#If we take on their Beast verse personalities though. Then it would play exactly like s×f canon-

[kyouka-supremacy]

Me watching Spy × Family: I'm not watching this because Akutagawa's va is in it. I'm not watching this because Akutagawa's va is in it. I'm not watching this because Akutagawa's va is in it.

Me when Yuri shows up and his voice is completely unrecognizable from Akutagawa's: I'm no longer interested in watching this show

[sehunniepotwrites]

if we were a movie | j.jh

for @nctsworld’s first writing challenge

SYNOPSIS. For someone who was always the understudy and never the lead, scoring this role was huge for you. All you had to do was pretend to be in love with your best friend. No big deal, right? Wrong. It was the biggest deal because, for the past four years, you had been hiding your feelings for Jung Jaehyun.

If this were a movie, he would be your perfect match and the story would end happily with the credits rolling to a perfectly timed soundtrack. Too bad this wasn’t a movie— this was real life and life came with complications.

GENRE. childhood friends to lovers!au, college!au, drama school!au, slow burn, angst, humor, mutual pining, fluff (loosely based on the Filipino rom-com Must Be Love and If We Were a Movie by Hannah Montana) PAIRING. theatre major!Jaehyun x  theatre major!reader WORD COUNT. 14+ k

WARNINGS. point of view switches from first (”I”) to second (”you”); self-doubt, insecurities, mutual pining, cursing, lots of references and direct quotes from musicals such as Rodgers and Hammerstein’s Cinderella, Disney’s Newsies, Disney’s Beauty and the Beast, Shrek the Musical, and Wicked (edited but i might’ve missed some mistakes; bare with me!)

There are moments where time flows as normal, where people carry on with their days as they usually do. Then, there are moments people experience in slow-motion, where the world just stops spinning and all the background noise just fades away. These are the moments people look forward to. They’re the breathtaking ones, the ones that capture your heart and soul. After those moments, people are never the same. 

The first time I experienced something in slow motion was when I made my stage debut at a small talent show. There was thunderous applause after my performance and while my heart thumped against my chest, the world seemed to come to a stop. That’s when I knew my heart belonged to the stage or rather, the stage belonged to me. 

Some of these slo-mo moments are the ones where people fall in love. 

My father said that’s how he knew my mother was the one for him: he experienced it all at a slowed rate, everything fading into black and she was the only thing he saw. She was his brightest star and he was the one who reached for the sky to bring her down to Earth. 

When I was younger, I always dreamed about my “falling in love” slow-mo moment. I pictured a grandiose event with large actions and sweet words.  For it to actually happen at theatre camp during the initial dress rehearsal for Disney’s Beauty and the Beast J.R.— well, that was far from what I hoped for. 

And yet, it was just as special as I thought it would be. 

I was in my obnoxious fork costume, waiting for my best friend to leave the boy’s dressing room. 

Jung Jaehyun had been my best friend since the beginning, otherwise known as my first year at theatre camp. Only ten years old at the time, we both were cast as two of the three blind mice in Shrek the Musical and had been inseparable ever since. Although we attended different middle schools, our friendship grew from our shared vocal and dance lessons as well as our summers at camp. You know how it is; those who end up in the ensemble together stay together. 

Going over the dance moves in my head, I didn’t hear my friend’s voice calling my name. He gripped my shoulder, the action surprising me to the point where I lost my balance. I yelped and shut my eyes, expecting to fall onto the hard ground but a hand grabbing onto my wrist prevented my doom. With an arm around my waist, I barely missed the ground.

Slowly opening my eyes, I glanced up to see Jung Jaehyun looking down at me with a worried gaze. He was just a sixteen-year-old boy dressed as a spoon and yet, the world around us came to a halt. Gone were the other frantic theatre kids and the backstage messes. The couple playing Belle and the Beast was no longer sitting across from us, running through their lines. No hustle and bustle of the crew and the props masters.

It was just me dressed as a fork, falling down while my spoon for a best friend caught me in his arms. 

“We make quite a pair, don’t we, Forky?” he chuckled lowly, hitting the top of his costume to mine. It was a ridiculous sight— a pair of oversized cutlery in a crowded dressing room.

A burning hot sensation crept its way up to my face as he gently pulled me up. “I guess we do.”

Since then, my life has never been the same. I was in love with my best friend, Jung Jaehyun. I fell for him when the world stopped spinning beneath my feet while his world, unfortunately, kept on turning.

I remember each and every slowed-down moment in life —the good, the bad, and the absolute worst. I never thought a bad slo-mo moment existed, I simply didn’t think it was possible. 

I was young and naive then and I was so incredibly wrong.

The moment that hurt me most took place in my senior year of high school. The final callbacks for our community’s production of Disney’s Newsies were in order. The role of Jack Kelly, the headstrong and flirty newsboy, was easily given to the ever-so-charming Jung Jaehyun. He was not only my best friend at the time but he was the it-boy of our small theatre. People were either in love with him or wanted to be him— his talent matched his insane looks. His kind personality made him all the more lovable.

Jaehyun had his two fatal flaws, though. Everyone knew them but still saw him in such a bright light.

One: the boy was extremely clumsy. Jaehyun was often called “magic hands,” constantly ruining his props. It was a running gag in the theatre but the props committee never minded; one smile was all it took for them to forgive him and his cursed hands. 

That was his first flaw. And his second? Jaehyun fell in love way too easily and way too fast. 

How exactly did I find this out? Well, I was there to witness the scene that lifted his heart to the highest of levels while mine dropped straight to the ground.

I was in the running for the stubbornly intelligent female lead named Katherine Plumber. My opponent was the confident and radiant Son Wendy. She always played the lead in her high school productions but this was a community musical and I was determined to claim that part as my own. 

I went first, entering the audition room with a smile with the script gripped tightly in my palm. Performing alongside my best friend was easy. The romantic scene was a piece of cake, not because the lines were a breeze. That wasn’t it at all. It wasn’t because I memorized the Newsies script as a child either. It was because, at that moment, Jung Jaehyun was in love with me as much as I was in love with him. It was a moment I wanted to cherish forever: the way he looked at me was something I had never experienced before. It was so full of emotion and passion, like he had me within his grasp and never wanted to let me go.

“You got this. I believe in you,” he whispered in my ear, squeezing my hand in support. His breath tickled my skin and sent shivers down my spine. The nerves were back, not because of the audition, but because of him. 

“You’re just saying that because it’s the scene we’re about to act out, Jae,” I hissed. The sheet music for the duet, Something to Believe In, wrinkled in my free palm. 

His warm, comforting hand pressed harder against my own. “No, it’s not that. If you need someone to believe in you, I’m right here. I’ve got you, Forky. Always.”

The director cleared his throat from his seat, his scrutinizing eyes watching us closely as we got into position, just like we rehearsed a thousand times. “Whenever you’re ready.”

I watched as Jaehyun took a deep breath to get into character. He closed his eyes, rolled his broad shoulders back, and then his lids snapped open. His brown-eyed gaze aimed straight at me, with a vulnerable expression taking over his features. He was no longer Jung Jaehyun— he was Jack Kelly, a scared newsboy who was in love with a newspaper company heiress. 

The line came pouring out of his mouth with the utmost sincerity, the confusion and affection seeping through his words, “Just standing here tonight, looking at you, I’m scared tomorrow is gonna come and change everything.”

 Jaehyun took a step forward towards me, an unsure smile curling on his lips. “If there was a way I could just grab hold of something to make time stop just so I could keep looking at you.”

His body stops right in front of mine, keeping a clear distance but enough to feel the passion radiating off of his words and actions. For once in my young life, my best friend looked at me with a different kind of love in his eyes and I returned it, my genuine feelings seeping through my words. 

Biting my lip, I replied coyly, “You snuck up on me, Jack Kelly, I never even saw it coming.”

“For sure?” he stage-whispered. His upstage hand unexpectedly reached up to caress my cheek. The action was unrehearsed, almost catching me off guard. It was a different take on the scene. The characters were supposed to be shy, their thoughts wavering on their own feelings for each other and the impending strike that was to come the day after; yet, Jaehyun played Jack as someone certain of his feelings.

“For sure,” I answered back at the same volume, my hand cupping his own to follow along with his direction. It felt as if he was searching my soul for my thoughts and I could not let him in. The opening bars of the romantic duet echoed throughout the room and after taking a breath, I began to sing. Jaehyun joined in on the second verse and instantly, our voices blended together in a beautiful harmony, one that beat our Newsies karaoke sessions in his car. 

The scene ended as quickly as it began. The director hummed before jotting notes down and whispering to his casting assistants for a few seconds. I thought they were the longest seconds of my life. Jaehyun nodded his head to reassure me. “You did well, Forky.”

“Of course I did, it’s me we’re talking about here,” I nudged him back. “I can do no wrong, Jae!” 

“Thank you,” the director finally spoke, “you may go. Jaehyun, if you could escort her out and fetch Wendy for me?”

“Of course,” your friend nodded. The feeling of his large hand on my back slowly guided me out of the room. The spot he touched me burned but my cheeks were burning even more. Why was it that every little touch drove me to the brink of insanity?

“You’re so going to land this part,” I remember him saying as he squeezed my waist. My heart was beating erratically against my ribcage, the butterflies in my stomach threatening to fly their way up my throat.

“You think so?”

“Oh definitely,” Jaehyun stressed with a wink. 

He said it too soon. 

Because the minute he locked gazes with Son Wendy, I just knew he had found his leading lady. 

“S-Son Wendy?” he stuttered as he caught sight of the pretty girl in the waiting room. Her hair was styled similarly to a young maiden from the turn of the century, perfectly curled and out of her face. 

“Yes?” she smiled back.

It seemed like the words were caught in my best friend’s throat. Sneaking a glance at Jaehyun’s ears, they burned a bright red. “We’re, um, we’re ready for you.”

I watched as Jaehyun nervously offered his arm to her, his eyes never leaving her face. It was like he was her own personal spotlight, the way his eyes shone just for the girl in front of him. The boy was completely enamored and I was instantly in the shadows. The sweet smile that was reserved for me was directed towards another and it sparkled in a way it never did before.

The world around me moved incredibly slow as they passed me by. With everything frozen, all I saw was the gorgeous couple headed to the audition room with hushed exchanges. Jaehyun took his time heading to the private room to spend more time with the girl while Son Wendy steadily made her way into my friend’s fragile heart. My own heart clenched at the sight. It was breaking ever so slowly and I felt every little crack and tear. 

Even with the role of the understudy, it was as if I never even had a chance at winning his heart over. If Wendy wasn’t present for one rehearsal, Jaehyun didn’t even see me— his own best friend since our ensemble days. He was way too deep into his “showmance.” It was like I never even existed. It wasn’t long before he called Wendy his girlfriend and then, I was invisible. Cast aside. Ignored.

Needless to say, my heart broke in slow-motion as Jaehyun’s pounded rapidly for a girl that took two parts I desperately ached for: Katherine Plumber and the girl who held Jaehyun’s heart. 

But this was just the first time his heart was stolen by his opposite. The first of many.

The first two years of university passed me by like a summer breeze. Constantly busy with general education and introductory drama courses, I was constantly flitting around from building to building. My hands were usually occupied by my laptop, a blazing cup of caffeinated tea, and a worn out script while my mind was filled with jumbled up lines and the dramatic cries of an overwhelmed university student. I probably wouldn’t have made it this far if it wasn’t for Jaehyun and Xiao Dejun, another theatre major we had met during orientation, by my side.

Fast forward to my third year and the three of us were headed to the office of the theatre department. It was posting day for the spring musical— the day the cast list was revealed. This year’s musical spectacular was Rodgers and Hammerstein’s Cinderella. The play itself was a modern classic and it was also my dream come true.

This day, just like any posting day of the drama department, was nerve-racking. Everyone was anxious to find out what parts they were given and how the fairytale would play out. The part of the brave and kind Ella was always on my list of roles I wanted to fill. As much as I thought I did well on my final callback, I didn’t want to set my hopes too high.

“Are you nervous?” Jaehyun asked while draping an arm over my shoulder. He playfully put all his weight onto his right side to throw me off balance. 

“Nervous? Me? Why would I be nervous if I’m like 95% sure  I’m going to get the understudy again?” I chuckled sarcastically. Bitterly. It happened every year, so why get my hopes up now?

“Yeah but—”

“No buts, I’ve accepted the title of the Wonderstudy! I think you should too, Jae,” I slapped his shoulder before quickly slipping out of his hold before linking arms with Dejun. My best friend let out a yelp, almost tripping over his own two feet as we continued down the hallway. “I’m mediocre at best.”

The Wonderstudy: it was the nickname the other students in the department gave me because I was always the understudy. I was never the star of the show. It said that I was good but not good enough. 

Dejun leaned in and whispered, “You do know that you’re more than just that, right? You’re an actor. A phenomenal one. You weren’t accepted to this drama program by just being mediocre at best.”

I ignored my friend’s comment, eyes zoned in at the other end of the building. The crowd of usual theatre students crowded around the bulletin board, curious heads popping up and down trying to take a peek at the list. Some buzzed with excitement, happy they got a major part while others groaned in disappointment. You were most likely going to be with the later group. 

Once the cluster of students caught sight of Jaehyun, they parted like the red sea to let him through. It wasn’t really necessary, though, everyone knew the it-boy of the drama department was cast as the role of the misguided prince, Topher. 

The only question was: who was cast as his princess? Who was this year’s Ella?

I fought my way through the bunch with Dejun following behind me as our best friend was showered with congratulations. Jaehyun was all smiles, dimples prominent as he was lavished by the mass. Dejun made it to the list first. His finger dragged along the thin paper until he found his name. He cheered, pumping his fist up in joy. “I got the part I wanted! I’m Jean-Michel!”

Grinning at my friend, I sincerely congratulated him. He got the second lead: the feisty peasant looking for change. Turning again, his eyes grazed the list until Dejun found my name. His smile dropped ever so slightly and that was when I knew: I was beaten once again. 

“What part did I get?”

“Gabrielle,” he answered. Ah, the outwardly abrasive but quietly empathetic sister. The second lead, love interest of Jean-Michel. At least I was playing Dejun’s opposite. 

I took a step closer, wondering who took the part of the kind princess. Squinting at the small print, my eyes scanned the jumble of words until I saw it.

Ella……………………….Lee Naeun Ella u/s………………….Y/N

I scoffed. Forever the understudy. The Wonderstudy of the Theatre Department indeed.

The first rehearsal, otherwise known as the read-through, took a toll on me. It was usually a two to three hour long session, filled with loud chatter, crazy introductions, and a variety of crazy theatre games to break the ice. When the niceties ended, everyone took their seats in their plastic chairs that were arranged in a huge circle. Bae Joohyun, the head stage manager began reading the stage directions aloud as the table read began. The production’s director, Professor O’Hare, sat alongside Joohyun, jotting down notes and giving out commentary when needed. 

Amongst the reading of lines were tiny whispers, the sound of highlighters and pencils marking the paper, and the simultaneous turning of pages. The music director, Professor Lau sat at the piano bench and sight-read the music to give the cast a taste of the songs. Being the first rehearsal, the few who knew of the songs sang along to the accompaniment with joyous smiles, myself and Dejun included.

When Professor Lau played the first romantic duet between the leads, all heads turned to Jaehyun and Naeun who sat side-by-side. With it being their first time together, the performance was far from perfect but it was still something. His lower tone blended nicely with her softer voice and the shy glances they exchanged made their duet quite a sight. 

As Jaehyun and Naeun read the last lines for Act One, I noticed the way Jaehyun’s gaze kept flittering back to Naeun’s pretty face. The girl was focused on her lines, head down and hair blocking her gorgeous features, but he still kept looking at her and only her. I could imagine how the scene was playing out in his head, the world slowing down until Naeun was the only one moving.  He was infatuated. Twitterpated. 

And it hurt. It hurt more than reading the tragedy of Romeo and Juliet or listening to Elphaba’s desperate cry she lets out when she loses Fiyero. Call me dramatic but that was how I felt. 

It wasn’t like I tried getting over him. It wasn’t like I tried dating other people before; I had many, many times but my mind always drifted back to my best friend. He was the boy with the richest brown eyes, the perfectly dimpled smile, and the lowest laugh that set my heart aflame. Without even knowing it, Jaehyun had this incredible hold on my broken heart and he would not let me out of his grip. 

The green-eyed monster inside me resurfaced and I hated it. I absolutely hated it— why was I so pathetically in love with my best friend? 

 “Here we go again,” I said before dropping my head onto the table. 

“You say that every time and you keep running back to him at the end of the day,” Dejun whispered before looking back down at his script. His hand continued to jet across the page, his highlighter marking his many lines. 

Rolling up the script in my hand, I whacked his side. The action caused his hand to jerk the bright marker in another direction, striking a distorted line on his page. “Look what you did, twerp!” he hissed.

“Your fault, Eyebrows!”

“Stop calling me that, you fork!”

“Hey, only I can call her fork!” Jaehyun appeared out of nowhere, plopping alongside me. His voice snapped us out of our little argument, making us realize that the director called for a fifteen. 

“That’s only because you’re a dumb spoon,” I stuck my tongue out at him. Jaehyun pretended to reach for it and I blew a raspberry at him to retaliate. 

“You two idiots are my favorite cutlery set,” Dejun shook his head with a laugh. He was probably wondering why he stuck around us the majority of the time. 

“Let off it, Dejun,” Jaehyun said with the roll of his brown orbs. 

“Only if you let me be the knife to your set.”

“As if, dumbass,” I countered with a laugh. 

“Okay but you guys, can we stop fighting for a sec and talk about how I got her number?” Jaehyun beamed, throwing his arms over both our shoulders. He pulled us closer to his body and the faint smell of his musky cologne hit my nose. I held back a sigh as it filled my senses. Oh, to be drowned in his scent. 

“I got Naeun’s number!” he repeated excitedly, his strong arms shaking us. I held back my abrupt want to push him off. I wasn’t in a celebrating mood. My heart was too broken to care.

“Of course you did, when do you not get a girl’s number?” I answered a bit too bitterly. Raising a brow at him, I added, “Are we supposed to be surprised?”

“Listen,” Jaehyun countered, pulling back from me. “I don’t like that attitude, Forky.”

I scoffed, “Never stopped you from being my friend before, Jae.”

Jaehyun didn’t answer; he was too busy clutching his phone. His pretty brown eyes were fixed on Naeun’s contact page like it was the world’s greatest treasure. His eyes were sparkling in admiration before his gaze turned to the girl across the room. The look my best friend wore on his face was soft, the smile on his lips light. “I think she could be the one.”

Some thought him to be a player but I never thought of him that way. He might have had the looks of a heartbreaker but he had the purest heart of gold. The boy with the dimpled smile, porcelain skin, and cheeks as red as roses was a hopeless romantic to his very core. He was simply looking for his other half. 

“I think she could be the one.” His words repeated in my head, his voice pestering me. My heart lurched at them despite hearing them each semester. 

Jaehyun said this every year, with every girl. He said this when he crushed on Son Wendy, Kim Chungha, and so many more. His infatuations and crushes ended just as easily as they started. The boy was more than disappointed when the initial spark with each girl ended after a show’s run ended. When the musical closed, so did his feelings for each opposite. 

I never got stage fright; I was usually the one who said what was on her mind without a moment’s hesitation. So why was I hesitating to tell him my feelings?

Why was I hesitating to say that the one Jaehyun could be looking for was standing right next to him?

Just another rehearsal at the auditorium. 

Just another day watching my best friend fall for his leading lady.

Jaehyun and Naeun were standing in the middle of the stage, the ensemble surrounding them. He stood behind her, his hands gently placed on her waist while she leaned back into his touch. Naeun was wearing a fluffy tulle skirt, a mock-up of her ballgown. Park Sooyoung, the resident fashion major and lead costume designer, pushed her to wear it so she could get used to the estimated size of her dress. Even in a mere tank top and tulle skirt, Lee Naeun looked like a princess.

Professor Kwon, the choreographer of the production, stood at the end with a watchful eye. She counted them off, walking them through the routine while the rest of us practiced our steps off to the sidelines. 

Once the two main characters got the hang of their steps, Professor Kwon motioned for Professor Lau to play the songs from the beginning. As much as I tried to focus on my own dance moves, my mind kept wandering back to Jaehyun. 

Imagining him under the spotlight in a perfectly tailored suit, a crown sitting on his head, extending his arm out not to Naeun but to me. It was one of those movie moments where the characters and the audience watching fell in love. 

If life was like a movie, things would be so much easier. 

So lost in my thoughts, I missed a count and stepped on my partner’s foot. Muttering a quiet sorry to him, we continued on with the routine. As my partner swirled me around the dance floor, I drifted back into my daydream.

My utterly impossible daydream where I was the girl Jung Jaehyun was infatuated with. Although this play talked about impossible things happening everyday, I couldn’t imagine this ever happening. 

The terrible thing about being a theatre major in university was being a theatre major with midterms. Not only did I have to deal with hours of my back hunched over a desk and scattered study materials, I had to spend half of my days in the school’s theatre rehearsing. 

If I was not in class scribbling down last minute notes in notebooks,  I was learning dance routines or running lines on and off stage alongside Dejun. The days were long and the nights were even longer. Sometimes, the cast fell asleep in the seats of the auditorium while rehearsals were going on. We were all losing sleep. Some of us were losing our sanity but hey, welcome to the theatre. 

My schedule was filled to the brim and I wasn’t even the main character of the show. On top of that, I had to memorize the part of Ella. Not that it was really needed in the first place. 

No one ever stepped down from a lead role while I was their backup. It just didn’t happen.

Despite the hectic lives of belonging to the theatre department, the musical was two months into production and everything was running smoothly. With a month and a left until opening night, everyone was off-book and the initial stage blocking was done. The costuming and makeup committee were finishing up their mock-up designs and the student orchestra sounded divine. 

I saw more of Dejun than Jaehyun lately, my best friend being preoccupied with his new love interest before, during, and after rehearsals. I was cast aside once again.

Was it something out of the ordinary? No.

Did it still hurt? Yes.

Did I do anything about it? Absolutely not. I didn’t want to ruin his happiness. I rather suffer than see him as nothing but joyous, even if the happiness was temporary. The grin he wore when he was in love was too beautiful to rip away. Jaehyun shined like the light from the sun. I could never bring myself to do it. 

It was week eight of rehearsals when I stepped out of my last midterm, my head absolutely empty after reading small text for over an hour. Reaching into my backpack’s front pocket, I pulled out my cell phone and quickly turned it on. My screen was flooded with missed calls and texts from Professor O’Hare, Joohyun, Jaehyun, and Dejun, the notification numbers reaching over a hundred total. 

Something must have happened. Talk about a theatre emergency. Knowing our kind, they were probably being overdramatic. 

Just as I was about to unlock my phone, a video call went through. It was Dejun. Rolling my eyes, I slid my finger across the screen to answer it. “Jeez, I know you love me but give a girl a break, Eyebrows!”

“God, you’re so conceited sometimes. Why didn’t you answer my calls?!” He shouted, face close to the phone. I winced at the volume, immediately lowering the level as I slipped on my wireless earbuds. “There are important matters to discuss here!”

“What happened this time? Did someone say Macbeth in the theatre again? You know I don’t believe in that shit,” I said sarcastically.

“Oh my god. This is not the time for jokes! Everyone’s been trying to reach you!” Xiaojun yelled once more. “Where are you?!”

“I just got out of my musical history midterm in Maple Hall. Heading to the theatre right now. Why?” I never received an answer; Dejun hung up the call. Giving my phone a weird look, I shoved it in my pocket before continuing on my way. A light push on my back prevented me from going too far. 

“Twerp!” Xiao Dejun’s voice came from behind me, yanking me by the straps of my backpack. He was breathing heavily, trying to catch his breath. “Oh my god, we’ve been looking for you everywhere,” he said in between heavy breaths. 

Crossing my arms, I cocked a brow at him. “Why’s that?”

Dejun placed a hand on my shoulder for support. The words came flying out of his mouth, I almost couldn’t catch what he was saying. So much for being a theatre major. 

“Speak clearly, Dejun. Enunciate, articulate, exaggerate, remember? We are thespians and thespians do not mumble!”

The exhausted boy ignored my theatricals. “Naeun didn’t land a switch leap right and she rolled her ankle during advanced ballet. She’s going to be out for at least three to four weeks,” my friend replied breathily, his words a lot clearer than before.

The news shocked me to the core, my feet suddenly planted to the ground. It sounded like he said Naeun was out of commission. “What?” 

“She’s out for three to four weeks! I mean sucks for her, I wish her a speedy recovery but do you know what this means?”

The lack of response from me urged him to continue, “Sweetheart, she’s out. You’re in!”

Oh shit. I was in.

The part I had always dreamed of was mine. The lead role was finally mine.

I was now Ella and Jung Jaehyun was my Prince Topher.

Having an understudy step up to their role halfway through production was always something to get used to. It was a setback, a minor one, but still a setback. Just as Jaehyun finally settled into his role and built an unshakeable bond with Lee Naeun as his opposite, the accident happened. His potential girlfriend was now out of the show and off her feet in order to push for a speedy recovery.

The lovesick boy couldn’t even be there for her because his rehearsal times increased in order to get his best friend adjusted to your new role. There he was, leaning against the piano while waiting for you to arrive.

Professor Lau sat at the bench, flipping through his sheet music until he found the song he was looking for. 

The door slammed open and you stumbled in. “Am I late? I’m sorry, I just heard the news.”

“No, not at all. You’re right on time,” the professor smiled at you. “The situation’s weird, I know but congratulations on getting Ella.”

“Thanks, Professor. That means a lot,” you grinned back. 

Dropping your bag by the piano, you swiftly pulled out the script. You glanced at Jaehyun’s opened book for the page number before hastily flipping through the pages. Jaehyun nudged your side. “Hey, Forky.”

“Hey yourself,” you elbowed him back, biting your bottom lip.

“Congrats, bubs. You did it,” he pulled you into a side hug before ruffling your hair with pride. You had finally gotten a part you wanted. It was your time to shine. As your best friend for many years, Jaehyun had been waiting for the day you could show the crowds your full potential.  

“Did I really do it or did your girlfriend just get injured? How is she, by the way?” 

As much as you tried to play the overdramatic, conceited girl, you never believed in yourself but Jaehyun always did. You deserve the spotlight; your talent was out of this world and the masses were finally granted a chance to see you for what you were— a star.

“You did this. You were made for this part as much as she was,” Jaehyun reassured his best friend with a smile. He tapped your nose. “And she’s not my girlfriend but she’s doing alright. Just in a little bit of pain. I’m going to see her after we finish.”

“Give her some well wishes for me,” you answered. Jaehyun didn’t notice your smile dropping into a small frown.

“You ready to act like you’re in love with me?”

“I was born ready, you doof.” There was something weird in your voice when those words left your lips but Jaehyun didn’t have time to process it.

Professor Lau guided the students through a series of warm-ups before asking, “Shall we start with Do I Love You Because You’re Beautiful today? We’ll do a couple of run-throughs before Jaehyun teaches you the blocking.” His fingers played the beginning notes of the song, the light melody drifting to their ears. 

Already off book at this point, Jaehyun closed his eyes and began to sing.

Do I love you because you’re beautiful? Or are you beautiful because I love you?

Am I making believe I see in you A girl too lovely to be really true?

Do I want you because you’re wonderful? Or are you wonderful because I want you?

Are you the sweet invention of a lover’s dream? Or are you really as wonderful as you seem?

When his eyes fluttered open, Jaehyun found himself facing you with a script in hand. Your face wore the softest look as you stared back at him. His breath almost caught in his throat at the gentle smile you wore. You played the part differently from Naeun and it was a refreshing sight to behold. You were playing a confused peasant but your eyes still sparkled with the gleam of a thousand suns. 

There was a flush of heat that started from his cheeks and extended to his reddening ears. His heart was doing its best to break out of his ribcage and the star of the show wasn’t sure if his chest could keep it in for very much longer.

When singing with him, Naeun was a pretty princess.

But when he sang with you, the girl in front of him? Jaehyun thought you were absolutely breathtaking.

Two hours later, we were finally free of rehearsals. My first rehearsal as Ella. My throat was a bit parched from all the singing and projecting I was doing but I felt lighter than air. Singing with Jaehyun made me feel lighter than air. I was weightless, nothing could hold me down.

“Forky, you’re really good,” he said to me as we walked to our cars. I tried to fight the sudden heat making its way to my face. Lately, compliments from him were hard to come by.

