk to Aang like “I want to make sure I run this past you so she doesn’t have to try and do it, because I’m the one even bringing it up, and it’s obviously up to her, BUT here’s the sitch”.

And see, the thing about the Air Nomads is it really doesn’t make sense to me that they’d have the same kind of ideas about like.  Monogamy and parenthood and relationships as other nations, ‘cause like.... the kids are clearly raised communally.  Like, I vote ‘you probably know who your parents are but really all the adults are your parents, maybe you get an extra cake from them on your birthday but that’s about it’ for the most part. And y’know being with who you want to be with sort of thing. Sure you’ll have people you might be more committed to, but by and large the general consensus is “love who you love, whoever and however many people that is!”

So Zuko’s all prepared to angst for even ASKING if Aang would mind playing technical second fiddle in an heir-producing/marriage/inheritance/etc sense to HIM, ugh what if Aang hates him for even thinking it? and Aang’s just like “oh yeah that’s cool dude, if she’s down go for it! You wanna talk to her together? I don’t mind being there to reassure her it’s ok, and that you weren’t asking me permission to ask her so much as you were making sure it wouldn’t upset me if you did, and all that” and Zuko’s like “...what. I.  Ok sure?”

And Katara does like Zuko, she just y’know, also liked Aang and didn’t want to GIVE UP Aang, but Zuko’s like “it’ll be good for our people, and I’d never make you stay in the fire nation full time you have your own responsibilities and also you don’t have to stop being with Aang or even like hide it or anything, it’s not like people don’t know I’m with Sokka and stuff, it’s just, y’know, OFFICIAL HEIRS and stuff” and so she’s like “Oh!  Oh, yeah, that’s good, we can have a couple kids and stuff”

But ofc they end up a lot closer than “just a couple kids” but it’s sweet!  She has kids with Zuko and kids with Aang and really as long as one of them turns out a firebender (can the avatar have a kid of any bending type? NO ONE KNOWS but Zuko’s advisors are prepared to accept it at this point) so long as they end up with A VIABLE HEIR that Zuko will claim etc etc.

And of course Zuko and Sokka and Suki have a couple kids whose parentage is uncertain not that they really CARE, and Suki and Aang aren’t really into each other romantically but when they’re a bit older they discuss it and decide to have a kid just so they can have a shot at a potential airbender baby, because heck yeah rebuilding the airbenders, might as well get some extra genetics up in this ish.

And these kids are all largely raised together in this big pack of like 10 kids of varying ages who move between 2 or 3 different homes, and Zuko rules the Fire Nation and Sokka and Katara lead the southern water tribes, and Aang does his Avatar thing, and they all spend as much time together as possible with the kids and Suki and some of her girls from Kyoshi Island are the main people ALWAYS THERE for the kids.

And there’s at least one kind of each bender in the group (bc you can’t tell me it’s 100% you have to have a bending parent, considering neither Katara’s mother or father were benders, so one of Suki’s kids is DEFFO an earthbender) and they’re a chaotic bunch and sometimes the Gaang forgets which one of them provided the genetics for which kid but really it doesn’t matter bc they’re ALL the kids’s parents, and all the kids are ALL their kids, and it’s a big happy messy disaster of a polycule that the Fire Nation nobility and advisors despair over, but they can’t deny that it seems to be working out pretty well and that the Fire Lord is good at his job and pretty damn happy, so they don’t bitch too much about it.

...Also at some point Sokka and Toph discuss dating and end up sort of doing it for a while but then going back to being friends, but she does ABSOLUTELY get him to father one of her kids, which she then declares firmly she made out of a rock and bended to life, and most people are preeeeetty sure she’s full of shit but can’t fully discount the possibility and only the Gaang knows the truth.

so yeah that’s my avatar polyamory thoughts, it is not canon-compliant with legend of korra but who cares this is my imagination and headcanon and LoK doesn’t play into it at all. *nod*

[p-artsypants]

I Do...I Guess? (Part  One)

The Proposal

FF.net | Ao3.com

I got a craving to replay FFX again for the first time in like ten years. To be honest, I forgot a bunch of stuff (not to mention that I never finished it in the first place.) 

I’m recently engaged, and as I was playing this game, my brain kept saying ‘how would this scene be different if Yuna and Tidus were married?’

So I decided to write it. 

I didn’t want to rehash the whole story completely, so it diverts a bit and I skipped some scenes that I felt would have been the same in canon. Hope you enjoy! 

--

It felt good to laugh. Right. Like they weren’t on a mission to save the world. Like they weren’t trying to stop a hellish reincarnation of his father. 

Like they were a bunch of friends, having fun on a road trip. 

Yuna looked at him, eyes filled with tears from their laughter. Most of her smiles so far had been strained, or just an act. But this was joy. Pure, real joy. 

His fake, psychotic laugh had echoed over Luca, and at first she couldn’t stand the absurdity of it. 

But only a few minutes later, when they both frantically tried to catch their breaths, Yuna realized what she was missing. 

Someone who wasn’t afraid to be a little silly. Someone who wasn’t afraid to be a little rude or wild, even in the face of propriety of Yevon. 

It was a good feeling. 

She smiled at him. “I like you, Tidus.” 

The blunt phrase hit him like a bullet, straight to his heart. “I uh uh...like you too?” And he did. Maybe a little too much for the comfort of his fellow guardians. But getting Yuna’s approval felt good at least. It was nice to know she liked him, and she wasn’t just tolerating him as Wakka’s lost duckling. 

Well, she had agreed to make him a guardian, hadn’t she? That had to count for something. 

She nodded once, a determined look on her face. “Wait here a second, okay?” 

“Oooookay?” 

She walked over to where the others were standing, watching with faces of confusion and mild horror. 

“What?” Called Tidus. 

“We were just wondering if you two had finally lost it!” Wakka called back. 

Tidus didn’t get a chance to reply as Yuna beckoned Wakka into a huddle with the others. 

She talked too softly for him to hear, back to him, and hands held tightly to her chest. No indication of what this was all about. 

But they all gasped together, obviously shocked at something she had to say. 

Something about him? What? Did she want to make him super guardian or something? Did he get promoted already? 

Each and every guardian took a second to look at him, eyes narrowed in a glare of scrutiny. 

Aw crap. What did he do wrong this time?

They all seemed to come to an agreement, as they nodded solemnly. 

When Yuna returned, her face was red, and her eyes wouldn’t meet his. 

“Yuna?” 

“I would...like to ask you something.” 

“Shoot.” 

“It may be sudden, and a little strange...” 

“As has my whole journey been so far. Nothing new for me.” 

“Well...if it’s not too much...I’d like to ask you...to marry me.” 

“M-m-marry?!” He stuttered, taking a full step back. “Wh-what? How? Why?!” 

“You can say no!” She insisted. “It’s just that...summoners typically have a family, or a next of kin. My parents are gone, and I have no siblings. Lulu, Wakka, and Kimahri feel like siblings to me, but in the eyes of Yevon, they’re only friends. I’d like to...take you as my husband. Officially.” 

“That...makes sense...but why me?” 

Her face turned redder. “I told you I liked you...” 

“I didn’t know you meant it that way.” 

