#iii. i have heard enough of these voices almost like i have no choice : study.

[shadowedvalesa]

rewatching season two of stranger things and noticed this in episode five. yes i understand this might be a bittt of a stretch but!! ya'll should know by now that i dissect the shit out of just about everything. so. when jane goes into her bedroom for the first time, here:

lets forget about the real symbolism for a hot second and direct our eyes elsewhere. see the blanket thrown over the back of the couch in the bottom right corner? the black with the multi coloured hexagons? here's a bit of a better look:

reminding anyone of anything? probably not. it's just u frankie. being obsessive again! so we know in season four, that jane pretty much remembers coming out of her mother's womb, with terry telling her she loves her. now i know no one would remember that, but in that moment in jane's life she's seeking the only fraction of validation she has ever received, the only love. and for a girl like jane, maybe she would remember this! in that moment her mind and will is strong enough to recall that experience, and she uses it to gain her strength and defeat 001. ANYWAY. the point of this post is that this blanket does bare some resemblance to this:

the black background and the multi - coloured shapes as foreground. i know it's not exact, but there definitely are some similarities! the importance of that little outfit is very obvious: it's her. this is jane ives - hopper in all her glory and first taste of true independence. independence expelled in the simple things, the girly things of a normal life. her first real outfit that is her, and that she has picked out, not handed down or given. she loves it, she wants it, and she finally gets what she wants. and whether subconsciously or not, i believe this was the outfit chosen (given she tried on a few others but wasn't happy with them) because it bore some connection to what should have been her room. her life.

by this point jane has been in her room (more than once, following my canon of her frequently visiting her mother and aunt) and puts everything tightly to memory. the feel of the carpet, the sounds of the mobile, the window seat, the pictures on the wall. she doesn't change the room at all because it's how mama wanted it, so the way it is, is how it stays. jane is going to remember that. so she sees an outfit that kinda looks like the blanket that never moves from the back of the armchair? that has the same vibe and colours? she is going to purchase it.

and adding on from jane remembering snapshots of her birth: remember in season one when she takes a good moment to look at nancy's little jewellery box with the ballerina? the tune?

it's the exact same tune that the mobile over her crib plays. jane was entranced with that in season one, and i reckon it's because she recognised the music, but at that time didn't know where from. further reinforcing that she subconsciously connected to the world around her, even before she was born. she held on to the small, pleasant things, stored them in the back of her mind for when they could be used later. when she was free.

[the-insomniac-emporium]

Bound Blood (Cassandra Dimitrescu/Reader, Soulmate AU) Pt. 5.5 Bonus

Fandom: Resident Evil: Village Rating: T+ for language Warnings: None Summary: Local feral human spends some time with their new family. Four short bits featuring Daphne (Maiden OC), Bela, Lady D, Daniela, and a surprise guest. Enjoy. Previous Chapters: 1: Sharing Is (Not) Caring; 2: Bloodbath, Baby!, 3: Haunt Me Dearly, 4: Portraits For Ghosts, 5: Heart Of The Matter

5.5: Family

i.

“Wait, you’re telling me that you came here willingly?” You asked, mouth agape, eyes wide. It felt like every time you talked to Daphne she had something incredible to say. Which was, of course, why she was your favorite maiden to talk to. That, and the fact that she had adapted so quickly to your ‘charming personality’. So far she was the only servant you had been willing to be honest with. Mainly about your feelings regarding your blood bond, but also just about your relationship with Cassandra in general. Something about Daphne simply made her incredibly approachable. From what you had heard, you weren’t the only one to think as such, with her being fairly popular among the castle workers.

“More of us do than you might expect. Some consider it an honor to serve one of the four Lords, and Castle Dimitrescu is certainly… nicer than either the factory or the reservoir. Personally, I came here for a friend of mine. She, well, had less of a choice. I couldn’t bear the thought of her being here without knowing anyone, so it felt like I only had one option. Can’t say I regret my decision, if you can believe it,” Daphne explained, folding laundry all the while. At the same time, you carefully sort through the not yet washed clothing, separating them into two baskets. After all, you wouldn’t want Lady Dimitrescu to end up with a pink dress! Technically this wasn’t your job, nor did you have a job at all, but you hated having idle hands- especially when talking to someone who was working. At first Daphne had protested, but she had given in upon realizing just how stubborn you could be.

“That’s… impressive. I mean, holy shit, that's a real ride or die friendship right there. Is she, uh, is your friend still, you know, around?” You stuttered, cursing your tongue for asking such a thing. If the answer was no, you were going to feel like a real asshole. Which, admittedly, you had a tendency to be. But this wasn’t one of the times where it was intentional. Thankfully, Daphne is all smiles, and even seems amused by your spluttering.

“Yes, we’re even roommates. Well, us and five others. Possibly with a sixth one on the way, if we ever get someone to fill the empty space,” she replies, pausing to think. Then she’s back to work, refusing to waste any time. “Speaking of roommates… I know I said I’m not one for gossip, and I meant it, but a little songbird told me that Cassandra seems to be in a much better mood these days. Are the two of you, well, getting along? It would be nice to know that soulmates can overcome even the roughest of introductions.” There’s a hint of something odd in her tone, and you take a moment to wonder what she’s (unintentionally) hinting at. Had she met her soulmate, only for things to go poorly?... Before answering her, you make a mental note, deciding to see if any of the other maidens had a scar across their nose.

“It’s not like she and I are dating or anything. We’re just, you know, not hating each other. Currently,” you said, shrugging. But Daphne raises an eyebrow at you, and you find yourself instinctively feeling guilty, somehow feeling small next to the shortest person you knew. “Alright, alright, we might have… Okay we kissed. And promised each other not to die, because having your soulmate die hurts like hell. Also maybe she showed me her mom’s art collection and I made a joke about the titty sculptures because holy shit, this house has a lot of titties.” At this, Daphne bursts into laughter, grinning from ear to ear.

“Amen to that, for sure.”

ii.

“So… fan of science, I see,” you say, awkwardly, bouncing a little on your heels. Next to you is the eldest Dimitrescu daughter, who had unexpectedly joined your table in the library. There were several other places she could have sat, with both more comfortable seating and more workspace, but for some reason she had chosen here. So far she hadn’t said a word. Hell, you hadn’t spoken to her since your first meeting, where she had suggested killing you. Naturally, you weren’t quite sure what to make of her. Something told you that she felt much the same about yourself.

“Fan of oversimplification, I see,” Bela counters, after a few tense seconds. Then she sets down her book- a heavy text about Romanian avian fauna- to give you her full attention. “It would be more accurate to say that I enjoy studying biology, particularly the branch of zoology.” Well, this conversation was certainly… happening. Honestly, you couldn’t tell whether she was legitimately judging you, or merely chaffing you for her own amusement.

“You’ll have to, er, forgive me for being overly broad. Consider it a side effect of my nerves, those themselves being due to our unsavory introduction. In case you don’t recall, you put that sickle of yours into my shoulder,” you reminded, with a sarcastic smile. To your surprise, Bela chuckles at this, almost as if fondly remembering the incident. Seriously, you think, why did my soulmate have to be from this family?

“Staying silent was an option. Perhaps that would have suited you better?” Bela says, now clearly teasing, smile much more genuine than your own. Knowing she had a point, you’re quick to blush, mildly embarrassed.

“Touche. I am curious, however, why you decided to sit next to me in the first place. I certainly wouldn’t have tried starting a conversation if you hadn’t,” you explained.

“Like I said… I enjoy studying zoology,” Bela replies, with a sly grin. It takes you a few moments to understand the intended implications. Once you do, however, you’re giving her a hard stare. Then you scoot your chair a few inches away from her, in exaggerated movements. “Don’t worry, I was only joking. Though you certainly are an interesting human. Much more, hmm, cheeky? Compared to the servants, at least.”

“Somehow I get the feeling that they simply prefer being alive, as opposed to not being as snippy. Except maybe Daphne, now that I think about it. Very sweet, that one,” you muse. “Regardless, I think I’ll return to my book now, for it lacks a tongue, and is therefore less likely to taunt me.” Doing just as you had said, you open the book, holding it a bit higher than what would be comfortable, so that it becomes a ‘shield’ of sorts. Nothing was quite as satisfying as subtle body language.

Accepting your words with a shrug, Bela also resumes reading, turning to a bookmarked page. Roughly an hour of relative quiet passes. Neither of you so much as glance at each other, not even when she drops the pen she had been taking notes with. In the end, you are the one who leaves first, and finally the silence is broken. You give your goodbyes, and Bela returns them politely. Though you do not know it, she sets her book down as soon as you leave, pausing to think about you. Now that things had ‘calmed down’, it was reassuring for her to know that you weren’t always full of spite. Still, you held onto your cleverness (for the most part), leaving her with no doubt about the universe’s decision. You were her sister’s soulmate.

iii.

“It’s official: I’m lost in a creepy castle. The universe hates me. Probably should have realized that sooner, considering how it decided to introduce me to my soulmate,” you mutter, scowling deeply, as you wander unfamiliar halls. How had you even gotten lost? Sure, you had taken a wrong turn, but it hadn’t taken long for you to realize your mistake! Evidently you somehow managed to make another one while backtracking. Now you were standing in the center of the corridor, hands on your hips, desperate for some maiden to come rescue you. What you really didn’t want was Cassandra to find you, because she’d make fun of you for the rest of your life. It’s not like she had specifically joked about you getting lost before. Except that was exactly what had happened.

A few minutes pass uneventfully. There aren’t even any distant sounds of life; no footsteps, nor echoing voices, nor the squeaking of floorboards. All you can hear is your own breathing. As well as the occasional sigh, admittedly. By this point, there’s a part of you that’s starting to panic. After all, there was a chance that the castle was big enough for certain sections to be abandoned. Hopefully that’s not the case, you think, I mean, they’d cut the power to those parts, right? Here’s hoping… With that in mind, you get back to wandering, figuring that you’d have to eventually run into a familiar landmark. Or better yet, someone who actually knew the castle’s layout.

When salvation at last reveals its holy visage, it is not in the form of a lowly servant, rather the muffled voice of none other than Lady Dimitrescu herself. Neither her exact words nor who she’s speaking to is clear. At first, you can’t even tell where her voice is coming from, but you quickly approach one closed door, then another, searching for the source. Several doors later you’re certain you’ve found her. By then you can tell that she’s not alone. Not wanting to seem rude by interrupting, you take a few steps back, leaning against the wall to wait. For the most part you still cannot make out what’s being said, but a few words do reach your ears.

“-expected more from you. How am I-” the voice gets cut off, not by Alcina, rather a sudden gust of air, akin to massive wings flapping. When the speaker continues, they are both louder and angrier. “Someone is listening. Have you not taken steps to ensure our privacy?” Then the door is swinging open, revealing your soulmate’s mother. At first she’s practically shaking with rage, but her expression turns to shock when she sees you.

“What are you doing here? Shouldn’t you be with Cassandra?” Lady Dimitrescu asks, clearly stressed, as she steps into the corridor. There’s movement behind her, although you cannot make out any details. Besides, you’re quick to answer her, wishing to avoid her wrath (and that of whoever she was speaking to).

“I’m so sorry, Lady Dimitrescu, I was walking from the dining hall to Cassandra’s studio, and I took a wrong turn. I’ve been wandering for half an hour now. When I heard your voice, I thought perhaps I could, well, enlist your assistance. But you were busy, so I figured I’d wait outside. If I had-...” you pause, gulping, as the other figure steps into view. It’s a face you’re all too familiar with. One that popped up countless times through the village, and again throughout the castle, the owner’s name always spoken with acclaim, with worship. Mother Miranda, in the flesh, wings spreading out behind her, somehow cutting a more impressive silhouette than even Lady Dimitrescu. Instantly you’re falling to your knees, knowing that your sharp tongue was no match for this practical goddess.

“Who is this, Dimitrescu? Why isn’t their blood staining your claws?” Miranda questions, gaze never leaving your trembling form.

“This… this is one of my daughters’ soulmates. They were brought in with the last group of sacrifices,” Lady Dimitrescu explains, uncharacteristically hesitant. ‘Twas a true testament to Miranda’s power, as well as her influence, that she could make someone so powerful seem so weak. Which was exactly why you were shaking with anxiety. But to your surprise, the goddess does not immediately order your execution for your trespass.

“And already they know their place, hmm? Kneeling before me?” Miranda says, a strange smile dancing on her lips. Whatever anger she had been feeling a minute prior had faded, though you couldn’t even begin to guess as to why. Regardless, both Alcina and yourself are quite relieved, though neither of you are quick to show it. “Either they have a good head on their shoulders, or you still take care of some of your duties. Very well, they may live. For now. But I expect next week’s report to be far more favorable. I don’t need to remind you of the price for failing me.” With that said, Mother Miranda turned to leave, a swirling mass of dark feathers flying past you.

A minute passes, maybe two, before either of you feel capable of speaking up.

“Let’s get you back where you belong, yes?” Lady Dimitrescu says, quietly, before placing her hand on your shoulder to guide you. Tension hangs clear and heavy over both of you. Even as you walk down corridor after corridor, the feeling does not ease. At least not until you’re back in familiar territory, near where you had originally made your mistake, finally able to breathe a little. It’s here that Lady Dimitrescu pauses to speak once more. “Tomorrow I will assign one of the servants to give you a tour, in the hopes that this does not happen again. Furthermore, I ask that you forget everything you heard earlier, for it is neither your business… or my daughter’s.” You’re quick to nod, and with that she bids you farewell, leaving you alone. Now, you think, was it left from here, or right?

iv.

“I’m just going for a walk. Why do you care so much? It’s not like it’s any of your business,” Daniela assures you, despite the fact that all you had done was say ‘hello’. If this was her attempt at casting aside suspicion, she had done a terrible job of it. What made her so nervous? Was it even worth investigating? Only one way to find out.

“You’re rather bundled up, planning on being out for long?” You ask, trying to sound casual, leaning against the wall as you did. In response, Daniela pretty much stomps her foot. There’s something odd in her expression, however, that implies your question hit a soft spot. Certainly wasn’t what you had expected. “Don’t mind me, just trying to make conversation with my soulmate’s sister. Speaking of her… have you seen Cassandra? Is she, perhaps, going with you?” A little misdirection never hurt anyone. Probably.

“No!” Daniela replies, fast as a gunshot, too much emphasis to be unintentional. But she realizes her mistake as soon as she’s made it, and makes a clear effort to relax herself. “She’s probably in her studio, doing whatever it is she calls art, on the other end of the house. Besides, I don’t want any company for this walk.” For a moment you merely squint at her, unsure of how to proceed. In the end, you decide that it really is none of your business, being more than satisfied by what teasing you’ve already done.

“Alright, alright. Well then, I’ll leave you be. Just… be careful, yeah? If you get hurt, and your mother finds out that I didn’t stop you from going… not sure Cassandra could save me,” you say, with a shrug. At first Daniela can’t decide whether to be upset or relieved, but she seemingly settles for the latter, giving you a brief nod before heading outside. As the door shut behind her, you couldn’t help but wonder if you had done the right thing.

[css1992]

Guilty Pleasure

Summary:  Peter and Beck used to be a power couple in the porn industry, but after Beck dumps him, Peter is forced to start over. With no money, no family and nowhere to go, he doesn’t have much choice other than to keep doing porn, so he joins Just4Fans to get back on his feet and then one day he gets a very generous tip from someone under the username of YKWIM. All the warnings listed on Part I apply. 

Read on AO3

Part I / Part II / Part III / Part IV / Part V /  Part VI /  Part VII /  Part VIII / Part IX / Part X /  Part XI / Epilogue

-x-

Living with Ned and MJ was both a dream come true and a bit of a nightmare.

A dream, because when they were kids, they always talked about how they would all go the same college and live together one day, and Peter would finally have a real home – and a real family, he used to think to himself,  in secret.

A nightmare, because he couldn’t help but feel a little jealous of his friends, and that was the worst kind of feeling to have for the people who opened their arms and their home for him when he needed the most. Still, he couldn’t avoid it and he felt awful for that. They were both attending NYU; Ned was majoring in Computer Science and MJ in Journalism. All according to the plans they made in high school.

When Peter was younger, he made plans, too. He wanted to study Biochemistry, his teachers used to say he could probably get a scholarship to a good college, he was smart enough. Mr. Harrington, his science teacher, even offered to write letters of recommendation for him. Instead, Peter’s life choices led him to his current predicament: a 20 year-old porn actor, selling dirty pictures for a living, crashing on his friends’ couch, not a single dollar in his wallet.

He was definitely not getting any awards for good decision making, that was for sure.

He had been staying with Ned and MJ for a week when he was finally able to set up his Just4Fans account. He knew that had to be a temporary thing, it couldn’t last, even if he wanted it to. He wouldn’t be young forever, let alone a “pretty twink”, as his subscribers loved to call him. He had maybe three or four years left of that hype, at most, then he would be too old for that, and/or people would start getting bored of him. So he had to be smart, the plan was to save up as much as he could while he thought about what he was going to do once the fountain of youth dried up, and the clock was ticking fast.

But for the time being, porn.

Good thing he had his own Instagram account with a few thousand followers. All the other social media accounts were under Beck’s name, and those had hundreds of thousands of followers, but Peter no longer had access to them – he checked. He also checked and noticed that Beck hadn’t announced that they had split up yet, his last post dated from five days earlier, when he released their last video together – two days after kicking him out of the house, the asshole.

So Peter posted a few Instagram stories explaining to his followers that he and Beck weren’t a thing anymore – he didn’t give many details, he didn’t want any drama, specially not with Beck – and that he had set up a Just4Fans account for the time being. In minutes, his Instagram blew up. Apparently, people were either heartbroken over their breakup; relieved he “got rid of that perv!”; or devastated they wouldn’t get to see them doing porn together anymore.

He got a hundred subscribers in just a few hours, which was incredible. The subscription fee was ten dollars a month, so even after the website’s cut plus tax deduction, it still was a good start. He wondered what kind of money Beck made with their videos, because they had thousands of subscribers on their channel.

Once he got the hang of the site, he tried to post at least two sets of pictures a day – which was challenging at that moment, because the apartment was tiny and he didn’t have any outfits or toys with him, they were all at Beck’s. He made plans that as soon as he got the subscription money in around fifteen days, he would try to buy a few things and take tons of pictures to last a few weeks.  

He also made sure to answer people’s messages every single day, which often earned him a little more money in tips. It was shocking how many people were willing to tip him just because he answered them. Some other people asked for extra content, like specific pictures, videos or even voice notes, which he sent via “pay-per-view messages”.

In the end, he felt like he was prostituting himself. Again.

He would never judge a person for earning their living in any way necessary, as long as it didn’t hurt anyone, he just never thought that would be him. Never ever. As a kid, he thought he’d be an astronaut. Growing up, he wanted to be a physicist. As a teen, he made plans to study Biochemistry. And somehow he ended up selling his body online, one way or another.

He didn’t dwell on that for long, he focused on the fact that it was temporary. If he managed to retain at least some of the people that had subscribed to his account for two or three years, then he would be able to start a small business of some kind in the future. Maybe he could go back to school. Twenty-three wasn’t too old for college, right?

Right.

It was two weeks later when he got a weird message. Not a weird message, actually, a weird tip. Someone under the username of YKWIM had sent him ten thousand dollars for no reason, there was no prior conversation, nor did the person ask for anything in return. Peter was sure there must have been a mistake, maybe they had typed in some extra zeros or maybe they had sent it to the wrong person, so he decided to reach out.

“Hey. I think there must’ve been some sort of mistake with your last tip. Lol.”

He left his phone on the counter and got started on dinner. He was a terrible cook, but to be fair, they all were, so it was fine. Ned and MJ were both at work, but they would be home soon and they were having a quiet night in. Those few weeks at their place had been good for Peter, it felt nice not to be alone after what happened, but at the same time, he was starting to feel like he really needed his own space. He was already looking for an apartment to move into as soon as he got the money. He was hoping to get one in the same building or at least close by, so that they could still see each other often.

His cell phone beeped as he sliced some onions and he stopped to check.

“Hey, gorgeous. There’s been no mistake, it’s correct.” Peter was taken aback by the answer, so he checked again to see how much the person had tipped him, and sure enough, there it was. Ten thousand dollars. Ten thousand. American dollars.

“Oh. Wow, that was very, very generous of you. Is there any particular content that you’d like to see from me as a thank you? I could send you exclusive pics and videos, whatever you want.” Inwardly, he was thinking that no amount of pictures or videos from him would ever be worth ten thousand dollars. Ten thousand dollars, holy fuck.

“That would be excellent.”

“Great. What would you like to see?”

Please don’t be weird, please don’t be weird, please don’t be weird… Usually, Peter’s subscribers liked to see him in cute outfits or with cute toys, but some people liked very messed up stuff. He usually said no, but that person had just sent him ten thousand dollars. Fuck, that was so much money, it would cover rent for at least a few months.

“I’ve enjoyed everything you’ve put out so far, baby, so surprise me. I’m sure I’m gonna like whatever you send.”

God, generous and reasonable? Had Peter died and gone to porn heaven?

“You flatter me.” He typed in quickly, leaving the sauce unattended for a few seconds. “Give me a few hours to work on it, I don’t want to disappoint you.”

“Take your time, but I don’t think you could disappoint me if you tried.”

Peter felt so stupid when he blushed and giggled to himself, because that was exactly how Beck lured him in when he was seventeen, with charming, easy words. He was an adult now, for Christ’s sake, and he didn’t even know who he was talking to. To be fair, it was probably a woman. For some weird reason, according to his Just4Fans statistics, a surprisingly large percentage of his subscribers were middle-aged, cisgender, heterosexual women. Peter supposed those were the ones who used to follow his “love story” with Beck – most of them hadn’t got over them yet, apparently they were “the perfect couple! So cute!”.

He couldn’t blame them, they sold them the perfect love story. And for a time, it was true. Peter really thought Beck was it for him, the love of his life, his soulmate. He didn’t know at which point it all became an act to Beck – or if maybe it had always been an act.

He sighed, shaking his head, he couldn’t afford to waste time thinking about him, so he focused on what he should send YKWIM.

As he finished making dinner, he tried to come up with ideas. They said they loved everything Peter had posted so far – he had posted thirty pictures and five short clips over the past two weeks. The pictures were all in MJ’s bedroom – she offered –, most of them in her bed. There were only a few pictures in which he was completely naked, in the others he had some sort of underwear on –  lingerie or tight briefs.

So, he decided he should do something similar, but different enough that YKWIM would feel somewhat special. He had a few good ideas, but they would have to wait for the next morning, he would need good lighting and privacy.

“Hey, nerd, what’s up,” He almost burned his fingers when he heard MJ’s voice, and realized he had spaced out for a minute there. He shook his head quickly and smiled at her.

“Nothing, how was you day?”

The next morning, once Ned went to visit his family and MJ left for work, Peter started working on the pictures. For some reason, he didn’t want to tell his friends about YKWIM, just like he didn’t want to tell them about Beck when they first met, three years earlier. And if he really was as smart as his teachers used to say, he would have seen the pattern. But as it was, he just focused on the fact that YKWIM was probably a woman living on the other side of the world, who just liked to get off to pictures of pretty boys in lingerie.

But.

For the sake of getting in the mood for the pictures, he imagined YKWIM was a guy. Not too tall, but taller than him. He imagined he had a beard, but not a full one, like Beck’s, no, perfectly trimmed, scratchy, in a good way. He’d have dark, warm eyes, not blue and cold. He’d be older, older than Beck, more mature than him. A real man. Maybe he’d have a few streaks of gray amidst his otherwise dark hair.  

He’d be gentle, despite Peter’s past. He’d treat him like he was the first one to ever touch him, even if he knew that was far from the truth. He would be careful, mindful of his pleasure. He’d start off slowly, kissing along his collarbones, fingers brushing the sensitive skin on the inside of his thighs, just shy of where Peter wanted him to touch, as his mouth traveled down his chest; hot, moist breath leaving a trail of kisses down his stomach.

He sighed. Yeah, that would do to put him in the mood.

He put on a white t-shirt that was just long enough to graze the tops of his thighs, and a simple, plain black thong. He decided to take the pictures in the shower – the classic wet, white t-shirt, he couldn’t really go wrong with that. He positioned the camera on top of the bathroom sink, set the timer, and started posing.

First, he rested his back against the wall, one hand pulling the t-shirt down to cover the front his underwear, eyes staring directly at the camera lens as water ran down his face, neck and chest, making his nipples stiffen, becoming visible under the wet shirt.  

Next, he pressed his chest to the wall, looking at the camera from over his shoulder, lips parted, just a peek of his exposed ass cheeks showing where the t-shirt ended, but by then it was so wet it was mostly see-through.

Then he turned so his side was facing the camera and stuck his head directly under the stream of water, running his hands through his hair, back arched obscenely, eyes closed. He let his hands travel all the way down his neck, chest, and stomach, hearing the familiar “click” as the camera took several pictures.

He turned around again, placed his hands on the wall and lifted his t-shirt just over his lower back, sticking his ass out, showing off his provocative underwear.

He got out of the shower and turned the camera into filming mode, then got back under the water and also shot a short clip of he sensually and slowly taking the thong off, but in a way that the viewer couldn’t really see the skin that was revealed. He pulled the wet t-shirt down so it covered everything, but by then it was so see-through that it left nothing to the imagination. Peter twirled a little, then threw an innocent, shy smile at the camera.

That should do it.

He finished his shower, put the wet clothes in the washer, then went to edit the pictures. He didn’t do much, just adjusted the light and contrast, then cut them into squares, because he though it looked classier or whatever. He chuckled to himself at the absurdity of that thought, as he attached the photos and the video to a direct message to YKWIM.

“Hey, gorgeous! Hopefully these won’t disappoint. Let me know if you’d like something different.”

He cringed re-reading the message, he thought he sounded desperate and insecure about himself and he supposed that wasn’t very attractive, so he decided to change it just a little.

“Hey, gorgeous! Hopefully these won’t disappoint.” And he finished off with a hot face emoji, because why not.

He sent the message and went on with his day. Ned and MJ were both back for lunch and since none of them felt like cooking – and they all sucked at it anyway –, they ordered something to eat in front of the TV, as they binge-watched the first seasons of The Office.

“Oh, hey, Pete, I almost forgot, I talked to our landlord earlier and he said there’s an apartment on the fifth floor that should be vacated by the end of the month, if you’re interested,” Ned told him around a mouthful of pizza and Peter’s head snapped up.

“I’m definitely interested!”

“Cool, I’ll talk to him for you, I’m sure I can get you a good deal on rent.” He winked, and Peter smiled, feeling hopeful.

Things were getting better. Slowly, yes, but they were. He was spending time with his friends – who he had neglected for the past two years–; he had a good amount of money to withdraw in the next few days, that could get him going for a while; he was still doing porn, yes, but at least he was in control of the whole thing, including his own body, which was nice; and he only cried for Beck every other night instead of every single night, so he had that going for him.

All in all, things were looking up.

Ned and MJ convinced him to go out for a bit in the afternoon, they said he had been cooped up in the apartment for three weeks and should breathe in some fresh air, and since it was the first somewhat warm day of March, they decided to go jog at Central Park in the afternoon. They didn’t really jog, but they walked around some and Peter must admit that it felt good to stretch his legs and feel the sun on his skin for a change.

They were lying on the grass, resting for a bit, when they saw a blur of red and gold fly overhead. People started cheering and clapping and Peter smiled when MJ groaned, because he knew exactly what she was going to say.

“How can people cheer for that guy, he’s an egocentric, misogynistic, elitist, disgusting asshole.”  He laughed to himself, because he knew what came next.

“He’s a genius, he changed the world multiple times and he even saved it at least twice. I think he’s pretty cool,” Ned argued without any heat and Peter could hear MJ rolling her eyes.

Peter didn’t love or hate Tony Stark or Iron Man, like most people, he just – didn’t pay him any mind. Sure, when he was a kid, he was obsessed with him, he was New York’s first superhero after  Captain America, who was still in the ice when Stark announced he was Iron Man. But as he grew older, he had other concerns in mind other than who was the coolest Avenger, so he kind of forgot they existed, except for when there was some crazy alien threat looming over New York City – which was, like, a biannual thing since they found out aliens existed back in 2012.

The fact that Iron Man was flying over Central Park on a Saturday afternoon was a little alarming though. From what Peter knew, Stark was mostly retired since around 2016, he only ever “avenged” when there was a big threat, like the near-end-of-the-world they had back in 2018.

“Do you think we’re under attack?” Peter asked and Ned shook his head calmly.

“Nah, I think he must be late for something. I read an interview recently and he said he uses the suit sometimes when he needs to get some place fast.”

Seemed like overkill, but who was Peter to judge, he would probably do the same if had a suit like that.

