#there have been lady blacksmiths through the middle ages all the way through to the 18th and 19th century

[thestuffedalligator]

Someone somewhere on the internet suggested a telling of Cinderella where Cinderella is a blacksmith and I don't know who it was but the idea will not leave me alone because oh my god

A Cinderella who gets her name because she works in the soot of her forge. A Cinderella who forges her own iron slippers. A Cinderella who - and I cannot emphasize this enough - is yoked as hell

Also this can be the adaptation that makes the Fairy Godmother an antagonist because iron drives off the fair folk. Holy shit I want this so bad

#cinderella #fairy tales #folk tales #also historical precedent is on my side! #there have been lady blacksmiths through the middle ages all the way through to the 18th and 19th century

[headcanonsandmore]

Gentry and Gentlemen,  Chapter One

Summary:  Hermione Granger has just begun a new position of governess at Ottery Manor in the Devon Countryside, a world away from her upbringing in Regency-era London. There she meets a redheaded blacksmith man named Ron Weasley. Sparks may just fly between the middle class city woman and the working-class country man with a genuine and heartfelt charm all his own. (Jane Austen Romione AU)

Tagging: @hillnerd @nagemeikenu @acnelli @aimless-twig @femaledoubleagent @thehufflepuffpixie @adenei @abradystrix

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                   Read on FFN.                                      Read on AO3.

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The Regency period is full of stories about dashing military officers and their lovers, titled men and women, and the romantic misadventures of the landed gentry. Almost always of young ladies of the gentry and their aristocratic suitors. Of money, land, and upper class goings-on. The sort of stories that have become synonymous with high romance, retold countless times since.

This is not one of those stories.

 *

 The stagecoach trundled along the country lane. It was the middle of April, and the Devon countryside was quickly losing any vestiges of the winter. Trees were growing green, bees were pollinating all manner of plants, and the lane was fast becoming dusty due to the lack of rain.

‘Oh, really, good sir!’ giggled a lady, her aristocratic manner evident in her voice. ‘You are a delight!’

‘My pleasure, good lady,’ replied the gentleman, a large tall man with a similar way of speaking. ‘I find myself inclined to be such when in the company of such an amiable person as yourself.’

There was a loud crack, as one of the stagecoach wheels hit a hole in the lane.

‘My apologies, ladies and gentlemen!’ exclaimed the coachman from above. ‘The roads have not been repaired after the winter rains!’

‘You’d think the locals would have done something about it,’ complained the gentleman to his lady friend. ‘But I suppose that is to be expected of being so far out from respectable society.’

The woman sat across from the couple stared out of the window, a slight frown briefly appearing on her face. Her fellow passengers did not notice this, and had made no attempt at conversation with her for the entire journey from Exeter. But she was somewhat glad of that.

She was a young woman, in her mid-twenties and, unlike the pair sat across from her, was not wearing the latest fashions of aristocratic society. Her dress was well-worn but functional, as befitted her position. Her hat was smart was simple but sturdy. Her face was impassive, yet strong, and her eyes - a dark brown- were piercingly intelligent. A parasol, far from new, was placed sensibly across her lap. Her shoes, polished but faded from use, were the sort worn by practical working women since time immemorial. However, in contrast to all this was her hair; an enormous bushy mane that strained against the many pins she had used to keep it in place. It was the sort of hair that you couldn’t help but notice, and it was perhaps for that reason that the young lady had chosen to keep her hat on in the coach despite the heat.  

‘Final stop; Ottery St Catchpole!’

The coach trundled to a halt, and the coachman (whose name was Mr Jones) climbed down, pulling the small set of steps out from under the coach door. The gentleman helped his lady companion down, and the two of them sauntered away with their bags without so much as a thank you to the coachman.

Sighing to himself, the coachman turned.

‘Er… my apologies, Mr Jones,’ came a voice from within the coach. ‘Could you help me down, please?’

‘Of course, miss,’ he said, before helping the young lady down to the ground. ‘Allow me to help you with your bags as well.’

‘Thank you.’

As the coachman pulled her bags out from the luggage racks, the young lady stared down the street. The gentleman and his lady friend were laughing loudly to themselves outside one of the shops.

‘They were awfully rude, weren’t they?’

‘Afraid so, Miss,’ replied Mr Jones. ‘Many from London feel that Devon might as well be on another planet.’

‘I hope you won’t judge me by their behaviour.’

‘Oh, of course not, Miss…er… my apologies, my memory isn’t what it once was…’

‘Granger.’ Hermione Granger said, giving a small curtsy. ‘And thank you for keeping me company on such a pleasant journey, Mr Jones.’

‘My pleasure, Miss Granger,’  Mr Jones said, tipping his cap. ‘I’m surprised that such a pleasant young lady like yourself is travelling all alone, truth be told.’

‘Well, you see, I’m on my way to a new place of employment.’ Hermione said. ‘Ottery Manor; perhaps you know it?’

‘Oh, yeah, Miss. Very prominent local gentry.’

‘I am due to take up the post of governess for the young children,’ Hermione elaborated.  

‘A governess, you say?’ Mr Jones said, looking very surprised.

‘Yes, I recently achieved my qualification, you see.’

‘Very impressive, Miss. Er… just a word of warning, if you please?’

‘Whatever for?’

‘Well…’ Mr Jones looked rather uncomfortable. ‘You are… that is…’

Hermione sighed. She had been expecting this.

‘Mr Jones, I am well aware that the colour of my skin is perhaps not what the locals are used to.’

‘Oh, no, miss; that’s not what I meant!’ Mr Jones replied, shaking his head quickly. ‘Good gracious, no! Plymouth isn’t that far away, and we’re used to seeing people from all over the world popping through. It’s just… the gentry round here… aren’t quite so relaxed about it as the ordinary people are.’

Hermione smiled. Mr Jones was a sweet old man who clearly wanted to warn her as best he could, even if he didn’t quite have the terminology correct.

‘Thank you, Mr Jones; you are very kind.’

‘My pleasure, miss.’

‘Could you… point me in the direction of the manor house?’

Mr Jones nodded, pointing along up the narrow winding street of Ottery St Catchpole.

‘You can’t miss it; the big house on the hill.’

‘Thank you.’

As Hermione made her way through the main street, she was aware of just how much of a different world this was to London, where she had lived most of her life. For one thing, people walked far slower and had a relaxed attitude in their comings and goings. One could certainly tell that the pace of life was slower.

Within a few minutes, Hermione had left the village, and headed along the country road up towards the manor house. The lack of rain had meant that dust was virtually inescapable, but Hermione preferred it to the mud she had been concerned about. She wouldn’t have wanted to make a first appearance with her best clothes dirtied. That would be most distressing. She, after all, was being entrusted with the care of the children of the local landed family, and ought to be presentable in a way that acknowledged that responsibility she was being granted.

Her stomach began to squirm, as her nerves became agitated. She had largely avoided thinking too much about it when she was travelling but, now that she was so close to the manor, she couldn’t help worrying. What if she wasn’t qualified for this? What if the other staff members didn’t like her? What if she-

‘NEIIIIIGHHHH!’

Hermione’s thoughts were suddenly interrupted, as a large horse rounded the corner of the lane, galloping as fast as it could, and heading right towards her. It was tall, brown, and looked startled, its eyes wide.

Hermione’s bags slipped from her hands as she stumbled backwards, but the horse was already barely seven feet away. With a cry, Hermione tripped over the uneven ground, her hat flying off her head.

The horse reared up on its hind legs, and Hermione found herself frozen on the ground. Hoofs began to fall.

‘WHOOOAAA!’

Suddenly, the horse was no longer there.

Coming to her senses, Hermione pulled herself to her feet, and collected her bags together.

A man, roughly her age, was stood with the horse a few feet away. The first thing of notice was his height, at least a foot taller than Hermione. His head was framed with short, red hair. Freckles covered every inch of skin that was on show. He was wearing a rough work shirt that was tied up to his elbows, and a pair of trousers that were slightly too short on him. A pair of tough work boots, that had clearly seen better days, completed the ensemble.

‘Sssshhhhh, Tiff….’ He soothed, stroking the horse’s neck slowly. ‘It’s okay, girl… no-one’s going to hurt you…’

‘Good grief!’

Another man had joined him.

‘Good thing you’re such a fast runner, mate!’

‘I try my best,’ replied the redheaded man. ‘Good thing we managed to catch her before she reached the village.’

As the horse was led away by the other man, the redhead turned and, spotting Hermione, ran forward.

‘Miss, are you alright?’ he exclaimed, coming to a stop in front of her. There was a splodge of dirt on his long nose. ‘Tiffany got spooked earlier, and we only just caught up with her. I’m so sorry; are you hurt?’

‘I’m… I’m fine, thank you,’ Hermione said, as a pair of bright blue eyes stared down at her. ‘Although I think my hat must have blown away in the wind.’

The redhead man looked around, and pointed up into the branches of a nearby tree.

‘You mean that one, with the nice bow?’

‘Yes, but-’

The man was up the tree in a flash, and was soon leaping down next to her again, holding her hat.

‘There we go,’ he said, handing it over. ‘Maybe a little dusty, but that’s the heatwave for you.’

‘Thank you,’ Hermione said, placing the hat on top of her bushy hair. The two of them began to walk up the lane. ‘I appreciate your concern, Mr…’

‘Weasley,’ the redhead said, smiling. ‘But there’s enough of the Weasleys around here, so you can just call me Ron. Everyone else does; it’d be confusing otherwise.’

‘I… I don’t think that would be appropriate.’ Hermione said, as she bent down to pick up her bags.

‘Why? We’re all people, aren’t we?’ Mr Weasley replied. ‘Oh, let me help you.’

‘Yes, but I’m…’ Hermione stammered, as her load was lightened considerably. ‘Well, I’m starting at the Manor as the new governess.’

‘Oh, you’re the teacher everyone’s been gossiping about!’ Ron said, cheerily. ‘Miss… Granger, if my memory’s correct?

‘W-why, yes!’ Hermione exclaimed, suddenly feeling rather embarrassed. ‘Er…gossip, you say?’

‘Yes; the scullery-maids have been talking about nothing else for the past week,’ Mr Weasley replied, keenly. ‘Well, that and the summer fete. But, yes; a posh lady governess from up-country coming down to our little neck of the woods! They’ll be delighted to meet you!’

Hermione felt her cheeks flush.

‘I’m not nearly as posh as all that, Mr Weasley,’ she said, primly. ‘So I hope I don’t ruin their expectations when they see me.’

‘Why? You sound posh to me.’

‘No… I… I mean… well, look at me.’

The redhead stared at her in confusion, and Hermione felt she needed to elaborate.

‘Surely they were expecting someone less… exotic?’

Mr Weasley blinked.

‘You are from London, aren’t you? That’s pretty exotic.’

Hermione found herself suddenly laughing. Not the usual polite laughs she had been taught as a girl, but a full, unrestrained laugh, full of accompanying snorts.

‘London… exotic?!’

Mr Weasley grinned at her, his cheeks dimpling under his freckles.

‘If you’re born and raised in Devon, it is,’ he said, cheerfully. ‘Besides, I bet that’s the first time you’ve laughed in a good long while.’

‘Why… yes, it is,’ Hermione replied, smiling. ‘However could you tell?’

‘I hear tell of the aristo’s who take the stagecoach routes down from London. I gather they aren’t much in the way of humorous conversation?’

‘You would be correct about that. But where do you hear that from? Mr Jones the coachman?’

‘Old Jonesey? Oh, yes; lovely old soul. I’m the… well, the blacksmith and the odd-job man for the estate, so I’m in and out of the village a lot.’

Hermione nodded, trying not to notice how well the redheads shirt seemed to fit him. She supposed blacksmiths were all rather… muscley.

Ottery Manor stretched out before them. It was a double-storied building, with fine windows and a pair of thick oak doors. The house was arranged around a central courtyard, so that two wings of the house stretched out in front. A small fountain marked the middle of the courtyard, and the centre of the house was covered in fine ivy. Grounds stretched out around the house in all directions, full of trees and well-trimmed lawns. Hermione could make out some distant greenhouses and vegetable gardens on the periphery.  

‘You like the ivy?’ Mr Weasley enquired, pointing at the plant as they walked up the main pathway towards the house. ‘Me and my brother Bill -he works in the gardens- pruned them just last week; rather a nice effect, eh?’

‘Yes,’ Hermione replied. ‘Are all your siblings employed as members of staff here?’

‘No.’ the redhead said. ‘Percy -he’s the intellectual one- he works in Plymouth in an office. Fred and George -they’re the youngest brothers aside from me- work in the post office a few villages over.’

‘Any sisters?’

‘Just Ginny. She’s the youngest. Mum did want her to get a good job as a scullery maid, but Ginny’s always been more outdoorsy. She works in the gardens most of the time, but she sometimes helps me and Charlie in the forge.’

‘Charlie is… the main blacksmith aside from you, then?’

Mr Weasley laughed.

‘Yes, he’s always been good with animals, so he handles the shoe-fitting. I’m a bit of a jack-of-all-trades, myself; that’s why I’m the odd job man as well.’

‘There is nothing wrong with being multi-skilled,’ Hermione said, earnestly. ‘Most men in London would love to have a wide array of talents.’

Mr Weasley laughed again, his cheeks dimpling again.

By this point, they had reached the courtyard but, instead of heading for the front door, Mr Weasley lead her around one wing of the house and into a yard of sorts. Hermione could hear horses neighing nearby, and presumed that the stables weren’t that far away.

‘You’d best come through the servants entrance,’ Mr Weasley said, leading her up the rear side of the wing and stopping before a door, which was left open. ‘Not a good idea to get on the bad side of the footmen on your first day. Especially the head footman; he’s a right killjoy about these things.’

‘Well, I am a servant, technically.’

‘I know,’ Mr Weasley said, sighing. ‘But, if I had my way, we wouldn’t have to worry about separate entrances. We’re the people who actually keep this place going, not the aristo’s using this place like a retreat for when the season ends in London.’

Hermione felt rather shocked at Mr Weasley’s words, but she opted not to say anything. She could certainly understand his frustration, but she had never met someone who was so open about it.

‘The gentry often have friends and relatives down from London, then?’

‘Yes, but you probably won’t have to worry about them,’ Mr Weasley said, encouragingly. ‘They tend to stay away from the children if they can help it. This time of year, most of them are living the high life in London society; they shouldn’t be arriving here for another couple months.’

‘Well, I lived in London most of my life, but I already rather like it here in Devon.’

The redhead turned to look at her.

‘Really? Why?’

‘Well, judging from what I’ve seen so far, it’s quieter, for one thing. The pace of life in the city is far too extreme. Out here, you can hear the birds in the trees, see the bees in the hedgerows, smell the…’

‘Muck on the fields?’

Hermione laughed.

‘You’re very amusing, Mr Weasley.’

‘I try,’ the redhead said, his cheeks dimpling as he smiled. ‘Not very often I get the opportunity to make a woman laugh without making a prat of myself first.’

‘Oh, I-I’m sure all the local girls adore you.’

‘With five older brothers? I barely get a look in,’ Mr Weasley chuckled, his ears going a little pink. ‘But, thank you, miss.’

‘My… my pleasure, Mr Weasley.’

‘Mr Weasley, I trust you haven’t been frightening the new governess.’

A man had stepped out from the servants entrance. Judging by his dress, he was a footman of some description. His hair was surprisingly greasy, and he had a long, hooked nose. His voice gave an indication that he had taken elocution lessons to disguise a midlands accent.

‘Oh, no, sir!’ Hermione exclaimed, as the two of them deposited her bags near the door. ‘Mr Weasley came to my assistance when my hat blew astray on the front drive.’

Mr Weasley grinned at the footman.

‘Wouldn’t be a gentleman if I didn’t do so, sir.’

‘Mr Weasley… you are not a gentleman, and never will be. You are a commoner, and you would do well to remember it,’ the footman said, looking unkindly up at Ron over his long hooked nose. ‘Now, Miss Granger, if you would accompany me this way…’

As Hermione followed the footman, she happened to look back over her shoulder. Mr Weasley caught her eye, and mouthed “what an oily-haired git, eh?”. Hermione bit down on her lower lip to stop herself laughing.

 *

 On reflection, Hermione was rather embarrassed that she’d been so nervous about her first meeting with her employers. The lord of the manor seemed disinterested the entire time, while his wife asked a few questions about Hermione’s teaching qualification. In fact, Hermione spent most of the meeting nodding politely while the lady discussed the difficulty in finding a good governess in the local area, and that they appreciated that Hermione had come such a long way.

She was then escorted by the head footman back to the servants entrance, all the while wondering if all lords and ladies were so… underwhelming as people.

‘Thank you, but where should I-’

But the footman had already walked away.

Hermione looked around, her nerves building again. She didn’t know her way around, and she hadn’t even been told where her lodgings would be. Maybe she should-

‘All finished?’

Mr Weasley had poked his head through the door.

‘Y-yes,’ Hermione said. ‘But… well, where should I put all my…’

‘Oh, I’ll help you,’ Mr Weasley replied, cheerfully. ‘I can’t go into the women’s quarters, but I can let the scullery maids know that you’ve arrived.’

Turning, he knocked on a door.

‘Parvati? Lavender? The new governess is here; can you help her move her things into the women’s dormitory?’

There was a loud squeal from inside the room.

Rolling his eyes, Mr Weasley opened the door, and poked his head around it.

‘Oy; are you two finished?’

A few moments later, two women appeared from behind the door. Both of them dressed in the same simple uniform, and both roughly the same age as Hermione. They also both seemed to be very giggly.

‘Hello, Miss Granger!’ said one of them, who seemed to be of Indian descent. ‘Nice to meet you; I’m Parvati, and this is Lavender.’

Lavender, a girl with blonde hair that was pulled up under her bonnet, smiled.

‘Sorry we couldn’t meet you at the gates,’ Parvati said. ‘Me and Lav got a bit… distracted.’

There was a snicker from Mr Weasley. Lavender laughed, and slapped him playfully on the arm.

‘Anyway,’ Parvati continued, and Hermione was confused as to why the girl’s face had flushed at Mr Weasley’s comment. ‘We’ll help you take your bags up to the dorm.’

‘I wouldn’t want to cause you any trouble-’

‘Oh, it’s no trouble,’ Lavender said. ‘Besides, we never get to talk to anyone from London; do you know what the most recent styles are?’

‘Er…’ Hermione trailed off, as the two girls hurried along the corridor. She was about to follow, when she realised that the tall redhead was still there. She turned to face him again.

‘Thank you for all your help, Mr Weasley,’ Hermione said, giving a quick curtsy. ‘I am most pleased to make your acquaintance.’

‘As am I to make yours, Miss Granger,’ the redhead replied, his freckled cheeks dimpling once again. ‘Although, like I say, “Ron” is fine. There’s half a dozen Mr Weasleys here, so it just saves time.’

‘In that case, I will call you that,… Ron.’

The redhead grinned, before leaving to run across the wild grass nearby in the direction of the stables. The shirt Ron was wearing was, indeed, rather tight on him, and Hermione couldn’t help but notice how his muscles strained against the fabric as he ran, the sunlight reflecting beautifully off his red hair.

Hermione smiled, as she turned to follow Parvati and Lavender along the corridor. Ottery St Catchpole was shaping up to be a rather wonderful place to live.

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Thanks for reading, everyone! Hope you liked it! If you want to keep up-to-date with the series, please subscribe on AO3 or FFN, or ask me to add you to the tag list on Tumblr.

#jane austen #jane austen au #romione #ronmione #romione au #alternative universe #ron x hermione #ron/hermione #hermione x ron #hermione/ron #hermione granger #ron weasley #governess!hermione granger #blacksmith!ron weasley #background pavender

[beatricethecat2]

"This is nice," Myka says, sipping her beer while surveying the bar.

"Consuming alcohol in a public house?" Helena asks.

"Yeah," Myka says, eyes angling down as she picks at her label. "Working with Pete...this wasn't a thing I could do much. Then Steve and I had a drink here, and I remembered what it was like. I used to go on my own in DC just to unwind. Feels like a lifetime ago."

“In many ways it was," Helena says, idly stiring the ice left in her drink. "Could you ever have imagined the company you now keep?"

"I don't think so," Myka says, shifting closer to Helena. "But I like it, a lot. Doing this with you feels...normal. Two people, spending time together, not a care in the world."

"You care for nought?" Helena says, fingers tracing a line from Myka's thumb to her wrist where her hand rests on her thigh.

"Ok, one care," Myka says, eyes flicking up to meet Helena's. "Hey, I know that look. We said we'd stay for the band tonight, not just hole up in our room."

"Is there not another band tomorrow?"

"Yeah, but we said we'd stay for this one." Myka slips her hand from Helena's.

"As you wish," Helena says, settling back on her stool, frustration evident in her tone.

"More drinks, ladies?" the bartender says. "The band's about to start."

"I shall need one," Helena grouses.

"Stop being dramatic," Myka snips.

"Fine," Helena snaps. "Bourbon. Neat. Top shelf, please," she instructs the bartender.

"Comin' right up." The bartender steps away to complete the order.

"Oh, we're getting drunk now, are we?" Myka quips.

"When in Rome..."

"I'd actually like to see that, a drunk H.G. Wells," Myka says, poking Helena in the arm.

Helena flinches. "You may very well if you keep behaving as such."

"Seriously though, when's the last time you drank enough to let your guard down, even a little."

"In the company of others? Not in recent memory. And you?"

"Same."

"Here you go," the bartender interrupts, setting the tumbler on a napkin in front of Helena. "Another beer?" she asks Myka.

"You know what? I'll have the same." Myka waves her bottle at Helena's drink.

"Cavalier, Ms. Bering."

"We'll keep each other in check. We deserve to get super tipsy, at least."

"Color me intrigued."

The band strikes its first cord just as Myka's drink arrives. She tugs Helena's arm, and they relocate to a table near the stage.

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

The Adventures of Bering and Wells ("Warehouse 13" Season 5 replacement) Season 1: Episode 4 Title: New Orleans: Laissez les bon temps rouler!

Summary: Myka and Helena follow whim rather than duty, driving south, detouring around Washington DC, avoiding a second emotional rabbit hole so early on. After a wi-fi-free week in a cabin, deep in the Blue Ridge Mountains, they feel ready to tackle urban density again. ("The Rockies are better," Myka declares. "We'll go there, too.) Vowing to stay as touristy as possible, the pair head towards history-filled New Orleans. But far too soon their carefree trip hits a snag and they're in need of Warehouse help.

Previously: Episode 1, Episode 2, Episode 3

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

***BONUS SCENE***

"Exactly how touristy have you been?" Abigail asks.

"Pretty touristy," Myka answers.

"Practically flâneurs," Helena says, grinning as Myka looks up at her with sparkly eyes.

"Well, that narrows it down," Steve mutters, typing into the keyboard. "Let's start with your hotel. Why'd you pick the carriage house?"

"The lack of adjoining suite and the king-sized bed."

"Helena!" Myka smacks Helena on the arm. "Because it's cute and charming."

"So this ghost isn't listed on their website? Wedding dress woman, Civil War soldier, dancing patio woman?" Steve asks.

"No. And the manager hadn't recognized the description I gave," Helena explains.

"So not all ghosts," Abigail says.

"If seeing them is normal," Myka says.

"Let's say the ones on their website are but H.G.'s isn't," Steve says.

"Are we to assume I've been 'whammied' then?" Helena says.

"You freeze in place. I have to shake you out of it," Myka explains.

"Perhaps I'm studying the phenomenon."

"You're never that still. It's creepy."

"Then I think we should consider it," Abigail says.

"Where else have you been?" Steve asks.

"Um, everywhere?" Myka answers. "That blacksmith's bar you and I went to. And The Gas and Lights Museum--"

"Such memories. So many details wrong," Helena gibes.

"On a carriage ride--"

"Highway robbery! Sixty-five dollars for a turn around the park. And not in the least authentic."

"You said it was nice!"

"I said it was familiar. The sound of it took me back," Helena says.

"I thought you'd like it." Myka leans back and looks up at Helena questioningly.

"I enjoyed the company quite thoroughly," Helena says, laying her hands on Myka's shoulders and grinning down at her fondly.

"Aww," Steve coos.

"Did anything about the carriage ride scream 'lady ghost will now appear at will?" Abigail asks.

"Not to my knowledge," Helena says.

"We also went to the Pharmacy Museum. And on a steamboat ride," Myka adds.

"Not that I'd have stepped foot on that death trap without proof of modern safety precautions. In my day, they exploded frequently," Helena explains.

"Ok...let's start with the Pharmacy Museum," Abigail says as Steve types. "Could this woman have afforded a doctor?"

"She often appears in her Sunday best, but also in, shall we say...less. She didn't strike me as particularly monied."

"Did she look sort of vampire-ish?" Steve asks. "I'm reading that people with consumption were rumored to be vampires due to how the disease aged them."

"I'm familiar with that premise, and no, this woman was not withering away."

"Could she have died on a steamboat?" Abigail asks.

"She doesn't give off that sense. There's a calm about her. She's not in danger."

"Let's try another angle. The neighborhood you're staying in, Storyville, claims to be the birthplace of jazz," Abigail says, reading over Steve's shoulder. "Maybe she's related to that?"

"Myka took me to hear this 'jazz,' and I can't say I was at all impressed."

"I like it. Steve does, too. You really hated it?" Myka asks.

"The bleat of the saxophone evokes vaudeville for me."

"Play her some Charlie Parker. Or John Coltrane. That might change her mind," Steve suggests.

"Does this relate to our ghost?" Abigail presses.

"I don't see a connection," Helena answers. "Her dress is previous to that of jazz, of an age closer to my own."

"Storyville was once a legal bordello district," Steve explains. "The whole neighborhood was shut down in 1917. So maybe she's from then?"

"That makes sense," Myka says.

"Do you see her inside or outside?" Abigail asks.

"Thus far, outside."

"But," Myka protests, "last night, when we were...t-the blindfold, you said 'just in case.'"

"Did that not heighten our activities?"

"That's not the point. I can't believe you--"

"Punish me later, darling--"

"Why don't you two hash this out, and we'll get back to you," Abigail suggests.

"Wait, is this her?" Steve asks.

Steve shares a black and white photo of a woman, seated outdoors, in front of a makeshift white backdrop, her hair styled into a modest, shoulder-length coif. Her linen top, trimmed with lace, hangs off one shoulder, and a string of pearls adorns her neck. Her lipstick, rendered as a middle grey, matches the kohl lining her eyes, giving her a soft, silent movie-era look.

"Hm, possibly."

"Here's another."

Helena leans further over Myka's shoulder, looking closely at the image. "Yes, I believe that is her."

"That's, um, really off the shoulder. Shoulders..." Myka says. "Isn't that kind of racy for the time?"

"Quite tame compared to some. Her expression is unusual, contemplative almost, recalling solemn greek statues rather than the usual fodder meant to titillate men's desires."

"How would you know?"

"One encounters all sorts of materials as a Warehouse agent," Helena says with a smirk.

"As an agent. Uh-huh."

"Listen to this," Steve interrupts, "these prints were made from a stash of glass negatives found locked in a desk drawer years after the photographer died. Many are of Adele, the woman you're seeing, but there are other women, too. They were shot in the 1910s, but these prints were made in the '60s. If there were any original prints, they were never found."

"May I see the images again?"

Steve cycles through and adds a few more, one depicting a roll-down desk with a shrine of photos arranged above, all of women, vignetted portraits and romantic depictions of the female form more typical for the time.

"Not sure if that last one is related. But it says it's by the same photographer."

"Could you send that one over? I'd like to look more closely."

"Sure."

Myka trades places with Helena, and Helena clicks the link. She enlarges the photo and inspects the array of images.

"I vaguely recall flicking through a basket in a shop with ephemera such as this. Perhaps this ghost woman was amongst it, but printed in a manner such as the images depicted here."

"So you're saying the photo in the shop might be a photo from this photo?"

"That is what I'm hypothesizing."

"So when you see her, you freeze like you're her photograph trapped in this photograph."

"Or perhaps I am her, caught in the decisive moment of the image being captured."

"That's really meta," Steve says.

"No matter what, neutralizing that photo should do the trick," Abigail suggests. "Heck, neutralize everything in the basket, just in case."

