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wonilye · 8 months

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kingmaker | p.sh

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CHAPTER III

As an assassin working for the Hwangs, you have proven your loyalty to your benefactors for more than a decade. But when Lady Hwang's plans for a rebellion land you in a bride selection for the Crown Prince, you find yourself at a loss. Unfamiliar with the ways of the gentry, your reliance on a previously unknown informant is your only source of hope. And yet, you learn very quickly that no one in high society can be trusted, including yourself. Because who else but you is there to assassinate the King?

WARNING: please do check the masterlist for potential triggers/themes you feel uncomfortable with! this chapter doesn’t contain anything particularly triggering i can think of, so you’re good!

“All set?”

All around you, servants busy themselves with your baggage, last minute carriage checks and whatnot despite the setting sun. The carriage in question is an imperial carriage, one sent specially by the palace. Footmen are loading trunks upon trunks of perfumes and cosmetics galore, all “necessary for your daily use”, according to Lady Yeji. Apparently, gowns are provided by the palace’s in-house tailors, some of whom were summoned for the sole purpose of catering to the brides-to-be. As such, the only gown you’ll be bringing is the one you’re in right now.

It’s even more extravagant than the one you’d first tried on, a soft violet piece that has even more gauzy, intricately-woven layers resembling flower petals draping the flowy skirt. The sleeves droop delicately across your shoulders, and paired with a half crown braid with too many hair accessories, you look the part you’re supposed to play – a petulant, spoiled younger daughter of a renowned house. It seemed Riki and his fiancee had gone to great lengths to ensure your gown was altered to fit perfectly. Even better, the dress had numerous cleverly hidden pockets, perfect for concealing your weapons.

You have a feeling Lady Hwayoung is going to fit in perfectly in the family business.

Yeji and Hyunjin, playing their roles perfectly, reach for you in a tight embrace. They’re better actors than you thought, judging by the way they make this seem so natural, as if you’ve always been the younger sibling they dote on. Although Hyunjin’s a little stiff, you do your best to summon a few fake tears, squeezing him back. All this to fool the king’s footmen. You cannot believe the lengths the Hwangs are willing to go to.

Hyunjin pulls away. “Maintain your correspondence with us, alright? We’d like to know how you’re doing.” He eyes you knowingly, and you get the message. Send whatever information you can when at leisure to do so.

To his credit, Riki simply pats you on the back. “Try not to get into too much trouble, sister. We wouldn’t want you to miss my upcoming wedding,” he quips. You appreciate the normalcy, but now you’re at a loss. What would Hwang Eunji say?

You rack your brains for an answer. “Well, maybe I’ll be married even before you. Who knows? Maybe the prince will take a liking to me upon seeing my face.” Your stomach roils, even before you can finish. Catching the eye of the future monarch is the last thing you hope to do, especially since you’re there to kill his father, and possibly him too, depending on his personality.

With a final assessment of your belongings, you draw a steadying breath. Everything’s been accounted for, even the finest details. A miniature blueprint of the palace sits in your pocket, saved for your nightly escapades. The final piece of the plan left to fall into place is you.

“I’ll be off, then,” you declare, lifting your skirts. “Try not to miss me too much.”

Your gown flounces as you step into the carriage. Over the past few weeks, you’ve been training nonstop to move gracefully in the heaviest gowns Yeji owns, carefully imitating the gait of a noblewoman. Yeji is a perfectionist, and even the slightest misstep didn’t escape her. Stealth was your default, but as a daughter of an esteemed house, the last thing you needed was to be caught sneaking around. Thus, you’d like to say that your entry into the carriage was more than smooth enough.

As the carriage pulls out, you hear Yeji call out to you. “Good luck!”

You really are going to need all the luck you can get.

The carriage ride is smooth, though you admit you don’t have an experience as a point of comparison. The coachmen are silent the whole ride, the only sound being the occasional whinny of the horses.

You gaze out the curtained windows, gathering your thoughts. In your mind, you run through what you know. If intel is correct, the ceremony should start with the welcoming of the candidates, which means you’ll have to hit the ground running and start interacting with the other ladies upon arrival. Your entrance has to be immaculate. Drawing attention to yourself because of your incompetence would not be ideal. Get through the welcome ceremony and first dinner with the royal family, and you should be free to roam the palace grounds in disguise.

Your most crucial task on hand is to attempt to deduce your informant’s identity, or at least try to establish communication with them. It won’t be easy, seeing as the informant isn’t aware that the Hwangs sent their spy in the form of a bridal candidate (although they should have guessed as much). But how do you try to hint that you’re a spy without telling anyone you’re a spy?

Before you know it, the carriage pulls up to the gates of the palace, and you get your first look. The palace is much, much larger in person, and no less intimidating. The gates are a gleaming gold, the palace’s facade a haunting beauty, basked in the light of the setting sun. Elegant spires rise to the sky, looking over a sprawling front lawn covered in rows of neatly planted flowers of every colour of the rainbow. To the right, you spot the hedge maze you saw in the blueprints. There is a grim feel to it all, as though the castle holds secrets unknown to those who do not set foot in it. And to think this is only the exterior.

The carriage pulls to a stop at the foot of a grand staircase. It is meant to lead up to the palace’s main hall, where the ladies are gathered. Already, you see numerous other identical carriages, each painted with the royal family’s crest. The door swings open, and a hand reaches out to you to help you down. Though you don’t really need it, you take it anyway with the softest smile you can muster. Before you can even turn to thank him, a haughty voice calls out from behind you.

“Purple, hm? You must be the Hwangs’ candidate.” You look over your shoulder. There stands the most breathtaking girl you’ve ever met. With her striking features, and the perfectly condescending curl of her lips, you know exactly who she is. You didn’t spend hours staring at portraits of the candidates to fail at profiling.

“Lady Karina. A pleasure to meet you,” you greet, curtseying as elegantly as you can. As far as you know, she’s high society’s precious gem. Any ball she attends becomes the highlight of the month. You’re certain even Yeji’s spoken of her and her impeccable fashion sense, and by the looks of her outfit, you’d say she lived up to the rumours. With her white satin gown and its nearly never-ending train, she has the season’s trends incorporated into a single piece of clothing. She looks every bit an angel, clashing spectacularly with her image, no doubt carefully crafted by herself.

Lady Karina smirks. You notice she does not return your gesture of politeness. So much for staying out of trouble. “You failed to have a debutante, didn’t you? It must have been hard for you to be so sickly. I hope your condition remains well while you’re here, little violet.”

You grit your teeth, repressing the instinct to fire back. If you were truly Hwang Eunji, you would likely be more than miffed to be belittled with your family’s representative flower, and with a noble upbringing, you have to adjust your unhappiness to befit your newfound status. “Thank you for your concern, but I have fully recovered. My lack of a debutante won’t affect my performance in any way.”

In all honesty, it is a mistake on Lady Karina’s part. Beautiful as she is, in your eyes it does not matter, so long as she doesn’t get in your way. And right now, it seems she is hellbent on tripping you up. If it comes down to it, you have no choice but to eliminate her by any means necessary.

Of course, the idea of having to take her life repulses you, no matter who she is.

Turning her head of perfectly coiffed hair away from you, she sniffs, making her way up the steps. Embarrassing as it is, you follow in her footsteps up to the grand hall.

Servants push the large doors open, bowing deeply as you pass through. Lady Karina keeps her head held high, while you fight the instinct to nod your head back. Normally, you’d be in their position. This new role of yours is going to need some getting used to.

Already, the ladies are gathered in the throne room, a vibrant sea of colour. Coral pink tulle, seafoam green silk, sleeves so large they billow as the ladies walk. Every girl’s hair is adorned with their representative flower, just like yours. It is now that you realise why the women of the court are said to be comparable to delicate spring blossoms. They are every bit the breath of fresh air you suppose they would be to an ageing nobility. In a way, they shine so brightly they clash with the palace itself.

You slip past your competitors, ignoring their icy gazes. Before you sit a pair of golden thrones, one more elevated than the other. The king and his queen’s rightful places, although they’re currently void of said monarchs. For a moment, you try to picture any one of the girls gathered here today seated on the throne to the left.

In walks a gangly man, a scroll rolled in his hands. The poor butler attempts to get ahold of each girl to confirm their identities, but with the tension so thick you could probably chop it into more than a few pieces, it’s a little difficult to catch everyone’s attention. Luckily for you, this gives you more time to listen for their names. There’s Kim Minji, with her youthful, demure gaze. Shin Yuna, with her bubbly giggles and sweet talk. Bae Jinsol, who exudes a charm so powerful it chokes you when you speak to her. They’re younger, and pointedly less closed off to the others.

And then there are the slightly older ladies of the court, who have learned what it takes to survive here. You can tell by the way they smile with tight lips, hand placements perfected, eyes holding the same commanding gaze. They know their power. They know their influence. All the more reason to be wary of them. They are the ones who could see through you, see through your every movement. Lady Karina is one of these, and beside her are the girls your master taught you to be like: Ahn Yujin, Jang Wonyoung and her cousin Kyujin. With Jang Wonyoung in this competition, there is bound to be trouble. She is the kind of pretty every girl wishes to be. And to the side-

Oh, stars.

At the centre of it all stands a girl, too beautiful for words. With silky auburn hair that hangs down her shoulders in curls, and a form-fitting gown the colour of the midnight sky, your heart nearly stops beating in your chest. You don’t need your training to know who she is — Ning Yizhuo, the daughter of a grand duke, whose beauty men would fight wars for. Betrayal runs rife within her suitors. You would know, seeing as you’ve done in many of them for betraying your mistress in favour of Lady Ning.

Right. The mission.

Before you can clear your head, the butler from earlier approaches you. “Lady Hwang Eunji?”

You jump, nearly forgetting to react. “Ah, y-yes.” You summon whatever regality you can, adjusting your posture so the dress doesn’t sag on you. “Is something the matter?”

“No, my lady,” he replies quickly, bowing slightly as he unfurls his scroll, ticking what you presume is your name off the list. “Simply confirming your attendance. The palace welcomes you, Lady Hwang. Dinner will begin shortly in the next room over, where you will have an opportunity to dine with the royal family. We will escort you all shortly.” He smiles, a kind one, but unsettling nonetheless when paired with the bitter aftertaste of being called by your mistress’s title.

Smoothing out your skirt, you nod. “Right, thank you.” There’s very little you can say without letting on that your actual position is far, far lower than his.

Afterparties are one thing, pre-parties are another. You hadn’t even known such a thing to exist. Either way, the ladies refrain from wining and dining too much before dinner, but it doesn’t stop them from having a glass or two. It loosens tongues, and removes some of their inhibitions, clearly. You decline politely. You’ll need a clear head for tonight.

At last, the doors open to a spacious corridor. The guards lead the group through to another set of closed doors, decorated with little paintings of wine glasses and an assortment of food. The dining hall, presumably. The faint smell of roast meat wafts through the gap, tickling your nose and tempting your empty stomach. You haven’t had anything to eat since you left the Hwang estate.

With practised elegance, the guards open the doors with a flourish. Hanging from the ceiling is a chandelier, overseeing a grand dining table overflowing with all sorts of delicacies. Local cuisine, made by the palace’s renowned in-house chefs. It’s a spread more luxurious than anything you’ve ever eaten, and yet your attention, like everyone else’s, is not on the food at all. Rather, all have gathered their skirts in a curtsy towards the people seated at the very head of the table – the royal family.

They certainly look the part, with their matching gold-trimmed clothing. The queen, with her hands folded in her lap, smiles at all the girls like a mother would their child. The king, with his heavy gold crown resting on his head, only gives you a curt nod of acknowledgement. You suppose the queen says something, what with her lips moving and all, but you barely register her words. How could you, when your target is seated right before you? And to his left…

The crown prince himself, in all his royal glory. His haughty gaze as he regards the ladies (all gathered for him, might you add) is all you need to guess the kind of person he is: a spoilt first son, set to inherit a vast kingdom he neither cares for nor deserves. Crown Prince Jay, who currently has on an expression that tells you he does not want to be here any more than you do. In some ways, you suppose it isn’t such a bad thing. In fact, the greatest threat in this room right now does not seem to anyone from the royal family, but the man right behind the crown prince.

With his back facing the white wall, the man’s dark blue waistcoat makes for a striking contrast. Silvery hair frames his clever features - a memorable image. You opt to ignore the queen’s welcome speech, instead studying the mannerisms of who you guess is the crown prince’s courtier. There is something almost sinister brewing behind his eyes, if you were to speak from experience. You’ve heard of him, and his allegedly outstanding knowledge in just about everything. Which begs the question: just how much does he know about Lady Hwang’s faction?

As you study him, his eyes lock with yours, as though he’s sensed your gaze on him. Startled, you quickly turn back to the queen, feigning rapt attention, even though you genuinely have no idea what she has said up till this point. But in the corner of your eye, you see the ghost of a smirk.

Goodness, what trouble have you landed yourself in?

a/n: YALL im so sorry this is a week late…cuz guess who went to the enha con!!!!!! im currently in the throes of pcd so any thought of enha sends me sobbing in a curled up ball HAHAHAHAHAH yeah one week for each chapter is becoming so dang hard to maintain, i hope i can keep up bros. have a great week ahead friends!

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sweetbunnykook · 3 years

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Only You (10)

Word Count: 11,267 // [SPOILER IN WARNINGS] angst (mention of double homicide, gore/blood, miscarriage, mistreatment of a corpse, panic attack, meltdown, blackmail, gun, abuse), toxic relationship, manipulation

Photographer!Jungkook X Noona!Reader

Summary: Jeon Jungkook, your wedding photographer, helps you escape on your big day upon learning about a secret your groom-to-be kept hidden. You soon fall for this young, passionate photographer. However, you underestimated just how much he was willing to reciprocate that love. Maybe, you think, he’s loving you just a little too much.

A/N: Thank you for waiting so long! Please let me know if you enjoyed this chapter if you want to. Enjoy! - 🐰

The distant sound of television in your living room.

‘We bring breaking news…Kim Namjoon, the heir of…yesterday morning…in questioning…accessory of the crime…kidnapping and killing of pregnant fiancée…found motive…’

The splatter of blood on his skin, the taste of blood on your tongue. Your whole world melts into a puddle of red. You feel him inside you, around your throat, his grip tightening, his kisses searing against your lips to pin your tongue underneath his.

A whisper against your ear.

‘You’ve made me the happiest man in the world, noona.’

You wake up with a start, gasping for air as you reach over to where Jungkook should be only to be met with a gray rabbit plushie. It has been a week since the night your life changed. Whether for the best or the worse, you can’t tell just yet. You rub a hand over your stomach where you’re cramping, taking deep breaths through your nose and exhaling through your lips to calm the panic of hearing and seeing red in your dreams once more. The brain is a relentless organ. No matter how much you force yourself to forget, to justify the past, to let your anger roam free, your dreams follow you as soon as your body succumbs to exhaustion.

Jungkook gifted you a bottle of melatonin for such nights but it was rather hard to sleep when every thought goes back to the sound of Yori’s lifeless body swallowed by the rustle of a black plastic trash bag. It’s a stark dichotomy from the images you have of her in her soft chiffon dresses, bleached hair swaying in the wind, her lithe frame moving effortlessly between the trees in your family garden. To think that you would lose her in such a way is unfathomable even when there is a sick, hideous part of you that felt almost relieved that you’re alone at last. Her existence only served as a reminder of your humiliation.

It’s why you’d spent so many weeks and months back then cursing her – hoping she miscarry during your most vulnerable nights, hoping Namjoon would leave her for another woman so she gets a taste of how you’ve suffered; yet when the day comes when she’s truly gone, your heart and mind is restless.

As your stomach settles, the residual guilt rising like bile up your throat gives you a newfound reason to tell yourself you’re still very much a good person. You’re still the woman Jungkook loves for your understanding and hardworking spirit. Partly feeling guilt towards her death meant you still loved her in your true, good nature – or at least you love the memory of what she used to mean to you. The girl you remembered – the girl who would make crowns for you with wildflowers, paint your sleeping form, talk about all the men she wrapped around her fingers – was long gone before you found her lying at the end of a staircase. Your mother can’t kill someone who was already dead in your eyes.

The body your boyfriend stuffed in his freezer didn’t deserve your kindness nor repentance. It’s why you were able to waltz right into work the next morning from Jungkook’s studio, drinking the same cup of coffee at your desk, working the same files, and mentoring interns with a smile albeit the sudden panic episodes had caused you to empty your stomach after each meal.

You’ve run out of fingernails to bite. You’d expected the world to crumble and fall at your feet in the following days but everything feels oddly normal. The sun still rose. Flowers still bloomed. And Jungkook still loved you.

Sitting at the edge of the bed, the thin sheen of sweat on your body makes the valley down your spine tingle, prompting you to reach back to scratch your skin raw. When you look over at the nightstand, the red digital numbers on your clock glare into your irises through the sleep haze – it’s barely two o’clock in the morning. With a groan, you stretch an arm towards the floor and pull Jungkook’s shirt towards your feet before bringing it to your chest. The half-buttoned cotton still smells like him. Like comfort.

When you slip the black long-sleeved shirt over your head and roll it down your body, buttoning up to cover your chest, you’re struck with the realization that tonight is the night Jungkook must finish the job. He hasn’t left your side since the accident, treating you with the utmost care, his prying eyes following your every move to the point you ended up pressing your lips against his each and every time just to cease his worries. His fingers melt like butter on your skin when he cups your jaw in search of any anxieties you might have hidden from him. It’s evident that he’s in awe and in confusion at your strength. Maybe he thought too highly of your capacity for forgiveness; like the loud saccharine-faced women you work with, you’re just a tantalizing red apple infested with rot beneath.

And it’s with that very same façade you faced the detectives.

The police came knocking at your door two days ago. Jungkook promptly informs you that there was nothing you need to worry about for now except keeping your composure.

The two men explained the situation – a vague description about Yori’s disappearance, suspicion with Namjoon’s prolonged stay abroad, and odd evidence that she may be kidnapped or blackmailed – just as Jungkook predicted. You feigned passive concern as they took your statement about the last time you saw your former friend, inquired about the wedding incident, and noted the places she could be from your childhood memories. You answered every question with the calmness of an experienced storyteller, comforted when Jungkook confirmed your alibi with his hand wrapped around your fingers to keep you grounded when you trembled. A few angelic tears you shed hearing about Yori softened the mens’ heart although they didn’t have a single inkling of a different kind of fear buried inside you now that there is an investigation ongoing.

There was something about the glimmer of their handcuffs that made you fear for Jungkook playing the role of the clueless but supportive boyfriend like a seasoned actor. The thought of the men pinning your boyfriend on the ground and ripping him away from you had you hurling digested dinner over the toilet shortly after they left. Your tears must have done much of the heavy lifting during the interrogation that even Jungkook had asked if you were feeling alright, thumbs rubbing back and forth over your cold, wet cheeks.

You can’t live without him and if he were to be taken away from you, you wouldn’t know what to do. You’ve learned to fear his absence more than his capability for murder. Such thoughts threaten to cut the last strings of sanity holding you together.

Despite Jungkook being there for you every step of the way, he was powerless when it comes to protecting you from the stench of office gossip that you must endure for the sake of calming suspicions about your outside activities. It was obvious what your coworkers thought of you as soon as the news came flooding about Yori’s sudden disappearance. Whether you feign concern or not, there have already been rumors about a sabotaged pregnancy. Their fake kindness and whispers gave you the freedom to look as disastrous as you feel.

If only they knew that the true reasons for your sunken eyes and weight loss are far, far beyond their comprehension. If only they knew you were on your hands and knees scrubbing bodily fluids; the longer their mouths yapped, the more you thought about the red on your fingertips, how satisfying it felt to watch it spiral down the drain.

The first week was grueling but the second week – this week – when the voices of the two detectives, blood-filled memories, and buried dreams resurface, you’re completely cornered. Oh, how much you crave Jungkook’s touch, his gentleness, his ability to read your mind and body even more now that he’s gone to settle your debts.

You take your cellphone resting on the nightstand next to the digital clock, place the rabbit plushie under your arm, and make your way out of the bedroom. The condo is dead silent except for the muffled cracklings of vehicles running over pebbles on the highway nearby. It’s awfully cold but the sight of the fridge makes you clench your jaw and turn towards the couch, sliding onto the padded surface when another pang of panic hits your stomach, leaving you to press your abdomen inwards with the heel of your palm. You grab your laptop from the dirty coffee table with your free hand and place it on your lap, cursing once more when your nerves refuse to ignore the coolness of the aluminum surface. You squeeze the soft fur ears of the plushie, but it doesn’t feel the same as holding onto your boyfriend’s fingers in times of need.

It’s cold in the room, you note once more, but Yori’s body curled in Jungkook’s freezer is even colder.

Would he let her thaw before burying her? Would he burn her somewhere in the woods? Dump her in a lake? Would he admire her beauty first and brush his fingers down her cold cheeks, feeling pitiful about the woman who humiliated you just because she was carrying a child?

You shake your head, watching the laptop come to life. You need a distraction. Any kind of distraction to forget that your boyfriend and Yori might be alone in a room right now as if they’re on a little date.

The cramp twisting your innards isn’t caused by panic this time. It’s jealousy.

…

Taehyung is exhausted to the marrow of his bones. If he didn’t consider Jungkook to be his only family left, he would never have flown to South Korea on such short notice. It’s expensive to leave clients on hold when he’s spending a fortune every month lining bribery pockets. He hopes Jungkook is prepared to work without pay for the next month. Judging by how eager the younger man is to see him, he decided to cut him some slack in the end. That’s what families do.

Right now, Taehyung is only annoyed to find out that his partner – who had already left the refrigerated room – brought his least favorite pliers when he asked her to lay the tools on the table next to the body. The pliers are black but coppered with rust and prone to slips with its slippery silicone padding resting where his gloved fingers would go. He doesn’t even know when or how he came across such an awful tool but he’ll have to make do.

He turns back to Jungkook who is sitting on a plastic-covered stool across him on the other side of the body, brows scrunched together as he looks down at the nude woman’s slightly protruding but stiff stomach. There’s no sense of discomfort on his face; a good sign, Taehyung notes, as it has been some time since Jungkook has dealt with a body. Yet he finds himself uncomfortable when looking down at the vicious woman he’d heard an earful about. It’s not a good omen to cut open a pregnant woman, not when Jungkook has been preparing for parenthood ever since he dumped your birth control down the toilet.

“Are you sure it’s wise to leave her alone?”

Jungkook scratches behind his ears, watching Taehyung’s fingers pry open Yori’s frozen mouth to reach her teeth. The older man places a balled cloth inside the mouth before lining the plier towards the molars, gripping the frozen teeth between the iron clamps before yanking the tool to one side. The tooth pops out with a crisp snap, leaving a deep black hole in Yori’s pale gums. Freezing her made cleaning extremely easy – Taehyung can’t help but pat himself in the back when Jungkook seemed to remember all that he’s taught him about the work. He is, however, a bit disgusted that the body was kept in the same fridge as food. Hell, even an experienced butcher like himself has some decency not to do such a thing.

“I think it’s fine,” Jungkook murmurs, watching Taehyung’s sturdy hands yank each tooth out of her gums with razor-sharp precision. “She’s been sleeping better than the first week so I don’t think she’ll be awake by the time I get back.”

“She’s not like us,” Taehyung scolds, his baritone voice low. A puff of smoke dissipates in the cool air as he speaks. The younger man lowers his head; there should be a limit to the favors he ask for and he’d crossed professional boundaries one too many times. “It’s a big risk you’re taking.”

Jungkook juts his lower lip out like a child filled with remorse. “I know, hyung. But...I trust her and she trusts me. Or else we wouldn’t have gotten this far.”

Taehyung hums at that, finding it rather odd that a girl with a fine upbringing had the guts to do cleaning work (poorly as expected, according to Jimin showing up with the rest of his crew to spot-clean the rest).

“Trust can be an expensive thing, Jungkook.”

Desperate to appease the older man, Jungkook snaps his gloves in place and reaches over to take an electric saw in his hand, watching the silver glimmer under the lights before standing. He waits until Taehyung finishes the removal, placing the teeth neatly in a plastic cup, before lining the blades to Yori’s pale neck and quickly sawing down her esophagus. The saw groans as it hits her spine but with Taehyung’s palms pushing the saw down further, Yori’s head comes apart clean from the rest of her torso. Under the sharp blue lights her insides look tar black. Such a pretty exterior holding such ugliness inside of her, Jungkook thinks, before he shakes the thought away.

Her beauty can never be compared to you. You’re a goddess. And her? A mere insect to put back into the earth. Yori had caused you immense pain and he would see to it that she will be treated with utmost disrespect.

“What’s your plan after this?”

Jungkook moves the woman’s hair away from her face then removes the cloth from inside her mouth. He then pushes her jaw up to cover her black gums.

“I’m going to try to convince her to leave work for a while. Hopefully...she’ll be pregnant by then and it’ll make it easier for her to marry me.”

Taehyung nods. “Then?”

“T-Then…” Jungkook nibbles on his lower lip. Something about Taehyung’s gaze makes his insides queasy and he doesn’t know whether it’s because the older man is upset or just exhausted. With a poker face like his, with eyes that sink deeper than an eternal labyrinth, it’s difficult to tell. He settles on the most comfortable answer. “Then we’ll live like a normal family. Maybe after she gives birth we can buy a house instead and live near the sea like we used to.”