They spent the rest of the afternoon in the park and then headed home for the night. MJ turned in early, she said she was beat from a busy week, and Peter and Ned stayed up until a little later, re-watching Star Wars movies. It was close to 2AM when Ned said his goodnight and Peter went to check his Just4Fans, because he hadn’t answered any messages all day long.

There were quite a few, but he did notice there was one missing. YKWIM hadn’t answered him yet and Peter immediately felt like a failure. They probably hated the pictures, they must have thought “ugh, ten thousand dollars for that?”. Peter should have photoshopped them. He could have made himself look at least a little bit better, if only–

Before he could hate on himself too much, YKWIM messaged him, like they could read minds. Peter quickly opened their chat, still a little worried about their reaction to the pictures.

“Damn, baby! You have no fucking idea what those did to me. Fuck! Can I show you? Please?”

Peter was oddly relieved to read that, and was endeared by the fact that they actually asked before sending a dick pic. Or a clit pic? Was that a thing?

“Of course, gorgeous, I’d love to see it.”

Within seconds, they sent a video in the chat. Peter was a little surprised by that, but pressed play anyway, and almost fell off the couch when he did.

It was a thirteen seconds video. He could see the man’s midriff, all the way down to the tops of his thighs. His belly was toned and spattered with dark hair that led down to perfectly trimmed pubes that framed the most beautiful cock Peter had ever seen. There was no other way to put it.

It was long and thick, but not so much so that it would hurt – Peter knew better –, it stood proudly between his thighs, attached to a heavy set of balls that made his mouth water. He was jacking it mercilessly, Peter could only hear him grunting quietly before his balls recoiled and he came, covering his stomach in thick, pearly white come. Peter whimpered, pressing down on his hard-on, and almost cried when the video was over.

“Fuck, daddy, that was so fucking hot.” It was probably the first time ever that he actually meant that answering a DM from a subscriber.

“That was the third time today, baby, I have been thinking about those pics from the minute you sent them. Spent the whole day with blue balls, even after coming twice.”

Fuck.

“Wish I could have helped you with that.”

“Who knows, honey, maybe someday.”

Yeah, Peter thought, biting his pillow on the couch so he wouldn’t be heard when he came embarrassingly hard in his pajamas pants, face burning with shame. Maybe someday.

[sadaakirah]

Swelter : Rumour Has It

"I'll hold you to your promise, Mikasa."

Finally wrote Part 3. Thank you for reading parts 1 and 2 💗 I am terrible at summaries.

Part I / II / III

Levi wears something akin to worry on his visage when he takes in the indentations of the battle-hardened leather gear on her muscled arms slowly disappearing under white fabric.

Mikasa turns around to see her half-dressed Captain get up from the chair where she had been draped over not too long ago.

The large windows behind him usher in a cool breeze and show the crescent moon against a darkening sky.

He comes to a halt several steps before her with lighted lamp in hand; the fire flickers wildly against the cool breeze and the orange lights dance against his unreadable face.

Her calloused fingers graze over the worrisome folds between Levi's eyebrows, ironing them down into a peaceful expression placed on top of a strikingly more youthful man.

"I'll be handing this over to Armin first thing in the morning, and I'll take the day off to check out the property," her gaze points to the piece of paper on his desk. "But I trust your choice nonetheless, Captain."

"Your decision on the matter is still important."

He leaves out to me but she catches it nonetheless and offers up a genuine smile in response. A myriad of visions of home surface into her mind.

"Tell me about the house again, Captain," she asks, bending down to slip a boot on slowly.

"Two storeys, two bedrooms in the top floor, large arched windows" Levi states concisely - she thinks of a home bestowed with her embroidery, her mother's and her grandmother's -"a garden in the back and a large tree overlooking a small lake. Right, that sounds perfect," she adds, stretching her toes out in her well-worn boots.

Levi hums his approval, low in his throat.

Blue specks in his gunmetal eyes measure this Mikasa before him - bathed in an afterglow, the embers of light reflected on the sheen of her forehead, with her loosened tongue, loosened limbs.

"Enough space for the beginnings of a humble tea shop downstairs, and there's a tea plantation nearby."

Just like the plans he had told her about 5 months ago, when they found each other awake after the nightmares failed to let sleep take them, right after she had divulged wanting to settle down far from the walls, with a small cottage and a flower garden and an aging tree to look over her aging self and her house.

It became difficult for Levi to reconcile the image of the better half of Humanity's Strongest leading a simple, predictable life, alone and with all the time in her world to ponder about the blood on her hands as her mind flips through well-archived nightmare fodder.

So instead of telling her that he cares too deeply to let her be miserable, one night under a full moon they had discussed the post-military benefits that would go into purchasing property, the climate perfect for growing tea and flora and everything under the sun except how much they would miss each other's ever-constant presence, the knowing lone figure knocking on the door at night that would keep the nightmares at bay after waking up, the cup of black tea that would appear at Levi's desk when he needed it the most, the clothes torn from training cadets that would end up magically sewn the next day when Mikasa had forgotten to take care of them.

Ever the pragmatic duo they finally settled on pooling their post-military funds together to look for a place of residence that would suit their shared needs.

"And if you do want to take responsibility, you'd be working for free for me in that teashop."

Despite herself, she looks at him, with apparent surprise that he had still been mulling over that word in his mind.

She wonders if he would name the shop Ackerman Tea and chuckles at the afterthought.

Too late in the effort of sobering herself from the afterglow, the words leave her mouth without being put through a filter first.

Her next words aren't loud, but they are true.

"I promise to take responsibility, Captain. For all my insubordination, the times you had to drag my stubborn ass away from danger, for all the times I injured you." She gathers her raven locks away from the back of her neck, where the strands clung uncomfortably, and into a small bun. "But working in your sweatshop without pay was not what I had in mind."

She pushes his soft hair back and places a tender kiss to his forehead- her lips cool againt his heated skin.

Levi's heart constricts momentarily - would he dare even think about it, the home and the peace she was offering him now?

He takes the letter into his hands again, and presses his lips together with the frustration he refuses to exhibit.

"You say that like you're the poster child of obedience now", he deadpans, instead.

This time, she tosses him an unimpressed glare, something she had picked up from years of training and learning under him.

"Could we hold a house-warming party?"

Levi shifts his gaze down to take a cursory glance at the paper, goes through the motions of reading, while Mikasa starts buttoning his shirt.

...15th Commander, Survey Corps, Armin Arlert

Levi grunts.

"I'd be more than delighted to celebrate the last day I ever have to see those brats."

She had never heard that term being uttered so affectionately by him before.

This letter is intended to serve as my official resignation...

"We can hold it under that tree. I could wear that blue dress Historia gave me."

Mikasa runs her hands over his buttoned shirt, smoothening away any creases from their bout of passion earlier today.

...two weeks from the aforementioned date...

Levi's eyes scan the slanted inked letters, till they begin to lose focus halfway down the crinkled paper.

based on my spotless record...receive an honorable discharge...

He hums his consent, but it's not a blue dress he sees.

He sees Mikasa clad in white and lace, the lights and the leaves playing with shadows across the angles of her face, while he reaches up to tuck in a lock behind her ear.

"Expect nothing less than the sharpest suit on me," Levi adds with mirth.

Mikasa thinks of her Captain, who took hold of her bloody, shaken frame, pulling her back to this world following Eren's inevitable demise, in the days when Armin and her had refused to look at one other; could not look at one another, knowing what they had done to their own family.

Mikasa thinks of the same strong arms, swaying her to the soft tunes at Armin's wedding, his muscles cascading under one of his impeccable dark suits.

She doesn't let herself think of worn-out memories spent on the coast during the war. She thinks of Levi's strong arms and Armin's softened smile and finds her own happiness in between. Those were happier days, and Levi had been there to see them with her too.

..been an honour and pride working alongside my brave comrades and superiors...

"We'll invite our closest friends and comrades."

Levi wonders if he could dance with her again, if she would let him.

He still recalls the coolness of her cheek against the crook of his neck, the gentle smile on her lips that day, as they danced with sand between their toes.

Would she wear that smile for him?

Would their comrades cheer and cause a ruckus like they had at Armin's wedding?

"Don't forget the wine."

Levi thinks of Erwin and the bottles of fine wine he had bequeathed upon him, aging away in the cellar.

Levi thinks of leaving two chairs empty - one at the head of the table and another at his left.

Mikasa's warm hand is on his hips now, as she gingerly pulls his belt through the loops, an act so affectionate, it should not have been.

He thinks of that same warm hand again, intertwined in his own, at his right side. She had always been his right hand.

He painfully wonders how many seats she would leave empty at the table if the thought had ever occurred to her, but decides to not dwell on that.

...Sincerely, Lieutenant Mikasa Ackerman.

In its stead, he thinks of a companionable silence between the two of them, one they had shared many years ago when she stopped trying to actively spite him. Mikasa humming a tune and working on her embroidery; Levi sewing the last cravat she ever ripped.

"Thank you for everything, Levi." Mikasa looks at him, setting the buckle in place.

Levi tilts his head. He's studying the number of her lashes, the seconds spanning between each blink, the quiver of her lip as she starts and stops to say something else.

The manner in which he studies her is so methodical she almost steps away.

He doesn't realize he's tracing heiroglyphs into her inner wrists until she shivers under his ministrations. It pulls Levi back to the moment.

For the first time, he decides to voice his thoughts honestly. When he speaks, he looks straight at her.

"I'll hold you to your promise, Mikasa."

Her breath hitches. Levi doesn't need to clarify which promise.

In response, she kisses him, gingerly at first, her lips molding onto his smile.

This kiss is different than before- it is softer, it is Mikasa hesitant but daring to ask for more.

Levi pulls her closer to him and pushes her against the desk this time, deepening the kiss.

Each of his touches is too deliberate, too sure and Mikasa feels her body aflame again. The kiss is now bruising.

Mikasa aligns herself to him. Her deft fingers start undoing the task they had been preoccupied with moments back. The buckle clatters and comes unfastened.

They make love slowly, cautiously.

After that they fuck at a pace so wanton, it is the second time that day that Levi screams her name without restraint.

Approved and signed...Captain Levi Ackerman.

_

The next morning the new cadets are unable to come to terms with Mikasa's sudden resignation notice, when they find themselves at the mercy of a balding subsitute, instead of their Lieutenant.

The next morning, Mikasa is surprised to find Levi taking the day off too. He says it is to show her around the property, to make sure she doesn't get lost as if she's some newborn babe.

But in all honestly, he wants to burn the image of Mikasa and him swaying across wooden floors, their only audience being the sunlight filtering in from the large, arched windows.

When they get back later that night, it is Armin who takes it upon himself to call Mikasa and Levi into his office, and tell them of the unsubstantiated rumours that have been making rounds among the cadets concerning Mikasa's pending resignation.

"Apparently you and the Captain fought - nothing new here - except the events concerning the incidence this time are alarming."

The Commander's grave gaze flickers from the duo in front of him, both wearing mirroring quizzical expressions of their own.

"Mikasa, some terrified cadets say they saw you throw Levi over his own desk! And Levi, another one swore she heard you screaming at Mikasa from outside your office. Is there something I should know?"

"Nosy, shitty brats", Levi mumbles under his breath.

"Pardon, Captain?"

"Nothing of that sort...happened. Unsubstantiated rumours from cadets in heat-stroke." Mikasa squeaks in, her face slightly reddening. Armin chalks that up to the summer heat.

"Alright then, I'll take your word for it."

Armin clears some documents away from his desk, and places Mikasa's resignation letter in front of the pair.

"Mikasa, you still need to submit an address before you are eligible to apply for the post-military funds."

Mikasa fishes a piece of paper containing the details of her, their, new residence, and hands it to the Commander.

Armin studies the address in his hand carefully. He looks up at her, with his features softened by a genuine smile.

"See you in Chlorba next week, Mikasa", She returns his gesture before shuffling out of his office.

"And your new address, Captain?"

Levi stalls for a second then taps his index finger twice against the paper Mikasa had left.

"Well, guess you're not carpooling with the rest of us next week, Captain".

Levi decides that leaving now would keep matters simple, and he closes the door to surface into the corridor, where he unsurprisingly finds Mikasa waiting for him.

Armin chuckles to himself slightly, happy that his best friend is in safe hands, happy that his Captain no longer keeps his own happiness at an arm's length away.

"Ah, rumours indeed."

----

Thank you so much for reading my first Rivamika fic. Your comments made my heart very happy. 💕

When and if I improve at writing, I plan on revisiting this and editing this fic a bit more.

Sure hope the Ackerman duo keep experimenting with their new dynamic from the last chapter 💦

[nothinggold13]

Peter the High King

“By his own words, he is Peter first. [...] When the people called him Magnificent, he still begged in quiet repetition to be called Peter.”

A thought in 25 parts.

Dedicated to @awfullybigwardrobe44 for being my editor & also listening to me rant about this analysis for the last month, as I got way too excited about the phrase “Peter the High King.”

I. "That [...] is Cair Paravel of the four thrones, in one of which you must sit as King. I show it to you because you are the first-born and you will be High King over all the rest." [The Lion, the Witch, and the Wardrobe]

It is one thing to be King; it is another to be High King over others. The distinction is lost on Peter. He is still just a kid, and he has not yet tasted his first blood. All he knows is that he will look after his brother and sisters. He is, after all, the first born; it only makes sense that he will lead the other children. There is no fear. In the moment, he feels it plainly.

II. "And Peter became a tall and deep-chested man and a great warrior, and he was called King Peter the Magnificent."

In his eyes, “Magnificent” is an unexpected and undeserved title. For all he is, and all he is seen to be, he is still, in his heart, just Peter. He finds no love for the war that has made him into a warrior. Fears he had once never imagined have long since become his constant companions. But Peter is a King. Like all his duties, he bears this one well. There is peace in springtime, and there is joy in peace. Peter still breathes. Peter still believes. The people still call him Magnificent.

III. "And in a few years, if all goes well, King Peter has promised your royal father that he himself will make you Knight at Cair Paravel." [The Horse and His Boy]

The boy Shasta does not know the King Peter the Faun speaks of. He does not even know enough to recognize both the respect and familiar affection with which the Faun speaks. Tumnus knows the High King well, after all—as does Corin, who the Faun thinks he is speaking to. They know the High King well enough that there is no need to refer to him as such. They may call him King Peter, but only “King.” The title remains out of love and humble admiration, but his name stands firm out of deeper love and friendship. There is no need to call him “the High King,” as others do, and there is no need to call him “Magnificent.” They are familiar with him. They are family. He may as well, in their eyes, just be Peter.

IV. "For though the fancy of a woman has rejected this marriage, the High King Peter is a man of prudence and understanding who will in no way wish to lose the high honour and advantage of being allied to our House and seeing his nephew and grand nephew on the throne of Calormen."

If Peter could hear these words, he would laugh before settling into the depths of his anger. In all the conversation between Rabadash and his father, Peter’s name has never been mentioned. He has been, in their discussion, a nameless, vague, and distant figure. “The High King of Narnia,” they say, “their High King, not ours.” But now Rabadash risks his name, almost as if it’s an appeal; almost as if Peter is listening in after all. There is little cold in the warmth of the High King, but few have heard a laugh as cold as the one Peter would give at this. The inanity of the Calormene Prince’s words would amuse him before they enraged him; for in all his years as High King, Peter has never heard anyone misuse his name so badly.

V. "For though my brother, Peter the High King, defeated the Tisroc a dozen times over, yet long before that day our throats would be cut[...]"

Edmund gets it right. He often does. “My brother,” he says first. “Peter,” he says second. The familiar comes before his title. And Edmund knows, of course, that even if he’s just Peter - even if he’s the High King second - Peter will not suffer such an injustice. If “the High King Peter” is a prudent man, “Peter the High King” is a genuine one. In love and in brotherhood, Peter will always protect his siblings - or, Aslan forbid it, avenge them. He is and ever will be Peter first. He is and ever will be their brother.

VI. "For the truth was that in that golden age when the Witch and the Winter had gone and Peter the High King ruled at Cair Paravel, the smaller woodland people of Narnia were so safe and happy that they were getting a little careless."

This is how the legend starts: In the Golden Age of Narnia, the people were safe and happy. This is how the legend starts, before it is twisted and gilded and lost. In the Golden Age of Narnia, Peter is High King. Perhaps no one notices, but the narrative frames him as he wants to be framed: Peter first. His name comes first. He is a person before he is a king or a myth or a hero. This is how the legend starts, but the narrative is lost when the people need heroes instead.

VII. "’If I had but my cordial with me,’ Queen Lucy was saying, ‘I could soon mend this. But the High King has so strictly charged me not to carry it commonly to the wars and to keep it only for great extremities!’"

Here lies the cost of the title. Lucy doesn’t know the weight Peter took upon himself the day he told her not to carry the cordial into battle. Lucy can’t understand it. Not yet. But Peter has seen the hurt it has caused her to make terrible choices on fields of blood; the devastation she experiences each time she saves one and loses another. Peter is the High King because he needs to be - because someone needs to be - because he is the oldest. The High King must lead the others. The High King must protect the others. So Peter takes the choice away, and with it, he hopes, the hurt.

VIII. "And Lucy told again [...] the tale of the Wardrobe and how she and King Edmund and Queen Susan and Peter the High King had first come into Narnia."

You wouldn’t know it to listen to her, but Lucy doesn’t remember the tale so well on her own. The details of their coming are blanketed in snow; even to Lucy, the story sounds more like a fairy tale than history. But she knows well that among fairy tales, some truths still stand. There are truths like hope; like how the White Witch’s winter is all but forgotten in these peaceful days, but is remembered for the hope in the wide eyes of the young girl who saw it as a wonderland rather than a curse. Even now in Lucy, that hope remains. There are truths like change; like how the betrayal of a boy once desperate for affection became the groundwork for a king to grow in justice. Though all know Edmund is no traitor now, they know it is these past missteps and mistakes that have made him wise. There are truths like courage; like the queen who followed Aslan to his death, yet does not fight in wars. Courage exists in gentleness, in dedication, and in love, and Susan shows them this every day. There are truths like the death and resurrection of the Great Lion, which remains forever the source of salvation for all of Narnia — not for only one. And, perhaps least of all, another truth remains in the fact that Peter is still Peter. The High King was a boy once, and somewhere in their hearts, he is a boy still. It’s funny how as Lucy tells the tale, her beloved older brother takes the form of a brave, terrified child. He is in all their minds a warrior and protector, yet they can see him clearly even at the beginning. It’s funny, but it’s real.

IX. "'It is my sword Rhindon,' he said; 'with it I killed the Wolf.' There was a new tone in his voice, and the others all felt that he was really Peter the High King again." [Prince Caspian]

He is Peter first, when they look at him. His voice is far from mythic. It is Peter’s voice; the voice of man and boy and king and brother. They are reminded by the name of Rhindon how the Wolf’s blood was shed by unwanted bravery - an unwilling thrust. Rhindon is not the sword of a fearless warrior; it is the sword of a dutiful knight. Susan and Edmund and Lucy have never known the legendary Magnificent King. They’ve only known Peter.

X. "But at least you can try to be a King like the High King Peter of old, and not like your uncle."

Peter becomes a fairy tale in the eyes of the frightened Prince. The legendary High King - over all Kings of Narnia, under only Aslan - is, all at once, an idol. Brave and benevolent and wise, he is something to be striven for. The High King Peter is king first, man second. The stories paint him in golden light, and in the damaged remnants of copied portraits in Cornelius’ study, he appears to wear more a halo than a crown.

XI. "It may have the power to call Queen Lucy and King Edmund and Queen Susan and High King Peter back from the past, and they will set all to rights."

There is an old rhyme about Adam’s flesh and bone. There is another about the returning of spring. Few remember the latter, it seems, as a new Son of Adam comes of age. Faith is put on the heads of four children. But Peter remembers well, if he could only be asked, that it is by Aslan’s teeth and mane and blood that the earth is reawakened. It is He that will set all to rights, not the ancient Sons and Daughters. Peter remembers well, though the horn has not yet called for him. Peter remembers well, though when he comes, no one will ask.

XII. "’I'd much rather not have to vote.’ // ‘You're the High King,’ said Trumpkin sternly.”

The decision is placed in his hands, and the weight of it on his shoulders. It is clear by Trumpkin’s tone that he is not looking for majority rule; if the party were split unevenly, Trumpkin would still make the High King choose. Peter never asked to choose. “You’re the High King,” he’s told, and the words scold him, remind him, immortalize him. It shouldn’t be his decision. Peter once trusted Lucy more than he trusted himself. Peter once trusted Aslan more than all his siblings put together. He knows this, but he can’t see Aslan now. In fear, Peter votes to go down. Lucy cries.

XIII. "If you all go, of course, I'll go with you; and if your party splits up, I'll go with the High King. That’s my duty to him and King Caspian."

Peter doesn’t know what scares him the most about this. Two things have been made clear. The first is that Trumpkin, even if not maliciously, would leave the others alone. He would leave them behind, if Peter led him to. Lucy is 9, and Edmund just turned 11. Susan shivers even without cold. They look little like the Queens and King they used to be. And all at once, even if he has no other reason, Peter will follow Lucy in spite of reason. He can’t leave them alone. In spite of himself, in spite of his fears, he will follow. For that is his second - and perhaps greater - fear: when they make it to Caspian, he will still be alone. He sees it clearly. Trumpkin has decided that it is not the four ancient sovereigns on which the fate of Narnia rests. Now it lies on only one. Trumpkin will go with the High King, he says. Peter wonders now whether that means he will be followed or dragged.

XIV. "It's the High King, King Peter."

As he is introduced to the young King Caspian, Peter flinches at each word. They land at first like blows; clumsy punches, but painful all the same. Then, Peter realizes, they settle like cuts instead. He wonders how many it would take to bleed out. He sees the depth of it now. He is Peter last, in the eyes of the Old Narnians. They don’t want Peter; they want the mythical High King of old. So that is how they introduce him: “It’s the High King,” they say first. Second, they call him “King” again. And then tacked on to the end of his title, as if it were specification rather than identity, is his name.

XV. “’You say, Caspian, we are not strong enough to meet Miraz in pitched battle.’ // ‘I'm afraid not, High King,’ said Caspian.”

Every time Peter looks at Caspian, he is painfully aware that Caspian is just a boy. Every time he looks at Caspian, he is reminded that he, himself, is just a boy. Caspian has not figured it out yet. In the wide eyes of the future king, Peter is a mythic hero. It is no wonder he is awestruck. Yet when Peter looks at the other boy, he addresses him by name. Names are a kindness. The kindness is not returned. It is not Peter they look to; the Old Narnians have made it clear that it is the High King that will save them. He yearns to shout that he cannot, to have it out of his hands, to tell them that Aslan will save them instead. But, as always, he swallows these fears. He has a solution, after all. Confused child though he is, he’s already come up with a solution. He could never leave them wanting. The Narnians have hung their hopes on him, and he hopes, in turn, that his answer will buy them time until Aslan acts. They cannot all fight. They cannot face Miraz in battle. So Peter does all he can do, and lets them bleed him dry instead.

XVI. "Peter, by the gift of Aslan, by election, by prescription, and by conquest, High King over all Kings in Narnia, Emperor of the Lone Islands and Lord of Cair Paravel, Knight of the Most Noble Order of the Lion…”

It slips from his tongue as if rehearsal has become nature. By his own words, he is Peter first. Always, he is Peter first. By the gift of Aslan, he is all other titles, but even his most beloved titles are secondary to him. When the people called him Magnificent, he still begged in quiet repetition to be called Peter.

XVII. "There's a man for you! Uses his enemy's arm as a ladder. The High King!  The High King! Up, Old Narnia!"

There is a secret here; a secret so old and buried that even Peter himself has almost forgotten it. Because the secret is, for all his fear and doubt and unworthiness, Peter loves his title as a part of him. The rousing cheers of Trumpkin remind him. He knows once more what it is to be High King: it is his greatest burden, but in equal measure, it is his greatest gift. The Narnians rise up with him. The Narnians’ strength is his strength. The High King is just Peter, but Peter is the High King.

XVIII. "But the other creatures all cheered and rose up in honour of Peter the High King, and Queen Susan of the Horn, and King Edmund and Queen Lucy."

When they rise up for the Kings and Queens, they rise up for Peter. It’s like forgiveness, almost, for being man instead of myth; permission to be a boy instead of a man. He does not feel the weight of his title here and now. The memory of the crown he once wore feels, in this moment, more like the flower chains Lucy used to place atop his head. In their cheers, Peter feels that even in the Narnians’ adoring eyes, he is Peter first. The High King will be remembered. Memory, however, is no longer legend.

XIX. "'I've never understood why they belong to Narnia,' said Caspian. 'Did Peter the High King capture them?'" [The Voyage of the Dawn Treader]

Edmund and Lucy don’t know why these words feel as fresh as the sea air, but neither can deny that they feel even more at home now that Caspian has said them. They don’t know how Caspian first referred to their brother, and they don’t know how it was wrong. They don’t know the way Caspian said “High King,” as if Peter were modelled in precious metal. Caspian does not see him that way any longer. Time and memory change things. Perhaps they make idols out of men, but they can, in fact, turn gold and stone into flesh again. Edmund and Lucy don’t know, but they don’t have to know. It’s enough to feel. In love, Peter comes first again. In love, they know when it is right. And so the air is clear when their brother’s name is said, and wounds are healed in a world far away.

XX. "I am one of the four ancient sovereigns of Narnia and you are under allegiance to the High King my brother."

The words are flung like stones, and Edmund knows not what he does. This is, in the end, Peter’s fear. “High King” is a title easily weaponized by greed and pride, and now Edmund clings to it even though it isn’t his to possess. It’s not his fault; Magic is often stronger than loyalty, and sometimes even loyalty doesn’t know it’s own rules. The words are a grievous error, but no one knows to correct them. As Edmund argues with Caspian - both still children beneath all their growth - Peter is thrown under their feet. He is nameless in pride. He becomes Edmund’s brother secondly, and only that so Edmund can lay claim to what he desires. It’s an unintended betrayal. No one will remember it. Magic is often stronger than anger, too.

XXI. "That look is in the face of all true kings of Narnia, who rule by the will of Aslan and sit at Cair Paravel on the throne of Peter the High King." [The Silver Chair]

The High King’s throne is not a physical place; Cair Paravel has long since fallen to ruin and been rebuilt on the coast. Peter never sat in the throne that sits there now… but it is his throne still. In the figure of the High King there still lies a truth which can never and must never be lost in the kingdom of Narnia. For all the ages that lie between them, the throne is still his. Yet the comparison does not lie in that figure; it lies instead in the person. The legend has changed; the narrative has ordered itself after him once again. Memory does not recall a mythic High King, crowned in gold and light. Instead, memory falls on a soft boy who grew into a good man. Memory falls on the flesh and bone rather than steel and gold. Memory falls on Peter.

XXII. "I charge you in the name of Aslan, speak to me. I am Peter the High King." [The Last Battle]

It has been said that who he is always comes first, and what he is always comes second. Sometimes that is only partly true. Sometimes there are names and titles of greater importance and truer power which must come first. As Peter clenches his fist and screws up his courage, it is to Aslan’s name he clings. As Peter asks the vision in front of him to speak, it is to Aslan’s power he appeals. And when, at the end of his address, he does mention his own name, it is not from a place of authority. It is a plea. “I am Peter,” he begs, “Peter the High King. You can trust me. You can speak to me.”

XXIII. “‘Sire,’ said Jill coming forward and making a beautiful curtsey, ‘let me make known to you Peter the High King over all Kings in Narnia.’”

To be High King means and has always meant many things to Peter. He’s 9 years older, now, than when he was first given the title, and he has lived 24 years since then. He barely remembers how in those first days it hardly carried any weight at all. It had been, at the time, his natural role. For him to take that responsibility had just made sense. But Peter feels it heavier now — he feels everything heavier. The weight of the crown has never left his mind, even after nearly a decade. Peter hadn’t known in those moments Aslan first spoke to him — when he first promised him all of this — what it would be to be King, let alone a king over others. Peter knows now, and he knows well. It is the weight of a world; it is blood and sweat and tears; it is the sting of the sword, and the crack of the whip on his own flesh. It is the crash of the ocean, and the salt on the table. It is the lilt of the music echoing through empty palace halls. It is the rhythm of dancing feet, and laughter through open windows, and the patterns in the stars. And, above all, it is not a burden; for all the hurt, it is instead a promise. Peter is the High King, and always will be. The High King is a boy named Peter.

XXIV. “Tirian had no need to ask which was the High King, for he remembered his face (though here it was far nobler) from his dream.”

