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loveriotss · 16 days

Note

hellooo! I love your writing sm so I had to request something!! I’ve been seeing these videos of long-distance relationships where one partner surprises their bf/gf by showing up outta no where, and it’s all cute and sappy :(( ANYWAY I was thinking of a exchange student reader (male or gender neutral), who left 1-A after their first year to go back to their home country surprising katsuki on his bday ?!?! TYSM if u end up doing this!!

BIRTHDAY BOY ⸻ katsuki bakugo

SYNOPSIS — katsuki bakugo’s birthday is approaching, and he’s feeling the sting of missing his long-distance partner. what he doesn’t know is that his partnerhas secretly flown in from their home country to surprise him. INCLUDES — gn! reader, around 2.1k words, fluff, crack, bit of angst if you squint (its just bakugo being sad for a minute), smau + written parts WARNINGS — swearing

main masterlist — mha masterlist ༊*·˚

19th april, your house -> airport

you huffed, using all your strength to pull your luggage on top of the weighing scale. you squat down, checking the weight and with a relieved smile you pull it back off.

good! all your luggage was packed and you only had to shuffle around a few clothes to make sure they didn't weigh too much! you roll your suitcases and bag packs to the side and head into your room to get ready for the airport and your hour(s) long flight to japan.

it had been almost two years since you had left ua. it was a hard decision, leaving your friends, classmates and especially your boyfriend, katsuki bakugo. even though you two are countries apart, you both maintained your relationship.

endless calls, text messages, voice chats and sometimes even gifts in the mail. of course you still missed him like crazy, wanting nothing more to just sink into his arms after you've had a long and hard day.

and so when you realized that your schedule was completely free for the week, you decided to pay a visit to japan! excellent timing as it was also the week where your boyfriend would be celebrating his birthday.

you had decided to keep your plans a secret, only informing some of your close friends so that they could help you sneak into the dorms. (don't worry, you all asked permission from aizawa too)

you pulled on your shoes, making sure the laces weren't too tight before standing up. you double checked your bag for your passports and other important documentation before heading towards the car.

you grin down at your phone, heart beating in excitement as you heard the airport announcements call out your flight number. you decided to wait a few minutes before boarding. it was almost 12 am in japan and you couldn't miss wishing katsuki as soon as it's his birthday! you wait patiently, staring at your clock app as it shows japan's time. as soon as it strikes 12, you quickly switch to your message app and text katsuki a happy birthday.

now satisfied, you head to your airport gate, ready to go to surprise him.

20th april, ua dorms

katsuki bakugo stared at his phone, the bright screen illuminating his face in the darkened room. the text from you still blinked cheerfully against the backdrop of his solitary birthday.

he ran a hand through his spiky hair, his heart aching. despite the fire in his chest, the emptiness beside him felt colder than he expected. his gaze shifted to the small pile of unopened presents on the table, their colorful wrappings contrasting sharply with his mood. some of them were early presents snuck in by his friends while one of them was yours which had arrived quite early.

he was tempted to open it as soon as he saw it in the mail yesterday but you and his friends had strictly warned him not to open it until you said so. it was weird but he listened just because you told him to.

bakugo set the phone down and stared out the window, where the stars blinked softly. how childish of him. feeling sad on his birthday while you were so excited for him and have been planning on sending him so many gifts? what a jerk he was. he knew that you were too busy and couldn't make it this year. he tried to understand that he really did, but that didn't stop his heart from banging painfully against his chest.

20th april, airport

you gape at your phone screen, hurriedly whipping your head back as you scan your surroundings for the familiar pink and redhead.

and there they were, ejirou kirishima, grinning wildly as he waved his arms around to get your attention while mina ashido ran towards you in full speed.

she tackles you in a hug, giggling and squealing as you both jumped up and down, happy to be reunited. "Y/N! OH MY GOODNESS I FEEL LIKE I'M DREAMING!" she exclaimed, a bit too close to your ear. you laugh before replying, "MINAA! IT'S GREAT TO SEE YOU TOO! JUST MAYBE DON'T SCREAM DIRECTLY INTO MY EARS?" "oops!" mina replies, pulling away and giving you a smile. "how was your flight? did you eat alright? are you hungry right now? i have some food with me-" she rambles, going to reach into her purse before you stop her. "i'm fine mina, i had some food and slept for a bit. just a bit worried at how many messages i got from katsuki while i was flying . . " you say, laughing nervously as you side eye your phone.

"DON'T REPLY!" mina says hurriedly, taking you a bit by surprise. "he should not suspect a thing! you told him that you were 'hiking' with your family right?" she says, reminding you of your alias. you nod, shoving your phone deep into your bag to be forgotten. "yeah i did! gave him some random mountain and told him i wouldn't have any service for a while!" you reply as you notice kirishima who has finally caught up to the two of you.

he rests his palms on his knees, taking a minute to catch his breath before patting you on the shoulder. "good to have you back y/n!" he exclaims, flashing you a toothy grin. you slap your hand on his shoulder, giving him a happy nod as you reply, "i'm happy to be back eji!"

the two help you load in your luggage into the back of the car, taking a seat inside as you're surprised by the face of your former teacher.

"l/n. i see ashido and kirishima weren't lying." he says, offering you a curt nod. you give him a small bow. "good to see you too sir. i assure you mina and ejirou weren't planning on smuggling someone else into ua from the airport!"

the drive back to ua took about half an hour. you and your friends caught up with each other during the ride there and even went over the surprise plan.

"we're here" said aizawa gruffly, interrupting your conversation. you look out the window, the familiar building of ua coming into sight as your heart races with excitement and nervousness. mina gives you a comforting pat on the shoulder and ejirou gives you a nod, time for the first phase of the plan.

20th april, class 1-a common room

katsuki stared at his screen, watching his messages still being on delivered. was a stupid mountain really that important? what did it have that he didn't? wait . . is he getting jealous of a fucking mountain? katsuki scoffed at himself, tossing his phone away for the nth time this day as he burst out of his room and into the common room.

everyone was busy preparing for his birthday party. even though he said he'd blow everyone up if they pulled some shit like this, they eventually got their way and are now decorating the walls with streamers and balloons while the sweet aroma of cakes and cupcakes wafted from the kitchen. extra number 10 (sato) was in charge of the desserts.

“ready, jirou?” denki kaminari whispered, barely containing his grin as he clutched a bright yellow party hat in his hands as his eyes follow katsuki.

kyoka jirou, lounging on the couch, smirked and gave a nod. “go for it.”

and with that, denki lunged towards katsuki, attempting to crown him with the party hat.

“hey, what the hell—!” katsuki roared, swatting at the hat as denki's grin widened. a flurry of punches and shoves ensued, the room filled with the sounds of katsuki’s indignant shouts and denki’s playful laughter.

kyoka watched with growing amusement, her headphones hanging loose around her neck. her phone buzzed, and she glanced at the screen. her smirk widened into a full-on grin. “well, well, looks like we have a job to do.”

“got something to share?” katsuki snapped between swipes at denki.

“just a little something, don't worry about it,” kyoka said, getting up and slipping her phone back into her pocket. she nodded to denki, who promptly gave one last playful shove to katsuki before darting behind.

kyoka followed, her laughter echoing behind her as she threw a casual, “happy birthday, bakugo!” over her shoulder. they slipped out the door, leaving katsuki still fuming and a little bewildered. what a bunch of weirdos.

20th april, hanta sero's room

hanta sero’s room was a hive of excited activity with the entire 'bakusquad' clustered around a large, ornately decorated gift box that took up most of the floor space. inside, you were hidden, barely visible through the narrow slit of the box’s lid.

“okay, so here’s the plan,” hanta said, adjusting the box’s lid to make sure it was secure. “we’ll get bakugo to step out of the common room for a bit, and then eiji and mina will sneak the box in.”

kyoka nodded, her fingers drumming on the side of the box. “got it. y/n you made sure to keep the letter inside that gift you sent to bakugo yesterday right?" she said, lifting the lid up to look at you inside the box. you nod as you reply, "yeah yeah i did. hanta remember to give it to him before the cake cutting!" "i know i know, i snuck into his room earlier and got it out." he says, tossing the little box from one hand to the other.

denki’s eyes sparkled with mischief. “perfect! i’ll handle the distraction. just need to keep him away from the common room for a bit. should be easy enough.”

with everything prepared and their roles clear, the group exchanged final smiles and thumbs-ups. time for the second phase of the plan.

20th april, class 1-a common room

the plan was flowing wonderfully. denki had succesfully led bakugo into the kitchen and made sure his back faced away from the common room as ejirou and mina hurried you into the empty space. kyoka kept a lookout, pressing her finger to her lips as all the other students stared in a confused and curious manner.

with a quick thumbs up from mina, kyoka cleared her throat and denki immediately backed away, dragging a confused katsuki away from the stove that was supposed to be 'broken'.

"hey bakugo!" called out hanta as he jogged towards him, handing him the small gift box. "WHAT THE FUCK YOU DUMBASS DID YOU TAKE THIS FROM MY ROOM-" "shh just open it man, yell at me later." katsuki glared at him but decided to leave the death threats for later as he ripped open the little box that he had been waiting to unravel since yesterday.

inside was a piece of paper. what is this supposed to be? he pulls it out, tossing the box aside as he opens the letter.

open the big box! if you don't like it, i fear there is nothing you can do to return it because i didn't add a receipt! :P

katsuki smiled softly, staring at your familiar handwriting and the little doodle on the side. he glanced around and finally spotted the huge ass box that had not been there before.

katsuki walked up to it, eyeing everyone carefully incase there was a firecracker or something in there.

“what the hell’s in this thing?” he grumbled, his fingers deftly peeling away the wrapping paper.

his friends exchanged knowing glances, barely able to contain their anticipation. denki nudged kyoka. “this is going to be epic!” he whisper yelled into her ear.

katsuki tore off the final layer of wrapping and lifted the box’s lid, his eyes narrowing at the sight of something—or someone—inside. the lid creaked as it swung open, and out popped a familiar face, grinning up at him with eyes full of warmth.

“surprise!” you exclaimed, your voice a blend of joy and excitement.

for a moment, katsuki stood frozen, his usual scowl replaced by a look of utter shock. then, as if snapping out of a trance, his face softened into the widest, most genuine smile anyone had ever seen.

“y-you—” he stammered, his voice cracking with uncharacteristic emotion. “what the hell are you doing here?”

you slid out of the box and took a step closer, your smile matching his in intensity. “for your birthday silly! shocking news, i hadn't actually gone hiking.”

katsuki's eyes sparkled with unrestrained happiness, a rare sight that had everyone around them grinning. he pulled you into a fierce, almost bruising hug, his usual rough demeanor melting away. “damn it, i missed you.”

the room erupted into cheers and applause, but katsuki barely noticed, his focus entirely on the person he’d been longing to see. for a moment, everything else faded away, leaving just him and you, reunited in a way that felt almost too good to be true.

"i missed you too" you whispered, hugging him back tightly as you press a soft kiss on his cheek. "can't believe you lied to me . . really thought you weren't coming this year . . " he mumbled, burying himself deeper into the crook of your neck. "sorry sorry, i'll make it up to you." "you better . . it's my birthday." you giggle softly at his response, patting his back. "okay birthday boy."

NOTE — thank you sm for the compliment nonnie! i hope you liked this <33 lots of bakusquad mentions hope y'all don't mind i just really had a lot of fun with this surprise planning thingss. also this is my last bakugo request, two more to go gangalang 🔥.

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eurydicesflower · 1 year

Text

a lonely flight in Milan, or, when the daylight shines in Baguio (lty)

Pairing: Taeyong (NCT) x fem! Reader Tags: Modern AU, Mutual Pining, Strangers to Friends to Lovers, Eventual Relationships, and Light Angst Also very much self-indulgent Warnings: None Word Count: 7,478 words Summary: People come and pass by, some stay, some don't, and some left a remainder of their lives to us. A/N: So, I had these fic idea based on the movie I have watched on Netflix the other day! So I thought why I not write yet another self-indulgent birthday fic like I used to. And if you know the reference of this fic, well, it is based on ‘That Thing Called Tadhana.’ But then again, this is loosely inspired from that movie, and I added my own elements a la eurydicesflower. Also posted on: Archive of Our Own

The airport staff have been looking at you with worried looks. You're already frowning to the bone as you discard your stuff from your luggage. You really don't have any other choice but to throw away half of your clothes to the airport trash bin. Your luggage exceeds more than 23 kilograms and your luggage weighs 30 kilograms. You deeply sigh as you throw away the stuffed toy dog into the trash. Your lovely thongs? Down the trash. “Fuck this life.” You curse under your breath as you tuck in your luggage again so you can weigh it again.

You have been doing this for the last 30 minutes now. And if the weighing scale would not allow you again to board the plane, you are ready to burst out in flames. When you weigh your luggage again, you grit your teeth in annoyance because your luggage was only more than two kilograms, meaning you will be throwing more of your clothes in the trash. You curse under your breath as you drag away your luggage. Here you go again, beside your buddy for tonight, the trash bin.

“Miss?”

Someone calls your attention. You are about to lash at him, but you decided that it was not worth all of your energy now that you had poured all of it on discarding your clothes.

“You seemed like you needed help with your luggage?”

You gaze on your luggage and look up at him, saying: ‘No shit.’

You turn your back against him and you hear the man before you sigh, and crouches down to level with you.

“I can help you with your luggage. You can put most of your things on mine since I don't have much.”

You turn your attention to him again, and he shows his luggage. It was a smaller one compared to yours. It was a pink one with numerous cartoon stickers on it. You recognize characters from Spongebob to Howl from Howl’s Moving Castle.

“Why are you helping me? Do we have the same flight?” You asked.

“You’re going to Manila, too, right? So, I guess helping someone wouldn’t harm me in any way.”

You slowly nodded your head, but you are still skeptical of the man.

“You’re not a killer, are you? Are you sure you're not going to kill me?” You look up to him, and to your surprise, the man laughs heartily, and his eyes crinkle when he smiles. You roll your eyes at him but the moment you stare at him for a moment, maybe because of the stress, you don't bother looking at the man’s face. But the more you stare at him, that man was so fucking handsome as hell. It was not an exaggeration because who would have thought that you will encounter a man like him in a fucking public airport? Like who would have thought that of all places, you will meet a man that is sculpted by the gods itself, handcrafted like he had come from a webtoon with the mix of elvish and angelic look in a public place like this?

‘Excuse my language but who the fuck are you?’ You mumble out loud in awe.

You don't seem to realize that he had heard what you said, and he extended his hand to you, and introduced himself.

“Taeyong Lee at your service, ma’am. I have friends in Manila right now and I had to meet them there before I go back to Seoul in one week. I promise you that I won’t kill you. Did that help?” He smiled with his eyes.

“That’s what killers say, though…” You told him as you shook hands with him and told your name while still giving a skeptical look.

“And that’s what killers often say, too.” His smile grew even more as you rolled your eyes but it made your lips curl into a small smile.

“So, now that we are acquainted, let's start repacking, shall we?” He said before you proceeded with moving your things from the trash bin to his luggage.

The man, no, Taeyong’s company made your night bearable after the stressful time you had in Milan. Normally, you don’t trust anyone, and of course you wouldn’t forget the saying ‘Don’t talk to strangers,’ but what if that stranger has genuine intentions? Though, you know for sure if you let your guard down, maybe this man was lying and he would just proceed to kill you right now and stuff your dead body inside your luggage and then—

“Hey, you’re zoning out, you okay?” He asks, snapping you away from your fleeting thoughts.