 It was already late when O’Hare and Lau finally let us out, the moon sitting high in the sky. The night breeze crept its way into my thin jacket, causing me to hug myself to retain some warmth. Noticing my struggle with the cold, Jaehyun quickly draped his jacket over my shoulders. I was immediately hit with his familiar scent, it was almost overwhelming. I should be used to this, his action of sharing his clothes with me was nothing new but I was weak. It affected me every single time. I guess I was that head over heels for him. 

Head over glass heels, one could even say.

“You’ve seen me in action before and I mean, I was chosen to be the understudy for a reason,” I gave him a shrug. 

“Yeah but I’ve never seen you act and sing like that. Just...wow.” Stealing a glance at him, Jaehyun almost looked enamored with me. He was giving me a look that was usually reserved for someone else. I felt my heartbeat pick up in my chest and flutters in my stomach.

“Stop that,” I blushed, pinching his skin through the thin material of his long-sleeved shirt. A satisfying buzz ran through my body. Was he really looking at me like that? I was probably reading too much into it.

“No, but it seemed so real. Like you weren’t pretending.”

“That’s because I wasn’t,” I whispered under my breath as we arrived at our cars. 

“Hmm, you say something?” Jaehyun asked, leaning closer to hear me. 

Shaking my feelings away, I ignored the dull ache in my chest and acted through the tears I was desperately holding in. I wrinkled my nose at him playfully, secretly pushing the pain down my throat. “You really don’t listen to a word I say, do you, Jae? I said, I’ll see you later.”

“See ya, Forky! Get home safely!”

Scoffing to myself, I realized how much of a great actor I was. I deserved an Oscar or a Tony for the scenes I played out, the ones where I pretended to be okay when I was far from it. 

What award do you ask? Best Actress in a Supporting Role— the best friend to Jung Jaehyun but never the love of his life.

Wardrobe fittings for productions were always an exciting day for the whole cast and crew. It was one step closer to putting on a show. Jaehyun was already dressed in one of his many costumes, a white suit with golden trimmings. It fit him for the most part, only tiny adjustments were needed. Members of the wardrobe department quickly pinned his neatly pressed jacket before taking it off his hands. Since he was the main character, Jaehyun was one of the first ones done. He was simply waiting for you to come out in your first dress— the white gown for the ball scene in Act One.

When you finally did all those minutes ago, Jaehyun swore his heart stopped. 

Ten minutes ago, Jaehyun saw his best friend walk through the curtains. Your face was bare, hair still in that lazy style you always sported but your clothes. The comfy clothing you usually rehearsed in was gone and replaced by a beautiful ball gown. Despite the pins that scattered throughout the material to fit your form, it still appeared majestic. There you were, standing before him and the rest of the cast, and you were the loveliest you had ever been.

Ten minutes ago, you walked in and his head was reeling. Time slowed down as you tentatively made your way towards him. You did not meet his eyes but Jaehyun was dying to catch your gaze. He never wanted to let you out of his sight. The picture of his best friend in white was something he wanted to treasure and suddenly, the slowness around him stopped. The cast’s cheers and squeals disappeared. There was only you in that beautiful ball gown. 

Was this the slow-motion moment you always talked about? The one you always dreamed about experiencing? Jaehyun could see why people thought it to be magic. It was almost like a movie, movie magic if you will. 

Another look at you and then Jaehyun was in the future, watching you make her way down the aisle. A thin veil covered your face and he was so tempted to push it away from concealing your dazzling smile. His heart was fighting its way out of his chest, wanting to head down the path straight to you. How he wanted to reach out and touch you, cradle you in his arms. 

You were truly an angel in white. A princess. A queen.

The mere sight of you took him to the skies, the one place he was sure you were from. Although Jaehyun would never admit it, he always thought you to be beautiful. Throughout the many years of being best friends, he would find his gaze subconsciously drifting to you. He would rip it away before you would ever notice him doing so, knowing you would tease the hell out of him for it— it was his own little secret tucked away into the corners of his beating heart. 

“How do I look?” Your question snapped him out of his daydream and back to reality. Back down to earth. 

“Sorry, what did you say?” 

“Oh my god, you stupid spoon! I said, how do I look?”

“Lovely,” he answered sincerely, his brown eyes digging into your own. “You look absolutely lovely.”

Ten minutes ago, you simply murmured a question while Jung Jaehyun came to a realization. The realization that he might’ve fallen for you: his Forky, his best friend.

The loveliest girl he had ever seen.

With Cinderella’s opening night being only a few weeks out, you and Jaehyun decided to fit in extra time together to run lines and songs outside of scheduled rehearsals. That was the plan for every weekend and that particular Saturday was no exception to this plan. When his doorbell rang frantically, Jaehyun groaned loudly before getting up to answer the door. Did you always have to be so obnoxious?

Just as the door swung open, your loud voice boomed into his apartment, “‘Sup, ho! Ready to rehearse the hell out of this show or what?”

He stepped aside to let you in and you immediately made yourself comfortable in his humble abode. Jaehyun almost laughed as he watched you. There was a particular routine you stuck to when visiting his place. First, you would take off your shoes, slip on your personal pair of slippers you left at his house, drop your bag on the kitchen counter, and then open his fridge to raid his food supply.

Precisely as Jaehyun predicted, you waddled to the fridge in your memory-foam duck slippers and stole one of his yakults. He loved how comfortable you were in his home. It was truly a heart-warming sight.  The act itself was extremely domestic and he quite liked the domesticity when it was with you. That flash of you in a wedding gown came back to him and he blushed at the thought. The idea of spending a future together was flooding his brain recently and he didn’t know what to do. 

You weren’t the one he liked. Naeun was but why were you the only person on his mind? Was it wrong to have you in his mind? Naeun wasn’t his girlfriend— they were still getting to know each other. His time with her decreased over time since you had stepped into the role of Ella. He was very fond of you. He always had been. There was this little piece of his heart that was reserved for you but was it because you were his best friend or was it more?

Jaehyun quickly snapped himself out of it. 

“First of all, I’m not a ho,” he said before grabbing a yakult of his own. He poked the straw through the foil a bit too harshly, the liquid splashing over the top. Damn his strength— now half of his drink was gone. “Second, stop slut-shaming me for my dating choices. It’s 2021. If I wanted to be a ho, I could be a ho.”

You rolled your eyes as you took a sip of your drink. “God, I hate you sometimes.”

“You need to stop lying to yourself, I know you’re hopelessly in love with me,” Jaehyun said, pointing his drink towards you. He caught you rolling your eyes at his answer.

“Oh, you’re absolutely right. I am irrevocably in love with you, Jung Jaehyun,” you said sarcastically, dramatically batting your eyelashes his way. Your confession, despite being a sarcastic statement, left his heart racing against time. 

“Alexa, play Hopelessly Devoted to You!” you yelled ironically. 

“Now playing Hopelessly Devoted to You by Olivia Newton-John,” an electronic voice boomed across his living room before the opening notes of the ballad began to play. 

“Shit! I forgot you actually had an Echo,” you jumped, not expecting that at all. Jaehyun chuckled at your reaction, loving how easily you scare. He always thought it was one of your cuter traits. 

“Alexa, stop!” he called. 

Jaehyun ran a hand through his hair. He dragged his feet to his bedroom, knowing you would follow without a word. “I can’t rehearse today, I have to write this damned analysis paper for a class. It’s due in two days.”

“I’m sorry, is that paper more important than your best friend in the entire world?” you pushed from behind him.

“Yes,” he deadpanned, taking a seat at his desk. Jaehyun’s study area was an absolute mess. His notebooks were scattered around the floor, textbooks opened to random pages, and his laptop opened to a google document.  

“That’s a motherfucking lie and you know it.”

“I really can’t rehearse now, Forky,” he sighed.

He glared at you as you theatrically fell onto his bed. The notes spread out on his bed flying to the floor. “Oh, woe is me! Jung Jaehyun cannot give me the time of day to rehearse. What am I to do?”

“Why are you like this?” 

“I’m a theatre student, I’m wired to be this obnoxious,” you said with a straight face. 

He stared at you through narrowed eyes. “I really hate you right now.”

“I know,” you countered with a flat tone. “But in all seriousness, Jaehyun. I won’t take too much of your time. I just wanted to practice our duets a couple of times and then I’ll be out of your hair. Plus, you look like you need a break.”

One look at you and he was a goner. How could he ever say no to his best friend?

“Ugh, fine.”

“Ha, I knew you would cave.”

“Shut up.”

The next hour with you was spent rehearsing the numbers. During the last run-through, Jaehyun suggested going over the blocking and putting their all in it. To act like it was opening night. You swiftly agreed and he played the music from the top.

Jaehyun led you around his room, spinning you across the floor as you sang. The smile on your face was so lovely, he could not take his eyes off your lips. His eyes fluttered to a close and he imagined you in your full costume, downed in your gown, as dainty as a daisy and as graceful as a bird. The thought of you dressed like a princess drove him crazy.

He never thought of Naeun this way. This was different. You were different but why?

Jaehyun opened his eyes to see you smiling so gracefully at him as the song was coming to an end. Just as planned in the show, your gaze flitted to his lips. You leaned closer and he followed, dipping his head to meet you halfway. His heart was skipping to its own beat as he inched down. Your soft lips brushed against his oh-so-gently as he held you in his arms but before the boy could press back, the door to his room swung open.

You broke away from him, shocked at the sudden arrival to see your other friend and Jaehyun’s roommate, Dejun. “Oops, was I interrupting something?” 

“I, uh, I gotta go.” Before you could even stop him, Jaehyun grabbed his wallet and phone off his desk and ran out his room. 

Confusion clouded his senses. Why did he feel empty after you pulled away? Why did he want to kiss you so badly? It was just a stage kiss.

Was it not?

Jaehyun’s door slammed shut behind him, leaving me and Dejun in his room. It wasn’t long before we heard the front door close, too. “Well, that was something,” Dejun said after his roommate shuffled out of the apartment.

“Shut up, Xiao Dejun,” I replied, smacking his arm. 

My friend lifted his arms up in defense before he gave me a pointed stare. “I’m just saying, the two of you looked really into it. It looked great, to be honest with you. No notes to give here— I’m sure O’Hare and Lau would say the same.”

“It’s just acting,” I tried to shrug it off. 

“Stop lying to yourself.”

“I’m not!”

“Bulltshit. I saw the way he looked at you— that’s not acting, twerp,” Dejun declared, his voice dropping. His voice never dipped in tone unless he was serious and in that moment, he was dead serious. My friend sounded like a frustrated tutor deliberately explaining a concept for the fifth time and I was the stubborn student who just didn’t understand.

“Yes, yes it is!”

“No, it’s not because that’s how he always looked at you!” 

“Lies!” I yelled accusingly, “We got Liza Minnelli over here!” 

“God, you’re so annoying sometimes! Why won’t you confess? Cat got your tongue? Nothing’s really stopped your sharp tongue before,” Dejun groaned at my stubbornness. He slapped a hand onto my shoulder. I tried to shrug him off but his grip was too strong. Maybe it was him trying to help me get a grip. Who knew? I honestly didn’t. 

“It’s not like I haven’t tried, you know?” An exasperated answer left my lips. I was tired. So ridiculously tired of dealing with these feelings for my best friend. It had been four years since I fell for him. Four years of trying to see other people, four years of trying to confess, and four long years of failing every time.  “I just freeze up like a deer in headlights or like you did when you performed that one monologue sophomore year in voice and movement class. Remember that, Jun?”

I felt his sharp glare burning a hole in my back. “You promised to never talk about that moment, you traitor,” he hissed, his hand squeezing the hell out of my shoulder. 

“Okay yeah but you get the point, right?” My nails dug into his skin, leaving little indents onto his hand. He yelped, finally jerking his hand back to examine it. Shaking my head, I added, “Plus, he’s my best friend. I just can’t do it!”

“So, what you’re saying is that you choose friendship over the possibility of him loving you?” 

“It’s just...I don’t know—” I started, shifting my body to face him, “—choosing friendship means that I’ll only lose love. But if I chose to confess and put my feelings out there, I could lose him as a potential lover and my best friend. I’m not prepared for that. I don’t think I ever will be.”

And there it was again. The self-doubt hit me, imposter syndrome resurfacing at an all time high, bringing me to the lowest of lows. 

The feeling of being a fraud, of being not good enough. 

For Jaehyun. For any love interest for that matter. For the role of Ella. For taking my place under the spotlight. 

“Dejun?”

“Hmm?”

“Am I—am I good enough?”

“For?”

“I—I don’t know—” I stuttered as my mind was consumed by my own crippling thoughts. I tried to stay strong but the crack in my voice gave me away, “—for anything? Everything?” 

“Oh, twerp,” Dejun said in that particular voice and then that was when the floodgates opened. The tears just came pouring down with no sign of stopping. My friend gently pulled me into his comforting arms. They were snug and I felt safe but not as safe as I did in Jaehyun’s hold.

“You, my darling, are definitely good enough. Don’t let your thoughts tell you otherwise.” Although his voice was comforting, it did not help the unhinged thoughts running through my brain. 

“Then, why does it always hurt when I don’t get the role of the leading lady? Of his leading lady? I always get so far and then, at the end of the day, I’m just not what they’re looking for. What he’s looking for.” Pining for something so unimaginable was too taxing. Having the lead role in a play and having Jung Jaehyun wear his heart on his sleeve just for me. 

“Sometimes, the roles aren’t made for you and that’s okay.”

“But what about this one?”

“This one, twerp, this one is a little different.” 

“And why’s that?”

“Because there is music in you; it goes hand in hand with Jaehyun, like a melody to his harmony. You are his Ella and he’s your Topher,” Dejun urged. It was like he was begging me to not give up hope. 

“You’re just saying that.”

“I’m really not. You just gotta do what the theatre gods tell us to do: just trust the process.” 

How could I trust the process when all it did was hurt me by allowing me to have a glimpse of a love and a life that would never be mine? 

Opening night finally arrived. Everyone was called to the theatre for a full run through in the afternoon: the final dress rehearsal hours before the doors opened and the curtains were drawn. I had gotten there earlier to soak in the calmness of the empty auditorium before the chaos began.

I heard heavy footsteps come from behind me. Even without turning around, I knew it to be Jaehyun. The boy took a seat next to me on the wooden prop walls that were locked into the ground. If the stage managers and props committee saw us, they would’ve definitely ripped our heads off but they weren’t— it was just us.  

“Penny for your thoughts, my dear Ella?”

“Topher,” I answered, playing along with his game. “Lovely to see you here bright at early.”

“I knew you would be here and I wanted to be here with you,” he said, pulling me into a side hug. Jaehyun knew me well but did he know me well enough? “Spill it, Forky. What’s wrong?”

“Sometimes I still doubt myself,” I said a little too fast. A loud sigh followed my reveal. The crippling doubt was always there, haunting me. Let me tell you, it was not the best thing in the world to have during an opening for a new production. 

“Oh yeah?” Jaehyun asked, pushing me to continue. I felt the soft brush of his palm against my hand. His fingers grabbed hold of my wrist before fighting their way to tangle with my own fingers. The sensation tickled, taking me away from my thoughts for a fraction of a second. I played with his fingers, watching the way his pinkish hand fit with mine. 

I refused to look at him; I was too afraid of breaking down.“Doubting myself, my abilities. Always the understudy, never the star, remember?”

Jaehyun hummed. He rested his chin on my shoulder. “Did something change?”

“Yeah, I finally realized that maybe it wasn’t that I wasn’t right for the part; the part wasn’t right for me,” I laughed a bit dryly. “Does that make any sense?” 

“Weirdly, yes,” he replied, his breath blowing against my neck. I tried to ignore the tickling sensation and the way it made me feel. 

“But this is different— I feel like I was made to play Ella. Made to play her even though I got the part in this odd, unconventional way,” I turned my head to the side to avoid eye contact. “The girl who sees the good in everything despite the hardships and suffering she went through.”

“Without a doubt, I believe that you belong on stage with me,” Jaehyun answered sincerely, “and I’m glad we have the chance to finally play opposites.” 

He squeezed my smaller palm in support. I appreciated the reassurance; the action slightly calmed me down before she took the next step. Possibly the biggest step of my entire life. “There’s something else I realized, too.”

“Oh yeah, what’s that?” Jaehyun asked softly. 

Taking a deep breath, I said, “I realized that I could be right for you.” 

It took him a minute, a long solid minute before Jaehyun could bring himself to respond to my confession. I wondered what he was thinking at that moment, when those words left my mouth. “Right for me?” came his tentative reply. A quick glimpse at his ears and I saw the burst of red. He was caught off guard, embarrassed. 

“Yeah,” I said almost shamefully. Was I ashamed of my feelings? I never was ashamed before. Maybe it was because Jaehyun finally saw me for who I truly was— his highly dramatic best friend that was head over glass heels for him. 

“How long— how long have you felt this way?” The red of his ears seeped to his rosy cheeks. 

“Ever since we were a dumb pair of utensils,” I replied sincerely, my voice wavering at the truth, “a set of ridiculous tableware.”

There was an awkward chuckle that left his drying lips. I heard him click his tongue, a habit he did when Jaehyun never knew what to say. It seemed like I rendered him speechless. “Since we were sixteen? That long and you didn’t say anything?”

“You’re really asking me that?”

“Yes, I really am!”

“Jaehyun, c’mon. Use your brain! How was I supposed to? You’re my best friend and when you’re not my best friend, you’re out there chasing other girls,” I stopped to lick my drying lips. There was another inkling of silence and I gulped at how tense the atmosphere was. “And I thought maybe once, just once, you would chase after me, too.” 

I almost laughed; my greatest desire was finally out in the world and it was greeted by silence. 

“But what if I’m wrong for you?” 

And there it was. The rejection I was preparing for. Giving him a pained smile that failed to meet my ears, I said, “Then that’s life, I guess.”

“You guess?” 

“Well, I can’t make you act like you’re in love with me, can I?” I snapped, my pain taking the best of me. It clouded my brain, blocking off all rational thoughts out of my head. “This isn’t a play or a movie with a script, Jaehyun. This is real fucking life.” 

Hurt. I was being overwhelmed with a wave of hurt and anguish. My body was trembling as much as my eyes were. I felt them growing wet and I shut them closed. My hands curled into fists, nails digging into my skin. It stung but not as much as being rejected by the one you loved most. The lead of the movie in your mind. 

“Wait, no, that’s not what I meant,” Jaehyun tried to stop me from getting off the stage. I pulled away from him, quickly snatching my belongings before heading to the nearest exit. Turning back around before I left the empty auditorium, I experienced another moment in slow-motion. 

There Jaehyun was in all his glory— denim jacket slipping over his broad shoulders, dark brown hair sticking up in all directions and a confused look on his face. He looked like a mess under the spotlight of my mind but nevertheless, he was my mess of a best friend.

He was my mess of a best friend and that was all he was going to be. That fact hurt more than being the forever understudy. 

Why couldn’t I fast forward this portion of my life? Why must I suffer this much?

Why couldn’t I escape the role of being second best?

If only my life was a movie, then maybe I wouldn’t be everyone’s second choice. His second choice.

If we were in a movie, Jung Jaehyun would be my best friend and my perfect match. Our story would be the typical friends-to-lovers saga that every girl dreams of. It would end happily with the credits rolling to a perfectly timed soundtrack. 

Too bad this wasn’t a movie— this was real life and life came with complications.

After that confrontation, you and Jaehyun were off and not off the charts— just off. The directors noticed it. The stage hands noticed. The cast noticed it. The final run-through before the curtains opened just finished and it was an absolute disaster because of the way you acted with Jaehyun. Every time he opened up his body to you, the response you gave him was closed off. Cold. 

To the rest of the cast and crew, the prince and princess didn’t seem very much in love that day— they didn’t even seem friendly. You and Jaehyun seemed like two strangers trying to work their way across a stage. There was no connection. There was nothing else there. 

Now, if only you would let Jaehyun talk to you, maybe something would change but you didn’t. You ran away every chance you could. It was like Cinderella, but you didn’t leave a glass slipper behind. You didn’t leave anything behind. 

Less than an hour before showtime and he couldn’t even talk to you. Let alone look at you. He sighed into his hand, palms applying pressure to his eyes. Jaehyun cursed under his breath, forgetting that he had a heavy amount of stage makeup on his face. Looking into the mirror, he saw his makeup was still intact. Thank the theatre gods for the Ben Nye Final Seal Setter. It seemed like that it was the only thing set in stone at that moment. 

The door to Jaehyun’s dressing room slammed open and Dejun waltzed in, fully dressed in his costume.“Dude, what was up with you and the twerp during that dress rehearsal? You were so off!”

He received no reply, Jaehyun was too zoned out to hear. Dejun hopped onto the counter of Jaehyun’s dresser. Usually, the action would shock the main lead but Jaehyun was too lost in thought.“Well, you know what they say about a bad dress rehearsal. That means we’ll have a good opening night,” Dejun said, eyeing his friend for his lack of response.

Finally looking away from his reflection, Jaehyun glanced up at Dejun with a look of disbelief. “She likes me?”

His friend jumped off the counter with widened eyes.“Oh my god, did she finally confess? Was that why you were acting weird?”

“Dejun, you knew?” Jaehyun slammed his palms on his dresser. The makeup products on the tabletop shook, leaving the other guy to wince at the show of strength. 

“Honestly for being the ace of the theatre department, you sure are dumb,” Dejun replied a bit too casually as he leaned into the mirror to examine his appearance. He clicked his tongue upon realizing his cheeks didn’t have enough color. The stage lights would wash him out. The boy reached for Jaehyun’s pink blush and a clean wedge before applying it onto the apples of his cheeks.

“What should I do?”

“Well, Jaehyun, what do you want to do?” Dejun asked, turning side to side to double-check his reflection. 

“I don’t know that’s why I’m asking you!” Jaehyun fired back with vigor, hating how casual his best friend was acting. He was having a before-show crisis and his best friend was calmly stealing his bottle of Ben Nye, spraying his beautifully sculpted face with the setting spray.

“Well, do you like her more than a friend? And what about Naeun?”

“Yes? No? I don’t know! But—”

“But?” His friend asked before hopping onto the countertop. The actor raised his perfectly shaped eyebrows at his friend and Jaehyun had the sudden urge to pluck the beauties they were until Dejun had no eyebrow hair left. When Jaehyun didn’t reply, Dejun repeated his question.

Dropping his head in his hands, Jaehyun hesitantly replied, “There was this moment when I saw her and it was like that thing she always said? The slo-mo thing?”

Dejun’s head perked up. “You saw her in slow motion?” 

“Yeah, it was like time stopped. All I saw was her and then…” Jaehyun thought back to seeing you in a wedding dress. He changed his mind; he didn’t want to talk about his feelings. All he wanted to do was make sure opening night ran as smoothly as possible. Grabbing his white suit jacket for the top of Act One, the boy stood up in an attempt to escape his friend’s sudden peak in curiosity. “Never mind, this is ridiculous. I gotta go, Dejun.” 

“No, you’re not going anywhere until you actually confront your damn feelings,” Dejun said, shoving his friend back in his chair. “Do you like Naeun?”

There was a pause before he answered truthfully: “Yes.”

“Okay, and are your feelings for Naeun stronger than what you have for your best friend?” 

“No,” Jaehyun released another sigh as he leaned back in his chair. A hand reached up to brush through his hair before he remembered that it was gelled back in place. He dropped his hand to rub the back of his neck, not wanting to mess with his looks before places. “I was infatuated with Naeun but with her, god, she’s something else and it took me this long to realize it.”

“How do I know you’re not just saying that?” Dejun questioned, squeezing his friend’s shoulders a bit too tightly. Jaehyun thought his friend was testing him and for a good reason. If he was in Dejun’s position, Jaehyun would’ve grilled his friend, too. “How do I know you’re actually in love with her? Yes, you’re my roommate and best friend but she’s my best friend, too. I can’t let you hurt her if all you feel is something temporary. I can’t let you treat her like those other girls.”

“Because she’s The One, Dejun. I’m certain of it,” Jaehyun snapped back. “When I look at her, I see everything I’ve been searching for. It’s like I was blind for the longest time, you know? She was always just Forky to me back when I didn’t know any better. But now I see and all I see is her— her, with all her flaws. The way she hides her insecurities with her dramatic outbursts. How she picks at her cuticles when she’s nervous or how she always steals my food at home. And the way she just fits with me. I can’t explain it.”

Jaehyun didn’t even give his friend a chance to butt in. He was still rambling on with a fond smile, his mouth running a mile. “She’s been there with me since the beginning, Jun. Before I was this prince of the theatre department, she was there. She’s been there since the beginning and even when I was chasing after girls, she was there at the middle of it all, and fuck, I want to go all the way to the end with her.”

Dejun released his hold on his friend and rolled his eyes. The boy made his way to the door of the dressing room before mumbling under his breath, “God, what is with you two and giving out monologues? I swear, when this is all over, you should become playwrights.”

“What?”

“Never mind me, Jaehyun,” Dejun opened the door and gestured for Jaehyun to follow the path— the path down the hall that led to you. “What are you waiting for? Go get her, we have 30 until Joohyun calls for places!”

“Dejun, it’s much more complicated than that.”

“It’s only as complicated as you make it out to be. Just— just go and talk to her, yeah?”

Jaehyun sighed deeply as he reached your dressing room door. He knocked lightly, running through the lines he wanted to say in his head before you shouted a faint “come in.” The door squeaked open to reveal you, his best friend in the whole entire world, touching up your makeup. The best friend that he was inescapably in love with. You watched him through the mirror as he leaned against the frame with crossed arms. 

“Can we talk after the show? There’s something I need to tell you— it’s important. I don’t think I—um, I have enough time to tell you now,” Jaehyun asked, stuttering through his words. Gone was the confidence he usually bared. The only thing left in him was a scared little boy, afraid of the problem his words may cause. 

The smile he received from you did not reach your ears. “Of course,” you replied curtly before turning away from him. He noted how you were over applying your blush and fidgeting with your costume. You were doing everything in your power to avoid him. 

The tugging of your ear, the biting of your lip, the picking of your cuticles. He saw all your bad habits. You were a ball of nerves and the speaker announced it was ten minutes before places.

“Hey, Forky?”

“Yes, Jaehyun?”

“You know that I believe in you, right? Always?”

There was a twitch at the corner of your lips. “I do.”

“Good,” Jaehyun approached you with caution. You watched him from your mirror, never making direct eye contact as he came closer. He dropped a kiss on the crown on your head, relishing in the way his plush lips against your torn bandana and the lace front wig. “Break a leg, my Ella.”

He observed you through your reflection and took in how beautiful you looked in your rags. You made the rags the costume department designed for you look like riches. 

“Same goes to you, my prince,” he heard you answer in that soft tone.  Again, you had sent him to the skies and the boy was struggling to find his way back down.

When it was time to draw the curtains and light the lights for the first performance of Cinderella, it seemed like everything fell into place.  Jaehyun stared at you across the stage, falling for the way the lights illuminated your figure in that white ball gown. The bright glow brought his attention to your bright grin, that beautiful and radiant smile of yours, that shocked him to his core. 

Jaehyun locked eyes with you and suddenly, he was drowning. He was drowning in your expressive eyes. He was drowning in your overflowing love. 

It was different being across from you in front of a full audience. There was a rush that took over him whenever he saw you and it beat the flurries his heart experienced with his other leading ladies. As you said your lines with that bewitching sparkle in your eye, Jaehyun hated himself for not realizing how much he loved you sooner or how you were never playing pretend. 

But that was okay because Jung Jaehyun loved you now. He loved you in the world you made believe on stage, where he was Prince Topher and you were his Ella, and he loved you in reality where you would always be the fork to his spoon. 

Opening night went smoothly and the roaring applause I received during my final bow sent me to the moon. The way Jaehyun looked at me across the stage with eyes filled with pride and joy blasted me to places I had never been before. I became high on this feeling of being under the burning spotlights. The feeling of wearing the most intricate costume and the way his hand slid into mine for the last bow before the curtains were drawn; it was something I wanted to treasure for the rest of my life.

But with every high came a low— my low hit me when I ran into Jaehyun’s dressing room. I caught him in an embrace with Naeun who gifted my best friend with a rose. She placed a kiss on his cheek, causing his white ears to flush a deep red that rivaled the flower he held. The girl gave him a quick shove of the shoulder before heading to me. 

Her congratulatory statement went in one ear and out the other. I could barely process Naeun handing me a rose of my own before she walked out of the room, the sweet scent of her perfume lingering in her wake. She gave my best friend one more lingering look as she left and it hurt me in so many ways.

“Ready to go?” Jaehyun said, clearing his throat. “Wanna stop by the stage first? Soak in your first opening night as a lead?”

