#like the more content there is the less motivation i have to watch or listen ????

[strawberrystepmom]

cw children, cw families. gojo and f!reader were idiots in love and they are now married and have a baby. my effortlessly good painter gojo hc won out over being normal in my brain today so yeah. reader is referred to as mom/mama/mother and princess, satoru makes a joke about readers breasts. wc 1.1k

Your morning has started far quieter than they usually do.

The day is overcast, no sunshine through your floor to ceiling bedroom windows, but you don’t mind. It feels good to embrace the cloudy days that have come with the changing of seasons, no harsh light to shock you awake. That job will be for your identical menaces in the coming months, the gummy smile of your morning person nine month old and her unabashedly obsessed father Satoru always eager to be your twin alarm clocks with their giggling and playful babbling at each other.

There’s nothing they love more than giving you the gift of four identical blue eyes blinking at you while you come to your senses every morning. You can almost admit aloud that you’ve become a morning person since becoming a parent, the delightful giggles of your daughter giving you the motivation to conquer anything and everything you can.

For today though, you wake gently, softly rolling from your side to flat on your back but something feels off. There are no hushed giggles, no silly songs being recited with children’s show host precision.

Your bed is empty and quiet and you feel…sad. Perhaps in the past you would’ve found this to be a luxury - no freakishly long limbs of your husband starfished across the bed to keep you pinned to it, no baby to tug at the earrings you forgot to take out last night, but instead it just feels like a less welcome start to the day.

Lingering in bed doesn’t feel good so you roll again, dropping your legs over the edge and sliding your feet into your waiting slippers. Scuffing across the floor, you yawn and stop in your tracks hearing voices from inside Satoru’s closet.

Well, a voice and some baby giggles, anyway.

“Can you say mama?”

Leaning against the door frame of the walk in, you stifle a laugh listening to your husband babble at his little girl who babbles back excitedly. Peeking around the corner, you see him standing in front of the portrait of you that he painted on your 24th birthday, little babe held to his chest and leaning her head on his shoulder.

“That’s her, that’s right. Your perfect mom.”

He sighs and your heart squeezes watching the two of them sway side to side, your baby who is growing into an independent toddler every day reaching out as if she recognizes your face. You’re sure she does, actually; the painting is an impeccable likeness and it still frustrates you 6 years later that he managed to become so good at a craft you’ve spent your life working on in less than a month.

Someday you’ll tell her the entire story, your version of it anyway. For now you’re content to let her father tell his side considering it was one of the most grand and romantic gestures he had performed at the time in an effort to show you how serious he was about your relationship.

“Listen, little girl,” he starts, unknowing that he has captured both of your attention. “I know I’m going to have to tell you this again eventually but do not ever bring a man or woman or anyone else into this house that loves you less than I love your mother.”

She coos at the sound of his voice and he chuckles down at her, kissing the downy white hair atop her head.

“I mean it. If they won’t stay up for four nights straight to get a start on painting your nose from memory, leave ‘em behind.”

With this, you giggle and the attention of both of your menaces is captured. Your daughter squeals from over Satoru’s shoulder, holding one little hand out and making a grabbing motion and he copies her excited babbling with his own.

“My little tricksters snuck out of bed this morning!”

Grinning, you cradle your little girl against your chest and kiss her temple, inhaling the clean smell of her shampoo and skin. She’s been bathed and everything.

“You’re the best.”

You feel the need to remind Satoru at this moment and he grins, bending to give you a good morning kiss.

“Duh.”

Giggling, you let your wiggly daughter settle herself and the three of you stand in front of the painting. You recognize the younger woman permanently captured in it, the soft lovesick look in her eyes, and it amuses you to know he took extra time to capture you exactly like that. Hopelessly in love.

He could capture you using the same medium and you’d look identical to how you did back then - utterly stricken.

“Did you really stay up practicing for four nights?”

“Princess, I stayed up practicing for four weeks.”

You snort, looking up at him from the corner of your eye.

“There’s no need to embellish now, you’ve already won me over.”

He shrugs, pulling the two of you close to his chest. He leans over his little family, cheek resting against the top of your head.

“But what if I never want to stop winning you?”

You reach up and brush his hair off of his forehead affectionately. Every touch you give him is full of love and every glance carries tenderness.

There will come a time when your daughter will be old enough to gawk at the love the two of you have for one another. Maybe she’ll stick her tongue out and roll her eyes just as you remember her father doing more than once or perhaps she’ll simply smile and hide her face in the collar of her shirt, dreaming of a love like what’s in front of her someday.

“I mean, I could paint you again. You are coming up on the big three oh and I have to say that a few things have grown since back then if you know what I mean.”

He waggles his eyebrows suggestively and drops his voice suggestively low. You flick him on the forehead and laugh about it, your daughter joining in on your giggles as a nine month old is apt to do.

The thing you hope she’ll understand the most is that sometimes love isn’t just big paintings and grand gestures and sweet looks. It’s being grounded enough to give each other a hard time when things are good and a good time when things are hard.

You are fortunate enough to have the best of everything with her father.

“Let’s go make breakfast, Monet.”

You turn on your heel and your husband follows closely behind, small steps to match your own. He looks over his shoulder one final time to look at the painting of you on his closet wall and he smiles, soft and warm.

“Whatever you say, my muse.”

#gojo x reader #gojo satoru x reader #satoken #kendall writes #the way I have the actual story of the painting itself written too my word #cw children #cw families

[nejiverse]

BLLK BF HEADCANONS

Bachira, Chigiri, Rin, Isagi

In which I write headcanons about how the boys would be in a relationship Fem! Reader

cw: suggestive content, mentions of kissing and making out, the boys are whipped

wc: hell if I know 💀

Bf! Bachira who always feels the need to join in when you’re singing a song quietly to yourself.

—“This isn’t a duo Meguru”

—“No baby it’s actually a trio”

—“Who’s the third person?”

—“The monster of course!”

Bf! Bachira who’s constantly playing footsie with you whenever he gets the chance, just to get a reaction out of you. He loves when he places his cold feet against your calf and you squirm.

Bf! Bachira who loves to lay his head on your chest and listen to your heartbeat as he rants to you about his day.

Bf! Bachira who chases your lips for more kisses. One is never enough for him, he gets all whiny when you don’t give him more kisses so please do

Bf! Bachira who is a back hug enthusiast. He’ll envelop you in a back hug anytime, anywhere with his hands massaging your waist…there was one time where he moved a hand to rub smooth circles around your stomach, rambling on about how nice it would be to see you carrying his child— you completely folded.

Bf! Bachira who’s lock screen and home screen are of you. His lock screen being a picture of you and him making funny faces and his home screen being a picture that he may not want everyone to see, only him.

Bf! Bachira who’s lowkey a yandere, but a less threatening one in a way. He wants to keep you safe and is quite overprotective of you, getting frustrated if he so much as sees another guy look at you, but he does this because he doesn’t have much in life that he truly cares about, but you are the exception and he wouldn’t know what to do if he ever lost you

Bf! Chigiri who acts like he isn’t phased by your little acts of affection like kissing his cheek or making eye contact with him but he is, severely. He discretely plays it off by using his hand to cover his cheeks.

Bf! Chigiri who allows you to touch his hair which is an honour since he had never let anyone else touch it

Bf! Chigiri who always wakes up before you because he tends to be moody in the mornings and doesn’t want to take his emotions out on you

Bf! Chigiri who’s favorite thing to do is pull you into his lap and hug your torso as he rests his head in the crook of your neck as to smell your (insert scent) scented perfume that he loves so much

Bf! Chigiri who enjoys going out on jogs with you even though often you can’t keep up. He’ll turn around only to see you literally gasping for air and will chuckle before spreading his arms out for you to run into, sort of as motivation. He’ll only do that when there isn’t a lot of people around which is why he prefers evening jogs— he’s not a fan of PDA

Bf! Chigiri who allows you to straddle him when you two make out, he is putty in your hands when it comes to physical touch. You enjoyed teasing him in times like these by abruptly stopping and seeing his facial expressions change into an unsatisfied one. He wouldn’t say anything though but his face tells it all.

Bf! Chigiri who has a love-hate relationship when it comes to you calling him princess as a joke

Bf! Rin who will literally force you to watch horror movies with him but will put his hand over your eyes when he senses a jumpscare coming. (He’s watched so many that he automatically knows when it’s coming)

Bf! Rin who has a hand in the back pocket of your pants when you two walk past a big group of people

Bf! Rin who makes sure you’re always on the inside of the footpath and he’s on the outside

Bf! Rin who is generally very subtle with his acts of kindness towards you, to make sure you never call him out on it and tease him.

But when you two are in bed together, he can’t help but spoon you with one hand over your chest and the other across your waist and his chin against the crown of your head— Bf! Rin who is the definition of wolf on the streets but a pup in the sheets

Bf! Rin who when you two are in bed like that is at his most vunerable.

—“You’re never leaving me”

—“You’re pretty much the only person I can tolerate, be honoured”

—“You’re not lukewarm or half-baked…i suppose”

Im sorry but i cannot imagine this man saying ‘i love you’ directly, these are what you’re getting

Bf! Rin who gets annoyed when you pull him on his words being all mushy and cute, resulting in him scooting out to the farthest side of the bed away from you with his back turned to you

Bf! Rin who ignores how you climb on top of him and shake him around, muttering a string of insincere apologies between your giggles

—“You know I hate the back treatment!”

—“Yeah well if that’s the case then you’re gonna have to beg for my forgiveness”

Bf! Isagi who admits to practicing asking you to be his girlfriend in the mirror multiple times before he actually did

Bf! Isagi who is unintentionally always talking about you to his friends

—“That’s also Y/n’s favourite flavour!”

—“Y/n was mentioning that the other day actually”

He’s locked in fr

Bf! Isagi who loves teaching you how to play soccer. He also finds it extremely attractive when he sees beads of sweat rolling down your skin but he’ll never say it to you which leaves you confused as to why his face is so flustered

Bf! Isagi who never breaks pinky promises. He thinks it’s cute that you still believe in them

Bf! Isagi who just thinks you’re the coolest person ever to exist (I can imagine your relationship being like shikimori and izumi if you’ve watched the anime shikimori’s not just a cutie)

Bf! Isagi who’s tongue needs to be held when he hears someone talk bad about you…he gets mad disrespectful

Bf! Isagi who is always mesmerised by the outfits you come up with when he says he wants to take you somewhere nice. His jaw is on the floor every time.

Bf! Isagi who’s got a way with words

—“I hope you know how much you mean to me”

—“You’ve just blessed my eyes Y/n!”

—“Its just..i’m really happy when you’re around”

Masterlist here :)

A/N: this was so fun to write, who should I do next (i haven’t read the manga yet btw😭)

#anime #blue lock x reader #blue lock #bachira x you #bachira headcanons #bllk headcanons #bllk x y/n #bllk x reader #rin x you #itoshi rin #rin itoshi x reader #isagi yoichi #isagi fluff #bllk fluff #bllk imagines #blue lock fluff #blue lock imagines #hyoma chigiri x reader #bachira meguru x reader #yoichi isagi x reader #blue lock scenarios #bllk x you #blue lock x you #blue lock x y/n #bachira x reader #isagi x reader #rin x reader #itoshi brothers #blue lock rin

[pastel-charm-14]

how to romanticize your life - a series - post 2 - romanticizing school

soo many people see school as something to avoid, as a chore. but we as individuals have the power to change the way we view school. it's an opportunity for growth, discovery, and personal development. so without further ado: here are a couple tips to help you romanticize school!!

have a positive mindset. in order to study effectively, you need to put aside the negative connotations you have with school and studying and replace them with positive connotations. write out a cons list and then counteract each negative with a positive. for example: con - school is very time consuming | pro - it teaches you time management skills.

create a peaceful and cozy school morning routine. drink some water, watch something funny, use the bathroom, brush your teeth, do your makeup, listen to some nice music, pick out a cute outfit, do your hair, have some matcha.

i also like to say affirmations in the mornings like "i love school" or "i'm amazing at school" to help get me into that positive mindset i was talking about earlier.

make a to-do list. part of romanticizing is not stressing. if you prepare for your day in advance, you can worry less and enjoy more.

really explore your school campus. find all the little nooks and crannys, and don't miss out on anything your school has to offer. for example, i found a little covered picnic table over by the greenhouses at my school that i love to sit at. cute places to study and hang out make school so much more enjoyable.

appreciate being a student. there is so much community and everyone is working toward to common goal to really figure out who they want to be and what they're going to do. it sounds dramatic, but it's true. so i advise you to embrace student life. attend events, plays, games, join clubs, and study with your friends. so go to that football game, participate in spirit days, and enjoy being a student to its fullest potential!

materials are also a huge part of school. you don't have to spend big bucks, but these are some basic things that have helped me:

-cute planners/notebooks, sticky notes -> for goals/organization, writing down something quick, although take physical notes as well!

-books -> gives you something to do, i like romance and educational books

-ipad -> helps with notes/studying, customize it to make it cute, add widgets, and keep in mind that it's all about the vibes

dress to impress. wear cute outfits. treat school as a fashion show. i know dressing up and feeling confident has really enhanced my school experience. some of my favorite things to wear are preppy cardigans, nice jeans, skirts, high knee boots, long sleeve turtlenecks, and just tons of cute tops. layering is very important to me as well. you can also add jewelry to help elevate your style a lil bit.

have a space that you dedicate to only studying. i have a desk in my room that i use, and it has improved my study habits, my grades, and my discipline. it makes studying/schoolwork so much more enjoyable. it always good to keep in mind that your environment impacts tons of other aspects of your life too. make your space your own and personalize it. some potential spots could also be coffee shops or the library, whatever works for you.

make a pinterest board to motivate yourself. this could include study-with-me's, study tips, just general inspiration, or things to do with your main area of study or your major if you're a uni student. this helps you think about "huh, that could be me".

bonus tips:

absorb study content/vlogs

have a good-vibes playlist

in case ya missed the intro post:

stay tuned…

#romanticizing school #romantizing life #romanitcize #romaniticization #romanticise everything #romanticize #romanticism #school #students #study motivation #studyspo #study aesthetic #studying #student #studyblr #pastel dreamer✨

[inawearyworld]

free if you truly wish to be: chapter iv

shit goes DOWN. as y'all have probably gathered. bc. yknow. the plot of the movie. but first there's a song yayyyyyyyyy

2023!wonka x oc, this chapter ~2.5k

god, i love musicals.

(edit: realized after posting that i was looking at the wrong page of the screenplay while writing this and therefore royally screwed up the song structure of a world of your own but it’s fiiiiiiine)

once again, thank you mat for that interview taking a typical one-dimensional dahl villain and letting him be a more complex character. also i should probably throw a content warning on this one for depiction of a slightly abusive relationship

but i promise everything's gonna be okay soon-happy new year everyone!!

part three fic masterlist part five

While going through a time of personal growth involving trying to unravel one’s identity from that of one’s rich and powerful husband, it often happens that there are advantages to said husband being wrapped in worry over a new business rival-and, therefore, spending far more time at the office.

Wren’s favorite advantage at the present moment was that she was the only one to watch the mail come in.

Deep purple stationery was the signal she looked for-and steadily received, then returned with her own emerald letters-every day. The notes included scrawled updates regarding the operation to allow the earnest young chocolatier his day in the sun, anecdotes about the group of launderers that supported it (who she’d snuck out to meet often enough that they now felt like a second family), tales of a mysterious orange man, and exchanges of advice, witticisms, and Shakespeare quotes.

The handwriting was inexperienced, and there were more than a fair share of spelling errors toward the start of their correspondence, but she didn’t care a whit.

We’ve got the shop, Willy had written one day. For now, the task is digging through its decrepit debris and designing its decoration. (The credit for those words goes to Noodle-she says hello.) There are so many possibilities, I barely know where to start.

Start with the “why”, Wren wrote back. That’s what I always do. If there’s a piece I’m struggling to sing and I lose motivation to practice, I go back to the reasons I love the piece, even all the way back to the reasons I love the arts in the first place. Maybe there’s something in there for your shop-what made you want to share your chocolate with the world? (And hello to you too, Noodle!)

My dear Wren, came the reply, you’ve just given me the best of ideas.

He told her then about his mother and the inspiration she provided. Wren would be lying if she’d said a tear hadn’t fallen onto that particular letter.

As for how to keep him safe from the Cartel, police, and every other corrupt authority, Wren did her part by becoming Florence again whenever necessary. She acted less suspicious around her husband, leading him to be less secretive-although the gain in information was miniscule, it was better than nothing.

Felix’s rages would range anywhere from tittering, jealous rants to scheming monologues during which his whole being seemed to take on a lower, darker, more calculating tone. She’d listen carefully to all of these, tactfully calling out anything that might get him to consider he was wrong, but that had little to no effect.

Plan B, then, she’d realized, is all I can do.

So, whenever Felix seemed particularly incensed or just on the verge of coming up with how to destroy his rival, Florence would swoop in with wine and dark lipstick and a low-cut dress. She’d endure being his caged pet songbird, his doll, his perfect plaything, only because she had the growing feeling that things were about to change.

If Willy’s shop becomes successful enough to be completely undeniable, maybe the Cartel will finally acknowledge him as an equal. Maybe I’ll finally be seen as an equal, too. Maybe things will finally be truly fine.

So, night after night, she’d sit on her husband’s lap, twirl his tie, and kiss his neck until he’d forgotten the name of Wonka.

The same could not be said for her.

~

Due to just how glamorized she always had to be while in public, it didn’t take much to come up with disguise enough to be able to visit the new shop on its opening day.

With a fluttering sense of hope, Wren approached the fourth building of the Galeries Gourmet, blending in seamlessly with the sea of soon-to-be-wonderstruck passers-by. She cast a few nervous glances to the window of the Fickelgruber office, at which the man stood in his usual stance. There was no chance, though, of his recognizing her trademark ginger flame amongst the crowd; it was safely tucked under a dark, low-brimmed hat.

This could have set her mind at ease, but the fact that he looked even more smug than usual as he surveyed the ground below him made her nervous.

Did they plan something?

She was distracted from this worry by a sudden flash of color at the long-empty shop’s door. Willy Wonka stepped through, looking more himself than she could have ever imagined. He addressed the crowd with a flourish, and she marveled at his ability to combine showmanship with authenticity.

He took a skeptical older man’s arm, leading him to the shop’s entrance, and began to sing.

All at once, the shop transformed before all of their eyes, flooding with color, and the music settled into a sparking pulse that thrilled Wren to the core.

Willy grinned, fully in his element, and the doorway went dark. Gloved hands presented chocolate wonders as their creator sang them into existence. When he lit a match, the store seemed to come alive, and Wren gasped.

If his letter was anything to go by, the sight he had created was an homage to his childhood on his mother’s boat, brought to life in a way nearly too beautiful to be true.

Willy and the other man danced up a bridge of sorts as his song continued, proudly offering his shop as a world for each of his customers to call their own. Overtaken and lifted by the enchanting environment, Wren squealed with the rest of the crowd and ran into the shop, ripping the hat from her head and allowing her auburn curls to tumble freely down.

She threw her head back and laughed aloud. Her lack of makeup, and plain blouse and skirt replacing the usual emerald-colored finery, gave her assurance that she wouldn’t be recognized here; this was the closest thing she’d experienced to liberation in a very long while, and she relished it, along with the sweetly simple soar of Willy’s voice across his song.

When she looked up at him again, he was sitting on the boat that floated on the circling chocolate river, and she noticed he’d already been staring with a sideways grin. As the bassline that came from nowhere launched into a rollicking chromatic vamp, he tipped his hat to her, and she gave an enamored wave.

The second verse passed, and suddenly he’d reached her, extending a hand which she took without a second thought. He helped her onto the boat, then pulled her alarmingly close, but before she could say a thing about it, a cloud of smoke appeared around them.

Wren blinked and realized that she and Willy were now at the base of the massive chocolate tree in the center of the shop.

“How did you-”

But he only smiled and started to dance his way up the tree.

“A world of your own,” he sang, then gestured an invitation straight towards her.

This’ll be easy enough, she thought, nearly bursting with joy.

“A place to escape to,” she continued, running farther up the tree to meet him in the middle. His expression filled with awe upon finally hearing her sing, and they began a whirling back-and-forth.

“A world of your own-”

“-where you can be free!”

“Wherever you go, wherever life takes you…”

“This is your home,” she sang to him, twirling herself into his arms and beaming with pride. He’s found it-he’s created it.

“A world of your own,” they finished. He looked at her for a moment, seeming struck, then kissed her hand and disappeared through the branches of the tree to continue with the song’s bridge. She let out a dazed and happy breath, taking a moment to let her gaze roam the shop from her perch in the chocolate tree.

She didn’t know what would happen next, but she’d be damned if she wouldn’t let herself enjoy this moment.

~

What did happen next was…as an understatement, not what any of them had hoped.

She wished she could say it was a complete surprise, and she wished she could have done more to stop it. The candy started having disastrous effects, the customers understandably balked, and it was clearly not Willy’s fault in the least. In a blur, the shop was in ruins, and Wren sat in shock with the little group who’d worked so hard to make it magical.

The candyman himself was devastated; not just by the massive setback, but by the absence of his mother’s spirit. Wren and Noodle sat by his side, but Abacus ushered them up. It broke Wren’s heart to think of leaving him like this-if the truest and most trusting dreamer on Earth can be broken down, where’s the hope for the rest of us?-but she somehow still felt she had to follow the group out.

She felt a hug around her waist and a held-back sob, and looked down to see Noodle clinging onto her. Wren immediately knelt to her level and hugged the girl close, finding it hard now to keep back her own tears.

“Terrible shame what-”

“Florence?”

Slowly, she opened her eyes, her breath dropping to the floor.

Slugworth had spoken first, a smooth and practiced opening to what would have turned into a gloat. The voice that had interrupted him was genuinely shaken and clearly belonging to her husband.

“I’m sorry,” she whispered to Noodle, who nodded. “You can go, you shouldn’t have to see this-”

“Florence,” his voice came again, at a loss. She took a breath, stood up, and faced him with tears in her voice.

“Hi, Felix.”

Silence.

Slugworth looked with growing puzzlement between the woman and the girl, and Felix could only stare at his wife with dawning realization.