"Do you remember which shop you were in?" Steve asks.

"My recollection is hazy at best due to the copious amount of drink someone encouraged me to consume the evening previously."

Helena looks at Myka and scowls. Myka looks back, endearingly.

"I don't get hangovers."

"Lucky you," Helena quips.

"I hope you find it soon," Steve says, "because being happy looks good on both of you. You should get back to that."

"Thank you, Steve. And thank you, Abigail, for all your help," Helena says.

"Anytime," Abigail says.

"Have a great trip. Send some postcards!" Steve says.

"What a marvelous idea," Helena replies.

"Isn't flicking through postcards how we got here?" Myka warns.

"Shall you pre-screen everything I touch from now on?"

"Maybe I should--"

"We're hanging up now," Abigail says.

The screen goes blank as Myka and Helena devlove further into playful bickering.

*End Scene*

-TBC-

NOTES: "Laissez les bon temps rouler!" is Cajun French for "Let the good times roll." In season four, Steve and Myka go New Orleans and both say they like jazz, so I'm not making that up. I see Myka as more of fan of popular tunes - Billy Holiday, Duke Ellington, Nat King Cole, etc., whereas Steve would know the genre through and through (and try as he might, never gets Claudia quite on board with it all). The photographer is E. J. Bellocq - I was going to incorporate that more, but the politics behind photos I mentioned is...complicated. I want this B&W show to focus on our ladies journey, artifacts are side-plot motivations. But if you're interested, look him up, and I suggest reading both Susan Sontag and Nan Goldin's essays for some clarity on why the images hold the status they do. From the research I've done, his images are plastered all over Storyville businesses, so if you've been there, you've seen at least one. Oh and I had a roommate once who could drink anything and never got a hangover. Some people are lucky like that.

#BERING AND WELLS #w13 #fanfiction #fan art #Myka Bering #Helena HG Wells #new orleans #road trip! #canon divergent au #it's nice using the characters you like and wish had more screen time in spin off shows #while others need not appear

[missinghan]

countless skies upon me ⤖ lee minho

❖ genre : fantasy; action; fluff; angst 

❖ word count : 16,5k.

❖ warnings : explicit language, mentions of blood + violence

❖ summary : when you stumble upon the notoriously skilled swordsman of Kalmburg, your heart finds itself wanting to get closer to his.

❖ a/n : this is the full extension of this blurb that I wrote impulsively after rewatching an old anime, please give swordsman minho a whole lot of love 🖤

prologue.

Minho’s wooden sword gets knocked out of his grasp, landing onto the floor with a loud series of clattering noises. The little boy widens his eyes when the tip of another wooden sword hovers over his stomach and he looks up to be met with the stoic gaze of his mentor. 

“What did I tell you yesterday, Minho?” 

“That I need to make more progress on improving my reaction time,” he answers grimly and rubs his forearm, head hanging low in shame. “I need to know the timing of the enemy like the back of my hand and use my own timing in which they don’t expect.”

His mentor retreats his sword swiftly, humming, “You got distracted, you weren’t observing my stance before I lunged at you. By narrating the enemy’s preparation, you can partially map out their movements, when and where they’re aiming for. That’s why you were taken aback and this allowed me to disarm you with little effort.”

“But master!” Minho pries stubbornly. “It’s not very fair if an opponent can’t fight with their sword, is it? A sword is supposed to be the coil of a swordsman’s strength. It’s all we’ll ever have.”

A fatherly smile dances on his mentor’s lips this time. “Strength is simply an illusion, there are far more important things,” he places a warm hand on Minho’s shoulder, speaking softly. 

“And it doesn’t matter if you still have your sword or not, fighting isn’t an obligation, it’s a choice. A choice whether you’re going to fight until the very end or not.”

one.

Market stalls crowd the route, selling sacks of nuts and dried fruit, grilled meat hanging on lines after lines of roasting skewers. Powdered spices lay in rust red and dusty yellow and bright green piles spill from sacks as large as feed bags. Mixed and familiar scents cut through thin air, people bumping into each other, toes trodden on. Lovers stroll hand in hand, casually browsing whilst housewives hustle and bustle, hollering over background noises for the best price.

Minho ends up walking through the entire market before getting to work that day with an apple in his stomach, silently like a phantom, blending into the sea of people effortlessly. 

To him, work is just like another day in the market for stallholders, another pile of weapons needed to be honed and repaired for blacksmiths and another batch of bread to bake early in the morning for bakers. 

Except his job is somewhat… questionable and considerably dangerous for a guy who looks nothing like a warrior. At least that’s what he’s been told. Rather pretty-looking eyes being hidden under his long fringe, a high and slim nose bridge, sharp philtrum. He’s not that tall either and doesn’t necessarily have as many muscles as he initially wanted. But the swordsman doesn’t listen to his muscles to fight, he listens to his mind and becomes one with his blade. 

There’s no need for a shield or armor, for he thinks they’re doing nothing but getting in his way and slowing him down during combats. Minho draws his sword with no more qualms than a middle-aged lady gossiping about her irritating neighbors and slashes his enemies while thinking about what he’ll be making himself for dinner that day. There’s no joy for him in violence, but he takes extreme pride in a good clean kill. He has a reputation to maintain and that reputation keeps him safe in this world. 

A man approaches Minho from behind, leaning himself flat against the wooden bench that the swordsman has situated himself on for the past hour. The guy never makes the first move, that’s what he’s been told. 

“Twenty thousand units,” the masked client speaks up, his voice mellow and slightly muffled. “If you can bring back the head of a shadow wolf that’s been lurking around the Dunst forest these days, I’ll double the price. Silver-white fur, brown eyes. Make it quick too, and you can have sixty in total. He’s been eating up one too many of our sheeps already.”

His lips twitch subtly and he crosses his legs, keeping his tone low but clear, “Shadow wolves can’t handle the cold that well, why would one roam around a place with such tremendous decrease in temperature at night?” The sound of coins crashing against each other in the leather pouch suddenly irritates him. 

“C’mon, Black Swordsman, how would I know these things? I’m just merely a guy who’s trying to get by in life,” the man chuckles lightheartedly but Minho isn’t finding anything funny. No one ever gets the upper hands in a deal with him. “Look, I heard you’re good at your job and you sure look like you know what you’re doing so why don’t you just take the mon—“

 Minho stuffs his hands into his pocket and sighs, “Don’t think so lowly of me, I don’t accept deposits. I’ll only get my money once I’m done with the job. Meet me here tomorrow at noon, sharp. And if I don’t show up, consider locking your sheeps inside.” And with a grin through his flat lips under the mask, the cryptic client leaves Minho alone by the bench, fully satisfied with his attitude and reactions. 

The brunet gazes at the space ahead for a good ten seconds, thinking rather deeply about this before waving his hand absentmindedly, calling out to the errand boy who’s been hiding behind the ugly tree. “You can come out now, Jeongin. Did you catch any of that?” he asks without turning around. 

“Every single word,” Jeongin cancels the spell that’s been his cover during their entire conversation before stepping out, pursing his lips together. “A guy who’s trying to get by in life but still has twenty thousand to pay you beforehand? Sounds absurd to me.”

“Enough with the brainless chatters, you know what to do,” Minho pushes himself off the bench when his muscles start growing sore on the hardened surface. “If you do a good job, I’ll treat you out for dinner. Now run along, Chaeryeong is probably looking for you, don’t be late to class.”

Jeongin holds him back by the sheath of his sword, “You’re still going to accept the job? I don’t think it’s worth the risk. He’s obviously setting you up.” 

“If anything, I might bring his head back instead of the wolf’s,” Minho replies monotonously, and Jeongin lets his hand fall to his side. The swordsman turns on his heels to see concern laced in the younger boy’s eyes, this prompts his voice to soften. “Don’t worry, a single wolf can’t hurt me,” he ruffles his hair before slipping into the crowd again, making his way towards the mountains to enter the Dunst forest. 

He wouldn’t mind dying alone, actually. It’s not like he has any regrets.

two.

The city of Kalmburg has it that no one has ever surpassed Lee Minho when it comes to the art of swordsmanship. 

“If you’re going to take on a guy who can parry a crossbow bolt with his sword as he’s contending against five other men, it’s time to re-evaluate the direction of your life—preferably while running away as fast as you can.”

The man walks up to the center of the town square every single day at the crack of dawn, his figure fully covered in a big black cloak, the hood thrown lazily over his head. All you can see is the strides he takes with his black combat boots. He almost belongs, but not quite. Kalmburg is known for its dashingly ornamental architecture — a white granite surface with serene spires can be seen from the castle at the top of the hill, soothing atmosphere and generically nice residents. Some say no beauty can be compared to its sunrise due to the dashing sight of a lake situated before the town square’s gate. 

Whereas, Lee Minho gives people a stark contrast with his dark aura and the black sword hung firmly on his back. He easily takes in everyone’s attention with a single sweep, his midnight orbs setting on nothing before he leaves as expressionless as he’s entered. His purposes and motives always remain hidden; hence the allure. Though it’s not hard to see how he’s making a good living on a daily basis. 

For one, he slays monsters; and for another, he deals with people. Outsiders might be surprised at how many units the Nobles are more than willing to pay him as long as he comes back alive, with the beast’s head limp in his hands. There were times when he’d come back covered in a sea monster’s gastric juice, other times he could barely walk back to the town because his spleens got severely damaged. But most of the time, he’d return as though he just got back from a stroll, outstretching his palm to collect the payment. 

Dealing with people is far more troublesome than those deadly creatures, Minho constantly tells himself so. It’s true, after all. Because when careless juveniles aren’t able to snatch their parents’ spare change on the dining table, they decide it’s a brilliant idea to challenge him for a duel. If they win, he’ll have to follow their request without receiving a single penny. But if things go the other way around, they will most likely come home crying for their mother. Such a nuisance. 

Today is no different. 

Moving into the morning dew is a shadow wolf. His paws kiss the earth not gracefully, but rather with evident difficulties and there’s a ray of exhaustion in that pair of bronzed eyes. The wolf has seen better days. His silver-white fur is thin and it clings to his frame like an old cloak in a gale. Even from several yards away, Minho can count each rib as they’re sticking out, he sees dejection in his movements as if he’s gonna let himself tumble to the ground any moment. 

Minho carefully inhales, pulling out a silver dart from the back of his belt. He raises his hand and aims precisely for the pine tree, just a strand of hair away from the wolf’s ear. When he exhales, the weapon comes flying past the creature before embedding itself to the wooden surface. 

The wolf whips his head towards the swordsman, locking eyes as he lets out a mere cry of pain, crimson dripping down on the side of his head. As Minho pulls his hood off of his face, slightly dubious that the creature of darkness will turn into a wisp of black smoke to take flight deeper into the forest, the wolf shakes his head before lying down on the soil, unable to coordinate his limbs. Then with his great grey head on his bloodied paws, he closes his eyes. He’s giving up on his life. 

“Something’s wrong. Shadow wolves’ blood isn’t supposed to be red,” Minho holds his breath in utter disbelief, taking a step backward. He’s got the wrong target. No, that client scammed him. 

A branch snaps. 

Minho reaches for his sword when the sound of thin air being ripped apart rings inside his eardrums, two blades coming in contact with each other and he has to squint slightly when tiny sparks of flame come to life between the weapons. Instead of looking at the raider, he quickly deflects their slash again. Hypothetically speaking, there are two possibilities: the first is that both swords are too weak to withstand the pressure of the blow, so they’ll simply break - in the exact same fashion. The second is in which case both blades are durable enough to field the contact, they will bounce right back. But his unwanted guest seems to detest him so much to the point they keep their sword grinding against his until their weapons slip against each other, creating a wave of grating shriek resonating through the woods, dust being thrown in the air. 

He stumbles backward, the sole of his shoes tearing the leaves below into bits. His vision shakes a little from the sudden attack before trying to focus on the figure before him. The first thing that he sees is the white wolf on the button of your silver-accent cloak. That’s the royal guards’ emblem.

“You,” the female voice catches him by surprise. “Lay another finger on that wolf now, I dare you.” You know all too well who this man is, and like hell you’re going to let him do what he wants just because of some cheap units.

Minho’s fully aware that his beating heart is thundering inside his chest, but he’s not sure if it’s because of the adrenaline flowing in his veins or those round eyes glaring at him from under the sunlight. He sees the grip on the hilt of your rapier being tightened and that’s when he regains his composure, taking in a deep breath. If he gave up now because of a pretty face with a deadly blade, he’d damn his reputation as a swordsman.

“Oh that wolf is all yours,” he smiles at you fakely, wiping the beads of sweat on his cheekbones away. “But you’re going to have to do better than snooping around on people.”

Minho steadies his grip on his sword, trying to keep himself together in the deafening silence, “So, who’s making the first move now?” The tonal mockery in his voice irks you and he seems to notice that too by the slight smirk tugging at his lips when the muscles on your face twitch. 

One. Breathe in.

You’re getting into your stance sideways, your blade eye level. This man doesn’t know what he’s getting himself into. 

Two. Breathe out. 

Minho isn’t letting his guard down this time despite being slightly impressed with your skills. Usually, there aren’t many girls who take up sword fighting, at least not in his hometown so he thought you’d be sort of a novice. But your dexterity is beyond incredible, he can hardly see the tip of your sword. 

Three. “I am.”

You charge first by swinging your rapier at him from above, Minho receiving the clash with the flat of his blade. He circles away from you, keeping his sword in motion while constantly changing his stances and attacks. Rapiers aren’t very suitable for slashing or slicing since the blade is so long and thin, it can only allow its owner more speed, more precise stabs and thrusts but greatly lowers their defense. So if he can just catch you off guard…

When the tip of your sword grazes just above his clothed ribs, Minho’s reflexes kick in and his blade knocks yours away almost immediately. With the bewildered look on your face as a signal, he dodges as you attempt another stab at his left ear. This causes you to trip on your heels, your balance quivering the moment his sword slashes at the button of your cloak rather than your neck. To prevent yourself from falling, you jump and do a backflip safely, breath’s fraying as the piece of clothing is completely ditched by a tree. 

“You are strong, just like the rumors,” you breathe out a stoic comment, chest heaving up and down rapidly. 

“You aren’t too bad yourself either,” Minho grins; he hasn’t felt this much eagerness to fight someone other than monsters before. In other words, he’s never faced someone who knows what they’re doing with a sword as skilled as you are. 

You cock a brow at him, confused, “Why are you smiling?” 

“I don’t know, actually,” he shakes his head and hearty waves of laughter bubble up inside his stomach. The brunet sheaths his sword with a loud ‘clunk’, walking towards you to place a warm hand on your shoulder. “But good fight, you really know how to hold a sword.”

“Wait… aren’t we going to finish this?”

Minho picks up your cloak from the ground, outstretching his palm, “You seem like a person who knows what it takes so I don’t think that’d be necessary anymore. But I’d be glad to take you on again?”

This man is baffling you, and not in a good way either. Nonetheless, you still slide your sword back into its sheath and accept his handshake. “So you’re gonna leave that wolf alone right?”

“Only if you tell me what happened to it,” Minho replies firmly, receiving a nod of approval from you. He actually seems like a solid person. Perhaps you can trust him. 

“That’s my brother, Chan.”

three.

The forest hums with life all around you. You lift your head ever so slightly when the sunlight slips through the green leaves and branches, lighting up the dirt path ahead decorated with outgrown roots and wildflowers. You gaze up at the fluffs of clouds, searching for the birds that are singing sweetly. Minho trudges on before you a couple of steps, finding the natural fragrance of the current surroundings rather soothing. It’s making his eyes droopy.

“What happened to him again?”

He stretches his limbs tiredly and yawns like there’s no tomorrow, making you scrunch your nose in disapproval. He’s not even paying attention to you. It’s been at least an hour since you’ve mounted an unconscious Chan on your horse — Noir and accepted this cryptic stranger as your guide for now. You’ve never been to this forest more than once so it’s best if you follow him—an experienced individual in order to get your brother back safely. 

You frown at him, giving the back of his neck a firm slap while your other hand is holding onto the rein. “Ow, what was that for?!” he yelps. 

“You weren’t listening, were you?” 

“Remotely,” he hums out a reply, “I didn’t sleep that well last night.” And that’s when you notice the dark spots under his eyes, the occasional tears whenever he squints his eyes under the sunlight. The job’s more draining and demanding than you thought. 

To be fair, slaying monsters and getting your hands bloodied might not be the best thing to do to a degree of morality but you really can’t judge him when you’ve only known him for a few hours. Minho’s far younger than you’d expected too. You’ve had your strolls downtown from time to time with your fellow royal guards and it’s not hard for rumors to fly. People were gasping and bouncing on the balls of their feet talking about this mysterious swordsman who’s dressed completely in black, a single one-handed sword, no shield, and no armor. They really had you thinking he was an old man in his forties who has no regrets, just trying to get by in life no matter what it takes. 

And you’d be lying if you said you didn’t find him charming the moment you saw that handsome face under the big cloak. 

“He was recovering from a business trip so our mage decided to treat him with a special potion,” you nibble on your bottom lip, looking over at your worn out brother sideway in concern. You’ve wrapped his injuries up with some of the cloth that you’d packed before leaving this morning, he should be fine. “I guess something went wrong; hence, he’s magically turned into a wolf, panicked and bolted out of the castle. And you know how cruel people can be sometimes…”

“Oh, sorry about that,” Minho feels a big lump in his throat when you secretly toss a glare at his direction. “I should have known something was off the moment he started bleeding red.” He shakes his head, highly disappointed in himself for mistaking Chan as a shadow wolf. His professional etiquette forbids him ever repeat the same mistake. 

You stop dead in your track, cocking your head at him in confusion, “What do you mean?” 

Wait, no, something’s wrong. Something’s terribly wrong. It can’t be that simple. “You’re still going to accept the job? I don’t think it’s worth the risk. He’s obviously setting you up.” His steps come to a halt, only a few feet away from you and before you can even tap him out of it, Minho snaps his head back, grabbing you by the shoulders. “Tell me, when you first entered the forest, did you encounter any wolves? Even just one?”

“N-No, I don’t think so,” you stutter, slightly flustered at the sudden decrease in proximity. But you soon shake the heat on your cheekbones away when he lets go of you, pacing back and forth to think hard about something. “Uhh- what are you-”

“Shh shh..”

“Did you just shush me-” The wind whistles in your ears and you stumble backward when Minho draws his sword, the blade coming in contact with something hard and deflecting it successfully. Your jaw is locked at the sight of an arrow sticking to a tree not very far off. That could have been your head instead...He just saved your life.

“Someone’s coming, take cover.”

Minho carefully tugs your horse over to a nearby slope when you hop off the main pathway, waving him over to a big tree. You both get down on one knee as the sound of armors crashing against each other grows louder, dreadful footsteps becoming more detectable. Swiftly, Minho notices the color of your bright blue cloak can easily be detected right through the bush and clicks his tongue in annoyance. He unbuttons his black coat, silently draping it over your smaller figure. For a second there, you widen your eyes at him but soon ensconcing yourself obediently under the leather fabric. 

Stepping into your vision are two familiar faces, Minho’s breath almost hitches in his throat when he realizes they’re clothed in the same blue and white uniform as yours. Both equally emitting the same hostility and mettle—as expected from the astute royal guards. 

“Hyun-”

You stagger backward when Minho clasps a firm hand over your mouth, shaking his head while you’re giving him a ‘what are you doing?’ look. The moment you manage to peel yourself away from his grip, your fellow colleagues are nowhere to be seen. They must be looking for you since you left the castle this morning without a proper announcement. “What was that about?! They’re my friends, now if you’d excuse me-”

“They aren’t the most trust-worthy people right now,” he lets out a sigh. “Think about it. They’re parts of the few people who could possibly see Chan the day before he turned into a wolf. And I’m sure the royal mage wouldn’t have such a reason to spike the commander of the guards. I don’t see how it’d benefit her if Chan was to take a break from his position. On the other hand…”

Is he accusing one of your friends of harming your brother? And for what too? A higher rank in the team? Preposterous! “Why would I trust you then, Black Swordsman?” 

Minho cringes inwardly at the nickname because good gracious, it’s so unoriginal. He’s heard about plenty of Black Swordsmen before during his wandering all over the Continent. They’re basically cryptic-looking swordsmen dressed in black...people really need to come up with more colorful monikers.

“Because I just saved your life from those people whom you called ‘friends’,” he blinks at you bluntly and the hand resting on the hilt of your sword tenses up. 

You take in a deep breath, slowly considering his deductions. It’s not like he doesn’t have a point but you don’t understand as to why Hyunjin or Changbin would want to overtake your brother, they’ve only become a part of the royal guards four years ago. You might not grow up together but after going on plenty of adventures and living in the palace, you’re practically family.

Still, humans are made of greed after all.

“I can’t believe I’m doing this,” you exhale. “You’re going to help me figure this out for throwing a dart at Chan’s ear. But if you even think about hurting him or make a single move that prompts me to think you’re doing something behind our back, I’m going to tear out your spine with my bare hands.”

Minho chuckles at your threatening tone, slightly scared for his life, “There’s no need to worry, miss…” You raise a brow at him when he trails off rather flusteredly. “Ma’am? No- uh, vice commander? What about lady…”

“The name’s Y/N,” you can’t help but break into a fit of giggles, amused at his sudden discomposure. Seems like this man has been chit-chatting with monsters more than having civil conversations with other human beings for his whole life. “And would you get your hands off me now? We don’t have to hide anymore.”

His chest swells a bit at that if he’s being honest.

four.

“Aren’t we supposed to be at the castle?” Minho looks at the log house before his eyes questioningly. Not that he’s complaining, he doesn’t think it’s the best idea for him to show up in front of royalties either. 

You pull off your hood and say, “No, the royal mage doesn’t live there.” After a few knocks with your knuckles on the wooden door, hurried footsteps are audible from inside the house—whoever’s in there must be dying to see you, Minho thinks. 

“Yeji, how are y—“ The door flies open and a figure thrashes against you faster than a lightning bolt, their arms wrapped around your torso, rubbing your back tenderly. You’re slightly taken aback but smile nonetheless knowing that your friend was worried sick like she’s always been. “Hello to you too, stupid.”

This prompts Minho to avert his gaze away awkwardly, the grip on Noir’s reign tightening evidently and your horse lets out a small neigh, nudging her nose against his side like she’s attempting to appease him. He murmurs a small ‘thank you’, hand reaching upward to brush through her shiny black coat. Shaking his head, he snickers at himself for talking to a horse. 

Yeji mumbles against your neck in relief, like someone’s just lifted a weight off her shoulders, “Good gracious, Y/N! Are you okay? You just left without saying anything. Changbin and Hyunjin said they couldn’t find you in the woods and Chan’s gone missing for a few days now and I got so worried I-”

“Slow down, Yeji,” you give her a firm squeeze in reassurance, chuckling. “It’s barely been a day. I did manage to find Chan, surprisingly, thanks to Minho, well, partly.”

“Who’s Minho?” she pulls away to get a good look at the man standing next to your horse, eyes widening in surprise. Dressed in black, one-handed sword, no shield, and armor. “Is that the Black Swordsman? Like the Lee Minho? He’s the real thing?”

You grit through a stiff smile, “As real as it can get.”

“Huh, and I thought he’d be some old, balding man in his forties,” Yeji comments while eyeing the swordsman up and down, making him somewhat uncomfortable. “He knows how to use a sword, is young and quite the looker too. Ohh I see what’s going on here..”

You warn her with a clap on her forearm, “You’re embarrassing me in front of that jerk.”

However, she ignores you and pushes the door open, motioning for Minho to carry Chan inside. “Move quickly now, Black Swordsman, I suppose Chan’s condition must be critical, his heartbeat and the blood flow in his veins is increasing at an alarming speed.”

Minho looks around in awe when he steps into the log house—there’s not much for him to say about the house. Furniture is self-explanatory enough: a single bed, a comfortable chair made with what seems to be one of the finest materials, a wooden shelf above the fireplace with an array of potions with different shades and colors, windows completely covered with curtains. It’s not much, but it does feel homey. He would be able to find a place like this with ease if he hadn’t wasted all of his money into information dealing and weapons trading.

“It’s nice, isn’t it? The house, I mean.” 

Yeji’s question snaps him out of it. And he looks over at the table where Chan’s lying, immobile and his bronzed eyes droopy and his breaths mingling. There’s a strange, bright light pulsing from the mage’s fingertips when she hovers her palm over Chan’s bloodied ear. Minho watches as the light flickers from a shade of white to blue, enveloping the open wound and heals it completely. He meets Yeji’s eyes before she pulls her hand back, her eyes glowing gold before turning back into a deep brown. The art of magic is truly fascinating. 

Minho manages to blurt, slightly flustered, “What?”

“You said the house’s nice, I simply agreed with that statement for it is true,” she briskly reaches for a flask, inside holds a soft green-colored liquid with golden specks floating around. 

“I didn’t say anything,” he frowns at her when she brings the rim of the flask to Chan’s mouth, pouring the odd-looking liquid down his throat. 

You speak up from behind her, arms crossed in front of your chest, “Yeji, stop reading people’s mind that’s creepy.”

“Okay I’ve got everything I need for the potion that’ll manage to turn Chan back into his human form,” Yeji tells you while rummaging through her wooden cabinets filled with bottles after bottles, grabbing some along the way as she comes back to the table. “But I’m missing some crystals. And I’m not talking about those fake ones that you see at the stores, the ones I need are way towards the north, in Drachens Hohle, on the Restless Cliffs.”

Minho hums, brows knitted together, thinking rather thoroughly about this. “Drachens Hohle is pretty far off, it might take us an entire day to get there, and then another day climbing those cliffs...we might need to pass by a store of a friend of mine to pack some stuff since I suppose you won’t be returning to the castle anytime soon. We’ll get moving as soon as possible,” he mumbles and nods to himself, satisfied with the plan. 

“Let me just make one thing clear here, Black Swordsman…”

He screws his eyes shut when air suddenly gets ripped apart, only opening them slowly after and almost flinches at the tip of a dagger pointed directly at his nose; one wrong move and his eye will be gone. Minho doesn’t know what should startle him more—the blade gleaming with a bright shade of yellow or the dark look in Yeji’s eyes when he meets them. He’s seen Chaeryeong do it many times before—incorporating magic with weapons, to better the damage output while maintaining the defensive factors. 

“If you lay just one single finger on my friend, I'm going to turn you into a mere, pathetic, little sparrow and lock you in a cage along with other pieces in my collection.”

Minho panics, feeling nauseous at the thought, “What collection?”

The mage withdraws her knife and laughs it off, “I was messing around with you, there’s no collection. Look after her for me, she can be quite clumsy sometimes.”

“The clumsy one here is you,” you mumble bitterly in the corner, extremely embarrassed for the sake of your friend. You might as well dig a hole and bury yourself in it.

Unexpectedly, the wooden door is once again pushed open, two men barging into the log house abruptly. You and Yeji remain still in your current positions while Minho touches the hilt of his sword, ready to draw it. “Don’t bother, they’re friends,” you wave at him absentmindedly before pushing yourself off the chair, walking over to the front door. 

“Y/N, where have you been?!” 

“Hello to you too, Bin.”

Changbin pushes past Hyunjin and jabs his index finger at you, eyes filled with both rage and concern. “What were you thinking? If you’re going to find Chan, we’re going with you. We’re a team and he’s our brother too! Don’t you remember? That was an irresponsible and childish action to do, you’d better have a good explanation for this. If you’re going to do something, at least act your role in the team more properly.”

Hyunjin pulls him back by the arm, shaking his head, “Changbin, stop. There’s no point in arguing. What’s most important is she’s gotten back safely.”

You eye both of your teammates back and forth, skepticism and uncertainty rising from the pit of your stomach. If what Minho said was true, then the culprit must be one of them. Or was he lying to you, trying to mess with your mind in order to achieve a personal goal of some sort? After all, you’ve only met him today yet you’ve known Changbin and Hyunjin for years now, why would you even hesitate to choose your friends over a total stranger? 

“I wasn’t alone.” Changbin pauses at your words. “He was with me, this is-”

“Lee Minho.” You gape at your friend in disbelief. 

