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cinnamonest · 4 years ago

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Kaeya Alberich - Yandere Profile

YES I love my eyepatch boy!! I really like him as a yandere, because he's definitely got several traits and behaviors that would make him a very unconventional/different yet absolutely terrifying one to have. Him or Diluc as your yandere is basically like playing a game on maximum difficulty. He's so arrogant dammit why does he have to make it hot

More importantly, someone take the ability to write n/sfw away from me I s2g... I go from trying to make serious content to nasty weird kinks and completely feral in .002 seconds the moment I add that readmore

tws: gaslighting, manipulation, yandere, mentions of mutilation

tws (below cut): noncon, a good deal of sadism, mentions of an*l

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What are they generally like? Lucid, aware? Obsessive? How do they behave?

He's actually one of the worst yanderes you could have in almost every regard, for two very simple reasons: his crippling psychological issues, and his intense selfishness. The first manifests as severe abandonment issues. It's the origin of his unhealthy feelings, most likely. Kaeya doesn't like the instability of people - based on his backstory, people always leave, or die, and even if they don't intend to, somehow it feels like abandonment, and he resents it. People leave him all alone and afraid and uncertain. That's generally all he knows, and despite the smug exterior, he's actually pushed people away quite a bit, keeps everyone at arm's length to ensure they can't become someone too important for him to accept their sudden absence. He can't care about someone, because that someone is fated to inevitably leave him, no matter who it may be.

That's why, once you manage to worm your way into his feelings and heart despite his best efforts, once he finally caves to acknowledging the feeling, he's aware. Painfully aware, because be can't stop worrying every waking moment about you, your well-being, your location. It reaches a point where he can't go about his job because he's simply too consumed with his worry.

The solution that kept him safest in the past was to avoid developing emotional attachments, but when he does, he's terrified of both your safety AND you intentionally abandoning him. Really, the latter would hurt worse, since he can't fault you for dying, but to abandon him? It would break him.

And, to some extent, he's developed a lot of prideful anger about it, deep, deep down. He feels that he doesn't deserve to be abandoned, doesn't deserve to just be left behind under the guise of some greater purpose, and he'll be damned if he just lets you toss him aside like he feels others did. Even if you reject him, he won't accept it. You don't get to reject him. He won't allow that. What has he ever done to deserve everything that's happened to him? Nothing. You're the one person who has stayed with him, and you're going to continue to be with him. Forever.

That being said, he's still somewhat confident because he's got that arrogance about him. He doesn't perceive rejection, because he's always gotten a lot of attention for his looks, even if he's never actually followed through on anyone else's attention out of those same fears. He'll write off any perceived rejection as being for some other reason, something besides an actual rejection, and he'll seek to eliminate whatever he feels is keeping you from just accepting him.

Honestly, one of the most likely to have a full blown, classic-yandere-style psychotic breakdown. He can be driven to a snapping point, if there's enough stress or obstacles, and in case of that, he'll be a lot more willing to kill, and a lot more willing to hurt you, but it's a point that would still take a lot to reach.

But what's really terrifying about Kaeya is his delusions, primarily his ability to mentally justify everything he does without hesitation. Even most delusional yanderes struggle - they feel like it's wrong, they know it is deep down, and they take time to convince themselves of their delusions, tell themselves it's ok over and over, beg for reassurance, and get defensive when called out because they know they're in the wrong. The same isn't true for Kaeya. He automatically justifies his actions by default, and has absolutely zero doubt or hesitation to do so. He doesn't even need a complex reason for justification - it's a simple one. He deserves what he wants. Anything necessary to achieve that is fair.

How likely are they to kidnap their darling? How quickly will they do so?

Highly likely and very quickly, right up there with Diluc and Razor. And he's absolutely remorseless about it. It ties back into his delusional state and ability to justify anything he does - this is what's best for you. If you don't get that, that's your problem, not his.

He's another one to not want to pull some barbaric move like knocking you out, rather, he'd rather just trick you into walking right into your new home. He gets that you'll be upset about it, but to him, that's just part of the process. Not that he'll tolerate it for too long. 12, maybe 24 hours is enough time for you to reasonably be upset, but if you're still trying to fight him on this after that, he's going to get snappy about it, thinking you should already be over that by now.

How difficult is it to escape from them? How do they keep you restrained? How do they deal with attempted escape?

You're not leaving.

It's not worth trying, really. How he manages to do it is a mystery to you, but he'll manage to keep you locked in right there at the headquarters with him. How Jean and Lisa haven't found out about you being there, how he convinced all of his guards to be on his side of things, you have no idea. Realistically, if you get out, he's likely to make you out to be some kind of criminal that needs to be found -- just not to hurt you in any way, so goes the order, and the knights know better than to question why.

He has eyes and ears everywhere, it won't take them anytime at all to find you. He's so confident in that, and combined with his pride, he doesn't feel the need to go get you himself. No, it's a lot more satisfying to sit back and watch as they drag you through the doors of the headquarters, slowly pull you to the end of the room and drop you down at his feet, where he can look down on you with that closed-eyed, artificially wide smile that tells you that you have seriously fucked up.

Escape attempts aren't going to be met with a single shred of mercy, really. The thing about Kaeya is he's ultimately a selfish, selfish bastard with a lot of deep-seeded, highly repressed emotional issues, and he has absolutely no problem with keeping you bound hand and foot, or maybe even make some permanent modifications to your body if that's what it takes to keep you. It's not a wise idea to even try unless you're absolutely certain to succeed, otherwise you may find yourself never getting the opportunity again. You don't really need those Achilles tendons intact, you know. And your ankle bones are just so fragile, they'll snap with just a little twist. Actually, that wouldn't be too bad, giving you more reasons to be grateful when he's doing everything for you.

He's not one to just let it go, either. No, escape attempts are the one unforgivable thing for him, the one thing that will make him totally and completely snap. You don't get to do that. You're the one thing that doesn't get to just disappear out of his life in a flash. Half the reason he sends the knights to get you rather than going himself is to give him some time to let the rage settle down, otherwise he knows he might not be able to control himself and might end up hurting you even worse than he intends to. He's not going to buy any excuses and won't go any lighter on you if you beg and grovel or anything. But you will apologize -- you get to choose how hard it is. You can apologize the easy way, or, if you don't want to, there are many ways to force it out. But by the end, he'll get an apology, and a promise to never try again, out of you, no matter what that takes. It's by far the worst state you'll ever see him in, and really, once is enough to dissuade you from trying again.

How easy are they to trick, deceive, or manipulate?

You'd have to try pretty hard. He doesn't have the sheer amount of years of life experience like Venti or Zhongli, but he's not the captain for no reason - he's perceptive, and highly intelligent.

Rather than simply mastering reading human voice and facial expressions for telltale signs of deceit, he's good at learning individuals in particular - memorizing the patterns of thought and action of a particular individual, and predicting how they will act. He can do it with everyone else with ease, how much more, then, with the object of an obsession? If you're trying to formulate some plan to trick him, he'll already predict what you'll do, if you lie, he already knows. It's creepier than the others, really, because it's not just that he can tell when you're lying, but rather he already knows you're going to lie or try some scheme before you do it. It feels so tailored and personalized to your thought patterns, it almost feels like an invasion of the privacy of your mind, which, really, is the one privacy you thought you had left.

He's great at gaslighting himself, too. He's a very good liar, and can make you believe anything he wants. He'll target your fears and paranoias, make you believe you're going crazy, and he'll do it all so perfectly you'll never suspect a thing. You'll end up coming to him for protection and guidance, exactly as planned.

How lenient are they? What privileges can you have, and what will you be denied?

Pretty strict. He doesn't let you have any outside contact, and you're limited on what you can do when he's gone. He'll bring you some books, maybe something to draw on -- no sharp writing utensils, though. In his mind, that should be enough to occupy you.

You won't get outside walks or visits. It's just too risky for him, and he really doesn't like seeing other people look at you. If you really, really beg, and you've been on amazing behavior, and you're well into your relationship, maybe a few months or so, there's a chance he'll take you out at nighttime, or sunrise, but at the slightest sign of intentions he doesn't like, you'll be dragged back, and you won't see the sun for a long time.

You'll have a very limited wardrobe, he doesn't see why you even need to wear anything, but if you're going to be stubborn, he can get you something simple, like an old shirt and some underwear, but that's about all you can have. Any requests for actual clothing are going to be denied. It's ridiculous for him to spend money on something you don't need, and besides, he prefers it this way, y'know?

What kind of rules do they have? What kind of punishment would they use?

Generally, it's a simple one: obey. You do what he tells you to do, and you don't do something if he tells you not to. This stems to similar rules that develop: be submissive, don't be argumentative, don't be defiant. Follow those, and you can both be happy, and that's what you want, isn't it? It had better be - he's not very lenient, and will harshly punish even small offenses. As for that punishment... most of it isn't going to be sfw. That's just how he is.

What he will do is emotionally manipulate you, and he's rather good at it. You wanted to escape? Ok. He'll let you have your way, let you be alone. All alone. All by yourself, in a little room, with no one at all, which is exactly how you would have left him, had you succeeded. He knows very well how that kind of loneliness bites. He's not totally cruel, though, and he won't withhold affection from you by the time he returns -- he doesn't need to, you'll already be crying and apologizing, which is exactly what he hoped for. Not that he won't briefly mock you for it.

"If I didn't know any better, I'd say you're crying like that because you actually missed me. Oh, you did? Being all alone isn't particularly fun, now is it? I'm sure you understand that now."

How do they deal with rivals, or perceived rivals? Will they get rid of them? Will they kill them themselves, or find another way?

Kaeya's an insanely jealous person. It doesn't show on his face, but it eats at him internally. It doesn't matter if it's a love interest, a platonic friend, even a family member. It's all the same -- people who want to take your attention away from him, people who you smile at that aren't him, people you love that aren't him. He's not one to delude himself into thinking everyone secretly loves you romantically, rather, it doesn't matter. Romantic interests are the worst threat, sure, but friends and family aren't much better.

He sees himself as above killing, though. He has people to do that for him, and he likes knowing that he has that much power. He's not going to dirty his hands with it, and frankly, they're not even worthy of his time and effort to kill them. Knights and other connections can take care of it just as well.

How easy is it to make them mad? What does their anger look like?

As somewhat previously discussed, the primary form of making him mad is attempting an escape. That's on a whole new level of anger because it strikes at a very deep, wounding insecurity. On a normal day, though, he's more easily exasperated than angry. He gets frustrated somewhat easily, especially if you're trying exceptionally hard to be a brat. He has very clear warning signs. His signature little smirk drops, he gets quiet, he balls his hands into fists and digs his fingernails into his palms. At that stage, he's irritable and might snap at you, but won't get too angry until you ignore those signs and push it.

If you do push him, though, he gets genuinely mad, which is a very quiet anger at first -- he doesn't talk much when he's mad. He acts. You'll know he's snapped when he puts down whatever he's doing, and just silently stomps over to you, face completely empty and flat, looking down at you with a cold expression. It's enough to put fear in you, but at that point, even if you apologize, you're not getting out of whatever he's planned.

So they see you as above them, beneath them, or equal to them?

Strongly in the "below" camp, a rather unusual stance for a yandere. Like many things with him, there's an inexplicable duality going on there. You would think that if you loved someone so strongly you'd kidnap them, kill for them, and potentially suffer consequences just to have them, that you would really think highly of them. On the flip side, you would think that if you really saw someone as lowly, you wouldn't care for them, you'd see them as disposable.

But neither is true for Kaeya, no, he balances both obsessive love and complete narcissism regarding you. You're not disposable, no, he can't live without you, he needs you. But at the same time, you're not gonna be on any kind of pedestal. No, if anything, he sees himself on one, more like a throne, and you on the floor before him, how things should be.

He has a similar mindset to Zhongli or Albedo - you're fragile, you're dumb, you're incapable, and you need someone to care for you, protect you, guide you, someone who knows what's best for you, since you clearly don't. However, he's lacking in the attitude those other two have -- there's no seeing you as an angel here. There's no viewing himself as being absolutely honored to take care of you, or viewing protecting and caring for you as some kind of privilege that they're blessed to do, the way those two do.

No, as much as he loves those things, he'll never admit it, not even to himself really. Rather, his mentality is that you should be grateful. Here he is, a very highly respected, accomplished, capable person, and you...? You have what to offer, exactly? That's right, nothing, really, only cuteness and obedience, the latter of which you refuse to give him even though you really ought to. He's taking on the burden of making sure you don't get yourself killed, and how do you repay him? By getting mad about it, throwing a fit like some little kid? He puts up with your tantrums, which are really undeserved, by the way. He puts up with your disobedience and repeated rule violations, your sheer determination to defy him when he's going out of his way to do what's best for you.

One day, he thinks, you'll mature a little bit and understand why he does what he does, and when you do, you'll come groveling and sniffling about how sorry you are, how you'll never defy him again, how you'll be good and obedient from now on, and he'll love every second of it. He looks forward to that day quite a bit.

"Sigh... you know, you're pretty lucky I love you so much. You could stand to show me a little thanks, don't you think?"

How determined are they for you to love them? How hard will they try to make it happen? Or are they content just having you?

He's strongly determined, and yet... doesn't do much to try. It goes back to his mindset that really, you're the one who should be grateful for him, and eventually, you will love him. He's not gonna grovel to you or try different ways of making you love him, no, he's far too proud for that. But he's a smart man. He knows the effects that complete and total isolation other than one other person can have on someone. He's just going to sit back and wait for that effect to kick in, and slowly watch your fragile little mind deteriorate until you're desperate for affection. At which point, well, he can use it against you.

"You were so mean to me before, weren't you? You fought me every step of the way, and now you're just going to turn around and act like that didn't happen...? Well, if you're really sorry, I'll forgive you. But how am I supposed to believe you really are...? Maybe you can think of a way to prove it, hm?"

Bonus: Is there anything that makes them unique, in comparison to other yanderes?

Probably the severity of his degradation. As aforementioned, most yanderes, even the more confident or cocky individuals, either worship the ground their beloved walks on and sees themselves as beneath them, OR sees their darling as some sort of fragile, angelic being, and they are simply a protector or caretaker to that being.

It's a bit different with him, ever the narcissist. It's a strange duality born out of a rare mix of neediness, obsession, and pride. You're more like a toy, or a pet - an invaluable pet that he could never part with, but a pet nonetheless. He certainly looks down on you more than the average yandere - he mentally associates you as naive, fragile, even dumb like a lot of the aforementioned protector/caretaker types, but without the reverence to make up for it.

It's a bizarre duality that not even he fully understands - don't think for a moment that that means he'll ever tire of you, or view you as disposable. No, he's actually one of the most obsessive ones, yet very demanding of attention and praise, rather than giving it.

He frequently tests you - things like leaving the door unlocked, waiting outside just to see if you'll try it. Seeing you open that door, watching your face go from ecstatic excitement and drop to wide-eyed terror, it's priceless.

"My, my, you didn't waste any time at all, did you? Why do you look so surprised...? You should know I wouldn't slip up that badly."

Pet names, but in the most infuriatingly condescending way, and uses them more often when he's mad and trying to warn you that you're pushing his limits. Particularly fond of "sweetheart," especially with a low warning tone and clenched teeth.

General perverseness: how sexual of a person are they? What’s their drive like? How touchy do they get? Do they have any reservations about sexuality?

Horny fucker, all the way. The man has a lot of stress and frustration in his life already, that much more if you're... less than compliant with your new lifestyle. Sex, especially rough and hard, is a fantastic stress reliever.

Very little reservation. He's not crude about it, but he tends to make subtle innuendos very frequently, and laughs at your embarrassed reactions. Definitely the type to pull the whole shtick in which he says something with a blatant sexual undertone, then elaborates in a way to make it sound like having meant something else, follows with that smirk and says, "Why? What did you think I meant?" It's something he really enjoys doing, and loves to get embarrassed reactions out of people, particularly yourself.

"Touchy" doesn't begin to describe it. Pretty much from the moment you meet him, he's got his hands somewhere on your person. He grabs your shoulders when he stands behind you, he wraps an arm around you from the side when he walks up to you, he's always pressing his hands on your back and sides whenever you're navigating the streets, walking through doorways, wraps an arm around your waist when sitting next to you. It's highly uncomfortable, but really, he's just got something very subtly, but very strongly intimidating about him. You almost don't want to confront him on it. If you do, he'll laugh it off, and stop -- for maybe 48 hours or so, and then he'll be right back at it.

To the surprise of, well, everyone who's ever met him, he doesn't actually live up to the rumors of having been around the block, so to speak. His experience is actually little to none - that kinda happens when you push everyone around you away. Not that he'd ever let you know that, of course, and will probably lie if asked, but you can gleam a little bit of truth from slightly awkward movements and a bit of noticeable shakiness.

How forceful are they? Do they care about your willingness?

Kind of like Razor, the issue is that he loves you, and what better way is there of expressing love? He's not much for gift-giving or words of affirmation - no, he's a lot better with words of degradation, it comes more naturally to him. And he's certainly not one to enjoy acts of service -- well, not doing them, he'll gladly take them as a sign of your love, though. No, he expresses love through touch. It's like how, when you hug someone you really love, someone you missed, you squeeze them extra tight - the love manifests as a physical urge for some strong expression. Humans are physical about their emotions -- we punch walls when we're mad, we jump up and down when we're happy, and when you love someone, sometimes you just really, really want to pound them into a mattress as hard as physically possible. That's normal. That, and really, he's got his vices. He's actually fairly weak when it comes to resisting temptations, and prone to give in to urges for physical sensations like drunkenness and sex.

Is another one to be convinced that, with time, you'll come around. And is absolutely the top candidate to be one for using your own body against you - if you get wet, if you whimper, if you cum, that's just proof that you really do want this, that you're just being difficult because you enjoy being a brat, and he'll be sure to tell you that.

What sort of kinks or fetishes do they have, or would they fill?

This is nearly indistinguishable from punishment, sadistic bastard

D/S dynamics

Arrogant fucker wants to be served and worshipped, you could see it coming from a mile away. Anything that puts you beneath him is going to make him happy - anything where you're where you're supposed to be. There's a lot of options, but it doesn't really matter, as long as he feels like he's in control and ownership of you in some way, and as long as you act accordingly.

He wants it to be something that’s not just for sex, but rather, he’ll end up carrying it over into normal life, whether you like it or not. If you just went along with it in hopes of getting it over with once he cums, you’re going to be in for a treat when it starts to carry over. He gets a little too used to being worshipped, and decides he likes that submissive attitude on you enough to want to see it all the time.

Petplay/Collaring

It really helps that he sees you as something of a pet already, but really, the collar is the selling point. Even if you never go outside, there's something unbearably hot about the possessiveness of it all - really, it's there to remind you of your status as property. He wants to own you, and for you to be forced to acknowledge that he owns you, and there's really no better way to do that than something with his name on it. It's even better with a leash, one he can pull on when he's fucking you to pull you back onto him over, and over, and over, hearing it choke you the more he shortens it.

But really, having you crawl towards him on all fours and obey little commands so simple they're humiliating is pretty nice, too.

Impact pain/painplay

There's really nothing quite so powerful feeling as watching you cry and squirm from it, y'know? He's another one that just likes the marks his hands, belts, or anything else can leave all over the skin of your ass and the back of your legs. The thing with him, though, is it's not even always a punishment, he just does it for fun, and that makes it unpredictable. Will definitely make you count, it's a sadistic torture for your mind and body.

Throatfucking

May be used as a punishment measure, may just be because he's craving it, either way, even if you have a gag reflex, you won't for very long. He'll train it out of you gradually, grabbing the back of your head and just slamming all the way down into your throat, holding you there, making you choke - it's a beautiful sound, really, listening to you gag, all while your throat spasms around him, it's the best feeling, really, and will definitely be used as a threat if you need incentives to behave.

Choking

Ties into the dynamics, but really, there’s not much to say on this one. He likes the power trip from having his hands wrapped around your throat, seeing you struggle, watching your face go red, hearing those little choking noises. It puts power over you into his hands, and if you get pleasure from it against your own will, that’s even better.

How do they feel about pregnancy or babies? Do they want them?

Absolutely one of the ones to use it as a tool. If you have a baby, you'll be so much more bound to him. You'll need him more, you'll want him around more, you'll be much less likely to leave, and in a way it feels a little bit like a sign of ownership over you.

That being said, he's also acutely aware of his jealous tendencies, and realizes he would also be very likely to become jealous if he felt like you loved a baby more than him, or gave it more attention and affection than you do him. He doesn't like the thought.

So ultimately, the latter side prevents him from willingly trying, but if you really, really have defiance issues even after he's tried everything he can to break you help you adjust, he might consider it.

What kind of (nsfw) punishments would they use?

If it's mild enough, he can just take the route of extremely rough fucking - it gets rid of the frustration, he likes hearing you whimper and squeal, and he can leave lots of little bruises as reminders of what not to do in the future.

But, again, he already gets off to putting you in pain - it'll be that much worse when you've done something to deserve it. Harder hits, no mercy whatsoever, and he just loves all your little cries, wiping away your tears and smiling at you, right before bringing down whatever instrument of pain he's chosen again. If you really, really make him mad, and he really wants to make you cry, he's not above fucking your ass, either, watching you cry and beg, but you'll learn with time that begging doesn't ever get you out of anything.

What body parts of their darling do they like the most?

Definitely an ass man. Likes fucking you in doggy, seeing the ripple every time you bounce back off of him, pulling your hair or arms to add some force. He likes seeing all the little red marks that his hands and belts and anything else will leave on the skin, views it like marks of possession. Grabbing, beating, fucking, it's all good.

#Jesus take the wheel im too nasty for this #yandere x reader #yandere genshin impact #yandere kaeya #tw: dark content #tw: noncon #tw: non/con

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princessbatears · 3 years ago

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Eeeeee! For your prompt celebration! What about Paz and his love’s wedding feast back with his people? Man has to make good on his promise to hold up her wedding traditions toooooo and a bunch of drunk Mandos? Sounds extra fun! 🙌

Ahhh, thank you, Heather! I've written a short one shot about the feelings that come up for Reader as she prepares and goes to her wedding feast. Enjoy! 😘

“Don’t fidget,” Nafi scolds mildly as she makes the finishing adjustments to your wedding feast dress. The seamstress has been hired to create the garment for you to wear tonight and she’s determined to make it fit perfectly.

You force yourself to go still. The layers of thick red and white fabric are heavy, making your already-nervous body sweat even more.

The traditional Crorian bride’s dress is elaborate, with a fitted, embroidered bodice that’s tightest just below the bust and a long skirt that flares out dramatically until it hits the ground. Gauzy sleeves cinch just above your wrists, leaving room for the bangles adorning them.

“All done.” Nafi straightens, hands resting lightly on your shoulders to turn you around to face the mirror.

You stare at yourself in wonder. The woman looking back at you is far more beautiful than you realized she could be. You could be.

Slowly, you twist from side to side, watching as the skirt flows around your body. The bracelets at your wrists tinkle delicately. “It’s gorgeous,” you breathe. “I can’t believe it’s mine.”

The spell is broken when there’s a knock on the bedroom door. Nafi sighs impatiently at the interruption. “Yes?” she calls through the door.

“Paz wants to know if he’s allowed to come in yet,” Din’s voice says with a mixture of apology and annoyance. He’s likely getting tired of being the go-between while you prepare.

You fix a bit of stray hair. “He can.” You sound more breathless than you expect. You really hope he likes how you look, too.

Nafi smiles at you. “I’ll give you some privacy. Walk about the room a bit to make sure everything feels right.”

“Thank you,” you smile back.

After she’s left, Paz enters, wearing his full armor. It’s been polished until it gleams.

He stops just beyond the doorway, silently looking at you for long enough that you start to get self-conscious. “Is it too much?”

Shutting the door with his foot, Paz pulls off his helmet. He’s beaming. “You’re stunning! Let me see the whole thing.”

Pride now fills you as you spin for him. The skirt billows out in a perfect circle. Despite the dress’s weight, it is designed to allow plenty of space for dancing and to look incredible while doing it.

Paz steps forward, catching your hand and raising it above your head so he can twirl you. “This dress is fit for the queen you are,” he purrs, leaning down to nip lightly at your jaw.

You giggle at his ticklish breath. “Maybe we could just stay in here tonight.”

He shakes his head, eyes gentle. “I want to honor our union with your culture. Besides, if we didn’t show up, Din would murder us. Apparently, he had to call in some long-held favor over the tablecloths or some bullshit.”

“Over tablecloths?” What kind of table clothes did he get?

Paz waves a dismissive hand. “Tablecloths, the food, who knows? I’d stopped listening.”

You roll your eyes. “He’s gone to a huge amount of effort for us. The least you could do is listen to him.”

Din, as the leader of the covert and Paz’s Mandalorian brother, took it upon himself to throw this party as soon as a new home had been found. He’d gone to great lengths over the last few months to make sure it’ll be as much like your home’s wedding feasts as possible. It was one of the kindest things anyone had ever done for you, and you will always be grateful to him for it.

Paz chuckles. “Don’t worry, he doesn’t know I wasn’t listening.”

“Oh, he knows. Just like I do.” You poke him in the chest.

He laughs again, kissing you soundly.

There’s another knock on the door. “Everyone’s arriving,” Din says briskly. “Vok’ika needs to finish getting ready.”

Butterflies fill your stomach again at the idea of the dozens of people from your covert gathering with a focus on you and Paz. “Okay,” you manage to get out, sounding strained.

Paz’s eyes grow soft and serious, a calloused finger tilting your chin up. “Let yourself be witnessed tonight, cyare. You deserve it.”

His confidence makes you smile. “I’ll see you there.”

A short while later, after Nafi’s finished the final alterations to your dress and gone to tell Din you’re ready, you hear the drums start, signaling the bride’s approach is imminent.

As you walk, knees a wobbly, out of your home and to the field that’s been set up for the feast, your mind drifts back to your childhood when you were a guest at wedding feasts. You’d watch the drummers and dreamed about when that would be you.

After so many years alone and then your community on Croria slowly dissolving, you’d given up on that dream, but here you are, the drums playing for your entrance.

Confidence fills you, legs growing solid and back straightening. Some of the Mandalorians wear helmets, like Din and Paz, but most do not. The feeling of so many eyes on you isn’t frightening any longer, it’s liberating. You do deserve to be witnessed tonight.

Paz is standing behind a chair at the center of the largest table, his armor reflecting the orange glow of the bonfires around the space. When you reach the empty spot next to him, the drummers soften the music, letting it fade into the background.

He leans his forehead down to touch yours briefly before picking up his knife and fork and slicing off a small bite of meat. Even though you can’t see his face, you feel his excitement and tenderness as he raises the fork to your lips. “I give you the first cut of my meat and the first sip of my wine from now until fate destines we be forever parted.”

You take the meat from the fork, allowing the nourishment of both his vow and the food to fill you. Next, you take a sip of the wine he offers you from his cup.

Now, it’s your turn to give your promise to him. You slip a sliver of meat up to his mouth. “I give you the first cut of my meat and the first sip of my wine from now until fate destines we be forever parted.” Then, you manage to get some wine into his mouth, thankful that Din had suggested slim glasses.

After he’s swallowed, Paz takes your hand and links your fingers together. “I love you,” he whispers so only you can hear.

“Ni kar’tayl gar darasuum,” you whisper back, pleased by how easily that Mando’a sentence flows from you now.