It’s not a definite answer, but it will do for now. When you regain confidence that life will continue on as it always had, it should be smooth sailing from there. Namjoon or Jin have been a threat but once the baby comes they’ll know better than to approach you again.

Taehyung’s assistant comes back into the room with a soft smile. She glances down at the decapitated woman briefly before walking towards the incinerator in the far corner. Like clockwork she appears once there is a twenty minute time limit before the room reverts back to a comfortable temperature. Jungkook’s freezer preserved the body enough that they can pull apart Yori’s limbs and burn each piece separately; the burning will be handled by her but dismemberment is intimate, a family bonding type of activity that re-establishes their brotherhood.

“Are you happy you’ll have a family soon? Does it bring you joy?”

The younger man nods, lips trembling softly as he looks down at the severed head. His cold breath fans over Yori’s eyelids. “Yes, I am. Very. It’s all I ever wanted. ”

Taehyung stares. From the scar on the left cheek to the mole under his lips, he watches Jungkook as the younger man saws through the arms, letting the frozen limbs fall to the plastic-covered floor with a rustle and blunt thud. Once all four limbs are torn apart on the floor, he lines the saw down the navel just above the slight hill of Yori’s protruding belly. Just as he moves to switch on the saw, Taehyung grips his wrist with a tightness that alarms Jungkook.

They look at each other, truly look at each other in the darkness.

“Will you ever tell her the truth?”

Jungkook jaw tightens as he holds the older man’s gaze. His fingers are going numb, not from the cold but from the grip around his wrist.

The question causes him to chuckle incredulously. One small step and everything can fall apart like a house of cards. The risk he is taking burning someone closely associated with you can pull them both back into the times when they lived like rodents; hidden from light, at risk of being poisoned every step of the way out from the ground.

When Taehyung doesn’t mirror him, he falters. “…What use will it be if we tell her? She doesn’t have to know anything about me.”

“Is it because you’re afraid she’ll be hurt or afraid she might leave if you do?”

The reaction is immediate. Jungkook’s brows come together and he lays the saw on top of the torso, releasing a harsh exhale as he desperately pushes back tears. Taehyung expected the reaction; it’s what he was aiming for in the first place. The minute he walked in the room and saw Jungkook smiling happily in the distance he knew the boy has taken his delusions too far. He’s willing to oblige with the many ridiculous requests in helping him secure you as a wife, but he’s not a hopeless romantic. He doesn’t believe in soulmates and pure, perfect love that Jungkook pines for. There is only so much luck Jungkook can depend on before you stumble upon something you shouldn’t have. With a criminal bond, the stakes have never been higher.

The boy takes his bottom lip under his teeth. “She won’t leave me.”

“Answer the question.”

“She loves me, okay? That’s all I need.”

He peels his arm away from Taehyung and brings both hands behind his head, burying his face in between the elbows. He turns away towards the concrete wall, his temples pounding from how hard his teeth are clenched. Couldn’t Taehyung just be happy for him? Couldn’t he take time away to celebrate this victorious night?

The reality is that two people who love each other may still never truly know each other. Just like how he doesn’t know the true reason why you wanted him as you watch him from the balcony in silence all those months ago, you won’t know why he can’t tell you everything about his upbringing. There’s no doubt that you would see his lies as betrayal, perhaps even worse than what Yori did because he made you believe he worshipped the ground you walked on (and it’s the truth). If you learned that the doe-eyed boyfriend part of him is dramatized, your heart will take irreversible damage. He had shown what it meant to be in love, to have a place where you both can call home, to care for each other through sickness and crime. He can’t ruin that illusion. Not when he’s this close to taking you away from everyone you’ve ever known.

“The fire is ready.”

He brings his arms back down to his sides and turn towards the assistant who stands with her hands clasped in front of her as she looks between him and Taehyung.

When neither of them move, she kicks opens the incinerator and releases a waft of hot air towards the thawing body. Jungkook turns back to the body and kick the limbs towards the fire. He grabs Yori’s head by the hair and tosses it towards the limbs, wondering if you would still love him if you saw him now in a grimy lab coat, reeking of frozen flesh. You most likely won’t. You most likely will be disgusted with him, your eyes might resemble his mother’s, peering at him as if you couldn’t waste one more second breathing the same air as him.

“I’m scared,” he whispers at last, walking towards the torso on the table. He places his hand over the blood-stained stomach. The baby didn’t deserve this death, he thinks, but it would have ended up as miserable as he was when he was a child.

“I don’t know how not to be scared. That’s why I…I’m doing all of this for her. It’s why I still can’t tell her everything even if we’re tied together now. But…but I’m…we’re still men, right? We’re not monsters who do this for fun. We do this to protect the people we love.”

The older man puts his hand over Jungkook’s on the cold stomach and rubs his thumb over his knuckles. The younger man relaxes a bit more now that he understands Taehyung isn’t frustrated or upset that he put them all in danger, only concerned.

Taehyung’s life’s purpose has been to protect this boy and now it’s Jungkook’s turn to protect the woman he’d fallen for. It’s all the more cruel that the woman Jungkook believes to be his soulmate came from wealth, from prestige, from a family that may be dysfunctional but more often than not normal. It pains him that he’s willing to live the rest of his life under a façade just to keep the illusion of a perfect romance alive. If only Taehyung could have convinced him that the beautiful couples in movies aren’t real, that the men in those movies are not like them and the women in those movies are not perfect little angels he think you are.

But that’s a battle Jungkook has chosen to fight and he could do nothing but support. That’s what families do.

“We’re not monsters,” Taehyung finally speaks at last as he walks towards the limbs and crouches down to the open incinerator. He brushes his long fingers along the metal edge, letting the tips of his fingers burn pink. His deep brown eyes reflect the orange hue of the fire yet his pupils welcomed no light. “But we’re damn close.”

…

Your skin prickles with goosebumps as you gulp down the remaining ice cold water from the fridge, laying your forehead on the door handle. It’s unbearably hot and cold at once and you’re growing impatient as the minutes tick by and you’re still alone.

It doesn’t take long to bury a body, does it? Jungkook never specified what he was going to do. Maybe the reason why it’s taking too long is because he’s driving far into the woods but your heart pangs in worry at the thought of a witness catching sight of him hunched over with a shovel. He seemed confident when he left (in your sleepy haze you don’t remember clearly) that the thought went away as quickly as it came. Your boyfriend can be meticulous; there’s a high chance that he’s taking extra precautions. He probably isn’t calling because he assumes you’re still asleep. He’d tucked you in and kissed you on the forehead, only murmuring something about being back soon and bringing back breakfast.

You set the glass down in the sink and walk past the kitchen counter, halting in your steps when you find your purse laying haphazardly next to the fruit basket. It’s been there since the police came and the contents of your wallet and keys threaten to tip over into the basket. You pull the undone zipper apart, rummaging around the inside to straighten the sides until your nails click against the uncapped flash drive. It makes your insides quiver when you realize you had been opening the files when your mother called during that day and the world crumbled. Oh how blissful you would be standing here if you never picked up the call, if you let her deal with her own problems, if the guilt of her being alone and scared didn’t affect your tender heart. The worry that Seokjin had written a love letter seemed rather insignificant now that your boyfriend can be taken away in cuffs if evidence surfaces. The tabloids would have another field day for sure.

You turn towards the digital clock on the stove, noting the time once more, and grasp the flash drive in your hands before making your way towards the living room. The flash drive blinks green as you slide the silver end into your computer propped on the coffee table. The laptop will keep you sane because you know damn well if you see Namjoon’s face on the television once more you’d spiral into panic. It’s not wise to speak of his name under your roof.

It’s not wise to speak of Seokjin’s name either, but if Jungkook isn’t coming anytime soon, the least you can do is read what your old friend has to say and be rid of this little tool in case your boyfriend’s curiosity leads to a temper tantrum.

Once again, the document window reveals a ZIP folder along with an array of photo files. You extract the file first, letting it load before double clicking to pull up the document window. It’s not what you’re expecting. There’s no sweet words and no mention of Seokjin’s name on the page. The document is over two hundred pages long and still loading as you scroll down the pages. There is a case number in the middle of the first page and then several police reports from several years ago, all dated within the same year.

Busan.

Two victims.

Two suspects.

Juvenile.

With your brows furrowed, you scroll further down the file, slowly falling back down to earth from the blanket of mental exhaustion. You feel a cold breeze down the curve of your spine, your fingertips slowly coaxing the cursor downwards. Several sentences are censored or cut in the corners. The further you scroll the more you find yourself asking if Seokjin had given you the wrong flash drive or if he was pulling a vicious prank on you. It all seemed like a whirlwind of information you don’t know how to translate until you pause on a page halfway through the document.

Kim Taehyung.

The name is most definitely familiar. The second name listed in the following page, however, you recognize in entirety.

Jeon Jungkook.

The universe must be playing a sick joke, you think, as your cursor swims around your boyfriend’s name. He would have told you about an incident big enough for a case report that spans over a hundred pages, wouldn’t he? Jungkook wouldn’t hide anything important from you, not after he had urged you to be transparent with him. Not after he had punished you for something as silly as keeping jewelry gifted by or ex or forgetting to wear a brassiere in public. Something in your gut tells you to keep scrolling despite your vision beginning to blur and the air around you becoming heavier as if you’re breathing over a pot of boiling water.

You scroll further down, lips parting as your eyes scan over the document with record speed. The Jeon family massacre, the shack in Busan, the weapons used on the bodies for both murder and disposal – everything is written in clear detail. But it’s impossible, you think, as Jungkook has never once hinted that his parents were deceased. In fact, there were several times when he welcomed the idea of you meeting his family. He wouldn’t have agreed with enthusiasm if he had to reveal the details of this case, would he?

He wouldn’t have his mother’s number saved. It doesn’t make sense and the more you wonder who that woman could be in his cell phone, the more your insides twist.

When you hit the last hundred pages the censorship worsened. Most of the pages are illegible with black boxes shadowing over sentences but you don’t need the missing sentences. The last five pages summarized the timeline of the incident and highlighted possible motives from abuse to undiagnosed mental disorders for both Jungkook and Taehyung. You’re not sure if the file is even reliable considering what you’re reading and the boyfriend you’re living with seem like two different people.

There is hardly any record about the two of them except the elementary, middle, and high school they’ve attended. The paragraphs blur together as you scroll with trembling fingers. Something about Jungkook’s instability, his codependency on Kim Taehyung, the manner in which he was released shortly after Taehyung’s escape from the facility despite facing juvenile charges for second degree murder.

Then, the details of the crime.

Jungkook couldn’t do something like that, could he? Your lungs ache as you pant, a sudden sob leading you to clasp a shaky hand over your mouth. There is no reason for you to claim this case as unreliable when Jungkook is disposing Yori’s body somewhere within the twenty mile radius. There is no reason this case is talking about another Jeon when the first thought your boyfriend had when you confessed your mother’s accident was to help with the cleaning.

This couldn’t be anyone else but Jeon Jungkook, the boyfriend who kisses you until you melt like butter in his arms and pouts whenever someone looks at you the wrong way. Despite the file in front of you, you shake your head.

“It’s not him…it can’t be him.”

Closing the file window, you take a deep breath before opening the image file next to the folder. The first few photos were of the crime scene and your blood turns cold at the disfigured corpses in the room. The room is dirty with peeling wallpaper, blood splatter, broken furniture, and schoolbooks and papers. The couple in the picture is your boyfriend’s parents, there’s no doubt about it. You can see the resemblance in what remains of his father’s face and you wonder if that’s the reason why he never felt comfortable in his skin, as he once told you during pillowtalk.

With your core tightened, bracing for the worst, you open the last image. There is Jungkook, in the flesh, pictured with a uniform and handcuffs, eyes blacker than your morning coffee. His face is littered with bruises and the corner of his lips are swollen, caked with dried blood. The purple and green bruises stretch over his eye socket, reaching far back to his temples where his hair falls. Somehow the fact that his mother had abused him didn’t register in your mind until now. It feels somewhat far away, like a distant memory that has no effect on the person he is now. But Jungkook didn’t become the sensitive and hardworking man you know now because of sheer willpower; he was forced into the role.

He did what he had to do to survive and you know deep in your heart you can’t hate him for it. You can’t justify murder, but you can’t ignore that he was desperate to leave.

You place a trembling hand over your heart and lean back into the couch.

Either way you look at it, one thing remains true. Jeon Jungkook had spun lies upon lies to be in your life. He had successfully kept you in the dark, hardly ever showing how truly dangerous he can be until the time is right. His anger has been, at times, loving and sweet. Other times, it spurred fear. He had promised you time and time again he would never hurt you. Yet, that promise holds no substance when he doesn’t practice his own standards for loyalty and truthfulness that he instilled in you.

There’s the Jungkook from Busan who showed no remorse for what he did and there’s the Jungkook who held your heels in his hands as he led you to safety from that fateful wedding night. Burying your head in your hands, you fist the roots of your hair until your scalp burned.

You’ve been sleeping with a stranger.

…

The precinct is a large, block building next to the subway station that would be invisible if it were not for the newly painted gray-blue gates set around the perimeter of the building. There is a group of photographers huddled against the gates despite the very late hours of the night, sporting the same black padded coats as they tumble over each other like penguins. When Namjoon steps out of the building and into the Mercedes parked in front of the building, the camera shutters click. Reporters shouts his name for a statement. He merely glances at the crowd before stepping into the vehicle, adjusting his coat before slamming the door shut.

The crowd of reporters part as the vehicle makes its way down the concrete path to the streets. There are no officers in sight to control the crowd, prompting him to watch in silence as they knock on the tinted glass and the side of the car. His chauffeur would seem unbothered if not for the whiteness of his knuckles as he grips the steering wheel, stepping on the gas with urgency while being careful to not anger the hungry journalists desperate for next morning’s cover story.

He can understand Lee’s anxiety as they drive towards one of his apartments in the city with higher security. He has been in a state of paralysis ever since he landed and was immediately brought into questioning. The handcuffs at the airport wasn’t necessary, he thinks, and he’s convinced some of these cops must be journalists in disguise, blaming him for a crime he had no knowledge of. Aside from such inconveniencies, there are other problems to address such as the dent in his parents’ pocket to keep the media from prying too much into the investigation. He’d faced his father’s wrath earlier before his first shot of whiskey, and then his mother’s who cried on his shoulder as she was too relieved to see him walking freely. He doesn’t understand why people are surprised that he isn’t the culprit when there is so little evidence against him. The precinct wanted to make an example out of him, about how the rich aren’t safe from persecution; however, they fail to consider that the rich aren’t always guilty with whatever they are accused of either. It’s been an exhausting last few weeks to face the same mob of cameras before, during, and after the questioning. They must know by now that Yori’s disappearance was as surprising to him as it is for everyone else.

There is no end to the investigation – especially when they are set on finding evidence that it was premeditated - and his exhaustion reached its peak this morning when he realizes today was the day the baby is due. Yori wasn’t fond of motherhood – unbeknownst to outsiders who only saw her poised nature – and neither was he. But he had made an oath that he would be there for the child at least financially if not emotionally and would provide the necessities while he legalize their marriage and transfer abroad for work. He swore to not touch a single drop of alcohol when the first cry of his child reaches his ears yet here he is, pouring himself a drink from the mini fridge assembled between the seats.

“Where do you think she is?” He asks, then takes a shot of straight vodka. This was one of many times he despised how poised he can be when the situation is dire. His lawyers had advised him to be emotional, but he can’t bring himself to put on an award-winning act when he’s one sleepless night away from a coma.

The older man glances at the rearview mirror, lips setting in a thin line as he eyes the bottle in Namjoon’s hand.

“I’m unsure, sir. The police and your father has been searching in all of the places she could possibly be. I’m sure they will find her soon.”

“Dead or alive?”

The car jolts to a stop at the red light. “Sir?”

“It’s been a week. She hasn’t called, there’s no activity from her bank account, no money taken from the house, and no report of her fleeing the country. She left her belongings behind, including her cellphone and a coat during this weather. The investigation is only ongoing because there’s data from security that she let someone in at night and the back gates were open. The surveillance in the main roads nearby didn’t pick up any suspicious cars either. Now tell me…do you think she’s dead or alive?”

Lee presses on the gas pedal and sighs, staring straight ahead at the roads but unable to focus on any of the signs.

“I don’t think I can answer that question, sir. Please forgive me.”

Namjoon takes another shot and turns his head towards the cars passing by him. There was no money taken, which concludes that the culprit’s motive had nothing to do with financial gain. It must be the reason why he’s under suspicion.

“Perhaps…” Lee speaks again, his careful eyes meeting Namjoon’s apathetic ones through the rearview mirror. “Perhaps _____ might be able to help with finding Miss Kim. She was very close to her. Maybe she knows a few locations we’ve missed.”

He considers the offer for a moment, knowing that the detectives had reached out to you for more information at the same time of his questioning. It’s true you were Yori’s closest friend for most of your life. Until last year, you talked to her on the phone several times a week and shared a meal with her at least once a week in your former apartment. You invited her to all social events and dressed, shopped, and spent quality time together. It would be a wise choice to call you in such a catastrophic time. He does, however, understand that you would be reluctant to involve yourself in the investigation for you had started a new life with this new boyfriend of yours and had distanced yourself from even Seokjin himself. Not even your mother knew about what you were up to on most days.

Nonetheless, the situation is too severe to preserve his own pride as well as yours. Yori is with child and there’s still a morsel of a chance that she – and the baby – is safe. You may have changed in the last several months, but if there was one thing he’s still sure about you, it’s your willingness to set aside differences to help others.

He hopes you would take the call once he musters the courage to dial your number. Maybe he’ll call Seokjin instead if he has a change of heart.

“I’ll consider it.” Namjoon nods as Lee nods back, slightly relieved.

For the second time in his life, Namjoon is terrified of losing someone close. He had watched you, white chiffon and silk in your hand, as you ran out of the lobby and his life forever. He hoped that he can do right and bring Yori and his child back to safety and make sure – this time – to cherish what he has rather than what he’d lost.

Knocking the last shot of vodka, he leans his head back against the plush leather upholstery and closes his eyes, hoping more than anything to be taken out of his misery.

…

They say a woman’s intuition doesn’t lie.

You’re thankful that it’s too late in the night and too early in the morning for your neighbors to hear the ding of the elevator as you make your way down the building. You didn’t bother dressing, merely grabbing your purse with the flashdrive tucked safely in one of its compartments on the way out. You’re still wearing Jungkook’s shirt as a dress and you slid into the first pair of sandals you can find through the burning tears. You’re not sure how you’re supposed to feel in the haze of betrayal but there’s a sense of humiliation that comes with finding out you were lied to – perhaps laughed at behind your back – for months. It’s the same feeling as that wedding night, but a million times worse now that you’ve reached the end of no return.

Even if you call Seokjin and urge him to help, there’s nothing you can do to change that you’re an accomplice. There’s nothing you can do to change that a sick part of you enjoyed scrubbing blood off the floors, fucking your dirtied boyfriend afterwards, and pretending life will continue as normal.

Furthermore, there’s nothing you can do to change that you’re still utterly in love with Jungkook.

It can’t all be a lie, can it? The reason why he chased after you, jumped over fences to bury his nose in your intimates, and carve your skin isn’t because he’s using you, right? There’s only so much pretending a person can do. Deep in your heart, you feel that Jungkook does really love you. You wouldn’t feel this safe with him, even after knowing he had done something irreversible in his childhood, if his tenderness towards you isn’t genuine.

Yet, you’re also acutely aware of how much money your family has. You know how many valuable assets you have under your name after your father’s passing. You know how easily you can change your life at any given moment if you choose to meet your mother’s expectations in marrying into a conglomerate family and living without worrying about money. The reason why Jungkook helped you during that wedding night can be because he had the opportunity to be with someone who can offer him financial security he didn’t have growing up. Maybe he was attracted to how easygoing your life is, only having to worry about which restaurant you want to pick for date night, unlike his formative years surviving on scraps.

You’re also pathetic, desperate, unloved. It was too easy for Jungkook to charm his way into your life in a moment of vulnerability. He must’ve known you came from money just by the size of the venue and how much you offered to pay him for his photography services. He must’ve known how naïve you were when you were willing to sleep in his arms that night, how willingly you swallowed the painkiller he gave you.

Even then, it doesn’t make sense. He owned a studio. He bought you gifts and took offense when you denied his offer to help pay for things only married couples do. He gifted you flowers every week and take you out to beautiful places when you were sad, never thinking twice about putting down his last dime if that’s what it took to see you smile. He’s patient and empathetic. He’s kind because he understands the pain of being hurt by the ones you love but he can also be kind because staying with you is convenient.

And you don’t want to be the convenient woman. Not anymore.

…

Jungkook’s phone vibrates in the back of his pocket, prompting him to remove his gloves and throw them in the fire with the rest of the corpse. The assistant is asleep on the couch, unaccustomed to night cleaning when Taehyung keeps her in charge during the day. Taehyung, on the other hand, slides his sanitized tools back in the slouchy leather bag, turning his head towards the fire when the alcohol from Jungkook’s gloves reawaken the fire for a moment.

Jungkook reaches behind him and fishes the phone from his pocket to see the notification from a security sensor. His stomach drops when the notification loads, the buffering swirl of the loading screen feeling eerily similar to the swirling aches in his stomach. He’s relieved that there are no police cars in front of the garage, but the relief is short lived as his eyes land on your car instead, the door to the driver’s seat left open.

He quickly switches to the cameras from the inside, pointed directly at the front door to see a figure walking through. He watches as you stumble inside, falling on your hands and knees as you tumble into the boxes of books and accessories he kept near the front steps. He haven’t had the chance to throw them back in the garage when Jimin and his team took away the freezer and left behind a mess.

“What’s wrong?” Taehyung comes next to him, peering down at the phone. He watches in silence as Jungkook’s hand trembles.

He watches you grab onto the nearest table and pull yourself up from the ground before switching on the lights. And it was the sight of your swollen eyes, your bloodied knees, and your heaving breaths that had him running out of the room, grabbing the car keys and jacket from the hooks next to the door. The thought that someone might have hurt you set his head into flames. Taehyung’s assistant wakes with a slight gasp the moment Jungkook slams the door open into the bright reception desk area of a run-down funeral home. The walls vibrate.

“I’ll come with you,” is all Taehyung says as they fly out front door. His assistant would know what to do without him.

Taehyung takes the keys from his grasp and starts the car, stepping on the gas without hesitation as Jungkook buries his face in his hands and fold over in the passenger seat. He reaches over and runs his fingers through Jungkook’s hair, cursing underneath his breath. The younger man takes a moment to collect himself before his shaky fingers unlocks his phone once more, the loading screen causing him to bounce his knees as he waits. Even Taehyung’s comforting hand does nothing to soothe the panic rising up his esophagus.

“S-She’s going in the dark room,” he huffs as he keeps his eyes locked on his screen. “I don’t…d-don’t know why she-”

“We’ll figure it out when we get there.”

There are no cameras in the dark room, not even ones he can hide inside everyday objects.

In half the time it usually takes to get to the studio, Taehyung steers the vehicle into the familiar neighborhood, head swinging left and right to check if anyone else is nearby. Before he parks outside the garage, Jungkook undoes his seatbelt and steps out of the moving vehicle, running towards the front doorsteps. His shoulder crashes into the front door as he twirls his head around the studio, checking to see if he missed anything. He sees your handbag on the floor, the sliding doors to the darkroom remaining closed.

You’re inside there, hurt, bleeding, needing him. He should’ve stayed behind with you and let Taehyung take care of Yori; it wasn’t necessary for him to be there, but he didn’t want to be seen as ungrateful after asking for numerous favors.

Taehyung steps inside the studio and closes the front door behind him as Jungkook slides the darkroom doors open and step inside, sliding the wood back into place behind him. He steadies his breathing and takes a few seconds to adjust his eyes to the dark red bulbs above him. When he hears a crunch he looks down to see numerous photos of you underneath his soles, entire binders and broken photo frames laying across the concrete floors.

Jungkook steadies himself with one hand on the wall, lining the perimeter of the room until he can spot your hunched figure in front of the metal cabinets. Your shoulders are shaking, hand patting around the inside of the of the cabinet, knocking over medication, empty film canisters, and stationery.

“Noona?”

You gasp, your hand flying to cover your mouth in the semi-darkness. The bottle of pills in your hand clatters to the floor, rolling towards Jungkook’s boots. Your back slams into the cabinet behind, eyes wide with fright as your tears roll down your face. He keeps his eyes on you as he kneels and takes the bottle in his hands, briefly looking down at the transparent bottle before looking back up at you.

“What’s going on? Why are you crying?” He asks, panting as he strides towards you with outstretched arms.

In the midst of your anger you fail to realize someone like Jungkook would have taken extra steps to track where you are. You didn’t even check if the car or phone is bugged. Even during this time you’re still stupid, you think. No wonder it’s easy for men to lie to your face with that kind of carelessness.

You shake your head, backing away from him. “Don’t.”

His eyes brim with tears as you clutch your chest, your body trembling. Jungkook shakes his head, holding his bare hands in front of him to show he won’t touch you. You look at those hands – the hands that have caressed your cheeks in the morning, massaged your shoulders after long work hours, buried your old best friend – like they were weapons.