You found yourself nodding quickly and mumbling ‘I’m fine,’ as you helped him move your things onto his small luggage. All those thoughts slowly disappearing, you surprisingly enjoyed the stranger’s presence.

You are seated by the window during the plane ride. Beside you, there was Taeyong who was taking a nap. You don’t know what to talk about so instead, you put on your earphones so you can listen to music. As you open your music app in shuffle, coincidentally, it is playing Cornelia Street by Taylor Swift, specifically the Live from Paris Version. Your tears are now building up in your eyes as you listen to the song.

You are once again brought back by the memories you had with your ex-fiancé. You sang the lyrics as you started to cry out loud. He was the one who had dedicated this song to you. You could remember his acoustic guitar, and singing to you at dusk during your second anniversary. He even brought you your favorite strawberry cake, and celebrated under the stars. He was a romantic, and you fell through him.

You love him for what he was worth, and you had hoped he was the same. And all those years you believed him, did he ever really love you?

You don’t seem to notice that Taeyong gave you a box of tissues not until it was placed down on your lap. You looked at him, and held back your tears.

“Oh, I don’t need it—”

“You need it. Go on,” he said, not taking the tissue box from you.

Even though you refused to take it from him, sooner or later, you will cry after you repeat the song more than five times now. And the tissue box? It’s almost half empty, wiping all of your tears and snot. Taeyong only looks at you with pity, though, he didn’t say anything nor tease you. He gives you space to let out all of your emotions until you have used up all of your energy which in the end, you are now leaning against him as you fall asleep completely.

For fuck's sake, do people not have any shame doing PDAs? That’s just plain rude and insensitive. You grimace at the couple and say, “Go take the Taxi first. I think you two needed a room now.”

You roll your eyes at bitterness.

“Aren’t you going home now?” Taeyong stands beside you as you wait for another taxi to come in.

Being patient is an understatement for the man beside you because Taeyong had been with you from the Milan airport until you waited for your baggage at the Manila airport. He was not asking questions unless you talked about life stories with him. And for a guy like him, you didn’t know why he was sticking with you even after you gave him snarky retorts after a long flight from Milan to Manila.

“I don’t want to go home yet...” You confess as you stare down at the taxis in front of you. You don’t want to go home yet. Not now. You can’t just show your face at home. It feels like there is something you wanted to do, but you just can’t seem to know what it is, so now here you are at the airport, giving side-eyes at every couple you see.

“Then, why don’t we go find something to eat first?”

The moment he asked that, your tummy rumbled. You didn’t argue at him anymore because you were already hungry, so now you two were at a Japanese restaurant. You were the one who suggested it since you are craving tempura and sushi, and here was Taeyong together with your little trip.

“What did you even do back in Milan? Like why are you there in the first place?” You asked curiously. You don’t know a thing about him ever since you two met in Milan. Although obviously, this was the first time you two have met.

“Now you wanted to ask about me?”

“Of course, at least I know something about you before you can kill me.” You roll your eyes at him while he scoffs playfully before he shakes his head at your morbid remark.

“I was there for a job because my client wants me to be there in Milan.” He starts off with a small shrug.

“Woah, you’re big time. What do you even do for a living when you have a client based in Milan?”

“I’m a graphic designer. And yes, I design.” He cuts you off before you tease him. “And coincidentally, I just found out that my friend was there and he was one of the models there in that same agency. We decided to catch up there while we were not too busy with both of our jobs.” He shares casually, and shows some of his sample works with you from his phone.

One of the pictures had caught your attention when you noticed that one of the female models seemed familiar to you. You kept on staring at it for like five seconds not until Taeyong asked if something’s wrong.

“No, no, I’m fine…” You smile at him and steer away the conversation even if you know there will be more questions inside his mind.

“Since you’re an artist then? So, what are your hobbies?” You look at him with curiosity while you move your hand under your chin.

“What is this? A job interview? Do I even get hired for your company, ma’am?” He raises a brow while a small curl tugged on his lips as he looks at you. Meanwhile, you throw an unused napkin on his chest to rub that cheeky smirk on his face.

“I am just asking and I am curious.” You pout, and he just laughs it off.

“Well, I have these tattoos that I designed.” He rolled up his sleeves and showed some of his tattoos.

“I never knew that you had tattoos.”

That’s because he was wearing a long-sleeved white button-down shirt. Of course, I wouldn’t see it.

“Yeah, you can take a look.” He shows his left and right arm respectively to you. On his left arm, it has a tattoo of a cartoon dog, and a shooting star. You can’t just describe all of the tattoos but he does really have a bunch of them. There was even a rabbit balloon tattoo on his right arm. “I also have the word ‘understand’ on the back of my arms.”

“Meaning?”

“Meaning I try to be someone who tries to understand people,” he says.

“That’s… profound...” You mumble in awe and he nods.

“And I also forgot to mention that I have one on my sternum.” He points at the middle of his chest.

“You had a tattoo there?” You scoff unbelievably.

“You are a pervert.” He grins widely when he sees the flustered look in your face but you are quick to dismiss his comment. “Excuse me? You are the one who told me you had one on your chest.” You scoff as you cross your arms as Taeyong smiles cheekily at you.

“Do you want to see it then?”

Before you can even bite back a snarky refusal, he unbuttons his white shirt and shows you his twin dragon tattoo on his sternum. You didn’t even try to stop him, you just stared at it like it was the expensive dress you saw at a boutique in Milan. ‘It’s beautiful,’ you muttered to yourself.

“Does that hurt? I’ve read that when you have a tattoo there, it's one of the most painful parts...” You ask in a hush tone, curiosity laced in your voice.

“Well, I slept through it so I don’t think it hurts.” He shrugs before buttoning his shirt back. “So, are you happy you saw a stranger's tattoo?” He asks, and once again there was that lopsided smirk on his lips that you wanted to wipe off of his face.

“Shut up.” You smiled at him either way, and proceeded to eat your dinner when it had arrived.

You insist on ordering a bottle of beer, but you don’t seem to realize that you’re about to have your seventh bottle of beer with you. You don’t even know if Taeyong was drinking with you, and the fact that he hadn’t left you, you don’t know why. Instead of leaving you alone in the restaurant, he was out here with you, listening to your ramblings about your pathetic fiancé. You tell him all about your ex. You tell Taeyong all the things that made you fall for him and all the things you love about him, and all the reasons why you are so stupidly in love with him.

“That man... He's the one I was supposed to marry yaknow...” you slurred. “For eight years. Eight fucking years, we've been together and he fucking cheated on me on fucking Milan of all places.” You chuckle bitterly as you recall the day you saw him there. You even dressed to the nines. Donning your hard-earned Prada black satin dress, and Dior pump, you went to his place where he was staying there and then instead of seeing your ex-fiancé alone, he was with another woman. He was supposed to be the one surprised, not his mistress and it was absolutely not your own fiancé.

People are right about trauma dumping on strangers especially when you had liquor on your side. The story comes out of your mouth automatically, and it felt good telling all your problems to him that night. Letting out your grievances onto someone you don’t know never felt so good and that night, you felt you were not being judged by him.

“That's because you love him,” he said in between your rants.

“Love him? Yeah, I may love him but I am fucking stupid enough to love him. Fuck him. But yeah… I love him… I love him… Jae… I miss him…” You choke out a sob as you take another swig of your beer. You don't count how many beers you have drunk already but you are sure that you're about to pass out and vomit the last food you ate.

“Do you know where Baguio is? Because I want to go to Baguio.” You grin sheepishly at the man beside you. The only thing you remember before you completely pass out was you finally vomited on the gutter and Taeyong was comforting you, and he never left your side.

You woke yourself up seated at a bus seat with a blanket wrapped around you.

‘Oh, fuck now where am I?’ You quickly blink your eyes as you scan the surroundings, and your eyes fall on the man you met at the airport.

“Where the fuck are we? Where are you taking me?”

“Milan.”

“Fuck you.”

He just grins at you and you roll your eyes.

“You know I am gullible you know.” You grumble in annoyance and wrap the blanket even tighter around your arms. You turn to your right side and rest your head against the window so that you can ignore the man beside you. But even if you ignore him, you can’t shake away the unnerving thought about going home and not going on a road trip with a stranger you met at the airport.

“Where are we going?”

“You told me you wanted to go to Baguio so I messaged one of my friends about it, and told me to go to the nearest bus station so now we’re on the way to Baguio.”

“I said that? We’re going to Baguio? When?”

“I don’t think you’ll remember but you told me that last night.”

Your head was still throbbing from the hangover, and it didn’t help when Taeyong had told you that this was your idea to go on a road trip on the way to Baguio.

“By the way let me ask you something: What’s in Baguio?”

You sighed deeply, and massaged your head. “Stop asking me questions.”

“Okay.” He shut his mouth afterwards.

You thank him silently before you focus your eyes on the plantains you pass by. You count the cows, and the goats you see until you get bored and finally decide to answer Taeyong’s question.

“Well, Baguio is where he and I had our first date on our first anniversary. So, we decided to celebrate there.” You started. “Baguio was very special to me, but now…”

“Do you want Baguio to revisit those old memories?”

You bit the inside of your cheek. You can’t just tell everything to Taeyong but apparently you have told almost all of your life to someone like him who had only been your companion since last night. And maybe this was just like a start of something new, and maybe the universe was just acting upon its powers and made you meet this kind of man— charming yet quite intriguing in a way that you didn’t even feel anything suspicious because there was just something that you couldn’t explain. That something was already on the tip of your tongue.

“Maybe I just wanted to make new ones and replace those bad memories?” You trail off your words. “Like I don’t know if you’re familiar with how a female lead in romcoms do— when they tend to get broken hearted because of their ex and then they will go soul searching— just like that. I wanted to do something like that.” You let out the lump in your throat, and you never felt so relieved when you had told someone about that. It was out of your agendas the whole week, but the choice is really yours, it’s either you head back and go home and sulk for the rest of the month, OR, go to Baguio with Taeyong and make some new memories.

And in the end, you choose the latter.

“Count me in, though, technically I am already here with you, but you get the point—let me help you with that if that’s okay for you,” he said.

You chuckle at him. You don’t really expect that a man you just met would just do this, but who are you to refuse? If he was willing to help you, then why not? Maybe he has a reason why he was doing all of this. You just hope that it is with good reason or else you are ready to raise your fists against him if he ever does something bad to you.

“Well, be my guest.”

Your bus arrived at Baguio and you two found yourselves wandering around. You asked him if he had booked a hotel because there’s no way he could book right away in the city, turns out he had a friend who happened to have a lodging in the city. You now wonder who the hell is this man and why does he have so many connections to easily book an accommodation. Once you had left your belongings in your lodging, the two of you wandered around Burnham Park.

You take turns to point out what you see around the park. One time, he had pointed at a Papillon dog and he told you about his pet dog, Ruby, who had passed away recently. He also explained the meaning of his tattoo, and the answer to your question on who that dog could be was finally answered.

When you two decided to buy some snacks around, you two found a small ice cream shop. You noticed that he definitely like Strawberry flavor because of the way his eyes sparkled and grinned as he received the ice cream. You told yourself that it was so cute of him and you even ended up ordering one even though you are planning to get Cookies and Cream.

And once again, he was listening to your ramblings again as you two sat at the park, watching the park goers come and go.

“Wait, what was his name again?” He asks when you are in the nth time telling him about your ex-boyfriend.

“Didn’t I tell you already?”

He just gave a shrug as his response.

“Why didn’t you say so? Well, he is Jaehyun. Jaehyung Jeong. He's a photographer for models in famous magazines like Vogue, Esquire and Elle. And Milan happened to be one of the places he was assigned to. I was really happy for him, honestly. Like his partner, I am very supportive of him even if we are in a long-distance relationship. But we made it work. We never failed to update each other. We even had these scheduled video calls every night for almost two years but one night… I don’t know how or why or when it had happened, but that particular day, he seemed preoccupied…”

You remember that night. He was in a rush. Didn’t even take a time to say a word to you right after you just told him about the project you landed on your job.

When you thought that would be the last time that he would do it to you, you didn’t think that it would also be the last time you called each other every night. But then again, you were understanding to him, and you just let it go without confronting him about it.

When the usual nights you were in your pajamas and waiting for him to call, it turned into weeks to months waiting for him to call instead of just messaging you like he had gone cold.

“Did you ever get to know the reason?”

“Oh, yeah damn right I did but that was when I flew all the way to Milan. You know, to know the answers to my questions.” You smiled bitterly before you resumed telling bits of the story to Taeyong.

“I didn’t believe it when I didn’t see it even though my friends already told me something must have happened so… I gathered up all of my savings, and even asked my friends to back me up, and thank God they were all supportive of me because it is never easy to be flying alone in a country that you’re not familiar with— you never know what you should expect… But deep inside, I think I already knew the reason why but… I wasn’t just ready to hear it even though my friends kept on telling me that...”

Taeyong then offers you a cup of juice, and you chug it in one drink and you close your eyes and sighed deeply.

“I am just in denial, Taeyong…” You trail off your words. “I am just in denial to the point I thought he would be welcoming me in his arms but instead…” You choked out a sob. “Instead, I saw him with another woman…” You stop yourself from tearing up with a forced smile.

“Am I stupid?”

“You did that for love. But yes, you’re stupid.” He tried to lighten up the mood. It didn’t help boosting your mood, which honestly you wanted to shut him up, though right now he was the one who had been patient with you right now, so you silently thanked him with his blunt honesty.

“I just can’t believe you would be the one accompanying me for the rest of my days here at Baguio.” You said afterwards. You then roll your eyes at him when he shows a glint of teasing in his smirk.

“By the way? Don’t you even have work the next day?” You ask him jokingly.

“What? Do you want us to go home now that we just arrived?” At first you thought it was a joke, but his tone had changed onto sincere concern.

You shake your head, and say, “I still wanted to stay here.”

You swear you saw that his eyes speak happiness to you even in a brief glance, and you? You felt the same, too.

“I’m still on leave till Tuesday. And it’s the weekend, right? So, I can still accompany you till Sunday night, and we’ll part ways after that.”

“Right. Right, you’re just here to accompany me.” You said, brushing off the fact that it kind of bothered you that you two will part ways in the next few days and now your time grows thinner and thinner, the eagerness inside you makes you feel more curious about who and what he really is like. A stranger who you had been accompanied, no longer than a week, but it looked like you had known him for so long, like a friend who you had just reunited with after years of not meeting, and then one day, you met at the airport, and caught up like nothing happened. But the truth is, you just really met him for the first time, and you know nothing about him.

You might be repeating yourself over and over again with this encounter with him, but it really feels surreal that you had been together with him. you, who came from a bitter breakup while he... You really don’t know a thing about him aside from what he had shared to you. And the thought of it saddens you even more.

Every time you tell him stories about yourself, it makes you wish he would tell something about himself, too. Maybe you were just so easy to trust him, you had opened your door and led him to a glimpse of your life story, while unlike him, you were still a stranger— and maybe you should do that now.

Despite being slightly disappointed, you spent the day with him with the two of you wandering around the streets. Lots of heartfelt laughs were exchanged between the two of you that, you know, it was as genuine as you hoped.

You two almost didn’t realize that it’s about sundown when you two stopped by an overlooking place.

“Hey…” He said momentarily as he rested his arms on the railing.

You hum as a response. “Yeah?”

“You know how I told you about being stupid earlier?”