“You’ve been working with him,” he said simply, every usual quirk of inflection having vanished.

For a moment, the wash crew surrounded her in an attempt at a shield, and she heaved a breath to keep back a sob-of fear, of gratefulness for these friends that had become family over the past weeks, of everything suddenly crashing down.

“I’ll be okay,” she said quietly to the wash crew and perhaps to myself. “You all should go. Like you were going to. I’m sorry.”

They didn’t move.

She looked at Piper, whose worried hand was on her arm. There was an unspoken vow of protection between the women in that moment, but Wren’s eyes pleaded, so Piper nodded sadly, took Noodle’s hand, and the group left.

Wren was almost afraid to look at Willy, but she did; the boy was staring at the old chocolate bar in his hands, looking as if he could barely process a thing.

The sympathy in her gaze must have been far too obvious, because she suddenly heard footsteps, felt a hard grip on her wrist, and gasped in pain as it was yanked up and backwards.

“Darling,” Felix hissed with a sinister edge, though his voice was breaking, “I don’t know how or why this betrayal-”

“Betrayal?” she finally cried out, breaking free from his grasp as Willy rushed between them. “You lot have just poisoned dozens of innocent people, all for a business rivalry, and I won’t-”

“If you want your family not to starve, you had better lower your voice,” he barked.

Every speck of air seemed to leave the room.

“...My family?”

“I may have been distracted enough for the past weeks to ignore the mail that came in and out of our house, but I had not always been that blind. I thought your compassion to be an incomprehensible gesture, but I let it slide. When I felt like it.”

…They haven’t gotten everything I’ve sent.

They haven’t-

“In fact,” he continued, “it served as what was almost a pleasant reminder of the truth. For your family, for your stupid dream, and for your sweetly dependent soul-you need me.”

“If you knew I was poor, why didn’t you say anything?”

“Because it’s the same way for me!”

This was the peak of what had been a building explosion, and this was the moment in which they both remembered there were other people in the room.

“What?” the four besides him breathed, almost in unison.

“Oh, you heard right,” Felix launched into speech, the characteristic gestures starting to work their way back into him. “I came from nearly nothing, just the same. But I did what I had to do to climb to the top. I cast them all away, left my old life behind completely, and I suppose it was a foolish hope to think my wife would do the same. But she-but you-you are nothing but a guileless, deceitful bleeding heart.”

“I…”

Tears blurred her vision.

“I am…genuinely sorry that you felt you had to hide your past, but that doesn’t excuse trying to make the rest of the world match your insecurity and fit your little chocolate mold. And if that makes me a bleeding heart…I’m proud of the title.”

For a moment, the man looked as if he would allow his wife’s words to affect him.

Then his face, normally so expressive, turned completely cold.

She’d lost him.

She’d never truly had him to lose.

But she looked at Willy, and she thought of the wash crew, and she realized she finally had a truer support system. And if she could try to start over, find some other way to earn money to send to her family without interception, and some other way to reach the dreams that felt so far away at the moment, she knew Felix would be wrong: she didn’t need him.

After a long silence, Slugworth cleared his throat.

“Get her out of here. We have business with Mr. Wonka.”

What?

Her and the younger man’s eyes widened, and they grabbed each other’s hands on instinct, but a small number of policemen came around the corner of the shop door at Slugworth’s order. They clamped hands on her shoulders and dragged her away from Willy as the Cartel stood silently and watched.

“Wait-wait, no, I-”

“Wren-”

She struggled, fought, kicked, but was forced into the backseat of a police car-

“Let me go, you corrupt bastards-”

“Wren-”

“Let me-”

“Just drop her somewhere in town,” Felix said coolly. “Somewhere that isn’t my home.”

“WREN!”

The car door was slammed, and the last thing she saw was the Cartel advancing on a dazed Willy, opening a suitcase of cash.

All she could do was scream, and the scream turned into a cry.

They did indeed drop her somewhere. She burst out of the car the second it had stopped, and the officers drove away without a word.

Sick with worry and trying to regain her breath, she looked around, almost fainting with relief when she saw the laundry building. Piper, having heard the commotion, stood outside, and they looked at each other for a moment before Wren fell sobbing into her arms.

This is not over.

#fiytwtb #wonka movie #wonka 2023 #wonka #willy wonka x reader #timothée chalamet #timothee x reader #timothee chalamet fic #timothee chalamet fanfiction #timothee chalamet #wonka x reader #timothée chalamet x reader #wonka fanfiction #wonka fanfic #mat baynton #mathew baynton #mathew baynton x reader #mat baynton x reader

[silversmoke-20]

Yandere Chelsea Van Der Zee

Contents: Alternative Universe, Reader, Gender neutral, cringe, dark content, yandere motives.

Fact: Chelsea's canon surname is literally dutch and if translated! It says "From The Sea!"

AU: Bloody Lagoon is a au where: Chelsea never left the sea.

Meeting Chelsea was the worst! Seriously no jokes!

You were less shocked and more pissed off as she would scare off any of the fish you tried to net.

Everyday and everytime she would go out of her day to piss you off.

She would make harsh insults towards you and sometimes hit your insecurities.

Having enough you decided to throw anything that would hit her.

BONK! Hazaah! A direct hit to her- oh god her nose is bleeding.

She held her broken nose and held a look of sadness as if you were the culprit!

And here comes the most saddest cry in your life, okay now you felt like an asshole.

"Please stop crying!" "NO! You broke my nose, you jerk!" She stopped crying momentarily to say this and returned back to her crying.

Grabbing first aid, you tended to her broken nose. She would make half-ass attempts at threats like: I'll bite your fingers, I'll drown you and I'll make you disappear.

Oh and she's surprisingly fluent in Dutch.

Suffice to say? It was nice having someone to talk to besides listening to the radio on your boat.

Although Chelsea wanted to take selfies with your phone and didn't want to talk.

Until you spoke of your crush....Connor.

The mermaid's attention was now on you. Quickly scooting herself next to you, she quickly devised a plan.

Why don't you be the cool popular girl.

So Chelsea taught you the ways of how to gain popularity and be way past cool.

Overall Chelsea liked helping her human achieve her goals.

Her.......Human.....Hmm.

Maybe she should be a little selfish, nothing wrong with that. . . . .right?

Chelsea's behaviour has been weird lately.

Like she would oftentimes sit very close to you. Like having shoulders touch.

She would stop her insults and would start flirting with you.

She started to sing songs that are related to love or something and hoping to get the pal they like.

When you decided to sleep in your fishing boat for the night, you could've sworn you saw Chelsea watching you sleep.

She would get annoyed whenever you mention your friends and your crush connor.

Actually whenever you mention connor, her nails would dig into the boat

You both got into a fight from one too many of Chelsea's flirting.

"What's your deal!? I'm practicing my flirting?" She defended but you retaliated, "With someone who has a crush on someone, it's messed up! Y'know what, just go!"

You didn't see Chelsea's look of sadness that suddenly turned into anger.

You waited for her to move, but she didn't even move in the slightest.

"I think I just had enough with you, mi amor." She said in spanish....She's bilingual?

And without a second to lose, she lunges towards you and everything went dark.

_________________________________________

Your head was throbbing and everything felt sorta cold. Groggily getting up, your vision was blurry and you quickly licked your chapped lips and sharp teeth. Quickly getting up from your laying position, you reach towards your mouth and felt sharp teeth occupying your mouth, looking down at your body, you noticed your entire skin and appearance looked roughly similar to a tiger shark.

"Mijn liefje? What are you doing up?" Chelsea said, she yawns and rubs her eyes. You looked at the mermaid and gave her look that wanted answers to your predicament. Smiling innocently she swims towards a weird stone closet and opens it to reveal clothing tops. "It's simple, it was my magic." She stated as she pulls out a red crop top with two golden cuffs. "I used a spell and turn you into a gorgeous mershark similarly to a tiger shark." Chelsea added as she examines them closer, she nods and tosses them into your arms. "Now put these on, I wanna see you in red!" She says while clapping her hands together as you looked at her with a look of betrayal.

"You turned me into a freak!?" You shouted and dropped the clothes down but they slowly floated due to being underwater. Chelsea's expression turned one of happy into one of annoyances. Putting one hand on her hips and raising the other, she snaps her fingers and spoke in a haunting echoing voice. "Gehoorzamen!" She ordered in dutch as you felt your entire body follow her commands.

With another snap of her fingers, you regained control over your body. "Wh-What did you!?" You asked in fear as Chelsea looms over you. "What did I do? Isn't it obvious, I used my magic!" She said it as if you were an idiot.

"Now here's the quick recap, I started to gain feelings for you which is gross, what kind of weirdo of a mermaid falls for a weak human? Now since you're like me, we can chill and talk as much as we want! Like besties but lovers!" She said joyfully as you continued to stare at her.

You attempted to flee, but only for your tailfin to be grabbed and your entire body to be swung and slammed into the wall. Chelsea's hand held your throat and her sapphire blue eyes now had a murderous look in them. She leans into your ear, her breathing heavy and spoke with an annoyed tone.

"It seems you haven't gotten the memo, Liefde? I own you, that means you obey every word I say." She stops for a moment for a quick deep breath and it looks like she was about to lose her temper with each sentence she spoke. "And if you don't, I'll get mad, very mad. And when I get mad, I get hungry and when I get hungry. I crave for something-." She stops and whispers teasingly in your ear. "Bloederig~" and not knowing dutch, you can easily tell she was talking something about blood of possibly human's.

"So liefde? What do you suggest we do?" She asks as she rubs a thumb on your chin, enjoying the sandpaper like skin. You looked at her in the eyes and muttered quietly and asks what you said.

"What was that? I couldn't quite catch that." She hums as she leans in closely and you sadly repeat what you said. "Let's go and do something fun...babe." you felt disgusted calling this....monster that name.

"That's a good shark~" She coos and begins to lead you towards a different location.

_________________________________________

@hana-no-seiiki @chadychadyy2k

I have a headcanon that Chelsea is a Dutch Mermaid lmao!

I'm going to make more after finishing up with my other yandere projects!

#ruby gillman teenage kraken #teenage kraken #Chelsea mermaid #yandere x reader #no minor's #yandere #teenage kraken x reader #yandere teenage kraken #Chelsea x reader #yandere chelsea #reader #y/n #x y/n #Chelsea Van Der Zee #Yandere Chelsea Van Der Zee #Chelsea Van Der Zee x reader #Yandere Chelsea Van Der Zee x reader #Bloody Lagoon au #Bloody Lagoon RGTK #AU #alternative universe

[mindstriker]

i would love to hear your Five Points of Vaughn Contention actually

HELL YEAH HERE WE GO

Vaughn was my second favourite character in TFTBL and I am Pissed on his behalf for what happened to him in 3 for several reasons. Precisely 5. Which I have decided to present in order of importance to me personally. Putting this under a read-more for everyone's sake.

Number one: The like, naked man thing. Hygeine. You name it.

Listen. I have no problem with the idea that after living on Pandora for an extended period of time would make him visibly more disheveled/rugged- I mean, even over the span of TFTBL we clearly see him progress from clean-cut accountant to like. Pandoran enthusiast. I also don't have a problem with the idea of his appearance getting a bit wilder post-the deaths of the Children of Helios. Obviously that could have caused him to lose a lot of stability and organization in his life, and wandering Pandora alone could lead to him getting overall sandier and less composed than before- but are we actually taking the funny "oh he took his shirt off in the desert before" scene and deciding that he's decided to spend his time hanging around in nothing but dirty underwear? Because... it's funny? It's just another part of the "Vaughn is a belligerent idiot who can't take care of himself" schtick that 3 forced onto him in the name of ignoring genuine character development for snark, and I hate it.

Which leads me into my second point: The whole "I love Pandora now and I'm soaking up the thrills" thing never should have led into Vaughn idolizing bandits. It doesn't fit his motivations for getting attached to Pandoran life in the first place or his previous actions.

Vaughn in TFTBL liked the adrenaline of doing something risky and wild for once in his life, and encountering a new and thrilling environment- but that doesn't translate to "heehoo bandit appealing". He liked the thrill of fighting for his life, not the thrill of... banditry? He was pumped up by the chaos of Pandora, but he still *cared* about other people and wasn't thrilled about violence or happy to be brawling with other people- hell, he organized a pacifistic group of survivors. Why the hell would he idolize bandits? You know, the people who are KNOWN for dying horribly out in the desert and killing people for shits and giggles?

Sure, he's excited about working with Fiona and Sasha, who he refers to as "grifters" at one point- but working with "grifters" isn't that different from working with... you know, his literal friends from Hyperion who are also grifters, just of the corporate variety? There's an element of moral bankruptcy slightly present in him- in ALL of the Hyperion employee characters we see in-game- but his brand of dubious isn't violent bandit, it's more "you could talk me into a bank heist for the thrills". I don't buy the translation of "overall well-meaning guy with a kick for adventure and risk and a little bit of chaos" to "kicking around in the dust with whatever scumbags I can find who act like frat boys".

Again. I understand that watching the Children of Helios' pacifism plan fail, leading to their deaths, could have led to him becoming more militant. My problem lies in the way that this was written. Why did they go the course of "oh yeah the people he essentially led and tried to take care of post-Helios fall all died, surely he'd immediately begin fawning over the type of people responsible for their deaths like an asshole" and not "sure yes he'd probably be forced to give up his pacifism but we're going to take this seriously and maybe explore the idea of a character who tried and failed to make a good, fun, risky-but-not-cruel life for himself on Pandora and failed". I would've preferred it if they played the angle of his risk-taking behaviour and Pandoran survivalism taking on a new aspect: maybe something akin to vigilante behaviour or... literally anything else. Joining the Crimson Raiders because if he's going to be in a constant brawl, it might as well be on the side of someone he vaguely knows to not be brutal and evil, instead of crawling to them after getting kicked out by bandits. In general, I hate the way that they barely had him react to the Children of Helios' deaths without so much more than a "oh yeah haha they had laser pointers- shitty idea, they died but I'm fine now". He... went to the trouble of trying to help and lead those people even though they were strange and prone to idolizing Rhys. You want to tell me he was heartless enough to barely care beyond a "whoopsie" joke about them? When he's clearly a character that cares enough about his friends- notably even one who possibly lied about/was in cahoots with Handsome Jack- to the point of arranging a risky ass scheme to rescue them?

Anyways. This is already long as hell but points number three and four: Vaughn was never incompetent, just prone to risk-taking behaviour- and goofiness doesn't have to equal stupidity or a lack of any actual substance. Two things 3's writers clearly didn't understand.

Yeah, Vaughn was the butt of the joke a lot in TFTBL, but being the comedic relief didn't also prevent him from having like- an actual productive character arc culminating in him becoming a confident man capable of leadership and not stumbling over his feet as much in a strange new world. His funny "bro" behaviour and newfound love for chaos weren't his primary character flaws, or the things dragging him down/making him incompetent and irritating, they were some of the catalysts for his development into someone capable of enduring Pandora for long periods of time. There was a balance between him getting dunked on for giggles, and acknowledged as a character who was actually important to both the other characters in the game and to the overarching story.

And yeah, alright- he did things like "try to have a pacifistic society on Pandora, ye planet of war" and "try to rescue a friend with the use of laser pointers"- but those worked. Risky choices, yeah, but not belligerently stupid ones. Vaughn was smart enough as an accountant to divert funds and fuck with him and Rhys' access to things, he has lines in TFTBL where despite his nervousness and mounting excitement he acknowledges risks like desert dehydration, demonstrating at least some variety of survival competence- he just wasn't stupid! He really wasn't! They made him stupid because they thought it was funny, and all they accomplished was making him annoying.

And finally, point five: Irony poisoning and everything else aside. Why did they decide to split Vaughn and Rhys up in such an anti-climactic way? I mean, this feeds into a way larger issue I have with BL3's segment featuring TFTBL characters (If we can have an entire segment about what Rhys is up to, can we PLEASE interact with Fiona in some way, or at least get an explanation/exploration of where her and Sasha went post-TFTBL???) I could understand the TFTBL gang splitting up post-game. Sasha wants to travel and explore, Fiona has expressed a clear interest in becoming a VH herself- a pursuit that takes a lot of travel and which would put her under the radar to her friends, and Vaughn prefers to stay on Pandora whereas Rhys obviously fucks off to Promethea to rebuild Atlas. But you're telling me none of them even try to stay in contact? You're telling me Rhys and Vaughn had a falling out? Over WHAT? If you're going to write it in at least make it believable, because the way things were left in TFTBL I would've been shocked to see them not still being the closest members of the original group post-game. They both made new lives for themselves, yeah, but if anyone was going to keep in touch regularly- it would be them? Why aren't they working together to some degree? Vaughn was very technologically literate in the past, are we acting like him adapting to Pandora suddenly means he's never going to use the ECHOnet or other tech to establish long-distance connections or accomplish things again? He seemed to like being tech-savvy, please. Why did we split everyone up in the shittiest way possible with minimal coherent explanation? WAUGH.

#this is me yelling #long text post #vaughn the money man #tftbl #vaughn tftbl #tales from the borderlands #borderlands 3 #borderlands #rhys strongfork #i am so pissed off #this wasn't as coherent as i wanted but needless to say i have many many reasons i don't like what 3 did to vaughn and many #MANY #ideas on how to rework him to be a more appealing and in-tune-with-previous-games character

[amorfista]

I have some news to share ^^

A few days ago I had a revelation while at work.

For over 8 years I've been a big fan of the Dark Souls franchise. The first Dark Souls felt to me like a journey; a full-on immersion into an incredibly complex world, marked by disparity: old royalty, splendor, trust, hope, magic, nostalgia, wonder, gold, light... but also decay, dread, betrayal, horrors, darkness, death, monsters, disease, anguish. This game left a deep print on me that hasn't faded. Ever since I played it, fantasy changed in my eyes. Dark Souls I, II and III became a standard, a reference point. Even when I didn't draw as much as I do now, I aspired to one day pay good tribute to the games that meant so much to me! And, of course, I created fan art, but I always felt like I could have given more.

Now. As you probably know I'm also a big Star Wars fan, specifically TCW fan. And a few months ago I watched The Bad Batch for the first time. This show left a print in a very similar way as Dark Souls had before. It fueled my inspiration significantly, motivated me and, most importantly, helped me form friendships that I'm incredibly grateful for ♥. So... the other day, while I listened to some Dark Souls music at work, I thought...

Why not combine my favorite show with my favorite videogame franchise?

So that's it guys. May I present to you:

-The Bad Batch: Dark Souls AU-

That's it! That's my brilliant idea! XD This is going to be a project, a BIG one. So I would like to briefly (i promise i tried) explain how it will affect my content, under the cut: (I'll also drop some older DS artwork at the bottom!)

TLDR: From now on I will focus on TBB DS AU as my main and basically sole project . Even if you didn't play DS, that's okay! I will make it people-who-didn't-play friendly, to ensure everyone enjoys the journey. However, if this isn't for you, it's okay to unfollow <3 -I would say that, since I came to tumblr this early summer, my "signature" drawings are the TBB beach episode ones. I have WIPs for this project but I've been feeling stuck for far too long, so I am going to put it on hold. In fact, I am going to put on hold virtually everything that I was planning on doing, with a few exceptions. This means that I will rarely draw anything outside this AU.

-I am CLOSING commissions. I found that they put a kind of pressure on me that doesn't feel too good, and, honestly, I'm lucky to say that I do not need the money at the moment. I'm still open to requests, though, so don't hesitate to send anything and I'll draw it if I feel like it :) I'll even try to set up a store at some point!

-The project will consist on three journeys, featuring the 6 members of the Bad Batch, and corresponding with the three Dark Souls games. Each of those journeys will, more or less faithfully, follow the events of EACH season of TBB, adapted of course to the universe of Dark Souls, AKA Dark Medieval Fantasy. This means that, until the third season of TBB is released, I won't make any DSIII-related drawings.

-The journeys are adapted to the universe, and thus, will follow the real player journey as faithfully as I can, staying within DS canon and allowing people who have played the games to enjoy my drawings. However,

-THE DRAWINGS WILL BE 100% NON-DS-PLAYER FRIENDLY. I know that my followers are not DS fans but TBB/TCW fans. I am NOT here just to please DS fans. I want TBB fans to enjoy this journey, without having to google meanings or go easter-egg hunt to understand what is happening. I will tell a story and you will only have to enjoy it.

-This is a project for myself. Both DS and TBB mean A LOT to me, and this idea had me vibrating with excitement. I am making this project to PAY TRIBUTE to two things I love. However that does not mean that I will neglect the very people who have motivated me to keep creating. I promise to still deliver my very best with every drawing.

Do not hesitate to unfollow if this isn't for you.

I can understand that some people might follow me only for my wholesome beach episode drawings or for regular, HC TBB content. And that's okay. That's what this announcement is for! To let you know. This community has given me so much and I want to give back. And if you do stay, I can almost 100% assure you that you will enjoy what's to come!! <3 It will be a long but satisfactory journey. I'LL BE POSTING THE FIRST DRAWINGS IN THE UPCOMING DAYS!

OKAY, SORRY FOR THE WALL OF TEXT!!! 😖 Here are some older DS drawings ^^ (jesus I have way more than I thought and these aren't even all of them)

AIGHT. NOW YOU KNOW IT'S SOME SERIOUS SHIT WHEN I SAY I LIKE THESE GAMES.

Anyway. Including a taglist, because I think it would be unfair not to let you guys know about this project in case anyone wants out (or to not be tagged). Send me a DM if that's the case, it's NO PROBLEM!!! I wouldn't want to tag someone who doesn't want this content.