“I-I don’t understand,” he breathes, his hands trembling as his eyes rake over the scattered pictures on the floor, the open cabinet doors, and at your tattered appearance. You’re still dressed in his button down shirt, the material falling mid-thigh and he catches a glimpse of dried blood on your knees from your fall.

“I thought it was strange. How calm you were about all this. I t-thought…” you put your hands together over your heart, your chest shaking with sobs. He can hardly make out your words from the tears and the sound felt so painful to his ears he wanted to smother you, put his hands over your mouth, and keep you locked in his arms tight.

Your teeth clatters, not because you’re cold, Jungkook knows, but because you’re scared. Of him.

“Noona,” he whimpers again as he waits for your sobs to subside. He struggles to understand.

With the heel of your palm you wipe away the tears but the more you rub the worse it gets until you feel as if your face would drown under your own ministrations. The gut-wrenching pain you felt reading his report lingers in the depths of your stomach, churned into fear that there is a possibility you could end up just like them. How could you even know if his tears are real? How could you even know if the last few months of your relationship was even real?

“You never loved me, Jungkook. You…this is just some sick fantasy of yours, r-right?” Your voice breaks. You don’t understand what’s coming out of your mouth when the only thing you wanted to do was hurt him. Make him feel the way you do now. “Making me fall for you. Believe I can earn your dead parents’ approval. Making me your fucking doll. You got off on me being a naïve little bitch, didn’t you? You sick fuck.”

You know.

Oh god, you know.

Jungkook feels as if someone had wrapped a rope around his neck and pulled. Is it punishment for wanting happiness? Is it because he was bound to this endless life of suffering where the people he loved end up hurting him in the end? End up leaving?

Jungkook shakes his head, mouth falling open as he watches you back away from him into the corner. His sobs are loud and pained as if you had hit him across the cheeks. With every step he takes towards you, you take one step back, as if to say you don’t want him near, you don’t want him to touch you, as if you don’t even want him to look at you with those seemingly innocent eyes.

“You lied to me,” your voice reduces down to a whimper. “You promised me you’d never do that. Did you intend to keep this from me forever?”

“N-Noona…”

He falls to his knees, putting his hands together in prayer as he sobs. Through your anguish and his, Jungkook still holds your heart captive.

Like a dam bursting, his apologies engulfs you.

“Noona, I’m sorry! I-I-I didn’t know how to t-tell you,” he gasps for air, putting his hands down in front of him in surrender. He puts his forehead against the cold concrete, clasping his hands together in prayer, writhing, withering. “I swear, it wasn’t me! I didn’t w-want you to think I was a mu- murd-derer,” he hiccups, coughing as his hunched figure trembles.

Backing away until your shoulder blades lean against the adjacent walls, your body slides down, the phone from your grip clattering onto the floor. The screen brightens with the image of you and him as Jungkook’s trembling figure creeps closer, crawling towards your feet in the darkness. You can’t feel your teeth gnawing on your thumb until you taste blood in your mouth. You watch your boyfriend’s cold hands wrap around your ankles as he puts his forehead onto your calves and begs.

“I love you, noona. I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I love you so much. Please don’t hate me noona, please, I don’t know what I’ll do if you hate me. I’m sorry I l-lied to you, I swear I was going to tell you everything soon, noona. W-Whatever you saw is all wrong. I never killed them, I l-loved them with all my heart,” he surrounds your folded legs in his embrace, leaning his wet cheeks against your scraped knees as he sobs. “They hurt me. They m-made me like this, I didn’t want to be like this noona, I ju-just wanted someone to love me. I didn’t mean to b-be bad-“ His clammy hands presses your calves together, keeping your knees still.

Jungkook’s head raises, slowly, his soft dark locks falling from his face. His doe eyes aren’t focused on you but on some invisible spot on the ground. He whimpers your name before doubling over and hurling vomit onto the ends of your shirt, his head slamming into the cabinet next to you. The stench of bile wafts towards your face but you’re given no chance to move when Jungkook gags and empties his stomach once more, acidic saliva slipping down the corner of his mouth as he sobs.

With no warning whatsoever, he brings his head back and slams the side of his head against the metal cabinet doors. You’re frozen stiff, your body trembling as you watch the love of your life knock his head into the doors again and again, drool dripping down his mouth.

When he wails, you reach for him. “K-Kook-”

He brings his head back, eyes glazed, as he rams his head into the metal sheet again. And again.

“I-I’m sorry noona,” he cries, etching the words into his skull. “Noona I’m sorry…I-I didn’t meant to hurt you nng, noona…I won’t…”

With shaky limbs you crawl closer to your boyfriend, pulling him by the collar to stop but the panic causes your shaky hands to slip, merely finding success in pushing him towards the ground. He coughs, gasping for air. When his wails become louder, you hover above his writhing figure, hands on his arms to keep him still in desperation. It’s no use when he continues to apologize, not hearing your pleas to stop, to listen to your voice and breathe. Seeing him like this makes you want to take back your words.

The door to the darkroom slams open, revealing a tall man whose face you can’t see until he steps further into the red hue. You weren’t aware Jungkook didn’t come alone.

He must be Kim Taehyung; there’s no mistake from the stained lab coat he adorns to the tar black eyes that could bore holes through your skull. He looks awfully similar to Jungkook and if you hadn’t read the case and hadn’t known that Jungkook was an only child, you would think they’re brothers.

“Move.” He commands, the edge in his voice causing you to flinch back as he crouches above your blubbering boyfriend’s head and scoop him from under the armpits.

He’s strong enough to uncurl Jungkook’s shaking body, hushing the cries as he places your boyfriend’s face under his chin and press him against his chest. Like a child, Jungkook’s hand reaches up to fist the lapels of Taehyung’s lab coat, sobbing so hard that you were afraid his lungs might burst.

“Hyung is here, Jungkookie. I’m here. She’s here too, okay? We won’t leave you. Hush now.”

Taehyung’s voice is deep but filled with warmth, completely different from all the times you’ve overheard him speak through a call in your living room.

“I-I’m so-sorry noona, I won’t do it again- n-noona-,” he coughs.

The older man reaches inside his coat and fishes out a syringe. He cover Jungkook’s eyes with his long fingers, whispers a word of reassurance, before pressing the needle deep into Jungkook’s arm.

In a few short seconds, the cries lower, Jungkook’s body falling limp against the older man’s chest as your name falls repeatedly from his swollen lips. Taehyung places the syringe in his pocket and wipes the vomit and saliva from Jungkook’s chin with his thumb, his eyes sad as he peers at the boy in his arms.

The sound of water dripping down the faucet seems as loud as fireworks in the silence of the room. With your arms wrapped around yourself, knees pressed against your chest, you watch Taehyung brush away Jungkook’s sweat-soaked hair and wipe away the snot and tears on his nose and cheeks with the sleeves of his coat. Once his face is dry, he props Jungkook against the cabinet and stands to face the faucet, gathering a handful of water in his hands and cleaning Jungkook’s forehead where a bruise is starting to form.

“How did you find out?”

The tethered anger in his voice causes you to curl into the corner, making yourself as small as possible. You don’t forget that Taehyung is the reason why they are both free men; the man is every bit terrifying as he is handsome.

“A-A friend of mine…he showed me.”

Taehyung hums, knowing exactly who had caused tonight’s troubles, wiping his hands on his coat. He takes several strides and crouch down in front of you, glancing at Jungkook’s face before turning back. He stares into your eyes without commenting and you’re not sure where to look. You settle on looking down at your scraped knees, the trembling causing your voice to shake.

“Are you disgusted?”

You meet his eyes, biting the insides of your cheeks. “D-Disgusted…no. Not disgusted. I’m just…scared…s-scared of what he did.”

He exhales, his long fingers coming up to massage his temples.

“I killed them.” He blinks. He nods shortly afterwards, as if he were reliving the moment. “Jungkook was simply there. They were going to kill him. It was me who did everything you saw in those photos.”

You swallow, eyes brimming with tears as your body warms in response. Your boyfriend is innocent. Maybe not completely, but enough that you can release a breath you didn’t realize you were holding.

“Okay.” You murmur, nodding. You’re not sure what the proper response is for that kind of confession.

“There are some people who don’t deserve to be parents. His mother, especially. You would be surprised how happy he became when we had no more family.”

You nod, keeping your eyes lowered. Your eyes fall to your cellphone near Taehyung’s shoes, your lips parting.

“T-Then…he wasn’t adopted afterwards?”

Taehyung cocks his head. “Adopted?”

“I-it’s just,” you stammer, wondering if it would anger him if you asked but something tells you Taehyung is a reasonable man albeit his brutality. “There’s a co-contact in his phone…a-and he labeled her as ‘mother’…”

The older man nods. “We call her our mother. She helped us when we had nowhere to go, gave us a place to sleep.”

As if the weight from your shoulders melted away once more, you slump against the wall. Of course, Jungkook wouldn’t cheat on you with another woman.

Taehyung continues. “We did what we had to do. We learned how to make fake documents, little things like IDs, and it kept us afloat for a while. Jungkook prefers that kind of work still, but I don’t. You’ll never see a photographer making this kind of money without dabbling into…indecent practices. It’s expensive to feel secure, I’m sure you can at least relate to that.”

He smiles but it doesn’t reach his eyes. “Do you understand the kind of life we had now?”

You nibble on your bottom lip. There’s no doubt you love Jungkook but the wound remains agape, the initial ugly feeling of betrayal swimming in your belly. You have the right to feel this way, but Taehyung is rather unconcerned about your feelings. If you weren’t loved by Jungkook, he would have stuck the barrel of his gun down your throat and threaten to blow out your organs out the other end. He’ll be patient this time and let nature takes its course; there’s a possibility you’re pregnant. You won’t be able to leave now, and you won’t be able to leave once you carry the baby to full term.

“I do,” you answer, the trembling gone.

You glance over at Jungkook’s sleeping form. Despite how hurt you may be now, you need to be there for him. You can’t imagine how sick he would feel, how much panic he would feel, when he wakes.

“I’m glad you do. After all,” Taehyung stands. “You’re not completely innocent either.”

Your head snaps up to meet his gaze.

He knows about Yori.

“Did you…?”

He confirms your thoughts. “I did. There’s no need to worry unless you talk, and if you know what’s good for you, you won’t.”

You release a shaky breath. “Okay.”

You’ve reached a dead end. You can’t amend your mistakes like good people, sane people, do. You’re as good as married to Jeon Jungkook, Yori’s burial being the glue tying you to him in holy matrimony. You have no choice but to vow to protect and love him in sickness and health. In all honestly, you can’t imagine your life any other way.

Taehyung brushes invisible dust off his coat.

“There is one more thing,” he says and with new conviction you meet his gaze once more. “If by any chance you do something stupid, I will kill you. And Jungkook can’t stop me then. Remember that.”

…

Seokjin follows the scent of a cigarette. It’s hardly half past six in the morning and the wind makes him push his head down as he maneuvers through the trees to the abandoned park. The playground he played in as a child is torn down, the blue slides and yellow swings torn apart by ongoing construction. Between the trees and industrial machinery he struggles to find his former co-worker and friend who had messaged him quite suddenly about the investigation on Jungkook. It’s something big, he says, and Hoseok doesn’t say something like that unless he means it. And if it’s bigger than the case file, then it’s bound to be something incriminating. He wasn’t sure if Yoongi might be here too, but he doubt it since the man can hardly drag himself out of bed in the morning.

It’s a little odd that Hoseok asked to meet immediately and he wonders if it was because he responded as soon as he received the text. Maybe if he had answered later in the day he could sleep in before work, but with Yori’s disappearance his nights have been filled with thoughts about you. Some fresh air would serve him well.

“Hoseok?!” He turns his head left and right, huffing as he struggle to catch his footing on the uneven cobblestone paths.

When he hear footsteps near the playground he turns his head towards the noise, blinking as he struggles to make out the figure of a person on the ground. She must be homeless, he thinks, as he watches her wrap her tattered scarf around her neck while wailing in a strange, kitten-like voice. She mutters something to herself in another language.

He takes a step closer, calling out to the plump woman as she stretches a leg out in front of her and fans her hand over what looks like a bloody wound. The gash is deep enough for him to stop in his tracks.

“Ma’am are you alright?” He asks.

His phone rings in his coat pocket and he reaches inside, looking down at Namjoon’s number displayed across the screen before locking his phone. Seems like he’s quite in demand this morning. He tucks the device back into his coat and walks over to the woman.

“Ma’am?”

She looks up at him, her mud-caked face and hair crumbling as she whimpers and move her bloody leg away from his sight.

“Do you need help standing?” He asks, closing in on her rocking figure. It’s not safe for a woman – much less a homeless woman – to be alone and injured. The park hardly garners enough visitors for its awkward location. He might be her only help.

“N-no…n-no…no,” the woman holds her leg away, wailing as she rocks from side to side.

Seokjin hovers next to the woman, folding over to gauge the extent of her injuries when his eyes trails over the thin red paint covering from the bottom of her knee to the middle of her calves. She babbles and wails, flailing her arms over the leg until a silver glint flashes over his eyes and air is knocked out of his lungs. When he opens his eyes and groans, he’s facing the cloudless sky, his vision flashing purple and black. He curses and turns to his side only to come face to face with a pair of black shoes.

He doesn’t raise his chin. Rather, he’s not given the choice, not when he feels the barrel of a gun pressed upon his noggin. The sound of bullet entering its chamber sounds from behind and he realizes quickly that he’s been set up.

“Kim Taehyung,” he wheezes, sputtering as he catches his breath. The gun behind him trails up his spine until it’s pressing into the back of his skull. He doesn’t know who that woman his, but he knows for sure the man standing in front of him can’t be anyone else but Taehyung.

In his paralysis he can hardly think of how Taehyung was able to use Hoseok’s number to meet him at a place only he and Hoseok investigated. The last time he spoke to him, Hoseok had only warned that he couldn’t continue the investigation, that Kim Taehyung had formally requested him to quit meddling, and ended the call shortly after. Surely Taehyung couldn’t have done something to the man in Hong Kong? He couldn’t think of a reason why someone who isn’t even related to Jungkook by blood will go through such lengths to protect him.

“Didn’t I tell you not to meddle in my affairs?”

He nods, exhaling. “You d-did.”

The gun from behind slides from his skull to his temple.

“You should have listened the first time.”

#bunny:fic #only you 10 #jungkook fanfiction #jungkook yandere #jungkook angst #yandere fanfiction #yandere bts #bts fanfiction #bangtan fanfiction #bangtan angst #bangtan yandere #jungkook fanfic #bts fanfic #bangtan fanfic #only you

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astralbulldragon13 · 3 years

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Son of the Dragon Chapter 1: Tír na nÓg

It had been four years since that one fateful night by the pond, Houmi and Malleus grew closer, and since Crowley couldn’t find a way for her to go home, once she graduated from Night Raven College, she didn’t want to go back. Malleus brought her to his home, telling his grandmother of his intent to marry her. It made Houmi nervous, meeting the powerful Fae woman since she was just a human. Lillia insisted that she would love her. Still, it terrified Houmi because she heard that the great Witch of Thorns was not fond of humans. But to her surprise, the Great Fae smiled at Houmi, despite the little human’s trembling. On the other hand, the Royal Court did not like the idea of their powerful prince marrying a human, and a seemingly magicless one at that. And to hear the boy would sully himself with marrying a human wench, it was unspeakable.

At the advisor’s insistence, she was roomed in a tower that overlooked the garden, and while it was away from Malleus, it was in much better state than the Ramshackle Dorm. Also, thankfully, her friends came to the kingdom to visit, and was able to connect to the internet with the help of Deuce Spade, so that she could talk with her friends from Night Raven College, as well as taking some classes online, Grim acting as her lap-cat and familiar, after all, the two of them were the Ramshackle student. And now, in the Valley of Thorns, she gained more of a family. Lillia supported her like a father, while Silver watched over her like an older brother, and Sebek, well, he was himself, a strict, brotherly figure that, while still loyal to Malleus, he still looked after Houmi when she was walking the gardens. Many of the members of the Fae court are courteous to her, though it was probably just because of Malleus and his intimidating aura. It seems even in his own kingdom Malleus makes people afraid to approach him. Malleus would speak with Lillia for hours at a time about a wedding. The two of them agree that it would be a small ceremony, with only their friends from Night Raven College.

The ancient fae enjoyed these conversations, as he was more of a father to the young prince than anyone ever was. There were questions on who the officiant would be, obviously Headmaster Crowley, giving away the bride? They had decided that it would be Leona Kingscholar, who was very protective of the girl, like a younger sister. His groomsmen would be Silver and Sebeck, while Ace and Deuce decided to be Houmi’s Men of Honor, much to the laughter of the whole group. There was a small glen outside of the capital city. The forest clearing was decorated by small fairies, with direction from Lillia and a visiting Vil Schoenheit, little fairy-lights and flowers were draped over tree limbs. The model and actor was adamant about choosing the right flowers. The hangings were braided with edelweiss and borage.Tied around the trees with blue ribbons were cascading bundles of red chrysanthemums, aster and heliotrope. Lillia and his fellow members of the Light Music Club were enchanting instruments for the march. Even Idia Shroud came out of his cave to see one of his dearest friends be married.

As these friends prepared for the wedding, Houmi tried to get to know Malleus’ family. His mother and Maleficent were very fond of her. Maleficent would call her ‘Little Beastie’, and showed her special ways to spin thread, and the two of them bonded over sewing, teaching Houmi how to make clothes and other textiles. With the help of Vil and Ruggie, Houmi made the outfits for the wedding. Lillia showed her images from old books involving Fae weddings. Malleus’ mother was very inquisitive, asking Houmi about her past that she couldn’t remember very well. The older Fae made certain that her future daughter-in-law was well fed, and that Maurin and the other members of the court did not give her too much grief. There were a few ladies who spoke cordially with Houmi, questioning her about her odd friendships with princes, celebrities, and some of the most prestigious noble families. They also gave Grimm a flood of attention, giggling when he purred and let them put him in stylish bows with a myriad of different fabrics. They would even refer to him as Ser Grimm, protector of the future Queen. The flaming feline loved the attention, and took his newly assigned duty very seriously, especially with the private wedding ceremony.

On the first full moon of autumn, it was time. Vil and Rook were helping Houmi get prepared. The gown that she had finished was made of lace and tulle, with an off-shoulder neckline that was made from crème-colored tulle, accentuating the collar-bone. The bodice was covered in a fine, alencon lace over crepe fabric, the skirt was made of layers of tulle that fell to the ground. It was truly a wonderful piece, and the finishing touch was a crown of ivy braided with red salvia. A bouquet of red camellias and yellow tulips tied with emerald ribbon was clasped in her hands as she walked into the forest, a small gathering of small pixies were flitting around her face, adding the last bits of make-up and arranging her hair to be perfect to their standards.

Leona stood at the mouth of the glen, dressed in white clothes like what he wore to the Fairy Gala, only the sleeves were made of tulle. He offered his arm to Houmi, a gentle smile on his face. “You ready, Herbivore?” She chuckled, waving away the small sprites weaving her shoulder length, dark brown hair into her ivy crown. “Of course, Leona.” They made their way through the woods to the altar, the creatures of the forest bowed to their princess as she took as Leona brought her to Malleus, standing under an arch of arbutus, white heather, and blue violets. Behind him was Crowley, his mask and cane missing as he held a small black book that looked like some kind of grimoire.

Leona sighed as he offered her to Malleus, locking his emerald eyes with the horned prince’s acid green ones. “Keep her safe, Lizard. If you do anything to make her sad, or do her harm, I will personally turn your hide into a rug.” Malleus smirked, and he held his soon-to-be wife in his arms. “I’ll take a sword through my heart before I let anything, or anyone hurt her.” That seemed to satisfy the lion prince, as he moved to join the others assembled, as Crowley opened his book to the marked page.

The ceremony was short and sweet, an exchange of vows, and rings of black metal and green stones, placed on their fingers. The kiss was something that sent a spark throughout the glen, a strong wind and glowing lights filled the air, showing the love that Malleus and Houmi had for one another. What they felt, and how their hearts were joined by the strings of fate. They walked back down their makeshift aisle, Grim, Rook, and the Leech Twins threw rice in the air.

As the moon rose over the treeline, wine was opened, food was served, and music was played. The happy couple danced over the glen, lights glinting over the leaves matching their fluttering heartbeats. Lilia sang in a forgein tongue, everyone clapping in rhythm as Malleus led her in a fast paced, almost-jig. The wedding party went long into the night, the wee hours of the morning chasing the revelers to caravans that they had set up, and the new, royal couple wandering away to the castle. Instead of going to Malleus’ chambers, Malleus walked them to Houmi’s solitary tower. ‘More private,” the young prince said, gripping her hand tightly. Once they were at the stairs at the bottom of the tower Malleus’ scooped up his bride and began carrying her up to her chambers. It was time for them to finish their marriage, and consummate their love.

#malleus x yuu #disney's twisted wonderland #celtic #oc is yuu #True Love #Yuu's name is Houmi Yuzuki #Maleficent #malleus draconia #malleus x mc

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pls-let-me-out · 4 years

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The Selection

For thirthy-five youngers, the Selection is the chance of a lifetime. The opportunity to escape the life laid out for them since birth. To be swept up in a world of glittering gowns and priceless jewels. To live in a palace and compete for the heart of gorgeous Prince William.

But for Niccolò Jackson, formerly di Angelo, being Selected is a nightmare. It means leaving his home to enter a fierce competition for a crown he doesn't want. Living in a palace that is constantly threatened by violent rebel attacks. Especially when he knows that his family has rebel affiliations. Just one slip as he talks of them, and he will be executed for treason. So, when he is chosen to participate, he has a simple plan: get in, don’t do absolutely anything to attract the Prince’s attention, and be sent home after the first week.

Of course, things start going down-hill since the first day.

After saying good-bye to his younger sister Hazel, with the promise of writing, the last thing Nico wants to do is socializing with the other suitors. Not only would it be absolutely tiring, but he also finds it useless, as they are meant to be competitors for the same prize. None of them will cultivate any long-lasting relationship. Not that the others are too heartbroken to see him disappear, they have been eyeing him weirdly since he first set foot down the plane. He isn’t the one from the lowest cast, but most of the others are from the higher ones.

Nico is a Six, or has been so for the last few years. It’s the cast of workers. He doesn’t know how much of a background-check they’ve done at the Palace, how much the Prince actually knows about him. However, it has taken Nico exactly a look at the other two suitors from the lower castes (Elise, a Seven, a manual laborer; James, a fellow Six) to know that they are the charity cases. Every time a Selection is held, people from all castes (except Eights) are brought to the Palace, but it’s always clear that they won’t stay for long. They are often ignored by the other suitors and the Royals. It’s fine by Nico. He will be paid for staying a week.

The gardens are at least pretty. Nico has to admit as much. There’s a maze somewhere, which he doesn’t want to see even from afar, and old statues in white marble are scattered around. If Hazel were here, she would love the place. Nico finds it a bit overboard. There’s a golden plaque on the ground. Nico bends to read the descriptions.

“Forgive me,” someone says, and Nico almost jumps out of his skin. “Are you lost, sir?”

Nico turns around, hiding the cigarette behind himself. Useless, since it just makes the smoke come from behind him. The person he comes face to face with has widened blue eyes. Oh shit.

So much for not being noticed, Nico thinks. In complete silence, he stares at the Prince, and the Prince stares right back at him. Nico hopes that, if he gets away from the situation at hand quickly enough, the Prince will forget his face. Poor people probably look all the same to pricks like him, anyway.

“Hey!” The Prince exclaims, and a smile brightens his features. “You are one of the suitors, aren’t you? I’m Prince William, it’s nice to meet you.”

Prince William extends a hand, and Nico has to switch the cigarette in the other hand to shake it.

“Niccolò Jackson,” Nico says. Should he say that it’s nice to meet him? How is he supposed to know how to greet a Prince? He lets go of the Prince’s hand.

“It’s very nice to meet you,” the Prince continues. “However, shouldn’t you be socializing with the other suitors?”

Nico sighs. “It’s not really my scene. Sorry.” He shrugs.

“Oh.” The Prince rubs the back of his neck, looking around uncomfortably.

“You don’t have to stay,” Nico says. He craves peace and quiet, and he can’t get it when the whole reason he has been taken away from the family in the first place is right in front of him. “You can just go. I’m sure you have very important things to do.”

“I do, as a matter of fact. Greeting every suitor, for example.”

“Consider me greeted.” Nico nods one last time at the Prince, before giving him his back and inhaling the smoke of his cigarette. He really hopes they aren’t being filmed right now, or Sally will kick his ass once he gets home.

“I – you shouldn’t be smoking,” the Prince continues.

“Will you put me in jail if I do?”

The Prince seems even more taken aback, and Nico is starting to feel impatient. He wants to go home and sleep for the next few years, but he can’t, because of course he just had to be one of thirty-five idiots sorted from the whole kingdom. That’s just the kind of luck that follows him around these days.

“Well?” Nico asks again. “Will you put me in jail?”

“Of course no! But it’s bad for-”

“Bad for me, so mind your own business.”

And with that, Nico stomps away. They won’t even notice I’m there, Nico told Hazel before leaving, when she was still in bed with her hair wrapped in her scarf. I’ll be a shadow. I’ll sneak something out of the Palace for you, though. She laughed, until her lungs started burning again, and she got cut off by a heavy round of coughs.

