#if blade had told her it was a requirement to shave her head to join she probably would have taken her chances with the inquisitors LOL

[bigmeandragonlady]

this was fun i need to do this with more OCs

[chocosvt]

⚬ pairing: prince!seokmin x fem!reader ⚬ word count: 12,690 ⚬ warnings: none. ⚬ genre: enemies to lovers, arranged marriage, angst, teasing, some slowburn romance, superfluff toward the end.

✧✎ synopsis: the time has come for prince seokmin to meet his arranged marriage, which forces you to confront a strange predicament: if you truly hate the prince, then why does the thought of him being with someone else hurt this badly?

✧✎ a/n: yeah... i’ve wanted to write some prince!lsm since his excalibur pictures. evidently, i am very late! i hope u enjoy nonetheless :-)

Hiking up the long, heavy layers of your dress, pale and coloured like lilacs, you retrieved a small carving knife that had been clandestinely strapped against your outer thigh. Buried a few feet away from you in the grass was a smooth, palm-sized piece of beech wood, which you quickly picked up before walking back to the bench. You sat down horizontally, stretching out your legs and taking up as much space as possible whilst you started carving down the edges of the beech wood, flicking away the occasional shavings.

It was only to kill time as you waited for the royal gates to open. That night, the King and Queen were hosting an annual, celebratory dinner to commemorate the newest anointment of pages, otherwise known as the fresh grouping of students who would serve the knights and learn about their duties, specifically how they protected and served the kingdom. It was a true honour: you had been requested to cook in the royal kitchen, and the younger apprentice your mother hired at the bakery, Chan, was going with you.

He was notably excited and couldn’t sit down, instead pacing in front of the tall, wooden gateway into the castle grounds. This would be his first time seeing the royal family’s abode from the inside, and if he was particularly lucky, he might get to meet the Prince. To him it was a big deal, but you couldn’t care less. At even just thinking about the Prince, you started pressing your knife harder against the beech wood, gritting your teeth as a larger piece curled off and fell into your lap. Lee Seokmin, he was the Prince. 

You absolutely hated him.

“What on earth do you think you’re doing, child?”

The sunlight that glinted against your face was interrupted by your mother, who had her hands sternly placed on her hips, glaring down at you in sheer disapproval.

“Give me that.” She quipped whilst scowling at the blade. “This instant.”

Rolling your eyes, you sat up properly on the bench and dusted the cream-coloured shavings off your lap. She never let you do anything, and when you were in close proximity to the castle, she became even more rigid and hawk-eyed. You gave her the knife which she hastily folded up, watching her pocket it inside a pouch on the front of her white dress. 

You still held onto the beech wood.

“There is no reason to bring a weapon into the King and Queen’s home. I should not have to reprimand you like this once more. Behave in the way I have taught you.”

Suddenly, there was a loud command you heard echo from the turret, and the tall, wooden gateway into the castle grounds began pulling apart. You heard the clink belonging to the iron chains and the cracks in the elderly oak. Chan stumbled backward, leaving sufficient room for the gate to open. Unlike the apprentice whose eyes were glimmering in awe, you had to swallow the bitter taste in your mouth and put on your fakest, most convincing expression of content. It was going to be the longest night of your life – even longer if you had to eat supper with the Prince.

Just before you were guided into the royal family’s abode by the caterers, you swiftly pulled up the side of your dress and tucked the piece of beech wood between the garter belt at your thigh. Then, you rushed to stand beside Chan.

“Excited, are you?” You asked him.

He tucked a strand of dark brown hair behind his ear, practically bouncing in his place. “It is my biggest wish to sit down with the Prince! To cook for him is already a sure pleasure.”

You couldn’t help but huff at the apprentice’s enthusiasm. He should consider himself lucky he didn’t know Seokmin the way you did.

Time passed quickly, and it was almost two hours into preparing the onslaught of fruit, meat, vegetables, and grain required to make the celebratory supper. The royal kitchen was much larger than the small, quaint space you operated back at the bakery, where everything was tightly shoved together and you knew each crevice like the back of your hand. You were working up a sweat as you kneaded a large, thickening dough. Once you were satisfied, you floured a wooden roller and began flattening it out, using a tin can to cut perfect circles.

You told Chan to put the tray in the clay furnace and keep an eye on the rising bread.

“Where are you going?” He immediately inquired upon watching you untie your apron, hanging the splattered fabric on a hook jutting from the stone wall.

“It’s quite hot. I’m stepping outside for a few minutes. No more than that.”

The young boy nodded and proceeded to follow your orders, keeping a watchful eye on the dough that would soon become crispy, warm pieces of bread. You slipped into the long corridor that led outside. There was still a noticeable heat in the evening air, though it was much less overwhelming compared to the kitchen, packed with fires and bodies and steam. A soft, glowing pink tinted the sky, and you were surprised at how little clouds there were.

Just to be certain, you felt underneath your dress for the piece of beech wood, relieved to brush it against your skin.

A distant sound captured your attention, somewhat like the noise of steel slashing against steel. Walking along the side of pillaring cobblestone, the noise grew louder, accompanied by indiscernible, muffled shouting. You stepped around the small wildflowers sprouting from the grass, keeping as silent as possible upon approaching the corner that ended at an iron gate.

Sparing a cautious glance between the bars, you looked into a large courtyard covered with sand. There were two young men sparring against each other, competitive but lighthearted in their expressions and the nature of how they operated their swords.

It was none other than the Prince himself, Seokmin, against his lifelong accomplice, Jeonghan.

You plucked your head back and inhaled delicately. The unique airiness of Jeonghan’s laughter reverberated into the evening, summer air, joining hymn with the sharp steel. You peaked through the iron bars again. Seokmin was still buried in his hefty silver armor, a layer of chainmail hanging from his shoulders. Expertly, he caught the underside of Jeonghan’s sword with his own and twisted the weapon from his friend’s hands, which dropped against the sand with a soft thud. Jeonghan stumbled backward, panting heavily.

“For God’s sake, I surrender!” He laughed, dusting off his shiny armor.

Seokmin slid his sword back into the sheath at his waist, smiling triumphantly. 

“You squander each attempt at defeating me. Have you just lost another bet with my blacksmith?”

Jeonghan bent down to pick up his sword and huffed, “it could be so.”

“You are inclined to become a beggar,” the Prince teased, “thankfully, tonight’s feast shall leave you with plentiful portions to take to the streets.”

There was a small, stone fountain bubbling beneath an overhang in the courtyard. Seokmin allowed a generous cup of water to form in his hands before splashing it along his face, the droplets streaming down his amber skin that had been caked with dust. Once he cleared away the grit, he ran a hand through his hair, pushing back the long, black curls. 

He smirked at Jeonghan and uttered something to him you couldn’t decipher as they removed their chainmail. You studied him intently, feeling the warmth in your chest welt into disdain and anger.

“What are you doing all the way down there?!”

You jumped, sensing your flesh bristle. Turning around, you saw Chan standing at the doorway with his brow furrowed, probably wondering why you never returned to the kitchen. Not wanting to draw attention to yourself, you hurried toward him and away from the courtyard, praying that neither the Prince nor his friend heard Chan’s shouting.

“Was there somebody out there? Who was it?” Chan immediately pestered you with questions.

“There was no one.” You told him whilst entering the kitchen, heaving a great sigh of relief upon seeing your bread removed from the clay furnace, the bread perfectly golden and risen in small domes.

Chan seemed skeptical, but he knew you were infamously defensive, so he didn’t investigate.

“Have you started the pastry for the cherry pie?” You asked him after setting the grain aside.

“No,” Chan replied, “I heard it is a favourite of the Prince. We must prepare it attentively.”

“Of course. Now, ask that lady over there if we can use her pie pan. We will start immediately.”

In complete honestly, you’d rather prepare any other dessert – even the chocolate soufflés, which were arguably difficult to perfect. However, you yet again bit your tongue and helped the eager apprentice remove the pits from the ruby red cherries, which landed in a wicker basket just at your feet. Every moment or so, you were tempted to leave behind a pit, entertaining the tiny thought that it could be inside the slice served to the Prince. You knew if that happened, neither you or Chan would be allowed to return to the castle.

It wasn’t so much skin off your nose, but Chan would definitely be disheartened.

You made sure to thoroughly clean all the cherries.

The dining hall was absolutely packed. There were rows of young pages standing at the table, hardly able to contain themselves as they stared glossy-eyed into the fresh cooked meals and desserts. No one had sat down yet, not until the King and Queen took their seats.

The Queen, swathed in the long, shimmering silk of her violet robe, observed the hungry crowd gathered before her. She was an alluring beacon, just like a porcelain doll, and the sapphire gems embossed in her crown glinted against the central chandelier. As you were specifically requested by the royal family to cook, you were granted a seat at the table, in between your mother and an anxious Chan who kept stealing glances at the Prince, standing next to his father. You refused to look at Seokmin, even when you felt his gaze trace the side of your face.

Suddenly, the Queen grabbed onto a sumptuous chalice and lifted it high in the air. She began making a toast to the newly appointed pages, congratulating the start of their journey. You copied your mother and reached for a silver goblet next to your plate, which had been prefilled with cold, dark purple wine. Everyone applauded her speech. Then, the King took over.

It was hard to pay attention, until you heard a particular name leave his mouth.

“As we continue the great customs of our ancestors who built this impenetrable kingdom, a new fate has arrived for Prince Seokmin.”

You flicked your gaze toward Seokmin, your heart hammering in your chest. His father set a hand on his shoulder, covered by a velvet, royal blue robe.

“Our son is at the rightful age to marry. After ample negotiation with the neighbouring and prosperous village of Markarth, their Lord has granted permission to his daughter, Lady Adelaide, as a possible contender. She will visit us on the summer solstice. I am prideful, and honoured, to announce this marvellous news alongside the blessed anointment of our pages.”

Instantly, you felt lightheaded, and you had to place the goblet back down on the table in order to avoid spilling the expensive wine. You knew this day would come eventually, but to hear that an arranged marriage was already brewing left a horrible taste in your mouth. The King shook his son’s shoulder with an honest pride, though Seokmin simply pressed his lips together and dipped his head slightly, acknowledging the announcement. You felt sick to your stomach. The thought of eating your beef wellington rendered you unable to even look at its outer pastry.

“Let us not dismiss the efforts of our valuable cooks, who prepared this rustic meal.” The King continued, staring in your direction.

He then praised the name of your mother, you, and Chan in specific. Everyone’s goblet remained in the air. Their gazes smeared across your flesh like wet ash.

“Is there anything you would like to say before we commence our feast?”

Your mother was ready to speak, though you managed to cut in before her.

“P-Pardon me, your Majesty, I am unbelievably humbled to cook for you tonight, but at this time I wish to be excused from the dining hall. May I part?”

Chan turned to look at you as though your hair were entangled in flames, and your mother grew notably tense. The atmosphere in the room was awfully palpable, like a thick balm that made it difficult to breathe. You could feel the pulse in your fingertips. The King then lowered his head to the Queen, and they briefly exchanged a whisper, seemingly coming to a verdict they both agreed on. Asking to be excused from a royal supper seldom occurred, if ever.

“If that is your wish,” the King said, his voice stern, “then you may part.”

You stepped away from your chair, making sure to bow toward the royal family. Seokmin was staring directly at you, his face looking hardened, cold.

“Thank you,” came your tiny response, “I hope you are delighted by the food.”

In the centre of the royal garden was a magnificent water fountain that came alive at nighttime, small, paper lanterns floating in its pool and glowing a solacing orange. You lay on your back, atop the fountain’s wide stone ledge, listening to the gushing water and staring up at the crescent moon. Everyone was still eating inside the dining hall. When you listened very intently, you could hear the faint notes of the live music. You didn’t regret leaving the supper, but you did regret not stealing a tiny bread loaf or even some fresh blackberries from the fruit baskets.  

Your stomach was aching, hungry.

Reaching down to tug up the side of your dress, you pulled out the beech wood you spotted in the grass that afternoon. You had wanted to carve something into its surface with your knife, though you weren’t sure what, and it definitely wouldn’t be possible until your mother returned the blade to you. As you held the smooth nature above your face and pressed your thumbs into its cream face, you were overcome by a new, frothing wave of anger. Seokmin was preparing to get married. The beech wood nearly split in two from your iron grip.

You hated thinking that at one point in your childhood, you genuinely liked the Prince, and harboured this flat-out embarrassing crush on him. So did everyone else, but Seokmin certainly didn’t help your malleable heart in pretending that he liked you back. You remembered it clear as day: Jeonghan, who was much smaller at the time, came bounding up to you, teeming with excitement and using his squeaky voice to tell you that Seokmin wanted to kiss you, and that you needed to meet the Prince by Peace River in the forest.

Of course, you obliged without even having to think, and your friends spent the whole morning twisting small bluebells and buttercups in your hair. When you arrived at Peace River, Seokmin was waiting for you, standing in a patch of sunlight that cut through the trees, wearing a long, silk red robe in addition to his silver crown. It was the most nervous you had ever felt in your entire life, and you remembered feeling dizzy as Seokmin gazed down at you with a sweet look in his honey eyes. The two of you leaned in closer, closer, closer…

And right when you felt his lips ghost yours, Seokmin took a step back and you heard a huge fit of laughter erupt from the thick brush in the background.

Seokmin’s friends came stumbling from their hiding spots, some holding their stomachs with how hard they were cackling, others wiping a tear from their eye, all whilst you experienced a shock bottom out in your gut. The realization that everything had been a ruse gave you a tough, metaphorical slap across the face. Jeonghan had to lean against a tree trunk as he gripped his stomach, and a familiar burn stung your cheeks upon remembering the words he coughed out, something along the lines of, “you truly thought the Prince liked you?!”

The worst part was that Seokmin didn’t say anything, he just looked at you sadly. Since then, your contempt for Seokmin blossomed, and he didn’t hesitate to bite back.

Not wanting to break the beech wood, you lowered it from your face and slid it back between the lace garter hidden beneath your dress. When you glanced at the moon, you noticed that a small, orange ball was floating above you. Sitting up, your eyes widened at the sight of numerous orange dots, glimmering all throughout the garden. You recognized them as fireflies, which had always been one of your favourite things about the night. Occasionally, you and Chan would catch the small bugs in mason jars and release them by Peace River.

One fluttered close to your face, so you stuck out your finger hoping it would land. But, out of nowhere, you heard someone walking in the grass and immediately plucked your finger away, instead peering through the moonlight where you spotted a silhouette. Once the figure came into the aurora of the water fountain, you felt your stomach drop. It was none other than the Prince himself. He was no longer wearing his royal robe, just a white poet shirt with the deep, v-shaped collar left unbuttoned, and some black capris. He wasn’t even sporting any jewelry apart from a silver bulb through his right earlobe.

“Why must you act with such blatant disrespect?” He was quick to scold you for leaving the dinner. “Could you have not sat down? Stayed out of honour and given your untouched portions to the beggars?”

You scoffed. “Do not ridicule me like one of your pages. I was asked to cook, and so I did. No more, no less.”

Seokmin huffed, blowing the black curls away from his eyes. “You were invited to eat as well.”

“I fulfilled my principal duty. There was no reason to stay.”

“You could have at least eaten something. A wedge of pie, a peach clove. For heaven’s sake, there was bread at the entryway.”

Unwilling to stay seated and argue, you stood up from the fountain and brushed off your dress, no longer paying attention to the fireflies that illuminated the garden. Of course you wished you took some food; your stomach was collapsing in on itself, though you would not admit it.

“Why are you so concerned with my meals?” You snapped. “Should you not return to your private quarters and get well rested for the summer solstice?”

After mocking his arranged marriage, you couldn’t bear to look Seokmin in the eye. For some reason, a lump got caught in your throat and you felt a hot surge push against your tear ducts.

“Judging by your poor temper, it is you who needs more rest than I.” The Prince shot back.

You couldn’t stand there any longer. Biting harshly into your bottom lip, you attempted to brush by Seokmin and exit the garden. Instead you would find the  gateway and wait until your mother and Chan arrived before leaving the castle grounds. There was food back at the house anyway, you assumed maybe some milk pudding, or sunflower seeds. It wouldn’t satiate you, but at least quell the hunger pangs until morning. However, when Seokmin grabbed your elbow you immediately flared, releasing a sharp yelp as he held you in place.

“And where do you think you’re off to?” Seokmin growled, lessening his grip on your arm and leaning in close to your face. “Come with me. I must give you something.” 

Peering into the Prince’s dark brown eyes, you snarled, “what?”

He was close enough that you could see the tiny scar on the bridge of his nose from when he and Jeonghan had chased each other with fireplace pokers. You thought about looking at his lips, pretty and pink, but refused to break eye contact. The Prince didn’t say anything, just tugged you through the garden, between the thorny rosebushes, the intricate strings of bleeding hearts, and huge pots of pastel, cotton hydrangeas. To your surprise, Seokmin guided you back into the kitchen you had occupied just a few hours ago.

Then, he opened a wood cupboard and pulled out a polished, bright silver tin, which he thrusted into your arms. You peeled the lid open and saw that the tin was filled with raspberry glazed Danishes, to which the fragrant smell of flaky pastry and berries caused your mouth to water.

“S-Seokmin, I—,” you were going to reject him.

“I am not doing charity work for you. It is the custom of our celebratory suppers to not let any guest leave unfed, or pained by hunger.”

He looked at you with a cold expression, and his tone deepened. “Now, you may wait at the front gate for your companion and mother. It is not your place to wander around my castle. I could have you arrested.”

You welcomed his threat. “I anticipate such a drastic measure if it ensures I’ll never have to see your face again.”

Seokmin didn’t look half as amused. He moved in close to your ear, his breath hitting your skin as he uttered inimically, “leave.”

During the walk home to your village quarters, Chan had already shoved an entire pastry into his mouth, licking the raspberry jam off his fingers. Your mother was eager to know who gifted you such an expensive tin alongside the Danishes. Not wanting to admit your confrontation with Seokmin, you churned up a white lie about how they were a present from another cook.

“Certainly?” She seemed quite surprised. “That is a rare gift. To my knowledge, tins with that level of embroidery are only seen inside the castle. Perhaps that cook quite liked you.”

At the early stretch of dawn, you felt someone grasp your shoulder and shake it roughly, until your eyes pulled open, groggy and blurred. You were sitting up in bed, looking bitter. Chan was next to you, and whilst he wore an apologetic expression, you could sense there was a degree of urgency to his actions.