ALSO PLEASE, ANY QUESTIONS YOU MIGHT HAVE, TOSS THEM TO ME! And thank you kindly for making it this far <3

@dukeoftheblackstar @justalittletomato @darthmaulshispanichousewife @botherbother-blog @aftergloom @badolmen @ihaventpickedausername @ohboi @stardustbee @nik-barinova @the-chains-are-the-easy-part @gen-has-green-vibes @ejfivercommander @herbalinz-of-yesteryear @eyecandyeoz @noesqape @lune-de-miel-au-paradis @staycalmandhugaclone @callmesunny04 @freesia-writes @ginnymilling @sunshinesdaydream @sev-on-kamino @cloneloverrrrr @moon-wrecked @idontgetanysleep @tech-aficionado @followthepurrgil @renton6echo @queen-jiru @shoe-bag @eyayah123 @eloquentmoon @and-loth-cat @ladyzirkonia @stardusthuntress @bambambunny @morphofan @gt13tbbart @amalthiaph @cameronirat @nobody-expects-the-inquisitorius @anxiouspineapple99

#the bad batch #dark souls #TBB DS AU

[allayessu]

Kaitou Joker headcanons

- Definitely a Nintendo kid. He literally owns a DS in the series

- Religiously plays Mario Kart as Bowser

- Everyone stfu he probably listens to One Direction and OneRepublic. Maybe also a HINT of Odetari and 6arelyhuman for those moments he needs some badass motivation

- He gets along with kids because they remind him of himself. He sees a part of him inside them that he'll never get to be since they remind him of what it would be like if he grew up in a normal household

- That is until kids start being tiny little shits, that's when he's on the edge of duking it out on a 7 year old

- Hates being touched but also touched starved at the same time

- If he goes out in normal terms he'd prefer quiet and less crowded places so he could lower his guard a bit

- Probably studied a bit of fashion on his own I mean LOOK AT HIS DRIPS. THEY'RE ICED

- Is a Cartoon Network kid. Fear him.

- Definitely would watch Ben 10

- Queen drags him by the hair to watch Carmen Sandiego

- Got chased by Hachi with a chancla for eating his salted rice cakes again. Not forgetting Hachi's frilly pink apron

- Does NOT like the idea of cat girls. They remind him too much of Doubt

That's all I have for now if you have any headcanons to share with me PLEASE LET ME KNOW I'M ITCHING FOR MORE KJ CONTENT

#kaitou joker #mysterious joker #jack jones #phantom thief #kaitou joker headcanons #headcanons

[oopsgracie]

my thoughts on loki season two so far…

i’m really struggling with this season of loki because i want to love it but why so many filler episodes? i feel like this did nothing to develop plot or relationships or even loki as a character. true, i do like the whole OB as a science teacher come wannabe bestseller and his role in helping loki control time slipping, and i enjoyed seeing their original timelines but i feel like this could have been done differently, perhaps not in less time, but in a way that made it feel like loki genuinely connects with these people. i don’t remember him having a conversation with b-15 about anything other than the T.V.A, similar situation when it comes to casey although they’ve had more screen time together. if his life’s new glorious purpose is wanting to reunite his friends and restore order, then put some effort into making their bonds with loki and each other more authentic?

can we also talk about why sylvie and loki weren’t reset, i know this might be answered next episode, i just hope it doesn’t become a plot hole.

we’re so often reminded that he’s a god, but it seems to be that everybody else has forgotten he’s the god of mischief, chaos, that this man invaded the whole of new york less than a month ago. with some good character development, or even a plot in which he questions his choices and desires and finds this motivation within himself later, maybe i could believe that he truly wants to restore what he has always sought to remove, but i feel like the loki i saw in this episode is no different to the loki i met at the end of season one, or even s2ep1, when his biggest concern was sylvie’s wellbeing, except that he’s done a one eighty in what he believes and has become this blindly led hero figure.

also loki and sylvie in general, i know it’s unpopular (coming from somebody that really loved their relationship) but also integral to the first season. you can’t erase a relationship that has already driven the plot of six episodes and dare i say most of loki’s character development? except apparently you can, because that seems to be what the writers have chosen to do. push any kind of tension you like, have him hate her for what she did, have him try to do everything without her and fail, but at least give them some screen time? what happened to her being his glorious purpose? what happened to finding a place on the timeline together? what happened? i love mobius and OB, but they don’t replace the dynamic of two loki variants trying to navigate the ideas of a multiverse, order against chaos and what it means to be loved. that’s what made season one so compelling and now it’s been replaced with a vapid quest to fix up a rusty old loom. i don’t know if people who disliked their relationship were listened to and that was the catalyst for such a change, and i get that it’s not for everyone, but if that’s the decision they came to at least break it off in a way that works with the storyline rather than immediately end it with no explanation. no character has mentioned how they’re feeling after everything’s gone down and with such clear moments in which these conversations could have been had, they just didn’t. the pie room— with both sylvie and mobius, the bar scene, the ferris wheel. i feel like i’ve heard sylvie say the same few lines over and over again, that she hates the T.V.A, hates HWR, wants to be free from the time fascists and make her own choices and then she leaves. even after loki speaks of thor, they talk but they don’t say anything that’s hasn’t already been understood. it goes nowhere and feels unsatisfying, like we’re going round in circles which ironically, but i suspect unintentionally, seems quite fitting with the story.

this season has its moments, i just wanted something of substance.

that’s not to say i don’t enjoy watching it, any loki content is content i’ll find joy in and i truly love the concept of this season, exploring time loops and the ouroboros, how terrifying kang is made out to be, sylvie realising she needs the T.V.A, science and time-travel to hunt down a rogue miss minutes and renslayer (who doesn’t love loki in a suit?), but i think that what matters (loki, his development and his relationships) has been executed poorly, sacrificed to advance the MCU rather than the series, which seems a shame when they had already been so well established coming into the second season, or maybe my expectations were just too high. i almost hope they don’t push any intense friendship/love interest moments in the final episode when it’s all been so neglected.

absolutely no hate to those who feel differently i just needed somewhere to point out all my frustrations :)

#loki #marvel #loki laufeyson #sylvie #loki season 2 #sylki #lokius #loki season two episode five

[lulu24784]

washing machine heart | part 5

"I know who you pretend I am."

[AO3 Link]

previous chapter | next chapter

synopsis: | You're absolutely infatuated with Stan Marsh and have even started dating him! It should be a dream come true, but the truth is, he's only with you to make Wendy Testaburger jealous. To help you work through your emotions, you turn to Kenny McCormick, your best friend.

pairings: | kenny mccormick x fem! reader ; stan marsh x fem! reader ; wendy testaburger x stan marsh

cws: | angst, drug use/drug mentions, explicit language, sexual content, unrequited love, mental health themes / sh

everyone is aged up to be 18+ tw; there is a bit more sexy writing in this chapter also A LOT of reader self-deprecation. like, more so than usual.

It had felt like hours had passed.

In reality, it had only been about twenty minutes.

You kept watching the road while listening to the music Stan had turned on, on the radio for you. Arctic Monkeys or something, you figured. It wasn’t until long that he eventually pulled over. He had stopped near a cliff that offered a view of South Park in its entirety. You scanned around you, taking it all in. Honestly, it was quite beautiful. You were surprised.

When you turned to face Stan, he still hadn’t taken his eyes off the scenery outside the window. You hesitantly bit on your lower lip before reaching out and resting your hand on his arm. After a little quiver from the touch, Stan finally fixed his attention on you.

“Hey...”

Uncertain about Stan’s emotions, you spoke in a hushed tone. Was he still pissed off at you for hanging out with Kenny? Given that he knew of your friendship with Kenny prior to the two of you dating, his reaction to it came as a bit of a surprise. You chalked it up to insecurity, aware of how annoying it could be, leading you to second-guess yourself and entertain unwanted ideas.

Your thumb gently rubbed Stan’s arm, trying to coax him into talking with you. Motivating him to do anything at all. The longer he stared at you, the more anxious you became.

Stan swallowed slowly and opened his mouth, as if about to speak, but then paused and sighed.

“Hey, Uh... I’m really sorry about earlier.”

As he reached for your hand, he shifted awkwardly in his chair. In an effort to reassure him that everything was okay, you gave it a tiny squeeze.

“I couldn’t help but get a little jealous, y’know? I mean, you’re my girlfriend. I just...” He moved his body so that he was leaning closer to you, but the car’s center console prevented him from getting much closer. “I want you all to myself.” His tone was low as he spoke.

Your face warmed at his words, and you agreed with a small nod. “Y-Yeah... I get it.”

Stan smiled briefly at you before averting his eyes once more.

“Y... You won’t... You won’t leave me, right?” Stan mumbled his words. “Like, you like me and stuff... Right? You’re not gonna just up and dump me? I mean, cause like. You kind of make things feel less shitty. So...” He trailed off.

Taking notice of the shaking in his hand, your heart instantly started to melt. You tightened your hold on his hand and stared at him in shock.

“I like you! I’d never leave. Never.” You raised your voice. You felt like you wanted to shout this to the rooftops if you could. The urge to grab Stan by the shoulders and shake some sense into him was tremendous. Of course you liked him! You loved him! You loved everything about the guy.

“You’re the most amazing man I’ve ever met! You’re friggin gorgeous and so incredibly sweet! Not to mention a hot-ass athlete!” The words spilled out of your mouth and you couldn’t control it. “A-And.. I mean, you... You like someone like me! I would never leave!” You stared at Stan, red-faced. How corny could you be?

With his free hand reaching up to shield his face, Stan laughed.

Oh no.

You made a fool of yourself, didn’t you? As you watched the boy laugh at you, your stomach dropped. You stammered out, your lip quivering.

“Dude, what the heck? You’re so cute.” Stan made a lame attempt to stifle his giggle while continuing his efforts to hide his face. You couldn’t look away once you noticed that his cheeks were flushed.

How could someone be this perfect?

Your emotions overcame you and you impulsively kissed Stan.

The moment he kissed you back, your hold on his hand started to weaken. You could’ve sworn you died and went to heaven. One kiss from Stan was all it took to send you soaring. How was it even possible for there to be someone who could make you feel like this? Someone who was capable of eradicating all of your anxieties. It was magical. Giving in, you let the feeling of Stan’s lips on yours consume you.

In no time at all, the tender kiss developed into a passionate make-out session. Your hands wandered all over each other, taking in as much of each other as you could. Stan had somehow manoeuvred you into the rear seat of his car, and you weren’t even sure how. Without wasting any time, he leaned forward and pinned you to the seat with his hands, one on either side of your head.

He dipped his head down and kissed your neck and shoulder with delicate open-mouth kisses. Occasionally pausing to bite and lick the skin, leaving a tiny mark and eliciting a loving sigh from you each time.

“How did I get so lucky...” He cooed, then started working his way up your sweater in a slow, careful manner.

Your mind was whirling. Feeling like your heart was going to give out at any minute. His scent overwhelming you. It was as if his hands were on fire as they pressed into you.

What happened to taking things slow?! You two had literally talked about it yesterday!

Stan’s hand moved to your breast and began massaging the mound through your bralette, and you breathed out.

Taking what slow? You had no idea anymore. All that mattered was that you were here, doing these things with the guy you were so excited to call your boyfriend. Your mind was a mushy mess. There are no longer any coherent thoughts in your head. Not even a fleeting idea of your partner’s ex entered your head. Hell, not even the fact that you were a complete and utter virgin with zero prior experience could ruin this.

It was as though you were high for the first time.

Is this what it’s like? Is this how Kenny feels all the time? Damn...

As he continued to feel and grope your body, his hands were so delicate. Almost as if he was afraid to hurt you.

Without a word, he had removed your sweater and his. Hands now pulling the bralette straps down to expose your chest to him. You instinctively reached up to conceal yourself, but Stan grabbed your arm and held it before you could.

“Fuckin’ beautiful.” He murmured while placing wet kisses on your chest. Giving a few small licks to your nipple before taking it into his mouth.

You moaned softly and tangled your free hand in Stan’s black hair, causing his beanie to fall off. A light pulling on Stan’s hair elicited a deep, husky groan. The sound caused you to squirm and your cheeks to become even more heated.

The moment Stan lowered his hands to touch the hem of your skirt, your god awful insecurities began to surface.

“Stan...” You exhaled.

“Mm?”

“I’m... Ah...”

He gave your stomach a few gentle kisses before looking up at you with half-lid eyes.

You shifted around uneasily.

“I uh... I dunno. Maybe we could... Um...” You gave Stan a shy glance. “S-Slow down. I, um.. I’m not sure if I’m ready... Just yet.”

You could see the disappointment flash across Stan’s face, but it was only for a second. You felt a knot in your stomach.

“Of course.” He gave you a reassuring smile and a quick peck on the cheek before taking a seat next to you.

You felt awful! This poor boy was now going to have to deal with blue balls because of you! How could you?

You suck.

Absolutely pathetic.

What kind of girlfriend are you?

Wendy would’ve done it.

She would’ve fucked him sooo good.

Bet he regrets dating you now.

Constant thoughts assaulted your mind. You were nauseous.

You sat up slowly next to Stan and gave him a cursory glance. “Sorry...”

“No, no. Don’t be sorry.” He spoke softly and assisted you in putting your sweater back on after adjusting your bralette for you. “We’ll go slow. I don’t mind.” Stan took your cheek in his palm and cradled it. “It’s okay.”

While fighting back tears, you nodded. There was no way you were going to let him see you cry. You already ruined everything else. The last thing you needed was for him to deal with you being a crybaby.

Stan drew you into a hug by leaning back and enveloping you in his arms. Although it took some time, you were eventually able to let go and relax into him.

You spent the remainder of the evening snuggled up together and discussing anything that came to mind. It was nice and peaceful.

In spite of this, the never-ending scream in the back of your mind would not stop.

-------------------------

Soon enough, Stan had dropped you off at your home, and you went inside to retire for the night.

As you snuggled deep into the blankets, you couldn’t help but wish that you could just melt into your bed and vanish. To fade away into oblivion. Then, perhaps, your mind would finally shut off.

In your desperation for sleep to tear you from this plane of existence, you closed your eyes and tried to drift off to sleep, paying little attention to the text notifications that were buzzing on your phone. Hopefully, you’ll have sweet dreams...

Ones of you and Kenny being best buddies forever. Hanging out with him and Karen.

Kickin’ ass, takin’ names, and cashin’ cheques!

Nothing could stop you!

You would all share a huge house and eat so many pancakes! It would be awesome.

Karen could bring her friends over.

Kenny would obviously bring the gang... No... That includes—! He’d have some... girls?

No

Then you would have your boyfriend...

Stan.

Stan?

They were going to laugh at you.

Stan’s friends. Stan. Kenny. Wendy?!

What a joke! Some lame excuse for a “girlfriend” you were.

You didn’t put out.

You couldn’t do the only thing you were good for.

You really think Stan is with you because he likes you?!

He couldn’t use you.

What good are you otherwise?!

WHAT GOOD ARE YOU OTHERWISE—

You sprang up, gasping for air. The annoying sound of your ringtone going off next to you as you tried to catch your breath. Sweat dripping from your forehead.

Your head crashed against your pillow as you collapsed back down after taking a deep breath. Who was calling you at this hour of the night? You raised your arm and wiped the sweat from your brow before grabbing your phone. Squinting as your eyes adjusted to the brightness of the display.

The name “Kenny” was written in bold font.

You answered the call without hesitation.

“What?!” you roared.

“Oh, thank god you answered!”

You closed your eyes for a second. What the hell was he on about?

“Why haven’t you answered your phone?! I’ve been trying to contact you all night! Stan driving like a fucking idiot with you in the car... I thought something happened to you! He didn’t take you home right away!”

Kenny’s voice sounded frantic.

“Woah, woah. Hey. I’m fine. We just went and hung out after...” You trailed. “I mean... He’s my boyfriend, right? So I guess that’s normal... Or something.”

“Still! You could’ve sent me a text back or something!”

You rubbed the sleep from your eyes and put the phone on speaker before laying it down on the pillow next to you.

“Mmkay, sorry Ken.” You grumbled as you turned over under the covers and resumed your cozy position.

“Just... I’m glad you’re safe.” Kenny coughed awkwardly. “Sorry for callin’ so late.”

“It’s kay...”

“Was your date good at least? Musta been if you didn’t text me.”

“Mmm...”

Not even a few seconds later could Kenny hear your gentle snore on his end. He cracked a little smile and made himself comfortable in bed. He picked up a sketchbook off the floor and started doodling while he continued the call, wanting to hear you.

#south park x reader #kenny mccormick x reader #stan marsh x reader #lulu works

[clonerightsagenda]

I was going to save this for one of my podcast girls week entries, but I wrote it out and then thought, why sit on it, so here is today's ladies night content before I go on a walk: Alien zombie Alana Maxwell is an underutilized concept and here's why.

She'd be cool with it. Maxwell works with AI who are ported between containers without that changing who they are, so she's primed to view her mind and memories being rebooted in a new container similarly. I don't think she'd have any identity crises. Also, her dad was a preacher, she's not on good terms with her family, and she tried to ditch the holiday party, which makes me guess she's ex-Christian. How better to spite your Christian parents than coming back from the dead in a distinctly non-God honoring way? This could generate some interesting conflict with Lovelace, who is significantly less cool with it and might be annoyed and dismayed to see someone else taking alien resurrection in stride. Bonus points considering I hc Lovelace as being raised Catholic and the soul question being an additional level of identity angst that Maxwell immediately dismisses.

The aliens have motive. It's clear that watching through their surrogates' eyes doesn't mean they understand what they see. Once Lovelace gets back to Earth, they might want help with context. They seem to have grasped that humans don't like multiple copies of a person running around, and of the others they have on file, they dislike Kepler and Cutter, and Rachel and Riemann were there when Cutter killed one of their meatsuits, so Maxwell seems like the one they'd have the least aversion to. Then she would immediately try to talk them into roadtripping to see things in person, which is how we can get all the other interactions I'm describing.

The aliens have opportunity. It's not stated what the crew did with Maxwell's body, but the likely options are either tossing her into the star or freezing her on the station, which later went into the star. Lovelace was frozen (albeit alive) when she got scanned, and Word of God is that the Dear Listeners are perfectly capable of creating a functioning surrogate from a corpse. If you don't want to go that angle, almost everyone got hit by multiple rounds of stellar activity in "Persuasion". However, the corpse angle creates an opening for...

Fun body horror. I am a 'came back wrong' enjoyer and think it would be very good if the aliens got their scanned corpse up and running but didn't fuss too much about the cosmetic stuff. Maxwell's skin is colder than it ought to be. She has a gnarly scar on her forehead. Neither of these bother her much, but she's not a fan of the tingling neuropathy left over from tissue damage or the brain fog from the bullet that went through her head. (A fun parallel to the issue she first helped Hera with. Hera is now in the brain damage club with Doug, Miranda, and Maxwell. She hates this.) She can fun-terrorize Jacobi with perma-cold hands and real-terrorize Minkowski by making her look at the hole in her head. She's honestly over it but it's still funny to watch her squirm.

The Hera thing. Hera was furious with Maxwell immediately after the mutiny, and although her opinions softened near the end of the show, I think she'd be furious again if Maxwell actually showed up. She embraced non-human solidarity with Lovelace and now here's Maxwell. What is she supposed to do, have non-human solidarity with her too?? Did Maxwell become an alien to spite her??? The nerve. I got the impression that Maxwell saw her actions during the mutiny as for Hera's own good - better than deleting her, right? - just as she was willing to ignore Hera's wishes and erase her memories in Memoria. She'd probably insist on that if they had a chance to argue about it, and I could see Hera throwing the restraining bolt incident in her face. ("If you're so comfortable putting something into people's brains to make them more useful to you, I'm sure you won't mind hearing how Jacobi got that scar on the back of his neck.") Could be juicy, is my point.

Meanwhile, Jacobi: Of course this is my very good friend Maxwell back from the dead. Yes this has implications for the version of myself I listened to die screaming. No I'm not going to unpack that.

Finally, I think it's a missed opportunity that Pryce and Maxwell never got to meet. I suspect pre-mutiny Maxwell would want to believe she was ethically better than Pryce while pre-finale Pryce would see Maxwell as a bleeding heart amateur, but after all that? I think they'd still get each other's hackles up, but there's room for some interesting interaction, especially as I think Miranda's memories would start trickling back after a while, and immortal alien surrogate Maxwell is basically her white whale. Miranda trying to navigate social niceties enough to determine an acceptable way to ask someone for tissue samples. Maxwell might be willing to swap some for custody over a few of Pryce’s experimental AIs.

In conclusion, while I enjoy postcanon scenarios dissecting people's trauma, I think it's fun if while everyone else is grappling with the Horrors, Maxwell is also there enjoying herself. *commercial voice* Add an alien Maxwell to YOUR postcanon today.

#for 12 low payments of $0.00 #perpetual perpetual ladies night #wolf 359 #visibly undead Maxwell dragging an alien doing a really bad human impression around Florida: :D #everyone else seeing this: D: #spending my last day of winter break blogging furiously

[pink-and-plaid]

My Fair Hansel

By definition, a Hansel Boy is a guy with a thinner frame that has become thicker and pudgy, gradually becoming nice and bloated in his rear and his stomach, but nowhere else. But what makes these Hansel Boys so attractive?

Perhaps the psychology is that because I love that in the soft flesh of a thicker guy, there is a real vulnerability of a person, whose body has had great happiness and contentment in his life, or it may be the tender flesh of someone who may have had to cope with great sadness that he could not express and so gained weight. It may be guys whose genetics also just afford them beautiful flesh- or even just their wish to be subdued and dominated, becoming fuller, thicker and free of social constraints. So, continue to grow as much as you please... I shall dominate and protect that vulnerability in your large curves.

When “Hansel Boys” enter “forests”, they begin as average young men. Perhaps they’re lost- wandering from a celebration already stuffed and sleepy, but they’re always open to being worshipped- hungry for it even…that’s when they’re lured by my spell. It’s something they can easily play into. They remember “Hansel & Gretel”.

But that’s a witch in a fairy tale. A Warlock is different. He is modern. His charm is so seductive playing into a young man’s vanity that regardless of orientation, he’s captivated listening to the Warlock’s deep soothing voice, masculine and strong as if he will take care of all their worries in the world- the world that’s starting to blur into fantasy…his words beckon the young men inside a house or apartment and within the walls they can almost smell gingerbread.