“Yeah, how can I not forget that?” You scoff jokingly.

“Well, I could say I’m the same.”

Now, that piqued your interest. You don’t want to go back yet. This is the first time you will get to hear something from him aside from knowing his tattoos, and his dog, Ruby. Taeyong tells something about his love life, how that woman wanted to be with him already but he was this coward, although he loves her, he refuses.

“I wanted to start a life with her but... I was too afraid that I might not be enough. So I did the cowardly thing and broke up with her. I thought I did the right thing, but in the end… So, long story short, I realized I’m still in love with her but it's fucking too late...”

He had a small bitter smile on his face, his eyes remained on the grass before him as he recalled the events.

“She had an engagement party a year ago; I saw it on her Instagram. Most of my friends liked it and of course, I liked it and commented 'congrats' to her. I don’t want to come off as a bitter resentful ex but... If that’s the thing that will make you do for the sake of the person you love, then maybe I really did the right thing— To set her free.”

“Do you still love her?” you ask him. Same question he asked you when you had told him about your ex-fiancé.

Taeyong only shrugged off his shoulders. “I don't know. Maybe yes, maybe no. But then again, if she's already happy with her life, and then I am happy— in that way I can now move on with my life.”

“You’re a fighter.”

Taeyong shook his head. “That’s what just love does to people. Even the most logical and sensical people would go nuts in the name of love.”

You smiled lightly.

And yes, he was right.

“So, the both of us do have broken hearts, huh?”

He only hums in response.

After that, a short still silence wrapped between the two of you as you two watched the sunset above the pink-purple skies. You never had the chance to see the sun set for so long, you are always occupied with work. And for so long, this was the first time you got to see it— a fresh start.

“Why did you help me back in the airport?” You break the silence for the first time with one of the questions you seemed to forget to ask.

“Honestly, I won’t just stand and not help someone who’s in need.”

“And you didn’t think twice about helping me?” You ask, still couldn’t believe that he would do that without further question.

“I would be lying if I didn’t find you pretty at first sight, but the point is— Yes, I didn’t think twice.”

You smirk at his first remark, but then again, you do think that he was handsome the first time you saw him.

“You think I’m pretty?” That’s not the point, but you just wanted to tease him and it worked, he fiddled with his hands, and was smiling shyly. Before he could get flustered, he changed the subject.

“So, what are you planning next after this trip?” He asks instead.

“I don’t know…” You honestly really don’t know yet. Hell, you will be going back to reality on Tuesday, and you will get back to finding a new job right after you had left your previous job so that you can stay in Milan for about a month.

“But one thing for sure, I hope I can move on from him.” You say firmly. But right now, you wanted to rest here for a while like you wouldn’t think of what was about to happen in the next few days.

“You’re not talking about him since earlier. Which is a good start, you know.”

You match his perfect smile.

You know that this will never repeat ever again. This was spontaneous, you never planned all this Baguio Trip and you know to yourself that this will never occur ever the same again if that person with you is someone like Taeyong.

“Thank you, Taeyong.” From the bottom of my heart.

Later that night, the two of you head back to your lodging. While waiting, you stand before the balcony and wrap yourself with a shawl that cold night. You are waiting for Taeyong, who had ordered food delivery and was waiting at the lobby.

You almost forgot that your phone didn’t exist after being together with a stranger for almost 24 hours now. Opening your phone, there are so many missed calls and unread messages— some of them came from your friends and from your mother, and one unnamed number. You read through your messages, and all of it was full of worried text and ‘How are you’s?’ You messaged them one by one, and told them you were fine and you were fine together with a friend in Baguio. Once you’re done, you dialed one of the numbers and you waited and waited until they picked up the phone.

“Hello? It’s me.”

24 hours is not enough. But maybe it is worth it to have someone to accompany you like this. The moments last. You dusted your clothes, worrying that there might be small particles of dirt there even if there weren’t. You smoothed your hair, checked your makeup, and smiled at the mirror until you heard his three knocks and you’re ready to seize the day with your newfound companion on your last day in Baguio.

“Hey. Something just came up.” His eyes darted on the floor, unable to look at your gaze. “I think I won’t be able to be with you until Tuesday morning.”

You tightly grip the doorknob as discreetly as possible. “Oh... It's fine.”

“But we can still do your last agenda.”

‘Screaming on the top of your lungs at the high mountains of Sagada.’

“Are you fucking kidding me?” You look at him unbelievably.

“I mean if you don’t like it, then, we should just plan another one and not this—”

“It’s perfect, Jae! We’re going to do this on our fourth anniversary next week!” You hug your boyfriend, smiling ear-to-ear, you just can’t wait to spend it before he goes to Milan for work.

“Are you alright?” Taeyong asks you, snapping you back from reality where you two were standing in the doorway of your hotel room.

You were holding back tears. Stop it, you weren’t supposed to be crying in front of him again.

“Yes. See you later, Taeyong.” You said before you closed the door before him.

You both rode the bus all the way up the mountains. Both of you will experience for the first time even if in the next few hours, you will part away.

“Do you know this song-?”

You just remembered that you sat away from him and he never said a thing, he respected it. You kind of wish he was sitting beside you like he did during the bus ride to Baguio. And the rest of the bus ride, you just sulk there and listen to your playlist on your own. Later that day, it was almost late afternoon when your bus arrived at the bus stop.

You still haven't talked with each other since the two of you arrived but he already made sure to rent a tent for the rest of the night.

“Sorry sir, we only have one tent available.” the woman told Taeyong.

“It's okay we'll take it,” you heard him reply and waited for the tent.

“Taeyong, what do you mean there's only one tent?” You quickly stood beside him as soon as the woman left her seat to fetch the tent.

“It's fine, you can have it, I'll just have a sleeping bag beside-”

“We can share.” You cut him off.

“Then fine.”

You swore he smirked but it instantly faded away when the lady called him to give away the tent.

Even if you just went through with silence as you both set up the tent which almost threw you off in range on how you couldn't figure out fixing it but luckily, Taeyong knows how to build it, fortunately, your mood settled in. You brought some cup noodles for you to eat, and you even left one for him hoping he would eat.

You couldn't just sit there in silence and ignore him now that this would be the last time you two will meet. You can ask his number but are you sure he will give it after you ignore him for the rest of the day? You don’t think so.

Taeyong was still inside the tent after he had finished building it. You deeply sigh to yourself, and go inside to see a sleeping Taeyong.

You saw how peaceful he looked when he was sleeping thanks to the moonlight shining above. You snuggled in, but as far as possible from him, until you had settled lying down beside him.

“Do you think we will ever meet again?”

You were lying down beside him as you gaze above the tent. You can only hear his breath, and you wish he would never hear it nor answer your question because the answer you were waiting for might not be the one that will come out of his mouth.

“I'm sorry I ignored you for the rest of the day. You were a great company by the way. I wish we were friends even after this. I don’t know how I can even ask for your number now that we're back to strangers again.” You were fighting off the little tears that were about to stream down your cheek.

“I hope we can still be friends after this.”

And you turned away from him and faced the other side.

You slowly woke up yourself and there was a blanket wrapped around you. It was still dark outside, you observe. And the man beside you? He was gone.

You start to jolt awake, removing the blanket, and jump away outside the tent from panic. You almost shouted out his name but as soon as you spotted a familiar figure sitting meters away from the tent, your shoulders relaxed seeing him right there and exhaled in relief. He seemed to sense you being awake, so he waved his hand, and smiled solemnly.

“Good morning.”

“I thought you left...” You mumbled.

He furrows his brows at you. “Why would I? Our journey wasn’t over, remember?”

“I thought you left…” You would not dare cry in front of him once more but all of your repressed emotions had flooded and you let your emotions give in. You shielded your eyes with your arms as you cry, and moments later, you felt arms wrapped around you, and you just melted into it and succumbed to comfort.

“I am sorry...” you choke out a sob.

“Don’t be, I understand it so it's okay…” He shushed gently as he smoothed down his hand on your back. “Besides you’re still gonna scream and curse out remember?”

A mix of blue and orange hues painted the skies above as it welcomed the rising of the sun. Like the sun, Taeyong smiles at you, radiating with warmth, and even if you're fresh from tears, you match his smile and wipe away the remaining tears on your cheeks.

“Let's go curse the hell out of my ex and welcome the start of something new.” You grin and he chuckles seeing you back on track.

“Then, let's go, and scream, shall we?” He assists you to stand right up. Hand in hand, the two of you ran almost towards the edge of the mountain with crazy grins on your faces. You two were laughing like it was the end of the world until you reached the end of the cliff.

“I WILL BE THE MOST HAPPIEST WOMAN IN EARTH, AND MOVE ON FROM YOU JAEHYUN JEONG!!!” You were the first one to scream and you can see the delight in Taeyong's face as you said all those words.

“I will never just stay back to the past and move on from you, I PROMISE THAT FROM NOW ON—!”

You didn’t hear the name he shouted from the last one, but what is important is that when you two both welcome the sunrise, you can feel the cold breeze of the morning air which didn’t seem to bother you, and the problems of the past seemed to be forgotten.

“Thank you.” You told him.

“You’re welcome.”

Maybe there was really a reason that the two of you had met in an unexpected circumstance, and here you were, together with Taeyong Lee, promising for a beginning of a new journey. Maybe it was fate, maybe it wasn’t, it doesn’t matter. At least, at that moment, even an unexpected turn of events in our life, like what happened in Milan, you were sure there were more plenty of great things waiting for the both of you, and that includes the sunrise at the highest mountains, and the warmth radiating beside you.

You were sure you insisted that you are okay for going home alone, but instead, Taeyong was still true to his word so he was here with you until you go home. From the airport in Milan to driving you all the way back to home, he was there with you, making sure you were safe.

As you were about to arrive where your home is, you noticed that there was black sedan parked in front of your home. It was already 3 in the morning; you wondered who that could be and when you stepped out of the car, a black-haired man in a white shirt, holding a bouquet of flowers, was waiting in front of your home, your question was finally answered.

Fuck. Your ex was literally in front of your house… Like what the fuck? Why could he be here? Didn’t you already tell him the other day that you are now really ending it for real?!

“Hey.”

Now this is awkward. Jaehyun Jeong was standing in front of your house while Taeyong was right beside you.

“I’m Taeyong, I’m just her friend so don’t worry.” Taeyong introduced himself to Jaehyun as he extended his hand. You kinda wished Taeyong didn’t do that.

“I’m Jaehyun.” He smiled at the man.

Before you could even stop them from further introducing themselves to each other, Taeyong stepped in and said, “Well, it’s nice meeting you, man, but I need to help her unload her bags, so I’m gonna go take care of it first,” he said passively as he waves his hand at you, and nodded his head to Jaehyun. He muttered ‘Wait for me,’ to you before he went back to his car. When Taeyong was walking all the way back to his car, that’s where Jaehyun spoke for the first time.

“I’m sorry.” He starts but you shake your head. “Jae, it’s three in the morning, I’m already tired.” You were still standing there, waiting and craning your head to see if Taeyong was coming back already.

“Is that the new guy you’re dating?” He stops you looking for Taeyong. “Wow, it’s only been a week, and you already found a new man?” His tone seems to be joking, but you both knew it wasn’t a joke. And look who’s talking as if you were the first one who had been the first who had strained your relationship.

“I don’t have time for this, Jae. We’re already done, remember?” You tried to be as polite and dismissive as possible so that he could just leave you alone, and you succeeded.

He clenched his hand tightly on the bouquet’s handle before finally sighing deeply, and relaxed his fingers around the bouquet.

“Fine. I just wanted to know if you’re doing alright, and it turns out, you were okay right now. I wish you well.” He said before leaving you the bouquet of lilies, which was your favorite, and left you alone. Just in time, Taeyong just got back from his car while holding your luggage.

“So, that’s Jae, huh? Did he hurt you—?"

Your first instinct was to hug him tightly. You don’t know if he understands what you’re saying, but you’re actually thanking him for being more present to you than the man whom you used to love. The man was too stunned to speak, yet he didn’t push you away, and he even patted your back as you hugged him.

“You should take a rest now, and it’s nice being with you for almost three days.” He said somberly as you gently pull away from him.

“Yeah, you, too. See you next time.” You said as you waved goodbye at him.

‘Taeyong hasn’t left, right?’ You asked yourself and you were right, his car hadn’t even left where he had parked. You knock on the window of his car, and he opens the window slowly, and you see him lounging inside the car with close eyes.

“I thought you’re going home now?”

“I thought you’re about to go back to Seoul?”

He smiled cheekily. “I was waiting for you to go inside your home.”

You raise a brow before he raises his hands in the air in defense. “Okay, okay, I just wanted to make sure you’re—”

You peck a kiss on his cheek before you waved goodbye at him and head back home.

And there was a smile on your face when you see one of his keychains from his luggage was there along with a short-written message just above the handle.

‘Hope we can meet again so I can treat you with ramen next time ; hope you can message me next time on taeoxo on ig, if u want. I will be glad to talk again with u some time : )

- TY’

You left a mental note that you’ll message him when you’re ready. And if he’s willing to wait, then maybe sometimes fate is not cruel as they always tend to be.

#taeyong x reader #taeyong imagines #taeyong x you #nct x reader #nct 127 imagines #nct 127 x female reader #nct 127 x fem reader #nct x oc #nct 127 fanfic #taeyong fanfic #taeyong fluff #borrowed tags:#nct 127 #nct #nct icons #nct headers #nct smut #taeyong smut

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ahungeringknife · 8 months

Text

Posting original stuff for the first time always feels like the top of a roller coaster just before the drop for me :,D Info links are all at the bottom

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The Zealous Servant | 1 | No place like home

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If not for the feeling of his stomach in his throat Spayar wouldn't have even noticed when they came in for a landing. Two rows ahead someone threw up in a bucket and he was glad they'd waited until they landed. The small cabin started smelling like vomit almost immediately and several of Spayar's old platoon-mates started giving the person a hard time. They thought flying was bad they wouldn't have lasted one week in their platoon!

Before it could get too rowdy or a fight break out the doors were opened and the two flighters who'd brought them here started directing everyone out. Spayar got up and was out the cabin quickly to get out into the open sky. He'd seen it was gray skies from the window in the cabin and now landing the clouds seemed even lower than usual. He went over to the waiting area for his luggage with the rest of the passengers. It was already covered for the year for the rain. On the landing pad the two wyrms were stretching their legs from the flight and one was already starting to curl up like a sleeping cat, its bristles and razor scales and spines laying flat so it looked like a smooth dull gray stone. Porters were running around the back of the cabin, a aerodynamic cylinder with a couple of portholes and two doors, unloading the luggage.

A man he'd served time with knocked shoulders with him, "So you coming back for more fun, Hillsman?" he asked.

"As delightful as losing my gag reflex was-" he paused when the he laughed "- I have other civil work to do."

The man nodded slowly. "That was a dumb question, Fanger," another platoons-man said to the older man. She was Spayar's age. "Spayar's d'aelar to the Prince. You're lucky the Prince didn't pull rank to pull him out sooner." Spayar grimaced. She didn't have to say it so loudly as now some normal passengers were looking at him. It was too early in the morning for him to have to look dignified. He did square out his shoulders at least.

"Right. Forgot that. You talk way too normal to fit in with those stuffy nobles," the man clapped Spayar on the shoulder hard.

It's almost like I'm educated and know when it's better to dumb myself down, Spayar thought but didn't say. "Have to bring them down to my level sometimes," he said with his best charming grin.