Minho’s hand pulls away from his sword, a strange glint flashes in his eyes for a moment there. “It’s good to see you’re doing well, Changbin,” he says with difficulties, clearly not knowing how to act. 

“Why were you with her?” Hostility washes over the atmosphere when Changbin croaks out, fists clenching in anger. “Y/N, what were you doing with a scumbag like him? Haven’t you heard enough rumors about this guy? People like him only care about themselves, they’ll just end up hurting you in the end. There’s no good in letting him stick around.”

When you squint your eyes at him, Changbin takes long strides towards you, grabbing your wrist and attempting to pull you away. “Yeji, please take care of Chan for the time meaning and we’ll be heading back to the castle. Y/N can’t just leave when we need her the most.“

Minho tugs you back towards him and voices firmly, “I’m sorry, but your vice commander belongs to me now. I’ll be responsible completely for her security and escort her with all my respects. You’ll simply have to make do without her for some days.”

Changbin lunges for Minho’s collar, anguish seething inside his chest. “Insolent bastard! On what basis do you think you have the right to protect her? You might not be a threat, but you’d better stop pretending to be a hero.”

“A hero? Like you?” He shouldn’t have said that. 

Hyunjin looks rather concerned, rubbing his friend’s shoulders, “Changbin, we should go.”

“Seo Changbin, Hwang Hyunjin,” you step in between them in disquiet, shoving Changbin away. “As vice commander of the royal guards, I will be coming with Lee Minho in the next few days on an important trip and I stand by my own decision. If my absence causes the team any trouble, I’ll be more than happy to receive the punishment from our superiors. You two are to return to the castle until further notice, continuing on with your service for the king and queen.”

“As we should,” Hyunjin smiles at you sweetly before walking over to Chan, giving the wolf a small pat on the head. In return, Chan lets out a displeased growl but it’s too small to notice. Minho watches the guard from afar, suspecting the strange glint in his eyes. He decides to say nothing about it.

“I’ve already warned you about him, don’t come crying for me when things go wrong.” With that, both of the royal guards excuse themselves out of the log house—Changbin shutting the door angrily after Hyunjin bidding you goodbye with a hug. This makes your heart heavy for not being able to trust them. You still don’t understand as to why, but you have a sudden faith in Minho, your intuitions are telling you that you should trust him. 

Softly, you ask, “You know Changbin?”

“He’s an old friend, we haven’t talked in a while,” Minho shifts uncomfortably in his chair, finding the topic rather awkward to talk about. “We didn’t get along that well back then either. Glad to see nothing has changed.”

You shouldn’t have asked him in the first place. 

five.

A wide variety of shops lined the streets of downtown Kalmburg: antique and art stalls, jewelry, and accessory shops, luxury boutiques, souvenir kiosks and stores selling leather goods, all showcasing an array of the finest wares in the area. Tourists flock to them like fireflies to a lamp, enthusiasm accentuating their features. The silvery melody of the drawl of sightseers and the strong, distinct accents of the locals drift through your ears as they amble by. 

You follow Minho to the very end of the streets with your cloak draped over Chan’s limp body. No one needs to know why there’s an unconscious wolf on the back of your horse. Alas, you both arrive in front of an old wooden door, the mahogany color fading as a result of time. He told you that he needed to pass by a friend’s place but doesn’t this place look a bit fishy-

“Five hundred units for ten bags of Philenor powder, and you’re good to go!”

A blond-haired boy peeks out from a client behind the counter. “Well if it isn’t my least favorite customer,” he voices cheerfully. 

“That’s because I’m smart enough to not buy any of your shit, Jisung,” Minho walks in with a grin, pitifully eyeing the dreadful-looking man who’s taking heavy strides out of the shop. He’ll learn someday. “Still running your greedy business as usual I see.”

The dealer named Jisung returns the sarcastic remark with a gummy smile, bumping his fist against Minho’s in a brotherly way. “Don’t speak so ill of me, will you? This greedy business is housing you,” he retorts, “I suppose you’re going to hog my place tonight as you always do, Black Swordsman?” So turns out he spends his night slumbers in this old crusty shop, no wonder people think he sleeps in the woods since they’ve never run into him outside of the town square before.  

“Actually, I won’t be in town for tonight,” Minho’s answer catches Jisung off guard. “I’m heading north, to the Restless Cliffs.”

“Another life-risking business trip huh. You’re going to need warm clothes, some supplement, and probably some medicine too,” Jisung hums to himself. “Hey, Felix! Get your butt over here and sharpen a sword!”

You detach your rapier from your belt and take a few steps forward before placing it onto the counter. “Uhh, can you perhaps do the same thing for my sword? I’m coming with him,” you try to appear as friendly, not wanting to startle him. 

But to your dismay, “Y-You’re one of the th-the royal guards!”

The younger boy looks over at you, utterly bewildered when he sees the emblem on your uniform. His eyes look like they’re about to pop out of their socket any second now. As if to fuel the fire, Minho jerks his head towards the direction of Noir, speaking casually, “Also, ask Chaeryeong to take care of the wolf and the horse for me. Tell her to be gentle too, the wolf is hurt and confused. Don’t let him drink potions that aren’t tested beforehand.”

“You brought injured animals to my shop?!”

“One more thing, I need to see Jeong-”

Jisung has to manually shut him up by swinging an arm over his neck, forcing his friend to tumble over the wooden counter, their cheeks pressed against each other. He’s practically spitting into Minho’s face at this point. “What in the world is an outcast, stubborn-headed of a loner like you doing out here with a royal guard?! Didn’t you say that having other people coming along would only get in the way? I thought you worked alone! What’s the deal man?”

“Ahaha, it’s a long story. You see-”

“Excuse my discourtesy for I haven’t introduced myself properly yet,” Jisung stops and averts his gaze over to you, soon letting go of Minho when you flash him a crooked smile. “My name is Y/N, second in command of the royal guards and I’ll be stuck with this dimwit for a while, it’s a pleasure to meet you.”

Jisung reciprocates your bow, the look in his eyes softening a bit, “And I’m Han Jisung, freelance dealer, single, I’m looking for a—“ Minho finds it irksome how his friend is already out and about, starting a proper conversation without almost getting killed by you so his fist moves on its own, jabbing against the blond’s stomach, forcing air out of his mouth with a low grunt. 

“Don’t mind him,” he turns sideways to reassure you, holding back the twitching muscles on his face. “He’s a decent person, despite how creepy he can be sometimes.” Jisung then elbows him harshly as a payback, making a scene when they start wrestling with each other like a bunch of toddlers. This makes you snort involuntarily, the Black Swordsman isn’t as fully-fledged as what’s been told around the public.

“Kids, that’s enough,” you tell them after making a grab for one of your pouches on Noir’s back. “Minho, why don’t you go meet up with the blacksmith? And Jisung, do you perhaps have a kitchen that I can borrow?”

While Minho’s mumbling something under his breath, hugging both of his and your sword to his chest to make his way behind the counter, Jisung nods at you, lifting a curtain next to a shelf full of weapons, gems, crystals, and potions that leads you down a dark, narrow hallway. “It’s not much,” he says and lights a candle so none of you would trip over each other. “But I hope it helps.”

“Don’t even, doing all of this for a stranger like me is incredibly generous of you,” you say humbly, not wanting to take anything for granted. “I’ll definitely return the favor when I come back.”

Jisung stops walking all of a sudden, causing you to almost bump into his back. “Is that so? Then, uhh…” he scratches the nape of his neck sheepishly. “How do I say this..? I know Minho can be irrational sometimes, loves pretending like he doesn’t care, and always runs into fire. So please..” His throat starts growing dry as he lowers his head a bit, attempting to bow at you.

“Take care of him for me, will you?”

You smile at the blond-haired boy, warmth flaring through your rib cage like butterflies, “I assure you he’s in good hands.”

six.

That night, you and Minho spend the whole night, the next morning, and the afternoon walking barefooted from Kalmburg to a small village at the base of the Restless Cliffs called Drachens Hohle. And it’s anything but Kalmburg. Rustic cabins dot the grassy hills as trees stand up like spikes, zigzagging the border of brick roads and unpolished homes. Rivers stream through deep valleys. The town is as complex as the heart, the streets are the veins, paved with red stones and the people are the heart. They look like they don’t own much, but are willing to share everything and anything. It’s the smiles on their faces, the way they greet each other, the sound of weapons and breastplates being pounded into shape that shows you just how alive this small community can be.

The motel Minho chooses looks like one of those places where men with beer guts would be snooping around with their neighbor’s wife, paying by the hour; a place where random hookers and drug-dealers would thrive. There are external wooden stairs that lead to a second floor, the second row of doors, that looks like the building inspector was either bribed to pass it or drunk on the job. You insist on finding a better place than this rat-hole but Minho said you don’t have to waste a couple of extra pennies just so the beds can be softer.

After dinner, you both receive your own keys before going upstairs to your respective rooms. A dingy place like this isn’t able to provide much when it comes to furniture anyway so there’s only a plain bed with pillows and a blanket, a nightstand with a pitch of water, and a small candle beside it. You sigh while casting your eyes around the room one last time. It’s just for one night.

“Y/N,” Minho gives your door a few knocks. “Are you asleep yet? I have something to tell you.”

You’re still halfway done with unpacking your stuff so you try to yell back without turning on your heels, “Not yet, just come in. I didn’t lock the door.”

He hums as a response before pushing against the wooden surface, closing it with a small ‘click’ after. “I just ran into the mayor downstairs,” Minho starts speaking and that’s when you finish putting your sword away, turning to look at him. And your cheeks inevitably grow hot since the first thing you have to lay your poor eyes on is his collarbones. This bastard really has the audacity to keep his buttons anywhere but a degree of appropriation. 

“Hey, focus,” he snaps his fingers as an attempt to knock you out of your trance, not noticing how he’s obviously the distraction. “It took an hour for him after rambling about his childhood and his love for the village to finally spill something about the kind of crystal that we need. At least pretend like you’re paying attention, will you?”

“I was paying attention,” you mumble loud enough for yourself to hear it. What a white lie. 

Minho quirks a brow and leans himself against the wall, looking amused, “Hmm, sure you did. Now, where were we? Ah! The mayor said those things aren't very hard to find, the only problem is that the field where they grow is right in front of a dragon’s den. No one has ever made it back in one piece. Chances are there might be other random monsters on the way…” 

Suddenly he stops talking, confusing you. “What’s wrong-“

The stiff look on his face seals your lips almost immediately. Faster than a lightning bolt, Minho turns the doorknob and rushes outside. “Who’s there?!” he snaps at the hooded figure running towards the end of the dark hallway, reaching for the sword on his back only to realize it’s not there. “Shit, this isn’t good.”

“Someone was eavesdropping. We’ve got ourselves a spy.” You close the door again after Minho walks inside, facepalming himself onto your bed dreadfully. 

He supports himself upward on his forearms and runs a hand through his hair, “Look, I’m not saying this because I’m doubting your abilities, I just want to guarantee your safety as much as I can. Their motives and patterns are getting pretty much unpredictable.” When he looks straight into your eyes with his warm, brown ones, your heart dips ever so gently. “Would you mind if I were to spend the night in your room?”

Your lips grow agape, your jaw almost drops to the floor. No one has ever asked to spend the night in the same room as you, not even Ryujin—your closest friend out of all the royal guards. Heck, you’ve barely known this man for a good three days yet why is it that your heart didn’t even hesitate? Are you scared? Most definitely not. Then what is it? What’s this weird, fuzzy feeling that’s been stirring inside your stomach for who knows how long?

“.....fine, but don’t try anything.”

Your heart is being weak again.

“Just what do you think you’re doing?”

You place your hands on either side of your hip when Minho comes back from his room with his pillows and blanket scattered all over the floor, organizing them neatly with his sword leaning against your nightstand. He flickers his eyes upward to look at your judgmental ones, slightly shaking from the cold and nervousness. “I’m getting comfortable?” he tells you, blinking innocently. 

Shaking your head at Minho, you snatch the pillow from his hands and situate it on your bed, right beside your own. “Hurry up now before I change my mind,” you decide after some time of consideration. The floor doesn’t look necessarily clean, and it’s not like Jisung would pack any extra clothes for him to change into. You’re just being nice like any normal, civil human being would. You’re sharing a bed with a stranger, nothing out of the ordinary. 

“Oh, I’m good,” Minho scratches his head with a sheepish smile. “The floor is fine for me.” Although the cheap material of the mattress does look more convincing than the hard, cement surface. 

You squint your eyes at him skeptically, “Are you sure?” He then puts his hands up in defeat as though you’re pointing a knife at his throat and motions for you to scoot over with a wave of his hand. You both shuffle around after he slips into the blanket with you, shifting until you’re facing the wall while Minho’s staring awkwardly at the front door. Well, this is kinda nice, he thinks to himself when your back brushes over his every now and then. 

“Uhh, sleep tight, I guess?” Minho says before leaning over the nightstand to blow out the candle. 

“Goodnight to you too,” you spew out your last words of the day, deciding to keep your lips close before you embarrass yourself any further. Okay...maybe one last thing before you completely pass out. “Uhm, Minho?”

He replies softly, “Yeah?” Seems like he can’t fall asleep either. 

Minho tosses himself over the moment you move your body and this causes your faces to be inches apart, his warm breath fanning your cheeks. Although you can’t see him clearly due to the limited source of light, those round eyes are definitely piercing right through you, leaving your heart pounding faster than usual. 

“Can you tell me…” you nibble on your bottom lip hesitantly. “What happened between you and Changbin? You guys weren’t being very civil for old friends.”

When he shifts slightly again to face the ceiling, his arm brushes against yours but he does nothing about it. He likes the lingering warmth from the tips of your fingers. 

You watch in awe as Minho stares up at nothing, broken bits of sadness floating softly inside his irises like an unwanted scar from his past; it’s tragically beautiful. “It was years ago when this whole monster hunting thing started,” he starts calmly, finding it hard to not look at you. “I wasn’t alone, Changbin was there with me too.”

Then, he continues, not knowing that you’re widening your eyes at him, “We were in an assault team, traveling all over the Continent and making a living out of slaying those creatures. We didn’t have much back then, but we had each other. Unfortunately, everyone has their own secrets despite our promise of not hiding anything from each other. Changbin was planning on leaving the group to go on a different path, and I...I would secretly sneak out alone every night, throwing myself into danger, thinking that I wasn’t good enough…Truth is, I was just being selfish.” His voice trails off, trembling as if each word pains him, like a thousand arrow wounds straight into his heart.

Bitter. Unforgiving. Pain. 

“I knew that I was lying to them, that I should just leave without saying anything,” Minho swallows hard like someone’s stepping on him, forcing air out of his lungs mercilessly. 

“But I never belonged anywhere, they were all that I had—my only family. I longed for that warmth, that feeling of being at ease so I just, I couldn’t leave. One day, we were hired to clear out a dungeon through an anonymous letter. It raised some skepticisms in my head since I’ve gone there before, there was nothing, no monsters, no nothing. Even so, I was held back by my own cowardice, I was afraid they might question me. I didn’t stop them when they accepted the job, it was good money.”

Your voice fails you when you open your mouth to say something, so you wordlessly slips your hand into his, hoping that you’ll be able to convey some of your heat to his cold fingers. As if feeling encouraged by your action, he doesn’t push you away and regains his composure. 

“Turns out, my intuitions were right, we got scammed,” Minho says. “A group full of criminals attacked, wanting to keep all of our money for their own. We cooperated and gave them everything, yet that wasn’t enough. They needed to seal our lips for good….Only Changbin and I made it out alive, three mobsters from the gang died under my blade that day. I confessed to Changbin later on, he didn’t forgive me. I couldn’t forgive myself either, the only family I’d ever have was gone, my arrogance and pride killed them.”

Silently, you pull him towards you, caressing the back of his head like he’s gonna fall apart the moment you let him go. Minho’s breath hitches in his throat as he sees you wear a smile on your face, your starry eyes twinkling when moonlight slips through the crack of the wood-lined window, pieces of glass chipping off on the edges. You’re breathtaking, unearthly. 

“I’m not going to die, I know that you’ll protect me just fine.” There’s a wide-eyed expression on his face, his lips falling open but his words die in his throat. A tear unknowingly rolls down on his cheek, consequently blurring his vision with waves of sadness that only the broken would encounter. You let him nuzzle his head into the crook of your neck, his fists grabbing at your shirt until his knuckles turn white. 

Minho cries into your chest unceasingly, “I don’t have any real strength. Without my sword, without the anonymity that has been casting terror and curiosity on people, I’m just Lee Minho, the coward who only ever knows how to run away and hide behind the shadow of the Black Swordsman. Changbin was right, I don’t have any right to even think about protecting you.”

“My father used to tell me,” you stroke his hair gently as choked sobs punch through him, pulling him back from the opening arms of his grief. “Strength is simply an illusion, there are far more important things.” 

He stops for a moment, nostalgia hurling him back to the memories of two decades ago when he was still just a boy, training hard with his wooden sword while someone watched him from afar, a pleased look lingering on their lips. Tears pool in his eyes again when that person’s face flashes inside his mind but the hollow space inside his heart isn’t the same, there’s a ray of joy that’s managed to make its way through a crack of his walls. 

“And I don’t care if you’re the Black Swordsman or not, I only know the cryptic-looking guy who crossed swords with me and wasn’t willing to back down that day. I knew, I just knew that even without a sword, you could have beaten me. Because fighting isn’t an obligation, it’s a choice. A choice whether you’re going to fight until the very end or not.”

His tears can’t extinguish what has happened, yet only carry him forward until a time comes when that searing pain is distant enough to forget rather than remembering. And maybe one day, it might erase itself from his conscience for good. So perhaps it’s not much of an oddity to thank the salty liquid streaming down on his cheekbones. They’re a living proof for his morality, a barrier to save him from becoming a monster—indifferent to suffering and sorrow. 

Minho sees the fatherly smile on his mentor’s face, just like the old days. And then he sees you through his blurred vision, momentarily breathless at how close you are. 

“After all, I have a promise to keep,” you tell him but it comes out more like a reminder for yourself. “I won’t let you die even when I’m no longer capable of picking up my sword and I mean it. As vice commander of the royal guards, you have my words, Lee Minho.”

An ignited desire wells up at the bottom of his heart, and it baffles him. Lee Minho, a coward who’s willing to turn his back on everyone just so he alone can exist. A bastard who betrayed his only friends, who didn’t even try to plead for forgiveness, who coldly walked away from those painful memories. Such a self-absorbed being like him doesn’t deserve a simple ally, let alone something much more intimate than that.

Then he starts to remember why he’s here, with you. Your smile. Your voice. Memories are flooding back into his head about this girl who made her way into his life abruptly yet so easily. And before he knows it, she’s all that’s on his mind. 

So instead of giving in to his nightmares like he would every other night, Minho stops reminiscing his bloodied past, surrendering under the sense of familiarity radiating off your touch.

seven.

You both stand in awe as the great mountains loom before your eyes, cold grey crevices holding the blood of the fallen. While the lower passes wear a cloak of greenery, the peaks are crowned with a headdress of ice. As though the earth has a pulse, it rises through the mountains, creating their bold silhouette. From carved rocky outcrops, waterfalls drifting like skeins of white lawn, and in the fields, you can see the amber glint of the rivers and the occasional mirror-like flash of the lake. 

The mountains soar upward like they wish to plant a soft kiss on heaven, wanting to have a taste of the horizon all around. The path ahead winds as effortlessly as a blanket laid on a bed, yet each step feels heavier than the previous one, draining your energy. It only gets steeper and narrower as you make your way closer to the top, but giving up is not an option. You’re willing to go to the other side of the world barefooted, searching for every corner, every edge of this planet if it means bringing your brother back. 

A gust of wind howls in the distance, piling up snow in drifts, blinding your eyesight with ice-white dust. You try walking, bending over against the cold, protecting your eyes with your clothed forearms. Everything looms into your vision before vanishing completely, swallowed in white. “Minho?” you call out to him after a few minutes of not looking forward, waving one of your hands around until it can feel something. 

Another hand reaches for yours, and you snap out of your daze when the coldness on the tips of his fingers is clasped against your palm. “You’re as slow as a baby turtle,” he comments lamely while staring ahead, not letting you see the coral shade scattered across his cheeks. “Let’s just hurry up and get back, I’m hungry.” 

Breath pale against the numbing air, you blink thoughtfully while gazing down at the sight of his fingers being intertwined with yours as the frost patiently kisses your face. He’s still wearing the same old pair of fingerless gloves, no wonder his hands are freezing. But you suppose it’s because he doesn’t want the grip on his sword to slip. 

“Oh, I actually have something for us to eat,” you retract your hand to fish it inside your bag, already missing his warmth. “I guess we should have lunch, either way, we’ve been walking before the sun even rose.”

Minho makes a noise of confusion before bringing his steps to a halt, turning his head to see you pull out something being wrapped neatly in paper, giving it a slight jerk towards his direction when he continues to stare at you blankly. Wordlessly, he takes it and sighs, eyes widening when the smell of grilled meat invaded his nostrils. Inside the wrapper is a sandwich made from thinly sliced bread, generously stuffed with meat and vegetables. The peppery aroma inevitably makes his stomach rumble and without another word, Minho chomps on his lunch portion like a hungry child; the sandwich is long gone before he realizes it. 

“It’s...good,” he licks his lips to clean up the remaining sauce in the corners of his mouth. It doesn’t look any different from the ones he’s seen inside restaurants but the taste is what reminds him of something he ate as a kid, he almost teared up while inhaling it. “Where did you buy this? I’ll make sure to pass by the place when we get back.”

“I didn’t buy it,” you stride ahead of him to hide the giddiness in your stomach. “I made it yesterday at Jisung’s place. That’s why the bread got a little soggy if you couldn’t tell already.”

Minho fixes his collar and his hearty laughs echoes through your eardrums, stirring up feelings inside your stomach unabating. “You would make a fortune out of these,” he tells you while trying to catch up, following your steps in a hassle. “But now that I‘m thinking about it again, you shouldn’t do that, I’d hate to see people getting to enjoy the same food as me with some cheap units.”

You blush (out of anger) at his statement and attempt to cover it up by stepping onto his toes. This causes him to yelp while stumbling backward, almost falling onto his bottom. “Why did you feel the need to do that?!”

“I can just make you more if you like it that much, you jerk,” you murmur mostly to yourself but he hears it nonetheless. 

A smile makes its way to his lips, and a fuzzy feeling bubbles up inside his stomach. He’s not sure what it is, but he’s not complaining, really. It’d be nice if he could have the same delicious meals when he’d retired, dozing off while watching the sunset with his significant other and his own kids in his arms. It’d be nice if he could have a place to come back to when he needs a break, a shoulder to lean on and someone to tuck him into bed. It’d be nice if… He looks at you again after those shameless thoughts and immediately, embarrassment dusts his cheeks pink. His face feels hot despite the puffs of cold air escaping his lips. 

“Hey,” Minho pulls you to a stop by the hand, suddenly giving it a squeeze. “I just wanted to say thank you…” A glint of anticipation gleams in your gaze when you both lock eyes, prompting him to look away. “Thank you, for...the meal, it was nice. I might as well bother you a little longer to eat more good food.” Lee Minho you coward. 

“Do you only think about your stomach?“ you almost gawk at him, raising your hand to give him a slap in the face but Minho grabs your hand before you can do so. The next thing you know, his other hand is on the top of your head, ruffling your hair in a playful manner. 

He tells you and trudges on, grinning to himself, “Let’s get moving, we’re wasting time.”

“....Minho?”

“Hmm?” he turns around with a lovesick smile on his face but that’s not what you’re paying attention to.

“You might want to look out for that…”

“For what-“ 

Minho swallows heavily when he sees an enormous figure overhanging his shadow on the white snow. Slowly, his gaze follows the sound of faint yet sturdy footsteps and he holds his breath, eyes twice as white as before. 

“Just to be clear…” he asks breathlessly. “Dragons are nocturnal, right?”

“Correct,” you subconsciously take a step back. “And we might have woken it up.”

Minho takes notice in the thick stripe of black streaking down on one of its claws, and his face morphs into a frown when his surroundings reek off the smell of fresh blood. “No, someone else did.”

The dragon’s scales gleam dashingly in the sunlight, they are its pride and delight, violet streaks blending into a deep blue at the end. Its teeth so cold and sharp like icicles, they can easily rip any armors into mere ribbons of skin and bones. In its chest holds a hearth of ever flickering flame although the remorseless heart remains rime. Eyes with a shade of crimson as deep as the liquid that’s coursing through your veins, nourishing you; those eyes are seemingly endless pools of wisdom and intelligence.

But once those red pupils dilate and focus on the two mundane mortals before themselves, a glint of gold is suddenly evident, almost alarmed. The dragon takes off into the air with its wings stretched leathery like a bat, sending a small snowstorm flying towards the both of you. Minho squints his eyes hard while you’re shielding your vision with your forearms, coats fluttering as wind whistles into your ears.

Minho calmly takes a step forward, flashing you a smile sideways. What is he doing? 

Then, he spares you one last glance before drawing his sword. As though triggered by the sound of metal scraping against the leather sheath, the dragon flaps its majestic wings and inhales, heaps of glowing embers come swirling in midair, twirling towards Minho with a fiery dance. He’s just simply there, feet planted firmly on the ground as though challenging the creature’s deadly breath. 

“Minho, what are you doing?!” you yell at him, trying to keep your balance as the ground begins to tremble. “Get out of there!!”

Pretending not to listen to your warnings, Minho gets into his stance, blade angling low with his knees. What happens next downright baffles you. The blade of his sword glimmers with a shade of purple, his feet taking off towards the plume of fire that soon engulfs his figure completely in your vision. 

You squeeze your eyes shut not just because of the heat but also because you can’t bring yourself to see it. Once the air around you cools off, your eyes flutter open again to see Minho angling his head over his shoulder, throwing you a wink in the process. Did he just counter a dragon’s breath with his sword?

“Chaeryeong taught me that. Neat trick, isn’t it?” he says with a grin while you’re blinking at him in utter shock; he looks almost proud of successfully deflecting that breath attack. “I use magic more often than you’d think. Nothing major, only the basic things. Enough to keep me alive.”

“I still think we need to run first.”

Minho looks at you dejectedly, “Don’t you have a better plan?”

With a howl as loud as any sky-born thunder, the dragon flaps its wings more vigorously this time, flinging the layer of snow under your feet into a blizzard—a swirling storm of screaming silver, a primal force than conquers until its core explodes. Everything around you is almost white-out as you bat your hands around helplessly in the middle of this snowstorm. After a while, you can no longer feel your legs, it’s like the storm just sweeps you off your feet. You’re not sure if it’s because of the cold or-

What the…?

You widen your eyes in a panic; you’re falling. Your perception of time distorts, your surroundings slow down until there’s nothing, only you, the sky above, and a hole that’s only a few hundred feet away from where you were standing previously. Your hand reaches out to the canvas above, grasping the endless crevasse of blue. 

Everything’s a blur, a blur that swirls out of existence. Suspended in the air for a few seconds, you close your eyes and take a deep breath, letting your tense muscles relax. You won’t die from the fall since there’s a likelihood that snow’s already covered the pit. But you can’t just let yourself fall freely, that would cause minor, unnecessary injuries. So you reach for your sword, planning to jab it against the rocky surface as an attempt to go against gravity. 

Once the metal comes in contact with the side of the pit, tiny flares of fire flutter in the air as if the sword is being sharpened by a blacksmith, an ear-piercing sound hisses against your eardrums. The stab is strong enough to slow gravity down from pulling you downward any faster but it’s not enough to make you stop completely. 

Chan, you think while screwing your eyes shut, every cell inside your body is shaking, every muscle is aching. You can’t give up now, not when you’re still in one piece, and Chan’s hanging on the edge of not getting his old life back. You can’t give up not knowing who’s the culprit, not just yet. 

And you’d rather be cursed than making out of this place alive and leaving Minho behind. Your conscience won’t ever forgive you. 

When that thought crosses your mind, you grit your teeth and suddenly the sword stops sliding down, leaving you dangling midair on one arm. The rapier is too slender, it won’t hold on for long, and it’s not like you can climb all the way up to the top. 

