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wonderbias · 1 year ago

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Bang Bang (My Baby Shot Me Down) - Chapter One

Pairing: Aemond Targaryen x OC (Visenya Targaryen)

Warnings: MDNI, +18, language, violence, manipulation, sexism (style a la medieval), blood, angst, kinda dark?, kinslayer Aemond.

AN: The dividers are from @itbmojojoejo. Their work is awesome, and they make one of the prettiest dividers I've seen. Any questions/asks/any kind of message, feel free to contact me. Enjoy!

Dearest daughter, I've accepted the terms. You are right, as always, and this war will only lead to more losses. I cannot say that your father is of the same opinion, but I managed to convince him. We've lost too much…and I am a selfish woman, I cannot bear to lose another one of my children. I'll be seeing you in two weeks and I only pray for the time to go by faster. All my love for you, my sweet girl. Mother.

Visenya, All is fucked, sister. Mother and Daemon are devastated, she took the only thing that kept him away from his grief: the war, and he's fucking pissed. Joffrey pulled a joke on him…didn't work. Baela cut her hair short…nobody bat an eye. Rhaena, I'm so worried for her, before he was her betrothed Luc was her friend…the tear marks seem like they are permanent on her face. This war has taken their strength to live and, honestly, I don't give a shit about the Throne (like, Aegon can get impaled on a sword and I wouldn't care) when my family is suffering. I wish things were like before. All of us playing on the beach, Luke alive and you not married to the Kinslayer. I've tried…like you asked me, but he took our brother Vis…and, as much as I wish for him to be dead, I know it wouldn't be possible without hurting you in the process. So I'll be visiting the Red Keep for one last time…and you're welcome to visit me and Baela (she misses you too) in Driftmark. I need you. I need my sister. I miss you. But don't ever ask me again to make a truce with Aemond. Jace.

The Red Keep had never been livelier.

The walls had been covered with more heraldry of the Seven but also the old Targaryen and Valyrian decorations had been placed back. Servants ran quickly through the halls, carrying food or clothes; the King's Guards armor had been polished until it shined like silver under the sun.

The new Targaryen heraldry hung proudly at the entrance of the Great Hall, and inside it was filled with more. It was truly a lavish and expensive Targaryen party, a banquet and hunting celebration for the newfound peace in the Realm.

But Aemond paid attention to the details…

Like the green drapes, or the green tablecloths. The maids and servants were also in green, and the whole family had expensive clothes made in green for the occasion.

It was a Targaryen party, yes, but the Hightowers were the ones celebrating the rendition of Rhaenyra.

When he walked into the Great Council, everyone turned to look at him. An already drunk Aegon smiled -the same disgusting smile he had given Aemond before making fun of him-.

"There he is, Mother. Ask him and don't bother me," Aegon said as he raised his cup to be filled.

Her mother's tense gaze found his eye, "Is it true?"

His tongue poked his cheek while he sat down, his grandfather calculated eye didn't leave him, "Is what true?"

"That Alys Rivers has come as the Lady of House Strong," there was a plea in Alicient's eyes.

His face was devoid of any expression, "Aegon legitimized her and she's an ally. I don't see any problem." His fingers moved to touch the pad of his thumb. Once. Twice. Thrice.

Alicient's face fell, her heartbeat pounding in her ears and desperation creeping up her muscles. Her face turned to her father, but he didn't return her look, Aegon seemed preoccupied by the fact that the wine didn't last too much. Was she the only sane person here?

"Aemond, if they find out-"

"I'm taking her as a second wife. The official version will be that Visenya is barren…and that she wasn't able to give me an heir," his tone was flat and devoid of any kind of emotion.

His mother looked like the Stranger had appeared in front of her eyes.

Then Aegon laughed, a loud and unfunny sound, one that the maids knew well when he forced himself upon them, "You fucker! You're really humiliating our sister! Oh, Aemond, I never knew you were this funny!"

His mother grabbed her necklace, the points of the Star digging in her skin, "This isn't right. Rhaenyra will think that this is an insult…all of this will be for nothing…"

"If I may speak, my Queen," Lord Larys whispering voice was finally heard, "It is not a bad idea. It would weaken Princess Rhaenyra's claim even more."

"Rhaenyra and her family are coming to sign a peace treaty. We are walking on thin ice with them, and it is only by your wife's intervention that we have come to this point. If she comes to sign and finds her only daughter, unhappy and surrounded by rumors of infertility, with her husband taking a second wife…I'm afraid she'll have enough reason to put our heads on pikes," Alicient remarked, her voice trembling at the thought of everything going wrong.

There was a silence in the room, only interrupted by Aegon sipping sounds. For a King he has the manners of a drunken peasant.

"Prince Aemond will wed Alys Rivers a fortnight after the signing of the treaty. You must not be seen in public with the woman," the Hand finally spoke, calculating eyes fixed on Aemond.

Alicient's mouth went agape, "Father you surely-"

"This is for the sake of the Realm, my Queen. Besides, the Princess has no lands to her name…while Lady Alys does. Your son will be the next Lord of Harrenhall…you must think with perspective," the tone of his voice made Alicient blush and sit back on the chair.

From the corner of his eye Aemond noticed Aegon's smile…he took great joy at seeing his mother reprimanded like some little girl. Maybe that explained why he let their grandfather rule in his name.

Aemond stood, "If that's all, I shall retire. My King."

He didn't wait for Aegon's dismissal to leave.

As soon as the door opened, Aemond was greeted with the sun peeking through the curtains and the room filled with his wife's perfume.

They had been moved to bigger chambers after their marriage, ones that his mother had cautiously decorated in black and red, to try to make Visenya feel at home. The last rays of sunlight made it look more spacious and the view to the Blackwater Bay gave the sensation of being on the edge of the world…where nothing could stop you and nothing could reach you.

He walked into the room, his footsteps resounding in the emptiness of the chamber, and stopped at one of the chairs in front of the window.

"Wife," was all he said.

The woman in the chair turned, "Husband."

Visenya Targaryen was everything a woman of their house was supposed to be. Her beauty could only resemble that of the Goddesses of Old Valyria, with high cheekbones, plump lips and a soft straight nose. Her hair was the same shade of her mother's, but longer and always styled with intricate braids, while her eyes were a bright purple.

Sometimes Aemond wondered if her beauty was what made her so hard to love.

She was ethereal, a true beauty with impeccable manners, a proud daughter of Old Valyria.

He had been ecstatic when their engagement had been announced. Aemond Targaryen, the scarred prince, was to wed the most beautiful maiden House Targaryen had seen in years? A pure Valyrian bride just for him?

It was as if the Gods were compensating him for his losses, for his place in birth, for the lack of love he had.

So he had married her. Bedded her. Made her scream his name in pleasure, over and over again.

He had found a partner, the friend he had always needed, and a lover…all in the same person.

They were happy.

But shit happens.

After his father had died, his mother had ordered for her to be locked in their rooms. Visenya had asked him, day after day, to set her free, to let her write to her mother, to use her as a messenger and a bridge for peace.

Otto had dismissed her and so had Alicient, when she had asked for reason, to let her intervene. Aemond had talked with his wife, over and over again, trying to convince her to stay quiet and to obey.

But she was too much like…them.

And then, Storm's End had happened.

Water dripped from his thick coat and from his hair while he walked through the hallways to their chambers.

He knew he had a report to make, but right now he needed…he needed peace.

When the doors closed behind him, he started to undress, his clothes leaving a puddle of water on the floor.

He needed them out. It…it felt like the water was pulling him down like…

Like the tides over Luke's body…

Gods…he hadn't meant to. No, no, he didn't kill him, Vhagar attacked Arrax…yes, Vhagar had defended herself and her rider…she was old, surely everyone would understand…and she was a war dragon…she had tried to protect him…Arrax should…should have flown faster…but…maybe it was Luke's fault…who takes a dragon like that in the heavy rain? Yes, it…it was Luke's fault…

"Aemond…?" her voice sounded from the spot on their bed. "Aemond what…? What happened? You're dripping wet!"

Her footsteps resounded in their chamber and, suddenly, she was in front of him, her hair shining gold from the light of the candles. Her hands helped him take off his clothes quickly and covered him in dry clothes, her mouth moved but he couldn't understand her words.

He shook his head, trying to focus on her soft voice while her hands worked on him.

"...and you're gone. What's happening? Please, Aemond, tell me…I'm going mad and my husband leaves without telling me to Gods only know where and-"

"Storm's End," was his shaky answer. Gods, he was freezing.

Visenya furrowed her brows and moved him closer to the fire, her hands rubbing his chest to warm him, "What were you doing there?"

It was obvious she was deceiving herself, she knew what had happened the past days…there could only be one reason for his presence in Storm's End.

Still, his mouth and his mind weren't in the same rhythm, he had never been this cold, "Allies…Luke."

Her brows furrowed even more as she understood the meaning: he had been sent by his brother to seek an alliance with House Baratheon, her mother had apparently had the same idea so she sent Luke there too.

"Oh…" what more could she say? Every word she spoke about this matter left her in a more dangerous position. "I'll give you some wine to warm you up."

She moved off him and went to the little table where the pitcher and two cups were, after filling one she returned by his side and helped him drink, "Well…maybe this…this will bring a peaceful solution. I'm sure Luke will-"

"He had an accident," the wine had helped him get warmer…and to make his tongue loose.

At that, he felt her body stiffening and she moved to look him straight in the eye, "Luke…what? Is he alright?"

"He fell off his dragon…to the sea," was his only answer.

A gasp left her lips, her hands already shaking, "What? H-How?!"

When he didn't answer, her hands went to the collar of his shirt. The tears were already coating her beautiful face…she looked like the statue of The Maiden crying for losing her virtue, "What happened Aemond?! Tell me?!"

His hands gripped her wrists, his voice coming now a little more stable, "Calm down, woman. It…it just…happened."

Her cries were heartbreaking, "Why?! He…He was just a child! How…how did it happen?"

He moved to wrap his arms around her, her tears wetting his neck, "He fell off his saddle…Arrax was already dead."

They stayed like that for a few moments, hugging each other tightly. It had been a horrible accident…but Luke had should known better than to fly with-

"What do you mean that Arrax was already dead, Aemond?" her voice was only a whisper, her hands slowly falling from his shoulders while her head moved away from his neck. When her eyes found his she pulled away, eyes wide open and her lips curved into a sinister sneer, as if she couldn't control her face and emotions.

"I-I…" his mouth opened and closed, not knowing how to answer his wife. What could he tell her? "He…Arrax came too close to Vhagar…and his fire hurt Vhagar so…she chased him…"

Her nostrils flared and her eyes still shined with tears, "You fucker…tell me the truth."

Suddenly, their doors opened and Alicient came running , followed by Aegon and the Hand, the older woman's face contorted in pain and…anger.

"What did you do?! You cursed us all!" his mother's hands grabbed his face painfully.

"Mother I-" she didn't gave him time before a slap hit his scarred side.

Aegon was already laughing, delighted in the pain of others, "Oh, niece. My condolences. If you miss your younger brother search in Vhagar's mouth…some people say that his Velaryon cape is between her teeth. Keep it as a memory, your King allows it."

A toe curling scream was her only answer, her hands going to her chest…as if wanting to rip her heart out.

After that he had given her space while he distracted himself with his brother's duties. After a few weeks she had allowed him to touch her, some weeks later she had finally allowed him to bed her again. But there was something missing…

After that, fucking her had become something distant, her presence a memory of his new gained title and, slowly but surely, every little thing about her that he held dear in his heart just…turned into things he despised.

That's why when he had met Alys it had been easy to let her into his bed, and not only her some other women too. He found himself enjoying their touch upon his skin, his confidence coming back. After all…what better thing than to carry a Targaryen bastard?

Alys had been so different to Visenya, always answering his demands and searching for his company.

Alys knew the hardships of the world, knew how unfair it was and how hard one had to fight to be heard. Her drive and ambition was what had pulled him to her, the fact that she was everything that his mother would hate in a woman made it even more exciting, a witch that wasn't afraid to play with magic to get what she wanted.

Visenya wasn't like that.

She had been handed everything in a silver platter. Name it, she had it. Love, richness, luxurious clothes and people kneeling at her feet.

A mother that loved her, a grandfather who had loved her even more than he had loved his own daughter, three father figures that protected her and loved her fiercely.

A dragon. Because of course that Visenya had to claim Silverwing at seven namedays.

(His father had thrown a feast for a week after that. Everyone already calling her "the Good Princess")

Even his own mother loved Visenya, her hate always directed to the bastards, one could see it in the way Alicient's eyes shined with nostalgia and love every time the Queen looked at her.

He took a deep breath and sat beside her, "Visenya, I need you to listen-"

She held up a hand, she didn't like to be interrupted when writing.

He closed his mouth and pressed his lips tightly, for a few seconds the only sound that was heard was that of her quill against parchment. His fingers tapped rhythmically the arm of the chair, impatiens growing on him.

The door opened and two servants walked with their hands full of clothes, but they knew better than to be seen or heard. Their light footsteps were added to the sounds in the room.

Finally, her quill stopped moving, "Sorry, Aemond. I didn't mean to interrupt you, please, tell me."

His jaw clenched a few times, "Tomorrow your mother arrives and, I'm sure, she will hear of our troubles-"

"Troubles that all couples have," her lilac eyes were soft. This is weird.

"Yes. But, as I was saying, if she's displeased, the Peace Treaty is in danger and we can't afford that, can we?" his tone was condescending, as if speaking with a child.

Because you are a child, always sticking your nose where it isn't called.

To his surprise her hands moved to grasp his softly, "Aemond…I'm sorry."

"F-For what?" just what was she saying?

"I haven't been the best wife for you. I placed a blame on you because I was angry and torn with grief, and that was wrong and uncalled for. Day by day, I ask myself 'what could have been if…?' but recently I have started to ask myself 'What can I do now?'

But now I know: we have to work for our future. And my future is with you, giving you babies and loving them. And loving you…I have never stopped loving you. So, I'm asking you for another chance, to give our marriage a second chance for love."

His mouth was closed but his eye was wide open, confusion and surprise mixed in the lilac of his eye, "I…"

Be calm. Be calm. Be calm.

A sigh left her lips and her hands gave him a soft squeeze, "Think about it, please. We…can take one step at a time…so that we can remember why we fell in love with each other."

She stood up and grabbed her letter, then leaned down to kiss his forehead, her sweet and fruity perfume invading his nose.

When the door had closed behind her and the maids, he went in search of the pitcher and took a great swig of wine.

What the fuck was that?

Rhaenyra arrived the next day.

On dragon back, obviously.

He saw his mother swallow and close her eyes in a quick prayer at the roaring of the dragons, Helaena beside her with her usual disperse demeanor and Aegon sitting on the chair at the head of the table looking…well, absolutely miserable. The only one who looked truly happy was Otto: he could swore he had never seen his grandfather's smile. The rest of the Councilmen were present, the Lords barely holding their excitement at the perspective of "Maegor with teats" kneeling.

The Great Hall was covered on Aegon's and Rhaenyra's heraldry, a symbol of the union and peace between the two factions of House Targaryen, and a huge banner of the red dragon in a black background was displayed behind Aegon. Just for this occasion, they all were wearing black and red.

"You should have brought your wife, Aemond. That would make Rhaenyra feel…at ease," whispered Alicient, her hand against her chest.

He bit his tongue before answering, "She didn't want to be here, mother."

Visenya and him had spoken the night before about this and she had expressed her desire to not be present at the moment of signing the treaty, a frown and sadness in her face as she said it.

Just then, the doors opened and then his half-sister appeared, followed by his uncle and their offspring. It was evident that no one except Rhaenyra wanted this: Daemon had a expression of disgust and his hand was at the pommel of Dark Sister, ready for a fight; Jacaerys seemed like he would rather swallow shattered glass than being here, and his betrothed had the same expression, and Lord Corlys looked absolutely furious…another chance lost for the Velaryons for their "blood" to sit on the Throne.

The expression on Rhaenyra's face was…shocking, to say the least. She looked like the shell of the woman he had met and heard of, her lilac eyes seemed…lifeless.

He was surprised to see the twin of Ser Erryk move forward, "Queen Rhaenyra, first of her name, Queen of the Andals, the Rhoynar, and the First Men. Lady of the Seven Kingdoms. Protector of the Realm."

They all watched as she walked forward, followed by two members of her Queensguard and Daemon, until she was face to face with Aegon.

"Brother."

"Sister."

In an extremely surprising act of manners, Aegon had offered his sister his arm. If Rhaenyra was shocked by it she hid it very well, the only sign of her surprise was a slight twitch on her mouth corner, and her hand placed on top of his arm, accepting his offer.

When they finally reached the table, where two parchments and two quills waited for them, Otto couldn't hold back and finally spoke, "It is a wise decision Princess. You are preventing unnecessary bloodshed."

Daemon looked ready to go over the man and make mincemeat out of him.

"Then my baby and my son were blood that needed to be spilled?" her voice was filled with anger despite it's tone.

She turned around to look at Aemond, pure hate in her eyes. It was obvious that Otto had fucked up and the treaty hung on a thin thread.

Alicient moved forwards as a last attempt to stop violence before it began, her hands clasped on the front of her gown and already bloody, "No one is implying that, Princess. We mourn the deaths of Princess Visenya and…Prince Lucerys, we are family after all."

Daemon scoffed and muttered "fucking cunt".

Taking advantage of the distraction, Aegon's Master of Laws moved forward, "If I may interrupt, your highnesses, we should proceed with the signing."

He handed Rhaenyra her copy of the treaty and motioned to a chair. After her eyes scanned those of Aemond and Alicient, she moved and sat down on the offered chair. Her eyes moved along the parchment, her face still devoid of any emotion as she analyzed the contents. After what felt like hours she reached for the quill.

That was it. That was the moment they were all waiting…the moment where she would finally renounce any claim for her and for her line.

"Is there any reason why my daughter is not here?" she asked no one in particular.

Alicient's eyes opened wide and her mouth opened and closed a few times.

"My wife didn't want to be present," Aemond stepped forward.

Daemon raised an eyebrow, "And why is that?"

Rhaenyra placed a hand on the parchment and looked at the Dowager Queen, "I will sign…but I would like to see my daughter. Surely you can understand…"

The soft and broken lilac eyes melted Alicient and she found herself incapable of denying a mother that simple plea -after all, Rhaenyra had lost two children and her only daughter was the one that tried to mend things between the two factions-.

The Dowager Queen searched Aemond's face but it was Aegon who gave the order, "Brother, go and fetch your wife. Now."

Aemond took a deep breath and nodded, before turning on his heels and walking out of the Great Hall, the path to the chambers on Maegor's Holdfast took him some time.

The door was unguarded -he had ordered all the white cloaks and yellow cloaks to be on guard earlier that day- so he twisted the knob for himself.

The chamber was dark, someone had pulled the curtains blocking the sunlight, "Visenya? Your mother requests your presence…"

Silence.

He walked in and tried to navigate, as best as he could, in the darkness of their room.

"Visenya?" He repeats again.

Nothing.

By the corner of his eye he noticed a thin strip of light, so he walked to it and extended a hand, making contact with the thick cloth of the curtains.

With a movement of his arm, he pulls the curtains away, light invading the room and hitting every corner. Things are just like he left them this morning: a linen shirt on the back of a chair, the teapot and two cups on the table against the window, and one of his daggers on the nightstand.

But there's one thing that has changed.

His wife is nowhere in sight.