And it lifts: the heart, the music, the feet, the head. Everything lifts. The heaviest weights mean little in the end. The heaviest weights are worth it all to bear. And Peter is noble now, isn’t he? He is noble to his brother and sister - maybe even to the sister who won’t admit to any of it. He is noble to the friends who seat him at the head of the table. He is noble even in the eyes of a king who bore weights Peter never did. Peter lifts the other king off his knees. Eyes lift. Everything lifts. The weights are lifted off.

XXV. "'Peter, High King of Narnia,' said Aslan. 'Shut the Door.'"

It is to Peter that the command is given: it’s given to the boy who faltered, who doubted: to the boy on his knees. It is Peter, after all, who slayed the wolf, well before he held any title. And yet, as always, his title follows. Once more, Peter will do that which only the High King can. Once more, Peter will serve. Once more, Peter will obey. Even if he falters, or doubts, or falls again to his knees, he will do what he has been charged to do. The door will shut. The key will turn. The weight will be forgotten. It is understood. Peter trusts now; trusts in a reason for his crown and his calling; trusts Aslan even where he didn’t before.  There is no fear. In the moment, he feels it plainly.

[nimsajlove]

Searching for Dogma (II)

Had to take a break because my hand diceded to just give up. Still hurts, but it is bearable now.

I don’t know where this will take me, but I want Kamino to be a dark place and I will try to achieve that.

Brothers-AU  Ao3

Part I, Part III

Dead bodies are involved!

*~*

The light from the holoprojector cast Ahsoka's study in a pale blue light. "You have to keep low, since the war has sped up the Kaminoans are a little... irritable about the clones.", Shaak Ti explained sternly and Ahsoka nodded curtly, arms crossed protectively over her chest. If the Jedi Master noticed her trembling fingers, she would have to throw the mission overboard. But as it was, she made only a few conditions. "I won't go alone, I don't know my way around the city.", Ahsoka said. They were both silent for a while, Ahsoka weighed her choices. Fives was out, he had already caused a stir and she trusted the Kaminoans to disregard the opinion of a Jedi. She couldn't take the other Dominoes with her either, that wouldn't be fair! Then Jesse was the next choice, and probably the best. "I'll take Jesse and R7 with me," she announced and Master Ti nodded carefully. "That's good, I'll prepare everything for your arrival."

That ended the conversation and only when she left her room did she find herself thinking that they hadn't exchanged a word about a cover story. Well, she'd come up with something. Even though her thoughts ran around in circles the whole time, her feet carried her purposefully to the quarters and she breathed with relief, Jesse was there. That would save her long search. Only marginally did she recognize Kix, who had stuck his nose into his datapad but was still listening to Jesse with a smile. She was almost sorry when she broke the calm and frantically pulled out her bag. "Jesse, get up and get ready.", she ordered and saw from the corner of her eye how the ARC crawled confused out of his bunk and, without asking further questions, put on his armor with quick movements. Kix also started to get up. "Where are we going?", he asked and Ahsoka stopped working. Did she really want all of the clones to know where she was going and what she was looking for? Was she really going to do this to Kix? First raise hopes, only so that she would return empty-handed... "Can you please go and tell Rex something?", she asked carefully and stuffed her datapad into her bag last. Jesse was already standing at the door and waiting for her, his face tense and his shoulders slightly hunched. She was sorry that he had to accompany her search. "It depends..." Great, she knew that look! She had to be careful or Kix would just be with her thanks to his stubbornness. "Tell the Captain that I'll get my information." Her voice was stiff and had the desired effect, taking Kix and Jesse off guard. For months she had treated the men for who they were. Her family. This was wrong, but it served the purpose. Kix nodded and, satisfied, Ahsoka threw her bag over her shoulder and pulled the hood over her head. "Come back in one piece!", the Medic threatened behind her and then the door slid shut behind her and Jesse.

On the way to the hangar, Ahsoka picked up her comlink. "R7, get the shuttle ready." Jesse grumbled behind her, but followed closely on her heels. His hand almost touched her arm, and although there was an uproar in her head and stomach, her shoulders relaxed a little. It was good to know, that Jesse trusted her. As they entered the hangar, she quickened her pace and hurried past the figures around her, including Fives and Hevy who watched her with a confused look. While the young woman got into the shuttle, Jesse paused and exchanged a few brief words with the other ARC, then followed her.

 Since her time as a padawan, Ahsoka has associated hyperspace with periods of rest, but today her fingers twitched nervously as she initiated the jump. As soon as the stars blurred outside, she got up quickly and walked into the small room behind the cockpit, her eyes fixed on her datapad pacing up and down the small room. "Hey, any explanation of where we're going?", Jesse commented through the open door between them and Ahsoka chewed on her thumbnail as she scanned a report with her eyes. Shaak Ti had helped her get all the information she could get her hands on. "Kamino.", she mumbled and Jesse made a thoughtful expression, he turned to the side in the chair to watch her, while he supported himself with his forearms on his knees. "That's not a good idea.", he stated, without knowing the reason for their trip. Both knew that he was right anyway. Training Jesse to become an ARC without the Kaminoans discovering the missing chip had been tricky and difficult enough. Going back to this place now wasn't just reckless, it was simply stupid. But Jesse watched the young woman pacing up and down. Like an animal that had been locked up too long. And when he thought about the Order and the war, she was just as trapped as all the clones. Her shoulders were hunched protectively and her eyes were full of worry, perhaps a touch of panic too? "Should we fly home?", the clone suggested quietly and gently, he knew exactly when Ahsoka had last been so upset and he didn't want to experience something similar again. With the others she was safe, surrounded by her family and not by scientists who would stop at nothing. But no sooner had the words left his mouth than Ahsoka's head snapped up and her gaze pierced him. "No! We have to go there and see what we can do! What if we turn around now and-” She broke off and stared past Jesse into space, a handful of images in her head. They repeated all over again. The death of Echo, the loss of Hardcase. A seriously injured soldier of the 501st. Ahsoka had to admit that she had never seen him again after his removal and hadn't asked any questions at the time, but now?! Perhaps he had succumbed not to his injuries but to his creators!

Before the panic could settle deeper inside her, two hands grabbed her and shook her shoulders lightly. How nice, that Jesse didn't tear her out of her panic attacks as roughly as Kix now and then. Just remembering it, she unconsciously rubbed her cheek, even though her brother hadn't lifted his hand. "Stay with me, okay?", Jesse ordered quietly and she nodded dully before she let her head drop forward. It came to lie on his shoulder, the plastoid under her forehead was cool and she took a deep breath, using the feeling as an anchor for reality. She hadn't had a panic attack in a while... "Who are we looking for?", her brother asked softly and gently he held her shoulders upright, the gloves were warm in contrast to the rest of the armor. “Brothers, friends. All we can find."

 The weather on Kamino hit her hard. The tension was accompanied by deep sadness, but she didn't even know why! Even before she or Jesse could get up, they heard the ramp open and Ahsoka hastily pushed her way out of the cockpit, Jedi Master Shaak Ti stepped onto the ship. She looked at the young woman for a moment, then spread her arms invitingly. And although the thought of the Jedi Order still made Ahsoka startle, she sank into the tight embrace and when Shaak Ti hummed softly and the unnaturally deep sound vibrated through her Montral, tears came to her eyes. This wasn't a hug from a brother or a friend like Anakin Skywalker. This was a mother's greeting, protective and warm. Ahsoka gave a dry sob and was very small, as long before the clone wars began and the older Togruta gave her the comfort that even Master Plo Koon could not give her. Then the moment was over and she collected herself before stepping back with a shudder until Jesse's hand landed on her shoulder.

"I'm so sorry.", the Jedi Master said softly and Ahsoka shrugged her shoulders hastily, that's not why she had come! "Did you find out more?", she asked quietly and Shaak Ti shook her head sadly. "No, unfortunately not. We will have to get you into the cordoned off area, after that you will be on your own."

 Ahsoka had come to love and hate nothing in recent years like air ducts! Taking a deep breath, she propped herself up on her forearms and waited for Jesse to catch up with her. There was a narrow grille in front of her, and the corridor below was only dimly lit. Nobody seemed to be in this part of the complex that late in the sleep cycle... When Jesse touched her foot and she knew that he was ready too, she carefully took the grate and lifted it out. Even on Kamino, no one bothered to put these things on properly. She would not complain, finally coming out of this narrow shaft appeared to Ahsoka as her primary goal and as soon as the exit was clear she crawled head first and landed almost silently in the corridor, in fact there was no more light on in any Room she could see. All that lit up the corridor was the soft night lighting, which made the white less shine. Even the Togruta's sensitive eyes stopped hurting. "Catch me.", Jesse muttered from above her and she looked up hastily, her brother was dangling from the shaft and would never make the landing in his gear as quietly as the Jedi. When he was sure he had her attention, he let go and immediately Ahsoka caught him and set him gently on the ground with the Force. Both looked around searchingly, there had to be clues somewhere! "Can you read that?", Ahsoka asked softly and nodded to the dark writing on one of the doors, she was not familiar with the language and she could not remember having seen it on Kamino before. Jesse shook his head. Maybe that alone was a clue! Why would the Kaminoans use a different written language in this section if they had nothing to hide? If she was lucky… She went closer to the door and looked at the keypad next to it, she would definitely not be able to bypass that easily, right? Everything here was so smooth and perfect… "Move.", Jesse muttered and she made space for him in front of the keypad. "The long necks think they are so smart.", he mumbled and gently pried open the case. Ahsoka looked at the cables behind it and was relieved, most of it seemed vaguely familiar to her. Perhaps, if she was just careful enough... She stuck her hand into the tangle of cables and felt around a little until she found the connector that controlled the lock, at least in the Republic. With a jerk she detached the two cables and a quiet click brought the news of her success. She was giving her brother a big grin next to her, he tilted his helmeted head a little and she recognized the eye rolling, as steps rang out. Ahsoka heard them much earlier than Jesse and hastily opened the door to push the clone into the room in front of them. She locked the door behind her. "What's that supposed to be?", the ARC grumbled and immediately her hand flew in the air and demanded for silence. She stayed at the door for a few tense heartbeats, but the steps seemed to be moving away again.

"That was close.", she mumbled, rubbing her slightly damp hands on her pants dry as Jesse gasped behind her. "What the..." She looked up, he had taken off his helmet and was staring into the room, she followed his gaze quickly and froze. That wasn't a room, that was a hall! A thing larger than the hangar on their cruiser. The light was subdued and kind of blue... The latter came from the tanks, which reflected the weak light and spread it everywhere. Ahsoka didn't even try to count all the tanks, there were so many! And there were figures floating in it, apparently lifeless, and cautiously she stepped closer to a tank in the front row and put a hand on the glass. She studied the face of the clone in front of her with wide eyes and anger welled up inside her. These weren't bacta tanks trying to help the men. She looked at the quiet face of the man, without any kind of equipment and completely calm, in the Force he had no longer any presence. He was dead.

[evildoe-r]

sunstroke (bif x derby)

word count: 3,434

rating: T

main characters: bif taylor, derby harrington

spoilers for video game: yes (Dishonorable Fight and Complete Mayhem)

...now he had thrust his apology back into his hands. Bif was one of the few he could not freely take sincerity from, that was his own mistake, and one he just made deliberately. Presently, he felt sickening remorse pooling inside of him, steadily drowning him.

warning; very long post

I

It was a year nearing its lively prime stretching across dusty, strange Bullworth. The evening crept and called the fading light that spread its warm hue across the rooftops and glistened on uncertain waters. Bif made his way through the subdued small town, to return to his dorm at the Academy after he and his friends spent the day at the gym having sparring matches, choosing to spend the penultimate day of school there instead of waste it at Miss Peters’ traditionally mind numbing school play that took place at the end of each academic year. They’d all had a much better time in their gym - all of them except for the absent Derby, who he rarely saw anymore, even around the Harrington House. Derby, who once would let him walk alongside him as his right hand man. He couldn’t tell if he was avoiding him or it was simply coincidence - a coincidence that occurred directly after he had lost a boxing match to none other than new kid Jimmy Hopkins, and disgraced the Preps’ standing within the school hierarchy. 

He hated losing, but he hated the confusion that had followed even more, the vague insights and cues into Derby's fluctuating relationship with him on the rare occasion he did see him around. It was stupid to dwell on this, he knew it. But no matter how much he pushed aside the thought that Derby somehow hated him, it would creep up on him in the school hallways, in the classes he hadn't ditched, before he slept, always circling back to him. 

He had lingered around in the gym longer than the others. Somehow, even after the usual high he got from defeating an opponent in a sparring match, today his movements as he showered and dressed back into his uniform had been slow and his thoughts were cloudy. On the morning after tomorrow's summer day of suspended classes, they would all return home, far away from Bullworth Academy. 

Although the day had been hot, the evening lent a cool breeze which had given him some relief. Even after a cold shower, Bif felt too warm. His hair was still damp and he slicked a hand through it as he walked along the path looking out onto the sea. He could sense the day's sickening heat slowly retreating, which he was grateful for. He would have welcomed the warmth any other time, but all week his head swam with thoughts that made him almost weary. As he made his way toward the bridge, a pack of Greasers raced past him on their bikes, turning toward New Coventry and paying him no mind. Looking straight ahead, he narrowed his eyes against the waning sunlight. He heard their voices before he spotted them. It was Justin and Chad several feet in front of him, their backs turned to him, speaking excitedly and louder than usual. Bif almost halted in his path as he suddenly recognised that unbearably familiar voice mingling with theirs. 

Derby. 

He forced himself to continue walking as normal. Lighthearted laughter erupted from them before he heard Derby’s courteous parting dismissal as the other two departed towards the direction of the Academy. 

Shit.

Derby was left there, standing uphill in front of the setting sun like a great shadow. He watched Bif carefully, and now, Bif had no choice but to meet him and his gaze, always razor sharp.

Derby was the first to speak. 

“Bif.”

“Hey,” Bif tried. 

As he approached Derby, he couldn’t help but notice how he observed him, studied him so closely. Bif knew that Derby had seen him before he realised he was there, just as he saw everything. You didn’t just escape Derby’s notice.

“Thought you’d be back at the House by now,” Derby said.

“Well, yeah, I just got held up,” Bif replied, making an attempt for his voice to remain neutral. But he was scared, excited, anxious. He hadn't realised how much he had anticipated this, whether it was to confront him or to reconcile with him. He only wanted for things to return to what was supposed to be normal. 

But now, Derby’s voice was calm, slightly softer than usual. It eased him a little. Maybe he didn't hate him after all.

II

Derby watched his taller friend’s nervous hand run through his hair. The reddish brown strands were the color of fire in the last reach of the small town sunlight. 

“What’s the matter?” he asked. Bif’s green eyes widened a little in surprise at the question. 

“Uh, It’s nothing, Derby,” he finally said.

"You seem a bit on edge," Derby observed.

"Oh, boxing and all that. Parker gave me a hard time. But I won anyway, you know." 

Derby offered an acknowledging nod before changing the subject. “Well, I don’t plan on going back to the school grounds for another while.” He gazed out towards the sea, and then turned expectantly onto Bif, awaiting a response. 

"I guess I didn't either," his friend admitted. “I’ve had enough of that place right now.”

“Walk with me, then?” Derby straightened the clean white collar of his shirt. 

“Sure.”

It was quiet. The evening had completely settled upon the town, the sky a gradient of bright pink and a moody blue. Familiar lighthouse beams shone against the darkening horizon. The sound of the sea relaxed him, always inviting him to reminisce about his hazy days as a very young child, on holidays with his family to otherworldly time zones, where he would run on mystical white beaches while his father’s voice commanded him to behave, and so he did. But now, the sky was a soft bluish purple, and the quiet beach was dark and lulling and his friend was right beside him.

As they walked in silence together, Derby watched Bif, noting his furrowed brow, his mind seemingly unsettled. “Shall we walk down the pier?” he suggested, making his way down the wooden surface perpendicular to their path. Bif was at his elbow and slowly followed him down, his familiar movements sure and steady as his body, yet his face was always an open book. As the sun’s last rays leapt above the buildings, Derby knew he must be anticipating something, but he did not speak. 

III

Derby began to hum a slow, sonorous tune that he could not recognise. This was almost like old times. Derby by his side as they walked through Old Bullworth Vale, then down to the beach, spending the early summer days during free periods there, as he convinced Derby to go diving into the cool waters with him and swim to the lighthouses and back. 

They were alone here, besides a weary eyed middle aged man who could have been thirty five or fifty, in a slightly tatty grey suit who was leaning casually against the ledge looking down into the dark waters below them.

“Man, don’t do it!” Derby called with a grin. The stranger turned to them, and spat, before turning and walking away as he lit a cigarette. 

“I’ve seen that guy before,” Bif insisted. “Comes around here a lot, tries to go where it's quiet."

“Then it’s his unlucky day,” Derby smiled, as they watched the man depart. Despite himself, Bif laughed with him, his previous anxieties lapsing.

“Hey, can you believe Miss Peters had that dumb school play even with everything that happened?” Bif had suddenly felt lighter, and was in the mood for banter.

“Everyone made quite the mess of the school, that’s true,” Derby agreed, “But the auditorium seemed virtually untouched. I didn’t even see any renovations taking place there. I guess nobody bothered with it.

“You know, when father heard what happened he wasn't happy at all. He searched for a prestigious school worthy enough for his investment and then all hell breaks loose." He shook his head in disapproval.

“He’s considering transferring me somewhere else for my last academic year,” Derby confided. 

“Yeah?” Bif was oddly disheartened. “I thought your dad was busy with y'know, stuff.” Derby would occasionally mention his dad and how his business was fairing, but truthfully, Bif never had the patience nor the interest to hear it all out. 

“He is. He really doesn’t have time for all this,” he agreed. "But my God, what a state the school was in afterwards..." 

“Yeah, the place really turned into a total dumpster fire after Hopkins beat your-”

A look of irritation flickered over Derby’s face and Bif stopped short. “Uh, yeah, you know,” he said awkwardly, feigning an itch on his neck. He tried to think of something witty, but his head felt confused and muddled again. With nothing more to say, their conversation dissolved into silence, and they watched the waves in the distance for a while. The islands ahead were sharp shadows, only their dark outlines visible in the late evening light. 

It was certainly like old times, he thought. Nonetheless, something felt misplaced, wrong, and he was unable to focus. 

“Can we talk about it, Derby?” He was venturing blind into a conflict, he could feel it, but he had to try. “I don’t think I gotta explain what I mean.” He braced himself for surprise or even offense from his friend, but his face remained impassive. 

“I’m actually not sure what you mean.”

It was Bif’s turn to look annoyed. Reigning in his sudden anger, he found himself raising his voice more than intended. “You ignored me for ages, and now you’re acting as if everything’s normal.” 

Derby’s neutrality stubbornly asserted itself as he spoke. “There is nothing out of the ordinary here, Bif.”

“Were you mad after I lost to Jimmy?” Bif demanded.

“We have nothing to talk about regarding this matter, I mean it.”

“But you were avoiding me! You avoided me for weeks, Derby!” he said desperately.

“I don’t want to discuss this now-”

“Well I do!”

“Of course I was angry, Bif,” came the reply, and his mask of nonchalance had disappeared.

“I don’t need to explain why, you know that quite well. Can we drop it now?” the corners of his mouth quivered slightly and his voice rose and fell a little as if he couldn’t decide whether to be angry or not.

Bif gave an exasperated sigh as he dragged his hands down his face. Didn’t he realise the guilt he felt after he lost? He disgraced himself, and worse, Derby Harrington. He was one of his closest friends, yet he was unreachable all the same. You lost to him too, Derby, don't you remember?! 

Derby glared at him, jaw clenched. Those sharp eyes, and now he’s finally cutting. “You want me to say I lost too, is that it, Bif?”

There it is, and just how had he figured? It seemed like he could always see what was swimming past the surface, and sometimes, with Derby, he didn’t know himself. Always so precise, never anything less. He spoke of loss, and now he'd taken every word from him. 

IV

Derby recalled that day at the gym too well. Bif lying there, barely conscious, as Hopkins taunted them. It was undeniably embarrassing, and Bif would never know the sensation of anger and betrayal that had struck him afterwards. Not just Bif, but his supposed friends too, humiliated by an apparent nobody, suddenly crowned King. Bif seemed taken aback by his question, and he was unsure if he meant it rhetorically or not. He decided to allow him to feel shaken a moment, before he carried on. He needed to make him understand. 

“Have you ever thought about how the situation affected me, Bif? Just once?” 

Bif was angry, that much was too obvious, but his poise was diminished, almost giving way. He was more than angry, he was upset.

“That’s all I’ve been thinking about since that day, Derby,” he said, quietly this time. Suddenly, he turned away. Derby could hear the waves again for a brief moment, slow and rhythmic, distinctly timed. Bif seemed to focus on an object in the distance before he exhaled loudly and whirled to face Derby again.

"Why does any of this matter anyway? It was just a stupid boxing match!" 

"You think this is about boxing? Oh, you're so naive, Bif. " Derby was indignant. 

"Then what is it about?" Bif pressed him. “You just love patronizing me, I know you do.”

“Patronizing? Did you just learn that word from English class yesterday?” 

"Seriously? Whatever, you're too important to tell me anyways. Keep it to yourself, I don’t care."

He had avoided Bif in his shame, he knew that much. He would not ask questions about his whereabouts to other Preps, but he had picked up on his altered emotional state whenever he saw him, which he would insist to himself was a lesson of sorts, a justified consequence of his own failure. His friends had left him disgusted then, most of all Bif, who seemed to guard his champion title so fiercely beforehand. Bif, who he slowly and so carefully placed his shaky trust into.

“So you’re not even gotta admit you pretended I didn’t exist, right?” Bif looked like he found it impossible to stay still. His fists were clenched, and he seemed almost breathless.

“I would never admit something that wasn’t true.” But it is true, he knows.

“Fuck you, Derby.”

Derby almost flinched. His friend’s venom had left him witless, and he wanted to reply with equal scorn, but the rebuttal would not come.

“And guess what, maybe I didn’t wanna see your face either, Derby.”

“Good. I was getting pretty sick of you, you know.”

He rued his words as soon as they left him, and he averted his gaze. Bif was hurt by this, he knew, and this time, there was no reply, no hostility. A bitter quiet fell on them.

“I didn’t mean that truly, Bif. You know that.”

I’m sorry.

“Yeah.”

"Look, I'm sorry."

Bif voiced his apology like a tired surrender. Derby had never seen him like this. Not even on that day at the gym. There was a terrible vulnerability about the person who stood in front of him.

"Don't say sorry to me,  Bif." 

"I just felt like I owed you-"

"Don’t." he told him. “Don’t apologise.”

“Then what the hell, Derby?” His annoyance was tinged with relief, appearing  somewhat yielding, which Derby was grateful for, as an unexpected tiredness grabbed him. For once, he felt out of control of the unraveling before him. He was being hurled off the tracks and he was finding it hard to steer them both into his direction. He had wanted to see Bif today, take in the reassuring presence he gave him, which became so familiar to him over these past few years. They’d argued, and now he had thrust his apology back into his hands. Bif was one of the few he could not freely take sincerity from, that was his own mistake, and one he just made deliberately. Presently, he felt sickening remorse pooling inside of him, steadily drowning him. 

V

He'd fought with Derby before, but it was usually over something stupid. 

"My dad is more important than your dad!" He'd jokingly taunted one night in a slightly drunken daze, and Bif, also in a liquor induced stupor had gotten angrier than he'd wanted to be. 

Derby had turned away from him and Bif said nothing for some time. It was a similar feeling to the tiresome end of a gruelling fistfight, but he was unsure whether he had won or lost this time. Bif felt lighter now, but consequently emptier too. 

"Bif," Derby began slowly,  "I did wrong you. It was a mistake on my part." 

His admission was unexpected, for sure, and he found himself stricken. He would have felt less surprised if Derby had suddenly burst into awful, messy tears. 

"God, Derby, you weird me out. I’ve known you for years, but you still confuse me." 

He felt uneasy now, and he wished this would end. Derby turned, and Bif expected another disagreement to ensue, but there was none.

"Look, It's fine, Derby. I mean, I guess it’s not fine, but we don't have to bring it up anymore." I'm exhausted. "Let's just forget this, for now." 

Derby looked tired too, for once.

“Okay, Bif.”

He's as shaken as I am, he realised.

“Let’s start to head back. It’s late. If you have any more gripes about me, you can tell me directly on the way.”

At least he could retain his sense of humor.

But it really was late, Bif realised. The stars were coming out, and the town’s usual toll had trailed off into silence, save for the occasional car rumbling through the street. They made their way wordlessly across the pier, turning toward the Academy. He almost hated Derby that night, yet he still he wanted him by his side, and despite his fatigue, he wouldn’t have minded staying there a while longer with him. 

There was a peaceful air following them as they traveled to the place they’d had to call home for the school year. A yellow crescent moon was suspended in the cloudless dark sky. The night was warm, and still young. They would arrive well before midnight anyways, and when they reached the Academy, they knew it was past curfew, but Derby had made sure early on in the year that they would go unnoticed by the displeased prefects who wandered the school grounds with torches at night, looking for troublemakers. After all, they loved money, same as everyone else. And besides, it seemed pointless to enforce a curfew on the second last day of school. When they entered the house, the lights were dimmed and it was mostly quiet, except for the muffled sound of footsteps on one of the top floors. They started to make their way upstairs and through a carpeted hallway decorated with paintings and houseplants. Bif stopped suddenly.

“Wait, Derby, are you really leaving Bullworth?” 

He eyed Bif for a moment before answering. “I certainly hope not. How am I going to find so many lackeys who are willing to fight for me in a new school in so little time?” he said, looking at Bif, a laugh breaking out of his neutral expression, and Bif let out a chortle. 

“Man, hadn’t thought of that,”

They stood there in the faint lamplight, so mellow it made him slightly dizzy.

“I gotta go to bed, have an important day of doing nothing tomorrow,” Bif said. As Derby laughed, he looked younger, and for a brief second he was the person who would sneak out of dinner parties with him as a lark and explore the old, stately home they’d both been confined in for the evening, finding dubious locked doors and dusty basements.

“Alright, I’ll see you tomorrow then, Bif,” he said, laying a hand on his arm, suddenly pausing. He could feel his warmth through his cotton shirt. He realised how much he had sweated that evening in the summer heat, but either Derby didn’t care or didn’t pay any attention. A sensation in his chest exulted, unsettled him. There was the flicker of longing he’d experienced through the years, now plain and clear as day, and not so uncertain as it used to be. Derby seemed to linger there for a second, lifting his ambiguous gaze to his own eyes, keeping it there, making him restless, but in that moment, Derby began to back off into his room. And when he tore his hand away, Bif almost objected, calling his name and telling him to wait. Derby just stood there in anticipation, and when Bif asked if he was okay, he replied in that affected tone that Bif had always hated, asking why he shouldn’t be. Bif just shrugged his shoulders, and Derby then hastily bid him goodbye, retreating into his room. The door clicked shut, leaving him there.

When he finally went to bed, his frustration had begun to stir among his fatigue and he wondered if he was wrong to think he might fall asleep that night. At one point, the heat in his room was stifling, and he leapt up from his bed and threw open the windows. When he was finally able to close his eyes, he thought of Derby, the sea and its lighthouses, his wanting and his hurt, and the mess he’d thrown himself into. One more day and they’d be apart, and now he wished that he’d caught Derby’s arm before he’d made himself scarce that night.

______________________________________________________________

Notes

Hey, If you read the full thing, I greatly appreciate it! This was quite difficult to write at times because the characters of Bif and Derby were not given so much nuance in the game itself, so it was quite challenging to write a story that delves into their psyche and way of thinking. I wrote this with the intention of exploring their individual characters and feelings toward each other a bit further, especially after the events of the Dishonorable Fight and Complete Mayhem missions. The interactions and the implications of their relationship dynamic are quite interesting to me. Please feel free to tell me what you thought, and once again, thank you for reading!

-A

[ashleyswrittenwords]

How to be a Queen [Part 24]

Summary: Princess Zelda is at a loss. Her handed royal responsibilities have begun to weigh heavily on her and she is eventually backed into a corner. Live a life she loathes or run away from everything she’s ever known? Navigating life is hard, and Link forces her to learn that she doesn’t have to do it alone.

Previous

Next

Part 1

How To Be A Queen

Hyrule flooded the day Nathaniel Nohansen III died.

It had rained for three days. Castle Town had closed its shops and barely no one walked the streets. The storms were so harsh that it was hardly a premonition when they told me he was deteriorating quickly. I found him in his bed as he had been for months. Soft cries of my father filled the silence as he knelt at the bedside and grasped a limp hand in his own. Guilt twisted deep in my stomach when tears didn’t come.

“I’m so sorry, Nate,” Father sobbed. The words hardly intelligible. “I’m sorry.”

For months I had mourned for this moment. When he stopped responding to questions almost two weeks ago, my heart knew that this journey would have a finite end. In the very least, my father had some time to step out from his veil of ignorance before now.