Nico shares his suite with a guy named something he can’t pronounce. He’s a Two, an actor. He informs Nico of that himself, and also asks whether Nico wants an autograph. It’s almost heartbreaking, how Nico has to inform him that he has never seen any of his movies.

“It must be such an upgrade for you,” the guy continues, from where he is perched on the sofa, watching him unpack through the open door of the bedroom. “Passing from being a Six to a Three. You know you will be a Three when this is all over, don’t you? Of course I will remain a Two, unless the Prince chooses me. Then I’d be a One. Don’t you find it so-?”

Nico doesn’t hear the rest. He closes the door, muttering something about taking a bath. He just sits on the bed, and lets the hours pass. He doesn’t get out of his room until it’s dinner time, when they are brought food into the suite. Actor-boy tells him that he will be dining with the girls in the next suite, and leaves Nico behind.

The following day the suitors have breakfast together. Only one place is left vacant at the table, by the time food arrives.

“Is it for the Prince?” The girl next to him asks another. “Should we wait for him?”

The other shakes her head. “Oh, no. It’s for Drew Tanaka. She will be having breakfast with her family, though.”

Nico furrows his eyebrows, sipping his coffee quietly. Shouldn’t that not be allowed? They can keep their phones and contact their families, also post on social media, but they shouldn’t be traveling home. And does she intend on traveling home every day?

“Her father’s a lord,” the second girl responds. “Her family lives here.” She snorts. “Didn’t you research anything about the other suitors?”

“I didn’t think it was allowed.”

“And it isn’t,” a third girl says. She sighs. “Honestly. Just don’t talk about breaking the rules so openly at the breakfast table. You don’t even know who is listening.”

Nico feels her eyes on his face, but he doesn’t look up from his coffee. Once again, he wishes he were in his own home, even if it means having to deal with Percy and his obnoxiousness. Maybe he can stay just for a few days, thinking better about it.

When breakfast is over, they are brought to a circular room. The smell of flowers in there is almost nauseating, and Nico wishes he could open the windows. But Jasmine – the woman who showed them around yesterday – is already giving him weird looks. If he were to step closer to the window, she would probably think him in the middle of a robbery of windows. So he walks around the room while he waits for his turn, stopping every once in a while to admire the paintings on the walls.

“You aren’t a Five, are you?”

Nico almost jumps out of his skin. Again. This time at least it isn’t the Prince in front of him, but the third girl from the breakfast table. Nico shakes his head.

“Six,” he says. “But not only Fives can watch art, you know.”

“I guess,” she responds, shrugging a bare shoulder. The girls are wearing elegant dresses, and hers has a particularly large gown. Nico is in a suit, which he looks like an idiot in. “I’m Lou Ellen, Two.”

“Niccolò Jackson,” Nico says. “Six.”

“You already said that.”

Nico shrugs, without anything left to say. He turns back to the painting.

“You don’t look particularly happy to be here,” she continues. “Don’t you want to woo Will?”

Nico turns back to her. “Who’s Will?”

“Prince William.” She doesn’t hide a smile. “He’s a friend of mine. So, are you going to woo him?”

“That’s just the least my charming personality can do,” Nico replies. There’s a smudge of something in the corner of the painting, which is in equal measure disgusting for the viewers and horrifically disrespectful to the artist.

Lou Ellen laughs. “I guess so. Why are you here if you don’t think you can woo him?”

Nico shrugs. “Aren’t they paying us?”

“Chapeau,” Lou Ellen concedes. She takes a deep breath. “You don’t seem very interested in making friends.”

“That’s because we won’t be friends for long. Ten go away after this first week, or fifteen, I didn’t really read all that well. After that, everyone who has stayed will try their best to remain again, beat the others somehow. At some point, people will just be stabbing each other in the back.”

“Will you?”

Nico scoffs. “I won’t stay that long. Me, the other Six, and the girl from Seven. We are the three everyone is certain will leave after this week. We are placeholders.”

Lou Ellen is called in next. They’re going by order of the castes, so Nico is the third-last to go in. He finds the Prince seated at the round table, the breeze entering from the window is ruffling his blond hair. His lips are already pulled in a smile when Nico enters. It makes him shiver.

“Mr. Jackson,” the Prince says. “It’s very nice to see you again.”

The Prince gestures to the enormous teapot and the two empty mugs. There are also many types of sweets, and the lemon-cake Hazel likes so much. Just thinking of her has nostalgia blossom in Nico’s chest, and they have only been apart for a day.

“Are you glaring at the lemon cake?” The Prince asks.

Nico startles. He quickly sits at the free chair. “No.”

“Are you allergic?”

“No.” Nico clears his throat.

“May I offer you some tea?”

“I really despise tea,” Nico replies. He crosses his arms on the chest, leaning back. The Prince pours some for himself. “Also, isn’t it your thirty-third cup?”

The Prince smiles. “Yup. Believe it or not, there are people who enjoy a good cup of tea.”

“I can believe that, but thirty-three in a morning is a bit of a stretch. Won’t you get indigestion or something?”

“Is that a threat?”

“From the one who thought that it would be alright to let you drink thirty-three cups of tea in a morning, maybe,” Nico replies. He grins. “Not for the poor soul who is just the witness. Should I tell the thirty-fifth to let you take a toilet break?”

The Prince laughs. “I really hope you know we are being filmed, and this is a live-stream.”

Nico taps his foot on the ground. He isn’t used to being on camera anymore, although Hazel often posts short videos in which he also appears on her profiles on social media. He doesn’t have to talk in those, though.

“You really know how to put people at ease,” Nico comments. “What are you going to tell me next, that your parents are watching in the next room, ready to intervene if I ask you too much about your toilet habits?”

“They only intervene if you are unreasonably sarcastic.”

“That’s a very charming and fancy way of telling me to shut up.”

“Oh dear – tell me you aren’t one of those eat the royal folks.”

“Didn’t you run a background check on me or something?”

“Well, yes, but I wasn’t shown any of that,” the Prince admits. He shrugs. “So, uh. I don’t know much about you.”

Nico nods, and stares at the table. It’s covered by a really horrible, red and golden tablecloth. It’s exactly the type of thing Nico should have expected to find in the Palace.

“Cool,” Nico says.

“What’s cool?”

Not this tablecloth. He doesn’t say that. “Not much.”

The Prince nods. “Alright.” He clears his throat.

There’s a long, awkward silence. Nico should deal better with awkward, really. That’s all conversations ever are with him. There are stilted words, long, stretching silences. He wishes the ground would open under him.

“How much longer do I have to stay?” Nico finally asks.

“Where?”

In this hellish hole. “Here. Now. In the tea-room, I mean.”

“We should go for a walk,” the Prince says.

“Not together, right?”

“Ah.”

“I mean, no offense, but this is frankly embarrassing,” Nico says. He leans forward in his seat. “I just really need a cigarette.”

“I’ve never smoked one.”

“I really hope you aren’t trying to get one of mine.”

“I was just trying to make conversation.”

And the Prince makes a strange kind of puppy eyes, which Nico has only ever seen Hazel make. And Percy, occasionally, but his just annoy Nico to an unbelievable level.

“So, what do you do in your free-time?” Nico blurts out, hoping to erase the Prince’s eyes.

“Oh, I study,” the Prince says. “I really enjoy reading, and learning in general. I particularly enjoy Philosophy, which I usually study on my own. I have tutors, of course. Although at the moment I am having some problems with Physics. I have also tried studying French a couple of years back, but I wasn’t really good at that. It was just so horrible.”

“Learning French sucks,” Nico concedes, thinking back to his own struggles with the language. “But not as much as learning Latin.”

“You know Latin?”

Nico shrugs. He shouldn’t have said that, should he? The Prince has already said that he doesn’t know much of his background, so maybe he also doesn’t know that Nico hasn’t always been a Six. Hell, he wasn’t even always called Niccolò Jackson.

“I know Ancient Greek.”

Nico nods. “Sounds fancy.” He doesn’t say that he knows that, too.

The Prince almost seems to be having problems controlling all his energy. His finger curl and uncurl around the armrests of the chair. His gaze shifts more than once to the windows and the gardens. When Nico follows his eyes, he doesn’t see anything, though.

A bell rings, startling the Prince out of his reverie.

“It seems that our time is up,” the Prince says.

The Prince stands, and Nico does the same, giving him an even-more-than-awkward nod, and turning to leave.

“It was really nice meeting you!” The Prince continues, when Nico’s hand is already on the doorknob.

Nico turns back, to give him a tight-lipped smile, catching the Prince empty the mug of tea out of the window. It startles a laugh out of him. The Prince turns, his eyes widened at having been caught in the act. His cheeks dust in red, and it only makes Nico laugh harder.

“So you aren’t poisoning yourself with thirty-five cups of tea, only the soil outside,” he says. “Good to know.”

“It’s considered polite to offer people tea,” the Prince replies smoothly.

Nico’s smile tightens. “Well, let me tell you, Your Highness, maybe the Twos, Threes, maybe even Fours or Fives, care about drinking tea and making small talk. Sixes and Sevens? We don’t really care whether you stuff yourself in tea and lemon cakes. Actually, most people from home would probably much rather you not waste so much food when everyone has already been served plentiful breakfast.” Nico makes a mocking wave with his hand. “With your gracious permission.”

He doesn’t slam the door behind himself, even if his cheeks are red and his ears ring. Sally should be proud of him, honestly.

#solangelo #solangelo fic #the selection au #will solace #nico di angelo

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lizardrosen · 4 years

Text

National Theater Live King Lear

Hello, here is a ridiculously long review of this production! I just had a lot of feelings and thoughts!

Setting/Staging/Mood

I really loved the sound design for this one. It’s hard to describe, but the chords gave it a real presence and sense of motion. It was vaguely reminiscent of horror movie music in the way the chords lingered and didn’t blend in seamlessly, but I wouldn’t call it horror music exactly. The BELL tolling while Lear zips up his folder was such a good first image and bit of sound. And there were drinking songs, which I always love to see in a play. Put that Epic Theater technique straight in my mouth!

The circle in the middle that’s red in the first half and white in the second was a really creative detail, and the actors used that space effectively, especially with overlapping exits and entrances to make it feel that scenes happened in different locations while still being thematically connected.

The opulence and ceremony of the first scene gradually gives way to the more sparse and modern staging of act five — formal military dress to fatigues

I love how Lear raises his hand in prayer and command, compelling everyone else to follow suit to show their devotion and allegiance (and is there a difference between their king and their gods in this world?) even when they’re unsure about whether he’s right to be so cruel to Cordelia.

The recurring imagery of money changing hands really fits in well with the theme of love as currency that’s already in the text!

The single tree in the background of act five gave me Waiting For Godot vibes, which works SO WELL with the absurdism and nihilism of Lear.

Thoughts about specific characters under the cut!

Edgar! My SON!!

Luke Thompson is the reason I’ve wanted so badly to watch this production; ever since I saw his standout performance as Laertes in the 2017 Almeida Theater production, and found out he’s also played Orestes and Edgar, I’ve just been rabid about it!

It’s neat to see him actually at the ceremony of the first scene, with Edmund already Literally in his shadow.

He’s a little less hapless and distracted than most of the Edgars I’ve seen, a little more watchful. In 1.2 he’s actually pushing back against Edmund’s insistence that he’s in danger, and then in 2.1 there’s a long moment of just Looking at Edmund’s knife before he flees.

Similarly, his decision to become Poor Tom felt a bit more calculated. It’s not that he isn’t scared and lost and desperate, because he definitely is, but the plan itself doesn’t seem to grow out of that feeling as much as he (sort of) calmly looked at his options.

Of course, he doesn’t stay calm; that agonized scream when he actually cuts himself, and later on when he sees his father blinded and screams “World, world, o world!” really feels like he’s letting something out, and more than usual he seems to have been holding this part of himself back for a long time.

The counterpart to that is the self that does the watching — it’s a part of all Edgars that makes him a really compelling character, with his self-aware asides, but it’s particularly pronounced here — there’s a moment where he says “Bless thy five wits!” in his normal voice, and then catches himself and has to reassert the role he’s playing for his own safety.

At times he’s very impatient and frustrated while leading Gloucester, but he also cares about him a lot and is so terrified that he’s actually died when he “fell” from the cliff, this poor boy’s entire body is trembling!

He instinctively moves to protect Gloucester from Lear when he gets more violent and unpredictable with “find these son-in-laws and KILL KILL KILL” and it was a good moment

Gives into his own viciousness in the fight with Oswald, and then, Hamlet-like, lugs the guts into the neighbor room.

Edgar doesn’t seem to know if he wants his dad to recognize him or not — he puts Gloucester’s hand on his face, but then as soon as he seems about to realize who he is he very quickly takes it away again and gets them moving

He’s even more desperate and reckless than Edmund in their duel, but then once Edmund is fatally injured, he’s right by his side, holding his hand, helping him through it!

He needs Lear to recognize Kent, he needs Lear to not be dying, he’s so sincere, but then he decides if he can’t save anyone here he can at least help Albany to help the country heal and pledges himself to the future.

Lear

Awful but also very pitiable, more like a human losing his grip and knowing it, than just a Vessel for themes that are echoed in other characters.

Lashes out at himself more than at other people, but he definitely still does both.

“But they shall be the terrors of the earth” is just a man who’s terrified to be losing his words.

He has bad knees and everyone knows it but he keeps trying to kneel, and sometimes it feels like he’s mocking his daughters — look how much I’m suffering for you even though you’re ungrateful — and sometimes it feels like he’s forgotten his own body’s limitations.

Spends a lot of time offering physical comfort to other characters, since he can’t be a dad for his real daughters.

His flower crown scene was Just ophelia, and I think that’s beautiful.

aaaaa, his helpless grief for Cordelia! He moves the noose from her neck to his!! and then he takes out a handgun and threatens everyone away from him, but he’s just so helpless and sad!

Edmund! my other son!

I was a little surprised to see that this actor is James Corrigan, because I recognized him as Roderigo in the RSC Othello, and he’s sort of the anti-Edmund, so I was excited to see the contrast, but honestly there wasn’t as much of a contrast as I expected. He had many of the same cringing appeasing mannerisms, but in a way that makes it clear that he’s aware of his unfair situation in a way his Roderigo really isn’t. Despite being a bastard he has a lot more social power and mobility than Roderigo so he doesn’t seem nearly as pathetic.

Other Edmunds are composed and precise in their soliloquies because this is the one place no one will see them planning things out, and this Edmund is babbling and overwhelmed because this is the one place no one will see him feeling things, because feeling things is dangerous.

He’s so! scared! of his dad! It’s painful to watch, and it’s almost as painful to watch how he’s still looking for approval and respect from Gloucester. Someone save this boy!

He gets in WAY over his head, and it feels like he’s scrambling at every turn, but then at some point he just levels up and strides with confidence, and it’s really good to see.

oh my god, oh my god, he saw everything that happened with Gloucester! After everyone else leaves he comes out from his hiding place looking just devastated. He hated his dad, but he never hated him that much, and by the time he couldn’t stomach it any longer there was no way for him to escape, and then he’s still processing it when he sees that the Fool was also there, and he has to kill him because no one can know he was there. I SCREAMED when this moment happened, it was so good!

WOW, he’s so smooth, it’s no wonder both the sisters want a piece of that! It’s more of a power play with Regan, and a little more courtly with Goneril, and he just knows what each of them want and need from him.

When Lear and Cordelia are captured, Lear says “As if we were God’s spies” and he’s still kingly enough that the soldiers drop to their knees and lift their hands in allegiance, and Edmund has to rush in to make one of them stand up while saying “Take them away” sort of impatiently, and then he immediately checks the order he’s written for their deaths, because he’s just seen how dangerous it is for these two to be kept alive. aaaaa, and then when the captain hesitates, he holds a gun to his temple on “Either say thou’lt do’t, or thrive by other means” !! I love that line and I love the sheer range of deliveries I’ve seen for it!

The wonder in his voice at “Yet Edmund was beloved.” is really good! He’s so desperate to do some good by the end, and I love! Edmund of Gloucester!

Kent

Having Kent played by a woman does some really neat things to the character, not least of which is crossdressing Caius! She sort of feels like she overperforms toxic masculinity to fit into the culture of Lear’s retinue. Other Kents seem to be allowing their latent desires and bluntness to emerge with this role, but this Kent isn’t suited to it, and sometimes she gets a little carried away or makes missteps like beating up Oswald, but she has to see it through, for Lear’s sake.

Kent also doesn’t feel Big In Love with Lear, but she’s definitely devoted to him — and even more than that, she’s devoted to the image of loyalty itself.

Her genuine affection for Cordelia, and pride to see how she’s doing as a queen, is really sweet and good!

After she’s been banished, she rushes out of the throne room as Burgundy and France enter, covering her face like she’s desperately trying to hold back her tears.

She’s with the French soldiers looking for Lear, and is the one who tells him “You shall have anything!”

At the end she’s not exactly surprised that Lear doesn’t connect her with Caius, and she’s not upset (about that part of it anyway, plenty of things in this scene are upsetting), but she’s definitely feeling something.

ahhhh, she picks up Lear’s handgun and sort of cradles it to her side when she prepares for her final journey! sweetheart!

Gloucester

he’s just! a terrible father!! simply the worst!

A lot of the time Gloucester isn’t a very good dad just because he’s friendly and careless and just not paying attention to how he’s treating his sons; this one is actively awful and I actively hate him!!

From the very first scene he’s so scornful and dismissive of Edmund and hitting him for no reason, and then turns around to show off photos of Edgar, and that doesn’t even really benefit Edgar either, because he’s held to an unfair standard he can never live up to.

It really shows in how both of them are touch starved but also extremely cautious about being touched. Someone save them!!

(In fact, in the serial killer Claudius AU, a certain Earl does get himself murdered when Edmund is sixteen)

Not a Bad Dad thing, but not really showing Gloucester in a good light: he does think Lear’s age and reverence should be respected, but his motivation seems to be a lot more based in his indignation that Regan and Cornwall have taken over his home and order him around. For this Gloucester it seemed to be less about feeling sorry for Lear, and more about reasserting his sovereignty.

But because this is Lear I don’t just hate him, and he’s not just a bad father, you also feel for him a lot after he’s been blinded and his legs are just trembling and he’s so scared and lost.

Even after he’s blinded he keeps turning to his photos of Edgar in his wallet, and it’s sad and regretful instead of showing off.

He had a really good cliff fall! He goes up to what he thinks is the edge, and then turns around and braces himself to fall backwards, and then Edgar has to rush to catch him, and lay him gently on the ground, and panic that maybe he’s actually died.

Lear Sisters

No one was prepared for Lear’s announcement and the way each of them responds informs so much of how they act through the rest of the play!

Goneril is startled and unsure and fumbling, and I really felt for her and her “hateful life”, and the way she’s stunned in the wake of Lear’s abuse, but then needs to pull herself together again when he returns. For so much of this play she feels small and adrift, but then she’s so happy for once whenever she’s with Edmund. Albany really does seem to care about her and he’s trying to be good for her, so he takes it when she yells at him, and then stays behind to pray for a bit. He’s a little less nice later on but to be fair she is cheating on him and not bothering to hide it very well.

Regan! With her fake tears and her constant flirtiness, and the way she’s always twirling and showing off! She is a hot mess, and she only gets hotter and messier as the play goes on, but she and Cornwall love each other a lot, and she wants to be suited to torture the way her husband is, but she gets into it by the end of that scene. And then!! her hand on Edmund’s throat! W o w

Cordelia is calm and sure and knows exactly what her sisters are, and in that first scene she comes so close to reaching her father and getting him to change his mind about disowning her. And that carries through to the rest of her performance — she’s competent and precise and loving, and France is smitten with her and listens to her and respects her. When she’s reunited with Lear she wants him to wake up, but also isn’t prepared for it to actually happen, and then she’s so surprised when they say she should be the one to address him first.

Cornwall

I first saw Daniel Rabin as Reynaldo in the Almeida Theater Hamlet (ask me about how Reynaldo and Laertes are half-dating whenever he follows Laertes to France, because I have Opinions), and his Cornwall is SO different

He’s not just manipulative, but violent and enjoying his violence, but he’s also sexy and possessive and commanding, and it’s no wonder Edmund falls for him as hard as he does!

TYING HIS SCARF around Edmund’s hand after he wounds himself for love and validation!? The soft tender look of surprise that Edmund gives him in response!? wow! wow, what a MOMENT!

And then he shoves Edmund into the room after he’s been shown Gloucester’s letter, he has to punish the messenger and assert his position. And after “Thou shalt find a dearer father in my love” Edmund HUGS him, and he’s startled at first but half-returns it (and probably thinking about how he can Use this) (and then cornwall/edmund/regan happens, shhh)

Like Daniel Rabin’s Reynaldo, his Cornwall is very Watchful, just stepping back to observe what’s going on, and then quietly making his judgment before he says anything — and when he does speak he absolutely has the other person’s number.

Good commanding headtilts!

Oh, the laugh right before he uses the hook from the slaughterhouse on Gloucester is just terrifying and compelling, and he’s so turned on by this. Good for him because then he gets to die, and he’s so disgusted and vicious when saying the first servant should be thrown onto the dunghill.

Miscellaneous Moments

Lear puts his jacket on Edgar, and Kent puts her jacket on Lear, and then he immediately takes it off and puts it around Edgar’s shoulders and ties the arms together, but while he’s trying to take off his shirt too, Edgar’s already getting on the ground and letting the jackets fall off of him. Just! Jackets and touch as a form of affection!!

When Gloucester comes out to find Lear, he and Edgar see each other, and there’s just a moment where they’re frozen, Edgar terrified that his father will recognize him, and Gloucester perhaps feeling there’s something familiar about this madman but having no idea what.

While Gloucester is telling Kent about how he had a son he loved who betrayed him, Lear and Edgar are in the background sharing a long hug that almost feels like a beautiful dance! It was such a striking moment, I loved it sooo much.

the HUG with Edmund and Cornwall!! Not over it, never over it.

when Cornwall tells Edmund to leave with Goneril, he gives Goneril his jacket and she’s just quietly surprised and pleased, and it’s cute, and I want her to be happy!!

#king lear #edgar #edmund #gloucester #kent #cornwall #goneril #regan #cordelia #my writing #sort of

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bbeomiebby · 4 years

Text

Dry your tears

Pairing: idol!Jaebeom x reader

A/N: here's a request for @unadulteratedmusiciansrockalien to make her feel better 💖

You had just arrived to the place where the Got7 fansigning event would take place. You got yourself not so many albums and you actually made it! You couldn't believe it!

Life has been a mess lately and this was exactly what you needed. You couldn't believe you're finally meeting your seven knights.

Before you knew it you were waiting in line with other fans to get your albums signed just some meters away from the group. When your turn came you were almost shaking, wondering if this is just a dream.

The first person who signed your album was BamBam. He asked you your name and made a compliment about your outfit as he was signing your album copy.

Then it was Youngjae who was smiley as always. The sunshine energy this man radiates is incredible.

After Youngjae you were greeted by Jackson Wang himself. He looked full of energy, so sweet but manly at the same time. You swear you could smell his cologne even if you were like 1.5m away from him.

Next was Mark, he was wearing a flower crown which you complemented and he giggled softly leaving you in awe.

When you got in front of Jaebeom you almost froze, taking you some seconds to hand him the album. You smiled politely and he asked you your name and age. You stuttered while answering him

"Wow you're 19? It's been almost a decade since I was 19." He chuckled taking some time to write something at you as he signed your album.

Next to JB there was a smiley Yugyeom teasing Jinyoung who was the last in the line. Yugyeom looked much more handsome up close and his eyes were so bright. He drew a small flower -a dandelion- to your album next to his name and passed it to Jinyoung

And Last but surely not least Actor Park threatening Yugyeom seconds before he took your album to his hands to sign it. He saw Yugyeom's flower and drew another one boasting about it to Yugyeom later. He smiled brightly at you and waved as you waved back moving away.

An hour later the fansigning event was over and you were sitting at the starecase staring at your album. There were no fans left so you weren't afraid of stalling anyone or bumping into someone. Tears started rolling on your cheeks recalling every single second from the fansigning. You couldn't hold it anymore. Life has been unfair to you and you couldn't take it anymore. You felt alright while having got7 in front of you but now all you had was the memories.

The moment you heard footsteps behind you you tried to wipe your tears quickly and stand up but it didn't really work.

"Are you okay?" You heard a familiar voice and an evenly familiar freezing like emotion took over you. You slowly turned around to see Jaebeom looking at you worried.

"Do you need help? Are you hurt?" The tears wouldn't stop no matter how much you were trying.

"I'm okay, I'm sorry I should go" you said in between some quiet sobs before standing up.

"Wait a second" he came in front of you.

"You're _ right?" He placed his hands on your shoulders as you leaned your head down while nodding to hid your face.

He lifted your chin with a finger and looked into your eyes tenderly. He wiped your tears with his thumbs and then reached in his backpack for some tissues.

"Shhh don't cry" he handed you a tissue.

"I don't know if that can help you but I guess you haven't seen what I wrote in your album yet. If you do it I think it will help and even if it doesn't please always remember that I'm here with my music. We are here with our music. And you're not alone alright? So please promise me that you'll try to live the rest of your life happily. I know life gets cloudy at times but I promise the sun will be back again okay?" He gave you his pinky finger waiting for you to link yours with him.

When you finally did it he smiled at you and handed you the whole pack of tissues.

