#the land before time III the time of the great giving

[90smovies]

[ultimateanna]

Album name: The Land Before Time III: The Time of the Great Giving

Song name: The Night Flower (Ending Music)

[albinofetus]

Survival song during covid-19. Or any bad situation in general.

[cherryheairt]

Hidden Truths

Cregan x Wife!reader

pt. 1

named reader (aye-leese) no description, from house Glover.

summary - Cregan comes home from war with a scandalous surprise, much to the horror of his wife. Though, it is not all that she expected when she heard of her husband's infidelity.

Inspired by Ned and Catelyn Stark (obviously lol)

It had been four moons since Cregan Stark returned from King's Landing, ending the war and placing Aegon iii on the Iron Throne. Four moons since he presented his bastard for all to see, declaring to his wife that they would raise the boy as a legitimized Stark.

Aelys Glover, now Stark, had never thought her husband would betray her in such a brutal way. To bed another woman down in the South, in a time of war, to father a bastard. To give the bastard his Stark name.

She hadn't even had her first babe yet, due to the young couple deciding to spend their first few years of marriage having each other all to themselves. Had it all been a lie from Cregan? A masterful deceit to make his mistress' son his heir? Perhaps he had regretted their marriage and chosen to disregard any of her future children, thinking her genetics undesirable. Whatever dull excuse he had, it would never be enough to balm her heart.

People whispered about which mother's son might be Cregan's heir apparent.

It was not yet decided, and would not be until years ahead when Aelys showed if she could bear him more sons or not. Until she did, Brandon Stark would be Cregan's unofficially heir as his eldest son.

Aelys had refused to share a bed with Cregan since the night he returned. She would not perform her marital duties anymore, not until she was either dead or he forced her, which she knew he at least had the honor to not. Aelys would give him no children of her own, spitefully intending to leave the Stark line to a bastard who would forever be known to the world as such.

She would make it clear that her husband's stupidity would end the Stark's honorable history streak. The babe would be legit, yes, but never trueborn. It was said that bastards were born nasty and cruel, and Aelys had not believed such rumors until she met the babe herself. Her spite grew in spite of her previous kind and understanding nature, driven to hate the babe without knowing him.

Even with the same House name as his father, the boy was nothing like him. He seemed to carry his mother's traits, instead, whoever she was. Dark black hair and even darker eyes to match, though the Northern pale skin Cregan carried had stayed through the genetic battle.

At least Cregan did not bring her home, too. If he had, Aelys would have thrown herself from The Wall in shame and disgrace. She would not be the other woman in her own marriage.

His words when he returned burned at her heart, even now the dust had not settled nor had the fire quelled.

"It was a one-time tryst, I swear this to you. A night of vulnerability, when it got rough in King's Landing." He said, voice strained and undereyes dark with the heavy weight of guilt and responsibility. She'd never felt such an intense urge to hit a man before.

His bastard sister, Sara Snow, a woman whom Aelys had grown to see as her own sister and close confidante, returned from King's Landing a month after her brother.

She looked even worse than her elder brother, who still could barely hold Aelys' eyes when she wordlessly passed him in the halls. She looked gaunt and exhausted, though she claimed that the journey back was tiring. Sighing, Aelys could only welcome her back into the Great Keep to catch up over all that she had missed. Apparently, Sara had stayed in the Riverlands for most of the moons Cregan had hosted in the Crownlands. She was housed by the Blackwoods, becoming fast friends with Alysanne Blackwood and Davos Blackwood, the fierce aunt and nephew who fought together against the Greens.

No useful information about the whore that Cregan had bedded that night, Aelys bitterly thought for a moment. Then, a wave of guilt and regret hit her. It was not Sara's fault for her brother's mistakes. She was truly glad to have the conpany back, seeing as Winterfell had felt cold and emptier now that Cregan was back than it ever had before. She had been avoiding his for these four moons, leaving only a few rooms accessible for her privacy and peace of mind.

She never entered the nursery room's entire hallway. Even when needing something past it, she chose to go the longest possible route to avoid it. She didn't wish to think about the boy more than she already did. She saw him during dinners, being presented to Cregan by his wet nurse before being put down to sleep for the night. Those mere glimpses were plenty to feed her anxious mind.

Today, the adjacent hall towards the Keep's hotsprings was closed. "A few cobblestone in the wall have cracked, m'Lady. You mustn't enter for one might accidentally fall on you." A young servant boy had informed her, thoroughly apologetic as she sighed and headed him. The nursery's hall was the only one that also held the door outside, lest she chose to go all the way around the outside of the keep in this blizzard.

The thought was tempting but childish. Steeling her courage up, Aelys had fixed herself to stride past the door. She could not help the subconscious glance inside, seeing the glimpse of curly black hair laying alone in his crib, but wide awake and almost flailing around in a fuss.

Looking around, Aelys was surprised to see not one attendant or wet nurse. From her experience with babes, they were rarely left alone unless they were sleeping. Even then, some mothers and nurses liked to hover to ensure its safety while unconscious. Aelys stepped into the dim room, finding that Brandon's attention immediately focused on her. He whined out, reaching out grabbing hands toward her. Grimacing, she reached into the crib to lift him up, holding him at a safe distance from her face.

Up close, she could reluctantly admit that the babe was cute. He was well-doted on in the Keep by all the maids and even visiting Lords. Though his parentage was questionable and whispered about, none actually had the courage to ask why the boy had been legitimized so quickly. Aelys guessed it had been the circumstances. Aegon, the new King, was young and suseptible to influence, so legitimizing a bastard like Brandon was done without question.

"What are you fussing on about, you spoiled thing?" She asked, though her tone was soft and gentle. Brandon smiled a gummy smile, face lifting as he reached out again for her. This time, she allowed him to rest on her shoulder as she supported him, gently rocking back and forth as she stood. The faster he was asleep, the faster she could leave without feeling like a monster.

She already had that feeling nagging at her mind too much. Hating a babe took a lot of energy. She knew it was wrongfully placed, but Brandon's very nature and sire had wronged her more. The physical reminder that his father had not loved her.

Soft snores filled the room as she hummed lowly, the vibrations and comforting sound putting the fussy tot to sleep quicker than she had anticipated. Gently placing him back in the cot, she hands gripped the wooden edges harshly, a sharp contrast to her previous touch. Was she betraying herself for not demanding that the babe be taken away? Warded with another great House until she finally had a son? No. Cregan would never allow it, even as Lady of the House she held no true power over the Warden.

Turning, Aelys was met with her husband in the doorway. Silent as a stalking wolf, he leaned against the doorway and looked upon his son and wife with pools of affection. There was a slight gloss to them as she looked closer that she opted to ignore. "Cregan." She greeted curtly, moving to slide past him and speak no more of her presence in the nursery.

"He has a way of melting one's heart, does he not?" He asked, tilting his chin to look down at her. A branch, left out and hanging by Cregan's strong arms. Too bad that she did not need it.

"He disgusts me." She said instead, shouldering past him and continuing back to her rooms. She changed her mind in the few minutes that she spent with the bastard Stark boy. She could stay here no longer, could not bear for her own husband to bring this embodied lie to live in the very home that she did. Wouldn't raise any children to be in their older brother's shadow.

Ignoring the hushed plea from Cregan, Aelys went straight to the Maester's tower. Maester Parek had been a helpful and understanding ear for Aelys to rant to when dealing with arisen problems, whether with her moon blood, achy bones from the cold, or questioning if any ravens had come from mysterious women. None had, as far as she had been told. That is, if Parek had been entirely truthful to his Lady.

Hurriedly knocking on the man's door, it was soon opened after a grunt of physical labor had been heard from the other side. The Maester had always complained about his bad knees and how they were made worse in the winters.

"Lady Stark?" He asked, shocked to see her at midday. It was a rarity, as she usually made her visits in the morning after she broke her fast.

"Maester." She greeted, shifting on her feet. "I need to send a letter, urgently."

"May I ask to whom?" He inquired, earning a solemn nod from the young Lady.

"I'm sorry, Parek. It is private."

"Of course, my Lady. The room is yours." He bowed and left the chambers to occupy himself while she busied herself as well. She immediately made for the small attached room in the tower, made into a raven nest hundreds of years ago. A few perched black birds squaked or raised her heads at the unfamiliar sight curiously, but they were well-trained and did not spook.

Bending over the crickity desk, she quickly drafted a messily-writen yet vague letter.

Father,

Some troubles have come up in Winterfell, and Cregan Stark has advised me to return to House Glover's protection while he deals with matters here. I will be returning swiftly, though the snow will hinder the horse a few days.

See you soon,

your dearest Aelys.

As soon as she finished, she hastily melted the powder blue wax and sealed the direwolf sigil onto the rolled paper. Tying the scroll to a raven's foot, Aelys sent it off. The bird would reach House Glover's Maester quickly, and in the meantime she would ready herself for departure.

As she was shoving clothes and pelts into various bags, the very ones that carried her belongings to Winterfell over two years ago, Aelys could not stop the hot, angry tears that fell to her cheeks. Wiping away at her face with scruffy sleeve fur, gifted to her by Cregan himself, Aelys felt the frustration and loneliness sting at her soul. The loneliness was a choice on her part, most would say. That she was dramatic and most Lords sired bastards. She should be grateful he did not bring the mother back, too, and house her in his home next to his Lady Wife. All whispers she heard from her ladies-in-waiting, whom she immediately dismissed from service upon hearing such impudent things.

She would not be subjected to the humiliation. She wanted love, and she once had it. Oh, she had it. Cregan treated her like a goddess walking amongst humans for the moons they spent together before his leave to King's Landing. If she could not have Cregan's loyalty or love, she would at least find a man who she did not have high expectations for. An older Lord, perhaps, one who just wanted a young and pretty woman to give him final heirs during his last years of life. Aelys would know her role, then, and would live contently knowing she did not love foolishly while expecting faithfulness in return.

First, this marriage had to be annuled. In Lord Glover's home, she could easily ask for such a thing. The marriage had been commsumated, but there were no witnesses and no babes to confirm this to outsiders. Aelys would simply have to claim that she and Lord Stark never once bedded before he left to find another woman, and then she'd be an unmarried Lady once more. A Glover, not a Stark.

She realized she'd been quite fastidious in her packing. Unlike her carriage ride to Winterfell, her luggage could not be carried easily on one horse. She picked only one of her bags, with the thickest dresses and warmest pelts she had, rushing out of the room while clipping a cloak over her shoulders. Dark blue in color, Aelys almost cursed at the thought that almost all of her wardrobe and fine things had been gifts from Cregan. Her pelts, gloves, and even the horse that she would take home.

Cobalt, she had named the steed, noticing how his pure black coat almost gleamed blue in certain lights. Cregan had a wide and cherishing smile on his face as he walked the young stallion out of the stables a few days after their wedding. They often took walks on trails in the Wolfswood together on horseback, just their muffled conversations filling the still air. She remembered every moment with her husband fondly before he tarnished everything. Now, she knew all of it to be a facade, just like any other Lord in Westeros might have done. At least other men had the decency to be nasty plain to your face, unlike the Stark.

Aelys sneaked into the armory to pick up a few extra things, knowing no one would occupy the room when the whether was so unfortunate.

Striding towards the stables with squinted eyes, Aelys shivered at the temperature change. Luckily, the journey would be quick, with only a few days to walk on horseback. Cobalt was a resilient horse built for such harsh weather, and she was a Northern woman through and through.

She attached the bag and waterskin to Cobalt's saddle after she tacked him up. His long and unruly made quivered in the breeze as the light blizzard raged on as it had been for two days now. It did not deter her. She attached her bow and quiver to the other side to keep weight even, knowing she'd have to hunt for herself during the journey.

Steadying herself on the saddle, Aelys glanced once more at Winterfell's Great Keep, where Cregan was surely in his study or councilroom. She squeezed Colbalt's side lightly to urge the percheron onwards, giving herself no room for second guessing her choices.

At the wall's gate, the two snow-covered men regarded her with weary looks. "My Lady, there is a blizzard—" Ron Frasel told her, ginger brow upturned in question.

"I have eyes, Ron. I will return soon, I have buisness in Winter Town." She said tiredly, not wanting to be interrupted by the men at such an important time. It would not be long before a maid reported her missing.

Ernest, the guard's most frequent partner, inquired gently. "Will you require any assistance, Lady Stark? I'm sure Lord Stark would feel more at ease knowing you are escorted."

"He is fine with me going on my own, it is a short ride." She said curtly, anxious for Cregan to find out about her plan.

Ernest nodded and gestured for the iron gate to be lifted. "Safe travels, my Lady." Before bowing his head politely.

As Aelys walked through the opened gate, she urged Cobalt to a faster trot to create quick distance between her and Winterfell before she set up camp.

Ron shared an uneasy look with Ernest as the woman passed. "Lord Stark has never allowed her out without a guard before." He whispered.

His friend nodded, eyes glancing between her fading figure in the snow and the Keep. "Perhaps we should go see Lord Stark himself, just to be safe."

Ron shivered. "If he finds out we let his wife go into the blizzard without him knowin', who knows what'd happen to us."

"Quickly, then." They were both skidding off towards the Keep with no time to waste.

[umbrella-show]

ᴏʜ, ɪ ᴊᴜꜱᴛ ᴄᴀɴ'ᴛ ᴡᴀɪᴛ ᴛᴏ ʙᴇ ᴋɪɴɢ!

When you were transported to this world, you had just so happened to land in the unexplored forest close to the Cookie Kingdom. You had quickly stumbled across it and were seen by a cookie.

You were soon connected to the Legend of the Baker and cookies insisted you should  officially become ruler of the Cookie Kingdom.

Custard Cookie III was a bit reluctant at first. He did really want to be king, but you were the Baker. You were WAY more important than him. You should definitely rule!

However, the minute you were officially crowned, he ran up to you and begged you to teach him how to be a great ruler so one day, when you step down, he can rule.

And you, being sympathetic and not thinking of a reason why this could be a bad idea, accepted.

Ever since, he’s been visiting you whenever he can and persistently asking about what you do as a ruler.

He wants to know everything. He wants to become a just and powerful king when he eventually takes the throne!

As he gets to know you more, visits become almost daily. He rants to you about anything and everything.

He mostly rants about what he would do as king. How he would help his kingdom thrive. It warms your heart, watching him talk about his desire to make sure every cookie in the kingdom would be happy under his rule.

Eventually, the idea of inheriting the throne almost makes him feel a bit bad. If you ever had to give up power, it would be because something bad would have to happen to you.

He doesn’t want that! It makes him feel sad. He’s not ready yet.

All of his worries and emotions eventually boil over during one of his visits. He cried and hugged your leg as he told you his realization through tears. 

You spent a while comforting him until he stopped crying, reassuring you weren’t going anywhere anytime soon.

Despite the emotional visit, he acted completely fine the next day when he ran into your office and eagerly began ranting and asking you about royal advice.

He does that the most. He asks you about what you do as ruler and asks you to teach him how to do it so he’s prepared.

Overall, he really looks up to you. He wants to be just like you. He’s like a younger sibling, copying everything you and proclaiming he’ll be just like you. Just like the legendary Baker.

“Why are you looking at so many papers?”

You looked over at Custard Cookie III, who was standing on a chair and peering down at the document you were currently reading. He was visibly confused, his eyes trying to read it. His voice raised as he grew slightly frustrated at the hard time he was having trying to read the document.

“I can’t understand any of this! What does frivolous even mean?!”

You only chuckled, tapping your pen against the table. You gently ruffled his fluffy golden hair, causing him to pout and complain.

“H-Hey, watch the crown!”

Smiling, you stopped, returning to your previous task. Your eyes were glued onto the document, carefully reading word by word. Your eyes shifted from one word to the next and Custard could easily notice the intense focus in your eyes as you carefully read the fine print.

“Most of these papers are about approving trades from the Jelly Bear train and other suppliers, which I have to sign. Some are letters from one of the other Kingdoms that are mostly invites for dances or just meet ups. A lot of those are from the Hollyberry kingdom and Golden Cheese Kingdom.”

You responded, looking over the last paragraph and signing your signature at the bottom of the paper. You set the multiple paged document aside, grabbing another from the pile and starting the process all over again. Custard poted, raising his handmade scepter into the air and declaring.

“Well, when I’m king I’ll ban paperwork, so you’ll never have to do any again!”

You chuckled, finding his naivety amusing. You put your pen down, flexing the stiff muscles in your hand and stretching your arms in the air. Silence filled the room as you stretched, before you felt Custard suddenly grab the hem of your outfit, gently tugging. He looked up at you, his face troubled and his voice soft.

“Can we do something else?”

You stared at him, then the papers, then back at him. He was making puppy dog eyes. You could feel your resolve weaken at the sight. You softly sighed, getting up from your office chair and grabbing your coat. You could see Custard was beaming from the corner of your eyes, making you smile as he hastily grabbed his scepter.

“Alright. How about a walk through the garden?”

“Yay!”

You giggled at his excitement while you buttoned up your coat and walked over to the office doors, holding them open for him. You watched as he raced out the door and took your hand, practically skipping down the halls. You smiled as you saw he occasionally glanced at the banners and decorations hung on the walls.

“I can’t for this all to be mine one day. I’m going to be the best king anyone’s ever seen!”

“I believe you will.”

You quietly agreed, squeezing his hand reassuringly. He giggled as he began to run quicker down the walls and pulling you with him.

“I can’t wait to be king!”

Dont focus too much on the Baker's design I'm still tryin to figure it out 😭 🙏

[niningtori]

for the hope of it all | parts i-iii

pairing(s): choi beomgyu x you, choi soobin x you

summary: you've been in love with beomgyu since the first time you saw him, but he sees you as nothing more than a good friend and faithful wingwoman. when he asks you to help him catch another girl, who just so happens to be one of your closest friends, things get complicated.

genre: ANGST, melodrama, romance, smut (mdni), fluff at the end

warnings: smut (mdni), beomgyu is a fucking asshole but he gets better, manipulative!gyu, unprotected sex, creampie, fingering (vaginal), oral (f. receiving), dom!gyu, dirty talk, praise, if i missed anything lmk!

word count: 18.7k

notes: ... hi. literally nobody asked for this, but i realized that part 2 of this work didn't even show up in the tags, so i decided to compile all of the previous parts as well as the ending together. hopefully, you all enjoy this. i'm still struggling, but i pray you all still like it even if it's not me at my best. feedback is always appreciated :) thank you!

part i: august

beomgyu really likes her — like, really— and who can blame him? you certainly can’t. chaewon is a lovely, lovely girl, so it should come as no surprise when beomgyu asks you to, in his words, help him bag her. you’re not one with a particularly strong character at the best of times, so when he practically begs you to convince one of your closest friends that he’s actually not the heartbreaking manwhore he definitely is, you can’t find it in yourself to say no.

it doesn't help that he has enough charisma to charm even the most indifferent target he sets his eyes on, it doesn't help that he's so handsome it makes everyone either want him or want to be him, and it most certainly doesn't help that you've been in love with the boy for the entire time that you've known him. him asking absolutely anything of you would result in you relenting, so when he asks for something as seemingly inconsequential as setting him up with a mutual friend, accepting it is a matter of course. does it hurt your heart to see him pining after someone else when you basically consider him as your soulmate? of course. but his happiness means more to you than your own. if she makes him happy, then so be it.

that's what you tell yourself, at least.

-

beomgyu doesn’t know that you love him — he can’t possibly know — or else he’d treat you differently, right? you don’t want that. you don’t want anything to change, at least not in the disastrous way you anticipate confessing your love to him would go, so you’ve kept your feelings close to your chest to keep him from suspecting anything. you think you’ve gotten pretty good at concealing your feelings. for example, you laugh when he tells you about his sexual escapades, and you don’t hesitate to give him advice on how to woo the girls who are wary of his lasciviousness. you only want to show him the good parts of you, carefully tucking any ugly seeds of jealousy or sadness away from his prying eyes.

the thing is, though, beomgyu is not stupid; and to your never-ending misery, you are not the greatest actress. he can see the crestfallen look on your face for the split second before you can contort your features into a smile. he can hear the tremble in your voice as you force out a laugh. with his godforsaken intuition, he can sense the hesitation in your movement when you playfully push him aside as he over-dramatically recounts his latest raunchy fuck. 

all of this has no discernible consequence, though. if anything, your feelings have been his faithful friend and ally when it comes to conspiring with you to land whatever girl piques his interest at the moment. you may not be a prospective partner, but you are a great wingwoman, he’ll give you that much. and that’s exactly what he needs when dealing with chaewon, who has proven to be a particularly tough nut to crack. he doesn’t usually go for people he would consider friends, if only because he doesn’t like dealing with the messy aftermath, but her refusal to look his way is just too entertaining. he has no earthly idea why this cat and mouse game intrigues him the way it does, but he’s hooked like none other, especially because her reasons for pulling away when she’s definitely as attracted to him as he is to her are unclear. maybe she just doesn’t want to seem easy? whatever it is, he likes it. he likes her.

-

“so what's the plan?” soobin asks. 

“what do you mean?” you blink as you turn towards him, effectively taken out of your daze. you've been staring at a new instagram picture of beomgyu for at least ten minutes now. there's not much going on in it — it's just a candid taehyun took of him — but you can't stop the yearning you feel in your heart as you wish you had been the one to take it, instead.

“i mean, what's your big plan to ‘help’ him this time?” there’s a trace of resentment in his tone as he puts air quotes around “help”. you know he thinks you're just wasting your time on a boy who will never feel the same way you do, but what can you do? you still love him.

“i’m… i’m just going to talk him up to chae, no big deal,” you say rather unconvincingly, because it is a big deal. it’s the biggest deal in the world to you.

“and what are you gonna say? ‘hey, i know you know beomgyu is garbage, but deep down, he’s actually not garbage even though, even deeper down, he really is?’” his words are sarcastic and, for lack of a better term, downright hateful. 

“he’s not garbage, binnie,” you chastise. “he’s actually really sweet once you get to know him.”

“sweet? sweet how, exactly?” he sneers. you just sigh and shake your head. beomgyu is a frequent point of contention in your friendship with soobin, but you don’t know how to overcome it. mostly, arguments surrounding him devolve into conversations like the one you’re having right now. 

“he puts on a tough act, but he’s not really like that on the inside,” you insist. “you just don’t know him like i do.”

“and thank god for that,” he snorts, and you frown. you can tell he feels guilty by the way his expression immediately softens. 

“hey, i’m sorry,” he says, tucking your hair behind your ear. “i just don’t like to see you hurting.”

“i’m not hurting,” you lie. “i’m totally fine. it’s just… i just want to see him happy.” you actually do mean that last part. beomgyu, though seemingly carefree, is actually a lot more insecure and sensitive than one might think. you know this because he’s shown you that side of him many, many times, which must mean that he trusts you like no one else. you are honored to be the one he feels comfortable with, and even if it never amounts to anything more than that, you’re thankful you get to see how he really is. 

“and you think being with a new girl every week will make him happy?” he softly asks, no edge to his voice, but his words hurt even more than they did before.

“it's different this time, binnie. i'm serious. i've never seen him like this before. i think he really likes her.” and the words almost kill you to say, but you mean them, anyway. 

“okay,” he relents. “just do what you want to do. i’ll be there for you no matter what.” 

“thank you,” you reply with a small smile, before putting your nose back into your phone and staring at beomgyu’s pictures again. you don’t catch it, but soobin sighs as he watches you. 