The sixth day of the seventh month - 127 AC I proposed. I have never heard of a woman who propositions a man -not a decent one, at last. But I did. I proposed to my uncle. And he said yes. His beautiful purple eye opened wide in shock when I asked him…as if he couldn’t believe it and then he grabbed me by my neck and asked if I was playing a game, that he would take one of my eyes if I kept on teasing him. I was not. I confessed my feelings. How I had always loved him -first as a sweet boy, now as a woman can love a man-, how I mourned for him when my brother took his eye, and how I wished for him to be my King Consort when my mother died. I told him I loved him. He kissed me, and was not soft, his mouth on mine was demanding, but his hands on my hips were gentle, as if I was made of the finest porcelain. He is the only one I desire. The only one I will love for the rest of my days. Even if he does not know it, my heart already belongs to him.

Taglist: @snh96

#aemond targaryen #aemond targaryen fanfic #hotd fanfic #aemond targaryen x you #aemond targaryen x original character #aemond targaryen x oc #aemond targaryen x reader #aemond targaryen x ofc #mine

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tinytalkingtina · 4 months ago

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Oath of Devotion

Infernal Light (Steddie Dnd AU)

Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3 (can be read out of order, trying non-linear story-telling)

1546 words | rating T | Ao3 Link

Tags: Fantasy DnD AU, Tiefling Steve Harrington, Half-elf Eddie Munson, Steve has bad parents, Eddie has a bad father (child abandonment), past Steve/Nancy, implied self-harm (not described graphically and took place in the past), sex/loss of virginity (discussed as events that occurred in the past but nothing happens/is described in this chapter)

Added some author's notes under the cut as well because I love talking about this AU!

Steve lay limply on top of his lover, sated. Eddie stretched out beneath him on their bedrolls, idly stroking a hand through his hair and up over his horns. This deep in the woods, only birdsong and crickets echoed through the trees. It was just the two of them completely alone in their tent, in this little bubble. Safe. For the first time in his life, he didn’t choke down a purr from rumbling out of his chest.

“You like that darling?”

“Mhm, it feels nice.” He nuzzled his face further into Eddie’s chest. “Dangerously easy to get used to this though. Those I’ve paid to be with in the past wouldn’t stick around after the deed was done.”

Eddie’s hand stilled. “Paid? But why did you have to…how did you…” Steve opened one eye.

“Well I couldn’t have bedded noble folk, that would have been too risky. But I was hardly pure the first time we—I thought that was obvious?”

“That’s not what I meant, how did you get away without someone realizing? Kind of hard to hide this when you’re close,” Eddie joked, with a gentle tug to his tail.

“Oh.” Steve smirked. “That was the easy part, I put on a different disguise.” He sat up and drew the familiar incantation into the air, fizzy sparks trailing out of his fingertips as he did so. They swirled around for a moment before settling over his body, changing his bright red skin to a pale purple, and his horns to stag-like antlers. From one blink to another, Sir Stephen Harrington, heir to the Barony of Loch Nora, replaced himself with the face of a stranger.

Steve wiggled his fingers. “So long as I went to a brothel in towns with a port, I could have come from anywhere, so I pretended to be a sailor dropping by for some companionship.” He winced a bit, thinking of the honestly awful lies about sailing he’d come up with to uncaring ears. “Safe enough wearing someone else’s face if the prostitute already expects to touch a tiefling.”

“And for my first time,” Steve's face flushed as he dropped the spell. “My parents arranged to have her brought into my chambers blindfolded, and instructed me not to speak during. As far as she was concerned, I was some sort of important prisoner being given a pity fuck. Never got to learn her name.”

She had been so gentle with him when she felt him tremble. Hadn’t even flinched when she found horns in his hair. He hoped she was well.

“That’s a little fucked up, sweetheart.” Steve was startled out of his thoughts. With a snort, he reached to tug Eddie closer.

“I don’t think that even scratches the surface of the ‘fucked up’ things my family has done. But I made sure to ask the servants what happened after she left. She was just paid and sent back to the village.” Steve gently tucked a stray curl behind Eddie’s ear, before stroking his claw tip carefully along the outer shell. He paused as he got to a jagged divot near where his ear came to a tapered point.

“Hey, here’s a scar you haven’t told me the story for. What was it this time, a wild unicorn taking a valiant swing at you and only just missing your pretty face?”

Eddie grabbed at his hand, pulling it away. “Nothing to tell about that one. It’s not very interesting.”

“Oh come on, you can’t just leave it at that, you silver-tongued minx.” Steve teased.

“I…really, you don’t want to hear it.”

“Uh huh, I see. Too embarrassed to admit you got caught cheating at cards or something?”

“Because I did it to myself, okay?”

The words seemed to explode out of Eddie’s mouth. Steve froze in place, all thoughts of teasing gone.

“Eddie, why?” He reached out a comforting hand but Eddie shrank back. His anger evaporated as quickly as it had come on, leaving a well worn look of grief in its place. He slumped over in a corner of the tent.

“It was stupid and I know it was stupid, but I couldn’t take looking like him for another second back then. I’m not sure why out of the whole kingdom, he picked our village, and why out of all the lovely faces he could have shared a bed with, he singled out my mother. But I guess she held his attention long enough for them to have me.”

Oh. Steve remained silent. Eddie had barely brought up the subject of his parents before, dancing around the topic.

“I was young still when she got sick. He stuck around for a little bit after she passed. But I didn’t progress fast enough or something. Too much human in me to learn what he wanted me to learn. So, he just. Left.” His lip curled in disgust as he sneered. “Haven’t heard from him since. I’m sure by now he’s picked up on something else shiny and new.”

Steve chanced moving closer. Eddie let him, shifting to clutch at one leg.

“I didn’t…I was the only person with any non-human or dwarvish blood for miles around. And so everyone just looked and saw my ears or my face and assumed.” He said brokenly, facing the floor. As if on instinct, he grabbed at his hair to hide in.

“I was only good at the lute because my elven grace gave me an advantage. Or they’d whisper, ‘Careful around that Munson boy, don’t get too close. Or else he’ll bewitch you, just like his no-good father did to his mother.’”

Eddie reached up to grab at Steve’s hand. Steve let him, stroking his thumb soothingly over his knuckles as he continued: “They pretended like they knew everything about me. And I. I don’t know anything about that part of myself. Only know a couple words of Elvish. He didn’t stick around long enough to teach me anything. And the few Elves I’ve met while traveling haven’t given me the time of day. They don’t want to deal with someone so. So human. Can’t win with either culture.”

Steve had envied how Eddie was able to wear his emotions so freely most of the time, never shying away from what he was feeling. But curled up like this, he looked so small, so fragile. He wanted desperately to help take on some of that burden.

“As a noble heir, I was tutored in a lot of subjects,” he said slowly, as the plan stitched itself together in his mind. “For diplomacy, I had to learn a few languages. The Elvish I was taught was mostly the sun elf dialect but it could be a start, if you want to learn the basics.”

Eddie startled, his big expressive eyes opened wide. “Steve…you—“

“I mean, if you want to stick around now that we’ve lifted your curse.” Steve rambled on, flushing. “I know the Order wants me to undertake another mission immediately, but Dustin hasn’t been able to see his mother for quite some time and I know he’s missing her. If we ride to Loch Nora, I’m sure it wouldn’t be too hard to find a teacher who is more familiar with the wood elf dialect. Now that I’m grown, my parents usually try and claim they’re busy with official duties to avoid me, so you shouldn’t have to worry about interacting with them.”

He was met with total silence. The lack of any response from Eddie unnerved him.

“You. You would do that, for me?” The question slipped out so quietly Steve nearly missed it.

“Of course, why wouldn’t I?”

“Because, you’re going to be a baron one day, and the Order couldn’t stop raving about all the great deeds you’re destined to do in the future. And I’m…just a bard from nowhere. I’m supposed to sing about folks like you. Or abscond with my lover to live a simple life. Not be a noble’s, be your, your—“

Steve cupped Eddie’s face between his hands. “Don’t sell yourself so short. Do you know how many people in my life have been content being kept at arm’s length? They just wanted to be in the aura of the baron’s heir. And if that didn’t satisfy then, well. You saw what happened with Nanc—with Lady Wheeler.”

“That was not really all on you Steve, she never asked for you to open up.” Eddie said flatly.

“No, she didn’t. But you, you stubbornly shoved past all of my walls so easily. You found out about this,” he gestured to his face. “And stayed in spite of it. So no, you’re not a nobody, Edward the formerly Banished. Never a nobody, not to me. Please, come back with me.”

Eddie stared into his eyes for a few moments, searching for something. Finally, he broke to place a soft kiss on his forehead and bury his face into Steve’s neck. “Okay. When do we leave?”

Steve couldn’t keep the grin off his face. “Well that depends on how early you’re able to get up. How does an hour before dawn sound?”

The inelegant squawk Eddie made in response was the most wonderful sound Steve had ever heard.

Author's Notes

Still not sure how I want Robin to fit into all of this, but gunslinger Lady Nancy Wheeler, badass, will now be coming along for the Final ShowdownTM when that piece of the story gets written!

I love that purring tieflings is a tag on Ao3, since I was debating whether to keep that aspect of Steve's biology in or not.

The spell Steve casts is Disguise Self. At least in 5th edition, tieflings with heritage from Glasya or Dispater can cast this once per long rest. For the sake of the story, I'm going to pretend he can cast this several times a day, and that it lasts longer than 1 hour at a time.

Didn't really find a good place to mention him without breaking the flow, but after his mother died and his father left, Eddie was in fact raised by his Uncle Wayne! Wayne works in the mine like most of the other villagers, but he always encouraged Eddie's musical and magical talents.

While cities in this world are melting pots for various cultures and species, the small mining village Eddie grew up in was almost entirely human and dwarven. After his birth father left, he didn't encounter another elf until he left to go travel as a young adult. Loch Nora has a bigger gnomish population, as it borders the Gnomish kingdom.

Tagging a few folks who have shown interest (but please let me know if you don't want the tag/want to be added)

@augustjustice @devondespresso @kaspurrcat

Thank you to @/steddiecameraroll for the divider!

#steddie #steddie dnd au #tinawrites #steve harrington #eddie munson #stranger things #love writing this as much as eddie loves playing with steve's horns

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sarcasticsweetlara · 2 years ago

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The Queen of the People: The Tour

"Can you say Kepa, Rhaenys?"

Aemon had his little Rhaenys in the air hung by his arms making her giggle.

Rhaenys' pale lilac eyes, the same shade as his stared brightly into Aemon's face.

"Who is daddy's little girl?"

Rhaenys babbled out and pointed at him.

"She still doesn't understand, Aemon" His wife's voice rang in the air.

"Give her some years more, then she will be the one making questions." Jocelyn joked and grinned satisfied as Aemon flushed and snorted, caressing Rhaenys' cheek who was picking strands of the white golden hair of Aemon.

"I hope you will help me then" Aemon replied back.

They were going to immerse in a tour around all the dominions of Westeros with Rhaenys, presenting her as heir and helping all the commonfolk they could help as much as possible.

"Of course I will". Jocelyn answered chuckling.

In that moment Jaehaerys and Alysanne arrived in the room. Alysanne was beaming while Jaehaerys held a stern expression.

"How is our little queen to be?" Alysanne strode towards Aemon grabbing the giggling baby girl as the good queen held her in her arms and kissed her cheeks playfully.

In the corner of his eye Aemon saw Jaehaerys' lips pursed.

"We are ready, we're just waiting for the kingsguard who will make us company to make sure everything is okay before we go to the Dragon pit." Answered Jocelyn in a smooth tone.

"Are you two sure you will not wait?" Jaehaerys' voice echoed across the room.

"Rhaenys is only one year old, you should wait for her to grow up a little bit more and try to have a son before making a tour around the whole realm."

As soon as Jaehaerys mentioned "son", the mood of everyone soured.

Jaehaerys loved his granddaughter, she was his first grandchild and the baby girl was adorable, but he thought Aemon needed a son to be his heir after him.

"Kepa, we have already talked about this." Aemon answered stoically.

"Rhaenys is my firstborn, she has the blood of Old Valyria and the Storm Kings, I her father, am the Prince of Dragonstone as well as your heir and Jocelyn, her mother, is the youngest daughter of Alyssa Velaryon and Rogar Baratheon, the grandson of Orys Baratheon, the half brother of Aegon the Conqueror." Aemon's pale lilac orbs stared into his father's purple orbs with boldness.

"There is no reason why we shouldn't take her in the tour." He said daring his father with his gaze to give another reason to protest to their trip.

"I'm sorry Aemon" Jaehaerys said after an uncomfortable silence.

"It's just that I want Rhaenys to be okay, children are so frail and I want to know she's strong enough to make it through the trip." Alysanne slightly smiled at her husband and handed Rhaenys back to Jocelyn's arms.

"She will be fine, thank you for your concern Jaehaerys." Jocelyn replied back with kindness.

Soon, a kingsguard interrupted them.

"Your graces, we are ready to go, the Dragon keepers are here."

He curtsied and looked at his feet.

"There is no need for the dragon keepers, Caraxes knows Jocelyn and Rhaenys, he actually doesn't like to be annoyed by so many people." Aemon nodded to Jocelyn and she nodded back and both said their farewells to the king and the queen and left.

As Jaehaerys and Alysanne watched from the Red Keep how Caraxes flew in the air and whistled, they hoped they would be fine.

"Don't worry husband, we all will make sure Rhaenys will be a good crown princess." Alysanne said patting his back and Jaehaerys grinned.

...

"Everytime I fly with you it feels like the first time Aemon" Jocelyn said as she cackled, holding Rhaenys in one arm as she held one of the leathers and Aemon covered them with his arms as he rode Caraxes.

"Well, I think that's something good" Aemon replied making Jocelyn blush.

Rhaenys was fast asleep and Jocelyn leaned into Aemon's chest.

"Avy jorrāelan, Aemon." Jocelyn lifted her head to look at him and he looked back at her. "I love you, Aemon."

"Me too, Jocelyn"

They kissed and as soon as they parted they enjoyed the view above King's Landing.

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johnconstantinejld · 4 months ago

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The Joker Takes NYC

Afternoon folks! My card, from the bottom of the pack of course. What? I barely walk in, give you turtle soup I made myself and you think I’m a mutant? My, the insults fly quickly in New York, don’t they? My kind of town. Oop, having a little look in my mind, are you?

Yeah, not very nice in there, is it?

Kingpin, Mags, I’ll be brief.

If I hear someone forming a criminal gang, call me. I want in.

You guys are big, as well. Not Frank Castle big, of course. Maggie, thank you dealing with that situation for me. Too much iron in him, and not just in the diet.

Have you seen the DVDs I sent you? Giving little bird boy a good thrashing with a crowbar and blowing him up in a factory? He’s completely cuckoo now.

I’m here to introduce myself. Even Lex Luger knows about me, so I thought you should too.

You’ll need new men, by the way. Your current ones are dead.

He effortlessly throws a plate of armour onto the table.

Like it? It was around the face of a bloke in a cape I came across. Tried to drive me off the road! Talk about impolite! I don’t deal with non-Americans. It’s not a bigoted thing, but like you I have turned Red Skull. I may be a criminal lunatic, but I only go after who I’m after. And I leave the rest of the family alone. I’ve let Arachney Boy know that no member of my gang will go after anyone he loves. It’s just not on. Tombstone didn’t have that thought in what passed for his mind. Well, tombstones for Tombstone. I’ll have no place for HYDRA or them.

AND STOP CALLING ME INSANE!!!

Come, I’ve known that for a long time.

I’ve already provided the gang. Little Timmy Drake, my son and heir. I’m not going to provide the past. But you and I are fated to work together. Mags, you survived something that even I won’t joke about. Kingpin, you…well…gentlemen, we all I agree that it’s a joke. All that struggle and work to get the things they value-it’s all a gag. Don’t you find that funny? I’ve been up and down this sorry little burg and only that red alien thing understood that bit.

Because we heard it before. And it wasn’t funny then.

Oh, pfft. Just great.

Just allow me to work with my little boo Harley and I’ll be…out of your hair, or lack of it.

The Joker’s going to take not just Manhattan! We’re taking the whole block!

And now you get it.

There, don’t you feel better. It’s all coming out now. Skin so white, only your mortician knows for sure. You were always so serious. A lovely shade for the hair and lips. You know, you two look like you were never happy. That’s a shame. Well, you took my card. How stupid can you get?

In all your little lives, I’ll bet you’ve never had a nice long laugh.

#dc joker #wilson fisk #magneto

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lalalian · 5 months ago

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let’s talk students: aethergarde dr (dragon rider school dr)

date: july 21, 2024

In the last poll, Asterias Lancaster is winning by a lot! Let's talk about him today!

pronunciation:

Asterias: (Ass-teer-ee-as)

Lancaster: (Lan-cas-ter)

appearance:

Asterias has long white hair that goes down to his waist. His hair is unique because it's slightly blue; this trait made his family (including like his uncles, aunts, and grandparents) want him to become the heir of the family. More about this later!

His skin is paler than his younger brother's skin (Callisto Lancaster), and he has a sharp gaze. Like his brother, his eyes are a very light shade of blue. Asterias is also known for his height, as he stands at 6'4" at just 15 years old.

Many describe him to have an almost melancholic-like charm, he's the kind of guy that looks like he is always thinking of some sort of artsy... peculiar... idk like... academic... issue. Asterias' scent changes every so often, but when you shift here, his favorite perfume makes him smell like lavender and honey. He has a mole on his chest (like rafayel from love n deepspace.. hehe). Asterias has a sleeper build, so when he's relaxed, his figure is lithe and elegant.

He's one of those guys who has those really elegant, slightly red, slender hands.

Okay like I know these two pics give off a completely diff vibe, but like I genuinely can't choose between the two T-T Idk, I rlly think the 1st one fits his personality, but that second one dude omfgg🥵🥵🥵

In terms of style, he tends to prefer light colored colors. He often wears the typical male noble kind of clothing (in this DR it's considered typical) like suits. He sometimes wears long dresses; he usually likes to wear them to very very formal events (like anything involving visiting royalty). The dresses he wears usually look like something a cleric would wear or have military themes to them. He never wears super flashy dresses, they're all relatively minimalistic and aren't puffy at all; Asterias pretty much always wears boots.

personality:

Asterias is very cold, aloof, blunt, and kinda rude. Asterias only goes by Rias with people he's close to, unlike Miaene, he does actually have some friends despite his unsavory personality 😭😭😭

He's the kind of person that would ignore anyone who he isn't interested in talking to, but will actively (but subtly, he doesn't want to seem desperate) try to get closer to people he's itching to know (do be prepared to deal with this guy btw). I'm not even joking when I say that he will literally not even glance at you if you tried to speak to him (only if he doesn't want to get closer to you), the most he'll do is glare at you-- that is, if he did acknowledge you at all. With his friends he can be quite sarcastic, witty, and protective.

Asterias isn't a fan of being the center of attention... he's very introverted, and finds it draining to be mobbed by the many suitors who want to have a more defined relationship (if yk what i mean).

relationship and status:

Asterias has a very formal relationship with his parents. He sees them simply as his guardians, and doesn't feel much attachment towards them despite being the golden child of the family. He is very heavily favored by his entire family, including his grandparents, aunts, and uncles. The Lancaster family has always chosen the child with slightly light blue hair as the next heir, but a child hasn't had this trait in over 40 yrs. The entire family (besides for Callisto) puts a lot of pressure of Asterias to be the perfect heir; this has made him have quite the fear of his relatives, especially his grandparents. Asterias has social anxiety only at events where a lot of his family attends.

Despite Callisto's sour feelings surrounding his brother, Asterias, Asterias still feels that kinship between him and his younger brother. He will do things to make Callisto's life a little easier, like getting him a better weapon or restocking his supply of healing potions. He knows that Callisto doesn't like him (and the reasons why), but Asterias feels trapped within his own family. He doesn't know what to do to make the situation better, so he just goes along with the demands everyone makes of him.