“Why the hell not?” The walk back to the stage was short. It felt different somehow.

“We did it,” I whispered.

“That we did,” he answered back. 

We walked onto the stage together and I could still hear the crowds cheering for me, giving me the standing ovation I earned. It was electrifying, the way the sparks ran through my body. It ran from the top of my head to the tips of my fingers and toes. 

Glancing around the empty auditorium, I pondered aloud, “But do you know what sucks about it all, Jaehyun?”

“What?”

“There’s nothing worse than the feeling of not being chosen and it still hurts that I wasn’t the first choice,” I replied truthfully, “Not as much as before. But I’m learning to get over it. The casting directors saw potential in me.”

“That’s because you do have the potential to be a star. You’re practically glowing right now.” I felt his eyes trained on me, just like they were the entire time we shared the stage. 

Turning abruptly to face him, I said, “You really can’t say that to me, you know?”

“And why’s that?”

“Because it makes my heart beat against my chest and these stupid butterflies come around before I remember that you have never chosen me to be your first choice,” I glared. 

“But I do choose you,” Jaehyun pushed, his voice laced with desperation, “That’s what I was trying to tell you before you stormed off on me earlier!”

“Are you really choosing me, Jaehyun? The real me? The me that has been your best friend for years? Or are you choosing the me that shares a stage with you every night? The me that could potentially be your next whirlwind romance?” No matter how desperate he sounded, he couldn’t beat the hopelessness that was dripping from my own voice. 

“No, that��s not it at all!” his voice boomed, the sound echoing throughout the empty auditorium. 

“Then, what is it, Jung Jaehyun? Because I am tired of being second best and I’m tired of not being chosen,” I almost cried. The anguish was just taking over my body and I couldn’t make it stop. “Yes, I know some parts are not right for me but I can’t help but be hurt. And then you say that you’re choosing me? Of course, I’m going to think of it being because I’m your newest love interest on stage.”

“If you could just listen—”

Unable to stop the words from coming out, I just kept running off at the mouth. Everything I wanted to say to Jaehyun was flying out of my lips at rapid speed; I couldn’t even stop it. “I have seen you in slow motion so many times and I want to just fast forward from those moments. To speed past them so I can move on from the idea of not being yours. I refuse to be a temporary love that you lose interest in. I just want you to pick me, to choose me, and to love me, damn it— is that too fucking much to ask for? To be chosen and loved?”

While I was taking a breath to continue with my rant, Jaehyun cut me off and the words he said rattled the stage, the ground beneath my feet, and my whole entire world.“No, it’s not and you are way fucking more than that, if you just take a moment out of your godforsaken monologue and listen to me! I choose you not because you’re my leading lady but because you’re you. You’ve always been this— this incredible, breathtaking you.” 

He took one step closer and I took one step back. “And you’ve the person at my side when no one else is.” 

Every single time I would retreat, Jaehyun would follow. The boy was persistent, his brown eyes trained on me. “The one who figured out you loved me first while I was too blind to see it. You’re the fork to my spoon. We’re a set, we go together. And I was too dumb to figure out that at the end of the day, I always think about you and how no one I’ve ever been with compares to you.”

 When my back hit the wall, I was trapped. Trapped in between his arms and the way they propped themselves on either side of my face. Trapped in the haze of his brown eyes and how they dug deep into my soul. 

 “I don’t see you in slow motion— I see you in fast forward. I see you in the future, my future, walking down the aisle in white and I don’t even know what I’m saying anymore. All I know is that I choose you. I will always choose you.”  

I was trapped by Jung Jaehyun and there was no escape for me. Judging by the way his eyes never let me out of his sight, there was a chance my friend didn’t want to let me go either. He wanted me to stay. 

“Jaehyun, what are you saying?”

“I’m saying that I love you. You’re my beginning, middle, and my end.”

“You love me? Like you’re in love with me?” Jaehyun heard you ask, like the possibility of being loved by him was so impossible. You were searching for any inkling of doubt but he made sure you couldn’t find any because you were the only thing he could see. 

Jaehyun brought a hand near your cheek. It hovered there as he hesitated to touch it to your skin until you leaned into his touch. Your cheek felt so warm in his palm and it was so comforting to have you in his hold. “I wanted to say it earlier but I was just so scared of losing you as both a lover and a friend because what if it all goes to shit? What if we go to shit and things hit the fan? I can’t lose you.” 

“But you, Jung Jaehyun, are in love with me?” you repeated as your hand cupped his own. The smile you gave him was bright enough to light up the stage. 

“Yeah, I thought I made that clear. I’m sorry, did I mumble that line?” he teased playfully, trying to coerce a giggle out of you. “Should I start the scene over?”

“No, no. I’m just—” you paused and he watched you recollect your thoughts. His glittering brown eyes were trained on you as the words processed in your head. “You love me,” you laughed in disbelief. 

Jaehyun took a step closer, his hand tentatively reaching out to stroke your face. He sighed in relief as you relaxed into his touch. “You’re my number one girl. I choose you.” 

“Well, it’s a good thing that even after all this time, I’ve always chosen you, too.”

Once those words left your lips, he couldn’t hold himself back. Wrapping his arms around your waist, Jaehyun pulled you against his chest and smashed his lips against yours. Yes, he had kissed you on multiple occasions prior to this— onstage and off— but this time was different than the rest.

 This was the first time he really kissed you after your feelings were out in the open.

The first time he kissed you and finally felt the love you harbored for so many years. Jaehyun just hoped you could sense the love he was pouring out for you, too. 

He did not want to let you go but he was struggling to breathe. You were so lovely, everything about you was so incredibly lovely, and to have you in his arms was the best feeling in the universe. Everything around him turned dark and he felt the warmth of a spotlight and the flush of your body against him. The entire world was spinning beneath his feet, his heart racing, and his lips chasing you and only you. 

Jaehyun did not understand why people did drugs— the high of being so ardently in love with another person, with you, gave him the high that he needed. 

He felt you hit his chest in an attempt to end the kiss but Jaehyun did not want to stop. A light shove to his shoulders was enough to separate his lips from yours and what a sight you were— chest panting heavily for air, lips plumped and swollen, and the prettiest set of eyes widened in shock.

“You kissed me!” you said in between pants. “Like not a stage kiss but you actually kissed me!”

“That I did, love,” Jaehyun replied cheekily, taking another step towards you. You stepped back to lean against the wall but did nothing to stop him from coming forward. “Are you gonna do something about it?” 

The look in your eyes changed after you heard his new nickname for you. It was coy. Flirty. Challenging. “Do it again, I dare you,” you whispered a bit too loudly. 

Before Jaehyun closed the distance, his eyebrow perked up at the challenge. “Gladly.”

Senior year was there before we knew it. 

Another year, another posting day. 

Dejun, Jaehyun, and I swiftly made our way down the hall to the front of the theatre department, curious to find out which roles we were given. The spring production and the final musical of our college career was Disney’s Beauty and the Beast. 

Callbacks for Belle went as smooth as ever— the chemistry between Jaehyun and I were off the charts. But why wouldn’t they be? We were together now. 

Just like any other time, the crowds gathering around the cast list and bulletin board parted immediately once they caught a glimpse of Jaehyun approaching. The only difference was that this time, he was tightly clutching my hand. 

When we arrived in front of the board, I shut my eyes before I could read the cast list. An anxious buzz flowed through my veins, tickling the tips of my fingers and toes. My boyfriend must’ve felt the twitching of my fingers or the sweat dripping off my palms. 

I felt his body shift towards me. “Want me to take a peek first, love?” Jaehyun asked as he pressed his plump lips onto the crown of my head. He nuzzled his nose into my hair, a small but sweet action that always comforted me. 

Shaking my head, I looked at him and said, “No, why don’t we look together?”

“On three?” he grinned lovingly.

“On three, you dumb spoon.”

The countdown was quick but the glance I took at the cast list was even quicker. It was so quick, I almost didn’t catch who was put into the role of Belle. Taking a double take, I let go of Jaehyun’s hand as my eyes zeroed in onto the tiny print. 

Everything around me came to a stop as I read and re-read the cast list. Everyone around me was celebrating their parts but I couldn’t hear them, they were all muted in my mind. All I could hear was the sound of my own breaths  and all I could see my name on the top of the page. 

Belle……………..Y/N The Beast……..Jung Jaehyun

“Oh my god, I got the part,” I whispered to no one in particular. Backing away from the board, I repeated the same words a little louder and it got the attention of everyone surrounding me. Before I knew it, everyone threw a congratulations my way. The cheers were loud and obnoxious but they were for me because I did it. I finally did it.

Feeling a little overwhelmed, I backed away from the blustering crowd before bumping into my boyfriend’s firm chest. Jaehyun caught me in his hold, his arms circling around my waist. He dropped his chin on my shoulder and placed a tender kiss on my temple. “Would you look at that? We’re not a ridiculous set of tableware this time.”

“No disrespect to those parts, they were awesome, but I think I like this a lot more,” I giggled, turning in his hold. 

As I circled my arms around his neck, he whispered, “Same here.”

I yanked him down into an earth-shattering kiss that sent the world spinning beneath my feet. It slowed down, speeded up, and it did everything in between. I saw flashes of yellow ball gowns, royal blue coats, and Jaehyun smiling at me gracefully across the stage. 

Jaehyun staring me down from the other end of an altar. 

I saw it all. 

If my life was a movie, then this would be the time that the screen would fade to black and show the names. Some overly poppy song would resonate through the speakers and everyone would get up from their seats and gush over the happy ending.

But it wasn’t. My life was as real as it could be and it was even better than any romantic-comedy that would ever grace the screen. 

This wasn’t the ending. 

This was the perfect beginning. 

AUTHOR’S NOTE. hello, my darling readers! you really didn’t have to wait that long for this release, did you? a big thank you to several people: @johtenrecs for always being my beta and for the helpful feedback, to my chaotic gc ( @smoll-tangerine, @ppangjae, @jaedore​, and @jeongvision) for listening to me complain about how i was losing it while writing this fic, to @suhpressed​ for helping me with brainstorm, and lastly, to my lovely @notnctu bc without her and our crazy idea of hosting a hannah montana collab, i wouldn’t have gotten this idea! love y’all! hope you enjoyed this and please leave feedback! uwu

TAGLIST. @yasmini24 @jaehyunnie77 @emmybyeakitty @fluffyjaes @aevizen @dearjaehyxn @yourmagnanimousholiness @jaehyvnsvalentine @keemburley @softieus @lanadreamie @lebrookestore  @notmangojuice @felixn-recs @captainsjoongs @anotherfullsun @ukiyoneo @kunrengui​ @babyyynatty​ 

© sehunniepotwrites, 2021

[robininthelabyrinth]

CQL-Verse: Wen Ning did a whole lot of risky stuff saving JC and the bodies at Lotus Pier. What if NMJ hears and gets talked into helping protect him and the Wen remnants by the Jiang bros, because even if he's a wen, he still 1. whole ass poisoned wen chao 2. straight up commited treason and was punished for it to protect sect heirs and 3. is extremely baby brotherable. you can fit so much h/c into this bad boy

ao3

Untamed

1

Wen Qing was angry about the trials, but Wen Ning thought they made a reasonable amount of sense.

After all, how was the rest of the cultivation world supposed to know what they did in the war without a proper trial? It was only reasonable for them to make certain assumptions about them based on their surname, the same way everyone assumed that those surnamed Jin were rich, those surnamed Lan were beautiful, those surnamed Jiang were bold to the point of arrogance…

The Nie were supposedly known for their tempers, but Wen Ning hadn’t seen much evidence of that so far.

In fairness, his only experiences with a Nie were, firstly, with Nie Huaisang at the Cloud Recesses, which he was fairly sure didn’t count, and now, during the trial, with Nie Mingjue.

Nie Mingjue laughed the entire trial.

“You poisoned the wine,” he sniggered. “At their own celebratory feast…! And then you just went straight to Yiling, where your sister was in charge. And it still took him how long to find you?”

“Weeks,” Wen Ning meekly admitted.  

“Can we go back to the bit where you saved Wei-xiong from the giant dog beast using stolen needles?” Nie Huaisang asked.

“No, we cannot,” Nie Mingjue’s deputy – a somewhat long-suffering looking man that they all called Meng Yao – said. “He’s already gone over it four times, Huaisang.”

“But –”

“No.”

“Spoilsport! Look at how much fun da-ge’s having; it’s not fair.”

“He’s the sect leader. If he wants to hoot like a shrieking monkey, he’s entitled to it.”

“I’m not hooting,” Nie Mingjue protested. “I am recognizing talent.”

“Talent.”

“Exactly. Talent.”

“At…what, exactly?”

“Causing trouble,” Nie Huaisang volunteered. “I recognize it from Wei-xiong, I could spot it anywhere.”

“Could we possibly proceed with the trial?” Meng Yao asked, obviously deciding not to continue with that discussion. “We have six more to finish today. Can I assume that given the evidence of Wen-gongzi’s subversive activities and his subsequent imprisonment throughout much of the Sunshot Campaign, he is absolved of all crimes and allowed to go free?”

“You spoilsport,” Nie Mingjue said, rolling his eyes at him. “Yes, I think so. Wen Qionglin, you are free to go your own way – though if you wish to stay here in Qinghe as a guest cultivator, we would be glad to have you for however long you wish.”

Wen Ning thought that sounded all right.

2

The Nie sect were known for their tempers, and justly so, but Wen Ning quickly figured out that he didn’t need to be afraid of Nie Mingjue’s occasional outbursts (quickly roused, quickly doused) or Nie Huaisang’s temper tantrums (petty) and occasional grudge-holding (rarer but much more dangerous).

No, Wen Ning figured out very quickly in his first weeks that the one to be afraid of was clearly Meng Yao.

Wen Ning had been weak and sickly his whole life in a sect that valued strength above all; he had survived hiding behind his sister, but she couldn’t always be there for him, no matter how she tried. He’d soon learned that surviving on his own meant being quiet and obedient, never making trouble or drawing attention to himself, and it also meant being extremely attuned to the minute expressions that might signal the difference between Wen Chao being angry enough to throwing a teacup at his head and being angry enough to order him to be taken outside and beaten until unconscious.

The same skills helped him in the Nie sect, where people were very often angry. Wen Ning could tell the difference between Nie Mingjue raging to let out steam (moderately common and generally innocuous, easily ignored) and being actually upset (typically only dangerous to the furniture, which was a nice change, but more worrisome in the sense that he might go and do something stupid afterwards), and he could tell that Nie Huaisang’s true anger, so rarely triggered, tended more towards the cold and hidden (definitely a sign he was going to do something, but unfortunately for everyone involved it’d invariably be far more malicious - enough to make you long for stupid).

He could tell that Meng Yao was, despite all his smiles, very often angry.

Like Nie Mingjue, Meng Yao’s temper was easily roused to the point of fury; like Nie Huaisang, his anger lasted a long time and usually called for some malicious action before it could be properly assuaged.

“Senior Meng,” Wen Ning tentatively said one day when his curiosity got to be too much for him. “Could I ask a rude question?”

Meng Yao’s temper, hidden deep in his eyes, flared at once, preemptively, and Wen Ning shivered and looked down at the ground. He had known what he was risking, but he hoped that asking permission in advance might allow him to get the question out with minimal reprisals – cold meals for a few days, perhaps, or being assigned to the training yard only when the most sadistic training-master was supervising, but only for a week or so.

“Of course, Wen-gongzi,” Meng Yao said, and he sounded nice and pleasant and like no question could possibly be rude enough to cause him any disturbance. It was a little frightening how good he was at that. “I can’t imagine what you would want to know that would be rude.”

“Are you related?” Wen Ning blurted out. “To Sect Leader Nie, I mean – his family –”

Meng Yao stared at him. His mouth was slightly hanging open.

“…it’s a stupid question,” Wen Ning concluded, feeling ashamed. Of course Meng Yao had been promoted entirely on merit; it was only his imagination getting away from him. “I’m sorry. I’ll go –”

“No, wait,” Meng Yao croaked. “Related – to the Nie sect – forgive me. How did you reach that conclusion?”

“I mean, you’re obviously treated as part of the main family,” Wen Ning pointed out. There were plenty of Nie cousins that weren’t treated anywhere near as well; both Nie Mingjue and Nie Huaisang were not only protective but almost possessive over Meng Yao’s time and dignity - surely by now everyone knew that the surest way to get them each angry in their own ways was to slight Meng Yao. “You wear Nie braids like them – you wear clothing like them – you have a temper like them –”

Meng Yao started laughing.

“…did I miss something?”

3

“I’m surprised you didn’t go to the Lotus Pier after you’d been absolved,” Nie Huaisang said, tapping the weiqi piece on the board a few times before making a move. “Given your fondness for Wei-xiong and all that.”

“Wei-gongzi’s very nice,” Wen Ning said vaguely, staring down at the board. He’d played a lot of weiqi in his life – including against Wen Ruohan when the man had still been remotely sane, mostly because he’d been the only one stuck back at the palace with him more often than not – but playing against Nie Huaisang required all of his attention. The first time he looked away, he’d get lured into a trap. “Very kind.”

“And yet you stay here,” Nie Huaisang prompted. “In Qinghe, with us, when even your sister picked the Lotus Pier.”

Wen Ning had never been without his sister this long before. He knew that she still expected him to come to the Lotus Pier. She hadn’t expected him to last the week without her; she’d said as much when she first went, huffing at him for being ridiculous – a Wen as a guest cultivator in the Nie sect, of all places? – and telling him, in between reminders to take his medicine on time, that she’d prepare a place for him there so that he would be comfortable when he arrived.

Her letters, in the weeks and now months since that time, had never overtly asked when he was going to finally get around to moving there, and had recently developed an almost quizzical tone, as if she’d finally realized that he wasn’t.

“I like it here,” Wen Ning said, and moved his piece.

Nie Huaisang moved his own almost immediately in response, which meant that Wen Ning had made a horrible mistake that played straight into Nie Huaisang’s hands. Not an uncommon occurrence. 

“I’m glad to hear that,” he said. “We like having you here, too.”

Surprised, Wen Ning looked up.

Nie Huaisang was smiling at him – he smiled nearly as often as Meng Yao, but unlike Meng Yao, he never smiled if he didn’t want to, so his smiles were actually sincerely meant each and every time. He had a wide range of smiles: nervous smiles, cheerful smiles, devious smiles…

Wen Ning was good at reading expressions, but he had to admit he’d never had to work as hard at it as he did with Nie Huaisang.

“We’re a very nice sect, really,” Nie Huaisang said, and even seemed to believe it. “We’re always open to people who are like us. The only thing we can’t tolerate is injustice and betrayal; as long as you stick with us and put us first, you’re ours, and we’re yours.”

That sounded nice, Wen Ning thought, and moved a piece blindly. “You think I’m like you? My sister doesn’t think so.”

“I think you fit in very nicely,” Nie Huaisang said, and his smile had teeth to it. He moved quickly, again. “You’re angry and resentful, but you don’t let it get in the way of what you want - just like us. Your sister probably doesn’t think that about you, either, but then again, that’s why she’s in the Jiang sect, with their heads in the air, dreaming of the impossible. I bet she never even noticed that you had a temper.”

She hadn’t. Wen Ning had been her baby brother and nothing else for a long time; he never had to defend himself as long as she was around. 

He’d never had the chance to defend himself.

(He didn’t resent her for that. He didn’t. She was his big sister, his favorite person, and he loved her so much that he didn’t mind the way that all her fussing sometimes made the world feel cramped and small, as if he were being forced into a place that he’d long since outgrown.)

“Do I have a temper?” he asked, and moved another piece.

“Oh, yes,” Nie Huaisang said. “You’re like me – slow to boil – and like Meng Yao, hiding it behind your eyes. You’re even a bit like da-ge: you don’t need to be the one get the frustration out as long as something deals with it, but if nothing does, it nags at you and wears at you, like a thorn stuck in your flesh, until you can’t be silent any longer. Until you have to do something, or else you’ll explode.”

That sounded about right, Wen Ning thought. He’d never really had a chance to explode in the Wen sect, out of fear of what they’d do to his sister if he did, and he’d been sick with it – he’d limited himself to little rebellions, nameless pranks, right up until he met Wei Wuxian, who was kind to him, and couldn’t stop himself from helping him. He sometimes thought, in the days he’d spent in the dungeons, that if he died he’d come back as a fierce corpse, soul-calming rituals or no, and he’d might even enjoy it if only for the opportunity to finally vent his feelings – to finally pay back every single injustice that he’d ever seen, each one marked down in his heart in an indelible list of regrets.

Maybe Nie Huaisang was right. 

Maybe that was why he stayed here, in the Nie sect, the sect of do not tolerate evil instead of the Lan sect’s chivalry and righteousness or the Jiang sect’s attempt the impossible.

Maybe he wanted to fight back for once. To have a temper, to have rage, to be something more than Wen Qing’s shy, stuttering shadow.

“I like it here,” he said again, but if his words were the same then the flavor was different: he meant it this time.  

He understood, this time, what he meant by it.

Nie Huaisang smiled at him and moved another piece. Winning the game, Wen Ning noticed.

“Good,” he said. “Now move over – sit in front of the mirror. I’ll show you how to do your hair right.”

“Really?”

“Really. Also, Da-ge’s been practically champing at the bit to teach you saber, and Meng Yao has been making grandiose plans about redoing the way we recruit and train doctors with you leading the charge, so if you’re not up for either of those, now’s the time to say something.”

Wen Ning settled down in front of the mirror.

“No,” he said. “Those sound good to me.”

[ktheist]

1 | play me like a toy [m]

title inspired by blackpink’s sure thing cover.

⟶ read the last part, all yours to enjoy, here.

muses. mafia heiress!reader x ex-mafia!director!hoseok

genre. age gap factor. chaebol-mafia family au. arranged marriage au. office au. modern au.

words. 5.8k

warnings. contains smut. mentions of gun use. mentions of cheating.

verse. knj. ksj. myg. kth. pjm. jjk. jhs. 

synopsis. 

sit still, look pretty. 

such were the words your maid-turned-mistress of a mother has ever taught you. the mindless marionette mask worked for the most parts. but when you find yourself hanging by a thread - or is it the beeping line of your dying father’s heart rate monitor? - you decide it’s time to shed off that mask and seek han group’s infamous loyal dog that went off radar 17 years ago.

jung hoseok.

alternatively;

“marry me or be killed.”

“is there a third option?”

“we fucked but you were too drunk to remember so that option’s invalid.”

x

jung hoseok is in a dry spell.

there was no doubt as to whether he could score a date, get laid and maybe even have his nightstand to call him up again exactly the week after.

the issue was time.

with his boss and longtime friend getting married, he ends up coming to work with a different pile of papers on his desk every day. well, it was his idea to sign a promissory note that if kim namjoon ever found a woman he loved and married, hoseok would take half of the ceo-ly workload so his overbearing boss could enjoy his honeymoon and truly, as hoseok would put it, live.

the order went a little differently but namjoon found a hole in the way the sentences were worded that got him flying away to the caribbean and leaving hoseok to fend for himself in these trying times.

oh, and it’s almost hit the third month of the newly weds going mia.

in the first place, he didn’t think namjoon would hold the agreement over his head like he was flexing a few hundred thousand dollar’s worth of lawsuit.

but the man did just that and now hoseok is slaving over his nine-to-five which actually tend to drag on till ten or, if he’s lucky, even midnight. sure, he got promoted from head secretary to director but he’s wondering if this endless cycle of coming back home only pass out in the bed and wake up earlier than a parent with a toddler - is worth it.

hoseok groans, his hand grabbing around for his phone to put a stop on that obnoxious alarm even if it’s just for five minutes before he has to hear it again.

and grab something he did, but this so called phone feels too soft to be a phone and shapes like an cup but softer and - he puts more pressure to his grasp out of confusion -

“mhm, what the hell?”

- it complains in a groggy voice too.

almost as if pricked by a needle, hoseok leaps right out of bed, sending the duvet flying to the floor and revealing the naked woman - you - who’s stretching her limbs whilst her face scrunches in displeasure at the rude awakening.

“__-___?! wh-what the- what are you doing in my bed?”

x

“so you touched my boob,” you say, legs crossed and arms folded over said boob.

“i-i-” it’s the first time you’ve ever seen hoseok opened his eyes so wide - he has pretty eyes. especially when they’re brimming with fear and bashfulness, “i’m sorry, i have no excuse.”

he hangs his head low.

“why didn’t you touch the other one?”

it’s then, when hoseok’s eyes snap up to you, gaze searching for a sign - any sign, to confirm that he misheard that, does the man realize that you’re messing with him.

that, and you doubling over with laughter trickling out of your mouth should be affirmation enough.

“god, you should’ve seen your face, hobi!” you’re still holding your stomach when hoseok’s shoulders stiffen and his round eyes turn sharp.

“that’s not something you joke about, ___,” he says, it’s easy to mistake his sternness with anger if you didn’t know him your whole life, “are you gonna let it go every time someone disrespects you? mr. han would’ve snapped their neck in half-”

“hoseok, come on,” you cut him off with a dismissive hand, “none of those gory talks about snapping necks and pulling out nails. that’s the reason i end up here in the first place.”

it’s the way silence lulls into the room and hoseok looks at you with the hardest knitted brows and eyes that seem to have retracted his soul far back into his memories, as though searching for something - that makes your heart drop.

all sense of humor now gone.

“you don’t remember what happened last night... do you?” the last part is just an addition to ease your throbbing heart.

if you’d left it as a statement, it made it more real that he did forget.

just a man, sitting at a half empty bar, three shots of vodka in and hostility in his voice that could’ve killed but so very hoseok of him, “that seat’s taken.”

aloof. distant. and every word in the book that described a man who didn’t want to be bothered and he drowned himself in alcohol.

“i’ll leave once the owner comes back,” you’d slipped into the seat anyway, despite the heat of hoseok’s stare.

not paying any heed, you ordered yourself a margarita.

“it’s been awhile, hasn’t it, hobi?”

that’s when he turned to you. truly looked at you.

“do you perhaps have a little sister who,” his eyebrows began to knit as if the screws in his head started turning, “would be about your age by now... ____?”

you didn’t really catch up. all you could remember was hoseok’s calculative stare as he watched you down one drink after the other. the the chilliness of the margarita somewhat soothing the burning sensation as it went down your throat.

“that’s the fifth for you,” his large hand covered yours, stopping you from picking up the glass as he cautioned you.

“yeah? i’m only stopping if i have something else to occupy my mouth with.”

in his distracted state as he tried to make sense of what your words meant, you lifted the glass to your mouth and downed the last of your drink.

and then, you stood up, walked the tiniest distance between your seat and his, grabbed him by the collar and crashed your lips on his.

you remembered your confidence dissipating like air with every second passing without hoseok so much as responding to your kiss.

maybe it was the shock.

because one that passed, you found his arm around your waist and his lips kissing you harder than you kissed him.

you stumbled into your car, not caring if yeojun had a front row view from the rearview mirror of the things that transpired at the back seat. you barely remember the walk from the parking lot to his apartment.

those sweet whispered promises. the hands that burned your skin with every touch. those eyes that pierced right into your eyes, as if invisible hands reached into your soul and grasped it in his palm.

“mine,” hoseok husked, voice sending ripples of pleasure dripping down your legs. he’d thrust himself balls deep inside you, like a beast who hadn’t had a drop of water since the drought, “you’re mine from head to toe.”

if that wasn’t enough, he fucked you raw until you were at your limit and he’d just... stop.

“hoseok, why-” you’d been breathless, skin glistening with sweat and knees trembling to give in but he’d banded an arm under your torso and held you to him so your bodies remained connected even if none of you moved.

“you think i’d just let you cum so easily?” he placed a hand on your ass, as if warning you what would happen if you’d pull away, “after all these years... you grew up fine as fuck.”

he’d languidly pulled out of you, as if knowing how torturous it felt for you with his fingers on your clit that sent electricity through your veins.

“what is it, hm? is it the kang’s or is it the seong’s? i guess the rumor about boss being hospitalized was true,” his words barely registered in your mind as his index finger touched your back and traced down your spine whilst he started thrusting in and out of you agonizingly slow.

“please, just fuck me,” you’d hissed, pain and pleasure and frustrations mixed in your voice.

“hm, still as tight-lipped as ever, huh?” he’d sounded completely relaxed as if the smacking sound that echoed in the air as his body slammed against your deliciously - didn’t affect him in the slightest.

as if he took no pleasure in fucking you. as if this was only for your poor little soul that came running back to him because you had no one to depend on.

