#so please understand that there is no expectation of receiving asks and i am incredibly sorry that i dont have the time to keep up or

[trollcafe]

I am….finally free……i dont have time to draw but i may answer some old asks…..or new ones if anyone wanted to send some <3

#chow.txt #i geel bad asking got asks because i dont #have time to send any back or really keep up w anyone #so please understand that there is no expectation of receiving asks and i am incredibly sorry that i dont have the time to keep up or #send any back! #my whole weekend was eaten by work unfortunately and thatll remain the case for the semester #but i love and appreciate everyone here<3

[sagesolsticewrites]

religion's in your lips, the altar is my hips

in which Steve takes care of you after a bad day

- including but not limited to: praise kink, hair pulling, oral (f receiving), Steve lowkey being a service dom 👀

(this is. very self-indulgent. very veryyyyyy self-indulgent. you have been warned <3)

a/n: huuuge shoutout to @upsidedownwithsteve's (aka Emmy, Queen of Smutty Sunday <3) most recent smutty Sunday event for giving me inspiration to write my very first smutty fic! Obligatory disclaimer that yes, this is my very first smut fic ever, I am an ✨asexual virgin✨ please manage expectations accordingly, yada yada yada. Also so many hugs to my bestie Kenz @fangirl-imagines for looking this over before I posted it ☺️ Kenzie has some incredible fics, go support her y'all!

Word count: 2870

Warnings: THIS IS SMUT. MINORS BEGONE. 🔞

Please like/rb if you enjoyed! 🤍

You let yourself into your apartment with a sigh, shoulders relaxing the tiniest bit as you step over the threshold into your home and finally toe off your heels.

Bypassing the darkened kitchen and empty living room, you open the door to your bedroom, where you knew you’d find a shirtless Steve in the middle of his post-work ritual of playing some game on his computer.

He looks up as you enter, face brightening with a smile as he greets you.

“Hey baby, how was—”

In lieu of an answer, you flop face first onto the bed with a groan.

You can hear the smile fade from his voice as he hisses sympathetically, “That bad, huh?”

You lift your chin so it’s propped up on the pillow as you explain your terrible, horrible, no-good, very bad day.

“You know that project that Marie was working on? She asked me for help on it, and I gave her some pointers, but she said she still wasn’t really understanding it so I ended up having to do all of it for her. And she’ll probably take all the credit for it, too.” You grumble, rolling your eyes, “And we had that meeting with our new clients, and my boss basically volun-told me to take notes for it, even though that’s really the liason’s job, and then she criticized me for not taking as detailed notes as Lauren even though that’s literally Lauren’s job! And she was there, she could’ve taken the notes, I don’t even—”

You shake your head in exasperation, shifting topics, “And then I didn’t even have time for lunch because Sara wanted me to help train the interns, and…” You end your rant with a groan, letting your face drop back into the pillow. “‘M just. So tired.”

“Sweetheart…” Steve’s voice turns soft as the pillow underneath your head, and he gets up from his spot at the desk to climb onto the bed, pulling you into his arms.

You curl into him instinctively, your head finding that space in the crook of his neck that feels like it was made for you personally, one hand coming up to toy with the curls at the nape of his neck, tracing patterns along the freckles and moles dotted along his skin.

“What can I do to help, honey?” Your boyfriend asks, pressing a kiss to the crown of your head.

“Jus’ wanna… I dunno, just. Stop.” You mumble against his shoulder, shrugging and curling further into him.

He hums in understanding, grabbing the hand that’s currently drawing invisible hearts around the moles near his collarbone and pressing a kiss to the back of it.

“You’ve been doing so much for everyone today,” he murmurs, voice layered with understanding and adoration as he leans in and peppers tiny kisses over your forehead, your nose, your eyelids, and you relax even more as his voice washes over you, “Worked so hard.”

He pulls you closer, scattering kisses all over as you finally release all the tension you’ve been holding, letting out a sigh and shifting in his arms to face him. You don’t realize you’re straddling him until you’re pressed nearly flush against him, his arms wrapped securely around your waist.

His lips brush over every part of your face, down to your neck and then back up as you become putty in his hands, murmuring soft words of praise to you the whole time.

“You just need to stop working now, huh? Need to stop thinking,” His lips draw a path to your ear, where he whispers, “need to let someone else do all the work, huh, baby?”

A shiver runs down your spine, constantly in awe of the power just his voice has over you. His hand settles on your hip, a comforting, grounding weight while his other hand brushes a strand of hair back from your forehead. His lips work their way back down over your cheek, stopping to hover just over yours, mouths brushing together as he murmurs in a voice like silk, “Is that what you want, honey? Want me to take care of you?”

Warm chocolate eyes meet yours, soft, caring, always ensuring he has your consent before he does anything.

At your near-imperceptible nod, he drags his hand up to cup your chin, thumb dragging along your bottom lip.

“Need your words, pretty girl.”

“Yes,” you breathe, and that’s all the confirmation he needs to surge up and capture your lips with his.

As you brace yourself on his shoulders, his hands move to the thin strip of exposed skin where your shirt has ridden up. Your kisses become hungrier, ignoring your need for oxygen in favor of Steve’s plush, kiss-swollen lips, and he slowly drags up the hem of your shirt, breaking the kiss briefly to get your permission.

At your eager nod, your shirt is off and tossed to some corner of the room, his mouth eagerly on yours once more.

You can feel exactly how much he’s enjoying this through his sweats, and you instinctively begin to rock in his lap, dragging your increasingly damp core over his.

His hands grip your hips, the familiar feeling sending a thrill through you… but rather than guiding your movements like he normally would, he holds them still.

You pull away, brow furrowed, but before you can voice your confusion, he flips you onto your back, moving to hover over you in one smooth movement.

“I told you,” he murmurs against your lips in a tone that sends a pulse of scorching heat to your core, “I’m doing all the work, sweetheart.”

The whimper you let out is muffled by his lips on yours once more, his wandering hands and hungry kisses making short work of turning you into a moaning, gasping mess.

“Steve,” you whine out his name as his lips travel down to your neck, and you can feel his smile against the hollow of your throat before he returns to licking and sucking dark patches into your skin, the occasional use of his teeth making delicious shivers shoot up your spine.

“What is it, sweetheart?” He mumbles against your skin, trailing his lips along your collarbone. His eyes meet yours, a mischievous twinkle mixed with the searing heat in them turning you molten as he asks, “What do you need?”

Unable to find the words, your hand finds his hair instead — God, that hair — and begins pushing him down towards where you really want him.

“‘M gettin’ there, honey, I promise,” he grins, pausing your efforts to press a kiss to the valley between your breasts, “Lemme take my time and I promise it’ll be worth it, ok?”

He reaches up to toy with the strap of your bra— a simple nude thing you could get away with wearing under a white shirt at work— a questioning look in his eyes answered by a furious nod from you.

He makes short work of the clasp, and that really should not be as hot as it is, but— oh who are you kidding, even his breathing is insanely hot right now.

You throw your head back as he presses kisses all over your chest, mumbling against your skin the whole time about how pretty you are, just gorgeous sweetheart, God, I can’t believe I get to do this for you…

Your head goes deliciously fuzzy with the praise, and you can’t quite form words so all you can do when he takes your nipple into his mouth, swirling his tongue around it for good measure, is let out a keening “Ohhh” and instinctively tighten your grip on his hair.

“Fuck, sweetheart,” Steve groans, the noise sending heat racing through your body, and you grin knowing you were the one to elicit it, “You sound fucking incredible.” He murmurs more praise as he turns his attention to your other nipple, giving it just as much attention and eliciting more gasps and moans and whines from you before he continues his journey south.

You lift your head and watch as Steve Harrington fucking beams when he reaches your stomach, your pouch poking out slightly more than you’d like over the waistband of your jeans.

He meets your eyes, his own swimming with sincerity as he begins to scatter kisses over your midsection.

“You”

Kiss

“Are”

Kiss

“Fucking”

Kiss

“Stunning”

Kiss

When it seems like he’s covered every single inch of your exposed skin in kisses, remaining stubbornly focused on your torso when what you really want is for him to be significantly lower, he meets your eyes as he plays with the waistband of your jeans, once again wordlessly asking your permission.

And once again, your furious nodding is all the consent he needs to peel your jeans off and toss them away.

“Sweetheart.” He breathes, wide eyes on where your jeans once were, “Honey. Baby. Are you trying to kill me?” He says in a strangled voice at the sight of your simple lacy panties in a deep, wine-purple color— a color Steve once drunkenly confessed was his favorite, though he told anyone who asked he preferred red.

You bite your lip in an attempt to contain your grin, “I thought you might like those.”

“Like them?” He murmurs, leaning down to press a kiss to your inner thigh, looking up through lidded eyes to meet your gaze as his own darkens, “I never wanna see you in anything else again.”

Your toes curl, and your breaths become shallow in anticipation as he scatters slow kisses all along your inner thighs, carefully spreading them apart, stopping when he gets to the edge of the purple lace.

He holds your gaze, gauging your reaction as instead of pulling them down over your hips to toss to yet another corner of the room, he simply…

Pulls.

The lace.

To the side.

You barely have time to let out a quiet, shaky, “Oh my God,” at the ravenous look on Steve’s face before his mouth is on you and you forget how to think, you forget how to breathe, you forget everything except Steve.

Let it be known: Steve Harrington knew how to eat a girl out.

He licks a thick, fat stripe up your center, gathering the moisture collected there before darting up to flick at your clit, an action that has you gripping the sheets like a lifeline, a stuttering moan that sounds vaguely like your boyfriend’s name escaping from your lips. His arms hook around your thighs, pulling you close in an attempt to keep your hips grounded, and he continues a few more passes of the same lick, flick pattern until you’re a writhing mess underneath him, his current strategy both too much and not enough.

He pauses just long enough to meet your eyes, pressing a single kiss to your clit that sends a jolt of pleasure up your spine, before diving in.

His tongue finds your entrance with ease, the way his nose pushes through the thatch of wiry hair to nudge at your clit providing extra stimulation as he makes short work of making you fall apart. His tongue swirls through your folds as he lets out a languid moan at your taste.

“So fuckin’ good for me, sweetheart.” He mumbles against your core, “So perfect, lettin’ me take care of you. This is all you needed, huh?” His eyes flick up to meet yours as you shudder and moan underneath him, struggling to keep your eyes on him.

He licks another languid path through your folds, savoring your taste, before continuing, his voice muffled as he licks and sucks at your entrance “Jus’ needed me to give you a break, needed me to tell you it’s okay to turn off your brain and jus’—” Steve punctuates his last words by wrapping his lips around your clit and sucking gently “—be a good girl for me.”

The combination of stimulation to your clit and Steve’s words has your hips arching off the bed, despite your boyfriend’s best efforts to keep you still. You can feel him grin against you and let out a dark chuckle at the moan you let out at his last words in particular, the way your hand tightens and pulls at his hair all the evidence he needs.

Still, he asks you, though he doesn’t quite expect a coherent response.

“Aw, sweetheart. You like it when I call you a good girl? You like bein’ a good girl for me?” He purrs in a voice like syrup, lips still brushing your folds.

“Fuck, I— yes, Stevie,” you whine brokenly, gently gripping his hair in an attempt to bring him closer to where you want him, whimpering softly, “Stevie please.”

“I know, baby, I know,” he murmurs, scattering kisses frustratingly just outside your core, “Jus’ trust me, I gotcha.”

You resist the urge to move, to just grab him and put him where you want him, even as you let out a frustrated whine.

Just as your patience is about to run out, you feel him smirk against you before diving back in, holding your legs apart as he sloppily licks and sucks at your entrance, his tongue diving deep inside you.

You let out a gasping moan as he attacks your core, practically clawing at his hair in an attempt to pull him impossibly closer, your brain going fuzzy and then melting entirely when you hear the endless praise falling from his lips as he eats you out.

“So good for me sweetheart, just perfect— shit, do you have any idea how good you taste?” He groans against you, his thumb coming up to gently circle your clit as his other hand moves to splay flat over your hips, holding you as still as he can, “Could do this all fuckin’ day, god you’re amazing sweetheart—”

Then he clamps his lips around your clit and moans, and you’re fairly certain you’re going to die of pleasure, both your hands flying to grip his hair and yank as your back arches off the bed, your head falling back against the pillows, mouth open to let out a high, keening moan.

When you come back to your body, Steve is back to gently licking through your folds, and your hands claw at him, needing him to be closer.

“Steve,” you whine, “Stevie please, ‘m so close, I jus’— I need— please, baby.”

As your words turn into incoherent moans and pleas, Steve is quick to assure you, thumb returning to playing with your clit as he mumbles against you, “I know, honey, I know what you need and ‘m gonna give it to you, I promise. Been so good for me today, taken such good care of everyone, now it’s your turn, ‘m gonna make you feel so, so fuckin’ good, baby—”

He dives into you once more, thumb rhythmically circling your clit as his tongue hits every spot inside you in a pattern that has you turning to liquid underneath him, your legs hooking together behind his back to keep him right there, and your vision goes white as Steve brings you towards your release.

You let out a cry as you hit your climax, and Steve dutifully guides you through your orgasm, murmuring soft praises the whole time.

“Such a good girl for me,” he murmurs as he pulls away, mouth glistening and pupils dilated wide. Your hand cards through his soft brown waves, chest heaving as you catch your breath. Steve brushes gentle kisses to your inner thigh, your hipbone, your stomach, following a path up to capture your lips with his own, swallowing the contented sigh you let out.

He pulls away, meeting your gaze with a smile as he pecks your nose.

“Feelin’ better?”

You hum contentedly, “Much.” Your thumb comes up to stroke his cheek as you pointedly glance down, “What about you?”

Steve lets out a mock-annoyed groan, forehead coming down to rest on your shoulder.

“Baby, we just went over the whole thing about you not needing to take care of everyone.”

He lifts his head, meeting your gaze, “Seriously, though,” he presses a kiss to your cheek, rolling to lay next to you and pulling you into his chest, “I’m fine. This was about you, and I’m so glad I could help take care of you for once.”

You cup his cheek, turning his face to yours. You hope he can see every sincere, tender thought in your expression as you simply say, “Thank you.”

“Anything for you, sweetheart. You know that.” He murmurs in response, lips quirking up into a small smile as he turns to press a quick kiss to your palm.

“So,” he says, fingers stroking through your hair, nudging your eyes closed, “nap time and then appetizer dinner? We’ve got mozzarella sticks and some chicken tenders I can throw in the oven.”

You grin, despite already being half-asleep, “That sounds perfect.”

You can feel his smile as he presses a kiss to your forehead.

“I love you.”

“I love you more.”

“I love you most.”

“I love you infinity.”

“I love you infinity plus one”

“I love you—”

“Alright, let’s call it a tie, babe.”

Tagging a couple friends! Hi besties @austin-butlers-gf @sassy-ahsoka-tano @dontbesussis

#steve harrington blurb #steve harrington fic #steve harrington x reader #steve harrington smut #steve harrington fanfic #stranger things fic #stranger things smut #my writing #sage writes

[recreationalfanfics]

can i request buddha, Hercules, jack and Brunhilde with douma or kokushibou reader please ❤

So this is a Yandere request but here's a TWIST: The Kokushibo! Reader just being incredibly loyal to Brunhilde as they were with Muzan and seeing her as their new master.

Many human champions were summoned back from when they were in their prime...no one ever said that a demon couldn't be the prime for a human who was turned into one. Göll cowers next to her sister in fear as Brunhilde watches the man- no...the demon manifest. She would have chosen their brother, but the malice and anger they carried with them until their death would perhaps make them just a bit more hungrier to see a gods blood stain their blade and make it more likely for them to win. Once it fully manifests, it walks in front of Brunhilde, they look at Brunhilde before kneeling before her.

"I am at your command, My Lady."

Yandere! Brunhilde:

- You quickly become her right hand man...demon?? and her favorite out of all the other champions, while she loves Göll, it can be tiring to constantly hear her crying and cowering. With you, she felt calm. With you, she felt her head become clearer. She felt drawn to you, incredibly so.

- Brunhilde herself is a manipulative Yandere but considering you pledged your undying allegiance to her, it makes her obsession with you grow as well. The fact you also will do whatever she asks without question makes her heart flutter and reassure her that nothing will steal you away from her.

- You're also a warrior like her, you've seen battle and you've seen blood. You are aware of the sacrifices that must be maid and that each battle results in Brunhilde losing her sisters painfully, maybe when you were resurrected you started to feel a bit more than you did as a demon and you'd put a hand on her and comfort her.

- You do also keep her a bit more composed when she gets short tempered or sighted and assuring her that she still has you and she looks at you and her eyes soften.

- Right...she has you. You. You. You.

- When your fight happens, she preforms the Völundr with you, to ensure you don't get hurt and you're motivated to keep your Lady Brunhilde safe.

- You don't know the way you make her giggle when you say that stuff. When you call her YOUR Lady, she isn't used to getting such respect from God's so she never expected to get it from a demon. You're polite as you are strong.

- She hates it when other women or men come up to you, they think they can steal you away! So she stands there, looking very upset, and you tend to her immediately.

- You are not dumb, you may be aware of her Yandere tendencies and regardless of how you feel; you promised her your loyalty and that is what she will receive. She brought you back to life after all...a second chance to prove to humanity you're worth more than your brother.

- Also if you have multiple eyes, that is so chill with her tbh. Like, if you let her she will kiss you on each eyelid to show you just how much she loves you if you start to feel insecure but also, like, you sense there is a certain possessiveness in those kisses.

Yandere! Jack the Ripper:

- What a curious creature you are indeed. He saw Brunhilde introduce you and while most people were hesitant to work with a demon, he was more than pleased. Then he saw your color...

- What a noble color it is, truly, it dazzled him. Such strength and such nobility even if you were a creature forsaken by God and driven by bitter jealousy.

- Jack tries his best to speak with you, when you train or when you enjoy some tea to yourself. He's simply fascinated by you: by your appearance, to the anger and loathing you hold in your heart, to your composure.

- He simply admired you, was fascinated with you, obsessed with you. However, it appears that only Lady Brunhilde was your main concern. You weren't mindlessly loyal to her and he understands being grateful but you would die for her and it honestly irked Jack off a bit.

- She was willing to have her own friend killed for the sake of humanity and while Jack was fighting to save it as well, it bothered him how you could be the next peice on her chessboard she could sacrifice.

- He doesn't understand it, how could you be so loyal and trusting of someone like her...unless there was another reason...you didn't love her, did you? The answer was "no", you were simply obeying her, but he just can't help it but feel sick when he sees you standing next to her. Her whispering into your ear, most likely battle strategies and looking at her like she was the important thing in the world.

- Jack knows he can't exactly hurt you nor Brunhilde, plus with the current events fighting between themselves wouldn't exactly be a strategic advantage and only cost them everything.

- You're so stoic all the time, he's heard your backstory and he understands why, but if you soften up or become more expressive to Brunhilde then it just confirms his fears. If you're more tender and soft with him then he feels like crying tears of joy. Does this mean you see him as precious to your heart as he sees you?

- He feels like he understands you, better than anyone here. Both of you driven by your families to become the monsters you are. Both of you died tragically, alone, and as either traitor or heartless but both sharing the title of ruthless killers.

Yandere! Hercules:

- Okay so let's say he and Jack's battle ended in a draw, he confronts Brunhilde for using a serial killer to represent humanity and you just see some big man coming towards your Lady looking very hostile.

- You draw your sword and put it to his chest, narrowing your eyes and daring him to come any closer. It takes him a while to realize what you are and when he does, he glares at Brunhilde.

- "First a killer and now a demon?" He glares, his gaze hardening. You simply warn him to mind his tounge but Brunhilde assures you that Hercules will not harm her and you listen to her and bow your head in apology.

- Which he didn't expect. After all, demons are supposed to be heartless killers who preyed on humans, yet you seemed to be genuine with your apology and remained silent. Of course, that wasn't enough to change his mind about you and how he didn't think you'd deserve to represent humanity, but it was enough where he grew curious about you.

- His obsession with you grew over the next few interactions that you two have with each other. Yes you're appearance may be off putting to most but there was also something about you that Hercules could never seem to get off his mind. The way you didn't seem to look down on your fellow humans and followed them silently, the amount of respect you had towards the Gods and their abilities, not really hating them like how your fellow humans did.

- There have been times where you seem to show human emotions. Such as concern with Okita gets coerced into fighting that instigator of a God, Loki, and you help heal him with such care and precision. Hercules honestly is surprised to see an ounce of humanity within you.

- He loves Brunhilde like a sister, he truly does, but even he can't deny that she has her wicked schemes and while she seems to hold you in high regard, he worries about your safety. Perhaps he challenges you to a friendly fight, since he's seen your strength and Blood Demon Art at work, and he tries to convince you.

- Convince you to not be so loyal to Brunhilde, that you'd simply be just another sacrifice in her game of chess, and that she wouldn't really care about you. He gets increasingly frustrated in the fight because you're quite adamant on ignoring him and saying you're aware. This causes him to be a bit more brutal in his battle with you.

- He stops when he sees that he's injured you, regret and guilt for what he's done as he helps you up and promises it was an accident. Hercules will help you but seeing your hurt is horrible and he made his own fears come true, that the other God's would do something 10x as worse to you.

- I think he'd kidnap you after this, since you both are on completely different sides so he can't keep an eye on you unlike the other two. So he genuinely just wants to keep you safe and he will apologize but he won't let you leave. You don't understand how dangerous this battle is and Brunhilde could always put someone else in your place...just, anyone but you.

#SORRY I DIDN'T INCLUDE BUDDHA BUT I GOT OVERWHELMED WITH THE CHARACTERS. #record of ragnarok #record of ragnarok x reader #ror x reader #shuumatsu no valkyrie x reader #snv x reader #tw yandere #yandere brunhilde x reader #yandere jack the ripper x reader #yandere hercules x reader #ror brunhilde x reader #ror jack the ripper x reader #ror hercules x reader

[qqueenofhades]

as a starting history major i wanna ask how do you read/evaluate academic history papers/books? i'm trying to avoid just blindly agreeing with whatever the author is writing because it seems correct. how can you tell what is good scholarship and what is more shaky?

This is a great question for you as a freshman history major to ask (many of my toiling colleagues and I can attest that we wish more of you would!) and shows that you're already taking initiative and investment in your studies and want to be the best prepared you can. So truly -- thank you! Us on the faculty/staff/administrative end of academia can feel as if we are pouring into an empty bucket at times, and it's always gratifying to hear otherwise. We really appreciate it.

As a college freshman and/or underclassman (or so I'm assuming) your first job is learning how to collect basic information from the things you read, collate and cite them accurately, and make them converse intelligently with each other in an entry-level piece of academic writing (such as an essay responding to an assigned prompt). So before you have to worry about understanding complex nuance and granular-level fact-checking, the first step is just getting comfortable with academic forms, styles, and conventions. There's an occasional anti-intellectual strand of thinking that pops up on Tumblr, basically insisting that everyone everywhere should be able to understand everything in fifth-grade words and if not then it's Elitist Gatekeeping, but this is a symptom of TikTok brainrot where people's brains have been literally rewired to only process spoon-fed chunks of incredibly simplistic (and uh, often wrong) information, and literally can't parse anything longer, even if it's written in accessible language. Yes, many academics are not necessarily great writers, but you also have to let go of the mindset that you can speed-read once and understand everything. You will need to slow down, take your time, and make a note of concepts that are confusing or that you want to double-check, words you need to look up, and things that make you say "hmm I should look into that more," whether because you're interested or they seem questionable. I always read academic texts or papers (I prefer hard copy, because I am Fucking Old) with a pen in hand, because if I don't, I often feel like I didn't read it at all.

Basically, this is an interactive process between you and the text, and requires you to develop a different kind of reading mentality than just buzzing through a novel or fanfic for pleasure. You have to expect that it will take time and that if you regularly skive off the readings, you won't be prepared for class, your professors will be annoyed, and you won't be able to write good essays, because you haven't engaged with the material. In your case, it sounds like that will be less of a problem, because you are eager to know how to do it right, but I can tell you from my experience that nothing frustrates us more than students who just won't do the reading (and you know, use ChatGPT to write their essays) because then what are you even DOING here? What do you want to get out of this? Why are you wasting your precious tuition money like this? Yes, you probably have to fill a requirement, but STILL. It's disrespectful to your teacher, who has invested a lot of effort in being here to help you with this and doesn't want you to just quit because it looks hard, and your peers, and to you. So anyway, /Captain Holt voice/ apparently that's a trigger for me. Basically, if you learn nothing else from this ask: please do the reading. Even if it's only to admit you need more help or want to talk about this concept in class or otherwise take advantage of all the structures that are in fact there to help you understand it! Thankee.

Likewise, because you're an underclassman, you have an advantage in that your teacher will select the class readings for you ahead of time. That means you will be receiving things that a professional has already checked, decided are useful and trustworthy, and you don't have to do independent research and vetting yourself (that will come if you decide for some godforsaken reason to pursue graduate and/or doctoral study). So you don't need to spend tons of extra time and effort deciding if the sources given to you in class are reliable on a basic and functional level; your professor has already done the work for you to make sure that they are. Your job is now to read those sources, keep a record of what they say (hence the aforementioned pen or other way to make quick notes) and figure out how to put them together in an essay. For example, if Author A cites Factor A as, say, the main cause of the fall of the Western Roman Empire, and Author B insists that Factor B was in fact more critical, what is your best approach to reconciling that information? You would search in the rest of those texts to see what else they say in support of their position, and you would probably end up with a qualified statement to the effect of, "While Author A argues A, Author B thinks B, representing the lack of consensus and the difficulty in attributing one single cause to an event as complicated as the fall of Rome." (And then because you're smart, you would go on to mention Byzantium and the Eastern Roman Empire and show that you are aware of the further context.) All of which is true! Historians do that all the time! You don't need to select THE RIGHT ANSWER and vigorously discredit all other theories, ever, and we tend to look suspiciously on people who do (cough cough Philippa Langley).

In other words, we are certainly not expecting you as a freshman, and even as a more advanced student, to be able to pick out ONE ANSWER from the material. We just want to see evidence that you have in fact read it, are able to evaluate and place theories side by side and possibly make a judgment as to which one you find more compelling, and also to properly cite where you got that information. We've seen a lot recently about plagiarism and that being the pretext on which Harvard president Claudine Gay was forced to resign (which is a whole other can of worms, but never mind). A lot of professors think that saying "Don't Do Plagiarism" is enough, but then don't explain what it is and the different forms it can take. It's not just a matter of copying verbatim chunks of someone else's work (or you know, ALL OF IT, like certain recently discredited YouTube scumbags) and acting like it's your own. If you are relying substantially on someone else's work, whether in their wording, arguments, conclusions, structure, or anything else, even if you've changed some of the words (yep, still plagiarism!), that needs to be cited appropriately according to the relevant style guide. Direct quotes from anyone need to go in quotation marks or indented blocks and have the author cited immediately afterward. History usually uses Chicago, MLA, or MHRA, and you can find cheat sheets for how to do that online. It's a pretty simple and straightforward style, and your professor will be extra impressed.