“What’s the matter?” You hummed, digging the heel of your palm into your eye.

Just outside the windowpane, you could see the calm sunrise and feel the morning, serene warmth through the glass.

“Your mother told me to wake you, that we should head to the bakery immediately.” 

As you stumbled around your bedroom, fitting on a pair of degrading, sandalwood slippers before patting your face down with cold water from the well, you were wondering why it was so important that you attend the bakery, that your mother would need to send Chan to fetch you. Still dressed in your nightgown, you left the house alongside the young apprentice and hurried down the quiet road, passing all the tiny markets and apparel shops. As soon as the bakery came into view, you gasped, for a pearl blue carriage was stationed outside, paired to a stallion with silk, white hair. It grazed at a patch of grass and honeysuckle.

There seemed to be a crowd gathered inside the bakery, which only further piqued your curiosity. Chan couldn’t help but stroke the horse’s brilliant fur, which glowed like an amber pool due to the sunlight. You had only taken a measly step or two inside the bakery until jamming to a halt. Right before your eyes, speaking to your mother across the counter was perhaps one of the most pristinely-dressed, elegant girls to ever grace your kingdom. Her dress was long and flowing, a dark green forest jade, accented with gold lacing and a slim pair of gloves that stretched high up her arms.

Chan appeared equally stunned, for he thudded into your backside and stood staring at the girl like she was a rare type of crystal. Almost immediately, you noted the petit, twinkling tiara sitting on her head. Before she could even introduce herself, you knew exactly who she was.

“Lady Adelaide.” You heard Chan whisper to himself.

It immediately dawned on you that the summer solstice had finally arrived. The second she noted your presence at the door, her congregation of guards stepped back, allowing her to approach you. Without a second thought you bowed your head politely. She smelled like fresh clusters of jasmine and her voice was harmonious.

“I apologize, it wasn’t my intention to startle you or your apprentice,” (Chan’s face flushed a shy pink) “I heard from a guardsman of mine that your mother’s bakery is nothing short of wondrous, and I knew I had to stop here before I meet with your kingdom’s Prince.”

You stuttered straight through your teeth, “t-that’s wonderful. P-Pleased, we’re absolutely pleased to serve you, Lady Adelaide. We will prepare anything you desire.”

“Certainly.” Chan agreed.

“I’ll have to spend some time looking over the pastries,” she said jovially, “right now, I am truly awed by how delicious everything appears. My decision will come shortly.”

“Of course.” You responded, rubbing your clammy palms against your dress.

Whilst Lady Adelaide carefully inspected each pastry through the glass, your mother had pulled you and Chan into the kitchen, where she made sure it was clear you show your utmost respect toward the kingdom’s potential princess. Chan still wore a sticky blush on his cheeks, and you could tell he would be about as useful in the kitchen that day as a rock.

“No matter what she requests, we shall honour her needs and prepare it.” Your mother said. “Remember, this could be Prince Seokmin’s wife.”

You felt a streak of envy and wanted to slap yourself. 

Once Lady Adelaide made up her mind, your mother re-entered the front shop with a wide smile. Chan started washing his hands in the pail of fresh water.

“Why was I not born the Prince?” He huffed petulantly. “She is truly the most beautiful woman I have ever seen. Does everyone in Markarth have such a face?”

“Oh, cool it, would you?” Came your sharp response. “Our duty is to operate a bakery, not fall in love.”

You didn’t mean to sound so harsh, and you tried desperately to bite your tongue as you fastened on your apron and pulled up the sleeves of your nightgown. The young apprentice wasn’t lying, she was a true and glorious spectacle, one that would surely appease the King and Queen once they saw her next to their son. However, you weren’t keen on entertaining such a sight, and you dismissed it from your head whilst Chan went to the house front and helped your mother collect Adelaide’s dessert.

A week after Lady Adelaide’s arrival at the kingdom, you happened to find your pocket-sized carving knife inside a bakery drawer. You were absolutely relieved to discover it, and took advantage of your mother’s recent departure to slide it back against the garter belt wrapped around your thigh. For the time being, she was occupied at a different village, visiting her sister.

Chan worked on kneading a mound of sourdough, his sleeves rolled high up to his elbows and a cloth tied around his head, pushing back his growing brown hair. You decided to take a break from the kitchen heat, patting him on his shoulder just before you disappeared.

“Huh?” He mumbled, not bothering to look up from the dough, “where will you be?”

“Peace River.” You told him. “I will be taking a short swim.”

The piece of beech wood was already slipped inside your sleeve. Ever since Seokmin gave you that silver, embroidered tin, you placed it on your bedside table and stored the wood inside. 

“Shall I fetch some extra help in the mean time?” Chan asked, lobbing the dough onto a wooden serving board.

“Sure. Why not ask your companion from the academy? Seungkwan is it?”

“Yes.” Chan nodded.

You picked your way through town until you arrived at the pathway that lead into the forest. The dirt was padded down by a century of footsteps, animal paws and wagon wheels, though the soft grass that grew next to it tickled up past your ankles and bloomed with small, purple flowers. You loved walking through the forest, hearing the noises of the village become increasingly muted, replaced by tree branches that gently rocked against each other in the breeze as well as the sweet songbirds.

Upon reaching the river, you sat down on a rock just in front of the grassy bank and pulled out your carving knife. The river created a bubbling waterfall, and whilst you took hold of the beech wood, deciding what to carve, you listened to the trickling sounds. Still unsure of what to scratch in the wood, you continued shaving down its edges until the piece lost its rectangular shape and became more oval. Once you were satisfied with its rounder appearance, you brushed the wispy flakes from your lap, deciding it was time to test the river.

You removed the layers of your dress until you were in nothing but your undergarments, the sunshine that rained between the leaves warm against your skin. After wrapping the beech wood into your clothing, you set the fabric behind a strawberry bush, though left your carving knife folded and sitting on the rock. The river water was cold, but not freezing, and for a few moments you stood knee deep with your eyes closed, allowing the quiet breeze and sunrays to mellow your heartbeat. Then you proceeded to wade in further, until the water lapped up against your chin.

As much as you longed to enjoy the cool river, there was one problem that arose after a few minutes of swimming. 

You heard distant galloping becoming closer and closer, accompanied by the rattling of metallic armour and conversation. Not wanting to make your presence known, you paddled beneath the overhanging rock that created the waterfall, the downpour completely soaking your hair whilst the heavy scent of moss stuck to the stone. You were curious as to who could be arriving at the river. Carefully, you peeked around corner of the overhang.

You felt your blood turn to ice.

It was Seokmin and Adelaide. Her arms were wrapped around the Prince’s waist as he held onto the reins of his beautiful, caramel horse named Apple. You remembered the mare’s name because you were the one who suggested it as kids. Seokmin shook the reins once more, and Apple walked closer to the river, already beginning to graze at the sweet grass lining the bank. Seokmin seemed to be educating Adelaide about the river, though you really had to strain to hear what he was saying. He hopped down cleanly from the horse before assisting the Lord’s lady.

She was no longer wearing her jade dress, but a white gown with many ruffles at the skirt. Her eyes were wide and sparkling whilst she examined the forest. Seokmin set a hand on her waist, gesturing to something in the trees you couldn’t see. The Prince was standing in a patch of sunlight just like he did on that summer day when you were children, waiting to kiss you—well, more like humiliate you, but his amber skin still shone the same, and the way the light reflected off his broad, silver armour depicted just how much he’d grown since then.

Closing your eyes, you listened intently for his words.

“Everyone who visits this river is known to experience a beautiful sense of peace, and calm, hence, why it is known as Peace River.”

Adelaide pressed a kiss to Seokmin’s jaw. “I have never seen such a tranquil sight. Oh, Prince Seokmin, it’s beautiful!”

Whilst Apple continued nipping at the grass, Adelaide squatted down next to the river and let the water gush between her fingers, covered in opal and amethyst rings. She was crooning about how pretty the gems looked beneath the current to Seokmin, though you noted the young Prince wasn’t exactly listening. Something caught his attention – your carving knife, which you left sitting on the goddamn rock. Gulping heavily, you watched as Seokmin picked up the blade and inspected it closely. Immediately, you swam away from the corner when he began squinting around the clearing, as though he were attempting to spot the knife’s owner.

The worst part: Seokmin knew who that carving knife belonged to. He knew it was yours, for he offered it to you, a gift from his blacksmith, a few days before the horrible kissing incident.

When you gathered the courage to peer around the corner again, you saw Seokmin help Lady Adelaide back onto Apple’s saddle. He still had your blade in his hand, to which you watched in complete shock as the Prince ordered his horse onward, deeper into the forest. You cursed him relentlessly under your breath. That bastard, he just took your carving knife! When you only discovered its whereabouts no less than half an hour ago! Boiling with fury, you left the river, threw on the clothes over your wet skin, and marched back into town with your beech wood.

The next time you saw the Prince, you weren’t going to let him off easy.

It was the night of the Super Moon Festival.

Raised high amongst the depths of the vast, black sky was the crater itself, bright, shining, and larger than ever. A chilly wind had turned the air quite nippy, and whilst Chan sat next to you, tentatively sipping a warm jar of gold, apple cider, you were simmering in complete bitterness. You had always embraced each festival, especially the Super Moon Festivals, which promised ample fortune unto the kingdom in addition to a prosperous summer; however, that night you couldn’t force even the slightest elation. 

Prince Seokmin still had your carving knife.

A great deal of folk had concentrated to the village square, where the celebration was most vibrant. Certain people had linked arms, dancing to the live music, whilst others were releasing paper lanterns of different colours and shapes into the night sky. There were plenty of drinking games, festive food, and buzzing conversations entangled throughout the square. You were shaking your leg, watching intensely as the Prince and his friends were gathered by an old wagon in the far corner, drinking tall tins of frothy ale, laughing loudly into the crisp, cool air.

Suddenly, Chan nudged your shoulder.

“Is everything alright?” He asked. “Why do you continue staring at the Prince?”

You peeled your gaze from Seokmin, though the contort of your features remained. Lady Adelaide was nowhere to be spotted. There were rumours that she would be arriving later, that the band would play a special slow song, just so she could share a dance with the Prince.

“I must speak with him.” You replied.

Chan wrapped his cold hands tighter around the apple cider, casting you a peculiar glance.

“Why is that? Has he done something?”

You knew you couldn’t wait forever. Seokmin’s tightknit ensemble didn’t look like it was going to thin anytime soon, and if you allowed the night to end, you would have missed your chance.

“Be right back.” You uttered sharply to the young apprentice as you rose from your chair, leaving Chan to sit alone with his drink.

He could only gaze after you in a thick confusion. It was definitely nerve-wracking to approach the Prince so boldly, especially when he was swathed by his closest friends, all whom lived inside the castle or carried high profiles in the upper scale village. You almost walked straight through a dancing couple on your march across the large square, though you tried not to let any crumb of doubt or intimidation thwart you from retrieving your carving blade. Without a word, you shoved your way between the muscular bodies, ignoring their surprised scoffs.

Seokmin’s eyes were almost as wide as the moon when you stood before him. He stopped leaning against the wagon’s tall wheel and left his half-finished ale on the ledge.

“Return it to me.” You stated simply, holding out your palm.

“Who the hell is that?” One of his friends chided, clearly not amused that you just pushed through their private celebration only to speak rudely at the Prince.

Seokmin’s brow furrowed. “Return what?” He responded. 

His acting utterly irritated you.

“Do not behave so obliviously,” you barked, “come with me, now.”

Wrapping your fingers through the collar of his shirt, you attempted to pull Seokmin away from his companions. Understandably, they were not willing to lose their royal member so easily, which prompted Jeonghan to grab your arm. It came as a slight surprise to you when Seokmin snapped, “do not touch her,” causing him to withdraw his grip, his expression paling. The Prince ensured his companions that he would return soon, only to follow you down a quiet alley, away from the colourful celebration and boasting music.

Folding your arms over your chest, you glared at the boy.

“I want my knife returned.”

Straightening out his collar that you had noticeably crumbled, the Prince scoffed, a smirk trudging across mouth.

“You should not leave any personal property out where it could be discovered.” 

“You knew it was mine and yet you still took it.”

“So you were watching me, is that it?” He had the audacity to smile.

In order to contain your fulgurant anger, you clenched your fists tightly at your sides.

“Indeed I watched you take it! Now give it back!”

“Do not get so ahead of yourself.” Seokmin flashed a devious smile, one you wanted to wipe clean from his snide expression.

He reached into his pocket, and beneath the frosted moonlight, you saw him reveal your precious carving knife. You traced his fingers as he unfolded the silver blade and admired the mahogany handle, etched with the smallest, intricate embellishment. If you were swift enough, you could snatch the knife from his hand, but you weren’t sure if the risk was calculated. The Prince gently pressed the pad of his finger to the point, hardly issuing any pressure.

“This did not always belong to you.” He stated simply.

“I know that,” you quipped, “but you decided to gift it to me. So it no longer falls under your property.”

Seokmin blatantly ignored your rebuttal. Instead, he folded up the blade and dared pocket it right before your eyes. You gaped at him.

“Why were you at Peace River?”

“What?!” Feeling completely bewildered, you couldn’t help the loud air of your gasp.

He asked again, “why were you at Peace River? Were you hiding somewhere?”

“That is not your business!” You barked.

Seokmin seemed to adapt your hue of disproportionate awe. 

“It is not my business?” He took a step forward, though you didn’t shy from his advance. “I am your Prince. You shall answer what I ask of you.”

“Why do you care why I was there? Should you not focus on the wonderful time you had showing around your dear lady?”

The young Prince’s face didn’t exactly soften upon your reference to Adelaide, rather there was a subtle shift in the nuance of his gaze, where something murky tinted the surface. It was difficult to pinpoint, but you almost swore that mentioning Adelaide had made Seokmin unhappy. To make the matter more confusing, he was clearly examining your features, from the curve of your lips to the arch above each cheek, you were like a memory he could never lose.

Your heart started beating faster, and you felt dearly flustered.

“I-I was only swimming,” you answered him, “that’s all you must know.”

You hated your body for betraying you, for submitting, for twirling itself in a moonstruck loop at the mere thought of Seokmin needing to commit your face to memory. Wanting to feel angry again, you tightened your voice.

“Now, I answered your question. I have pulled you away for one thing and one thing only: my knife. I do not care that your blacksmith crafted it for you, that it was once yours before it was mine. You gave it to me. I want it back.”

“Mind your manners,” the Prince scolded, his eyes turning icy, less forgiving, “I cannot oblige when you create such a fuss.”

Digging your nails in deep to the fabric of your dress, you exhaled shakily.

”I am going to lose my temper, Prince Seokmin. I want my blade, now.”

He took a step toward you, so close you could smell the rich ale on his clothing. His voice had lowered an octave, to which you swallowed coarsely and had trouble locking eyes with him.

“First, you rudely interrupt my friends and I. Second, you speak to me informally, with no respect, not even bothered to fake it. Third, you drag me to this alley and refuse the command of your Prince to summon an ounce of manner. Clean your mouth, or forget the knife.”

Your jaw clenched, and you started to grit your teeth. Seokmin was not exactly fond of the fact that you wouldn’t make eye contact, therefore he placed a light hold on your chin with his index finger and thumb, tilting your head toward him.

“Look at me when I speak to you.” He growled.

A concerning heat infiltrated your body; however, gulping back the rage that burned against your throat, you pulled down his hand, looked straight into his eyes and hissed, “you do not deserve my manners, but for the sake of the situation, may I please have my knife returned, Prince Seokmin?”

He reached into his pocket.

“I am shocked someone so ill-mannered is permitted to live in this kingdom.”

Cocking your head to the side, you watched the boy reveal your carving knife.

“I could effortlessly say the same for you.”

Seokmin handed you the blade, studying you intently whilst you picked up the side of your dress in order to return your prized possession between the thigh garter. Even in the darkness, his cheeks had noticeably pinkened. 

“Enjoy the remainder of your night.” You gave him an exaggerated, distasteful bow before walking down the alley, away from the village square. “Do not keep Lady Adelaide waiting.”

The young Prince didn’t bother responding, only chewed into his bottom lip as you disappeared from his sight, his heart beating uncharacteristically fast.

Somehow, you and Chan had ended up back in the royal kitchen.

It was in light of a specific request pitted by the King and Queen, in which they desired you to cook a delicious dinner for Prince Seokmin and Lady Adelaide as they enjoyed their umpteenth date together. You attempted to avoid the situation last minute by faking a dry cough and sore throat, though your mother was far too intelligent to let any elementary performances fool her, resulting in yet another attendance award at the castle. Chan was excited as usual, evident in the small curl to his lips whilst he cleaned his hands in a bucket of well water.

“I never understand you,” Chan said, “why are you never content to visit the castle?”

Tying an apron at your lower back, you simply huffed in response to the young apprentice, not willing to reiterate the whole spiel about your childhood mishap as well as the years of hatred that nurtured it. You knew you seemed ungrateful, stuck-up, but it wasn’t anyone’s business.

“It is not something to concern yourself with,” you told Chan, taking his place at the bucket of cold water, “I am going to cook their meal, and that is all. No more, no less.”

“When do you think we will receive their menu?” Chan asked.

“Whenever it is given to us.”

The royal kitchen was indubitably stocked with produce that could cater to any dish, it was just a matter of awaiting the particular meals Lady Adelaide and Seokmin were keen on eating. Still, you had to agree with Chan, there was an anxious density to the room whilst you prepared your stations, hoping that at least some form of authority would enter the kitchen to update you.

Chan opened a cupboard and found a burlap sack of cherries. He grinned, “do you think Prince Seokmin will want to eat cherry pie again?”

“Beats me,” you shrugged, “maybe he’ll desire a pineapple upside down cake.”

“That sounds complicated.” Chan admitted with a frown.

You chuckled, “he’s complicated.”

“Who’s complicated?”

Suddenly, the Prince appeared in the entryway to the kitchen, dressed in a long, garnet cape that draped around his shoulders, embroidered with a dazzling gold thread. His hair, usually left in its black ringlets, had been groomed neatly from his forehead. His crown looked heavy, precious and incomprehensibly expensive. Both you and Chan were stunned by his abrupt appearance, to which the apprentice dropped a pile of tins he’d been removing from a cupboard. They clattered across the stone floor, and his cheeks turned red.