"You can have those. Please go home safely okay?" He added before hugging you for some seconds.

"I will. Thank you." You answered a bit calmer now.

He nodded and waved at you as he was leaving.

Soon you found yourself in the bus on your way home when you remembered jb's words to check out your album. You opened it up and looked out for Jaebeom's little note.

"Times get hard but I'll be here to dry your tears.

-Def"

And he did dry them with the tissues and his presence and you knew he'd do it again with his music.

#got7 #got7 scenarios #got7 fluff #kpop #kpop fluff #got7 angst #kpop scenarios #kpop angst #got7 reactions #got7 fanfic #got7 jb #lim jaebeom #jaebeom

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goldencuffs · 4 years

Text

fake dating au part two

Whenever Laurent was overwhelmed, or feeling the kind of loneliness even a good cock couldn’t cure, he would sneak off into the library in the north wing of the Palace, where most of his mother’s official portraits were displayed.

Laurent loved all of them; Hennike was smiling in every single one, blonde hair curled perfectly, and teeth a stunning white. The colouring of her gowns and crowns were so bright, even painted, they seemed to shine in the dullest light. Laurent didn’t really know her; she had died three days after giving birth to him, but he had watched so many interviews and home videos of her, he felt like he had. She had been beautiful, well spoken, and everyone had been shocked when she had fallen for Al, because she had been betrothed to someone else.

Laurent liked coming down here to talk to her. It helped to have her listen to his dramatic tirades. He had started doing it when he was thirteen, when Auguste had enlisted in military training and left him alone, but had stopped a few months later, when Al caught him, his face ashen as he’d watched his youngest son babble to his dead wife.

After that, Laurent made sure to only come down in the dead of night, when he was absolutely desperate.

Which was clearly now; Laurent’s head had been spinning since the dinner at Heston’s. Even dessert hadn’t cheered him up — Heston, the absolute cretin, had served only four options of dessert and not a single one had chocolate in them. Not even one! It was like people intentionally went out of their way to put Laurent in a foul mood. Laurent had already drafted a wordy letter about Heston’s appalling lack of class and hosting abilities on the way home, and he was going to send it to the local tabloid first thing in the morning.

Laurent paced around the library, addressing his favourite portrait of his mother. It was her wedding portrait, and he loved all the detailing in it. The blush pink flowers in her bouquet matched her lipstick and her blush, and the tiara she was wearing had 588 diamonds in it. It was called The Laurent Tiara, and when Laurent had found out it had been Hennike’s favourite crown, he’d cried into his pillowcase for an embarrassingly long time.

“If I tell Al the truth now, he’ll kill me,” Laurent wailed at an appropriately low volume; he was very considerate of the sleeping guards when he threw his tantrums. “Or worse — get me married! Oh god, he’ll set me up with that idiot Torveld and I’ll have to spend the rest of my life hearing about his coin collection. Who even uses cash anymore? And what exactly is the point of having money if you can’t use it? And has Al even considered the aesthetics of our coupling? How are we supposed to wear matching outfits if Torveld looks rubbish in Egyptian blue and azure? Hello! Those are my signature colours!” Laurent sunk down on the lumpy sofa and buried his head in his hands. “Maybe death really is the better option.” He looked up at Hennike’s green eyes. “Is heaven overrated? Where would you personally place it on a scale of one to ten?”

She didn’t answer him, obviously. It was no use, anyway; Laurent was definitely not getting into heaven.

Laurent woke up irritated and unrested, and not for his usual, fun reasons. He hadn’t come up with any sort of solution to his dilemma and he had had a very strange dream where Damianos punched him while Al watched on. Then the scene had changed, and Laurent was on stage accepting his tenth Oscar for Best Actor, even though he had yet to star in any films.

“I’m thinking of becoming an actor,” Laurent told Al later that night during dinner.

Al’s eyes narrowed and his mouth became a sharp line. “What?”

“I mean, I have the looks, obviously. And really, how hard is acting anyway? Clearly you don’t even need to be very good at it to star in a movie — look at Channing Tatum. I’m sorry, but it’s very obvious his height was the only thing that got him into Hollywood, and even then it’s not that impressive.”

Al put down his knife and fork. “Can we —” He sounded very strained, “have a normal conversation for once.”

Laurent considered this. “I don’t think we’ve had enough conversations to statistically find out what constitutes a normal one,” he said. Al went red, so he continued, “So you don’t think acting is for me? Shall I try directing then? Or maybe —” He sat up excitedly in his chair. “I could write movies! I have so many ideas! Why, for instance, has no one considered a gay version of The Princess Bride? What would that even be called? The Prince Groom? Ugh, no, that’s terrible. Oh, who am I kidding — with my face and my body I have no choice but to be on camera. Otherwise, it’d be such a waste.”

The vein in Al’s forehead was throbbing. If he had been wearing his crown, it would have gone unnoticed, but like this, it was rather unflattering.

Al said, “Laurent,” in a sombre tone. “I really hope you’re joking.”

“About The Prince Groom? Kind of. But the acting thing — would it really be that bad?”

“You are a prince,” Al said, teeth clenched. “If it is the glam and glitz you want, you have more than enough here.”

Laurent, uncomfortably, thought of his room, the only place in the Palace that was truly his, devoid completely of personal artefacts. He swallowed. “Yes, well.” He tried a smile. “Maybe I should borrow another crown from the royal archives. I don’t think I’ve worn one with emeralds yet.”

Al resumed eating. “Speaking of crowns,” he said, completely glossing over Laurent’s last statement. “I’d like you to wear the Crown of Naos when King Damianos arrives.”

Laurent’s mouth dropped open. “As if! Al, the gold colouring on that completely washes me out! Not to mention the fact that that thing weighs like, five kilograms!”

Al’s nostrils flared at the word Al. He said, “The crown is a gift from Damianos’ great great grandfather to yours. It will be an appropriate and symbolic gesture if you wear it.”

“But why can’t you wear it? Or Auguste?”

“I am not the one having an affair with the King of Akielos,” said Al.

Oh, right. Laurent had forgotten about that. But what was the point? It wasn’t as though Damianos would recognise the gesture. If anything, he might think of it as inappropriate.

Instead he said, “Well, gee, Al, I didn’t peg you as a romantic.” Laurent fluttered his lashes a little.

Al pushed away his plate. “I’m done, thank you.” A servant immediately came to clear away his food.

Al left the dining hall, his shoulders tight. Laurent wished Auguste would hurry back home already.

In the morning, on the way back from the stables, Jord said, “Looks like your wish came true.”

Laurent stopped dead. “Oh my god — is Pierre-Alexis Dumas here? Is he finally going to collab with me?”

“Who’s Pierre-Alexis Dumas?” said Jord.

Laurent whirled on him. “Watch your fucking mouth.”

“Sorry.” Jord said, not sounding the slightest bit sorry. The audacity! “But look.” He pointed past Laurent, to the front of the Palace.

Laurent looked. There was a nondescript black limousine parked on the long, gravel pathway. Laurent would have dismissed it, if he didn’t spot sight of Jeurre, Auguste’s chauffeur, leant up against one of the doors, smoking.

Laurent gasped. He passed on his bridle to Jord, who fumbled to catch it, and ran inside.

Auguste and Al were in the plate room. Al was sitting on the large, velvet throne, a glass of whiskey in his hand. It wasn’t even noon! And he was baring his teeth in that weird way — smiling, as he called it.

Auguste was standing in front of him, hands behind his back. He had gotten very tan, and his hair was much darker, a strange golden colour that made the blue-green of his eyes more appealing.

They both turned when Laurent entered. Al’s mouth was already drooping at the sight of him, but Laurent only had eyes for his brother, whom he hadn’t seen in eight whole months.

Laurent wanted to hug him, which surprised even himself. Laurent was not a hugger. He wasn’t much of a toucher, either, unless it involved getting laid.

Auguste gave him a nod. He sometimes acted so much like Al, it disgusted Laurent; the only difference was that Auguste’s eyes were always kind.

Laurent peered at him closely, shocked. “What have you done to yourself? Are you having a mid-life crisis? Should we call Paschal for a yearly psych evaluation?”

Auguste laughed. “It’s a moustache, Laurent. It’s very fashionable in Kempt, you know.”

“It’s horrendous!” Laurent cried. He stared at the thick hair above Auguste’s top lip in horror. “Right. I’m officially ruling Kempt out as a holiday destination this summer if all the men are growing that.”

Al’s eyebrows furrowed. “I like it. It’s very refined.”

“Oh god, now we have to get rid of it,” said Laurent, which made Al frown and Auguste laugh. Auguste squeezed Laurent’s shoulder. He was always mindful of Laurent’s boundaries. “I think you’ve grown taller.”

“I haven’t,” Laurent said. He showed off his riding boots. “See? It’s three inches of heel.”

“Very impractical,” Al said under his breath, which was not a very Kingly thing to do.

Auguste was still smiling. “I like it. It matches the piping of your coat.”

“Yes, exactly!” Laurent was so happy in that moment, he leant forward and hugged Auguste. It was very short, but Auguste looked so pleased afterwards, Laurent wished he had prolonged it.

“Did you get me anything?” he asked, to cover the embarrassment following his sudden burst of affection.

Auguste raised an eyebrow. “I’m hurt, Laurent. You’re not going to ask me about my classes or my rather excellent Anthropology professor?”

Laurent scrunched up his face. “Are you stalling because you didn’t get me anything?”

Auguste smiled. “There’s about fifty boxes of Grand Cru chocolate in your bedroom.”

Laurent’s sound of ecstasy was too loud; Al spilled some of his whiskey onto his pants. Auguste clapped him on the back in commiseration.

As the servants laid out a small meal — roses of smoked salmon on cucumber slices, macaroons, thin slices of cured meat and cheese, crunchy shrimp salad on crusty rolls, grapes and strawberries and mango and pineapple, individual strawberry shortcakes, that kind of thing — Auguste said, “Father tells me you’re having an affair with the King of Akielos.” He said it casually enough, but Laurent could see he wasn’t thrilled about the idea.

Laurent swallowed his last bite of sandwich and placed a hand on his heart. “Al! You should know better than to gossip, shame on you!”

Al just sighed, a long, suffering sound, and Auguste glared openly at him. “I thought you promised to stop disrespecting Father like that.”

Laurent’s stomach pooled with an uncomfortable tightness. Being told off by Auguste somehow was always worse than being told off by Al.

“Fine,” Laurent said shortly. He said to Al: “Oh dearest Father, Papa, Your Majesty, light of my life, the man who impregnated Queen Hennike, so I, your glorious creation, could be born to bring some joy to this bleak, bleak world: stop gossiping immediately.”

There was a very long pause. Then Auguste laughed. “You are such a shit.”

Al sighed again. “He’s becoming more and more insolent by the day.”

“Thank you so much,” Laurent said, wiping away an imaginary tear.

Auguste barked another laugh. Al sipped more whiskey; a very good sign. Laurent was going to take advantage of this; he wanted a new watch.

Auguste continued his questioning a few minutes later. “So. You and the King — it’s true?”

Laurent flapped a hand. “Oh, you know how it is. He saw those pictures of me from Aimeric’s birthday party where I wore those silk shorts that were just long enough to be tasteful and the poor darling had absolutely no choice but to slide into my DMs and woo me.”

“What’s a DM?” asked Al, and if the question had come from anyone else, Laurent would have found it adorable. He probably would have tweeted it as well.

“Texting,” Auguste said. He seemed contemplative. “Aimeric’s birthday — from last September? It’s been a bit more than a year.”

“Yes,” said Laurent. He tried to say it as wistfully as possible. “He bought me a Ferrarri.”

“Really?” Auguste sounded impressed. “The 1954?”

Laurent grinned. “Do you want to drive it?”

“Fuck yeah,” Auguste said, then quickly cleared his throat and looked at their father. “I mean, yes. Perhaps later in the afternoon.”

Al shook his head, but he didn’t say anything for the rest of the meal. Well, he didn’t say anything to Laurent. He really was in a good mood.

Having Auguste back had Laurent so distracted it wasn’t until a few days later that he realised how frantically the staff were cleaning the floors and walls and painting frames.

In fact, he became so relaxed doing less than nothing all day, since Al was too busy doing this and that, or fawning over Auguste, he didn’t comprehend why the chefs needed fifty boars delivered fresh on Friday morning, until Al told him before their weekly Council, “I want you to wear your red high neck blouse tomorrow.”

“Why?” Laurent asked, checking for any fine lines in the shine of the armour of one of the propped knights in the hallway.

“It is the colour of the Akielos banner. I am trying to seem as diplomatic as possible.”

Laurent went very, very still. With dawning horror, he said, “The — Damianos is coming tomorrow?”

Al’s expression turned thunderous. “Do not waste my time asking stupid questions, Laurent. You know how much I despise it.”

Laurent’s eyes widened. “Oh no,” he said quietly, real fear settling into his bones. Damianos was going to murder him tomorrow. He would need to get a facial tonight, to ensure he was the most beautiful corpse the human eye had seen. And then something much more horrific occurred to him. “Wait! I can’t wear the red high neck with the Crown of Naos! Those colours completely clash!”

Al seemed to age a few centuries in a blink of an eye. With a shake of his head, he walked into the Chambers, leaving Laurent alone in the hallway.

Laurent frowned. One of these days, he was going to be the one storming out. It was only fair.

Things only got worse.

Laurent’s last minute facial broke him out, so he threatened to sue and smashed one of their stupid reclining chairs.

Laurent had honestly thought that was going to be the worst of it; the pimple along his jawline was easy to cover up once he got the local dermatologist to inject something in it.

But on the morning of Damianos’ arrival, Laurent was in a terrible mood. He hadn’t slept at all, worried about his pimple, his horrible outfit, and the fact that a man who was the size of a small house — Google said Damianos was 6’6”, but he was definitely way more, no arguments — was going to viciously kill him.

“Hurry up,” Laurent snapped at the servant dressing him, who had been pulling too sharply at his laces for the last six minutes.

“Yes, Your Highness,” he answered meekly, and continued fumbling about.

When a few more minutes passed, Laurent looked down at him. “Okay, seriously, this is ridiculous. You usually get me dressed in ten minutes or less. What is the problem?”

“I —” The servant looked like he was on the verge of tears. “Your Highness, the laces — I can’t do them up. It’s uh — it’s too tight.”

“What do you mean?” Laurent asked, narrowing his eyes. “This fit perfectly a month ago.”

“Yes, well —” And his eyes slid over to the bed, where an empty, open box of chocolates was stacked against many other empty boxes of chocolate.

Laurent saw red.

It took three guards and then Jord and Lazar to keep Laurent restrained enough to not kill him. In the end, he yelled until his throat was hoarse and the servant broke down, running out the room with his face covered in tears.

Afterwards, Laurent attempted to do up the laces himself, because he was not fat, and he definitely had not gained weight; he was svelte and sexy and desirable.

In the end, he could only do his trousers up, and only just. If he let out a particularly deep exhale… well, breathing was overrated anyway, Laurent had always thought so.

“Oh, forget it!” Laurent howled, miserable and on the verge of tears himself. “I look ridiculous.”

“No, you don’t, Your Highness,” Jord assured quickly. Too quickly.

Laurent glanced at himself in the mirror. His ass was practically suffocated in these trousers — and that was his best feature! He ran a hand down it forlornly. “It’s too tight.”

Jord’s eyes followed his hand with avid interest. He was drooling.

“Could be tighter,” said Lazar, leaning against the bedpost.

Laurent flung himself on the bed. “No it couldn’t. I need to lose about three kilograms in the next —” He checked the clock, “half an hour. Oh god. Just tell Al I died. It’ll make his day, go on.”

“Orgasms help with weight loss,” said Lazar. “I could fuck your face.”

Laurent sniffed “Don’t be so stupid.” He looked at the clock again. “Obviously, riding you will help me lose more calories. Both of you get on the bed, quick.”

Laurent did not lose three kilograms in half an hour. As enjoyable as the sex had been, it had only made him tired and anxious.

Jord suggested that Laurent should just let the laces at the back trail, and cover it up with a coat, even though it was far too hot in the year to wear one. Laurent obliged anyway, knowing how difficult Al would be if he showed up wearing undiplomatic colours. He changed his trousers into a different pair, making sure it had an elastic waistband to stretch accommodatingly.

When the crown was placed on his head, he staggered a little. It really was unnecessarily heavy. His great great grandfather must have had a head the size of a watermelon.

Laurent walked unsteadily down the hall, towards the Palace steps where Auguste and Al were already waiting. His insides became so twisted with the thought of seeing Damianos, he had to make a detour and hide behind a tapestry to have a panic, but only a little one.

Outside, the sun was blazing. Auguste clapped him on the back in greeting, and Laurent winced, the material of his blouse sticking to his armpits. Al’s lips curled at his outfit, but Laurent couldn’t care. He hoped he looked beautiful enough — just enough — so Damianos would reconsider his murder. At the very least, Laurent hoped nothing happened to his face.

“Alright?” said Auguste. “You’re sweating.”

“Shut up,” said Laurent, mortified. He was a prince; he did not sweat.

Auguste’s response was cut off by the sound of the gates opening and rolling tires on gravel. Laurent’s heart was in his ears; he swallowed, but it made him feel more sick.

The sleek, black car was parked in the driveway. Several seconds later, Damianos stepped out, tall and handsome.

Laurent whimpered. It was one thing to see photos of Damianos on the internet, walking briskly down the street or shaking hands with Al, and it was another thing entirely to see him in the flesh as he walked down their driveway.

He was so tall. And he was built like a tree; all thick arms and chest and thighs. Laurent had such a weakness for thighs, they were really the best part of a man’s body, how they framed the groin and the cock and —

Laurent realised, suddenly, that he had not prepared at all for how he was going to greet Damianos.

Lovers kissed each other, yes? Laurent didn’t think he could do that without being punched but god, would Al think it was weird if he didn’t at least attempt to kiss Damianos? Maybe he could pretend to suddenly be shy, too coy to look into Damianos’ eyes in front of everyone — yes, yes that sounded perfect.

Damianos came up the stairs, smile wide and straight. His teeth were amazing. Were they fake? Laurent didn’t think so; he ran his tongue over his own, nervous, heart still thumping in his ears.

He greeted Al first. Laurent’s head was spinning. What if Al said something? What if Auguste did? What if Damianos said something that alluded to the fact that this was technically, the first time he and Laurent would be speaking to another?

And then Laurent couldn’t think of anything else, because Damianos was standing right in front of him.

He reached out, one large, dark hand to shake Laurent’s. Laurent staggered forward, into his chest, and closed his eyes.

When he opened his eyes again, Laurent saw the most beautiful angel.

“Wow, you’re hot.” Laurent poked a very hard, very strong bicep. “Heaven’s pretty cool.” He was dead, obviously, because people this good looking didn’t exist in the mortal world.

“You’re not dead, Laurent. Can you sit up?”

Laurent thought about it. He wasn’t dead? That was good news. But he felt like he was dead because he couldn’t move his body at all.

“Here, can you follow my finger?”

“Hmm.” Laurent said and stared unblinkingly at what he assumed was a finger. It was quite blurry.

“I think he’s concussed.”

Laurent giggled. The stranger’s accent made it sound like he had said cock-cussed. It made Laurent want to suck cock.

He said, “If I’m not dead, I’d like to be. Jord, get me my blue Prada scarf. I want to be buried in it. Lazar, get your gun out.”

“He doesn’t seem concussed.” That was Al. The compulsion to die was suddenly much stronger.

“We should take him to the hospital,” the hot angel said. Laurent was in love.

He said as much: “I really love you,” he told the blurry figure. Then he rolled over onto his side and threw up.

#captive prince #im going to see if its worth posting on tumblr and ao3 dont mind me #fake dating au #damen x laurent #my writing #my fic #queue

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lisinfleur · 4 years

Text

WYWTTS - Chapter 3: Before the Dawn

Author’s Notes | Ok... I have to say I was pretty sad with the lack of reaction I received in the last chapter of this work. However, more than reactions, my own sweetness towards this character and the amazing actor behind it, along with the tenderness that came from the requester of this work are what move me to push this forward. So, as much as David - who finished his work with Sigurd although all the hate his character received - and for the sake of my sweet Any and the others who wanted to see this work done, here am I with one more chapter of this series.

I really hope you guys enjoy it. If not... Well... I do. :) Words | 1694 ⁑ Warnings: Offensive words, some cursing.

"And you want to convince me a woman wasn't paid to make that whole embroidery for him?"

Ivar's voice, of course, was sounding full of mockery as Sigurd was straightening the beautifully embroidered cloak he had earned from Siggy. The woman had really dedicated some good time to make him a beautiful pattern, detailed and colored, he loved at first sight.

"Yes, Ivar," Sigurd answered, proudly standing with his new cloak, ready for the festivals that were starting at the town for the new cycle of seeding and harvests. "Someone decided to voluntarily spend time and dedication to make me something beautiful. I know it may be something completely unknown for you since, besides our mother's obligations, no one has ever done such a thing for your lame ass, but yes. Someone decided to do it for me. And maybe this same someone will like to spend some time at this festival doing another thing that you won't ever understand which is having a healthy and pleasant conversation that I intend to extend for as long as I can manage to be away from you tonight. So... Enjoy your bitterness, little brother. I have a sweet flower to meet and no time to lose with your envy."

Ivar's smile lost itself for a moment before gaining size once again in his face.

"Well, let's see the size of your flower's beard when you decide to bring your boyfriend around, little Sigurd."

"It's a girl, and she's pretty," Hvitserk entered the conversation like someone who catches a boat in the middle of the departure, knowing nothing about its destiny.

Sinking Ivar's plans to mock Sigurd that night and putting a bigger smile on the blonder brother's face.

"Good that you came to deal with little Ivar's solitude. I don't wanna be late if you don't mind. Good night, Hvitserk. Little bitter brother," Sigurd saluted, sneering, jumping out of Ivar's reach before the younger prince could hit him with the cup of mead he had just thrown.

Sigurd didn't even look back. His mind was flying over Siggy's smiles as his hands touched once again the beautiful embroidery she had done for his new cloak. She was such a skilled woman! Although talented, she was humble. And sweet. And gentle. And gorgeous like Sigurd's best dreams.

He could feel something whenever she would smile at him and this time, he was sure his life was finally giving him something good for all the years of loneliness.

Since Siggy had entered his life that day on the river, he was happier. Undoubtedly!

And his happiness wasn't passing unnoticed around.

"Little Sigurd seems to have found a green bird around..."

Sigurd stopped by one of the tents at the square when his brother Björn's voice sounded that giggling way.

"Not yet," he smiled. "But soon. And not green. But colored," his smile became bigger as his fingers ran the colored embroidery of his cloak one more time. "All the colors I've ever wanted to see at once, brother."

Björn laughed, patting Sigurd's shoulder.

"Oh, I know this sensation. Go ahead, brother. Just don't let her threads go around your neck or maybe she'll sew you a collar," he joked.

To what Sigurd smiled almost tenderly. His eyes catching the image of Siggy entering the square in a dress surely combining his cloak's pattern.

"You wanna know what, brother? I don't really mind if she sews me a collar after all. I think I would use it happily for one more of her smiles."

Björn's eyes followed his little brother's glare but there wasn't a smile on his lips at the end of that line. Instead, as Sigurd walked away without noticing, Björn's cup almost went straight to the ground as his eyes watched his little brother being received by a ghost of his own past.

The woman standing at the entrance of the festival, smiling shyly at his little brother... That face was something he could never forget.

"Þórunn?" he mumbled to himself.

But no... That woman was too young to be his sweet Þórunn. She would be older like him, not preserved in time like a perfect painting or marble sculpture of his memories.

That couldn't be his Þórunn. But maybe... What was that woman's name?

Leaving his cup at the tent's table, Björn turned around searching for his other brothers, catching Ubbe by his braid as soon as he was able to see the younger one walking around.

"I told you already a thousand times, stop this shit of pulling me by my-" Ubbe started complaining but Björn's voice cut him before he could finish that sentence.

"What's the name of Sigurd's new girlfriend? Did he tell you what's the woman's name?"

Ubbe frowned. What could be wrong about his little brother's happiness to make Björn so serious about that woman?

"Siggy, I think. Not sure. There are a lot of women with this name around the town, Björn. What is it with the girl?" Ubbe asked, worried.

"Siggy what?" Björn insisted. "What's her origin? Where did she come from?"

His nervousness starting to get Ubbe unsettled.

"I don't know, brother. She's a farmer girl. I don't know what's her father's name. Sigurd seems to have saved her life at the river and they proceeded to meet each other here and there... It seems something new. What is wrong?"

"Nothing," Björn finished the conversation with a knot in his throat, leaving Ubbe even more confused. "I'm just overthinking."

He had to be, right?

His mind making the calculations. His Siggy would be around Sigurd's age at this point. And as long as he knew, Aslaug had given her to a farmer's family, wasn't it? Or was it the woman who sewed her dresses? He couldn't properly remember or be sure... There were so many years now!

What if that was his Siggy?

What if that wasn't the right girl?

By the doubt, he thought it was better to keep an eye open at the girl and his little brother.

If he wasn't wrong, then that would be his daughter.

He couldn't let that happen without taking the proof.

"It seems we combine, my lady."

Sigurd's voice sounded like the smile he had on his face for her when she arrived at the festival.