“y-you have to- ah! s-swear your l-loyalty to- oh my god,” it was last night, while the citylights poured through hoseok’s window, his room was directly across another apartment building.

“loyalty, huh?” he tested the words on his mouth, as if it was a foreign candy gifted to him as present.

his body feels hot against your back as he lowered himself flush against you, his breath fanning your sweat-glistened skin, his voice brushing the shell of your ear, “you should know i’m yours as much as you’re mine. nothing i wouldn’t do for you, kiddo.”

he’d used that nickname he’d used to call you as he fucked you into his bed, and sent you moaning his name like you wouldn’t know any other name.

anyone could’ve seen.

neither of you cared though.

well-

you throw your gaze out at the twenty storey building, noticing a man vacuuming the living room three units to the left from the unit directly across from hoseok’s. above him, two kids, a boy and a girl are jumping around while holding an airplane in their hands.

-until now, that is.

hoseok had become an entirely different person last night. no - rather, he’d returned to you as the man you’d always kept in that special spot in your heart and locked it up so no one would be able to see past your steel schooled expression and the devil may care nature.

“i...”

your gaze snaps back to hoseok once again. he parts his lips for the briefest moment, as if to say something but clamps them shut again. the way his eyes gleam with guilt is enough to tell you the unspoken words that hang in the air.

and yet, your heart hardens like the steel mask you often wear on your face.

“and... to think i gave you my virginity too...”

the silence that lapses between you is tangible.

“sike, i’m kidding,” you grin, brows rising to the ceiling but when hoseok doesn’t so much as laugh or frown - he simply looked at you like a parent disappointed of his child who still didn’t see why what she did was wrong - you tilt your head to the side slightly, “or am i?”

“ugh, you’re no fun,” you throw your head back after failing to gouge a reaction from the man who screamed bloody murder as if you’re some street rat that he was so close to calling infestation control.

“i need to meet mr. han,” he announces after a whole solid minute of sitting on the edge of the bed with feet planted on the floor.

“what for? what are you gonna tell daddy? ‘i’m sorry i took your daughter’s virginity, sir, it won’t happen again?’“ you watch him get up, tongue unconsciously slipping out and sweeping over your bottom lip as you watch the curve of his ass as he walks to the closet and disappears into it.

“were you really a virgin?” he comes out dressed in fresh crisp button down tucked in a pair of black pants, a contrast to his rolled up sleeves, creased shirt and disheveled hair from last night.

“i don’t know, did it feel like i was?” you shoot him a coquettish smile.

the gentle protrusion of his adam’s apple bobs up and down, his lingering gaze on your crossed, bare legs not going unnoticed by you. you’re donned in last night’s dinner dress that hugs your curves and stops mid thighs.

but his gaze is gone too soon.

“you’re not seriously going to daddy, are you?” you tug on his sleeve just before he steps out of the door, “hobi, i’m just kidding, i’ve been with multiple guys before you,” the way his brows threaten to knit into a frown doesn’t go pass you but it’s gone too soon, “and does daddy like the idea? he’s not fond of it, but he knows he can’t stop me from doing whatever i want with my own body.”

the beep of the door as he opens it rings in the air as he looks at you in the eye, “did any of those men work for mr han?” 

only silence follows his reply as you bite your lower lip, hesitant.

“we can’t hide this- mr han might already know. he has eyes and ears-” hoseok steps out of the door only to stop dead in track when he sees at least half a dozen men lined up in front of his apartment in black suits.

“good morning, miss ____.” they bow at exactly 90 degrees angle like robots.

“-everywhere...” hoseok trails off, eyes scanning the area on high alert.

“don’t worry, they’re not daddy’s men. they’re my men,” you raise one hand, index finger pointing to the ceiling as you shoot them an expression void of any smile.

they seem to understand that as they dip into a bow again, the leader, yeojun, stops in front of the elevator when he and his men would have joined you in any other circumstances.

“it’s not about saving my own ass, ___,” hoseok begins.

the way his arms cross over his chest makes his sleeves wrap deliciously around his biceps.

his deep brown eyes appear like a hazel storm under the sunlight that pours from every crevice of the parking lot where the elevator stopped at. “mr. han asked me to protect you from everything and i’m sure he hired someone else after i left to keep trash men away from you... and to think i did exactly what he wanted me to protected you from-” 

“hobi,” nimble hands hover over his chest before you gaze up at him through your lashes, making sure to give it a slow, innocent blink before speaking, “i didn’t regret what happened last night. and you trying to apologize for someone i’m not sorry kind of hurts.”

“i’m sorry i didn’t think of it that way...” he trails off, lips pressed in a straight line as though deep in thought.

“if it makes you that uncomfortable, i won’t talk about it but promise me this stays between us, please?” you hold up a pinky finger like you would when you were younger.

the smile that makes its way to hoseok lips causes your heart to palpitate just when it’s barely calmed down.

his pinky finger is much larger than yours as it hooks around yours in a promise, a ghost of a smile tugging on his lips. as if he’s still unsure if he should be making any promises. as if he’s unsure if he should be hooking his pinky with yours instead of pushing you as far away from him as he could. but before he can come to a conclusion, a voice reverberates into the air.

“miss ____.”

the sound of hoseok sucking in a sharp breath rings in your ear as a dozen men in black suits bow at the sight of you.

before another word comes out from anyone else, you speak, voice echoing against the walls.

“listen up you sons of bitches, if i find out any of you snitched to daddy, i’ll make sure your wife, your husband, your kids, your grandparents, hell even your neighbors pay for it. got it?”

a round of rigorous “yes, miss!” follows after the splitting silence that hovered after you finished.

turning around, almost getting lost in those pretty, star entrapped eyes of his, you smile, “see, they’re loyal to me.”

“uh, i can see why.” it’s the humorous tone that finally wraps around hoseok’s words that makes your heart clench painfully.

he’s still the same hoseok you know.

some things never change.

“well, i’ll lend you one of my cars,” you say all of a sudden.

almost as if hit by a foul ball, hoseok’s eyes widen, “shi- what time is it?”

you don’t expect much when you check your phone, the digits on the screen staring back with a 9-something am - you don’t care to check the details, “late.”

“fuck, i was so focused on gathering enough balls to meet mr. han - i need to get the papers i was supposed to look over for today’s meeting,” a string of curses follow hoseok’s scampering retreat. and you simply watch in your spot - he’s always been such a klutz, forgetting the important details and scrambling to get what he’d forgotten and just remembered - done.

before the doors of the elevator close and swallow him in its belly, hoseok’s nimble fingers slip between the shutting gap, making the doors split open again, “oh,” he says, as if remembering something, “you don’t have to do that - i can drive, i got a driver’s license like, eons ago.”

right.

when he left, he was only 18 and had nothing more but a duffle bag filled with all his belongings and an acceptance letter of the university he applied to.

hoseok had been driving you around everywhere before that. he got pulled over by a cop once but your father easily handled that.

jung hoseok’s been with you for as long as you remember.

you recall bawling your eyes out and clinging onto his leg, begging him not to leave because your nanny left and you found out a few months later that her body was found washed up along the river bank near her hometown.

mr. kim, the gardener quit and said he wanted to visit his kids but the whole family ended up dying in a fire.

everyone who left ends up dead.

pushing the somber feeling that’s threatening to pull the muscles in your face into a frown, you shake your head, an amused smirk tugging on your lips as you mask away every other feeling.

“you really don’t remember anything, do you?” somewhere in that innocently clueless gaze of his, you search for a lie - it would’ve been better if he lied about forgetting for whatever reason.

but when the genuinity over pours from those pretty eyes, you push away the gnawing feeling in your heart, “we were both shit faced drunk last night so we came to your place with my driver and you left your car at the bar’s parking lot.”

“oh shit,” he begins punching the button on the inside of the elevator, “i won’t take long, i pro-”

the metal doors gradually shut, cutting off what he was about to say.

x

“p-please, i’m sorry, i’ll do anything...” the man’s words got blurred out as you stare out the window of his medium sized flat with a master bedroom, a room and a bathroom connected to the common area.

it’s been a week since you met hoseok. you want to be mad that he doesn’t call, especially after not seeing each other for so long and finally reuniting only for him to forget everything about that night.

but you didn’t even give him your number and you may or may not be mad that he didn’t think to ask.

a bloodcurdling scream drums against your eardrums, making you physically flinch as your head snaps towards the man lying on the ground with his mouth wide open and no longer any sound coming out.

his head is titled at the new guy who’s standing over him with a baton gripped in one hand. the sight itself makes the pit of your stomach churn.

“god fucking damn it, yeojun,” you shoot a glare at the head bodyguard, “didn’t you teach him rule number 1? make no sound, catch no attention?”

at that, yeojun snaps his fingers and two of the bodyguards closest to the new guy - soon? soobin? was his name? - approach him. one of them places a firm hand on his shoulder whilst he kicks soobin behind his knee, sending him kneeling with a thud.

“i’m sorry, miss ___, it seems soobin,” ah so you did get his name right, “needs to join mr. yoo here in learning a thing or two about obeying orders.”

yeojun doesn’t even flinch when one of your donned-in-black bodyguard strikes one of their own at the back of his head with that baton they usually carry around their waist.

soobin’s face scrunches up painfully as he breathes out through his nose, teeth gritting together.

“you boys, break some things and you, get the car ready,” with that, the bodyguards hovering over the middle-aged borrower and soobin begin scampering around, toppling shelves over, pushing vases to the ground and breaking plates in the kitchen.

“you were too nice,” yeojun murmurs underneath his breath once you’re in the hallway, the sound of glass shattering and furniture breaking still echo off the walls.

“i shouldn’t even be doing this shit anyway. who does he think i am? sending me to take care of small fries...” agitated, you shoot yeojun a glare.

to which he only responds with raised eyebrows, as if asking if you’d go against your brother’s orders just because you’ve never liked to see violence yet violence follows you everywhere.

“let’s see.... richest bachelor, heir to han group, one of the biggest conglomerate family that runs the underground ring...” the black haired man starts counting off with his finger until you swing your purse to his side.

“which side are you on? me or my chanyeol’s?!”

laughter trickles down his lips as he follows you into the elevator. somewhere in the distance, the hallway faintly rings with the fading sound of mr. yoo’s helpless pleas.

x

when you arrive at kimcorp, the secretary shoots up from your seat, her smile is gorgeous and welcoming but the knitted set of brows above her eyes do a poor job of hiding her anxiousness.

odd.

you didn’t use the han name to get past the receptionist, only mentioning “hoseok is expecting me, tell him i have something of his he’d really like back.”

was it the lavish dinner dress? was it the couture handbag?

“ah, it’s the fox fur, isn’t it?” you twirl on your heels, lips curling prettily as you narrow your eyes at the startled secretary.

she’s standing there like a thief caught red-handed. as if her worst nightmares came true the moment you started saying something besides the “i’m here to see jung hoseok.”

“i-i’m sorry, ma’am?” her shoulders tense up and her smile doesn’t quite reach her eyes.

“nothing, it’s nothing,” you put on a billion dollar smile - one that she seems to be struggling to wear.

before the poor thing peed her pants, you turn around, your back on her and push on the double doors of the office with a white plate that spells out “head director jung.”

the syllables of your name roll off the mouth of the man behind the large desk that almost takes up half of the room, piles of documents stacked up on either sides while the middle section is cleared for a mac and a macbook perched directly in front of him.

“you sound surprised, didn’t the receptionist tell you i was coming?” you put on your best smile even as you watch him push a button on a smaller-than-a-palm-sized remote directed at the cctv and dash for the blinds and close them so that the secretaries facing his room won’t have any visual access to what goes on from now on.

“yeji didn’t specify who,” he says mindlessly, still peeking through the blinds - possibly to check if anyone noticed the sudden move.

somehow, hearing the name of another woman leaving hoseok’s lips doesn’t sit right with you.

“since you easily told her to send me right up, i assume you have an idea of who it was,” a devious smile tugs in the corners of your lips as the sound of hoseok sucking in a sharp breath brushes your ears.

as he was in the middle of turning around and facing you, you managed to catch him off guard and trap him between the window and yourself. the ridges of his toned abs brushing against your front torso with only layers of clothing separating you.

the warning tone he uses to say your name with is music to your ears.

he sounded like the old him. the old hoseok who’d drive his fist into anyone’s face without batting an eye. the old hoseok who would turn to your crying frame with the sweetest smile and hand you back your backpack that fell on the ground amidst the struggle of trying to bite and kick your kidnappers in the shin.

“i missed you, you know?” your voice is tinged with playfulness but your heart skips a beat like a schoolgirl with a crush.

“i-i... we...”

the words get stuck in his throat the moment your lips brush his. what surprises you is the softest sigh that leaves his mouth before a large hand buries itself in your hair, pulling you close until he’s tasting you. licking your bottom lip as if asking for something he didn’t need to ask for in the first place.

his free hand grasps your ass as if he’s been dying to feel your soft cheeks in his palm. you part your lips for him, tasting the faintest sense of cigarette in his breath.

hoseok tends to smoke when something bothers.

you hope it’s you. you hope he lays in bed at night, staring at the ceiling. you hope you’re all he thinks about.

by the time you pull apart, you’re both heaving for air. a soft thud drums in your ears as hoseok leans his head against the blinds-covered-window. you press your cheek against his chest, face hot.

one of his hands sits on top of your ass as if paying his overdue respect for your body but yet unwilling to let you go. the other rests on the back of your head, his thumb mindlessly caressing your scalp.

“hoseok?” you’re the first to break the silence.

he simply hums in response, “hm?”

“i can’t give it back,” you turn your cheek to bury your face in his chest, your voice coming out muffled, “i can’t give back your freedom.”

x

“so you’re saying you can’t let me go...” hoseok echoes the words you say to him.

but the way his lips curl into a pleased smirk and his white shirt creasing at the front from having your bodies pressed together a moment ago, gives those words a different meaning than you intend them to.

somehow, the distance between you seems smaller.

“thanks miyeon,” hoseok’s smile switches to that of a kind, considerate superior.

miyeon, the woman who guided you to hoseok’s office returns his smile. but you don’t miss the cautious gaze she throws your way before slipping out of the room after setting down the tea cups.

he’s back to himself. the kind that jumps at every little sound and tends to wear a frightened puppy look almost too often.

“no, rather...” you trail off, chanyeol’s face burning at the back of your mind - your brother, the heir to han group and the man that will marry you off to the kang’s in order to mend the strain in the family ties as soon as your father breathes out his last breath.

you shake your head, a smile on your face, “it’s been awhile, how bout catching up over lunch?”

and so it goes, you visit hoseok every few days in a week. at times you tell the secretary to keep your visit a secret so you could surprise him, you’d end up catching him neck deep in work yet he still manages to pull off the rolled up sleeves, two buttons undone and slicked back hair with a single strand falling over his forehead, its tip grazing those set of strong eyebrows.

when you knock, he looks up and the tension in his brows seem to fade away. he shoots you a dimpled smile as if he’s been waiting for you to whisk him away from work.

and you do just that. arm looped around his, you both walk out of his office like lovers.

hoseok talks about his past - the one you’re not part of - fondly. as if looking through a lense of something he never dreamed he could have.

at first, he attracted the wrong kind of crowd with his permanently set furrowed brows. but then he finds things he enjoys doing outside of classes that he couldn’t get to enjoy when he was with han group.

dancing, tracks, boxing and more. he likes that rush of adrenaline that courses through his veins. 

and you tell him about the meetings and gatherings and social events to maintain your relationships with the vassal families. they’re usually attended by the women of the han family which means you and han chohee would be smiling and laughing together in front of the wives and daughters of the vassal families before taking off that loving step-mother-and-step-daughter facade once you walk out of the vicinity.

your lunches and dinners are spent with trips down memory lane, filling the other in on the moments each of you miss in each other’s lives. and for a moment, the hoseok in front of you who flinches at the sight of bugs and little, random noises feel familiar.

that is, until you hit your one month reunion mark.

chanyeol’s been gathering support of the vassals by personally accepting their invitations.

his presence easily overshadowed yours and yeojun confirmed that your father’s condition isn’t getting any better.

“i need you to come back and work for me, half of the men would drop everything and follow you,” you stare at the girl staring back at you on the surface of the tea. she bites her lips and you feel the faintest taste of blood in your mouth.

eyes snapping to his calculative ones - as if he already knows what you’re going to say before the words even pass your lips, “i need you by my side so i can take over han group.”

the hoseok sitting in the single couch next to you with parted legs and feet planted on the dark carpeted ground fits the head director setting better than the inked skin, cigarette smoke and gun-in-waistline setting you’re about to drag him in.

“you’re willing to go against chanyeol to become the head of the family?” he asks, eyes clouded with a sort of emotion you can’t pinpoint.

hoseok’s always been an enigma. his mind, a maze you’ll never end up figuring out.

guess that part of him is still the same.

“it’s not a choice for me to make,” a clean click! resonates in the air as you place the gun you’d pulled from your garter, point facing him, index finger on the trigger, “you have two though.”

it’s the way his eyebrows rise whilst his eyes glint with amusement tells you that hoseok - your hoseok - is still somewhere in there.

throw a sane man into an asylum and he’ll start going insane. put a mad man  back in society and he’ll trick you into believing he’s sane with his warm, dimpled smile.

“marry me or be killed,” you say simply.

that amused glint is still there, granted, it shines faintly compared to the caution that overflows from those sun-hit brown eyes as they fix themselves on the gun perched on the see-through coffee table before they travel to your knuckles, to your arm and meet your steel gaze.

his the softest protrusion of his adam’s apple drops and rises again as he swallows, “is there a third option?”

“we fucked but you were too drunk to remember so that option’s invalid.”

the air is dense with tension. it fills up your lungs and almost causes your chest to cave. you’re not sure how long to stay there, stiff and still like a rock with your back straightened as if your etiquette teacher was hovering right behind you with a long, wooden ruler that’d be ready to strike your arm at a slump of your shoulders.

but liberation comes to you in the form of a phone call.

“___, we have to go, th-the boss- the doctor says he’s not gonna make it through the night.” it’s the first time you’ve heard yeojun stammer as if he hasn’t quite yet recovered from the shock of the news he��s relaying to you.

“are you sure?” you can almost hear the thump of the organ in your chest slowing down before it ceases to throb completely, “you know how bad chanyeol wanna fuck me up, he could’ve made the doctor tell you this because he knows you’ll tell me and if... if i rush there and daddy’s laughing that obnoxious laugh while trying to make pass on the nurse like he usually does...”

yeojun grunts, “yes, ___. i have men planted there as patients, nurses, janitors and they all say the same thing - that the doctors are rushing to the vip ward and they’re trying to make it look like your usual hourly check up but it’s not... look, this is the real thing. if we mess up, there won’t be another chance. now, did you convince hoseok to come back?”

almost as if reminded that you’re not the only person in the room, your eyes snap to hoseok whose eyes are already fixed on you with a concerned expression.

“he’ll come back.” with that, you hang up the call.

“i’d love for you to think it through for a few days, realize this isn’t really a life you want and come to me on your own to sign our prenups,” you say casually, placing down the teacup and slipping your phone back into your handbag as if you’re getting ready to leave the tea party, “but...”

but before you can lift the gun and fully point it at him, a large hand covers yours. his warmth seeps through your pores and makes your body feel warmer.

“the gun’s a bit excessive,” his breath fans your face as your eyes fix on the supple skin of his neck.

it’s as if invisible hands reached out and held your head in place, forbidding you from tilting it and gazing into his eyes. his fingers reach over the back of the gun, grazing your hands.

a click cuts through the silence.

“at the very least, unlock the safety,” his teasing tone doesn’t match his saddened eyes.

and just as you thought you’d closed the distance between you and him, the circumstance forces you to take five steps back.

[hacawijo]

SJM ACOSF Live Event Notes: Canada

I’m not Canadian but this is the stream that worked in my schedule lol. Also sorry if any of this is redundant, I didn’t want to leave anything out in case this is the first you’re reading about any of these lives.

NOTE: she specifically didn’t give confirmation about who the next book will follow, she knows, but she said her publishing team will probably want to find the right time to announce it! Thus, we can only guess for now what the NEXT book will be about.

SJM Live - 7PM EST. Wed. 2/24/21

Indigo — CA Live

— Sarah began writing this while writing the third book in the ACOTAR series. She wanted to look at what happens after, Cassian and Nesta’s chemistry made her want to write them first. “It was almost like writing fanfiction of my own stuff…”

— Accidentally pitched the sequels — wanted to tell the stories of all these other characters, wanted to explore the world, and what happens when the big battle is over, who makes a play for power. How will the Night Court involve or not involve themselves?

— World-building meets steamy romance - her two favorite things

— She knew from the start that Nesta was a lot more than you were seeing, she’s actually the one person who saw through Tamlin’s glamour. Someone who is closed off and appears as if she doesn’t care - but she does, and deeply, she just doesn’t know how to express it.

— Her own mental health journey informed her work on Nesta’s - things got worse for her and this was around when she started Nesta’s story over. She finally decided to go to therapy and started meds and coping skills and went on this journey that happened to be similar to what Nesta was going through. None of it is autobiographical though!

— Honestly going to cry about how she’s talking about Nesta, she didn’t need to be redeemed, she just needed to be able to understand what she had done and experienced and move forward.

— How do you face the things you’ve done that you’re not proud of and how do you face the people you’ve harmed?

— She’s come to realize that she has a giant soft spot for the tall goofy guys that seem tough but are big softies. She has a big crush on Gronk, which is hilarious. She described her husband as tall and goofy. She immediately loved Cassian and understood him more-so than some other characters.

— OMG this interviewer. “Tell me a little bit about their sex…”

— Her father is currently reading the book, Sarah begged her mother to take the book away from her father. There’s a big difference between her mother and her FATHER reading the sex scenes.

— BJ SCENE: Nesta’s sexuality is a way for her to express herself through her body and in a way she understands and is good at.

— Sarah wants to write in the sweet spot between really steamy and epic romance and epic fantasy and world-building.

— How does Sarah world-build? She actually builds it while writing the story, but starts with a vague understanding of the world - she wants to know how they get the fruit for their breakfast every morning, and all of those little details. She comes across little details that just live in a magical place in her head - she discovered the Weaver in the woods while she was in New Zealand.

— She was inspired by her own New Zealand hikes to write Nesta and Cassian’s.

— She takes notes on all of her experiences so that she can use them later in her books (i.e. when she has a fever and is sick she even takes notes so she’ll be able to describe that sensation accurately).

— Sarah loves world mythology and she loves the really messy, terrifying fairy tales and folklore - stories that taught survivalist lessons. The Scene with the kelpie is one of her favorite scenes she’s ever written because it took her to a place of primal terror. This scene was barely edited from the first draft, it has basically stayed the same since she initially wrote it.

— Yeah this interviewer is behind, she asks the mega-verse question again. Sarah took the scene out of ACOSF where Rhys sees Aelin, but she did confirm that he was talking about Aelin when he told people he saw a star - he saw Aelin but was spooked and didn’t want to tell everyone.

— She identifies with Nesta’s emotional journey the most, Sarah feels like she’s the most like Bryce (but her parents might say she’s like Aelin). It’s like a personality test, sometimes she feels more like a Feyre or an Aelin. They all have parts of her.

— Sarah pictures the fight scenes in her mind, but with Nesta’s book she actually paid attention to how someone builds those skills (her other protagonists were already trained fighters). She talked to her personal trainer who taught her a bit about swordplay. She went through sessions and she paid attention to where she was sore afterward and such.

— What would Nesta’s beast form be? Sarah says something feline, like a snow leopard with gold wings and iron teeth and silver claws. Mesmerizingly beautiful and dangerous.

— She’s currently editing CC 2, about to get edits back! She says a lot of the side characters will get their own subplots in the second book- it will open up the world a lot more.

— Writing through COVID was hard for her, she felt guilt going off to play in fantasy worlds when so many people were struggling with job loss and sickness. But now she can work and is grateful for that escapism.

— Plans for next ACOTAR: She has it plotted out in her head and knows exactly who it will be about and what will happen. It’s in the queue. She won’t say who it’s about because she thinks her publishing team will want to weigh in on when to announce.

[odd-birds-and-booksellers]

Five times Jo asks Alex to dance and the one time she asks someone new.

The first time Jo and Alex ever dance together, they’re just friends. It’s new…their friendship. Alex isn’t exactly sure what to call it, in the space of two weeks she went from the annoying intern he was happy to keep as nothing more than a work colleague to the person he spent most of his time with. In the last week, she’s spent more nights on his couch than at home and they’ve grabbed dinner together every day. It’s funny they seemed to have fallen into this pattern without any real thought, it was the day after Ben and Bailey’s wedding they’d become inseparable, she’d sought him out at the end of shift insisting she needed pizza and beer and that he was paying thanks to the raging hangover she was sure was his fault.

He didn’t hate it...having her around all time that is. Which surprised him, it had been a long time since Alex had genuinely enjoyed being in someone else’s company for such a long period of time. Even now when Jos’ has one too many beers and is singing along loudly (and out of tune) to Taylor Swift (not Alex’s choice of course) he finds himself happy just to sit and watch her.

“Oh this is my favorite Alex, come dance with me,” Jo calls from where she’s spinning around in the kitchen. She’s reaching out for him, her warm hand against his forearm pulling him towards her.

“I don’t dance.” Alex protests, remaining firmly in his seat. Shaking his head as she continues to pull at him. He tries to keep his smile at bay but he’s secretly amused by the way she attempts to give him a puppy dog look.

“Don’t or can’t?”

“Both…whatever answer gets you away from me.” He grumbles, trying to remove her grip on his arm but she’s quick, tangling their fingers together and giving him another tug.

“Come on Alex…everyone can dance. Just one dance…pretty please.”

He groans but drops his beer bottle down on the counter and follows Jo back to her makeshift dance floor.

“One dance…and you’ll leave me alone?” He asks, cocking his head to the side as he sets one hand on her hip, the other still gripped in hers tightly. He doesn’t know the song well but he finds himself slowly swaying to the beat.

“I won’t bother you until at least tomorrow.” Jo reasons, smiling softly, a triumphant glint in her eyes that makes Alex think he should stop letting her get her way.

Alex's breath hitches as Jo lays her head against his chest a moment later, he’s sure she can feel the way his heart pounds in his chest. They stay that way for the rest of the song, just swaying back and forth and Alex is surprised to find himself actually enjoying holding Jo so close.

“See… dancing isn't that bad right?”

He pulls her closer, tighter until her chest was pressed flush against his. “No…no you're right, this is pretty good.”

The second time they danced was a couple of years later. They’ve just finished furnishing the loft, and Jos’ even surprised herself with how it had turned out. It really felt like a home…their home.

“I know you’re gonna say a record player is pointless, but it looks cute and before you laugh they were on like every Pinterest board I saw so we have to have one.” Jo reasons, hoping this wouldn’t turn into another disagreement as the throw pillows had. Apparently, because it looks good isn’t a good reason to spend money on Alex’s book.

Secretly she loves every argument/discussion they have. There's just something about them discussing their home, her first proper home that fills her with such joy.

Setting up the record player was easy. Jo had found it a nice home against the window of what she’d marked out to be the living room. She’d even picked up a few old records from the store, Elvis, The Beatles, even Ella Fitzgerald.

She set the record on the turntable and brought down the needle, then closed the lid. There was the crackle of static as the vinyl began to spin.

She reached for his hand during the first verse. “Dance with me?” Jo suggested her voice barely above a whisper. “I know you hate dancing but indulge me this one time.” She insists as he reluctantly places his hands in hers, allowing her to pull him in, their chests brushing up against each other as his hand finds her hip and he holds her against him warm and steady.

They sway like that for the duration of the song and Jo takes the time to scan their newfound home. It's everything she'd hoped it would be and more. She feels Alex's hand fidgeting over her spine as the song comes to an end as if he's contemplating ending their dance before she feels his fingertips drift lower, coming to rest on the small of her back.

“You’re happy right? I know you kinda hated this place at first but…”

“I’m more than happy…” He whispers, leaning back as he brings one hand up to rest against her cheek, brushing the loose hair from her bun behind her ear gently. Jo relaxes against him, letting her worries go at his reassuring words. “I’m home.”

The third time they dance together, Alex surprised them both by being the one to ask Jo to dance. They’re at their makeshift engagement party that the kids on the peds ward had insisted on having when Alex informed them all they couldn’t attend the wedding. It felt kinda surreal, to see various hospital staff all filter in as a handful of his patients gather in the family room. All these people gathered to celebrate him and Jo. He’s not sure how he’d ever got so lucky.

