#the grief still mingled with the wonderful and beautiful fact that he still did it! | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

lubdubsworld · 3 years

Text

物の哀れ ( ‘the sadness of things’.)

Characters : Alpha! Jungkook x Omega ! OC.

Genre : Arranged Marriage / Temporary contractual Marriage.

Warnings : Non- Con/ Extremely Dubious Consent . High functioning alcoholism. Genre related consent issues. Implied suicidal thoughts.

Summary : A recently widowed Jungkook agrees to a contract marriage to keep his company afloat. His grief overwhelms him and it is hard to look at his new wife as anything other than an intruder .

[ Author’s Note : 物の哀れ ~ Mono no aware can be translated as ‘the sadness of things’. It comes from the words 物 (mono – thing) and 哀れ (aware – poignancy or pathos). The ‘sadness’ in question comes from an awareness of the transience of things, as taught by Zen Buddhism. When we view something exceptionally beautiful, we might feel sad because we know it won’t stay so beautiful forever – but appreciation only heightens the pleasure we take in the beautiful thing in that moment. ]

Chapter 1 Chapter 2

Chapter 3

“Yoongi left a bunch of painkillers for you. He said you can take up to three per day.” Jin said calmly , carefully slipping the sleeves of my t shirt over my wrist as i held my arms out for him. He slipped the shirt over my head gently but his arms hit my shoulders, jostling me. I swallowed the whimper of pain that shot through me at the movement. Mina was now awake, happily wiggling around on her rocker.

It was a little past seven in the evening and Jungkook wasn’t due to arrive for another hour .

“I could sleep on a bed of rusty nails right now. I’m so tired and i don’t know why. “ I whispered, staying still as he carefully drew the fabric down over my ribs, before stepping back.

“I’ll sleep in the nursery with her. You should take the bed. You’re in no shape to be up and taking care of her when she wakes up. Jungkook’s asked me to stay here during the day because I’m not going to be performing for a couple months anyway and I’ve been losing my mind, rattling around that huge ass mansion all by myself. ”

The phone rang, startling both of us.

I groaned before moving to get up but Jin oppa held a hand up.

“Stay in bed. I’ll go see who it is.”

I watched him disappear out of the room, settling back against the pillows and reaching for the ice pack in the small cooler by the bed. I had to ice my ribs every hour or so and while it didn’t seem to be helping much, I definitely appreciated the temporary numbness it offered.

Jungkook’s guilt had driven a new wedge between us and he hadn’t so much as looked at me in three days.

I wasn’t sure entirely if this was a good or bad thing. The fact that he seemed to be considering that he had to get his emotions under control to stop hurting the people around him was a welcome change. But the idea of going back to being ignored and treated like furniture , wasn’t really all that appealing.

“Jungkook’s parents are on the way.” Jin’s voice broke through my reverie and i jumped.

I resisted the urge to sob out loud .

Mr and Mrs. Jeon were on the opposite side of the grief spectrum and just as annoying.

Where Sooah’s parents were intent on making Jungkook remember their daughter as often as possible, Jungkook’s parents were intent on making him forget her.

The only thing the two of them had in common was a burning hatred for me.

Jungkook’s parents had wanted him to quit the company and sell it when it went into loss but Jungkook had categorically refused because that would result in all of his employees getting laid off, and back then Jungkook had been nothing if not ridiculously compassionate. Jungkook’s parents firmly believed that if it hadn’t been for me, their son would be back in Busan, letting them raise their granddaughter.

“Great, that’s great. Did you tell them their son is not around?” I grimaced. I’d only met them three times in total and the last time was in the hospital two months ago when Jungkook had crashed in the middle of a board meeting, weeks of starving and dehydration catching up to him. It hadn’t been a pleasant experience, getting cursed out in front of the doctors and nurses and it probably won’t be any fun in the privacy of my home either.

Jin gave me a sympathetic smile.

“He’s already told them he’s on the way. I’m going to take Mina out on a walk. Give you guys some privacy. Shoot me a text when they leave.” he said gently.

“Can’t I come with?” I begged and he laughed.

“That would be a bad idea, even if it weren’t for the cracked rib. Just relax. Smile and nod and let them spew whatever nonsense they want and then they’ll leave. ”

I opened my mouth to tell him how many flaws there were in his plan when the doorbell rang.

“And that’s my cue. Text me, yeah?” Jin moved to pick Mina up from the rocker before reaching for the baby carrier on the table.

I debated the pros and cons of staying in bed and finally decided against it, gently throwing my legs off the edge and raising myself up to a sitting position. I heard vague voices by the front door, Jin’s sweet tones mingling with Jungkook’s slightly gruffer ones.

I heard the door close and the stillness of the apartment was as oppressing as ever. I could hear him quite clearly though. The clink of the keys as they hit the bowl, the small click of the door as he locked it.

i could imagine him, exhausted from the day’s work, briefcase held in one hand while the other tugged on the knot of his tie.

I imagined for a second, what it must have been like for him with Sooah. She was a bright , incredibly cheerful person. Everyone kind of faded into the background when she was around. Sooah had always been the first to smile at a stranger, the first to laugh even if the joke wasn’t funny. The first one to stand up to help someone in need.

I swallowed, clutching the sheets to ground myself.

I guessed that she must’ve always rushed to greet him at the door. I could imagine him wrapping both arms around her waist, drawing her into a hug or even a kiss.

How was your day, Kookie? (I’d heard her call him that, once when they had been at my father’s house for a charity dinner. )

I wondered if perhaps the very sight of her would have taken away all of the day’s exhaustion from him. Perhaps, he would forget all the ways his company had been failing back then at the sight of her beautiful laughing face. Perhaps losing his company hadn’t been as terrifying as losing his job.

And perhaps once he lost her, he just couldn’t bear the thought of losing his life’s work too. And so he’d agreed to meet my father’s demands.

My fingers began trembling a bit .

I could imagine her moving around the house, pregnant and glowing, laughing as he nuzzled into the curve of her belly. Had he perhaps pressed his lips to her skin, whispered sweet endearments to his daughter through the fabric of his wife’s clothes? Had he perhaps loved Mina, deeply? WAs it just his grief that made it hard to be near his wife. Or was it perhaps me? Me holding the baby that should have been in his beautiful wife’s arms.

The wife he had been so madly, deeply in love with.

Love, I thought vacantly.

It wasn’t something I had ever felt, for anyone until I’d began caring for Mina.

But what Jungkook had with his wife was something different wasn’t it?

The love a man had for a woman. Laced with desire, longing and passion. A love that made you put their happiness over your own.

Love like that had never been in the cards for me.

Ever

I was an Omega. Rare and hated and known for being selfish and greedy. People didn’t love my kind. They avoided me. They always assumed I would take advantage of them. My peers growing up had treated me with so much contempt.

The girls would whisper how I was trying to seduce their boyfriends. The boys would call me a tease, even when I stayed far away and did nothing to attract their attention. I’d gotten used to it. It didn’t bother me. it was the way of the world for me. Ad it wasn’t like I could honestly deny some of it.

I looked at handsome alphas and wanted them. I wanted to be held and cherished. To be bought pretty things and cared for. It had taken decades for me to beat that part of mine into submission. To remind myself that if I ever let that part of me out, it would destroy me.

But love? Being in love with someone?

I didn’t know what that could have been like for Jungkook.

Or maybe I had but I couldn’t recognize it because I’d never received it myself. Whatever the cause, it was for me, a fairytale. It was hard to imagine people loving each other so much, to the extent that they would die for each other. ( Jungkook’s words still hung in the back of my mind : that he had wanted to follow her even in death )

Jungkook was right.

I could never know what his loss was like.

Because I would never know what he had lost.

It felt a little like being dipped in an ice cold lake in the middle of winter. My skin broke out in shivers, hair standing on end and I felt my throat go dry so swiftly. I’d never wanted to run away so much. I wrapped a hand sound myself, scooting back on the bed again. I reached for the blanket, wanting to pull it over my head and curl into a ball.

Shut out the world and all the things that didn’t make sense.

“Are you alright?” Jungkook’s voice broke through the haze in my head and I swallowed. He had an alpha’s voice and my body responded even if my mind resisted. It didn’t happen all the time. Jungkook couldn’t control me. But sometimes when I was feeling vulnerable, instincts took over . I was already dropping the blanket and smiling softly.

“Mina’s out for a walk.” I croaked out, surprised at how awful my voice sounded.

I felt the press of something against my fingers and I blinked, staring at the glass of water Jungkook was pressing into my hand.

“Don’t worry, I called them and told them not to come over.” He said quietly , watching me drink with still trembling fingers.

I swallowed and stared at him.

“I... Thank you. “ I said fervently, feeling a few knots come undone in my gut. I couldn’t really stand up to Jungkook’s parents the way I did with Sooah’s parents. Because Jungkook loved them deeply and hurting them would be the same as hurting him.

“There’s a party in a couple of days. It’s my birthday. I’m turning 34. Yugyeom’s organizing the whole thing, so I’m going to hire a babysitter for Mina, because Jin hyung will be there too and you need help caring for her anyway. You can stay home and rest. ” he said .

I scoffed.

“I’m going to come with you.” I said firmly.

Jungkook frowned.

“What?”

I glared at him.

“I’m not letting you go to a party organized by your shit for brains friend, Jungkook. You’ll probably end up getting drunk out of your mind and killing someone and I’m not going to hang around to clean that up. I’m coming to that party and I’m making sure you don’t have more than one drink. “

Jungkook’s frown deepened into a scowl.

Did you ever look at your wife , like this? With so much loathing? I thought stupidly. Or did she only ever get to see the sweet and wonderful side of you? Did she ever annoy you the way i seem to every second of the damn day ? Did you hate certain things about her too? Or was she so perfect that you could only feel love ?

“ I can take care of myself. Its my birthday , I can do whatever the fuck I want.“ He snapped.

I resisted the urge to roll my eyes.

“Not unless you’re a five year old kid in the sandpit, which you’re not. You’re an adult and when you make stupid decisions as an adult, very real people end up paying for it. You’re old enough to know this Jungkook and for once, just listen to me. You can drink, fine. But I’m going to be there and if I see that you’re getting drunk, I’m going to bring you home. You either agree or I’m going to call Yoongi oppa .”

That made him pause.

“Fine. Fuck you.” He snapped, turning on his heel and stalking out of the room. A few seconds later I heard the door to the shower slam shut.

I wanted to follow him and shake some sense into him but before I could decide if it was worth jostling my body, when another sharp pain lanced through my ribs.

Oh great.

I took deep breaths the way Yoongi had taught me. Apparently, pneumonia was a thing that could happen, so i had to breath carefully to reduce the risk of that happening.

The birthday party organized by Yugyeom was going to be a whole entire migraine inducing disaster. I could already feel the headache come on. It still amazed me that Jungkook was friends with him and his cronies.

Yugyeom and his friends were the typical; brain dead alphas who thought themselves superior to all other ranks. Even worse, they viewed omegas as objects: fucktoys to be more precise and I bristled when i remembered the way he had always stared at me.

Well, if he stepped anywhere near me, I would kick him in the teeth.

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

When Jungkook’s mother turned up at home the next day, I wasn’t entirely surprised. I wasn’t surprised but it didn’t make things any more pleasant.

“We’re willing to take Mina for a couple of days if you would both need time to prepare for the party. This is the first big event Jungkook’s holding after Sooah’s passing and we want it to be perfect. As his wife, i hope you’ll do your part.”

Mrs Jeon’s pinched face did nothing for my already frayed temper.

“There’s not much i can do with a cracked rib, mother.” I said politely. It stung, having to call this bitter, cruel woman mother but then, such was life. It was late afternoon and Jungkook was probably sitting in the comfort of his air conditioned office, being flattered and doted on by his smitten secretary while I sat here entertaining his vicious mother.

“Nonsense, you’ve probably just scratched it. I know how you omegas like to exaggerate. “ she waved off my injury easily. “ There are so many details that need to be decided on and its unfair to drop all of those responsibilities on poor yugyeom’s head. Why don’t you go with him and help out a bit?”

The idea of going anywhere with Kim Yugeom was easily the most repugnant thing to me.

“I’m sure he knows Jungkook much better than I do. If i interfered, I’d only be getting in his way.” I said politely.

Mrs. Jeon hummed.

“Well, its good that he’s agreed to the party at least. That woman never let him meet with Yugyeom or his friends when she was around.”

That woman being Jungkook’s late wife.

I felt a sudden fondness for her. Clearly she had also recognized Yugyeom for the absolute pig that he was and kept her husband away from his rotten influence . But unlike with her, Jungkook didn’t actually care about me. So I had no way of stopping him from meeting the idiots. Yugyeom’s family was rich and reputed and it was clear that the Jeons wanted the friendship and the connection. Why else would they keep pushing for it so much?

“Is there any particular reason you’re here, mother?” I said finally, after hearing her babble on and on about caterers and invitations and what not.

“I was hoping to meet Mina...why isn’t she here?”

“I’m not able to care for her well, what with the rib. The doctor has advised me to rest so Jin oppa takes care of her during the day. Jungkook picks her back up on his way back from office. I can send her over to your place with him this weekend.”

“That would be fine i suppose. Have you spoken to the decorators about changing the portraits put up in the house?”

I blinked.

“Sorry?”

“The penthouse, we’ve got it back now right? why don’t you move there. We have a cook and a housekeeper .”]

“this is closer to Jungkook’s office.” I had no idea where the penthouse was and could only hope it was farther way.

Mrs. Jeon frowned.

“This apartment is too small. Not to mention, you still have Sooah’s photos everywhere in this place. Surely that’s not healthy. Get rid of them and put up pictures of you and Jungkook.”

Jungkook’s parents didn’t know that our marriage had an expiry date. i wasn’t sure if this was a good or bad thing. But they saw me as nothing more than a way to get rid of Sooah from the deepest recesses of Jungkook’s mind.

“I’m sure, with time...Jungkook can make that decision by himself. When he’s ready for it.” I said gently, beginning the fresh throb of pain near my temple.

“Nonsense, Heejin. Men won’t ever move on until you force them. Have you considered getting pregnant?”

I jumped about a foot into the air.

“I...what.” I croaked out.

“You need a child too. He mated you. He owes you that. I’m going to tell him that he better do his duty by you.” She said firmly.

“Please don’t.” I shouted, stunned out of my mind. Was this woman even sane?

“Why not?” She frowned looking at me like i was the one being unreasonable.

Why not? Because its barely been four months since he lost his wife of seven years to childbirth. Surely, you don’t think the remedy to that is to have him go through it all over again.

“ Mina is still small, mother. I’m sure we can wait a while. Maybe after she’s one or two.”

Jungkook would probably move on by then. Of course he would. Grief was overwhelming but it was also finite. It did get smaller over time. Easier to cope with. Jungkook would eventually be able to navigate his life around his grief. He would learn to make new connections and who was to say one of those wouldn’t be a compatible match?

So two years from now, there was no reason Jungkook shouldn’t meet another lovely woman, a beta maybe and eventually expand his family. Of course i would be nowhere in the picture at the time. But that was fine.

I remembered something I’d read somewhere, a while back.

If two people are like ships that pass in the night, they meet by chance for a short time , then do not see each other ever again.

Like ships passing by each other in the night, I reminded myself. That's what Jungkook and I were.

“Well, if you think that’s wise.... fine. But now that Jungkook’s doing well, why don’t you entertain people more often? You haven’t had a dinner party here yet, have you?”

And so it went on, over an over for a whole two hours until I was wrung out from sheer exhaustion, my head throbbing and nails having dug half moon indents into my palms from fisting my hands too hard.

By the time i finally closed the door on her face, I couldn’t help but sag against the door, sinking to the floor in a heap, cracked rib be damned.

I glanced up at the solo portrait on the wall. The one my mother in law had wanted gone.

“She must’ve really hated you, huh?” I said casually pulling myself up to my feet and moving to the dining space to stare at her face more closely.

She was dressed in her wedding gown, a fitted mermaid dress with lace and satin detailing. She had a bouquet of white lilies in one hand, elbows bent and the blooms resting on her shoulder while her other hand curved around her slender waist.

Beautiful was an understatement, I thought vacantly.

“ You look like you didn’t put up with people’s bullshit. That’s cool I guess.” I smiled a little. “ You know in another world, we may have been friends.”

I bit my lips.

“Yugyeom was shitty to you too huh? He seems the type. i’m glad you kept Jungkook away from him. I wish you’d somehow help get him away again. He doesn’t listen to me. Thinks I’m trying to control him or something. ”

It was ridiculous. What was i doing.. Why was i talking to a framed picture on the wall. God.

But now that I’d started, I couldn’t quite stop.

“About what happened with Jungkook... I don’t want you to think i was seducing him or anything. And when i said that I hated him calling your name when we... well you know why i said it right? It wasn’t anything personal...i was just pissed. I don’t enjoy the sex by the way... I don’t think he does either but he’s an alpha and you know how it is…they need that release or they kind of lose their mind .. So trust me we both hate the principle of it.... but at least he cums and well I don’t. He’s never made me cum. That should say something about how we feel about each other.......”

“Uh.. Should I come back later?” The voice near the doorway was so unexpected my heart jumped right to my throat and I screamed, stumbling a bit to the side.

Min Yoongi stood framed by the door, one hand wrapped around a bouquet of flowers and the other clutching his bag and stethoscope. He still had his white coat on over his shirt and slacks, hair mussed like he’d run his finger through it.

It took me a second to remember that Yoongi had a key to the house.

Another second to remember exactly what I’d been doing when he came inside.

Good God.

Had he heard the part where I’d talked about Jungkook not making me cum? Surely not? Oh Please no.

“Jungkook told me to check on you. That you couldn’t sleep last night? Are you in a lot of pain?”

Jungkook and I had shared the bed in his room last night and I had apparently, tossed and turned and whimpered through the night in pain. Or so Jungkook claimed.

“Uh... I’m not sure. He said so... so..”

“you guys sleep together right?” Yoongi asked casually, taking his coat off. I stared at the way the material of the shirt strained over his shoulders, my throat just a little dry.

Yoongi smelled so ridiculously good. He was a doctor and he was so handsome and kind to me. The attraction would have been there even if i had been a beta but as an omega, the urge to just fling myself at him and beg him to make me his, it was kind of horrifying.

Tamping down that part of me, I gave him a casual shrug, heart still pounding.

“Yeah. There’s just two bedrooms here and one is Mina’s nursery. So ...” I finished awkwardly, watching him move around and place his bag on the table before unwinding the stethoscope, placing it around his collar.

He gave me a small smile.

“I’ll just take a quick look and check how your breathing sounds. that okay?” He asked gently.

“Oh... sure. You need me to take my shirt off?” I asked curiously.

He gave me a quick little smirk.

“Not for medical reasons no.” He winked.

I felt blood rush to my face along with guilt. What was I doing? This was Jungkook’s best friend!! His hyung. Someone he trusted and I was his....

His what?

Nothing. I was Jungkook’s nothing. When was the last time someone had flirted with me . Someone who wasn’t a grade A creep.

Yoongi moved closer, sitting down on the kitchen stool and beckoned me to come stand between his thighs. i moved, achingly aware of how much more potent his scent was up close. He looked up at me through sooty black lashes, a small smirk on his lips, feline eyes warm and open .

“Put your hands on my shoulders, yeah?” He prompted.

I hesitated, fingers shaking just a little before reaching out to rest on this shirt. I kept the touch feather light , the softness of his shirt the only thing I could feel.

He hummed and bending down to lightly tug the hem of my shirt out of the waistline of my jeans. I bit my lips to stop myself from squirming.

He glanced up , eyes meeting mine and holding my gaze.

“You good?”

“Uhuhbuh.” I stuttered and he grinned wider, pulling the fabric up to the curve of my breasts. He lightly ran his finger tips over the bruised skin , humming thoughtfully .

“You’ll be fine in a few weeks. Hang on.” He pulled back, plugging the steth in his hear before holding the other end up to my chest. He pressed it against my skin, just before the underwire of my bra and it was unexpectedly cold .

I jumped, fingers curling on his shoulder and squeezing down.

“Hey.. what’s wrong?” Yoongi whispered, hands reaching for my waist, gently holding me steady and I flushed. He looked genuinely worried , lips turned down and brows furrowed and i felt absolutely stupid.

“Sorry. Sorry.... It’s nothing.. i just.. it’s a little cold.” I laughed nervously and his gaze softened.

One hand still curved around my waist, he brought the diaphragm up to his mouth, holding my gaze as he gently breathed warm air all over it.

My throat went instantly dry and i had to swallow. He pressed it against my chest again and this time it was so much warmer. .

“Better?” He prompted and i nodded, guilt and discomfort churning in my stomach. What was i doing? I had no business indulging him. i had no business indulging any man. Ever.

I looked away, pulling my hands up off his shoulder, pushing his hand off my hip as well . He didn’t say anything his shoulders stiffened at the subtle rejection.

A mantle of awkward tension settled over us, a small thundercloud of regret and that threatened to rain misery all over us. I wanted to kick myself. He was older than Jungkook by four years. Thirty eight years old.

Did he have a girlfriend? Oh god, what if he was martried?

Nausea threatened.

“Your breathing sounds fine. Are you practicing those breathing exercises , I taught you?” He asked casually and I nodded . I couldn’t trust myself to speak.

“Hey...” He said gently and I flinched.