If you're expected to do an independent project or a senior research thesis, as some undergraduate history students do, then it will come when you have already had three years of experience in reading, evaluating, and writing historical scholarship, you will probably have a faculty member assigned to you for one-on-one mentoring and personalized feedback sessions, and they will be able to provide suggestions and support for useful sources. So even then, you still don't have to do it entirely on your own. They'll probably also be MORE than happy to debate with you which ones are good and which ones are suspect, because it's all a part of developing your ability to flex that muscle for yourself. (And as noted, faculty members Will Have Strong Opinions.) That likewise doesn't mean you just have to copy whatever they say (at least if you have a good teacher who wants you to think for yourself and not just be a mini-clone of their pet theories), but it means that by the time you reach that stage, you will have been prepared enough to feel confident in taking more steps on your own. I think not enough people realize that studying history (or anything, really) isn't just throwing you out there and being like "tough luck sucker, do it all yourself."

That's why academia is so collaborative, why plenty of historians with doctorates and tenure will still have to say "I don't know, let me get back to you" when someone asks them a question at a conference, and you don't have to fear that if you don't have The One Right Answer, you will be immediately exposed as a fraud and thrown out. History as a discipline is also moving away from the 19th-century German approach that attempted to systematize it as a singular social science with One Right Answer, and to focus more on multiple perspectives and incomplete answers. That's why the goal is not necessarily to know everything (which alas, is impossible), but to make better sense of what we can know and search for ways in which the existing record is flawed and needs to be revised, expanded, or reworked with new perspectives (which have existed all this time, but haven't been privileged by the white male western academy for the obvious reasons). And that work is fun and important! I don't want you to be scared of getting to that point, because someone will be there to support you the whole way and by the time you do, it will make sense to you in a way it probably doesn't right now, just because it's a new skill and like any new skill, it takes a long time to learn and to be able to apply confidently, consistently, and at a high level. And plenty of us who do it as a career still often have to say "I don't know, let me ask Dr. So-and-so who specializes in this," so yeah. It's a process of becoming comfortable with both learning how to answer what we can, and to ask others for help with that, and it never really ends. Which is the fun part. There's so much more to do.

Good luck!

#anonymous #ask #history #school stuff #academia: not even once

[sparrowofthedawnsworld]

Princess Of The Prisoner - Pirate!Jake Kiszka AU

A/N: I’m BACK!! And god, is it good to be. I’ve missed you all so, so much. I thank you all for your patience and endless support. You all mean the world to me <3 I hope you all enjoy this - finally. I love you! (Only lightly edited for the moment).

WARNINGS: Semi-light Violence, bl00d, unconsciousness, fighting, use of weapons.

This is MAJOR 18+ Minors DNI! AT ALL. Bondage, kn!fe play, edging/orgasm denial, light overstimulation, fingering (F), oral (F&M receiving), choking, slapping, degradation, unprotected sex (be smart, be safe!)

Masterlist

•••

“I am no where near equipped for what you are asking of me.” You speak firmly to your father, fighting the intense urge to stomp your foot against the shiny, glassy floor like that of a child.

“If I didn’t see you fit, I would not send you.” Your father says to you, sounding just as sure of his plan as ever.

As always.

“I will not be used as bait for one of your enemies.” You straighten your back, holding his blazing and frustrated stare. “You’ve lost your sanity, father.”

“I have not asked you, I have told you what you are to do.” He remains stubborn and firm. “I expect him here no later than morning. Don’t disappoint me, dearest. Now, you best be off.”

Your face twists in the purest form of anger as you turn away from your father to leave him be at his throne. You storm across the palace, back to your own room.

“How could he put me in such a dangerous position?” you mutter to yourself, gathering up a new dress to change into for your days journey.

“Sending me off to find some god forsaken ship, to hunt down a man for him,” you continue to ramble to no one other than yourself and the over-decorated walls.

Or, so you think.

“Let me guess-“ The cook of your palace stands in your doorway. You have grown quite close with her, given she is one of the few women around anymore. “-You’re being sent off on a mission, per your father’s orders again?”

“Yes,” you sigh heavily, undoing your corset. “I must be off shortly. I’m essentially being used as bait for the captain of some ship, Jacob Kiszka.”

Her eyes look as though they are going to fall out of her head, “Do you not realize who that is, Princess?”

“I haven’t the first clue who he is, no,” you admit.

All you know is that his ship would be arriving sooner rather than later, and Jacob is after a specific sword of your father’s. You are not sure why the sword is so significant, all you know is that Jacob is indeed after it.

“I’m sure he’s some gross old man-“

“Far from it, actually. He’s quite young if I remember correctly,” she informs you, laughing lightly at your shocked expression.

“Young?” you scoff in disbelief. “There is no possible way…”

“Oh, but there is. He could only be a few years older than you,” she continues and laughs lightly at you, unintentionally adding to your frustration more. “Not to say that I am at all on board with your father using you, but I understand why he’s asked you. He’s just a young lad.”

“This is just absolutely ridiculous,” you huff. “Sending me off to capture some boy, who could probably still kill me with one hand, regardless of age!” Your arms flail around you in dramatic emphasis. “How do you even know this information about him?”

“He’s actually quite well known,” she answers, eyes falling to the floor. “But… how I know him personally is not relevant.”

A heavy silence falls over the two of you for a moment.

“I know very well that your father has taught you to be an incredible fighter,” she speaks up, softly breaking the silence. “…Perhaps if you’re truly so worried, you should take another man with you. Daniel, maybe?”

You think on her suggestion for a moment, ultimately deciding it isn’t a bad idea after all.

“Will you please retrieve him for me?”

“Of course, Princess.” She nods to you politely. “I should not distract you any further. Good luck to you, dear.. I shall send for Daniel for you at once.”

“Thank you,” you mumble under your breath, sending her a rather forced smile.

Gathering the rest of your things, you are going off to find Daniel yourself, but you realize he has finally come to you, by the soft knock at your door.

“Princess,” he greets with a charming nod of his head and a smile that can undoubtedly melt the coldest souls. “It was brought to me that you are in need of my assistance.”

“Yes,” you start, casting him your undivided attention, just as he is giving to you. “My father wants me to capture this Captain…Jacob Kiszka. He is after something of his and Father wants him taken care right away.”

“With all respect, Princess, shouldn’t you be demanding he send someone else to do such a job?” Daniel’s face turns immensely concerned and fearful on your behalf. “Jacob is a very skilled and clever man. You have no business-“

“-I’ve tried to change his mind all I can, but you know how he is,” you speak warily, cutting him off. “But that’s why I’ve asked for you. I would love for you to join me.”

Daniel’s eyes widen and the Adams apple of his throat bobbed as he swallowed thickly.

“Princess, I truly don’t think this is-“

“-I have no other choice, Daniel!” You firmly cut him off once again. “Now… Are you coming, or are you going to stay here as though you are some sort of coward?”

Daniel is far from a coward and you know that without a doubt, but you have to convince him somehow.

“When are we to depart?” He caves, speaking through a sigh of defeat.

“Right now.” You nod curtly, grabbing your belongings and walking right past him.

He mumbles to himself from behind you, taking long strides to keep up alongside you, “What have I gotten myself into…?”

“Just look at it as an adventure, Daniel,” you jest in attempts to lighten the mood.

“And suppose one of us gets hurt? What shall happen then?” Daniel questions rapidly, speeding up to reach the door of the palace before you. “Ah! Do not dare to touch that door.”

“I am about to capture a thief and you are concerned about me opening but a single door?” you chide lightly, cocking an eyebrow as he opens the door for you anyway.

You step out first, waiting patiently for him to follow after you.

“And stop thinking in such worrisome ways,” you add, once he joins at your side. “You are quite frankly putting a thorn in my side.”

Your light teasing brings a small smile to Daniel’s face and he huffs a soft laugh before changing the subject entirely.

“How would you like to travel, princess?”

“On foot,” you tell him, taking off in the direction of the area in which Jacob and his ship are suspected to be coming to.

He looks at you with shock filled eyes, “Alright, you are officially out of all of your senses.”

“It is not that far from here,” you roll your eyes, the pair of you walking farther away from the palace. “They’re going to anchor at the closest point they can, but far enough away as to not be perceived from the palace.”

“And how can you be so sure?” He’s full of never ending questions.

“Enough questions, Daniel, seriously,” you sigh in slight annoyance. “It would be in your best interest to simply trust me.”

The two of you walk in silence for quite some time, taking in the nature around you and putting mental marks on things that you walked by, as to not leave any chance of getting lost on your journey back.

“How much farther are we going, Princess?” Daniel breaks down and asks yet another question.

You open your mouth to answer him, but the sounds of various voices shouting about, swiftly interrupt you.

“Stop.” You place your hand out to stop Daniel in his tracks beside to you. “Voices. I hear voices. Do you hear them, Daniel?”

He looks around, listening intently and after a moment or two, the same shouting fills his ears as well.

“I hear them.” Daniel nods, confirming that you are not losing your sanity.

Quickly, you put your plan of attack into motion.

“Daniel, whatever you do, do not leave my side.” You tell him, giving a curt nod as you made your way towards the tree line that followed the edge of the river bank.

The closer you get, the louder the voices become and the more your nerves threaten to overtake you.

You and Danny make your way through the trees, stopping just out of view of the surprisingly nice ship haphazardly docked just before the shoreline.

A beautiful, fit and young man treads his way through the shallow water and up on to the sand, looking far more put together than the rest of the crew surrounding him.

“That must be him…” you point towards him, Daniel’s eyes following your index finger. He nods, confirming your guess.

“Princess, please, let me take care of this?” Daniel pleads quietly. “There are far too many of them to take on alone.”

“Nonsense. I shall do what I was sent to do,” you insist. “We must figure out how to capture him without the rest witnessing. They will surely come looking, if they see us leave with him.”

“Not to mention that we walked here,” Daniel reminds you. “I suppose that means I will be carrying him back, surely?”

“You have always been incredibly smart,” you tease and answer his question all at once.

“Now, then! Now, then!”

Soft gasps are shared between you and Daniel, as who you presume was Jacob, starts to loudly gather in his crew.

“Now that I have the undivided attention of all of you dandy crewmen, I shall be off in attempts to get in to the King’s palace at once!” he begins to explain, voice somehow much louder and firmer than you expected it to be. “I hate to break one’s heart, but all of you are to return to the ship and remain there until I return! I cannot risk my plans being tampered with. Am I clear to all of you?!”

They all express their understanding in almost perfect unison.

“That will be all, then! Please, return to the ship right away!”

Like well trained animals, everyone files back to the ship as Jake stands around to watch on, ensuring not one person is staying behind.

He is so breathtaking… It almost drowns out the hatred that you already hold for him.

You shake your intrusive thoughts of the captain away, putting on your brave face to continue on with a new plan.

“Come, Daniel!” you yell in a whisper, creeping your way back out of the trees.

“Come on!”

Once you both make it out, he begins his frantic questioning once more, “What ever are we doing now, princess?!”

“Hush,” you silence him. “We must go back towards the palace. I believe it best that we ambush him there.”

He simply shakes his head in understanding, glancing over his shoulder quickly to be sure no one has spotted either of you and is following.

You stop at the bushes near the entrance of the palace, breathing heavily and shaking your head in exasperation as the two of you duck down out of sight.

Daniel lets out a frustrated and tired huff. “We are back where we started, princess. I’m starting to question your oh-so elaborate planning.”

“You are being such a sore thumb today. I beg of you to just do as I say.” You send him a pleading look.

Silence fills the air around the two of you for a while, until the cracking of rocks beneath boots captures Daniel’s attention.

“Princess,” he nudges at your shoulder. “The Captain is upon us.”

You peak through the flowers and leaves, eyeing him as he makes his way carefully up the path.

You catch yourself gawking at him again; the way he walks, his long tresses and the beautiful dagger hanging from a strap across his chest.

“Your majesty, please,” Daniel begs, knocking you from your trance. “Please, tell me what you want me to do.”

“I… I want you to wait until he walks by us. If we stay here, he won’t see us right away. Once he passes, we will attack from behind. I need him unconscious,” you explain quickly. “Once he is unconscious, I will tie his hands and you shall help me carry him to the cells.”

Just as you finish and Daniel gives you his quick, verbal understanding, Jake passes through the gates and bushes, slowing his pace and ducking every so often to avoid possibly being seen.

“I will tell you when,” you whisper into Daniel’s ear and he nods once.

The captain walks a few more feet up the pathway, ducking down behind a rose bush and unsheathing his dagger from its case.

Daniel copies him, pulling his own dagger from its casing.

“Now,” you mutter with unbridled urgency.

Daniel has Jake plummeting to the ground within seconds. You watch on for only a moment, before fear takes over and you feel the need to join him.

Groans and curses are being hurled between them, swings and bone crushing punches being thrown along with their noises of pain.

Jake holds his dagger backwards, swinging the handle towards the side of Daniel’s head.

“NO!”

You bolt towards them, taking Jake to the ground upon your collision - sparing Daniel of the bone-crushing blow that was mere seconds away from colliding with the temple of his head.

Daniel recovers rather quickly, throwing you off of Jake and taking your place on top of him.

One strong and well-timed swing from Danial is all it takes and the Captain falls limp against the ground as he goes unconscious.

Daniel falls away from him, chest heaving and covered in small droplets of blood here and there. His hand clutches over his chest, as he fights to recenter himself.

“Are you alright?” you ask frantically, pulling the rope from around your waist and tying it securely around the Captain’s hands.

“Just perfect, Princess,” Daniel chuckles sarcastically, dusting himself off as he stands to his feet. “Here, allow me.”

“I think not.” You swat his hand away. “Rest for another moment. I will take care of this.”

Once you have the knots tied, you stand up and let Daniel take over again. He scoops him up like a rag doll, throwing him over his shoulder as though the Captain weighs little to nothing.

You bend down and pick up Jake’s dagger, shoving it down into your pocket and following after Daniel as he starts making his way up towards the palace.

“How long do you think he will stay unconscious?” you ask, making your way through the lower levels of the palace.

“Not much longer, I’m afraid.” Daniel answers, stopping at the large cell at the end of the cold, dimly lit hallway.

“Just put him on the bed. I shall take it from here.” You order rather gently, confident that he can’t hurt you from behind the bars of the cell.

“As you wish.”

Daniel drops him down onto the bed and unties him carefully, tossing the rope to the side thoughtlessly as he goes.

Just as he finishes Jake lets out a low groan of discomfort and Daniel quickly makes his was back out of the cell.

You close the door and lock it, watching Jake for a moment to find that he is still mostly out of it, when there isn’t another sound to be heard from him.

“Do you wish for me to inform your father that we have the Captain?”

“No!” You look up to Daniel with panic-filled eyes. “I will tell him myself. He doesn’t know that you accompanied me and I would rather him not.”

“Understandable, Princess,” Daniel says. “I shall keep my doings to myself.”

“I am most grateful for you,” you smile up at him, placing a gentle hand on his bicep. “Thank you.”

Removing your hand from his arm, Daniel brings it up to his lips in a gentle kiss as he bows, “You are most welcome, your majesty.”

He releases your hand, standing upright and beginning his way down the hallway.

Before he gets too far, he turns back to face you with a serious look. “Princess?”

You whip around to face him also, “Yes, Daniel?”

“If anything is to happen and you need my assistance again, you know where I reside.”

Not awaiting an answer - knowing you understand without having to say so out loud - he disappears through the large door. The loud sounds of it closing sends an eerie echo around the concrete walls and floor.

You slowly turn back towards the cell, watching and listening to Jake intently for any signs of movement or noise.

“Bloody hell,” Jake’s voice rumbles in a low groan, his arms struggling to push his weight away from the bed he is sprawled across.

He finally gets himself upright, looking around in a pure panic at his surroundings.

Stumbling up to his feet, he spins around and freezes in place when his eyes land upon you.

“Oh, well is this not just lovely?” you speak rather tauntingly. “The captain is finally awake.”

“And you are?” Jake saunters up to the door, rough hands wrapping around the cold bars.

“Princess of The Garden, at- well… I am not at your service,” you stumble over your formalities, forgetting that you owe him not a single one. “Not much of a kingdom we have around here, more so a small, royal family on secluded land.”

“I am very well aware of practically all of that.” Jake bites matter-of-factly, full of anger.

There are a few moments of intense silence, the loud and unsteady breathing from Jake being the only constant sound.

“Would you be so kind as to remind me how I managed to get here?” Jake questions bitterly, clearly trying to contain his rage.

“Me,” you smile at him with hardly contained pride. “Well, me and another accomplice.”

“Quite weak of you to have to bring a companion along just to capture me.” Jake smirks, his face noticeably contorting in discomfort as he assesses with his fingertips, the bruises that Daniel had left on his jaw. “Someone ought to teach you how to fight.”

“You know nothing about my fighting skills,” you say dryly, sending him a death glare through the bars of the cell. “I would be a fool to travel alone, regardless of how well I fight.”

“You seem to be a bit of a fool anyway,” Jake chuckles, glancing up at you with bold eyes.

If you could smack him across his careless mouth, you absolutely would.

“Letting your father send you into such danger…” Jake shakes his head, giving you a judgmental once-over. He turns and walks towards the hard bed in the corner. “You aren’t cut out for such violence.”

“I wish you would stop speaking as if you know me.” Your arms cross over your chest. It isn’t a very good response, but it is as good of one as you can seem to gather. “You know absolutely nothing about me.”

Jake ignores the comment entirely.

“If I may ask, why are you still lingering, princess?”

The name falling of his tongue is like a drug. The most addictive drug one could find. Somehow he makes the most flattering and important name, sound so degrading.

You stand frozen in place for a few moments too long, struggling to find a genuine reason for staying around - of which you do not have.

He hums to himself, head tilting back slightly, “Just as I thought. You haven’t any good reason.”

You open your mouth to attempt some sort of protest.

“If I may, your majesty,” Jake stands to his feet and saunters back to the door. “You are quite the gem. So exquisite and beautiful…” he trails off for a moment, a sly grin spreading over his lips as he looks over you. “Too bad you are too feisty and disobedient for my liking.”

Your whole body begins to boil with various emotions; you’re flustered, angry and immensely intrigued by him. He is setting you ablaze in a foul, but irresistible way.

“And… you are much too disrespectful for my taste,” you seethe, faltering for a moment so short, you hope it goes unnoticed. “Speaking to royalty in such a despicable manner…”

“And yet, the royalty herself, seems to be enjoying it.” Jake grins wickedly.

You can’t tell if it’s your body’s attempt to be intimidating, or seeking closer proximity to Jake. Regardless, without really thinking, you step forward, “What makes you believe for a second that I am enjoying any part of this?”

“Many reasons, Princess…” Jake starts, speaking low and hushed. “You’ve taken at the very least five steps closer to this door. You could have left the second your… ‘accomplice’ dropped me in here.”

“You are terribly-“

“-Quiet, Princess. I don’t take well to being interrupted.” Jake cuts you off abruptly, holding up a single finger that you can not seem to tear your eyes away from. “I would almost say you enjoy being spoken to this way, don’t you? Everyone gets tiresome with constantly hearing praises… And I’m sure praise is all you know, is it not?”

“Perhaps.” The word leaves your mouth bitter and clipped. He is very much right - you both know that very well.

“Mhm, as I thought.” Jake grips the bars of the door above his head, leaning forward as far as he can go. “You know… I could show you so much more. Make you feel so much more.”

“And what could you possibly be hinting at with such words, Captain?” you question, attempting to throw his title back at him the same he had yours. Only to sound much more breathy than you intend.

“If only I had the keys to open this-“ He gestures to the large door, the only thing keeping the two of you separated. “-I could show you much better than I could ever tell you, your majesty.”

“Never in a million years would I consider letting you out,” you scoff, shoving the key that is now damp from your sweating hands, back into your pocket.

“Who said anything about letting me go?” Jake asks you. “Just join me. You have the key to leave whenever you so please.”

“And… if I do choose to join you…?” You narrow your eyes, taking in his blown out pupils and all the little details surrounding them.

“Then I shall do just as I have said and show you things you will never forget.” Jake promises lowly, leaning in closer. “Things you will never want to forget,” he adds.

Your faces are as close as they can possibly be, you can feel the warmth of his breath as he speaks to you.

Without once looking away from him, you hastily retrieve the key from your pocket and unlock the door.

Jake steps back, allowing you the proper space to slide the door open just enough to squeeze your body through and get into the cell with him.

You turn around and close the door, closing your eyes for a split second in attempts to slow your pounding heart and process what you have just done.

As you turn around to finally face Jake, he immediately outstretches his hand towards you and bows before you ever-so-slightly.

Hesitantly, you place your shaking, sweating hand in his and he brings it up to his lips, “‘Tis quite the pleasure, Princess.”

Jake places the first kiss to the top of your hand, holding your stunned gaze. He shifts his hold up to your wrist, his lips following and placing another kiss higher up.

He continues the same actions, kissing all the way up your arm, until his hand reaches your shoulder and his face is inches from yours.

Slowly, he backs you up until you can feel the uncomfortable firmness of metal bars against your back.

“You are truly quite the brave one for joining me.” Jake whispers against your ear. “Just to make things sort of even, I fully plan to tease you until you’re begging and pleading for my mercy.”

“And what leads you to believe I would ever beg someone like you?” You tilt your head back defiantly.

Jake only smirks In amusement, “Is that a challenge?”

“If you can make me beg, I will let you go and tell my father you didn’t dock where he expected,” you bet with him rather smugly… and stupidly.

“My, my. The princess is going to beg me like a whore and lie to her father?” Jake tsks with a faux disappointed shake of his head. “It seems I have corrupted the sweet, royal, princess already. And suppose your accomplice -as you called him- goes back and tells him…? What lie should be grand enough to cover us then?”

His nose is practically brushing against your own, a tension so unbearable further blooming between the two of you.

“T-That is not his place. My father didn’t know that I took him, nor will he. I asked Daniel not to speak of his hand in helping me, or even that we have you,” you inform him truthfully. “It was my duty to capture you and bring you here, not his. I shall be the one to tell my father what it is he must know.”

“Well, then, I suppose I can have my way with you.” Jake purrs, teasing his lips over yours. “Is that what you want, your majesty?”

“So many words and promises, but you’ve yet to show me a thing.” You just barely chase after his lips.

Grabbing each side of your face with both of his large and calloused hands, Jake connects his lips with yours roughly.

It takes you a moment to catch up to his pace, especially with losing every bit of air from your lungs within the very second his lips met yours. Your tongues move against each other, fighting for dominance as whimpers flutter from you and into his warm mouth.

He pulls away, breathless and practically hissing out his next words, “Sweet, sweet princess. You do not know a bit of what you have in store for yourself. Stay right there.”

Jake steps back from you with a finger pointed to the floor where you stand, bending down to pick up a lengthy piece of rope that you and Daniel had him tied up with not so long ago.

“Do you trust me?” There’s a twinkle in his eyes, amusement behind them as he asks you the ridiculous question.

You stare down at the rope outstretched before you - shocked, but you remain shamefully aroused by it all the same.

“Trust- trust you? You are nothing but a complete stranger,” your voice wavers.

“Nonsense. We have spent at least few hours in one another’s presence, now, haven’t we?” His crooked smile sends waves of heat to your core. “Stranger? yes, in some sense. But I’m not a complete stranger anymore.”

You drop your eyes from his, back down to the rope in his hands. Jake pushes it out a little closer to you, eyes deeply studying your cautious but curious face.

Slowly, you lift your hands up and lay your wrists over top of his hands, looking up at him in question as if to say, ‘is this right?’

Jake holds your burning stare and starts to wrap the rope around your wrists, binding them together tightly, but still comfortably somehow.

“Outstanding,” Jake hums, walking off to a corner where another small piece of rope has been discarded.

“Just one last thing,”

Jake makes his way back over to you, placing a hand on your shoulder and pushing you back a few steps until your back collides with the cold metal bars.

His hand travels from your shoulder, down your arm, until it reaches the rope around your wrists. Grabbing it, he watches your breath quicken as he lifts your arms up and over your head, securing them to the bars with a second piece of rope.

“Mm-“ you clear your throat nervously. “-And how do you presume you will be able to remove my dress in such a position?”

“Lovely of you to inquire,” Jake smiles wildly, pressing his body against yours and leaning in closer to your ear. “I just so happened to see this-“ his hand travels the corseted curve of your side, dipping into your pocket. “-the handle of my dagger shining, while you were standing outside the cell. Not only are you a princess, but a little thief.”

“Well- I...” you stutter weakly, feeling mindless for forgetting to leave it with Daniel.

“You what?” Jake presses, biting at the shell of your ear.

Your only response is your labored breathing, unable to form an intelligible response.

He unsheathes his beautiful dagger from your pocket, resting it over your chest.

“You think too little of my schemes, princess.” He places a kiss over your nose. “I already planned to take my dagger back to use just for this moment. Why take your clothes off with my tired hands, when I could cut them off?”

“Jake,” his name rushes out of your lungs in a heavy sigh.

He grabs you by the waist, turning you around to face the bars and skillfully cut the strings of your corset.

Turning you back around to face him, he pulls it off of your body with ease and continues on with cutting away at your other garments.

Each piece is slowly pulled from you, neatly cut and haphazardly tossed to the side by Jake’s calloused hands.

As he yanks the last piece away, you are then completely naked before him - eyes never lifting to meet his burning gaze upon you.

“Breathtaking, your majesty,” Jake all but whispers, seemingly a little lost in the site that he is beholding.

You draw in a deep breath, exhaling it even slower than the slowness at which you had taken it in, “I’m sure I look far more suitable than anyone you have ever laid with.”

Upon your overweening remark, your eyes finally meet with his and you swear you see fire flash within them.

“How witty of you, princess,” Jake snaps sarcastically, pressing his body into yours. “Haughty of you to assume you are not the one that I would graciously turn away.”

It stings, but somehow you know he doesn’t mean it. Part of you hoped he didn’t, at least.

“Your mouth is foul and full of disrespect,” you snap quietly; silently wishing your hands were free, so that you can act on the resurfacing urge to smack him.

Jake stays silent, bringing the handle of his dagger down against your stomach and slowly dragging it down. The golden handle makes goosebumps form across your skin, your hips writhing about ever so slightly in anticipation.

Just when the end of his handle is close to your heat, he jerks it away entirely.

Instead, he dips his own finger down farther to feel the wetness pooling between your legs himself.

Jake glances up at you with wild eyes, flashing you a wicked smile. “The princess, so proper and poised and innocent… soaked as though she’s dipped into the river.”

Adjusting his careful hold around the blade, Jake lays the handle right where it had stopped before he pulled it away. He continues its slow descent down to your clit, where it halts to rub in the slowest, softest circles.

“Oh, Jake,” you gasp, pushing your hips harder against it.

“Oh, that’s just lovely,” Jake smirks, leaning in to place kisses over your exposed chest. “My name sounds beautiful coming from that pretty little mouth.”

He uses his own hips to hold yours in place, so he that can move the handle of the dagger at whatever pressure or speed he so desires.

“Let me hear it again, princess… ‘Jake,’” he repeats his own name to you, as though you don’t know it.

“Jake,” he repeats again.

Trying to hold onto your defiance and composure, you harshly bite at the inside of your mouth to keep from doing as he asked.

“This won’t do at all, your majesty,” Jake clicks his tongue, moving the handle in faster circles, while his other wraps around your throat. “Did I not say I want to hear you again? Come now, let me hear what pretty noises you can make. I’m sure you’re fantastic at it, little whore.”

He presses the handle harder into your bundle of nerves, drawing firmer circles against you. It’s untamable; the noise that erupts from your lungs, echoing through the cold cell and likely even through the long hallway.