-

you’ve been trying really, really hard. usually, all you have to do is talk about good points about beomgyu, and women fall for it hook, line, and sinker. chaewon is not most women, though, and she makes that abundantly clear with the polite smiles and airy laughs she gives you when you try to bring up beomgyu. 

you don't get it. if you had beomgyu’s attention, you’d never let it go, so it makes no sense to you how someone could have it without taking the opportunity to seize it. if it were you, you’d seize it. if it were you, you'd tell him you’ve loved him since the first time you saw him. if it were you — well, it doesn't really matter, does it? because it isn't you. still, you can’t help but dream.

the sentiment that it will never be you becomes clearer and clearer as you watch beomgyu try to initiate conversation with chaewon at his very own house party you are currently attending. you watch from the sidelines as they sit uncomfortably close together, legs flush against one another, as beomgyu wraps his arm around her shoulder and pulls her in to whisper in her ear. you like to think you’re content with him being with her even if it means you’ll be without him, but it’s difficult to feel that way when you actually see it playing out before you. your heart feels like stone weighing heavily in your chest as she giggles at whatever he says, and you think that things might start looking up for him before her smile suddenly melts into a little frown. 

without warning, she pries his arm off of her and gives him a perfunctory smile before standing up and smoothing out her skirt. then, she grabs her drink from the coffee table and he's left alone. his previously delighted expression is now filled with irritation and disappointment. you're still staring at him, just trying to get a read on the situation as you're left reeling, and before you know it, he's looking up at you. you're a little embarrassed at being caught, but you realize you can play your intrigue off as objectively analyzing the situation in order to help him better. surely he’ll fall for that, right? every time you say something similar, he buys it with no further questions.

he makes eye contact with you then nods towards his room as a silent plea to talk to him in private. if someone were to ask you how you’re able to deduce all of that from one look alone, you’d probably say it’s because you know beomgyu like the back of your hand — and maybe you do, but it’s like a subconsciously trained reaction more than anything. just as you know what beomgyu will do next, he knows you’ll understand his seemingly innocuous gestures. 

you head up the stairs and beomgyu shuts his bedroom door behind you. you prepare to launch into your readymade explanation as to why you were rubbernecking earlier, but he speaks before you can say anything at all.

“why isn’t it working?” he huffs. “did you talk to her like i asked you to?”

“yes, of course i did!” you eagerly insist. you would never lie to beomgyu — well, not about this, at least. your secret feelings are another story. 

“then why does she keep rejecting me?” he huffs. you wish you could answer him. truly, you do. you scramble for the right words, but you sincerely can't wrap your head around her logic, or lack thereof. 

he’s still waiting for an answer, though, so you think back to the recent conversations you’ve had with soobin, and you realize there’s only one plausible conclusion. 

“she just doesn’t know you enough, beoms. if she knew how you really are and how much you like her, she wouldn't act this way; but honestly, she probably thinks you’re just messing with her,” you explain, and you hope beyond hope that he doesn’t take it the wrong way. you don’t want to hurt his feelings by suggesting that his (newly) former playboy ways could be ruining his chances with her.

beomgyu’s feelings, of course, are not hurt. in fact, he just feels more annoyed than anything else. it’s really fucking irritating how he can’t seem to get a read on her or her intentions. she likes him, he can definitely tell, so what’s the problem with him having a messy past? it’s clear that it doesn’t bother you. well, it does, but in a different way. you’d forgive his previous transgressions in a heartbeat if it meant that he’d look your way, so why can’t she be the same? but then, he supposes that comparing someone as lovesick as you are to a normal girl is a bit unfair. 

but why are you so lovesick? it’s obvious that he’s handsome and funny, so falling for him is only natural, but your devotion is on another level. not only that, but you’re devoted in spite of the fact that he clearly wants nothing to do with you. in all honesty, it’s almost like you love him even more when you see him chasing after somebody else... then suddenly, the solution is clear. he has to make her think he doesn’t want her; and the easiest way to do that is to pretend he’s interested in someone else. in the same vein, who better else to pretend with than one of chaewon’s closest friends? you’re absolutely perfect for the job.

beomgyu’s demeanor goes from irritated to self-satisfied, and it puzzles you to no end. maybe he figured out a way to show his true feelings for her? but then why is he looking at you with such intensity? he’s never looked at you this way in the many years that you’ve known him. wait, did he realize something?  please, god, don’t let that be the case. you really don’t think you can —

and your train of thought is stopped when beomgyu strides over to you and locks the door behind you. you look up at him with confusion in your eyes before you finally register what that intense gaze of his really is: predatory.

suddenly, his lips are on yours and you’re holding back a squeal. your eyes widen as he cups his big hands around your cheeks and pulls you in even closer. he tastes like alcohol, which is to be expected, but there's a certain uniqueness to his taste that you can't really put into words; and you’re able to taste it even more as his tongue enters your mouth. you groan at the action, and surprisingly, he does, too. 

you always assumed kissing beomgyu would make you feel like everything was finally right in the world, and it does — it really, sincerely does — but there’s also a certain spark you were not anticipating. something a lot more fiery, and it shoots straight to your core as your tongues tangle together lasciviously. beomgyu seems to know this, and he smirks into the kiss before trailing his warm mouth down your neck. you gasp at the sensation, which just makes him laugh. 

his hands have traveled from your cheeks to your chest, one staying there to grab at your tits while the other one carelessly finds its way up your skirt. 

“so wet,” he whispers in awe when he rubs his fingers against your soaked panties. “is this all because of me?” you feel your cheeks warm and you’re stammering out your next words.

“w-well, i —” 

“is this all because of me?” he repeats, and you give him a feeble nod before covering your face in shame.

“cute,” he snickers, and your previously warm cheeks are now scorching to the touch. 

he moves your panties to the side and rubs against your sensitive clit, which sends pulsations through your entire body, but that’s nothing in comparison to how you feel when he presses a finger into your dripping hole. 

“you’re so tight,” he whispers, lust clearly written all over his face at the prospect of being in your pussy relatively soon; but he wants to enjoy this, he wants to enjoy the way your face screws up as he presses his finger so deep, he’s hitting places previously untouched. he slowly pulls it out, grazing your most sensitive spot with ease before adding another digit in, making you almost groan from the stretch. you bite your lip to avoid making such a sound, but beomgyu pays your attempted discretion no mind as he starts to hammer his fingers into you at a brutal pace. 

it doesn’t take long for you to come undone around his skilled fingers, and once you’re done pulsating around him, he takes them out for a taste. 

“so good,” he remarks, and though your breathing is heavy and your eyes are hazy, you still have it in you to feel embarrassed. he takes your smaller hand in his and leads you to his messy bed, carelessly sweeping every loose item — a t-shirt here, an old cd there — off of it in one go. he lays you down and hungrily licks his lips once he strips you down until you’re fully unclothed. 

you’re feeling extremely small in this moment. you know beomgyu has had his pick of the litter when it comes to women, so you can’t help but wonder how you fare in comparison to the literal bombshells he’s been known to take home. mostly, though, you wonder how you compare to chaewon, as awful as that sounds. if you really think about it, there’s no comparison to be made, really. she’s her, and you’re you. what else is there to say, honestly? still, you’re comforted by the thought that you are the one underneath him right now, not her, and he does not seem disappointed in the slightest if the tent in his jeans means anything at all.

before you can think too much about it, he’s practically tearing his shirt off and you can’t help but stare. his torso is lean and a little paler than the rest of him, probably due to the lack of sun. objectively speaking, he’s no greek god or anything similar, but to you, he’s the most beautiful thing you’ve ever seen. if he notices your awed reaction, he doesn’t say anything or really care, because he is simply too busy studying how perfect you seem to look under his dimmed lights. again, he is delighted at the prospect of being inside of you very soon.

he unzips his jeans and slides them, along with his boxers, off of his slim thighs and you can finally see him completely. his cock is a red so deep it’s nearly purple, with evidence of his lust leaking out of its flared tip. you’ve heard a lot about beomgyu’s physique from stories, his and his hookups’ alike, but nothing prepared you for the real thing. you’re not a virgin or anything, but you’re still unsure of how you’re meant to fit him inside of you. and you have no idea how you’re supposed to approach the subject. 

beomgyu does not seem to understand your internal battle, though, because he wastes no time in lining himself up with your entrance. before he pushes in, though, he drags his cock along your soaking wet seam just to coat himself in your slick. when he feels he can’t take any more of his own teasing, he begins to push in.

“j-jesus christ!” he exclaims as he tries to push his tip through your entrance. “are you a virgin or some shit?”

“nngh — n-no! i-i’m not. i’ve — mmh — i’ve had boyfriends before,” you say as best as you can while dealing with the feeling of him literally fucking you open. you’re worried he’s not enjoying himself in light of his outburst and his decidedly strained expression. 

“god, s-so tight,” he drawls. “feels so goddamn good.” he draws his hips back before pushing in again, further this time, and his words of praise seem to comfort you somehow, because he’s able to sheathe himself completely in you. 

he groans when he feels your gummy walls wildly contracting around him — unsure of what to do with the pleasurable intrusion and working tirelessly to simultaneously push him out and pull him in. you, on the other hand, feel nothing but full. you’re so full you ache, so after a few moments of adjusting, your watery eyes are filled with an insatiable sense of pleading. 

“you okay?” he asks, actually somewhat sweetly.

“y-yes — ah — i just feel w-weird,” you say. “feel so — fuck — full.” your seemingly innocent words drive him to the brink of insanity, so with reddened eyes, he grabs your hips so hard, you know he’ll leave marks in his wake, and without warning he begins drilling into you.

his thrusts are not calculated or intentional in any sense — they’re rough and fast and show his desperation. why he’s so desperate, he has no idea. beomgyu is sleazy even on a good day, so women come a dime a dozen, but he feels an unquenchable need he feels will only be satisfied if he continues to fuck you like a man gone mad. so he does.

your breasts bounce with every thrust and while he wants to grab one, his thirst only makes him want to go even deeper in you, so he employs his hands to manhandling you into a mating press. the new position has him going even deeper, and you can feel him hitting your cervix with each nasty snap of his hips. tears at the sheer feeling of being overwhelmed spring in your eyes and you have to clamp your hand over your lips to keep from crying out.

“let me hear you,” he pleads while gently moving your hand from your mouth and not-so-gently fucking you like a breeding whore, and he’s not sure if he’s saying it because he wants to make sure chaewon hears or just because he desperately wants to hear you for himself. 

“fuck!” you exclaim, tears flowing freely down your cheeks. “s-so big!”

“oh, sweetheart,” he rambles, “who were you fucking before? they didn’t deserve this tight little pussy. they didn’t fuck you like you deserve to be fucked — like a good little whore.” 

“‘m n-not a whore,” you tearily insist, somehow convinced that he means his words. you’re not completely inexperienced, but you’re not a whore, right?

but your innocence only makes him wanna ruin you more, claim you completely. 

“you’re taking cock so well, but you wanna tell me you’re not a whore?” he snickers meanly, and you feel so delirious, you find yourself agreeing with what he says. 

the lewd sounds of skin meeting skin and the sharp knocking of the headboard fill the room, and the heat you feel building up inside of you has you seeing stars. beomgyu pulls you in for a sloppy, wet kiss as he finally lets one of your legs down in order to snake his hand against your clit, which he languidly rolls in the midst of his pistoning in and out of you. 

“are you gonna come for me?” he asks as his lips part from yours. “are you gonna come all over my cock?” 

“y-yes, please,” you sob. “wanna come!”

“then do it, baby. let go for me,” and with the way he’s rolling your clit while fucking into you, you can’t help but comply.

he hisses when he feels you contracting around him, tightening up even more than before and pulling him in impossibly deeper. that’s all it takes, really, before he comes undone himself and sprays his thick, hot load into your spasming pussy. 

he collapses on top of you, and both of you take a few moments just to catch your breath before he pulls out of you with a wince. he’s absolutely enthralled by the way the mix of both of you two’s cum leaks out of you as soon as he does so. he’s almost tempted to swirl it back in and plug you up, but his rational side stops him before he can do anything he’ll regret. 

“are you on the pill?” he asks, and you nod.

“good, go ahead and get a plan b, too. just in case,” he says with a quick kiss to your forehead, and you nod with a delirious smile even in spite of his pedantic words. you’re just so happy you got to sleep with him, be closer to him.

“oh, i almost forgot to actually tell you,” he laughs. “i think fucking you will make chaewon jealous. i think we put on a pretty good show tonight, don’t you?” 

and your heart and your hope and your dignity shatter like nothing else. 

“y-yeah,” you try to reply with a laugh, but it sounds more forced than anything else you’ve ever heard in your life. “it was a really good show.”

-

“you slept with him?!” soobin asks, and he seems beyond frustrated. if you had the guts to look him in his eyes, though, you’d notice just how much hurt is in them. 

“y-yeah…” you mumble, face downcast.

“why? why would you do that? you’re just going to be even more hurt!” he exclaims, and you shrink into yourself even more, not out of fear, but out of pure shame. 

“i don’t know! it all just happened so fast, a-and i, i don’t know, i just couldn’t stop myself,” is all you manage to say. soobin groans at your words. 

“you do realize that getting over him is going to be even harder for you now, right?” he asks, and you finally look up at him for a second before looking back down and nodding, and it’s almost like you’re a child who got caught doing something they knew was wrong.

“i know, and i’m sorry,” you mutter, still struggling to make eye contact, but soobin catches your timidity and his gaze is softened as he pulls your face up to look at him. 

“you don’t have to apologize to me,” he sighs. “i’m just worried about you, you know?” 

“i know, i know. but i’m still really sorry.” and you don’t have to elaborate on why that is because you both know that he’ll be the one helping you pick up the pieces when this situation inevitably breaks your heart even more than it’s already broken, if that’s even possible.

“it’s alright,” he says, pulling you in for a hug that’s so warm and kind you almost burst into tears. “you’ll be alright. i’m here.” 

-

this is a bad idea. soobin would yell at you if you told him what you’re up to, but you don’t want to think about that right now. all you want to think about is how much better you’ll feel after you get your secret feelings off of your chest. up until now, the fear of rejection has made you too afraid to tell beomgyu how you really feel, but things can’t get much worse than they are at present, can they? it’s only been a few days since your hookup with beomgyu, but your love is eating you alive and you doubt that you’ll be able to hold it in for much longer.

things will probably go badly, and he’ll probably be completely blindsided, but the thought of continuing to lie to beomgyu’s face hurts more than anything else ever could. even more than the pain you feel every day that he unconsciously hurts your feelings. maybe this will ruin your friendship, but you love beomgyu, and he loves you, even if it’s not in the way that you want. all you can do is hope that your friendship is strong enough to overcome this.

with that mindset, you find yourself at his doorstep on this particularly cool summer night. you know he’s home because you can hear the faint sounds of whatever movie he’s watching emanating from his door. before you can lose your nerve, you begin to rapidly knock. before long, you hear the shuffling of feet nearing you, and you almost bolt then and there, but he’s quick to open the door when he realizes it’s just you.

“what are you doing here?” he asks, agitation apparent. oh god, were you interrupting something? what if he was working? what if he was sleeping? you should've texted before just showing up unannounced. 

“i-i’m sorry, are you busy?” you ask sheepishly.

“... no,” he says after a slight pause, and he opens the door to let you in. you sit yourself on his couch, posture ramrod straight due to how fucking uncomfortable you are, and you try to steady your breathing as you fiddle with your fingers. 

“is this about chaewon?” he asks, breaking the silence, and your heart aches at the trace of hope in his words.

“n-no, nothing like that. i just —”

“is there any update on that?” he cuts in before you can even get your words out.

“oh, um, not really,” you reply before remembering that something has happened, but you’ve been so out of it, it genuinely didn't occur to you to tell him. “wait, actually, she mentioned that you seem different lately, but she, uh, she’s still… well, to be honest, she’s —” 

“what? she’s still what?” and there’s no patience for your rambling to be seen.

“she’s still not interested in dating you,” you mumble, unable to look him in the eyes when you say it. he’s completely silent after your words, and when you do finally gather enough guts to actually look at him, you really, really wish you had just kept your face down. because he’s pissed. 

“are you fucking with me? she really said that?” he asks, and you nod. 

“why didn’t you tell me earlier?!” and you feel so disoriented at the way things are unfolding that you can barely croak out a reply.

“i-i forgot.” 

“you forgot? jesus christ, if it’s not about her, then why are you here?” he seems angrier than you’ve ever seen him, but his words get you to finally remember what you’re here for.

“i just… i needed to talk to you,” you say pleadingly, looking into his eyes as you try your hardest to give yourself the strength to be honest with him.

“about?” 

it takes all of the courage in your poor little heart to choke out your next words. 

“beomgyu, you know, for the longest time, i’ve —”

“i know,” he impatiently snaps. you’re unsure of what he’s referencing, but you do know he has no idea about the feelings you’ve kept hidden for so long. 

“no. no, you don’t know, actually,” you argue, brave face on, but voice shakier than a leaf. “i just need to tell you that i —”

“that you love me? i know, that’s what i just fucking said,” he sighs irritatedly. “why else would you help me? ‘cause you love me so much, right?” he knows it’s wrong to take his frustration out on you, but you’re so pathetic, you make it too damn easy. you’re the perfect outlet for him to unleash all of his anger.

“you… you knew? this entire time?” you ask incredulously. you feel like you’re suffocating in the face of his callousness and disgust, and the room feels smaller than it did before.

“i mean, yeah. it was kind of obvious,” he muses. your cheeks feel so hot you’re sure you’re on the brink of immolation. it was obvious? if it was obvious, then why did he keep you around in the first place? because you’re useful when it comes to helping him get his dick wet?

“so… so why did you…” you trail off, still finding it inconceivable that the beomgyu you know and love could possibly know about your feelings; and not only are they unreciprocated by him, which you could understand and respect, but they’re nothing more than a fucking joke and means to an end. the end in question being burying himself into other women.

“why did i act like i didn’t know? because i don't feel the same way,” he answers, and you already knew it and knew it well, but that doesn't make it any more digestible to hear.

“y-yeah, but you — how could you still sleep with me? how could you do that to me?” you ask, lips wobbling and voice cracking. you can't believe this. you won't believe this. you have to be misunderstanding something somewhere. there's just no way this is it.

“because it was easy,” he says with a shrug, and your heart shatters into a million pieces. 

because it was easy. 

easy. what a funny word. you don’t think you even fully comprehend what it means in this context, actually. easy, easy, easy, but what part of this has been easy for you? every day, it’s like you’re killing yourself by trying to twist into what he wants you to be. a friend, a confidant, and now, even a lover. but lover is being too generous, isn't it? because he does not love you, not even as a friend, and this discovery becomes clearer and clearer as you think back to every time he’s shown you just how little he cares.

soobin’s litany of warnings come back to haunt you with a vengeance. 

he’s just using you. 

he’s garbage.

he’s just gonna hurt you.

and though you know soobin will take no pleasure in being correct, you can't help but dread the “i told you so” you know he will never be mean enough to say, but will inevitably think.

“i thought we were friends,” you say incredulously, dread and anxiety pooling in the deepest recesses of your heart. “i thought you cared about me” 

and he doesn’t shrug or anything because he doesn’t really need to, but he might as well seeing as how it clearly makes no difference to him. and this is finally how you come to understand that beomgyu is just as bad as everyone says. maybe even a little worse. and he will continue to act like a sociopath for as long as you let him. 

“i-i love you, i really do. but no fucking way. i won’t sit here and let you treat me like shit,” you declare, tears flowing down your cheeks so quickly and steadily you’d probably be unable to wipe them away even if you tried. luckily or unluckily, you don’t even have the strength to find out. 

“you’re going to regret this,” you whisper, and it’s said with such certainty that for a moment, he almost believes you. almost, but not quite.

either way, you’re booking it out of his door before he can even reply.

-

this is everything beomgyu ever could’ve asked for. chaewon is sitting next to him on his bed, eyes dark with lust as she unceremoniously grabs the end of her top and tugs it off. she's beautiful, no doubt about that, but he feels more and more like something is incredibly wrong. 

she leans in to press her lips onto his, but he flinches, scooting almost imperceptibly further away from her on the bed. she falters for a moment before sighing and crawling on all fours to situate herself between his legs. she begins to unzip his pants and tug on his waistband before he frantically stops her.

“w-what are you doing?” he asks, voice shaking.

“blowing you, what does it look like i’m doing?” she replies with a roll of her eyes. “i just wish i had known you wouldn’t be into kissing or, like, actual foreplay, but whatever.” she continues her movement to pull his pants down before he stops her again. 

“what’s wrong?” she asks curiously, before finally realizing that he is, to what would normally be his eternal shame, completely soft. her mouth drops in shock, and in another universe, beomgyu has enough energy to care. but not in this one. in this one, his eyes are teary as he feels an implacable sense of dread he can’t seem to shake off. 

“oh god,” she says with conviction, pulling herself back up and running one hand through her hair. “i knew this would happen.” 

beomgyu, on his part, looks somewhat out of it, but her words bring him back to earth. 

“knew what would happen?” he asks tentatively, sniffling for reasons unknown to him while he tries not to let his tears run over his waterlines.

“i knew you’d act like this because of her,” she says begrudgingly. 

his eyebrows furrow for a second, not because he doesn’t already know who she’s talking about, but because he doesn’t understand the correlation between you and the situation he presently finds himself in.

“think about it,” she says slowly, condescendingly. “who do you trust, like, actually? and i’m not just talking about with getting girls, but with everything.” beomgyu is silent as he tries to comprehend what she's saying, but he’s nothing if not slow on the uptake in regards to human emotion. 

“oh, beomgyu, come the fuck on,” she sighs in frustration. “i mean, when you were stressed about that presentation for your job, who did you call? yunjin told me all about it. she said you spent hours reciting a 15 minute presentation to the girl you supposedly don’t give a fuck about.” ah. he remembers that night, actually, and he remembers it well. he called you in a panic, so you brought over some dinner because you knew he was stressed, but he was so wound up that you didn’t leave and even insisted that he practice with you in order to give him feedback. he spent the whole night repeating the same speech over and over again, but you sat patiently and encouragingly as he repeated the boring, inconsequential drivel to you. you never complained, not even once, and you didn’t ask him for any compensation in the form of him doing something — anything — similar for you, either. even if you had, he realizes, he wouldn't have given any to you, anyway.

“that’s…” 

“and that’s not even all of it. who’s the first one you look for when you walk into a room? and when something good happens, who do you tell first? not anybody else, and i know for a fact that it’s not me, never will be,” she says bitterly. every new point slashes at his heart and ego.

and suddenly, things start making sense, albeit in the worst possible way. beomgyu loves you. his trust and dependence on you all make an awful sort of sense, but in a way, it’s relieving to finally be able to put a name to this feeling. his eyes still feel hot, but not so much because something feels wrong, but because things finally feel right for the first time in forever. he loves you, has loved you, and will continue to love you.

her words resonate with him so deeply, she can read it all over his face. it doesn’t take a genius to figure out that he finally understands, but he’s still missing an important fact. the most important fact, even. 

“yeah, i guess you finally get it now. you have feelings for her. and the worst thing is: you treat her like shit.” his eyes widen and the tears that were just threatening to escape are completely let loose. how could he only come to this realization after he already effectively stomped on your heart and your pure intentions? after you’ve made it clear that you don’t want anything to do with him anymore? and he has nobody but himself to blame, really; he practically shoved you away over and over and over again. 

“i-i didn’t mean to —” 

“sure, of course you didn’t,” she says with a sarcastic smile. “whatever makes you feel better for fucking over the girl who’s been in love with you for years.”

-

beomgyu may not know much about the inner workings of interpersonal relationships, but he does know he needs to see you, and he’s smart enough to understand that he needs to apologize. 

but beomgyu has never apologized for anything in his life — not unless you count the times his mother made him grit them out as a child when he would objectively do something wrong, but this is another matter entirely. nobody will be holding his hand as he does it, and he’s not even really sure where to start. but he knows he has to try.

surely there’s a better place to try than at the bar where he currently finds himself, but then, there’s no time like the present. not to mention that he has a sneaking suspicion that you're avoiding all of your mutual friends’ get-togethers for the sole purpose of avoiding him. if the blocking of all of his socials wasn’t enough, the blocking of his phone number certainly was.

it’s not necessarily fate’s fault that he finds himself here, either. he heard from a friend (chaewon) that you’d be here tonight. he sees you from across the bar looking lively and chatty, and he prays that the good mood you seem to be in will help soften the upcoming conversation with him. to his luck, you step out of the bar to take a call, so he slides from his seat with an open beer bottle in tow, and follows you outside. 

your back is turned, and he doesn’t quite hear what you’re talking about over the phone, but he does catch a giggle and a name, soobin’s, and it makes his heart ache. when you hang up, you turn to head back into the bar, but you’re met with his figure. 

“h-hey,” he says, and he wants to smack himself for the casual greeting he still managed to fuck up.

your eyes widen for a moment before they go blank, and you’re pushing past him without a response. 

“i need to talk to you,” he says, voice trembling as he grabs the back of your elbow, which you snatch out of his grip like his touch is poison. 