“I’m sorry.” I blurted out. “ I didn’t mean to lead you on or tease you in any way and I’m sorry if i came on to you ...”

“What?! Heejin, stop. That’s bullshit. You never did any such thing. This was all me.” He said firmly.

I stared at him.

“I know you’re married but... your marriage, its going to end right? Eventually.”

I made to step back but he grabbed my waist again, this time a few inches over my jean and his fingers on the bare skin of my midriff made me want to melt. He had long slender fingers, a surgeons hands, and the press of it on my skin felt so foreign and gentle and different and good.

“We don’t have to do anything. I just... I thought we could get to know each other. Over coffee or dinner.”

I wanted to sob at the unfairness of it all.

Because Yoongi was beautiful and handsome and so good and so much more than I could ever even dream of, but he was and would always be so intricately woven with Jungkook and with Jungkook’s life. And I couldn’t imagine anything more messy than sticking around and watching Jungkook and his daughter forget me and move on.

“It’s.... probably a terrible idea. “ I said roughly, shaking my head. “ Its the kind of idea that would never end well.”

“Are you sure? Because unlike Jungkook, i could probably make you cum.” He winked and I felt my face flame red.

“Oh God...” I hissed, stumbling back. This time he let me move away, merely chuckling and reaching for his coat and bag .

“I won’t bother you again. But the offer’s always open, yeah?” He smiled again. “ You need me to send over more pain meds?”

I shook my head mutely, begging him to just leave already.

He nodded and held his hand up in a casual wave before walking out of the door. I collapsed on the stool and dropped my head into my arms , groaning.

What had i gotten myself into.

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

I didn’t actually see Jungkook for a couple of days. The meds knocked me out and he worked overtime, only arriving after I’d slept off and leaving before i woke up. Jin brought Mina around everyday and there was something absolutely exhilarating about watching her clutch at her little teething toys and rattles, gummy smile peeking out every few minutes.

On a whim, i told Jin what had happened with Yoongi and much to my surprise he actually laughed.

“About time . He’s been pining for what three years now?”

I gaped at him, completely thrown.

“I..he.. what.” I couldn’t quite wrap my mind around what I had heard.

“He saw you at that art exhibition you put up in the Hyatt . By the way, don’t you paint anymore?”

I flushed.

I had no proper response to that. What could i say? That my painting had just been yet another way to control me, only appreciated by father when he could use it to make more money. And that part of my marriage contract included that I wouldn’t paint or make any money off my art for the duration that I stayed with Jungkook.

It was just yet another way my father reminded me that he controlled him. I didn’t fight him because he would win anyway. And the only thing he loved more than controlling people was winning battles that were always rigged in his favor. i wouldn’t give him that satisfaction. I would soldier through this awful marriage and at the end of it , i would disappear without a trace.

I shook my head vaguely and Jin hummed.

“Yoongi doesn’t understand art but he hung around the entire nine hours , morning to night . Three whole days of him just pretending to look at the artwork while secretly making moon eyes at you.”

I could only stare in sheer disbelief.

“i... i never knew.”

“How could you? Yoongi’s idea of courting is pretending he doesn’t exist and fading into the background. “ Jin rolled his eyes. “ He tried approaching your father to officially court you but your old man shut that down rather brutally.”

I swallowed .

“I... I’m sorry.” i said feeling foolish. Three years...what? I couldn’t think beyond the shock of the information.

“Does Jungkook know?” I asked , scared.

Jin shook his head.

“Like I said Yoongi never made it known . He was afraid it would make life difficult for you. He didn’t want any rumors around because everyone knew your father was looking to offer you to someone rich and young. Yoongi was what , fifteen years older? That’s quite a difference.”

“Thirty eight isn’t old.” I said sharply and Jin’s brow went up.

“Oh?” He questioned teasingly and I flushed.

“Jungkook is eleven years older. What’s another four more years?” I shrugged.

“You’re interested then.” Jin said thoughtfully. I recoiled, shaking my head quickly.

“I...what? No. No I’m not. “

“Why not? If it isn’t the age, then there’s no reason to say no. Yoongi is handsome , settled and a great guy all around and besides, your time with Jungkook is finite right?”

“I... I won’t cheat on him.” I said firmly. “ i can’t... I... besides, Jungkook and I... we’re... we have sex.” My ears turned red, “ I can’t do that with two guys... I’m not like that. “

Jin nodded.

“Its alright.. Heejinah ...I’m sorry if i pressured you or anything. You don’t have to do anything. I know you have a lot on your plate right now. Yoongi probably got carried away . More than likely he’s going to panic and avoid you for a year just to recover.” He laughed and I smiled reluctantly.

“He’s nice I don’t want to hurt him. “ I said softly.

“ Sometimes that’s just inevitable . People get hurt no matter what we choose.” Jin gave me a sad little smile. “ Jungkook is just as nice a gy as Yoongi. If not better. He’s just...not in the right headspace to show that side of himself to you. I wish you’d known him before Sooah. He used to be this...playful and funny kid. We all went out of our way to keep him safe. Sooah was just as amazing. Usually , we try to find flaws in people our friends date right? Well trust me Sooah was hard to dislike .” He laughed, eyes misting over as his gaze landed on her portrait over the mantle.

I followed his gaze and swallowed.

“Do you think Jungkook will ever get over her?” I asked simply.

Jin hesitated.

“Someday? Probably yes. But it won’t be easy. He’s ... He feels things deeply. He always has. He loved her deeply, he cared for her deeply and so its only obvious that he’s going to feel the loss of her presence very deeply too.”

I nodded.

“Its his birthday tomorrow.” I said softly. “ I have a gift for him. Well its not a gift from me, but a gift nonetheless. But I’m not sure if I should give it to him.”

Jin gave me a surprised look.

“What do you mean?”

I smiled bitterly.

“Just that sometimes fate can be very cruel when it chooses its players. I’m forever wondering if he would be better off or worse without me in the picture and I just can’t decide.”

“Different. He would just be different.” Jin said calmly.

There was nothing else i could say to that.

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

Yugyeom had rented out the rooftop restaurant in one of the poshest Hotels in Seoul and although the party was a pool party, I hadn’t bothered dressing for it. I wore a plain sequined top and burgundy skirt that fanned out around me knees.

The place was teeming with people his age , friends acquaintances and business partners. The women had changed into bright , skimpy bikinis and lounged about in the brightly lit pool tossing a ball around .

The older people were being hosted by the Jeons on the lower level of the restaurant in a posh ballroom. Jungkook and i would have to visit them later but for now I was content sipping a mocktail, leaning against the bar while Hoseok and Lisa flanked me on either side, pointing out who was sleeping with who.

Jungkook was in the pool with Yugyeom and Jimin and it was impossible to tear my eyes away from him. He looked happy almost, laughing and shaking water out of his hair as he moved around with the strength and agility of an Olympic athlete. Yoongi was in the pool as well and on the opposite team with Jin and Namjoon....and it was increasingly obvious that the half a dozen bikini clad women were there simply for an excuse to touch the handsome alphas as they worked up a sweat.

“Jungkook is such a competitive bastard.” Hoseok laughed. “But I don’t know what’s gotten into Yoongi today. i can’t believe he’s in the pool. “

“Of his own volition. “ Lisa added. “ usually someone has to strip him and toss him in.

Yoongi kept glancing at me every few minutes. It was impossible to miss. It was also impossible to miss that at least three of the six women in the pool were trying to get into his pants.

I sighed and turned back to the bartender asking for a refill. when i turned back around, Jungkook and Yugyeom were climbing out of the pool and Jin was moving to the opposite side to take their place with Jimin.

“Jungkook and i are going to go get a drink. Anything for you , beautiful?” Yugyeom reached out to touch me and I almost fell in my haste to get away from him.

“Keep your hands off me.” I snapped . Jungkook frowned.

“No need to be rude, Heejin , he was just being polite.” He said softly and i smelt the alcohol on his breath.

“Don’t drink too much Jungkook.”

“Oh come on, beautiful., Its his birthday let him live a little...” Yugyeom laughed and I glared at him.

“I’d rather have him live longer “ I snapped. “ And that can’t happen if you keep trying to give him alcohol poisoning.”

Yugyeom rolled his eyes.

“Is she always this dramatic, Jungkook-ah.” Yugyeom laughed. Jungkook didn’t laugh but he gave me a look that said, ‘ please don’t make a scene’ and I bit my lips.

I didn’t want to ruin his night. He looked ....so close to a normal person tonight and whether I liked it or not Yugyeom had contributed to that. The music was apparently Jungkook’s favorites only, the pool because he loved volleyball in the water and the buffet had all his favorite foods. Yugyeom had gone out of his way to make the party perfect and i suddenly felt like the troll stomping on Jungkook’s happiness.

Swallowing my own instinct to drag my husband away from the alpha who had his arms around him, I turned away and walked off to the pool. Yoongi’s face lit up when he saw me.

“Hey there, angel. Here to watch me kick some ass? “ He cupped his hands in the water, before tossing a handful of water at me. I blinked in surprise, laughing a little.

“I’m just here to cheer Jin oppa. “ I said impishly, moving over to the lounge chair near his side of the pool. Yoongi’s pout was adorable and I couldn’t help but laugh.

Maybe I could stop worrying about Jungkook for a while. Yugyeom wasn’t dangerous. Even if he got a little drunk, I was still here. So were all of our friends.

It would be fine.

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

it wasn’t fine.

An hour later, I found Jungkook in a room filled with cigarette smoke and light music, yugeyom and his friends scattered around the place with a few beautiful women lounging about on their laps.

“You said one drink Yugyeom...he’s completely out of his mind.” I said shrilly staring at where Jungkook sat on the couch , shirtless and laughing as some girl in a bikini ran her fingers up and down his arm. She had one leg draped over his thigh. I felt sick at the very sight of it.

its because he’s drunk , I told myself. He’s drunk and can’t consent, that’s why you feel sick, nothing else.

Yugyeom gave me an easy smile.

“Guy just wants to have some fun. Reina’s a friend of mine. She’ll take good care of him don’t worry. She’s the birthday gift i got him. “ He leered.

I resisted the urge to punch him in the face.

Glaring at him,

“Jungkook, we’re leaving. Come on.” I made to move towards him but a hand shot out, gripping my wrist like a vice.

“Not so fast baby.... I already paid for her. You can’t just waltz in here and take away her livelihood.” He sneered. “ Unless you want to take her place. This is a special bar you know. All these lovelies, they have something in common with you.”

I stared at him frowning.

“What does that mean?”

“I hired them from an omega escort agency...you know because that’s all you omegas are useful for anyway.”

I rolled my eyes, yanking on my wrist.

“You and your medieval ideals can go to hell. I’m going home. Jungkook!!” I yelled again and this time Jungkook turned eyes landing on me.

“Heejin?” He slurred.

“We need to go home, Jungkook.” I said firmly.

“Now?” He blinked. I nodded.

“Yes now.” I made to move away but this time Yugyeom wrapped both arms around my waist, pinning me to his body. Pain , sharp and unbearable shot up my ribs and I whimpered. He was squeezing too hard and God what if the cracked rib just snapped?

Panic began setting in and I yelped.

“Let me go you bastard.” I struggled to get away, staring in disbelief at my husband .

Jungkook was standing but he swayed dangerously. There was no clarity there and his eyes were hooded. He was drunk. Really, really drunk.

“Jungkook tell him to let me go!!” I yelled , trying to tamp down the panic that was rising up my throat.

“Don’t worry Kook. Just gonna ask her to wait outside for a while. Why don’t you finish your conversation with Reina.. i’ll entertain your wife for a while.” He drawled and i felt my entire body go ice cold at that.

Jungkook was blinking rapidly, the words clearly not registering and genuine terror began to bleed into my veins. Jungkook couldn’t even fathom that i was in genuine danger here, let alone help me. Oh God, why had i come alone? Where were the others??

Yugyeom held me tighter and i swallowed a groan . My ribs felt like they were on fire.

“Let’s take this somewhere private, Heejin?” He whispered into my neck and i couldn’t believe it. Yugyeom was drunk yes, but was this idiot also insane?

“Wait...no.. Yugeyom don’t be a fucking idiot. If you touch me, that’s fucking rape...You can go to prison for that .” I shouted, trying to drill some sense into his head. He wasn’t going to risk prison to make a point was he??

“Not if you seduce me angel...and you’re going to... Or I’ll just tell people you did...same difference , right?” he whispered.

And then he began dragging me off to the corner and my eyes fell on a side door leading out of the room .

If you let him take you there this is going to become frighteningly real, a voice screamed in my head and I inhale deeply, ready to scream loud enough to get the attention of everyone in the damned building.

The door opened just as I opened my mouth and I froze, watching Mrs Jeon walk into the lounge, looking lost.

“What is this place?” She muttered out loud looking around and the arms around me fell away so fast, I crashed to the floor.

“Heejin-ah!” Yoongi’s voice came from right behind her and I flinched, willing my shaking legs to stop trembling.

“Mrs. Jeon...” I muttered, voice strained and ribs throbbing.

“Heejin? What is going on here? Where’s my son?”

“Fuck... Jungkook-ah...” Yoongi moved to get him and I took a deep steadying breath.

Years ago , I’d taken a self defence class and one thing i’d definitely enjoyed learning was how to throw a punch. And It wasn’t something i’d forgotten.

Planting my feet firmly , i lightly rotated my hips, a subtle shift, before engaging my core , drawing all the fury and helpless rage inside me into my fist. I pulled my shoulders in and took a deep breath. Punch past your target , i told myself. You’re not just going to break his jaw you’re going to put him in the hospital tonight.

“Mrs. Jeon, Jungkook had a great time toni-” His voice was all i needed to hear to know exactly where his mouth was behind me.

i relaxed my muscles as i threw the punch, contracting them just as my fist landed on Kim Yugyeom’s face.

The satisfying sound of flesh on bone felt like music to my ears and Yugyeom’s sharp cry of sheer agonizing pain even sweeter.

He crashed to the floor in a heap and I could feel my fist throb like hell. I was going to bruise so badly. But it was worth it.

“That was for telling me that you were going to rape me and tell everyone that i seduced you.” I said calmly.

Yoongi let out a noise of disbelief.

“What the actual fuck.....” He shouted.

“Yugyeom what the fuck man? Are you out of your damned mind?” One of his friends yelled. Yugyeom merely groaned.

He couldn’t answer, blood trickling down his chin and hands cradling his jaw, whimpers falling out of his mouth. My own fist throbbed like hell so the damage had to be significant.

Mrs Jeon looked horrified and when she opened her mouth i quickly held a hand up.

“I’m not doing this. Not tonight. “ I said calmly. Jungkook was quiet, the way he always got when he was drunk and I groaned.

It was going to be a long night.

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

“We need to talk.” I said calmly and Jungkook swallowed.

“Heejin, I’m -”

“Hear me out first Jungkook.” I said sharply. “ I don’t need your apology, it means nothing to me because it means nothing to you. You’re not sorry that you didn’t help me last night. You’re just angry that you had to help at all. You don’t give a fuck about me. I know that and I’m okay with that. What I’m not okay with is you getting drunk to the point that you don’t even recognize that someone’s in need of help. “

I took a deep breath.

“If you did it to me, you’ll do it to your daughter too. Yugyeom is going to get you drunk someday when you’re taking care of Mina by yourself and then when she needs you, what are you going to do?”

“You’re right... I shouldn’t have gotten that drunk -”

“I’m only here , talking to you , because of your daughter. If it was just you, I wouldn’t give a damn because you’re an adult and if you make your bed , you can just lie on it. It wouldn’t bother me. But Mina...she’s not capable of making the right choices. She need a father who can make the right choices, because whatever shitty choice you make, your daughter is going to be there along for the ride whether she wants to or not. You drive your car off a cliff tomorrow , she’s going to be there in the car seat laughing because she doesn’t know the consequences of your choices. “

I clenched my fists to keep my voice even. To stop myself from yelling.

“I have something for you. “

I grabbed the brown paper wrapped canvas from under the table.

“It’s a painting . Your wife commissioned me to make this a year ago when she got pregnant.”

He froze so eerily still that it made me nervous.

“At first , i wasn’t sure if i should be giving it to you because well... because i was marrying you ... I wasn’t sure that it would be right, coming from me ...because I was taking your wife’s place after all...”

i laughed.

“Now I know that's just bullshit. I don’t have a place in your life. I’m a nobody. This isn’t about me. This is about you. She told me back then that you were nervous about being a father. That was all she said. And she wanted me to pain this. “ I held the canvas out to him.

“You can see it. I’m going to go stay with Jin oppa for a few days. I want you to see it. It shows how your wife saw you. The kind of father she hoped you would be. I want you to see it and make a choice. You can either get the help you need. “ i took a deep breath, “ Or I’m going to tell Yoongi that you’re incompetent to be a father. He’ll file charges , “ I had to close my eyes to get the next words out, “ and you will lose custody of your daughter.”

Jungkook inhaled sharply, hands curling into fists on his knees.

“i hope you make the right choice.”

I wrapped both my arms around myself and walked out.

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

Author’s note. :

I’m so exhausted I’ll tag people tomorrow!

.@girlinthemikrokosmos @xius-exos @sugainfireslex @yunkichiee@kpopstudybee @ephyraaaa @peachoney9795 @ggukkieland @veronawrites @blr1004 @tinyhoagiepartylover @btsis7okay@squishyjk @itsdingdong @emmmui @honeeybunneey @yeonkiminnie

@just-me-and-myselfs @delicate-snow-flake @kpop-lore @beautifulvirgobutterfly @sumzysworld @btsmylife21 @teresaisla

.@melrosaeparker @taestannie @dchimminie @ meraki--life @somewhereinthestarss @mawwnsterr @kookiesbreaky @chimchoom

#jungkook smut #jungkook fics #jeon jungkook #bts fanfics #bts smut fic #bts smut #bts fics #bts #jungkook #bts scenarios

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vminity21 · 4 years

Text

Recompense | myg

Pairing: student!yoongi x student!reader, college!au f2l

Word Count: 2,925

Genre: angst, fluff

Warning(s): language, mention of death of a relative; Rated: pg 13

Summary: Underneath the tough exterior is truly grief, yet Yoongi is unable to execute it well until he discovers that you relate to him more than he realized. Sometimes learning that you are not alone is the best form of healing.

Credits to: @suhdays for making such a beautiful cover!! And thank you @cyberkryptonitecupcake for making the request! I really hope you like it!

Rain clouds encompass campus as easily as entering the end of a thread into a needle. At least, that’s the analogy you groggily come up with and you are sticking with it. Compiling your textbooks into your backpack, you trace your steps in finding your dorm key and with a brief look in the mirror, you inhale and exhale slowly. You can do this today. You are smart. You have great hair. You will not annoy Yoongi for the millionth time in two days. It has taken a lot over the years to give yourself positive affirmations to start your day as your mother always taught you to do so, but when she had passed, you went a very long time without encouraging yourself at all.

But that’s the secret you keep. With no social media for anyone to discreetly look at of you, you bury the heartbreak as best as you can because overall you know that your mother is proud of you. She would want you to stay positive; she would want you to smile not only for you but for the sake of others. Stepping onto the sidewalk, you put in your airpods with an upbeat tune as you saunter to class. You were partnered for a project with Min Yoongi, and one thing you have learned is that he is not your biggest fan for reasons you are uncertain. Maybe it has to do with how much you antagonize him with your charms? Maybe it has to do with the irresistible way you cut letters out of construction paper. Who even knows? But…. He does have a cute bu-

The brief collide of a large shoulder astonishes you as you jolt to remove an airpod, “Hobi, are you insane?” You stifle a large smile as he scrunches his nose at you.

“Saw the perfect opportunity and I took it.”

“Well, good for you. How are you and Monnie holding up? This project is intense.”

“Firstly, I better confess before she calls me out. She’s done all the work. Secondly, is it the project? Or the partner?”

Flashing your best friend with a warning look, you keep the subject away from Yoongi. “Of course, your girlfriend has done all the work! What is the point of a boyfriend if he is completely useless!”

“Excuse me, Heathen. I’ve come up with some of the facts that we have to present so I have put in a smidge of my time.” He shakes his head, ruffling his strands from his laughing eyes.

“You better be glad she loves you. I’d washi tape your eyes closed. And then superglue wiggle eyes in your hair.”

“I’d also give him a mullet and replace his eyebrows with pipe cleaners. Hello guys,” Monnie joins from the library as all of you continue to class.

“And what makes you think I wouldn’t fight back?” Hoseok muses while laying a steady hand upon his beloved tendrils in preparation to protect.

“I have my ways, peasant.”

Feigning to be nervous, Hoseok’s gaze flickers between you and Monnie. “I don’t know what kind of vile thoughts are festering within your skulls, but I do not want any part of it. But, to return your question because I have human decency unlike you stale croutons, how is the project going with Yoongry?”

“Hobi, how many times do I have to tell you that he’s not angry, he’s just… I don’t know difficult.”

“Seems angry to me, ow!” Hoseok rubs his side from where Monnie jabbed him with her elbow upon entering the classroom.

“Sh! He’s right over there,” Monnie whispers in warning. Yoongi is leaned in his chair with arms crossed, his intimidating gaze observes the room while his tousled, black hair reveals his forehead. As much as you hate to admit this, you are very attracted to him- especially when his eyes move to find you. Shit! Smiling in his direction as happily as you can muster, he briefly rolls his eyes in response before returning his gaze to the front where you happen to make a quick trip to the professor.