Yuna looked ready to cry. “You can still say no. And nothing will change! You can still be my guardian. It’s just that...the temples get really touchy about guardians of the opposite sex staying in the same room with the summoner if they aren’t related or married. Lulu thinks it would be safer...” she covered her mouth. “I’m sorry! I don’t want to pressure you! This is up to you, and I don’t want to twist your arm!” 

Tidus laughed. Not at her, of course, just the situation in general. It was a hollow laugh, one that betrayed how he felt. 

She blushed again, this time in embarrassment. “It’s not a joke...” 

Tidus took a deep breath. “No, it’s not. I’m sorry, I was just...a little shocked. Are you sure? I mean, I’m trying to get back to Zanarkand. If you don’t think I will ever get there, and so you’re taking a chance on me...” 

She shook her head. “I don’t know if you’ll go back. If you do, I’d like to go with you.” She bit her lip and looked away from him. “Truth is...I haven’t ever felt this way about someone before. I felt it the day we met, too. And it’s only grown stronger every time you made me laugh.” She bravely met his eyes. “I don’t know what the future holds for us. But this is something I can control. Something that I can choose. And I choose you. If you’ll have me.” 

Tidus scratched his head, torn. Yuna was amazing. Wonderful, beautiful, sweet, and kind. Not to mention wickedly talented as a summoner. 

But Sin. His father. Zanarkand. Would she still pick him if she knew? 

“This is your decision,” said Auron. “It doesn’t need to be rushed.”

“The next temple is Djose,” added Wakka. “It’s a ways away. But you have until then to decide. That’s the soonest we can get someone to perform the ceremony.” 

Yuna looked small. Smaller than he had ever seen her before. And it was his fault. “Hey,” he said, grasping her shoulder. “My hesitation isn’t because of you.” 

She looked at him, hope in her eyes. 

“I do like you. Kind of like you said you liked me. I noticed it a while ago, but didn’t think it was...wise to entertain it. Any man would be lucky to take you as a...wife.” He struggled with the word. “But, I just need a little time to think. I want to do what’s right. I don’t want to be a hindrance on your pilgrimage.” 

“Oh you won’t be!” Yuna insisted. 

“Yuna,” Auron stepped in. “What if...you beat Sin, and he goes back home? Would your marriage matter?” 

Yuna was quiet a moment. “I always wanted to be a summoner. Ever since I was a child. Just like my father. Marriage was a pipe dream. I know I won’t get that domestic life that everyone dreams about. But if I could entertain it, for a little while, I think it would be worth it.” 

“Who said you can’t have domestic bliss?” Asked Tidus. “Say I agree. You defeat Sin. I don’t go home. Then what? We bask in the glory of your success and return to Besaid. Or wherever you want to settle.” 

Everyone was silent, not making eye contact. 

“I mean, I have faith that we can beat Sin. I’m just saying that fantasizing about the future could be fun.” 

Lulu spoke up. “Perhaps it’s best if you thought things over. We understand where Yuna is coming from. If you want to talk things through a little more, just ask.” 

Auron nodded. “But we can talk on the road. We should get going.” 

All talk of betrothal behind them for now, the group ascended the stairs and stepped onto the plains. 

Everyone moved on, the air a mixture of tense silence and feigned normalcy. 

Tidus hung in the back, away from Yuna, feeling like the scum of the earth. 

Auron walked beside him, that mysterious quiet following him. 

“I messed up, didn’t I?” 

“She sprung that proposal on all of us. Your reaction was normal.” 

“What am I supposed to do? You know what’s going on better than anyone else. What with...Jecht and Sin. You told me not to tell her. So what’s the right thing to do?” 

“Yuna cares deeply for you. I knew it the moment I saw you together.” 

“Oh, like you’re some sort of love expert?” 

“Not a bit. But Yuna is easy to read.” 

“Yeah...she is.” 

“And you didn’t notice?” 

“It’s different when it’s you, you know?” 

“You’re just oblivious.” 

“Am not!” 

“And immature. Definitely not marriage material.” 

“Now you’re just being mean.” 

“You’re just being sensitive.” 

“Rude.” 

They fell into silence then, just following Wakka and Lulu’s lead. 

“Tidus.” He spoke softly.

“Hm?”

“Yuna is Lord Braska’s daughter.” 

“Correct.” 

“The honor of defeating Sin would make her a legend. That honor is something she’s willing to share with you.” 

“I mean, I was planning on helping her anyway. I don’t need the glory.” 

“Then I anticipate you’re a lot less selfish then some other men in this world.” 

“I...don’t follow.” 

Auron exhaled, patiently rewording his explanation. “If you don’t wed her, there’s a chance someone else would try to do so. And they might not be in it for the right reasons.” 

“...so, you’re saying I should say yes?” 

“You wanted guidance. Isn’t that why you’re walking so far back?” 

“I do want guidance. I’ve only been in Spira for a week, and I’ve already been proposed to. How’s a guy supposed to handle that?” 

He sighed. “I don’t want to screw things up for Yuna. I want to help, but if everything that I am...if what he is makes everything wrong...and it’s too late to back out, I would feel awful.” 

“Sin’s identity won’t matter. None of this will matter in the end.” 

“In the end?” 

“Once she calls the Final Aeon. Her pilgrimage is over, and it won’t matter. Being married to you, whether you stay on Spira or not, is irrelevant.” 

“If I do go back in the end, will Yuna be able to marry again? Is that legal here? Dumb question, I know...” 

“It’s legal. But she probably won’t.” 

“And she’s okay with that?” 

“Yuna knows all the consequences of her decisions. She may be naïve and hopeful, but she isn’t ignorant.” 

Before the conversation could progress, there was a growl from the tall grass before a wolf fiend leapt from its hiding place, and the guardians fell into battle. 

—

Next on the chopping block was Wakka. 

Or rather, he was the chopper, and Tidus the choppee.

He grabbed Tidus by the head, forcing his face into his armpit and nooging his head. “I told you not to go getting any ideas!” 

Tidus nearly puked, but broke out of the grapple before he could die. “And I told you no promises!” He wiped his face with his sleeve. “It’s not my fault I’m ridiculously charming.” 

Wakka huffed, “‘Ridiculously charming’ yeah right. I saw you talking on the boat. You were flirting with her!” 

“If being nice and talking to her is flirting here, then I don’t want to know what my actual flirting game looks like in your eyes.” 

Wakka rubbed the back of his head. “I should have seen this coming. Yuna doesn’t know a lot of boys her age. It was only a matter of time before she got a crush on you.”

“So because I’m her age, and around, she was bound to like me? Is that what you’re saying? Really?” 

“...you’re right. That makes Yuna sound shallow. Still...I wish it hadn’t been you.” 

“Wow, thanks a lot man. Didn’t know you had such a poor opinion of me.” 

Wakka groaned loudly, catching the attention of everyone else. He waved them on, and pulled Tidus back a little further. “You’re cool, dude. Honest. I just...do you remember the story of Lady Yunalesca and Lord Zaon?” 

“No.” 

“Well, Lady Yunalesca is the first summoner to ever defeat Sin. And she did it with her guardian, her lover and husband Lord Zaon at her side. It’s a love story that everyone fantasizes about having one day. Yuna has the capabilities to be just like Lady Yunalesca. But you...you’re no Lord Zaon.” 