Whilst the young boy quickly picked up each tin, you cleared your throat.

“N-No one. We were speaking about no one.”

Chan hurried to stand beside you, and he bowed immediately.

“Greetings, Prince Seokmin. Must I say it is a complete honour to cook for you and Lady Adelaide tonight. I shall put forth my best effort.”

“I am pleased to hear that,” Seokmin said, commending the boy’s display of respect, “I have arrived to deliver the menu Lady Adelaide and I would like to eat.”

The Prince then handed Chan a scroll, which had been tied shut with a tasseled, red string. As Chan busied himself in opening the paper to glean its request, Seokmin glanced you over from top to bottom. You shot him a transient glare.

Folding your arms over your chest and titling your head to the side, you announced, “we will bring your food as soon as possible.”

“Is everything well with you?” Seokmin inquired, raising an eyebrow.

Chan looked up from the unwound scroll nervously, clearly noting the palpable tension.

“Yes, Prince Seokmin. I feel brilliant.” Your tone was drier than chalk.

Some twisted part of you hoped that the Prince would pull you into the corridor, scold you for behaving so blatantly disrespectful, lean in close to your face with a fire that turned to glistering copper in his eyes. You wanted him to grip your chin like he did in the alleyway and demand you meet his gaze. In a bizarre sense, you craved to argue with him. However, Seokmin didn’t engage in anything of the sort, and a vacant feeling encompassed you whole.

“I must return to Lady Adelaide. We will be seated on the outdoor terrace, second level.”

“Yes, of course,” Chan chirped, “I will bring your appetizer shortly.”

“May it also be known that the furnace next to you Chan has not been properly cleaned from a previous service. Do not try to light any fire, or the residue could burn you.”

Chan glanced at the stove warily whilst you released an impatient sigh.

“You should really get going, sire. It’s never polite to make your lady wait.”

The Prince chuckled, and a bold smirk illuminated his face.

“Have you ever been left to wait, darling?” He asked, biting his bottom lip.

After blowing a tuft of hair from your eyes, you folded your arms over your chest and caught the young Prince in a piercing stare.

“Why must you know? I don’t kiss and tell.”

Chan had not a clue as to what sort of exchange was unpacking before him, he only knew that his presence seemed unbelievably trivial, like a dust mite. You couldn’t deny how satisfactory it felt to wind Seokmin tighter than a wire spool, attempting to snap him somehow, hoping he’d bite back brazenly.

His professional composure was teetering, you could see it. And yet, the Prince was able to sweep away his desires to bicker with you. 

“Aren’t you such a well-behaved little girl?” He dug slyly, the backhanded compliment imbuing a strange rush in your blood. “I have no further business here. As I said, we are seated on the second level terrace.”

The second Seokmin parted, his beautiful cloak fluttering behind him, Chan nudged your shoulder with a big pout on his lips.

“Are you trying to get us banned from the castle? If so, you might just succeed.”

Stealing the scroll from his hands, you urged him to relax.

“Trust me,” you sighed, “I would get banned before any other soul here. Even before the cook who caused a fire hazard.”

You had great trouble focusing in the kitchen, and it seemed like your brain contained no interest in cooperating with the rest of your body. Chan noted your lack of composure and intervened on multiple occasions, a concerned expression covering his face.

It was stupid, shameful, but for an unbeknownst reason you could not stop envisioning Seokmin and Adelaide enjoying their supper together on the pretty terrace. You imagined his soft, attentive eyes tracing her lips whilst she spoke, his hand reaching across the table to tuck a strand of hair behind her ear’s cusp, the evening sun dappling the sky golden and peach-rose. It lit a terrible feeling within your lower gut, a feeling that upset you beyond belief, made you want to run from the kitchen and bury yourself beneath mounds of bedsheets.

The thought of Seokmin marrying Adelaide, sliding that white diamond ring upon her finger, having to watch them parade around the kingdom completely and utterly in love; you hated it, and you kept losing your concentration as that bitterness consumed you.

“They seem to be enjoying everything.” Chan confirmed with a satisfied smile toward the end of service. He just returned after collecting their dishes. “At last, we can begin dessert!”

However, the boy quickly picked up on your temperate, distracted face.

“What’s the matter?” Chan grabbed your shoulder gently. “You look so upset.”

“I’m fine,” you dismissed him with an apathetic air, brushing his touch away, “will they be eating the cherry pie as you assumed? I have already prepared the crust.”

“Yes…” Chan leaned in rather close to examine your face whilst he hummed in response.

“For heaven’s sake, child—what are you doing?”

“S-Sorry,” he immediately backed away, “I-I thought—your eyes just looked so glassy.”

“I have already stated my wellbeing. Now, please get to making the filling so we may get this pie in the furnace.”

Chan grabbed the burlap sack of cherries from the cupboard and dumped them into an apple basket. He then submerged the basket in a water pail, making sure to clean the fruit until they were glistening and shiny. Together, you removed the cherry pits in order to create the sweet, sticky filling which smelled exactly like summer. Chan let you tend to setting the furnace flame whilst he leveled out the pies; however, you’d forgotten about the unusable furnace.

As you got down on your knee and reached into the underbelly of the oven with the starter flint, it was too late for Chan to make a reminder. Once the bright spark touched that mysterious residue, a gigantic flame bloomed forth and licked up the furnace walls. The second your hand felt such an incredible singe of heat, you released a loud cry and crawled away from the glowing oven, your chest heaving at the intense, searing pain that sizzled deep into your flesh. Chan was gobsmacked. He dropped the small butter knife in the pie filling and bent down whilst you tossed your head back, cursing at the pain.

“Oh God!” Chan looked paler than a snowflake. “Y-You have been burned! O-Oh no… this- this is awful! What should we do? H-Here—”

The boy helped you to your feet and brought you close to the water pail.

“Submerge your hand in this,” he offered anxiously, wiping away a bead of sweat from his forehead, “I need to alert someone of this. Are you okay? Do you believe you might faint?”

“N-No…” you gritted between your teeth whilst heavy tears streamed down your cheeks, “just get somebody – anybody. I-It hurts terribly…”

The boy rubbed your back as a sweet gesture before he left the kitchen. 

“I shall return as quickly as possible! I promise!”

Unfortunately, Chan had sparse luck encountering anyone from the castle. The sole person he could think of alerting was Prince Seokmin. Whilst he was not eager to interrupt his dinner with the kingdom’s potential princess, Chan was far too concerned with your agonizing pain as well as the poor condition of your hand. He knew you needed medical assistance immediately, therefore he burst through the doors in a panic and stumbled onto the terrace, where Prince Seokmin and Lady Adelaide gave him a puzzled, somewhat undesirable look.

The young apprentice steadied his breath. Once he began informing them of the situation, he couldn’t help but note the overwhelming concern that engulfed the Prince’s face.

“I must know where the nearest nurse is located. She needs assistance and I promised I would return quickly!”

Lady Adelaide wiped the corners of her mouth with a cloth, and looked to Seokmin. Her eyes, brushed with a shimmering, metallic gold, widened beneath the evening light as the Prince stood from his chair and threw down his cutlery.

“You have left her alone? Where is she?” He questioned the apprentice.

Chan licked his dry lips. “P-Please, stay with Lady Adelaide. I-I just need to know wh—”

“Does she remain in the kitchen?” Seokmin interrupted him.

He stepped fairly close to Chan, the young boy tilting his head back in order to meet the serious gaze of the Prince. Admittedly, he felt rather intimidated.

“Yes, she is. But you mustn’t abandon Lady Adelaide. I can—”

“I will take care of her,” Seokmin replied sternly, “stay with the Lady if you wish.”

Without another word, the Prince pushed Chan aside and disappeared quickly through the terrace doors, leaving him alone on the beautiful terrace with Adelaide. She didn’t appear entirely thrilled to be abandoned in the midst of a romantic dinner, indicated by the uncomfortable expression that coloured her face. Instead, she tucked the hair behind her ears and pressed her smooth lips together tightly, staring out into the flossy, pink clouds, a calm breeze blowing through the air. Chan swallowed the rock in his throat, squeezing his hands nervously.

“I-I’m sure the Prince will return in due time.” He stuttered.

Lady Adelaide nodded, stiffened, unamused.

“I guess I will just have to wait.”

Standing at the pail whilst your marred flesh scorched beneath the water was a sensation unlike any other. Your bottom lip kept quivering, and your whole body trembled in an attempt to digest such an intense pain. Footsteps reverberated outside the kitchen, to which a hope flourished that a medical professional would be arriving alongside Chan – yet, the person who entered the room was completely disproportionate to what you’d been expecting. It wasn’t that you didn’t want his help, it was just going to be difficult to accept it.

Seokmin left his crown behind on a countertop and stood next to you.

“Let me see it.” He urged as your hand twitched in the water.

Rubbing your tears off on your shoulder, you rasped, “w-why are you here?”

“Because you’re hurt,” Seokmin replied firmly, “and whether you like it or not, I am going to look after this. You should have your hand beneath running water.”

“W-Where is Chan? I w-want him here t-too.”

“He remained with Adelaide.” The Prince sounded impatient.

“W-Why did you not stay with her? Why did you even come when you cannot stand me?”

Choosing to ignore your questions, Seokmin grabbed your wrist, pulling you to the back of the kitchen where he knew there was a well. Suckling back the thick tears and runniness in your nose, you let Seokmin guide your injured hand beneath the cold water he started pumping from the ground. It splashed onto the stone floor, trickling in all directions.

“S-Seokmin—,”

“Just keep quiet for one minute,” the Prince snapped, “I know that is strenuous for someone as verbose as you, but right now, allow me to take care of you, alright?”

For an unprecedented time in your life, you legitimately heeded Seokmin’s words and kept your mouth shut, deciding it was not worth the energy to act so bitter. Whilst the running water succeeded in cleaning any sediment from the wound, the sensitive flesh stung and flared to a degree that was impossible to ignore, leaving you unable to suppress any small sobs and whimpers. If not for Seokmin holding your hand beneath the water, you would have withdrawn it immediately. 

You pushed your face into his chest, your tears wetting his clothing. Seokmin shushed you softly, attempting to keep you calm.

“I know it hurts, but you’re doing so well, okay? A minute longer darling, I promise.”

You felt Seokmin’s chin sit on top of your head, and you only pushed your cheek in further against his strong chest, smelling the faint concoction of a luxurious perfume on his amber skin. Somehow, the pain became more bearable when his honeyed voice touched your ears.

“H-Has it been a minute now?” You sniffled.

The cold stream of water that once gushed from the spout diminished. Whilst the floor was rippling with a wide, wet circle, your hand felt less seared, less like a piece of charred meat.

“Mmhm, it’s been a minute,” Seokmin said, “how badly does it still hurt?”

Glancing at the wound imbued an intense cloud of nausea.

“I-It’s throbbing, a-and stings. Should we not wrap it?” You blubbered.

Seokmin brushed his fingers along your warm cheek, removing the new tears.

“Not immediately, angel. If the flesh is too fragile, the cloth might pull up more layers of tissue when it is removed. There should be an ointment station, over here—,” the Prince placed his hand against the small of your back, and you followed him toward a counter, “if the correct gel is in here, my hope is that it soothes your skin. Afterward, we will wrap it cautiously.”

Your injured hand was shaking too much, so you had to grasp your wrist tightly in order to centre it to one place. Seokmin opened a drawer filled with small, glass ampules. He picked between them carefully until coming across the correct ointment, a clear gel that had a strong, plant-like scent when he pulled out the tiny cork. Smearing the glistening gel onto his fingertips, the Prince then asked to see your hand. Knowing it would sting, you clenched your teeth.

“I’m not being too rough, am I?” Seokmin asked, concentrating on softly massaging in the vital ointment.

Exhaling stiltedly, you shook your head. “It’s getting better, I believe.”

“This is quite deep,” he remarked, scooping up more of the gel, “why on earth did you use the furnace upon my instruction not to?”

“I was not thinking about the furnace.” You admitted, biting down into your cheek.

Seokmin couldn’t help but chuckle. 

He had just finished applying the cool gel, which gleamed on your skin and sunk into the damaged tissue. Additionally, stuffed somewhere in the drawer was a compact spool of bandage that the Prince started unraveling, until he tore a perfect strip to delicately wrap around your hand. Your heart began racing and heat stippled your face as the boy finally looked up from the injury. His eyes were so unbelievably gentle, his lips the colour of roses. It reflected a painstakingly familiar memory, in which you could almost hear the river running in the background and feel the pleasant sunlight warm your arms.

“Then what was on your mind?” Seokmin questioned.

His voice was low, and he stared unabashedly at your mouth.

You didn’t think – you didn’t want to. 

Instead, you pushed to the very back of your skull every malevolent thought you once harboured toward the Prince and shut your eyes, envisioning yourself within a dream. You pressed a short, soft kiss against his mouth.

There was a moment’s pause where Seokmin realized the situation.

Suddenly, he cupped the sides of your face in his tender hands, urging you forward again, his lips brushing yours in such a gentle manner that a shiver tingled down your spine. It was far from a single, fleeting kiss. Each time your lips pressed together, you would linger for a moment longer and fall deeper into the other, losing all sense of the world around you. A molten warmth expanded in your chest as you felt Seokmin’s tongue make a soft prod at your bottom lip, encouraging you to sigh blissfully into the kiss. He smiled at your quiet noises.

What was happening to you? You struggled to control your own functions. Seokmin was eliciting a powerful feeling that yearned for you to continue kissing. His slender fingers drifted from your face to your hips, and he pulled you tighter against his body, each kiss revealing the other’s burning want and secret desires. As you suckled slowly on Seokmin’s tongue, listening to him purr, there was a rich, unique taste of cider. It prompted you to think about dinner, about Chan who’d gone looking for a nurse, about Lady Adelaide. 

As soon as her face entered your mind, something switched off inside you and your blood transformed into cold liquid.

“S-Seokmin,” you murmured, disconnecting the sweet pressure of your mouth to his, “I-I... I don’t think we’re in our right minds.” 

Your eyes began filling with water whilst you gazed at his pink cheeks and the pretty swell to his lips. The boy grabbed both your hands with a concerned expression, holding them against his chest where you felt his heart beat.

“What do you mean, angel?” Seokmin whispered. He then planted a kiss much too affectionate against your forehead, in which your eyes only grew more watery. “I haven’t anything to drink if that’s what you’re implying.”

“N-No.” You shook your head and looked into his eyes, swallowing back the dreadful taste of pain, of a relationship you could never have, of a boy you could never have. “We cannot do this... t-this is not just...”

“Wait—” Seokmin stuttered when you pulled away from him, “where are you going? We can talk about this.” His voice trembled slightly, heavy with sorrow.

“Stay with me, please.” 

But there was nothing he could say or do that would cement you to your spot.

An overwhelming wave of emotion surged through your body, and you knew you had to leave the castle grounds unless you wanted the royal family to see you explode into a mess of hot tears and incoherency. Whilst you slipped through the kitchen door, you bumped into Chan who just returned from the second level terrace, his eyes growing wide when he noted the dreadful shadow that hollowed your countenance. The boy swallowed thickly, for the next person to enter the hallway was Lady Adelaide herself, who did not look pleased at the wait.

“A-Are you o—”

“I cannot stay here,” you told Chan in a quick jumble, “I am going to the house. Please, take care of the dessert if you can manage.”

Lady Adelaide stepped aside, allowing you to escape the corridor.

Everything felt like it was collapsing around you.

It was nighttime as you sat in your bed, a candle flickering on the windowsill whilst you examined the neat bandages that enveloped your hand. You couldn’t sleep. Chan was sent home early from the castle by Prince Seokmin, and he attempted to check on you with plentiful knocks to the front door; however, you didn’t possess the right spirit to answer him and instead covered your teary face with the bedsheets until he left. You were infuriated at yourself for kissing the Prince. Inside, your heart felt mercilessly torn up and shredded.

Continuing to look out the window, you were intrigued by a fluttering, orange orb that eventually paused on the leaves of a tall sunflower. It was a firefly.

Quickly, you reached for the silver Danish tin on your bedside table and pulled out the carving knife in addition to the small, smooth disc of beech wood. It was difficult to make incisions in the wood with an injured hand, though you simply bit your lip and didn’t allow the pain to phase you. Making tiny scratches with the fine, sharp tip of the blade, you spent the next hour, maybe more, carving a tiny firefly into the beech wood. When you looked back into your drawer, you spotted a silver-beaded chain, and an idea instantly shaped in your head.

You decided to make the wooden emblem into a necklace.

From the kitchen, you could hear Chan speaking with a new ensemble of customers who entered the bakery, the sound of their abundant coins rattling across the countertop and the apprentice’s cheerful tone as he wrapped their food in wax parchment. You hadn’t spent much time behind the counter that day, for your mood was no better than a cat who’d just been stuck in a thunderstorm. Chan advised you to stay in the kitchen instead. Since that morning, you’d either been making loaves of banana bread or staring into space.

There seemed to be an unsettled atmosphere about the kingdom. Most if not always, it indicated there was a problem at the castle, some sort of dispute amongst the royal family.

Whilst you waited for the loaves in the furnace to rise, you put your head down on the work bench and gazed at the stone floor. You had never felt so off-kilter. The fact you couldn’t do much more than mush bananas and whisk together a batter only added to your melancholy. After burning your hand, you were rather useless in the kitchen, though Chan had a much politer way of wording it whenever you attempted to help him with anything the least bit complex. You wouldn’t be surprised if he replaced you with Seungkwan in the near future.

Once the aromatic, sweet scent of the banana bread thoroughly encompassed the kitchen, you checked on the tin and decided it was time to remove it. Letting the bread sit next to an open window, you heard more muffled conversation through the door.

Suddenly, Chan had slipped into the kitchen. His expression was awfully nervous, to which an unpleasant feeling began brewing your lower gut.

“Your presence is needed at the counter.” Chan said flatly.

“Why is that?” You smiled. “I thought you preferred me locked up back here until closing.”

When the apprentice didn’t return your warmth, you knew there was something wrong.

“You are really needed at the counter.” He urged. “I will cut the bread, okay?”

“O-Okay…” You responded in a puzzled manner, allowing Chan to slip around you and grab a butter knife from the drawer.