“Um, Professor Namjoon, how are you doing?”

“Ah! My straight A student, I am wonderful, how are you?”

“I am doing great, Professor, just wanted to let you know that I read over the articles you suggested for the project! Super helpful!” You gleam.

Yoongi eyes you as you continue your conversation with Professor Namjoon. One thing he has picked up on is how much you like to people please which is something he has never fully understood about the human population in general. Nobody should have to go out of their way just to make someone happy if they do not want to, but then again, it’s hard for him to express his emotions especially after his mother passed away before the semester even started.

“Good morning!” Your chirpy voice resonates with the intention of making Yoongi smile, but instead he murmurs his greetings in response.

“You studied over Furosemide last night, haven’t you? That’s one of the major heart medications used in the veterinary field.”

“I sure did. You studied up on pimobendan as well, correct?” The project is based on medications for congestive heart failure and the importance of why they are needed along with the explanation of what happens within the heart when it is functioning abnormally. ‘Lucky, I got stuck doing a project on the prostate,’ Hoseok’s whine echoes in the forefront of your brain.

After a few seconds, you can’t seem to refrain from taking Yoongi’s presence in. He really grew up to be so handsome. The thin curve of his chin, his button nose, his soft, umber eyes and the way he gels his hair in place, even the scent of him is alluring.

“Staring at me isn’t going to get the job done,” he mumbles, slipping the rolled poster behind him to unravel upon the desk.

“Looking at you?” You jump, frantically moving to gather the materials needed to decorate the project. “I’d rather look at a pin cushion.”

“It probably would appreciate it if you didn’t stare at it either.”

Squinting your eyes at him, your mouth open and shuts multiple times without a subtle comeback. “What is with you? You know I’m not going to cower until you smile, right?”

Shoulders tensing, Yoongi peers at you, “Can you take anything seriously for at least one second?”

“If taking this project would help boost my immune system, sure, why not.”

“You’re impossible.”

“And you need a dose of sunshine. Hoseok has a contagious smile, why don’t I introduce?”

You are unaware of the grip you have on the chair beside you, trying everything you can to maintain your happy façade no matter how much you are tempted to let it crumble. How was your mom so good at handling people like this? There has to be something deeper tormenting him to resonate so much hatred to whatever it is he is clinging to.

“I would prefer to be introduced to a tree. Now if you’ll so kindly hand me the stencil sheet, I will begin formulating words to define the jobs of the atriums versus the ventricles before tracing the letters.”

“I’ll leave you to it then. In the meantime, I’m going to grab a coffee, I’ll be right back.” Shuffling to retrieve your wallet, you are sure Professor Namjoon wouldn’t notice the few minutes that you would be gone and for what it’s worth, you need a moment to relax. What happened to make him so cold? Unbeknownst to you, a picture of your mother swoops to the ground to land at the tip of Yoongi’s shoe. Eyebrows scrunching, he bends to pick up the picture to see a woman whose smile matches yours, but not only that, there is a familiarity about her as if he has seen her before.

“Miss Jeon?” Memories swarm his mind of his childhood where an exuberant joy was in the air mingled with the smell of chocolate chip cookies. A little girl chased him around the backyard while giggles reverberated throughout the atmosphere. Miss Jeon would call out for you guys when the treats were ready and would always make sure Yoongi had everything he needed when he would come to visit. But that little girl who was his best friend as a child happened to be none other than you. How had he not recognized you? Another memory resurfaces, one of his own mother sharing laughter with yours. They had been friends, too.

From what is written on the back of the portrait, it is revealed that your mother is no longer on earth right beside you the same as his mother left this world so soon. Tears gather in his eyes as the shame overwhelms his chest in all entirety. Who was he to judge you based on your happiness? If you could lose someone who obviously meant the world to you and can still maintain your kindness, then why can’t he?

Bustling of the other students is loud enough to not focus in on the man whose world has seemed to halt. Swallowing roughly, he tries steadying the picture with his quivering hands as a tear drips off his cheek. His mother would be disappointed in how he coped with his anger and today was the day he would need to make a change. And he will. When you return, the Styrofoam cup warm in your palm, you set it onto the table, “Alright, now that I’ve retreated for a few minutes, I would hope your top tier attitude has-”

Quieting immediately, you take in a trail of tears resting on Yoongi’s face. Eyebrows furrowing, you are so surprised that words do not exist in this very moment. Why is he crying? Did you say something wrong?

“I’m sorry,” he whispers through the trembling of his chin, “I’m so sorry.”

“Yoongi, what’s?” Eyes trailing to his hands, you gasp at the realization that he is holding the picture of your mother that you carry with you everywhere you go. Before you can even verbalize anything, Yoongi hands you the picture without a word and exits the classroom while you stand there in silence.

Days pass and you haven’t seen nor have heard from Yoongi. Running your hands over your face, you’re leaned over your desk with nothing but the days events cycling heavily on your brain. Any form of homework has not been touched, and Professor Namjoon seemed to fully understand the circumstances of why you needed to leave class early. Collecting the materials as well as the posterboard, Hoseok and Monnie had helped you carry everything back to your dorm and offered to stay with you for the evening, but you declined. LenLen, your roommate happens to be with her boyfriend, Jimin which saves time for you to cry.

You miss your mother more than anything in this world, and she is the first person you would have called if she had been alive. How did you miss the picture falling out of your backpack when you grabbed your wallet? Deep down you always knew who Min Yoongi was, he was your ‘soulmate’ when the pair of you were children. Your mothers would always joke about a future of grandchildren with the absolute assurance that you and Yoongi were destined to be husband and wife. Unfortunately, you and your mother had to relocate for her job opportunity and you never saw Yoongi again until you recognized him the beginning of this semester.

It is funny how life works sometimes, as if an invisible string tied him to you in all aspects of life. Alas, he did not remember you, hence why you had been so lenient with his annoyance directed at you. You wanted to believe that he would wake up, and because he was so stand offish, you couldn’t find the bravery to confront him nor confess that he was your friend at one point in life. Instead, you bottled it up. When you called your brother to give an update a few days ago, he relayed the news regarding Yoongi’s mother which all made sense as to why Yoongi was so distant; your heart shattered for him as tears pooled. How could you possibly ever bring up a subject as devastating as that? But you wanted Yoongi to know that he is not alone. You are mourning as he is. If only he would realize who you are-

A soft knock on the door jolts you from your palms while sparks dance along your vision before clearing up. Confused due to not expecting anyone, you carefully step to the door, cracking it open to realize that Yoongi of all humans is standing with a bouquet of roses in his grip. “Yoongi?” You take in a sharp breath, “How did you find my dorm? I don’t remember-”

“I met Hoseok,” he says softly, “You were right, his smile is… definitely contagious but rather mischievous for lack of a better term. He told me where to go.”

Giggling, not only at his accurate description of Jung Hoseok, but also out of uncertainty because you have no idea how to truly react. Is it odd that you are very happy that Yoongi is here? Gaze flitting to the roses, you are in awe of how beautiful they are against the dark shade of his trench coat. “They’re beautiful.” You say, “How did you know I loved roses?”

A gentle smirk graces his lips, the closest to a smile you have ever seen, and you have never felt your heart pitter patter the way it just did. “I remember always seeing them in a vase when my mother and I would visit.” His fingers stir along the plastic cover around the stems, “Really, I am so sorry. You did not deserve to be treated that way. I was wrong to take my frustrations out on you. Not that this is an excuse but, my mother-”

Reaching your fingers to lightly press to the back of his hand, he stops as his eyes widen. “Why don’t you come in?” You whisper, and straight way he enters, following you to a sofa set off to the side. “My brother told me about your mother. Yoongi, I am so sorry about that. She was the sweetest woman. My mom always missed her after we moved.”

“And mine always missed your mother,” you take the roses and swiftly prepare a vase of water to settle them in, decorating the kitchen counter with the beauty of the red petals. “I think… I think I just blocked out that time in my life because I hated that you weren’t there with me anymore.”

Your heart skips a beat. Did Yoongi eventually remember everything after all? “I was heartbroken, too.” Turning to lean your back against the counter, you cross your arms to try to bring some comfort to the anxious feeling beneath your chest. The pain of the losses will never go away, but the man across the room will end up being the bloom of happiness that you will need, and you will be his solace- the one person who will remind him that he is not alone. He has you. “I don’t want to hear another apology, okay?”

His mouth falls open, “But-”

“Nay, you shan’t.”

“Really though, how will I ever repay you for my actions? I should have never forgotten about you.”

Arms still crossed, you gradually near him as he stands to his feet, your eyes connect with his, “All I want you to know is that you are not alone. Sure, you may not have known who I was majority of the semester, but at least you know now.” When his gaze, filled with guilt, strays, you move your head to regain his focus. “Yoongi, really, you remember me now. So, lets try to live life the way our mothers would want us to.” Your voice breaks, knowing how proud they must be of the pair of you reconciling and reuniting after years of being apart. “Besides, we have a lot to learn, and a project to finish, so whaddya say?”

For the first time in years, you get to see it, the gummy smile glowing from his face as he shakes his head at you. “Must I be reminded of that wretched thing? I’d prefer to shave my eyebrows.”

“You have a sense of humor?” You tease lightheartedly as you nudge his shoulder with your knuckles. “I knew you had it in you!” Chuckling, he reaches for your frame to pull into a tight embrace, you immediately relax into his mold while you breathe in the crisp scent of his cologne. “Goodness, you smell like a dream. If our moms were correct about our future, I am not going to be disappointed!” For once, the pair of you feel complete even if sorrow will awake from time to time- as Yoongi squeezes you tighter, you bury into the crook of his neck, pressing a small kiss to his warm skin. “We better make an A+.”

Pulling away slightly, to rest his forehead upon yours, he is still smiling, “Following up with some extra credit.”

“Agreed,” you beam, letting his warmth encompass you to its full extent, when you almost lose balance due to him shifting his feet, he catches you.

“I’m so-”

“Gah!” Your fingers brush his lips, “What did I tell you?”

“No more apologies.”

#btswritingcafe #btswriterscollective #bangtanhq #heartsforbts #kafenetwork #yoongi #min yoongi #bts #bts yoongi #bts min yoongi #yoongi angst #yoongi fluff #yoongi x reader #yoongi x you #2k +#min yoongi x reader #min yoongi x you

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neostriatum · 3 years

Text

All we are, and all we have...

[AO3] [Dreamwidth]

Title taken from these photos (archived version here) in one of photographer @rabbitinthemeadow's series. All Mando'a translated at the end.

Maul inhaled.

This was unusual, given his certainty that this time he had died. It had not quite been the death he had been craving, but it had been an honourable one at the hands of his arch-enemy, and the peace it had granted weighed heavily in his hearts despite their absurd insistence at beating.

Exhaling, he stretched his senses out into the Force. It was the surest way to place himself, and the thrum of the living against his mind was enough confirmation for him.

So. Alive again. And not even on Dathomir.

The walls of the palatial bedroom were obscenely Kryze’s, still holding the decorations and gilding he hadn’t the presence of mind to change early on in his reign. The confirmation laid bitterly on his tongue, and abruptly he was fed up with the idea of living on a planet he had already spent roughly twenty years on the first time.

The Force was a strange beast, and the idea that it could punish him by undoing so much of his life as he had breathed his last sounded about right. But- and he clenched the ridiculously expensive sheets in his grasp, but-

Light seeped into his skin, a thready but still present brush of warmth against his skin and senses. It reminded him of Kenobi, the gentle reassurance of peace as he died. It was almost cruel, how comforting the memory was, especially now that the destruction of the Jedi hadn’t happened yet.

His comm chirped, fracturing the euphoria of the revelation at hand. Maul clapped a hand to his mouth, not sure whether he was restraining a laugh or a sob. The Light was fracturing his resolve to the Sith, and all he could feel was relieved.

Forcing himself to steady, he pulled the comm to him, answering with a brusque, “Maul.”

Hope. What a strange feeling.

It was difficult, trying to undermine the goals Sidious had so deeply impressed on him that they were etched into his bones. But no longer did the man’s edicts reverberate in his lungs with every breath he took, filled instead were they with an unrestricted buoyancy that threatened to make him hover at the slightest provocation.

Was this how a Jedi felt? It baffled him, but also explained the way they seemed to flutter through the Force, a marvel of nature instead of a tragedy shaking the ground beneath their feet.

Meditation was at once easier and excruciating. The Force had always been a soul-sucking entropy, to be treaded carefully and yet bent to one’s will. But these shards of light burned, forcing growth in the holes in his soul that had been scraped raw where Sidious had laid claim. Where a grave once stood now blossomed a garden, and beauty caught his eye more often than grief as he accepted the Light making itself comfortable.

His thoughts strayed often, his deaths compounding and overlaid. Many times did he force himself to put his comm away, to restrain the urge to howl in the direction of Obi-Wan Kenobi and bring the entirety of the man’s formidable army upon Mandalore’s heads.

Perhaps, Maul pondered, it would provide suitable vengeance for Kenobi. To conquer the world of his once-lover and reassert balance sorely lacking in this galaxy.

The thought clung to his mind, a thorn catching on cloth, and it unraveled the loose plan. Kenobi - despite his once harshly-denied ties to the Dark - was not the type to exact his rage upon the world, no matter how deeply routed the ditch of grief ran in his heart.

No, only hope would attract hope. And Maul, with his own hearts still thudding painfully at the still-burning loss of his brother, knew Kenobi now better than the man himself did.

With a smirk, Maul gestured one of his soldiers close. There was a trap to be laid, and he knew just the bait.

Obi-Wan stared in bewilderment at the missive tied to the trooper in front of him. It was, to put it politely, unhinged chaos.

The trooper wasn’t even one of his - he had checked. And then handed the very long roster of the entire Third Systems Army to Cody to double-check. And then, on Anakin’s insistence, to R2.

“Well, Lieutenant,” He sighed apologetically, “It does indeed look like just a spot of bad luck.”

“If it helps, sir, I’ve got a clean bill of health.” Smoke offered, still looking a bit pole-axed to be in the same room as him and Cody, but faring rather well, all things considered.

Cody sighed even deeper than him, which had the expected impact of Smoke straightening his back to parade-perfect straightness. His commander waved the trooper back to at ease, pressing a thumb to his temple in an attempt to relieve the burgeoning migraine from this shit-show of a situation.

“Healthy except for a shaved head.” The commander commented, and wasn’t that the crux of it. No injuries, nor signs of surgery, though that was no guarantee given Smoke’s… transit time, and that in itself was a bundle of issues.

The good lieutenant shrugged, and, well- that did seem to be that. Only a lingering sign of sedation, but then being sent through the absurdly mundane postal system in an admittedly well-equipped box did carry that sort of assumption.

Helix, moving aside the privacy screens to perform another check on the trooper, patted them on the back, “Think about it this way, vod. You were important enough to be mailed first-class.”

Cody gave up all pretenses at maintaining an authoritative façade and groaned, “Usen’ye, vod.”

The medic made a wry, rude gesture back, chuckling. Helix clicked a few things on his datapad, and gestured to the trooper, “You’re good to go, vod. I’m recommending to put you on light duties in case anything crops up, but everything seems to be in order.”

“Oya!” Smoke grinned, looking forward to their unintentional vacation. Hopping off the cot, they grabbed their helmet and left, a bounce in their step.

“Well at least someone’s enjoying this,” Helix shook his head. He glanced at their Jedi, who was still scrutinizing the honest-to-gods paper that had come with Lieutenant Smoke, “What’s on that thing, anyway, General?”

Obi-Wan startled, smoothing his beard absently. “Oh, some sort of message,” He surmised, “I think someone’s asking for help.”

Cody grunted at that, sidling up to the general to peer over his shoulder. The message itself was in Mando’a, written neatly and precisely. “It is paper, though.” He said, “Are you able to-” “Check it for signatures?” Obi-Wan hummed, already switching the paper to one hand so he could remove the glove from his other. With glove sufficiently bitten and removed, the man mumbled, “Not quite as well as Quinlan.”

The two clones exchanged an amused look at the man’s single-minded intensity for a new discovery. It was dropped as quickly as the glove from their shocked general, a strangled gasp mingling with the dull thud of Obi-Wan’s glove as his hand laid as if riveted to the paper.

“General,” Cody said, tone stiff and demanding information.

Obi-Wan shook his head once, muttering the message out loud, a lilting cant to the words as he absorbed the new information. “K'olar, Kenobi. Jorhaa be mirjahaal.”

The intervening few moments were tense, and Cody wondered whether he should tap out an alert as a preemptive measure when his general’s gaze snapped to his. The blue eyes seemed to glow, something physically impossible for the man’s species and yet perfectly understandable for the scope of his mythological status.

It drew that familiar stirring of faith forth, and Cody nodding in acknowledgement. Whatever the General saw, he approved of, for he nodded back, seeming to fold himself back into his mortal form.

“Gentleman, I have a call to make.” Obi-Wan announced, “I believe we’re going to Mandalore.”

This lure of hope was maddening, tugging at his spirit in a fluctuating jerk of attention. Maul took to pacing more, which in turn drew the attention of Kyr'tsad and the few New Mandalorians that lingered in Kryze’s court.

“Alor.” Bo Katan interrupted him while he prowled in search of some way to release all of this damnably energy. Sparring had ceased to entertain him days ago, the thorough victories and the sheer fact that his rage was no longer reliable fuel.

Brave warrior that she was, the Kryze sister merely stared placidly back at his scowl. “Who is it, precisely, that we are expecting? There are rumors growing, and it would be better to quell the dissent.”

He exhaled sharply, feeling the burning warmth of the Light sinking deeper with the action. “Haatyc or'arue jate'shya ori'sol aru'ike nuhaatyc,” He chided her, a distant part of him relishing her shock at his smooth handling of this system’s language. “We are heading into a war, Kryze. And I have invited a powerful ally to bring us all to glory again.”

It was interesting, how stark the hope was that flooded his senses. And pleasing - for Maul was right. Hope brings hope, and only shall it grow when given room.

He felt the insistent tendrils of Light settling in his own hearts, and smirked at joyful look that greeted him.

Obi-Wan felt it difficult to meditate. He sighed, glancing in the direction of his desk, where that damnable paper was carefully stowed away.

The Force was an insistent swell, burgeoning with ultimately welcome but distinctly unhelpful feelings like joy and anticipation. He appreciated the encouragement to rest his worries, but feeling the remnants of Maul’s Force signature was only ever going to be unsettling.

Should he trust the sincerity ringing forth from Maul’s message? It wasn’t something that could be easily faked, but then specialists in Force artefacts like Quinlan were too far away for a quick consultation, and whatever was brewing now on Mandalore, it needed immediate attention.

Anakin was worried, and that in turn set himself on edge, dredging up the feeling of Satine’s cooling body in his arms and how much it had hurt to breathe through the fracturing of his heart.

And now, exactly like last time, Maul was at the center of it. But now, only Maul was at the center of it.

That in itself was a quandary, for Maul had become so prevalently obsessed with him since their first fight on Naboo. Not that Obi-Wan could say much, for a twin flame burned in his own spirit at the mere thought of the other man. Grief at lost opportunities, yes, but now he had to contend with an overture of… what?

Peace? Was that what Maul truly wanted, now? The Force seemed insistent that it was no lie, and the Force had never led him astray, no matter how confusing the path.

He inhaled, loosing his spirit into the currents of the Force once more. One tone stayed with him, and it was the consistent feeling of hope.

Whatever it was, it would be alright. Obi-Wan had to trust that.

Entering the Mandalore system was nerve-wracking on its own, their only steering the stark thread of faith beating along with Obi-Wan’s heart. With Cody at his right hand, and Anakin at his left, he managed to feel unmoored from the reality of how quickly access was granted to the Negotiator as they made their way to the capital planet.

His troops seemed to sense that they were about to escort their general into some battle they couldn’t accompany, and the Force surged with the echo of their prayers as they worked in calm, professional tandem. Obi-Wan found that his heart had room to swell in pride, listening to their manda as they passed checkpoint after checkpoint.

Eventually, though, all good things must come to an end, and he regretfully withdrew from the jatne manda his troopers unintentionally enveloped him in. He inhaled, steeling himself for the upcoming meeting.

“Olarom at Manda’yaim.” Echoed through the Bridge from Mandalore’s flight control.

Obi-Wan nodded in acknowledgement, clapping a hand to Anakin’s shoulder with a smile at the press of well-wishing from his old padawan. He met his commander’s eye, watching the man draw himself up in anticipation.

“You have the bridge, Commander,” He ordered, knowing that the Negotiator and everyone on it was in the safest hands they could possible be.

“K'oyacyi, General.” Cody assured him. The Force bolstered his commander’s sentiments, and Obi-Wan found himself smiling.

“I will, Commander.”

Although their assigned diplomatic partner was… unusual, Obi-Wan had still insisted on peacetime protocol rather than the loose-handed play at reconnaissance and body-guarding the 212th had become accustomed to during their general’s usual diplomacy. It had brought sour looks to even the High Council when they had convened at his request, but if Obi-Wan was going to throw all of his faith into the Force’s will, then he was going to follow its pull to the letter.

And with that notion in hand, he arrived with only a complimentary guard and his lightsaber as bodily protection, armor shed and cloak donned. It almost made him nostalgic for the first time he and his master had arrived, guileless but with heightened awareness.

