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lubdubsworld · 4 years ago

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Better Man.

~~~~We might still be in love, if you were a better man. ~~~~

Taehyung x OC

Rating 18 +

Angst.

Implied Infidelity in the past.

Chapter 1 ~ Walk out the first time.

"Are you okay?" My mother's soft voice came from behind me and i panicked, hurriedly swiping at the tears that were streaking down my face. Heart pounding, I grabbed a bunch of tissues from the dresser, patting my face down hurriedly , making sure to keep my back to her.

"I'm fine, Mom." I said , voice surprisingly steady as I turned around to smile weakly at her. She stood near the doorway, a petite woman of fifty with greying hair and too many wrinkles.

I thought she looked older than she was and i knew I had a part to play in that. Sighing, I tried not to cry more, moving to gently take my son out of her arms.

He was four years old, fast asleep and smiling sweetly in his slumber. He had downy black hair, feather soft and warm brown eyes. He looked incredibly like his father, the resemblance stunning even though he was so young. I stared at him some more, laying him down on the bed and brushing the hair off his face.

"Are you sure there is no mistake? Taehyung ssi wouldn't hurt us like this..." My mother said, sounding broken and I felt a pang of sympathy. But also annoyance.

Us.

Us....like she had an equal share in the hurt I was feeling.

I was the one getting a divorce but my mother made it sound like it was personal to her as well. Like somehow, the fact that she now had to meet her friends and tell them that her daughter was divorced could compare to the pain I was feeling. To the sheer anguish that was filling me.

To be fair though, my mother had loved Taehyung very much. Her favorite son-in-law . My sister's husband had been a mean drunkard who had brought a lot of misery to our family. Taehyung by contrast had been a loving, filial son in law. He had cared deeply for my parents, paid for my father's funeral ( even though the man itself was nothing more than a drunk , cheating fool who had abandoned us ) and he had been the most kind man .

I swallowed.

Maybe , you should have forgiven him. Maybe , you shouldn't have divorced him . So, he slept with another woman. Fine. It was one night... just one night. you should have gotten over it! Was it worth it to spend all these countless nights alone? To break your mother's heart a thousand times over?

The funny thing was, i had forgiven him. Maybe right after I had found out. He had stood there, looking shell-shocked and horrified and his eyes had begged me for forgiveness and my heart had cracked , the way it always did whenever I saw him in distress. And when he had looked me in the eye and said, " I’m sorry, Jang mi..." I had forgiven him right then and there.

But it was the forgetting that was hard. The fear that it would happen again. The fear that somehow, I was the reason he strayed. And that kind of fear can be debilitating. For the first three weeks, I'd tried to pretend it hadn't happened. I had tried hard to see him the way I had always seen him but it had been impossible. everytime I saw him, my heart had broken anew. It had been hard but I had to accept that things would never be the same. That I would forever look at him and remember what he’d done. That I would forever wonder if he would do it again.

So we had done the wise thing.

At first a break.

A few days apart to get our head on straight. Then I’d found a job and I had to move closer to the office to make the commute easy. And then suddenly, I wasn’t seeing him even during the weekends , to spend time as family for our son’s sake. And just like that , a whole year had passed and we were separated. Only meeting to hand Hoshi over to each other.

"I'm sorry mother." I said softly. I knew that she blamed me, a whole lot for the separation.

People with children didn't leave each other over infidelity in my country. You hit your husband, denied him from your bed maybe but you didn't break up a family over one night of bad decisions. You just didn't .

But for me, it was beyond the act. It was the broken trust, the shock of knowing that some other woman had given him something I couldn't, the fact that he had even wanted it from another woman had been enough for me to crumble on the inside.

But, none of it mattered now.

He wanted a divorce. Officially. Wanted to end it for real.

It was jarring, how badly it shook me. I felt unaccountably lost and confused and disoriented. I couldn't imagine not being Taehyung’s wife , i realized with a stunning sense of self realization.

Call me irrational, but apparently, I couldn't stop thinking of him as my husband , even after two years. Soon he wouldn't be my husband.

He would be my ex -husband.

i hated that word.

It had such a plethora of negative connotations to it. When you hear it , you just brace yourself for unpleasantness.

Because it is unpleasant. A marriage ending, a family breaking, feelings hurt , hearts shattered, angry words tossed...its all a very unpleasant experience for everyone involved.

An ex husband was seldom a harbinger of happiness, more often a reminder of choices gone wrong, regrets and wasted time. and I didn’t want to associate Taehyung with a word like that.

Taehyung who was still the kindest, warmest human being I knew. The best father in the world.

I felt like someone had sucked all the strength out of me.

I didn’t really want to think about the call I’d gotten from Taehyung last night. An appointment with a divorce lawyer. It had been followed by an apology because apparently, someone in the law firm had let the info leak. And now it was all over the sleazy tabloids that fed on people’s misery.

It was impossible to escape it too, Taehyung was famous. An idol. And actor. The country's sweetheart. And he was the epitome of perfection. The beautiful, talented actor with an impeccable record of well behavior.

I knew that literally everyone on the planet thought he was a literal angel.

I remembered how much , by contrast, I had been hated when I'd married him.

I could just imagine how much more it would all be this time around. And i wondered if it bothered Taehyung too. Did he perhaps wish he’d never met me

It had been sheer luck that we had met....

In fact, if Jimin's car hadn't broken down right outside our home on that cold December night, I wouldn't have even met Taehyung. A great cosmic shift, somewhere some butterfly flapped its wing a certain way and suddenly, Jimin’s car ran over a thumbtack and his phone was dead so while he tried to fix the damage , Taehyung just had to knock on our home and I had been the one to open it.

Boom. That was it. Love at first sight.

I had been a high school kid and he had been barely nineteen. Fresh faced and cheerful , the struggling idol from a small company. He hadn't been surrounded by fans or chased by saesangs. He hadn't had security tailing him. No daesangs, BBMAs, or acting awards. No blockbuster movies to his credit , no chart-bursting songs either .

And I had fallen in love with that version of him.

The hardworking, talented young man who worked twice as hard as anyone around him.

That's right. You've loved him for fifteen years. So it's understandable that you're upset. Now, maybe you can move on too. Go on a few of those blind dates that Jiyoung is always setting you up on. Go live your life instead of being a zombie. Get a hair cut. Dye your hair red. Do something to get your life in order.

"I still find it hard to believe that he would want a divorce. Jangmi yah... did you tell him you forgave him? Tell him you wanted to try again..." My mother said again and the distress in her voice was equal parts heartbreaking and exasperating.

"Mother, I don't want to try again . We aren't married anymore. It's over, whatever it was between us. "

Whatever it was.

How cruel, to have all that love, all that affection reduced to a phrase like that.

What a pity.

"But what about Hoshi? He needs his father..." My mother cried out and I willed myself not to snap. She means well, I thought miserably.

"He has a father. Taehyung is an excellent father and you know that. Don’t start that again.”

My mother sighed.

"I still feel that this wouldn’t happen if you tried a little bit. He’s a good boy. Such a good boy and you could never do anyone better. Why are you so full of pride, Jangmi... so prideful...you should be a little humble. Think of the kind of man he is...where would you find a man like that ? And moreover .... Taehyung loves you. i know he does." My mother said stubbornly.

I sighed, feeling my fingers shake from the effort not to scream. I wasn’t strong enough to have this conversation with her. Not now. Possibly never. Taehyung did love me. Had never made any effort to hide it. But sometimes, love wasn’t enough. It just wasn’t.

And I wanted to yell at my mother she was at least partially to blame for me walking out on Taehyung.

My father had left us for another woman , when I was twelve. I had seen the toll it had taken on my mother and I just knew that I would never let a man do that to me. My mother had later confided in me that it wasn’t the first time. He had done it before. A lot of times. And my mother had always forgiven him. Let him back into our lives.

And one night, drunk on soju she had confided between hiccups, ‘ I wish I’d walked out the first time.”

And that had stuck with me.

Walk out the first time.

If he cheats on you , walk out the first time. Don’t stick around waiting for him to do it to you again. Walk out the first time.

And so I had.

“ Should I talk to him? Tell him you’ve changed your mind? “ My mother began and I felt my patience snap.

“No!! Could you just, for the love of God, stay out of this, ma? It’s over. Our marriage is over and it has been over for a long time. A piece of paper doesn’t really change that, does it? Its not my fault you can’t get over it but that’s a you problem. And you need to fix it yourself. “ I shouted.

My mother immediately recoiled, eyes shuttering down.

“Of course. You know the best. Who cares how anyone else feels, right, Jang Mi? You always know best.” She said softly, and I exhaled, shaken. There it was. The guilt trip. It was never ending.

Please... I just need to go now.” I moved to grab my bag, :” I need to go get ready for the meeting with the lawyers tomorrow. You can keep Hoshi with you tonight. I’ll come pick him up after I’m done and then I’ll drop him off at his father’s place.”

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

With Taehyung and I, our break up hadn’t been terrible.

It hadn’t been terrible because our own penchant for being terrible had always been very minimal. We didn’t do swearing or fights or threats and it always annoyed our friends that we got along so well. That it was so easy for us to forgive and move on with each other . That we were the one couple who didn’t hold grudges or bring up past mistakes.

Which is why, when we did break up, none of our friends had tried to change our minds over it. They had accepted it rather calmly, shocked at first because it was so out of the blue but not opposed to the idea itself . They just trusted us to know the right thing to do because we were easily the most mature , the most level headed couple in the entire group. We were usually the sounding boards , the voice of reason in whatever petty conflict our friends were involved in .

So when it was us, needling a little advice, a little guidance, our friends had been woefully ill equipped to help. They had merely hummed and nodded and empathized. Maybe that was another reason I’d left. I hadn’t considered the alternative. No one had asked me to consider the alternative.

Our friends had watched us drift apart watched us break up, but they hadn’t really asked us why.

Because if something had caused Kim Taehyung and Jang Mi to break up, man, that must’ve been a really huge issue.

So the break up had been amicable. Gradual and slow but mostly amicable, eased by our mutual love for our son. We wanted him happy and he was happy when we were happy. So we put on a front, laughed and joked in front of him and let him have some semblance of normalcy in his life.

It wasn’t easy.

From him, it had been nothing but a mess of heated glances, touches laced with intent and eyes begging forgiveness . every gaze of his was a silent scream for a second chance that I was not at all ready to give.

Because for me, the raw hurt and anger and frustration that bubbled up every time I saw him , it had nowhere to go. It stayed churning in my gut, made everything bitter and unpalatable and I wanted to hurt him for hurting me. How could I think of a second chance when the hurt from the first, was still so fresh, an open wound festering.

Self esteem in tatters, I had hated him fiercely.

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

The meeting was at his company, and I arrived at nine in the morning, with a few more minutes to spare. I knew the place like the back of my hand, was here at least once a week either to pick or drop Hoshi off and I knew that the conference room in the third floor was sound proof and cut off from the rest of the building for extra privacy.

Which was a little too late because I’d found two tabloid newspapers waiting outside my apartment this morning.

I opened the door carefully, surprised to see Taehyung sitting in one of the chairs, bent over a sheaf of paper on the table and next to him a leggy girl in a small skirt hovered, fingers resting lightly on his shoulder, bent at the optimum angle to show him her curves.

I sighed, looking away.

It was way too early for this.

“Mia!” Taehyung’s voice made me look up, and I watched as he stood up, pushing the chair away and moving to me . He was easily the most good looking man in the country. And he looked so good at thirty five that it was impossible to look away from him.

He was dressed in a pale blue shirt and black slacks and it never amazed me, how good clothes fit him.

I took in the broad shoulders, thick arms and the lean waist, the carefully styled hair and the breathtakingly beautiful face and sighed when he kept coming closer, hands held out. .

Of course, the customary hug.

i let him wrap his arms around me, my face buried in the comforting warmth of his body, the scent of his cologne filling my brain . He always smelled so good it made my heart hurt. I tried not to let myself get carried away. Tried to remind myself that this wasn’t anything more than a.....

A facade ? Or was it? Was his affection genuine?

Was I just too cynical?

I shook my head, pulling away and smiling a little at the genuine venom in the leggy girl’s face.

“Are you okay? Where’s Hoshi?” Taehyung brushed the hair off my face, eyes warm and I wondered if he’d forgotten we were here to get a divorce.

Whenever we met, Taehyung acted like we were still together.

No, that wasn’t it.

He just didn’t act like we had broken up. He was affectionate and open and cooperative. It always left me in a sort of limbo, unable to navigate our relationship with clear boundaries. There were no line to stop myself from crossing, because he just didn’t draw them.

“ Ms. Lee says we just have to go over the details like the alimony and the custody and the division of assets and then we can just proceed. Get it all finalized. “ He said casually, when I moved away and sat on the chair opposite him.

“Okay .” I said casually.

He smiled and turned back to the girl next to him.

“I’ll join you after the meeting Lisa.” he gave her a nice wide smile and the girl practically bloomed under the attention before bowing curtly in my direction. I watched her walk away, slightly amused.

“Bit younger than your usual type.” I commented , glancing at him. He gave me a look.

“I’m not dating her.” He shrugged.

“Does she know that?” I retorted.

It was dumb. Uncalled for. I was being a bitch, really but the urge to evoke some kind of reaction from Taehyung was something I’d never really out grown. I liked getting under his skin.

Taehyung sighed and gave me a little smirk.

“Are you jealous, Mia mine?” He teased.

It felt a little like someone had dug a nine inch dagger straight into my heart.

That stupid nickname.

God I couldn’t bear it.

Swallowing i looked away.

“Sorry. “ he said quietly, a few seconds later.

I nodded curtly.

“Don’t do it again.” I said hoarsely.

“Why not?” He whispered gently.

I groaned.

“Taehyung... “

“it’s just a name...why does it bother you so much?” He whispered.

“The same reason you’re asking me for a divorce.” I said softly.

He blinked.

“Mia...”

“Because we both know its time to stop.” I said quietly. “ Stop dancing around each other , stop doing...whatever it is we’ve been doing these past two years and give our relationship a name. “

“I’m not very fond of labels.” He shrugged. I glared at him.

“Well tough luck. Labels are good. Labels are great. They let you draw boundaries. “ I retorted.

“You sound like you’ve had enough of me.”

“Well, haven’t you had enough of me?” I snapped.

“Not even close.” He leaned forward gently, eyes pinning me to the table with a gaze so strong he may as well have used his body. And it didn’t help that two years wasn’t enough time to forget how it would feel if he had used his body. How it would feel to be stretched out on that table, him on top of me, hands working my clothes open, lips kissing their way down my jaw.

I could almost taste him, taste the minty freshness of his breath, feel his tongue in my mouth, the hardness of him inside me. My thighs clenched because I hadn’t gotten laid in two fucking years and even if i did, no one would ever compare to the man in front of me.

“Mr. Kim? Mrs. Kim? “

The lawyer’s voice broke the spell and i straightened, swallowing. Ms. Lee had walked in , and I watched her close the conference door behind her before locking it gently.

She was young, dressed in a business suit , a no nonsense bun and had small round framed glasses. She gave me a nice smile, shook hands with us both and placed her briefcase on the table before glancing between us.

“Shall we begin?”

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

Author’s Note : its gonna be a bumpy ride.

#taehyung angst #taehyung smut #taehyung fics #bts fics #taehyung fanfic #bts smut #bts fic #bts fanfic

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firelxdykatara · 4 years ago

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gods, ok, apparently i’m not done.

atla fandom? we need to have a chat.

(....ok that made me sound pretentious as fuck. and maybe i am, but this needs to be said, cause i’m getting....real, real tired of a Certain Corner of this fandom and as a result, this is gonna be a discourse-heavy post so feel free to scroll past if that’s not your bag. as always, my salt posts all carry the catch-all #salt for ts tag, which you’re free to blacklist/filter at your leisure. i’m Very Annoyed at the moment, which will probably come through in the following post, so just. yknow. be prepared for that. or ignore it, that’s perfectly valid too.)

under a cut bc i do care for my followers and their sanity i swear lmao

there’s a real serious issue in this fandom with not understanding what queer terminology actually means or implies, especially when applied to a fictional narrative.

i’m specifically talking about ‘coding’, here. (if i were in a more meme-y mood, i might have said ‘the atla fandom found out about the term “gay-coding” and haven’t shut up since’.)

to the people who say ‘zuko is gay-coded’, i have this to say: you keep using that word. i do not think it means what you think it means. because he isn’t. i’m sorry, but he’s not! and the fact that this is such a prevalent claim in this fandom is distressing, bc it says to me that none of y’all know what gay-coding is or when and how to apply it! please, i’m begging you, go and look up these terms and what they mean and when they should be used before actually trying to plug them into your critical analysis, because when you misuse them and then call other people delusional for disagreeing with you it casts a pall over the entire fandom and is, i think, the root of some of the worst toxicity this fandom has to offer.

and the thing is, there are cases where gay-coding would apply--for instance, a couple series that are famous for queerbaiting their audience by coding their main characters as being attracted to one another (sometimes even despite their openly stated sexualities) come to mind, but those shows bare no similarities at all to atla and how zuko was written and portrayed! (and it would be funny, if it weren’t so obnoxious and infuriatingly wide-spread throughout the fandom, because the only queer couple we actually seen on-screen in either show wasn’t even queer-coded in any respect, and they’re canonically bi! [yes, i’m shading korrasami, or more accurately i’m shading bryke for refusing to give ka the build-up and development they deserved].)

this absolutely isn’t to say that headcanoning zuko as gay is a bad thing or invalid in any respect. (although the tendency for zukka shippers to do this specifically to keep zuko away from katara and/or invalidate his canon relationship/attraction to girls is more than a little eyebrow raising. especially since sokka is usually allowed to be bi, bc fans have no problem letting sukka stay in the background bc it’s no real threat, while jetko shippers are happy to have both boys be bi. [possibly bc katara is less a threat to jetko bc jetkotara is every bit as valid as any single ship between the three, but zukka can’t exactly let katara join in, and if the potential exists for zuko to be attracted to her then canon giving them the far deeper emotional bond becomes a threat to zukka’s existence? idk for sure--you be the judge.]) i prefer to hc zuko as bi (and always have, long before the atla renaissance), bc i don’t think zuko being attracted to boys is outside the realm of possibility, and it isn’t a threat to my ship since zuko&katara had a deep and emotional bond in canon that is very easy to develop further into something that becomes explicitly romantic--but the headcanon itself isn’t really the problem (although what it’s often in service to can be).

it’s the strange insistence that this is the only way to read his character, bc he was coded that way and so anyone who doesn’t see it must be too straight to understand--and i really shouldn’t have to say why and how that is so incredibly fucking insulting. (the ‘hetero lenses’ comment wasn’t cute when it came from bryke six years ago, and the same sentiment being repackaged and delivered by zukka shippers ain’t cute now.)

calling zuko gay-coded not only demonstrates ignorance as to what the term actually means, and how to usefully apply it in critical analysis, but also validates the frankly bullshit insertion of institutionalized homophobia in the world of atla where it was neither needed, nor wanted, nor ever hinted at in canon. as a queer woman i’m still infuriated by one fucking comic panel shoving institutionalized and systemic homophobia into a world where it was entirely unnecessary (and doing this in the first installment of the franchise showcasing a queer relationship??? making korra and asami worried about ‘coming out’ when they could have just gone on to have cute adventures together and tell people ‘hey we’re dating’ and have everyone else be ‘that’s awesome =DDD’ [because it is, in fact, possible to just have a world without homophobia i promise!!!!!] double yikes, i’m still pissed at bryke about it), and i doubly hate that ‘zuko is gay coded’ has become so widespread that ‘ozai hates him bc he’s gay’ has become a staple in that part of the fandom.

not only does making zuko gay and implying (or outright stating) that ozai hated and abused him because of it completely undermine zuko’s character arc by making his abuse about his sexuality rather than ozai’s toxic pride and anger at seeing himself reflected in his ‘weak’ son, but it comes very close to outright stating that abuse and trauma are inherently gay experiences, and they aren’t!!! they really aren’t, i promise!!!

abuse and trauma narratives exist outside of ‘my dad hates me because i’m gay’. and, quite frankly, there are MORE THAN ENOUGH queer trauma narratives out in the world. we do not need to start trying to retroactively make them canon in a series where they didn’t exist! if you’re gay and see yourself in zuko and project your own experiences on him, that’s understandable and valid. that does not make zuko gay-coded. and honestly, the insistence that he is makes very little sense to me, because you’re essentially trying to give the show credit for work you put into interpreting the characters! why would you want to do that? why not own your own headcanons and take credit for them, rather than insisting they are canon and everyone else is wrong for not seeing them??? like, i’ve said before that i’ve always headcanoned zuko (and katara) as bi, and even support it with my interpretations of evidence from the show, but the difference between ‘i think zuko is bi’ and ‘zuko is definitely gay-coded’ is that i know that bi zuko is my interpretation of canon, and that it is work i’m putting into the show that wasn’t actually intended by the creators/writers, no matter how much sexual tension i read into the jetko swordfight.

and like, zuko’s character arc doesn’t actually parallel a queer one all that well to begin with. it’s easy enough to do the work and twist it sideways just enough to make the general points fit, but the fact is, zuko’s arc is not one of self-discovery. it’s not one of coming to understand something fundamental about himself that he can’t change, that he was hated for, and coming out to his father in a dramatic confrontation where he shows that he understands himself and doesn’t need his father’s acceptance to be fulfilled.

zuko’s arc is actually one of trauma and healing. and those can (and often are--like i said, there are more than enough queer trauma narratives in the world, atla really doesn’t need to be one of them) be part of queer narratives, for sure! but they aren’t uniquely queer. and zuko’s confrontation with ozai during the eclipse doesn’t read like a ‘coming out’ at all. (yes, i’ve seen that post. yes, i rolled my eyes and moved on, bc unlike some people, i’m capable of not clowning on correctly tagged posts i disagree with.) zuko is specifically confronting ozai over his abuse, because his arc wasn’t about discovering anything fundamental about himself (and therefore realizing that ozai was hating him for something he couldn’t change)--it was about realizing that he was not at fault for the way his father treated him. it was also about realizing that the fire nation was broken and corrupt at its core, and that his father was an aspect of that he needed to break away from so that he could help the world begin to heal.

he says it himself:

Zuko: No, I've learned everything! And I've had to learn it on my own! Growing up, we were taught that the Fire Nation was the greatest civilization in history. And somehow, the War was our way of sharing our greatness with the rest of the world. What an amazing lie that was. The people of the world are terrified by the Fire Nation. They don't see our greatness. They hate us! And we deserve it! We've created an era of fear in the world. And if we don't want the world to destroy itself, we need to replace it with an era of peace and kindness.

making this about zuko being gay and rejecting ozai’s homophobia, rather than zuko learning fundamental truths about the world and about his home and about how there was something deeply wrong with his nation that needed to be fixed in order for the world to heal (and, no, ‘homophobia’ is not the answer to ‘what is wrong with the fire nation’, i’m still fucking pissed at bryke about that), misses the entire point of his character arc. this is the culmination of zuko realizing that he should never have had to earn his father’s love, because that should have been unconditional from the start. this is zuko realizing that he was not at fault for his father’s abuse--that speaking out of turn in a war meeting in no way justified fighting a duel with a child.

is that first realization (that a parent’s love should be unconditional, and if it isn’t, then that is the parent’s fault and not the child’s) something that queer kids in homophobic households/families can relate to? of course it is. but it’s also something that every other abused kid, straight kids and even queer kids who were abused for other reasons before they even knew they were anything other than cishet, can relate to as well. in that respect, it is not a uniquely queer experience, nor is it a uniquely queer story, and zuko not being attracted to girls (which is what a lot of it seems to boil down to, at the end of the day--cutting down zuko’s potential ships so that only zukka and a few far more niche ships are left standing) is not necessary to his character arc. nor does it particularly make sense.

(and before anyone brings up his date with jin--a) he enjoyed it when she kissed him, and b) he was a traumatized, abused child going out on a first date. of course he was fucking awkward. have you ever met a teenage boy????)

anyway, uh, that was a lot of words, so have a tl;dr: zuko is not gay-coded. there is nothing uniquely gay (or even uniquely queer) about his character arc or characterization, and he was certainly not coded gay in an attempt to sneak a queer character past the censors. if anyone involved with atla was gonna try that, it would’ve been in lok, and as established, they didn’t even manage to queer-code the actual queer relationship before the last few minutes of the final episode. headcanoning zuko as gay is absolutely fine (though if it’s only done to keep him away from female characters he may otherwise be attracted to, that smells more like misogyny than anything else), but insisting that this reading is the only one that makes sense, and anyone who doesn’t agree must be straight (hello, queer woman here making this insanely long thinkpiece) is very much not.

ship what you like, but stop trying to invalidate other ships and other interpretations of characters just to make your ship seem more plausible. it’s really not a good look.

#atla #zuko #zukka salt #more like zukka shipper salt #atla fandom salt #salt for ts #zuko is not gay coded and im so so tired of seeing that argument in this fandom #it's fine as a hc but it's not canon and was never remotely intended and his arc isn't particularly evocative of a gay narrative #long post #queer things

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missinghan · 4 years ago

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in the eye of heaven ⤖ bang chan

❖ genre : unrequited love; dynasty au; fluffy angst

❖ word count : 7,4k.

❖ warning : mentions of blood, death & violence, no historical accuracy

❖ summary : when heartfelt takes over grief and jealousy, chan is willing to spend a lifetime waiting for you. if only you could do so much as acknowledging the yearning in his eyes.

❖ a/n : this fic’s spin-off with the same mc; set in an alternative universe where she didn’t reject jisung and became his queen.

❖ dedicated to @meiiyue : lau, know that i appreciate you more than you think, that you are loved because you’re so incredibly precious. you deserve the world and more! happy birthday queen ♡

one.

“Chan, I’m getting married soon.”

Chan looks away from the report in his hands, faint agony washes over the dark shade of his pupils, and his lips quiver ever so slightly. With a courageous inhale, he stares you down as the scroll in his hands tilt a fraction. Common senses kick him at the back of his head after a brief moment of eye contact.

He smiles lifelessly, voice tender, “That’s great. Congratulations.”

Oh good god, those were the most insincere words that have ever been blurted from his lips. And directed at the very person he adores the most too. His fingers clench at the edge of the piece of paper when you huff, inching closer to him. Chan feels his breath mingles in momentary surprise, his face mere inches from your delicate one.

You really should know the kind of effects you have on his fragile heart.

“You knew?” Your index finger pokes at his chest in slight annoyance, your brows furrowed.

He gulps, “What?” Then, his eyes proceed to narrow at you softly upon realizing that you might have run from Jisung’s private palace to here and that you must have been so excited about the news that you’ve forgotten your coat and sword. A gust of wind flies by, tousling your scent into thin air that lingers inside his lungs, suffocating him internally.

“Jisung told you he was going to propose, didn’t he?” you clarify your point. But Chan is only taking notice of the droplets sticking to your eyelashes, how your nose is a little red, and the area under your eyes is slightly swollen.

“No, he didn’t,” he shakes his head and contemplates if he should be looking away, uncertain whether his gaze holds pain more than fondness. His hand reaches out to wipe the dampness away from your eyes but freezes midway at the sudden pang in his chest. Then his smile falls with a hidden grimace, arm dropped to the side in sheer defeat.

You hum with your hands clasped behind your back, allowing him to breathe properly by pulling away. “How did you know then?”

“I just do. I knew it would happen.”

Yes. Indeed.

Chan always knew it would happen. He’s not a fool after all.

“Hmm, really? How come?”

Gaze falling back on the boring report in his hands, he quickly comes to realize that his undivided attention has been set elsewhere from the black ink letters and instead on your question. He almost bursts out laughing at it, if he dares to admit.

How could he not know?

Starting with Jisung—the crown prince, you—an orphan getting adopted by the general and him—the general’s very own son being childhood best friends. Although from an outsiders’ point of view, you and Chan should be nothing but mere, shallow servants to the royal. That didn’t work out because of the oh so lovely Han Jisung. Thus, his plan to distance himself from you at the get-go was also ruined by the aforementioned royal and his father.

Chan has been training with you for as long as he can remember to take your rightful positions as the protectors of the throne, setting the royal family’s safety as your top priority. Hence, spending an extended amount of time with each other is an easy, inevitable way for your friendship to blossom. Whether it’s him waking you up too early for practice or you getting caught by him for sneaking out late at night. There isn’t a single moment that Chan wasn’t there for you.

Oh, but then there comes Jisung.

Adding him to the equation makes Chan’s chest ache, sick dread gnawing at the pit of the stomach. However, he has never any sense of hatred toward the young royal. The prince was born on a starlit night, amid the remaining warmth from summer. Some say it became part of him, who he is. Chan saw that in him too—whenever coldness comes, he’s the warmth. He treats everyone with such grace as if he has all the time in the world for them, as if they really matter.