“For everyone who doesn’t know Dr. Alex and Dr. Jo are getting married this weekend…” Kimmy announces, tapping the microphone on the makeshift stage as everyone turns towards her. “And all of us here just wanted to wish you both a huge congratulations.” Alex feels a surge of emotion, as Jo wraps an arm around his waist resting her head against his shoulder. Her eyes were a little watery, maybe she was feeling just as overwhelmed as he was.

“So I thought I’d sing a little something for you both.” Kimmy grins, and Alex gives her a small nod, rolling his eyes as the familiar tune from Beauty and The Beast begins. Now it makes sense why she’d been practicing it all week.

“Think we should dance?” He asks, turning towards Jo.

“You wanna dance? You never wanna dance with me.”

Alex furrows his eyebrows at her statement, wrapping an arm around her waist, swaying them gently, “I never wanna dance full stop but with you…with you it’s definitely bearable.”

Jo rolls her eyes “Charming.”

Alex just chuckles as he takes a step back, keeping his hand firmly in hers. When their arms are outstretched, he tugs on her hand until she gets the memo and twirls back toward him. Alex catches her by the waist, grinning down at her as she laughs warmly.

Cheers erupt around them but Alex can’t bring himself to tear his gaze from Jo. She’s gonna be his wife and he for one can’t wait.

“I aim to please” He mutters before pulling her in closer, pressing his lips to hers as a few groans from the younger patients sound.

The fourth time they dance is a given. Their first dance as husband and wife, sure it's not the reception they planned but Avery's penthouse with everyone they care about most in the world feels as close to perfect as you can get.

“Come dance with your wife.” Jo cries as she makes her way through the crowd, reaching out for Alex who’s taken a seat at the kitchen island. He’d been enjoying a moment to just watch everyone around him. Days like this full of love and happiness were kinda rare to find.

“Jo, you know I hate dancing.” He whines but he's already on his feet, allowing her to guide him back through the crowd. He’s not gonna deny her today, not like he ever denied her before either.

She just smiles, and god it makes his heartache knowing that’s the smile he’s gonna wake up to every day for the rest of his life. “I know you say you hate dancing but I think you secretly like it.”

He turned his hand over in hers, wrapping his fingers around her palm before pulling her to him by the waist. Jo’s free arm sliding up to his shoulder as they spun slowly.

“Thank you…”

“For what?”

“Dancing with me even though you hate it.”

He holds their joint hands in the air, letting Jo turn herself away from him. She’s only out of his grip for a split second before she twirls back into him. He catches her, tips her backward until her hair is dangling down over his knee.

“I’ll always dance with you,” Alex whispers, pressing a chaste kiss to her lips before helping her stand straight again. He can hear the buzz of the party around them, see the bright light of flash go off somewhere as Jo wraps her hands around his neck, hiding her face against him.

“Should’ve put that in our vows.”

He’s not sure how long they stay like that, arms wrapped around each other swaying to whatever song is playing whether a slow dance suits it or not. They might be in a room full of their closest friends and chosen family but neither one can focus on anyone else.

“It’s funny…” Jo mumbles after a while, lifting her head so she can meet Alex’s gaze.

“What’s that?” Alex asks, his thumb tracing a soft pattern against the small of her back as her left hand sorts out his.

“In those lifetime movies, I used to watch. You wait the whole movie for the couple to kiss in the last five seconds and then you just assume that they end up together…in reality, it’s probably never a happy ever after.”

Alex frowns, he’s not quite sure what Jo was getting at but if she was doubting what happens next she shouldn’t. If they could make it through today and still end up married and all in one piece then they could make it through every day that came next.

“We don’t have to worry about that.” He smiles, the hand still clutching hers lifting a little higher so she can see the light catch against her wedding set as he runs his thumb across them.

“No, we don’t.”

The last time they dance together is a couple of days before Alex leaves. He seems to have thrown himself into work the last few weeks. He’s so busy he’s almost never home. They’re like ships passing in the night and Jo’s not ashamed to admit she misses her husband.

“Come on…” She mutters, turning the radio up slightly so the music can be heard over in the kitchen, holding her hand out to Alex who’s been staring at various charts since he’d arrived home in the early hours of the morning.

“Not now Jo…I’m exhausted okay?” He sighs brushing her hand away as he turns back to the pages before him.

Jo shakes her head refusing to take no for an answer as she carefully takes the documents from his hand. Setting them down on the table. She cups his cheek, turning his face towards her. “One dance. Come on.”

She watches the internal argument he’s having with himself, his eyes refusing to meet hers.

“Alex you promised…you’d always dance with me...for better or worse...till death do us part?”

He tenses at her words closing his eyes, but before Jo can even question it he’s up, slipping his hand into hers, leading them towards the empty space between the kitchen and the unused dining table with a frown.

“I know Mr. Grumpy…you hate dancing, you've told me before.”

“That’s Dr. Grumpy to you.”

Jo drops his hand only to lift her arms around his neck and Alex sets his hands loosely on her waist.

“I love you.” He breathes after a moment. He leans his head over her shoulder and drops a kiss to the side of her head, wrapping his arms tighter around her waist.

Jo smiles softly at his words as Alex presses her hand into his chest, over his heartbeat. They're gonna be okay, she's sure of it. They hold onto one another, dancing slowly as the song continues.

“I love you too, Dr. Grumpy.”

They keep swaying even as the song ends and another begins, Jo can’t remember what song had played next, but she knows they’d danced to it anyway.

Jo didn't dance much after Alex left. Didn't do much of anything that reminded her of him. She’d got rid of nearly every trace of him. She’d gone into survival mode and removed every last reminder of him from her life. That is except for the few things she just couldn’t bear to lose.

His shirt…the first one she’d ever borrowed. Back when they were just friends and she was crashing on his couch after one too many beers. The same shirt that’s now hanging loosely off her shoulder as she tries to tidy up after her rambunctious toddler, who’s currently making a mess pulling every record out from its cover and onto the floor.

Their wedding album hurt too much to keep. She couldn’t skim the pages without feeling sick. But she keeps one photo…she can’t not. There’s one photo taken at their wedding reception, Jo wasn't even aware of it being taken at the time. She's mid-spin, her hair fanning out around her, hand clutching Alex's tightly above her head. She looks so happy and carefree in that photo but that's not the reason she kept it, no she kept it because of the way Alex's looking at her in it. Like she was the only one in the room. He looks at her so intently that just the photo sets a fire deep inside her. No matter how painful the ending was, she knew how truly loved she was by him.

“Mommy…princess dress?” Luna asks, pulling the worn photo from its hiding space in an old record sleeve. Of course, she's found it, she’s into every draw and cupboard she can reach these days. Her eyes shine as she shakes the photo in Jo's direction.

“Yeah, mommy had a princess dress,” Jo agrees, lifting Luna up from the floor and settling them both on the couch. She’s too young to know that it's a wedding, too little to ask who the man holding her mother is. She was just excited that her mom looked like one of her favorite Disney characters. Jo stares down at the photo, it's not lost on her that she's sitting in the same spot the dance took place.

“Hey, Lulu?” Jo hums, pressing a kiss to the little girl's hair as she wriggles in her lap. “Shall we have a dance party?”

Jo hasn’t had much time to dance these last few years, hadn’t had much desire too but as she stares down at her daughter she suddenly feels the urge to dance again.

Luna nods, as Jo lifts her up off her lap before turning towards the old record player in the corner. She wipes her hand across the dust that’s settled on it before opening it up, taking a second for the slow melody to filter out. When she turns back Luna is already twirling around, her tutu flowing out around her.

Jo laughs as she lifts her baby girl up onto her hip, spinning them both. She throws her head back laughing as Luna squeals in delight, ordering Jo to keep spinning until they're both dizzy and their giggles drown out the music.

[vivilove-jonsa]

evermore prompt based on the album “happiness” (book!verse):

“You want me to forgive you?”

thank you! 😊

Thanks for the prompt, Anon.  It came at a welcome opportunity for me to do some writing so I hope you’ll enjoy it.

Personally, I believe Jon and Sansa will reunite in the North rather than the Vale but since Winds is still not out, let’s pretend otherwise to call this book!verse.

Gifting this to @jade-masquerade on ao3 whose The Thawing of Winter is my fave Jon & Alayne fic :)

*****

Of all the times Sansa had prayed to see her family again, Jon was honestly the last one she’d expected to see even believing the others lost forever. It was the dead she thought she’d see first, thinking some fatal slip would send her to join them at last.

But that is not the case and, like everything else, even seeing Jon again, though sweet, has been far different than expected once it came to pass.

“Your Grace, welcome to the Vale. We are honored to host the King in the North,” Lord Baelish says in that unctuous tone she knows too well.

Her tummy twists uncomfortably as she’s wanting so much to rush into his arms, to show him her face and hope he’ll see beyond the darkened hair and years between now and then.

But it would not be safe. Who knows what schemes Littlefinger has in mind? Sansa does and Jon Snow is not part of them, that is for certain. Baelish cannot secure the North through Ned Stark’s bastard. Whatever plans Robb had made prior to his death, he’s counting on using Ned Stark’s daughter to gain power. The new King in the North is an obstacle and Petry does not let obstacles stand in his way indefinitely.

I must protect him.

Can she even? Would this man want her protection at all?

And, as she watches Jon approach with the Knights of the Vale kneeling in the snow as he strides towards them, some small part of her knows fear. She’s heard rumors, stories. He is a man now though no longer a man of the Nights Watch. Can those stories be true? So much has changed since they’ve left Winterfell. She is not the girl she had been and he is not the boy he once was.

Who are you now? Where have you been? Will you take me home?

Lothor Brune tugs at her sleeve, bidding her to step back and away from her false father. A king is meeting with the Lord Paramount of the Vale. She is a bastard girl and must remember her place. That is what Petyr had hurriedly whispered when word reached them of Jon’s approach. She must wait a little longer for the comfort of Jon’s arms and for the answer to her questions, wait for a time when they can truly be alone to speak.

And, while she waits, she will be forced to play the game.

She smiles and lies and avoids him for a fortnight as she is bid to do.

The king has told Baelish he should like to meet his daughter but excuses are always given. Why does the king wish to see her? Does he suspect who she is? Or does he wish to bed her? That is what some of the serving women have hinted. She does not know but it still does not seem safe to reveal herself.

So, a different sort of game begins over the following fortnight, a mad game of cat and mouse. He pursues her and she flees. She can almost pretend he is not the Jon she knows, that he is someone else.

She comes to revel in the thrill of it, of those breathless close calls and the beguiling lure of his boots crossing the paving stones in her direction, the hysterical giggles she must stamp down at the thoughts of him drawing nearer and nearer until he catches her. She begins to dream of that day when he confronts her at last.

She still wants to be held in his arms but she wishes for unseemly things, too. She wants a kiss, a sweet kiss as light as falling snow. What is wrong with her? Will he ever forgive her for it when they inevitably meet face to face?

*****

Alayne Stone has proven to be as elusive as smoke in the breeze for nearly a moon. He should not allow himself to be distracted from his purposes but she is distracting to say the least.

He is here for two reasons; to seek aid for the North in the wars to come and to find one girl and discover her secrets.

He hopes to win these Valemen over but he will need an ally besides Yohn Royce. He will need her. He’s tried to invent opportunities to speak with her alone, to get close to her, but Littlefinger is always annoyingly close by, lurking, smirking and foiling his efforts. He would fling him through their fabled Moon Door if this were the Eyrie though it might be suicide for himself.

Here at the Gates of the Moon; however, Jon must practice patience, never easy for him before and less so since he died. But he is not some reckless, halfling beast…or rather, he cannot behave like one here. He is a king now, for better or for worse.

And will Sansa ever forgive me for that someday if I should indeed find her?

But if the girl named Alayne is who his heart hopes she is, he must get her away from this place. She belongs in Winterfell with him.

He catches glimpses of her, here and there. He watches her discreetly from distances, seeking some sign. She is beautiful and kind, industrious, knowledgeable and well respected here. They would be proud of you despite the mask you must wear.

And while those traits Alayne possesses all suggest she is exactly who he hopes, a dirty, different corner of his soul secretly begins to nourish hopes that she is not her, that she is just who he’s been told, Alayne Stone, a bastard girl.

It would make it simpler to take her home as his bride, less complicated to explain marrying a bastard girl to his bannermen than his supposed half-sister. Marrying Sansa Stark will mean explaining some things. Will they even believe him? Will she?

Time to find out.

“My lady?”

She spins in the courtyard to find herself cornered. She has done well at avoiding him until this morning when the freshly fallen snow had made her easy to track.

“Your Grace,” she stammers, backing towards the stable. She has no place to go. He does not want to frighten her but she will not escape him either. Intuition tells him she does not mind being caught. And within, a primal hunger stirs as he paces closer to his quarry.

In the stables, she can no longer allude him and stops trying. He removes his gloves, allows his burned hand to caress her soft cheek. Her blue eyes flutter close, so very enticing. Her breath hitches. Does she think he means to take her? As if by being a king he has any right to do such a thing?

He leans forward, huffing a quiet laugh and gently kisses her forehead. “I knew it was you.”

Her eyes open again and he sees relief and affection. She flings herself into his arms, nuzzles into his neck. “I wasn’t sure if it was safe to come to you or when. I’m sorry for avoiding you. Can you forgive me?”

“You want me to forgive you?” he asks, incredulous. “It is I who must make amends with you, Sansa.”

Puzzled, she draws back from his embrace and asks for an explanation.

It is a long one.

And when he is done, she has things to tell him as well.

King Jon came to the Vale seeking support for his upcoming war. He left a little over a moon later with the Knights of the Vale following him, Little Lord Robyn safely in the custody of Yohn Royce and Littlefinger’s bastard daughter by his side.

There are rumors that the pair plan to marry though the girl’s father will not be present. He’d gone missing one morning after the Vale had awoke to fresh snowfall. No one of consequence will miss him all that terribly. And neither Jon nor Sansa are asking forgiveness of anyone for that.

[madmaddoxfuryroad]

HSMTMTS: Season 3 thoughts

So I’ve been ruminating a lot about this show today (like every other day) and I got to thinking about what they might do for season 3. Less so plot-wise (I mean season 2 is just over halfway through), but more about what musical they might do, what the cast might be, and how that could tie into the individual characters and their arcs (some more so than others, but c’est la vie).

In trying to figure out what musical they might do, I started first with the obvious: what does Disney own? I don’t think they would return to the HSM franchise (until the final season, but thoughts on that for another day), so anything related to that and other DCOMs I counted out. I also eliminated all Disney animated/princess films. I love them, don’t get me wrong, but seeing as this season they are doing BATB, I don’t think they would immediately go into another animated-film-adapted-for-broadway right after that. So at that point I wasn’t quite sure where to go. Mary Poppins was really the only other thing that came to mind and while I love the film and broadway show I just don’t think it fits the cast well slash even has enough parts to really showcase them. You have Mary and Bert. And then I guess Mr. and Mrs. Banks? Then the kids are a whole other issue. It just felt messy. So I just started thinking about broadway shows that I like, I mean if they wanted to, Disney has the money and could pay for the rights to use most shows. Then everything fell into place.

Into the Woods. I am 100% positive I am letting my bias for this show cloud my judgement, but if you stick with me, I think I can persuade you (or not, your mind is your own and I respect that). First off, Disney owns it. At least I think they do. They made the movie (RIP), so I am going to safely assume they have the rights at this point. Next, yes it contains fairytale elements, which might make you feel it’s a little too close to BATB, but it is such a deconstruction of fairytales and their tropes that I almost feel like it is an amazing follow up to a more traditional fairytale. It introduces conflict and the real world into these fantasy scenarios, which I feel goes really well with high school in general and growing up, expectations being shattered, and learning to alter your world view (I really love this play). Plus, I think it would be exciting to see this cast do a more broadway-type show. Obviously BATB is a broadway show, but I think there is a lot of reliance on knowing the film and less on the play itself. And not going to lie after Julia Lester’s rendition of “Home” last week (which I have not STOPPED listening to) it would be amazing to hear these teens tackle more broadway-style music. Which, takes me to my final point: the cast. What I love so much about Into the Woods is how it is very much an ensemble cast. Yes some roles are bigger than others, but if you have a named character, odds are it’s a fairly good role. And the whole HSMTMTS cast is so talented, I like the idea of them picking a show where it does not feel like anyone is sidelined with their part. Now the only thing left to do is cast it…

FULL disclosure. I ran into an issue early on that I ended up thinking Ashlyn was perfect for every female role and Seb was perfect for every male role. But I was eventually able to push through and cast it (in my humble opinion) pretty well. So I am just going to go off in the order that I cast them, because I think it will help explain my thought process.

THE CAST

Cinderella - Nini. Once I got over my need to hear Julia/Ashlyn sing “No One Is Alone” (loophole to this coming later), this felt like a pretty natural fit and was one of the easiest to cast. For one, I just think Olivia’s vocal range pairs very well with Cinderella’s and she could do beautifully with her songs like “On the Steps Of The Palace”. But what really got me was the way she parallels the character so perfectly. Cinderella is a character who always dreams of more but isn’t quite sure what that “more” is. And because she isn’t *quite* sure what she wants, the character is often seen grappling with indecision (see: “On The Steps Of The Palace”). Most of Act I is her being stagnant and letting the Prince take the active role. Finally in Act II she starts to get a better sense of who she is, who she wants to be, and what she doesn’t want. So this felt like it tied in really nicely with Nini’s journey and would be a great role for her, especially when…

Cinderella’s Prince - Ricky. Yes, yes I know. Ricky and Nini playing love interests? Groundbreaking. But stay with me. For one, I just like the idea of Ricky not getting the lead male role, and this part is perfect for him, regardless. The whole relationship between Cinderella and her Prince mirrors Nini and Ricky remarkably well. The way the Prince sees Cinderella as this perfect maiden who, if he could just be with her, would be the only thing he would ever want/need. But of course this isn’t realistic and isn’t how relationships work, which they both come to terms with by the end of Act II. Their break-up/parting ways scene might be my favorite in the entire play and I think it would be so great for Ricky and Nini to get to perform. In part because the conclusion of the scene is basically them both admitting that they will always love the idea of the other, even though they don’t actually work as a couple. (**I am operating on the assumption that they will have broken up in season 2 and are still broken up, but never really dealt with it). Honestly I recommend just watching the scene I will link it here (it goes from about 2:12:35-2:15:00). Plus, I could totally see there being an episode where they are trying to rehearse this scene, but it just isn’t working so Miss Jenn has both of them improv it or rewrite the lines to something that might feel more comfortable or personal. And I just see that being a really beautiful moment for the two and a chance for growth and closure. I could go on about this dynamic, but I will move on to my final point: “Agony”. First, while it is mostly a comedic song, you can take just the first verse of the song and recontextualize it really nicely as a Ricky pining kind of song, which I absolutely dig (not quitting on my Rina endgame, and you can’t make me) I mean: “If I should lose her, how shall I regain the heart she has won from me? Agony, beyond power of speech, when the one thing you want is the only thing out of your reach”. And BONUS I think we could also get a full-on version of “Agony” in all its absurdist glory with…

Rapunzel’s Prince - EJ. Well, sort of. Technically, no. BUT for the purposes of “Agony”, yes. At this point EJ will have graduated, but I don’t think he will be written out of the show, so it remains to be seen exactly what his place will be. I just think these two 100% need a song together and this is 100% that song. I could see it being something as simple as EJ is helping out with the show, the unnamed kid playing Rapunzel’s Prince is out, so they have EJ fill in. Or they have to have him go on for that kid last minute during the performance. It’s a quick, easily explainable thing that would have SUCH a great payoff.

Jack - Big Red. This was certainly one of the easier ones to cast, but my first thought was of course Seb. Jack is just a boy whose best friend is his cow and Seb radiates that energy. But I needed him for something else. Enter Big Red, the perfect Jack. For one, Big Red has a lot of that starry eyed wonderment that Jack has, that none of the other characters do. There is a purity and innocence to the way Jack sees a lot of things. That pairs nicely with Big Red. And it also opens the door for him to grow and mature more as a character. By the end of the show, Jack is in a place where is needs to transition more to adulthood and with Big Red being a senior by season 3, I think there is a lot of potential here. Also, with Big Red as Jack, I really like the character he is often paired with in scenes, but I will hold back until I get to them.

Witch - Kourtney. Yes. It is her time. One can debate over which character is the “main character” of Into the Woods, but for me it’s the Witch. And Kourtney deserves this. Did I heavily consider Ashlyn for this as well? You know I did. But I grow more and more confident in the casting of Kourtney the more I think about it. First thing’s first: the Witch belts, and I mean BELTS. Dara is such a powerhouse vocally that she would crush every moment of that; I have total faith. But the Witch also has such quiet and tender moments that people don’t think about as much, but are so necessary for the character to be effective and I think she also has that on lock. We have not seen a ton of it (so I would be eager to get more) but when she did her version of “Beauty and the Beast” she was able to find soft but strong moments in the song, and it was so lovely. Then, from a more thematic POV, the Witch is characterized as “the voice of reason”. While everyone else is running around in their fairytale dream world, she is always the one there dolling out the reality checks. And if that ain’t Kourtney. Basically, I think it is her time to get the lead and she would be amazing in this role.

Baker - Seb. Finally settled on a role for him. But really, how could it be anything else? I have felt since the first time we heard him sing (in Truth, Justice, and Songs in our Key, I think) that he was severely underused. The Baker is essentially the male lead, and he has earned it. I don’t think there’s much more that needs to be said here.

Baker’s Wife - Ashlyn. Here’s the thing: could someone else be cast as Baker’s Wife? Yes. And I am sure they would do a fine job. But the thing about this role is that you often don’t realize how fantastic it is until you see someone really great playing it. There’s heart, humor, tragedy, and so much more all wrapped into this character and I would far and away trust Julia/Ashlyn with this above all others. And Baker’s Wife gets to sing a short reprise of “No One Is Alone” so I get to win both ways. No matter how I try to cast it or rearrange characters, I keep coming back to the fact that Ashlyn is just hands down the correct choice. Plus she is one of the better options when it comes to having chemistry with Seb. And I’m not even talking about romantic chemistry, just more about the camaraderie of it, and being able to really see them as a team worth rooting for. They both have an inherent sweetness that makes you care for them, which is crucial for the show. AND this would be another opportunity for Julia Lester to flex her acting after playing VERY different roles in HSM and BATB. Basically, I don’t know when it happened, but I think I am a Julia Lester stan and I only want what is best for her and I think this is it. 

Little Red - Gina. “Didn’t see that one coming did you?” -Pietro Maximoff. And honestly same. There’s always that tough moment in casting when you’ve done the more obvious ones and then you feel sort of stuck with cast choices that weren’t really your choice. But this one really grew on me. Hopefully, I can do it justice. And I will be the first to admit Gina deserves her time to shine because I do think she is amazing. It just isn’t her time yet. It also doesn’t help that Into the Woods is one of the LEAST dance-centered shows and dance it where she really puts all others to shame. So this is where we landed. But it works. I promise. Little Red as a character is pretty naïve, but covers it up with over the top confidence. That feels pretty Gina. I love where her character has gone and all the growth she is displayed in trying to be more vulnerable. But there is still a part of me that does miss mean girl Gina and I think Little Red is a great way to get that energy without backtracking the character development. I don’t think she would be the stereotypical “bratty” Little Red, but I think she could still do something great with it. Also very similar to Jack, Little Red is one of the more innocent characters that has to grow up and face a lot of harsh realities over the course of the play. And I have no doubt Gina would nail that aspect of it, too. And speaking of Jack, Little Red has a number of scenes interacting with him and you know what that means: Gina and Big Red bonding time! I really like the idea of these roles bringing the two closer as friends. And I already head-canon that they would have a ton of fun playing with the fact that they are now Big Red and Little Red (especially since he is on the shorter side and she is on the taller side). Basically I see this as a way for them to build up a really good rapport. I am also pretty convinced that Big Red is a secret Rina shipper, and this would only add to that. And finally even though this is not a dance-heavy show at all, one place where they could add a dance is during “Hello Little Girl”. Now I will be the first to admit that this song is dicey at best, particularly for Disney. But even a scene working on the dance with just the instrumental, no lyrics, could be great. I see it as a partner dance with the wolf (I don’t know dance terms, so maybe this is super vague). And oh, wouldn’t you know it? Cinderella’s Prince is often double-cast as the wolf! (WHAT ARE THE CHANCES) Meaning the Wolf would also be good ol’ Richard Bowen. And I like the idea of getting Rina scenes of them trying to work on the dance, but Ricky is super bad a leading, and they just have fun trying to figure it out. It’s also nice that it is absolutely not a romantic dance so the two wouldn’t feel any added pressure and could just have fun with one another, and that really is when Rina is at its best (not that I would say no to a scene where Gina has to teach Ricky the BATB waltz, but I digress).

Narrator/Mysterious Man - Carlos. By process of elimination, you probably could have guessed who was next. And I know this one also feels like a weird choice but I do kind of love it. First you have the narrator, which is another one of those roles that is only as memorable as the actor playing it, which I think is right up Carlos’ alley. He is always trying to put his unique stamp on things and be memorable and he would take the narrator in a very enjoyable direction. There’s also the matter that I see Carlos as something of an assistant director with Miss Jenn, which makes him a third-party observer of the shows inherently, so it is almost a little meta that he would also end up being the narrator. Then there’s is the mysterious man. I love the idea of Carlos getting to play two very different characters, but I love it even more because the mysterious man is the father of the baker which makes for a lot of sweet moments between the two of them. Yes it might be a little weird for Seblos to be playing father and son, but there is such a vulnerability and tenderness in the moments between the two characters, particularly during “No More” that I can get over it. Because I think they are one of the few pairings on this show that could really pull that off. I just think this character would be a great way to exhibit the range of Carlos.

**BONUS ALTERNATE CASTING**

I really, really love this idea and could not fault them if this was the direction they went, but I ultimately decided against it, mostly because I felt too strongly about another character having the role BUT:

Baker’s Husband - Carlos. I just really love the idea of Seblos getting to be front and center, with their dynamic as the focal point of the show. And honestly Carlos would also do an amazing job as this character. I mean, Seb and Carlos singing “It Takes Two”? How sweet is that? This would also be a great way for the development of their relationship to get a little bit more attention, instead of a side story here and there. There is a lot that could be done with this from a story perspective and I would be here for it.

Unfortunately, then that leaves me unsure of where to put Ashlyn. She could be Jack’s mother, but that feels like such a waste of her. I mean, she would do well and she does have the lead this year, so it’s not SO terrible her having a more minor character, but it just doesn’t feel right. And I really just feel so strongly that she would be the best option for Baker’s Wife out of everyone. And it opens the door to develop the Seb and Ashlyn friendship more, which I am always here for. 

Anyway. Those are my thoughts. If you made it this far: wow and thank you!

[aros001]

First time read through light novel vol. 7. Random thoughts.

Through some kind of mistake, Rem had completely accepted Subaru, but he knew all too well that the Subaru Natsuki she saw was an ideal far removed from the real thing. Compared with the man she envisioned in her mind, the cards that the real Subaru held were few in number, and poor in quality—

But he learned, now that he stood at the playing table, no one cared about his personal problems.

All anyone in his position could do was try to win with the cards he was dealt.

This is sign I think Subaru has grown a little bit, though he is still growing. It's not about him, and Ferris later seems like he's trying to drill that into him a bit more later when Subaru wants to help with the battle preparations. It's good that he wants to help but sometimes he's unintentionally making things too much about himself, just to ease his own feelings. There are places where he would be getting in the way if he tried to help and Subaru's learning to accept that; to be patient and give his services where he can actually be of use, not just to help himself feel better. And damn, does he put that new maturity to good use in the big battle.

Originally, these negotiations had been Rem’s appointed duty. He could easily imagine how being unable to divulge her task to Subaru and having to speak with Crusch day after day had whittled away at her spirit.

Subaru had continually rotted by himself while the future of the Emilia camp had been entrusted to her—she must have suffered under that burden.

He hoped that in some small way, this victory repaid the girl whose feelings had supported him for so long; if so, then for the moment, that was enough for Subaru to be happy.

I really like this part. Again, it's not all about Subaru. He's acknowledging how much Rem's had to deal with while he was having his breakdowns and indulgences during his prior loops, and how much she still did what she could to support him in spite of it all. We're getting a little more that she does have a life outside of just Subaru and a little more added on to why he feels he's been so selfish. It really feels like he is now doing this for her. It's not like Subaru was completely self-centered before but I imagine there were times, especially with Emilia, where he wanted to help, but he wanted to be the one to help. He wanted good things for her but part of him cared more that he was the one giving them to her, verses her just getting what she needs in general. It's like how he couldn't feel happy that Otto was in support of Emilia first time he met him, though of course that was when he was at one of his lowest points.