“So beautiful. Keep going…” Jake encourages, tilting his head back as he watches on to your pleasure.

Jake leans forward, his free hand securing itself around your jaw to tilt your head to the side. His lips meet with your neck, biting roughly at the tender skin and soothing the sting with the softness of his tongue.

A soft laugh floats out of him each time you whine or struggle against him and the rough ropes that secure you in place.

“Jake,” you whimper through a labored exhale. The feeling of sweet release is already beginning to bloom in the pit of your stomach.

“Is the princess getting close?” Jake questions with a sly cadence. “Already, your majesty?”

You choose not to answer him, in light of climbing to the peak of your orgasm without chance of interruption.

Alas, Jake is the least bit stupid.

“Are you trying to fool me, princess?” Jake asks lowly, slowing the circles that the handle of his dagger are making.

The urge to relent and beg him is already far greater than you anticipated, but you are determined to stand your ground.

“Not trying to fool you, only avoiding the act of begging a thief,” you speak breathlessly.

“That’s a shame,” Jake grins, trailing his hand down your body to your arousal. A single finger plays at your entrance, “I would let you cum if you were not so hell bent on being a stubborn little brat.”

Just to antagonize you further, he sinks his finger inside you, purposefully curling it upwards just shy of the sweet spot within you.

“Mm…”

A tight lipped whimper tumbles out of you, your body arching into his touch ever-so-slightly.

“Oh? Do you like that, princess?” Jake taunts, looking down the bridge of his nose as he watches you. “You love having attention on your pretty little pussy, don’t you?”

“I…” You aren’t really sure what you had planned to say, or even what you want to say. All thoughts are either jumbled, or lost entirely.

“You what?” Jake pries, sliding the handle of the dagger through your folds to collect more of your wetness.

The second the handle returns to your throbbing bundle of nerves, something snaps inside of you.

“Jake,” you whine, tugging at your restraints despite the incessant burn of the rope. “Jake, please!”

“There it is.” Jake’s smile is pleased and cocky.

Feeling ever so gracious, he pushes in a second finger and deepens their rhythmic thrusts.

Jake presses his lips to the corner of your open mouth, “Tell me how good it feels, princess. Tell me.”

“I-it feels s-so good. Feels so good,” you stutter, tempted to turn your head and capture his lips in a kiss, all on your own accord. “Please!”

“Please?” He parrots mockingly. “Please what, your majesty?”

The feelings of your impending climax finally starts to build once again. This time, you are not going to give it up.

“Please let me cum!” You nearly sob, rushing every single word from your mouth. “Please, captain, I’ll do whatever you want… J-just please let me cum.”

“Give it to me, then,” Jake demands. “Right now.”

The band of pleasure breaks within you, sending you into an earth-shattering spiral of bliss that you could not have ever prepared yourself for.

Your knees buckle beneath you, leaving the ropes binding your wrists to be the only thing holding you up. The sting of the rope not even registering, as cuts and burns surely form around your wrists.

“What a good girl you are for me, princess,” Jake praises you, removing his fingers from you first to wrap his arm around your body, holding you up.

“J-Jake,” you choke out, squirming in his hold against the overstimulation that he was beginning to cause you. “I- It-s-“

“Shhh,” he silences you, a little reluctantly pulling his dagger away from your core. “I know, princess.”

Studying your face, he takes in your half-lidded eyes and flushed cheeks. The slightest bit of pity took over him.

Jake tucks the dampened handle of his dagger beneath your chin, tilting your head up to meet his gaze. “Will you be a good girl if I untie you? Hm?”

“Y-yes, sir- I mean, Captain,” you answer him, correcting yourself once more just for good measure. “Yes, Captain.”

Flipping the weapon around, he drags the tip of the dagger down your throat with only enough pressure to make it resemble a feather, making your breath hitch in your chest. Fear starts to rise back up inside you, along with adrenaline. The combination is intoxicating in a dangerous way.

“Will you truly?” Jake cocks a single eyebrow at you.

The sharp tip moves across your chest and down your stomach, goosebumps forming as you shudder.

“Yes! Yes,” you promise, breathing uneven and more labored than it has been so far.

The tip dips into your belly button, eliciting some sort of choked whimper from your throat.

Jake smirks at that, “Feels nice, doesn’t it?” He begins to trail it back up your body, the same way it had descended down.

You’re struck silent, unable to manage a single word.

Finally reaching your bindings, with two flicks of the dagger, the ropes fall from your wrists.

Your body immediately collapses forward into Jake’s. He tosses his dagger to the floor with a high-pitched clink, just in time to catch you.

“Falling at my feet so soon, princess?” Jake snickers, hauling you back up and guiding you to the bed.

“You forget yourself,” you scoff, clearly displaying your distaste for the thought of being at his feet. “One place you will never find me is at your feet.”

“No, your majesty-“ Jake tangles a hand in your hair, yanking your head back. “-You have forgotten yourself.”

Letting go of your hair, he hastily works to undo the buttons adorning his vest, pulling it away to be discarded onto the dirty floor of the cell - his shirt following directly after.

“What happened to being my good girl?” Jake inquires, stepping closer to you, his face mere inches from yours.

Your response is quick and confident, “Being your good girl is only applicable if you’re pleasing me, Captain.”

“Oh, is it, now?” Jake places his hand over your sternum, sliding it up until it splays around your throat and tightens there. “Is that not what I just did? Please you?” You struggle to draw in air as his grip stays unrelenting, his hold never once wavering as you slowly sink to your knees. “And you’re so needy and desperate that it still wasn’t good enough for you?”

He leans down to be eye level with you as he fires questions at your flushed face, “You’ll take what I feel so inclined to give you, your majesty.”

Jake releases his grip, standing straight up as he watches down on you, gasping to refill your burning lungs with air.

While you work on regaining some form of control over your own body and mind, Jake begins removing the rest of his clothes.

You look up, watching him attentively through your lashes. The perfections of his body are not lost on you.

“Perhaps we should try this again,”

Jake suggests, taking himself in his hand. Your mouth waters at the sight of him. His free hand cups your cheek, “Are you going to be my good girl?”

All you can muster is a nod, unsure that your voice can even function to its fullest abilities.

His thumb, gentle and featherlight in touch, traces over your bottom lip before sinking into your mouth, “Prove it to me, then.”

Your hands are reaching up to wrap around him, before your brain can even fully process the movement.

A kiss far too innocent for the actions you wre about to take part in, is placed over his tip. You hear the shaky breath Jake draws in, encouraging you to repeat the same little kiss once more.

You drop one of your hands down to your lap, sliding your hand down to his base. Sinking your mouth down over the rest of him, you can tell that his whole body shuddered from the pleasure you’re providing him.

“That’s it, princess,” he encourages you, his hand coming up to tangle into your hair.

The twitch of his fingers against your scalp, serves to enlighten you on his urge to push you further. Taking a deep breath, you take him as far as you can go, breathing through the urge to gag around him.

“Fuck,” he curses, hips jerking on their own volition. “Your mouth is too good for me, angel, but you look absolutely lovely taking me like a little whore.”

A whimper sounds from your throat, sending the slightest bit of vibration through him. You start to find a steady rhythm, his hand still resting in your hair.

Every so often, his grip will tighten when you do something he particularly likes. Within a minute or so, he is throbbing inside of your mouth.

“Fuck, alright- enough.” He pulls you away abruptly, breathing significantly more labored.

He takes a moment to gather himself, staring up at the ceiling, as if fighting to hold onto his composure.

“Stand up,” he demands, releasing his grip on your soft tresses.

You scramble up to your feet, dizziness plaguing you for a brief moment.

Jake takes no more than a single step closer to you, eyes scanning over the expanse of your naked body that is displayed before him. He reaches up, dragging the back of his knuckles along your temple, letting the gentle touch travel its way down your face, your neck and to your breasts.

The tip of his finger grazes over your nipple, causing your eyes to flutter closed as your breathing increases.

“Oh, the ways I could ruin this flawless body…” Jake trails off, dragging the tip of his finger down your stomach slowly. “So perfect and not a single blemish or mark in sight. A true beauty, you are, aren’t you?”

With every word that so gracefully purrs its way out of his mouth, he backs you closer to the bed.

“M… mark me.” The words fly out of you before you can stop them.

In one quick movement that you are far too dazed to notice, you’re laying beneath him. His cock rests against the inner part of your thigh, hard and still throbbing softly every few seconds.

“Mark you?” he repeats your words back to you in question. “How could I, your majesty?”

There is a playful cadence to his tone, very clearly telling you that he will gladly oblige to the idea.

Jake quirks a single eyebrow at you, “And how do you suppose I do so?”

Given the fact that you hadn’t meant to say it, you haven’t thought that far ahead. Visuals of the silver blade of his dagger lightly grazing your skin, replay in your mind. Along with the imagines of bite marks and bruises that you will surely have to find the means of covering.

“Speak up,” he grumbles, lips ghosting over the center of your throat.

You quickly come to the conclusion that you will allow him to do whatever he pleases, as undeniably insane as it is.

“Do what you wish.”

Jake sits up, bold, widened eyes boring directly into yours.

You stare at each other for a few long moments, before you watch the corner of his mouth twitch and curl up into his increasingly familiar smirk.

“Mmm,” he hums in acknowledgement to your words.

Both of his hands smooth over your hips and up to your breasts, where he cups them and brings his mouth down to capture one of your nipples in his mouth.

“Jake,” you whimper, gripping at the firmness of his bare shoulders.

“I refuse to mark you permanently just yet…” Jake says against your skin. His left hand retreats from your chest, palm harshly colliding with your thigh. “Temporarily, of course-“ his palm cracks against you once more, surely leaving a red tint in its wake. “-I suppose, will do for now.”

You inhale and exhale shakily through your mouth; hung open in shock and the slightest hint of pain.

“Take me, please,” you beg him pathetically.

“Take you where, your majesty?” Jake inquires, a teasing inflection to his voice. He knows.

“Right here,” you sigh, pressing your hips up into his. “You know what I want.”

Reaching between your bodies, he glides his fingers in between your folds - still completely soaked.

“Perhaps I do.” He toys around at your entrance, paying your clit the slightest bit of attention afterwards. “There’s a chance that I don’t, though.”

A low, sinister laugh erupts from his chest as he watches you squirm underneath him.

“Tell me, princess,” Jake demands, voice low and raspy. You can feel his cock teasing your entrance, just waiting for you to say the filthy words he wants to hear so badly. “Take. You. Where?”

Pathetic as it may be, a sob tears its way out of your lungs, “Take me right here, please...I want- need you inside of me.”

“She needs it,” he taunts, barely pushing into you. “Sweet little princess just needs to be fucked…turned into a filthy mess.”

“Oh, god- fuck-“ Your nails dig deeper into the skin of Jake’s back.

“Princess is no good for anything but getting ruined by the man she’s supposed to be capturing.” Jake pulls out almost completely, only to drive himself back inside of you roughly.

The moan that rips its way out of your throat is anything but pure and elegant, bouncing around the walls around you and likely beyond.

“Quiet.” Jake places a hand over your mouth, his other holding his body above yours as he starts to sharply thrust into you. “God forbid you get us caught… Get ME caught.”

Jake begins working his way up to a steady, brutal pace. The depths at which you can feel him is sending an almost unbearable pleasure through you. From the center of your body, out to the tips of your fingers and toes; the pleasure completely consumes you.

You can’t help the volume that your moans have taken on.

Jake attempts to silence you by capturing your lips in a hungry kiss, but it proves to be of very, very little help.

He pulls away abruptly, hand wrapping around your throat, “Shut. Your fucking. Mouth, princess. Will you?” He rasps into your ear through gritted teeth. “We can’t possibly have His Majesty hearing how much of a whore you are for a thief.”

Your head lulls back, face contorted in concentration and immense pleasure as Jake continues to fuck into you relentlessly. Mercilessly.

“Good girl,” Jake praises you, starting to lose control of his own breathing.

The hand wrapped around your throat, travels up to your face; a bruising grip forcing you to look at him.

“I want you to cum for me. Quietly,” Jake growls, adjusting himself above you to bring his other hand between your two bodies. His fingers find your swollen clit, “You can do that, yes?”

“Mhm,” you hum your response, afraid that if you are to open your mouth too much, the unholiest of noises are sure to free themselves from your lungs.

“Come on, then,” Jake urges, pinning your body in place on the rather uncomfortable bed with his own. “Let me have it.”

You feel that addicting burn spreading through the pit of your stomach, mere seconds away from taking over your whole body.

As soon as Jake watches your eyes roll back into your head and your mouth fall open into the perfect little ‘o,’ he crashes his lips into yours to ensure that all possible noises are muffled.

Even he groans lowly into your mouth, forcing your to swallow it down as he continues kissing you with mind numbing passion and fervor.

Your lungs start to tingle, your body buzzing and thrashing all at once; riding out an orgasm unlike any you have ever had.

Jake’s orgasm is only seconds after yours. He spills inside you, gasping to refill his lungs with air when he pulls away from you.

“Damn it,” Jake moans. “Fuck, fuck, fuck.”

Bliss has overtaken the both of you, leaving you to bask in stunned silence for what felt like an hour.

“I… I must say,” Jake finally speaks up. “You are quite something, your majesty.”

For once, his tone doesn’t have any malicious intent or taunting cadence behind it. It seems genuine.

You gaze up at him, slightly shocked. “Thank you…”

He removes himself from above you, laying to your side closest to the wall, leaving you the space to leave the bed.

Staring up at the ceiling, hands on his chest, he reminds you of his previous promise, “You’re free to go if you please, I shouldn’t keep you here any longer, your majesty…”

You blink a few times, struck speechless by his sudden change. You think over your next decision carefully before speaking.

“I… I think I would like to stay here with you…” You tell him, settling back against the worn blanket.

Jake has turned to look at you, now, “What?”

Moving closer to him, you cuddled into his arm, “I want to stay here with you, Jake.”

<>

You blink a few times, trying to rid your eyes of their sleepiness.

Suddenly, the loud slamming of the cell door startles you nearly senseless. You roll yourself over and sit up, all in almost one swift movement.

“Jacob?!” you yell, anger and fear flooding your entire body as you scramble up to your feet. “What ever do you think you are doing?!”

“No hard feelings, my Darling,” he starts with a faux, pitied smile. “You were absolutely magnificent. I almost brought you along. I’ll let them know to come retrieve you as soon as I step foot back on my ship.”

You mouth falls agape, your chest becoming dangerously tight as it heaves up, then shakily back down.

Jake pulls the key he had stolen from the pocket of your dress out of the lock, taking a few steps backwards before bending down and laying it gingerly on the ground.

He straightens, kicking the key just so. It slides towards the door with a few high pitched clinks, stopping just out of your reach.

Jake smiles brightly, shooting you a sly wink, “If we ever cross paths again, let’s revisit this…escapade, shall we?”

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[endless-summer-soldier]

ice ice baby - chapter eight

pairing: CollegeHockeyPlayer!Bucky x CollegeFigureSkater!Reader

summary: Bucky is a college hockey player, Y/N is a figure skater without a partner. What's happens when these two opposites start sharing the ice...

warnings: enemies to lovers trope, some alcohol use

word count: 1.9k

taglist: @sebsgirl71479 @whiskeyrosepoetry

series playlist

series masterlist

Y/N studied herself in the mirror for the hundredth time. She couldn’t remember the last time she’d been on a date and this all felt so foreign to her. Bucky didn’t tell her where they were going, but he told her to dress casually. She opted for her best pair of jeans and an oatmeal cable knit sweater. She was pacing in her boots, waiting for him to pick her up. She audibly gasped when he knocked on the door, so lost in her own thoughts that the sudden noise startled her. She grabbed her purse, coat, and keys and opened the door.

Bucky was clad in a forest green hockey jersey that read “Minnesota Wild” in script. 

“Hey doll,” he said, as his brilliant smile spread across his face, “I missed ya.”

The moment she saw him, all her anxiety melted away and a blush crept up her cheeks. This was Bucky, she had no reason to be nervous.

“Don’t tell me we’re going to a Wild game,” she joked.

He shrugged, “The Canucks are in town. I couldn’t miss it. And I had to give you a little glimpse into my world.”

“Can’t argue with you there,” she smiled and slid into his car. In the front seat there was a green beanie with white stripes, the Wild logo, and a green pom-pom on top.   

“Here’s your hat,” she said, handing him the beanie.

“Oh no, that’s for you. Couldn’t have you showing up without gear.”

She grinned to herself as she pulled down the visor and opened the mirror. She put the beanie on and adjusted her hair before turning to him with a smile.

“Please don’t ever take that off. You are unbelievably adorable.”

She blushed yet again and said, “Stop flirting with me and take me to this hockey game.”

“You got it,” he smiled, putting the car into drive.

They entered the XCel Energy Center and Y/N followed Bucky’s lead as he navigated the crowd and showed them to their section. They stopped at the concession stand for a couple pounders of Coors Light and some nachos, “must haves” according to Bucky. When they took the steps down to their seats, Y/N kept expecting them to stop and file in; but they didn’t stop until they reached the glass. She could almost feel the envious stares they received as they took their seats in the front row. They were situated in the corner of the rink, facing the goal that the Wild would shoot at for two of the three periods.

“How did you get these seats?” she asked him.

“One of the scouts offered them up to me. You ever been to a hockey game before?” he asked her.

She shook her head, “Not a professional one.”

“But you’ve been to others?”

“A few in high school. Maybe a few in college.”

He perked up at this, “Oh really? So you’ve seen me play?”

She played coy, “Maybe.”

“Wow, how did you keep it together being around me all this time? You must’ve been fangirling so hard.”

“Oh my god, so hard. You have no idea,” she joked.

He laughed at the sarcasm but didn’t let up, “So you knew who I was that day I walked into the rink?”

She nodded, “I knew who you were.”

“And what was your first thought?”

“Honestly? I thought it might’ve been a big joke to you. That’s why I was a bit closed off at first.”

“That’s understandable. What changed your mind?”

“The day you gave me pushback. I could see it in your eyes that you cared.”

He considered her words, “When I first met you, I was really intimidated and that wasn’t how I usually felt around girls. You had this confidence about you that was incredibly attractive, but it made me nervous. I wanted to skate to your standards and I didn’t even know if that would be possible.”

“Well you did it. You impressed me. I wasn’t sure you had it in you.”

“I am nothing if not stubbornly determined.”

She laughed, “Now that I know.”

The lights in the arena went black and spotlights darted around the crowd in an attempt to amp up the audience for the face off. Players from both teams skated out and started warming up as pop punk music blasted over the speakers. Y/N found herself feeding off the energy in the crowd and growing excited. The taste of light beer and artificial cheese somehow enhanced her experience. 

After the initial faceoff, she found it hard to pull her attention away from Bucky. She asked him questions about some of the rules she didn’t quite understand and he offered her tidbits about the players as they skated around the rink. When something exciting would happen, Bucky would stop mid sentence to cheer or yell at the refs, then fall right back into the conversation with a brief apology. Y/N found it endearing that he was so passionate about the sport and that he cared enough to make sure she was having a positive experience. 

As the gameplay continued, she felt more comfortable with the sport and started cheering along with the crowd at important moments. One of the Wild players tapped in a goal right in front of them and they both stood up in tandem to cheer. Y/N lifted her arms up to give Bucky a double high five, but instead he wrapped his arms around her torso and squeezed her tight. While she was starting to get more used to his touch, it still gave her butterflies. 

The game was tied 1-1 going in the middle of the second period. Y/N could feel the tension mounting between the two teams. The players were slamming each other into the glass like they had personal vendettas against each other. It was exciting to watch. Bucky kept waiting for the gloves to come off in an actual brawl, but it hadn’t reached that level just yet. Y/N was also impressed with the crowd engagement tactics used. Outside of just showing fans dancing on the jumbotron, they showed videos of the players trying to name as many ice cream flavors as possible in 30 seconds and had a montage of players naming their favorite TV shows. Y/N was most tickled by the look-a-like segment, where a notable celebrity or character was displayed on the jumbotron and then a fan in the crowd who looked similar to the person in question was projected on the screen side-by-side. As the segment progressed, the comparisons became more and more accurate, eliciting cheers and giggles from the crowd.

What Y/N did not expect to see, was the kiss cam. She’d seen it in several rom coms from the early 2000s, but had assumed the tradition had died out. Regardless, she wasn’t worried about being featured on the screen. There were so many other people in the stadium that must have looked more interesting than them. 

They started with a couple in their seventies who shared a quick peck. Then the screen displayed a young mother with a young child sitting on her lap. She peppered the child with kisses on the cheek as the baby smiled at the camera. The next couple were both wearing hockey jerseys and were caught by surprise when they noticed they were on screen. The female had just taken a big swig of beer and almost spit it out when she saw herself. The male was looking straight ahead and shaking his head with wide eyes. He then kissed his cup of beer and chugged it while his friend laughed along with the crowd. 

And then she saw Bucky on the screen, her own image projected by his side. They both had their eyes up at the screen and they turned toward each other at the same time. 

“Let’s give ‘em something to cheer about, yeah?” he said. She didn’t have time to respond, but he could tell from the smile on her face and the look in her eye that she was in.

He crept in close and gingerly placed his hand on her jaw. His lips met hers in what started out as a sweet kiss. He deepened the kiss, using the slightest bit of tongue without being sloppy. When he started to ease up, Y/N’s lips spread into a smile and they shared a few loving pecks as the crowd cheered for them. She was immediately embarrassed and leaned into Bucky’s shoulder to hide her face. Bucky took the opposite approach. He wrapped his arms around her shoulder and thrust his other arm into the air, much like Judd Nelson in The Breakfast Club. The crowd loved it, amping up their applause.

When the segment ended and the crowd simmered, Bucky leaned back into his seat and Y/N’s expression was that of pure disbelief. 

“That did not just happen,” she said. 

“I wish I could take credit for that, but it was pure kismet.”

“I just didn’t think things like that happened to normal people.”

“Well maybe that’s because you’re not a normal person,” he suggested.

She turned to him with eyebrows raised, waiting for him to elaborate, “You’re extraordinary.”

Instinctually, she leaned into him and kissed him again, using her actions to portray her feelings.The kiss was soft and sweet, leaving Bucky in awe yet again.

As she pulled away, Bucky took his time to open his eyes. When he was ready to return to reality, he opened his eyes and looked straight into hers.

“I never want you to stop doing that,” he flirted. She blushed and they returned their attention to the ice.

The night continued to be more and more exciting. The game was still tied up into the third period. With about two minutes left, the Wild scored a goal right in front of them. They both jumped up and banged on the glass in excitement. The crowd went into a frenzy as the players celebrated with padded up group hugs and high fives. They stayed for the last few minutes and were relieved to see the game end with a Minnesota victory.

As they walked out of the stadium to the car, Y/N felt the buzz of the win running through her. It was unlike anything else she ever felt, even medaling in a competition. 

“You okay,” Bucky asked her, as she kept smiling and looking at the crowd filing out around her.

“I’m great, I feel like I don’t want this night to end.”

“Is that because of the win or the date?” 

“A little of both.”

“I mean if you want we can grab a drink somewhere when we get back to campus if you want to keep the night going.”

She nodded, “We’ll see how we feel.”

They loaded into the car and waited for their turn to exit the crowded parking lot. Once they escaped the initial bumper-to-bumper, it was smooth highway sailing back to campus. They found a parking spot near her apartment. Y/N pulled out her phone for the first time all night and her face immediately went blank.

“Shit…” she muttered.

Bucky looked at her concerned, “What is it?”

“USFS is calling a press conference tomorrow morning.”

“Oh shit,” he replied in surprise.

“Now I definitely need a drink,” she replied, wanting something to calm her nerves.

“I think we can manage that.”

#bucky barnes x reader #bucky barnes fanfic #bucky barnes x y/n #bucky barnes slow burn #bucky barnes fluff #bucky barnes hockey player

[peachy-pink-princess]

Over protective en-

Word count: 933

Please give credit to the creator if you reblog xoxo

Heeseung: Heeseung worries about you a lot. Like a lot, a lot. However he also knows that you're a plenty capable person and can take care of yourself. He doesn't want to seem pushy but low key adores the moments where he gets to be your superhero. For example when you went out for a lovely dinner and a middle aged man decided to crash your date. The following minutes would included the older man complimenting you, specifically your body. Yeah- Heeseung ain't putting up with that. Needless to say date night got cut short and ended with you nuzzled into your boyfriend's chest at home, where the only man you need to think about is him.

Jay: Repeat after me, husband material. He's shamelessly overprotective. Like his s/o is beautiful, smart, talented, everything he could want and more. Regardless of the situation you're always in his mind. He texts you constantly through out the day to ask about your day. So when he received a text from you that you were outside the hybe building waiting for him, imagine his surprise to see another man's arms around you. He may not be the most passive aggressive out of the members but he's in the top 3. Expect to hear his sweet voice saying some...less sweet words. It's all worth it though, cuz guess who's arms are around you now? His<3

Jake: I don't think Jake is an over protective boyfriend. He gives and has full trust with his s/o... That being said his trust doesn't extend to anyone else. He thinks everyone wants you fr✋ He'll be like

" you see that person over there, they're looking at you. "

" No they aren't-"

" I mean you're perfect so I understand why they're staring "

" they literally aren't staring ".

That is the average conversation with Sim Jaeyun. One time out of the many you've had that conversation he was right.

" They're looking at you. "

" I'm sure you're wrong Jake. "

He gave up pretty quickly on that conversation and went to the bathroom. When he came back the guy Jake had noticed was no longer in the corner from before but rather trapping you against the wall. Jake to your rescue, his method of saving is extremely painful. He chooses to ramble to death. Tell him to shut up plz ( jk I love him ). He'll make it so awkward that the guy has to go away. Definitely has the most shit-eating grin you will ever see. Call himself your knight in shining armor. Just go with it, we love him.

Sunghoon: Acts like he doesn't care. ( He does ). He cares a lot. Sunghoon will definitely deny this side of himself but everyone, even the members, knows he's over protective. Sunghoon took you on an ice skating date, something he sees as incredibly entertaining ( especially when you need his help ). When he went to retie his laces you were left all alone on the Ice, at least you thought.

" Are you all alone? "

When the young man approached you, you didn't think much of it. However, when he grabbed your hands trying to lead you on the ice , pulling you forward you suddenly feel hands on your hips. Keeping you from moving any farther. " She's with me " is all Sunghoon says before dragging you far far away

Sunoo: Sunoo is a difficult one when it comes to being overprotective. There's only one thing he gets jealous of...your pets or animals. (( He thinks they're the only things that are as cute as him )).

" You know why I'm better? Because unlike that cat I don't scratch you- I know it's cute but...so am I "

You'll probably have to give your pet and your boyfriend affection at the same time- it's just the sunoo way

Jungwon: we all know he's so silently judgmental. This definitely applies to your boy best friend. He doesn't get the concept. Like shouldn't he be your boy best friend?! Jungwon went to pick you up after class to see you talking with the other male. Jungwon felt curious, deciding to approach and listen from a far.

" Come on jungwon is always away you need a real man you need me "

Your friend put his hands on your shoulders his touch slightly aggressive. Your heart was pounding out of your chest and you desperately wanted your boyfriend. Lucky for you, he came.