“about?” you ask curtly, barely even deigning to turn your head to look at him. you have never been so hostile towards anyone, let alone him, and it's making him spiral. 

“i’m sorry. i’m just really, really sorry,” he desperately apologizes. you’re silent for a few moments as you turn to completely face him with your arms crossed, and he’s trying his damndest to read your expression, but he can’t quite make it out.

“okay… and?” is all you say in response, and he fumbles over his words at your nonchalance. 

“a-and, um, i —”

“you know what?” you cut in with an impatient sigh and a wave of your hand. “i don’t care anymore. you’ve said enough.”

“but i —” 

“i don’t care, beomgyu.” and his name is said in such disgust that it sounds to him like it’s a chore for you to spit out. you’re about to turn and reenter the bar when his next words come tumbling out. 

“i think — i know —  i love you,” he says urgently, and your previously unreadable gaze turns into one of pure, sheer amusement. you’re so amused, you laugh, even. 

“what the fuck are you talking about?” you say between giggles.

“i-i didn’t realize it before, but i talked to chaewon, and she even said that i’ve probably always felt that way about you. i know i didn’t show it, but i really do love —”

“okay, just stop. stop it right there, beomgyu. i’m only going to say it just this once, so listen carefully, okay?” you ask, and he fervently nods. 

“okay. you don't know the first thing about love.” and he goes to interrupt you, but you don’t let him. “loving somebody means you put their feelings above your own. what the hell would you know about that?” 

“i’m… i know i was wrong, b-but i —” 

“beomgyu,” you say exasperatedly. “i’m so glad you’re finally reaching enlightenment, and i’m so happy i was cannon fodder for you to use to get there. but i just really, really don’t care anymore, okay? do what you want with whoever you want, but don’t bother me about it anymore, alright?” and he’s so stunned he can’t even form words, but you just shake your head and prepare to leave again. unconsciously, he goes to grab you again, which you consequently dodge, and he thinks this is the most rejected he’s ever felt before realizing it’s not over yet. it’s only truly over when you grab his bottle from him and splash its contents across his face before throwing the bottle back into his arms and leaving for good.

part ii: cardigan

beomgyu can’t tell if his eyes are stinging from the alcohol you splashed in his face or from the sheer humiliation he feels. maybe from both. probably from both. either way, tears fall as a result. he probably looks like a madman as he stumbles along the concrete on his walk home from the bar. he still has the beer bottle you shoved at him in his hand, and luckily for him, there’s still enough in there to help him get a little tipsier than he already is. he needs it, too, because your words play like a broken record in his head.

you don’t know the first thing about love. 

do what you want with whoever you want, but don’t bother me about it anymore.

each and every word feels like you knew exactly the right thing to say to pierce his heart, but he knows better than to think you cared enough to think about it to the point of choosing them so carefully. no, the words you said were what you really felt at the moment. you didn’t even have to try to hurt him, you just had to tell the truth. somehow, that hurts even more. 

he replays the entire debacle in his head and tries to think of what he could have said differently. to be honest, there are a lot things, but he has a feeling that no matter what he said, you would’ve reacted the same exact way. if he really thinks about it, maybe some small, ugly part of him hoped you’d forgive him as easily as you have always been wont to do, but it's clear to him now that he was just being delusional. maybe he was still under the impression that you’d be as easy to please as ever, but with how repulsed you seemed to be by his words, his touch, him, he has no such expectations anymore.

he now finds himself at an impasse. where does he go from here? you made it clear that you’re done with him, but he still loves you. you don't want his love anymore, so where is that love supposed to go? the only person he feels like he can ask no longer wants to speak to him. he’s unsure if he wants to turn to you because you’d understand, or just because you’re the only person he trusts.

needless to say, the walk home from the bar is a long one, indeed. one filled with pensive silence, save for the steady sound of swigs being taken from his bottle and the occasional sob. 

-

most people in your friend group have no idea what transpired between you and beomgyu, but the smart ones, like taehyun, know something must have happened by the way you avoid hangouts in which beomgyu is present like the plague. he doesn’t pry when you bail, though, for which you are thankful. a few weeks pass before you have the epiphany that beomgyu has already ruined enough, and you won’t let him ruin your friendships, too.

when you show up to taehyun’s for his celebratory house party in lieu of a promotion at his job, everyone cheers when you walk through the door, which makes your cheeks heat up, and you feel so relieved that your friends are still the same even when it feels like it’s been an eternity since you’ve seen them. taehyun pulls you in for a hug, and you eagerly reciprocate it.

“glad you made it,” he grins. 

“i wouldn’t miss it for the world,” you say with a smile, which just makes him beam even more.

you’re pleasantly surprised to note that beomgyu is nowhere to be seen, and you relax for a bit before falling into the familiar rhythm that is being with your friends. you missed this. you missed them. and it seems like they’ve missed you just as much if their excited chatter is anything to go by. you were, admittedly, a little tense when you first came in, but all of that melts away as you join in on the banter and pure fun that is being with the people you love the most.

although beomgyu is nowhere to be found, soobin still never leaves your side. he watches the door like a hawk, and you feel at ease with the knowledge that he’s beside you regardless of the outcome. so what if beomgyu shows up? you belong here, and you have soobin and the rest of your friends with you. knowing beomgyu like you do, his passing fancy has almost certainly ended and he will ignore you like the son of a bitch that he is. 

with this notion in mind, you are not at all prepared for the way the aforementioned boy slams taehyun’s front door open and drunkenly stumbles in. the room gets quiet after he does so, and everyone stares as he scans the room with blank, reddened eyes. when his gaze catches yours, you break eye contact almost immediately, opting to turn to soobin with what you hope is an unbothered look, not to keep up any pretenses with him, but because you don’t want anyone other than him to know how uncomfortable you are. in turn, he grabs your hand and laces his fingers with yours, giving your hand a small, reassuring squeeze, and he does not move to unlace his hand with yours even after he does it.

while you’re trying to be discreet, beomgyu is anything but as he continues to stare at you with a dumbed out look on his face. the intense atmosphere is only broken when taehyun stands up to greet him with a side hug and a pat on the other boy’s back. 

“hey, gyu. i’m happy you’re here,” he says.

“mm,” beomgyu replies, eyes still never leaving you and lingering at the way you and soobin have your hands joined, and taehyun’s casual side hug turns into him having to support beomgyu’s weight as beomgyu almost falls over while standing. 

“you’re really fucking drunk,” taehyun murmurs with a wrinkled nose as he smells the alcohol on beomgyu’s entire person. “c’mon, you can relax in my room for a bit.”

beomgyu can only nod as he leans on taehyun for stability and walks towards taehyun’s room. his gaze on you only breaks when taehyun shuts the door behind him, and if your friends didn’t know that something odd was afoot with the two of you, they certainly seem to know now as they look between taehyun’s room and your awkward figure.

“you okay?” a soft, sweet voice whispers. you turn to soobin and muster up a forced smile and a nod. his hand is still holding yours and he soothingly brushes his thumb over your hand in order to try to calm you down. somehow, it actually kind of works. 

-

you’re here. beomgyu thought he may be hallucinating or something just because you seem to haunt him everywhere he goes now, but he knew it was the real thing when he saw how uncomfortable you were. he knows this because in his delusions, you’re either flatout rejecting him or, in the good ones, you’re forgiving him. those are the ones he likes the most, but he hates the sobering aftermath when he realizes they are, in fact, only figments of his imagination.

so now he sits on taehyun’s bed in a daze as he focuses on the door. you’re so close that his heart physically aches in yearning as it insists on closing the distance between you two, but taehyun’s sharp look stops him from doing anything too terribly stupid. 

“this has got to stop,” taehyun halfway pleads, halfway scolds.

“what does?” beomgyu asks dumbly.

“showing up everywhere drunk as hell,” he replies. “look, i don’t know what’s going on, but i know it has to do with her, and i know you’re probably — definitely — in the wrong.” 

beomgyu has enough shame to hang his head and purse his lips in response.

“i don’t know what you did, i don’t know what you said, but whatever it was, i know you’re not making any of it better by getting fucked up every night. stay in here, sober up, and only come out when you’re ready to act like an adult.” and with that, taehyun stalks over to the door before shutting it behind him.

beomgyu is not stupid, but he’s not exactly emotionally intelligent, either; so while taehyun’s words sting, they’re not enough to pull him out of his pity party. all he seems to care about in this moment is being next to you, but he remembers the scene of your hands locking with soobin’s. are you seeing each other now? that can’t be it. the heart does not move on that quickly, but maybe yours did. maybe you buried your feelings for him as deep as they could go in the face of the seemingly repulsive confession of love he gave to you. maybe you belong with somebody like soobin, who’s so gentle and caring. soobin definitely listens to you, cherishes you, treats you gently. maybe beomgyu didn’t exactly understand it before now, but he really understands it at this moment: soobin loves you.

maybe, in a way, he always sort of knew. maybe he felt some sort of sick satisfaction at the way you kept your eyes trained on him while soobin was training his eyes on you. maybe he felt some 12-year-old boy kind of pride at the way you seemed to put him before anyone else in spite of such a viable prospective suitor, but any contentment he may have felt is flushed away at the anxiety of you having somebody so good right besides you — somebody who is obviously much better than him.

do you feel the same way? no, even before that, are you okay? he knows he hurt you really badly. are you still hurting? he wants to know. he has to know. so before he can talk himself out of it, he’s stumbling towards the door.

-

things are still pretty tense when taehyun walks out, but they begin to calm down after everyone asks if beomgyu is alright and taehyun answers in the positive, and you think you might just be in the clear before realizing things are never that easy. beomgyu stumbles out of the door and his gaze immediately locks on you.

“hey,” he says a little too loudly. the room is quiet, and though he didn’t say who he was addressing, it’s obvious it’s you with the way he’s staring so intensely. 

“hey,” he repeats even louder this time. to his chagrin, soobin is still next to you, but that doesn’t mean he can’t slide into the open space on the other side of you. of course, propriety would say that he shouldn’t, but propriety means nothing to beomgyu at this moment. not when he’s so drunk he smells like rubbing alcohol, and not when he’s so openly desperate he looks like a man gone mad.

with no grace to be seen, he plops down next to you, and even through your clothes and his jeans, his legs against yours still feel like they burn you. you try to move to avoid his touch so aggressively that poor, large soobin is squeezed into the armrest even more; and it’s all for naught, anyway, because beomgyu just scoots himself even closer. 

“how’re you?” he slurs, and though everyone tries their best not to seem like they’re eavesdropping, they most certainly are. no matter how hard they try not to stare, their gazes keep flicking towards the two of you and their voices are a little more hushed. you’re beyond embarrassed, but beomgyu doesn’t seem to mind their looks one bit.

“beomgyu…” you whisper exasperatedly, accepting your fate as the spectacle that you currently are and trying to nip it in the bud with your obvious distaste for the situation.

“i jus’ wanna know how you are,” he says desperately as he senses your clear rejection, but to his eventual regret, he doesn't stop. you try to keep your voice low as you say your next words.

“good. look, i really don’t wanna do this with you right now. i have nothing to say to you and you don’t have anything to say to me that i actually want to hear, so i think it’s best if —” 

���but i told you i love you!” he exclaims, and everyone around you ceases to pretend that they aren’t listening. how can they even pretend when he’s quite literally yelling? you don’t notice a thing, though. you’re too absorbed in the melodrama unfolding before you, in which you are in the starring role. “i… i jus’ love you so much, i —” and before he can get out his next words, you’re swiftly standing up with soobin in tow and thanking taehyun for the invite while shuffling out of the front door.

-

beomgyu is devastated when you leave. he takes to walking outside to taehyun’s balcony as he lets tears roam freely down his reddened face. he thinks he’s alone before he hears somebody opening the door and shutting it behind them.

“do you seriously still not get it?” chaewon sneers.

“get what?” he sniffles, and she lets out a long-suffering sigh before she gets out her next words.

“you love her, right? and you miss her?” she asks slowly, as if he’s so stupid, he wouldn’t understand her if she said it any other way.

“of course i do,” he snaps, not appreciating the condescension in her tone, but all the bite is lost in translation because he looks nothing short of pathetic as his tears steadily fall. 

“right. you love her, you miss her, you want to talk to her. you, you, you. it’s still all about you and what you feel, but what about what she feels?” she asks, and he falters at her words. “all you’re doing is making things hard on her, and i can promise you that this ‘woe-is-me’ shit you’re doing right now isn’t gonna change her mind.” 

he thinks back to how you acted when you loved him — how you bent over backwards to try to conceal your feelings so as not to inconvenience him. how everything you did was to make life easier on him, no matter how difficult it was for you. yes, you loved him, but you did it in a way he could accept. you did things his way, and for so long; and all he’s done in return is demand your love in his way, yet again.

“so what do i do?” he earnestly asks. “how do i get her back?” 

“... after what you've done to her? you don't,” she answers after a pause, and he deflates at her words. she’s right, of course.

he thinks about how he’d feel if you treated him the way he treated you. he feels like his heart is dying in his chest just at the memory of you rejecting him, but to be rejected so cruelly? what do you even do with yourself then? he wonders how people live with that kind of hurt, but then, you did it for so long and were even able to paste a smile on your face as you did it. he remembers when he thought that you were a horrible actress because of how he could still see through you despite how bothered you obviously were by his actions, but only now does he understand how much resilience it must've taken. somehow, it just makes him miss you even more. makes him love you even more.

-

beomgyu is a pervert. a sick-in-the-head, nasty, freakish, bottom-of-the-barrel, lowdown, dirty pervert. that's the only way he can accurately describe himself in this moment, and the guilt is strong, but not stronger than his need to let this dream play out the way he wants it to. and the way he wants it to goes like this:

your naked body is splayed across beomgyu’s bed as you watch him undress with watery eyes. 

“i need you, gyu,” you whimper as tears threaten to fall.

“shh, baby. lemme take care of you,” he whispers as he lines himself up with your entrance.

you brace yourself by locking your hands around his neck as he pushes in, and you both groan as your pussy struggles to take him in. it’s so real, he feels you spasm around him like it did on the night you spent together, and he knows he’s a goner.

he lets you adjust for a few moments before slowly pulling out, then thrusting himself back in again. each stroke feels like heaven as you cry out with every movement. he grips your hips, but he tries his best not to hurt you when he does it. you’re far too precious to leave marks on, after all. 

beomgyu gets lost in the feeling all too quickly. he wants to be uncharacteristically gentle, but the feeling of you squeezing around him makes his eyes redden, and before long, he’s drilling into you. 

“‘m close!” you cry out.

“me too, baby,” he whispers, and the feeling of you clenching around him as you come is enough to send him over the edge. he spills himself into you with a broken moan. 

“i love you,” he says desperately as he tries to catch his breath. but even in his dreams, you don’t reply. 

-

soobin has always been sweet, but ever since the beomgyu incident he’s been even sweeter. he shows up to your place with your favorite snacks and never asks any unsavory questions. he takes your calls in the dead of night when he’s clearly been trying to sleep. he holds your hand when you start to space out. 

at first, it was easy to chalk it all up to what best friends do, but as the physical intimacy begins to increase, you start suspecting that something deeper is going on. you are not a cruel person — you’re not the type to pretend not to see something so clear when it inconveniences you (unlike a certain someone). so when soobin places your head on his shoulder during a movie night, against your meek disposition, you ask him a very simple question.

“binnie, do you like me?” and you don’t quite have the courage to look up at him while you ask him, opting to stare at the screen before you.

“yeah. yes, i do,” he replies, and while you would rather continue to avoid eye contact, you have enough respect for him to sit up and look him in his eyes.

“i’m so sorry,” you say, because what else can you say? 

“i know. i know you don’t feel the same way, you don’t have to tell me,” he answers with a soft, forced smile.

“i don’t wanna hurt you.”

“i know you don’t.”

“what can i do?” you ask sincerely.

“i… i don’t need you to do anything. if you need me, you have me. if you don’t need me, you still have me,” he tells you.

“that’s not fair to you.”

“then just give me some time,” he replies. “i’ll get over it if you just give me some time.”

“okay,” you nod.

“are you sure you’ll be okay?” he asks, still as concerned about you as ever. as if you’re not breaking his heart.

“i will be,” you lie. regardless of whether he believes you or not, he nods and gathers his things before leaving.

-

you are, in the most crass of terms, pissy drunk. your sticky situation with soobin is one for the history books, if you do say so yourself, and you lack the proper vernacular at the moment to express just how awful it is. who knew your best friend on this planet had secret feelings for you? well, it seems like everyone, actually, because as you confide in your friends, none seem to be particularly surprised. it appears that you’re the last one to find out. 

of course, you’re only able to deal with the revelation by visiting your favorite bar. against your better judgment, you go alone. usually, you’d ask soobin to come with you, but you can’t do that with the way things are right now, which just makes you feel even worse. you’re on drink number three (or four…  or five…) when an unknown man slides into the barstool next to you. you don’t quite catch his name, but you know you’re not interested in him, or, well, anyone at the moment. you’re far too distracted by your current circumstances to even entertain the thought of another man right now, but even as you deny, deny, deny him, he doesn’t quite seem to get the message.

your vision is blurred as you try to hint to him for what must be the umpteenth time that you’re not looking for anything at the moment, but he still doesn’t understand, and you’re starting to feel every ounce of alcohol you’ve consumed until now. you place your head in your hands as you try to keep the room from spinning, but it doesn’t seem to help, and you can feel his hand squeezing your upper thigh. you’re not the most assertive person at the best of times, and you are certainly even less so in your drunken state, so you’re trying to gather your bearings to reject him once and for all when you feel an arm sliding around your neck. 

“there you are, baby. who’s this?” a baritone voice asks rather loudly, a voice you’d recognize anywhere. beomgyu’s. your gut reaction is to push him off and cuss him out, but even with your delayed reactions, you’re able to register that he’s trying to help you out as you lock eyes with his hesitant brown ones.

“gyu,” you say with what you hope is a believable smile. 

“you’re taken?” the man asks disappointedly.

“yep,” you reply, and he scoffs before pushing out his barstool so abruptly, the chair squeaks before storming away. 

“are you alright?” beomgyu asks quietly.

“‘m fine,” you tell him as you rip his arm off from your shoulder. “i don’t need your help.” 

“i know!” he exclaims a little too desperately. “i-i know that, i just —” but the universe smacks you across the face as you begin to gag, alcohol choosing now of all times to rock your stomach with a vengeance. you begin to try to scramble off of the stool, but you’re so drunk, you’re having trouble even standing up. 

without any prompting, beomgyu hurriedly pulls you up and places your arm around his shoulder before hustling you to the bathroom. you don’t even have time to close the door behind you before you’re hunched over the toilet and choking vomit out of your throat. beomgyu slams the door behind him and rushes over to your pitiful frame before shushing you and rubbing circles into your back in an attempt to calm you down. in turn, you bat his hands away without even condescending to look at him when you do it. his heart stings, but he realizes it’s not about him as you lurch forward and continue to empty your stomach. 

when you’re finally finished, you feel a wet paper towel gently rubbing the sweat off of your forehead, then it travels down to your lips where vomit still pools around them. beomgyu intently cleans you up without saying a word.

“a-are you alright?” he asks meekly, and as if only now registering that it’s him, you push his hands away and say your next words. 

“i thought i told you i didn’t need your fucking help. i hate when people make me repeat myself, didn’t you know?” he winces at your harsh words and sharpness of tone.

“i… i know. i’m sorry. i just thought that you might want somebody with you. i’m really sorry.” and even through your drunken stupor, you know he’s not just apologizing for his interference. but you don’t care.

“and why would i want you?” he’s silent at this before finally replying. 

“you know, when you told me i’d regret it, i didn’t really understand what you meant; but i understand it now. i’m really, really regretting it. i should’ve listened to you,” he says softly with tears brimming in his reddened eyes. 

you’re at a loss for words at this. what do you say? what can you say besides “i told you so”? somehow, that doesn’t quite do the sentiment justice.

part iii: betty

after vomiting, you actually feel like you’ve sobered up quite a bit, but you’re still not speaking, which beomgyu takes to heart.

“i can’t — i’m just really, really sorry,” he brokenly sobs in the face of your silence. “so sorry.” 

“i know,” you reply after a pause, and you do know. you didn’t before, but his pathetic actions and demeanor have shown you that he means what he says. your acknowledgment of his repentance just makes him cry even harder, though. because it doesn’t seem to have changed a thing.

“i was a bastard. i was so fucking awful to you when you were just trying to help me, and i didn’t know what i had until you were gone,” he continues, quite openly sobbing at this point. he looks like a man gone mad as he cries in the public restroom of a bar, but what's the point of trying to keep his cool now? maybe this way, you’ll understand just how much he means what he says.

but you’re the victim. you’re the one who should be crying her heart out at the moment. you didn’t even do anything besides reject him after he’s been continuously rejecting you and treating you like gum stuck to the bottom of his shoe for years. why does he get to cry and get what he wants? what about you?  you want to hold onto this injustice, but the way he crumbles in front of you makes your heart soften. no matter how angry you may be, you can't help but try to reason with him.

“beomgyu, i know you’re sorry. i really do,” you sigh, and your tone tells him everything he needs to know, but he still hangs onto every word as if they’re the most important things he’ll ever hear. still, he feels dread at what you have to say next tugging on his heartstrings.

“but it’s just not enough. you treated me like i was garbage for years. you used me and my feelings, and tossed me away whenever you wanted.” and he withers even more with every word. “and i let you do it because i loved you and i thought you didn’t know how i felt, but you fucking knew what you were doing; and you still slept with me while knowing how i felt about you. how can you expect me to forgive you for that?” you ask, and it is not completely rhetorical. you seem to be searching for an answer, but he doesn’t have one. he never did. if he could figure out how to justify any of his actions, he would, but he can’t seem to come up with anything even as he scrambles for a response. 

he knows he's losing you, so why not just be honest? as a last ditch effort, he lays everything out on the table. 

“you said you loved me,” he says. “m-maybe, if i can be better, you’ll love me again. i can be good for you, i-i know i can. so if you just —” 

“beomgyu,” you interrupt, though not maliciously. you seem to have some level of patience for him even in spite of everything. “i still love you. love was never the problem.” and he can’t help but feel a shred of hope bud in the wake of your words, but it’s killed in its crib at what you say next. “but that’s just not enough anymore. the way you’ve been feeling for the past few weeks is how i’ve felt for years. i bet you can’t even imagine that — i don’t even want you to imagine that, actually. it just hurts too much.” 

and while you just said that you didn’t want him to, he can’t help but envision exactly that: the feeling that he had when you were with soobin multiplied exponentially. and for so long. and with different people. that same pain over and over and over again with no reprieve besides for the hope that someday, if you’re lucky, you might have a chance. someday, maybe any day, but probably not any time soon. to live like that and for so long, just thinking about it makes his heart ache and his stomach churn. 

“do you understand me now?” you ask, and gone are the traces of resentment and disgust. your gaze is only filled with pity. somehow, that makes him feel even worse. 

“y-yeah,” he says breathlessly with an inhale so sharp, it’s as if he’s in physical pain, all the while trying desperately to gather his bearings and to look and sound like a functioning member of society. he fails in light of his constant stream of tears. “i, um, i get it now.” 

“okay,” you say softly. “i’m going to call yunjin so she can pick me up. can you get home safely?” this is it. you don’t have to say it, but he knows that you two will never speak again after this. what else is there to say, after all? 

“i can.”

“good,” you smile, and he tries his best to smile, too, but he doesn’t quite make it there. “goodbye, beomgyu.”

“goodbye,” he whispers shakily, and he looks so profoundly devastated that you wish you could comfort him, but you know it’d just make things worse; so without another word, you leave him alone as you prepare to call yunjin.

beomgyu doesn’t know how long he spends in the wake of your absence, but he cries until no more tears will leave his eyes. when he's all cried out, eyes swollen and face red, he leaves the bar in a state of borderline delirium. your words echo in his unstable state of mind, and he realizes that even when you had every right to treat him like the scum of the earth, you were kinder than he could ever reasonably expect for you to be. it seems that you still gave him more than he ever deserved. as always.