And, of course, I'm absolutely reveling in all the sweetness of Rem supporting Subaru through his negotiations. Even if it's just holding his hand and reminding him she's there, he clearly appreciates the strength and courage it's giving him. Obviously they're not a romantic couple but this is the kind of stuff I love to see in romantic relationships. Just the basic comfort and support they find in each other's presence.

“...If I am gone, will you remember me just as long?”

“...I don’t wanna answer that. It’s bad luck.”

Speaking with a voice of dismay, Subaru gave Rem’s forehead a little poke.

When he touched Rem’s forehead, she smiled with a happy expression, almost as if she’d received the reply she had been hoping for.

Given something I believe I've been spoiled on for what happens later in the story (after where the anime leaves off), this feels like a very cruel monkey's paw bit of foreshadowing.

“Subaru.”

“...What?”

“I am fine with being your second wife.”

They were words to make a man unwittingly halt in his tracks.

When Subaru, unable to resist, looked toward her, Rem made a face like that of an adorable puppy, seemingly wagging her tail as she awaited Subaru’s reply.

Oh, good grief, just how far is this girl gonna—?

“If Emilia-tan’s a very generous first wife...”

“Well then, when we get back you must convince Lady Emilia. I shall try hard as well.”

Rem clenched the hand not grasped into a fist, very animated as she spoke with a smile.

Speaking jokingly like that broke all the tension, driving home to Subaru how weak he was. He truly couldn’t hold a candle to the girl.

I'm...going to have to see where the story goes from here, and how truly joking/serious Rem was with that second wife line. Just to put it out there, I don't really have a good view of polygamy. I'm always going to think that, 1st wife or 2nd or 3rd or wherever, someone is always going to be treated like second best and second priority. What they're receiving doesn't feel like real love and that's not fair to them. The only way I can see myself supporting a polygamous marriage in this series is if it's made clear Emilia and Rem are attracted to each other as well as Subaru and want to bang. Then it at least becomes three people who love each other as opposed to just "the guy and his two prizes".

So, first time you read this part in the novels or watched it in the anime, was anyone else afraid of the White Whale not showing up where and when Subaru told everyone it would? Like the world would just want to gut punch him one more time and have everyone think he's a fraud? I remember I was.

One theory I have for why the witch's scent grows stronger, not just when Subaru RBD, but also when he tries to talk about RBD is that maybe the witch likes when he acknowledges her "gift" to him. But she's also quite screwed up and doesn't like it when he tries to "share" what's between them, thus why she punishes him or those around him for doing so.

In front, behind and up above, he saw yet another whale-shaped figure high in the sky, scattering mist all around.

—The infinite mouths of the three White Whales laughed together, drawing out the despair of men.

Subaru, Crusch, the soldiers, everyone, etc.

Though pests had interrupted it, the White Whale’s mission was to cover the world in mist. This, too, was the command of its instinct, and doing so was the purpose of the White Whale’s existence.

One thing I've enjoyed about the various light novel series I've been reading is that, compared to their anime, I get a better idea of various characters' and monsters' mentalities. The best example I could give would be the goblins in Goblin Slayer (that they are not mindless creatures; that they know EXACTLY what they're doing to people and they enjoy it) and this bit with the White Whale is another good one. It seeks to cover the world in its mist and thus destroy/consume/erase everything (maybe?) And it doesn't know why it seeks to do this. It just does, suggesting there is something else, possibly the one behind its creation, driving it.

It's also interesting that, to the White Whale, the witch's scent is described as foul, despite the stories that she's the one who created it. This brings to mind a couple different theories.

Satella didn't actually create the whale. Someone else, perhaps one of the other six witches did or one of the archbishops.

Satella did create the whale but maybe used one of the other witches to do it. Puck did mention something about Gluttony when he sensed the whale approaching in the last loop.

Satella REALLY cannot tell the difference between positive and negative emotions, even more so than we were already led to believe.

Kind of cruel of Rem to trick Subaru into thinking she was dying, but at least we do get Subaru's completely true feelings out in the open. Back to the polygamy matter, I don't have a problem with Subaru being indecisive between Emilia and Rem or being in love with them both. It's not just that they've done so much for him, in which case the relationship would feel just like how Emilia described, just the two of them repaying debts to each other. Both women have been a hugely positive influence on Subaru's life. They've impacted it for the better and helped push him into being more of a man he can live with being, and it works the other way around too. It would be hard to imagine his story without either of them in it. I feel the same way with Code Geass in regards to CC, Shirley, and Kallen in Lelouch's story. It was the only "harem" series I've ever watched where I had trouble saying who the MC should end up with, because all three were irreplaceable in his life and story. Take any of them out and it loses a lot. Emilia and Rem are a similar case.

As Rem looked back at Subaru, now beside her, large tears filled her blue eyes. It was not being left behind that she feared. No, what she feared more than anything was—

“When you are in distress, Subaru, I want to be the one offering my hand faster than anyone. When you hesitate along your path, I want to be the one pushing on your back. When you challenge something, I want to be at your side, stopping you from shaking. That is—that is all I wish for. So please...”

Again, more great parallels between Subaru and Rem, as this isn't dissimilar to what he wanted to do for Emilia.

Wilhelm might just be the biggest example of a tsundere I've ever seen. Married a woman he loved from the bottom of heart for what was assumedly a decent amount of time...never freaking told her "I love you" until he finally killed the beast that killed her.

As for Theresia, it's definitely a case of why context is so important. She never wanted to be the Sword Saint. She only did so because she found purpose in saving as many lives as she could with the insane power she had (the whole "great power, great responsibility" chestnut). If Wilhelm is strong enough to protect and save people, to where her absence would make no difference, then she doesn't have to be the Sword Saint anymore and can live the life she wants. It's what makes it an actual kindness vs. some chauvinistic BS. Probably helps too that she'd already helped put an end to a long war, so she wouldn't have been needed as much anyway.

“So it is said. The existence and origins of demon beasts are mysteries to us. Some propagate in the same manner as ordinary living creatures, but some suddenly appear out of nowhere like the White Whale. Though, properly speaking, the only exceptions on par with the White Whale are the Black Serpent and the Great Hare.”

Oh...I'm so not looking forward to meeting those two. After how much tragedy just the White Whale caused, what the f**k are those things going to do? My money would be that whatever it is, it will hurt Subaru quite horribly.

This book potentially answered a question I had in my last post. The Witch Cult is after Emilia because they see her as an impostor of the Witch of Envy, or at least so the characters in-story are speculating.

Not sure how many people here are fans of Rising of the Shield Hero but after this I kind of want to see the White Whale and the Spirit Tortoise duke it out. That sounds awesome. Mountain Turtle vs. Witch Fish.

Original Reddit post: https://www.reddit.com/r/Re_Zero/comments/gub735/novels_first_time_read_through_light_novel_vol_7/

[thebloodydame]

𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐑𝐄𝐃 𝐐𝐔𝐄𝐄𝐍 & 𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐁𝐄𝐀𝐒���: 𝑐ℎ𝑎𝑝𝑡𝑒𝑟 𝑡𝑤𝑜

𝐒𝐦𝐚𝐥 𝐈𝐧𝐟𝐨: Maria finds herself starting to get used to the company of the white beast, even though he is still a little unsociable to her.

𝐂𝐡𝐚𝐫𝐚𝐜𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐬: Maria Lilith Bellona, Theodore Van Atalenta ( The Beast ), Adrian The Butler, Lord Lysander. Edmund The Knight.

𝐖𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬: None

𝐅𝐚𝐧𝐝𝐨𝐦: The Lady and The Beast & Pokémon

Maria was in the fencing training area in the mansion in the company of her colleague Edmund, he was one of the guards of his orda, the clanking of the swords was incessant until one of the swords went flying through the air and falling to the ground, signaling the victory of the Grand Duchess.

The blond man waved his hand and looked at the woman-" Is that a tactic you use to make the loser feel humiliated? "-He questioned.

" Huh? Of course not "-She replied.

" As always, Your Highness, you have a lot of talent, too bad there is never any real battle to put your tactics into play "-Edmund spoke as he watched her put away her sword.

" You could have used them against that creature "-He commented.

" Nah, I prefer to keep him as a mascot "-She replied.

" As you wish, Your Highness "-The knight agreed.

" Well, I better go, I need to go meet Adrian in the garden for my afternoon tea "-Maria spoke and with that she left for inside the mansion, leaving him behind.

Edmund had never seen that woman smile, probably because of her last six husbands, they had tired her emotionally and mentally, she didn't see any more sense in clinging to love and also, immortal life was something tiring and it had become something tedious .

Lady Lilith found herself in the garden in front of the mansion, she was seated in a gilded chair with a small table of the same shade and a beautiful white sun shade shielding her from the sun as she read a thick orange book that had the title 'Our Dog Changed', lying right behind her was The Beast sleeping soundly.

" Hmmm... there's a lot of useful information here, I think I understood the basics on how to discipline "-She spoke as she picked up the next book which was 'How a Wise Miss Cared for a Wolf', she also had to read '100 ways of raising a good dog' and 'There is no such thing as a bad dog'

' I really liked that title, it almost exactly describes my current situation... '-The auburn haired woman thought, that's when she read the first two verses of the book:

Shh!

At her gentle touch down there, she couldn't hold back and let out a moan.

His eyes glowed with fierce heat at the sight of the stern duchess and her untidy hair.

As if he were a wolf thirsty for the duchess's love, she...

Maria aggressively closed the book, taking a deep breath with her eyes closed she thought-' ...Well, that was an unfortunate incident, I just picked up the book based on the title.... I mean, technically speaking, this book shows from more erotic form a relationship between a woman and a beast '-She opened her eyes and looked in the direction of the huge white wolf.

' But first of all, he needs training '-She put the book on the table and turned to the wolf.

" Hey... give the paw "-The Grand Duchess spoke, extending her hand to him, but he simply growled and showed her his fangs, using his front paw to attack her but she managed to get her hand back in time.

' Hmm... he attacked with his front paw, does that count as following my order? '-She questioned herself as she watched him get into a defensive position-' His attitude is terrible but... ''

With a sigh she threw a piece of meat at him and he quickly snapped it up-' I shouldn't have expected too much from him at first '

" Boy... "-Maria called him which made the beast look in her direction-" Sit down "-she ordered but he simply growled at her.

' Hmm, is it harder for him to understand orders using a voice without me guiding him with my hand? '-The woman questioned herself.

Lady Lilith then placed her hand on his shoulder and then pushed him away-" Here, you sit like this "

' Ugh...! '-The wolf thought but in the blink of an eye he was sitting.

" Good job "-Maria praised him.

' If I train him like that, at least he won't hurt others in the future, I might not be able to figure out why I feel he's somehow human but I want him to be able to live among my subjects even when I set him free him '-She thought calmly as she stroked his head-' After all, he's a kind person at heart '

That's when the voice of Lord Lysander, a nobleman who always got into trouble with the Grand Duchess, infested the environment.

" THAT... THAT NAUGHTY.... ! WHAT DO YOU THINK YOU'RE DOING WITH THIS CREATURE?! HE WAS TERRORISING EVERYONE AND YOU CHOOSE TO WELCOME HIM THAN KILL HIM?! "

The woman continued with her blank and cold expression while the white wolf seemed uncomfortable with the presence of that man, she listened and listened to him speak, but then finally interrupted him-" I thought you were hiding pulling strings, but finally it showed ... as I expected, you're shameless "

The man's eyes widened-" W-what!... "

" I know this whole incident was planned by you, this wolf here is Theodore Van Atalenta, The Grand Duke of the cursed bloodline, isn't it? "-She said glaring at the man.

" Your grace, you...! "-He tried to argue.

" Have you by any chance forgotten who I am? I'm Lilith, the first woman in the world, I know everything and everyone and the last time I checked, I was the Grand Duchess. But you're treating me like I was your subordinate.... I can consider your rudeness as an act against me, the Grand Duchess "-She spoke coldly, making the man feel his limbs tense.

She then turned to the wolf beside her, placing her hand under his chin, saying-" What do you think, Theo? "-The wolf raised its head growling and baring its fangs.

" Until his grace regains his senses, I'll be in charge of his care, so I hope you don't cross the line from now on "-She spoke as she stroked the wolf's white fur.

" Your actions towards his grace are, without doubt, acts of mockery against the Grand Duke, how could he, as his loyal servant, let you tarnish his image? "-He said at her.

" So isn't it an act of mockery to feed your respectable Grand Duke with drugs, treat him like cattle, and dump him on an island full of creatures that are disgusting to you? Who would dare to do this to their own master? "-She growled at the man.

" ....Well, that's... "-Lysander tried to make some excuse but failed miserably.

Adrian, who was watching that, looked quite surprised-' Lady Lilith is really impressive '-He thought.

" If you already understand your place, then you can leave "-She said, turning her back on that despicable man.

" ...I apologize for my rudeness, your grace "-Lord Lyssander spoke and with that he left.

The butler then approached her and said-" You have a meeting with Baroness Rebecca and her maids, they want to show you the final result before they start making the decorations for the ball "-He informed her.

" Thank you Adrian, please, while I'm at this meeting, I ask you to send a letter to the Van Atalenta Mansion and ask them to send the head of the house and the head butler, we need to resolve this soon " -She said and then pulled the collar on which the Grand Duke was tied.

" As you wish, your grace "-He bowed and then accompanied her inside the mansion.

As soon as they arrived at her office, Adrian handed her the letter so she could put the 'Family' Bellona seal, which was an apple and around it was a snake-" There... now we just need to confirm that he is here with us "

The woman turned to the wolf and said-" Theo, paw "

The wolf sat down with a sigh and she then took his paw, dipping it in the ink and using it as a stamp, putting the mark right next to hers-" You can send the letter now "-She declared to the butler.

Theo shivered as he looked in her direction, in his view she was far more frightening.

Adrian left her office just as Baroness Rebecca and her little spiders entered, by which time Theo was lying behind her chair, watching closely the movement in the room.

" Well, we'd better start with that soon "-She spoke calmly.

The woman knew that it would take a while for the letter to reach the mainland and then to the state of that Grand Duke's family, what was left for her was just to wait.

𝐄𝐍𝐃 𝑜𝑓 𝑐ℎ𝑎𝑝𝑡𝑒𝑟 𝑡𝑤𝑜!

[strawberry-skies-xx]

to keep the world at bay

summary: jaskier helps geralt relax.

word count: 2361

tags: geralt/jaskier, established relationship, light dom/sub vibes, slightly feral jaskier, dom jaskier, sub geralt, hurt/comfort, angst-y-ish?, protective jaskier

author’s note: idk if i got meditation right but i wanted hurt/comfort jaskier and geralt fic so we’re playing fast and loose with canon ¯\_(ツ)_/¯

main masterlist

Jaskier is practicing his new song when the door to the room at the inn bangs loudly open and Geralt steps through. Jaskier’s lute is set aside in an instant and he’s standing in front of Geralt, taking in the monster blood spattered on him and the dejected slump of his shoulders. He makes a mental note to pay the alderman a hopefully not-bloody visit tomorrow - and he only hopes it’s not bloody for the alderman’s sake.

For now, though, Jaskier looks up and meets golden eyes that are tired and filled with something like sorrow, and reaches out to catch Geralt as he falls forward, sagging against Jaskier. He buries his face in the crook of his neck and Jaskier doesn’t say anything, knows he shouldn’t because right now Geralt just needs somewhere safe and it’s the highest honor to Jaskier for Geralt to consider him that safe place. 

He feels Geralt’s warm breath fan across his neck as he inhales deeply, hears his heartbeat slow to four beats of Jaskier’s between one of his, instead of two, and stays quiet and still. He wraps his arms around Geralt and briefly considers burning the whole town down for the harsh words they throw at his Witcher. They’re close enough to Blaviken that Jaskier’s near thirty years of songs about the White Wolf don’t work here, but Geralt, being the self-sacrificing idiot he is, decided he’d take the contract anyway, because he’d rather save the lives of the people who hurt him than let them die. 

And now here they are, with an emotional toll taken on Geralt that even Jaskier doesn’t know the depths of yet, and Jaskier can feel the low thrum of the beginnings of anger beneath his skin as he stands there with his Witcher, who’s kinder than those bastards will ever be, taking solace in the fact that Jaskier won’t hurt him. If it was up to him, Jaskier would use his lute and his songs and throw all of their reputations in the gutter. Maybe a few body parts, too, if they’re especially deplorable. 

A few silent moments later, Geralt steps back and Jaskier notices some of the tension bleed out of his shoulders as he looks up at him. He glances at the bath in the corner of the room and golden eyes follow his gaze; Geralt lets out a quiet sigh and Jaskier wonders what the worst consequences would be if he did burn the whole town down. Geralt usually likes taking baths because he feels cleaner after - a kind of cleaner Jaskier has spent thirty years trying to convince him isn’t right, because whether he takes a bath or not doesn’t mean he’s any less human or any more monster - but the fact that he’s too exhausted to even do that means that there was far more than harsh words thrown at him tonight. 

He forces a small, hopefully reassuring smile on his face. “Hey,” he says quietly, and golden eyes haunted by far too many memories turn to him, “it’s done now.” He reaches up and traces his finger along Geralt’s jaw lightly, watching him lean into the touch. “We can move on in the morning. For now, you need a bath, and then we can sleep.”

Geralt doesn’t say a word and Jaskier doesn’t expect him to, only leans up and presses a soft, slow kiss to his lips. He pulls away and Geralt’s eyes are still closed, shoulders slumping a little more as the tension drops from them, and he gives a small nod before slowly opening his eyes. Jaskier smiles and Geralt allows him to help in taking off his armor. 

Jaskier’s movements are slow, steady, designed to reassure Geralt he isn’t a threat, but he can feel the anger coursing beneath his skin. As much as he cherishes this time spent helping his Witcher relax, he knows he shouldn’t have to. Not to the extent that he does, anyway; he shouldn’t have to spend night after night whispering praises in Geralt’s ears in an attempt to overcome hundreds of years of prejudice and hate, shouldn’t have to project each movement he makes so Geralt doesn’t flinch away from him. His Witcher should feel safe in every town he goes in, he shouldn’t see humans as a threat to his emotional state and something he needs to guard so thoroughly against. 

Geralt sinks into the bathwater with a quiet, contented hum as Jaskier works through the tangles and dried monster blood in his hair with his fingers. He talks about anything and everything, keeping the topic light and his voice steady to fill the silence and give Geralt something to focus on, rather than the self-loathing he knows waits just beyond Jaskier’s influence. Jaskier’s fingers trail across his arm, through his hair, and he catalogues Geralt’s responses with as much meticulous detail as he gives his lute. When Geralt is too tired, or can’t articulate what he wants, touch is a language they both know and which Jaskier uses to discern for himself what his Witcher wants without saying a word. Here, every touch means something, and Jaskier knows exactly what it is. 

So, when Geralt leans slightly up into his hand as it runs through his hair, he makes sure to keep some sort of contact with it constantly, and when his fingers along his arm makes Geralt tense, Jaskier withdraws when he finishes with his hair and allows Geralt to finish bathing himself. 

Jaskier is sitting on the bed, reading a book when Geralt finishes. He looks up as Geralt changes into a loose shirt and pants and walks over to the side of the bed. He looks uncertain; even after a month of willingly submitting to Jaskier, he still finds it hard to initiate it, to start the process of slowly taking his walls down for a few hours. 

But Jaskier would be a shit Dom, and a shittier boyfriend, if he couldn’t sense what Geralt needed, so he reaches up and puts a hand on his shoulder, pressing lightly down. There’s half a second of resistance where Jaskier thinks for a panicked moment that he’s finally made a mistake, that Geralt’s trust in him has been broken, before Geralt slowly follows the pressure down to his knees. 

“Good,” Jaskier says quietly, watching a little of Geralt’s tension fade at the reassurance that he’s doing it right, and waits for Geralt to close his eyes and sink into his meditative state. 

Jaskier watches, and waits, and notices the exact moment Geralt goes completely still. He chooses that moment to bring his hand slowly down to run through Geralt’s hair, taking personal pride in knowing he’s doing it right when Geralt doesn’t so much as twitch. He runs his hand through once more, twice, until he’s built up a steady rhythm. Jaskier smiles when, after twenty minutes of this while he sings and hums some idle tunes and verses, he hears Geralt’s breathing slow to that of deep meditation. All of the lingering tension drains from his Witcher’s shoulders as Jaskier continues. 

Golden eyes snap open seconds before the latch on the door clicks open and the innkeeper peeks in. His eyes widen at the implication of the positions Geralt and Jaskier are in, and Jaskier’s hand stills in Geralt’s hair. 

Jaskier knows this is more than meditation; this is something far more intimate. It’s a side of Geralt that no one ever sees, it’s a massive amount of trust placed in Jaskier’s hands to allow him to be so close, let alone touching him, while he meditates. 

Jaskier doesn’t take this trust lightly, so when he realizes the audacity of this man to enter their room - without knocking - and see Geralt in such a vulnerable state without his consent, he’d rather like to stick his dagger somewhere unpleasant in the man. 

He’s up out of bed in an instant, with only light, fleeting pressure put on Geralt’s shoulder in a wordless request for him to stay, and blocks the innkeeper’s view of Geralt with his body as he stands in front of him. 

There’s a thin mask of neutrality on Jaskier’s face above the anger as the innkeeper composes himself from his shock and raises an eyebrow. “If you’re going to tame the Butcher, you’ll need more violence than that,” he says, almost disdainfully. Jaskier wonders if his current bloody fantasies are about to become reality as his mind runs through the most painful, non-lethal places to stab someone. 

“Is there a reason you’ve interrupted us? Without knocking, I might add,” he says, putting all of the icy tone of annoyed nobility into his voice. He hides a dark, satisfied grin when the innkeeper pales just slightly at the sheer amount of anger hinted beneath his tone. 

He composes himself a second time, color returning to his cheeks and the smugness coming back. “Mayor wants the Butcher out of town now.”

Jaskier smiles now, too sharp and venomous, and watches the innkeeper pale a little further. He straightens his back, keeping the cold mask of neutrality on his face, and looks every bit the part of nobility as he replies. 

“You can tell the mayor to kindly fuck off. Geralt saved the lives of everyone in this town and he deserves a night's rest here. And,” he adds as the innkeeper opens his mouth, “there won’t be any problems with that or the mayor will find himself out of a job very quickly.”

The innkeeper frowns, apparently not threatened enough by Jaskier’s words and tone, and laughs. “You truly believe the Butcher is anything but a bloodthirsty beast? He’s threatened you, hasn’t he?”

Jaskier sighs and rolls his eyes before he pulls out his dagger and shoves the innkeeper against the wall, pressing the blade to his throat. He takes cruel satisfaction in seeing the innkeeper truly knocked down a peg now, face white as a ghost - or a nightwraith, and Jaskier briefly entertains the image of Geralt running his sword through this scum of a man, before he smiles darkly at the innkeeper, whose breath comes quick beneath his blade and whose eyes are wide in fear. 

“Let me repeat myself,” he says quietly near the man’s ear, dark and dangerous. “Geralt is a better man than you bastards in this shithole town will ever be, and you should be grateful that he saved your lives after what you all have done to him.” 

The innkeeper nods frantically and Jaskier continues. “So, there won’t be a problem with us staying here, correct?”

Another frantic nod. Jaskier releases some of the pressure on the man, only to shove him back just as hard when he tries to leave. Now he puts all of his true anger in his voice, because where they sleep is one thing, but this is far more important and he will not let the innkeeper fuck it up. He knows the knowledge that Geralt submits to Jaskier could be used in all the wrong ways, especially in a town like this. 

“And another thing,” he says, “there will not be any rumors spread about Geralt of Rivia, the White Wolf, based on what you saw tonight, understood?” 

The innkeeper is trembling by now and Jaskier almost feels bad for the man. Almost, because he thinks of the way Geralt went tense beneath his hand when he opened the door and he finds all pity for the man has left him. He gives a too-sweet smile as the innkeeper nods desperately and he lets him go, watching him run down the stairs and away from Jaskier as fast as possible. 

He sheathes his dagger and turns back around, closing the door to their room and locking it behind him. Geralt is still kneeling, which is a victory in itself that he trusted Jaskier enough to take care of it, and didn’t feel the need to make sure the night wouldn’t turn bad on him. Jaskier can still see the renewed tension in Geralt’s shoulders, though, and bites back a sigh. There is no doubt Geralt heard the entire conversation, and all of Jaskier’s work to make him relax and forget the world for a night has been undone. 

“Why don’t we leave?” Geralt asks quietly, golden eyes tracking him as Jaskier walks over and sits on the edge of the bed. 

“Because you need to relax and sleep for one night at least. You can’t keep going like this without expecting some sort of damage, whether emotional or physical,” Jaskier replies, trying to calm his anger at this shithole town for adding on to Geralt’s self-loathing that Jaskier had been trying so desperately to help with. 

“I’m fine. I can start packing up now. We’ll be gone by midnight.”

Jaskier sighs and runs his hand back through Geralt’s hair. “No, you aren’t, and you can’t. You have far too much hate thrown at you already. I want to make sure you feel safe - truly safe - at least every once in a while. Especially in a town like this. We can’t let them beat us, right?”

Geralt’s eyes have drifted closed again and he hums softly in distracted response. Jaskier laughs and pulls his hand away to allow Geralt to sink back into meditation, before resuming his earlier rhythm and idly singing and humming some songs he’s working on. 

It takes an hour for Jaskier to hear Geralt’s breathing slow enough to indicate he’s near sleep, and he tugs lightly at Geralt’s hair with each pass of his hand until he gets an annoyed groan for disturbing him and his golden eyes slowly open. 

“Come on, up here,” Jaskier says. Geralt closes his eyes and gives another annoyed growl, before slowly standing and joining Jaskier on the bed. He lets Jaskier lay on top of him, head against his chest and his Witcher’s slow heartbeat thudding in his ears, and feels Geralt slowly drift to sleep beneath him. 

The last thing Jaskier feels is the warm weight of Geralt’s arm wrapping across his back, and he allows a fleeting smile to curve his lips before sinking into unconsciousness. 

[sweetlangdon]

And Baby Makes Four (Michael Langdon x Reader)

Notes: Roommates ‘verse domestic fluff! There’s also a hint about a future Roommates fic in this one (future as in it’s yet to be written, but in the ‘verse timeline, it already happened). 

Word Count: 3.2k+

Warnings: Brief mention of vomiting. 

 A cloud of dust blossoms in the sunbeams on the floor when Michael drops another cardboard box at his feet. It immediately triggers a sneezing fit. You look up from where you’re unpacking a box of bathroom towels and laugh as Michael loses his composure. He’s indignant when it’s over, a little red-faced, a deep frown forming creases between his eyebrows. It makes you laugh harder, bent-double over your folded legs, your stomach aching. You can’t help it—the move has you running on a sleep schedule that isn’t worth mentioning, and it’s so rare to see Michael like this. He’s gotten as much sleep as you have and yet, frustratingly, it doesn’t affect him in the same way. You think it’s got to be the damn Antichrist thing.

He grumbles something you can’t quite make out, but you’re sure it’s full of swearing and mild grievances.

You sneeze when the dust drifts over to you. “You’re human,” you tell him. “I know you only hate it when it’s an inconvenience.”  

Like when his appendix almost burst. Or when he sliced his hand open on a broken glass. (Though that one didn’t require a trip to the ER, just some Antichrist magic.) You’ve been with Michael long enough to know he doesn’t get sick. And although it’s easier to forget he’s not completely human these days, there’s always something inane to remind you.

“We can clean this place up once I find the broom and dust pan,” you say, rising to your feet. It’s precarious, maneuvering around the piles of boxes that have taken over your new living room. But you aren’t used to all the space. “You know, this would go a lot faster if I helped carry in the boxes.”

Michael holds up a hand. “No.”

You notice the dust and lint that’s speckled his usual all-black attire. It’s more casual than what he normally wears—jeans and a dress shirt, the sleeves rolled up—but you’re baffled by how it still makes him the most ethereal person you’ve ever met.

You’ve been married for a couple years and he still has that effect.

“We have…a lot of shit, Langdon,” you answer. Married and you can’t help the affectionate use of his last name. Even though it’s yours now. It’s a habit you’re not looking to break. “Who knew? All this shit crammed into that tiny ass apartment. I mean, half of it is your wardrobe, but…”

A smirk, barely there, finds its way through Michael’s fading annoyance. “I’ve got it,” he insists.