Taking a satisfied breath, Paz raises your linked hands up in the air and turns to your guests. “Eat, burc’yas! Then, we dance!”

- - -

Mando’a Translations: Ni kar’tayl gar darasuum - I love you Burc’yas - friends

🥳🥳 I’m having a celebration! Check it out and send me a prompt/HC request! 🥳🥳

Paz Vizsla Masterlist

Werewolf Masterlist

#paz vizsla #paz vizsla x reader #the mandalorian #the mandalorian fan fic #the crash series #were!paz

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poptod · 4 years ago

Text

A Special Kind of Attention (Ahkmenrah x Reader)

Description: The young Prince, who you are in the employ of, enjoys playing pranks and generally tormenting you.

Notes: pretty heavily implied male reader, but its still gender neutral! if you ever wanted to dom ahk, heres your chance to live vicariously through your imagination. ahk has some major bde in this fic WC: 3.6k

*- this is a reference to a wellknown myth at the time. basically, its saying he should stick cum up his ass (and thus label himself a bottom)

No matter how much sweat had gathered on the back of his sun-burned neck, he comforted himself with the fact that this would be, in the end, very much worth the work. Below his clinging hands, the bag sloshed with well water. He had passed by you earlier in the morning, as you stood guard outside the city gates, your attention unwavering from your duty. The sight of you followed by a well brought an idea into his head, and he decided seeing you drenched in water would be a fun activity.

He'd done worse before, to be fair––always to you, never to any of the other soldiers, and certainly not any civilians. By now you must've grown some deep seated resentment for him, but you never let it show. That was part of the fun––seeing just how far he could go before you lost it.

Keeping his back pressed to the wall of the entrance, he snuck up behind you, careful to keep slow so the swishing water didn't give him away. With one great heave, he moved to the tips of his toes and dunked the bag over your head, sprinting off with maniac laughter as you shouted, yanking the bag off just to see him disappear. From a distance he watched how your skin glistened, and how he could very nearly see through your clothes.

Unbeknownst to you but known to him, you would see each other later tonight––the soldiers were being rotated again, meaning the soldiers by the Nile were to protect the palace, and the palace soldiers would take over observation of the outer markets. Ahk grinned to himself, imagining you looking over dinner. It wasn't often that he got to see your behavior in front of the Pharaoh, but each time was such a treat, watching you keep perfect posture and composure as he teased you any way he could imagine.

That night, he eyed you from his seat at the long dining table. You were positioned in front of the entrance of the hall, opposite another soldier, whose name he didn't care to remember. As always you kept your chin high, eyes trained on a distant wall.

He stared for as long as he could, and when at last your own gaze wavered to meet his, he winked, biting his lip with a smile. You turned away immediately, flushed with warmth.

"You're quiet this evening," said the Pharaoh, his attention directed to Ahk, who turned with wide, surprised eyes.

"Apologies," Ahk said as he returned to his dinner. "I did a lot of studying today, so my mind is a little... flighty, right now."

"I didn't see you in the library," Kamun said, raising a single, accusatory brow.

"I went to Osiris' temple to practice my handwriting," Ahk returned curtly, a quick and succinct statement that was as effective as it was fake.

"Good man," his father said with a smile. "Taking initiative. Why don't you ever do that, Kamun?"

Kamun, the eldest brother, seethed in his spot but said nothing. He was the least charismatic of the four brothers and also the most dedicated, which was an unfortunate combination for a man as prideful as him. All the work he did was brushed away, always dulled out by his younger brothers' accomplishments, yet he very rarely mentioned his own anger in front of his parents. No, most of the time it came out when Ahk was alone.

That was how you found him after dinner; his face shoved against the coarse wall, arm twisted painfully high behind him. Kamun had a knee in his back, keeping him pinned there.

"Admit it was a lie, brother," the elder hissed, readjusting his grip on Ahk's head to bang it harder against the stone.

"Go stick a head of lettuce up your ass*," Ahk said, laughing at his own joke until Kamun knocked his head against the wall again, a hollow thud coming from his skull.

You cleared your throat and both their struggling ceased, the two parting from each other.

"Good evening, my Princes," you said quietly, stepping nearer till you faced them both. The muscles in the back of your hand rippled as you strengthened your hold on your spear.

"Hello," Ahk said dully as Kamun stormed off, his hands balled into fists even when he disappeared around the corner of the hall.

You watched as Ahk rubbed at his sore arm, massaging away the strain.

"You know, he wouldn't do that if you weren't such an asshole to him," you said offhand, looking down at his injury with an unimpressed expression.

"Why are you nice to me then?"

"If I wasn't, I would get my head chopped off," you reminded him.

"Oh," he grumbled. "Right."

"I'm sure you don't need an escort to your room. Good night," you said, turning to leave before a hand grasped your upper arm, whirling you back around.

"He knocked my head pretty hard," he said with a dazed, shit-eating grin you knew all too well. "Might need some help."

You very nearly groaned audibly, but you managed to keep it behind your lips. He was just trying to get a rise out of you, was all––besides, this wouldn't take long, and you would be able to retire to your quarters, which had recently been moved into the palace. You comforted yourself with that thought as you silently walked down the halls.

Ahk being shorter than you did little to make you feel less humiliated. Actually, it only worked to make you feel worse, being bossed around by someone both younger and smaller than you. You supposed that was how most people felt when children were made Pharaoh.

"So," Ahk began, his hands behind his back, "how's your day gone?"

"Someone threw a bag of water over my head that disturbed several of the market stalls, and many merchants got angry. So we had a tussle outside the city," you recounted blandly, your eyes straight ahead despite the wealth of expressions coming from the man beside you.

"Sounds like someone made your day interesting," he said along with a smile, neither of which you replied to in any way.

By the time you made it to the double doors of Ahk's bedroom, your grip on your spear was so tight you were surprised it hadn't snapped in half yet. You helped him open the doors, weapon still in hand, and kept the doors open as he stepped inside.

"Good night, m-"

"It's still early, why don't you join me?" He asked, tilting his chin upwards with a cocky look in his eye.

"I really should -"

"Come," he ordered, beckoning you over.

Again you bit the inside of your cheek, and followed him in, letting the door slowly swing shut behind you.

"You want to know something I admire about you?" Ahk said as he wandered into his room, leaving you in the middle while he searched his bookcase.

"What's that, sir?" You asked, despite not wanting to know in the slightest.

"You've got quite the resolve," he said, turning back to you with two chalices and one jug. "Haven't seen it break yet."

"Well, I was trained in Thebes, sir. They're thorough with their teachings."

The prince handed one of the cups to you, pouring red wine that sloshed and bubbled as it landed in the goblet. He filled his own glass before setting away the jug. With that he clinked his cup against yours, the empty tink ringing in the silence. He drew a long sip, his eyes trained on yours, and remaining so even as he lowered his cup.

"Tell me about your family," the Prince said.

"I'm not sure how that's relevant to anything."

"Come now, you know all about my family--"

Who doesn't, you thought.

"––and I think it's only fair I know something about yours."

"Do you ask this of all your soldiers?" You asked as you took another sip of red wine.

"Just the handsome ones," he replied, stepping closer with a cheeky, lopsided grin.

"I don't think I need to remind you that you shouldn't be fraternizing with your employees," you said flatly.

"Mm, you're good at deflecting questions, aren't you?"

"I'm good at staying focused."

"Still... what's going on with your family that you're ever so reluctant to share anything about them?" He asked, taking another step towards you, that you now combated by taking a step backwards.

"... my sister got deported recently," you said, breaking from his gaze to look to the floor beside you. "I don't have any family besides her."

"I thought you were an Egyptian citizen?"

"I am. She isn't. She was born down south, a few years before I was born here, in Memphis. Our parents died a little while back but they would've been deported too."

"She is older than you though, isn't she? I'm sure she can take care of herself," Ahk said as he swirled his cup.

"Yes. I know."

For politeness's sake you stayed a moment longer, took another swig from your cup, before setting it aside.

"If you don't need me, I should be getting back t––"

"Oh, but I do need you," he said, stepping closer, "if you don't mind."

You stumbled as your back hit the closed door behind you, feet fumbling to regain what balance you'd lost.

"Of course... sir," you said in a monotone voice, keeping your rushing adrenaline below the knot in your throat.

The younger prince had always been a bit eccentric––stories from your coworkers and various palace dwellers had told you so. He generally did whatever he wanted, but his parents doted on him dearly, and he got away with just about everything. While it seemed a little unfair to not do the same for the eldest child, you did notice that while both siblings were passionate, Kamun was passionate in a more violent way, while Ahkmen was passionate in an undeniably flirtatious way. In the short amount of time you'd spent guarding the corridor for Ahk's room, you'd seen three different people sneaking out of his room multiple times. You had a responsibility not to become one of them.

Ahkmen circled you, stopping in front of a floor-length mirror that casted his reflection perfectly.

"My manservant got sores from work yesterday, so I sent him home early. But," he met his own gaze, "these clothes are near impossible to take off without help from another. Do you mind?"

Though the expression on your face remained a mute, dull expression, you could feel the flame burning in your cheeks. Your heartbeat pounded even in the ends of your fingers, wrapped around your spear.

"... no. Of course, my prince," you said, your voice strikingly low and rough.

A pleased smile stretched across his lips as you approached, setting your spear aside against a wall. To be fair, he did genuinely need help––the beaded collar on his shoulders was latched far behind his back, and if he tried to reach it, he might tear the sleeves or break the collar. You reached for the tiny latch, pulling and releasing the two you found.

"There's one more, bit further down," he said, still watching his own reflection. You caught your own eyes peering over his shoulder, their dark sternness piercingly depressing beside the Prince's golden colors.

With a deep breath you pushed aside his long cape, calloused fingers reaching for the last latch. You accidentally brushed against the skin of his back, hot against your cold hands, which he certainly felt judging by the way his posture straightened and he sucked in a sharp breath.

"There," you said, stepping away. "Done."

"Thank you, dear," he said as he reached up, sliding the collar off his shoulders, his cape drifting off with it.

Sleeves soon followed and the whole of his chest was bared, graced by dark freckles and the golden bands still circling his thin wrists. You watched, unaware of your own staring, as he began to tug at his belt, pulling it off his hips. His skirt sagged, exposing his hips carelessly in front of you. Something as little as a deep breath had you shaking ever so slightly.

"Is that it, my Prince?"

"Here," he said, handing you his collar, and the attached cape and sleeves.

Golden fabric piled onto your arms, soon followed by his belt, golden wristbands, and the crown on his head. It was a good deal heavier than you would've imagined, and you wondered if it ever hurt.

Your thoughts on the crown were ripped away from you, leaving your mind a blank, empty expanse the moment his skirt fell to the floor. If he noticed your stupor, he didn't say anything. Instead he simply gathered up the cloth and handed it to you, padding nude to his desk, upon which he opened a box made especially for his gold wristbands. He pulled them off, leaving him blank of identification.

As he turned, he finally caught your eye, but couldn't keep it for long. Your eyes darted back to the ground, wide with the morbid feeling stewing in your head and chest. He chuckled.

"You can set those in my wardrobe," he said, stepping towards his bed and kneeling upon it.

You dutifully obeyed, trying to get a grasp on your shaky breathing before you had to turn and face him again. Folding and taking care of clothes was absolutely not one of your skills, but you tried your best, and eventually returned to stand in front of the kneeling Prince.

He wasn't terribly muscular, more lean, but you could still see thin muscles peeking through the dark skin. Along his clavicle were two freckles––similarly, long eyelashes led to the freckles lining his cheekbones, still dusted with an earlier blush. There was no denying he was a handsome man, though that was no excuse to give into such urges. You could hardly admit to your own desires, much less act on them, which kept you from moving at all.

"A little while ago you informed me that you have no partner," he said softly, still looking you directly in the eyes.

"Yes."

"Is that still so?"

"Yes," you said. "I like to keep to myself."

A touch against your exposed thigh had you jerking backwards, a strangled grunt coming halfway out your mouth.

"No one will have to know," he murmured, dragging his touch up your sensitive skin, long untouched for most of your waking years.

Your first instinct was to pull away, which you did do at first, but the flat expanse of his palm pressing on your thigh had you rooted to the spot. Most everything in you froze, shock and surprise filling your head. Still, you tried to keep a calm expression, and gave little away.

"Is this what you wanted?" You asked.

His grin just widened, teeth digging into his bottom lip and pulling till it released, soft and red.

"Why am I your victim in all your... hijinks?"

"Well," he chuckled, "you're awfully pretty, and you won't pay any attention to me if I don't."

Seeing as you weren't struggling, he took to pulling on your belt, shifting back on the bed to make space for you. Your lack of movement was no invitation, but he must've taken it as such. One harsh tug had you stumbling forward, balancing yourself with one knee on the mattress, your hands open to catch yourself.

"Sir, I am not permitted –"

"Shhhhh," he hummed, his hand moving lightning fast to catch you by your chin, pulling you closer yet till your noses nearly touched. "Your Prince asks this of you."

The slightest movement from him––eyes fluttering shut, neck craning forward––and he was kissing you, plump lips moving as soft as rose petals against you. Warmth gathered everywhere, growing in your breath, in your moving lips, building and building till the tension became nearly too much. You tried to move backwards, oversensitive and overstimulated. But the Prince wouldn't let you––he simply held you tighter, dug his hands into your hair, and pulled you forward so forcefully you landed on top of him, your weight meeting his heat.

That heat was recognizable even through the material of your skirt, pressing against your hip. As unfortunate as it was, you could feel your own excitement growing within you, sending warmth to your face and your thighs.

"Fuck," you mumbled, mostly to yourself, when Ahk finally let you breathe.

"What?" He asked softly, petting your hair as he did his best to keep you close to him. His legs wrapped around you, the hand on your cheek keeping you facing him.

"I told myself I wouldn't do this," you said, still quiet and gruff.

"So you expected this?"

"I knew it was a possibility," you said flatly.

"Good," he said with a smile you couldn't quite understand. "That means you're prepared for this."

Before you could ask what he meant, his feet were pushing your skirt down your hips, the white linen quickly dropping to the floor. You didn't do the knot as tight as you should've this morning.

"Ahkmen ––"

"Mm, I like that," he said, grinning sly as ever. Your expression contorted with confusion, so he continued with, "I like when you say my name."

Very rarely did you ever refer to any of the royal family by their first name. Technically you could call the Pharaoh by his Horus name, but simply calling them by their status had always been easier than remembering names.

Your shock once more worked to your demise, or at least the demise of your self respect. The young prince flipped you over while you were unaware of yourself, pinning you to the bed with his hips sat on yours, directing your hands to circle his waist as he kissed you deep once more. A muffled grunt came from you, fingers instinctively digging into him.

I'm being seduced by a Prince, you thought miserably. I feel like I should be happier about this.

"I want you to use your mouth on me," he mumbled between rough kisses, taking what pleasure he wanted from you. "Wanna see what that quiet tongue can do."

He reached down to stroke his own length pressed against your stomach, leaking and hard from the tension he'd grown. Your breath caught in your throat again, unable to dislodge itself as you stared, mesmerized by the pulse of his chest and hum of his soft moans.

"Can you do that for me?" He asked as he began to grind against you.

Holy fuck, you thought, wide eyes taking in his entirety. You could finish from his begging alone.

You gripped his hips, and in one, swift movement he was beneath you, his hand returning to touch himself. Before he could properly do so you batted his hand away, stalking down the bed till your face rested above his twitching hips. You kept his eye the whole time.

Wet already began to seep to the edge of your tongue, waiting for you to finally meet his cock. The arrogant young prince had you right where he wanted you, where you had tried so hard to avoid, and where he now kept you of your own free will.

The flat of your tongue ran a long stripe up him, drawing from him a long, relieved sigh. His head fell back, one of his knees kinking upwards. You watched his reactions carefully, kissing wet spots all up and down, catching whatever dripped down. On the prominent veins you sucked a little harder, making him hiss and his back arch upwards. Every movement he made you lapped up like you were starved.

Fingers soon dug into your hair, pulling and tugging whenever you graced his sensitive spots. Soon, ready for his lack of control, you wrapped your lips around the head, gently pulling and sucking with your tongue as you began to sink deeper.

"Fuck," he said emphatically, running his fingers through the locks of your hair before tugging hard.

Soon his cock nudged the back of your throat, stopping there as you tried to swallow him down. Twice you tried unsuccessfully, but as you calmed yourself, you could feel him thrust deeper yet into you, forcing into the back of your mouth and cutting of your breath. You moaned, albeit quite muffled, from the sensation. The hand on the back of your head kept you in place as he thrusted upwards, moans tumbling from his mouth as he used you.

Caught in his hold, you did your best not to gag, dutifully swallowing around him and breathing when you could. He grew steadily faster, with less rhythm and more force shoving into you. Your hands gripped his hips to hold yourself up better, but even as you tried to pull away, tears stinging your eyes, he kept you there, locked away in the throes of his own pleasure.

Your nose remained pressed to his hip as he came, a long, sweet trail of moans following what spurted into the back of your throat. With no give to pull yourself off and no possible way to open your mouth further, you swallowed what you were given.

The burning pull on your hair soon released as well, allowing you to sit up and away from the young Prince. He was still panting, his gaze cast lazily upwards, and hands gathering in his own messy hair.

"I got a little carried away there," he mumbled, his eyes slowly closing. "I apologize for that."

"Don't worry," you said as you grabbed his hips, pulling him close to you and flipping him over. By pulling him up on his knees, you shoved his head onto the mattress, the force of it drawing a gasp from him. "You'll make up for it."

#ahkmenrah x reader #Ahkmenrah #Night at the Museum #rami malek #rami malek character #ahkmenrah x male reader #ahkmenrah x female reader

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yandere-daze · 4 years ago

Text

`Til death do us part

Yandere Riddle Rosehearts x Reader

So I recently got into Twisted Wonderland and I love Riddle so much so I decided I had to do something for him ( as I promised with the drawing). This is what I came up with! Thank you so much for your help and listening to me scream about this @naranciabestboi ! I hope you enjoy it!!

Under cut for length!

Summary : Your parents had made plans for an arranged marriage, Riddle however was not pleased by this at all.

You held the letter in your shaking hands, rereading it´s contents over and over again to see if there was anything you had missed. Surely there had to be some kind of mistake on your part, you had to have misread something. Your reading comprehension has never been the best so surely there was a possibility at least? But no matter how long you stared at that cursed letter in your hands, the same cold hard truth was contained within the elegantly written words that were scrawled across the paper in a neat manner.

“Dear Y/n,

Your mother and me have observed your progress at Night Raven College quite closely and we are proud to see how far you have gotten with your studies. But don´t let this praise get to your head, you still have a long way to go if you want to one day become a worthy ruler and heir of the L/n name. So please remember to keep studying to one day achieve your goal.

But this is not the only reason I decided to write this letter to you. You see I have the greatest of news for you: Crown prince Ayers of the Devereaux family is currently looking for a spouse to rule beside him once he becomes king and ascends the throne. As far as I remember, you two have met before, haven´t you? It was but a year ago at one of the Devereaux family’s grand birthday celebrations. The young prince seemed to be quite struck with you back then, didn´t he? He is currently accepting offers from nobles all over the continent but your mother and me are very confident that you will prevail. A union between you both would be of great benefit to both of our countries and greatly improve our influence. Y/n please hear me out: I know how you might feel about this arrangement, but we are sure that this is for the best so we are not allowing any sort of protest or defiance from you. We have already offered your hand in marriage to prince Ayers. One day you will thank us for this.

Now then, we wish you the best of luck on your studies and we will hear from each other soon. It has been a long time since we last heard of you, so do send us a reply as fast as possible.

Signed,

D/n and M/n L/n”

You felt as if a burning hole had just opened up in your stomach as the situation you were in finally settled in. Your parents were trying to set you up on an arranged marriage? With someone you barely knew? Sure, you had met Ayers once but you didn´t have too high of an opinion on him. To you he was a bumbling fool that didn´t know when to stay quiet. You had made it quite clear that his presence wasn´t appreciated, but he either didn´t seem to take the hint or he just straight up ignored your resistance, because he kept asking you to dance with him the whole evening and in the hopes of him finally letting up on you, you reluctantly complied. Which looking back on it now was a huge mistake, as it was what put you into this miserable situation in the first place. You remember back then when your parents caught a glimpse of you two dancing, they looked so very excited for you, something you couldn´t quite comprehend back then. But now it all seemed so clear to you: Even back then, they were trying to find someone to arrange a marriage with, seeking to spread their influence and power. They said that they cared about you and that they only had your best interests in mind but you knew that you were secretly just a means to climb the social ladder even further. Because if they had truly cared about your wellbeing then they wouldn´t have forced you into this situation. Now you knew you were done for, doomed to marry someone you didn´t love and wanted as far away from you as possible. Right in this moment you wanted to vent out your frustration and anger: You wanted to punch the wall, scream your lungs out and let your angry tears flow freely but ended up doing none of that, barely containing your emotions as you heard footsteps approaching, heading right into your direction. You had to compose yourself. Whoever this was, you didn´t want them to see you in this state. You straightened your back as you slowly tried to ease the tension out of your shoulder while willing your face muscles to put a small smile on your face. Hopefully this would be enough to convince anyone passing by that you were fine and didn´t need anyone´s help right now.

Clack clack clack

You heard a familiar sounding fall of footsteps growing closer and closer until the sound faded as the person came to a stop seemingly right beside you. You forced your smile to grow just a tiny amount wider as you turned around to face to face whoever came by.

And as they exclaimed your name, you immediately knew just who was standing before you now.

“Y/n?”

-----

Riddle was on his way to head back to the Heartslabyul dormitory after class, as he saw the vague shape of a person standing just a few meters away from him, seemingly distracted. He at first didn´t plan to pay any attention to it, as he had enough important matters to attend to and surely, he wasn´t the right person to vent their problems to but as he got closer and closer, he was able to identify the student standing there. How could he not? He had practically memorized everything about you. Y/n L/n. The one person that was always there for him when all the other turned away from him. You were one of the only people that he felt like he could be himself with and he treasured your existence like no one else. You were the one spark in his otherwise bleak life that kept him going and gave him hope for a bright future. A future with you, ideally. But he couldn´t get too carried away now. Taking one good scrutinizing look at you, he was able to tell that something was wrong, the smile you had on your face looked forced, far too wide to be considered a natural one. You looked shaken and your shoulders were slightly trembling as if you were on the verge of crying. Just what could have put you into this state? Did someone hurt you? If that was the case then he needed to find out who it was and then have a rather stern…talk with the culprit. But first, he had to make sure that you were okay and maybe cheer you up a bit.

“Y/n?”, he called out to alert you of his presence if you hadn´t heard him approach yet. He wouldn´t doubt it from how distracted you looked. But he couldn´t help but feel his heart swell as your eyes lighted up in recognition and your shoulders lost some of their previous tension.

“R-riddle!”, you exclaimed in slight surprise as you shifted your arms around a bit. Riddle didn´t miss how you tried to casually put on of your arms behind your back, a sheet of paper clutched tightly in your hand as you put in the effort to try and hide whatever that was. He couldn´t help but slightly furrow his brow at this. He could easily guess that this letter was the cause of your distress and he felt irritated that you even tried to hide this from him, even if it was a poor attempt. Did you not trust him with your problems?

“Uhm.. fancy seeing you here haha…” He couldn´t help but chuckle in amusement despite the current situation, you very visibly cringed from how fake your own attempt at casualness sounded.

“Y/n I live here. And also, please show me what you are hiding beneath your back, you look really upset” At this, your shoulders tensed up again as you nervously shifted your weight from one foot to the other while you stammered out an excuse. “I-I don´t know what you´re talking about! I´m not hiding anything and I feel fine!” Your voice continued to stagger as your eyes locked onto anything besides Riddle´s face, which he didn’t like at all. Not one bit. Deep within him he felt the desire for you to look at him, to look only at him and no one else. For you to grace him with one of your radiant smiles that he had grown in love with. Yes, love. Oh, he loved you so dearly, your entire being and soul. He wanted to hold onto you tight and never let go. But he was getting sidetracked now, he really needed to get to the bottom of this current issue that laid before him. There was something you were anxious about and even worse tried to hide from him, that just wasn´t acceptable.

“Rules of the Queen of Hearts No. 404: Never tell a lie when talking to your ruler! And so badly as well. I demand to know what you have there behind your back!” Your eyes widened in shock, surprised that Riddle had seen through your oh so flawlessly crafted lie. Then after the initial shock had registered in your system you were quick to raise your eyebrows at his remark. “My…ruler? Really now?” Riddle couldn´t help but show off a proud smirk at that. “Yes, your ruler. Your dorm leader, you know? It´s basically the same thing but really that´s beside the point. You should not be lying to me in any kind of fashion, especially when you look so horribly distraught.” His eyes softened at the last part of his speech. Yes, he was a bit irritated at your stubbornness but he genuinely wanted to know what had happened. And who he needed to have a very stern scolding with.

“Well…okay. Because it´s you Riddle. I-I don´t think I can tell you myself but please just take a look at this letter it´s just….” You weren´t even able to finish your sentence before Riddle practically ripped the letter from your hands, his gaze practically devouring the words that were displayed on the paper. Y/n parents, they want to set them up on an arranged marriage? With someone like this? He couldn´t believe this was happening as he grew more and more furious, he ended up almost tearing the letter apart from how much his hands were shaking in rage. Who do they think they are, taking his dear y/n away from him like this? He had already planned his entire future with them, how he would confess in front of the rose bushes while watching the sunset together, how they would move in together after Night Raven College, how he would one day propose to them and they would get married... Yes married. They would get married one day. He would get his happily-ever after, no matter the cost. Y/n´s parents had the audacity to take them away from him so they had to pay a price! Riddle was much better suited as y/n´s future husband, he had so much more to offer! They would be fools to choose that Devereaux wanna-be noble over him!

You must have seen how infuriated he had gotten as you laid a gentle hand on his shoulder and as Riddle looked into your watery eyes, barely being able to hold the tears back, he came to a decision. He had to do something about this, there had to be a way out of this arranged marriage, even if it was the last thing he did. That wretched fool wouldn´t get to hold you in his arms, he would make sure of that. And as you circled your arms around him in a hug and wet his shirt as you finally let your tears flow, he came to the idea of just what he had to do to keep you by his side.

His face was slightly flushed from the gentleness of your touch as he ran a comforting hand over your back. “Y/n”, he murmured and you gently raised your head to look him in the eye. “I think”; he continued in a soft tone, so very different from his current mental state; “I think I know a way out of this miserable situation.” Your pretty eyes widened at this and displayed various emotions: surprise, confusion, intrigue, and also... hopefulness. “How so, Riddle? I don´t think my parents can be so easily swayed, they seem pretty set on marrying me off to some wealthy noble.” “And that´s exactly my point.” Now you just looked at him in confusion. “What do you mean? I don’t know what you´re getting at. I don´t think that- “

“Just let me finish explaining y/n”, he lightly scolded you as he waved a finger in front of your face. How adorable your little pout was. He could look at you all day. And he would.