" I knew I shouldn't have trusted you. You think you're so much better for them than me? If you were than you wouldn't be making MY darling so uncomfortable right now. Come on y/n were going, right now. "

Niki: Nothing worries him more than the idea of you leaving, especially for a vacation. After all he left his entire country to pursue the idea of being an idol and although there is a lot of important people in his life that he started in Korea you are definitely the most important. He doesn't know why but a certain part of his brain always switches on when he hears that you'll be leaving for a while, he's afraid he won't come back and he'll lose one more person that means so much to him. The day that you leave for vacation you'll receive hundreds of texts all of them being sweet just asking you about your trip and telling you to keep him updated so he knows his love is safe.

I haven't posted in a while but I really hope that this is enjoyable for all my readers and please give me some requests, I want to get them done before the holidays as a treat to my readers

#enha niki #enha sunoo #enhypen reactions #fluff enhypen #heeseung #jake enha #jake enhypen #jay enhypen #jungwon #fanfic #enhypen kpop #kpop imagines #jake x reader #sunghoon enhypen #sunghoon fanfic #sunghoon fluff #niki imagines #sunoo enha #jay fanfic #jay park #park jay #enhypen scenarios #enha fluff #kpop headcanons #enhypen headcanons #jungwon fluff #heeseung enhypen #heeseung enha #heeseung fanfic #jake sim

[sailoryooons]

The Iron Ring | One | pjm (m)

❀ Pairing:  fae prince! Jimin x human! female reader

❀ Summary: After finding a mysterious ring while cleaning out your late grandmother’s attic, you receive the unlikeliest of visitors: a fae prince who claims you have something that belongs to him. Discovering the fairytales your grandmother told you are true is the least of your problems when you’re taken to a world dangerous and unfamiliar.

❀ Word Count: 3,432

❀ Genre: fantasy au, strangers to lovers, enemies to lovers

❀ Rating: 18+ Minors are strictly prohibited from engaging and reading this content. It contains explicit content and any minors discovered reading or engaging with this work will be blocked immediately. 

❀ Warnings: Heavy world building, funeral scene, mentions of death (elderly), brief mentions of toxic relationship between reader's mother and grandmother (not too serious), mentions of ailing mental states of the elderly, physical altercations (Jimin and reader fight this is action fantasy ok), Jimin is toxic (hard to understand what he wants, is prone to some violence), threatens to kill/ dismember reader (EMPTY THREATS HE THINKS HES TOUGH), mentions of daggers and swords, use of magical abilities, sexual tension, Fae Jimin is a warning in itself. 

❀ Published: May 25, 2022

❀ A/N: I am so thrilled to be writing this finally. Fantasy writing is my element - I feel like I write fantasy genre so much better than any of my other content. I do find a lot of people are as enthusiastic about it, but I really hope you enjoy this. Please note that this story is only 5 full chapter long - this means that each chapter I write will ALWAYS be around 20k-30k per chapter, because I'm doing this as a mini series. I find it much easier to do large works like this because it's less likely I lose motivation.

This first chapter does not have smut - I hope that does not turn you off, however I wanted to establish the dynamic between Y/N and Jimin before I really played up that part. I do promise for those of you just looking for some filth that it will be in the next chapter.

❀ Disclaimer: All members of BTS are faces and name claims for this story. This is entirely a work of fiction and by no means is meant to be a projection, judgment or representation of real-life people. Any scenarios or representations of the people and places mentioned in works are not representative of real-life scenarios.

Masterlist | Ask | Series Masterlist | Series Playlist |  Next Chapter

You know that funerals are meant for crying, but you find it difficult to produce tears. The folded chair beneath you is damp with the rain misting under the black umbrella held tightly in your hand. A morbid thought crosses your mind as they lower the casket into the freshly dug grave - it looks exactly like a scene from a mafia movie. The gray sky swollen with rain, the clusters of dark umbrellas catching droplets. 

Next to you, your mother sniffs, wiping her tears away. You can’t imagine what she is going through, but you think there is guilt there. Guilt for not being there in her mother’s last days. Guilt for writing off the ramblings and confusion of an old woman. 

In her last days, your grandmother was a nuisance to your mom. An old weight stressing her out with ailing health, a reason to take off numerous days from her incredibly important work as a fashion designer and owner of her own company. 

The fact that she is crying tells you how little your mother knew about grandma in her dying days. She wouldn’t want anyone to cry. She was old and lived a full life, and she had wanted peace in her last days. Waiting to join your grandfather, who had died much earlier. 

So you don’t cry. For your grandmother, for her legacy. Because though you’re sad, and though you will miss the soft stories whispered at your bedside as a child, you know that she’s wherever she was meant to be. 

That’s enough for you. 

Funerals, as expected, are a bleak affair. The gathering after is even worse. Catered food that is colder than it should be, dishes made in haste by neighbors and mourners. Escaping the stale perfume of your mother’s friends and those who knew your grandma is imperative. 

Your grandmother’s house is old, built in the 1800s with nooks and crannies and rooms leading into rooms in a dizzying maze. It’s well-kept, though some of the porch out front leans and the screens in the windows could do with replacing. 

It doesn’t matter. The home holds sentimental value to you. You wander up the creaking, carpeted stairs. It still has shag carpet, holding in every smell familiar to you as you climb. Your room is on the second floor facing the north and front of the yard, in the rounded part of the house above the reading room on the first floor. It’s quiet upstairs as you pause in the hallway, looking at the frames mounted in the hall, a wall of memories.

Your childhood stretches behind each piece of glass, contained within the woodwork and cardboard backing. 

After admiring each fragment of your history, you trail to your room. The door creaks when you open it. Gray light filters in through the window, the gossamer curtains pulled back. Dust motes float in the room. It is completely undisturbed. Your old twin bed is tucked neatly in the corner of the room, pink sheets tucked neatly. You sit on it, feeling the bed springs give under your weight. 

A mural painted with your grandmother’s careful hand stretches on the wall opposite your bed and around the wooden door leading to your closet. You look at the greenery and the vines crawling up old castles, faeries and sprites dancing around under the moonlight. A glowing sword held by a warrior maiden with a circlet of moons and stars around her hair. 

The painting is a collection of hundreds of stories your grandmother has told you growing up. They all revolve around land called Faerie, where creatures beautiful and deadly exist. The maiden in the story was always your favorite character, fashioned in the likeness of your grandmother herself. 

Sighing, you finally feel the threat of tears. You swallow past it and lay down on the bed, content to be in the room again. The bookshelf with the music box is untouched, but free of dust. Though time seems to freeze the room in place, you can tell that your grandmother kept it clean. The thought makes your lip wobble.

Instead of crying, you turn on your side and close your eyes. You imagine that she’s there next to you, brushing your hair with her soft hands and murmuring, There once was a princess without a crown. Don’t worry, she got her crown eventually, but she had to fight a monster to earn it… 

-

Darkness covers the room. You groan when you stretch your limbs, sore and cramped from sleeping on the uncomfortable bed. You’re still dressed in your funeral clothes. Grabbing your phone from next to the fairy lamp, you click your lock screen open. It’s near midnight. 

You see texts from your mother and roll your eyes. Of course she thought you left early - she hadn’t even bothered to check the rooms upstairs. Groaning, your joints pop as you get out of the bed, shuffling to the center of the room. Slipping your shoes back on, you make to leave the house and head back to your apartment. 

The hallway is night-still. Your steps break the silence as you use the screen of your phone to navigate the hall. Nearing the stairwell, you pause. You don’t know why, but something makes you turn and look at the opposite end of the hall. The small door that leads up the stairwell to the attic above your room beckons you. 

Something in you buzzes. The urge to walk to the other end of the hall and open the attic takes over. You don’t know where it comes from, only that you haven’t been in the attic in years. You were never allowed up there alone - it kept some of your grandparents most prized possessions. 

The world seems dull as you take a step towards the end of the hall and away from the stairs. A dull buzz enters your ears as you take another step, eyes fixed on the door. It would take only a moment to go up and look at what is there again. Trinkets and curiosities that you always loved to admire under the strict supervision of grandmother. 

Suddenly you’re outside the door. You reach for the knob and it feels like a tremor of electricity vibrates down your arm. Up up up your hand goes, closing around the brass knob and-

Your phone ringing makes you scream in surprise, dropping it entirely. You press your hand to your chest, heart pounding. The adrenaline shoots through you like an arrow, immediately making you feel sick from the sudden fear. 

Spell broken, you reach down, shining the phone face toward you, blinding you. It’s so much darker in the hallway than you remember. 

You slide your finger across the screen. “Hi, Joon. Yeah - sorry, I fell asleep after the funeral. I’m going home now - let’s have dinner tomorrow? Sounds good.”

You rarely blow off your best friend, but Namjoon is the kind of person who understands people the way you wish you could. He reads you like a book, always anticipating when you need space and always knowing what to say. He has been your rock during your grandmother’s ongoing health issues and passing - and he’d have been with you today, if you hadn’t assured him that his presentation at work was more important. 

The attic is forgotten about as you shake off the tired feeling. You head back to the stairs, jogging down them and shoving your phone in your pocket. Yawning, you lock up behind you and leave your grandmother’s old house standing alone in the night. 

-

Fabric clings to your shoulders uncomfortably. The blazer you’ve pulled on for your meeting is too tight in the arms, not allowing you to reach too far upward and feeling awkward as you shuffle out of the car. You reach to close the door, the sleeve straining against you. 

Formal wear isn’t your forte. You find it uncomfortable and you rarely need to use them unless you’re doing a signing or something official. Your usual clothes involve anything comfortable for writing children’s stories, weaving the tales from your childhood. Your grandmother had helped illustrate more than a few.

The thought makes you smile as you shift in the padded seat of the reception room of the legal office. You check your watch - the lawyer in charge of divvying up your grandmother’s estate is late. But so is your mother.

Next to you, the door opens. Your mother breezes in, dressed in a wonderfully tailored pantsuit and heels. She looks effortlessly beautiful, smiling when she sees you. You stand and press a kiss to her cheeks. You always wished you looked like her when you were younger - lithe and graceful with a sort of effortless movement. 

Now you’re happy that you look exactly like your grandmother - commanding and firm. You’re not graceful, but you’re strong. People listen to you when you speak, though that’s the one thing you share in common with your mother. 

“You look nice,” she says, sitting down next to her. You accept the comment, though you hate the outfit. “You should dress like that more often.” 

You love your mother. She is a strong woman who raised you primarily on her own while creating a fashion empire around herself. Though your childhood was filled with living at your grandmother’s when money was tight and more often than not having your grandparents keeping you during fashion weeks and long-weekends, your mother loves you. She isn’t unkind, and she tries to be supportive of your whimsical dreams. 

It’s just that you’re nothing like her. You’ve inherited the wandering mind from your father, his enchanting fascination with worlds of fantasy. And though that had attracted your mother to him in the first place because it reminded her of her mother, after your dad passed, her passion for anything magical vanished.

The struggle between wanting you to do something corporate and letting you live your dreams was constant for her. And you knew that she tried - she bought your books and she asked you about them. But the pinched brow and the twitch in her mouth always told you that she was disappointed. Because you reminded her of her late husband. Reminded her of the struggles with her own mother.

So you let the comment pass. It’s not an insult - she just wishes you were more like her. Carried you for nine months, she would joke. All for you to come out like grandma and your dad! 

“How’s your new book doing?”

It’s a question to broach the silence. You answer anyway, “Good. I’m glad grandma was able to illustrate for me.”

“She loved that you made her stories your own. I don’t know if you realize how much that meant to her - means to me.” You look up at your mom. For a moment, her face is older than you remember, more open and vulnerable. She touches your hand and you feel emotion well up inside you. “I’m glad we have those, for her. So thank you.” 

When the lawyer opens the door, the moment is gone. But you’re glad that it happens. 

Standing, you smooth your blazer and follow your mother into the man’s office. It’s stuffy and you feel claustrophobic. It smells like peppermint oil and tea tree. You notice that there are crystals lining his bookshelves, your eyes recognizing obsidian, tigers eye, smoky quartz. 

The lawyer himself is wire-thin and skittish, pushing his glasses up his pointed nose and apologizing profusely. He was dressed in jeans with paint stains and a shirt tucked in, evidence of a donut on his collar. You don’t know why, but he makes you smile as you sit down. You immediately imagine him as a willow man from one of your stories, a type of dryad made of willow bark, as flighty as the breeze. 

“I apologize for the delay,” he says again. “The lock box and papers went wandering off on their little feet - critters drive me nuts!”

You raise your brows. Your mother raises her hackles, fingers digging into the arms of her chair. “You almost lost my mother’s belongings?”

“Not permanently!”

Her nose flares. “Make this brief, please.” 

The lawyer - Mr. Willow, which makes you suspicious of your own mind - goes through the papers outlining your grandmother’s estates. It’s mostly split evenly, with certain heirlooms and keepsakes going to your mother. You can tell your mother is struggling with some of the items mentioned, something personal and meaningful to her.

The surprise comes when you get the house and specific belongings inside of it. You recognize objects kept in the attic that Mr. Willow goes over. Your mother goes rigid for some of them, and though you don’t know why, you find yourself nodding along. 

At the end of the meeting, you are much wealthier than you imagined being in your lifetime, and you have a house full of curiosities and memories.

Outside, the world is gray. It has rained most days since your grandmother has passed away. The imaginative side of you feels as though the world is weeping for her loss. The realist in you knows the rainy season is approaching. 

A touch on your wrist draws your attention to your mother. Her mouth is pinched, and nostrils are flared, sure signs of her annoyance as she tightens her hold. “You should sell off those items in the attic. No good comes from them.”

You frown. “Why?”

“They’re trinkets that inspired the delusions of your grandfather - grandmother too, in the end. You should be rid of them. They have sour memories.”

“I love the attic,” you protest. “I loved when grandma took me up there.”

“I can’t make you do anything, but you should think about what I’ve said. Objects have a weird way of holding memories that warp the mind.” She lets go of your wrist. It’s the most she's ventured to imply that objects can be mystical in years. “Try not to get lost in the stories. They’re nothing more than that.” 

With a firm kiss on your head, she turns and walks away. People look at her as she passes by them, heads turned to watch her go. She has always had a magnetic beauty, drawing people to her wherever she went. Your grandmother had that same quality, moving about the world with an intense gravity. 

Your drive through the city is aimless. You have nowhere to be. Nothing to do. The music is so low that you turn it off, listening to the hum of the tires on the pavement. Your hands guide you on instinct until you’re driving through winding hills toward your grandmother’s house. It isn’t until you’re stepping out into the silver moonlight that you realize you’re there. 

Pulling your phone out, you text Namjoon the address. You’re supposed to meet for dinner, but you want to explore a little. The house will be less creepy with him around. 

The house is dark. There are no lights in the window as you close your car door, a noise so loud that it makes you flinch in the silence of the night. You don’t move for a while, just examining the house. Vine climbs up the side of the house and tangles in the eaves. There’s a porch on the front, a single swing still hanging. Above it is a large balcony attached to your grandmother’s room, the furniture and plants still waiting for her return. 

Your eyes drift to the rounded front of the house - the reading room on the first floor, your room on the second, and the attic on the third. You used to have dreams about creatures slipping through the floor of the attic to come through your ceiling and fall on you while you slept. 

The dreams you had when you stayed with your grandmother were always strange. Filled with something other and always like you were waking from a memory, you sometimes recalled pixies and brownies creeping on the edge of your mind, speaking to you in hushed tones at the foot of your bed. 

Now, you’re alone without having one of those dreams in years. You walk up to the house, letting yourself in. It doesn’t feel like it’s yours, though it legally is. You cross the threshold and stare out at the dark home. Most of the things inside belong to you, a reality that seems far away. This will always be your grandmother’s home. It will always have her things. 

Your mother’s suggestion to sell off the items in the attic gnaws at you. Flicking the lights on in the home so you don’t feel so alone, you ascend the stairs. The clock in the reading room ticks loudly, a steady staccato as you climb the stairs, footsteps quieted by carpet. Your fingers trace the flowered wallpaper, some of the edges peeling where it meets the next panel. 

A memory comes to you and you smile. There was a time when you were around five that you got in trouble for drawing near the crown molding, sitting on the stairs with your Crayola and pressing the waxy tip into the wallpaper with vigor. Your grandmother had not been bothered and your mother was mildly annoyed until she saw the subject of your drawings: a warrior queen with stars in her hair.

You don’t remember what her and your grandmother fought about, but it had been loud and you waited in your room with tear-stained cheeks for it to be over. 

Hundreds of memories echo in the home. You feel them all as you open the attic door, looking up at the dark stairs. You flick the light up before taking the stairs carefully. They creak under your weight and you see the way the cobwebs dance as you walk by. 

The ceiling is low and you can see the little black spiders spinning away, wrapped up in their own machinations. You leave them to their spinning, sweeping your gaze around the room with a mix of excitement and sadness. It’s been years since you’ve been in the attic, and you don’t know where to go first. 

Following your own whims, you brush your finger along an old book collection. There’s dust on them, old folklore books and poems that your grandfather used to read often. Your grandmother had no interest in them when he passed, but she always kept them. Your finger tapped the cracked and aged spine of The Knight of the Cart, trailing to The Song of Roland. 

That one makes you smile. You imagine yourself as the Knight Roland, wielding his mighty sword Durendal, or sitting at the round table. 

A heavy chest with artfully crafted metal leaves and a gilded latch sits in the corner. You know it contains objects you were never allowed to see - a heavy lock keeps the polished leather lid shut. You go to it anyway - you’re sure there’s a key somewhere, perhaps in the safety deposit box you were given. Your fingers are curious as they trace the metal leaves. They're artfully done, with jewels set in, a green that is so vibrant you swear they’re emeralds. 

Your favorite part of the attic is the old school boudoir. You sit on the cushioned stool carefully, worried that the old wood will crack under your weight. The mirror is covered in dust. You carefully trace your finger through the dust, instinct guiding you before you realize what you’re doing. 

Mirrors can lead to other worlds your grandmother had whispered once. Maybe even different places of the afterlife. 

So you trace a single sentence on the mirror. I miss you. An oidche. 

You hope that wherever she is, your grandmother receives the message written in dust. 

Nudging around the items at the table, you pull open a drawer. Dust clouds out of it, making you wave your hand back and forth to try and clear it. Inside are some perfumes and a lethal looking letter opener. You take out the letter opener, eyebrows raised. It’s a little larger and heavier than normal - you dare to call it a dagger - with an ornate grip decorated with silver stars. The blade is thin and dark silver. 

Static crackles in the air. You feel something sizzle in your palm, sparking your skin. You yelp, dropping the letter opener to the floor. It clatters, but you ignore the dagger, looking at the palm of your hand. You swear theres a pink, faded outline where you gripped the handle, but when you blink, your hand is normal.

Picking up the letter opener from the floor, you put it back in the drawer. You start to close the drawer, but a velvet box captures your eye. You pull the midnight-blue box from the back of the drawer. It’s velvet and obviously a ring box. You pop it open, curious. A simple band of metal is inside, stars carved into the metal. You pull it from its snug seat in the box, holding it up toward the shotty light to examine it.

The band looks too large for your fingers. The metal is dark like the letter opener, almost black and yet shimmering somehow. The stars aren’t like the normal five-pointed drawings in popular media, but bursts that are all unique and beautiful in their own way. 

Experimentally, you slid the ring on your pointer finger on your right hand. It’s too loose at first - you blink in surprise. The attic is not brightly lit, but for a moment you swear the ring pulsed and grew smaller. It’s snug on your finger now, not too tight but not loose. You hold your hand up, admiring it. It isn’t full of diamonds or jewels, but there is something about it that glows from within. 

A tremor goes through you. You flinch and look around the room. You swear you felt something like a pulse of energy shiver through you and outward. The room is dark - your vision fades in and out for a moment as your eyes adjust from staring at the ring so much. 

Nothing seems amiss, but you feel… off. 

Shrugging you pull at the ring, ready to return it. The metal doesn’t come off. You frown and pull harder, but it doesn’t budge. You try a few more times, but the ring fits snuggly. You look at it again, frown deepening.

“What the fuck,” you mutter. 

No matter what you try, the ring won’t come off. You pull open other drawers, looking for lotion of some kind to help slide the ring off your finger. You find none. 

Something makes you acutely aware of the silence in the room. You look up at the mirror - it’s still dusted over, not showing a true reflection, but you see a figure in the corner near the door. Screaming, you shoot out of the seat and turn around, crashing backward into the boudoir. 

“Woah woah woah!” Namjoon holds his hands up in surrender, pushing himself against the wall. “Relax it's just me!”

“What are you doing here?!”

“You texted me to meet you!”

Oh yeah. You take a deep breath, trying to calm your pounding heart and the sudden urge to vomit from the terror. You close your eyes, letting your breathing regulate. When you open them again, Namjoon is still waiting for you. You relax, letting the breath woosh from your lungs. 

“Sorry, I think I’m just paranoid,” you say finally. 

“House is a little creepy at night.”

“A bit.” Shrugging off the weird thoughts of the ring, you cross the attic and beckon for him to follow. “Let’s go, I’m starving.” 

-

After a few days, it’s easy to forget about the fact that the ring won’t come off. On closer inspection, it appears that it’s made of something like iron. At night, you lie in bed and stare at it, hand held above you. It seems to glow whenever the sun sets, coming alive in the night. 

Though you never feel the same pulse of energy you did the night you put the ring on, you feel something. You can’t put your finger on it, but it lingers in the night. Though you were always a night owl, a new kind of insomnia slowly begins to take over. You find yourself inspired the moment the sun vanishes from the sky to write, creating your grandmother’s stories into something else fuller, more expanded. 

You’re suffering from another battle of insomnia as you stand in the kitchen, sipping chamomile tea in the dark. The ring reflects the night light hauntingly. Your eyes drift to inspect it again, following unknown constellations mapped in the metal. 

There are seven stars on the metal, dotted carefully. Something prods your mind. You narrow your eyes, staring at the constellations. They suddenly look familiar, almost like a distant memory. It’s on the edge of your thought, lingering there as you rotate your hand, holding it close to your face to get a better view.

Seven stars. Each burst its own shape and size. Your frustration mounts like an itch you can’t scratch, a pressure building as you struggle to think of where you know this pattern from, where you know those stars. 

You blink and almost drop your tea. You set it down quickly and rush to the light in the kitchen, flicking it on and making yourself flinch. When your eyes adjust, you hold your hand up, mouth agape as you count the stars. 

One star for winter, the first in the skies

One star for spring, when winter dies

One star for summer, cold winter’s twin

One star for autumn, when the veil is thin

One star for day, the brightest glow

One star for night, when the world is slow

One star on high, to rule alone

The soft rhyme your grandfather used to whisper to you comes back to you with a wave of emotions. You clutch the counter, trying to catch your breath as the rhyme circles your mind over and over again.

The seven stars of the faerie realm. You remember both of them telling you about it, the way each star represented a court. Those stories were your favorite. Your grandmother always wove beautiful stories about the warrior princess of the Night Court who fell in love with a knight of the Summer Court. You remember their story, remember the way they united to banish the power of the High Court, an ancient court draining the power of the six courts.

Grabbing your keys, you don’t even think. Trees and headlights blur by as you drive to your grandmother's house, hands twisting on the steering wheel. Something settles over you - a sense of foreboding that begins to twist in your stomach. You know what you’re going to find. 

And yet when you run through the house and up to your old bedroom, falling to your knees to inspect the mural your grandmother has painted you, you’re surprised. The warrior princess with stars in her hair holds her sword high over her head, ring glowing on her finger with power. 

You look down at your hand. It’s the same ring. 

Rushing up to the attic, you’re already convincing yourself that you’re going mad. Your grandparents were huge storytellers - your father too. It was something so consuming to them, their world of fantasy and mythological creatures. You wanted nothing more than for it to all be real as a child. 

You think of the way your mother purged your home of stories and fantasy when your father passed. How she hated any time your grandmother filled your head with those lies and fantasies. Of the way your mother told you to toss the items in the attic out.

Maybe she was right. Maybe there is a madness that runs in your family, a sickness of the mind that weaves fantasies and makes you think they’re real. There is nothing wrong with your grandmother having a ring she’s painted in your old room. There’s nothing wrong with a ring that won’t come off - it happens all the time. 

Upstairs in the attic, you’re rooting around the bookshelf for the tiny journal your grandfather kept with poems and pages filled with his delicate, slanted writing. You don’t bother to turn the lights on, spying it and snatching it. You crack it open, the yellowed pages familiar as you pace, flicking through the pages. 

You find the entry you want, stopping your pacing to pause and read the poem over again. It’s there, the seven courts of faerie, all ruled by the powerful High Court. You trace the words, shaking your head. Their twisted imaginations are so much more than you could have thought. Their stories are so heavily intertwined that it feels… real, like some sort of past they have shared.

But that is not possible. You write children's novels, inspired by your grandmother’s bedside tales, but they are nothing more than that. You can’t… you can’t fall into delusion that this is real, that these little snippets of this world they spoke of are tangible. 

You know it is. You don’t know why, but the word real pulses through you like the steady beat of your heart. Real real. Real real. Real real. 

It’s all real. 

“Has this world erased any sense of self-awareness you have?” 

The voice makes you scream in surprise, clutching the journal to your chest as your heart beats so wildly you think it’s going to explode. The soft purr belongs to a man standing in the corner of the attic, staring at you with keen eyes. 

“Do not come any closer!” You scream at him, the first words that come to your mind. 

He looks amused. “You were always a brat, but you’re in no position to order me around anymore.”  

Every hair on the back of your neck stands on end. You stare at the man who stands with his hands behind his back in the corner of the attic. He looks entirely out of place - a shirt made of a soft material that is almost see-through hangs loose on his narrow frame. It’s the shade of cotton candy but somehow brighter. The collar is open, revealing smooth skin and layered necklaces with pearls and other small jewels. His pants are tight fitted, something similar to leather and tucked into supple boots. 

There is a circlet resting on his silver head - something that would look ridiculous in any other situation but now commands power. It looks right on him - makes him look otherworldly and deadly.

His eyes are green, nearly glowing in the shadow of the attic. He looks out of place here, a being that isn’t made for your world. He steps forward and it’s soundless. The aged and cracked floorboards don’t dare to make a sound under his feet, the dust of the attic doesn’t move.

He’s not human. That’s for sure.

Something pulses in you. You stare at the strange intruder, ethereal and lost in his eyes but there’s something else you can’t place. You fight the urge to cross the space to him, something pulling on you like an invisible force. Your breath quickens as you fight something that feels like a physical tether pulling you toward him.

He watches you. Silver hair delicately styled back, his circlet like moonlight spun among the strands. There’s jewelry dangling in his ears, more exquisite than you’ve ever seen. An emerald dangles delicately, reflecting light so much that it almost pulses. Your eyes drifted up the silver cuff, made in the style of vines to the top of his pointed ears.

Your breath is stuck in your chest. 

Faerie.

Your mind races to put together the pieces of the tales your grandmother told you, of a world not your own. A world with sugared candies and blood oaths, of drinks so sweet they’d kill you but music and dancing so wonderful you could cry. 

The faerie watches you, head cocked to the side, a predator examining its prey. You clutch the book tighter in your hands, knuckles bone white.

“Why do you look so afraid, Yvaine?” 

You suck in a sharp breath. This faerie knows your grandmother’s name - thinks that you’re her. You’ve been told countless times how much you look like her - young portraits nearly identical. 