“I’m perfectly capable,” you reply. You kick lightly at a box labeled Kitchen. “I did pack them and load them into the truck.”

“Well, then, you can unpack them,” he says. And you know it’s because he’s shoving the chore on you, because you both really hate the whole packing and unpacking part of this whole exhausting deal.

“Sure.” You exhale and cross your arms. “Give me the fun job.”

“You say that like you think I’m having fun.”

“Aren’t you?” You arch an eyebrow.

You know you both really, really hate the actual moving. You just want to mess with him.

Michael brandishes his arms at his sides, all sarcasm and mischief. It’s hilarious, you think, because Michael looks practically regal since he’s grown his hair out. Like he belongs anywhere but here, standing in the middle of your spacious, albeit dusty living room, beads of sweat trickling down his temples from the exertion. Unloading boxes off the U-Haul truck while looking like a fucking GQ model. It’s really fucking unfair. The hair that now brushes his shoulders, like gold silk, makes him even more attractive and otherworldly. It’s distracting. And you think the neighbors have already started eyeballing him.

But he’s the one who chose this. Who chose you and this life. He chose it.

There isn’t a day that goes by that you’re not a little stunned by it all.

Michael closes the distance separating the two of you and leans in to press a kiss on your forehead. You turn up your face to catch him before he tries to move away, a soft press of your lips to his, a grin shared between you.

“I hate it,” he says, slightly breathless as the words are whispered against your lips, mischief still flashing in the bright blue of his eyes. You don’t believe him, not completely; you know he’s playing the same game you are. He nudges your nose with his. “But I can handle it. You should rest.”

“I’m fine.” You roll your eyes when Michael pulls away. “I’m feeling better already. This move is just stressing me out.”

But he stares at you a little too long, and you think that he doesn’t exactly buy it. “Take a break and find the cat,” he suggests, voice drifting in before he shuts the front door behind him.

“He doesn’t want to be found,” you shout back. “He’s mad at us.”

And it was true. You set the little hell beast free in the house—probably against your better judgment, in hindsight—so he could settle into his new home. The two of you are sure he isn’t pissed off enough to run away, and you’ve been keeping close watch on the only door that’s been opened and shut all afternoon. But you haven’t seen him for hours, not even when you shook the pouch of cat treats and the rattle of them echoed through the empty rooms. He’s hidden himself somewhere good in a show of protest. For uprooting him from the comfortable, quaint city apartment he’s known all this life to this massive old Victorian in the suburbs.

He’ll come around. Eventually.

You were the first to fall in love with the house. Right before you realized it bore a passing resemblance to the house Michael was born in, the house that had caused him so many night terrors. And you let go of it because you didn’t want to do that to him. You couldn’t. It didn’t seem right, to have him try and make a place like this home. But then he surprised you, assured you that the past was firmly behind him and this house was nothing like that wretched Hellmouth. That there was nothing evil to be found here except a few repairs that the realtor warned you about. No bones buried in the backyard. No vengeful ghosts roaming its halls. Not even a death on the property. It was all sunlight streaming through windowpanes and dusty hardwood floors and stained glass and vintage charm. It was, in a word, perfect.

The cat would think otherwise.

Standing in the middle of your living room, hands planted on your hips, you consider the overwhelming task ahead of you. There’s brief moments where you miss the cramped apartment, if only because you’re sick of unpacking. New furniture sits in the boxes they were shipped in. The few pieces you took with you from the apartment have been draped in old sheets. Michael refused to part with the couch—his couch, but he claimed the cat wanted it more—so you’ve agreed to put it in the den at the back of the house. There’s boxes on top of more boxes and you’ve been sorting them for a fucking eternity.

Maybe it is time for a break. You’ve been assuring Michael that you’re fine since yesterday morning when you started moving things into the house. He worries about you endlessly (and, given your shared history, you think he has every right to) but you don’t want him to be anxious over nothing. Moving house is stressful enough. It’s worn you down, made you anxious and restless and tired. A little fatigue and a queasy stomach isn’t something that’s worth obsessing over.

At least, that’s what you tell yourself as you’re uselessly shaking the cat treats throughout the house and calling your cat every terrible nickname you’ve collected for him over the years. You wind through the kitchen to the den, then backtrack upstairs, down a hallway lined with vacant bedrooms. You don’t get a response, not even a half-assed, angry meow from a closet. The nausea you’ve been fighting off for the past few days rears its ugly head again. It’s happened in waves, at random, disrupting your busy schedule. You know stress makes your stomach unsettled, makes you feel like absolute shit, so you haven’t thought much of it except irritation.

This time, it hits you like a goddamn truck, sends you running for the upstairs bathroom. You make it—barely—and you’re left feeling more like shit once you’ve lost the contents of your stomach in the toilet. The antique tiles under your knees are cold. You lean over the toilet bowl until you’re sure it’s passed, until you don’t have anything left in your stomach. Catching your breath, listening to the loud flush of water, you sit on the chilled floor with your back against the wall.

You tilt your head back to lean on cold, outdated tile. And you’re left with a few scattered thoughts. You haven’t thrown up like that, aside from the occasional hangover, since you caught the flu a few years ago. But this doesn’t feel like the flu. Panic rising, you start going over dates in your head. Counting. The move has thrown everything off; you haven’t even realized that your period is late. Absurdly late. Uncharacteristically late.

“Shit,” you mutter to the empty room. Your voice echoes. “Am I that oblivious?”

You dumbass, you think to yourself. How could you not notice?

Things have been so hectic lately. You try not to blame yourself too much. But you can’t help the rush of anxiety that seizes you on your way back downstairs. You forget the cat treats in the hallway and decide to leave it, hoping it will lure him out. Michael passes you in the doorway, arms laden with a couple of boxes labeled Clothes. You’ve already grabbed your purse, and you kind of hate how you dash past him without meeting his eyes, your cheeks flushed.

“Did you find the cat?”

“Nope,” you answer. Quick, short, and completely suspicious.

Michael stops in the threshold. “Going somewhere? What did we forget?”

You turn around, halfway down the path that winds up to the front porch. “Nothing,” you tell him. “I’m grabbing lunch. Any requests?”

You try so hard to appear calm and nonchalant about the shitty excuse you’re giving your husband, who definitely knows when you aren’t being honest. It’s that preternatural intuition he has, sniffing out lies. You realize before you say it that he’s not going to believe you, but you’re surprised when he doesn’t question it.

“Whatever you want.” He shrugs one shoulder and disappears inside the house.

You’re shaking the whole way, hoping that you don’t have to throw up again. It’s not that you dread the news, exactly; the two of you have talked about it. You want kids. It just seems like it would be horrible timing—two huge life changes within a span of months.

The trip to the nearest convenience store is an adventure. No one knows you here, yet you look over your shoulder as you’re contemplating pregnancy test brands like you’re a teenager being caught by their nosy parents. It’s ridiculous. But the paranoia’s already set in and there’s not much you can do to stop it. Michael still has enemies lurking. There’s a reason beyond the myriad of other reasons why you carry around pepper spray and took some self-defense classes.

Even though they’re miles away in New Orleans, the witches still freak you out. Actually, after the last encounter you had with them, you fucking hate them. What if they wanted to take all of this away from you before you even had it? They’ve tried before. What’s stopping them now?

It’s not fucking easy being the wife of the ex-Antichrist.

You sigh and push four different tests into the plastic basket. You’re jittery the whole time you’re waiting in line, steal glances around you as the cashier rings them up. You’re so damn preoccupied with your own frantic thoughts that you almost forget about lunch entirely. And by the time you get back to the house with takeout and the bag from the store shoved into your purse, you’re not even hungry. Michael notices you wandering into the kitchen in a daze and pokes his head around the corner before he leans against the doorframe.

His eyebrows pull together. “Are you all right?”

“Uh, yeah,” you answer. “Just tired. I’m…not really hungry. Think I’ll take a nap before I start unpacking the kitchen stuff.”

Michael takes your hand when you meet him in the threshold of the kitchen. His long fingers lace between yours for a moment, then his fingertips brush across your knuckles, skipping over the sapphire on your wedding band. His gaze flickers from your hands to your eyes, and you try to avoid his look of concern.

“Are you sure?” His voice is deep and quiet. At your nod, Michael is reluctant to let go. “I’ll unpack them—get some sleep. Take care of yourself.”

He kisses the top of your head and you lean into him for a few seconds longer; he’s all warmth and rich cologne and soap, a balm for your unsteady nerves.

Whatever happens, you know you’ll be fine.

***

The wait is unbearable. You pace around the upstairs bathroom—which is about twice the size of the one in your old apartment—with enough nervous energy to power the whole house for at least a year. It’s so quiet up here, even with the door cracked open slightly, that you can hear your own pulse rushing in your ears.

Still no sign of the cat, though.

The timer you set on your phone makes you jump out of your skin. Once you’ve eased yourself down on the edge of the bathtub—one of those vintage claw foot ones, peak luxury in your opinion—you have to remind yourself to exhale. It takes a minute to calm your racing heart and another two or three to summon the courage to actually look at the results.

And when you do, the test is positive.

It’s all right there, clear as day, spelled out for you in bold, black letters. Positive.

“Okay,” you whisper to the empty bathroom. Your stomach lurches and you’re surprised it’s not nausea. It’s excitement and joy and fear and love all at once, so overwhelming that your hands start to shake. Blinking away a few tears, your palm settles on your stomach. A reflex. Maybe some instinct. “So, there’s that. Let’s just make sure…”

Three tests later, you line them up on the counter and study the four positives staring back at you. You’re sure, at this point, that they’re right. There’s no mistake. You can feel it, even—you know it’s true, now, once you’ve had time to process everything you’ve overlooked. You’re pregnant. Everything is still and quiet, except for distant chirping of birds somewhere outside, as you stand there gawking at your future. It terrifies you, but the fierce, protective love that’s suddenly surging through you is so much more powerful.

Fuck it, you’re going to be okay.

A soft knock on the door interrupts your scattered thoughts, the immense quiet. You feel Michael step into the bathroom before you turn around to face him; everything is always so much warmer with him nearby. And when you look at him, you’ve got silent, overwhelming tears spilling down your cheeks.

“I came up to check on you.” He moves closer, fingertips grazing your elbows lightly. You uncross your arms to trail a hand down his arm until your fingers stop at his wrist, your fingers finding their way between his. You don’t even have to look. “What is it?” His words are a low, rumbling whisper and you’re so close that you feel it in your ribs.

“I’m…sorry for getting all weird on you earlier,” you reply. “I guess now I have an explanation for that.”

He reaches out, eyes narrowed a little, and brushes your cheek. There’s a grin somewhere on his lips but he’s holding back. “And that would be…?”

“Well, four tests later, and,” you’re crying still but there’s a smile on your lips, “I’m pregnant.”

You watch the slow, radiant grin that illuminates Michael’s face, the tears that make his eyes shine in the dim overhead lights. And it takes you all of twenty seconds to understand that it was there all along, he was just waiting for you to finally break the news. For you to catch up.

You laugh. “You knew.”

Michael’s head tilts to one side, golden hair spilling over one shoulder. He wraps his arms around your waist, pulling you to him. “For about a week and a half.”

“Fucking hell, Langdon.” You brace your hands against his chest. Not so much an accusation as it is a surprise. “And you didn’t say anything?”

“I didn’t want to scare you,” he says. “I wanted you to find out yourself, tell me when you were ready.”

“How in the…how did you know?”

He stares at you. Pointedly. But that grin is there. “You should know by now not to ask.” He holds you, forehead resting against yours, and his gaze wanders down to your stomach. “I felt it—sensed something that was barely there. But I knew it then. It was sudden, one day while we were still packing up the apartment.”

“I can’t believe you kept it a secret,” you tell him. “That must’ve killed you.”

Michael presses his lips to your temple, leaves a soft kiss. “Every day.”

“And that’s why you insisted on moving the boxes yourself,” you realize. “Which is ridiculous.”

“Can’t be too careful.”

This time you kiss him, untangling your fingers to loop your arms around his neck. He’s gentle with you, maybe too much, but you can’t fault him for it. You notice how light his touch his, how he holds you against him like he doesn’t want to hurt you, like he won’t let anyone else harm you or the baby. But the kiss isn’t exactly gentle—it’s fierce and simmering and then blazing hot, just like his skin. You can feel every single fucking thing in it; Michael’s intense love for you, the love he has for your child, the fear and excitement thrumming through his veins, all of it fighting against whatever this world told him he was supposed to be. Whatever he was born for, whatever fucked up purpose he was going to serve, that’s all in the past now.

It’s only you and him and your baby.

And the cat.

The kiss is only broken, the heat tempered when something soft and furry winds in between your legs. Michael groans, all dramatic, as you’re left to catch your breath. He glares down at the pitch black lump rubbing against his pant leg, electric green eyes upturned to you both.

“Well, there’s the fucking cat.”

You snort a laugh. “Figures.” Sighing, you comb your fingers through Michael’s slightly disheveled hair. “Hey there, you little shit. Guess what? You’re going to have to share us in about nine months, and you’re probably going to hate it.”

The little hell beast blinks at you slowly and offers an indignant meow.

Michael’s laugh reverberates in your chest. You feel warm and loved when his hands settle on your stomach, when his nose bumps yours. “He hates us.”

You put a hand on top of his. “Oh, yeah. He’s pissed.”

***

@lastregasolitaria @mylippo @zeciex @lvngdvns @langdonsdemon @wvntersldr @sojournmichael @gabnelson98 @antichristlangdxn @keavysmithxoxo  @batgirlbride  @dead-witch-boy @boofy1998 @gentianea @cryptid-coalition  @kinlovecody @yuriohoe04 @electricurie @marvel-rpdr-and-ahs @gallxntdean @jcshadowkiss-blog @frozenhuntress67 @sebastianshoe @dixmond-taurus @bookobssesed99 @sassylangdon @queenie435 @holylangdon  @angsty-otters-blog @denaexr @mr-langdonn @micheallangdons @lostin-fern @crazedcatcuddler @michaelsapostle​ @wroteclassicaly​ @monsucre @ritualmichael  @queencocoakimmie @bluelancesredswords @theharvestgirloffire @punkysouls @sevenwondr @prettykitten123 @zoebensvn @kylosbabe @sloppy-little-witch-bitch26 @readsalot73 @americanhorrorstudies  @tiny-ruby-seeds @confettucini @xavierplympton​ @kaetastic

[terresdebrume]

Witcher of the rings - Snippet 8

Previous snippets: In the tag

Note: You know, when I thought of this verse I wasn’t planning on spending that much time talking about the nature of orcs but, idk. Jaskier had a point to make, and I’m betting Legolas, gimli and Aragorn will want to follow up on geralt’s enigmatic one-liner so I guess we’re not done with the topic.

Ping list: @formerlyknownas-delight @theheirofashandfire @somedrunkpirate​

(As always, let me know if you want on or off the ping list^^)

“It seems I spoke of your recovery too hastily,” Boromir says when Jaskier bends down to puke again, “I apologize.”

It’s hard to give someone any kind of reassurance when you’re heaving your guts out, even if you’ve reached the point where it’s more bile than anything else, so Jaskier just continues to focus on not falling knees first in vomit while Boromir, hand uncovered, rubs soothing circles over his back.

He disposed of the Orcs’ corpses a while back, tossing them into a natural ditch barely deep enough to hide them. It’s good that dawn is coming because there’s no way Jaskier would have agreed to camp here after that.

“Sorry,” he manages after a long while, grateful to find he hasn’t pissed himself during the skirmish, “I’ve never killed anyone before.”

Boromir, in the process of passing him some water, freezes, something not unlike a frown marring his expression. Jaskier doesn’t notice it right away, too busy washing the foul taste out of his mouth, but when he does, he can’t help but frown right back.

“What? Do I have puke on my face?”

“No, no,” Boromir reassures, as if coming out of a trance like state, “I merely…I must admit I am surprised that this should be the source of your distress rather than simple fear for your life.”

“Why,” Jaskier asks, brushing a stray patch of vomit off his shirt with a disgusted grimace, “didn’t you feel something more when you killed someone for the first time?”

“Of course!” Boromir exclaims, clearly offended. “I am a soldier, not a heartless murderer! But an Orc is something, not someone.”

“On what basis?”

It is very clear, from the look on Boromir’s face, that this question never occurred to him. Jaskier would scoff but, well. Dol Blathana.

“What do you mean?”

“Well I’m no expert on Orcs, but from what I understand so far, they have their own language. They’re capable of independent thought, as evidenced by the fact that one of them tried to flee—”

“As for that,” Boromir scoffs, looking a little surer of himself, “Orcs are cowardly creatures.”

“Yet the others fought,” Jaskier points out. “And beyond that…three of them wore ornaments none of the others did. If they’re mindless beasts, why the trinkets? They didn’t seem to have a utilitarian purpose.”

“You seem to have noticed a great deal of details for someone who narrowly avoided having his throat bitten off.”

“My brain works in mysterious ways,” Jaskier shrugs.

In all honesty, he wouldn’t have spared attention for that detail if he’d been in charge of what got noticed at the time, but he did see it and he can hardly un-notice things, can he?

“You haven’t answered my question,” Jaskier reminds Boromir after a while, less gentle than he’d have thought. “Why are Orcs not people?”

“They were made,” Boromir says, and he sounds kind of subdued now, like he’s not entirely sure of what he’s saying. “Ages ago. I doubt you wish to hear the full tale, and in any case, I am not well versed in it…but the first Orcs were Elves. Taken, tortured and twisted until they became—”

“So was Geralt,” Jaskier says without waiting for the end of that sentence.

There’s already a fierce burn of anger in his arms and ears, and he doesn’t actually want to fight with Boromir. Not over something he wasn’t aware of, at any rate, and certainly not while he could potentially leave Jaskier alone in the wilderness (he really didn’t enjoy the trek back down from Cainghorn).

He can’t just ignore the rhetoric or the parallels either, though, and so he keeps talking:

“He was a human boy who got taken like countless others, and fed potions that put him through indescribable pain until he emerged a Witcher.”

There weren’t many books on Witcher in the Oxenfurt libraries but Jaskier, boiling with rage at Geralt’s abandonment and looking for whatever kind of witchery potion turned them into gigantic asshole, read quite enough of them to learn about the statistics, and the very simple process of taking Witchers’ emotions out: beat them until they stop crying. That’s how Jaskier learned to keep going through almost anything, too—brief vomiting breaks aside—and a fact that explained a lot of things about Geralt. He’s not ashamed to say that knowledge played a significant role in his ability to go through Elrond’s council without ripping into Geralt all fangs bared.

Right now, it’s also a fact that makes him cast sympathy where he would never have expect to bestow it.

“He sees better in the dark than we do, hears better than we do, is used to a much more violent life than we lead… But he can’t have kids. From the sound of it, not a problem for Orcs.”

Boromir, when Jaskier focuses enough to pay attention to his face, is gaping. Frankly, Jaskier doesn’t blame him.

“I don’t know,” he says, fully aware that his attempt at levity is falling flat, “maybe I’m wrong. I certainly don’t have the kind of experience with Orcs that I have with Geralt, but it’s kind of hard to ignore the similarities here.”

“Orcs destroy everything they touch,” Boromir points out, and Jaskier sighs through a wince.

“When I met Geralt, the whole Continent knew him as the Butcher of Blaviken,” he says, then he sighs again: “look I’m not going to lie and say I’m fond of Orcs myself. That lot certainly didn’t inspire confidence. I’m just saying, just because everyone assumes a thing is true doesn’t make it so. And for the record, the way you talk about Orcs? Where we’re from that’s more or less how some people talk about Elves.”

Boromir nods, as if dumbstruck, and Jaskier manages a bit of a grin. He still feels shaky and pale, but not like he’s about to topple to the ground anymore which, hey. Progress. With an effort, Jaskier straightens up, staring that the way the sky pales in the East, and says:

“We should probably get going. You’re not exactly at your fastest yet, let’s not waste time.” “What you said,” Boromir tries instead of starting to walk, “about Geralt—”

Jaskier holds a wince back. In retrospect, yeah, that may not have been the smartest thing, detailing how he could be considered like a weird sort of Orc. Still, now the deed is done, and there’s nothing Jaskier can do but warn:

“Yeah, about that. I can’t control how it makes you feel about him but I’m warning you: if you ever start disrespecting or badmouthing him where I can hear, I will be hitting you in increasingly painful places, are we clear?”

“You forget I wear armor more often than not in these troubled times.”

“And you’re underestimating my stubbornness,” Jaskier replies with none of the teasing Boromir put in his tone. “I’m extremely serious on this, Boromir. Geralt has many faults and the gods know I’m fond of railing against them, but the circumstances of his transformation can’t be held against him and I won’t tolerate any attempt to do so.”

For a long moment, Boromir says absolutely nothing, just stares at Jaskier in a way that makes him want to squirm and look away. He doesn’t though. He makes himself keep looking instead, forcing his hands still by gripping the strap of his lute case as tight as he can, until at last something shifts in Boromir’s expression and he murmurs:

“I do believe, master bard, that I may have underestimated your fondness for the man also.” He smiles then, in a more normal tone, adds: “I shan’t hold Geralt’s painful past against him, of that you may be assured. Even were I now convinced of his inferiority, which I am not, it would be shameful of me to speak ill of one to whom I owe my life. Come, master Jaskier, we have a long way yet to Edoras, and much to discuss of philosophy and what makes a person a person. I must warn you, however, that I am not quite ready to attempt befriending an Orc yet, and I shall travel with my sword at the ready.”

“Yes, yes,” Jaskier manages through a surprisingly tight throat, “you big burly swordsmen are all the same: overly fond of swinging your blades around.”

Boromir snorts, not sounding nearly as scandalized as he did back when they left Imladris, and Jaskier grins.

[jupitermelichios]

Jupiter’s Top 10 Fic Series of the Decade

In no particular order (and belonging to no particular fandom)

Honourable Mentions: Of Hunters & Hellblazers by KittyAug - Self Help by maskedfangirl - Bad Jokes by hahaharley - Doubtful Sanity by DustToDust - Wilton’s Bakery ‘Verse by machine_dove & sproings -  Sic Gorgiamus Allos Subjectatos Nunc by etothepii - New Favourite F Word by Polaris - little beasts by noctiphany & likewinning

drawn into something by Nonymos (Venom, Eddie/Venom, Dan/Anne, Eddie/Venom/Dan/Anne)

“Eddie, you… and him.”

“Yeah.” Eddie stares at the floor. “And… and look, Annie, I know it’s weird, but I can explain, I…”

His voice breaks, he’s damn near tearing up, panic rising again—and he jumps when Anne cups his face.

“Hey, it’s—it’s all right, Eddie.” She’s making a valiant effort to smile. “Don’t get so worked up. I’m not gonna run screaming.”

“No?” He laughs and sniffs. “Damn. Starting to wonder what it’s gonna take, at this point.”

This is not Nonymos’s only entry on this list. In fact they may just be my favourite fanfic author of all time. Drawn into something is everything everything I want from a Venom sequel, emotional, kinky, romantic, and poly.

OTP: Fight Club by MorganOfTheFey (Detroit: Become Human, RK900/Gavin)

"One hundred. Ten X," Nines says, voice flat enough it almost doesn't sound like bragging. "I would have been decommissioned otherwise."

"Ohhhh. Aw, that's sad. Just," She tries to snap her fingers and gets distracted for a moment when she can't. "Jus'like that?"

"Yeah RK, that's so sad," Gavin echoes. "Can you play yourself despacito?"

His own phone blares the song barely a second later. Gavin drops a few f-bombs fumbling to get it out of his jacket pocket and turn it off. Then as soon as he puts it back in his pocket, it starts up again.

"Thank you for the suggestion, detective," RK900 says. "This is making me feel better."

The fourth part of this is still coming out, and it’s the highlight of my week when the new chapter drops.

Dreams of the Waking Man by Lex_Munroe (Marvel Comics, Wade/Cable, Daken/Bullseye, Wade & Hope)

All at once, it hurts.  It hurts worse than the day Nate died (because Wade couldn’t accept it back then, insisted that Nate had managed to timeslide out, that the busted old telemetry circuit would only let him go forward and he was just lost for a little while).

He sits in the middle of the floor, ducks his head, cries.

She was smarter than he was—than he is.  She’d known all along.  Brave girl.

Timesliding doesn’t work right on Wade, never has, and their cobbled-together sliding module barely had power to take one stringy teenager for one jump.

She’d known she was leaving her parents, that she certainly wouldn’t see one of them again and quite possibly wouldn’t see the other.

Wade allows himself a moment more for grief and shame and humility.  Then he clears his throat and wipes his eyes and gets back to work.

This may be the cleverest fic I’ve ever read. Crossovers, theoretical physics, and the best love story Marvel never wrote.

The Mountains Are The Same by bonehandledknife & Primarybufferpanel (Mad Max: Fury Road, Furiosa/Max, Furiosa/Ace, Everyone & Healthy Coping Mechanisms)

“'Real isn’t how you are made’” Gilly said with the air of a quote, of a Remembering, “'It’s a thing that happens to you.’”

Rotor closed his eyes in a long blink, “A thing that hurts, innit it right?”

“Sometimes,” Gilly agreed, squeezing his hand, “That’s life though, when you are Real. We all become it bit by bit. But it doesn’t happen if you’re not strong, if you’re not soft, if you’re not sturdy.”

“ But how can y'be all of those at once ?” he wheezed out. It’s getting hard to catch his breath.

“You are all that right now, aren’t you?” Gilly asked him with piercing eyes, “No one else of all these Boys has had the strength to ask for me. And I will Witness you as I have kept all those of my sisters who’ve fallen these past days.”

This series is not always easy, it doesn’t shy away from the hard or the dark or the painful, but it is always worth reading.

The Unspoken Truth by Nonymos (MCU, Clint/Loki)

Barton glared at him like he was trying to decide whether he was being mocked or not, but the next second, his shoulders slumped. Loki was familiar with the feeling – that dreadful feeling of discovering something repulsive in one's own nature.

And then, he waited. He waited for Barton to think and connect the dots, to realize that an obvious solution was standing just before him, to remember how he had felt when waking up tied down, or being forced to drink down the water. The demi-god just stood there, hoping – almost praying for the first time in his life – that his enemy would look up at him with something else than hatred in his eyes.

No one writes kink quite like Nonymos writes kink, and this series is the perfect encapsulation of that.

The Stone Gryphon by rthstewart (Narnia, primarily Gen)

"Tools!" Richard was so shocked he was near speechless. He sat down heavily on the bench and began writing frantically in that strange code. "You are saying that you have observed ordinary crows use tools? Peter, that is… remarkable."

"Well, I've seen Beavers use fishing tackle and sewing machines, so it didn't seem that unusual at the time."

I’m not going to lie, this may not be to everyone’s taste. But, amateur theologian, lover of weird animal facts, and history nerd that I am, there are very few fics more exactly tailored to my interests.

Republic of Heaven Community Radio by ErinPtah (WtNV x His Dark Materials, Cecil/Carlos)

The greeting catches both her and Carlos off-guard. It's not wrong to talk directly to another person's daemon, but it's still a little weird. "Likewise," she stammers.

They're both waiting for the obvious next step, which is for Cecil to introduce his daemon. The fact that Carlos hasn't spotted her yet is understandable — a big community gathering in a small space, you get plenty of daemons breaking away from their humans to socialize directly with each other. Any of the dozen animal shapes currently within ten feet of them could be Cecil's. If his daemon has an unusually high range, there are even more possibilities.

What Cecil says instead is, "If you ever have any important experimental-theology news that you need to share with the town, call me any time! Everyone listens to my show." There's a touch of what Carlos hopes is nothing more sinister than smugness when he adds, "Everyone."

He steps out of the way to let someone else interrogate Carlos, and vanishes into the crowd. Carlos doesn't get a chance to see what daemon he leaves with.

This may be the most carefully thought out crossover I’ve ever read, and I’m a little in awe of ErinPtah’s skills.

The Soul in the Machine by missdreawrites & Troodon (Dishonoured, Corvo/Outsider)

“... Outsider?” Corvo asked, sitting down on the filthy floor. “In the published list of the people who died of the Plague… how many were registered Augments?”

<There have been a total of 231 dead in the past year. Of that group, 100% were Augmented individuals. This number has increased exponentially under Hiram Burrows’ “The Boldest Moves Are The Safest” law, allowing the execution of any individual infected by the Plague.>

“Son of a bitch, ” Corvo swore with feeling. “This is… look at this waste. We aren't even people to them, are we?” He looked down at the body next to him. “And I killed the one person who could help. I did this. I doomed an entire people to plague, and murder and…”

The cyberpunk Dishonoured AU I desperately wish I’d thought of, because it works so very well.