“So, your parents want you to marry this man because they want to gain influence through combining your countries wealth, right?” He waited for you to give him a reluctant nod before continuing. “But what if coincidentally, an even better suitor appeared right before their eyes and pleaded for your hand in marriage? If they had a way bigger influence? They would drop these silly plans, wouldn´t they?” You tilted your head as if to properly think over what your dorm leader just told you before your expression lightened up, your mouth forming a surprised o-shape. “It seems like you understand what I´m trying to say, right? The Rosehearts name is a prestigious one indeed. I don´t think your parents would ever dare to dismiss the chance for their child to be called Y/n Rosehearts, would they? So, I thought of this solution. We write a letter to your parents, saying that you are already in a relationship with me and that we are planning a wedding in the near future. Because of this you can´t accept their oh so gracious offer.” “And then!”, you continued for him.” And then, when Ayers announces that he found a proper spouse we can stop the act and go back to being friends like before! Riddle that´s a great plan! What would I ever do without you?”

Yes, what indeed would you do without him? He wanted to properly enjoy the notion of being so important to you but the rest of your naively uttered comment left a very bitter taste in his mouth. You wanted to go back to being friends? He´s going to agree for now but that is not how this will end. Surely, after you two had spent so much time together pretending to date, he would be able to steal your heart and make you fall in love with him as much as he loved you. You would be his after this, he won´t let you break things off, surely you would see things his way after this.

“Exactly”, he instead said and told you that you two should get to writing the letter as soon as possible so the arranged marriage could be stopped. The very same day, the letter had been written and sent, talking about how you two had fallen in love during your school days and how you were already engaged to him. Yes, that detail was something Riddle was strangely persistent with. “It´s easier to sway them with this”, he had answered to your questions and you didn´t pay it much more mind. You trusted him completely and that´s exactly what Riddle adored about you.

He ran a delicate hand over the word “engaged” before slipping the letter into a fancy envelope and sending it out to be delivered as soon as possible.

Everything would fall into place and you would finally be his.

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

As you had guesses, your parent´s response to you and Riddle´s supposed engagement had been ecstatic, talking about how proud they were of you and how they couldn´t wait for you two to get married. Yeah, you were sure they were; you thought sarcastically. Much to your delight, the plans for you to get married to Ayers Devereaux had been tossed out the window completely as well. At least for the time being. So much to them wanting the best for you, they were only interested in the noble title since the beginning. When you told the good news to Riddle, he seemed almost happier than you were. Well, that is to say a wide smile appeared on his face, which in his standards was a truly rare expression, saved for only very rare moments. This seemed to be one of them.

“I can´t believe it Riddle, your plan actually worked out! I can´t thank you enough for this!” It was true, he had really gotten you out of an almost impossible looking situation, thanks to him a heavy burden was lifted from your shoulder, you felt as if you could finally breathe easy now. “Don´t thank me just yet, y/n. It´s still not over, far from it in actuality.” You tilted your head in confusion at your dorm head´s sudden exclamation, not quite understanding what he was trying to say. “Y/n, don´t tell me you forgot already.” Noticing that you indeed seemed to have forgotten, he sighed in exasperation and lightly shook his head. “Did you already forget the second part of our plan? Perhaps even the most important one? Really, what am I to do with you?” You chuckled in slight embarrassment, not wanting to directly admit that you had forgotten about such an important detail but made it clear that you wanted him to continue. Seriously what was he talking about? “Alright so think about it like this: Out of the blue, one of the most important students in this school, the dorm head of Heartslabyul has just announced that he was going to get engaged to another student at school. Yet they were never even seen exchanging any kind of affection that could be seen as romantic? That doesn´t make a lot of sense, now does it? You would expect them to act like a couple, wouldn´t you?” You considered what your friend just told you and came to the conclusion that what he just said did make sense, he had a point. “Then what are we supposed to do in your opinion?”, you asked tentatively. You had an idea as to what he might propose but you didn´t just want to assume and push him into something he might not want. He had already done so much for you, you didn´t want to put even more pressure onto him. “It´s quite obvious, isn´t it?”, he answered your question while absentmindedly crossing his arms in front of his chest. “We have to act like a couple if we want people to believe us.”, he added with a slight smirk on his face. You knew it was coming but you couldn´t help but still feel surprised about it now that it was actually said. “Are you sure you want to do this? You don´t have to push yourself like this…” Riddle let out another sigh as he once again shook his head. “Don´t worry, I´m perfectly fine with this. And besides, what would be the alternative to this? Your parents finding out that we were just pretending and going back to that foolish prince to once again start discussions about your potential marriage? Now I´m pretty sure that neither of us wants that.” You wanted to retaliate something, anything, because it seemed pretty awkward for you to act like you are in love with your best friend but you didn´t really have a better idea than him and he was right. “Alright then. So, what should we do first? How are we going to go about this?” “Don´t worry to much about it, I already have everything planned out. Just leave it to me.”, he answered your question with a knowing smile on his face as he reached out his hand for you to take. With a light flush to your cheeks thanks to the gentle contact, you took ahold of his hand and let him lead you to who-knows where.

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

The first place Riddle took you to was the kitchen in the Heartslabyul dorm, where Trey was already working on preparing the tarts and cookies for the redhead´s afternoon tea session. “Ah Trey, it´s good to see you. Would you care to prepare a larger serving for today? I want to share your delicious sweets with my beloved as we drink tea together.” Riddle had said this so casually, with such a practiced normalcy, that Trey´s shocked reaction of almost dropping the tart he had been working on just mere moments ago contrasted almost funnily contrasted with your “lovers” serious behavior. “Your… beloved? Riddle, did I hear that quite right? I think I might have misheard.”, Trey asked awkwardly while trying to fix the mess he had just caused in the kitchen involuntarily. “Yes, that is quite right. You see, y/n and me share a special connection with each other so it´s only natural that I want to spend more time with them. I assumed that´s what happy couples do, or am I mistaken?” You yourself where almost taken aback by how serious your friend sounded, even if you knew firsthand that it was only an act he had put on. You knew that Riddle was a genius but you didn’t expect him to be so good at acting as well, you were almost convinced by his words alone and he hadn´t even said more than a few sentences. “So, you two are together? Since when?” Trey looked befuddled as he fixed his head that was threatening to fall off from all of its owner´s abrupt movements. You decided to let Riddle do the talking because he seemed to be much more composed than you felt, you didn´t trust yourself to start speaking now without your voice shaking. “Indeed, we are a couple. We´ve been together for some time now but had decided to keep it a secret until now. Y/n was a bit nervous about everyone knowing about us so I kept quiet about it as well. I hope you understand.” Right at this moment, the teapot started making loud noises, indicating that the water was now boiling and ready to be poured. “I understand. To your luck, I actually already made a bit more than usual, so you are more than welcome to take everything here.” “Splendid!”, Riddle exclaimed before looking at you. “Thank you very much!”, you thanked Trey while grabbing most of everything you two needed for your teatime, causing your arms to be completely overloaded with pastries. You said your goodbyes before leaving the kitchen and following Riddle down the hallway. On your way to what you assumed was the garden a familiar looking figure came into view. Judging from the general large statue of this person as well as the tell-tale white fluffy ears, it was Jack Howl that was currently walking right in your direction. When he came closer and finally recognized your face behind the mountain of treats in front of your face, his ears quickly peaked up as he gave you a greeting. “Y/n, why are you carrying all of this stuff? Is this some kind of punishment from the dorm head?”, he tilted his head quizzically while looking at the mentioned person calmly walking beside you. “We are, in fact, walking to the gardens to have a tea party- date. I would appreciate it if you could move out of our way swiftly.” You couldn´t help but notice that Riddle´s tone had gotten a bit snappish, a light glare lingering on his face, indicated by the way his eyebrows furrowed. “D-date? Uh sure, I will but why are you making y/n carry everything by themselves? They look overwhelmed and you aren´t carrying anything. Come on, let me help you carry this.” You smiled in gratitude as you thanked Jack for his great help as he leaned over to take some of the weight off of you, lightly brushing against your arm in the process. Suddenly, Riddle grew very red in the face, the color now rivaling the intensity of his red hair. “Unbelievable! Stop this insolence at once!” Surprised by his sudden outburst compared to his calm state before, you and Jack turned your heads to properly look at him once more. He was fuming, his hands almost shaking. “What´s wrong, Riddle?”, you asked innocently. What had happened? Had you accidentally broken a rule again? But you had done that several times before and he had never reacted this badly in any of the other instances. So, what was wrong? “You want to know what´s wrong? Rules of the Queen of Hearts No. 420: Never touch your ruler´s property! You´ve made a great mistake breaking this rule, Jack Howl!” He seemed truly mad right now for some reason and with a wave of shock you saw him raising his magical pen. Surely, he wasn´t meaning to-

“OFF WITH YOUR HEAD!”, Riddle screamed as he let his magic roam free. Few seconds passed before the heart shaped collar appeared around Jack`s neck. “Why you-!”, Jack growled. “Riddle why did you do that? What´s gotten into you? He just wanted to help me, that´s why he touched the tarts! If anything, it´s my fault as well.” But Riddle didn´t look like he even wanted to consider your exclamation before he promptly grabbed your hand once more, this time quite a bit more tightly as he started walking ahead and pulling you along with him, not paying any mind to the yelling man you two had left behind. You walked quite some minutes before you two came to a stop at a very familiar sight. You were greeted by the beautiful sight of rose bushed that were painted red and a fancy looking decked table. Carefully you set down everything you had to begrudgingly continue to carry on your own because of what happened just a few minutes ago. The thought still wouldn´t leave your head. Why had Riddle reacted so strongly to Jack touching the sweets? After all, hadn´t Trey technically touched them as well when he made them? How would you even bake something without touching it? You swore, these rules kept making less and less sense to you, this was ridiculous. Seemingly noticing that you were still upset, the redhead sighed as he sat in the chair facing yours as he reached his hand over the table, encouraging you to take it. You were still mad so you refused to do so and instead just stared right into his eyes, trying to convey your disagreement with what he had just done. Sensing your hesitancy after refusing to take his hand even after several seconds had already passed, a steely look crossed Riddle´s face as he sighed once more, this time sounding more disappointed as he decided to take the initiative and practically leaned over the table to take your hand that laid out before you on the table and pulling it more towards where he could reach better. Looking down at your now entwined hands, you felt frustration take over, still not understanding what had happened. “You know”, Riddle broke the lasting silence as he simultaneously ran his fingers over the back of your hand which you interpreted as his way to try and calm you down to make you listen. “I wasn’t mad because of the tarts.” At this, you were surprised. What else could he have gotten mad about then? “But I thought you said that he touched- “ “Yes that is what I said. But I wasn´t talking about the tarts.” Now it was your time to be confused. “But then what…” “You.”, he simply uttered. “Huh? What?” “I said, you were what I was mad about. That filthy animal was touching you, I couldn´t allow that.” Was he serious right now? “But Riddle, Jack wasn´t touching me inappropriately, he was just trying to help me! It was barely a sliver of a touch!”, you protested. Also... does that mean he saw you as his property? Because that was what the rule implied, wasn´t it? Never touch your ruler´s property! That didn´t sit right with you at all. “That doesn´t matter, he still broke a rule and for that he needed to be punished. How am I going to make people obey the rules when they never get punished for breaking them?” You still didn´t agree with what he was saying but didn´t know what to tell him anymore so you decided to keep quiet and just looked at him with a disappointed glare. Sensing your slight animosity, he rubbed his thumb over the back of your hand in a soothing manner as he tried to calm you down again.

“Okay y/n, I admit, I might have been a bit to harsh to him, so can we please just forget about this and change the topic? I don´t want our first date to start on such a sour tone.” You were begrudgingly going to accept Riddle´s apology, fully aware that it was just in his nature to be a bit strict with rules, until the last part of his statement fully settled in. “F-first date??”, you choked out in shock. Amused by your demeanor, your “suitor” couldn´t help but chuckle.

“That is what I said, isn´t it? If we want people to believe us then we must act more like a couple would, wouldn´t you agree? And one very important part is going on dates with your significant other. Or so I´ve heard. So, let´s make the most out of our shared time together, shall we?” He then reached for one of the two plates you brought along and laid it out in front of him as he put the other one away and meticulously cut a big piece out of the strawberry cake sitting down in front of him. You were about to once again protest, were you not going to get any cake? That was until Riddle dug into the sweet treat with his fork, making sure to gently balance the cut-out chunk on top of the eating utensil as he slowly leaned forward again, fork in hand. You watched him quizzically until the inviting sweetness stopped right in front of your closed mouth as Riddle looked at you expectantly as he softly poked your lips with the fork in an attempt to coax you into opening your mouth for him. “Well?”, he asked with an impatient but also clearly smug expression on his face, “Aren´t you going to open your mouth for me? You don´t want the cake to go to waste, do you?” “Just give me my own pla- “, you were cut off as Riddle used this opportunity to forcefully shove the fork into your mouth and though you were surprised by his sudden impulsiveness you couldn´t help but marvel at the sweet aromas that filled your mouth right in that instant. It was so good, you couldn´t help but let out a pleased sigh.

“See? That wasn´t too hard, was it? And there´s more from where that came from.”, Riddle teased as he cut out another piece of cake with his fork. And though you were flustered beyond belief at his almost out of character behavior, you couldn´t say you minded too much.

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

It´s been a week since you two started this arrangement and everything had been going according to plan. It all went so perfectly, Riddle couldn´t help but think. He still couldn´t help but blush when he recalled how bold he had been that afternoon when he affectionally fed you cake and how you had seemed to greatly enjoy it as well after your initial hesitancy. You were coming around to the idea of you two becoming a couple for real, he could just feel it already. He couldn´t wait for you two to get married, the preparations were running along so smoothly now. He had picked out the perfect wedding venue, a breathtaking garden that was filled with beautiful red roses that would create a wonderfully romantic atmosphere, though he did have to admit that he wasn´t the most well-versed person when it came to decorations. He guessed that he just had to ask you for your opinion when he finally brought the joyous news to you that you would get married in just a few days from now! Wasn´t that wonderful? You two would be joined in a harmonious and happy union for the rest of your life! Ah he felt his heart swell with longing and excitement when he pictured you in your wedding attire, waiting for him at the altar to exchange your vows of never-ending and eternal love. He wanted to hear it so desperately, that you loved him just as much as he loved you, that you would never abandon him and spend the rest of your life together in a far away home. It was his dream, the one thing he couldn´t live without. He had sacrificed so much during his childhood, he was never allowed to have free time or spend time with his friends, he wasn´t allowed to eat unhealthy desert, he was forced to always give it his all even when he was on the brink of passing out from exhaustion. He wouldn´t let anyone ever take you away from him, you were way to precious to him. That was exactly why he had to get rid of any potential threats that could endanger your blossoming love, and the very first person on his list of targets was one Ayers Devereaux, that foolish prince that had tried to marry his y/n before Riddle could even confess his love to them. It had thrown him completely out of the loop and taken him by surprise. He had felt panic, anger, sadness, despair. All of these very strong and intense emotions that had almost seemed to overwhelm him at the time. He couldn´t ever risk this to happen again so he had to act quickly. Now of course he couldn´t just let the crown prince of a rising kingdom disappear into thin air, it would have been way too suspicious and he wanted to avoid the political drama at any costs. So instead, he went with a more pacifistic approach. Instead of having that noble murdered in cold blood, he had instead opted to look for a different spouse for him and set the two up. And from what he has heard from his messengers, his operation went successfully, the both of them were now officially engaged and that prince posed no threat to their love anymore. And on top of that, Riddle had been keeping a close eye on you all this time, spending as much time with you as he could and driving away any other possible suitors that might try to take you away from him. It wasn´t too hard to keep noisy people away from you, just one angry glare sent at the offending party and a threatening raise of his magical pen was sure to make anyone run for the hills in fear of having broken another one of the 810 rules he had promised to keep up. And while it normally would have greatly frustrated him in any other situation that no one had truly made the attempt to memorize all of the rules set up by the Queen of Hearts, it proved to be a great asset in this matter. If no one except him knew the rules by heart then he could just make them up as they were convenient to him and no one would dare to oppose the Heartslabyul dorm leader in fear of getting their magic locked away. Truly it pleased Riddle greatly to see everyone turn away from you after just making up a few rules on the spot.

“Rules of the Queen of Hearts No 666: At exactly 4:20 pm on any given day, the ruler is to spend a shared teatime with their significant other for at least 3 hours.”

“Rules of the Queen of Hearts No 69: It is forbidden to look at your ruler´s significant other if they are spending time together.”

“Rules of the Queen of Hearts No 420: You shall not approach your ruler´s significant other without their explicit consent.”

No one dared raise an eye at any of these unusual rules, after all the unusual was expected with the Rules of the Queen of Hearts. It wasn´t hard to believe that these could be actual rules so no one had caught onto him so far. And that just meant he could spend as much time alone together with you as he liked without anyone protesting. As he thought on and on about how everything had been going just as he had planned, he felt his heart speed up drastically as he saw you approach him with quick steps, a wide smile on your face. Coming to a stop in front of him you were left nearly breathless as you collected yourself before meeting his loving gaze with a deliciously joyous expression.

“Riddle! You won´t believe this! We did it!” How amusing, were you talking about the engagement of that noble? He had just been thinking about it as well, did that prove you two were connected in some way? You had to be, otherwise the wild emotions you caused within him didn´t make any sense. He had never felt this way before but he knew he wanted to hold onto this feeling forever. He decided to indulge you for a bit. “What are you talking about? What happened?” “You won´t believe it! It´s about prince Ayers, you know, the one that was supposed to marry me? Well he just announced his engagement to someone else! We are finally free!” And Riddle couldn´t agree with that sentiment more, you were finally free to both leave this academy together and spend the rest of you lives together, he could hardly wait. “That´s good to hear. Of course our plan worked out.” You took a small bow in front of the Rosehearts before making eye contact once more.

“Really, I can´t thank you enough for what you have done for me! You pretended to be in love with me, all so I wouldn´t get married to someone I didn´t want to marry! So, thank you!”

Wrong. You were wrong. Riddle didn´t pretend to be in love with you, this wasn´t just an act, why couldn´t you see that? He loved you so dearly with his entire being, what else did he need to do to prove that to you?

“-so we can finally stop pretending to be in love with each other and go back to being friends!”

What did you just say? Surely you were kidding? “Y/n what are you saying? Go back to being friends? I can´t allow that to happen.” Your face was quick to fall then, slight discomfort crossing your face.

“Riddle, what are you saying? We aren´t really together, you know? It was all just an act to prevent the arranged marriage, you know that, right?”

Riddle couldn´t help but let out a mirthless laugh at that which seemed to unsettle you even further as you tried to take a step back. But he wouldn´t allow you to go away, to leave him. He grabbed onto your wrist and pulled you closer again, your shaking and pulling not deterring him in the slightest, instead only making his grip even tighter.

“You can´t leave me y/n, I love you! I love you so much! This was anything but a game to me so please, give us a chance! Even if you don´t feel the same right now, these feeling could still grow! There´s still hope!” His breath was ragged now as his shoulders heaved up and down as his body shook. A look of sympathy and understanding now formed on your face and for just a moment, everything seemed okay. You wouldn´t reject him, you would stay by his side. It would all be okay. But his fleeting hope was utterly crushed as soon as you opened your mouth again.

“I´m flattered to hear this Riddle, really I am! But I just can´t accept your confession. I´m really sorry but there is someone else I love, it wouldn´t be fair of me to play with your feelings like that. I hope you understand.” Your eyes sparkled in sincerity but for Riddle, it felt like his world was falling apart right in front of him. You liked someone else? Who? WHO? Who could have caught your heart like that under his own watchful gaze? Who had achieved what he couldn´t?

“Y/n, please answer me. Who are you in love with? I NEED TO KNOW!” It shocked both you and Riddle himself how he had practically screamed out the last part of his sentence but he couldn’t be fazed by this at all now that his dreams were being destroyed right in front of him while you tried to take another step backwards. Riddle noticed the way you were tugging at his arm as a sign for him to let you go but he wouldn´t have any of that. You two were destined to be and nothing would come between the both of you.

“Riddle please let me- “

“NEVER! Rules of the Queen of Hearts No. 911: Never ever break up with your ruler! Especially not right after he had spilled all of his precious feelings for you and opened his heart to you, just to be trampled on and bested by some other wanna-be when he would be the way better choice!! DON`T LEAVE ME OR IT`S OFF WITH YOUR HEAD!”

“Stop this Riddle please, you´re scaring me!”, you cried out as you kept struggling in his grasp and then… the tears started flowing. The redhead softened his gaze as he saw the tears run down your cheek and he used his unoccupied hand to gently wipe away your tears as he whispered to you with a decidedly calmer tone.

“Shhh don´t worry, everything will be okay! You don´t need to tell me who it is, I will find out myself and then I´ll make them disappear! I know that you are nervous, we are going to get married in just a few days after all but there is no reason to fool yourself into thinking you love another man! So just let me hold you close for the moment until you have calmed down, okay? This was an eventful day for the both of us so let´s just rest.” As he said this, Riddle pulled your shaking form into a tight embrace and then after meeting your eyes with a gaze that could only be described as utterly obsessed, he leaned in and placed a gentle kiss onto your forehead.

“It´s okay, it´ll all be over soon. Tomorrow we can choose what kind of wedding cake you want and after that we can get your wedding attire measured out, okay? And then, we can finally get married and leave everything else behind. We can finally be happy together forever.”

“´Til death do us part”, Riddle whispered as he got down on one knee to slip a beautiful golden ring onto your finger, adored with a blood red gemstone that cost half a fortune.

Everything went according to plan.

551 notes · View notes

chai-tealattae · 4 years ago

Text

Pen Pals

soul mate /ˈsōl ˌmāt/

noun; a person ideally suited to another as a close friend or romantic partner.

✒️ Pairing: Taehyung x reader

✒️ Genre: Fluff

✒️ Word Count: 2.4k

✒️ Warnings: Swearing

A/N: This is my first fic pls be nice AKSDK

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

You tossed and turned in bed, unable to sleep. Tomorrow was your 21st birthday, the day your soulmate connection would be revealed to you. You’d heard stories from your parents, family friends, and even some of your friends that were a year or two older than you about the different connections. What if you got one that would make it damn near impossible to find them? What if your soulmate was older than you, and already knew, but gave up since you were too young? You sighed and laid flat on your back, staring at the ceiling, giving up on your futile attempts at a decent night's sleep, your mind hot with the different scenarios baking within it.

The next morning, you groaned and begrudgingly swung your legs over the side of your bed, stretching as you opened the curtains, the mid morning sunlight flooding into your room. You cringed slightly at the brightness, your eyes struggling to adjust. Yawning as you walked into your kitchen, deciding on a bowl of cereal for breakfast. Scrolling through your phone as you ate, you smiled as you read the birthday wishes from your friends and family. After replying to as many as you felt like doing, you opened Twitter to see what fresh hell awaited you on your timeline. Surprisingly there wasn't really anything bad being mercilessly tweeted about.

The one thing that caught your eye was the lovely photo on your screen, tweeted a couple hours ago, staring back at you. It was embarrassing how infatuated you were with a certain man by the name of Kim Taehyung. He was the perfect man, in all honesty, by your standards at least. He was devilishly handsome yet charmingly adorable from the tip of his nose down to his toes, the smallest details all adding to the things that caused him to worm his way into your heart.

You smiled as you saved the picture to your camera roll before setting your phone down on the table. Your smile quickly turned into a surprised squeak as you felt an oddly ticklish sensation on your wrist, and you stared down at it in shock. Appearing on your skin before your eyes was writing, but it wasn't just any writing. It was a greeting.

“Hello?”

This must be it, your soulmate bond. You didn’t know anyone personally with this particular bond, but you’d read about it through your countless nights of curiosity and excitement driven research.

You nearly tripped on your own feet as you scrambled to find some kind of writing utensil, eager to respond to the stranger. Not just a stranger. Your soulmate. You felt your heart rate quicken just at that thought. You found a pen on your counter, quickly scribbling a response below their message.

“Hello!” You wrote back. Not 30 seconds later, you felt the tickling sensation again, impatiently tapping your pen on the counter as you awaited their response.

“It’s you! You’re finally getting my notes!” You smiled to yourself, your late night suspicion confirming itself. They were definitely older than you, but hopefully not by much. You’d hate if you left your soulmate waiting for too long for you.

“How long have you been trying?” You wrote, a little smaller this time near the ditch of your elbow, so you wouldn’t take up too much valuable space on your skin. You bit your lip as you felt your skin tingle again, hoping it wasn’t too bad-

“Four years” Four years. Four whole years they’d been writing on themselves with no response. You sighed, feeling awful. Well, at least you knew how old they were. Twenty-five, twenty-six tops, if their birthday was coming up sometime soon.

“I'm sorry you waited so long… today is my 21st birthday” you wrote back, twisting your arm at a slightly awkward angle as you did this. You smiled softly, growing familiar with, and anticipating the feeling as they wrote.

“Happy birthday :)” Was written there. You smiled and wrote your thanks, not really sure how to proceed with finding them. You’d read that there were specific guidelines when it came to the different connections, things you weren’t able to do, since that would make finding your soulmate too easy. Things like their exact location, names, things of that nature. The catch is, you were able to reveal that when you were in the same vicinity. As if trying to find them wouldn’t be hard enough.

Over the next month or so, you’d learned that your soulmate was a man that was born in South Korea (you didn’t know how you’d ever be able to swing a trip there, or vice versa). You learned that he enjoyed drawing, painting, photography, singing and dancing. He was fun to talk to (at least until there wasn't any more space on either of your bodies for more ink). He had a pretty time consuming career from what he told you, but he still liked to draw you pictures to wake up to, or write you little good morning messages. You found yourself becoming incredibly fond of him, even without ever seeing his face.

One day, you found yourself staring at your laptop and phone screens, focusing excruciatingly hard on trying to score tickets to see BTS in your city. After nearly missing the opportunity, and a decent amount of money you’d surely have to pull quite a bit of overtime to make up for, you scored a decent seat for their show in a couple months. Eager to share the news with someone, you wrote on your arm.

“I just got tickets to see BTS!!” You wrote with a shaky hand, your already poor penmanship suffering even more. This would be your first time seeing them, seeing the man you’d had your eyes on for so long.

~~~~~

Taehyung smiled when he felt you were writing or perhaps drawing something for him. He loved reading your short messages about your day, getting to know you. Over the past months he was growing more and more impatient, half tempted to fly to the States and wing it. His heart nearly thudded out of his chest when he read what you wrote.

“I just got tickets to see BTS!!”

Holy shit. This was good. This was great, actually. Now he knew you were a fan. Jimin looked over when he saw the stupid grin plastered on his bandmate’s face.

“What is it, Taehyung-ah?” He asked. Taehyung didn’t answer verbally, just angled his arm so Jimin could see what you wrote. He broke into his own smile. “Oh this is good! Maybe you're closer to meeting her than you thought.” He said, patting the younger man’s back. Taehyung smiled with a nod, you being the only thing occupying his mind at the moment.

~~~~~

It was the day of your concert and you could barely contain your excitement. You barely slept the night before, knowing you would be exhausted, but couldn't find it in yourself to care all too much. You’d been waiting for what seemed like forever for this day, and weren't going to let anything, not even your lack of sleep, ruin it for you.

The day seemed to drag even longer than usual, before you figured it was a good time to start getting ready. You got dressed in an outfit that you purchased specifically for this event, a more affordable version of the Dior outfits Rap Line sported during their performances of Tear, and you put on your TaTa headband as the final touch. You know, so everyone knew specifically who you were there for. You looked at yourself in the mirror one last time, smiling and letting out an excited squeak as you grabbed everything you would need, before you made your way to the venue.