"Hillsman?" one of the porters called as they'd brought the luggage from the back. He slipped out from the man's grip and collected his luggage, a back pack and a small carry trunk. He saw the faded buoyancy weave on both items put on there before the flight to keep the weight down and just reconnected the threads. The bag and trunk immediately weighed a third of their normal weight. He picked up the trunk one handed after slinging the pack over his shoulder and walked off the landing platform and down to the post office below.

It was busy already at the Central Office but mostly of postal people, the odd flighter boredly waiting around for their daily trips, or the bustling blue dressed messengers. A few people already were in line to send their mail. He paid none of them any mind. He just wanted to get home.

There were taxis waiting outside the post office after an air travel landing. He just took the first one, a petty cab pulled by what looked like an ostrich if not for a face like a rat and lacking any feathers and was instead brown furred and covered in a smattering of black and dark brown spots. The driver sat astride it while Spayar loaded in. "Where to, fella?" the driver asked.

"Synnerstock street, number sixteen, out in Bellringer," Spayar said and gratefully sat in the taxi.

"Roger," and the driver urged the Pol'cobb forward and they were off at a good speed joining the mostly foot traffic of the city in downtown Assarus.

The trip out to Bellringer was not short and Spayar just leaned back in the taxi and watched the city fly by. He hadn't been home in two years while serving time but everything seemed more or less the same. He'd have to feed the birds as soon as he got a chance. He'd kept in touch with his friends and accomplices via letter or Seeing spell when he could manage but there were some things you didn't want to talk about over something like letters or spell that could be tracked or spied upon.

"Can we go through South Garden?" he asked the driver as they were leaving the downtown area and it looked like the driver was about to take the longer, if more scenic, route along Riverside and Tradesmen.

"Roger," the driver said and took a different street. Spayar thought South Garden was a pretty neighborhood too. Lots of hanging flower baskets or grow boxes in their windows but the cramped quarters of the houses prevented those who lived here from having proper gardens. The awnings here over the street were more colorful than the ones downtown and caused the light on Spayar's dark skin to cast it into different glows.

Entering Belringer was obvious as South Garden's streets were winding but Belringer had been laid out by strict city planners. The roads were neat and straight and there was more room for gardens for the homes, more breathing room for the inhabitants.

"Thirteen was it, fella?" the driver asked over his shoulder.

"Sixteen," Spayar corrected.

"Roger." The taxi came to a stop a few moments later. "This place?" the driver clarified.

"Roger," Spayar said and climbed out of the taxi. He pulled out his wallet and paid the driver and once he'd removed his luggage the driver kicked the pol'cobb off again and they were trundling down the street once more.

Spayar looked at the building he'd been left in front of. The front was a workshop and store front of his father's and behind was a large two story house with a large connected garden hidden by a high wooden fence. The front door was through the garden unless he wanted to pass through the shop front and he really didn't.

Much to his annoyance the garden door wasn't locked. He remembered always scolding his siblings about making sure the door was locked when they left or came home. He bet it was Duren, or maybe Anora. She was the more forgetful of the Hillsman siblings. But it benefited him today as he didn't have to fish his key out and entered the garden. It was full of late summer growth and early autumn sprouts, some tended to in neat rows and others left to grow more wild.

He locked the door as he headed for the front door. It also wasn't locked. He walked right in and Spayar was greeted by the smell of his mother's cooking from the kitchen where he heard her moving around and probably making a mess of things. She was a good cook if not a very tidy one. Spayar closed the door softly and went around to the three quartered walled kitchen. She didn't notice him at first.

At least he thought she didn't. "Duren you just had breakfast, lunch isn't for a while yet, go back to helping your father," she said in her sweet accented Feylian, not looking at him. Spayar smiled to himself. She thought he was his little brother. Spayar hoped he hadn't gotten as tall as Spayar was already.

"I would but Duren's not here," Spayar said giving his mother such a fright she nearly threw the spoon she was using to tend to whatever was on the stove.

Relora spun and let out a cry. Spayar grinned when his mother rushed over and gave him a great hug. She felt slight in his arms when he hugged her back. She was saying something excitedly in Dirnine but Spayar hated to admit he had trouble following. "Let me see you my sweet," she proclaimed in Feylian and stepped back to take his face in both her hands.

"Amma," he said with a tired smile looking at her. She was a dark skinned Dirinnan with a few freckles on the sides of her face and around her temples framing sea glass green eyes. Her forehead was high and her long black hair was pulled back in a neat single pleat and then pinned into bun on the top of her head. Specific scars decorated the middle of forehead of a vertical straight line and two lines curved against the straight parts. Spayar didn't know the meaning of the scars but his mother usually touched them when she prayed. She said something in Dirnine. "Amma, I forget," he complained.

That made her laugh. "You've only been gone two years, Junior," she said, her teeth white in her smile.

"I'm a dumb foolish boy though, amma," he whined.

"Oh, my poor foolish mazuk," she said and fondly patted his cheek. She kissed him on the cheeks and between the eyes. "You just arrived?"

"Yes. Took a flight from Fort Fetari here in the predawn."

She frowned, "Isn't that dangerous."

"Mail wyrms fly in the dark, amma, it was fine," he said hoping to alleviate some fear. "I want to get some sleep before lunch? Before I have to get to work," he sighed.

She laughed softly. "And you work so hard, Junior," she said gently. "But try to take a few days off hmm?"

"I'll see how long I can avoid the Prince then," he told her like a secret and she didn't look impressed by that at all knowing such a thing was impossible. "I'll get that nap in at least."

"Alright. I'll have Duren wake you for lunch," and she hugged him one more time. "You can tell us all about your time served over lunch."

"Sure," he tried not to groan. He would much rather forget it if he was honest.

She let him go and Spayar scooped his trunk back up and went upstairs. Down the hall his door was opposite his sister Calli's and he could hear her in her own room. He went into his own room. It was as he left it. Bed made, things organized and put away, everything filed where it was supposed to go. His bookshelf was orderly and his mother had come in here a few times to refresh the room as there was no dust and it didn't smell like old cleaning. Two windows let in mid morning light despite the curtains and made the room very bright. An old mobile of the solar system hung from the ceiling in the corner. He set the lightened trunk and back pack down and went over to mobile. Lightly he reached up and touched the fifth planet on the mobile and connected an old weave on it. He half expected it to have faded but was pleasantly surprised it was still there. He didn't know why. Tassa had made this weave and she was the strongest weaver he'd ever met.

While nothing about the room changed it got considerably darker in the room as the magic sprang into life over the windows as an invisible spider web, not allowing as much light in as before. Perfect for when you wanted to take a nap during the day or if you were hung over from the night before and the suns were just too much.

Spayar didn't even bother taking off any of his clothes except his boots, coat, and belt before face planting onto his bed with a groan.

He was woken by a small, dense, body throwing itself onto him. He started awake as arms wrapped around him. "De-de, time to wake up!" Duren cried at the top of his voice making Spayar's ears ring.

"I'm awake," Spayar said with all the affection one would have for a problematic isopod. It wasn't that he didn't love his baby brother he just did not love being jumped on.

"Amma said it was time for lunch," Duren said brightly.

"So I surmised," Spayar said and tried to sit up, impossible with a small child clinging to his waist. "Duren-- we can't go to lunch if you don't let me go."

"But I like hugging you," Duren said looking at him with the same green eyes their mother had. "I missed you."

Spayar softened despite his desire to be annoyed. Duren had gotten bigger since the last he'd seen him, both taller and wider. He had to be what, seven? Eight? He thought it was eight. Still chubbier than a normal eight year old with baby weight. He was cute so Spayar didn't mind. "Yeah but I'm hungry. Aren't you? Working with dad doesn't work up an appetite? I should tell him he's slacking-

"No! We work a lot," Duren insisted and climbed off Spayar. Spayar got up and didn't mind when Duren grabbed his hand. "You didn't come through the shop," he said as Spayar left his room, Duren in tow. He didn't hear Calli in her room and figured Anora was at school.

"Doo'suvf talks," was all Spayar said, speaking of their father. "And I wanted to come home and sleep."

"Hmph," Duren wasn't impressed and Spayar let go of his hand so they could walk down the stairs. Duren trundled down the steps two at a time, hopping off the final three steps, "Amma! I got Junior," he proclaimed.

"Duren I've told you not to jump from the higher steps," Relora scolded Duren who pouted at her, puffing up his cheeks and lips. "It's dangerous, you could hurt yourself."

"But I didn't amma," Duren said.

Spayar left his mother to scold Duren and wandered towards the dining room and-

Sitting next to his sister was someone very out of place in a family home of dark skinned Dirinnans. Or it would have been if Von hadn't spent most of their childhood sneaking out of the Palace to come have meals and sleepovers at Spayar's. "You," he pointed at Von sitting next to Calli.

They both whipped around at his voice. Von pointed right back. "You. What are you doing here?"

"I live here!" Spayar cried and Calli giggled into her hand. "What's your excuse?"

"I was in the area," Von said with that annoyingly handsome smile of his that made him like a sunbeam.

"Lemp's ball sack you were," Spayar said and sat across from Von at the table. Vondugard Le'Acard was Spayar's best friend and the most beautiful man he'd ever laid eyes on. All fair golden skin and hair with the most intensely cerulean eyes he'd ever seen. When he smiled he had dimples and wore his hair at a fashionable length around the top of his ears with a long front fringe that today he had pinned back with a gaudy silver unicorn rampart clip. Spayar didn't usually go for white guys but Von was an exception. As he was with everything. He was also a Crown Prince of the Alliance.

"He always comes and has lunch with us on Siscest," Calli said thoughtfully, rightfully snitching on him immediately.

"Since when?"

Calli just shrugged. "A while? Probably since your presence was missed in the Palace."

"I get no peace with the two of you together," Von said, hand to his forehead. Calli giggled. Calli looked a lot like Spayar but took more after their mother than their father with a high forehead, graceful nose and delicate hands. She was also lighter skinned than Spayar like their father. Spayar got Relora's nearly eggplant dark skin while Calli was simply a rich deep brown. They both also had their father's black eyes. Duren was the only one who'd gotten Relora's green eyes. She and Von were the same age and he was suddenly reminded that meant they've both start their own time served this year.

Duren joined them then, sitting next to Spayar and flopped his head on the table, thoroughly chastised by their mother. "You never mentioned you visited so often," Spayar said to Von.

"Was it so important? You know writing long letters bores me," he said dismissively. Calli giggled again.

"Yeah well I--!!" Spayar ended in a yelp when he was nearly lifted, seat and all, up into the air from behind. "Doo--im, stop," he complained to his father who had enveloped him and was kissing him on the face. How utterly embarrassing.

His father released him with a deep laugh and patted Spayar's shoulder hard. "You snuck around the side then, Junior?" he asked.

"I'd rather die than let your apprentices see you do that," Spayar said, deadpan. Spayar Senior was a handsome man with a shaved head and was growing his beard out for winter. Spayar knew his father could look incredibly intimidating but when he smiled, like now, it was utterly charming and disarming. He wore a sleeveless shirt that showed off his wide shoulders and strong arms covered in scars too imprecise to be anything but weapon wounds. Spayar looked a lot like him except Senior's face had a more firm jaw and a wider mouth. He was missing a few teeth but had replaced them with gold making his smile flashier than even Spayar's.

"Ah but it is my job to embarrass you as your father," Senior said with a charming smile that Spayar could mirror, his accent less pronounced than Relora's.

"At least wait until after lunch," Relora appeared with a pot of rice and Spayar perked up. He hadn't had rice while serving time.

Senior said something in Dirnine Spayar parsed out as something like 'yes, my beloved' and was more horrified at how bad his home language was just after two years serving time than he was at his parents being lovey dovey. Senior sat at the head of the table as Relora went back into the kitchen and brought out a full baked goose stuffed with grains and vegetables from the smell.

"Now where is Anora, school should have-

"Amma, dooim, I'm home!" the front door crashed open when the last Hillsman child came home from school for lunch hour.

"You come here willingly every week?" Spayar asked Von over the commotion of Relora sweeping over to Anora who was excitedly talking about school. Spayar had to put up with this because he loved his family but Von was the crown prince.

Von just smiled his beautiful smile. "It's much more fun than having lunch with my sister." For a moment his face turned brittle but only because Spayar knew what he was looking for.

"Which one? The idiot or the bitch-

"Oooh, de-de that's a bad word," Duren said next to him.

"Junior," Senior said like a warning even as he was carving the goose.

"It's not bad. It's just a grown up word and I'm a grown up now," Spayar said and stuck his tongue out at Duren who did the same to him, making an extra gross face as he did to make Spayar snicker.

Anora and Relora arrived at the table with Anora being a whirlwind of excited voice and hands. She was talking to Relora non-stop even as Relora got her into a chair. She looked a spitting image of their mother with a lower forehead and Senior's dark eyes and skin. Her long wavy hair was done in braided pigtails today. She was completely oblivious to Spayar and Von at the table as she started talking to Calli next. Senior put some goose and stuffing on Spayar's plate.

"Are you just staying for lunch?" Spayar asked Von while three other conversations were happening. It was a pretty typical meal for the household and for Dirinnans and cross talk was to be expected.

"We could hang out," Von said as he was served.

"I need to feed the birds," Spayar scooped some rice onto his plate.

"Right. I forget you do that."

"You talk to our friends?"

"Everyone's still alive if that's what you're asking."

"Tassa around?"

Von grimaced. "I dunno. You know she isn't fond of me."

"I think you underestimate her," Spayar said casually. "Is she?"

"I haven't seen her. We don't run in the same friend group."

Right, you two don't talk unless I'm around, Spayar thought with an internal sigh.

"-- Junior? Have you been here the entire time?" Anora suddenly asked him.

He looked at his little sister. Middle child with way too much energy. "Yes," he said patiently.

"And you just sat there!"

"You were talking to Calli- oof," he grunted when Anora hugged him tightly. "Uh-huh," Spayar said when Anora started talking to him rapidly about school and math. Spayar was the only one she could talk about math too since he was the only one in the family any good at it other than her. Not for the first time he reminded himself to talk to Senior about getting her an apprenticeship with an alchemist. She was old enough. He was only half following though as he scooped lunch into his mouth, giving indications he was listening. Anora rarely wanted a full conversation, she just wanted to tell you about what she was excited about and she was excited about many things.

Anora had him captive the rest of lunch and he half listened to everyone else's conversations while keeping up with her telling him about algebra. Calli and Von were having a pleasant conversation about Calli's new job she was starting this week at a watch maker, the last one she'd had at a florist had fallen through. Senior was talking across the entire table to Relora in Dirnine that Spayar was vaguely aware was about work. Senior was also talking to Duren about what they'd be doing after lunch.

He was so glad to be home.

Von was sitting on Spayar's bed while Spayar was digging through his carry trunk. The sounds of the city outside were dampened and even the light seemed faded and diffused in the room as the purple sun of the mobile glowed softly with magic. The room was effectively sealed from outside viewing, hearing, or scrying by all but the most powerful magic users. Von was leaned back casually on one hand waiting for Spayar to find what he was looking for.

"You really going to feed the birds today?" Von asked as Spayar found what he was looking for.

"Mom wanted to go shopping. I volunteered," Spayar said peeling back a final layer of clothes. It was a simple locked box about the length of his forearm that he picked up and put on his desk. There was no key hole or any sort of actual mechanism to open it, where a key hole would be just a solid piece of metal. To open a safe box like this you needed to be a mettalurgist. It just happened metal ran in the family. Needing no spell or weave Spayar smeared the solid iron down from the lock opening and released the lid from the bottom. He opened the box and pulled out a letter in a sealed envelope from among the items inside. The envelope was sealed with magic that would also make them explode should someone not the intended person open them. The intended person being Spayar himself.