“So? Maybe a Lord Zaon isn’t what she needs.” 

“What she needs is someone to support her. Someone who knows what’s going on, who doesn’t need her to hold their hand and explain everything to. I’m really not trying to be mean, brother, but that Sin toxin messing with your head is a major point against you.” 

Tidus understood exactly what he was talking about. He had gotten in plenty of hot water with people when he flubbed up some religious practice. Even simple questions were treated like heresy. 

If you couldn’t ask questions about your faith, and you just followed what everyone said, was it even your own belief? Or just blind obedience? That was something that was nagging him about Yevon. And maybe that was an indication that he would just be trouble for Yuna. 

“Yuna needs a strong, smart, level headed pillar…not a doofus.” 

“I’m not that big of a doofus.” Tidus scuffed his boot against the ground. “But I get it. My ignorance is a boo-boo.” 

“Other than that, I’ve got no complaints!” Wakka protested. “You’re nice, make some really great jokes, you’re a decent fighter and only getting better…”

“What, you put me down only so you can butter me up? Pick a mood, man!” 

“Sorry, sorry, I just…was surprised. When she proposed. I understand why, I’m just…” 

“I get it. And now I know your opinion on the matter.” 

“What did Sir Auron say?”

Tidus shrugged. “Danced around the topic. Made some good points, but ultimately decided it didn’t matter.”

“It doesn’t matter?”

“Probably as long as Yuna continues her pilgrimage, he doesn’t care about her love life. I’m definitely not going to try to stop her. She has an amazing goal ahead of her.”

“Yeah…” Wakka shrugged. “It’s a little terrifying too. Exciting to be a part of it, but...” 

“Daunting.” He finished for him. 

“Yeah. That’s a good word for it.” He rubbed his shoulders. “Anyways, if you do decide to take Yuna up on her offer, there won’t be any hard feelings, okay? Yuna makes her decisions, and she’s put this one in your hands. I can’t stop her or you.” 

“But if you could?” 

“I already told her what I told you.” 

“You told her I was a doofus?” 

“More or less.” 

“Thanks.” 

“She still proposed. My guess is she already knew.” 

“She’s at least kind enough not to say it to my face.” 

Wakka chuckled. “She’s too nice for her own good.” 

“Can I say something and you not get mad at me?” 

“No guarantees.” 

Tidus chuckled. “Remember when we were in Kilika and Dona was there, and saying all that crap, and Yuna very politely but firmly told her to move on?” 

“Yeah?” 

“It was extremely hot.” 

Wakka barked a laugh. “Glad to know you like a woman being stern with you.” 

Tidus shrugged. “Maybe. Back in Zanarkand, I had a lot of girls doing whatever they could to get with me. It got really annoying after a while.” 

“Oh, Mr. Hotshot blitzball player, star of the Zanarkand Abes! Player and most beloved bachelor, ya? Sounds like a real delusion. You must have inhaled a lot of that toxin.” 

“Yeah,” Tidus scoffed. “About a thousand years worth. I thought you were starting to believe me?” 

“I was, but then you started talking about your groupies and now I’m not so sure.” 

“Look, if you’re not going to be helpful, then I might as well go talk to someone else.” He spotted the next closest guardian and spoke a little louder. “Hey Kimahri!” 

The Ronso glanced at him, eyes narrowed in that stoic way he always was. 

“I was wondering, what’s your opinion on Yuna’s proposal? Should I say yes?” 

Kimahri lowered his head in thought, but only for a moment, before raising a large paw and whacking Tidus on the back, like you would a friend. 

Then he walked away. 

“What was that supposed to mean?” 

Wakka chuckled. “I think it’s free for interpretation.” 

—

They came across many people on the Mi'ihen Highroad. An old scholar with the dustiest voice he’d ever heard, an acolyte of Yevon named Sholanda—Shinda? Shish Kabob—Tidus could never keep these people’s names straight. A thousand years is plenty of time for words to evolve. 

And then there was Belgemine. A summoner, and a nice one, for once. A breath of fresh air compared to Dona. 

Yuna accepted the friendly spar, grateful for the chance to learn and grow. The guardians stepped back, and offered plenty of room for the magic storm that was to unfold. 

Belgemine had a new aeon to Tidus. A werewolf on fire, with nasty horns and claws. 

This must be the aeon from Kilika, though he didn’t hear what name Yuna gave hers. 

‘Hot Dog’ would have to do. 

Yuna raised her staff, and drew it back like the bow on a cello. The glyph appeared, and the summoning began. 

It was just as awe inspiring as the first time he had seen ‘Big Bird’ in Besaid, and every time after. Each direction she gave her aeon was lethal to any man or fiend, but Belgemine’s aeon took hit after hit. 

He wanted to cheer, if he hadn’t been too entranced by all the sparking lights. 

“Your mouth is open,” commented Lulu, dryly. 

He snapped it shut. “Oh. Yeah...I just can’t get over how cool these summons are. Yuna’s so talented.” 

“Her prayers are strong. The Fayth hears them, and the aeon reflects that strength. The more resolve, the more powerful the aeon.” 

“So Yuna is really determined to fight Sin, huh?” 

“Personally, I believe that she thinks she has no other option. She is her father’s daughter. What would anyone else expect of her?” 

“Kinda crappy on their part. Yuna has more merit than just who her dad is.” 

“To you and I, of course. But to the rest of Spira, a bunch of strangers, she’s a beacon of hope.” 

Tidus considered that a moment, hearing the phrase repeated time and time again. He wondered who they were trying to convince. 

“Would Yuna taking a husband blot out that beacon?”

It was Lulu’s turn to be silent, as Yuna’s aeon created a burst of light and Belgemine’s dog turned into pyreflies. 

“Yuna’s journey will not be easy. Yevon demands their summoners to never show sorrow or worry, but she is still young. She could use someone to share the burden with.” 

“So...is that a yes? I should take Yuna up on the proposal?” 

“I’m still trying to rationalize it out.” She said honestly. But the coldness in which she usually answered his dumb questions with was absent. “As a woman, who had loved and lost, there is something so simple and innocent as wanting to find your Prince Charming and live happily ever after. Not many do. The uncertainty of life on Spira doesn’t allow much for waiting and hoping.”

“So this is pretty normal? Knowing someone for a week and then proposing?” 

“For some. For Chappu and I, we thought we had plenty of time. We were both accomplished fighters, and we were sensible. There was no reason to rush. I don’t like having regrets, or wondering what things would have been different if I had made another choice. The past is the past. But, other people might have the right idea in rushing.” 

“So...yes?” 

“Are you that eager?” She smirked. 

“I don’t know! I never thought about getting married. I thought, hey, someday, if I meet the right girl...I didn’t exactly have a great example of domestic bliss in my own life. But it was something to think about when I was older. Now was for partying, flirting with the cute fans, getting my game right!” He sighed. “At least it was, until I came here. Now it’s surviving, and being prepared to take the hit for her. I...don’t even want to play blitzball anymore.” 

“So you’ve talked to the others?” 

“Yeah. Got a hard no, a vague back pat, and a ‘it doesn’t matter.’” 

She scoffed. “Men. Well? What do you want? Yuna gave you the choice.” 