“Let my my living room become your forest, and my black hat and shirt become like the witch’s robe in your stories as I caress your rear or moon over your belly, creeping underneath the tight shirts and sweatpants like I’m undoing your lederhosen. I’ll lean over you “Mein Hansel” and tell you your own fairy tale of when you found your way to my candied house.. “

When you see the gingerbread house you imagine yourself as any Hansel Boy would- like they all do in my house. They immediately attach themselves to the icing covered walls of the gingerbread house eating and stuffing their bodies. The Warlock waits patiently watching them climb over the walls like vines, gradually plumping up like berries. When the Warlock appears before them, they are caught by surprise with their faces stuffed. The Warlock stuffs an apple in each of their mouths and throws them in a large steamer to simmer and reduce the fat.

As the steam increases, the boys become only half aware of the reality, and half the fairy tale. They call out weak and submissive, eager to play along.

“Are you going to baste me, sir? Keep me in a pot and fatten me? Will I be your gingerbread guy?” 🍪

But the Warlocks have no interest in eating gingerbread boys. That’s a witch’s motive. Warlock’s have other plans.

In all the heat the boys get hungry and the Warlock brings them pastries, sodas, sweet beers, and sweets galore.

But as they fatten, they go back in the pot where the fat moistens their skin and the steam expands their body loosening their frame to become stretchy and pliable to be able to be filled to larger capacity.

When they’re too big for the steamer and their fattened skin is the most pliable to be filled up, the Warlock moves the boys into giant tubs of hot water and pours in bags of sugar. The boys’ mental faculties being broken, have no idea that the steamer has primed their bodies to absorb the sugar water like sponges- juicing them up like fruit for a pie.

Gradually they will become less like dumb boys and more like a big blueberry🫐, a giant peach🍑, a juicy pear🍐 or a stuffed pillow full of fluffy marshmallow...☁️ like these.

And with their new shape, they’ll smile because it will be easier to just be rounder, and they’ll start to love fattening themselves up on their own, and be eager to bloat in sugar baths. All they’ll want is to please the Warlock and they won’t even know why… If done regularly, the boys will ripen rapidly.

But one wouldn’t want them to get so overripe that they burst or leak- a Hansel’s frame only holds so much. Bigger clothes would be needed to keep them warm with plenty of room to swell rather quickly if they’ve been good at being conditioned. That’s how the Warlock can ensure a sweet tasting harvest! 🍭

“Then how will I know when to stop? How will I know when I’m ready to be consumed?”

The Warlock can tell when they are ready to be measured by looking into their eyes. When the boys are soft, and the body is rounder, the Warlock must measure the fruit’s ripeness, like any fruit in the market- using his hands. The Hansel Boys have only to lift their shirts so the Warlock may feel…

Undoubtedly, the stomach will already be engorged like a watermelon 🍉. So then to really know when it’s time, he must gauge the rest of the fruit’s shapeliness. It will begin with the plum of the cheeks in their faces. They will grow in color as the boys grow in general. Then it will spread to their hindquarters. The healthy rear begins to fill up like water balloons jiggling, growing full in their pants as they increase in size- buttocks now like basketballs straining under the stretching fabric, begging to be released... 🏀🏀 The boys will try to close their pants, but they’ll feel ready to burst- forcing the buttons closed, holding their big boy bottom in those pants like a heavy pumpkin, perfectly round and strapped tight in the sling of their underwear...🎃

When both sets of cheeks are full, the Warlock will listen closely, placing his hands on the fleshy bounty. The Warlock should hear the insides slosh at his touch. Then the Warlock knows a Hansel Boy is ready. For the sloshing means that a Boy is about to swell rapidly and must be released of the prison of their clothes down to the undergarments- or else the pressure of the clothes will make them burst.

Indeed the Warlock found one such Hansel Boy. He quivered at the Warlock’s hand and the sloshing sound became louder. To see him was the perfect shape- the plum of their ass like a loaf of bread, inflated to the same curvature of their melon-belly. He even pulled his underwear down over his calves to show his Master how well-fed he looked.

Mein gott! He was growing. The bubble butt just kept inflating as the undergarments were peeled back. As his backside was where he was the most heavy and round, the Warlock placed him on a chair to avoid losing his balance under the weight of the upcoming swell.

As he is rolled over to the chair, he groans. The Warlock looked at the pitiful grin on the Hansel Boy’s face as he pulled the boy’s underwear back on his beefy big-boy bottom. It must have been like a pressure cooker on him as he grabbed his stomach and the sloshing grows louder. The boy looks slightly concerned- and rightly so. It is time now for the fruit to swell. The Hansel Boy’s eyes looked softly into the handsome Warlock’s face. He doesn’t understand the sloshing sound or why he has swollen beyond a normal weight gain as opposed to just being a big boy, but he can’t stop looking at the Warlock. The Warlock looks deeply back into his eyes and says, “Mein Hansel…”

“Is that my name? I must’ve forgotten. Is it now then that you are to eat me? Am I roasted to your perfection. Shall I ready myself to be basted? For you have fattened me up just so that you must eat me. I shall even take an apple into my mouth. Come and taste this gingerbread, sir.”

Hansel should be embarrassed that he has submitted so easily to a warlock, forgetting who he is or what he’s asking. All he can do is greedily wish to be relieved quickly through sins of the flesh. He craves it. But he has no idea the actual sin the Warlock intends to commit. So the Warlock explains.

“You’re not going to be gingerbread, boy. You are no longer flesh but a vessel of ripening fruit. I’ve fattened up your skin so I could expand you with the sweetest nectar. And now i will have to harvest your juices…before you burst…”

The Hansel Boy dazed, knowing he is the Warlock’s pomegranate, and the sin of the Warlock will be that of Persephone- who will take up all of the juice, seed, and nectar the boy has to offer. Hearing this, his eyes widen, as he realizes his actual size and swelling. The gurgling intensifies as he realizes it is juice sloshing in his body, and looks in horror as his realization has brought on the swell.

The boy panics seeing the sudden growth. His breath quickens as he feels heavier and wider. The sound of the juice is flushing through his ears but, there’s a sudden stop. A low rumbling is heard as the boy feels a strained tightness. The boy’s stomach is at a breaking point. It grumbles louder as pressure builds. He starts to groan, but the Warlock puts his finger to his lips and shushes the boy. For Hansel may burst if he excites himself too much. And so, just as before, the Warlock cradles the boy’s neck and lays him backward.

The Warlock explains the juicing process might be long, but the boy should have complete trust and enjoy the process. The Warlock smiles down at him. The Hansel Boy relaxes and his mind starts to drift. He remembers when he was just a regular guy that was hungry for food, for some attention, and now the Warlock had him in his hands, looking at him so adoringly, so wise, so fatherly, so handsome and yet sinister. He feels entirely different.

“Daddy..” the boy calls. “Help me…”

The Warlock explained that there was two places from which the juice could be siphoned from Hansel’s body and that Hansel should lift his legs and melt into a spread for his master. For Hansel was promised the sweetest release if he just relaxed. The moment he finally gave in, he began to feel the slightest bit of rhythmic pressure and was squeezed ever so gently.

The edging continued as the juice was rimmed. The Warlock was ever so careful. Too much pressure or suction, and the boy would spurt like a grape🍇. But at last, the Warlock announced the boy was about to give out- so much- and that the juice would come forth in gallons. And so it happened. Hansel had been given release, and the Warlock tasted the sweetest nectar- cleaning the siphon and the rim rather greedily.

But the Warlock is not done with the Hansel Boy. Now the Warlock has no need to lure and groom fresh fruit for harvest because he can ripen his current stock by planting new seeds. For now, the boy being less heavy with juice, the Warlock bid the Hansel Boy plant that giant peach on his lap. The Warlock will grind new seeds inside him…so that he will be ready for harvest again in the new year.🫐🍑🍇🎃. Then forever will the Warlock have the juice he requires!

#hansel boy #stomach #blueberry boy

[theangeldiaries]

Creating a better manifestation process for yourself

Try not to over consume manifestation content.

I love a good confidence boost by watching a youtube video on manifestation motivation or binge watching a loa tiktok account but I found fairly early on that by doing so too often I started to get weighed down by it all to the point where my manifestation was the only thing on my mind. Of course it’s okay to think about your desire but I was doing so obsessively and trying to force movement in the 3d; when no movement occurred I’d just feel shit in myself but for whatever reason I found that by limiting the amount of loa content I engaged in, the less pressure I’d put on my myself and the more movement began to flow with ease into my reality 💗

Only do techniques, repeat affirmations, etc. when you want to, don’t force it and make it a chore, it’s supposed to be fun and easy!!

This one speaks for itself but I remember a month or two ago when I would overuse techniques and read over all my sets of affirmations so much to the point where I’d start putting it off and forcing myself to do them. If you want to take a few days off from techniques and such that’s absolutely okay! As I’ve already said, it should be fun and I found that forcing myself to do something definitely took all the positive emotion out of the process 💗

Find what feels most natural to you and stick with that.

Again, you want to avoid turning something that should be effortless and enjoyable into an inconvenience, and with so many people sharing their opinions on what they find works the best for them, it can be a little bit overwhelming. Make up your own techniques if that’s what works best for you, have fun with it 💗

You don’t have to listen to everything manifestation coaches and content creators say.

There’s a certain tiktok account (who I’ll refrain from naming and shaming for now) who claims that you can’t be in contact with your sp whilst manifesting them and other limiting shit like that… I won’t even comment on that one but just know that if you are in contact with your sp (as I have been for months now) it’s not stunting your progress and can definitely be viewed as a positive 💗

It’s called the law of assumption for a reason. The clue’s in the name; anything you decide will bring your desire to you WILL bring your desire to you so don’t get weighed down by all the limiting beliefs that are often thrown around and decide what works for you to apply to your own manifesting process 💗

Avoiding putting too much pressure on yourself.

Any circumstance can change overnight. Our realities are ever changing, nothing is permanent. Be gentle with yourself if you’re having an off day. Allow yourself breaks and remember that this process is as much about you and looking after yourself as it is getting your desire. What’s the point in achieving your manifestation if you felt like shit the entire time you were doing so? Protect your energy 💗

Divider credit: @firefly-graphics

#law of assumption #loa #specific person #sp law of assumption #sp loa #loa sp #law of assumption sp #manifestation #sp manifestation #manifesting sp #manifesting love #manifesting wealth #self love #self care

[darlingpwease]

oh trans yuuta has me by the THROAT i need him to cockwarm SO bad

warm up

note: I wrote two options because I couldn't decide. also, trans guy yuuta, but since I don't know how to describe in a more explicit way, then like... yes.

content warnings: established relationship, pet names (dog-like names, good boy, lapboy, g.), mild crying + drooling + begging, mild unhealthy behaviour (obsessiveness) implied

penetration giving, dirty talk, sex addiction implied, unprotected sex implied, mild pet play (puppytalk with yuuta), riding position / bottom on top, masturbation (yuuta, solo), cock(?)warming (r.), oral warming / oral sex (r.), praise (g.), light hair pulling (g.), mild orgasm denial (g.)

writing style: yuuta's genitals are not named in any way (unfortunately), but it is very clearly implied that he has a vagina, precum; both parts are small (less than 1000 words)

darlings: yuuta okkotsu x reader; top!reader, dom!reader; reader has a few 'vocal' lines

It started innocently: rubbing cheek against your shoulder, wrapping arms around your body, airily gentle kisses on your neck to attract your attention. You have long been used to the fact that Yuuta is clingy, he has always been like that, so even when he almost began to wrap himself around you with all parts of his body, you just... continued to ignore him — until heard a dreary sound, something between a growl and a whine, and were practically forced to break away from business to let him know that you are listening to him and not ignoring at all.

Actually, you would never call Yuuta intrusive or "too needy", but sometimes he was definitely more sticky when felt that you were spending too little time together, especially if your work only got bigger with time, and cooing “I have a little more left, prince, give me more time” didn't help too much when you repeated it more than once in a few hours, making him even more sad — and out of control.

And although yes, Yuuta can help you in some way so that you do everything faster, but sometimes this help was pointless when only you can cope with things — or if he was too overexcited and could not really concentrate, constantly thinking about other things and losing touch with reality; in the end, he was looking for your intimacy, and even if he constantly brings himself to senses this is not too good for motivation, despite the desire for you to praise him. After all, Yuuta wants to be a good boy, even if his head is completely empty at such moments; but he really tries, asking you for clarification and doing everything possible, starting from massage and "bring-give-take away" and ending with direct intervention to do something monotonous or simple, if you can release earlier because of this and be less tired.

... But when you say that you know how he can help without putting too much effort mentally and without sticking to you in exhausting anguish, his desire to serve and a joyful gleam in eyes literally melts your heart — and Yuuta agrees even before you explain, almost wagging his tail with impatience.

In the end, he is always here to help you and fulfill your desires.

Hot as a stove when you gently touch his hair, lightly massaging to encourage for the absence of any distracting movements even when his mouth is wet and full — Yuuta makes no attempt to move away, allowing saliva to accumulate in the corners of his lips. After all, the order was "be a good boy and don't get in the way of work," but if he's already desperate to touch you, then you'll graciously let him warm you up, making sure that when you're done, you'll definitely be able to take care of him the same way he takes care of you.

It is in his interest to make sure that you will be wet enough and satisfied with his work, so simple and uncomplicated that it seems impossible to spoil it — at first.

When you gently comb his sticky because of the heat hair back, removing them from the forehead, watching an excitedly ruddy face unable to even whine something in response, you can't resist teasing affectionate concern about his condition and feelings — but only get a mute assurance that everything is fine, even when you feel a small tremor in his body; overflowing with sweet longing from impatience and misunderstanding when will you put pressure on the back of his head to use his mouth, and not leave him in this position.

Sweet, wet, hot — something inside you fervently responds to his tearful loving gaze, full of attention and longing, but you have a work, even when feel him twitching slightly, rustling, and his face takes on an expression of shy impatience, being left unattended for too long; but you do not react in any way, despite his quick worried glances in search of hints of your discontent. But even when the quiet noise is interrupted by wet sounds, you do not react in any way — Yuuta has always been so unrestrained and sensual, full of this immense thirst and need from the slightest touches and hints, but you are understanding enough that even through the force of restrained moans pass by your ears.

Yuuta doesn't move, even when saliva drips from his chin, and you only lower hand down to stroke him, gently encouraging to continue caressing himself when he stops, abruptly recovering from your touch. But you don't say anything out loud, glancing fleetingly at his face from below from time to time; blissfully dreamy, with slightly trembling eyelashes, not at all confused with the task even when his breathing is slightly off, and the sounds become a little louder, mixed with muffled moans and soft attempts to snuggle closer to you.

Like a drunk looking for even more pleasure, even when your fingers get tangled in Yuuta's wet hair, pulling slightly, giving him what he wants so much; you can't see, but can hear and feel how he responds when shivers harder, with breath knocked out, blindly looking for even more affection and touching the skin to the skin; when his hand lightly touches your leg during excited ignition, probably dirtying the floor, he has always been such a mess

“Stop.”

Hot as a stove; quiet whining, but obedience — nothing but trembling and heavy breathing when his hand slightly touches you, frozen in place. Puppy plaintive eyes, glistening from tears appearing due to heat and overexcitation, burning rosy cheeks, even more tempting you to let him continue, feeling excitedly full of pity for his pathetic-confused look.

You weren't sadistic, at all — you liked to go along with his sloppily desperate desires and needs, indulging in various little things,

if it didn't go against your desires.

“Good boy.”

When you stroke his hair, Yuuta squints, melting with pleasure, like a puppy, relaxing from the unexpected tension — but immediately whines when he is pushed away, interrupting, forcing him to look up. His cheeks are soft — when you press on them to give him an additional understanding of the importance of your words, Yuuta trembles slightly, but obediently does not move, allowing you to choose the most comfortable way to grasp his face.

“You're such a good dogboy, aren't you?”

His eyes shine like lanterns covered with fog, and when he slightly sticks out the tip of tongue, showing understanding of what you are talking about — his breath freezes from the movement of your hand lower, to his chin, making him to follow the slow movements in impatient anticipation of your new touch to his bare skin.

Good boys don't cum without permission.

“Of course you are.”

Your fingers rub gently, making him to blissfully cover his eyes with pleasure, almost purring, not reacting even when you gradually raise hand up on his head — only to remove it when you stop caressing his hair, which causes Yuut to quietly sniff with hints of discontent,

“I'll be done soon, I promise,”

but instead of words or actions, just get more comfortable between your legs, showing no signs of disagreement, leaving a few soft, light, almost apologetic kisses on your thighs and groin — a quiet, affectionate purr reaches your ears, probably some words he said to himself under breath, but clearly addressed to someone. However, these thoughts are replaced by a hot wave when Yuuta touches you in love timidly — but immediately becomes more greedy, sticking even tighter.

Good boy.

Yuuta is purring something, but you can only hear the vibration coming from his mouth, even when his face regains that eager ruddy hue,

a very good boy,

and he himself listens intently to your every movement and sound, tightly squeezing and rubbing his hips against each other.

After all, he wants to help you.

Yuuta squeezes restlessly, nervously, as if trying to absorb you and make you stay with him forever, — or, more precisely, inside him — and you would love to go with it, giving him his favorite strokes while firmly holding his still thin wrists, making him drool with every thrust, or making him clinging to your clothes uncertainly, panting pitifully, swaying on your hips in these shyly timid movements, with this wet expression of overexcitation and embarrassment from understanding that you are looking at him, even if he likes it,

but instead you have things that cannot be postponed even if you desperately want, and the quietly whining Yuuta, comfortably settled on your hips for a long time, even if you haven't looked at the clock for the last few hours.

... Yuuta is slender, with thin features, and when you put hand on his thigh, — which fits perfectly into your palm, — you can squeeze him tightly almost without any problems, as if his body was a toy in your hands, even if it was rather caused by his thin features — but "fit into him" and "fit him" were two different things, and even when you can hold him to you, not even letting him move away from your body for a fleeting moment, Yuuta still remained too hot and tight, squeezing almost painfully tightly, as if trying to express some growing burning dissatisfaction, but then gently relaxing as much as he can, slightly trembling; wrapping his arms around you, almost noiselessly whining into your neck at first in an attempt to attract your attention — but the longer you hugged him, letting him listen to your heartbeat and softly kissing your shoulders and neck, the more lazily sleepy Yuuta became, as if trapped in a sweet resin, unable to resist or fight in any way, but only gently wrapping around you in a warm drowsiness.

But his quiet breathing was rather soothing, involuntarily forcing you to relax, feeling so enveloped in the heat of his body, wet, overexcited even when you don't move, shuddering from the most fleeting touches to his sensitive body, squeezing you even tighter in a soft pulsation that makes your thighs dirty; especially when your hand goes lower, drawing an invisible path over his hot skin, making him moan indistinctly when fingers touch his groin, teasing, feeling him freeze inside, as if holding his breath — and exhales with a loud moan when you lubricate fingers in his precum.

Apologies that you will soon finish and take care of him are interrupted when he clings even more tightly to your clothes, leaning back, hiding the space in front of you, impatiently pushing his wet soaked thighs towards your fingers, whining pitifully satisfied when you start rubbing harder, trying to match his excited trembling, even if his impatient fidgeting and the hot pulsation inside rather hinders you, forcing you to constantly be distracted and stop only to hear whining about more; when precum starts to dirty everything even more, leaving traces whenever he jerks up slightly, trying to get even a fleeting touch of your fingers, almost causing you pain due to tight pressing — but even when Yuuta kisses you desperately sweetly, leaving a barely perceptible taste of peaches, you can only continue to rub him, allowing him to finish and start kissing on his own in a painful thirst for more.

Maybe it was all about his ruddy wet face, full of this nervous blissful pleasure when he couldn't take his eyes off your fingers, watching you play with him, forcing him to soak thighs even more; or when he wetly kissed you, almost choking in blind thirst from the thought that he would get what wants; or when he squeezed you, needy and hot, wanting something more than just warming you while you're busy, even if that was what he agreed to — when you finally pay attention to him, giving him just a little, it doesn't matter.

“Lapboy, please—”

When he squeezes his hips even tighter around you, forcing you to gently hold him during the kiss — then only to hug him tighter with your hands, and if someone else were here, they would ask you to stop and relax the embrace, but Yuuta almost purrs, melting, snuggling even tighter even when this is impossible, even when he can't breathe,

looking for more.

“A couple more minutes...”

Yuuta rubs his cheek against your shoulder gently, as if half asleep, but you can feel his heart beating hard after hearing these words — although touching his back makes him relax from the sudden tension.

“Everything okay? Do you need the lubricant before start?”

“Okay; no.”

Yuuta is hot — like a stove; you don't even need to cover yourself with anything to stay warm when you can snuggle up to him, or make sure he's pressed close to you. But when your fingers gently slide down his side, Yuuta stops snuffling, freezes — and almost immediately turns his face to you.

“... Don't look at me with those dead fishy eyes.”

“Finish it.”

#.spicy♡ #❖.my jewelry #✉.yuuta okkotsu #🧸.t* #🧸.cockwarming #🧸.hypersexuality #🧸.oral sex #🧸.warming #🧸.praise #🧸.penetration giving #🧸.orgasm denial #🧸.rough sex #🧸.unprotected sex #🧸.pet play #🧸.masturbation #top reader #dom reader #gender neutral reader #jujutsu kaisen smut

[sobeautifullyobsessed]

BCweek2023 ~ Day 1: Sherlock Holmes

This is the very first fan fiction I wrote as an adult--and the first I ever had the courage to share online. I know it's not quite polished and I like to think I've improved greatly I since wrote it. But it was created out of love for Benedict' Sherlock...and I can think of no greater motivator as we celebrate the Greatest Actor of His Generation😍.

That Certain Piece

summary: Sherlock has given it much thought and has finally decided to play a very a special piece of music, hoping his listener is perceptive enough to understand the language of the piece. As he tests how well she really knows him, he is also revealing a part of himself he has been reticent to share. rating: general audience characters: Sherlock Holmes, Tessa DeMauro (OFC) word count: 1.6k

It certainly wasn’t the first time Sherlock had played for her.  In fact, Tessa’s enthusiasm to hear him never abated from the moment she discovered (courtesy of John’s blog) that he played the violin.  Sherlock had actually found himself self-conscious about performing, for the first time since his childhood, when the time arrived to play for her.  He'd told himself it was because she was an artist, with keener sensibilities than most.  He had not been ready to admit it was also because she had come to occupy a special place among those—too few—he trusted.

