#i am making a gummy one too but retiring a bit first.

[saildraws]

first pictures of my splatoon oc doll!! pudding is real

so happy with how they turned out!! dont think the photos capture how good it looks irl… bigger hair than i anticipated but now it’s canonical i suppose.

heres a splatoon doll making tips doc by me! hope it’s useful. bit.ly/splatoondollpudding

#splatoon #my ocs #splatoon oc #my art #fan merch #splatoon bjd #bjd #pudding #gummy pudding #i am making a gummy one too but retiring a bit first.

[empressxmachina]

Is THIS what will push me to make an AO3 account? (not clickbait) (surprising)

[See this journal in a better layout on my blog site or on DeviantArt.]

I’ve fallen so down abysmal for the Help, I Shrunk My… series – “…Teacher“, then “…Parents”, and finally (?) “…Friends” – especially the last movie and its scenes between peers, that I have such an uncharacteristic urge to write a fanfic.

Yep, fanfic. I did say uncharacteristic. But with the cuteness and quality, especially at certain scenes in “…Friends” like below, I don’t think you can blame me.

“Holy shit, I’m going to pass out/die/shit myself/etc.” -me, at nearly everything in this series

(Post?) Pubescent Pairings

A. The Classic Couple.

I’m already, because I’m a serial romantic that loves a good self-insert, thinking to name the whole story “Help, I Shrunk My Lover/Girlfriend” or something cheesy like that (maybe even in German?) for Felix and Ella to be stuck together and have to deal with (post?-) pubescent awkwardness. I mean, I feel so honey-dicked that we got cute shit like this and its amazing scene…

God, look at that FOV, the (lack of) focus, the size difference, the subtitle, that face… Fuck.

…but it had to be ruined because – SPOILER – the dumb, lusting teen boy couldn’t see what was literally right in front of him for years until the end of the third movie! Plus, being steps away from a married couple of hotheads, who knows what kind of fights or arguments they’d get into? Are you telling me you wouldn’t want a scene like this again?

That stick is actually way too big to really be a toothpick (or is it?), but I’m not mad. We stan a brave queen.

B. The Will-They/Won’t-They Duo

I’m thinking of making Mario and Melanie into each other, too, as irony based on how much they hated each other for most of the last movie. She stole his phone (and everything else) and then his heart. (lol, I’m so sorry.) Maybe she’d still have some fancies for Felix but then sees that Mario has redeeming qualities of his own, on top of a rich background (not that it matters, but money is cool). My main focus in mind was just for Ella to be shrunken, with Melanie being the supportive gal pal, but given she’s new and hasn’t yet been small herself, maybe this would be the time.

I think Mario would’ve totally gotten over the prepubescent power drive from the first movie by now and certainly no longer has even the slightest grudge over Melanie causing and/or catalyzing chaos that could be played with if he had to deal with a small her. Surely.

C. The Bros in the Back

Would it be too presumptive to make Chris and Robert maybe gay for each other… or even absolutely the opposite? I respect a strong friendship and/or bromance, and LGBTQ+ representation is always a win, too. But for either, I don’t want to do anything “just because” or because it’s “(not) woke;” it should add to the story and have meaning. After all, a situation like “Dude, I love you, and I’ll love you forever, but not like that” could be just as cute. We stan supportive introspection between men. Bros before hoes, you know?

Though, maybe they’re likely the great masterminds to figure out what/why the plot thickens. They seem like the most intelligent of the squad, even if they were only henchmen at the beginning.

D. The Elders

I guess it would only make sense for Schmitty or Felix’s parents to get shrunk again, as is tradition. Maybe the former would be due to considering retirement from teaching/being principal.

I’d do anything to get Hausmeister Michalsky protecting her with his hat again.

As for the parents, it’d likely be a wrong place, wrong time situation. I don’t know.

Unless Sandra and Peter were snooping again, I doubt Felix would willingly do this to them.

Overarching Themes

Aging for Innuendo

Regarding all this, I do know that I’d like to make the story time-skipped a bit, making the kids at least U.S.-adult-aged for my own sake. I am a fan of double entendre, cheekiness, and raw emotion, so I’d love to spill them all over a story or characterization if fitting. However, I couldn’t bear to see or write any kiddos explicitly going through with any entailed implications – that shit’s illegal, lmao. Plus, why even risk something like that when an age-up takes away all the trouble, thus not make any innuendos or ideas awkward?

In a fun way, small or not, wouldn’t seeing the gang party together with real man’s drinks or whatever be cool? What about someone getting turnt on a thimble’s worth or a gummy bear’s paw?

The cups have been used. That’s adorable. +10 points for realism.

In a trash way, if a greater trust was built between Felix and Ella to wear one would suggest taking a bath with the other, and a small Ella floating in the soap ocean bumps into something on her back, only to realize all of Felix’s (normal) limbs are out of distance, in view, and/or just not able to touch her yet he’s blushing, then what would that imply? (It could be nothing, but it could be something.)

Why, Though?

I just can’t figure out a supposedly new catalyst for the ultimate shrinking plot point, mostly due to the main chaos causers, aka the ancient magic users that tackled the school, being sent to the Shadow Realm in the last movie. I do have some ideas, but I’d always love to hear more.

*Oh, Hulda Stechbarth… Bless this crazy bitch, lol.

Throughout the series, people going to our wanting to go to America was frequently brought up. Maybe, like Ilvermorny is to Hogwarts, maybe there’s a (maybe American) (college?) counterpart to the Leonhard school that is interested in the kids. Could the sudden shrinking be a part of the admissions or entrance exam process, such as figuring out how to reverse it? I can’t imagine someone still wanting to go to a school that risked its prospective students’ lives, but who knows? Still, I’m sure the friends would debate whether going overseas for any school is the best idea, especially with the ridiculous costs. Could differing views cause tension?

What if one between Felix and Ella considered it, but the other didn’t, and a coincidentally timed dream for them to stay together – not unlike Minami-kun no Koibito, if you know it – made one of them small with no way for Felix to turn the affected back to normal (due to the tests)? What if people start believing that Felix is intentionally not transforming people back, despite not being at fault but trying his best the whole time?

I suppose another villain is cool, too, but what would be their spite? Would Felix getting all of Leonhard’s power be enough to spark something?

***

I want to do this, but I rarely finish anything now. I can’t even think of a proper plot! Maybe putting this out into the world will inspire myself or even someone else to give a fanfic a shot or at least expose this series to our fandom more (like when I found Dwarfina and blushed at every scene, despite not knowing a lick of Tagalog)!

The third movie pretty much just released, so I only see it (legally) able for streaming (via renting or buying) via Vudu and Amazon Prime Video (in the U.S.). It maybe more widespread in Germany where it was made. (Though, VPNs do exist…) But the first and second movies can be bought or rented from multiple sources, surely.

In any case, let me know what y’all think, and feel free to share your thoughts!

#g/t #rambles #fanfic ideas #help i shrunk my #i've fallen and i can't get up

[tittty-bitty]

Toshi glances at the door of his apartment as it opens at 1:45 am. He was actually contimpating calling Shota a few minutes ago to check in on where he was at. But from on the look of his face you could clearly tell it was an especially rough night. The crime rate spike after his retirement hasn’t gone down all these months later and it hasn’t been easy on Shota. Dark circles a little more prominent then usual, stiff posture as he walks in and a actual frown on his face vs his usual blank expression.

“Do you want me to run a bath? Food? Anything?”

When they started dating Yagi would make dinner for him when he got home and Shota tried to eat it for the first few weeks until yagi caught him throwing it up an hour later as his stomach was still recovering after being kicked especially hard. Now they have an agreement no food unless Shota texts him ahead of time.

Shota responded to the question with a grunt that sounded like a no. Yagi knew it wasnt ment to be rude but rather he hardly can stand let alone talk. Shota wobbles to the bedroom and flops into bed with a groan. Yagi gets up, grabs some items from the bathroom and follows the walking corpse to the bed.

“I understand your tired but I really rather not have the sheets smell like sweat and blood.”

He starts with the capture weapon, carefully unwrapping it from Aizawas neck and tossing it to the side. The jump suit is a little bit of trouble with Shoutas reluctance but he knew it had to be done. Now with the first task of stripping his exsaughsted boyfriend bare he rips open the new package of deoterant wipes. Getting his armpits, chest and neck then skimming over the rest. With the “cleaning” done he gets the lotion out. A nice lavender scent advertised for relaxation, and something that will help with the drying properties of the wipes. With a pat at Aizawas thigh he signals him to flip over, which is a slow process. With that Yagi straddles Shota and starts the process again on his back and thighs. Making sure to add pressure with the lotion step and knows he’s doing a good job with Shotas groan of relief. With a cheeky light pat on Shotas ass, Yagi gets up and heads to the living room again.

Eventually Yagi comes back with a weighted blanket and a candy worm, suprised Aizawa found the energy to turn to his side. Yagi lays the weighted blanket on Shota and holds a CBD gummy against his lip.

“Come on, it will help you stay asleep.”

Shota reluctantly eats it and chews slow while Toshi puts the items back in the bathroom, his gaze following Yagi as he prattles around the room. When he finds his work is done, he leans over and kisses Shotas scalp goodnight and turns to leave but is stopped by a light grasp on his fingers.

“No. Stay.”

Toshi rolls his eyes with love and the firm command as he goes to turn off the lights in the apartment. He comes back to find an impatient glare peeking out from under the blanket. He slips under the covers to spoon Shota when he is lightly and lazily forced into the position of the “little” spoon. Aizawa coiling his arms around Toshis middle, carful of the scar, face smooshed into his hair as his legs wrap around his waist in a death grip. Toshi chuckles at the possessive hold, feeling like a glorified body pillow. They sit in silence for a few seconds when Toshi goes to check his twitter one last time before the silence is broken.

“Why do you do so much for me? It was just a longer shift.”

Toshis thumbs pause in the middle of a retweet of a meme from one of his fan pages. Trying to figure out how to respond.

“Well, part of it is knowing my retirement is what is making the crime rate go up so much. So it’s kind of reassuring knowing that I can take care of someone that is trying to solve the problems that I can’t fix anymore.”

Shota responds with a annoyed grunt. Toshi rolls his eyes with a smirk and craned his neck to try to look at Shotas face.

“And shockingly, I care for you very deeply sweet heart. And I want you to know that your cared for with a welcoming safe home.” Finishing with a kiss to his bicep.

It might be the lighting, but Shotas eyes look very glossy in the lights the blinds fail to shield away. Very odd as his eyes are usually extremely dry at the end of a shift.

Toshi turns back around with a smirk. “Also I didn’t want to sleep next to a man that smells like a highschool track team.”

“Wow, the symbol of peace is a romantic and a jackass. Alert the press.

“Wait till they hear about his octopus of a boyfriend.”

Yagi chuckles as Aizawa tugs on one of Yagis bangs in retaliation.

———

Shota waits as the CBD starts to kick in. You would think that chasing after villains with agility quirks would put him to sleep but his insomnia says otherwise. He hoping that and holding Yagi in his arms would relax him enough. Not only is he the worlds longest body pillow, but just touching him makes him on another level of comfortable that he didn’t think was possible.

He’s about to start dozing off when he feels a dip in the bed behind his neck. Mochi mews as she bops Shotas head in affection, and curls against his neck with a soft purr. All while Yagi chuckles at probably one of the weird memes his fans tag him in. Shota is to exhausted to do anything more then to let a few tears roll down his face as his heart soars with a realization for happiness. 4 years ago he never thought he would be this content, let alone surrounded by anything like a family.

He leans a little farther into Yagis hair and takes a deep breath through his nose.

“You need to switch back to the citrus conditioner. Just because your an old man doesn’t mean you need to smell like one too.”

“Who knew that a man that doesn’t shower until his scalp can grease a frying pan could be so hypocritical.”

Yagi yelps as Aizawa bites his sholder.

#erasermight #we love couples who’s love language is playful banter #if any writers want to give me some pointers let me know #also I have that Halloween fic started it’s just gonna take a bit with all my classes #I’m debating on making it a one shot or multi

[purplesurveys]

811

What do you like to drink in the morning? I’m not really a drinks person and I’m fine having all my meals with just water. I like coffee, but I usually drink it in the afternoon or at night. What color is your favorite hoodie? Don’t have one. My favorite sweater is gray though. Do you have a string of lights in your room? No. I remember wanting those as a teenager but I figured it was such a waste of electricity just to make my room look a little cuter, so that turned me off from the idea lol. Do you know what you are going to do today? Yeah, well today I was going to finally register for a social security number online, but given that I’m from the Philippines and the government only gives their 15% in everything they do, the website is absolute garbage and I can’t get past the first step of the process. Not surprising anymore. Other than that, I don’t have anything else to do. Does your heart hurt? My heart is missing so many people at the moment, but it’s not really hurting.

Who is not in your life that you wish was? I wish that my late maternal grandfather was still alive, if he counts. Who hurt you last? Probably Gabie. She doesn’t have a good hold of her emotions when she’s mad and tends to spit out hurtful things without thinking if it would affect me. I plan to have a talk with her about it once we can see each other again because it’s beginning to suck. Can you see the moon out your window right now? Continuing this survey four hours later, except now I’m tipsy as fuck haaaaaa. I dunno, I probably won’t be able to. It’s been raining all day and evening so I might only see clouds if I look out.

What makes you feel inspired? Seeing other people with insanely good work ethic. Are you mad at a friend right now? Nope, no reason to be. Do you have a friend who hurt you and doesn't care? I mean I’m pretty sensitive, so yeah I’ve had some friends say stuff to me that they probably didn’t think anything of, but hurt me in actuality. Is your room clean? Sure, it’s not too cluttered at the moment or anything like that. Can you see the sunrise from your window? No, it doesn’t happen on my side of the house. If you were a writer, would you have a pen name or use your real name? I’d use my real name. Idk, I’ve always found pen names to be a tad bit confusing. Did you go to Goodwill yesterday? I didn’t, and I don’t, because we don’t have whatever that is here. What is your friend's cat's name? I don’t have friends who have cats.  Do you celebrate your pet's birthdays? Continuing this survey 15 hours later because I was too dizzy to continue typing, lmao. I typically buy him a dog-friendly cupcake from the pet supply store at the mall near my school, and I serve him more food than usual for lunch and dinner. March is a busy month for me with school and stuff, so I haven’t gotten the chance to throw him a party. :( As a kid, did you celebrate your dolls' birthdays? (if you're a girl) I never liked playing with dolls. But no, I didn’t celebrate the ‘birthdays’ of my other toys. None of them lasted that long with me anyway haha. Are you wearing a hoodie right now? Nope. It’s chilly right now, but it’s not wear-a-hoodie cold. Did you ignore the last facebook post that bothered you, or did you comment? I had to ignore it because it was from my grand-aunt, and old people like to throw fits when you call them out so it was going to be a waste of my time if I commented. Do you need to go to the pharmacy today? No, no need for meds anymore yaaaaaay. Are you realizing that one of your friends isn't a real friend? Not at the moment. I’m happy with the circle I currently have. What was the name of one of your stuffed animals as a kid? I didn’t like stuffed animals either. This is more of my sister’s turf. Do you have a car? If so, did you give it a name? I do have a car but I’ve never given it a name. With my dad having plans to sell it soon, I’d rather it stay nameless for the remaining time it has with me so that I don’t get any more attached to it. If you were a famous singer, what would you want your hit song to be about? I’d want it to have an important message so I’ll probably write something about the bullshit that the government keeps pulling on us.

Did you skip church last week? No, unfortunately my mom makes us watch YouTube recordings of masses from a certain church. I usually hold up one of our couch pillows so that I don’t have to see the TV screen, but nevertheless I’m part of the audience and 30-45 minutes of my time are always wasted every Sunday. Do you have any big regrets? Just one big one. If you had to re-design an alien, instead of making them green with slanty-eyes and an egg-shaped head, what would you make it look like? I’m not creative enough for this question, so pass Do you have anyone who loves you, besides God? Do you have anyone who cares about you, besides God? Do you have anyone who you can go to for support? Yes, there’s a number of people I can think of. Do you normally write in cursive or print? Print, I write faster that way. Does your heart ache for something? Right now I’m kinda wanting pizza actually lol. Do you fit the millennial stereotype? I’m not even a millennial, dude. Would you want your first child to be a boy or a girl? Girl. I don’t want sons. If you were to write an article for a magazine, what would it be about? I’m in the mood to write an opinion piece about, again, the government. Do you have a blog? I have this Tumblr but it’s really more of a journal than anything else, so no, I wouldn’t say that I have an active blog. I did have several classes where our projects required us to make blogs and I never deleted those, so those blogs are still up albeit untouched for years now. If you were to start a blog, what would your first post be about? I can see myself starting a food review blog where I journal all the restaurants I dine in. Do you think you are good at writing poetry? I absolutely suck at it and hate when I’m required to make poems. Have you ever tried a science experiment that didn't work? I don’t think so. Have you ever had a teacher who looked like an alien? I dunno what an alien is supposed to look like but I also haven’t had a teacher who I thought looked weird. Do you take gummy vitamins? Not since I was 14 or 15. Are your feet wide? No. At least I don’t think they are lol. If you could do research right now for an essay, what topic would you choose to right about? Welp today is our Independence Day, so keeping in line with the timing it’d be nice to do a paper on something about Philippine history. What are your strongest attribute? Personally, I like the fact that I’m detail-oriented. That trait has been responsible for presentable Powerpoints, has saved otherwise careless co-workers, and has made sure that all research, written articles, etc. are free from critical errors, be it in data or grammar. Have you ever been tempted to commit a crime? Of course. I think we’ve all been tempted to do something like that at least once. Have you ever started writing a suicide letter? I’ve written a couple ones throughout the years. ...and then realized you wanted to live? No. Do you know anyone who had to evacuate for the latest hurricane? Not the last typhoon, no. But my friends in Marikina have had to evacuate for past calamities many times because they live right beside a river, and one that easily overflows at that. Do you write letters to friends? Only for special occasions, like for Christmas, retreats, if they were graduating, etc. Do you like to write letters? I do but it can get so tiring, especially because I prefer handwriting my letters. I used to write 40+ handwritten letters, one for each of my classmates, every year when we would go on retreat. The practice was super tiring though so now I typically just write letters for Gab. As a kid, did you find diagramming sentences fun? The what sentences??? I’ve no clue what you’re talking about. Whatever those are, I’m positive we never did that in school. What is your dream? Money. Where would you travel if you could? I’d go absolutely everywhere, but I’d start by finishing off Asia first. When it comes to traveling, I’ve always imagined myself taking my sweet time going local first before venturing out to farther countries. That being said, I’d love to go to Thailand, Laos, Vietnam, Cambodia, and Brunei. Do you feel all alone in the world? No. Do you own a piece of jewelry with an owl on it? Haaaaaaaaa, no. That’s such a Tumblr-in-2010 trademark. I did have owl stuff before, though. If you have a class ring, what color is the stone? Not a thing here. Does looking at the starry sky make you feel peaceful? It does. But if I’m really hellbent on feeling peaceful, I’d rather look at either a skyline at night OR into the sea during the day. Do you have a pen pal? If not, would you ever want to have one? No and no. Like I said, I’m pretty much retired from handwritten letters after writing 40+ of them every single year for around a decade lol. Do you drink hot chocolate? Only La Creperie’s San Gines hot chocolate. Sometimes I’ll drink hot chocolate at hotels too. Do you like apple cider hot or cold? I don’t drink that. Are you hurt by something a friend did to you recently? No, none of them have done or said something hurtful to me lately. Are you under 30? Yeup. Have you made a "30 Things to Do Before I'm 30" list? No. I don’t like keeping myself under a deadline. Do you paint rocks and hide them in your town? I’ve never done that before. Do you have a secret crush? Nope, am very vocal about my crush heh. What was the name of your first crush? Andi. Have you ever had a crush on a teacher? Yes, groan. Do you like parodies? Not always. Some of them can be a little too cheesy for my liking. Are you a Taylor Swift fan? Not a chance. Have you ever kissed a picture? I probably have. Do you use window clings (stickers for your window)? No. Do you decorate for fall? We don’t have fall. What do you want to be for Halloween this year? Not really sure yet...I don’t even know if we’re getting Halloween this year. Has suicide crossed your mind a lot lately? [trigger warning] Not these days, and I’m really thankful for that. I’ve self-harmed twice during the course of the quarantine and while that’s disappointing at least I haven’t thought about being dead, and that’s what matters to me. Do you have supernatural abilities? ............No. Do you get enough hugs? Definitely not these days. I haven’t been hugged since March. I think I might cry when I get my first one. What labels do people try to put on you? I don’t know. You’d have to ask others because this isn’t the sort of thing people say to your face lol. Who do YOU (or rather, who does God) say you are? Are you happy? I’m not happy with the Jesus questions on here lmao but kidding aside, I wouldn’t say that I 100% am. I just feel like I’ve only been floating or existing recently, but not fully happy. Have you asked yourself recently, Why am I here? I hate questions like that, so no. What family member did you get your hair color from? Everyone of them. Filipinos have the same features. Have you ever found a secret compartment? No. If you designed a house, would you give it a secret room? I’ve seen some interesting ones on the internet that make me want a secret room of my own, but I think it’ll stay as a fantasy. Do you read horror stories? When I come across them, sure. I don’t actively look for them though. Do you ever comfort eat? Yeah, I did it a lot before quarantine. Yabu’s a great example of me comfort eating haha. Does stretching feel good? Yesssss. Do you have your wedding planned in your head already? I have scenarios that play in my head but I don’t have the specifics – color scheme, flowers, centerpieces, location, etc – mapped out yet. Would you ever adopt a child? Not my first choice. Are you ok today? I’d say so, yeah. It’s not hot today so that’s already good enough of a day for me lmao. Was the last book you read good? It was okay. It holds a great life story with okay writing. Wrestlers write autobiographies ALL THE TIME which means that not all of them will be a home run, and AJ’s was neither earth-shattering nor bad. I definitely didn’t appreciate the unintended-but-casual sexism/misogyny in it or the extreme hyperboles, but it’s AJ and I love her work nonetheless.

#survey #surveys

[calleo-bricriu]

"Why are you like this?"

(( I’d apologise for him, @absintheabsence but we both know that’d be an entire lie. A continuation of 1986. ))

Grindelwald had asked him that question more than once in the past few weeks, and it hadn't escaped Calleo that he'd asked the same thing a good forty-ish years ago as it was difficult not to. Half the time, the things Grindelwald had said or done, even with explanation, were things Calleo hadn't been able to ever fully wrap his head around.

Then again, wrapping one's head around someone else's madness is often difficult.

This time, he decided to answer what held a good chance of being a rhetorical question.

"Do you have any idea," Calleo briefly glanced up from a stack of papers he'd been going through, if only to gauge the general mood of the room, "when the last time I had any time at all away from work was?"

"1945. Early May," back to the papers, "and even now, I'm still working. It's impossible to get away from it entirely; I'm not sure what I'd do if I could at this point. Director Yandle retired, you know." The topmost piece of paper was signed and disappeared.

"Not dead retired, retired retired. 1976, about the time Voldemort was finally starting to be taken seriously as some sort of threat. Said he didn't want to deal with that sort of thing again and I ended up with his job." The way he was talking sounded more like a narration than a conversation in which another person was involved, likely on account of Calleo's main focus being clearly on the stack of papers he was still looking at. "Out of the three he hired to replace the three of yours he sacked, two of them fucked right off when told it would be their only opportunity to do so if they were leaning that way. Pity, really; if they'd stuck around a bit longer they might have realised--"

Dry laughter stopped him momentarily, even if it was more than a little inappropriate. "I told them if I found out they were, they'd find out how much worse I could be, which they took to mean they were free to leave unharmed; I forwarded their information up to Crouch who, I might add, ended up being demoted to a useless paper pushing job after that war for how over the top vicious he was in his belated response to Voldemort. A lot of executions and life terms in Azkaban without trials or with trials but without any evidence."

"So, that takes up a lot of time, all the overhead of running even a small department and doing the job I was doing prior because I'm not inclined to get the three I have now killed by handing it off entirely." Three more papers disappeared. "After that was over--it wasn't."

"I don't know how much you've heard over the past few decades, but there were a handful of things about Voldemort's death that didn't seem to alarm anyone, really; well," for the moment, Calleo did stop working on whatever he was working on and looked up, "not anyone who should have been alarmed--no, no, that's not accurate either. Nobody in a position that should have been alarmed was alarmed."

"I was alarmed; they never found a body, and that kid had the cast pattern of a killing curse burned onto his face. That's not supposed to happen. There are very, very few ways that could happen, even if it had backfired, it should have burned HIM, not his target. Anyway, it was less of a backfire and more of a 'Despite the high probability that I've done some extremely detailed and high level blood magic to make sure it's incredibly difficult to actually kill me, I never learned the basics and didn't even consider the possibility of protective blood magic stopping me from killing a child in front of his mother' sort of thing most likely."

He smiled brightly, "But, really, who would listen to the Librarian of Obscure and Terrible Things? Why would you even bother to ask someone like that if they might have some sort of idea there when it's so much easier to go with 'well, he's clearly dead because there were four people in the house and only three bodies, living or otherwise, nothing strange here.'" Whether he was being sarcastic or not wasn't immediately clear.

"Albus Dumbledore (( @everyheartbesure is 100% not allowed to lecture Calleo on his choice of vacation spots. :) )) noticed though, and I know he noticed because he wrote me in the immediate aftermath all but asking me to tell him he was being irrational and a bit insane for thinking that Voldemort wasn't merely or most sincerely dead,” Any seriousness or weight what he’d said to that point might have carried was dampened by the fact that he sung that last bit of phrasing, “which I couldn't do on account of what I said just prior to--" Calleo stopped and blinked at nothing a few times before laughing, "You know, I don't think I ever mentioned that we've been friends since about 1930! First and only person in my entire career to write me telling me he'd read some of my papers and followed that up with Transfiguration and not Dark Arts! You have no idea how tired I was and still am of people only ever having read THOSE papers and never the much less horrible, much more interesting ones I've done on Transfiguration!"

"At any rate, it was an invitation to collaborate on research if I wanted to. Which I did, obviously, and it turned out we got along exceptionally well! Well enough that Fawkes was trying and succeeding to preen my hair within thirty seconds of meeting him as well. Still does, which is odd, most animals avoid me," Calleo shrugged and part of his attention drifted back to the dwindling stack of papers in his lap, "Anyway, he wrote me about it primarily because he's always known where I work and what my work's primary focus has been, it'd just never really been a topic of discussion because it wasn't of interest to him and I don't care to push that sort of thing on people; he's still managed to never even look into the things I'm more well known for writing and by that point I'd asked him not to, at least, not while I wasn't around for a whole hell of a lot of reasons, chief of which being that it's all rather horrible and I would absolutely feel the need to explain myself through every terrible thing I've had published."

"But, the point is, he knew it was my area of expertise and the likely reality was--because of that expertise--likely a lot worse than he'd imagined, and he's not really wrong, I'm just so desensitised to it that it hardly registers as anything other than textbook knowledge half the time which meant it wasn't all that difficult to convince him to let me handle that side of the whole mess."

Another couple papers disappeared, "And it is a mess, make no mistake about that; the Ministry is adamant Voldemort is dead and any mention of the contrary all but gets a coordinated campaign of discreditation started against whoever won't toe the line. Unfortunately for them, the general view is that anyone working in the Archives is already a little bit to moderately mad, so it has no effect on me and I know a lot of people who either owe me a whole hell of a lot of favours or who have a vested interest in not letting another slightly genocidal Dark Lord get a foothold in continental Europe again. Goblins, mostly," Calleo grinned at his papers, "you didn't get them all, you know, I had three left by the end and only rebuilt from there. I still work just as closely with Lagraff, Koggot, and Aldig and they'd already started before Albus asked when I could GET started!"

"But, the most interesting thing I'd caught was while Voldemort was still counted among the living: The scraps of your little empire, the ones who hadn't been locked away for life or executed, they initially watched Voldemort with mild interest that quickly turned to open, hostile disdain as he kept flailing against an already ineffective, disorganised, panicked government and made no substantial public or political progress while trying to sell himself as something--better--to them. An odd number of them also hold positions in various governments and have either worked with me for years now which is, in some cases, exactly as awkward for them as you might imagine, or owe me a substantial number of favours or debt."

"And this?" Calleo twirled a finger at the ceiling of the dreary, depressing, and rather dim tower cell, "This is the closest thing to a holiday I've had in over forty years, and even then, even you have to have noticed that I routinely have to hop outside that window and away from the magic smothering nonsense of this building because if I'm muted or 'fuzzy' for too long, too many people notice and get a tiny bit alarmed."

"That's why I'm 'like this'! I haven't had a day off in forty six years and the last time I had any time away from work it was STILL up a tower locked in a room with you! Now that I think about it, every single time I've been away from the Ministry for any extended period of time, it's always ended with me somehow being stuck somewhere with you! You're the human equivalent of one of these things!" Calleo dug around in his pockets while he wrapped up that minor rant and pulled out--something--that was whipped across the room, aimed directly for Grindelwald's forehead.

It was--sticky and soft and a thin thread of it led back to Calleo's hand. The end that wound up on the side of the cell Grindelwald was on looked a bit gummy and a lot hand shaped.

#(Could you not be yourself FOR FIVE MINUTES is probably something Calleo hears routinely) #(the answer is no) #stories #v: ftbawtft #v: first war #hp rp #1986 #(but if you ever wanted to see someone tell Grindelwald he was the human equivalent of one of those sticky hand toys) #(while whipping one across the room at his face) #(You're welcome) #(Age definitely does not equal maturity because in this verse he's 100 in 1986)

[ohprettyweeper-moved]

A Summer Story

Age 30

Pairing: Tyler x Kansas Word Count: 1320 Warnings: None? Challenge: Kansas’s YouAU Writing Challenge Tags: @takenvysleep @breadbinishigh@svintsandghosts@xtina2191 A/N: We’ve reached the end of this fic, frens. Thank you to everyone who has kept up with this and loved it as much as I did. It really means the world to me! Quick side note, the break indicator after the first scene has a link to the inspiration for the first scene and the pictures that I mention come from it -- but I didn’t want to put it here and give anything away! No new fic tomorrow since I’ve posted all week, but I will be back with a request on Tuesday. See you then! 

My dating relationship with Tyler had taken almost half our lives to finally begin, and once it did, we realized that we had in fact been holding on to something that was cemented into our memory. The feelings were there, but they weren’t what we thought. Things fizzled out just a few weeks after his epic middle-of-the-road-in-a-storm confession.

I’m kidding! Calm down, stop freaking out.

In truth, once my relationship with Tyler was a real thing, there was a huge sense of relief. That thing that felt like it had been missing from my life for so long, didn’t feel like it was missing anymore. It’s cheesy and cliche, but Tyler was the missing piece in the puzzle of my life.

A year after we started dating, we finally got our sunflower field date. Tyler set everything up, I put on my favorite sundress, and we looked forward to a nice, peaceful dinner together. Of course, just like it had a year ago, storms start to roll in, though not as early in the day or intensely as they had the year before.

The sun had all but disappeared behind the grey and green clouds, leaving a hint of yellow over the land. I pulled a crocheted shawl closer around my shoulders to ward off the cool wind from the storm, and Tyler encouraged that we should eat quickly.

“I don’t wanna ruin our date, but I don’t want us getting rained on, either,” he laughed.

“It’s tradition, maybe,” I joked in return.

We did eat fairly quickly, and were able to clean up after ourselves well before the rain came. With everything packed up, I started to go, but Tyler beckoned me back.

“I’ve known since I was twelve years old that I wanted you to be the one,” he started with a dust of pink over the tops of his cheeks. “It took us a long time to get here, but now that we’re together and it’s real, most of the time I feel like we were never with anyone else or not together.” He swallowed hard, then got down on one knee. He pulled a small, black, velvet box from his pocket, and put the ring on display. “Whatever storms come our way, I want to weather them with you. I love you, with everything I have. Will you marry me?”

Happy tears slid over my cheeks. Normally I would have been concerned about mascara stains or streaks through my blush, but all I cared about in that moment was that I was going to be Tyler’s wife.

“Yes,” I nodded. “I would love to marry you.”

Tyler slid the ring onto my finger, then wrapped me in a strong hug. When he pulled away, I kept my arms over his shoulders. Tyler’s hands were both soft and calloused, and I loved the feel of them on my soft cheeks, just the way they were now. He leaned over to kiss me as the first bolt of lightning lit up the golden flowers around us, and thunder rumbled overhead.

.&.

A year after that, we got married back at the campgrounds where we had first met. It only seemed right to start our forever life in the same place where we had essentially began in the first place. The whole event was a small affair: our closest family and friends, no huge to-do or announcements or anything. Just the way we wanted it.

Naturally, I had a say in most of the decor. Tyler was agreeable to most things, but good about letting me know when he had different ideas. What I did not expect when I entered the cafeteria house, was the table of pictures of us, from that first year at camp, all the way to the stormy proposal.

“How did you get those?” I asked.

“Red and Freddie were there. Freddie got the pictures, and Red got the video, which we’ll watch here in a little bit.”

“Oh!” I turned to my cousin and friend, and hugged them both tightly. “You stinkers!”

They laughed, and kissed my cheek. Red laughed a little more, and wiped her lipstick away from my face.

The reception guests enjoyed the small dinner, the wedding cake and, of course, the ice cream sundae bar. I couldn’t believe Tyler had remembered the ice cream social from forever ago, but that part was his idea.

As the guests started to filter out, Red and Freddie started cleaning up. I offered to help, but they wouldn’t allow it. I found myself somewhat overwhelmed by the day, so I got another bowl of ice cream and sat at a table away from where my friends were trying to pick up.

I was staring down at my ice cream bowl when a handful of gummy worms dropped on top of the remainder of the bowl’s contents. Smiling, I picked a red and orange worm off the top.

“Thanks. I always did enjoy gummy worms.”

“I know. Are you happy with how everything turned out?” Tyler asked.

I nodded. “I am. I never thought eighteen years ago that this is where we’d end up, but I’m just taking it all in. I’m really excited to see where life takes us next.”

“Me too. Here, hold out your hand.” I did as he asked, and Tyler secured a bracelet of orange and blue gemstones around my wrist. “I figured it was time we retire that beaded bracelet, and get you something you really deserve.”

“Ty … it’s really beautiful,” I cooed, running my fingers over the stones. “But you know, I love that old beaded bracelet.”

“I know you do. But this seemed fitting for today, and you don’t have to get rid of the other one or anything.”

“Good.” I leaned forward to kiss him, then picked up another gummy worm.

“You about done with that ice cream? I’m ready to get my bride back to our room.”

I couldn’t help but giggle. I grabbed up the handful of gummy worms, then tossed my bowl in the trash. When I returned to Tyler, he picked me up, bridal style, and carried me back to our room.

.&.

“Let me see her,” Tyler whispered, leaning over me in the hospital bed we had both squished into. Our daughter had been born only hours before, and we couldn’t get enough of her.

I fixed the blankets that were around her face so that her daughter could see her better. “How’s that?”

“Perfect,” Tyler answered, kissing my temple. “Everything is perfect.”

“It really is,” I sighed. “Can’t believe we made this. Ten fingers, ten toes. That little bit of brown hair. She’s never going to do anything wrong because she is -- well, you said it. Perfect.”

Tyler smiled. “She’s our daughter, so I’m sure she’ll give us plenty of trouble, but I can’t even imagine being upset with her or grounding her right now.”

“See, that’s what I’m saying.”

I leaned into Tyler’s shoulder while still keeping the baby supported. She was sleeping away, not a care in the world. If I had it my way, she never would. But, life is what it is, after all. All I could hope for was that Tyler and I would raise her to be strong and make good choice.

I looked over at Tyler, who was starting to doze off. It had been a long day and a half for us, and I was ready to sleep, too. After I finagled my phone to take a picture of our sleepy little family, I decided then and there that if my daughter ever meets a boy at camp when she’s twelve, and has even the slightest idea he might be important to her, I’m going to tell her not to give up on him, and not to force herself to get over him. You never know in whose heart you’ll find a home.  