Of course, being a youngblood, Chan can’t possibly miss out on his mischievous and playful behavior. Jisung would always get the three of you into trouble. And Chan would always try to save him from his father’s scolding while you’d be taking care of his wounds—resulting from so much climbing and falling. In those moments, he can say that there’s no person who has ever held you in his eyes the way Jisung does.

The same way that Chan does.

“I just do,” he cracks a small smile, ruffling your hair and immediately earning himself a smack on the chest. He sets the scroll neatly to the side before slipping off his silk coat. You can only chuckle at his attentive gesture and let him drape the piece of clothing over your shoulders, the sleeves looming over your knuckles.

“Let’s go inside. This calls for a celebration. Just the three of us.”

You smile back. “Like we’ve always been?” And a swarm of butterflies comes to life inside his stomach.

“Like we’ve always been.”

two.

Minho is munching on a few lotus seeds, occasionally sipping his tea in a bored manner as he witnesses Chan’s distress unfold right before his eyes.

The younger’s eyes, wide with amusement and slight confusion as to why his friend is getting so worked up over something that you’ve said, stare the general’s son down in his bedroom. It only appears to Minho as another normal conversation between the two of you—the only difference is that you’re getting married to the crown prince. Chan has not told him, but his well-hidden feelings never go unnoticed to someone as detail-oriented as the royal physician.

“So…” he swallows the current bite before dragging his words. “Just the three of us. Like we’ve always been?” His voice imitates Chan’s with an underlying tone of mischief.

Chan pinches the bridge of his nose at that. “Ugh, how could I be so foolish and say that?”

“Ugh?” Minho nearly chokes on his drink, sets down his cup, and squints his eyes funnily at the elder, almost mockingly. “What’s wrong, Chan? Don’t you want the three of you to stay that way?”

“That’s the problem, we can’t stay that way. We can never,” Chan confesses with sorrow.

“It’s getting cold. Let’s head inside.”

You pull him by the sleeve of his robe. “Oh, Chan. One more thing.”

“Hmm?”

“Will you walk me down the aisle?”

It’s quite possible for him to have stopped listening to Minho’s nagging after that. Your question, just that single sentence on a loop inside the void of his blackout mind. Will you walk me down the aisle? Will you walk me down the aisle? Will you walk me— He forces down a tired breath, face buried in the palms of his hands with heavy dread.

“Are you certain about this?”

“More than ever.”

How could he possibly reject you when his eyes were focused all on you, head tilted and finding you still so close in a way that he’s afraid he might have forgotten how to breathe? How could he when his pinky instinctively was curled over your own as you made him accept your childish yet innocent, harmless vow?

“Anything for you then.”

“Promise?”

How can he ever reject you?

“Promise.”

“That...and promise me that we won’t change. Not for anything.”

Chan can still feel his lips quiver as the ghost of your words crawls upon his spine like an ugly reminder that his feelings, in fact, have always been unattended for.

“Promise.”

And that was the first time Chan has ever lied to you.

three.

“Chan! Are you seriously not going to get ready—“

Minho comes barging into Chan’s room with his voice loud enough to wake the entire west wing of the palace, hand aggressively sliding the paper-lined door open in a not necessarily graceful manner. The general’s son does not bother to answer his friend, preferring to maintain his slouching posture by the window and stares off into the lake surface grazed with dozens of lotuses.

He watches attentively as a delicate droplet glides down against the blush-colored petal, kisses the lake with poise before disappearing completely and leaving behind the most subtle amount of vibration.

“Don’t just sit there, you fool,” the younger stops for a moment and proceeds on with his scolding. “You’re getting your robe all wrinkled! The ceremony is starting in another hour!”

Chan did get ready. If he’s not mistaken, he must have been the earliest one to do so because sleep was out of the question for him last night. Conscience has never let him off the hook these past few days. Because he truly wants to be happy for you, like how a brother should. Because that is all he will ever be to you. A brother, or a childhood friend, or family, even. But when was the last time he’d gone to sleep without thinking about you?

“I don’t really care,” he says honestly with a muffled, sarcastic chuckle.

“But you’re walking her down the aisle.”

The particular statement draws an immediate reaction from the elder, his head snapping toward his friend and his eyes narrowed down into a glare. “I know that, Minho,” Chan clenches his jaw.

Minho straightens the fabric of his clothing before making eye contact with him. “Right, and you should know that your undeclared feelings for her must not interfere with one of the happiest moments in her life.”

“Shut it. Those words are giving me a headache.”

“What word? Undeclared feelings for her?”

Oh, Minho just pulled at another nerve right there.

With a hushed, pained hiss, Chan finally gets off the spot he’s been stubbornly seated on since the break of dawn. The twitching tugging at the tips of his fingers definitely isn’t being helpful. Then, he lets himself fall back onto his bed, drawing a loud grimace from Minho and finally choosing to acknowledge his hatred toward his own feelings. After all, there is nothing wrong with loving someone, but how one loves them.

“Chan. I understand. You’re in love with her. And she’s in love with Jisung. Not to mention, they’re getting married—“

“Shut-“

“No, you shut up!” Minho spats and shakes his shoulders harshly. “What’s so wrong with your feelings for her that you’re getting to this point of denial? So what if she doesn’t love you back? Are you going to choose the option of keeping on loving her or being a petty coward about it for the rest of your life?”

Lips pressed into a thin line, Chan feels like he’s about to collapse.

“That’s right. Be speechless and listen to me—“

Little do they know, standing behind the door is you, mouth dry and pupils shaking in hesitation. You’re oddly frustrated when it comes to something as simple as opening the door. Your hand squeezes at the wooden edge, breathing jagged at the thought of facing Chan as though you haven’t known him for your entire life. Reminding yourself that no matter what, Chan is still Chan, that he’ll never change for anything. He promised you, right?

With a deep breath, you slide the door open and peek your head inside. “Look what I got you!” you say, shaking the tiny box in your hands.

Chan abruptly shoots up from his bed the moment you fully step inside and shuts the door behind you. His heart melts for a fraction of a second, once again because of you, always been because of you. And because of you, the fear for his paradoxical love toward you gnaws at his chest, reminding him that it will never happen and that today is your special day.

“I thought the bride shouldn’t be running around like this on her big day.” Comes a blunt comment that makes Minho’s expression turn sour.

“Don’t listen to him. You look beautiful, Y/N,” the physician says with an awkward smirk before excusing himself from the scene. Silence fills up the air like an overflowed cup of wine, gripping at the vessels of your lungs.

You look at Chan, confused for a moment before staring down at yourself, completely oblivious about the wall that’s rapidly built up with his cold, hard feelings and he’s only able to allow himself a blank face. He knows one thing for sure that Chaeryeong—your handmaiden, won’t be the least happy knowing that the future queen of Goryeo is going around freely in her attire for the ceremony.

Dressed in the finest robes made with the softest of linen and most vibrant dye, delicately lined with gold, embroidered with dragons, phoenixes, flowers and tainted with red for the royal. Your hair is still let down loosely, easily lending Chan the information that you must have sneaked out while getting ready. A waft of your scent creeps up his nostrils when you take small steps toward his table, gingerly placing the tiny box down and opening it for him to see.

“Are you really going to complain about these?” you smile at him with your still-crystalline eyes. The same eyes that he can drown in the depth of their ocean for an eternity, the peak and end of his suffering all at the same time. He might as well surrender into that canvas full of stars and fall on buckling knees right now if you keep gazing at him that way.

Upon his unresponsive state, you simply shake your head. “Serves me right for trying to do something nice to you,” you pretend to roll your eyes jokingly, easing the clearly noticeable tension.

“My favorite childhood candies. You remembered,” Chan swallows the croaked sob that refuses to let loose inside his throat, lips cracking into a small grin. The tiny ray of hope in your orbs dies down like a blown-out candle; his intention is plain and clear—he wants to feel familiar with you again, he just isn’t capable.

You puff out your cheeks, and if it weren’t for how heavy the air is, Chan would have allowed himself to laugh a bit at how adorable you are. You find yourself less frustrated but rather defeated. You aren’t completely oblivious about how he feels, you just learn how to ignore it until he musters up enough courage to tell you himself.

You’re starting to doubt the fact that he would tell you anything. He used to, at least.

“Chan… you do know that I’m always here if you need someone to talk to, right?” you say with tiny steps toward him.

“Of course,” Chan replies, eyes cast downward so he won’t have to face you.

You suggest, a hand reaching out to touch his cold one. “So, do you have anything to tell me before Chaeryeong barges in?”

Chan flinches as the warmth of your fingers burns his skin and retracts immediately as though you’ve hurt him. You blink in disbelief. For a moment, anger scratches at the back of your throat and disintegrates the next, leaving you with guilt like a block of cement forcing the air out of your lungs. Because you feel selfish for even letting yourself be angry at him when he’s not in his best mood.

“No? Okay…” Sucking in a breath, you try to give him a small smile. “You’ll still walk me down the aisle, won’t you?”

“Yeah, I will.”

You pause by the door before angling your head at him briefly, “I’ve been thinking… There are two things I’ve been wanting to tell you.”

“Go ahead. I’m all ears and all yours.” He ignores the sudden spike within the rhythm of his heartbeat and tries to suppress the strangled noise lingering between his vocal cords.

“Thank you.” Fists clenched at his sides, an impulsive statement threatens to spill from his lips at how shaky your voice is. “I’m sorry.”

Perhaps this is better than an inevitable heartbreak resulting from an inevitable rejection. Perhaps he should start learning how to unlove you.

four.

It catches Minho off guard when you approach him a few hours after dawn. During this certain period of time, you used to get yourself all huddled up at the East wing, attentively training soldiers with Chan. It is only recently (preferably after the wedding and your coronation) that he stops seeing you both together.

Scanning the ebony table full of herbs and substances that you have absolutely no knowledge of, your eyes dart around one last time to confirm that no one else is here. With a strong heave of breath, you allow yourself to take a seat across the royal physician, cautious not to knock anything over.

“Your Highness, my respects,” Minho stands up after a few seconds of processing the fact that you are now the queen of Goryeo.

He was so used to associating you with armors and blades that his brain finds it weird to see you dressed in such a delicate robe. Something’s changed, though he can’t decipher if it’s good or bad. Your eyes don’t look as lively as they were before, and the effort of putting on a firm front as the queen seems to be draining.

“Save it, I’m still not used to that,” you clasp your hands together neatly on your lap, fiddling with your fingers anxiously.

“Fine,” Minho breaks into the usual catlike smile that you’re all too familiar with. “You look...unwell. Are you okay?”

“No. I needed to ask you something, that’s all,” you shake your head. “I won’t be here for long.”

His expression turns crooked at the crack in your voice. A slight pout adores his lips, already guessing what’s bothering you and trying to come up with stories, or even whites lies to convince you that Chan does not hate you but at the same time not outright telling you that his stupidity is growing because he’s fallen head over heels for you.

“I’m not busy at the moment, do tell me.”

“Chan… has he been doing well? I haven’t seen him for weeks. Whenever I do try to meet up, he keeps pushing me away,” you voice sadly. “I know that ever since the wedding… things must have been hard for him. It’s taking a toll on me too. It hurts me to see him like this. He’s never been so out of reach, so.. illegible.”

You internally cringe at how selfish your words are. But Minho doesn’t take it that way and instead, smiles at you politely, “Chan… has not talked to you during these past few weeks? Despite you both being inside the palace? Not even once?” Only now do you notice that the corners of his lips are twitching, in anger, you dare to assume.

A small ‘no’ slips from your tired vocal cords.

Minho wants to scream into the unknown void about how ignorant his friend can be when it comes to love but suppresses the annoyance to the pit of his stomach. He’s in fact trying to console you very delicately. The only problem is his nonchalant look is straight-up sending your paranoia flying off the moon when your emotions are a clustered mess at the moment. You’re not the type to rant but you’re perpetually overwhelmed, letting the agitation get the best of you and ceasing your ability to speak normally.

“Well, isn’t he going to come hunting later tonight with you and His Majesty? Perhaps you can talk it out with him then?” Minho suggests, making a mental note for himself to whack some common senses into Chan later.

“I know,” you wave your hands. “It’s just that. I’ve missed him. Very much.”

The physician is about to reply but his mouth freezes midway when his gaze travels past your shoulders, catching a glimpse of the figure looming over yours, their eyes as cold as ice.

“Seriously?”

“Chan?” you flinch with a hand flying to your chest in surprise.

“Your Highness, the reason why we haven’t been able to meet up is that since you’re no longer part of the military regime, the amount of work is doubled up for me,” he says, not looking at you. “Who am I to make the queen of Goryeo do something as disgraceful as training soldiers?”

“Disgraceful? That was my duty—“

He nods sternly, “Your duty now is to stay by the king’s side.”

“I’ve always been by his side, and yours too! You know that, Chan,” you stand up in the fraction of a second, your sorrowful eyes trying to find his unresponsive ones.

“Oh, and forgive me for being blunt but why would you bring this up to Minho? I thought you trusted me?”

“I do trust you.” You ball your fists uncomfortably.

“Then why did you have to go to him?”

You open your mouth to defend yourself but your lips are sealed shut later, your mind screaming at him that you don’t like how he’s acting toward you. At the same time, it’s telling you that the root of the problem is you. It’s not like he doesn’t have a point, you really can’t blame him for being busy. You’re being nosy when you shouldn’t have. A queen shouldn’t be nosy in the first place.

“I’m sorry,” you whisper before walking away hurriedly, head hung low in shame.

In the distance, you can hear Minho yelling at Chan to hold you back. The conflict in his voice only shatters your heart, even more, the shards drawing red on your conscience. You don’t think you know who Chan is anymore. You feel suffocated to be within his presence.

“You bastard, what were you thinking?” he comments with a brief glare.

Chan protests dryly, eyes filled with exasperation, “You know nothing about us.”

Minho grows speechless for half a second before scoffing, “I take that back. What a tremendous idea. This is brilliant. It’s truly brilliant!”

“I know.”

five.

Jisung knows something was wrong when he couldn’t find you in your shared private palace. You were alone in the garden, cloudy eyes glued to the ground as your reclined figure rested on the rock bench in exhaustion. And when he finally came up to you, you broke down into a cluttered mess of incoherent sobs. It was heart-wrenching, life-threatening even. To him.

Oh, and Jisung is furious, he is absolutely furious.

Rain patters thickly against his umbrella, against the tiled roof of the pavilions and the cement of the courtyard. The ashy canvas that hovers all beings gets torn apart when lightning strikes right through it, thunder roaring in the distance. Everything perfectly resembles the hurricane that’s raging inside Chan’s rib cage.

“Bang Chan!”

Chan can recognize the voice in an instance. He can even pinpoint exactly why Jisung is here too. His hand which is resting comfortably on his sword loosens, dropping to the side as he contemplates whether he should turn around or ignore him and make a run for it. Talking to Jisung isn’t necessarily helpful for the mess inside his head right now. Not only does he not need to be reminded of you, but he also doesn’t need Jisung to lecture him about his ignorance when Minho already did plenty of times.

The clouds inside his head aren’t fading away as he would like them to so before he can come up with a reasonable solution, Jisung has already grabbed him by the collar and dragged him under a tiled canopy where no one is around. It’s already late into the night, no one should be around at this hour anyway. The only surprising factor is that Chan makes no effort to pull himself from Jisung’s grip when he’s fully capable.

“Your Majesty, you know you could have called for me in a less...violent manner,” he gathers himself, dropping the umbrella to smooth out his collar.

Jisung spats, rage tugging at the nerves on his creased forehead, “And you knew you could have not said those words to her! You knew there was another way to fix things!”

“I don’t see a point in trying to piece something back together when it’s already broken,” Chan momentarily rolls his eyes, voice filled with spite.

“If you’re broken, we can help you. But you being broken doesn’t mean you have to break Y/N too,” Jisung says sternly, his words clear and menacingly.

Chan’s heart involuntarily sinks in a beat. Even the slightest mention of your name makes him weak to his knees, urging him to dig himself a grave and hide in it for the rest of his life. When was the last time he ever spoke your name out loud?

“I’m doing it so I can protect her! To protect you!” His voice raises into what seems like a growl, slightly getting drowned out by the sudden roar of thunder in the background.

Jisung fully takes a moment to process his words, the disbelief flashing before his perplexed eyes makes Chan’s heart drop in shame for a mere second. The young king looks genuinely tired and baffled at his protest like he’s having a hard time coming up with an eloquent reply. Mad and defeated and irked.

“And she loves you,” he smiles at his friend. It’s genuine, it baffles Chan, not surprisingly.

He shakes his head in denial, “She does not—“

“She loves you very much.”

“You know that’s not what I meant!”

Through this thick darkness, Jisung can see right through Chan’s useless stone wall and pinpoint exactly why he’s been acting so irrationally. This isn’t about you becoming the queen. You were never the problem in the first place. But he feels bad for Chan at the same time because he finds something familiar about him, something that resonates within himself.

“I love her too! But I’m afraid! Alright? I’m so stupidly in love with her that I might as well ruin everything for you both.” Everything eventually bursts out of his lips in a rushed confession. Chan can no longer speak after that. He’s never felt more helpless.

A fang-like ray lights up inside Jisung’s round eyes. He gives Chan a rough shove on the shoulder, breath ragged in pure irritation and cynicism. “Shut it. You know nothing.”

Chan does just that. He keeps his lips sealed.

“Don’t pull her into your mess,” With every breath, Jisung consecutively points at his chest with an apologetic wash on his expression. “You’re the problem. Don’t you dare use your love for her as an excuse for your ignorant actions.”

A weak whisper. “I was hurting. Do you know how much it hurts me?”

“It’s supposed to hurt. It only hurts when you truly love someone.”

“It must be nice to have that person love you back then.”

That is the breaking point of Jisung’s patience. At that moment, water finally tips over the cup and overflows, rage getting cuts on Jisung’s edges. He reaches out and strikes a harsh punch. When his fist collides with the flesh on Chan’s cheekbone, he’s sent flying to the ground. The bitter aftertaste makes Chan want to laugh at how pathetic he must have sounded but his jaw is wired shut at the sting from the blow.

“Don’t ever show up in front of Y/N again,” Jisung snaps before turning on his back and striding away briskly.

six.

Jisung doesn’t know how to feel as he stands in front of the wooden door of a cabin after almost a year since the incident. Guilt, that might be what it is. Because Chan took his words more seriously than he could ever imagine and chose to lock himself away from you, deep in the forest like a lone wolf.

Get yourself together, he tells himself, Chan is still your friend.

“Your Majesty?” Seungmin—his personal guard calls out to him when he’s starting to zone out.

“I’m alright,” Jisung clears his throat before giving the door a firm series of knocks. Moments that seem like an eternity fly by and eventually, the door swings open. He wants to exhale out of relief when a familiar face comes into view.

“Minho, I swear—“ Chan freezes midway, taking in Jisung, Seungmin, and a few other guards he easily recognizes from the palace. His expression falls flat, his gaze darkens, and his hand slams the door shut without a word.

However, it gets stuck. Tonguing the inside of his cheek in annoyance, Chan averts his gaze downward and sees the tip of a leather boot. “Don’t be insufferable. We came for something important,” Seungmin says calmly but his eyes look like they’re about to set Chan on fire if he dares to try him.

“Fine.”

They all hear him murmur before letting go of the door, revealing the neat and cozy cabin inside. There’s a single bed, a fireplace, a slightly crooked table, and another door that leads to another room. Jisung sighs, a smile tugging at his lips upon seeing that Chan didn’t let himself go completely. The place is well cleaned, meaning he’s still strict with himself.

“Why are you here?”

Seungmin clicks his tongue at his rude remark, itching for his sword but Jisung outstretches an arm to hold him back. He allows himself a few inches away from Chan so he won’t grow uncomfortable before saying, “Yongbok is about to turn a month old. We were hoping you could come.”

Chan’s dull eyes light up at the mention of your son. He felt so foolish for running away into the woods when your letter arrived at his door a few weeks ago. He couldn’t be there like he used to when you’re the happiest. But does he have the right to be there for you after what he has done?

“I can’t,” he answers sadly, drumming thoughts clouding his mind as the guards start walking around his cabin mindlessly.

Jisung takes a step toward him, only for Chan to take another one away from his friend. “No, really, I insist,” he tries to convince him. He’s growing desperate when he sees what’s lying beneath those icy eyes. Chan is still hurting, he has never stopped since their last encounter. “Y/N wants you there with us.”

“I’m sure she doesn’t.”

“Chan, please,” Jisung insists further, and something inside Chan’s chest breaks a little more. The tension is hanging midair like a string on the verge of splintering.

He unknowingly snaps, “Get out.”

“She cares about you!”

“I know that!”

“No, you don’t,” Jisung barks back at and receives a mere glare from his friend. “If you knew, you wouldn’t have been here in the first place.”

Chan elects to ignore his words from now on, “I said, GET OUT!”

“Childe Bang,” Seungmin raises a brow. “Have some respect for the king. He’s taken his own time and effort to come all the way here from the palace. The least you can do is treat him like a friend.”

One of the guards speaks up suddenly, startling both Chan and Jisung, “Your Majesty. Don’t you think that he’s acting suspicious? If he’s really your and Her Highness’s childhood friend, what harm can be done if he attends the crown prince’s full-month celebration?”

Jisung can’t help but frowns, confused. “What are you implying?”

“What I’m trying to say is that he shouldn’t be fussing over something like this if he still sees you as a friend. Unless..., he’s hiding something from you?”

Chan chuckles sarcastically, far too tired to be irked at such false accusations, “Oh, and what can that be?”

The cabin feels significantly cooler now. Gaze darting all over the place, something shiny catches Jisung’s attention. His eyes grow alarmed.

“You and the queen herself may speak of your wrongdoings in court!”

The young king’s heart thrashes inside his restrictive rib cage as he yells out Chan’s name before his feet take off running toward his friend. Those mere moments are played in slow motion as Jisung grabs Chan by the blades of his shoulders and pulls him away, alternating their initial positions. With a grimace, he braces himself as pain rips through him all at once. He looks down, and with a sigh of defeat, a blade is plunged right through his chest. A weak whimper gushes out of his lips with blood when the weapon is pulled away from his body viciously.

“Your Majesty!” Seungmin gasps in panic when his lifeless body drops to the ground like a ragged doll. After moments of sheer panic, he gathers himself before commanding, “Tie him down!”

Chan scrambles to his feet and his senses come back to him, his heart dropping to the pit of his stomach when he feels Jisung’s body limp against his own. “Jisung…?” His eyes grow stingy.

“Chan, come back to Manwoldae with me.” With the little amount of strength he has left, Jisung smiles, “Do it for Y/N. She’s still...waiting for you...”

At that, Chan nods like a madman, squeezing his friend’s cold hand as if it’s the only thing that keeps him from going insane. “I will go back with you, just don’t die on me like this! Please!”

Jisung doesn’t reply.

His hands are sticky with blood. So much blood. So dark, and red, and it reeks of guilt. It’s too much. It’s all too much. It all happened too fast.

His eyes water, vision blinded with crimson as his gaze rolls around the room and lays still on the slaughter. Fire flickers and sears through his veins, breaths mingling. Chan goes up to the man who is on his knees, his hands bound behind his back tightly.

“Why did you kill him?! Did you know who you’ve just killed?! Why did you kill Han Jisung?!”

He reaches for his neck and squeezes, threatening to crush his windpipe completely. The culprit isn’t able to answer when Chan cries out, choking on air as he desperately claws at his hands for some sort of relief. With every heaved breath, his grip ruthlessly grows a fraction tighter.

“Now that you’ve killed him… What is Y/N supposed to do?!”

“What is their son supposed to do?!”

“What am I supposed to do?!”

Seungmin places a gentle hand on his shoulder. “That’s enough,” he speaks. The guard is as shocked as Chan either way. His head is all over the place right now, he didn’t expect someone to send a spy their way like this. “It’s done. You’ve killed him. You can stop now.”

Chan inhales sharply before removing his grip. The slaughter falls to the ground in an awkward position. Dead. He turns his head toward Jisung instead, an urge to tear his own heart out of his chest is scratching against his eardrums. His friend’s blood is still turning cold on his cheeks, leaving a bitter taste with the droplets that are about to burst from his eyes. It burns, it hurts so bad. Chan might as well run his sword through himself already because how can he possibly face you after this?

He stumbles over, falls to his knees, and lets his tears fall freely. The laughter of self-mockery ripples through his muscles, shakes his body, and resonates inside his skull. Jisung is dead. But why does he feel so demised inside?

Can someone tell me what I should do now... Please… what should I do?

seven.

Several hours later, Seungmin kneels outside your private palace, suppressing his features from being contorted in pain as Chan’s cries of agony pierce right through him. A deserving price and punishment await the culprit for they have committed the most unforgivable of sins—murdering the king and queen of Goryeo.

Behind the paper-lined door, Chan is caressing your cheekbone softly in hopes of you waking up and looking at him once again. You can’t. Shaking relentlessly, his hands scarlet and sticky with the blood of the two people he cares about most. There comes the exquisite pain of loss that kills him in a way nothing else can. Like his heart has been pulled from his body yet it’s still beating at the same time. Yet it is proof that he’s hurting, the proof for his love, is it not?

Jisung, it hurts. It hurts so much… Why does it have to hurt so bad?

It’s supposed to hurt.

The tears have stopped for long. But your blood flows thickly over his fingers, cold. You must have gone some time ago. None of this would have happened if he could just push his prideful ego aside and listen to Jisung. None of this would have happened if he was selfless enough to let you go if he loved you enough to let you be happy.

If you don’t sacrifice for what you want, what you want will be the sacrifice, they say.

The room is dark, reeks of bloodshed and torment. With the soft candlelight flickering, the allure is cradling Chan in its stiff, emotionless arms.

In loss, the seven stages of grief come as a road full of shards that can only travel upon bare soles and never leave your guts. So Chan lets the pain consume him before it becomes poisonous. In quiet moments, it chokes the breath from his body and makes his mind go haywire. What was once whole is now shattered without mercy, where once was love is an emptiness, echoes a love he used to put everything into. With time, the edges of the shards get duller and he eventually finds some sort of relief.

“Didn’t you say that you wanted me here? At least… look at me. I’m right here… can you not look at me..?”

Silence.

You’ve gone too far into the mist of the tallest mountains to come back to him now, deep into the horizons, above the clouds of the canvas that drapes itself over all beings. He would sell his soul to the most feral demons within the nine tiers of the ruinous abyss if it could bring back the warmth of your cheeks. But no elixir can bring back the sweetness of your smile, the innocence in your eyes, or the sound of your laughter. Not even a favor from the gods above can possibly turn back time and give Chan a second chance to redeem himself.

He was waiting far too long for his inner turmoil to fade away that he’s utterly oblivious about your own storm. It’s funny how you both can easily do the same thing. Meanwhile, you’re waiting for Chan to come back, to ask for your help, he’s only focusing on his own pain.

“You’ve been waiting for me this whole time,” he murmurs into your hair lifelessly. “How could I be so foolish? Why can’t I just give up on my damned pride for once and listen to Jisung?”

Despair numbs his spine, bloodshot eyes staring off into space as he gently rocks you back and forth. His body shudders unknowingly, like crimson is dripping from his innards, every breath being knocked right out of his chest ruthlessly. “I never knew...if I was doing the right thing. You said you would always be there for me, yet I wasn’t there when you needed me the most. I never cared!”

“Jisung was right, I never knew how much you cared. I never knew about your suffering or your pain. I never asked if you were happy that we’d turned out this way.”

One last tear silently rolls down on his face, for he—someone who cared so little is undeserving of your love. Because of him, no one gets the happiness that they deserve.

At the end of the day, the real slaughter is him. The most tainted soul of all belongs to him. The greatest sinner at the end of the line is him. Forever will Chan be trapped in the moment of having his hands stained with your blood. The scars he’s embedded in himself shall not go away until the end of this lifetime. And a day shall not pass in vain if his heart does not ache for you and Jisung.

Chan hopes that the sky is pretty and full of stars, wherever you two are right now.

eight.

“Mother...,” Yongbok picks up a doll, giggling to himself before averting his gaze to the other one in his hand. “Father...”

His shoulders slump with a familiar weight, sadness washing over the pureness of his eyes. “...and Yongbokie.”

People often ask him how it feels to be an orphan. Truth is, he does not know. He only ever wanted to ask them what it feels like to have a family.

With a huff of annoyance, the young prince tosses his doll away. His murmurs go unnoticed even to himself when he buries his face into his knees, blinking back the wetness upon his lashes. Oh, how he yearns the nagging of a father and the gentleness of a mother that his peers often take for granted.

His head perks up the moment he feels another presence beside him.

“...who are you?”

That’s when he sees, with his starry eyes, a figure taking their seat with him, right in front of his dead parents’ portrait.