His resistance proved unnecessary.  Tessa couldn’t have been a more receptive and gentle audience.  And it wasn’t long till she’d convinced him to play some of his own compositions for her.  Each time was easier than the last, and his level of comfort in performing for her matched well the many ways she had come to fill the, heretofore unrecognized, gaps in his life.

This time was different though.  He thought about it for quite a while, for to share this piece with her would be to reveal a part of himself he’d locked tight away.  Vulnerability, loss, loneliness, all the things he’d striven to make the world believe meant nothing to him.  All the things he hoped Tessa could understand from the music itself, and not think any less of him.

As had become their habit on Sunday afternoons (those which didn’t see Sherlock working a case)—Tessa studying her lines, or working to create a detailed biography of her character (“In order to play her truthfully,” she would tell him, “I have to know and understand her past at least as well as my own.”), or simply reading (she loved Tolkien and T.H.White, where Sherlock’s tastes tended to be clinical and dry in the extreme)—and Sherlock updating his website as needed, or checking current scientific journals and extracts (with an eagle eye on dissecting them for inaccuracies), or even just watching Tessa (discreetly, of course, marveling that she was still content with their arrangement)—the time passed quietly.  When the quality of sunlight through the front room windows began to take on the hues of early evening, Sherlock brought out his violin, rosining the bow, then checking it was properly tuned.

He began with a portion of Paganini’s Violin Concerto 1 Opus 6, and within a few stanzas, Tessa had closed her script, leaving it to rest on the sofa, drifting over to sit in the leather chair at hearthside.  She curled her bare feet under her, leaning back, relaxed, and watched Sherlock.  He appeared to be playing by memory, his eyes closed, the ebb and flow of his bowing a language all its own.  He paused at the end of the piece, and shuffled through the sheets on the music stand.

"Oh, I really liked that one, it was lovely." Tessa interjected, "Who wrote that?"

His eyes still focused on the music stand, he answered “Paganini.” then began to play again. She listened quietly, appreciatively, and Sherlock allowed himself to sink again into the music, no longer referring to the notes on paper as he played, having played the piece so often it flowed out without a thought. He finished with a little flourish, and Tessa said excitedly “I know that one. Bach, right?  It’s so reflective, so sad sounding, isn’t it?” 

"Indeed," replied Sherlock, "Sonata for Solo Violin, No. 1 in G Minor".  He was now as ready as he’d ever be, he supposed, and went directly to his own composition. He knew once the first note was played, he’d have no choice but to play on, and thus he was committed to the experiment—to see if she could divine the meaning of the piece.

He stood in front of the window, the light now starting to fade outside, remembering composing the piece, remembering the feelings, expressing what he’d felt then in the music now, but not letting it master him.  There were times it had; there were times he couldn’t get all the way through the piece, but those days were over now.  As he played, he realized he was glad he’d decided to finally share it with Tessa; and that even if she didn’t read in it what he hoped, the pain of that part of his life was nowhere near as keen as it once was.

The last notes fading, Sherlock paused, not yet ready to see her reaction.  This time Tessa was silent.  When he finally turned to face her, he saw her head bowed, her hair—unbound this day—falling like a curtain on either side of her face. She appeared to be looking at her hands resting in her lap, until she used the heel of each to wipe her cheeks.  She drew a very deep breath, then exhaled at length.

Tessa rose from her seat and came to face him. Was his heart racing as he awaited her reaction?  Yes, he realized, very much so, yet he managed to keep his face impassive. Her eyes were wide and he could see the tracks her tears had left behind; her gaze was soft and full of empathy.  ”That was…” she was searching for the right words, “that was beautiful, achingly beautiful, and……melancholy……and filled with such a….. yearning.” She paused, shaking her head slightly in wonder, “I could actually feel it as though it were my own.” 

Sherlock bowed his head, closing his eyes, relieved. She’d heard it as he intended, but he was waiting for more.  She didn’t disappoint him.  ”You wrote that piece.” she said, clearly realizing it in the moment.

He opened his eyes, asking “What makes you think that?”

Tessa shook her head again, her smile bittersweet, “My darling, amazing, beautiful Sherlock,” she said, laying a hand on his violin, “give me credit for knowing you at least this well. You’ve never played this piece for me before; I surely would remember if you had.  And, well, I……I could feel you in the music.  The sadness you carry inside, thinking no one can see.  The ache for someone to recognize that you do feel just as much as the next man.  The desire to put aside the armour you wear about your heart and be understood, at least from time to time.”  Tessa gently gathered the violin and bow from him, laying them on the cluttered desk. She took both his hands in hers.

"You’re not an island, Sherlock.  As much as you try to make the world think that you are."  Her words were immutable.  "And, my love, I’m not the only one who sees this.  Your friends do too, and despite what you think and how you treat them at times, once they really know you, you can’t drive them away.  You’re stuck with us, one and all.” 

Tessa punctuated her pronouncement by placing her hands on his chest, rising up on her toes so she could reach his face, and then kissing the corner of his mouth.  He’d grown to find this habit of hers damnably endearing.  When she laid her head against his chest, Sherlock had no choice but to embrace her.  It always seemed to go that way with Tessa—quietly slipping past his defenses every time.

They stood this way by the window, as it darkened outside, until she broke the silence, “Sherlock?”

"Yes, my dear?" he replied quietly.

"You know I’m a romantic at heart, and that colors how I see the world….” Sherlock nodded yes, waiting for the rest, "….and I could be way off the mark, but…."  Tessa paused; he could feel her trying again for the best way to say this, "but if I had to guess, I’d say there was a woman involved.  You don’t have to answer, I’ll understand if you don’t. But I have to say this:  whoever she was, whatever she did, she must have hurt you, and I’m so sorry for that."

Sherlock took a deep breath, exhaling slowly, ”Why would you be sorry?” he said, smiling at the sincere sympathy he’d known she would be feeling, “It doesn’t matter now anyway; it’s in the past.”  

She moved her head to look up at him. “It matters to me. I would’ve done what I could to heal that wound.”  She laid her head against him again.

And there it was, what he’d expected her to say, though the response he gave was something that only just occurred to him. “Now then, don’t you think you already have?”  He felt her smile at that, and kissed the crown of her head.  He took her by the shoulders so he could face her while he spoke, “I think some supper is in order now.  I’m famished.  What shall it be?”

Tessa tilted her head flirtatiously, part of the ritual they’d established, “Whatever you wish, my darling.  So long as there will be a dessert.”

He chuckled warmly, following their pattern “Patience, my dear.”  but adding at the last “Good things do come to those who wait.”

Sherlock grabbed his suit jacket from the desk chair, while Tessa slipped on her shoes and collected her handbag.  As they crossed the threshold of 221B, they could hear the nighttime sounds of London ramping up around them.  Tessa contentedly slipped her hand in the crook of Sherlock’s arm, as they stepped lightly forward together, into whatever lovers’ adventure might lay in store. 

(You may have guessed, Dear Reader, that this story was inspired by the piece Sherlock wrote for Irene Adler from ASiB; if I'm especially melancholy, that last scene where it plays in full, always makes me cry; the good kind of cry when you need to get it out of your system; and as those last notes of the violin fade, he is looking out the window, and my wish for him has always been to to have someone love him and understand exactly what he was feeling when he wrote it.)

tagging: @elennemigo for BCweek2023💙 & @bakerstreethound because of her love for Sherlock and the many Sherlock fics she's written💖

#my writing #BCweek2023 #day 1: Sherlock Holmes #Sherlock Holmes #Benedict's Sherlock #Benedict Cumberbatch #greatest Actor of his generation #Happy Birthday Benedict #Sherlock & his violin

[foxymoxynoona]

To Kill A King (Chapter 11)

Banner and linebreaks by the talented @awrkives

Summary: What’s more charming than Prince Seokjin? Nothing, obviously. Except maybe the rotating palace guests who each smile and bow and charm in an attempt to hide their true motives. Fortunately Seokjin has a close circle of friends (well, servants) who watch his back and endure his humor and help him navigate the tumultuous seas of heartbreak, love, and an arranged marriage, not necessarily in that order. If only they had helped him keep a closer eye on his bride-to-be’s handmaiden, who arrives with her own agenda… or maybe it would have been better if he had noticed her less? One thing is certain as this royal drama of the heart plays out: there are many people competing to kill a king.

Main Pairing: Prince Seokjin x Female OC Genre: Historical Fantasy World, political conspiracy, romance Rating: 18+ Content Warnings & story tags: includes explicit sex (mxf, fxf), possibly graphic violence/injury later, love and sex triangles or uh quadrangles?, sort of e 2 l, sort of bodyguard trope, sort of arranged marriage, a lot of plotting murder (it’s literally in the title), maybe character death, grief, pining, angst, love, oral (f & m receiving), I don’t know everything yet as the story is long and still being written

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NOTE: check out the Character & Setting Cheat Sheet for a refresher on who’s who

“You’re not listening to me.”

Dulce looked up at Nasimiyu’s complaint but didn’t wipe the boredom from her gaze. Boredom wasn’t the right word for how she felt right now but it was what she wanted to feel and what she wanted Nasimiyu to think she felt.

“Sorry, you were saying something about ‘his cock that hit just right’?”

And Nasimiyu had the audacity to let out that peel of laughter, “You aren’t jealous, are you?” She reached over to pinch Dulce’s chin and Dulce couldn’t even bat her away or she would look jealous.

The movement made Nasimiyu’s robe gap, showing off the soft curve of her breast. Dulce’s gaze flicked quickly away, but not before Nasimiyu noticed. She adjusted the blanket and grinned.

“He appreciated those as well.”

Dulce didn’t even nod but rose to investigate a noise at the door that had not actually happened. Nasimiyu had been like this for a day and a half now, the tone of her comments sliding from genuine surprise to raunchy recaps as she “recovered” in bed. Dulce had found her still sleeping the afternoon, after leaving Yoongi’s bed to collapse back in her own –only to shortly get chased right back out of it by the head matron berating her for being lazy when there was work to be done. What work? Nasimiyu slept soundly and Dulce almost crawled into bed with her, thinking her solitary slumber was evidence that she had misunderstood what Nasimiyu and the Prince leaving the masquerade together had meant–

Until Nasimiyu sat up and gasped, “He made me cum so hard. I’m… stunned.”

Dulce had decided work was welcome after all, certainly preferable to letting Nasimiyu drag her down into the bed for salacious details. It didn’t matter, the details came all the same, Nasimiyu clearly eager to share as much of her experience as she could remember, all with that tinge of disbelief. It had obviously never occurred to her that the Prince could be good at sex and she was not sure what to do with this revelation.

Then came a brief bout of anger as she ate the dinner Dulce brought to her room as requested; she must be drunkenly misremembering things in her hungover state. There was no way he’d been that good. Oddly not comforting to Dulce. Not that she needed comfort, but she didn’t think Nasimiyu needed to share this part of her experience so openly. Was Nasimiyu really so callous? Or mean? Or worse, just stupid?

Maybe something in her face showed her annoyance. Maybe Nasimiyu just felt so good that her impishness returned. Or maybe the Prince’s dick was so good it had confused Nasimiyu’s mind, made her forget what was going on here, why they were here in the first place.

Dulce made the mistake of snipping at her, “Your parents will be pleased to hear about this. Maybe now that you had such a great time with him, you’ll take your own plans seriously.”

“Who’s going to tell them, you? Are you spying on me for them?” Nasimiyu asked. It was unclear whether she was serious or not though because she smiled as she said it and then called for a bath. 

Now Dulce genuinely didn’t know if Nasimiyu was just still so rocked by sex with the Prince that she didn’t realize she was still droning on about it, or if she was just trying to make Dulce jealous. It felt like Nasimiyu kept watching her, waiting for her to snap something even more foolish. That would be very like Nasimiyu. It would be a double victory for the princess: a good orgasm and a jealous lover. If Dulce was even still her lover. Probably not now that she’d had a taste of something better than what Dulce could apparently offer, if even a full day later Nasimiyu was still enchanted. Once upon a time, she’d gone on about Dulce’s tongue for days, but that felt like a long time ago…

Of course there was no one at the door yet. Dulce huffed with annoyance not to be relieved of duty yet.

“Are you telling the other girls about this?” Dulce asked as she wandered back to Nasimiyu.

“What do you care what I’m saying to the other girls?”

Dulce shrugged, “Is this the hearstruck confession of a besotted little girl or–”

Nasimiyu’s reaction was instant: “I am not a hearstruck–”

“Or is this your way of fueling rumors about how in love with him you are? If so, I don’t know why you’re telling only me. Do you want me to gossip?”

“I’m telling you as my…”

Dulce waited, curious where that was going to go.

“So you know what act you’re following,” Nasimiyu grinned, trying to look playful. It only annoyed Dulce further. Nasimiyu expected her to hear all this and be what, goaded into trying to outperform the Prince? On second thought, that sounded exactly like something Nasimiyu would do, with no understanding at all of what it would feel like to the other person. By that line of thinking, the Prince had merely joined the same rank as Dulce as the Princess’ plaything, and now she had two of them to try and pit against each other. 

In some small part of her mind, Dulce recalled a similar joke ages ago, when minor jealousy was a sexy, compelling game between them. She even vaguely recalled a similar taunt in the opposite direction, when Nasimyu had demanded to know whether Dulce was spending her time with anyone else and Dulce had countered why, afraid you can’t compete? To which Nasimiyu had quipped I’m a princess, I’ll destroy the competition and then earnestly tried to make it true. There had not actually been anyone else at the time but Nasimiyu had been jealous of the way the bartender poured Dulce’s drinks and it had been funny to watch her stutter so angrily about it. In hindsight, probably Nasimiyu had known there was not actually any competition for Dulce’s bed at the moment or things would have gone differently, but the Princess’ jealousy and entitlement had felt like a play at the time. 

This exact situation months ago might have made Dulce laugh. At the very least, it wouldn’t have bothered her and now, for some reason, it did.

Dulce tried to draw on that old demon-may-care attitude as she countered, “Who says I’ll follow anything? If you’re so satisfied–”

“You are jealous!” Nasimiyu cried. She rose quickly, not caring that her robe gapped wide, and grabbed Dulce’s arms. “Dulcie…”

Dulce loathed the gentle smile Nasimiyu gave her.

“You knew what we came here to do,” Nasimiyu said, lowering her voice. Dulce could not believe she was serious right now. Being patronized was too much to layer on top of the annoyance simmering beneath her skin. “It’s going to get worse before it gets better. You have to just endure.”

“What’s going to get worse?” Dulce asked, feeling like it was a safe question as she worked to control her face. She didn’t need to hear any more about the Prince’s dick or stroke.

“I’ll have to fuck him a great many times.”

“How lucky for you that he’s good at it then.”

“Yes, I know! But it doesn’t mean this is any less important to me.”

Fuck, Dulce hated Nasimiyu in that moment. But she kept her face neutral and remained still as Nasimiyu slid her hands up to caress Dulce’s face. 

“It’s not like I’m telling him anything about you. He was just a good lay. You are that and so much more to me, don’t forget that.”

A dumb little part of Dulce longed for Nasimiyu to explain that further. What was Dulce to her? Genuinely. What were they? What were her true deep feelings about Dulce, and were they feelings of convenience and familiarity or something durable and lasting? Did she love Dulce? Did Dulce want to be loved in that way by Nasimu?

But she wasn’t. If Nasimiyu had suddenly said that she loved her, she wouldn’t have believed her. And what were Dulce’s own feelings towards Nasimiyu? She didn’t want to try and put those into words either. It was… complicated. Messy. Nasimiyu meant something to her, she cared, but to look closely at how deep those feelings ran would only open her up to a sort of pain that Dulce had no interest in. She had long ago decided her feelings must not ever run that deep, and ignored any evidence to the contrary, such as that she had followed Nasimiyu here and remained by her side for all of this. It was just the blackmail, that was all. She didn’t believe Nasimiyu could feel anything profound for her either. Love. A farce. An ideal. A dream spoken of in stories that nothing in real life could ever compare to, because no one could ever love someone else as much as they loved themself. When push came to shove, they would always choose their own needs over the other person.  

Notwithstanding that time Dulce protected Nasimiyu at her own expense; that was a fluke and damn was she paying the price for it.

“Dulcie,” Nasimiyu sang softly and leaned down to kiss her forehead. “Am I really bothering you talking about him?”

Dulce quickly rolled her eyes and assured her, “No. I just worry you’re forgetting what lies ahead. Are you going to give up on your throne for a good orgasm?”

“A great orgasm,” Nasimiyu corrected. “But no. It will be a loss but…” Her hands slid down Dulce’s neck and shoulders to brazenly caress her breasts, thumbs stroking Dulce’s nipples. The fabric of her gown and bindings dulled the sensation. “Care to remind me that I’m yours?”

Seriously a farce. Dulce knew Nasimiyu would never truly be hers. The whole thing reeked of Nasimiyu playing dolls with people and Dulce wanted no part of it. People like Nasimiyu got everything they wanted and could grab for more or toss what they tired of with a flick of the wrist, even when those things were people. If Nasimiyu thought this was fun and playful, she was completely missing the mark. Dulce was not in the mood.

“I have work to do today and you have a massage,” Dulce countered, stepping away. She didn’t miss the flicker of disappointment on Nasimiyu’s face, which gave her a small comfort because it seemed genuine, though probably only about rejected sex.

“What work?” Nasimiyu demanded. “What’s more important than me?” She laughed in a way that poorly masked her feelings were hurt. 

Dulce had to think fast because she didn’t actually have anything in particular planned.

“I’m going to have a look in the Queen’s chamber,” Dulce decided.

Nasimiyu tilted her head and demanded, “Why? Suddenly now?”

“Why not?” Dulce countered. “No one is allowed in, why not?”

“Seokjin made it sound like it’s just because he and his father want it kept exactly the way the Queen left it,” Nasimiyu said, tugging her belt around her and looking to the side in thought. “You think there’s something in there?”

“Only one way to find out. I was planning to go during the masquerade while everyone was busy but since someone made me go…”

Nasimiyu cracked a smile, “Sure, blame me.”

“I am.”

“Fine, I don’t regret it. You were a beautiful shadow. Let me know if you find anything interesting.”

Dulce didn’t expect to, but agreed with a short nod. Then, because it felt right, she added,

“If I had known depriving you of good orgasm would make you hungry for the Prince’s help, I should have done that ages ago. It would have saved you some lectures from your mother and father.”

“Don’t you dare,” Nasimiyu gasped. “I said he’s not replacing you.”

“You said he must replace me. Unless you mean to dangle between us–”

“Damn I would love to dangle between you,” Nasimiyu sighed with blatant heat. “But I don’t want you anywhere near each other.”

Dulce quirked an eyebrow, finding strength in this shift of tone in this conversation, and pressed, “Why not?”

“Because you’re mine,” Nasimiyu grinned. She took hold of Dulce’s chin again, but with her fingers crooked, gripping Dulce’s chin more aggressively. “I don’t want him to know what a treasure you are.”

“But you want me to know what a treasure he is?” Dulce snorted. 

Nasimiyu let go of her with a laugh, “You wouldn’t think he’s a treasure with your vast experience, he’s just impressive compared to the men I’ve had before, that’s all. You never sound like you’ve enjoyed fucking a man anyway.”

Dulce didn’t respond, more because it instantly made her think of fucking Namjoon. That was a mistake, she could easily admit it. She was mad at herself about it, mad to have done it, mad to have cum, maddest of all that she had undeniably been thinking about the Prince when it happened. She had been drunk! Her thoughts were safely unknown but definitely fed the guilt she felt as Nasimiyu praised Seokjin. She didn’t need Nasimiyu providing real details to a brief, drunken fantasy that shouldn’t ever be thought of again.

Nasimiyu was going to be pissed if she found out about Namjoon. The good news was, she highly doubted Namjoon was going to tell anyone he’d fucked a maid, so that secret would die with them.

“No? Are you thinking of someone now?” Nasimiyu tittered.

“I’m not, but you can’t seem to stop thinking about getting fucked by a man–”

“Ha!” Nasimiyu threw her head back. “I think you’re jealous. Don’t be jealous, my sweet Dulcie. Tonight let’s fuck until all we can see and taste and breathe is each other.”

“You’re that sorry?” It was a joke. Nasimiyu’s smile was as radiant as the sun, like now she felt safe and happy to play along.

“I’m so sorry, Dulce. I didn’t mean to make it sound like a man’s cock is better at pleasing me.” She leaned her face in, trying to kiss Dulce, obviously thrilled when Dulce turned her head away so it wouldn’t happen. She didn’t mean it playfully; she didn’t much feel like kissing Nasimiyu right now. Nasimiyu who couldn’t go an hour without raving about the Prince’s cock and soft lips and how reverently he had sucked at her tits.

In retrospect, it made Dulce think differently about Nasimiyu cutting in on her dance with the Prince. It had felt so pointed at the time and Dulce had been mortified to get knocked back to her place, but now she wondered if it had actually been pointed at the Prince, or else she had imagined it completely. Maybe Nasimiyu had just been drunk and focused on what she wanted to happen next and she would have cut in on any dance, as was her right as the betrothed.

“Are you worried he’s noticing me?” Dulce asked to poke at the curiosity. Nasimiyu went very still, nose still pressed playfully to Dulce’s temple. “Are you worried he’s the type who preys on helpless maids?”

“Maybe I was. His father had those wild appetites supposedly.” Nasimiyu pulled away, the whole play chilled by the conversation. “I’m less worried now that I’ve seen how devoted Seokjin is to me. But do keep your guard up, hm? He had no business dancing with you. I think he was just trying to get my attention and he shouldn’t play those kinds of games with me because I’ll crush him, but if he does anything that seems predatory to you…”

“I can defend myself,” Dulce assured her.

“No, don’t defend yourself. Well, I mean, don’t let him rape you. But if if you feel like he’s… coming on to you… we can use that, right?”

Dulce paused and asked carefully, “Are you asking me to seduce him?”

“Absolutely not. He doesn’t seem like the sort but if he is, we ought to know that, right? It will make what happens easier. If women are a weakness for him… I mean, women besides me.” Nasimiyu winked, apparently confident that the prince only had eyes for her.