He opened the envelope. "From Councilman Milo Theron," he said as he handed the paper inside to Von. He closed the safe box after.

"Who?" Von asked as he took the papers.

"Sinso's friend in Galinsum," Spayar said as Von unfolded the letter. "Councilman, very high up. Sinso was working on something in secret along with trying to figure out the perfect formulae to make someone vomit on command," he ended with a sigh as Von started reading.

"Sinso was your contact in the Arm, right?" Von clarified.

"Yes. If you asked him I was his little stooge," Spayar said as he put the safe box up on a shelf where it had gone before he'd served his time.

"You're so good at it though I'm not surprised," Von teased him and Spayar rolled his eyes. Von read the letter and his brows slowly furrowed seriously. Spayar sat in his desk chair while Von read the multiple page letter. "Hmm," Von said after a few minutes. "That sounds quite like treason if I was the Governor of Galinsum," he said casually.

"So he fits right in with us," Spayar said seriously.

"Who's the Governor there again? Remind me," Von said even as he read the letter again.

"Jengin Albera," Spayar recited dutifully.

"Right, the 'immortal alchemist'," Von said distractedly. "He's not Feylon is he?"

"No."

"Have we met him?"

"I don't believe personally. He does attend some of your mother's balls and galas though," Spayar said. "We've been introduced at the very least."

"Hmm," Von was very seriously reading the letter again. "Never thought I'd see proper war alchemy."

"It's potentially quite devastating," Spayar said.

"Have you seen it?"

"It was something Sinso was working on yes. Him and other alchemists serving in the arm, away from Galinsum and their pacifism."

"Can you get a message to Theo reliably?"

"He accepts mail."

"Is it screened?"

"He's a Councilman, I imagine not," Spayar said thoughtfully. Von got up from the bed and came to the desk. Spayar turned around and shuffled some papers out. "Ink or pencil?"

"Ink well," Von said and Spayar knew what he was going to do. If Spayar knew Von any less he'd think it was a gross over display of power but Von's entire family was a gross over display of magical ability. The tips of Von's fingers glowed orange and became sharpened like needles and Spayar watched him stitch together a weave in moments and a few complicated hand motions. Then Von put a glowing finger to the page and ink jumped out of the well directly onto the paper. Von didn't have to speak or even write it, the words were transcribed directly to the paper at the same speed as his thoughts. He'd seen Von do this enough times to not be overly impressed but the speed he could construct a well spoken letter was more impressive than the magic.

Von paused, lifting his finger from the paper, just to check something in the letter Theo had sent before putting it back down and finishing the letter. Then he tugged on a piece of the weave and it snapped closed into the perfect size to fit into an envelope. "I'll send it off when I go shopping," Spayar said looking for an envelope.

"Pay for expedited. I want it in his hands tomorrow morning," stepping away from the desk.

"Of course," Spayar said as he hand wrote the staffs of the address with a pen.

"If Theo is courting me what's the odds other Councilmen are courting my siblings?" Von asked quietly.

"Sinso made it sound like most Councilmen aren't interested in treason for personal gain."

"Then why is Theo?" Von said and looked at the letter again. "And why me?" he was particularly surprised by that one.

"You have a d'aelar," Spayar said throwing his arm around the back of his chair to turn and look at Von.

Von whipped around, blue eyes wide for a moment, and then he smiled slightly. "I do," he said smugly. "Don't remind Teldin," he added. Spayar laughed. "Was that all the work for today?"

"Yes," Spayar said standing, grabbing the envelope.

"Good," and Von used a spell to light the letter on fire. It burned to a crisp into ashes but didn't even mark his perfect hand.

"You made a mess in my room," he said, looking down at the ashes.

"You'll forgive me," Von said with a cute smile like he never thought Spayar wouldn't. And damnit if he wasn't right. I'd forgive you anything, Spayar thought and it was both fond and frustrated with him. "So, feed the birds?"

"You're coming?"

"Probably not. It bores me. And I'm sure my minders are missing me-

Spayar put his hand to the bridge of his nose, "Of course," he said, squeezing. Von just snickered. He raised his hand and disconnected the weave around the purple sun of the mobile and light and sound returned fully to the room.

"Now that you're back home we can start work properly," Von said even as Spayar brushed the ashes up to throw them away.

"Again," Spayar sighed grabbing his rain coat and hat for the low hanging clouds outside.

"Yes. Again," Von said with a smile that didn't quite reach his eyes. "I have ideas but I was waiting for you."

"Hopefully not on everything?" Spayar asked as they left his room.

"No. Just some big plays."

Calli's door opened as they were walking down the hall. "Junior," she called.

"Yeah?" he called back.

"You're going shopping for amma right?"

"Yeah?"

"I'm coming. Amma doesn't trust you not to take six years to do the shopping."

"I don't take six years," Spayar said with a slight roll of his eyes. But yes he did take longer to do the shopping only because he got the shopping done quickly and spent the rest of the day feeding the birds or people watching.

"Let me grab my coat," and she vanished back into her room.

"Still can't believe you came here every week to have lunch," Spayar mumbled to Von.

"Only for the cooking. I wouldn't bore your family with royal or court trivialities," Von said. "Even if Calli has raked me over the coals about it," he sighed.

"Why?"

"She has it in her mind-- ah Calli, is that the coat I got you?" Von asked, changing topics when Calli came out wearing a new rain coat of the sweetest pink color Spayar had ever seen, the outside shiny and waxed to keep the rain off.

Calli beamed even as she was pulling her long wavy hair up into a high tail. "Yes."

"You bought my sister a coat?"

"Seemed polite," Von shrugged.

"It was for National Day," Calli said quickly. National Day was a country wide holiday that marked the official first day the first Asuras, Sinou, had taken the throne almost two thousand years ago. It happened in high summer when the moon flowers bloomed along the Meltong. "He got Anora one too and Duren new rain boots."

"Didn't get me anything," Spayar complained.

"You were four provinces away," Von groaned. "What was I supposed to do?"

"I dunno, visit?" Spayar groused even as they headed down the stairs. Behind him Von was saying some groveling type of apology while Calli giggled. Spayar wasn't really upset but it was always a good time to tease Von. The prince needed it. "Mom, do you have your shopping list?" he called once down on the first floor, not quite sure where Relora was.

"It's on the table," her voice called from the sitting room.

Spayar scooped it up. "So you're coming," he pointed at Calli, "and what are you doing?" he pointed at Von.

"I'll find something to do. We're having a get together at Red Garter tonight, coming?"

"Maybe."

"Can I?" Calli asked.

"No," Spayar said immediately.

Calli rolled her eyes. "Why not?"

"Because it's a drug bar," Spayar said keeping his voice down so Relora didn't hear. He saw the tips of Calli's ears turn red. Unlike Spayar most of his siblings were quite sheltered and being raised by immigrants they didn't always have the same proclivities as typical Feylon. Especially at places like a bar. Also there would be boys there and Spayar couldn't get high or enjoy himself knowing some leech might touch his sister.

"I- fine," she huffed, cheeks puffing out slightly. She went and gathered up the shopping bags.

"Red Garter's not that bad," Von said quietly as they followed her.

"No," Spayar said again. "Unless you want to be the one keeping an eye on her?"

"What? No. She's your sister."

"Exactly. No."

"Will you two stop whispering and come on," Calli groaned. "The meteorologists said the rains were starting today."

"They say that every day starting the middle of J'dorr," Spayar said.

"And aren't they right?" Calli asked.

"Eh, sometimes," Spayar allowed and did follow Calli out. The clouds did seem much lower than earlier though so Spayar put the envelope into an inside pocket of his coat and put his hat on over his wavy hair.

"You didn't bring a rain coat Vondugard," Calli said as they stepped out from the porch and into the garden.

"Oh, I'll be fine," Von said cheerfully. "You know the rain doesn't bother me."

Calli just looked confused. "He's a warlock, Calli," Spayar said, unimpressed.

"So?" she blinked at them both even as a slight misting started to fall from the sky. She pulled up the hood of her rain coat. Von just once more coated his fingers in magic and made a complex weave. The rain began beading up on an invisible barrier he'd woven around himself. It was wide enough that any large enough drops didn't even touch him and just fell harmlessly off to the side.

Calli looked at Spayar, "You can't do that."

"I don't want to do that," Spayar huffed. "Show off," he told Von and headed for the street.

"Well what's the point of being Le'Acard if I can't show off sometimes?" Von said following after him. "And this is where I say farewell my Hillsman friends," he beamed all sunshine on a miserable day. Spayar hated his fool heart for fluttering. He'd known Von how many years and he still got all silly?

"Don't get into trouble," Spayar said.

"Me? I would never," and with a wave he walked off.

Spayar and Calli stood there for a moment watching him walk off, a spring in his step. "He's such a pain in the ass," Spayar declared and then turned and walked the other way. Calli laughed into her hand as she followed after Spayar.

====+====

Tag list: @full-on-sam @thegodsaredead

If you'd like to be pinged for this let me know. Replies or asks are fine. Reblogs would be wonderful and are encouraged. My ask box is open if you wanna know more~

ZS tag | Masterpost | References | Read it on AO3

#writeblr #writblr #WIP #zealous servant #original ccharacters #original fantasy #original writing #spayar hillsman #von le'acard #black main character

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effervescentdragon · 4 months

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so i get to my bus and im travelling home-ish and the bus driver sees my suitcase and goes "you'll have to pay extra, thats more than 20kgs" and i go "no, sir, it isnt i weighed it before the trip its a big suitcase but its 18.4kgs" and he lifts it and goes "no i know" and i go "alright where is your scale" and he goes "fuck the scale, i know". so i wait a couple of moments and then he comes back and goes "what are you waiting for" and i go "for you to bring the scale" and he takes me to the luggage compt, more than half empty mind you bcs theres like 12 of us on this bus, and points at a suitcase smaller than mine and says "see this is the size of the suitcase a lady already paid extra" and i say "i understand that sir, however ive always travelled with this suitcase and i have always weighed it and nobody ever had an issue" and he shows me the prices on his phone or something and keeps claiming the suitcase is too big and i go "alright sir, then write me a statement that you know its 20kgs without weghing it, just by the feel of your arm, and give me a bill that says i paid extra even though you don't have a scale to check this" and the moment i said that, he relented and mumbled sth about "next time i'll leave the suitcase here" and i go "alright sir, thank you".

the point of the story is, you think everyone in european union is so used to paying shit because you act like you're in the right but from the ages 6-15 i drove with busses through cordoned off, post-war borders in one of the worst parts of my home country in the balkans, so you think you can intimidate me into paying anything withiut any papertrail while we are standing on the fucking eu soil? HAH. don't make me laugh.

#anyways. they have to have a scale.#confirmed by another guy that was there and talked to bff after i went into the bus #he filmed the other people paying and will be sending it to flixbus #and i will be sending a complaint email #effervescentdragonrants #balkan tag

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what-the-dogfish-saw · 5 months

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I have one word this month and the word is

Ok so I know this refers to literal microscopic plastic, but imagine a tideline covered in every kind of plastic and most being bottle cap sized and smaller.

@scifer said that could even be a new icon.

The recent winds and sprig tides brought in SO much ancient plastic, it was somewhat incredible. And I'd argue my local beach wasn't nearly as badly affected as some of the coat lines elsewhere.

I've not seen too many plastic straws, or plastic sticks from a cotton bud/lolly pop for a long while. But this last couple of weeks I've seen so many that have either been lost out at sea or buried in mud and sand and recently uncovered.

Just so many.

Also, a lot of medical supplies, including mouth syringes, needles (Don't worry, made the sure the points were gone or put it inside something and was careful) and emergency water supplies. Not sure how much I've removed but quite a few bin bags worth at least. I don't really photograph my bags often, but I have debated if I should bring luggage scales and weigh them in future (But I know waterlogged stuff can throw off the numbers), because when I do take photos, I don't think it really shows off the amount I removed.

Even stranger was this red crumbly stuff that kept washing up. Made me think of a playground foundation or aquarium pebbles, but no idea what it actually was.

But in the many, many MANY bag of rubbish I removed this month I have found a few 'treasures' or interesting bits and I want to share some of those finds but in a separate post

stay tuned!

#beach #beach clean #beach plastic #beach cleaning #ocean plastic #sea plastic #medical waste #microplastics #please recycle

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the-lonelybarricade · 2 years

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As the River Flows - (5/8)

Summary: As Feyre lamented quietly over the misfortune of her life, there, in the marketplace, she heard a merchant instruct to its patron: Place a butterfly wing under your tongue before you sleep, and you will dream of your true love.

A gift for @sideralwriting 💕 I apologize for the wait, we're getting close to the end!

Read on AO3・Feysand Month Masterlist・Series Masterlist

The manor grounds were quiet beneath the watchful eyes of the stars.

Feyre sat at her window ledge, legs draped over the edge, falling towards the earth so that if she leaned just right, she could see the two story drop beneath her and pretend she was floating. As aimless as the jasmine petals drifting off from the trellis—they had always come and gone as freely as they wished, unburdened by expectations from society or family or tyrant princes. This was the final time she’d sit in envy of them.

Moonlight bathed this side of the house, pinned against Feyre’s bedroom window as if in accusation, announcing to the manor that here. Here is the traitor who is going to leave her family behind.

Feyre had tried to dress practically. No heavy skirts to weigh her down, long sleeves to keep her warm, a neckline that was modest, but not restrictive. Even the color had been deliberate, a rich navy that she had selected in an effort to evade the moon’s notice, but its silvery light still caught on the smooth silk of her glove. Traitor, it said again, determined to illuminate every whisper of movement as Feyre slowly—slowly—lowered her luggage to the ground with the makeshift rope she had fashioned from her bed sheets. She would not be using them any longer, afterall, and she was certain her father could afford replacements.

Was she condemning her sisters, doing this? Would her father simply choose one of them to marry the Prince instead? Rhysand had not seemed the slightest bit interested in them at the ball, an oddity by all accounts, but would he change his mind if only to be vindictive? To punish her for refusing him?

That thought nearly convinced her to draw the luggage back up. Elain being married off to Rhysand… just the image of it made her feel violently ill.

If it came to that, she would return. She would give the Prince what he wanted and let him be as cruel as he wished for betraying him in the first place. But for now, she would not hinge everything on what may or may not happen. For now, there was only Tamlin, potentially waiting for her at the gate.

Feyre gave the rope a hearty tug, testing its strength. She had tied it to her bedpost and though she was uncertain if it would support her weight, there was only one way to find out. Her gloves slid off easily, revealing her tattooed hand to the stars. It was always a shock for her to see the vines of black ink, crawling over her skin like the creeping wisteria that grew through the cracks of the manor’s walls, blooming in places it should not. She had always quietly admired the intricate designs, though she was equally wary of them. Of what they meant, and why she needed to hide them from the world.

But it was never something she’d needed to hide from the stars. If they judged her for throwing her gloves to the ground, beside her luggage, and wrapping her fingers around the makeshift rope, then they kept it to themselves. Feyre held her breath as she slowly lowered herself down from the ledge. The rope held steady, easing her anxiety when she did not drop to the earth the second she put her full weight against it. From there, she could simply pretend she was a heroic character from a novel, scaling down a wall after rescuing a princess. Though, in this case, she was both the princess and the rescuer.