Gods. No matter how much I tried to will myself to cry, I couldn’t.

I hadn’t thought about death so much in my life. When before it was a quiet promise of my youthful failures, now it was staring me down at every corner. These coming days, I thought of it as a fear that had become a flirtatious caller. War walked hand-in-hand with death. They were synonymous actions I had come to expect; violence paired with the spilling of blood.

Presently, it came to me as an eerily familiar vessel of a man I adored, sleeping forever. It was as if a trickster had carefully sculpted a copy of my uncle from wax and stole the real one away. There was no grave injury or pooling blood, just the deep feeling that something was horribly wrong. The blood in my veins ran cold and suddenly I could hardly bear to so much as glance at it – that wasn’t my uncle. Never had been after his eyes no longer smiled and his casual flirting with his nurse ceased.

Numbly, I pulled my hand from Father’s shoulder. His cries subdued to soft sniffling pleas for his older brother to wake up. I softly pried him away, but he didn’t give much resistance in the first place. As we walked away, I barely heard Father’s voice.

“I love you. So much.”

The body wouldn’t speak back because its wrinkles were far too sunken and its hands far too still. The silence behind us as we walked towards the door was deafening.

“I love you too,” I said, but his words weren’t for me.

----------

“Your Majesty,” a servant said, breaking me from a far-off stare. “The coroner mentioned that the ground was too soft to bury General Nohansen this week.”

Cold hands. Cold eyes.

Impa cut through, stepping between my desk and the man with a series of hushed mentions that made the servant satisfied enough to leave. Lightning struck in the distance and lit up the study through the uncovered window. Soberly, she turned to me with a white swinging braid.

“Allow me to handle the funeral.”

I went to shake my head. “I feel like I should do it myself.”

Her eyes pried into me, making me meet them no matter how badly I didn’t want to. Impa stood with square shoulders, appearing so tall even when she barely reached my shoulder. Then, she softened with folded hands before her. I knew what she was insinuating: I sounded like my father.

A chill slithered up my spine. It caused me to fold and fear engaged me.

“What else am I to do?” I pleaded. The careful guard I had unknowingly constructed was being chipped away by intrusive thoughts. For the remaining years of my life, there will never be a grin as toothy as his. My arms will never be swept up in such a warm embrace for as long as my heart is still beating. No laugh was as baritone as his once was; capable of escaping even the thickest walls.

Nothing, nothing, nothing could compete with the man who died without meaning.

Suddenly, my cheeks were wet and my bottom lip trembled unrelentingly. I stared up at the rafters, hoping the sniffling would subside as I cursed aloud, “I can’t even give him solid ground to rest under.”

“Listen to me,” Impa whispered, pulling me into her bosom. “Listen to me, child. He is with the goddesses.”

She repeated it like a mantra.

“I hate this,” I withered and folded into her arms. “I hate feeling so weak.”

The tears were bitter now, stinging me with their presence and making my throat burn with abandon. I was the Queen.

Legally, I thought to myself, I had all claim to everything around me. I knew that my predecessors had wielded their power to dominate entire kingdoms from the peaks of the northern mountains to the shores of the south. They had brought about bloodshed and dominion to people for reasons as little as wanting to feel the warmth of their burning villages. Only two generations before me had sent their dissenting opposition to the gallows.

So, why was it that I felt so powerless?

“Do you know why the goddess Hylia descended?” Impa hushed. “Why did She leave the comfort of the heavens?”

I tamed myself to calm, though my voice was still odd and gravelly. “Because she loved a man.”

A maternal hand patted my head and she spoke through a smile.

“No,” she started. “No, because She loved the people created by Her hand. When She heard of the dangers coming from the underworld and how a king born of shadows was laying claim to land Hylia’s sisters had left Her, She had a choice.”

Impa sat back on the floor, taking my hand in hers like how she did when she recalled to me old myths before bedtime. I swallowed and waited for her to continue.

“Hylia could stay in paradise and allow the world to be buried,” she said, framing the choices as if she didn’t know how it would end. “Or She could descend and give Her people a fighting chance – no matter how slim it was. What do you think She chose, Zelda?”

“She chose to fight.”

“Very good.”

She procured a handkerchief from her breast pocket and allowed me to dry my cheeks.

“So,” Impa drew me in again after a couple minutes. “As we know, the goddess spent years on the Surface fighting off the darkness. She rallied Her people to find hope in the darkness and for that, they revered her only more so. For years, some say decades, Hylia lived among mortals and learned their ways. In Her time, She found that gods do not experience existence the same as humanity does.

“When the mortals experienced disappointment, their eyes grew watery. With fatigue, they grew sluggish and weary – sometimes lashing out at loved ones. When they accomplished success in battle, broad expressions crossed their faces,” she mirrored my small smile, “and oftentimes they laughed. They say Hylia enjoyed seeing that emotion the most.

“Eventually She found herself partaking in these feelings and paralleling those expressions She had once considered redundant. Her love for these mortals had only increased since She descended. However, their battles were hard-fought and even with Her light, they had only been able to maintain their ground. That is, until one day the spirit of Her holy sword told Her another was worthy enough to wield it. His name is lost to time, but the books say he was a valiant solider. In him, Hylia found a partner; the ability to feel another triviality that suddenly wasn’t so trivial.”

Impa’s smile was sad and she grasped my hands tightly in hers. “That was when She learned to love a mortal man. You and I know how this ends.”

“He dies,” I answer for her with a thick voice.

“And when he dies, She is taught that there is danger in love’s beauty. Born from his death was grief, an emotion so strong the goddess feels She will die. Hylia, the goddess of light and mother to all, realizes that the mortals around Her had been experiencing this for all Her years on the Surface. In that, She grieves more because how could She be so blind to this pain?”

I had let myself slack again the back of my chair and stared at the embroidery of my skirt. When she stopped talking, I thought aloud. “Was it worth it?”

“We are alive today because of it. I think Hylia knew that even though it would be centuries, She would see him again after life settled and after Demise was properly sealed. Similar to when we will see our loved ones when we pass on, however I do pray that we have many more years before that day,” she allowed a light chuckle.

“Yes,” I laughed with a small sniffle, “I think Uncle will be very cross if I follow him too early.”

“Now then,” she pulled me from my chair and walked me to the door. “Let’s get you to your room. You deserve rest after today and the weather is perfect to lull you asleep. When you wake, we’ll have your favorite tea and cake.”

------

“It will be an uphill battle,” Whitehurst sniffed, reading through a copy of the report sent from.

It had been a week since Uncle died and I hated the feeling of wasting time. Finally sitting with a couple advisors with a fresh stack of news felt worlds away from where I once was.

I agreed with Admiral Whitehurst, combing over the words once more. The rebels had declared the Gerudo capital as their own and announced that the aristocracy have been puppets to topple the purity of Gerudo traditions. The handwriting was distracting, but I ignored the repeated leaps in my chest and thumbed the unopened letter in my lap.

“They call us heretics of the true gods,” I rose from my propped hand with a sigh. “And then attempt another strike on our food supplies meant for starving infants. Urbosa, am I misunderstanding?”

She breathed in and rubbed the soreness in her neck. “It seems to me that from their threats to Link that they don’t consider us their people and would prefer dead children whose parents refuse their preaching.”

Whitehurst was still wary of the aristocrat and peered from across the table. “Who are their gods? Do they reject our goddess?”

“Partially,” she said. “They ascribe to the ancient three. Whereas we see Hylia as being the guardian goddess left to protect their creation, they see her as a usurper – ironically.

“Traditional creation story dictates that Hylia took advantage of the original three’s absence and bore Hylians as her minions to take over the world. The guardians of the sand fought back, baring a people that would be called Gerudo. A champion rose among them and found the Triforce. He used that power to save his people. That’s what I was told as a child.”

The Admiral wrinkled his nose. “How dubious.”

“It’s fragmented across villages. Most Gerudo in the capital worship money more than religion,” she shrugged, barely taking mind in the man. “Allow us to remember that this was a tactic in the early wars to turn people away from Hylian culture.”

Whitehurst nodded, somewhat perturbed. “What does Her Majesty call for?”

I hummed in thought. There were twenty causalities in the one hundred that accompanied the supplies. Out of those casualties were two deaths.

“It seems like the plan to send reinforcements along with reserves was the go-to,” I asserted. “I would like to refer to you to increase the amount of food three-fold. Impa believes levying taxes with grain farming territories would motivate morale.”

The Admiral stood with a stack of papers and nodded, “I’ll draw up the order.”

The letter burned a hole through my skirts and I couldn’t help looking down. The report was addressed to my full title, but between the pages of reports was a smaller envelope that simply read: Zelda.

“Riju has sent her regards to you. She says she is saddened to hear of Nathaniel’s passing. I would let you read it, but she has difficulties writing in Hylian,” Urbosa said, folding up the paper with Riju’s signature on it and setting it aside. “Truly, Zelda, let me know if you need me in any way.”

“You say that as if you haven’t comforted me for several nights already,” I smiled, negating her.

“My people grieve as a community. The commonplace of isolating oneself is considered unhealthy, while here it is almost expected.”

The way she crossed her legs billowed her Hylian skirts out as if she were wearing a Gerudo sirwal. I could tell it made Admiral Whitehurst uncomfortable earlier and the thought made me laugh.

“You aren’t wrong. If we weren’t in the middle of war, the court would have expected a three-month mourning period from me,” I only shrugged off the notion, tidying up my papers and setting Link’s letter on top. “I simply cannot afford it right now.”

Especially when the rebels were proving to be more organized than we thought. Encampments were appearing in the East Barrens with foreign flags. Not long after they were discovered the heads of three Hylian spies were found not far from the road leading into Gerudo Town. As of now, we had no way of telling if their strength or numbers.

The woman nodded. “And you have other distractions.”

“I,” I paused, momentarily bewildered by her expression. “I beg your pardon?”

“Distractions, my dove,” she laughed, lifting a hand to lazily gesture at what was before me.

Warmth bloomed on my face as I snatched the letter from her prying eyes. Urbosa only laughed heartily, “I cannot help but recognize that that hand matches the one who scrawled your reports.”

She let my embarrassment fester a moment longer. “Oh, don’t worry,” she leered. “I never said it wasn’t a good distraction.”

“Urbosa. I don’t know what you’re thinking, but this is not a regular occurrence.”

“Everyone has a right to hold secrets.”

“This isn’t a secret!” I bristled with wide eyes. “It’s a personal correspondence.”

Understanding was on her face but amusement danced in her eyes, a light I was all too accustomed to. “I see, with a man you had a short ‘engagement’ with before he left for war.”

“Engagement,” I blanched, “Engagement?! There was no engagement about that night, I’ve told you the extent of it!”

“Ah,” she closed her eyes, reminiscing. “I remember the first Hylian who followed me around like a dog. I was about Riju’s age – maybe a little older – when we snuck into the stables and she-”

The door to my office opened and a servant slipped through. He cleared his throat, “Announcing the esteemed Rito-”

“No, no, no,” a demanding voice cut through and in the doorway came a face Zelda hadn’t seen in many months. “We’ve rehearsed this,” the midnight blue Rito chastised, “The esteemed Ambassador. Yes, that is who I am. My title. Ordained by your King. It really, truly isn’t that hard.”

He carried on in subdued whispers while the poor man stood awkwardly by the doorway.

“Revali,” I called out. Then again when he was too engrossed in his discussion. “Why are you accosting my squire?”

“Accosting?” he primed, finally pulled away. The man scuttled back through the doorway and quietly shut it behind him. “Zelda – first of all, I will take the liberty of saying hello first – I’m not sure whether it has always been this way or if it’s the product of your reign, but these butlers of yours aren’t acknowledging my status and frankly? I’m shocked and perhaps a little appalled at the sight.”

“She is your sovereign and you will regard him as such,” Urbosa asserted, her tone commanding with an earthy undertone that took up the room.

Revali puffed out his chest, looking between her and I with admonishment.

I cleared my throat, “If you’ve just arrived, perhaps you’re exhausted. I can lead you to a room. I would have met you at the door, but we were expecting you tomorrow.”

“No, no, your Royal Majesty,” the Rito seethed, staring at Urbosa as he bowed with sweeping wings.

Some things, or Ritos rather, never changed. Revali had been the Rito ambassador at Hyrule castle for about three years now. Unlike other ambassadors, he preferred his home outside of Rito Village over staying at the castle full-time. However, Father had always kept that group at arm’s length, so it suited both parties up until now.

I was familiar with him and his disposition with the short interactions we’ve had. He was the son of wealthy traders and had no problem entering the realm of politics. The Rito people were bold, some would classify their pride as arrogance; those that did hadn’t met Revali.

He nodded my way as he pulled out a seat next to Urbosa. “May I?”

Neither of us could speak before he sat down leisurely.

“I see there have been many changes since I’ve graced these halls,” he said, touching the tips of his fingers together and took full advantage of the chair’s seat. “Yet I haven’t a signal update from the Crown!”

“I have sent reports of our decisions to Chief Kaneli when he sent his official recognition that I was Queen.”

Dramatics abound, he turned to Urbosa. “Is it not my job to relay these matters to my leader? Regale to me, my Queen, how I am to perform my duty.”

“I have seen nothing from you until I called for your presence last week, Ambassador Revali,” I straightened and sent him a pointed look. “And I’m willing to take much from you because I value our connection, but do not think for a second that I will willingly take commands from you. I am not my father and will not entertain your abuses because unlike him, they do not amuse me whatsoever.”

His beak fell open, but no words came out. This time he didn’t bear a glance at Urbosa, whose smug look made me stifle a grin. I didn’t get that tone from thin air. The gap of silence was the longest I had ever heard in the vicinity of this man.

Revali coughed into his fist and awkwardly shifted in his seat. “I see that my words have been misconstrued. I did not mean offense.”

“I accept your apology.”

“Yes, well, to lead into my concerns – which are very justified, mind you – my deepest condolences for the loss of General Nohansen. Even our great airmen are deeply saddened,” he bowed his head, a pivot from the dominant air of before.

I offered a subdued smile.

“And your replacement doesn’t seem awful, but I hadn’t heard that you were looking to fill the position so soon.”

Urbosa tilted her head. “We are in a war. I’m not sure if you heard about my people being persecuted.”

“Yes, yes, yes. Of course I have heard of the mad man. Gerudo women are already masculine enough. Maybe the roles have reversed, and he will be easily squashed.”

I rested my head in my hand and sighed, “No. Much of the opposite it seems.”

The Rito held an indignant look as he examined the tip of his feathers. “Seems my services were much in need,” he mumbled.

“Pardon me?” I asked. Was he expecting an invitation to be considered?

Oh, actually, that sounds very in character for him.

“All I’m saying is that it was a statement sent from Her Majesty to me,” Revali emphasized with splayed fingers.

I glanced to Urbosa who was glaring daggers at the Rito. I clasped my hands together in front of me, “I promise you that no offense was meant, Ambassador. Truly, the process of filling the position of Commanding General of Hyrule’s Royal Army was tumultuous.”

Revali leaned back with a stiff shrug and crossed his legs, then immediately uncross them to vehemently point his feathered finger at the ceiling. “Make no mistake! No offense was taken on my part. Zero offense because I would have merely turned down the offer in the first place because my title as the Rito Ambassador is already time consuming. Incredibly. Unmatched, even, across of the board.”

“Oh,” I blinked. “I’m glad that you see it that way.”

The man huffed, brushing an imaginary speck of dust from his right wing. “Indeed.”

“Zelda, I don’t think we should keep this from him.”

I turned to Urbosa, confusion written on my face.

“Don’t act coy. We can tell him,” she motioned towards Revali with a sweeping gesture. “Tell him how he was considered and how his resourcefulness would be better used elsewhere in the conflict.”

He chirped up and stared at me with wide eyes. I quickly nodded and masked any dubious expression.

“Oh, yes,” I piped up. “Your name was thrown into the mix several times by my cabinet.”

“It-it was?”

“Absolutely, Revali. You’ve been an incredibly valuable asset to Hyrule. Your years of service haven’t gone unrecognized, nor your training as a Rito airman. Such a wide variety of-” I tripped over a couple thoughts, looking for the right words.

Urbosa offered, “Skills?”

“Yes – thank you – such a wide variety of skills can’t be boiled down to ‘General’.”

Revali seemed to consider this greatly, rubbing his neck in thought. “Well,” he rasped. “Well, that I can understand. After all, Commanding General is largely a decorative title…”

“I wouldn’t necessarily go that far,” I muttered half of the sentence into my hand with a look at Urbosa. Ambassador Revali nodded affirmations to himself as he stared holes into the carpet.

“May I ask, Your Majesty,” he said, looking up finally. “What were your plans for me?”

I sat up in my seat and thumbed an ink quill in my hands. The feeling of opportunity rose in my chest with robust hope easing into my heart.

“I would like to inquire in your people’s support in defending fellow Hyruleans.”

He sat up with me, towards the edge of his seat.

“You mean to assert that you want additional support.”

“I do,” I said, feeling the pointed tip of the quill dig into my thumb. “The Rito and Hylian people used have strong bonds in meat trading. I wish to bridge the gap in the years our agreements fell through; even strengthen them more than what they once were.”

Revali seemed intrigued. “Under what pretense?”

“There’s no pretense,” I smiled, “I think we can both agree that Rito airmen are incredibly prolific through military history. Chief Kaneli’s support, no matter how little is, would be a great honor and assist our efforts in preserving the Gerudo aristocracy.”

“I can’t refute that,” he nodded. “I can say that Kaneli holds Her Majesty in the highest regard and has great hope for your reign… however our recent history has him wary. It will take some convincing.”

“I understand completely. If anything, do I have the Rito Ambassador’s support?”

He breathed a dramatic sigh. “Yes, I suppose you do.”

 --------

After meeting behind meeting, I snuck behind a rose bush in the gardens. The light was dying, but I couldn’t wait anymore. Wedged between the pages of my notebook was the small letter from before. It was no bigger than my hand and I took care to rip the wax-sealed seam.

Zelda,

I’m sorry this took so long to write.

A smile was already brimming my lips and I mouthed: Don’t be.

There was an attempted ambush as we passed Satori Mountain. Byron’s scouts spied them first and they were dispatched early on, but you should know this long before this letter reaches you. The supply line-

The last couple words were neatly crossed out.

I don’t know why I want to give you a report when you’ve most likely already read the one I’ve already written you. It’s been on my mind too much, but so have you. I’m sorry I couldn’t stay longer that morning and I’m sorry I couldn’t have been there when Nathaniel passed.

There’s so much I wanted to tell you before I left. Being alone with my thoughts while we traveled only added to that. I could write one hundred apologies about asking you to forget about us and then dredging it up again. One hundred more if the nights between left you just as distraught as I was. It’s hard for me to speak about my feelings and when it comes down to it – pretending they don’t exist is what I usually resort to.

I couldn’t do that with you. I care about you. I tried to convince myself I didn’t, hadn’t, and I failed miserably; only making it more known to myself how helpless you’ve made me.

And despite everything, I hope you’re smiling when you’re reading this because the selfish thought keeps me from ending this letter. I want to talk to you as I do this paper and hear your witty remarks that are far too intelligent for your own good. The same intelligence that I am convinced will end this conflict far sooner than I anticipate so I can see you again.

But I’m rambling.

I’m safe. The only casualty on the road was a lad with a twisted ankle. I did run into the boys from Hateno. Do you remember Mac and Toma Ratliff? They thought it was a prank when someone mention “General” in front of my name and got written up for insubordination.

Nonetheless, Zelda, I will wait for you.

Yours,

Link

[shadowedvalesa]

friendly reminder!

given my jane does not date mike, and their relationship is only canon up until the end of season two: she reaches out to max on her own accord! i hate that they only became friends because jane was having boy troubles?? and in context i can kinda understand it because she doesn’t know who else to turn to, and it’s all still relatively new to her but…. no.

i do believe her snubbing max was very in character. she was confused; this random girl showed up, started hanging closely around the boy she thinks the world of. when she makes her big entrance into the byers’ to return to her friends and family, this random girl is also there. one girl amongst those boys, and she immediately thinks max is replacing her. but after the gate is closed, and the chaos of it all concludes, jane has some time to think about her feelings and place in the party. realising she is not in love with mike, she gives max another chance. i don’t think there would be much communication until what we see in season three because i believe all that is very important to her story. however, i believe they would know one another to a degree that when jane does reach out to her, it’s not awkward or out of the blue.

jane! approaches! max! at! the! snowball! she does not spend all her time with mike. she sees all her friends ( including jonathan and nancy ) and spends as much time as she can with each of them. and then after some time, she asks nancy to pour her two cups, and approaches max with one of them. she more or less shoves the drink under the girls face, trying to start a conversation though a little unsure how. they do get to know one another a bit there. it’s strained and somewhat odd, but it’s a start!

i also figure that when the party visits jane in the cabin ( because they all visit her. not just mike ) max might tag along a few times. probably with lucas. jane has no objection to this, and there they start kindling something akin to a friendship. jane, after some time, then approaches max because she wants to get to know her better. she straight out asks if she’d like to be proper friends, and it begins from there! also on this note, this all begins pre three, so they have some time to properly get to know one another before all the shit starts. also meaning they go to starcourt mall way earlier; always thought even just a month before the first episode begins. and because of that, jane goes to starcourt a few times on her own. because breaking the rules, makes her own rules behaviour. <3 and we are very aware she can catch a bus on her own!!

mind you, this is my canon default regarding their relationship, but to whoever writes as max, i do not expect you to change anything! although let it be known that i will not write jane going to max purely because she has boy troubles. because a. she isn’t even with mike as the show portrays thus making that storyline void in my canon. and b. it’s never sat right with me! i just think there could have been much better ways for them to begin their friendship as opposed to her wanting something.

[veiledpeaches]

chance encounters | epilogue: this is what distance does

Summary: Between pages of meddling friends and societal expectations, all she actually wants is to find a happily ever after with Doyoung, even if it feels like that is no longer possible. 

part i x part ii x part iii x part iv x part v x part vi

word count: 3.3k

i would say this is more of an epilogue than a final chapter, ‘cause if the ending wasn’t clear in the last chapter - this should do the job. 

GIF originally posted by @lukhei​

In a universe where love is a form of currency, Doyoung believes that the Johnny’s of the world will always win.

Even back in university, when they discussed their stock market ventures, he has always noticed Johnny’s indifference towards sunk costs, detailed analysis of opportunity cost at every stage of the investment and decisiveness when it comes to exercising call options. Johnny always believed in win-win situations, so he would never get himself caught up in toxic and mutually detrimental situations.

The same could be said about his relationships. With the number of relationships he has walked away from, he knows that Johnny thinks he isn’t able to make anyone stay, that he’s going to take a while to settle down, but Doyoung knows otherwise. It takes another form of self-preserving courage to walk away from a relationship that no longer serves your growth, to cut your losses and learn to transfer the investment of your feelings in the search for a more suitable person.

While Doyoung has always been firm in his career choices, he hadn’t been able to replicate the same decisiveness in his relationships.

Everyone around him thinks he knew about the affair four months before he had broken things off with her, but Doyoung knows better. It had been close to a year before the wedding date, that he had received an anonymous email, presumably from Inhee’s co-worker, that she was cheating on him. And as the image of his girlfriend on another man’s lap had loaded pixel by pixel, when he had his fist clenched so hard that his knuckles turned white, when his blunt nails had dug into his skin and the hand on his mouse started to tremble, Doyoung had vowed, albeit in brief, revenge for such an affront to his ego.

But on the drive home, once he had calmed down, what struck Doyoung most wasn’t the hurt that he should have felt because of a lost love, but the betrayal of trust, as if that was all his relationship with Inhee had been about - the mutual trust and respect for each other.

That night, when he had returned home to a smiling girlfriend, when she had straddled him and pulled his shirt over his arms after dessert, Doyoung had silently uttered an apology to Inhee, looking at her with the same gaze she had mistaken for desire. An apology because of his cowardice and his selfishness. An apology because, even though it could set both of them free of this convenient relationship, a break-up wasn’t in the cards for him.

Maybe love wasn’t for him, he had mused the next morning. He had spent the last two years of high school studying for entrance exams, the whole of university in search for a suitable career path; a relationship had just been something he picked up along the way. But then as he looked up that morning, watching a familiar figure cursing under her breath as she almost spilled his coffee, looking back down and pretending to focus on his work while his heart had beat faster listening to her make her way over to him, Doyoung realized it had always been about finding the right person.

And Haewon, with the lightness she had about her, the curious lilt in her voice, the endearing way her eyes lit up when someone recommended a restaurant to her, her relentlessness in pursuing the things she believed in - these were just some of the things about her that brought a smile to Doyoung’s face everyday.

So now, as he flies halfway across the world to a city he’s never set foot in, Doyoung just hopes there’s still a space left for him in Haewon’s life.

The international airport he finds himself in isn’t as big as Incheon airport, but it’s still a bigger crowd than Doyoung had anticipated. He’s flipping through the texts in his phone since he has landed, in search for any of Johnny’s texts that indicated where to get a cab after he has left the arrival hall, and almost doesn’t feel it when there’s a tap on his shoulder.

He swings around, fully expecting to tell the person that he’s new to the airport too, and that he wouldn’t be able to deliver directions in English, when he meets eyes with the person he’s wanted to see for a year now.

Haewon’s hair is lighter than it was a year ago, thrown back in a messy bun held by a pencil, and she has the biggest grin on her face when he turns around. Her face is almost devoid of any make-up, and there are tiny crinkles at the corner of her eyes as she smiles now, but she looks beatific. Doyoung finds himself smiling too, as the people traipsing around and about them seem to slow down and blur out. His eyes are so warm from smiling so wide, and his chest feels so tight from looking at her like this, but he feels like he’s in the right place now.

“How did you know?” His voice comes out tighter than usual.

Haewon rolls her eyes endearingly. “Johnny texted me this morning - it took me a few minutes to realize he wasn’t on the plane. I could only guess it would be you.”

“Well,” he chuckles, “I hope you like your surprise.”

She looks at him for a moment, her eyes pearly and twinkling, and her smile falls slightly.

“I thought you might get lost,” she says, the corners of her lips rising again, “I know you hate crowds, just like me.”

Doyoung can’t fight the feeling of breathlessness that follows.

Once Doyoung has loaded his luggage into the trunk of her big silver Ford, it’s just default routine behavior that leads him to the driver’s seat, but a raised eyebrow from Haewon reminds him of where he is.

“You don’t even know the roads here, boss,” she tilts her head to gesture him to the passenger seat as she drops his messenger bag in the backseat.

Doyoung climbs into her car albeit reluctantly, “Johnny says you suck at driving though.”

Haewon whistles at the dig. “Johnny’s always speeding, does he really get to say that?”

(“I kissed Haewon before she left,” Johnny had confessed just a couple of months ago. “I had a crush on her for a while and I kissed her.”

Doyoung had found himself riveted in his seat, unable to say anything or even make a sound. That something could have transpired between Johnny and Haewon wasn’t something he could have anticipated or even imagined. He tries to fight the twinge of jealousy arising from the pits of his stomach, and then wonders if that’s what Johnny has had to experience all this time.

“She rejected me though, so you don’t have to worry about that.”

“That’s between you and Haewon,” Doyoung tries, uncertain if the words are said for Johnny’s sake or for his own, “why are you telling me—”

“Of course I have to,” Johnny turns to him with a smile, and Doyoung isn’t sure if the redness of Johnny’s cheeks is because of the cold, the beer or the memory.

“Only you would be dumb enough to think that she could’ve forgotten about you after a year.”)

“-But I stayed ‘cause I wanted to experience Providence in the summer - I’ve heard that it’s really different and I have to agree, there’s a lot more happening… Are you listening to me, boss?”

Doyoung turns to look at her somewhat dazedly, his eyes grazing over the pencil in her hair and how her sunglasses perches on her head, her sun-kissed cheeks, the intent of her gaze on the road. Then he realizes they’ve been on the road for five minutes and haven’t discussed the living situation at all.

“I booked a hotel just in case—”

“Nonsense,” she interrupts quickly, “you’re staying with me. I’ve a spare room, Johnny stays there when he comes anyway.”

“Well, I didn’t want to assume anything.”

Haewon frowns and signals left, and when she turns to reply she finds Doyoung’s eyes on her. They exchange a lingering look, too loaded with potential meaning to begin to interpret. Then she looks down and laughs, a little too brightly than what should be considered appropriate for their situation, especially given the bite of the words that had been exchanged at their last meeting.

“It’s not like you’re here to visit anyone else, why would you stay anywhere else?”

Doyoung finds something hot and heavy slash across his chest - he isn’t sure if she is intentionally being facetious or just trying to stave off the impending heavy conversation. Save for their short-lived moment at the airport, the conversations they’ve had since they walked towards her car have been surface-scratching.