“But do I choose what I want, or what’s right?” 

“They aren’t the same answer?” 

“I...honestly don’t know.”

—

They arrived at the Al Bhed inn in the evening when the sun was still high. Tidus found it greatly satisfying to see Auron not putting up with the blatant racism from Wakka, and they took out rooms for the night. One cramped room for the guys, and one for the girls. 

How would that work if he and Yuna got married? Would Lulu still stay in the room? Would she get one of her own?

It was crazy that he was even thinking about it. This wasn’t the kind of person he was. How many marriage proposals did he get daily from random girls back in Zanarkand? Dozens. 

And how often did he entertain the idea of agreeing? Not once. Sure, he soaked in the thrill and flattery of it all, but not one of those girls had made him consider taking a vow. 

So what was it with Yuna? He’d known her a little over a week, and most of that week was met with hostile glances from the other guardians. 

But she was so easy to want to protect, to want to talk to, and to be around. 

And maybe, even easy to lo—

Mm, maybe he wasn’t there yet. He definitely liked her though. But marriage!?

Sleep didn’t come easy. He was certainly physically tired, after saving Yuna from being kidnapped that morning, playing a game of Blitz, and the fight with all the fiends after…

But his mind was a wreck. For a little bit, he thought he might have had a dream—or rather, a nightmare. His old man, huge and bloated and horrible, writhing like the monster he had seen as Sin. Yuna stood near, her blue eye filled with ice, her green with fire. And she stared right at him, face unreadable with the neutral, emotionless summoner facade she always had to wear. 

“You would have your wife kill your father? How could you be so cruel?”

And then he woke up. 

Auron was gone, though Wakka and Kimahri were asleep on the other side of the room. After that disturbing vision, he doubted he would be getting any sort of sleep for a while. So he rose, and went outside to see if he could find Auron. 

The sun was setting. Auron stood just outside the Inn, watching Yuna who sat in the grass, cliff side. 

They hadn’t talked since the proposal. Things were too awkward, and he still didn’t have an answer for her. 

It seemed like Auron didn’t care, as he shoved him forward. 

Tidus pinwheeled before he could fall on his face, though the sound caught Yuna’s attention and she turned to look at him. 

“Uh--howdy?”

She smiled at him. “Couldn’t sleep either?”

“Nah, not really. Can I join you?”

She patted the grass beside her, and he sat carefully, keeping a little distance between them. 

Several moments passed in silence as Yuna stared out at the sunset. “It’s so pretty.” 

“Yeah. Real peaceful.” 

“I’d love to live in a place like this…someday. Someplace where everything seems calm and beautiful.” 

“It’s much different from back home.” 

“Yeah?”

“Yeah…my Zanarkand never sleeps…or slept. People coming and going all night long, businesses open all the time, lights replacing the moon and stars. It was a different kind of beauty.”

“I’d like to see it. At least once.” 

“Maybe you will. Who knows?”

“Yeah…who knows?”

They sat in silence, that was not unpleasant, for a few minutes, before Tidus began, awkwardly. “I’ve been thinking about your proposal. I don’t have an answer for you yet. And for that, I’m really sorry.” 

She shook her head. “Don’t be. I sprung it on you. Feel free to think things through.”

“Thank you. I was telling Lulu…back home, marriage wasn’t even in the realm of possibilities. It was all partying and Blitzball. Since coming here, I’ve had to reframe my mind.” 

She suddenly gasped. “I didn’t even think to ask you! You don’t have a girl waiting for you back in Zanarkand, do you?”

He groaned, but then laughed. “I mean, I guess I did. But I probably would have broken up with her when I got back anyway.” 

“I’m so sorry! Did you love her?”

He shook his head. “Janni was…a girl I was in school with. She asked me out. Or, she declared that we were now dating. This was before I went pro with Blitzball, when I was just playing with my school. I was shy and nervous, and when she asked me out, I was like, ‘yeah sure! I’ll date a pretty girl!’” He huffed. “She was a whirlwind of dysfunction. Not that I come from a wholesome family, but…she would always play these mind games with me. When I first went pro, she was excited for me, but then quickly turned around and said I wasn’t paying enough attention to her. Then when I would try to do nice things for her, she would claim I was being too clingy.” 

“She sounds fickle,” Yuna said, with her mouth scrunched up. 

“There was a phrase where I come from, that goes: ‘don’t stick your dick in crazy’.” 

Yuna blushed. “They speak about sex so openly in Zanarkand?” 

“Depending on the company you keep. Anyways, I never slept with her, even though I know she wanted to, just because I got this sinking feeling that something bad would happen if I did. So, she would often break up with me, and go see another man. Then when that didn’t work out, she came back and demanded that we were together again.” 

“And you just went with it?” 

“Yeah. It’s pretty dumb...we were both immature, and I made plenty of mistakes too, but I just felt like I had invested so much time with her already, that refusing her would have made all of that a waste.” 

Yuna sniffed slightly as her lip trembled. “That’s so awful.” 

“I’m sorry! I shouldn’t have brought her up! I know you said you liked me...” 

She shook her head. “That’s not it. I’m heartbroken that someone would take advantage of you like that. That she just...assumed you’d be waiting for her, so she could fool around! That’s cruel!” 

He sighed. “I don’t know why, but hearing you say that makes me feel a lot better.” 

“Tidus, you deserve to be loved and cherished.” She said it so seriously, he felt it in his chest. It made it hard to swallow. 

“Thank you, Yuna. You do too, you know?” 

She just gave him a soft smile and returned her gaze to the rapidly disappearing sun.

[damienthepious]

uhhhhhhhh TUESDAY. i’m gettin’ OLD SCHOOL.

The Rite Of Movement (Chapter 5)

[ch 1] [ch 2] [ch 3] [ch 4] [ao3]

Fandom: The Penumbra Podcast

Relationship: Lord Arum/Sir Damien/Rilla

Characters:  Lord Arum, Sir Damien, Rilla, The Keep, Original Monster Character(s), Sir Marc, Sir Talfryn, Sir Angelo, Quanyii, Sir Caroline, Original Human Character(s)

Additional Tags: Established Relationship, Engagement, Domestic, Fluff, Romantic Fluff, Poetry, Presents, (this is the MOST self indulgent tooth rotting fluff I've ever ever EVER done please enjoy), (i love my ridiculous scalie/scaley trio), Monster Customs, Dancing, Second Citadel, Post-Season/Series 02 

Fic Summary: Arum has a surprising revelation about his own feelings, and then decides to take matters into his own claws since his humans don’t seem to realize what they are denying themselves.

Chapter Summary: Continuations of two conversations.

Chapter Notes: Don't.... pay attention to how long this fic has been left hanging. Also don't..... hold me to regular updates for this in the future either, lmao i've proven myself unreliable in that context XD i swear i'm doing my best! this one is very freeform tho and sans plot i have trouble kicking things along. ALSO, EDIT, @shorter-than-her-tbr-pile inspired the second half of this chapter pretty directly!!! and i love them dearly with my whole heart!!!! aaaaaaa<3<3<3

~

“They cannot stay here,” Arum says, managing to both snarl and speak under his breath at the same time. It’s- a little impressive, actually. Rilla watches him pace a tight circle at just enough of a distance from the portal that Puck and Tetch probably can’t make out his words. “They cannot. I do not run some sort of- of halfway home for wayward miscreants, be they human or monster or- or anything else.” He pauses, then scowls darker and gestures with a hand, claws slicing the air. “And yet, they cannot leave because they have seen you and if anyone were to bring our- our- to bring us as we are to the attention of the Senate or the humans, all of our lives would be- and with the wedd-” he cuts off, shooting a suspicious look towards the portal again, where Puck appears to be examining the vines that make up the frame the magic fills.