#ks youau wc #a summer story #tyler x kansas

[scriptaed]

A Bastard’s Etiquette (M)

[cr.]

Genre: Angst/Action/Smut; fantasy!au; bastard!namjoon; king’s advisor!namjoon; royalty!au;

Pairing: Namjoon x Reader;

Length: 33.2k;

Synopsis: In a world where dusk becomes day and the long night is everlasting, where famine runs rampant and children scatter below murky skies and the fallen sun to cry in their mother’s bosoms, no one believes in miracles, no one believes in the legend of the Northern Bastard of Nordendall―and neither do you, for when a mother and a child are burnt at the stake under the orders of Tyrant Im, Hell befalls the kingdom. 

The once thriving kingdom of riches, the Kingdom of Nordendall, has long been forgotten in the depths of history, decades ago when laughter and joy could still be heard in warm sun-basked air under the reign of a king, an era distant from The Abandoned―neither forgotten nor loathed, for his name is only forbidden to be spoken of; and despite your Lord’s demands, the people loved the past king and the past king loved his people. Even the passing of a century has not kept the dwindling elders from reminiscing of the days when flowers blossomed by the paths of green and fields sprout abundant grains, enough to last for the winter, and children cried―not from starving or living, but for what babes do in the comforts of the milky hands of their mother.

But alas, with the death of the king came a lurking night dawning upon the commons. And unbeknownst to them, the following century opposes the last akin to the stark contrast between white and black. People no longer have the time nor hope to fantasize in legends of an outside heir claiming rights to oust the cruel, albeit rightful, off the throne―no, people believe in the Gods, the proclamation of the priests who chant “the Gods have forsaken us, condemned us, to a century of darkness, for it is what we deserve; believe in the Gods, remember He whom we had forgotten, and trust in the divine rights of our King, and the long night shall end.”

…and yet it never does, not when Namjoon, the Bastard of Nordendall, remains dormant in the shadows of his chamber.

The wagon rocks roughly along the rugged, unpaved dirt. Paths of bronze, parched fields surround the mount trotting on by. The air stenches of what was once freshly watered greens and now remains of months old mud where pesky flies infest year round. You can hear, even see, children―stripped of all flesh and meat until all that is left is their very bones―crying about as they scurry to the embrace of their mother. And like their little doves, skin covered in patches of wounds and mud, women whisper sweet nothings into their ears; grins turn to frowns, sniffles turn to silence, each and every commoner of a bystander heeling in a cascade to the ground as you ride on by.

Stand, the words stay trapped in the knot of your throat and pressed lips; if it were not for the man, the rightful heir to the throne, sitting in the carriage behind you, you would have been long off the wagon and requesting the people to stand instead of heel. And despite your Lord, and once friends since childhood, Jaebum, offering you a seat by his side in the spacious carriage, you prefer sitting out here with your back on the wagon and your body facing the ends of the trailer, watching the marks of your path being engraved into the parched dirt, even if it means facing the roll of his eyes and the tick of his temper. 

Contrary to most high-borns, you take pleasure in seeing your people eye to eye, if they are to heel, praise, and beg for help, the least you can do is acknowledge their presence, their existence, and their requests of which you have no power in solving―and Jaebum despises that very trait of yours.

No one in the Castles of Nordendall treat the commoners in such a method like yours. Unlike those of your Lord’s immediate family, who are born and raised with such virtues since the very first time their eyes fluttered open to the sights of their mothers, squires, maids, and knights sympathize with the people and your reasonings for doing what they claim to be “careless” actions, but none are willing to take the extra step like you do. 

There is no point, they state, there is nothing you can do to improve the lives of the people, for that lies in the hands of the Lord. The only benefit your actions will raise is, quite ironically, the fury of the people for your lack of dignity. 

How dare you face them each and every day, nodding at their presence and their poor condition, yet fail to change a single thing when the next day, week, even year arrives? The only reason you could do it without repercussions from vexing the Lord is because he favors you.

But that simply is not the complete truth. Jaebum may have spared your head once or twice, but he knows you and your soft spots like the back of your hand.  Nothing comes without consequences. No, not under his rule, especially because of your illegitimate status as a highborn.

“M’lady!” a woman cries out to snap you out of your daze, and before you know it, an elderly woman and, presumably, her little girl are chasing after your wagon. Each limp in their scampering cuts into your already scarred state, your heart aching as you pity the two. “Please―please, could you spare a change or two!”

In the midst of their cries, the woman nearly trips on the rags of her torn skirt. A gasp escapes your lips as you hastily scramble towards the edge of your wagon to grab a hold of the woman’s rough, patchy hands, “oh dear, please, please be careful!” 

And yet, she refuses to let go. 

Tears stream down her reddened, dirt stained cheeks, and she bawls along with her child as the two run hand in hand. You helplessly glance around at the townspeople whom stand there watching, clueless as to what to do.  Seeing the chances of aid are slim to none, you attempt to unlatch her cold fingers from your own blessed warmth and plead, “please! I will gladly hand you all my change, but two coins is not worth risking your life for!”

The wagon begins to rattle, swaying side to side even more drastically as it came to a stop when the coachman up ahead catches onto the ordeal between you and the ladies. Quickly reaching into the pockets you had rebelliously sewn into your own pale and stained ivory gown, you unfold her lanky hands to offer the remaining of your five coins. Her eyes light up along with her child’s, both staring at the gold in awe as if they had never seen such delicacies and only heard of such things in tales. Grateful, or more accurately, astonished, smiles creep onto the corners of their lips, stretching from ear to ear as a few gasps and choked whimpers escape their lips before new waterworks flow from them.

“T-Thank you, m’lady,” the woman cries out, a strand of her silver hair falling before her creased forehead and glimmering dull, gray eyes. She buries the gold into her pockets and takes your hands into hers, “I have been begging, pleading, on my knees each and every day, m’lady, but no one would spare even a glimpse my way. N-No one cared for me like you did, I-I can not thank you enough, m-m’lady.” 

Somehow through all her sobs, you’re able to comprehend her enough to nod with a pressed smile. The elder hastily nudges her daughter, “hurry and thank her, dear, we can finally have dinner for the first time in months because of this fine, young woman.”

“Mother, is she the Queen you told me about last night?” the golden haired child glares at you before leaning in to whisper a bit too loudly into her mother's ears. The mother cinches her brows and quickly scorns her child, for the Queen had passed away years ago. Clearing up the misconception, the child glances bashfully between you and the ground before mumbling, “thank you… m’lady.”

Your heart flutters at her sheepish smile, the child grasping and hiding in her mother's arms at the mere thought of supper. Reaching out to stroke her cheeks filled with more than plentiful red cuts for a child, you grin and shake your head, “I am not a lady, and I most certainly am not a Queen. But if the Gods ever do bless me with such an opportunity, I will do everything in me to make sure children like you retire to bed with a full stomach every night. It is the least I can do.”

The child giggles at your promise, her two front teeth just growing in and her gummy smile melting your heart. But not everything goes as smoothly as you wish, no, not in this Kingdom. A rustle comes from behind as you hear the familiar sharp edged tone of his hollering, “why are we stopping? Did I tell you to stop?”

“N-No,” the coachman stammers, “but Lady Y/L/N seemed to be having trouble—”

“ —well, did I tell you to stop?”

Your eyes shoot open and your heart nearly stops. You can not let Jaebum catch you pitying, much less helping, the commoners. Gently pushing the woman and her girl away, you whisper harshly under your breath, “hurry, leave before the Prince sees you. Hurry!” 

The girl glances back over her shoulder, her doe-like eyes bringing out the soft side of you, the worstly feared part of you which has always endangered your survival. Your heart hammers against your chest, and your pulse hastens as you shoo her away with a wave of your hand. “Go on—”

“May I ask what this is, Lady Y/L/N?”

Your body turns stiff, and your blood runs cold. With one gulp, your heart nearly stops, but not before giving you a final blow against the chest to knock all air out of your lungs.

Turning around in your seat, you find Jaebum staring at you, void of expression; but you know just exactly what is going on in that twisted head of his. He never speaks to you formally. First and foremost, you are of lower status than him, the Prince. Second, he never preferred to do so, as you two had grown up as friends, along with his step brother, Namjoon, since the age of seven. And third, Jaebum does not ask—he demands. His blatant sarcasm and the bite at the end of his words are enough to tell you of the deep waters you are in.

“I was just speaking with them, my Lord,” you blurt, making sure to address him formally as a way to appease his temper.

“Mm, wasting your time with these flies like you always do,” he hums, quirking a brow and turning to face the two petrified ladies. “What really happened between you three? Or are you going to lie to your Prince's face, too?” The woman glances at you, eyes wide and begging for help when Jaebum sighs loudly and spits, “I demanded you to tell me the truth! Or do you want me to cut your tongue and have you unable to ever speak again? Because the pleasure is all mine.”

“We begged for coins!” you and the mother stare wide eyed at the girl, one out of worry and another out of scorn. But the girl continues, “forgive me… m’lord. My mother and I have been starving for weeks now! We only asked for a couple of coins!”

No, no, no, you curse internally. 

The girl is foolish enough to believe in the good of the world, foolish enough to believe goodness and justice even exists in this Kingdom and in the Prince of all people. But it isn’t like you can’t sympathize, for you, too, had once believed in such helpless hopes as a young girl… that is, before you came to know of the harsh reality. Coming to realize the truth was the backbone of your very survival, and unfortunately for the girl, she was one step too late.

“You think your little coins are more important than my time? You think I care if you starve and your mother rots to death enough to stop me on my way home?” Jaebum scoffs, his snickers cracking like thunder into the thick air as the townspeople stand by in silence. “Tie them up.”

“W-what? I beg your pardon, m’lord, but what have we done wrong?!” the woman popped eyes dart to the Prince who had already turned his back on the helpless. 

Your heart nearly stops when she takes a step forward only to trip and come tumbling back to the dirt, and yet she still scrambles after the Prince on all fours before hoarsely crying out, “we would never dare to stop your Grace! At least… at least spare my daughter…” she coughs and wheezes and croaks with her curled hands reaching out for the mercy of the Prince, “please, she’s got nothing to do with none of this! She’s only seven, your Grace!”

Seven—that was when the high Lords had taken you and your mother in.

“My Lord,” you quickly interject, taking large strides in desperate need to stop what you had caused. “I mean not to threaten you of your orders, but the two ladies truly have nothing to do with it. I—”

—slap.

A few gasps fill the now silenced air.

Face red and burning, hands cupping where his hands must remain imprinted in drained colors of your blood flushed cheeks, shock registering and stiffened body affixed in the midst of your step, and the next thing you know, you’re peering up and glaring at him through the curtains of your stray hair.

“You,” he articulates, lips curling and finger pointing in disdain. His narrowed eyes darken until all you can see are the piercing black orbs absent of soul. “Get the bloody hell out of my face. I hate how high and mighty you make yourself out to be, merciful of the weak and all. What? You think you're better than me? The Prince?”

Your brows cinch in the tension of his stare, “pardon me, my Lord, but that is the least of my intentions—”

—he takes a step forward to close the distance between the two of you and whispers into your ears, “I'm not just any lord, Y/N. We may be childhood friends, but I'm your future King. Question me again and I'll have your head decapitated and buried with your dead mother.”

His curt words strike a nerve in you, and all you can do is stand in shock and fear. Jaebum smirks, scoffing at the lack of a reaction—a confirmation of his victory—before turning his back on you and striding off to wave his hand without another glance back.

“Lock them up.”

The woman and her girl are tied up and thrown to the back of the wagon but not without screaming and pleading cries. The fallen, soft edges of the soldier's eyes tell you neither does he agree with the Prince's orders, but it is the fear for his life that drives the soul within him pouring out from those brown irises since long ago. You, on the other hand, are forced to tread closely behind.

The smack of his iron-like, merciless hands still sting your cheeks, and all you can do is hang your head low and eyes glued to the ground in shame. You know the two ladies, particularly the girl, desired to comfort you, but the words don't come, for the both of you know they're in far worse danger than you as mere commoners amongst millions.

And it isn't like you have the heart to look in the petrified looks in their eyes. You're crumbling under sheer embarrassment. The Prince had just punished you in front of thousands of people, the people whom you only wanted to see eye to eye, to honor, and to acknowledge of all their sufferings decided upon whose family they had the fortune or misfortune of extending its family tree.

And yet, with the simple raise of a hand, you had been silenced. Maybe your methods really are as useless as Namjoon had forewarned you.

The wooden, dozen meters high drawbridge lowers and descends upon you from the divine skies. The wagon continues tottering  across the bridge, over the waters of the moat surrounding the castle's towering walls, and in the midst of your daze, you find yourself within the first layer of the stronghold.

“Please, Your Grace, I beg of you!” the woman bellows from the depths of her throat, each ounce of her desperation and last minute hope pouring into her cries.

Hesitantly lifting your gaze, you find the girl bawling on the floor, grasping at Jaebum’s feet before crawling back to you, “help us! I beg of you, m’lady! I'll—I’ll call you Your Grace, just please help mother and I!”

You gulp, the walls of your dry, constricted throat grazing against one another to invoke a turmoil within your stomach until you nearly throw up, because all you can do is helplessly stare down at her.

Her already sullen face falls at your still lips before stuttering, “you said you'd be the Queen, right? You promised me, didn't you? You told me children would no longer starve to death at night!”

The girl looks so desperate—a look you've seen before—that you know she sees death right at her front door.

But that doesn't faze you.

Rather, it’s the fact that you're so unfazed that shocks you enough to send chills down your spine. Since when did you become immune to the cries of children and the pleas of Mothers? Since when did the poor and the need to even see your people eye to eye become a daily occurrence, a necessity to get by? Is it your selfish need to assure yourself of your fallen morals? Did you use these two poor ladies as a method to cope with your guilt in your unwillingness to truly help those in need?

Armed Knights grab ahold of the girl's arms at both sides, roughly hauling her across the dirt and mud along with another unit holding her mother. The two painfully scream and cry at you, the Knights, and the Prince, but no one responds.

“Tsk, what a hindrance to the Prince's time. Worthless I tell you,” he scoffs, glaring at the dwindling silhouettes of the pitiful prisoners as they grew further in distance. Darting his eyes at you, your breath gets caught in the knot of your throat. “Any more protests from you, Lady Y/L/N?”

You part your lips, trying to formulate words to defend their lives, and yet nothing leaves. The subconscious mind in you knows you'd be beheaded for speaking out against the rightful heir, and that small difference is what makes you useless in the face of the fight for justice.

“Didn't think so,” the Prince scoffs, turning his back on you to strike into the towering wooden gates to his citadel. “Good, the last thing a Prince needs is another stupid, helpless girl begging for mercy.”

And without another word, he leaves you unattended as the gates shut behind him and all you can hear in the silence of the thin air is the rustling of grass and the restless winds from the storm soon to come.

“What happened?”

The beholder of the soothing, dark and velvety voice—the only voice capable of garnering your attention at thus point—place his hands to your left shoulder, a sensation of warmth radiating from his body and into your own cold one.

Looking up to your right, you find Namjoon peering down at you in concern—eyebrows furrowed, tan skin glowing, and brown orbs as welcoming and chocolate warm as they can get. A broken laugh, one of disbelief, tumbles from your crooked lips as you avert your eyes back to the ground in shame, “Jaebum’s infuriated with me. Nothing quite new… except this time, it's… it's completely my fault.”

Namjoon lets your words sit in silence as he chooses his words carefully, “...and may I ask what you did to anger him?”

Your lips quiver when you recall the roots of this chaos, timidly glancing down at the ground where his leather brown boots stands before you. Clearing your throat, you’re just barely able to squeak, “...I gave my change to a mother and girl.”

Tension fills the air until Namjoon lets out a loud sigh, “I told you not to do that in front of Jaebum.”

“I know, I know, but they were starving, Joon,” your voice cracks and Namjoon winces. Grasping onto his left arm, you pull him in and close the remaining distance. His arms remain limp in your hold as you lift your head to find his eyes searching for something within you, narrowed and firm, warm and indecipherable. “You have to do something, Joon. Please. The poor girl’s only seven.”

“And what can I do?” he mutters, eyes shifting to the small square of dirt laid beneath and between the two of you.

“...you can stop him.”

“And who am I to question the Prince? I can’t do that and not expect him to cut off my head,” he exasperates.

“But you can,” you emphasize, leaning to the left in a successful attempt to capture his lowered gaze. “You’re the King’s advisor. You’re the Prince’s brother—”

“ —I’m a bastard,” he sharply refutes.

“Yes, and you’re still his brother by blood,” you firmly state. “Unless you go off and get yourself killed before he gets to you, you’re going to be helping him rule Nordendall. You craft war tactics, you monitor the flow of currency within this damned Kingdom. You are our strategist, so you matter just as much as Jaebum. You are just as responsible as he is for the start of this forsaken century, this stupid curse, the accusations I’d like to deny that we’ve abandoned our people. Even if you’re a bastard.”

His eyes dart to yours in silence, and as hard as he attempts to suppress his emotions behind the six-years-developed mask of his, you know there’s much more to him than ignorantly turning a blind eye to matters like this; it’s in the way he sighs and looks off into the distance searching for the hundreds of lives lost in his unmoving hands, the way the spot between his brows crease in frustration as he teeters between death and stalemate, the way he grits his teeth and protrudes his jaw that you know it’s taking everything in him not to jump in and help and prevent you from doing so too. 

He cares, but for the sake of survival and what he deems as inevitable, he creates this facade of the opposite.

“You know what?” you scoff. “You’re a coward. It’s as simple as that.”

That’s the difference between him and you.

“Easy for you to say,” he equivocates, taking a step away to bow and excuse himself without further explanation. “I’ll see what I can do.”

Specks of dust fly in the path of blinding sunrays peeking through the rusted cell bars as the only sign of light in the dark, constricted room. Through the thin, freezing, and musty air, every slight rustling of motion echoes through the cold, bare concrete floors, colorless and pale gray voids lining up from floor to wall to ceiling. The cell reeks of stale excretion, piss and spilt wine soaking stacks of hay where prisoners lie, and all sorts of rodents scampering across the floor and throughout the 24 hours of night.

Fortune remains on your side, for you stand on one side of the bars, and the two dregs of the Prince’s crawl on the other.

“First of all,” you quickly say, gulping when you make your presence known and step out from the shadows of the entrance. Frizz in the mother’s upright gray hairs catch your attention, all hope stripped from her sunken, rawboned face as her eyes glaze to watch her next doom; it only makes it all the more painful to notice the quick aversion of her fallen expression, the despair in her eyes replaced by a glimpse of delight… even if you’re the reason she’s fallen to the pit bottom yet again. And when the child lifts her head in the lap of her mother, tucking the stray, unkempt golden hair of hers which dull with dirt and hidden blacks of the castle, your voice cracks, “I’m… I’m so sorry. T-This is all my fault…”

Silence ensues.

You don’t want her to forgive you. No, that would be the most shameful response you could receive. Scold, scream, threaten, condemn, anything would be better than the silence she’s giving you now. But lies, lies you tell yourself year after year, they’re never enough to keep you satisfied; because when you feel your heart holding onto every second which ticks by, your ear waiting and begging to pick up on something, you know you’re just as terrible as the rest of the corrupted kingdom.

Please tell me it’s okay. Please tell me it’s not my fault.

And as if hearing the pleas through the windows of your soul, your glimmering eyes, she responds. But the second of hesitation in her proceeding words tell you it’s one of reluctance.

“It’s alright, it’s not your fault. So please don’t cry, or they’ll hear, m’dear,” she says, her words soft and flat and slurred and visibly jaded.

Or they’ll hear you, dear.

They pierce right through your chest and cut your pride—pride as a highborn, when you had never meant to be one in the first place, pride you didn’t even know existed—blown into pieces you must collect, repair, and put on a fixed facade to keep your vulnerability hidden from those who want to trample on it most in this corrupted kingdom. Nobles, elites, and men like mice who creep along every corner of the castle, looking for every nooks and crannies to prod at for self power, those are the men you have always feared of being made a victim of the most. Women, children, and lower-borns, were of your least concern; that is, until today.

Because to her, you’re just another peasant born beside her in the dirt bottom of the ladder. In her eyes, you’re already someone too insignificant to be of any help for them now.

“I… I-I promise,” you croak. Voice cracking in sync with your lowly hung head, a swift motion of the back of your hand to wipe the sparingly few fallen tears. “I promise I’ll help you get out of here. I swear it by your God and mine.”

The woman watches you in silence, losing herself in a trance—as if to admire and reminisce for the days when she was just a little, helpless girl who foolishly presumed she could take on the whole world like you—and blinking those days away with a crooked smile.

“My lovely dove,” she begins on a raspy note with pressed lips, “never in my fifty years living in this… hell, of a kingdom… never have I ever given up on the Lords. No, not the ones we’re forced to bow to and lick the bottom of their boots each time they pass by.” The elder scoffs and shakes her head before glancing up at the ceiling which drips mud to the wrinkles of her forehead, “no, I’m talking about the ones from above. I served my one and only Lord. I obeyed, prayed, and believed some day he would truly save us all.”

Then she turns to face you—everything stripped from her gray eyes.

“But no…” the woman shakes her head, “no, no, m’dear, God is nowhere near us tonight. Not in the outskirts, not in the fields, not in the town, not in the chapel, and most certainly not in this citadel.”

A chill shivers its way down your spine—petrifying you with her curt confessions; the woman sprawled before you bears little to no resemblance to the pitiful woman running after your wagon, dirt-stained and desperate to live. But now, all that fills her eyes a thirst for an end. It’s like a new entity had been betrothed in her very conscience, and as immoral as it is of you to acknowledge, this isn’t the first time you’ve witnessed such a sick phenomenon nor are you the least bit surprised…

...because after all, everyone changes in the wake of death.

“Mama…” the girl croaks, tugging at her mother’s tattered skirt.

The mother pats her little girl’s hair, weaving her bony fingers through the tangles of her golden locks for one last time before placing a gentle, chaste kiss to her temple, “shh, my love, mama will sort this out with big sister over here, alright?”

“Does she need medication…?” you hesitate to ask, but your guilt and sympathy compels you to do otherwise.

Tugging at one corner of her lips, a nearly inaudible scoff intermixes with her sigh as she ignores your question and proceeds, peering up at you from below where you can see her purple dark circles, “why do you think I so desperately ran after you, a helpless human being, when, supposedly, the Lord should have helped me see through my struggles?”

Her stare pierces through you and stuns you until all you can do is cinch your brows and gulp in response.

“It’s because I grew impatient,” she reveals and scoffs. “I never believed in Gods in the first place. I could hardly even believe in humanity, so why in bloody hell should I trust in something I’ve never seen nor could hardly entrust when His supposed creation had turned out to be like this?”

Her stroking fingers come to a stop, resting her palm to cup her daughter’s sweaty cheeks which resemble symptoms of hayfever, and she gulps when she continues. “I only became the useless mother—thing—that I am because I was desperate. Those pesky priests you see marching out and about in town, chiming those stupid old cowbells, chanting those pretentious verses as if we haven’t memorized them by now, those scums convinced me I had done wrong for being a nonbeliever. While I hoped for someone outside of this ‘royal,’” she spits at the floor, “bloodline to reverse the chaos of Nordendall, essentially, they told me to stop believing in the people.”

Her words strike you as the utter truth—first a light jab at the corruption of the line of heirs, next, a punch at the preachers sent out by the King to induce obedience in a hoax of order. Then, with one final blow, she spits remarks which ring true to your heart; never trust anyone but yourself, a lesson you’ve learnt when your mother was murdered behind these very walls.

“Can you believe it? A King who doesn’t believe in his own people? A King who instills horror and distrust amongst their people?” the woman exasperates, eyes wide and wary of each and every one of your flinches. “My illiterate mother told me Nordendall was once a Kingdom of Honor. It’s hard to believe, bloody hell, it was hard enough for me to believe when I was a gullible, sweet little girl like you, but something tells me it must be true. Maybe it’s the thirst for power, or maybe it’s the bloodline of heirs gone sour and long due for a change, but you understand what I’m saying, don’t you?”

“I… I’m afraid I don’t understand you,” the words barely strangle its way out from your knotted throat.

The woman scoffs and leans forward, the creases of her forehead and the spot between her brows marking her years of wisdom when she whispers hoarsely, “you can pretend you’re one of them, m’dear, but I know one of us when I see one. Now, I see scared little girl. Shifty eyes, barely able to look me in the eyes and screaming for an answer, an answer only she can find herself, effortless apologies, rehearsed but begging for a purpose, trembling, wavering virtues against what her morals tell her to do and what the walls of this citadel compels her to do. She’s just like me when I was younger, but as an old woman well beyond the years of this worn capsule, my eyes no longer deceive me when they tell me she’s ready for a change.”

Constriction of your entire body causes you to gag when the dry walls of your throat grind against one another.

Her glare hardens as she peers straight into you, never daring to look away from even a supposedly highborn lady—but maybe that’s because she knows who you truly are.

With the exception of Namjoon, she seems to be the only one who hasn’t forgotten your abandoned identity, despite the dozen years of training you had endured to disguise yourself as one of them.

And the fact that someone sees through you with such ease, as if you’re transparent and your attempts to cover up are fruitless, it all scares you.

“I—”

—a door creaks open just as your lips part only to delay with a quivering fright. The mother and her child’s eyes dart across and straight to the heavy wooden door where a petrifyingly built, stern-faced bodyguard stands towering on the other side and a contrastingly gentle, empathetic man of soft features akin to princes of fairytales enters the room.

“Namjoon?” you ask, whirling around to face him as he strides past you. Turning around, you frown in concern over the haste of his movements, something you’ve come to notice as a sign for things gone wrong. “What’re you doing here?”

“To do exactly what you asked for,” he simply quips.

“...you talked to Jaebum?”

Namjoon reaches into the depths of his pockets, clutching to something tiny enough to fit within his knuckles and squatting down to meet the mother eye-to-eye, sighing, “I did.”

“...and?”

Besides the trembling shivers and heavy breathing being exchanged between the mother and Namjoon, respectively, the silence is as thin and deafening as ever; anticipation sifts through the cold air, and impatience grows for each one of your breaths presenting itself in puffs of fog before you. Namjoon’s short, curt answers had always ticked you the wrong way. He’s never been one to answer you fully, not because it’s burdening for him to go out of his way in doing so, but because he knows it’s merely a leading question, for you’ve always been the most quick-witted person around in these castles, or at least second to him. Your instincts tell you, however, that in reality, he’s just too scared to face his shortcomings aloud. Unlike you, the thing he fears most is confronting reality.

“What do you think? This is Jaebum we’re talking about,” Namjoon finally answers, huffing and leaning over to squeeze his hand between the steel bars holding the woman hostage.

Ears picking up the sound of glass softly toppling into her rough hands, you frown before pacing over to find the mother wide-eyed and staring down at two small, one-inch sized tubes lying in between the blisters of her palm. Jet black liquid fills the glasses, and when you gulp, you can nearly feel the acid burning your throat into fiery heat and eating you from inside-out; there’s no denying what forbidden substance had just been handed to her.

The unknowing mother glances up from her lap where the child stirs in her sleep, irises shaking and lips barely quivering when she speaks, “what is this…?”

Unwillingly, a loud sigh escapes your lips as you grab onto Namjoon’s arm and force him to face you, “Namjoon, this isn’t the right way to—”

“—then what do you suggest?” his voice thunders across the echoing room, and you jump in shock over the rage evident in the downturn of his lips. Yanking away from you, he turns back to the woman and lowers his voice with a recomposed, illegible expression. With lidded eyes and rough whispers, he warns, “it’s poison, nightshade to be precise.”

The woman winces at the newfound fact, “pardon me, m’lord, but are you telling me to poison myself to death?”

“I’m telling you to only use it as your last resort,” he refutes, pointing a finger back at you, “in case this one messes up and we can’t help you any further.”

The mother frowns and glances at her child, stroking her hair one more time through the crease between her brows and her forehead before cracking out in broken words, “I see.”

“I apologize for the hell hole that is this citadel. I swear it on my life’s behalf that Y/N and I will do our very best to get you out of here as safe as possible. In fact, it pains me to present you such reckless tactics, but,” he lowers his voice, “this is the best way to go under my brother’s watch. I made sure it won’t hurt the least bit, I promise—”

“—Joon, I need to talk to you,” you stiffly say through gritted teeth, clearing your throat when he simply stares at you in silence and waits for your response. “Alone.”

Turning towards the mother and her daugher, you duck your head low and apologize profusely once more, “I promise I’ll put this all to an end. I swear it on all the Gods here and above.”

Eyes lock for a mere second, her stare piercing straight into you, as if she could read your very thoughts and fears, before you hastily break away to storm out of the room where Namjoon utters a low, formal, “pardon me,” and obediently follows close behind.

Her words echo in your head, almost as if it had somehow molded into your own half-conscience demanding what you’ve wanted but told yourself otherwise all along.

“She’s ready for change.”

Once the heavy door slams closed behind you, a boom echoing through the freezing halls and snapping you out of your reverie, you tackle him with all your might.

“What in bloody hell do you think you’re doing?”

“I’m taking the best course of action,” he replies, dark eyes firmly following you as you pace in place.

“Telling someone to kill themselves is not the best course of action,” you retort.

“Yeah? Is getting someone captured under the hands of Jaebum a better option? Is it not so wise of me to have a backup plan in case things go awry just like last time?” Namjoon refutes with a scoff. “Do you remember what happened last time, Y/N? Remember when Jaebum caught you going behind his back to feed the poor, and even as the two of you begged on your knees for mercy, he still burnt the poor man to death? Do his screams no longer haunt you at night? Do you sleep well in your chambers now that you’ve forgotten and go on your self-proposed acts of kindness? Or are you too blinded by this pride of supposedly facing reality to remember?”

You bite your tongue so hard, attempting to suppress yourself from erupting in anger, that you can taste the metallic odor of blood filling the roof of your mouth.

“No, I haven’t forgotten. I never will. Don’t you dare suggest otherwise,” you carefully say through gritted teeth. “I’m just saying that perhaps this isn’t the best way to go about it. Handing them nightshade is essentially telling them we’re throwing in the towel without even trying in the first place, but maybe you’re too busy running away from the real shithole of a castle your family made to change things for once—”

“—they’re not my family,” he cuts in.

“They are,” you declare under your breath, taking one step forward until your chest brushes against his and your eyes peers straight up from under his, “and for as long as you refuse to oppose your family’s ways, you’ll still be just another illegitimate bastard hiding under his father’s name.”

All hell breaks loose in the lenses of his eyes, flames scorching and churning in turmoil as his jaws jut out and his teeth clench in a barely successful attempt at taming the fire. Contrary to  back then when you two were just kids and only naturally an argument would always end up in a fist fight, now you can truly observe how he’s blossomed into a grown man. As the King and heir’s advisor, Namjoon could suppress himself of such emotions—emotions you wish he had kept, akin to how you had kept origins of your own identity as your lowborn mother’s daughter, for they were what made you love him over his brother.

“Then what are you?” he lowly states, edges of his words tipping on the brink of threatening fury. “Are you a commoner or are you a highborn? Ever since the noblemen scavenged through this entire kingdom to find your mother, taking her and her child into the other side of the castle walls in repayment for treating the prince’s pox, have you forgotten your roots? Have you lied to yourself and somehow tricked yourself into believing you’re one of them—”

“—I’m not one of them,” you raise your voice. “I’m not a highborn and I’m not a princess and I never will be. I’ve seen the terrors this damned castle has casted upon my true home. You can please Jaebum all you want, go about it the easy way and sacrifice the lives of the poor without putting your own life on the line. I’ll fight it. I’ll fight reality like a soldier—head on.”

Namjoon darkly chuckles, voice low and raspy as he leans in to whisper into your ear, “the way I see it, Princess, you’ve gotten it all confused. Maybe you’re the dreamer dressed like a warrior, and I’m a warrior dressed like a dreamer.”

“I beg your pardon?” you scoff, pushing against his chest until he stumbles backwards to easily regain his footing. Your ears turn beat red when you recall the brush of his plump, warm lips against your earlobes. You should be angry, taken aback, offended, and you are, but he had grown to be much more charismatic through the years you have known him, and that change has somehow grasped onto your fluctuating emotions regarding someone you had once only seen as an older brother.

“Hopefully this won’t be our last argument after tonight… and I mean it in the good way,” Namjoon takes a step back, throwing a victorious smirk at you before turning around to retreat to his chambers without another look over his shoulder. “Overthink, pace around, sleep soundly, do whatever you do best. Now that we’re man and woman and can no longer share a bed, I don’t know how you best confront reality, if you have at all. Farewell for now, your Grace—”

“—Y/N,” you correct, “we may be older, but it doesn’t change who we are to each other.”

Namjoon snorts, cocking a brow along with the corner of his lush lips. “Then will you call me big brother once again?”

“W-What?” you frown, biting at the insides of your mouth to fight the blood flowing to your cheeks. It’s been years since you’ve called him brother, for the death of your mother, the one who had suggested it in the first place, gives you nil reasons to. “No.”

“Of course you wouldn’t, you can’t. I’m a bastard after all,” the man presses his lips into a thin upcurve and bows. “Then, goodnight, your Grace.”

A scoff is all that manages to leave your lips. With the empty halls and the pattering, heavy footsteps of guards decked in plate armors coming around the corner, you stand there pondering over his last remark.

Slumber is an impossibility to you as the evening burrows deep into the night; restless, you pace by the door outside the cells holding your accountabilities within, bargaining the guards with a cup of hot stew and cold bread from last night for their silence and distributing the leftovers to the withering woman and her grateful child.

She is ready for change.

Change. Change. Change.

Change the hierarchy, change the system.

Chants echo in your oversaturated mind and threaten to drift you to sleep, sure to hurl you into deep, dangerous waters with Jaebum; nonetheless, your impending doom comes sooner than calculated.

Step, his heels tap againsts the stone paving of the stairs spiraling underground.

Step, it echoes in the tunnel, step, it crescendos with each tap of his feet and with each beat of your heart, another delayed step… silence.  

“What are you doing here?”

“Jae—my Lord,” your neck cranes to enable your eyes to peer upward at the silhouette hovering above you. You hasten to your feet, line of sight glued to your feet as you curtsy to greet the Prince, his chest just a few inches from yours.

“You can quit the titles here when we’re alone,” he scoffs in amusement, lips cracking into a lopsided grin. “Just call me Jaebum like you used to when we were children.”

“...I am afraid I can not—I dare not,” your head hangs low and your chin reverberates in the vibrations of your pumping heart, “...unless it is your absolute wish, my Lord.”

“Jaebum. Must I demand you to do everything now?” you can just hear him rolling his eyes by the tone of his voice. “Or do you want to call me brother? Like how you call our dear brother, Joon?”

Head still ducked low, your lips quiver in the chills of the prison, even if it feels like time has just retracted years from the present. It’s almost as if you’re standing in the fields before the boy his father and your mother had forced you to call brother.

You can smell the freshly watered soil, the pollen-filled air, the feathers of dandelions brushing across your cheeks in the endless wind.

And as always, you answer him with silence.

“Of course, you only ever listen to Joon anyways,” he spits. “Quit acting like a damn sheep and stand upright and look me in the eye.”

Slowly and hesitantly, you oblige, but only out of fear.

“Why are you here?” he asks—no, demands an answer. Jaebum’s eyes, narrow yet sharp and fierce akin to that of an eagle, like that of his father’s but much less forgiving, they nearly burn you to stake with sheer fury as his gaze locks you from above.

“I…” your mind goes blank, for you can sense the calculations through the black windows to his soul. It’s impossible for him not to see through you. “I was just checking to make sure the mother and her child are alright.”

“I believe the words you mean ‘are still alive,’” he nods his head, lowering his eyes and quirking a brow. “You think I would have them killed behind your back like last time? And that’s all you did. Check for their livelihoods?”

“...yes.”

“Hm,” Jaebum scoffs and retracts himself from you; his warmth abandoning you in the cold night air, and yet his departure leaving you all the much warmer. He begins pacing with hands locked behind his back, “about today… I don’t appreciate what you did, and by that, I mean you’re really testing me my patience these days.”