The wind caresses water delicately, leaves rustling like hushed whispers in awe of the precious crown prince. The stranger freezes momentarily before him, utterly awestruck. It’s been almost ten years since he’s come back to Manwoldae. Yongbok has grown into his features more now. From the still-crystalline eyes that he adores the most, to the cute button nose and chubby cheeks. He’s beautiful.

You grew up so fast. His heart clenches.

“Hmm, me?” Chan rubs his chin in a playful manner. “I’m your uncle.”

Yongbok’s face lights up at that. “Uncle?”

A breathless chuckle. “That’s uncle Chan for you, Your Highness.”

“Uncle Chan,” the young prince calls out to him, making his heart dance. “Have you ever met my parents before?”

At this very moment, Chan knows he wouldn’t want to let this bundle of joy into the cruel world out there. His innocence reminds him of affection and bond, things that the callousness in his heart has long abandoned. He’s as vulnerable as a single snowflake, one wrong touch and he might just disappear forever. If Chan allows this little ray of light to venture into his pitch-black night, he might as well detest his very own existence.

“Of course, I have.”

“You have?”

“Yes.”

“They told me that… my mother was a bad person,” Yongbok shifts his gaze downward, teary-eyed.

Chan only shakes his head, a gentle hand ruffling his soft locks of hair. “Yongbok, ignore them,” he says. “Your mother was strong and very kind-hearted.”

“And my father?”

The smile on Yongbok’s face doesn’t last long before a small pout forms on his lips. He looks discouraged. As though he’s been keeping a lot of things to himself without any condolences from others. Because no one feels like they have the right to empathize with the crown prince of Goryeo about his parents’ tragic death. But if Chan is holding the entire world in one hand and him in the other, he won’t waste a single heartbeat to take him.

“Uncle, are you okay?” Yongbok’s small voice snaps him out of it.

“Huh, what-“

Chan flinches slightly when his nephew rises to his feet, reaches up, and attempts to messily wipe his cheeks with his tiny hand. Hot tears have been trickling down his face unknowingly, his lashes heavy with droplets. He wants to slap himself back to reality—he shouldn’t be crying, he can’t cry in front of Yongbok. Not because Chan wants to protect the innocent glint within his eyes, but because he’s the only one who needs to go through this agony.

With a long inhale, he pulls himself away from his nephew’s clumsy grip. Both hands on his shoulders, Chan wipes his tears with the back of his hands before pulling the young prince into his arms.

“...your father loved your mother, very much so.”

Jisung did love you. More than Chan ever could.

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snarky-wallflower · 7 months ago

Note

Thank you so much for tagging me, @thehallstara!

we must go on with the show! is the first fic I thought of when it came to this. It’s a Hatchetfield fic, an exploration of what, exactly, could have happened after the curtain closed on Emma Perkins in Inevitable. I saw the chance for a mockery of a “date”, something Emma would never get to have with this version of Paul, and leapt at it. I really enjoyed getting to play with how Infected Paul would break down Emma, and what the end of the world looked like! It even got recognized by one of my favourite Hatchetfield authors, fencecollapsed - I nearly dropped my phone when I saw that notification!

always be my favourite ghost is a Night In The Woods fic that explores grieving Casey Hartley, and what it means to lose someone for absolutely no reason. I wanted to talk about how everyone has someone that will miss them even if they're gone. It's my love letter to Night in The Woods, that it matters that you were here, even if you are forgotten eventually. For a fic I wrote mostly on a red-eye flight, I'm still so proud of it.

Wave Your World Goodbye is a Hatchetfield fic that I did NOT expect to get as long as it did - it was my first ever (and only, really) completed multi chapter fic. I've always loved the trope of damsels in distress, and it was so much fun to get to write that for the first time! In my defense, Duke Keane could have such damsel in distress energy, and getting to write him and Miss Holloway being incredibly in love even through all of that was delightful. Besides, I got to write Wiley being a bastard, and I'm disturbingly good at that, as it turns out. I think writing the ending is one of the times where I've felt actually evil.

the promises i made (just hold on) is a Madoka Magicia fic where I wrote one important conversation Homura had with each main character over her decade-and-more of looping. I really enjoyed diving deep into her character here - how she can never give up on Madoka, how that self-sacrifice has made it so that she really has nothing else, only the echoes of a friendship long-since-gone.

the present (after it’s past) is a Pulp Musicals fic that's all about broken friendships, and just what it might take to repair them. The Stratfords' relationship with Benjamin fascinates me, especially after the Great Moon Hoax! The narrative may not think about him for a while, but god knows I will. It's about the complexities of being friends with someone for years, not catching what was wrong until too late--being angry at him, justifiably, but also knowing you don't want to throw the whole friendship away. It's my favourite Pulp fic I've written, and I wrote it mostly in a hotel room at 12 am.

and for my writer mutuals (no pressure!): @acaciapines, @amethystunarmed, @markeronacomputer, @sherbetflowers and @lilacthebooklover!

Fic authors self rec! When you get this, reply with your favorite five fics that you've written, then pass on to at least five other writers. Let's spread the self-love 💞

Luckily, I have written at least five things! <sigh of relief>

In no particular order:

Once Was Lost - The start of it all. I still “enjoy” the feeling that the inevitable approach to the gallows gives.

To Tame A Tiger - We are all miss Blaseball, RIV, and all that. I wasn’t as active as I would’ve liked, but I’m still proud of this piece, and how it gives a bit of character to an underrepresented player.

Future Past - While Once Was Lost is the start of things, this is where a little of the meat of the story starts coming into play.

Pulling Loose The Threads - Escalation is the name of the game here, and shows a solid link to the established canon, which I’m always wary about doing.

Holiday In Eorzea - Not just a Dead Kennedys reference! This is easily the most ambitious thing I’ve written to date, and it’s far from over. The sad thing in my mind is that it comes after a lot of other parts that are yet to be written. But sometimes, stories have their time and demand it.

Thanks for the ask, @brasideios! I’ll leave the floor open for anyone else who would like, but I’d like to hear from @kosmosxipo , @mossy-kit, and @cyndakip - Talk some Spit!

#snarky speaks #ask games #writing games #faves #writing #fanfic #ao3

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justauthoring · 4 years ago

Text

To Be Loved (1/?)

Prompt: Perhaps, you understand Harry Potter better then anyone else. Perhaps, it’s why, when your eyes meet his for the first time, you feel an instant connection. Perhaps, it’s why, you love him.

Based off of: The Harry Potter Series Pairing: Harry Potter x Black/Tonks!Reader, slight Fred Weasley x Black/Tonks!Reader A/N: So here it is!! The very first part!! I really hope you guys enjoy the series because I am so incredibly stoked for her -- specifically movies POA, GOF, and OOTP!! I have so much planned, lol.

Also, Fred won the voting poll -- meaning, Y/N will have a small bit of romance with him, before she eventually ends up with Harry.

Chapters will also be longer after this one, but I felt an introduction was needed, so it’s a tad bit on the short side.

“Lupin, I... we...--”

There’s an echo of silence. Andromeda finds herself unsure of what to say, or rather, how to say it. Her mind was fuzzy with great confusion, her chest tight with fear. She could hardly believe it -- how could it... it couldn’t possibly be true.

Her husband seems to understand her meaning though, understanding the thoughts that race through her mind. With a brief glance her way, taking in the lost expression in her eyes, Ted swallows thickly before glancing over to the young man sat in front of him. He looked tired, terribly so. He looked misplaced, as if he didn’t belong where he was sat; uncomfortable too. His eyes were dull, no light in them, no spark of joy.

Ted didn’t blame him. This man had lost four friends in one night. This man had lost his happiness completely. The dull look in his eyes was an understatement of what he’d endured, witness and gone through.

“It’s true then?” Ted asks quietly, not really sure how else to phrase the question. He felt like he was walking on eggshells, not wanting to set off either of those sat around him, but desperate to know the truth. “He... really did do it?”

He doesn’t have to say a name for Lupin to know who he’s talking about.

“It would seem that way,” Lupin whispers, voice gone, faint, cracked. Ted regards him carefully, with a watchful eye, but also, pity. Understanding of something he didn’t truly understand. He had no idea the severity of how the young man must be feeling, and in all truth, he didn’t want to. Ted had been friends with him too, but not like Lupin. “He’s being sent to Azkaban.”

“What about the boy?”

It’s the first coherent and full sentence Andromeda has managed to find herself able to speak. It’s the first time she’s felt she’s been able to find her voice again. Her eyes flicker to Lupin’s and hold his own scared and sad ones firmly, worry in her gaze for that young baby. The Boy Who Lived. The boy who no longer had parents of his own. The boy who was alone in this world.

“Dumbledore says he’ll be staying with the next of kin,” Lupin explains, voice numb. “Lily’s...--” And he chokes at the mention of her name. “Lily’s, uh, sister and her husband. The have a child Harry’s age.”

Ted nods, makes the most sense. Of course, he didn’t know what Lily’s sister really was like.

Lupin did though.

Andromeda’s head turns, glancing up at the stairs of her house, to where you lay, peacefully asleep. She’d put you asleep herself not an hour ago, held you in her arms when the world had seemed alright. She’d told you that your father would be back soon, that daddy was coming to see you. At the time, it’d been true. Now, Andromeda felt like nothing but a filthy liar.

Turning back to Lupin, her mind set; “we’re keeping Y/N.”

“D-Dromeda--” Ted stutters, appalled by her words. It wasn’t that he didn’t feel the same, he didn’t want to give you up either. Not with everything that’s happened. Not after your father...-- But, he didn’t know if it was their place to be making any demands. He didn’t know if they’d be allowed to keep you.

Andromeda’s fierce and determined eyes fall on her husband. “She belongs with us.” She says, voice firm and raising slightly with distress and plea. “We’re her next of kin. We’ve already taken care of her this much. She needs to be with us, she needs a sense of familiarity. I won’t just pass her off like some trophy for the winning and I certainly won’t let my family have her.” Then, she turns to Lupin. “We’d take great care of her. We already have. We’d raised her loved. Adopt her so she’s really part of the family, last name and all.”

“Dromeda,” Ted hisses lightly, placing his hand over her own, squeezing it tightly. “Lupin’s her Godfather.” He turns to Lupin, whose yet to say anything. Or really even react. “Y/N belongs with him just as much as us.”

There’s an air of silence. Both Ted and Andromeda turn to Lupin, waiting, expecting.

Shifting in his seat, Lupin leans forward, clasping his hands together on the table. A small, almost thoughtful smile curls onto his lips as he keeps his gaze lowered. “Sirius named me her Godfather,” there’s a pause at the sound of his name. “It’s true. And I love Y/N like my own daughter. But, you,” and his eyes set on Andromeda specifically. “Will raise her better then I ever could.”

Andromeda eases, and a small smile curls onto her lips. Ted seems a bit more reluctant.

“Are you sure, Lupin--”

Lupin nods. “I have one request however.”

“Anything.”

“I’d still like to... visit her.” Lupin whispers, body tensing as his vulnerability shines through. “I’m afraid I won’t be able to see Harry because Dumbledore would like him to grow up away from magic. But... I couldn’t bare to...” And he doesn’t finish, not sure how to.

Andromeda reaches across the table, taking Lupin’s hand in her own, which elicits a soft gasp of surprise from him, before she squeezes it firmly. When Lupin meets her gaze, her eyes are warm and inviting, and despite everything she’s found the strength to smile. “Of course,” she whispers with certainty, “you can visit Y/N anytime. Our home is yours.”

Lupin nods, smiling his thanks.

They finish the night off with a promise from Andromeda that she assures Lupin that Ted and her will take great care of Y/N. Lupin has no doubt that they will. Sirius had left you with them in the first place, as protection from everything. And even now, after everything, Lupin is assured he’d never cause harm to you. Never you.

Ted and Andromeda Tonks home was the best home for you.

He makes his way up the steps, wanting to say farewell one last time because it might be a bit before he can see you again. He creeps into your room, making sure to be extra quiet when he sneaks past the Tonks daughter Nymphadora’s room, slipping into your own. A sense of ease floods him at the sight of you, peacefully sleeping away. Your tiny little thumb was in your mouth and your H/C hair came out in wisps around your head.

But Lupin knew, if you’d open your eyes, he’d see Sirius staring back at him.

Lupin finds himself then, glad that you’re asleep.

Leaning over the edge of your crib, the tips of Lupin’s fingers ghost across your skin softly, touch gentle, eyes adoring as he smiles faintly down at you. The smile doesn’t reach his eyes, but, he does find himself at peace with you. An innocent baby who had no idea what your own father just done.

“Your father wasn’t always like this,” Lupin whispers, wistfully. “There was a time he...he--” And he can’t finish. It’s too painful. Memories of his friendship with your father, with James and Peter too... it hurts too much that words can’t even properly explain it.

“I’ll see you soon, Y/N. That’s a promise.”

When he’s making his way out the door, bidding farewell to both Andromeda and Tonks. he finds himself making one last request. “Don’t tell her about Sirius. No one really knows he even has a daughter.” And at the confused and baffled expressions he receives, he adds. “At least, don’t tell her the truth. She doesn’t deserve to have that weight placed on her.”

Sirius Black’s daughter; just as crazed and evil as he is.

Sirius Black’s daughter; a murderer for a father.

Sirius Black’s daughter; hated by everyone because he killed James and Lily Potter.

You don’t deserve that.

And Andromeda and Ted have no reason to argue. Because he’s right.

11 YEARS LATER

You wake with a start.

Today’s the day.

Jumping up to your feet, you hastily start to get ready. Your feet bounce with each step you take and you can hardly contain yourself as you start rushing about your room, trying to brush your hair and teeth at the same time. Trying to pull on your shirt while washing your face.

You can hear the distant sounds of pots and pans downstairs and know that breakfast is being made. But even as your stomach rumbles in hunger, you find you don’t really much care about whatever’s being made for breakfast that morning. Because, today’s the day.

You come bounding into the kitchen, a knowing smile on Andromeda’s face as she hears your racing footsteps come barreling down the stairs. Ted smirks behind his coffee cup as you come running into the kitchen, breathless, your hair a knotted mess upon your head, the sleeve of your sweater hanging off your shoulder.

“Good morning, darling,” Andromeda greets with a light laugh, quirking a brow over at you as you take a seat at the kitchen table. She places the prepared plate of food before you, before turning to do the same with Ted, who presses a grateful kiss against her cheek in response, before moving off to grab a plate for herself, not saying anything else.

Your eyes watch her carefully, anxious.

“My God, Y/N,” begins Ted, setting down the paper he’d been reading to glance over at you, feigned shock plastered on his face. “You can barely keep still in your own seat. Is there something on your mind?”

You huff at him, shaking your head. How typical of him to forget. “Today’s the day!”

Teasingly, Ted glances back at Andromeda, who, like him, feigns understanding.

“What’s today?”

You only shake your head again, choosing not to answer -- they should know -- and exasperated with them as you take a big bite out of your toast, As you quickly sip some orange juice, you turn your attention back on them. “Has the post come yet?”

“Oh!” Andromeda calls, setting down her plate before walking back over to kitchen counter to grab a handful of letters. “Thank you for reminding me, darling. I’m expecting a letter.”

Me too. You watch carefully, food forgotten, as she stifles through the handful of letters, leg pouncing with anticipation.

It has to be in there. It has to be in there.

But it isn’t. Andromeda goes through all four letters in her hand and not one of them is for you.

Your heart falls with devastation, plummeting to the pit of your stomach as your shoulders slack and you glance down at your lap. You almost want to cry you’re so disappointed. But today was supposed to be... It should’ve come today...

“What’s the matter, Y/N?” Ted questions, taking another sip of his coffee. “Were you expecting a letter?”

With a moan, you nod, poking at your food.

“Perhaps a letter from... Hogwarts?”

You raise your head, eyes flickering upwards as a bright, big smile curls onto your lips when you see the letter levitating before your eyes. A glance back at Ted and Andromeda and you can tell, if it hadn’t been obvious before, that they’d been teasing you purposely and with a roll of your eyes, you quickly snatch the letter, practically ripping the envelope open.

You open it with with eager eyes, barely able to contain your happiness as you begin reading aloud:

Dear Miss Tonks,

We are pleased to inform you that you have been accepted at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry

Please find enclosed a list of all necessary books and equipment.

Term begins on 1 September. We await your owl by no later than 31 July.

Yours sincerely,

Minerva McGonagall. Deputy Headmistress.

Your excited eyes fall on your adoptive parents. “It’s true then?” You question, voice pitching, hopeful. “I’m going to Hogwarts? Really?”

Laughing, Andromeda nods. “Yes, it’s true, dear.”

A squeal of joy leaves your lips and you practically hug the letter tight to your chest, eyes clenching shut in joy. You’ve only ever heard about Hogwarts from your parents and your sister, Nymphadora, who had graduated not that long ago. They were all in separate houses, and every story they told you, you held on tightly to, absorbing it with great fascination and interest for the day you finally got to go yourself.

And it was really happening!

“I wonder what house i’ll be in,” you wonder aloud, voice soft with curiosity, nervous eyes peeking over at your parents. “I wonder who my friends’ll be.”

“I do believe the Weasley’s youngest son starts his first year this year too,” Ted offers, nodding to himself as he smiles over you. “I’m sure you and Ron will be able to help each other out.”

You smile, nodding. “And the twins too! They’ll be in their...” You pause in thought for a moment, before grinning. “Third year!”

“Yes,” Ted laughs, nodding. “The twins too. They’re quite fond of you.”

A small blush comes to your cheeks.

“And,” Andromeda moves to add, meeting your gaze firmly. “We’ll support you no matter what house you end up in. I was in Slytherin, Ted, Ravenclaw and Nymphadora in Hufflepuff.” She pauses, before a thought occurs to her. “And then, Lupin was in--”

“Gryffindor!” You answer for her, smiling big. “Ooh! I’ll have to send him a letter, tell him i’m going to Hogwarts. He’ll be so happy. Do you think he’ll be proud?”

“Of course he will.” Andromeda smiles, “maybe he can take you shopping for your school supplies.”

Biting your lip, you set down your letter. “Do you think he will?”

Ted shrugs. “I don’t see why not.”

“I’m sure Uncle Lupin would love too.” Andromeda assures you, before her eyes fall on your plate. “Now, eat, darling. You’ve got a busy few days ahead of yourself, what with starting Hogwarts and all.”

Your stomach rumbles as Andromeda finishes, and you comply without complaint, moving to finish your breakfast eagerly. But still, even as you eat and the two of them chatter off absentmindedly, all you can seem to focus on is Hogwarts. On what you have to expect. All the wonderful new things you’ll learn...

You hope you’re Gryffindor like Uncle Lupin. He also told you that your father had been Gryffindor, and even if your father would never be able to tell you, you’d do anything to make him proud. Plus, almost all of the Weasleys are Gryffindor’s too. You’d love to be in the same house as Fred and George.

Slytherin would be cool too. Especially since your mom was apart of it. So would Ravenclaw and Hufflepuff.

But Gryffindor... to be closer to your dad...

That’d be nice.

Let me know what you thought?

TAGLIST: @storiesbystarlight - @scattered-mood - @tinymidgetsstuff - @itsfangirlmendes - @im-a-totally-random-person - @slytherinwriter618 - @bloodorangemoonlight - @subjecta13-thefangirl - @areallydrypie - @euphorictulip - @missmulti - @tinytommyshelby - @you-bleed-to-know-youre-alivee - @divergenttributerunnerslytherin - if you’d like to be tagged, just send me an ask!

#Harry Potter #Harry Potter imagine #Harry Potter x reader #Harry Potter rewrite #Harry Potters series #TBL #To Be Loved #Harry Potter and the The Philosphers Stone #Fred Weasley #Fred Weasley imagine #Daniel Radcliffe #Daniel Radcliffe imagine #Daniel Radcliffe x reader #imagine #imagines #my fics

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valkyrieofsmut · 4 years ago

Text

Double stuffed birthday

Stucky x Reader

Descriptions: (Y/n) has huge crushes on her neighbors, but they’re in a relationship- with each other. She’s sad to miss out, thinking they’re both only into men, but wants the best for them. Until one night she hears a woman’s moans coming through the wall... Afraid to hurt one of them, she has to come clean about what she heard, and finds out that- maybe she has a chance after all...?

Types: Double penetration, threesome, two guys one girl, virgin reader, preparation, smut!

Warnings: None, I think.

Words: 3347

A/n- THAT’S RIGHT! DOUBLE STUFFED BIRTHDAY! BECAUSE! I’M... A DORK! *sigh*... This Ask came from forever and a day ago (You can see how far behind I am... )

Masterlist

Story!

(Y/n) wanted something special for her birthday…

She was tired of sitting around admiring the two super soldiers who were her great friends, and had been since they moved in a couple of years ago.

It had started as any other day; her getting home from work, checking the mail, planning what to make for dinner. The only difference had been that there was a moving truck outside.

When she'd gotten up to her floor, she saw boxes all over the hallway, and, while being careful and watching her feet to not trip over them, she didn't see the bulky man coming around the doorway next to hers, who then nearly mowed her over, but caught her with his quick reflexes.

She later brought them cookies as a welcome to the building treat, and they invited her to have dinner to get to know each other.

It was a wonderful night, and they became great friends.

The next while was nice, showing them movies, finding out that they were, in fact, Captain America and Bucky Barnes, best friends, comrades in arms, roommates, and… a bit more.

Truly, not many could understand the life they'd lived; WWII veterans would understand the life and the war, the Avengers would understand that part of the fighting they'd gone through, but since the other experimental subjects that had been with Bucky had been… terminated… they were the only supersoldiers left in the world- that were known of, anyway. And even then, Steve could never quite know what Bucky had gone through as a prisoner of war, tortured and experimented on; after all, Steve had been able to volunteer for the supersoldier program.

So it made sense that they had gone from bffs to bffs with benefits, since they were really the only ones they could completely trust with themselves.

It made (Y/n) a bit sad, wishing that she'd have a chance with them, but it was hard to be jealous when they were both good friends and they were happy together.

That certainly didn't keep her from dreaming, though…

And dream she did.

Being a virgin did nothing to stop her imagination, and it's no wonder with the internet and the plethora of erotic stories. It all gave her a wealth of fantasies to pull from when she was alone.

Even if she had to be very quiet, since their bedrooms apparently shared a wall.

How awkward would it be the day after to see them in the hall and have one of them comment, "so hey, I heard you screaming mine and my partner's name in orgasm last night…"

Yeah… That was definitely something she wanted to avoid.

They tried to return the favor as well, it seemed, since sometimes she could hear them, just barely, keeping quiet as they were intimate.

She… may or may not have joined in privately those times…

So, when she heard a woman crying out one night, she was understandably a bit distressed thinking that one of her friends had cheated on the other.

It ate at her for a week. She wanted to talk to them, needed to talk about it, but she didn't know who it was, and she didn't want to hurt one of them.

Finally, she couldn't hold it in any longer, and knocked on the door, greeting Steve when he answered.

"Hey, (Y/n), how are you doing?"

"I- I'm…" She took a breath and turned to him, pushing it out, but awkwardly wishing she could pull it back halfway through, "I heard- so-omething- the… other day…"

"I'm sorry…?" He offered, completely lost, but able to tell she was distressed by whatever she'd heard.

He was so kind- his face showed he was so sweet-

(Y/n) didn't know what to do!

She couldn't imagine this sweet teddy bear of a man cheating, and she definitely didn't want to hurt him!

"I- I'm sorry, I- heard something in- uh, from, the bedroom…"

His cheeks flashed the lightest shade of pink, an apologetic smile tilting his lips.

"What's up with Dolly?" Bucky asked from the doorway to the kitchen.

(Y/n) felt panic building in her veins.

Oh shit-

What do I do?!

"Apparently we were a bit loud the other night," Steve answered, his eyes still on hers.

Oh god- she could feel her blood rushing in her ears! Heat spreading over her body- knots forming in her stomach-!

"No- no, I-! Um! I have to g-" She stopped. "I don't want to ruin your relationship but I heard one of you in the bedroom with a woman!"

Having word vomited her news out, she desperately wanted to leave. She hurried to turn and do so, but Steve caught her arm.

“Wait, wait, wait. You what?”

(Y/n) could feel the panic building in her stomach, making her feel a bit nauseous. “I heard- I heard someone in the bedroom- I heard a woman in your bedroom- I- I’m sorry,” she told them, starting to breathe heavily with her panic.

Steve and Bucky shared a look, then looked back to her.

“I- I have to go- I’m-”

“Hey, hey,” Steve cooed, trying to calm her down, used to Bucky’s panic attacks.

Bucky tossed the potholder in his hand on the counter and headed over to help calm her. They stroked her back, murmuring calming words to her until she could catch her breath.

“I- I’m sorry- I just- didn’t- want to hurt- you guys,” she told them.

They shared another look and looked back to her, an apologetic look in their eyes.

“W-well, I guess this is how you find out,” Steve commented softly.

“F-find out- what?”

Bucky cleared his throat and looked away, muttering something to himself and rubbing his metal arm.

“We’re not gay, (Y/n)...”

“B-but I thought-” She blinked in confusion, her words leaving her.

“I’m sorry if there was a misunderstanding,” Steve told her, still holding onto her to give support. “We’re not gay; we’re bi…”

Bucky cleared his throat and gave a crooked smile to the wall he was staring at. “Yeah, ahem, S-Steve might not have gotten many dames back in the day, but, uh-”

Steve snorted. “Bucky got lots of ‘tail’.”

“U-uh- oh! Oh… wow… I- I’m sorry I came bursting in here like- like a crazy person,” (Y/n) told them, feeling her embarrassment replacing the panic.

As she’d left, she was sure that she’d heard Bucky telling Steve, “see? This is why you don’t make the plans. What the hell kind of plan was that anyway?! You gave her a panic attack!”

And now, a month later, when she was getting closer to her birthday, she’d decided to bring up her request. Just between friends, people she trusted, the three of them- she wanted them to take her virginity.

Steve looked at her in shock. “Y-you’re a virgin?”

“Yeah…?” (Y/n) answered, not understanding why that was strange; everyone was born a virgin, so everyone was at some point in their life…

“But- but like, actually a virgin,” Bucky reiterated. “Not- not like ‘I’m a “virgin” because I’m a “born again virgin”’?”

“Yes- a what? No- look. It’s simple. I am a virgin. I’ve never had sex. No penis in any of my orifices. Virgin.”

The two men looked at each other, sharing a look like something suddenly made sense.

“And- and you want us to- you want one of us to take your virginity?” Steve asked.

“Well, I mean, if Bucky was such a lady killer back in the forties, I’m sure he’s had a few, so nothing new to him…”

They both chuckled awkwardly at that.

“But, I- I was actually hoping… That… you both…?”

“Both…” Steve blinked, then looked at Bucky.

“Both of us? In the same night?”

“A-at the same- time,” she offered.

Steve shook his head. “No.”

Bucky shot him a look. “Oh, you suddenly have good ideas?”

“No; (Y/n), Cookie, we can’t- we can’t take you at the same time-”

“I’ve seen porn, Steve,” she scolded.

“I’ve seen it happen,” Bucky added, deadpan.

“Not when you’re a virgin! It’ll- it’ll- Bucky!” Steve looked at him for support. “It’d rip her to shreds!”

Bucky paused, tilting his head. “Y-yeah… he’s got a point there, Dolly…”

“But- but! Every one has sex a first time! It’s not like I’m any different!”

Bucky shook his head, “but, not everyone is trying to have double penetration their first go. Not only that, but- the- the serum… it affected all of us… all of us,” he stressed before turning to Steve and patting him on the shoulder a bit mockingly. “Look at you, thinking things through. Proud of you, Punk.”

“Shut up, Jerk,” Steve shot back.

“But… there’s not any way…?” (Y/n) asked sadly.

The two shared a look again, looking hesitant.

“Th- there might be a way…”

“It’ll take a long time…”

“What is it?” She asked.

“Well- you- you might stand a chance if you- ahem- did some… some training to your- your holes…” Bucky looked like he was about to die blushing.

Steve nodded, also looking a bit uncomfortable. “Yeah… if you could… train them… then you’d stand a chance to take one of us…”

“So- I’d just have to, what, stick fingers in and stretch or something?” She asked.

Bucky let out a choked laugh.

“Uh, no, Cookie…” Steve told her, a small chuckle leaving him. “Well… training can be fun… and we can start with fingers, but… we’re going to have to… graduate to… larger things.”

(Y/n) blinked at them. “...ok…”

And thus began the training.

(Y/n) went to their apartment the next day, eager to start the training, and wasn’t surprised when they had her remove her bottoms.