A mighty, fearsome roar blares through your brain like wildfire so you flutter your eyes upward to see the dragon with its wings folded on both sides, diving at an immaculate speed into the hole, in your direction. 

There’s my ride. 

eight.

Once the blizzard settles down, the setting sun comes with a sky of fire, the orange of every wintry hearth. The color stretches far and wide along the horizon like a reflection of the dawn that comes after the velvety night. 

That’s when Minho sees them. 

The crystals have grown as something alive may do, thriving over the ages, through many generations. As such they become a rainbow sea made of perfect rocks, the shoreline ever-present and still with colors that shine in the brilliant light of a richness that only nature can bring. Minho might feel bad when he snaps off a piece, it’s like cutting a single, healthy rose in the middle of the thorny garden. But if it’s for Chan, he’s certain that you’d do anything at any cost. 

Minho sheaths his sword and sighs, turning around, “Y/N are you okay?” All that he’s met with is a muffled silence, the cold wind whistling into his ears, the hollow space before his eyes white-out and empty.

“Y/N?” Nothing. 

“Y/N!!” No one answers. “Y/N!!!”

No, he lets out a choked whimper. No, no, no.

His legs tremble inside his boots, his lips quivering, his fists clenched, his fingers turning cold. And the thing that terrifies him most? His heart feels like someone is grasping on it so tightly as though they’re going to crush it with their bare hands. 

A seed of fear suddenly grows inside his rib cage, thriving at an abrupt pace, branching out, gripping onto every cell, every muscle inside his body. He can’t breathe. This can’t be it, he tells himself, tumbling backward a bit. He promised not to let this happen. He swore. Yet his biggest nightmare is only one step away from becoming a reality. 

Minho wants to cry your name aloud over and over again until his vocal cords are torn apart, he wants to be vulnerable for once and let himself fall. How is he going to face Chan? And Changbin? And his own conscience? He might as well run his own sword through his heart because what would be the point in living if you’re no longer here?

All of this was a grave mistake. If only he didn’t throw the dart. If only you didn’t come with him. None of this would have happened. None of this would have happened if he didn’t accept that damned offer. He could have easily flipped you off the second that duel was finished and gone on this trip by himself. And face the scythe of Death alone, by himself, like he always does. He should have died alone, he deserves to die alone. 

But this time, he didn’t make the right decision and the consequences are horrendous. He gave in because of your stubbornness, your determination, your bossy nature. He let you in and his walls came down tumbling one by one, his stern and trained facade shredded into pieces. His head is a mess whenever he sees your smile, his heart can permit you to tread on his boring life. And because of those merely unguarded moments, he’s killed another person that he truly cares about other than himself.

Wait, something clicks inside his head. He almost forgets the most important thing of all. The culprit. 

Minho regains his composure and snaps his head back towards the crystals. The sun might be going down but its limited source of light is more than adequate to cast a shadow onto the snowy white surface. The shadow of a person, a person that’s not you. The shadow that sets a silent inferno inside his chest, the flame spreading by the ticking second. 

“I have been waiting for you,” he turns on his heels, reaching for the hilt of his sword. “Hwang Hyunjin.”

The shadow visibly flinches before stepping out, a hand outstretching from the black cloak to pull down the hood. When Hyunjin’s face comes into view, Minho’s muscles tense up, anguish making his head a little dizzy. But he maintains his cold front, not letting his opponent see how much this is affecting him. 

“I’ve got a feeling that you’d already figured it out the moment I visited the cabin,” Hyunjin says slyly, his facial expression rather relaxed. “And I was so close to silencing you little errand boy for good too, but I’ll admit, the little brat is well trained, he ran off before I could catch him. So tell me, Black Swordsman, where did I slip?”

“Your eyes,” Minho grits. “They weren’t staring at Chan with what’s supposed to be concern or relief. You were looking at him like a predator watching its prey from afar. If I weren’t keeping an eye on you, who knows what you would have done to him. He didn’t sound pleased when you touched him either.”

Hyunjin drops his cloak to the ground, laughing under his breath, “You are sharper than I’d expected.” He takes a few steps closer forward, craning his neck tiredly before drawing his sword, causing Minho to do the same. “Now, now, vice commander, an innocent man is about to be killed because of you.”

Minho can only snicker at the statement, “I’m not planning on going down easily.”

“So am I,” Hyunjin gets ready in his stance, glaring at his opponent. “I wasn’t really planning on dealing with you. I would rather end her and let you take the blame. Actually, that sounds like a better plan! Don’t you agree? No one would put their trust in you—a low, damned being who lives off the upper classes’ bloodied pennies.”

With his blood boiling hot, Minho inhales and exhales deeply to keep his voice calm. “End her?” he repeats after the guard. End her. Hyunjin hasn’t made a single move yet he feels like someone just stabbed him in the gut. How could he?! You trusted Hyunjin, you went through so much with him, you trained him. And now he’s just going to turn around and bite the hand that fed him? Traitor. “Over my dead body.” 

Hyunjin lunges forward, his feet sprinting quickly and he brings his blade up from a lower angle while Minho attempts to clash him from the head down. Both of their swords get knocked away on different sides from the harsh contact. Before Hyunjin can raise his weapon again, Minho sword slices at him sideways but he luckily deflects it in time—the reflexes and muscle memories from his training are kicking in. 

“Why are you doing this? Aren’t you her friend?”

Minho’s sword aims for his head once again; however, Hyunjin steps to the side and makes a grab for his hand, holding his weapon down. This makes Minho lose his balance for a few seconds while Hyunjin tries to cleave his neck. He stumbles on his heels at the last second, only getting away with a small cut on his cheekbone. The pain isn’t even there, he’s been beaten up ten times worse before, this is nothing. He’s practically numb by now. 

“Friend?” Hyunjin drags his sword against the ground before bringing it up to stop a slash at his chest, throwing snow into Minho’s eyes. He groans agonizingly when the white matters’ coldness burns his skin, blurring his vision. “She and Chan only care about themselves! They are the ones who get all the praises and recognition after a mission. Little rumps like me and Changbin?”

He angrily tightens the grip on his weapon, dragging a long slice downward, “We didn’t have any title, we’re merely just two faces amongst a hundred of the other guards. We get treated like we don’t even exist!”

“Did Y/N ever treat you that way? And Chan too?” Minho heaves after dodging the blow by rolling on the ground. He’s circling around the guard, trying to keep his mind clear. “From what I’ve seen, she seems to care about you and Changbin as much as she does about her brother. 

Hyunjin swings his sword at him, and Minho receives the hit with the edge of his blade. The sound of metal scraping against each other is pricking at his eardrums but he can care less, he won’t be dying today. “So you can break my soul,” Minho pants before both of them stagger backward, switching their initial position. “Take everything away from me.”

“Beat me up.” Another blocked blow. 

“Tear me into pieces.” Anger almost tears through his mind again. Anger towards Hyunjin for betraying Chan, you, and his entire team. Anger for falling into his trap. Anger for not being able to keep you safe. He wishes he could just unleash all of his hatred and rage on the guard. But what can he do? He’s one to blame too, after all. 

“Or kill me, even.”

Hyunjin catches up to Minho when he starts sprinting away to regain his vision, the two of them running side by side, in between the lined up crystals. Thrusting his sword at Minho in various directions, Hyunjin’s stabs are getting messy because of the limited amount of space. 

“But I will tell you something, you’d better listen to me and listen to me for good.” Minho’s sword strikes at him but he blocks it in time, their faces inches apart and their weapons threatening to snap each other into half. 

“Touch Y/N.” A low grunt escapes Hyunjin’s lips when Minho jabs his fist against his stomach, forcing air out from his lungs. “And I am going to give you a taste of hell. I have been there before, and you know what? You would be begging me for a painless death by then.”

When the guard falls onto his knees, his weapon dropping by his side with a loud clangor, Minho directs the tip of his sword on top of Hyunjin’s head. “Think about it again, do you think that all of this is really worth it?”

A sinister laugh echoed through his ears and Minho’s eyes grow alarmed when the blood trickled down on his cheek starts to harden a little. No, something’s wrong. “You spoke too soon,” Hyunjin tells him with a devilish tone, the corners of his lips being tugged up into a smirk. 

What is this? On the tip of his fingers reveals a dark shade of blue, it almost reminds him of the royal guards’ uniform. Suddenly his body collapses, he can’t feel his muscles, he can do nothing. His sword is so far away from his grip, he can’t even move his fingers. Paralytic poison. “You bastard!”

Hyunjin pushes himself off the ground, holding his sword by the hilt when the tip is faced downward. “I suppose this is the end. Our encounter is rather short but it was a pleasure to cross swords with the infamous Black Swordsman,” he raises it, chuckling. “Goodbye, Lee Minho.”

Minho locks his jaw, his muscles tense but he can’t move, his eyes are shut while he braces himself for the contact. But it never comes. A growl as loud and frightening as a clap of thunder rumbles through the sky and that’s when Minho opens his eyes to see the shadow of a dragon flying not too high above. Next thing he knows, a figure jumps off, falling rapidly like a lightning bolt. 

Your foot slams onto Hyunjin’s shoulder, causing him to fall back while you land on the ground safely. Before he can register the situation, your rapier is drawn to yank his long sword away. “Hyunjin?” you grit with tears brimming in your eyes. “Why?”

Hyunjin doesn’t respond, instead, he takes a few strides towards you wordlessly. You don’t raise your weapon nor retreat it, simply keeping it limp by your side. But he lifts the blade of your sword with his hands and swiftly runs it through his stomach, blood splattering everywhere. His arms are weak, yet he still tries to put one of them around your back, pulling you closer and leaning his head on your shoulder. “Congratulations, vice commander,” he taunts into your ear. 

“You’re a murderer.”

nine.

Chan finds himself waking up on a plain bed, a white blanket draped over him, and a cold towel on his head. All the mayhem from the past week comes crashing down on him like a tsunami, banging against his temple. He tries to push himself up but his limbs are too wobbly—it feels foreign, it’s like he’s inside someone else’s body and not his own. With every move, his head pulses in agony, and his muscles ache.

The pain stops when he sees you sleeping soundly against his bed, your head rested on your forearms. Another figure is present too, on the couch staring blankly at the flickering fireplace. Opening his mouth to speak, Chan scrunches his nose in pain as he accidentally strains his vocal cords but no words come out, only incoherent sounds. 

“...Chan?” you rub the sleep away from your eyes, yawning tiredly. 

“Ah..ah..ah,” Chan can only lift his arms, calling out to you in desperation. His eyes grow stingy at the sound of your voice and before he knows it, tears are already rolling down in his cheeks relentlessly. 

“Chan, it’s alright,” you hush him softly, slipping your arms around him and holding him tight. “Everything’s fine now, you’re safe. You’ve done enough.” You bury your face into the crook of his neck, that way he won’t be able to see your glassy eyes. This isn’t the time to cry in front of him. 

The door closes with a sharp thud.

Chan only convinces himself that he’s still alive, and back to his human form, not being buried six feet under the ground somewhere when your fingers graze the dull lines that his tears leave behind. A sense of relief washes over him the moment he sees your smile, though insomnia has been carved into your features over time. You’re safe, he closes his eyes. You’re not hurt. 

That’s all that matters. 

“Wait for me here, I’ll call Yeji in,” you give his hands one last squeeze. Chan pulls you back for a second there, a faint frown adorns his face. “Just leave the rest to me, we’re going to be alright.” 

With Chan’s weak smile as an approval, you dash outside, finding Minho standing like a soulless being at the front door of the cabin. He can’t bring himself to face you after what he did. His body is tired, his mind is a mess, and his heart is filled with sorrow. Even his sword seems too heavy for his existence, it’s weighing him down, making him not be able to move. 

“This was all my fault, wasn’t it?”

You don’t answer him and instead outstretch your hand, letting your fingers tug at the sheath of his sword. “Minho, it’s no one’s fault,” you mumble with your head hung low. “I dragged you into this. If anything, I’m the one to blame.”

“No!” His sudden outburst makes you flinch; hence you pull your hand back with a wide-eyed expression on your face. “If I hadn’t thrown that dart, we wouldn’t have met. If you hadn’t followed me on the trip, nothing would have happened! None of this would have happened! You almost died back there, Y/N. Do you know how much it scared me?”

“So you’re just going to leave me like this?” you raise your voice, trying not to snap at him. “After everything, you’re still going to turn away from me? Just like how you did to everyone else?”

“I-“ 

“Lee Minho, if you claimed to care about me so much-”

“I should stay away from you, I will only cause you more trouble. Even worse, I will get you in danger. I won’t forgive myself if anything happens to you.” His heart clenches at his own words as his shoulders shake, arms tense on his sides. 

You reach for his hand, and huff in determination, “Stick to your words and protect me then.”

ten.

It’s been a week since the incident happened. Hyunjin has managed to live after the fight, yet he wants to keep his lips sealed for a while as to why he intended to harm the commander of his team in the first place. For now, he’s being kept in the dungeon while the king and queen permit you to do whatever. After all, he didn’t cause the kingdom any trouble. And if you were being honest, you would forgive Hyunjin without a second thought just so things can be normal again. It’s not as easy as you’d hoped. 

Minho, on the other hand, has been praised tremendously by everyone in court for what he did. His name has been cleansed and every flighty rumor or gossip about him has been cleared out. He doesn’t like this at all, journalists are starting to snoop around Jisung’s place, leaving him no choice but to stay at Yeji’s log house for some time. His reputation was what used to keep him safe, now everything’s being flipped upside down. 

He stares at his own reflection in the mirror from across the room. Minho can’t tell if it’s because he’s only worn the color black for the longest time or he’s being irrational, but he thinks the white loose shirt and matching pants that the mage brought back last night from the castle just don’t look right. Is his own moniker messing with his head? Probably. 

Glancing sideways to catch a glimpse of his sword on his bed, he exhales dejectedly. I look like a joke, Minho thinks to himself. 

“I never knew the Black Swordsman would look this dashing in white,” Chan enters his room with a dimpled smile on his face, Changbin following him suit. He’s recovering from the past week of living his life as a wolf, it’s still quite hard for Chan to walk so Yeji forced him to use a wheelchair for the time being. 

“Don’t you guys have any clothes that aren’t so flashy?” Minho cracks a crooked smile, feeling unfamiliar being dressed in such a bright color. “I look ridiculous.”

Chan chuckles wholeheartedly and shakes his head, “Actually, that’s one of our less flashy ones. Don’t worry, you look great.”

“Why are you here, anyway?” Minho’s question isn’t necessarily directed towards Chan, but rather the person standing behind him. “If you want to curse me for the things I’ve done, then fine, I accept it. I will leave Kalmburg and move to the other side of the Continent. You’ll never have to see me again.”

Changbin steps forward, and with a deep breath, he says, “Thank you, Minho.” 

Minho can��t believe his ears, did he just—

“Thank you,” Changbin says again; this time more firmly, and the look in his eyes softening. In those brown orbs, Minho can once again see the look he used to be met with five years ago, no hatred or anger, just warmth. He missed this. A ‘thank you’ has never sounded so nerve-calming before. It’s genuine, it’s real. Heartwarming, almost. 

“When you told me that you would protect her,” Changbin continues, gaze cast downward. “I almost believed you, I knew you weren’t lying. It felt like that day after we both got out of the dungeon all over again. My anger always got the best of me and I just burst. I never gave you the chance to explain yourself, I never got to know your reasons. I am sorry because I didn’t care about you enough, as a friend.”

“I am sorry too,” Minho rises from his seat on the bed, suppressing the happiness inside his ribcage. “I’m sorry I bailed on you that day, I think about it all the time.”

He pauses for a moment and sees Changbin outstretching his hand, the familiar broad smile dancing on his lips. Minho accepts his friend’s warm handshake and reciprocates his grin. “You’d better stay alive first before apologizing.”

Minho widens his eyes, “Of course I am alive!”

“No, I mean,” Changbin waves his hand dismissively. “I was going to ask you to join us since there’s a good chance that His Majesty won’t turn you down, but then I’d figure, you’re too reckless for us to handle either way. So if you’re planning on going out here and throwing yourself at monsters, you’d better stay safe or I wouldn’t forgive you again. And Y/N would never forgive herself.”

Chan eyes the small box sitting neatly on Minho’s nightstand, and teases, “Speaking of Y/N, when will you tell her?”

Minho scratches the nape of his neck with glowing cheeks, he can physically feel the pink tint darkening by the second. “I don’t know, but soon. I still need to have his permission first,” he leans over to take the box in his palm, opening it carefully. 

The sight of the silver band resting nicely inside makes his chest swell, his beating heart doing its best to not implode from joy. It might be too early, but he’s scared that if he doesn’t do this now, fate is going to be one step ahead and take you away from him forever. 

“Minho!” Yeji calls out to him from behind the door. “Y/N’s here!”

“I wish the best of luck for you then,” Chan tosses a wink in his direction.

eleven.

“No one asked you to come, Han.” Is the first thing Minho spats out when he closes the front door with his bag slung over his shoulder. Jisung’s welcoming grin falls flat on his face at his friend’s cold remark. He really should have got used to these things by now. 

“I did,” you tell him with crossed arms, releasing your grip on Noir’s reign. “Yeji said she’s running low on some herbs so I introduced her to Jisung’s place.”

Minho rolls his eyes to the moon. “Aren’t there more trust-worthy stores for the royal mage? Why would you refer her to that dingy dumpster?” And this statement prompts Jisung to give his knee a harsh kick followed by a mere glare from the younger boy. 

“I actually like his place, it’s cute,” you scoff. He’s just acting out since Jisung always shows up unannounced. 

“Why? It’s a rip-off.”

“Minho, you were living there for free!”

“I’m going to leave you two love birds alone now,” Jisung pushes past you to shoot Minho a mischievous smirk, patting his friend on the shoulder. “Don’t do anything weird to her or Chan is going to cut your arms off.” Actually, you’re fully capable of cutting his arms off yourself if he dared think about doing something damned. The swordsmanship runs in the family after all. 

Your face morphs into a frown when Jisung finally enters the cabin, your head tilted to the side in confusion. “What is he talking about?” you ask but brush it off nonetheless; it’s Jisung, you can’t expect anything less from him. “Forget it, are you ready to go?”

“Yeah,” Minho answers while petting Noir, your horse nudges her nose against his face in return—she’s always been keen on seeing him since day one. “How is your father these days? Last time I’d asked, you told me that he’d retired.”

You nod, resting your palm on the hilt of your sword, “He’s good. He said he’s already too old to train soldiers and he’d rather stay at home. Though he’s getting bored these days since there’s not much to do anymore. He’ll find a new hobby soon enough, he will need to take a break from everything eventually. Father has never let himself rest after our mother passed away, constant work distracts him.”

Minho hears you let out a small sigh and takes another step, his hands finding their way towards yours, collecting your fingers between his, giving them a firm squeeze. 

You give in after a few moments to face him completely, concern is flashing in his eyes while a small smile blooms on his lips. He looks a little tired, probably didn’t get any sleep for the past few days while you’re resolving all the problems in court. Minho never fails to stun you nonetheless, from the curve of his lips to the fullness of his eyelashes and the adoration in his warm eyes for you and only you; they make you feel at ease. 

“Like father, like daughter,” he brushes a strand of hair away from your face and jokes. “You’d better be eating well and getting enough sleep, vice commander.”

You snicker, “Speak for yourself, Black Swordsman, you look terrible.” That’s a lie, he looks absolutely wondrous it’s unfair. 

“I like this color on you,” you giggle after noticing his appearance today. They really don’t have any dark-colored pieces of clothing in the castle. “Look, we’re matching. You’re just not matching with your sword anymore.”

“Y/N.” The merry tone in his voice suddenly drops and Minho looks away, his muscles loosening. “Can I ask you something? But I don’t want you to get mad at me.”

You’re suddenly worried. “What’s wrong?”

“On the day that the incident happened….,” he trails off nervously. “Why didn’t you run away? You could have just left me there and got home safely. There will always be another way to help Chan. The chances of surviving that fight were too slim, there’s no telling what would happen. Why would you—”

“Lee Minho, are you even hearing yourself right now?” you cup his cheeks so that he’ll look at you. “Are you assuming I’m some sort of lowly being who will run away while their partner is in danger? I’d rather die with someone than let that person die in front of my eyes. Especially when it’s you! I would never forgive myself if I ever did that to you. So why are you saying such things?”

Minho reaches for your hand and melts into your touch, exhaling heavily. 

“I don’t know...I’m sorry I think I’m losing my mind. After everything, I’m scared that I might lose you. All I want to do is run away with you, from all of this, from everything. We can live together in someplace far away, where no one can find us,” he clenches his eyes shut. 

“I just- I don’t want you to be in love with someone who always has hell hanging by his doorstep, who gets his hands bloodied for a living, who—“

You place your index finger on his lips and shake your head. “Do you even know who I am in love with? Hm?” you question. 

“I’m in love with the most caring, kindhearted man that the world could ever ask for. Whose heart is so warm and fragile, he’s afraid to let anyone in because of his tough past. Whose will is so unwavering he didn’t even think twice about fighting off a dragon alone. But what makes me fall so stupidly for him, is the fact that despite his wounds and scars, he’d always prioritize other people’s needs before his own. Because he’d rather believe and regret than doubt and regret.”

“Y-You’re in love with me?” he studies your delicate feature in the daylight, his heart going on a rampage. 

You chuckle to yourself, “Yes, more than I should be because you’re a pain in the-“

Minho presses his lips against yours and inhales every word, sealing the nagging in until you respond to the kiss. Your hands find their way up to his soft hair, weaving themselves into the dark locks and dropping to caress his face after. He latches his arms around your waist, pulling your body flush against his so he can have more control of your movements. You’re drowning in his existence as he tugs and nibs at your bottom lip, trailing small kisses down your jawline before pulling away completely. 

“I guess this means you’re in love with me too?” you ask to distract yourself from the heat that’s flaring through your nostrils, setting your heart on fire. 

Your question has him stop for less than a moment, realizing that maybe he is in love with you as much as you are with him. And maybe you want him just as much as he wants you too. 

 He nods curtly, breath shaking, “Yes, yes I am.”

For the longest time, Minho used to forbid himself to cry, smile, and laugh like any sane human being would, as he thinks expressing his emotions is being strong, is protecting himself. But in reality, he’s just running away from his own problems instead of finding ways to solve them. 

Now, he will let himself fall, he will let himself cripple, he will let his tears run freely for strength is simply an illusion, there are far more important things. He will fight for what he believes in, protect what he cares about and run on his bare feet through the entire galaxy if it means he gets to see you at the end of it, if it means you can dive into his arms, safe and sound. 

Then, Minho thinks of what’s inside the little box, making the thing thundering inside his chest skip a beat. “Will you stay by my side forever?” he blinks. 

“Is that even a question?” you convey between labored pants. “Even if fate pulls you to the other side of the universe, I will find you, do you hear me? I will find you and fall in love with you all over again.”

“Very well then,” he holds you by the shoulders; the eagerness in his eyes lights up a curiosity inside you. “Y/N, let’s..” But it’s gone before you can even register. “Let’s get going, we’re going to be late.” It’s not quite the right time yet. He still needs to meet someone before tying you up with him for eternity. 

Because Minho too, will always find you and fall in love with you all over again. If fate has a problem with that, then he won’t be giving a damn. 

#stayshub #skzwritersclub #inkidz #stray kids fluff #stray kids lee know #stray kids scenarios #lee know imagines #stray kids imagines #lee know scenarios #stray kids fantasy au #stray kids fanfic #stray kids angst #lino fic #lee minho #minho fantasy au #lee know fantasy au

[fandomsonrequests]

𝖆𝖓𝖔𝖙𝖍𝖊𝖗 𝖘𝖊𝖑𝖊𝖈𝖙𝖎𝖔𝖓..? [𝖕𝖆𝖗𝖙 11]

fandom: ATEEZ

characters: prince! park seonghwa

reader: fem! knight

word count: 3.6k+

summary:  It was time for another Selection. No- not a Selection for a bride but rather a well-trained knight to keep Prince Seonghwa safe after a failed assassination attempt. You, a blacksmith’s daughter, manage to make it to the elite group of knights worthy and skilled enough to protect the crown prince after months and months of training. This alone catches Seonghwa’s eyes- in more ways than one

a/n: part 11!! whew- i think its almost halfway? im sorry if the series is taking too long ;^; but thank you to those as well to whoever enjoys this so far! i really appreciate it! <3 

taglist: @iwanttohitmyself​ @minihongjoong @i-purrple-u @taetae123094 @jeonartemis @barcelona-sergei  @theoinkypiglet @sparklychangbin @krystal-cole @mangotexts @tooweirdforyou 

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The skies today were as blue as the crystal seas as fluffy white clouds filled the heavenly bodies. The sun peeks over The Capitol, basking the townsfolk in its bright but warm rays. The city village teemed with life as people went about their business. 

Today was actually a good day. But not for the delegates- today was the day of elimination.

The small dining hall the young delegates ate in was quiet. No one said a word, if they did it was done in tones no louder than a whisper. Only the ear-piercing sound of utensils scraping against the ceramic plate was heard along with the occasional clinking of mugs against the wooden table. 

The atmosphere was thick with tension. Each one of these young people felt as if they were Atlas, bearing the weight of the world on their shoulders. No one and nothing could ease them of the uncertainty on whether who gets to stay or not. Even the cockiest person among you was quiet.

You on the other hand felt as if the weight was doubled. You didn’t know how you would be questioned regarding the chapter you had painstakingly read. You had wasted so many nights and lost so much sleep over that you could only hope you didn’t fail whatever task Hae-seong had in mind. 

Breakfast passed by quickly and you soon found yourself lined up by the courtyard. Haeseong stood in front of you as Byron, and a few other knights, stood by the duke’s left. A rack of training swords was soon rolled in, the inanimate object seemingly taunting you. You knew the final exam was about to take place. 

“Delegates,” Haeseong called out in his annoyingly nasal voice. “Today is the day of elimination. We’ve reviewed your grades from training and academics and unfortunately, half of you are going home.”

A few gasps erupt from around you. You could feel your palms sweat with anxiousness and the fabric of the uniform seemed to itch more. You tighten your hands into a fist, silently praying that you’d pass this first set of eliminations.

“This just proves how incompetent you people are.” Haesong continued to earn a disappointed sigh from the large man beside him. 

“Nevertheless, it didn’t mean you didn’t try your best,” Byron interjected and sent a tiny glare to the duke who brushed it off nonchalantly. “Anyway, as your final exam- you’d be partnered off randomly to duel with the training swords.

“And for safety precautions, we shall be putting each of you in light armor.” 

You tense at that. Though you weren’t helpless when it came to swordsmanship- you weren’t sure if you were good enough either. Nevertheless, you just hoped you’d make it far. You glance to your right to see Siyeon’s lip quivering with nervousness. Your fingers discreetly tangled with hers, receiving a grateful squeeze of your hand in return. You send her a small smile to encourage her. Although she was still tense, she had relaxed a bit and had steadier breathing.

As you were all being suited up for the exam, a few of the royal court had come to watch. Among them were two of Hae-seong’s sons- the eldest who was a couple of years older than you and his youngest son who was only eighteen. You’ve seen them around the castle a few times. The younger, Minjae, was a bit spoiled but respectful nonetheless. He could be a little boisterous but you chalked that off to his teenage hormones. 

The eldest, on the other hand, Beom-seok, was just as nasty as his father or not worse. Not only was he prideful or an elitist, oh no- he had no respect in general. He would eye some of the female delegates like they were pieces of meat and pick on the castle servants when he walked around. What was worse is that whenever no higher-ups in the court were around, he’d strut along the palace as if he owned the place. He was disgusting but not many seemed to care because of his charming looks and stature in life. He had a strong jaw, a sharp nose, and fierce eyes. But his aura was just so repulsive not many really stayed friends with him. 

You saw him whisper to his brother as he glanced over at all of you. The pair snickered but the younger seemed to do so just to get his brother to shut up. Beom-seok must have been spewing some hateful stuff again so you chose to ignore him. Instead, you glance up the large window of the palace in the middle of the courtyard, hoping to see the prince. 

Seonghwa managed to plague your thoughts often ever since he had met you. He was just so different than you imagined- you didn’t think you’d grow fond of him in the way you do with your friends. You hoped that you do succeed in becoming his bodyguard because that way, you could still maintain your friendship with him.