Walking out from the kitchen was equivalent to getting a slap in the face, a splinter between your toes, a hard poke in the eye – basically anything undesirable constituted the situation you just introduced yourself to. Prince Seokmin stood on the opposite side of the counter. It appeared as though he recently returned from a valley trip with a congregation of other knights, for he was dressed in his heavyset armour and Apple was tied to a post outside shop.

Seokmin brushed his hair back and smiled at you.

“I know you are surprised to see me, but—,”

“No no no,” you shook your head and gripped the counter tightly, your legs feeling like thin jelly, “you cannot be here, y-you cannot—”

“I have to speak with you.” Seokmin said.

Your eyes flitted toward a metal bucket sitting in the corner.

“Not right now,” you spluttered quickly, “I have to refill the water, for our kitchen.”

The Prince frowned. You were surprised he wasn’t swathed in his usual entourage, that his closest companion, Jeonghan, was nowhere to be seen. Whilst you scooped the bucket from the floor and rushed toward the bakery doorway, Seokmin knew you were only using it as an excuse to avoid him. What else could you do? Your heart was far too fragile.

“This is just as much an inconvenience to myself as well as you,” the Prince announced very staidly, “you know this conversation must happen. Why bother avoiding it?”

Seokmin followed you through the doorway, where Apple was grazing at a patch of honeysuckle in the grass. You refused to look back at him.

“Exactly! It is an inconvenience that can easily be avoided if you return to the castle.”

Marching behind the bakery, you threw the metal bucket on the ground and kicked it under the well, pumping it full of cold water. .

“I refuse to return. Not until we talk about what happened!”

“Maybe I do not want to entertain that idea!” You let go of the handle, instead whipping around, facing the persistent Prince. “It was a mistake! That’s it!”

Seokmin shook his head. “Why are you so hostile? Why can you never discuss anything without starting an argument?”

You didn’t bother suppressing your scoff. “Have you ever noticed the only person I treat with such hostility, is you? Has that ever crossed your mind, Prince Seokmin?”

“Of course I know!” He quipped whilst frustratedly dragging a hand through his curls. “It has always been that way! That is why I always have to scorn you, since you behave so bitterly!”

“There is no one but yourself to blame.” You hissed, sensing the water prickle at your eyes.

The Prince looked stunned, for his mouth dropped open. “You still hold onto that memory so vehemently?”

At even the slightest reference to that humiliating, summer day forever engrained in your past, the heat flooded your eyes and you were completely helpless to stop the first tear from rolling down your cheek. There was no doubt, since that incident your hatred for Seokmin had completely blossomed, and in response to your poorly controlled anger, the Prince was left no choice but to respond with just as much belligerence. The ground between you grew terribly thick brambles and spikes, until it was impossible to even be in the same space without getting hurt.

Yet, if your hatred was exactly what you claimed it was, then your kiss with Seokmin should have never happened. Hatred was merely a dark, sinister form of passion, and no matter what circumstance, passion always lived inside your heart.

Wiping the tears away with the sleeve of your dress, you shook your head. “You humiliated me in front of half the royal’s children! How could I ever dismiss that?”

The Prince furrowed his brow. “That was ages ago. We were exactly that: children. Children can be stupid and say stupid and do stupid things!”

“I just don’t understand why you pretended for so long,” you whimpered to Seokmin, tightly clenching your fists, “if you never even liked me from the start…”

“I-I wasn’t pretending… I just couldn’t… I-I…” The Prince struggled to elaborate.

Suddenly, he could no longer look you in the eye, and a raspberry tint flooded his cheeks. You gulped, a dizzying sensation infiltrating your head as you willed your heart to stop beating so vivaciously. 

Seokmin took a step closer toward you, an anxious colour to his face.

“If you just let me explain what I came here to tell you,” he murmured, “then perhaps we wouldn’t be at each other’s throats so adamantly.”

You folded your arms over your chest and pressed your lips shut. The silence was daunting, but at the same time you realized the bickering would lead to endless circles.

The Prince summoned a breath of courage and met your wet stare.

“I refused the marriage to Lady Adelaide. She will return to Markarth before the sunset. I only told my mother and father this morning.”

Slowly uncrossing your arms, you blinked at Seokmin in complete shock.

“S-Seriously?” You stammered, sweat tainting your palms.

“I had to,” Seokmin sighed, his eyes trailing the grass, “because of what happened with u—”

“I did not ask you to refuse her as a bride!” You hiccupped, salt glimmering at your tear ducts. To be the reason the kingdom’s next marriage crumpled apart, you couldn’t bear it.

“I know you didn’t!” The Prince retaliated, his voice booming. “Do you not think I am already aware of the great misfortune and trouble my decision brings to our kingdom? I did not refuse Lady Adelaide because we kissed – I refused the marriage because I do not love her, and it would be an utter disservice to both of us if we cannot reciprocate our own hearts.”

You bit down strictly on your bottom lip. It absolutely boggled your mind that Seokmin felt no love toward Lady Adelaide, when everyone who saw her fell head over heels. Whether it was her beauty, wealth, or the perfect sweetness of her character, everyone in the kingdom had something positive to say in regards to their potential princess. Maybe you had not gelled with her in the same manner as everyone else, but you knew this marriage had been anticipated since the day Seokmin was born, and the fact such a monumental celebration would have to be pushed back created a recipe for tension.

The Prince set his hand on your shoulder, squeezing softly.

“That is what I had to tell you,” he spoke in a much gentler tone, “it was not my intention to anger you, or make you this upset. But I have to remain honest with myself…”

“W-What are you saying?” Sounded your trembling, unsteady breath.

The sunlight splashed into Seokmin’s eyes, igniting them in a blazing copper. You felt swelteringly hot as the boy brushed against your cheek with his fingers before he leaned in close to your face, still damp with tears. You couldn’t concentrate on anything apart from the low velvet of his voice and how sincerely he admired you.

“I’m saying that I’m in love with you.”

Just before you entered the cool balm of the river, you spent a few moments stroking Apple’s caramel mane and picking berries from the nearest thicket to feed her. For such a strong, firmly-built horse, she was delicate in nature, just as you remembered her from your childhood. You ran your palm along the coarse side of Apple’s fur, scratching lightly so her ears would twitch, before hearing Prince Seokmin lilt your name. When you looked to the river, you saw him grinning at you, his black hair soaking wet and pushed back from his forehead.

He raised an eyebrow. “Are you going to stand there for an eternity?”

“No,” you replied, “I was just looking after your horse.”

“Trust me, Apple gets pampered more than I do.”

Rolling your eyes, you finally grabbed the pale lilac hem of your dress, peeling the material over your head and letting it fall into a ball on the grass. In nothing but your undergarments, Seokmin gazed at you fondly, watching how you carefully waded deeper and deeper into the river until your toes could hardly scrape the smooth pebbles. Afternoon sunlight spun between the canopy of leaves overhead, which dappled the calm peaks in the water, making them sparkle. Seokmin swam closer to you. He was truly breathtaking as the rays caressed his amber skin and danced in his eyes like a honey fire.

The boy’s fingers brushed your thighs, urging you to wrap your legs around his waist and drape your arms over his wide shoulders. He held you tightly, his lips forming a lovestruck smile.

“Will your anxious mother not worry as to why her son has been out for so long?” You couldn’t help but tease him.

“I told her I would not be back for supper. At worst, she’ll send Jeonghan as my scout.”

“Do you think he could keep his mouth shut if he saw us together?”

Seokmin titled his head back with laughter, and you could see his perfect rows of teeth. “I have little certainty,” he admitted, “but Jeonghan would keep a secret if I forced him to.”

“That is reassuring to hear.” You replied with a smirk.

It was best to give the kingdom ample time to recover after the displeasing news of Seokmin’s cancelled marriage with Adelaide rapidly spread. She was supposed to be his first choice, his destiny as the King and Queen preached with every ounce of their souls. Furthermore, the royal family would definitely not be mirthful to discover that Seokmin had rejected Adelaide because his heart beat for a childhood crush from the lower village. That was unheard of, unfathomable, and rather unorthodox, which caused you and Seokmin to keep your relationship a secret.

At times there was pressure, there was great difficulty and frustration, but neither you or him could keep away from each other. You didn’t have to be married, or live in his sumptuous castle where everything was either expensive silk or encrusted with some sort of precious gem. It was quite simple: you just wanted to be with him – the environment wasn’t important. When you began seeing each other, you realized that on the summer day of your childhood where the Prince had humiliated you was a shtick orchestrated by his friends.

In actuality, Seokmin always had a crush on you, though at the time, the tender strings of his heart were easily pulled by them, and what could have been the start of a relationship ended up in years of bickering, unnecessary hatred, and repressed emotion. Cupping a hand against Seokmin’s damp cheek, you leaned in to kiss him softly. You smiled against his mouth upon feeling his hands squeeze your thighs.

“Can I give you something?” You then asked in a quiet voice.

The Prince nodded, allowing your feet to touch the pebbles again. 

“Of course, angel.” He complied.

Together, you left the river. Whilst Seokmin started petting Apple’s shimmering coat, you picked up the dress on the forest floor and reached into one of its pockets, brushing the beaded chain with your fingers. When Seokmin turned around and saw you holding a necklace, his eyes lit up in a marvelous fashion and an endearing smile beamed from one corner of his mouth to the other. It was the beech wood necklace, in which you had carved a small firefly in order to complete the pendant.

“I carved this from a piece of wood I discovered outside your castle, on the day Chan and I had to cook for the pages. At first, I had no idea what to make of it, but then I decided on a firefly.”

Seokmin admired the pendant up close. It felt wonderful to see him examining it with such an appreciative light in his gaze. The Prince connected the chain around his neck, to which the wooden oval sat between his prominent collarbone.

“I-I thought I should gift it to you. And, whenever we must be apart, you can just think of this necklace, and the comfort that comes from a firefly’s glow.”

Suddenly, the boy’s hands were atop your hips. He pulled you in close against his body, still gleaming with water droplets, and pressed a deep kiss to your lips. You could sense just how much ardour and warmth was laced into the contact, and a dense heat scattered beneath your cheeks. He tasted like the sugar powder and strawberries you ate before visiting the river.

“It’s beautiful.” Seokmin whispered.

He pecked your mouth again sweetly whilst you felt a gentle breeze blow throughout the forest, causing the tiny hairs on your damp skin to stand sharp. You cozied yourself closer into Seokmin’s chest, smiling like a foolish romantic at his words.

“Thank you, my love. I will hold onto it forever.”

✧✎ a/n: okay when i started writing this i THOUGHT it was going to be so short, like at most 4-6k, but then i was at the 6k mark, only halfway done, and i realized it was going to be another ‘wish’ situation lol. i’ve never written a royalty!au before so i felt like i was reaching into the dark a little bit jsefhwef but i hope it was still pleasant! as always i treasure all ur guys feedback so pls don’t hesitate to leave ur th0ts!! i haven’t written for seok in ages and it felt super nice to give him a lengthy fic! contrary to nobody’s belief - this was not inspired by owl city lol.

[sayonarasanity]

Chance With You

Summary: It is hard to see beauty in everything. Especially after a life as a soldier who had witnessed so many of his fellow comrades’ and thousands of people’s death. But Hanji wears that word as an outfit every day. It is drawn aesthetically in the way her eye lights up despite everything, in the way she examines each living being she finds in the garden, in the way her curiosity never leaving her mind. She is neither a tree nor a bird. She is a forest; she has a universe and a variety of colours in her land. Beauty is a butterfly that has perched upon her shoulder and it never leaves her side. 

Link to AO3

notes: for the first part of this story I was kind of inspired by this ask. I highly recommend you to check that out as well also for Hanji's short hair see this post

A house, surrounded by some young, some old trees and green grass, with a little garden outside colourful with flowers, herbs and vegetables of different species. In the morning, the birds chirp just beyond his window, they welcome the new coming day with a melody in their tongue. The sun illuminates the sky brighter as if it had a mind of its own and it thought that a world after a gruesome war, painful sacrifices and unreasonable hatred deserves to shine more. 

The familiar touch of warm fingers traces the line of scars on his face while he is still half-asleep, lying one side of his face buried on the pillow. The fingers move upwards to comb his hair back, then they slide downwards to his bare shoulders, to the space between his shoulder blades where old, pale wounds are inked permanently. Then a pair of lips are pressed on his temple, they are warm, and the touch is undeniably real. If it wasn’t, he would pray for it to go away, to disappear. Because if it wasn’t, ripping his heart out of its place would be less painful to open his eyes to the empty side of a twin bed.

“Morning, handsome.” 

“Hmm,” he murmurs. Insomnia post-war still has its fair share of control over him. It is like a friend that he never intended to be close to, yet he is stuck with it inside the same cell in the same prison. 

But Levi post-war had something else against it. Someone else, a third one in the cell to be accurate. 

She presses her lips on his shoulder, and he half opens his right eye then shifts his head a little so that he can see her properly with his only functional, left one. Her dispersed, brown hair is the first thing that comes into his view. Then her eyes, one wounded like him and the other glittering with the daylight and her smile when she rests her head on her pillow. 

“Hey,” he says with a rusty, morning voice. 

Hanji reaches out with her hand to cup his cheek, her thumb caresses the scars again, goes over his blind eye then fixes his brow. “How romantic,” she sighs. “We match like broken glass.” Then her hand moves down to his undercut, her fingers warm on his rough, shaved skin. “Maybe I should get an undercut too.”

He touches the old scar on her left eye, and then her hair with his three remaining fingers. It is shorter than before, now it ends a little below her ear, curling on her nape. “It would suit you.”

“You think so?” she asks a mischievous smile shapes on the corner of her lips. 

“Yeah,” he tries to suppress the smile, but his lips move slightly, nonetheless.

“Armin and Onyankopon will come for a visit today,” Hanji says.

“For what?”

“They said they had something to show us,” she shrugs one shoulder. “And that it was a surprise.”

Levi cannot think of anything. Nor his or Hanji’s birthday are close, or any holiday is on sight. Levi wonders if it is Gabi and Falco’s doing. Though as far as he knew they were away, travelling. 

He raises himself on one elbow and gets his face closer to her neck to press his lips on her skin. “How much time do we have?” he murmurs as he puts his right arm next to her head to balance himself and intertwines their fingers with his other hand while leaving another kiss to her jaw.

“I don’t know,” she sighs as he kisses the sensitive skin under her ear. “An hour or so, I guess.”

“Good enough,” he whispers and finally catches her lips with his own. 

-

“Good morning, Captain,” Armin greets him when he steps inside the kitchen. He wears a black suit; his hair is combed neatly, and he carries himself with a maturity the war he had to face so early in his life and his age has brought about. There are no traces of the insecure, irresolute boy upon him any more. But his smile and the shiny blue eyes are still the same. 

“Morning,” he responds as Onyankopon and Hanji follows Armin into the kitchen. They all gather around the kitchen table. He is not a captain or anything anymore, but he lets it slide whenever Armin or one of the other kids call him that. It feels nostalgic and works well as a reminder that everything that had happened wasn’t a daydream or a shitty nightmare but an unfortunate reality. 

“How do you feel, Levi-san?” Onyankopon asks, sitting across from him. He too wears a suit, a light grey one and has a matching bowler hat on his head. 

“Not bad,” he says sipping from his tea. 

Hanji serves their visitors two cups of tea then sits down next to him. “He actually means, I feel very good and I’m glad to be fucking alive, Onyankopon. Thanks for asking, what about you?”

Armin hides a silent chuckle behind his fist, pretending to be coughing while Onyankopon smiles and even laughs quietly. “I’m great, thank you.”

“Good,” Hanji beams.

“Stop translating me,” Levi says, glaring at her. “We speak the same fucking language.”

“Yes, we do,” she approves then adds, raising her brows with a knowing look. “But they don’t.”

“Tch,” he grunts and then sees the two younger men watching them with a weird expression on their faces. Half smiling, half questioning. His body tenses without control, and he grips the arm of the wheelchair. “Armin,” he decides to ask, just to be sure. “Do you see Hanji here?”

The blond boy blinks in confusion and stares at Hanji for a few seconds. “Yes, of course, Captain. She sits next to you.” 

“Right,” he sighs. 

A hand slides slowly on his back, drawing circles on top of his shirt. It immediately does its magic. His strained body relaxes under her touch. “No need to be confused,” Hanji explains, and Levi doesn’t look at her, but he just knows that she is smiling. “He is just making sure that I’m not a ghost and he hasn’t gone batshit crazy.”

Levi nor approves or rejects this accusation as he quietly proceeds to drink his tea. No one plans a murder out loud. 

“Well,” Onyankopon starts, he sounds a little nervous and when Levi looks at him, he sees that his expression is also the same. “Don’t worry, Levi-san. She is as real as the greys in your hair.”

The hand on his back stops its movements, Armin freezes with the teacup half lifted to his mouth, his eyes are wide and terrified and for several seconds nobody even dares to fucking breathe.

Levi feels Hanji’s body shaking. He knows she is trying to suppress her laughter. Onkankopon opens his mouth, ready to explain himself. “I didn’t—” 

“It’s okay,” Levi cuts in. “They both mean that I’m still fucking alive.”

-

They go outside after breakfast to see what Armin and Onyankopon came here today for. Levi had only been getting used to the midday sun dazzling his vision when he heard Hanji shrieking with joy and excitement.

“Is it what I think it is?” She exclaims bending over a black thing that he had likened to a wheelchair. He doesn’t understand the reason why she is so thrilled over it. 

Onyankopon joins Hanji to explain the gadget while Armin stays next to him. “The hell is that?”

“It is a special wheelchair, Captain,” Armin explains. “Hanji-san had told us that you were sick of being pushed everywhere and we had been thinking about a solution. It took a while though,” he says sheepishly. “We’ve been kind of busy. But it’s finally completed and ready to be used.”

“This was her idea?” Levi asks, watching the excitement radiating through her body. Especially her eyes are shining even brighter than the sun hanging on top of their heads. 

“Well, kind of.” Hanji sits on the wheelchair, curious idiot, and presses upon some things on the arm of the chair then screams when the thing suddenly moves forward on its own. Levi blinks his eyes, surprised. “I think she didn’t want you to feel like you were being a burden to her, so she didn’t directly ask for this, and to be honest I already had an idea in my mind when she had talked to me. So, yeah, this happened.”

Levi continues to watch Hanji who is moving forwards, backwards and to the left and right. Laughing and smirking like a child in an amusement park. “It’s amazing!” she yells. “Armin, you are a genius!”