“My sincere apology,” you meekly answer, eyes casting to the cracks between the stone pavings of the ground, “I swear to all Gods here and above I will never act against your orders again.”

“...and,” the Prince halts in the midst of his tracks, the golden eyelet clicking with the matching metallic trims of the laces on his boots along with the sway of black cloak in the wind, but it would only take a child to detect the shift in atmosphere, even with his back turned on you, “...you can start now, by telling me the truth regarding your whereabouts here.”

Every breath becomes a struggle, for each intake of spine-chilling air drags you through the rutted dirt and closer to teetering over the edge of a cliff. Scared to breathe, jarred to live, Jaebum has always been embroidered by such qualities some deem fit for a ruler, others proclaim fit for a tyrant.

“Jaebum, I swear—”

—the meek voice fails to escape through the labyrinth of your throat.

Should you lie and be caught by the Prince himself, the light of day would soon become a ephemeral memory of the past.

Sifting through the pockets of his silky black trousers hidden by the lavish black and golden trouser above, the whip of a pocket knife slicing through the air echoes and it only takes you a split second to register Jaebum pivot to storm three large strides towards you until, finally, he’s breathing your air and you’re breathing his. Sharp and rapid, his breaths hiss, seething of broken impatience, but his eyes burn with fire, and when they meet your quivering gaze just an inch away, it’s as if he’s peering deep into the depths of your soul—too deep to retract from the grips of his hands digging into your shoulders and pulling you in.

Your heart beats—pounds—against your chest and you’re overflowing with adrenaline-filled blood from chest and outwards, yet the terror stricken and bestowed upon you by the mere glimpse of his glare freezes you from running; needless to say, you can hardly breathe.

“...don’t you dare answer me,” he articulates each word through his breath, teeth gritted and jaws clenched.

The blade in his aloft hand rests in the corner of your lips, grazing just enough as your merciful gaze alternates between the wicked grin of power on his face and the warm trickle of blood flowing down your cheeks and along your jawline. Flames set ablaze on the torches hung along each cell of the prison hall illuminate one side of the Prince’s facial features as the other descends into the shadow, highlighting the glimmering fury thriving in his glowing eyes egged by your winces.

“I can practically smell the past wherever I go, Y/N. The air practically reeks of Namjoon,” he scowls, the scrunch of his nose short-lived before he cuts deeper into your stinging skin. “You’re not very smart, are you, Y/N? What happened to my Father’s best apprentice? I listened to Father. So heed my words when I say I have men scattered throughout this entire castle and lurking in every corner of each chamber—including yours—don’t take my warning for granted,” he utters, the iniquitous smirk of his eliciting a cautious gulp from you as he leans in to whisper, “consider this a favor—” his hands apply pressure against the blade and into the very last tissue between your outer and inner cheeks, “—for if you ever utter or even whisper another lie to me, the Prince, again, I’ll have your tongue cut and fed to the poor you so adore. You hear me?”

The satisfaction of your soft yelps play like a harp’s melody to his ears, and it isn’t difficult to observe that your pain—along with that of thousands of his own people—are what feeds his ego, coursing corrosive power through his veins and bloodshot eyes, but heroic actions are much easier said than done.

Hot streams of tears are rolling down your cheeks and intermixing with your viscous blood, the pain is all too scarring to bear alone, but the dreary look in the woman and her child’s eyes far exceed this temporary moment of weakness; you tell yourself you’ll endure it for the sake of your people, the people of Nordendall of which your mother had practically spilled her entire life and her life itself to protecting, but the nails digging deep into the numb palms of your pale fists plea for you to bend the knee—even if it’s momentary.

The Prince chuckles darkly at the bob of your head which can hardly classify as a nod, “good girl,” his blade drops to the floor, clinking and echoing in the hall, but the now emptied hand and enigma of mischief smeared across his smug grin tell you it isn’t over quiet yet. Taking a few steps back, Jaebum scoffs at what he must have seen as the pathetic look on your face as your hands immediately grasp at the sleeves of your dirtied dress to cover the gape on your cheeks. “I’ve never seen you look so weak, Y/N,” he chuckles, turning his back on you to head towards the flight of stairs. “You were always father’s favorite. Joon was his second, of course. I just couldn’t catch up on studies and I disappointed when it came to archery, but look who’s out on top now?”

“Your father loved you…” you mumble, eyes flickering to glare at Jaebum’s narrowed ones which beckon for you—dare for you—to speak again. “He wouldn’t want you doing this. He loved his people, he loved Nordendall, you should be out there, not here. Please let the woman and her child go, I beg you—”

“—quit your blubbering!” his bellows crescendo from the depth of his throat to the stone walls of the hall and castle beyond. “And perhaps, you should quit chatting with that doofus Joon, too. My advisor just doesn’t know when to shut his trap and it seems like the useless dreams of his has infected you, too.”

Your mouth is snapped shut, but your gaze hardens amidst the stare exchanged between you and him.

Finally, he scoffs, whirling around, cloak floating two feet aloft in his sway, and strolling out of the hall of cells. “If I knew you were like this before, maybe I wouldn’t have been so infatuated. Nordendall doesn’t want nor need a Queen like you.”

Clomps and clinks of his boots echoes and vibrates against the stone flooring, until gradually descending into the void and all that you hear is the deafening silence filled with your thoughts.

The floor remains cold when your body immediately collapses at the split second when the coast was clear. Pitiful whimpers cascade from your pressed lips attempting to suppress the cries of pain and fear, completely futile. Every muscle scrunches tight, eyes squeezed shut and arms wrapped protectively around yourself.

It’s shameful, really, because none of this—none of the wounds nor threats—are equivalent to anything you have faced before. Jaebum has done worse and you have bled worse. It’s the timing and guilt which really plagues your conscience. While the flutters of Namjoon’s simple proximity has long dissipated from within, the thoughts of him, his whereabouts, and his identity still remain.

Perhaps, Namjoon is right in his own way; because everything you do never entails for the fairytale ending you so desire.

Is he the warrior, and you, the dreamer? Are you just pretending to be what you want to be and accusing Namjoon of being what you fear to be? No, you know what you are. You refuse to be regarded as one of the countless nobles, blinded by riches and tempted by greed. You’ve seen, experienced, and helped the less fortunate. Reality is what you live, breathe, and battle every day and night since you’ve entered this castle.

But you have to admit, the bastard truly does have a way with words; and while you refuse to accept any speck of truth in his proclamation, you do commend his insight, for it keeps you up late at night and etches into your mind for decades to come.

...and your cries for aid, assurance, wit, and courage befall ears of no one but yours tonight in the prosperous young night.

“Guards! Bring them in!”

At the break of dawn you stand in what Jaebum had turned from his father's adored reception hall for his weekly fests and dances into a courtroom for the injustice, to be more precise, a slaughterhouse to lock away his own secrets already running rampant in the form of rumors throughout the kingdom. Dry eyes burning from lack of sleep, you climb the steps to join the Prince's advisor, Namjoon, beside the throne. Scanning from one end of the vastly empty room to the other, guards of dozens line each wall where stained glass transmits sunlight upon the stone paving, as if to cast God’s judgement upon the sinners.

But as you and the people of Nordendall have begun to wonder, are the Gods really watching?

“Good Heaven,” Namjoon gasps, leaning into your side to hiss under his breath beside your ear, “what happened to your cheek?”

“Nothing important,” you utter without budging an inch, staring straight forward as two men decked in iron armor roughly toss the woman and the young girl across the floor countless meters before the throne.

Perhaps it is your imagination, but the silver locks of what send to be both the mother and her child glisten in the sunlight. The cuts streaked across every bit of bare skin and dirt which cover their skirts along with their wounds entail for a horrific infection, as your mother would've told you. Oddly yet, the stray, fizzed locks threading their gazes cast upon the ground before the Prince's feet shine of not hope, but vengeance.

It’s as if they arm a trump card; and standing next to the very man whose decision has repulsed you incessantly allows you to craft a wild guess.

“It quite evidently isn't nothing,” the boy beside you frowns with concern, eyes glued to the bandages across half of your head, sure to leave scars.

“Jaebum found me last night in the cells—”

“—in the cells, Y/N?” Namjoon does a double take. “Why in bloody hell were you still there? Actually, no, you don’t need to answer that. I already know and—”

“—hearing me say it will just anger you all the more?” you finish his sentence and scoff. “Then I'll say it again because you need to hear it. I stayed vigilant to provide our people with the food and water they need.”

The silence which follows as the boy stares at you in frustration evokes thoughts from the both of you, wondering just how you have managed in this world for as long as you have.

“...I… I swear I'll break his hand the next time he lays a finger on you.”

Your line of sight trails from the woman and the daughter, both of which are begging and crying in their knees, to find its victim on the boy beside you.

“Silence!” the Prince's demand bellows throughout the chamber and shocks even the guards themselves, but the air dead of even a whisper or whimper serves proof of the royalty's authority.

Frowning, Namjoon cranes his neck to glimpse at you as you stare straight through him and mutter through barely parted lips.

“No,” you confess, “you won't.”

“Begging for food, begging for water, begging for wealth, delaying the Prince's journey home, infesting the Prince and Lady Y/L/N with your filthy hands,” the spokesman of the trial takes a deep breath before lowering the lengthy scroll, “do you plead guilty to these crimes?”

The mother’s gaze darts to you as she inaudibly mouths, “...no, I do not.”

The boy beside you flinches, and so do you, for you nearly jump forward to cover for the mother if it weren't for the man as he clears his throat to reaffirm his shaken composure.

“I repeat, do you plead guilty to these crimes in exchange for punishment of a more forgiving sin.”

Being a maverick yourself amongst the Royal, you could already predict the answer she would utter next; and yet, you find yourself muttering otherwise.

“Yes, yes, say yes,” your chants trail when you find Namjoon uttering, “I swear on my life I will talk Jaebum out of it.”

The woman lowers her head before ushering for her daughter to do the same, hair falling along with gravity and their will. Meekly, a pair of voices crack, “...yes, we plead guilty.”

…and your heart drops.

Huh? What is this? Ideally, you should be beyond relieved, for their lives have been spared, yet in reality, the maverick in you cries of isolation; but who are you to proclaim whose lives are to plea for and how dare you to even subconsciously do so?

How could you fight for Kingdom Nordendall like this?

The man almost seems relieved, gripping the scroll and clearing his throat once again. “Thenceforth, we call upon all the Gods here and above to bestow mercy upon these sinners with a forgiving sentence of—”

“—of rotting the rest of their lives in prison!”

Silence. Shock. Disgust.

They all run through the eyes of the witnesses which wander to the Prince slouching in his throne. The accused wearily lift their gaze, ready to plead guilty a second time.

“It was a joke,” Jaebum darkly chuckles and you can hear the room release a collective sigh. “...instead, as per my beloved Lady Y/L/N’s request, I will acknowledge your pleads.”

The concern striking the frown on your lips and Namjoon’s foretells the capability of the ruler more than anything, but the ecstatic bliss exuding from the eyes of the accused are ephemeral.

“...with the choice of being flayed alive, skin by skin, muscle by muscle, or being burnt at the stake alive.”

“My Lord,” Namjoon quickly interjects, stepping toward the throne until the Prince raises a hand for him to halt; and he does. “My Lord, as your advisor, I strongly advise you not to be so rash. What if word escapes the castle and spreads across the kingdom?”

“If they do, then it'll be your fault or Lady Y/L/N’s. At least they'll fear me, and fear brings more power,” Jaebum rebukes without a glance at the desperate advisor before crossing his legs and casting his cruelty upon his people, “so? What will your choice be, my young doves?”

Mind scrambling for a solution, your eyes panic between the spoilt ruler and the woman and her child who glare at the man with mouths agape in disgust.

For people so frail and threatened, they really don't seem all that afraid; instead, they're simply beautiful and you admire them… but that only scares you all the more, particularly when you catch the woman and her child reaching their hands into the waist of their skirt.

The nightshade.

“No!” you quickly exclaim and lunge forward when you notice Jaebum narrowing his eyes and leaning forward, confused with his preys.

“Y/N! Step back!” you hear Namjoon call from behind until his hand grabs into your right arm to yank you back.

Helpless, you cry out to the ladies, but instead of watching them swallow the nightshade whole, the women begin mumbles which crescendo into roaring chants with fists to their side. Endless zephyrs somehow find its way into the castle, sweeping the people's hair, attire, and awareness into the air until everything shatters. Wind resembling that of typhoon demolish the stained glass on all walls, scattering them across the floor and welcoming the brewing thunder and lightning outside where gray cloud lurk above the castle.

With emerald rays of light materializing beneath the two and shining through the cracks of the floor, locks of hair aloft and eyes shut in deep concentration, you and everyone in the room come to an epiphany just as Namjoon mutters under his breath.

“...witches.”

“Hear us, Gods of the Underground and Above,” the witches chant and the ground quakes as everyone yelps and you grab ahold of Namjoon’s arm to sturdy your feet, “we, of Guild Crescentia, lay curse upon those who have done us wrong in exchange for our livelihoods. Let Hell be set loose on the lands of Nordendall, and let its ruler, Prince Jaebum, suffer a grotesque, painful death by the hands of whom he admires most and by the guidance of whom he fears most—”

“—what are you doing?!” Jaebum explodes, jumping up and kicking his throne. “Kill the wretched witches!”

“Wait, wait…” your voice trails off into trembles as you step forward and nearly collapse to the ground in the split second Namjoon, too, loses grip of both his hold on you and sanity.

Nordendall hasn't witnessed the world of witchcraft in nearly a century since a King had persecuted all forms of magic out of the kingdom, if you recall correctly from the books you read as a child; so to say witchery is largely forbidden and severely hazardous and feared upon is an understatement.

This entire moment is a nightmare come true for everyone in the room, but how could you think of the helpless women you had helped just last night like so?

Grabbing ahold of the witches by hesitant soldiers of a dozen, hairs tugged and arms yanked until bare shoulders are revealed underneath the ripped seams of their dress, the mother stares straight into your eyes, as do you to her, along with Namjoon’s.

It irks you that this fond yet reprimanding look in her eyes remind you of your mother; in fact, it's as if your own mother is truly there in flesh and blood to speak to you.

“I'm afraid it has come to this. I thank you, Bastard of Nordendall and Lady of Nordendall for your hospitality and efforts,” the woman proclaims loud and clear.

“Kill them!” Jaebum hollers. “Or I will have you all killed!”

The guards hesitate, egging one another on in vain and merely tugging at the witches’ locks of hair, clearly too terrified to inch closer to the wicked.

“...but the efforts are not enough,” the little girl manages to declare through whimpers. “Only you two can save Nordendall now.”

“What do you mean…” you step forward and abandon Namjoon’s side, cinching your brows and mumbling. “How can we—”

“—our time is up, my Lady. I apologize but we won't be needing this,” the mother continues with a weak lift of a grin before the mother and her daughter holler one last time. One pair of eyes shooting death glares at the Prince, the other motherly pair peers into the deepest of your soul. “Farewell and we wish you fortune on your endeavors.”

The moment of serenity falls short when her eyes dilate, pupils expanding until all is white and pitch black liquid like that of ink stains the white. It's a horrifying sight for a horrifying scene, and the sudden collapse of their bodies onto the now still floor and thin, silent air doesn't help your shortness of breath nor your near heart attack.

And just like that, the people fall and the tyrant rises once again to the negligence of the nightshade rolling on the ground from the loosened grips of the woman and her daughter—something only you and Namjoon notice.

“All of you!” the Prince screeches, face turning red from the sheer anger boiling within his royal blood. “Pick those traitor of witches off my ground and burn them at the stake where everyone in the kingdom can see and get out of my sight before I behead you all!”

Namjoon exchanges looks of distress with you as everyone shuffles to abide by the Prince's orders with their head down. You know exactly what runs through his mind, aside from the countless historical figures, dates, and facts he had so voluntarily absorbed as a young child attempting to gain footing in a place he didn't belong.

Was it all true? The curse? The witches? Is witchcraft indeed materialized by real incidents and fantasized by fairytales? And what did she mean only you and Namjoon could help after the disaster you had bestowed upon then with your help?

So engrossed in thoughts, neither you nor Namjoon notice Jaebum marching toward you with the most wretched of scowls plastered across his face.

“You two, stop standing there, pick up your jaws off the floor, and attend the execution tonight by the stake,” his hands dig into both Namjoon and your shoulders as he leans in to mutter, “and if you don't think I haven't figured it was you two sneaking behind my back to hand nightshade to the two beasts, then it’s your turn to plea guilty next, and as far as I know, neither of you are capable of magic.”

Gulp—the both of you freeze in place until the trudging footsteps of Jaebum’s fade into the silence of the completely evacuated room where scarlet blood and black liquid intermix in the center of what you can now see as an alchemy symbol circling the room with a star within.

“Why in bloody hell did you try and step in their alchemy circle?” Namjoon blurts and narrows his eyes at you.

“I didn't know what that was, in fact, I couldn't even see it until now. I apologize for neglecting my studies, Lord Kim,” you rebuke, rolling your eyes before forcefully pushing him back with a hand. “And why didn't you step in to help them?”

“I—I couldn't help them!” he scoffs in disbelief. “They're witches, Y/N, they don't need help, the only one who would need help would be me if I were to be plagued by their curse!”

“Well, maybe if you talked Jaebum out of it instead of just handing someone poison and calling it a day, perhaps if you showed sympathy or effort for once, none of this would've happened!”

“Yeah?” he cocks a brow. “And tell me what kind of help you so elegantly provided, because according to Jaebum, it was your request that led him to his stupid bargain.”

“Well—” struggling to find a rebuttal, you scoff and cross your arms “—this isn't just a curse on Jaebum. It's a curse on all of Nordendall, including us.”

Brows furrowed and lips downturned, Namjoon utters, “and like they prophesied, I will save the people—inside out.”

A scoff finds its way through your lungs and you shake your head with lips pressed into a thin, disapproving line before stating the last declaration you come to speak to Namjoon in the next months.

“Fine by me,” you confess, “because I will save my people outside in.”

Incessant tragedy bedevils Nordendall for the next three months; crops fall prey to pests unprecedented and undocumented in the kingdom’s history, diseases pervade the lands completely grazed and burnt by farmer’s desperate measures to restock food supplies, the scorching sun burns with fury and surpasses degrees Nordendall has never seen before, and as a kingdom bolstering primarily on agriculture booms, this curse spells for an impending worldwide crisis.

Nordendall has been your home since the earliest days you can recall, but from the accounts of your late mother, the kingdom has always struggled in the medical field, despite unknowingly sowing countless flora renowned for its healing properties; it wasn’t until your mother, whose home resides in a church specializing in the research of medicine, far beyond the boundaries of Nordendall and unclaimed by the Lords in surrounding areas, that the illness plaguing the Prince was cured. Now, with crops burnt by wildfire and medical chiefs throughout the entire kingdom has been hoarded to treat Jaebum and the return of his pox, the cries of the people echo throughout the long night by your bedside.

“The Prince has arrived! Lower the gates!”

The holler pierce the castle walls and you can hear the drawbridge lowering with the creaking of wood and squeaking of wheels being spun by huffing guardsmen tugging on ropes. You can just imagine dozens of horsemen trotting in place outside the gates, one being the Prince himself with that triumphant smirk of his after another successful hunt. Jaebum’s time outside the castle walls have grown exponentially in the last month, bringing back game meat from the wild—still halfway between life and death as it flinches every few seconds to splatter blood across the floor.

Reasonings behind his ventures unknown, you haven’t been sitting deep in your chambers akin to the likes of Namjoon; instead, a bow, arrow, and dagger have become your closest companion.

Imagine Jaebum, you shut your eyes and repeat the words, Jaebum is standing right there with his heart aligning with the bullseye—you just need to pin him down.

Eyelids fluttering open, the silhouette of your greatest nemesis stands clearly before the wooden target, just forty meters ahead of you.

Shoot.

The arrow whizzes past your bow, string rebounding by the profound force, and slices the air into two thin halves so precisely that you can practically hear the cuts, until, finally, it smacks dead straight into your target… bullseye.

“What has gotten into you, smiling alone here like that?”

Your moment of sheer satisfaction is as fleeting as always when the sight of Jaebum trotting into the field atop his favored mount of a white horse is spotted.

“Hm? My Lady?” he swiftly unmounts to the ground and strides over to the target to stare at your arrow—just a foot from the gritting of his jaws. Whirling around, he cocks his head and sneers, “it’s just a lucky shot. What’s there to be so excited about?”

As if you could shoot as well as I do—but you keep that to yourself, for the scar left beside your lips from that fateful night serve as a dire reminder of your maverick tendencies.

“What…?” he cinches his brows with a sneer, taking slow, steady strides from the target and toward you, eyes shifting between you and the dirt. “You think your archery exceeds mine? Just like back in the day when father trained us?” His steps finally reach you, his eyes peering down at you just a foot away. “...you think you can take me down with your own hands?”

“...I was just practicing to prepare if any crisis was to occur.”

“You know what?” Jaebum takes a step back, tilting your chin with his thumb and forefinger until your hardened gaze meets his own amused one. “I am rather impressed by your diligence, your skills. It really is the least you could do as my future Queen.”

“Royalty does not run in my blood,” you say through gritted teeth, “so I am afraid I can not wed to you, my Lord.”

The Prince’s chuckles intermix with his scoffs, eyes averting to the side before returning to you, “you know I love it when you defy me like that.”

Gulp, your heart races to such a profound pace that you can barely keep up with your heaving breaths, especially when he leans in dangerously close—lips just grazing yours…

...and before you could stop yourself, you find yourself hastily taking several steps back and a rush of panic overtakes your state of mind.

“You…” Jaebum scoffs in disbelief, mouth gaping into a grin etched by a newfound challenge. He strides forward to replace the steps taken back, but you find yourself scrambling toward the castle wall behind you. “You really took me seriously, didn’t you?”

“I-I’m sorry,” your breaths come out in loud huffs—one, interrupted by Jaebum’s aloft hand and a hard smack to your cheeks which sting amidst the warm evening air. Yelping, you nibble on your bottom lip to prevent yourself from whimpering in terror, “I am sorry, Jae—”

“—and now you call me by my name,” Jaebum’s snickers are cut short and replaced by a low mutter when his eyes lower to find you subconsciously gripping onto your bow and quiver. “You dare raise your weapon before a Prince?”

The fury sparks into wildfire and you can see it in his hardened, empty gaze just how serious things have taken for a turn. It’s either fight back and die an inevitable death by thousands of guards or endure just one more hardship before begging for your life.

Neither the warrior nor dreamer within you holds an adequate, prompt answer, for the shuffling of hasty footsteps across the castle halls and into the dirt of the field distract you from doing so.

“Jaebum.”

Namjoon’s voice resonates beside you for the first time since what has now been written down in history as The  Cursed Trial; oddly enough, it’s also one of the rare moments you’ve witnessed him openly interrupting the Prince whom he so fears.

“What. do. you. want?” Jaebum groans, threatening eyes flinching when they avert to find the taller, broader stature of a man looming before him—a moment of cowardice you’ve come to notice from the first day Jaebum realized his illegitimate brother was more equipped for battle than him. Nevertheless, he masks it with a spit to the ground. “And it’s ‘my Lord.’ Fix it before you lose a tongue.”

“I have urgent information to deliver, my Lord,” Namjoon calmly corrects himself. “It’s confidential, my Lord, so may we further discuss this inside?”

“You better swear it’s dire or I will have your tongue cut off,” his eyes shut for a hot second before fluttering open with smothered flames. Throwing death glares between you and Namjoon, Jaebum finally sighs and retracts himself from you and the wall. “Today marks an important day in history for Nordendall, I mustn't dirty myself with such trifling matters.”

“What exactly do you mean…” you frown, quickly adding, “my Lord?”

“Gather in the courtroom at the strike of dusk,” the Prince’s cloak suspends in the air as he turns his back on you and heads into the castle, hunting boots clicking along the stone floor. With his last stern words, he disappears. “Don’t be late.”

Thereby, leaving you and Namjoon alone in the fields where you had once trained together in the nostalgic memories of the past float about.

The stagnant silence evokes a couple of shuffles in place from you.

“...do you really have something important to deliver?” you hesitantly ask, eyes trailing along the dirt, his leather brown boots, and up his black trousers and tunic to find Namjoon’s gaze which meets yours.

“...no, I do not. It was an excuse,” he lowly utters—an excuse for what, he leaves out in consideration for your mental state.

“Thank you,” you mumble under your breath, “for saving me.”

Your childhood friend chuckles, “I only helped you, not saved. You’re strong enough to save yourself and both you and I know that.” Lifting his gaze, he peers straight into you with benevolence pooled in his warm eyes beneath stray strands of chocolate locks. “Your safety is my utmost priority.”

Gulp—why do you feel the flutters in your stomach that you do?

“W-What are you going to do, then…?” you find yourself glancing warily over your shoulder at the dungeon of pitch black where the Prince had left. “Jaebum might be in a better mood than usual today, but I don’t think he’s willing to give second chances just yet.”

“I’ll figure it out,” he finally coos after kicking a few rocks buried in the dirt in silence with his eyes glued to the floor.

A chortle leaves your lips at his actions resembling the kid you’ve always known.

“Don’t you always?”

A dreadful, lengthy silence ensues, because to your surprise, the frown deeply etched into his forehead and lips tell you whatever Jaebum has in store for the evening has even Namjoon distressed.

“Well, the Prince has to heed his own advisor’s advice, correct?”

Namjoon’s theory, however, concludes for the worst.

“But, my Lord,” Namjoon beckons desperately, taking a step forward toward the throne up the steps but never more, “it would be to irrational for us to invade outside kingdoms—reckless, really, the kingdoms are much more prepared and supplied—”

“—you dare question my abilities, Lord Kim?”

“No—I-I am simply stating Kingdom Nordendall is facing a crisis at this very moment. We lack supplies, medical chiefs, weapons, food, water, the list goes on, my Lord, I would strongly advise against waging wars with our neighbors.”

The room falls silent enough for one another to overhear the other’s breaths from across the room. It’s as if everyone is waiting, begging for the Prince to withdraw his avaricious ventures.

“You have to consider your people, my Lord,” the words slip before you could stop yourself and Namjoon shoots a scornful glare at you, but, like you always do, you proceed, “your people are dying like fleas out there because they lack the medical help they need. The aqueducts are infested with pests Nordendall has never learned to deal with before. Water and food, both necessities for each and every one of our lives, are spoilt beyond recognition. Take a look at your own people before you conquer others—”

“—silence!” the Prince’s voice booms across the vacant chamber. “Do you not remember the last time you intervened with my plans, Lady Y/L/N? And where did that get us? This curse is your fault and your fault alone!”

“My Lord,” Namjoon steps in cautiously, darting a death glare at you, “I assure you Lady Y/L/N meant nothing more than good—”

“—I will not hear another word from the both of you,” Jaebum spits, finger pointing accusingly at you two in opposing sides of the room. Jaw gritting and fists clenching, you can tell it takes every ounce of willpower in him not to budge an inch from his throne—and for whatever reason, you’re unsure of. “I am tired of seeing you sick fools backing each other up only for us to fall into the doom the kingdom now faces. I’ve given countless pardons, but heed my words when I warn you: if you speak out against me one more time,” he casts threatening stares between you two and you notice Namjoon’s fallen gaze, “I will have you nailed to and burnt at the stake alive to join the wretched witches’ ashes. You hear me?”

“Yes,” Namjoon lowers his head and takes a step back, “my Lord.”

Jaebum’s attention diverges toward your direction, “and you?”

Nails digging into the palm of your fist, you bite your tongue from spilling further trouble and force yourself to bow in surrender.

The cries of the mother and her child still reverberate in your ears to the point of deaf, but perhaps deaf would be a merciful end to the sleepless nights you now suffer in a castle above thousands of corpses.

“Yes,” you mutter, “my Lord.”

The entire room watches the ordeal, evidently too petrified to speak on your behalf. Truthfully, it isn’t a scene unfamiliar to you nor the advisor.

“Good,” the Prince crosses his legs and reclines into his golden throne, “then we will set sail for the Black Sea in a week’s time. Court is dismissed.”

And it’s as if time is spun into a spur, for the silhouettes of sheepish men and meek women with their heads low and lips sewed shut all become a blur as they cross paths with you to retire to their chambers, but all the while, when your eyes meet his and your concerns intermingle with the man across the room, the both of you know the upcoming days will be a time dragged of dread, repent, and opportunities for a coup d’etat.

Long were the nights when liquor sank in your buds so sweet yet so bitter like the river of the late dusk flooding through open windows in his chamber—struck, by moonlust.

“Why are you looking at me like that?” the man befriended since childhood asks, frowning with a suppressed, bashful grin from across the small wooden desk.

A chuckle descends from your lips like the puff of breath making its mark in the cold night air, “like what?”

“Like… like I’m the most interesting to look at; the moon is over there, you know,” his hands lift to cover the cracked smile of his paired with the pair of circular indentations on his cheeks. Eyes dropping from your intent, rather amused gaze, Namjoon casts a newfound attention to said celestial figure on your right, out the window propped to the side where the incoming spring breeze brushes through his brown locks and yours. Finally, he mumbles sheepishly, “so… stop staring at me like that.”

But even so, the warning entails for little caution as your eyes proceed with the investigation, knowing fully well just how burnt his cheeks must be; because, quite frankly, you just can’t help it.

The boy you had first met and laid eyes upon after walking through the intimidating gates of the castle, hidden behind the protective skirts of your mother only to peek at the welcoming albeit curious mien of an equally outland boy several feet behind the King and Prince, the boy has matured leaps and bounds from such times. Now, he holds his head just an inch higher than the disdained child you had once known; his shoulders are broader, his arms are firmer, and his intellect has expanded far wider than any noble in the kingdom. His skin, both and tan and silky akin to that of honey, glows flawlessly under the illumination of the moonlight, picking up every glimmer of his skin rich in stardust.

Wiser than ever, his weaknesses still remain the same. Cowardly, surely reasoned with occasional rationality, but as Jaebum’s father liked to say, you fit Namjoon just perfectly. Irrational yet brave, cowardly yet wise, he had always been the water to tame your fire. Tonight, however, with the cries of his people in the distance, the curse of the witches whispering in his ears, and the doomed future of his kingdom soon to come by the hands of his own, flames within his eyes roar throughout the silence of the night.  

The man, no longer a boy, has yet again inevitably and irrevocably enraptured you through and through.

The tingles of your hair grazing across your collarbones paired with the odd flutters that come with the melodies of your friend’s raspy yet childlike low giggles allows an epiphany to dawn upon you: with danger comes the realization of inner wants, and in your case, comes the bloom of a long awaited romance.

“What?” you repeat, cackling. “I’m just… in shock over how much has changed. It’s hard not to reminisce over the days when we were still prancing around in the fields, when I beat you every day in training…”

“Alright,” Namjoon chuckles before shooting a knowing look at you, “but how about all those history exams you failed and I passed?”

“I came in second though,” you coo, head held high.

“Right,” he shakes his head, gaze shifting to the wooden top of his chamber’s desk as he downs another shot of golden liquor, “Jaebum never really cared for the history of this kingdom, but look at him now… changing history with a single wag of his finger. Ridiculous, really.”

Silence befalls your lips when you notice the distress in his frown.

Sighing, you lean in to grab another drink of your own to further bury the panging guilt of impending disaster. “It’s been nearly a year since I last visited your chamber for a late night drink like this. I’ve missed it,” you confess, taking a sip as your eyes flicker to find his own gaze glued to the forest beyond his window, “but as much as I would love to cherish moments like these, you and I both know what I’m here for and what you’ve invited me in for. The people of Nordendall and I, the whole castle, are waiting for your solution as the King’s advisor—”

“I’ve failed, Y/N. I’ve failed already,” Namjoon shakes his head, gaze hardening, “I don’t deserve that title anymore. You have to create a solution now.”

“No, Joon,” you furrow your brows in disbelief, “you have the experience, the intellect, the brain to save us and get us out of this mess. I can’t do it. No one would listen to an outsider like me, especially without my mother.”

“...and no one would listen to a bastard like me.”

“You are the King’s son, Joon. His blood flows in you,” you nibble on your bottom lip to prevent your frustration from lashing out, especially as he refuses to look you in the eye, “you know what? Condemn me to Hell if the Gods so wish, but if having a monster like Jaebum rule our people is what’s divine, what’s right, then I would do everything in my power to change that. Who cares if you’re the rightful heir to the throne? Only the person nominated by the people deserve a spot on the throne, and you have my vote.”

“You’re a sweetheart, Y/N, truly, from childhood to now, you’ve been my closest friend and companion in this damned home of mine,” Namjoon heaves a sigh as his gaze wanders to his surroundings, glazing across the stone pavings of his chamber hidden deep within the castle. “But it absolutely breaks me to say there isn’t a bone in me with a clue on what to do next. Jaebum won’t listen, regardless of how many times I advise him against his reckless actions… it’s as if he’s treating the curse as a challenge against his authority. The people are too weak and terrified to oppose the Prince.”

“The possibility of an overthrow isn’t completely out the window,” you frown and Namjoon immediately hushes you before you lower your voice to a near whisper, “if I’m not wrong, Nordendall has undergone a coup d’etat centuries ago, even in times of distress like ours.”

“But they had a unified cause, a leader to guide them, Y/N,” his hands tangle to meet his upper lip as he leans into the table, “and they don’t have a leader.”

“Did you ignore everything I just said? You can be a leader, Joon.”

“In that case, then, you, too, can be a leader; but do you consider yourself a leader?”

You? A leader? It isn’t something you directly opposed of before, you’ve even accepted it as your fate in times when your irrationality peaked, but leading a coup d’etat meant more responsibility than ever. Overthrowing the Prince, the rightful King, would be treason, and sentencing thousands of lives under your possibly incompetent guidance is more than anyone can bear upon their shoulders.

“Even if a miracle happens and I, a bastard, somehow becomes that leader,” Namjoon breaks the silence, speaking under his breath to avoid possible spies of Jaebum’s lurking throughout the castle, “there still lacks a cause and I can’t figure a similar motive to rile the people without further endangering their lives unnecessarily.”

Voice meek and spirits in shatters, you can tell the burden of guilt will be the cause of his death, if it not be Jaebum; and as pressing as the state of matters is, the discussion has come to a dead end. Left with little to work on and a pair of hopeless souls belonging to two outsiders of Nordendall, your heart begins searching for aids to repair the man beholding your greatest hopes.

“Well, no more of this matter,” you carefully scoot your chair back with a sigh, “I’ll figure something out tomorrow night, and if not, then the next.”

“And if not, then?” Namjoon arches a brow as you stand.

“Then the next,” you press a soft smile, “I’ll keep trudging along until the very last second. Isn’t that how I always survived the King’s exams as a little girl alongside two boys?”

“You're right,” he chuckles at the nostalgic recollection, gaze flickering for a second to the table before peering up at you with softened eyes and lips stripped of bliss. “Leaving so soon?”

“Well,” the dewy look of those unchanged wide, circular eyes of his elicit a hushed laugh from you as your trek drags the hems of your lengthy gown across the cold floor to meet the winds of the world, your world, floors beneath you, “I suppose I can spare some time for a pup like you.”

Even from the windowside where moonlight floods through to cast shadows upon the floor beside his bed, the muffled chortles of what you can clearly imagine to come from the suppressed grin of his hiding behind those broad rough hands of his garners a smile of your own. His weary gaze holds your own for a hot minute, the silence in the air running stagnant as you find the toxins in your blood pulling you in and out of conscience and the haze in your eyes worsening by the second.

Finally, shuffling to his feet, you begin to admire those elegant, long strides of his, enabled by incessant growth spurts throughout the years, gliding across the floor with ease; enraptured by his every movement, your mind fails to register his presence before you. Chest just an inch from yours, Namjoon bends the knee to wrap his firm arms beneath your knees and back, swiftly lifting you off the floor along with a gasp of your lungs and the sway of the wind before gently returning you to the force of gravity, resting upon the sill of the castle walls popped of stones to craft a tunnel for cool breeze or an alternate view of the world beyond the chambers.

A classic architectural design requested by a man like Namjoon.