The trip to Sundari was mostly quiet, and it felt good to practice his Mando’a with those who had grown up through the same Mandalorian turmoil as he had, a common ground by which to foster good relations with the guards accompanying him. The variety of dialects was pleasing, and the stories fulfilling.

It made him miss with distinct fervor his own troopers, the camaraderie so similar it was at once dissociative and yet yaim’la. The guards were attempting to be polite to their Alor’s guest, but curiosity was a trait every sentient shared, and so Obi-Wan whiled away the time between his shuttle’s designated landing spot and the palace by sharing tales of home and the front lines, cultivating rapport in the manner he had learned as a Padawan.

The flutter of hope settled warmly across his shoulders with each smile and laugh, Mando’a settling on his tongue as if it had never left from that year traversing the system with Qui-Gon and Satine.

(Maybe Anakin did have a point about that year here.)

New friends tentatively made, they traversed the corridors to deliver Obi-Wan to a very familiar room. Bo Katan Kryze lounged in front of the closed doors, a moue twisting her features despite the curiosity burning in her eyes.

“Kenobi.” “Lady Kryze.”

She scoffed, but stood aside with a nod of her head that still managed a respectful tilt. He nodded to her, feeling the mantle of the Force’s direction settle in his bones.

It was time to see what Maul wanted.

For all his planning and treading the edges of Sidious’ intimidating scope of influence, Maul still couldn’t help the stutter of his breath as Obi-Wan Kenobi walked through the doors of this room exactly as he had hoped.

He had abandoned the idea of the throne room as soon as it had occurred to him and his overeager advisors. They were meant to meet on equal grounds, and this antiquated room with its oblong table, seats of the same height, and walls illustrated by tapestries of famous monarchs past would make its mark.

The impression was certainly gathered by Kenobi, curiosity flitting across his face as he recognized that this was neither throne room nor the one more popular for meetings with advisors. He gestured for the other to sit across from him, taking his own seat.

In lieu of speaking, Kenobi instead pulled the missive out of his pocket, sliding it across the table with a flick of his fingers until it sat in the middle, slouching in his chair.

“Tion gar vercopaan par ... me'jorbe?” The Jedi drawled in askance, “Jorhaa'ir be mirjahaal?”

Maul ticked a brow upwards, catching how loaded the tension was between them. He leaned back himself, matching Kenobi’s posture. “Elek. Haatyc or'arue jate'shya ori'sol aru'ike nuhaatyc.”

And that irrevocably caught Kenobi’s attention, a considering frown and nudging at his shields the other’s reply. Maul lowered some of them, where the Light was the most enduring, and felt the ripple of stupor from Kenobi at the revelation. The Force bounded between both of them, a thought-quick upending of expectations.

Kenobi broke his gaze, glancing around the room before twirling a finger. He nodded, flicking his wrist in dismissal.

The Jedi leaned forward, “Sidious.”

Maul leaned with him, “Is Palpatine.”

Kenobi made a punched-out sound, not questioning the answer as he tugged at his beard. The Force was an insistent undulation over his senses, now, the familiar press of the Jedi’s signature settled against his own as the other man thought.

It reminded him of the last time he had died, weariness eclipsed by the Light and Kenobi’s own spirit as he was sent off. The sensation coaxed him to close his eyes, mellowed by the reassurance that Kenobi was taking significant part in the future.

He drifted in the Force for a while, buoyed by the Light surrounding and binding him. It was calm, a gentle warmth while he waited for his next directive.

Peaceful.

And interrupted by a firm hand on his shoulder, somnolence shaken from him with determination by Kenobi himself.

“Maul. Maul.” The Jedi called to him, looking altogether too relieved for an accidental meditation. “I was about to call for your guards. Are you alright?”

He gusted out a sigh, ascribing the trembling in his hand as he grabbed Kenobi’s to weariness. While the Force still sung to him, a clarion call of peace that rung in his ears, Kenobi’s presence pressed more forcefully upon him, a rousing direction to bring his senses to bear.

“I’m fine, Kenobi.” He muttered, sitting up and ignoring the way the other helped him do so. The nudge the Force made to speak the truth, however, wasn’t so ignored, “It is no easy thing to change alliances in the Force, Jedi. Not for a Sith.”

The searching, concerned look he bore as gracefully as he could, pulling the paper on the table toward them both. Maul read the words he wrote once more, turning to hand it to Kenobi.

“I can bend Mandalore to my will, Kenobi.” He said, firmly twisting his words together with his memories of the Jedi Purge, “But it will be more difficult to bend your army to yours. We have a common enemy, and I will help you with this.”

“Because they will not listen to me?” Kenobi questioned, frowning.

“Because their will is not their own,” Maul corrected, withdrawing the control chip from a pocket, holding it up and watching the pieces come together on the other’s face, “This is in every clone’s brain. It is Sidious’ doing.”

The lash of Dark intention was unnerving, not only from its originator, but also how aberrantly different it was from the Light he had grown accustomed to. It sat bitterly on his mind, but heartened him at the resolve this Jedi tempered himself into before his own eyes, how similar it was to their last meeting on Tatooine.

It was that blend, that knife-edge Kenobi strode, that spoke hope to his senses. And it made him smile, bouncing that emotion back at the Jedi before him, something real and earnest that drew a sigh and tentative smile from Kenobi.

“You removed one.” Kenobi stated, a cunning light in his eyes. “How do we remove the rest?”

Maul grinned, “Very carefully.”

Mando'a Translations

Usen'ye, vod - Piss off, mate

Oya - Many meanings: literally *Let's hunt!* and also *Stay alive!*, but also *Hoorah!*, *Go you!*, *Cheers!* Always positive and triumphant.

K'olar, Kenobi. Jorhaa be mirjahaal. - Come, Kenobi. Speak of peace. -- mirjahal - peace of mind, *healing*, general term for emotional well-being especially after a trauma or bereavement

Kyr'tsad - Death Watch (lit. Death Society) - breakaway Mandalorian sect

Alor - leader, chief, *officer*, constable, boss

Haatyc or'arue jate'shya ori'sol aru'ike nuhaatyc - Better one big enemy that you can see than many small ones that you can't. (Mandalorian proverb.)

manda - the collective soul or heaven - the state of being Mandalorian in mind, body and spirit - also supreme, overarching, guardian-like

jatne manda - good mood - a complex sense of being at one with your clan and life

Olarom at Manda’yaim - Welcome to Mandalore

K'oyacyi - 1. *Cheers!* 2. Can also mean: *Hang in there* or 3. *Come back safely.* Literally, a command; *Stay alive!*

yaim'la - comfortable, familiar, sense of *at home*. Can also mean local to the speaker.

Tion gar vercopaan par... me'jorbe? - You wish for... what reason?

Jorhaa’ir be mirjahaal? - To speak for peace (of mind)? -- mirjahal - peace of mind, *healing*, general term for emotional well-being especially after a trauma or bereavement

Elek - yes

#star wars #darth maul #obi wan kenobi #commander cody #clone troopers #bo katan kryze #my story

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mevekagvain · 3 years

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Chapter 93 - Fancy chair, love it.

- So my theory is that Raizel just never learnt how to write in Lukedonian either.

- Tbh the janitor is suspicious. Like how hard was he googling M-21?

Chapter 94 - SUYIIIIIIIIIIII

- Ah geez the first of the racistly depicted characters.

Chapter 96 - Suyi getting mad at the kids for complaining about Hansu is so funny like when she first appears you think she's perhaps a stuck up celebrity or a pushover but it turns out she's just a really sweet friend.

- Suyi being stunned by Rai's looks but not falling for him (same with Yuna) is one of the things I always liked about Noblesse. Like sure in the first meeting they get blushy but I'll just jot that down to the inherent beauty of nobles since I can't relate to it at all.

Chapter 97 - Frankenstein's house always being stocked with so much food because the kids just started coming over daily is hilarious. Even funnier since Frankenstein obviously thinks it's overkill but is the one stocking up anyway.

Chapter 98 - Regis and Seira 🥺 Seira's og outfit was the best one she had like it only goes downhill from here folks.

Chapter 99 - It would have been so funny if Frankenstein went "they must be cosplayers" instead of realising the two were nobles.

- Regis taking all the initiative shows how it's his roadtrip coming of age journey which is pretty clever. Also Seira's just like that but still.

- Shinwoo stop exercising in class bro. Do not flex on the rest of us this is so rude 😭😭😭

- Regis confidently saying he's a noble in class to humans he doesn't plan on mind controlling... Baby boy why are you so dumb? How is this hiding your identity??? And Seira just lets him,,, good for her.

Chapter 100 - Ah yes their elegance boner at seeing Raizel... nobles are so fucking weird.

- M-21 thinking he won't get any information because of his time at the Union and thus being surprised at how open Frankenstein is is actually really sweet. Like yeah I still think Frankenstein is an unethical and questionable person but he is kind to most humans (werewolves and nobles can go fuck themselves I guess lmao).

Chapter 101 - The second hand embarrassment I felt when M-21 called the two noblesse... how do I even consume content?

- Yeah 100% most union members don't know the difference between nobles and vampires. I bet they'd classify jiangshi as either mutants or werewolves. Or to be more specific, that would be the classification given to low leveled members. On one hand I think it's dumb that the Union gives members twisted information because how would they even use it? But on the other hand it makes sense since it prevents said members from seeking nobles for help. After all, if they believe even the 'noblesse' are vampires that drink blood, than obviously they won't see them as possible escape routes.

- 'Noblesse only applies to one person'. Yeah because Rai's brother is fucking dead. And so is whoever was his predecessor/parent.

Chapter 102 - Those bullies got backup so fucking fast like Shinwoo literally just asked Regis and Seira if they were okay then boom! They're back.

Chapter 103- Regis going ??? essentially when Shinwoo tells him to take care of Seira is so funny like yes ofc he's confused she's literally a clan leader + noble females aren't physically weaker + noble women work out just like the men.

- Rude, Regis. You can't just ask someone why they're mingling among humans. You're doing that too. Who doesn't mingle among humans smh. Even cats and pigeons mingle with us.

Chapter 105 - Love how everyone else in the household is so sick of ramyeon like Raizel stop please you're being selfish.

Chapter 106 - Frankenstein is the definition of the 'right in front of my salad?' meme at Regis and M-21 arguing at the dinner table. Then there's Seira and Raizel just waiting for the noodles to get soggy so he can't even eat. Wish Urokai could see him getting tortured like this.

- The soldier rejecting backup because he knows the enemy is the Union hurts my heart. Wanting to prevent casualties... iwi

Chapter 107 - Shark how tf do you not know about South Korea? That's one of the asian countries people actually know about. I guess maybe it's because this is from around a decade back? K-pop is more recent and made the country more visible I guess.

- Ah yes Takeo. Forever known as "the first time I read Noblesse and he appeared I thought he was Marie's sister since they had the same hairstyle". Like I thought that before even learning about the Aris Taivra fiasco. My power 😔

- Oh don't worry M-21, Frankenstein stopped experimenting on people 830 years ago. You know, as one does.

Chapter 108 - Shark has like no general knowledge. Geography? History? Tf is that I guess.

- Tao saying they're the worst possible people for the job is so funny like yeah he's right. "All we do is massacre people in warzones why are we in Seoul?"

- The rest of the squad complain or are confused about the peace meanwhile Takeo is vibing. He's the normal guy TM of the group.

- Ah yes noble lore. If you take canon at face value than the fact that nobles were around when humans first emerged and there being about 2-3 clan leaders before the current generation means you can estimate their lifespan. Ofc it differs wildly depending on how you interpret the 'first humans' part. I'll assume there were 3 generations before the current generation (mvp lord being the third generation) and won't be adding the current generation since a 0.5-2k years is kinda meaningless. I'll also be assuming that mvp lord entered eternal sleep at around the same age as his predecessors and that he would have died soon from old age anyway (since canonically they do have limited lifespans). If we assume it's just the first human ancestors (7 million years ago) than the average pureblood lifespan is 2.33 million years. If we assume it's when homo sapiens started to emerge (300k years ago) than it's 100k years. If it's about modern humans (130k years ago) than it's 43.3k years. Regardless I'll ignore it since my hcs are that nobles are effectively immortal unless killed and that the 2-3 clan leaders is a misconception due to a mix of Gechutel just straight up lying, because there are clans that have had fewer clan leaders, because I have nobles settling on Lukedonia only 30k years ago, and because Gechutel is factoring in his own age of 10.2k so it's more like 'There have been 2-3 Ru clan leaders before the Ru clan leader 10k years ago since after we settled in Lukedonia'. There's also the possibility that nobles didn't have lords or clan leaders until a few thousand years ago in canon but the species has existed for much longer.

- 'Nobles are individualistic... They don't despise humans but don't love them either.' Humans w/ ants. Now if the ants were capable of speaking with us it'd be exactly the same situation.

Chapter 109 - "What were they researching here?" Since when does the Union research anything aside from human modifications Kranz? Why do you even need to ask? More seriously this means that the Union doesn't actually only do human experimentation and weapons lmao. The other shit just isn't relevant I guess. It's a shame, I'd have loved to see how a lab focused on like, fixing up polluted waters, would be fit into the story.

- The fact that Tao beat Jake up is never mentioned enough. Also confirms that Jake was lying out of his ass about being the strongest.

- Marie being the weakest assassination squad member is interesting like I know why Crombel doesn't need bodyguards as the reader but you'd think the Union would be suspicious of him not having a stronger bodyguard. Also I still can't believe the Union doesn't bother learning who the members are aside from the ones Crombel tells them about like. Bro???

- Shark calling Takeo uptight is hilarious because the guy literally just shot the falling ceiling light which is the opposite of uptight. Either he was preventing them from getting hurt/being caught or he wanted that to happen considering the fact that he shot it and it shattered. And then he just goes back to leaning against the wall. Takeo please 🤣

Chapter 110 - And Shinwoo's still staying over at Ikhans place. Wonder when he's gonna move back. I really love their dynamic like yeah I beg my sister to get me food all the time too. Also love the apron and skeleton hoodie.

- Shinwoo went through the five stages of grief pretty quick huh? Like yeah it's his own misunderstanding that Ikhan is dating someone but still. Homophobia is annoying as always though.

Chapter 111 - Suyi paying for their food is so sweet of her and also I relate so much like yeah mood that's me and no I don't want to be paid back.

- Takeo,,, the fact that he just hands his wallet over because he doesn't like violence and doesn't want to beat them up,,, my heart. Otoh... how did he even get cornered in an dark shady alleyway lmao.

- Aris managing to make herself look like a teenager as Taivra is interesting since Takeo says he wants her to be able to go to school like Yuna and Shinwoo when he's treating them. I guess she looks younger without makeup.

- Takeo just straight up pointing his gun at Shark in public because he mentioned Taivra... anger issues much? I understand why but taking your gun out is an overreaction.

#noblesse #raining while reading

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brokenxfragments · 3 years

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It would be easier to give up...

Pain continued to ramp through her body, barely able to breath as heated warmth seeped beneath her armor to soak the cloth beneath. Her eyes were blurred from such agony that she couldn’t tell if it were tears or simply the pain. And truthfully, would it matter? This battle was lost. This war... they fought against the inevitable & it came anyway. Too much was gone. And this particular deity was just too torn apart emotionally...

(’I failed.’)

Laying face down against the trembling ground, she was barely aware of what was going on around her, unable to bring herself to care as her mangled mess of her left wing twitched still from having been viciously torn in half by the maw of a consumer, much of where the pain was coming from if it wasn’t the pain in her chest. If her throat wasn’t so closed up, she might have let out a wail, the pain of personal loss hitting her now that she could barely move, unable to direct her anger anywhere but inwards.

Fayte. Amilla. Turran. Eva. Hells, even Sephtis... And her children... Soon, even Lady Salri would fall, the roars of her might steadily growing weaker beneath the onslaught of her aggressor, Zikom. The First Daughters were going to fall.

It would be far easier to let go.

Breathes quickening, the aspect of rebirth would whimper even as she forced an arm forward, propping herself up slowly from the ground as hot tears of pain & agony laid tracks down her face. She was tired. She hurt beyond more than mere physical pain. Yet there was something beneath the grief & pain that was driving her to move, albeit slowly. Rage. If there was one thing she wanted to do right before she were obliviated from existence... it was to take the source of all this pain with her, right into the maw of the Void itself. If nothing else... to at least not let him see this to the end of his lunacy.

While she easily hated the man she once so happily bore as her son, for having destroyed his siblings, it was the man that sired Malshano that she felt such rage towards. The one that betrayed her & all the work they’ve done to make this universe one of working order after the inflictions caused onto it by the Elder Gods’ wars.

Aridem was to blame for everything.... Everything!

Mind locked onto this, her trembling hand grasped for the weapon that fell from her hands previously upon being knocked out of the air, just before the excruciating process of her wing becoming more than useless. She could feel his presence. Before, she was locked onto Malshano because of her crazed grief at finding the bodies of Tabris, Hikaru & Saniel. Saniel was the last of the three to fall, Rosalia having gotten there just as she were struck down despite her ferocious attempt to battle Malshano. Her strong, beautiful daughter tried to tell the grieving mother something, but those words would not get the chance to leave her mouth. It would be little wonder that Rosalia was so reckless.

There - above them all on darkening wings that were once a blaze of yellow & orange before this madness, Aridem was striking yet another of Salri’s soldiers out of the air. Forcing herself to focus, Rosalia leaned heavily onto her trembling arms as she forced herself onto her knees, then onto her feet, her weapon perhaps aiding her in staying up at that point.

It would be quicker to just jump off the edge...

(’The edge...’) She could see that he was quite close to the edge of the largest island of land that remained thus far. The idea came to her in a jolt - her grip on her staff-like weapon tightened. What did it matter to her when the end came, sooner instead of later? The skies were sickly green & blue instead of the clear blue that had forever been this realm’s persistence, ever growing dimmer in color, more washed out & gray the closer the Void came from all sides. There was no escape, & she wasn’t going to use the Rift. But she was going to land one last hit. Briefly she were unsteady, but now determination & anger fueled her steps as she forced herself to run, no matter the fact that her body screamed from the exertion. It will be over soon. But she needed the speed to launch herself upwards, the staff in her hands extending its blades from either side just as she’d neared & she launched herself upwards.

❝ARIDEM!!❞

The man faltered upon the scream of rage that was his name, his wings pumping to keep him aloft, but just as he was turning to face her ——

She found her mark.

Feathers & blood splattered the both of them as the man gasped, the remains of the wing falling away as he’d fall along with her, having slammed into him just as her blades met their target, directing the both of them over the edge rather than towards the ground. The staff spun away from her, wind rushing around her as she freefall alongside the man that betrayed them all. Even though panic rushed through her with the closer distance from the spreading maw of the Void, the woman would just close her eyes tightly. There was no need to bother.

It will be over soon—

A scream left her upon the sudden stop that came from her arm nearly wretched from her shoulder, a grip on her wrist keeping her from falling. Eyes snapping open to gaze at who would bother saving her when everything was ending, a seething expression crossed her face as it was the very man she had loved once before the madness took him. Still loved, mingled with fury & guilt that came with it. That same fury directed her to use her other hand to grip onto his wrist, intent on taking him with her, teeth gritted while her wings flapped uselessly, feeling familiar heated warmth dripping onto her face & neck that came from the wing rendered just as unusable as her own from being severed by her weapon, which had already been swallowed by the Void awaiting them.

❝Let go, damn you!!❞ Not of her, but of the island - a fact that she dug her nails into his forearm was clear enough that if she had to hang onto him until he couldn’t hold on any longer, then so be it. She must be causing him more pain, a fact she hoped, she couldn’t see his face to see his expression, no sounds or hiss of pain escaping him as they dangled like this. Frustration drove her to sway her body, trying to cause him to lose his hold. If she was of better mind, she’d have shifted the rock he was hanging onto by mere fingers. ❝I’m taking you with me - your existence ends right now!❞

❝....❞

His grip on her wrist would only tighten as he’d finally shift his gaze to truly look at her, eyes that had been seemingly shattered noting her mangled wing & the rage in her expression. Rosalia didn’t know what was going through his mind, but just for that instance when their gazes locked... she saw him. The... the one without madness. Just... Aridem.

Such realization stunned her, to which he’d use his great strength to throw her upwards, way from the gaping nothingness just as his fingers loosened purposefully from what kept them from falling. The woman landed heavily onto what was, for now, solid ground, winded & dazed. By the time she forced herself to crawl to the edge to peer over it, her former mate had just been claimed by the Void, unable to see much except for his destroyed wings being the last to disintegrate, becoming nothing. The aspect of rebirth was numb, oblivious to everything around her, her gaze only on the growing nothingness even when she felt a rough hand trying to shake her back to reality. Even when she & what she would realize later was Thornara fell away into a different reality, Lady Salri’s last great act to save survivors, all she could remember was seeing were those eyes...

#._;misc;_.a.glimpse.of.memories.(.drabble.)#._;muse;_.the.essence.of.your.being.reincarnates.(.rosalia.)#._;muse;_.to.rise.from.ashes.the.phoenix.must.burn.(.aridem.)#suicide implication #death implication #blood cw #mutilation cw

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feysooah · 4 years

Text

HIHI !