The boy laughs and clears his throat seemingly embarrassed. “I’m glad you liked it, Hanji-san.”

“Levi!” she jumps up, and walking to where he is, she catches his hands. “Come on, you have to try it!”

She helps him get up from his wheelchair. “You know I can still walk on my own, right, four-eyes?” It takes quite an effort though, but he can. 

“Don’t ruin my only excuse to touch you in public, shorty,” Hanji replies as they take slow steps towards the other, more technological wheelchair.

“You don’t need an excuse to touch me,” he says.

“Oww,” she coos. “How sweet of you—”

“Because I don’t want to be touched,” he goes on as he sits down. “In public.”

“Cruel, old man,” Hanji mutters, shaking her head. 

“I’m not old, I’m only in my forties,” he objects, glaring at her. “Stop acting as if I’m a walking funeral.”

“Yes, of course, grandpa,” Hanji pats his head and Levi slaps it away. 

Hanji and Armin quickly show him how the thing works and apparently it doesn’t require much of a genius to understand. He pushes upon the buttons hesitantly at first, moving only inches here and there as the three of them watch him expectantly and with an annoying curiosity. It is actually quite useful, at least he won’t need Hanji to push him whenever he wants to go out for some fresh air or he won’t need to overuse his arms. It is also more comfortable, and there is even a place on the arm to put his teacup. 

“Did you like it?”

Levi looks up to see them expecting his answer. Hanji was the one to ask the question, yet it is obvious that the other two are also waiting to hear what he has to say. “Yeah,” he says causing them to take a huge sigh of relief. “Thanks.”

“I’m so happy to hear that you liked it.” Onyankopon smiles and Armin nods.

“Come on now, take a stroll.” Hanji claps her hands excitedly. “Let’s see what this baby is capable of.”

Levi had been planning to just do that. There is enough space in the yard to test the machine properly. However, before he sets on to do what Hanji has offered, he looks into her eye, intensely enough for her to frown and her expression to change into confusion. Armin and Onyankopon had already started to talk with each other and are too much preoccupied to realise what is going on. So, with that bringing him more courage, he brings one hand down and pats his knee.

She is quite surprised and a little embarrassed as a cute flush colour her cheeks and she laughs nervously, combing her hair behind her ear with one hand. “Okay.”

“Have you put on weight?” Levi questions when Hanji sits down between his knees and curls her knees to her stomach. She secures herself by putting her feet next to his leg.

“Shut up,” she chides him and wraps an arm around his neck.

He holds her by the waist with his left arm, just in case. “Ready?”

She nods and sends him a toothy grin. “Always.”

Levi presses upon the button and they move forward. There is no hesitation in his control as the machine goes faster this time, stumbling when the wheels go over some rocks or little bumps on the lawn. Hanji is ecstatic. The wind ruffles her short hair, eyes wide and lips parted slightly. It is hard to see beauty in everything. Especially after a life as a soldier who had witnessed so many of his fellow comrades’ and thousands of people’s death. But Hanji wears that word as an outfit every day. It is drawn aesthetically in the way her eye lights up despite everything, in the way she examines each living being she finds in the garden, in the way her curiosity never leaving her mind. She is neither a tree nor a bird. She is a forest; she has a universe and a variety of colours in her land. Beauty is a butterfly that has perched upon her shoulder and it never leaves her side. 

“Why have you stopped?” Hanji asks, and only then does he realize that they aren’t moving anymore and that he had been staring at her thinking how fucking lucky he is to have this, this thing which is called love.

Rather than answering, he holds her nape and brings her face closer, resting her forehead against his. Then closes his eyes and inhales the smell of the soap they share together, and the odour of the tea leaves still fresh on her breath. 

He feels the moment her body melts, as her fingers touch his neck, and her thumb caresses his cheek. “You okay?”

“Yeah,” he says. “Just checking.”

She laughs quietly, then leans in for a brief, soft kiss on his lips ignoring the fact that they are being watched by two of their former subordinates. Levi uses that moment to press on one of the buttons which quickly swirls the wheelchair to the right with a sudden movement. The kiss is over in a second as Hanji yelps then laughs heartily tilting her head backwards. The sun shines on her skin, and a butterfly flies around her head, fluttering its wings.  

And despite all those years that had passed, and despite the places, they had seen during the last few years Levi is still positive that it is the best fucking sound this crocked world has to offer. 

   That was just a dream.

Levi stirs and blinks his eyes open, then almost immediately winces at his stiff neck. Curses at himself as he lifts up a hand to massage the skin. He had fallen asleep on the couch again with the TV open. His mother would’ve killed him if she were here. Good thing he had moved away for his job. He is still too young for this shit.

Accepting the fact that he has to deal with a stiff neck for the rest of the day he sits up reaching for the remote control. 

That was just a dream, says Michael Stipe on the TV. The clip is almost over and the song fades. Just a dream.

He turns it off.

It is almost five in the morning and there is not even a drop of sleep left in his system. He walks to the bathroom yawning and stretching his body. His neck and shoulders crackle and he wrinkles his face. “Goddamn.”

He washes his hands on the sink and then his face, getting rid of the crust around his eyes. After that, he uses a towel to dry his face, and when the towel covers the right side of his face and his right eye, and he stares before him to the mirror he stops.

Bits and pieces of strange images slide inside of his head, a man around his forties who is sitting on a wheelchair, a blind eye, a scar running up and down one side of his face, a woman with short hair and bright eyes, a house with a garden, the sound of genuine laughter, the feeling of—

He drops the towel to the side of the sink and breathes heavily. His fingers touch the smooth skin on his face absentmindedly and he stares at his reflection. And his, thankfully still functioning blue eyes stare at him back, like they have no idea what the hell is going on. He checks his right hand to see all of his fingers are in place. Then he bends a little and slaps his leg, taps his foot on the ground for good measure. 

“Huh,” he murmurs then. “Weird.”

Shaking his head, he settles on the idea that whatever he had seen was just a bizarre albeit a little too much realistic dream and sends it away to the back of his mind. Although he realizes that after remembering it, he feels somehow lighter. It is similar to the feeling one gets when the winter quietly recedes, and the trees start to give life to little flowers. That feeling of being lightweight and carefree even if it is just for a little while.

He takes a shower.

When he sits back down on the couch after the shower with a cup of tea in his hand, he opens his laptop to deal with some unread emails piled up in his inbox. He leaves the tea on the coffee table, next to his phone and puts away the towel he had been using to dry his hair. 

Minutes later, when he reaches for the cup, he catches the moment his phone lighting up with a new notification.

 Are you awake? The text says.

Taking the phone in his hands he taps, what do you think?  

It takes only a second for his phone to start ringing. “Hey,” he opens the call. “Couldn’t sleep?”

“I’ve only just woken up,” she says but her voice sounds clear, dispersed of the sleepy roughness like she had been awake for a while. “Had a dream.”

“Bad one?” he asks as he takes a sip from his tea, his eyes scanning his laptop screen.

“Well, not really but kind of.” A pause, like she is lost in thought, then she adds. “I saw you.”

Levi hums, approvingly. “Naked?”

She lets out a loud, heartfelt laugh. “Oh my God, Levi. No,” she giggles breathlessly. “It wouldn’t be a bad dream if you were naked, you know.”

“Right,” he chuckles. “What was it then?”

“It was weird.” She stops again for a few seconds. “Like really weird.”

“You should tell me first if you want me to believe you, Hanji,” he says, not quite seriously. 

She sighs. Then there is another pause which is relatively longer. Levi knits his brows and sits a little more upright. Something is wrong.

“What is it—”

“You were sitting on a wheelchair,” Hanji spills eventually, and the words die on his tongue. “And there were scars on your face. They were like war scars like you were once a soldier, a veteran. And—and you looked peaceful but also a little sad too. I don’t know. You were also older. Then there were two young people with you and a tall man. I don’t really remember their faces. I think you were travelling, you looked like tourists though I am not so sure but I-" she breaths fast, she hasn’t stopped talking for a while. “I wasn’t there.”

“Hanji,” he manages to say, despite the fact that he feels like he is choking in his own breath.

“It felt so wrong,” she goes on with a thin, frail voice. “I remember how I felt in the dream. I wanted to reach you, but I couldn’t, I tried to call out to you, but you didn’t hear. It was almost like… like I was a ghost. I was invisible. I was so desperate to just be with you and it felt so damn wrong that I wasn’t.”

“It was just a dream,” he whispers when he finds his voice. His body is frozen like he was paralyzed by something he had no control over. 

“It felt so real.” He hears the tremble in her breath, and he notices how tight he had been holding the teacup. It is almost a miracle that it hadn’t been shattered to pieces yet. 

“I had a dream too,” he decides to tell her.

“Oh?” She sounds interested and he is relieved to hear that her voice is back to its natural tone. “What did you see?”

So, he tells her the dream, not leaving much out except for the things he remembers himself feeling. She listens without almost a sound. He only occasionally hears her gasps and thoughtful hums and the quiet rhythm of her breaths. Only when he tells her that one of the men's in his dream was looking suspiciously similar to Armin, she adds thoughtfully that now that she thinks about it, the man in her dream was very much like Onyankopon. He flicks his fingers, of course, the other man was Onyanokpon. Though the identities of the two younger people remains a mystery.

When he finishes she is silent for a while. Possibly thinking. 

“Hey, Levi,” she says, at last, drawing him out of his own deep thoughts. “Do you think we might’ve lived another life together?”

He examines the keyboard of the laptop for a handful of thoughtful seconds. “I don’t know,” he replies, honestly. Frankly, it is not that much of a long shot. “Maybe.”

“I don’t remember anything, though,” she continues. Levi imagines her lying on her back, watching the ceiling, her dark hair scattered on the pillow. “Do you?”

He almost says no, but then he recalls the dream again, and the way her skin reflected the morning sun, how her laughter touched the forgotten, drought lands in his heart and how lucky he felt to have her right beside. “I remember loving you,” he blurts, surprised even himself.

For an uncomfortably, and terrifyingly long second, she doesn’t respond. He chuckles, somewhat nervously. “Too much?”

“No,” she breathes. “No, it’s not. I just didn't expect you to say something like that.”

“Yeah,” he says dryly. “Tell me about it.”

“So, what do you think?” She asks, shifting the matter masterfully. “Which one was real?”

“How would I know?” 

“Might be both,” she reasons. “Alternate realities and all that.”

“Yeah,” he mutters and shrugs although she can’t see it. “Why not?”

“Weird.” Levi holds the handle of the teacup and taps the table absently. “I wonder what happened. In my version, you know. Did I die before you? Maybe I was a soldier as well.”

Levi doesn’t like that possibility. It leaves a sour taste in his mouth but considering the two obscure dreams, it is likely. “You had a scar on your eye,” he says remembering his dream. “You most probably were.” 

“Oh,” she sighs woefully. “Sorry for leaving you alone, then.”

“Yeah. Sorry for letting you die.”

She laughs. “Well, you probably had no other choice.”

He runs a hand over his face. What the actual fuck they are talking about in the goddamn wee hours? “Hanji, this doesn’t make any sense. Seriously, go back to sleep.”

“I don’t want to go back to sleep. I keep remembering the dream. I wish I had seen your version.”

He wishes the same too, to be honest. “Forget about it. Just sleep.”

“I can’t forget about it,” her voice comes muffled, like a part of her mouth is pressed upon her pillow. “You looked so fine with that scar.”

He pinches his nose but cannot stop himself from grinning like a lovesick fool for the life of him. “Idiot.”

“Would you like to hear something disgustingly cheesy and cliché?” She asks, drowsily.

“No.”

She goes on as if he had never talked. “I’m your idiot.”

“Dear, fucking Lord,” Levi struggles very hard to keep his laughter inside. “Just sleep already.”

“Hmm,” she murmurs, she is most probably about to fall asleep. “Will I see you tomorrow?”

“No, you will see me today.”

“Right, good, good,” she sighs, sleepily. “Later, then my handsome, my shorty, my one and only.”

“Dumbass,” he says affectionately but she is already snorting on the other side of the line. 

[darkmindsotome]

Risque Rouge pt11

Tagging: @umbralaperture​ @otome-smut-queen @silver-fox-of-azuchi @tsundere-mitsuhide @jennacat84

General warnings for the whole fic: Angst, some fluff, Mental health issues, emotional things, trauma, blood, death and possible triggers. Please read responsibly. 

Darkmindsotome Masterlist

---

Chapter 11

It had taken most of the remainder of the day to reach the marker they were looking for. The sunset painted the abandoned relic of a church making its scorched stone shine once more in the colours of flame. The grating sound of rusted metal travelled in the wind as the broken weather vane attempted to turn in the breeze.

Amos passed through a gap in what was left of the waist-high stone wall and walked almost reverently through the half-obscured and overgrown gravestones. He wrapped his leather coat around him a little tighter as if it would shield him from the shadows of the past.

Trailing ivy and clematis had latched on to the charred thick wood of the door filling in the missing gaps with vibrant green leaves and delicate white flowers. The stone flooring was partly covered with green moss and tufts of grass. Fallen beams and missing sections of the roof told more of the same story, a dilapidated building caught in flames of history. A single gothic rose-shaped window remained mostly intact and allowed the setting sun to fill the space with even more light.

Amos walked around the edge of the once solid structure where the climbing foliage hung like a curtain maintaining its secret and slipped into a gap between one of the stone pillars and the wall. A very narrow staircase followed the uneven flow of the stone until they hit the soft dirt worn smooth with use and the passage of time.

He smiled to himself as he walked with ease down the same path that was once used as a method of escape for those above knowing it had easily been repurposed in exactly the same way as everything else could be. Nothing in this world was as simple as it seemed and everything could be manipulated to suit a purpose. What that purpose was to be had little to do with him.

“Ours is not to reason why.” He mumbled to himself as he walked further along in the darkness. The air here was thick and filled with a stronger smell of decay than the church above. Here the airflow was minimal and the stone clung to the damp chill of the subterranean realm.

After several twists and turns, each supplying false passages and dead ends the path he was walking expanded to reveal a roughly carved archway blocked by the same heavy wood used for the church door.

Amos removed a small dagger from his pocket and used its hilt to knock on the wood. The blade rang in the acoustics of the passageway as if it were a tuning fork.

“Entrar.”

The boards blocking the arch moved to the side with surprising ease. As Amos stepped into the cavernous space beyond the archway, the stale air was replaced with a rich and heady scent of incense.

Rough, cold stone walls had been covered with thick tapestries each one detailing a different method of torture in fine gold thread against an inky black fabric. Candles lit the space. They were both tall and short, standing on their own piles of melted wax that dripped and pooled like a living creature on every surface.

The only objects not to be affected by the melting mess were two chairs that seemed to be made from the remains of a crypt, roughly covered in scraps of aged leather and a large stone desk similar to a table used for satanic rituals. Runes, words, symbols of all faiths known to mankind were etched into its surface including a few archaic ones that had long since been forgotten.

Sitting on one of the chairs behind the desk was a figure dressed in long robes of state. They were trimmed in the same golden thread as the tapestries. The hood covering their head hid most of their features revealing only their chin and mouth. Calloused hands that had been in the process of writing ornate sloping calligraphy stopped to pick up their ink blotter.

“Amos? It is not yet time for your report. I trust you have something of interest?” The voice of the man behind the table was dry as dust and rang clear as a bell in the domed space.

“The reos has taken a female. I thought you would like to know in case there was to be a change in plan.” Amos stood a little taller as he addressed the one who saw fit to hire him. He held the small dagger in his hand, twisting its hilt in his grip before placing it back into the hidden folds of his leather jacket.

“What is their intention?” The figure enquired with a slight distraction as they checked the quality of their writing and removed the stretched vellum from the writing slope.

“I do not know. There is a chance it could mean little.” Amos replied resisting the desire to shrug in the presence of a man who had torn limb from limb for daring to display such signs of idleness.

“But also, a chance it could mean breeding.” With a heavy sigh, the figure behind the table pulled back their hood revealing a shaved head with a ring of wiry hair. They looked towards Amos with a pair of eyes that looked to be tainted by the darkness they had once declared to wish to purge from the world. It was a cold and unforgiving judgement that saw many fall from grace. “We simply cannot allow for that line to continue without securing the artefacts.”

“What would you have me do Grand Master?” Amos waited patiently his mind already running through possible scenarios and ideas that could be put into play as soon as he returned to the city.

“Put an end to this distraction as soon as possible. I leave the details to you Amos.” The Grand Master waved his hand signally the end of the conversation as well as the time he wished to spend thinking of such a trivial matter.

The boards moved back to seal the room shut as the figure of Amos faded into shadow. The Grand Master selected a new piece of vellum, the visible markings of former tattoos telling a tale of where the skin had come from and stretched it over the writing slope. After pinning it securely in place he picked up his quill once more and dipped it into the inkwell. Curling lines of darkened crimson blossomed on the skin as the fluid lettering began to detail the last words of the former soul that once owned both the vellum and blood.

---

Evie had been given more of a tour of her temporary home after enjoying luncheon by Comte with Sebastian in tow. She discovered her first idea that the mansion was a bit like a mini castle was not exactly wrong. The vastness of the property had her head spinning as they moved around.

She already knew where her room and the dining room was, even if she genuinely was getting a little concerned, she could become easily lost. Sebastian added small details to Comte’s guided tour that also helped give her an idea as to where she might find some of the other guests if she wanted too.

The stables and la salle were interesting but as she could not ride and was no swordsman she honestly could not see herself returning to either. The parlour was set up for relaxation and games. Stacks of board games were housed in an alcove with a chessboard that was already set up for a game nestled between two chairs. There was even a billiard table with several cues mounted on the wall behind it.

She became curious when Comte appeared to pocket a deck of cards that had been left on one of the small tables. It looked to be rather decorative with lots of female figures printed on it. When she asked all he said in response was it appeared to be a special deck left by Arthur. Comte made eye contact with Sebastian over her shoulder and she could hear the butler's exasperated sigh.

After a very quick look at the kitchen, they passed the music room where a beautiful piano piece could be heard through the closed door and came to a room that she never imagined existed. Pushing open a set of double doors Comte stepped to one side and her eyes found a massive library that took her breath away.