As your gaze lands on the window, you see the prince looking down at all of you with interest. But beside him was Lady Ayeong, looking as ethereal as ever. A gentle yet curious smile was settled on her delicate lips as she surveyed over all of you. You found it hard to believe that an angel like her was the daughter of the devil. 

Seonghwa’s eyes meet yours and he sends you a subtle wink. You roll your eyes in amusement but nodded your head at him before focusing your attention on the knight in front of you to start donning the armor for the final exams. 

“Is it really this serious that light armor is needed?” Ayeong asks Seonghwa, looking up at him with a concerned glint in her eye. 

The prince merely nodded but gave her a reassuring smile in return. “Don’t worry. No one gets seriously injured during these. It may hurt but nothing that could kill.” 

Once you were all settled with the armor and the weapons, you were all ushered to the side as Byron called out two people’s names to duel. One was Julian- a city dweller with a flamboyant personality. His bouncy auburn hair glinted under the afternoon sun as he strolled up to the middle. His confidence was outstanding, it was his biggest asset. Hopefully, it wouldn’t be his biggest downfall either. 

The other was Gahyeon. You and Siyeon, as well as other folks from Trelark, sent her silent cheers. You all watched as both delegates took their positions across each other, arms raised and weapons held firmly in their hands. 

This was it.

Everyone watched earnestly as Gahyeon struck first, clashing her sword against Julian’s. The sound of wood on wood was heard throughout the courtyard. Several cries rang out and the nasty sound of splinters cracking soon joined in. 

By the end of the first duel, Gahyeon ended up with her back flat against the cobble and the wooden sword pressed to her chin. Julian was panting heavily and looked like he could collapse at any moment. Gahyeon proved that if she was going down, she was going to do so with a fight. 

Hae-seong says nothing, just dismissing the two and making them return to their spots in the line. “Julian wills the duel!” Byron announces before calling up the next two. 

Several more pairs came up. Some of the cockiest delegates had karma coming and lost the duel. Others surprised you like the quiet girl, Ursula, from the farming village in the South. She generally kept out of everyone’s business and was shorter than the average woman your age but she was quick on her feet and managed to take down her much bigger opponent pretty quickly. 

You were still marveling over Ursula’s assassin-like skill when Byron called your name. You snap out of your thoughts and head over to the middle where your opponent was already waiting. It was one of the bigger boys from the mining villages. You gulp nervously as you take your training sword from Byron and face your partner. 

You could feel your palms clam up and your heartbeat rapidly against your chest. The two of you assumed duel stances, swords in hand, waiting patiently for the signal to start. By this time, more of the royal court had come out to watch. You saw two young men that often accompanied Seonghwa stand off to the side. Maybe they were his friends but their presence just added some pressure to you. 

You inhale deeply and let out a shaky sigh right before Byron gives the signal. You make the first move, dispelling all your nerves with a short yell and bringing down your sword against your opponent’s. You managed to catch him off guard as he stumbled with his weapon, clearly not anticipating your strength. 

And for a short moment, you felt a bout of victory— that was until he pulled back his sword and swung at you. You stepped off to the side and blocked his blow, the force of the impact shot up your arms and to your shoulders. It was a rather harsh one, leaving you to grit your teeth to keep them from chattering. 

You step back when he swings at you again and you retaliate by blocking it off and swiftly following up with a slash near his middle. He narrowly avoids your move, hopping backward to do so. Your movements came right after the other, adrenaline pumping through your veins. You could practically hear your heartbeat thrum in your ears. Dust kicks up around you as you advance towards him, giving him blow after blow. Your opponent was left to defend rather than attack, his bigger stature causing himself to slow down at your faster movements. 

You felt confident that you’d win this duel. That is until Hae-seong calls out your name and distracts you. Your foot hooks against your ankle as you mean to step forward, causing you to trip. Your opponent takes this moment to swing his sword at your foot, making you fall onto your front. Several gasps were heard around you along with a ferocious cry. You look up to see your opponent actually bring down his sword against you. 

Luckily, you manage to roll away in time and the training sword lands against the spot you were on. “Are you crazy??” You exclaim. That blow could’ve killed you. You stumble back onto your feet, now weaponless as your sword had fallen out of your grip when you tripped. Your opponent takes a moment to kick away your sword and advance towards you.

You dodge another swing from him, shifting your feet to help you avoid him. “Aren’t you going to stop him?” You ask Byron and Hae-seong. The former remains silent but there’s a glint of sympathy in his eyes. The nobleman on the other hand simply grinned and shrugged.

“This is part of your test, _____. Remember the book I made you memorize? Well, I decided to quiz you— right now. I want to see how focused you really are.” He sneers. His eldest son laughs at his father’s words, making your blood boil. 

You eye your sword that was only a few steps away. Your opponent wasn’t an idiot— he knew what you were trying to do; he was doing everything to keep you from getting it back. But you were determined and stubborn as a mule. 

“First question, ______,” Hae-seong calls out as you step to the side and dodge another hit. “Name all seven kingdoms and what each are known for,” 

“The Nessa Empire: the kingdom near the sea,” You start out, trying your best to focus on the man in front of you while answering correctly. “Our kingdom of Sarem: the kingdom of the earth; the Kingdom of Velaris..” You continue on with the list and successfully manage to answer his questions.

This goes on— Hae-seong throwing question after question at you while you respond correctly- much to the duke’s annoyance. Of course, you would stumble every now and then, fatigue slowly creeping up on you, but you push through it. And finally, you see an opening. 

Your sword lay a couple of steps away and your opponent was far enough for you to reach over and grab it. You briefly glance over to the weapon and keep your gaze trained ahead of you. You patiently wait for Hae-seong to ask you another question, slowly inching towards your sword.

“Final question,” The nobleman huffed, trying to get you to mess up. “Sarem takes pride in our trade in grains and precious stones; true or false?” 

You almost answered “true” but you remembered what the prince had said the first night you met. 

“Don’t believe everything that book says— especially the part about how our kingdom trade works. It says something about grain or stones but that section is terribly inaccurate.”

You thought it was nasty on Hae-seong’s part to pull that trick out on you but you didn’t pay any attention to that. 

“False!” You answered just as your opponent was about to bring his sword down on you.  You rushed to pick up your own and swing it up to block his strike. This caught him off guard, allowing you to kick your foot out under him and make him lose balance. He falls flat against his back and you scramble to kick his own weapon away, pointing your sword against his throat. 

Byron takes this as a chance to end the duel seeing as both of you were tired. Your turn went longer than anticipated. “_____ wins this duel.” He announces, earning a few applause from the bystanders. 

You almost collapse to the ground in relief as victory floods your system. Thank the heavens. You helped your opponent up and gave him a bow of your head to which he responded in kind. You were still pretty banged and up and bruised since he got more hits in but it was all worth it to be able to make it past this final exam and to see the annoyance on Hae-seong’s face. 

It was obvious he hoped you would mess up but at least he knew to give credit when it’s due, even if it hurt his pride. He turned his pointy nose up and waved the two of you away to return to your spots and allow other delegates to go. “Moving on—“

You plop down onto your original spot, Siyeon shaking your shoulder excitedly. “You killed it!” She cheers quietly, grinning from ear to ear. “I’m so proud of you, Yellow.” 

“Thanks, Wolfie.” You reply, giving her hand a squeeze. 

You tear your gaze away from your friend and up to the window to where Seonghwa and Ayeong were watching. From your spot on the ground, it was clear that he had the brightest smile on his face.

“Her fighting spirit is commendable,” Ayeong praises, referring to you. She turns to her husband to be with a curious tilt of her head. “Don’t you think so?”

The prince felt his chest swell his pride, a warm feeling running through his veins. Though you two had met recently, he felt as if he was your friend for his whole life. He couldn’t help but feel proud of what you had achieved today. He nods in response to his companion. “I couldn’t agree more.”

The final dueling exams ended late into the afternoon. It felt exhausting to watch and go through- after all there were 20 pairs that had to go through this. Despite that- tensions were still high as everyone anxiously waited for their results. 

Some looked hopeful while others remained dejected. It was clear to some that they were convinced that they would be eliminated; regrets of not trying hard enough during the first few days due to their reluctance flooded their thoughts. Only hushed whispers and silent sobs were heard through the courtyard as everyone let their frustrations out.

Amihan scoots over to you as she clutches her splinted hand to her chest; she had fallen down during her duel causing her wrist to be sprained. Her face had dejection written all over it; it was far from her usually laid back look. Raviv follows behind her like a concerned mother hen, brows furrowed. 

“I think I’m going to be sent home,” She admits quietly to your group, eyes glazed over with tears that were threatening to fall. Both you and Siyeon immediately move to comfort her, taking her hands in yours. “I should’ve tried harder,” 

“Ami, you did your best. That’s what’s important,” Siyeon says as she comforts the older girl. “You’re such a fierce fighter Amihan. Maybe you’d pass.”

You nod in response as you offer your friend a comforting smile. “Just shout it out to the world and think of it, it's sure to happen.” 

Amihan only shrugged in response but thanked both of you nonetheless. She sat back on her heels and sighed, looking down to her palms. “Thank you for comforting me… but think it’s useless either way. I’m injured so I can’t go on with training.”

“Maybe they’ll excuse you,” Raviv interjects and settles a hand over her shoulder. “Please don’t be so down on yourself, Ami..”

Before any of you can say anything more, the duke clears his throat and catches all of your attention. He had a roll of parchment in his hand, most likely containing the list of all delegates who made it past the first half of elimination. Right now, there were fifty of you, twenty females and thirty males. All that could change after tonight. 

“I shall now be announcing the delegates who passed.”

Tension rises and a pregnant silence fills the atmosphere. It was absolutely suffocating. You could feel your heart beat erratically against your chest as you laced your fingers with both Siyeon’s and Amihan’s hands. You didn’t want to go home— not when you were this far. The weight of the pendant your father gave you seemed heavy against your chest, a constant reminder of why you were here in the first place. 

“Abel,” Hae-seong started listing out. One by one, a name was called followed by a deep sigh of relief. Stifled tears and quiet sobs were soon heard when the duke failed to call their name. 

One of those unfortunate ones was Amihan. When Duke Hae-seong continued on with the list, the names now starting with B, your heart fell. You look over to your friend who had a resigned yet accepting look in her eyes. You couldn’t believe it. Your friend was no longer going to be with you. 

“Ami..” You mutter quietly, chest heavy with grief. She only smiles at you, cupping your cheek and brushing away a hair that stuck to your face.

I’ll be okay. She whispers to you before doing the same for both Raviv and Siyeon. You felt numb. It was such a short time since you’ve known her but you’ve created a deep bond with her since your stay— it would be hard to see her go. 

The names went on and luckily, you, Siyeon, and Raviv was still safe. For a moment your solemn thoughts turned into relief. At least you were safe, you were still in the game. You still had the chance to win this thing. 

“That’s all, you are now dismissed. You may return to your rooms. To those who were eliminated, we thank you for trying your best,” Hae-seong drawls out, oddly chipper. Maybe he was just glad that he didn’t have to deal with any more “brats.” “A carriage awaits you tomorrow morning so I suggest you start packing up.”

Usually, the walk to the rooms would be lively and full of playful banter. Now it was just glum and filled with frustrated cries. Whispers of comfort floated through the air as the group parted ways to head to their respective rooms. But before Raviv could part with the rest of you, he walks over to Amihan and gives her a tight embrace. They exchange a few words, only whispered between the two of them, before separating ways. 

You and Siyeon were on either side of Amihan’s side as you walked down the hall, trying to make the most of your last moments with her. Your friend had long stopped crying, her tears turning down to sniffles. She was quick to accept her fate. 

“Well, at least I got to live in a palace for 2 and a half months.” She jokes in hopes to lighten the mood. “Even though it was a short period of time, I’m glad I was able to make friends with you two…”

She turns to both of you, pulling you to the side to allow others to enter the room without blocking the way. “I’ll miss you both.. better write to me or else I’m coming back here to hunt your asses down.” 

She managed to pull some laughs out of you and Siyeon before bringing you into a group hug. It was a bittersweet moment and none of you could stop the tears from falling. It was kind of cathartic to be able to cry after a long while, even if they were grieving their separation from each other. It was Amihan once again who pulled herself together and straightened up. 

“I hope one of you wins. And I know one of you will.” She says with such conviction in her voice it was hard to not believe her. 

As you help her keep her things for her leave tomorrow, you couldn’t help but allow this moment to fuel something within you. You had another person to fight for, and that’s exactly what you needed. If things were hard now, they were surely going to get harder. 

#ateez x reader #park seonghwa #park seonghwa x reader #seonghwa x reader #prince!seonghwa #prince seonghwa #prince park seonghwa #ateez #ateez royalty au #ateez fantasy au #royalty au #fantasy au #regiis #fandomsonrequests #ateez fluff #ateez smut #ateez imagines

[janetbrown711]

"I didn't mean to hurt anyone," wakko?

Wakko never thought of himself as a worrier. He always held out hope that somehow, someway everything would work out- that Good would prevail and Evil would fall. He believed with all his heart it was his and his sibling’s destiny to defeat Salazar. He knew Dot was going to get better, and that Yakko would finally be able to relax for more than just five minutes. 

However... being on his own for the first time challenged that. 

He had taken the baker’s advice and went straight to the apprenticeship with the blacksmith. It had been excruciatingly difficult, and Wakko put a lot of blood sweat, and tears into the work he did. He had been revolted to find out that he was only paid a ha’penny a week. Sending letters had cost at least three ha’pennies so by the end of week one, he had had to get crafty. 

He ‘borrowed’ paper from the blacksmith and wrote as neat and concise as he could manage before putting in the one ha’penny and the letter in an envelope (also ‘borrowed’ from the blacksmith) and snuck it into the mailman’s bag when he wasn’t looking. As for how he got food, he would take a piece of fruit or bread from the man when he wasn’t looking. 

It wasn’t easy to do though, the blacksmith was a good person; he was stoic and old, hardly ever talked, except the occasional warning to Wakko that he shouldn’t touch or eat something, despite how delicious it looked. He was patient, though at the same time very distant. It was hard for Wakko to read him. 

However, Wakko had gotten too comfortable too fast, as he had gotten caught stealing the blacksmith’s food and he fired him, said it was “a betrayal of his trust”. His words had stung Wakko, and he left without fighting, but not without taking a few pieces of paper and envelopes- Yakko and Dot would kill him if he didn’t write. 

The letters. 

Wakko thought he would love writing them, but it got harder and harder the more time passed. Wakko embellished how he was doing a lot, but he could tell Yakko wasn’t being entirely honest either. His words were fancy and he tended to dance around questions Wakko had asked. Wakko wished he had the energy and paper to argue with him, but he didn’t. He hated being lied to, but they quite literally couldn’t afford to bring it up. 

After he got fired, he wandered and worked as an errand boy for a senile, but wealthy woman. He didn’t like it though- she was rude and she constantly spat on him, or hit him with her cane, which left him with nasty bruises. 

He was almost thankful when she dropped dead one day. 

He stole as much silverware, stamps, papers, and envelopes as he could fit into his hat before he alerted anyone of what had happened. 

Still- seeing a corpse hadn’t been... pleasant. 

It reminded him that, yes, death was a thing and was inescapable and could happen to his little sister at any moment while he was gone. 

Needless to say, he did his best not to dwell on that, and sold all of the silverware as soon as possible and gave almost all the money to Yakko in the letter he wrote. 

That should help delay Death for a while... hopefully, Yakko could buy her a new blanket, or a shawl. She always got so cold in the winter with just her skirt. 

Wakko then went to work as a berry picker at the farm of an old cat couple with a few other children his age, though none of them liked talking. However, he only worked there for the month of May because he had gotten fired once they found out he had been eating more berries than he turned in. Wakko was hungry, and the farmers didn’t pay him enough for him to afford enough food anyway, Wakko thought that was bull. 

However, he quickly regretted that decision when he had gotten a letter from Yakko that admitted that Dot was going through another rough patch. His brother wrote that he and Dot missed him a whole awful lot, but that they weren’t giving up yet. At least that was nice... 

Still, Wakko couldn’t help but feel guilty. His selfishness had gotten him fired from two jobs, and because of that, his siblings were suffering. Sometimes he wished he could just magically fix everything with the snap of his fingers, but he knew that wasn't how it worked. If it was, he would’ve done it already. 

After that, he was determined to find a job that would stick. Unfortunately, that was only getting more difficult, as the town that had once been not quite prospering still functioning well enough was starting to fall apart due to the King’s taxes only rising. The only good thing that came out of that was that prices were starting to lower which meant that if he could find a spare coin on the ground, he could probably actually afford something. However, that also meant jobs were going down, and so it was damned near impossible to find something to do. 

Wakko had spent a whole month without a job. He lived on the street and picked up fallen coins and didn’t write- couldn’t write- a single letter. The last one he had sent had been about the farm, and he had lied and told Yakko it had burned down so he couldn't write to there anymore. Wakko could imagine how worried Dot and Yakko must’ve been. The thought of their worry kept him up at night. 

Still. 

A little voice in his head told him not to give up, that he come to far to call it quits now. He promised he’d return in a year, and that’s what he’d do. 

“Bravery is not the absence of fear, it’s doing something in spite of it.” 

Wakko had a vague memory of someone telling him that a very long time ago, but he couldn’t recall who.

During the late summer, he had worked different jobs every day. Some days, he’d deliver packages for a fraction of what the king’s mail delivery costed, others he’d return library books, and on some, he’d shine shoes. It was exhausting to run around for days on an empty stomach, but somehow he managed to scrape on by with just enough money to send to Yakko and Dot and survive. 

Despite the feeling that summer would last forever, autumn arrived and it was the harvesting season. Wakko had heard that farms were in need of help, and he went off to go work at the pumpkin farm that was just a few miles out from town. Wakko had been delighted when he heard about the opportunity and had run seven miles to get there before anyone else. The farmer, a middle-aged Rabbit, had been pleased with his enthusiasm but warned him that he couldn’t pay much and that most of his payment would be in food and shelter, but Wakko didn’t care. He hated sleeping in alleys with a passion and swore never to do that again. Plus, he knew Yakko and Dot were probably pissed at him for not writing for several months, not giving him an address to write to, or anything. Plus, Wakko was not going to pass up on an opportunity for someone else to pay for his food. 

However, he had thought working on a farm during the spring was hard, autumn was much, much harder. The town where he worked somehow managed to get more snow than Acme Falls, and earlier, so he often had to wake up before the sun rose and attempt to “fight off the freeze” as the farmer called it. Wakko didn’t care what it was called, it was agonizing. He ended up with blisters and sore arms and had even cut himself on the ax he used to chop branches quite a few times. 

However, none of that mattered when he read the letters Yakko and Dot sent.  Wakko hadn’t realized just how much he had missed them until he saw their handwriting on the paper in his hand. 

Dot had apparently gone through another rough patch during the time Wakko couldn’t write but had gotten much better, even being able to go out of the ‘house’ and take walks by the river. Yakko wrote that Dot still missed him terribly, and was really mad that he hadn’t written in forever. Yakko then went on a tangent about how much it had worried him, but that he was still relieved and happy that Wakko was safe and okay.

Wakko’s reply had been full of apologies and embellished about his current situation (saying things like ‘i have an actual bed and it’s really comfortable’ and ‘the food is amazing’ and ‘i barely have to work at all’ and ‘I haven’t even hurt myself once!’). He didn’t want to worry Yakko any more than he already had. 

In truth, the farmer wasn’t a very nice person, though he was nice enough to provide shelter and food for Wakko and the few others that worked alongside him. However, he did get annoyed when Wakko injured himself, and didn’t provide bandages, so Wakko would have to make do by tearing up pieces of his pillowcase. Soon enough, he tore it all up and there was no more pillow, which hadn’t been fun for sleeping. He also shouted and swore a lot, but Wakko mostly tuned it out, having had good practice after the senile dead lady. 

Still, a job was a job, and Wakko wouldn’t have traded it for anything in the world. He was able to keep up his promise with one ha’penny being sent home every two weeks, which Yakko noted was becoming “more and more useful in Acme Falls, as the economy was clearly in shambles”, whatever that meant.

Unfortunately, the harvest came to an end sooner than Wakko had hoped and he was back on the streets in the blink of an eye. He had a few survival strategies he had picked up from observing his older brother over the years, but surviving on the streets in the snow was a lot, a lot harder than surviving on the streets, not during the snow. 

And even more unfortunately, there were little to no jobs available anymore. The only ones that were available required him to walk far distances in the snow even during snowstorms. Of course, he took them, but they were grueling and made every muscle in his body ache. 

And so he resorted to his least favorite solution: stealing. 

Whenever he’d walk past the market, he’d snatch an apple or a loaf of bread if he could manage and hide it in his package until it was safe and he could eat it. He stole matches so he could start fires in the garbage. He stole books that belonged to the library for kindling for said fires. He felt insanely guilty every time, but no matter what way he looked at it, there was no other option. 

His main motivator had been survival. He knew he needed enough money for a ticket home in December, but knew that that’d be near impossible if he attempted to pay for his own things- especially with the taxes taking nearly all of the money he had earned with doing the jobs- and god only knew how guilty he had felt that he hadn’t been able to send any money home for Dot. Still... he figured coming home would be an at least okay replacement. 

He hoped. 

He wrote letters but didn’t give return addresses, fearing what Yakko would say again. He knew he must’ve been outraged that Wakko hadn’t written or sent money in awhile, and he prayed Dot was doing okay and that they didn’t need the money he wasn’t able to get. 

He didn’t have the heart to write about his worries about not being able to come home after all...

Wakko shivered as he thought of that, before snapping back into reality realizing where he was. He had an awful tendency of getting distracted while he was doing errands, it was a problem. 

Especially if he was trying to focus on nabbing some food. If he didn’t focus, he was likely to get caught. 

Shaking his head to get back to the present, he looked around and saw an empty stall selling some type of fruit he hadn’t seen before, but figured it’d be enough. He casually sauntered on over there, and began to walk past before snatching one with his tail and quickly putting it into the box of books he was returning to the library for an old dog man. 

“Hey! Kid!” Wakko froze when he heard a voice behind him. He peeked over his shoulder and saw it was the man who owned the booth. 

“Stop right there!” He shouted. Wakko bolted. 

He ran through the crowded market, but unfortunately for him, he slipped on some ice on the path and came crashing to the ground, books going flying everywhere, and his fruit was squashed to a pulp. 

“Hey-! Kid- are you alright?” The man’s anger faded into concern and Wakko muttered to himself and trying to gather his stuff, ignoring the throbbing in his head, and stinging in his-likely scraped- knee. Eventually, he heard the man approach him, but to his surprise, he started helping Wakko put the books back into the box. Wakko didn’t look at him much, but could feel the man giving him pitiful looks. 

“Look- I know what you’re gonna say and you’re wrong. I-i... I swear that I’m a good kid, okay?” Wakko sniffled as he put a blue-colored book down.

“I wasn’t going to say anything of the sort,” the man replied, handing Wakko a green book. Wakko took it hesitantly, still not willing to look him in the eyes. 

“I was going to offer you some more of that fruit you took, but you ran in such a hurry, I couldn’t get my words out,” He said. Wakko didn’t know if he believed that.  

“I-i just need enough money for my sister and a train ticket...” Wakko mumbled. The man nodded. 

“You got family?” He asked. Wakko nodded. 

“Sister and brother in Acme Falls,” he said. 

“That’s quite a ways away. I suppose you came here for work but that ain’t working out well, is it?” He asked. Wakko frowned and didn’t answer. He wasn’t liking his tone...

“Here, I’ll give you a bag of clementines if you’ll let me. I can even help you with those books if you need,” The man said, standing. 

“I can take care of myself,” Wakko scowled, but realized that was probably a really stupid thing to say. He was starving...

“B-but I’ll take the clementines...” Wakko added. The man nodded, and stood up, and headed back to his booth. Wakko did his best to ignore the looks the crowd was giving him as he followed. 

“Here you go, sixteen clementines. That should do you good for quite some time. Oh- and here,” The man dug under his booth and Wakko stood awkwardly with his tongue sticking out. 

“This should get you a train ticket, and hopefully enough left over for those siblings of yours,” he said, handing Wakko a little brown sack. Wakko gawked at it. 

“I-i can’t accept all this. I’m sure you need it,” Wakko refused. 

“Nonsense. I got all the clementines I could want. And besides, I don’t need to ride on a train to return to my family any time soon,” He waved it off. 

“B-but the king’s taxes-” 

“I know how to make due. I know you need the money, and if you know what’s good for you you’ll accept,” He pointed at Wakko, and Wakko realized he wasn’t wrong. He just wished he could do something for the man in return, but knew he couldn’t. 

“Th-thanks mister... it’s been a really long time since someone’s been this nice to me,” he looked at the ground. 

“No problem kiddo. Stay safe out there, winter is a dangerous time. Might want to bandage that knee of yours,” He pointed to Wakko’s bleeding knee. Wakko nodded. 

“Thanks, will do, mister,” he said, grabbing the sack of clementines, putting it in the box with the books, and put the little brown bag of money in his hat. He then waved goodbye and headed on to finish his task, get paid, them immediately lose said payment to taxes, but smiled internally. The tax collector didn’t know about the money in his hat, so he didn’t collect it.

It looked like Wakko was going to be able to come home after all. 

Part 1 Part 2 Part 3 Part 4 Part 5 Part 6 Part 7 Part 8 Part 9 Part 10 Part 11

#animaniacs #my fics #wakko warner #wakkos wish #yakko warner #dot warner

[nerdwaifuu-stories]

The Proposal

Happy (belated) Ninjago Oc Day! Ik I haven’t posted much on this account, but I figured it would be the perfect time to post something about my OCs.

Ig some basic info:

Word count: 4,966

Oc basics: the main two are Hisashi and Emon. Hisashi was a samurai/soldier who I have made Ronin’s (dead) uncle. Emon was a criminal who worked for Chen (although Hisashi doesn’t know about that. He just knows that Emon has previously done crime in his youth), but started to lose interest over time due to several factors. Another oc that’s mentioned is Lex. They are a friend of Hisashi and Emon’s, and they are actually an Oni.

Summary: Taking place roughly 25-30ish years before the Ninjago series, Hisashi is coming home from a mission. Since he and Emon have been together for some time, he figures it’s time to take it to the next step. He is one ring purchase and a ship and train ride away from trying to reach that next step.

If you want to know more about these characters, there’s some stuff on my art account @nerdwaifuu-art.

Hope you enjoy!

Cheers rang through the village as they saw the group in green armor entering the village. The soldiers marched through the middle, many with a look of victory on their faces contrasting the scuff, dirt, wounds, and exhaustion their bodies presented: all a worthy cost for a village's safety. Eventually their march and the cheering stopped as the chief approached the group.

"Oh great heroes, thank you! Thank you for saving us from those fiends! We will never forget what you have done for us! May the Creator bring you prosperity!" The chief cheered. Once he spoke his last word, the crowd of villagers' cheer erupted again, echoing the chief's message. From there, the chief and the captain went off to chat and the rest dispersed throughout the village. Some made their way back to the ship either to rest or prepare for the journey back to the city. Others remained in the village to chat or to explore. Amongst those exploring were two young men: a stout, short dark brown haired chatterbox and a long dark copper haired, silent listener. The two strolled through the village as one chatted away and the other listened while glancing at everything they passed.

"I wonder if the captain saw our hard work out there."

"Mhm."

"I mean we were kicking butt out there."

"Mhm."

"We should probably go to the medics to get our backs checked from how much carrying we were doing..."

"Mhm."

The stout man slowed his walk as he placed his hand on his friend's shoulder, "Hisashi, you good? You're quieter than usual, and it’s hard for you to be quieter than you already are..." He paused before he threw himself on track to a ramble, "Anyways, you just seem out of it."

"Yeah... Uh, yes, yes I'm fine, Shiro," Hisashi stumbled, "My mind's just on, uh, other things."

"Oh? Other things? What kind of other things?" Shiro questioned.

"You know... other things..." Hisashi kept scanning the surrounding stands and buildings.

"No, I don't know other things. How about you introduce me to them?" Shiro coaxed.