Dulce didn’t respond. She felt all twisted around by this as new doubts and confusions laced through. Nasimiyu made a painfully good point, actually, and Dulce was grateful Nasimiyu didn’t press her with further questions. Has he said or done anything that made you feel like he was preying on you?

No.

Yes?

No. Their time in the city didn’t feel predatory. Their conversations at the masquerade didn’t feel predatory. Their dance felt inappropriate but playful… the feeding of the desserts felt…

Inappropriate. Was the Prince friendly to the point of obliviousness, not realizing that these actions were inappropriate towards the maid of his betrothed? 

Or was he just very, very good at subtlety? After all, the handmaid of the Princess might feel comfortable tattling to her mistress… or she might really not. What royal princess would believe her maid in a story like that? The maid could lose her life for speaking up. How many times had servants been abused by those in power because there was no protection for them? People like Dulce were in all ways the playthings of the nobility, powerless in most ways to protect themselves if it came down to their word versions a nobleman’s, much less royalty. Prince Seokjni could do whatever he wanted to a maid and what could she do about it? Maybe he was just feeling Dulce out. 

Any ambivalent feelings evaporated.

This was a job. It was time to do it and get out. And if she exposed a predator in the meantime, great. But she was getting too tangled. The stranded of the spider web were starting to pull at her wrists and ankles and it was becoming less clear how many spiders there actually were.

The masseuse had arrived for yet another massage which Dulce was not interested in remaining for. A massage looked incredible; it was an experience she’d never had and never would, and one Nasimiyu got at the snap of her fingers. She could have them daily, if she liked. Whatever she wanted, she could have. A prince, a handmaid, her meals brought to her so she could rest and recover from a party.

Lord Namjoon was apparently the only thing Nasimiyu couldn’t have. For now at least.

That didn’t give her a feeling of victory she would have liked. The regret and embarrassment of that escapade paled in comparison to this nagging worry she had now that the Prince was working her and she hadn’t even noticed it. Nasimiyu wasn’t going to notice anything; she was too pleased by his cock, her ego too stoked by what had at least looked like the absolute devotion she wanted.

But if he was so completely devoted to Nasimiyu, why had he fed Dulce a tart and wiped the excess from her lip? Why had he asked her to dance? He’d barely danced with anyone else, so why her? Was he a well-meaning idiot or a mastermind? Were Dulce and Nasimiyu actually playing right into some plan of his?!

Bolstered with renewed determination to figure out this man –strengths (womanizing), weaknesses (spice in the eye and unguarded trips into the city) and all– Dulce went to see whether the late Queen’s chambers were full of sentimentality or darker secrets kept by the King and Prince Seokjin.

First she needed to figure out a way in without the guards stationed outside of Nasimiyu’s room seeing her and frankly anything was better than thinking about Nasimiyu, the Prince, or Lord Namjoon right now so Dulce went to find a way in even if it meant she needed to scale the outside of the palace.

Seokjin had been floating on clouds since the masquerade and didn’t intend to come down anytime soon. Especially not when the next time he saw Nasimiyu at dinner she gave him a small smile and a tilt of her head as a greeting. It felt personal. Intimate. It was a gesture referencing a private night they now shared between them, that’s how he felt, and he couldn’t have been more relieved. 

He’d done it. He’d finally hooked Nasimiyu. All it had taken was one night of really effortful, selfless sex. Worth it! There wasn’t even a whiff of a complaint from him about it. No man in their right mind could have a complaint about sex with Princess Nasimiyu, possibly the most stunning woman he had ever laid eyes on. 

He thought Nasimiyu was acting shy around him. He had no particular type of woman he preferred to others but Nasimiyu acting shy was just so novel that it left him giddy. Had he really impressed her that much? She had seemed impressed but he had worried at the time he was just seeing what he wanted to see. He wanted to impress her.

His father noticed it too though, musing as they crossed paths with Nasimiyu on the way to a council meeting, “She seems taken with you for the first time since her arrival.”

“Yes. She does, doesn’t she?” Seokjin gloated.

“Your ball was a success then.”

“Yes. You might have even enjoyed yourself.”

“I doubt it,” King Dong-gun said, and those were the only words they ever traded about it. Sure, Seokjin would have loved to demand an answer from his father: where were you; why didn’t you go? But no answer he got would make him feel good. Nasimiyu had made him feel good though. He finally felt great about Nasimiyu.

His mind ran away with him as he sat in the council, specially called to discuss the recent “guests” from Destin and some new developments in the principality. A disruption to a supply chain, unclear if it was intentional, intel said it was a Rinsk mining operation accidentally blowing up too close to the road but a minority political contingent in Destin was trying to take credit.

“Pathetic,” King Dong-gun shook his head. “Can’t even adequately stage their own rebellions, they just try to claim credit for mishaps? Pitiful.”

Seokjin nodded, gaze blank, mind wandering down a lovely train of thought: what could he do that would convince Nasimiyu for a repeat of that night? Maybe… a picnic along the seawall? No, that seemed like something Dulce would enjoy–

The rogue thought of Dulce shocked Seokjin worse than someone calling on him to deliver an opinion. He had no opinion and couldn’t hope to form one when a ball of those spikes Dulce had worn around her head suddenly unfurled in his gut.

No, no he had not forgotten about Dulce, and her spikes and black layers, the raspberry tart on her lip, the surprise on her face as he’d flung her badly around the dance floor, the laugh he’d nearly pulled from those red lips–

But he was not supposed to be thinking about that. He was trying very hard not to think about that. He had a fiance. A fiance who had finally let him into her bed and that was precisely and entirely what he was going to think of, Destin be damned for now. Destin wasn’t going to distract him from the mortification of his inexcusable behavior towards Dulce at the masquerade, but focusing his energy appropriately on Nasimiyu could be a penance. He never should have had that much to drink. He should have been clearer in his intentions with Dulce.

Not bad intentions! Protective! Friendly! He was just looking out for her. His disappointment that their dance was interrupted was just… just stupidity, or just playfulness because he knew it was a once in a lifetime opportunity to dance together. 

Which was good! He had no reason to dance with her again. He had a fiance. She would be his wife soon– Nasimiyu would be his wife soon. All his dances would be hers until she said otherwise, and she would never allow him to dance with her maid and it had just been a bit of fun. He had just wanted the victory of making Dulce laugh, that was all. Because they were not-quite-friends. As opposed to Nasimiyu, who was his bride, and now his lover, who looked so beautiful moving with him as they made love…

That drop of jam on Dulce’s lip–

Nasimiyu Nasimiyu Nasimiyu–

“Your Highness,” interrupted his thoughts. “Your opinion?”

Fuck. Seokjin pushed both women from his mind and tried to concentrate. Which didn’t work well but at least trying to save some space for Destin was so boring that his brain turned to the pure carnal distraction of remembering sex. Which had happened with Nasimiyu, not Dulce. As it should. Finally! 

By the time he was finally free from the council –having contributed nothing useful– his body was almost as restless as his mind. He was too scrambled to think of the next right move with Nasimiyu.

“Let’s spar,” he suggested, nudging Jungkook. “I should work with Master Drin anyway.”

Jungkook snorted, “Yeah, you should. It’s been a while.”

“You think I’m rusty?”

“I think you’re getting rusty,” Jungkook confirmed without a moment’s hesitation.

“We shall see! I have a new zeal for life. I may be unstoppable.”

“Just because you got laid?” Jungkook laughed. Jimin cleared his throat and shot Jungkook a look and motioned for him to shut his mouth. Hoseok, a short distance down the hallway, heard and looked scandalized.

“You don’t need to shout it from the rooftops!” he gasped, hurrying over. “It’s obvious enough.”

“What? Is it?”

The rolled eyes made him laugh. The relief made him laugh. He laughed all the way to his quarters to change into clothes that were easier to move in. He laughed all the way out of his room, deciding to take the long way to the training yard so he could enjoy a proud stroll through his mother’s favorite garden. Sort of a spiritual I did it, Eomma, I impressed her, are you proud? Well… it was sexual… she might not want to know about that, actually…

That wasn’t what made his smile falter though. What made his smile finally falter was stopping short on the main path because Dulce was strolling along, a blade in one hand and a flower on a stalk in the other.

They both froze. Dulce swung the flower and blade behind her back. Her brown eyes went wide, her lips parting, her whole expression one of shocked innocence he immediately knew she had always faked when caught red-handed. Seokjin opened his mouth, not sure what to say. A jolt ran through him at the sight of her and he found himself at a complete loss for words.

I did something wrong. That’s the thought that rushed over him so fast it made his head spin, the undeniable flush of mortification that he’d made a mistake and was now face to face with the person he owed an apology to. The same feeling as when he’d broken Eomma’s favorite vase trying to fly a kite inside. The same feeling when he had forgotten Delphine’s birthday that first year they courted and had to rush to make it up to her. The same feeling when he’d defensively been a little too hard on Seok-ho’s life choices shortly before he’d left for the military tour from which he would never return. 

Yes, Seokjin carried some guilt in his life. More than those things, but he worked hard not to sink too deep into it all and always pushed serious thoughts like that away –this time physically motioning with his hands to distance himself from the guilt he felt looking at Dulce with her sweet face turned up to him. Innocently stealing flowers from the Queen’s garden. Innocently dancing with him at the ball. Innocently looking the way she had in that dress with those spikes…

Surprised by the gesture, Dulce took a step back, head tilting with transparent confusion. 

“Ah! Ah ah,” he said, quickly trying to correct it if it had looked like he’d pushed her away. He had, though not actually touching her. Of course he wouldn’t touch her. It would be inappropriate to touch her.

That twist in his gut made sure he noticed the way his tensed under another wave of guilt. But he hadn’t done something wrong! He’d… he’d just had sex with his betrothed! Which he was supposed to do!

But after feeding Dulce pastries and twirling her –being twirled by her– around the dance floor. 

The impulse to draw her close and apologize was overbearing but he didn’t understand why. For leading her on? Maybe he had done that. He shouldn’t have done those things with the handmaid of his betrothed. She must know he’d spent the night with her mistress; he hoped to the moon she hadn’t come into the room while he was there and hoped it had been one of the other girls if anyone.

But why not? She was going to see a lot of that now! 

For fuck’s sake, it made him queasy. 

She understood, didn’t she? That he hadn’t spent time with her with any intentions other than friendly? He could only feel friendly towards her. He was engaged to a princess.

“Um,” he stammered, pulling at his ear. Jimin brushed past him, trying to grab his arm, but Seokjin felt like something needed to be said. He couldn’t be dragged away right now. He was looking at her face, searching for any hint of confusion or betrayal she might feel, any misunderstanding he might have accidentally caused by his earlier behavior towards her that could have led to her being hurt by him fulfilling his duty with his betrothed.

Dulce didn’t help him. She just stood there, dark eyes giving him nothing to work with. The light hitting them made the brown shade look like it glowed from within.  

“Did you get your shoes back?” he asked.

“My… shoes?”

It was the most awkward thing he could have referenced, but there was no stopping himself now: “Yes, your boots? And there was a little blade–”

“I have my boots,” she said, face showing a flicker of confusion. 

“Ah, good. I had them sent– but you never know. Yes, those,” he confirmed as she lifted her gray skirt just enough to show the toes. He clapped his hands. “Well that’s good, I didn’t want you to be without your boots after you… changed.”

She gave a small nod and he felt like she was leagues away. He searched her face for her to say anything –confirmation that she was bothered, or that she was unbothered, or that maybe she didn’t know after all. 

No, but why would she be bothered? Why was he worried about her being bothered? She had never done anything that made him think she forgot her place. That was only his own fault.

“Yes, well… all right then.” He gave her a nod. She kept her back to him as he finally followed JImin’s pleading face past her. He froze just past her though and turned. “You don’t need to hide.”

“Hm?”

“Take whatever flowers you like. Please, I insist. If anyone gives you trouble, tell them I gave you personal permission. I mean personally gave you permission. In a purely professional way.”

Jimin coughed and suggested, “Your Highness, we are late for your arms practice.”

Dulce just blinked at him, then gave a single short nod, and that nod felt like she’d twisted a blade in his ribs. He didn’t care to analyze why. That sense of a mistake being made was too loud to hear through and without another word he moved quickly away from her, leaving her alone in his mother’s favorite garden to gather whatever flowers she liked. He didn’t even know she liked flowers. Why would he know that? That was the sort of thing to know about his betrothed. Who he’d slept with, as he was supposed to do.

Dulce liked his mothers flowers?

Stop that.

Why did he feel like he should hide the success of his relationship with Nasimiyu from Dulce? Like she’d judge him or hate him or… no, it made no sense.

Even worse was that neither Jimni nor Jungkook said a word about it, meaning it had looked too awkward to comment on. He’d just been caught off guard, that was all! Staff always saw more of you than you might have liked, and now that was true of Dulce. He’d have to get used to Dulce potentially coming in while he was still in bed with Nasimiyu in the mornings, if she continued as Nasimiyu’s maid. As, not if. As she continued to be Nasimiyu’s maid. The thought of Dulce walking in to find him in bed nude with Nasimiyu just seemed… the thought of her changing the bedding afterwards…

He’d sent word ahead to Master Drin, so his sword trainer was already in the yard, wood and blunted blades lined up on a table for their practice today. Usually Seokjin would chatter and procrastinate at the beginning of any lesson that would leave him sore and bruised, but today he dove right in. Master Drin hadn’t even finished saying what they’d be working on and Seokjin was already grabbing a blade and stretching his arms and legs as he moved to the ring cleared for them. 

“Aye, you’re that eager?” Master Drin laughed.

Seokjin grinned, “Yes, wear me out, Drin. I won’t make it easy on you.”

“Ah, a fighting spirit! I love to see it. Men can get better or worse after they’ve been with a woman, glad to see you’re–”

“Wah wah-woah, hold on?”

Master Drin just laughed and clapped him on the shoulder, “No need to blush like a young girl, you know gossip runs fast around the palace and the taverns, and after you and the Princess started off on the wrong foot…”

“Are you saying the whole palace–” Seokjin broke off, feeling a fresh wave of mortification. “Who’s gossiping? Gossiping about me? You’re listening to court gossip–”

“The maids, probably, it’s usually the maids who give it away. Good for you, man, now that you’re flustered, practice blocking. An enemy won’t wait for you to stop blushing!”

“What kind of enemy is making me blush–” Seokjin started, but Master Drin dove at him without further ado and Seokjin had to focus quick.

It immediately became clear Master Drin had thrown him off with the gossip on purpose, not aware Seokjin had already been thrown off on the way here. It made focusing extra hard, but Seokjin pushed himself harder than usual because he wanted the confusing mix of thoughts and feelings gone. There was nothing confusing going on right now. He was the crown prince, he’d finally won his way into his betrothed’s bed, he was going to marry an incredible woman, and together they would rule. It was as perfect as if his father had written it out himself. Everything was wonderful. 

His blade bounced off Master Drin’s shoulder, earning him praise, “Yes! Your fire is strong today, Seokjin.”

Seokjin was winded and unable to think of a witty comeback in the moment; he just blinked and nodded, shoulders heaving as he readied himself for the next move.

“Fucking serves you well–” Master Drin broke off as Seokjin dove at him, landing another touch. 

“You’re going too far,” Seokjin warned him. “Are you drunk now? Mind your tongue.”

“Ah, I see, I see. Your love is pure,” Master Drin teased. Seokjin shuffled quickly, lunged, spun, but he’d veered too far into annoyance and Master Drin easily parried and tapped. He drew closer to pat Seokjin on the shoulder, “There will be those saying worse about your wife on the battlefield, you know. Better learn to ignore anything the other person says now.”

“I don’t need to hear it from you. You go too far into my private business.”

“You’re going to be the King. You don’t get to have private business,” Master Drin laughed.

“You seem to know a lot about having a crown and a wife for someone without either.”

Master Drin glowered, “God saved me from both. Now that I’ve got you mad doing exercises, let’s see you spar with Jungkook now that you’re sloppy. Don’t hold back, Jungkook.”

Seokjin hated practices like this and regretted coming now. Not sparring with Jungkook, that was sometimes fine when he felt like getting the shit beat out of him, but ones where Master Drin played mind games with him.  Especially when it led to him getting the shit beat out of him by Jungkook.

Except Jungkook seemed oddly sympathetic this morning and teased as they circled each other, “If you hadn’t slept for thirty-six hours after the party, you could have been in the gossip circles too.”

“I don’t gossip.”

“You gossip like an old maid,” Jungkook laughed and lunged. Seokjin twisted away, his blade bouncing off Jungkook’s to divert it. “Come back to the kitchen tonight, you can hear what people are saying.”

“About me?”

“No one cares about you,” Jungkook joked. Frankly, Seokjin didn’t know which was true, but figured what Master Drin said probably was. It would be easier for Nasimiyu as his bride and the future Queen of Yeonhalbi if the people liked her and accepted her, so hopefully the gossip was headed in that direction. “Hobi had to pay people to gossip about you,” Jungkook added.

“With whose money?!”

“It’s what our taxes pay for,” Jungkook said.

Seokjin’s eyes narrowed as he circled Jungkook. “You didn’t come up with that joke. Yoongi did.”

“Ah. Yeah.”

“Joke thief.”

“I’m not stealing any of yours.”

They clashed together for a busy moment, swords clanging, light armor stretching and clinking. Master Drin called Jungkook’s touches and gave Seokjin some pointers, then added,

“Less giggling like girls, more clanging of steal.”

“You started it. Gossiping in the sword yard… honestly, it’s an embarrassment to your craft!” Seokjin insisted. No one laughed at the joke, not that he’d expected it. Belatedly Seokjin realized his tone was off. He didn’t really sound like he was joking. His own laughter sounded forced. 

“You seem pissed,” Jungkook said before crouching quickly down as Seokjin lunged at him.

“I’m not.”

“Too tired? Need a break? Wore yourself out after–”

“You’re going too far too. What’s wrong with everyone today?” Seokjin demanded before a burst of strength caught Jungkook off-guard and knocked him back a few steps. In almost every way Jungkook was stronger but Seokjin was strong too –even remembered a day he had been the stronger of the two!-- and taller and this time had the element of surprise.

But Jungkook caught him by the arm and swung him around–an odd move for sparring, and laughed at himself, “Shit, I reacted on instinct, sorry.”

It was enough to lift the oppressive weight from Seokjin’s shoulders for a moment, Jungkook laughing at himself and apologizing for grabbing him like that. Seokjin could be comfortably magnanimous again.

“Yes all right, you’re carried away. Break for a moment and breathe.”

“There’s no breaking on the battlefield!” Master Drin called from where he himself was getting a drink of water.

“Good thing I don’t intend to be on one,” Seokjin called back as he and Jungkook went for water as well. Sweat dripped down Seokjin’s hairlines and down the back of his neck. He felt the echo of blade collision up through the bones of his arms and shoulders.

The break was a welcome one but lasted only a few minutes before Master Drin chased them back. Seokjin felt calmer this time, which made it easier to block and even to get a few touches in. Jungkook walloped him pretty hard on the thigh but he got Jungkook back on the shoulder which was a more impressive touch anyway.

“I think you danced too much at the ball,” Jungkook laughed as he leapt away from Seokjin’s next attack. “You’re spinning too much.”

“I’m in the mood.”

“For dancing? Hoseok will be happy to hear that–”

“Never for dancing,” Seokjin laughed.

“I thought you did well though,” Jungkook panted as they took a step back and circled each other again. Seokjin always felt good when he put Jungkook through the paces. Unfortunately, he always tired sooner and so even with a strong start, Jungkook wound up putting him in his place sooner or later. And to think he used to hold back his true strength in arm wrestling competitions to give this whelp a boost of confidence when he was younger!

“You danced more than you ever have before,” Jungkook continued.

“Are you worried I’m coming for your dance queue?” Seokjin laughed. He pointed his sword, “Ha! Is that why you cut in with Dulce?”

He didn’t know why he said it. The impulse to mention her jumped ahead of his better thinking and he made a joke about something he didn’t feel like joking about.

Jungkook didn’t notice his instant regret and played along, “Nah, Jimin told me to distract her so she wouldn’t be in the way of you dancing with the Princess.”

“She’s not in the way of anything, she doesn’t need you descending on her,” Seokjin said through a forced smile. Thinking about it now reawakened that protective impulse in him. “You have plenty of women,” he continued. “Don’t take this as a challenge but don’t go bothering my betrothed’s favorite maid. You, Taehyung, Jimin, you’re all harassing her, just leave her alone.”

Jungkook waved his hand, “Stop wasting time, you don’t have to tell me to leave her alone, Yoongi’s on her anyway.” 

He lunged forward and Seokjin stumbled backwards, too slow to gracefully block. Yoongi’s on her anyway.

“Hey, what does that mean?” Seokjin asked, ignoring Master Drin shouting at him to get his head out of his ass. “Yoongi is on who? What?”

Jungkook snorted and hissed through his teeth before laughing, a whole series of reactions, “I don’t know, maybe he’ll give you details, he wouldn’t tell me shit. All I know is she was leaving his room in borrowed clothes the morning after the ball.”

“Who was?”

“Dulce.”

“Nasimiyu’s maid?”

“Is there another one?” Jungkook laughed.

“You weren’t in the palace the morning after–”

Jungkook laughed harder and covered his face, “Ahh, I spent the night here too… don’t ask for the details, pervert!”

“I’m not asking for any details!” Seokjin cried. And bit his tongue before he almost did ask for details –specifically about whether Jungkook was serious that Dulce had spent the night with Yoongi. Yoongi hadn’t been at the ball. Which meant Dulce would have had to seek him out after she left… which… ok, that’s what he’d hoped to encourage. Good. Great! She and Yoongi were close enough that she’d left the ball to– she had claimed she hadn’t been enjoying herself anyway. She’d gone to find the cook and they had… surely not in the dorm room he shared with others but… but apparently that’s how things worked for staff, or they found a dark corner to do that kind of thing… her dress was so big and dark, Yoongi could have practically hidden beneath it in some hallway nook to… to…

“Gah!” Seokjin complained, “Why did you tell me that much?! I don’t want to know what you fools are up to when you aren’t working!”

“I didn’t tell you anything!”