In Which Tony Stark Builds Himself Some Friends (But His Family Was Assigned by Nick Fury) by scifigrl47 (MCU, Steve/Tony)

“Do you know what the difference between a villain and a super villain is, Stark?” Coulson said, leaning his palms on the tabletop, looming over everything like a very snappily dressed gargoyle.

“Style?” Tony asked, pointing both index fingers in Coulson's direction like the gunslinger that he was. He added a wide grin to the gesture, but Coulson didn't seem to notice.

“A villain has a giant mass of robotic vacuum cleaners that he can sic on his enemies. A super villain gives them the ability to fly.”

“In my defense, I do not actually remember installing repulsor technology in the Roombas,” Tony said, choosing his words carefully. It had been a working theory, sure, but he still wasn't quite sure when he implemented it. Maybe sometime on Tuesday night... That one was a blur. “It was a very long couple of days. So I was as surprised by that as everyone else.”

This doesn’t really count as a rec, since everyone in the fandom has read it already, but it really wouldn’t be fair to draw up a ‘best of the 2010s’ list and not include this.

A Great and Gruesome Height by mokuyoubi (Hannibal, Will/Hannibal)

Bedelia lashes out but Will is quicker. He grabs her wrist, pressing hard between the delicate bones with his thumb, until she makes a soft noise of distress and drops the fork.

Hannibal purses his lips and leans in close to her ear. “Now that is disappointing,” he whispers, and Bedelia has the good sense to be afraid with that mouth so near her skin. He inhales her scent deeply and straightens. “I thought you and I were beyond such petty jabs.”

“Were it not for the fact that you required medical attention, I have no doubt I would have met a similarly crass ending at the hands of your pet,” she says, lip curling in disgust.

Hannibal smiles serenely and says, “Will is a creature entirely of his own making. It is not to me to guide his hand. Merely to share in the sublime perfection of his vision, when he allows it.”

There are many dark!Will stories out there, and most of them are a lot of fun, but few are quite at believable as this one.

[aziraphallist]

the yoke of inauspicious stars

Inspired by this tweet.

*

Crowley’s drunk when it happens. Story of his life, right? He should stop drinking so much.

Except he doesn’t know, at the time, the trouble it will cause. Not just him. The trouble it will cause, in general. More trouble than he ever cared to cause intentionally. (See also: the story of his life.)

He’s with Aziraphale, obviously. That’s probably the root of the problem. It’s—he’s losing track, now, of how many years it’s been, how the humans are counting these days. Though maybe that’s the drink. It’s, what, four thousand years since he sheltered under Aziraphale’s wing on the wall of Eden, watching the first rainfall. Crowley’s been in love with him for all of them. 

Humanity has always loved storytelling. Crowley appreciates each new stride forward, as a rule; stories are knowledge, and Crowley has, historically, always come down in favor of knowledge. It remains to be seen, though, where he stands on the issue of literature.

Aziraphale, sitting in a tavern in Rome, could not be more pleased. Careful to keep his cup far from his prize, he pushes a scroll across the table, practically vibrating with joy.

Crowley concentrates very hard on not feeling jealous that a simple inanimate object can provoke this reaction when he himself cannot. “What’s this, then?”

“Metamorphoses.” Aziraphale says it the same way he will one day say crepes. “Book four. Ovid. I’ve been waiting for a chance to get my hands on a copy, you know.

“Book four?” Crowley repeats, taking the scroll without really intending to. He unrolls the first few inches.

“Of fifteen,” Aziraphale confirms, and Crowley spends a moment wondering anachronistically when humanity will get around to inventing editors. “But this one’s my favorite so far. Oh, do read the second one, there, that’s the best one.”

Crowley can read, though his eyes aren’t exactly designed for it. He can coax them into submission for brief stretches, but it’s taxing, and he doesn’t want to sober up. He hands the scroll back. “You read it to me, if you like it so much.”

This is his second mistake. Third, if he counts the alcohol. Fourth, if he’s feeling particularly uncharitable with himself and tacks on the fact that he, a demon, gave his incredibly stupid heart to an angel four thousand years ago.

But he’s drunk. He almost can’t help himself. He knows it doesn’t mean anything if Aziraphale acquiesces. He merely likes the poem and wants to share it. His capitulation has nothing to do with Crowley except as a captive audience; Crowley has long known Aziraphale likes to hear himself talk.

It certainly doesn’t take much cajoling for him to start reading this one, which begins:

When Pyramus and Thisbe, who were known

The one most handsome of all youthful men,

The other loveliest of all eastern girls—

In the many years to come Crowley will hear a thousand stories like this. In years to come he’ll think back on these verses and think they’re so simple, that so few lines can’t convey the depth of emotion of a play or a novel or a film. But those years are still to come and this is the first love story he’s ever heard, read to him in the voice of the being he has loved hopelessly for more than four millennia. And it speaks directly to him.

He finds himself leaning forward, wine forgotten, as Pyramus and Thisbe whisper to each other through the shared wall of their homes, make a plan to defy their families. His heart, heedless of its own irrelevance, beats a steady pulse in his throat, the story lending it optimism, a borrowed maybe one day. For a brief, absurd moment, the air tastes like freedom.

His fingers clench into fists when Thisbe encounters the lioness. Relax when she escapes. But when the lioness tears at her dropped veil, a pit of ice forms in his chest. His palms sweat; his hands feel weak. Horror makes him pale as Aziraphale reads on, oblivious to the crisis happening two feet in front of him.

“Now Pyramus had not gone out so soon as Thisbe to the tryst; and, when he saw the certain traces of that savage beast, imprinted in the yielding dust, his face went white with fear.” Aziraphale’s voice is steady; he doesn’t even look up. Crowley’s heart thinks he is discorporating. “But when he found the veil covered with blood, he cried, ‘Alas, one night has caused the ruin of two lovers! Thou wert most deserving of completed days, but as for me, my heart is guilty! I destroyed thee!’”

Despite his every effort, a pitiful, animal sound thrashes out of Crowley’s throat. Literature might be new, but Crowley is a suspicious bastard, and he knows how to hurt people. It’s his job. He knows exactly how this story will end.

The way it must end. The way any story like this would end.

Theirs too, provided Aziraphale could ever love him. And for that aching, horrified moment, Crowley finds himself fiercely glad he doesn’t.

“Now the gods have changed the ripened fruit which darkens on the branch: and from the funeral pile their parents sealed their gathered ashes in a single urn,” Aziraphale concludes with a veritable sigh of satisfaction, and sets the scroll aside, only now to gauge his audience’s reaction. “I—Crowley? Are you crying?”

Crowley is not crying. Crowley is furious. Even if his face is wet. Tears of rage don’t count. “Who,” he says, over the screaming beat of his heart, “who would write such a thing?”

Aziraphale frowns at him, leaning closer across the table. “I told you. The author’s name is Ovid—”

“No,” Crowley cuts in, slashing a hand across his face, “Never mind, I don’t mean who, I don’t care who, I mean why? What’s wrong with these humans? Is this what they left the garden for?”

Whatever is happening on his face, it’s enough to alarm Aziraphale, who moves his chair closer still. “Crowley, you’re not making sense.”

“I mean, what’sss the point of it?” There are a thousand different things wrong with this story, a thousand reasons Crowley feels the need to slink into the desert and shed his skin, find a rock and crawl under it for the next fifty years, and he can articulate none of them. Something is boiling inside him, threatening to spill over if he can’t take the lid off the pot, but he doesn’t even know where the fire is. “Four thousssand years practicing free will and they’re no better at it than we are! Worse, even, here they are just, just taking it for granted—”

A line of consternation appears between Aziraphale’s brows. “But it’s not about free will—”

Crowley laughs bitterly. “Everything is about free will, angel.” He thumps a hand over the scroll. “That bit at the end? Where the gods change the mulberries and their parents sssseal their ashes in a single urn. That’s what free will gets them in this bloody poem.”

“For goodness sake, Crowley, it’s poetic!” He draws back, searching Crowley’s face. He’s not only surprised, he’s bewildered. Because of course he is. Because he has no idea Crowley has been breaking his heart over him since the invention of rain. Because he doesn’t see their story paralleled in this one at all. “I thought you’d understand.”

“Poetic doesn’t make you any less dead,” Crowley snaps. Belatedly he remembers the wine and quaffs the rest of his cup, barely tasting it above the ash-and-sulphur burn of rage on his tongue. He ought to give it up. Walk it off. Next time he sees Aziraphale, fifty or seventy or a hundred years from now, he’ll have forgotten all about this.

But that will be fifty or seventy or a hundred years from now. And even here, sore, angry, hurt, even laid bare, Crowley cannot bear to deprive himself of a single moment. “The author,” he begins.

“Ovid,” Aziraphale supplies.

“Whatever.” Crowley inhales unnecessarily through his nose. “The author has free will too, yeah? So he’s writing this poem. Two young people fall in love in defiance of the rules.” Oh, he’s skirting trouble here; if Aziraphale sees him—but then Aziraphale’s been drinking too. “He could do anything he wants. They could get away together. Their parents could change their minds. Thisbe could catch Pyramus before he falls on his own blessed sssword.” He clenches his teeth. The hiss is starting to get away from him. “For that matter, Pyramus could investigate a bit further than a bloody veil before he decides to off himself!”

He punctuates this last with his fist against the table, and Aziraphale jumps. Good.

“But no,” Crowley continues. Bitterness leaches into his words like lead, urged on with the liberal application of alcohol. “Free to give the story any ending he likes, he chooses this one: as punishment for daring to choose each other over family, over rules, the lovers perish.” He scoffs, wishes his cup full again, takes a swig.

“But they’re together in death!” Aziraphale protests. “And the gods grant Thisbe’s last wishes. I think it’s a very romantic notion, to die for love.”

“Maybe if your death would mean the survival of your beloved!” Crowley ripostes, swaying a bit in his seat, furiously willing himself to believe he’s never personally considered that particular inevitability. Because yes—that’s it, that’s what’s getting to him. “But this—to romanticize dying for love, for no reason—it’s deplorable.”

Crowley would do it. He’d fight like heaven not to have to, he’d pull out every last miracle he has. He would do it with very little regret. But calling the idea romantic is an unconscionable sin.

Aziraphale sighs, but it’s fond, the irritation fading from his countenance and leaving behind a trace of softness around his mouth. “Oh, of course you would be a pragmatist.”

Crowley almost chokes on the irony.

It’s pure bad luck that the tavern barmaid walks by just then, and bad luck that Crowley’s so deep in his cups, and worst of all that he’s just suffered through Aziraphale reading him a poem that might as well be called “What Would Happen To Us.” Because what comes out of his mouth next has the force of untethered power behind it, and it changes her life, and Crowley’s, irrevocably. “Might just as well choke to death on lovesickness, if they like suffering so much,” he mutters, mulish.

The barmaid pauses on her way past, then seems to shake herself.

The next morning she’ll wake with rosepetals spilling from her lips, that ache in her chest turned physical.

It will be another thousand years before the same happens to Crowley.

He gets a commendation for it.

[artisticflutter]

Warrior Princess

THE TIME HAS COME ONCE AGAIN!

FOR ML SECRET SANTA!

AND THIS YEAR! I HAVE BEEN CHOSEN TO GIFT.... @their-destinys-writer! Hehe, but to write normally, hello! I’m your Secret Santa via @mlsecretsanta! You liked Kagami, Adrinette, Lukagami, and AUs so I hope you enjoy this piece in part of the Dragon’s Bride AU Fantasy-verse!

Rating: T+ Genre: Fantasy, AU, Drama Pairing(s): Hints of Adrinette and budding Lukagami Summary: Attending Prince Adrien’s birthday and engagement party, Princess Kagami needs to be the one he weds. Now if only a dragon didn’t complicate matters. Warning: Fantasy!AU. Ties into the Dragon’s Bride AU, but that part need not be read. Also, beta’d by PocketNoivern, Ami, and Riki. Also available on AO3.

If she had any say in her marriage, Kagami would choose Félix over Adrien. She could not deny the younger Prince was handsome and well-educated by the best tutors that could be brought to Vitrail, but observing him at his birthday party, she was put-off by his behavior. He understood the reason he had to be wedded; he needed to play his part and that meant holding his head up and obscure his emotions. If her kingdom didn’t need this alliance, she’d tell her mother they were better off leaving him to Princess Lila.

How unfortunate that couldn’t be the case.

If securing the Qǐyuán Kingdom was the only way to make sure those opposing her taking up the throne were silenced, then so be it. It would be an accomplishment her great-grandfather had failed and no one would question her authority.

Still, why did it have to be Prince Adrien?

If it were Prince Félix, it would already be a move against Qǐyuán: to take the Prince once betrothed to the kingdom for her own. She could imagine the morale decline just from that alone, but her mother reassured her even wedding Prince Adrien would do the same – ally of the enemy and all. Not that she would point out this discrepancy to King Gabriel, nor would she bring this up to her mother again. No, she could work with the subdued nature that was the young Prince; and as long as he gave her what she would need in the future, it would work.

Brown eyes narrowing, Kagami remained standing beside her mother as she spoke with the King’s advisor, Nathalie, watching the Prince leave the room with who was likely his personal guard. How spineless, needing to excuse himself from his own party! But she continued to bite her tongue and took the time to observe the room again.

King Gabriel stood near the door the Prince had departed from, Prince Félix joining him and briefly catching her eye. His stoic gaze morphed into a moment’s icy leer before they were away in the next. It would be unwise to approach him at this time. Prince Adrien’s despair had been obvious, but his elder brother tempered his fury. She was sure that if he were already the ruler, he’d have everyone escorted out and no alliances made. There would be no easy method to curry her possible brother-in-law’s favor.

Her eyes passed over the Lord and Lady of the Bourgeois House next – André and Audrey – with their only daughter, Lady Chloé, looking her usual displeased as the few times they’d met before. She recognized only a few others noble houses choosing to stand closer together with their guards and personal servants – but then she saw her and Kagami gnashed her teeth behind her lips.

Princess Lila of the Rossi Family, not even Royalty after stealing Regno dei Desideri, or “Desideri” for short. Calling her ‘Princess’ at all tarnished the title, but Kagami had to keep her posture and silently judge her competition. There was nothing physically unique about her and given her family’s methods, she was a cowardly fox with a silver tongue only fortunate to be here. Shooting a look back over to Prince Félix, at least he leered similarly at Princess Lila – if not even colder. Kagami could make out the way he bristled and did similar as Princess Lila and her family cautiously, but confidently approached King Gabriel to speak.

An alarm bell began to ring before any words could be exchanged.

Kagami turned her head as many in the great hall did as a sentry forced entry from the foyer entryway.

“Dragon! A dragon on Your Lord’s balcony!”

There was a split second before the hall erupted in a frenzy.

Guests panicked, personal attendants tried to hurry their Lords and Ladies to safety, knights were attempting to pass through and rush to the balcony, but then King Gabriel’s voice bellowed overall, commanding silence. The hall became motionless save for the guards; of whom, Kagami joined in rushing up the stairs, Prince Félix in the lead. They made it just in time to see it, and her breath caught at what she saw.

Sinewy in the back with a long tufted tail, broad in the torso, the dragon’s doe-like head with curling whiskers did not even bother to turn to its new audience. The white-scaled beast with its heavy curled horns capped by gold, long ears pierced with rings, and deep raven mane faced upwards as its unfurled wings came down, drawing its body up while the force Kagami, Prince Félix, and the knights back. Though her hair blurred her vision, the Princess could unmistakably make out Prince Adrien clutched tightly in a foretalon. The gold adorning him – trinkets meant to exemplify their trade goods - were likely what drew the dragon’s eye.

“Adrien!” Prince Félix yelled and reached out with a hand, but the dragon was off and airborne before anyone else could act. Kagami stood back, still in awe while she felt her gut sink. She nearly jumped when the Prince snarled, “Get the falconers and hunters! Don’t lose that monster!”

She bit the inside of her cheek.

Without Prince Adrien, what would happen now?

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

Months soon passed since Prince Adrien’s kidnapping and the opposition against Kagami grew. With or without a King, her coronation drew closer; though her mother attempted to reach out to the Kingdom of Vitrail, they never received correspondence. In fact, it seemed no other kingdoms had heard from King Gabriel since the incident and it was growing to be a concern. Vitrail was a Kingdom to either ally with or be neutral toward; many advisers warned to never become an enemy to the Agrestes. With the abrupt loss of contact, there was no saying what would happen next, or what King Gabriel might do.

She didn’t want to worry about a foreign power right now when she had to deal with an impending rebellion in her Kingdom; and she did not want to find herself with Princess Lila.

But that’s exactly where she was when the other Princess requested audience. She even bothered to travel from her ‘kingdom’ to meet.

Sitting upon her throne, hands resting in her lap, Kagami watched the Princess closely as she languidly entered her chambers and managed enough of a curtsy.

“Hello, Princess Kagami…!”

That was just her greeting and already so much saccharine made Kagami want to gag.

“Greetings yourself, Princess Lila,” she managed to coolly answer. “For what reason did you want my audience? Your letter stated you had ‘important information’ and a ‘proposition’ for me.”

“Yes, I do, but it already sounds like you don’t want to hear it. You don’t believe me?”

With the way Lila’s lips curled, Kagami wanted to answer ‘Of course not, who would?’, but she stopped herself.

“No… The fact you bothered mentioning it in your letter merits it must have some truth,” she replied. She took a small amount of pleasure seeing Lila’s brow twitch, but the smile didn’t drop. “I have other matters to attend to so be quick.”

“Of course,” Lila nearly hissed, recomposing herself before going on. “It just so happens that I know where the dragon is. You know… the one who took the Prince?”

That… hadn’t at all been what Kagami expected to hear. Lila probably knew that she had Kagami’s attention, too.

“I’d send my own knights to deal with it, but I know you wanted to marry him first,” she went on, a hand covering her mouth. “If you save him, I’m sure King Gabriel will have you both married on the spot. Even Prince Félix will be impressed. They’d do anything to repay you…”

“… And what do you want out of this?”

So much information and Kagami had no doubt that Lila wanted something in exchange. After all, if she could send her own knights, why tell her at all? Wouldn’t she want the alliance instead? The marriage? Kagami could recall the looks Lila had been sending Prince Adrien’s way when she could, and the way she kept getting into his personal space. Maybe that’s just how things were done in her Kingdom, but most others would expect you to behave as custom to the visiting Kingdom to some degree.

When Lila finally spoke, Kagami could practically hear a purr in her tone. “Oh, it isn’t much, but… since you just need the marriage for alliance purposes, I could be a… companion to Adrien.”

Kagami sat taller and hardened her stare. “You mean be his Mistress.”

“Is that the word? I guess it is,” Lila replied, smirking. “So? A deal?”

And let a little sneak traipse about her Kingdom and plot?

Kagami didn’t like the deal, but the first part Lila said was true. If she were to rescue the Prince, no doubt King Gabriel would be pleased and the alliance would be secured. Not only that, but even before taking Qǐyuán, the accomplishment of slaying a dragon in her repertoire would deter her conspirators further. She might not require the alliance then; and if that happened, she wouldn’t have to marry Prince Adrien at all – she wouldn’t have to negotiate further with Princess Lila either. Even if she still had to, she could use the new alliance to rid of Rossi once their guard was down.

Blinking, Kagami rose to her feet; she had a target in mind.

“I’ll accept your deal, Princess Lila. My guard will take you to speak with my advisor and draft a formal agreement.”

“How delightful! I’m glad we could reach a peaceful agreement.”

And with the other Princess gone from the room, Kagami said nothing as her mother stepped out from behind the throne.

“She knows you plot, but not where the snares have been placed,” she hummed, cane clicking as she came to stand by Kagami. “Keep it that way and I’ll hold the Kingdom in line until your return.”

“Thank you, Mother.”

That would be needed, as upon the next dawn she would head out.

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

When fighting your enemy, one had to take a moment to get to know them. However, Kagami only remembered so much about the dragon that any action against it could likely be performed once. Describing the dragon back to her mother, she had to give pause. Their Kingdom didn’t know, but her mother had felled a dragon before giving her more intimate knowledge into slaying one. Though it was nothing like the dragon Kagami spoke of, the suggestion might work.

Music could entrance dragons; only a practiced musician could convey their true thoughts and feelings through it far better than words, and dragons could resonate with it as beasts that moved by instincts and nature alone.

It annoyed her that the only musician willing to come with her was the recent hire in their court.

Nothing about him physically was wrong – Kagami might put his appearance on par with the kidnapped Prince – but it was his silent reluctance to come along that irked her. She kept her eyes focused on the mountain growing days closer while he seemed to wander around their wagon and strum nonsense on his lyre, taking note of things that weren’t pertinent – honestly, why did the state of the earth around them matter? Did he not understand what might befall their kingdom if they strayed from this task?

“You understand your heart must be in this to distract the dragon,” she chided him, eyes narrowed as they traversed through the caverns, wagon since abandoned behind them. Weeks of travel and they were almost upon their target. She needed Luka to focus.

“I understand, Princess Kagami,” he answered in such an obedient manner, but she could hear something contrary in his tone. This irked her further, but she couldn’t demand him to elaborate in that moment. She saw light – a tapestry just translucent enough showed a chamber beyond and hulking, indiscernible forms unmoving. Hands moving to her sword, she looked to the magician and sharply nodded her head forward. He met her with a grim look, but quietly turned and passed through the cloth first.

The melodic vibrations of his instrument quickly began to fill the hollow chamber, soon accompanied by his voice. Unmoving, Kagami listened to the tune herself, concentrating and feeling what he sang. Be at peace, he meant no harm, but he had learned of the dragon and wanted to meet them himself – a lie, but quite convincing. She saw one of the forms move and caught the blazing trail of something blue.

Carefully, she crept in.

No doubt, that was the same dragon: Glittering white scales, gold-capped horns, winding whiskers, and black mane that flowed down its spine; she remembered it so clearly. It had been looking skyward with outstretched wings and the Prince in its talons then, but it focused on Luka this time, paying her no mind as she moved into position. A single fatal strike against something so large wouldn’t be possible, but with the element of surprise, she could make that opportunity so long as she didn’t hesitate to follow up.

There were plenty of potential places to target along its slender neck, but she wanted a juncture – between shoulder, neck, and wing – somewhere there would hinder its flight. Several paces closer, Kagami raised her sword to pierce through scale…

… but she hesitated because a blue eye and its slit pupil was focused on her.

The music that had been playing had halted. She swung, but only cut air as the dragon’s tail pushed her back and the monster lumbered up to its feet with fangs displayed. Shooting a leer in Luka’s direction, her breath caught because his lyre was broken – and the missing Prince stood next to him, glowering.

“Princess Kagami?” Though his tone questioned, his peridot eyes remained thinned, narrowed in a way that echoed his brother. “How did you two find this place? What do you think you’re doing?”

She was slightly taken aback. What did it look like they were doing?

“Saving you from this beast. If you recall, it kidnapped you,” she stated coolly, but it was a challenge between the dragon and – for some reason – the Prince’s lack of attire. He gets kidnapped and forgets his dignity? That would not do.

“I don’t need saving.” She fought rolling her eyes because this looked contrary. He stepped closer to the dragon and continued, “Unless my father plans to reconsider going to war, I’m not going back to that kingdom.”

“That kingdom is your own.”

“That kingdom is my brother’s now, and he’d rule it well if the King would let him. I’m a bartering tool for an alliance that will take innocent lives,” he hissed, again startling Kagami. He didn’t have this spine back at his party. Would they have to take him back by force? A deeper, echoing growl reminded the Princess of the fact there too was the white dragon in the cavern still eyeing her, but curling its tail around Adrien. He, in turn, rested his hand along it. “I’ve never understood why you want to go to war with Qǐyuán. They’ve never done anything to your family and I’m not interested in marrying just to give anyone more power to misuse!”

“You don’t have a choice in this, Adrien! Your King’s words are absolute!” Kagami snapped back. This behavior would not be acceptable when they returned.

“The ‘King’s’ word means nothing here,” Adrien replied coolly and turned his head away. “I’m not going back to that kingdom and I’m not going back with you. If this has anything to do with the unrest in your kingdom, find another way.”

“Adrien--!”

A claw slammed before Kagami after she took a step forward, impeding her approach.

“That’s enough.” Her eyes grew because that voice was new. It was feminine despite underlying weight given to it, but there was no one else here aside from Luka and Adrien. Kagami looked up to see the dragon’s ears were pulled back and its head had moved closer; and then its mouth – lips? – moved. “My mate’s done speaking with you. Leave while I’m still willing to hold back even after you’ve disrespected him.”

Kagami glowered, but she wouldn’t match the dragon’s gaze anytime soon. Besides, its words perplexed her. ‘Mate’? Adrien was with the dragon? The Princess stepped back, but didn’t turn away as she approached Luka, refusing to lower her guard around the creature. They remained facing it as they passed through the same tapestry as before, but Kagami paused when it snorted.

“You have a thing for dragons, don’t you?” 

“W-What? No I don’t!”

“But you had that one as a potential mate. She’s decided to look human…”

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

The wagon ride to the closest village was silent. Sure, she required it in order to ponder over the dragon’s words, but Luka was seething himself, as the lyre that had been broken was a gift from his late father. She’d make amends for that in due time; all those times he was the contrarian before, he still accompanied her. But again, another time when her mind wasn’t wracked by thought, stewing over the Dragon and the Prince’s words. She’d thought so long about seizing Qǐyuán that she’d never really stopped to consider why her great-grandfather had wanted it in the first place, the Kingdom where the Seven were said to reside, but that had been a mere child’s story her mother always told her. Surely that could not be it, that could not be true!

Yet from her studies, the only time there’d been transgressions against her kingdom by Qǐyuán were so long ago that not even her great-grandfather would be capable of bearing such grudges. Meanwhile, her mother... she paused, brows creasing. Her mother knew the tale, and she’d also become increasingly hostile about Qǐyuán. But why?

“… Princess, your heart beats a storm,” Luka finally spoke and she looked his way. He, however, looked onward on their road, the reins tight in his hands empty without his instrument. “My instrument hasn’t been completely lost, but I doubt that’s what’s on your mind.”

It was nothing he needn’t mind, but she halted a snappy retort. Luka was being a loyal subject; he didn’t have to worry about her, but he did. Her lips pursed, her eyes relaxed and she sighed, “I was thinking about what Prince Adrien and the dragon said. My great-grandfather always wanted to invade Qǐyuán, but… I realize I don’t know why. Prince Adrien may be right - it may have only been a grab for power. I would understand if we needed their land for food production, but it’s already so far.”

Vocally admitting it made the truth resonate and further wonder why her mother never deterred her from this route.

“It’s true. Even when I lived in Vitrail and heard the rumors, I couldn’t fathom why you would do that,” Luka spoke, turning his head to look back out over the countryside. “Then again, I’m not a noble or Prince, and the only reason I could think of as a musician is of the Seven. The Kingdom of Qǐyuán is said to be the home of all manner of magic and the origin of human civilization. The seven kingdoms that came to be were built and ruled by the descendents of the Seven who are meant to maintain harmony; otherwise…”

“... Otherwise what?” Kagami hadn’t heard this part of the story. Then again, she’d never heard there being other renditions of the tale.

Luka gazed back at her with dim eyes, the corners of his mouth dropped. “... Monsters will arise like the demons in Vitrail. There’s no knowing where they will end, but two of the Seven are supposed to appear and fight them.”

Her eyes widened. This was the first she was hearing about demons in Vitrail since they’d stopped communicating. Suddenly, invading Qǐyuán was beginning to sound like the opposite path they needed to take; and thinking about it again, she should speak to her mother about her insistence and opting for talks instead. Also, if her mother was a dragon, they really needed to talk about that and her apparently slaying a dragon before.

Releasing a breath, she bowed her head to the musician. “Thank you, Luka. I think we’ll change our plans and head back for now.”

“You’re welcome, but what about the Prince?” he inquired only for her to shake her head.

“No. He was right. My great-grandfather wanted the kingdom for another reason, but something’s going on. We must find out what it is.”

Raising her head, she gazed from the wagon and took in the horizon, the white clouds and green foliage that stretched on into the distance. Inhaling deeply, she sighed, “I didn’t notice it when we were coming here before… it’s calm here.”

“It is, Princess.” And unlike before, she could hear the smile before she looked back to him. “And I know you’ll bring this calm to your kingdom. Let me know if I can help in any way.”