-

things with soobin have stayed in an odd sort of purgatory for weeks now, but unfortunately or not, life goes on, so you don't have the luxury of ruminating on it as much as you probably need to. you don't reach out very much for fear of unwittingly making your circumstances with him even more difficult for him to move past, but that certainly doesn't mean that you don't miss him. still, you prioritize his feelings in the matter over your own and patiently await the day where he finally feels comfortable enough to be friends with you once more. he forgoes most of the gatherings that your friends arrange, and it's like a knife to the heart every time. 

as for your situation with beomgyu, you deliberately try to push that out of your mind as frequently as humanly possible. you feel like things have ended on the best note you could ever ask for, and your friends know better than to bring him up around you, so you figure that ignorance is bliss. old habits die hard, though, and you find yourself wanting to check on him, but you remind yourself that that’s not your job anymore — and it never should have been in the first place, really, which is enough to stop you in your tracks on the bad nights where you want nothing more than to reach out. you reason with yourself that he has friends, so there’s no need to concern yourself with him. 

but you miss him. you miss when you were stupid enough to believe that he didn’t know about your feelings. you wish you could go back and erase your love for him so you two could go back to just being friends. what he did was unforgivable, you know that, but you still miss all the times he made you laugh. still, that pales in comparison to all the times he made you cry, right? that's how you should look at things. that's how you will look at things. 

as it is, you’re perfectly fine with never speaking to him again. at least, that’s what you tell yourself.

-

“are you okay?” taehyun asks in a hushed tone. he hasn’t seen beomgyu in over a month now, but beomgyu finally agreed to come out with him after taehyun said he missed him. now, they are seated in a booth at the dimly lit bar just down the street from taehyun’s place.

“y-yeah,” beomgyu replies with a forced upturn of his lips as he sloshes around the non-alcoholic drink in his cup. after the last time you saw him, he decided to ditch alcohol for the time being. taehyun was right about him needing to act like an adult, and he just knows that if he were to get even a drop of alcohol in him, he’d come crawling back to you, probably to your disgust. 

“good,” taehyun sighs in relief. “i was really worried about you for a while there, you know? everyone was.”

“i know,” beomgyu answers perfunctorily. everyone has been worried about him and has said as much. well, pretty much everyone except for you. 

“are you ever gonna talk about what happened?” taehyun carefully probes, which causes beomgyu to cease all actions and stare blankly at his cup — liquid still gently swishing back and forth. 

“nothing happened that you probably didn’t already guess,” beomgyu says with a derisive smile. its sentiment is not directed at taehyun, however, but at himself. 

“that doesn't mean i don't want to hear it from you,” taehyun replies.

with a sigh of defeat, beomgyu begrudgingly recounts his circumstances with you, sparing no details. at first, taehyun's eyes widen every so often, but after a while, his face relaxes into something somber and resigned. when beomgyu is finished, his gaze remains locked on taehyun’s face, searching for any semblance of a reaction, but he remains stoic.

“well?” beomgyu asks impatiently.

“well, what?” taehyun says after a moment, and he's tempted to just leave it at that, but after looking into beomgyu’s pleading eyes, he realizes that he needs to say more. “you fucked up, but you know that already. i would say that i can't believe you did that, but if it's you, i can believe it,” he sighs, and beomgyu really wishes he hadn't pressed taehyun for more, because he feels smaller and smaller with every new word. 

“i know. i’m a piece of shit who doesn't deserve her. i never did,” beomgyu relents, feeling completely helpless. he wasn't expecting comfort or anything like that — he doesn't deserve it, but he's still hurt by taehyun's words, regardless of their validity. they just further confirm what he already knows.

“yeah, you're right,” taehyun agrees with a nod, and beomgyu deflates even more, if that's even possible. 

“is… is she okay?” beomgyu asks timidly. he's been too afraid to ask about you, but now that taehyun knows the truth, it seems pointless to beat around the bush.

“not really,” taehyun says with a twitch of his lips. 

“why not?!” beomgyu exclaims a little too loudly. taehyun hurriedly shushes him before glancing around the bar to make sure nobody’s attention has been drawn to the two of them. 

“why not?” beomgyu repeats, voice lower this time, but urgency just as palpable.

“i don't know. i think something happened between her and soobin, but neither of them will talk about it. i'm sure you can guess what happened, though,” taehyun sighs. and he's right. beomgyu can guess, but he can't quite believe it. you must've rejected soobin, but why? why would you reject someone so perfect for you? does it have anything to do with him?

-

beomgyu can’t shake the feeling that your situation with soobin has something to do with him. he knows he’s being vain, he knows he’s being selfish, but he can’t help but hope. he doesn't tell anyone about this, though, for fear that reality will be much crueler than he can cope with. he tells himself he's perfectly content with living with said hope and deluding himself into thinking he still has a place in your heart, but he can't control the way his mind wanders to places he scarcely dares to dream of these days. dreams where you miss him, where you still think about him, where you forgive him play out in a number of ways, but in the end, they're nothing more than, well, dreams.

-

as much as some would like to avoid it, gathering for taehyun’s friendsgiving party is inevitable. no matter the circumstances, nobody can quite justify missing out on your friend group’s collective tradition. you try to steel yourself for the potentially awkward encounters with soobin and beomgyu, but you can’t help but worry about potential “what if’s”. still, you decide to be as mature as possible. if you see soobin, you'll make light conversation before excusing yourself if he seems uncomfortable. if you see beomgyu, well, hopefully he'll just ignore you as you've ignored him.

when you arrive at taehyun's, you greet everyone as usual. honestly, as awful as it sounds, you're pretty relieved to see that neither soobin nor beomgyu have arrived just yet. you drink just enough to take some of the edge off, so when soobin comes in, it's not an earth-shattering event. when he greets you, you're prepared to just leave it at a cordial, somewhat distant conversation, and he seems to be on the exact same page. he says hello and performs all of the necessary niceties before wandering off and getting himself a drink. it hurts your heart that this is what your friendship has been reduced to, but you know it's what's best at the moment. you don't want to unintentionally hurt him by insisting he push his limits by being with you. 

you try to shove this out of your mind, and you're talking to yunjin about nothing in particular when beomgyu walks through the door. you can’t help but look up when he enters, but you will yourself to look away while plastering a smile on your face you already know isn’t believable in the slightest. mercifully, he doesn’t do anything other than wave at you and yunjin before getting lost in the hustle and bustle of the party.

you think the worst of the night is over, and you calmly go through the motions of your friendsgiving traditions as if everything is fine. after dinner, you find yourself sitting alone, wondering if you should just hang it up and go home a bit early. before you can do that, though, you notice soobin approaching your spot on the couch. 

“hey,” he says a little unsteadily as he plops down next to you, no doubt a little tipsy from the drinks he’s had.

“hey,” you shyly reply with a smile. 

“how are you?” he asks. 

“i’m okay,” you answer, trying to maintain your composure. “what about you?”

“better,” he says before hesitantly continuing. “i miss you.” your heart soars, but it also somewhat aches.

“i miss you, too,” you tell him honestly. he smiles, albeit very softly.

“how are things with beomgyu?” he probes.

“as good as they’ll get, i guess.”

“so not very good, huh?”

“no, not very good,” you say truthfully. 

“well, why don't you just cut the bullshit, then?” you're very clearly taken aback by his words. you're even actually offended that he could casually say such a thing.

“what are you talking about?” your tone is more defensive than bewildered, but he just looks at you with knowing eyes that make you feel microscopic.

“you know what i’m talking about,” he argues. “this whole fucked up charade that you two are performing isn’t fooling anybody, so why even try?” 

“he doesn't deserve me,” you scoff. “he can't just treat me like shit and get away with it because he's sorry now. he needs to pay for what he's done.”

“and who are you punishing by doing that? him or yourself?” you're, again, surprised, so you don't quite know what to say in response.

“i know you. i know what you want, and denying that doesn't do anything but hurt the both of you. you might as well get what you want. maybe he doesn't deserve it — i'm not really sure, but don't you want to try, at least? with how desperate he’s been acting, i don’t think he’ll hurt you again.” you seriously ponder his words, but the main conclusion you come to is that soobin is still so, so kind. he had — or has — feelings for you, but he still wants to see you happy. you don’t have to say anything, though, because it seems like he understands how grateful you are just from your smile.

he pulls you in for a hug, one so warm and loving you can't help but melt into it. you could cry at how relieved you are that you two will soon overcome the awkwardness and distance. it seems he wasn't one of your best friends for nothing. when you two break apart, you look up at him with a watery smile. before you can say anything, though, you register the odd look on his face. you look confused for just a second before he says his next words in a hushed, hurried tone.

“i'm doing this for your own good,” he whispers as he leans down and catches your lips in a tender kiss. to say you're stunned is an understatement, indeed, but the kiss ends almost as quickly as it begins, leaving you reeling. 

“w-why did you —” 

“i said it was for your own good, but it was kind of for me, too,” he softly chuckles. “maybe i want to punish him a little bit.” you don't really understand what he means until you follow his gaze and catch beomgyu in his line of sight. oh, you get it now. who knew soobin was such a sadist? 

your conversation with soobin ends and you feel a lot lighter than you have in a long, long time, but his words leave you with more than enough to think about. you shake your head and go out to the balcony to clear your head. after a few minutes, you hear the door behind you creak open. you know it's beomgyu before he even says anything. 

“so, you and soobin, huh?” he questions softly as he settles next to you, leaning against the railing. you glance up at him to respond, but his mirthless smile stops you before you can say a word. 

“i’m happy for you,” he adds as sincerely as he can, and you’re not sure you buy that, but at the very least, he seems to want you to believe it. you're not really sure how to respond. you don't even know if you want to explain everything to him, actually, because you're still debating on whether or not you should forgive him. can things really be that easy? does he deserve your forgiveness? who's to say he won't just break your heart again? as you struggle with how to answer, he continues.

“i'm, um, i'm glad you found somebody. especially soobin. he'll treat you right — you deserve it,” he says before timidly rambling. “s-sorry if i’m overstepping, i just wanted you to know that; and, uh, if you ever need anything, i'm here.”

“need anything? like what?” you can't help but wonder aloud. now, this is unlike the beomgyu you've come to know. if it were, then he'd be throwing a fit trying to get you to change your mind so you'd be with him instead of soobin. 

“l-like, if you need advice or something,” he earnestly answers, somewhat surprised you said anything at all. “or if you just want to talk or complain or anything. whatever it is that you need, i’ll be here. i owe you that much after all you’ve done for me.” you look confused for a moment before you answer him.

“i didn’t do those things so you’d owe me, beomgyu,” you tell him, and his heart flutters against his will at the use of his name.

“i-i know, i’m sorry. i didn’t mean it like that. s-sorry. i just want you to know that there’s someone who wants to be there for you, especially since you were always there for me, but even if you weren’t, i would still want to be there for you,” he nervously replies. 

“why?” you quietly ask, and that actually brings a wistful smile to his face. 

“because i care about you,” he says, voice dripping with sincerity and solemnity. what he really wants to tell you is that it's because he loves you, but it's clear that it's the wrong time. he can't just dump his feelings onto you again — that would be wrong since you're obviously involved with someone now. if it were the old him, he'd do it with absolutely no regrets if it meant that you'd come back to him, but he can't do that to you. he can't just steamroll over your wants and feelings like he's always done. 

“but why?” you question persistently. he never saw anything of value in you before, not outside of how he could use you, so what’s so great about you now? you just can’t understand it. his sincere smile turns wry, teeming with a sense of self-mockery as he whispers his next words.

“because you're amazing. you're everything anyone could ever want.” anything i could ever want. he doesn't have to say that last part, because you can already hear the meaning of his words. just because you can hear it, however, doesn't mean you understand it.

“i never thought you, of all people, would think that,” you say honestly. 

“i know, but that's my fault, not yours,” he replies. you purse your lips in response, mulling over your options. you could just walk away right now and go back to ignoring beomgyu forever. it's what he deserves, you reason. he humiliated you in a way like none other, and nobody would blame you if you never let that go; but you look at how hard he's trying, and your heart softens. maybe you want to give it a try. maybe you'll get hurt again, but with how desperate he is, you really don't think so. still, you can’t let him get away with it so easily. you just have to make sure his feelings are pure.

“i know you still have feelings for me,” you say after a long pause, and his face reddens in shame, feeling like his ugly heart that he was desperately trying to conceal has been exposed. he supposes this is the way it should be, but he doesn't want to guilt you into anything, so he chooses to remain silent in his humiliation. “if it were like before, you would just tell me that. why is it different now?” you continue. well, that's it then. he should be truthful and say what he wants to say, and unbeknownst to him, what you want to hear.

“because your feelings should be more important than my own. that's what you do when you love somebody,” he chokes out. “you taught me that.”

you're quiet for a long, long time. too long, in fact. so long, he thinks it's time to call it quits and suppress his unrequited feelings for you until he feels them no longer. he can't imagine a world where he successfully does so, but for your sake, he should try. before he can say his goodbye, though, you speak again.

“okay,” you sigh.

“what?” he asks confusedly, eyebrows furrowed.

“i said, ‘okay’. don't make me regret this,” you tell him before grabbing the collar of his shirt and pulling him down to you. your lips softly meet each other and his eyes widen in sheer shock, though he doesn't resist you. his breath is labored when you finally part, eyes hazy with his lips red and swollen. 

“w-what are you — i thought — why are you —”

“i'll give you one chance,” you interrupt. “if you fuck up, it's over. do you understand?” he takes a second to process your words — but it's just a second — and his eyes well up with relieved tears when he understands. he dumbly nods in agreement, too afraid that if he speaks, no intelligible noise will come out. 

“good.” the corners of your mouth curl with a ghost of a smile, and you're prepared to leave it at that as you pull away from him; but like a dog, he earnestly chases after your touch before pulling you towards him, lips meeting yours again. the kiss is hungrier this time — more insistent, but he doesn't push his luck. eventually, he parts from you, leaving you both panting. his tears, which he was previously holding back, now flow from his eyes with no resistance. 

“thank you,” he says gently.

“for what?” you ask, head a little clouded from the kiss, but he just shakes his head with a smile. you will never understand just how grateful he is for the mercy you’ve shown him, but he’ll try to show you how much it means to him. 

-

things go slowly after that — you do your best to ensure that they do; and beomgyu, to his credit, tries to oblige. you’re not official or anything like that, but you let him take you on dates, and he’s always trying to woo you in one way or another. he sends flowers when you work, he shows up to your place with food and drinks, he texts you every morning asking how you’ve slept. it’s everything you could have ever asked for, and you can really see how hard he’s trying, but when kisses become heated, you always pull away before things can go any further. beomgyu tries his best not to show his dejection, but you always end up apologizing before he adamantly insists that he’s more than okay with it. you appreciate his understanding because every time you think about going any further, you can’t help but remember the indelible scar that his previous betrayal left upon you. 

-

christmas parties at beomgyu’s, much like friendsgivings at taehyun’s, are a tradition within your friend group. now that the tension with soobin and (most of) the tension with beomgyu is no longer there, you find that you’re actually really excited to gather again. you have no intention of revealing the nature of your… circumstances with beomgyu to everyone, though, and beomgyu will never say it for fear of making you uncomfortable, but it makes his heart ache. he can't really blame you for not wanting to be tied to him, but that doesn't soothe the pain in his chest.

secret santa takes place without a hitch. that is, until you open up your gift, which is a necklace with a pendant of a silver sun, and it is revealed that soobin got it for you. it’s not the most expensive gift in the world, but it is uncommonly sentimental. many write it off as a pretty, but ultimately meaningless piece of jewelry, but beomgyu instinctively knows it’s because of how so much of you resembles the sun. how could he not understand? you’re warm and nurturing, but it’s unsettling to realize that you’re not his alone. he tries to tell himself that it's not the end of the world, but when soobin turns you around and gently clasps the necklace for you before smoothing out your hair, he can't help but feel like it is. that’s enough for him to excuse himself to his room, but you’re far too preoccupied with gushing over how much you love the gift to soobin to really notice. 

when he enters his room, he sits on the edge of his bed, placing his head in his hands with a groan. he shouldn't be feeling like this. he has no right to feel like this. you had already taken the time to explain that you and soobin are just friends, and you stressed that he’ll have to be okay with that fact if he wants to be with you, to which he eagerly agreed; but he can't help but think that it's only a matter of time before you come to your senses and leave him to be with soobin for good. 

you two aren't even technically official, and your hesitance to be classified as such to your closest friends only shows him just how much you want that to continue to be true. what if he's just a pit stop in yours and soobin's love story? that seems like the most likely outcome. he can just see it now, you and soobin laughingly recalling your tumultuous history to your future kids. is beomgyu being dramatic? probably, but that doesn't stop his mind from running wild. why would you choose to stay with him when soobin, who's been devoted to you since the beginning, is right there? 

the door to his room opens, and he whips his head up in hopes that it's you coming back to him, so he can't hide his disappointment when he's greeted by chaewon’s figure shutting the door behind her before she plops down beside him. his mood turns even more sour than it already was when he sees her.

“if you're here to laugh at me for how pathetic i am, i don’t want to hear it,” he says bitingly. she’s quiet for a moment, as if she’s digesting his words, before she nods.

“you’re right, you are pathetic,” she deadpans. his temper flares, but before he can lash out, she continues. “you look stupid just sulking here because your little girlfriend got attention from another man.”

“h-how did you kn—” 

“she may be subtle, but you definitely aren’t,” she snorts. 

“oh,” he defeatedly replies with a laughably crestfallen look.

“doesn't feel good, does it? seeing the person you love with somebody else,” she asks snarkily. “it’s one of the worst feelings in the world, if you ask me.” 

“and what the hell do you know about that?” he spits. chaewon is one of the most spiteful and bull-headed people he knows. he can't imagine her being too broken up about supposed unrequited love. 

“because that's how i feel when i look at the both of you,” she says matter-of-factly, as if she didn't just drop the bomb of the century. he knew that she was attracted to him, obviously, but he never knew her feelings ran any deeper than that. he sputters as he looks at her, but she cuts him off.

“i know you didn't know about my feelings, for real this time. i guess i'm a better actress than her, or maybe you just never cared enough to find out. whatever it is, i know it's hopeless, so you don't have to tell me.”

“i'm sorry,” he murmurs, but she just shakes her head.

“thanks, but your apology just makes me feel worse,” she scoffs. “i don’t need or want the pity of the most pitiful person in the world.” her words are undeniably harsh, but he can register the amount of hurt in them.

“i'm still sorry,” he says. “i know how you feel, and i know it's really hard. i'm sorry for never noticing.” his sincerity makes her calloused heart soften.

“yeah, it's hard; but for what it's worth, i think she loves you, too,” she tells him.

“i really hope so,” he replies with a sardonic smile before it melts into something more genuine. “thank you for telling me about your feelings. i'm sorry that i don't feel the same way, but i hope you find somebody who does.”

“thank you,” she says, more sincerely this time. “friends?” with this, she extends her hand for him to shake. he smiles at her gesture as he complies. 

“friends.” hesitantly, she pulls him into a hug. he’s stunned for a second before patting her back in reciprocation. he can’t love her, but he can learn to appreciate her, which he has never done, even with all of her help. maybe he’s becoming a better person because of you. 

as if on cue, the door opens the moment that thought is fully formed. he’s relieved to see you for the split second before he realizes how this must look to you. he madly breaks away from her in a haste.

“it's not what it looks like!” he exclaims, and chaewon tactfully rises and scurries out of the door before shutting it behind her, but you remain silent and rooted to your spot.

“i swear! it's really not what it looks like,” he says pleadingly as he stands and grabs your hands, which you promptly smack away. 

“i just fucking knew this would happen,” you spit. “i won't give it up to you, so you turn around and pull this shit — is that it?”

“n-no! seriously, we’re just friends! she told me that she had feelings for me, but i rejected her, and we said we would just be friends,” he desperately explains. “i swear to god i would never do that to y—” he wants to continue, but the way your shoulders shake as you put your head in your hands stops him in his tracks. 

he hurriedly embraces you as he hears muffled cries escape your lips.

“i’m so sorry, please don’t cry. it wasn’t what it looked like, i promise,” he says as soothingly as he can muster, but that doesn't seem to stop your tears. he feels more and more helpless as you continue to break down in front of him, so he resorts to saying whatever he can think of to calm you down. 

“i’m sorry, it’s all my fault. i never should’ve touched her. just don't cry, okay? i hate seeing you cry,” he whispers as he draws circles on your back, pressing you closer to him. after a while, your sobs die out and your breathing becomes more steady. 

“a-are you okay?” he timidly probes. you stare at him with eyebrows furrowed for a bit before you slightly nod. he purses his lips before continuing.

“are you going to leave me?” he whispers, and he regrets asking as soon as the words leave his lips. 

it's okay if you're only indulging him in this would-be relationship because you pity him. it's okay if he's just a pit stop in your love story with soobin. it's okay if he turns out to be nothing more than a momentary distraction from the actual love of your life, just as long as you stay with him for as long as you can stand it. why would he question his place in your life? why would he ruin a good thing by making you tell him to his face that you don't want him? he should've just waited for you to figure it out on your own instead of forcing you to confront the true nature of your feelings for him. 

when he’s met with nothing but your pensive silence, he speaks again.

“i-i’m sorry i asked. i, um, i understand,” he adds defeatedly.

“no,” you croak. 

“n-no? what do you mean by —” 

“no, i won’t leave you,” you declare, a little bit more confidently this time.

“you won’t?” he asks doubtfully, taken aback by this sentiment.

“do you want me to?” 

“no! i-i just can’t believe it. why would you stay with me?” 

“because i think you love me. do you?” 

“of course!” he exclaims.

“then will you show me? how much you love me, i mean?” you ask.

“h-how do you mean?”

you look up at him and pull him by his collar so his lips meet yours, and his eyes widen before he melts into the kiss. he feels like he’s floating as you move your lips against his, but he groans when you softly tug his hair, which allows you to snake your tongue into his welcoming mouth. that’s enough to replace the floating feeling with one of pure need. when you part, you're both gasping for air. 

“are you sure?” he seemed so lost in the feeling before, but he looks nothing short of timid right now, endearing you in a way you previously thought was impossible.

“yes.”

he gulps and guides you to his bed, firmly gripping your hand as if he’ll lose you if he doesn’t hold onto you. carefully, reverently, he begins to undress you, making sure not to be too rough, juxtaposing how crass he was the first (and last) time you two did this. when you’re fully undressed, he shamelessly takes the view of you in. you subconsciously feel embarrassed and start to cover yourself, and he gently, but firmly, takes your arms and pulls them away from your shivering frame.

“don’t hide from me. you’re beautiful,” he whispers, before ducking down and pulling you in for a heated kiss. it’s still gentle, but there’s more fire behind it than usual. eventually, he breaks away and quickly rids himself of his clothes, contrasting greatly with the tenderness he showed you as he took yours off. when he’s finished, he kisses you again. this time, though, he doesn’t just stop at your lips, and he trails hot, open-mouthed kisses down your neck before he pushes you down onto the bed and finds his way down to your aching pussy.

he plants kisses on your open thighs until your legs are trembling and your core is glistening with anticipation. greedily, he takes one experimental, flat-tongued lick from your pussy and groans at your taste. he starts slowly — licking stripes until his movements become a series of alternating between this and more focused licks to your folds and clit. eventually, he takes one of his fingers and prods at your weeping hole before pushing it in to the knuckle. he curls and teases until he finds your sweet spot with little effort. 

“o-oh,” you sigh, but before you can get used to the feeling, he slides another finger in and repeats his movements, softly sucking on your clit as he does it. beomgyu tries to show restraint, he really does, but you taste so good that before long, he’s practically hammering his fingers into you while he licks and sucks on your lower lips. you’re no match for his skilled tongue, so you’re falling apart more quickly than you’d like to admit. you hold onto his hair for dear life, tugging a little harder than you probably should, but you’re in no state to control your harshness as you reach the end. 

“gyu, i’m gonna — oh, shit — i’m coming! i’m coming!” you cry as your legs buckle, tightening around his head against your will. he doesn’t pull away, however; he just lets you cage him in between your thighs as if he wouldn’t want to be anywhere else in the world. as you come down, he laps up your cum and removes his fingers to directly stick his tongue in your clenching hole. you think you might have to pull him off of you due to overstimulation, but he (reluctantly) does it himself before you can quite get there. 

he makes no move to clean himself up, and his expression is one of pure bliss, as if you were the one who just gave him the best oral of his life and not the other way around. he pulls you in for a heavy kiss, and you taste yourself along with the sweetness that is beomgyu. he tries to be patient, but he can't help but frantically line himself up with your entrance, poking and prodding his tip against your still-spasming hole as he takes one of your hands into his own while using the other to guide himself into you. 