I go by Fany & she/her -- it’s been a looong time since I rped so honestly pretty excited to be here and get this muse on the road :> no lie it’ll probably take me a bit to adjust and get in the groove of things so forgive my extra slowness but I’d love to plot n chat with all of you peeps like actually please lets !! do have a profile page up you’re free to check ( still being worked on shh ), and a rules page that’s really just more an info dump about rping with this mun & muse and some stuff about me in general if you’re curious ye

don’t have any plots up for grabs sadly, yet, but brainstorming is much welcome

here’s some tidbits about muse that might be helpful in the meanwhile tho ;

to start off, where she actually comes from;

From where her lineage diverged the Gwan bloodline has notoriously been known as very powerful divination magick practitioners within the Kyegeum house

alongside being super cordial with other houses and often the other genera as well, but generally aloof in matters that did not strictly concern them. this extended to the normal world and society as well

this was especially true for her grandpa, Gwan Youngchul

who ended up being turned in a surprise attack from a werewolf when the man had been out with his familiar companion -- Seok -- who despite best efforts could not save the witch from this sudden fate, could not stop their treasured bond severing

and despite managing to keep Youngchul alive through the whole ordeal, it would not take long ( if anything, suspiciously quick ) for a certain group of hunters to get whiff of the circumstance and swiftly rid off the ex-witch

Perhaps one bright side to look at was that he was able to communicate last wishes, some of which had already been written on letters hidden for the chance of an unlucky situation such as the one they were currently in arising. one of the wishes being a plea to protect his only daughter Jiyeong

At a tender age of seventeen Jiyeong took the news with surprising grace, not to say she wasn’t devastated and cried but what seemed to be request of her father to bond with his familiar was accepted after a moment of thinking it over, and bonding ritual decided to take place within the week

Jiyeong’s mother had been the one to mainly oversee her training once abilities started manifesting, a Kyegeum witch herself, with very different abilities compared to her husband

It was perhaps no surprise then that Jiyeong became very adamant not long after father’s death to focus studies and abilities on what her father had been so revered for; divination

something his older sister, Jiyeong’s aunt, was known for as well and gladly helped the girl with alongside taking the widowed family under her wing and protection

Jiyong followed after her father’s footsteps in many other things, most notably making friends and upholding favorable relations to the other houses, other genera as well

was endlessly fond of nature magic too, had an abundance of flowers and plants in every nook and cranny, a beautiful garden she tended to with care

many would even say she was touched by the sun itself, vibrant and warm soul she was, nurturing not with only plants but people themselves

eventually met a man who slowly swept Jiyeong off her feet, and not but a few years later they had a child, naming her Sooah. my muse. we’ll get to her in a bit I promise ._.

the man aka Dad is a human, just plain ole’ human. orphaned at a young age so while they wouldn’t know for certain if he has any sliver of witchy magic in him it’s unlikely

insists he fell in love with Jiyong at first sight pretty much. which is frankly understandable she was such a lovely person ;u;

was surprisingly chill about all the, well, witch stuff and whatnot, very curious too but also did want her to be careful and if possible not be that involved with that world

for about next 10 years things went on fairly normally, ya know, living the happy family life, going to work, mingling with the magical side of society

then she started getting sick every so often, out of the blue, however nothing even remotely seeming serious. though it was odd for a witch to be affected with flu so often

she didn’t think it was serious itself, and had a habit of hiding it in the beginning too when it wasn’t even noticeable

until it got to the point it simply could not be ignored, could not be just a passing small thing, could not be cured by any means she knew

and the next thing anyone else knew she was gone. almost like someone had reached and snuffed out her flame, just like that

where in the story we get to Sooah, so;

her early life wasn’t that special in honesty, if you don’t count all the stories her mother told about the secret magical world she too would be part of one day, and the lineage she was to inherit, abilities she would discover, all to be learned together

she had been a deviously curious child, daydreaming every other moment and next begging to see if even take part in what her mother was doing with her own magick

Sooah was quite interested in the guy sometimes accompanying her too, a friendly face she’d grown to know as Seok who she had learned eventually was mom’s bonded familiar, a fact she was entirely too excited about. but who also was before bonded to her grandpa that the girl never got to meet herself

would not fail to mention to him many times how she was going to one day find a familiar to bond with too, someone who was fun and kind and wanted to go on adventures and they would be the bestests of friends ever. and definitely cooler than him

she was always eager to understand and practice the power inside her in general, which she was starting to more and more by the days, before the sudden passing of her mother

it broke her :<

dad too, for a while he was nothing but basically a walking shell. she’s sure neither of them really truly recovered

backtracking just a lil because one very, very important notion was the familiar was of course bound to die soon along with the mom, Sooah was well aware of the fact by then and while she was stricken by grief at the time she was dedicated to finding him, no real plan in mind but urgent to know he was okay, like it would somehow make the situation any better

she did end up meeting him, understandably shaken himself but apparently already accepted own fate-- which at the moment did not sit well with her at all and Sooah, not even yet 14 years old, decided she was not going to let him just wither away and die alone how horrible would that be, how sad for that to be the end when her mom had exuded everything opposite, she was not going to let that happen no matter what

which meant the only thing she could actually do was to bond with Seok and by sheer force of will and maybe some tears - definitely some tears - did manage to convince for him to agree to it

a whole mess

she doesn’t regret it one bit, absolutely refuses to, yet does occasionally wonder if it was the right thing to do or even fair to him

but ultimately she’s glad he is in her life, aiding in any matter she may require, definitely now seen as a big brother she never had-- if she’s not too busy calling him grandpa bc seriously he’s old as all fuck. it still surprises her from time to time

( okay but it is hilarious to think Seok going from being as old as he was, looking about 40 to then having a 14 year old’s body lmaoo )

bless the grandma tho she was really a rock in this emotional time, even though she was dealing with the loss of her daughter, after having lost her husband so early in their lives too !

she kinda took over seeing to Sooah’s teaching and helping in any other way as well, more than welcoming to having her stay over for however long she needed or wanted to

she’s still thankfully alive and has a good relationship with both Sooah and Seok ;u;

Dad on the other hand.

they have both moved out of the house the family used to occupy with mom, into their own places

also have a somewhat strained relationship nowadays, more to do with his insistence on getting her to quit all the witch stuff cause it’s dangerous yadda yadda and she’s obviously not going to do that

not to say she’s not paranoid herself, and knowing how both her mom and grandpa died barely halfway into their lives even more so

it’s not only made her fearful of same fate but made her swear to stay away from any sort of divination magic if she can help it, somehow convinced that to be a factor in all of it

does have randomly prophetic dreams though, but nothing that has been major or necessarily that important so she’s.. okay with that. kinda. does keep a dream journal just in case

It’s coming up 10 years after the mom’s death, so I’m sure there’s been some rumors or other witches wondering if the Gwan family was just cursed or something, probably mostly from older and the more traditional types. doesn’t help Soaah’s dad being a plain human. or that she’s not sure if that might just actually be the case oof

as thus she’s definitely a lot more withdrawn when it comes to the other houses, or even Kyegeum themselves, doesn’t exactly feel like part of the community if you will

but is friendly to everyone and usually can be outwardly seen as having nothing weird or unusual going on beyond what you’d expect of a typical witch in this day and age

designs and sometimes makes jewelry for The Gem Lab actually, or if an individual knows to ask her personally Sooah does take custom work too ! and yes they all have very carefully picked gems or crystals, often imbued with enchantments of basic protection or if one wants something very specific she can probably do it

is kinda rich?? like grandpa was very up in there and left part of his inheritance to the mom, who of course left part of hers to Sooah. who doesn’t really like using that money as it is so it’s just sitting in a whole separate account. probably partly also because she’s not exactly the best when it comes to handling finances so. yeah.

uhh

this is so long already god I’m not gonna get into her personality or any of that now, yall can figure it out along the way or read up what I have on her page -- which isn’t much yet but it is something !! I’m def figuring her out myself too as I go haha

so ay if you wanna plot drop by my ims please ;; I do have a discord if you feel that’s easier too just ask for it !

also go show some love to Seok ouo

#( ;―intro )#( ;―lore )#( ;―ooc )#lies down- there we go #so I ramble hello guess some things haven't changed #psa: some things have been revised cause I'm a dumdum. nothing too big or what directly relates to muse so no worries!

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titanias-stolen-shoes · 4 years

Text

it’s another sad one lads. this time it’s about caramlinda

Summary: Caramelinda muses about her relationship with Amethar as she tries (and fails) to get ready for bed

Read on AO3!

She stared at herself in the mirror, tears falling down her face as she took a deep breath and took down her hair. There were wrinkles around her eyes that she normally did well to hide and a tiredness that had claimed her since Lazuli had passed that was now catching up to her during this war.

I wasn’t always like this, she thought, brushing her hair back. I wasn’t always this way.

She hadn’t always been wound up so tight. She hadn’t always held such anger and pain in her chest. There was a time when she smiled more often than not and a time when she laughed with an ease that would only leave her when Lazuli did.

She stood from her vanity, making her way to her bed. Their bed.

When she had first met Amethar, he had been loudly declaring that he would be going to the Dairy Isles for— Well, even now she didn’t like the word he used, but it was clear what he wanted. Calroy was laughing next to him as he took another sip of beer. Caramelinda had just walked into the throne room where she was meant to meet her betrothed. Her father was on right and mother on her left. Had it not been her ability to talk to anyone and save any situation, she might have let the disgust she felt show on her face. As it was, she turned her attention away from the rowdy young prince and to his older sisters. They were all looking at their brother, looking a mix of tired, endeared, and vaguely irritated.

Instead of sitting at their thrones, all of them, including King Jadain and Queen Pamelia, were sitting at a round table with a map in front of them. General Rococoa was looking at it as she stood, and she was the first to notice her.

She cleared her throat and silence fell immediately between the boys and Calroy quickly left, bowing before scurrying away. The king and Queen stood, greeting her and she felt her heart quicken as they called Lazuli and the other’s over. Caramelinda had already met her before then. They had mingled at parties and talked quietly in gardens when they could escape. She was mesmerized by her talent and intelligence and kindness. She was never too sure what Lazuli was thinking, her mind trying to pull coherency out of a million different thoughts, but Caramelinda could see genuine happiness when Lazuli’s eyes fell on her.

She had also talked to the rest of the sisters at balls and political gatherings when it suited her. They were all wonderful if an odd assortment to have come from the same home. But Amethar she hardly even seen until now. She had once asked Lazuli about him, but she had said so many things, most of which that contradicted each other, that Caremlinda had started laughing, smitten with how she was.

He stood tall, but still a little shorter than his sisters. He was… handsome, she supposed. Strong features and mischievous eyes that she knew many young lords and ladies would be thrilled to have look at them. Caramelinda, she could definitively say, was not interested. If not for his crass remark when she first entered, then for his general lack of self-awareness and disregard for his duties.

Now, of course, it hadn’t changed. Even after all these years, you’d think something would change, but there was almost no fondness between them, especially now. Not after he had lied to her all these years.

She ran her fingers through her hair, walking away from her bed. Their bed.

It wasn’t all bad of course. When all of their sisters were gone and Lazuli was among them, she had had Amethar to lean on. At this point she… Well, she hadn’t exactly become affectionate toward him, but he did have moments when she thought he was tolerable. Like when he finally did his part and stood with his family, regal and proud. Or when he would smooth talk lords and ladies and keep lines of communication open even when it didn’t seem like it would be. She liked him then, and she could see how amazing he could actually be if he just put in the work.

But he didn’t and so she put up with him as Lazuli’s younger brother and one of her extended family.

However, that day, that one fateful, horrible day, when Lazuli died, she was sure she loved him. He was suddenly thrust into a role he didn’t want and wasn’t prepared for and when he looked to her, saw her broken-hearted and grieving, he straightened up and walked forward without her, waiting.

When that day passed, and she finally stood up, she was sure she’d never love again. On her wedding day, in a dress meant for the love of her life, she kissed a man she barely tolerated and began her life as queen next to a king she knew would lean on her for everything and give her nothing in return.

That is until her girls were born.

Ruby and Jet made everything bearable. Two years after the war ended her delightful bundles of joy were born and she did love again. At that moment she loved Amethar. For all he grieved her, she wouldn’t have them without him. And she loved Ruby and Jet more than she thought was possible to love another person.

They were beautiful, perfect, squirming little girls. She kissed their hands, crying tears of joy. Before then she could hardly remember happiness without the curse of grief following. Without the creeping knowledge of what Lazuli would say or think or do when something happened.

She would love the two of you, Caramelinda thought as they yawned, swaddled in their blankets. She would have seen so many timelines and picked the best ones.

Until she found out that Amethar had been married before and didn’t tell her, she hadn’t realized how much anger and malice lived in her or when she had even begun to truly feel it. If she thought about it, she would know that the moment Ruby and Jet were born, she had wished more than anything that they were her and Luzuli’s children. Would have recognized why when she looked at Amethar doting on them, that she felt so irritated all at once. But she had pushed it away, thinking it was just a moodiness from leftover pregnancy hormones.

Caramelinda went to the window, looking down at the tents and frowning. Perhaps… perhaps she had been too harsh with the girls and Liam. It wasn’t that she didn’t believe Theobald when he told her that they were strong. In fact, it was because she believed him that she was even more invested keeping them safe.

General Rococoa was one of the bravest people she’d ever gotten the honor of knowing and Lazuli was the most talented, but war doesn’t care who is brave and who is talented. War doesn’t care that you love someone and need to get back to them. War leaves no one undecimated by its presence and Caramelinda knew that firsthand. She would not have her girls, her daughters, the only people in this world that she could truly say she loved, wrapped up in a war.

She sighed, scanning the tents. It was odd to see them there when normally she kept the grounds so neat and orderly. Still, she—

Sudden movement drew her eye to a nearby parapet where someone was falling. Someone who looked like—

On the other side of her vision was a small point of light bouncing and figure she could recognize even from this far away was running toward the castle. And then the light went out. And then there was an explosion near where Amethar had been falling, cola splashing over the shores. And energy crackled around him as he made his way to land, the anger coming off of him in near-visible waves. And Caramelinda knew grief so deep that the floors and windows instantly began to caramelize around her.

She caught a glimpse of her bed (their bed) in the window reflection and remembered something she hadn’t thought about in a long time: the girls used to crawl into bed with them. When the shadows seemed to dance a little too close or they just felt like causing Theo worry, they would sneak into Caramelinda and Amethar’s room. Crawl into bed like thieves in the night and in the morning, she would wake up to their sleepy faces often cuddled next to Amethar, a source of heat for their small bodies. She remembered how content she felt, happy that her family was safe as the light of the bulb shined down on their happy, healthy faces.

She turned from the window and began to run. Amethar the Unfallen would live to uphold his title, but Queen Caramelinda, should she survive this night, would live to gain one. She would not lose one more person she loved to war if she could help it—and may the Hungry One devour anyone who got in her way.

@allsevenmaidens

#it's another sad one #happiness doesn't exist here #and this scene from multiple perspectives is my jam rn #also tell me if you ever want me to stop tagging you and i will #a crown of candy #a crown of candy fanfic #i wrote something!#titania's stolen queue

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jouretnuit-nightandday · 5 years

Text

let me have a dance with her

Bumbleby Week Day 1 - Atlas Ball

They haven’t had much time to talk after getting to Atlas, though Yang wonders if they even need words at this point. They’ve both felt it, the shifting of their relationship, inevitable and immense like the shifting of continental plates. One minute they were still mending, dancing around each other, the tension palpable. The next, they’ve watched Adam fall to his death, blood staining his shirt, and Blake is crying on her knees, and Yang’s arms are around her, and everything’s changed.

Or: It’s the worst party ever, but Yang and Blake still find each other.

Yang usually loves parties, but this has got to be the worst she’s ever been to.

Everything about it feels stifling - the crowd of people dressed in their fanciest clothes, the chatter of conversation, incessant and grating, the air, heavy with perfume and incense and candles and the sour smell of sweat underneath it all.

She’s standing near a glass door that leads out to the garden, eyes scanning the crowd. She has no trouble finding Ruby and Jaune hovering not too far from Ironwood, who’s busy talking with a group of high-ranking Atlas military personnel. It takes her a little more time, but eventually she spots the rest of her friends, all engaged in conversation with various guests.

(Weiss is talking to Winter, hands crossed in front of her, and if Yang didn’t know her as well as she does, she wouldn’t notice the way her knuckles have turned white, the fragile tautness of her back, like a bowstring ready to snap. Yang’s heart aches for her, but she doesn’t move. She knows Weiss can handle whatever this is, and she also knows Weiss will call for help if she needs it.)

She sighs and takes a sip of her drink - some sort of creamy cocktail she hates - while she looks around for potential targets. It’s their goal after all, the whole point of going to this stupid, terrible party in Atlas: gathering information, making people talk, looking for any trace of Salem’s influence, any indication of where the war will hit next.

Yang hasn’t done much of that, so far. People here are just so fucking delicate, so poised and polished - they make her feel inadequate, awkward, too big and too loud and too much, a goliath in a dust shop. So she drinks, and flexes the fingers of her metal hand, and eyes the crowd, and reflects on the fact that this is the first party she’s ever hated so much.

She loves parties where people are happy, that’s the thing. There’s a way to loose yourself in a party, with the music and the lights and alcohol and bodies pressed close together and the sound of laughter. Yang grew up in a quiet house, after Summer died. A loving house, certainly, built by her father who, despite losing so much, still found the strength to give his children a home. But a quiet house nonetheless, so filled with absence and ghosts that even the babbling of her little sister couldn’t drown out the grief.

So Yang is drawn to the noise and the fun and the fleeting joy of parties. And this one has none of it.

She tries to smile at an older woman wearing an extravagant hat with silver feathers - the woman ignores her pointedly. Yang rolls her eyes, takes another sip. On the right side of the room, Blake is standing beside a marble column, talking with a man sporting the most ridiculous mustache Yang’s ever seen. He’s a little taller than her, and leans his head down to say something close to her ear. Yang catches Blake’s eyes, and winks. Blake rolls her eyes, clearly bored out of her mind. Yang hides a snort of laughter in her cocktail. The man smiles, Blake smiles too, and says something that makes him laugh. She’s good at this, Yang thinks, with pride. The daughter of a diplomat, through and through. She will be a great leader, someday, when the war is over and they have a future to think of.

A future. Yang can’t imagine a future without Blake, and now there’s something tightening inside her stomach, something pressing, urgent. She wishes she could just grab Blake’s hand and leave, and talk about their future, maybe. They haven’t had much time to talk after getting to Atlas, though Yang wonders if they even need words at this point. They’ve both felt it, the shifting of their relationship, inevitable and immense like the shifting of continental plates. One minute they were still mending, dancing around each other, the tension palpable. The next, they’ve watched Adam fall to his death, blood staining his shirt, and Blake is crying on her knees, and Yang’s arms are around her, and everything’s changed.

Blake brings her cup to her lips. The crystal lamps hanging low make her look ethereal, almost, in her black and purple dress, like a character out of a fairy tale, an enchantress, a queen. She’s wearing a bow, and Yang wants nothing more than to tug it out and free her ears, thread her fingers in the silklike softness of Blake’s dark hair.

Someone bumps into her, shaking her out of her reverie. “Yang, we’re supposed to be mingling”, Nora whispers way too loud. Inexplicably, she’s managed to get ahold of a full platter of dainty little fishcakes. There’s a waiter looking baffled and kind of scared on the other side of the room - Yang has no idea what went down, but she winces in sympathy nonetheless. “Stop staring at Blake and go talk to people!”

She stuffs an entire cake in her mouth - Yang can’t help but be impressed - and winks. “Or, you know, go talk to her, and ask her for a dance, lovergirl!”

Nora punches Yang’s shoulder, hard enough that if Yang were anyone else she’d be left with a bruise, and saunters over to where Ren is politely listening to a couple of old men wearing monocles and, absurdly, powdered wigs.

Yang turns her eyes back to Blake, but she’s disappeared in the ever-moving crowd. She sighs, takes one last look at her sad half-empty cup, and decides she’s had enough. She leaves the cup on a nearby table, and slips through the glass door, into the garden.

Outside the air is cold and sharp, refreshingly clear. It smells crisp, of fresh snow and something minty. Yang takes a breath, feels her lungs ache a little, pleasantly so, and rolls her shoulders. She’s in a paved alleyway, surrounded by marble sculptures and trees covered in a thin layer of ice. The music still comes through the opened window, and without the rest of the party, Yang can finally appreciate the lilting melody. The band is playing a classical piece, an atlesian waltz, both beautiful and melancholic. She closes her eyes, savoring the moment.

A sudden noise makes her jolt. A little further up the alley, in the semi-darkness, there’s something…someone? Yang takes a step forward, muscles tensing instinctively. “Is someone there?”

She hears shuffling, light footsteps, and then she blinks, taken aback. It’s a group of children, hiding in the garden, hesitantly walking toward her. Five of them, all dressed in warm and practical clothes, though not fancy enough to look like they belong in the party. Two of them are Faunus, siblings probably, with nearly identical dog ears amid dark curls of hair. The oldest looking one, who must be around ten, maybe twelve, pushes the other kids behind him, protectively. He’s glaring at Yang with outright suspicion. Yang relaxes her whole body, drops her shoulders, opens her hands, makes herself look as harmless as possible.

“Hello,” she says, with a smile. “I’m Yang.”

“Hi!” a little girl replies, cheerfully, before the older boy shushes her. “You from the party?” he asks, still frowning.