Every story she ever told you as a child comes rushing back to you. The way she described a knight who loved her deeply, the way she learned to wield a sword and go on glorious adventures. 

The fae are fickle beings, she once told you. Cruel and intelligent, but with the capacity to love and create in ways that you can hardly imagine. Never trust them implicitly, and always keep your name close to your chest.

“You startled me,” you finally answer. If he knows your grandmother, perhaps he’s one of the good fae she spoke of. You try to relax visibly. “It’s not every day-old friend appear in attics.” 

His eerie eyes drop down to your hand, zeroing in on the ring on your finger. You cover your hand with your grandfather’s journal, shielding the ring from his view. His eyes flash and he smiles. It’s not kind - it’s something else entirely that makes you want to back away from him. 

The faerie tsks, siren eyes dragging back up to fix on your face. “You’re not Yvaine.” 

“What a ridiculous notion.”

He scoffs. “Nothing startled her, much less me. And,” he adds with a saccharine grin, “Yvaine would hardly call me a friend. Pray tell, who are you?”

“Grandma told me to never speak names to the fae.”

His smile sharpens, teeth on display. He is beautiful and terrifying. His canines are sharper than normally as he bows slightly, a ridiculous notion with how exquisitely he’s dressed. “A good piece of advice. How about I introduce myself first: You may call me Jimin.” His eyes go back to the ring you’re hiding. “And you’re wearing something that does not belong to you.” 

“Everything in this house belongs to me.”

“That ring is not from this house.”

“Well it’s where I found it.”

“It does not change the place of origin.”

“Finders keepers,” you sneer at him. 

He frowns. “I am unfamiliar with the meaning of that phrase. Is it perhaps a greeting among thieves?” 

“So you admit you’re a thief.” 

Jimin is so painfully beautiful that only your fear keeps you snapping at him. You retreat backwards slightly, bumping against the boudoir. You remember the letter opener, positioning yourself so that your hand is behind your back, slowly opening the drawer. 

“I’m many things, a thief among them.” His eyes are glittering as he walks around the room, observing the bookshelf. You take the distraction as a moment to put your hand in the drawer, searching for the letter opener. It’s missing. “Looking for something?” 

Your eyes shoot up. Jimin is standing in front of the bookshelf, letter opener in hand. Your anger flares through you and you feel an energy ripple through you again. Jimin’s face twists, becoming unsettled as you yell, “See, you are a thief!”

“This belongs to me. Show me your hand, girl.” 

“Give me my letter opener.”

He makes a sour face. “Letter opener? This knife has belonged to An Oidhche for millennia. It is hardly made for opening letters. It was my-”

“What did you just say?”

“For Makers sake,” he growls and moves forward across the attic. He’s fast, faster than your eyes can follow before he’s in front of you. He smells like orange blossoms and a summer’s night, nearly hypnotizing you. Up close he is so angelic that you fight the urge to sink to your knees and bow. “Give me that ring, girl, or I will rip it from your dead hand, allegiance to Yvaine be damned.” 

“An Oidhche - that’s what my grandmother called me.”

“Congratulations.”

“What does it mean?”

It seems Jimin has met his tolerance for you leaning away from him. He reaches for you, lightning quick. Before you can defend yourself, energy ripples out of you. It hits him and you smell something sharp and metallic as he’s stunned backwards, nearly losing his footing. He looks up at you, eyes round and plush lips open in surprise.

“There’s no way,” he whispers, his lip curling. Shocked, you look at the ring on your hand. It’s glowing, a tingling sensation vibrating up your hand. “Iron?” 

You use his shock to your advantage. Grabbing whatever you can reach, you launch items at Jimin. He’s fast, but not fast enough, his shock still dulling his senses. A bottle of perfume hits him in the head. He snarls, the sound feral and deep as you bolt past him. 

Jimin is quick to recover. There’s a soft whistling sound before you're ripped backwards, a loud thwack startling you. You turn your head to see that Jimin threw the dagger at you, catching your shirt and pinning you to the door. You scream in frustration, pulling at the dagger. It doesn’t give as Jimin smirks, swaggering toward you.

“You tried to kill me!” you scream at him, enraged. Whoever this faerie is, he is clearly not one of the nice ones your grandmother spoke of. “You fucking bastard.”

“Told you I’d pry it from your dead hands.”

Jimin is only a foot away from you. Your instincts scream. You don’t even think. You kick out with your foot, hitting him in the chest. He hardly moves, pain shooting up your shin as though you kicked a wall. It doesn’t stop you. You scream at him, kicking out the other foot, pushing against the door for leverage as you aim higher at his head.

Jimin catches your foot this time, yanking you and the door forward into him. You use the momentum to throw your head forward, slamming your forehead into his face. Jimin curses as pain explodes through your head, stars blinding you. 

Pain. Dreadful, swelling pain spreads through your head. You’ve never headbutt someone before, but it looks so easy when the Avengers do it. You’re dizzy, the room spinning on a crooked access. You go limp against the door, unable to focus on anything but the way you can barely focus on Jimin in front of you.

Your vision is hazy on the edges as he holds a hand up to his nose. It comes away crimson. His green eyes are glowing, brighter than they were before. He surprises you as he begins laughing, tilting his crimson and moonlight face up to the ceiling as he laughs, full-bellied. The sound is like trickling water, trilling and beautiful.

“Fuck, you are certainly of Yvaine's bloodline.” The words reach you like they’re spoken through syrup, sticky and slow. “I cannot believe you headbutt me. And you did it all wrong. You used half your brow bone- oh lovely.”

You feel Jimin’s hands smacking your cheek lightly. You can barely register the touch beyond the pain. You feel sick - you know you’ve damaged yourself. At the least you’ve given yourself a terrible concussion. You feel heavy as you blink, Jimin swimming in your vision.

Jimin reaches for the ring again. You moan, trying to ask him to stop, to leave you alone. He doesn’t. His fingers brush the ring and he curses, yanking his hands away from it. “Fuck,” he spits, nursing his fingers, now tipped red. “Hey – come on, are you alright? Girl? Don’t pass out on me.”

A part of you is smug knowing you’re going to do the exact opposite of what he asks. Because being left alone with him after he’s attacked you is the last thing you want to do, but your vision is fuzzy on the edges and you feel a voice sweeping toward you to swallow you whole. 

“Fuck off,” you manage to slur, going slack against the door and letting the darkness drag you down.

-

Lilac skies stretch overhead. The water around your ankles reflects the same color. There seems to be no horizon in any direction, making you spin in a slow circle. Your feet don’t disturb the warm water as you shift. 

It’s hard to tell what is up and down, forever twilight everywhere all at once. 

“Where am I?” you wonder out loud. 

“You shouldn’t be here.” 

You whip around at the voice. Your grandmother stands a few yards away from you, younger than you ever remember. She’s in a gauzy dress, the material swaying in a breeze that isn’t there. She looks beautiful, face glowing as cool, silver eyes regard you. 

“Grandma,” you whisper.

“We must be quick.” You take a step toward her and she shakes her head, holding a hand out to stop you. “You must not step further into the twilight. You do not belong here.”

“Where is here?” 

“The twilight between life and death. I felt your pull when you entered the In Between.”

“I’m dying?”

She shakes her head. “You’re at the space between worlds - the road between Faerie and Earth and other realms.” You swallow and nod. At least you’re not dying. “You are with Jimin.”

“He’s awful.”

Her smile is fleeting. She looks so much like the woman she painted on the walls of your bedroom - she is that woman. “Jimin is a product of his environment. Given the chance, he usually chooses the lesser evil, however he is ruthless when it comes to protecting what’s his. I am fond of him, in a way, but don’t mistake me - Jimin is cunning and not to be trusted. What is he after?”

“This.” You hold up your hand. Your grandmother’s eyes widen, and she takes a hesitant step forward. 

Suddenly, you’re freezing cold. You shiver, the tips of your fingers trembling with the biting cold.

“Oh Jimin, what are you doing?” Your grandmother whispers. In a rush, she says, “Get away from him as soon as you can. Don’t let him take you to the Night Court. He will portal you south of his court near Hoseok’s home. If he takes you to the Night Court, you will not escape. You must not let him introduce you to Seokjin – the faerie who can lie.”

Again, cold douses you and the world around you dulls. You feel yourself moving away from your grandmother, the twilight shaking itself free of you. You cling to the image, begging, “What? What is that supposed to mean? What is this ring?”

“It isn’t about the ring anymore,” her face is pained. “There are so many things I wish I could tell you - just get away from Jimin and don’t let him take you to Seokjin. Jimin won’t realize the mistake he’s making, he doesn't know that Seokjin isn't who he thinks – he doesn’t know Seokjin killed your grandfather-”

Freezing cold water burns your face. You sputter, gasping for air. You choke on the icy tendrils, wiping your eyes with numb fingers, shaking. The dream - the place of twilight between life and death - vanishes and you’re stuck somewhere unknown dripping with cold.

Jimin is crouched at eye level, hypnotizing face fixated on you. He looks perfect as ever - the blood is gone though it stains the collar of his gossamer shirt, and there’s no bruising. No evidence you hit him at all, wiping out any satisfaction you have.

The cold is so bad it claws at you, head throbbing where you headbutt him. There’s a dry, bitter taste in your mouth. You cringe, unsure why you’ve woken up with something like hangover mouth parching you. 

“Finally,” Jimin mutters. His hands come to cup your face. You flinch away from him, earning a curled lip and a feral growl as he forcibly holds you face, tilting you upward to examine your forehead. Your eyes go upwards to look at the sky and the breath leaves your lungs. “Swelling is going down. You’ll be fine in a moment - forced some tonic in your mouth. I’d apologize for the bitter taste in your mouth, but I’m not actually sorry.” 

You ignore the rude comment. The pull toward Jimin is there again, making you stare at him for a few moments in silence. He lets you, eyes wandering your face, though you can’t tell what he’s thinking.

True to his word, the pain begins to fade in your head. Jimin stands up next to you, trailing towards a massive horse. You gape. It’s beautiful with a midnight coat and dark, leather saddle. The horse’s mane and tail are silver like starlight, silky and smooth as Jimin adjusts the saddle.

“Your horse is beautiful.”

Jimin’s mouth twitches. “Thank you. Her name is Umbriel.”

You look up at the sky. Constellations and colors like you’ve never seen swirl above, the black sky saturated with purple and pink stars, swirling galaxies that make your head spin. It’s so beautiful you can’t look away.

“It’s beautiful,” you whisper. You drop your gaze and look around. The forest is dark, but there are bioluminescent plants swaying in the breeze that smells like jasmine. A glowing, white butterfly brushes by you and you smile, despite yourself. “Everything glows?”

“It’s the Night Court,” Jimin grunts as though this is a huge fact you should have known. “Of course everything glows. Now get up.” 

Don’t let him take you to the Night Court. Your grandmother’s words ring in your head as you slowly stand. Your limbs are still cold. You spot a slow-moving stream a few feet away - perhaps the source of the freezing water Jimin doused you with several times. 

Jimin rolls his eyes when you stand, steady on your feet. He gestures to the horse. “Come on, human. We don’t have all day.”

“It’s night.”

“It’s only night here. But it is day in your scope of time.” 

“What direction is south?”

Jimin pointed behind you, face pulled into a sneer. “Do all human women ask such ridiculous questions? Now let’s-”

You don’t care what he’s saying. You pivot and run. Your shoes aren’t made for athletics - you’re still I fluffy slippers, leggings and a baggy sleepy shirt. The right shoe comes off and you leave it. The ground is soft under your feet, springy and damp. You lose the other shoe, arms pumping at your side as you race downhill. 

Colors blur on either side of you. You don’t hear Jimin behind you as you nearly trip over a vine. Your breath stings in your lungs and - 

A body slams into you. You screech as you crash into the bushes, the breath leaving your lungs. The world is a kaleidoscope of neon as glowing things flutter from the bushes, flying upward in panic as you wheeze in the bushes. Jimin’s grip on your wrists is like iron, pushing your hands into the foliage as he straddles your waist. 

The prince is gone. He is replaced with an angry, wild faerie, Jimin’s canines sharp as he snarls at you. There’s something alien about his face - he’s no longer the beautiful man who was standing in your attic. His eyes seem sharper and his features are too lupine to be anything but faerie, shocking you straight from panic to utter terror. You cringe away from him, screaming on top of your lungs. 

A hand clamps over your mouth as he growls at you to shut up. You squeeze your eyes shut, kicking underneath him and crying under the vice grip he has on your mouth.

This has to be a nightmare. You will yourself to wake up, for the weight of Jimin to vanish. You hope you’re just sleeping in your room, thrashing at the sheets as this strange nightmare continues.

Maybe your mother was right. There was some sort of twisted sickness in your family, an obsession of the mind with fantasy and creatures, and your mind is poisoned now. 

“You’re going to get us both killed if you don’t stop screaming,” Jimin seethes, his voice darker than you remember. You open your eyes as his grip on you lightens a fraction. He’s no longer the terrifying face he was a moment ago, but he’s serious as he lowers himself further to murmur, “The Dreadwolf is probably prowling about these parts. I’m not trying to hurt you.”  

Slowing your breathing, you try to run through your options. Jimin is faster than you and stronger than you- not to mention he has Umbriel at his disposal. He’s armed- you now see the dagger at his waist, next to a sword you did not see before. His grip on your wrist is bruising and he’s looking at you, waiting to see what you’re going to do. 

You’re not going to get away from Jimin. That much is clear. You swallow thickly.

You can’t remember the name Jimin. Your grandmother has talked about many names, but Jimin is unfamiliar to you. But you’re in the Night Court - Jimin said that himself. The place your grandmother told you not to let him take you to - or perhaps she meant it's a palace. 

The Night Court brings up a shiver as you gaze up at him. You remember your grandmother’s words, saying the Night Court is both the most beautiful and one of the deadliest places. A place where it is always night and glowing, full of magic and ancient fae. The Court of Mystery it is also known as - it is the second court to exist in Faerie after the High Court, home to the oldest fae. 

“Are you ready to listen to me?” Jimin’s voice is velvet again. It has a soothing effect on you and you melt into the ferns and nod. He removes his hand slowly, palm hovering over your bruised lips as he waits for you to scream again. “You cannot scream in the Night Court,” Jimin murmurs. A micro-expression you cannot decode flits across his face for a moment as he brushes your hair from your face. “There are things that live off of screams here. I don’t wish to introduce them to you.”

“Don’t you want me dead anyway?” you shoot back. 

His face doesn’t show a single reaction. “I don’t want to hurt you at all. But if you fight me, I’m going to have to. I don’t… know how else to do what I need to do.”

“Maybe try telling me what you need and being partners instead of kidnapping me?”

Jimin doesn’t answer for a moment. “I won’t kill you. I believe Yvaine will haunt me into eternity if I kill you. Grandmother, you called her?” You nod. His eyes are searching your face. “You have her beauty - not her eyes, though. What was your grandfather's name?” 

You hesitate. “Oberon.” 

Pain. Acute pain flickers across Jimin’s face as he rolls off you. It’s so fast you blink in surprise, a world of stars and sky greeting you. Jimin is several feet away from you, running a hand over his face. For a moment, you just watch him. His composure slips for only a second - and then he’s facing you again, giving you an impatient expression, hand on his hip. 

“By all means,” he gestures. “Lay in the ferns. You should know that you crashed into a massive web of spiders.” 

Alarmed, you roll to your feet, brushing yourself off anywhere you can reach. You hop around barefoot and disheveled, running your hands through your hair trying to free it from any creepy crawlies. Jimin whistles and beckons you. “There weren’t really spiders there, but at least you’re on your feet.” 

“I thought the fae couldn’t lie.” 

He arches his brows as you approach him. “So you do know of the fae.”

“That doesn’t answer my question.” 

“I didn’t lie. I said you crashed into spiders - I wasn’t specific about where and when. It was when we portaled here, landed right on the web earlier. I omitted the time.”

“Art of deception,” you mumbled. “Where are we going and what do you want with me? I’d give you this stupid ring if I could, but it won’t come off.” 

His smirk is rueful as he gestures to the horse. Though he’s shorter than Namjoon and floats like a wraith, he’s still taller than you. Dancer thin, but strong, muscles moving under his breeches and - you drag your eyes up, face red at the way you were drawn to the tight pants. 

“It won’t come off unless its maker takes it off you.” 

“Then why did you try?” 

“I had to be sure it was the ring I was searching for.” 

“What does a faerie want with an iron ring anyway? Isn’t it like kryptonite to you people?”

Umbriel is far too tall for you. You put your hand on the horn of the saddle, struggling to lift your foot. Jimin grabs you by the waist and lifts you like you’re nothing, placing you on the horse. He frowns as he hauls himself up behind you, setting your cheeks aflame and heart racing. “Like what?” 

“You don’t spend much time on earth, do you? Kryptonite - the one thing that can kill superman.” 

“He doesn’t sound very super if this… kryptonite can kill him. Iron won’t kill me, it just hurts.” He lifts his chin slightly. “And of course I don’t visit earth. I’m a crown prince of the Night Court, the Evening Star and heir to the High Throne of Faerie.” 

“Oh.” 

You’re not surprised - Jimin was obviously a prince. But of the Night Court - and the High Court? From what you can recall, the High Court had long since been removed as the seat of power in Faerie. There had been a dark king who was abusing his power over the courts. That power had been taken away - by your grandmother and a knight of the Summer Court, if your grandmother’s tales had been truthful. 

So did that mean… your eyes dart down to the ring, thinking about the way it showed the seven stars of the courts. The pulse of power you felt when you put it on, the way Jimin said the ring was his... 

A nasty feeling twists in your gut as you swallow, knowing there is only one reason Jimin could want the ring so desperately as the heir to the High Throne. 

“This ring has the power of the old High King, doesn’t it?” Jimin says nothing. He clicks his tongue, urging the horse forward. “Why else would you want it - as an heir? You said it was yours…” 

“It does - and it is.” 

“Then why is it made from iron?”

He sneers. “Because your grandmother is a clever little witch.” 

“She was not a witch!”

“You're right. She was a wicked little half-fae who became a hero.” He heaves a sigh. You feel the air expand in his chest before he lets it out. “But look where we are now, living the consequences of her actions. Her fix, however noble, was temporary and made without thought of the future. Of my future.” 

“My-” you shake your head. “My grandmother was not half-fae. She was human, like the rest of my family.” 

“Of course she was. Why do you think she lived in Faerie at all? Where did she get her gifts? Or how does she have fae artifacts in that creepy little room? The only reason you lived portaling here is because you’re part fae.” 

“Me?” 

“Is there an echo out here? Yes you - do you know nothing about her? You know things about the High Court and you don’t seem completely perplexed about where we are, but you know nothing of your history? Your grandmother was the bastard daughter to the old king of the Night Court and your grandfather was Oberon, one of the greatest knights this realm has ever seen. Ever.” 

You blanch. “We’re related?” 

“What?” He seems disgusted, pulling away from you slightly. “No - King Samar was not my father. Yvaine was whelped by Samar and a human housemaid whose name no one remembers. Queen Eun was my mother. My father was…” Jimin searches for the words. “King Malik of the High Court. He was once the High King of Faerie.” 

“Oh.” 

Silence as you ride. You picture your grandmother and father as… fae. It seems both ridiculous and yet, your instincts don’t rebel at the thought. You think about how you’ve always had dreams of strange places and creatures. How sometimes things happened around your grandparents that didn’t make sense - you always blamed it on your overactive imagination. 

“I didn’t know that about them,” you murmur. “They were only ever human to me.” 

“Well, settle in. You’re about to learn plenty about your family tree.” He glances at you. “You still haven’t given me a name.” 

You hesitate and decide to give him only your first name. He nods after hearing it, humming. “Beautiful,” he says so softly you almost don’t hear him. He doesn’t give you time to second-guess the compliment. “Sleep if you wish, Umbriel and I will not let you fall. We have a bit of a ride to Hoseok’s cabin where we can rest.”

-

You can’t sleep. You settle for uneasy silence, watching the world around you. You spot pixies and dryads floating between trees, and you hear things skitter underfoot.

Once in a while, Jimin reroutes Umbriel. Once, he even hissed at a dark alcove as you passed a copse of trees. The trees grow thicker, moving downhill as you enter a forest proper.

It’s hard to stay focused when you’re pressed against Jimin – he’s warmer than you expected, and he smells like orange blossom and late nights. 

You don’t care. You remind yourself that he’s a liar – in fae terms. And he’s kidnapped you, despite the draw you feel to him and despite his beautiful face.

The world around you has your attention instead.

The sky is a mystery in itself, shifting colors of dark twilight. You can’t get over how it looks like the entirety of space and all of the worlds are suspended above you, shifting with the ebb and flow of the aurora borealis back in your home realm.

Everything around you is both dark and glowing. The shadows are thicker and longer, but the world is line with soft color. Your hands brush branches as you ride – flowers vanish into their stalks at the touch of your fingers, lichen grows bright green at the heat of your hand.

“Stop touching the trees. You’ll wake them and I’ll have to threaten them to keep our passing to themselves.

You frown. “For a prince you’re not very nice. Aren’t you supposed to be polite to your subjects?”

“They aren’t my subjects,” Jimin snaps. “The Night Court answers to my adoptive brother.”

“Yeah, but aren’t you-"

“No. My mother, who was my only claim to the throne is dead. Jin lets me act as an emissary because I am little threat to him. He’s a Shade- only true heirs of the Night Court command the shadow flame.”

“Is he nice?”

Jimin doesn’t answer your question.

Instead, he offers, “The High Court are my people by blood. They’re why I need that ring that refuses to come off of your finger. Without the power of their court, they’re dying. Their lands are poisoned and being consumed, and neighboring courts are taking advantage of that. They’re-” He breaks off and growls, the sound vibrating through your back. “They’re hurting the high fae and they’re abusing them. I want that power back. Not for me, but for the faeries who are dying without it.”

“Isn’t that power what got them hurt in the first place because it was abused?”

“King Malik was sick. He didn’t deserve the power of the High King, but what’s happening in his abandoned lands isn’t right.” Jimin’s knuckles are bone white on the reigns. “A court is only as strong as the power in their lands. They High Court has nothing and no one, and the only heir of Malik doesn’t have so much as a drop of high fae glamour.”

“Oh. You weren’t born with it?”

“It was taken from me the same day it was taken from my father.”

Sadness stirs in the pit of your stomach. On one hand, Jimin seems to generally want you out of harm's way, despite his actions. Though he can deceive, the root of his goals is to protect his people. It’s obvious he cares for them, the way he grows angry at the thought of their suffering.

“You pity me.”

It wasn’t a question, but you shake your head. “I just wonder what you could have been if things weren’t taken from you. You sound like you have the potential to be kind.”

Jimin says nothing.

Instead, there’s a long, terrible howl that shatters the night. You suck in a sharp breath as Jimin stops Umbriel, who begins dancing back and forth nervously as Jimin swivels in the seat. The howl lowers, but the world feels colder now. A breath of wind tickles your face, blowing your hair northward.

“Fuck,” Jimin swears, turning in the seat. He wraps an arm around your waist and squeezes you to his chest. “Hold on to me. The Dreadwolf knows we’re here.”

Umbriel takes off faster than any horse you’ve ever ridden. Her hooves are like thunder, echoing in the forest as the world moves past you impossible fast. You dig your fingers into Jimin’s arm around your waist, letting him hug you as the horse picks up speed, guiding herself through the trees with little nudging from Jimin.

Panic begins to seize you when you hear the howl again – it’s further away, you think. You’re not sure, clutching to Jimin and trying not to unseat yourself as you turn to look over your shoulder.

“Sit still!” Jimin snaps.

You obey.

The rubbing of the saddle chafes you as Jimin navigates through the forest. The world drops dramatically into a dell, and he slows the pace, navigating Umbriel carefully down the slope. You feel him turn around for a moment, but you don’t dare look behind you. It feels like it’s been almost an hour since you’ve heard the Dreadwolf.

The name sounds so familiar and yet… you’re unable to place the label of something so dark that it scares Jimin.

A tiny, log home sits on the edge of the dell’s rise. Green smoke curls out of the chimney, the lights inside the windows a muted gold. Jimin leads the horse around the home, soundless. He stops at the front of what you suppose is the yard, sliding off gracefully and helping you down. You almost thank him but decide against it as he murmurs to Umbriel in a language you can’t understand. She takes off running and you make a sound of distress.

“She’ll lead the Dreadwolf away.” Jimin looks at you as he walks towards the steps leading up to the home. “Don’t worry – he won’t harm Umbriel. He’s rather fond of animals. If he so much as hurts my horse, I’ll give him hell.”

You scramble after him, trying to mute your steps as you cast your eyes to the owl watching on top of the roof. It’s so black it’s nearly invisible. You wouldn’t have seen it if not for two glowing eyes of gold.

At the front of the home is a small porch. There are plants hanging from the eaves and lining the windows. A small chair next to a table ringed with water stains stands alone.

Jimin raps his knuckles on the door thrice. There’s silence surrounding the home, the unsettling kind that has you shifted from foot to foot. The owl on the roof hoots loudly, making you flinch. Jimin eyes you from the side but says nothing, lifting his hand to knock again when the door opens suddenly.

“You’ve brought the Dreadwolf to my lands,” a hushed voice says. Jimin yanks you inside the cabin.

Quickly you feel warmth seep into your bones. You don’t realize how cold your extremities are until you feel the heat of the fire. You’re drawn to it, holding out your hands to feel the licking warmth of the green flames.

“These aren’t your lands,” Jimin huffs.

“I tend to them when your brother does not. Therefore – my lands.”

“Sounds like the human’s ridiculous phrase of finders keepers.”

You turn your head to look at the stranger whose home you’re now in – he has on a cloak and he’s rushing about the house shuttering the windows and blowing out the candles. It’s a small room with a single bed, a kitchen table, and a humble kitchen. There’s a door that leads to another tiny room, but it’s firmly shut as the man rushes past you to shutter the windows facing the dell.

All that remains is the green fire – dimmer than you remember it being – and a single orb of fire hovering over the man’s shoulder.

When he turns to greet you, your breath gets stuck in your throat. Like Jimin, he’s wonderful to look at. Smooth skin and high cheekbones, kind eyes that are playful and light brown. His ears are tipped with the sharpness of the fae and when he gives you a quick smile, you see the pointed teeth. Still, he does not terrify you the same way Jimin does.

“They call me Hoseok, though you may call me Hobi.” He bows at the waist before meeting your eyes with a smile. “I apologize we must meet under such circumstances.”

“And what are those circumstances?” Jimin asks. You glance at him over your shoulder. He’s lounging in the bed, legs spread wide as he gives Hobi a pointed glare while leaning back on his hands. He is every bit the arrogant prince now and yet… painfully beautiful. “Go on, Hobi.”

“Ignore him. I usually do,” Hobi says to you. He brushes past you and touches your shoulder gently. “Let’s get you a change of clothes.”

“Thank you,” you murmur. “Um – you can call me Y/N.”

“Oh I know,” he assures you. He opens a heavy trunk at the foot of his bed. Jimin watches with a silent glare and something verging on a pout. You’re pleased by this, for some reason. “You look just like Yvaine.”

“Why do you know her name?”

“I know more than you, Your Highness. That’s what watchers do – we watch.” Hoseok stands, clothes folding in his hands. He holds them out to you. “It’s spider silk,” Hoseok explains. “Tough, but light enough to travel quickly. The cloak is lined with fur – you’ll find it warm but light. You can change in the washroom.”