“is this okay?” he nervously asks. you nod. with a strained breath, he slowly begins to push into you. 

it's a struggle to push himself in, meeting resistance as you clench around him, pussy trying desperately to accommodate his length. your hand tightly grips his as you feel the almost unbearable stretch, and he soothingly caresses his thumb over your finger, shuddering as you take him in inch by inch. it feels even better than the first time, somehow — you're even warmer and wetter than before. with labored breaths, he tries to keep himself from coming early as he feels you contracting around him. when he’s finally completely sheathed in you, it's like puzzle pieces fitting together; things seem more right than they have since, well, the last time you two did this. you stay like  that for what must be a long time — just feeling each other in an act of pure intimacy as you both heave out labored breaths. 

“are you ready?” he whispers, and after a few seconds, you nod. he shakily pulls out, feeling your pussy struggling to keep him in, and takes a deep breath before piercing you in one fluid motion, scraping against your g-spot with ease. you whimper at the sensation as he pulls himself out before ramming back in again. 

“relax, baby. i know you can take me. you were made for me,” he says soothingly as he sets his pace. he tries to take things slowly, but it’s difficult when it feels like you’re sucking him in with every thrust. his words comfort you, and before long, you're melting into his touch.

“so good,” he groans as he repeatedly hits your cervix. “you’re so fucking perfect.” all you can do is moan in response, feeling so detached from reality that the only thing chaining you to it is the way he’s fucking you. your grip on his hand tightens until you’re sure his fingers are numb, but he makes no move to stop you. he even leans down to plant a kiss on your lips, which was meant to be mostly innocent, but it quickly devolves into your tongues and teeth clashing against  each other as he snaps his hips into yours. you feel more than full as he stretches you out and pounds into you so deeply, you feel him in your stomach. you can only be described as lightheaded as he hits the deepest parts of you relentlessly, and you feel yourself getting closer to your climax — causing you to let out an animalistic whine.

“shh, baby. i’ve got you. just let go, okay?” you have no choice but to oblige when he continues drilling into you. you couldn't stop even if you wanted to. it's only a few moments before your eyes are rolling backwards as you mercilessly clamp down around him. the feeling of you tightening on his length pushes him to his own end, and he moans out “oh, g-god, i love you,” while he spills himself into you, shuddering as he does it. you feel his hot cum flooding your insides, eventually leaking out of your aching cunt as he slowly thrusts it into you. you stay like that, just joined together, for a long while.

with reluctance, he pulls out of you. you're both silent as he collapses on top of you and mindlessly toys with your hair. 

“i love you, too,” you whisper.

“w-what?” he shoots up and stares at you in disbelief, scanning your face in earnest.

“you heard me,” you reply. 

“can you — can you say it again? please?” your purse your lips before responding.

“i love you, too.”

he doesn't mean for them to, but his eyes well up with tears. he grabs you and flips you on top of him before locking his arms around you. your head rests comfortably against his chest as he pulls you closer and closer, nuzzling his cheek onto the top of your head. 

“i can't believe this is real,” he whispers between his tears, and you can't stop yourself from smiling at the sheer amount of awe in his tone. “i'll be so good to you, you won't believe it.”

“okay,” you chuckle, in spite of yourself. what can you do other than believe him when he's so damn desperate? 

notes pt. 2: finishing this has most certainly been an uphill battle. i was writing like a few sentences a day for the longest time. still, i hope you all enjoyed this. i love you very much, my friends. also, please let me know what you thought about it (as long as it's not mean!)

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[prophecyofwinter]

Se Riña Qilōni Iprattan Se Jēdar | III

Aemond Targaryen x Reader

Summary | Saera Targaryen daughter of Jaehaerys I ran away from Westeros to escape her fate. 45 years later her daughter Y/N Targaryen, with invitation from King Viserys wishes to go back.

Tags | Slowburn, TargCest, Smut, Standard ASOIAF content, Aemond and Reader are First Cousins Once Removed, tags to be added

Prologue | Chapter II | Chapter IV | Masterlist

Chapter III | High Lord , Low Lady

You were so unfathomably nervous, your palms were sweating and your head was full, all the advice you’d received back home flew out the window.

Normally you were so confident and headstrong, where did it all go??

How are you supposed to present yourself? Gods, what do you do with your hands? Do you hold them folded? Behind? Held to your chest?

Walking through the dock only made your heart race faster as you were nearing closer by the second. You straighten yourself up and mentally ask for R’hllor’s blessing as you are stopped in front of a carriage by guards.

You gaze at the carriage itself, made of dark wood with curved arches overhead and crisscrossed cutouts for windows.

“Prince Aemond of House Targaryen!”

You become stiff as wood as the doors of the carriage are opened by a guard. Ducking under the door frame is a man with long straight white hair wearing all black leather. When he stands straight you notice his sharp features, most distinguishably the eyepatch on his left eye. You try not to stare too much to not offend.

By the time you process him fully he is already in front of you, blocking the sun from your eyes.

“I-It is a great pleasure to finally meet you Prince Aemond.” You sputter out, your nerves taking over your vocal cords. He was honestly very handsome, it was unfortunate you hadn’t heard anyone speak much of his looks besides the lost eye.

Without replying he simply grabs one of your shaky hands and brings it to his lips, pressing a soft kiss to the back. He comes back up to make eye contact, his purple eyes gazing into your own. You might pass away on the spot, the wrath of the sun burns on you tenfold in the moment.

“Your beauty truly precedes you Y/N. I wanted to personally welcome you to Kings Landing. As your soon-to-be betrothed I felt it was my duty to be the first person you met.” He speaks to you in a low tone, he is rather close to you so he does not need to talk loud. His way with words didn’t help at all, you could feel a slight wetness forming between your thighs.

He holds out his leather covered arm for you to grab onto. As you do, you could feel his toned muscles through the leather. You pray you haven’t made an absolute fool of yourself acting like a blushing virgin, which you were but.

“Thank you Prince Aemond, you’re too kind…”

“No need to thank me, it is simply what I must do.” He says with the same tone as before giving your arm a gentle caress. You can’t help but wonder if there’s multiple meanings to that.

He leads you to the carriage passing through the line of knights, they all look stiff and they stare forward. You thought they would look scarier, they just look like normal men. The soldiers and guards in Volantis look like beasts, scars so bad you couldn’t even tell there’s a face behind their helm, going through withdrawal if they have not killed an infant in a week. They reek of blood, booze and cum.

Westeros must be a very peaceful place if their army’s look like this.

When you approach the carriage, one baby faced guard opens the door for you both. Aemond loosens his hold on you, just holding you by your hand to guide you up the carriage steps.

“Ahem.”

Oh right.

Your brother steps forward, armor making a soft clang with every step. He must’ve polished his red armor today, the shine on it must be bright enough to blind a man. He stands tall and proud, a few paces away from you and Aemond.

“Oh, apologies. This is my half-brother Vaegon. My mother- Our mother sent him with me to make sure I settle in okay.” You looked to Aemond, gesturing to your brother slightly annoyed. You were trying to balance yourself properly on the steps, one foot on the first step and the other on the second step.

“Ah, that’s quite alright. Sending a young woman such as yourself across the sea shouldn’t be done alone.” Aemond states and rubs your hand with his thumb, still holding it. He gestures to you to enter the carriage, then turns to your brother with a tight lipped smile.

“Vaegon was it? You have my thanks for accompanying my betrothed to Kings Landing. You may walk with the rest of the guards to the Red Keep.” Aemond said as he stepped into the carriage himself, smile faltering only slightly.

Vaegon opened his mouth to protest but was met with the carriage doors shutting in his face.

Now it was just you and Aemond, alone…

You pinched at your dress while attempting to keep eye contact with him.

You feel a jolt of movement and you know the carriage has begun to make its journey up to the Red Keep.

“Apologies, my Prince for my state of dress. I haven’t brought any handmaidens with me. If I had known how much of a struggle clothes of this country were to get into I would’ve brought someone to help.” You say flipping your eyes between his eyes and the top of his head.

Aemond sits back into the plush seating crossing his arms and legs. His gaze burns into your skin, you can see his eye start at your collar bone and trail down to your open cleavage.

You hadn’t expected to be reduced to a mess just in his presence. Your plans of confidence dwindled and anxiety replaced the space it left.

“Apologizing this much is unbecoming if you wish to become a lady. No one here will treat you well if they see how nervous you are. As for your dress, it’s not that different from what some ladies wear during the hotter months, just less… openness. You’ll have proper clothes tailored to you soon enough.” His tone has become blunt, compared to what he was like moments before with his sweet gestures.

“Please forgive- I mean! I just have never been alone with a man like this before. Especially a man like yourself, my Prince. I’ve spent most of my life in the company of other women… I do not wish to embarrass myself further.” You attempt to compose yourself in a more becoming manner. Straightening your back and folding your shaky hands in front of you instead of picking at your skirt; eye contact is something you’ll have to work on.

Aemond lets out a hum of…? You can’t quite tell. Aemond makes no move to continue the conversation, instead opting to stare at you, as though he can read your life story just by a glance.

Will it always be this unsettling? Maybe your hopes were set too high? You two are strangers, surely he is just as nervous as you are.

Neither of you exchanged any more words for the rest of the carriage ride. The sound of the horses' hooves clopping on the stone floor and the sounds of common folk around the city being the only sounds you hear for the rest of the ride.

You let out a soft breath when the carriage rocked to a halt. You look out the window and the first thing you notice is a red haired woman dressed in a dress of green and gold, you knew with absolute certainty that this must be Queen Alicent.

Suddenly, Aemond grabs your arm, tugging you to him to grab your attention. His purple eye stone cold staring into your pair, you felt small and helpless like a beggar girl begging for bread.

“Pull yourself together and present yourself properly. This is my mother, the Queen. Do not make anyone regret allowing you here.”

————

🏷️: @toodlesxcuddles @blackgirlmagicforever @yourwonkywriter

[snailsgoingdowntown]

 Intrigued With You

I ii iii iiii

Yandere! Pinocchio x Fem! Mechanic! Reader

Warnings: Slight mental breakdown (?), mention death of a minor character, vomit, implied depression, paranoia, mentioned violence and death, unhealthy coping methods, blood, I THINK implied toxic familial relationship(s), just to be safe.

This blog contains dark content.

Disclaimer: contents/lore may differ from the game.

Minors/blank/blogs that don’t reblog/interact with fics and fanart dni.

Idk the word count cuz I forgot to check lmao.

Overall story summary: Your uncle’s puppet takes a bit too much of an interest in you: in which your body finally gave out in this chapter.

==

It does not speak. Nor does it move, staying as still as a doll would. But it is not a doll, it is a puppet that was worked on for a great while. And it was that very puppet that was staring at you with glassy blue eyes. It reminds you of a curious cat, round features narrowing into confusion.

The puppet then slowly moves its head left to right, checking the surroundings. The sight it’s met with is a cluttered room, with puppet parts scattered throughout, and the smell of grease thick. Could it even smell? Feel the plushness of the chair it was currently resting in, or how ticklish the hair must be at the nape of its neck? Or was it as bleak as every other puppet before a personality was programmed into it, unless it was faithed to be scrapped?

Creak

The gears are turning too harsh inside it. Loud enough to hear, yet the body does not look like it’s on the verge of overheating. Everything comes to a halt once it turns its head forward, gaze landing on you once more.

Sweat forms and slides down your temple. Hot, cold, hot, cold – you feel both at once, a cool breeze biting at your exposed skin. Your clothes feel too hot, the scent of musk strong underneath your nose. Gulping down a scream, your wobbly legs manage to keep up. You resist the urge to fall to the floor like a disregarded ragdoll.

Your purpose is not done yet.

One step, another, and it takes you an odd number to get back to the table. Your hands grasp the edge of it, your legs weak and knees on the verge of knocking against each other. Breathe. Just. Breathe.

“Ah… It is a… it is a pleasure to met you. Can you understand me? Nod your head or use your voice, it doesn’t matter.” You sound steadier than you feel. Several seconds pass before the puppet nods its head, slowly and uncertain. You try to think of it as a newborn – something that barely came to ‘life’ – and like all the puppets, this one will be clumsy and will need a hand to hold before everything becomes natural to it.

But it won’t be your hand.

“Right. That’s good, excellent even.” You’re clapping lightly by reflex. Autopilot is taking over. “Now, I have a few things I need to… hm, what’s the word… test you on. However!”

Slowly, like a scared animal, you back away, turning your back towards it and making way towards the door. You look over your shoulder, neither a frown nor smile on your face. It feels like a line. Turning the doorknob, you talk again.

“I left the materials outside. Truthfully, I did not think you would come on. It wasn’t the first time I put in the ‘heart,’ and it was because of that I thought you would remain well, off. Do you mind waiting here? Just for a bit.”

You give it the illusion of choice. Regardless, you would still leave. But you would rather walk out calmly than run out like a mad man. The puppet doesn’t make any attempt to get up. Looks up at the ceiling before down at you again, the eyes far too innocent, yet blank. How could the two exist within it?

A sour-bitter taste starts to form in your mouth. Your glands feel tight. Slick.

The puppet nods its head after observing you for a bit. Your heart leaps with joy, but bursts with fright the moment you close the door with a “I’ll be right back.”

There is a tree several feet in front of your uncle’s personal workshop. Years ago, when you first joined hands with him, you would often sit underneath it. Hugged your parents by it. Read books using the trunk as a backrest. Kissed Howard underneath it.

Carve your names with a heart. And it is this same tree where you place a hand on the trunk to support yourself. The taste of bile was always bitter. And it was always slimy and uncomfortable whenever it builds up.

“Ugh”

Up goes your lunch, wheezing with every convulsion. Nails digging into the tree bark, the wood digs into your flesh, underneath the nails. You’re going to have splinters. More comes up and you’re barely breathing by the time your body decides it was enough.

“Fuck…,” heaving, you wipe your mouth with your sleeve. You should change, you think, supporting yourself with your free hand still on the tree. Everything feels heavy, and everything feels dizzy. You fucked up big time. Too big to giggle and say, ‘sorry uncle,’ and get away with it. You could have ruined the puppet.

The puppet could have also ruined you. In short, you fucked up. You should have kept your hands to yourself. Frustration at bay. Mind at ‘ease,’ no matter how forced it was. Fake it until you make it. Maybe you weren’t capable of that.

“Haah… fuck, why did I do that?” lifting your head, you look ahead – a tight street where it was annoying to get in. Twists and turns, hidden corners; a good place to hide something precious. But a horrible spot to run from. Especially when everything looked the same, from the buildings to even the stupid posters, both encouraging and protesting against the puppets.

Krat was starting to become a city of repetition. Dull.

Sluggishly, you look over your shoulder, to where the shop was behind you. The door was still closed. The puppet was probably – hopefully – inside. On that stupid red plush chair, surrounded by disregarded parts and paperwork that needed to be filled out. You wonder if it could read.

What would happen if you just… ran?

Your uncle would find you, certainly. Maybe he would kill you. Or send you back to your parents, disappointment in their eyes once they find out about your sudden appearance. Or maybe Lorenzini Venigni – a man you only met but once – would put you in debt one way or another?

He was your uncle’s friend, after all.

Maybe the puppet would go to find you and rip you apart. The puppet this, the puppet that, it’s now sitting ‘awake’ and ‘alive,’ in the workshop. You were with it alone. No-one would come running in this part of town.

You suddenly feel sick again.

--

“Mm, I’m sorry it took me so long.” You feel like a professor, with children’s books bundled up in your arms as you let the door shut closed. Two more bags hung by their handles on your arm. Sweaty and slightly out of breath, there’s strands of hair sticking to your face. Your ponytail was a mess, and you could smell the sweat.

Your eyes were dropping, and body felt heavy. It took effort to even stand.

The sun was barely setting, and your uncle still wasn’t back. You also took an hour running around town to buy these last minute ‘supplies.’

It jolts to life, lifting its head, tilting it next once it notices your exhausted state and scrambled appearance. Its gaze then lands on the items you’re carrying, like it didn’t notice them before. It probably didn’t. It probably thought you had left for good. And you wish you did.

“I just… mm, I just wanted to see if you could,” you draw out, placing everything on the table with a ‘plop.’ “If you could read. And maybe write. Of course, if you don’t want to, then by no means do you need to do these… things.”

Selecting a book at random, you flip through the thick pages and large word formats. It had pictures to go alongside it, showing what was taking place in the text. Does this count as making fun of it? Now that you think about it, was the puppet even programed to read…?

Hell, could it even write?

Heat creeps up your neck like ants the closer you get to the puppet. It shuffles in place, adjusting itself. Your fingers twitch when you hand the book over… only to look at its left arm. Or rather, where the left arm should be. There was nothing there. You look behind you to see the arm on the table.

Oh. Right. You forgot about that.

Everything felt heavy and unsteady.

“…” you could offer to read the book to it. But if you do, then won’t it look like you’re trying to bond with it? It could use the arm it has, surely, right? But what if it keeps dropping the book? Oh, and the writing, you’re not sure which hand –

“Okay, how about this? Let me push the table – can you hold this for a bit? – closer to you.” scuff marks are left behind as the table squeaks against the floor. The puppet merely looks on, almost as though it could tell you didn’t want its help. You should consider that a good thing. But it makes everything feel worse.

Your arms are strained but the table is close enough to where the puppet can lean on it without trouble. “Thank you,” you take the book from its grasp gently, “and, here we go. I’m going to place this here…”

You lay the book on the table. With your permission (a nod when it looks at you) the puppet traces the cover. Whether it could feel the texture, or read the words, something caught its attention. It blinks just like a human before looking at you again.

Insects crawl up your skin, eating away at your flesh. A cold sweat spreads throughout your body, hairs standing on edge. The bitterness is forming on your tongue again, foot tapping harshly and rapidly. It’s louder than your heartbeat, drumming in your ear as your blood rushes through every tunnel within.

Despite everything, you were starting to feel… drained past the point of simple tiredness.

“Are you able to read… Hm, do you know what ‘reading’ means?” The foot tapping increases the longer you speak to it. Stay near it. It nods its head, and you feel a tiny bit of relief. Because it means you don’t have to baby it completely. Hopefully not at all.

Your uncle could do all he wants.

… you said you were not going to hold its hand, but isn’t that what you’re doing? Your brain is starting to turn into mush. Maybe just once wouldn’t hurt. Right?

“Okay, good. Can you read this, please?”

Summer’s Fair, was the title of the book. It was a small book, but the pages were thick. A sun, wildflowers with a pretty woman in yellow were engraved on the cover. Leatherback, you think. Secondhand, used but greatly cared for and perhaps even loved by the pervious owner.

You almost feel bad for putting it to use like this. For this.

The puppet takes its time inspecting it. Gently yet clumsily, it goes through the pages, trying its best not to rip the pages. With a boyish and innocent appearance, you could almost find it cute. But you don’t, you can’t, and you won’t. Because it is a puppet, and puppets unnerve you.

But humans do too, these days. Shaking your head, you wait until it is done with its little field trip. It flips to the first page, and its attention is fully on the words written on it. Slowly, you walk away, and bring a stool over to sit near the table. Near, but not at. Because if you sat at the table, it would imply you were willing to do more than this.

The only thing stopping you from turning it off was the puppet itself. Ignoring the fact it resembled a young man, it was a puppet. Metal like material, or steel, or whatever it was made from. A human man would be stronger than you. But a full-sized puppet? You had even less of a chance of getting away if it decided it didn’t like what you were doing.

It could easily snap your neck if you even try to sneak behind it. And the arms – they look like they’re meant for combat. Maybe the puppet knows how to fight. It’s probably been programed into it. A nice little detail you were kept in the dark about if it was proven to be true.

What was the purpose of this puppet? Calling it ‘son,’ only to obsess over it. Creating it into an image you could not comprehend. A mockery of the dead. A mockery of the puppet itself.

His grief was understandable. You would feel the same if your child was taken away from you just like that. A child you didn’t spend time with yet loved with all your heart –

But this puppet was not his son. It would never be. To replace a human, a loved one was…

“… may I see what page you’re on?” Polite, and not as stiff as you thought you would sound. It slides the book over to you. It’s near the edge and after taking a glance, you push it back. It starts reading again, and you’re met with nothing but harsh silence. The ticking of the clock, the flipping of the pages, your heartbeat, the gears inside of it moving –

It’s all white noise. Like a buzzing fly, settling into your head. Everything feels fuzzy, but prickly too, poking at you. It stings. Teeth shattering pain that courses through your body. It’s deep inside, unable to soothe the pain. You rub your head with your fingers.

It does little to help. When you look at the puppet again, you notice that it is looking at you from the corner of its eye – not at the book. When its gaze meets yours, it quickly goes back to reading. Heart drops, head aches too much, harder to think. Now that you finally had some time to ‘rest,’ you realize how fatigued your body was.

You needed some fresh air.

Before the room fully turns black, the dots decorating your vision get larger. When was the last time you had a sip of water today? Or proper sleep? Not those thirty-minute naps you would take three times a day.

Your eyes were probably dark, and face unhealthy. Nap. Yes, you should take a nap.

But the puppet…

The puppet…

The…

…puppet…

… there’s a dull pain pounding at your head.

… did something fall?

… there’s a shuffling of clothes.

…. Your body feels a little less heavy now.

… but the surface against your head was still firm, more than human skin.

… when you finally manage to open your eyes, you’re met with the hazy sight of a boyish face. Pretty eyes that are a color they shouldn’t be. Too blue. The hair was too fluffy, but the freckles looked familiar. Just like the portrait hanging in your uncle’s house.

…. And it looked less frustrated, less lonely like that little boy waiting for his father to return home. You wish you could have met that little boy. That little boy he’s so overwhelmed by feelings of regret and grief drowning him in the dark depts of the ocean.

… Maybe if you met that little boy then…

No. Nothing would have changed. Because you did not have a purpose then. You did not know Krat until a year later, did not know how puppets worked or how the parts looked. You did not know who was who, and…

--

When he returned with Howard, there was blood on the floor.

There was blood on the floor, and your body was being cradled in the single arm of his masterpiece.

==

hate to be that person, but please reblog fanfiction and fanart in general. While i am always greateful that people comment and reblog my own stuff, it is a bit disheartening to see blogs who follow/interact who have only one or two posts that were dated from last year, or not having any reblogs or content from fandoms, especially the ones i am in interact. It is not a just 'me' problem. I have seen many bring this up too, and even had a few mutual deactivate because of it, and honestly, it is stuff like that that makes me want to not contuine running this account. But with all of the recent comments and even reblogs, it rekindled my inspriation.

However, i am not saying to do that on every fic. Just some, at the very least and often enough, if that makes sense.

But from here on out, if you ask to be tag (and don't have anything on your blog that relates to what i said above), or spam like my posts without even reblogging one or just commenting, then there is a higher chance of being blocked. leave a comment, reblog, interact with your favorite creators, not just me. It helps a lot.

I am extremely grateful and happy for the people who do comment and reblog (Insert heart, on laptop)

Tag list: @ijustreblogstuff-i-like @chiofany @quzbea @cute-angi @nealcaffrey2129 @connorsoddsock @rositabluemoon @shiro-from-cafeberry @sunnyhascome

[atopvisenyashill]

My 2 cents on the "is Jon a bastard or trueborn?" debate are that Jon is trueborn, for several reasons.

1) In Targaryen-the Faith of the Seven relations, there is a pre-Baelor the Blessed period and a post-Baelor the Blessed period. In pre-Baelor times, the Faith was based at the Starry Sept of Oldtown, it was very powerful and the Targaryens preferred to appease it. After the construction of the Great Sept of Baelor, the High Septon and the Most Devout were moved from Oldtown to King's Landing, where they were utterly under the Crown's thumb. Every High Septon since Baelor's time has been a puppet for the Targaryen and Baratheon kings. Of the three High Septons we meet în ASOIAF, the first is "a great glutton, and biddable", and the second is "a trained seal that barks prettily on command."