“Ok, Doll,” Bucky started, helping her lay back on the bed. He lifted her legs and let them fall open, helping to stretch the inside flexors of her hips. His eyes went right to her bare pussy and stayed there, like they were glued for a minute before he cleared his throat roughly. “Steve… Steve, c’mere…”

“Yeah?” Steve asked, leaning over from where he was monitoring her reactions.

“Look at this cute little pussy… She’s… Damn…”

Steve looked down and his expression changed. “She… Wow…”

“Hey, uh, guys, you’re kinda weirding me out, here… Is something wrong with me…?!”

“Nah- nah, Dolly, just… You’re so cute… and-” Bucky cut off, clearing his throat. “Nothin’s wrong.”

Steve’s fingers ran down her, and (Y/n) let out a gasp. “Oh, shit…” He stroked over her again. “We’re going to have to be careful, Buck… not get…”

“Carried away, yeah,” Bucky agreed. “Ok, Doll, we’re starting… ready?”

She nodded, and the next thing she expected was something inserted, but instead, it was just more petting. She looked up at them in question, but they seemed to know what they were doing, and she honestly had not much, if any at all, experience.

(Y/n) felt herself starting to get more interested, more swollen at the attention that was being paid to her. She felt her body heating up, getting ready for what was going to happen.

Steve was petting her hair and stroking over her cheeks and neck, giving words of encouragement, telling her how sexy it was watching Bucky doing the things he was to her.

Bucky ran his fingers between her lips, getting her used to the feeling for a moment, then rubbed around her clit, circling and rubbing over it, his eyes getting dark and hooded as she made soft little noises. He cursed softly before moving one finger to her opening and starting to push in.

“Bucky,” she huffed, laughing, but still going to moan. “Your finger- isn’t the first thing going up there,” she told him.

Bucky looked up at her. “N-? Oh, right…” He chuckled. “There are all sorts of things to put here these days.”

(Y/n) felt like she was about to immediately regret those words…

Bucky slipped his finger in, moving slowly for a couple of thrusts before adding a finger. “Two,” he updated Steve. “Let’s see how far we can get her today.”

“Bucky,” Steve chided, “don’t try rushing it.”

Bucky looked up at him, flashing a cheeky smirk. “Course not. Running in blindly with no plan is your thing.”

Steve gave him a dry look, but stayed quiet.

(Y/n) was panting under Bucky’s ministrations already, her hips starting to arch with his movements.

When he scissored his fingers apart to stretch her a bit more, the noises that she was making changed, making both guys lick their lips and watch intently.

He managed to get three fingers in, keeping her at the edge of orgasm, not letting her come.

“I wanna turn,” Steve said, his eyes trained on Bucky’s hand as it was quickly getting wetter.

“Why don’t you work on the other side,” Bucky suggested.

“Think that’d be ok, Cookie?” Steve asked softly.

(Y/n) looked up at him, her body feeling ready for orgasm. She nodded and they shifted her to her side so that Bucky could reach her pussy, and Steve had room to work on her ass.

Bucky had her foot planted on his shoulder to keep her open, working slowly at her, and Steve rubbed and squeezed her ass for a moment.

“It’s going to be cold for a moment,” he warned her, and she heard some noises like he was rubbing something between his fingers before they touched her.

His fingers were a bit cold, but they warmed up as he moved them over her rear opening, slowly starting to dip his finger in.

Wow- wow! She’d never felt this strange sort of double stimulation before! It felt- it felt really good!

(Y/n) started groping at her chest, moaning and whining as they moved. She could hear them talking to each other, working in conjunction, and she felt when Steve switched fingers, stroking her inside as she was driven closer and closer to her end.

“Steve, you’re going to have to- I’ve got her foot on my shoulder,” Bucky’s voice drifted up to her dreamily.

(Y/n) could only spare a partial thought wondering what that was about, but the rest of her body was feeling too good, especially when her hands went under her shirt and bra to get to her bare breasts.

Another hand was on her, two fingers stroking along her, on either side of her clit, and she arched and moaned, hearing two answering moans from near her knees. The three hands worked in tandem, getting into rhythm and stroking her.

It felt so good, it was like pleasure bursting through every part of her- making her whole body shiver.

“Look at her, she’s doing so good,” one cooed.

“God, I can’t wait to have her between us…” The other agreed.

“Oh, that’s it, look at her; she’s getting close.”

(Y/n) was having trouble catching her breath, her hips rocking with their rhythm. “G- I- yeah,” she panted to them, her moans getting louder and louder.

“That’s it, come for us, gorgeous.”

(Y/n) cried out as she came, clenching around both of them and feeling them in even more detail inside her.

“Good girl… such a good girl…”

Every day after work, she’d go to their apartment, and repeat the process.

Everyday after work, she'd only come once, but it was a pretty strong orgasm.

Until, finally, it was the day.

“You can say no, if you want to.”

“No one will think less of you.”

“I know.” She was naked in front of them, laid out on the bed, watching as lube was poured into a palm. “Isn’t that too much…?”

They shared a look.

“Nope.”

“Trust us.”

They worked into her one at a time, one on the bed, her sliding onto him, feeling him filling her pussy like it had never been filled before. No tampon or toy, even when they’d been doing their training and they’d stretched her open with toys, had ever filled her this much.

They took a break, letting her lay on his chest as the other lubed up her ass next to prepare her for him to enter.

“Are you ready?”

She nodded, though her eyes were closed and she was still taking deep breaths.

The super soldier behind her started to press into her, going slow, so mercifully slow, and letting her stretch around him.

“Oh shit- (Y/n)- ah god, you’re so t-tight…”

Somehow he managed to push all the way in without many stops, and (Y/n) had never felt fuller in her life.

There was panting from in front and behind her as both men caught their breaths, and the three of them slowly started growing accustomed to the tight feeling.

When they started moving, she felt the way their cocks dragged at her skin, the friction feeling like pleasurable stroking pushing her closer to orgasm. They switched the way they thrust, and suddenly, Steve was pushing into her while Bucky was pulling out, then they were switching.

(Y/n) couldn’t breathe, it felt so good- her mind turned itself off, and the only thing going through her head was it trying to process the sensation of them moving inside her.

“Oh, fuck,” Bucky groaned, leaning in and tilting her chin to kiss her.

Steve kept thrusting, groaning as he moved. “God, f-f- feel so-” He pulled the kiss apart by turning (Y/n)’s face to him instead.

Bucky licked his lips as he watched them kiss, his hips bucking into her slowly and steadily.

Steve pulled back and kissed Bucky, who leaned into the kiss as well, both hugging tight around (Y/n).

They each took a breast, kneading and playing with it, tugging and rolling her nipples as they moved.

It was so good-

It was so much-

It was too good-

It was too much-!

(Y/n) let out a high pitched cry as she came, hard, squeezing tight around them, making Bucky and Steve both let out guttural sounds of surprise and pleasure.

“F-fuck-”

“Oh shit-”

Hands tightened on (Y/n), one set on her hips, the other on her thighs as both men picked up the pace.

“Bucky- she- she feels so good!”

“I know, Steve- she’s- she’s so tight it feels like she’s tryin’ to push me out-! Oh fuck, Dolly, you’re gonna make me cum-!”

“Oh God, Cookie, don’t- don’t stop squeezing me like that-! I’m- I’m right there- gonna cum-”

They seemed to communicate without any sounds as they both sped up, making (Y/n)’s voice raise as she came again, but their response this time was fucking into her harder.

“Fuck- fuck, fuck, fuck,” Bucky panted as he slammed into her, starting to ride close to the edge of orgasm.

“O-oh- uuuungh! B-Bucky- c’mon- let’s fill our girl with our cum,” Steve called out, his hips pistoning as he slid in and out.

“Yeah- r-ready when- when you are,” Bucky answered, his hands tightening on her. “She’s gettin’ close again, too-”

“A-alright, on- on Cookie’s signal, then,” Steve decided.

It was only a couple more movements before (Y/n) fell over the edge again, a scream leaving her as she came, tightening around them as her hips twitched, but between them, they kept them steady as they pushed into her as deep as they could and one after the other, filled her until she was dripping super soldier seed.

After a moment to catch their breath, the two men cleaned her up, and they all got comfortable in the bed.

“Oh fuck,” Bucky sighed. “That was great, Doll.”

“Agreed,” Steve nodded, wrapping an arm around her. “Good birthday present?”

(Y/n) managed to nod as she cuddled closer to them both. “Y-yeah… good…”

The two chuckled.

“Go on, sweetheart, go to sleep,” a deep voice murmured near her ear. “More time for fun tomorrow. You’ve been through a lot for now, though.”

(Y/n) drifted off, feeling Bucky and Steve following her quickly.

NOTES- Confirmed; Steve convinced Bucky to set the whole thing with the other woman up trying to lure (Y/n) to the conclusion that they were into women, too... Sneaky Steve.

Steve: We both really like her, right? Bucky: Yeah. Steve: And we both want her to join us, right? Bucky: Yeah. Steve: I’ve dropped hints all over... Both: ... Both: ... Bucky: Maybe she doesn’t think we’re into girls? Steve: ...I have a plan. Bucky: No- Steve, no. Steve: *quietly* Steve yes... Ok, so here’s what we’re gonna do... Bucky: *sighs and rubs face*

Tag List!

@tephi101 @lilypalmer1987 @pingu89 @gifsbysimplysonia @omnomsauruswrites @keldachick @Randomfandompenguin @mannls @screeching-student-unknown @lizfawn @ya-lyublu-tebya @their-bibliophile @the-fifth-marauder03 @ria132love @slender--spirit @awkward-haux @shuriss @muggleluna @cauraphernelia @ravenclawmuggles @stonedxsoldier @rainbowkisses31 @racheo91 @mrsmookie @emilysallysmith @sebbystanlover-vk @lillovin84 @leah2901 @igothroughphasesalot @letstalkaboutsebbaby @a-book-pressed-rose @badassbaker @lookwhatyoumademequeue @kiki5283 @blingblingboy @stressedandbandobessed7771 @justanothermarvelfan01 @boo-ven9eance @songforhema @rororo06 @the-omni-princess @dibsonamericasass @yknott81 @isaacunderground @thequeenreaders @viarogers @anamcg317 @trynnabemultifandom @karla-silva @janndishsstuff @imeanshitithappens @smoothdogsgirl @Jennmurawski13 @heartsaved @past-perfect-future-tense @Silver-starburst @nd1998sc @dumblani @Sj493494 @michelehansel @indiana-jackson @katharinemclaughlin-stuff @anxiousamandapanda @my-drowning-in-time @twopulses @my-favorite-fics-and-imagines

#stucky x reader #stucky x you #stucky x y/n #not for minors #Do NOT look if under 18 #reader insert

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electricbluebutterflies · 3 years ago

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Garden work + soft babes (bonus points for domesticity + “you don’t have to do that”)

Things I will never be over - Chris and Melissa being awkward cats who absolutely do not know how to relationship. Post-series as per usual, PG-ish, also on ao3.

The unexpected plus side of finally having some quiet – Melissa can live her best plant-lady life without worrying about all of it getting trampled.

Honestly, it is weird with most of the kids off at different colleges. She had gotten so used to her role as accidental pack mom for a whole herd of god-knows-what – and she still isn’t sure what some of the younger ones actually are, never did get an explanation for the boy who can apparently turn invisible and still turns up on her porch from time to time – and now just as suddenly it is reduced if not over. Which is to say, there are still non-human beings that automatically become her problem at work and occasionally call her at weird hours because she’s a reliable source of comfort and normality, but the remaining local faction does not need her the same way right now and she is fine with that.

So, with only so much long-distance worrying she can do before she either gets bored or goes crazy (she’s not sure which is more likely), and the relative state of quiet having lasted a couple months now, Melissa has time to plant flowers and figure out her own relationship issues. And apparently today she gets to do both at once.

This was not the plan, she would like to point out. She is perfectly capable of doing relatively light yard work on her own, and how hard could it realistically be to dig a few holes for rosebushes anyways. But in that way that these things apparently happen now, Chris is around today and attempting to make himself useful, and while this was not how Melissa intended for her afternoon to play out, she has never said no to a genuine offer of help.

Besides, it’s a good excuse to stare at him while she figures out what conversation they’re currently avoiding.

She’s not sure if they’re going slow or if they’re both too traumatized from past relationships to do much of anything or… there are a lot of possible explanations for the past year, all of them neither comforting nor problematic. At this stage in her life, she can’t afford to be too impulsive, and she’d been convinced for two years that she was going to die alone because other obligations came first and then-

“Where did you want this one?”

The man she may or may not be falling in love with is holding a pink rosebush like he is not sure what it even is and it’s the cutest thing she’s seen in years.

It’s easier to show than tell. Melissa walks over and taps her foot at a spot by the corner of the house – best to keep pointy things away from anywhere they might get trampled or driven over. Late March might be a little early for this sort of project, but she’d like to enjoy the pretty for a while before something has the opportunity to get it, and given how chaotic summer is likely to be…

“You don’t have to do this,” she says for the sake of formalities, and because she’d like to get any potential fights over with. Not that she expects that, not with him, but her instincts are still too defensive and-

“You need help,” he replies, not at all a question. This is why she likes him, she thinks. Trying to get him to talk about or even admit feelings is a losing battle unless something else has gone very wrong, which is to say that in this current quiet post-everything phase of their lives it is probably never going to happen, but what he does not say he still shows. Protectiveness is an expression of love, figuring out why her dishwasher was making weird noises is an expression of love, attempting to help with her projects is an expression of love.

She knows on some level this is still a very bad idea. He’s a good man, yes, but he’s reckless and unreliable and-

No. Not so much anymore. Not since whatever the hell happened six months ago that she did not ask about because all she needed to know was she was the person he needed in the middle of the night for once not wounded, she was the person who just needed to be calm and yet not because she had also been through her own personal hell and no one makes great choices at three in the morning and-

“Something wrong?”

Damn him. Damn him and his pretty eyes and his constant fear of being the cause of her distress.

“No,” she says too quickly. She blinks, realizing that in the time she spaced out he managed to dig a decent enough hole for the rosebush and is now waiting for further instructions. And to think that for once she wasn’t distracted by the pretty even though it was right there and-

“Whatever you need…”

“Has anyone ever told you you’re too cautious?” This would be a better scenario if she didn’t look like hell, she thinks. Hair up in a messy bun, dirt on her face, she’s not actually sure where this tshirt came from or who it originally belonged to… this is the sort of conversation a woman who actually planned for this shit would try to do in a dress, but she is more reactionary than that and-

He looks at her all deer-in-the-headlights like that is not at all where he expected she was about to go. “No?”

There are so, so many things she wants to say right now. Moving slow is one thing but they don’t have to, not anymore, not with no normal-person obstacles in the way. She has run this hesitant relationship situation by everyone else in her life who might have opinions on it – a decade of her various loved ones sabotaging her predictably awful taste in people has taught her a few damage-control techniques – and all have given their approval for a situation that, at this current moment, Melissa is unsure will actually happen in the form she wants.

And maybe that’s the problem. She’s been too content with the glacial pace, too content with avoided conversations and little kindnesses and hesitant kisses and never talking about that one exception the same way they didn’t talk about her other impulsiveness, and at least this time they have stayed in each other’s lives, at least this time she didn’t try to run, at least-

“At some point we need to figure this out. The me and you part. Where this is going, if it’s going anywhere, if you’re ever going to-“

“I don’t want to weigh you down. You know that.”

Melissa rolls her eyes. She is not in the mood for whatever the hell self-loathing spiral he’s currently in, she is not debugging that, she is tired of all these defenses and-

“Every other man I’ve been with has had no problem taking what he wants. How the hell are you the first one who’s thought I’m breakable?”

It comes out too quickly, the only way she’s capable of doing anything here apparently. So she’s dated a few assholes, and at one point wasted ten years of her life being married to one. Show her any woman her age who doesn’t have skeletons like that, she’d love to see it. And she is well aware that the current version of this man opposite her right now has changed so much from when they first crossed paths, had everything brutally taken away before he could be fully human, and there may still be that darkness and…

And she does not care, she thinks as she waits for whatever conflict-avoidant response she’s about to have to deflect. Even if he wasn’t ridiculously her type, he’s one of two people in her world who can exist alongside all her other complications and she ruled out the other one as an option ages ago. It’s either this or dying alone, and she suspects he views her similarly.

“You are breakable,” he says slowly, and now is a bad time for her to be thinking about how hot his voice is but here they are. “You deserve better.”

She laughs. “You’ve seen my past. What I deserve has never been a factor.”

“I don’t know how to do this like normal people.”

Ah yes, there it is, the elephant they always try to avoid. Melissa knows better than to ask questions about the whole lowkey-cult-adjacent past, but she knows that’s where the baggage comes from. Whereas she has always been what he would define as normal, and she’s still occasionally a trainwreck.

“Does it matter? I’m not asking you to move in or marry me or any of the shit that I’ll probably have to do if I want it because you are so determined not to overstep and… I just want something. More affection. Play with my hair and tell me I’m pretty. Stuff like that.”

“I don’t read signals very well.”

“I have noticed.”

“I can try. If that’s what you want.”

“We’ve been avoiding defining the relationship for a year. I’m not sure it is a relationship. Yeah. I want.”

She expects another defensive comment – and that’s what they are, she knows, his various fears manifesting in ways that she is not the right person to fix – but instead Chris turns back to the task at hand. There are still a few more flower bushes in the back of her car and apparently that’s a good enough reason for him to let it go and-

“It’s okay,” she murmurs as she points out where he should put the rosebush’s mate. “I’m not good at normal either.”

#pixievixen #melissa mccall #chris argent #chris x melissa #mcargent #ebf writes fic

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thechembow · 4 years ago

Text

To the woman who assaulted me at Ace Hardware today,

Jan. 15, 2021

I am your neighbor in Frazier Park. I love this mountain and feel so blessed to live here. You must enjoy its beauty as much as I do, because it is unsurpassed. The woods and wildlife give me solace. I have also always had good experiences among the humans of the mountain, shopping locally, where we all know each other and everyone is friendly. I like supporting our community and keeping everyone working and happy. I’ve never had a bad time shopping in Frazier Park, so it was somewhat of a shock to meet you this way today.

My husband and I were picking up some bird seed at Ace Hardware. If you live in Frazier Park and not in Pine Mountain Club, it’s still legal to feed the birds! We love our feathered friends. They have also been giving me nice brass shavings from their key machine which I use to make orgonite, an energy device which promotes rainfall, clears air pollution, and makes living with EMF safer. My husband, Gabe, and I have been making and gifting orgonite for almost seven years now, and we have covered all of California and much of the US west to end the drought. You might be interested to know that we have put orgonite all over this mountain too. It sure has been snowing more and more every year since we got here and the forests are alive with new baby trees, far outnumbering the trees that die of old age. There were awesome wildflower blooms out in the Antelope Valley and Gorman these past few years. It might also comfort you to know that there are Earth pipes along San Andreas Fault here and at the top of Mt. Pinos, healing the damage that was done here by your ancestors, who stole the land from the Chumash Indians and clear-cut the forests. This will help prevent earthquakes. We have gifted somewhere around 200 orgonite pieces to these mountains, from the Grapevine to the Central Coast. I wrote a book about it too. Our life and most of our resources have gone into planetary healing.

Now that you know a little more about me, I would like to know more about you. I wasn’t covering my face today like you were because I am not a member of your religion. We should be tolerant of other peoples’ beliefs. I am tolerant of your choice to hide your face from your Creator, although I don’t agree with it. I would never hit you and insult you for wearing a mask or for any other reason. What told you that I was to be deplored because of my exposed nose and mouth? When you called me a “f-ing b-tch” and punched me in the ribs, it didn’t hurt physically because you’re old and weak. But I was wondering if it was your mom or dad who taught you to do that? Did you learn it in school or in church? I’ve never been cursed at and hit by an old woman before.

I put on the mask in order not to offend you, although I didn’t have to. You continued to yell, and you were very close to me when you yelled that I would infect you. If I’m so disgusting and disease-ridden, it would be a good idea to stand a few feet away from me when you insult me. I think about 6 feet should do it. It’s also not a good idea to punch a sick person because you could get my germs on your hand. How come you disappeared out the back door when I called out, “She assaulted me!” If you’re right, you should stick around.

Incidentally, soon after we met, I tried to run into the grocery store to grab some garlic. Like at the hardware store, the employees there never get on my case for my need to breathe and show the face God gave me. I got verbally assaulted there by a customer again, which wasn’t as bad as being hit and verbally assaulted at the same time. But the woman there was much younger than you, so you may want to give her some pointers on how to really hurt your neighbor. She said, “You’re killing my family.” She also blamed me for her sick dog. It was more likely a combination of pinworms, Ascaris, a variety of liver and intestinal flukes, some tapeworms, solvents and heavy metals that killed them, along with the ventilators they pop peoples’ lungs with if they come into the hospital with a cold. I’m reading a fascinating book right now called The Cure for All Diseases by Dr. Hulda Clark. It explains all of these diseases you think are infectious and how to cure them. You need to zap your parasites and stop sharing your worms! Stop putting filth in your mouth and reinfecting yourself, says Dr. Clark. Germs are not jumping around in the air. You can learn to heal anything that’s wrong with you with this book.

In your case, you’re definitely watching too much news. I would venture to guess you’re also taking an assortment of pharmaceutical drugs which are masking symptoms of your own worms and the bacteria and viruses they carry. You probably use a smart phone. Lots of old people who don’t even understand the technology do. I wish you would be more like my grandma, who never hit a lady in the store nor uttered an obscenity. She never would have used a smart phone either. She was beautiful, strong, dignified, spoke several languages, loved fine art, cooked great meals and enjoyed life. It’s sad what a shriveled lump of fear you’re become. My grandma survived the very oppression you are doling out today by a miracle of God. Goodness knows, her life was in danger every moment for being Jewish and from Germany at the wrong time. Now I also feel like I’m in danger. If you’ll physically assault a stranger for having a different belief, then what if someone stronger or armed would do it? This is not something I want to find out. Fortunately I have a relationship with God who protects me and am saved by Messiah Yeshua. He reconciled me back to God who forgave my sin of falling into pagan culture like you have. Your world is a fantasy land, but it’s really more like a nightmare, and it is dying like you have died.

There were a few people in the store after you fled the scene who showed me sympathy. But I now know how bad things have gotten. You showed me that today. You made me feel physically sick, not just emotionally distressed, with a little help from your insane ally at the grocery store. Just last week I could go into most places in Frazier Park with my face showing. It seems your time is running out and your world is spiraling out of control. For now, I would rather not argue with you. I will cover my face in your presence and you won’t know I don’t worship your god. It gives me more inspiration to become more self-reliant and less dependent on the businesses of your world. I hate the mask with a passion. I hate what it represents and how you look in it. I think it’s very sad that you love your pathetic false god and believe this absolutely ridiculous narrative to the point that you would assault another woman. C0VID is a mental illness!

Well that’s all for now. I hope to hear from you soon. Maybe you will realize it was wrong to hit me and curse at me and I’ll forgive you. Then we can be friends and have a kosher barbeque when the weather warms up. I’m not holding my breath, no pun intended.

Your neighbor,

Sharon Daphna

28 notes · View notes

joontier · 4 years ago

Text

The King’s Guard | Chapter 2

–> Pairings: kim seokjin x reader; jeon jungkook x reader

–> Rating: R

–> Genre/warnings: M U C H A N G S T; y’all I even cried while writing this sksksk why do I torture myself like this; slightly graphic mentions of dead people, mentions of blood, super slight gore; suggestive language, SMUT AGAIN (voyeurism, shit why do i expose myself too much, petting, unprotected sex, kitchen sex)

–> Word count: 8.8k

–> A/N: Korean vocabulary used will be placed at the end of the chapter :-) Also, all history indicated here is fictitious, then again, it is fan fiction after all. ALSO, GOOD LUCK WITH THE END OF THE CHAPTER ;) tell me whatcha think!!!

The King’s Guard - Masterlist || navi.

The King’s Guard | Chapter 2

The warmth in the room makes you stir in bed, the sun’s rays attempting to peek through the paper windows creating too much discomfort for you to continue your beloved slumber. As you turn your body, you see a scroll accompanied by a carnation on your bedside table. Hastily reaching for the scroll, your other hand clutches onto the blanket to cover your chest.

Your stomach drops. With trembling hands, you open the message. No, No, No. NO!

“My love,

Truthfullly, I do not know where to begin, nor do I know why I am writing this in the first place. What I can be somehow certain of is that I do not have full confidence that my plans shall come into fruition. I guess this letter shall provide me with the least solace for my judgments. The matters of the south have cost me sleepless nights and days, moments that I could regrettably have spent with you, and for that I am truly sorry. It pains me that you might have perceived last night a selfish act to heed to the wants of the flesh but know that every word I have uttered during our throes of passion was not made in jest.

I will not have to lie – you carrying my children, the two of us finally creating a family – the thought alone gives me unparalleled happiness. In the near future, I desire twelve children with you representing the twelve lunar animals, that is, if you allow me to do so. I will be satisfied with eleven, if you must.

Great is the pain that I have to bear with my decision, but great too is the weight of my duties to my country. You of all people have reminded me of that. It is treason against the country for me not to find a way to make amends, yet is treason against my heart to have left you like this.

Alas, I too am scared myself with this journey that I must take, but your love and prayers shall give me strength. My queen, I ask you to not worry much for I did not come unprepared, for I have brought with me the greatest warriors known to our nation, and they shall stand by my side, should the time come that our peaceful exertions shall lead to one of violence.

If, however, may our ancestors and the gods forbid, that the circumstances shall not permit me to return to you, the only love of my life, I cannot ask you remain alone without me in this cruel world because that would be most selfish of me. Live and indulge yourself in the pleasures of life, my dove, continue your flight in this world even if it no longer has me in it.

If I truly have gone for good, I want you to be happy. I am begging you to be happy. Find a man that shall love you from the tiny mole by your forehead to the tips of your toes. Find a man that shall cherish you for your entire being, find someone that shall bestow upon you love more than you deserve, just as you have done the same to me and to the people around you.

Let this reassurance console you that the happiest days of my life have been from your love and affection, and that I die loving only you and with a fervent hope that our souls shall be reunited after this and will have to part no more. Just because I would have passed away does not mean I am not with you, I will always be here looking over you, keeping you safe. Should the day come that you succumb to the sadness of my loss, just close your eyes and I will be by your side in an instant.

This is goodbye to your kisses that shall continue to linger on my lips even if I could not have them again. This is goodbye to your caresses that have kept me warm during the harsh, cold winters. This is goodbye to your endless patronizing that has grounded me through the many decisions I had to make. And finally, this is goodbye to you, my angel, my sweet carnation.

With every word written comes forth a tear, and I fear that I may not finish this letter without wetting the entire page. I will have to leave shortly, and now I will leave your security to the hands of our new captain. He has my trust.

Know that I would have traded a decade of my life just to spend ten more breaths with you. I love you, my queen, with all that I was, with all that I am, and with all that I ever will be.

Seokjin”

A loud, broken sob escapes your lips. Your cheeks become wet with tears, visible wet patches staining your blanket. You let yourself fall back to the bed, body crumpling in anguish. How could you have let him go? You curse at yourself for letting sleep take over you again earlier, when he was already at arm’s reach, so close to forbid him from leaving.

You stay like that on the bed for a few moments, body quaking with distress and clutching onto the piece of paper close to your chest. This was it. Although there was still a part of you that Seokjin will come home to you in one piece, your brain is already betraying you with images of your husband covered in blood, left lifeless in the middle of the road.

Crying harder at the image, you try to muffle them with your blankets that vaguely smell of Seokjin. Your chest constricts. You already know he had intentions of visiting the south even with your constant reminders of the dangers of the south. Your heart clenches when you recall the one time you had argued about it.

‘It’s a lost cause, Seokjin.’ You already felt that one thing was going to lead to another and this conversation was definitely going to end up in an argument.

“What I am I supposed to do here then? Stand and join festivities while my own people are being attacked by rebellious troops? While riots occur on the daily? While there are people dying of hunger on the streets?”

“No! I- That’s not what I meant!”

“Then what am I to do then?!”

“I just—If you go there…” You hiccup, unable to continue when your lips start to tremble. You choke as you suppress a sob, covering your face with your hands as you start to bawl your heart out. Seokjin flees toward you, apologizing profusely as he had probably scared you with the risen pitch of his voice. “Shhh,” he engulfs you in a hug, pulling you close to him.

You begin to calm down after some time, the warmth of Seokjin’s body easily consoling you. Your husband doesn’t let go when you finally catch your breath and your grip tightens around his waist, creasing his durumagi.

With your voice slightly muffled as your mouth is pressed against your husband’s chest, you continue talking, knowing that Seokjin will have no problem comprehending your words. “I’ve lost everyone because of them Seokjin. My father, my real mother, my friends…” you sniff, wiping your cheeks with the sleeves of your jeogori. “Please,” you beseech, “I can’t lose you to them too,” your voice cracks at the thought, eyes brimming with tears once more.