Feyre liked the thought of that.

Once she was close enough to the bottom, Feyre hopped the rest of the way, landing lightly on her feet. She felt rather accomplished once she began untying her luggage handle from the rope. Someone would surely find the bed sheets hanging limply from her open window and piece together what had happened, but by that point she would be long gone.

“Going somewhere?”

Her blood went cold. Feyre straightened, swallowing past the fluttering pulse in her throat as she turned in the direction of that voice.

There was Prince Rhysand, leaning casually against the smooth stone beneath her bedroom, arms crossed as though he had been waiting there all along to witness her daring escape. She was certain he hadn’t been there moments ago, but perhaps he had used magic to conceal himself.

Mouth dry, the first lame excuse she could muster was, “I’m going for a late night stroll.”

“Do you often pack your things for late night strolls?”

“Well, you can never be too sure who you’ll encounter,” she said, anger replacing some of her shock, sharpening her words. “Should a self-righteous despot cross my path, I want to be sure I’m wearing my best dress.”

Rhysand pushed off the wall, and she noticed that even once he moved away from the natural shadows cast by the moonlight, they still clung unnaturally to him, obscuring his expression. “Fortunately, there are none of that sort walking around. I’ve done the liberty of checking. And were you to encounter some wretched despot, he would surely think you look lovely as you are.”

The compliment shook Feyre off guard. She had been expecting his famed cruelty, had wanted to make his blood boil as hot as her own, but it seemed he was an even-tempered man, even when his betrothed was trying to leave him at the altar. Meticulous. The sort to keep a ledger of every slight against him and retaliate when it suited him best, when it would be the most devastating.

“Then,” Feyre ventured tightly, taking a step back, “seeing as there are no deplorables to be on the lookout for, perhaps I should be on my way.” She reached down to retrieve her gloves, but drew up short when she realized they were nowhere to be seen.

“Looking for these?” Rhysand held both in the cradle of his palm, extending his arm like he was offering them to her. Feyre lifted her hand toward his, then hesitated, certain it was some kind of trap. Hovering in midair, a ribbon of moonlight fell over her hand, studying the tattoos with the same level of scrutiny that Rhysand was paying them. He said, “It’s a pity that wherever you’re going requires you to obscure your markings.”

Feyre quickly snatched back her gloves. “It’s none of your business.”

“As your husband, I would argue it is some of my business.”

Husband. The word arrested any sharp words she’d been preparing from her arsenal. Rhysand smiled when he noted the way she’d tensed, certainly taking some sick satisfaction as he reached into his coat pocket and withdrew a neatly folded document. “If you’ve been wondering what kept me, I’ve been appealing to the archbishop’s good graces.”

“Oh, I’m sure he was charmed by your supplications,” Feyre said thinly.

Rhysand’s mouth quirked. “Are you insinuating I did anything other than ask, plainly, for his consideration?”

“The same way you asked for mine?”

The words were so sharp that they must have cut her tongue before she spat them out, because suddenly she could taste blood in the back of her throat. Bitter and coppery. She wanted to spit that at him, too.

If Rhysand was offended by her tone, his expression did not betray it.

Feyre couldn’t stand that he was saying nothing. She needed to jab him just a bit further, just to get him to say something in his defense. “I imagine you held some terrible threat over the archbishop’s head, just as you did to my father.”

That earned a hollow laugh. “If you think I had to twist your father’s arm for this marriage, then he has not been honest with you.” Rhysand strode towards her, lips twisting into a frown when she initially flinched away from his touch. That didn’t stop him from placing his hands beneath her chin, forcing her face towards his so that she had no choice but to look into his burning violet eyes.

From within the manor, the clocks began striking the hour, their solemn song drifting to Feyre through her open bedroom window. Tamlin could be waiting at the gate. Would he arrive and think she had already left, that she hadn’t waited? Or worse, would he think she changed her mind and had surrendered to this marriage?

Rhysand’s attention flickered to her mouth. He leaned in, and Feyre’s breath quickened, certain he was going to kiss her. He came close enough that his breath landed on her lips, its heat a prickling contrast to the unusually cold evening. “Perhaps you should ask your father how you came to possess a bargain tattoo.”

“A bargain tattoo?”

She had never heard of such a thing.

“Magic always leaves a mark,” he breathed. Intentionally, she thought, so that he could tease her with the ghost of his touch. Not intending to kiss her, just to leave her imagining what it might be like to. How different would it feel from the kiss she had shared with her true love?

Feyre knew he could be lying, saying things that he knew would spark her interest. But he started to pull away, and Feyre found she didn’t care. This was the closest she’d ever been to an answer, so she scrambled after him, entirely undignified in the way she grabbed his arm.

Prince Rhysand paused, peering at her pensively over his shoulder.

“Please,” she said. “Tell me what you know.”

He raised his brows. “You want to know how a bargain tattoo works?”

Feyre pressed her lips together, suddenly wary. His expression was unreadable. She hadn’t the least idea what his intentions were with this conversation, nor this marriage, and still she gave him precisely what he wanted by whispering, “Yes.”

“Be my wife.”

Those words, my wife. He spoke them like a caress. The same way she’d heard devout men speak of their saints and saviors.

Feyre scowled, determined not to fall for any more of his tricks. “I already am,” she said bitterly.

At that, Rhysand smiled. Cruel, his glistening teeth like sharp rocks hidden beneath a tide, sinking her ship before she could ever reach the shore. “Then agree to come with me to the North, as my wife. And I will show you how a bargain tattoo works.”

She could have laughed, if the punchline wasn’t her own misery. “Fine,” she said, still fully intending on rushing to the manor’s front gate to flee with Tamlin the moment the opportunity presented itself.

Rhysand’s smile spread, like he knew she was a liar and found it endearing. “You have to say you agree.”

“I agree,” Feyre said, narrowing her eyes. “I’ll go with you to the Northern Kingdom as your obedient little wife.”

His smug look dropped. “I would be more careful with your phrasing,” he warned.

Of course. Because a Prince, especially a menacing one, was probably unused to people being snide with him. Feyre readied her tongue for something sharper, before she noticed the way his eyes had flickered to her right arm. The arm that had, until that moment, been smooth, pale-white skin—the skin of a proper lady who was rarely allowed outside, who never removed her gloves.

And now…

“What have you done to me?”

Feyre rubbed her hand over her forearm in a vain effort to wipe away the swirls and whorls of black ink that now decorated her skin from elbow to fingertip, identical to the one on her left arm.

“That, my obedient little wife, is how a bargain tattoo works.” He pulled his arm out of her grip. It didn’t require any force on his part. Her body was a stiff, brittle thing that she couldn’t find the strength to move. Her hand hovered in the air long after he had turned away, calling over his shoulder, “You should go back up to your room and pack your things. We have a long journey ahead of us.”

And Feyre, resentfully, obeyed.

My dear rake,

Am I still allowed to address you that way, now? It was a playful term of endearment, which now feels inappropriate given the tone of this letter. Am I allowed to use your real name, or does that violate the magic that allows me to send these letters to you?

Perhaps it does not matter. Perhaps this will be the last letter I ever send you.

My heart is so heavy. I had every intention of running away this evening and meeting you at the gate. It was meant to be a grand, romantic affair like those described in Elain’s novels, the kind that Elizabeth insists are fictitious. And perhaps they are, because despite my best efforts, I was intercepted by my husband. That is what the Prince of the Northern Kingdom is to me now. My husband. He caught me before I could escape and showed me the marriage license that he had already secured. He is a cruel, insufferable man and if it is any consolation, I will be miserable every second of this marriage knowing that I had come so close to being with you.

I almost wish I never learned about that silly butterfly spell. It would have avoided us both so much pain to have remained ignorant of one another. I would likely still be married to Prince Rhysand, and still miserable, but at least my heart would not be broken as well.

I do not know if there will be another opportunity for me to escape. I do not think I’d be able to, even if there was. I was tricked into a bargain that will make me compliant. Do you know anything about those? Prince Rhysand claims that… well, nevermind. It is hardly any consequence now. Even if I do break the bargain, I am still lawfully wedded to him. And there is no way we could be together that wouldn’t make you an enemy of his kingdom.

I do not think it would be wise to continue our correspondence, both in these letters and in our dreams. It is not that I care about being faithful to my husband (who I am certain will not be faithful to me), moreso that I do not believe I will be able to endure the pain of it. Every time we speak, it will be like ripping the sutures from this wound all over again. If you kissed me in my dreams, I would likely weep, knowing I will never experience it in person.

This all a self-pitying, long-winded way of saying goodbye.

Goodbye, my one true love. I will spend a lifetime recovering from knowing you.

Yours until the end of time,

Feyre Archeron

P.s. Were you waiting for me at the gate?

After a moment’s consideration, Ferye smeared her thumb across the postscript, rendering the ink illegible. No good could come out of asking such a thing. She’d yet to decide which answer would be more painful. Had he been waiting for her, prepared to leave behind everything to run away together? Or had he decided that his true love—that she—was not worth the cost?

Feyre swore she could taste the ash in her mouth as she tossed the letter into the crackling flames of her fireplace. The edges of the parchment curled in the heat, blackness blooming at the corner, then spreading. She felt that the same was happening within her chest, her heart shriveling and curling it on itself. Until it was gone, just like the letter. Perhaps her true love would receive it alongside her note, could store it in some special box like the one she kept for his letters. She supposed, in the end, it didn’t matter what he chose to do with it. Her heart would hardly be any use to her in the North. Better she be unfeeling, like the mountains and blizzards and her husband’s cruelty.

Though when she climbed into her ruined bed and closed her eyes, she had trouble picturing that cruelty. All she could think about was the look in Rhysand’s eye, that peculiar softness that overtook his expression as he said the words, my wife.

As much as she tried to banish the memory, to smother it with more important things—like the mystery of her bargain tattoos and the seven day carriage ride ahead of her—all she could think about was his infuriatingly smooth voice, and the curve of his lips as he shaped the words over and over again, my wife. My wife. My wife.

“My wife.”

Feyre jerked up in her seat, dragging her eyes from the carriage window to the man sat across from her, legs spread comfortably over the velvet bench. Unafraid of taking up space, just like any spoiled Prince would be.

He leaned forward, propping his elbows against his black-clad, muscular thighs. “Do you intend to ignore me the entire journey home?”

Those eyes. Those stupidly pretty eyes. Feyre had been making a deliberate effort not to look at him, because she knew the second that she did, she would begin studying how the sunlight caught in his irises, illuminating all the hidden depths she had not noticed during their more dimly lit encounters.

Moonlight suited Rhysand, certainly. But in the sunlight, with each of his sharp features easily visible for her inspection, he was devastating.

Words threatened to burst from her lips, like insisting that they were most certainly not journeying home. Home was something she’d left behind two hours ago. Feyre clenched her teeth shut, well aware that Rhysand had used the wording on purpose, to rile her.

She turned her chin back towards the carriage window, watching the snow-blanketed hills with genuine fascination. They had passed through the border of spring half an hour ago, and the sight of freshly lain snow had been startling.

“It looks… soft,” Feyre had said, so stunned that she had not been able to think better of it.

That was the first, and the last, thing she’d said since her tearful goodbyes to her sisters, who had not looked the least bit surprised to see she hadn’t run away with the Duke. The pity in their eyes had been hurtful, though Feyre tucked it away on the long list of things that wounded her heart this day.

She had not said goodbye to her father, had not even looked in his direction.

Now, she wondered if she would ever see him again. If she would live to regret denying him that last goodbye, even when she was so angry with him that she felt moved to the point of tears. To the point of screaming and taking Rhysand’s perfectly polished boots and chucking them out the carriage window. Even if it would marr the peaceful, undisturbed snow.

“I’d like to know what you’re thinking,” Rhysand said.

In the corner of her eye, she could see he was still leaning forward. Still watching her.

It’s not as if you don’t already know, she thought, still refusing to look at him.

Rhysand chuckled. “True,” he admitted, confirming all her worst fears. “But I would enjoy not having to resort to rifling through my wife’s mind to know her thoughts.”

And I would enjoy not having a husband who could read minds, she thought, hoping it sounded every bit as scathing to him as it did in her own mind.

“I can teach you to shut me out,” Rhysand offered. He tapped a long, elegant finger to his temple, obsidian rings glinting in her periphery. “It would be an effective way to pass the time. And despite what you might think, I don’t relish hearing your thoughts about me.”

Feyre rolled her eyes, crossing her arms over the long coat that she’d needed to shrug on when they passed into the winter landscape. A button actually had been missing, which she might have found funny if the reminder of her letters didn’t make her want to weep.

If you don’t want to hear my thoughts, then don’t listen.

“It’s…” Rhysand sighed. “It’s not that easy, Feyre.”

She turned her head, raising a brow that begged why not?

“We’re—I…” She watched his hands curl to fists as he searched for the words, an unexpectedly frustrated gesture from a man who appeared so self-assured. “The magic from our bargain,” he said finally. “It connects us. I can usually tune other people out, but you. I cannot get you out of my head.”

Lucky me, Feyre thought dryly. It seems I cannot get you out of mine, either.

It was just another freedom he was robbing from her. She did not even have privacy inside her own mind, did not even have the privilege of giving her husband the cold shoulder. Which, in her opinion, every reluctant wife should be owed.

“Feyre,” he sighed her name, shifting backwards in his seat. For a moment, she thought he sounded defeated, but the smile growing across his lips said otherwise. “It sounds like we want the same thing.”

No, Feyre thought. She wanted him to leave her alone, preferably forever. He just wanted to win whatever new game he had started, the object of which seemed to be getting her to speak to him.

“Different motives, same solution,” he purred, holding out a large hand toward her. “You’ll find I’m an excellent tutor, Feyre darling.”

“Fine,” Feyre snapped, hating the pride that coaxed from his expression, clearly delighted at having broken her silence. “But in exchange, I want answers. Truthful answers.”

“You’re bargaining?” Rhysand laughed under his breath. “Didn’t you learn anything from last night?”

Feyre felt like she’d learned plenty. “In exchange for teaching me how to keep my thoughts private, you will agree to answer all of my questions truthfully.”

“I will answer three questions truthfully,” Rhysand amended with a wave of his hand, like he was being charitable. “You forget I’m doing you a favor by teaching you how to shield your mind.”

She met his gaze, eyes narrowed. “Five questions.”

Rhysand was silent for a long moment, his eyes traveling across her body, to the exposed tattoos that peeked out the hem of her coat sleeve, tracing up to her fingertips. There was no longer any need for her to wear the gloves, and that, at least, was a welcome freedom.

“Five questions it is,” he murmured.

“Then it’s a deal,” Feyre said, this time recognizing the metallic twist in the air. It was easier to detect in the enclosed space of their carriage, where before all she could smell was Rhysand, his scent like a sea-swept wind on a cold, stormy night. Feyre had never experienced any of those things, but if she shut her eyes, she could almost picture it.

“Good choice.”

It broke her train of thought, left her turning to him with an expression more open than she had intended. “What?”

“The moon,” he said, prodding at the pulse on his wrist, where a small tattoo of a crescent moon now decorated his skin. His smile was lopsided. “What were you thinking of?”

Feyre’s cheeks burned, humiliated that he already knew.

“A night sky,” she said defensively.

“Did you know,” the Prince purred, voice dripping with silken pleasure, “that my Kingdom is renowned for its night sky? We even wear the stars on our Kingdom’s crest.”