On the subject of polygamy, I don't think the practice was forbidden for the Targaryens, and in more relaxed post-Baelor times, the Targaryen kings that didn't practice it had personal reasons for not doing so. Aegon IV had a pathological mistrust of women because his mother abandoned him when he was four years old, leading to him preferring to never marry his mistresses so as to keep them totally dependent on his favor and so he could easily get rid of them when he grew mistrustful of them. Daeron II probably loved Myriah and couldn't marry again anyway without blowing up the good relationship with Dorne he so badly wanted. Aerys I wasn't interested in one wife, let alone any other woman. Maekar never married when he was King. Egg was in love with Betha. Jaehaerys was in love with Shaera. Aerys I'm sure would have tried to marry Joanna if she wasn't his best friend's girl, but she was, and he never loved another woman after her.

Overall, I think that Rhaegar married Lyanna and didn't concern himself with the Faith messing with that because the Faith had been the Crown's bitch for over a hundred years.

2) I think that at the end of ADOS, Jon will be the first to kneel to Bran and call him "my king", and that would carry more weight if Jon was the trueborn Prince Aemon Targaryen, second son of Rhaegar and the lawful king by birthright after the death of his older brother Aegon.

2A) I think that Jon and Bran are meant to parallel Maester Aemon and Egg. As Aemon was offered the crown by the high lords at the Great Council of 233, I think that Jon will be offered the crown at the Great Council of 301, and like Aemon, Jon will tell them to give the crown to his younger brother.

2B) I think that Jon and Bran are meant to be a reverse-parallel to Torrhen Stark and Aegon the Conqueror. A Stark once bent the knee to a Targaryen, now a Targaryen will bend the knee to a Stark.

Once, the last Stark king gave up his crown to the first Targaryen King of the Seven Kingdoms. Now, the last Targaryen king will give up his crown to the first Stark King of the Seven Kingdoms. In my opinion, there's no better way to spell the end of Westeros's Targaryen era than to have Targaryen rule end as it began: with a King who Knelt. Aemon the Last will kneel before Brandon the First, as Torrhen the Last once knelt before Aegon the First.

3C) I think that Jon's name is Aemon because it's foreshadowed in the first book ("nor was he Aemon Targaryen") and because I headcanon that Lyanna was a massive Aemon the Dragonknight fangirl. I think that Aemon disguising himself as a mystery knight (the Knight of Tears) inspired Lyanna to become the Knight of the Laughing Tree. I think that Lyanna named her son after her childhood hero because she was a teenage girl, and it's a very teenage girl move to name her baby after a celebrity.

I headcanon that Lyanna asked Ned to make three promises to her:

i) To bury her în the Winterfell crypts;

ii) To protect her son from those who would harm him;

iii) To name her son Aemon Targaryen.

Ned kept the first promise and made tremendous sacrifices to keep the second, but he didn't keep the third promise and that's the reason Lyanna haunts him throughout AGOT. Ned abhors lying for any reason, and the fact that he lied to his dying sister torments him, which is why Ned in his last chapter is filled with shame and sorrow at the thought of Jon and why he wants to tell Jon the truth about his birth.

2D) there's so much prince and king foreshadowing around Jon it has to lead to something ("bastards aren't supposed to damage princes", Mormont's raven keeps repeating "king", and Ghost is "a second life worthy of a king.")

_________________

To conclude, I think that at the end of ADOS, after Aegon and Daenerys are gone, everyone will gather at Harrenhal for a Great Council, and that Jon's parentage and trueborn status will be known and accepted by all, and that Jon will be pushed forward as a candidate for kingship, but that Jon will refuse to accept it, that Jon will give up his birthright, that he will be the first to kneel before Bran and encourage others to do the same. That Prince Aemon the Dragonwolf will end the story rejecting his trueborn name and going north to become Jon, King of the Free Folk.

Lastly, I headcanon that Jon will adopt little Aemon Steelsong (Mance's son) and raise him as his own son, as Ned once did the same for another baby named Aemon (him).

I'm sorry to say but I just do not agree with most of this. I don't really like King Jon theories, and I do not like even a little Trueborn Jon theories, so this is all just, like, right over my head, i'm sorry!!

My rebuttal-

the Targaryen kings that didn't practice it had personal reasons for not doing so

I'm not sure this is true? Neither Aerys nor Aegon make it seem like they could have taken a second wife but chose not to. In fact, we know Aegon was trying to figure out how to legally put Naerys aside and disinherit Daeron. Why would he be trying so hard to put her aside if he could just take a second wife? It's because he can't take a second wife without causing a huge backlash that he didn't want to deal with. There's just not any evidence that the polygamy aspect was an open avenue to the Targaryens that they refused to take for personal reasons, and in fact we have two examples who likely would have taken second wives if they thought they could get away with it.

I think that Rhaegar married Lyanna and didn't concern himself with the Faith

This is argument for Rhaegar to be just as stupid as Cersei (no shade) when it comes to planning for the future though. I can buy that Rhaegar is prophecy obsessed enough that he wouldn't care but polygamy doesn't exist amongst the first men either and the last second wife got her entire line murdered for her troubles, so it's not something I think Lyanna would encourage (and the Alys Harrroway of it aside, it's not like Visenya was treated that well either. There's just no real benefit to being a second wife imo).

Jon and Bran are meant to parallel [insert here]

I fully agree with this, but I don't think Jon needs to be trueborn in order to accomplish those parallels! I do think Jon will be offered a crown and decline but I think him staying a bastard is important for the Blackfyre parallels - regardless of his status, being an able bodied man with the right look is enough for a rebellion to spring up around him, and because Jon loves his siblings, he actively suppresses it. This can parallel Aemon/Egg and even Torrhen/Aegon without Jon having to be trueborn, and in my opinion, it makes for a more interesting story when it comes to the themes of Who Gets To Lead, Who Gets To Call Themselves The Heir, if a minor revolt organizes around a bastard because he is able bodied, in comparison to his sisters and disabled brother. If Jon is trueborn it's like....so that entire story of identity, of how unfairly he is treated, how this reputation for being prickly and lustful and violent means nothing because he was trueborn all along. It's like Tyrion getting a dragon for me - it just completely undercuts the meat of his story by givnig him a "well i WAS special this whole time" cop out.

Jon's true name is Aemon

I've actually talked about that too - I agree that Lyanna probably settled on the name Aemon if she had to give him Targaryen name, but I don't think Lyanna wanted to give him a Targaryen name. And also - his name is Jon Snow. Like, I think all this focus on what his "real name" is is really stupid (in general, not a knock at you specifically) because his real name is Jon Snow. It's the name his FATHER, the one that MATTERS the one that RAISED HIM, gave him, it's the name he has carried his whole life, it's the name his brothers called him, it's the name his sisters think of when they recall him. His name is Jon Snow. He can't escape it! He doesn't get to have a secret special name that makes everything all better, he is a bastard with a bastard's name and a carefully chosen "Jon" so as not to upset Catelyn nor disparage the memory of Lyanna. He is Jon Snow and he will die Jon Snow.

What Lyanna made Ned promise

Yeah I....don't think Lyanna made Ned promise to name her kid Aemon. I think by the time she's dying she's very aware that there's a war going on that's being kept from her and making sure her child is named Aemon is like, the last thing on her mind. I have a theory that she might have hinted at the song of ice and fire bfore she died but I don't think that has anything to do with Jon's name. I think people focus on his name TOO much honestly; it is, to me, the least interesting part of the R+L=J mystery!

And that being why she's haunting Ned...we know why she's haunting Ned! He went to war with the idea that she had been kidnapped by big bad evil Rhaegar, and figures out too late that part of why she went with Rhaegar was because, like she told him, she did not want to marry Robert. She wanted control over her life, she wanted to be able to make choices about her own life, and Ned waved off her concerns as if they were trivial. And then she died. That's why she haunts him! I think the idea that she is haunting him because he smartly chose not to put himself and Jon at risk by giving him a Targaryen name is really missing the forest for the trees.

there's so much prince and king foreshadowing around Jon it has to lead to something

CORRECT! He will be offered a crown, and he is the biological son of a king! He's just not the trueborn heir himself!

Jon's parentage and trueborn status will be known and accepted by all

See, I disagree that Jon's parentage will be known and accepted. I think Aegon VI is going to make things hard for him. I think a lot of people will know but I think the realm at large will see Jon as what they've always seen him - Ned Stark's bastard. Because that's what he is! He is Ned Stark's son. His whole story from the very first chapter is about how difficult it is to be Ned Stark's son!

Lastly, I headcanon that Jon will adopt little Aemon Steelsong (Mance's son) and raise him as his own son, as Ned once did the same for another baby named Aemon (him).

Interesting theory, and I do love the idea of Jon adopting a child but I also got like, really attached to Gilly continuing to raise both babies, or even Val - when she tells Jon he owes her a debt, she makes it clear she expects that debt to be repayed by giving over Monster to her keeping. There's an interesting play here in the way Gilly and Val get attached to babies that aren't theirs and I think that's more fascinating than Jon swooping in to raise one of the babies he forcibly swapped.

[askmalal]

The Primarchs had Their Brothers, Part XI continued.

I. The Lion:

“I did not always agree with him, nor even approve of him. But he was my brother, and I trusted him. Such a fine brother we did not deserve.”

II. (Redacted):

“(The Eleventh) nearly broke Mortarion’s nose when the latter questioned my right to sit at the table as one of the Emperor’s children. I didn’t ask him to do so. I did not call for help. He simply did it. An hour before, the two had been playing Shatar.”

III. Fulgrim:

“He tells me honestly when he feels something in my collection is too gaudy. He will be frank when he dislikes my compositions. He will tease me if he feels I am ‘preening like a peacock.’ And yet for a man who is literally incapable of seeing any color but shades of black and grey, the man’s taste in art is astoundingly spot on.”

IV. Perturabo:

“In our last correspondence, he told me that my decision at Theta-Bartlett was wrong. He was, of course incorrect. He felt that he had the right to make the criticism. He was, of course, correct.”

V. The Khan:

“There are no horses on [REDACTED{! What an awful childhood that must have been! Thank goodness they had dogs!”

VI. The Russ:

“On his adopted homeworld, the rough translation of the local word for whiskey is ‘Water of Life’. Taken from the old Gaelic. I love these people.”

VII. Rogal Dorn:

“He has asked me to help in designing new buildings for the planets in his home star system. He admits he is no architect. His ideas are sound, however, and I am sure I can work with them.”

VIII. Kurze:

“The ‘Devil’s Hound’ a local song calls him. I had to meet this man. I was not disappointed, though it took.. some time for the ice between us to thaw.@

IX. Sanguinius:

“His flying leaves a great deal to be desired. He tries, bless him, but the best jet pack in the galaxy can’t sacs him. This is a man meant for the void, yes, and the land and water as well. But the air? Thank goodness his Legionaries manage it.”

X. Ferrus Manus:

“Can you believe that our first operation together involved sinking a battleship? A battleship? How often have I done that? That was… that was entertaining.”

XII. Angron:

“A competent killer. Talks too much.”

XIII. Roboute Guiliman:

“I was afforded the opportunity to visit his adopted home world, once. I must tell you that I have never seen so many bovines, so many flowers… or so many cemeteries. “

XIV. Mortarion:

“He nearly broke my nose once. And upon reflection, the judgmental bastard was probably right to do it.”

“What had you done, my lord?”

“I made a rare miscalculation.”

- Exchange with a Legionary Captain

XV. Magnus:

“He is, upon occasion, overly cautious for my tastes.”

XVI. Horus:

“He is the Emperor’s pathfinder and tracker, you know. His coursing hound. Given the scent, he can find anything. Give the man an eight thousand year old map of a place the cartographer had never been, written in a language he does not read or write, and he can likely still make use of it. I’ve no doubt he could find fictional places, given the opportunity.”

XVII. Lorgar:

“His refusal to abandon his faith does him credit. But, then,m, he does not proselytize…”

XVIII. Vulkan:

“Have you ever seen a joke so well told that it can make a dreadnought laugh? I have.”

XIX. Corax:

“I read his ‘Summa Artilleria Logistica’’. The man made numbers and ordnance palatable, even interesting. I again regret, deeply, our never having met.”

XX. Alpharius-Omegon:

“Very, very good at keeping a secret… Very, very good indeed.”

[the-blossica-fan]

Hear me out.

Friendship between Druvis III and Ms. NewBabel

In NewBabel's time, she had always wanted to purchase the land Druvis' family once owned as to repopulate it with trees, but never got around to doing so due to time constraints.

Now, being able to talk to Druvis III herself, she decided not to immediately ask, but instead to just get to know her.

Druvis, meanwhile, is surprised NewBabel is a CEO with a brain in her skull.

The two had tea, and the original plan slipped her mind.

I'm grasping for straws because RAHHHHH DRUVIS III AND NEWBABEL CONTENT PLS BLUEPOCH I BEG ;-;

I thank that one person that convinced BluePoch to FINALLY give Ms Newbabel a skin and make her stronger, you're the goat 🙏

Before I begin, I'd love to imagine Ms Newbabel struggling to write Druvis' last name and having to ask her directly before writing her a card. Weyerhaeuser, what a name.

Just two business women - although one is from a fallen family and the other is a successful business owner - hanging out and having tea, what's the fuss?

I think it would be great for Druvis to have a friend like Ms. Newbabel, after all she did kind of fall into depression after everything that happened and didn't continue with business.

Ms Newbabel would try to introduce Druvis to business again, slowly of course. They'd become good friends by the time this has been brought up, and they actually seem to have enough things in common.

Druvis would dress up the critters for adoption and help Newbabel with some designs, after all she is a very floral and natural person, something that goes very well with Newbabel's critter business.

They'd be that kind of woman you'd expect to be gossiping, those in series that sit together drinking tea and talking shit, but nope! They're complimenting the place, the environment, and the tea. They're very wholesome.

Please BluePoch I beg you to let out Druvis of whatever basement you have her in (alongside Click and Horropedia) I miss her 😭

[sillylotrpolls]

(Relevant reading below poll)

From the Appendices, in 1541:

But when King Elessar gave up his life Legolas followed at last the desire of his heart and sailed over Sea. Here follows one of the last notes in the Red Book We have heard tell that Legolas took Gimli Glóin's son with him because of their great friendship, greater than any that has been between Elf and Dwarf. If this is true, then it is strange indeed: that a Dwarf should be willing to leave Middle-earth for any love, or that the Eldar should receive him, or that the Lords of the West should permit it. But it is said that Gimli went also out of desire to see again the beauty of Galadriel; and it may be that she, being mighty among the Eldar, obtained this grace for him. More cannot be said of this matter.

And

On September 22 [1482] Master Sam-wise rides out from Bag End. He comes to the Tower Hills, and is last seen by Elanor, to whom he gives the Red Book afterwards kept by the Fairbairns. Among them the tradition is handed down from Elanor that Samwise passed the Towers, and went to the Grey Havens and passed over Sea, last of the Ring-bearers.

[verai-marcel]

Your Hearth Is My Home (BG3 Fanfic, Astarion x Female Reader, Part 26 of 28)

Summary, Notes, Tags, & Part 1 are here.

Act I - Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3 | Part 4 | Part 5 | Part 6 | Part 7 | Part 8 | Part 9 | Part 10 | Part 11 | Part 12

Act II - Part 13 | Part 14 | Part 15 | Part 16 | Part 17 | Part 18 | Part 19 | Part 20 | Part 21 | 

Act III - Part 22 | Part 23 | Part 24 | Part 25 | Part 26 | Part 27 (18+) | Part 28 (END)

AO3 Link is here, my sweet.

Word Count: 3,529

——————————

Act III, Chapter 5 - The Reunion

You landed in the middle of a forest on a pile of moss, the momentum of your fall making you roll over and over until you bumped into the large trunk of an enormous tree. Coughing up some of the dirt and leaves that had flown into your mouth during your fall, you slowly got up and looked around.

Wow. Everything is so much more vibrant here. Wherever here is.

You felt the magic in this place, pulsating and calling to you. I wonder…

You sang a spell, one that would give you knowledge of the area around you. The song helped you to commune with the natural environment, allowing you to learn some of its secrets. And soon, you realized three important things.

One, you were in the middle of a forest.

Two, you were no longer in Toril.

Three, there was a being of immense power nearby, and they were heading your way.

Shit shit shit shit

You started to run in the opposite direction of the being, but your movements caused a chiming in your pocket. Recalling that Astarion had given you the feywild bell, you pulled it out.

Well, why not? Can’t hurt to ask one question.

You rang the bell. The pixie from the moonlantern appeared, floating next to you. She was about to speak, but you kept jogging right past her. She looked around her in confusion, and flew after you. Once she had caught up, she stared at you, as if she was trying to remember something.

“Where in the hells am I?”

She looked at you as if you were stupid. “The Feywild, obviously.”

You glared at her. It’s not obvious to me, dammit.

She glared back. “Can you stop moving for a moment?”

“No way,” you said. “There’s something following me and it feels powerful.”

The pixie laughed. “Oh, that? She means you no harm. Even if she did, you wouldn’t be able to outrun her like that.”

You shrugged and stopped. No point in wasting energy if that’s the case. “Alright. That’s all I need—”

She suddenly gasped. “I knew I had seen you before!”

“Huh?”

“You, you…” She pointed at you, and then she pointed back in the direction of the great power that was headed your way.

“What?”

She suddenly zipped away, towards the powerful being.

You stayed still, listening. 

There was a slight buzzing sound, then a soft feminine voice that sounded like yours, three voices layered into one.

“Dolly?”

A fey eladrin came out of the thicket, Dolly flitting beside her. Her hair was the color of autumn maple leaves, her skin the color of the golden sunset, her eyes glowing like the heart of a bonfire.

“Now it makes sense!” the pixie exclaimed as she looked from you to her and back again. “That’s why you looked familiar and yet not.” She flew into the fey woman’s face. “Lady Orla went to Toril and tied the knot!”

It took you a long moment, because you couldn’t believe it, even after Dolly said her name.

But you finally realized it.

“Mother?”

She smiled, radiant and glowing. Literally glowing. You could see a golden aura surrounding her as she walked closer, her eyes shining brightly. She called out your name, your full name, and your heart shattered. Running to her, you hugged her, crying, bewildered that she was here, and not dead.

Holding you tight, she petted your hair and soothed you with soft words. “My sweet baby, you’ve grown so much,” she murmured. “How long has it been?”

You pulled back. “It… it’s been thirteen years.”

She blinked. “Has it been so long?” Shaking her head she pulled you in for another hug. “I had no idea. Time flows differently in the Feywild.”

“How… different?”

“It depends,” she said, shrugging. “A day here could be a minute or a month in Toril.”

You panicked.

Your mother held you tightly. “Take a deep breath, my dear. You’re already here.”

“How do I get back?”

She frowned. “You just found me, and now you already want to leave?”

“I…”

Patting you on the head when you trailed off, she nodded knowingly. “You have a paramour.”

You nodded shyly.

“Well then, we had best get your training completed so you can return.”

“Training?”

“Yes.” She held out her hand. “Come, I’ll answer all your questions once we get home.”

***

The walk to your mother’s home was long, but you weren’t entirely sure how long since the sun never moved in the sky. Along the way, your mother told you about the Feywild, about the dangers and the beauties of this plane. Of the higher powers and the creatures to look out for. You learned that the Feywild was always in eternal dawn, and night was more of a where instead of a when. 

You saw the magnificent cliffside mansion that she lived in, carved directly into the rockface. It was both simple in its design, yet awe-inspiring in its decor. As you walked through the main foyer, you met the fey that served under her. All of them looked like powerful fey eladrin in their own right.

Looking up at your mother as she led you to her sitting room, you realized that you had never seen her this vibrant. Perhaps it was because she was in her element. 

“You’re glowing,” you observed.

“Thank you, sweetheart.”

“I meant”—you gestured with your hands—“you have a golden aura around you.”

She tipped her head. “You can see that?”

You nodded.

Smiling proudly, she replied, “Of course. You are my child, after all.” She led you through the sitting room to the balcony that overlooked the forest. Gesturing for you to take one of the seats at a small round table, she sat down daintily and looked over the selection of tea cakes and a pot of tea. Two ornate tea cups on matching saucers were placed next to each other.

“Wow, how did they know to bring all this up? You didn’t say anything to anyone that I heard.” You looked curiously at your mother. “Are you psychic too?”

She laughed. “No, dear, the brownies take care of all the housework, and they know what I like.” Taking one of the cakes, she placed it on a napkin and floated it over to the mantel over the fireplace. “And I know which cake they want because they always make an extra one.”

You recalled that brownies were hearth spirits that took care of homes at night, and were paid with food or milk placed over the hearth.

“So… how much time passed here while you were with Father in Faerun?”

Your mother frowned as she thought about it. “About a year, give or take a month. I don’t really pay attention to such things here, I just take care of my piece of the Feywild and travel whenever I fancy.”

“What made you stay with Father?”

“You don’t know?”

You shook your head. “I… never asked, I guess.”

She hummed thoughtfully. “I thought Deaglan would have said something…” She shrugged. “Your father contracted with me for his powers.”

You blinked. “Wait, what?”

Your mother laughed, a rich, melodic sound that almost made you want to join in her amusement, except that you were still very confused. 

“I thought Father used to be a wizard before he moved to our village.”

“Did you ever say that to him?”

“No, I just assumed—”

“Don’t ever assume, child.” She tapped you on your nose. “Please tell me you broke that habit of yours.”

You looked away.

She sighed. “Well, there’s still time, I suppose.”

You frowned “Then my assumption about you being a simple hearth witch was clearly wrong too.”

“To be fair, I led you to believe that.”

“So you lied.”

“I did not lie,” she said sharply. “I omitted some things, and you didn’t ask.”

“I didn’t want you to think I was stupid!”

“Better to ask questions and look the fool now, than to make hasty conclusions and look the fool later,” she chided.

Now you remembered why you hadn’t listened to your mother during her lessons when you were an angry teenager. But you were older now. Surely you had the patience to speak equally with her? You took a deep breath. “Fine. You’re right—”

“Of course I am.”

You gritted your teeth. “So if not a hearth witch, then what are you?”

She looked at you, a gentle smile on her face. “What do you think?”

You stared at her, with her fiery red hair that practically floated around her, the soft, glowing aura that made her skin shine like gold, her triple-layered voice that sounded like a choir harmony every time she spoke… and now, adding in the new fact that your father had contracted with your mother… 

“Are you…?” You trailed off, suddenly unsure of your wild theory.

“Trust your instincts, child.”

You took a deep breath. Yes. This feels right. “Are you an archfey?”

She smiled.

It took a moment to sink in. Your mother, who you knew as a hearth witch who lived in a poor village in the cold north, was, in fact, one of the most powerful beings in the planes.

“Wait wait wait,” you said, holding your hand out. “You’re an archfey. Who deigned to live fifteen years or more on a different plane, in a podunk little village in the bitter cold, when you have this amazing mansion in the Feywild? Why?”

The sadness that suddenly filled your mother’s eyes made you feel incredibly guilty about asking. But you had to know. You grabbed her hand, but you felt nothing.

She held your hand in hers and sighed. “You never learned how to guard yourself properly, did you? I can feel your guilt, your confusion.”

You opened your mouth to tell her that you never understood her lessons, but you suddenly couldn’t say a word. The sadness you saw in her eyes flooded into you. You tried to pull your hand out from her grasp, but she held you tight like a vice.

“I loved Deaglan with all my heart,” she said, her voice sounding like the wail of a hundred banshees, crying out in pain. “When he died, I couldn’t… I couldn’t bear it. He should have summoned me. He should have called for me.”

You remembered why she wasn’t with him. Because she had been with you. Ushering you out of the village to protect you.

Your guilt multiplied.

“It wasn’t your fault,” she said, immediately sensing it. “Neither of us wanted anything to happen to you. But when I went back for him… seeing him dead… I just…” She took a deep breath. “I gave up. I used my powers to their fullest, and let the Feywild pull me back.”

She finally let go of your hands, and you could finally breathe again. “You should have listened to me,” she reproached. “You’re lucky I switched one note on my song for you, to put you into a deep sleep instead of burning you from the inside out like I did to those demons.”

“I know. I’m sorry.”

Your mother patted your shoulder. “But that’s in the past. I’m guessing, since you were pulled here, your seal broke?”