“I won’t let that happen, love.” He doesn’t know that.

You feel your chest starting to heave again, Seokjin slowly guides you to the bed, seats you both, and lets you lay your head on his lap as he rests his own on the wall adjacent to the bed. Gently, he strokes your hair until you finally, truly calm down this time, silent tears now rolling down your cheeks.

The words are heavy on your lips, every emotion rolling off your tongue as you say the words you dread the most. “They’re going to kill you Seokjin.” You take his hand and rest it against your cheek, his hand still seemingly larger with the way your two hands are clutching onto it. You continue with bated breath, “Maybe even before you enter the southern gates, maybe even before you get a single step out of the capitol...” Your voice comes down to a whisper when you repeat your earlier words. “They are going to kill you.”

You tilt your head a little to take a good look at your husband. You see the faint stubble just under his chin. He probably hasn’t shaved yet with the lack of free time on his hands. Shamelessly, you always imagine what he’d look like with a beard but you’re willing to bet your life that he’d be just as handsome as he is now. He keeps on shaving it, much to your dismay, countering that he doesn’t want you to feel and discomfort or itch when he kisses you. You’ll have to leave your bearded Seokjin fantasies somewhere in the future. If the future still has Seokjin in it.

In the past, the five major cities of Korea never got along. It was more of an unspoken rivalry for years on end between the kings and their subjects. People from the east took pride on their agricultural lands and livestock, the westerners’ livelihood depends heavily on lumber, northerners brag about their coal mining and fishery, the south leads the nation’s masonry and defense, and finally, the capitol is the center of textile and is otherwise known as the home of the scholars.

Combined together, this nation would have been unconquerable. But these royals are still human beings and human beings are vulnerable to temptation, constantly fueled by the idea of acquiring something that another does not have.

Unfortunately, a nation with citizens that had no sense of nationalism was the perfect target, the easiest to penetrate for the colonizers. The promises of an alliance to a foreign nation seemed to great an offer to decline. Fools. Just like that, the foreigners tricked each king to go against the other cities – their own people, their own blood. Empty promises drilled into empty heads. Blinded by inane vows of wealth and power, these people who call themselves leaders never knew they were being deceived altogether.

That is, until King Seokwoo of the capitol, Seokjin’s father, realized the deception early enough to stop the war but too late to pacify the nation’s internal turmoil. With his heart and dignity on the line, the brave king of the capitol had gone to the other kings to make them realize their mistakes, their greed, and their shameless thirst for power.

Nobody wanted to believe him at first, not when he too was a part of it all. He apologized in court – the one thing a king never does. He put his pride on the line for the country he loves, bowing his head in front of the other kings, and their respective advisors. King Seokwoo knew he was going to lose his credibility like this with his heart and pride on his sleeve, but only he knew, and only he understood, that a king should not be loyal to the throne and the power it holds, but to his country.

Only when he revealed the scrolls of plans he stole from the colonizers that they collectively decided to temporarily set aside their present caprices and decree a pact for the good of the nation. For once in a very long time, the kings had agreed on one thing.

That night, they had agreed to choose a king to lead the fight against the colonizers – the king who would lead Korea back to greatness. Three kings, in honor of Seokwoo’s bravery and humility, chose him to be the leader of the nation. Only one king of a city voted against Seokwoo as King of Korea – your father.

“My Queen?” A soft voice calls from outside your door. Haesoo.

“Leave, Haesoo.”

“Jungjeon-mama, please. You have not left your room all morning, and lunch—”

“I said leave!”

You recoil the moment the words spill from your mouth. You hadn’t meant to snap at her, she was your favorite court lady after all. She was stubborn, above all things, and you likened her to your younger self that’s why she earned your favor the most. But her adamancy only causes her more trouble, especially in times like these. Perhaps her slight insensitivity came with her youth? You’re certain that you’ve caused worry because of your audible wailing earlier, but company was the last thing you needed right now.

“Yes my Queen.” She replies, voice small.

You don’t know how long you stay in bed like that, watching your chest rise and fall under the covers with every breath. Your head is swirling in emotions – fear, anger, misery. As you continue to stare into the ceiling, your stomach grumbles so you deem it wise that you have at least one meal for today - just enough to satiate your hunger and give you strength to face the rest of the day. But not before indulging yourself in your favorite bath first.

You stay much longer in the bath today – letting the water cause wrinkles in the pads of your fingers. Shoving your husband’s image to the back of your head temporarily, your thoughts drift to other the other predicaments you have to face while Seokjin is away. ‘You have to be strong,’ you mutter to yourself. For Seokjin. For the future. For Korea.

The court ladies get startled when you suddenly rise from the pool, one of them hurriedly draping a towel over you. You let her lead the way to a dressing room where your royal garments are neatly folded on a table. Staring at your reflection on the mirror, your eyes linger on the red marks littered across your torso. You feel your chest constrict one more time. Taking a deep breath, you repeat to yourself. ‘For Seokjin. For the future. For Korea.’

Chaeyoung waits until you have worn your undergarments and helps you with the rest of your hanbok. You can feel the nervousness radiating off her, clammy hands tying the ribbons on your dress. You can’t really blame her; this was probably the first time they have seen you this cold and distant. You usually made small talk with the court ladies, genuinely curious about their individualities and because they’re the closest you can get to your subjects.

Certainly, Seokjin’s leave also has the whole palace on edge. Everybody was aware of what was going on in the south, and with their king’s sudden absence this morning, word has been going around in the palace. You’re thankful that the palace workers are discreet with their whispering, but these wooden walls were never thick enough to maintain secrecy between two people.

You leave the room as soon as Chaeyoung finishes and you come face to face with a familiar red and white uniform. “Wangbi,” Captain Jung greets as he bows his head. “Captain.” You acknowledge, finding yourself looking up at him when you do so – he was taller than you expected him to be.

“I am under the King’s orders to watch you wherever you go, my Queen.” He tails after you when you start walking.

“And does that include the private royal baths Captain?” You turn to face him again.

He gets flustered at your question, quickly averting his gaze from you. Looking down, the captain shakes his head, muttering under his breath something along the lines of ‘security’ and ‘king’s orders’.

You don’t know what urged you to tease him like that – probably because of his innocent-like features that makes him so tease-worthy, but since his arrival and inauguration as captain of the royal guards, you can’t help but get drawn to the man. Sure, he was attractive with attributes of youthful exuberance on his face, that, and that he was a finely built man, taut muscles hiding underneath those silken robes. At least, that’s what you presume from listening to the whispers among the court ladies.

They also said he’s had quite the reputation from where he came from in the East, famous for his looks and even more famous for his ways of luring skirts to his bed. So, you’ve heard. Genuinely surprised at how these rumors even came out in the first place, it still makes you laugh when you recall the obscenity of it all, despite the court ladies supposedly being the spitting image of modesty observed in the palace.

The rumors are true. You could easily attest to that as you have personally witnessed it once, how the captain could easily captivate women with his face alone. But his charm wasn’t the reason why you seem to magnetize towards the captain.

During their inauguration day, as you were too preoccupied with how dashing your husband looks in official robe, you hadn’t been paying attention to the event, let alone the emotional speech that the captain shared to the crowd. It was only when you caught sight of the scar on his left cheek that got you so curious. You wonder where you’ve seen that scar before. He looks familiar. He feels familiar. You can’t put a finger on it right now, but you certainly feel like you’ve known Jung Jungkook from somewhere, sometime in your past.

You don’t realize you’re lost in your thoughts when a hand suddenly pulls you back by your elbow, stopping you from walking straight to a wall. “Jungjeon-mama!” The lady beside you exclaims. “My Queen, are you okay?” The captain behind you asks, his grip now loosening on your elbow. You nod sheepishly, dismissing the whole fiasco with an awkward cough.

“You can go ahead, Chaeyoung. I’ll be back by sunset. Make sure dinner is ready by then.” The court lady nods curtly in acknowledgment and bows before leaving the both of you. You turn your head to look at Jungkook who continues to stand by your side. “Shall we?”

“Lead the way, your Highness.”

You plan on spending the rest of your day in one of the most serene places in the palace. Besides yours and Seokjin’s garden, the doltap shrine is another place you head to for peace and quiet. The shrine, complete with a mini pavilion, is situated on a small hill, surrounded by the beauty of nature – a place so perfectly serene that only monks and royalty are allowed to visit to maintain its tranquility.

It’s significantly father than any other house or office in this palace that it requires quite a tedious, long walk and a boat ride across the Gaeun river. This is why you rarely visit the shrine, but on the days that you do, the wearisome trek is always rewarding. It’s perhaps part of the whole process of meditation, you presume, as the shrine is a place where you offer your greatest, deepest prayers.

The captain trudges behind you, unable to cope with your leisurely pace. He quickens his steps when he sees he’s falling behind, but when he deems he’s walking too close to you he slows his pace once more until he has to catch up again. You become curious at his strange feat, unable to stop yourself from asking him about it.

“Captain, have you not taken a leisurely walk like this before?”

“My deepest apologies, Mama. I am really not used to a pace like this.”

Who knew the greatly feared captain could be so mildly…amusing? Jungkook gets surprised when you let out a giggle after having stared at him for a moment at his confession. He is unable to stop the small smile etching into his face at the beautiful sound, deciding it’s something he wants to hear all day long.

“You are a mirthful one, Jung.”

There is a skip in the man’s heartbeat when he hears you say his surname – or, at least, the surname he’s been using since his arrival at the capitol. He supposes it satisfactory that he’s made you comfortable around him, enough for you to call him by his alias. Not like you were going to be on a first name basis anyways. Jungkook found it easier to keep up with your pace after your verdict.

You were beautiful. Well, you still are, and probably will be for a very long time. He wonders if you already had your portrait painted. It used to be a hobby he thoroughly learned and enjoyed from where he’s from and now it has blossomed into a business around his past village, selling portraits for a few silver coins. He takes pride in his paintings, having learned the skill from the virtuoso himself – his father. He was the first man in Korea to add colors to a drawing, bringing forth life to an inanimate illustration.

Even if Jungkook painted you though, it would probably be useless for him to do so, because a portrait - even if done on the finest paper or painted with the brightest colors, could never capture your real beauty, nor give justice to it. In the past, he had heard stories of what the queen of the capitol looked like, but none of these rumors had prepared him for the genuineness of it all. Your beauty was indescribable, but Jungkook only knew one description that fit you the best – that you are the epitome of a woman’s unadulterated pulchritude.

Jungkook could not question why the king is absolutely smitten with you, admittedly, the rest of the nation is. If you were a lady that belonged to the same class, he would have tried to capture your heart from the very start. Maybe in another life, perhaps. But to him, it wasn’t just your pretty face that made you so riveting.

Unlike any other woman in the nation, you were headstrong, refusing to submit to the societal morals and principles. You were the only woman who would stand proud and tall amongst a sea of men, and one gaze from you had the power to intimidate both man and woman alike. Undoubtedly, you were raised like that: to be the queen – with your childhood nurtured with doctrines and routines only afforded to a king in the making. That fact he knew all too well.

When you look to your left, he spots a red mark on your neck, just below the smooth slope of your jawline. He flushes at the sight of the rose-colored blotch staring back at him, the base of his neck turning red at the recollection of the events last night. Jungkook can see your lips moving as you talk but he can’t seem to hear you, let alone take his eyes off the love bite on your neck.

“Captain Jung?”

Jungkook coughs to mask his surprise, “Sorry, Jungjeon-mama. I thought I saw something in the woods. It must’ve been a squirrel or a small animal.” You nod your head in acknowledgement and reply, “We still must be wary. There are…people…who do not mean well…” your words fade, voice cracking at the thought of your husband. Jungkook notices your anxiety.

“I will protect you with my life, my Queen. Please do not worry.”

“Of course, Captain Jung. I believe you.” Giving him a small smile, you continue walking, your shoes softly squishing against the green dewy grass. It’s a beautiful day today: the sky is clear and the sun is out, compared to your heart which is now clouded with storms and thunder. You shall try not to dwell on your emotions today.

“So, enlighten me Captain.”

“Ah, but Mama, my life may not measure up to yours in terms of adventure.”

You raise an eyebrow at his reply. Your life story isn’t known to many, even a number of the citizens don’t even know you are a southerner. Gazing into Jungkook’s eyes, you look for any mysterious truth hiding beneath them, but you’re only faced with his curious doe-like eyes. You’re conflicted if you’re supposed to feel disappointed or not if he was truly a part of your past, but you’ll have to leave that for another time.

“Surely, it can’t be that uninteresting.”

“If you insist, Jungjeon-mama. But don’t complain if you fall asleep before we reach the shrine.” The captain knows he’s pushing the line by teasing you like this, but the way you roll your eyes at him tells him you feel otherwise.

He tells the story he’s practiced endless times lacing a few truths from his past. “Well, I belong to a family of four. My parents work in the fields and my brother and I would play in them all day long until my mother would call us back in for supper. During the Great Colonization, my father used to serve King Donggeun of the East…” He steps aside to make way, a hand shooting out to help you to an elevated part of the head of the bridge. You place your hand on his gratefully, your feet taking quite the leap.

He continues with his monologue, “My mother always told us that she never thought father would never survive the Great Colonization. Even before the pact, there had already been attacks on the borders, the rivalry too much for people who call themselves citizens of the same nation. He had come home greatly wounded one night and my mother was crying so much that she could barely treat my father’s wounds. He had even offered her a literal bloody hand with the treatment, causing my mother to cry more, complaining about how he could have found pleasantries at such a grievous time.”

“Thankfully, the pact has been completed before things ultimately became worse. He was called to fight again to drive off the colonizers, but with the people from all the cities fighting as one force, casualties from our troops were only at the minimum. He has fought side by side with King Deonggeun and even saved the late king’s life at one instance. He had been promoted to a higher rank since then.” He pauses his narrative momentarily when your hand hooks around his elbow, clutching onto him as you go down a light slope to where a narrow dock is situated.

The captain tries not to be obvious about his astonishment at your actions as he places his hand over it, supporting your balance when you place a foot inside the boat. “But with a promotion in the military ranks comes more visits in the palace, and more visits in the palace only lead to one thing: King Donggeun taking an interest in my mother.” Your hand flies to your mouth to mask your shock. And just moments ago, he thought his life wasn’t supposedly as colorful as yours?

When Jungkook finally seats himself, he grabs at the oars and starts to row. It would have been fun if Haesoo had gone with, as you would inevitably tease her with her ogling the captain. She would’ve gushed at how his muscles must ripple underneath the uniform, or how his chest puffs out with every row. As your favorite court lady occupies your thoughts, you reckon that you owe her an apology later.

“If you don’t mind me asking, what happened next?” The captain lets out a chuckle at your wide-eyed curiosity. “Of course, Mama. I am a man of manners. A story must have a beginning and an end.”

“King Donggeun tried to conceal his feelings at first. But the rumored loss of his wife was too great of a sadness for him to bear. And he longed for the kind of comfort only a woman could give. Soon enough, father noticed the king’s longing looks, knowing all too well the sentiments the king hid behind his eyes. After all, he too was a man in love and a firm believer of the famous saying ‘the eyes are windows to our souls’.” The captain says the words with such drama that you fail to suppress the giggle that escapes your lips. Jungkook’s own lips twitch, chest beaming with pride with the fact that he has made you laugh twice today.

“Things kept in hiding will always come out, one way or another. And so, the king ended up confessing his feelings to my mother. He had begged her to be his concubine, even when they both knew she was tied to another. She fled from the king’s arms that night in fear and confusion, telling the whole confession to my father with teary eyes.”

The captain slows his rowing, creating small ripples against the clear water.

“That same night, my father learned that love meant having to constantly make sacrifices for the better, even if we end up losing that which matters most in our hearts. What the king wants, the king gets,” the captain’s lips fall into a tight-lipped smile. “There was too much at risk, my father couldn’t say no to his own king. Needless to say, even if we did eventually get to live nearer the palace, mother’s visits became less frequent, and soon our mother became only a figment of our imagination.”

Each word of the captain struck at your heart. You had never expected so many shared similarities in your past. His eyes are swimming with emotion. Not once had you seen a royal guard like this, looking so vulnerable, so human in front of your eyes.

“With nothing to lose, the three of us left the eastern city and headed to the capitol. We begged for food and slept on the streets for days until a family took pity and welcomed us into their home. When the father of the family introduced himself as a royal guard, my father offered his services as payment for their kindness.”

When you’ve reached the other side of the river, Jungkook sets the oars aside before guiding you up to the dock. You wait under the shade of a nearby tree until he’s fixated the boat properly onto the dock. He approaches you, dusting his pants with his hands. “Where were we? Ah. The kind family. I, too, have also had a realization here in the capitol. Happiness does not last for long, so we have to learn how to live each day with glee and gratitude.” You both continue the walk, with each step getting closer to your destination.

“A few days after our arrival, my brother caught this incurable illness. We had consulted every physician in the city, but all our efforts were in vain. My father and I had to lay him to rest just when we thought we had started a new life here in the capitol.”

“My father? Like I had mentioned during our inauguration, my father sacrificed his life for his country. Because he loves our nation, and because he loves us. All he wanted was a bright future for me, and for my mom as well, though he’d never admit that out loud. He never stopped loving her, even when she exchanged her family for the kind of life we could never give her.”

“Well, Mama. Are you sufficiently enlightened now?” You stay quiet at first, reciting a prayer to the gods and to your ancestors and you place another stone on the pile of rocks.

“I am Jungkook. I am.”

The journey to the south was filled with dread from the very start. The troop left the capital in silence, every man anxious of what is to come. Or rather, who awaits their coming. Seokjin had not said anything before they exited the gates of the capital because he knew words of encouragement would have done nothing to soothe the disquietude evident amongst them. The company had chosen to take a shortcut through the woods, one that will allow them to reach their destination within a shorter period of time.

They already have been traveling for quite some time, yet it feels like they have been for days. There are far fewer villages near the woods where there are to pass, but Seokjin had not expected this particular village to be so different from the others.

Dust rises when the horses halt, Seokjin abruptly putting up his fist in the air. It’s eerily quiet. Empty stalls of goods stand with no merchant behind them. Houses feel empty, with no person coming out and about. A gust of wind passes them, like an omen being whispered into their ears. The hairs at the back of Seokjin’s neck rise.

“What happened here?” A guard from the front asks.

“Jeonha, look!” Another shouts, pointing to a nearby house. A boy comes forth and walks, limps rather, towards them. Seokjin dismounts from his horse and takes a few steps forward. He lets the child come to him, the king lowering on his knees to receive the child. The child approaches Seokjin with a steady pace and with one final step left, he loses all his strength and falls. Luckily, Seokjin’s reflexes are quick enough so he catches the child before he falls to the ground.

“It’s quiet now,” the child mumbles. He takes a deep breath, body quaking with exertion as he does. “They came here…took everything…killed everyone and…s-south,” Seokjin holds him tighter as the boy’s breathing shallows, “Shhh, it’s okay. It’s going to be okay.” He consoles, tears swelling in his eyes as he gently rocks the child in his arms. The boy’s chest stops heaving and he finally closes his eyes. The king’s fingers fly to the child’s neck, looking for a pulse. None. Seokjin’s brows come together in anger, his beautiful face contorting into one of rage.

He stands, the boy in his arms now seemingly smaller and lighter than before. “Namjoon, with me. The rest of you, check the village. See if anybody is still alive, go over every house, every room, every corner. If you see a southerner lurking around, bring him to me.” Seokjin orders. “And I’ll execute him myself.”

As the troop disperses, Seokjin commands Kim Namjoon to look for a shovel and follow him to nearby open lot afterwards. Thankfully, the king doesn’t need to tell the guard what to do. As Namjoon digs a hole, Seokjin gently lays the child on a wooden bench while he looks for a cloth to wrap him in. His heart breaks for this child – that the young boy had to go through so much at such a young age, and now at the time of his death, he couldn’t even be afforded with proper burial rites.

The burial was shorter than expected and Seokjin ends the rite with a prayer to his ancestors and the gods above. The pair sit beside the child’s makeshift resting place for a while, both in deep contemplation. Their reverie is cut short when another guard calls from behind, “Jeonha,” he calls again, breathless, “there is something you must see.”

He leads the pair through the woods and towards a small clearing, where the troop has gathered around. “What’s this?” Seokjin takes his steps cautiously, the group beginning to make way for the king. Once the path clears, Seokjin stops in his tracks. From his peripheral, he sees Namjoon’s failed attempt to not gag at the scene before them.

The villagers. The stench. The message.

Seokjin tries to close his eyes, wanting to forget he even saw something this terrible. But no, the image has already etched itself into his memory forever. He can’t even imagine what type of human would have the guts to do this…monstrosity?

Scattered across the clearing are the villagers, stacked on top of each other, the formation with a similarity uncanny with the rock formation in front of them. The villagers were piled behind the doltap, where one muddy hand from each pile reaches out, holding a scroll with the words written with the villager’s own blood. “You can never keep us out.”

Seokjin’s hands ball into fists as he realizes what instigated this massacre. During the height of the turmoil in the south, he had sent out a proclamation weeks ago to implore the entire nation to remain strong and as one amidst these trying times which put their patriotism to the test.

The doltap is a stack of stones, usually erected at village entrances – a natural representation of guardians of the village, keeping away the bad and inviting the good. It had been tradition for people to pile rocks on top of each other along with symbolisms of their intentions placed near the stack.

Since the proclamation, the citizens had been placing more and more objects in front of their shrines, like a bowl of rice grains or the emblem of the south. Inevitably infuriated with this new practice, the southerners wrecked village after village in rage, leaving nothing but desolation in their wake. These people are but a number from the villages they victimized. Seokjin is lucky this is first and only village he will see.

The sky is a purplish pink by the time they have finished the burial rites for the village. “The sun is setting,” Seokjin announces to the group, “we will take shelter and camp there, by the woods. It will not be smart to individually use the houses here.”

Nobody could sleep a wink that night, especially not the king. He supposed no one could ever, not when you had just witnessed such a horrific sight. He continues to stare at the moon, head swarming with endless thoughts. As he rests his head against the bark of the oak tree, Seokjin’s thoughts race to you, what could you possibly be doing in this hour, if you were thinking of him right now. If you’d taken supper or skipped your meals today. You always did that when you were upset, and he had no doubt you were.

“Namjoon,” Seokjin calls to the trusted guard. Namjoon has been like him the whole night, staring into the distance, curious what the future might hold for them.

“Namjoon.” He calls again, this time with a louder voice, successfully getting the younger man’s attention.

“Jeonha,” Namjoon turns, “my sincerest apologies, but the moon seems to have a wonderful glow tonight. Might this be a good sign?” The guard bows, shame coloring his face as he got caught preoccupied with other things on his mind.

“I too fervently wish for that…I…” He was not about to make the same mistake to Namjoon. Seokjin gets frustrated at the thought of always being a step behind the enemy. He’s made this mistake with Minseok, and he wasn’t about to do the same with Namjoon.

“You wanted to say something, my King?”

“I…I just wanted to thank you, for always being loyal to the throne.” Seokjin is all too aware of what the people are saying. They are his people after all. He ought to know them best. They’re blaming him for these agonizing events, if he just hadn’t sent that proclamation, then this wouldn’t have happened in the first place.

“Only because the throne is worth being loyal to.” Namjoon replies, not missing a beat.

“So,” the king moves to a lighter topic, not wanting to ruin the illustrious mood afforded by the bright sky like this night. “how is the romance in your life? Haesoo, is it?”

The younger man gets caught off-guard, startled at the king’s sudden inquiry and knowledge. “I-I don’t know what you’re talking about, jeonha,” Namjoon looks down, cheeks starting to tinge with a blush. ‘He can’t give this away’, the guard thinks, suddenly all too aware that the king is sitting right beside him. As all of them had taken a pledge of loyalty to throne and the throne alone, so a relationship between workers of the palace was considered taboo, at least, until Seokjin’s reign.

“Namjoon. I am speaking to you as a friend. And even if I did speak to you as king of the nation, who am I to take control of the matters of the heart? You yourself can’t seem to help it. What more of I?”

“Jeonha, please tell me. What does love feel like?”

“Love comes in many forms, my friend. In fact, it’s everywhere. Personally, I think it’s what makes the world go around, if the studies and calculations of astronomer Lee is correct. What we’re doing right now is love, love for our country, our citizens. The memorials we hold for our late relatives is also a commemoration of our love. Love is not exclusive to human relations though, there is love for animals, love for nature…” The king turns to face the young guard who blinks owlishly back at him.

“I know that wasn’t the kind of love you’re asking about. I’m getting there, worry not, my friend. I just needed context.” Seokjin looks away, partly embarrassed at himself. “As I was saying… there is one kind of love however that I treasure the most, and for me, it’s the kind of love that enraptures you the most: the love for a special person. I hate to say this, but it’s something so complex that it’s indescribable. It makes you feel plenty of emotions all at the same time. For instance, when you see her, you feel your heart pumping out of your chest, or sometimes your heart constricts at the realization that she’s yours and yours alone.”

“That wasn’t that much of a help was it?” Seokjin sighs defeatedly.

“Can I be honest with you, jeonha?” The king nods. “No, not really.” The pair chuckle at that, both relieved that at least they found something to laugh about tonight.

Heaving a sigh, Namjoon turns to face him with glossy eyes. “Well, it is unfortunate that we are not lovers then. Yet. Then I shall ask her to be my betrothed, if we come home.”

“When, Namjoon. When we come home.”

The two continue return their eyes to the moon. It looks bigger tonight. Astronomer Lee says bigger moons bring about luck to all those who look upon it, Seokjin fervently hoping that this journey might somehow be in their favor.

You’ve been tossing around in bed for quite some time now, unable to sleep. Perhaps a cup of milk would do the trick, you thought, pulling the covers away from your body. You wrap a robe over the flimsy garment you usually sleep in and head over to the secret door of your room. It’s been specifically designed to blend in with the wall, only to be used in worst-case scenarios.

Sliding the door open, you creep out of your room, dragging your cotton-clad feet against the wooden floor to make minimal sounds. You head to the bridge connecting your hanok to the palace kitchen. You don’t realize you’re too concentrated on not making noise that you don’t notice the body in front of you. “Jungjeon-mama?” the guard asks, peering down at you. “I’ll just get something from the kitchen, I will be quick.” Discretion could only last for so long. He bows and moves out of the way.

Rummaging through the kitchen as quietly as you can, you silently curse at yourself for not bringing a lamp with you, now all you can do is sniff at the vessels of liquid, hoping that you’ll uncover the right one. Thankfully, you manage to choose the right vessel in no time. As your eyes had adjusted to the light, you manage to grab a ladle and a nearby bowl with almost no noise at all.

As you pour yourself some milk, you return the cover and rest your behind against the table.

You figure it’s time to apologize to her. As you open your mouth to call, a male voice beats you to it. “You’re so beautiful.” Mouth parting in mild surprise, your eyes widen, searching for the voice’s owner. You couldn’t make out who’s voice it belonged to as it was said just barely above a whisper, and you continue peeking through the small space when your eyes land on the captain.

Your hand shoots over your mouth as your lips fall wider apart. It’s finally happening! But wait… you stand up straighter in realization. Namjoon? You’ve heard the guard has been harboring affection towards your favorite court lady for quite some time now. Seokjin was first to notice it, pointing out how Namjoon would sneak glances at Haesoo whenever you were together, both parties walking as one. You heart clenches at the perplexity of the situation.

Surely you’re not meant to stay here and watch the spectacle? Milk was what you came here for, you remind yourself, but like always, curiosity gets the best of you. Jungkook takes another step towards Haesoo, who seems frozen at her spot. Do something lady! You watch as the captain slowly reaches out his hand, the back of his fingers gently caressing the lady’s face. Haesoo leans towards the man’s touch.

“May I?” Jungkook asks, eyes searching for any signs of doubt in Haesoo’s. The girl nods curtly and without waiting any further, Jungkook closes the distance between them. Watching their lips move in sync, you take this as your cue to leave, that is, until you hear a pot clanging against the floor. Your line of vision suddenly returns to the couple to check if someone got hurt, only to find out quite the opposite.

Jungkook has already backed up Haesoo to lean against a table adjacent to the wall. The captain lifts her with ease to sit on the table, Haesoo pulling her knees apart so she could properly hold onto the man, her nimble fingers pulling at Jungkook’s hair. The captain starts smothering her with kisses all over her cheeks, jaws, and neck like a frenzied, starved man. You can’t look away, not when Haesoo is failing miserably at her attempt to keep her whimpering at bay.

Jungkook’s fingers work deftly in undoing the ribbons on her hanbok, lips still trained on lavishing her skin with kisses. As the garment falls easily from Haesoo’s shoulders, Jungkook’s large hand palms her breast while the other is busy kneading the expanse of her thigh. The captain revels in Haesoo’s pliancy, with the girl tilting her head back at Jungkook’s ministrations, begging him for more.