With a sigh, Hisashi stopped his mini search and said, "I'm just looking for some gifts..."

"Forrrr?"

Hisashi paused for a second, then said, "For my nephew-"

"Ah, why didn't you say so? No need to be so secretive with me," Shiro smirked, "C'mon, let's go find him something. One of these shops should have something he'll like" Shiro kept his hand on Hisashi's shoulder as he started to lead him. Hisashi resisted the push and said, "Actually, I know what shop I want to go to... I just need to find it again..." He looked around once more and then there it was: a small wooden stand run by a middle aged woman. The stand was covered with an assortment of items: jewelry, weapons, metal decorations, toys, metal sculptures, etc. He saw it the first time he arrived at the village and knew he had to stop by it.

"There it is," Hisashi took the lead and pulled Shiro with him as he approached the stand.

"Ah, hello boys~ Do you see anything you like?" The woman greeted them.

"My friend here is just looking, but I do see something I like," Shiro said, shooting a smoldering look towards the woman. The woman giggled and the two continued to chat (or Shiro commanded the conversation and continually bragged about himself). Meanwhile, Hisashi looked at the items. His eyes kept being pulled towards the actual reason that he wanted to come to the stand in the first place—a set of two matching rings sitting in a wooden ring box. Both were made up of a thick metal band that had a space cut in the middle where the gem was, making it appear as if the gem was floating. On the band, on either side of the gem, was a dragon carving colored gold. One ring had a black tinted band with a white gem while the other had a polished, silver finish and a black gem.

The woman noticed his interest in the rings and, once Shiro had taken a short pause, she shifted her focus, "I see that you've found something you like." She picked up the ring box and placed it in the middle of the table. Shiro shot a confused look at the woman and then at Hisashi.

"Oh, sorry, I was just looking at them. They're very beautiful," Hisashi admitted.

"Haha, no need to apologize for looking at what I'm selling, but thank you. My husband's... well, my late husband's father made them," the woman sighed, "Honestly the story is quite sweet. He came to this village and set up a blacksmith shop. A woman came into the shop one day and he fell deeply in love with her. He expanded his skills from weapon making to making small metal trinkets to give to her—" the woman glanced down at some of the other items at her stand before continuing, "She loved every single one and returned his love. Eventually, he decided it was time. He went into his workshop and began on his favorite project. The next time anyone saw him leave his shop, he went directly to the woman, took her somewhere nice, and proposed with these rings. She wore one and he wore the other..." A small smile formed on her face as she looked back at the rings, "Then they passed it down to my husband to use with me, and now here I am trying to sell them," she sighed, "I have no use for them now, and, even though I'm probably making some people roll in their graves, I need the money..."

"Awww, yeah that is really sweet. It's a shame you don't have a lady friend back at home, unless you and that Lexi girl have something~" Shiro teased Hisashi. Hisashi rolled his eyes. 'That Lexi girl' he referred to was Lex, but Hisashi only saw them as a friend. Instead, he had his eyes on someone else; someone else that he deeply cared about; someone else that he actually had something with.

"Plus we're here for your nephew. I don't think he'll have any use for these rings," Shiro reminded him.

"Um, right, of course..." Hisashi watched as the woman placed the rings back to their original spot.

"Oh, a nephew? Is he into metal work? Or I'm assuming he'll like the toys if he's young or the weapons perhaps?" The woman asked.

"Ah yes, a 5 year old who's into metal work-" Shiro quietly snickered. Hisashi shot a quick glare at him.

"Oh, he's quite young, scratch the weapons then," she chuckled.

Hisashi looked around the table some more and decided on one of the small metal figures and an old pocket watch.

"Ah, I'm sure he'll enjoy that," Shiro muttered sarcastically when he noticed the pocket watch was no longer ticking.

"He likes taking things apart and making new things, so yes, he'll probably enjoy this," Hisashi defended his choice.

"Is he trying to be an inventor?" the woman asked.

"I believe he does have an interest in becoming one. He's been fascinated with all the technological changes going on in the city. I don't understand it, but at least he's getting prepared for the future," Hisashi answered, starting to take out his money for his purchase.

"I forgot Ninjago City was going through all that. All the beautiful wood and clay buildings being replaced with tall metal buildings... It's insane."

"Yeah..." Hisashi and Shiro nodded along. While Hisashi searched for the right amount of money, he noticed that the remaining soldiers started to make their way back to the ship. He glanced back at the rings and turned to Shiro, "How about you head back to the ship while I finish up here?"

Shiro nodded, said his goodbye to the shop owner and left. As soon as he was out of earshot, Hisashi turned back to the stand and asked, "How much are the rings?"

The woman stated the price and said, "So you are interested in them after all?" Hisashi nodded as he took out the right amount of money for the rings, the figure, and the pocket watch.

"So is this for someone or just keeping it for yourself?" The woman wondered.

"I have someone at home waiting for me—"

The woman leaned forward, her eyes sparkling with interest. Before she could ask any questions, with a soft smile, Hisashi whispered, "I met h- uh, this person a while back and now we've been together for 5-6 years now... I figured I should do something special..."

"And decided it was time?" The woman asked at the same volume as him, with a large grin on her face. He nodded.

"Well, I hope the Creator blesses you both," she said, exchanging the items for Hisashi's money. He said his thanks and started to head off to the ship.

"Goodbye, may the Creator bring you prosperity and may the Great Serpent protect you on your journey!" The woman called out.

Hisashi turned around and asked "Great Serpent?"

"Oh, do people in the city not know this story?" Hisashi shook his head, so she explained, "According to some stories I've heard, there's a serpent that sleeps deep in the sea. She apparently used to rule the sea and was the reason for the waves and the storms, so people used to pray to her and give her offerings to keep her happy. Unfortunately that's all I know from the top of my head, and it's all probably just a story."

"Huh, sounds interesting. Thank you," Hisashi said before departing.

Laying his bed, Hisashi could feel the ship rock back and forth and hear his roommates chatting instead of sleeping, excited to be one step closer to home in the morning. But none of it blocked his focus on reading. His brain refused to let him sleep as the nerves have finally got to him. He had a ring in his possession, and he was hopefully going to give it away once he got to the city. To try to calm himself down in the safety of his bed, he took out some letters he got in the past few weeks. Each one started with "My Dearest Sai," and ended with "I can't wait to see you again. Love, Emon Sharma."

It was odd to think that these letters used to be closed off with a "Sincerely" or a simple "From," and "Love" was never a closing he had seen until 5 years ago. Even though it's been years, Hisashi's heart still flutters when he sees the word in Emon's handwriting. It still feels like such a new feeling, especially when he never acknowledged that such feelings could exist in him when he was growing up. Even when his brother tried to describe them when referring to himself and his now wife during high school, Hisashi never understood. Now he did.

After rereading each of the letters, he held the paper close to his chest. He tried picturing everything that Emon described. He tried remembering each random ramble that he sent him that Emon responded to. He silently laughed at the idea of him trying to make sense of everything Hisashi tried telling him. If he tried sending similar letters to anyone else he knows, they would just skim through everything and ask about how he is and how's work, avoiding to say "please tell me more about this random thing you learned ." Emon would be one of the only people who would say that.

The chatter in the room quieted down and the remaining lights started to disappear. With a sigh, Hisashi caught one more glimpse of the contents of the letters before it went completely dark.

"I can't wait to see you again. Love, Emon Sharma."

He softly smiled, folded the letters, and placed them under his pillow.

"I can't wait either..."

"Ah finally, land!" Shiro exclaimed once he and Hisashi got off the ship. Carrying their stuff (armor, weapons, supplies, letters, etc.), the two swerved their way through the crowds of people. Fellow soldiers were pouring out of the boat, being welcomed by their loved ones, going to a nearby inn or bar, or already beginning their ways home. Hisashi looked around at who was there, but he knew that his loved ones were in the city, which was a train ride away. He smiled at the thought of coming off the train to them, and clutched the ring box that hid in his pocket.

"Are you sure you don't want to stop for a drink? Or even for a snack?" Shiro asked, following his 6 foot friend to avoid getting lost.

"Yeah, I'm sure. Gotta make sure I catch the train," he said, glancing back to make sure Shiro wasn't too far behind.

"But the train's not going to leave for a bit," Shiro said, puzzled.

"I know, I just..." Hisashi trailed off and stopped in his tracks, leading to Shiro bumping into him.

"Oof- what's going on?" He asked, but got no answer. Shiro looked past Hisashi to see what was ahead, but it didn't click due to so many people being around. It wasn't until he saw two people: a short, medium tanned, black haired man with a scruffy beard and a towering, brown-skinned, short brown haired (hidden under a hat), female presenting person. The man noticed them and started to wave, then stopped and started approaching quickly while dragging his companion with him. Hisashi gripped the hidden ring box tighter as he started walking to lessen the distance. Once he was within a foot of the man, the man threw his arms around Hisashi and nearly lifted him off his feet within the first few seconds of the hug while saying, "It's so good to see you, Sai!"

"Woah, easy Emon. No need to break me," Hisashi chuckled, wiggling a bit to loosen Emon's grip and free his arms. Once they were free, Hisashi returned the hug and pulled Emon close while Emon buried his face into Hisashi's shoulder. Hisashi wished he could stay in this hug forever. He also wished he could just give Emon a big kiss, but he had to wait until they were in private; until they were in the city...

"Wait a minute—" Hisashi pushed Emon out in front of him, keeping his hands on Emon's shoulders—"What are you guys doing here?"

"Lex and I just figured that you deserved a welcome party as soon as you arrived," Emon confessed.

"And Emon really missed you and wanted to see you as soon as possible," Lex added.

"Yeah, that too," Emon chuckled, nervously rubbing the back of his neck. A smile stretched across Hisashi's face as he tried to hold in a laugh. His hand left Emon's shoulder and almost caressed his cheek, but he then remembered Shiro was watching from behind and they were surrounded by other people. He slowly pulled his hand back and hid it back in his pocket, trying to ignore the longing look in Emon's eyes. He then said, "Thank you, I missed you so much too. I couldn't wait to see you again..." Emon responded with a soft smile.

"Well, I missed you guys too," Shiro barged in, now standing next to Hisashi.

"Yes, it's good to see you, Shiro," Lex mumbled.

"I thought you would be much happier, Lexi," Shiro snickered. Lex's eyes were shooting daggers, but they tried to hide their gaze behind the brim of their hat as they said, "We best be going now. Don't want to miss the train." Before anyone could say anything, Lex had already turned around and started towards the train station.

"Ah what a shame. I wanted to talk with y'all more," Shiro sighed, "Well, see y'all back in the city tomorrow!" After an exchange of goodbyes, Shiro disappeared into the crowd.

"Well then, let's go," Emon said, linking his arm with Hisashi's. The two then followed behind Lex, trying to keep up.

"What was all the hurry about Lex?" Emon asked them.

Lex turned their head away from the train window and said, "Just didn't want to get stuck in one of his rambles. You get him talking and you'll probably end up hearing too much about what happened during the mission. I'm just not in the mood to hear how he 'sliced one man's head off' or whatever."

"That's fair," Hisashi said, also looking at the passing land outside the window. He was there when all of it happened, and he didn't need to hear about it again. He only wanted his mind on one thing and one thing only.

"Speaking of which, how was the mission?" Emon asked.

"Oh, just a typical mission. The thugs were playing hard to get for some time. Fortunately, we stopped them before anything too bad happened, and we didn't have many major injuries this time around. Just some scratches here and there," Hisashi answered quickly. He took one last look out of the window before sitting up and facing Lex and Emon on the other side of the table, saying, "But, despite the mission, the place we were at was very lovely." Emon leaned closer, interested to hear more.

"It was a small village by the ocean. Whenever we had a break, it was so calming to be on the white beach and just listen to the calm waves. And the village was really lovely too. It was filled with small shops and stands, and the people there seemed nice. They were very welcoming and always closed the conversations with something about 'the Creator' blessing you." Hisashi said. Lex perked up to full attention towards the end.

"The Creator? Like the creator of the town?" Emon asked.

"Or the Realm..." Lex muttered quietly, but, when they got confused looks from the two men, they said, "World. I mean world."

"Oh right, that makes more sense," Emon chuckled.

"Yeah, they often referenced them, but I guess they have plenty of other stories too. Before I was leaving, a nice woman at a shop said something about a Great Serpent—" Hisashi then recited what the woman had told him. Both Emon and Lex were leaning in close to hear every word. When Hisashi finished, Emon, with excitement in his eyes, and Lex, looking like they wanted to say something but decided against it, looked at each other, then back at Hisashi.

"Woah, that's so cool! Bet that was fun to hear about right before getting on a ship," Emon snickered.

"Yeah, but it's merely just a story," Lex uttered, leaning back against the seat, "Nothing to worry about."

"Have you ever heard of it?" Hisashi asked them. Lex hesitantly nodded, "All I know about it is the same as what the woman told you..." Hisashi could tell that they knew more, but he didn't want to force anything out of them. He could probably try finding a scroll or a book with more information.

"Anyways, overall the place was really nice. If we didn't have work and other stuff to deal with, I would say we should go there sometime," Hisashi said, mainly glancing over to Emon when talking. The idea of just leaving the city, getting on a ship, and sailing somewhere to explore sounded so pleasant, especially if it was with Emon and even Lex. He would even want to take his nephew once in a while. Just the 3 and sometimes 4 of them on a ship, seeing what the world offered. But their lives didn't allow for that. Hisashi had soldier duties to take care of while Emon and Lex had their own responsibilities, and there was just too much they would be leaving behind. Maybe one day in the future it could become a reality.

"Yeah, that would be nice," Emon said, smiling. Then the table went silent. Lex went back to looking out the window while the other two sat silently. Hisashi started to fidget with the ring box in his pocket, only bringing back the nerves. He looked up at Emon and could see he was shifting in his seat, shooting glances at both him and Lex. He wondered what Emon could be so nervous about.

Lex turned their head and sensed the nervousness sitting next to them and across from them. They shot a "say something and get it over with" look at both Hisashi and Emon.

"Sai—"

"Emon—"

They both paused and tried continuing, only further interrupting each other, "Sorry, go ahead—no you go ahead—no I didn't have anything to say—no please, I interrupted you—"

With a sigh, Lex barged in, "So, do you guys have any plans for today?" The two paused and looked at each other, waiting for the other to say something.

"I heard the weather is going to be super nice today. Maybe you guys can go to the park," Lex suggested.

"You are such a mind reader. That was what I was going to suggest," Emon said.

"I was actually going to recommend the same thing," Hisashi nervously laughed. He's so glad that he wrote Lex about what his plans were, or he would've just chickened out and waited to do it.

"Hah, perfect. Maybe we can get some lunch too. You're probably starving. I know I am," Emon said with a grin.

"Sounds good," Hisashi replied with a soft smile. He turned to Lex and mouthed the words "Thank you."

They smirked and mouthed back the words "You're welcome."

"Man, no matter how many times I come here, I always forget how good the food is," Emon exclaimed as he finished paying for the food. In defeat, Hisashi watched the check and the money leave. Him and Emon literally went back and forth about who would pay the bill only to find out that Hisashi had left his wallet at home due to him rushing to get ready and look nice for the day, so Emon came out victorious.

"I claim to pay the next check," Hisashi uttered while they got up and left the café.

"Haha, we'll see if you remember your wallet next time," Emon snickered, "Although it's not like you to forget it at all. Are you feeling well?"

"Yes yes, I'm fine," Hisashi chuckled, "Just adjusting to being home that's all..."

And just being a big ball of nerves, he thought to himself. At least he had the ring with him, or his whole plan would have gone down the drain because of one silly mistake.

"How about you though? You seemed nervous on the train," he asked Emon.

"Oh, uh, yeah. Um, yeah I'm good now. It was just being on a train. Y'know I don't really go on them," Emon said. Hisashi raised an eyebrow, but decided not to  further question him.

The two continued to chat as they walked towards and into the park. Circled by the new skyscrapers, the park sat at the center of the entire city. Full of green hills and growing trees, it was one of the few areas of nature in the city. It was still a work in progress as workers were busy with putting in new buildings, benches, and pathways, but it was still a nice place for a stroll and a proposal.

The two walked through the park, chatting and enjoying the scenery. While listening to Emon, Hisashi scanned the area, trying to find the best area. It needed to be a private area with no one around, but also needed to be a beautiful area.

All of a sudden, Emon grasped Hisashi's hand and said, "Come with me, I know a good place you need to see." He then started leading him up one of the hills, looked around, and then continued pulling him along. Down the hill, across some of the grass, and up a slightly taller hill. Once they reached the top, Emon stopped and tightened his hand around Hisashi's, looking out at the view of the entire park.

"Wow," Hisashi marveled at the view. It was beautiful... and there wasn't anyone else around... it was perfect.

"I know right. I came here all the time when I was younger. When I had no where else to go, I would just come here..." Emon's grip loosened, so Hisashi gently pulled his hand away and backed up slightly. He pulled the ring box out of his pocket and took a deep breath as he went down on a knee. This was it. It was time.

"It's crazy to think that I've come all this way," Emon continued, still looking at the view, "I used to come here as a young thief just trying to survive. That's all I thought my life would be until the day I died. But you've changed that..." Hisashi watched Emon go grab something from inside his jacket, but he couldn't see what. "...You've shown me that there's more to my life. Life is not just about trying to get by. It's about learning and experiencing new things. It's about love. It's about so much more than I know, So, I took you here in hopes that I can leave the lonely, barely living thief behind and enter a new chapter of our lives. Hisashi Arima, will y—" Emon turned around, about to kneel down, but he stopped halfway. In his hands was a long, wooden box with a black finish, kept shut with a golden latch. He quickly stood up and hid the box back in his jacket, his eyes not leaving Hisashi. He ran one of his hands through his hair as his face started to flush red. "Sai, I— oh my god..." was all he could say.

Hisashi sat there frozen, unsure what to do. He had planned this for weeks, but now everything just jumped out of his brain.

"Were you about to propose..."

Emon lips formed an embarrassed smile as he quickly nodded. Hisashi's mouth hung open and he looked down at the ring box, unsure what to say. Should he just try to stick to his plan or let Emon continue?

"Forget about me, go ahead," Emon whispered, gently pulling Hisashi's chin back up.

"Um, well," Hisashi cleared his throat and took a deep breath in, looking into Emon's eyes. They had a sort of calming aura about them now. Hisashi's lip curled up slightly as he gathered his words.

"I guess to play off what you've said, you have changed my life as well. Before I really got to know you, I probably seemed like a stone cold guy whose only purpose was to work until he no longer could. You have added more purpose to my life... so much more purpose. And, despite trying to understand everything, love was never one I could get a grasp of. Now I feel like I know at least a tiny bit about it from the past few years, and I'm willing to learn more with you. Emon, I love you so much. I will love you until the day I die. Even beyond death, I will always love you..." Hisashi took a pause, trying to catch his breath from speeding up towards the end without taking a moment to breathe. During the pause, he decided to open the ring box, resulting in a quiet gasp from Emon. He glanced up at him to see the reaction. His smile was bigger, but was being slightly hidden behind one of his hands. His calming eyes started to tear up as he looked up from the ring to Hisashi.

"Will you... would you... uh..." Hisashi started, but his mind was back to blanking out. Improvising clearly took all his brain power. It was his turn to blush red.

Emon chuckled, took Hisashi's one hand that wasn't holding the box, and asked "Will you marry me?" Hisashi couldn't help but laugh along as he quickly nodded. Emon then took the polished silver ring and slipped it onto one of Hisashi's fingers, and Hisashi put the other one on Emon.

"By the way, that was my line," Hisashi joked as he gave Emon his ring.

"Technically it was supposed to be mine," Emon said before pulling Hisashi up and into a kiss with his arms around his neck. Once they both pulled away, Emon held Hisashi close and rested his head against his shoulder.

"I love you so much Sai, and thank you for the ring. It's absolutely as beautiful as you are..." Emon said, then remembered his proposal gift. He let go of Hisashi, grabbed the box, went down on his knees, and held the box up.

"This is what I was going to give you... I hope you don't mind it not being a ring..."

Hisashi took the box from him and unlocked the latch. He lifted the lid to find a ornate dagger inside. It had a pale green jade hilt with silver sheath decorated with floral motifs and pale green and red gemstones. He gently picked up the dagger and unsheathed it to reveal a silver, double edged blade.

"This is beautiful," he said in awe, sheathing the blade and placing it carefully back into the box.

"I'm glad you think so. As soon as I saw it, I figured it would be a perfect gift," Emon said, smiling.

"It definitely is. Thank you," Hisashi said, giving Emon a quick peck on the lips.

"Well, should we get out of here and start the next chapter of our lives?" Hisashi asked.

Emon took a hold of Hisashi's hand and said, "I'm ready whenever you are."

They took one more look at the view, and Hisashi started to lead Emon.

"Let's go."

#ninjago oc day 2021 #ninjagoocday2021 #ninjago oc #ninjago oc fanfic #my oc writing #oc: hisashi #oc: emon

[wisteriawritings]

To Start Anew

Fandom: Dragon Age: Origins

Ship: F!Aeducan x Gorim

Warnings: None

Genre: Angst

WC: 1933

Blurb: After the ultimate betrayal, Terra Aeducan has been exiled to the deep roads. Through extraordinary circumstances, she fights her way to the surface and becomes Thedas’s last hope against the coming blight. However, during her journey she must deal with painful truths about her family, her life back in Orzammar, and what her future may be.

They had only just arrived in Denerim. Terra Aeducan, with Alistair, Morrigan, and an affectionate Mabari in tow, had come in search of Andraste’s ashes. The hunt for allies against the oncoming blight had hardly begun, yet they were all bone tired. It was the exhaustion that led her to believe that she was imagining things. That Gorim’s sweet, warm voice was only in her mind. Even so, the sound pulled her towards the center of town, like a chain wrapped around her middle was dragging her forwards.

“Are you alright?” Alistair asked, seeing the color had drained from her face.

“I just… I’m going to step away for a bit. I’ll meet you at the inn, yeah?”

Alistair nodded, though reluctantly. Alistair was tooth-rottingly sweet and Terra tried to summon the best smile she could to set him at ease and send him away. He was becoming a quick and dear friend to her, and she didn’t want him to see her in what seemed to be a lapse in sanity.

“Dwarven crafts!”

There it was again. Terra, her spine now stiff as stone, hurried away and through the bustling streets, following the voice. Dwarven crafts? It could be anyone though. Any number of low-born Orzammar men who left for the surface could be in town. It wasn’t uncommon, and neither was the accent. It probably wasn’t him, wouldn’t be him, couldn’t be him. She rounded the corner and in the square she saw him

Terra’s hands tremored. Words like “I missed you,” “I found you,” and “thank the fucking stone,” all caught in her throat. Her hands grasped at it desperately, trying to free them. Because there he was. Just a few yards away stood her best friend and the man she loved: Gorim.

She tried to call out his name, but only pitiful, strangled noises escaped her lips. But he saw her. His face – it was tanner now; it had finally seen the sun – lit up in shock, disbelief, joy. All the things she felt were reflected back to her. Her throat was still sealed shut, but her feet started moving. Suddenly she was running, running faster than she had ever run, straight into arms that opened wide at the sight of her. Solid, strong arms that knew the curve and the shape of her body so well. Arms that slid into their place so easily, it was like slipping on a pair of gloves. For the first time since she left Orzammar, her feet felt firmly planted on the ground. She was finally rooted to the earth the way she used to be, and the sky wasn’t threatening to swallow her whole anymore.

For a few blissful seconds, the Blight was far away, and Bhelen never betrayed her. With tearful eyes, Gorim studied her face with an intensity that felt like he was boring into her soul. He looked as if he were taking inventory of her features, ensuring that each one was accounted for and just as he remembered them. “I knew you would make it out. I never stopped believing,” he said softly. Suddenly his face changed, lighting up as if he were remembering something.

“I have something for you.” He bent down to a chest that lay under the table. After a few moments of rummaging, he produced a letter. “Before I left for the surface, King Endrin sent me with this. We both hoped against hope that I would find you up here.”

Terra’s heart, which was already pounding, somehow beat even harder at these words. “Father? How is he?” The thought of seeing her father again filled her with so much joy and longing she could hardly stand it. She felt like her heart was swelling so large it was pressing against her ribs.

“Oh, my lady…I’m so sorry,” Gorim said, in a voice so sad and soft it sent bolts of fear down Terra’s spine. But she knew what those words meant. The pressure in her chest deepened and sunk to reach down into her stomach too. She felt faint.

“If a man can die of a broken heart… King Endrin did.”

“But what happened to him?” She asked, trying to hold back the tears. Gorim hesitated, but Terra’s hard look of pain and determination gave him the permission he needed to part with the grisly details. “After Trian’s death-…no, murder, Endrin was stricken with too much grief and confusion to see that Bhelan had constructed it all. It didn’t take long for him to find his mind again, but by then it was already too late. You were already locked in the deep roads. That’s why it all happened so quickly. That bastard Bhelen knew he had to dispose of you before the shock of it all wore off.” Gorim looked at his feet and took a long, shaky breath before continuing. “It was like he just… wasted away. He couldn’t go on living, like he was a ghost.”

Terra squeezed his hand. She focused on that feeling; homed in on the way he callouses rubbed against the palm of her hand. It was the only tangible thing keeping her anchored to reality. Gorim looked at her for a reassurance that she wanted him to continue. She nodded grimly. She was sick to her stomach, but she had to know the whole story. It was her duty as a daughter and as an Aeducan.

“When he called me to him, just before I left… the room stank of decay. It was as if he had already been long dead. He was already a corpse, just waiting for his time to return to the stone. All he could talk about was you.” His other hand took hold of her shoulder, steadying her. She hadn’t even realized she was swaying. “Terra, he sent me with more than just a letter.”

Gorim fished in his pocket and took out a worn velvet purse. Among the coins glinted a chunk of golden metal. Terra blinked her tears away and saw that no, it wasn’t a nugget. It was the Aeducan signet ring. Trian’s ring.

He gently placed it in her hand and folded it into a fist.

“He loved you, Terra. That nug-fucker Bhelen, he’s not a real Aeducan. You’re the true last heir, and your father knew it. You deserve this, and no one else. He made that much clear.”

The ring felt heavy in her hand, like she held all of Orzammar in her palm. In a way, she supposed, she did. But she felt that she could bear it as long as Gorim held her other hand.

“I’m just so glad I found you. Thank the stone, thank the stone…” Terra drew herself closer to him, ready to step back into his embrace and find his lips. But a look she couldn’t quite decipher crossed his face, and he took a step back.

“My lady, there’s something else I should tell you. I’ve, well… I’ve found a life on the surface. A blacksmith’s daughter; we’re expecting our first. She’s… she’s lovely and…” Gorim trailed off, not knowing how to continue.

The world seemed to go still around her. Her heart, which had been thumping loudly in her ears just moments before, fell quiet. A few seconds passed, but they felt like centuries.

“I don’t understand…” Terra’s voice quivered, and she hated herself for it. “You said you’ve been waiting for me.”

Gorim’s face flushed red and he looked down at his feet. “I have been, of course. But… well…” Gorim stammered, his shoulders slumped. Terra thought that he looked almost like a scolded child caught stealing sweets before supper. She almost laughed at the absurdity of it. He had been in Denerim for how long? Two months now, maybe? And he still hasn’t come up with a good explanation as to how he tripped and fell into a smith’s girl, all while claiming to ‘know she had made it out’.

He mustered the courage to meet her gaze again and flushed an even deeper red. He had always been able to tell what she was thinking, as if her very mind was binded to his own. She could feel his shame radiating off of him like a sickness. He knew he had done wrong. He knew that as a knight, he had acted shamefully. And she knew it too. Some dark corner of her soul felt gratified in this, gleeful in his self-loathing. She felt the anger rising.

“So let me make sure I understand,” she began, her words already dripping in venom. “You know, or hoped, or believed or what have you, that I was alive on the surface. And you, as my second, sworn to serve and protect me until death, fucked me and whispered sweet nothings to me in Orzammar. But when you’re separated from me for two months – oh, less than that actually, since she’s already knocked up – you decided to live it up with the first surfacer you see?”