One foot hanging on each side of the sill, one outside the castle walls looming above the seemingly miniscule fields below and the other inside the castle walls just a foot above the floor of Namjoon’s room, the chilly winds on your right half of the body sooth the growing heat of the liquor coursing through your veins.

“It doesn’t matter how many times I remind you to be careful around Jaebum, huh?” Namjoon presses a reluctant curve of the lips before uncapping a palm-sized wooden capsule and swiping a familiar mint gel from within and onto his ring finger to gently dab onto your cheeks. If it weren’t for the stings of heat upon the surface of your skin with each touch of his warm fingertips against your chilled cheeks, you would have long forgotten the slam of Jaebum’s hand across your face just earlier this evening in the training fields. Wide, circular eyes focused on the imprints of Jaebum’s hand on your cheeks, Namjoon fails to notice your watchful gaze. “What are we supposed to do with that temper of yours, hm?”

“It wasn’t my fault,” you defend yourself with a frown, gaze wavering when Namjoon’s flickers to meet yours momentarily. “I-I was just practicing. He approached me—”

“—approached?” the boy inquires, freezing in place but eyes too riddled with guilt to meet yours; and for a split second, the fury buried deep in his orbs take you by surprise. Gulping, you nod, and a few seconds of silence passes until he mutters underneath his breath, “...do you want me to warn him from doing so again?”

“Warn him?” you scoff, but the gravity of his earnest stare casting upon yours hushes you to a nervous chuckle. “You can’t warn the Prince anything; even as his advisor, he still won’t listen.”

“I’m serious, Y/N.”

Turning your head from the forest beyond the castle, you find his gaze settled on you—unwavering.

“I mean it when I say I don’t ever want another man nor woman to lay a single finger on you again.”

His coos echo along the waves of breeze, sending tingles down your spine as stray locks of hair graze across your cheeks which now frosts from the effects of the ointment. The intent gaze of his strips you bare of the walls you had so deliberately constructed for survival, as if peering into the windows of your soul and there isn’t a thing you can do to look away.

“...it’s fine. I need you alive if I were to ever need need a drinking partner again,” you mumble, quickly switching topics. “How did you know to use this…? The ointment, I mean, and how did you get it?”

“As the King’s advisor, my knowledge spans across all sorts of fields that might aid the King in his irrational conquests,” he sets aside the medicine between you and him on the sill and finally lifts his line of sight to meet yours with a grin. “Plus, your mother taught me a thing or two back in the day and that includes acquiring the materials I needed to form—not get—my own medicine. She wanted me to help you in case you ever forgot her life lessons, not that you needed my help nor—God forbid—Jaebum’s, of course.”

“Oh,” a bittersweet wave of nostalgia courses through you at the thought of your mother, and you can’t help but smile, “I can’t believe she thought I would forget her lessons.”

A silence of understated acknowledgement fills the thin air, the both of you exchanging snuck glances struck by failure when the other mirrored the gesture followed by a fit of bashful laughter.

There must be something about the moon, the dusk air, or perhaps the alcohol in your system, for the spark when you lock eyes with your childhood friend is the closest you would ever come to magic… and it’s all too enchanting.

“I apologize if I’m oversharing, but, you know,” Namjoon muses, gaze never leaving yours, “you, sitting there under the moonlight and looking at me as if no one understood us like we understood each other, the memories I had tried to bury of my first love all come flooding to me.”

“Oh?” your brow arches inquisitively. “When did this happen and how was I not aware?”

Your friend chuckles at the sudden piqued interest, head lowering along with his cheeky smile paired by the circular indents of his cheeks. “You weren’t aware because it happened when the entire kingdom—no, when you, her only beloved child—were mourning for your mother’s death. I was in shock, really. Your mother treated me like her own son, and I never knew how that felt because not even my father looked at me like he looked at Jaebum. Your mother was the closest thing I felt to being me, to being someone else other than the Bastard of Nordendall.”

“I’m…” the words fail to come to you, instead, you reach for the warmth of his hands by the sill. “I’m sorry. I should have paid closer attention.”

“No, it wasn’t your fault. You lost your mother, Y/N,” he softly laughs at the absurdity of your worries. “It’s funny, really, because the only person who noticed happened to be Jaebum.”

“Jaebum? He noticed and understood how you were feeling? I’m sorry but I’m finding that hard to believe.”

“Precisely what I thought,” Namjoon chortles, pausing as he nibbles on his bottom lip to muster the courage to proceed. “But… he introduced me to a girl one night, someone seas away from Nordendall, claiming I needed… ‘services’... to distract me from all the pain.”

The change in atmosphere makes you shuffle in your seat in discomfort; because when he mentions ‘services,’ you have a feeling you know exactly where Jaebum had found the girl in the first place: a brothel.

Is this a side of Namjoon you really want to know? Could he not stay the innocent boy you knew and loved? The answer is clear to you, for neither of you had retained the purity of childhood. Long shed and left behind, innocence comes to you with difficulty.

“...and it did help, immensely. And I’m so ridden with guilt for forgetting your mother so quickly, but Jaebum was right. It did help, even if it worsened my condition shortly after,” his voice cracks and he shakes his head in denial. “After that magical night, I invited her to my chambers and we made love—no, it wasn’t even love—I was head over heels in lust.” Namjoon’s breath quivers and you can see the wavers in the puffs of gray which cascade from his lips. “I thought it was love, I thought it was real, I thought she loved me… but she didn’t.”

His rush of words come to an abrupt halt; brows cinching as you frown, your hand squeezes his in reminder that his story would be heard whenever he wanted it to be heard.

“Turns out,” he takes a deep breath and nods in acknowledgement and gratitude of your gesture before returning his own squeeze of the hand, “Jaebum had instructed her to accept my advances all along. Actually…”

Gradually, his head turns to peer down at the ground far beneath from the window.

“...he ordered her to murder me with her own two hands, and she did, she tried,” he gulps, “by this window right here.”

Eyes widening from his newfound history, your eyes hesitantly follow his own line of sight, trailing down his gray tunic, across the window sill, and miles along the castle walls until, finally, plopping onto the ground where blood must have splattered from whomever drops from such heights.

“It was another night I thought would be just as memorable as the previous, and it was… just not in the way I had hoped. I was in the midst of discarding my clothing when she—” he intakes a sharp breath of air “—tried to push me out this window. I tried to stop her, to reason with her and ask her why she was doing this, but she kept thrashing around.”

“That’s…” you struggle, shaking your head, “unbelievable. What happened to her, then?”

It takes him a second to answer.

“She slipped and plummeted to the earth herself,” Namjoon utters, teeth gritting and jaws clenching in the painful remembrance. “I didn’t kill her, but Jaebum mocked me so for years after, and to be honest, it sure feels like I did.”

You can hear her screams in the depth of his eyes.

You can practically see her; arms flailing, mouth gaping and screaming, throat gasping, locks of long black hair succumbing to the force of the free-fall, and body collapsing against the cold field below where crimson blood stains the golden wheat in pools of tragedy—eyes dilated with white and incomprehensible mutters escaping her twitching body.

The alcohol in your system blurs your vision all the more.

“I hated her for a few months, a part of me still does,” his words drag along like travelers lost on a year-long trek, “but I think the fact that I still thought of her every night for a year only added to the fuel.”

“Is… that why you were so afraid to disobey Jaebum?”

No answer; but the avoidance of his eyes from your intent gaze is enough of one.

“That’s absolutely horrendous, Joon. I’m so sorry,” you scoot forward to wrap your arms securely around him and pull him into a warm embrace, “I should’ve paid more attention. I’m sorry.”

Namjoon shakes his head in the crook of your shoulder and mumbles, despite being muffled by the surface of your skin, “I should be the one who’s sorry. I won’t ever stop being sorry. I forgot your mother because of some silly fling. She won’t ever forgive me—”

“—shh, Joon,” you hush, stroking through his dry, rough locks and placing a chaste kiss to his temple to soften his cries, “she would forgive you. I know my mother better than anyone and I know she would.”

Face hidden in your shoulder, you can’t exactly see the smile but you most certainly can feel the laughs of disbelief rumbling from his chest to yours.

And after a long minute of silence, he finally breaks—

“I don’t ever want to lose you like I lost her.”

—and something in your stomach is left in flutters.

“Are you saying I’m your first love?” you feign a scoff, despite the cheeky grin spreading across your lips. “Or do you dare to imply I’m just her replacement?”

“No, how could you ever think that?” Namjoon places his hands on both your shoulders to push away, frowning, “I mean, how could you ever think you're just a replacement, not the former question. You're not her. You didn't use me. And you certainly didn't try to kill me.”

“...yet.”

“Yes, yet,” he chortles at your remark until silence befalls him and the waver in his gaze settles into resilience. He speaks with newfound confidence. “I grew up with you, Y/N. Nordendall became our home, it is our home. I don't ever want to lose anyone by the hands of Jaebum again. I love Nordendall and I will save my kingdom somehow.”

Namjoon pauses, hands slipping to clutch yours, engulfing you in warmth.

“I love you, Y/N.”

Ah, is this the resolution you've been waiting for all this time?

“Okay,” you say, lips pressing into a lopsided grin in an attempt to suppress the euphoria bubbling within you as you lay your head onto his chest and his heart begins to beat with yours. “And I love you, too, Joon. Let's save Nordendall together.”

If it weren't for Namjoon’s arms protectively wrapping you closer into his chest, your body would have long plunged out the window under the sway of your intoxicated state, but Namjoon wasn't an erred man prone to repeat mistakes.

“How are you not even a bit dazed?”

“Unlike someone, I only drank a shot. I'm a part of the King's Council and a pivotal meeting will be held tomorrow, so I have to drink responsibly,” his low chuckle resonates across your temples. “It's alright. You can lay against me for as long as you need. Now sleep, my love.”

“Have you ever drank with another woman besides me?” you lift your head to meet his gaze which peers down at you.

“Me?” he quirks a brow. “Did you doze off during my story or…? Although I can't say I've met any woman who drinks as much as you. I think father wouldn't call you very ladylike. I don't think you sitting here with your legs spread on the sill before a man is very ladylike either.”

“To hell with a lady's etiquette,” you roll your eyes and return to laying your head against his chest, comfortable and snug.

Namjoon smile softly at the sight of his lady in his warm embrace, stroking your hair in long, rhythmic pats.

“Agreed,” his chuckles travel the dusk’s horizon, “and to hell with a bastard's etiquette.”

Sunrise comes earlier than anticipated; birds chirp on what you predict to be the window sill to your left, your arms and legs stretching out the stress and fatigue embedded within your muscles when, suddenly, a loud yell screeches across the room and the birds scramble into the wind.

“Wake up, Y/N! Wake up!”

The familiar timbre of the voice mumbling sweet nothings into your ear from dusk to dawn jolts you awake.

Body springing upright from the mattress, your heart convulses in sheer terror at the hefty, well statured man charging his way up with an axe raised aloft between his hands. With a heavy huff, the man thrusts his all into the force of the axe as it cuts through the heavy air; to his dismay and your relief, however, the years of training in the fields prove to be a lifesaver when your body instinctively rolls to the side, eye wide and mouth gaping with a yelp just as the axe strikes the mattress, tearing the sheets in half with one swift motion.

“Y/N! Move!” Namjoon instructs before tackling the man from behind. “Grab his axe!”

Chest heaving and oxygen knocked out of your lungs, your legs lurch forward and off the bed as both your arms grab for the wooden handle the perpetrator struggles to hold onto with the weight of a fully grown and much better fed man pulling him back by an elbow hooked to his neck.

What comes next is a power struggle.

Toppled by the momentum of his weight and superior strength, you find yourself swinging him along in a circle, tugging and huffing in the utmost effort to keep yourself from being swept with your feet planted on the ground and your heels pushing forward; judging from his lack of a counteract and his sunken cheeks aside from his brawn lower body, you can tell the man resides from the countryside where children were taught the ways of agriculture rather than war. So in quick thinking, your eyes hastily observe his steps in the game of tug of war.

One step forward, and once you push forward with all your might, he takes two steps back before lunging from the back of his heels to propel his axe forward—repeat.

Once the sequence is etched into your head, it’s almost as if you can predict his next move; for the second his heels reach the ground in preparation to rebound, you swiftly retract your hands from the axe’s handle and dive to the side. Your body tumbles forward from the force, rolling over your right shoulder as you’ve always practiced in drills, but not without interjections from the vibrations of his axe smashing straight into the stone flooring.

With the weapon stuck into the thin cracks of the ground—the man giving it a couple fruitless vigorous tugs—Namjoon springs into action, swinging in a semicircle to add momentum to his proceeding booting to the man’s stomach. The unnamed man crashes to the floor, a wheeze of air intermixing with his grunts.

The entirety of your being freezes on the ground, head looking back over your shoulder at the man, as if to decipher where he had come from and what he had come for, when Namjoon grabs ahold of your hand to yank you onto your feet and scramble toward the door; but before your feet stumbles across the room for Namjoon to slam the wooden plank closed and hastily lock the man inside his own chambers behind you two, his hollars resonates for each and every resident of Nordendall in the castle

“Even if I don’t catch you wicked, entitled royalties, they will. Nordendall will never forget!”

Instinctively, your arms wrap around Namjoon’s. You can hear and feel the racing pulse of your heartbeats, struggling to catch your breath by the sudden intrusion. Eyes wide open, ears intent, and mentally wide awake, you lean in to whisper in hushed tones, “what on bloody hell is happening? Who was he?”

“Your guess is as good as mine. I woke when I heard people bellowing downstairs just minutes before that man broke into our room,” Namjoon lays a hand upon yours which clutch at his left arm as he guides the both of you, cautiously and quietly, down the halls absent of windows and, thereby, sunlight.

Heart convulsing with each step of yours, the chatters and muffled albeit heavy footsteps crescendo into a blurred chaos as you make your way through the hall akin to slowly uncapping a bottle full of mayhem yet to be heard by the universe. Light begins to shed what little of your sights, finally illuminating the flight of spiral stairs below you from every corner of the castle stained glass…

...and the sight below elicits an audible gasp of horror from you both.

Reasoned by the incessant crowds of those resembling the man from before flooding every inch of the expansive stairs and floors beneath you, wielded with poorly crafted wooden shields and blacksmith hammers to fend off the castle guards, the men and women bellow cries of war, woes of pain, and whimpers of death from those struck by steel lances precisely every two seconds—their cries and the clash of their weapons are all that rings in your ears.

You can hear the opening gape of their wounds as the imported weapons from the best blacksmiths outside the kingdom tears the thin cloths of the people and pierces straight through the delicate pores of their skin, a loud squelch and groan following shortly after. You can see dozens and dozens, soon to be hundreds, dying right before your eyes like fleas by the hands of the royalties you serve.

Chaos has infiltrated every nook and cranny of the castle; and alas, the cursed fate of Nordendall has inevitably arrived.

“It's an ambush,” Namjoon meekly utters under his breath, but neither of you dare to remove your sights from the Hell on Earth below. “Word of Jaebum’s plans must have gotten out.”

Speaking of the devil, the tyrant himself stands all too boldly in all black and gold. Perhaps it's his open stature which attracts perpetrators toward him like magnets, or perhaps it's the lavish attire of his which spells their target of a royalty, yet neither are enough to spare the lives of those within his vicinity. Like the tragedy of uncontrolled plagues, the people collapse to the floor in cries of agony with slashes across their chest and blood streaming down the stairs along with the drips of their flesh along the blades of the Prince's sword. Marching up the flight of steps toward you and Namjoon, lips cracked into a crooked smile and eyes glimmered with amusement of a game brought indoors, it's as if flames circled the monster and those within his radius succumbed to mother nature's fight for the fittest.

“Jaebum—”

“—a minute, my dove,” the tyrant muses, turning to swiftly swipe his blades across the neck of an elderly attacking from behind before whirling around to return his attention to you. “Now, what is it you wanted to tell me—”

“—what in bloody hell are you doing? And who are they? Why don't you capture them or hold them hostage until we find a better way to sort this out?!” you scream with every ounce in you, throat sore and lungs collapsed, yet you're nearly drowned by the chaos ensuing in the background.

“Oh, my sweet dove,” Jaebum laughs a mocking one, “you don't know your own people? What kind of Queen would you be if you can't even recognize the people of Nordendall.”

“P–People of Nordendall?”

When you look over your shoulder to find Namjoon's hardened gaze too scared to look you in the eye, your heart drops.

“Why are they here…?” you clear your throat as the rush of fury crashes through your scrambled mind. “Why are you killing our own people as if they're flies?! Stop this stupidity right now!”

“It's either kill or be killed, my Lady,” the Prince shrugs with a smirk. “You cowards pick one before they chop your heads off and hang it out for the whole kingdom to see.”

“I…” proper words fail you at this very moment.

“Did you not close the gates? Surround them? Strip them of weapons?” you can feel the heat exuding from Namjoon’s remarks made through gritted teeth. “There are plenty of tactics you could have used to avoid hundred of deaths!”

“Oops, as you can tell my dear advisor, it's too late to try and reason things out now. Makes for a fun day out in the field, does it not?” the tyrant bursts into a fit of laughter, but never failing to notice the widening of your eyes when another man sneaks his way up the stairs before charging at Jaebum only to run into the unsheathed blades placed strategically backwards. Grasping the golden handle and pulling out the familiar favorite hunting equipment of his, Jaebum sheaths his bloodied sword without a single glance back at his victim who collapses onto the floor, cold. “That makes my count seventy,” the wild man cackles, eyes flickering toward you, “so, what will it be?”

“I am not killing my own people,” Namjoon firmly proclaims, grabbing your quivering hands in his own warm trembling ones and whirling around to turn your back on the bloodfest and storm your way up the spiral of stairs and deeper into the castle.

The last thing you see in the midst of a distressed glance over your shoulder send at your people is the grotesque smirk of the Prince’s face half casted by the divine sun and half casted by its shadows, crooked and amused, as if mocking you for the answer you chose yet he already knew.

“Joon, we have to save them,” you beg but the advisor shakes he head firmly.

“No, Jaebum’s right. We can't do anything to reason with them now. Too many lives have been lost. Their drive is stronger than ever, and us jumping in would only add fuel to the fire,” Namjoon squeezes your hand, eyes and head forward to check the coast as you alternate between peering up at his broad shoulders and peering down at the vastly vacant, endless flight of stairs behind you descending into the light of hell. “We’ll be the ones crying for help if we joined, especially if we don't want to harm…”

“Joon…?” arching a brow at the trailing of his voice, you turn your line of sight around until your eyes meet the very reasons behind his unsettling silence straight ahead.

“...anyone.”

Steps above, a rather lanky man unbefitting of battle looms before you with shaking hands wielding a bronze shield and iron dagger along with buckling knees.

“Careful, boy,” Namjoon warns, cautiously stepping forward with an arm to hold you back and another to distant his heart from the only blade in sight. “We don't want to fight. We just want to help, I swear. Put down your weapon—”

“T-This is for my mama and papa,” the boy stammers, waving the dagger loosely before him as if to prove his threat. “Today, I die for Nordendall!”

And before you could interject vocally, the boy charges toward you two down the stairs at full speed.

Unarmed, Namjoon stands there bewildered but before you protectively, nonetheless; but unlike him, you've spent your entire life out in the training fields as he was forced to bury his nose in books. Instinctively, your hand yanks him backwards, never-minding his loud yelp of a “whoa” followed by clumsy footsteps tumbling down the steps behind you, and your body immediately ducks to your left to avoid the short range of the right-handed boy striking to your right. Next comes his left arm, your eyes darting to your next target that is his left elbow, for before he can even lift his dagger with his right, your leg swings to elicit a painful snap and crack of his outer socket now possibly bent 190 degrees.

Shrieking in pain, his grip loosens and you swiftly grab the shield from him to defend yourself from the blade he strikes from his right next. Like every young adult facing their first battle, the boy descends into panic mode. He thrashes incessantly and hopelessly at you until, alas, you lower the shield for a split second, its bottom grazing the ground, before propelling its upper edge against the tip of his dagger just as he strikes down, sending the weapon flying in the air and out of his inferior grip.

The dagger’s twirls in the suspended air high above the both of you rings in your ear only to land comfortably in the rightful beholder’s hands.

“I promise I won't hurt you,” the words come with wariness as every glimpse of hope dissipates from the boy's very being. He nearly collapses to the floor when you take a cautious step forward. “There are hundreds of soldiers much less merciful than I. This is no place for anyone, much less a boy. I strongly advise you to flee before anyone finds you here.”

The boy gulps, eyes widened and petrified, and nods in choppy motions.

“Okay,” you manage to say under your heaving breaths, glancing around for your next move, completely at loss.

Namjoon steps in with a squeeze of your left shoulder to convey a job well done. “How did you enter here, boy? Show me the way.”

Shuffling to his feet, the boy hastily ushers you down the hall and to the side on the left where a rope dangled from a hook on the window frame and out until the opposing end touched the floor.

“Tsk, either Jaebum set this up himself or he ordered someone else to do the work for him. This is all a game between the privileged and the handicapped for him,” Namjoon scoffs in disbelief before digging his hands into his pockets. Dropping tinkling coins into the boy’s pocket, he gently pushes the boy forward. “Run, boy, and make haste. Find a doctor and use the spare change to get your elbow fixed.”

A pang of guilt stings your chest.

“I'm sorry,” you blurt as the boy struggles to climb down with only one completely working arm. “Please take care of yourself and your mother and father. I swear on the God's here and above that I will do everything in my power to save Nordendall.”

Heart spilled, his blunt response paired with an equivocal blank look of his baffles you for nights to come.

“But mama said there are no Gods.”

“What…?” your brows cinch in remembrance of the mother and daughter sworn to witchery. “Do our people truly believe that—”

“ —Y/N, we have to go,” Namjoon presses, gripping onto your hand and whirling you around to hastily trek through the halls and up the stairs once again. In one last attempt to bid the boy luck, you whip your head around only to find an empty window where the fast approaching dusk blows through in scorching breezes.

“Joon, that's Jaebum’s room,” you frown as his hands fumble with the doorknob until it plops open under his surprising skills in picklock. “We can't enter. If he finds out, we're dead—”

“—we have no choice,” Namjoon deadpans, eyes hardening at you as the both of you nod in acknowledgment and swiftly hustle through the small slit of the doorway before slamming it closed behind you two and letting out a loud sigh. Namjoon immediately begins pacing as he heads for the window beside the Prince’s lavish golden bed frame and sheets. “This is the safest and hardest chamber to find. We won't have to fight anyone here. We'll stay here until I find some plan to get us, all of us, including Nordendall, out of this mess.”

Despite the constant reassurance Namjoon attempts to provide you both, something about the weary void in your pairs of eyes tell you the night is still young and the impending war is just the brim of the brewing waters. This is just the calm before the storm.

As for you, however, worries plague you in fields differing from the King's advisor.

Because, somehow along the way in a fracture of time you never knew could exist, you had forgotten the faces of your own people of Nordendall—and that very thought corrupts your very force of identity.

Dusk comes much later than expected. Hours and hours passed by as you curled into a ball and Namjoon sat by the window on the lookout, but nothing you two did—rocking on your heels or digging nails into your palms—were capable of drowning the incessant cries of those in warfare; and yet, neither of you dared to cover your ears or sleep the day away, because those were the cries of your people and your kingdom, not turning a blind eye to the long awaited chaos below is the least you could do in respect of lost lives.

Sun sets alas, the shrieks of the fallen dwindling along with the glory of day and you can finally hear and feel your own breath without trembling in panic. Chirps of the survivors, crickets and birds alike, now replace the silence traveling throughout the castle, as if tragedy was a term foreign to the young night.

“Joon…?” you finally utter after staring at the full moon looming out the window and over the sky, time passing by for God knows how many hours. “Did you recognize them? Our people,” your voice cracks, “I mean.”

And when he turns around, moon casting light upon the stoic look on his honey tan skin, and reluctantly nods, you find yourself crestfallen.

“So, it’s just me,” the words come out in chokes, teeth nibbling on your bottom lip as you suppress any impending tears. “I just thought… I didn’t even consider it… I didn’t ever think that our own people would attack us, I didn’t think it was possible, so I didn’t even look them properly in the eye—” you pause “—did I ever look them in the eye? I’m the biggest hypocrite there is for accusing you of neglecting your people when I’ve been neglecting them myself. You’re right, I’m not a hero, a warrior, I just dream—”

“—Y/N, stop it. You’ve always looked out for Nordendall,” Namjoon firmly assures you, eyes peering down at yours which stay glued to the ground. “It was just a spur of the moment. I was trained my whole life as the advisor to prepare for moments like these. The people were hungry, they were desperate, and the Prince refused to do anything, to even show his face in town. It wasn’t a question of if this would happen but when it would happen; for you, someone who has always risked her own life for her people, however, I can’t fathom how shocked you must be.”

“...I still should have known.”

“I was completely unprepared despite being an advisor, so I guess that makes us two; two cowards hiding high above the castle and away from our own people… what kind of royals are we?” Namjoon scoffs, shaking his head in disbelief.

You take a quick breath but fail to formulate a response when he continues to spill his concerns, his heart, his everything for the first time.

“Jaebum ordered for the castle to be entirely cleaned, for the corpses to be burnt before the people. He’s out there with his men,  piling the dead across the land like some sort of exotic explosives. All evidence of today’s tragedy has been washed and will soon be wiped from our minds, like always. Zero survivors, Y/N, zero,” his fists clench until they turn white.

The boy takes a deep breath and sighs, turning his back on you to peer out the window and up at the moon. “I’m sick and tired of the useless bloodshed. I’ve realized after this entire riot, Nordendall will surely fall under my brother’s hands, and I haven’t saved a single life while staying by his side. I have to do something different no matter what.”

“Different...?” your brows cinch in confusion, stumbling from sore knees when you stand to your feet. Slowly, you approach him from across the room, but he remains distant. “What exactly do you mean…?”

“Y/N, I plan to flee this castle and rally as many people as I can to fight against Jaebum’s army,” Namjoon affirms, never flinching a single inch when you reach his side with an evident frown plastered across your features. “I have to. I have to save our kingdom.”

“Rally...? Are you serious, Joon?” you struggle to speak over the deafening pounds of your heart. “Half of Nordendall died today. I don’t know how many are capable of fighting if they’re even willing to fight. Why don’t you bring some of Jaebum’s soldiers? I’m sure some disagree with his—”

“—I can’t be so sure who to trust. The only person I fully trust in this castle is you, Y/N. This is our best bet. This is the highest Nordendall’s population will ever be if we don’t do anything to stop his reign. Right when Jaebum and his men return to the castle, that’s the safest time for me to escape. My absence will delay his plans to invade outside kingdoms, and within that time, I’ll garner as many men, women, anyone willing to fight for a common cause as I can,” the words flow in clutters as his mind scrambles for any possible piece of the puzzle, “I’ll teach them how to properly craft weapons, how to attack and when to attack in battle, I’ll teach them everything I can, as fast as I can—”

“—no, Joon,” you hush him gently, reaching for his cold hands to squeeze in the warmth of yours; inquisitively, he turns to face you with an arched brow to meet your pressed grin. “I’ll teach them all of that. You rally the people under your title as the rightful King, and I’ll help you with the aftermath.”

“What?” he furrows his brows and profusely shakes his head. “No, I can’t make you fight a near lost cause. You have to at least stay here and try to rationalize with the Prince.”

“Joon, I’m far more skilled in battle than you, remember?” you chortle and lightly tug at his hands. “And you want me to stay with Jaebum, really? I’m better off with you in any circumstance than with him. C’mon, this is our battle, this is Nordendall’s battle. Let me fight with you.”

After a stagnant silence filled with tension and contemplation, the man finally nods in defeat.

“Okay, you’re right. I can’t win a battle without you by my side,” Namjoon utters, eyes trailing up the ground and along the tatters of what used to resemble your gown, edges visibly softening when he finds your reassuring gaze as he leans in to place a prolonged kiss between your brows. Forehead leaning against yours and gaze peering into the other just inches away, the man tucks a stray lock of hair behind your right ear before exhaling a shaky breath. “Let’s move to your chambers and scale down the walls at dawn when they return, alright?”

“Alright,” you breathe and reach for his cold, trembling hands which cup your cheeks. “...are you scared, Joon?”

The King’s advisor takes a moment to consider his answer.

Does he tell you the truth? Or does he conceal the fear plastered across his every feature in an fruitless attempt to prevent his own emotions from plaguing you?

And until he speaks his mind, you wait with bated breath.

“...petrified. I’m so stricken with terror that even you can tell, huh?” Namjoon chortles under his breath. “What if they don’t see me as a leader, not to mention someone fit to rule when all I’ve been doing is hide behind my title? I’m a bastard, Y/N, but even when given the chance to rise, I tremble like a child unbefitting to lead. What kind of a man, am I?”

“Oh, Joon,” your hands gently retract his from your cheeks as you swiftly lean in to graze your lips across his own plush, quivering ones, the warmth of your touch visibly soothing the tension in his body. 

The power and effect of which your every move has on the man before you sends electricity bolting throughout your system and adrenaline rushing through your veins. Suddenly, the weariness of years and years of labor and distress begins to fade when excitement replaces the constriction of something deep within your stomach; and it takes everything in you not to grin. 

“They will listen to you. They have no choice. You’re their last hope. I will make them listen to my man, because my man is more of one than any other coward who turns their back on you.”

His lips part but his efforts to speak dissipate when your lips are pushed against his. Dewy, warm, and lush, everything about how you fit him like his missing puzzle piece felt just right, as if your entire childhood was waiting on this very day.

Pulling back, you can't help but giggle.

Eyelids flutter shut.

Another kiss…

Eyelids flutter open with nervous chuckles filling the room.

Again, you meet him halfway with a momentary lock of the lips...

... and another.

The sparks in your entire system proceed for minutes to come and eventually the both of you can practically feel the other smiling amidst the motion in pure bliss.

Something about the growing heat in your core pushes you onward.

“Here,” you utter in puffs of breaths when you pull back, out of breath, “I’ll even prove it to you.”

Your hands trail from his cheeks and the nape of his neck where you had subconsciously placed them down his sturdy broad shoulders, fingers tracing along the center of his chest and his abdomen, until finally hooking onto the band of his trousers where a bulge from underneath struggles to break free. Squatting, your throbbing lips are just inches away from his protrusion.

“Y–Y/N,” your name comes out in stutters as Namjoon watches you from above with eager eyes. “What are you doing?”

“You know exactly what I'm doing, King's advisor,” you smirk, gradually pulling his trousers down to enable his bright red erection to spring free and rebound from the happy trail of his stomach. “...and if you don't, then just watch and learn.”

A sigh of relief cascades from his parted lips as soon as his heated manhood is soothed by the touch of the night breeze. Bubbles of white liquid flow from its tip and trickles down the shaft, glimmering in the light of the silver moon. Mouth salivating, you gulp before placing one hand on his thighs and another on his base, his burning warmth cooled by your bare hands. A throaty groan of sheer satisfaction escapes his lips as he stumbles back to clutch at the window sill behind him, head throwing back and eyes slamming shut after seconds and seconds of torture—watching you every so slowly approach him, gaze never leaving his dark lustful ones—until your tongue finally flicks across his slit.

“Agh,” he grunts, body shaking and chest heaving.

You can't help but chuckle at his powerless state under no one else's touch but yours. “You have no idea how pleasured you look from down here. Tell me, did she ever make you feel this good?”

Namjoon struggles to answer when you run your tongue flat against his muscles and fingertips tracing along his protruding purple veins. Finally, your arms grip at his thighs to help you up onto your feet as he watches you with an intensive gaze, as if to demand an answer for your departure; leaning in, lips just grazing his and breath filled with the aroma of him—salty yet bittersweet—you crack a smile.

“Tell me, Joon,” you whisper and he trembles, “you're the experienced one here. Did she ever make you feel this good?”

Namjoon gulps, hard, “n–no, I mean she did do this, but it never felt—God, it never felt this divine.”

“And…” you drag, each and every second visibly irking him and his twitching erection. “...why's that?”

“You want praise, don't you?” Namjoon scoffs and you're just about to return to your job when his hand hooks behind your neck to roughly pull you in. His hunger for your touch exudes from the impatient tugging of his hands pushing you closer to him, his bulge probing at your thigh where your own liquids had leaked to and his lips latching onto yours as he takes a deep waft and snarls.

“She never made me feel even a bit as great as you do, and you barely even touched me. She never loved me,” he utters into your ear as his teeth nibble your neck before swirling his tongue at the bruise sure to form in an hour or two. His words edge you on until you can physically feel the throbbing in your core as juice begins to flow through your slits. “Even looking at you on your knees for me is enough to get me off, so what kind of question is that, love?”

Grinning from ear to ear, you quickly lean away only to chortle at the slight groan which leaves his lips when they lurch forward in a vain attempt to capture yours once again.

“As always, you sure have a way with words,” you coo and lower yourself to your knees, fingertips gently tapping his shaft lubricated by his own liquid and sending visible vibrations across his spine. Eyes still locked with his darkened ones, your peripherals catch the sight of foam oozing from his tip. “You've earned my respect, Lord Kim.”

Mouth finally meeting his heat, the surprising size of his manhood fills you more than you had anticipated and you quickly discover the pressure of sucking or even hollowing your cheeks elicit an erotic groan from the back of his throat; thus, you do so, sinking in and out as your head bobs and your eyes peer up to watch him struggle between lulling his head back in pleasure and glimpsing at you in both adoration and desire.

Subconsciously, you find yourself rubbing your thighs to create as much friction in your lower lips seeping of thick liquids, especially when he grabs a fistful of your hair which only edges you and the flutters in your core further as you let out a whimper—sending jitters across his system and releasing a lewd moan. Each sound you make, the sight of you holding him in, and the slips of your mouth, tongue, and fingers squelching with his own solution evidently hardens his already twitching rod on the brink of a cliff as he releases another grunt with gritted teeth and flexed abdomens.

His hands ride along with the bobs of your head, pushing and tugging at your hair when the tip begins grazing the back of your throat and you gag with short desperate breaths; your instincts tell you to retract and compose yourself once again, but the sheer pleasure gushing from his squeezed eyes and gaped mouth struggling to even utter a word until a dragged out groan fills the room urges you on. Bolstering your confidence, you're just about to proceed when his hands gently push you away and your lips release his shaft with a pop.

“Wait, Joon—”

“—no, Y/N. As crazy as it makes me, I don't want you hurting yourself for me,” he shakes his head, but before you can protest, he leans forward to wrap his hands secure onto your waist to pull you up into his lap, each leg on one side as you straddle him. “This is already a dream come true for me. This is enough.”

Gulping the last drops of his insides, you nod with a pressed, reassured grin; truly, you've never felt so loved by anyone besides your mother. With Namjoon, you know you can trust him with your all.

The lengthy skirt of your gown finally comes to use as it formulates friction between his crotch and yours. One error, however, are the extra fabrics which separate your heated nub desperate for attention from his firm erection. Wrapping your arms around his shoulders and had burying into the crook of his neck, the two of you sigh and huff in both exhilaration and labor as you continuously roll your hips against his to hit the center of your nerves before retracting and lowering yourself once again to repeat.

“God,” he curses, hands gripping at your waist, “everything you do is so enticing.”

But all you can respond with are incessant sighs and lewd moans masked in hums from the unbearable pleasure speaking like waves from between your thighs. Yet, just before you reach your high, a loud string of grunts bellow from the back of his throat, his hips halting from meeting yours halfway, and a squirt of liquid seeping through the fabrics of your skirt between your crotch—just enough to meet the wets of your own sex.

“Ugh, I can't believe how amazing that felt, how you felt,” he groans in deep sighs, hands limp and falling to his sides as his back collapses to the side of the window. Pressing a reluctant grin, you shrug your own disappointment, figuring you would get your chance with him again when things progressed to the next stage, but his hardened gaze which flicker to meet yours tell you he has other plans in mind. “...Y/N.”

You quirk a brow, “hm—”

—suddenly, his hands grip your waist and the world turns upside down momentarily. Whirling around, you somehow find your position switched with Namjoon’s, sitting comfortably in the corner of the window sill where the night air cooled the beads of sweat dripping down his forehead which leans against yours. Standing, his shaft is certainly less elated than it had been before, but judging by the rush of red following to his tan foreskin and his knees which buckle each time he flinches in the sheer ecstasy of towering over you in his hands, you know things would change soon enough.