Her hanbok is completely off her torso now, the silk bunching up at hips. Jungkook takes this moment to take a hardened nipple between his lips and swirling his tongue around it as a hand squeezes the supple flesh of the other. Haesoo mewls at the captain’s actions, back arching, words no longer needed to show what she wants, what she desires.

This is wrong. You aren’t supposed to be watching such a private moment, let along seemingly enjoying it. Like Haesoo earlier, you’re just as frozen in your spot as she was.

You no longer see much of Haesoo torso, considering their proximity, but you see Jungkook’s hand removing itself from the assault on her breasts, traveling to her core. She shivers when Jungkook’s fingers swipes against her folds and raising his fingers under the moonlight seeping through the window, observing how wet the tips of his fingers are due to the court lady’s essence.

“Look at you,” Jungkook murmurs in a low voice, watching the slick coating his fingers. “So wet and ready for me. I bet I’d slip right in hmm?”

“Please,” Haesoo begs, hiding her face between his shoulders in pleading. “I need you.” Jungkook seems to have no problem complying, abruptly bring his pants down to his thighs.

You don’t see much due to the lack of light in the room and their compromising position on the table, but this seems all the more thrilling like this. You reprimand yourself, as if Seokjin was lacking in bed. But you have not tried being intimate anywhere else but your room and his office – and the thought of doing it at such a common place like the kitchen where anyone from the palace could easily enter excites you in the strangest way possible.

Surely you can’t be going crazy, can you? Is it normal to find such a spectacle so strangely arousing? The sight of two lovers getting intimate?

Jungkook gently lays her down on the table, pushing her down by her shoulders. He parts her legs wider before adjusting his stance and slowly thrusting his hips forward. Your jaw slackens the same time with Haesoo. You feel your own nipples harden at the sight, the sensitive buds trying to pry through the material.

He pauses for a moment, letting Haesoo adjust to the feeling as his head tilts back, the lady’s velvety walls clenching wonderfully around his cock. When Haesoo tilts her hips, Jungkook takes this as a sign to start moving, each roll of his hips earning a whimper from the writhing girl beneath him. A few more slow rolls and Jungkook thrusts harder, faster, the sound of skin slapping ricocheting against the walls.

A gasp escapes your mouth when the captain maneuvers her legs to rest against his chest and the two stop at once, heads shooting up to look for where the voice came from. Haesoo winces when Jungkook pulls out and puts his pants up.

You flee from the kitchen at once, Jungkook abruptly looking for the intruder, he catches a glimpse of your white-clad figure run towards the door and he briefly questions himself who could you possibly be, but the royal seal at the back of your robe is a little too hard to miss.

Seokjin’s eyelids start to droop, sleep finally taking over him when he hears rustling behind. Namjoon, equally alerted by the sound, stands up and looks around. “Jeonha, we might have company. Please stand.”

It’s awfully quiet now, and the two of them are unsure of its because the troop has fallen asleep or… or if the unspeakable happened… They take a few cautious steps in separate ways, eyes scanning every tree surrounding them.

They wake the troop in silence, warning them of possible danger coming their way. Namjoon orders the company to stay more vigilant than usual, especially in the dark where they won’t able to see if an enemy is lurking around or not. Suddenly a guard falls to the ground, a bow lodged in his back.

“Watch the trees!” Seokjin shouts before chaos ensues. Men coming from all directions charge towards them, the sound of steel clashing against steel echoing throughout the forest. Seokjin’s troop is outnumbered greatly, he realizes. They have to escape before everyone gets killed. “Guards, fall back!” his arms are getting tired too but he can’t find the strength to give up, not when he sees his men falling one by one.

Time seems to slow down around him as he watches each royal guard get shot or stabbed to their death. He backs up slowly, bumping into Namjoon. “You ready?” Seokjin asks, finding it difficult to breath. There’s a slit in his sleeves, a cut a few inches long, feeling the blood trickling down his arm. “’Til death, jeonha.” Namjoon nods, wiping away the blood on his lips with his sleeve.

A group surrounds them – ten to two. “Now!” Seokjin commands, screaming as he charges against the men. He gets kicked at the back, the king falling on his knees. Seokjin’s head bows at the pain, but he plunges his sword to the soil, using it to support his weight as he stands up from his knees. He swings at them, the armed men laughing when he blindly thrusts the sword in the air. He’s been cut again, this time across his pectoral, the stinging pain felt until the tips of his fingers. His vision is getting hazy by the minute. He can’t give up.

Seokjin falls one more time to the ground, his arms bearing all his weight. He sees Namjoon’s body on the side – lifeless. He musters all his strength and attempts to push himself back up one more time. Before he manages to get on his knees, a blade of a sword points at his neck, one more move and the steel will pierce through his skin.

He follows the blade of the sword ‘til he looks up to a masked man with… blonde hair? His eyes narrow at the sight. It was his first time to encounter a man with hair of such color. The man pulls the mask over his head, a healing scar cutting through his right eyebrow and down to his cheek.

“Yoongi?”

“Told you, you can never keep us out.”

That’s the last thing Seokjin hears, as he feels the blade slicing through his abdominals. He falls to the ground, clutching onto his stomach as he spits out the blood accumulating in his mouth. His chest is heaving, everything is hazy. He’s losing consciousness.

The image of you smiling is the last thing he sees before blacking out.

[taglist] : @aretha170

#bagtanhq #ksmutclub #btsghostie #bangtanarmynet #hyunglinenetwork #bts smut #bts angst #jeon jungkook #kim seokjin #min yoongi #jungkook smut #jungkook x reader #seokjin x reader #bts scenarios

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moiraineswife · 4 years ago

Text

His Father’s Eyes - A Kholin Family Fic

RHYTHM OF WAR SPOILERS

GO AWAY IF YOU DON’T WANT RHYHTM OF WAR SPOILERS

THIS IS YOUR LAST WARNING. GET OUT OF HERE.

Title: His Father’s Eyes

Summary: Set in the middle of Rhythm of War: Dalinar has a late-running meeting so Wit suggests that he and Jasnah can watch Gavinor for a few hours. Jasnah is very awkward and unsure around her baby nephew because this woman will look into the face of god and spit cheerfully, but if you confront her with a toddler she will crumble. Wit encourages her to bond with him and it gets incredibly soft and emotional.

Teaser: ‘Gavinor solemnly picked up his little blue-clad soldier doll, the same one he’d had when Elhokar had rescued him from Aeseudan and the Palace of Kholinar, and walked steadily towards her.

Irrationally, she found herself sitting up straighter in her chair, gripping its arms, bracing herself. As if this was a chasmfiend hauling itself from a black pit on the Shattered Plains, advancing menacingly upon her, mandibles clacking, not her toddler aged nephew. Ridiculous. And yet.

He stared up at her with big, green eyes. Her father’s eyes. Her brother’s eyes. Both now gone. Dead. In part because of her failures. Now Gavinor looked at her with them, and the fear that she would fail him, too, assaulted her in a wave so strong and unexpected, it was almost overwhelming.’

Link: ao3

Commission Link: Have me write other cosmere characters

Jasnah allowed herself a moment to pause her work. She had been going without pause for several hours now, and she could tell it was starting to have a negative impact on her. Reviewing troop casualty reports from the latest battle was a grim task indeed.

Letting her mind wander, she glanced to the opposite side of the tent where Wit was entertaining little Gavinor.

It was...Nice, she allowed, to take her mind off the cost of this war they were fighting, to remind herself who they were fighting it for. She felt partially responsible for every one of the deaths listed before her.

Not only did she, irrationally, wonder if there was more she could have done to support them on the battlefield. She had sent them. She was their Queen. In Alethkar that meant she was also their ultimate military leader. She had ordered them to die for her, and her cause. And they had.

It was a worthy cause. Not fighting would lead to all of their deaths. To the destruction or domination of their entire world by the oppressive power of hatred. But it was still hard to read those numbers. To know their fear. To feel their blood upon her hands.

Gavinor reminded her why she was doing this. Not just for her family, but for all of the children on Roshar. She would win this war for them, for their futures, for the chance at peace for them that still lived. Its heart fluttering, lungs filled with blood, wheezing. But still. There was a chance.

Dalinar typically kept Gavinor with him. He had taken very seriously to being more involved in the little boy’s life, which Jasnah approved of, in general. However, he’d had a meeting with the army generals today, who had wanted his perspective on today’s assault, as he’d been the one of the two of them on the field.

He’d asked Jasnah if she wanted to spend a few hours with her nephew. Wit had jumped in to agree on her behalf. He claimed afterwards, in response to her cool glare, thought it would be ‘good for her’. Maybe it was. All the same, she wouldn’t have allowed it to continue without his assurance that he would stay with her.

Jasnah loved Gavinor. As the last good thing she had left of her little brother, and in his own right as her nephew. He was her family. That meant there was nothing she would not do for him. But he was still very young, and she had never been entirely comfortable around small children.

They seemed so...Strange. So alien. They felt unpredictable to her, unknowable, irrational. That unsettled her more than she would ever openly admit.

An adult you could ask questions, you could track patterns and learn to read their emotions, their moods, their personality. You could predict their future behaviours based on observation of their past. They were far easier for her to understand and respond to.

Children were precisely the opposite. And they seemed so...Fragile. Not simply physically. It was so easy to say the wrong thing, to cause unintended distress. They were as changeable and flighty as the seasons. Happy and content one moment, screaming with some unknowable torment the next. She hated the sound of their crying. It cut through her, and it made it very difficult to focus on anything else.

Wit, meanwhile, was so natural with Gavinor, it was as though he’d been made for this purpose.

This being, so ancient and alien in so many ways, seemed able to do so easily things that seemed impossible to her. The ease with which he seemed to communicate, and connect with other people. How he seemed to instantly understand them.

His long life experience no doubt assisted with this, but she knew it was more than that. This was who he was, who he had always been. He had not needed that experience to know how to do this.

He had used another form of Investiture he called Awakening to bring her nephew’s little Kholin doll to life. It now walked around, allowing Gavinor to chase it, hugging him when he caught up to it.

The child had been quite upset at first that his little soldier would not pick up a sword or fight. All it did was hug him, and play with him. She’d caught Wit’s eye when this had first come to light and an understanding had passed between them. A gratitude she had not been able to put into words.

Jasnah understood her Uncle’s desire to have Gavinor with him, and why that meant he had brought him here, despite it being a warzone. He was trying so hard to avoid making the mistakes he personally had made before that he was ignoring the others they were making.

She didn’t know a great deal about children. Though she had done as much research as her current schedule would allow. But she did not think encouraging a five year old’s preoccupation with violence and revenge was a healthy thing.

She would be damned if she allowed her brother’s only son to be drawn into continuing the same cycle of pointless, painful revenge that had killed him.

Whatever else Elhokar might have wanted for Gavinor, it would never be that.

They had talked, a little, before she had left the Plains for her research. On quiet evenings alone in his palace complex save flamespren dancing in the hearth. She wished, sometimes, she’d made time for more of those.

They had spoken together about the revenge against the Listeners for what they had done to their father. It had been a complex thing within Elhokar, though it had never been a driving force for her.

Emotion was a difficult thing for both of them, but in different ways. Jasnah often felt that she didn’t have enough input. That everyone around her got so much more from the world around them than she did. That in turn made their own responses so much stronger, and more consuming than it had ever felt for her.

Elhokar...Elhokar had gotten far too much input.

Jasnah loved their Uncle Dalinar. And she had loved their father in his own right. She knew they had both tried their best for him. But they had never allowed Elhokar to be his own person. Every decision he made. Every path that he took. Every feeling he had. Every thought that entered his mind was subject not only to his own will, but to theirs.

It was not enough for Elhokar to do what he’d thought was right. He also had to do what he thought his father, and Dalinar, would think was right. Their approval and judgement had always seemed to have more weight in his mind than his own.

Declaring war on the Listeners had, in part, been a reaction of grief and pain at losing his father. But he’d confessed to her, in private, and under the strictest oath of confidence, that he had also partially done it because he felt it was what was expected of him.

The Alethi were a warlike people. It was how they dealt with almost everything. This was something Jasnah was working, with Wit’s help, to change. The foundation of a people’s society being violence and conflict could never lead to stability or longevity. The formation of their own storming unified kingdom had only come because of war against their own.

It would be unthinkable, then, that the Alethi would not go to war with the Listeners in retribution. It was not enough to execute those who had ordered Gavilar’s assassination. It was not enough to exile them from their lands. It was not enough. It was not enough. It was never enough. That was the problem.

Everyone expected Elhokar to declare war, and so he had.

They all expected him to relentlessly pursue vengeance for his father, and so he had.

Anything less, anything other, might have implied that he didn’t care, and he couldn’t have that.

Some had suggested that of Jasnah, when she’d left the Plains to pursue her research. Foolishness. But she had felt able to do what she thought was right. Elhokar...Elhokar had always been forced to do what he thought others felt was right.

Her heart ached for her brother in that moment. She did not often think of him. There was so much to do. So much else to focus on. Something she did deliberately, perhaps, to avoid this second grief and failure that now haunted her. But when she did…

She still remembered him as the child he had been. Eager, and earnest, and so desperate to please everyone. To do good. To live up to his father’s name expectations.

That had never been possible. And that had been the true tragedy of her brother’s life: it had always been doomed. He had spent so much time chasing that impossible dream, trying to attain a thing that he had been destined to fail at before he’d ever begun.

Sighing, she stopped her thoughts as they began to spiral down into a pool of grief. Instead, she focused on Wit and Gavinor.

He had used Lightweaving to create a whole scene for him to play in. Something gentle, and calm. Dalinar wouldn’t have approved, likely, but it made Jasnah smile a little.

There was thick green grass that did not pull away and hide when the little boy ran through it. Gavinor was giggling, chasing small round, furry creatures with too large ears that kept popping in and out of holes in the ground.

Every now and then he hurtled past Wit and made some request of him to add something else to the scene, and Wit would bow and comply, weaving the boy’s imaginations into life around him.

Gavinor had started referring to him as ‘Uncle Wit’. Which was as endearing as it was concerning.

As if sensing this thought, Wit glanced up suddenly and caught her watching them.

He smiled, rather slyly, and she immediately felt a flicker of concern. He allowed the illusion to fade, and she frowned at him, though Gavinor didn’t seem upset.

She watched as Wit crouched down and whispered something in the boy’s ear, smiling encouragingly. Then he lounged against the desk behind him and folded his arms, watching, smirking.

Gavinor solemnly picked up his little blue-clad soldier doll, the same one he’d had when Elhokar had rescued him from Aeseudan and the Palace of Kholinar, and walked steadily towards her.

Fortunately, she was well-practiced at controlling herself, and gave nothing away. Not that the little boy seemed to pick up on, anyway. Wit, standing in his corner, cocked his head slightly at her. But uncharacteristically he said nothing.

Without saying a word, Gavinor handed his little doll towards her. Cautiously, she took it, and held it in her lap, tracing her fingers over the stitching on the buttons. The top one was coming loose. He could pull that free and choke on it. She would need to speak to his nurses and ensure that they took the time to repair it for him before-

Gavinor tugged gently at her havah, trying to get her attention. She forced a smile, looking at him instead of the doll, and said, in what she hoped was a warm, friendly voice appropriate for a young child, “Thank you, Gavinor.”

Wit, the insufferable bastard, was being of no help whatsoever. He was still lounging at the back of the tent, watching, as if he were at some sort of play.

She glared pointedly at him, but he glanced down at the desk at the exact moment she looked up and pretended to be busy rearranging his papers, so apparently did not see. Storms. She was going to kill him. She-

Gavinor tugged again, gentle, but insistent, on the edge of her havah and she looked back down at him. He seemed...Expectant?

Stormfather, why was this so difficult?

A part of her wanted to call Wit over, to ask him to deal with Gavinor instead. Though she very much doubted he would deign to hear her command. But looking down into those eyes, she couldn’t. She couldn’t just give him away, pass him off on someone else. Make him feel less wanted, and more alone, than he already did.

This was awkward. It was uncomfortable. It was hard. It felt storming impossible at times. But this was her nephew. Her brother’s son. Her family.

She was not as some people whispered. She was not a heartless monster. A thing that was more creature than human. A being that did not feel, did not care, could not love.

She had difficulty connecting to people. But she wanted to. Storms but she did. Most of the time. She cared, and she loved, and she tried. In her own way, a way most didn’t see or understand. But that had become enough for her, now.

Biting her lip, she looked down at the doll in her lap, then stood him on his little booted feet.

“He’s very nice, Gavinor,” she said, a little stiffly, but the boy didn’t seem to mind.

He nodded solemnly, “It’s my daddy,” he told her, very seriously.

Jasnah nodded back, which seemed the right thing to do, “I see that,” she told him, though she didn’t.

Gavinor studied her face for a moment, as though it was a book with text he could almost translate, but not quite. He wasn’t sure what he saw. Some cold, distant person he was supposed to call ‘aunt’ and love because they told him she was family?

Then he said, very matter-of-factly, “You look a lot like my daddy.”

Something caught in her chest at that, it was so unexpected. But she just nodded and said, “Yes. He was my brother.”

“I know that,” the boy answered, in a tone that implied she was stupid.

She found herself smiling, “Of course you do.”

“Grampa says that he was brave,” Gavinor informed her, “He says daddy was a hero.”

“He was,” Jasnah agreed, and meant it this time.

To his little boy, he had been. And that would have been what mattered most to Elhokar. To him. Not the pressures exerted by others. But deep down. In his heart. Being a hero to this little boy would be more important to him than anything else he had ever done. It would eclipse his perceived failures entirely.

Gavinor scrunched his face up in an expression she struggled to place. Was he upset thinking about his father? About that terrible day in Kholinar when that bastard bridgeman had murdered her little brother in front of his young son?

Then, slowly, hesitantly, he lifted his hands towards her, looking expectant again.

Oh Storms.

He looked as though he wanted her to pick him up, to hold him, perhaps to offer him comfort, as Navani had probably done for him countless times before.

Jasnah couldn’t do that. She couldn’t be what this little boy needed. She wasn’t her mother. She wasn’t even Wit, or Dalinar. They would have found some way to reach out, to soothe him.

She was not them. She was cold, and distant, and sterile. She was the last thing this child needed. She would only disappoint him, leave him worse than he had been before, confused, as well as upset.

She looked at Wit for assistance but he just inclined his head and gestured for her to proceed.

Storm him. He was probably right, but storm him. She wasn’t ready for this. She couldn’t do it.

“Jasnah,” Ivory observed, helpfully, voice so soft only she could hear him, “I believe that the small human you are related to would like you to pick him up.”

Storms. Even Ivory was better at this than she was. She resisted the impulse to bury her face in her hands in answer.

Carefully, hesitant, certain she would somehow do this wrong, she put her hands under Gavinor’s outstretched arms and lifted him up.

He sat quite happily on her lap, so that was something, but continued to watch her with those impenetrable green eyes. Eyes that had seen too much for his age.

“Grampa says you’re Radiant,” Gavinor told her, little hands picking with vague interest at the embroidery on her havah.

“I am,” she confirmed, with half a glance at Wit in a desperate plea for help. But he just continued his idle lounging from a distance.

She might actually kill him.

It would be both instructive, giving her an insight into how he returned after he died, which he’d implied he could do. It would also be an excellent remedy for her fury towards him. A scenario with no downsides whatsoever. That made a delightful change for her of late.

“Do you have a friend spren?” Gavinor asked her, distracting her from her wistful fantasies about how, precisely, she would like to brutally murder her partner.

‘Friend-spren’ was what Gavinor referred to the Radiant spren as. Children, from a young age, came to understand regular spren as features of the landscape. It had taken a little extra explaining on Navani’s part to help him understand Radiant spren. He had some...Unfortunate experiences with more intelligent spren who were always around.

“I do,” she told him, “His name is Ivory.”

“Can I see him?” the boy asked, a little bounce of eagerness in him, which was good to see.

Her mother said he was too solemn, for his age. Even Jasnah, with her limited experience or instincts towards children, could grasp that fact.

She hesitated, “He can be quite...Nervous sometimes,” she said cautiously.

Gavinor’s face fell at once, and her heart plummeted at the sight, “Is he afraid of me?”

“No, no,” Jasnah said, scrambling to fix her mistake, “He just likes to be careful,” she tried to explain.

Gavinor nodded, as if that made sense. Which was strangely heartbreaking.

“He-” Jasnah began, but she broke off as movement in the corner of her eye caught her attention.

Ivory had grown to a visible size on her shoulder. He liked to ride on the inside of her collar, usually, which allowed him to be invisible to most, but close enough to speak with her as needed. Very practical.

Now he stood, around the height of her hand, clearly visible to the little boy, whose face lit up at the sight of him.

“He’s very pointy,” he observed, after contemplating him for a long moment.

This was a rather shrewd observation, though he might not know it. ‘Pointy’ described Ivory rather well, in her estimation.

He reached out, then, surprisingly, stopped himself, and looked at her, “Can I touch him?” he asked.

“That is not for me to say,” she said. When he frowned, confused, she added, “You would need to ask Ivory.”

He considered this, then addressed her shoulder, “Can I touch you?” he asked, eagerly.

Ivory sniffed, “You may, young relation,” he said, at last.

That surprised her. Making himself visible was already a large allowance on Ivory’s part. She had expected him to refuse this latest request, but felt a rush of gratitude at him for allowing it.

The little boy frowned at this, however, “My name’s Gavinor,” he said, a little indignantly. Jasnah smiled.

“Gavinor,” Ivory agreed, stiffly. Then he said, “Hold out your hands.”

She loved him for the effort he was making in this. For her. She could sense his discomfort at being seen, even in this relatively private setting. But he did it for her, for her family, which he knew was of the utmost importance to her.

Gavinor glanced at Jasnah, who nodded, which seemed to encourage him, for he cautiously did as he was told.

Ivory walked briskly down her arm and then onto the little boy’s outstretched palms.

“I can’t feel him,” Gavinor said, looking disappointed.

“That is because I exist largely in the Cognitive Realm, young Gavinor,” Ivory informed him in his clipped voice. “I have very little presence in this Realm, despite my bond to your aunt.”

Gavinor blinked at this, then looked at Jasnah, who suddenly became very overwhelmed by the thought of having to try and explain Realmatic Theory to a five year old.

Fortunately, at that moment, Wit decided to make himself of use, finally, and glided over, squatting down so he was on Gavinor’s eye level.

“Ivory is a spren, remember,” he told the boy, “He has his own spren world where he stays. That’s why you can’t feel him. You can see him because your aunt Jasnah lets him be here talking to you a little bit.”

Gavinor scrunched up his face, trying to understand this, “Like the bunnies?” he finally said, looking at Wit for reassurance.

Wit laughed lightly, “A little like the bunnies, yes.”

Jasnah made a mental note to ask Wit what on Roshar a ‘bunny’ was once Gavinor had been safely returned to Dalinar’s care. In the meantime, the arm Gavinor was leaning against was starting to feel numb, and she really had to get back to those troop reports, and-

To her consternation, Gavinor yawned and settled down against her. Amusingly, he coaxed Ivory off of his hands back onto her shoulder first, as if he was a cremling. Ivory complied with characteristic dignity

“Aunt Jasnah?” Gavinor said, sounding sleepy.

“Yes, Gavinor?”

“You’re gonna stop the bad things, right? Like, like what was at home,” his lip trembled slightly, and he grabbed at her havah’s embroidery again before saying, “So they don’t hurt anyone else?”

There was still innocence in those eyes of his. For all seen before their time. There was still the belief, the hope, that someone else would be able to put it all right for him again.

She had sworn herself to this task years ago. Had taken the burden of protecting Roshar and its people onto herself. It was why she had bonded Ivory. It was why she had done so much, sacrificed so much, given so much all this time.

In this moment, looking into those eyes, she felt that burden grow all the heavier. She was the person Gavinor looked to to make everything right in his world again. She would do that for him. She had to do that for him. Or else die attempting it.

She tried to smile for him, and awkwardly patted his head as she said, “I’m going to do my best, Gavinor.”

He nodded, apparently approving of this answer, then, without further ado, he closed his eyes and snuggled into her. One hand held tight to his Kholin doll, the other held a bunched up clump of her havah.

She widened her eyes significantly at Wit and gestured wordlessly at this rapidly developing situation which was not something that could continue, of course.

Wit nodded reassuringly and moved away. She hoped he might return with Gavinor’s nurse but instead, infuriatingly, he just came back with a blanket which he tucked around the two of them.

“Wit,” she hissed, keeping her voice low so as not to disturb the child, “I can’t. I-”

“I do believe he’s already asleep, my dear, and so technically you already are,” Wit replied, sounding entirely too amused by this.

“Wit,” she growled, threateningly, though with a sleeping child nestled against her, she was not entirely sure what she was threatening him with.

She stared down at the little boy cuddled against her, and couldn’t shake the feeling that this was wrong.

How could he find comfort in her? How could he feel safe enough to sleep in her arms? How could he trust her when she did not even trust herself?

“This is a good thing, Jasnah,” Wit said, quietly, “Dalinar will be here to pick him up in an hour or so. It will not kill you to let him stay here and be held by you for that length of time.”

“This isn’t about me,” she whispered back, glaring.

Usually he always understood, always knew, so she did not have to struggle to try and put her emotions into words. This was something which had endeared her to him very quickly, yet now...

How could he not see the problem here? How could he not understand that this little boy was setting her up to be something that she could not be? He was going to look for things from her that she didn’t know how to give him. Things she had never known how to give anyone.

“I know,” Wit said, his voice gentle, “But perhaps you’re better at this than you think you are.”

“I think he’s just desperate,” Jasnah muttered.

“That’s rather harsh, dear one,” Wit commented lightly, “He is only five after all. And an orphan.”

“He is not an orphan,” Jasnah replied fiercely, resting a hand protectively on Gavinor’s back, “He still has his family.”

“Yes,” Wit said, quietly, “He does. I think he knows that. I think he may even know it better than you.”

“I still have work that needs to be done tonight,” Jasnah said, trying to be cold, and practical, trying to force Wit to take this child away from her, to show him why she could not be what he wanted.

Wit only gave her a soft smile and rested his hand on her back, “The dead shall wait, Jasnah,” he told her quietly, “The numbers will not change. Nor will the status of the war, or the analysis you will be draw from it all. They cannot be what you need right now.”

“And what do I need?” she asked, tone caught between frustration and curiosity.

“Life, Jasnah,” Wit said, quietly, pressing a soft kiss to the top of her head, “You need to be here for the life that is happening around you right now, that will continue to happen around you, as you spend time buried in things that have not been, missing it.”

She swallowed, recognising that he was right. She took a deep breath, then settled into the chair, allowing herself to slouch into a more comfortable position. Reaching down, she took Wit’s hand and gave it a small squeeze in silent gratitude.

She knew now that he had set up this whole appointment with Gavinor for her. To give her this moment, this much needed reminder amidst this flood of blood, and violence, and death, that life was still there. Like new vines pushing up between the splayed fingers of fallen corpses on a battlefield. Unseen. Unnoticed, amidst the grief. But still there. And worth pausing to take note of.

“Could you fetch a cushion for me, please?” she asked, quietly, “I would like to make Gavinor more comfortable before his Uncle comes to collect him.”

Wit smiled, pressing a soft kiss to the top of her head, leaving to do as she’d asked, a mixture of pride and smugness on his sharp features.

***

A/N: First of all I have no idea how children work. I am Jasnah when it comes to small humans. If this is not how they do I apologise. I am a hopeless gay who tried my best.

Secondly: this was supposed to be short and fluffy. It failed on both counts but I’m kind of okay with that tbh. It’s criminal we’ve had legitimately no Jasnah and Elhokar content whatsoever - not even after he died. So I PRODUCED this content. And finally: Jasnah being low empathy is SUPER important to me and it was a lot of fun to explore that in this. Okay Taryn out. Pls throw comments at me. I’m a thirsty comment slut.

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shining-m00nlight · 4 years ago

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14. Dude - why the hell are you in my bed?

So if you know me you will not be surprised that I needed 3 days for the first prompt but here it is. I don't quite know what happened here. I feel like I failed my own assignment because this does not have a lot of Nedlyn (but lot of Edmure) in it but I tried my best.

“Dude - why the hell are you in my bed?” Ned asked, staring at Edmure lying in his bed. A place where he definitely didn't belong. Normally if Ned gets home and he finds a redhead sprawled across his side of the bed, he really enjoys the view. But this was definitely not the right redhead. The young Stark liked his brother in law, at least most of the time but man could he be annoying! Like he was being right now!

Edmure signed dramatically: "I'm looking for Cat. I need to talk to her. Looking at your disappointed face you were probably looking for her as well. Any idea where I can find her? It's really important!"

"While this might explain why you are in my house but why are you in my bed?" Ned asked again.