The venue was absolutely packed. There was no way you’d be able to even get any merch without missing half the concert standing in that line. You sighed quietly to yourself and went to your seat, busying yourself with syncing your lightstick so it would light up with everyone else's. You looked around from your seat, in awe about how many people were here. Crazy how many people could fit into one space.

While you waited for the concert to start, you decided to write him a message about how excited you were, and that you would keep him updated throughout the show. You decided to draw a small heart on your hand, in the space between your pointer finger and thumb, just because. You smiled when you saw his words appear on your arm.

“Have fun <3”

Oh, you would. You would have the time of your life. Little did you know, in more ways than one.

~~~~

Taehyung knew you had to be here somewhere. You just had to be. He ran a hand through his perfectly groomed hair, effectively rendering his stylist’s hard work useless. He couldn’t help it. Not when he knew his soulmate was in this building. His mind started to race. What if you didn’t want to be with him? What if you liked one of the other members better than him? What if you couldn’t deal with his lifestyle? He was pacing now, and everyone but him seemed to notice.

“Taehyung-ah, relax. I’m sure everything will work out fine.” Namjoon smiled reassuringly. Taehyung nodded and let out a breath, sitting down. They were called to start getting into position, and Taehyung knew he had to do it, now or he wouldn’t have time, and you would slip through his fingers. He pulled out his pen, writing one word on his forearm in larger than usual letters. He put his pen in his pocket, heading to where his microphone and earpieces were waiting for him, hoping you would see his message.

~~~~~

When the concert started, you could barely focus on anything else other than the men on stage in front of you. You felt the familiar tickle on your arm that your soulmate had written you, though you ignored it for the time being. You couldn’t keep your eyes off of Taehyung, witnessing his incredible stage presence and the massive amount of fan service he was giving was mesmerising, to say the least.

When time for the intermission came around, and the VCRs played on the big screens, you took a moment to see what your soulmate wrote to you. You gasped when you saw the big, capital letters spread along the length of your forearm.

“TAEHYUNG”

There was no way. Absolutely no fucking way. Kim Taehyung was not your soulmate. You had to have been some sort of saint in your previous life to deserve such treatment from the universe. You stared at your arm for a few more seconds in complete disbelief, before taking your pen out of your pocket, writing your name under his on your arm. A minute later, you felt him writing, and you anxiously chewed at your lip as you awaited his response.

“Where are you?”

You hurriedly scribbled your section and seat number, your brain barely able to process what was happening.

Within 5 minutes, there was a man approaching you, asking you to confirm your name. When you did, he told you to come with him, you did without asking any questions. The man led you backstage, and you looked around, frantically trying to find the familiar face in the crowd of stage hands.

When your eyes finally met his, you felt like you couldn’t breathe. Was it anxiety? Excitement? A spicy mixture of both? You couldn’t really tell, but there were some things you needed to see. His long legs effortlessly closed the distance between you, until you were standing toe to toe. You looked up at him and he looked down at you, neither of you truly believing you were here at this moment. You studied his face for a moment, then without a word, you took his hands, inspecting them. There it was. You brought your hand up and compared, the tiny heart you drew on your hand matching the one on his. He rolled up his sleeves, revealing the messages you’d written to each other throughout the day.

“Y/N…” He said quietly, only loud enough that you could hear. “I finally found you. You’re even more beautiful than I imagined.”

“I can’t believe it’s you.” You said as you looked up at him, tears beginning to form in the corners of your eyes. He smiled and brought his hand to gently cup your cheek, his thumb lightly brushing against your cheekbone.

“Are you disappointed?” He asked with a chuckle, his tone teasing. You shook your head, letting out a quiet laugh.

“Not even a little bit.” You reassured him, smiling softly. He gave you a toothy grin before leaning down and closing the small space between you, and you couldn’t help but melt when his lips finally met yours. The kiss was soft and careful, as if he was testing the waters. When you pushed slightly against his lips, he deepened the kiss just a little more.

He was the first to pull away, seemingly remembering his surroundings, and you caught the faintest tint of pink creep onto his face. It was almost time for him to go back on stage, and he rested his forehead against yours for a moment, his eyes locked with yours as he intertwined your fingers with his.

“Wait for me? I plan to talk to you for hours, now that I can finally hear your voice.” He said, and you nodded without hesitation. He smiled widely before pressing a kiss to your forehead, jogging off to wherever it was he was needed. You sat on the couch that was there for the members beside the stage, running a hand through your hair. Never in your wildest dreams did you think something like this could happen. Not to you, at least. You felt him writing again, and this time, you paid full attention to the words appearing along your arm.

“I love you.”

Your heart skipped a beat as you read those 3 words, pulling out your pen and writing your response.

“I love you too.” You wrote, carefully, easily readable. Never had you meant something more in your life. You couldn’t wait for him to come back to you, for him to execute his plan. After what felt like a very long time, you couldn’t wait to finally begin your life with the man you happily called your soulmate.

#taehyung x reader #taehyung fluff #taehyung x you #taehyung #Kim taehyung #taehyung fanfic #taehyung fanfiction #bts fic #BTS v #bts #bts fanfic #taehyung fic #kth oneshot #kth #soulmate!au #soulmate!taehyung #taehyung au #bts au

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freddiekluger · 4 years ago

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please drop the essay length analysis Judas and Jesus (extra gay Swedish edition), O great and knowledgeable monarch of our times

alright, you ask i deliver! please excuse any typos, my eyes aren't exactly working rn

welcome to my probably super subjective but correct analysis, aka

Judas Was Right and Jesus Was A Victim (At Least, In Swedish)

Before we get started, a couple points: i’ll try to avoid comparisons to other specific productions, i’ve only seen the other recorded 2012 british version which i didn’t like for reasons including but not limited to the amount of white people with dreadlocks. Also, my understanding of swedish is limited to a couple words and phrases, so most of the lyrics i reference will be english subtitles from Ola Salo’s swedish translation and therefore might not be the most accurate !

There’s so much i could cover in this, but for now i’m going to focus on how jesus and judas are portrayed in the 2014 swedish arena tour of Jesus Christ Superstar (JCS) starring Ola Salo as Jesus and Peter Johansson as Judas, along with how this production more implicitly views god.

From the opening number, translated into swedish as En Dimmig Himmelsdröm (A Foggy Heaven’s Dream), Peter Johansson’s acting and semantic differences in the lyrics present us with a deeply sympathetic portrayal of Judas. Looking purely at language, the english equivalent Heaven On Their Minds instantly paints Judas as much more of a faithless doubter- lyrics exclusive to the english version like “all your followers have gone blind / too much heaven on their minds” and “they think you’re the new messiah / and they’ll hurt you when they find they’re wrong” strongly enforce Judas’ main motivation for his actions being that he has less belief in Jesus and God’s plan than any of the other disciples with strong statements judging the other disciples for following him and claiming that Jesus ISN’T the messiah. The swedish translation doesn’t paint exactly the same picture- the focus of Judas’ number becomes his fear for Jesus’ wellbeing, not because he isn’t the messiah (the production remains fairly ambiguous on this point), but because Jesus can’t cope. The root of Judas’ concern comes from fear for Jesus’ wellbeing, and the disciples are referenced as regularly misunderstanding and wilfully twisting Jesus’ words. The swedish equivalent lyrics for the above examples are “they say, “jesus is god’s son” / but you know how people can change” (judas isn’t concerned with truth, just the danger that jesus will be in if the tide turns), and “the kingdom of heaven is within us, that’s what you said / bu they sew it, stitch by stich into some kind of foggy heaven’s dream”. Judas is showing that he HAS been listening and cares for Jesus’ teachings, but ‘they’ [his disciples] are turning them into something else entirely, and Judas’ worries that the support of the masses is fragile at best- the lines “and everything you say gets twisted by your lackeys / it will be anything but what you’ve said” and “you are being used by people who want you in their battle” reinforces this again. When combined with Peter Johansson’s tough but tender performance, in which he dances between disdain for Jesus, the institution, and affection for Jesus, the man (an important distinction), Judas is the harsh realist doing his best to look out for the man he loves. The way he takes Jesus hands and looks at him with love and urgency straight away establishes that his motivations are pure- Judas is doing what he thinks is best, even though it feels like no one will listen to him.

That was long, but En Dimmig Himmelsdröm is the perfect character introduction for Judas. He’s not totally unrecognisable, still delivering digs about ‘Jesus, the little carpenter’s son’, his manner is still rough and at this point we’re not sure whether or not the claims he makes about the disciples have any truth to them, BUT we can also see how much Jesus means to him, an important point that give context to the intensity of their future arguments and really makes the whole story much more heartbreaking.

This brings me to Ola Salo’s Jesus. Delightfully camp and queercoded, Judas describes him as being caught up in his own magic and mystery and buckling under the pressure, and he’s not entirely wrong. Throughout the first act, Jesus basks in the luxuries that being messiah can give him (the oils Mary paid for using disciple funds that were supposed to go towards helping the poor, him absolutely thriving in the shopping cart in What’s the Buzz?), and is shown actively avoiding any reminders of the seriousness of his position. He’s sick of the disciples asking him for a plan, he chooses the comforting Mary, who’s theme consists of telling Jesus everything is okay and he doesn’t need to think about anything, over Judas, who is less perhaps ‘cosy’ but is actively trying to warn and protect Jesus from an awful fate. During The Temple, he starts to crack as he’s overcome by the followers begging him to make him well, fear in his eyes as he raises his arms while frozen on the spot trying to avoid being devoured by the frenzy in desperate need of a messiah. Judas’ point about Jesus buckling under the pressure is starting to look more and more reasonable, and the dashes of showbiz campness add to the sense that much of Jesus is a persona constructed for the masses to give himself enough distance to prevent him from being crushed by the weight of God entirely. Jesus, the institution, prances around, lays his hands on his followers, and projects an air of easygoing calm. Jesus, the man, is scared and alone, and Jesus, the man, really comes out in Last Supper, but before we get there, I want to circle back to the Jesus/Mary/Judas thing.

Jesus, Mary, and Judas are presented as a love triangle: so much so, that Judas seeing Mary sing of her love for Jesus (I Don’t Know How To Love Him) is actually played as the inciting incident that sends him to the pharisees. Judas, the picture of the jealous lover, storms onto the scene, breaking them up and attempting to kiss Jesus, who instead shoves him to the ground in disdain. Judas, who is perhaps a little controlling, realises that any influence he had over Jesus has gone, and it’s likely a combination of jealousy and the knowledge that Jesus won’t stop that prompts him to head to the pharisees. In his meeting with the pharisees (known in english as Damned For All Time, although that phrase doesn’t appear once in the swedish), Judas’ expresses outright that “I’m the one who sees / Jesus, he can’t handle it anymore” “the truth is that this hysteria is making him lose control”, once he can get past explaining how much this plan of action feels like a last resort. He never even verbally or physically accept the pharisees’ offer of money, he denies it twice before it is eventually thrown over him after he reluctantly gives them the date and time to find Jesus- we never even see him pick it up, unlike other productions which show Judas grabbing for the cash and place a higher emphasis on Judas making sure he ‘won’t be damned for all time’, painting Judas as far more self serving. When it comes to Jesus, Judas is active- he’s running around trying to help, caressing him, embracing him, grabbing his hand, kissing him. They share countless moment of intimacy, especially at the start, establishing the fondness between them instead of instantly jumping to their conflict. When it comes to Mary (and admittedly, this is partially because she’s a secondary character- don’t get me wrong I still love her and Gunilla Backman does a brilliant job), she’s much more passive. Other than the much more gentle kisses in I Don’t Know How To Love Him and her penchant for dabbing Jesus’ forehead, she’s mostly just ‘there’. She cares for Jesus after the fact, and even when performing acts of intimacy like the oil and the kiss, she maintains a lot of physical distance- her songs touch on this as, much like Jesus (admittedly for different reasons), she actively distances herself from feelings to protect herself, so naturally she literally places distance between herself and the object of her love.

This brings me back to Last Supper, Gethsemane ( I Only Want to Say), and the kiss of death that broke all of our hearts. Throughout this segment, this is when Jesus, the man, really comes through, and it’s devastating. In Last Supper, he properly expresses the sheer amount of loneliness he feels, reiterating how he feels everyone will forget about him once he’s gone, and doesn’t really care about him as a man (”for you, my blood is not worth more than wine / for you, my body is not worth more than bread” “you will have forgotten me as soon as i give up my life”). This devolves into the disciples fighting each other and, you guessed it, ignoring him. For the first time, Jesus meaningfully lets out his anger, and as it turns to Judas, Judas does the same. Because of the set up of their complicated romantic relationship and the stakes involved, the amount of personal attacks and anger that comes out of Jesus and Judas’ repeated fights (which get physical) make complete sense- Jesus’ frustrations come from the fact that his entire fate has been predetermined and to him, Judas is just another instrument in the ways he’s been controlled (both with Judas being his betrayer, but also the way that Judas’ constant advice and interference with Jesus’ life (most obviously, the mary thing) are acted by Ola Salo as becoming increasingly frustrating to Jesus)- these frustrations are directed at their real cause, God, in Gethsemane. Judas’ frustrations come from the fact that no matter how hard he tries to help Jesus and keep him safe, Jesus keeps rejecting his efforts resulting in “all that we’ve built up [being] destroyed”- Judas’ heart hasn’t just been broken by Jesus rejecting him romantically, but on every level. Here, he’s actually shown to be the disciple most passionate about helping people practically and long term, being the only one concerned about Mary taking money which was supposed to help people, manipulated by the pharisees with the promise of doing good for the masses, and criticising Jesus for how they could be doing so much for people, ending his part of Last Supper with “every time i look at you i ask myself why you let all your things go so wrong? / all i ever wanted was to help you”.

This is also the point where Judas’ claims about the disciples are essentially confirmed, and this productions intent to portray Judas as more of a tragic hero become absolutely clear. In the english version, the disciples chorus remains virtually the same each time it appears, generally being far too calm considering their leader is about to die, revealing their aspirations to be apostles, and their intent to write the gospels to be remembered. the swedish translation still achieve this, but with variations from chorus to chorus it becomes much more poignant. i’m just going to stick to ttwo, which are choruses 1 and 3. In chorus 1, lines roughly translate to “i’ve always wanted to be an apostle / life is so nice when you’re saved/ then when we’ve got time we’ll write the gospels / then everything will be the way we want”- the apostles declaring that life is so good when you’re saved supports Judas’ opening statement that they care more about some idea of heaven than anything else, not to mention ignoring the absolute horrors that Jesus will have to go through to be saved, while the final line about the gospels introduces their intent to change whichever details they need to make ‘everything the way we want’: once again, exactly what Judas warned us of in En Dimmig Himmelsdröm. In chorus 3, taking place after Judas storms out for the last time, these lines change to “never really liked that judas / never saw what jesus saw in him / then, when we’ve got time we’ll write the gospels / and we’ll angle it so he gets all the blame”. Judas as a sympathetic character is confirmed here, as the disciples straight up admit how they don’t like Judas anyways and intend to write him as a villain (also inadvertently admitting that, since they have to write the gospels to make it look like only Judas’ fault, Judas isn’t really the sole one responsible for everything that is to come). It’s deeply unsettling, and for me was the point where I really began to question how good any of these disciples were, and by extension, how good is this production’s God if his truly sanctified followers are acting like this?

Jesus vents out all of his anger and desperation in Gethsemane. He acknowledges his own powerlessness and begs him to change the plan, but with the dark stage and no response (along with Ola Salo’s spectacular acting) it becomes clear that if anyone is there, they’re certainly not listening (”you, who have all the power / can you please change the plan / for i can already feel the pain burning in me”). It’s worth mentioning that a lot of the imagery in this swedish version is much more intense than the english, both in this song and the production as a whole. Jesus plainly calls god “thoughtless”, begging to understand, and it’s that this point we realise that he agrees with much more of what Judas has been saying than he’s been letting on- Jesus’ faith appears to be the only thing keeping him from listening to Judas and running away. Judas’ messages about people misunderstanding Jesus’ words also come out (”you care that everyone sees / but not that anyone understands”), and his eventual agreeing to die is played less as an inspiring act of faith, and more an act of desperation as he realises, he realise has no other choice. In this song, we see just how much of Judas Jesus has valued and taken on board, and that his air of carefree aloofness which frustrated Judas was, as we’ve already touched on, a complete act. The line “might as well finish what i’ve... what YOU’VE started” is absolutely miserable, reinforcing one of the major themes of this production: the idea that Jesus and Judas were both just ordinary men tormented by futures defined by forces out of their control. Just as Jesus has absorbed Judas’ logic, as an audience so we have, and it’s difficult to view the rest of the play’s events as anything other than an immense and unnecessary act of cruelty.

we’re almost done i promise!

Even knowing what Judas has/will do, Jesus still greets him with love. Judas, still under the impression that Jesus will be okay and that he’s doing what’s best, approaches him with the utmost tenderness, and the kiss is a beautiful signifier of two things. For Jesus, the return of his love for Judas shows his realisation in Gethsemane that Judas isn’t the one who’s sealed his fate and has only being trying to help, it’s god himself who has decided Jesus’ future. For Judas, the kiss shows that despite all of the anger and frustration that has been pouring out of him, he truly does love Jesus, and the way he cradles the scared and alone Jesus to his chest afterwards shows just how much he wishes he could be the one to help him and keep him close. Even with all their arguments and dysfunction, here Jesus and Judas find comfort in each other, and it almost seems like everything will end up alright. It’s in this moment that Judas and Jesus are most identifiable not as enemies, or as villain and hero, but as archetypal lovers from a Shakespearean tragedy. Neither of them set out to hurt each other, but through miscommunications, their own flaws, and external forces (both natural and supernatural), their love is simply never to be. Furthermore, in the following torture and spectacle, everything that Judas predicted for Jesus is about to come true. Another detail I find interesting is the way that Jesus and Judas both sport black nail polish, leather pants, and similar length hair: along with just looking cool as hell, the similarities really reinforce how close they are and how much they influence each other- it feels like a contemporary version of carrying a cameo or a lock of your lover's hair with you, a way for 'star crossed lovers' to keep a piece of their beloved no matter what.

The disaffected persona of Jesus, the institution, comes back as he’s taken by the authorities and subsequently insulted, degraded, and whipped. Also the swedish version of The Arrest, when the chorus starts singing questions, contains this dick joke and I think we all deserve it: “why were you dating a whore? / talk about a huge magic wand!”

Skipping forward to Judas’ Death, this is where both his character and the production’s conception of god beautifully (and miserably) align. When Judas runs to the pharisees, minor semantic changes (along with the genuine concern and great acting from Peter Johansson) reinforce that this Judas genuinely didn’t know that Jesus would be beaten and sentenced to death the way he has been, and Judas’ concern regarding how things look is played less as ‘oh no people will hate ME!’, but how having sentenced the man you love to death is one nightmarish thing, but for everyone to think you did it knowingly and willingly and then congratulate you for it is unthinkable. Where the english shows Judas’ attempting to evade responsibility for Jesus death, the swedish is more focused on Judas’ guilt, horror, and regret. The english “I’d save him all the suffering if I could / don’t believe our good / save him if I could” is swapped in swedish for “If anyone should die here I should / don’t say I’m good / better if I died”. While the english statements are somewhat empty (sure, Judas says he’d save Jesus’ suffering if he could, but he can’t so we’ll never truly know) and are still focused on Judas’ attempt to construct himself as a good guy, the swedish translation has Judas admit his guilt (even if it’s not really his fault), and make the promise of “better if i died” which, given the name of this sequence, he later delivers on. When english Judas sings “Christ, I’d sell out the nation / For I have been saddled with the murder of you”, swedish Judas sings “Jesus, I’ve been deceived / because of my act your blood’s now being spilt”, and instead of ending this first section with “I should be dragged through the slime and the mud”, swedish jesus returns to the theme of character assasination with “i will be cursed as the one behind your murder”.

The swedish translation of the next rework of I Don’t Know How to Love Him also places much more emphasis on Judas’ genuine romantic love for Jesus- we’d be here for hours if i listed everything but here are a few key contrasts. The english has Judas sing “I don’t know how to love him / I don’t know why he moves me”, whereas the swedish has Judas crying while singing “how do I show my love / all I want is to be close to you”. Along with acknowledging Judas already loves Jesus, the entirety of this segment is shifted from Judas singing about Jesus in the third person ‘he’, to a direct address. Judas isn’t performing his sadness, or venting his emotions, he’s emitting one last desperate cry to the man he loves as he sobs on a stage completely shrouded in darkness, and it’s devastating. Peter Johansson lets his voice run raw as he’s belting, and interrupts lines with sobs, and this Judas answers the question of “do you love me too? do you care for me?” with a quiet “no”- Judas is about to go to his death convinced Jesus must hate him, just as Jesus will face his knowing his love inadvertently put him there.

We finally reach Judas’ actual death, and the production’s far more ambiguous (if not negatively geared) depiction of god comes to a head. Judas’ screaming at god the moment he realises that his god essentially forced Judas to be the one to kill Jesus (an act of ultimate cruelty given their love) comes across as horrifying in it’s validity, unlike in other english language productions where it follows the more common characterisation of Judas being an unbeliever who can’t take responsibility for his own actions. When he spits on the ground, screaming “you have murdered me!”, we can’t help but agree- Judas was trying everything he could to stop Jesus from dying, and yet here he is. Most notably, Judas doesn’t set up his own suicide- a noose literally descends from the heavens, already tied, and Judas is literally trapped between the edge of the stage, and the symbol of death behind him. Much like he didn’t choose to kill Jesus, Judas has no choice in his own suicide- it’s suggested to merely be another part of the plan god has for him, and Judas raising his arms to form a crucifixion pose before he finally turns and jumps, disappearing into the depths of the theatre as the rope trails down (somewhat evocative of a leap to hell), highlight the sick joke. Much like Jesus begging in Gethsemane, a plea with god that in anyway implies fault or cruelty is met with silence followed by a death sentence.

When Judas reappears to the broken and bloodied Jesus in Superstar, he appears as more of a twisted hallucination than the literal spirit of Judas. He’s the opposite of everything he was in life, draped in colour, surrounded by red lighting instead of the signature blue, his hair quite literally let down, joking and dancing. Despite singing about him, Judas virtually ignores Jesus for the whole song except when he’s taunting him, snatching his hand away after a broken and desperate Jesus reaches out for the image of his beloved (refuting Judas’ belief that Jesus would die hating him), along with the swedish additions of Judas repeatedly addressing him as “little Jesus”. Where the living Judas was serious, sometimes harsh but always well intention, often paying more attention to Jesus than he received, this Judas is the opposite: light hearted but cruel, not caring about Jesus one bit. It’s somewhat an inversion of the beginning of JCS, where the tormented Judas was constantly reaching out to Jesus, and often met with scorn and insult (see: most of their arguments, this line from Everything’s Alright: “the thought is beautiful but quite unrealistic / yes, even quite stupid”). As the song goes on, and even as Jesus is crucified, the victorious scoring of the Superstar theme ends up reinforcing the cruelty and questioning of god distinctive of this production: Ola Salo’s Jesus is one of the bloodiest Jesus’s (Jesii?) I’ve been able to find, with blood covering his torso, his arms, and all over his face, not in passive dribbles, but violent ‘swooshes’ spreading out from his eyes, emphasising the fear and pain contained within them. As the music suggests how great and wonderful Jesus’ death is, the images straight out of a horror movie before us don’t seem to match up: as both Judas and Jesus question, if no one is understanding what Jesus is saying, why kill him? instead of making a point, you’re ensuring that the falsehoods continue to circulate, unless spreading the true message isn’t really the intent at all. or, simply that Jesus was wrong: his interpretation and teachings of god were far too kind and practical, and the true god really is the one that he briefly saw in the garden of Gethsemane, and that Judas saw before his death- a cruel and vindictive god using them for his own sick purposes. If you're a strong Christian, I'm sure you could watch this production and still believe that God was right (although I think Jesus and Judas being in love counts as blasphemy), but I think in doing so you'd lose part of what makes this production so hard hitting and, as i keep saying, devastating.

that’s pretty much it for this one! i feel like jesus and judas as a queer couple is less significant to this production than the fact that it’s specifically jesus and judas that are in love - they don’t face explicit homophobia as such, although i do think the paratextual and historical associations of queerness (both with them each looking visibly queer, and them as a couple) adds a beautiful dimension by subverting the standard christian teaching of Jesus’ sacrifice as “a love that changed the world” and making the love that truly could have been transformative (and was, to a degree) the love between Jesus and another man, not to mention the way in which queerness is often viewed as radical perfectly upholding the ‘radical’ views of god and the story of Jesus shown in the production. Why wouldn’t the love between two men be the love which has us questioning god, faith, and that which many of us have been taught since birth? Ola Salo has talked about how he’s able to be positive and negative towards christianity, along with how he wanted Jesus and Judas to really represent two sides of the same coin (’faith and intelligence’), and being bisexual along with having alluded to being raised christian (not to mention Breaking Up With God, a song by his band The Ark), it’s not surprising he’s managed to present such a nuanced and layered interpretation of Jesus Christ Superstar that even me, a trans exvangelical, can fall in love with.

UPDATE: @bands-and-hobbits has just let me know that Ola's dad was a priest! Apparently he's said that he liked the organs and the music, but that was all when it comes to christianity, which (when combined with Ola stating in interviews that the JCS soundtrack has been one of his favourite albums since he was 14) makes a lot of sense about the level of familiarity he had with the text giving him confidence to go in and make changes to really capitalised off of some of the themes that are hinted at in the english version- you have enough information to understand how everything works together, but aren't so dedicated to preserving belief that you feel you can't improve/change things (and my god are we glad he did)

#thank you if you made it this far!#also the inherent rhythm in swedish as a language just makes all of the songs sound better i'm gonna say it #english is really hit and miss when it comes to music and can get especially clunky with musicals requiring exposition #also sorry there's so much i've left out !#anyways enjoy #jesus christ superstar #jesus christ superstar swedish arena tour 2014 #jcs #peter johansson #ola salo #also i have barely edited this so i hope it's coherent

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halloweenhoneylover · 4 years ago

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bewitching

summary: spencer and the reader have the best couples’ costume, and they like to slow dance (spencer reid x fem!reader)

word count: 1.7k

author’s note: i’m uhhh not super happy with this but whatever it’s halloween babey!!! the song is i love you (for sentimental reasons) by nat king cole and you’re legally obligated to listen to it while you read. also, morticia and gomez addams are peak romance <3

“Are you ready?”

“Yeah, I’m ready.”

“Count of three?”

“Count of three.”

You both burst from behind your respective doors and gasped. A smile crept onto your face and stretched until you grinned from ear to ear, and with an appraising eye, you scanned him from up and down, trying to take it all in. Spencer’s usually unruly mane was combed neatly and gelled back with a precision you hadn’t known he was capable of, and his already lengthy limbs seemed to stretch on for miles in the pinstriped suit he donned. You had to laugh at the fake mustache he had placed on his upper lip; it looked fairly realistic (his application was superb) but was incredibly amusing all the same. This style was different, but you had to admit some welcome warmth began stirring in your stomach at the sight. With a breathless laugh (a weak attempt to disguise the full extent of his effect on you) and a wild amount of sincerity, you murmured, “You look good.”