You don’t accept the clothes, eyes flicking up from the clothes to him. “They are lovely, but I don’t accept this gift.”

Hoseok lights up like a fire, smiling at you as he looks at Jimin, laughing with unfiltered glee. You’re unsure why he’s so happy – you’ve rejected his gifts in an attempt not to bind yourself to him. Another lesson from your grandma: never accept gifts from the fae. Acknowledge that they are lovely, and politely decline to accept them.

“She knows of the fae?” Hoseok asks Jimin, turning to you. “I offer these with no bargain, Y/N. These are gifted freely with no favors or debts do. I swear it.”

You hesitate. Jimin groans. “Faeries cannot lie, human.”

With a growl, you accept the clothes and storm to the washroom.

The moment you close the door to the small washroom, you hear whispering on the other side of the door. Hoseok sounds angry - you can’t make out what they’re saying, but even after thirty minutes of spending time with Jimin, you can recognize the softness of his voice. 

A shiver wracks your spine unbidden. You shove away thoughts of the prince just beyond the door and turn to look in the small mirror framed with antlers. You look disheveled and dirty. There is a slight bruise on your forehead, but Jimin was right - there’s no lump from where you tried to headbutt him.

The thought makes you smile. Causing him any amount of grief has quickly become your favorite thing to do. You don’t hate anyone that you can think of, but you already hate Jimin. Hate the way he ambushed you, hate the way he spoke to you, hate the way he looked down on you.

But most of all, you hate that he’s kidnapped you and brought you to Faerie- and that it excites you above all else.

Your grandmother told you terrifying stories of human children taken from their bed and replaced with faerie changelings. The children would be brought to Faerie and used as slaves and thralls, pretty pets for faeries to look at and taunt as long as the human lived - which was longer than usual, in Faerie - and how they lived lives both terrible and wonderful.

You couldn’t imagine being raised in a world like this - beautiful, surrounded by so much delicate beauty but filled with so much violence. And you know there is violence ahead. 

Hoseok hasn’t just given you soft leather breaches lined with a thin layer of wool and a long, black tunic - he’s given you a leather belt with a small dagger buckled to it. You slide the breaches on, raising your brows in surprise. They fit perfectly, if not a little long in the ankle. The tunic is long and green, embroidered with gold thread in swirling designs you realize are flames. Your fingers trace the fire on the sleeve.

The cloak is wonderful, thick to keep out the cold but light as a feather. In a sweeping motion, you tie it at your throat. Your hair is tangled, making you pull it up high in a ponytail and out of your way. 

You leave the dagger for last, carefully balancing it on the edge of the sink as you take time to wash your face. The water is freezing cold, burning your skin the same way the water had from the stream. There’s a soft linen rag and you use it to dry your face before glancing back up in the mirror. Not perfect, but doable. 

With curious fingers, you pull the unadorned hilt from the weapons belt. The blade is nothing special. It’s made from the same dark metal as the knife Jimin has taken from you. You have no idea how to use it, but a strong piece of advice from Game of Thrones comes to you: Stick them with the pointy end. 

It’s a good piece of advice, you think as you slide the dagger back home. The leather belt is snug around your waist. You’re unsure if Jimin knows Hoseok gave you the knife - somehow you think Jimin wouldn’t appreciate you being armed - so you hide it with your cloak. 

When you step out of the washroom, Jimin straightens on the bed. He goes quiet as Hoseok moves about the small kitchen, green eyes only for you. You swallow and shut the door behind you. 

Jimin’s gaze is unreadable. He stands and crosses the space to you, steps gentle. You freeze in place - not out of fear, but out of the way you feel the pull to him again. You clench your teeth, hating that something deep in the pit of your heart draws you toward him. 

You think it’s because of how beautiful he is. The siren eyes as he stops in front of you, eyes dipping up and down. The sultry curve of his sinful mouth frowning slightly. You avert your eyes, feeling heat creep up your next at his proximity and the tiny displeasure in his expression. 

“You were not made for Summer Court colors,” Jimin whispers. You glance at him, surprised. He brushes his fingers against the flames on the sleeve peeking out from your cloak. “You belong in midnight blue and silver.” 

Jimin doesn’t give you a moment to ask what he means. He drops his hand and brushes past you, joining Hoseok in the kitchen. 

Warily, you watch the two of them prepare a meal. They move in sync, leading you to believe they’re old friends. You hesitantly sit in a chair by the bed, eyes fixed on the pair of them. Jimin, though mostly polite and a bit cold, smiles more when Hoseok murmurs something to him.

Hoseok himself is like fire and warmth. He feels the room with a brightness than you can appreciate, and you feel like if your grandmother knew him, he was one of the good fae that she spoke about. She never mentioned many names, but you wish she had told you about Hoseok.

Other names you’re familiar with. King Samar of the Night Court – ancient and ruling for hundreds of years. Your grandmother always spoke his name with a hushed fear and a faraway look. You imagine now that she was remembering a father – a father, as it seems, who had little time or desire for her.

King Malik is a name you know even more. The High King of Faerie, who ruled for so long that he became mad. If your grandmother's stories were true, the death of his one true love began driving him to madness. He became obsessed with resurrection and violating the afterlife, looking for ways to bring back the woman he loved.

Your eyes trail to Jimin, who is rolling his eyes at something Hoseok says.

Eun. You realize the woman that King Malik went mad over is Jimin’s mother. Despite having a bad taste in your mouth for the prince, you feel yourself soften. It must be difficult, to lose one parent and the other go mad. What you don’t understand is how your grandmother came to take his father’s power, and how his father ultimately came to pass.

The High Court had dispersed after his passing, either becoming solitary faeries or joining other courts.

You wonder if Jimin knew them well. He had said the Night Court were not his subjects…

“Dinner is ready!” Hoseok chirps. “And don’t worry,” he adds at your wary look. “It’s not going to spell you to dance until your feet are blood stumps or sing until your bleeding from your throat.”

“Is that real?” you ask, inhaling the scent of the spiced stew.

“Of course it is,” Jimin answers around a mouthful of cheese. “On Beltane we make the humans-”

Hoseok hits Jimin in the back of the head so hard the prince chokes on the cheese. You widen your eyes as Hoseok levels a glare as he sits down at the small table, pulling a chair out for you. His burning gaze is on Jimin as he says, “We don’t do that anymore.”

Jimin says nothing, glowering as he bites into his bread.

After that, dinner is held in relative silence. Hoseok asks you about your life and your heritage, but you answer in hesitant pieces. You’re still not sure what you’re doing here or what is expected of you. To his credit, Hoseok never asks about the ring on your finger. Never even looks at it.

By the end, you’re full and satiated, drowsy as you help Hoseok with the dishes while Jimin peers out of a curtained window. When you’re done, wiping your hands dry, Jimin gestures to the bed. “Sleep. We have a long ride in a few hours.”

“I thought you said it was day. Shouldn’t I stay awake?”

Hoseok shakes his head, answering, “Asleep at true night in the Night Court is a bad idea if you’re not in court proper. It’s okay.”

Jimin scoffs, but you feel comforted. Hoseok leads you to the small bed, giving you blankets and a cup of tea before he joins Jimin in the kitchen, their conversation too quiet for you to hear.

The tea makes you sleepy. You fight it, too nervous to fall asleep. The bed dips suddenly next to you, making you flinch and open your eyes. Jimin murmurs and apology. Perhaps you’re already dreaming – you imagine that he brushes your hair back as he sits on the edge of the bed and murmurs, Sleep. I won’t let anyone hurt you.

As you drift, you believe the only one who can hurt you is him.

-

A long howl wakes you up. You shoot forward in bed, panting and searching in a fright. You find them both silent and near the window facing the dell. Hoseok looks at you and holds a finger to his lips, then beckons you. A nervous tingle goes up your spine as you cross the space hesitantly, taking place next to Hoseok. Jimin glances at you around Hoseok, frowning.

Perhaps that makes you a fool. You know how easy it is for the fae to deceive humans with false niceties. But there is something about his aura that feels warm. Standing next to him, he smells like citrus and blossom, the same way your grandfather used to smell.

The realization makes your eyes watery, and you glance at him as Jimin peaks out the window. “Are you Summer Court?” you whisper, voice barely audible. Hoseok looks shocked, nodding his head. “You smell like my grandfather.” 

He nods and whispers, “Oberon.”

“Shut up,” Jimin hisses and closes the window. “The Dreadwolf approaches.”

Something deep within you curls in fear.

Suddenly, you remember the name. The Dreadwolf was one of the darker parts of your grandmother’s tales. A faerie loyal only to the king of the Night Court, he was a servant and hunter to the king. Merciless and terrifying, the Dreadwolf could shift forms into a large, black wolf, hunting his prey to the ends of the realms.

Your grandmother assured you that he never lost his prey. Ever. 

Anxiety began to chew at your stomach. Jimin softly walked the circumference of Hoseok’s home, his eyes focused somewhere else, as though he were watching the wolf through some other lens. Your heart skipped in a nervous rhythm, moving from foot to foot as the silence pressed in. 

Jimin stopped walking in front of the door to the home.

Sensing your eyes on him, Jimin looks over his shoulder at you. His eyes are dark green, shining at the bottom of a deep lake. His eyes flicker for a moment before he looks at Hoseok and murmurs, “I apologize, Hoseok. I hoped to avoid going to the palace but...”

Hoseok looks as confused as you do when Jimin opens the door to the home. Hoseok makes a startled sound but Jimin is stepping outside, calling “Jungkookie,” Jimin calls as he looks back at the pair of you - regret flashes so quickly on his face, you’re sure you imagined it. “The watcher has found what we’ve been looking for. Don’t touch the girl or I’ll skin you.” 

“You fucking bastard,” Hoseok swears, unsheathing his dagger. You do the same, holding it awkwardly in your hand as Jimin steps to the side of the doorway, refusing to look at you. “They will kill me.” 

A deep growl comes from somewhere outside. It’s low, like the churning of hell underneath your feet, the house trembling. Your heart pounds faster as Hoseok shoves you behind him. “You cannot fight here. Go through the window behind us. Run south.”

A figure enters the doorway. Your breath rushes out of your lungs as you stare at the fae in front of you. Black hair hanging in his dark eyes, broad shoulders and ripping muscles. There are dark marks running down his arm, tattoos of glyphs and swirling ink that you can’t decipher. He’s much taller than Hoseok and Jimin, and his eyes are focused on you. He is impossibly handsome, your heart flipping. 

“Hello,” his voice is phantom soft. “Come out from behind Hoseok, won’t you?” 

A flash of blinding heat and flame erupts from the fireplace in the direction of Jungkook. You scream as you turn and bolt for the window. Hoseok is shouting something at Jungkook as he wields flame behind you, a fiery whip in his hand. Jungkook snarls, raising the hairs on the back of your neck. 

You sheath your dagger, clambering onto the dinner table and pulling the window open. You haul yourself through it, trying not to panic with the sounds of snarling and yelling behind you. You freefall for a moment until you hit the ground and roll. Your breath is knocked out of you for the second time that night, leaving you wheezing and holding your arm, sore from absorbing the fall. 

Crawling to your feet, you look up as a shadow looms over you. Jimin frowns. “You’re not very graceful.” 

You don’t think. You let survival instinct take over, ripping out the dagger from your belt and swiping at him. Jimin backs up, dancing away from you with a twitch of his lips. “He gave you a dagger?” 

“You betrayed him.” 

“Court is a game of betrayal, get used to it. Hoseok will be fine. Jungkook won’t kill him.”

“I thought perhaps you were different than you first appeared. Turns out I was wrong – do you even care about your people or was that another twist of words?”

Something like rage heats his face. You manage to get to your knees and swipe out again. Jimin dances away from you as a sharp, animal cry comes from the house. Jimin looks at the window, brows raised. “Good for Hoseok, sounds like he managed to wound the pup.” 

Jimin may not be able to lie directly, but he’s a deceitful bastard. He almost had you, telling you that he was worried about his people, that the absence of the High Court was poisoning the land. Now you knew what he really wanted - the ring, the power at your hand. For his selfish purposes, for the Night Court. 

On your feet now, you feel a tremor in your hand. Energy lights you up from the inside out. It’s a familiar sensation, one you felt when you put the ring on or when you touched the dagger you found in the drawer. It’s something like rage, hot and crackling. You remember how the ring defended you and channel it, launching a hand at Jimin. 

A dark flame ripples up your arm, and though it doesn’t burn you, you can feel a hot, decaying heat. You thrust your hand outward, urging the flame to shoot out at Jimin. It obeys, a blast of black fire licking toward him. He rolls away from it easily, the flame hitting a tree and turning it to… ash. Your face whitens as you drop your hand in shock. Jimin is on his feet again, surprised with his mouth parted. The flame dances along your arms, tingling your skin as you stare at the grayed ash of the tree. 

“Interesting,” Jimin murmurs. “You’re going to have to learn to control that, Shade.”

Somewhere you can’t see, Jungkook snarls loudly, followed by silence. Your flame gutters out immediately, thinking the worst. Terror shoots through you for Hoseok, for yourself.

“For what it’s worth,” Jimin murmurs softly, “I have no desire to hurt you. None at all. I apologize, but this is the only course of action. I wanted to take you to the Winter Court, but we have a new plan. I'm sorry.” 

Before you can figure out what he means, Jimin is in front of you, slamming you to the ground so hard it feels like the world shatters. 

The world fades. 

-

You drift. You search for that place of forever twilight but cannot find it. Your thoughts are nothing at all. They drift, unable to form memories and strings of ideas. You struggle in the space where you drift, unable to remember where you are or where you’re going. What you’re doing, or who you’re with.

There is dull pain. It might be your head, it might be your heart, it might be your toe. You don’t know where the pain comes from, but there is pain as you drift. 

Sometimes you feel almost awake. Other times there’s nothing- not even pain. 

Time is meaningless as you drift. You don’t know how long you’re in that space where there is nothing, but slowly your thoughts connect. You can identify it’s your head that hurts - and the rest of your body throbs. There’s a dullness to your senses like fog - you no longer feel that pulsing energy you located to try and fend off Jimin.

It’s just cold and muted.

With a groan, you open your eyes. It’s dim in the room, a single purple light burning low at the far corner. Your tongue feels heavy, your mouth like sandpaper. Movement in the corner of the room catches your eye. Fear seizes you as you push yourself away from the dark figure. You push yourself into a corner of the cot you’re on, sheets tangling you.

“Hey,” a familiar voice murmurs. “It’s me.”

Blinking away the blurriness on the edge of your vision, you realize it’s Hoseok. 

You’re both in a small room with two cots, end tables next to each. There is a tiny rug covering the stone floor, and a heavy wooden door without a handle. The purple light follows Hoseok - you realize it’s a tiny purple flame, licking the air and snapping next to his shoulder. A pair of glowing, white eyes blink to life in the flame and you squeak, wide-eyed and pushed against the wall. 

“Oh yeah,” Hoseok grins, looking at the fire. “I didn’t introduce you at the house because Jimin was there. This is Flare. He’s a fire spirit.” 

“Hello, Flare,” you croak, voice like sandpaper. Still, Flare snaps and pops with happiness, glowing pink at the edges for a moment. 

Hoseok rushes to your end table, grabbing a waterskin and passing it to you. You take it with greedy hands, uncorking it and chugging the cool water. It calms your throat immediately, earning a sigh. “Thanks.” You wipe the water running down your chin with the back of your hand. “Are you okay?”

You look at Hoseok - really look at him. His brown hair is matted and dirty, and there’s a bandage on his neck darkened with blood. You panic, sitting forward to tend to him when he holds a hand with a kind smile. “Already taken care of. That dog almost killed me.”

“I’m so sorry.”

“There’s nothing to be sorry for. Jimin is a traitorous bastard and Jungkook gets too enthusiastic. It isn’t the first time he’s bitten me.” 

“I thought you were friends.”

Hoseok snorts. “You never know where you stand with Jimin. He does everything on his own, that clever little mind of his making plots within plots. I think he did what was best in the moment, which meant letting Jungkook take us.”

“Why be friends with him at all, then?”

Hoseok looks sad when he glances at you. “Because he wasn’t always this way. Jimin is a product of his environment. He makes decisions that he thinks are best for his people, even if it puts friends in danger. His intentions are pure, his methods are brutal. But he is a prince of his people, for what it’s worth.” 

You think about that. It sounds like what your grandmother had told you. He is a product of his environment. You assume they’re talking about the Night Court. You think of the brief warmth in Jimin’s face in Hoseok’s home - those had not seemed fabricated, but you knew the fae were famous for mimicking emotion.

It really had been a ploy.

Knowing that bothers you more than you expect. You’ve only known Jimin a day, but something about him being exactly as you expected is incredibly disappointing. You fell for it just like he knew you would, and you’re all the dumber for it.

“Don’t beat yourself up,” Hoseok sighs, settling next to you on the cot with his back against the wall. “He may yet still be an ally, who knows. It’s hard to tell what his plans are.” 

“I don’t care what his plans are. I just want to go home.”

“You’re going to have to accept that going home is not an option.” 

“I have people there who are going to freak out that I’m missing.” 

Namjoon. Your mother. Your editor. The list is small, but it’s still a list of people who will look for you.

“Time moves differently here,” Hoseok explains. “What feels like a year in faerie might only be a minute in your world.” He glances sidelong at you. “That being said, I won’t tell you there is a guarantee that you’ll ever go home again. My best advice is to learn how to survive her first. Focus on home later.”

It’s an honest piece of advice. You know this, but it doesn’t hurt any less. You lean against the wall and close your eyes, feeling the urge to cry twist in your throat. If Hoseok notices, he doesn’t say anything. He lets you grieve in silence, mulling over the series of events that have landed you here in a room with him, held against your will.

You lift your hand, examining the ring. It glimmers in the dark, the seven stars looking at you. Tentatively, you pull at it again - it still doesn’t come off. You sigh heavily, dropping your hand to the bed. 

“Can I ask you something?” you ask softly, not looking at Hoseok but staring at the door. He nods. “This gives me power, right?” You hold up your hand, showing the ring. “I turned a tree to ash with a black flame. Was aiming at Jimin, though.”

Hoseok leans forward. You glance at him to see his brows knit, head tilted. “You summoned shadow fire?” You nod. “Huh. That is not a power of the High Court. That’s a gift unique to King Samar. You’re his descendent, though.” 

You pale. You hadn’t thought of that when Jimin told you of your grandmother’s heritage. You look up at the ceiling, chewing on the new information. You’ve never done something like that before. When you tell Hoseok as much, he seems lost in thought. 

“Have you touched anything beside the ring that was new? Anything that felt powerful?” 

You’re about to tell Hoseok no when you remember the spark of power you felt when you had picked up the dagger that Jimin now has at his waist. “The dagger,” you whisper. Hoseok looks confused so you elaborate, “There was a dagger in a drawer I thought was a letter opener. Jimin has it - he said it’s belonged to the An Oidhche for millennia.” 

“It’s your grandmother’s.” Hoseok smirks, leaning back against the wall. “A gift from Jimin’s mother to Yvaine on her birthday - a way to tell Yvaine that Eun didn’t hate her. Even if Eun wasn’t her mother.” 

“No wonder he didn’t give it back.”

“When you touched it, you unbound your power. Similar to the ring, but not nearly as powerful as a spell. Have you experienced any other powers?” You shook your head. “Hm. If you learned, you might be quite the fighter.” 

Silence envelops you. Flare floats closer to you, hovering near your face. You smile a little, feeling his warmth as you hold a finger out. He dances around your point finger before settling on the tip, balanced like a small bird. He makes a chattering noise and changes color, turning to a blush pink.

“He likes you,” Hoseok murmurs. “He’s afraid of most Night Court fae.”

“Why?” 

“They are dark.” 

You don’t ask him to elaborate. Instead, you welcome the silence. 

So much has happened in a few hours. You’re unsure how to keep track of everything. The urge to cry swells again. As though sensing your distress, Flare hops up your arm to jump in front of you, hovering just in front of your face as he takes different shapes. 

You watch him - he turns into a pink unicorn, a blue dragon, a purple serpent. Flare is magnificent, a tiny spirit of flame and colors and shapes. You don’t realize you’re crying until he squeaks, a distressed sound as he ping pongs back and forth in front of you, flashing from red to orange.

You laugh and wipe the tears, aware that Hoseok is watching. “I’m not upset,” you whisper to Flare. You hold out your hands, cupped. He lands in them, warming your skin. “You’re very beautiful. I’m crying because even though this is very scary, there is beauty here.” You sniffle. “Because everything my grandmother ever told me… it’s true.” 

-

A loud clang startles you awake. You don’t remember falling asleep, but the room is dark. Flare is nowhere to be seen, and Hoseok is gone. You scramble to your feet as the door opens, a burning torch appearing in the doorway. Jimin appears, settling the torch in an empty sconce on the wall. He slides in the door, shutting it firmly behind him.

Hatred bubbles up immediately. You reach for the swell of power, but it still feels muted, like the magic so new to you is locked behind a door. 

Jimin scoffs. “You were drugged so you can’t turn me to ashes, Shade.”

“So you’re afraid of me.”

“I take precautions for even the smallest ant that stings.” Your ball your fists at the insult. 

Jimin is dressed differently. Gone is the silk pink shirt. He’s in all black now, the collar opens loose at the neck to reveal glittering necklaces. The cuffs of the fine shirt are stitched with silver, phase of the moon artfully placed on the material. His dark pants are tucked into soft leather boots. The circlet in his hair is different than before - there are stars and moons in this one, glittering diamonds catching the firelight. 

He looks so beautiful that you avert your eyes, shame coloring your face pink. The draw to him again is so strong you want to bend over at the waist and gasp for air. It’s a magnetic pull that threatens to drive you to insanity, especially when he steps forward. 

“Are you okay?” he asks, brows pinched. 

“Like you care.” 

Something flashes in Jimin’s eyes. He straightens, looking down his nose at you, face impassive. “You’re right,” he deadpans. “I shouldn’t care about a half-human brat. Come. You’ve been summoned by the King of the Night Court.”

“I won’t help you. I don’t care if you torture me. You betrayed Hoseok, who was your friend. That bullshit you fed me about helping suffering fae? It was some sort of wordplay, wasn’t it? You want whatever this is,” You hold up your hand, “For yourself. Be honest with me.” Jimin opens the door, staring at you without a reaction. This enrages you further. Of course he’s unaffected. He doesn’t care.

“If you’re done with your speech, there are things to be done. You need to change for the ceremony.”

“What ceremony?”

Jimin winces then. He turns on a heel and storms out of the door, boots echoing in a hallway. After a moment’s consideration, you hurry after him.

The hallway is long and dark, lit with orange torches. Jimin is several strides ahead of you. You run to catch up with him, falling into pace as he marches, staring straight ahead. There are no windows, but doors line the hallway. You have no idea what horrors could be behind them.

You grab Jimin to stop him and he reacts immediately. You’re pressed against the wall in a moment, torch crackling next to you. You hold your breath as Jimin invades your space, pinning a wrist to the wall as he lowers his face to glower at you. “Don’t,” he growls lowly. “Touch me like that. Not here. Not during the ceremony. If you show an ounce of that disrespect, they will make me kill you.”

“Why should I believe anything you say? You deceive me and your friend and you ask for blind loyalty when you haven’t learned it. You’ve told me nothing.”

“I’ve told you what won’t get you kill. You may be able to lie unlike the fae, but you’re not trained in the world of deception and the practice it takes. Faeries made a game of lying and you have no idea how to play.”

Silence stretches between you. You’re panting with rage, twisting in his grip. Jimin tightens his hand, pressing his waist against you. You freeze as the smell of orange blossoms and night fall over you. It’s hard not to shiver in his grasp, especially with his breath fanning you.

Jimin loosens his grip slightly as he lowers his face further, making sure he has your eye contact when he says, “I am going out of my way to value your life while I complete what I must. I cannot lie.”

You jut your chin out. “Faeries made a game of lying,” you quote back to him. 

“I’m not lying to you. I swear on the Maker and my mother Eun the Lightspear that I am not lying to you right now. I am trying to protect you. You have complicated this in ways you cannot fathom, but I will try to spare you.”

A beat of quiet passes between you to. You see the seriousness in his gaze, the way his breath quickens. It’s the most you’ve ever heard him swear something – and though you’re unsure what swearing in Faerie does exactly, it feels important. It feels binding.

So you nod. “Okay.”

“This is going to be unpleasant,” Jimin sighs as he lets you go. He backs up a few paces and you try not to follow him across the hall. “I mean it when I say I’m trying to keep you alive. But if you behave like that at court, they will eat you alive and call it entertainment.”

“Okay.”

You rub your wrist where he gripped you and his expression softens, just slightly. “I’m sorry if I hurt you.”

Instead of telling him it’s okay, you ask, “What ceremony were you talking about?”

“I’ve claimed you for the Night Court.” Jimin begins walking again and you scurry behind him to keep up.

“What?”

“Your grandmother is Yvaine, Daughter of Samar. She’s the half-sister to my adoptive brother, Jin.” He grimaces. “You have little claim to the throne has a half-fae, but you’re a Shade, which means something to the gentry around here. To save your life, I’ve pledged you to me. You cannot under any circumstances let my brother know that you're a Shade, he will see it as a threat.”

“What does that mean?”

Jimin opens a door at the end of the hall and ushers you through. There’s a set of stairs that you climb together before you’re outside in a beautiful garden. A found trickles in the center, a centaur depicted spitting water from his mouth as he plays a harp. There are birds singing and glowing butterflies flitting from tree to tree.

“It means I’ve claimed that you’re a personal member of my court and that you will swear fealty to me in front of the King and the Night Court.”

You look at him with wide eyes. “The fuck I am.”

“You’re right, how silly of me. Let me skip on up to dearest Jin and tell him that the descendent of Yvaine Darkbringer and Oberon Fireborn who also happens to be a Shade like her grandmother, and who also happens to be in possession of a ring with the High King Malik’s glamour bound to it doesn’t want to be here and we should let her go. That will work.”

You open and close your mouth. He’s using names and terms that you don’t understand. You don’t know what Darkbringer and Fireborn means, or the fact that he keeps calling you Shade. None of it makes sense, but Jimin’s implication is enough: it’s pledge yourself to his court or die as a threat to this Jin he mentioned.

“I’m not swearing an oath to you.”

“What does it matter? You can lie. Any promise of loyalty you make to me means nothing.”

“Fine.” You straighten your shoulders. “But don’t treat me like I’m a child. You will be respectful.”

“Respect given is respect earned,” Jimin quips, walking away from you and toward a maze of hedges. “Come along, Shade. I hope you’re as good at lying as you are at annoying me.”

-

Two fae move around you in a circle, their fingers working on pulling on the gown while the other pulls strands of your hair. In another life, you would appreciate the room. It’s massive, with one of the walls made up entirely of rockface, a waterfall dripping down the cool stone. There are glowing flowers on the rockface, pale in comparison to the side of the gardens below the balcony.

Curtains dance in the jasmine-scented breeze. They’re gauzy and dark blue, twisting in in their holdings. There are no doors that lead to the stone balcony that overlooks a dizzying garden-forest of glowing flowers and chittering creatures.

The main chamber of the room is commanded by a four-poster bed with live glowing vines crawling up the columns, their ends vanishing into the sapphire, velvet curtains secured to each post. The bed is larger than any you’ve ever seen with dark, rumbled sheets that smell like orange blossom and a smell you’ve begun to associate with Jimin.