No wonder I’m used to the topic whiplash from Astarion. My mother does it too. “Is that what that was for? To keep my powers locked down?”

She nodded. “Without that seal, every time you sing something stronger than a cantrip, there’s a high chance you’ll get pulled into the Feywild.”

You sighed. “So I just have to stick to cantrips. Not a problem, I was only using cantrips until recently anyway.”

She raised an eyebrow. “Accidents happen, you know. You may need to defend yourself, or save someone. Unleash your magic, then… pop! Back here you come.”

“Here specifically? Or here as in the Feywild?”

“Wherever you are in Toril, the closest fey crossing will pull you through.”

“Why?”

Your mother shrugged. “Our magic is tied to this land. Like calls to like.”

In other words, she’s not entirely sure either. “Alright, well, I’ll just have to be careful.” You tapped your chin in thought. “How did you figure that out, anyway?”

“Spent a lot of time traveling through both Toril and the Feywild,” she said. “Before I met your father, I never stayed in one place for very long, partially because every time I would cast anything stronger than a cantrip, I’d get pulled back here.”

“Oh.” You frowned. “So this is just my life from now on.” Your shoulders slumped. You’d have to be very careful about how much power you used from here on out.

This time, your mother was tapping her chin in thought. “Unless… you contract with someone. That will stabilize your power and keep you in Toril. It’s why I stayed in the village for so long.”

You blinked. “But I thought only archfey can contract. I can’t do that.”

She tipped her head and looked at you a little condescendingly. “Dear child, you are my daughter. I will train you.”

“But I’m half-human.”

“Doesn’t matter. My blood runs strong through you.”

You nodded. And then you suddenly thought of something. “If I contract with someone, will they gain powers as well?”

“Yes.”

“For example, if someone was allergic to, say, sunlight, would they suddenly be able to withstand it?”

You could see the gears turning in her head. “Is this… your lover?”

You nodded.

“He's… a vampire?”

“Not a full vampire, a vampire spawn.”

“What if his master—”

“We killed his master.”

“Oh.” She tapped a finger against her chin as she thought about it. “It should work, yes.” But then she glared at you. “But why would you fall for a vampire spawn? Are you sure he even loves you?”

“Yes, I’m sure.”

“They’re known to be only beholden to their hungers. They know nothing of love or loyalty—”

“Have you ever met one?”

“Yes, several. There are a few that live in the Feywild, in fact.”

“...Oh.” You floundered. “But Astarion isn’t like any other. I had assumed the worst as well, but he…” You smiled wryly. “He’s broken all my assumptions about nobles and vampires.”

Your mother stared at you for an uncomfortably long time before she finally shrugged nonchalantly. “Alright. If that’s how you feel about him.”

“It is.” You had the distinct feeling that the discussion about him wasn’t actually over, but you let her set the topic down for now. Besides, you had another question. “Erm, so in my travels, I came across a boy named Thaniel. He—”

Your mother gasped. “Little Thaniel from the forest! Black hair, green eyes, the cutest button nose and dainty little antlers?”

“Yes, that’s him.”

“Oh, I hope he’s doing well, his forest was so lovely. I brought him a bit of autumn colours, just for a little while.” She smiled wistfully. “He said he loved my singing.”

You held your tongue. “He’s doing alright,” you said vaguely.

She stared at you, again for an uncomfortably long time.

“It’ll be a long story,” you finally said.

“We have time,” she said. “Tell me everything.”

***

You told her everything. From thirteen years ago, when you woke up, coughing up dust from the village on fire, through your ten years foolishly in the service of a masked lord of Waterdeep (your mother gave you several withering looks through that part), your three years living outside of Baldur’s Gate (she approved of the way you handled those two thugs), your choice to join your companions on their journey (she raised an eyebrow at your decision but said nothing), right up to when you were trying to sing a protection webbing around Astarion (she immediately tore apart your spell choice and the reasons why it was a terrible idea).

It had taken a while to relay the rest of your life’s story, and tea time had become supper, and then a late walk in the woods around your mother’s lands, even though the sun never moved in the sky. 

After a full night’s sleep, your mother sat you down in her sitting room once more.

“I don’t know how long it will take to train you, honestly,” she told you. “I know you want to return, but if you don’t have a full grasp of your powers, you’ll only hurt yourself. That burning pain you felt when your seal was falling apart? You’ll feel that all over again if you don’t learn how to control it.”

You swallowed. Fuck. Am I even ready? This is… this is a lot.

Your mother took your hand. “I can feel your anxiety, child. But you can do it.” She tucked a strand of your hair behind your pointed ear. “You’re you, after all.”

***

Your mother taught you how to trance, how to teleport, all sorts of things you never thought possible as a human. She finally taught you Sylvan, and you realized that the book you had purchased from Sorcerous Sundries was, in fact, hilariously incorrect.

And the songs you learned, oh, so many different kinds of songs. You could sing a room to ecstasy, to sleep, or to death, if you willed it.

So this is the power of being an archfey. Or demi-archfey, since I’m only half. But even so, I’m still more powerful than I ever dreamed.

It felt like a blink of an eye, but before you knew it, a year had passed.

The cozy warmth of home that you had sorely missed for the past thirteen years was something you had indulged in for the past year, giving hugs to everyone as you got to know all of the fey who served your mother. They had all come to know you as the Little Lady of the mansion, not because of your size, though you were not much smaller than your mother, but because you were so young compared to many of them. Everyone here knew how to shield, and once you also learned how to block out emotions properly, your empathy skills increased. You could control it now, and you could use it to dive deeper into someone’s emotions, through the shields of others. 

Although you hoped to never have to do that. It felt like a violation of another’s personal space, even though your mother thought nothing of it.

Father was right. The Fey have a completely different way of thinking.

On a beautiful day in what you presumed was autumn, with a full moon rising on the other side of the never-setting sun, your mother finally felt you were ready to return. You and your mother, arms linked, walked back to the same spot where you had tumbled into this plane. She had been nagging you non-stop on the walk from her mansion, and while you appreciated her worrying about you, you also couldn’t wait to get some silence.

Gods, how much time has passed in Toril? Will everyone even still be alive? Will Astarion even remember me?

“Now remember, you can come back whenever you want to, you just need to find a fey crossing.” She stopped and stood before you, her gaze warm and her smile soft. “You’ll always have a home here.”

“Thank you, Mother,” you said, hugging her tightly. “I promise not to be a complete stranger.”

She smiled. “You’ll always be my daughter,” she said as she stepped back. “Even if you take a strange lover.”

You rolled your eyes. Your mother, though her intentions had been good, had been questioning if Astarion would still be waiting for you this whole year. You had deflected all of her attempts to put doubts into your head by insisting that he would wait for you.

I know I was being stubborn just to snark back at her. He may not be waiting for me, but at the very least I’ll find him and ask him if he still wants to be with me, or if he’s found someone else. If he’s still around.

But you’d never tell her that, otherwise she’d think she’d won the argument.

“Love you too, Mother.”

“May your melody guide your way.”

You nodded and stepped back. Taking a deep breath, you began to sing, just as the full moon rose to its zenith. The fey crossroad opened before you, glowing blue lines swirling into a rune, a circle within a circle with Sylvan words written in the Elvish alphabet, Espruar.

Moonlight, come shine on me to take me home once more

To someone who holds me dear, someone I adore…

You kept singing your song, your words drawing the rune on the ground until it finally flashed brightly as the circles closed. Within the inner circle, you could see the dock at night, the moonlight casting a silver glow everywhere. And much to your surprise, standing beyond was a figure with white hair and red eyes.

You turned back to your mother, who was staring, surprised.

“Told you he’d be waiting,” you said with a grin, just to get one last word in before you leapt into the portal.

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

Act III, Chapter 5 End notes: Oh shiiiiit, we’re almost at the end! Will they finally DO THE DEED? Will I finally change the rating of this fic to explicit? (Of course I will, it’s me.) Let me know in the comments what you think of this chapter!

Tags List: @numblytemporary @xalphafox @avitute @stormyjane7 @kmoon21

[dracomalfoy7]

The Other Half | III

PART II

Draco Malfoy x Slytherin!Reader Fling!Marco Flint x Slytherin!Reader Harry Potter x Sister!Reader

Summary: Harry Potter's twin sister y/n Potter transfers to Hogwarts during the third year. With Harry being a Gryffindor being sorted into Slytherin was hard enough. Now having to battle the shadow that comes with being the twin of the chosen one. On top of being the only girl on the Slytherin quidditch team. In the notorious cold-blooded house, y/n leans on the Bronze 5. Eventually falling for the pureblood prince, himself Draco Malfoy.

Word Count: 1k+

Warnings: Retired Voldy AU, Angst, Fluff, Cursing

A/N: Hey guys I know I’ve been AWOL for sometime but I got the need to write again. I will try to be more consistent this time! If you want to be on the taglist click the link! ps. This is not my gif

The clock hits 6 am ringing until you slam down on the clock causing it to stop. You roll out of bed with a big stretch and take a shower washing away the night. You move swiftly through your morning routine as you prepare to play quidditch with Marcus. You know you can't bruise his ego but you can't just roll over and let him win. As you're deep in thought brushing your teeth. Blake walks in, yawning and covering her eyes from the light of the bathroom.

“Y/N/N what are you doing up so early come back to bed,” she says with a slight whine

“I'd love to but I got business with Flint, a girl’s gotta get on the quidditch team somehow”

Blake frowns heading for the toilet

After you change into one of your old practice jerseys you grab your Nimbus 2000 and head for the door. As you cross the halls near the quidditch field you're greeted by a familiar bunch. Enzo, Blaise, and Draco walking back drenched in sweat.

“Early morning practice?”

“Nah just playing for funz,” says Enzo

“We’ll see you later after you beat Flint’s arse right?” Blaise asked with a wink

“Oh a hundred percent” You smirk

You continue walking into the stadium and circling above you like a hawk Marcus Flint. He dives down doing a 360 before landing in front of you.

“Surprise you showed up Vip thought you were all bark no bite”

Trying not to give him an ear full you bite your tongue “I’m just here to have a little fun, it's been a while since I’ve gotten on the broom.”

Before he can speak you swing over the body of the broom and take off flying through the air you smile sheepishly. You stop to take in the cold autumn air, closing your eyes and taking a deep needed breath. As you open your eyes Marcus is stationed in front of you.

“What are you staring at Flint?”

“O just a pretty girl sitting in front of me”

You smile putting on your best doe eyes.

“How sweet of you”

You and Marcus rip through the air intensely for a few hours. In the beginning, you were a bit rusty with Marcus being able to score on you way more they you would’ve liked. But the blink of an eye, it all came back to you like riding a bike. You gracefully fly through the air scoring on his side and advancing past him. Now covered in sweat you both come to a mutual stop.

‘Wow, I don’t say this often but you’re really good… for a girl of course”

You keep your eyes from rolling to the back of your head after that distasteful remark.

Unable to contain all your sarcasm you say “Well I didn’t make history in America for nothing.”

After the words leave your mouth you regret it all a little and glance at his face to get a read.

Marcus laughs “I mean the Americas aren’t as good as us but you’re right.”

He clears his throat “That being said you are probably better than half the guys on my team”

You can’t help but grin “Oh really”

“Ya, totally any chance you’d be willing to try out for the team?”

“I mean a personal invitation for the captain can’t be ignored can it?”

“Great tryouts start tomorrow and go for three days”

“Epic I’ll be there”

After touching down back on the floor he walks you back into the locker rooms. You op to freshen up in your dorm room and take a shower to wash the sweat away. As you dry your hair with a towel walking out of the bathroom you're startled.

“Jesus”

Pansy and Avery are sitting on there beds staring at you

“So how’d it go?” Blake asks batting her eyelashes

You laugh “Exactly like I wanted”

“You’re looking at the only girl trying out for the quidditch team tomorrow”

“Wow, even I’m shocked actually?” Pansy remarks

“That’s right I mean I’m not officially on the team yet but we shall see”

Blake jumps up and down on the mattress

“Oh my god. Oh my god.”

You and Pansy both stare at her

“Stop everyone’s going to hear you”

She stops “alright alright fine let’s go get dinner”

You and the girls walk down the corridor into the great hall. You spot the boys and sit across from them.

Blake examines “Guy Y/N did it she’s trying out with you guys tomorrow!”

Lorenzo’s Jaw drops “Bloody Hell no way he actually let you”

You smile “No to brag but yup”

Blaise laughs “I can’t believe this you had to play dirty or something”

You just roll your eyes

Draco was hard to read not much of a reaction.

You turn to him “Well what do you think Malfoy”

He looks up from his food “You’ve only gotten your toe through the door”

Enzo stands up “No! we are going to make you look soo good tomorrow”

“I mean come on we’re a given to get on the team we’ve been flying together since we were in literal diapers. Plus I mean being best friends with Mr. Malfoy here has its peaks.”

Draco rolls his eyes “My father will hear about this”

Blake speaks up “Well we havee to celebrate I mean come on this is huge”

Blaise contradicts “No not tonight Y/N needs a good night of rest. We all do”

“Besides the way you guys drink Y/N would be dead before tryouts even started.”

All three of you disagree at the same time “It’s not That bad”

After dinner the six of you walk back to the common room. Everyone is setting up for the party since it’s Slytherin’s turn to throw.

“Ugh the first Slytherin party of the year and I can’t go,” You say disappointed

“It’s okay, all the quidditch players will be sleeping early today everyone has to wake up a the literal crack of dawn,” Blaise says

“Besides will throw the party in your honor if you make it on the team” Enzo adds

Everyone says goodnight and heads to the separate girls and boys’ dorms. You change into your pajamas brush your teeth and say goodnight to Blake and Pansy before turning off the light.

PART IV

tags: @babydaddy69 @venomsvl @kaverichauhan @marplest

[shiningfennec]

A propaganda speech about playing as a Merling:

I've been playing Minecraft: Origins mod as a merling and I speak with utmost honesty and a burning passion when I tell you I never want to play as anything else ever again. Vanilla Minecraft has lost it's appeal since I can't be a merperson there. I've been cursed and blessed to always feel the longing for the depths forevermore.

Basically as soon as you find an ocean, you're set for life. You'll find ships with treasure and underwater nether portals, and oh so many huge caves. You get rich ridiculously fast by swimming through huge underwater caves and clearing them of diamonds, gold and iron. They're 50 blocks below you? You can just swim down. No fall damage, no monsters. On the ceiling? Doesn't matter, just swim up there. And you can swim FAST. I cannot stress this enough, you are FAST underwater, and that's even before you get Depth Strider III. And there's no monsters nor trees nor terrain nor obstacles that usually slow you down up on the surface, you can just literally swim really fast over everything and see everything from above (and with good vision, as the merling vision underwater is always great, no matter the time of day). It's like flying, but better, as you're more in control. Also building your house is so easy like this, you don't even need any scaffolding.

The only danger you'll encounter underwater are the drowned, but they are laughably slow compared to you (it's the ones with a trident that are actually dangerous, but they're pretty managable, especially if you've got a shield). Pufferfish don't puff up around you so you're in no danger around them (and they make for cute pets). Guardians and Elder Guardians are kind of dangerous, but you'll manage if you know what you're doing (dodging behind multiple columns the builders were kind enough to provide).

Oh you wanted to go on land? No problem. Water bucket is your best friend, but I get it, waiting for your breath to restore can be pretty annoying. So as soon as you can you should look for turtles and get that sweet turtle helmet, which 1. will give you 10 seconds free respiration and 2. you only need to be underwater for a split second for it to restore (yes - everything that usually gives players a water breathing effect, gives you an air breathing effect). So you go on land, have a free 10s, then your bubbles go down for like another 10s, then you pour the water bucket over yourself for half a second and you're good to go for another 20 seconds. Oh and if you enchant your turtle helmet with respiration III, the time period you can be outside of water is more like 1,5 minute. And again, you water bucket for a second and you have another 1,5 minute. Literally rinse and repeat.

Still unhappy? Want to visit your friends but you're tired of your best friend, the bucket? Make a ✨CONDUIT✨. It can be quite the hassle to acquire the materials for it (and I think of the shells - the Heart of the Sea is actually very easy to find), but it creates a huge area where you can breathe air infinitely.

As for the Nether, okay, I agree that it isn't the best place for merlings, as the water bucket trick won't help you there. But breathing potions will! Getting them can be a pain if you don't play with non-merlings willing to pay a visit to the Nether first and bring you that rod to power the alchemy table (you can offer to your friends that you'll pay for it with diamond blocks you've already managed to collect because digging underwater is, as I've mentioned, broken). But if you don't play with friends it's still possible, as you can find water breathing potions in treasure chests (and you can find one of these by finding a map in a shipwreck chest). And when you've finally acquired the alchemy table, well then congratulations, you're unstoppable, my friend. Just stack up on underwater breathing potions and you have multiple 8 minute periods to go and do whatever you like - even in the harshest conditions.

So basically:

1. Become a merling.

2. ???

3. Profit.

Bonus points: You can build huge colorful aquariums at multiple people's bases and be your friends' pet fish. A very fast, very rich pet fish.

[pengychan]

[Baldur’s Gate III] Hell to Pay, Ch. 7

Illustration (and art in the chapter) by @raphaels-little-beast

Title: Hell to Pay Summary: Assassinating an archdevil is a daunting task, even for the heroes of Baldur’s Gate. Some inside help from ‘the devil they know’ would be good, if not for the detail their last meeting ended with said devil dead in his own home. Or did it? Characters: Raphael, the Dark Urge, Astarion, Haarlep, Halsin, Karlach, Wyll. Rating: M Status: In progress

All chapters will be tagged as ‘hell to pay’ on my blog. Also on Ao3.

*** The second half of this chapter was supposed to be about the kind of Bullshit only a party with a rogue and a bard can get into, but then the first half took over. So yeah, Astarion and Raphael will have to wait until the next chapter to get into Bullshit. Until then, have more existential crisis. Crisises. Chrysler. Crises. No I did not have to look up what the plural of crisis is. ***

“You know, I am not entirely sure Raphael was ever informed of the difference between sparring and attempted murder.”

Sitting just inside one of the tents they had set up on the lakeshore to keep away from the sun, Astarion shrugged. “I’m pretty sure that he knows the difference and chooses to ignore it. I do it all the time.”

“You’re remarkably unconcerned.”

“And you’re surprised?” Astarion clicked his tongue. “Wyll, you know as well as I do that my lovely idiot could tear him apart if they wanted. Raphael has literally no chance in all Hells to beat them. Durge is going so easy on him, it’s almost embarrassing.”

“Well,” Halsin intervened, briefly looking up from the duck he was whittling and giving the boiling pot of stew a stir, “they did say that the goal is to make sure he can hold his own before we head to Avernus. I suspect maiming him again would rather slow the progress.”

“Fair enough.”

A pause, and three pairs of eyes - well, two pairs, one single eye, and a sending stone - kept following the sparring match unfolding on a flat, rocky patch of land. It was painfully unbalanced, even with Durge going easy on Raphael. He seemed to know a variety of spells to cast, and his aim was improving, but he tried too hard to land a hit and quickly ran out of steam. 

He makes mistakes when he’s angry, Hope had said, and that had not changed. The limitations of a human body, and a middle-aged one at that, were not helping. Raphael was clearly struggling with that, and he barely dodged an acid splash from Durge’s part that Astarion had seen coming from a mile away, with his eyes shut.

“I wouldn’t have thought he’d be able to fight at all, without his hellish powers,” Wyll commented, looking on through narrowed eyes. “Then again, Mephistopheles is considered the greatest wizard of all the Hells. Perhaps he learned from him.”

“Doubtful,” Halsin replied, scratching his chin. “I am certain you learned a great deal sparring with your father, but the Lord of the Eighth is not known for willingly sharing his knowledge. I doubt he’d make an exception even for his own offspring.”

“He’s a bard,” Astarion said, and shrugged when they turned to look at him. “Oh, I forget you two didn’t get the dubious pleasure to visit the House of Hope with us and Karlach. Trust me, he’s a bard if I’ve ever seen o--”

“Agh!”

Astarion trailed off, and they all looked back to see Raphael had slipped on an icy patch and fallen heavily on his back, groaning. It would have been the perfect moment to strike, but Durge was really holding back, so they allowed him a moment to recover… and then several more moments. But Raphael just lifted himself one knee and paused without getting up, panting. The spectacle was over, it seemed. 

A bit of a shame, that: watching Raphael getting his ass handed to him time and time again was endlessly entertaining.

“That wasn’t too bad,” Durge said, much too generous in Astarion’s opinion, and stepped towards Raphael, lowering their staff. “You keep attacking in anger. That’s never a good ide--”

Raphael looked up sharply, lips curling in a sneer, and Durge didn’t get to finish the sentence. Raphael brought his hands together and, before anyone could react, pushed them out with a snarl. “Detono.”

The thunderwave caught Durge by surprise, and they had no chance to brace or try to avoid it. They were thrown back into the air, Mourning Frost falling from their grasp to clatter on the ground. They landed with a grunt, but there didn’t seem to have been much damage… until a moment later the ground Durge had landed on shimmered. Realization hit Astarion only a moment before fire erupted from the ground, engulfing Durge, and the roar of flames almost covered their startled cry.

Well, look at that. When had he cast a glyph of warding? How had none of them noticed?

“Durge!”

“You bastard--!”

Halsin and Wyll stood, ready to rush forward, not impeded at all by the risk of being turned to cinders by sunlight. They didn’t go far, though: Durge hadn’t been turned to cinders either - of course not, it would take much more than that - and stood, coughing, before lifting a hand. 

“All fine,” they managed, and while it clearly wasn’t all fine, they weren’t too badly injured either. They groaned a little, went to pick up their staff, and turned to grin at Raphael, all fangs. “All right,” they conceded, just as Halsin went to heal them. “That was really good.”

Raphael snorted and stood slowly, carefully moving away from the icy patch on the ground. He cast a healing spell on himself before he replied, still scowling. “Not good enough,” he muttered. He reached to smooth down the blazer Durge had given him, after finding it wedged somewhere in their bag of holding. “Seeing how you got back up.”

“If it makes you feel any better, a god also failed to kill me.”

“The god killed you well enough. Another god made the unfortunate decision to bring you back.”

“You devils and your fixation for details,” Daurge sighed. “Thanks, Halsin - I’m fine, honest. I think that brings an end to this sparring match, though. Is the stew ready? I’m starving.”

Having already feasted on the blood of the boar who had so generously provided the meat for the stew, Astarion did not need to eat. Still, Durge settled right inside the tent with him to eat, while the other two saps sat right outside the entrance. Raphael, as he’d been doing since they’d departed Last Light Inn two nights earlier, took a bowl to his own tent some distance away. At least now it looked like a tent, rather than a sheet thrown haphazardly over some stick by someone who clearly had never set up a tent before.

“I think we should be there in another five days’ walk - I mean, nights’ walk,” Wyll was saying. “I’d hoped to be back quicker than this, but as long as Karlach is safe in the House of Hope, I’m sure she’ll understand. We do need supplies.”

Durge nodded. “Bit of a shame the portals are not working,” they said through a mouthful. “It seems none of those in Baldur’s Gate or even Rivington were left intact. It would have saved us a week. Still, that’s not too long a walk as long as we keep leaving at sundown. As soon as we’ve reached the Gate, we’ll head to the Devil’s Fee. We buy whatever we may need, get Helsik to open a portal to the House of Hope--”

“Do we even have enough money for her to do that again?” Halsin asked.

A pause, and four pairs of hands went to open as many pouches. Several pairs of eyes - three pairs, one eye, one sending stone - had a quick look at the gold inside. Another pause. Four throats were cleared. 

“... In retrospect, I should have asked that earlier.”

“Well, perhaps she’ll accept to let us through in exchange for another artifact…”

“Maybe my father can be convinced to give us a loan…”

“We’ll figure something out when we get there. We usually do.” Astarion put down his pouch before he glanced outside the tent, and the others followed his gaze. Raphael had finished eating, clearly, and was closing the tend flap to sleep without a further word to anybody. 

“... I think it would be best to keep him out of the House of Hope,” Wyll said. “Hope may not be-- I think she’s seen enough of him to last her several lifetimes. Even if he can no longer harm her, I don’t want her to endure his presence again for even a moment.”