His face flushed with your comment, but his pink cheeks paled in comparison to the fact that he hadn’t recovered enough from the sight of you to even shut his mouth, so he just stood there gaping at you, mind utterly blank. This outfit was certainly an impressive debut for you as well. Spencer was always so enamored with the amount of color you could fill your daily outfits with, but he couldn’t deny that you dazzled just as spectacularly in noir as well. Unfamiliar sleek locks of raven hair spilled over your shoulder, and your dress, Spencer prided himself on being a man who very much respected women and refrained from letting his eyes wander, but he couldn’t have stopped them if he had tried.

Black velvet that was simply begging to be touched, black velvet that fell just right. And a devilishly plunging neckline that made his mouth go dry. While he was well-acquainted with the gentle planes of your neck and décolletage, seeing that skin presented so...elegantly was enough for him to squirm. When he mustered the strength to meet your gaze again, he nearly passed out as you looked up at him from beneath long lashes, the dark, shimmery shading of your eyelids only sharpening the gleam of your eyes.

Reclaiming some control of his voice, he spoke lowly, “You look utterly bewitching, mi amor.”

Somehow your gaze brightened even more at that. “Has somebody been brushing up on their Spanish?”

“I have to get into character, of course,” he teased right back, coming back into possession of his mental faculties.

You finally bridged the gap between you, hands coming to rest on his chest, and you mindlessly adjusted his lapels. “Well, I, for one, think you make an excellent Gomez Addams.”

He smiled, and finally, he gathered enough courage to rest his hands on you, gently holding your hips. (The velvet was just as lovely to feel as he thought it would be.) “I’d be nowhere without my Morticia though.”

Laughing at that, you fiddled with his tie, and your voice went soft. “It’s a good thing I’m here then, mon cher.”

He took your hand from his tie and pressed a kiss to your knuckles, hazel eyes firmly meeting your gaze. “‘To live without you, only that would be torture. A day alone, only that would be death.’”

Ducking your head, you huffed out a laugh. “It’s only 5:00, and you’re already getting sappy on me?” You turned to sashay towards the kitchen (it was hard to do anything besides sashay in a dress like this), and he followed like a lovesick puppy, very nearly tripping over his own feet on the way. (He was really good at getting into character.)

“That’s a direct quote!” he protested, but you just shook your head and grinned. “Besides, it’s hard not to be sappy when you’re around.”

“Okay, Mr. Addams, you can still be the biggest sap in the world as long as you help me finish setting up. People will be here in a half hour.”

“Anything for you, querida.”

———

Heaving the door shut, you sighed. “I believe that was the last of them.”

Spencer called from the kitchen, “I think tonight might have topped last year!” The sweetest of all sweet things, he was already cleaning up, putting dishes in the sink and picking up paper plates shaped like pumpkins.

Tugging up the sleeves of your dress, you joined him. “I will admit this year was pretty good, but can anything really top Hotch’s drunk rendition of Vincent Price’s interlude in Thriller last year?”

He chuckled slightly at that and continued to battle a particularly stubborn lipstick stain on Garcia’s wine glass. “No, I’m not sure anything could.” A beat. “But this year was pretty great.” His smile was warm as he spoke, his words laced with an incredible tenderness. You hummed in agreement. And shoulder to shoulder, you stood there quietly washing and drying dishes, immersed in this moment of balmy domesticity.

Music drifted softly through the apartment, gentle notes dawdling around corners and settling in the soft places. You mindlessly hummed along until one particular melody tickled your ear, and you gasped. Somewhat startled by this breach in the reverie, Spencer looked to you with questioning brows, and you grabbed his wrist. “Oh, Spencer, I love this song!” you gushed. “Will you dance with me? Please, it’s what Gomez would do!”

The way your eyes shined up at him made Spencer’s heart twist in his chest. (Despite the substantial length of your relationship, it somehow always came as a pleasant surprise that you looked at him with those gleaming, lovely eyes.) His expression softened as a grin tugged at the corners of his mouth. “Well, if that’s what Gomez would do….” He refrained from saying something stupidly sweet and cloying like, you don’t even have to ask, or I’d do anything for you, my dear.

It seemed impossible, but your smile widened even further as you lightly dragged him into the next room. The string of jack-o-lantern lights that hung from the mantle doused you in a warm orange glow, and Spencer took a moment to glance around the room, admiring the little votives you had set on shelves and the various spooky decor that seemed to occupy every bit of free space in your apartment. Brushing the tips of his fingers with your own, you regained his attention, and he grabbed your hand. His other hand slid around to your lower back, relishing in the now familiar velvet and pulling you close, while you slid a hand up to hold on to his shoulder and rested your head on his chest.

As you settled into a nice slow sway, he finally took notice of the song. Nat King Cole’s smoky tones dripped like honey as his pianist’s fingers tumbled across keys.

I love you, for sentimental reasons.

Spencer huffed a small laugh at your song choice, and pressing a nose into your hair, he murmured in your ear, “I don’t know how you can complain about me being sappy when you’re the one making us dance to cheesy jazz songs about love.”

You scowled teasingly, “We both have our moments.”

Smirking mildly, he nodded. “Yeah, I’ll give you that.”

A few moments drifted by wordlessly with gentle swinging, and Spencer swore that his heart had never felt so full. It had been a lovely night with his family, and now he was slow dancing with the love of his life, and in thinking back on all of the choices he had made in his life, he could not pick out the rights ones that lead him here to this exact moment, and it didn’t really matter because he really was here, right now, with you. Fate had always seemed a fickle thing to him, but he thanked whoever was in charge of this wildly arbitrary universe for being so kind as to give him you. He wasn’t sure how he’d gotten so lucky. His thumb smoothed up and down the back of your hand, the littlest movement to remind him that the kindest, prettiest girl tucked into his chest was still very, very real. Cursing himself, he tried to blink back the tears welling in his eyes at the thought of just how happy he was. (He didn’t mind crying in front of you, but if he cried, that also meant you were right, that he was the biggest sap on the whole planet, and he didn’t want you gloating.)

Leaning against his chest with your eyes shut, you breathed out a contented sigh before joining Mr. Cole in serenading your dear Spencer. “I love you, and you alone were meant for me.” His eyebrows raised slightly at your sudden breaking of silence, but then he settled back into the dance, listening to your honeyed words. “Please give your loving heart to me, and say we’ll never part.”

Beaming, he replied, “I promise. You can never get rid of me.”

You both laughed at that.

You continued this little back and forth, you singing syrupy lines of longing and Spencer chattering away in response, the biggest grins on your faces.

“I think of you every morning.”

“Funnily enough, I do the same.”

“Dream of you every night.”

“So, I’m the man of your dreams?”

“Darling, I’m never lonely—”

“I’d sure hope not.”

“—Whenever you are in sight.”

“That’s very sweet of you, cariño.”

You snickered at that, “Ah, so Mr. Addams has made a reappearance, I see?”

Taking your hand and gently spinning you, he used his free hand to tap his moustache. “He never left, dear Morticia.” You rolled your eyes but couldn’t resist a grin, while humming in understanding.

“Well then, darling Gomez, how would you say tonight was? Was this Halloween everything you had hoped it would be?”

“Mi amor, tonight was perfect.” He brought his lips to your knuckles, placing a chaste kiss on each, and there was no resisting the blush that flooded your cheeks. Funny how you were just as smitten as the day you first started dating. His hazel eyes flicked up to meet yours, and you couldn’t help but feel like you were home.

Your voice taut with emotion, you whispered with a blistering smile, “I’m glad.”

Pushing a fallen strand of hair behind your ear, he cocked his head slightly and came to rest his hand against your jaw. “‘Are you unhappy, my darling?’”

“‘Oh, yes—yes, completely.’”

#spencer reid x reader #spencer reid fanfic #spencer reid fluff #spencer reid x you #spencer reid #was i too lazy to actually write the party??#maybe!#but also this song fucking gets me bro #it makes me so mushy on the inside i'm like a bruised banana #i just wanna slow dance with somebody :'(#whitney houston's posthumous hit #anyways i love jazz!#also if u can't sing #u can in this fic!#anything is possible!

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trekkiepirate · 4 years ago

Text

Master of All

My Witcher Secret Santa gift for @motionalocean! @thewitchersecretsanta

Crossposted to AO3 HERE

nearly 9.2K of BAMF!Jaskier and Geralt being progressively more smitten. 5 Times Jaskier Is Good At Things Geralt Didn't Expect And The 1 Thing He Knew Jaskier Was Good At. PG-13 for bad words, canon-typical violence, and the +1 Under cut because it’s hella long.

1. Pickpocketing

“Well,” Jaskier huffed, “I sincerely hope you missed one of those ghouls and they come back and eat this whole rotten village. Starting with that alderman. No, starting with his appalling son who has the AUDACITY to claim he was a better singer than me. My gods, Geralt, I don’t even think I’ll complain of the lack of a roof and a bed this evening. Sleeping under the stars with my very dear friend-“

“-not friends,” Geralt huffed.

The interruption entirely ignored by Jaskier. “-who is twice, thrice, no no no ten, a hundred, a THOUSAND times the man that they could ever dream of being. Asking a man-“

“-not a man,” Geralt said, expecting, correctly, Jaskier would ignore this comment too.

Jaskier, instead, whirled and looked at Geralt like he had punched him. Actually, he looked more upset than when Geralt has, in fact, punched him. “Of course you’re a man.” Jaskier tilted his head. “Well, I cannot say for certain as I have not yet seen you… in a state of undress. Though not that the having of a penis makes one a man. It’s more about your own identity-”

“Jaskier,” Geralt sighed, sliding two now-skinned hares onto sticks over the fire.

“You’re a man because that’s who you tell the world you are.”

“I don’t.”

It seemed only every other sentence was going to get through Jaskier’s tirades as he stopped speaking.

For a few blissful seconds. “Geralt,” Jaskier put his hands on his hips, voice exasperated as if he were a teacher who expected better of his pupil. “Geralt,” he said again, “you are the best man I have ever met. Smarter than any scholar, kinder than any priest, more noble than any titled twat.”

Geralt blinked. Jaskier seemed so sincere. “We’ve just met.”

“Right, well, we’ve actually been traveling together for four months, but I imagine time feels different when you’re basically immortal, so we’ll let that slide.”

A frown twisted Geralt’s face. “You’re young. You can’t have met that many people.”

Jaskier pursed his lips and put on what he called his Viscount voice. Though why he’d pretend to be a Viscount was beyond Geralt. “I studied for years at the most prestigious and widely attended university on the Continent. I have met plenty of people, Geralt. And you are still the best one I know.”

Geralt hmmed. “Your good opinion won’t buy us a roof and a bed.”

A grin like a succubus, pretty and dangerous, spread over Jaskier’s face. He reached into his trousers and produced a bag of coins. “It might do.”

The same bag of coins that the alderman had refused to give Geralt after he cleared a nest of ghouls from a field. He’d taken three crowns and told Geralt that it couldn’t be worth the whole bag if it only took him an hour.

As it was, most of that hour was building the bomb he’d need to destroy the nest. The ghouls had been sated by feeding on villagers who’d tried to kill them and were slow.

“Where-” Geralt shook his head, he knew the answer to that one. “How?”

Jaskier tossed the bag in the air and caught it. He continued doing so as he spoke. “Remember when I gestured around his, frankly gaudy and most certainly fake, prized vase?”

Geralt stared at the boy. “You distracted him by making him think you might break his vase and then stole his coin out of his pocket.”

“Exactly! Really it’s his fault for so blatantly putting the coin away while looking down his nose at you.” Jaskier grinned bright and extracted one coin from the bag before handing it to Geralt.

“Thief’s fee?” Geralt nodded at the coin.

Jaskier’s smile got even more mischievous. He balanced the coin on his thumb, then flicked it.

It hit Geralt in the chest and fell into his lap.

“Well, tossing a coin is the chorus of the song anyway,” he winked, then spun around, grabbing a cooked hare and blowing on it before taking a large bite. “They’ll see,” he said as he chewed, “my song will become a hit! ‘Toss a Coin’ will be sung the entire length and breadth of the Continent and men like that will be the pariahs, the outcasts. Anyone who denigrates a witcher will be spit upon in the streets. See how they like that!” Jaskier’s next bite was near savage, tearing the meat from the bone. But the next moment, he grinned over the fire at Geralt. “And until it does become a hit and you are lauded as the hero you are, and don’t say you’re not a hero, I see your mouth opening and you can very well shut it again for all the credence I’m going to give you saying you’re not a hero.” He gestured wildly with his hare, grease dripping slowly down his hand and forearm, on display since he’d rolled up the sleeves as his chemise on such a warm night.

Geralt found his next breath a little harder to take as he stared at the bare forearm. He hmmed and took up his own meal.

“So until that day, I will gladly make sure you are properly paid for your work,” he waggled the fingers of his left hand at Geralt. “One way or another.”

“Don’t get caught,” Geralt said. “I won’t break you out of any jail cell you land in.”

Jaskier laughed. “That is a bald-faced lie. You did the exact thing two towns ago and that wasn’t even me risking my freedom and safety for you to be given all you deserve.”

Geralt looked up at Jaskier, then quickly back to his hare when he found the expression on Jaskier’s face too… too much like something warm settling in his stomach. He ate the rest of the hare as fast as he could.

No one had ever said Geralt deserved anything. Not anything nice, anyway. But Jaskier seemed to think that Geralt was a kind of hero in a tale and wanted him to be treated as such.

Fool’s errand, he thought. Jaskier was young and didn’t know how the world worked outside of the high walls of a university. He’d learn. Until then…

“Fine.”

Having gone back to eating, Jaskier was silent for a moment as if trying to recall where the conversation was picking up from. “What’s fine? Oh! Me stealing when people refuse to pay you your just wage. Of course it’s fine. Don’t worry your pretty head for a moment; I’ve never been caught yet.” He waggled his fingers in Geralt’s direction. “Dexterity is name of the game when one spends one’s life dedicated to possibly the most delicate and finnicky instrument known to man.” He looked down at his gifted elven lute like it was his flesh and blood child, so loving and soft.

When he raised his head and looked at Geralt, his adoring expression didn’t change in the least.

Geralt cleared his throat and threw the hareless stick onto the fire. ‘Go to sleep, Jaskier.”

A few more large bites and Jaskier did as he was told, snuggling into his bedroll. Which Geralt had bought him when Jaskier proved that no amount of silence or disinterest would keep him from staying at Geralt’s side, praising every deed in song. He picked up the bag of coin and wandered over to Roach to tuck it safely in her saddlebag.

The horse nickered softly and seemed to throw her head repeatedly in Jaskier’s direction.

“Don’t get attached,” Geralt scolded.

Roach tilted her head in Jaskier’s direction and kept it there.

Geralt sighed and whispered into the still night air. “Thank you, Jaskier.” He patted Roach, now seemingly satisfied, and made his way to his own bedroll, set a bit behind Jaskier’s so the bard was close to the warm fire and that anything that leapt at them from the woods would have to get through Geralt before it could get to Jaskier.

He laid there, thinking about how quickly making sure the boy warm and safe had become a priority.

2. Knowing Who The Nobles Are Everywhere They Go

“Nope,” Jaskier plucked the sun-faded paper from Geralt’s hand, ignoring Geralt’s exasperated expression. “Oh no, no, no, no. Nope, you will not be taking this. Well, you will not be taking this contract with Duke Hereward. He’s an absolute bastard and will quite surely stiff you of your deserved coin. No, we’d best find where,” he squinted at the ink, “Meadwood Farms is and go straight to the farmers themselves. Hereward will weasel his weasely way out of giving you anything. I’d gladly steal anything he might have of worth-“

Geralt glanced around, hoping no one who worked for the Duke was listening, as Jaskier did not seem to understand what the word ‘discretion’ meant.

“-alas the double-edged sword of fame means if something were to go mysteriously but deservedly missing after we took our leave, I’d find my lovely new position as a professor at Oxenfurt suddenly taken from me.” He smiled at Geralt. “I need something to do during the winter while you hide away in your Witchery mountains to do… mountainous Witchery things.”

Suppressing the urge to smile, Geralt nodded towards the inn. “I’m sure someone will know who owns the farm in there.”

Jaskier grabbed Geralt’s arm and began to drag him (well, steer him as if Geralt had truly not wanted to be led, there was no way the boy, barely into his twenties, could move him) towards the inn. “Good people of Ellander!”

“Jaskier,” Geralt nearly rolled his eyes.

“Your prayers to the Great Meletile have been answered,” Jaskier continued. “Geralt of Rivia, the White Wolf himself, has come to aid you with your monster problems. Merely point us to Meadwood Farms and you shall soon see why Geralt is the hero of the Continent.”

Geralt was strangely glad his body no longer had the ability to blush. Jaskier’s absolute faith in Geralt was steadfast and it made something heavy and warm settle in Geralt’s chest. He wasn’t sure he wanted to be able to feel this way, to be so… cared about.

A pretty-eyed maiden made her way over to them. She smiled brightly at Jaskier. “I work at the farm. I’d be ever so glad to lead you… and the witcher there.”

The eye rolling couldn’t be controlled this time, as Jaskier immediately brightened under her attentions. “Well lead on, good miss. I presume it’s miss?”

“It is,” she giggled.

Geralt was rather glad they barely paid any heed to him as they flirted their way across town to the countryside. “What is it?” Geralt eventually asked.

Both Jaskier and the young woman, Elzbet apparently, startled as if they’d forgotten Geralt was still there. They probably had.

“The monster,” Geralt clarification. “What is it?”

Elzbet shrugged. “I didn’t see it. I do not know. Master Prospero was the one who saw it. He’s in the big house.”

Jaskier grinned. “Yes, yes, Geralt head up to see Master Prospero. Elzbet has promised to show me a most charming little corner of the barn. Apparently, there’s an owl’s nest there.”

Geralt would turn over every coin he received for the contract if there was actually an owl’s nest anywhere in the barn. All Jaskier was likely to see was up the girl’s skirts. Stomping away with a little more force than he probably needed to use, Geralt found the farm owner and got the information he needed.

It was a nest of nekkars and Geralt has cleared them all out by that night. The reward scraped together by the workers was only a third of what Hereward had promised, but it was given in gratitude and with open hands. Prospero himself was so grateful, he offered Geralt and Jaskier a room in his home for the night, as well as their dinner that night and breakfast the next morning.

Jaskier spent most of the night trying to find a suitably dirty rhyme he approved of for owl.

“Howl. Or yowl, which I will make you do if you do not put that candle out.” Geralt said at last.

“Oh you,” Jaskier tsked as he quickly scribbled down a few more lines. “You know what that Witchery magic does to me.” He winked.

Geralt buried his head further into the pillow. “Didn’t get enough with your farm girl?”

Jaskier gasped, affronted. “Excuse you, Elzbet is more than a farm girl, she is the love of my life.” He sighed dreamily. “I might stay, you know. With her.”

“Better her than me,” Geralt grumbled.

“I know you don’t truly mean those words or I’d be heartbroken beyond repair to hear you say that,” Jaskier shrugged out of his doublet and pinched out the candle flame between his licked fingers. “But what if I did? Stay?”

Geralt huffed. “You’d make a piss poor farmer.”

Jaskier laughed lightly. “Probably true.” He sighed. “Would you miss me?”

“Go to sleep, Jaskier,” Geralt said in lieu of an actual answer. “If you’re to be a farmer, you must get used to early mornings.”

Humming thoughtfully, Jaskier settled down, the line of his back just an inch away from Geralt’s in the bed. “Good night, Geralt.”

In the morning, Jaskier packed and took his place at Geralt’s side. He tried out lyrics and chords and by the time he and Geralt made camp that night, Jaskier had a new ballad. It was about love between a wanderer and a maiden, whom he loved but left to follow the open road he had long ago promised his heart to, his truest love.

Though he never actually sang the word road, Geralt realized as he watched Jaskier sing it a week later in a tavern. The song itself was called Walking The Path.

3. Gwent

“Dammit,” Geralt growled as he threw down his remaining card. A clear weather was useless when there were no weather cards in effect. The score was tied, but his opponent played with a Nilfgaardian deck and therefore won all ties.

The smarmy git was smiling at him like a smarmy git. “Fair is fair,” he held out a hand, “I’ll be taking your unique card now.”

It was lying next to the card the other man had anted up in the center of the table, but clearly humiliation was part of his winnings.

Geralt picked up the card and dropped it into the other man’s hand. “Here.”

“Better luck next time,” the bastard called out and he gestured another player to take Geralt’s place.

He still had all the coin he’d won, the cards had been the only prizes in that last round, so Geralt went over to the bar and ordered two ales and a glass of wine.

By the time he was picking up the second mug of ale, Jaskier had finished his set and bounded over, downing the wine in one go as always and ordering himself another.

“What’s this face? Is my singing truly that bad? Please know, if you say anything about pie, I will be forced to waste this lovely wine on your rude head.” Geralt grunted. “Singing was fine. Lost my game is all.”

Jaskier tilted his head. “You were winning when I last checked in on you.” He looked at his glass. “Do you need some coin? I got a fair amount tonight, people around here are very anti-Nilfgaard and my lovely little ditty went a treat. You must have heard the cheers.”

Geralt nodded. He had. In between games, he’d kept his eye on Jaskier. The djinn incident was two weeks ago, but this was Jaskier’s first performance since he almost lost his voice. And life.

The bard had been nervous and Geralt hadn’t even started playing gwent until the anxious scent faded into his usual confident burst of sundried linen and mint. The crowd was just as adoring, just as loud as always. Jaskier’s voice hadn’t suffered any permanent damage and Geralt was relieved. After all, his unthinking words had been the reason Geralt had almost lost… that Jaskier had almost lost his voice.

“Not coin,” Geralt said at last, draining his mug. “Lost my best card though. Drew an unlucky hand and couldn’t seem to bring it back around. Ended in a draw, but the bastard played as Nilfgaard so he took the tie.”

Jaskier frowned. “No chance to get it back?”

Geralt shrugged. “He plays here a lot, apparently. Has rules about only one match per opponent.” He shook his head. “Nothing for it.”

Putting down his half full glass, Jaskier nodded. “Right, well then.” He turned and headed towards the tables set up for cards.

“Jaskier?” Geralt blinked at the space the bard had occupied a second ago. “Jaskier?”

Jaskier was already standing in front of the bastard.

Geralt couldn’t remember his name, wasn’t even sure he’d been told who he’d been playing against.

Jaskier’s relaxed ease was gone, instead his shoulders hunched up, making him look for all the world like an angry cat about to take a chunk out of the next person who tried to pet it. “Valdo Marx,” Jaskier hissed out like the very letters of the name offended him.

Huh. Geralt looked at the man who’d defeated him.

Valdo looked up with a beatific smile. “Julian, is that you? I did think I heard your particular brand of empty words and trite notes in that boyish tenor of yours.”

Now no longer just upset about the card, Geralt’s fingers twitched towards his sword. Sure, he’d not exactly complimented Jaskier’s songs recently, but his insult was born of trying to offend the man into shutting up so Geralt could find the damnable djinn and get some fucking sleep.

Which, looking back, was a useless attempt as Jaskier had been drunk and Drunk Jaskier was even more prone to rambling than Sober Jaskier.

“Normally, I’d be quite glad to just punch you in the nose,” Jaskier smirked, “again.”

Taking a closer look, Geralt did notice that Valdo’s nose was slightly crooked. As if broken a few too many times.

“But if seems you have some pretentious rule about not allowing people to win their losings back from you like an honourable gentleman would.” Jaskier crossed his arms. “So I’ll play you for Geralt’s card.”

Valdo blinked blankly. “Geralt?”

Jaskier clucked his tongue as he sat down. “My goodness, you are out of touch. Everyone on the Continent knows I sing of Geralt of Rivia, heroic Witcher of legend and my very best friend in the whole world.”

Geralt didn’t bother to object.

“Then again, you rarely get to leave Cidaris, don’t you?” Jaskier produced his gwent deck and began to shuffle it. “I often wonder how you’d do in a town you didn’t grow up in? But then your father’s money wouldn’t be there to buy you a court position now would it? Has he bought you a title yet?”

Though Jaskier couldn’t see it, perhaps because Jaskier couldn’t see it, Geralt grinned broadly at that.

Valdo grinned back nastily, revealing he had a missing canine tooth as well. “If he did, at least one of us would use their title to make a difference to their homeland. Tell me, Julian,” he laid out his deck and dealt himself a hand, “when did you last visit Lettenhove? Or do you still think wandering amongst the common folk singing dirty songs in dirty taverns is the proper way a viscount should behave? Whatever would your mother day?”

Geralt watched Jaskier’s grip on his own hand tighten, just slightly. “Just play, Marx.”

Huh. Apparently Jaskier wasn’t making the whole viscount thing up.

“Oh now now,” Valdo laid down his hand, “we haven’t set terms yet. You want the Witcher’s card, right? This one,” he picked it up and flipped it along the back of his hand. “But what will you bet? I never play for anything as gauche as coin. Some of us get wages, not a handful of coins in a dusty lute case. Actually,” Valdo leaned forward, “that’s what we’ll play for. Your pretty lute. See if you can perform in royal courts without your maaaagical little instrument.”

“No.”

Jaskier and Valdo both snapped their attention to Geralt.

“No,” he repeated. Jaskier’s lute was his livelihood, his most precious possession. Geralt wanted his card back, but not at that price. Jaskier was a clever player, Geralt knew, but Valdo’s deck was evil, full of spies and scorch cards. “Not the lute. Choose something else.”

Valdo shook his head. “Don’t think I will,” he turned back to Jaskier. “You bet your lute or I walk away and your witcher never sees his card again.”

Geralt put a hand out to grab Jaskier’s shoulder and urge him up to their room, but Jaskier just nodded. “It’s a bet. Play, Marx.”

Worry came over Geralt and he found himself pacing behind Jaskier, trying not to look at his cards because then he’d know if Jaskier had a good hand and if he didn’t…

If Jaskier lost his lute, he’d be crushed. Geralt would buy him another; he’d have to. But to lose the lute Filavandrel had given him… Jaskier always said it brought him luck, sounded sweeter than all others, even when slightly out of tune.

“It will always remind me of the day my life changed forever,” he’d smile at it, then at Geralt.

Geralt still hadn’t worked out whether he meant the day he wrote the song that made him famous or the day he learned the world was much more complicated than his human-written studies might have led him to believe.

Geralt watched as Jaskier’s hand dwindled to two cards.

Valdo still had half a dozen.

It was the last hand; both had won a turn and this would decide the winner.

Rubbing a hand over his face, Geralt closed his eyes and leaned back, trying to meditate or at least clear his mind. He still had his winnings from the other matches he’d played tonight. He had no idea how much a lute cost, but he’s fairly sure he’d be able to cover it. Did this town even have a shop that might carry one? It was only just inside the borders of Cidaris, not a particularly large village now that Geralt thought about it.

“You,” he heard a hiss, “cheated.”

Jaskier was smiling. “I did no such thing. I merely used your same tactics against you.” He held out a hand. “The card. Unless you’d like to try and win it back?”

Valdo spit out some words in Elder as he threw the card at Jaskier and stomped out like a petulant child.