“I am going to have to kill them,” Arum says flatly, eyes narrowing and hands clenching, and Rilla can’t help it anymore. She bursts out laughing.

“Arum- Arum we’re not going to kill them. What are you even- seriously, pay attention, here. Who would they possibly tell?” She smiles, just a little exasperation creeping into her tone. “Look at them, Arum. Look at them and tell me what these two would gain from talking to the Senate or the Citadel.”

Arum looks at Rilla, instead, for a long moment, his jaw clenched tight, and then he sighs, flicking his eyes to the mismatched pair.

Puck runs their hands along the vines of the portal, their face bright with a delighted sort of curiosity. Tetch is behind them, still out in the swamp. Within reach, tense as if anticipating a blow, anticipating the need to defend, but mostly just- watching. Watching Puck, with her head tilted just slightly to the side, her fuzzy antennae twitching.

He presses his lips together, then looks to Amaryllis again. “What does it matter,” he mutters, his tone a little stilted, “if they happen to- if they are-”

“Like us?” Rilla suggests gently.

“They are not-” Arum snaps his jaw shut again, growling low, because-

“You know that they are,” Rilla says. “I mean, I figured we couldn’t be the only ones, but- if I’m being honest I didn’t really expect that we would ever meet another-” she shakes her head. “Not the point right now. Arum, I’m not saying we should let them move in or something, but- it’s not like the swamp is tiny. If all they’re looking for is a place where they can be safe for a little while… it’s not like that would be a difficult thing to help with, would it?”

“Amaryllis-”

“They can’t tell anyone about us because anyone they would tell would hate the pair of them just the same,” Rilla says. “Honestly-” she pauses. “Honestly, Arum, aren’t you even a little bit curious? Or… or even a little bit tempted by the opportunity to talk to someone who’s gone through something like what we have?”

“No,” Arum grumbles, looking away, but Rilla steps closer and lifts a hand. He flicks his eyes to the strangers when she cups his cheek, suspicious of the scrutiny, but they don’t seem to be paying attention, so he only rumbles low in his chest and meets her eyes again. “I care about you,” he mutters. “I care about Damien. They have nothing to do with me, or us. The pair of you and my Keep are my only priorities, Amaryllis.”

Her thumb brushes soft over his cheek, and her smile goes a little more gentle. “I know,” she says, “but helping them too doesn’t take away from that. You’re allowed to do unselfish things, you know. No one here is going to make fun of you for being kind. Honestly, if you just pointed them towards a patch of swamp without any traps that they could camp in for a day or two, they’d probably be grateful enough, but- but I really think we could help more than that, don’t you?”

Arum grumbles, still standing stiffly to keep himself from gathering her close as he truly wishes to. He cannot embrace her, not while they might see, because-

The moth (Tetch, his mind supplies unhelpfully) stands close behind the human as they examine the portal, close enough to wrap a gentle wing around their shoulder like a cape, and even at this distance Arum can see the easy way that Puck leans back into that contact, the light smile that curls their lips.

He pulls his eyes away, and realizes that Amaryllis is still looking up at him, is still waiting for him to answer.

“We… could help. Theoretically.”

Rilla’s own lip curls, then, into an indulgent smirk. “Theoretically,” she echoes.

“There are…” he hesitates, eyes flicking around the room and not settling on any one thing in particular. “A number of outposts in the swamp, of course, similar to the one…”

Rilla’s smirk breaks into something softer when he hesitates again. “Like the one you brought me and Damien to, after… after Fort Terminus? Where we went to talk?”

“Y-yes,” he says. “Smaller places. Technically Keep-grown but not within its direct consciousness, without effort at the very least. Most are… hidden. Indistinguishable from the surrounding flora. Places no one would look, even if they somehow managed to penetrate the outer defenses of my swamp unseen in the first place.” He pauses, and Rilla doesn’t interrupt. She can tell he’s not quite finished, and she doesn’t wanna scare him off of this particular thought. “It… it would not be difficult, of course, to- to allow… rather… I suppose, if all they require is… is a place to exist for a short while…"

Arum pauses again, and again Rilla waits, lifting her other hand so she can cup his face. He glances towards the other pair again, and this time one of them is returning his gaze.

Or- he thought, for a moment, that they were. Puck's expression is even, curious, vaguely fond as they look at Amaryllis, something like recognition in their eyes. They do glance towards Arum, then, only the barest sliver of hope shining through them as they lean back into Tetch's wings with a very, very small smile. They drop his eyes, turning to laugh at something Tetch says in their ear, then, and Arum blinks back to himself.

Rilla waits, and Arum is grateful for her patience in a way he is never quite sure how to voice. He is grateful for every ounce of her being, though, and the small part of that gratefulness devoted to her patience is easy to lose among the whole. Arum sighs, resting his face in the safety of her palms, and then he curls his mouth into a wry sort of smile and lifts his own arms. He has wanted to hold her since he saw her in the doorway, despite his concerns.

Let them see.

Why should he be concerned? He is her betrothed now, after all, and that certainty pools warm at his center as he gathers her in his arms and tugs her against his chest. She breathes a light laugh against him, surprise and delight, one of his favorite noises in the whole of the Universe.

"… until the patch on her wing sets properly," Arum says, very quietly. "I- we will provide a place for them until then. It was my trap that damaged her- her own fault, of course, for- for trespassing, but- nonetheless, my handiwork. It seems … appropriate, to provide some… to provide some small degree of shelter. Until then."

Rilla leans back enough to look up at him, her eyes dark and warm and fond, and then she leans up to kiss him, just gently on the cheek.

"Okay," she says simply, still smiling, and then she reaches and takes two of his hands in her own, slipping her fingers between his, gently playing his digits between her own. "That sounds reasonable. C'mon, let's go let them know, yeah?"

~

“Angelo-”

“Almost there, Sir Damien! Patience for a few moments more, and all shall be revealed."

"I trust you with my life, Sir Angelo, but-" Damien ducks his head, weaving slightly to avoid thunking his head off of a stalactite. Ahead of him, Angelo moves with a deftness of foot that really should not surprise Sir Damien at this point. Sir Angelo the Strong was once simply Angelo of Quarry, after all, and he knows rocks and caverns as Sir Damien knows syllables and rhyme. "But- but we are rather deep, I think, and-"

"Oh, hardly! Why, Sir Damien, I've been in caverns a full three times deeper than this little hole, darker and with far more interesting formations of rock! We are not here for my interest today, though, my friend." Angelo grins wide over his shoulder, the light from the torch in his hand dancing orange and gold over the both of them.

"And… why are we here, exactly?" Damien tries, not for the first time, and an expression of near-comical mischief slides across Angelo's face.