He was dressing proudly the cloak she'd made for him and it filled Siggy's heart with happiness at the same proportion it made her cheeks blush in shyness: her dress was made of the same tissue which made it look as if she had combined to go dressed like him.

Like a pair.

"You look gorgeous, prince Sigurd," she tried to keep herself polite, but Sigurd extended his hand for her and smiled.

"Tonight, we forget I'm a prince. Please, call me by my name only. Let us enjoy this night together."

No titles attached.

She knew they were becoming closer and closer. Although she knew her origins and their blood relation, her heart was full of joy with his tender approaching and she accepted his hand, entering the festival with eyes over her simple figure standing beside the proud prince walking by her side.

Sigurd was shining that night. He couldn't feel happier. And yet, he kept his sweetness, laughing with her, making her laugh, giving her the sweetest night Siggy could ever remember have lived in her whole life. They'd danced together, drunk, and ate together, and by the end of the night, he placed a crown of colored flowers over her head, gently pushing aside some strands of her hair from her face.

The sun was about to dawn when Sigurd invited her out of the festival, to the beach near the town where they could see the dawn together.

He helped her to climb up some stones and sat beside her as the sun was starting to lift itself on the horizon.

"It was a happy night," she broke the silence, noticing Sigurd wasn't looking at the dawn.

But at her face.

"Won't you watch the dawn?" she asked, shyly.

"I am watching it," he answered, causing her cheeks to blush even more. "Through your eyes," he completed, caressing her face gently.

Making Siggy smile in a way no other had ever made before.

His thumb caressed her cheek gently and she slowly leaned into his caress, closing her eyes for a moment.

"I could kiss you right now," he mumbled.

Almost asking her permission to do what he wanted so bad.

"I could let you kiss me right now," she answered, good-humored, getting a smile from the bardic prince as his caresses continued warming her face.

"But then I would have to tell you how I feel... And ask you to be my girlfriend," he continued that game.

Receiving a tender glare from Siggy's eyes.

"Oh, then I'll have to say yes," she answered, causing Sigurd's smile to become slightly less playful.

"Then... I would have to believe I'm dreaming. And there is only one way to know if I'm dreaming or not."

She turned herself to him completely, looking into his eyes. Her heart was decided when Siggy smiled at him.

She was decided to ignore any barriers.

She wasn't his niece. Björn was never her father. She was Siggy Dagsðóttir!

And she was in love with Prince Sigurd...

"If you're dreaming... Then... Wake up, my prince," she mumbled.

Leaning forward to feel his hands touching and cupping her face right before Siggy's lips encountered Sigurd's in a long and tender kiss that filled the prince's heart with joy.

They spent a long time knowing each other's flavors before the need for air forced the kiss to be broken.

And Sigurd giggled after he opened his eyes.

"Whether I didn't wake up... Or I'm not dreaming. I still don't know the difference... I guess I'll have to kiss you again," he joked.

Getting a laugh from Siggy who nestled into his arms.

"You're my boyfriend now, right?" she said, smiling at him. "I guess you can kiss me as much as you want."

They laughed together and Siggy smiled at the sun who was now filling the sky. Brighter times were coming, she could feel.

Brighter times that she wanted to live fully.

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blackbutlerfandomnerddomain · 4 years

Note

I'm a sucker for Masquerade scenarios so, Masquerade for PhoWill if that's okay!

You got it @annelaurant, a PhoWill 33-Masquerade coming right up!

Masks.

Odd yet simply beautiful objects used to cover someone up from others. Faces, Emotions, Pain, Thoughts, Memories, Life, Wounds, Tears, History, Beauty, Ugliness, Masks cover them all. . .

Phobos had long since gotten used to every masks over the many years. His fair skin, hair, and eyes forever covered in darkness like a mysterious angel hidden within Hell’s very own shadows. A flower in the deepest, most secret part of a garden. A single star in the night sky.

That was him.

He knew he was going to be alone for many many years, he was alright with that. It still hurts when one wants something warm in the dead of a cold night... It still makes his heart ache when he walks within the fresh air of the castle’s gardens with no one to admire the world around him... It is still cold when there’s no one to talk to during dinner...

Masks are the only things he can truly depend on.

His masks are far more convincing then one would give credit for. Red wine so dark one could assume it’s the entire darkness in a pretty cup, Robes and silks of many dark colors of blacks and red and violets that suits the fairness of his eyes skin and hair so well, Jewels all adored on his body like the steamy waters in which he bathes constantly in and wrapped like thorns on fearsome beautiful roses, Once ruling a entire kingdom and nearly a universe with a iron grip with such masks before those masks shattered all started by one single person who threw him over like all that hard work was nothing...

Her hair red like the finest of blood gems, Her skin smooth and gentle like the fine silk he wraps himself into like a butterfly waiting to become, Her eyes large and round like two soft chocolates he so craves, Her heart, different to the Heart in which she protects, is strong and fierce much like every Queen of his world. Since the very first time he saw her trapped within a few feet from his throne all wrapped in his thornless roses something shifted inside him... A single small crack against his mask. Now the wine he drinks tasted bitter in his mouth, His robes and silks felt like burns against his skin, His jewels no longer giving him the pleasure of beauty when he adorn them. His kingdom, his universe, his life, his masks were all snatched away from his iron grip and broken apart before his eyes no matter how much he would beg and plea. All because of that Guardian...!

However nothing he wanted, desired, craved for most when he was tossed in that cell was walking across his garden’s beauty beside someone dear... Someone to chat and eat a meal at the grand dining hall... Someone to hug close to his body during the latest of cold nights... Someone to see through all his masks even the broken ones so he doesn’t have to pretend anymore...

After years of sitting there in the cell and earning himself the time to wander about the gardens’ air and eat a warm meal within a room and wear the robes and silks he used to adore with his jewels he was slowly getting used to his life as his sister’s personal professor. Teaching her her skills, showing her all of Meridian history and culture, even telling stories of his youth and their parents and family she never gotten a chance to ever meet... Through these times of her caring heart and bright angelic nature he shaped a new mask. One of which he wears only when he can’t bring himself to fully dive into her pond of forgiveness and light. He can’t dare bring himself to answer the question he knows she’s been wondering: “Why do you hate me brother?” How can one answer such a heartbreaking question? He knew his answer, he knew it would bring her pain and misery, and for the first time he didn’t want to do such a thing to her...

Snow covered up Meridian like a cold beautiful blanket of pure whites while every guest warms up and dines and dances in the castle’s strong walls, all dressed in fine gowns and smiles on their mask covered faces as the dance and feast and laugh and enjoy the time of Yule within the place that was once a place of evil now a place of happiness and freedom. Prince Phobos watched some from the side lines as music fills his ears and the taste of the ball’s feast dancing across his tongue. He had grown used to no one speaking to him since his invite back to the castle by the Queen everyone loved so much. Much like his past he adorn the outfits of black and deep violets with some flares of red all done in smooth movement of his masquerade costume, his elegant violet and black mask stopping just above his nostrils as it covers the beak of his nose, his fair eyes watching as everyone move about on celebrating this night of the year.

At long last his eyes found themselves fixed upon a certain guest. He watches silently as the Guardian Will accepts a dance with a castle guard, her deep violet purple ball gown so slim it shows her figure perfectly without any means to do so alone swishing back and forth across the glimmering marble floors, her short red hair shining like millions on millions of ruby threads sewed into his pretty head as a flower crown rests softly on top of her dome, her brown eyes now shining with happiness and excitement like crystals within a dark cave, her lips soft to stare upon adoring a smile only she could wear with her lovely light pink and purple mask that just hangs over her eyes. . . Indeed, she was a fine gem to admire from afar.

With a soft shrug of his shoulders he began to make his way out of the party with no one noticing or caring in the slightest of the prince’s whereabouts. The winter sky always brought a strange feeling of light inside his bone cage for his bird like heart, has been since he was a small child watching within the castle gardens during the nights of his parents’ Yule Ball much like tonight’s. There’s just something about the sky slowly turning blacker then the very silks he wore so much with the soft shines and sparkles of the stars mixing so well with the small snow fall that seemingly just appears without a cloud or two to make it and watch as your breath soon becomes visible and more warm against your face and fills your nose that makes all his masks lay across the snow like actors on a play... A calming feeling always entered his soul at the memories of all the times when he was outside for a long time his clothes made him bring the winter with him which forced him to remove each piece and taking a warm bath before wrapping up in a soft and comforting blanket while sitting by a isolated fire.

“Do you always run away from conversation or is it just tonight?”

Phobos felt his skin slowly tug upward as he smiles softly at the voice behind him, knowing very well who it is long before hearing her sweet voice of her tease like tone. He turned his body and head around to face the one and only Will Vandom standing there just like she was before in the enclosed warm castle halls but now added her outer lair over her gown.

“Do you always arrive at events human and in sneakers or is it just tonight little Guardian?” He asked with a smug smile, his smile growing more when her’s drop slightly.

The two, for obvious reasons, hasn’t have the time or pleasure to speak or be around each other since the events of his welcome back into the castle. Though their eyes always lock and smiles are at times exchanged between hall walks and events much like this one, the prince would never admit it but he would be very happy for a moment much like tonight to happen between the two for a long time since he arrived back.

Slowly, he stepped forward and pass the Guardian as his voice only echoed to her, “Well, little Guardian, I shall hope to speak to her again soon enough. But for now, I much stand beside my dear sister?” He let his voice drop some at the wording when speaking of Elyon much to the habit of his new mask does often nowadays.

“Why do you hate Elyon Phobos?” Phobos stopped at his tracks when he hears that question he dreaded leave the red haired Guardian’s lips. “She is your sister after all. She did nothing wrong to you, she even gave you another chance! So why, Phobos? Just tell me why right now, why do you hate your own sister?” Slowly... he could feel the cracks reappearing and slowly began to grow... “I don’t hate my dear sister... I envy her. I despise her.” He slowly mumbled, his cracks growing deeper and long with each tremble of his hands... “What blesses her with ever so much love and joy long before her very birth? Why was I - someone with the same blood flooding my veins as her and share the very same name - be hated and mocked from my own birth all because of what I am?! I never asked to be born! I never wanted to be who I am! It was you who ruined my world! My life! The one thing people can be proud upon me...!”

Will just stood there with her brown eyes now widen and full of sadness and pain as he screamed his words out at her, almost like the hard and sharp broken pieces of his masks stab and hit her like bullets against and within her very flesh. Never once has she seen this side of the man she fought countless times nor has he ever seen such a pitiful expression on her face... Both hearts ached and plushed at these emotions overflowing their bodies but yet neither can dare speak even after the screaming has long ceased... What would one say after all?

The prince breathed in the cold hair and out his warmed up breaths as he stared back at the Guardian for anything at all from her... A scream. A hit. A apology. A cry. ANYTHING would be better then this torture for the poor boy of silence after revealing himself to his once enemy and favorite jewel to watch from afar...

“...Phobos...I-” Will began, her voice leaving off a small crack of emotion as she tried to gather her words for him, but the man dare not want to hear her words anymore as his long since kept emotions flood over him like a ocean against the rocks of a shore as he swoops down and cups her face, forcing their eyes to meet yet again. He grasps onto her mask’s edge and carefully removed it, admiring so closely now the beauty in which she possesses completely once it was removed and discarded to the snow covered ground beneath them, his head slowly moving forward on it’s own just until his lips were barely a inch against her’s.

He could smell her scent of peppermint she most likely wore for this party, He could feel her skin growing colder and her hair slowly going slightly damp from the melted pieces of snow in her red tread strains, Her breath now tickling him softly... The desire was there but how long was it going to take to-

“You know, this isn’t fair.” She said before she grabbed and threw his mask onto the floor like her’s was, once it was done, she then quickly grabbed his costume’s fabric and closed their tiny space with their lips colliding eagerly and warmly for the two.

Her lips taste like warm melted chocolate and strawberry from her treat while his tasted like warm soft fire spice and grape from his wine as their skins endure the warms and the colds of their kiss and touches as the snow fall around them as if the universe was granting them a gift. Prince Phobos’ chest slowly grew warmer and warmer between the soft touches and kisses like a fire creating and spreading inside him... It burns and it hurts but he never wanted to cease the feeling ever. Never again He thought to himself as he feels all his pain and misery slowly melt with the broken rumble of his masks now gone for good...

All he needs as of now is the very maiden within his arms...

Phobos felt the warm sunlight touch his eyes as he turn his body inside his soft comfortably warm bed, those said fair eyes slowly fluttering open and staring at the deep red hair that shines in the morning sunlight. He smiled softly as he scoots closer some towards his pretty Guardian, his eyes slowly drifting to the soft shines of something within his finger and her hand and clings to the blankets and his night shirt... Pretty matching silver rings hugging nicely around their fingers. The man let out a soft gasp as he stared at the rings and at the sleeping Will in his bed before his eyes glances slowly at the remembrance of new warmth between the two in the form of a small sleeping child with long red hair like the Guardian that brought him light yet the child’s resting face matches one of which is his soft snarl.

Tears soon peeked in Phobos’ eyes as he stared at everything he woke up to as memories pass that night rush back to him... The many events of their relationship, the wedding, the birth of his daughter, and the announcement as of last night of their upcoming second child... He honestly couldn’t help but let out a soft weep as a smile appear upon his lips as his arms wrap carefully and warmly around his family as his teary fair eyes watch the morning snow against his bedroom window, just wondering to himself how he ever said such a thing back then. He doesn’t hate his sister in the slightest nor does wishes he was never born, for if it wasn’t for either he’d never have ever even met his wonderful wife and have such a beautiful daughter and soon another.

He has been blessed with someone to hold close during the coldest nights.

He now has people to admire the garden’s beauty.

He never has to dread a meal for now it’s warm with love and compassion he was given thanks to the pretty red haired Guardian he was more then happy he met no matter how he wishes it was different...

I hope you like it! Sorry if it’s kind of crummy, I’m running on no sleep and caffeine but seriously I’m happy with this request and hope you and everyone else enjoy!

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queerchoicesblog · 4 years

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The Florentine Lady

Folks, the wlw story set in the Italian Renaissance suggested by @scottishqueer for the wlw writing project continues. Time to introduce the mysterious Florentine lady, wife of a brilliant architect.

If you do happen to like this miniseries, please consider spreading the word!

Previous chapter: After The Storm

Previous series: Ancient Greece

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A few days later, I pay a visit to my most wondrous tailor and commission him a series of accessories for both my costume and Riccardo's: we have to be impeccable! He winks at me and assures me he will do everything within his power to turn them into wonders that will catch the eye of the Duke himself. I love masquerade balls so much and I count the hours until when I will finally put my Flora costume on.

I'm smiling on my way back to the castle for my card match with my dear mother-in-law. I'm basking in my carefree happiness and in the gorgeous sun shining bright today that it takes me a moment to notice a blonde figure admiring the castle from the edge of the bridge. She doesn't take a step in? Is she scared off by the guards? What a missed chance!

"You chose the best angle to admire the Duke's castle, ma'am" I say as I approach, hoping to give her the little push she needs.

Oh, I startle her, poor thing! She looks behind her and notices me. I smile at her and she turns back towards the castle.

"So this is the best angle..."

To my surprise, she sounds skeptical. What she says next irritates me even more.

"Is this all your castle has to offer?"

A sudden realisation hits me. I laugh. But of course!

"Ah, you must be the new Florentine lady"

She turns back towards me as if I stang her with a needle.

"My fame precedes me, I see"

"Indeed it does, milady" I confirm, mocking a curtesy.

She rolls her eyes and laughs bitterly.

"It doesn't sound like good news by the way you talk to me"

"Well, it's surprisingly easy for ladies with an attitude to get a reputation" I observe with pretended nonchalance.

"Do you think I have an attitude?" she asks and she looks genuinely confused, only slightly annoyed by the implication.

"You? And who would ever say that? You've just arrived, we'll have to wait and see. Fare ye well, fair lady of Florence" I answer, walking past her to enter the castle, my home.

I'm pretty proud of my witticism: I put her in her place, I'm quite sure of that. God knows, maybe for once Maria is right: the new lady is no fun. And no fun is not the right attitude to have in Ferrara.

The day after I entertain my friends with my accidental encounter with the Florentine and we laugh of it. She certainly has guts: we're not Rome the Great nor her Florence but our Duchy is the peak of modernity. She should know: isn't her husband working with Biagio Rossetti, the genius moulding our lively city into something new, unprecedented? The most talented artists decorate our palaces and our gatherings are blessed with the finest music. We're second to no one. Not even Florence, superb arrogant Florence.

But it's getting late, time to attend the evening mass. As we head to the Cathedral, I spot Riccardo standing in the main square. I wave at him and beckon him to join us. He obliges after pressing a kiss on my lips. On our way back to the castle, we walk arm in arm a few steps ahead of my friends. He confides me that when I saw him, he had just taken his leave from the architect and his wife.

"A remarkable man, if you ask him: I'm glad Duke Alfonso didn't turn a merchant's ear to Biagio's request and invited him to join the enterprise. He's a true artist, a man already thinking in future terms, so to speak. Excellent addition to our court"

"And what about her?" I inquiry. "What do you think of the lady?"

"His wife?" he says, furrowing his brows before shrugging. "She doesn't talk much but she seems a fine lady"

"If you say so..." I giggle as we set foot on the castle's bridge.

I couldn't possibly foresee that a few days later he would ask me to show the Florentine around. The city, the churches...or invite her to join the sewing circle or "whatever gathering you women do". My first question is "why?", the second "why me?". But he's already heading to his meeting with the Duke. He just says something about being a good neighbour and introducing her to court. Before I can protest, he's out of the door.

I sigh in resignation. The idea of spending time with the architect's wife is the opposite of thrilling but I know my husband. He's as stubborn as a mule: if I refuse, he will keep asking until I eventually surrender out of exasperation. So, I grab a quibble and write a note.

The next day she's waiting for me in the garden. She picked a crimson dress that certainly was in vague in Florence but not here. It suits her, though. I put on my best practised smile and greet here. We chat a little but soon an uncomfortable silence falls so I suggest we go on our walk, lady...

"Your friends didn't even tell you my name? Nor your husband?" she asks, amused and bitter.

I'm forced to recognise that this is exactly what happened. I refrain from admitting it though.

"I'm so sorry. I'm afraid I forgot it but they must have surely-" I start but she cuts me short.

"No reason in lying to me. I just thought..." she sighs in defeat. "I just thought they did"

Then she looks at me.

"It's Cristina. My name's Cristina"

I refrain from saying it's a lovely name, fearing she would take my words as forced kindness.

"Emilia" I only say, smiling apologetically and offering her my hand to shake.

I suddenly feel uncomfortable: it's not going well and we haven't even started our walk. Thank God, the feeling eases as we wander through the streets of Ferrara. I share stories and facts, even if I'm sure Riccardo would have been a better guide. I ask her about her parentage: she tells me her mother is French, from Alsace. She's never been to France but she can speak the language properly. She has two sisters and a two brother, the oldest one lives in Spain.

"He's a diplomat, just like your husband" she explains.

As we talk, we reach the area where her husband works: I ask her if she would like to have a look even if there's still little to see. The new boulevards are shaping though. She agrees and I start a passionate speech about the exciting times we live in.

"Do you ever feel lucky to live in a time like now? I do. I mean, look at this city, at these streets: they're changing and we can't yet foresee the final result but you can tell a new...world is rising. It's here, underneath the surface and enterprises like the Addizione are bringing it to life. Enough with those narrow filthy alleys, let's have light and space and fresh air instead. Let's expand the borders of our gaze. Your husband is lucky to work firsthand in this enterprise" I note with proud excitement.

She keeps quiet though, so I continue. I don't get why she doesn't sound thrilled too.

"Even our world is broadening. You were speaking of France, Spain...what about the West Indies? Oh, lucky those who can set sails towards them! We hosted an explorer at court once, he brought back the most curious objects and even a bird with extravagant colours! He shared stories of those lands, he said it's like a terrestrial Eden, can you believe that?"

I sigh contently.

"It's exciting how so many things are changing all at once..."

"And we don't get to take part to any of it"

Her voice is somber just like the look on her face.

"Well, we can always enjoy the view and breathe in these winds of change. I'll tell you what? We'll take a walk down these new boulevards when they're done and we'll keep walking until we reach the fields outside the city. We'll pick flowers and make flower jewels out of them! God, I hope I still remember how, I haven't braided flower crowns since I was a child" I suggest, hoping my enthusiasm may be infectious.

"Sure, we can...watch all of it from afar"

Alas, it's not. Cristina doesn't look comforted nor cheered up by my words. She wanders forward and rests her hand on a raw stone at the top of a pile. The builders are working down the road and left them here. Her slender fingers gently grazed the stone as if it was a dear friend. When she speaks again, her voice is filled with such melancholy my chest tightens.

"I envy my husband, you know. There are days he hates his job but he doesn't understand how lucky he is. He has a purpose and a place in the world, this fascinating, changing world, as you say. He sits at his desk and knows he will leave a mark, his signature in the world to come. He touches this stone and knows it will be positioned right there, near that tree. He will be an actor of this modernity not a...paying spectator sitting quietly in the dark of a theatre"

She takes a pause before adding grimly:

"I have no purpose nor a place in the world. My days are empty, filled by mindless occupations that are supposed to make the passage of time more bearable. But I feel so lonely and worthless. When I die, I will walk away from this world like a...shadow. Nothing more. A shadow vanishing into the void"

"Oh, Cristina, what are you saying? What brought such sad thoughts on?" I smile weakly, walking closer.

She turns towards me and searches my eyes. I don't know what she hopes to find on my face.

"Don't you envy your husband, Emilia? He's among the advisors of the Duke, he guides him into taking decisions that shape the future of the city and the whole Duchy. He's a diplomat, he's in touch with the most prominent members of society all over the world, royalties, the Pope, nobles...he can influence history. Don't you envy him?"

I take her hands into mine and give them a squeeze.

"You are not lonely. Not as you think...I-I can be your friend. We started off on the wrong foot but let's leave it behind us, huh? It's never too late to start a friendship"

I give her an encouraging smile as she ponders my words. Then she winces, slowly retrieving her hands.

"But you don't understand me"

We walk back to the castle in complete silence. When we arrive there, I offer to have someone escorting her to her place but she shakes her head and refuses. She thanks me for showing her around and walks away before I can formulate an answer. Soon she disappears into the crowd gathering around the market nearby. I shake my head too and walk inside, but her melancholy affected me.

#wlw writing #wlw writing project #wlw miniseries #original work #lgbtqa+#italian renaissance

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squishyselz · 5 years

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Nothing compares to you

Pairing: VAV Lou x Female!Reader

Genre: Fluff/Best friends to Lovers AU

Word count: 1.4k

Summary: This year's spring is definitely going to be different. Not only the beautiful flowers will be carried away by the warm spring breeze.

A/N: This is my first story I have ever written so I hope you guys enjoy it :) I'm also open for any form of criticism so I can improve my writing. Also English isn't my first language so I hope you guys will understand.🌸

"I don't know what I'd do without you Y/N!"

You raise your head and look at your best friend Lou, sitting across the table. "Just because I let you copy my homework... When are you going to start doing it yourself Lou?"

He rolls his big brown eyes "But you know I'm very busy at the moment. If I don't practice enough then how am I supposed to be an actor one day?"

Well he isn't wrong. He really invests a lot of his free time into acting lessons. It's his big dream after all. "Fine I can't just let that bubble burst" you giggle and poke the tall boy's nose.

Lou just smiles at your action and gets back to copying your answers onto his piece of paper.

After school you guys normally hang out at his place where you either be his acting partner or you insist on playing some video games.

This afternoon you're lucky and the two of you actually play a few rounds of Overwatch. A game Lou has recently discovered. It feels like hours have passed when he stands up and does some stretches. "That was fun" you say with a big smile on your face.

"Definitely but you still got a lot to learn. We almost lost every round Y/N" Lou says while scratching the back of his head. "Yes sir!" you salute him and stand up as well. He just smiles at your action and looks at his phone. "It's already past 10 pm so I suggest you better go home now Y/N or your parents are going to be worried again" he raises an eyebrow at you while trying not to laugh. Yes, Lou is your best friend but your parents didn't care much about that fact. They are very strict and didn't like it when you were hanging out with boys more than girls.

"Yeah yeah I know" you sigh "If only my parents would be a little less... well like they are now and my life would be so much easier" you grab your bag and start to head for the door of Lou's room as he suddenly takes your hand gently into his. "Y/N uhm you know that next week spring vacation starts so I was wondering if..." you look at him slightly confused "Lou? What's the matter?" your best friend just stands there, still holding your hand while blushing oh so slightly. He continues "well I know a beautiful place we could go and take some nice photographs." One of your biggest hobbies was photography. "And where exactly would this place be and especially what is there that I can take pictures of?" you ask him, still a little confused. "It's a flower field I have discovered recently. People told me that there would be a lot of rare and beautiful flowers. And I thought since you like photography so much we could visit it and take some pictures" His heart was beating faster with every word that left his lips. Yes, he is your best friend but what you didn't know yet is that Lou had a crush on you for a long time now. You smile gently at his invitation "Well I can't say no to such a great idea" Lou smiled happily and lets go of your hand "Now go home or you'll get yelled at again" he mockingly says. "Yeah yeah don't worry too much about that" you giggle slightly as you walk out of the door and onto your way home. Lou just lived a few houses away of yours so it only takes you a few minutes to reach it.