It was spread out over two whole floors and was filled floor to ceiling with books on everything and anything she could possibly imagine. Comte smiled as he watched her looking shamelessly childish giving a small squeal of joy and running to a random shelf brushing over the leather bindings with her fingertips as if she thought it all to be a dream.

Comte found his eyes following her as she flitted from shelve to shelf like a hummingbird. The natural light was fading by this point and the lamps in the room would soon be lit to counter the darkness but for this brief moment before the day turned to endless night there was a warmth in the room, unlike any fire. The smile on her face was so enchanting he found himself mirroring it naturally.

“You may read anything you like and if there is anything that is not here, I would gladly go with you to find it in town.” Comte declared happily as he came to join her by a section of books, he himself had been rather fond of when he was younger.

“I’m not sure I could read all of these even if I took a whole lifetime to do so.” Evie looked around her clearly still struggling to grasp the quantity of literature in the room.

“You could…” Struck by the sight of her innocent wonder, words simply fell from Comte’s mouth before he could stop them.

“Did you say something?” Evie tilted her head as she looked at him. Her black hair was a little messy and he found his hand moving naturally to smooth it back into place.

“No nothing. We still have a couple more places to see, ma Cherie.” Comte gracefully avoided her question prompting her to move on to the next location. There was still an important discussion that was required and he found himself once more unable to have it. Sebastian was watching him in silence like a rather daunting owl. He knew nothing that was happening was to avoid detection from his wonderful manservant he was only thankful that whatever questions the man had remained silent for now.

The last places to see were the garret and then finally what he called le thermae. If the library had been a room that went beyond her imagination, she certainly never thought that an entire roman bath would be hidden beneath the building. The large room had a massive pool of hot water with a marble sculpture standing proud at its centre. Tall columns reached high up like trees to meet the vaulted ceiling that looked almost like a cathedral.

“Incredible…” Even silently her voice carried in the room becoming much louder. She had heard from several people at the performing house that popular bathhouses had appeared recently called Hammam. From what she could remember they were from Turkey and not like this at all.

“You naturally have access to your own private powder room and shower in your bedroom but this is an experience not to be missed.” Comte spoke proudly looked at the gleaming marble surfaces and the steam rising from the water.

“There are indeed many benefits to enjoying a hot spring. In my country, there are many locations where people travel from all over to visit and enjoy the waters. Each location hosts a variety of different health benefits depending on the minerals present in the water.” Sebastian added a little cultural insight to the idea of bathing in this manner.

“Really? It does sound like it could be very relaxing.” Evie nodded enjoying learning something new. Intrigued by the space around her she couldn’t deny she was certainly curious what it must be like to enjoy a dip reclining in the pool compared to a standard bathtub.

“While you are staying here, I shall arrange a schedule so you can have complete access to le thermae without fear of intrusion.” Comte spoke which prompted Sebastian to take out a pad of paper and his pencil. There was a moment of frantic scribbling followed by a ripping sound as a page was removed and handed to his master. Comte accepted it as if it were nothing and placed it in his jacket pocket.

“Oh! You don’t have to trouble yourself.” Evie tried to avoid any further burden she would cause with her staying here. Comte had already done so much so anything else felt as though she could never hope to repay her debt to him.

“No trouble at all ma Cherie. My only wish is for you to enjoy your time here arranging such things is no trouble at all.” Comte’s charming reply felt like he was purposely ignoring her concerns.

Her conscience continued to trouble her as he continued to effortlessly display his kindness by walking her back to her room and suggesting she take some time to have a quiet dinner alone before bed. Sebastian had appeared with a tray of food which she ate enjoying every bite but found herself wondering at the lack of fullness in her stomach.

She tried to sleep. Every time she closed her eyes, she felt the sensation of breath on her skin and the tight grip of fingers digging into her body. She remembered the cries and how it felt too coiled herself around the body of the doctor. The look of the lifeless body in frozen rapture in her arms. Her eyes snapped open and she sat upright as if someone had pulled a leash around her neck. Her body was shaking and she was drenched in a cold sweat. She reached out to pick up her glass of water from the bedside table and found it to be empty. Sighing she shakily got up from the bed and wrapped herself in the silk robe Comte had also seen fit to buy for her.

With her glass in hand, she turned the handle on her door and stepped out into the hallway right into a rather solid yet soft obstacle.

“Ah!” She cried out as she started to fall backwards nearly dropping her glass. The strength of a strong arm wrapped around her waist and she couldn’t help remembering Leo doing something similar earlier in the day. Her eyes found one eye that shone in the dim light of the hallway like a starless night the other hidden behind an embroidered patch. “Pardon Monsieur.”

Evie found she didn’t know where to look as the figure in front of her was like a flawless piece of artwork. She could easily imagine any number of angelic creatures being modelled after such a person. As if to hit home the heavenly appearance they were also dressed in a white uniform that looked to be military of some sort but equally would have suited a dashing Prince.

“Are you alright Mademoiselle?” The stranger spoke reminding her that she had been staring rather rudely at them. Evie moved in the man’s grasp which seemed to remind them of their proximity and they immediately removed their arm looking apologetic. “Pardon…”

“No, it was all my fault I wasn’t looking where I was going.” Evie took half a step back and gave him a weak smile. Now she could get a better look it did seem that she was right about the uniform, not only was there a streamlined appearance to their clothing there was also a sword attached to their hip. She wondered if this was one of the other guests she had yet to meet or if he was some sort of guard for the building.

“Egads, if it isn’t the ghost of the mansion and what’s this? They seem to have caught a rather pretty little bird.” A man dressed in a blue blazer with a patterned waistcoat appeared out of nowhere. He also had an open-collared white shirt with a loose tie and a pair of gloved hands which were currently hooked into the pockets of his trousers. His dark hair had a blue hue in the bad lighting but it was nothing to the sapphire blue of his eyes that sparkled with mirth as he looked at them.

“Ghost?” Evie asked wondering if she was still stuck somehow in a dream. Everything happening felt a bit disconnected like her body and mind couldn’t find a balance.

“Jean here is something of a phantom, although I had no idea he was capable of sneaking such a delightful surprise into the mansion. Guess it’s true what they say about still waters isn’t it old chap?” The new man was speaking with an even more defined accent than the others. Evie was willing to guess the ghost who was called Jean was certainly French while the man chatting in a friendly and flirtatious manner was English.

“I will thank you to not spew such slander and keep your lewd ideas between yourself and your scriptures.” Jean was clearly not comfortable with whoever this man was. Compared to the reserved and almost reverent soldier the English man did seem to be rather forward.

“Now now no need to be such a grump. I would be more than happy to overlook anything I have seen if you let me have a little time with her as well…” The man moved forward getting just close enough for Evie to clearly see the playful smirk and way his blue eyes roamed over her from head to toe making her feel as if she were being undressed.

It was one thing for something like that to happen in the performing house where it was to be expected but it was another to have such things happening now. She was not at work. There were no barriers here for protection against such advances and she felt her blood heat up as she gave an icy glare to the new man. She was not an object and certainly not a willing participant in whatever games he had in mind.

“Excuse me? I have no idea who you think I am or what you think you are witnessing Monsieur, but I can only assume from the stench of alcohol you are in no fit state to deduce anything.” Her eyes were unmoving and her face had a stoney expression fixed to it.

She didn’t know if it was from tiredness or that strange sensation she had woken with of the memory of hunger but she was certainly not expecting the blaze way in which the English man so easily shrugged off her criticism.

“Ah! That is where you are wrong my dear.” His smile seemed to grow wider and his face shone with amusement. He was taking very slow steps towards her which sent chills running up her spine but she refused to cower and give him the satisfaction of witnessing her run. “I can deduce a great deal from the fact you have come to this house from outside of the city proper and have been in the habit of balancing on the balls of your feet which says to me you are something of a dancer. You have had a rather trying and harrowing experience recently that has resulted in something of a loss of sleep and you are still suffering the effects of such an event even now.”

“What? How could you?” Evie forgot her mask as her emerald eyes went wide searching the encroaching sapphires for the secrets they held. How did this stranger that stunk like a brewery and cheap perfume gather so much information so quickly?

“Do not concern yourself, Mademoiselle, his little tricks are little more than witchcraft.” Jean spoke positioning himself partway in front of her blocking the other man’s approach as he did so.

“Well, that is rather harsh dear boy I realise I called you a ghost but I would have thought a man of your background would have refrained from using such words.” The Englishman’s target seemed to have momentarily shifted once more.

It reminded her of a cat playing with mice for fun. She couldn’t work out how serious this person was at all. He seemed to be having fun but this whole situation felt like a game set up. He was clearly more than he seemed and it was going to take a much better understanding of him to work out what exactly that was. As much as she enjoyed a good mystery she was not certain that she wanted to get close enough in order to solve this one.

“You know you would be much safer with me little bird? You are already thinking so from the way you are undressing me with your eyes just now I can promise to live up to expectation.” The man in blue now held out a hand reaching for her hair on her shoulder.

Before she could recoil there was a rush of air and the dull sound of something meeting wood. Evie looked at the solid back of Jean that had moved to cover her more and the outstretched arm that held the glistening hilt of his sword that now had its tip embedded in the wooden door frame at the level of the other man’s throat.

“Try it and meet my blade.” There was a challenging note to the way the soldier addressed the other man. Evie could not understand how it had all escalated to this so quickly and surmised there was probably other factors or occasions that had led to this point.

Soldiers had what she was told to be a code of ethics. It gave them reasoning in unreasonable situations and a purpose. She was certainly not a soldier and hated fighting but she could understand wanting to protect something.

She was grateful to Jean for his interjection but she had seen more than enough blood and horror for a lifetime. Evie lifted her hand and placed it on Jean's shoulder. They flinched under her touch and she felt their body relax as their eyes met and he lowered his weapon. There was a swirling mass of unspoken words and emotions in his eye the main one she thought she saw was remorse.

“What do you think you are doing?”

[hunnybadgerv]

Making Their Re-acquaintance | Dragon Age

Summary: Siobhán’s long-awaited, yet unexpected, arrival in Starkhaven offers she and Sebastian a quiet, intimate moment together.

a/n: A special holiday gift for Lady Norbert. I had wanted this to wind up a treat for the 2017 Black Emporium Rare Exchange, but it took a little longer to get around to it. She asked for some reunion fluff between Sebastian Vael/F!Hawke. I do have to caution, this is kind of canon divergent. I recently started work on a series where Sebastian’s parents rather than investing him in the Chantry, granted him to the templars. The poor fool also happened to fall in love with a mage.

Inspired by a flashback scene I saw in Outlander while I was writing this pair for something else. It was the intimacy of their relationship that I really wanted to try and capture here.

Links: AO3 | FFnet

Making Their Re-acquaintance

The buttery morning sun crept into the room through the open window. The spring breeze carried the aroma of early blossoms with a slight chill down from the mountains and nipped at Sebastian’s bare chest. The red silk of Siobhán Hawke’s robe, warmed by her bare skin beneath, brushed across his shoulder as she drew the razor blade down his cheek with concentrated care and precision.

“I haven’t been pampered like this … well, since—” he mused. He didn’t want to finish the thought. They both knew of the moment he meant; when she disappeared mere weeks ahead of the Seeker who turned up in Starkhaven looking for her with Varric in tow.

“As it should be.” she said with a quiet laugh. Humor always had been her shield of choice.

His relaxed chuckle of agreement joined hers as she rinsed the blade. When she returned to his side, her thin fingers grazing his skin, his neck tingled—every touch threatening goose bumps as the sensation seemed to roil across his exposed skin. She brushed her hair over one shoulder and loomed over him. She bent so close he could kiss her, but her attention focused upon the lather on his face rather than his eyes or his lips, as his focus was.

“I’m the only one allowed to pamper you,” she told him with a smirk. Her eyes met his as the blade skimmed his cheek, then moved along the curve of his jaw. “And don’t you forget it,” she warned with a mischievous grin.

“You’ll get no argument from me,” he replied calmly, then he flashed her a boyish grin. “Especially when you are holding a blade to my throat.” She laughed with him, and his hand smoothed along the curve of her leg, reacquainting itself with the familiar terrain it had not encountered in far too many months.

Sebastian watched the way the silk wrinkled beneath his hands. With each flash of her skin beneath, the corners of his mouth tugged upward.

“Behave, Bash. I don’t want to nick you,” she said, inching away when the backs of his fingertips swept along the inside of her knee.

“Then perhaps you should be a bit more careful,” he said, with a quick glance at the tool in her hand. “That razor holds quite the edge.”

“Do tell.” She stood, back to him again at the rinsing bowl.

“It’s a family heirloom. One of the few which survived the coup. Overlooked by the sticky-fingered among the mercenaries.” His tone softened, but his smile returned gently when her fine fingers grazed his temple and inched into his hair. Glancing upward, his found her inspecting his countenance. Sebastian detoured her fingers, wrapping them up in his own and bringing them to his lips.

Siobhán gave him a playful glare, narrowing her gray-green eyes. “It certainly is quite keen.”

“It’s not the blade that makes the difference, it’s the lovely and skilled hand that wields it,” he said, placing another kiss on the inside of her wrist. Pressing his lips to that thin skin, he could feel her pulse beneath. “Come here,” he added, pulling her hand toward him and lower to get her to close the distance between them. Stretching his neck, his lips met hers in a tender kiss. His free hand sneaked toward the slit of her robe.

Siobhán broke the kiss, pulling away. “Do you want me to finish shaving you? Or should I leave you half hairy?”

A rather voracious grin curled across his lips, as he let darker memories fade once more. “Well, as I recall you always did prefer a clean-shaven face betwixt—”

Twirling behind him with great dexterity, she tipped his chin back. The blade came to rest at the top of his throat, which silenced him. “You do not need to finish that sentence.”

His vibrant aqua eyes flashed toward hers as he weighed the risk and reward. When her brow quirked in warning, he relented with a smile, holding his tongue. Siobhán leaned forward and placed a gentle kiss on his forehead, her velvety lips lingering against his skin. Despite their strained beginnings, his trust in her proved unshakable. He knew his safety to be more securely assured there with her, razor in hand, than anywhere else in all of Thedas, even Starkhaven.

The blade caressed his skin with a muted scratching sound; staring up at her, he let her continue the shave, content to let his fingertips roam wherever they might when she stepped into arm’s reach. He ached to touch her, to hold her close. She had arrived late the night before—a hot bath and a warm meal did her in after the long, hard ride from hither and yon. As she slept, Sebastian basked in the feeling of having her in his arms again, refusing to leave the bed until she woke.

Her task completed, she stepped back to the table near the window, rinsing the blade and snapping it closed. Unwilling to exercise anymore patience, Sebastian leaned forward and grabbed her by the waist, pulling her into his lap. He held her close, resting his chin on her shoulder. “I’ve missed you, my clever mouse.”

Siobhán chuckled, and he knew it was because of the nickname, which stemmed from when they first met in Darktown. For years, she had remained his most elusive prey. Her hands smoothed through his hair. “And I you,” she agreed, pressing her fingertips through his hair as she held his gaze.

“I’m glad you came,” he said like he was admitting a secret.

Her fingertips grazed the shell of his ear, then along his jaw. “As if that was ever in doubt.” He remained quiet for a time. Siobhán’s strong brow creased, drawing tight over her pale eyes. Her hands rested upon his shoulders “Sebastian?”

Her gaze searched his for an explanation, and eventually his blue eyes darted toward the window as the guilt rose like a bubble in his chest.

“You doubted me?” she asked getting to her feet and backing away from him with a glaring look of surprise etched into her face. “And just how long have you questioned my devotion to you?”

Sebastian followed her, standing and taking her face in both his hands. “That is not what I doubted. I never doubted you, or your heart. And never doubt my love for you,” he begged. “But I recall the way you chaffed beneath your title here and before, in Kirkwall. I worried that the lure of your, our, old life—that as adventurer, Champion might have been … too much temptation away from this, as princess.”

Siobhán groaned, her forehead falling upon Sebastian’s bare chest. “You just had to mention that, didn’t you?”

He chuckled and pressed a kiss to the top of her head. “I assure you it is not completely horrible. Things here are far more settled. Stable even, in spite of the tensions.”

“I know. And it was never all that bad,” she said, looking up at him with a shrug and a smirk. “Plus, I’ll have you by my side.”

“Aye, you will. For as long as you’ll put up with me.”

Siobhán chuckled, her arms slipping back around his neck. “Well, you’ve only been a wee bit of trouble—”

“Trouble, huh?”

“Don’t play innocent with me,” she said, the tip of her nose brushing against his. “I know better.”

In a quick tip of the head, Sebastian captured her mouth. His fingers traced the length of her neck, catching the edge of her robe. His hand slipped beneath the silk, skimming her skin—soft in places, marred in others by a patchwork of scars, but warm everywhere. His lips teased down her neck sliding the delicate crimson down her shoulder.

Thunderous knocking rang through the room, causing Sebastian to groan against her skin. “Yes!” he called, tipping his face toward the ceiling. Exasperation dripped from his tone as Siobhán chuckled against his chest.

The door opened with a rambunctious clang. “My Lord,” a young male voice called. “Oh, and my Lady. Apologies, I didn’t realize.”

“You can realize later, Corrum. What do you require?”

“Ah, yes. Right, my lord. Seneschal Marcuse sent me to remind you that the Lord Chancellor of Tantervale should arrive shortly and will expect to be greeted in proper fashion.”

“Dismissed,” Sebastian said. he looked down at her, his thumb brushing across her cheek.

“Remind me how not horrible this is again,” she asked him with narrowed eyes and a look of consternation.

Sebastian chuckled, a low rumbling sound that filled the room. “Perhaps, we should take dinner here tonight. Alone,” he suggested.

“With visiting dignitaries here?”

It was his turn to narrow his eyes. “You’re being far too practical, my bonny love.”

“One of us has to be, don’t you think?” she asked, pressing a kiss to his lips as she pulled her robe back on.

“I’m sure Marcuse would agree with you.”

“Well, you’re freshly shaven, so you’re better than halfway there.”

His laughter rose again, but he didn’t let her go. In fact, he embraced her tighter. “Now that you’re here again, I don’t want to let you go, even for a moment,” he said, burying his face in the curve of her neck in an evanescent bid to extend their serene occasion.

Siobhán did not help him toward his duty. Her arm remained draped over shoulders, as she petted his hair and stared up at him wearing a gentle smile. No, there was no place else he wanted to be. His hand slipped behind her neck and pulled her lips to his. Maker give him strength. “Perhaps a special dessert then. By moonlight.”