“...it's your turn, baby girl,” he murmurs before latching his lips to your neck and you squeal.

“Wait,” you fail to pull yourself away from his hands which hikes your skirt to grip at your bare thighs as he showers your neck, shoulders, and collarbones with incessant kisses. A whimper made in an attempt to hide a moan leaves your lips and your core squelches with new pools of liquid. “I don't think I can hold it any longer. Let's just skip this and get you in me now, hm?”

Instead of replying, however, the man quickly shreds the bodice of your gown in half to reveal your bosom and bare stomach, the night air and exposure of it all somehow edging you and your flaming core onwards.

“Sure you can. If I can, then you can,” Namjoon continues down your chest to meet your bosom, tongue flicking and swirling around your hardened nub as the other is fondled by his rough hands. Chills travel down your spine, for his touch on your sensitive areas intermixes with the cool breeze following through the window propped wide open behind you. “I know you can.”

Switching to the other, his tongue and lips go to work as his thumb presses against your previous nub now dripping with his own marks of territory. The insane pleasure instinctively closes your legs along with your entrance now exposed to the air, but his knees keep you propped wide open, beckoning for your patience.

Kisses flowing down your chest and along your stomach, his eyes finally meet with the inevitable problem of your skirt. Groaning impatiently, his hands grip at the end of his tears where your skirt starts, ready to rip when you place a hand to stop him.

“Wait, we can't,” you breathe, nearly whimpering when he swipes a finger beneath your underwear to delve slightly into your folds. Quickly, you hold a hand to your mouth. “People will see us out the window. We're lucky if they haven't even heard us.”

Your remark elicits the roll of his eye's before—rip—the rest of your dress is cut in half and plops to the floor, the warmth of your body completely relying on your core and the proximity of his touch.

“You should have thought of that before you teased me,” Namjoon sinks to his knees, eyes locked to your dripping sex and tongue slipping through his lips in enticement. “No one can see us from here, the Prince's chamber was built especially with that intent.” His hands grab yours to retract yourself from your lips only to place them on the blood rushed nub of your core, sending euphoric waves down your legs. “And no one will hear us, Jaebum ordered all of his remaining men and servants to join his trek; so you can scream and whimper all you want, because that's all I plan to make you do the entire night until sunrise.”

And with that, the shove of his lengthy digits slipping into your dampened folds with ease, your head is sent back lulling, profanities escaping from your gaping lips as your entire body shudders and your hands are forced to grip onto the sill for support. The warmth of his tongue which dives into you, deeper and deeper, inch by inch, is nothing compared to the scorch of the spot between your thighs just begging for something more, something rougher than the touch of his lips; pleads answered, Namjoon’s hands stop you from working on yourself with one hand pushing your right leg apart from your left, where the thick locks of his sends tingles throughout your left thigh, and his other hand rubbing circles into your bundles of throbbing nerves.

The laps of his tongue embroidered by the rough bumps of his taste buds soon return you to your previous edge, and it doesn’t take very much more than his throaty grunt that sends you tipping over the cliff into pure ecstasy; your eyes roll back, your mouth gapes and your jaw protrudes but words fail to slip from you other than lewd whimpers, your vision fades to black and static is all you hear in your eardrums until all you can feel is the pulsating sensation of your sex which dispatch incessant waves of tingles throughout your stomach and thighs.

Slurping the last drops of your dripping folds, only to soon be replaced by further coats of your thick juice, the oversensitivity has you tightly enclosing his face between your thighs; the fading strength of your numbed muscles prove inferior to his own when his hands securely grip your legs to part them once again as he rises to return the lock of his lips to yours.

Bland, slightly salty with the aroma of dampened chlorine, yet all the more sweet when licked off the slobbered mess of his mouth and chin and sucked from the length of his two fingers, you sigh in satisfaction at the taste of your own liquids; and to be truthful, it isn’t the taste that sends tingles to your heat preparing for a second round, but rather the promiscuous act of pleasuring yourself with your childhood friend cooped away in the highest chambers and hidden from the rest of the world.

The thought of your own fantasies coming to life has your hand lurching for the nape of his neck and tangling with his locks to roughly pull him in, forehead to forehead and lips to lips, you hiss, “now let’s skip this child’s play and get you in me, hm?” The unexpected stroke of your hands to his completely erect rod takes him aback, evident by his fluttered eyelids and shaky breaths and grunts. “You’ve clearly been begging for me this whole time, after all.”

The wanton remarks have Namjoon smirking, a cracked scoff following his grunts as he stands to his feet, hands yanking you forward as well until the cold of your chest is replaced by the warmth of his own along with the heat of his throbbing problem rubbing against your stomach.

“You’re going to wish you didn’t say that,” he murmurs; but before you could speak your own rebuttals, a yelp slips from your lips and into his as his hands roughly grab below your two thighs to lift you into the air and you instinctively wrap your arms and legs around his neck and hips. Sighing, his lips continue to silence the lascivious moans intermixing with your loud inhales and exhales of breath as he takes one large stride until your back slams against the cold stone walls of the castle—that is, with the exception of the small of your back where Namjoon had so deliberately wrapped the warmth of his hands around to keep your entire from shivering in the unexpected cold.

But the rough surprise of his motions only edge you on further.

Impatiently, your hips begin rolling in desperate pleas to adequately soothe the throbs of your genital, which only results in an even more profound burn to your core which flutter with uncontrollable sparks; the spills of grunts and moans now fill the room along with the drips of your liquid smothering his length, until finally, his desires take over and neither you nor he could resist any longer.

Hands under your thighs, he lifts you aloft, your folds leaking onto his lathered rod just inches away as he slowly slips into your entrance.

“Heaven’s sake,” he groans, fingers digging into your thighs as yours dig into his shoulders; a loud yelp and grunt follows shortly after when he slams you against the wall to sink the rest of him into you. “God, you’re so tight even after all of our preparations.”

Your folds take him in quite well, despite the newfound pressure of his thickness filling the pools of your insides. Really, it isn’t the feeling of pressure or fullness that elicits a dragged sigh of pleasure from you, it’s the thought and knowledge of him, pulsating in you and each of his racing beats is the result of your utter control on his sanity.

Simply, you drove him crazy, as he does to you—that’s the subliminal sensation of the sensual moment.

“I don’t see how any woman could’ve turned a blind eye to a man like you, after feeling this, after feeling you,” you coo, leaning your weight onto him as your teeth nibble his right earlobe and grinning when you feel his member twitching in you—completely still. Whispering sweet nothings into his ear, he trembles, “I can’t believe some other woman made you a man before I could.”

Out of the blue, you feel yourself drifting in air for a split second before he slams himself into you once again, the pressure and motion finally creating the friction you needed all along.

“I was never a man and I won’t ever be until I save my Kingdom, but tonight,” he pauses, two fingers tracing along your legs to coat a trail of his, yours, both of your liquids onto your skin, “tonight is my closest to feeling like one.”

His lips smash yours as he begins picking up speed, hips rolling and stomach grinding along with yours to hit the nub above your folds to increase the pleasure tenfold. Your back slams against the wall relentlessly, but the force between his thrusts and the wall spills strings of curses into his mouth, tongue tangling with his, teeth clattering, and pools of liquid easing the already slippery motions from below.

And when the lewd slaps of skin to skin and squelching sexes fill your ears to lift your senses into clouds, you give into the bounce of your body against his; a drawl of whimpers cascade from your swollen lips which lace with the grunts of fervent pleasure that tumble from the back of his throat.

Nonetheless, he doesn’t stop; the oversensitivity of your heated core in response to his sloppy yet rapid rocking, hips snapping with all his might and force, pushes you into overdrive—and finally, you can see stars.

Head rolling back and eyes fluttering shut, flames trail across your core to your stomach and into the course of your veins.

It isn’t until the warmth of his seeds spilling into your overfilled insides and dripping down your bottom, your legs and his, and onto the floor that awakens you with weariness in spite of the dying hunger for more.

“This might as well be our first and only night together, alone,” he murmurs amidst sighs, carefully setting you onto the ground and holding onto your waist when your knees buckle before placing a chaste kiss to your forehead, “don’t expect to be getting any sleep.”

Slowly, you nod, following his guidance; a step back and another, crossing the stream of silver flooding through the window until the back of your knees meet a cold metallic bed frame and your body falls beneath his and into the mattress.

The bounce of the golden sheets waft your surroundings with the unpleasant reminder of him—the wicked smile of the Prince flashing before your eyes; but when you come to conscience to find the familiar silhouette of Namjoon under the sky filled with stars and moonlight, your heart settles into peace once again.

Your lover holds you right and treats you right, showering you with affectionate kisses down your neck and chest and every inch of your bare skin as your hands run beneath his shirt, his only remaining clothing, to pull it over his head; fingers trickling along his toned shoulders and back, your eyes peer up at his eyes which lock with yours before relishing the sight of his bare naked self looming above.

Both of you completely and voluntarily vulnerable to the other.

That’s the beauty of love.

Heat begins to recollect between your thighs which rub against each other, smothering yourself and the sheets with your silky liquids as Namjoon’s lips lurch forward to suck your neck once again. More than ready for a second round, you spread your legs wide to enable him to adjust and position his length until he quickly and easily slips into you once again.

Wasting no time to pace himself, his powerful thrusts set a momentum as your bodies bounce in the flow of the springs beneath you and with each deep breath of yours comes the foreign ecstasy of carrying out the most intimate acts of lust in a place completely forbidden. The smell of the Prince and the thought of escaping from his discovery of your little antics augments to your fantasy, even if the repercussions of it becoming reality would be dire—but the haze of lust is enough for you to forget.

“You’re thinking of him, aren’t you?”

The sudden remark strikes a pound akin to that of a hammer against your chest.

Namjoon pauses all movements, leaning back and scowling with furrowed brows. “As much as it gets me going, I don’t want you thinking of any other man but me.” Hastily, his arms wrap around your body to bring you up into his chest as he scoots off the bed and shuffles to grab your clothes and his, never bothering to pull out of you; wrapping the torn fabric around his back and yours, you can’t help but giggle at him as he burrows his head into your neck and inhales deeply, “absolutely alluring. I prefer the scent of my lady much more. Let’s head back to your chamber.”

And so he does with the slightest bob of your head, lips smashing into yours and groans persisting throughout the empty castle. You continue to roll your hips, hitting him at every angle yet to be soon discovered and clearly too impatient to wait for when he’s less distracted with climbing down the flight of stairs. His whimpers and frustrated grunts echo through the halls, knees buckling each time you grind only to clutch onto him with his locks in your hair as you sigh in sheer bliss.

Twirling and shuffling, sometimes making a detour to slam you against the castle walls and desperately put in a few rough thrusts and cursing you for teasing him before lifting you only to continue his way back to your chambers, until, at long last, the door to your room is kicked wide open and he throws you onto your bed.

Shutting the door behind him and striding his way toward you, darkened eyes full of lust, desire, and anticipation for punishment, he straddles your body between his legs and leans forward, arms supporting his weight by each side of your head and lips just inches above yours as his stray strands of hair descend to graze across your forehead.

“How daring of you to tease me like that.”

“...so what?” you snicker at the arch of his brow. “Men like you would never dare to punish—”

“—your punishment,” he murmurs, interrupting you with his teeth nibbling your bottom lip, “as incurred: making love under the moon for the rest of the night.”

The gaze in his star-cluttered eyes of galaxies hold you to his promise when he glitters in the moonlight and you know, to him, you do, too.

Dawn of a new day looms across the grey murky skies filled with puffs threatening rain; and while the rest of the kingdom prepares for the long days of spring placed in slumber and replaced by winter, you and your mate remain restless.

“Do you have everything you need?” Namjoon utters under his breath, careful not to attract the attention of Jaebum or any of his returning guards as you nod. “Okay, then let’s start preparing the rope—”

—his words come to an abrupt hiss of the breath when something slams against the doors of your chamber.

Heart painfully pumping waves of adrenaline from the aggressive kicks threatening to burst in at any moment, your eyes meet Namjoon’s own alarmed ones before he grabs your bag with his and tosses it under your bed, hidden from plain sight; and just as your lover stands upright once again, breath huffing and puffing, your door collapses to the floor along with its hinges.

There, stands Jaebum and his men.

“Good morning, dove—ah, Namjoon,” the Prince chirps in the feign of a pleasant surprise. He cocks his head, hands wrapped behind his back and long, slow strides invading your chamber. A crack of his smug grin sends shivers down your spine, “so, what is he doing so early here in your room?”

“Just checking in on her,” Namjoon firmly interjects before you could say anything. “I heard her yells last night; she was having nightmares from yesterday’s event.”

“Hm, and were you two also in my chambers last night?” the tyrant smirks, beckoning for one of his three guards to step forward with familiar gold sheets in his hands.

Flashbacks of the intimacy you had shared with Namjoon last night burn in the back of your mind at the sight of the sheets you had just laid upon and clutched so tightly in the haze of moonlight and lust. Blood immediately rushes to your heated cheeks.

The Prince takes another large stride toward your lover. “Because my sheets reek of you two. Is there something going on between you two that I, as the Prince, should know? Have you forgotten the woman I had introduced to you before? And after murdering her with your bare hands, now you’re targeting an orphan?”

Your eyes dart to Namjoon in concern when he fails to suppress the evident wrath tangling his facial features, lips twitching into a scowl and stare burning with rage.

“Do not call Y/N that—”

“—oh, you’re right. She’s mine. How dare you lay with a lady belonging to the Prince,” he snarls with a half-grin, taking one final step to mutter into Namjoon’s ear. “You’re a scum, you always have been, you know that? Disgusting.”

“Jaebum,” Namjoon’s voice booms as he explodes, your arm clutching his but failing to pull him back. “You killed thousands of our own people. Father would never approve—”

“—oh, but… Father’s dead, is he not?” Jaebum tilts his head with a wicked cackle, looking straight into the flames of his brother’s death glare before turning his back on you two and gesturing for his men to take care of the rest. “Guards, lock my beloved brother up and prepare him for public execution in three days. We’ll use him as the scapegoat for yesterday’s slaughters.”

“What—Joon!” your arm latches onto Namjoon, tugging and wailing against the rough yanks of the men until eventually succumbing to the force of their pull and collapsing to the ground.

“Oh, and as for you, my dove,” Jaebum chimes through Namjoon’s grunts, whirling around to relish the sight of his brother struggling and thrashing about, “while your little lover boy here awaits his death, plans are in my progress to arrange your marriage with Lords outside this kingdom more tolerant of your behavior, have to sell you when you're worth the most, of course. Until then—” his iniquitous smirk bewitches you in utter terror “—sleep well.”

Torn from your hands and dragged across the ground in ruffled hair and clothes, Namjoon’s silent gaze meets yours in the void of hope—neither of you needing words to hear the other, as if his exact messages are conveyed to you through a meer look alone; as Namjoon has taught you several times over, where hope is lost, it can still be gained.

As soon as the pattering footsteps and heavy tugging of a man’s limp body across the floor fade into the distance down the hall, your body springs into action; because while Namjoon’s role in the plan has been forcibly stripped from your grasps, you become the sole hope to rally people of all kind in every corner of Nordendall.

Rope tied and tossed out the window, your hands and feet swiftly descend from your chambers, stories above ground and hours until your body is capable of absorbing the impact of hopping into the rugged dirt of the fields. The day was still young, even under the murky skies above, so you find yourself scurrying away deep into town with haste, mumbling curses in hopes of casting ill upon Jaebum before it comes to beheading him yourself in an all out bloodbath.

Accompanying Jaebum on his wagon for purposes of leisure and hunts prove their worth after all when the landscape of the kingdom comes to you like second nature. Travel by foot may be laborious, but you knew the land like the back of your hand, the ins and outs, every alleyway, every town and it’s most populated center of attraction; thereby, it doesn’t take many hours until midday arrives and your trek reaches an end.

“I promise I will return these as soon as I’m done with this announcement,” you blurt to an elderly woman running her own store along with rows and rows of others out in the open market before grabbing her pots and pans and dashing to the center intersection where all roads constructed of hay meet as one. Wasting no time, you begin banging the pots on the other in a rowdy albeit fruitful attempt to garner the attention of passersby. “Hear ye, hear ye! I plea for you all take a mere minute of your time to listen! This is for the future of Nordendall!”

“Is that not Lady Y/L/N?”

“What is she doing here?”

“A royalty? Here? After yesterday’s bloodshed?”

“How dare she show her face in town after killing our people?”

The whispers of the town sting you and your confidence to stand on the raised stage, but the dire consequences remain and so does your persistence.

“To address the latest tragedies of our Kingdom, I give my sincere condolences,” you hesitate, gulping when you catch the sight of a fatherless girl muffling her cries into her mother's skirt, “... none of you deserve this, and I never would have dreamt for a world where your children would starve and live their days without their parents—but now is the time to change that.”

The people simply stare at you with disdain nearly slipping from the tip of their tongues.

“The Prince has plans to embark in a week to conquer kingdoms beyond The Black Sea, and after refusing to settle an armistice with the people of Nordendall, there isn't a single doubt our kingdom would fall to such selfish ambitions—” the silence amongst the disturbed looks on their faces is unsettling “—and Lord Kim has strongly advised against his plans only to have him thrown in the cells and executed in day's time. Lord Kim has done his part, now we do ours!”

“And why should we help traitors?” a father of two steps forward, the untamed locks and messy stubble of his portraying days of sleep deprivation. He clears his throat to holler the words of his kingdom, “why should we help the privileged who slaughtered their own people without even batting an eye at our struggles? And what about Abigail and her daughter your Prince had burnt at the stake just months ago?!”

“We tried to help them, we tried to help them all. Lord Kim and I wanted to help, but by the time we were aware of the commotion, everything was already too late to turn back. I swear to you,” the desperation seeps into your voice. “Lord Kim and I never killed or spilled the blood of anyone in Nordendall! We even helped a little boy flee, for he was completely traumatized by battle. I swear to the old Gods—”

“—the Gods won’t help you here, m’Lady, they haven’t helped a single one of us thus far,” the man speaks for his people who nod in approval at his words. “And how can we trust you in that you’re telling the truth? I don’t doubt your claim, there wasn’t a thing you could do to tarnish the Nordendall’s spirit once we start a fight. But how do we know if you truly helped our people and disengaged from the battlefield?”

“I—” you frown “—there’s no way I can prove it to you other than by promise; Lord Kim was with me and he could attest to it, but the Prince has him apprehended!”

“Then there ain’t no one to attest to your claims, is there?” the man shakes his head, dismissing you with a wave and turning his back on you; your heart completely shatters, crestfallen at the last string of hope stripped right from your palms. “You’re wasting your time here, m’Lady. Return to your castle or flee to another kingdom if you want to survive—”

“—actually,” all eyes flicker to a familiar boy in the crowd as he steps forward and gulps nervously; golden haired and embroidered by freckles, the quivering of his lips recollect the memories you had of the very boy you had escorted in the midst of fleeing to Jaebum’s chamber. “I can attest to her claims.”

A lift in the pit of your stomach revives your spirit at the sight of the boy.

“Daniel! What are you doing?” a woman, presumably his mother, fruitlessly reprimands and yanks at his arm.

“It’s true, mama,” he whirls around to face the crowd before raising his voice, “this lady and her man helped me escape the castle even when I tried to kill them!”

The mother frowns, eyes flickering to yours which don’t dare to budge an inch, “is that true, m’lady? You and Lord Kim helped save my son after running off to battle against my words?”

Gulping, you hesitantly nod.

“And so what?” the man scorns, clearing his throat. “What do you propose we should do?”

“We fight,” you assert, “with better arms and proper training, we still have a glimpse of hope.”

The man scoffs, chuckling in disbelief as the rest of the crowd remain silent, “m’lady, yesterday’s battle proved to us that we have zero chances against the Prince and his army.”

“That’s only because you lacked unification,” you emphasize and the crowd alternates wary glances between you and him. “I saw your lines and I don’t think I’m wrong when I say you never appointed a leader, am I?”

“Well, no—but who can be our leader now? Some of our best fighters died in the battle, we don’t have anyone to appoint now.”

Taking a deep breath, you boldly proclaim, “...there’s Lord Kim.”

“Lord Kim?”

“The bastard?”

“I thought he couldn’t fight.”

“Has he ever trained with the Prince or the King?”

The bursts of whispers in the crowd had erred when you find your nails digging deep into your palm with fury. “Yes, Lord Kim may be a bastard, but the King’s blood still runs through him. He has always been taught to fight alongside the Prince and I and he is more knowledgeable than any man, woman, or child standing here! He may not be the divine ruler we traditionally look for, but he is our rightful leader!”

The people exchange wary glances, hesitant to speak as if fully knowing the validity in your argument.

“Fair enough,” the man crosses his arms and paces across the field, “but with all this talk, where exactly is Lord Kim? Because as you’ve said, he’s locked away and incapable to guide us.”

“We’ll have to get him out first before we fight the Prince’s army.”

“And… who’s going to help us until then?”

The answer comes to you like second nature. You were born for this very moment; in fact, you’ve been waiting for this for countless years beyond the castle walls.

“I’ll be your leader.”

A loud gasp follows, even as you hold your head high and stare straight into the man’s unamused glare. “You’re saying you can fight? Even better than I? I apologize for my lack of courtesy, m’Lady, but I find it hard to believe—”

“—I can fight,” you bite your tongue from spewing curses, “I may be a lady, but I’m just as capable as any men or women here. I’ll even accept challenges if you so wish, but I highly discourage you from inflicting further injuries.”

The audacity in your self assertive proclamation ticks the man and his ego, evident when he unsheathes his sword halfway only to halt when the boy interjects once again.

“M’lady can fight,” he blurts, eyes widening and flickering across the inquisitive crowd. “I’ve seen her with my own two eyes. She disarmed me without a single weapon of her own. She’s far quicker, lighter, and skilled than any swordsman in town!”

“Daniel,” his mother hisses, “get back here.”

“I trust her with my life!” he boldly proclaims and a chill travels down your spine, tears welling up in your eyes. “I don’t have a life if no one steps up soon anyways, none of us will. M’Lady is our best bet, I swear it on my life!”

The crowd that has now expanded across all paths, left, right, across, and before your stage, nearly all the representatives of every household in Nordendall has arrived like the town hall meetings you’ve witnessed several times over while gathering supplies with your mother. Silence hushes the people, hesitance and fear from the loss of their loved ones preventing them from speaking their truths.

“...for those who are with me, who will fight for the survival of our kingdom,” your voice trails as you cautiously raise your fist in the air and hollar, “for Nordendall!”

The first to follow is the boy.

“For Nordendall!”

Another pump in the air and his friends join in.

“For Nordendall!”

All the children and young adults amass to the front of the stage to bellow with you.

“For Nordendall!”

And when waterworks stream from your eyes and flutters of hope fill your convulsing chest, you can’t believe your ears or eyes; for every man, woman, and child has gathered around from every corner of the kingdom to chant the declarations generations and centuries would finally come to hear.

“For Nordendall.”

Dusks becomes dawn and dawn flows into dusk; the cycle persists with the force of gravity, for time was unforgiving and dwindling with each hour of your hustle. It doesn’t occur to you just how quickly the days have flown within the blink of an eye, because to be frank, you simply didn’t have the time to even stop and think.

After a restless night of tossing and turning, all hopes for sleep are lost as you venture outside your tent to refine your shots in archery; and now, you finally find yourself standing before the execution stand, hidden behind a hood in a crowd of cloaks. Murky grey clouds loom in the skies, threatening rain and persistent wind; but as you’ve come to realize after years of reading and listening to tales of the legendary, rarely does the battlefield come with anything but gloom.

You thought you had prepared yourself to withhold your emotions of dread, you thought you were ready, but when the guards drags Namjoon, tattered, bruised, dirtied, and cut along his bare face, arms, and legs under his tee and shorts, you nearly choke on your own muffled sobs. Hair tousled and lidded eyes void of hope, searching the crowd for his lover, he finds his head dangling low before the wooden execution block.

“...disobeying the Prince’s orders, scheming against the welfare of Nordendall, murdering the people of Nordendall, Lord Kim is guilty as charged,” the noble reads aloud from a scroll, wearily looking back over his shoulder and at Jaebum, seated on the throne so carefully moved from the courtroom; the Prince only sneers at him to continue, and so he does, hesitantly, even under the burn of every man, woman, and warrior’s eyes in the field. “Under the mercy of Prince Im, Lord Kim has been subjected to a more honorable method to depart his duties as the King’s advisor by beheading.”

Head lifting one last time, Namjoon desperately searches the crowd; eyes scanning through each and every witness before him, his gaze finally locks with the flames burning in your stare. His lips part, but words fail him in an occasion as rare as a blue moon; so he watches, proud yet petrified for the stomps of your footsteps marching toward the front of the crowd and right up against the execution stage.

“...without further prolonging,” the nobleman takes a deep breath and sighs, “the execution shall pro—”

“—Im Jaebum!”

Your voice echoes in the wind.

“Oh? If it isn’t my little dove who scurried from the castles in fright,” the Prince muses, leaning forward in his throne to catch a closer look at you and your lowered hood to fully reveal your identity. “What is it? Are you back here to beg me to spare your lover boy’s life? Or are you here to beg me to take you in again?”

“Neither,” you speak through gritted teeth, death glares piercing his frown and the wary looks of his guards. Staring straight into every man’s eyes, you utter each word with profound resilience, articulation, and courage surely not to be misinterpreted for centuries to come. “Lord Kim and I will not die by your hands tonight, and neither will the people of Nordendall. Tonight,” you unsheathe your sword, allowing it to ring into the thin air of the wind and pointing it straight at the Prince, “we declare you the illegitimate heir to the throne—” your sword averts to each of the guards who stumble backwards along with your piercing gaze “—and for those who are willing to fight against years of injustice, murder, and turning a blind eye to the well-being of his people for his own selfish demands, we welcome you; but for those who scramble yet again, heed my words when I say this will never be an ‘again.’”

The soldiers gulp a visible heap of fear, reluctant to disobey the Prince by switching to a side seemingly already ready to lose.

“None of you?” you scoff. “So be it, cowards.”

“And what are you going to do, Y/N? Fight us all on your own?” Jaebum cackles, crossing his legs. “You’re a great fighter, I’ll admit that, but this is plain idiocy—”

“—all those who fight for justice, fight with Nordendall,” you raise your sword into the sky as every witness behind you begins discarding their cloaks to reveal their weapons and armory, the fierce cries in their eyes and hardened gaze where cuts and blood stain their skin elicits an audible gasp from the guards. Furrowing his brows, Jaebum finally realizes the danger of his situation when he stands to his feet, ready to yell—but you yell first, sheathing your sword and reaching for your bow and arrow slung over your back. One eye shut and the other aiming, you proclaim, “this is for the future of Nordendall.”

“Kill him! Kill the damn boy!” Jaebum bellows.

The guards immediately spring into action, one guard raising his steel shield to protect the Prince as the other holds the axe in preparation to behead Namjoon whose eyes are only on you. Swiftly, your aim switches from the Prince’s head to the neck of the executor, bow gliding in a straight line and arrow releasing to hit the bullseye—blood seeping through the slit where armor failed to cover the space between his head and shoulders. The axe drops to the ground along with the man, the silence overbearing.

“Charge!”

Namjoon’s orders are heard throughout the kingdom, echoing into the roars which ensue as everyone lunges forward with swords, axes, daggers, and bows brought out in all its worth. A war to be remembered by generations to come begins when everyone starts the fight for glory, the unsheathing of swords ringing in the air, the clean cut of weapons across flesh following after, the whirls of air spiraling under the force of arrows, painful cries of woes drop along with dozens of fallen warriors every few seconds—everything is absolute mayhem and Hell had been set loose.

Springing into action, your feet scurry through the untamed wheats and weeds of the grass to throw your left arm and leg over the stage’s ledge in order to pull the rest of your body over. Hastily gathering to your feet, your hands grab for the axe the guard had dropped earlier, completely under the watch of Namjoon, and demolish the chains between the shackles of his hands on ankles on the board and ground.

“Behind you,” Namjoon warns sternly, nodding his head at shuffling footsteps coming from behind; but just as you’re about to whirl around, evidently slowed by the weight of the axe, Namjoon yanks the axe from your hands and smacks the helmet of the man into unconsciousness. Squatting to quickly discard the man of his armor, he looks over his shoulder to gaze at you in complete wonder, “how did you recruit so many of them…?”

“I’ll tell you the story later,” you mutter, slinging your bow over your shoulder and gripping onto your sword. “For now, suit up and fight. I’ll cover you.”

Namjoon nods, obliging to your orders as he pulls the hefty steel plates over his own shabby clothing. Armored men charge at you from all directions, and while you’re capable of fending off half of those who step into your circle’s vicinity with your trusted daggers which you had switched to for increased stealth, the rest of the men were taken care of by your own people charging in with warcries.

“Not the helmet,” you manage to huff when catching sight of the soldier’s removed helmet in your peripherals, “none of us have helms, they’ll mistaken you for Jaebum’s men.”

“You should head to the outer fields,” Namjoon stands to his feet, advising you as he grips the wooden handle of his axe tightly. “Archery is your strongest suit and a bow and arrow are meant to be far-ranged.”

“Right, then take this,” you toss your sword at him, forcing his axe to drop to the side. He arches a brow at you. “Swordsmanship is the only craft you exceed more than Jaebum in—”

—roughly pushed aside, you look over your shoulder to find Namjoon striking the guard before him with a swift lunge, jabbing the point of his blade into his belly. A whimper dragged into a groan collapses to the ground along with the man before Namjoon twirls the sword in his fingers by its bronze handle.

“I trust you’ll take better care of yourself, then, my Lady,” his smirk is quickly replaced by a soft, pressed and lopsided grin. “I’ll see you on the other side, Y/N.”

And with that, a simple nod and fist to his chest, you whirl around, the neat braids of your stray hair tucked away and whipping across to your other shoulder before your small paces turn to strides and into sprints across the sparse battlefield for a safer position.

People on opposing sides, helmed and unhelmed, drop to the floor like flies, groans and screams drowning in the air flooded by clashing weaponry and war cries; and as much as it tugs at your heartstrings to witness the death of so many right before your eyes, the endless stream of soldiers who challenge you to a fight between his sword and your daggers occupy you from doing so. Nonetheless, nothing can drown their cries into the background like white static—you want to hear them and acknowledge their honorable efforts, because soon, even you might succumb to the tidal waves of war.

Finally scouting an area where blobs of crowds dwindle and all you can spot are at most battles of three scattered across the fields splotted by the golden, green fields and oak trees swaying in the wind. Jaebum was nowhere to be found, which was unsurprising for he was the key to this battle, but with several men tracking your trails, your instincts tell you him and his orders are not too far away.

Another armed man starts trotting toward you on a horse evidently stolen from the castle, for most of the horses have already fallen by superior arrows and swords on foot, and while you raise your bow and arrow with one eye shut and the other open to aim, the man hastily unmounts the saddle with both arms raised.

“I fight for you, my Lady!” he bellows and you cautiously lower your bow—but not before taking note of the soldier in the reflection of his widened eyes, whirling around to shoot the man behind you. “I-I swear he was not my ally. I didn’t mean to ambush you—”

“—remove your helmet,” you nod at him, “and you’re in.”

Several of the Prince’s men come to you throughout the fight, pleading for your forgiveness and begging for your help; a part of you wonders whether they were truly repenting for their decisions or if somehow the battle tides had turned in favor of Nordendall, but soldiers were what you needed and you were willing to put anything on the line to win.

Having endured several cuts of arrows whizzing by and blades just barely grazing your cheeks or carving your palms before succumbing to the edges of your own weapons, the lethargy of war begins to take a toll on you. The strength you need to persist, despite the cries of your own dying people, the endurance you need to both defend and attack, the alertness to stay on your toes for hours and hours that fly past you yet never seem to end; and despite the heroic cries of Namjoon’s which echo throughout the fields at just the right time, never ceasing to replenish the spirit of his people, eventually, there isn’t any way to adequately express your exhaustion after days and nights of labor.

It’s as if everything you’re doing has gone to autopilot, and soon, you find your caution fading when the lack of speed in your wavering aim and the soon-to-be emptied quiver puts you in the center of a circle of soldiers closing you in from every side of your surrounding.

The men continue to enclose you, step by step, some lacking shields and others raising the steel or even wooden planks before them protectively; for those you could shoot, you did, but nothing stopped the endless stream of soldiers who stepped in to fill the emptied spot. Working at your most, your fastest, a semicircle is the most you could do to put a dent to their formation which spells for your death.

Alas, your quiver remains empty of bolts.

Slinging your bow over your shoulder and swinging the two daggers into your hands, you take a deep breath and exhale in preparation for the pain that would soon follow. Even while death is not an option, as you have promised to meet Namjoon at the end of the day, the thought of dropping cold and dead becomes all the more daunting with each of their steps.

Shutting your eyes for a brief second, you exhale—”

“—for Nordendall!”

A pair of hollars echo in the distance, and when your eyes flutter open, you find two familiar men each charging in and around the circle with the mount of horses. One being a recruit from the Prince’s army and the other being the man who had argued with you in the rally, the circle of soldiers fall  like dominoes under the unexpected ambush and lack of preparation for an attack from their backs.

“Are you alright, my Lady?” the soldier asks.

“...yes,” you answer after seconds of confusion over the spur of events, “my greatest gratitude.”

“Judging by a rough count of unhelmed versus helmed from the hill above,” the man gruffs, horse trotting in place, “it looks like we have the upper hand now. The battle is soon to end if we play our cards right.”

This is the key turning point of the battle.

“Where’s Lord Kim?” you inquire, eyes darting around the battlefield splattered in blood and spotted by fallen soldiers; swords, arrows, and shields lay stuck in the dirt. Across the entire field of hills, you spot the tall stature of your man’s silhouette painted in black by the sunset far off in the distance. Eyes squinting, blinded by the sun’s rays, your hand raises to provide shade to your dirt and blood smeared face. Next to Namjoon, to your utter astonishment, is another familiar silhouette belonging to that of Jaebum’s. Your heart strikes against your chest with a dire need to stand there by their sides for whatever reason. Mumbling in a daze, eyes glued to the men who fought on opposite sides of the hill, you pat the saddle of the soldier’s horse, “...I apologize, but let me borrow him for now. It’s an urgent matter.”

Quickly obliging to your orders, the man unmounts; while you haven’t ridden a horse in years since Nordendall fell low in supplies and horses became animals to be dealt with care, the skills return to you without a second of hesitation. Foot on a stirrup, you lift yourself off the ground as your right swings over the mount with ease—not even a second in and you’re traveling at speeds tenfold of your previous treks.

The people of Nordendall cover you from any soldiers who encroach or archers who plan ambush, enabling you to ride swiftly across the fields and into the sunset without further nuisances. Body aloft and leaning over as it bobs along to the trots of the horse, the musty warm air of the impending dusk weaves through the lethargy you hadn’t even noticed until now that adorned your face. Dry eyes stinging from sleep deprivation, still, the flood of the sunlight you could visibly see in your peripherals in the form of rays can’t deter you from spotting Namjoon storming across the field with rage toward the mocking smirks of his brother.

Beautifully crisp and refined is how you would describe Namjoon’s swordsmanship at this moment. Handle twirling and tossing in the air only to be latched firmly in his opposing hand, the sword follows his every command; his eyes never budged from Jaebum’s, his footsteps never strayed from his path straight ahead, but the slashes and swipes of his sword as they cut through the air and his incoming opponents are exquisitely precise.

Breath taken, you find yourself at loss for words.

Namjoon has never been so skilled in battle, but no one would have believed you or your memories of his father scolding him for lacking in the battlefield department at this moment. To you and anyone watching him now, Namjoon could be the greatest general in Nordendall—both an experienced advisor and skilled swordsman.

It only took him the tide of tragedy to rise up to his potential.