“Ha, no, you’re right,” he hears himself saying, and feels more than sees Haewon’s turn towards him, and he knows she’s still wondering what exactly had precipitated this sudden acquiescence.

Perhaps it’s premature to discuss the lines that run deeper between them, Doyoung tells himself. After all, he did show up without a warning, and Haewon has never been good with surprises. But even amidst the chaos in his brain, there’s a thought that he can’t shake off, rattling in his head like an old screen door:

Because it is only then that something dawns on Doyoung - something he probably blanked out of his system and disregarded as an insecurity - that in the time Doyoung took to decide on his next move, Haewon could have changed her mind.

Thankfully, the conversation on the rest of the road - and even as they take the lift to her apartment - is free of hiccups. He tries to slip in the idea that this trip to visit her is to segue into a work trip he has to make to the New York headquarters,  to hopefully dispel any pressure she might be feeling upon his arrival. And it works - the conversation does become more casual. Doyoung learns that in the short span of a year, Haewon, expectedly, is doing well enough in her classes, has become more of a coffee addict than him, and has actually written a short story that earned the interest of local publishers. On the other end, Haewon learns that Doyoung has finally taken time off work and spent it with his family, and that his brother is getting married in the fall. She’s also really excited to hear that he’s painting again.

“That’s incredible, boss,” her smile is soft and genuine, “I’m so proud of you.”

Doyoung can’t stop the smile forming on his face, so he nods embarrassedly and looks away, turning his attention to her apartment around him, taking in his minimalist surroundings and the sleek modern furniture that greets him. On the left, there’s the closed door of what is presumably her bedroom, and on his right, a small study room with a clean but disorganized wooden desk, and he can make out the end of what he thinks is a blue sofa bed.

He wonders if there has been another man in her apartment before. It’s not out of jealousy, he tells himself, it’s not like I’m her boyfriend. It’s just… curiosity.

“Your walls are bare,” he comments offhandedly, and hears a chuckle escape her lips as she walks to his side.

“That’s the first thing you notice? I thought you’d definitely say something about my desk.”

“Well as it is, you’re markedly less organized than I’d thought.”

She makes a face. “Isn’t the lack of organization befitting of the starving artist trope?”

“Look at this place - you’re hardly starving.”

She bursts into a tiny fit of laughter, shrugging off her cropped denim jacket to reveal a casual burnt orange maxi dress.

“Fine, enough about my apartment. I know you’re a little jet lagged, but I made a reservation at this—”

And even though he feels the question rising in his chest, he doesn’t know what prompts him to say it, and when he does his voice has automatically lowered into a gentle timbre,

“Did you read the book I gave you?”

It’s a question he’s wanted to ask for a year now, when she’d texted him a simple ‘thank you for the book’ once she’d landed. The answer he’s waited for with bated breath, but by the look of her face right now, he feels like he shouldn’t have said anything at all.

He hears Haewon swallow abruptly, and then she’s removing the pencil holding her bun, her hair cascading over her shoulders.

She drops the pencil on the table next to her, and Doyoung is still waiting.

“I did.”

Her answer is as clear as day, but it isn’t a happy answer that greets Doyoung. Instead, in the aftermath of those two words, Doyoung isn’t sure how to continue.

“So you saw…”

“I did.”

“And when you texted me to say thanks, you knew—”

“I did,” Haewon lapses into a refrain she finds frustrating herself, but there is a form of resolution and collection in her voice, and her chin is lifted a little, as if daring him to say something, anything else.

They are rooted to where they stand for a long time, their eyes speaking the words their mouths are unable to say. Then Doyoung hears a buzz, and he thinks he’s imagined it, until the buzzing doesn’t stop and Haewon regretfully tears her eyes away from his and reaches for her phone on the table. She walks into her room as she picks up her phone, and Doyoung carries his luggage into the study, presumably where he would sleep for the rest of the trip.

His heart drums loudly in his ears as he thinks of the way her eyes had looked when he'd asked her about the book, and all he really wants to do is to pick that memory up and bury it deep in his chest, because only there would it not seem real.

He’s so deep in thought, he almost doesn’t see the images playing as a screensaver on her desktop, until there’s a photo that flits into the center of the screen, and his lungs are robbed of his breath.

It’s definitely developed from a film camera, the background dark and blur and almost Polaroid-like, undeniably taken on the night before she left.

They aren’t smiling to the camera in this photo, Haewon’s mouth is slightly open and she looks as if she's about to say something to the person behind the camera. Her hair is still dark, still straight, and she looks exhausted.

Right next to her is Doyoung himself, his arm around her shoulder and a glass of white wine in the same hand. He isn’t smiling, but he might as well be, looking at her with the softest expression he didn’t know his face could form.

So this is how he looks like when he looks at her, he thinks. He looks… happy.

Does she see it?

Then the image shrinks back into another one, which fades into another one, but Doyoung only looks up from the desktop when there’s a cough at the door.

“Hey,” Haewon’s smile doesn’t reach her eyes, but she tries to shrug it off as she drops her wallet into her bag, “we should go. I need to pick up something—”

“You’ve been calling me ‘boss’.”

“What?” Haewon looks up from her bag to meet Doyoung’s eyes, and watches as he gets up from his crouched position on the floor. The warmth of the late afternoon summer sun filters through the window of her study, but even as Doyoung gets up she can feel the sun against her, casting its golden hour rays onto the both of them and peeking from behind his shoulder.

“From the airport and then all the way here, you kept calling me ‘boss’, even though you are no longer working for me,” Doyoung says, his voice measured and low. “Is that what’s left of us?”

The smile on his face is tight, and as she tries her best to ignore the glare of the sun, Haewon can’t stop herself from asking the next question.

“Why’re you here, Doyoung?”

The diminishing glare of the sun still feels too bright for her, and Haewon finds herself dropping her gaze onto the neighbour’s balcony opposite the study.

“Why’re you really here, honestly?”

His smile falters, but it feels like he has lifted something off his chest when he says, “do you remember when you told me you didn’t want to like me?”

“That was a year ago…” And now her voice is cracking, loud and shaky, rising up into the huge space above them, “you still remember that?”

Doyoung still feels too far away.

“Have things changed?”

Haewon falls silent, choosing to focus her gaze on a pot of sunflower in her neighbour’s balcony instead. She’s wrestling with her feelings, desperately trying to keep the very potent – and yet very tenuous - glimmer of hope (that she doesn’t want to admit still exists) from being unearthed again.

“Because I hope they haven’t. And not just that, I want you to be okay with liking me. So then maybe…” he bites his lip, taking one step towards her, “it’ll be okay for me to like you too.”

“Doyoung…” And suddenly all she can see is Doyoung, as his eyes sparkle with a desire that has been displaced for too long.

“I should never have let you say those words. I should have told you how much you make me feel, how in love I am with you, how I never want to lose you, the night before you left. But I couldn’t, I just kept thinking… I’ve missed my chance, and now I can’t stop her from leaving.

“I used to think that what Johnny was always expounding – the concept of ‘the one’ – was just over-glorified. That soulmates were a myth, there are only people who are more compatible for each other. And I still don’t know if that’s true, but from the moment I met you, there has been an insistence in me that was never really there before.”

Haewon can feel her face contort, and she doesn’t stop the tears from falling this time.

“You knew that if you had asked me to stay, I would’ve-”

“I know, I know.” Doyoung’s hands are cupped against her face, brushing the tears away with his thumbs, “But I couldn’t let you do that. This was your shot. I couldn’t bring myself to take it away from you.”

“But now,” he drops his hands and laces their fingers together, “I’m taking mine.”

“Could you give me a chance to love you?”

She looks up at him, taking in the line of his chin, his eyes and long lashes, the way his fingers are brushing a bit of her hair off her face, entwining themselves in the strands there. So nearby now, after the distance before. But he is here, and this is all that matters to her as she wraps her arms around his shoulders and buries her face in the crook of his neck.

“I never needed a dramatic love declaration,” she says between sobs against his neck, “I never needed you to fly all the way here to ask me to be with you. I just needed to know that you were willing to take a chance with me.”

She feels a kiss against her temple, and shuts her eyes as she relishes in the warmth of his embrace.

“Thank you for waiting,” he whispers into her ear. “From now on, let me be the one to take care of you.”

They have a long way to go, so many things to work out, but for now, Haewon thinks, this is enough.

//

w/n: and that’s all she wrote. :-)

it got cheesy at the end - oops. as usual my stories are always a cringefest (like are we even surprised lmao no) alsO i still have no idea how to end fics, hence.

i recently read from an interview that Doyoung said that an action that could possibly make him fall for someone (i think?) is that which makes him feel like they’re taking care of him. it made the crybaby cry. long story short it gave me so much DOFEELS - i had to write it in. he’s so cool I’m so done

just wanted to say i’m so thankful for the support that has been given to this short story, it really means a lot as this is the first one i’ve written on tumblr, hopefully there are more to come but for now, this is it. thank you!

COMMENTS ARE ALWAYS APPRECIATED :-) ask

[imagineclaireandjamie]

HRH is my absolute fave!! I am blown away by the quality of writing 😍😍 I want Claire to just come clean despite what Jamie has said. She loves him, he loves her. There will obviously be backlash about the 'secret affair' but, come on!!!! Let them be happy. Please let them be happy!

Part I: The Crown Equerry | Part II: An Accidental Queen | Part III: Just Claire| Part IV: Foal | Part V: A Deal | Part VI: Vibrations | Part VII: Magnolias | Part VIII: Schoolmates | Part IX: A Queen’s Speech | Part X: Rare | Part XI: Watched | Part XII: A Day’s Anticipation | Part XIII: The Location | Part XV: Motorcycle | Part XV: Cabin | Part XVI: Market | Part XVII: Stables | Part XVIII: Alarms | Part XIX: Visitor | Part XX: Cuffed |  Part XXI: A Woman’s Speech

Her Royal Highness (H.R.H.)Part XXII: The Harlot Queen

James Fraser, with hands cuffed behind his back, closed his eyes under the white cloth band covering the upper half of his face. No amount of repeated blinking had allowed him to take in his surroundings, despite the fact that he had been willing his corneas to just see since the fabric had been tied at the back of his head.

“Get into the truck,” a firm voice directed him, urging Jamie forward with what felt like a fistful of his shirt.

Jamie, who had been unaware of the existence of said truck and took for granted its existence on the representation of the voice’s owner, stepped up.  His foot swiped blindly through the air.  He stepped forward, this time underestimating the clearance into the truck and striking his leg on the doorframe. The contact reverberated through his shinbone like a ringing bell, ending with a jolt in his locked knee.  The fresh ache of it settled into his bones and bloomed an unseen purple into his flesh.

It wasn’t enough to take his mind off of what he was about to do.

A confession.  Written on thin, lined yellow paper (handwritten, the lies bleeding through to the backside). Rehearsed in front of the blurry, convex mirror pinned above his cracked porcelain jail sink (memorized until his words had the bland, unremarkable quality of a well-studied criminal).  A guilty plea with the understanding that he was committing himself to spending at least the next decade in prison for the theft of something the woman he loved had left on his bathroom sink before he became her lover.

The truck was stale – cigarettes (disgruntled jail escorts), nervous sweat (anxious arrestees transported to see magistrates who read fates from the crystal balls of their minds), mildew (neglect and apathy for vehicles meant to ferry prisoners about).

As Jamie situated his long limbs in the cramped backseat, his finger flickered in a test of the metal holding his wrists firmly in place. It was instinct to reach for the window, to let the breeze carry away the sickening tripartite smell of nicotine, body odor, and decay. Through the positional imposition of negative reinforcement, he had previously schooled basic human instinct to seek comfort in a war prison.  He had allowed the pain of raw wrists and a fileted back guide him.  Through that pain, he had learned how not to wipe at a sweating brow, not adjust a clothing seam resting uncomfortably askance, not to lift a hand to absorb a rib-cracking cough.  Dismally, he concluded that it would perhaps be best not to adapt himself to avoid the minor, inconvenient discomforts. It gave him something to focus on other than losing her, other than the words he’d spat at her with far more fury than he had intended.

Leave then.

Simply put, he had been the architect of his own destruction.

After ten minutes, Jamie asked where he was being taken.

He was informed by a rather gruff voice that it was none of his god-damned business.  Inhaling, he tasted the driver’s second-hand smoke and suddenly felt nauseated.

He had lost the plot of their travels a few minutes in when the left-right-right-left-roundabout-another-left-roundabout pattern of their journey became too much to track.

He was certain of one thing only: the truck was not headed to a courthouse or the palace.

Roughly fifteen minutes in, they accelerated far beyond what was reasonable for Edinburgh’s indiscriminately winding streets.

Claire.

Wherever the truck was headed, the distance between them was growing and growing. His sight stripped away by the blindfold, he indulged a bit in the darkest part of him.  The part that knew for certain that he would never see her again.  Never turn that dark hair over his fingers again (a burn ruffling over the stones).  Never seal his mouth to any part of her again (the brief, sour kiss of dueling morning breath tongues before she demanded they brush their teeth; the soft mound of her breast quivering with laughter; the needy space between her thighs made remote by a coarse thicket of curls).  Never take her face in his hands, apologize fiercely, and explain that he had never meant it (the venom of telling her to leave him).  Never take her to bed and love her again.

“Where are ye takin’ me?” Jamie repeated.

“Somewhere far better than ye deserve.”

Jamie’s head tilted back and rested on the seat.  He opened his eyes behind the blindfold and only saw white, the stubbed auburn of his eyelashes.

When he closed his eyes, he had a vague hope that he would just die.

After a seemingly interminable amount of time, it was the honeyed aroma of rhododendron, the sway of the truck around familiar curves in the road, and the barking of a dog that brought him into a sitting position.

He knew precisely where they had stopped.

He fought against his handcuffs, tipped his head to his shoulder, urged the blindfold up over a single eye.

Jenny was on the front steps, her arm curled around Ian’s waist.

“What the fuck are ye doin’, man?” Jamie snapped, flinching when the handcuff on his left hand grated over his wrist.

“Following orders, man,” the driver spat, stopping the vehicle and getting out. Jamie watched as the man rounded the front of the truck, hocking a disgusting volume of cigarette-covered spit onto the pebbled drive. Opening the passenger door, he took Jamie roughly by the elbow and pulled him from the car.  “Ye dinna think that it was my choice to bring ye – a common thief – to this failing farm?”

The man struggled for the keys on his belt and quickly unlocked the handcuffs before glancing at the front steps.  Jamie followed the man’s glance.  Jenny had started to descend, but Ian had caught her by the shoulder and Jamie nodded tightly, stretching his neck as he brought his hands to the front of his body.

“Like I said… far better than ye deserve.”

He stood in place, holding his wrists at waist height and blinking in the daylight.  Even on a hazy gray Scottish summer afternoon, everything was bright. Too bright.  Like an amateur photographer had dipped a snapshot of his childhood home into chemical bath, over-exposed it, and blown the colors out to be too bright. The stone of his first home lined by too much light, the flowers Jenny planted along the front path almost cartoonish.

“Jen,” he croaked, taking a faltering step towards his sister, the ache of his bruised shin slipping into his knee joint, up his femur, into his groin, and settling in his stomach.  “I didna do it.”

Though he had a foot and at least seventy-five pounds of muscle on his older sister, he felt small when she wrapped her arms around him.

For the first time, he cried.  Great, wracking sobs pulsed up his body, his fingers sinking into his sister’s shoulders.  The same soft, soothing noises his sister had honed over years of loss – siblings, parents, her own child – comforted him then, rising from where he had mashed her face to his chest.

His throat lubricated by his own snot, and face damp with tears, he pulled back slightly, and said,  “I dinna ken what’s happenin’. I was going to say I took it, so she wouldn’t have to–”

“Ye need to come inside, brathair…” Jenny interrupted, running her thumbs over the slicked expanse of his cheekbones.

The television, a boxy small thing usually tucked into the front-hall closet on a rolling cart, was tuned low.  

In the sitting room, Jamie’s niece handed the pudgy, soft-limbed mass of baby Katherine to Jenny.  Freed of her younger sister, she wound her thin, summer-bronzed arms around Jamie’s waist. Though her words were tearful, he divined through her own snot and tears that she felt guilty.  He smoothed down her hair, focusing on the newsman talking, unable to summon the grace to say that it was going to be alright.  

As the baby started to fuss, Jenny patted the couch next to her.  “Sit.  She’s going to give a speech.”

His heart dropped as he realized why he was at Lallybroch.

He was far enough away that he could not even hope to stop her.  No amount of carelessness or speed would get him back to the city to stop this – to stop her, to hold her upper arms and shake his head, to tell her that she didn’t have to do this for him. That she didn’t have to stand alone in the sun of scrutiny for him. That she didn’t need to add to the media’s disdain for her – the Accidental Queen, the Party Queen, and now the Harlot Queen (the stomach-curdling headline followed by a question mark had been accompanied by a portrait of Claire and a snapshot of her with Randall).  He wrapped his fingers around the couch cushion to stop them from trembling.

He had waited for what felt like his entire life for her.

The one.

“What is she going to do?” Jenny asked.

He glanced sideways, shook his head.  “I dinna ken.”

In his heart, he knew.  He knew because he had already heard one version of this speech.

One where his rare woman had declared that she was searching for something rare.

A speech where she declared that she would not deny herself.

That she would not uselessly bind herself to notions of propriety and behavior set forth by others.  Other lovers, politicians, royalists.

Claire would not settle, and she would not be tamed.  She had said it before.

“She wouldna have ye brought out here just to tell the world that ye were guilty.”

“No,” Jamie agreed, leaning forward and resting his elbows on his knees.

“Do ye think that she’ll abdicate?” Jenny asked.

“I dinna ken,” he repeated.

It was a lie.

[loverspersonas]

the most beautiful moment in life | iii

pairing: ot7? x reader

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

length: 6.8k

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

↳series masterlist

In your dream, you stood in the middle of a field covered in tall grass and weeds and dandelions. 

The sky was in between a gray and blue, the colour right before it started raining. You started moving, wanting to find shelter before the storm came. But you didn’t know which direction to take. It was almost a cruel metaphor of your life.

After what seemed like hours of running, your bare feet were left covered in dirt and blisters. A clearing emerged in front of you, and you used your hands to force yourself through the grass in your way.

There was a cliff, the ocean overlooking it. The waves lapped against the shore just as the wind blew past you. It felt like they were preparing for the storm too.

What caught your attention was the figure that stood near the edge of the cliff. At first, you couldn’t tell who it was, if it was even anyone you knew. But as you edged closer, the features began to become discernible.

“Hey,” you called, your voice fragile like the rocks that formed the cliff.

You watched as the boy turned to look your way, and there was a sharp intake of breath on your part. He was young and innocent, like he hadn’t seen anything of the world yet. Something about the stare he was giving you made you believe that you should’ve recognized him. Suddenly, you needed him to move away from the cliff.

“What are you doing there?” When you stepped forward again, the ground shook suddenly, nearly knocking over your balance. And when you looked back up, there was someone else in the place of the boy. “Jungkook?”

He was wearing the same clothes as the night you found him on the roof. But the way he looked at you was similar to the little boy’s expression. Empty. Were they looking right through you?

Jungkook turned back towards the cliff, and your stomach lurched. “Jungkook, stop.”

But it was like he couldn’t hear you. The wind roared and the ocean cried just as he stepped forward. 

“No, don’t—“

The scene broke away like glass. All of a sudden, you were underwater, submerged in the deepest part of the ocean that was trying to devour you.

And then you woke up with a gasp, shooting up in your bed. You were breathing sporadically, hand reaching to your chest as you tried to calm yourself. 

Breathe in. Breathe out. Inhale. Exhale.

It was a mantra you repeated as many times as you needed to, just like you’d done months ago, the first time you’d had a nightmare like that.

“You look like shit.”

You opened your locker door, glimpsing at the pink haired girl leaning against the wall beside it, before dryly remarking, “Gee, thanks, Sana.” 

She shook her head. “No, I just mean, did you get enough sleep last night?”

“Not really,” you confessed with a sigh. The dream that had woken you left you somewhat disturbed. It wasn’t the first time though. You’d started getting them months ago. They were all a little different, but ended the same way; you couldn’t breathe right away even when you woke up. 

Sana was reaching into her bag before you knew it, passing you a small stick of a Maybelline product. “Here. I have some concealer for your eyes. Our shades are close enough, I guess. So what happened? Lee kept you busy yesterday?”

“Yeah.” You dabbed some of the concealer under your eyes, using your phone’s camera as a mirror. You supposed in the lighting, the nuances in your skin tones wouldn’t stand out too much. “I was doing manual labor for a few hours. Then I had work till nine.”

Sana’s gaze had drifted across the hall, and you turned your head to see what she was looking at. You were instantly filled with a heated anger as Eun-ho walked by with some friends from the football team. You fleetingly noticed the dark purple bruise on his jawline, and the fact that another certain football player was nowhere to be seen. 

“Ugh,” Sana said with a malicious scowl. “I hate how that asshole just got a free pass.”

You turned back to your locker, unclenching your fists. You couldn’t get into another fight, as much as you’d like to give Eun-ho a black eye to match his bruised jaw. “I guess that’s something I’ll have to get used to.”

Sana’s eyebrows knitted together. “That is some very backwards thinking.”

“Well, our society is very backwards.”

She gave this an agreeing tilt of her head. “Missed you at the park last night.”

“Did you?” you asked with mild amusement as you closed your locker. “Li-on and the others drink themselves to sleep again?”

“Ha ha, very funny,” Sana said sarcastically. She gave your arm a light shove, to which you feigned hurt. “That doesn’t happen all the time, for your information. Besides, you’re a better listener.”

You smiled dryly. “Right. Who doesn’t want to hear about the newest brand of ammonia-free hair dye?”

She lifted a finger at you, accusingly. “Hey, that ammonia-free hair dye is what saved your ungrateful ass from severe hair fall. Are you looking for someone?”

“Hm?” That was when you realized your attention had moved away from her, eyes scanning both sides of the hallway, possibly for a certain figure to appear at any moment. That was, if you assumed the correct locker number. But you just shook your head. “No. Who would I look for?”

“Oh, I don’t know. Maybe a certain quarterback with loyalty issues?”

Any trace of lightheartedness vanished from your face. ��I’m not looking for Min-hyuk,” you said apathetically. “That’s over.”

“That’s what you said before too,” she pointed out. “And besides, I doubt it’s a good idea to be anywhere near him or Eun-ho. Won’t want another after school detention on your records, would you?”

You sighed. “Speaking of, I have another one today.”

“Oh, Mrs Lee,” Sana said dramatically. “Detention would be so boring without her.”

You grinned at her. “I’ll let her know you miss her and can’t wait to see her there again.”

She stared at you for a second with no amusement, eyes slowly narrowing. “Hey.”

You sent her another grin and patted her shoulder. “I’ll see you later.”

As it turned out, you had determined the correct locker number. The boy had just taken longer than you’d anticipated. But as you approached him, hesitantly of course, you couldn’t deny that a part of you was relieved to see him there, especially after his surprise cameo in your dream last night, too eerily similar to last night’s event.

“Hi,” you said, biting your lip as though you were nervous or cautious. But you didn’t know why. Maybe it had to do with the fact that you’d seen a side to this boy, who was practically a stranger, that most people he knew hadn’t even seen. Maybe a part of you had also subconsciously reciprocated that vulnerability. "How are you?”

Jungkook was certainly surprised to see you talking to him, but didn’t address it. If he was going to act like the previous night’s events hadn’t happened, you wouldn’t stop him, but you sure as hell weren’t going to leave him alone so quickly. He had the same tired eyes as you did, not concealed by makeup though. But you decided to believe him when he said he was better. Because just him being here today, after you’d asked and pretty much pleaded for him to come and not do anything else reckless, was almost enough.

He looked away from you. “Thanks for walking me home last night.”

At first, you were little taken aback, but shrugged. “I was going that way anyway, so it’s no big deal. You know, if you want to talk to someone—“

“That’s really nice of you,” he interrupted. There was something sad and weary that glinted in his eyes. “But I don’t want you to feel bad for me. I don’t want that to be the only reason you’re talking to me.”

“Jungkook,” you said immediately, partially shocked he would think that. “I don’t—I’m not here because I pity you. Trust me, I get what it feels like to have everyone pity you. It’s not fun.”

He paused as the realization slowly hit him, all the stories he must’ve heard on the way to class. You couldn’t help but wonder if among the twisted rumours, maybe he’d heard something true, too. “Sorry.” The shame on his face told you that he meant it. “I didn’t mean to bring it up.”

You forced a smile, but somehow didn’t pay attention to how fake it must’ve looked. He must know, you thought, what a fake smile looked like. “It’s whatever. You get used to it, I guess. I still am.” You paused to take in a breath and rethink your next words. “I just— I was luckier than most people to have someone there for me. If you want someone to be there for you—“

“Y/N,” he said with a quiet voice, but the underlying tone was assertive too in a sense; you hadn’t been expecting that from him. “Thank you. For showing up last night, and for everything else. But you don’t have to go through any more trouble for me.”

He was still assuming that you felt bad for him, and that you were facing an inconvenience to do this much for him. But how could you explain that it wasn’t like that? Sure, you felt some kind of obligation to reach out to him; of all the people who could’ve found him on the roof of the construction site, ready to jump, it had been you. But after talking to him, after listening to his words from last night, it was more than that.

“It’s not trouble for me,” you tried to explained. “Look, if you don’t want to talk to me, I know Mrs Oh, the guidance counsellor, would be more than willing—“

“Don’t tell her about this.”

You blinked. “What?”

For a moment, panic flickered across his features. He was shaking his head. “I can’t—I don’t want my mom to find out. Or anyone else. Just please don’t say anything.”

“I won’t,” you promised. Even though you could hardly agree with his decision, you would still respect it. You wouldn’t want someone else meddling with your choices, after all.

He studied your face, as though deciding whether or not to trust your word. Finally, he exhaled. “I’ll be okay. Just please don’t worry about me.”

“Yeah…” You stood there, dumbfounded, but didn’t stop him as he walked down the hallway. “Okay.”

Halfway through the day came lunch. You were walking down the hall after leaving one of your classes a little later. You needed to finish a project in time to get the grade for it, after all. Unfortunately that was also how you ended up running into someone you’d been trying to adamantly avoid.

Min-hyuk stopped a few inches away from you, mouth opening in surprise. “I wasn’t following you, I swear.”

“Then we can just pretend this didn’t happen,” you said unemotionally, starting forward.

“Wait.” You were stupid for stopping just from that sliver of desperation in his voice. But you did anyway, releasing a breath. “I’m sorry about what happened. Eun-ho shouldn’t have said any of that—“

“I don’t need you apologizing for him,” you said. “We both know he would never, so let’s not bother.”

He nodded, understandingly and for the first time, you hated that about him. Why couldn’t he just disagree with you or argue so that this would be so much easier? “We haven’t talked in a while. How have you been since summer—“

You almost glared at him. “Don’t act like you care all of a sudden. We’re not friends, Min-hyuk.”

“We were a lot more at some point.”

The honesty in his voice made you waver only for a second. But you knew you couldn’t afford to waver. “At some point. A long time ago. And even then… it was a mistake.”

He took a step closer to you. “Not to me. The only thing I regret is my part in how everything ended.”

The only way you could hide the sudden ache in your chest was by putting on a fake smile. These days, that seemed to be your best solution. “Careful. You wouldn’t want Yuna hearing that.”

He was close enough to you that you could reach out to touch him if you wanted. But you only moved backward and around him to find your way to the cafeteria. As soon as you entered the place, you quickly scanned the area for Sana. The longer you stood there, the more likely it was for people to notice you. The last thing you wanted was for certain people to see you there, feeling like you could either cry or scream at any moment. Maybe even both.

Sana waved you over to the table she and Li-on were occupying and you rushed over there in relief until the girl asked, “What took you so long? Everything okay?”

You smiled and nodded, but suddenly it felt too fake. You felt fake. “I’m going to get some food.”

So you stood in the line near the front. Sky Academy also held standards when it came to the food. They did it all. Breakfast, lunch, snacks, beverages. You were lucky in that department. Not a lot of schools had good food, and with how busy your mother was, getting well cooked meals was also unlikely. 

The minute you stepped in line, you spotted someone a few people in front of you. A girl with long black hair tied back with blue and yellow ribbons. Yuna had always been a social butterfly, unlike you who had adapted to it. When the two of you were together though, it felt more natural. Or at least, it had in the beginning. You never understood just how deceiving looks and words could be until you met her, until she revealed her true colours.

In a hasty attempt to turn around and avoid confronting the girl, you bumped right into someone, knocking down their tray of food. “Shit, sorry,” you said quickly. You instantly crouched down, trying to gather the utensils and plates. Thankfully, nothing was broken.