Jimin.

The name ignites a war within you. It is both full of a bitter tang and a sweet… something that you’re unsure of. The walk to the bedroom was silent after declaring you were to pledge yourself to his court. He explained that if you were bound to his court, you had his protection.

Meaning the king – Jin – couldn't murder you for inheriting a power that should belong only to him.

You look anything but unassuming. You stare in the mirror as the fae move around you. You’re unsure what they are – they’re genderless and they look more like moving smoke than human beings. Their hands fade in and out of existence and their eyes are glowing white, like stars. The color of their cloudy skin shifts with shadow, and when they step toward the light, you can see through them.

Unassuming is not the word you would use. They have smeared a shimmering substance on your arms, chest and neck. Your eyes are lined with dark coal, a contrast to the silver glitter on the tops of your cheekbones. Your hair is pinned in a low bun, some curled pieces falling out. There are pins with stars in your hair, a constellation of stairs among the strands that the two smoke-faeries have managed to tame.

You look startlingly like your grandmother. Not the eyes, though – those still look like your grandfather. But the sloping features, the intensity in your gaze and the way you hold your shoulders back with purpose… you blink in surprise.

It’s the way you’ve always wanted to appear like your mom. Confident. Fierce.

An ache starts in your chest at the thought of your mom. You cling to Hoseok’s works and hope that time back home is moving slowly. You’ve been at the Night Court for over two days. Jimin had the heart to tell you that you were in that room for a while after he knocked you out, and even more when they had received Hoseok.

Jimin wouldn’t answer where Hoseok was. You have every intention on finding out.

Though you’re aligned to this plan for now, taking Jimin for the oath that he swore, you’re crafting plans of your own.

It was difficult to memorize the steps to the room, but you’re confident you can navigate down to the garden and the wall of hedges that you passed on the way to the room.

The two faeries step away from you. The motion drags your eyes back to the mirror, focusing on the way you’re dressed. You must admit that you don’t look human at all. Your hands drift to the tips of your ears – still round, though maybe a little pointed, you note. But not faerie ears.

Silver beading makes up the entire bodice of the gown. It’s form fitting, hugging the swells of your breasts with a unique keyhole design, baring the sparkles on your chest. The sleeves cut off at the arm, sheer black material falling behind you at the shoulder like a cape, stars and diamonds catching the lighting.

The beading disperses at the waist, trickling into a twinkling pattern in layers and layers of black material, sheer but soft. It gives the illusion that you’re wearing the night sky when you move, the beading and jewels catching the light to create a beautiful allusion.

You wear no jewelry save for the iron ring on your finger. The pins in your hair paired with the spectacle of a gown command enough attention.

The door opens, making you turn as Jimin enters.

You suck in a sharp breath when you see him.

Jimin is stressed in equal extravagance. There are silver threads laced in his hair, emphasizing the grey of his styled hair. The crown of stars and moons is atop his head once more – you realize it looks exactly like the pins in your hair. The black shirt he wears is scandalously sheer, showing the strong body beneath. You can tell his skin is glittered beneath the shirt, hard planes of his abs catching the light as he approaches you slowly, green eyes pinned to you.

And his eyes. His eyes are lightly kohled, intensifying his already burning stare. There are no necklaces around his throat – where you’re determined to keep your gaze and not trail further to the abs – but he has diamonds in his ear, a cluster of stars climbing up the pointed edges.

Jimin is a dream. He is every lullaby you’ve ever heard murmured come to life. He is spun from moonlight, and he is the light of the stars himself.

Something so beautiful should not be so rotten inside, you think.

“You look exquisite,” Jimin says after a while. His hands are still clasped behind his back, his haunting eyes only for you. “Better than the gold and green of summer, but still not as good as the blue and silver.”

“I don’t know what that means.”

Jimin smiles – it’s so rare that he smiles that you find yourself opening your mouth in surprise. It’s tiny, but it isn’t filled with malice.

“I brought you something.” He removes his hands from behind his back. There’s a bracelet in his hands, a cluster of stars and planets. You hold out your wrist and then retreat it, eyes narrowing. He chuckles. “I offer this with no bargain. I gift this freely with no favors or debts do. I swear it.”

With a hum of approval, you hold out your wrist. His fingers are nimble and quick as he clasps the bracelet on your wrist. Your skin feels like it's on fire where his fingers brush your skin – more so than necessary when he pulls his hands away, running his fingers along your palm.

“It was your grandmothers.”

You look up at him. “Really?”

He nods. “I can show you to her old room, if you like.”

“I would like that very much. You knew her well?”

“Well enough. We were allies, though perhaps not friends.”

“Why not friends?”

His smile is sad. “To save Faerie from the High King, she had to hurt me.” You don’t know what to say, so you say nothing at all. “I suppose it seems the obvious answer among destruction: sacrifice the one to save the many. But she was warned of the potential consequences.”

“I saw her in a dream,” you mention. “She seemed just as conflicted about you and your choices. Perhaps we cannot judge others with such limited point of views.”

“Keep thinking like that and you’ll die in minutes. There is no time to question if someone is good here.” Jimin steps back from you and holds out the crook of his elbow. “Come. It’s time to tolerate me the best you can.”

You cut him a dull stare. “Aren’t I doing well enough already?”

“I suppose.”

Heat radiates from where you loop your arm in Jimin’s. You steady a breath as he leads you out of the room.

The halls to the main palace were twisting, no room or wall the same. You passed a large courtyard with no ceilings, the night sky shimmering above. There’s a large, black tree in the courtyard, lights like stars dangling from it. There’s a power there, throbbing through the roots and through the floor of the yard. Will-o-wisps flit among the bare branches, dancing among the gnarled arms.

You hesitate as you pass it, looking over your shoulder, fixated on it.

“The Midnight Tree,” Jimin murmurs. “The palace was built around it. It was placed there by our Maker at the beginning of our time.”

“Why would the Night Court be built around it? I thought the High Fae came first.”

The corner of his mouth drags upward. “Someone has been listening. The High Court came first – but the first High Queen – the Maker, for we don’t know her name – was very in love with a handmaiden of hers. The handmaiden was in love with the night and the night sky, so the Maker planted this tree here. The power you feel. It’s what keeps the Night Court in eternal night. The Maker made it for her lover, so that she may live in her favorite scape.”

“That’s beautiful,” you murmur.

A hum of voices reaches you as you walk toward closed double doors. Guards line the doors, two to each side. Your fingers clutch the fabric of Jimin’s sleeve, going rigid. They are dressed in all black, tunic, leather vests and grieves over the dark material, inlaid with silver material depicting the moon and stars of the Night Court. There are swords at their hips, their eyes trained on you.

None of them move to stop you, but a shadow appears down the hall, whistling lightly to catch Jimin’s attention. Jimin freezes. You feel him go rigid as the figure steps into the light of the hall. The guards fidget as Jungkook grins at Jimin, waltzing to the pair of you.

Fear trickles down your neck as you watch him. His long hair is styled back, a single messy strand falling against his brow. You realize the underneath of his hair is shaved, shorter than the rest. The new look lets you spy a small, white brand behind his ear.

Jungkook is not dressed in finery like Jimin. He is in the same black shirt, open to reveal curls of tattoos on his chest that vanish into his sleeves. His pants are tucked into high boots. A belt hangs snug around his narrow waist, knives and a sword belted to him. A leather harness stretches to his leg, holding another sheath, bone handle gleaming.

“My eyes are up here, gorgeous,” Jungkook teases, earning flared nostrils and your eyes snapping up to his dark ones. A single earring dangles in his right ear, a dagger at the end of it. He is devilishly handsome, but there’s something unhinged in his gaze. “You’re a pretty little thing when you’re all dressed up.”

“Back up, dog,” Jimin growls, eyes like a dark, green storm. “You might rub your stench off on her.”

“I don’t answer to you,” Jungkook says to Jimin, never taking his eyes off you as he smirks. “I might answer to you, though. You look good enough to eat.”

“I’m not looking to adopt a stray animal,” you smile. “If you’ll excuse me, I have fealty to pledge.”

Jungkook drops the smirk, his e expression murder as you grin, pulling Jimin further. Jimin smirks as the guards open the doors for you, casting them open to reveal a room filled with a dizzying assortment of creatures and colors. You focus on Jimin’s low words as he says, “Impressive.”

“Hardly. He hurt Hoseok.” Jimin dips his head in the direction of a humanoid tree that is seven feet tall, his skin nut-brown and patched with bark. He is dressed in green finery, blinking two sleep eyes at you. “You will show me to Hoseok after this.”

“Oh? Will I?”

“Yes. Or I’ll tell everyone here that you’re having me pledge falsely so you can use my shadow fire and new ring to take over.” Jimin growls low in his throat. “Checkmate.”

“I haven’t an idea what that means.”

Faeries and creatures part like a sea as you walk through. You try not to look at the alien faces around you – fae with green skin and big, black eyes, trolls and faeries that look like wolves watching you with predatory interest. There are others who look like Jimin, beautiful and feather light on their feet as they trail after you.

The room is very obviously a throne room, a raised dais at the far end of the hall. The ceiling is... nothing. Faerie light hovers around the room in soft-white globes, but the ceiling is a churning black mass of nothingness. It unsettles you as you let Jimin lead you to a silver throne, a man who looks like an avenging angel rising to his feet from it.

Around you, the whisper of clothes move as the room bows. Jimin bows low at the waist, dropping your arm from his. You do the same, careful not to lose your balance.

When you straighten, the king of the Night Court is watching you. His tan skin is smooth and ageless, ancient charcoal eyes studying you. His lips are sinfully full and pink. Dark black hair is brushed delicately back, a silver circlet of silver with no adornment in his hair. He's dressed in a black tunic with diamond-studded cuffs and a silver tree with stars stitched among them. A single dark cape is on his shoulders, pined to his shoulders with moons.

“She certainly looks like her,” the king says to Jimin. “It’s uncanny. There’s no doubt of her heritage, you’re right.”

“I’m standing right here,” you blurt.

You snap your mouth shut audibly when Jimin stiffens next to you and the king turns his dark gaze on you. You feel hypnotized, unable to look away from him as his gaze sucks you in. His eyes are bottomless and you’re falling, falling, falling.

Suddenly there’s nothing else in the world. There’s just the darkness of the king’s eyes and you feel boneless, alone. The world is muted and you’re lost in a dark sea.

A despair unlike anything you’ve ever felt pulls at you, drowning you deeper and deeper. You begin to suffocate, the world closing in on you-

Jimin’s hand brings you back. The king adverts his gaze with a smirk, glancing at Jimin. “Mouth just like my sister, it seems.”

“Seokjin, please,” Jimin murmurs.

The name rings through you. Your grandmother standing in twilight rushes back, her words. You realize with horror that the man in front of you is Seokjin. You realize every time Jimin mentioned his adoptive brother Jin – it was short for Seokjin. The faerie who could lie. The man who killed your grandfather.

Seokjin grins at you, venomous. “Hello, niece.”

Next Chapter

#jimin smut #park jimin #jimin fanfic #park jimin fanfic #bts fanfic #jimin x reader #faerie jimin #park jimin bts #jimin bts #bangtan boys #jimin fic #park jimin x reader #minors dni #minors do not interact

[fire-water-grass-core]

OOC

tl:dr i'm placing all my blogs on indefinite hiatus, i'll be putting that in my pinned posts as well.

Well. I made the decision. it's been coming for a while tbh, i've taken a lot of breaks in the last few months, and if i'm honest i never really wanted to stop these breaks. I'm not having fun roleplaying here anymore. It's an ugly truth, but its a truth.

I don't want to blame anyone but myself, please don't get this wrong. But i want to explain myself and i want to be honest. And also, i'm very sorry about incoherent rambling, i can't really help it right now.

I feel like i had no involvement in this community anymore. Which is... objectively false, but that doesn't help me feel better. All the people that made me join rotomblr either left themselves or they evolved so much and so fast that i can't keep up. There are new people as well, and there are many that i like a lot, but in the end, rotomblr is changing way too fast for me to keep up and it simply kills all my joy and motivation. (again, i don't blame anyone here. I want you to have fun. It's just sad that i can't be part of the fun)

I have tried a lot to bring my motivation back to rotomblr by making A LOT of blogs, some have been very well received, some are not getting any attention. And again, i understand that. I don't want anyone to force themself to be into something they're not. And i understand much much better that i can't just expect a blog i created 5 minutes ago to get asks and followers in the hundreds. But this is, in the end, another reason for me to feel left out.

I also tried to plan an event, i tried making a story and none of it really went anywhere. I don't know how you do it. I don't know how you can go and plan something like this, and how you work together with people like this, and i just can't keep it up anymore. It's gotten so bad that i actually fear opening the app on my phone. I don't read my favourite blogs anymore. And since i realized that, i also realized i need to make a change.

In addition, there is also real life, and other hobbies, and all of it is draining the limited time i have as well as my mental capacity and lately have been getting REALLY depressed. Not specifically because of rotomblr, but i think it's been a part of it.

So. I have made the decision to put all of my blogs on hiatus. I don't want to delete them, because i had it often that i just gave up on a hobby or a game or a book and came back to it after a long time. And honestly, i like a lot of the characters. They are very dear to me, and most of them only live through tumblr, and i don't want to lose them. But i don't have concrete plans to come back anytime soon.

On the other hand, i won't leave the few discord servers i'm in, mostly because i still really like the community and i consider quite a few of you people good friends by now.

PS: I am so incredibly upset with myself it's unbelievable. When i made the blog and started having really a lot of fun, i said to myself that i want to keep this hobby up for one year. That was my goal. And i failed. FUCK. On the other hand i have been ignoring rotomblr for a bit already and it's been kinda freeing. so... yeah... meh.

#ooc

[ufo-ikawa]

hi, this is me ari.

you’ll have seen that i deactivated my accounts, both my main and my personal. i ran away from everything as fast as i could which was cowardly, and i don’t expect forgiveness at all, but this is an attempt at exposing everything. please share with everyone who read the fics and/or interacted with me.

in november 2021, i opened up ufo-ikawa. i had originally started with writing my own works, because i just wanted to write and join a fandom i really liked— then it snowballed. i have always felt my own writing was bad, and could never live up to others so i did what any pathetic person would do. i stole works from people who’s writing i admired and wanted to be like. (i also had another blog onigiri-mia which was deactivated due to death threats i was receiving daily regarding old drama, and stolen works were also posted there). instead of gaining inspiration, and reaching out to the writers themselves for any meaninful conversations on how to learn to write, i stole them, rewrote them and claimed them as my own.

and as i did, i slowly started to believe in everything i was saying or doing. i did it so much i felt like i was performing an act whenever i did and convinced myself that it was right. in real life, i am just a person who wanted attention so bad, to be liked so bad, to be part of something that i did one of the worst things just to gain it. i guess in a way, identity theft, and then plagiarism.

which i know is absolutely wrong of me. i have also reached out to the creators separately and said my apologies, except for nine3rds who i have been unable to message. i can’t make them accept any apologies and i take 100% accountability, and it doesn’t lessen any guilt i have now that the truth is out or all the wrongs i did, but i thought that was the first step.

the second step is owning up to it and cutting through all the bullshit lies i’ve told myself. this year, one of my goals was to achieve something good for myself. idk about you, but i truly do believe in karma. i will of course get it no doubt, because of all the bad i’ve put out, but i’m also hoping that by being honest and righting my wrongs that even if i’m at rock bottom right now, i can still start somehow. not relevant but something i just wanted to say.

i just wanted to apologise to everyone who i’ve talked to here personally or formed close friendships with. it’s hard to believe me, but just know that when we were talking about our lives that was all real and not fake. i am still just a person, a shitty one at that, but those irl experiences and thoughts i talked about were real. I’m genuinely so sorry for deceiving you in some way. i will never interact again, i will stay off of this site for good, and i will also never try to write and post anything again, so i hope u get some peace of mind out of that. i’ve tried to apologise as best as i could to the close friends i made on discord— i have also disabled that account to let them see, and will eventually be deleting it. thank you for talking to me and making me laugh and just listening to me, even if i didn’t deserve it.

if you’re angry at me and resent me, i completely understand and will not try to speak further. i’ve tried my best to explain it all above, but i won’t open my asks because i hope this post explains it all enough. you can say anything you’d like under this post if it helps.

i’ve deactivated my account but i know the fics stay there so please delete any reblogs and unlike any fic. i am genuinely sorry for deceiving everybody for selfish reasons (that absolutely do not excuse anything). i have a lot of work to put into myself to try and fix things, but i hope this is a start.

now for the most imporant part, i wanted to link the original writers’ work. they are all incredible, and if you liked what i stole then of course you will like them even better as the original. please give them the love they rightfully deserve but please also respect their rules on who interacts:

AO3 lovelanguages

AO3 softbeoms

AO3 nine3rds

that’s all i have to say. thank you, and please share.

#haikyuu x reader #haikyuu x you #haikyuu headcanons #haikyuu x y/n #oikawa x reader #osamu x reader #atsumu x reader #kita x reader #iwaizumi x reader #jujustsu kaisen x reader #jjk x reader #gojo x reader #geto x reader #jjk headcanons

[scribbling-dragon]

Adaptive Nature

Chapter 17

Summary:

When they arrive back in Tumble Town, there is someone waiting for them. Pixl stands beside the stables, arms crossed and foot tapping against the ground as he watches them approach. He looks every bit the image of a disappointed parent watching a child return home after missing curfew.

“You were meant to return yesterday,” Pixl says, arms still folded across his chest. “I understood that you might have been delayed and remained elsewhere overnight, but I expected you back by midday today at the latest.”

“I understand,” Tango dismounts. “But we got caught up elsewhere-”

“In Chromia.” Pixl says. “I know.”

(AO3 Link)

(Masterpost)

(3,787 words)

reblogs would be super appreciated! i really like this chapter and am very proud of it, so i hope you enjoy it too!

(note: after the second line break the narration changes to second person, which i know can be a bit disorientating for people, so i just thought i’d put a warning here for that :])

When they arrive back in Tumble Town, there is someone waiting for them. Pixl stands beside the stables, arms crossed and foot tapping against the ground as he watches them approach. He looks every bit the image of a disappointed parent watching a child return home after missing curfew.

He cannot help but feel guilty despite the disappointed look being directed at Tango and not at him. The disappointment seems to flood the air, until he’s grinning guiltily at Pixl and hoping it doesn't put him in the danger zone.

“You were meant to return yesterday,” Pixl says, arms still folded across his chest. “I understood that you might have been delayed and remained elsewhere overnight, but I expected you back by midday today at the latest.”

“I understand,” Tango dismounts. “But we got caught up elsewhere-”

“In Chromia.” Pixl says. “I know.”

He pauses halfway through dismounting, looking up at Pixl and wondering whether cryptic statements are the suddenly new and popular thing of the day. If they are, he’s definitely missed the memo. Arrow snorts and shakes, dislodging him from his halfway dismounted position and setting him on the ground.

Tango frowns. “Scott spoke to you.” He doesn't sound pleased by that.

“Scott speaks to me most days.”

“We actually just got back from talking to your little buddy.” Tango says, still frowning. “He threatened us.”

“He threatens most people.” Pixl sighs as Tango continues to stare at him. “Look, I understand you don't like him, but he has information that is useful, even if I can't use it. And it also means he isn't hanging onto any centuries-old and priceless artefacts any more.”

“They were hardly priceless.” He feels so incredibly lost in this conversation right now. It’s like he’s just walked into a maze that only has dead ends and no map and no actual end. That would probably be less confusing than trying to follow the path of conversation.

He gives up, much to Arrow’s delight as he leads her back to her stable, and brushes her down as Pixl and Tango continue to have their indecipherable conversation. It seems to be going in one very large circle, starting with how Tango doesn't like Scott, moving around to what they were doing, then back to how much Tango dislikes Scott again.

By the time he emerges from Arrow’s stable, Alyssa has appeared and is giving Pixl and Tango an equally confused look.

“What are they talking about?” She asks.

“Nothing important, just ignore them.” He turns until Alyssa’s back is facing the two. “Did you need something?”

“Just checking that you got what we needed. You were gone for a little longer than expected.” She says. “We haven't got much longer left.”

“Huh?”

“We haven't got much longer left?” She repeats, confusion turning to concern, “It’s going to start getting colder soon, so we’ll need the new fabrics and cloths before that happens.”

“Oh, yes.” He blinks. “I spoke with someone there and we should be receiving a shipment within the next few days.”

“Perfect! Let’s just hope it gets here in time.”

“Sheriff!” He turns as Pixl calls for him, watching as they gesture for him to go over there, and excuses himself from Alyssa and goes to stand with Pixl and Tango. They both just stare at him as he walks over, which is a little unsettling until Tango grins at him. “We wanted to collect information, is there anywhere we can use to gather it all together?”

“My office is probably the best for that,” he answers, “there should be plenty of supplies in there for putting all the information together. I can probably dig out a corkboard and red string if you want that too.”

“I doubt we’ll be needing the red string, but the corkboard might be useful.”

--- --- ---

They end up using the red string. Pixl takes far too much joy in connecting all the pieces of paper together, each with a small detail written on it, joining them up into something that is only slightly understandable.

You can tell which notes have been written by Pixl and which have been written by Tango. The glitter of his gel pens makes it rather obvious, especially as he seems to be capable of continuously producing more pens from different pockets all over his outfit. Pixl doesn't seem to question it, only holding out a hand as Tango somehow manages to produce a completely normal ink pen for him to use. He sets it aside as a mystery he should not know the answer to.

“And what was it that Scott said?” Pixl asks, “Tell me the exact wording.”

“It was, uh,” he struggles to remember what Scott said, pushing it from his mind earlier as he tried not to think too hard about what had been said and how stressed it made him feel. “We needed to seek some kind of heart independently. And light was important? He got really weird afterwards and just left.”

Pixl nods and hums, writing something down on a scrap of paper before pinning it to the board and connecting it with a few other points. Tango nods along with Pixl as he does this, but in his eyes he can see that Tango is just as confused as he is.

He had been able to keep up with it for the first few pieces of information and their connections to each other, but once Pixl started branching out into hyper-specific pieces of knowledge on the Rapture he tuned out slightly, and once he tuned back in there were pieces of paper on top of each other for lack of space and he was completely and utterly lost.

“And does that have any similarities to what was said in your dream?”

“We still don't know that wasn't just a really weird dream.”

“Yes we do,” Pixl sighs, “just tell me what got said.”

“The heart got mentioned again, it was, like, a forgotten heart? It was buried deep too, in the darkest depths.” He does his best to imitate the way it had been spoken, making both Pixl and Tango crack a grin at his shoddy impression.

“Does the Dragon really speak like that?” Tango asks.

“No.”

Pixl yawns then, as he’s pinning the next piece of paper to the board. It’s a loud, jaw-cracking yawn that immediately makes him and Tango yawn as well. They had eaten several hours ago now, and his only indicator of the time is that it is dark. He doesn't know the specifics, and if he thinks about it, he probably doesn't want to know how late it truly is.

Pixl steps back, allowing them to look at the board in its semi-complete glory. The red strings add a frenzied look to it, but it doesn't look like the ramblings of a mad person yet. Some of the paper spills off the side of the board where they had run out of space, pinned into the walls rather than the cork. He had stopped that before it could progress too far, citing that he did not want holes in the wood from all the pins. Pixl had, reluctantly, listened and started pinning pieces of paper on top of each other.

It was almost enough for him to let Pixl continue pinning information on the walls. Almost.

He stands, and both Tango and Pixl look at him in surprise. “I think it’s time we slept.” He announces, not even waiting for an answer before he turns for the door. “If you're not outside with me in a few seconds I'm locking you in the cell.”

Two steps of footsteps hurry after him, and he waits for them to be outside before locking the door behind him. It’s probably best that no one stumbles across their theory board yet; he wouldn't want to incite panic if it isn't necessary.

He can see the moon from out here, and it is certainly not beginning its ascension despite being low in the sky. He dreads to think of how tired he’s going to be tomorrow, but the exhaustion numbs most of his dread for that situation before he can think too heavily on it.

He leaves his front door unlocked behind him. Only because there’s no one that actually wants to break into his home, and also because breaking in through other means is probably easier than opening the door.

Tango follows him to his bedroom, but Pixl has disappeared somewhere along the way, leaving him blinking tiredly at the empty space where his friend is meant to be.

“Pix?” He calls, and Pixl’s head pokes around the corner to stare at him. “What…are you doing?”

“Sleeping.” Pixl stares back at him. “I doubt there would be space for more than two people in your room.”

“You can sleep on the floor.” He offers.

“I can sleep on the floor out here.” Pixl says. “I'm not going to interrupt you two anyway.” He waves a flippant hand between him and his doorway, through which Tango has disappeared. His face warms at Pixl’s words, though they don't feel hostile in any way. Still, it’s embarrassing if Pixl’s figured him out so easily.

He decides that he is far too tired to be thinking about things like that, turns around and shuts his bedroom door behind him. He’s glad in that moment that he no longer has shoes to take off, because he truly believes he would fall asleep halfway through removing them. Instead, he just pulls back the covers, ignoring Tango’s complaint, and curls up beside him.

He doesn't even remember falling asleep.

--- --- ---

You are standing in the rain. It is cold, and there is nothing to shield you from the elements lashing down on you. You are cold, and the ground beneath your feet is damp, already pooling into puddles that will soon turn into miniature lakes.

You are a child, and you are standing at your friend’s funeral.

There is a berth around you. You didn't know what the word berth meant before people started referring to the wide berth you were always given. You looked it up in the dictionary that sits on a shelf in the family living room, the dictionary that is far too heavy to lift on your own but you managed anyway because you wanted to know what the names people were calling you meant.

Your friend’s mother has stood across from you throughout the whole surface, shielded by the umbrella she is holding. No one had offered you an umbrella before you set out, despite it already raining when the door opened. No one even offered you a coat before you left the house.

You are cold, and you are stood at your friend’s- your best friend’s funeral, and his mother is staring at you like it is your fault he is dead.

The mutterings around you ask why you are there, though they never ask it as a question to you directly. They do not ask you, and you do not offer a response. If you are not spoken to, you do not speak in return. Speak only when spoken to, and the rest of the time everyone else can pretend you don't exist.

The murmurings of the crowd do not rise above a whisper but you hear them all anyway. You have always heard them, even when they duck closer to their neighbour and whisper directly in their ear. They are speaking about you. They are always speaking about you.

They stare at you while they speak, eyes colder than the rain washing over you. It is cold. You are stood at your best friend’s funeral. Stood at your only friend’s funeral as his mother begins to cry. She glares at you while she does it, even with tears swimming in her eyes her grief and hatred are not forgotten. Never forgotten.

Someone whispers the word curse, and you stiffen, though you do not respond. You speak only when spoken to. Their neighbours hush them, almost desperately, but you have already heard them.

Curse was the first word you looked for in the dictionary. You had struggled to get it down from the shelf then, teetering back and forth on a stool that could barely hold your weight. When you managed to snag the dictionary from the shelf it had creaked dangerously, and you practically threw yourself to the floor before it could collapse beneath your weight.