Moment short-lived, the last batch of a dozen soldiers charge their way to Namjoon, forcing him to rip his piercing gaze from Jaebum’s and confronting the challenges head on; and while the men prove of no competition to his present swordsmanship, the time delay knocks him off his usual caution when Jaebum grips his sword and begins marching his way down the hill with eyes determined to slay his kinship once and for all.

Panicking, you hop off your horse, collapsing to the ground but scrambling to your feet to pluck one of the many arrows stuck to the dirt, and when you rush to stand upright, blood rushes from your head down and sends you into a haze. Raising your bow and aiming, hands and arms trembling as they pull the string and hold the bow aloft under the tremors of your exhausted muscles, you pay no mind to the fuzz of your vision.

You’ve practiced this several times before, you can do it even with your eyes closed.

To your panic, Namjoon strikes his last blow on the remaining soldier before him without a hint of acknowledgement of the man right behind him; but before the Prince could lower his sword to slice straight through the neck of his brother, your arrow whizzes straight through the air and across the field to jab into his hand and pin him to the tree beside him.

Both their glances dart at you in bewilderment as you storm forward, bending over as you grab another arrows before raising, aiming, and shooting another straight into the Prince’s remaining free hand prior to his removal of your first shot.

“Jaebum, just surrender now,” Namjoon demands once you reach his side. “We’ve clearly won, even your own men whose lives you so carelessly tossed aside has remained loyal to Nordendall. Father has always taught us to surrender for the sake of our people with our head high, so do it now.”

“Father this, Father that,” the Prince rolls his eyes, head lulling as his winces of pain gradually become wicked snickers and escalates into thunderous cackles echoing across the fields akin to a man absent of sanity. “If you love Father so much,” his eyes dart to Namjoon’s with distaste, “why don’t you join him in Hell?!”

His fingers curl into a fist to clutch the bolts, a loud hollar bellowing from the back of his throat as he releases the pin of his hands with sheer force—the arrows plucked from the tree but pierced entirely through his flesh. With a loud gruff, the Prince yanks the arrows out of his palms, blood splattering everywhere as he grabs his sword and charges at Namjoon.

Grip weak, however, it doesn’t take Namjoon much effort to dodge to the side and knock the sword out of his hands with a simple tip of his own blade. Weapon stripped, Jaebum huffs, wiping the dirt from his chin, “why don’t we settle this the old way, huh? Joon? Before Father died and left us to fend for ourselves alone!”

His brother obliges, tossing the sword aside and charging in like the old days where the two brothers had fought after a long day of scowls and snide remarks in training field just as the King turned a blind eye on their antics. They tumble and tumble, staining their bare skin with dirt and blood of the other; punches are thrown every second, grunts and painful pipes of wind being knocked out of their lungs as they tossed the other only to straddle them once again and release the anger of many years into the face of his brother.

If Namjoon hadn’t listened to his brother’s pleas, the battle between brothers would have been long over—but that isn’t the type of man Namjoon has grown to become. Honorable in every aspect, he fights under the same conditions and under the same stakes as the boy he had always disdained with his every being, and yet, he can’t seem to finish his murderous brother.

“Why don’t you kill me, Joon?!” Jaebum finally releases his remaining strength into his screams. “Just kill me like you’ve always wanted to! I see it in your eyes, I see it in all of your eyes! Just end this bloody nightmare and get it over with—”

‘—Jae,” his brother interjects, grabbing at his shoulders and shaking him on the ground as he straddled and pinned him down. Dirt and mud drip from both of their hair and face, blood seeping through their chapped lips and bruises blackening their eye sockets, but that doesn’t mask the sincerity Namjoon shares for his last remaining kinship. “Father never taught you to be so pitiful like this. He taught you to love, to honor, to respect—” his voice cracks into a cry and Jaebum winces at the drop of his brother’s tears splashing into his bloodied, swollen cheeks “—so why are we here? Why are you like this?!”

“You talk too much, like always,” Jaebum grumbles, head turning to the side and eyeing you wearily—all you can do is gulp. “Father died because he was assassinated.”

The word comes to all of your surprises.

Namjoon cinches his brows in utter confusion, “...assassinated…? I thought he—”

“—no, he was assassinated. I never told you because I knew you would be too traumatized and I didn’t want to hear you and your stupid sense of justice,” Jaebum swallows painfully, the tears welling in his eyes. “Father died because he was weak, because he was too merciful of his people and nobody feared him. You can’t please everyone, someone is bound to be left in the dust and those people disdained him enough to risk their own lives for their people—” he chuckles “—to save their own people, the thought amuses me every time.”

“...you should’ve told me,” Namjoon frowns at the revelation, “still, that doesn’t excuse anything you’ve done.”

“No, but fear helped me a great deal, did it not? If it weren’t for those wretched witches and you two,” he glares at you and turns his head to shoot one at Namjoon, “I wouldn’t be in this pitiful situation, so quit looking at me like that and just kill me.”

“I can’t kill you,” the Prince’s brother shakes his head, “you’re my brother. Father would be—”

“—Father already is disappointed in me. I hear him every night,” his voice cracks as his lips press into a thin line in a vain attempt to suppress his cries, “I’ve done wrong, I did my best to protect myself, and I still struggle to fathom a different path if I could redo it all again. Fear was what I did best and I thrived.” His head turns to snap his weary gaze at his brother. “Now send me off so I can hear the rest of his scolding.”

“Namjoon,” you grumble after contemplation, fury boiling in your blood as you storm forward to knock Namjoon off of your target. Gripping his collar, you pull his limp body aloft, “Jaebum, you’ve killed so many for absolutely zero reasons and that’s all you have to say—” you grab the pocket knife you had kept in your pockets for the past months, pressing the blade into the corner of his  lips “—do you not remember cutting this into my lips as I whimpered in pain? Do you not remember this scar you gave me? You don’t have anything to say to me or the thousands of families you’ve killed?!”

Jaebum struggles to lift his head against the pull of gravity, a smirk spreading across his lips, “you sure are making Hell wait awfully long for me.”

“Fuck off,” you toss the blade to the side as Namjoon catches it midair and watches you roll off to the side, completely exhausted. “Just die and atone for your sins in Hell.”

“Jaebum…” Namjoon grips the dagger until his palms go white, getting to his knees and holding the blade aloft, “do you have anything left to say?”

After prolonged silence, the Prince finally utters.

“Take care of Nordendall. Rule like Father told us to,” he turns his head until his eyes face the gray skies, “we’ll see how long you last. Until then, farewell brother.”

With a deep breath, Namjoon sighs.

The cut is clean and painless.

“Farewell, brother.”

You don’t notice it until now, but the field had long fallen into silence. The chirps of birds and crickets are completely absent, even in the last minutes of sunset; but the footsteps shuffling from your left and right, from all corners of the battlefield, from those completely tattered, exhausted, bloodied, and injured, now fill the stagnant air.

And when Namjoon rises to the ground slowly and laboriously, offering you a hand which you take, the rest of the men and women, warriors and dreamers alike, bend their knee to the ground.

Cheers erupt throughout the fields, whistles, hollars, yells, and bawls roar and echo into the distant hills, fracturing time and marking its place in history with the chants striking pride into your chest.

“Long live Nordendall!”

The following months become taxing days and nights of rehabilitation over the historical events; but after long visits in the medical ward, where you occasionally monitor, despite being a patient yourself, the gaping wounds across his and your bare skin begin to heal—but admittedly, the scars of the past prove to be a boundary far beyond any medicine or operation.

With time, however, something tells you that things will get better.

Because with time, Nordendall has overseen countless changes to the ladders of the previous social hierarchy; the execution stand has been cleaned and renovated into a stage for all those to utilize and enjoy on nights of festivals or celebrations for no particular reason except for survival.

Instead of the execution board, where the soon-to-be crowned King had once stood, a silver throne crafted by the melted silver and steel of all the blades used in what is now known as the Battle of Brothers, stands towering before the people—a message to remind those who enter the kingdom that those who rule their people are not the royalties but the brave and just.

And as the people have all unanimously voted last week, the Bastard of Nordendall is befitting of such a role.

Sitting in his throne, Namjoon shifts uncomfortably, sipping at his glass of red wine and glancing at you nervously. You smile, knowing Nordendall is now in good hands, but what you don’t expect is the mischievous smile plastering across his own lips.

“Bring in the throne and crown, please,” Namjoon calls to his men who happily oblige, carrying another throne identical to his and another golden crown that fit snugly on his head. Gradually, the man makes his way down the stage and toward you, hand grabbing yours and dragging you up to the throne before raising both his and your hands high into the air. “Everyone, here is your Grace, the Queen of Nordendall!”

Eyes widening and heart panicking, your eyes dart between the cheering crowd and the King who just smiles at you expectantly. It isn’t what you ever wanted, certainly, but if the people wanted you on that throne to guide them into a far brighter future, then it is only your duty to follow up.

So when people beckon their mothers for nighttime stories of heroic men and women, this is the tale that will be told for centuries to come where two outsiders became the very center of the thriving kingdom in which the Lady of Nordendall had broken the Bastard of Nordendall and his etiquette.

This is the Tale of Nordendall.

#bangtan bookclub #kkreationsnet #kreativewritersnet #bts smut #namjoon smut #rapmonster smut #bts angst #namjoon angst #rapmonster angst #namjoon fics #namjoon x reader #namjoon x you #bts x reader #bts x you #bts imagines #bts scenarios #bts fanfic #rapmonster x reader #rapmonster x you #taechubs

[terpia]

Dragon Breeders

Summary: Phil is a dragon breeder, awaiting the arrival of a new dragon. However, when it finally gets there, it is the delivery man that catches his eye.

Rating: G

Words: 1779

Ao3: (link)

Notes: Written for @phandomficfests. A big thank you to @insectbah for being a wonderful beta!

Phil stood by the road, propped on a fence surrounding his father’s ranch. Well, technically his ranch now, since his father had retired a few weeks ago. Phil still had trouble getting used to the idea. He was waiting for another dragon breeder, a man called Robert Howell. Although Phil has never met him before, his father has had some business dealings with the man in the past. Just before he retired, his father gave Mr. Howell a young Gummy dragon, with an understanding that he’d get a Dark dragon, after it hatches, in return. About three months have passed since then and it seemed that the baby dragon was finally ready to begin her new life at the Lester ranch. Mr. Howell was supposed to deliver the dragon at noon.

Phil took out his pocket watch. It was twenty past, and Howell was still nowhere in sight. Phil sighed. He wondered briefly whether to just return to work, but knowing his luck, the moment he’d start working the breeder would arrive. He sagged against the fence. It’s not like he couldn’t be spending this time better. He had another baby dragon to take care of.

Phil felt worry gnawing at him. It was the same worry that has been gnawing at him for the last two weeks, since the hatching of the Nature dragon.

The Nature dragon was the first dragon that had hatched under Phil’s care. Although he had assisted his father and his employees with training and caring for newly hatched dragons before, Phil had never yet been responsible for taking care of a baby dragon all by himself. In theory, he could of course ask any of the hired caretakers to help him with this task at any time. In practice, however, he wasn’t quite sure how he could do that and still be able to look his father in the eye. It was a family rite of passage, something that each Lester who inherited the ranch did with their first hatched dragon. It was the first real test of his skills as a dragon breeder, not to mention a chance for a truly wonderful bond to develop. Phil’s father was inseparable from his first dragon, a Butterfly breed. Grandma’s Lightning dragon was with her when she died. Whole generations of Lesters have had incredible life-long friendships with their dragons. When it became clear that Phil’s first dragon would be a Nature dragon, he was so excited. They were his favourite breed, with their brightly coloured scales and friendly nature. Not to mention the adorable giant leaf that all Nature dragons had on the top of their head, that grew with them as they developed. Phil couldn’t wait to meet his presumed new best friend.

The reality turned out to differ somewhat from his expectations. Not Phil’s love for the dragon, oh no. He loved her just as much as he thought he would. The moment he laid his eyes on her green body, he knew that he’d willingly lay down his life for her. What turned out to be different was the baby dragon herself. All the Nature dragons that Phil had met so far had been very friendly, curious and energetic. This dragon, however, was extremely wary of people and other dragons alike, hiding whenever someone stepped into her enclosure and squealing pitifully when they got too close. Although she was becoming somewhat used to Phil, she still didn’t exactly like or trust him, running away if he moved too fast or said something too loudly. The thought of petting her seemed like an unachievable fantasy.

Another unexpected problem turned out to be her leaf. Phil’s dragon’s leaf was even bigger than usual and evidently too heavy for her to control. It kept tangling around her legs as she walked and tripping her over, which predictably resulted in even more squealing. Phil’s heart broke when he saw her so distressed; however, any solution to this problem would require him to touch her for some period of time, and for all her timidity, she was still a dragon with a set of nice, sharp teeth to prove it.

The sound of a nearing automobile abruptly ended his musings. The black and red vehicle was moving at an alarming speed; however, it began to slow down as it drew closer, only to come to a stop right in front of him. There was a large box with holes in it strapped to the back of the it.

The driver of the automobile got out and took off his goggles. He was about the same height as Phil, maybe an inch or two taller. His light brown curls were fashionably styled, albeit rather ruffled, no doubt due to the mad ride that brought him to the ranch. His black suit was well-fitted, highlighting his slim frame and broad shoulders. The man’s warm brown eyes were apologetic. He said, “I am so sorry for being late Mr. Lester. I severely underestimated how much time it would take me to prepare the dragon for the journey.”

“Mr. Robert Howell?” Phil said stupidly. Good Lord, he had not expected him to be this handsome. Or this somberly dressed for that matter. Next to him, Phil’s blue vest and tan suit seemed almost inappropriately bright.

“His son, actually.” The man extended his hand. “Daniel Howell, but please, feel free to call me Dan.”

“In that case, you should call me Phil.” Phil shook Dan’s hand. “And don’t worry about being late, happens to the best of us.” He turned his attention to the box. “I assume that this is the dragon in question?”

Dan nodded. “Indeed. Slippery witch.” At the startled look from Phil, he smiled apologetically. “Sorry, I’m just a bit cross with her at the moment. The little beast decided to be difficult this morning and led me and two other caretakers on a wild chase around her enclosure. Three adults running around in circles after a small dragon. It took us over half an hour to catch her.”

Phil laughed. “I imagine it was quite a sight. Though I must ask, isn’t being fast and evasive one of the main characteristics of Dark dragons? I would have thought that you’d have some special equipment to catch them.”

“We do. However, they’re usually not quite this fast or this evasive so soon after hatching. All the equipment we have is meant for larger dragons. She easily slipped through it.” As he spoke, Dan was unstrapping the box. When he finished, he wrapped his long arms around it and lifted it. Something like grief briefly crossed his features. “Well, dear girl, this is it. You’re home now. Shall I bring her inside?” He directed the last question at Phil.

Phil nodded. “If you wish.”

As they walked, Phil glanced curiously at Dan. Although he looked perfectly composed now, Phil was fairly sure he hadn’t imagined the expression of sadness before, as fleeting as it was. Cautiously, he decided to breach the topic. “You seemed a bit sad earlier. Are you much attached to her?”

Dan blinked. “The dragon? Well, she’s barely over a week old and a horrible rascal at that. I should be happy to have her out of my hands before she gets big and starts causing trouble everywhere she goes.” His laugh sounded thoroughly unconvincing.

“You know,” Phil said seriously, “if you want to come and visit her, feel free to do so anytime, as often as you’d like. Regardless of whether that’s just once all together or once a week.”

A startled pause. “Really?”

“Aye. I’m sure she’ll be happy to see someone from her old home around. Not to mention that I’ll probably need some extra help with her sooner or later, what with all the troublemaking you mentioned and such.” Phil grinned at him.

The smile he received from Dan in return was breathtaking.

Suddenly, distressed squealing erupted from somewhere close to them. Phil didn’t even have to think; he immediately knew which of the dragons it was coming from. He quickly ran to her enclosure.

The Nature dragon was lying on the ground, her leaf between her legs. She must have accidentally scratched it with her claw, as there was an ugly red line running across it. She was unsuccessfully trying to get up, squealing all the while. At Phil’s sudden appearance, she let out a startled yelp and started moving even more frantically.

“It’s okay, darling. Everything’s okay.” Phil spoke as soothingly as he could, reaching slowly into his pocket to take out a dragon snack that he made sure to  always carry with him, just in case of situations like this.

Dan appeared behind him, slowed down by the large box he was still carrying. “What happened? Is everything fine?”

Before Phil could answer, the box in Dan’s hands started to violently shake. Dan let out an oath and tried to hold it down, but the dragon inside somehow managed to make a hole in it. She burst out from the box, jumping gracefully on the ground inside the enclosure. The dragon was pitch black, with vibrant green eyes and small, pale blue diamond-shaped patches decorating her chest.

The sudden appearance of another dragon startled the Nature dragon into silence. For a few seconds, they just stared at each other. Then the Dark dragon started moving towards her.

Phil didn’t breathe. All of the Nature dragon’s interactions with other members of her species so far had been characterised by the same fear and distrust she had shown towards humans. He awaited the inevitable explosion of panic.

An explosion that didn’t come. The Dark dragon was emitting strange melodic sounds, the likes of which Phil had never heard before. It almost sounded as if she was singing. Whatever the sounds were, they had an almost magical effect on the Nature dragon, her body visibly relaxing. She calmly let the other dragon nudge the leaf from around her legs and then to lick the red scratch running across it.

Phil couldn’t believe his eyes. “This is amazing,” he said, turning to Dan. “She has never let anyone even touch her before, much less do something like this!”

“Incredible.” For a moment, Dan looked as shocked as Phil. Then suddenly, he turned to Phil with a smile that made his heart beat faster. “People always say that opposites attract. And you know, I myself happened to be thinking that just a few minutes ago.”

“Funny,” Phil said weakly, “I was just thinking that too.”

It seemed that the baby dragon provided an opportunity for more than just one new bond to be made.

#phanfic #phanfiction #phan #dan and phil #my fic #that's a tag that i haven't used in a while

[kingdommad300]

The Two Keepers

Chapter Two- Roles

A week after the celebrations on Destiny Islands; Sora, Riku and Kairi took their gummi ship and began their journey to the Land of Departure. As they travelled through the wormhole they had created to get to the world, Sora sank into his seat slightly. “Why do you guys get to have all of the fun?” He whined.

Riku and Kairi could only smile as they continued their game of ‘goldfish’. “But Sora, you’re the captain.” Riku grinned at him, only to receive a glare from Sora in return.

“Yeah but I don’t want to fly all of the time.”

Kairi gave her boyfriend a reassuring smile as she quickly organised her cards. “Don’t worry, Sora. The loser of this game will be flying us back.” Her smile turned into a grin as she faced Riku. “Hand over your queens, Riku. I know you have three of them.”

Riku huffed in response as he handed his queens over to her. “I’m suddenly remembering why we stopped playing card games.”

Sora chuckled, the sight of his friends having simple fun just shows that after everything that happened to them, nothing has changed. He brought his attention back to flying the gummi to see that they were leaving the wormhole. “Time to get ready guys. We’re here.”

The sky was clean as day as there was not a cloud in sight as they entered the Land of Departure. Seeing a selection of gummi ships placed at the entrance, Sora lowly the gummi ship gently and landed next to the other ships. Looking out the window, they took in just how grand Land of Departure was. “No matter how many times we come here, this place still looks amazing.” Sora grinned with excitement, opening the door, letting all of the fresh breath into the gummi. “Take in that breeze!”

Riku shook his head with a grin as he stepped past Sora to step outside. “To think that Aqua changed this world to Castle Oblivion all those years ago.” He took the sight in before turning to face Sora and Kairi, to see that Sora had wrapped his arms around her as they took in the secrecy. “C’mon lovebirds! We’ll already running late.” He reminded them as he started to approach the huge white stairs.

Kairi giggled as she removed herself from Sora’s arm. “And who’s fault was that?” She looked back over to her boyfriend with a sly smirk before catching up to Riku.

Sora could only turn slightly red, knowing what Kairi was referring too. “Yours!” He proclaimed as he caught up to his best friends.

Within the grand hall in the castle itself; Sora, Kairi and Riku waited with Roxas, Lea and Xion as they waited for the Wayfinder Trio and King Mickey to make an appearance. They mainly took this time to catch up with Xion, who had been on a mission while the surprise party was happening. As the six of them discussed why they have been gathered to Land of Departure, Aqua and Mickey appeared in the great hall and stood in front of the three chairs. “Thank you for coming everyone.” Aqua greeted as they entered the room, bearing her old masters robes.

“Wait! I thought this was for all of the Masters? Where’s Terra and Ven?” Lea questioned as he leaned against the wall.

“Terra and Ven are watching over our students for us.” Mickey explained, standing beside Aqua.

“So, the worlds are still okay?” Xion asked, knowing that the thought was on everyone’s minds.

Aqua gave a soft smile as reassurance. “The worlds are in a good place.” Half the room seem to make a sound of relief.

“If the worlds are okay, what’s the meeting about?” Roxas asked, making everyone in the room begin to chat between them as they questioned the same thing.

“You are here to learn about carrying the task of a Master.”

Everyone in the room stopped as they noticed that Master Yen Sid appeared in one of the chairs that were behind Aqua and Mickey. At the sight of his appearance, Sora, Kairi, Xion and Riku bowed to the master, while Roxas and Lea took their time to do the same, receiving a glare from their black-haired friend.

Sora rose up and looked at Master Yen Sid in confusion. “I thought we were doing that?” He stated, “We’ve been making sure Destiny Island hasn’t had any Heartless.”

Riku turned to his best friend, “Doing the same thing you did before doesn’t mean you are doing the duties of a Master.” He pointed out.

Kairi turned her attention back to the three masters that stood in front of them. “So, what are the duties of a Keyblade Master?” She asked.

With a serious expression, Yen Sid addresses the group. “Today, we will tell you the importance of your role. And why it is now more important that you ready yourselves for your duties.” He looks at the two masters in front of him. “Aqua. Mickey. If you could.” He nodded his head as a signal for them to continue.

Aqua and Mickey bowed as a response. “Thank you, Master Yen Sid.” They said in unison  

Mickey turned back around and took a few steps forward as he spoke to the group. “So you know that Ven has been looking for ‘Daybreak Town.’” He asked them, seeing a few nodding their heads. “After doing some research, we believe that this might be linked to Master Xehanort and Master Eraqus old training grounds, ‘Scala ad Caelum’. I believe we have visited a version of this world when we stopped Xehanort.” He theorized.

“That cable looking town?” Roxas said with surprise.

“How bout we just call it ‘Cable Town’ instead of Scala whatever its called?” Lea suggested.

Kairi giggled as a response as she turned to look at Lea. “What’s the problem, Axel? Having trouble memorizing the name.” She tapped her forehand as she smirked at him, hearing Xion and Roxas chuckle as a response.

“No.” Lea defended. “I just thought that it would be easier for you guys to remember.” He decided to annoy his friends laughing at him.

“So what has Xehanort and Eraqus’ training grounds got to do with anything?” Riku asked, getting them back on point.

“Scala ad Caelum was a closed off world that only keybearers could get too. It seemed to have disappeared when the heartless first broke the barriers between the worlds.” Yen Sid explained. “Meaning that there is a high chance that when we find this world, we will be realising what was concealed on that world.”

“Both keyblade wielders and Heartless.” Aqua added.

“Isn’t more keybearers a good thing?” Roxas questioned, “More people to fight the good fight.”

Mickey shook his head. “If the world has been in the darkness the entire time, we will have a bit of a mix of who will fight for the light and who will fight to have it.”

“So, what is it that we have to do?” Xion said with concern.

Aqua stepped toward this time, looking at the grand hall as a whole as she spoke. “When my master and Xehanort had become masters. Their master had to choose who would become a guardian of a world and teach the future wielders while the other would travel the worlds to protect the light, help support with supplies for the training grounds and report on potential wielders. These roles of a Master are known as a ‘Keeper’ and a ‘Seeker’.” She explained.

“For Land of Departure, Eraqus was the ‘Keeper’ of the world while Xehanort was the ‘Seeker’…..that was before he did what he did.” Mickey added, sighing slightly when he mentioned what Xehanort had done.

“With the possible future of more keybearers appearing. We will be asking you to decide if you will preform the role of the ‘Keeper’ or the ‘Seeker’ and to create a training ground on a selective world.” Aqua tasked them, smiling as she spoke. “A good example is that I am the Keeper for the Land of Departure while Terra is my Seeker.”

“What about Ven?” Kairi asked. “Is he a Seeker too?”

“Normally he would be.” Aqua answered. “But he is working as Yen Sid’s Seeker while he continues his search for Daybreak Town with Chirithy.”

“So if you’re a Keeper, why can’t we be all Seekers for Land of Departure?” Lea pointed out.

“When I retired as a Keyblade Master, I took the role of the ‘Watcher’, allowing me to look for any dangers in the worlds.” Yen Sid explained. “If I see something abnormal appear, I would inform any Keepers of the news for that they can send their Seekers to deal with the issue. This was the case when Vanitas’ Unverse had started to appear in different worlds. If we have an emergency appear far away from where a training ground is based, the Seekers will arrive too late. Therefore, we will need a good balance of Keepers and Seekers spread across the world”

“We will be looking at a Keeper with one or two Seekers.” Mickey stated

“Now the decision is yours on where you want to set up your training ground, what role you want to be and who you want to set this up with.” Aqua clarified, making it clear what the others have to do.

“Sora.” Yen Sid called out. “You have been very quiet.”

Kairi took this chance to look over to her boyfriend for the first time during this gathering. She saw that his brow was low and seemed to be deep in thought, looking concerned. It was then that she realised that throughout all this time, Sora hasn’t asked any questions about what was going on or even joking around. Not since they started explaining the situation anyway.

She watched as Sora snapped out of his deep thought from Yen Sid talking to him directly. He scratched the back of his head bashfully as he looked at their master. “Sorry Master.” He bowed slightly. “It’s just a lot of information.”

“Don’t worry, Sora. If you get any questions, we’re happy to help.” Mickey assured him, receiving a grateful smile from Sora in return.

Yen Sid raised from the chair and stepped forward. “We are going to check on the students, see if Ventus and Terra are okay. Please use this chance to discuss what roles you would like to take.” He instructed the group before he, Mickey and Aqua left the room.

Lea was the first to speak up after Yen Sid and the others left the room. “Well this will be easy.” Lea grinned as he looked at Roxas and Xion. “We’ll set up at Twilight Town.”

“But who's going to be the Keeper?” Roxas asked him.

Lea beamed with confidence as he pointed at himself. “I will!”

Xion and Roxas burst in laughter as a response and fell on the floor as they held their sides.

While Lea defended himself from his now collapsed friends, Kairi looked back over to Sora, seeing his concern expression had returned to his face. She walked over to the spiky brunet and grabbed his hand, snapping Sora out of his thoughts again. “Are you okay?” She asked him.

Sora grinned with reassurance. “Yeah. I’m just still taking it all in.” He held onto her hand tightly, showing his appreciation to her.

“It’s a big job.” Sora and Kairi turned to Riku, who was walking towards the two of them. “It’s time to show how much we have grown, especially now that we are all masters. I guess we had to become responsible for others sooner or later.”

Kairi noticed Sora’s face flash with uncertainty as Riku was speaking. “Well, I’m sure that if the three of us are all working together. It won’t be a problem.” Kairi mentioned.

This seem to brighten Sora up as he started to sound excited. “Hey that’s right!” He grinned. “With the three of us, it will be a piece of cake.”

Riku chuckled nervously before looking at his friends sadly. “I’m sorry but I won’t be joining the two of you.” He told them.

Sora and Kairi looked at their best friend in disbelief. “What? Why?” They said at the same time.

“Well remember at the party, when I was talking to Mickey and Aqua?” He asked them. The two of them thought back and remembered the Riku, Mickey and Aqua by the campfire. “They explained everything to me at the party and asked if I could be Mickey’s Seeker.” He placed a hand on each of their shoulders. “Don’t worry. One of my requests was that I could visit you guys whenever so I can help if you guys need it.” He turned around, giving them a wave as he started to walk towards Lea, Roxas and Xion. “The two of you are gonna rock it.” He grinned as he walked away.

“The two of us….” Sora sighed before he looked back at Kairi. She could see his concerns show on his face again. Before she could see if he was okay, Sora pulled her to the side of the room, allowing them to sit against the wall. “I was really hoping for Riku to be our ‘Keeper.” He admitted.

Kairi looked at him with confusion. “Surely, one of us will be able to handle the job.” She pointed out.

“I know it’s just….” Sora held onto Kairi’s hand, still holding it from before. “If one of us is a Keeper and one of us is a Seeker then we’re going back to how it was before.” Sora sighed.

Kairi caught on what Sora was trying to say. “We would be separated again.” She spoke out loud before looking back at Sora with a slight panic. “What should we do? We’re Masters now. We have a responsibility and we can’t just give up….” Soon Kairi was starting to get lost in her rambles, trying to think of an idea.

“Hey! Hey! Hey.” Sora spoke softly as he pulled Kairi close to him when she started to ramble. “We will think of something.” He smiled warmly at her, trying to keep her calm. “I mean Terra and Aqua do it. They manage it. If they can do it then so can we!” He assured her.

Kairi knew that Sora was now keeping a strong face for her sake but she could see the worry in his eyes. “You were right though. If the two of us were Seekers then we could at least do missions together.” She pointed out. Even the sound of that seemed difficult.

They would be living on separate worlds. They had mostly been together for the last two years, had gotten more closer to each other every day. The only time they didn’t see each other is when they returned to their parents’ homes….    

Sora’s eyes widened, ignoring the blush that he felt on his cheeks as he looked back at Kairi, who was deep in thought while leaning on him. “Kairi! What if the both of us became Seekers?” He asked her, his voice filled with excitement.

“You mean on different worlds?” She questioned, not sure how that would solve the problem.

Sora shook his head. “I’m thinking two Keepers that would share the responsible of a Seeker.” He sat up slightly, making Kairi do the same. “If we are share the jobs, we can stay in the same world.” He smiled as he watched Kairi brighten up on the idea. “Just imagine. We could set up a school up together! Be the best Masters that we can be. Bring gifts back from any missions we have to do as Seekers.” He smiled at the thought of it all, the task not seeming so imitating as before.

Kairi smiled at the thought as well, only to come with a realisation. “But Keepers have to live on the grounds of their school.” She looked over to Sora, to notice the pink on his cheeks.

Sora chuckled warmly. “I could cook.” He became to suggest, making Kairi go slightly red. “We could have a huge area to train together, with the students too. And even if one of us has to go on a mission, we know that the other one will be home when we get back.”  

Kairi could feel her heart racing at what he was suggesting. “Sora. That’s a big step.” She breathed

“I know.”

“And very big, scary step!”

Sora chuckled nervously. “Yeah. It is.” He looked back at her, kindness and warmth in his eyes. “But it’s a step I am willing to take with you.” He held onto her hand again, interlacing his fingers between hers. “What do you say?” He asked her. “Do you want to---live with me?”

Kairi was lost for words, especially when he physically asked the question. She didn’t need to answer though as her face answered everything for him. She couldn’t stop grinning.  

Mickey and Aqua appeared back in the room. “I hope you guys had time to discuss. Did any of you have any questions?” Aqua asked the group.

Sora grinned as he stood up, helping Kairi up as well, keeping a hold of her hand for the entire time. Like giddy school kids, they ran over to Mickey and Aqua with excitement. “Your Majestic, Aqua. Do you think it will be possible for Kairi and I to share the role?” He asked them.

“We could both be Keepers and share the responsibility of the Seeker.” Kairi added, finding that her voice has returned. She saw Sora looking at her warmly as she responded.  

Mickey took a moment to think. “A Keeper will normally make all decisions in regards to the training ground, the range of worlds they cover, giving missions to their Seekers and training new students. Not to mention keeping them alive.” He explained before looking at the two of them. “Having two heads deciding might complicate things.”

“I couldn’t imagine doing that with Terra. I think we would just clash all of the time.” Aqua admitted. She looked at the two young adults and noticed the two of them looking dishearted, still holding each other’s’ hands and if they would lose each other. With a soft smile, she added. “But I don’t see any harm in trying it out.”

Sora and Kairi beamed with excitement “Really?”

Mickey looked up Aqua with concern. “Aqua. Are you sure?”

“I am.” She said firmly before looking back at the two young keyblade masters in front of them.  “Sora. Kairi. I have seen the connection that you two have for each other. I have never seen two wielders more in sync. Going down this route will be hard, it will test your limits with each other, your patience and how the two of you see yourselves.” She explained to the two of them. “Both of you are still young so I will only ask this once. Are the two of you ready for this commitment that this role will bring.” She said with a serious tone.

“Yes.”

“I am.”

Mickey smiled softly at this, seeing what this means to them. “This is the first time something like this has been done. If you guys have any trouble, please let us know.”

“Trouble? We won’t have trouble.” Sora said in confidence as he placed his hands behind his head.

“We’ll be fine.” Kairi grinned with the same excitement.  

“And I know exactly where we should set the school up!”

“Me too!”

“Destiny Island!”

“Radiant Garden!”

Sora and Kairi could only look at each other with surprise from their response. Maybe this won’t be as trouble free as they hoped.

 (1),(2)

#kingdom hearts 3 #kingdom hearts 3 spoilers #destiny trio #the two keepers #sora and kairi #sora #kairi #riku #seasalt trio #roxas #xion #axel

[tmandpm]

This was inspired by a conversation @pecan-sandy and I had. I hope you enjoy, and I’m sorry if there are any grammatical errors. ………………………………………………………………………..

Spring 1960

Theresa studied the small human with fascination. Sure, she had baby dolls. She even had a small pram to push them around in with fake bottles and nappies and a dummy too, but she couldn’t quite take in the real thing. The red faced infant scared her in all honesty. It was flailing its arms and almost screaming as her mother gently rocked it back and forth. She felt a twinge of jealousy watching her mother cuddle the upset baby. Her mummy’s cuddles were for her.

“Theresa,” Zaidee said softly, “would you like to hold him?”

While she was skeptical, but she was also adventurous. A small nod was given as she settled against her mother’s side. She held her arms out and was met with a smile.

“Be very careful, dove. He’s very fragile.” She gently placed the newborn in the small arms waiting for him. She helped the child support the baby with her own arms as she watched Theresa cradle him. “Watch his head.”

“Yes, Mummy,” she said quietly. Her mother picked a pillow up and tucked it under her arms as extra support as she gazed at the baby. He was rather cute the more she looked at him. He had a button nose and soft cheeks, and his little hand was grasping her finger. “He’s cute. What’s his name?”

“James.”

“Like Aunt Lauren’s son,” she said referring to her godmother.

Zaidee smiled at her daughter. “Yes. Like Aunt Lauren’s son.”

Theresa turned her eyes back to the squirming child. She lightly stroked his downy hair before dragging a finger down his cheek. His eyes fluttered open, and she smiled as she watched him yawn and punch his little fists up. She let out a little giggle at the sight. “Mummy, look. What’s he doing?”

The older woman brushed the curls out of Theresa’s face. “He’s just stretching, dove.”

“Can we take him home with us?” She asked, looking up.

“I’m afraid not. Mrs. Adams wouldn’t be too happy to give the baby up, and Jenny would miss her new brother.”

“Jenny can come over and see him. She’s my friend. She likes it at our house,” she stated quite matter-of-factly.

Zaidee laughed. “No, baby. We can’t take him home with us.”

The small girl pouted as she thought about having to leave James with his mum. “But…but…please,” she said, giving her mother the puppy dog eyes she used to usually get anything she wanted from her father.

“I’m sorry, baby.”

“Okay,” she said looking down. She didn’t want to give the little thing up now that she saw how cuddly he was. Her grip tightened on him as he he looked up, giving her a gummy smile. She thought he looked odd, but it suited him.

“Theresa, we are about to leave. I’m going to give the baby back to Mrs. Adams,” Zaidee said before scooping the boy up with expert precision and handing him back. “Go get your coat on.”

Doing as she was told, Theresa hopped down from the couch and ran over to where her coat was. Her friend, Jenny, was currently at her grandparents so she didn’t get to see her this time, but she had heard her mother arrange a play date for them. She turned to see the most fascinating sight: Mrs. Adams was holding the baby to her chest with her dress undone. She didn’t think it was inappropriate for they were in her home, and Lord knows she would run around in her knickers in an attempt to escape bath time.