“It’s fine,” the boy said, and you only looked up when you recognized the voice to see Hoseok across from you. He grabbed a bunch of napkins and spread them over the floor while you stopped for a moment, dumbfounded, just staring at him. He didn’t seem to realize though. “The soup was a little bland today, to be honest.”

His voice, this time, made you blink and you remembered how you’d gotten into this mess. Craning your neck, you searched for the familiar head of black hair.

“Are you looking for someone?” Hoseok asked, noticing your meticulous, cautionary gaze. He shrugged, nothing judgmental about it. “Or you know, not looking for someone.”

“No—“ If you weren’t so preoccupied, you would’ve asked why he was so nonchalant. You’d never spoken before yesterday, and here he was, talking like this was an ordinary occurrence. To be honest, you didn’t think you’d see any of the boys outside of detention again, not like this at least, and not so soon. Jungkook was the first to debunk that presumption, so maybe the universe was saying, why not just run into another one, too? Your eyes widened when you saw Yuna walking towards you and quickly looked at the boy in front of you. “Just don’t turn around for a second.”

Hoseok frowned slightly. “Um, okay?”

You almost closed your eyes, waiting to hear the girl call your name, but she’d walked right past you with her lunch, not paying attention to the spilled food that a couple of insignificant kids had dropped. You finally let out a breath. “Sorry for the mess.”

“If it helped you avoid Yuna, it’s fine.”

You looked down at your hands, only then feeling somewhat embarrassed as your cheeks warmed. “It was that obvious?”

He didn’t look at you with pity, which surprised you. But he was honest. “It was.”

You shrugged, slightly sheepish. “I mean, I’m not going to avoid her forever. That’s not really possible anyway.”

“I get it.” He stood up with the tray in his hands, and you followed suit. “I wouldn’t want to run into her here, of all places. She really likes turning things into a show.”

“Yeah,” you agreed, a laugh nearly rising in your throat. You looked at his tray and remembered the meal you’d destroyed. "I can pay for that—“

“Don’t worry about it,” he said, and when he smiled at you, you swore you could’ve seen sunlight. “I’ll see you later.”

He didn’t give you a chance to say anything else, so you watched him leave, almost puzzled by the interaction.

The first time you saw the guidance counsellor, Mrs Oh, she had been the one to approach you some time in the previous year. You remember showing a lot of bad attitude, not wanting to talk to anyone about anything that had happened. Not sugarcoating it, you were somewhat of a bitch about it. But in hindsight, you felt a little better after talking. You’d felt relieved. But at some point, you’d stopped going to see her, whether it was because you thought you didn’t need the therapy anymore, or just something else.

But now you found yourself hovering in front of her office. She was inside at her desk, too busy typing on her laptop to notice you. Would it be good to mention your nightmare to her? Would that help you, or would it just do nothing? You supposed that was why you’d stopped going to her. It felt like you’d reached a plateau, and things wouldn’t get better from there.

You sighed, taking a step away from the door. Voices caught your attention as another door opened. From the other side of the front office, the headmaster left his office with another student. As you craned your neck to get a better glance, the boy in the uniform turned just enough for you to see his face.

Interesting, you thought. Why was Seokjin talking to the headmaster again?

The obvious explanation was that he was checking in on the new kid, seeing how he was adjusting to the school. But since when did the headmaster go to such lengths for a student’s welfare? And was he aware that his precious foreign student had already earned himself a detention?

They didn’t see you as they walked to the front. The headmaster said another few words and Seokjin nodded, politely bowing before he walked back to his office. Seokjin left the office and moments later, you decided to go after him.

“Seokjin,” you said, a grin appearing on your face. “My favourite new kid.”

After his initial surprise from your appearance, he looked like he was holding back a smile. “If I wasn’t the only new kid, that might have almost been flattering.”

“Almost,” you agreed. You folded your arms over your chest, waiting for him to stand beside you. “So. Tell me. Why Sky Academy?”

“What?”

“You could’ve picked any school in the country,” you continued. “And there are plenty of great ones who would happily take in a foreign student. So why did you choose this one?”

He didn’t answer right away, and that only raised your interest. The kids who were wondering about him, Sana and Li-on included, might’ve been on to something. You wanted to dig a little deeper into it, for your own curiosity purposes. 

“I don’t know really,” Seokjin said, shrugging. “My father chose it.”

Did you think he was lying? It was most definitely possible. But you chose to go along with it regardless. “Ah, I see.” You sent him teasing grin. “You’re daddy’s little boy.”

He scowled. It was playful, but somewhere underneath made you think this wasn’t the first time he’d heard something like that. “Am not. And I think the actual saying is daddy’s little girl.”

“Technicalities,” you said, waving it away. “How long have you been back in Korea then?”

“I literally just got back less than two weeks ago.”

You raised a brow. “You sure were in a rush to get that education, weren’t you?” A wistful sigh left you, thinking about what his life would’ve been like outside of here. Thinking how different yours might’ve been had you gotten the same opportunities. “I’d love to go abroad to study.”

“I guess it would be fun if it was your choice.” It was a little hard to miss the shift in his tone. An underlying bitterness on his tongue.

“I guess so,” you said cautiously, not wanting to evoke that bitterness in him. Your first impression of him was that he was just another rich boy with privilege he either didn’t fully realize or didn’t care to. But you were starting to think there was more to him than just his money and looks. “Unfortunately, I’m stuck here,” you said dramatically. “Maybe even for the rest of my sad, miserable life.”

He looked at you. “I’m sure that’s not true.”

You choked back a laugh. “Like my mother would ever let—“

“I meant the sad and miserable part.”

You stopped, tilting your head at him, both curious and incredulous. You couldn’t deny that you were glad to hear someone say that; no one thought about you like that anymore, least of all yourself. But Seokjin spoke to you like you were normal. Well, maybe not conventionally normal, but still, you liked that. A cynical part in your mind wondered if he, too, would turn you away when he found out the truth. Finally, you managed a halfhearted smile. “I forgot you’re new here. Anyway, shall we walk to detention together?”

Just as you began walking, his voice made you stop. “Why do you assume I’ll just walk with you?”

When you looked back at him, there was something like a grin on his face; it was a little smug and a little amused. You narrowed your eyes at him a little. “Recycling my own words. Cheap move. But if imitation is a form of flattery…”

There was a roll of his eyes. “Ha ha. You’re hilarious.”

You sent him a sly smile, one that told him that you were more than capable of getting the last word if you wanted. “Why, thank you.”

The rest of the detention squad was already there when you arrived. You couldn’t help but feel a little proud at the fact that the room was actually starting to resemble a classroom. The extra furniture was all gone and now you just had to finish cleaning and organizing. Mrs Lee had perhaps underestimated you.

“You two are late.”

You stopped as you entered the storage room, exchanging furrowed brows with Seokjin beside you. “It’s four o’ seven.”

“Exactly,” Taehyung said. “The rest of us have been working off our asses this whole time.”

“For seven minutes?” Seokjin asked incredulously.

“He literally showed up two minutes before you,” Jimin informed you. “He’s just being dramatic.”

Taehyung flung the rag he’d been cleaning with at the boy. “Traitor!”

“Hey,” Namjoon intervened. “Throwing stuff around the room is counterproductive.”

Taehyung made a face at him, but complied like a little kid being told to go to their room, before continuing cleaning. As you put your bag on the side, you picked up a cleaning cloth and spray to join the others. Unconsciously, you began thinking of the last time you were here. An image of lilac and blue petals crossed your mind, intricate black letters scrawled on a page.

“Is that painting still here?” you asked suddenly, everyone turning their attention to you. “The one from yesterday.”

“It should be where we left it,” Hoseok said.

“Speaking of,” Namjoon started. “I went home and looked it up. I tried searching blue flower, purple flower, literally every shade in between you can think of… nothing came up like that painting.”

“Maybe it’s not real,” Yoongi said, shrugging.

But even in his words, you knew he didn’t fully believe. You couldn’t when it felt so familiar.

“Maybe,” Namjoon said dubiously. “I also looked up the characters. Hwa yang yeon hwa. I’m still not fully sure how the individual characters play into it. But one translation came up that kind of stuck with me.”

“What?” you asked curiously.

“It said the most beautiful moment or moments in life.”

The most beautiful moment in life, you thought. You were having mixed emotions about it. On one hand, your chest felt warm and relaxed. It was like the perfect kind of weather, when the breeze was delicate and the sun touched your face in just the right way. But on the other, your stomach was queasy, something like butterflies fluttering violently.

“It’s like it’s on the tip of my tongue,” Jimin spoke quietly.

“Yeah,” you breathed. “I get it.”

“Can I see the picture again?” Taehyung asked abruptly.

While a little puzzled by the request, Namjoon dug out the painting from the cabinet it was in. Taehyung took it from him, studying the black ink characters intensely.

“I knew it,” he said with a low chuckle.

“Knew what?” Seokjin asked.

He flipped the page around to show the rest of you the words. “I’ve seen this before. Not the painting, but these words. I could never understand what it said, so I overlooked it—“

“Where have you seen it?” Yoongi demanded.

“By the Han River,” Taehyung said. “There’s this area under the bridge. I swear I saw it there.”

“What, is it like a place or something?” Namjoon asked.

“No, I don’t think so. Just the words. Someone left it there.”

“So, it’s some random graffiti work,” Yoongi gathered. “That doesn’t mean anything.”

“What if it does?” you said in a quiet voice. 

He hesitated, glancing at the others to see them contemplating all of it. You could sense that a part of him wondered that too, but he was trying to shake that thought. “It’s all just meaningless coincidence.”

You watched him turn around to walk across the room. He picked up the cleaning supplies he’d discarded and returned to working without saying anything else. When you looked back at the others, they were looking back at you with uncertainty and confusion. And you almost wanted to say something. But you ended up letting them slowly walk away, Taehyung, Jimin, and Hoseok the first few to follow Yoongi’s example.

Seokjin gave you a brief unreadable glance before leaving too. So, you looked to Namjoon, maybe even hopefully. He’d been the one to figure out what the words meant, after all. But all he did was sigh, sending you a small shrug as if to say ‘What can I do?’ 

The disappointment you felt then surprised you. Why did you expect them to stick around and listen? You were all still a bunch of strangers. Deep down, why did you think there was something else? Something more.

You didn’t sense the presence that approached you until you looked up, surprised. Jungkook stood in front you with that same shyness he usually emanated. He offered you something like a smile. A subtle glance of sympathy. Or maybe it was empathy.

He was holding out a cleaning rag and a spray bottle for you, his way of telling you to join him as he turned to start wiping the table.

He was the only one who didn’t really walk away, you thought mildly. And maybe that was why you found yourself drawing in a breath before making your way toward him. 

By the time you got back home, it was about seven, and you were more than a little surprised to find all the lights inside on. It was a nice three bedroom apartment near the city about half an hour away from Sky Academy. When you were younger, you used to have a huge house in a more suburban neighbourhood. But that was before the divorce, when your family was bigger and closer, and before money had become something you couldn’t just take granted for anymore.

“Where have you been?”

You looked to see your mother emerge from the hallway. She was a little taller than you, and you were told you two looked pretty similar. Same brown hair—yours was now dyed blonde— same nose and eyes. But the similarities ended there. You couldn’t see yourself as anything else like her.

“It’s dark outside,” she was saying. “You can’t just wander anywhere you want at this time without at least telling me—“

“I was at school,” you interrupted, taking off your shoes before walking to the kitchen. “What’s the big deal?”

“You were at school?” she asked dubiously. “This late?”

“Yeah, I had work to do,” you lied easily. You’d rather not mention a detention, especially not when she was in this kind of mood.

“Did you? You know, you’ve been acting different lately.”

You poured yourself some water. “Different how?” 

Your mother looked unimpressed, her arms folded over her chest. “I’m not going to pretend like I didn’t once find a pack of cigarettes in your drawer.”

“I told you, those weren’t mine,” you lied again. “I was holding on to them for a friend.”

“Yeah, Sana, right? You know, ever since you started hanging out with her—“

“She happens to be my only friend right now,” you retorted. You could feel your blood growing warm with anger. “If you were actually ever home and if you actually bothered to ask about my life, maybe you’d know that.”

Puzzlement crossed her face. “What are you talking about?”

You shook your head. “Forget it. What does it matter anyway?"

“Of course, it matters, Y/N.”

You paused near the kitchen entrance, and turned back to look her way. “The one day your boyfriend isn’t around, you finally remember that you’re not the only person who lives here.”

Her face flickered from shock to disbelief to anger. “Excuse me?”

You already had your shoes on, coat and bag in hand and just a step away from the front door. “I’m too tired for this conversation right now.”

“Where do you think you’re going?”

“For a walk,” was the last thing you said before slamming the door.

It was colder outside than you’d anticipated. 

Then again, you hadn’t thought you’d be outside for this long. You remembered storming out of the apartment complex, just needing to get farther and farther away from your mother and just everything in that place. You also knew you’d taken the bus at some point, now listening to one of your slow, sad playlists on shuffle. Time seemed to blur and you didn’t realize how long you’d been there, so you pushed the button and signalled for the bus driver to stop.

When you got off at the stop, you glanced around, unsure of where you’d just arrived. Maybe in hindsight, you should’ve checked the next stop before getting off impulsively. It seemed like everything you did nowadays was impulsive. Like all you could do was make the wrong choices.

After a moment of debating whether or not to turn around and go back home, you decided to keep walking. Car headlights shined past you as they drove on the bridge, and there were a lot less people walking on the side where you were. Maybe it was pretty late, after all.

Your gaze flickered past the railing, out to the expanse of midnight blue sky. Far, far back, you could make out the small skyline of the city, reflecting in the water of the river below you. It gave it colours of dark blue and bright yellow, but past that you could see that it was just black. You could feel the darkness that loomed underneath, just like it had been in your dream the night before. The pull of the water, waiting to drag something under—

You shook your head, trying to shake away those thoughts. For a moment, you felt like your throat was going to close up. But you breathed in large amounts of air just then just to know that you were still breathing and alive.

As you walked further down, spotting some stairs that lead to the lower level, it began to get quieter. Across from you was the other side of the bridge. Your eyes followed the network of metal that made up the vast structure, and then the roads that lined the bridge. And suddenly, you’d been here before. 

On another night, when it had been dark and cold and strangely quiet. In your vision, there was the river on the side and the road up ahead, and through glass, a thick, heavy sky above. The radio was playing a pop song in the background and there were voices floating through in one of your ears. One of them was your own voice, you realized. It was all obscure, but somehow, you could sense that there was an argument between the voices. You waited for that other voice again, needing to recognize it desperately for some reason.

“Y/N.”

“—Y/N, look out!”

A car horn blasted in your ears, headlights nearly blinding you before a strong force pushed you to the side. It was all a blur of sound and colour. You didn’t even realize what had happened until afterwards. You’d walked on to the middle of the road at some point. But you hadn’t been aware of the car coming at you. You hadn’t been aware of anything around you, really.

“What the fuck are you doing? Do you have a death wish or something?”

You didn’t even fully realize that someone had pushed you out of the way in time, and that they were currently yelling at you.

“Yoongi?” you said dumbfounded.

The boy’s face was practically livid, his black curls of hair flying in the wind. He staring at you like he couldn’t believe you. “What’s wrong with you? Were you trying to get hit?”

“No, I wasn’t—I was just…” You turned halfway, looking back at the road as if the sounds and visions you’d been imagining would reappear. Then you realized something. “What are you doing here?”

He looked a little taken aback at first. “I was just passing through. And some random girl decided to walk to the middle of the highway. I get that maybe princesses aren’t always smart, but I didn’t think you were actually crazy.”

You sent him a dark look. “I’m not crazy.” You shoved past him and started walking again.

“Where are you going?” His voice was close to falling under the noise of the cars on the bridge.

“Why do you care?” you yelled back. “If I’m actually crazy, maybe you shouldn’t have stopped me."

Yoongi stopped in his tracks. “Hey, I didn’t mean—“

“Yeah, I know what you meant,” you retorted. Your cheeks were flushed, maybe from the wind or from this sudden pent up frustration and anger inside. It was that word, that one word he’d said that made it all come rushing back. “I know what everyone means when they look at me and think that, so just—“

“I never thought that.”

“What?”

He bit his lip, as though forcing himself to repeat it. “I never actually thought that.”

You were half skeptical, but the other half of you felt compelled to believe it. You remember how desperately you’d wanted people to believe you before. But no one really did.

“It’s Sky Academy,” Yoongi said with a shrug. “It’s where the truth goes to get twisted and distorted until you can’t recognize it anymore.”

There was a lot of weight to his words, so much that you could feel it. Maybe there was something personal to it, but it struck a chord in you. Sometimes you wondered if it wasn’t just the truth the academy twisted, but the people too. You thought you were talking about other people at first, people like your old friends. But then you thought maybe it was you who’d come out of it twisted and deranged.

You released a breath that came out shaky, and you had to force yourself not to cry. No more tears. You were so tired of that. “I don’t actually remember getting here,” you confessed finally. “I just started walking and…”

“I think I know why,” Yoongi said hesitantly. “It’s probably the same reason I’m here too.”

You watched in confusion as he started past you. He didn’t say the words out loud, but you knew you were meant to follow. But did you really want to follow someone you knew nothing about? Then again, he did save you from getting hit by a speeding car. You didn’t know when you made a decision, but at some point, you went after him.

The two of you were walking side by side in a strange yet not completely uncomfortable silence. It was hardly silent anyway. Not with the cars. You made your way down some stairs and ended up below the bridge. Then it started to click.

“Hold on, this is…” By the Han River, was what Taehyung had said earlier. You glanced at the boy on your side, who wasn’t paying much attention to you. The same person who’d been the first to deny any importance to what the group of you had found in that storage room. But before you could even think of saying anything, something else caught your eye. “Is that..?”

“I think it is,” Yoongi said with the same mix of surprise and curiosity.

Walking towards the two of you from the opposite direction were Hoseok, Jimin, and Jungkook, looking equally surprised to see you there.

“Well, this is definitely interesting,” Hoseok commented, glancing around at the circle all of you had formed.

“Very,” Jimin agreed.

“I’m not exactly surprised to see most of you here,” another voice spoke. You turned your head to see Namjoon approaching you, and Seokjin beside him, who you raised your eyebrows at. Namjoon then looked at the boy who’d showed up with you. “But how did you end up here?”

Yoongi scowled slightly. “And why does that matter?”

“I think we’re all here for the same reason,” Seokjin said.

“Well, well, well.” Taehyung climbed over a ledge and came to join the rest of you. He looked around, either pleased or smug. “Look who all decided to show up.”

Jimin shot him a weird look. “Why are you acting like that creepy guy from the movies who’s been waiting for us this whole time?” 

Taehyung looked only slightly offended. “It’s not creepy. And actually, I just got here, too.”

“It feels kind of strange,” Jungkook spoke for the first time. His voice was quieter than the others, but you all stayed silent to listen to him. “How we all ended up here anyway. How we all keep meeting like this.”

“Maybe it’s fate,” Namjoon suggested with a shrug.

Yoongi shook his head. “There’s no such thing.” There was something like distaste underneath it, an undercurrent of indignation.

“Then why are you here?” you found yourself saying. Maybe you didn’t like the way he disregarded things like that, things that you believed. You’d said something similar earlier and he’d done the same thing. “You’re the one who said this was all a coincidence.”

“That’s because it is.”

“Twice is a coincidence,” you argued. “But three times…”

Namjoon turned to the boy who’d appeared last. “Where is it anyway? The characters. I didn’t see anything on the way here.”

Taehyung smirked. “That’s because you haven’t been paying attention.”

He didn’t leave room for questions after that cryptic statement. Instead he turned around, jumping off from the side to a lower area. You all shared fleeting glances before following him until you came to a large concrete wall near the water, part of the structure that held up the bridge. A lot of graffiti had taken residence there, but there was one sight higher up that easily caught your attention. Huge, black painted Chinese characters.

“The most beautiful moment in life,” Jimin murmured.

“This is it,” Namjoon breathed, almost in awe. And you had to agree. Maybe it was the sight of the immaculate artwork, or the way the lights from above illuminated it. Maybe it was the way it smelled and sounded like sea water, or the way the wind felt just right in that moment.

Something about finding it here, these words that had been on the back of your mind ever since you first heard them, was exhilarating and refreshing all at once. And you sensed it among all eight of you. How most of the doubt seemed to wash away, replaced by curiosity and wonder and a longing for more.

“It sort of feels like a part of a puzzle,” Hoseok mused. “Like maybe someone left it there for us to find.”

“It definitely feels like the beginning of something,” you said. 

And you didn’t actually realize the truth of that in that moment, but you would eventually.

part ii // part iv 

[loudestsounds]

Top 50 Records of 2020

50- Melee by Dogleg

           You like some punk in your cereal? It’s a part of a healthy breakfast. Melee has something truly special here. It’s high octane when it needs to be while still maintaining precision and focus in the instrumentation and recording. Ultimately what’s compelling about the record is how frustrated everything sounds while still managing to maintain melody. It’s the sound of breaking shit to rhythm!

49- Grae by Moses Sumney

           A stunning and rich concoction of songs that leaves you bewildered. Moses Sumney has made something deeply personal while still inviting you inside. While the second half (which was released a few months apart from the first) tends to make the entire album feel a touch long-winded, the effort is well-executed and often breathtaking.

48- Fail to Be by Yashira

           This one snuck in at the last minute. A totally earth-shattering metal record that is determined to damage your dome permanently. There’s certainly a heavy dose of Converge influence all over the record, but Yashira manages to separate themselves from the pack with excellent song writing and unique choices. Production wise this record might be par for the course, but there are some nice little touches on tracks like The Weight and Amnesia that create wonderful depth.

47- Man on the Moon III by Kid Cudi

           I went into this thing with on giant sigh but left questioning whether I had accidentally pressed play on another album. Kid Cudi manages to pull something off! Cudi somehow takes inspiration from the genre that took inspiration from his own catalogue of music circa 2005. This is a terrific record to zone out to and let play out. Will this record rival some of the big stack bullies of hip hop? No. Cudi was never about that. He’s always been about mood and this is one moody son of a-! There are some clear skippable tracks (see: Elsie’s baby boy) but he also lands some excellent grooves on Solo Dolo, Pt. III, Lovin’ Me and Tequila Shots. While the record does suffer from overstaying its welcome with an 18 song track list—it manages not to take you out of the experience.

46- Whole New Mess by Angel Olsen

           WNM was poorly marketed as a distinct album, despite being essentially stripped back versions of 2019′s All Mirrors. Audiences were met with disappointment at having only two fresh songs to sample. The reality is it doesn’t fucking matter. Angel Olsen has done no wrong for her entire career. These songs can breathe in a ‘whole new’ way on this record and allow the listener greater insight while simultaneously haunting the walls of the record. Lark and Tonight (Without You) take on an entirely different life, and New Love Cassette feels like a different song entirely. Even Olsen’s scraps feel like fully realized ideas. Still—the title track steals the show, as we hear Olsen at her most desperate. Usually overwhelming the listener with her poise and sharp wit, Olsen promises that she’ll really do the change. She doesn’t have to change a thing.

45- Eastern Flowers by SVEN WUNDERS

           This one caught me off guard in the summer and I had it playing in the background of everything I was doing. Cleaning. Studying. Working. Eastern Flowers is middle eastern music made by Nordic people and I stopped trying to figure out how that happened a while ago. There is a lovely energy here, one that fuses traditional middle eastern melodies with funk embellishments. Eastern Flowers is just a really fun time.

44- The Archer by Alexandra Savior

           I had skipped Savior’s first record entirely before diving into the sophomore album. Going back, it’s clear that she has developed a great deal in the meantime. Despite Alex Turner producing the last one, the song writing takes the haunting details to whole new heights. Savior seems more confident in her voice, and also more willing to play with it in production (the ghostly tone on her voice in Soft Currents a testament). Savior separates herself from artists with a similar voice or who rest beside her within her genre, in how long she is willing to simmer within a song. These aren’t typical arrangements and it’s exciting to hear Savior throw you for a loop on songs like Howl and But You. We’re all excited for what lies next.

43- Push by Heads.

           Angry. Aggressive. Anxious. Push is a record that feels like the moments that build up before a massive protest. You are constantly pushed to the edge as the listener. There is a sinister element to the vocals that is deeply unsettling. Most songs slowly build with the promise of something bigger, instead reaching success simply by maintaining tension. Then there are songs like Weather Beaten and Nobody Moves & Everybody Talks that change the narrative, exploding into a punishing breakdown. Heads. Have something truly electric and angry on their hands here, and we’ll go along for the ride.

42- Indistinct Conversations by Land of Talk

           Many stripped-back and bare tracks on this one from Montreal’s own Land of Talk. It hits you about halfway through that the album is obsessed with loving one’s own history. Even when things have failed to work out, many songs suggest that we can only look back fondly. Opener Diaphonous warns I was caught up in the wrong stuff/ but I have to laugh. There are moments of greatness on this record, like the rushing movement of Look to You and the twangy riff of Footnotes—yet the marvel is in the consistent beauty, never wavering.

41- Are You Gone by Sarah Harmer

           A really soothing yet fun indie rock record that satisfies my craving for the music I loved as a teenager. There are some lovely arrangements and melodies from Harmer on this one, and while the mood is a touch sad, you’re happy you got to share in the emotion of it all. The album oscillates between more intimate moments and full-band jams, which create a nice balance—as if you’re moving in and out with the tide.

40- Circles by Mac Miller

           I was never the biggest Mac Miller fan. I wasn’t all that familiar with his catalogue before Swimming, and I perhaps made a point of listening to this posthumous release simply because he passed tragically. Still, the songs seem touched by his state, haunting the listener in combination with what we know ultimately happened to Mac. It’s a real shame it had to end like this, but if there was ever a gorgeous, captivating, and mature release to come at the end of a successful career cut short, Circles was it. 

39- Down to the Lowest Terms: The Soul Sessions by Steve Arrington

           Steve Arrington is back from his cryogenic freeze with a sick friggin’ soul album! These are fun, joyous and lived in gospel/soul tracks that play well in almost any setting. Play this bad boy with your friends, family and even around the office. Nobody will be disappointed. There are also some beautiful production touches that make this a great listen on headphones. Steve wants to tell you all about how funk is the way—and I think I believe him.

38- Atonement by exhalants.

           A fun ripper that makes you want to run up your walls and slam your fists on the floor. Atonement is not active listening per se, at least not in comparison to records released by their cohort, but it certainly puts you in a space that the band creates, dictates and commands. This is a band that has borrowed from others in the genre, but made that rare hardcore record that has just the right amount of hooks while maintaining space to catch ones breath.

37- Petals for Armor by Hayley Williams

           PFA had that multiple EP release thing that a few artists did this year (see: Dirty Projectors). Ultimately the entire project suffered from a touch of bloat—but the incredible songs were spread out enough on this album, that it had to make my list. There are incredible production choices on this record, and it clearly was a labour of love for Williams. The songs are a bit rigid in the vein of Annie Clark, but Williams has a freedom to her vocals that liberates them. I think a more refined 10 track album may have cracked my top 20. Songs like Taken and My Friend don’t seem to have a real purpose on the record other than just being half-baked mood tracks, but they don’t tarnish the effect that songs like Simmer, Over Yet or Sugar on the Rim have on the listener.

36- Farewell to All we Know by Matt Elliott

           Farewell is a collection of the creepiest, saddest and most beautiful songs you’ve ever heard. I don’t usually stray down this path but this is an album that works so well when reading or writing. There is some beautiful poetry on the darkness of the world and the last hopes for mankind. What sets the record apart lays in the details. The haunting echoes of the city streets. The whisper of ghosts that drag behind Elliott’s guitar. The record establishes incredible mood, inviting you in for a glass of despair.

35- Polysomn by Kairon; IRSE!

           My head hurts just trying to write about this record. It’s weird, heavy, melodic. The vocals feel unique to the genre while used sparingly. There is a lot of interesting synth play on this record that might invite listeners outside of the genre—but that also add depth and feeling to songs that otherwise might feel like trudges through metal music mud. Polysomn is filled with exciting, dynamic elements that are a good entrance into “weird, heavy music” for you listeners out there. I won’t pretend to know how this band does what it does any longer. Just enjoy.

34- Impossible Weight by Deep Sea Diver

           Frankly, the record is difficult to talk about without making it seem like it sounds like basically all of its contemporaries. In fairness, Deep Sea Diver shares a lot of commonality with the likes of Weyes Blood, Broken Social Scene, Sharon Van Etten (who even features on the title track). That said, everything sounds great on this record. The songs are tight, the melodies hang effortlessly and the vibes are…vibes. There are a ton of interesting choices, from the weird arrangements on Hurricane, reminiscent of Wolf Parade- to the videogame synths on Lightning Bolts. It never gets tired or boring—it just stands as an excellent indie pop/rock record that you can play at your board game night.