Yang nods. “Wasn’t much fun, so I decided to come out here. Lucky I did, cause clearly I found the real party!”

She winks at the kids, and they relax, all at once. She knows she’s won them over, so she crouches down to their level, and they come closer, curiously eyeing her metal arm, her wild hair, the shiny material of her ball dress. Yang pokes at the little girl, who giggles, delighted by the attention.

“What are you guys doing out here?” she asks. One little boy with dog ears and curly hair points at the door she just came through, rubs his neck. “Mama said we can’t go in, but we wanna listen to the pretty music. Are we in trouble?”

She shakes her head. “No, you’re not in trouble. It is very beautiful music.”

The older boy extends a hand. “I’m Max. Our parents are all working tonight, in the kitchen and stuff, so we’re waiting for them to go home. But we snuck outside to hear the music.”

Yang shakes his hand, gravely. “That was a smart move. I did the same thing.”

Max grins, looking down at their joined hands. “Do you know how to dance the atlesian waltz?” Yang nods, amused by his excitement, now that he’s no longer scared of her. “Would you, huh, teach me?” he asks, a little shy.

She laughs. “Sure thing.” She stands up, pulling him towards her. The other kids scatter in a half-circle, wide-eyed and fascinated. “Okay, so first you need to face me and put your other hand on my shoulder.”

It’s a little awkward - Yang is so much taller than him - but they manage a semi-correct position. Yang taps his feet with her own to widen his stance, then places her hand on his waist. “Okay, now listen to the rhythm of the music - one two three, one two three. We’re gonna follow the rhythm. Look at my feet.”

She leads him through the steps, and they start dancing clumsily. He’s clinging hard at her dress, a little unsure, and the line of his shoulders is too stiff - he almost trips a few times. Yang stays gentle, guiding him back to the rhythm again and again every time he falters. It reminds her, weirdly, of teaching Ruby how to swim - the patient repetition.

Max is not a bad dancer, and when he’s mastered the steps, Yang tries something a little more challenging. The other kids clap and cheer as Yang twists and turns the two of them around, her golden dress flowing in the cold air. She’s so focused on the dance - and on not stepping on poor Max’s feet - that she doesn’t notice when the other kids stop cheering, until there’s a hand on Max’s shoulder.

“I’m sorry to interrupt,” Blake says, to Max, with a kind smile. “Would you let me have a dance with her?”.

The boy glances at Yang, steps back, and suddenly his little hand on Yang’s shoulder is replaced by Blake’s, suddenly Blake is standing in front of her, face to face, her hair glowing under the moonlight, eyes brighter than any star above.

Yang feels warm all over. She rests a hand on Blake’s waist, almost shyly, and grabs her other hand. Blake’s skin is soft under her fingers, and familiar. They lock eyes, and start moving with the music, twirling on the icy paved alleyway, feet perfectly in synch. The children are standing on the side, watching them with awe and delight - the little girl’s mouth opens comically wide. Yang smiles, soft.

“What are you doing out here?” she asks Blake, low as a whisper, before spinning her around and back in her arms.

“I was looking for you,” Blake says, simply. She smiles too. The music slows, and she presses herself against Yang, until their bodies melt into one, cheek to cheek, heart to heart. “I couldn’t handle the party anymore, I just wanted to be with you,” she murmurs into Yang’s ear.

Yang trails her hand until it rests on the curve of Blake’s lower back, metal arm circling around her waist. “Me too.”

“Are you okay?” The words are soft, but sincere, and there’s genuine concern in Blake’s eyes. Maybe she’s wondering what drove Yang outside the ballroom. Yang’s chest fills with affection and gratitude.

She brings her other hand up to cup the back of Blake’s neck, and now the dance looks more like a swaying hug. “I’m great. Except…”

“Yes?” Blake breathes out. Her own arms are tight around Yang, fingers digging a little into the bare skin of her shoulder blades.

“Except I really want to kiss you right now,” Yang murmurs. She feels Blake shivering under her hands, feels the way her breath stutters out of her lungs, and she’s not nervous, not at all. It feels right, and the moment is perfect - the two of them in an iced garden under the moonlight, having just escaped the rigidity of atlesian etiquette.

Blake leans away a little, so she can look up and into Yang’s eyes. Yang reads wonder on her face, but also something else, something unwavering, the tranquil strength of absolute certainty. So she lets Blake tugs her head a little lower, until their noses are touching, until Blake’s lips meet hers.

It’s the gentlest kiss, the brush of butterflies wings against one another, yet it’s powerful enough to shake mountains inside Yang’s heart. Her cheeks burn, every inch of her skin is tingling, down to her fingertips. Blake kisses her again, a little rougher this time, capturing her lower lip between her teeth for the briefest instant. Yang feels on the verge of falling. Maybe she already did.

But she hears a small gasp, from behind her, then a giggle, and a couple shushing sounds.

Right. “We have an audience,” Yang murmurs against Blake’s mouth.

Blake chuckles and lets go of her, taking a step back. “Maybe we should go back to this later, in private.” Her expression shifts to something hesitant, and she blushes, pretty pink. “I mean. If you want to?”

“Yeah,” Yang says, catching Blake’s hand in her own, squeezing once. “I’d like that.”

The little girl comes up to Blake, and tugs at the side of her dress. “Excuse me,” she says, very solemn and obviously imitating Blake from a few minutes ago. “Can I have the next dance?”

Blake smiles, before schooling her expression into seriousness. “It would be my honor.”

She hoists the child on her hip, and starts spinning, and Yang watches her, her heart beating steadily in her chest, sure, like she’s never been before, of what she feels and what she wants.

Blake and Yang spend the rest of the evening laughing and dancing with children and looking at each other, thinking of their first kiss under the stars, and of many more to come, and when it’s time to leave, Yang sighs, happily.

See, now that’s the kind of parties she loves.

#bumblebyweek #bmblebyweek #bumbleby #rwby #rwby fic #kudos to whoever figures out which scene from which movie inspired me for this btw

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hopeandfirewrites · 5 years

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day 03: quill

30 DAY PROMPT CHALLENGE (DRAGON AGE). FARANNI LAVELLAN//LIAWYN LAVELLAN. FARANNI LAVELLAN//SOLAS (MENTIONED). WORD COUNT: 1734.

Small growls of frustration filled the library as she stared desperately at a blank piece of parchment, trying and failing to magic words out of thin air in the same fashion the library regulars around her seemed to be doing with ease. Writing had never been her strong suit. When she’d been with her clan, she’d only been taught the basics of literacy because Liawyn had been desperate for someone to practice with, and in the time since she’d learned a little more thanks to tutoring from Dorian and Solas and Finn. Still, she was more articulate with a bow and arrow than she was with quill and ink, and being bad at something served enough to frustrate her, especially today.

It had been more than half a year since Liawyn had been killed in the explosion at the Conclave. Faranni had initially planned to celebrate, so to speak, by riddling a defenseless straw dummy with as many arrows as she could find. Then, if she didn’t feel better, maybe she would craft or buy more and send those flying as well. Anything to take her mind off the sting of loss that still burned just beneath her skin. Anything to make it go away. Would it ever go away? How many Red Templars would she have to kill before she could sleep without being plagued by nightmares?

Would the cycle of revenge ever satisfy itself?

This whole writing escapade had started with Dorian and Finn ambushing her at the shooting range, one on each side. Finn had mentioned before that her blind rage wasn’t exactly healthy, but had never complained about the fact that the same rage was what got things accomplished in the field. She could go berserk better than the best bruisers, mowing down unarmored enemies with a downpour of well placed shots. But perhaps the fact that her anger hadn’t died down had the Inquisitor worried. Josephine had mentioned that her temper didn’t exactly sit well with the nobles, and Finn couldn’t very well expect Solas to babysit her every time they had company.

Or maybe he was just being a good friend. In her heart, Faranni wanted to believe that she’d made friends beyond Solas. She wanted to believe that Finn had her best interests in mind, that he had her back, but the black pit of anxiety in her stomach screamed otherwise.

“Riddling templars with arrows is all well and good and you’re an excellent shot,” Finn had said, handing her an ornate box that housed the quill she now spun in her fingers, “But Dorian and I think it might help with your emotional constipation to write some of it down. It’s supposed to be…I don’t know, therapeutic, I guess. And it’ll help with your writing.”

They two of them led her back to the library, set her up with some parchment, and told her to write about her feelings. A letter to Deshanna or Sorrel. Perhaps to her parents? Dorian had even, after they wrestled her bow away from her, recommended trying to write a letter to Liawyn. “And burn it after,” He’d said, “Or keep it. Whatever makes you feel happy.”

And so she sat, unable to escape because Finn had stationed Dorian right around the corner. Write something, she told herself, twirling the quill between her fingers, It’ll be good for you. It’s what Lia would’ve down.

What Lia would’ve done.

It’s been a bit over six months since they sent you away. You smiled when Deshanna gave you the news and said you’d never really fit in with the clan anyway. Too much curiosity. Too much of an interest in the ways of the outside world. Maintaining and conveying our history wasn’t enough for you. When you told me the news, that you were honored to be sent, I told you that if you left I’d never accept you back. I said you should never come back. I was angry and I didn’t mean it literally but it seems like you took it literally anyway.

For all your cleverness, you always were sort of airheaded.

Her hands shook. Vision blurring with tears as memories that had been locked away bubbled to the surface. But still, she had to continue. This is good, she told herself. Facing these memories was good. A good way to honor Liawyn. And she didn’t have a choice in the matter regardless.

I came to Haven looking for you. Instead I found the Inquisition. I think you would have fit in faster than I did. So many different races and cultures working together - it would’ve been a sort of paradise for you. All held together by a human mage named Finn. He let me stay and in a lot of ways, he’s been looking out for me ever since. I wonder if the two of you would’ve gotten along. Sometimes I wonder, what if you had been the one to survive and he had been the one to die. I know it’s a morbid thought but if you’d been in his position…

What would you have done?

Would you have shared your optimism with the rest of the Inquisition? Would you have brightened their outlooks on life, in the same way you brightened mine? Would you have shared your beautiful, colorful soul with them, eager to learn everything they could teach you? Would you, six months after the explosion of the Conclave, sat down to write a letter to me?

Would I have read it? Or would I still be so blinded by anger over your leaving that I would’ve-

The quill fell out of her hands, body shaking with grief over her actions and her loss. Faranni pressed her back against the chair, trying to put as much distance between herself and that damned letter as possible. She drew her knees into her chest, wrapped her arms around her legs - effectively made herself as small as possible and wept.

For what she had done. For what she could have done. For what she had lost.

It seemed like hours. Hours that neither Finn nor Dorian came to find her. Hours that no one came to her rescue while anxiety mingled with sorrow to form something inexplicable. Something that told her, loudly, that she should die. She would deserve it, after all. She had no right to be angry over Liawyn’s death when she’d been the cause of it. She had no right to be here, fighting at Finn’s side, when she frequently imagined a reality where he was dead. She had no right. She had no right. She had no reason to live-

Her spiral was stopped by a hand on her shoulder, gentle yet firm. It pulled her back into reality. The reality where Finn was alive and Liawyn was gone. The reality where she had been given a chance to exact her revenge. The reality where she was the only one left to offer herself forgiveness. When she looked up, she was met with grey eyes. Wise. Familiar. And full of sympathy.

“Breathe.” Solas told her.

She did as instructed. A breath in and then a breath out. And another. And another. And another until finally she managed to release her legs and let them slump back down to the floor. “Why are you alone?” He asked her.

“They-” Her voice still shook, but she did her best to appear strong. Solas knew otherwise. He knew of her fear, but it was nice to pretend, “They thought it would help to write about my feelings. Instead of wallowing in my anger. I think maybe Finn was afraid it might consume me. I think maybe he was trying to help.”

“A wise notion,” Solas agreed, kneeling down next to her. His hand never left her shoulder, “But I think it is unwise that they left you alone to do it.”

“I couldn’t write while they were watching,” Faranni confessed, “So Finn asked Dorian to keep an eye on me, but-”

“If I had not seen you, I would not have known something was wrong either.” He admitted, “You told me what Dorian and Finn think you need. Tell me what you think you need.”

“Quiet. I thought I needed to shoot something, but I shoot things every day,” She watched him nod in agreement, a feeling of validation and something else pooling in the pit of her stomach, “I need quiet. I need-”

“The dead cannot forgive the living.” It was harsh. Too harsh. Spoken strong enough that she flinched when they were said, “But from what you have told me of Liawyn, I don’t believe forgiveness is needed. I think she would have been happy to see you surrounded by people who care about you and I think she would have been honored to have you fighting for her.”

“People who care about me?”

“Of course,” Solas rose to his feet, coaxing her up with him, “Do you think Finn and Dorian did this to torture you?”

“Well, no, I-” She steaded herself against him, warmth spreading through her body where it had been cold just moments ago, “I thought Finn wanted to reign me in.”

“I think if Finn had the chance, he would unleash you upon every noble to step foot in Skyhold. I think, given the chance, he would encourage you to heal in whatever healthy way you deemed necessary. Isn’t that right, Inquisitor?”

The tips of Faranni’s ears went red when she realized Finn was watching them, leaning against a nearby bookcase and smirking like the smug little shit he was. Immediately, she shoved away from Solas, the blush creeping further into her freckled cheeks as she went to swipe her letter off the table. Solas rubbed his shoulder where she’d shoved him, feigning injury, and Finn laughed, “Don’t stop on my account.”

“I know it might not be your way of doing things, but I prefer to keep my personal matters personal.” She said proudly, turning to hand him the damp piece of parchment she’d snatched off the table, “I wrote the letter.”

“You don’t have to give it to me.”

“Then…what am I supposed to do with it?”

“Like Dorian said, keep it. Or we can burn it.”

“Yeah,” The thought of burning her pain, her anger, her shame, bright a smile to her face, “Let’s burn it.”

#dragon age fanfiction #dragon age fanfic #solas #lavellan #solavellan #oc x oc #solas x lavellan #char: solas #char: liawyn #char: faranni

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trans-ignis · 7 years

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For Every Smile I Captured

Rating: General Fandom: FFXV Ship: Promptis (Prompto/Noctis) Warnings: None, but very minimal Chapter 10 dialog. Word Count: 1244

Read on Ao3

Summary So he’d started capturing smiles. One by one, like pinning the memories of butterflies to his walls. Capturing and preserving the fluttering impermanence of it, so fast and fragile only the deftness of a lens and the speed of a shutter could catch it without damaging the original.

In retrospect, it had started a lot earlier than Duscae. It had started before they’d even left Insomnia really, but the truth of it sat heavy on Prompto’s mind and threatened to push the whole ordeal to a boiling point he wasn’t ready to throw himself into. So, Duscae then. That was easier to swallow. It wasn’t wholly a lie either. Maybe it hadn’t started there, but it had been where whatever inner constraint he’d been holding it all back with had snapped, and it had hit him like a charging Garulessa. Or a train. Or a behemoth. Something suitably massive and limb destroying, anyway.

It hadn’t even been spectacular, and in a lot of ways he knew that was worse. Way worse. When a small, everyday action pushes you off the previously safe path of denial and straight out and over the precipice of ‘Oh fuck, we have a problem’ you know you’re already irreparably fucked.

After several days of arm twisting and pleading from the moment Ignis had announced they were entering the region, they had visited the Chocobo Post. As it turned out, this had been a good call all round. Even Ignis had been wrangled into admitting a fondness for their new travelling companions, but it was Noct that had been the real victory. Honestly that was most of the problem.

He’d been petting Chocobos. Hesitantly, with unsure hands and a wide-eyed expression like a small child being introduced to farm animals for the first time. Which really wasn’t all that inaccurate of a comparison. If the first few shots of a tentative, uncertain Noctis (reaching out and up to brush his fingers over soft fluffy feathers) had been a stress on Prompto’s floodgates, the next snap of Noct with his arms around the neck of one with a genuine smile on his face was the breaking point.

There had been a physical rush, a sensation of missing not one but two whole steps on a flight of stairs, accompanied with an inexplicable breathlessness. With an unbidden gasp he’d been forced to stagger back a step or two, bumping hazily into the rental kiosk.

That had been the start of it, officially. Certainly from then on Noctis started to creep into his work at an increased regularity than he had before. There had always been candids capturing a Noctis that more professional lenses had no interest in, but this was different somehow. More. The increase in smiles, perhaps. Not that he hadn’t paid homage to those back in Insomnia, although at the time he’d classified his handful of genuine Noctis smiles primarily as insurance. Gentle, affectionate blackmail, as it were.

The fact that Noctis disliked his own smile so much or that it happened so infrequently hadn’t penetrated the thick bubble of teenage self absorption. Prompto’s stomach dropped every time he thought back on the Noct of three years ago, now able to view him with more clarity. From what he had been able to glean via Ignis’ retellings, Noct had always laboured under a fairly limited range of expression and as such had never been a smiley child. The phrase ‘through a thick haze of autism’ bubbled back up to the surface by way of linked explanation. Still, the thought that Noctis had needed him when he’d been too stupid and wrapped up in his own problems to notice was one that continued to agitate him. Like a twisting creature of anxiety and hurt housed deep inside his chest, it wrapped it’s heavy tendrils around his ribs and heart in an attempt to pull itself up and out into more physical being. It left him short of breath.

So he’d started capturing smiles. One by one, like pinning the memories of butterflies to his walls. Capturing and preserving the fluttering impermanence of it, so fast and fragile only the deftness of a lense and the speed of a shutter could catch it without damaging the original. Noct was delicate like that. That had been the realisation. That for all his broad shouldered, dark and seemingly impenetrable exterior what lay within resembled a soft golden glow against the darkness. A delicate light made up of a kaleidoscope of glass winged butterflies, honey coloured with flecks of brilliant blue, so fragile that even their gentle quivering movement risked their own destruction. Clustered together round the shape of a beating heart, the moment one flitted away towards the glassy dark surface and made contact with the world beyond through a smile felt wasted if not captured. Even back in Duscae they never survived the journey, fading slowly into death with the curve of his lips.

Quietly, Prompto wondered how many he had left to give.

“Don’t do this, I--!” Prompto was cut short by Gladio, grabbing ahold of him roughly by the face and shoving him backwards so hard he hit one the seats several feet behind him. Curling over the back of it, he stayed in place as the sickening scene they were creating continued to escalate. He felt something shatter, thin and brittle into a thousand fractured pieces as if the physical impact had knocked it from its place within him and sent it skittering across the floor of the train just like it had sent the rest of him.

“I get it, alright!? I get it!” Noct’s voice cracked, and with a lurch of horor Prompto knew his were not the only shards scattered across the floor. Inside his mind the image welled up like the tears that threatened at the edge of Noctis’ voice-- unreal and unwanted, slipping through grasping hands and spinning away towards a boiling point. A crystalline pool of crushed and shattered gold, tainted and blackened, brilliant blues corrupted into purple against the black. The jerky jittering of fragmented wings amongst the wreckage beating desperately to right themselves as Gladiolus continued his crushing assault.

“Then get a grip! Pull your head outta your ass already!”

The Prince’s mouth moved against words he did not possess, managing only a frustrated noise before he turned and stalked away down the train, stamping down heavily on the twitching remains of his own light.

The creature inside Prompto’s chest twisted and tugged, desperately pulling itself up against his throat as it pushed down against his heart for leverage. Noiselessly it screamed, wailing for him to follow and fix and soothe what he knew could not be saved.

“Noct!” Finding his feet again he propelled himself after the retreating prince, wanting to reach out although his hands remained unresponsive, the thing in his chest pulling him forward by his sternum.

“Leave him.” Gladio’s tone brooked no argument, a solid command that rooted him to the spot, as if cemented by the solidifying wasteland of mingling and broken hearts at his feet. His chest felt constricted, as if the tendrilled thing inside him was expanding against his lungs and pulled at his ribs all at once, prohibiting him from drawing breath correctly.

Stunned and hollow, standing amidst the greying carnage of the most beautiful thing in the world, he allowed the creature his lungs with which to breathe. Shakily, it drew breath, and for the first time in all the years it had plagued him, from it’s first kindling until this moment- it spoke. A single word, in a dying withered voice born of grief, and compassion, and of the most tender self betrayal.

Love

And hopelessly, he knew it was.

#ffxv #Promptis #Prompto Argentum #Noctis Lucis Caelum #ffxv fic #Kit scribbles

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sincerelybluevase · 7 years

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Fanfic Friday: Once Upon A Dream

@purple-roses-words-and-love (who I also have to thank for betaing, as usual) and I got talking about the possibility of Shelagh and Patrick seeing the Disney film Sleeping Beauty, and if they would connect to the characters. This led to some speculation about a Turnadette retelling of this story, and if they would perhaps use this for Angela. Behold: a fic in which Patrick explains a young Angela how he and Shelagh met, in a way that speaks to her most: through a fairy tale.

(I’m not the first one to do this. @my-little-yellowbird also did it and did it first, only she actually made an original fairy tale. It was very sweet. Go and read it here.)

“Daddy, how did you and mummy meet?” Angela asked Patrick as she gave him back her empty glass of milk, wiping away her white moustache with the back of her hand.

“We were colleagues, dear. I was the doctor, and she was a nurse,” he said, placing the glass on the table.

“Yes, but how exactly did you meet?” Angela insisted.