"Soon!" he says by way of an answer, and then he presses his free hand over his wide grin, muffling a laugh. "Very soon, Sir Damien. Just a little further!"

"But you said that same thing," Damien pants, "ten minutes ago, I'm certain it must have been, and I would like to return to my-" he lowers his voice, despite the impossibility of being overheard in this moment, "my fiances before it is too terribly late in the evening, certainly you must understand-"

The narrow cave opens out, revealing a yawning space, an enormous wide bowl of a cavern with a cool, utterly still pool of water submerging the floor of the far half, the ceiling completely covered in wavering forms of stalactites stretching down from every corner. In the low light of the torch the water looks like glass, and the cones on the ceiling gleam with subtle moisture, and the noise of their footsteps resounds softly through the space.

"Angelo," Damien murmurs, "this place is… where are we?"

"I used to come here often when I was young," Sir Angelo says, fond and wistful, placing a hand on the uneven stone of the wall as he carefully arranges the torch to stand on its own in a crack between a pair of rocks. "I am rather boisterous even by my own family's standards, and this was one of very few places I could come where I would not prompt any number of complaints about my- well, my volume."

"Oh," Damien says gently. "Oh, Sir Angelo-"

Angelo turns, grinning wide and delighted, and he grips Damien's shoulders. "Which is why I knew it would be perfect for you, Sir Damien!"

"Er- come again?"

"You must speak your heart, Sir Damien," Angelo says, as if it is the most obvious thing in the world, and Damien-

Damien could laugh. He's said those words often enough, he supposes. It is the most obvious thing in the world.

"You are not meant to hide your love in whispers, Sir Damien. You are not meant to keep yourself so quiet, and I thought- I thought, perhaps, that you could use this place as I once did. You may speak as loudly as you wish, here, and you need not fear being overheard by anyone at all. If no one ever heard me, they will certainly not be able to hear you, Damien. Not even if you shout."

Damien blinks up at him, feeling his heart rise in his throat, and Angelo only grins a little wider, squeezing his shoulders.

"I thought, perhaps, that you might wish to shout, to make up for all those whispers."

"Angelo," Damien says, his voice wavering as he lifts his hands to grip Angelo's wrists.

Angelo's eyes sparkle with delight, and he squeezes Damien's shoulders once more before he releases them, stepping aside and patting him on the back instead.

"Now, Sir Damien," he says, his voice conspicuous and loud and his expression exaggeratedly sly, "I believe that you had news to share with me, did you not?"

"I-" Damien inhales, breathes a watery laugh, looks around at this wide, empty, private place that his best rival chose to share with him. "I- Sir Angelo, I already-"

"Come now, Damien, don't be shy! What did you wish to tell me?"

Damien presses a hand over his mouth against his own smile, pressing back against the laughter that he is certain will dissolve into tears. Angelo continues to grin, and he waves his hands in the air, encouraging and nearly giddy, stoking Damien's smile even wider.

Damien inhales, then exhales to try to soothe his overwhelmed, thrumming heart.

"I… I am going to be married," he says, and the cavern bounces his voice back to him in a subtle, soft wave. "Arum- Arum asked us to marry him. He- he wants to," Damien says, the surprise of it still coloring his tone, his voice beginning to raise as the enthusiasm wakes, shivering off his fear. "He wants us, he does, he wants us as much as we want him- he wants us to be married, Angelo, he's going to-"

Damien laughs, wild, reckless.

"I love them so, so much, Angelo, I love them with all of my heart, and they- I want to marry them, I want to be with them for the rest of my life, and they want it just the same! They want to marry me! Me, Angelo, oh Saints above, I-"

He pauses, pressing his hand over his heart, and Angelo waits, patient, his hand pressing as a gentle anchor on Damien's shoulderblade.

"I so rarely feel that I know what I am doing, Angelo. I am- so frightened. I am always so frightened, of dangers real and imagined, of failure, but- but with them I feel safe. Always. Even when they bicker, even when Rilla is exhausted and short-tempered, even when Arum and I cannot see eye-to-eye on a matter, even when I fall into the mire of my own mind, I still and forever feel safe with them, and I know- I know, beneath the terrified churning of my mind, I know in my heart that I am loved. I know that I am held beloved by them, and now I know- I know they wish to stand with me in marriage, they wish for us to pledge ourselves to our union. I am- I am held beloved by the most incredible woman I have ever met, and a regal, stubborn, glorious monster. A monster."

"A monster," Angelo echoes, steady and soft.

"I am…" Damien exhales slowly, then lifts his chin, and his next words are not a shout, but they are firm and confident and so, so proud. "I love a monster. I am loved by one in turn. My beloved flower Rilla loves and is loved by a monster just the same. I love Amaryllis, and I love Lord Arum, and I intend to love them both forever. For as long as they want me. I love them, and they love me, they do, and I- I am going to be their husband."

Angelo's eyes go bright, and his grin approaches the quality of a bonfire, and he throws his arms around Sir Damien's shoulders in a crushing hug.

"Congratulations, my friend!" he booms, his voice loud enough to rattle the space, sending droplets down from the stalactites to ripple the surface of the water. "Congratulations! I am so, so happy for you, Sir Damien. I will be so proud to witness so joyous an event!"

Damien-

His tears are as joyful as the congratulations, and Damien cannot help them in the least. He returns the fierce hug, sniffling against Angelo's shoulder as his eyes well.

"What- what did I ever do, Sir Angelo," he keens, his voice wavering hard, his throat aching, "to deserve this? To deserve to be the husband to such beautiful, radiant, loving, clever beings? What did I do? How could I ever be worthy of-"

Angelo tightens the hug, holding his best friend, best rival steady in his arms. "You loved them, Sir Damien," he says, "as much as they loved you. You loved each other, and you chose each other as your family. That is what you did."

Damien sniffles hard, burying his face in Angelo's shoulder and smiling through his tears. "And you as well," he manages, and Angelo makes a questioning noise. "You are my family too, Sir Angelo. Thank you. For this. For- for standing beside me in every dire conflict, for always encouraging me to grow, to strive, for-"

Angelo lifts, and as Angelo hugs him tight, Damien kicks his feet in the air with a squeaking startled laugh.

[somenewsarah]

Betrothed

Requested: Yes: “Draco x raven claw reader, betrothed. She is a pure blood, her parents didn’t mind muggles until her mother was murdered by one during a trip to the muggle world. Her father grew cold and distant. He has some political power, so the Malfoys thought this would be a good time to approach him with the offer. The reader doesn’t mind it too much since she wants to make her father happy, but it’s complicated. Fred and George show her a time pranking people and she seems to form a crush on them.”

Pairing: Draco Malfoy x Ravenclaw!Reader with bits of Weasley twin love c:

Warnings: Mentions of death, arranged marriage

Genre: Angst? With bits of fluff?

Word Count: 3K

A/N: I actually really loved this request, and I’m thinking about either doing a part 2 to this one, or making it a little series! Let me know what you guys thing and what you want!

Feet up, head back, eyes closed. The perfect way to spend your days inside the Ministry department. Your father is the head of the Magical Transportations department, and although you’re out of school for summer, you spend most of your days here, your nose stuck in a book.