Asterias' closest friend is Straus. Straus knows about his anxiety, and tries his best to help him out in any way he can, including buying him soothing tonics and making him calming perfumes.

likes and dislikes:

likes:

-doesn't want to admit it, but he's really into fashion

-tea making

-horse riding

-potion making, especially magic infused potions

-dishes with vegetables and fish

-straus' perfumes

dislikes:

-kids, he thinks they're too loud + not hygienic

-the phrases "wow you're so tall" "how did you get so tall?"

-he's not proud of his height, he thinks it's a little annoying to be so tall

-balls and banquets in general

-the burden of being an heir

-his relatives, especially his grandparents

aura:

Asterias' aura is classified as an informal marble. He's dual toned, and boasts an overall bright aura.

#73cbe6

#96ffea

dragon:

Asterias will bond to a white+silver female sky serpent, and will name her Yggdrasil (nickname would be Rassie).

strengths & weaknesses:

strengths:

-very impressive scythe skills

-lots of stamina because of his harsh training

-amazing swordsman

weaknesses:

-martial arts. He needs a weapon to fight.

-terrible with cooperation

fighting style:

Asterias fights with a scythe, but can also fight well with a sword. He prefers fighting with a scythe because he feels like he can fight the way he wants to fight. Asterias' sword is an heirloom only light blue haired heirs have fought with. Major setback for him is martial arts, he wouldn't survive a fight against Teagan LMAO

when you shift here..

Asterias will be a 2nd year at aethergarde academy once you shift here.

wanna know more about my aethergarde academy dr? here's a masterlist with everything I've posted about it!

#shiftblr #reality shifting #shifting community #shifting blog #lalalian #desired reality #shifters #shifting diary #shifttok #scripting #aethergarde academy dr

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messers-moony · 3 years ago

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Runaways | R.B

Paring: Regulus Black X Twin!Fem!Reader

Summary: Regulus refuses to lose yet another sibling after Sirius leaves.

Being a Hufflepuff Prefect with a mischievous older Gryffindor brother is a lot of work. Sirius is frequently getting into trouble, and Remus is no help. But honestly? Y/n isn’t either. If anything, she laughs at her brother and her friend's antics. Y/n is the only Black family member still in good shape with all her family.

Sirius was overjoyed when Y/n was into Hufflepuff. His little sister following in his footsteps of no longer being a Slytherin. However, Y/n’s twin brother - Regulus - was sorted into Slytherin. She didn’t let that define their relationship. Y/n was close with her twin and the Marauders. Remus often bumped her shoulder in the halls making her smile. The werewolf often had that effect on her. So did James, and so did Peter.

But no one made a giant smile appear on her face than Sirius and Regulus.

“Oi! Little sis!” His voice, it was calm and bright, something she hadn’t heard in a long time.

Y/n turned, “Hey Siri.”

Sirius’ arm went around her shoulders, “How’s your day been?”

“Good, yours?”

“Oh,” Sirius sighed, dreaming, making her chuckle, “It’s been perfect, dear sister.”

“What did you do now?” Y/n fake scolded, “Everything.” Sirius replied.

A familiar raven-haired boy was making their way towards them, hoping and praying that they wouldn’t notice. His green tie and green robes. The prefect badge on the left side of his chest. The wavy black hair and the beautiful grey eyes. The 5’11 Slytherin walking towards his twin sister and older brother. The people he adored the most in the world but barely talked to within the castle walls. His plan ultimately failed.

Regulus turned to walk by his two siblings only for Y/n to wrap an around his shoulder, “Reggie!”

“Y/n, Sirius.” Regulus greeted with the corners of his lips barely turning up, “How’s your day been?” Sirius asked, turning to look at his younger brother.

“Good until two idiots came along.” He joked with a smile adorning his features.

Y/n put her hand on her heart dramatically, “You wound me!”

Both brothers chuckled, and a Professor came to greet them in the middle of the hallway, seeing their beautiful smiling faces, “All three Black’s in one spot. How brilliant!” Slughorn commented as Sirius faked tipping his hat.

The three Black siblings. The Black trio. One Gryffindor, one Slytherin, and one Hufflepuff. Oh, how Walburga adored them despite the way she treated them. It was never in her heart to treat them the way she does. Orion had such a soft spot for his twins. But alas, both parents knew that if they didn’t raise them correctly - or without abuse - they would only get hurt worse. Walburga knew that if she treated them the way she truly wanted to, they’d be split.

But that never compared to the aching in her heart when she had to cast a spell on her children. The kids she was sworn to protect. Walburga never wanted this life, never wanted to marry Orion, hell, she never even wanted kids, but Merlin, her kids were great. Slughorn and McGonagall would send her letters of how wonderfully they’ve been doing in their studies, how Sirius made another cauldron explode, how Regulus caught the snitch and won the Quidditch Cup, how Y/n made prefect and was top of her class.

It was beautiful, and for once, Walburga was happy. She hid all the letters from Orion. If Orion knew he’d made Walburga send a howler, and she didn’t want that. Godric how she hated the awful red colors the howlers came in. The awful shade of brilliant rose. It brought a grimace to her face just thinking about it. But like everything, the truth comes out, and Sirius eventually got a howler.

Sirius let go of Y/n to begin Transfiguration while the two twins made their way to Herbology. Not before Sirius kissing the tops of their heads like he did when they were kids, “I love you guys!”

“Black, get in here!” McGonagall yelled, and both twins laughed, “We love you too!” They replied in unison.

Regulus and Y/n laughed, their arms around each other's shoulders, “I never want him to leave.” Regulus admitted.

“Me either.”

The day was uneventful. More learning, more foolishness, and more laughter. Professor Sprout couldn’t help but smile at the Black twins in her classroom. Regulus was always ice cold when not around his siblings. They made him shine even if he couldn’t find a reason to. It didn’t matter where they were. The Black trio always brought smiles with them. Whether it was Y/n and Sirius, the twins, or all three, their smiles, their laughs, their happiness was so contagious. Three children from an abusive home, coming together to make each other smile. How is it possible?

Y/n would be the answer. The glue to the Black family. The bond to keep her brothers from drifting apart. But that all changed in the summer of 1976.

It was dark and another day of yelling. Sirius couldn’t take it anymore. He needed to leave. He wanted to go. It was bound to happen. He kept telling himself. But did that excuse leaving his siblings behind? Would he risk their safety for his own pleasure? Sirius didn’t have time to think about it. He packed his trunk and opened the window. One leg out and just about to get the other over until his door opened.

His little sister, “Sirius?”

“Hey, sis…” Sirius hated how his voice shook and almost broke.

“What- Where are you going?”

He couldn’t help it; she needed to know the truth, “Away. Far away from here.”

Y/n crossed her arms slowly, “Without saying goodbye?”

“Goodbye?” Sirius replied with a nervous smile.

She shook her head with a smile, walking toward his window. Sirius expected a smack, a lecture. But she didn’t do that. Y/n cupped both his cheeks and kissed his forehead like he did when she was hurt. Tears filled his grey eyes without permission as he stared at his younger sister's glossed eyes. Gently she ran her hand through his hair, moving it back.

“I suppose you were never good at goodbyes.”

“Not really, no.” Sirius chuckled.

Y/n smiled, “I know you aren’t happy here. You were never happy here.” Sirius interrupted before she could continue, “You could give Remus a run for his money.”

“Listen, Sirius, please.” She pleaded, and Sirius looked at her eyes; he’d miss them, “All I ask, is that you take care of yourself. Regulus and I, we’ll manage. But you should say goodbye to him too….”

“Go get him.”

It took minutes, but Regulus was eventually standing in front of his older brother, one leg out of the window and the other inside his bedroom. Y/n stood behind them, arms crossed with tears streaming down her cheeks silently. Regulus looked like he wanted to cry, but he didn’t. Sirius didn’t care anymore. Silver trails ran down his cheeks, especially when Regulus hugged his older brother with all his strength.

“I'm going to miss you.”

Sirius sniffled, “I’ll miss you a hundred times more.”

“Impossible.” Y/n interjected, smiling.

Regulus and Sirius pulled apart, Regulus now standing beside his twin, “I need you to know,” Sirius began, looking at Regulus, “James isn’t your replacement. He is nothing compared to you. You’re my brother, always.”

“And you,” He turned to Y/n after Regulus nodded, “You’re my baby sister, through and through. Just because I’m leaving doesn’t mean you can give me detention.”

They chuckled, and possibly for the last time, “Always.”

“Forever.”

“Together.”

Sirius gave a watery smile and finished the jump out his window. Wordlessly Y/n shut it behind him. Regulus stood in front of the glass pane until Sirius was out of sight and gave a heavy sigh. Y/n was standing right beside him, leaning her head on his shoulder.

“I knew it was going to happen. I just wish it wasn’t so soon.” Regulus whispered, “I know.” Y/n agreed.

Regulus took her hand, “Forever.”

“Together.” Y/n replied, squeezing his hand.

So many they lost their always, but they still had each other. The next night at dinner was dreadful. Possibly the worst one yet, “Where is he!”

“I- I don’t know.” Y/n answered, cowering away, her hand rubbing her forearm.

Walburga looked at Regulus, and he shook his head, “Where is Sirius?”

“Gone.” Walburga replied to her husband, who gave a mere shrug at the answer, “Our heir is gone, Orion! What are we going to do now.”

“The reasonable thing, Y/n is next in line.”

Walburga scoffed, “Absolutely not.”

Regulus reached for his sister's hand after noticing the tears collecting in her eyes, “She is a disgrace! Just like Sirius!”

Orion put down the daily prophet, looking at his wife across the table, “What would you like me to do about it?”

“Regulus!” The boy stiffened, “You are our next heir.”

“No!” Y/n exclaimed, her rage taking over, “That isn’t how it works! I’m the next in line, disgrace or not. I'm older than Regulus.”

Walburga pulled out her wand, but Y/n didn’t flinch, “With that courage, you should be in Gryffindor.” The older woman seethed.

“You feel no remorse, do you?” Y/n asked, but she did; Godric, Walburga hated herself, “Putting your wand to my neck like I’m some training dummy.”

“How do you think we feel! Our older brother is gone! The one who took care of us because our parents can’t.”

Y/n had tears flowing down her cheeks, “How do you think we feel?”

The girl stood up from the table without being dismissed after letting go of Regulus’ hand, “I saw the tapestry.”

“You burned him from it! What kind of monster are you?! He’s your son regardless of his house. I’ll be your heir, but I will never be your puppet.”

Y/n ran up to her bedroom. Walburga and Orion stared at their son, who sat as stiff as a board. More minutes passed, and Regulus left the table too but not before speaking to his parents, “I’ll- I’ll be your heir. I’ll be your son.”

“Brilliant. Thank you, Regulus.” Walburga smiled.

Regulus lost his brother. He wasn’t losing his sister. But over time, it felt like he was. There was no more laughter in the halls. Only one Black sibling was laughing and smiling - Sirius. There was no more hugging in the halls, no more playing around. Regulus and Y/n were ice. They were cold and in pain. That was the first thing Sirius noticed. His siblings hadn’t stopped by his carriage like usual. It dampened his mood.

“Hey, I’m sure they’re just busy.” James had reassured, but Sirius wasn’t so sure.

It was the first ride to Hogwarts that Sirius was utterly silent. He played with the ribbon in his hand. It was a green ribbon that he carried with him everywhere. The boys never knew what it was or where it came from. They had just discovered that Sirius would fidget with it when he was upset. Remus noticed it first - of course - but James did too, and shortly Peter followed. It was her ribbon, Y/n’s ribbon. A ribbon she wore in her hair when she was seven.

After a bad punishment, Sirius had been given Y/n took care of him. Washed his cuts and plastered them. It was then she learned how much Sirius loved when people did his hair. So she braided it for him and tied it off with her green ribbon. He remembered the way it felt on his fingertips. So perfectly combed and webbed together. It was the reason his hair was long enough to braid. Every Quidditch match, he’d weave it. James asked why once, and Sirius ignored him, but Y/n knew. It was okay to keep secrets sometimes.

Fifth-year for the twins went by smoothly. Sirius’ sixth year was hell. He missed his siblings so much somedays it was hard to get up in the morning. Regardless it was hard to get Sirius out of bed in the morning, but this year was particularly rough. It was like he was in a constant state of Remus after the full moon - tired, fatigued and sad.

He missed Regulus’ smile and Y/n’s laughter. Godric, he missed everything! Sirius cried - sobbed about it at night. His silencing charms weren’t good. It left James and Remus in a tricky spot. It was apparent he didn’t want to talk about it because if he did, he would’ve by now. Remus stopped seeing the twins during prefect rounds and stopped seeing Y/n altogether. It was like she was avoiding them.

The twins did their prefect rounds together, studied together, and only talked to each other. It broke Sirius’ heart. He ruined everything just for his own pleasure. But hadn’t Y/n meant what she said? That she wanted him to be happy? Sirius wasn’t happy. He was far from it.

Regulus had nightmares every night about his parents. About his brother leaving, about everything. So he didn’t sleep most nights, and instead, he threw himself into his studies. Occasionally he’d realized that he had done two essays and then understood that he no longer had to do his brother's homework. Regulus had copies of reports everywhere because it was a habit. A habit he had to lose.

Y/n stopped baking extra cookies. Every Saturday, she’d go to the kitchens to bake a new delicacy the muggle way. Y/n couldn’t help but accidentally bake extra for her Gryffindor brother, only to realize that she wouldn’t give them to him. Instead, she gave them to the house elves to serve after dinner in the Great Hall. They’d appear on the Gryffindor table, and Sirius knew they were a product of her.

During the summer holiday of 1977, Regulus began to notice that Y/n gone often. Walburga would send her away, or Orion would make her run an errand. Regardless Y/n wasn’t around as much. Was she going to run like Sirius? Walburga and Orion sent her to Auror training. Y/n was young, too young for this training. It was Auror training, but they weren’t training her to work for the Ministry. They were preparing for her to become a death eater.

Weeks passed, and Regulus felt saddened by her absence. So one day at dinner, he spoke up, “Why haven’t you been present at home?”

Y/n chuckled, “Are you serious? You haven’t told him?”

“What- What do you mean?” Regulus questions suspiciously.

Walburga coughed, “She’s been put into training.”

“Training?”

“Auror training.”

“But not to be an Auror, to be a death eater.”

Y/n scoffed, “Bullshit, tell him the real reason.”

She looked at both her parents, “They don’t want me anymore. They send me away because it’s easier than disowning me, like Sirius.”

“N- No.” Regulus denied, “Mum, tell me that she’s lying.”

Silence, “Answer me, please.” Regulus pleaded as a water film glossed his grey eyes.

“She’s not lying.” Orion stated, and Regulus let his tears fall down his cheeks, “No! I won’t let you take her from me!”

Regulus stood up, and his chair flipped behind him, “If you disown her, you disown me!”

“Reggie…”

“No! Please no!” Regulus was clawing at his hair, sobbing, “Don’t take her too….” He whimpered.

Y/n began to stand up until Walburga sent a spell her way, throwing her back. It just made Regulus cry more. He couldn’t. He wouldn’t. They were sixteen! This wasn’t fair. So Regulus stood up and held back his tears. Walburga held her wand to his throat, making Y/n nervous. But Regulus was cold, ice cold. Hastily he grabbed his mother's wand and snapped it. Y/n didn’t have time to gape. Regulus ran to her, and they ran.

Through the front door to anywhere else in the dark of the night. Orion was too busy with his wife to realize his children were gone. Y/n was sure they were miles away before they stopped. No magic could be done. They weren’t seventeen yet. They’d have to survive without magic. But then she heard it. A howl. It was a risk, a big one, but they had to take it.

She took her brother's hand and began running towards it, “Y/n, where are we going?”

“To whatever is howling.”

“Are you mental?”

“Maybe.” Y/n shrugged.

Suddenly he saw it. That look Sirius always had. She looked free, happy, and mischievous. Suddenly she wasn’t Y/n Black. She was just Y/n. His twin sister. The girl that would beg her brothers to adventure with her, to trust her blindly. That’s what he was doing now - trusting her blindly. They must’ve been miles away. Regulus didn’t even know how they got that far, but in the forest, the howling got louder.

But at the edge of the forest was a black dog, guarding the entrance to the woods, making sure that no one entered. The stag was taking care of the werewolf. They took turns. One full moon, the dog, was to stand guard, next the stag. Y/n cried upon seeing the animal. She dropped to her knees, and Regulus knelt beside her. The dog looked familiar and gave them both great kisses. They fell asleep together. Y/n, Regulus and the dog.

The following morning, James went back out to the forest after realizing Padfoot was missing. At the entrance of the forest, he saw them. The Black trio. So he left them. Sirius knew the way back; it wasn’t worth ruining their moment. Regulus stirred awake first and woke the dog. The dog left a multitude of kisses on the twins. Y/n woke up shortly after.

Regulus was appalled to see the dog turn into his older brother but happy nonetheless, “Sirius!”

“Reggie.” Sirius replied, holding him close.

They parted, and Sirius kissed his forehead, “How?”

“The howling.”

“How did you leave?”

“I snapped mum’s wand.”

Sirius looked flabbergasted, “Really?”

“She- She was going to separate us. I didn’t- I couldn’t lose another sibling.” Regulus admitted, and Sirius took him into his arms again, “Never again. I promise.”

Y/n chuckled, “Looks like we’re all runaways.”

Sirius grabbed her into the hug, “But we’re doing it together.”

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strawbxrryneptune · 3 years ago

Text

Level one

Word count: 10k

Cw: pretty tame, just slight descriptions of a dick, play fighting, mentions of almost dying.

This fic and the fics following will contain monster fucking, cucking and threesomes!! If you are not comfortable, try out some of my other works, but if you wish to proceed, remember, sharing is caring.

@miggiisdumb

Next~♡

♡♡

Being a princess was always portrayed as this lush, lavish life. Spoiled rotten with goodies and suitors on you left and right. Everyone respects you, maybe even fears you, and you don't have to worry about a thing cause you have your guards and your secure little tower.

Only one of those things applied to you. The people of the Mushroom kingdom adored you, sending you gifts and bringing their cute little families to meet you. You had moved out of the actual palace ages ago, deciding to reside in a cute little cottage hidden deep in the woods.

You had some bodyguards, but you kind of doubted their abilities in warding off monsters. You didn't mind fighting by the side though, it built up your strength and courage.

You knew that you alone were pretty strong, and so were your guards, but it still confused you how you barely got bothered. Occasionally you would hear a growl or roar in the distance, but it was quickly cut off and you would go about your business.

You finally found out what was keeping the monsters at bay when you ventured out into the forest alone, not wanting to wake up your bodyguard since you were just getting berries.

You had managed to fill up your basket and make it halfway back before you felt a rush of air behind you, only getting a second to blink before you were sent flying, hot breath and saliva tickling your neck and cheek.

You kick and scream, arms flailing when the creature pushes your head down into the dirt.

You start to weaken as your vision swims, struggling to breathe. You go limp, letting out choked sobs when the creature is suddenly ripped off of you. You hear shuffling and roaring, and then the forest goes silent for a moment before coming back to life, birds chirping and wind blowing as you feel someone touch your arm gently.

You hear a smooth, low voice fussing over you, the stranger lifting you up and assisting you back to the cottage. You try to turn to see their face, but all you can make out is a bright red hat, dark red hair and pretty lips before they're turning you back around.

When you make it to the cottage, you try to once again turn to thank the person, but they're already gone. About to head back inside, you see a bright red object laying on the ground. When you get closer, you realize it's the strangers hat, soft and big with a K patched into it.

You gasped, realizing who exactly this man was.

You came from a long line of royalty, your mother being Queen Star and your sister being Princess Peach. When you were kids, your mother would tell you of an Italian family who were so kind and brave, always looking to serve and expecting nothing in return.