“As long as you remember to bar the door.”

“I swear it by the Maker himself.”

Siobhán pinched his chin and stretched up to place a gentle peck on his lips. “I’ll be here with bells on.”

“Oh,” he cooed. “Now, that does sound novel.”

She pushed at his shoulder, her eyes rolling as she laughed—a bright sound that made his heart feel like it might burst. Her unbridled laughter, oh, how he had missed that sound, he realized in that moment. Indulging in one last kiss, or so he told himself, he finally let her slip from his arms to dress for the day. He’d don the same armor his father had commissioned all those years ago, though it no longer bore the sign of the Order; the flaming sword of the templars had been covered with the crest of Starkhaven.

[mikkeneko]

The conclusion, for now, of the ‘Blackwall’s cover gets blown by the actual Grey Warden in the Inquisition’ saga. There may be a few more Anders and the Inner Circle vignettes later, but they won’t specifically deal with Blackwall. (Probably.)

( Blackwall | Cullen | Cole | Dorian | The Iron Bull | Hawke | Sera | Vivienne |  Blackwall II | Leliana | Blackwall III )

Anders mounted the stairs towards the Skyhold great hall, and noticed with some misgivings that there were few other people around. A messenger had come to the infirmary not long before, asking his presence for 'the judgments of the Herald.' Yet unlike all of the other judgments the Inquisitor had performed -- including his own -- this one seemed to be private, without the general public in attendance.

 He stopped in the antechamber, arrested by the sight of the people gathered there. Blackwall was there, as was Leliana -- and, somewhat to his surprise, Iron Bull. The Iron Bull leaned up against the wall behind him, his pose and expression casual but his gaze sharp. Why had Adaar chosen to bring him into this? For support, insight, or perhaps just to make sure that Blackwall didn't run? Either way, it was hard to read past his air of affability to discern what he really thought of what was going on.

One look at Blackwall's face told him everything. The warrior didn't look bewildered, or anxious, or angry -- his shoulders were slumped, his back hunched, and the face beneath the bushy beard was wracked with lines of guilt and grief. He had the look of a broken man, who knew his fate and was resigned to it.

It was all too familiar a feeling to Anders. After a moment's hesitation, he swallowed and stepped across the antechamber to Blackwall's side. "Listen," he said, hating himself even as he did so. He'd ruined Blackwall's life, blown open his secret, probably destroyed his chances with Adaar; he wouldn't blame the man if wanted to hear nothing from Anders ever again. But still, he had to say it. "I want you to know that I'm… sorry for how this turned out. I didn't wish any harm on you, on anyone." 

Blackwall hunched down further, but after a moment, he grunted out, "I know." He looked up at Anders, his eyes dull and face drooping. "You… I don't blame you." 

"You don't?" Anders said, startled.

"No… telling her the truth…" He slumped even further. "It's the right thing to do. I should have told her months ago… I meant  to, but I just didn't have the strength. You… had the strength I lacked." 

Anders nodded; the lump in his throat blocked any further speech. He backed away, and the Iron Bull met his gaze and gave a wave of his hand like a lazy, informal salute. 

The doors to the hall opened, and they all turned to look as Josephine stuck her head out of the doorway and beckoned them inside. "The Inquisitor is ready to begin," she said, her softly accented voice struggling for a neutral tone.   

Blackwall stood up, keeping his head bowed, and trudged into the great hall. No chains for him, Anders noticed, although the Iron Bull shadowed him all the way in. For such a big man, he did a remarkable job of making himself unobtrusive, Anders thought. 

After some hesitation, Anders followed them in. The messenger had summoned him, after all; his testimony as a Gray Warden might be required. He wished Cole were here, to confirm his story if needed. 

It wasn't needed. Blackwall -- or Thom Rainier -- denied nothing. Neither the lie about his identity, nor the crimes for which he had initially been wanted. Nor was he a Gray Warden, although he insisted that he had in truth been recruited as one -- the real Warden-Constable Gordon Blackwall had met him in a tavern while on the run and decided to take him on as a recruit. During their return journey to Val Chevin, the real Blackwall had been killed by darkspawn and Rainier had made the impulsive decision to take his place. 

Anders had no trouble believing this account of things -- either that the Grey Wardens would choose to recruit a wanted criminal if they showed promising skills, that the real Blackwall was more likely to have met an untimely end at the hands of darkspawn than his prospective recruit, or that the criminal Rainier would have felt such an overpowering desire to stop being himself and start over as a new man. None of the testimony had the feel of a lie -- over the years since joining with Justice, he'd found that he could almost always tell truth from lies. Belatedly, he wondered if that ability was why Dian had asked him to attend. 

The cross-examination was brief, conducted mostly by Leliana while Adaar sat stone-faced on the throne. It was the ornate monstrosity fashioned after the flames of a pyre that Anders remembered seeing from his own judging, although it seemed today that all the energy and animation had been drawn out of the metal itself, leaving the blades of fire frozen and unmoving. 

At last the inquiry came to a close, and all present -- Josephine, Leliana, and the Iron Bull -- looked up to the Inquisitor for a conclusion. After a long silence she stirred, and her voice filled the empty hall. 

"Gordon Blackwall is dead," she said, the words ringing out like drawn steel. "He died with honor, serving with the Inquisition to defend the world from Corypheus. Word of his sacrifice will be spread across all the land." At this she glanced over at Bull, who met her eyes and nodded in understanding. 

"For obvious reasons, you cannot remain in Skyhold any longer." Her cool, stony eyes settled back on Rainier. "You must depart this keep by nightfall, and anything left behind will be destroyed on Blackwall's pyre." 

Rainier bowed his head, eyes squeezing closed. Anders saw a flicker of quick motion at Dian's through, like a gulp of air. "However..." she said. "If Thom Rainier were to come to Skyhold, seeking to lay down his life for the cause and serve the Maker and his bride in penance for his sins... then he would find a place here. If he were willing to face the censure of those whom he deceived, those he has wrongs, then he could have that chance. 

"All who seek to stand against evil are welcome. No matter your sins, Andraste makes it clear: With a penitent soul, you can be forgiven. With a brave and compassionate heart, you are not unworthy of love." 

Rainier looked up, stunned and disbelieving. Anders could sympathize. Josephine looked like she might cry, and even the Bull cracked a small smile. 

"I would recommend a change of clothes... and a shave," Leliana told him dryly. 

"Thank you," Blackwall -- Thom Rainier -- choked out, his voice barely a whisper. "Thank you, my lady… Inquisitor."

  Anders knocked on the door to Adaar's quarters, hoping that she would be willing to see him quickly; his hand was already going numb from the tin he carried. "Lady Adaar?" he called out. "It's me, Anders." 

After a moment she opened the door; her eyes were red again from weeping. "Oh, Anders," she said, sounding tired. "Come in… can I help you?" 

He cleared his throat. "Actually, Lady, I was hoping I could help you," he said. "You've had a pretty trying day." Pretty much the only one whose day had been worse was Thom Rainier; he had left Skyhold already, and the Bull's Chargers were already in the tavern beginning to spread stories of "Blackwall's" heroic death. 

Dian shook her head. "I've lived through worse. I don't know why this should hit me so hard," she said, a touch of desolation in her voice. "I tried to do the right thing, I think  I did the right thing, but…" 

Anders nodded understanding. "But it still feels bad," he said. "Missing him, knowing it's your own actions that drove him away; that you hurt the one you cared about, however necessary." 

Dian nodded. "Yes," she said, almost a whisper. "It does feel bad." 

"I don't think it would be a lot of help to tell you that you did the right thing, or try to suggest that everything will get better later on," he said. "For tonight, all you can really do is try to think of other things, and try to feel a little better." 

"How?" she said despairingly. 

"Well, that's what I brought this for." Anders held out the tin he carried, frost creeping up the sides.  An oversized metal spoon stuck out from the corner, under the lid. "Here." 

Dian took it, frowning slightly in perplexity; she moved the top off and sniffed, and her eyes widened. "Chocolate?" she exclaimed. "And… is that alcohol I smell?" 

"Well, yes, but only a bit," Anders admitted. "I had to get the chocolate from Josie, and a few other ingredients from the kitchens, but… It's an old Circle recipe, there's not an apprentice who doesn't learn it from the time they start casting frost spells. It's called creamed ice, and you can mix it with fruit, cheese, yogurt… or chocolate. In the Circles it's said that there's no better remedy for a broken heart." 

Dian smiled. She opened the tin and took up the spoon, eyeing the ladleful of brown goop with a doubtful gaze for a moment before she licked her. Her eyes widened. "It's amazing!" she exclaimed. 

Anders smirked. "What can I say, magic has its uses," he boasted. 

"It certainly does." Dian sat down on the couch in front of her fireplace, the tin seeming much smaller in her hands. She looked up at him and managed a small smile. "Thank you, Anders." 

"It was the least I could do," he mumbled. "After… all the trouble." 

"It's enough," she said. "That you cared."

They sat in silence for a few moments, consuming the cold treat in small nibbles. At length, the peace was broken by a small sniffle.

"Do you think he'll come back?" she asked, and Anders perched on the back of the couch and laid a hand on her shoulder.

"With you to come back to," he said, "I'm certain of it."

[coffeeandtin]

Streets We Call the Zoo

In response to the “I wish you would write a fic where...” post, anon requested a fic where The Seven visit the city. This one went through a lot of incarnations. Some were super angsty, and some were bordering on crack. The character groupings changed about fifty times, and there were a few times I started this and thought: “Nope, I hate it,” then deleted everything. What we ended up with, though, is something that kind of starts and stops in medias res. Not so much a story, as it is a few scenes interwoven with one another: Faraday is politically correct in his own way, Vasquez gets a job offer; and Jack, Billy and Goodnight meet with an old acquaintance of Goody’s. Title is from the song by The Scorpions. (Oh,and if you ever want to feel really angry, look up “human zoos.”)

“Hey, Red.”

Red Harvest turned at the mention of his name, or at least the English incarnation thereof. It was Faraday. Red raised an eyebrow by way of a greeting, and Faraday joined him at his side.

“Enjoying your time in the city?” Faraday asked, gesturing to their surroundings with a liquor bottle that he seemed to have conjured from nothing. The amber liquid within sloshed.

Red looked around at the buildings that crowded his lines of sight. No doubt their construction required ingenuity, but Red found no inspiration in the high, immovable structures.

“Didn’t you have a poker game?” Red asked, giving no real reply.

Faraday clucked his tongue before he struck a match and lit a cigarette, declining to give an answer of his own.

“You look…crestfallen,” Red said.

“You,” Faraday said, exhaling smoke that he attempted not to choke on because of Red’s observation, “have been spending too much time around Goodnight.”

There was a flicker of a smile on Red Harvest’s face, and Faraday realized something that he supposed already knew: Red Harvest, stoic warrior, smiled more than most people would give him credit for.

“Smartass.”

           Vasquez recognized the practicality of shaving, but willingly allowing a blade to be put to his throat was not something he had thought to prepare himself for upon entering the city. Just a precaution, Sam had said; though Vasquez was puzzled as to why he couldn’t just shave himself. As the barber used the razor to remove the lather, along with Vasquez’s beard, the outlaw glanced at Sam, who was reclined in the chair next to his, perfectly at ease and smiling at Vasquez’s apparent misgivings.

           “Vittorio hasn’t done anyone in yet,” Sam assured him.

           “Good to know,” Vasquez said, taking pains not to move his mouth more than necessary.

           There was a quiet smile on the old, Italian man’s face. He worked quickly and efficiently, humming a little tune all the while. No sooner had Vasquez relaxed than the barber completed his task and handed Vasquez a mirror. The reflective surface was impressively, brightly clean; its handle filigreed. Vasquez felt the new smoothness of his face, and smiled at his reflection despite himself.

           He stood and handed the mirror back.

           “You look younger,” Vittorio commented.

           More innocent? Less like a wanted man? Vasquez wondered.

           Vittorio looked from Vasquez to Sam. The clandestine glance that the barber and warrant officer shared did not go unnoticed by Vasquez. Sam nodded, answering an unspoken question.

           “I have it on good authority,” Vittorio said, all jocularity returning to him, “that our mutual acquaintance left town just this morning.”

           “Grazi,” Sam said, as he shook Vittorio’s hand and gave him a sum that far exceeded the cost of two shaves.

           “Naw, that boy never did have the sense God gave paste,” Goodnight said as he slapped his knee and laughed at the story their host had just told them.

           Billy found himself smiling as he placed his cup back on its saucer. He, Goodnight and Jack sat in the parlor, sharing in a pot of tea with Madame Ophelia; or, as she preferred to be called by friends: Gloria.

           “No, no he didn’t,” Gloria agreed, straightening her posture and folding her hands on the dark skirt of her dress. She smiled a comely smile.

Her voice had more than a touch of the South, and she was theatrical. Billy had decided that he liked Gloria the instant he’d met her.

“Any friend of Goodnight’s is certainly a friend of mine,” the illusionist had said upon their first meeting.

She turned her attention to Jack.

“Mr. Horne, I must beg your forgiveness,” Gloria said when she noticed Jack’s cup was sitting empty. “I’ve been a lacking hostess. Can I offer you more tea?”

Jack looked from Gloria, to his tea cup, then back to Gloria as though he were surprised he was being addressed.

“That’d be nice, ma’am,” he said. “And there’s nothing to forgive.”

Gloria stood and poured more tea for Jack, who gave her his profuse thanks. She replenished everyone’s dessert plates and then stood behind Jack, placing a hand on his shoulder and telling him that if their time in the city allowed it, he would have to see one of her shows.

“I would insist on providing the tickets, of course,” she said with a fond squeeze of Jack’s shoulder.

Billy and Goodnight shared a furtive smile.

             Faraday had been politely asked to leave the game of poker he’d entered. Politely, he scoffed as he lit another cigarette. No guns, not even an insult; just the statement that cheating would not be tolerated, and the well-mannered suggestion that perhaps he ought to remove himself from the game. There were plenty of impolite things Faraday had looked forward to doing upon arriving in the city; but here he was, walking along aimlessly with Red Harvest. Faraday was becoming certain that Red would pace the entire city for the duration of The Seven’s stay.

           Red paused at an art vendor and regarded a painting of a ship on the ocean. Nice boat, but it’s a little drab for my tastes, Faraday thought as he wondered what Red’s assessment of the painting was. He was about to ask when he caught sight of a man across the street who was looking intently at Red. No fear. Curiosity, maybe. Above all, Faraday recognized the look of someone looking to exploit another. The man apparently took Faraday’s notice as an invitation to join them.

“Hello! I’m Paulson. James Paulson,” the man said, all good cheer and smiles. “Does your man speak English?”

           Hackles raised, Faraday narrowed his gaze at the man, and made no reply.

“I wonder,” the man said, “If you could relay to your…companion that I may have a job for him.”

           Mousy hair, a well-tailored, cream colored suit; and an accent that, as far as Faraday could tell, was purely an affectation. Joshua looked at the newcomer, and could not remember ever disliking someone so immediately. He took an exaggerated drag on his cigarette and wondered if he pretended not to hear the man, if he would go away. No such luck. The man continued to look at Faraday expectantly, then began to repeat himself.

           He blathered about anthropological exhibits and social trends. Faraday exhaled and blew smoke in the direction of the man who was either too stupid, or too persistent to care. Hell, maybe it was both.

           “He could be a performer; an actor, as it were,” Paulson continued as he blinked the smoke from his eyes, and continued smiling.

           Faraday found his hands wandering toward where Ethel and Maria would usually have been situated, but he reminded himself that his ladies would have to wait to be picked up on his way out of town. Vexed, Faraday was certain that was the right word. He cast a glance over at Red Harvest, who looked back at him, brows upraised, as though he were awaiting a translation Joshua damn well knew he didn’t need.      

           “He ain’t interested,” Faraday said.

           “An interesting idea,” Vasquez said as he followed Sam into a restaurant called Liza’s. “But there’s still a bounty on my head.”

           “Matters less than you might think,” Sam said, setting his hat on a corner table by the bar, pulling out a chair and sitting down.

           Vasquez followed suit as he observed his surroundings. The restaurant was small, but well-lit and meticulously cared for. There were few patrons, but in the middle of the day, he supposed that was to be expected.

           “No particular hurry,” Sam said. “Take time and think about it.”

Vasquez ran a thumb over his smooth jawline and nodded, feeling more sullen than he probably ought to have.

“You would be a good boss,” Vasquez considered aloud, finding that he had to force joviality into his voice.            

“Naw,” Sam said, shaking his head as though Vasquez had gravely misunderstood him. “Partner.”

777

           “How did you meet?” Jack asked, looking from Gloria, to Goodnight, then back again when there was a lull in conversation.

           Goodnight and Gloria were nearly perfect reflections of one another when they set down their cups and smiled while looking at their laps. Perhaps, Billy thought, the telling of the story of a gala and horribly misjudged drink placement was inevitable in new company. Just as well, he could stand to hear it again.

           “Well,” Goodnight began, looking to Gloria.

           With a nod, Gloria encouraged him to continue.

           “We actually grew up in the same town,” Goodnight said. “She was this great beauty-”

           “Was, Mr. Robicheaux?” Gloria asked, feigning offense.

           Goodnight paused with his teacup half way to his mouth when he realized his faux pas. Billy smiled at this, and Gloria (lovely, lovely Gloria whose golden hair was only beginning to fade to white at her temples) allowed Goodnight to flounder for only a moment before continuing the conversational tack.

           “We did grow up in the same town. And believe it or not, Goodnight was said to be quite the charmer.”

           There was laughter, but after it subsided the two southerners became more somber. Jack and Billy followed suit.

           “My family moved.”

           “We didn’t see each other again until the second year of the war.”

           Gloria gazed down at the tabletop.

           “You were a Confederate sharpshooter,” Gloria said.

           “And you were a Billy Yank spy,” Goodnight finished.

           “I was, indeed.”

           This was not the story of the gala that Billy remembered.

           There was no tone of betrayal in Goodnight’s voice, and there was no inflection of pride in Gloria’s. The former soldier and the former spy sat side by side, reflecting on their past selves. The silence might have become uncomfortable if Gloria hadn’t broken it.

           “Never got anything out of you, though,” she said.

           “And I never told anyone your secret.”

           “No, you didn’t.”