 “Y/N,” your father says, tapping on his desk which your feet are resting on. You pick your head up, raising your eyebrow. “Help keep me on track, yes? We should be gone here by five o’clock, no later. We must meet your mother for dinner.”

 You nod, turning your attention back towards the ceiling. Your fifth year at Hogwarts had treated you well. You spent a lot of time in the library with your unlikely friend Hermione Granger. Together, you’d studied enchantments and spells as well as curses and hexes. You knew what they’d been up to, of course. In your opinion, they made it quite obvious.

 One of your closest friends, Luna Lovegood joined Harry Potter’s new group, Dumbledore’s Army, as well as a few of your fellow Ravenclaws, but you couldn’t be bothered to join it. It wasn’t really something you thought you needed. If the time came to stay and fight for Hogwarts, you would do what you had to do. You always would.

 Five o’clock rolls around slower than you would’ve liked, and soon, you’re on your way home with your father.

~

“So,” your mother starts. “I have an assignment.”

“Assignment?” Your father asks, raising an eyebrow at her.

 Although your family is a pureblood family, none of you showed a particular interest in the dark arts. Well, not until recently, anyways. Your mother found she needed something more in her life- something to fulfill a space that you nor your father could ever understand. So, she starts going to secret meetings, traveling, having these ‘assignments’ that must be fulfilled. At first, you suspect an affair, but after a while, it seems your father is in on the meetings and the assignments, but they keep it all from you.

 “Yes. I’m to go to the muggle world and follow traces of other dark wizards that are threatening our safety,” she explains. She eyes you carefully, but you say nothing.

 “Why wouldn’t they just get aurors to do it?” Your father asks, picking at his food. The thought dawns on you.

 “Because this isn’t an assignment from the Ministry,” you say, keeping your head low. Silence follows.

~

The next morning, after receiving your Hogwarts letter for your sixth year and having breakfast with your parents, you kiss your mother goodbye as she departs for her journey to the muggle world.

 “Please be careful,” you say, hugging her tightly. “Don’t try and be a hero, okay?”

 “I promise,” your mom smiles, kissing your forehead gently. “Take care of your father, make sure you write to him while you’re in school. He gets lonely all by himself.”

 “He has his work,” you snort. “But I will. How long will you be gone?”

 “Just a few months. But I’ll be back before you know it, okay? If things get bad, I’ll come back early.”

 Your father joins the two of you, holding your mother’s bags in his hands. He sets them on the floor quickly and wraps you both in a hug.

 “Hurry back to us.”

~

With your pockets full of galleons, you head to Diagon Alley to purchase your supplies for the coming year. The brightness of the alley has slimmed drastically- everything seems dead and lifeless, except for one corner. Weasley’s Wizard Wheezes.

 You push the door open, and the shouts and giggles fill the air, livening up the dead scene outside. You wander around the store, looking for any of your friends or anyone you even considered an acquaintance, but there were so many people packed inside that you couldn’t distinguish any faces.

 “Y/N!” Hermione bellows, waving at you over the sea of people. You can’t help the grin on your face as you push your way over to her, eyeing the love potion in her hand.

 “Should I be worried?” You laugh, gesturing to the pink potion.

 “Oh, Merlin, no,” she laughs, placing it back on the shelf. “I was just admiring the potion-making, is all. Fred and George have really outdone themselves with this place. It’s incredible.”

 “It really is. Fred and George are the Weasley twins, right?” You ask, peering around to see if you could spot them. “I don’t think I’ve properly met them.”

 “Oh, they’re right back here! Come on, I’ll introduce you.” Hermione grabs your hand, pulling you through the sea of Hogwarts students, all there for a different reason. She pulls you behind a curtain and up a small flight of stairs. There, sitting in the stairwell, are the Weasley twins. “Fred, George, I wanted to properly introduce you to my friend Y/N. She was instrumental in helping the DA last term.”

 “Any friend of Hermione’s is a friend of ours. I’m George,” the twin on the right says, sticking out his hand.

 “Oh, thanks,” you smile. “Y/N.”

 “Fred Weasley,” the twin on the left says. You shake both of their hands, then look down at what’s in their lap. A small box sits between them, and they slowly deposit galleon after galleon, knut after knut.

 “This really is quite the place,” you say, looking over the railing at the store below. “How long did it take to amass such an inventory?”

 “We’ve been developing for years,” Fred, you think, says. “Started when we were just in our first year. Had a few setbacks with mum throwing out our stuff.”

 “This started with… pranks?”

 “Oh yes,” Hermione says, laughing like she’d had her fair share of Weasley pranks.

 “If you ever need a good idea for a prank, you know where to find us,” George winks. “It’s our favorite pastime.”

~

School begins, and soon, you’re so swept up in classes and Lord Voldemort, and your absent mother that you don’t even realize that you’d stopped writing to your father.

 “I’m sure he understands,” Luna says, her voice as dreamy and wispy as ever. “You’re not the only one who’s busy, you know. He does work for the Ministry.”

 “Yeah,” you start. “I suppose I just feel bad because I promised that I would write to him before my mom left.”

 “When is she coming back?”

 “I don’t know,” you say, shaking your head. She’d only really been gone for a few weeks, though it felt like ages from having not heard from her.

 “Mail is here,” Luna says. You look around, but it only takes a few minutes for the owls to swoop down. Somehow, she always knows. Your miniature barn owl, Didgy, drops a small letter into your lap. You pet her affectionately, and she gives your finger a grateful nip before taking flight back to the owlry.

 “It’s from my father,” you say. “I’m sure I’m gonna get it big time for not writing soon enough.”

 But you don’t. In fact, he hadn’t even noticed that you hadn’t been writing, because he’d received some awful news from the muggle law enforcement. Your mother had been found lying face down in a small lake, dead.

 You set the letter down, fighting to remind yourself to just breathe. All you must do is breath. You cover your mouth with your hand, choking back a sob that builds in your throat. You know your eyes are watering, but you don’t make a move to wipe them, not wanting to draw unnecessary attention to yourself.

 “It can’t have been that bad,” Luna says. She reaches across the table and picks up the note. Her eyes scan it, and she folds it carefully and places it back on the table. “Death is such a funny thing. It’s never the same for anyone.”

 ~

The funeral is bleak, and there are several people there that you don’t even know. Your black dress skims the floor as you stand next to your mother’s casket, hugging person after person as they approach you, offering their own condolences.

 The hollow feeling in your stomach doesn’t move. It sits there, festering inside of you, starting a fire for something you don’t even understand yet. But, you pull it together, holding your father’s hand as he stands next to you, stoic and pale, a hollow shell of the man he used to be.

 You look around the funeral, noticing a man with long, white blond hair staring at your father. He taps his cane once, then turns on his heel. You watch as your father watches him.

 “Y/N, I’m so sorry for your loss,” Harry Potter says, approaching the casket and you. “I’m here, should you need to talk.”

 “Thanks, Harry,” you say, trying your hardest to muster a small smile. In fact, you see several of your Hogwarts classmates. Luna, Hermione, Harry, and Ron all came together, followed by Mr. and Mrs. Weasley, there to offer their deepest of sympathies to your father.