Geralt was rusty and only caught every few words. Something about Jaskier’s bedroom habits and something else about being a pathetic, he thinks the word was supposed to mean hound or something like that. One phrase that Geralt did catch, as he’d heard it assigned to him once or twice before translated to ‘unlovable’.

Jaskier sat frozen through the tirade and when Geralt rounded the table, he found Jaskier’s eyes to be far more full of wrath and pain than it ought to for someone who had just won a game against a rival.

His face schooled into a triumphant grin, though there was still a sheen of sadness in his eyes. “Your card, Geralt.”

Geralt took it gently, sliding out his deck into order to tuck it away. “You didn’t have to do that.”

“Well, if I lost I was thinking of just stabbing him and making a run for it,” Jaskier waved a hand.

“It’s not that important,” Geralt insisted, ten minutes later as they readied for bed. “It wasn’t worth risking your lute. If you’d lost it. It’s more precious to you than everything, else you’ve said so yourself.”

Jaskier looked up from folding his doublet and smiled, not his cheeky performance grins but a small, genuine thing. “Not everything. Now,” he sat on the edge of the bed and tugged off his boots, “may I see the card I won from Marx in what is going to be immortalized into an incredibly epic song as soon as I come up with a rhyme for ‘thrice broken nose’?”

Geralt took it out and handed it over.

It was a fairly new card for the Northern Kingdoms deck. An ashen haired little girl pouted in a frilly pink dress, clearly displeased at being painted.

“Cirilla Fiona Elen Riannon, Princess of Cintra,” Jaskier read. He handed back the card but his hand hovered, as if he might reach out for Geralt’s shoulder or even his cheek. “Yes, this is something worth taking a risk for, no question. …15 points and all,” he said after a moment, when he realized Geralt wasn’t responded. “Course I missed the opportunity of stabbing Marx, but I’ve no doubt the chance will arise again someday.” He laid down and stared at the ceiling.

“Jaskier,” Geralt began, finding his words dry up when those beautiful (when did he start thinking of Jaskier’s eyes as beautiful?) blue eyes blinked up at him. “I… th- you played well.”

A pleased and nearly shy look came over Jaskier’s face. “I know how much you enjoy it. Just wanted to be sure I’d be a worthy opponent for you, dearest witcher.” He stared at Geralt a moment longer, as if looking for something in his face. He shook his head slightly as if coming out of a dream. “Goodnight, Geralt.” Jaskier turned and faced the wall.

“Hmm,” Geralt hummed as he laid down, facing the opposite wall. “Goodnight. Jaskier.”

4. Sailing

Geralt surveyed the people sitting around the table and frowned to notice one missing. “Where’s Jaskier?”

“Went fishing,” Eskel said off hand, jumping right back into his conversation with Coën.

“He what?”

Lambert looked up from his gwent match with Ciri, “He took my boat and went fishing. Said he wouldn’t be much help in a hunt, but this way he wouldn’t be and I quote, ‘useless’ and he could be a ‘worthy winter companion’.”

Geralt winced. He’d apologized for his harsh words on the mountain and Jaskier had forgiven him. But it seems some of the hurt from that day still lingered.

“Where did he go?”

Eskel and Lambert exchanged a look.

“I don’t know his coordinates,” Lambert answered.

“Dammit!” Geralt barely kept himself from hitting the table; he didn’t want to scare Ciri, who had put her cards down and was watching the scene with interest. “You know what’s out there. Drowners and bears and I’m not sure we entirely destroyed that harpy nest from last winter and-“

“And he assured us he could handle it,” Eskel said.

Geralt growled. “He’s human! He could get hurt.”

Coën piped up at last. “Jaskier went north from the lakeside hut.” When all eyes turned to him, Coën shrugged, “He wanted to know where the good fishing spots are. I told him.”

Spinning on his heel, Geralt headed for the door to the keep, grabbing a silver sword from a rack of them on the way. He had a location and a direction. He could pick up Jaskier’s scent from there.

Geralt hadn’t bothered to grab a coat and the winter winds bit through his leather and linen clothes almost immediately. It didn’t matter. Jaskier had been alone in the wilds for who knows how long and even without the monsters and the beasts, there were dangers. The bard could overbalance and tumble into the icy waters. What if he hadn’t thought to grab warmer clothes? Geralt picked up speed, wishing he’d thought to bring Roach. Wishing he’d thought about anything other than running to get to Jaskier and…

And he wasn’t sure what would happen after. He just… needed to know that Jaskier was all right. That he was safe. He hadn’t been safe, Geralt sighed to himself as he ran, after Geralt had snapped at him.

Geralt was sure it was just another spat; that he’d arrive back at camp and Jaskier would be there very pointedly writing a song about a heartless cad who was mean to his very best friend in the whole wide world. Jaskier had a good half dozen songs like it already, this would be one more.

Only he wasn’t there. Geralt arrived to find Roach eating the last of the apples Jaskier had packed just for her and giving Geralt a very judgmental look. “Leave off,” he growled at her as he packed up what was left and led her down the mountain. “We’ll pick him up in town and you two can whisper about how mean I am.”

But Jaskier wasn’t in town either. Nor could anyone say which way he went. Geralt cursed then like he cursed now, seeing the roof of the hut by the lake and yet no sign of Jaskier.

Bad things happened when Jaskier went off alone. Geralt shook his head to rid himself of the image of Jaskier, strung up by his hands, those beautiful talented livelihood-making hands threatened and Jaskier said nothing, gave no secrets away. Some because he didn’t know and some because he…

Geralt doesn’t know why Jaskier didn’t break, except he does. The man is brave, he’s stupid and criminally loud, but he is also the most loyal man Geralt has ever known. Steel dressed in silk.

Closing his eyes and inhaling deeply, Geralt picked up Jaskier’s scent. It’s his soap and sweat and Geralt knows it like he knows his own.

Jaskier has the only boat and Geralt doesn’t fancy a swim, so he sticks to the shoreline, eyes casting about for any signs of danger or Jaskier.

Geralt very specifically tries to avoid thinking about danger AND Jaskier, which means that is all his brain will show him. Images of Jaskier surrounded by drowners, of a boat floating listlessly because the man at the rudder had been torn to pieces by harpies, a bear raising its blood-covered maw with a scrap of bright fabric caught in its teeth.

The last thing he’s thinking is that he will come upon Jaskier peacefully hauling a net of fish into the boat, adding the larger ones to a bucket next to him. So of course, that’s how the story goes.

“Geralt?” Jaskier called, eyes as round and surprised as the fish wriggling its last throes in his hands. “What’s wrong? Are you okay? Is everyone okay?”

Jaskier dropped the net thoughtlessly onto the boat’s hull and with a series of quick and efficient movements, had the boat floating over to where Geralt stood on the shore. The bard hopped over the side and hurried to Geralt, hands twitching as if he wanted to check the witcher over for any injuries. “Geralt?”

“What the hell were you thinking?”

A frown coming to rest on his face, Jaskier put his hands on his slim hips. “What was I thinking? What were you thinking? You’re going to catch your death without a coat, yes I know,” he said as Geralt opened his mouth, “witchers can’t catch colds, immune systems, mutagens, blah blah,” he went back to the boat and finished sorting the fish, “blah. What could possibly have happened that you hurried all the way from Kaer Morhen without so much as a single piece of armour or a cloak?” He turned, suddenly serious. “Is everyone all right? Is Ciri all right? She’s not ill, is she? Did she take a tumble on the training course?”

Touched by how much Jaskier cares about Ciri, despite having known her a relatively short time, Geralt shook his head. “She’s fine. Everyone is fine.”

“Then what in the name of Meletile, Freya and any other four gods you would care to name are you doing here?”

Geralt wished he’d spent less time thinking about the past and more time thinking about the future as he ran. He’s starting to get used to that feeling in general. “You weren’t there.”

Jaskier’s eyes widened, then softened. “Surely someone told you I’d gone fishing? I let everyone know. I didn’t,” he smiled sardonically, “think you’d even notice.”

“Why?”

Head tilted like a puppy, Jaskier raised an eyebrow. “Why did I go fishing or why did I think you wouldn’t notice? I went fishing because everyone does something at Kaer Morhen. I don’t,” he sighed, “have anything but music to offer and I’m well aware of your opinions on that. I assume your fellow witchers share them and also your witcher hearing, hence my lute case gathers dust. I do, however, know how to sail a boat, catch some fish, and cook said fish. So I thought I would make myself useful. As for you not noticing, well, I’m hardly your first priority here and,” he quickly added, “I understand completely. I shouldn’t be. Ciri comes first, always, of course. Hell, I wasn’t your first priority when we traveled together. Roach was. Speaking of, where is she? You couldn’t have tied her up too far away now.” Jaskier looked at the tree line as if a large mare would suddenly appear.

“I… didn’t bring her,” Geralt said, shame slowly rising in him at Jaskier’s words. Geralt couldn’t refute any of them. He hadn’t noticed the lack of music, assuming Jaskier still played in his room. As for when they travelled together, it hurt deep in Geralt’s gut that Jaskier thought he wasn’t a priority to Geralt. His words were often harsh, but Geralt made sure Jaskier had enough food and hunted more to ensure that he would. He bought Jaskier a warmer, if less stylish, cloak that had seen the bard through most of his twenties.

Jaskier had hefted a bucket of fish in his arms and just stared blankly at Geralt. “You… didn’t bring Roach? You, what, walked all the way here?”

Geralt’s eye twitched. “I ran.”

“For Meletile’s sake, why?”

“There’s…” Geralt cleared his throat, “drowners around. Sometimes. And bears. There might be some harpies left over from a nest we destroyed last winter.”

Jaskier settled the bucket back into the boat. “Were you… worried about me?”

Geralt nodded. Words were awkward and he wished to use as few as possible.

A look not unlike something like wonder crossed Jaskier’s face. “Oh. I… oh. I’m,” he spread his arms as if presenting himself, “fine. As you see. I… guess we should head back.” He gestured towards the boat. “I’ve a decently sized haul. I can make use of this for a while.” Jaskier stood in the shallow water, “Climb on in, and I’ll take us back.”

Geralt didn’t move.

“Oh,” Jaskier looked abashed. “Unless you’d prefer to steer?”

“No,” Geralt shook his head. “You can steer.”

He could. As Geralt had seen, Jaskier clearly knew his way not only around fishery, but sailing.

Jaskier nodded again to the boat and Geralt stepped in, settling at the bow.

Proving him right, Jaskier shoved them into the water and hauled himself over the side, quickly settling at the rudder and turning them around to head back towards Kaer Morhen.

Geralt cast a glance into the bucket of fish, seeing a few other smaller ones surrounding it. Several fish stared unblinkingly at Geralt as he stared back.

Jaskier hummed then cut himself off when he realized he was doing so, with a nervous glance at Geralt.

He wanted to say something. Tell Jaskier the humming was fine with him. That he should get out his lute and play for them. That Geralt wanted to hear his music, his voice. That the fillingless pie comment all those years ago hadn’t been a slight to Jaskier’s singing but the content of his songs, so many full of dirty humour or exaggerated lies.

All he could manage was “You sail good.”

Staring just as wide-eyed and unblinking as the fish, Jaskier slowly said, “Thank… you… I, uh,” he looked back at the water, “grew up on the coast. Been sailing since I was strong enough to move a rudder. Fishing even longer.”

“Why didn’t you fish that day? You could have caught your own.” Geralt winced as his words were said. Jaskier wasn’t focusing on that day with the djinn. He’d need to be specific.

But Jaskier was already answering, “I was heartbroken and near blind drunk,” he laughed, light and slightly forced. “I’d have fallen in as soon as I bent over to grab the net, hence why I was hoping you would share your haul.” He pursed his lips. “Rather wish I hadn’t, looking back.”

Geralt found himself stuck for words again. They came easy with his brothers in arms. Even with Ciri, he found himself managing to find words of comfort or encouragement when it seemed she needed them.

But Jaskier had always made things complicated for Geralt, since the day they’d met. He could annoy Geralt like nobody and nothing else; Jaskier got himself into trouble on a fairly regular basis, was fussy about his clothes and hair, and could talk the hind legs off a donkey while never saying a blessed thing of worth.

But damn if Geralt didn’t want him there, in all his messy and loud glory. He wanted Jaskier safe and, as recent events had shown, Jaskier was safest at Geralt’s side, because Geralt would move heaven and earth, call upon any help and damn the cost, to keep Jaskier so.

Geralt was in love with Jaskier. The revelation felt both sudden and slow at once. Like he’d been falling in love so quietly and steadily, there was no way to point to the day or hour that he’d actually fallen.

“Fuck.”

Jaskier, lost in daydreams, started. “What’s the matter now?”

“I,” Geralt scrambled for something to say. Should he tell Jaskier he loved him? No, that was absurd. Jaskier, for all his lingering stares and the near constant scent of lust that used to surround him, didn’t love Geralt as more than a friend, if that. Lust was not love, Geralt knew that well. He was with him for the songs and the safety. Sure, Jaskier cared for Geralt, he said it often enough, but he didn’t love him. Like how Geralt was realizing he loved Jaskier.

Who was staring at him expectantly.

At least this time, Geralt kept his annoyed at himself ‘fuck’ inside his head. “I was thinking of all the times we could have taken the river, instead of the roads.” He found words, though he wasn’t sure they were the right ones. “If I’d known you could sail. We could have… sailed. Before now.”

Jaskier dropped his eyes to the bottom of the boat, then turned away as if needing to check where he was going, as if he hadn’t been steering blind for the past several minutes, instinctive. “Ah. I’m sorry. Maybe I should have told you. Though we weren’t often by the,” a slight hesitation, “the coast.”

“You’re doing very well.” Geralt twitched his lips into as big a smile as he could manage and still felt it came up short.

But Jaskier’s visible cheek rose in a smile. “Thank you, Geralt.”

5. Sword Fighting

A whirl of light green and silver flashed from Geralt’s side, a movement near dancelike in its fluidity, accompanied by a whisper that sounded almost like counting.

Geralt turned just in time to see the bandit’s surprised face before his cleaved straight through torso fell, leaving the remains of his trunk and his lower body to fall to the ground a couple seconds after his head and shoulders had.

Jaskier stood behind the now deceased bandit, blood splattered all over his outfit and his face, still twisted into a mask of wrath. The sword in his hand was red with blood, silver glinting through the drops.

Geralt thinks it’s possible he has never been so turned on in his whole life and he’s going to have a good long talk with himself about why that might be later on.

The moment passed and Jaskier lowered the sword, wiping it on the deserter’s trousers. “Oh blast, sorry about that Geralt, I’ll clean all the blood off properly once we get back to camp. No worries. I know it’s silver for monsters,” he sneered at the dead man and then at the others who had foolishly decided to try to rob a witcher and his companion, “but I rather think it’s still apt. I’ll pay for the repair at the next blacksmith we come across if I damaged it too much.” He held the blade at eye level and examined it. “I think it’s mostly all right and Geralt are you okay? They didn’t manage to knock you in the head, did they? You’ve been staring at me for the past few minutes.”

Geralt was trying to sear the image of Jaskier looking over the blade as if, as if he KNOWS what to look for in a damaged sword. A sword he had used to kill a man creeping up on Geralt. A sword he had welded with deadly and graceful precision. Geralt’s own sword.

A very, very long talk. Possibly in the cold stream they’d just come from before they’d been ambushed.

Jaskier leaned past Geralt to sheathe the sword into its place across the witcher’s back and the spicy smell of anger had dissipated completely into Jaskier’s usual chamomile and honey concern scent. Underlaid by the copper of the blood.

It took a good deal of self-discipline for Geralt to not outright whine when Jaskier laid a warm hand on his cheek, tilting his head to check for injuries.

“Your pupils are very round, darling,” Jaskier said, the endearment he used so often sounded like music to Geralt. “Are you injured? I could grab you a potion if you are. Or maybe you’re just tired.” Jaskier dropped his hand and turned back to where they had laid down their belongings when the first men broke through the cover of the trees, using speed and surprise over strategy.

Geralt was sure he’d had them all until… until Jaskier killed the man who had managed to sneak up on him. Who would have put a sword through Geralt if not for Jaskier’s quick action and Geralt circled back to the image of Jaskier, bloody and snarling like a feral animal as he cut the man down with no hesitation.

A very, very long talk in a very, very cold stream.

Jaskier whistled and Roach came from her hiding spot in the trees. He patted her neck and dug through her saddlebags. “Geralt, are you out of Swallow? We have the spirit and the celandine but I think we might need to head towards the coast so you can cut down some drowners for their brains.” He smiled brightly. “Maybe they’ll be a contract for them as well. And a tavern that appreciates fine music. We could have a va- a very nice day. Or two.” Jaskier ducked his head and pink bloomed in his cheeks.

Geralt found his hand lifting of its own accord and landing on Jaskier’s shoulder.

The bard turned expectantly, then frowned when after a moment Geralt didn’t say or do anything else. “Geralt?” His voice was soft, the scent of his concern drew stronger. “Geralt, are you sure you’re okay? You seem stunned or something. Are you sure you didn’t take a hit to the head?”

“Sword,” Geralt said at last.

“He speaks,” Jaskier smiled briefly. “He speaks nonsense, but he speaks. What about a sword? I already told you I’d take care of any repairs needed after my impromptu maneuver. I don’t think there’s any permanent damage done. It wasn’t even that difficult. You have very good moves, dear.”

Geralt blinked as he realized where he’d seen the move Jaskier had performed. It was one he’d been taught at the School of The Wolf. Jaskier used one of Geralt’s own moves. One of his Witcher moves. To save his life. “That was… that was a witcher move. How did you…” he couldn’t even finish his question.

Jaskier shrugged. “I’ve followed you for over two decades, Geralt. On and off, sure, but still. I’ve seen you fight nearly every creature you could come across. Including bastards like those,” he nonchalantly tossed his head towards the dead men on the ground, his fringe flicking back into his eyes boyishly. “I memorized the moves you use. Granted, I’ve mostly practiced on training dummies and sparring partners, but I’ve run across my fair share of evil and desperate men before.”

“That… wasn’t your first kill?”

“Gods no,” Jaskier tilted his head and scrunched up his nose as he calculated. “Maybe my… dozenth? Or so. Now I tried not to pick up a sword unless necessary but that gutless bastard,” he spit at the man’s bisected body, “was in your blind spot. You probably would have managed to parry, but I didn’t want to take the chance.” Jaskier smiled. “Good thing too, now that we know you’re out of Swallow. Here,” he held out a canteen of water, “drink this. Get your strength back.”

Geralt took the canteen and drank slowly to give himself time to readjust his worldview on Jaskier. “Did you… count? When you were…”

Jaskier nodded. “Oh yes. Your movements are so like a dancer’s that I memorized them to a beat.” He smirked. “I’ll make a ballad out of them some day. I’m still in the habit of the counting, but eventually I’ll stop needing that, I suppose.”

“Right,” Geralt said, nodding as if he wasn’t imaging Jaskier, in plain shirt and tight trousers, sparring with Geralt on the grounds of Kaer Morhen. A blink and it was a different kind of sparring. In a bedroom. “Huh.”

“Well,” Jaskier said, as he dug back through the saddlebag, “there’s some White Raffard’s if push comes to shove. Makes sense after that last nest of nekkars. Frightful creatures by the way, possibly my least favourite of them all. Though you’re low on White Honey as well, so hopefully we can find a herbalist and stock up a bit before you have to do any major fighting. ”I’m glad now that I all but raided Oxenfurt’s gardens before I joined you for Spring. Got plenty of honeysuckle in my bag and I’m sure we can find some white myrtle with no problem this time of year. Where’s your alcohest, dear? I’m sure Lambert didn’t let you leave Kaer Morhen without every type of spirit known to man.”

“Jaskier,” Geralt said, unable to take it anymore. “We need to get back to camp.”

Jaskier whirled around and looked at Geralt then up at the sky, the sun slowly descending in the late afternoon light. “Oh you’re right. Best head back now before we lose the light. Pity we had to have that fight after the nice splash we’d had in that stream. Do you think there’s time to wash again before we head back?”

Geralt nodded. “Yes. Let’s do that first, getting clean again. That’s a very, very good idea.”

“Hmm,” Jaskier hummed, “I didn’t expect that answer from Mr Uses Monster Guts As Shampoo.”

“We’re going to need to get very clean,” Geralt said, “because as soon as we get back to camp I am going to fuck you.”

Jaskier froze. “Whaaaat did you just say? Geralt, I think I misheard you.”

Geralt shrugged. “Or you can fuck me. After seeing you fight like that, I’m letting you choose how we do it.”

“Seeing me fight.” Jaskier opened and closed his mouth a few times, trying to find which of the many words he had at his disposal he wished to use.

“Or I could just suck you off, if you’d prefer that instead.”

“Geralt of Rivia. Geralt… Geralt Roger Eric du Haute-Bellegarde and I have never been more grateful for the night Vesemir got drunk and shared stories of your youth, I need you to be very, very serious about that offer.” Jaskier licked his lips. “Because I would very much like to take you up on it and if… if it’s just for the night, I don’t rightly think we should risk our… ye gods, you’ve never even called me your friend and here you are offering sex as if… is this just because you feel obligated? I’m sure you would have moved just in time but I couldn’t risk letting that man hurt you and-“

Geralt reached out and pulled Jaskier close, which shut the bard up. A trick Geralt was wishing he’d let himself try before. “I am very serious. If you want it to be for the night, it’s just for the night. It could be a more… formal arrangement if you’d prefer that.”

Jaskier dropped his head to Geralt’s shoulder and breathed out heavily. “I died, didn’t I? I misjudged the distance and the bandit killed me and this is heaven. I didn’t think I’d go to heaven. Huh.”

“Not dead,” Geralt said, lifting a hand to thread through Jaskier’s hair. “Not letting you die. Ever. Especially now that I know how well you fight. You’re living just as long as I am. Don’t know how. I’ll ask Yen, maybe she’ll know of some-“

“Okay,” Jaskier took a step back. “Now, now you’re just being… you want to ask Yennefer, a very very scary witch that you sleep with on the regular-“

Geralt shrugged. “Going to have to stop that now that I have you.”

A high-pitched whine issued from Jaskier’s throat. “I’m going to need you to stop saying things like that if you don’t mean them… how I… ho- expe- think you mean them.”

“I mean them how you think I mean them,” Geralt said. “Most likely. I mean that I would very much like to take you back to our camp and check at least a few things off the mental list of sexual acts we’ve both been compiling right now.”

Jaskier squeaked, “Both?”

Geralt nodded. “I would very much like to do so tomorrow night and for as many nights as you want me. And to extend your allotment of nights somehow. Yennefer has been searching arcane magic things for decades, surely she’s found some anti-ageing or immortality spell by this point. She wouldn’t have needed it, but I’m sure she would have made note of any.”

“Sure she can’t make me younger before she does that?’ Jaskier asked, relying on humour to help him deal with the inrush of information he was being given.

Tilting his head, Geralt looked Jaskier over very thoroughly, noting with some satisfaction what effect his assessing stare had on the state of Jaskier’s trousers. “I like you as you are now. Not the whelp that followed me when It was stupid and dangerous. You’re a grown man now. You’ve filled out. I like how you look.”

Jaskier ran a hand through his hair. “Pardon me if this all seems very sudden.”

“Not sudden,” Geralt said. “I’ve liked how you looked for years.”

“You never said anything.”

Geralt smirked slightly. “I know you’ve lusted for me. I can smell arousal. You never said anything either.”

Jaskier flailed again. “You didn’t consider me your friend, so forgive me for assuming ‘Hey Geralt, you’re the most bloody gorgeous person I’ve ever seen in my whole life would you like to bed me and then marry me’ wouldn’t go down very well.”

“I thought,” Geralt started, “you only wanted to follow me for the songs. For the fame and coin it earns you. It’s why you started following me.”

Struck speechless, Jaskier just stared.

Geralt continued. “I’ve thought of you as my friend, but I didn’t think you thought of me as yours. Until you saved me. Until you learned how I fight in case you ever needed to save me. Until you knew what my potions do and which ones they are. All the little things you’ve done for me throughout the years make sense now. I know friendship. That’s not friendship; it’s love.”

“I have loved you since,” Jaskier waved a hand theatrically, “since you told the elves to let me go. Since you let me stay with you even though you could have outrun me easily on Roach. You hunted enough for two and laid our bedrolls close so I wouldn’t freeze on cold nights and especially after the mountain, you’ve barely let me out of your sight and… oh my gods, I am thick, aren’t I? I am so thick! I am Mr. Thick Thick Thickety Thickface from Thicktown, Thickania. You don’t talk, you do. That was your way of… of… saying how you feel. Isn’t it?”

Geralt hummed and nodded.

Jaskier’s smile could have outshone the lovely sunset happening somewhere behind them. “You love me. Geralt, you… love me. Like I love you. Oh my gods, are you sure I’m not dead? Or having the most wonderful dream? This is real,” he took a step closer and reached out cautiously to pull Geralt into his arms. “This is real, right?”

“It’s real,” Geralt nodded again.

A laugh bubbled out of Jaskier, eliciting a smaller but no less sincere one from Geralt. “If I wasn’t covered in blood, I would be kissing you alre-“

Geralt leaned in and pressed their lips together, relishing the happy gasp Jaskier made against his mouth. “Hmm, I’m bloody too.”

Jaskier kissed Geralt, a small peck and then another. “Where was that stream again?”

Geralt pulled back and took Jaskier’s hand, guiding him in the dimming light. “I won’t be bedding you and then marrying you,” he said.

Confusion scrunched up Jaskier’s face before he realized what he had said before. “Oh bollocks, I didn’t mean that- necessarily- I don’t- where would we find a priest or priestess any- I wasn’t suggesting-”

“We have to have some courting time before we should even think about marrying,” Geralt continued. “it’s only proper.”

“Right,” Jaskier nodded so fast, it was a miracle his head didn’t fly away. “Right, right, right, right. Of course, of course, of course. Proper… proper courting. Geralt?” he asked as they arrived at the stream. “I love you. I just… can I say that now? Because I’ve wanted to say it so many times and I’ve been biting it back for years and I just… I just love you.”

Geralt smiled. “I love you too.”

Wow,” Geralt said, staring up at the ceiling. “That’s how you manage to get away with those abysmal pickup lines. I mean… wow.” His heart was racing so fast it almost sounded human after the passionate, athletic and frankly innovative sex they’d just had. "I always did think it would be good."

He didn’t need to turn to see Jaskier’s smug smile, but he did anyway.

Jaskier’s grin was wide and stretched his cheeks even higher than normal. He tossed his sweaty fringe out of his face and kissed Geralt, deeply, slowly, perfectly. “You’re welcome.”

#the witcher netflic #my fanfic #geraskier #geralt #jaskier #bamfjaskier

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loverspersonas · 4 years ago

Text

the most beautiful moment in life | viii

pairing: ot7? x reader

genre: hyyh au, high school au, angst, drama, fluff, smut?

length: 5.5k

summary: Eight strangers with different stories happen to meet one day, by fate or some kind of cruel, exquisite happenstance, and realize that they’re not as different as they thought.

a/n: i realize i’m updating really slowly and the reason for that is online school which is taking up pretty much all my time BUT it hasn’t stopped me from writing at all. i actually have many different scenes written already, they’re just not in order, so i have to kind of make myself write the scenes that are happening first before any of those, which is hard sometimes cause i have so many ideas :)

i realize that the pace of the fic is also kind of slow and that’s because i don’t want to have such a big overarching plot (like some kind of mystery to solve or a big villain) but rather small subplots happening at the same time. it feels easier to me to develop characters and relationships and i get to include a lot of different plot ideas that way (and there is so much happening in hyyh). it’s also hard writing this cause the bangtan universe is really complicated when you think too much about it, and we don’t even know everything about it, so i have to work with what we have and what i know.

so thank you guys for liking what i’m writing! i hope i can do the hyyh era some (even if it’s the tiniest amount) justice, and i hope you guys enjoy it too. and if you have feedback or ideas, i’d love to hear it!