For your mother, it was a man named Papa Mario, and for Peach it was Mario Jr. And Luigi. Around the time you were born, they also were welcoming a baby into the world, and you have fuzzy memories of a little boy with sharp teeth and red hair vowing to protect you even when you were in diapers.

Snapping back to reality, you scurry back inside and throw on a more casual outfit, still in a dress but with more room to move, slipping on some boots and stuffing the hat in your bag.

You take the path down to town, chatting with the residents along the way until you arrive at the Mario Bros Tavern.

You step inside, greeting everyone and making your way over to the counter, seeing who you assume is the brother, dressed in all green. His name tag reads "Izuku", and you smile at him when he looks your way.

"Hi, Princess!! What brings you here?"

You dig in your bag and take out the plush hat, holding it in front of you.

"I- Uh…. I found this in the woods, I was jus' wondering if the owner of it was here?"

Izuku lets out a soft, 'oh', and holds a finger up to you to signal you to wait. He disappears into the back room and when he comes back you suddenly wish you were dressed better.

In the forest all you could see what that your "hero" was wearing overalls and red. You didn't pick up on the fact that he was probably almost 7 feet tall, buff and solid with pretty, full lips and a sharp smile, cute spiky hat hair which a deeper shade of red then his clothes, which fit him so perfect it was like he just stepped out of a clothes factory.

When you met eyes, the stranger gave you a sheepish smile, stepping up to the counter and gently taking the hat from your now trembling hands.

"Gee, thanks for bringing this back, Prn'cess. I hadn't even realized I lost it."

You search for words, feeling your cheeks heat up when his smile widens, big veiny hands reaching out to shut your mouth, which fell right back open at the feel of his hands on your face.

"I'm, uh, I'm also here to thank you for saving me today…"

"Kiri."

"Kiri. Thank you, Kiri."

He smiles a toothy smile, giving you a silly bow. You giggle, your heart swelling with affection as you realize you could get used to this.

"As a token of my appreciation, I'm taking you on a date in two days, up by the waterfalls."

The red head blinks in surprise before his smile returns, pink coloring his cheeks as he mods vigorously.

"I'll see you then, Princess!!"

♡♡

You trudged through the forest, cursing yourself for putting off your carriage repair. The trail was under construction, so you had to walk you way through the bushes towards the waterfall.

At least you weren't wearing a formal dress. You were just wearing a simple skirt and a top, some boots and a picnic basket in your hand.

As you stumble along, you start to hear the roaring of the waterfall, but laced within you hear growls and grunts, followed by a shout that sounded all too familiar.

Kirishima.

You pick up speed and come to a clearing, stepping back slightly in shock.

In front of you is one of the legendary Bowser men, powerful and downright terrifying. They had a tendency to go after princesses, which was the main reason the Mario brothers protected your family.

This Bowser was the new heir, Bakugou. He didn't have red hair like his father, his was an ash blonde, and his shell was a slightly darker green. He was taller too, looked about 6'9 from where you were standing, but he towered over Kirishima so you figured he was over 7 feet. He was actually kind of attractive, which surprised you given how his dad looked.

Kirishima has him in a headlock, both of them grunting and growling and you would be lying if the sight wasn't hot, but you shook the feeling off and silently marched over to the two, wanting to "save" the red head like he had for you for the longest time.

Taking a deep breath, you launched yourself on the Blonde's shell with a shout, quickly realizing how stupid this "plan" was when you could barely hold on, being so small compared to him that when he stood up and reached behind him, he could just pluck you up like a bug, holding by the back of your shirt in a big hand.

"What happened Bakubro? Why'd you stop-y/n?"

"Well well well, wha d'we have here? Is this the pretty little prn'cess yer were telling me about, Kiri?"

You gulp harshly, not even out of fear anymore now that you realized that they were play fighting, and that they know each other.

No, you were nervous because Bakugou was hot. Sharp canines digging into his bottom as he watched you dangle in his palm, spiky hair leading down to a bushy mullet, bulging muscles and thick thighs hidden by a ratty loin cloth, blonde happy trail-did something just twitch?

You swiftly look back up, looking into knowing vermillion eyes as he licks his lips and shoots you a smirk, his eyes dark and cheeks slightly flushed. When you feel a slight breeze and begin to rock, you realize that hes still holding you. Up in the air. With one hand.

This is not doing anything good to your manhandling kink. You can already feel your panties start to get sticky as he gently sets you back down, standing straight back up.

You're now level with his veiny thighs, hands starting to tremble from how guilty and horny you feel. The guy you asked out on a date is right there!! Speaking of, you glance at Kiri and he's already looking at youz something dark gleaming within his eyes but quickly hidden when you meet gazes, rushing forward to trap you in a crushing hug, big hands running up your sides.

You blush as you pull back, about to ask if he wants to get going when he jogs back over to Bakugou, who's eyes haven't left you, and tackles him onto the ground, putting him in a chokehold.

You would be pissed, you planned a picnic and its getting dark, the bugs coming out and the air getting sticky but they look so good like that, muscle on muscle, and Bakugou keeps letting out snarls and growls that go straight to your cunt, slicking up your panties as you think about those big, clawed hands your skirt up and plugging you up with his big dick.

You stop mid thought as you remember what they taught you in Princess survival school, in the monster course. Bowsers can smell really really well. Which means Bakugou….could probably smell you right now.

You look up at him and let out a breath of relief when you see he's still distracted by the Kirishima, writhing to try and get away from the his grip on his neck. With a sharp movement from the blonde, his loin cloth flutters to the side momentarily and flashes you a peak of his really, really fat cock. You almost pass out from how fast blood rushes to your head when you see so many veins and bumps, and he's obviously not even hard.

All of a sudden, Bakugou takes a deep breath, preparing to let out a roar to startle Kirishima into letting him go, and chokes on air, gasp getting caught in his throat. Kiri is none the wiser, laughing and joking behind him about how hes strongest, but Bakugou isn't paying attention, eyes blown wide and rolled in his head as his tongue slightly lolls out of his mouth, as if to taste what he's smelling.

To taste you.

His head rolls to the side, eyes trained on the clench of your thighs and flush of your body, and it make his hips jump, red irises locking onto you as drool spills out of his open mouth.

Kirishima realized how quiet he is, and attempts to peak over and see if he's okay but Bakugou roughly shoulders him off and stomps away into the trees, leaving you dazed and Kirishima confused.

"That was weird."

#bakugo smut #bakugou katsuki smut #bakugou smut #bubbletalks #katsuki bakugou smut #bakugou thirst #bakugou x reader #kirishima eijirou smut #bowser!bakugou #mario!kirishima #kirishima x reader #kirishima thirst #kiribaku #prettymiggi🪐

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cursestothemoon · 4 years ago

Note

hellooooo<3 so, ive always loved the idea of Harry having an older protective sister(he really need one😭) could u pls do a headcanon of how she protects harry and their relationship? annnnddd how she also is dating Fred?? my heart needs it, pls and thank u❤️

i LOVE THIS

(also i switch from third person pov to second person in the middle of this so im sorry :) but its fine )

i know a common headcanon/ fancanon for harry’s sister is that she looks like lily

but hear me out

Y/n Potter who looks exactly like James

i mean to the T

and Lily would always make little teasing comments about how both her kids look like their dad and james is just :)

anyway

just picture it

dark brown, wavy hair that was just tussled enough at all times

blue eyes

and the round rimmed glasses that James used to wear

stOP SHE WEARS HER DADS GLASSES BECAUSE WHEN SHE WAS LITTLE SHE’D PULL THEM OFF OF HIM AND AFTER HE DID SHE KEPT THEM AND WHEN SHE MISSES HIM SHE WEARS THEM AND THEY ARE SLIGHTLY TOO BIG AND SIT CROOKED ON HER FACE

i made myself cry

anyway

lets talk protecting harry first then we will get into dating fred

so she’s older meaning she’d be in Hogwarts for before him

let’s say she's two years older

George and Fred’s year

and she’d hear the whispers about her

obviously

and i think she wouldn't tell harry

she would know the story of how their parents died and who harry was to the wizarding community but in an effort to protect Harry’s innocence and childhood for just a little while longer she wouldn’t tell him

at least not until he got to school then she’d be the one to tell him everything

she is fiercely protective of Harry

if someone so much as looked at him funny she was chewing their head off

Harry might’ve been like James

but Y/n Potter is James

down to the way her eyes would narrow at someone in class when they made a rude comment

or she’d try to charm her way out of trouble

or charm Harry out of trouble

oH MY GOD SHE’D BE IN MCGONAGALL’S CLASS AND ONE OF HER FRIENDS WOULD SAY SOMETHING FUNNY AND SHE’D BE TRYING SO HARD TO HOLD IN HER LAUGH AND SHE’D MAKE THE SAME FACE JAMES WOULD MAKE WHEN TRYING NOT TO LAUGH

Mcgonagall almost cried

she needed a moment

ok Y/n would take the first week or so just to show Harry around Hogwarts

she did not care if she was late

Harry was going to feel comfortable

oH SHE NEARLY BEAT OLIVER WOOD WITH A BEATER’S BAT WHEN SHE FOUND OUT HE PUT HER TEENY LITTLE BROTHER ON THE QUIDDITCH TEAM AS A SEEKER

she is also part of the team, a chaser

will get spend most of the first few games with Harry making sure he’s ok

yeah malfoy doesn’t stand a chance

never did

10/10 would use the cloak to prank him

all the time

nothing is out of limits

especially after he’s been nasty to Harry and his friends

growing up harry gets all embarrassed when she protects him because hes 15!1!1! he can handle it

she is kinda hurt

very dramatic

“mY WITTLE BROTHER DOESN’T NEED ME”

“y/n... please”

“nO ITS OK HARRY I GET IT, ILL GO”

“where are you going?”

“YOU DON’T NEED ME ANYMORE, I AM NO LONGER NEEDED HERE”

“you don't HAVE TO LEAVE, WHY ARE YOU LIKE THIS”

Ron was giggling on the couch in the common room he thought this whole scene was hilarious

ron thinks she is so cool

ok i think she’d also have these little bits of lily that would shine through

unlike harry and james, who could just inhale near a book and get just above average grades

she took pride in studying and being able to sit down and absorb material

Lily always passed with flying colors because she was a good student who wanted to prove herself

it was the satisfaction of spending hours studying and being able to retain the information and apply it to earn an amazing grade that she loved

she passed this on to you

as well as her kindness to people who she believed deserved it

and quick wit

you two also had the same hands

you had everything else from James but your hands looked like your mothers

down to the way your nails grew and fingers held a quill

snape hated it

because he really couldn’t hate you

he was weird around you though

hes just weird

where he'd bully and embarrass Harry

he couldn’t do that to you because you wouldn’t give him the chance to

you knew the material

you knew the answer

and he hated how when your hand shot up it looked just like Lily’s

but you were making the stupid face James would when he’d concentrate

you did not like snape

at first you were impartial

then when you heard how rude he was to Harry...

it was also over for him

he didn’t stand a chance

you had an affinity for pranks, fiercely protective, and you had gall

your hand writing also looked like Lilys and snape had a rough time grading your essays

tough for him

also if any rumors went around about harry you were quick to make them actually about you

harry is the heir of slytherin?

actually no Y/n Potter is, there is no evidence but we just heard that it was her somewhere

you didn’t care as long as no one was being rude to Harry

leTS TALK DEATHLY HALLOWS

so you don’t go with them on the hunt for Horcrux

and you’d be going insane not knowing how they were or if they were ok

because all your life you had been able to protect to some extent

but you were completely helpless now

you could do nothing

and then at the battle of hogwarts

pLEASE

no one stood a chance

the feeling of seeing harry again

beaten, bruised, but still alive

it was overwhelming

then seeing Hagrid crying in his seemingly dead body

also overwhelming

because you had failed

you couldn't protect him

and he heard you scream first

it was loud and strangled and Harry felt so bad but he knew he had to do this

I like to think Y/n Potter is the one who killed Voldemort in the end

you cant argue with me on this sorry

now

lets talk

dating freddie

so he’d probably notice you here and there starting in first year

but he was an eleven year old boy and girls were not on his radar right now

but he thought you were funny and pretty cool

and your round glasses that were just a little too big for your adolescent face made you look cute

then you tried out for the quidditch team with him and George

you were amazing

not only did you have James natural talent for the sport but that paired with Lily’s tactical thinking and quick mind

you were unstoppable

you were brought on the team as a seeker

and you were good at it too, but it wasn’t you’re favorite position

it entailed a lot of waiting and not really moving until you caught sight of the snitch

it was your excellent flying mixed with the fact that you literally had no sense of self preservation that made you a really good seeker

you'd just

nose dive

if you hit the bottom you hit the bottom oh well

but when Harry showed up you were happy to give him your position as seeker and take on the more exciting (at least to you) job of chaser

it was your quidditch playing that really got fred’s attention

because you were good

and during team lunches or team hang outs you were always the life of the party

not because you were avidly trying to be

but like james, people jus gravitated to your goofiness and happiness

it was about the middle of fifth year fred realized he had a crush on you

and little man was panicked

you had noticed fred before that

obviously

but he was always just the funny guy on the team

but as everyone knows the potter’s have a thing for gingers

and it was when they came to pick you and Harry up from the Dursley's just before the quidditch world cup that you saw how attractive he really was

please its james and lily all over again

kinda

you become the funniest person in the room when he’s around

always smiley

lilypad?

no.

freddie bug

aH STOP PLEASE THAT’S SO CUTE

YOU’D JUST STARE AT HIM WITH A STUPID SMILE

it would get to the point you'd be just blatantly flirting

and fred bluSHES

BECAUSE HE ISN’T USED TO BEING THE ONE ON THE RECEIVING END OF SUCH CLEAR FLIRTING

usually he is the one to pick up girls

he has the charm

likes to make them blush

but yOU CAN JUST LOOK AT HIM WITH A STUPID SMILE AND HES BE ALL GIDDY

he could barely get a compliment in between your flirting

“Morning Freddie bug, looking cute as always.”

George thinks it both hilarious and disgusting

ron just thinks its disgusting

but fred is ultimately the one to make the first move to be more than just friends who flirt when the yule ball comes around

he asks you

“Potter! Potter!”

“yes?”

“You, me, Yule ball....”

and as he’s pantomiming it (ya know like in the movie) he also pantomimes a very heavy make out session then what you could assume would be kisses all over your face

it was now your turn to blush as you agreed to go with him

you guys started dating after that :)

pLEASE ONCE HARRY GOT WITH GINNY AND HE SAW A PICTURE OF YOUR PARENTS

YOUR MOM BEING A RED HEAD AND YOU AND HARRY LOOKING JUST LIKE YOUR DAD

HE WOULD NOT STOP THE JOKES

“i see why you’re with me. it’s my hair isnt it?”

“what? no its no-”

“you probably wouldn’t even look my way if i didn’t have red hair. you potters are unbelievable.”

“you are such a dummy”

“oH AM I? BUT YOU KEEP ME AROUND BECAUSE OF THE HAIR. I SHOULD’VE KNOWN IT WASN’T MY SPARKLING PERSONALITY THAT YOU LOVE.”

taglist:

@amourtentiaa

@siriusement

#Harry Potter #fred weasley imagine #fred weasley x potter!reader #harry potter x sister!reader #harry potter imagine

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helpistolethesecharacters · 3 years ago

Text

I'll Be Your Romeo If You'll Be My Juliet

Lucius Malfoy x Male Reader

Word Count: 1911

This was a request from an anon for a Lucius x male reader.

I hope this is everything you wanted from your request anon, if it isn't, feel free to send me another request!

---------

It was time for the annual Yule gathering. The Black family had the honor of hosting it this year, and they had taken every opportunity to remind everyone of that fact.

The heirs, the ones that mattered anyway, had been almost insufferable on the lead up to the yule break.

Lucius had mixed feelings on the whole subject, not that he could let that show to anyone.

Luckily, it looked like his betrothed was of a similar mind. The lovely Andromeda Black had been as quiet as he had been lately. If they had had even the smallest bit of interest in each other, they might have brought their concerns up.

Lucius thought fleetingly of a world where they could be in love. They would spirit themselves away to an abandoned classroom where they could talk uninterrupted about all of the things that were bothering them. They would take comfort in not being alone. It would bring them closer together and they could fall in love all over again.

But reality was a cruel mistress, and rarely allowed for such flights of fancy.

As it was, Lucius and Andromeda were just two teens who had been promised to each other from before they had even been born. There was nothing more between them.

Lucius sighed silently as he exited the floo into the receiving room at the Black Manor.

He barely registered an elf banishing the soot from his dress robes as he moved out of the room.

"Heir Malfoy, a pleasure to have you in our humble home this evening. And of course you as well Lord and Lady Malfoy!"

Lucius nodded at the welcome and stood obediently by his parents' side as he waited for the greetings to end. Sometimes he tired of all the stiff pureblood airs and graces.

After the obligatory back handed compliments they moved off into the party proper. With a last terse command to not embarrass the family name, courtesy of his father, Lucius moved away to see if he could find someone a little closer to his age.

He absently took a glass of sparkling cider from one of the floating trays that dotted the ballroom. The Blacks really had outdone themselves this year. The room was done in shades of white, sliver and blue. It really was stunning, but nothing seemed to be able to knock Lucius out of the numbness he had slipped into.

It had started at the start of that school year with the arrival of a transfer student. The other boy was their age, and the most enchanting creature that Lucius had ever laid eyes on. He had watched his sorting with longing, but the dratted hat had put Y/n into Ravenclaw. It wasn't really the end of the world, Lucius shuddered to think if he had been put into Gryffindor, or worse, Hufflepuff. Unfortunately, Lucius was already betrothed, but even if he wasn't, Abraxas Malfoy would never allow him to sully the Malfoy name with a male partner.

So Lucius had had to swallow his feelings as best he could. It hadn't worked very well, so he had allowed himself to pine from afar just a little.

He was jolted out of his daydream by the object of his thoughts. Lucius inhaled his mouthful of cider at the sight of Y/n.

He looked amazing in his dress robes, dressed up all fancy for the ball. Lucius thought to himself that if this was the cause of his death it would be worth it.

He was aware, once he managed to stop choking, of three things. One, everyone was looking at him, two, his face was probably red enough to shame a Weasley's hair, and lastly, that Y/n had the brightest e/c eyes possible.

He was struck with the awful thought that this was probably the first time that Y/n had known that Lucius existed.

'Well, that was a fantastic first impression,' Lucius thought to himself. He pointedly looked everyone who would meet his gaze straight in the eyes. As he had thought, it was enough to discomfort them into looking away.

Lucius raised his chin and moved off into a different area of the ballroom.

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

Ever since Y/n had realised that Lucius Malfoy was at the party as well, he had been jittery. The other boy was always looking at him. He had been the cause of enough distraction before this, when he was just someone who lurked at the fringes of his awareness while he studied in the school library. Now, Y/n was sure that he would never be getting rid of the image of Lucius in dress robes. How was he ever going to be able to concentrate again?

He shook himself slightly and tried to focus back in on whatever it was that the Greengrass heiress was talking about. He was supposed to be making connections here, maybe paving the way for a betrothal contract. As the first Pendragon to be seen in this and the previous generation, there was a lot of pressure to make the right political connections. A marriage to someone who was already politically powerful in this community would go a long way toward putting them back on the map in this magical community.

It was the Gods eternal joke that he was the only one that could do this. He only had one other relative, and his uncle wasn't exactly all there anymore. His parents had made it clear that this was their only chance to become the powerful family that they had once been.

Sure, potions had made it possible to have a male pregnancy, but it was still looked down on pretty harshly by most purebloods. Y/n had no idea how he was supposed to get his family back to its former glory, when to do it he would have to marry a girl. Why did he have to be gay?