 “Hey, you,” George says, walking up to you. He wraps you in a quick hug squeezing you gently. Your father still hadn’t returned. “How’re you holding up?”

 “Um,” you start, your eyes filling with tears at the unexpected question. “Yeah, I’ve um, I’ve been better.”

 “I’m so sorry,” Fred says, wrapping you in a hug next. “Please, if you need anything, we’re always at the shop, and we’re always here for you.”

 “I just wish I could find a way to make today a little brighter,” you say, mustering a small laugh.

 “Well, lucky for you, I think we might could help you with that,” George says, a gleam in his brown eyes. You tilt your head, looking up at him. “We’ve been testing something, and if you want, we could put it to the test.”

 “What is it?” You ask.

 “It’s a Memory Marble,” Fred explains. “The person who eats it will automatically share their most recent memory of the first person they see.”

 “That sounds like it could easily go awry,” you say, wringing your fingers together.

 “Or very well,” George smiles.

 “Alright, let’s do it.”

 Fred and George allow two people at a time to come up to the casket, and they offer them their own marbles. One by one, you hear stories about your mother from people you never knew existed. About times she was drunk off firewhiskey and danced on a table at the Leaky Cauldrin, or how on your parents’ wedding day, they were so busy dancing in the bridal room that they were both late to their own wedding, and almost lost the officiant. You heard stories about falling outs with your parents, about how they wished they’d stayed in touch after school, or how their school days were the greatest.

 Time flew, and soon, your father was back at your side, listening in to everyone’s stories like it was the first time he was hearing them himself.

 ~

 “We need to have a talk,” your father says. He sits down at the head of the table and loosens his tie. You’re set to return to Hogwarts the following day, but were spending the night with your father. The funeral ended on a positive note, all thanks to Fred and George Weasley, and you were satisfied that your mother would’ve loved it.

 “What is it? Does this have to do with the blond man?”

 “Yes, “he starts. He holds a glass of bourbon in his hand, sipping it slowly. “I don’t know if I’m going to be able to provide a life for you that your mother would’ve wanted, so I’ve made an arrangement for you.”

 “What do you mean?” You ask, pulling out the seat to the right of him.

 “When you are of age, you are to marry Draco Malfoy. I’ve made the deal with Lucius, and we both think it’ll be mutually beneficial for all parties involved.”

 Your heart sinks, and for some reason unbeknownst to you, you think of the red-headed twins and how the possibility of ever being happy seems so hard to grasp. Draco Malfoy is a crude Slytherin in your year, and it’s rumored that he’s working very closely with the Dark Lord and is currently a Death Eater, and that alone scares you beyond belief.

 Your mother’s last words to you float through your head. ‘Take care of your father.’

 Maybe this is your way of taking care of him. So, swallowing your own pride and fear and regret, you nod. Your father sighs, taking another sip of the amber liquid that sloshes in his glass.

 “Am I to meet him anytime soon?” You ask, a small lilt in your voice.

 “Lucius is arranging a date to Hogsmeade this coming weekend when you return to school. It’ll only be you and Draco, so maybe it’ll be a good chance to get to know him,” he shrugs. His eyes are darker than usual as he straightens up. He doesn’t meet your eye. “I hope you know I’m doing this for your own good. The Malfoys aren’t bad people, despite their past. They can give you a prosperous future.”

 With that, he stands from the table and retires to his room, stopping only once at the cart in the parlor to refill his glass.

 Sighing to yourself, you take your leave.

 ~

Draco Malfoy isn’t at all what you expected. He’s very formal and polite. He holds the door open for you, offers you an extra coat for the long trek to Hogsmeade, which you gladly accept. It smells of rich cologne and some sort of musk that is nice, but you can’t quite put your finger on.

 “I’m sorry about your mother,” he says, looking over at you as the two of you walk through the snow.

 “It’s alright,” you swallow, keeping your eyes low. “Could we maybe not talk about that?”

 “Sure,” Draco nods, shoving his hands in his pockets. “Before I say anything else, I also want to say I’m sorry for my father’s behavior at the funeral. He pounces on deals before he thinks them through.”

 “And here we are,” you laugh.

 “Here we are,” he repeats. He looks over at you, and you catch his eye. He’s actually quite handsome, with white blond hair just like his father’s, but his falls differently. It’s unruly and flops onto his forehead under his snow cap, and his eyes are a grey color that intrigue you.

 “I suppose we should make the most of it,” you offer. You extend your hand to him, and he takes it carefully, almost testing the waters between the two of you.

 You make it into Hogsmeade not ten minutes later, but the ten minutes are filled with conversation about the both of you. Draco wanted to know everything. Where you were born, what your favorite book is, how you feel about the uprising of the Dark Lord, where you stand on the issue of House Elves. You asked him similar questions, and found that you had a lot in common.

 You enter the Three Broomsticks together, laughing at something Draco said. He helps you out of your coat as you shake the snow out of your hair.

 “Y/N!” Someone bellows over the crowd. You look around, spotting the Weasley twins. “Hey, come sit with us!”

 “Actually,“ you start, but Draco cuts you off.

 “Sorry, Weasley, she’s with me,” he bites. It was a side to him that you’d heard about often, but not one that he’d been advertising with you. You look over your shoulder at him, then back at Fred and George. Your heart aches to go sit with them, prank with them, just to feel as alive as you did the first time you stepped into their store, but you hold your tongue.

 “I’m actually good friends with them,” you start. “So, if you don’t mind maybe being a tad more pleasant?”

 “Uh- I- yeah, I’m sorry,” he flounders. His cheeks pink up. “I didn’t know.”

 “That’s alright. I know this isn’t really ideal for either of us,” you start carefully. “And I know that I’m a pureblood and I should care about that, but I really really don’t. It would really help me adjust if you treated people with common decency, and if there’s anything I can do to help you, I’ll be sure to work on it.”

 Draco’s mouth falls slightly open, but he quickly composes himself. He folds his hand on the table as Madam Rosmerta brings around a tray of two butterbeers.

 “Mr. Malfoy,” she smiles, setting one down in front of the both of you. “Enjoy.”

 “Do you always get the royal treatment?” You ask, eyeing the warm beverage. “I mean, don’t most people order their own drinks and bring them back to the table?”

 “Father planned this,” he explains. He’s silent for a moment, then reaches across the table and takes your hands in his own. “I will try my hardest to be ‘decent,’ as you say, if you will do something for me. This will be easier on both of us if you wipe any preconceived notions of me out of your mind. I have an awful task to achieve this year, and it might be a little easier if you helped me. I know it’s a lot to ask, and I would understand if you went running for the hills, but I’m sitting before you right now, telling you that I’m willing to make this work with you if you are. If something happens after this is all over and you find me foul, then so be it.”

 Your eyes dart between his eyes and the hands that are clasped around yours. You soak in his words, your heart pounding against your chest. You know what the task is, your father told you before you left for Hogwarts, but you never imagined Draco would ask you to help him with it. You move your head to the side, your eyes locking with George Weasley’s. He offers you a weak smile before turning back to Fred.

 Sighing to yourself, you turn back to Draco.

 “Alright,” you nod. “Let’s do this. Let’s make it work.”

 You would take care of your father no matter what, and if this is how he wanted you to do it, then so be it.

@hecatemacbeth7