Patrick carded a hand through his hair, sighed, and furrowed his brow in concentration as he thought of the best possible way to tell his daughter how he and Shelagh had come to know each other, and how they’d fallen in love. He wished she was here; she would surely know how to navigate this minefield without having her feet blown off. She was visiting at Nonnatus with Teddy, though, so he was on his own.

“I hate leaving Angela like this,” she’d said, adjusting Teddy’s hat. Sister Monica Joan had knitted it for him. It was slightly wonky, like everything she made. Shelagh used to joke that only the love she’d knitted into it kept the thing from unravelling. “What if she starts to feel poorly again, and asks for me?”

Angela had been battling a cold these past few days, and though she was already doing better, she was still floppy with tiredness and as pale as winter snow.

“We’ll be fine, Shelagh. I’m a doctor, remember?”

“Of course I remember, dearest,” she’d said, stroking his cheek.

He took her hand and cradled it over the space where his heart beat for her and their children. “You’ve been cooped up here ever since Teddy was born because of the abominable weather. I think you deserve to go out and have tea with Sister Julienne.”

Shelagh had frowned, the skin between her eyebrows folding till two little worry lines appeared. “But what if she starts to cry? What if the fever returns, and…?”

Patrick had brought her hand to his lips and kissed it, first the back, then the silvery scar on her palm, like he had done years ago, when he had had no right to even think about touching her, let alone actually pressing his lips to her wounded hand, but had done so anyway, overcome with passion and longing. “Angela and I get along splendidly together. And you’ll be back before we know it,” he said, voice low as the memory of her turning away played in front of his mind’s eye. He pushed it away. It was easy; she had never refuted him since.

“You are right. I’m turning into an old worry-wart,” Shelagh had said, kissing his cheek.

“My worry-wart, though,” he had said, capturing her lips for a proper kiss before holding the door open so she could navigate the pram outside.

She’d been gone an hour now. He had woken Angela a little over half an hour ago so she could drink something. His little girl had been groggy with sleep, and listless. She’d crawled onto his lap and hugged him, limp and surprisingly heavy. He’d cupped the back of her head, stroking her scalp with his fingertips as he rocked her. He’d picked her up after a while and taken her into the kitchen. He had balanced her on his hip as he let her choose what she wanted for lunch. He’d declined her request of pink wafers, and had made her some toast with jam instead. She had hummed a strain of song that was familiar to him as she ate. It was whilst she drunk her milk that he had realised she was humming the melody of Once Upon A Dream. She’d seen Sleeping Beauty a few weeks ago, and had been taken completely with the three little fairies, the forest animals, and the princess in her dress that could change colours.

“Daddy?” Angela asked, picking up Cuthbert the Second and rubbing her cheek against the soft fabric. She wasn’t so deathly pale anymore, he noted.

“Yes,” Patrick said, sitting down next to her on the sofa. “Sorry, dear. I was away with the fairies there for a moment.” In truth he wasn’t sure how to best broach the tale of his and Shelagh’s rather unusual courtship.

Angela huddled against him, one hand wound in Cuthbert’s ears. “Do you know a lot of fairies?”

“Not particularly, no, but…” An idea came to him, then. He smiled goofily, slinging his arm around his daughter and drawing her close. “You know all about fairy tales, don’t you, Angel girl?”

“Yes,” she said, eyes huge and glittering. “Is your story like that?”

“It is a bit like a fairy tale, yes! Like Sleeping Beauty, in fact.” He felt like a genius as he stroked her hair, noting that she was feeling cool, no longer burning up, like she had a few days ago. “You see, your mother and I met…”

“You have to start with ‘once upon a time’, daddy,” she interrupted, burying her nose in Cuthbert’s fraying fur.

“Ah, yes, how stupid of me!” he said, slapping his forehead.

Angela smiled, huddling even closer.

“Alright, here we go, Angel girl! Once upon a time, there was a beautiful princess who lived in a castle with other princesses and a queen. The princesses and queen all called each other ‘sister’, and wore the same blue dresses to show that they were family.”

“Like Sister Julienne? She wears blue.”

“Yes, exactly like Sister Julienne, dear. Well, these women all lived together in an old castle that stood in the middle of a forest. It was a really big forest, full of poplars. Those are really big trees, Angel girl, trees that grow to be incredibly tall. In almost every tree there lived a family, and the queen and the princesses worked very hard to make sure that all families were happy. There was a prince, too.”

“That’s you, right, daddy?”

“Yes, darling. This prince didn’t have a sword or a shield, but a bag and a syringe. Oh, and he had a little boy, too. You see, the prince had been married to one of the women who lived in the poplars.”

“Was she a princess, too?”

“No. The princesses in the castle were not allowed to marry.”

“Not even princes?” Angela asked, blue eyes huge.

“Not even princes, no. So, this prince had married a woman from the forest, and they were very happy for a little while, but then she died,” Patrick continued, feeling the familiar pang of sadness that accompanied every mention of Marianne. The hurt had been acute and sharp at first, but had faded with time. Now, he could speak of her with a smile framing his mouth, even though the fondness with which he thought of her always mingled with his grief, too.

“How did she die?” Angela asked, knuckles white as she fingered Cuthbert’s ear. Shelagh had already sown it on once, but Patrick feared that the poor rabbit would require more surgery in the foreseeable future.

“Do you know what ‘maleficent’ means?”

“That was the name of the fairy in Sleeping Beauty.”

“Yes, but it is a word as well. It means doing something harmful, something bad. In the forest around the castle were a lot of maleficent creatures, preying on the poor families who made their homes in the poplars. One of them hurt the prince’s wife, and though he, the princesses, and the queen tried very hard, they couldn’t save her, and she died.

“The prince was very sad when she passed away, and his little boy was, too. The prince continued to fight for the poplar people though, but his heart had been hit by a spell. It hadn’t turned to stone, because a heart of a stone doesn’t feel anything, but it had become unable to feel joy, though, and as the prince fought the maleficent creatures with all the bravery he could muster, all he could feel was grief, and sadness. His heart had turned to ice.” Those had been the darkest days of his life. The hurt had been overwhelming, and left him numb to everything.

“But the little boy? Didn’t he make him happy?” Angela asked, voice small.

“Well, the spell did allow him to feel love for his little boy, of course.”

“Isn’t that being happy?”

Patrick sighed and rubbed his eyes. This was more difficult than he had originally anticipated. He took Angela’s little hand in his, toying with her small fingers, stroking her chubby palm with his index finger. “Most of the time, feeling love is a happy thing, but not always, Angel girl.” He hoped she would never come to experience that. He pushed the scenarios that would mean she did out of his head by kissing her hand.

She giggled, rubbing it along his cheek. “You feel all rough, daddy.”

“That’s because I should have shaved, darling. Now, do you want to hear how the fairy tale continues?”

She nodded.

Patrick tucked her back under his arm, inhaled deeply, and went one. “One day, one of the princesses helped the prince to save one of the poplar people. They had done it before, but this time it was special. The princess had seen that the prince was grieving, and had tried to help him in her own little way, by asking him how he was, and by helping his little boy.

“After they had saved the woman, the princess stayed to talk to him.

“He listened to her, and it was only when she went away that he realised she had spun her own little spell. It had touched his heart, and slowly thawed it.” He remembered the way the smoke fell apart around her face, like a hazy halo, blurring the sharp contours of her wimple. She had spoken softly, in that lilting manner of hers that was now so familiar to him. When she had taken a drag from his cigarette, he was acutely reminded of how his mouth had been on the filter only seconds before, and how she now probably tasted him on her tongue. The thought had been strangely erotic. He had wondered if she had liked the taste of him.

“The prince wanted to be with the princess forever, wanted her to come and live in his tree and be his wife, but she was a princess, and she wasn’t supposed to marry.

“The princess was very confused by all of this. You see, she had only meant to help, hadn’t even realised she had cast a spell on the prince. But you know something? The prince had put a spell on her too, without him knowing it. Her heart, which she had tried to lock away in a box so that no one could take it, had felt his touch, and it wanted to be held again. She wanted to give her heart to the prince, but that would mean she would have to leave her sisters, and she didn’t want that, either.” He hadn’t only touched her heart, but her hand, too. He had wished to touch a lot more than that, but as she had stepped away from him, he had realised how he had acted on his deepest, most secret fantasies, and had ignored everything else. It had been one of the most desperate things he had ever done, and one of the most egotistical ones.

“So what did they do? The prince and the princess, I mean. What did they do so they could marry?” Angela whispered, chewing her lip.

“Well, here it gets a bit sad, darling girl. Remember the maleficent creatures that had taken the prince’s wife away?”

She nodded, furrowing her brow in anger.

“One of the creatures found the princess as she was helping the tree people, and it hurt her. The princess didn’t know it, but she was sick, and got a little bit more ill every day. When she found out, the queen, the other princesses, and the prince had to send her to a kingdom far far away, so she could heal.”

“Why didn’t they do that with the wife of the prince?” Angela asked.

“You clever girl!” Patrick grinned, pressing a kiss to Angela’s head.

She pushed his face away. “You tickle.”

“I do. But as to your question: not every spell the maleficent creatures put on people could be taken away, and the prince’s wife was enchanted by such an evil spell, by such a powerful curse, that no one could help her.”

Cancer.

The word still put a shiver of fear and hurt through him, making his heart throb.

And though tuberculosis caused the same reaction, he knew that they could cure that now. Science was progressing so incredibly fast… He prayed that his children would not feel his desperation and terror at these words. One day, they would be diseases of the past.

“Daddy?”

He snapped out of his reverie and rubbed his eyes. “Uhm… as for the princess: it wasn’t too late for her. She went to live in another castle, where three good fairies made her better.”

“Like in the film! What were the fairies called?”

“Streptomycin, para-aminosalicylic acid and isoniazid,” Patrick said.

Angela raised her eyebrows. “You’re making that up. Those aren’t real names.”

“No, Angel girl, those are anti…” He cleared his throat. “The names of the fairies don’t really matter for the story. Anyway, the princess was very far away, trying to get the curse undone, and the prince and his little boy missed her terribly. The prince’s heart was thawing, but it was still so very icy that he feared it would crack if the princess didn’t come back, or perhaps freeze again, this time completely, and then he would never be able to feel happy again.

“To make sure she wouldn’t forget him and that she knew he loved her terribly, with all of his heart, icy or not, he wrote her long letters.

“But she didn’t reply, and he grew ever more afraid for her, and his heart became a little colder every day.”

“That is because she was asleep, daddy. She was enchanted to fall asleep by the evil fairy,” Angela decided.

“Right you are, Angel girl. That was probably it,” he said, kissing the crown of her head. Come to think of it: TB did make the sufferer very listless, and the Triple Treatment was effective, but hard on the body. Shelagh had probably slept a great deal in the sanatorium.

“Did the prince then fight a dragon?” Angela asked.

Patrick rubbed the nape of his neck. “Not exactly, no. The three fairies defeated the curse, you see, and the princess could come home again. She called out to the prince and his little boy to let them know she was coming back.”

“But they couldn’t marry.”

“Not if the princess were to remain a princess, no, but she had decided that maybe she’d rather be the prince’s wife and the little boy’s mother than a princess.”

“That is daft. She had pretty blue dresses,” Angela murmured.

“She could have pretty blue dresses if she was a wife instead of a princess, too, Angel girl.”

“Oh.”

“Yes. So, the princess called out, and the prince heard her, and left the forest together with his boy to escort her on the way home.

“It was a good thing they did, because the princess got lost. There was a thick fog that had come rolling in, and it hid everything.

‘How are we ever going to find her?’ the prince exclaimed, feeling his icy heart beat very fast in his chest.

“But his little boy was cleverer than the prince, and he kept his eyes and ears and heart open, as they searched.

“They found her, and she wasn’t wearing a blue dress anymore, but normal clothes, and the prince knew then that she had made her decision. Though she loved her sisters very much, she loved the prince and his boy even more.

“The prince draped his cloak around her and held her close. The spell that she had cast chipped away the last of the ice that had frosted over his heart, and for the first time in a long time, he felt happiness again.”

“And they lived happily ever after?” Angela murmured, eyelids drooping like flowers without water.

“They lived happily ever after,” Patrick agreed. He took his little girl in his arms and carried her to bed.

“And is that how you and mummy met?” she whispered, voice breathy with sleep.

“Something like that, yes,” he answered, but she was fast asleep.

#call the midwife #call the midwife fanfiction #turnadette #fanfic friday #patrick turner #angela turner #shelagh turner

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bythexdreadwolf · 5 years

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DAY 03: QUILL

FARANNI LAVELLAN//LIAWYN LAVELLAN. FARANNI LAVELLAN//SOLAS. Word Count: 1734.

Would the cycle of revenge ever satisfy itself?

“Riddling templars with arrows is all well and good and you’re an excellent shot,” Finn had said, handing her an ornate box that housed the quill she now spun in her fingers, “But Dorian and I think it might help with your emotional constipation to write some of it down. It’s supposed to be...I don’t know, therapeutic, I guess. And it’ll help with your writing.”

What Lia would’ve done.

For all your cleverness, you always were sort of airheaded.

What would you have done?

Would I have read it? Or would I still be so blinded by anger over your leaving that I would’ve-

For what she had done. For what she could have done. For what she had lost.

“Breathe.” Solas told her.

“A wise notion,” Solas agreed, kneeling down next to her. His hand never left her shoulder, “But I think it is unwise that they left you alone to do it.”

“I couldn’t write while they were watching,” Faranni confessed, “So Finn asked Dorian to keep an eye on me, but-”

“If I had not seen you, I would not have known something was wrong either.” He admitted, “You told me what Dorian and Finn think you need. Tell me what you think you need.”

“People who care about me?”

“Of course,” Solas rose to his feet, coaxing her up with him, “Do you think Finn and Dorian did this to torture you?”

“Well, no, I-” She steaded herself against him, warmth spreading through her body where it had been cold just moments ago, “I thought Finn wanted to reign me in.”

“You don’t have to give it to me.”

“Then...what am I supposed to do with it?”

“Like Dorian said, keep it. Or we can burn it.”

“Yeah,” The thought of burning her pain, her anger, her shame, bright a smile to her face, “Let’s burn it.”

#:story time with a #char: faranni lavellan

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lala-kate · 8 years

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Pulse Points: Chapter 9

I can’t thank all of you enough for your lovely reviews and support of this story. I appreciate every one of them so very much, and I hope you enjoy this chapter.

You can read it here or on ff.net

The kitchen floor was cold. Thank God Robin was too numb to notice how uncomfortable it was or to worry about how his lower back would ache tomorrow when he forced himself to get out of bed.

No. Numb wasn’t the right word. That would imply that he felt nothing, and that wasn’t true, not in the slightest. The problem was that he felt too much.

His body had shut down, as if it had overheated while trying to absorb too much information at once or was trying to reboot with a system update gone horribly wrong. One moment he’d been rubbing his arms, trying to stop his skin from sliding off of his bones, reminding himself that he couldn’t leave Roland alone no matter how badly he wanted to run out into the frigid air and scream until he was hoarse. The next he’d plopped down on the tile, his back propped against his stove as everything around him seemed to freeze in time and place, including his insides.

The woman he was falling in love with was alive because his dead wife’s heart beat inside her body.

Of all the things Robin ever anticipated having to deal with, this assuredly wasn’t one of them. How did one process this? What was the right response? Was he supposed to shun one woman because she lived while another had died? Would embracing a chance at happiness mean dishonoring the memory of the woman whose death had made it possible.

Marian. Her name pulsed a steady tattoo against his temples, and he closed his eyes, summoning up images of the woman he’d loved over half of his life, one who’d given him a son he loved with every bone in his body, a woman who’d been taken from him unfairly and left him to raise their child on his own.

He stared at his hands for no reason, hands that had held and loved two women, wondering what to make of all of this, of the fact that another child raised by a single parent was the one who’d written him that letter, that bloody letter that had just turned his world upside down. It had been Henry. Henry Mills was the child who’d thanked him for saving his mother’s life, who’d felt the need to reach out to the person who’d helped ensure that he hadn’t been left an orphan. It had been Henry Mills who’d benefited from his rather befuddled decision to donate Marian’s organs because he knew that’s what she would have wanted, Henry Mills who’d been given back his mother because of that action, the only parent he’d ever had. Marian’s heart had saved his mother--Regina Mills, pediatrician, adoptive mother, single parent, child advocate, new lover, bruised soul.

Regina. God, Regina.

His arms almost hurt with the need to hold her, yet his heart cinched at the thought. What did it say about him that he was relieved she lived when the only reason her heart still beat was because Marian hadn’t needed it anymore? Was he betraying his wife’s memory if he allowed himself to pursue a relationship with the woman cradling her heart in her chest? Would he see two pairs of deep brown eyes whenever he gazed into one? Would their tastes and textures mingle? Would a ghost take up residence where uncertainty now dwelled?

Would he be making love to two women as he broke apart and spilled out into one?

Was he losing his fucking mind?

He buried his face in his hands, rubbing his beard, reminding himself that he needed a shave even as he knew he wouldn’t touch a razor today. He needed to see her--Regina--to hold her, to comfort her, to tell her….to tell her what, exactly? What the hell was he supposed to say when he didn’t know how to feel? How was he supposed to comfort her when he feared that doing so would be a betrayal of his marriage vows? He was thankful Roland was sleeping, then cursed himself for taking advantage of the fact that his son was sick. What sort of shit dad was he, anyway, sitting here, worrying about his love life when his boy was upstairs battling a fever?

He jumped at the soft knock on the door, startled back into the present. How long had he been sitting here, he suddenly wondered.

Robin adjusted his sweats as he stood, rubbing a hand over his hair, hoping neither his breath nor body stank as he paused to clear his throat before opening the door. Before him stood Alonzo, holding a silver pot.

“Soup,” the older man stated. “For you and Roland.”

Robin stood there, mutely staring at his father-in-law before shaking himself out of his stupor and motioning Alonzo inside. The cold followed him through the front door, chilled air stinging Robin’s face, a sensation he welcomed before he closed the door and locked it.

“You didn’t have to do this,” Robin stated as he followed Alonzo into the kitchen. How had he missed the fact that the older man’s hobble had become more pronounced, that he favored his left leg over his right, that his spine seemed to curve inward at a more inclined angle than he had remembered? But the man’s smile was as bright as ever, completely in synch with dark eyes he’d passed on to his daughter and grandson, and he fastened them directly on Robin after setting the pot on the stove.

“Chicken and gnocchi,” he stated, touching the lid. “And you know I had to. It’s Roland’s favorite.”

“Thank you,” Robin said, doing his best to smile, failing miserably. His voice was hoarse, ragged, even, and he cleared his throat. “Would you like something to drink?”

Alonzo stepped forward, reaching into his worn, khaki overcoat’s inside pocket and pulling out a small bottle of Maker’s Mark.

“I brought you something to drink,” the older man said, placing the bottle in Robin’s hands. “I thought you could use it.”

Robin stared at the bourbon, craving its burn before setting it on the counter and looking back at his father-in-law. That’s when he saw it. That’s when he knew.

“August told you?”

The question tumbled out over his lips, the words chilled and uncertain.

“About Marian’s heart?” Alonzo asked, touching Robin’s shoulder when the younger man nodded. “Yes, mio figlio. He told me.”

Tears pushed against his eyelids again, and he swallowed hard, trying his hardest not to break down yet again as Alonzo guided him wordlessly into the family room. He wiped his cheek, doing his best to remain quiet and not wake Roland, but self-control eluded him when they finally sat down on the couch and the older man put his arm over his shoulders. Something cracked open inside of him, something dark and misshapen, and he sobbed freely then, unable to help himself as Alonzo gathered him to his chest and comforted him the same way his father would have done when he was younger.

“Let it out,” Alonzo whispered, cupping Robin’s head as if he were a boy. “It’s alright. It needs to come out of you, all of this grief. It only hurts you by staying inside.”

It poured out of him as if a dam had been broken, all the grief and guilt he’d been keeping at bay for longer than he could remember, guilt for not being the one behind the wheel, for sometimes forgetting the sound of Marian’s voice, for wishing he could let go and move on even as he did his best to make certain her son never forgot her. Guilt for surviving when she--the better one of the two of them--had died. Guilt for craving the kisses of another woman, one who’d run out of this very house when she’d realized she carried a part of his late wife inside her body, guilt for needing to make love to that woman right now to somehow drive out the inner demons tearing both of them apart. Alonzo absorbed it freely, rocking him, holding him, giving him permission to feel emotions he couldn’t begin to label.

He didn’t know how long they sat there, only knew that he felt both drained and cleansed when the tears finally stopped and his breathing began to even out. He blinked repeatedly, surprised to see that Alonzo had been crying, too, and he drew back from him then, taking the older man’s hand within his own and giving it a squeeze.

“Thank you,” he muttered, his words barely audible. “I know this can’t be easy on you, either.”

Alonzo shook his head then, squeezing Robin’s hand in return.

“That’s where you’re wrong, figlio,” Alonzo returned, his eyes still wet. “I’m now more at peace than I have been since our Marian died.”

Robin sucked in a breath, his eyes widening at the older man’s revelation.

“You’re surprised?” Alonzo asked. “You shouldn’t be, you know. Knowing that my daughter’s heart lives on, that it gave another little boy his mother back, and that that mother is a good woman with so much love to give that Marian’s heart feels at home in her chest...yes, it gives me incredible peace. It’s exactly what she would have wanted.”

He swallowed again, shaking his head, trying to process.