It didn't collapse. Even once you had found the word curse, had stood upon that stool again. It had not collapsed as you pushed the dictionary back onto the shelf. It would not collapse until your father sat on it one evening, and it simply collapsed beneath his weight. You would watch, looking on in mute horror, as a sharp piece of wood (too sharp to have come from the stool, surely) would slide through your father’s thigh like a warm knife would slide through butter. The image of that would remain imprinted upon the back of your eyelids for days to come. It would only be replaced when the next accident befell someone.

The doctors, once they arrived, would say that the injury was not fatal. It was painful, certainly, but it was not fatal. They did not look at you, but you felt the blame for it settle upon your shoulders anyway.

You never asked about the curse, and an answer was never given to you.

You knew what it was anyway. Your first discovery of the curse was when you were hiding. You had broken something else, and you did not want to watch how the next person would be injured by it. You were hiding, nestled deep within a bramble bush with the thorns clinging to your clothes and threatening to rip if you so much as moved an inch.

Your legs had been numb for several minutes by the time the conversation floated over to your ears. It is a distant aunt of yours, one who had been present when you were named. One that had watched as the events unfolded as the name was bestowed upon you.

One of your aunt’s friends, you are not sure which one it is as your aunt has many friends, a lot more than you do, asks her to go on. Your aunt makes friends with all the new arrivals to town. She makes a habit of warning people of your dangers. You're not certain what it is that you've done, but you discover what it is that day.

You are the third child of a small family. You are the youngest child of a family of ranchers. Your older siblings are a year apart from each other, while you are several years younger than both.

You were named on a sunny day. It was a beautiful day, apparently, the perfect kind of day for naming a child. It was a celebration, a celebration for your name. You're not sure why you would want to celebrate someone’s name being given. He has never seen someone be named, though you have heard of it happening. You know why you are not invited.

The day was perfect, on the day your name was chosen. It had been chosen for weeks before that, but it was not given until the day was right and the people were gathered there to celebrate you.

Your name was spoken twice.

Once, when your parents named you, announced you to the town under your new name rather than just ‘the new child’ or ‘the new baby’. He had a name, for a day. Your parents had been so proud, apparently. Positively beaming with pride, if you believed your aunt. You don't make a habit out of believing her. You don't like listening to her. She speaks in a harsh and cruel manner when she is around you, cold in a way she isn't with your older siblings.

Twice, when your grandmother, getting on in her years but nowhere near the age when people begin to worry. She had gone sort of funny, a moment later, pale and clammy as she stumbled to the side, the first syllable of your name dying on her tongue as she chokes.

A severe heart attack, the doctors had said afterwards. But everyone there knew what it meant, and the blame, the first of many, settled upon your shoulders before you could even speak.

Your name was not spoken afterwards, and you likely would have forgotten what your name even was if it wasn't the last words your mother had said to you.

She had screamed them, and the sound would haunt your mind for months, years to come. You can still hear it now, the way it had rung in your ears. It had been desperate, but the tone in which your name was cried spoke nothing but blame. That blame settled upon your shoulders, alongside the countless other burdens of blame that had been loaded onto your shoulders over the course of your short life.

You had nothing to your name other than the two horses at your side and the clothes on your back.

You didn't leave until the barn finished burning. You stood there until someone else emerged from the main town to investigate the source of smoke. You didn't leave until it became clear that they intended to destroy the problem at its very source.

You had left, throwing yourself upon a horse and kicking it into a gallop, not daring to look back. For a moment, you had considered not running, not escaping from the fate that he has inflicted on numerous others. If you looked back, you might be tempted to return and face the punishment they decided to lay upon your head.

You did not look back.

You took a new name, took the first boat you could, and you didn't look back.

You arrived on a new continent, one that felt far more friendly than home ever had as the people living there looked at you kindly rather than with hatred. You found a home there, one far more welcoming than the home you left.

Your name was unknown to the people, and they did not consider this odd. They simply nodded, smiled, and continued onwards as though a reluctance to surrender your name was understandable.

Your luck has not befallen those living on this continent yet, but you know it is only a matter of time.

--- --- ---

He opens his eyes, but he is not awake.

The Void has returned, all encompassing this time as it surrounds him. There is no ground beneath his feet, and there is no comforting purple shining at him from the depths of black and blue. Instead, there is only coldness, accompanied by a faint, thrumming sound.

It pulses in the back of his head, radiating through the entirety of his skull until his heart begins to beat in time with it.

He turns, and there is a mass of flesh on the floor. It is not flesh. Not normal flesh, at least. But it is alive, some kind of living matter that has curled in on itself. The smell of decay and rot and death hangs heavy in the air around him.

He hardly flinches at the smell. It is something that has followed in his wake for years, so he is hardly expected to flinch at something.

The sound continues to thrum in the back of his head, beating erratic and painful. The not-flesh convulses on the ground in front of him, pulsing and throbbing as the sound echoes. There are no walls, but the sound resonates anyway, bouncing off the walls of the endless Void.

The not-flesh writhes, and the smaller segments peel away from the main body. It makes a sickening, squelching sound as it moves, slithering over the ground. Viscera drips from it as it moves, and he takes a step back then.

His back hits something, but when he turns to look there is nothing but endless Void.

He turns back, and the not-flesh continues pulsing, the segments snaking their way towards him across the floor in spasming, painful movements. It is slow, something he can easily outrun, but he is pinned in place. Trapped in a corner within a place with no walls.

He cannot escape. Can only watch as the not-flesh begins to spasm more violently, the thrumming sound rising to a crescendo. It sounds like screaming and wailing and crying. It contains a multitude of voices, mixed so thoroughly that they no longer speak a language he understands. Maybe they never did.

The not-flesh does not communicate. It does not speak, but it does not need to.

He recognises it. He knows it. He has never seen it before, but he knows what it is. He knows what his purpose is in relation to it, and the not-flesh knows him. It knows him as an adversary, something that will seek to kill him.

It seeks to destroy him before he can even attempt to kill it. Before he can attempt to seek it.

Something grabs his shoulder, something burning and hot, and he lunges, twists, throws himself towards it.

The thing holds him back, speaking, voice hurried and rapid and low and spoken directly into his ear. He can feel breath brush over the sensitive skin there, and he shivers, shudders, in response, curling in on himself as bile rises in the back of his throat.

He blankets cling to him, and he clings to Tango, breathing in the smell of smoke and brimstone that has long-since stopped inciting fear on every breath and begun to remind him of home instead.

The not-flesh had not spoken, had not uttered a single thing. It only had one intention there, and it did not come to gloat. It had only come to kill him, smother him in his sleep before he could realise what had happened.

It would have worked. He realises, pressing his face deeper into the crook of Tango’s neck and willing himself not to cry, not to be sick, not to think at all on what just happened. The thrumming sound of the not-flesh, the squirming of it, lingers in the back of his mind, even as he tries to push all thought of it away.

Tango pulls him closer, doesn't pull away, doesn't demand answers. He doesn't ask anything, simply sits and holds and pulls him closer when he clings to him. He is warm, and it chases away the last sensations of that place.

Tango’s warmth dispels the last slithering sensations of the Corruption that lingers in his mind.

#juno.writes #adaptive nature fic #jimmy solidarity #tango tek #pixlriffs #solidaritek #team rancher #ranch duo #solidaritygaming #solidarity gaming #tangotek #empires smp #empires smp fic #empires jimmy #empires pixl #empires tango

[spectralarchers]

Hi there. I found your fic, Exit Wound and it's wondrous. I found it nearing it's end, wondering many a day and nights what the ending would be like at Chapter 29: Sight. Unfortunately, life got a little busy but now that I finally had time, I read the last chapters and I feel nothing short of wonder, joy, anticipation and inspiration.

Your writing was beautiful with a storyline that leaves images flitting through my mind as if I was right there in the story, watching and feeling it all. I cried, sobbed, laughed and smiled with them, feeling fear and relief when they felt it in their moments. The start pulled me in, drawing me to read further, push deeper and understand the lore of this story. The middle of the whole story gave me so many emotions that it gave me whiplash—in a good way. The ending has me burning alight with fear, anticipation, worry and interest.

I only know of a few backstories, gleamed from other fanfictions I've read while going down the GhostSoap tag on Ao3 but the characters were well chosen for their roles, matching up similarly to what I've seen from the bare bits of clips (mostly GhostSoap, I admit without shame) . I admit again, I didn't expect El Sin Nombre to take the role they did or for so many characters to appear and draw me in so effortlessly. I met many new characters in this story, found the old familiar ones and learned more of them along the journey in this story. It appears I'll have some research of my own to do in this fandom before I'm fully invested, seeing as I only know the reboot (my favourite version no less).

I won't say much, as is proper no spoilers etiquette, but I adored your fic all the way through and still do. I'll be revisiting it again and again, but oh, what I wouldn't give to travel through this marvellous story again for the first time. I may or may not have lost a few nights' worth of sleep, but the dreams that followed of the scenes you painted with words were worth every second.

Although I'm not all that invested in the Call of Duty fandom, your story drew me in with the details, the carefully written characters and the plot of the story.

If I ever do decide to write a story in the fandom of CoD, please know that you are my biggest inspiration for it.

Sincerely,

A new Ao3 user too shy to comment.

PS: Sorry for the long ask. And many more apologies for the messy message ":]

Oh my god, Nonnie. I have no words to express how much joy your ask brought me when I opened the app this morning for my morning paper read.

I'm sitting here staring at your ask with a blue to my cheeks and I want to hide my face and kick my feet because I don't know how to respond to such incredibly kind and heartwarming words?

I am so happy that my story managed to make you feel things and that I didn't bore you half to death with all my detours. I am so glad to hear that the wide array of characters I pulled in from other Call of Duty franchises (& comic backstories) felt like they fit in.

I'm sorry I caused sleepless nights, but if the price for those were dreams that you consider worth it, then I'll retract my apology.

I am so immensely honored to have been on the receiving end of such a message, filled with praise that might actually make me cry. So thank you, sweetheart. From the bottom of my heart ♥

If you ever write something, please, send it my way, I would love nothing more than to read it. And if you ever feel comfortable to not be too shy anymore, my DMs are always open and I don't bite - much ;)

I can't wait to take your hand through another Call of Duty adventure. I can't promise it'll be as good as this story was, but I can promise that it'll be an entrancing ride nonetheless ♥

#people ask christine stuff #exit wound #anonymous #i'm legit sitting here at the office like :o because i don't know how to react #i think i'm going to print this ask and put it in my fanfic bible notebook to cherish and love forever

[girlactionfigure]

Meet Yuval Levi

Yuval is an extraordinary hero.

In the last couple of years, several Orthodox Jews made waves by getting drafted and playing in major professional sports. Athletes like Ryan Turrell, Jacob Steinmetz, and Elie Kligman are changing the face of observant Jews, who wait excitedly for the day they attend a professional sporting event and hear the announcement, “after the game, all Yidden please report to the Glatt kosher hot dog stand at section 115 for a Maariv Minyan led by tonight’s first star.”

Yuval Levi in action as Captain of South Africa’s under-18 team.

Religious Jews have various obstacles and challenges when it comes to organized professional sports, like kashrut, various holidays, and most notably Shabbat, when an athlete often won’t be able to travel with the team.

Most sports can be played on Shabbat, but ice hockey is forbidden. And that’s what makes Yuval Levi unique. He’s an Orthodox Jew who plays ice hockey. And he’s talented. So talented, in fact, that the International Ice Hockey Federation changed the schedule of an entire competition to accommodate him.

I heard about Yuval from my friend and fellow Rabbi Zvi Hershcovich, who obsesses over following Jewish hockey players (he has a Facebook and Twitter page @JewishHockey). He excitedly shared Yuval’s story with me and I’ve been following Yuval’s career since.

Yuval is from Johannesburg, South Africa where he plays for the Kempton Park Wildcats. Selected for South Africa’s under-18 team when he was 14 years old, COVID restrictions kept him from competing internationally until he was 17, when he traveled to Bosnia in March 2022 and was named his country’s most valuable player after scoring 8 goals and 10 points in 3 games (he also had a goal and 2 points playing for South Africa’s under-20 team).

Bosnia is where he faced his first religious challenge, that of playing on Shabbat. “When we found out the game would be on Shabbat, I didn’t know what to do,” he told Aish.com. “It was one of only four key games and my team was counting on me. My sister in Israel asked her rabbi if there was any way I could play and the answer came back that it was not in the spirit of Shabbat. When I made the international team at 14 I knew the issue would eventually come up, but I didn’t know how hard it would be. I’ve been brought up to do the right thing and I knew that playing on Shabbat would be betraying my values.”

“It was one of the hardest decisions of my life,” he told the SA Jewish report. “It tore at me when I realised I was expected to play on Shabbos. I knew how hard I had worked and trained to represent South Africa, but I also knew that it was Hashem who got me there.”

Yuval was terrified of how his team would take the decision. “I prepared a whole speech to explain to my coach why I couldn’t play, but when I walked into his hotel room, I was so nervous my mind went blank,” he recalled. “He just looked at me and said, ‘I know, it’s okay. I’m proud of you.’ Because I am assistant captain, I then called a team meeting and told the guys I was sorry I wouldn’t be able to play. They were all incredibly understanding and respectful and said that they looked up to me for being true to my religion.”

It was also Pesach which severely restricted his diet, but he shared his kosher for Passover food with his teammates.

Losing Yuval for Shabbat cost South Africa the silver medal in the tournament. “My father and I had walked to the stadium on Shabbat in our suits and tzitzit to show our support and the coach came up to me straight afterwards and said that I should not feel bad for letting my team down, because a team isn’t one person, and that he was really proud of me for standing up for my values,” Yuval told Aish.com. “The other teams thought I had missed the game because I was injured, but when I walked onto the rink to receive my award for Best Player, they realized I wasn’t playing because I am a Jew — and it was the sabbath. Players from every team then came up to me and said the same thing: ‘Respect.’ That was an amazing feeling. The Mishna in Ethics of the Fathers says that if you make G-d’s will your will, He will make your will His will. That’s how I plan to live my life, and I know I can’t lose when I put G-d first.”

Yuval Levi (proudly wearing his yarmulke) accepts an award for tournament MVP from an IIHF Official.

A month ago, South Africa hosted the under-18 tournament for their division, and coordinated with the IIHF to schedule all games during the week. That accommodation allowed his friend Noam Levin, who is 15 years old and Shomer Shabbat, to also play for South Africa’s team.

Yuval Levi is not only staying true to his beliefs and heritage, but he is also breaking barriers for Orthodox Jews who want to play ice hockey. As a rabbi living in Montreal, I know his story has inspired my boys.

In 2022, the South African Ice Hockey Federation promoted their team on social media, introducing players with their favourite quotes. Yuval’s image contained the wisdom he shared from the Mishna. They are words that he lives by and I am excited to see how far he will succeed.

----

Source: Rabbi Zvi Hershcovich, Aish.com, South Africa Jewish Report

Rabbi Yisroel Bernath

#Ice Hockey #Orthodox Jews #Sports

[flakytartart]

Box split FAQ (Who, What, When, Where, Why + How)

Who are you?

Hi! I'm Flaky, a hobby artist that likes to buy merch of my favorite characters (mostly from Danganronpa and Persona 4/5). Nice to meet you if we haven't already interacted! :J

What's this post about?

There's a new piece of Danganronpa merchandise available for pre-order on AmiAmi - Key of Love keychains!

You can buy a single keychain at random for 1,210 JPY or the complete set of 16 for 19,360 JPY. Buying an entire set gives you 1 random photo card as a bonus.

I preordered 3 full sets (THH, SDR2, and V3) to collect my favorite characters and will be left with 39 extra characters. Because of that, I put together a box split/sales post in the hopes of getting rid of the extra!

I'm charging $8 USD for each keychain + shipping ($6) and taking payments via PayPal and Venmo. Photo cards will also be available for reservation (keep reading for more info).

When...

...do the keychains come out?

Preorders are expected to release/ship out sometime in February 2024. I'll start sorting/packing when they get to me.

...do we have to pay for our claims?

As soon as possible please! After you send in your claim, I will calculate and send your total along with my Paypal link/Venmo username via DM.

Where will you ship to?

I'm located in the US so I'll only be selling/shipping domestically. :0 I don't know how much shipping to other countries would cost and it makes me a bit nervous to deal with that so I'd rather not attempt anything. I'm sorry.

Why are you doing this? (And why should I trust you?)

I think it's a pretty good deal for everyone! You get the exact keychain you want for a decent price, you help me (not really) break even, and I don't have to own 48 keychains. Hunting for merch can be difficult/pricey, plus I've always wanted to organize a box split. I'm pretty much selling these at a loss but I think it's worth it even if just one person gets what they want! If these don't sell here or on Mercari I'm most likely gonna pass them out for free at our local anime convention next year.

As for trusting me - I understand if you don't or are nervous. I really am just some dude on the internet. All I can say is that I have good standing as a seller on eBay and Mercari, am very serious about handling other peoples money, and that your information (emails, names, address, regular things I'd need in order to send stuff to you) is 100% safe with me. :] 👍

✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦

Okay so you've made it this far -

How does this work?

Well! This is my first time doing this so the main post is mostly based off of how shsl-box-split runs their splits (+ throw a bit of Harpys_ on IG in there too). They're both incredibly wonderful and friendly so I highly suggest checking them out!

I am one person doing this alone so please be patient with me during this process. Basically, it'll go something like this:

Decide on what keychain(s) you want + what photo cards you'd like to try for.

Send me an ask containing which characters you want (I will not post your message, it's just to help me see who claimed what first!) as well as your preferred payment method (Paypal or Venmo). Claims are first come, first served.

I'll DM you to confirm your claims, total, and send either a link to my Paypal or my Venmo username. Please do not claim keychains if you cannot immediately pay for them.

After payment is received, I will update the split post with your username and log down relevant information into a separate spreadsheet. At this time you are free to send me your shipping address (recommended) or wait to send it at a later time.

We time travel wait for the February 2024 release date!

Shortly after the keychains get to me in February, I will begin sorting and packing. Before sending anything out, I will message you one last time to confirm that your claims and address are correct (or ask for your address if you haven't already sent it).

I send off your package using USPS! It arrives at your mailbox! Boom, transaction complete! :D

About photo cards...

Each set comes with one random photo card. Every character will have 3 slots and you are allowed to reserve one photo card for every keychain purchased. Reserving a photo card does not guarantee that you will receive one. Some examples: You buy one 1 keychain and reserve a Hajime photo card - if any of the sets come with Hajime, he's yours! You're the last (third) person to reserve Hajime's photo card. You will only get him if - by some miracle - all three bonus cards are revealed to be Hajime. You claim Hajime, but the photo cards are of Makoto, Kaede, and Shuichi. You will not receive a photo card with your order. Your best bet is to reserve characters that don't already have reservations or to reserve different characters (if purchasing multiple keychains). I don't think there'll be duplicates, but for the sake of covering all bases, 15 slots are available for reserving photo cards.

This split will be open until the sets arrive at my door. If you need to pull out of the split, please, do not contact/start a dispute with Paypal or Venmo. Let me know what's up and I will send back your money. No shame, no judgement.

If for whatever reason my preorder is cancelled, something comes in damaged, etc. I will send out an explanation message + offer refunds to those affected. I do not give out refunds if your package has already been shipped.

✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦

And that's...pretty much it! Thank you for reading this incredibly long post lol. If you have any questions please let me know! :J If you're interested in joining the split, feel free to see what's available here.

#box split #group order #danganronpa #dr1 #sdr2 #ndrv3 #drv3

[attollogame]

Hello! I’m a long time fan of attollo and I had a bit of a difficult question to ask you. I know the real world is very time consuming so I completely understand that you may be unable to finish things, especially with what you’ve mentioned going on in your life before. Though, I am also an active patreon member, and I was wondering if you have plans to continue some of the things you’ve made announcements for but never completed. I really hope this doesn’t come off pushy or negative I don’t have those intentions sending this at all. For example: the birthday specials, valentine’s day specials, and the recent ovo camp stories have never been completed nor have you given us any updates on them. I wouldn’t be so bothered, but I have been supporting you on patreon and was hoping to at least understand what’s going on with the content I was really looking forward too! I am only hoping for you to address this! I really adore you, your content, and attollo so very much.

Hi! First off, thanks for being a supporter for so long; every bit matters in the long run, and I really do rely on the patreon to assist in financing the monthly bills. Although I would have preferred you contacted me via the patreon channel on discord or dm's on patreon, as this does discuss content that is patreon-centric (and I do ask that you do so from here on out for any patreon-related concerns), I'll still address everything here for now.

The specials and the valentines specials are all public versus patreon-specific, so although I am trying to find the time to sit down and complete these, I am finding it hard on top of actually getting updates done for the game itself and dealing with grad school concerns. The only thing I can say regarding those is that I will likely cease making interactive-related content for the time being and focus more on short stories for events, especially for this year where there are a lot of things going on for me. The current content will be archived and when things die down again I will gladly return to them for their completion, but for the duration of 2023, expect short drabbles instead (like the OC kiss week, for example, which will have SFW public and NSFW on patreon). I also do struggle at times to actually find inspiration or motivation for work, so I do have to combat that (constantly) on top of everything else, which I apologize for.

In terms of the Ovo stories, I asked on patreon whether people were interested and didn't receive much feedback on the matter, so I was unsure of whether people wanted me to continue it or not, especially considering the level of interaction the content received to begin with. I also do believe I did address this matter on a patreon post. Please be sure to double check update posts, as I often address anything relating to patreon stories on those atop game updates themselves.

I will say, it's hard for me to judge at times whether people care for the content produced or not if I don't hear back from the readers. Fortunately, some people did express interest when I initially inquired, so I'm hoping to complete that [Ovo content] when things die down for me as well, but I can't give you a concrete date of completion (much like I can't give concrete dates for updates).

So tl;dr if you made it this far: consider the valentines and birthday interactive stories on hiatus for 2023, as they will be substituted for short stories instead as I settle into grad school. If people want me to continue the Ovo stories please, seriously, let me know so I actually know you're interested in them as writing up to 20k of extra content is really draining if it's not being read.

Patreon will be getting short stories again as I ease back into things. $15 supporters will also receive a short drabble of their choosing. Right now, short stories are easiest for me on top of writing for the game itself as I can get the content done faster as I navigate grad school. I'm incredibly sorry if this isn't what you wanted to hear, but it's the best I can offer right now.

#thank you!

[lucifers-daughterr]

Modern | Aro & Sulpicia

artist : fabian perez  [ i highly recommend checking out his works, they are honestly one of the most amazing pieces i’ve seen, truly incredible ] 

a. ― m. sheen

s. ― m. belluci

disclaimer : it is the first time I write something like this. It's my headcanon for modern au of Sulpicia and Aro, but I also briefly touch the topic of Marcus and Didyme (which will be covered in a few days). I am aware that Aro is in fact, not Italian and that Sulpicia isn’t British. You might not agree with my portrayal of the characters, but I am asking to please be respectful. I am not a native English speaker so there might be grammar mistakes (sorry Aro please don’t unalive me). Enjoy! :)

Sulpicia comes from a very old, well-established family. From young age she has been privately tutored until she reached age when she could be sent to a boarding school. It has been a wonderful convenience for her parents, since it allowed them to travel for business reasons more often. She has received a Bachelors degree in Psychological and Behavioural Sciences from Cambridge followed by two Master degrees from London School of Economics — one in Economics and second in Public Relations. Since then she pursued a career as a lobbyist in the United Kingdom. Both her personal and her family’s connections combined with extreme determination and understanding of dynamics between politicians and private companies, made her one of the most successful women in the mostly male-dominated field. In her free time, Sulpicia enjoys fencing and opera. When someone invites her for a friendly golf play, she rarely refuses. For a long time she has wished for a dog. Unfortunately, her busy schedule and constant travelling make her unable to properly take care of one. Her guilty pleasure are sweet, romantic movies — she loves watching them with a glass of wine and always tears up when there is a happy ending. However, she also doesn’t mind listening to a good old fashioned crime podcast while getting ready.

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Aro, unlike Sulpicia, comes from a broken middle class Italian family. Constant juggling between his parents’ new homes made him mature quickly. He has learned to become his own friend, as well as a parent. Switching schools from young age didn’t exactly help him with maintaining meaningful long-term friendships. Since early childhood he was a very curious creature with insatiable appetite for knowledge. Constantly learning and researching fascinating things that he came across. He passed final high school exams with the highest marks, despite being mostly self-taught. Due to his poor health, he couldn’t attend school as regularly as his peers. After high school, he took a gap year to focus on learning English and Greek, all while working as a waiter and freelance writer on the side. Next year, he decided to study law for Bachelor and later ― Masters degree. He was always fascinated by origins of legal systems and especially the relation between a crime and a punishment. After receiving his Master’s degree he pursued a career in politics, becoming the youngest elected vice-president of the Italian High Council of the Judiciary (consiglio superiore della magistratura). He has strong interest in arts, especially architecture and theatre. His secretaries arrange invitations for auctions all over the world, so he can purchase another valuable art piece for his personal collection. Unfortunately, due to his high expectations and quite eccentric personality, secretaries tend to be replaced, sometimes a few times over the course of a year. As for personal life, he did have relationships with a few fashion designers and more meaningful one with a certain paediatric surgeon. Unfortunately the affair has ended shortly after the doctor got offered a job in one of Seattle’s teaching hospitals. 

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One day Aro has attended a fundraising event, hosted by Sulpicia’s family in one of their lavish mansions. She was in fact, the main speaker during the gala, also presenting items for the charity auction. At first he didn’t really pay attention to her, as his interest was mostly focused on the beautiful art piece the woman was presenting. It was a wonderful Rubens’ painting. He got discouraged when the price of the artwork reached a higher amount that he originally intended to spend. Eventually, he decided it was worth the price and right after the auctioneer’s fair warning he raised his paddle. At his convenience, no one increased the bidding.

As he stood up, being the winning bidder, his eyes met with the woman on stage. Instantly he was mesmerised by her presence. He was watching her the whole time, but he didn’t see her. When the auction ended he decided to approach her, striking a conversation about the gala. She knew, of course, it wasn’t the real reason he came up to her. Regardless, she decided to further engage in the conversation as her companion was quite knowledgable in the topics of her interest. As the night went on she grew rather fond of the dark haired man. They conversed about politics, arts and common friends. During his leisure hours, or “night time” as he referred to them, he sponsored many artists and happily observed their careers thriving. To her surprise, Aro’s sister was a teacher in elementary school close to her parents’ house in Florence. Apparently she was married to a history professor and they had three children together. By the end of the event Aro and Sulpicia got quite drunk, keeping each other’s company for the past few hours. The night eventually became a morning and alas, the gala has come to an end. Both Aro and Sulpicia weren’t fond of this fact, but they had their own responsibilities and work duties. After both arrived to their homes, they realised none on them has other’s contact information. It was very unfortunate, since they hoped to meet each other again. 

As the months have passed, Sulpicia’s memory of an attractive stranger became foggy. To be fair, she always moved on quickly and had the ability to forget situations that didn’t exactly go as she planned. That was until one day she came home to find a bouquet of red roses, wrapped in dark ribbon. She picked them up, curious about the sender’s identity. There was a little white card attached to the velvet cloth. Her hazel eyes opened wide as she read:

“I was hoping to see you again”

 ― Night time patron of arts 

           [phone]

#modern au #the volturi #twilight #aesthetic #aro volturi #sulpicia volturi #headcanon #fanfiction #oneshot #kinda lol #canon divergence #guess who the doctor is #hint #he is blonde