“Stop gossipping and fight me,” Seokjin scolded, and crouched, and exploded towards Jungkook with a series of jabs and swipes that made the younger man rush to keep up. 

Dulce and Yoongi… that wasn’t true, was it? Maybe it was. Good! Good for them both. That was good. Dulce wouldn’t be lonely… but Yoongi was quiet like she was… but maybe she preferred that. She’d be happier with someone calm and quiet like her, as opposed to someone like… like Jungkook! Like Taehyung or Jimin. They were loud like he was.

Not that he was factoring himself into this in any way–

Though he had a bed he could have taken her to, not some dark corner–

Not that he was wanting to take Dulce anywhere! 

And Yoongi, Yoongi was a great man. He was a great catch for a handmaid. They had a lot in common. Like food. And being quiet. And–

No, but had Dulce really let Yoongi have sex with her? Surely that would be the gossip, if she’d been sleeping in Yoongi’s bed in that ridiculous dress–

Well no, she would have been naked. And left in borrowed clothes… 

The energy surging through Seokjin earned cheers and shouts from Master Drin and Jimin and a nervous hiss from Hoseok. He and Jungkook traded blows harder and faster than normal. Seokjin felt stronger suddenly, like he could take on anyone! He wasn’t entirely in control of his arms and legs but they were doing what they were supposed to, running through the familiar motions drilled into him by this point in his life. 

Even Jungkook looked surprised, but also thrilled. They hacked at each other until even Jungkook was panting for breath, and then Seokjin’s tight grip on his mind slipped, just enough to think of Yoongi helping Dulce out of that big gown. He wasn’t tall enough to lift her out. It was a ridiculous thought. An unwelcome thought. Seokjin did not actually know how Dulce got into or out of that gown and he would never know, only Yoongi would know, and that was fine and good because Seokjin had a woman, a betrothed, an amazing Princess who’d let him into her bed and that was where he belonged. It was great if Yoongi could take care of Dulce now. A weight off Seokjin’s mind. She wouldn’t be lonely and he could guilt-free focus his thoughts on Nasimiyu. His future wife. Exactly right. 

It was the thought of lifting Dulce out of that dress for some reason that broke his concentration just long enough for Jungkook’s slice to break through. Seokjin should have blocked it; Jungkook clearly expected him to block it. Since he didn’t, the blade jabbed him hard, right in the ribs, and even a blunt tip was still painful. 

“Yeow!” he shouted, letting his sword drop and grabbing at his ribs as Jungkook yelled almost as loudly and dove forward. Seokjin’s hand was bloody too; belatedly he realized he’d developed and ripped open blisters at the base of all four fingers without even noticing.

“Send for the healer–”

“No no I’m fine,” Seokjin groaned, resisting the impulse to play it up. He didn’t want to be fussed over right now. He didn’t even care if Nasimiyu strolled by and saw him right now. He just wanted to be alone in his room with his furballs.

So he clapped Jungkook on the shoulder and assured everyone, “I’m fine. Good match. Master Drin, farewell, I am done for the day.” Jimin, Jungkook, and Hoseok all bubbled around him, concern making them annoying. “I’m fine, leave me be. Time to wash and rest. If you want to be useful, have someone draw me a bath.”

“Shit, hyung, I’m really sorry,” Jungkook mumbled as Jimin ran ahead.

Seokjin shoved his head playfully, “I”m fine. It’ll just be a sexy bruise, that’s all. I kept up with you today, huh?”

“You did…”

Seokjin nodded and headed towards his room. Yes, everything was good. He felt like he’d cracked an egg too aggressively on the side of the bowl and shards of shell had fallen into the food. But it didn’t matter. You could eat egg shell. It wouldn’t kill you.

His own thoughts didn’t make sense. 

“Should we stop by the kitchen for ice?” Hoseok asked.

“I’m not going there,” Seokjin snapped, then added more gently, “Ah, I am tired, don’t make me walk even one step extra…”

“I’ll go,” Hoseok offered and disappeared, leaving Jungkook to escort Seokjin back to his room so he could lie on the ground and let his animals run all over him. It was the only thing that would do right now. Lettie tucked herself against his neck and Seokjin let out a deep sigh and tried to make his mind empty once more.

All traces of the masquerade may have been wiped from the palace in the wee hours of the morning, but for a week it was all anyone could talk about. Nasimiyu expected five days to have been enough time to find other things to gossip, but when she accepted an invitation to lunch at the Aukem estate, she found it was still the primary topic. Especially once the food was done and Nasimiyu was left to wander out for a stroll and rest in the garden with the other young ladies.

“Do we want to play croquet?” Miss Lidmila asked. Nasimiyu didn’t much like croquet but would have been game for it just to have a break from the discussions of hair and dresses and dance partners. Her nod was drowned out by groans of complaint from the other girls though –Çiğdem, Afua, Tasa, and Mindeulle joining for the first time. It occurred to Nasimiyu she ought to make friends with some young married women, seeing as she would be that soon, but for now she sat on the bench and listened to Miss Tasa fret about whether the croquet mallet would give her blisters.

“Well don’t hit so hard,” Çiğdem snapped, grabbing a mallet on the side of the lawn and giving it a rather impressive swing. Just as quickly she tossed it down and announced, “I don’t want to play silly games like that.”

“Are you… all right?” Mindeulle asked gently. Çiğdem gave her such a scathing look that even Nasimiyu touched MIndeulle’s arm in comfort.

Lidmila leapt up and threw her arm around Çiğdem, leading her away from the group to whisper quietly together. 

“I think the masquerade did not go so well for her,” Afua told the remaining group with a grimace. “She hasn’t left her house until today.”

“Something bad happened?” Mindeulle asked more kindly than Nasimiyu would have after receiving that look.

Without Lidmila there to protectively interrupt, Nasimiyu had a sudden realization that she might be able to get some answers out of innocent Afua and pressed, “Was her mysterious penpal at the ball?”

“Oooh she has a mysterious penpal?” Mindeulle gasped.

Tasa looked instantly scandalized and scoffed, “She says she does but I think it’s all stories. There was certainly no one hovering around her at the ball.” 

“I think that’s why she’s upset,” Afua pointed out.

“So the penpal was there?”

“She won’t tell us anything,” Afua answered. “But she’s in such a mood today and like I said, she wouldn’t leave her house so…”

Nasimiyu saw the way Mindeulle’s mouth twitched but didn’t have time to ask about it before Çiğdem and Lidmila returned and Çiğdem apologized for snapping.

“It’s forgiven. It sounds like you had a time that wasn’t what you had hoped,” Mindeulle said gently.

Çiğdem’s teeth clenched so hard Nasimiyu could feel it in her own. The girl glanced at Lidmila, who gave her a soothing smile and rubbed her hand. 

“That’s right, it wasn’t.”

A tense silence followed. It was clear Çiğdem was still aiming the bulk of her dislike towards Mindeulle, who clearly felt it herself but was not sure what to do about it.

“Let’s play,” Nasimiyu suggested, rising and going for a mallet. At her suggestion, no one dared to say no, and even Çiğdem was shuffled along as Lidmila called for a servant to set the hoops and the girls selected their mallets and balls. 

“Did I do something?” Mindeulle whispered to Nasimiyu once the game was underway and the group was spread across the lawn. 

Nasimiyu meant it as a joke when she asked, “I don’t know, did you flirt with her penpal?”

“I don’t think I flirted with anyone,” Mindeulle insisted. But the connection suddenly made Nasimiyu recall Lidmila’s guess that Namjoon might have been Cigdem’s penpal –which Mindeulle might know the truth of! Though she looked remarkably confused now, and they were already talking about penpals, so surely if she had something to tell about her brother then she wouldn’t look so confused.

“Nice one!” Lidmila called to Afua, so loud and close by it made Mindeulle and Nasimiyu both startled. Lidmila slid suddenly between them, taking the Princess’ arm and smiling at Mindeulle.

“Is the game all right?” Lidmila asked Nasimiyu. “Do you like these sorts of games? Tell me truly. I know you loved bowling but the set I ordered hasn’t arrived yet, the maker is taking forever!”

Nasimiyu didn’t think truth helped in this situation and so offered diplomatically, “The game is fine, it’s a lovely day for it.”

“That’s exactly how I feel about it!” Lidmila beamed. “The game is all right but it’s the day and the company that make it lovely. Is it your turn?” she asked Mindeulle.

“Oh, I think it is…”

Nasimiyu gave Lidmila a curious look, not sure if there was something pointed in what she’d said, but Lidmila just smiled brightly at her and watched Mindeulle take her turn, then released her arm so Nasimiyu could take hers.

The game continued easily, with some giggles, some conversations, not much effort. At least the sunshine was nice, even if it made the girls a little wilty, calling for servants to carry parasols above their heads. Nasimiyu didn’t bother; she liked the way her skin felt hot to the touch, even the glisten of sweat on her upper lip and the back of her neck. There was so little to expend effort on here; it made her long for horseback riding, and sparring in the backyard of the house Dulce rented a room in, and getting carried away and going upstairs to fuck through the hottest parts of the day–

“My penpal is real!” Çiğdem suddenly shouted from across the lawn. Tasa, yards away and talking to Afua, turned bodily away from Çiğdem with a clearly dismissive toss of her head. “Stop whispering about me, you bitch!” Çiğdem shouted.

Gasps from around the yard were almost as loud as her shout, but she didn’t leave it at that. Çiğdem took off at a sprint for Tasa and Nasimiyu just stood there, torn between disbelief that Çiğdem would actually strike Tasa and a curious impulse to see what would happen.

Lidmila dove between them and looked like she might get plowed down. Mindeulle caught Çiğdem around the waist and spun her so she was facing the wrong way, and that was enough time for Lidmila to grab Çiğdem’s arms. Their servants shuffled around, chasing them with the parasols like farcical set dressing, but no doubt they were listening to every word.

“My penpal is real!” Çiğdem shouted again, beginning to cry. “He’s real! Why did you even invite her, Lidmila?”

“Invite who? Tasa?” Lidmila asked into Çiğdem’s face, stroking her hair in an attempt to soothe her. Nasimiyu drew closer to make sure Mindeulle was all right after that manhandling. Afua and Tasa stood beside each other still but Tasa looked angry at this outrage directed her way, and Afua looked on the verge of tears to even be in the same yard as this drama.

“His sister,” Çiğdem sobbed out. “That’s my penpal, I know you guessed it.”

Mindeulle made a small chirp of a noise beside Nasimiyu and looked instantly around at the servants. 

“Maybe we should take this conversation inside,” Nasimiyu suggested.

She saw Lidmila nod and try to nudge Cigdem towards the house, but she was crying too hard to be budged, not unless Lidmila was willing to body her along, which she wasn’t. 

“But why are you bothered that his sister is here? Isn’t that good?” Lidmila tried while grabbing at Çiğdem’s hand, which she kept wrenching away, like she knew it was an attempt to lead her. “Besides, you got his first dance, didn’t you? Isn’t that good too?”

Çiğdem gave Lidmila a scowl, “You mean because you danced with him too?”

“I tried not to! I only didn’t want to be rude–”

“I don’t care that you danced with him,” Çiğdem sniffled, pushing away from Lidmila. “I don’t care that Nasimiyu danced with him too, she’s got a fiance. I care that I found him fucking someone in the garden.”

Mindeulle let out a strangled cry and grabbed hold of Çiğdem so tightly that the other girl had no hope of fighting her off, though she did try. Nasimiyu grabbed Çiğdem’s other arm and they hauled Çiğdem back towards the house. The language was so shocking from a young lady that Nasimiyu had to bite back her laugh at everyone’s gasps. This felt like a stage performance, all of it.

“That is not something you can just shout!” Mindeulle scolded.

Nasimiyu readily agreed, already thinking of the damage this would do to Lord Namjoon’s reputation as every servant present carried the accusation away, “There’s a time and a place but perhaps you are mistaken–”

“I’m not mistaken!” Çiğdem yelled and then crumbled into sobs. 

Apparently the commotion had all been enough that mothers came flocking from the back door as they reached the house, Çiğdem’s among them. She swooped her daughter up, demanding to know what had happened, but no one wanted to say and so her assumption that it was some rogue croquet accident went unchecked. Lady Aukem was just as concerned and dragged her daughter along to help comfort and explain, and somehow Mindeulle got caught up and pulled along inside –but Nasimiyu, Afua, and Tasa were encouraged not to worry and to continue with their game.

“Who cares about croquet?” Tasa huffed. “I can’t believe she yelled at me like that. I think she was going to hit me, don’t you?”

“I don’t know,” Afua murmured.

Nasimiyu brushed off, “I doubt it, but you were gossiping and taunting, weren’t you? You should take more care how you treat people who are clearly upset. If you bait a bear, it’s your own fault if the bear swipes you.”

Belatedly Nasimiyu realized Tasa had hoped for Nasimiyu to share her scandalized outrage. She glared daggers at Nasimiyu and decided to take her leave, off to demand to her Mama that they depart.

Afua looked nervously at Nasimiyu and pressed, “You don’t think this will ruin Çiğdem, do you?” Nasimiyu hadn’t even considered the potential hit to Çiğdem’s reputation, only to Namjoon’s, and now felt terrible about it. That was true, a young woman talking about broken hearts and secret penpals and fucking in the garden would be far more punished for it than the man doing any actual heart-breaking and fucking.

Although Nasimiyu thought Çiğdem must be confused because it did not seem likely that Namjoon had gone off to fuck someone in the garden. He’d been too preoccupied with avoiding Nasimiyu to strike up an affair with anyone there; Nasimiyu was sure of it. And he didn’t seem the type for a wild clandestine affair like that, either. Wasn’t he too busy reading and writing and pontificating to the King?

And this claim that Namjoon was her secret penpal… that couldn’t be true either, could it? He didn’t seem the type either to be writing love letters to a barely-out idiot girl in Priva. Nasimiyu just couldn’t see it. If Çiğdem hadn’t met face to face with him before, it was more likely someone else writing and using his name–

Although Çiğdem had gotten his first dance.

It was a mystery, and one Nasimiyu suddenly wanted resolution to before she even thought of leaving. She escorted Afua inside and to her parents, then went in search of the others.

Çiğdem’s mother had already packed her up and hauled her away, but Lidmila and Mindeulle both looked distressed as Lady Aukem bustled around, offering tea to try and rectify this sudden unsupervised implosion of their afternoon hosting.

“I think I will return to the palace now,” Mindeulle said through a haze. Belatedly she curtsied to Lady Aukem and Lidmila. “Thank you very much for inviting me today.”

Lidmila gave Mindeulle a sympathetic look that turned quickly into a frown as Nasimiyu suggested, “I’ll ride back with you so it’s only one trip for the coach that brought us here.”

“If you’d like to stay a bit longer, we can have our coach carry you home,” Lidmila suggested under the approving nod of her mother. Nasimiyu hesitated, wondering if she’d get anything more out of Lidmila than she could out of Mindeulle –because she desperately wanted to know if there was any merit to what Çiğdem had claimed. 

But she decided Mindeulle would be most likely to have the newer info, and also she looked more shocked right now by things anyway, so Nasimiyu insisted –but not before suggesting Lidmila call on her soon at the palace, what she hoped was enough of a placating offer of friendship. Maybe not, Lidmila still looked unhappy as she waved at them from the front step even after Nasimiyu assured her the lunch and croquet had been lovely. Poor Lidmila, she cared so much about being a good host for things like this but she lacked the guile to actually closely manage anyone, especially a loose cannon like Çiğdem.

The coach pulled away from the drive but Nasimiyu held her tongue at first. Mindeulle looked out the window, closed off from her in a way that surprised her. She looked stricken.

“Are you all right?” Nasimiyu finally ventured. 

Mindeulle slowly turned her face towards Nasimiyu and said with a sigh, “I’m afraid this will all make you think so poorly of me and my brother.”

That struck a chord within Nasimiyu.

“I would never consider your brother’s behavior a reflection on you. You are your own person.” 

Mindeulle didn’t look convinced as she pleaded, “My brother is wonderful. I don’t think there’s merit in everything Çiğdem said. My brother is not her penpal.”

“You’re sure of that? I mean, not that I doubt you but… are you and your brother so close you’d know for sure? My sisters and I have secrets we don’t share with each other.” 

Mindeulle looked hurt and pursed her lips for a moment, as if deliberating what to say. 

“I… I suppose he could be… but I really don’t think he is! We met Çiğdem on a previous visit but my brother didn’t remember her at all. This isn’t the first time he’s been accused of writing letters he didn’t write –and I believe him.”

“When was the first time?”

“I… I’d rather not say…”

“Mindeulle, you can tell me. I believe you that he didn’t write them but it is an odd accusation to have happen twice… but he’s also a known letter-writer, if someone saw a way to benefit from that,” Nasimiyu pointed out, trying to cloud her own suspicion.

Mindeulle tugged at a ribbon on her skirt before admitting, “Maybe Prince Seokjin already told you… the former betrothal that fell through… she claimed Namjoon wrote her letters to win her heart– but I promise on my life, he never did! He would never do that to Prince Seokjin.”

Nasimyu bit back any retort and pointed out, “All right, I believe you. Everyone knows he writes long letters and is eloquent, he could be framed that way. But he agreed to the first dance with Çiğdem.”

“Yes… To be honest though, I think he just didn’t understand how important the first dance is. I mean, someone had to be his first dance, didn’t they? No, I’m sure they aren’t having a secret affair!”

Nasimiyu nodded like she agreed, but it all gave her an unpleasant twist in her stomach. Mindeulle clearly adored her brother and wouldn’t want to see him in a negative light. Not that there was anything really immoral about being a penpal with a potential love interest… but if a prior penpal had been a girl betrothed to the Prince, and the most recent penpal had reason to feel jilted –which Nasimiyu could understand because Namjoon had not seemed at all interested in Çiğdem in any way– then that was a bad pattern. Selfish. Careless with women. If he had been Çiğdem’s penpal and acted so coldly towards her at the ball as what Nasimiyu felt like she’d seen, that was painful. Had he just changed his mind? Was the reality of Çiğdem not what he had hoped for from her letters?

Or was Mindeulle right that Namjoon really wasn’t the penpal, possibly in either scenario? Nasimiyu didn’t want to just agree with her only because she hoped it to be true. It was true that a powerful, well-connected person could be taken advantage of. Was there someone who benefited from framing Namjoon in either scenario?

“As for the other thing Çiğdem accused my brother of… there’s simply no way, Princess. That he was… I can’t even repeat it. It’s a lie!” She’d gotten herself so worked up again, tears leaked from her eyes.

“I’m sure it is,” Nasimiyu agreed, eager but unsure how to soothe her. “I was with Lord Namjoon for much of the night, he did not seem to give any particular woman his attentions.”

“Exactly. He’s dedicated to his ideals. There isn’t a woman in his life and certainly he wouldn’t be so… crude… Çiğdem is just upset. Someone has tricked her. But she can’t spread such gossip like that! Every servant there will repeat–”

“We will squash any rumors as soon as they arise,” Nasimiyu assured her without thinking much about it. “I’m sure he has someone who can account for him anyway.” Although it wasn’t her nor Prince Seokjin. Maybe Dulce would know though; Nasimiyu didn’t know what she’d done after Nasimiyu left the ball. She hadn’t asked. Maybe Dulce knew what Namjoon had been up to.

Maybe Dulce could also figure out more about this penpal business too, in both instances. If someone was trying to frame and use Namjoon, that was important to know! Did Namjoon think someone was doing that? Did he really not know a first dance was important? Everyone knew it was. Surely he wasn’t so dense…

But having sex in the garden… that was wild in a way Nasimiyu could not see Namjoon being. She couldn’t envision him letting go that way, not even while drunk. She didn’t believe that, and so it made her doubt all of the accusations. Honestly, she believed even Mindeulle’s blind devotion of her brother more than she believed Çiğdem’s dramatics.

Eventually she managed to soothe Mindeulle, though the girl ran off as soon as they were at the palace, no doubt to warn her brother about all of this. What Nasimiyu would have given to be a fly on the wall and learn the truth! 

With nothing else to do since she had intended to be away for the whole afternoon, she wandered back to her room, thinking to take a bath and change clothes since croquet and the episode had left her sweaty. Just before she began to undress though, an urgent knock on her bedroom door preceded one of her maids slipping in.

“I’m so sorry to interrupt, a servant from the Aukem house is here, she claims she has a letter that must be delivered immediately and directly to you.”

“A letter?” Nasimiyu repeated. It was an odd new development on such a mysterious day, so she went to the door to accept the missive. She even gave the girl a few coins as a tip before dismissing both girls.

“I’ll bathe alone,” she said, eager to be left so she could open the mysterious letter. As soon as the door closed she tore it open.

Please forgive that I do not address this note in case someone else sees it although I have instructed Veva to place it directly in your hands. I had hoped we could speak before you left but we did not get the chance.

C’s claim that she saw N with someone in the garden is true. I did not want to say so in front of M and the servants as M was already so upset and it’s not something you talk about on the lawn! I took to the garden towards the end of the ball as I waited for my parents to say their goodbyes because the drinking and dancing had become too much for me. However I heard sounds which I hurried away from as soon as I realized what they must be! Shortly after I saw N return from the garden and fixing his clothes.

I’m mortified to write this to you but I must because C saw who he was with. I’m a goose about things and I don’t know what to do with this knowledge but I thought you must know because she described the gown of the woman though she doesn’t know her: layers and layers of black, black around her neck, gold hands over her eyes and an array of gold spikes out from her head. You see why I must tell you!

Could she be wrong? But I saw N and your maid speaking close together not long before and I recognized her so I believe C. I don’t want to be a gossip but I think you must know if it’s your own maid who attended a ball in disguise and got involved in this!

Am I right to tell you this? I’m so afraid you’ll think badly of me but I must do what I think is best. Please write back and tell me you know I only have your best interests in my heart.

-L

Nasimiyu read this note with a detachment that made her struggle to understand. But not once did she doubt Lidmila’s honesty. There must be an explanation. There must be. 

Because surely Dulce had not gotten confused and thought that when Nasimiyu said fuck Prince Seokjin’s staff for information she meant fuck Lord Namjoon. Because surely Dulce had not fucked Namjoon in a dark corner of a garden where apparently all sorts of people had wandered by. Surely Dulce had not failed to mention this fuck in the many days since the ball.