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Remembering details from a dream was a lot harder than a nightmare. Nightmares had you waking up in a cold sweat, sometimes plaguing your mind throughout the day if they were intense enough. Dreams, however, were only alive while you were asleep, and then they slipped away from your mind like they never even happened.

For the past few weeks, you’d been getting dreams that you could mostly or somewhat recall more often. Vague, obscure scenes or flashes that changed sporadically because even in your dream state, you had no control over your mind.

But you noticed that they tended to involve people in your life. Your mother, Sana, your old friends, and the seven boys you’d unconsciously formed a friendship with over the past month. Of course, it didn’t have to mean anything. But some of them strangely stood out more than others.

One time, you saw Namjoon standing in a dark area with a single white light illuminating his silhouette from above, and a cigarette slipping from between his fingers. Another time, there was Hoseok at what looked like a train station. He was walking along the train tracks at night like he couldn’t see you watching him. And then, there was a scene of Jungkook walking on to the road, changing almost immediately before a car swerved right into him. That was one thing you couldn’t forget. Because you remembered it had been you driving that car.

“Y/N?”

The voice of the exact boy you were thinking of broke through your string of thoughts. When you looked up, you suddenly remembered where you were.

There were a lot of nice vast areas of green fields that belonged to the Academy. With iron benches and tables and the smell of oak trees, it was an ideal setting for many fundraisers, picnics and outdoor events. You were currently sitting cross legged on top of one of those gray metal tables right beside a tall tree that cast a shade over you and the seven others sitting around you. Judging by the way some of them were looking at you, you must’ve missed something in the conversation.

“Hmm?” you asked, glancing at Jungkook who was sitting beside you, also on top of the table.

“See, I told you she wasn’t listening,” Taehyung said to the two taller boys on either side of him. “Face it, Namjoon. The books were boring.”

While Seokjin seemed thoroughly amused, Namjoon’s expression was just the slightest bit annoyed, so you could tell this argument might have been going on for a while. But his patience with Taehyung and the some of the other boys was astounding to you.

On the opposite side of the bench, Yoongi was sitting with Jimin and Hoseok, and quirked a brow in Taehyung’s way. “You literally said that you watched the Lord of the Rings a month ago.”

“Yeah, so?”

“So?” Namjoon repeated, and the tick in his jaw represented the snapping of his patience. “They have the exact same plot!”

You found yourself drifting from the rest of the conversation again, as some of the other boys began to chime in. On your lap was a notebook you realized you’d been scribbling in with a pencil while the others had been talking. It was hard to decide which was more concerning— the fact that you’d so effectively tuned out the boys, or that you were only vaguely aware that you’d been drawing at the same time.

You felt someone studying you in your peripheral vision. Jungkook decided to finally nudge you. “Not interested in fantasy novel series?”

“No, I—just spaced out for a second,” you answered lamely.

His earlier grin morphed into a slight frown. “Are you okay?”

Am I okay? “Yeah.”

His gaze dropped to your open book, widening a little in mild surprise. “I thought you said you couldn’t draw.”

“I don’t. Art class was an ironic choice that way.”

“What are you talking about?” Jimin said as he leaned over Jungkook to get a better look. Slowly, the others turned their attention towards you too. “This is pretty good.”

Hoseok, who was one of the ones in closest proximity to you, stretched out his hand so you could pass him the book. “Woah.” He went through a few various facial expressions, a lot of them where he scrunched up his eyebrows. “What’s the inspiration behind that?”

“Probably not those dry as hell books,” Taehyung retorted.

Namjoon didn’t hesitate to shove the loud mouthed boy off of the bench, earning more than a few laughs from everyone. Taehyung shot him a glare with an offended hey!

“Nothing,” you answered him. “I just got distracted.”

The notebook was now in Namjoon’s hand and his expression was contemplative as he fixated his eyes onto the page. “You got distracted and absentmindedly drew this? With no idea in your head?”

“I had a dream.” You gave a shrug, stealing a few potato chips from Jungkook’s snack. “So, I drew it.”

“A dream like this?”

You looked back at him, trying not to frown. “Why, is it that weird?”

“Not weird,” he assured. “Just… a little unusual. I’ve never met anyone our age who would come up with stuff like this from their subconscious.”

“Who’s the boy supposed to be?” Yoongi asked after the book got rotated to him.

“I don’t know,” you answered. There hadn’t been a real chance to glimpse the boy from that scene. All you remembered was the black hair and the white shirt he was wearing as he stood looking out the only window in a plain room with only a mattress and white flower petals scattered on the floor. “Some random guy, I guess.”

“Everyone we see in our dreams are people we’ve seen at some point in our lives,” Namjoon said.

You gave this a considerative hum. Though you knew maybe thirty people who could fit in that description. “Well, I don’t remember then.”

“Let me see,” Seokjin said, taking the book in his hand. A moment later, his face morphed into something you couldn’t quite decipher. But it was like for that moment, he had understood something without realizing it.

“Why the hell are so many people out here at this time?” Jimin spoke up as a few students or groups of them began to appear on the field or pathway, spilling out from the building. “This is when it’s supposed to be the quietest here. I was looking forward to not seeing… pretty much everyone.”

“It’s not like we own this place,” Jungkook reminded him.

Jimin shrugged nonchalantly. “As long as the bright young things don’t show up…“

And just like on cue, the group of cheerleaders and jocks were walking on the opposite side of the field. You didn’t let your attention linger on the old group of friends you didn’t want anything to do with anymore. But as you glanced away, Yoongi caught your eyes as though he knew what you were thinking.

“Way to go, Jimin,” Hoseok said, giving the boy a light shove. “You just manifested it.”

Taehyung leaned back in his seat. “Seeing them this early in the day is really bad for my digestion.”

“Who told you to shove two chocolate muffins down your throat?” Yoongi said to him, referring to the now empty plastic container sitting beside you. You’d made a large quantity of them the other day and after recalling how Hoseok had liked your baking—and all his following requests over texts to make more— maybe the others would like something too.

The younger boy didn’t acknowledge the harmless judging tone he’d used. “My inner subconscious, which by the way, I have no regrets about.”

“It’s great how you can say that so confidently about something in your life,” Namjoon said with slight skeptical wonder.

“Y/N made those muffins for us with all her heart and soul—“

“Actually, it was just flour and sugar...” you mumbled though your voice was mostly lost under theirs.

“I was just displaying my gratitude,” Taehyung said finally.

“The muffins were actually really good,” Seokjin said to you as he closed the sketchbook and handed it back to you. You made a mental note to ask him about it later.

“Y/N’s a good baker,” Hoseok affirmed before looking at you. “How long did you say you’ve been at it for?”

“Not that long.” You twisted your dyed blonde hair into a bun and slid the pencil you’d been drawing with through it to hold it in place. “I just picked it up this year.”

Taehyung looked at you with a grin. “I guess I’ll have to annoy you enough at work to get stuff for free.”

You returned it with an exaggerated smile. “You come to work during my shift, I’ll have security ask you to leave for harassment.”

His mouth fell open. “B-but I’ll tip!”

You shook your head, chuckling a little. “You’re ridiculous.”

With his arms folded over his chest, he glanced around sombrely. “This is how brittle friendship is, I guess. Like a dark chocolate bar.”

Namjoon, hiding his amusement with an arched brow, said, “Taehyung, remind me to never ask you for poetry recommendations.”

“Hey.”

Everyone seemed to fall into a silence, realizing that voice didn’t belong to any of you. They turned their heads towards the new arrival, but you didn’t have to look to know who’d approached the table. At first, you thought you could get away without saying anything, but the rest of the boys were casting imperceivable glances in your direction. Finally, one of the others did what you didn’t want to.

“Hi,” Namjoon said to the boy who’d once been the closest to you.

Min-hyuk stood there, as though expecting you to eventually say something to him. Then he looked around the group, smiling his friendly, star quarterback smile. “Sorry to interrupt. I’m Min-hyuk.”

“We know who you are,” Yoongi said, the cold undertones in his voice not going unheard by anyone. Leave it to him to keep things harsh but real.

Min-hyuk, probably not used to hearing that kind of tone with that sentence, stared at the boy, a little dumbfounded. “Oh…”

Namjoon—you reminded yourself to tell the guy what a blessing he was— stepped in again. It was probably good that it was him who was leading the conversation. You’d learned by now that none of the others were quite as sensible and level headed when they needed to be. “What he means is, do you need something?”

“Can we talk, Y/N?” Min-hyuk asked finally, the question you’d been dreading, because now it was explicitly directed at you.

You held back a defeated sigh and said, “I have class in a few—“

“It won’t take long, I promise.”

He seemed to be somewhat satisfied when you looked up at him and nodded just imperceptibly. He started to move away from the table, and you made a move to follow when a hand gently closed around your wrist.

“You know, you don’t have to talk to him if you don’t want to,” Jungkook said quietly but firmly. His eyes held something like concern, and gazing around the table, the others wore similar expressions.

“Yeah,” you said. “But he won’t stop until I do.”

Jungkook released his hand from yours, watching as you got up and walked over to where Min-hyuk was waiting.

You put your hands in your pockets, right away saying, “Let’s get right to point this time, shall we?”

“I left you a note the other day,” he said, not happy with your attitude, but not able to say anything to it either. “You didn’t reply.”

“That was you?” you asked, dumbly. “I didn’t realize.”

“Come on, Y/N. Who else would write you that?” He paused. “My mother said she saw you at the hospital yesterday. Is everything okay?”

You didn’t meet his gaze, instead mostly looking at the ground. If your eyes drifted around too much, you were afraid to see that other students were watching you like a movie scene. You knew that the seven boys you’d just left were certainly doing that. “Uh huh,” you answered, without any emotion.

Min-hyuk held back an impatient noise. “Look, I know you don’t want to talk to me, but I just want to know you’re doing fine.”

This time, you did look up to meet his eyes. “Why?”

“Why?” He was partly taken aback with surprise at your response. “We might not be together anymore, but it’s not like I just don’t care all of a sudden.”

“You didn’t care before.”

He stared at your expression, like he was wondering if you meant it. “Do you really think that?“

“You were never on my side.”

“What?”

Before, this would’ve been hard for you to talk about, because you’d only ever avoided it. To think about it would make you think about all the times you knew you should’ve walked away, the times that you stood there and just took everything when you knew you deserved better than that. But maybe it was time to rip the bandaid off. How long were you going to go back and forth like this? How long was he going to try to hold on to you when you wanted out?

“You wanted to know where it all went wrong,” you spoke. “How about when you stood there and let everyone, even our own friends, say all those things about me. And when I asked you to trust me, you didn’t.”

“It wasn’t that simple.” He shook his head. At least he had the decency to look apologetic, to sound like he meant what he thought. “I–I wanted to trust you—“

“I think I see it now.” It was taking a lot of courage for you to finally say what you needed to say, and now that you finally found it, you didn’t even care that other people were watching or listening. “We were both so good at acting like everything about us was perfect. And as soon as I stopped, things changed. The difference between us is that one of us still pretending.”

“Min-hyuk!” One of his friends from the football team—one of your former ones— came up beside him, tapping his shoulder. He looked at you with the kind of friendliness that was reserved for any random student in the hallway. “Hi, Y/N. What are you guys talking about?”

Min-hyuk seemed to have nothing to say, his gaze on you fixed, but his mind on the words you’d spoken. You were glad you had the ability to leave him speechless, to see him actually opening his eyes to a world outside that bubble he lived in. The bubble that you’d also been a part of, but were now glad to have found a way out.

“Well,” you said to both of them. “I have class now.”

With your bag over your shoulder, you turned and headed for the building without paying attention to any of the stares that followed you.

By the end of the day, that courage and energy that had allowed you to speak up to Min-hyuk had dissipated. Hopefully, he wouldn’t approach you again any time soon. Was it asking too much to not be approached by anyone else at all?

Now, you were standing in front of the doors to the pool once again, looking inside, but not having the courage to go in. It was almost a metaphor for your life. You were standing on the outside of a part of your life from the past, not being able to actually go in and see it properly.

Yoongi’s figure materialized next to you, not saying anything at first as though he could tell you were deep in thought. So, you broke the silence first and asked, “Long day?”

“You have no idea,” he answered. “Guess which asshole of a teacher decided to assign us a 10 page paper due in less than a week?”

Glancing sideways at him, you grinned. “The one who probably has hypertension from having to teach you?”

He shot you a dry look, but the corners of his mouth twitched a little like he was also holding back a grin of his own. “You’re hilarious, princess. But also probably right.” He noticed your attention on the pool on the opposite of the doors. "What, are you not allowed to go in or something? Weren’t you on the swim team at some point?”

Instead of answering, you turned away from the doors and started walking down the hallway. “Weren’t you on the basketball team?”

As Yoongi walked alongside you, subtle surprise appeared on his face. “It’s been a while since anyone’s asked me that.”

“You were captain of the team too, right?” you asked. “That’s how I knew you.”

Something else flickered across his face, though you didn’t know what it was. To you, it was probably the face you wore when you were briefly and vaguely recalling something in your mind. “Well, it’s always nice to hear that my reputation precedes me. And not just as a gothic, underground rapper.” He ignored your subtle roll of eyes. “I played shooting guard actually.”

You hummed, remembering all the basketball games you attended in the gymnasium with your old friends. As part of the cheerleading team, you’d had an obligation to be there, but some of the games actually got interesting to watch. The first time you’d noticed Yoongi was when one time you’d been running late and had been trying to not fall behind the rest of the team. You remembered dropping one of your pompoms while trying to tie your hair up, and in passing, he’d picked up and handed it to you. You didn’t think he remembered it, and maybe it was a little embarrassing that you did.

“You were good too.” You stopped near the front doors, most of the students walking around you with no interest since it was the end of the school day. Yoongi shot you a slightly puzzled look. “I was a cheerleader, remember? I’ve been to a bunch of games.”

“I remember,” he said after a moment, and it didn’t sound like something you’d say to someone just to blindly agree with them, so that was why you ended up meeting his gaze. There was something underneath those deep gray eyes that you didn’t really understand, but somehow, still found it startling to hold eye contact.

You half forced a chuckle to move the attention away from you. “Besides, it’s kind of hard to miss the only guy on the team with dyed blonde hair.”

He chuckled. “I almost forgot about that.”

“How could you forget? You were literally my inspiration,” you said, gesturing to your own bleached hair. When he threw you a dubious side eye, you shouldn’t have been surprised. Surely, that would’ve tricked one of the other boys. “Alright, fine, you didn’t. You know, I definitely do not miss the 5 hour practices, or the tiny uniforms or Yuna screaming at some younger, clueless girl to stop slacking.”

“But the outfits were so cute,” Yoongi teased, and though you were glad the topic changed, you shot him an unamused glance. “It was a joke. On a related note… what did the ex-boyfriend want earlier?”

You arched a brow and held back an amused grin. “You can say his name, you know.”

“Yeah, but that would give him too much significance. Unnamed means unimportant.”

You hummed in agreement. “Nothing really.”

“Is that why you ditched us afterwards without so much as a word?” he asked skeptically.

You tried not to sound irritated about it, but you’d hoped you could make it through the day without having to talk about it. “I ditched you, because I wasn’t in the mood to be interrogated about it.”

“How quickly you assume we would interrogate you.”

“Well, wouldn’t you?”

“Fine,” he grumbled after some seconds. “At least 3/7ths of us might. Can you really blame us for being curious? It looked kind of intense.”

Folding your arms over your chest, you looked at him with a grin forming on your lips. “Remember how you said you didn’t care? Well, it’s starting to sound a little like you do.”

He scoffed. “Please. You mistake my blind curiosity for something it isn’t.” He watched you a little longer as you shrugged before saying, “Remember when you said I was good at deflecting? You’re not so bad at it yourself.”

A part of you thought that this was a good time as any to actually talk about it. About how you’d cut things off with Yuna and Min-hyuk, and why you’d wanted to. By now, you felt like you could tell any of the seven boys and they’d listen—actually listen—and Yoongi, despite coming off as aloof and indifferent, wouldn’t judge you or anything. But this recent bond with them felt like a new and good thing, and you just didn’t want to jeopardize it, like you did with most things.

"Do you a need ride home?” Yoongi asked when he realized you were too deep in your head to say anything else about it. “I’m giving Jungkook one too, so I can drop you off after.”

“You go ahead,” you answered. “I have some stuff to do first.”

At first, he seemed almost reluctant to leave you alone, but you had a feeling he wouldn’t insist or comment on it. It would contradict his indifference to most things. Only after he left did you turn and start aimlessly walking down the other side of the hallway. It wasn’t like you had anything to do. You just weren’t sure if you wanted to be around anyone with curiosity like Yoongi’s lingering above your head. Talking about yourself and your personal life was never fun.

Eventually, you ran into another familiar face.

“Hey, what’s up?” Namjoon said as he approached you in the hall.

“If this is about this morning, I’d rather not talk about it,” you decided to say immediately because if anyone could get answers from you by asking the right questions, it was probably Namjoon.

Fortunately for you, Namjoon could’ve read that from a mile away and wasn’t one to pry. He nodded in understanding. “I figured as much. Oh, hold on a second.” From his backpack, he drew out some loose papers tucked into a notebook. “I went through some of these to find whatever was legible enough.”

You scanned the writing briefly. “Your English notes?”

“Yeah, I remember you said the last class went over your head.”

“I just don’t understand why it’s bought and not buyed, but it’s walk and walked? Like why can’t they can’t follow the same rule for every past tense conjugation?” you complained, but still a little touched that he remembered something you’d probably said in passing. “But thanks.”

“Also, if you see Taehyung, can you let him know I can’t walk home with him today?”

You nodded. “Sure. Staying back for extra work?”

“No, I—I have a shift today.”

You wondered why he sounded reluctant to answer. “Where do you work?”

“It’s a library,” he said with a small shrug. “It’s on the other side of the city, so I like to leave a little earlier.”

You shot him an amused grin. “Were there no libraries nearby hiring? Because I know if they saw your GPA, they would not hesitate.”

“Uh, this one has a nicer collection.”

“Alright,” you said, deciding not to question his responses since he hadn’t questioned you. But for some reason, it felt like he was trying to hide something. “See you tomorrow then.”

Smiling, he said, “Thanks, Y/N.”

As he walked away, you had to stop the curiosity from getting to you. It truly was an ordeal to be so curious and not want to intrude upon things that didn’t concern you. You had to remind yourself that it was better that information came to you at the right time rather than forcing it. At first, the reminder was about other people, but sometimes, you thought it was also about yourself.

After exiting through the west doors, you noticed Taehyung at the bottom of the staircase right outside the building. He was leaning against the railing, hood over his head and concentrated on whatever game he was playing on his phone. You slowed your steps, approaching the stairs. “You’re still here.”

Taehyung glanced up at you, slipping his phone into his pocket as you came towards him. “Waiting for Namjoon. The kid’s a genius, but his punctuality could use a little improvement.”

You quirked a brow. “Kid? He’s older than you.”

Folding his arms over his chest, he said pointedly, “And I’m older than you. So how about you don’t question me?”

You had to bite back a smile at his antics. It was hard to believe sometimes that most of these boys were older than you. “He told me to tell you he has work today, so he can’t make it.”

He let out a loud and dramatic groan, practically cringing at himself. “For real? I probably look like some idiot, waiting on the stairs for his even more of an idiot boyfriend.”

You shrugged, not hiding the smile this time. “Just a little.”

He looked back at you. “How are you getting home? I’ll walk with you.”

He already started walking, expecting you to follow, so you didn’t get a chance to reply. With a defeated sigh, you decided to go after him.

Your first mistake was choosing to walk all the way home instead of taking the bus. Your second mistake was letting Taehyung take the lead, because that boy looked like he’d never had a plan a day in his life. While you somewhat admired the spontaneity, you were used to routine or a plan of some kind. Although you did suppose that this year, everything that had happened, and was happening now, was not planned at all.

“I’ve never gone this way before.”

The buildings were older and a bit worn away, but almost in an intentional manner, posters and signs on the gray brick walls. You passed several small shops and restaurants and cafes that despite appearing quaint seemed very cute. The people that walked by were all in their own worlds, not so much as glancing at you or anyone near them. It was something like a secret tourist spot or a hidden gem.

“Really?” Taehyung said. He walked on your right, but a little ahead. You wanted to say it was because he was leading the way, but that presumed he knew where he was going. “This street’s pretty cool. Hidden away from the centre, though, so you don’t really know about it until you come yourself.”

You removed your eyes from an old bookstore with a chalkboard sign outside. “You must do a lot of exploring, huh?”

“Whatever gets me out of the house.” He stopped walking abruptly. When you stopped to ask what was wrong, you saw a mischievous smile form on his face. “I just had a brilliant idea.”

“Why am I kind of doubtful?”

Despite the many, many questions you asked, Taehyung didn’t answer any of them. He could try and be mysterious if he wanted, but you wouldn’t buy it, was what you said to him. Instead, you waited outside while he went into a convenience store for a few minutes. You shouldn’t have been so surprised when he emerged with a plastic bag in hand, full of bottles of spray paint. You opened your mouth to ask what he was planning, but he just tugged on your arm and made you follow him around the corner.

The street you stopped at had to be somewhat of a visual arts scene, because you recalled passing arts and crafts places and small galleries, and the wall that stood in front of you now was a graffiti wall.

“This is so cool,” you said in awe, all thoughts of skepticism at Taehyung’s actions gone. Your gaze roamed over the various artwork and writing, painted on by different kinds of paint and people and minds. It was like an anonymous outlet for creativity and self expression, something like in the olden days when things like freedom of expression was outlawed, so people had to get creative around it.

“I love all kinds of art,” Taehyung said, dropping his backpack and crouching near the ground. “But graffiti has become more interesting recently. Here.”

You looked to see that he was holding out a can of spray paint for you. “This is vandalizing.”

He half scoffed, half laughed. “This is an artistic statement.”

“They’re not mutually exclusive, Taehyung.”

“Relax, Y/N.” He placed the can in your hand himself after he decided that you wouldn’t take it, then took another out of the bag for himself. “I’ve done this billions of times. You won’t get caught.”

Despite yourself, there was an urge in you to just do it, get your hands a little messy. That was why you liked to bake after all, wasn’t it? That was why you chose art class. You could make a mess and make something good out of it. You could control something instead of being controlled. But turning back to the wall of art and messages and stories, you hesitated. “I can’t paint like this,” you tried lamely.

Taehyung shot you a look. “I saw your sketch today. It was far from shitty.” After a minute of waiting, he sighed. “Fine, I’ll go first.”

The way he walked up the an empty section of the wall with confidence, how he shook the paint can and effortlessly began to draw strokes in red paint told you that he wasn’t lying when he said he’d done this a lot.

When he finished, he stepped back to where you stood, briefly appraising his work before saying, “Your turn. Don’t think too much. Just whatever’s on your mind, let it out.”

So, you found yourself closing your eyes briefly, and releasing a breath before stepping forward. You pushed on the paint can’s nozzle and let your mind take over for your hand and for a few minutes, all that was heard was the faint car engines in the distance and the spraying noise of the paint. Finally, you let your arm drop to see what you’d made. It was a pair of blue wings like a butterfly’s.

Taehyung studied the wall for a moment before humming, “Interesting.”

“By interesting, you mean awful.”

He shot you a look. “By interesting, I mean interesting. You and Namjoon might like to have second meanings to your sentences, but I’m a simple guy.”

“Uh huh.” You watched him move back to the wall and start painting something else. It was funny how before you’d known him, you had him pegged for some kind of reckless skater boy with a rebellious streak. He was actually more of an artsy boy with a rebellious streak. “I guess it would be easier if everyone wasn’t always pretending to be something they’re not.”

“Was Min-hyuk pretending to be a super nice guy again?” He only glanced over his shoulder at you when he didn’t get an answer. Of course this topic would’ve inevitable come up although you’d also assumed Taehyung would avoid uncomfortable conversations whenever he could. “None of those guys are all what they show. It’s good that you hit one of them. You might accidentally activate some part in the brain that knocks some sense into them.”

You nodded at this, slightly amused. “If that was how neurobiology worked.”

“Let’s experiment. Hit me over the head really hard and tomorrow, let’s see if I pass my math test.”

You were holding back a laugh when your gaze fell on part of his drawing. “Is that your signature?”

“Oh, that... it’s kind of like my alias,” Taehyung said almost like it was embarrassing for him to say. This must have been the first time he’d told someone about his side hobby. “For when I’m out painting.”

“For when you’re out vandalizing,” you remarked.

He mocked the face you’d made earlier and said, “They’re not mutually exclusive, Y/N.”

You let out a scoff, but couldn’t hide your amusement. “What does it mean? The V?”

“It’s short for Vante.”

You hummed. “Interesting.”

“You mean interesting good or interesting bad?”

“I mean interesting,” you said, deepening your voice a little to mock him.

The side of his mouth curved into a grin. “Touche.”

Returning your attention to the wall, your eyes began to study the various drawings, fleetingly going back to another wall and another drawing. “You haven’t seen anything like the hwa yang yeong hwa we saw before, have you?”

“No,” Taehyung answered, then gave it another thought. “Not that I’ve been to a lot of graffiti places outside of this area. But from where I have looked around, it’s made me think that maybe this... Smeraldo person isn’t a regular graffiti artist.”

“As in, this was just a one time thing for them?”

“Maybe.”

“I guess that means it’s not just graffiti we should be looking at,” you speculated. “It’s definitely a start but could be any art form.”

“Or maybe the art is just a way to get it out there.”

You frowned. “Meaning what? Someone’s trying to say something? To send a message?”

He shrugged. “It’s possible, yeah.”

His attention refocused on the drawing he’d started, but your mind began to run through possible explanations. What if somehow someone was trying to say something? More importantly, what if someone was trying to say something to you?

The sun was beginning to lower by the time you reached Taehyung’s place. You didn’t even realize the two of you had been out for a while with his detour idea.

You tilted your head up to observe the apartment building complex. Since you’d never been to this part of the city before, you couldn’t say much about it. But by the oldness and the obvious low maintenance of the building, you guessed that the rent was affordable. Taehyung, like you, wasn’t one of the richer kids of the Academy. You supposed that the talent that had gotten him in was art related, if not painting specifically.

“Is this where you live?” you asked to break the silence.

“Yup,” Taehyung said, popping the sound at the end. “Home sweet…” He trailed off a little as his faraway gaze crossed the building, instead turning back to you. “Do you live close by? I can walk with you.”

You made a dubious face. “Are you sure you want to walk there and then all the way back?”

“Hey, I may be lazy, but I’m not that lazy.”

“I don’t need protecting, if that’s what you were going to say.”

He scoffed. “Obviously not. You broke a guy’s fucking jaw!”

“It wasn’t actually broken,” you muttered before shaking your head. “Wouldn’t you rather go home? Your parents are probably waiting for you.”