           “Always meant to ask you why,” Goodnight said. “Don’t suppose there’s any harm in asking now.”

           Gloria finished her tea, and pondered her answer a moment before replying.

           “No, no harm,” she said before lapsing into silence long enough that Billy began to wonder if she was going to answer.

“I wish I could say it was because of some sense of altruism on my part,” she began again. “But that wouldn’t be entirely true. No, there was some money to be had; but most of all I liked the danger that came along with it. Even just the thought of danger, really. Didn’t matter much to me if it was for Johnny Reb or Billy Yank.”

           The company of four sat in silence, and the parlor became a place of the past as they each retreated into their own private histories. Gloria tapped her fingers on her chin, something her mother had always declared unbecoming. Jack nibbled the remainder of a madeleine. Goodnight stared at the opposite wall, and Billy’s fingertips worried at the hem of the tablecloth.

           “What time is your show tonight?” Jack asked.

           “He’s not some performing animal,” Faraday said to Paulson.

           Faraday’s words were becoming heated, Red Harvest realized. The man could be petty, and rude, and overeager to pick fights, but it was rare that Red heard genuine anger color Faraday’s words.

           Paulson ran a hand over his goatee, and began to say something else, but Faraday cut him off.

           “I’ve seen exhibits like yours. I wasn’t impressed.”

           “I just-”

           Faraday rounded on the man.

           “I don’t think you get it.” There was venom in Faraday’s voice. “I said-”

           Red Harvest chose that moment to step in, lest there was actual trouble.

           “He’s right,” Red said. “I’m not interested.”

           Paulson’s eyes went wide, and his mouth fell open a fraction of an inch.

           “C’mon, Josh,” Red said, clapping him on the shoulder. “Let’s go.

The contact was uncharacteristic of Red, and it seemed to bring Faraday back to himself. It wasn’t until Red and Faraday left, with their backs to Paulson, and turned a corner onto another street, that the two shared a smile.

           There was something underneath the layers of civility. A scent, a sound. Or perhaps it was the absence of something. Red Harvest couldn’t put a finger on it. That elusive something made him long that much more for the plains. He followed Faraday onto the porch of a nameless bar, and stood next to him whenever Faraday propped himself up against the wall and lit a cigarette. The Irishman was still stewing about something. Red didn’t ask. He figured Faraday would tell him if he wanted to.

           “This trip’s been a bust,” Faraday said, then pulled a face, indicating that that wasn’t exactly what he meant to say. “I mean…Hell, Red. I’ve seen that sort of thing before…like what that jackass was talkin’ about.”

           Faraday shook his head before continuing.

           “Never really thought anything of it back then, I guess.”

           Red nodded his understanding. Since Rose Creek, they’d all changed in some way, or another; Faraday wasn’t an exception.

Liquor was doing nothing to quell the apprehension Vasquez was trying to hide. Sam had always been fair to him. Nothing would change between himself and the bounty hunter if he accepted the partnership. Probably wouldn’t change if I didn’t, either. The thought did bring him some consolation.

“Like I said,” Sam told him. “There’s no hurry. I have a meeting here with the proprietor. You should get something to eat; go see the city.”

Always working, huh? Vasquez thought as he moved his heads slowly from side to side.

He began to say something. He wasn’t sure what –certainly not a definitive answer, but he found that Sam’s attention was drawn by movement behind the bar. Vasquez followed Sam’s gaze to the woman who stood there, talking to the bartender.

Her long, dark curls were tied loosely behind her. Vasquez couldn’t guess her age, (a little younger than Sam, maybe?) but he could see no flaw in her dark skin; and though there was a stern set to her jaw, her mouth (in Vasquez’s less than humble opinion) was made for smiling. He wondered if that was Liza.

“Time for that meeting,” Sam said as he stood and pushed in his chair, excusing himself.

“With Liza?” Vasquez asked, jesting and cracking a grin.

“With Liza,” Sam said with a nod.

Sam’s expression was curt, but humor of some sort played reservedly behind Sam’s eyes before he turned and walked over to the bar.

When the woman –Liza –caught sight of Sam, she confirmed Vasquez’s theory. Her smile was bright and warm. And Sam Chisolm was its sole recipient. Sam took her hand and brushed a thumb over her knuckles. The two strolled out of sight, and Vasquez watched them go, wondering how long he should wait before picking his jaw up from the floor.

[leftmyurlinmyotherpants]

hi i wrote a thing “Why did it have to be this way?” ~ Albert

hi so yes this is really heavy and requires trigger warnings for death, self harm and suicide. if theres any warnings that i missed PLEASE tell me. i dont want to be that person who doesnt tag something that could really mess with someone’s day. i care about you guys a lot and would hate to do that. if i knew how to do the “continue reading” thing, i would do that. if anyone wants to let me know how to do that, that’d be awesome.

@timesarehardfornewsies (you asked to be tagged so here we go) 

"She was always there when I needed someone. She was everything I ever wanted and needed but never what I deserved. She could have done so much better than me but she always stayed. No matter what. I was never able to provide her with anything more than a proper date every once and a while but she never thought it mattered. She was absolutely everything to me and I wouldn't be the man I am today if it weren’t for her presence in my life. I love you to death, sweetheart. I don’t understand why it had to be this way. Rest easy, beautiful, I’ll be seeing you soon.” Albert said as he stepped down from the podium and walked around the altar. He stops by the love of his life’s casket and completely breaks down. Tears begin to pour from his already red, puffy eyes and continue to follow the stains left down his face from the past few days and the event that brought this about. He leans his head against the head of the casket for a split second before mumbling a quick “I love you baby” before hugging her family and returning to his seat next to Race, who wrapped an arm around his shoulders before the priest continued with the final blessing.

She was gripping the bathroom sink with such grip that made her knuckles go white. She couldn’t find a way to get out of her own head. She lost control. Not even the boy who is normally able to bring her out of any funk she’s in or be able to just let her get it out of her system while still making sure she knew he was there for her. Taking her final message to him off the edge of the bathtub, she slips it under the locked bathroom door. She takes a deep breath before starting to run the bath water, hot. While that’s running, she begins to rummage through their shared medicine cabinet looking for anything strong enough to do damage. Spotting Albert’s pain medication from when he had broken his wrist the most recent time, she begins to realize what she is about to do. As she mentioned in her note, she knew that she couldn’t go back now. 

She grabs the pain medication as well as her own prescriptions and empties the already nearly empty bottles into her hand. She stops the water before she begins swallowing the pills four at a time. She swallows the final few before shrugging off Albert’s sweater, after all, she wouldn’t want to stain it. She steps into the bath wearing her pajama shorts and a loose tank before taking the blade that she hid under her shampoo bottle into her hand. 

One, two, three, four. She eventually lost count of the deep and painful slashes that she inflicted onto her wrists. She began to slip between consciousness and unconsciousness as she began to see memories playback behind closing eyelids. The good times with her family, the times with the boys, the first time she told Albert she loves him. Everything was flooding back and as soon as she felt the regret of what she was doing, it was already too late. What was going to inevitably happen is already setting in. She tries her hardest to scream out her help but nothing leaves her lips.

The only thing that left her lips were “I love you, Albert. I’m so sorry.” Little did she know, that would be the last thing to ever leave her lips.

Albert was banging on the door while she was slipping away. As soon as he gets in, he hears her final words. He runs to her and takes her out of the tub and tries to listen for a heartbeat but instead of getting more, he ended up hearing her last breath and the last time her heart, the heart that she knew only belonged to him, would ever beat. He called for an ambulance as he tried to keep her heart going until emergency services arrived.

Once the paramedics arrived, everything became a blur to him. He blindly followed along with everything and gave them all the information they required with a heavy heart, knowing that there would be nothing they can do for the girl who is...was his entire world. 

The news came just as he figured it would. “I’m so sorry for your loss.” There was nothing anyone could say or do. He had lost his entire world, his entire reason to live. He lost everything he loved.

He forced himself to call her family and be the bearer of the news but hung up as soon as they knew. He wouldn’t be able to handle hearing them try to make sense of something he couldn’t even make sense of himself. He remained generally silent during the planning process, only breaking the silence to say that he and the boys are carrying the casket and that he wants to speak at the service.

The entire service remained mostly a blur. Even the eulogy he delivered was a blur. The only thing he remembered saying was that he will see her soon. He knew of a world where the pain would go away, where they could be free. He just wanted to be with the girl he loves more than life itself and he didn’t know what else to do. So he did the only thing he could think of doing: he followed in her footsteps. 

He stayed with Race because it wasn’t a good idea to let him stay in the apartment where his world fell apart. He left a simple note on Race’s counter, explaining why he did what he was about to do and that he was sorry before retreating into the guest bedroom which had become his own over the past two weeks. He grabbed the pills he had accumulated over the past two weeks from Race more or less suicide-proofing the entire apartment to make sure his best friend wouldn’t do anything stupid. 

If Albert ate (which he rarely did), Race wouldn’t let him cut it himself. If Albert needed any sort of medication for anything, Race administered it so he wouldn’t be able to do anything stupid. The one slip up was that Race left before Albert took the pills. Instead of taking them, he stashed them in a small box that he kept hidden between the bed and the bedside table. Race also made the mistake to allow Albert to shave on his own, which resulted in the redheaded boy breaking apart the razors until he was left with just the sharp slivers of metal that allowed for self-punishment.

Albert began to lose control once his hand wrapped around his little stash. Before he could catch up, he had already swallowed the twnety-some odd pills that he had accumulated and had already inflicted multiple gashes on his wrist with little to no remorse. He had started to slip out of consciousness when he heard the door to the apartment close. As his eyes shut, he saw Race on the phone.

Behind closed eyelids, he saw his girl standing in front of him. She looked as beautiful as ever and looked as inviting as she always had. He stepped closer to her but every step he took toward her, she backed away. He began to grow frustrated that he couldn’t hold her as Race’s voice began to invade his mind.

“Come on dude, wake up. You just gotta, they’re thinking about taking you off and I don’t think I’d be able to handle that. Albert, she wouldn’t have wanted this. We love you here, Al. You can’t do this to us, you can’t do this to me. I can’t handle losing another brother.” Race pleads, gripping Albert’s hand before eventually breaking down into tears. It’s true. Doctors weren’t expecting him to wake up from this. He has been in this coma for nearly three weeks and never showed signs of improvement.

“Albert, baby, you can’t leave them just yet. Keep going for me.” His girlfriend’s voice took the place of Race’s.“Sweetheart, I only want to be with you. You’re not here anymore so I decided to go be with you. I can’t handle the pain of living without you.” Albert says, pleading to his girlfriend to take him with her. 

Her image reappears where she stood before Race rudely interrupted. She was shaking her head. She steps closer to him and takes his hand and turns him to face away from her.“Now open your eyes baby. There’s a world down there where people love you. I never saw it. In time, I know you’ll see it. I’ll love you forever, Albert. Now wake up.” She says, her voice fading as she repeats her command for him to wake up. 

He begins to feel things again.

He feels his hand being squeezed and tears drip onto his left hand. 

He hears hitched breathing and Race’s broken voice asking him to come back to them. Albert tries to speak but nothing comes. He tries to squeeze Race’s hand back. That must have worked, considering he heard Race’s voice utter “holy shit”. He feels another hand grab his right hand before hearing Jojo ask him to squeeze his hand, which he does. 

As quickly as Jojo took his hand, he had let go, Albert assumed he went to get a doctor, considering he heard him yelling for one. It was a blur of events but Albert eventually opened his eyes. He quickly shuts them because of how bright it was in the room he was in. He slowly opens them again, to find that the light had been turned off and to see that Race, Jojo and Mush were all by his side, all with tears in their eyes. 

“Hey assholes, miss me?” Albert tries to say, but it comes out more like a mutter. Race breaks away from the group and engulfs him in a hug, scolding him for ‘scaring the shit outta him’ and saying that he’ll ‘kill him if he tries this shit again’. The rest of the boys present begin to join in the hug. 

“I’m sorry it had to be like this, fellas. I’m sorry it took this for me to realize that you guys really love me. I love you idiots. You’se my family, I can’t desert my family.” Albert says, finally finding strength in his arms to hug them back.

In the back of his mind, he knew this was where he had to be right now. As usual, his girl was right.

[dreamweavermosseux]

The Bad Dreamers

(Mood music)

"I've been there, and I knew that darkness was still swimming around under the surface of this coalition. Dreamers are wont to lose themselves to their emotions. Lose their senses. They can be as evil as courtiers. The only difference is that courtiers know they're doing it for themselves. Dreamers think they're doing it for others". -- Volaine

Sleep will not come tonight. There are too many voices, too many faces. The terrified warden cleaved in twain by my blade joins the images that represent the darkest parts of my memory, the lives I have cut short by my own hand. However, the three who came before her I could clearly call antagonists, either villains like Ainbertach or people who meant me harm, like the Inquest agent and the bandit. This woman, I cannot say for certain whether she was a courtier in disguise or only a hapless victim ensnared in their designs.

We were ordered to kill them all. There was no time to discern who was friend and who was foe. Everyone was a risk to Verdance's continued operation. We are currently all that stands in Lahiah's way. Should he succeed, the Grove will fall. Many cities will fall. Cathal was too far gone. Too many wardens had been lost to Hira's -- to Lahiah's cause.

I do not blame Warmaster Grom. He was up front with us about what we were meant to do. I felt that I could not back away. I felt that it was my duty to stand with the coalition's decision as a second.

And if I refused, then who else would do what needed to be done? We could not call in others more suited to the job. Besides, we stand together as a coalition or not at all, and at times, that requires sacrifice. So I stayed, so that others would not have to make that sacrifice for me.

Those are my reasons for staying and for slaughtering...yet the whole business still makes me ill.

She was trying to flee and I stood in her way. So I ran her through with my sword, but still she didn't die. Instead, she screamed and reached for me. Her clawed hands brushed my shoulders. I heaved my sword upward through bone, organs and flesh. I can still hear every sickening snap, crunch, and squelch. There was so much blood. I tried to be as quick as possible, but...I imagine that she felt every inch, until it was simply too much.

I do not know if she was good or evil, but regardless she deserved a much better death than the one that I gave her. They all deserved better, even the courtiers. When we fell upon them, they were just...living.

If one finds themselves unlucky enough to enter a Court den, you'll be told of all of the horrors that await you, but what the mentors don't say is that sometimes the bad guys sit down for a spot of tea too, and no, it isn't made with blood.

<"Who was it that made their kills suffer.">

I figured that it was best to be honest with everyone about what we were tasked with that night. So far almost everyone has been so supportive to me, and I am so moved by their kindness that I find it hard to articulate my gratitude. I know I have not been kind to others in a similar position in the past, so the fact that my mistakes are being so readily set aside is a relief. However, I fear what lurks beneath the surface, what is discussed behind closed doors, what rumors are spread about us.

It is no secret to me that some in the coalition dislike or distrust Airia and Delina. They are not without their reasons. My mother and sister are flawed people with pain and anger so deeply entrenched in them. I have seen the dark side of their desire to protect, to save, to avenge firsthand. I saw it in the way that Airia attacked one of the Courtiers. She nearly ripped off his head, so consumed with rage.

But she stopped at my call. She gave him a more merciful death and that has to count for something.

My family is trying to do the right thing. They are on the same side as the rest of the coalition. They hold darkness within them, and yes, it is dangerous. But even when they are caught in its throes, I must find a way to forgive. Not excuse, but forgive. The love of a family is supposed to be unconditional and so mine shall be, but I mustn't allow love to blind me. I must keep a vigilant, watchful eye and remind them of who they really are, the loving individuals that I know them both to be.

I feel that darkness within Mori too as of late. She holds contempt for Courtiers because she has lost loved ones to them. And now Volaine sparks her ire every time his name is mentioned. I have yet to witness her act on her anger, but I worry what it will bring out in her. She warrants the same attention as my family. She is a good friend, after all.

I have no clue what goes on in Julyan's mind, but I should speak to him as well. And again, I don't harbor any resentment toward Grom for giving the orders.

I'm no Bakari, but I must do my part as Trisbaine's second and also as a sylvan being. I must afford forgiveness and love to those others would say didn't deserve it.

As for forgiving myself, well...

I know now that if I am able to forgive others in my position, then I should be able to forgive myself. And I hope that it will come with time.

For now though, I must admit that I'm not only unforgiven, but also unwell. I can't sleep, nor can I eat. The scrambled eggs and toast Ras prepared for breakfast, I tossed them up not even an hour later. I washed the sour taste out with water, then soaked in the metal basin that we use for a tub until my fingertips and toes wrinkled so severely that they appeared like the inversion of my scars, sunken ruts instead of raised veins. The sight sent a ripple of irrational anger through me.

I can't shed tears, but I feel a constant urge to pull myself out of my own skin, as if that could somehow shed the terrible bleakness I see all around me. Just as I was beginning to find myself, after so long, I have lost it again. My desires to be a mender seem dashed when I'm complicit in such atrocities, even if it was in an effort to prevent a greater one from occurring. I can't stand to even look at myself in a mirror because I know that all of it was my choice. I could have walked away, but I chose to stay and fight and kill out of a sense of duty. And worst of all, I know that there will be even more deaths before this war is over. I fear how the violence will change me. I wonder if it already has.

So when Ras has left, I shave my face clean and I hide beneath a polymorph. Nothing too drastic. I round out my jaw, increase the fullness of my lips and the size of my eyes, change the color of my skin, glow, and hair. There's opportunity to smooth out the scars on my hands and I take it. It delights me to be barehanded without fear or disgust. I let my fingers skim over every surface in the cave.

Baine promised me a dance tonight in an effort to lift my spirits, so I prepare for it. I picked up a package from Llyr in Lion's Arch recently, one of her 'sorry I'm out on a Whispers trip and unable to see you' presents. She sent me a navy gown, similar to the dress Mori wears, with burnished bronze detailing, satin lining, and a white feathered mantle. The package includes matching gloves, boots, and hot pants to wear underneath for modesty's sake. I slip all of the pieces on, careful not to catch myself in the side zipper, and admire the ensemble in the full length mirror leaned against the cave wall, turning this way and that.

The morph and the dress, it's a method of protecting myself, allowing space for healing. It gives me distance from the real me for a time. I can treat him like a different person and therefore, I have hope that I can forgive his transgressions. With that forgiveness, maybe the rest will fall into place.