Nasimiyu burned the paper and went to wash the sweat from her skin and think.

Finally, success! It had taken Dulce several days to figure out the cleanest way into the Queen’s old chamber. She kept getting interrupted –the head of Nasimiyu’s maids found her skulking around the hall and threatened to whip her (which would not have gone well had that bitch tried); Hoseok stumbled upon her when she was poking around the back of the palace looking for the escape path that must exist from a queen’s chamber (he wanted to compliment her dancing, which was so mortifying it chased Dulce away more than the fear of being caught); the Prince caught her lurking in the Queen’s favorite garden, and she’d had to quickly make it look like she was stealing flowers instead of scoping out a way to climb the wall, or if maybe the secret passage let out here instead. Of course she had no proof there was a secret passage, but rich people always had secret escapes in case someone attacked their house in the night and she didn’t see why it would be any different for the Queen.

She couldn’t find it though. And ultimately the only way she found to get into the late Queen’s chamber was to spill a bow of soap in front of the door to give herself an excuse to linger just as the guards were changing and then slip through the door while they were distracted greeting each other and prepare to play stupid if someone heard the door close and came to see why she had gone inside. She’d even left the towel there in the middle of the soapy water so it would look like she just went to fetch more.

Inside, Dulce paused with her back pressed to the door for a breath to see if her entrance caused any reaction. She scouted for a hiding place just in case, but the suite was full of them. She’d thought the Prince’s room was already massive but even just this entrance room for the Queen was far larger than Dulce’s entire childhood home, all lavishly decorated with bright jewel tones in the wallpaper and furniture and huge paintings on the walls in gold frames and even a huge fresh flower display on the serving tray by the window.

That struck Dulce as immediately eerie. A writing desk had a stack of unopened mail. The flowers didn’t have a single wilting petal. No layer of dust revealed that the sofas hadn’t been sat on in years. The room looked still occupied and well tended to, as if the Queen was just off somewhere at the moment but would return soon.

No commotion had begun at her entrance, so Dulce moved silently through the rest of the suite. The first door off the hallway gave way to a study with books lining only one wall; the other two were buried beneath paintings of flowers, the fourth a wall of windows that cast a muted light through sheer curtains. Several easels stood around the room, each buried by splotches of paint, carts of pallets and cups and brushes connecting them. Dule didn’t know the Queen was an avid painter and wondered if that meant the ones on the wall were hers. In looking close, she realized they weren’t all only flowers. There were people among the flowers, sometimes small boys playing on the petals, sometimes a tanned feminine hand wrapped around a stem, one of two masculine hands cupped, blossoms streaming between his fingers like a waterfall.

Dulce had no real understanding or appreciation of art, but she found herself drawn to the paintings and thought it could be a nice afternoon to study them more closely and see what they revealed of the painter. The letters the Queen had written to her son already existed as such a personal glimpse into her mind, but these paintings were another layer. Were they here because the Queen had considered them private? Had she found fault with them and not wanted them displayed? It made Dulce wonder if other paintings around the palace were the Queen’s. She’d find a way to ask –not because it was important, she just wondered. Of all the things said about the Queen, she’d never heard the woman was such a talented painter.

There was something intriguing about the private legacy a woman left behind when she died, Dulce considered as she moved further through the suite to the Queen’s bedroom, changing room, and bathroom. Priva had a very public memory of the Queen, probably very different than how her husband or sons remembered her, now only one son. But what about the part of her that didn’t belong to kingdom, husband, or child? The paintings seemed to be that, but was there more to her than that?

Dulce wouldn’t even leave that when she died. Her whole profession meant leaving no trace of herself anywhere. If she died tomorrow, only Nasimiyu would remember her, and for how long? How well did Nasimiyu really know her anyway? What was there even to know? Dulce feared Nasimiyu would only remember her for how she had served her –sexually, conspiratorialy, whatever– but what else really did she let Nasimiyu see? What else was there even to see? She couldn’t imagine telling Nasimiyu all the mundane stories of her childhood and family, the heartbreak of leaving, those early years when she was lost and aimless, moneyless, nameless, jobless –nothing but -less.

The bed was huge and the most comfortable looking cloud Dulce had ever seen. The impulse to dive face first into it was hard to deny and yet she did, picking her way around the edges of the room instead to see what other personal things still waited for an owner who wouldn’t return. Both nightstands held mountains of books and discarded jewelry probably worth more than a year of Dulce’s pay, just sitting there as if they had only just been cast off before bed. She had no doubt the closet was going to leave her agog if this was the casual treatment of such jewels. The temptation to filch someone was strong, but she resisted, certain that would be noticed. It looked like great care was taken to preserve these rooms as alive.

She turned her attention instead to the walls: more art, as well as many statues and vases lined up on shelves. It looked like Prince Seokjin was not the only collector in his line, though the Queen had gravitated towards books and art. Dulce suspected she had not painted all of these, not only because the style was so different (although what did she really know about that?), but also because the Queen was in some of them. The Queen with first one baby, then two small boys. The King and the Queen in a more casual portrait, both smiling, which looked odd on the king. A portrait of all four of them, arms around each other. The older boy, maybe around twelve, looked so serious, but Prince Seokjin was smiling, leaning heavily on his mother’s arms wrapped around him, like he’d been in the middle of telling a joke. The artist had even captured that his hair stuck up in the back. The king had his hand on the older boy’s shoulder and fingers at his wife’s waists, both of them smiling fondly at the boys. It was a photo of joy and love and looked nothing like the state of the royal family now. How sad.

The hairs on the back of Dulce’s neck prickled. She spun just as the wardrobe doors on the far side of the room opened and Taehyung unfolded himself from inside.

“Hello, Dulce.”

She bit back a curse. There was no escaping that she’d been caught, and little comfort in the obvious conclusion that he wasn’t supposed to be here either.

He snickered, “It’s time for our favorite question: what are you doing here?”

“Snooping,” she boldly admitted. “I wanted to see what’s in here since the Princess isn’t allowed.”

“Ah, she sent you? Or you’re just curious on your own?”

She gave a slight nod and let him draw his own conclusions. He carefully closed the wardrobe doors, adjusting the collection of robes inside that had been shuffled by his probable leap inside when he heard someone enter the rooms. 

“You came out because you realized it was me?”

“Yes,” he admitted, no lie in his grin as he admitted, “I’m not supposed to be in here either.”

“So why are you?”

“To cause trouble.”

“If that was the case you wouldn’t be hiding.”

“To admire the art,” he amended. 

“You like… art?”

“Sure.” His answer made it sound like a lie. He clasped his hands behind his back and strolled casually over, gaze roaming across the wall until it landed in the upper left quadrant. Something there made him smile. He lifted his finger to point. “That’s my mom.”

Dulce followed. The painting showed the Queen seated on a sofa with a woman standing just behind her, her hands familiarly on the Queen’s shoulders, one of the Queen’s hands on hers to hold it there. Her dress was simple but more stylish than that of a servant and she had jewelry on, and brown hair that hung long and loose around her shoulders.

“They were friends?”

“My mom was her first lady’s maid,” Taehyung explained. “Like you are for the Princess. And yes, they were the closest friends.”

Dulce studied the painting, looking for Taehyung’s features in the woman. They were similar. She could see the family resemblance. He wasn’t a direct copy of her but their mother-son connection was pretty clear once you knew to look.

“She passed away? I’m sorry for your loss.”

Taehyung nodded, “I was seven. She got sick and the King and Queen had the best doctors take care of her but…” He trailed off with a shrug. 

“I’m sorry to hear that.”

“What about you? Are your parents living?”

“I think so.”

“Ah, it’s like that, huh? They weren’t good to you? Or…”

Dulce gave him a wary look, not sure what other options he was hinting at or why he was asking so much and answered, “I don’t know. Families are complicated and I needed to go.”

“Families are complicated,” Taehyung agreed with a chuckle that seemed to hint he meant a great deal by it.

“Like your father,” she guessed, seeing as a dead mother wasn’t complicated.

“Yes, a living bastard.”

“Right.” She felt like Taehyung’s way of pretending he already knew everything might be useful to mimic back to him. 

“To me, at least,”  Taehyung added. “He loved her. At least there’s that.”

“Yes, that’s something.”

Taehyung stared at the painting with such intense longing, Dulce could see this loss had greatly impacted him.

“Why do you stay here, living under the shadow of it then?” Dulce asked. Not that she expected everyone to take her tactic of running away and never putting roots down again, but it seemed strange to remain here under a constant reminder of this loss.

Taehyung gave her a startled look. His gaze roamed her face for a moment, then he cracked a smile.

“Was it obvious or are you just very good at noticing things?”

Dulce had no fucking clue what he was talking about but bluffed, “I’m very good at noticing thing.”

Taehyung gave a slow nod, then let out a slow, steady breath.

“Did you tell anyone?”

Immediately her hand slid into her pocket, to the knife tucked inside, her muscles tensed in preparation for a fight. That was the question you asked before you tidied up loose ends. She didn’t know what she’d just stepped into, but he wouldn’t believe her if she played stupid now.

He continued, “I know I’m kind of reckless about it. Seokjin’s not in any danger from me. We fight sometimes but he’s my only real family left and I love him, I’d never be a threat to him or his birthright. I don’t want it. It would be nice not to live in the stables anymore, though.”

Dulce swallowed and tried to keep her breath steady as she followed his words carefully. Seokjin’s not in any danger from me, I don’t want his birthright.

Holy shit, she quickly realized the misunderstanding, and what Taehyung thought she had already figured out.

“But people might pit us against each other. I don’t know if that’s true that anyone would ever prefer an illegitimate son to the heir, but there’s an easy way to make sure, right?” Taehyung grinned, and pantomimed slicing his own throat. “Nasimiyu might see me as a threat. What do you think?”

“Undecided,” Dulce said when it became clear he expected an answer.

He nodded, puffing out his lips in thought before asking, “Any chance you want to run away with me to Paloma? That’s where Seokjin threatened to send me if anyone finds out.”

“You’d be bored there,” she warned.

“I like horses.”

“And balls and wealth.”

“Not more than I like being alive,” he argued. He could tell by her face she was not interested in going to Paloma. He sighed again. “Fuck. I don’t want to leave.”

The poor idiot. She actually felt sorry for him. He was his own downfall in this case; she hadn’t figured it out until he confirmed it. An illegitimate royal son who was bad at keeping secrets was not safe for Prince Seokjin.

“Why do they let you stay here in the first place?” she asked. He hadn’t lunged for her yet but she kept her hand on her blade anyway, not letting her guard down for a moment. Sad and desperate men could move quickly.

“Hyung? Because he loves me, or he feels a responsibility to me, I’m not sure which it actually is. He tolerates me.”

“But the King… you said your father loved your mother.” Dulce felt revulsion for the King boil in her stomach. Every reference she’d heard about how much he loved the Queen nauseated her now. No such thing. Love was less real than the noble hamster in those stories the Prince loved so much.

“So I’m told,” Taehyung confirmed.

“By whom?”

Taehyung snorted and shook his head, “It’s a fair question. I’ve doubted it too. Seokjin tells me. The Queen told me herself. Never the King but he won’t say anything about her at all, just keeps these rooms and paintings exactly as they were left. I think he has a secret painting of my mother hidden somewhere but I’ve never found it. Seokjin says he’s never seen it either.”

“But…” Dulce tried to understand this. “The Queen told you…”

He laughed, “I know. Families are complicated, right? My mother died when I was seven but I kept living here until the Queen died when I was ten, then my father sent me away. She had always been like a second mother to me and told me almost every story I know about my mother. She always told me that no matter what I heard from anywhere else, I should know that my mother had loved me and that my father does too in his own way… a very secret way,” he snorted.

“So he had an affair with the Queen’s handmaiden that was approved–”

“They both had their someones,” Taehyung corrected. “Seokjin says they loved each other and I believe the King’s grief was real when the Queen died. I remember his grief when my mother died too and it looked the same to me. The Queen had her own someone special. And those rumors about their orgies, I believe them. I think they were very open with their odd arrangement to a circle of people who kept the secret well enough that it’s only ever seemed like rumors. Maybe no one wants to admit they weren’t close enough to the Royals to know the truth.”

“There could be other children then.”

“From my father? I suppose so,” Taehyung nodded. “I’ve never heard of any that seemed legitimate but the world is full of secrets, even right under our noses.”

“Who was the Queen’s someone else?”

Taehyung pointed to another painting on the wall, a portrait of a woman familiar enough to Dulce to be recognized.

“That’s Lady Aukem.”

“It is.”

“I admit her portrait in here is odd, but how do you know–” 

Taehyung beckoned her to follow. It struck her that his energy about disclosing all of this was very strange. He didn’t seem fearful at all; if anything, he seemed relieved. He led her to one of the nightstands and gently eased the drawer open.

Inside was a smaller painting, Lady Aukem sitting in the Queen’s lap, their arms around each other and faces pressed together. One could convince themself it was a painting of friends, that Lady Aukem’s kiss on the Queen’s forehead was one of platonic affection, that the Queen’s arms around her waist were friendly, but Dulce tended to believe the truth was obvious. Beneath it in the drawer was a paper with pressed flowers, and beneath that one more, a drawing of Lady Aukem reclining on the bed, nude.

“I’m sure there were more but I bet the King had them destroyed, or maybe the Queen did to protect Lady Aukem, or maybe Lady Aukem has them. I’ve been meaning to sneak into their estate and look but I haven’t pulled it off yet,” Taehyung admitted. “And to be honest, I don’t care about it that much. I’m more interested if there’s another painting of my mom somewhere. This is the only one I know of.” He eased the draw shut again, gaze flickering back to the painting on the wall.

“Your father sent you away when the Queen died?”

Taehyung’s face took on more of an obvious hurt, “Yes. I don’t know if I reminded him too much of my mother and the Queen wasn’t around to insist anymore, or if he worried I was a threat to Seok-ho and Seokjin or what. We don’t talk, ever. But Seokjin brought me back after Seok-ho died. I don’t think our father likes me here, but Seokjin gets his way sometimes.”

Dulce didn’t find it that surprising that Prince Seokjin apparently wasn’t worried about Taehyung trying to seize the throne, considering he didn’t seem to want it very much anyway. And he seemed like the kind of nostalgic person who would want a blood relative close, especially after he’d lost his mother and elder brother. But she did also very much believe that if Nasimiyu and Prince Hamisi knew about Taehyung’s blood, they’d have him killed in an instant to eliminate any threat to Nasimiyu’s line being the future.

“So,” Taehyung said, leaning against the foot of the bed, arms crossed. “How long have you known? Or how did you figure it out?”

“A while,” she bullshitted. “It didn’t seem right to me that you were a stablehand.”

“Yeah well you don’t exactly seem like a maid either.”

“The difference being that I am,” she quickly corrected.

“Well I’m really a stablehand. I just happen to be other things too. My mom didn’t seem like a maid either, that’s what people said about her. She was beautiful. She seemed more like nobility. I guess you have that in common.”

Dulce didn’t understand his intentions for saying that, whether he was trying to flatter her, or revealing a creepy motivation for his prior propositions, or simply pointing out a perceived similarity. Maybe he was even wondering whether she too was embroiled in an affair, and in that case he’d be right.

“I’m flattered, but I don’t have a whiff of noble blood,” she answered honestly. “My family are Paloman nobodies.”

“Why didn’t you  confront me when you figured it out?” Taehyung asked. He gave her a careful look. “You going to blackmail me?”

The obvious answer to give was, “I thought about it.”

“It depends what you’ll ask for. I haven’t got much but my brother might pay–”

“You’re more likely to have me killed for knowing it, now that you know I know,” she countered.

“Ah, I see. I didn’t think of that. You didn’t tell me yet whether anyone else knows.”

Dulce watched him. Taehyung watched her.

“We’re at a standoff,” he laughed. “If your Princess knows about this, I’m as good as dead. If I tell my brother you know, you’re as good as dead. We could dream we get paid off and sent to a farm instead, but I know what the farm is, you’re smart, you know what the farm is too.”

“Yes.”

He nodded, hands still visible, body relaxed into his sitting position, as if making a point he was not threatening.

“I like you a lot, Dulce. I think you’re someone who keeps a secret. I think you may already keep a lot of secrets. I happen to be very good at keeping secrets too.”

“You’re suggesting a truce based on mutual trust,” she immediately suggested, and failed to keep the derision from her voice. 

“No? You don’t trust me?”

“I’m a young maid, I don’t trust anyone. We aren’t equals here.”

Taehyung’s eyebrows raised, “Ah, no? But you could blackmail me for a lot of money, and all I want is to continue living here as a stablehand. I think I have more to lose.”

“A life is a life and either of us could die as soon as we leave here. You mean that yours is more valuable–”

“No, only that it’s mine,” Taehyung interrupted. They sized each other up. Taehyung sighed, “Look, we can both get what we want here. If you just keep this secret, then nothing changes for me. I don’t want you knocked off, you’re one of the most interesting people in the palace.”

“What do I want?”

“You tell me.”

“Mutual blackmail,” she understood his new proposal. 

“No. I’m telling you, I am going to trust you to keep my identity a secret because I’m more valuable to you as blackmail than dead. Anything you think Prince Hamisi would pay you for this information, I’ll pay more. Just let me know the bill. Money. Introductions.” He arched his eyebrow and added, “Marriage.”

“Marriage,” Dulce repeated.

“Oh, is that your choice? Ok, I could do worse than you. I don’t think anyone will think twice about a stablehand and a maid–”

“Are you ever serious about anything?” Dulce interrupted. “There’s a risk of mutual destruction here.”

“Or mutual gratification.”

Dulce couldn’t help it, she rolled her eyes, and Taehyung laughed and admitted, “I didn’t think you’d take me up on that anymore than the orgy. Anyway, there’s Yoongi in your heart, huh?”

“There’s no one in my heart,” she clarified.

“Cold.”

“Alone doesn’t mean cold,” she argued. “But fine. Your secret is safe with me. You can buy me off.”

“Name your price.”

“I’ll think about it,” she evaded. “But what’s my reassurance you won’t put a hit on me tomorrow?”

“Hm…. my own feelings for you aren’t enough–”

“No.”

He laughed, “Damn, you’re so… practical. All right, how about this. You can buy my silence too.”

“With what money?”

“Not money,” Taehyung clarified. He pointed, “I want that painting of my mom, far more than I want a crown or a life here. But if I take it, the King will know it was me. You’re clever and inconspicuous, though. You agree to help me get that painting. The possibility that we pull it off outweighs the risk to me that you’ll sell my secret to Nasimiyu. Look in my eyes and you can see I mean it.” He leaned forward, making them very wide. 

Dulce would never be so stupid to assume she could read people accurately, without fail. Such an idea was folly. But she was good at it, in general. And she believed what Taehyung said. And to be frank, he deserved a painting of his mom.

“Why don’t you just have someone make a copy?”

“Do you know how long it takes to make a copy of a painting that big?!” he laughed. “How am I going to sneak someone in here with all their supplies for that long?? And I can’t carry it off on loan because it’ll be noticed. If one bend in the curtains is off, the King notices. This is his shrine to them both.”

“Why wouldn’t his shrine to your mother have more than one painting of her in it?”

“Maybe it’s the only one that exists in the world,” Taehyung suggested. “Just because he’s the king doesn’t mean he should get the only copy.”

Dulce gave a short nod, “I agree with you, in fact. I’ll help you. If you have me killed, you don’t get the painting.”

“If you have me killed, you don’t get whatever painful sum of money you’re going to ask of me so you can live out the rest of your days not as a maid.”

That thought made her pause. Just how much money was on offer here? How much money would the King and Seokjin pay to protect a royal bastard and could Taehyung really convince them it was better to pay than simply to kill her? She’d have to put together a fail-safe; if they killed her a letter got sent and everything came out… The whole thing relied on assumptions of the value of her life and the value of Taehyung’s, neither of which might ultimately matter to a king who loved his gold. But had he loved Taehyung’s mother more? Could this whole thing really bank on the King’s desire to hold onto the son of a woman he had loved in secret, and Taehyung’s longing for a painting of her so strong he would convince them that Dulce’s life was priceless?

This seemed like a wild, rotten deal, but Dulce decided to keep her guard up and accept. And if she did come into a large sum of money… could that sum of money buy the safety of her family more than this secret would buy it from Prince Hamisi?

Dulce wasn’t an idiot. Prince Hamisi had no reason to keep his promise once he had what he wanted. Probably there would be some new request. No matter what she did to appease him, there would always be a new threat. She’d known that in the back of her mind for a while. She needed to either move her family or eliminate the real threat to them. 

It was a lot to think about. But for now, Dulce nodded and shook Taehyung’s hand when he offered it. And gave a slight sigh at his wink. Was this persona of his sincere? Was she an idiot if she felt like it really was? Could people ever actually be what they seemed?

“Come on, I’ll show you the secret passage out of here,” he suggested. 

Dulce gasped, “I knew there must be one!”

“Yeah there is. Good for you to know as you think of how to help me get the painting.”

“You seem more sure than I am that I can help you.”

“I just have this feeling about you, Dulce. I think you’re capable of a lot more than being a maid.”

“I think you’re probably best off sticking to horses.”

Taehyung’s laughter echoed down the secret passage that connected the back of the late Queen’s closet to an ivy-covered rock walk alongside the path down to the caves. The passageway actually continued further and Taehyung confirmed it would take you into the caves, and therefore further down the mountain, a clever quick escape from the whole city if the queen ever needed it.

Not until she was (briefly) alone in her servants dorm did Dulce sit on the side of her bed and let out a long, deep breath.

Fuck. She’d discovered that the King and Queen both had approved affairs, the King had an illegitimate son who was living in the Palace in disguise, and she knew about the Prince’s secret trips into the city. She had everything she needed to hand over to Nasimiyu and Prince Hamisi to uphold her end of the deal, really. Didn’t she? 

“Damn I am good at this,” she murmured, ignoring how much of it had been sheer dumb luck. She spent another moment in contemplation to confirm what she had not really debated at all: She would not be telling Nasimiyu or Prince Hamisi anything. At least not yet. But she was going to figure out how to heist away a painting.

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