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

Lucius was slowly going out of his mind. He had moved around the party doing his best to ignore Y/n, but he couldn't get him out of his head. The other boy was still standing where he had first spotted him, entirely surrounded by everyone their age.

What was worse was that these were people Lucius had grown up with. He had known these people for his whole life, and it was this that allowed him to see what was happening.

They were all flirting with Y/n.

Lucius was almost certain that some of them, most notably his friends, were only doing it to irritate him and not because they were genuinely interested in Y/n.

He had been shooting furtive looks over at the group for the last half an hour, and still they kept it up. Lucius just didn't know what to do. Oh sure, he knew what he wanted to do, but he also knew that there was no way he could actually pull it off.

For one thing, if he showed his hand by going over there and making a fool of himself he would face serious consequences when he got home. He was sure he would already be in trouble for his incident earlier that night, but if his father heard even a hint of a whisper that his only heir was gay, well, Lucius wasn't sure he would survive that particular punishment.

He was pulled up short at the realisation of where he was. He was in a room with some of the biggest gossips in the magical world, all of which could just about smell weakness. He shot his eyes around the room and realised with a start that it was already too late.

He recognised the look in his fathers eyes when he met them. Someone must have said something about his preoccupation with his classmate to Abraxas. Lucius swallowed, noting his suddenly dry throat.

He looked away from his father, toward Y/n and his friends. There might be a way to salvage this, pretend to have been watching another of his friends. He would still be in trouble for lusting after someone who was not his betrothed, but much less than if it had been the very male Y/n.

There was a commotion over by one of the doors, but Lucius was too busy thinking. He was realising that he was done. He couldn't live like this anymore, and he was done pretending that he could.

He squared his shoulders and moved over to his friends.

"Excuse me, may I borrow Y/n for a moment. We won't be long."

He didn't even bother waiting for a response, just grabbed a hold of him and started off in a random direction. The only thing in his mind was getting as far away from other people so he could have this discussion in peace.

He pulled Y/n out of the ballroom and down hallway after hallway until he decided they were lost enough that only a house elf would be able to find them.

He turned back to the other boy after making sure that the area was empty. They were both panting a little after their impromptu jog.

Y/n was looking at Lucius cautiously.

Lucius surged forward and connected their lips.

They were gasping for breath again when he pulled back.

"You know we can't do this."

Lucius cut him off before he could continue.

"I'm done. I'm done being the perfect heir for parents that don't care to know the real me. I'm done pretending that I'm not head over heels for you. Most of all, I'm done holding back from the things I want just because society wants so badly to tell me no."

He pulled in a deep breath, still standing in Y/n personal space. Neither boy had moved back.

"I want you, Y/n, and I think you've known that for as long as I have. If I haven't missed my guess, you want me too. I'm certainly not alone in all the looks I've sent your way, and I would regret it for the rest of my life if I didn't at least find out if you could feel the same way as I do for you."

Y/n sighed and shifted back a step.

"Those are pretty words Lucius, easy to say them here, alone in a secluded corner of someone else's manor, but how will you feel walking into Hogwarts next week, and letting everyone see. How will you feel when your parents cut you off?"

"I'm not totally helpless Y/n, I'll find a way to survive. I know for sure that if I have you by my side there isn't anything that we can't face."

He softly took Y/n's hand and stroked the back with his thumb.

"So what do you say? Can you feel the same way I do?"

Y/n shut his eyes in resignation.

"You know I do."

They stood at the end of their silent hallway for some time, just holding each other.

"You know this will be the second scandal of the night?"

Lucius pulled back to look at Y/n.

"What do you mean?"

Y/n looked at Lucius, shocked.

"What do you mean, what do I mean? Didn't you hear, just before you pulled me out of there, one of the older Blacks ran in and caused quite the scene. By the looks of things Andromeda is missing. From what I managed to gather, she's run off with that muggleborn from Ravenclaw, you know, Tonks-something, or something-Tonks."

#Lucius Malfoy x male reader #Lucius Malfoy #Male reader

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blossom-hwa · 4 years ago

Text

Time and Time Again - CHANGBIN

I cannot believe this is finished??? I feel like I say this every time but genuinely I didn’t think this would get done until maybe bin’s birthday in August but I somehow finished it the second day of January?? Anyway, I really loved this (the concept LITERALLY came to me in a dream), and I hope you all enjoy reading it as much as I did writing it :)

(The idea that prompted this response to a @quillstarters challenge is the same one that inspired this story :D)

Pairing: Changbin x gender neutral!reader

Genre: fluff, angst, reincarnation!au, soulmate!au

Triggers: death, mentions of suicide, blood (nothing graphic)

Word Count: 10.8k

A vengeful god curses one hundred lifetimes of your love.

SKZ Masterlist

In your first life, the life that starts it all, your mother knows magic.

She’s a healer, one whose patients come from all walks of life, all over the world. From that first lifetime, you remember the heavy, comforting smell of dried herbs, the softness of her hair tickling your face, the shimmers of magic emanating from her practiced fingers into bubbling pots.

You sort of remember a father, hazy memories of a smiling man who wasn’t home very often but when he was, liked to pick you up and swing you around the room. He isn’t around by the time you’re six, maybe seven, though.

You know not to ask about it. The first time you did, your mother’s face just turned sad, an awful sort of sad that looked more like regret and repentance and anger and desolation. It takes a few more slip ups, but eventually you learn to ignore your curiosities. For though your mother never outright dismisses them, they upset her, and you never get a straight response.

Until the god arrives.

They appear in a shower of blinding light. Cold, white sparks burst into brilliant rainbows that fade in the air. You watch, mesmerized, even as your mother drags you away.

The god is beautiful. Fine, androgynous features, red eyes as soulful as song, lush locks of hair that tumble around their shoulders. But it is the severity in their face, as well as the bloodred bow and the bone-tipped arrow nocked in their hands that tell you who they are.

“You hid yourself well, disciple of Hekate.” Cupid’s beautiful lips curl in a mocking smile that doesn’t even attempt to disguise the anger in their eyes. “Eight years. I applaud you.”

Three slow, ominous claps echo loudly in the room.

You look up at your mother, heart about to leap out of your chest. Her face has gone pale, devoid of color. It only scares you more.

Cupid’s eyes flicker to you, clutching your mother’s skirts like a toddler. They freeze you in place. “So she never told you.”

Told me what?

“You never wondered where your father was, child?”

All the breath stops in your throat.

My father?

The god shakes his head disapprovingly. “It’s the least you could have done, sorceress.”

“What would you have me do?” Your mother’s voice brims with desperation and anger – though aimed at whom, you aren’t sure. “How could a child ever understand?”

“You should never have made the mistake in the first place.”

Understood what? Your eyes flit between the god and your mother. “Mother?” you whisper, tugging at her sleeve. “Mother, what do they mean?”

The story spills out in broken fragments. Your father had a liaison with your mother and she found she was pregnant with you. She loved him, but he didn’t want to stay. So she dabbled in forbidden magic. Gave a love potion to a man who did not care for her.

You were born. He realized, eventually, what she had done. Then he left, leaving you without a father.

You can’t even try to speak when the story is over. It feels as though you can’t breathe, can’t feel, can’t see anything beyond the god’s blood red eyes. Fingers cling to your mother’s skirts numbly as you attempt to process the flow of words that just passed through your ears.

Dimly, you register your mother pulling free from your hands to kneel on the floor. “Do with me as you see fit,” she whispers.

“With you?” Cupid laughs. The sound tears at the silence in the room. “What use would that be? No, I think your child will pay for your crimes.” They pin you under their gaze. “Yes, I see many lifetimes of pain in these eyes that would suffice.”

You don’t understand. You can’t understand. What does the god want with you? What have you done to anger them? It was your mother who committed the error, not you. Why must you pay for it? Your heart pounds faster and faster as their eyes refuse to waver.

“Yes.” They nod, finally satisfied. “A heart broken one hundred times will pay for your crime.” Cupid lifts their bow and arrow, aiming at your heart.

Your mother’s head snaps up. “You would condemn my child’s love to centuries of turmoil?” Her voice shakes with barely controlled anger. “You would punish my child for my mistakes? Take me instead!”

Cupid’s cruel eyes flicker between you and her. “Love is hardly fair, as you should well know,” they snarl. “By meddling in my affairs, you have secured your child’s fate.”

Their gaze fixes on you with the intensity of a thousand suns. You shrink under their glare, even as their eyes gain some semblance of softness. For a moment, it seems as though the god will take pity on you.

Then the arrow sinks into your chest, exploding into a shower of the god’s cold sparks. No blood flows but your chest throbs.

Through a dim haze of pain, as though they speak through water, you hear the god speak their final words.

“A hundred lifetimes will pass before I will allow your love to rest.”

. . . . .

It takes years, really, for the information to sink in. You don’t fault your mother entirely for her actions – raising a child alone is hard, you come to know as you grow older. But at the same time, you can’t find respect for a man who would abandon a woman he had a relationship with over the birth of a child. You can’t understand why your mother would love such a person, can’t quite understand love in general. You know you love your mother, of course, but what does such an emotion really mean?

You learn the meaning at age twenty in your first life when you meet Seo Changbin.

Your mother rushes into the house that day, almost collapsing under his unconscious weight. You immediately zero in on the huge gash on his leg that’s still leaking blood, despite the makeshift bandage, and start pulling down the necessary salves and potions.

He doesn’t wake up for a week. Other patients filter in and out of the little hut as the days go by and you dutifully do your best to treat them all, gently treating scrapes and brewing tonics. There’s something about the man lying unconscious and feverish at the back of the hut, though, that draws you in like a moth to a flame. Day by day, you sit by him when you can, wiping the sweat off of his forehead with cool cloths, forcing brews down his throat and dabbing creams onto his leg to fight the infection.

He doesn’t look like one of the gentlemen that sometimes come to town. He doesn’t seem like he has the stately grace of Hwang Hyunjin, the lord’s heir, nor does he exude the cold elegance of Choi Chanhee, the magistrate’s son.

So this man is probably a commoner, if your deductions are correct. But you know almost everyone in the village – they’ve all come to the healer’s hut at some point and met you – and this boy’s face is new. You don’t recognize him, not at all.

You wake up to a soft crash in the middle of the night, then the sound of a loud curse. For a moment, you lie back down on your pillow. Probably Mother.

Then you sit bolt upright. That was a man’s voice. Not your mother’s.

Thieves?

Then you realize.

He’s woken up!

Large, terrified eyes glow in the flickering light of your candle when you enter the healing ward, carefully holding your hands in a purposeful gesture of surrender. “Hello,” you say, trying not to fixate on the beauty of the boy’s eyes. “My name is Y/N. My mother found you in the forest with an infected wound and brought you to our home for treatment.”

He glares at you, still distrustful, but speaks. “How long have I been here?”

“Almost a week.”

The boy visibly tenses. “One week?”

“Yes.” You step forward. “And I would advise you not to leave for at least another two, given the condition of your leg. Wherever you’re going, if you go now, the infection will kill you before you get far.”

“How long will I have?” he asks.

You raise an eyebrow. “Are you suicidal?”

For several tense seconds, you stare at each other, neither backing down. Finally, the boy lowers his gaze. “Fine,” he says, the fight leaving his voice. He smiles a little, apologetically. “I’ll stay. Thank you for treating me.”

“You’re welcome.” You help him back onto the cot. “Now try to sleep. I’ll come back to check on you in the morning.”

Just before you fall asleep, you think of large, brown eyes and petulant lips. For some reason, they make you smile.

. . .

His name is Changbin, you come to learn after several days of pained grunts, spilled salve, and muted conversation. He won’t tell you where he comes from, but a name is far better than nothing. At least you have confirmation that he isn’t a local, and he smiles too much for you to suspect him as a murderer.

That would be unpleasant.

And Changbin is the opposite of unpleasant. He has this smile, a smile that no matter how small, is bright enough to light up the room. He’s so smart when it comes to life but he’s also a little dumb, really, telling bad jokes that make you roll your eyes but laugh anyway. He snorts when you tell your own stupid stories and insulting jokes and as a result, you think of more and more for him, more tall tales and bad puns just so you can hear that beautiful laugh that sounds like a cross between wedding bells and a pig’s snort.

He stays for your recommended two weeks, then another, and another. Your mother doesn’t mind, only smiles at him like he was her own son. Changbin isn’t useless, after all – he helps you tend to the herb garden, chops wood for the fire, and is receptive to the eventual lessons you give him on the basics of healing.

(And if you stare at his muscles when he lifts heavy pots over the fire, what of it?)

The boy your mother found so many weeks ago in the woods lights up your life in a way you’ve never experienced before. Even though it makes you feel guilty, sometimes you’re glad that Changbin injured himself in the forest. Otherwise, you might never have met the boy who sits with you shoulder to shoulder on the bank of the river that runs through the woods, laughs ringing through the trees.

“Y/N,” he says on one of those quiet days by the river. When you look up from your feet dangling feet in the swift current and when you look up, you find Changbin staring at you with something so soft, so deep in his gaze that you can’t decipher it.

(It makes your heart thump.)

“Hm?” You pull your feet out of the water, feeling almost shy as you meet his eyes.

“Have you ever been kissed?”

When Changbin kisses you that afternoon under a green canopy of leaves, golden light showering his dark hair and tanned skin, you can’t think. There are no thoughts of anything in your head (and certainly none of Cupid’s curse) except the euphoria of his lips against yours. With his mouth pressed softly to yours, you feel like you’re flying, drifting on the breeze without a care in the world. It’s bliss, pure bliss.

Your mother knows when you walk back into the hut, suppressing an uncontrollable smile. Her gaze remains carefully neutral for the rest of the day, but when Changbin has gone outside to chop wood, she speaks. “You know about the curse.”

Dread mixes with the bliss in your heart. Your head hangs over the herbs you’re grinding. “Yes, Mother.”

“Darling, look at me.” She turns you around, and you see the tears building in the corners of her eyes. “I’m sorry. I’m so, so sorry.”

There’s bitterness in your chest and mouth, tingeing the tip of your tongue, but this is your mother, the woman who bore you and cared for you alone for so much of your life. Though angry words rise in your throat, they never make it past your lips.

“It’s okay, Mother.” You brush the tears away, valiantly holding your own back. “I can’t blame you for a mistake you made in the name of love.” Blind, blind hope rises in your chest. “Maybe the god forgot. Maybe they will have mercy.”

Your mother just looks at you with dreadful eyes, eyes haunted by the knowledge that your words will prove false. But Changbin’s already coming back inside and the fluttering happiness in your heart from seeing him expels all negative thoughts from your mind.

One year passes in domestic bliss. Your mother never brings up the curse again, and you push any thought of it to the back of your mind. Changbin’s kisses do much to dispel any worries of yours, anyway.

Late one night, curled in a blanket next to the fire, Changbin tells you the reason he came. “I left because of a family dispute,” he says, almost ashamedly, staring into the flickering flames. “I had a falling out with my father, and he told me to leave. Even though I knew he really didn’t mean it, even though my mother pleaded with me to stay, I… I left anyway.”

You hold him closer under the blanket, comforting him with your warmth. In the light of the fire, his eyes look ghostly against the dark.

“I’m telling you this now because I want to go back.”

Your heart freezes.

Back? He wants to go back to his village, go back home… and leave you behind?

But Changbin’s smiling now, slightly. It settles your heart a little – he couldn’t speak of leaving you forever and smile in the same sentence, could he? You look at him, eyes pleading with him to continue.

“I want to go back to apologize,” he says, squeezing your hand. “I want to go back to make amends. But I’ll come back to the home I have here.”

“Can I come with you?” you can’t help but ask, even though you’re sure you know the answer.

He shakes his head, and your heart sinks. “No, I think this is something I have to do myself. But I won’t stay, I promise you that. I’ll come back home.”

“Promise?” you ask, voice barely a whisper over the crackling flames. Your fingers clutch his desperately. He has to come back, or you’ll go with him.

“I promise.” He lifts a thin silver chain from his neck, a necklace he’s never taken off since he arrived, and loops it around your throat. “That’s my promise, all right? I’m leaving this with you because I know I’ll return. And when I do…” He sweeps one of your hands out of the blanket and places a gentle kiss on it. “I’m going to marry you.” A note of uncertainty enters his gaze. “Unless you… uh, unless you don’t want to?”

You tug your hand out of his and punch him in the arm. “Are you stupid, Seo Changbin?” you ask over his yelps of mock pain. Eyes turning shy, you smile. “Of course I do.”

Your heart explodes in bliss when he kisses you, the fire’s warmth dancing on his lips.

. . .

“No more than two months,” he promises you the day he leaves. “I’ll come home.”

He keeps looking back and you keep waving as he starts out into the forest, green leaves beginning to shroud his path. The last you see of him is his bright smile as he disappears between the trees, the gentle pressure of his lips still a memory against yours.

One month passes, then two. You wait outside the hut eagerly every day, waiting for a sign of his returns.

Then another month goes by. And another. Winter settles in, heavy snow coating the forest in cold, white blankets.

“Perhaps he was held up,” your mother says, guiding your shivering body back inside the house. “He couldn’t travel in the winter, so he’s probably staying somewhere for the time being.”

You want to believe her. You really do, with all your heart and soul. But Cupid’s curse remains in the back of your mind, twisting and turning in its depths, whispering to you that Changbin is gone, that he will never return.

Winter has passed and a month of spring gone by before you decide to find Changbin’s family yourself. It takes several months because really, you don’t have any guide other than the name of his old village, but eventually, exhausted and almost losing hope, you find them.

A stooped woman answers the door with a confused smile on her lips. “Hello.”

“Um, hello.” You swallow. “Is this the Seo residence?”

“Yes, can I help you with anything?”

You pull the necklace from under the collar of your shirt. “Did Changbin come visit some months ago?”

For a single moment charged with hope, you see the widening of the woman’s eyes and believe that she will say yes, that Changbin came and is just having a hard time returning.

Then she shakes her head, and the world begins to crumble at the edges.

. . .

You stay just long enough to tell Changbin’s family who you are and what he set out to do, then flee back home as fast as you can. Tears stain the forest floor and when your mother opens the door to the hut so many months later, it only takes one look for her to fold you into her arms as you begin to cry on her shoulder.

He could be alive, you desperately hope. He could be somewhere, lost, unable to find his way back home. You know your Changbin would never break a promise to you, not if he could help it.

One year. Two years. Then three. The months pass with no sign of his return.

And you know, dead or not, he isn’t coming back.

It hurts. Everything reminds you of him, of Changbin, of what could have been and what should have been. You curse Cupid, cry for the god to come down so you can scream obscenities at them face to face, but they never answer your pleas.

The silver chain Changbin left you burns around your neck, but you can’t bring yourself to take it off. It’s the last thing you have of him, the only thing you have of him. You clutch it on your worst days, imprinting the tiny chain links into your palm when you fall sick, wasting away without a desire to live.

This is what it feels like, you think, delirious with fever, to have lost your entire world.

Your crying mother stays by your side as you wither, sponging your forehead, feeding you soup, whispering apologies into the blankets she covers you with. In moments of lucidity, you clutch her hand and tell her it’s not her fault. That you understand, now, what it means to love someone with the force of the universe.

Weeks pass in a feverish daze until winter seizes control of the earth. Numb with cold and sweating with warmth, you pray to the heavens above to release you from this pain.

The day you drift away is bitterly cold. You’re wrapped in at least five blankets, your mother shivering beside you as she grips your hands, trying desperately to warm them.

There is one brief moment of absolute clarity. You sit up, eyes wide, and cup your mother’s cheeks between cold, cold hands. “I love you, Mother.”

She kisses your forehead. “I love you too, my darling child.”

Her tears drip onto your cheeks. You don’t remember anything more.

In your first life, in the dead of winter, you die of a broken heart.

. . . . .