33- When I Die, Will I Get Better? by SVALBARD

           Equal parts mathy, metal, prog, emo and god knows what. This album has an intense feel to it that will have you uplifted as you thrash around your apartment. The momentum of these songs truly amazes, as we’re taken for an absolutely blistering ride on almost every track. Nonetheless, the songs find a way to breathe, unlike most of their contemporaries that leave you exhausted by the twenty minute mark. SVALBARD also has an ear for melody that fights typical metal fatigue. I won’t get tired of listening to this one.

32- Silver Tongue by TORRES

           After the bizarre, cryptic disappointment of Three Futures, it didn’t seem clear where TORRES would head. On Silver Tongue she appears to continue a confident journey in her own direction, but with a bit more focus and lot more precision. Where Three Futures was too disorienting to follow and often too indulgent for the listener to feel at all involved, Silver Tongue extends an olive branch—grab hold and you’ll be taken on a strange, glitchy and melodic journey into psychedelic pop rock. While the songs lack warmth, that seems to be the point entirely. There’s a magic in the cold and dreary walls that TORRES builds on the record that impresses with every subsequent listen.

31- The Baby by Samia

           A tremendous indie-rock record with some of the most excitement build-ups and hooks of anything released in 2020. Samia sings about some of the bleak realities of sexual frivolity in one’s twenties, while still somehow gloating about her vinegar and kale diets (all tongue in cheek). There are clear standout tracks (Big Wheel, Fit n Full, Minnesota) – but where Samia shines, and where she separates herself from her cohort of indie rock darlings (see: Soccer Mommy, Snail Mail, Clairo) is how well her slower ballads, such as Does not Heal, land. She is a superior song writer in many respects and has everything ahead of her.

30- Live Forever by Bartees Strange

           A very surreal, genre bending record from newcomer Bartees Strange. Live Forever sounds like totally different music depending on which track you’re on. You have some Death Cab. You have some Bon Iver. You have some Joey Badass? It’s a strange journey through an eclectic, cluttered and heavily talented musical mind.

29- The Ascension by Sufjan Stevens

           While the record as a whole underwhelmed me, Sufjan is still Sufjan. If this record was made by any other artist I’d be telling everyone about it. Many of the sounds felt a bit too familiar, which put me off just a touch. There are still unbelievable moments on this record: the layers on Make Me an Offer/ the dance-pop qualities of Video Game/ the swelling choir section of Tell Me You Love Me/ the build up of tension in The Ascension. There are the more confounding moments: Death Star as a song and not as parody/ Sugar as a slapstick suggestion of romance. Frankly I’m not all that blown away by the lead single, and nearly 13 minute odyssey, America—but I can understand how it operates as a statement of frustration and raw emotion. Nonetheless, Sufjan continues to occupy a space that, while at times mystifying, still leaves you entranced by the mystique of it all. We always leave wanting more, even if we’ve had a bit too much.

28- Set My Heart on Fire Immediately by Perfume Genius

           A gorgeous and lush assembly of songs that feel very personal to PG. The songs are grand, yet surprisingly intimate. One frustration with the songs that I’m still struggling to come to terms with, is that they seem very distant from the listener. We’re not invited into the experiences that the songs discuss—they seem isolated and tethered to the artist. That was likely a conscious decision and suits the subject matter well. Still, for all the warmth and atmosphere—you wish you could go along for the ride. Perfume Genius seems content on operating on their own planet—as we listen through frequency.

27- Future Nostalgia by Dua Lipa

           This was certainly the year of Dua. She seems to have realized her final form and it’s truly a great thing to witness and listen to. Future Nostalgia plays out as an exceptional throwback pop record in a pop era dominated by future/hyper industrial production. These songs are poppy and unashamed to be exactly what they are. With the exception of the clumsy songs that bookend the record (the title track is a lacklustre open & Boys Will Be Boys attempts to tie in a loose, feminist concept to the record)—the album as a whole is jam packed with immense hooks. Let’s hope Dua hasn’t peaked because there is so much to love and groove to on this record.

26- KG by King Gizzard and the Lizard Wizard

           Another instalment of the King Gizzard microtonal series. Unlike Flying Microtonal Banana, KG tends to hit harder and land smoother. There is a ton of groove on this bad boy that gets you comfortably settled, until the boys shake it up with some eclectic, middle east inspired arrangement. The beauty of KG is how you are never allowed to settle into something for too long. You’re almost always moving on to another segment, idea and branch of music that makes you feel...weird. Thanks guys!

25- Quelle by BRIQUEVILLE

           A haunting, drone fuelled romp in the spooky room. Quelle almost puts you to sleep until it urgently shakes you awake with a thunderous riff. It’s clear that every moment of the record is laboured over, every decision painstakingly made. There are moments taken straight out of your favorite horror film, yet the album manages to pull you in closer instead of pushing you away. Bold choices pay off for BRIQUEVILLE on this one, as we enter their world, and almost don’t manage to make it out.

24- Lianne La Havas S/T

           LLH self titles a record that sees her reaching back to a more stripped down, jam-based sound. There are some absolute bleeders on here that see her voice reaching registers she hasn’t covered on previous releases. The live-band recording works in her favor, as the instrumentation is loose enough to create a mood but still manages to quickly snap back to tight and precise progressions. Anchored by a well-executed Radiohead cover (Weird Fishes) the record has a strong b-side to match its grand opening half. The hypnotic qualities of many of the tracks are an especially fun element to the release as the jams tend to work you up wherever you are. La Havas has something very special on her hands with this record, and it’s one I will continue to share for years to come.

23- Omens by Elder

           A softer and, dare I say, poppier release from stoner rock fiends Elder was a welcome addition to music in 2020. There are many long form jams on this record that open themselves up to synths—and while it seems they haven’t totally mastered how to integrate more electronic segments into their riffage, the moods are still tight as hell. Give it a spin with some decent headphones and you won’t be disappointed.

22- Miss Anthropocene by Grimes

           You can try as hard as you’d like to root against Grimes but her music speaks for itself. I looked for ways to tell myself that she had finally waned or has become less inspired—but it’s just not true—she is finely tuned to whatever wavelength is firing on her alien planet. On MA the songs have more space to breathe, often meandering within themselves for over six minutes, until she hits you with a straightforward pop rock track that is so well produced and contains such a great vocal performance, that you simply cannot deny that we have yet another excellent release. It’s freaky, it’s haunting, it’s weird, and at times it’s even pleasurably comic. Grimes is doing it all and she is doing it on exactly her terms. We should expect nothing less.

21- Rough and Rowdy Ways by Bob Dylan

           I won’t pretend to be an expert on Bob Dylan’s catalogue. Nor will I pretend that I know what makes Bob Dylan good or bad. All I know is that Rough and Rowdy ways has great songs that back beautiful poetry. It’s consistently captivating and often, terribly sad. The final track, Murder Most Foul, may be one of the most potent, historical epics ever put to music. All in all, Bob Dylan has something deeply interesting to add to our weird, chaotic, and just plain shitty times.

20- Superstar by Caroline Rose

           The last show I went to was the album release of this record and it absolutely killed. Playing the record front to back, Caroline Rose will always be the pre-pandemic gig that symbolized the lightning before the thunder. Superstar is an excellent concept album about a fictionalized Caroline travelling across country with hopes of become…well… a superstar. Along the way she tosses and turns in a relationship, eviscerates doubt and self-loathing by replacing it with boisterous egotism, and manages to find herself at a finish line exhausted, and yet surprisingly having still learned something. The tracks on this record blend seamlessly into one another as Rose manages to coalesce the synth-rock madness we are used to with tighter song writing and more lyrical purpose. Caroline Rose may have just ended up what she wanted to be along.

19- The New Abnormal by The Strokes

           Everybody talks about a timeless quality that The Strokes early records have and it seems every record they have made since their first two have been made with the purpose of dispelling that very notion. The fact of the matter is, that timeless quality is what has endeared them to fans for two decades. The New Abnormal recaptures their earlier spirit. Sure, there are indulgent nods to the 80s that they seem obsessed with (sometimes to a fault)—with songs like Brooklyn Bridge to Chorus and Eternal Summer. Those songs likely work better in front of a crowd, and tend to actually crowd the record itself. Yet, there is no denying that there are excellent STROKES SONGS on this record that make you feel the way you felt listening to their first two records. The Adults are Talking is an immediate entrance into what made you love them to begin with, and Selfless follows as one of their prettiest ‘ballads’. Not the Same Anymore and Ode to the Mets close the record on an extremely high note, harkening back to the warmth of Room on Fire, with more mature and independent song structures. The true testament to the band’s growth is with their first single At the Door—which is an epic that ebbs and flows through wild croons and jagged synths, asking you to sit down and believe in the song itself. It’s as if The Strokes have been asking us to simply trust them all along.

18- UNLOCKED by Denzel Curry and Kenny Beats

           This is exactly it. Two masters collaborating in what might be their respective primes. It’s so packed, saturated, concentrated, condensed it almost seems like if it were any longer it would make our heads explode. They found the hip hop secret and managed to unlock it for us. While this may qualify as an EP it is an album’s worth of brilliance. It slaps from beginning to end with Kenny Beats saving his best instrumentals that masquerade as demos. Don’t get me wrong—these are brilliant templates for Denzel to cruise along to. Except Denzel does nothing close to cruising, he sets the road on goddamn fire. While Denzel is namedropping Rosa Parks and Don Corleone while recommending his haters go on a diet, he is playful in the same way Joe Pesci was playful in Goodfellas. With every subsequent verse Denzel is requiring that you answer the question: i’m funny how? You are certainly no clown! We swear!

17- NO DREAM by Jeff Rosenstock

           NO DREAM friggin’ rules dude! It took a bunch of listens for me to get the hang of it. I especially felt resistant to the opening track and how the record begins by pummelling you with punk chords—but that’s where Rosenstock is, so you just have to take it. NO DREAM is about giving up on settling for less. Rosenstock yells about hometown washouts, he yells about road trips, he yells about dopes who don’t believe in climate change. But you really feel something once Rosenstock starts to regret some of those lost loves. Maybe he could have behaved. Maybe he reacted too quickly. Maybe he made choices he never thought he’d make. Haven’t we all thought that? NO DREAM is a masterful punk rock record that maintains goofy, crazy, hilarious and fun traits that all good punk records need while providing us with heart that Rosenstock has never shown us before.

16- We Will Always Love You by The Avalanches

           Well, they did it again and snuck in there at the final hour. The Avalanches’ third record is a groovy, cold weather house record, bookended by some sort of intergalactic nonsense. Ultimately, the nothingness means everything, as there is an incredible amount of feeling that rests in the pieced together samples. Features from MGMT, Kurt Vile, Leon Bridges, Denzel Curry and even Rivers Cuomo only add to the madness. While the run-time is a bit long, the songs are quick enough to carry you through swiftly on your back. The Avalanches have once again offered us hypnotic, dream-like listening, perhaps when we needed it most.

15- Punisher by Phoebe Bridgers

           Bridgers has this very special quality about her song writing, where it feels like she’s pulling you close to tell you something and then whispers into your ear a secret that you knew all along. She then pats you on the shoulder, nods her head, and says good luck- all with a smirk.  Bridgers has secrets we don’t have, and that’s what makes her music equal parts haunting and gorgeous. The melodies on Punisher remain in your head for months and while they are deadly serious they also reassure you with a “hey, you know this is just a song, right?”. Songs like Chinese Satellite offer more complex arrangements that are made full (but not heavy!) with string section embellishments. Halloween is the small town folk song about a place you just had to be there to understand. Graceland Too offers a nice release from the shadows that loom all over the record, although it’s never in too much sunlight to become a distraction. The entire album flows effortlessly, and before you know it you’ve reached the breathy scream and laughter at the end of epic closer I Know The End. Life is a game that Phoebe Bridgers is watching us all take bets on. She’ll remind us how it all played out later.

14- Find the Sun by Deradoorian

           These songs are odd, cyclical, hypnotic. The vocals are static and often emotionless. Find the Sun is a masterpiece taken directly from 1972—but thank god it was here to lull us into paralysis in 2020. None of the songs are direct injections, instead they are slow-release capsules that require you to take your time. Opener Red Den has a standard song structure (an anomaly), but still has a haunting, looping chorus that is interpolated with a second chorus that rests three levels lower. Perhaps the most direct track is almost impossible to describe. These songs are riddles or rubix cubes or those goddamn magic eye paintings that you have to look at for three hours to make out a boat (I see you, Mallrats). Deradoorian crafts an album that, despite requiring a certain degree of passive effort (huh?), still goes down smooth. Although clearly inspired by CAN, there is nothing frustrating here that forces you to concede that “maybe art doesn’t need to be understood, man”. This is a gorgeously pieced together album of psych/folk/rock that has earned its place on the mantle.

13- What’s Your Pleasure by Jessie Ware

           A dangerously good pop record that throws you back to the 80s with disco inspired flourishes. Some parts Robyn, some parts Madonna. Jessie Ware has a sound that grows past merely reproducing the music that has inspired her. There are curious and inventive details in songs (like the chorus in Ooh La La or the harmonized layers in the verses of The Kill). The songs take you to groovy heights with their detail, but the record also has some straightforward, power thru dance tracks like Read My Lips that anchor it, never letting you forget that this was meant to be danced to with others. What’s Your Pleasure is a beautifully woven pop masterpiece that never lets you go.

12- Down in the Weeds, Where the World Once Was by Bright Eyes

           Bright eyes is back. This record is an exciting return for the band, one that captures the misery and mysticism that surrounds our age of impending doom. Got to keep on going like it ain’t the end/ got to change like your life is depending on it-- is the first verse we hear from Conor and he never truly lets go of the sentiment. All the tracks are haunted by his past, the bleak world we live in, and the thought of trying to work out a way to make it through the days that feel like years. Down in the Weeds comes out after nine years away from the band, time Conor spent getting married and divorced, and sadly also losing his brother. These happenings find themselves scattered all over the record, as Conor is hesitant to reference them directly, but instead allows them to haunt tracks like ghosts. The instrumentation from Mogis and Walcott is fuller than other Bright Eyes records, the sounds more diverse. If someone asked what Bright Eyes sounds like one could legitimately offer this record as evidence—it is a distillation of many sounds across their entire catalogue. Ultimately what Down in the Weeds does best is remind us that the will to continue through the world is what makes us distinctly human, but also what makes us closer to something greater, something beyond everything. She doesn’t know what a comet does/ you’re approaching as you disappear-- is what we hear on the closing track Comet Song. Bright Eyes brings us closer to a truth we always knew would be just out of reach.

11- Death by Coastlands

           Aptly named, Death is a record about endings. Heart wrenching, devastating, finite and yet oddly satisfying endings. There are very sparing vocals on the record, but the instrumentation offers more feeling than any hardcore record this year. The pacing of songs like Dead Friends, the haunting choir that looms over Marrow, or the breaking of tensions that erupts out of Red Smoke Flare. This record doesn’t need words to evoke feelings of peril, urgency and grief.

10- Songs by Adrianne Lenker

           On not a lot, just forever, Adriane Lenker sings and I want to be your wife/so I hold you to my knife. This line arrives as plea instead of a threat—on an album filled with songs where Lenker reckons with her desperation. She pleas with the past for lost time returned, she pleas with her lovers for mistake forgiven, she pleas with herself for the possibility of change. When added to her catalogue with Big Thief, Songs proves that Adrianne Lenker may be the supreme song writer of our generation. On Anything she describes staring down the barrel of a hot sun as if the imagery were a familiar expression. Lenker tosses poetry at us like she might throw a frisbee. Even if we were positioned well enough to catch it, we could never throw it back, we are lucky to have it all.

09- Host by Cults

           Host didn’t feel like much on my first listen. But it kept burrowing endlessly into my brain. Now I’m waking up in the middle of the night singing the melodies on my way to go pee (No Risk! No Believing! Or Leading...). They nailed all of it. The song writing is crisp. The production is electric and soothing. They lull you to a peaceful calm with lullaby sounding tracks like No Risk. When things are just about to get repetitive they shake you out of your dream state (see: Like I Do). Every track on the record is a standout, but it can only truly be appreciated as one complete, masterful piece of music.

08- how I’m feeling now by Charli XCX

           Sure—it’s a bit of a pandemic time capsule. But holy shit. Charli made this absolute batshit hyperpop record in a month during lockdown. It is truly an unrelenting pinnacle of future pop that will hold up long past this absolute shit show of an era has passed. Charli has this way of making an unsettling listening experience that is also absurdly danceable. There are moments of insane pleasure, unhinged anxiety and bombastic ecstasy. From the promise of once again being together in forever to the claustrophobic realities of quarantine in enemy she covers the entire experience.  These songs really stand alone as brilliant testaments to Charli’s prowess. There is no stopping her as an artist at this point. Oh, and she also did us a tremendous solid by making a danceable record about how we miss dancing together. God bless you Charli, baby.

07- Ohms by Deftones

           This year needed this record. Something loud and clear as hard rock punishment. Deftones have what I believe to be their best record. Their sound has never been more crisp, focused or melodic. There are definitely new areas that Deftones explore on this record. From Spell of Mathematics to the title track—there’s a sharp attitude that plunges into their already excellent formula. The little details and flourishes of synth in songs like Genesis and Pompeji make all the difference (the latter’s transition into This Link Is Dead a clear standout)—allowing the record to breath and the listener to feel overwhelmed with, might I say, the world they have created. The album is full of beautiful moments of focus that keep the tension the band has built and cultivated for over a decade.

06- Fetch the Bolt Cutters by Fiona Apple

           Fetch the Bolt Cutters is a record that maybe wasn’t for me at all. I firmly believe that women understand more of this record than I ever could. There’s so much brilliance in the pots and pans percussion that accompanies most tracks. There’s an energy that studio drums could never bring. And well, the songwriting speaks for itself. It’s an undeniable culmination of all of her influences. Fiona Apple is a songwriter that simply doesn’t exist anymore (some of her cohort has actually, sadly, died).

The most valuable lesson Fiona teaches us is that there is no perfect way to get over anything. But we are meant to wrestle with endings. Maybe we are all meant to move on. Making friends, sneering at enemies. Like beasts in the wild. Life might be one big game of axis and allies. Like Fiona walking on her way to school, we “grind our teeth to a rhythm invisible”. This record proves that we should each bring our mouthguard.

05- Every Bad by Porridge Radio

           Every Bad is the room that your loneliness goes inside of to scream. Porridge Radio has an absolute masterpiece on their hands. Absolutely punishing lines that carve away your own anxiety with excellent songs that switch things around constantly. There isn’t a single stale song on the record and yet they work so cohesively. Every Bad is constantly asking us to self-examine, to dig a little deeper. What is going on with me? Is the first lyric you hear on the record. I’m coming home is the last. The record spans the cycle of existential dread guiding you through difficult choices and it could not have come at a better time.

04- St. Cloud by Waxahatchee

           I think I like Americana music. I probably knew that when I couldn’t resist the sing-along qualities of Killers records like Sam’s Town or Battle Born—but Crutchfield’s 2020 record has solidified for me. The writing here is too good to be true. Equal parts poetry and melody, her voice has this raw quality that really carries home when she plays up the southern twangs and drawls. The album feels obsessed with new beginnings after brutal endings. Hometowns on fire and the power of choosing to move on. The lyrics still feel haunted by the weight of memory (St. Cloud), and the anxiety surrounding what might come next (Ruby Falls), but the fresh approach to song writing has Waxahatchee sounding the best they ever have.

03- RTJ 4 by Run the Jewels

           They did it again. Not much to say here. It never gets old and it never feels stale. The records still feel like their own distinct hip-hop manifestos. The boys seems just as angry as they always did. The album arrived in the midst of a revolutionary cloud that hung over the world. The album is proof that we should expect it to remain overcast. The production on this thing is just as sleek, with El-P switching things up in bold ways on tracks like Goonies vs. ET. Some of the older tricks are used again, we have our comedown track with Pulling the Pin, we have our rock sample track with The Ground Below, we have our standout single with Ooh La La. The predictability of these songs may sound as if the album is formulaic but that’s beside the point. The fist will still knock your ass down, even if you knew it was coming. A truly loving element to the record is the bond that Killer Mike and El-P foster with each other through their alter-ego characters Yankee and The Brave- you can’t help but bask in their romance. The opening track is a blunt reminder that, in case you forgot, these guys are still here for another eleven rounds. The closing track solidifies the truth that they aren’t going anywhere, not anytime soon. And nor should they. We need Run the Jewels more than ever.

02- Captured Spirits by Mammal Hands

           Mammal Hands came out of nowhere and blew my goddamn mind. I have no deep connection with Jazz as a genre, but by god did this record force me to go digging. It’s the type of accessible, energy driven music that makes you cozy and comfortable until it rips your goddamn ears off with sax solos and manic piano arrangements. While the latter half of the record doesn’t manage to match quite the same energy as first half standouts like Late Bloomer or Riddle—the beauty of the record is in its assured sense of pace. We’ll get to the good part, but on their time. Mammal Hands know what they’re doing.

01- Women in Music Pt. III by HAIM

HAIM have found, executed, and perfected their sound all in one album. WIMPIII is a masterwork that shockingly happened all at once. Where previous albums Days Are Gone and Something To Tell You may have excited with the promise of what could come next, this record stuns you with what is happening right before your eyes. The confidence that the sisters share on the album’s cover shines through on all the tracks. They know who they are and they know how they sound. I Know Alone is a perfect example of refined song writing, with subtle production touches (especially in the percussion) that add something extraordinarily dynamic. Up From A Dream and Gasoline are the pure rockers that you knew the band was capable of, but that they never before capitalized on. There are softer, more romantic folk tracks like The Steps and Leaning on You that might make your parents cry. Spanning a wide range of topics (depression, lost loves, home, isolation) the album fit so perfectly with our insane year—but the sound, summery and sheen, will manage to stand the test of time. There was initial frustration with the choice not to include singles Now I’m In It, Hallelujah & Summer Girl within the formal track list (because on any record they are the strongest songs!)—but with further consideration, their inclusion as bonus tracks make perfect sense. HAIM has crafted 13 gorgeous, smart and powerful songs that stand alone, together. Those bonus tracks just act as a mind-blowing encore. Women in Music Pt. III is the most dynamic, focused and well-written record of 2020. We dare not ask for better.

[mo-nighean-rouge]

Gone- IV

Jamie Fraser prepares to send Claire and Faith through the stones. A last-minute interference puts them all at stake.

A/N: Thanks to my bonnie beta @abbydebeaupreposts for telling me what needed to go, and what could be done better. This chapter happens to correspond to @gotham-ruaidh‘s writing prompt, “Five Years.”

Part I | Part II | Part III | AO3

Previously:

Jamie placed an open hand at Claire’s belly. “Name him Brian?” he whispered. “After my Da.”

Claire nodded as he lifted her right hand and kissed her ring, followed by each finger, then placed it on the tallest stone. “Until we meet again.”

They faded away before his eyes, just as Claire had nearly done on another bleak morning, years ago.

They were gone.

November 1, 1953 | Oxford, England

Jamie rolled his shoulders against the stiff, artificial material of his new coat. He marveled once more as he took in his surroundings. Claire’s stories about her time had been full of rich descriptions, but his meager imaginings didn’t match the sights he observed now.

Events from the past few months were a blur, save Fergus conspiring with the local men to break him out of prison at Fort William. Fergus. Though Jamie’s heart ached to leave him behind, he had no choice in the matter. The lad had not heard the call of the stones. Thinking about that beastly place turned his wame almost the same way as thinking about Fergus. Jenny and Ian. The bairns that called him uncle.

He thought instead about his son. He would be nearing his fifth birthday and while he had missed so much already, Jamie could not wait to finally join his family in a period of safety.

Even still, the air felt trapped in his lungs as he turned down one narrow street after another, closing in on the most recent address listed for the Randall family. Seeing those words printed together so matter-of-factly had sent chills through him. Much as he knew it was right, he had little idea of what would occur once he walked back into their lives. James Fraser, forced by circumstance to be nothing more than an absentee father. The last thing he’d ever wished to be in his lifetime. But such injustice would end today.

Jamie’s fingertips stroked the latch of the wee gate as he closed it gently behind him. Had the brass tarnished from Claire’s delicate hand caressing it in the same place each day as she went out into the world to answer the call of those who needed her?

He took a deep breath to steel himself as he climbed the last step and lifted the worn door knocker. He rapped it three times, clearly and confidently, as if to prove that it was no trifling matter that brought him to this place.

The door swung open, but no face was immediately visible on the other side.

Jamie looked down to meet crystal clear blue eyes set in a fine-boned face. Brown curls spilled over her shoulders, much longer than he’d last seen them.

He could scarcely see her through his tears. “A nighean,” he muttered over the knot in his throat.

Faith’s small brow crinkled. “May I help you?” she asked in a polished English accent.

Jamie’s heart fell to his stomach. “It’s m—” Jamie began. “Christ, but I should’ve expected ye might not remember.” He tugged the hat from his head and nervously fiddled with its brim.

“Is your mam home?” he asked softly.

“Faith?” called a deep voice of a cadence strangely familiar to Jamie. A figure stepped into the shadows just behind his lass.

“Faith Randall, you know better than to answer the door to strangers.” The man emerged fully into the light, and Jamie took a defensive step forward as if to put himself between this man and his child.

The man responded with a tight smile and placed a hand on Faith’s shoulder, even as she tensed under his hold. “Pardon me, but I do not believe you have any business here.”

“Frank?” called a soft voice from farther back in the house. Claire suddenly appeared from the recesses of the gloomy interior, and it was as if the sun finally came out on this dreary day. Beside her trailed a wee lad  – smaller than Jamie had expected.

But naught about her was recognizable. The lavender smudges beneath her thin eyelashes made his heart twinge. But what nearly undid him was the empty look in her eyes as they met his.

Claire squinted. “…Jamie?” she asked, as if trying to recall an acquaintance from a different lifetime.

“Aye,” he choked out, leaning forward to see around Frank. “Sassenach—”

“I don’t know what you’re about, but we don’t use that word in this home,” the other man said with an air of haughty reproach and moved to block Jamie’s view.

The bairn tugged on Claire’s hand, trying to get her attention.

She tilted her head toward him disinterestedly.

Jamie’s breath caught as the boy’s cinnamon curls reflected in the light from inside the house. “Will this be Brian?” he asked, hopeful. This was not any thing like the warm, joyful reunion he’d prayed for, but perhaps if he could stay just long enough to meet his son…

Claire cocked her head to the side, an empty smile forming on her lips. “There is no Brian. This our little Jack.”

Colors and sounds swirled around Jamie as he struggled to understand the bizarre scene in front of him. The only thing familiar was Faith, whose eyes hadn’t left him.

“Da?” she asked.

Did she remember him after all?

He stumbled forward to reach her. He’d pry her from Frank’s grasp if he had to, but he needed to touch something that he knew to be real amid this maddening farce. Faith suddenly broke free and ran toward him.

“Da?!” she beseeched.

Jamie woke to the weight of a clammy hand on his cheek. He shakily covered it with his own. Still tiny. Still there. He sat up in the dark and crushed Faith to him, pressing his lips to her forehead. “Taing dhia. What troubles ye, a leannan?”

“A-are ye sad, Da?” her little voice quivered against his chest.

He took a cursory glance to their right and spotted Claire’s tangled cloud of hair on the dusty floor, Fergus tucked under her arm. Just as they had been when he fell asleep earlier that night. “Nay, lass.” Filmy tears ran in his eyes. “No’ so long as ye’re with me.”

Faith snuffled against him.

Jamie stroked her back, realizing he’d likely frightened her with his greeting and thrashing about. “What’s all this, then?”

“ ’M scairt,” she muttered into his shoulder.

“Aye?” he whispered. “Of what?” But he had a terrible feeling that he knew.

“The man,” she whimpered. “He talked nice but he was sae mean, Da.”

Jamie closed his eyes, reminding himself that everything that had transpired in the past day was over. “Ye’ll no’ ever see him again, a chuisle. I swear to ye.”

Faith’s breathing returned to normal as he cradled her against him. She fell asleep with her hand gripping the collar of his shirt.

He wrapped her tighter in Claire’s tartan shawl and laid her next to Fergus, breathing a quick blessing over the both of them. He laid a hand on Claire’s shoulder.

“Mo ghraidh,” he whispered, brushing the back of his hand across her cheek.

Her eyes fluttered open, her face falling as her gaze focused on him. ���Is it time?”

“Nay, but I hoped ye’d have a word with me?”

Claire let him pull her up and place a gentle hand on her hip.

Murtagh startled at his post as he registered them passing through the door. His expression lightened only when he saw that Faith was not with them.