“I’m glad for that, too,” Robin managed, withdrawing his hand to rub his face. “And I know...I know she’d approve of Regina, that she’d be happy that Henry still has his mother, that she’d want her heart to give another mother life, but…”

He paused, seeking words that wouldn’t come.

“But…” Alonzo prompted gently. “What’s troubling you so much?”

Robin exhaled through his mouth, blowing out air in place of words.

“It’s...I…,” he began, shaking his head in frustration. “Can I love them both, Papi? Am I being unfair to Regina or unfaithful to Marian if I do?”

Alonzo smiled before inhaling sharply.

“You haven’t called me Papi in years, you know,” he said, eliciting a small smile from Robin. “I didn’t realize how much I missed it until now.” He then paused, looking up at the wedding photo that hung on the wall, the one Regina had stared at nearly a week ago when she’d come over for their date. Marian smiled down on both of them, looking radiant, beautiful, and so very much alive that it hurt. “As for your question, I can’t answer that for you, figlio. Only you can know the answer to that.”

Robin chuckled, casting Alonzo a wry look.

“Some help you are, old man,” he said, making Alonzo laugh out loud.

“I prefer Papi, thank you,” he stated before looking back up at the picture of his daughter. “Robin, if you need my permission to love Regina, you have it, you know. You also have Frankie’s, Marco’s and August’s. We all want nothing more than for you and Roland to be happy.”

His chest tightened, and he gazed into the eyes of the first woman he’d ever loved as he stood and walked directly to the photograph, touching the frame, stroking her face through slick, cool glass.

“What about hers? Do I have her permission?”

His breath was weighted as he considered his own question, and he wished she could speak to him, that she could tell him face to face that it was alright for him to move on, to pursue Regina, to love the woman who now carried her heart within her ribs. He heard Alonzo’s uneven shuffle behind him, felt the man’s soothing presence at his right side.

“What do you think?”

He could smell her then, the almond scented lotion she so adored filling his senses in a way it hadn’t since her passing. It caressed him, engulfed him, wrapped him up in a past life he’d treasured before vanishing just as quickly as it had arrived. His palm flattened against the glass as tears filled his eyes once again, forcing him to swallow and breathe.

“She’d want me to move on, to find love again.”

The words tasted both bitter and sweet, like spun sugar mixed with fresh lemons, like the promise of spring.

“Yes,” Alonzo agreed. “She would.”

He inhaled deeply, filling his lungs with the present as the past prickled his skin.

“She’d approve of Regina,” Robin continued, his brow creasing at the realization. “And of Henry.”

“I agree,” Alonzo said. “I think our Marian and Regina could have been great friends had they ever met.”

Robin smiled at this, thinking how odd it felt to consider both women breathing in the same lifetime. But they had--they did. One had just been taken away sooner than the other.

“You know,” Alonzo continued. “I am remembering how long you and Marian loved each other, how you found each other at such a young age. And then, just how quickly you were attracted to Regina, how there was just something about her you had to know.” Alonzo paused, looking at Robin directly, his dark eyes sincere. “I am thinking that this heart--Marian’s heart, now Regina’s heart--that it was designed just for you, that it’s connected to your own heart in some way, like they’re two halves of a whole. Perhaps they’re soulmates.”

A small laugh escaped him as the power of Alonzo’s words took root. Something popped then began to grow inside his chest, a warmth, a certainty, a sliver of hope that started to burn with possibility and promise. He looked back up at the photograph, at his younger self, at his wife, seeing a blessing in her eyes he’d never before noticed.

“Thank you,” he whispered, feeling her again, understanding that moving on didn’t mean losing this beautiful piece of his past. Marian’s memory would always be a part of him, a beautiful, strong part that fastened him together and urged him to enjoy every aspect of life that he could. Life had never been easy for her, yet she’d embraced it through the pain, through the bad spells, had flourished both because of and in spite of her lupus. She’d taught him how to live, had made him a father, and would certainly be pushing him out the door right now if she were standing here beside him.

Go, she would have said with that half-smile of hers that had always enchanted him. Get out there and live, Birdbrain. He laughed as her voice echoed in his mind, as the nickname she’d given him when he first tried to kiss her sang in his memory, as her touch reverberated through bone and marrow.

“What do I say to her?” Robin asked, his mind clawing out of its muddled state into a brilliance that was somewhat frightening. “To Regina?”

Alonzo smiled back at him, patting him on the back as a tear trickled down his cheek.

“That’s easy,” the older man stated. “Just tell her whatever is in your heart.”

______________________________________________________________

Her feet hurt.

Regina slid her low heels off of her feet and massaged her toes, making a mental note to herself that tomorrow she was wearing her Go Walks, regardless of whether they matched her outfit or not. Her lower back grumbled as she made her way to the sofa and plopped down on top of it, too weary to think about eating even though she knew she’d skipped lunch.

The truth was food wasn’t all that appealing at the moment. An unexpected encounter with a certain, bearded gentleman had left her stomach uneasy and her nerves on edge.

An explanation would be lovely, too.

The words echoed in her head as his face played across her memory, his blue eyes ablaze, his expression tight. He’d been angry--angry and hurt, and God, she couldn’t blame him, not one iota. She’d run out on him without a word right after they’d made love, giving him neither an explanation nor a true apology. She’d even been too much of a coward to answer his texts or calls, and now even those had stopped.

He had every right to be angry. Christ, she was angry with herself.

Her hands reached for her cell phone, and she withdrew it from her pocket, staring at the screen, clicking on his name, fingers trembling as she considered sending him a text. But her mind froze, and words escaped her, fleeing into a world that was far less complicated than the one in which she was living.

Goodbye, Regina. His words still hammered inside her skull, making her ache all over, making her long for a man who deserved the woman he’d lost, not her. She was a poor substitute, and she knew it. She was weak. She was second best. Yet she was the one who lived because inside her chest beat Marian’s heart.

Marian: Robin’s dead wife. Roland’s mother. It was that woman, the one who’d been everything to the man she was half-in love with, the one who’d given him Roland. She’d been the one who’d had to die in order for her to live. How the hell was she supposed to tell him that? How was she supposed to handle the way he would look at her? The disgust and disappointment? The outrage? The outright rejection she knew would follow?

She couldn’t--she wasn’t strong enough. Her mother had told her as much all her life, that she was damaged, broken and weak. But Regina had rebelled against the notion of weakness, had balked at it, swatted at it, had shoved it as far away from her life as she could manage. But in times like this, when she felt naked and vulnerable, when her chest felt like a traitorous cavern, the words pushed back, like a hot air balloon inflating at far too rapid a pace and forcing her into a wall.

Weakness is unattractive. Weakness is a defect. Why don’t you just accept your life as it is and make the best of it?

She’d done the opposite of accepting limitations, however. She’d defied her heart condition, had gone to medical school, had finished head of her class, had adopted a son when her own parents questioned her sanity in doing so, and through that adoption she’d found a love like none she’d ever known, a love that bloomed inside of her and pushed her to keep going even when she’d felt like giving up. Henry was her everything. Henry was her life.

If only she’d left things as they were.

She should have been satisfied simply being a doctor and a mom. Things had been fine before Mr. Blue Eyes and Dimples had shown up in her life and made her tingle in places she’d nearly forgotten. She should have fought her attraction to Robin, should have turned him down when he asked her out, should have never let herself kiss him, touch him, talk to him, or undress him and taste his skin. She shouldn’t have opened her legs to his mouth, shouldn’t have taken him inside her body, shouldn’t have allowed him to come inside of her, shouldn’t have allowed herself to come on his tongue. But she had, and now a part of her was his forever, a part she could never get back even though he had already probably discarded it as a worthless piece of garbage. He’d imprinted himself on her very soul leaving marks she wanted to trace and memorize just as he’d done her scar.

God, she missed him. She missed what she could never have.

Hunger began to claw at her, and she knew she should eat, so she pushed herself off of the couch and into her kitchen. It was then she noticed the half prepared salad that had been left sitting on the counter and a pot of cold spaghetti left unattended on the stove. She looked around, wondering just where Henry and Mary Margaret had gone, noticing the house was unusually silent. Mary Margaret was always methodical about cleaning up, and a stab of fear sliced into her as she called out their names to no avail.

Her phone vibrated then, and she nearly cried in relief as Mary Margaret’s name flashed in her notifications.

Henry and I decided to get some ice cream. Cravings happen at the oddest times these days.

She laughed in relief.

They must. You forgot to put away the spaghetti and salad. Tell Henry a two scoop minimum.

She hit send before dumping the noodles into the garbage disposal, checking her new message as she closed the refrigerator door.

Sorry about that! I’ll buy you some more pasta if it’s ruined.

Regina leaned against the counter, her stomach prompting her to open the fridge and search for something for herself. She pulled out some leftover chicken and rice before moving to get a plate and answering Mary Margaret.

No need. We have plenty.

Before she could set the phone down, another text popped up.

Henry wants to know if he can join me and David for an early movie. We’re planning on taking in the 7:10 showing of Zootopia. Okay with you?

Regina raised her eyebrows, fatigue battling with her need to see her son as she texted her answer.

That’s fine. Just no sodas since he’s having ice cream.

She envisioned her son rolling his eyes at this, and she smiled, hoping they would have a good night out, knowing that the company of his godparents would be far better than her own tonight. But that meant she was going to be alone with her thoughts, and that wasn’t a pleasant prospect, not in the least, so she tossed her plate into the microwave before popping open a bottle of Malbec and pouring herself a generous glass. The wine tasted like heaven, smooth and rich, warming her empty stomach instantly as it made its way down her throat. She sighed in contentment and took another drink, knowing she really needed to eat something so one glass of wine wouldn’t have her completely snockered. But she stood there, taking sip after sip until her glass was empty and her body felt pleasantly fuzzy and weighted.

Regina welcomed the buzz, the way it made her insides tingle and her thoughts just a little bit easier to stomach. She pulled her plate out of the microwave and set it on the counter, instantly popping a piece of chicken in her mouth before deciding on impulse to put on her pajamas before allowing herself to eat any more. She’d revel in her own private misery tonight, would drench it in wine and feed it with Breyer’s Vanilla Bean, would try to lose it in a rewatch of While You Were Sleeping while snuggling under her favorite quilt.

She removed her makeup and her bra, glibly tossing the latter into the clothes hamper, realizing what a pathetic mess she’d made of her bedroom. This wasn’t like her--she knew this, and she closed her eyes as she slid on her favorite pair of flannels and pulled on thick, fuzzy socks, promising herself that she’d straighten things up tomorrow. Just because her personal life had come apart at the seams didn’t mean her bedroom had to look far worse than Henry’s.

It was then that her doorbell rang.

Her son must have forgotten something, she mused, and she tried to figure out just what he’d come all the way home to fetch as she made her way down the stairs. He had his phone, she was certain of that, and if he needed money, Mary Margaret and David would take care of him until she could pay them back. She unlatched the chain and opened her front door, her breath hitching in her chest as a half-formed question froze on her tongue.

“Robin.”

His name fell from her lips before she could stop it, and she stood there, frozen in time, staring at him as he stood on her doorstep, hands in his coat pockets, his cheeks red from the cold.

“What are you….what are you doing here?”

He took a step towards her as snow flurried around him. His breath formed an odd sort of halo around his head, and as he drew nearer, she saw that he’d been crying.

“Oh, God,” she asked, her heart constricting. “Is Roland okay?”

“Yes,” he assured her, his tone deep and raw. “Roland’s fine. He’s at home resting.”

She nodded as her body began to shiver, and she clutched the door, wondering just what she should say next.

“I’m not here because of Roland,” he added, looking at her in a manner she couldn’t read. Her mind ran in circles, making her dizzy as she stood there gaping at him.

“Oh?”

The word left her unbidden, and her gaze followed it to his face, all blotched from cold and recently shed tears. He could break her, this man, would probably do so tonight if he’d come to demand answers from her.

“I’m here to talk to you.”

Her stomach cinched, and she tried to swallow.

“Regina,” he said, his chin quivering. “Can I come in? Please?”

She nodded before she could think better of it, standing back to let him inside. The cold radiated off of him as he stomped snow off of his boots onto her rug before pulling them off of his feet. He set them beside the line of shoes by the door, looking to her to make certain he was doing the right thing.

“I’ll take your coat,” she said, the sense of him overwhelming as he took off his coat and extended it in her direction. He wore a muted green Henley, one that accentuated his muscles, muscles she knew intimately, ones she’d kissed and caressed, ones that had held her tightly as she’d cracked open around him. She breathed in and out, willing her hands not to tremble as she hung his coat on a hook and turned to face him.

He hadn’t shaved since last night, and he looked tired as his hands slid into his jean pockets.

“We need to talk,” he said, and she closed her eyes, his words weaving around her in a gentle vice.

“I know.”

Her heart thudded in her chest, as if trying to break free of her body and return to its rightful owner. Her stomach growled then, and he paused, looking at her earnestly.

“When did you last eat?”

She actually laughed at this, consulting her watch before looking back at him.

“About eight hours ago,” she stated, and he rolled his eyes. “It’s been a busy couple of days.”

“Yes,” he agreed, his tone difficult to make out. “It has.”

His demeanor was different than when they’d ran into each other at the hospital last night, far less hostile yet decidedly more nervous. Before she could ask him what had brought about the change, he was guiding her back into her kitchen and motioning to the plate she’d left sitting on the counter.

“Eat first,” he instructed, leaning against her sink as if he belonged there. “Please.”

Her stomach growled again, and he smiled, actually smiled at her in a way that made her knees practically melt. Shit. She couldn’t let herself feel this way about him, not when she knew she’d have to tell him the truth about everything, about her heart, about Henry’s letter, about the fact that she was alive because his Marian had died. Her fork paused halfway to her mouth, a piece of broccoli dangling just in front of her.

“I’m not sure I can,” she confessed. She made herself look at him, trying to keep herself together as her heart raced ahead of them both.

“You need to, Regina,” he stated. He was watching her as if he’d just met her, yet as if he’d known her his entire life. “Please. I won’t be comfortable talking with you until you’ve put something into your body.”

She popped the broccoli into her mouth, turning away from him as she chewed, feeling uncomfortable under his scrutiny. She poured herself another glass of wine and took a large sip before taking a bite of chicken.

“What if I’m not ready to talk?” she asked, avoiding his gaze for a breathless moment as she took another bite. He stared back at her, inhaling audibly as he looked down at his hands.

“I can’t force you to,” he said. “But I think it would do both of us a world of good. Don’t you?”

She swallowed the rice in her mouth, grabbing her wine to wash it down.

“I’m not sure,” she admitted, feeling her cheeks heat up as the wine added weight to her limbs. “Last night, you were so angry, as you had every right to be, but…” She paused, swallowing as best she could as her tongue and throat thickened. “I don’t know if I’m up for this, Robin, for what I have to tell you.”

Her fork dropped to the plate as her hands began to shake, and she ran her fingers through her hair, trying to calm nerves going haywire. He was in front of her before she realized he’d moved, taking her hands within his own, his own body trembling in time with hers.

“Regina,” he whispered, and that did it, she couldn’t look at him, so she closed her eyes, trying to block out what was coming even as all of who he was held on to her. “Don’t be frightened.”

She shook her head, breathing in and out, in and out, trying to focus, trying to swallow, trying to remain upright even though the room was spinning around her. Darkness was closing in, and she grew rigid, but his grip didn’t falter. It was just there, steady, gentle yet firm, almost burning her skin even as it soothed in a manner that made her want to cry.

“You don’t…” she began, trying to put her words in the right order. “You don’t know, Robin. I....I…”

He withdrew his hands from hers, and she missed his touch immediately. But then he was cupping her face with one palm, tipping her chin upwards, asking her wordlessly to look at him as he held something in his other hand.

“Regina,” he breathed as her gaze focused in on what she now knew was a letter. “I do know. I know it all.”

It was then that it hit her,that he held Henry’s letter, and she splintered apart from the inside out, shattering into a million pieces as tears spilled down her cheeks. Everything was black except for him, his face, his mouth, and she shut her eyes against him, fearing what she might find if she allowed herself to look.

“I’m sorry,” she managed, her words slurring together in a sob she couldn’t contain. “I’m so, so sorry.”

“No,” he breathed, his arms moving to her shoulders as her knees buckled. “No, Regina. You don’t need to…”

“I didn’t know,” she interrupted, daring to open her eyes, his face a muted blur through her tears. “I swear to God, Robin, I didn’t...”

She collapsed into him as her last word melted in her mouth, and he held her to his chest, easing them both down onto the kitchen floor as he made soothing noises into her hair.

“I know,” he whispered against her temple as his fingers stroked her scalp. “I know you didn’t, sweetheart. It’s alright. It’s alright.”

A wail broke free, and she held on to him for dear life, too lost to let go, too broken to care. She barely registered the soft kisses to her forehead, the gentle patterns his fingers drew onto her arm, the whispered words of assurance that brushed over her skin. She only knew that he was the sole warmth in a room suddenly gone frigid, and she couldn’t lose him, not now, not yet, not like this.

“Henry told me,” he muttered when her sobbing eased somewhat. “He found his letter in your pocket and somehow figured everything out.”

She swallowed and turned to stare at him, trying to make sense of words floating haphazardly in her brain.

“Henry?” she said, blinking repeatedly.

“Yes,” he stated. “Your son. He paid me a visit this afternoon to return this to me.”

She tried to sit upright, and he helped her maneuver until she was sitting next to him, both of their backs pressed up against the cabinets, their legs and shoulders still touching.

“He found it?” she asked, still trying to re-arranging puzzle pieces that wouldn’t fit together.

“In your pants’ pocket,” he added, wiping his own cheek. “He was smart enough to figure out that you must have found it at my place, and he somehow enlisted Mary Margaret, August and Belle to help him get it back to me.”

“Belle?” Regina questioned, obviously confused. “Belle French? The nurse?”

“Yes,” he said. “Evidently she’d come by the restaurant to eat when Henry and Mary Margaret came in looking for me. I was home with Roland, so August got dragged into their plan. The next thing I know, they’re all standing on my doorstep, asking if they can come in.”

She inhaled slowly, allowing her mind to sort through the details he was laying in front of her.

“He’s very brave, your Henry,” Robin muttered, reaching out and taking her hand. His thumb stroked over her knuckles, strumming emotions laid bare just under her skin and making her shiver. “He told me everything, about your transplant, about how it wasn’t your real birthday last week, about how he wrote that letter without you even knowing about it because…”

He paused, clearing his throat as his own voice thickened.

“Because of how guilty you felt,” he breathed. “Because someone else’s heart allowed you to live.”

She swallowed hard, wiping her nose with the back of her hand.

“Marian’s,” she managed, the name burning her tongue. She looked at him then, seeing a flash of something bruised yet beautiful as he gazed back at her.

“Yes,” he whispered. “Marian’s.”

“You were there,” she muttered, still wrapping this reality around her. “In the hospital, while I was in surgery. You were there grieving while....”

She faltered, and he held her as she felt his own tears against her skin.

“While your life was being saved,” he said, sniffing and wiping his face. “I know.”

“You don’t care?”

The question hovered between them, silent yet weighted as he slowly shook his head.

“I care very much,” he answered with a slight shrug. “Just not the way you think.”

“What do you…”

“I’m glad it’s you, Regina,” he stated, his words coming out in an emotional rush. “That you’re the one who got a second chance at life, that you’re the one that Marian’s heart saved. I’m glad...” He choked on the words, inhaling sharply beside her. “And Marian would be, too.”

Her head was swimming in circles.

“I’m not her, you know,” she said, the words tumbling over each other as they came out. “I’m not as strong as she was, Robin. And I know you’d rather have her, I do. And I don’t blame you…”

He silenced her with his mouth, pressing it up against her own, holding her face as he kissed her and stole her breath away. His lips were soft, tenderer than she remembered, and she allowed her lips to move against his, their slow dance as gentle as the brush of a butterfly’s wings. She gaped at him when he drew back far enough to touch his forehead to her own, her heart standing on tiptoe as his thumb caressed her cheek.

“I don’t need you to be her, Regina,” he breathed. “I loved Marian with everything I had, and yes, a part of me will always miss her. That’s only right.” His breath was hot against her lips, his skin as warm as an electric blanket. “But I ache for you.”

Their eyes met and locked, and for a moment she couldn’t breathe. She could only stare at him, touch him, wonder at the mystery of what was happening, revel in the frantic fluttering of her heart against her ribs.

“What are you saying?” she asked, her words barely audible even to herself.

“That we all deserve a second chance, Regina,” he uttered, his tone low and private. “And somehow, Marian has given us both one, together.” His hand dropped from her cheek to her chest, pressing gently over her ribcage as she cradled his head to her shoulder. His tears dripped onto her flannel as a stray one of her own fell into his hair, and she kissed the top of his head, holding on to him with an urgency that half terrified her. “Don’t leave me again. Please.”

She closed her eyes as she shook her head.

“I won’t,” she whispered, pulling him closer as her heart thrummed against his palm. He planted a soft kiss to her chest, directly into the V-neck of her pajama top and on top of her scar. Its intimacy nearly shattered her, and she breathed him in, trembling as his breath and finger continued to stroke her ribcage. “I’m with you. Always.”

“Always,” he muttered, holding on to her with a calm desperation she shared that somehow promised forever.

#Outlaw Queen #oq ff #Regina Mills #Robin Hood #Pulse Points #Laura writes

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