Your second life begins in a poor family, though happy. Sixteen years of life pass in ignorant bliss, with no knowledge of soulmates or vengeful gods. A week after your birthday, hope filling every step, you set off for the nearby village to try your skills at sewing. Luck paves your path and you find a kind mistress who values your quick fingers and eye for color. The village is bright and cheerful, you’re making money to send back to your family, and life is peaceful.

Then the dreams come.

The first vision is barely there, just a quick glimpse of green trees and a disappearing smile wedged between the scenes of your mind’s musings. You wake up, an uneasy feeling in your chest, but the image is already fading. You shake the discomfort away and get to work.

The second dream is longer, more vivid. You hear a voice, feel a gentle touch, see a mop of dark hair and a pair of gleaming eyes. In the moment, you feel happy, so happy in a way you’ve never felt before. It’s pure, this happiness, something so deep that your entire body feels warm when you wake, even as a chilling breeze seeps in through a crack in the window.

The dreams continue for several days, and each morning, you only grow more curious about the strange man who keeps wandering into your mind. Who is this man? you wonder as you sew, poking your fingers with the needle more times than you’d like to admit. Who is he, and why does he make me so happy?

Why does it feel like I should know him?

After a week of lovely, warm, but deeply unsettling dreams, it hits you all at once.

Needle in hand, you’re about to push the sliver of metal through a silk shirt, ready to begin embroidering the next leaf on a flowering vine. Taking a second glance at the embroidery you’ve already done, you blink in confusion.

This kind of vine doesn’t exist in your little village. In fact, you’ve never seen it before. But each leaf, each flower is so perfectly stitched that it doesn’t seem possible that you just made this up on the spot.

Oh.

Green leaves, sturdy trunks, water rushing down a river. Firm muscle, a flowering vine curled into a crown, fingers placing the circlet upon your head. A brilliant smile, bright as the sun, and a peal of snorting laughter that sounds like wedding bells.

One name hurtles through your mind, the name of the dark-haired, lovely-eyed boy who, by now, is a frequent visitor in your dreams.

Seo Changbin.

The needle embeds itself in your palm.

. . .

It’s hard to explain away your frazzled state when your mistress comes into the room to see you staring at the embroidered silk, palm dripping blood onto your clothes. Voice trembling only slightly (and you’re proud of yourself for that), you tell her that you just made a mistake, really.

Never mind the fact that the needle stuck itself far enough into your hand that you really have to pull it out, releasing a small spurt of blood that raises your mistress’s eyebrows so far they look like they’re about to jump off her forehead.

Shakily, you get back to work. Years of practice have steadied your fingers so that the stitches remain even, but as you sew, your mind races with memories. Memories of a trembling mother, a red-eyed god, a gaping leg wound festering on an apothecary table. Memories of boys you’ve never met in this life, a Hwang Hyunjin and a Choi Chanhee, but most importantly, a strong young man with sweet lips and a raspy, whining voice named Seo Changbin.

“Seo Changbin,” you murmur, testing the words between your lips. Just saying his name sends a rush of warmth through your chest and brings a small smile to your face.

The smile disappears, though, when you remember how the story ends.

Night brings dreams again, full, vivid scenes that begin with joy and happiness and warmth. You see your mother from another life, smell the comforting scent of herbs wafting through the air in the hut. You see your love, Changbin, feel his arms wrapped around your body, see the flush in his cheeks when you press your lips to his in a kiss.

The day he leaves is vivid, too. Sharp greens against a bright blue sky devoid of clouds, his smile disappearing into the forest as he begins his journey home.

A journey that you know he will never finish.

You know what will happen next and you don’t want to see it. You beg yourself to wake up, to stop these visions before your heart breaks, but sleep pins down your limbs and forces you to watch, to experience, to live the turmoil of emotions that flooded your heart those last few years of your life.

The next morning, you look so ill that your mistress forces you to take the day off, despite your pleas that you can work, you really can. The last thing you need is more sleep, after all, more time for vengeful gods to replay past lives for their leisure.

So after sixteen years of blissful ignorance, you know. You know of your love, you know of the curse, you know of the life that began it all. Sick emotions mix in your heart, syrupy and viscous and heavy, hope for a love as deep as your life before and terror for the heartbreak that will inevitably come.

And this time, you don’t have a loving mother who knows of your predicament.

You imagine Cupid laughing in the heavens as you face his wrath once more.

. . .

It happens by chance, purely by chance. On your days off, you sometimes like to visit the marketplace, see if you can find some fun trinket to send back to your family or to keep for yourself. Today is no exception.

Something makes you pause in front of a jewelry stand, a stand you don’t usually visit because your apprentice’s pay, though enough to support your family, doesn’t allow for expenses on jewels. However, a thin chain necklace catches your eye as you walk past.

It’s silver, shiny, not a hint of rust on the metal. A small black stone hangs as a pendant and you’ve never seen it before, but you can’t shake the suspicion that this is a necklace you wore in a past life.

A necklace Changbin gave you in a past life.

Uneasiness grows in your mind the longer you look at the chain. How did the jeweler even get this chain? Who took it away? You’re pretty sure you wore it until your death, and you don’t believe your previous mother, based on your dreams, would have taken it away.

You think you want it back.

Pointing at the chain, you look up at the jeweler. “How much is this?”

“Eight gold pieces.”

Your heart sinks. A day’s work gives you five silver pieces, and there are twenty silvers to a gold. Most of your money goes back home, leaving you with only a little pocket money of your own – certainly not enough for a piece of jewelry worth eight golds. Lips pressed thinly together, you nod before beginning to walk away.

A voice stops you, a familiar voice you’ve never heard before. Not in this life, at least.

“Wait!”

You turn around, slowly, slowly, as Changbin’s voice asks the jeweler, “Eight gold pieces, you said?”

It’s him, you think faintly. It’s really him. Different hair, skin a shade lighter, but his eyes… his eyes are the same. The absolute same.

He doesn’t look at you with any recognition, though, and he’s dressed in silk, indicating high status – at least, higher than yours. So you politely avert your gaze, trying to calm the pounding in your heart.

Eight golds appear on the counter, exchanged for a small silk pouch with the necklace inside. You’re about to walk away – why did Changbin stop you, anyway? There’s not a single chance he would give it to you – when the pouch appears in your line of vision, held by a familiar hand.

You blink once, twice, then look up from the pouch to the man holding it in his palm.

Only one thought runs through your mind.

There is no way, in two consecutive lives, that Seo Changbin would offer me the same necklace.

Your confusion must show, because he laughs. “It’s for you,” he says (and oh, gods, his voice makes you want to just sit and listen to it forever). “It looked like you wanted it, no?”

Thankfully, your vocal cords remember how to speak, even if your mind doesn’t. “I couldn’t possibly take such a gift, sir,” you say, stepping backward slightly. “You paid for it – it’s yours.”

“Then it is also mine to give. And I believe you would appreciate this much more than I.” He unstrings the pouch, slips the chain into his fingers. “May I?”

For any other person, you would have said a polite no before speed walking into the crowd, hoping to disappear between the stalls. Now, though, you stay in place, rooted to the ground under Changbin’s steady gaze.

You nod.

His hands are gentle in their feather-light touch against your skin, clasping the chain around your neck. The pendant hangs at the base of your throat, cold at first, but slowly warming with the afternoon sun.

It feels right.

“Thank you,” you whisper when he’s finished, sinking into a low bow. “Thank you so much.”

Changbin smiles, loosely taking your hand. He drops a butterfly kiss to your knuckles and you physically have to restrain yourself from gasping too loudly, because – oh, because –

The spot where his lips touch your skin sends warmth spreading throughout your body.

“It was my pleasure,” he says, still smiling. “My name is Changbin.”

I know.

“May I know yours?”

“Oh.” You smile, hoping your lips don’t tremble too much. “I’m Y/N.”

His smile widens at your words, making your heart flutter in shy embarrassment. “I hope to see you around once more, Y/N,” he says.

A sudden burst of courage turns your smile a little teasing. “Just once?”

Changbin’s laugh – it’s shy, it’s a shy laugh, your heart can’t take it – makes you want to melt into the ground. “Maybe not,” he finally says, ears red. “Maybe many times more.”

. . .

He keeps his promise of many times more, appearing again on your next day off, then again, and again. If possible, you seem to fall in love with him even more than you did in your previous life, his laughs tickling your heart, his smiles like sunshine against your skin.

Deep down, you know this won’t last. If Cupid took your love away so harshly in your last life, he won’t hesitate to do it again, possibly with even more malice. But Changbin is intoxicating, pulling you toward him like a leaf on the wind, forever fluttering in the breeze, only resting when the air does.

It’s not even just Cupid. At least before, you and Changbin were on equal footing – one a healer, the other a poor runaway. There was no status difference. Now, though, Changbin wears silk while you clothe yourself in homespun fabric, finer perhaps than a peasant’s, but homespun nonetheless. No matter how daintily you embroider the cloth with leftover threads from your work, it will never match up to the rich, gorgeous clothing of the nobles with whom Changbin must walk.

Such differences inevitably drive a wedge into a love that could have been.

It starts after you go to the market once, twice, three times, and Changbin doesn’t meet you at any of the stalls. It feels empty, walking around with no one by your side, and you’re just wondering if something’s happened when you receive a note written in your love’s handwriting, asking you to meet him at midnight where you first met.

He arrives a bit later than you, footsteps softly padding across the empty market. For a moment, you only stare at each other, faces lit just barely by the light of the moon.

Changbin breaks the silence. “I’m getting married.”

The words send a knife into your heart, but you try to ignore the pain. It was expected, you tell yourself, expected of someone with Changbin’s high status. The two of you could never end up together, not a sewing apprentice and a member of nobility. “I see,” is all you say.

For the first time since you’ve met, Changbin looks broken. It hurts your heart and you want nothing more than to hold him close until that expression disappears, but you can’t. You’ve barely even touched – you don’t have a right to hold him the way you’d like.

“I don’t want to be,” he says.

Your hands shake slightly with your reply. “Why?”

“Because…” Changbin’s voice almost fades into the silence. “I think I love you.”

His words should make you feel happy, should make fireworks burst in your heart the way they did when Changbin kissed you in your past life. And yes, a small part of you jumps for joy. But a larger part withers with disappointment, with pain, with the knowledge that none of this will come to good.

“Y/N.” His voice turns insistent. “Don’t you… don’t you feel the same?”

You swallow. Take a breath. “I do.”

A lovely brightness enters Changbin’s eyes, hope filling his face. You hate yourself for having to crush it. “But you have a duty to your family.”

“We can run away,” Changbin says, taking your hand. You want to melt yourself into his touch, rest in his warmth forever. “We can run, Y/N. We don’t have to stay.”

Only the greatest force of will allows you to pull your hand away. “I have a family, Changbin,” you say, trying not to focus on the light that’s fading out of his face with every second. “I have to support them. And you… you have a duty to the village.” You swallow. “We can’t run. It’s too selfish.”

He doesn’t blame you, you know. He understands what you’re saying, has probably already thought of it himself. Still, it doesn��t stop pain from breaking the glass in his eyes, gaze becoming fragmented as he nods once, twice. “I know. I just thought…”

Changbin never finishes his sentence. In fact, you never speak again. He walks you back to your mistress’s house that night, squeezes your hand once under the moonlight, then disappears back into the darkness.

And with that disappearance, he leaves your life forever.

Over the years, you hear stories of Changbin’s lovely partner, her flowing hair and vibrant face and pretty smile. You hear stories of how much they love each other, the children they have, how well they watch over the village together.

It doesn’t matter how much your heart hurts, you tell yourself every time you hear one of those stories. It doesn’t matter at all, not even when his wife commissions a dress from the shop you now own, years later. It doesn’t matter when Changbin comes with her and stands in the main room silently as you take her for fitting, and it doesn’t matter when his eyes linger slightly on you when you lead her back out.

You exchange no words that day, but you’re certain Changbin sees the black gemstone still resting at the base of your throat. He makes no obvious expression, but when his eyes flicker over it, their light dims the slightest bit.

In this life, there are no kisses, no hugs, none of the passion you shared in your first life. Instead, you love through vivid conversations, knowing smiles, and in the end, the barest brush of his hand against yours before he leads his wife out of your shop.

In the end, you never marry. Instead, you spend the rest of your life sewing until your eyes go blind, leaving you all too much time to contemplate everything you’ve lost.

Which is worse, you wonder, losing your love to death or to societal pressures and another woman? Which is worse, never knowing how Changbin suffered as he died, or knowing that he’s doing well without you?

Which is worse, having your love die in a land unknown, or having him live so close, yet so far away?

. . . . .

It continues, over and over again, endless cycles of living, remembering, loving. He’s a thief and you’re a merchant. You’re a shop owner and he’s a soldier. Both of you are orphans, living on the street. None of it matters, not gender, not occupation, not social status – no matter what, you end up apart.

With every lifetime, the dreams grow more vivid, as though to make sure you don’t forget a single instant of the love you experienced, the love you could never see to the end. You’d think that the lines between each life would grow blurred as each one passes, but they only grow sharper, more defined. It’s impossible to forget how many lives you’ve lived, not when Cupid forces each one to remain in your mind, endlessly playing in your dreams time and time again.

On your twenty-ninth reincarnation, you experience a month’s worth of dreams in your silken bed, the bed of a noble heir who can have nothing to do with the boy who stays by their side day and night as a bodyguard and nothing more. You wake up every night stifling screams resulting from twenty-eight lifetimes of broken hearts, muffled cries and tears that bring Changbin running into your room, asking if you’re all right, reminding you that you’re safe.

Physically, you agree. You trust Changbin entirely – he’s proven more than capable of protecting you after multiple attempts on your life – but mentally? Emotionally?

How can he protect you from a god’s wrath, a wrath he doesn’t know of, when you can’t even protect yourself from that same wrath you’ve known of for twenty-eight, soon to be twenty-nine lifetimes?

You try to harden your heart, speak to Changbin a little less, spend more time focused on your lesson books and less on Changbin’s lovely face, but it’s impossible, you find after several months of this forced silence. It’s impossible to ignore the allure of your guard’s lips, his entrancing eyes, impossible to ignore the gentleness of his strong, roughened hands guiding you through life.

But with every chaste kiss, with every stolen hug or brush of skin, you know, deep in your heart, that something will befall your love. Something will tear you two apart.

When he dies, stabbed in the chest by a traitor to your family, rage drives you to take the knife that fell out of your love’s hand and shove the blade into the attacker’s heart. It drives you to cry, to weep, to wail to the sky as Changbin’s skin grows cold, the remnants of his last “I love you” still hanging on his lips.

Watching your love die in front of you, you decide, is the worst punishment of all. Nothing, absolutely nothing could be worse than this, knowing that Changbin died because of you, for you, without a singular doubt in his mind as he did it because he knew you would do the same for him.

Moonlight streams through the windows, illuminating Changbin’s blank face and the blood on his chest. As people begin entering the room, pausing at the carnage next to your bed, you raise your head, tears still flowing down your face.

“YOU SELFISH GOD!” you scream at the cold moon, resisting the arms tugging you away from the body of your love. “YOU SELFISH GOD! I GAVE YOU TWENTY-EIGHT LIFETIMES OF MY LOVE, AND YOU WANT MORE?”

Someone’s speaking, trying to make you hear their words over the raging of your voice. You don’t care, violently wrenching yourself out of their grip to stay thrown over Changbin’s body, tears mixing with his blood. “COME DOWN AND FACE ME!” you gasp. “COME DOWN AND TAKE MY LIFE, DO ANYTHING, I DON'T CARE! FACE ME, YOU COWARD!”

Strong hands, too strong, containing none of the gentility Changbin used to show you, begin pulling you away. You thrash in their grip, still staring at the moon. “I WISH HE NEVER MET ME!” you scream as they drag you out of the room. Blood stains your nightclothes, sticky against your skin. “I WISH HE NEVER MET ME, NEVER DIED FOR ME, DO YOU HEAR?”

. . . . .

The god grants your wish.

. . .

You regret it more than anything in all of your now-thirty lives.

. . .

To know of your love, but to never experience any semblance of it in your entire life? To know of a certain Seo Changbin, but to never meet him, never know how he is, never see him once in over fifty years of living?

Torture.

. . .

From your sixteenth birthday, when you begin having the dreams, until your death well into your fifties, there’s only pain, endless pain, marred by a piece of disgusting hope that rests in your chest, a piece of hope that keeps you praying that you will see him just once in this lifetime, that you’ll know his face and he’ll know yours.

. . .

It becomes so clear as you grow older that you will never know the Changbin of this lifetime, if he even exists. You will never touch his skin, see his smile, bathe in the glory of his laugh. You’ll never kiss, never experience even the briefest joy of seeing his face.

But your heart hopes, anyway, even though your mind sees reason. It prays, refuses to accept the truth.

. . .

Hope, you decide, is a weapon. A weapon far deadlier than the sharpest sword or the heaviest club, a weapon wielded by only the most intelligent of tyrants.

. . .

Apparently, you go mad towards the end of this life. You can’t blame those who eventually put you in an institution, over fifty years old and withering away. They don’t know who Changbin is. They never will.

You never will.

. . .

You blame the dreams. If you didn’t know of your previous lives, if you didn’t know Changbin existed, you might have lived happily – well, maybe not happily, but you’d be content, at least. You wouldn’t be wishing you were dead every minute of your existence.

. . .

You die in that institution, supposedly of a wasting disease, but more accurately of a broken heart, a heart even more broken than the one Changbin left behind that first life when he never came back.

. . . . .

Your forty-sixth life is first one in which you end the love with death, not Changbin. Looking back, it was probably better for you, you suppose, because you didn’t have to feel the pain of losing your love. Maybe this was Cupid’s laughable attempt at some sort of mercy.

You loathe it anyway, loathe it almost as much as the lives – yes, plural by now, which automatically cancel anything Cupid tries to do to make up for it (if the god is even trying) – where you dreamt of certain sparkling eyes and a lovely smile but never met them face to face. It’s not quite as horrible, but nearly.

To know that your love had to deal with any measure of the pain you’ve felt for so long, the pain you wouldn’t impart on even your worst enemy, is unimaginable.

It’s ironic, too, considering your occupations in life. You’re a healer on the battlefield, wearing the strip of blue silk on your arm that denotes your immunity to the opposite forces. He’s a soldier on the same side, though he has no protection other than his skill from enemy swords.

You are sworn to heal. He is sworn to kill.

Isn’t it strange, then, that fate wills you to die first while forcing Changbin to live?

You weren’t supposed to be killed in war. Your healer status, that piece of blue silk tied around your arm, was supposed to protect you from enemy blades. But some unsuspecting enemy soldier, perhaps not seeing the blue amidst the dust of the battlefield or genuinely just not caring for the rules of war, drove their blade into your back as you knelt over a fallen man of your side.

Within minutes, you had succumbed to darkness. The pain of dying, the blade in your back wasn’t even the worst part.

All you could think, after all, as you lay there gasping, was that he would have to learn of your death from finding your body, that you wouldn’t even get to say a proper goodbye.

. . . . .

It’s a pitiful, desolate figure who sits on a clifftop fifteen lifetimes later, blankly staring at an expanse of open ocean, waves crashing against the rocks below, contemplating every single one of the sixty-one lives you’ve lived so far.

You married Changbin in this one, this sixty-first life. You married him for the first time in sixty-one lives, made your vows with him, kissed him under a shower of flower petals.

It didn’t change your fate, not even when, unable to have a baby of your own, you adopted your first, then your second child. It didn’t change anything, not when Changbin had a duty to this village that you couldn’t interfere with. It didn’t change anything, not when pirates came ashore and massacred the village population, killing your two children and half of the rest of your family.