Jamie led his bride away from the hill, noting the way her features relaxed the further they traveled from it. He lifted her knuckle to his lips, then held her hand tightly with both of his.

“Sassenach, I must ask your forgiveness…”

Claire began to tug away, features downcast. “Jamie, just because I don’t like it doesn’t mean I don’t understand it. You don’t have to keep defending yourself—” Her hand went limp in his and she spun around to head back to the bairns.

“Claire!” he caught her by the shoulders, forcing her to meet his eye. “I’m asking ye to stay.”

Her eyes widened. “Y-you’re… You’re sure?” Her hands found his tense shoulders.

“Aye. I… I’m no’ sure I can explain it.” He swallowed deeply, placing one hand on her belly. “But I think we can do it. We’ll hide in the priest hole until we can stow away on one of Jared’s ships. Or, Christ, there’s even a cave in the woods at Lallybroch. I’d sleep in a loch if it means I can keep ye…”

Jamie trailed off as he noticed the ravenous look in his wife’s eyes.

Their time together in the wee hours of the morning before had been gentle, savoring what they believed to be their last touches, and saying an impossible goodbye.

But there was something feral in the way that Claire tugged him down and climbed over him now.

She would have her revenge, and he wasn’t of a mind to stand in her way.

________________________________________

They embraced while laying on their sides, hands clasped. Her J entwined with his C, bound once more.

The sun rose over the fairy hill in the distance, casting an eerie glow around it.

The stones could kiss Claire’s English arse for all she cared, now.

She studied the face of her sweet lad, more relaxed now than it had been only moments before. There were still lines of worry caused by the unclear path that lay ahead, to be sure. But his heart still beat steadily beneath her palm, his hot blood warming her to the core.

Claire’s own pulse flickered rapidly as she recalled the events of the last 24 hours. How she’d hated him, and then grieved his loss all at once.

“I was so worried. For you, for Faith.” She knew her voice warbled, but there was hardly anything she could do about it at this point. Her emotions were likely to take free reign now that her deepest fears were relieved.

“I didn’t know how she would react to him…” She paused. “To Frank. The resemblance isn’t always obvious, Jamie. There are times I can almost forget.”

Claire remembered her hands shaking as she had tried to separate the two in her frantic mind that very morning. Was it Jack or Frank that she was cutting down? Or both?

Ultimately, it hadn’t mattered. Not when it was her baby girl in harm’s way.

“I wasn’t sure whether I could have faced him again,” she whispered into Jamie’s neck. “Knowing everything that I do now about the man he so revered.” She shuddered. “He would have touted that inglorious history to our children…”

Jamie had fallen silent, his throat working as he considered his next words. She palmed his cheek and met his eye. Tell me, she implored.

“Claire, I saw it.” The sharp edge returned to his voice, the only way he could speak of what he’d dreamt. “I dinna ken how or why, but I did. Poor Faith shied away from his touch. And…” Jamie ran the pad of his thumb over the bridge of her nose, then tucked a stray curl behind her ear. “Your bonny eyes held no life. All the joy was sucked out of ye.” He swallowed.

She stroked his chest through the opening of his shirt as she listened.

"I’m no’ sure if it was yer grief or the despair of Frank's house but it was as if ye couldna even see the bairns,” his words rumbled, ragged.

Claire tilted her head. “Bairns? Not just Faith?” she questioned.

Jamie’s face flushed. “I saw a bonnie lad, Sassenach. Red curls and blue eyes, with yer delicate cheekbones.” He pinched the feature in question, as if marveling that she was still there with him.

“Brian,” she whispered, and watched peace fall over his face.

She held tighter to his hand. “We won’t let that happen. We’ll give them so much of our attention they’ll be sick of us.”

Jamie smirked, then leaned in closer to meet her lips. “All dozen o’ them.”

Claire chortled. “Keep dreaming, Fraser.”

“I think…” She paused to consider. “I think that if it hadn’t been for today, maybe it would have been okay.” She shuddered. “Going back there again. Frank would have done his best, and he would have been good at it.”

Claire paused to brush a rogue curl from his eye. “But it’s all different now.” She took a deep breath. “Thank you. For fighting for us. But also for being willing to give it all up.”

Jamie nodded, overcome, then squeezed his eyes closed. “Anything for ye.”

They watched the light rise in the sky, content to enjoy the first of many moments together in their reclaimed life.

“Murtagh will wonder what’s keeping us.”

Claire smirked, running her fingers through his locks. “One look at your hair and he’ll figure it out.”

Jamie’s hands lost themselves in her curls, then brandished the thistles he’d discovered. He gave her one of his classic attempts at a wink, making her heart soar.

*****************************************

They were both admittedly worse for the wear as they made their way back to the doorway of the ramshackle cabin.

Murtagh raised a bushy eyebrow. “Roll down the hill, did ye?”

Jamie gripped Claire’s hand tightly as they approached him as a united front. “Change of plans, a gostidh.”

*****************************************

They’d curled back up with Faith and Fergus for a scant half hour before rising again, just watching their children sleep in peace. Neither quite understood what Jamie had planned to sacrifice for their family, but Claire would make sure to tell them when they were older.

Their party was headed onward to seek refuge with Jamie’s uncle at the abbey. After much deliberation, they deemed it the safest place to bide for the remainder of her pregnancy, or at least until they plotted their next steps.

Jamie was of a mind to sleep during the day and travel under the cover of darkness. Claire glanced toward Fergus in time to watch the boy shake off encroaching slumber. They’d stopped only out of necessity, most often for her to relieve the growing pressure on her bladder or belly.

Murtagh’s horse crept several paces ahead, the Scot scouting the safest path. Lost in her own thoughts, Claire watched his profile disappear into the valley below.

Eager for a bit of lie-in herself, Claire was relieved to see the glow of dawn on the horizon. Jamie would be sure to know of a shady place for them to lay their heads.

She guided Brimstone over the steep decline of the hill, only to nearly slam into Jamie’s abandoned horse.

He stood stricken in horror, staring ahead.

Murtagh was being pulled down from Donas by two Redcoats. As they set his feet on the ground, he met Claire’s eye, his own full of guilt and shame.

She slid down from her own horse and sidled up to Jamie’s back as he tried to make himself impossibly bigger to hide her, lowering Faith to her arms.

Over his shoulder, she studied the English officers in the dim light. There was something oddly familiar about one of them.

To be continued.

[peaceisadirtyword]

Don’t play with fire III (Modern! Ivar/Reader)

A/N: Hello! My inspiration (not my ability to write) is back, and I wrote this in a few hours. I’ll probably fail my next exam, so I hope this is worth it. I was very inspired by Alex in Reliks’ new music video, because he gave me such Modern! dark Ivar... 

It’s probably shit, I'm sorry. But I hope you enjoy it♥️ You can find parts 1 and 2 in my masterlist😘

Warnings: Mentions of alcohol, Ivar is a warning, flirting, my bad writing.

Words: 3515

After almost a year taking gifs from other authors bc I’m useless I can say today that this gif is mine (I made it yay). It’s probably horrible. Sorry it’s the first gif I’ve made in my life💖

Fridays were the worst. 

Luckily, your boss gave you the afternoon shift, and not the night one. As it was a cafeteria, it closed soon, but on the weekends you wouldn't go home until 2 am, which you honestly hated. 

You had had some pretty hectic weeks, with essays, projects and exams combined with the fact that Erik had ended in the hospital for a ethyl coma and had been in there for a few days. You moved to his house for a few days to look after him and hadn't had a proper night of rest for weeks. 

Your back hurt, you didn't feel your feet and your head felt like it was going to explode. You counted the minutes and the seconds until your boss said you were free to leave. You almost cried in relief.

Your plan for the night was relaxing in your couch while watching some romantic comedy on Netflix, order a pizza and eat chocolate until you feel sick. After collecting your backpack and saying goodbye to your coworkers, you went out of the cafeteria, walking down the street. 

You asked Erik to go and pick you up, but he said he was busy. You knew busy meant 'I'm going to drink and smoke until I pass out, so take the bus'.

There was a small store near your home, that sell one of the most delicious chocolate bars you had ever tried, and though you had started your diet the day before, you had had such a long day you couldn't care less about how the new dress you bought was too tight in some parts. 

The owner, a middle-aged woman that was reading while sitting at the other side of the counter, smiled and greeted you happily. You smiled back and looked around the store, looking for your chocolate. 

You were alone in the store, except for the woman and another guy walking around. He wore a dark hoodie under a (less discreet) orange jacket... And somehow you felt like you knew him, though you hadn't seen his face yet. 

While trying to decide if you should take two or three chocolate bars, the guy walked just before you. And you raised your head to look at him. 

You gasped when you saw those brilliant blue eyes and the dark hair under the hood that covered his head. You hadn't noticed it, but he had his crutch on his left arm.

He winked at you and then smirked, and you widened your mouth, still in shock. 

"What are you doing here?" You asked, trying not to raise your voice to avoid startling the woman "Are you following me?" 

Ivar chuckled, shaking his head.

"Do I look like I need to follow you?" 

"What do you mean?" You frowned. 

"I'm just buying some things, Y/N, don't panic" he shrugged. 

He looked... Different. Of course his playful eyes seemed to be playing with you, as he always did. But he didn't look so... Menacing. Or angry. 

"Do you have to buy them next to my house?" You pressed your lips together. 

After him breaking in your apartment, you had only seen him twice, and both times had been in the club, to tell him the few things you had heard about Aethelwulf, who was now very sick in the hospital. He hadn't threatened you with the gun but you were still wary around him, even if you were in public. 

"I was going to your apartment now" he raised his eyebrow "To see if you..."

"I don't have anything" you cleared your throat and smiled to the woman, who had raised her head in your direction "I mean, I haven't heard anything new" you lowered your voice, standing closer to him when the woman looked away again. 

"I know" Ivar rolled his eyes "I just wanted to... Reward you"

"What?"

"Do I have to explain everything to you, Y/N?" He sighed. He was losing his patience and clenching his jaw. You had to admit that you enjoyed when he got angry.

What the fuck, Y/N. 

"You want to... Reward me?" 

"Yes, I want to thank you for telling me, for fucks sake I thought you were smarter, considering the fact you're studying a fucking degree" he scoffed. 

"Well, you're welcome, now I'm going to pay for this and..."

Ivar raised his eyebrow and took the chocolate from your hands, walking to the counter and ignoring your protests. 

The inside of Ivar's car wasn't as luxurious as you imagined. It was a normal car, with a bit more of space to accommodate his legs. 

You didn't know what the fuck you were doing in there. You only entered that store to buy a few sweets and go home, but somehow Ivar managed to change your mind. 

Well it wasn't exactly that he had changed your mind. He hadn't really given you a choice, but a part of you was willing to go with him. 

"What are you wearing?" you asked, raising an eyebrow as you looked at him. He sighed and looked at you. 

"I could ask you the same" 

You furrowed your brows while looking down. You were wearing a grey hoodie, a pair of jeans and your favorite sneakers. Okay, you probably didn't look like a supermodel, but in your defense you hadn't planned to go out that night. 

"Where are you taking me?" 

Ivar breathed deeply, and rubbed his eyes. You could swear the driver chuckled a bit. 

"I'm taking you outside the city, to kill you and then burn your body"

You gasped and a part of you believed it, quickly pressing your back against the door next to you, ready to jump out of the car if it was necessary, but then you saw Ivar biting his lip to hold back a laugh and you scoffed. 

"It's not funny"

"If I wanted you dead, you'd be dead already" he winked at you "And why would I kill you when you have been the one who told me what I need to know about Aethelwulf?"

"I don't know" you shrugged "A month ago you wanted to kill me"

"A month ago I though you were someone who tried to trick me and worked with my enemies, Y/N... I still don't trust you but... I think you're smart enough to understand what happens to the people who try to trick me" his dark stare was enough to make you shudder. In an instant, his voice lost his teasing note and now was full of threat. 

But you ignored the fast pounding of your heart and looked directly into his eyes.

"And what would I gain by tricking you?" Your voice was much more still than you had thought, and the way he narrowed his eyes made you feel proud of yourself. 

"I don't know, you tell me" he muttered, licking his lips. 

You were momentarily distracted by his wet tongue running over his plump lips, and you pressed your thighs together involuntarily. 

"Nothing" you recomposed yourself and looked away, scared. 

Not scared of him, not at all. He had already said that if he wanted you dead he would have killed you already, and you believed him. Scared because of the way he had made you feel only by wetting his lips with his tongue. 

You tried to recall the last time you felt something like that, but you couldn't. 

The car stopped in the middle of a street you didn't recognize. There was a bar opened with some people next to the door. The kind of people you would not like to encounter in the middle of the night while walking all alone. 

"Where are we?" 

Ivar didn't answer, he only opened the door and got out of the car, leaning into his crutch. 

The driver got out and opened your door, motioning for you to get out. 

"You can leave your things in the car" Ivar started walking to the bar "It's safer".

Hiding a bit your backpack under the front sea, you followed him, feeling everyone's eyes on you. 

The inside of the bar wasn't any better. 

It smelled of beer and sweat. It wasn't full, just a few people drinking and screaming at each other in danish. The loud laughter and the smell made you frown. You weren't a big fan of nightclubs, but you definitely preferred the club to this. 

"Is this where you bring people to kill them with the smell and then bury them in the backyard?" You wrinkled your nose and Ivar chuckled a bit.

"It's a good plan, I might use it someday... Follow me" 

He stopped in front of a wooden door, and opened it immediately. 

Inside, the smell wasn't that bad. It smelled of beer and tobacco, but it was much better than outside. 

There was a big table in the middle of the room, full of people. You immediately recognized Hvitserk's blonde hair collected on a man bun, and Ubbe's clear blue eyes fixed on you. 

Almost all of them were men, except for four women. They seemed to be playing poker, and Hvitserk looked annoyed at something. 

"Ivar" Ubbe greeted his little brother, smiling confused while his eyes fixed on you. Did he remember you?

"Ubbe" Ivar looked at his brother with a small smirk "Everything's taken care of" 

You frowned and looked at him, confused. 

"Y/N!" Hvitserk stood up. It was obvious that he was drunk, but you still startled when he went to you and hugged you. 

"Hi..." You got away from him quickly. Hvitserk laughed and turned around to see everyone.

"She doesn't really like me, I don't know why"

"Well you did threaten her the first day you met" Ubbe rolled his eyes "Is everything okay, Y/N? What are you doing here?" 

You gulped, trying not to panic when you realized they remembered you very well. 

"I'm fine... And I don't really know why I'm here, ask him" you looked at Ivar "He kidnapped me when I was on my way home"

Ivar rolled his eyes as Ubbe looked at him with an eyebrow raised.

"I didn't kidnap you" he walked to a couch, on the other side of the room "I just thought it would be nice to invite her to a drink as she has been the one who helped the most lately" 

Ubbe was awkward, tense and still smiled at you. 

"So you're Y/N" a man sitting next to Hvitserk looked at you with curiosity "I've heard about you, but I was waiting for someone more... Dangerous" the corners of his mouth curved in a wicked smile. He had long brown hair and intense blue eyes, and though he intimidated you as much as Ivar did, his stare wasn't as dark or threatening. 

"Don't underestimate her, Harald" Hvitserk drank half of his glass of beer at once "She manages to get more information about Aethelwulf in one hour than most of us together in a week" 

You bit your lip nervously as everyone's eyes focused on you again. Ivar watched you too, and you could swear he was smiling... Proudly?

"My name is Harald Finehair" the man stood up "And this is my brother, Halfdan The Black"

You had heard about them. Erik mentioned their names more than once. Halfdan looked like his brother, though he had a darker look, with his blonde hair and brown eyes. He didn't smile at you, but examined your face with curiosity. 

"And she" Harald's eyes looked to one of the women in the room, the only one with dark hair "Is Astrid, my beautiful wife"

Her piercing blue eyes bore into yours, making you look away. She smiled softly. 

"It's nice to meet you, Y/N, I have to thank you, because you probably saved all of our lives when telling us about Aethelwulf's movements..."

"Oh, I..." You looked at Ivar, your eyes widened and screaming for help "You're welcome?" You bit your lip, and everyone in the room chuckled. 

You were panicking. Truly panicking on the inside. 

Yes, Erik told you to gain Ivar's trust, but he said nothing about meeting the whole... Gang? Mafia? Family? Whatever the fuck these people were. You were in a dangerous place and you knew that you could fuck everything up if you said the wrong thing, so in spite of your desire of running away from that place, you sat down on the couch next to Ivar while the rest of the people went back to the game.

Ivar had already a beer in his hand, and he offered you another one he took from a small table full of alcohol and things you preferred not to even recognize. 

The alcohol helped you to relax. Within an hour, you met Torvi, Ubbe's girlfriend, Margrethe, Ubbe and Hvitserk's ex-girlfriend, Floki, Ivar's "uncle", and Helga, Floki's wife. 

You had to admit that they were much more polite and nice than you would have thought. And although you were still tense around them, after a few beers you even tried to play poker. You had never in your life played poker, so you were more than lost in the game. Ivar had an amazing time watching you, though. 

The one who didn't look too happy having you in there was Floki. 

While Helga had been a sweetheart to you, and smiled a thousand times since you arrived, Floki looked suspicious. 

He watched you closely, not smiling even once, he even frowned when Helga went to say hello to you. 

Ivar noticed it too. Floki was usually the loudest of the group always giggling and happy... To be silent and serious wasn't Floki's style. He noticed how his eyes never left you, even when you were tipsy and trying to understand the rules of the game. 

He made a mental note to ask him about it later... Now he had other problems. 

You hadn't had dinner, and hadn't drank any alcohol (not that much at least) in months, which made you giggle at everything and almost fall on Ivar's lap when you tried to go back to your place next to him on the couch only after your fifth beer. 

"I'm a bit disappointed on you" Ivar raised his eyebrow "I though such a brave and independent girl would resist more than five beers"

"I'm fine" you frowned, though your slow movements and your sleepy eyes said something else "Why did you bring me here?" 

You leaned into him so he could hear you over the loud yelling on the room. 

Ivar smiled softly. It was you or the blue of his eyes was even more intense now? 

"I told you, to thank you for all the information you've given to me" his lips parted, and you couldn't take your eyes off of them. 

"That is not the real reason" you shook your head "You don't trust me, why bring me here?"

"Maybe to see if I can trust you or not" 

His hand was on your thigh, and instantly you regretted drinking a single drop of alcohol. 

His hand put your hair away, leaving your neck completely exposed. 

"I don't trust anyone, Y/N, it's nothing personal" he muttered, his lips now touching your ear. 

You sighed, your breath shaking as you felt his breathing on the soft skin of your neck. A part of you wanted to push him away and go out. But you honestly couldn't, not when his delicious lips touched your neck. 

Ivar hummed, his hand pressing on your thigh as his lips worked on your neck. You moaned softly and closed your eyes, for his ears only, which made him smirk and then bit down on your soft spot. You grabbed his bicep and hissed in pain. 

"And it's a bit difficult to trust you if you don't tell me your sources" he moved to your jaw, smirking.

"And I won't tell you" you managed to answer, eyes still closed. 

Ivar chuckled. 

"Did you fuck Alfred?" 

"I didn't fuck anyone" you opened your eyes and looked at him fiercely.

"Since when?" His hand on your thigh moved, and you squirmed in your seat. 

"I'm not going to tell you that" you raised your eyebrow. 

"Then I'll have to find out by myself"

His lips touched yours, and you moaned almost instantly. They were even softer than you could have ever imagined, and warmer. It was like coming home after a long time away, like putting on your freshly washed pajamas, or even like the sun hitting your face for the first time in days. 

You blushed in embarrassment, and tried to ignore your stupid thoughts as he deepened the kiss. 

His tongue caressed yours, and you moaned again. You didn't know if it was because of the alcohol, or because his addictive taste, but you couldn't stop kissing him. Even when your lungs started screaming for air. 

Ivar was the one who broke the kiss, smirking when you whined in protest. 

No one else in the room had paid any attention to you and your... Moment, but you blushed anyway, especially when Ivar licked those delicious lips of his and his eyes fixed in yours. 

You had never ever felt something like that when kissing anyone. And you had kissed plenty of boys (and some girls too) during high school.  And you had been in love, or that was what you thought. 

Not even with Erik.

Erik...

You felt like throwing up. Your Erik, the Erik you were risking your life for.

Oh my god, I need to get out of here. 

You cleared your throat, recomposing yourself. Ivar was now looking at his phone, completely calm. You admired his composure, as you felt like screaming and crying in that moment. 

"We're not strangers anymore, Y/N" his soft voice made you shiver again "So... Why not tell me now how did you manage to find out all of that?"

Even if you were panicking and crying on the inside, you managed to hold his stare and answer him. 

"If you think that some beer and a kiss will be enough for me to tell you all my secrets, Lothbrok, you're wrong" you stood up from the couch "I need to leave, I have things to do tomorrow"

"You said you didn't trust her" Ubbe was worried, as always. Ivar rolled his eyes "Why bring someone you don't trust here, huh? This is one of the few places no one knows, and if she says something now..."

"She won't" Ivar sighed "I don't trust her, not completely at least" he tried to ignore the way Floki raised his eyebrow "But I really want to know who is giving her information"

"Why is that so important?" Hvitserk was too tired of the conversation "She tells you about Aethelwulf, we attack him, we win"

"But she gains nothing with it" Ivar clenched his jaw, annoyed.

"She told you she did it because of her boyfriend didn't she? The one Aethelwulf killed"

"I don't believe that" Ivar bit his lip. There was something in you, something about you that was... Strange "She might want revenge, but maybe not for herself"

"Look, Ivar, I think you like her, and that's why you're so obsessed"

Ivar glared at Hvitserk, fighting against the blush that threatened to cover his cheeks. Floki scoffed and throw his glass to the floor. 

"You're exactly like your father" Floki seemed very annoyed at him "Both of you are smart, observant and strong, but you have the same weakness; women" Ivar clenched his fist "You see a beautiful woman and all that intelligence goes to Hel... Be very careful, Ivar, you can fuck whoever you want, but be careful with that girl, she doesn't have good intentions"

"Oh, go to Hel, all of you" he growled. Luckily, Harald, Halfdan and Astrid had left before Ubbe confronted him about you "Ubbe, you said she was an innocent girl and panicked when I threatened to kill her, and now you're saying..."

"You can not trust someone and still don't kill them" Ubbe used that big brother tone Ivar hated "I don't think she's a bad person, she's just a young woman with a shitty job and pretty big bills... She might not want to hurt you, but can be working with someone who wants"

"That's why I want to know who are her sources" 

"Well, the kiss and the caress on her thigh didn't work so... Maybe next time you'll have to fuck her, little brother" Hvitserk smirked, patting his shoulder softly. 

You were already in bed, tired but incapable of sleeping, with Smaug curled up next to you, on your pillow. 

You couldn't stop thinking about Ivar and the kiss. And just when you were going to put down your phone and force yourself to sleep, the text arrived. 

If you think that I kissed you like that only so you would tell me your sources, you're wrong. 

And you knew. You were (and had) fucked up.

Tags: @mblaqgi @alicedopey @lol-haha-joke @hallowed-heathen @ivarslittlebadgirl @naaladareia @tephi101 @captstefanbrandt @love-hate-love @titty-teetee @readsalot73 @moondustmemories @thevikingsheaux @therealcalicali @chimera4plums @blushingskywalker @awkwardfangirl02 @gruffle1 @poisonous00 @thoughtsmeander2tumblingblindly @misskalonthelady @paintballkid711 @nataliehasgrace @atlas-of-the-world @justrepostandlove @persephones-deadgirlwalking @justacripple @love-dria @heartbeats-wildly @sw-eat-ing @letsrunawaytotomorrow @inforapound @sallylebecks @hellogabysblog @trashcanx @winchesterwife27

[nothingeverlost]

Fic: Duty (Little Miss Verse)

Takes place not long after this.

Apparently it’s been almost 5 years since I wrote this verse.  I don’t know how that’s possible.  

A reminder: Maurice French is nouveau riche, making his fortune in the 19teens and buying the biggest mansion possible and hiring  the best butler.  Gold only agrees to stay because of the little girl he finds crying on the stairs.  The most important person in Belle’s world is her ‘Rum.’  She goes away to finishing school and when she comes back Gold is horrified to find that his feelings for her are not at all what they should be.

III

He searched for her for more than an hour.  Miss Havfrue had mentioned, as she was leaving for the dinner party, that Miss Belle didn’t feel well and would be staying home for the evening.  Gold had taken a cup of tea up to her room as an excuse to check on her.  The room was empty.  The library was as well.  Maurice French had gone out and his study was dark.  She rarely sat in the formal parlor but he’d checked there as well.  He’d even checked down below, but the staff’s relaxed mood told him that the lady of the house was most certainly not present.

It was already dark out, and he worried that she was somewhere on the grounds.  Knowing her she wasn’t dressed warmly enough for the change in temperature after the sun set.  Gold retrieved one of her warmer cloaks before heading outside.  He ignored the tennis courts, and though he’d found her hiding in the car at least once he didn’t think that was likely.  Instinct had him heading towards the rose garden.  When he found a trail of lettuce leaves and apple slices he knew he was on the right path.

“Miss Belle?”  They were far enough from the house that the only light came from a half moon and a clear night sky.  His eyes were taking their time adjusting and he couldn’t see her.  He couldn’t see much of anything, and was relying on memory and his cane to make sure he didn’t make a fool of himself.

“I think Aesop’s gone into hibernation already.”  He still couldn’t make her out, but her voice gave him a direction to walk.  There was a bench in the same general direction he’d heard her speaking from.

“I don’t believe the gardner has seen him for a few days.”  The turtle she had adopted at eleven hadn’t lasted long in the house.  Maurice didn’t approve.  But he had thrived in the garden and had never strayed very far.  In the summer he was often near the pond.  In the fall he found some private den and hid away until the garden warmed again.  “Miss Havfrue said you weren’t feeling well.”

“I didn’t want to go tonight.  I’m fine, Rum.  Really.”  As he drew closer he could see her outline.  A few feet away and he could make her out well enough to tell that the dress she wore was the one she’d changed into after tennis, and not nearly warm enough.  

“You won’t be fine for long dressed like that.”  He stumbled once over a stray stone, but thought he was able to right himself well enough that she wouldn’t notice.  Without asking he draped the cloak he carried over her shoulders.  It was becoming a concerning tendency of hers, the number of times she was cold or, worse, wet and cold.   “That school you were at seems to have missed a few lessons about health and well being.”

“I didn’t mean to stay out so long.”  She pulled the cloak tighter around herself.  Rum was relieved, but also concerned about just how cold she was.

“I hope this isn’t on account of a turtle.”  The moonlight made the earrings she wore sparkle; clearly her decision not to go to the party hadn’t been made when she’d dressed.

“You could sit down, Rum.  No one would know.”  She looked up at him, and he could see her face more clearly.  She was too pale.  “Your leg…”

“Is fine.”  He was fine.  She was fine.  It wasn’t like his leg was aching and she was looking more drawn each day.

“My father called me into his study this afternoon.  Mr Aston has asked his permission to ask for my hand.”  She spoke so softly he had a hard time making out her words.  He wished he hadn’t heard them at all.

“Oh.”  He didn’t think about sitting, he simply did.  It seemed to be a better option than not being able to stand.

“I don’t love him.”  For just a moment he felt relief.  “But it’s what my father wants.  It’s a good match.”

“Is it?”  He was a wealthy man with a large house, a hunting lodge in the country, a sailing boat and a stable of horses.  He was also, it was rumored, supporting not one but three mistresses.  “Is it what you want?”

“My father wants me married.  If not Gus then it will be someone else.  It’s exhausting, Rum, the balls and parties and picnics and everything.  At least if I married I could settle down. I think I’d like to be a mother.  At least there would be that.”  

If she had taken a dagger to his heart it could not have been any more painful than the image she had conjured up.  Belle, stuck in a loveless marriage to a man who left her bed to go to other women, her belly swollen with child.  Would she even be allowed to raise her children, or would there be nannies and boarding schools to keep even that comfort from her?

“You deserve more.”  She deserved everything.  To hear her so resigned to the idea of marrying a man she didn’t love made him want to smash things, but the thing closest to him was her.  In his distress he forgot his training and his reserve.  “Marriage without love is purgatory, Belle.”

“What if I don’t have a choice?  My father isn’t going to wait forever.”  The distance between them was gone, though he didn’t feel her moving until her head rested on his shoulder.  It took every bit of resolve he had not to draw her closer.  “Someday I will marry.”

“Not yet.”  He spoke to gods he hadn’t believed in since he was a child.  To a universe that held as much cruelty as kindness.  Maybe more.  “It’s not quite a year since you came home.  There’s time.”

“What if I do fall in love, Rum, but they don’t want me?” 

He was glad of the darkness.  “Then they’re a fool.”