He tapped the silver clasp of his caped overcoat, where a small disk sat proudly on each collarbone, connected by a polished chain that held the onyx fabric securely over his broad shoulders. Feyre leaned forward to study the embossments more carefully. A towering mountain crowned by three stars. Beautiful, but brutal.

Our Kingdom.

Feyre could not fathom looking at that symbol and finding any identity in it. She was a Princess now, a ruler of those very mountains and stars. In name only, she was sure. A thing to look pretty on the side of Rhysand’s throne, the prize he had stolen from the South.

A muscle flickered in Rhysand’s jaw. Feyre realized, too late, that he could still hear every one of her thoughts. His expression darkened, her only warning before sharp claws caressed her mind, and a midnight voice whispered in her head, is that all you think you’re worth to me?

Feyre spine straightened. Her body had frozen under the grasp of those claws, suddenly paralyzed to the point where she couldn’t move, couldn’t even blink.

If all I wanted was some pretty prize from the South, I could have chosen one of your sisters.

The claws dug deeper, demanding her entire body, her entire being, yield to his command. A choked noise built in her throat, and somehow he was able to smother that, too.

Tell me, Feyre. Why would I choose you, when coveted little Elain would have caused me half the headache?

She tried to think of an answer, but her thoughts had become distant, shapeless, like trying to build a foundation out of water. What had he said at the ball again? The effort alone built moisture on her palms, behind her neck, between her breasts. She felt like she couldn’t breathe, more constrained than any bodice her governess had ever attempted to shove her into.

Her mind scrambled for any strand of memory, aching for reprieve.

I wish to dance with your loveliest daughter.

A deep sigh. You continue to focus on all of the wrong details, Feyre.

He sounded exasperated.

Push me out of your mind, he said.

Feyre didn’t know where to begin. He was everywhere. She couldn’t tell where her mind ended and his began.

Tell me how. She did not care that she was begging, desperate to be released from his hold over her. All she had ever wanted was freedom. And now… now she could have wept, if her body was allowed the function.

Is that one of your five questions? He asked. Merciless.

He pushed a little harder, flinching once she began screaming in the back of her mind. An echo of all that pain, all that pressure, all those years of pushing everything she was and everything she wanted to be so deep down inside. Until there was nowhere to release it but here, in the dark recesses of her mind.

Tell me why, she pleaded.

The claws remained, blinding her to everything but him and his cruel, piercing gaze. So intensely fixated on her, and she hated that he could see everything she had ever tried to hide. That she was not perfect, like Elain. Not indomitable, like Nesta. Just curious and stubborn and scared. And so, so angry that she was never allowed to be those things, that she was always expected to be someone else.

The Prince’s teeth were gritted, or so it sounded when he spoke into her mind. Why what?

Tell me why you chose me.

Push me out, first, he demanded.

Feyre thrashed, blindly, imagining she was a tidal wave pushing against him, forcing those claws out. They unhooked with an ease she thought was deliberate, like he was surrendering to her for simply trying.

As soon as he was out of her mind, Feyre slumped backwards, gasping for air. Her body felt loose, a puppet with its strings finally cut.

“Now shield,” Rhysand said. She never thought she would be relieved to hear his voice. “Block me out so I can’t get back in.”

Exhausted, all she could picture was the stone wall that encased Archeron manor, surrounding her mind. She felt a talon scrape against its exterior, testing its strength, its resilience. Rhysand was frowning.

“That works, I suppose.”

It was fitting, Feyre thought. She was just as trapped as she had always been. Free, only inside her mind.

“Now… tell me,” she said, still catching her breath. “The Prince of the North could have anyone he wanted. Anyone at all. Why did you choose me?”

Rhysand was silent for a very long moment. Scheming for some half-truth that would satisfy the bargain, she was certain. Eventually, he pushed up the cuff of his sleeve, revealing whorls of ink that traveled along his muscular forearms.

A tattoo that was the perfect match to hers.

“I chose you to be my wife for many reasons,” Rhysand said. “But foremost, I was coming to collect on the bargain your father made.”

A bargain.

He had alluded to it last night. Even vaguely so, at the ball, and yet… She had imagined Rhysand had leveraged his power to get her father to agree to this marriage. Had provided some threat of unspeakable harm should he refuse. She wanted to accuse the Prince of lying, but their bargain demanded the truth, and surely the magic wouldn’t allow him to tell such a blatant lie? However such things worked.

Feyre hugged her arms around herself. Suddenly the bumping wheels of the carriage were curdling her stomach, making her feel rather motion sick. “Tell me,” she whispered.

“The evening of your ball wasn’t our first meeting,” Rhysand said. He was leaning forward now. The corners of his eyes had tightened, and she thought she might have seen a flicker of concern as he surveyed her. “The first time I saw you was when you were a little girl, taken to the Northern Kingdom when you were gravely ill.”

She shook her head. “Now I know you’re lying. I would have remembered going to the North.”

“I don’t imagine you would have much recollection. You were young, and so feverish you could hardly speak. We had no warning you were coming. Your father turned up at our castle walls, carrying you half-dead in his arms. This pale, fragile little thing…” Rhysand trailed off, pressing his full lips together. His eyes had gone distant, and Feyre wished so desperately that she was the one who could enter minds to catch a glimpse of whatever memory he was recalling. The Prince cleared his throat, continuing, “My family was once given an enchanted healing pool, as a gift. It’s a sacred magic that had only ever been touched by my bloodline, and it was quite the affront for Lord Archeron to demand we let him use it. My father would have ordinarily turned him away, but he decided to strike a bargain instead.”

Feyre looked down, comparing her tattoo to the Prince’s. Waiting for an explanation of why a bargain between their fathers would mark Feyre and Rhysand’s skin. She suspected she already knew, and was only preparing herself for the final blow of the truth.

“No one who enters the pool can do so without belonging to the royal family. My father decided you would be no exception. You would be mine, to collect as and when I saw fit. I think he expected I would take you as a royal mistress—I think your father expected that, too, but he agreed.” Rhysand’s fingers found her chin, tilting her face up to meet those burning violet eyes, filled with so much emotion that she could not hope to decipher.

Feyre did not know why she cared, but her heart stung at the thought that he had not actually chosen her in favor of her sisters, afterall. But at least he had come to take her as his wife. A Princess, though she was far below his station. Feyre supposed she should be grateful she wasn’t taken as a concubine, though gratitude felt far from achievable at the present moment.

His voice lowered, “Then your father fled back to the Southern Kingdom and hid you in Tamlin’s lands, beneath the protection of his magic.”

Tamlin. Feyre flinched at the mention of his name, which the Prince undoubtedly noticed. She did not know how to process that he had been aware of this bargain and had not given her any warning.

“Your father is a fool and a coward,” Rhysand said darkly. He glanced down, and with his freehand took her palm into his own. His thumb swept a surprisingly gentle touch against the backs of her inked knuckles. “The bargain is tied to your life, breaking it would have had devastating consequences. But perhaps he thought if I never came to collect you, it could never be broken.”

“Then perhaps you should have left me in peace,” Feyre managed, knowing she should pull her hand out of his grasp. His touch was warm, welcome against the frost blooming on the carriage window.

Rhysand leaned closer, just like he had the night before. She could feel his breath on her lips, and wished she didn’t notice that it was warm, too. “We are bound, Feyre. You could have run away last night and I would have searched as long as it would take to find you again. Because you are mine.”

Mine. The possession in that statement should have sent her blood boiling, yet instead Feyre felt oddly breathless.

Rhysand swallowed. She was close enough to hear it, watching carefully as his expression softened, how his dark eyelashes skimmed his cheekbones when his eyes flickered down, towards her lips.

He whispered, so softly, “And I am yours.”

I do not want to be yours, Feyre thought. But she couldn’t quite convince herself to say it.

The Prince dropped her hand, knuckles clenching as he abruptly leaned back. “Shield,” he said roughly.

Somewhere amid the conversation she had dropped those stone walls that surrounded her mind. Feyre quickly built them back up, thinking about what he had overheard, mulling the statement over in her head.

I do not want to be yours.

She had meant it, Feyre told herself, even as she was flooded with the strangest sense of guilt. She did not want to be his. And if her hand felt oddly empty in the absence of his touch… well, she was just not used to the cold.

They surrendered into silence after that. The Prince had given up his attempts to have his wife speak to him, and Feyre peered out through the fogged glass, marveling at how easily one story could shift her entire perspective of her life.

The carriage stopped at an inn just as the sun was beginning to settle on the horizon, casting a pink glow over the snowbanks. Like even the world was blushing at the thought that she was about to be spending her first night in bed as a married woman.

Rhysand paused before they went inside, catching the way her eyes drifted towards the snow. “I want to show you something,” he said, breath coming out in thin clouds. A broad hand reached towards her, palm up in invitation.

She sincerely doubted he could show her anything that she dreaded so much as sharing a bed with him. The thought of delaying that moment, if only temporarily, was enough to convince her to take his hand.

A smile crept across his face, different from the other ones she had seen from him. This one was unguarded. As though she had pleasantly surprised him by taking his hand. The beauty of it, warmed by the sunrise, was almost painful to witness.

Rhysand pulled her away from the shoveled path, towards a blanket of snow that led away from the village and into the woods. She hadn’t the slightest idea where Rhysand could be taking her, but the snow was getting deeper, sinking to the Prince’s calf, then to his knees on the next step. Feyre needed to pause to lift her skirts.

Her governess’s voice drifted through the back of her mind, scolding her for letting the skirts drag against the snow. They would be soaked by the time they were inside, and surely Rhys would be disgruntled to see that his wife was—

The thought exploded into fractals of ice crystals. Feyre shrieked, dropping her skirts and nearly falling backwards in surprise. In her musings, she had not noticed the way her husband had kneeled to the ground to collect the soft snow into a ball, the frosty remnants of which were painted against the front of her coat.

Feyre brushed her hand against the excess snow, huffing as anger replaced her shock. “Did you just throw snow at me!?”

The prince was grinning ear to ear. “In the North, we call it a snowball fight.” He nodded towards the glittering snow beneath the pooling hem of her dress. “Go on, Princess. See if you can hit your cruel, wicked husband.”

She hardly needed further prompting than that. Feyre knelt towards the ground, scooping a handful of snow into her bare palms. Air hissed between her teeth at the sting. She had not been expecting it to be so cold, though she supposed she should have. It was soft, wetter than she expected, especially once she squeezed, compacting it into a ball.

In the time it took her, Rhysand could have easily made more to pelt her with, but he seemed oddly content to watch, the smallest smile tugging at the corner of his lips. Until she turned to him, and hurled the snowball at her husband with all her strength. That soft smile split into a laugh that dimpled his cheeks, showing off his bright teeth. She felt like she was the one getting pelted with a snowball, the way the sight struck her. Not knowing what else to do with herself and the odd swelling sensation in her chest, Feyre scooped up another ball of snow, wondering if she could elicit that laugh if she hit him again.

He wasn’t even trying to dodge, and that irritated her. She hated that he looked so pleased with himself and that she found his childlike joy so charming. Her next snowball was aimed at his head, thinking she could force the stupid smile off his face with brute force.

And it worked. Rhysand didn’t dodge as Feyre flung a handful of snow into his face. He shook his head, scattering the snow into a mist of silver dust. Ice crystals clung to his blue-black hair and his cheeks had gone red from the cold, spreading all the way to the tip of his nose. And his smile. Oh, that playful smile was gone. Replaced by a grin so wicked that Feyre found herself squealing, wading away—clumsily—through the thick snow.

Rhysand, who was much taller, caught up to her easily. Strong arms banded around her waist, and Feyre gasped as she was hoisted backwards, into a warm, broad chest as Rhysand spun them. She screamed as he flopped backwards mid-motion, taking her with him in a burst of frost and breathy laughter.

“Rogue!” She said, slapping him on the chest even though she was laughing, too.

“Have you ever made a snow angel, Feyre darling?”

“You know I haven’t.”

“Well.” Rhysand’s voice had always been lovely, but it was another thing entirely to be this close to him, to feel the rumble in his chest before the silken words reached her ears. “I think it’s high time you made one.”

“Show me how,” she whispered, forgetting that she was supposed to hate him.

She spread her palms against his chest to raise herself up, allowing her to feel his thundering pulse, an echo to the one rushing in her ears.

Rhysand was grinning. “I would be delighted to.”

He spread his arms and legs, moving them up and down, back and forth. Feyre didn’t understand what he was doing until they scrambled to their feet, where she could see the impression of snow that did look, vaguely, like an angel.

“Your turn,” he murmured, pointing to the blank canvas of snow to the side of his angel.

Swallowing a smile, and a bout of affection that she didn’t know what to do with, Feyre fell backwards into the snow and copied his motions. Rhysand walked around her, crouching at her head.

“What are you doing?” She asked warily.

“Making your halo,” was his hummed response.

When she got up, she could see that it was not a halo at all, but a crown. She laughed, despite herself. “Do angels have a monarchy?”

“I think any being would take one look at you and be rightfully on their knees.”

She snorted. Entirely unladylike, though she was beginning to think there was no one around to care. “No one has ever gotten on their knees for me.”

“Then allow me to be the first,” her husband purred, not an ounce of shame on his expression as he fell to his knees before her, head bowed like he was a knight paying fealty.

He stayed long enough in that position for Feyre to grow embarrassed. “Enough,” she said, beginning to wonder if he was mocking her.

Rhysand glanced up, not moving from his position as his hand sought hers. Once he’d secured his larger, slightly-warmer fingers around her own, the Prince drew her knuckles to his lips. It reminded her, painfully, of the first night she had met her true love in her dreams.

He whispered to the back of her hand, his voice utterly serious, “I could stay in this position for the rest of my life, and it would never be enough, Princess Feyre.”

Feyre looked away, trying not to think about how soft his lips felt, how earnest his eyes seemed. The sky was turning purple, now, and with the cooler colors came a steep drop in temperature that made Feyre acutely aware her dress was now soaked through.

She fought a shiver. “We should head inside.”

“Of course,” Rhysand murmured, squeezing her hand before lifting to his feet. He didn’t let go when they began venturing back towards the inn, and Feyre told herself she let him simply for the extra balance through the thick snow.

If the Innkeeper recognized them, or found it odd that the Prince of the North emerged wet and shivering from the direction of the woods, he kept it to himself. Their things had already been carried inside by the coachman, so all that was left was to follow the Innkeeper up the stairs, to the large room where they would be staying for the night.

“Let me draw you a bath,” Rhysand said the second they were alone, turning the key to offer them privacy.

The room was lovely, even by the standards of Archeron manor, though Feyre was certain it would pale when compared to whatever a Prince was used to. There was a large hearth, already lit, and before it sat two settees and a rather plush looking armchair. There was only one bed, of course, four postered and wide enough that she believed they could sleep comfortably without needing to touch. Though, the settee sounded much more appealing.

“That would be nice,” Feyre said stiffly, following him into the bathing room.

It was warm in the inn, helped by the crackling fire. Her body had gone numb from the sudden contrast to the cold air they’d been in just a moment ago. Rhysand hardly seemed bothered as he perched himself on the edge of the porcelain tub, sleeve rolled up to his elbow so he could test the warmth of the tap, allowing her to see the bargain tattoo once more.

She had always believed that her tattoo was something she would need to hide from her future husband, even Tamlin. It was something shameful, something scorned. Now, something she shared with Rhysand, who was staring at the bottles of scented oils with careful deliberation.