Durge nodded, setting down the bowl. “Yes, I agree. She’s been through enough as is.”

“Counterpoint,” Astarion said. “He might have a stroke if he sees the changes she made to the place, which I bet are delightful. And that would be absolutely hilarious.”

Durge laughed. “My counterpoint to your counterpoint is that we need him alive to take us to the Sword of Zariel,” they said, and reached into the bag of holding. They rummaged a bit before pulling out something - the Spider Lyre they had taken from Nere’s body. They’d had no use for it in a long while, but then again they hadn’t had a bard in their party. Until now. “I’ll be right back,” they said, and left the tent to head towards Raphael, lyre in hand. 

“... Projecting more than a little, aren’t they?” Halsin commented, and Astarion sighed. 

“Yes, they seem to have made Raphael their pet project. I can’t say I’m all that surprised. They trusted me when it was an objectively stupid course of action. Mind you, they were severely brain damaged - and I’m not sure all that damage has healed just yet...”

Wyll frowned. “He’s a devil. A split soul doesn’t make him any less of a hellspawn.”

“They’re aware. And I’m sure you can guess what they’d answer to that.”

“Durge is a bhaalspawn no longer,” Wyll replied, and Astarion shook his head.

“... That’s what you two will never get, I’m afraid, but I do. Once a spawn, always a spawn,”  he said, looking on as Durge stopped outside Raphael’s tent and left the lyre by the entrance.

“You’re free, Astarion,” Halsin spoke, his voice gentle. “You’re both free now, and it was a hard-won freedom. What someone else made you into doesn’t define you anymore.”

Ah, Halsin. Spoken like the sweet, sensible tree hugger he was. Astarion smiled faintly. “You’re not wrong, but that’s not what I’m talking about either. You can kill some parts of you, but you don’t get to erase them. You can only grow around it, or die trying.”

A brief silence as they watched Durge turn away from the tent and head back towards them. Behind them, the flap opened just enough for a hand to grab the lyre and take it in.

“Raphael might just choose to die rather than try,” Wyll finally muttered, and Astarion laughed.

“Entirely possible,” he conceded. “And who are we to tell him what to do?”

***

When the Chamberlain of Mephistar came to claim him on Mephistopheles’ behalf, Israfel was thirteen years of age and entirely unprepared. 

Truth be told, over the past couple of years he’d found himself daydreaming of that day less and less. He’d even come to think, at a point, that he may be fine if no one came to take him to the Hells at all, if his father didn’t want him there. Among servants there was talk - in secret, theoretically, but they spoke much too loud - that Lord Rahirek may be considering making Israfel his heir. Until just a few years earlier, that would have been unthinkable. 

“Of course Lord Starspire must have thought of it,” the kennel master had said with a shrug, during a conversation with the master-at-arms. “He’s got no kids of his own. The lad is all that’s left of his lady wife, and he’s a clever one. His lordship would have seen it a lot earlier, if he could stop sniveling over her grave for a minute and look past the horns.”

“He was grieving, you animal.”

“It’s been thirteen years. If the Hells don’t come to take him, and he’s good at whatever it is that lords do, why not make him next in line? He even looks like a human now. His Lordship should claim him as his own and be done with it.”

“It’s not that simple. Would other lords accept it, a half-fiend among their peers?”

“They wouldn't want to piss him off, that’s for sure. A good thing in my books.”

Israfel had snuck away unseen, and hadn’t mentioned the conversation he’d heard to anyone, but it was true that he was in his human form more often than not, and that Rahirek had started teaching him things about the land he lorded over. Not long after that conversation, he even took Israfel with him for a negotiation with the dwarven clans along the eastern peaks of the Starspire mountains, from which his family got its name.

“To show you how it’s done,” was all he had said, and Israfel had needed no convincing. He had never wandered far from the fort, and finding himself so high up had been exhilarating. He could turn his head and see so much, across Firedrake Bay and all the way down the Trade Way far beyond Starspire Fort, and south to Zazesspur where, to hear one of their dwarf guides, people wiped their asses with sheets of gold when they weren’t busy trying to kill each other. Israfel had stopped his mule and reached out; the city looked so small, he could blot it out when he closed his first. For a moment, he’d felt like a giant.

Then there had been the screech, so loud it hurt his ears, and something much bigger than him had swooped down on the caravan. Right afterwards, a man screamed. “Perytons!”

“Form a line! Protect Lord Starspire!”

What happened next would remain confused in Israfel’s memories, only brief flashes of clarity in the midst of chaos. He’d remember the giant eagle with the head of a fanged stag standing on top of a fallen, screaming man, trying to claw his heart out through the armor, threatening to gore anyone who came too close with its antlers. He’d remember a swipe of its wing knocking him off his mule onto the ground, a few feet away from the abyss, and he’d remember hitting his shoulder hard. He’d remember a scream - his name, someone screamed his name - and the beasts’ eyes on him, the fang bared. He’d remember lifting his arms to protect himself, and then…

Then he’d only remember heat, and screeches of pain echoing through the mountains. The peryton tried to take flight only to crash down again, screaming, its plumage on fire. Flames wreathed its antlers like they were dry wood, eyes melted out of its sockets from the heat. There was a rush to get out of the way, lest the beast’s dying throes knocked any of them off the side of the mountain; someone grabbed Israfel, too, pulled him to safety behind a boulder.

After that, he’d remember a furious heartbeat against his cheek, a hand pressing against his head and neck and then down his back, checking for injuries. Dimly, he realized he felt the weight of his horns again. When had he changed form? Had the others seen? 

“Are you all right, boy? Were you hurt?”

Israfel had closed his eyes, listening to the last of the beast’s dying screeches over the man’s thumping heart. He’d willed himself to change back to his human form before he spoke. “No, sir,” he’d managed, and felt Lord Rahirek Starspire let out a long breath. 

“Thank the Gods,” he whispered, and didn't let him go for what felt like a very, very long time. When they’d emerged, the danger gone, their dwarven guides had looked at him warily. 

“‘Twas not normal fire that did the beast in,” one had muttered, looking back and forth between the smoldering corpse to Israfel. “Hellfire, ain’t it? And my old eyes work well enough to tell you got horns on your head a minute ago, lad. Could do with an explanation.”

Israfel had felt Rahirek’s hand on his shoulder. “Be grateful my ward felled the monster. He owes no explanation to you or anyone else,” he’d said, and that had been the end of it. With only two mules dead and one man injured, the journey had continued without further incident.

The travel back had been undisturbed as well. Rahirek had kept Israfel close, pointing at landmarks and cities. “It’s high time you visit the capital,” he had said halfway through their descent, with home within sight. “I’ll take you next spring, if you’re inclined to come with me.”

Israfel had been plenty inclined, but that didn’t matter: it was never to be. They had returned to the fort to a tense silence, pale faces and quiet servants. In the kennels, the dogs were subdued; it had been the master-at-arms to come tell them what was going on, but it was not needed. From the hall, faint but unmistakable, came the smell of sulfur.

“One Duke Barbas is here,” he had managed, unable to meet either of their eyes. Somewhere out of their line of sight, Nan was crying. “To take Israfel home.”

And that, love, was that.

***

“Love, please, give me that knife.”

The woman is crying, but it’s not her tears the boy’s eyes pause on. His gaze is fixed on the blood, red and rich, dripping onto the floorboards from her outstretched hands, cut to the bone from the attempts at stopping the knife. It mixes with the blood of her husband, who’s already dead on the floor and growing colder by the second. 

He called him dad, until now. Until just hours ago, maybe minutes. Or it may have been days, he’s not sure. Time means nothing. Everything went red and then dark and he grabbed the knife, and then all was blood and meat. That’s all the man is now. He’s just meat and it all feels so right. It’s better this way. Better to die than to live in a world with him in it.

“Sweetheart, please. This isn’t you. We can fix this,” the woman calls out again, choking out words. “My little boy, listen to me.” A bloody hand rests on his cheek. She touched his face many, many times before. Sang him to sleep. Soothed him after bad dreams. Mom, he’s called her, ever since he learned to speak. He knows she is not, nor her husband was his father - they’re halflings, he is not - but it never mattered. It still doesn’t matter. 

Nothing matters but the crimson filling the cracks between the floorboards and the smell of death and the fact that she’s wrong. This is him. This was always him.

She wants the knife.

He’ll give her the knife. 

The blade sings through the air, slices through skin and muscle and cartilage like it’s nothing. She chokes on blood and her hands go through her throat, but cannot stem the flow. One last, wide-eyed look, then she falls on her face and doesn’t get up. The boy looks on, quiet, with the crimson hand still smeared on his face. Once the last of her life’s blood has flown, he turns to the door.

He’s not the only child they have taken in. There are others, too, his siblings, who will be home soon. They have names, but it’s not important now. The dead need no names.

He holds onto the knife, and waits.

***

“Hey, hey, hey. Don’t do that, don’t-- yes, that’s better. Breathe, possibly no frost breath if you can help it-- there. Good. You’re fine. Whatever you dreamed up, it’s not now. Do you understand me? Nod if you do. Or bite me, you have permission to bite this once.”

Face pressed against Astarion’s shoulder, Durge let out a long breath and nodded. “Yes,” they rasped. “I’m fine. It was just--”

“Nightmare, or memory?”

“Memory.”

“I see.”

They leaned back against the bedroll, and for a time they only listened to their own breathing, to the drumming of rain against the tent they were sharing. “Want to talk about it?” Astarion finally asked, a hand rubbing the back of their neck. Durge breathed out. 

“It was the family that took me in. In Baldur’s Gate, when I was very young. They loved me. I had forgotten their faces.”

“And now you remembered them? Well, that is nice--”

“I butchered them all.”

“Ah. I do see why that may be an unpleasant recollection, then.”

“I killed my foster parents. I waited for the other children they had taken in to come home and slaughtered them all, put the bodies in a pile and stood there for hours, just - looking at them. I don’t remember what I was thinking. Only that I was… happy. Something had been sated.”

“The Urge.”

“Yes. I think that was the first time it came over me.”

“And now it’s gone. You really shouldn’t forget that bit, love. The Urge is gone, for good.”

Durge nodded, and shut their eyes. In the back of their mind, a voice rang out. 

Young Master, precious fledgling, follow ever your heart. In time, your true family will find you.

“I can’t remember their names,” they murmured in the end.

“It wouldn’t do you any good--”

“I ended the entire family. I owe it to them, don’t I? To at least remember their names.”

“... Remember what Withers said? You can go through all the names once you’re dead. Until then, you can just live.” Astarion pulled back, and spoke again in a very questionable impression of Withers’ voice. “Greet the bloodless dawn, child of none.”

That, at least, made Durge chuckle. “That was terrible,” they said, then, “thank you.”

“Anytime, dear.” His hand rested on Durge’s face, where the woman’s had in the memory. “But do try to sound more impressed by my actorial skills. You hurt all three of my feelings.”

“There’s a third one?”

“Oh look, now you think you’re funny. It worked too well.”

Another chuckle, and Durge nuzzled against his hand briefly before they sat up. “... I’ll go for a walk. Clear my head some. I’ll be back soon.”

“Are you sure? Sounds like it’s pouring.”

“I’ve been covered in worse things than water.”

“You’ve been covered in better things, too.”

“Such as…?”

“Blood.” A pause. “That was probably not the right thing to say given the circumstances. But you know what I mean.”

Durge laughed, and kissed his head. “Yes,” they replied, stepping outside and breathing in the cool air, letting the rain run over their scales. It felt good, as though it was washing something foul away. “I know what you mean.”

***

Raphael woke to the sound of rain, and somebody’s grip on his face.

His eyes snapped open, but at first he saw very little. Until not too long ago, he could see in the dark just as well as he could on a bright day; now, the half-light inside a tent on a rainy day was dim enough to disorient him - but only for a moment. The hand holding his face had scales, and the red eyes looking down at him were awfully familiar. 

“You-- what--” he began, only to trail off when the bhaalspawn tightened their grip on his face, the palm covering his mouth. 

“Ah-ha, let’s not make too much noise.” They leaned in, baring their fangs in a grin, and Raphael froze. There were several responses that crossed his mind - all of them demanding they unhand him immediately, a few with a side serving of a firebolt to the face - but, just awake and disoriented, half trapped under the blankets, he voiced none of them. All that left him was a weak noise at the sudden jolt that went up his spine. The bhaalspawn’s grin turned to confusion for a moment, then amusement. They laughed, pulling away. 

“Well well well, now that reaction was a surprise, my pet.”

Wait. 

“What-- you--!” Raphael scrambled to sit up. Mortification turned to anger as he faced the creature, face burning, teeth clenched. “What manner of joke is this supposed to be!”

A chuckle, and then the being before him shifted, morphed, until Raphael was glaring at his own face as it was… before. Haarlep tilted their head and reached to flick his nose, snatching their hand back before he could slap it away. “And here I thought you couldn't surprise me anymore, little brat. Now, is it me or you’re not especially happy to see me?”

“What are you doing here?”

“Keeping an eye on you, of course. Fun as it was assisting in your escape from Mephistar, surely you didn’t think for a moment I organized the whole thing all by myself, did you? Truth be told, I believed you dead for months until the announcement you’d be devoured in spectacular fashion. Good thing your father seems to enjoy playing with his food almost as much as you do, huh? What a surprise it was. I’d done my mourning and it turns out it wasn’t necessary.”

Raphael scoffed. “Yes, I could feel just how much you mourned,” he snapped, “whoring my body out to anyone who asked.”

“Aaaah, yes. You did feel that, didn’t you?” Haarlep grinned again. “It was my most requested form, and many at court were willing to pay handsomely for it. I’d been released from my oath to you, after all. I’m sure you’ll understand. Did it provide some distraction from your misery?”

Very much unwilling to think back of anything he’d thought or felt while in the bowels of his father’s dungeons, Raphael smacked away the hand that had reached out to brush back his hair. “Don’t you touch me, incubus,” he snapped, “or you’ll find I still have teeth.”

“Ah, I certainly hope you do. You were not rescued out of kindness, you understand.”

Of course not; the notion was too ridiculous for any self-respecting devil to entertain. Something stirred in the back of Raphael’s mind, the memory of someone putting his own frail, aging mortal body between him and a danger, but he was quick to chase it away. That was the kind of sentimentality befitting a mortal, and regardless of his current situation he was no mortal. He had never been. If he still breathed, it was because someone wanted something from him. “Obviously,” he ground out.

“Your savior will expect you to do something in return. Don’t ask what,” Haarlep added the second Raphael opened his mouth. “I couldn’t tell you even if I knew all the details. My lips are sealed - from talking, that is - unless I’m given the direct order to tell you.”

“And who, pray tell, would have to give that order?”

“Your savior, of course.”

“Haarlep.”

A laugh. “Don’t get too cross with me, little brat,” they said. “I quite literally cannot speak the name or even give hints unless allowed. It’s a very stringent oath. You should have thought of doing something like that, come to think of it. Might have kept me from accidentally oversharing your little secrets, although I’m fairly sure it wouldn’t have done much to keep the little mouse and their companions away from the Orphic Hammer.”

“Accidentally,” Raphael snorted, tasting bile in his throat. “You’ve never once passed up a chance to push against my authority.”

“True, I thought it would be hilarious to see your face once you returned to find the hammer gone. I never imagined it would result in your demise. I suppose it’s a good thing for both of us that you’re not one to hold grudges,” they added, like they didn’t know that Raphael could hold grudges as tightly as Asmodeus held onto his throne. 

Raphael glared, teeth clenched so tight his jaw hurt. “I ought to flay you alive.”

“You may try, pet. It wouldn’t be a long fight,” the incubus almost sing-sang. And they were right, of course. A mere human with a few cantrips has no hope to best a devil, let alone unarmed and unarmored. Raphael balled his hands in fists, resisted the temptation to still try wrapping them around Haarlep’s neck - his own neck - and scowled. 

“Am I to believe that whoever it is you obey has no instructions whatsoever for me?” 

“Not quite yet, but soon. For now, the lack of instructions means you’re on the right path, I suppose. Although you’ll need to be extremely cautious, back in the Hells. Mephistopheles will be furious the second he finds out you still live. He hates being fooled about as much as… well, you, or anyone for that matter. He’d stop at nothing to destroy you.”

Of course. Raphael would have expected nothing less. “Duly noted,” he said, coldly, pushing away the dread to focus on what little he knew. Whoever had saved him wanted him to return to the Hells; to what end, he couldn’t imagine. Was it all about killing Zariel? By extension, was this Mizora’s doing? It seemed unlikely. What influence would Mizora have in Cania?

Focused as he was trying to make a somewhat coherent picture out of the scraps of information he’d been handed, he didn’t notice Haarlep reaching out for him until their hand grabbed his chin and lifted his face. Their face-- his face, would it ever be his again?-- peered at him closely, a smile playing on their lips.

“Tell me the truth, sweetling,” they said, running a thumb across Raphael’s own lips. “Have you missed me? Thought of me?”

Raphael scowled, anger roiling in his chest and aching need in the pit of his stomach. It had been half a year without that indulgence, leaning back to feel pleasure and think of nothing anymore. He hated it. He hated Haarlep. He hated how much he needed it. “I thought of many ways I could kill you, if you’re inclined to hear them,” he spat, and Haarlep’s smile widened. 

“Oh, you have missed me,” they crooned, and leaned in to claim his mouth. Raphael gripped the straps of their harness, not quite knowing whether he’d push them back or pull them closer - and then leaned back, taking Haarlep down on him. He felt the incubus smile against his lips, pressing him down on the bedroll. “I missed you, you know,” they whispered. 

Until half a year ago, it was a sentence Raphael may have brushed off with a scoff and hardly a thought. Now it made something ache around the empty nothing where half of his soul had been, and he closed his eyes. “No,” he managed, his voice almost breaking. “You did not.”

Maybe they’re here to take what remains of my soul, he thought. Maybe I should let them. No soul must be better than a maimed one. At least those soulless dolls don’t have any notion of what befell them. What chances do I have to be whole again? I am at the whim of mortals who stabbed me in the back before.

A sigh. “Ah, you think so little of me,” Haarlep lamented, and bit his lower lip, barely a nip. “I have many new bodies for you to sample, if you’re so inclined. You seemed interested in the little mouse’s. Or would you rather have this form again? Your own body, for old times’ sake?”

Trying very hard not to think of the suggestion, Raphael shook his head and tightened his grip on Haarlep’s harness. “This,” he rasped, and Haarlep chuckled. 

“You’re so wonderfully predictable,” they said, parting Raphael’s legs with a knee and kissing his neck, his jaw, so warm against his skin. “Open up for me, pet, and I’ll make it all better.”

Raphael closed his eyes, parted his lips, and for a time he thought of nothing.

***

While Durge hadn’t expected anything to happen at camp while they were away, returning to find no trace of unwelcome visitors - no Mizora showing up in a ring of hellfire waving a contract, no vampire spawn trying to drag Astarion away, no githyanki asking them to help overthrowing a space tyrant or trying really hard to kick their collective asses - was still kind of a relief. 

Rain had stopped falling around the time they had decided to cut the walk short and head back. Evening was fast approaching, and soon enough it would be time to leave. As it turned out, they weren’t the only one awake: the flap of Raphael’s tent was open, and Raphael was crouching at the lakeshore, throwing water over his face and running his hands through his hair as though trying to scrub something away. 

Durge paused, watching, as Raphael sat back on a rock and remained still, wet fingers in his hair, the heels of his hands pressed over his eyes. His shirt was open and rumpled, and he was drawing in long breaths. It looked like he was having-- well, a moment. 

Maybe it would be best to get to their tent unnoticed, but Durge had never been really good at just doing what was best. Instead they stopped by the camp chest, grabbed a bottle of Arabellan Dry, and headed for the lakeshore. Raphael recoiled when they sat next to him, and turned to glare only to be presented with the bottle, cork already off.

“I don’t have a decanter or cups at hand,” Durge said. “You’ll have to drink from the bottle.”

Raphael looked at the label, and sniffed contemptuously. “This should be served at cellar temp--”

“I’ll guzzle it all down myself here and now if you finish that sentence.”

“Hmph.”  The bottle was snatched from their hand, and Raphael took a long swig. He wiped his mouth with the back of his hand - not at all, Durge thought, something he ever pictured him doing - and said nothing, looking pointedly away from them at a mountain range in the distance. There was a brief silence.

“Was the lyre to your liking?” Durge finally asked. 

“It should prove adequate,” was the only reply they got. They followed Raphael’s gaze to see if there was actually something worth looking at, but they saw nothing. Only the mountains.

“... So,” Raphael finally spoke without turning. “The vampling let slip that it was you who took the Crown from Mephistopheles’ vault. You and Gortash. I should have known.”

Gortash. Thinking of the man didn’t come easy to Durge. They knew there had been something there, the closest they’d ever had to friendship before Orin unwittingly set them free, but it was only the faded shade of a sensation. A memory of a memory of something they may have dreamed up, once.

Durge didn’t want to remember more; they were afraid of what may turn up, of the being they were when they’d so admired the slaver who sold Karlach to the Hells and doomed so many others to worse fates yet. But they would not pretend it had never been so, either. Pretending felt like a luxury they had not earned. 

“My favorite assassin,” Gortash had called them, and he had meant it. But they were no longer the person he’d known, not by a long shot. They had changed beyond recognition, and Enver Gortash had not.

“... I know Gortash lived in the House of Hope.”

A shrug. Dismissive. “For a time. He wasn’t my ward for very long. He found his way out annoyingly quickly, I have to say, although not before making some useful connections.”

“Why was he there?”

“He was sold to me. An overpriced brat if there ever was one.”

Durge scowled. “Why buy him in the first place?”

Another swig from the bottle. “I figured he had potential. And I was right, was I not? I have an eye for potential, you know I do, even if mortals are so prone to squandering it. I never bothered to try and take him back after he fled, but I’m pleased to know you put him down.”

“... Enver Gortash had to be stopped. Enver Flymm was a boy. The Hells are no place for a--”

“I paid for him, fair and square,” Raphael scoffed, and the indifference slipped. Suddenly, he looked angry. “For the full asking price his loving parents set, if you must know. If they didn’t want their boy to go to the Hells, they should not have handed him to a devil.”

“So why didn’t you bother?”

Raphael paused and blinked, taken aback, bottle in mid-air. “What?”

“You’d paid for him. Why didn’t you bother to take him back? You don’t strike me as someone willing to let an investment go. Unless he somehow became Bane’s Chosen the second he was out, what challenge would it have posed to you? Reclaiming a mortal boy?”

A sneer. “Maybe I was just curious to see how he’d burn himself out left on his own devices,” Raphael snapped, and took another swig from the bottle. He turned away. “I think we should consider this conversation over. Do not waste your breath or my time, unless it’s to beg forgiveness for your treachery. Or to tell me how you plan to recover the rest of my soul from Mephistopheles’ vaults.”

Durge sighed, and decided to let the matter drop. For now. “I do not recall the details of the heist in Mephistar,” they admitted. “But if I could steal the Crown then, I am sure I can get to your soul too.”

A hum, making it plain that Raphael very much failed to share that certainty, but he didn’t remark on it. He looked up at the setting sun instead, and so did Durge; it was turning the sky to-- blood -- fire, and it reflected on the lake’s still surface. In the distance, birds called.

“... What has become of the Crown?” Raphael finally asked, almost conversationally. Only the tenseness in his back betrayed how sore a subject that was.

“It came apart when we took down the Netherbrain. Gale was able to reforge it, and gave it to Mystra for safekeeping. She took the netherese orb out of his chest in exchange.” And, Durge knew, it had been the last interaction between them. As far as they were concerned, Gale was better off for it.

A snort. “Safekeeping, of course. As if gods are not wont to misuse power the same as everyone else,” was the response. One last swig, and Raphael passed the bottle over to Durge. They took it with a shrug.

“Who better to hold onto it than the goddess of all magic? It seemed the safest course of action.”

Raphael laughed, or at least he came remarkably close to it. “If you truly believe that,” he said with a wide gesture, tongue loosened by the wine, “then I have the most delightful bridge to sell you in Stygia.”

A snort, also not too far away from a laugh. “If after all this I’m still in the mood to invest in Baator’s infrastructure, I will let you know,” they said, and emptied the bottle in one gulp.

***

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