Slowly walking over, she handed her coat to her mother as she watched with great interest. She went through the motions of putting the light blue, jacket on while keeping her eyes trained to the scene in front. The baby was making a suckling noise, and she figured he was eating. But babies eat from bottles. “What’s he doing?”

“Eating, dear,” Mrs. Adams said, flashing her a brilliant smile. “When a woman has a baby, she can feed him from here,” she explained as she pressed a hand to her chest. “You’ll learn when you’re older. I’m sure you’ll do this some day with your own little ones.”

“But I’m a little one now, and I don’t do that,” she said perplexed.

The two older women chuckled when she felt her mother gently lift her into her arms. “We better get home. We have lots to do, don’t we?” She asked, smoothing the golden curls back.

Theresa nodded before laying her head against Zaidee’s shoulder. She was sleepy, and her mother had always been the best pillow.

“I’ll see you later, and he really is adorable,” Zaidee said as she carefully stroked the baby’s head. “We’ll see ourselves out. You stay put. He seems to be enjoying his meal.”

“We will see you at church tomorrow then.”

“Absolutely.”

Theresa gave a small wave from the door before they walked into the cool spring air. Their house was only down the road, and she knew her mother wanted to hurry back to start lunch so she made herself comfortable on Zaidee’s hip. “Mummy, what are we eating?”

“I’m making some sandwiches, but I have to make a few things for that dinner we are having tomorrow night,” she said before pressing a quick kiss to her daughter’s head.

“Am I staying for the dinner?” She was hoping she would. Whenever someone from the church came over to eat dinner or have a meeting with her parents, she was sent to a friend’s house with her father coming to collect her afterwards. She remembered the first time her parents had done it. She was left in tears as her mother dropped her off at Mrs. Johnson’s. She was an older, sweet lady in their church who was upset for the small girl. Theresa remembered how she had scooped her up and rocked her back and forth until she fell into a fitful sleep.

Zaidee’s heart broke as she heard the question asked. She knew Theresa didn’t like being sent off. She knew that she, as her mother, hated doing it, and there was so much hope in the tiny voice. “No, dove. You are going to stay with Mrs. Adams. That’s why went to visit. So I could arrange it.”

“Will me ever get to stay?”

“I’ll talk to Daddy and see what he says.” She dropped another kiss onto the child’s forehead as they passed through the gate. Zaidee quickly went inside before sitting her daughter down on the couch, pulling her shoes and jacket off in the process. “Are you sleepy, dove?”

Theresa nodded and held her arms out again in hopes of being cuddled. She watched her mother set her things aside before sitting by her and pulling her hair bow out. She crawled into her lap and snuggled into her chest, comforted by her breathing and the sound of her heartbeat. “Me’s love you, Mummy,” she said groggily.

“Mummy loves you to, dove.”

She felt the older woman stroke her hair while wrapping an arm around her small frame. She began humming and rocking her back and forth, and Theresa found her eyes fluttering closed.

She awoke a short time later to her father gently rubbing her back. Still half asleep, she sat up and wrapped her small arms around his neck, silently demanding he carry her. She heard him chuckle before she was lifted from her cocoon of warm blankets and pillows on the couch.

“I think she’s still asleep, love,” Hubert said as he passed his wife on the way to the kitchen table.

“She went down for her nap quickly so it doesn’t surprise me. I could tell she was tired at Allison’s.”

“My poor baby. She always seems tired these days.” Theresa felt him kiss her head as she burrowed deeper into the warmth he offered in his arms. “She has had nightmares the last few nights.”

“And I doubt your snoring has helped when she’s crawled in bed with us.”

Hubert wore a look of mock hurt. “I do not snore.”

Zaidee sniggered into her tea. “Sure, love.”

He looked down at Theresa as she tried to catch a few more minutes of sleep. His baby girl was growing up, and he didn’t want to let her go just yet. He held her tighter as he sat at the small table. “Theresa, sweetie,” he whispered, “it’s time for lunch.”

Theresa shifted and yawned before sitting up. Half of her hair was stuck up on her head, and her cheeks were red from the heat of first, the quilt that had been covering her, and then, her father. “Is it?” She asked while rubbing her eyes with tiny fists.

“Yes, sweetie. Mummy made cake for dessert too,” her father said as he tried to smooth her wild hair down.

She looked around in the fading and hazy afterglow of her nap. She had dreamt of her mummy having a baby, a little boy for her to play with. “Daddy?”

“Yes, sweetie?”

“Can I have the cake first?”

Hubert chuckled as he pulled a napkin over her lap. “I’m afraid not. But if you eat all of your lunch, I’ll make sure you get some ice cream.”

She gave him a sleepy nod as her answer. Her mother made quick work of bringing the food to the table, and she bowed her head and closed her eyes tight when her father said grace. In all honesty, she just wanted to go back to sleep, to her dreams of a sibling. She watched as she was given a cheese sandwich and a small bowl of tomato soup with a warning to let it cool before she ate. “Mummy, can I have something to drink?”

“Of course, dove. I’m sorry I forgot,” Zaidee said as she stood. She filled one of Theresa’s training cups with water before snapping the top on. “Here we are.”

Theresa took the plastic, mint colored cup by both handles and took a long swig. “Thank you, Mummy.”

Hubert spooned the soup into her mouth in between eating his own. He watched how she tore her sandwich into small bits, soaking them in the hot liquid before eating them. He smiled at how she took after his darling wife.

Lunch was an unusually quiet affair. Theresa talked their ears off most of the time with questions and stories while her small, high pitched giggle filled the air. But not today. She was too lost in daydreams of holding a little bundle of joy to talk, but she made sure she had her cake and ice cream after cleaning her plate. Soon, the family retired back to the living room: Hubert was finishing up his sermon, Zaidee was adding another two inches to her ever growing daughter’s dress, and Theresa was playing with her dolls.

“Mummy,” she said sweetly, “when are we getting a baby?”

Both of her parents stopped. Zaidee set her sewing aside while Hubert gently closed his Bible. They shared a look before they each kneeled on the floor so they could be closer to their daughter.

“Dove, why do you think we are getting a baby?” Zaidee asked.

“Jenny got one. When can we get one?”

Hubert looked down and sighed before holding his wife’s hand. “Sweetheart, babies don’t work that way. Just because Jenny got one doesn’t mean we are getting one,” he said softly.

Wide, innocent, green eyes looked at him. “Why?”

“They…they just don’t. God knows when a family needs to grow, and he will give that family a baby,” he stumbled trying to explain.

“Does God not think we need a baby then?” She was confused. She knew that God brought families together. It’s why they got married in a church, or at least, that’s what she thought.

“Dove,” Zaidee said as she reached out to gently tuck a piece of fallen hair behind her ear, “nobody knows what God thinks. He thinks of things we never could.”

She had heard that said many times in church. “But…but all my friends have one. Jenny and Moira and Hazel and Grace and Elizabeth. Even the boys get one,” she said in confusion. She couldn’t understand why everyone but her was entitled to a new baby.

Hubert sighed and looked at his wife. He didn’t know how he could possibly get it through to the small child in front of him that they had tried to give her a sibling, and it didn’t work out. “Come here, little one,” he gently scooped her up in his arms and brought her against his chest. “Do you remember last year when you went to stay with Granny Amy?”

“Yes, Daddy.” How could she forget? Her mother had been taken seriously ill. She had watched with teary eyes as her mother had laid there, pale and lifeless. “Mummy was sick.”

Zaidee took a deep breath and kissed Theresa’s head. “I wasn’t sick exactly, dove. Mummy was expecting a baby,” she explained.

“You had a baby? Where is it?”

Tears began to collect in Zaidee’s eyes. “It’s in heaven. Mummy…mummy had a baby growing in her tummy, and God decided that we didn’t need one just yet,” she explained tearfully.

Hubert held her hand in his. He could still see the joy she wore on her face as she told him that he would need to repaint Theresa’s crib. They had just decided to tell their eldest when he woke up to hear her sobbing on the bathroom floor, blood surrounding her. “So God took that baby home to heaven so He could take care of it.”

Theresa was shocked that God could be so…mean. She had been taught he was a loving, merciful God, and the one her parents were talking about sounded cruel. “That was mean. He didn’t need to do that.”

“Oh, no, dove,” Zaidee rushed to correct her. “God isn’t mean. He isn’t mean at all. He took the baby with Him because He could care for it in ways we never could. He loves you, and He loves that little baby. That’s why He did it.”

“God has a will for all of us, Theresa. Remember, ‘For I know the plans I have for you, declares the Lord.’ Never forget that,” her father said firmly.

“He took it because He loved it? Does that mean He is going to take me too since you said He loves me?” The small girl asked fearfully.

“He will one day. He will take all of us one day, dove, but I think He has big plans for you. In fact, I think He is going to let you change the world so He won’t be taking you anytime soon,” Zaidee soothed. She curled into her husband’s side and placed a hand on her little girl’s back.

Theresa looked at them and smiled. She snuggled into her father and held her mother’s hand. “I hope He lets me keep both of you forever.”

………………………………..

Spring 1984

“Is there a history of miscarriage in your family?” The man asked.

“My mother had one,” Theresa said. She was cold in the small room, but she was so very happy. She was just over eight weeks pregnant the scan showed.

“Just the one?”

“Yes.”

The young doctor smiled. “Did she have any problems in that area?”

“Not that I’m aware,” she said distractedly. She just wanted to stare at the little flickering light that was her baby’s heartbeat. “Can I have a few pictures? I want to surprise my husband with it.”

“Of course,” he said happily. It was always rewarding when he saw the pure elation on a patient’s face when he told them they were pregnant. “Have you two been trying?”

Theresa looked at him and smiled. “Yes. Almost two years.”

“Well, then I know you are happy. I only have a few things to go over with you.” He handed her a towel so she could wipe the gel off of her stomach. He waited until she was sitting up on the table to talk. “Now, it has been shown that women whose mothers have suffered miscarriages have a slightly higher risk, but you are young and healthy. I don’t think there should be many, if any, problems.”

“I understand. Is there anything I can do to try and ensure that I don’t…lose it?” She hated to even say it.

“Just rest and take care of yourself. That’s the most anyone can do.”

#fanfic

[peachyvhope]

Skinny Love | pt.1

;pairing — jimin x reader

;warnings — smut will be next chapter; till then... | very fluffy | 

;summary — your roommate Jeon Jungkook has introduced a heartthrob of a crush into your life, and all you can do is sit by and watch with one-sided love.

;word count — about 4k

“Hey, did you want to come with me to see that new movie?”

Jungkook was stationed on the floor in front of you, iPhone pressed to his ear as he ran a hand through his dark hair. You knew he wasn’t talking to you, but it didn’t stop you from responding.

“Yes! Kookie, I’ve been waiting for you to ask me out!” Jungkook turned so fast you thought you would be the one to get whiplash. His glare was harsh, contrasting the light and airy tone in his words.

“Oh, no, that was my friend. She jokes around a lot… No, nothing! I’m asking you out after all, noona.” You rolled his eyes. Jungkook had a weird thing for girls older than him. Of course, it wasn’t really weird, but he just never once had any sort of attraction to someone younger than him. You wondered if there was something wrong with him. As soon as he realized a girl was younger than him, she never heard a word back from the guy. You stood from the couch and went to the kitchen, tuning out the rest of Jungkook’s conversation. When you find the orange juice sitting on the island counter, you yell out to your roommate.

“Hey! Jungkook, what did I tell you about leaving stuff out of the fridge?! And you’re always the first to complain when it’s all warm. Wait until you leave the milk out and it gets spoiled; I won’t buy another one!”

“I’m on the phone, woman!”

“I don’t care,” you yelled back. When Jungkook doesn’t respond, you hiss in frustration and uncap the orange juice, ready to drink straight from the carton. You hear the door open and assume it’s Jungkook leaving to do God knows what.

BZZT!

Your phone vibrates in your sweatpants’ pocket.

“Hey, I let myself in. I brought some stuff.” You jump at the new voice, almost dropping your phone, turning to see an all-too-familiar face.

“Oh, no, uh…” You trailed off, embarrassed at how you looked. It was a Saturday morning, which meant it was a lazy day. The invader wrapped his arms around you in a hug, and you breathed in his scent. When he leaned back to look at you, his eyebrows raised in worry, and you caught a reflection of yourself in his dark eyes. Your hands slapped to your cheeks, and when you turned around to hide from his view. You had gotten out of bed just a few hours ago and tied your hair into a bun, thrown on sweatpants, and decided to get on with your life. You knew you didn’t look one bit presentable; hell, you didn’t even have eyebrows!

“No?”

“I meant, no problem. You should have let me know you were coming, though!”

Park Jimin looked as good as ever. He looked imperfectly perfect, standing there in ordinary clothes, but he made it look like he’d just got off the fashion runway. Literally all he wore was a green crewneck and blue jeans. How? Ever since you met Jimin when he helped Jungkook move in two years ago, you’d developed a little crush. Something about the way he squinted when he smiled, or how his laugh was so contagious, his eyes, or his thighs. You didn’t know exactly, but as soon as you laid eyes on him, you were entranced. And when you got to know him, you began to fall for him. Hard.

“Y/N?” You’d started daydreaming about Jimin.

“Yeah?”

“I asked if I could put these in the fridge.”

“Oh, yeah! Of course! What’d you buy?”

“I bought some drinks; it’s game night, remember?”

“It is?” When Jimin gave you a pointed look, his eyelids shutting ever so slightly, you started nodding your head. “It is,” you said more certainly. “How could I ever forget?! We planned this…” You couldn’t remember when you had planned such a thing.

“Jungkook suggested it at dinner a few weeks ago. You’re so silly,” Jimin smiled that super cute smile of his, and you couldn’t help but smile with him.

“That he did. Did you get that one drink I like?”

“The one that you keep throwing back until you don’t even know your own name?” Jimin opened the door to your fridge and began to stock it with drinks of all kinds--all the guys were coming over and some of your friends, too. You noticed how, despite Jimin’s smaller frame, his shoulders still seemed broad.And his proportions were godly; you loved seeing him wear jeans. Especially jeans with tears in them.

“That’s the one,” you squealed excitedly, moving forward to see if he had bought it.

“No. I did not.” When he finished putting the alcohol in the fridge he turned and patted your head. He was just barely taller than you. “When you drink like that, you cause trouble for everyone. And we definitely do not need that today. What are we going to do when you starting yelling about the chicken nuggets Jungkook stole from you six months ago?”

“I have never once--” Jimin gave you another pointed look. “I hadn’t eaten all day,” you whined. Jimin chuckled that melodic chuckle and pushed you into the living room where Jungkook still sat, this time scrolling through Twitter posts.

“While you’re over there lurking, people are wondering if you’ve died or not, you coconut.” Jungkook slowly raised his middle finger in your direction as you took a seat in the arm chair.

“And while they’re worrying about me, no one gives a flying red fire truck about you, Y/N.”

“When did you become such an ass?” You scoffed in disbelief, glancing at Jimin who went to sit beside his best friend. They did a small handshake before Jimin whipped out his own phone and typed something out, eventually turning on the television and picking up the game controller.

“When you revealed your true colors as the devil herself.” Jungkook snickered to himself and you looked around for something to throw at the brat.

“Chill out, Kookie-ah. Let’s play some Overwatch.”

“Ah, yes!” Jungkook reached for a controller as well, leaning against the coach as he settled in. You wanted to move closer to observe their gameplay, but at that moment, the doorbell rang. Instead of taking the seat on the couch right behind the two guys, you walked over to the front door and opened it to reveal your friend Nara. She gleamed at you, giving you a short hug before walking into the kitchen. She had a bag in her hand, and before you knew it, she was putting her own groceries away. The only brightside to everyone dropping off food was that at the end of the night, the rest of it was yours. And Jungkook’s too, but you always got to them first. Usually.

“Game night, huh?”

“Yes, game night. Why is everyone showing up when it’s still…” you slipped your phone out your pocket, only to find that you hadn’t replied to Namjoon’s messages. You quickly checked the time, “It’s barely noon!”

god of destruction joon

[Sat, Oct 27, 11:32 AM]

hey, y/n

what should i bring? was thinking about alcohol but jm said hes got it.

You smirked at the message before typing out your reply.

Y/N

[Sat, Oct 27, 12:04 PM]

bring some snacks! gummies--lots of em. but also get the alcohol i really like. jimin forgot it.

Namjoon’s reply was quick. Nara glanced at you, surprised at the sudden buzz but continued to put things away. You could see she bought popcorn.

god of destruction joon

[Sat, Oct 27, 12:06 PM]

you do realize the ‘alcohol you really like’ is just smirnoff with lemonade we mix in, right?

You think about it. You’d always just seen the drink poured into a glass just for you, and you were just that eager to drink it.

Y/N

[Sat, Oct 27, 12:07 PM]

is it?

god of destruction joon

[Sat, Oct 27, 12:07 PM]

Yes. how about i mix something else tongiht? rather jin wants to mix it, he said it’ll be the best ever. he was gonna wait till we go drinking, but nows good a time as ever.

tonight*

Y/N

[Sat, Oct 27, 12:09 PM]

tell sir jin i’d be delighted. but don’t forget the gummy candy! I really like twin snakes, too!

You ended the conversation there, turning to see Nara had already retired into the living room. She was sat between the two guys on the floor, hands itching on her knees as she anxiously watched the gameplay. You didn’t know how, but you had never been too interested in mmorpg games. Even so, almost everyone you were surrounded by was deeply invested in them. You remembered helping Jungkook move boxes into his room and found stacks on stacks of similar games, and he cursed you when you dropped a single case. As if the CD was break from such a short fall.

“You play Widowmaker really well,” Nara compliments, eyes glued to the screen. Jungkook says nothing in return, his jaw slackened in focus. Your eyes find Jimin, who is awkwardly jamming the controls. His hair flops into his eyes slightly when he leans forward and he whips his head to try and get it out of his sight, but the strands don’t move. His teeth enclose his full bottom lip, making his lips just that much pinker.

Just then, Nara giggles out of nowhere, shaking you out of your reverie. You two make eye contact, and when you mouth ‘what’s funny’, Nara simply replies with something that involved ‘love’. The word alone brought blood rushing to your cheeks, and when the guys coincidentally finished their round and looked toward you, you slapped your hands to your cheeks.

“You okay over there, tomato?”

“Screw you, Jungkook. It’s hot.”

“I didn’t ask.”

“I’m going to the bakery.” You turned on your heel and walked out the front door before realizing you were still dressed in stained sweats, a tank, and your hair was slicked into a bun away from your eyebrow-less greasy face. With a huff, you walked back inside in an effort to make yourself a bit more presentable to the outside world.

Ugh, and Jimin witnessed you like that.

When game night rolls around, so do the excuses. Jungkook was the first to go. The clock struck seven and he was all deuces, making you think back to when he was on the phone. Nara was the one who tried to force him to stay.

“Ya! You’re the one who made the plans!” She had said, but it was no use. Jungkook was convinced the noona he had been chatting up was the one.

And then came the texts. Yoongi was the first.

yoongers

[Sat, Oct 27, 7:07 PM]

Sleeping.

A sleepy bastard as always. And then there was Hoseok.

your hope

[Sat, Oct 27, 7:27 PM]

dance practice taking longer than expected. next time x

And it went on like that. The boys were making excuses left and right, and your friends, too! Jin suddenly had food poisoning from eating at some new restaurant and Namjoon had to nurse him back to health, and your friend JiHyun had an emergency because she chipped her tooth on a soda bottle. It was almost like they were avoiding you at this point.

“What am I supposed to do now?”

“What do you mean,” Nara looked up from her nails that she had been painting with the polish she snagged from your room. The color suited her better than it suited you, a light rose pink.

“No one’s coming. You’re the only one here.”

“You forgot about Jiminie,” Nara mumbled, and you suddenly remembered that Jimin had wandered off to Jungkook’s bedroom to catch up on some sleep hours earlier. If he was feeling so tired, he’d probably end up leaving, too.

“Ugh,” you groaned. “I already ordered the food.”

“Oh, honey--” A loud ringtone blared from Nara’s phone. Her eyes widened as she read the message. Interested, you attempted to lean over and catch a glimpse of what was happening but your best friend was too quick. She stood hurriedly and began to gather her belongings. “Something came up; I really need to get going.”

“What?! Not you too, Nara!”

“I am so sorry, Y/N. I’ll make it up to you,” she uttered in a rushed tone. “I’ll take some food with me, though. Sounds like they’re here.” Nara moved in the direction of the door, and like she said, the food had just arrived. Nara took out a card and spoke with the man briefly, taking one of the boxes of pizza you’d ordered before pointing in your direction. At least she paid for the food, so you were grateful. You waved goodbye as Nara put the box in the passenger seat of her car before offering the delivery guy to come in and place the food in the kitchen.

“As a tip, do you want any of the food? I’ll still pay a tip, too.” You pulled a small bill from your pocket and offered it.

“Then, the noodles,” he smiled. “Someone cancel on you?”

“That obvious?” The delivery guy smiled before nodding in thanks and heading out. You sighed, opening up a box of pizza and taking a slice.

You were on your third slice when you heard a door creak open. You looked up to see Jimin, his dark hair ruffled and his eyes tired. “Is it good?” You hummed, nodding your head to the box to silently offer him. “What happened? Did I miss the party?” Jimin chuckled innocently, and you wondered if he really thought that.

“They cancelled.”

“So it’s just me and you, huh?” Jimin bit into the pizza slice, and that was when it hit. You and Jimin. Jimin and you. Alone. If things when badly on Jungkook’s date, then he’d be back in a few hours, the latest. Why were you even thinking about that coconut head brat when Jimin was in front of you, you didn’t know. But what you did know was that you were getting more and more nervous at the thought of being all alone with the guy you liked.

“I, yeah,” you began to stutter. “Did you, sleep, uh, drive, I mean…” You couldn’t tell where even you yourself were going with this conversation. “Do you like tomatoes?”

Jimin’s expression was one of pure confusion, but after a moment, he burst out into laughter. His eyes squinted beautifully as he laughed with his whole body, lurching forward and grabbing onto the island counter with his free hand. You couldn’t help but begin to giggle along with him, feeling some of the nervousness evaporate in your body.

“Sorry, that was too funny.” Jimin swiped a tear from his eye and exhaled a deep breath. “Tomatoes are alright. What do you think?”

“They’re great. They’re fruity, you know.”

“You’re just making this more awkward than it needs to be, Y/N. You know that right?” Jimin stated the obvious, using his hands to elaborate on what he was saying. He moved his hand between the both of you, gesturing ‘this’.

“I, uh, sorry? Pardon?”

“God, you hang around Kookie-ah too much.” Jimin flipped his hair and ran his hand through it before leaning an elbow on the counter and resting his face in his hand. He peered up at you from beneath his long eyelashes. Suddenly he yawned, and his other fist covered his mouth. “What time is it?”

You lifted your phone to show him the time.

“I’ll get going, then.” Jimin stood from his seat and moved towards you, holding his arms out for a hug. If there was one thing you absolutely adored about Jimin, it was his hugs. You shyly took a step forward as he caged you to his body, and you breathed in his scent for the second time that day. Despite being stuck in Jungkook’s room all day, he still smelled of vanilla.

“Stop sniffing me, Y/N, you weirdo,” Jimin chuckled lightly in your ear, sending a pleasant shiver down your spine.

“You just smell really good,” you mumble absentmindedly.

“Not as good as you.” You weren’t absolutely sure, but you could have sworn Jimin’s lips brushed against your ear. You started to feel more self-conscious. “I’ve always wondered, but what do I smell like?”

“I..You smell,” you paused. “Good?” Cue another chuckle. “Sweet, like marshmallows and vanilla.”

“You know what you smell like to me?” Jimin’s voice dropped to just barely a whisper, and there it was again. His lips undeniably brushed against your ear, and as he continued to speak, you could feel his lips hovering. “You smell...quite sexy.” Jimin pressed his lips lightly to your cheek and then to your jaw; light butterfly kisses. You began to feel yourself mentally melt; it was as if it was a dream.

“Like?” You urged him to continue.

“Like...I don’t know...just sexy.” Jimin’s arms moved lower. Rather than encircling you in a hug, his arms were wrapped around your waist and you were acutely aware of this.

“Jimin…” You didn’t know how to phrase this. Jimin was no ‘international playboy’ like Jungkook,  but he is definitely a lady killer. You didn’t know what the was doing, or why he was doing what he was doing.

“Do you know what skinny love is?”

“What?”

“Can I kiss you?”

Again. What? Except you didn’t say it. You looked up at Jimin, searching his eyes to see if there was anything wrong with this scenario. Park Jimin just asked if he could kiss you. You. No way this was happening. Your hand moved of its own accord and you pinched your own cheek. Hard.

“Woah! Are you okay? Just say no!” Jimin backed away as if fire had scalded him, gingerly touching your red and aching cheek. “I’m sorry. Forget I said anything--I just---”

“I had to check if this was real.”

Jimin sighed and took a seat in the stool at the island counter again and took your hand in his. “Y/N, I have had a crush on you for three years now. Since Jungkook showed us his Halloween picture when he was Detective Conan and you were Haibara.”

“That’s kinda…”

“Creepy that I remember that? Yeah. I know… The point is, I’ve liked you for a while now. And I know you like me.”

“I thought I was pretty slick,” you mumble in disbelief.

“With your staring?” Jimin chuckled again. Unconsciously, you reached up and pressed your hands to Jimin’s cheeks.

“Ouch!”

“Sorry. You’re real. Wow.” You were so shocked, you began to zone out, rubbing Jimin’s red cheeks.

Without any warning, Jimin pulled your face close to his own and he pressed his full lips to yours. You almost immediately sighed, finally released from the excruciating mystery of what his lips would feel like. Jimin pulled your body closer, and you leaned into the kiss. His lips moved slowly, fluidly, and when you thought the feeling was as good as it was ever going to get, you felt his tongue slide over your bottom lip in an effort to coax a deeper kiss out of you.

His hands wander under your shirt, his cold fingertips causing you to shiver from his touch. You let out a shaky sigh, your hands finding their way to his hair.

“I really like you,” Jimin whispered against your lips, and your eyes fluttered open to see his own hooded eyes, filled with lust. “I really want to take you, right here…”

You hummed in agreement. You wouldn’t object to that—you’d been dreaming of it for months. It would be a dream come true, but you sensed a ‘but’. And sure enough it came. Your body went cold and Jimin’s forehead was pressed against your own, and you could see some kind of pain tinged in his eyes.

“Park Jimin,” you muttered in a hushed tone.

“You deserve better…” For a moment, your mind blanked out. Jimin does all this, just to leave you cold turkey.

CLICK!

The door slams open and you can hear bumbling laughter. “Y/N~”

Jungkook was back. Jimin separated himself from you and breathed heavily, watching as Jungkook finally entered the kitchen where you were. Jungkook stumbled around, clearly drunk.

“I thought you went to the movies,” you said, crossing your arms across his chest. Jimin gingerly touched your elbow before standing from his seat, clearly amused by the scene of Jungkook bursting into song, “I’m a born singer~”.

“I’ll help him get into bed.”

Jimin did just that. He took Jungkook into his room and you could hear him in the midst of all the ruckus cursing the younger man. Perplexed with whether or not you should stay out in the kitchen and wait for Jimin to come back or go into your own room and call it a night, you started to clear away the food and put them into the fridge.

You finished stacking the cartons of food atop the pizza in the fridge and closed the door just when Jimin walked back into the open kitchen. His sweater had become untucked and you wondered how much trouble drunk Jungkook was; you had never actually seen him so drunk. He’d always boasted about the high tolerance he had—at least now you had more reason to tease him.

Jimin crossed the empty space towards you, shaking you out of thought. His expression seemed tired. “Y/N…” He suddenly took hold of your hands. A long minute passed as he stared down at you. When you finally began to feel awkward, your hands growing more and more clammy with your heart beating out of your chest with each passing second, he finally spoke. “Let’s go on a date.” He stepped back, letting go of your hands and you don’t know if you imagined it, but a blush crept up his neck and tinged his ears a rose pink. “I’ll text you.” And he walked through the door.

Only a moment passed before he came back inside and wrapped his arms around you in a tight hug. “You mean the world to me, and you deserve the world.” Jimin pressed his plump lips to your forehead one last time, “Lock the door, okay?”

And then he was truly gone.

#shawty give me whip-whiplash #ft illejeon #jiminlies #bts scenarios #bts #bts jimin #jimin x reader #illejeon doing illegal things #jimin being a cutie #mochimchim #some fluff

[theartofbeinganerd]

I love baby Evelyn! you're still doing prompts, could you do Evelyn meeting the team for the first time? That would be adorable!

Thanks for the prompt!! 

(Ao3)

-

“I can’t believe this is still the Playground,” Jemmacommented in awe as she and Fitz crossed the renovated hangar of SHIELD’s mainbase, Evelyn cradled against her hip. Their three month old daughter was takingeverything in with wide eyes, which currently seemed to be locked on theZephyr. Bending to kiss the top of Evelyn’s head, she murmured, “Your daddydesigned that plane, Evie. Aren’t you so proud of him?”

Fitz chuckled lightly at that, even as he eyed the Zephyrfor himself. “You know…I think I might talk to Mack about some upgrades…”

Jemma gave him a stern look as she reminded him, “We’re herefor a holiday, Fitz; have youforgotten the definition of the word ‘retired’?”

“Okay, yeah, but…” When Jemma’s expression didn’t change, heall-but pouted, pleading, “Just a quick look at the engine?”

She pursed her lips thoughtfully, then sighed. “Oh alright,fine. But just the engine!”

“You’ve got it, Jem!” He pressed a quick, grateful kiss to hertemple, and Jemma rolled her eyes fondly, not bothering to hide her smile. Theypassed through the hangar doors then, entering into the main section of thebase – only to find Daisy waiting anxiously on the other side.

“Oh, Happy Thanksgiving, Daisy!” Jemma greeted, smilingwidely at the sight of their friend. It’d been far too long since they’d seeneach other, what with Daisy being busy with the Secret Warriors and saving theworld, while Jemma and Fitz had been busy with settling into their cottage inPerthshire then taking care of Evelyn.

“Happy Thanksgiving,” Daisy replied absently, immediatelyswiping Evelyn from her arms. “Oh my goshyou’re just the cutest thing ever, aren’t you?” she cooed, ignoring Fitz andJemma almost completely in favor of Evelyn. “Oh yes you are. With those big blue eyes and that curly hair and your cutelittle nose! That’s it, I’m justgonna have to steal you away from your parents, yes I am, yes I am.”

Arching an eyebrow, Fitz turned to Jemma and said in a stagewhisper, “Told you we should’ve named your sister as her godmother instead.”

Finally, Daisy lifted her gaze from Evelyn to give Fitz a displeasedlook. “Oh? Would Jemma’s sister havethe best present in the world for Evelyn?”

“You didn’t have to get her anything,” Jemma assured her,even as she took the gift bag Daisy had had sitting at her feet from her.

“Yeah, well, I wanted to.” Beaming excitedly, Daisy watchedas she removed the tissue paper and revealed…a little black baby dress coveredin white daisies. “I bought her one in every size, so she’ll never grow out ofit! And of course, now she’ll never forget about her superhero godmother.”

“Oh Daisy, we’d never let her forget about you,” Jemma promised,tucking the dress back into the gift bag and taking a couple of their bags fromFitz now that her hands were free. Daisy shot her a grateful smile, then ledthe way further into the base.

They hadn’t gotten far when they ran into Mack and Elena,and Fitz called to him, “Hey, I’m all set to help cook up a feast SHIELD willnever forget.”

Mack grinned as they closed the remaining distance betweenthem. “Thanks Turbo – but first, I need to get a good look at this cutie.” Hetook Evelyn from a reluctant Daisy, nearly engulfing her in his large hands andarms.

Laughing, Elena commented, “You make her look so little.” She reached out, picking up oneof Evelyn’s hands, beaming as the tiny fingers curled around her index finger. Turningto Fitz and Jemma, she told them warmly, “She is beautiful.”

“Thank you,” Jemma said with an answering smile. Mack gaveEvelyn a little bounce, and she gave a big, gummy smile in response.

“Looks like she likes you,” Daisy pointed out. “But not asmuch as she likes me, obviously.”

Chuckling, Fitz teased, “It’s probably just because he’s agiant version of her favorite teddy bear.”

With a dashing grin, Mack told them, “Naw, kids just loveme.” Elena stroked her thumb over the back of Evelyn’s hand, sharing a loadedglance with Mack. After a moment, he cleared his throat and turned to handEvelyn back to a waiting Daisy. “We should probably go get dinner started,Turbo.”

“Yeah, good thinking,” Fitz agreed, and as Mack and Elenaheaded back to the kitchen, he asked to Jemma, “Are you okay with getting thebags to our room?”

“I’ll help her,” Daisy volunteered, taking one from him andslinging it over her free shoulder.

As Jemma took the other, Fitz gave Evelyn a little kiss onthe forehead, promising, “Daddy will see you soon, Evie. Be good for Mummy,”before he hurried off to catch up with the other two.

Daisy then led the way toward the residential wing and theroom Jemma and Fitz would be staying in during their visit. She couldn’t seemto help herself from saying slyly, “Well, I know who’s having the next baby.”

“Oh, I hope it’s soon,” Jemma mused, her eyes wide withdelight at the idea, “then Evelyn could be friends with their baby!”

“Given those looks they were giving each other, I’d say you’relikely going to get your wish,” Daisy replied with an amused snort.

They arrived at the room then, and Jemma dropped off thebags as Daisy excitedly showed her the crib the team had apparently purchasedas a surprise for them (and likely, as a bid to get them to visit more). Shealso took the chance to quickly change Evelyn’s diaper – or rather, she talked Daisythrough it, since she was so dead set on taking Evelyn and raising her herself.

And of course, they changed Evelyn into the daisy dress ather insistence, and Jemma had to admit it did look adorable (though she tendedto think anything her daughter wore was adorable, because well, she wasbiased).

Once that was finished, they headed back out into thehallway, only to run into Coulson moments later. He paused at the sight ofthem, smiling in greeting, and Daisy asked, “Hey Couslon, are you ready to meetthe world’s cutest baby?”

Coulson gave a little chuckle as he replied, “Well, I’mwearing my least favorite tie in case of spit-up, so I’m as prepared as I’llever be, I suppose.” He tapped his tie, which was a rather unflattering burntorange color, then took Evelyn from Daisy. “Hi Evelyn,” he murmured to her, hislips curving in a gentle smile when she gazed back at him with wide, curiouseyes. “Are you going to grow up and save the world like your parents?”

“No offense, sir,” Jemma started a bit uncomfortably, “butwe’re rather hoping that Evelyn stays outof the family business – I’m not sure poor Fitz and I have the nerves for that.”

Not seeming offended in the least, Coulson offered her anunderstanding grin. “That’s probably for the best. But, perhaps, she’ll find aless dangerous way to help save theworld; if anyone could do it, it’d be the child of Fitzsimmons.”

“You’re probably right,” she admitted with a quiet laugh.

At that moment, an agent Jemma didn’t recognize came up tothem, and told Coulson lowly, “Sir, we need your input on the Beijing mission.”

Coulson sighed good-humoredly, handing Evelyn over to hermother. “Even on a holiday, my work’s never done. I’ll see you both at dinner.”With that, he followed the agent back down the hall.

Left with a bit of free time before dinner, Daisy showed Jemmaaround the base, since she and Fitz had left around the time the renovationshad really begun. They toured the area where the Secret Warriors trained, andthe new lab (built based on Fitz and Jemma’s designs, of course), before endingup in the new common room.

While Daisy was catching her up on the current goings-on atSHIELD, Jemma lightly rocked a sleepy Evelyn, though they both glanced up whenMay entered the room. “May! Come meet Evelyn,” Daisy called quietly, waving herover.

May paused for a moment in the doorway, then wordlesslymoved to perch on the couch beside Jemma, gazing down at Evelyn. “You can holdher, if you’d like,” Jemma offered, “she just tends to cry if she’s this tiredand isn’t being held by me or Fitz.” Still, she carefully passed Evelyn over,who began to work herself up for a good cry almost instantly.