When you arrive at home you are lucky again as your parents are sound asleep. You sneak up the stairs into your room quietly and lay on your bed. The feeling of Lou holding your hand... the way he looked at you... Many thoughts about him, about the two of you, are racing in your head until you fall asleep.

The last week of college felt like it would never pass. Luckily it did after all.

"Why is college sooo haaaard" you sigh as you walk next to your tall best friend. He pats your head "Don't worry Y/N, we got some time off now" You smile up at him and nod your head "You're right... Let's just try and enjoy the time with no homework or studying until late at night"

Today you agreed to visit the flower field, Lou has talked about. However you have mixed feelings about it. The past week, Lou hasn't left your thoughts one time. Somehow you always have to think about him, his big brown eyes, his gummy smile whenever you do something silly... Just everything that made him so dear to you. You even noticed that your heartbeat increase whenever he would hug you or as just now pat your head. You always ask yourself one question - Am I in love? - This question was driving you crazy. For once you know Lou is your best friend and you trust me. So why not change that title to him being your boyfriend? At the same time you are scared because you don't know if he feels the same. So of course you're not just going to confess right away and risk your friendship.

You just don't know what to do about your heart, your feelings or your thoughts.

"Y/N!" you hear him yell from across the street.

You were waiting for him to come over so the two of you can walk to the flower field together.

After a short walk you already reach the field and were taken aback by how beautiful it was. So many different flowers are dancing with the warm spring breeze. Immediately you take out your camera and start to take lots and lots of pictures. "This place is absolutely amazing Lou!" you exclaimed. Lou watches you and smiles to himself. He then has an idea and starts picking some of which he thought were the most beautiful flowers in the field. You are too busy to see what he is up to. "Wow so many great pictures. That was the best idea e-" You're not able to finish your sentence as you feel something soft on top of your head. You gently touch it and realize it was a flower crown. "Yes that is definitely your style" Lou giggles as he takes your camera "And now smile"

A slight blush sits on your face as you smile gently into the camera. Lou takes a few pictures.

After that the two of you lay down into the flower field and look up at the clear blue sky.

All of this makes you nervous nonetheless. You turn your head to look at your best friend. He has his eyes closed, breathing slowly.

He looks so peaceful you think to yourself. Then suddenly a hand reaches out to you and pulls you into a tight hug. "L-Lou?" you stutter surprised. "Y/N..." he sighed and opens his eyes to look directly into yours. "All these flowers are beautiful but if you ask me, nothing compares to you" your heart feels like it stops for a moment. "..." you look at his flushed face not being able to say anything. "You're the most important person in my life Y/N and I know you may not feel the same as I do but my heart couldn't take it any longer. I need to tell you how I feel" he continues softly. Your head was spinning, your heart was racing. You look into his beautiful eyes and just smile. But it wasn't just a simple smile. "Looks like you've won this round" you slightly giggle at him. He gives you a confused look. "What do you mean Y/N?" "I mean that I feel the same about you silly" you boop his nose with yours gently, lips not touching each other. He almost doesn't believe his ears. You were also in love? With him?

He still holds you in his arms as his lips gently find their way onto yours. It was a simple kiss but it felt sweeter than anything for the both of you.

You look at him completely blushing "D-Does that mean that... we're a couple now?"

Lou just smiled at you and says "Of course my sweetheart" You're heart almost skipped a beat after hearing this nickname "Hey who allowed you to already nickname me" you pout slightly.

He pinches your nose softly. "I did and now let's just enjoy spring together"

#kpop #kpop imagines #kpop au #VAV #vav imagines #vav x reader #vav lou #kim hosung

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lovehotelreservation · 5 years

Text

Emerald with Envy

Summary: You weren't looking at him. You were looking at the crowd, the orchestra, the lead actor of the show. Claude knew it couldn't be helped. You had to shift your gaze elsewhere. He understood why you didn't want to look at him.

Even if he was your husband.

And yet, as he continued to watch you perform on stage, he just couldn't ignore the envy that was beginning to seize hold of his heart.

Rating: NC-17

Pairing: Reader/Claude

HELLO BELOVED!!! it's been a while since I've completed writing this piece, but with the holidays here, I thought now would be nice to post the rather l e n g t h y Claude piece I've been working on. CONSIDER THIS AN EXPRESSION OF MY FEELINGS AFTER ACHIEVING HIS S SUPPORT ENDING AFTER THE WAR ; v ;

ANYHOW I HOPE U ENJOY!!!

..............

For all his tremendous efforts, crafted schemes, and unwavering resolve, there was something just so humorously ironic that Claude von Riegan, the newly annointed king of Almyra, could not even get a general admission ticket to a sold out show by the Mittelfrank Opera Company.

And yet he could not bring himself to chuckle at the absurdity of the situation.

It was not so much as his standing as king that caused the issue--especially with Archbishop Byleth's successes of bridging Fódlan together with other nations.

Rather, he was simply too late to buy a ticket for tonight's performance. The theater house was packed to the brim with nobles and common folk, all eager to witness the last run of a special production directed by none other than Mittelfrank Opera's former songbird, Manuela Casagranda.

And while Claude was curious to see how a show under his former instructor's helm had turned out, his true reason for zooming across the skies on his wyvern from Almyra to Enbarr was the star of the evening's show.

The Golden Deer representative who had won the White Heron Cup of the year 1180.

The one who would soon bear the crown as queen of Almyra.

You, the wife he cherished above anything else in the world.

And while he never doubted your love for him, he understood if there was a wariness in your heart.

He was asking so much of you upon quietly taking your hand in marriage after the war before immediately heading off for Almyra, after all.

But you understood him, as you had all this time. Beyond just his own vision, his actions in Almyra would shape the world for the better--for the kinder. As sad as it was to part so soon after the two of you had exchanged your vows, you eagerly awaited the beginning of a lengthy letter correspondence between you both.

It was by those letters that he learned of the show in the first place.

Your lifelong passion for performance had led up to this debut with the Mittelfrank Opera. However, constant negotiations and intense reformation within Almyra demanded his presence throughout nearly the entirety of the show’s run. With the production ending on this very night, your last letter expressed hope that he would be able to come watch you on the stage that served as the realization of your dreams.

And thus, rather than stand downtrodden outside the theater with a gorgeous bouquet of your favorite flowers in hand and a new Almyran-crafted wedding ring in his pocket to adorn your finger, he still made his way inside.

Backstage to be precise.

With all his efforts in his motherland, sneaking by security was nothing for him.

Surely, while he was going to have to figure out just which spot in the theater he would have to scale along for a good view of the stage, his utmost priority was seeing you.

To say hello, to kiss with love, to embrace so tight, to adorn with gifts.

Though, with the bustle of actors in the midst of powdering their faces and tugging at tights, orchestra members preparing to saunter out to their seats with instruments in hand, and the overall chaos of stage hands preparing scenery pieces and props, finding your dressing room wasn’t going to be easy, especially with the performance so close to starting.

However, he only managed a couple minutes of searching before a familiar robust and pristine voice called out to him.

"Claude? Is that you?"

Truly, Claude thought he was past the point where people could easily get the jump on him. And yet, he couldn’t hold back his surprise as he turned around with raised brows and a somewhat slack jaw.

Sure enough, with the elegant mane of fiery red hair--tied and tamed into a loose low ponytail--that was the first to catch his eye, he remarked with astonishment, "Ferdinand! Good to see you!" A grin quirking onto his lips, he took a step back as he took note of the duke’s overly embellished yet stylish red waistcoat and a matching black pair of tights and pointe shoes. "I'm digging tonight's look. No trusty horse boots though?"

Releasing a rich chuckle, Ferdinand beamed with pride as his hands rested on his waist, "A good eye, Claude! Though, I’ll happily have you know that I am performing tonight."

While not immediate, somehow Claude felt his smile wane ever so slightly. Still, maintaining his exuberance, he let out an astonished, “Really now?! That’s a surprise to me. Surely the news coverage in Enbarr isn’t so slack that a duke performing in a sold out show would go unnoticed.”

”Surely not!” Ferdinand remarked as he shook his head, a knowing smile on his features. “My inclusion was last minute, as the original male lead injured his leg during rehearsal. It was a great honor to be asked by Professor Manuela to step in as his replacement--like I could ever turn her down while she's in need.” Bringing a hand to his heart, he let out a sigh of nostalgic delight. “I happen to know this show by heart from how many times I’ve seen her perform it all those years ago. Plus to reunite in dance with--"

The moment your name was uttered from Ferdinand's lips, Claude’s shoulders tensed slightly as he immediately inquired, “Not meaning to butt in like so, Ferdinand, but where is she?" Lifting up your bouquet, he continued with a sheepish smile, “Gotta make sure these get into her hands asap.”

It was now Ferdinand whose smile turned from cheerful to reserved. His tone calming down, he answered, "As far as I know, she's still getting ready for tonight’s show.” The look in his eyes turned serious, if not narrowing slightly as he gazed towards Claude. “The last I saw her though, she did not look to be in the best of spirits. She even asked Professor Manuela for absolute privacy unless needed otherwise."

Claude felt hollow. “Did she now...?”

The words of your last letter flashed in his mind, as did memories of days from Garreg Mach. Those nights when the two of you would toe the line of curfew to instead take a stroll by the greenhouse and pond, you expressing your dreams of captivating audiences on a prestigious stage, to spread joy through the art of performance.

His response to your letter was expressing an apology, an honest admittance that he was unsure of how he would be able to take the time to come see your performance.

For someone who always managed to pull off the most inane but effective schemes, how could he have not realized that his absence during such an incredible milestone would leave you upset?

The fine wrapping paper around your bouquet crinkled slightly as he squeezed around the stems.

Noticing the change in Claude’s mood, Ferdinand let out a sigh. “All I will say is that she was hoping that you would show up to watch her. And having heard nothing from you since your last letter, she came to terms that you wouldn’t get to see her at all. This time at least.”

Claude’s lips quirked into a smile, albeit a bittersweet one as he let out a humorless laugh. “I can’t blame her for feeling that way. Though…” Resting your bouquet against his shoulder, he shook his head. “I’m not just gonna sit around and feel sorry for myself. Not when this night is--and should--be about her.”

His gaze shifted towards a nearby hallway, wondering if your dressing room was somewhere down along those walls. “I’m gonna make things right by her, whether I even have a seat or not.” Determination in his voice, he smiled as he raised his hand in a departing wave. “I appreciate the heads up, Duke von Aegir. Be careful when you break a leg out there, alright?” Amused at the thought, he chuckled, “From whatever seat I manage to whip out, I’ll be sure to give you your deserved applause as well.”

"Before you try to bring a wyvern into this sacred space to give yourself a seat, I'd rather you take this, Claude…!” Ferdinand exclaimed, his complexion paling at the idea of any sort of shenanigans occurring with Manuela around. Reaching in his pocket, he quickly withdrew and held out a theater ticket. “This was given to me for any guest of my choosing just moments ago, but it was originally set aside for this single hope that you would be in the audience."

His eyes lighting up, Claude grinned from ear to ear as he cheered, “Ferdinand, if there was ever a reason for me to take up religion, it’d be now!”

With a good-natured chuckle, Ferdinand seemed hardly affronted at his less-than-suave rush to pluck the ticket from his fingers, "It was already rightfully yours, my friend! However, if I may overstep, I would advise you go now to claim your seat, lest someone try to argue it is theirs."

Casting another glance down the hallway, his grip on the bouquet shifted. Though his gut churned at the thought of not getting to seek you out until after the show, the noble had a fair point. Yet, despite his inner conflict, his smile remained charming and untouched as he tucked the ticket into his pocket, fingers brushing against cool metal while doing so, "Right you are. I'd hate to cause a scene--tonight at least."

As the activity backstage picked up and with the ticket now in his possession, he bid his goodbyes before quickly taking off for his seat. There was much on his mind as he thought over what was revealed to him just moments ago, namely how he was going to make it up to you.

While he was already mentally cataloguing all the gifts and experiences he intended on showering and spoiling you with, he knew there was one thing that you wanted most of all.

And him being here at the theater, now seated at the balcony closest to the stage with a full view of the production below as it began, was the first step.

The title of tonight’s show brought back faint memories of Garreg Mach, having been a required read for all students as a means to have them become more cultured in the fine arts of literature. A story of a triumphant hero who sought to protect his motherland from an enemy nation that wanted to scrounge every bit of precious resources from a sacred forest, which was protected by an angelic deity.

Ferdinand eventually dragged himself onto the stage as the hero, looking distressed and weary as he was forced to retreat from battle. His character wandered about as stage hands deftly moved a set of glittering trees and flowers around in tune to the orchestra’s lamenting score.

All up until the composition fell silent before a dreamy melody filled the theater space.

Claude found himself grasping onto the railing, peering forward as a spotlight shone upon the furthest side of the stage.

In but a few moments, you soon stepped forward for your first appearance of the show.

His breath turned still, jaw slacking, eyes widening, heart fluttering.

You looked so radiant and beautiful.

While surely he would always be enchanted by your beauty, you looked so ethereal--absolutely perfect for your role. Your hair lusciously glistening under the lights of the stage, your face painted with make-up that accentuated your features, your body adorned with frills and drapes that would make for a delight to see as you danced.

Even by merely walking, you left him feeling captivated by the grace you exuded with each step.

And all the more guilty that he was not there to support you more than he did in the months leading up to the debut of the show and beyond.

Regardless, as he was already determined to amend anything and everything with you in light of his absence, Claude kept a steady eye on you throughout the performance.

As the plot progressed--with a newfound alliance between your and Ferdinand’s characters--it didn’t take long for him to remember the fact that a romance was woven into the story.

So dedicated to your role, you were able to convey a deep sense of yearning with every shy glance and each flustered sputter made towards Ferdinand, who carried himself with just as much earnest emotion.

Truly, the both of you looked as though you were lost within your own world together, even with asides to the audience, whether by a passionate decree, or a lamentful thought voiced out loud.

At no point did you look to Claude’s direction from where he sat above.

It was to be expected.

He gave you no reason to be hopeful.

Though he marveled at the sight of you carrying yourself so splendidly on stage, his elbows resting on the edge of the balcony while his chin rested upon his steepled hands, the vibrant glint of his emerald irises was more subdued.

For his eyes reflected the sight of you being embraced so affectionately by Ferdinand.

Again, you both were playing your respective roles. The war hero who was destined to fall helplessly in love with the enchanted forest’s deity.

Together, you waltzed amidst sweet, airy chords from the orchestra, Ferdinand’s arm curled around your waist, fingers laced with yours.

Together, you confessed and declared your love towards one another as he embarked for the final confrontation that would either save his country--and thereby the forest you swore to protect--or damn everything to ruin.

Together, as he staggered back from the final standoff only for his battleworn form to be caught within your comforting embrace, you shared a kiss.

And together, you both were ushered on stage for curtain call, boisterous applause welcoming the two of you for your performance.

Without fail, the theater was lively with praise from every patron for tonight’s performance.

Yet somehow, as you stood upon the stage, gazing out towards the audience with an appreciative smile on your face and a look in your eye that conveyed muted joy, one cheer caught your attention.

“That’s my girl!”

A whistle that soared through the air with such distinction, carrying a tone that was as striking as arrows that pierced the skies.

Amidst astonished gasps--was that a horrified “Claude?!” uttered from Lorenz down below?--and curious looks, at long last, you looked towards the balcony.

To him.

From the very moment he saw your head shift towards his direction, he beamed from ear to ear, bringing his fingers to his lips as he whistled once more.

The look on your face wounded Claude’s heart from how preciously surprised it was.

This only made him want to swoop you right into his arms and barrage you with kisses, to make up for lost time, for all the affection he could not physically convey.

And so he quickly took off to do exactly that.

As the audience proceeded to make their leave, Claude used the opportunity to sneak his way backstage once more.

Undeterred by any security who would come to stand in his way nor the near endless wave of cast members and orchestra musicians alike, he hurriedly sought out to find you--as he was certain that you were probably scrambling to seek him out as well.

However, the moment he was able to reach the main lounge area, he soon faced the sight of you, still looking so radiant in your costume.

All while surrounded by a multitude of adoring admirers, namely those of nobility, all of whom were instantaneously recognizable.

As he anticipated, there was Lorenz, singing high praises of your performance while near bathing you with roses. From how much he prattled out his passion for the show and the opportunity to watch the esteemed Mittelfrank Opera, it was more likely than not that he would refrain from bringing up Claude’s outburst.

By his side was a grinning Sylvain, who crooned on your graceful movements and expressed his appreciation for the fit of your dress. He gifted you with a bouquet of red orchids, but not before plucking a short-stemmed one to tuck behind your ear.

And as this occurred, Ferdinand stayed near you. While surely it was to catch up with Lorenz and Sylvain, he hovered by your side protectively as to ward off any bold, intense advancements towards you.

There was a look of overwhelmed but touched awe on your face as you were bestowed by a multitude of sweet words and gifts.

The eagerness in Claude’s smile waned.

And the wrapping paper of his bouquet crinkled slightly further in his hands.

”--with this, it would be best for us both to prepare for the cast dinner celebrating the final show,” Ferdinand hummed with a satisfied smile. “I do hope to see the two of you there. Professor Manuela would be thrilled for a reunion.”

”But of course!” Lorenz declared haughtily with a flick of his silken purple locks. “To miss out on this opportunity would be a disgrace on my nobility.”

Memories from the Officers’ Academy resurging into his mind, Sylvain’s expression became rather tense. “Professor Manuela huh…” Still, his expression soon brightened as he continued, “So long as all those pretty ballerinas are around, I’m game.” His eyes shifting towards you, one closed in a wink. “Especially if you’ll be there, angel.”

”Me?” You repeated curiously right as Ferdinand proceeded to lead you towards the dressing rooms with his arm raised in a polite wave, all while eyeing Sylvain sternly.

”We’ll see the two of you later then!” He remarked, all the while he swore that he saw a familiar flash of golden fabric from the corner of his eyes right as he guided you away.

With the fervor of everyone beginning their celebrations early with champagne and hors d'oeuvres or preparing to leave for the celebratory banquet, you and Ferdinand didn’t get to speak much once he brought you to your dressing room. Before he left to change in his own reserved room, he confirmed the details of the evening’s dinner with you.

Upon his leave, you soon let out a sigh as you took in the emptiness of your dressing room.

For just a moment, Claude was here in this theater, cheering for you at the top of his lungs.

And now he was not.

It almost felt like this was the twist in your dream that would cause for you to jolt up in bed.

There was so much swirling about in your mind and heart, all much too vast for you to even attempt to sort through, especially right before a celebration that called for merriment and bliss.

Not wanting to possibly damper the atmosphere of dinner, you resolved to sort this out upon returning home.

As you prepared to set down your gifted flowers and the like, you noticed that at the very center of your vanity was a bouquet of your favorites.

Astonished, you froze in place as a hushed “Claude?” tumbled from your lips.

“Heheh, now that’s the sound I’ve been wanting to hear.”

And then you heard the door lock.

You were swift to turn around.

There, proceeding to lean right against your dressing room door with a playful twinkle in his eye and a cheeky grin on his lips was none other than your husband.

Though his attire was more Almyran in style, his matured, yet still boyish features now more devilishly rogue by his decision to grow out his beard--one still kept neatly trimmed along his jaw--the man before you was the one to whom you had sworn an eternity with.

Claude.

Just as when you were too stunned to do anything but gawk in awe when he called out to you on stage, you were frozen from the rush of feelings that came surging from within at the sight of him. The indescribable joy of seeing him in front of you after so long, the immense relief that he was able to see you perform at least once, the lingering bittersweetness of his absence.

You didn’t know what to do or say.

He could tell with just a single look.

Still, his tone was light, now especially gentle as he spoke to you while his expression softened. “Something wrong?” He stepped closer, his usual proud stature loosening as he neared you. “I understand if I’m probably the last person you want to see--”

You held up both of your hands.

He felt something prick at his heart.

While you braved a smile on your face, you reassured with a shake of your head. “No it’s fine. I just…” You quickly turned around, your back facing him once more. “Just give me a moment to get out of this, okay?”

The sight of your back only weighed heavier on his heart. While he still played everything off coolly, he craved nothing more than to absolve the tension that was keeping the two of you apart. Though you could hear the grin in his voice, you couldn’t hear the ache in his soul. “A moment to wait for you is nothing. Take your time.”

While he went to mind himself with all there was to see in the room--scripts, costumes, small portraits of Mittelfrank alumni--you proceeded to change out of your dress.

Or at least, attempted to.

Being married, undressing in front of your husband wasn’t what was causing your fingers to tense.

It was this overall situation, this feeling of guilt for being upset over a noble cause, of feeling selfish for a man who just wanted to change the world for the better.

Your love for Claude was undoubtedly there.

But there was a lonely sadness that had lingered for so long nonetheless.,/p>

Which only made it more and more difficult to reach for the hooks and silk ties that held the back of your dress’s corset.

As your focus sunk deeper into the twisted nature of your feelings, this endeavor amidst such a tense situation only caused your body temperature to rise for a myriad of reasons.

But it only took the feeling of warm, calloused hands taking hold of your struggling ones for you to feel a welcome, shivering chill.

Furthered by the heat of breath that fanned over your ear and neck.

“Need some help?”

Standing before your vanity, you gazed at the reflection shown on the mirror, of you and your husband together.

Once again.

You had a feeling of where this moment would soon lead to. While one side was elated for what you foresaw, a part of you was adamant to not allow for your emotions to be swayed and cast aside so easily.

Steadying your voice as best as you could, you reassured, “I-It’s fine. You don’t have to worry about it--”

“I may not have to worry about it, but what kind of husband would I be if I left my pretty wife to struggle?”

His eyes peered at you as he stared at your reflection off the mirror before you, his words murmured just centimeters away from your ear. Though his tone carried some mirth and his lips were quirked in a smile, the usual playful light in his eyes was muted, his emerald irises dark and shadowed.

It was a look of passion.

And of love.

Just for you.

The tension in your fingers weakened within his grasp.

”...I’d appreciate your help then.”

And help he did.

Seeing your costume for the first time up close, he could be forgiven for any fumbling, especially while trying to assist you. Tugging at the top halter tie of your dress revealed a small hook that had to be undone, the tugs of your corset’s strings revealed clasps that his nimble fingers made quick work of.

As he continued to slowly help you undress, he could tell when the heat of his breath ghosting over your bare shoulders and his fingers brushing along your sides made you stiffen or shiver. While he certainly wouldn’t have minded if you shut your eyes in pleasure, what he came to notice was that you eyes were downcast to the floor, instead of staring right ahead to your respective reflections.

And in turn--

“You’re not looking at me.”

He found himself gripping onto the front bow that crossed right over your decolletage, emotions pushing the words past his lips before rationality could retain them in place.

Your eyes suddenly flashed towards the mirror, wide from surprise. “I’m sorry?”

In any other situation, he would have taken a step back to calm himself so he could approach the situation sensibly. But knowing that there was so much hesitation in your heart that you probably felt too guilty to admit, there was just no way that he could refrain.

His other arm curled around your waist as he drew you against him, holding your body close as he rested his chin on your shoulder with a sigh and a bittersweet smile.

“It’s selfish of me, especially to even bring this up as something bothersome. All night, you’ve had your eyes cast elsewhere.” His eyelids closed for a moment as he recalled your performance. “To the audience, to Ferdinand, Lorenz, Sylvain--and now your eyes are looking everywhere besides me, even when I’m right here, holding you in my arms like this.”

While his emerald stare revealed itself once more, he proceeded to bury his face into your neck, lips barely tracing over the delicate skin as he murmured, “But you have good reason to do so. I won’t deny that.”

Lifting his head, he gazed up at you with reverence as your eyes shifted over to look into his. "Actions say so much more than words ever could, and all I want to do is show--rather, to reaffirm the undeniable fact that you are the most important person in my life."

His fingers lingered at the front bow of your dress. From what he could assess, one tug at the fabric would free and expose your chest. As much as he craved to see your skin after so long, he waited for what you had to say.

You were quiet in response, an understandable hesitation given everything that had happened.

Though, he didn’t have to wait for an answer for long, by the way your hand rested comfortably over his and squeezed, all while you stared at him earnestly with the soft but yearning response of, ”Then show me.”

Claude had nothing else to say, but an answer to give.

The kiss he then hungrily planted on your lips was just the beginning.

Upon the dressing room sofa where you would sit upon to read over the script or letters from your husband while steadying your racing heart prior to a performance, there was a flutter within your chest as you were laid upon it with an urgency that was as needy as it was tender.

With all the intricacies of your dress, usually Claude would have loved to take his time tugging and undoing every ribbon and button, a pride in the dexterity of his nimble fingers as he undressed you like he would unwrap a present.

However, at this moment, after so long, he was in no mood for such indulgence. If something had to be torn or ruined, so be it. As king, he could easily offer monetary compensation to the seamstress of your costume --perhaps even commission for more lovely outfits for you to wear.

The orchid that Sylvain tucked behind your ear joined your pile of discarded clothes, with his Almyran garb soon following suit.

For every inch of skin revealed to his eyes, his mouth watered to kiss while his fingers ached to touch. He almost forgot to strip you completely from the moment his lips encircled around your nipples, all while his palms kneaded your breasts. How could he have ever forgotten the sweet warmth of your skin against his nuzzling face?