"Well I got tired and Robb and Benjen were watching some really annoying cartoon so I just wanted to lay down in here for a second." Edmure answered.

"So whatever you want from Cat is important enough to wait around half a day in our home but not important enough to call or try to find her? Why didn't you just go back home? What do you need from Cat?" Ned got more irritated and confused by the minute something didn't seem quite right.

Edmure suddenly got very defensive: "I don't need to tell you what I want for my sister! She was my sister long before she was your wife!" He said, sounding like a little child. It made Ned remember how much younger Edmure was then his sister. Cat was a married woman and mother of two while Edmure was still in Highschool.

"Edmure is everything ok?" Ned tried to sound gentle. He knew he wasn't the best person for this kind of conversation especially with people constantly telling him that his face always looked like he was scolding someone but he also couldn't just ignore that Edmure was in distress.

"I don't want to talk about it with you." he pouted more towards the ceiling than towards Ned.

"I just want Cat." Now the boy sounded like Robb when he was in distress and called for his mother. Ned could have sworn he saw some tears in the young Tully's eyes.

"Well Cat is at a baby-spa-day with Sansa but maybe I can help?" Ned tried again.

Edmure sat up to stare into his brother-in-laws eyes: "No you can't. You can't help me. You can't understand me. Because you're "Eddard Stark" who would never do anything against the rules or something to anger his father. You don't understand because you're perfect and at least you know what it feels like to have a mother!" Edmure was now shouting and tears were running down his face.

As much as he wished it could, this could definitely not wait until Cat was home so Ned crossed the room and took Edmure in his arms. It wasn't so different from comforting Cat when she was upset but there was something awkward about it. Ned tried to think about how he would comfort Benjen. He slowly stroked over Edmure's head and desperately wished Cat would appear.

"It's ok, everything will be fine", he wasn't sure if he was telling this to Edmure or to himself.

"No it's not! My father hates me." The boy in distress cried. Ned really wished he was better at finding words of comfort.

"No Ed, daddy would never hate you sweetling", his wifes soft voice swept through the room. Without even missing a beat Edmure was out of Ned arms and in Cats. A complicated task considering that Sansa was occupying this spot.

As much as Ned wanted to greet his wife properly, he knew it wasn't the appropriate time. He walked towards his wife, planted a little kiss on her forehead and took Sansa out of her arms.

He thought it was best to leave the two siblings alone so they could talk to each other. When he walked into the living room he found his baby boy who was currently occupied with pulling on Benjens hair, trying to eat it. He put Sansa down in her cirp to then go and join his brother and son.

"Robb, don't eat your uncle's hair", he scolded his son lightly while sitting down.

"Don't worry about it Ned. It's not great hair.'', his brother laughed it off.

"Oh, I'm not worried about your hair. I'm worried he is going to do it with Cat's hair or … you know... get hair stuck in his throat and choke on it." Ned looked at his brother with a stern face. Maybe the people telling him he constantly sealed people had a point.

Robb climbed over Ben and then threw himself dramatically over his fathers legs.

"I missed you daddy. You and mommy were gone forever!"

"Oh, that long? Really?" Ned grabbed Robb and held him up . over his head. Robb giggled while Ned moved him through the air as if he could fly and only stopped when his father hugged him close again.

"I'm sorry we were gone so long. I had to work and your mama was away with Sansa."

"Dumb baby!" Robb mumbled mostly to himself but his father still heard him. His oldest wasn't quite used to the fact that his mother had to split her attention now, yet.

"Robb, don't talk about your sister like that. She is just a baby and needs a lot of time with her mommy. Just like you do. Didn't you have a nice day with your uncle Ben today?", Ned asked, looking down at Robb.

The big smile returned to Robbs face looking at his uncle like he was the best thing in the world: "I did! Beny is funny", he laughed.

Benjen grinned: "You hear that brother, I'm fun!"

"Of course you are Beny." Ned said, slightly mocking. His brother would only let his little nephew use the name Beny, a name he otherwise hated.

Benjen stood up from the couch: "Well I think this is my time to leave, dads probably already wondering where I am."

"Thanks for taking care of Robb today"

Benjen leaned down to kiss Robb on his forehead: "No problem. I love hanging out with my little nephew" then he grabbed his jacket and left.

Robb cuddled closer into his Papa and rubbed his eyes "Where mommy?"

"She's upstairs with you uncle Ed" Ned answered.

"I go there too" Robb tried to squirm out of his fathers arms to go and run upstairs.

"No, stay here" Robb immediately stopped trying to escape his father's grip.

"Why?" the little boy asked and looked at Ned with his mothers blue eyes.

Ned thought about what best to tell his son: "Your uncle is a bit sad and be needs his big sister to make him feel less sad just like you when you are upset about something"

"Why doesn't Ed go to his mommy?" Robb asked with the oblivious only a small child could have.

"Robb, you know that you don't have a grandma but you have two grandpas right? That's because your grandmas are both in heaven, my mother is in heaven and your mothers and your uncle's mother is also in heaven. And all of us miss our mother a lot. And Edmure was still very young, even younger than you are now when his mother left for heaven. He misses her so much because it is sometimes really hard for him to remember her. But he is also lucky because he has your mother as a big sister and she is still here for him" Ned tried to explain the complicated topic of death and grieve as best as he could.

Robb looked scared now and his lip began to quiver: "Mommy wanna leave me one day?"

"Oh Robb, no never. Your mother would never leave you if she had a choice but I'm afraid that you can't choose if you go to heaven or not. Your mother will always try her best to stay with us as long as she can. Your Grandma didn't want to leave your mother and her siblings either but the Gods decided differently." Ned stroked over his baby's back and kissed his head to distract him from the thought of his mother leaving him one day.

"Ed is sad because his mommy is not here?" Robb whispered in a small voice.

"Yes, I'm afraid so", said Ned.

Robb rubbed his eyes and yawned: "I'm happy I have mommy"

"I'm very happy about that too. We are very lucky to have her" Ned said and smiled down at his precious boy. Robbs eyes were now completely closed.

"We're also very lucky to have you, my love", for the second time today Cat suddenly stood in the room. She sat down next to her two men and took Robb from Ned's arms.

Even half asleep the little boy automatically gravitated towards his mother. She held him close and buried her nose in his curly red hair. Being away from her son for a whole day wasn't easy for Cat either. Ever since he was born Cat had stayed home with him. When Sansa was born she had to get used to the idea that she couldn't be there for Robb every second of his life and even though she had no reason to, Ned knew she sometimes felt guilty about it.

"How is Edmure doing? Do you know what exactly happened?", the young Stark asked.

"He is ok for now, I think. He fell asleep after some time, probably from exhaustion. My father and he had a nasty fight and Edmure just needed to get out of the house. I also think he feels lonely. With Lysa so far away now and me needing so much time for the children he doesn't really have someone that's on his side anymore or at least he doesn't feel like he has. And with only him and Uncle Brynden in the house, dad puts a lot of pressure on Ed. I think he sometimes gets caught in the crossfire when dad and uncle Brynden fight as well. Maybe I should have tried to be more present, to be more there for Edmure." Cat shared with her husband.

"You are there for Edmure, love. Just look at today. I know it's hard for you that you can't give a hundred percent to everyone and that you can't split yourself apart."

Cat looked at him miserable: "I just want my family to be happy"

Ned put his arms around his wife and pulled her and his son close to him: "And they are! Don't believe that they are unhappy just because family is hard sometimes. Cat you give everyone in this family so much love and you take care of all of us. Yes Edmure had a bad day today but there is not one person in the world that doesn't have a bad day sometimes. You can't take away every sad thing from the people you love even if you want to."

There was a longer silence after he finished his part.

"I love you" Cat whispered into her sweet husband's ear, her voice sounded a bit heavy.

Ned looked at his wife and realized that the boys weren't the only ones that were tired: "I love you too. I think it's time to go to bed the way everyone is falling asleep here."

"Yeah about that. We might have a seventeen year old hogging our bed and he sleeps like a rock. So we might have to make due on the couch."

"Ah aren't little brothers a joy", Ned had to smile a little bit.

"That they are. I'm gonna take this one to his bed" Cat stood up and shifted Robb onto her hip so she could hold him up easier.

"You want some help with that?", Ned asked.

"No it's fine. You can try to make this couch ready for the night, if that is somehow possible", Cat walked out of the room to bring Robb to his room.

Ned stood up as well, pulled out the couch so you could fit, with some effort, two people on there. He also found some of the blankets they had lying around and checked shortly on Sansa who was still deep asleep in her crib. He carefully stroked Sansa's little wiskes of hair, she already looked so much like her mother and Ned was in constant awe when he looked at her. Until he had married and they had their babies Ned had never known how much he could love someone. Of course he had always loved his parents and his siblings but when he held Cat in his arms while she was nursing Robb for the first time he knew that this love was greater than anything he felt before.

Ned heard soft steps come closer and two slender arms appeared and slung themselves around his torso. He could feel his wife's cheek pressing against his shoulder blades and felt the way her mouth was moving when she asked:

"What are you thinking about?"

"How beautiful our daughter is and how she is so blessed to have inherited that beauty from her mother" Ned turned around to kiss his wife. With all the drama going on tonight he still hadn't had time to greet his wife properly yet.

"The boys aren't the only ones who missed you today.", he whispered against her mouth.

"I missed you too. Let's go to...well the couch" Cat laughed a little bit.

They moved to the couch. There was not really that much space so Cat ended up half on top of Ned. Almost on reflex, Ned began running his hands through Cat's long hair.

"Aren't I too heavy for you?", his wife asked.

"No you are not. You barely way anything and I love having you so close to me. I just can't believe that I got kicked out of my bed by Edmure."

Ned almost didn't understand what his wife was saying because she yearned when she said:

"Don't worry it's only for tonight and if he stays a bit longer we'll ban him to the couch."

Having one of their siblings occupy their couch was something that happened quite regularly when they couldn't or didn't want to go home for one reason or another. One of them stealing their bed had never happened before but this was a special situation and getting to fall asleep with the most beautiful woman on top of you made the back pain he would have the next morning worth it.

"Sleep well, love." Ned whispered in his wife's ear but she was already asleep.

#game of thrones #asoiaf #catelyn tully #ned stark #catelyn stark #ned x catelyn #ned x cat #nedlyn #ao3 fanfic #modern au #my fic

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kyber-crystal · 4 years ago

Text

united we stand || s.r

summary: in which you, sam, steve, and natasha are forced to go on the run after civil war. unfortunately, being a fugitive with government officials out for his blood doesn’t seem to stop the great captain america from falling even more in love with you.

words: ~2.5k

warnings: slight angst, sam and natasha being matchmakers, fluff

a/n: OMG IM SORRY THIS ONE WAS SO POORLY WRITTEN ADLFJDSF

It doesn't have to come down to this, Tony. Look what you're doing. You're tearing the Avengers apart."

"You did that when you sided with Cap, Y/N."

"What do we do now?"

"We fight."

"He's my friend."

"So was I."

"He killed our parents, Y/N. And you're still willing to take his side? I thought I could trust you. But I guess I can't even rely on my own judgement anymore to make decisions, can I?"

Your heart hammered against your ribcage as you jumped from rooftop to rooftop, a dull ache forming at the edges of your skull due to all the thoughts rushing around in your brain and narrowly escaping a flurry of over two dozen of General Ross's men.

Guilt settled in the pit of your stomach, making your insides churn. You turned against the last family you had left, and now you were paying the price.

You're one hundred percent sure that Tony hates your guts at this point. Leaving your brother for someone else; what had you become?

"What now?" Sam asked, looking around and sending Redwing out to survey your surroundings for any other agents that could be approaching. "What's our next step?"

"We gotta catch a train. Belfast's no longer safe for us," Steve panted as he slid his shield over his back, trying to catch his breath. "Our safety's already compromised as it is."

"Nat's gonna go get the tickets, I'll buy us some disguises. We're less likely to be recognized because you guys are all suited up with your wings and shield," you explained. "Wait here."

A few minutes later you were all dressed inconspicuously in your new disguises, looking like the other civilians that were walking around. You didn't have enough time to check the sizes of the clothing, so Steve ended up wearing some jeans and a light grey T-shirt that was about a size too small for him, outlining every inch of his toned torso.

You quickly tore your gaze away before anyone noticed you staring. Sam caught this, however, and sent you a little wink. You glared at him in response.

"The next train to Glasgow leaves in nine. We gotta hurry," Natasha said as she handed you your tickets. "Come on."

Luckily you weren't recognized as the ticket holder came around, though you tried to keep your heads down low when she passed by.

"It's a 14 hour ride. You fellas might wanna relax, take a nap or something," she said, reclining her seat back and closing her eyes. "We won't be arriving until early tomorrow morning."

You relaxed in your seat, the tension in your muscles loosening a bit. But Steve saw the distressed look in your eyes and placed a gentle hand on top of yours.

"You alright?"

"Could be better, I mean, it's not like I chose to be a fugitive on the run from the entire world," you joked, but the smirk on your face quickly fell. "No. I'm not."

"It's going to be okay, you know. Things'll work out in the end."

"I sure hope so."

You fell into an awkward silence after that, resting your chin on your hand as you stared out ahead, watching the rolling hills whiz by in a blur, the vibrant green a sharp contrast to the powdery blue sky. Ireland was a beautiful country, really. You wished you could stay longer purely for the sake of admiring all the lovely scenery.

"You know, if you just want to talk about anything, we can do that. 14 hours is a pretty long train ride," he finally spoke up about an hour later. Sam was fast asleep at this point, mouth opened slightly as his head rested on Natasha's shoulder, who was sleeping as well.

"Yeah, it is. But we've had worse days, right?"

"We have," Steve agreed.

So you just talked, about whatever came to your minds. Your childhood, your past before joining the Avengers Initiative where you'd previously served as one of SHIELD's top agents for several years, Steve's life back in the 40's before becoming a super-soldier, how much things changed over the years. About past missions.

Soon enough you felt your eyelids droop heavily from fatigue. He noticed your tiredness and reached out his right arm, gently wrapping it around you and pulling you towards his side, encircling you completely in his warm embrace. Slowly but steadily, your muscles began to release the tension in them and you leaned into his touch.

"Why don't you get some shut-eye. We have plenty of time to talk when we arrive."

"Mhm," you mumbled sleepily. He smiled, brushing a few stray hairs away from your face as you drifted off.

...

"Good morning ladies and gentlemen, this is our final stop. We have arrived at Glasgow Central Station," the conductor's voice announced over the intercom as the train began slowing down. "The weather is currently 59 degrees, and it is 5:27 a.m."

"Wake up, lovebirds," Natasha clapped as you stirred slightly, looking confused as you raised your head from where it rested against Steve's chest. "Time to get going."

You yawned and stood up, stepping off onto the platform into the station, surprisingly busy at the crack of dawn. You really just wanted to curl back up into a ball and sleep. Talking for four hours straight with Steve had knocked you out completely.

After getting new SIM cards, Sam quickly created an account to get you checked into a hotel.

"It's a half hour walk. We should probably limit public transportation as much as we can," he stated as he slid his phone into his jacket pocket. "Managed to snag a 40% off deal including a free night, so we're good for the next few weeks until we get an actual apartment."

"You know," Natasha commented, adjusting her baseball cap and aviators as you made your way outside down the bustling street, "if we weren't currently trying to flee from the government's grasp, I'd say I'd wanna come back here for a vacation. And that's on nice architecture."

"With us?" you raised an eyebrow.

"Why not? You're pretty good company. I wouldn't wanna hang out with anyone else."

"Well, what can I say?" Sam puffed up his chest. "I'm smooth with the ladies."

You simply laughed. "Yeah, sure you are."

Glasgow was a breathtaking city. With sprawling Victorian style buildings and cobblestone roads, brightly labeled bars and restaurants, it appeared as if it was pulled straight from a rustic 19th-century painting.

You checked into your hotel after grabbing some food from the nearby bakery. For a cheap price, your room was surprisingly simple but large: a king bed in one room, a pullout couch, and a small balcony so you could stand outside and take in the view of the city.

Despite having no time zone difference between Ireland and Scotland, you were still extremely jet-lagged, most likely due to the flight you'd taken over to Berlin not long ago. After binge-watching reruns of some sitcom for the rest of the day, you fell asleep, clutching your pillow tightly.

Natasha and Sam had good eyes, and could clearly see something was going on between you and Steve.

The truth was, you wanted something to happen but both of you were too chicken to make a move, thinking being in relationship while on the run was inconvenient and unnecessary.

The first few days passed by relatively quickly. You only really went out to buy groceries, and even then you went two at a time to avoid drawing unwanted attention to yourselves. Once, you treated yourselves to a night out at a nice restaurant, enjoying each others' company. It was a way to forget about your currently unfortunate situation.

...

But then the nightmares began.

You swung your legs over the edge of the bed after waking up in a cold sweat, heading over to the bathroom. Everyone had already gone to sleep long ago, and you envied people like Sam as he could knock out cold almost as soon as his head hit the pillow.

Staring at your ghostly reflection in the mirror, you squeezed your eyes shut, releasing tears that cascaded down your flushed cheeks in a hot flood. You ran trembling fingers through your messy hair in an attempt to tame it, taking a brief look at your disheveled appearance. The heavy dark circles underneath your bloodshot eyes that were a result of hardly sleeping over the past week were clear, as well as your sunken cheekbones and deathly pale complexion.

You studied the woman that looked back at you, with the same unnerving and hollowed out gaze that she'd worn for years; a façade she learned to develop so that nobody could see when she felt weak; helpless.

Ten days.

Only ten days had passed since you arrived in Scotland, yet it seemed as if you aged ten years during that short amount of time. Small creases in between your brows indicated stress and anxiety from leaving everything you knew behind, for a future you could barely see ahead of. For a life that held an endless amount of consequences if you took one misstep, one wrong move.

Your body felt heavy, weighed down as if you carried the weight of a thousand men upon your aching shoulders. You didn't know what to do; what to think anymore.

You didn't look thirty-two anymore, you looked older. Almost as old as Tony. And there was a 10+ year age gap between you and him.

God, Tony.

You betrayed him. The last living member of your family on earth, and you betrayed him.

Turned your back on him, because you didn't believe in the same ideas. Was it really worth turning your back on your own blood just because of a disagreement?

I thought I could trust you.

I thought I could, too. But I guess things don't always work out as planned, do they?

They don't. I don't even know what I can say to you anymore. Hell, I can't look at you without seeing a traitor. You turned your back on all of us, and that's unforgivable.

The Accords, you know I couldn't sign them. It isn't right. I'm fighting for what I believe in.

No, you're fighting for Steve, not yourself. Always running over to precious Cap even if it costs you your safety, if it costs you everything and everyone you ever loved. Because you think that you can rely on him and him alone, to get through this. You won't get very far by keeping this act up, you know.

News flash; the world doesn't revolve around you, Tony. Just because someone doesn't agree with what you believe, doesn't mean you have to tear their team, their family, apart for it.

You're blaming me?

Maybe I am.

"What are you doing up this late?"

Steve's voice jolted you from your train of thought, and you looked up to see him leaning against the doorframe dressed in sweats and another tight-fitting T-shirt, his blue eyes scanning over you worriedly.

"I could ask you the same thing."

"I'm fine, if that's what you're wondering. I'm just a bit jet-lagged," you muttered, hastily wiping away another stray tear that escaped. He pushed himself off the wall and caught your wrist as you were bringing your hand down, tugging you towards him slightly.

"Tell me what's going on."

"I'm fine!"

"No, you're not. What's wrong, Y/N?"

"I..." your voice faltered. You didn’t even realize you’d started crying until you felt your face grow wet from the salty tears that rolled silently into your cracked lips. "I don't know. Everything's wrong."

"Everything?"

"I made a mistake."

"What do you mean, mistake?"

"I turned my back against Tony. My family. I betrayed my own family, Steve." Your voice cracked. "And now I can't even guarantee that I'll ever see him again."

"You did what you had to do," he said softly, placing a hand on your shoulder. You felt your skin burning up under his touch. "You were just trying to do what you felt was right."

"Yeah, by teaming up with the side of the man who killed my parents. I can't imagine what he even thinks of me right now."

A look of hurt briefly passed over Steve's face at the mention of Bucky.

"...But I know their deaths were out of his control, so I don't blame him," you continued. "Still..I hurt him. And now, I have to live with knowing that fact." "Look, I'm sorry."

"What?"

You looked up and met his gaze, feeling his bright blue eyes boring into yours. He didn't seem upset or angry at all; there was an eerie softness and calming feeling about the way he looked at you that made you relax a bit.

"I shouldn't have dragged you into this mess. I never wanted you to have this kind of life; where you're always living in uncertainty. You deserve better than that."

"It's not your fault at all," you swallowed hard. Talking and breathing grew increasingly difficult with the sob that was building up in the back of your throat, that you tried desperately to conceal for so long, "it's mine. I made that decision to side with you, not only because I couldn't stand the idea of signing the Accords. So it's...it's on me. God, I don't know what to do anymore, I can't—"

A wave of grief suddenly hit you from all sides, causing you to keel over, sliding down against the cold wall with a hand clutching your stomach as an agonized scream tear itself through your body and out of your throat. And you were drowning; suffocated by your own tears as you struggled to breathe. You tried desperately to stop them but nothing could seem to hold back the heavy sobs that wracked your body, clawing at your lungs and heart.

Steve crouched down in front of you and pulled you against him, arms tightening around your body with each cry that escaped your lips. In that moment he wanted nothing more than to take all your sadness and frustration and grief and put it upon himself, to carry the weight on his shoulders so he wouldn't have to watch you endure the pain. He'd much rather have to suffer himself than watch you try and bear the burden and fall to pieces in the process.

Seeing you breaking down before him with your gut-wrenching cries that echoed across the small space, more vulnerable than you'd ever been in front of him before, made it feel as if someone was directly ripping his heart right out of his chest and tearing it into a thousand pieces with their bare hands.

"Hey, it's okay," he whispered soothingly as he pressed his lips to the side of your temple, "it's okay. I've got you. You're gonna be okay."

Despite how you felt as if your heart was twisting itself into knots, there was something comforting about the way he held you ever so gently in his arms, the way his warm breath fell against his neck as one arm was firmly hooked around your waist, running his free hand through your hair.

So for a moment, you allowed yourself to believe that there was no one else in the world except for just you and him, holding you close, and that everything was fine, even if the feeling only lasted for a second.

#steve rogers x reader #avengers x reader #captain america imagine #marvel fic #avengers fanfiction #steve rogers one shot #captain america one shot #captain america fanfiction #steve rogers fanfiction #steve rogers x you #captain america x reader

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ilguna · 4 years ago

Text

Metanoia - Chapter Ten (f.o)

Summary: you will be crowned victor of the 75th hunger games.

Word Count; 7.5k

Warnings; swearing, murder!

NOTES: i give reader a last name to fit the world.

DOUBLE UPDATE TODAY --> CHAPTER TEN 1/2

–

You would take the fucking birds over the spiders any day. If you could go back in time and be here instead, you would take it. Because while it was genuine torture for Katniss--since she has human emotion--it was nothing to you. You laughed for the first fifteen minutes, until it stopped being funny as soon as they pulled out fabricated screams of your very dead family.

You can’t deny that you weren't impressed, though. The amount of trouble they must have gone through just to get them had to have been a lot. They’re dead, which means that they obviously can’t torture them, so the screams have to be fake. So, they have to go back to the interview they had with your family when you were first in the games, take samples of their voices, and then manipulate it until it sounded about right.

They did a fantastic job making it sound real. You almost had a flashback to all those times you were a dick to your brothers and sisters. However, you can’t verify for your parents. They never screamed, no matter what situation they were in, they took it without any fear.

You tried to tell Katniss that the people she hears screaming are probably just fine, considering the gamemakers are morons and they just gave the entire thing away the second they chose your family. But she either literally couldn’t hear you over the birds, or she just chose to ignore you either way.

You can’t say that you didn’t try, though you didn’t care enough to enforce it in her mind.

After a certain point in time, you got fed up with the birds pelting you, and sitting around next to the wall waiting for the hour to be up, so you wandered. Of course, where you went, the birds followed. But it was better being able to move around and check out the sector to see if it was worth staying in after this.

Compared to everything else, this section of the arena is definitely harmless. The birds fuck with the mind of those who have human emotion, but that’s about it. There’s no deadly fog or monkeys. There’s no spiders that eat flesh or a wave of water that’ll wipe you out if you can’t swim. It’s basically clean.

Although, it does hurt when the birds propel themselves into your body, beaks first. After a while, you kinda just get used to it, and learn when to swing the glaive to send the birds flying into the trees. It was fun, until you realized that if you wander too far, the gamemakers might actually try to wipe you out for entertainment.

“Are you okay?” Finnick asks, you swat his hand away.

“You think I give a shit?” you ask, “Those birds mean nothing. The screams are fake, the gamemakers were stupid enough to use my families.” you look up to the sky of the arena, “Which by the way, if you didn’t know--they’re all fucking dead!”

The look on Finnick’s face is almost priceless. He opens his mouth, but you shake your head at him. They’ve been dead for years, and no amount of apologies will bring them back to life. Everyone can say they’re sorry all they want, but you don’t want to hear a single thing out of their mouth concerning the situation unless they’re some sort of necromancer.

“They won’t touch Prim.” Peeta says to Katniss.

“Your fiance’s right, the whole country loves your sister. If they tortured her-–if they did anything to her, forget the districts. There would be riots in the damn Capitol.” Johanna laughs, and then yells; “Hey, how does that sound, Snow? What if we-–what if we set your backyard on fire? You know you can’t put everybody in here.”

You slow clap, snickering to yourself. Johanna and you may not get along, since you two come from very different places, but the two of you are similar than anyone may think. Which is the exact reason why you hate her so fucking much. You don’t want to be compared to her. While she’s loud-mouthed and unafraid to get in trouble, you’d never say some of the shit she does.

Like her stunt during the interview, not a move you would have made. Then again, your entire plan when you volunteered was to be ruthless and win. You didn’t want a target on your head back then, and you don’t really want one now either. However, in order for that not to happen, you’d have to completely ditch your group of allies here.

If anything screams target, it’s sticking around with Beetee, the guy who worked for the Capitol, knows things that he shouldn’t. Johanna, as you said, loud-mouthed and unfearful of sharing her opinions. And Katniss Everdeen, the trouble-stirrer. Plus, god knows what Snow would have against Finnick, Peeta and you.

“What?” she asks, “He can’t hurt me. There’s no one left that I love.”

“Join the club.” you swing the glaive in your hand before slamming it into the ground.

First of all, you’re not entirely surprised that her family has been killed off. When she had come out of her games, she was a big talk for a long while. Johanna played the damsel in distress role very well, which is nearly the same thing that Finnick had done. The only difference, Finnick was just looked over until the last second, while Johanna was purposely acting innocent.

It doesn’t take a lot for the Capitol citizens to desire a certain tribute. They must have seen the fire, spunk and determination on Johanna. Snow obviously had tried to get her to say yes, but even after he had killed her family, she didn’t give in like the rest of you.

You’ve known a couple of people that have been included in the Capitol’s antics, actually. Cashmere, Gloss, Enobaria, you. You know for a fact that Finnick was included, and you bet he said no at first too, so he’s missing a few fingers. There’s Johanna, maybe Blight but you don’t have a clue on that. A few of the other tributes that have been in here probably too.

Katniss and Peeta would be on that list, if it weren’t for them being together and the nation wanting them to be. There’s a great deal of people that want them to be married and have children and be the holy grail of perfect couples. While on the other hand, there’s a few that would desire Katniss, you’re not sure about Peeta. He’s kinda… brainless.

Anyway, Snow wouldn’t take a chance like breaking up the most loved couple at the moment to try and sell one--or maybe both!--into prostitution. He’s smarter than that.

Johanna walks off, you’re not entirely sure why, and you don’t care very much either.

“You weren’t affected at all?” Finnick asks when he can’t stand the silence. Or he’s curious over why Katniss had lost her mind and you stood like a soldier in a storm.

“Finnick, I stopped giving a shit a long time ago,” you say, “There’s two exact things that I care about anymore. One, my big cozy house in District Two. And two, my pride and joy, Tanith.” you grab a hold of the necklace, showing it off for a moment, “And before you ask, no she isn’t my daughter. She’s just one of two of my victors.”

Zavian can go fuck himself, is what you’re subtly implying. You wonder if he’s caught on to that.

“Sure, they tried to get a rise out of me using Tanith’s screams, but I wasn’t going to fall for it. I already saw what happened to numb nuts--” you motion to Katniss, “--and decided to just… not care. I’m not exactly an emotional person, if you haven’t caught on just yet.”

Peeta clearly didn’t like the nickname that you handed off to Katniss. To this, you give him a very specific look as you pass him. Almost a sneer, because you still are very much above him.