However, then May adjusted her hold, and Evelyn simplystopped, blinking slowly up at her. Then, she seemed to decide that she wasperfectly content, and settled right in.

Giving a surprised little laugh, Jemma admitted, “Well, that’scertainly a first; you’re a natural, May.” In acknowledgment, May simply gave aslight smile, gently rocking Evelyn back and forth and watching as she closedher little eyes and gave into sleep. It was quiet for a moment, then she said, “Ican take her back if she’s too heavy, otherwise you may be here for awhile.”

“She’s fine,” May replied lowly, shaking her head.

There was another beat of silence, then Daisy asked Jemma, “Whydon’t we help go set the table?”

“Alright,” Jemma agreed easily. As she stood up to followDaisy out of the room, she reminded May, “If you need anything, I’ll be rightdown the hall.”

After May had nodded in understanding and the two had leftthe room, Daisy said suddenly, “That doesn’t prove anything.”

“What doesn’t?” Jemma asked in confusion, glancing back overher shoulder toward the common room as though that would somehow make itclearer.

“That May’s like…the baby whisperer,” she elaborated. “Like…Evelynstill loves me too and would totally want to live with me if you guys died, right?”

Jemma rolled her eyes fondly, giving a little shake of herhead as she teasingly placated her, “YesDaisy, if Fitz and I died, living with you would be our three month olddaughter’s first choice.”

“Good,” Daisy replied, grinning, and with anotherexaggerated roll of her eyes, Jemma elbowed her lightly in the ribs.

It wasn’t long after that they were all sitting down toThanksgiving dinner at the large table that had been set up in the base’s newdining hall. Throughout the meal, a happily cooing Evelyn found herself as thecenter of attention, constantly passed around the table – though no one reallyseemed about to argue when May took sole possession of her. She held her forthe rest of the meal, not even flinching when a curious Evelyn stuck a hand inher mashed potatoes and make a mess that had both Fitz and Jemma blushing andstumbling out apologies – she simply wiped it up and carried on eating herdinner.

At the end of the night, after they’d all sat aroundcatching up and laughing over all memories, May finally handed a half-asleepEvelyn to Fitz. She gave them both a nod as she said, “She’s wonderful. You’revery fortunate to have her.”

“We know,” Jemma replied warmly, managing to catch May’shand to give it a brief squeeze. “You’re welcome to see her whenever you’dlike, you know.”

“Thank you.” Though May’s lips only quirked up the tiniestbit, Jemma could tell just how much it truly meant to her.  

As they then said goodnight to the room at large, Daisyhurried over to pop a little kiss on the top of Evelyn’s head, whispering, “Ilove you most.”

Fitz lifted one of Evelyn’s arms, having her give a littlewave as he called once more, “Good night.”

“And Happy Thanksgiving,” Jemma added.

As the others bid them good night, Fitz readjusted his gripon Evelyn, her head lolling against his shoulder, then they headed back totheir room. While Fitz put on his pajamas, Jemma changed Evelyn’s diaper. Shethen handed her off to Fitz to put down for the night while she got dressed aswell; after the past couple of months, the teamwork was practically routine.

When they could finally climb into bed, Jemma automatically curledup against Fitz and said thoughtfully as her gaze landed on the crib, “Youknow, we really should try to visit more.”

“Yeah,” Fitz agreed with a nod, “I mean, Evie seemed toreally love meeting everyone – almost as much as everyone loved meeting her. Itreally was great to see.”

She laughed softly, slinging an arm across his waist and restingher cheek on his chest as she murmured, “Yes, well, they are as good as her family, if you’ll remember.”

He wrapped an arm around her shoulders, pressing a kiss toher forehead. “Oh, I remember; they make it a bit difficult to forget, don’tthey?”

Burying her face in his chest to hide the amused quirk ofher lips, Jemma groaned, “Ugh Fitz.”

“Don’t ‘ugh Fitz’ me, you know I’m right.” The smirk in hisvoice was obvious. “Every single one of them has been a right pain in the ass atleast once over the years.”

Levering herself up onto her elbow, Jemma arched an amusedeyebrow at him through the darkness of the room. “Well of course – that’s howyou know they’re family. You’re a constant pain in my ass and I married you, so it must be true.” She pecked his lipsonce, then settled back in against his chest.

“Wait –”

“Go to sleep, Fitz.”

There was a beat, then he grumbled, “Fine.”

“And Fitz?”

“Yeah?”

“Even though you’re a pain my ass, I love you.”

He let out a quiet laugh, then murmured, “I love you too,Jem.”

#shayna writes #fsfic #fitzsimmons #prompts #playground fam #team as a family #baby fitzsimmons #i should probably just have a tag for evelyn by now lmaooo #Anonymous

[newsiegirlscout]

FHFIF Headcanons

HEADCANON TIME!!! Woo-hoo!

Today, I was thinking I’d ramble on a headcanon roll about this show by the name of Foster’s Home for Imaginary Friends. It was really amazing while it ran, and all-in-all was completely underrated. I just finished the last episode two weeks or so ago and, since I’m still in shock over it, well....the best thing to do with sadness and joy and nostalgia is to give it to the Internet, right? Right! So-onto the headcanons!

MAC

--When Mac gets older, he gets a job at Foster’s, much to the delight of the friends. (He used to joke about his shift ending at 2:59 just to freak out Bloo. Frankie still cleans everything, so Mac’s job is mostly cooking and messing around anyway. Y’know, keeping the more active imaginary friends busy. That, and reading bedtime stories-he has an awesome “scary” voice, but in a silly way, like Mojo Jojo.).

---Mac’s favorite flavor of ice cream is chocolate fudge with caramel and milk chocolate sprinkles. He gains control of his sugar intolerance somewhat when he’s around fourteen....but still goes hyper if he has too much. (Say, the normal sugar-hyped slight bounce for anyone else is Mac’s sugar rush.)

---Mac never actually retired his bookbag. It was intentionally way too large for  a second-grader’s homework load, so he could hide his most prized possessions from Terrence- or, at least, always keep them on his person. (On a regular day, his bag can be found holding his laptop, wallet, pictures of Frankie, library card, marbles, key chain, and water pistol. Yeah, that’s the water pistol that makes him look like an Ironman villain.) When he left for college, everybody at Fosters signed his bookbag. 

---He skipped more than a few grades. In fact, he was in a school for gifted children during the length of the series-which explains why an eight-year-old was writing an essay on the presidents. 

---Mac writes the most flowery, beautiful free-verse poetry you have ever seen. Once, it got published and he won a reward for it, but was still utterly embarrassed when the newspaper arrived at Fosters. He even snuck out around four AM to grab both his and Foster’s papers, but found Mr. Herriman calmly reading it in his study. (Herriman gave his highest stamp of approval-i.e; straightening his monocle, cleaning the lens, and remarking, “By jove!” 

---He tends to wear his hair long when he gets older-that, and typically going unshaven until Mr. Herriman tells him he looks like he’s about to attend a woodstock festival. 

---Additionally, Mac has fluffy, perpetually-askew hair because of his tendency to run his fingers through it when in stress or when he’s thinking. (Frankie’s hair is spiky for the same reason.) 

---He’s a hugger. Always has been, always will be.

---Mac, even as an adult, only prefers (as reading material) Science fiction, action, comedy, and comic books; for viewing, he prefers old movies, comedy films, and cartoons. A lot of cartoons. As in, about 63.547% of the animated films in the DVD case are movies that Mac hauled over at some point or another during his job and intentionally left there. (They all have his name in sharpie on a neat label pressed onto the back.)

FRANKIE FOSTER

--Frankie more or less decided a long time ago that she’s aromantic. The closest thing she’ll allow to love is the filial bond between her and the imaginary friends.

--Her favorite ice cream flavor is pineapple rum. (Yes, that’s a thing.) If any of the younger friends are with her, though, she orders mango. 

---She possesses a secret love for the color pink. She tends not to show it too much, as she feels it’s demeaning to her maturity, but otherwise, it’s her favorite color in the world. 

---Frankie grew up with the Foster’s imaginary friends. Her job started when Madame Foster occasionally asked her to do little chores around the house- say, rocking a baby friend to sleep or washing a pot -so that, by the time she turned fifteen and wanted to get a career so as to earn more cash, she was a first choice caretaker for Foster’s Home. 

--Frankie used to love those little toys that come in cereal boxes. She would eat bowls upon bowls of Choco-Frosted Sugar Bombs Trix and Captain Crunch, etc., until she was on sugar rushes to put Mac’s to shame so she’d get the toy and be able to get another box of cereal as soon as possible. (Her favorites were the superhero rings;((Does anybody else remember those? I feel like those were really big for a while, little plastic rings with superhero emblems?)); she once got so many, she could hook them together into a crown.)

--She loves the arcade games in an almost abnormal way. When she was about nine, she got the high score on Tetris, Paperboy, Centipede, and quite a few others. She is most often the one who will drive friends to the arcade and treat them to tokens partially so she can show off her gaming skills at the classics. (Bloo: “So by classics, you mean Halo and Call of Duty?” Frankie: “ No. The real classics. Defender. Pac-man. Astroids. Games you play in an arcade which was a building outside of your house. You would go there with your friends, listen to music, cute guys everywhere. In ancient times, they call it 'socializing'. “)

Madame Foster

--There are quite a few episodes in the series where an imaginary friend spends money. That was Madame Foster at work-when the house first opened, she distributed around five hundred dollars among the friends. With the addition of a hundred dollars every two years or so, that same cache has been circulating for years. (The trick being that they only spend it inside the house.)

---Madame Foster’s favorite ice cream flavor is butterscotch with caramel, chocolate syrup, rainbow sprinkles, whipped cream, and frosting. (What, you’ve never put frosting on a bowl of ice cream before? My sincerest sympathies.) Typically, she’ll get the chocolate-dipped cone, then have the server put it in a cup for her, so she has a large bowl of ice cream with all the toppings and a fancy cone on top of it all. (Mac starts to shake just looking at it.)

---Madame Foster has managed to scare the horror buffs senseless with her dramatic readings of existing stories, not to mention re-tellings of her own writing.

---Her room is full of stuffed animals. Enough stuffed animals to bury herself in. It is not exactly uncommon to find a stuffed animal hiding somewhere in the house. (Looking for a book? Whoop! A plush cat already beat you to it! Want some pancakes? Seems a small rainbow llama is already on it.)

---Madame Foster also harbors a love for cartoons. The other 44.453% of the animated films are hers. For reading material, she enjoys comedies, including a lot of old storybooks. (Mrs. Piggle-Wiggle, Black Beauty, Treasure Island, Little Men...et cetera.) She also loves reading the occasional horror story or adventure. (Do you think she’d enjoy All the Light We Cannot See? Yeah, I think so too. Then again, that was an amazing and beautiful bit of literature. Everybody go read All the Light We Cannot See.)

Mr. Herriman

---Mr. Herriman gives the cuddliest hugs. Receiving a hug from Mr. Herriman, especially when you’re somewhere around stomach-level, is the equivalent of sticking your face into a litter of warm kittens. Unfortunately, he’s not too big on hugging.

---Eduardo is by far his (secret) favorite. 

---His favorite ice cream flavor is butter almond, (and yes, he does take all the almonds out individually before consuming it), though he usually prefers a slice of carrot cake with cream cheese frosting. 

---He doesn’t actually understand Coco’s “language”. He tends to get the gist of what she’s saying primarily through another friend, Madame Foster, or Frankie, but otherwise feels a bit lonesome in that he’s the only person in that universe who isn’t fluent in it. 

---He’s a fairly pleasant conversationalist, though he likes things to be run in such an orderly manner to the point of everyone seemingly hating him in a not-exactly-inconspicuous way. This in turn can make him slightly irritated, gaining him a reputation for his short temper and high standards.

---He LOVES bad puns on an almost-sinful level.

---He also prefers classic tales, romances, and adventure dramas in both viewing and reading entertainment. And yes, when watching a movie, he is That Person ™ who insists on popping popcorn over the fire and turning on subtitles.

BLOO

---Bloo was originally created as a vehicle for Mac to say and do whatever he wanted without having to worry about getting in trouble. (For example, getting to give the snarky response to Terrence and getting away with it.) He also created Bloo as a way to prove to his mom that he was responsible enough to take care of something. (This is NOT my headcanon, though I strongly support it.)

---Bloo was the one who found the secret passages to the Secret Library, the Secret Gaming Room, and The Secret Secret Room. He also found all nineteen secret drawers in each (One of which concealed a stuffed canary named Rod Tango!) on various Adopt-a-Thought Saturdays. (Once or twice, Mac didn’t actually find him and ended up playing with the B-team-or, in other words, the members of Pizza Party.)

---Bloo’s favorite ice cream  flavor is cookies-and-cream-birthday-cake. (No, that’s not actually a flavor; he usually just gets two orders and shmushes them together into one BIG ice cream ball). Additionally, if possible, he’ll top it with M&Ms, whipped cream, chocolate syrup, caramel syrup, butterscotch, gummy bears, rainbow and chocolate sprinkles, crushed Oreos, mini peanut butter cups, and, of course, frosting- but never, never, never, Coconut. (”If you want to get these things done at all, you have to get them done right!”) So far, the only one who’s  willingly treated him was Adult! Mac and Madame Foster-otherwise, he has to go by himself. 

---His ideal adopter would be someone with year-round passes to lots and lots of amusement parks, a paddleball collection including the Automatic Paddleball, pizza every Friday, a 25-inch television with a ton of video games (”No, 50-inch! Wait, is 75-inch a thing? How about we just do like in that nerd book Mac likes, the dys-zopia, and have the TV replace one of the walls?”), and a large freezer just for ice cream, including a retractable shelf for toppings. (I blame @askblooqkazoo for this one) :)

---He loves the Powerpuff girls. Loves, loves, LOVES it. (Bubbles is his favorite.)

WILT

---Wilt’s favorite ice cream flavor is mocha swirl, with chocolate sprinkles and a maraschino cherry. He’s always the one who treats everyone else and waits patiently until everyone has their flavors before ordering, though he tries to exclude Bloo in the most polite way possible. (”I’m sorry! You see, I can’t afford all your toppings, which I’m honestly really sorry about, I mean..I can’t apologize enough for this, really! Maybe Mac will take you out for ice cream if you ask him nicely?”) He refuses to let someone else buy ice cream for him, so behind his back, Adult! Mac and Madame Foster built a mini freezer that looks like a backpack and has a special rack for ice cream, not to mention the extra two canisters of whipped cream and carton of chocolate sprinkles, just so they could treat him to an ice cream cone without his objection.

---Nobody ever actually put a nameplate on Wilt’s bed, because he always prefers to sleep under the floor. He always has ever since Bloo came-Wilt mainly just wants a monopoly on a bed so he can steal the blankets off it in the winter.

---He is fully aware of how brash he can get in later episodes, so he builds up his “Sorry!” to compensate, until it became, “I’m sorry-if that’s okay!”

---He once got a PhD to help out a struggling college student by tutoring him in neuroscience and quadratic equations. (Yes, he never quite got the hang of it until Wilt taught him.)

COCO

---Coco dabbles in the dark arts. (Check the Wiccan Spellbook she was reading in “Fools and Regulations.”)

---Coco knows something the rest of you don’t. Don’t believe her? Look again, she may have noticed that detail you completely passed over. Maybe it’s just the orange juice in the fridge that’s a day past the expiration date; maybe it’s the ending of the world before your eyes. 

---No one is quite sure what ice cream flavor Coco likes the best. Whenever she goes to the ice cream parlor, she’ll say a few phrases and give a slight nod to the server. No matter who, they always come back with an elaborate sundae, topped with a firecracker, at the price of a regular ice cream cone. 

---Coco is an amazing actress. Just amazing. She once got a role in a high-budget movie for her acting skills. (Not to mention that, once the director came to the door asking for her, she laid a pair of reading glasses and went through every single page of the contract. Then, once satisfied, she laid a silver ballpoint pen and signed it-though by then, the director was on his phone, scrolling through random web pages. “Ya done yet?” “CoCo Cococo Co!” “Well, of course I’m not going to put you in a cage and make you perform for long hours with no sleep! Whaddya think I am, the guy from those Deo commercials?”)

---Nerds (See the “Good Wilt Hunting” Nerds) believe that she was created by a very confused islander child, possibly one who has never seen contact with another human being. She is part plane because of the occasional air crafts passing the island, part bird because of the exotic tropical life, and does not speak English because the child never learned how and instead made up a language that only they could understand. 

EDUARDO

---Once, Eduardo got his picture taken with the actress of Lauren Goes Explorin’. (And got it autographed!) He was super excited about it, and eventually got it framed with the same heavy-duty frame that Frankie used to mount her cereal-box ring crown.)

---His favorite ice cream flavor is bubblegum, partially because of the color (”Pink is my favorite! I like it muy, muy, much!) and partially because of the fact that it’s candy as well as ice cream, so he can take out the bubblegum balls and put them in a separate cup for his Malibu Mimi dolls. 

---Wilt is his favorite, though Adult! Mac comes close. (He eventually learned to settle petty disputes, Frankie-style (A la’ Destination Imagination), so he takes care of most of those-often tipping a Bloo/Eduardo argument in favor of Eduardo while still making Bloo satisfied with the outcome.) 

---Eduardo’s tears do not dehydrate him, nor are they made of salt water. He doesn’t even sniffle beforehand, unless he’s trying really hard not to cry-whenever he’s upset, he just gives a stream of fresh water from his eyes. 

---Yep. He’s a hugger. Was there ever any question?

---Eduardo’s strength was added so he could pick up and cuddle people easily. Nina’s parents have quite a few photos of him carrying her home from a late, late rehearsal, school play, or day-long trip to the park while she sleeps peacefully in his arms.

---No, he doesn’t run out of energy when walking long distances or running. His feet sometimes hurt slightly from pounding the floor too long if he’s been running, but he always has the energy to run, or fight. 

GOO

--Goo has actually wrapped her lunch like a present before. (Her usual lunch consists of a bag of chips, a peanut butter and jelly sandwich, a cupcake she injected with more icing in the center, an apple, and a juice box. It has been observed by Mac jokingly as being “strangely normal.”) She only does it for special occasions, (It makes everyone jealous around Christmas until they see why she brought it to lunch.), though Goo includes “The third Tuesday of March” and “August thirteenth” as major holidays. 

---Goo likes to celebrate her birthday at Foster’s whenever possible. She additionally actually likes Cheese, because she thinks he’s funny and she’s good with him, so he’s almost always helping her open presents or eating streamers as she decorates the table

---Her favorite ice cream flavor is rainbow sherbet, but she also likes (”blueberry, gold ribbon, cookies and cream, and birthday cake! Well, really I like almost every flavor except not coffee since that one’s really gross and I also sometimes make up flavors that I think they should have, like gummy bear sprinkles, and then sometimes there are flavors that sound made up except they’re really not, like pizza and pear with blue cheese, ew, isn’t that gross? Oh! And did I tell you about my idea for an ice cream burrito where instead of the cone, they make it a tortilla instead with the sugar cone stuff?”) She’s definitely the person where, if she’s alone with a month’s allowance, she’ll try to stack the scoops as high as possible and roll each one in a bowl of toppings. (She prides herself on the fact that she once got the server to coat three scoops in gummy bears, rainbow sprinkles, and chocolate chips respectively, and even got him to pour some gummy bears in the cone.) If she’s with someone else, and they’re treating, she’ll just get rainbow sherbet.

---She’s not a hugger. She’s affectionately physical in other ways-friendly slaps on the back, pats on the head, fixing someone else’s shirt collar-but doesn’t really hug a lot. She’s more of a high-fiver, to be honest. 

---When she gets older, she has everybody write a story about Foster’s in an anthology she publishes under the name “Hillary-Britney “Lollipop” Starr”. (Involuntarily included? Mac’s poetry.)

---Goo is the karaoke queen. 

GENERAL

--The soda fountain guy has been through everything. (If you need further proof, just look at the way he casually throws out Mac when he orders all those milkshakes...all, “Dude, I make seven bucks an hour. I’ve seen it all.”)

---Cheese was created with an innate sense of technology. He actually knew full-well what he was doing when he memorized the code to the electronic security system, and sometimes, Frankie has to ask him for his help when fixing her computer. (Usually with her head in her hands while Cheese jumps up and down on the chair and says “No no no, you put too much stuff in the computer! Throw some away! See in the hard drive? See, see, see, see, see? That’s why it’s so slowwwww!”)

---It is impossible to accidentally create an imaginary friend. It’s more of a left-brained thing than a technical thing, and you usually have to have a pretty clear idea of their personality beforehand. Goo’s imagination works at ten miles a minute, so she is the one exception.

---Imaginary friends do not age. Friends like Scrappy (Remember that little guy with the Brooklyn accent and Victorian clothing? That was one of my favorites..) are deemed older by how long they’ve been at Foster’s and how much they’ve matured emotionally. 

---Larry John McGee (Goofball’s creator) had a very silly sense of humor in creating Goofball. He wanted his friend to act as a big brother, and knew that if he ever got lost, he’d go to Foster’s for help and weird out the staff. Goofball did almost all of what he was doing with a straight face to make everyone else in the house laugh when Frankie pulled off his rubber nose to reveal...an imaginary friend. 

---Youngman Rivers actually turned out to be a pretty cool guy when he got older. 

---Foster’s Home for Imaginary Friends did not go away after the series finale. Foster’s lives on with many more adventures of its own, including more and more characters as time goes on, until Mac grew into an adult, still coming to tackle Bloo on the first floor every day.

#fhfif #i may or may not have a signed bookbag like that #mac #bloo #frankie #blooregard q kazoo #madame foster #mr herriman #sweet celestia now I want ice cream #cheese #headcanons #foster's home for imaginary friends #goo #goo goo ga ga #oh this was fun #honestly #i've been aching to post my own work for a while #i still want to bring back my one-shots #hey it's summer #why don't i #yeah #maybe i will

[the-grumpy-panda]

Seasonal Smelling Salts!

Oh, boy. It happened again. Someone needs to remind me daily to stay out of stores' seasonal sections (alliteration is fun!) from August to April. It's an onslaught of seasonal candy and foods, and I am putty in the hands of such commerce and decorations. I know better. I'm on the ruse that the whole Halloween food section is set up just for suckers like me. I know I don't need them. Heck, I don't even celebrate any of the holidays. I'm a damn fool!   I'll do better next year, I swear! Oh, look! An end cap display with a cartoon bat! Gimme the stuff! So what edible fare did I get lulled into throwing into my basket this time? Lots of things. Too many things. Most of these things were found at Target, a couple from my local grocer. Let's take a taste. -Cookie Butter Oreo! Truth be told, I had never heard of cookie butter before this Oreo was announced. Am I shunned now? Apparently it's a big to do. After eating this cookie, I can't say I get the fuss. Granted, an Oreo cookie version is a slight bastardization of whatever the "cool" and "original" brand/version is, but still. This merely tasted of a graham cracker with a graham cracker cream (and a grainy cream at that) to me. Is that what cookie butter is? It was an alright cookie if you like graham crackers, but it left me altogether unimpressed as a whole. -Werther's Pumpkin Spice Soft Caramels! Delicious. For a moment I had forgotten these were anything besides regular caramels. I was so in the mood for a Werther's caramel I popped one in and reveled in the familiar deliciousness of a Werther's. Then a hint of something caught me at the back end, and I almost let out a whispered "Oh, yeah..." It's a good compliment of flavors here. The spice is second fiddle to the caramel, as it should be, it's not overdone, and it's a very good balance of new and familiar. Thumbs up for these. I could see these becoming a yearly treat, kept on hand for very cold days to enjoy with some hot tea. I think a citrus tea. I don't know why. I probably heard that Alicia Vikander likes citrus tea. So it's on hand. Just saying... Unless she hates citrus tea. Then I have whatever it is she does enjoy. Or will have. Once she calls me... -Tastykake Pumpkin Pie! To its credit, this is a solid little pie and is loaded with filling. Unfortunately, that's where the good credits ends. The crust is just a little too bland to add anything and the filling is a bit too runny, almost like pie filling before it's baked. The filling flavor kind of reminds me of a frozen pumpkin pie one might get for Thanksgiving, but nowhere near as good.  My immediate thought when the filling hit my taste buds was "Ew, it tastes like baby food." even though I have no idea what baby food tastes like. There is a different "glazed pumpkin pie" version as well, but I didn't find that one to try. -Nestle Toll House Pumpkin Cobbler cookies! These are the packaged, break and bake variety. Described as 'cookie dough with pumpkin, oats, spices and a pumpkin pie filling.' Opening the package, the first thing I noticed was the dark amber color of the dough. Then upon placing them on the baking sheet, I took note of the gooey filling. Looked and moved like a soft caramel. I must tell you, they smell AMAZING while baking. I want this smell embedded in my skin. I want a blanket made of this smell.  I've never known a pre-packaged consumable to smell so... authentic? Classic? Like real life? I don't know how to put it, but I love it. Could the taste even come close to matching the smell? I am pleased to say YES. This is like the best oatmeal cookie a house full of adoring grandmas came up with. Even if you don't like oatmeal cookies (or pumpkin) give this one a try. Or don't. Taste is subjective. But for me, it's soft, and delicious, and comforting. The filling adds a smooth sweetness, it's not in your face pumpkin flavoring or a weird fake pumpkin taste and the spice aspect is right on point. It's not 'spicy' but someone took great care to make sure the balance of components was right. I am proclaiming this the hands down winner of the season and I hope it makes a yearly return. -Candyville Harvest S'mores Marshmallow! After nearly stabbing through my lip trying to get this thing open (don't ask about the how or why, please...I mean, it's wrapped with all the security of a Dum Dum lollipop for flippin' sake...) I was ready to throw it away. But I soldiered on. Basically a giant marshmallow coating in a thin layer of white chocolate, and then the top half gets a thin layer of milk chocolate on top of that and a dusting of graham pieces tops that. I can't say this is awful, but it's not exactly pleasant. It's fine, but it does seem old or stale, and clearly everything about it was made on the cheap using cheap ingredients. Kids probably would get a kick out of it, though. I find myself enjoying the novelty aspect of it for some reason. -Archer Farms Apple Cinnamon Pretzels! These smell remarkably like a packet of instant cider mix. They also taste like a congealed version of that, with a high portion of fake apple/acidity/tartness. This flavor isn't working for me at all. None of the components (pretzel, flavoring, white fudge coating) blend well and that tartness really hits you at the end, making it near Sour Patch Kid-like. -Hammond's Chocolatey Sea Salt Caramel Marshmallow! A marshmallow with an edging of caramel. And that's exactly what it tastes like. It's a dense marshmallow, too. Almost like a nougat. I sort of get a hint of salt, but I sense no chocolatey aspects whatsoever. Not sure how that got thrown in on the label. This is alright, but not something I'd have a second helping of. I guess your enjoyment will depend on how much you like marshmallow and caramel. -Archer Farms Pumpkin Spice Caramel Corn! With pumpkin seed kernels! Hmm. Smells of old nutmeg you found in the back of the pantry in the apartment you just moved into. Hmm. Tastes like caramel popcorn dusted with old nutmeg you found in the back of the pantry in the apartment you just moved into with the added fun of having pieces of pumpkin seed kernels stuck in your teeth all night. -Project 7 Sour Caramel Apple Gummy Bears! Well, whatever sour caramel apple gummies are supposed to smell like, these nail it. Taste wise, all I got was a green apple flavor. Not for me, but if a green apple gummy is your thing, have the rest of mine. -Land O Lakes Pumpkin Pie Spice Butter Spread! Exactly what you'd imagine. Butter with what the label simply calls "spices" but my taste buds say are a little but of nutmeg and a lot of cinnamon. Looks like a cheap pumpkin pie filling. tastes like a cheap pumpkin pie filling until the final notes reminds you it is in fact some sort of butter, and you realize the two tastes are probably best left apart. Putting it in a freshly toasted plain bagel and letting it melt (what, you don't try a small scoop of weird butter directly out of the tub first?) did help the taste some, though. It also really brought the abundance of cinnamon to the front. Alright. Time to quickly wrap this up. -Archer Farms Pumpkin Spice Biscotti! Tastes like a stale ginger bread man where they forgot the molasses and flavoring. Nothing pumpkin about this. -Archer Farms Caramel Apple Biscotti! Smells of burnt caramel and tastes of absolute nothingness. Is this a hospital meal? And with that, I retire. For the night? For the season? For all time? Until my next trip into a grocer? Who knows! 'Til then, you be you, I'll be me, and that hobo who once kissed me on the neck for giving him a dollar (true story) is probably still being him. Cheers!

[greggsdiabetes-blog]

The Secret Foods Elite Athletes Eat

New Post has been published on http://www.greggsdiabetes.com/the-secret-foods-elite-athletes-eat/

The Secret Foods Elite Athletes Eat

Clare Gallagher, who won the 2016 Leadville Trail 100, began her ultrarunning career while undergoing a teaching fellowship in a rural corner of Thailand. There wasn’t a single sport-specific gel packet or PowerBar within a hundred-mile radius of her town. Gallagher, now 25, improvised, sucking down Coca-Cola, Thai milk coffee, pure sugarcane, and lots and lots of packets of sweet sticky rice.

Not only did Gallagher feel fine eating this unorthodox combo, but she also started kicking ass, winning her very first ultra. Now, when Gallagher looks at the prices of sports nutrition products, she rolls her eyes: “Westerners are so self-righteous with our extravagant nutrition strategies that cost more than a month of student loan payments—for one race,” she says.

Plus, gels, bars, and powdered sports drinks are not exactly fine dining—especially in large quantities, when it feels like your taste buds are being assaulted by pure sugar. This is why more endurance athletes these days are eating real food while training and racing. “It gives me something to look forward to,” says ultrarunner Dylan Bowman of his favorite salted fudge brownies.

We caught up with six athletes to hear about their favorite unorthodox fuels, and then asked Cara Anselmo, a New York–based registered dietitian to weigh in on what, if any, benefits these foods might convey. (A necessary disclaimer: Not every workout requires this kind of fueling. If you’re going out for under two hours, we suggest you stick with water and maybe a gel.)

Clare Gallagher, Ultrarunner

Favorite Race Food: Frosting and Sour Patch Kids

The Backstory: “When packing my fuel for Leadville, I was completely disenchanted at the thought of buying 20-plus gels, and I am a sucker for frosting anyway. It occurred to me that I’d actually like the frosting better than gels,” Gallagher says. “Same with Sour Patch Kids. I could buy endurance-specific gummies, or I could buy 1.9 pounds of Sour Patch Kids and have plenty to share with my crew for the rest of the weekend. I hate to think my genius frosting idea was born out of me being cheap, but it really was just that.”

The Result: Gallagher’s Leadville win, which was the second-fastest female time ever, speaks for itself. Still, though, observers gawk. “People say my diet is appalling and unhealthy. To them, I say, ‘I think I’m doing just fine, thank you very much.’ I can’t eat gluten. I eat very little meat. I avoid dairy because I also have Hashimoto’s disease. If someone has evidence that eating frosting and Sour Patch Kids instead of some $300 baby-food vomit formula repurposed into Premium Fuel for Endurance Athletes is going to kill me, then I’m all ears.” Plus, Gallagher is now officially sponsored by Frost’d, a coconut oil–based frosting company founded by fellow ultrarunner Jessica Hamel.

Anselmo’s Take: Frosting has simple carbs for quick energy and no fiber to wreak havoc on the GI tract, and it’s easy to eat. No chewing required.

Dylan Bowman, Ultrarunner

Favorite Race Food: Salted fudge brownies

The Backstory: “In 2013, my girlfriend, Harmony, and I had to do about six months of long-distance dating. One weekend, we met in Malibu, where I was running a 50-mile race. We hadn’t seen each other in more than a month, so she surprised me at the airport with a fresh batch of my favorite brownies. Up to that point, the brownies were a special indulgence, but in the context of the race that weekend, it dawned on me that they’d be a good addition to my nutrition arsenal. I didn’t bring enough gels to get me through the whole race, so I had Harmony give me a Red Bull and brownie bag at an aid station about halfway through the race.”

The Result: “There were probably seven brownies in the bag, and I ate them all over the course of about 20 miles. I ended up winning the race, which seemed to validate this new and unfamiliar nutrition strategy. I’ve had her make them before important races ever since.”

Anselmo’s Take: “These have quick simple carbs, plus chocolate gives a bit of caffeine, which, in moderation, can enhance energy and athletic performance. They are also likely have some sodium and potassium for electrolyte repletion.”

Amelia Boone, Obstacle Course Racer

Favorite Prerace Snack: Cinnamon Roll Pop-Tarts

The Backstory: “I ate one before the Spartan Race World Championships in 2013 and won the race. So now it may be semi-superstition-related, but I actually find they sit really well in my stomach.”

Also on the Menu: “My diet sounds like the standard American diet for kids. During races, I’ll eat gummy bears, baby-food squeeze pouches, and peanut M&M’s. After races, I house pints of ice cream; it’s the only thing I can eat for about 12 hours. My stomach tends to be in knots an unable to take solid foods after really long races—I mean, go figure, given what I eat during.”

Anselmo’s Take: “Pop-Tarts are my prerace fuel, too. They’re perfect for quick simple carbs, and there’s no fiber to cause gas, bloating, or diarrhea. Also, they’re a total childhood comfort food, which might help calm nerves prerace. I’ve brought them with me when traveling for races because they travel well and never go bad, which is kind of gross but kind of great.”

Phil Gaimon, Retired Pro Cyclist

Favorite Midrace Fuel: Chocolate croissants

The Backstory: During long stage races in Europe, Gaimon and his teammates would often grab extra pastries from the hotel’s breakfast buffet and save them for later in the day. “There wasn’t a moment in the race when I wasn’t counting down to unwrapping those things,” he says. “I remember a moment where I went nuts for ten minutes to pull back the breakaway on a climb at the Tour of Provence. So I started to eat the pain au chocolat, but I was out of breath, and then the descent was insane, but I wasn’t going to spit it out and waste it, so I did a 20-minute technical downhill just holding it in my mouth.”

Also in His Pockets: Gaimon is a certified cookie monster, and his fans know it. Sometimes, before races, people would hand him wrapped cookies.

Anselmo’s Take: “A chocolate croissant has carbs as well as some fat, which you’d need during multiday events. Also, the sheer deliciousness factor makes it appealing. It’s not cloyingly sweet like some other treats, so it’s good for someone who likes less-sugary things.”

Sean Burch, Mountaineer

Favorite Expedition Food: Peanut butter

The Backstory: “I’ve always loved peanut butter, ever since I was a kid. I started letting myself eat a little more of it, and I thought I’d gain weight, but I didn’t. Pretty soon I was eating more and more. Now I eat a pound a day. On expeditions, I make sure we bring peanut butter because I don’t trust that I’ll be able to get it there. And I crave it. I look forward to eating it every single day.”

The Result: It has become an obsession for Burch. “If there’s a sale on all-natural peanut butter, I buy the store out of it—the cashiers at my local store know me,” he says. “I wish I had a sponsor for peanut butter. I spend a fortune on it. But I’m willing to spend the money because it’s an investment in myself and my health.”

Anselmo’s Take: “It’s a great, no-chew food that’s full of protein.” Plus, Burch says he only buys the all-natural variety, so it has no added sugars or hydrogenated oils.

Aaron Gwin, Red Bull Mountain Bike Racer

Favorite Between-Ride Snack: Pancakes

The Backstory: “I make a batch of pancakes at home in the morning, and then bag up two to six of them, depending on how much riding I’m doing that day. I make them pretty healthy, adding protein powder to the batter so I get all the nutrition I need. I keep experimenting and adding new things. They’ve gotten a little out of control the more that I keep adding ingredients—things like sweet potatoes, bananas, peanut butter powder, and oats—but I dig them. Pancakes give me a good base of carbs and protein for training days to keep me going without having to stop for long periods of time to eat, plus they’re easy to pack and digest, and I like the taste of them plain.”

Anselmo’s Take: “Pancakes have carbs galore, plus the little extra protein is probably good for muscle recovery after an intense and long workout.”

Original Article