Gorim’s eyes filled with tears. “It wasn’t like that,” he said firmly, but she could hear the tremble in his voice.

“Then what was it like?”

“I missed you.”

“I missed you too, but I didn’t jump in bed with a surfacer. I searched for you Gorim.”

“My lady… We never could have been together. You know that.”

All of a sudden she understood, and the tears she had been holding back came slipping across her face. It didn’t matter what happened, or what he believed. Gorim was an outcast, a surfacer. Je was stripped of his caste his family name. But Terra? To him, she was still Lady Aeducan, and she always would be. Even if they had stayed in Orzammar, if Bhelen had never betrayed them, he would still think himself beneath her. He might have loved her perhaps, but he would have walked away eventually. He could never see himself as more than her second.

She realized she had been squeezing the signet ring in her hand. She relaxed her fist and saw her house crest bored into her palm like a brand. Gorim watched her as she first tried it on her ring finger and then settled with slipping it on her thumb. Trian’s hands had been bigger than hers.

Gorim reached out to comfort her, but drew back, unsure of himself. “My lady, if I had known you were alive…”

Terra glanced back up at him scornfully. “Either you did, or you didn’t.”

He reared back as if he had been struck, but he knew he deserved it. She saw no trace of resentment in his eyes. She looked at him for a hard moment and her anger fizzled out, leaving her with nothing but a cold hollow in her stomach and the crushing weight of her loneliness. Gorim’s cheeks were wet from silent tears.

“I hope I’ll have time to meet her soon,” Terra said.

“I’d like that. My door is always open to you.”

“I love you, Gorim. I hope you’re happy,” she confessed. Her heart gave one last weak tug at what had been between them.

“The same for you.”

She immediately recognized that he had not confirmed his happiness, and Gorim saw it in her face. Before he could say anything else, she turned away to rejoin her group.

Terra glanced up at the sky, vast and unending above her. Her family crest rested upon her finger and its weight, though heavy, was a comfort to her. She had a blight to end, and she didn’t need Gorim to do it.  

#aeducan #gorim saelac #da:o #aeducan x gorim #dwarf noble #angst #orzammar #dragon age #dragon age origins #all the single ladies #F!Aeducan #female aeducan #lady aeducan

[hopevalley]

Season 8, Episode 3: From the Ashes

Intro -

Scene 1: Freedom-Alls

Well, folks, we start out with Rosemary and Elizabeth discussing the latest and greatest trend of the western world (or attempt at a trend): Freedom-Alls! Patented in April 1918 by Levi Strauss & Co., Freedom-Alls were a women’s one-piece suit intended to appeal specifically toward ladies who lived out west and wanted to take advantage of the areas and work they did for a living (ranchwork, farming, hiking, et cetera). It was introduced alongside Kover-Ups (a one-piece suit for men) and Koveralls (a one piece denim suit for children). 

You can read a little more about them here.

Unfortunately Freedom-Alls didn’t really catch on; they were, perhaps, a little too ahead of their time. But guess what? It means this season of When Calls the Heart takes place in 1918! 

Rosemary says she’s trying to support Clara’s ideas by trying to sell the Freedom-Alls and that she “can’t run the dress shop forever.” When Elizabeth tries to talk to Rosemary about it, she changes the direction of the conversation to Nathan and Lucas. Elizabeth admits she feels bad for having ridden off on Nathan, and Rosemary gets a weird line: “But who knows what might have happened between you two if you hadn’t?” I’m not sure what to make of this... With modern viewers it almost sounds like they might have had sex or something if left alone, but really I think they want to hint that they might have said regrettable things. I think that line could have used a bit of a tweak.

Elizabeth goes on to say it was right to choose not to be with Nathan but she hasn’t chosen Lucas either, and in fact does not want to even speak to Lucas until his mother tells him the truth about his father. One thing I really appreciate about this scene, and in fact this whole plot, is that Rosemary knows the hot gossip but she doesn’t repeat it to anyone else. In fact, she makes sure Elizabeth knows immediately that Lucas is standing behind her before he can hear her say anything, and when given a very obvious opportunity to intervene (when Lucas says he’s going to call his father) she elects to stay out of it.

I’ve been a little worried about Rosemary’s character writing in the past; they tend to bounce between wholesome and entertaining to cringey and embarrassing without...really meaning to, or without thinking about what kind of person that creates on-screen. This episode, and in particular this first scene, really makes up for a lot of past problems with her writing.

Also, Lucas was just really cute and wholesome at the end of the scene and I liked that.

--

Scene 2: Bill’s Land & The Inquiry

Bill stops Nathan and lets him know that he’s still working on Allie’s official adoption but it’ll still be a few weeks, and Nathan is understanding about this. Bill then brings up his land that Nathan seemed interested in buying. He says he has another potential buyer that’s been asking about it, and Nathan says he changed his mind about it.

Before they can really get into any sort of conversation about it, another Mountie approaches. Bill refers to him by his first name (Andrew) and then his title to congratulate him on a promotion (Superintendent Hargraves). He tells Bill that he learned from the best.

When Bill tries to introduce Nathan to Andrew, Nathan says they already know one another. When Bill asks what Andrew is doing in Hope Valley, he says he has a matter to discuss with Nathan and Bill says he hopes they can find the time to catch up before he leaves town again.

Bill leaves, and Andrew tells Nathan that due to the fact that a Mountie lost his life last year during the shooting, they’re opening up another internal inquiry (which means they already did one) and that Nathan is the focus of it.

“to determine your possible culpability as to whether or not you were at fault.”

Apparently this also means his career as a Mountie is at stake.

There’s not a lot to discuss this early in the episode about this plotline, but I do wonder if Bill actually has a potential different buyer for his land or not. I don’t think Bill is above pretending he has another buyer to push Nathan into making a decision either way, but if he actually does have someone else interested, that could be interesting.

As to Nathan, it’s pretty clear Andrew Hargraves doesn’t care for Nathan.

--

Scene 3: The Introduction of The Chair

Molly and Florence talk about a crate that is sitting outside and Molly asks Florence if it might be the beehive that Florence ordered for Ned for his birthday. Florence shushes her (worried Ned will hear, as this is clearly meant to be a surprise) and says no it isn’t; her order has been delayed.

Molly goes on to say that she’s thinking of taking a cue from Florence and wants to buy Bill something for his birthday. Molly asks for Florence’s advice on what to get and Florence can’t help her:

Florence stares at her with...honestly kind of a sad expression after this? I don’t know what to make of that. Molly tries to say she’s kidding but Florence isn’t stupid enough to believe it. 

I’m not exactly thrilled with this storyline (nobody is surprised yet again lol), but one thing I really hope they bother taking the time to do is...you know...show why Molly might be interested in Bill. They don’t really have a particular chemistry I think, so...right now it just feels like Pair the Spares because nobody else in town is of the right age and available (except Henry and I can’t see that working well). If they’re going to bother with it, I really hope it’s either “Molly’s just lonely, actually” or “She likes him because XYZ” and not that weird middle thing where it’s hard to understand why either person would like the other...which has been a problem in this show’s writing since about Season 4.

The camera pans out to the mysterious crate. Ned wants to guess what’s in the crate but doesn’t get the chance before Jesse announces what it is to everyone (and Ned is sad about this haha). Cute little bit, honestly; you can tell the dialogue in this season has gotten a glow-up.

Jesse is disgruntled about the chair’s existence (why would you ship a chair halfway across the world?) and tries to sit in it to see if it’s a good chair but Lee tells him it’s bad luck to do that. The person for whom the chair was made has to be the first one to sit in it! He asks Jesse to take the chair to his house and move his motorcycle to the mill.

This is overall a nice scene. People feel...like people. And they carried over Lee’s back injury because now he’s wearing a back brace. This follow-through, this continuation from episode to episode, makes a big difference in the quality of writing, IMO.

--

Scene 4: Nichols & Dimes

Fiona is just getting done trimming Lucas’s beard and makes a comment about how if he wants it all shaved off she’ll be happy to do it because she’s curious to see what is hiding underneath it. Faith walks in and when Lucas asks her opinion, she has the same answer: “I’d be curious to see!”

Lucas considers this a moment and asks to think about it. She dusts off Lucas’s shoulders with her brush and asks Faith if she has time to chat and Faith says for a moment. Lucas gets up and pays Fiona, but it’s too much money so she tries to get him to take it back but he insists she keep it. 

“Besides, after I meet Lee about a lumber order, I might need a free haircut.” Fiona only can say after he leaves, “He is so nice.”

Do we have a Fiona/Lucas hint? Or is this to show up how generous a person Lucas is? Or perhaps...how kind the people in this town are that they know to help out where and how they can?

--

Scene 5: Boy Meets Bike

Jesse drops off the chair at Rosemary and Lee’s house and goes out back to uncover the MOTORCYCLE. This is a man in love with a machine right here.

--

Scene 6: The Oil Rig

Lee promises Lucas a lumber order by the end of the week and Hickam stops Lucas to talk about the fact that the men think they should drill further (another 50 feet). Lucas seems to be having some...regrets about having gotten into the oil business (it is lucrative but it’s also a lot of work and with a very serious uh...potential for failure). 

Lucas says (to Lee) that 50 feet becomes 100 feet becomes 300 feet (increasing costs of course, with no guaranteed payout), and jokingly (sort of) asks Lee if he wants to buy an oil well. Lee just laughs and says he doesn’t think so.

--

Scene 7: The Motorcycle No-Nos

Hope Valley really isn’t ready for Freedom-Alls after all. On the plus side, Dottie gets a mention! She sent over a beautiful dress (I think this is the one we see Molly wearing in the promo images for a later episode) from Union City. Clara laments having to replace the Freedom-Alls in the window just as Jesse pulls up on the motorcycle he’s moving for Lee.

Rosemary scolds her and tells him not to make Clara a widow (very insensitive choice, not sure they thought this through before they included that... She already IS a widow...and through no real fault of her husband). Rosemary said the danger is why she wanted Lee to sell the motorcycle and Jesse says, “You know, Lee always said you loved riding on the back of the motorcycle” which seems to upset Rosemary a bit. She tells him that was a long time ago and they’re married now and she wants Lee to sell it to the first person to make a good/fair offer.

--

Scene 8: Editing Woes

Helen is trying to go over Elizabeth’s manuscript with her but Elizabeth is completely zoning out and Helen is kind of sick of it.

She asks Elizabeth what the problem is and they talk about Lucas’s lack of knowledge about his father. Helen doesn’t want to talk about this and suggests they get back to work. Elizabeth asks to open the window (probably hoping some fresh air will clear her head). When she goes to open it, though, she sees Nathan and Bill talking animatedly by the blacksmith/farrier.

Helen confronts her about her feelings for Nathan and for Lucas, and Elizabeth asks if they can get back to work.

This is probably one of the weaker scenes. Helen pries too much and doesn’t seem the type to do so without good reason. I’m not sure how I would word it instead but the audience already knows Elizabeth has feelings for both men, and the scene with Rosemary sufficed at explaining Elizabeth’s stance on things.

I feel like this mostly made Helen look prickly and nosy...and it wasn’t doing either character any real favors.

--

Scene 9: Henry’s Flowers

Henry walks into the mercantile with some flowers and I definitely thought he was going to give them to Ned! (Let the shipping BEGIN...)

He apologizes very thoughtfully to Ned and I can honestly say this is one of the best scenes both men have gotten on this show and I really appreciate it. It was wholesome and kind, and I definitely think with the way Ned brushed things off that he at least read that first letter.

Florence kind of stands up as Henry starts talking (probably thinking she’ll have to yell at him again lmao), but Henry walks up to her and gives her the flowers, saying she was right to be angry with him and he hopes they can move past it.

Henry leaves and Ned’s like heyyy I was the one he yelled at and Florence tells him that’s true, but...she defended him and Ned seems a little...touched by that and says, “Yes...you did.”

Wholesome...good. Nice scene.

--

Scene 10: Motorcycle Absolutely Nots

Jesse brings the motorcycle to Clara again and tries to appeal to her using logic that my own husband would use if it meant he could possess yet another motored vehicle.

Same Clara!!!

I’m a little amused by this and also kind of like...meh about it. These characters had a long time to get to know one another and court before they got married and now Jesse’s just...Like This? It’s not that I’m against the plotline, but...I  don’t know exactly how I feel about it right now. It’s funny but something still feels tonally off about it to me...

--

Scene 11: Inquiry Part II

Bill reads the inquiry notice that was given to Nathan and says it doesn’t seem right to him. Nathan says he tried to explain that earlier (must have been the conversation by the blacksmith). Bill goes on to say the Mounties can of course do this as it’s well within their rights and that...it’s possible it’s just...a formality? Andrew’s a good Mountie and a stickler for detail so--

Nathan seems annoyed at this and says “That’s one way of putting it” which of course prompts Bill to ask why they don’t get along. Nathan will only tell him that they’ve crossed paths before but refuses to elaborate.

It’s pretty clear that in whatever capacity they crossed paths before, it wasn’t exactly...friendly.

I also wonder if this man has been in a previous episode? He seems familiar but I couldn’t find anything with a quick Google search.

--

Scene 12: OIL! And uh, fire. Yeah.

Lucas and Mike Hickam talk about the oil business and Lucas admits that if they don’t see oil soon he’s going to just shut the entire thing down. Mike wants to react to this but there’s a ruckus at the well that isn’t normal so he runs over to the men and insists they get out of there right away.

They get oil! And then a spark catches. If you were confused about what supposedly caused the spark, it was this:

The metal of the wire rubbing against the metal of the pipe, causing friction. To be clear...the wire would be so coated in oil it wouldn’t be likely to catch fire in this scenario, but eh, we can ignore that. It was at least an attempt, and considering some of their past attempts this one was pretty good, actually.

For some reason the town has a real siren (more accurate would probably be a fire bell) and everyone freaks out. 

Bill tells everyone to stay where they are and Fiona says “We can help!” and Bill says if they need more help they’ll call for more men. Fiona’s like:

I kind of missed that line my first watchthrough but I’m belatedly annoyed with that “Let’s make this look kind of misogynistic and make Fiona a Feminist Icon™ (as if she isn’t already good enough like??? what). It’s literally an OIL WELL FIRE. It might burn for WEEKS. It’s INCREDIBLY DANGEROUS and if you get too close you’ll be lucky if you’re not covered in burns. 

They’ll get men because they’re more likely to be wearing the proper clothing and have the proper knowledge. Also, there are plenty of men on sight already. Why risk more casualties (or any if there aren’t already some, which of course Bill doesn’t know about). 

It’s not that I don’t appreciate some good women-getting-involved writing, but this reads very much like it was written by a man.

That said, Henry’s determined face when he saw the fire was GOOD. He’s blurry but he’s MOVING FAST.

--

Scene 13: The Fire

Mike Hickam has burns on his face, Lucas has been knocked down, and everyone is in a panic. NATHAN IS ON THE SCENE.

IDK........I’d ship it.

Nathan asks Lucas how to put the fire out, and Lucas...doesn’t know. How could he know? He’s involved and he’s the owner of the operation, but he has absolutely (or nearly) no practical experience. BOOM HENRY IS ON THE SCENE.

He suggests they get some dynamite. A LOT OF IT.

They gather enough dynamite to blow an entire quarry sky-high. (My husband and I work in construction and this is more dynamite than we use to do blasting in the quarries. A few years ago we did our biggest blasting job ever in our largest quarry and we didn’t even use that many explosives lol...)

I would imagine your average person wouldn’t know that, though, so...I’ll give it a pass. Ned comes to help, and Jesse, and then Fiona shows up just in time to ask if the one more person to help they need needs to be a man. She then proceeds to stand at the back of the group. She’s also the first person to drop the cart lol... -_-

I can’t imagine being in town for all of this. It would probably be terrifying. Imagine being Florence or Molly who lived through the mine explosion. PTSD right there fellas.

And it’s over like...in two seconds.

People hugging all over the place. 

Even though I was a little shocked the drama didn’t last longer, it was probably for the best. As much as I like drama, this isn’t the kind of drama that makes sense to be dragged out. If you don’t act fast there’s no chance to act at all, and you’re either successful with the dynamite attempt or you’re not. Either way, the town would be lost if the fire burned for too long, so it was worth a shot. Just...not with THAT much dynamite.

Also, using dynamite to snuff out oil fires was the first proven accurate method of putting out oil well fires! It basically uses the dynamite explosion to “blow out” the fire by forcing the furning fuel and oxygen away from the fuel source. It’s still used, and its first successful use (that we have record of) was in 1913. You can read more about oil well fires here.

--

Scene 14: Kindness

Lucas and Henry run into one another outside of Abigail’s Café and agree to meet outside the mercantile when Lucas is done chatting with her. Inside Abigail’s, Mike Hickam is dabbing (antiseptic?) on his burned face while Bill and Helen are chatting.

Helen is a bit upset that Lucas helped with the fire because it frightened her—the thought of losing him. He responds by saying he had to help and that she is being dramatic, but then apologizes and says, “I love you, too.” I think this is a sign he understands his mother more than we realize.

They agree to have lunch together at the saloon and Lucas says he couldn’t reach his father. Helen says she doesn’t know where he is but she’ll try to reach him.

Lucas tries to say something to Mike but Mike insists he won’t take a vacation; he was only doing his job.

Then Bill stops by with another plate of food for Mike and insists that it’s free just like the first plate. 

I’m pretty sure this scene + the barbershop one earlier were just showing us how good and wholesome the people in Hope Valley are. They support each other and SHOW THEY CARE. I like it. :)

--

Scene 15: The Letter

At the mercantile Henry finally gets a letter!

It’s from “Christopher Hughes” in Cape Fullerton.

Henry stares at the letter for a long moment but says nothing is wrong. 

Ned limps away as Henry leaves the mercantile to wait for Lucas and Florence scolds him for being stubborn.

There is a Romantic Sort of Moment...

And Florence talks about how gallant Ned was during the fire... A little spice is in the air methinks!!

--

Scene 16: THE LETTER PART TWO

Lucas stops by Henry’s car to say thanks for yesterday (the fire advice) and then tells him that even though he doesn’t agree with all of Henry’s terms/methods he does want him to come back to work.

Henry’s response? “I’ll think about it.”

This man is RATTLED by that letter! Lucas is shocked that Henry isn’t as on board as he was just the other day...

Scene 17: Chair Adjustment

Lee moves the chair around the house trying to find the perfect spot, and he refuses to sit in the chair until he gets his back brace off. It’s a pretty wholesome and fun scene; it manages to be lightly funny without trying too hard, and the best part about it is actually that they take the time to weave other characters into the dialogue more. “Carson wants me to walk; he says it’s good for my back.”

This is the stuff dreams are made of, folks!

Jesse drives up on the bike as Lee comes out of the house and he tells Lee that he wants to buy it off of him. When asked what Clara thinks of it, Jesse says:

This is going to be a big problem later. Lee says Jesse can buy it for $5.00 less than asking and Jesse rides off excited.

--

Scene 18: Trouble at the Infirmary

Florence apparently was successful in her attempt to drag Ned to the infirmary because he’s getting his foot looked at. When asked how he got the injury, he says he must have stepped in a hole or something, and Florence adds her heroic spin on things:

Faith tells Ned there’s some swelling with indicates a mild lateral sprain, and that the best thing for him to do will be to stay off of his foot for a week. She turns to Molly to suggest getting some crutches and Carson steps in to ask what Ned did to himself and begins his own exam, asking Ned which way his foot turned in/which way causes pain.

He then turns to Faith and explains that with a lateral sprain the foot turns inward, but with a high ankle sprain it turns outward (which is Ned’s problem).

Faith tries to explain that if you feel the tendon--

But Carson cuts her off and says that Faith will wrap it up nice and tight for him and he can go back to his regularly scheduled heroics immediately.

This angers Faith and makes Molly uncomfortable.

--

Scene 19: Goodbye Sweet Chair (I Hardly Knew Ye)

Rosemary approaches Elizabeth and they talk about how Elizabeth and Jack want to start a garden in the backyard, but first she has to go to town and speak with Bill. Rosemary offers to babysit and do the planting with Jack herself, and Elizabeth agrees to it.

They go over to Rosemary’s and Jack sees the NEW CHAIR and makes a beeline for it. Rosemary stops him from sitting in the chair but...overcome by curiosity she herself sits in it...

...and it breaks.

--

Scene 20: Elizabeth’s No Good, Horrible, Very Bad Day

Elizabeth presumably asked Bill what was going on with Nathan, and Bill explains that one of the superintendents, “an old friend” of his, gave Nathan some bad news. The Mounties are investigating last autumn’s prisoner transfer shooting. She asks why, when it was already completed, and he tries to calm her down by saying it’s an inside investigation and the Mounties always try to better perform their duties (the suggestion here is that they do this by reviewing recent cases).

After Elizabeth pesters Bill about it a little more, he folds and admits that it’s all very unusual and he has no clue why they’d have an inquiry about that case. He promises Elizabeth he’ll keep digging until he finds out.

Just as Elizabeth is reeling from this, Lucas approaches her and asks her why she didn’t tell him about his father leaving his mother. Elizabeth tries to say that she was told that in confidence and couldn’t/didn’t feel comfortable breaking it. She then says, “This isn’t my fault” and Lucas kind of just walks off annoyed/frustrated.

--

Scene 21: No-Work Advice

Clara comes into the barber shop asking Fiona for advice. Jesse asked for the day off to ride the motorcycle to Albert Falls (even though she asked him not to buy it). Fiona’s like “Uhhh...”

Then Faith walks in upset and says to Fiona, “Maybe you can help!” She goes on to say it’s like she’s back in Chicago being ignored like all the other interns!! And Fiona’s like, “Uhhhh...”

Faith realizes Clara is there and apologizes for interrupting. She asks Clara what’s wrong and Clara tells her about Jesse. Faith is like, OHhhhh My GOoDnESS I feel the SAMe wAY about the way Carson is treating mE!!!

And Clara says, “I have some chocolate cake at the cafe.”

And aWAY THEY GO.

Leaving Fiona cakeless (unless she’s gettin’ some of Mike Hickam later; that man is CAKED UP).

--

Scene 22: 

Lee sadly contemplates his broken chair.

And then has a midlife crisis.

The chair reminded him of a chair he built with his grandfather, and he’s getting older and thinking about how he can’t do any of that stuff himself, and he doesn’t remember how to build things anymore. “I don’t make anything, Rosie.”

--

Scene 23: Judge Avery’s Office

Bill walks into his office to see that Andrew Hargraves has let himself in while he was out. Andrew asks Bill if the Mounties can use the judge’s office for the inquiry.

Bill says that, given they have a history, could he maybe tell him what’s going on? The inquiry isn’t adding up.

He goes on to say he was close by and that he stated on the record what happened that day, as well as the fact that everything regarding that event was done by the book.

Andrew says, “A Mountie died. I think that warrants a review.”

Bill says he noticed that Nathan and Andrew aren’t close and Andrew says the same thing Nathan did earlier: that they’ve “crossed paths.”

Andrew says he wouldn’t have achieved his rank if not for Bill; he also says that Bill was a good mentor. (I would argue this means that Bill taught him at the Academy like he did Jack and many others.)

And he suggests that Bill with see that his council wasn’t wasted. Bill replies back, “What appears to be holding a grudge.”

I mean, it’s not as if Bill didn’t have grudges (COUGH HENRY COUGH COUGH) but he never let those impact his work overmuch and he always did the right thing when the truth was uncovered. That’s one thing I have always enjoyed about Bill’s character. He’s suspicious of like, basically everyone but when someone he has reason to actively dislike (Henry Gowen) is innocent he’s the first person to insist the right thing be done.

Andrew doesn’t respond to that; he simply asks if the Mounties can count on use of Bill’s office and Bill agrees. Andrew then tells Bill that he’ll be called on as a witness.

--

Scene 24: Heart to Heart

Helen comes to Elizabeth’s house to visit and almost sits on a block (#parentlyfe).

She notices Jack playing with a little Mountie and a horse and asks about it. Elizabeth says a friend made that for Jack. 

“Hm. A Mountie. Constable Grant?”

“A Mountie. My late husband.”

They’re clearly talking about the figure and not who made it, here. I’m not sure who the friend would be in this case, but it could be literally anyone in town.

Helen admits to Elizabeth that the most difficult thing she’s ever done in life is try to be a mother. She “never discovered what seems to come so naturally to others” (in particular Elizabeth)—the joy of it.

Elizabeth admits that sometimes she can’t recognize the joy in anything, but in moments like that she surrounds herself by people who love her. She asks why Helen has come, and Helen says she regrets having put Elizabeth in a position where she had to keep a secret from Lucas.

Elizabeth thanks her for her honest and Helen admits tearfully she should have said it earlier, in a more forthright manner, but that she doesn’t really know how to be any other way than how she is.

Elizabeth comes to sit with her on the couch and says that it’s understandable to be afraid because being yourself can make you vulnerable. She tells Helen that she is thoughtful and intelligent and asks if she shows that side of herself to her husband. Helen admits she hasn’t for a long time. 

Elizabeth tells her that if her husband doesn’t love her for exactly who she is, then it isn’t love and he doesn’t deserve her...but if she’s not sure if they’ve shown each other their true hearts (i.e., their true selves) then it might be worth considering trying again.

She suggests Helen reach out first. Jack plops on Helen a bit, Helen hugs him, and Helen thanks Elizabeth for being her friend. 

This isn’t a bad scene by any means, but I think I liked it better on a second watching. Still, the dialogue was a bit stiff and hard to follow. I really think it should have been put past someone specifically to see how easy it was to understand/if it hit the correct emotional beats. Rewatching it slowly and making sense of the complicated wording is what made it better. I’m not sure if I was the only one who thought that, though...

--

Scene 25: Faith vs. Carson

Faith approaches Carson and tells him they need to talk. She tries to insist that Molly stay because they all work together...but when Faith says that Carson ordered her to wrap Ned’s ankle without listening to what she had to say about it, Carson tells Molly to leave.

Faith expresses her concerns and he says she’s reading too much into it.

He says he wants to hear about it and then doesn’t want to actually hear about it because he is treating her exactly the same way she was being treated there. I think they’re being pretty lighthearted about that, too; you know she got talked over and overlooked over the male students for sure.

Carson tells her that he doesn’t know what she went through but that they aren’t in any shape to discuss it right now.

She just wants to make an effort, they need to get through this, but he claims he doesn’t know what “this” is and wants to know what she wants.

“You say that you value me as a doctor. You say that I’m gifted. But I don’t just want to hear it. I want to be treated like you mean it.”

Honestly this entire scene I just wanted them to break up. I make no secret of how I feel about them as a couple and this scene, this season’s drama for them, is maybe going to resolve my biggest annoyance about Faith and Carson as a couple. She was SO good on the show, you guys, and then he came on and as soon as he picked up the role of doctor again he completely outdid her at everything and overshadowed her character to the point where she may as well not have even been there.

He’s never seemed to be as into her as he seemed to be into the idea of her. I never got the impression that he viewed her as an equal. I’m pretty interested to see where they go with things this season; I have a feeling it could actually be really good.

--

Scene 26: Lee’s Workshop

Lee comes home and finds Rosemary in the backyard setting up a little workshop space for him.

He confesses that he doesn’t remember how to build anything and she encourages him fully. This scene was really good. It’s sappy and silly but it’s super cute and fun. I always do enjoy these two. I hope they get other good things this season. They deserve it.

--

Scene 27: Axes

Nathan and Bill are talking about the inquiry and Nathan says maybe he is responsible for the Mountie’s death. Bill insists that is not the case.

Nathan continues on to say maybe he should have listened to the demand and let the prisoner go.

Bill cautions him against talking in hindsight and asks if he’s sure Hargraves doesn’t have an axe to grind with him. Nathan says “Yeah” but doesn’t look at Bill when he says it, so of course Bill knows it’s not the truth.

--

Scene 28: Helen’s Goodbye & The Cruel Reality

Helen leaves on the stage with hardly a goodbye, and Elizabeth runs over to ask about it. Lucas tells her that she was determined to catch the last stage (probably for the week or month) and tells her that she’ll be in touch about the manuscript soon.

Lucas is a little uncharacteristically emotional and Elizabeth tries to stop him from leaving in a hurry. He tells her that what upset him about the whole thing isn’t just that she didn’t tell him the truth, but that he thought his parents loved one another.