“Kids.” you mutter.

This is enough to set him off, “Seriously, what is wrong with you?”

“Peeta…” Finnick warns.

You crouch down near him and Katniss, “You know how animals get a little antsy when their prey is in front of them?” he looks like he pales, “We’re not friends, Peeta. In fact, I completely loathe you and I’ve been waiting for a moment to pounce on you and everyone else here.

“The second that this alliance fails, I’m going after you guys first. Not Johanna, or Beetee, or Brutus. You and your little girlfriend.”

“That just means that you’re afraid of what we’re capable of.”

You laugh in his face, before moving closer, whispering; “No, I just know things that you don’t.” you stand again, “I’m heading to the beach, don’t feel forced to follow anytime soon.”

You take a completely new path to the beach, making sure to cover your tracks the best you can. Last thing you want is Finnick chasing after you, thinking that you’re upset or whatever. That isn’t the case in the slightest, you’re mostly walking away so you don’t end up killing them.

Katniss is in the most vulnerable state she’s been in yet. A quick stab through her chest, and then a swing of the glaive up to Peeta’s throat--and you’ve knocked them both out of the game already. You bet Finnick wouldn’t necessarily try to kill you, but he’d definitely disarm you in some way.

Pull the pocket knife out of your boot, three people are dead. Beetee can’t run that fast, four people. It would just be you and Johanna, and she’d probably go running back to the rest of you, since that’s a lot of cannons. You’d take her out too, and then there would be only three people left inside of the games.

You, Brutus, and Chaff--as Peeta said. Chaff doesn’t have any important skills, he’d die in the wilderness. With your luck, all you’d have to do is camp the cornucopia, hidden inside, and when he would come to armor up some more--because he would--you’d take him out too. Just like that, you’d be the winner of the Quarter Quell.

Of course, this is all easier said than done. Trying to kill four people in one big burst would be an absolute pain in the ass. You’d have to pick a perfect time to do it. Like Katniss freaking out over whoever it was, and Peeta tending over her.

Actually, instead of killing Finnick third, you think you would go for Beetee instead, and Finnick would come after. It just makes more sense that way.

The beach is empty, there’s no one around the ring--and as far as you can see--in the treeline either. Brutus would be smart enough to stay in the jungle, and not make a run for the cornucopia just in case the rest of you are out here. He’s outnumbered considerably. He might be able to mow down a few people at first, but eventually he’ll get taken down.

You take a seat next to the tree that you guys were gathered around before the jabberjays had rudely interrupted. You run your hands over your arms, noticing that the scabs are basically gone already. It’s good news, it means that the ointment that you were given works at an accelerated pace--even more so than the cream for the cut on the back of your head.

Applying it again, you skip your legs. It’s only the upper half of your body that’s exposed anymore, and it’s because you passed on putting the shirt on. It was because of how hot it is in here. Plus, the thing is basically ruined anyway, the spiders had chewed holes in it to get through.

Hell, you bet that it’s still where you left it last.

You can’t wait until all of this is over.

“Who’s Annie?” Katniss asks, you raise your head from where it was resting against a tree, looking to where everyone is sitting.

Johanna is next to Katniss, Finnick is sitting in the water, and Beetee and Peeta are nearby.

“Annie Cresta, the girl that Mags volunteered for. She won like four years--five years ago.” Johanna says.

You lay your head back down against the tree, but don’t bother closing your eyes again, instead you stare right ahead at Finnick. You’d call him insane for sitting in freezing water like that, but he comes from the ocean district. No water can really bother him that badly.

You wonder what brought Katniss’ question on. She might have overheard you when you asked Finnick that question. About what would happen to Annie if you and Finnick are soulmates. If he’d just willingly leave her like that, after he found your dislikable personality, charming somehow.

“Is she the one that went a little…” Katniss doesn’t want to say it.

Johanna hums, pauses, and then says; “Love is weird.”

Unfortunately, it is.

“I have a plan.” Beetee says.

“Finnick!” Johanna gets up.

“I have a plan.” Beetee repeats.

Finnick and Johanna come back over, arms resting on the tree branch. You don’t move from where you’re sitting, which is definitely out of the circle that they’re standing and sitting in. You’re exhausted, you need some real sleep and not some power naps every couple of hours.

“Where does Brutus feel safest? The jungle?” Beetee asks.

“Jungles a nightmare.” Johanna says.

“Probably here on the beach.” Peeta answers.

“Then why is he not here?” Beetee asks.

“Because we are. We claimed it.” Johanna spits.

You can’t believe that they’re really worrying over one person. As you’ve said to yourself over and over, Brutus is harmless if you’re all careful. Yes, he will come back to hunt, but he’s going to need supplies out of the cornucopia first. Once he gets that shit, he’ll be coming after you guys.

“And if we left, he would come?” Beetee asks again.

You hate his ‘twenty questions’ game. If you have a plan, just say it and not beat around the bush.

“Or stay hidden in the treeline.” Finnick says.

“Which in just over four hours will be soaked with water from the ten o’clock wave.” he smiles, “Then what happens at midnight?”

“Lightning strikes that tree.” Katniss points.

“Here’s what I propose,” Beetee starts, “We leave the beach at dusk. We head to the lightning tree, that should draw them back to the beach. Prior to midnight, we then run this wire–” he motions to it, and then goes to pointing, “–from the tree, to the water. Anyone in the water, or the damp sand, will be electrocuted.’

The two morons sitting in the sand feel it between their fingers as if they don’t know what damp sand feels like by now. You clench your teeth and close your eyes, leaning your head back.

Maybe you should just stay here and quit following them around.

“How do we know that the wire’s not going to burn up?” Johanna asks.

“Because I invented it.” he says, “I assure you, it won’t burn up.”

Johanna and Finnick share a look, and you can practically hear the conversation. Asking if it’s worth it, the other says it won’t. There’s really nothing left to lose, so you all might as well do it.

And then, Finnick looks at you, “What’re you thinking, (Y/n)?”

“Is there a look on my face?” you ask, raising your eyebrows.

Finnick cracks a smile, “I’m asking because you know these tricks best.”

Sighing, you lean forward, “Not that you actually care, you’re going to go through whatever you feel like is best. But if you want my opinion, Brutus is one man. We can take him on, it’s not like he’s impossible to kill. The fact that you’re going through will all of this though--” you motion between the sand and the coil of wire, “--is stupid.”

“But if you were with him, would you come after us?” Katniss asks.

“Without a doubt. However, he’s by himself, he’s smarter than you guys take him for, he’s gonna wait till we split up or something. Also, since he’s the last hope of a career--since I am very clearly tainted by your ideals--he’s pampered. The motherfucker will have everything that he could wish for.”

Johanna laughs, “Well, Beetee’s plan is better than hunting him down.”

You roll your eyes, laying back against the tree again. You don’t know why you bother.

What’s even more annoying, is that you’re considering helping Brutus come after these pretentious dicks. And now that you know their plan, it makes it even better. You and Brutus would be able to avoid the beach for a while, and if it does get electrocuted, the sand will likely be partially glass anyway.

And since you know the jungle better than Brutus does at this point, he’ll owe you more than he’ll like it.

“Yeah, why not? If it fails, no harm done anyway.” Katniss says.

Peeta nods, “Alright, I say we try it.”

“So what can we do to help?” Finnick asks.

Beetee pauses for a moment before answering, “Keep me alive for the next six hours? That would be extremely helpful.”

Beetee goes ahead and lists everything that he’ll be doing. For a while, you’re able to sit through his speech, until you develop a headache. Only then do you go ahead with getting up and wandering to the cornucopia just to get away from everyone. If you do decide to sneak off, it’ll be easier to do when there’s a structure blocking their view.

You’ve got hours to burn before you have to leave the beach and go to the trees.

It isn’t until you’re pretty far along the rocks when you realize that you’re not alone. In fact, there’s quite a lot of splashing happening in the water. Instinctively, you move closer to the other side of the rock, not really wanting to look and see if there’s a fucking mutt that also lives inside of the water. On top of the fact that the gamemakers can spin you dizzy if they feel like it.

“Smart.”

“Holy fuck, Finnick.” you stop, raising your face to the sky, “Do you ever give people personal space?”

“Remember what happened the last time we were in the middle?”

You look at Finnick now, “As you guys said, he’s probably staying hidden in the trees! Won’t come out until we’re fuckin’ gone, so what’s the harm in wandering around?”

Finnick comes up to the rocks, crossing his arms and pulling himself with them, “Was that rhetorical or do you really want to know.”

You crouch down, “What are you here for?”

“Keeping an eye on you.”

“Afraid I’ll run?”

“After that homicidal look you had on your face listening to Beetee, yeah.”

You offer your hand to him, and he takes it, so you pull him up, “Beetee not only had an annoying voice, but doesn’t know when to shut up.” you look at where he’s sitting with Johanna, “She’s probably wanting to kill him too.”

You don’t wait for Finnick to pull himself up. The cornucopia is empty, there’s no one here but you and Finnick.

You wish that there weren’t cameras everywhere. You wish that you’d be able to have a full conversation with Finnick, cutting out all the secret words. You want to ask him what happened if this plan of his actually comes true. Who’s bringing them out of here? And when?

You have a vague idea, Beetee said that you guys should keep him alive for the ‘next six hours’, and not anything past that. That’s significant, right? Maybe it will happen tonight, after all.

“What’s on your mind?” Finnick takes a seat on the box while you six in the black sand.

“Six hours to keep him alive is very specific, don’t you think?” you ask, hoping that he catches on, “Do you think he has any big plans after that?”

“He might, after midnight. Just depends if it all goes according to plan.”

Something might happen after midnight--doesn’t make sense to you, “Well, Chaff is dead already,” the cannon went off an hour ago, it can’t be Brutus, you just know it, “And if we do kill Brutus, that just leaves us.”

“Yes it does.” Finnick says.

“Which means that I should branch off while I can.” you squint, waiting for him to object.

“We’d just have to go after you next, since you have a vendetta against Peeta and Katniss, after all.”

“So I should stick around?”

“We might surprise you.” Finnick smiles.

You stand again, heading over to the water, facing it, “Yeah? And what happens if they shoot first?”

“Come on, (Y/n). You’re telling me that you won’t be anticipating it the entire time?”

He’s amused, which annoys you. All of this is such a walk in the park for him, and he can clearly tell that none of this is as easy for you. You don’t know if you can put your trust in their hands, considering that they know your motives. If you let your guard down for even a little bit, they’d be able to take you out.

Finnick is always so smug when it comes to things. Whoever is really behind this, he must believe in them a lot. They have to be really good at whatever they’re planning to do if this is the way to go.

“I will.” you admit, “If Katniss even twitches, I’ll wipe out that boy of hers.” you slam the glaive into the rock, smiling a little bit, “And while she’s grieving, I’ll take her next.”

“You fantasize about death a lot?”

“For them, yes.” you look over your shoulder, “Could you imagine the shock on the Capitol citizen’s faces when I take out the girl on fire and her useless boyfriend? They’d loathe me.”

“You’d get yourself in trouble.”

“I’m already in trouble. I had tons of people betting on me, and I’ve wasted their precious money.”

He snorts, “They’ll have more to waste next year, too.”

If there is a next year.

“When do we head back to the others?” you ask.

“Is the sun hitting the trees yet?” Finnick is behind you, and just before you’re able to slip out of his fingers, he places his hands on your waist and leans forward, “Looks like we’ve still got some time.”

“Annie Cresta is sobbing in her psychotic rocking chair.” you elbow him to get him off, and he obliges, “What made you like her, anyway?”

“What made you like me?”

You laugh, “Ha! You think I give a shit about you!” you then deadpan, staring at him, “Sweetheart, I could drown you in these waters and come up victorious. You haven’t grown on me as much as you think you have.”

“You’re tolerating me more, whether you want to admit that or not.”

“Tolerating is a hell of a difference. Ticking time bomb--what was that song that Wiress was singing before she was subtly murdered by my admirer?” you mock a smile.

Finnick looks interested, “Admirer? Gloss admired you?”

“If you win these games, make sure they play back the tapes of every single time Gloss and I ran across each other. Watch his eyes, especially. And the interview, too, because he had the blessing of holding my hand for a minute while we played rebellion on live tv.”

He’s quiet for a moment, and then he laughs to himself, “(Y/n), you could have anyone you want, and yet you choose to be all by yourself.”

“What? Johanna and Beetee have a crush on me now? On top of you, and Gloss, and probably Brutus too.”

“Who said I’m on that list?” Finnick asks.

You hold up your finger, before moving behind him, placing your hands on his sides, leaning into his body as close as you can manage. He’s wet from being in the water, but the effect works.

“Go fuck yourself.”

You shove him in after that, watching as he flails, and then hits the water.

You pick up your glaive from the rocks as you move back to the cornucopia. It’s a couple of seconds before Finnick gets himself out of the water again. You don’t say a word to him, pulling out food from the boxes and chewing on it as you continue to dig through the shit.

“You don’t need to ask my permission to go to the others.” you tell him, “I can take care of myself.”

“I know you can, but I’m going to sit here anyway.”

Not like he has much to do in the first place.

“Do you really think I would leave Annie for you?”

“No, and I don’t want you to either. The girl is nutty enough as it is, she’d just think that the next person she comes across that shows an interest will end up leaving her if they find their soulmate too.”

“You’d stay with someone even if they weren’t?”

You look up, “I don’t date.”

“Hypothetically, then.”

Sighing, you go back to what you were doing, “It’s not really hypothetical with me. The guy did fucking leave me because he found his soulmate when I was in the games. The motherfucker started dating her before I’d even come home. I wore his stupid trinket necklace into the games and everything.

“I was a teenager--whatever. But we had been together for years, so I would expect some hesitance, and maybe even remorse.” you look at Finnick, “If I were you, I wouldn’t even be considering leaving Annie. It would be a downgrade, because I don’t care about you, and she does.

“And before you say that ‘time would change that’, you’d be changing me, the person I am. I’m developed, I’m not changing anything. You choose someone who would love you forever, or someone who would loathe every detail about you.” you stop now, “If you saw a golden apple and a rotten apple in front of you, which would you pick? I know I would pick the golden one.”

“I am the golden one--”

“And I’m the rotten one for you.” you say, “And honestly, even if you do pick me, I don’t pick you. My opinion hasn’t changed since the tribute parade, you’re as unlikable as all the other rejects on the beach. The only people that have ever liked you are one of the three things, dead, crazy, or horny. And I’m not any of those.”

“No,” Finnick instantly disagrees, “You’re crazy.”

“Not for you.”

Finnick laughs, and doesn’t say anything more.

You pop open another box, and lo and behold sits your sai’s. You laugh, pulling them out and turning them over in your hands. They’re shiny, new as the day as they were made.

“Look at these!” the excitement bubbles out of you, “I knew that they were here somewhere. They wouldn’t have the weapons for everyone but me.”

“Aren’t those used for disarming people, though? Not really for killing?”

You look up at Finnick, “That’s the best part. The bluntness makes it hurt.”

Getting to your feet, you spin them in your hands, and then aim them towards Finnick. You give him a pretty big smile, and he knows what you want. He picks up his trident, pointing it at your chest.

“What happens if I accidentally stab you?” Finnick asks.

“Don’t flatter yourself, you won’t even get close.” you swing first.

The bar to the trident gets stuck in the sai, and with one healthy twist, you’ve already disarmed Finnick in three moves. You grab the trident before it hits the rock, and then you hand it back to Finnick.

“That was quick.” Finnick raises his eyebrows, “What else do you know?”

“How to shoot a bow, wield a number of swords that are different variations of the same model. I know how to use the trident you’re holding, and anything close to a spear--what else?” you look into the cornucopia, “Probably the whip, the mace--with and without the chain too. The axes that Johanna has, I’d be able to use that too, but it’s a little heavy for my liking.”

When you look at Finnick, he clearly doesn’t know what to think, “Are you lying to me?”

“No.”

“What can’t you do?”

“Swim well, and probably fish either. District Two is a barren wasteland.” you belt at least one of the sai’s before picking the glaive up, “Sun’s hit the trees, it’s about time we head back.”

You take the lead while Finnick lags for a moment.

The walk back is filled with questions, and more banter back and forth. By the time you get to the beach, the others are ready to go. Everyone packs up their shit--not that there’s much in the first place--and then you all head into the jungle, one by one.

Finnick, Beetee, Peeta, Katniss, Johanna, and then you. Johanna and you had a power struggle for a moment, until Finnick said that you probably should be kept away from Katniss and Peeta since you’re more dangerous than you let on. Johanna laughed in your face, but didn’t argue.

You guess that he isn’t wrong. You could take any of their weapons and thrive. One of the perks of being a games-trained tribute, rather than an unsuspecting child. You were taught to be able to use anything, which doesn’t mean that you don’t have preferences when it comes to certain things, of course.

You’d prefer an sai because it’s able to disarm people pretty quickly. It’s unrealistic in a deadly fight though, so you’d always go for something more simple as a sword. You would have picked that instead, if it weren’t for the fact that swords are basic, and have average reach. A glaive, a spear, or a trident is a complete different story.

Throwing a glaive is going to be easier than throwing a sword. They’re built different, swords are meant to slice through the air to move quicker. While the glaive, spear, or trident are specifically designed to be able to be thrown without fucking it up. If you threw a sword, with the handle and the blade that it has, it would spin through the air. While the others specifically have a pole made for throwing.

Also, the tip of the spear is meant to guide the rest of the weapon. It’s heavy in that one spot mostly, as the rest of it is light material--or it’s supposed to be, at least. It’s going to be a lot harder to throw one thing straight than the other.

As the sun gets lower, the jungle gets darker. The heat might be less, but that doesn’t stop the humidity. You’re sweating out all the water you drank before this hike. The entire thing is uphill, and it’s pretty steep too. You can feel the burn in your calves from it.

Capitol music interrupts the silence. But while the others stop, you don’t bother. You can see their faces and their districts in your mind already. Cashmere and Gloss from District One, Cashmere being your kill, Gloss being Katniss. Wiress since Gloss has killed her before going down seconds later.

Mags because she died due to the poisonous fog in a noble sacrifice for Peeta. The girl from five, she drowned in the tidal wave that hit at ten this morning. Next is the female morphling that died for Peeta during the mutt attack, which was just an hour after Mags had died.

Blight, Johanna’s district mate because he ran head-first into the forcefield wall or whatever when he was blinded by the blood rain. The guy from ten died from an unknown mutt attack, which would later be the same fate for Chaff.

It’s you and Brutus, Beetee, Finnick, Johanna, and Katniss and Peeta left in here. Brutus is the odd man out, while the rest of you are in a supposed alliance. By now, in any other regular games, the tributes would be at each other’s throats already. If you all were careers--which, two of you are in this case--it would be even worse.

People would be picked off in their sleep, there would be no time to sort a plan out. Let everyone run in different directions and go from there. If you come across each other, it’s a fight to the death. Unless they’re making mini allies after that.

“Eager?” Finnick asks as soon as you get up to him.

“If I stop walking now, then I’m not going to get back up.” you tell him, “Plus I know everyone that’s died already, and you know the exact amount too. Take a look at your arm.”

“You won’t take a moment to honor them?”

“I had planned to kill half of them, so no, I really won’t.” you then pause for a second, looking at Finnick, “May Mags have peace, though.”

Finnick cracks a smile, “You’re soft.”

You scowl at Finnick, before going back to the hill. Finnick keeps at your pace, and in no time, you’re reached the tree. Beetee passes you guys up.

“Minimal charring, impressive conductor… let’s get started.” Beetee says, heading over to the tree.

As everyone else follows him over, you decide to stay watch instead. Finnick doesn’t move either, probably deciding that it’ll be best to stick by your sick.

“Lost puppy.” you mutter.

Beetee gets the wire going around the tree, and since it’s made up of a bunch of small trees, Beetee focuses on those and not the one main part. It takes a while before he finally gets a rhythm down, he goes much faster after that.

And since he’s Beetee, he’s also blabbing his mouth while he does it, “Typically, a lightning strike contains five billion volts of energy.”

“Fascinating.” Finnick snickers, and you look over to give him a look of amusement.

“We don’t want to be anywhere in the vicinity when this hits.”

Beetee finishes up with the wire, and then he begins off in the direction that you guys came from, holding it out to Katniss, “You girls go together now, take this. Unspool it carefully, make sure the entire coil is in the water, you understand? Then head to the tree at the two o’clock center, we’ll meet you there.”

Katniss looks between Beetee and Johanna, like she doesn’t know what to think of this. Too bad for her, you’re not entirely sure either. You have no clue what the hell is going on, but from the look on Finnick’s face, he wants you to play along.

“I’m going to go with them as a guard.” Peeta says.

You laugh, “As if you’d be much help.”

“No, you’re staying here to protect me.” Beetee then adds, “And the tree.”

“No, I need to go with her.” Peeta says in a mock authoritative tone.

“Brutus is the size of two careers, I need two guards.”

“Finnick and (Y/n) can protect you just fine.” Peeta tries.

“Last time I checked, you’re not a girl,” you lean on the glaive.

“Yeah, why can’t Finnick and (Y/n) protect you, and Peeta, Johanna and I take the coil?”

“You all agreed to keep me alive until midnight, correct?” Beetee comes closer, glasses halfway down his nose.

“It’s his plan, we all agreed to it,” Johanna says.

Finnick chimes in too, “Is there a problem, here?”

“Excellent question.” Beetee waits for an objection.

There is none, “No, there’s no problem.”

Katniss goes to say goodbye to Peeta, and you give a look to Johanna, “I’m not holding the wire.”

“I don’t plan on it either.” Johanna says.

Johanna gives Katniss another second before telling him to pick up the pace. After that, the three of you leave to go down the hill to the sand. As you go down the way you came, you realize that Johanna seems to have an entire path planned out, she’s got a goal.

As much as you hate to say it, you’ve got to follow her lead, especially if you might screw up whatever it is that she has to do. With what Finnick said and all earlier this evening, midnight or after. Six hours has come upon you guys quite quickly, it’s not even thirty minutes or so until the lightning does happen.

You go down the hill first, allowing Johanna and then Katniss go behind you. Johanna seemed to have wanted it this way, and she even encouraged you to be the one that went first. You’d like to be paranoid about it being because she can literally backstab you in this position, but you don’t have the energy for this.

You’d really like to know the point of going all the way up the hill to wrap a wire around a tree only for it to turn out that you’d literally be going back down the hill maybe an hour to a half hour later.

It’s mostly just silence, the most difficult part is going down the rocks. You use the glaive as a walking stick as you carefully lower yourself down onto each rock. With Johanna and Katniss, Johanna takes the bow from her to allow Katniss to get down safely. Also allowing her to focus on the safety of the wire.

Johanna hands the bow back, and then says, “Come on. I want to put as much distance between me and this beach as possible. Frying is not how I want to go.”

You guys walk a couple more steps, until the sound of the wire unspooling stops altogether, and Katniss comes to a halt too. When you turn around to see, the wire is pulled tight, and each time Katniss tugs, it doesn’t move.

“There’s something…” Katniss trails off, leaning forward a little bit.

This isn’t a coincidence, you give a look to Johanna just before the wire snaps, and she nods at you. The moment you look back at the place where the wire had been stuck, Brutus emerges. In the same moment, Johanna grabs the wire from Katniss and hits her over the head with it.

“Keep an eye on him.” Johanna murmurs lowly, and she doesn’t really have to tell you twice.

Whatever Johanna does, it makes Katniss scream. By the time Johanna stands again, there’s blood on her hands, you watch as she reaches for her axe, but you stop her. You grab the sai on your belt and throw it, before shoving Johanna to get her running.

She doesn’t hesitate, and she might even be grateful of the fact that she won’t be fighting Brutus with her two tiny fists.

“Is he following?” Johanna asks.

You pause for a moment, listening, until Brutus comes running at you from the fucking trees. You swing the glaive, allowing him to dodge and get out of the way. You slip under his arm when his attention is then turned to Johanna. After that, you scramble your way up to higher ground.

As you go up, you dig your hand into your boot, searching for the pocketknife. However, you can’t seem to find it at first. You stop, make your way up to the top of the hill first, before pulling the boot off. The knife drops into the leaves, and you pick it up, flicking it open.

After that, you take off running without the shoe. You can feel the rocks and needles poking into your foot with every single step you take. You keep an eye on your right, looking for Brutus’ shiny bald head in the moonlight. And when you’re sure you caught a glimpse of it, you take a couple of steps back.

You catch your breath the best you can, and when you feel the adrenaline run through your body like a shot of energy, you bolt towards the cliff. When you hit the edge, you push off, and pull the knife over your head. Johanna clearly sees you behind him, over him, flying down like an eagle catching its prey.

Then, you sink the knife straight into the back of Brutus’ neck. It doesn’t kill him immediately, but he does fall flat onto his elbows. It’s not over yet, the cannon hasn’t signaled so you pull the knife out and sink it straight into the back of Brutus’ skull.

The cannon goes off, and you dip your head a little bit, sucking in the air between your teeth.

“Shit.”

“Don’t fucking mention it.” you tell her, getting up again, “You should find Katniss, or whatever.”

“Yeah, you’re okay?”

“Are you? I left you alone for a minute.”

“No dents.” she says.

She takes off after that, and you nod a little to yourself. You take the same path that you did the first time, finding your shoe at the top. You yank the sock off, shove your foot into the boot, pick up the glaive and then start towards the tree. You only know you’re heading in the right direction when you can see glimpses through the trees.

You slam into something solid, but you grab onto it before you bounce off. It takes you a second to realize that it’s no tree, it’s Finnick. His eyes are wide and he looks over you.

“Who’s blood--”

“Brutus, he’s dead. Johanna went to look for Katniss.”

“Peeta ran off when the cannon--we need to find Katniss first.”

“What’s the plan?” you ask, stopping Finnick.

“Find who you can and bring them back to the tree.”

This is chaos.

“Okay,” you agree, “Yeah, alright.”

You go to go by yourself, but Finnick pulls you along with him. The two of you run through the trees a little bit as he calls out for Johanna, and Peeta and Katniss. When you guys take a moment to get your heads back, you suggest that they might have just gone back to the lightning tree.

“Yeah--okay.” Finnick says.

“I’m going to look for another minute or so, I’ll be there in a second.” you push him.

“No, come with me.”

“Finnick, if they’re not at the tree, they’re out here.” you pause for a second, “I’m not going to kill anyone, promise. Just go.”

He clearly doesn’t want to agree, but he heads in that direction anyway. And just as you said, you search the ground, in the bushes, leaves and trees. You’re mainly hoping that Peeta is pulling his stupid camoflauge stunt, but you’re not entirely sure how he would have enough time to do that.

Nevertheless, you kick in bushes, and peek into trees that are split open. You sweep your foot between rocks, hoping that you’ll find something squishy, or a groan of complaint, but there really is nothing.

Another couple of minutes, and then you decide that they have to be back at camp at this rate, right?

“Johanna?” you yell, fed up with this quiet game, because there is no threat anymore, “Peeta?”

Just as there’s rustling in the leaves, an explosion goes off above you. You crouch, covering your head as you meekly look to see what caused it. Your mouth falls open when you see the sky of the arena is black, and the hexagons that hold the arena together, are coming loose.

“What the fuck?” Johanna asks.

“Did you find Peeta?”

“No, Finnick or Katniss?”

“Finnick went back to the tree.” your voice sounds far away.

The hexagons are falling now, the mouth of the arena is now on fire. You can see all the construction that’s behind the making of these places. The tree is so far up the hill, it would take a lot of energy to run all that way again.

Neither you or Johanna move, though, staring at the opening. Then, a familiar black mass appears in the bright blue sky, lowering a claw. All the way down, until it sweeps up Beetee.

You start moving towards the tree, keeping your eyes on the hovercraft, watching as it gets dropped down a second time.

“(Y/n)--!” Johanna starts.

“I’m not staying in here!” you yell back at her, “I’m getting the fuck out of here even if it kills me!”

You struggle going up the ledge of dirt, and then the rocks too as you try not to make them dislodge and tumble. Johanna doesn’t follow you, almost like she knows something and you don’t.

The claw goes down a third time, and some sick feeling in your stomach tells you that it’s the final time. You push yourself the best you can, but you can feel your body giving up already. And just as you make it into the clearing, Finnick is already getting lifted into the air.

The ground shakes with every hexagon that falls. The jungle is on fire, and you can smell the burning wood, giving you a headache. But you don’t move from where you’re standing, watching as the claw is brought in. And just as you anticipate it coming out the fourth time.

The hovercraft flies away.

#ilguna #finnick odair #finnick odair imagine #finnick odair oneshot #finnick odair fanfic #finnick odair x reader #finnick odair metanoia #metanoia chapter ten #metanoia

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