Changbin threw himself from this very cliff, you remember, threw himself to a watery death rather than die at the hands of the pirates who came to raid the town so many years ago. He was brave to the last, fending off invaders even when countless others had thrown down their swords, and he never lived to see the defeat of the pirates whom he died fighting.

You hug your shoulders tightly, staring down at the waves crashing against the rocks. With all that’s happened to you over sixty-one lifetimes, who would blame you for tipping off the edge the same way Changbin died, albeit much less heroically? Who would blame you for giving up in this life, giving up in every life if you knew just how badly it would end every time?

“You’re right,” a rich voice sounds behind you, a voice that you once heard in person, many centuries ago. “Who would blame you? Not even I would.”

Your eyes slam shut, refusing to gaze into blood red. You don’t speak.

A sigh passes from the god’s lips, breath puffing softly. Where the air hits your neck, you feel your skin curdle with disgust.

“It’s no use not speaking,” he continues, a hint of amusement tinging his voice that makes your hands curl into fists. “I can hear your thoughts.”

A snarl twists your lips. “They must be very loud,” you snap, words dripping acid.

More silence.

“You hate me,” he finally says.

You breathe in, out, in, out. Calm, you tell yourself.

“Why wouldn’t I.”

A pause.

“Perhaps you can elaborate.”

For the first time since they appeared, you turn around, eyes blazing, to stare into the red gaze of the wrathful god who cursed you. “I would rather throw myself off this cliff,” you seethe, “than relive my lifetimes in front of you.”

Is it remorse that glitters in ruby eyes, pity that rests in their shadows? Whatever it is, it makes you smirk without mirth, lips curling without cheer as you turn back around to watch gray waves crash against the cliff. It doesn’t matter how a vengeful god feels after lifetimes of revenge. Apologies from the curser mean nothing to the spite of the cursed.

“I made mistakes,” the god says simply. “I acted rashly. I should not have taken my anger out on you, and certainly not with so harsh a punishment.”

You want to snort. “I am ever grateful you realize after sixty-one lifetimes of wrath,” you say, acid practically burning a hole in your tongue. “Now quit with the blather.” You don’t care that you’re staring at a god who could smite you down a thousand times over with a single flick of their finger – they’ve already hurt you too much for it to matter anymore. “After so many years of never answering my calls, you finally come, unbidden. Tell me why you’re here, or I will jump off this cliff.”

“I’ve come to offer an exchange,” they say. “It is impossible to erase a curse, but I can impart it on someone else.”

In a flash, you’re standing, staring the god dead in the center of their bright red eyes. “You said you could read my thoughts,” you snarl. “Tell me, God of Love, what I’m thinking right now.”

They raise an eyebrow. “You don’t want it,” they say calmly, though surprise coats their words. “You have no one, then, on whom you would impart this curse?”

“When I tell you,” you snap, “that I would not wish this curse on my worst enemy in all of my sixty-one lives, I do not lie. That –” you take a breath – “that is how much you have hurt me.”

Astonishment shows itself in the god’s gaze. “I don’t understand,” they say, for the first time looking bemused. “I have given you everything, dying first, dying last, watching him die in front of you, never seeing him in a lifetime –”

“You don’t need to remind me,” you cut him off. “I know it very well.”

“Then you would not even give this curse to me?” they ask. “Not to the god who has shown you so much pain?”

That almost gets you, almost. The desire for revenge claws its way through your chest, begging to be released in a monstrous cry of pain, but you rein it in with a scoff. “For a god of love,” you say, turning back around, “you really understand nothing of it.”

More silence.

“I will leave you with two gifts,” the god finally says. “Two gifts to try and make up for what you have lost.”

You suppress another snort.

“Your love will remember you on your one hundred and first lifetime,” they continue. “When the curse is over, your love will remember you, will know how you have lived one hundred lifetimes without him.”

The words, acerbic with derision, fall from your lips without missing a beat. “Will I remember him, then, or will you take that away from me too?”

A short pause. The air seems to grow slightly warmer, as though the god has been angered, but it cools quickly. “You will remember him,” they reply, voice thinner with a tinge of frustration.

You smirk.

They clear their throat. “The second gift you will find when you return home.”

You give no response to that, only stare resolutely at gray waves, feeling the ocean spray tickle your skin. The god must disappear at some point, because when you finally turn around to return home, they’re gone. But once you enter your empty house, there’s something on your table, something that sparkles in the last glimmers of sunlight peeking through the window.

You pick it up, eyes narrowed, and almost immediately drop it.

A thin silver necklace, polished to shine, with a small black gem as the pendant.

Though there’s no way to prove it, you’re sure this is the very same piece of jewelry that Changbin gifted you so many centuries ago, two lifetimes in a row.

The chain trembles on your shaking fingers as you place it back down, carefully, so carefully, like it’ll explode any second. You go to bed that night wondering if the necklace will have disappeared by morning, but when you wake up after a fitful rest, it’s still there, glittering on the table.

You wear it for the rest of this lifetime, hiding it beneath your clothing so no questions are asked. And when you feel you will die soon, you carefully place the chain in a small box and bury it just outside your home.

You’ll find it in your next life. You’ll find it in the next, then the next, time and time again until the end of your hundred-lifetime punishment.

It’s a small comfort, that simple silver chain with the little black jewel, but it’s a comfort nonetheless, a piece of your love to carry with you until the end of your times. Even if it was given back by the god who cursed you.

. . . . .

Years trudge along, years of waiting and waiting and more waiting for the torture to end. More death, more illness, more societal pressure to drive you two apart. In five lifetimes, you die first. In the others, Changbin either leaves you to face the world on your own, or you never know him at all.

It seems that even though Cupid may have felt some remorse for your curse, that didn’t stop the god from finding new ways to hurt you.

At some point, the lives finally begin to blur together. There have just been too many. If you tried, you could probably piece them all together, work out the details of how the two of you lived and how you were ripped apart, but after seventy, then eighty, then finally ninety lifetimes of broken hearts, it becomes too painful to relive.

(As you near the ninetieth lifetime, if you’re lucky enough to be born to a family who cares, someone always comes running in for months to the tears that stain your cheeks through dream-filled nights. You must have helped send so many people to an early grave with the endless screaming they would wake up to on the nights you dreamed of particularly painful lives.)

There are two saving graces to this pain, and as much as you hate to admit it, they came from Cupid. The god never deigns to meet you again (something you’re grateful for), but their gifts keep you from losing all hope as you near the end, the blissful end of your punishment.

One, the necklace. In every lifetime, no matter how painful, no matter whether or not you find Changbin, you find the thin silver necklace from your previous life. And no matter how rusty the chain gets, how dull the jewel becomes after years of wear, it shows up shiny and polished the next time you find it.

Two, the knowledge that Changbin will recognize you that first lifetime your punishment is over. You don’t have to keep track of your lifetimes, don’t have to count them until the hundredth has come and gone, don’t have to live any unnecessary lives with the fear that Changbin will be taken away from you suddenly and horribly.

As much as you loathe saying it, these gifts give you the slightest bit of hope that keeps you going.

So you trudge through lives, living as a tailor falling for a shoemaker, a nurse who comes to love a bedridden patient, a rich socialite who wants to marry the son of your family’s sworn enemy (this one’s interesting, quite like Romeo and Juliet, really. In your next life, when you dream of it, you wonder if Cupid met Shakespeare after the playwright’s death and decided to have a sick laugh at your expense). Seventy passes at some point, then eighty, then ninety.

By your hundredth life, you aren’t entirely sure what number you’re on. You think it must be ending soon, what with all the dreams your seventeen-year-old self had to suffer through, but it hurts too much to pick them apart and count. When Changbin doesn’t recognize you, though, a student at the same university as you, you resign yourself to several more lifetimes of heartbreak. It’s too much to hope for at this point, too much to hope that you’re on your last cycle of punishment, that the next time you live, you will be able to love Changbin wildly, freely, without a care in the world.

The dreams come once more in your hundredth and first life. It makes you despair that your punishment isn’t over, not even now (because though you don’t dare to freely pray, hope still buries itself deep in your chest, allowing Cupid to wield it like the monster he is).

Cupid assured you on his second and last visit that you would remember Changbin when you met him, though. You don’t like it, but hope only grows when you recall his words. Blind, blind hope.

It’s a cold morning, bitterly cold, when you roll out of bed to go to work. Eyes blinking blearily, you fumble around the cabinets for a package of coffee before remembering you ran out yesterday.

Just my luck, you think, scribbling “coffee” onto the grocery list on your refrigerator. You shove the piece of paper into your pocket, hoping you remember to go shopping later for whatever’s on the list. Your roommates are out of town, so you can’t rely on them to get anything this time.

Bitter wind slashes at your face as you walk to the small café just down the street for your daily fix of caffeine. By the time you’ve reached the shop, your nose is already stiff with cold, and the steaming cup of coffee the barista presses into your chilled hands only briefly warms your skin before you have to step back into the cold.

The bus will be coming soon, you note, checking your phone for the time. Steps quickening, you bend your head into the wind and set off for the stop.

So focused on your destination are you that you don’t notice the person until it’s too late. You smack right into them, sending them lurching into a nearby pole. They fall to the sidewalk as you spew apologies from freezing lips, holding out a hand to help them up.

They take your hand, squeezing with a grip that seems a little too familiar to be coincidental. A familiar sensation of warmth, a lovely, dreadful warmth, spreads through your body, emanating from where the stranger’s hand touches yours.

You freeze, eyes hardly daring to look up and gaze into someone who might be Changbin, who might be the love of one hundred of your lifetimes. You don’t even know whether to hope it is him, because if it is, will he finally recognize you after so many cycles of pain? Or will this just be another love that ends in heartbreak?

Slowly, slowly, your gazes meet.

It’s him.

Lovely brown eyes, eyes that throughout twenty, fifty, ninety years of pain, have remain unchanged in their depth and gentleness, stare into yours. Your breath catches. The coffee in your hand drops to the ground.

It’s really him.

Belatedly, you realize he’s still on the ground and give a quick yank to pull him up. You try to apologize, both for hitting him and for the coffee that’s spattered onto his shoes, but your vocal cords won’t work. All you can do right now is stare.

He doesn’t recognize you. He hasn’t reacted to your touch, hasn’t given any indication that this is anything more than a chance meeting, an everyday occurrence where a stranger bumps into him (albeit a little harder than normal). You’re about to retract your hand, to force your vocal cords into giving an apology for smacking into him, but then he opens his mouth and speaks words you never dared to believe you would hear.

“It’s you,” he breathes, gripping your hand even more tightly, almost involuntarily, like he’s trying to keep himself grounded to the earth. His eyes, now wide with confusion and awe, search your face greedily. For what, you don’t know, but you’re doing the same, even though you’ve seen his face millions of times by now over a hundred lifetimes.

“It’s you,” he repeats once more, raspy voice breathless with emotion. “It’s really you.”

Finally, your throat manages to choke something out. “Changbin?” you try, words small and soft, conveying all of your disbelief in that one single word, that one single name. “Changbin?”

He says your name, then, says it once, twice, as he keeps staring into your eyes. It sounds like honey on his lips, sweet in a way that makes you heady with bliss, and only the biting wind keeps you rooted to the present, reminding you that this is real, this is not a dream, that this is real, completely real.

Slowly, naturally, one of your arms curls around his waist, just as his hands rise to cup your cheek. His fingers are cold against your bare skin but you lean into his touch, pulling him closer, closer, until your faces are only inches apart.

“It’s you,” Changbin murmurs, still as though he can barely believe it. “It’s really you.”

A strangled sound escapes your throat, something between a sob and a laugh all at once. “You remember,” you choke, eyes beginning to fill with warm, salty tears. “You remember, Changbin.”

He cups your cheek with an ungloved hand, cold skin brushing against yours with a gentleness that makes you want to melt. “I do,” he replies, voice almost cracking with emotion. “I’m only sorry I didn’t remember before.”

In your previous lives, time and time again, you kissed Changbin’s lips. It was always lovely, absolutely lovely, lovely in a way that made it feel like a field of flowers blooming in your chest, butterflies fluttering in your stomach. But there was always a lingering desolation on your part, a despair born of the knowledge that this love would not last, that Cupid would not allow you to see it to its natural end.

Today, Changbin’s lips taste of sunshine and honey, dew on green grass on a summer morning, the excitement of a first snow, nothing reminding you of a lingering heartbreak to come. You can’t even feel the bitter wind with him pressed so closely to you, lips molding against yours as his hands cup your cheeks.

The last walls on your heart crack down, walls formed with the knowledge of your hundred lifetimes of punishment. From the broken walls springs a new warmth, a sparkling warmth that you can’t even find the words to explain, a warmth that spills through your body and makes you feel full, happy, joyous in a way you’ve never felt, not once before in your hundred lifetimes of heartbroken love.

When you break away, tears are streaking down your cheeks. Changbin’s eyes glitter, too, but the smile on his face is radiant as he gazes at you.

Cupid’s punishment was cruel, you know, crueler than it had to be. It was harsh, evil, almost wicked in the pain he inflicted on you. But even though the vestiges of that pain still line the edges of your heart, it’s easy to ignore it in favor of staring at your love standing in front of you as a wobbly smile of the purest joy finally begins to curve your lips.

Is this real? you wonder to yourself. Is this truly real, your punishment finally ending, Changbin remembering who you are and the lifetimes you’ve shared? This bliss, this love, this warmth… it all seems too good to be true.

As though he can read your thoughts (and perhaps he can – a hundred lifetimes of love have probably given him a window into your soul, the same way it’s given you one into his), Changbin grins, vibrant, radiant, warm even in the bitter cold. “This is real,” he says, lovely lips curved into a brilliant smile.

“It is?” you ask, soft, wondrous, childlike, hardly daring to believe.

He brushes away a tear on your face, his thumb stroking your cheek with the gentlest touch. “It is,” he whispers. “As real as your love for me, and mine for you.”

Time and time again, you burned your heart for Changbin, burned it with the love you felt for him over one hundred lifetimes of a curse. Time and time again, you swore at love, swore at the god who inflicted the curse on you without so much as an afterthought until sixty-one lives had passed.

But now, as you crush Changbin close, fitting your lips to his once more, you push those thoughts to the back of your mind and lose yourself in a kiss finally free of pain.

If you enjoyed, please don’t forget to reblog and leave a comment to tell me what you thought! Thank you for reading and have a lovely day <3

(1 reblog = 1 slap in the face for Cupid fuck them)

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kyleys-empty-mind-shit · 4 years ago

Text

confessions

hol’ up . . . this is our vv first fic together. bye-

inspo: “Isn’t it obvious? I’m in love with you?”

genre(s): angst; fluff

fandom: the hunger games

rating: g・t・r

rated t for swearing

word count: 2.6k

warning(s): two oblivious dumbasses in love; probably unedited

things to know: y/n (your name) ⟢ e/c (your eye colour) ⟢ y/l/n (your last name)

Peeta Mellark.

He was your constant; your rock. You could rely on him for anything and everything.

He was the steadiest thing you’d had in your life for a long time now, but as he took your wrist and led you upstairs away from the party, you couldn’t help but feel the anger bubble up in your chest.

“Peeta, what—”

“Why?” he nearly shouts. Peeta is mild mannered. He’s many things, actually; polite, charming, and personable, but angry was not one of them. It didn’t scare you like you’d always expected it to, but rather frustrated you.

“Why what, Peeta?” you hiss back.

He looks at you as if you had just grown two heads, his brows knit together in disbelief.

“You’re joking,” he breathes. You shake your head, not understanding what he is trying to get at. You defensively cross your arms, knowing the juvenile element would annoy him, but having nothing to do with your hands increases your already anxious state.

“That guy,”

“That guy?”

“Yes, y/n, yes. That guy that was just a little too friendly with you? So close to you that he was practically crawling under your goddamn skin? What were you thinking?”

You laugh at him, unable to contain it. “I can handle myself perfectly fine. Why are you being such an ass?” you all but shout at him. “It’s none of your business anyway?”

“Hm, let’s see y/n, he could’ve, god, I don’t know, taken advantage of you?”

You scoff, unable to handle his cliché statement.

He brings his hands up and pushes his hair back, looking up at the ceiling as he exhales heavily through his nose. You squint at him, unable to read the emotions on his face.

“What is up with you?” you whisper, not quite sure if he was able to hear. Your eyes narrow, unsure of what his next words might be.

“For someone so smart, you can be so goddamn oblivious sometimes, y/l/s.”

“Oh my god, what is with all the stupid riddles tonight? I can’t read your mind! You can’t expect me to just know things,” you exasperate, throwing your hands out in front of you. “For someone who’s supposed to be good at communication, you’re doing a pretty shitty job of displaying it,” you spit, throwing his words right back at him.

“Fine,” he hisses, starting to move towards you.

You cock your eyebrow at him, your bodies coming closer, nearly closing the gap.

“Fine?” you question.

“Yeah.” he huffs out, repeating the word with an heir of finality, “yeah.” His breath warms your face, the scent of vodka invading your senses.

Your cheeks heat up, suddenly very aware of his proximity. You watch his adam's apple bob as he swallows thickly. He can’t meet your eyes, his heart hammering against his chest so loud that it feels as though you can hear it. His head drops along with his gaze, studying the floor before chancing a glance at you. Peeta lets go of a breathy laugh as words tumble out of his mouth.

“Isn’t it obvious?” he breathes, his words choked, hardly audible, him now looking you right in the eyes. Your stomach does a flip once, unsure of his next words. Blue eyes stare at your e/c ones that are clouded in confusion. You can feel his frustration start to build as he takes a step back from you, his voice rising and hands coming from his sides.

“I’m in love with you,” he bursts out.

Oh my god.

You stare at him in shock, his proclamation stunning you. You blink once, twice, as his words echoing through your head.

His hazel eyes bore into your e/c ones, willing you to say something, anything, to let him know you heard him. But yet you stand there, unable to find the words.

Nothing is coming out.

Say something, you beg yourself, wanting to scream out an answer, yet your mouth continues to remain shut. You swallow hard, your tongue feeling like sandpaper. How could you be so oblivious to his feelings? You and him have known each other since childhood, yet there you are, standing only inches away from him, the truth finally known.

The look in his eyes is absolutely heart-wrenching; if you hadn’t just heard him, you’d have thought he had lost his best friend. In a way, you guess, he had.

Peeta just shakes his head softly, shrugging his shoulders in such a way that makes you want to reach out and take his hand. His dark waves fall over his eyes and he turns around, facing the door.

“I—” you begin, but you know it’s too late.

“Just, um, forget it, y/n,” his voice soft, small, “I’ll see you in environmental studies.”

He opens the door and steps out into the hallway, closing the door behind him. You want to scream, to tell him to come back.

“Dammit!” you exclaim, throwing your red solo cup as hard as you can at the wall. The contents spill all over, some of the liquid splashing on you but you can’t bring yourself to care.

You reach to pull at your loosely braided hair, a habit of yours that came out whenever you were experiencing an excess of negative emotions, before you realize where you are. You harshly rub your eyes with the heels of your hands as you remind yourself to breathe.

In, out . . . In, out.

“Get it together,” you tell yourself, taking one last deep breath. “Okay.”

You turn to head back downstairs to the party, nothing on your mind except finding Peeta and setting everything straight, hoping at this point that that was even a possibility anymore.

God, you hated this part. You hated having to make up. Saying sorry was never your strong suit, your pride always getting in the way. But this? This was not a matter of pride. This was about finally coming to terms with the truth that you so desperately tried to avoid for years.

You almost trip as you descend the stairs, looking everywhere for Peeta but unable to find him anywhere in the crowd.

Spotting a head of wavy bronze hair by the water cooler, you rush over to your english lit classmate, who is also a friend of Peeta’s; Finnick Odair.

“Hey Finnick,” you say once you reach him, trying to keep your voice even. He greets you with his signature smirk before bringing his cup to his lips and taking a sip.