“No one’s waiting for me.” Before you could say anything, he waved it away, his long hair hiding the expression on his face you were trying to read. “It’s fine. Forget it.”

But he didn’t make a move to walk towards the complex’s stairs that led up to the first floor. Even as you stood there for another minute and he just stood with you, you realized he wasn’t about to head home regardless of if you left now or stayed. And for a moment, you wondered if this was what he had meant that day weeks ago. No one’s waiting for me. It was a thought that had held a place in your mind for a long time too.

It’s better not to force information you don’t even need to know, a voice in the back of your head reminded. Finally, you said, “Are you hungry? I could go for some coffee, and the Brew’s not far from here.”

Taehyung turned to look at you. If he was grateful for the chance to avoid going home, he didn’t show it. “Will you give me a discount?”

“If you stop talking, I’ll pay for your entire order.”

The carefree smile that stretched across his face as he started dragging you towards the next street was enough for you to know that he was, in fact, at least a little grateful.

chapter vii // chapter ix (coming soon)

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jengajives · 4 years ago

Text

Got Haleth and her man on the mind

When another night of butchery came and went, Haleth decided at last that, while she might be suited for war, she could not understand those who loved it, or those songs she’d heard from the bold among her people telling of the valor and glory of battle. What glory was there to be found in blood, pain, and death? When the enemy came to destroy you, and all you had to fight for was a life you could never get back?

She asked those still willing to bear arms to stop the ones who went to the river, but she understood why sometimes they didn’t.

Another night of half-sleep, when she laid in the dirt and closed her eyes and wondered if this was rest or if she’d entirely forgotten the feeling, until a few meager hours had passed and she rose again to defend the wall, fearing all the while to be woken by the cries of “they’ve broken through” or, worse, that there would be none left to cry, and the thing to wake her would be an orc sword in her gut.

The people said they would follow her even to death, but that was the only place she could possibly lead them. The orcs were endless and they had barely a fifth of their original number left. It was not enough to repel the enemy. To save the children and the aged from the saws and teeth of Morgoth’s butchers.

When Haleth rose from her rest, the air was thick with fog and fume, and the smell of rot was stronger. The chill of hell was on the wind. She tied her father’s old hunting cloak around her throat, over the top of her leather and mail, and stepped back into the endless slaughter.

It was quiet today. Less of the screams. Less of the constant throb of bowstrings. Haleth looked to the battlement, and saw no one.

“Where are the archers?”

Heru, the old widow who’d taken up as second in command, pointed to a small group of people standing near the gate.

“The orcs stopped trying for the wall,” she explained in a scratchy voice. “I pulled them down to the gate.”

Outside, the low, guttural sound of a goblin chant rose on the icy wind.

“I think they mean to finish us,” Heru said with hollow calmness. “This is our last sunrise.”

Haleth squinted through the fog. Was this sunrise? It just looked grey.

“We have strength yet,” she said, though she could not see it. “Get everyone to the gate.”

Every one of the people able to bear arms gathered around the gates as they shuddered and cracked. They were reinforced, with entire oak logs hammered across to keep them shut, but the orcs were pounding so insistently now it seemed no amount of extra fortification would stop them.

She could see grey sky through the gaps in the wood.

Haleth twisted her sword in her hand and stepped in front of the small group of Men. There couldn’t be more than two hundred left. So few.

“Spears and shields up front,” she said, pointing. “Archers behind. We will hold them back as long as we can. They mean to destroy us- our people, our way of life, the great pride of the Haladin- but we will leave them a burning memory to remember us by. The pain of their losses will stay with them, and the next time they choose to try their might against the swords of the Edain, they will remember the way we hewed them down, and how the river ran black with their blood. We scar the Enemy today. If we can never return to our homes and our groves and orchards, then we will ensure that even fewer of them go back to their foul Master.”

She turned to face the quivering gates.

“Stand with me, Haladin. Today we stand and die together.”

The logs cracked and arrows came through, whistling on tattered fletchings.

Haleth’s line closed tight around the splintering wood, and she stood at their head with Heru and her spear proud and grim by her side.

When the orcs at last pushed bodies through, tearing flesh and wood away without care or concern, and fell on the defenders streaming blood and howling, they were met with the horrific desperation of a people without hope, and they began to fall.

The hours were not kind to the Haladin. The orcs were endless and swarmed through the broken gates like insects, clambering carelessly over the bodies of their fallen to renew the assault in constant waves. There was no rest for the defenders, only the ring of metal and the constant grim hacking of blade against bone.

They were losing numbers. Not nearly so quickly as their enemies were, but fast enough. Their forces being whittled away slowly and surely, forced to retreat further and further from the gates until they were pressed to the walls on the other side of the fortress, hewn mercilessly and without pause.

Haleth had taken an arrow to the arm, but it was her right one, and not particularly useful when she wielded weapon with her left, and the bleeding gave her no great bother- not nearly enough to hinder her. She couldn’t see Heru and she was almost certain the woman had fallen to the goblin’s butchery, but she had lost so many others that she was almost blind to it now. No emotion would rise in her but the horrid, numb rage of battle.

She would fight to the end. Give her people something to believe in, even in the grips of absolute despair. She would give them everything she possibly could before it all finished.

They were backed to the wood, standing on piles of their own fallen, when a strange sound rose over the snarls of the goblins and the dying screams. Haleth had never heard an Elf-horn before, but she still knew it. There was nothing else it could be. It was just too loud. Too clear and beautiful to be the Enemy’s, and too fell to belong to any mortal Man.

Haleth paused her attacks and squinted. Beyond the splintered gates and swarms of ironclad orcs, she could see gleaming silver and dark violet banners that bore the mark of Caranthir, lord of Thargelion.

It was about time.

Haleth took especially grim delight in taking limbs off the orcs she killed, letting them have a taste of what they had given to her father and her brother but seven days before, though more merciful by far. And driving the forces intended to destroy them into the river was morbidly satisfying. Watching the waters drag them under and take them away.

As she tugged her sword out of a goblin’s torso and took a glance around the battlefield, she noticed one face among the glowing Eldar that gave her pause.

Caranthir was tall and had a face that looked like it hadn’t spent much time smiling. He wore no helmet and kept his dark hair pulled back to fall over his shoulders, where its color seemed to mingle with the cloak he wore on his shimmering black pauldrons. He wielded a thick sword with one hand, and a narrow shield on the other forearm, and fought with a grim scowl on his face.

He was close now, fighting in the shallows of the rivers, so Haleth decided to shout at him.

“You are late, pointy-ear!”

Caranthir looked up like he was alarmed to be spoken at, and his dark eyes narrowed.

“Pardon?”

The stories of Caranthir’s temper did not paint him kindly. But at that moment, Haleth felt her wrath was far greater than any the pretty Elf-lord could conjure up, and she was not shy of showing it.

“Late. We needed you a week ago, Princeling.”

Despite the fact that he currently had an orc skewered on the tip of his sword, he turned to look at her, brow furrowing.

“Who are you?”

She helped him out by taking the head off his enemy for him, and leered closer with flame in her heart thinking of the ones she’d lost. Heru. Her father. Haldar. Because the mighty lord of the Noldor was late.

“I am Haleth, lord of the Haladin,” she snarled. “Do not forget it.”

Then she turned back to her bloodshed and vendetta and tried not to think about how much she truly hated Caranthir, Fëanor’s son.

“Haleth, I have done you a disservice.”

The air was cool but there was warmth now in sunlight, as Haleth stood proud before the lord of Thargelion’s tent. He and his soldiers had set up at the riverside once the orcs were destroyed, distributing supplies and attending to the wounded. The sun was high on the second day since their victory, and Haleth had yet to dress, or wash, or see to the wounds that surely were past dressing now. She had other business. Children to comfort. Cuts to bind. Dead to bury. It was the custom of her people to plant young trees over the graves of the fallen, but there were so many now piled to be entombed in the earth, and she didn’t have the numbers to send gatherers for saplings and acorns. It would have to wait until more of the injured had been cared for. It would have to come later.

Caranthir stood in front of her, still dressed in his battle attire, though his hair was down now and braided with lengths of fine silver. Haleth hadn’t ever seen any of the Noldor’s mighty lords; she couldn’t tell if she was disappointed or not. She thought she liked the Grey-Elves that they had traded with sometimes better. Caranthir didn’t look like the kindly Sindar. He didn’t look happy.

Even now there was a resolved anger engrained on his face as he spoke to her that went beyond any wrong-doing she could think of, though his words remained clipped and polite.

“I misjudged the nobility of your people,” he said gravely. “I left you to fend for yourselves when I should have stood as your ally.”

Haleth scowled at him but said nothing.

“Is there anything I can do to help ease the suffering of your people?”

She put back her shoulders to deliver her answer, looking the Elven-prince directly in the eye.

“We have suffered greatly because of the orcs your armies did not hold back. My own father I lost before the gate, and my brother who went to save his body from their savagery. And we have lost many more besides- children, mothers and fathers, the oldest and wisest among us. Too many have fallen here, in despair, seeing no hope of rescue from the Eldar. No more can we return to the peace of our homes and live without fear. That has been taken from us.” She softened her scowl. A vein twitched in Caranthir’s forehead, but he restrained himself and listened patiently as she spoke using the confidence she had adopted when giving orders. “Is it important for trees to grow over the fallen. Seedlings and acorns that can draw their strength from the hallowed earth. We cannot gather these ourselves. I would ask you to send scouts into the woods to bring us back young trees to be laid over the mound.”

Caranthir nodded and spoke through gritted teeth. Obviously he was unused to being insulted.

“It will be done, lady.”

“Thank you,” said Haleth, in the way that meant he was good for doing as he was told. “We did not ask for your help, but we do thank you for it. Now, I have matters to attend, so if you-“ She turned to take one step to go and missed her footing. The minute she hit all fours on the ground she felt a red-hot shame overlaid with a sudden pain in her arm, in her side where she’d taken a warhammer, down the dagger slash just below her knee.

It took her too long to gather the energy to stand. It was more of a hunched stagger when she finally managed it. In front of a King of the Noldor.

The shame coursed like hot venom through her core, until she felt a hand on her shoulder, cool and firm.

“My lady,” said Caranthir, “can I tend to you?”

Haleth shrugged it off on instinct, but when she looked back and saw genuine concern in Caranthir’s eyes, like he was worried she’d fall to pieces if she didn’t get help immediately, it gave her pause. The thorny retort she had planned died on her lips.

“I didn’t know the lords of your people had any skill in healing,” she said slowly, almost suspicious. Caranthir looked offended to hear it.

“I spent much time with the mighty in Valinor, and I learned many things, healing not the least. Let me help. You will need strength to lead your people.”

For a moment longer she studied him, then huffed and looked away.

“I don’t trust you.”

Immediately a weight came into the air. His words gave off the heat of molten metal.

“Now you have done me a disservice, Haleth, Haldad’s heir. I admit I was wrong. I repent of my foolishness and I will not undervalue the Edain again. But you should not undervalue me.”

When she glanced back, his eyes were burning. She could actually see flames moving deep down behind the pupils.

“Let me tend to you,” he said in a tone that made it non-negotiable.

She got the sudden and distinct feeling she should bow to him. She didn’t.

“Very well,” she said instead, arms crossed. “Tend to me.”

And as Caranthir unbuckled his gauntlets and motioned her into the tent, she decided he was beautiful after all, but in such a joyless way it almost made the beauty feel wasted.

It turned out she had no reason to worry over his skill; the prince worked more efficiently than any healer she’d ever seen, and the store of herbs he consulted contained plenty Haleth didn’t recognize, strange flowers or leaves that gave a sharp and strange perfume when he crushed them under his pestle or threw them in hot water to soak. One of these, a smooth strip of grey bark, he even chewed for a moment before he pressed the paste to Haleth’s arm and held it there. It stung so sharply she couldn’t suppress a wince, which at first she thought he didn’t notice, as he didn’t look up- though, of course, she was wrong.

“You’re lucky,” he said softly. “The stinging is good. Means the arrow wasn’t poisoned.”

“If it was poisoned,” Haleth replied flatly, “I would have died by now.”

Caranthir frowned at that. After a moment he shook his head and mumbled to himself.

“So fragile.”

Haleth chose not to challenge him on the assertion. It was not worth the fight.

Once the bruise on her side had been washed in sweet-smelling water, and her cuts were all neatly cleaned and bound, she was about to stand when he abruptly held out a small silver cup. She stared at it, eyes immediately drawn to the dark sapphires set in its sides, and when she hesitated he looked hurt, and pushed it into her hands.

“Drink.”

“What is it?”

“Tea. To help with the pain.” Finally he glanced at her face and realized that wasn’t what she meant, and his gaze followed hers to the jewels.

“Oh,” he said with sudden understanding. “Do you like it?”

“This is what you give tea to the sick in?”

“Well, I don’t have any other cups laying around. What’s wrong with it?”

Haleth lifted the small vessel into the sunlight, and shook her head when she saw the way the sapphires lit up with an inner flame beneath the light.

“I’ve never seen anything like this before.”

She was so busy staring at the thing, she almost missed the way his expression shifted. First pride, then a sudden bashfulness that made his cheeks lose a little of their color, and at last a cautious trepidation. He cleared his throat and when he spoke it was more strained than she’d heard his voice so far.

“You ought to come north. I have entire roomfuls of vessels like these. This is nothing.”

Haleth lowered the cup to give him a skeptical look. Obviously there was something here he didn’t want to say. And obviously Caranthir wasn’t too good at keeping secrets, because it was shining right there in his eyes.

He wanted her to come north with him, for whatever reason.

Actually, no. She could guess the reason, too.

Haleth drank his tea, and handed back the empty cup with definite resolve.

“I owe you my thanks,” she said simply, and stood up to go.

Caranthir didn’t try to stop her.

Haleth expected Caranthir to move on after just a few days, but he didn’t. His healers stayed to tend to those who were badly hurt, and his soldiers continued to patrol the surrounding woods. And he himself continued to lurk around making everyone uncomfortable.

The people didn’t like Caranthir very much, but Haleth had decided she didn’t mind him. He was definitely off-putting, no mistake, but she didn’t think he was all that frightening- all bark, very little bite. Just a gloomy, angry person who was secretly too nervous to do much about it.

She thought it was a little funny, to be honest.

It was strange he wasn’t leaving, though.

“Haleth-“

“Shh.”

Her fingers moved down slowly, tracing the line of his spine, feeling the gentle warmth of his dark skin- how soft he was, despite the harsh exterior he tried to put on. He was pretty when he let the mask melt away. Very pretty here underneath.

“I’ve got you,” she said softly. His shoulders quaked. “You can relax, Caranthir. I’ve got you.”

He shuddered again, but he turned his face to her when she reached for it, and gave her the softest, most vulnerable look she had ever seen from one of the Eldar.

There was beauty in it. True beauty there behind his dark, gleaming eyes.

Still she hadn’t ever seen him smile. She thought he would be even more beautiful if he smiled.

“I... Haleth...”

“Yes?” she said, as soft as she could manage. “What’s wrong, love?”

He suddenly buried his face hearing that. He was shy. Very cute, and shy, and sweet. Pretending to be tough for his people, when really he was on the verge of tears because a woman called him “love” in bed.

“Are you embarrassed?” she asked with a singsong tease to her voice. “When’s the last time you-“

“Haleth!” he said again, louder now, cutting her off. When she took a pause to give him space, he uncovered his face just enough to meet her eyes.

“I want you to come north with me. You, and all your people. We have space, plenty of it, you can have free lands of your own, and riches beyond your imagination, and the armies of the Eldar to protect you...”

Haleth looked at him, silent now. This was not what she had imagined discussing while she shared a bed with Lord Caranthir, but she couldn’t say she was surprised.

“Now isn’t a good time.”

“Even if it was just you! I-I want you to stay with me. What can I do to convince you to stay?”

It was his turn to pause then, because she rolled over to straddle his middle and put a finger to his lips.

“Caranthir. Now is not the time.”

He looked up at her wild and almost afraid. It made her smile.

“You’ll let me do the talking now,” she said firmly. He nodded, overeager, and again her face warmed with a grin she couldn’t hold down.

He covered his face, but she was absolutely determined to win a smile from him before the night was out.

#jenga makes junk #fanfic #fic #writers #silmarillion #haleth #caranthir #Haleth x caranthir #tw gore #haladin #sons of feanor #some spice would be nice #peg your men ladies

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quillandink333 · 4 years ago

Text

Scarlet Carnations ~ Part VI

BotW Link X Zelda ~ Detective AU

Rating: T

Word Count: 2.4k

WARNINGS: death, murder, loss, trauma, blood and gore, terrorism, organized crime, self-harm

Summary: Inspector Zelda Hyrule, assisted by the faithful Constable Link Fyori, is infamous for cracking the most confounding of cases in a town dominated by crime. Her latest assignment is to solve the murder of her own godmother, Impa Sheikah, the late CEO of Sheikah Tech. Incorporated, while staying under the radar of the dreaded Yiga organization.

Part I • Part II • Part III • Part IV • Part V • Part VI • Part VII • Epilogue • Masterlist

By the time I was finally let into the crime scene the day after making my little forensic discovery, the sun had already come down to kiss the horizon. It had taken a great deal of stubborn persistence, but in the end, I had managed to convince the chief detective to grant me access by proving the effectiveness of my method.

As for the name of this method, I had decided to dub the chemical “luminol” due to its distinguishing chemiluminescence, as well as for the sake of succinctness.

Though the chief himself had taken to this well enough, there was yet another hurdle that I’d had to overcome. The estate’s residents. That process had been a bit more difficult, and delicate. At first, my adoptive family were, naturally, apprehensive to let me do as I wished. But when I gave them my solemn apologies and told them that this might allow me to make up for all I had done to hurt them, their trust in me seemed to have been somewhat restored. And I had no intention of letting them down again.

I had to admit, though, that being here on my own was more than a little bit strange. I’d done each one of my investigations side-by-side with my partner ever since I’d freed him from the psych ward and gotten him in with the force a year ago. Every time he wasn’t there to lend me his insights or hold onto something for me or put a hand on my shoulder if ever I got myself overly worked up was like the pang of being slapped across the face. But each of those times, I would straighten up and remind myself, “I’m doing this for him.”

According to Link, he’d found the key near the foot of the fireplace. And so that would be the first place I’d search.

But before I could begin, the parlour was bathed in harsh, orange light.

The officer charged with supervising me had his finger on the light switch. “Ah, actually, could you keep those off for me?” The man gave me an estranged look, but granted my request all the same. “Oh, and close the blinds for me while you’re at it, will you? Ta!”

Now that the room was dim, I’d more effectively simulated the conditions of my apartment that night.

With no further ado, I made my way toward the mantel. Its polished, stone surface couldn’t possibly have the ability to conceal any amount of blood, one might have thought. In which case, one would have been wrong. And my new formula was going to prove just that.

All it took were a couple of spritzes to cover the entire width of the mantelpiece. I waited. Then after a few seconds, the luminol set in, and I had my results.

On either end of the shelf, there was a statuette. These frog-like figures stood guard here as guardian deities to the Sheikah family, or so I’d been told as a seven-year-old. But now, the truth would be revealed to me that what they protected was not the family but a secret. And on the night of the murder, evidently, they’d failed to do even that much.

On the right-hand figurine’s forehead, there had appeared an array of fluorescent blue spots. They were shaped and positioned like fingerprints—a thumb, index, and middle, gripping the creature by its painted skull—but unlike fingerprints, they were completely filled in. I recalled dusting these statuettes for prints on the second or third day of official inspections, and I’d found nothing. The person who these bloody prints belonged to must have been wearing gloves at the time. The same method they’d used to leave no prints on Link’s revolver.

With caution, I aligned my fingers with the prints and gave the figurine an experimental wiggle. To my surprise, it wasn’t fixed to the mantel as I’d thought, but rather hinged to it. It tilted back, and underneath its feet, a small, round keyhole glowed orange in wait.

This was it. I took the unassumingly sized key from my pocket and dropped it into the hole, whereupon both key and keyhole went from orange to brilliant sky blue. A perfect fit.

I couldn’t believe my eyes with what occurred next.

When the key fell in place, the mantel itself split down the middle. Then the two halves began to shift independently away from one and other. As this was happening, the inner wall of the chimney had broken apart into individual rows of stone brick, which then swung backward into the wall.

The two halves of the mantelpiece, having scraped along all the way to either end of the fireplace, collapsed and folded down against its outer legs with a decisive klock. All of this had transpired in the span of just ten seconds.

Behind what had once existed in my mind as a solid, stone-brick wall, there was now a small, cylindrical hollow, just big enough for one or two people to stand inside. The floor of the hollow, beyond the hearth, bore the symbol of the Sheikahs and glowed with the same blue hue that had the key upon being returned to its home. I looked down and noticed the key in question on the floor, having fallen out when its side of the mantel had lain itself vertically.

When the mechanisms in the mantelpiece began stirring to life again, I realized I was on a time limit. With haste, I retrieved the key, placed it in one of my coat pockets, and entered the tiny room.

For several moments, nothing happened, save for the wall of the fireplace closing back up behind me. During these moments, I wondered, what purpose could this room possibly serve? There were no shelves or drawers or racks that one could use to hang one’s clothes on, and it was far too small to be used as storage.

Then all of a sudden, the floor began to lower, all by itself.

The farther and farther I descended into the depths of the unknown, the harder my heart pounded. Just how deep did this elevator go?

And for that matter, how in the world was it even going? The ceiling above me remained where it was, so pulleys were out of the question—and there were no gears or anything moving the floor downwards, from what I could tell.

My confusion turned to shock when the platform I was on defied gravity itself as it entered the chamber that seemed to be its destination.

“What in the blazes...?” I breathed aloud. I had half a mind to suspect that what I’d just witnessed was the result of paranormal influences. Of course, the Sheikah crest beneath my feet told me there had to be a scientific explanation as to how these endless technological mysteries operated. Auntie Purah was sure to know. Though, come to think of it, had she even been aware of the existence of this secret passage?

I now found myself at the start of some kind of corridor. The sound of my heels touching the floor as I stepped down from the levitating platform echoed in the darkness. The only sources of light came from the pulsing, blue runes lining the baseboards of the cold, polished walls, the similarly pulsing Sheikah insignia adorning the archway that marked the start of the hallway ahead, and the mounted sconces that, rather than fire, contained lightbulbs of the same blue that emitted no heat.

As enthrallingly curious as all this was, none of it was relevant. Right now, I was retracing what were likely the steps of the true killer. All I had was to keep moving forward.

But doing so was going to be far easier said than done. Not only was this place exceedingly dark, so much so that I could only just make out the edges of each wall, but it seemed to go on forever. The twists, turns, ups, and downs were so frequent that after five minutes, I hadn’t the slightest idea which way I was facing. The one bright side to it all was that there was only ever a single path forward to choose from.

But to make things worse, there were traps set up along the complete length of the labyrinth. Things like cameras, pressure plates, and even lasers, all of which were inventions that I and the general public were already familiar with, unlike that impossible “elevator” that I had discovered. One thing was for certain: whoever had carried the corpse of their victim through here had to have known their way around this place. For I was barely even able to get by without unwittingly tripping the alarm.

By the time I was finally nearing the end of my journey, and thoroughly drenched in an anxious sweat, I spotted something lying on the ground where a few stray rays of moonlight were seeping in from the outside.

Upon closer inspection, it appeared to be a letter of sorts. It wasn’t until I examined the back of the envelope that I realized this wasn’t just any letter. It was addressed to none other than Impa Sheikah, and it bore no return address. Not only that, but it was stained with splotches of what appeared to be blood.

The sheets of parchment inside were old and yellowing, and the envelope had what looked to be the remnants of a broken wax seal on the flap. The letter itself was handwritten in the same elegant cursive in which the address had been written, with some kind of nib pen and ink. Aside from murder, whoever had sent this must have had a deep affinity for the old-fashioned.

“My dear friend,” it began.

“It is with great sadness in my heart that I am writing to you. The last time we spoke was far too long ago, but even so, I am afraid this will be one of the last times you shall ever hear from me. You see, I have held off on this for as long as possible, but you have forced my hand. I can no longer allow you to meddle in my affairs as you have been.

“I am certain that you are aware of this by now, but I have been keeping watch over you from the ashes of the afterlife for a number of years. I must say, you have done a fine job of raising my darling Zelda in my stead. She has grown into a fine, young lady thanks to your efforts. Though I admit, I do wonder if she has what it takes to ‘solve the mystery’ of which she has been so steadfast in her pursuit ever since my unfortunate, yet necessary, departure.

“The night grows late, and I find myself carrying on. This letter has strayed far from its original purpose. Allow me to get straight to the heart of the matter. Meet me in the secret garden on the twenty-first before daybreak. Surely I need not tell you what would happen if you were to decline this simple request of mine. You were once my nearest and dearest friend, after all, and to allow malice to fester between friends such as we would be a tragedy, to say the least.

“Please deliver my deepest and most heartfelt affections to the rest of the family.

“Yours faithfully, Hilda”

By the time my eyes had dragged themselves along the sweeping lines of the signature, by hands had started to shake so severely that I nearly couldn’t read what was written there. In fact, not just my hands, but my entire being was trembling out of control. I fell to my knees, the sheets of paper scattering in every direction.

Now I knew the reason why this writing had seemed so familiar. I’d used the very same to confirm the nonexistence of the tooth fairy at age five by writing “her” a note and analyzing “her” reply the next day.

My mother was alive. Not only that, but...

I rose to my feet so quickly, my head started pounding. But I paid no heed to it. All I could think in that moment was how impossible it was.

At the end of this long hallway, there was a small set of stairs leading up to a trapdoor, carved from the same stone-like material that made up the walls of the labyrinth. It was incredibly heavy, but it wasn’t locked. With a bit of effort, I managed to heave it open.

The scene into which I would then emerge would change my life forever.

I found myself in the middle of a section of the estate’s gardens that I had never seen before. Behind me was the garden wall that I was familiar with, but rather than the rest of it being properly walled off, it was lined with dwarf evergreens. Beyond those, however, the thicket of the woods seemed all but impassable.

At the centre of it all, there was a place where the flowers were trampled and wilting. From afar, these flowers appeared a deep red hue. But up close, they were white. Something else had turned them red.

Then it dawned on me—these were carnations. I looked around. The secret garden was fit to burst with carnations.

“I observe the world as I hide in a cage. In my youth, I am weak, but I gain strength with age. I both give life and take it away. When one tries to pluck me, I make them my prey. What am I?”

“A carnation.”

It was all flooding back to me. My mother’s fondness for the species, how she had been born on the streets, the great fire that had devoured City Hall, the uprising of the Yiga...

Everything I had been led to believe was a lie.

The head of the organization was my mother. And Auntie Impa had known it all along.

When I looked up toward the starless sky, it felt as though I were plummeting head first into its insatiable, black abyss. My lungs seized up, and I couldn’t breathe. My very soul, being pulled in two opposite directions, was doomed to be torn apart.

Then the clouds parted, and behind a veil of shadow, the full moon was revealed.

The phantom of a hand belonging to the boy I called Link came to rest upon my shoulder. It was soft and nostalgic, in tandem with the frail light of the moon. I felt my chest brimming over with a courage most profound. At that moment, I harboured not even a wisp of fear for whatever it was that lay ahead of me.

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