Your mewls from his attention to your chest reminded him to continue onward. For as much as he wanted to near worship your chest, there was still so much more of you he wished to revere once again. His lips continued their journey downwards, mouth ghosting over your stomach, trailing over your hips. His teeth just barely caught hold of the band of your panties before he tugged them down to your thighs, his hand dragging them off before he spread your legs wide apart.

Beneath the flickering flames of your dressing room chandelier, your naked body was bathed in soft golden light. Even now, fully stripped of your costume of a forest enchantress, you still looked so gorgeously ethereal.

As he thought during his days spent at the Officers Academy to now, you were lovelier than any divine deity.

His gaze shifted down to between your thighs, love and lust clouding his emerald eyes in a haze. Catching sight of the glistening shine of your dribbling core, he let out a groan before hurriedly planting his face down, his lips eagerly parted. Long, skillful strokes of his tongue had you mewling and arching against his head.

He grinned happily to himself. Even after so long, he still knew how to make you squirm by his self-proclaimed golden tongue, whether by its teasing flicks or the utter filth he would murmur to you. The focused pressure of quick circles over your clit to tender suckles had his name pouring out from your lips.

And truly, he did not want to cease. After countless months from having your addictive taste linger on his lips, he was ready to spend the night with his face right between your thighs.

However, it was for that same reason he could not indulge for too long, if by the increasingly aching throb of his cock.

For too long he had been away from you.

It was time at last that the two of you were joined together once again in the absolute most intimate way possible.

Looming above you upon the couch, chest broad and fine with hair, eyes gleaming with need and affection, Claude was settled between your legs. “Fuck,” was the word hissed so sinfully from your husband’s lips as he nudged the leaking tip of his cock against the slickness of your center.

Right as he slowly slid every heavy inch of his dick inside you, his lips sought out yours for yet another kiss. Somehow, for as much as he has kissed you up until now during this evening, he felt like he was still far from having his fill. He just wanted to make up for lost time, to satisfy his present urges, to express all the love he should have been putting more effort with doing so.

His hands cradled your waist as he worked his thrusts into a rhythm. Moderate at first, but hearing your moans and feeling your fingers thread through his hair while your legs curled around his hips encouraged him to start pounding into you. He wanted his name the only thing on your lips, to have his hair pulled and his shoulders near clawed, to have your body cling to him with absolute need.

In-between kisses that become messier, amidst the noisiness of his cock stuffing into your sopping center while his balls slapped against your ass, he still had a coherency as he spoke to you, his words husky but the look in his eyes sincere, "I've had my eyes cast to the future--our future--so much that I forgot how important it was to be with you now--"

A knock at the door.

The call of your name.

”We will be taking off soon. Are you ready to disembark?”

Ferdinand.

You were astonished, your eyes breaking contact with Claude’s to turn to the door. Your lips were about to speak when your husband spoke up, his voice cheeky yet firm.

”She’s not ready yet, but I’ll be the one to take her to dinner, Ferdinand. We’ll see you in a bit.”

Ferdinand’s flustered squawk went unnoticed by Claude, who only continued to hammer his cock into you.

Your gasped “Claude-!” was smothered by his lips with yet another kiss. When the two of you parted for breath, his gaze seized contact with yours as he gruffed out, “Don’t think of Ferdinand. Him, Lorenz, Sylvain--anyone. Just keep your eyes on me, okay?”

You were utterly surprised, breathless as you questioned, “Claude, you-- Are you jealous?”

”I’m your husband,” he clarified with absolute resolution, his grip on your waist slacking to instead give way for his arms caging around you. As his lips readied to claim another kiss from your mouth, he purred, “And I’m going to make that clear.”

He was certain that you would admonish him, whether immediately now or when the two of you were finished. However, seeing as how you were the one to initiate the kiss before he could, followed by your hands releasing his hair to cup his bearded cheeks instead, what he heard you say next was all that he could ever want to hear.

Dazed with pleasure as you were, the love in your voice and on the look of your face was absolute. “As your wife, you better.”

A wide grin soon spread over his lips. “Leave it to me.”

And so the two of you remained joined together. By lips, by skin, by words of affection. Your hips rutted back against his thrusts, his teeth made their presence known on your neck, making sure to leave at least one that would be hard to hide during dinner. It wasn’t long until you were both teetering on the edge of orgasm, you and Claude clinging and holding onto each other amidst it all.

“I’m gonna cum,” he gasped out, shuddering as he readied to draw out. “And unless you wanna get to bearing heirs already then--”

Your legs hugged his hips tighter, a mewled “That’s fine” escaping you.

Claude’s jaw went slack for a moment, just before tightening as a fiery resolve took over him as he proceeded to fuck you even harder, his voice in a low and satisfied growl, “That’s my girl. My sweet girl. Mine…!”

With the cries of each other’s names soon released into the air along with the heavy, hot rush of his seed pouring into you, your bodies soon collapsed back onto the sofa together in a satisfied heap, at last the two of you fully reunited--in body and in soul.

Though you both would have to soon get ready as to not miss dinner, for now, Claude was insistent on hugging you close so he could leave an endless trail of kisses along wherever he saw fit, all while your fingers gently stroked through his messy brown curls. The air was tender and light, any bit of tension and guilt from before completely washed away.

When his mouth met yours yet again, Claude stared at you adoringly, his tone tender as he remarked, “And to think, you’ve just captured the hearts of Fódlan with your talents on stage.” One eye closing in a wink, he grinned. “And you get to do it all over again to your adoring people in Almyra.”

Your head tilted slightly to the side, your expression curious if not confused. “My what?”

Claude froze. “Oh...right. About that--”

How he so very looked forward to spending forever with you.

#claude von riegan #fire emblem three houses #fe3h #reader insert #Fic #super freaknasty writing #management will return in a queue minutes

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doyoungbunnyagenda · 5 years

Text

Crown Of Thorns; Bed Of Roses -k.dy : Prologue

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Summary • Alcohol and late-night rendezvous were the only things keeping the young princess Y/N stable. Doyoung was an actor finding his relief his in cigarettes and dark streets. Ever since meeting one night, they both have spent their time picking up each other’s pieces and building each other from the ground up. When Y/N thinks her life is back on track, her childhood demons come back to bite her, however this time they have a proposal. That had to do with her father, herself and a shotgun… When Doyoung tries to rescue her from her demons, he puts himself in equally as much danger.

Pairing • actor!doyoung x modernprincess!reader

Genre • so much drama and equally as much angst, royalty!au

Word count • 1.32k

Warnings • description of death, mentions of grief, slight mention of suicide, fight scenes, swearing, mention of drugs

Songs to listen to • Don’t leave me - BTS, 지나갈테니 Been through - EXO

A/N • Nothing much to say other than I cried a bit while writing this.

Autumn 2004

Three thrones lined the elevated platform, the one on the left sat the king, clad in black with the country’s Crown Jewels adorned upon his head. In the second throne sat the young princess, at six years of age, also adorned in black staring at the floor like it was a means of escaping the reality she was facing. In the last throne, all that sat was a sliver tiara fit for a queen. She reached out her small hand out to the other side of the throne, expecting someone one to hold on to it out of affirmation. Like her mother always used to do...

The archbishop was reciting a sermon about life and death, but her young mind barely understood what the man was saying. Her pure focus was only on the cedar wood coffin that stood a couple of feet away from her. In it lied all she had ever known and truly loved. Even at her tender age, she realised, every day after this one will be completely different, a blanket of darkness will cover her life for however long it decides to stay. Someone very important to her had slipped between her fingertips like sand through an hourglass. She didn’t know the word at the time, but she was experiencing grief at it’s finest.

To the girl's surprise, she felt a presence next to her rise from their seat, She looked at the crowd before her and they all did the same. She followed suit. Like a puppy, she timidly trailed behind her father as he walked down the aisle of the church. Royal guards were carrying the coffin upon the shoulders leading it to its final resting place, six feet beneath her feet. One last prayer was said until the casket was lowered into the ground. One part of her wanted to fall into the hole with it. Oh, if she had known, she would have spent every other second they had left by their side. Whether it was trapped in a motherly embrace. Going on walks in the royal garden and picking flowers and sneezing because of the pollen intake. Laying in bed, being lulled to sleep by a voice so divine and angelic, it could tame the devil himself.

Anything and everything was better than this.

Her father clutched her side as he whispered to the ground, tears streaming down his aged features, “She gone princess. She’s not coming back...”

This was the first time she had ever seen her father cry, (or anyone of that matter) reach this level of vulnerability. As a king, he was normally expected to keep a stone-cold exterior. Even to his own blood, he had a heart of pure obsidian. Never faltering lower than what was expected of him. More of the salty substance trickled from the corner of his eyes, staining his cheeks. If anyone looked hard enough they could see the broken man’s tears pooled on the top of the coffin.

Her dad grabbed his daughter by the hand and led her away from the dugout. She turned her head back looking at it. Breaking her strong resolve, she finally allowed her tears to escape from their confinements. She wasn’t coming back and it finally started to hit her. The force of the fact hit her like a forceful slap on the cheek, with her feelings of sorrow painfully lingering afterwards. The princess looked back in the direction of her father and finally realised that he had let go of her hand. He had gone off to talk to her uncle.

The man was a few years older than the king, but people barely noticed it. Sharing the same type of black slicked-back hair, with a couple of grey streaks. But the major difference was in their facial expressions. Her uncle’s face was distorted with a look of absolute fury. While her father looked taken aback, towering backwards slightly. For some reason, she'd always taken a liking to her uncle. She would even consider him as more like a dad than her actual father as he is around the place more often. Y/N, her uncle and his son Youngho were basically jointed at the hip. Her uncle was the one who tutored her and Youngho, her father and mother were far to busy for trivial things like that. Naturally, in whatever argument was going on, the princess took her uncle’s side.

“You caused all of this.” Her uncle spat, staring daggers into her father’s eyes. “If you weren’t here she’ll still be alive-“

“What d-do you mean-n?” The king stuttered, all of his remaining confidence shattering at the sight of his raging older brother. “It was a suicide, I had nothing to do her death.”

Her uncle let out a dark chuckle while shaking his head and said,” Lies... This is all a lie...” The slightly taller man started the king up and down. “Stop trying to act like you're innocent, acting like your the victim. You think you’re good at hiding it, don’t you? But every single person here knows you killed your own wife.”

Silence...

“So you’re silent huh?” He taunted,” You’re admitting it now, you should show your whole kingdom the kind of monster you are.”

“What kind of drugs did you take last night, to make you think this? How delusional can one man be?” Her father said melodramatically, “What demon could have possessed that stupid little head of yours to think that?”

“You stole the woman I loved away from me and threw her away like one of your many little playthings, all because she didn’t bear you a son.” He stated confidently,” All I ever dreamt of was to rule this kingdom with my queen by my side, but no. Your selfish ass couldn’t let me do that. You and your stupid ambitions got in the way of my dreams. I never got why daddy always favoured you.”

“You weren’t fit to rule-“

“FIT TO RULE I WAS!” Her uncle belted,” You stole everything from me; I can not let you get away with this one.”

He moved his head and whispered in the king’s ear,” You never even loved her anyway.”

Ashes to ashes.

“Take that back, I dare you or I’ll make you regret every piece of shit that just came out of your mouth.” Her father hissed balling his fists.

“I won’t do it without a fight.” Challenged his elder brother.

Dust to dust.

A punch was landed on his face.

A sharp red mark was imprinted on her uncle’s face, sure to leave a bruise later. The man looked back towards the king and charged him. A full-blown fistfight exploded between the two biggest powers in the country. Her two closest surviving relatives. Blood was splattered on the top half of their suits, tainting the material with the garnet red. The guests watched in horror as the fight escalated. Running up to her, the girl's aunt took her hand and quickly dragged her away from the two fighting men. She quickly signalled for a driver to come and take Y/N and Youngho away from the situation. The kind woman ushered her and Youngho into the black limousine. The last thing she saw and heard from outside was her uncle lying on the muddy grass looking dazed with a beaten-up face and bloody ripped nose. The words that came out of her father’s lips were as followed:

“Tomorrow evening, you shall be exiled, never to step a foot in this kingdom for 13 years. If you are found on my land before then you shall be executed. Heed my warning. I don’t mess around.” Then he walked away.

With quivering lips, she faced your older cousin,” Youngho... I’m scared” she murmured, clutching on to his arm, resting her head on his side as tears poured out of her eyes and onto his arm.

“I am too, I am too...”

#nct imagines #nct angst #nct series #nct senarios #kim doyoung #doyoung angst #doyoung imagines #doyoung scenarios #doyoung angst hours #doyoung x reader #nct 127 #nct 127 imagines #nct 127 angst #nct 127 series #nct 127 senarios

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moonlightreal · 4 years

Text

Winx Club season 8/24

In which we get to the prize in this cereal box.

24 Dyamond on Ice

At last, at last, at last! I have waited all season! Squeeeeeeee! And if it weren’t for Evergleam finding me a site to watch these on, just because she wanted to do something nice for me and read my episode reactions, I wouldn’t be watching now! Evergleam, you are the greatest!

Ah, I’m so excited!

Ok, I kind of know what’s coming, and from what I‘ve heard it sounds… it sounds dumb. So yes I am vibrating with excitement about something I will likely snark the heck out of once I see it. But that’s the joy of fandom too, isn’t it?

Alfea! Wizgiz and his Scottish voice! Pop quiz nobody was prepared for! Tec and Musa are not prepared. Aisha says it isn’t fair. Stella is more concerned with sneaking carrots from Flora’s snack basket. Oh wait, no those are Stella’s snacks, perspective made it look like they were on Flora’s desk.

The test is, “Animal metamorphosymbiosis. All you have to do is turn into an animal of your choice!” Wizgiz poofs into a mouse, a dachshund and a hippo. Girls are worried, except Stella who’s chowing down on carrots. Is this a healthy eating PSA?

Bloom goes first and successfully poofs into a kitten the same red as her hair. Aisha becomes a butterfly, Tecna a lamb, Musa a songbird and Flora a tiger.

Everyone runs away from the tiger, even though it’s talking with Flora’s voice.

Wizgiz smells a rat. Stella is not what she seems! It’s Kiko! Stella poofed Kiko into a copy of herself so she could stay home and sketch fashion, which is what she’s doing when the girls get back, each carrying a pile of heavy books.

But let’s take a minute to ponder transformations. Those are some random animals the girls picked! Flora’s not the tigery sort and it seems like Aisha should have been an otter. I also wonder if she was showing off; wouldn’t insects be harder than mammals, since you have to transform more? I wonder what was going through the writers’ heads when they chose each girl’s animal, and what was going through the girls’ heads when they chose what animal to do! maybe all it proves is that transformation is actually not effected by your personality even though it seems like it should be!

Anyway, the girls are mad. So is Kiko. I wanna see the scene where Stella bribed him to do it! Hah! Stella isn’t actually sketching fashions, she’s getting caught up on her homework. ‘there’s so much to study!” she’s behind.

Tecna says that as punishment Wizgiz gave them all a lot of homework, so now they’ll have to study even more! Hang on, that’s not fair! The girls didn’t know Stella was cutting class, and Stella did manage a successful transformation after all!

Stella: I wish I was somewhere far away from here!”

The star case appears! “If that is your wish young fairy, it shall soon be granted. What you seek is a world frozen and battered a place where an ancient bond was shattered. This realm is called Dyamond, to be precise. Covered with crystal and mysterious ice. There you will find the seventh star you’ve awaited, follow the secret of a sister separated.”

Stella: “Sister? Whose sister?”

“Whoever completes this final (hollar? Haul?) will get the stars and keep them all.” so whoever gets this last star will get the others. That’s handy!

Stella’s still curious about the secret of sisters but Bloom says one step at a time.

Nobody mentions Daphne. If I hadn’t been spoiled my first thought would be Bloom and Daphne, they’re the sisters separated in Winx, and on the frozen planet Domino back in season one. Definite parallels here!

Tecna pulls up Dyamond’s stats on her phone. “It’s a world of crystal, and the surface is covered in magical ice.” Cool looking planet, it has a… I don’t even know how to describe it. Floaty geometric outer shell? You’ll have to look at a picture.

Off we go! We have to stay ahead of the Trix!

Cut to Icy’s grumpy face. She’s watching with Darcy and Stormy. Icy says, “Dyamond...” in a way you could tell the voice actress was trying for emotional while still doing Icy’s voice.

The other two are ready to go, to get there first.

Icy: “No.”

D&S: “No?”

Icy; “We’re not going to Dyamond. It’s too dangerous.”

Stormy: “But we have a mission. The last prime star is there.”

Icy: “So we’ll let the Winx risk it all and find it. And once they get the star we’ll take it.”

disappointed Trix. Darcy wanted a trap, Stormy was hoping for some good old fisticuffs. I love you two, don’t ever change.

Icy: ‘We’ll stay here and track their movements in the dark hologram. That is all.”

Oh, it has a name. Heh.

Valtor floats dramatically down from the ceiling and reminds his minions of their place. Icy actually looks scared! Valtor asks what she’s afraid of.

Icy: ‘I’m afraid of nothing.”

Valtor orders her off to Dyamond then. Icy clenches her fists. Valtor makes the mark glow on the Trix’s hands and reminds them he can dump them back in limbo anytime. Valtor’s voice actor is having so much fun.

Icy bows and says, “As you wish.” but when the three go to fly out Icy tells her sisters to go on without her, that she’ll catch up. Darcy and Stormy shrug and fly away.

Alone, Icy lands on the balcony of the asteroid and finally makes that thoughtful face I’ve been watching for for half the season. She summons a sphere of glass with a lavender crystal flower in it. Sad music plays. “Dyamond… how long… it’s not meant to be like that! The timing’s all wrong.” sad music and the winds of outer space blowing Icy’s hair and her cape.

Well that was sudden! Also, “timing’s all wrong’… did Icy have a plan? Dare I get my hopes up that there will be an explanation for why all this was never hinted at for seven whole seasons plus all of this one up until right now?

Back to Alfea! The Winx are ready to leave, after they make sure Stella is the genuine article. But then Sky arrives in a new ship, the “single seater Crow.” I like the design, reminds me of a sled. Sky is bummed that he got here just as Bloom’s off on another mission. He has tickets for the Technomagic arena for tonight! But his date might not be back in time.

The girls leave to save the universe.

Disappointed Sky: ‘Sorry… wait, what am I saying sorry for? Well if there’s no other way to see you tonight, I’ll go with you!”

Dyamond from space! I like.

Winxboarding over cool waves of ice, as if a stormy ocean froze all at once. Good music.

Tec’s still looking for information. “Bloom, I haven’t found much information about Dyamond, only it was once pretty populated.”

They see the remains of buildings under the ice.

Bloom: ‘It looks totally deserted now.”

Flora: “Something serious happened here.”

Stella: “Someone left the fridge open?”

Again, no mention that the same thing happened to Domino so the Three Ancestors or a similar type of being could be the cause here.

And with nothing but crystal and ice as far as the eye can see there’s no hint at where the prime star might be hiding. The music turns sad as the girls board past broken buildings and these giant totem-pole type things. The girls wonder what happened to the people who lived here. Long scene of destruction.

Bloom: “A deserted world… no life at all. it’s a real mystery.”

Which gives me plotbunnies because there must be people who investigate magical disasters like this.

Through the ice we see crystal flowers like the one Icy had growing on a tree. More good sad music.

A sign of life! A little creature! Stella thinks it could be a sprite or an animal. Tecna says it means there must still be life on Dyamond. Bloom asks Flora if she can talk to the trees. Flora does this light-up-pink spell, and the other Winx are impressed but Flora can’t sense anything. She says the trees are asleep.

It’s a white fox. After it! Through very cool frozen thorn plants. Interesting conversation, Bloom is surprised the fox is running away and Tecna agrees. Flora wonders what the little critter must have gone through and Aisha says she wouldn’t want to stay on this planet.

The fox makes the giant thorn bushes break apart and collapse, and the Winx have to board away or be squished. They escape and look down to see the fox glaring at them.

Bloom can tell something is up, but she doesn’t know what.

The Trix are here, all together again. Darcy and Stormy are ready to find the Winx and battle. ‘this place is so boring! Give me something to hit with my lightning.”

I dunno, I’d think the ‘Total destruction’ aesthetic would appeal to witches!

Stormy sees the white fox and thinks it would be a good target for lightning! She strikes a pose, ready to throw lightning when Icy ices her hand. Stormy and her suddenly heavy hand fall to the ground.

Stormy: “Icy, what’s your problem?”

Icy: “Leave that fox alone!”

Darcy and Stormy look at each other in confusion.

The fox comes up to them and Icy looks down at it with a tragic expression.

And… flashback!

Silver-haired moppet in funny shorts skipping over a pile of pink crystals towards a river and a crystal-flower tree. Blonde girl following worriedly. They’ve found a mother fox with three cubs.

They look royalty. they’re both wearing really pretty very detailed peacock blue clothes, the younger girl in weird short-shorts and the older in a gown. The older girl has frizzy yellow hair tied up in an elaborate style with a bunch of braids and a many-layered bead crown. The younger girl has masses of wavy silver hair up in a singly ponytail, and she’s wearing funny shorts with leggings underneath. she’s much the braver of the two, clearly dragged her big sister out here.

Silver runs around with the foxes while her sister makes a crown of crystal flowers that have fallen from the tree. They cute-hug.

Back in the present Darcy says their mission is more important than the fox. Go find that prime star!

Back with the Winx, they’re boarding along when the star case appears then vanishes again. Guess we must be in the right place! The girls walk along what seems to be the traditional “narrow path along a steep cliff” which seems like exactly the place for using winxboards, but ok. The path threatens to crumble beneath their feet. The fox seems to be on a higher path, shadowing the Winx. she’s also in danger of crumbling ice-path.

We get a wider view, the Winx are walking up a path around a mountain that is basically buried under a huge frozen waterfall. We see this because it’s what the Trix see as they watch from afar. Darcy and Stormy are again keen to fight, but Icy sees that the fox is following and tells them to wait. Stormy calls her out again, ‘What’s wrong with you?” but Icy blusters, ‘I’ll decide when it’s time to strike!

This is feeling really tragic suddenly. The three of them have been always together for YEARS and had so many evil adventures but they don’t trust each other at all. Icy can’t trust her sisters not to jump all over even as small a sign of weakness as, “There’s stuff, ok? Don’t hurt the fox.”

Winx walk along path/semi-cave. Fox watches.

Stormy: “I’ve had enough of your floundering, Icy!” she shoves Icy and blasts lightning at the mountain. Icy yells, ‘No!”

Avalanche! Winx run for it!

Icy panics. “What have you done! what have you done!” Stormy looks concerned suddenly, seeing Icy freaking out this much.

They see the fox crying in the midst of the avalanche.

Incoming big damn hero! Sky lands and immediately rescues the fox. He chatters happily about how he’ll take the fox to Bloom, ‘I’m sure you’ll like her, and you’ll have Kiko to play with.”

This is possibly the most likeable moment Sky has had all season. I just love it.

Icy still in a panic attacks Sky. She ices his suit wings and sends an avalanche to crush his scout ship, sending it crashing through the ice into water down below. (And having played Subnautica Below Zero, I know all about the fish in that water!)

The Winx watch in horror and Bloom goes to help Sky, who is by now hanging off the cliff with his suit wings frozen.

Bloom: “Sky, you should not be here!”

Sky: “I agree, but can we talk about this later!”

Two likeable Sky moments!

Icy goes in for the kill! She sends tons of ice crashing down on Sky, sending him down to join his ship in the water. Yikes!

Sad music again, Icy hovers holding the fox in her arms. She flies away, leaving the confused Darcy and Stormy to follow after her.

Bloom: “Magic Winx, Sirenix!”

Oh my gosh Crystal Sirenix is beautiful. I knew it was, I have pictures, but… it really is. Love the crystal headdresses. Love the way it takes from the original “gothic sirenix” design, incorporating the long skirts that eventually ended up in harmonix with the scale leggings. Everyone’s in their correct colors. Of course Aisha’s teal and purple is my favorite but Bloom’s almost-no-pink is also looking good.

And they comment on it! “Our Sirenix form is different! what happened?” Tecna says, “It’s Crystal sirenix! Our powers are reacting to the magical ice, to protect us.”

They immediately dive down to find Sky, and discover that they glow in the dark water! Tecna says their Crystal Sirenix “has a high degree of adaptability.” It’ll do whatever they need, that’s cool. But it does muddy up… well, I thought of Sirenix as being a transformation that exists for the purpose of protecting the Infinite Ocean, so how many past Sirenix fairies would have to deal with magical ice? Maybe the adaptability wasn’t a known thing, it’s just… magic. Since magic does everything by magic, you don’t know what else it might do.

And that’s all! Whew, what an episode!

So Icy’s backstory is… Bloom’s backstory. Writers just went, “Well this was a hit the first time, let’s use it again!” Or, since I want to believe the best of these writers even when they make it really hard, the writers thought it would be cool to have the main hero and main villain’s stories mirror each other. Bloom and Icy have suffered similar things, being torn from a beloved sister and had their world frozen, then each of them went to school and ended up with close friends. But they ended up as two very different people, which I think we can put down to Bloom being young enough that she didn’t remember Domino and then she ended up with super loving parents while Icy ended up with nobody until she got to cloud Tower and met her roommates who told her the legend of the three Ancestral witches...

#winx club season 8 #winx club

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