“Ah, y/n, having a good time I trust?”

“Trying to,” you grumble. Finnick gives you a quizzical look before you proceed; “Have you seen Peeta?” You can’t help but notice the slight crack in your voice when you say his name.

“Yeah,” he confirms, “I saw him leave a few minutes ago. Seemed pretty upset.”

“Yeah, wonder why,” you mutter bitterly, knowing he wouldn’t hear your words above the music.

You bite your lip, weighing the option of asking Finnick to help you find Peeta. Half of you wanted to go and find him yourself, your need to get the weight off your chest as quickly as possible, the other half of you wanting to stall for as long as you could.

“Could you text him? Ask him where he is?”

“Why can’t you?”

You fight the urge to roll your eyes, your cheeks burning. “Because, I—”

“Wait,” Finnick’s smile widens. “Wait, are you the reason he’s upset?”

Your silence is enough for him. His dopey smile falters for a moment, an emotion that you could only define as realization sweeping over his face. He shakes his head softly, pulling his phone from the pocket of his hoodie and opening his texts. His thumbs glide swiftly across the screen as he compiles a message to send to Peeta.

You can’t have been standing there for more than a minute when his phone dings. Finnick flashes you the screen.

From: Pita Bread

I’m fine... at the pond.

“Thank you, Finnick, really,” you breathe.

He just nods, taking another sip of his drink.

You rush out of the frat house the party was being held in, running across the street to Panem University’s main campus, willing your legs to go faster.

The pond was at the northern end of campus, smack in the middle of Tribute Hall and the Coriolanus Snow Study Center. You see a silhouette sitting on one of the few stone benches surrounding the body of tranquil water, tossing handfuls of what you can only assume is trail mix at the ducks that liked to take up at the pond.

You slow down, bringing your footfalls to a trot, then silently padding your way over the grass towards him. Your chest is heaving from the exertion as you try to make your breaths even.

“Peeta,” You call out, your voice void of any venom as you stalk towards the boy. You’re almost inclined to slap him because of how he acted. No rational person could expect someone to give them an answer to a question as heavily weighed as that right away.

He stands up once you reach him, refusing to look you in the eyes. For a fleeting moment, you catch the grief-stricken look in his usually bright eyes and it’s enough to keep you from raising your hand at him.

“Why did you leave like that?” you breathe out. He shrugs a shoulder with almost casual indifference. “Peeta.” you nearly plead, looking at him as your eyebrows knit together.

“What did you expect me to do?” he says feebly.

You look up at the night sky, inhaling deeply as you hurriedly send off a prayer to whatever higher power that you can say everything you want to say to him, in the way you want to say it.

In a way that says something to him. Means something.

The stars seem to twinkle brighter, almost like they received your message. God, this is so hard.

Peeta is still looking anywhere but at you, his focus now on the ducks idling in the water.

“You could have waited for me,” you say. “I mean, come on! That was… big. A big thing to drop on me,” you add, “so of course I was shocked. But if you had just waited for me . . .”

“What?” he snorts, finally looking you in the eyes. “What would you have said that couldn’t have possibly made me feel like more of a fool than I already was? What—”

“I love you,” you blurt.

Here it goes.

“And not in a ‘you’ve always been there for me, so I’m kind of indebted to you’ kind of way but in a way that’s like, ‘I want to do cheesy stuff with you because I know it will make you smile.’ That��s like, I would do anything, anything to prove to you that I’m worthy of your love. Peeta, you’ve seen everything I was and everything I am, and it just— I just couldn’t believe when you said that . . . But I— I trust you with everything in me and it frightens me, because you know I’ve been hurt before, but I can’t deny that everything feels right when I’m with you. I just. I want another chance. If, if you’ll let me.” You breath the words out, hardly anything but air coming out.

“Y/n, breathe.”

“Right,” you exhale, your mind swirling around, making vertigo seem like a walk in the park.

“You’re not . . . unworthy of love,” Peeta begins but he stops, trying to figure out his words. “What Cato did to you, it doesn’t mean you’re undeserving of love. He’s.. an asshole, who’s going to get what’s coming to him. I— I’m sorry for dropping it on you like that, but seeing you with that guy, he just reminded me so much of Cato, and it made me so mad because I didn’t want you to go through that again, and I.. couldn’t help but think it was my final chance to tell you how I felt.”

“Final chance?”

“Y/n, I’ve loved you since like year six.”

“Peeta, you absolute dumbass!” you exclaim, quickly going to cover your mouth as your own words shock even yourself. “I’m sorry. It’s just . . . wow,” a laugh nearly escapes your lips. “We’re both oblivious fools, huh?”

Peeta’s brows furrow in confusion, as you let out a soft chuckle. His head is tilted slightly to the side, his soft curls falling into his blue eyes. This moment is one you’ll always remember, you think to yourself, already trying to commit it to memory. The way the trees slightly sway from the late summer breeze, the moonlight reflecting off the water; best of all, the glint in Peeta’s eye when your gazes meet. It’s so cheesy, really, but you couldn’t care less. You’ve played it over and over in your head for years, different scenarios always being formulated, but nothing you could have ever dreamt of could compare to this moment.

“I’ve loved you since year seven,” you tell him, every word of it true. “I can’t believe it took us both this long. Could have avoided the whole Cato fiasco of year twelve, I suppose, if we had just . . . had the gall to tell each other back then, I guess,” you say, the last sentence mumbled.

“Yeah.” Peeta laughs, a genuine deep laugh that reaches his eyes. It rouses the butterflies that have been in the pit of your stomach, the fluttering making you nervous as you watch him scratch the base of his neck almost embarrassedly.

“So,” you say, dragging the ‘o’ sound. “Pretty sure this is the part where most people would kiss.”

“Do you want to kiss me?”

“No, not you, Peeta. I was talking to the duck behind you,” You frown, unable to contain the scoff that passes your lips. “Yes.. yes, I want to kiss you,” you breathe, your pulse hammering.

You step forward, your hands reaching up, gliding against his cheeks, his hands resting on your waist. In a moment of bravery, you place your lips against his. They’re soft, and he tastes like cedar and bread, and it’s like coming home, being in his arms as his lips move against yours, the breeze chilling your skin but his warming you.

There are no words spoken between the two of you as you both pull away. His eyes are still closed, his long eyelashes resting against the tops of his cheeks; the corners of his mouth are pulled up slightly.

God, he’s beautiful. So beautiful. That word is usually reserved for sceneries, sunsets or pretty dresses, but in this moment, you can’t tear your eyes away from him.

“Finally!” someone shouts, causing the both of you to jump back from each other, acting like two first years getting caught passing notes in class. You look around before your eyes land on Johanna Mason, leaning against the statue of the university founder Alma Coin that’s off to the left of the entrance of the study center. Finnick is with her, his signature smirk gracing his elegant features once more. “We were wondering when you two would have the balls to tell each other how you felt.”

“It seems everyone knew but you two,” Finnick adds with a deep chuckle.

“Alright, Finny, I think we should leave the two lovebirds alone.” Johanna says, turning away. “Be safe, you two!”

“If you need anything,” Finnick winks at Peeta. “You know where to reach me.”

You laugh softly, leaning your head against Peeta’s chest. His arms wrap around you, encasing you in him. His cheeks rests on the top of your head, his breaths evening out as you listen to his steady heart beat.

This is it. This is home.

#original post #kyley writes #thg #the hunger games #peeta mellark x reader #peeta mellark x y/n #peeta mellark imagine #thg fanfiction #thg fandom #suzanne collins #fanfiction

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gardenergulfie · 3 years ago

Text

Emptober Day 4: Ribbon

Rating: G

Word Count: 2539

Relationships: Jimmy | Solidarity/Scott | Smajor1995 | Dangthatsalongname

Characters: Scott | Smajor1995 | Dangthatsalongname, Jimmy | Solidarity

Tags:Alternate Universe - Soulmates, Red String of Fate, Pre-Canon, Post-Canon, Past Lives, Alternate Universe - Empires SMP Setting (Video Blogging RPF), Friends to Lovers, Childhood Friends, Bickering, Flower Husbands, Emptober, Seablings,

Everything was normal with it until the day he met the other rulers. It was a political meeting of nations, the first time all of them would all be together in years. Rivendell was hosting it and it would be Jimmy’s first time out of the kingdom. Jimmy and Lizzie were representing the Ocean Empire as heirs but they were allowed to meet and greet with whoever they wanted. Lizzie quickly ran off, introducing herself to the Mezalean prince and leaving Jimmy to flounder alone. He gripped the ribbon between his fingers nervously but took a deep breath and approached the first person he could see. That person was a winged elf with blue hair and a very aloof expression.

Emptober Day 4: Ribbon

AO3 Link

Fic below the cut

Jimmy was a pretty normal guy. I mean he was the leader of an empire but compared to the other leaders and even his own citizens he was normal, maybe even average. Just a pretty basic dude. But Jimmy had something, a part of him, that was very not normal. It was a ribbon tied around his left wrist. It was green and blue with a design of red flowers that Jimmy had never seen before. The ribbon had one end constantly trailing out of sight. It had been there for as long as he could remember and strangely enough, seemingly no-one else could see it.

When Jimmy was little he tried out some tests with the ribbon. He found out that he couldn’t tangle it, he couldn’t trip people with it, he couldn’t hang things on it, it didn’t interact with water like most fabrics did, it was just intangible to anyone or anything but Jimmy. He’d told his sister Lizzie about it but she didn’t have one and she couldn’t see or feel it. He’d even gone to the local library to do research on it which did make the bookkeeper give him a strange look, he’d never been one for academics before but he just needed to know. He found nothing but some sappy love stories about people with invisible red strings of fate that connected them to their one true love. Jimmy didn’t really believe these stories, besides he had a ribbon not a string.

Once or twice in his life Jimmy had felt a tug on the ribbon. It felt like a person on the other end of it had pulled on it. Was there someone also connected to him? Were those stories about strings of fate true? Jimmy followed the ribbon for a long time, only stopping when he realized that he was at the edge of the kingdom. If there was a person on the other end, they weren’t from his home empire.

For a while that was it. Nothing new could be found out about the ribbon and so Jimmy resigned himself to it just being a mystery forever. On the plus side, he didn’t really mind it that much. It didn’t hurt him or get stuck on anything which was nice and it was a nice texture. Sometimes when he was anxious or just restless he would twist it between his fingers and fidget with it. He got some strange looks, fidgeting with nothing, but it wasn’t that weird so no-one really questioned him.

“Hello! I’m Jimmy Solidarity of the Ocean Empire!” He said to the elf, his voice coming out louder than he intended from nerves. He winced as the elf turned to him with a mildly peeved expression.

“Scott Smajor, heir of Rivendell.” The elf said coldly. He assessed Jimmy lazily but his eyes stopped on Jimmy’s left hand, the one holding the ribbon. His cold mask dropped and Jimmy could see an expression of shock and mild intrigue before it went back up. “I’ve never spoken to a citizen of the ocean empire. Are you all this small? It's kinda cute” Jimmy bristled a bit at the insult? Flirt? He couldn’t tell but he knew enough to be offended.

“Not all of us can be as tall as elves. I am quite a normal height! And I’m not cute.” Jimmy snapped back. Scott looked briefly surprised at his retort but then smirked.

“Not cute you say? That adorable pout on your face says otherwise.” Scott says, lifting his hand to gesture at Jimmy’s expression. A hand that had a blue green and red flower patterned ribbon tied around it. The same ribbon that existed around Jimmy’s hand. Jimmy’s eyes widened and he looked at his own ribbon. Sure enough, they were connected. So there was a person on the other end of it and Jimmy had found them. But Scott? Really? This ribbon better not be one of those soul things, he does not want to be bonded to that rude elf.

Jimmy realized that he should probably respond to Scott. He’s been standing silently for about a minute now and Scott was surly waiting for him to say something.

“I wasn’t pouting! I was upset at being called cute. Not everyone likes random strangers calling them cute, you know.” Jimmy says back. Scott looks thoughtful.

“I don’t know. If a pretty boy like you walked up to me and called me cute, I don’t think I’d be complaining.” The elf says back. Jimmy sputters as he tries to think of a response. He really wasn’t someone who got flirted with often, even as a joke, and it was very disarming.

“Well I’m not you so I care.” He says back with his face bright red. He knew it wasn’t the best comeback and from Scott’s smug expression he could tell it hadn’t hit the mark he was aiming for.

“Right sure.” Scott says with an eye roll. “This conversation’s being nowhere and I already won it so why don’t we talk about something else. I could take you on a tour? I don’t think you fishfolk get the chance to see elven architecture often.” Jimmy once again bristled at Scott’s mild insult but agreed to the tour. Scott led Jimmy away from the front hall and outside into Rivendell proper. Jimmy wouldn’t admit it but Scott was a pretty good tour guide, he knew a lot about the kingdom’s history and culture and was good at talking about it, even if he still flirted and insulted Jimmy quite often. Scott showed Jimmy the sheep pens, the owl roost, and apiary, all places that Jimmy had only seen glimpses of during the trip here.

In the apiary Jimmy saw something. A red flower, identical to the ones on his ribbon. He called Scott over, asking what kind of flower that was. Scott glanced over and when he saw the red flower Jimmy was talking about he briefly touched the ribbon tied to his own hand before answering.

“Its a poppy. They’re a common flower and grow in most places. You haven’t seen one before?” The elf asked. Jimmy shook his head.

“I don’t think they grow in the swamps. I would have remembered seeing a flower this red before.” Jimmy gently touched a petal of the flower. It was beautiful and it made Jimmy feel…. weirdly bittersweet? It was just a flower. Why did Jimmy feel like crying then? He blinked away the tears that were forming and backed away from the flower. Scott was giving him an odd searching look.

“It's my favorite kind of flower.” Scott said at last. “I always make sure there’s at least one in the apiary at all times.” Jimmy was surprised at this personal info that Scott was just telling him. Scott hadn’t talked much about himself, mostly speaking about the elves and their great kingdom. Him just dropping this strange piece of personal information seems out of pace and it made Jimmy wonder why he did it. The elf was still looking at him, waiting for Jimmy to say something in return.

“It really is lovely.” Jimmy responded. “Does it have any special meanings?” Jimmy had heard of flowers having special meaning attached to them though he hadn’t learned much about them. Lizzie had but not him.

“Sleep, peace, and death are what the poppy represents.” Scott says, unconsciously tugging on the ribbon. Jimmy felt that tug, just more proof that they were connected. Sleep, peace, and death were strange meanings for the flowers on his ribbon. Maybe the type of flower didn’t mean anything but it's a magic ribbon so that was unlikely. Jimmy was hoping that his flowers meant peace or maybe sleep, death was something he’d really not want to be tied with.

Scott had been looking more and more nervous the more Jimmy thought. The elf was trying to hide it but the fluttering of his wings and shuffling of his feet gave him away. Jimmy was about to ask him about the problem when a loud gong rang across the city.

“That's the feast bell. They’re about to start dinner.” Scott says, moving towards the door to the apiary. “We need to go quickly so we’re not late.” Jimmy let the topic of Scott’s anxiety around him drop and the two rushed towards the main hall. They were separated in the crowd when they got there, Jimmy being reunited with Lizzie who asked him where he was and introduced him to her new friend Joel. Jimmy didn’t see Scott for the rest of the night, only briefly catching a glimpse of him when it was time for him to leave.

Jimmy met Scott quite a few times over the course of many years, the two becoming rulers of their own nations, Scott in Rivendell and Jimmy in the newly formed Cod Empire. They maintained a similar relationship as they had when they were young, Scott teasing and flirting with Jimmy and Jimmy getting flustered and firing back with his own bad insults. Neither of them brought up the topic of the ribbon though Jimmy was pretty sure that Scott knew at this point. The many glances at Jimmy’s left wrist was a pretty big clue to that.

Years past, Jimmy and Scott were still leading their empires and occasionally bickering with each other. The demon plagued them for a bit and in that time they became allies in a very strange way, Scott taking Jimmy on a date. The many poppies around the date place was a nice reference to the ribbon and a knowing look from Jimmy let Scott know he knew what was up. It took a couple more suggested dates for Jimmy to realize that the date wasn’t one of Scott’s normal flirts but that Scott was actually interested in him. The two took it slow, going on quite a few more dates before they were ready to speak of the ribbon out-loud.

Jimmy remembered it as a chilly evening, the two of them drinking warm tea inside of Jimmy’s house. Scott had made the excuse of it being too cold back home and that the swamp was just much warmer but Jimmy knew the elf at this point to know that Scott wanted to spend time with him. They had done some baking following a simple recipe that somehow they still managed to mess up and then salvage at the last minute. Now with a mug of tea in hand and slightly burnt cookies on a plate in front of him, Jimmy was feeling brave. He tugged on the ribbon once then twice when Scott didn’t look over from his cup of tea. The second tug caught the elf’s attention and he looked down at the ribbon resting beside them both.

“I think at this point we both know about the existence of this,” Jimmy waved his own end of the ribbon, “and the fact that it connects them. I don’t know about you but we’ve been dating for a bit. We might as well talk about it.” Scott blinked in surprise at the question coming from seemingly nowhere but nodded at set down his drink.

“I was wondering when one of us was going to be brave enough to bring up the soul ribbon.” Scott said. “I’d have thought you would have blurted the question out way before now.” Scott teased with a small smirk. Jimmy let the insult flirt fly over his head, mostly focused on the words soul ribbon.

“Wait, the soul ribbon is like a string of fate? The stuff from those love stories?” Jimmy asked. Scott looked confused at the question.

“Wait, you mean you don’t know about soul ribbons? They’re real and way more than just stories. We’re kind of living proof of that.” Scott said. Jimmy leaned back in his chair a bit more.

“The only information I found about anything similar to the ribbon was stories about red strings of fate that connect people destined to be together. They were just fiction I thought but you’re saying that it’s really real. We’re soulmates?” Jimmy asks.

“Soul ribbons are a bit more complicated than just the idea of fated couples. They’re broken promises from a past life. When two people promise to stay together but something happens where they promise is broken, the universe will step in and give them another chance. Hence, the soul ribbon.” Scott explains. “The pattern of the ribbon normally has some kind of meaning relating to the past life. Soul ribbons can’t really be studied but there have been enough cases that people are now pretty sure of their meaning.”

“So in another life, we made a promise to each other but it got broken? And poppies were important to us?” Jimmy questioned. “Well that explains why I feel so happy and sad at the same time when I see a poppy. Past life emotions, huh.” Scott reached out and took a cookie with one hand and Jimmy's own hand with another.

“I understand if this is a lot to take in.” Scott bit his lip, looking anxious. “Again, the soul ribbon doesn’t mean that we have to be together. It’s just the universe giving us a second chance. So if this is too much for you we don’t have to keep dating-“

“What? Scott no. I don’t want to stop dating. It’s strange, yeah, but I mean I already knew we were connected. This doesn’t have to change anything for us! I’m happy to know how we’re connected, this solves a mystery I’ve always been wondering about. I mean, better lovers in a past life than fated enemies in this one.” Jimmy said passionately, laughing a bit at his own joke at the end. Scott’s face brightened up and he smiled back at Jimmy.

“Was that one of your theories? Fated enemies?” Scott chuckled as he took a bite of his cookie. Jimmy rubbed the back of his neck bashfully with his free hand.

“I mean we were always bickering. It wasn’t too strange of an idea.” Jimmy defended himself.

The two of them continued to talk for quite a few more hours before they eventually fell asleep together, bundled up under a quilt. Their hands were intertwined, the two ends of the ribbons brushing against each other. The universe looked down at these second chance souls and felt pride. They really had found each other again.

#sorry that this is late i was on a plane all day #mcyt #empires smp #scott smajor #jimmy solidarity #flower husbands #emptober #Gulfie's Writings

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