“Do you prefer jasmine?” He asked. “I noticed it growing outside your window, though I suppose that could have been your father’s tastes.”

“I like jasmine,” she said.

At this, Rhysand smiled, pouring the bottle into the water like it were a grand accomplishment to offer his wife such a simple pleasure. He stood up as the tub began to fill, flashing Feyre a coy smile. “I’ll leave you be.”

She caught him by the arm before he could. “I, um.” Cheeks burning, Feyre turned to show him the back of her dress. “I just need your help getting out of this first.”

“Right. Of course.” Feyre expected a flirty remark, but Rhysand held his tongue, his fingers so careful as he unlaced the bodice. The fabric sloped across her body once it was loosened, exposing more of her back than she would have wanted. She stiffened as knuckles brushed along her spine. Rhysand said, in a strained voice, “Enjoy your bath.”

How could she, when that small touch was all she could think about, even once she was fully submerged in the soapy water. How ridiculous would she be, if she invited him to join her? Very. She was supposed to hate him, and this marriage, and the fact that he had taken an opportunity to touch her so intimately at all.

Feyre should have been thinking about Tamlin. Worrying if he had gotten her letter, if he was as heart broken as she… should have been. It still hurt to think about, but the wound didn’t feel so raw as it had when she’d woken up. Still processing, she supposed.

She took her time in the tub, letting the heat chase away a cold that she was not used to feeling. The water eventually turned tepid, forcing her out of the bathing room to confront the husband that awaited her.

Rhysand had fallen asleep on the armchair, head tipped to the side so his raven hair flopped into his face, lips just slightly parted. Feyre thought he would make an excellent art study, the way the flames danced across his cheekbones, accentuating every piece of him in sharp shadow and soft light. He was much more tolerable, like this.

The Prince’s eyes blinked open, peering at her sleepily. He smiled when he saw she was in a towel. “Did you have a nice bath?”

Feyre crossed her arms defensively over her chest, hoping they would escape his perusal. But Rhysand was only staring at her face, eyelids so heavy she thought he might fall right back to sleep.

“I got to escape the sight of you for an entire hour,” she said. “It was wonderful.”

He laughed. A rich, quiet sound. “Good.” His eyes fell shut again. “I’ll sleep here. Protect you from any of the wretched despots that wander the night.”

Feyre was shocked he would volunteer not to share a bed with her. She had been certain he would demand they consummate their marriage, but she was not about to contest his willingness not to. A Prince. Sleeping on an armchair.

It looked like he had already fallen back asleep, hardly even interested in his wife parading around their room in a towel. Was he… not interested in those sorts of things, she wondered? Perhaps that was why he did not consider taking her as a mistress, though taking her as a wife—that was even more confounding.

Feyre quickly changed into her night gown, watching the back of her husband’s head all the while, not trusting he wouldn’t suddenly turn around to catch her. But he remained still, head lolled to the side, until the moment she climbed into the large bed and turned off the gas lamps.

The room dimmed, left only to the warm light of the fire.

“Rhysand?” She whispered, uncertain if he was still awake.

A lazy hum was her only reply.

“I have another question,” she said. She kept her eyes trained to the ceiling in an effort not to glance towards him and become ensnared in his beauty all over again. “One of my five.”

He hummed again, a quiet concession.

“If you would have had the option to pick one of my sisters… would you have still chosen me?”

“Of course,” he said, without a moment’s hesitation, even with his voice still thick from sleep. “I would have chosen you over anyone, Feyre.”

#As the River Flows #Feysand #Feysand fic #feysand fanfic #feysand fanfiction #Rhys x Feyre #Feyre x Rhys #Rhysand x Feyre #Feyre x Rhysand

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accurateweighingscalesug · 1 year

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#luggage weighing scales

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kittyzbonz · 2 months

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okay so two weeks ago i weighed myself and was like above 60kg. really depressing 😍 i started eating tons of food bc i felt like i was doing all those efforts for nothing and that i'm not even worthy of having my dream weight.

rn i'm at my uncle's and needed to weigh a luggage for a trip i'm having in a few days and out of ✨curiosity✨ i decided to weigh myself again anddd it said i was like 10kg lighter ????? LIKE THE SCALE SAID I WAS 50 SOMETHING KILOGRAMS ????

idek what to believe so i'll update you guys when i get back home in a week and a half 💀 i really want to be all delulu and believe that i actually lost 10kg by eating "unhealthy" amounts of food but if it ends up being false and when i weigh myself at home i might just km$ 👤...

but now WHAT IF it's actually the scale i have at home that has been LYING to me all this time ??? bc it is old asf like it's probably my age (18) so i don't know...

STAY TUNED Y'ALL 😭😭😭

#an0rec1a #light as a feather #no pro just using tags #tw 3d vent #tw ed ana #4nerex1a #@na vent #@nor3×14 #tw ed but not sheeran #tw ana thoughts #tw 3d shit #tw eating things

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theseshipsshallsail · 11 months

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Chapter 3

The next quarter hour is spent gathered at the kitchen island: Oliver sipping some iced-lemon concoction whilst Mafalda prepares a passel of olives for Vittoria’s roasted panzanella . Elio - having commandeered his luggage - sought a tactical retreat once threatened with potato peeling, and when Oliver predictably follows he smooths his fingertips over the zigzag bannister; reading the past like braille as each notch and newel finds him beset with nostalgia for the home and inhabitants who’d long proved instrumental in unearthing his authentic self.

In the eternal summer of ‘83, he’d wanted desperately to be worthy of their high opinion. To carry on being that person independent of his Riviera idyll. Yet three months later - trapped, bereft, miserable enough to be borderline clinical - his pandering to familial conventions put paid to it all. Self-doubt and cynicism were his constant companions - harmful beasts he’s fought tirelessly to slay - but to see them reflected in Elio’s hunched demeanour as he scales the upper landing brings it all surging back with a vengeance.

“Everything alright?” he asks cautiously, prompting Elio to stiffen where he’s stood.

“I shouldn’t have assumed,” he replies, tucking a rebellious curl behind his ear. “But you never said elsewise. And the sleeping arrangements are rather… restricted.”

Oliver’s shoes squeak on the final tread. “Restricted?”

“Un peu.” A come-hither dare. “Our old rooms are set aside for Ollie and Miranda,” Elio says, the possessive pronoun doing something to Oliver’s insides as he closes the distance. “When they’re not in the city, that is. Manfredi uses the attic space for his beekeeping, and Maman’s arthritis keeps her downstairs, so I took on the master bedroom when she signed over the deeds.”

Ah, Oliver thinks, quickly weighing his response. “A full house?”

Elio winces. “In all likelihood? Even a cough won’t go unnoticed.”

“I see.” Oliver steadies his frantic pulse. Smiles at the plastic Darth-Maul watching them from a squat, geometric vase. “And you’re hesitant?” he asks, gesturing to the end of the hallway where his heaped belongings are partially visible. “Of sharing, I mean?”

Mercurial eyes roll in fond exasperation. “On the contrary.”

“Then what -”

“Those who spit at history are doomed to repeat it.”

“Colourful.”

“But true,” Elio reasons, skimming the ridge of Oliver’s knuckles. “Isn’t that why we agreed there’s no rush? To escape the same mistakes as last time?”

“It is,” Oliver assures, immensely proud of the rules they’d established. “And we will.” Of that, he’s adamant. “I’ve had Micol. You’ve had Michel. Just as I’ve loved a younger you, and you a younger me. But we’re more than the sum of our actions, yeah? We’re in this as equals.”

“The good, the bad, and the ugly.”

“Nothing about you was ever ugly.”

“Smettila. That’s my line,” Elio demurs, rising up on tiptoes with a rueful sigh. “I’m borrowing trouble, aren’t I?”

“A trait we have in common,” Oliver soothes, buffing their foreheads together. “But it’s just a room,” he tells him then. “It’s just us.”

“Oh?” The laugh he receives is tremulous but sincere. “Is that all?”

“That’s all.”

“Fair enough,” Elio mutters, the tension leaching out of him in increments. “We’ll play it a piacere.” Blinking twice, he bites at his thumbnail. “Swear not to hold it against me if I steal all the blankets?”

Oliver captures his bicep; saving his cuticle any additional injury. “Swear not to kvetch if I get cold feet?”

“Ask me again when you use my shins to warm them,” Elio counters, and spinning on his heel makes short shrift of leading him to the furthest doorway.

To the charmingly cluttered domain synonymous with the promised land.

There’s an antique writing desk along one damasked wall. A gilt-mirrored bureau and scattering of shabby dog toys beside it. Directly opposite, a wrought-iron bedstead boasts a pair of mahogany side-tables, upon which a marble representation of Patroclus and Achilles seems almost prosaic abreast a digital clock-radio, five family photographs, and a half-eaten packet of hazelnut wafers. Somewhat strangely, a trio of orange Nerf balls sit equidistant on the south-facing sill - their inky silhouettes creeping wraithlike over the herringbone floor - but it’s the bountiful array of cinematic posters, CD racks, and bespoke bookcases, that intrigue him most.

“Did you usurp the library, too?” Oliver asks, identifying several Pre-Socratic monographs amongst a haphazard section of Mary Renault paperbacks and Doctor Seuss.

Elio grins. “For all intents and purposes,” he replies, perching himself on the king-size mattress. “Dad condensed his Milan collection when the cancer spread to his liver. Donated the rarities I didn’t want to various institutions.” Pursing his lips, he traces the spiderweb veins at his wrist. “Remind me to stop by your shelf when I give you the tour?” he advises. “We’ve remodelled the pianterreno for Maman’s sake, but the study is pretty much how he left it.” Elio’s eyebrows pull in. “They both vacationed here after the divorce, you know?” A shrug. “The perks of an amicable separation, I suppose.”

Oliver quits leafing through a copy of The Charioteer to sit down also. “The best friendships derive from understanding,” he says, a situation he’s thankfully au fait with himself. “Micol’s already planning to - wait.” His next exhalation is a tougher job than usual. “I have a shelf?”

“Bien sûr!” Elio exclaims, still trading unknowns like currency. “My father kept everything you sent him.”

“Even after the purge?”

Elio fiddles with the onyx signet ring he wears on his pinkie. “Like begets like, mon rêve. Tragic hoarders, the lot of us.” A beat. “Speaking of which…” He nudges him with his elbow. “Did you bring it?”

Oliver snags the strap of his holdall. “Did I bring it, he says…” Truth be told, he never travels without it: the A5 rectangular package currently parcelled in last Thursday’s edition of the Boston Globe. “Surely the key issue is where we’re going to put it?”

Elio waves him off with his usual laconic grace. “Oh, I’m certain we’ll find a spot…” His tone is distinctly reverent when he unveils the turn-of-the-century postcard: its frame dual-sided to show the assorted inscriptions. “And there it is,” he murmurs, poring over Oliver’s poignant addition. “Cor Cordium...”

A repetition and a vow.

There’s wonder in Elio’s gaze when he drags it away from the tempered glass. Desire, likewise. A question and a plea all in one. It would be easy, Oliver thinks, to eliminate the hairsbreadth between them. To strike a match to their inhibitions. Let the dormant pyre of potential consume them whole. But it’s essential they reconnect properly before taking that leap - that they be mentally prepared for what comes next - and hooking an espadrille around Elio’s bony ankle he wills his body into compliance.

Slides a recalcitrant palm to the other man’s spine.

Tries not to flush like some touch-starved adolescent at the bodement of suspense.

“What was that you mentioned about giving me a tour?”

“We switched the dining room to the smaller salon,” Elio explains as the grandfather clock chimes three p.m in the lofty foyer. “Refurbished la biblioteca. Created a maisonnette. Then brought in Maddalena on a full-time basis.”

“And you’re positive my being here won’t disturb her?”

Elio flinches. “If it does, please don’t take it personally,” he replies with a grimace. “Maman’s grown reliant on her routines, so yesterday’s trip to Pavia was… disconcerting.” Hugging his abdomen, he stalls beneath a sepia map of the Byzantine Roman Empire. “She asked about you over breakfast, though - ensured we had enough apricots for juicing - so she’s aware of your arrival. Excited, even.” Elio frowns. “But the afternoons are often a little…”

“Disorientating?” Oliver’s uncle was much the same.

“Précisément.”

“What did the neurologist have to say?”

“Nothing helpful.” Elio’s expression is willfully blank. “Nothing we haven't gleaned for ourselves, in any event. They’re optimistic these new meds might stabilise her moods, but perfecting each dose in lieu of her insomnia sounds a bit like Russian roulette.”

It’s a sobering prospect, and Oliver’s thoughts harken to the Grecian statuette upstairs; thoroughly resolved to support his own philtatos - to buoy his spirits post-battle - in whatever trials lay ahead.

“She’s lucky to have you,” he says, rucking up his shirt sleeves.

“The feeling’s mutual,” Elio replies, rapping on the threshold, then ushers him into the private apartment where Maddalena - Annella’s live-in carer - catches him up on the morning’s affairs.

A subtle note of jasmine infuses the suite: perfume or fabric detergent, he’s unable to pinpoint. Nature’s chorus seeps through the unlatched windows - the cooing purr of turtle doves supplementing the high-pitched buzz of varying insects - yet Oliver’s ears hone on one thing only, and not even the crackle of Annella’s vintage record player distracts him from the mellow humming of the venerable woman, herself.

With the sheer net curtains rippling idly behind her, she cuts a dignified image. Salt-and-pepper hair braided in an elegant top-knot. Pearl-drop earrings multifaceted as they disperse the dappled light. Her enigmatic smile is virtually indistinguishable to that of her youth, but any pipe dreams of spontaneous recognition are ultimately scuppered when Annella’s contemplative focus reverts to the vellum-bound novella nestled in her lap.

A crushing blow; though not altogether unexpected.

“Salut, Maman!” Elio says, his cavalier attitude belying his agitation as he joins her by the couch. “Je t'ai amené un visiteur.” Crouching, he fixes the crocheted shawl about her delicate shoulders. “Depuis l'Amérique.”

“D'Amérique?” Mascara lashes flutter sluggishly: an adagio swish as Annella examines his face, askance. “Oliver?” she whispers; cashmere soft. “Est-ce vous?”

He almost caves to the physical pang. “Hey, Mrs P,” he murmurs, brandishing the Valrhona signature box he’d purchased at the airport. “Rumour has it these are your favourites,” he adds, lifting the embossed lid, then all but fumbles the lot when Annella reaches up, stroking a thumb over his unshorn cheek.

“Un cauboi bearing gifts…” she says, and Oliver fights back traitorous tears at such unfettered tenderness.

“Far be it from me to show up empty-handed,” he replies, heart tripping over itself in its haste. “Shall I put these on the sideboard?”

“Bonne idée,” Elio answers for her, the hand at Oliver’s forearm keeping him grounded. “Mafalda will read us the riot act if we spoil your appetite.”

Annella giggles. “Sami always saves her la praliné pistache,” she informs them gleefully, releasing Oliver’s jawline with a gentle pat. “You’ll be sure to tell him, won’t you, mes trésors?”

“Of course...” he manages; breath stripped from his lungs.

“First chance we get,” Elio says: a seasoned professional.

“C’est merveilleux.” Annella flips the page of her book. “He was only saying last week how he hoped you’d make it home for Christmas,” she muses, her nexus turning inwards, and Oliver curses the cruelty of the human condition in the thousand-mile stare that follows.

#call me by your name #cmbyn fanfic #elio x oliver #new chapter #reunion fic

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