Elizabeth says maybe they did love each other, though. Maybe they still do. 

And Lucas replies with, “How do you lose that?”

Elizabeth says that she can only tell him what she told his mother: love has to be fought for.

“What would you know about it?” he asks.

Elizabeth stares at him a moment and can only say, “...That was cruel.”

Lucas walks away, and we see Nathan on the other side of the street.

Elizabeth doesn’t go to either of them.

And that’s the end of the episode.

--

Something I think needs to be mentioned is...the audacity of the writing this season. It feels bolder. Definitely better. The writers are taking their time and writing things that feel...mostly interesting or relateable. I never expected Lucas’s parents’ splitting up to be such a big deal to Lucas but adding that touch in there is just SO good. It makes me want to go back and watch the “date” scene where he explained how long it took his father to convince his mother to marry him. Any kind of story can be told in a way that it might sound romantic, or funny, or silly...when that isn’t the reality. 

It’s actually a bit of clever storytelling to take Romantic Lucas and turn the idea almost upside-down. Whether his parents were actually in love or not doesn’t matter (yet); he feels that something he believed in his whole life, something he’s wanted his whole life for himself...isn’t even real. Worse, I think, he had that long conversation with Elizabeth about his parents and how lovely things were there, and...she finds out first that it might have just been...something he made of the situation. 

And then... Elizabeth tells Lucas that love needs to be fought for. First of all, she told Helen it needed TO BE NURTURED and an a language nerd I’m a little annoyed that she used a different word with Lucas because...they aren’t the same thing. Nurturing is a tender sort of care, encouragement, growth. Fighting for love is a different beast.

But I still appreciated Lucas’s cool, irritated (frustrated?) response back. “What do you know about it?”

It’s a fair question. Who is she to give advice like that to Helen? I mean, objectively it’s good advice, but she hasn’t lifted a finger to fight for Lucas OR Nathan, and both men know it. She hasn’t worked to nurture her relationship with either of them. 

The only thing cruel about his response is the time and place of saying it, but like...it’s honest.

If she doesn’t love either man, she needs to say so. She needs to be honest. If she loves Lucas she needs to tell him. She needs to reach out first. If she loves Nathan she needs to tell him. She needs to reach out.

She’s making both of these men do all the work. They both have to be the ones to reach out. Over and over and over while she does the bare minimum to encourage them enough to keep trying. 

And the thing is, they’ve both been incredibly patient, certainly due to her situation. But their patience means she needs to be the one to reach out.

And she hasn’t. She won’t.

Fight for love? Nurture love? Please. What do you know about it, Elizabeth? 

--

I’m really curious to see where they’re going to go with this. I hope they give Elizabeth and someone else a good talk about it. Maybe Clara would be a good choice... Or she could ask Rosemary for her HONEST opinion so that Rosie can give it.

Very much looking forward to the next episode!

#when calls the heart #season 8 shenanigans #season 8 spoilers #character studies and information #analysis and meta discussion

[kpopisthereasonihavenolife]

His Prophet

BTS

Kim Taehyung/Reader [F]

Genre: God AU, romance, fantasy, protective Taehyung, arranged marriage vibes (kinda), kingdoms and castles, and medieval aspects dotted around, royal au sorta 

Words: 9.8k 

Warning(s):(Y/n is pushed around in one scene, is that a warning?)

a/n: go ahead and blame the GDA for this (and I was listening to creepypastas during work and one particular story’s ending twist inspired me in a non-spooky way). Also, I’d like to say it took 20 minutes for me to find a photo that wasn’t rejected by my computer to make this godforsaken banner. 

summary: The royal Sun God of Navern is a complete recluse; the polar opposite of what one would immediately assume of the God of the Sun should be.  Being the only God in his kingdom, he stayed within his castle walls- or at least it is assumed.  Staff and servants of the palace only see him occasionally in the halls or peering out into the gardens. It was the dreams of one certain townswoman who worked in a small library that he happens to run into one night that changes everything. 

The Kingdom as Navern was a prosperous kingdom, even if smaller in comparison to other neighboring kingdoms. Of it’s few larger cities and small towns, the capital city and home of the Navern Palace was named Vicious. The city was home to all sorts- merchants, blacksmiths, traveling priests and devoted followers of the kingdoms single God; any occupation or profession one would think of, it would probably be found in Vicious. 

However, what one thing masses defined as unordinary was a woman who could read and write and who was just as intelligent as a man living in a run-down, two-story library.  

The bottom floor of the brick build and metal-framed building was filled with bookshelves upon bookshelves of books of all kinds.  Fantasy and children books, adult novels of fiction and non, and documentation of the kingdom’s history.  Encyclopedias and thick bricks books of words and information that- if it had the right reader- could suck them in with knowledge.

The top story was closed off from the public.  Small living space was where the family of the library lived when the store was closed. A small living room with only two rooms and the kitchen was right off the far wall of the living room, not even a wall to separate the two.  It was small, but cozy for the small family of three.

In the past, this small library with two small step stools for high shelves and one small ladder used to belong to an old man and his wife.  They had a small child, a little girl when the couple was early into their middle-aged years. As that little girl grew up, her father taught her to read and write and would often raise her as if she were a son.  She still wore the suffocating dresses and low heeled shoes of a child as a requirement of her mother.  Her father had her help him with broken shelves and squeaky doors, learning a good chunk of labor in her early years. 

On the other hand, her mother still pampered her and grew her into a proper young lady.  Manners and ideals of a woman and one-day future housewife.  Cooking, cleaning, chores, shopping, sewing and all the factors that lead to proper womanhood.  Oddly enough, that little girl didn’t mind all the things she was taught.  

All her talents in both ladylike behavior and otherwise was an opportunity to learn.  And if the girl had anything it was craving for knowledge. She greatly enjoyed reading on the downtime she had and would often recommend books to the boys in her grade school- something she would regret as it lead to years of ridicule.  She was simply too smart for a girl. 

At the age of 13, this little girl lost her mother to sickness.  Catching a cold was all it was, but she just got worse and worse and her father couldn’t keep up with doctor bills.  Eventually, the sickness claimed the girl’s mother and it was just her father and her in the apartment and the library.  5 years later, when the girl is 18, she loses her father next.  

He had been called to help damper out a raging fire in the Nothern part of the city.  Some criminals had started a fire in the small prison to try and mask his escape.  

The older man never came back to the library, only a messager did to tell the girl that her father had been killed pursuing the escapee. Leaving the 18-year-old young lady, leaving you, to inherit the library fully. 

Things from then got painfully stressful for the better part of half a year.  Managing the library and your personal life.  Trying to get accustomed to running everything by yourself and not letting the snarky remarks of young men behind your back as you hammered loose bricks back into the outside bricks. Working day in and day out and also having to run errands for families in need for extra money kept you busy and balancing your schedule wore you out. 

There were many times you thought about giving up the library, no matter how much you loved it.  You came close so many times to that decision, but the memories of you and your family always made you rethink and keep the building in your possession.  Many men had come along and tried to buy it from you to wreck it down and rebuild something else where it stood- you always declined.  

Years went by and as time passed, things slid into a certain pace of ease and you were finally able to live comfortably. You were 24 years old now.  Still managing your library and keeping your home in shape, you also stood as an independent woman. No man or person of romantic interest simply because you had no interest or time for a partner at the moment.  Besides, the men in the city, or at least your part of it, had no interest in a woman who threatened to be smarter than him.  Bruised egos are a lethal attack to men it seemed. 

However, there were a handful of women who respected you a great deal with your knowledge and ability to disregard the judgemental stares and comments from others.  It wasn’t just men who sneered, but the women who were a bit too rich in both money and unrealism gave you stink eyes.  Sometimes the rich women were even more threatened than the men were even when they couldn’t count anything other than bills. 

You were busy restacking the shelves with books that had been returned that morning from mostly children and a few older generations.  Your dress wrapped around your torso as you wore your corset, looser than a lady should, and the skirt hitting your ankles.  You dusted your hands off with each finished task on the white apron tied around your waist.  Small, brown, worn-out flats covering your feet.  Working all day with heels just would not suffice. Your hair wrapped around your head in tied upbraids. Uncomfortable, but out of the way. 

You were more tired than the day before from the dream you had last night.  The dream wasn’t frightful per se, but something about it made you jolt awake.  Each time you went back to sleep, the same dream came back and the same dream woke you up.  It was hours before dawn when you decided to forget any further sleep and just get up.  An early start to the day wouldn’t be so bad.  It gave you time to take books off shelves and clean them only to restock them- a task tedious but long overdue. 

The dream was one set in your city, the city of Vicious. In fact, in each dream you were outside, just walking around running some sort of errand for the local older woman or fetching medicine for the bedridden old gentleman for a small bit of money.  And in each new errand and each new dream, you kept seeing the same people and the same faces you had grown up knowing.  However, it’s one person’s stature that always caught you off guard. 

The wore a brown, long robe with the hood always flipped up.  Masking their face and hiding their body, just walking down the path like every other citizen of Vicious.  You would always unconsciously think of them as a traveling beggar from some other town in Navern.  It was when the hooded figure moved to seemingly lift their head to look towards you when you always jolted awake.  Perhaps it was your brain trying to tell you that you woke up because whatever person that hooded figure was, wasn’t someone you had seen before. Without a proper face to register, you just woke up to avoid it altogether. 

You never got a fearful or unsettling feeling in your dreams or afterward, so you didn’t think too much of it.  However, it wasn’t just that night you had that dream.  It was present the night after and further on.  Night after night it was all sorts of different dreams with different errands and different people, but that one cloaked beggar always was present.  Still not giving you a feeling of discomfort, but the reoccurrence of this dream made you halfway convince yourself to spend some saved up money on a doctor’s trip. 

It’s that night when you contemplate medical aid that you had a dream set in a doctor’s den.  Sat in his dinky little office, but instead of a face, the doctor had a long mask on.  In fact, the whole doctor wasn’t even human, but a giant, humanoid raven with black feathers and dressed in a tailcoat of the most wealthy bank owner. Waking from that dream with a shiver and a line of sweat down your spine, you might actually consider that one a nightmare.  

You decided at nearly midnight to go out and clear your head with a walk.  It was a late and dangerous time for a woman to be out, but the idea of sleep made you shiver. Maybe some time to clear your head in the quiet nighttime would help ease you. 

Changing from one of your father’s old shirts that you wore to bed every night into your least flattering skirt and small poet’s blouse, you threw a shawl over your shoulders.  Not even bothering to tie your hair back.  It wouldn’t be a long stroll, just one to breathe in the clean air and take in the silence. When you looked out your window, you smiled as you saw the moon shining brightly overhead- even though it was only halfway through the new moon cycle.  It would light your path along with the small patterns set outside homes for those who had late-night workers as part of their family. 

Inside Navern Palace dwelled the Sun God of Navern, Luos. Luos was a God who was revered and respected, even as a shut-in God.  He ruled and took care of his kingdom from the comfort of his palace walls.  Any word he needed to hear of, he’d turn to his Water Mirror, a vase with a wide mouth and filled with water.  A few taps of Luos’s fingertips against the water, causing ripples and he could see to the furthest reach of his precious kingdom. 

He did love him home.  Navern was were he grew up as a human with a different, human name when the kingdom was first birthed.  His devoting to his home was what caught another God’s eye- the supreme God of all that was known.  When he died as a young man due to his efforts in fighting in a long war, the Ruler God revived him as something far greater than human and giving him the new name of Luos and the insignia of a butterfly. Thought, he never forgot his original name- and he refused to abandon it altogether. It would be like throwing the long memories of his deceased parents away and he absolutely would not do that. His original name stayed solely with him as he lived as Luos.  

Luos was not always a shut-in, in fact, he used to be rather outgoing and always spoke and hopped around from town to town among his kingdom.  But, many years ago, something changed and all of a sudden he closed his doors for good.  He wouldn’t set foot outside palace walls and on some days his palace servants couldn’t even get him to go out into the gardens full of sunflowers he so much loved. 

He’d been this way for nearly 20 years now.  Only the oldest in Vicious have a vague memory of their royal God walking the streets.  

It was never announced as to why Luos locked himself away into his own prison.  There had been no wars, no famine.  Crime had been on the lower side of the scale and he had no negative reputation with his people that was noted. However, he still made the ironclad decision and his people could do nothing to change his mind.  

However, it was nearly two weeks ago that he started to question his seclusion.  He had grown quite accustomed to his reclusive past couple of decades, but for the past couple weeks, he’s had this feeling gnawing at the back of his mind. He’d stand at one of his many grand windows just staring over the castle’s main gates to the rooftops of town across the thin, brick bridge that connected the castle to town over the clear watered mote surrounding his palace. 

It had been a long time since he had the urge to go out and see his capital again, however recently it had been the hardest urge to suppress in his day to day, reclusive life. The Sun God himself had changed vastly from when he had first started his Godly duties.  The thin, childlike innocent he used to hold in his face had matured out into a sculpted jaw and eyes that had seen many things and consumed more knowledge than humans could take in. 

“Perhaps I should select a prophet,” was his constant reoccurring thought recently.  The thought poured into his head one night when sleep had been actively avoiding him. He had heard in an old wise tale that when one cannot sleep, it is because someone else is dreaming of them.  He questioned the truth behind that because he had not set foot outside in so long, no one had the reason to dream of him at all. He was even more confused as to why he suddenly had the compelling idea to suddenly rope in someone to be a chosen prophet. 

Even when he thought about the suggestion, he could never think of a face or name that would fit the title.  He felt a nagging in his chest and with each possible candidate he could choose to help spread his word and ideals, the nagging would worsen.  It was as if his subconsciousness was rejecting each person he knew within the castle- almost pressuring him to go outside the palace. Perhaps he truly should.  Perhaps he should go and venture out into his capital and try to see if a single one person could cure this nagging that had begun to irritate him. 

So, late at night when the castle was quiet, he dressed in slacks, shirt, and cloak before he left.  Walking out of his room and throw the abandoned halls to the back gates of the palace, rounding around the entire castle to avoid as many guards as possible.  If he were seen leaving, the guards would most definitely make a fuss about it and the gossip would spread from Navern’s farthest board lined town before dawn. As far as anyone else was concerned, he still hadn’t stepped foot outside the palace perimeter.  

The moment his feet hit the loose dirt from across the mote’s bridge, he took a sharp breath.  It was like his soul had missed this feeling of his cities roads.  He felt at home already, even after all this time. He flipped up his hood, hiding his pitch-black hair and smiled as he stepped onward once more, a joyous hop in his step. The moon named Selene, guiding his way forward.  He looked up at her bright surface and smiled a silent thanks for invisible guidance.  The moon was always motherly towards him. 

Selene says she doesn’t play favorites, but Luos was definitely a favorite- even if she denies it. 

Your stroll outside was a quick as you wished it to be.  You walked to the wishing well of stone of ice-cold water in the center of Vicious as you sat on the thick stone of it.  The sounds of the water calmed you and the area chilled your skin even beneath your shawl enough to raise your skin in gooseflesh. The wind blew slightly in small wisps, making you unattractively breathe in strands of your hair.  

Fed up with it, you took the loose tied around your wrist you carried with you everywhere and began to sloppily tie your hair back at the low of your neck. Not very tight, but enough to keep it from entering your mouth and causing you to gag or choke again. 

It was very bright out for it being the middle of the night.  Part of you regretting now bring a book out with you.  You could easily read a chapter or two with the moon’s brightness this night.  You half contemplated going back home only to come back to the fountain and do just that when a small gasp sounded behind you. 

Jumping to your feet and whipping around, you were met with a cloaked figure with their hood flipped up.  You gasped lightly yourself.  It was just like your dreams and now you half expected yourself to bolt awake at home in bed.  You clenched your eyes shut, expected your mattress to be pushed against your back any moment, but nothing happened. You still breathed the fresh air, still heard the fountain’s water, and still felt the chilly air of the nighttime.  

You squinted your eyes open just a sliver, still seeing that cloaked figure across the fountain.  You squeezed your eyes closed against and reached under your shawl to your shoulder and pinched your skin.  The top trick in the books, if you want to wake up from a dream, pinch yourself. 

“Why are you hurting yourself?” You gasped as your eyes shot open.  You had been so preoccupied with yourself that you didn’t even hear this cloaked stranger walk over to stand in front of you.  Their deep voice had a silky tone to it and it was most definitely a male’s voice.  He stood so close to you, nearly toe to toe and yet you still could not see him under his hood.  Just like the dreams, his cloaked figure had no fae you could see. However, you’d never heard them speak before, so perhaps this was some sort of lucid dream? “Miss?” He spoke again. 

“I, um, I’m trying to wake up,” you dumbly replied.  A reply which made his shoulders shift- the only physical thing you could see as a response to your words. You then heard a small, low chuckle from beneath his hood. 

“Are you trying to say that you’re sleepwalking?” 

“Perhaps, I’ve been known to do remarkable things before,” you unconsciously spoke back in a teasing manner.  You then remembered that to most, and almost all, you weren’t supposed to speak to men so highly.  You were a woman of independence and held your head high despite your differences of other women, but the lessons of manners from your mother flooded back into your head.  You quickly took a step backward, leaning back and away from the stranger and covered your mouth with your fingertips. “I apologize for my tone!” 

The stranger quickly lifted his hand to his chest, palm towards you.  His cloak opened to show what seemed like black pants and a white shirt beneath it.  Boots tucked into his trousers.  You partial hoped he wouldn’t raise his hand higher and demand more respect like many, entitled men would without hesitation. 

“There is no need to apologize!” He quickly dismissed.  He lowered his hand back down, his cloak closing back again at his front. His pushed forward chest straightened back down as he saw you relaxed slowly but surely. “Why are you running about the city so late at night, Miss?” 

You bit back the urge to ask him the same thing in return but knew better than to avoid your basic ladylike manners again.  You cleared your voice, straightening back up. 

“I’ve had trouble sleeping for a while now.  I thought that perhaps the night air would help clear my mind.” You didn’t hear the small gasp he took in. 

“Trouble… sleeping?” You nodded towards him, brow raised at his curious tone.  He cleared his throat. “When did your trouble begin? Perhaps if you talk about it, it would help.” You contemplated his offer.  A listening ear of a stranger who offered willingly was far easier and cheaper than visiting a local doctor. You just looked up at him, head tuning in curiosity. 

“Are you truly willing to listen to my late-night woes? Me, a stranger.” 

The strange man turned around, backing up to the edge of the fountain and took a seat.  He just looked up at you with his hidden face and offered you to take a seat beside him. You relented and even though you didn’t know who this man was and you didn’t recognize the voice as anyone you may have met before, you felt oddly calm.  You sat next to him before speaking. 

“I suppose it started at the beginning of the month’s moon cycle.  When the moon was dark and unseen, that’s when it all began. So, a couple of weeks ago.” You fiddled with your fingers, looking at your lap instead of up at his hidden features.  You missed the man’s chin drop as he suppressed the urge to push his palm against his mouth in shock. He just remained still and rotated his hand to silently tell you to continue, not trusting his voice. You sighed. “I normally sit and read before trying to sleep again, but the dreams just keep reappearing over and over again.” 

“You can read?” He asked inquisitively. It wasn’t said in a disgusted tone, not even condescending.  He was genuinely curious. 

“I… can.  My father taught me when I was young and it would be odd if a librarian lacked the skill to read her own books.” He could tell by the way he put his hands together in his lap and pushed his legs up to his toes and back down that he wanted to know more. “My father’s library in town was passed to me when he passed.  My mother had already died so I had to learn to manage it on my own, but that was nearly 5 years ago now. I’ve put it behind me and it isn’t so bad as it seemed at the time.” 

“I apologize for your losses,” the strange offered his condolences. “However, I’ve not known many women to read and write efficiently. Are you ridiculed for it?” He asked lightly as if trying to avoid any conversational landmines. He smiled lightly with a small huff and looked down at your hands. 

“I am, very often honestly.  Truth be told, I seem to provoke men and the wealthy women of the city because of my skills.  I’ve tried teaching children, but their parents berate me. I’ve become deaf to their insults now, however.”

“You’re a respectable woman,” the strange told you.  The compliment seemed so truthful it sent you into a small recoil.  He chuckled as your reaction. “A strong, intelligent woman shouldn’t be deemed unordinary, but revered as a genius.  You all weren’t’ just made for family expansion and chores. Or so, I believe.” 

You burst out into a fit of laughter. You pushed your hand over your mouth, knowing it was late and if you were to wake anyone, they’d stalk into the city center with a stick or ladle, shooing the noisemaker away. You missed the small smile the stranger hid under his hood. 

“I apologize,” you forced between stifled laughs.  He shook his head. 

“No need, I think your laugh is beautiful.” 

You calmed down as you took a breath to regained your breathing. “I’m not sure where you come from, stranger, but you are vastly different from any other man I’ve met.” He was silent for a moment. 

“Believe it or not, I’ve lived in Navern for many years. I’m a bit of a recluse and don’t get out much.  I work from home, in a sense.” 

“Is that right?” You asked, a teasing hint of skepticism. 

“I swear to Luos himself,” He said, cringing at his words.  You nodded. You both continued to sit and talk for a while longer before the moon had moved drastically in the sky.  The stranger was soon standing, taking your hand gently to help you to your feet.  His fingers seemed to linger on your skin as he let your hand go. “It’s getting far too late for a lady to be out. I’ll walk you home,” he offered with no room for rejection. 

When you both stood outside your home, the stranger looked through the dark windows.  The outlines of filled shelves sketching over his vision.  Looking up, he saw a window, probably to your room away from your shop.  You removed the thick, cooper key from around your neck that was on a rope of leather before slotting it into the door. Turning it to click it open. You turned back to the stranger. 

“Thank you for your company tonight. I really did appreciate being able to speak and be myself without being sneered.” Your voice was soft and filled with genuine happiness. 

“I can guarantee that your company and conversation pleased me far more than you.  It has been far too long since I spoke to someone.” His voice was soft and calm, you could hear the smile on his face. “Next time, let’s talk inside and in the daylight instead of sitting outside in the cold.” 

“You would come to visit me, wouldn’t you?” You teased lightly. You were shocked when he nodded immediately. “Well, if that’s the case, could I see your face?” You gently asked, not wanting to pressure him.  He was still a stranger, but you felt so calm and easy about him.  You just wanted to see him just once- but perhaps he would decline your request. He had his hood up this whole time without movement to lower it. 

“I don’t usually show my face outside of my home,” he started and your face started to fall, “however, I think I can make this exception.” Your fae jumped back up as you bit back a smile of victory. He lifted his hands to open his cloak and grip the sides of his hood.  Pushing the fabric back, your smile fell into the face of awe. 

He was gorgeous. Long, black hair that brushed passed his eyes.  His eyes dark but light reflected off them in specs of the most wondrous color. His hair was curled with waves and framed his face well.  His jaw is wide and sharp.  His voice seemed to fit his face a far better than you couldn’t have ever imagined.  He chuckled at your reaction to his face. He put his hands on either side of his neck before dropping them.  

“For the first time tonight, it seems you do not have any words left,” he jested. 

You just licked your dry lips and hid your face, trying not to let your cheek heat too much.  “May I ask one more request?” 

“I suppose,” he drawled. You picked at your fingers, nails tapping together. 

“May I ask your name if I offer mine back?” You gingerly looked up at him, eyes looking up first before your head lifted in follow. You could see a small jolt of hesitation at your question. “You don’t have to if you don’t want to. I’d recognize you anywhere even without your name.” He took that as a compliment of compelling looks. 

He faltered in his step as he moved to take your hand, raising it to push the back of your knuckles to his lips.  His eyes closed gently as he kissed your hand, your mouth opening and your cheek flaring in the cold night breeze.  He opened his eyes as you noticed that one eye had a monolid while the other was double eye lidded. He smiled widely, the purest and cutest smile you’d ever seen. 

“Call me Taehyung,” he cheered lightly. He dropped your hand, as you offered your name back with a small flustered stutter. Y/n was a wonderful name and fit you perfectly.  He watched you go inside and even saw your shadow trot up the back staircase to your apartment.  He looked at the top window and saw a dim light of a lantern you had just lit before he smiled.  

He did feel a bit guilty for not telling you the name he went by now was Luos, but Taehyung was the only name he felt he should give you.  His original name was much less intimidating than the Sun God Recluse, Luos. He flipped his hood back up and made quick work of his way back to the castle. Already impatient to see you again and without him really noticing, the nagging in his chest had subsided. 

It was two weeks ago when your dream started to subside. That night you spent talking with Taehyung for so long seemed to take your dreams away.  You were shocked when he showed up at dusk, knowing at your library door the very next night.  He claimed he couldn’t wait to see you again, so here he was.  You immediately let him inside without a hassle.  

You’ve been talking with Taehyung for two weeks and you greatly enjoyed everything about him.  His attitude was uplifting and even when he spoke about topics that angered him, his anger was justice and the points to support his rage were solid.  He was knowledgable and well versed in many things.  The conversation never died with him. 

You were comfortable with him, especially since he always marveled at your abilities.  He watched with awe as you caught you repaired a shelf once, and nearly ate enough for four men when you cooked for him the first time.  He could read well but preferred hearing you read to him, claiming to love hearing your voice.  

It was no mystery how fast you were falling for Taehyung. The romance was something you didn’t think was optional for you, but Taehyung waltzed into your life at night and wasn’t a creepy serial killer. Taehyung had seriously raised your bar of men’s standards and he probably had no idea how you inside turned into mush when he showed up at your home with his giant, wide smile. 

Taehyung also always only visited you when night was falling and always cloak. However, it was early in the morning once when he decided he couldn’t wait another long day to see you again.  Sneaking out of the castle was harder in the morning, but possible. Still cloaked and hooded, he hid his small smile from the sun’s shadow. His smile wilted when he saw the corner of your library-home come into view.  

You had just unlocked the library door and moved to put the hanging ‘open’ sign you had painted and decorated with Taehyung one night to symbolize for people to come and go as they please. He wanted to smile at the idea of you using it, but the young men around your age coming towards you made his teeth grind. 

You had just hung your sign on the front window of the door on the small nail you had put on the door a few nights ago when you felt a small shove on your shoulder.  Your dress today hit the ground and you nearly toppled over by stepping on the fabric. Your corset of white pushed the dress against your stomach, pushing your chest up, and your torso felt pain as you nearly bent over in the course that was tight. 

You regained balance with a small huff as you adjusted your apron on your front. The two men were two fellow rude boys you had grown up with.  They had yet to outgrow their childish bullying, and you doubt they were would.  You figured they should just marry each other at this point. With rotten, toxic attitudes like theirs, there is no way they’d find wives. 

One man, a small sprout of bone was Lix. The other was a bit broader, but no looker for sure; he was named Horan. Lix was more a verbal fighter, not having much strength when it came to fist to fist confrontation. Horan was the opposite.  He was dead stupid, but his power balanced out what Lix didn’t have.  It was a poetically stupid match made in some twisted heave.  

Lix turned to your sign before taking it off the door and looking it over.  A small frown on his face as he’s eyes squinted.  

“What awful handwriting!” He crowed, even if your handwriting was a perfect script. “I knew it, women should stick to cleaning and looking after little rugrats,” he spits before he threw your sign with a flick to his right.  The wooden plack spun as it descended and hit the road with a puff of dirt.  You gasped lightly before you ran towards it. 

Kneeling in the dirt, you picked it up, the road sticking to your fingertips and filtering under your nails in grounded, small pieces.  Dirt would be pushed into your apron and you’re sure you’d have to dust it and wash it all out later. When you looked at the sign in your lap as you knelt on your knees, you recalled how happy Taehyung looked when it as down.  Your eyes began to tear. 

There was a small murmur of on-lookers who watched the two men push at you.  You knew you had no authority to act out, even if you wanted so badly to shout at them. You’d have no ally if you did, no one stood in your corner.  You were alone and the fact that everyone watching and gossiping you get pushed around didn’t move to help you, only proved your point. 

You could only stamp your feet and curl your fingers around the wooden, painted ‘open’ sign as you held your tears back.  Lix started marching up behind you, you could tell from the dainty footsteps he took.  Horan’s was much more heavy in terms of his weight. You could feel his presence right behind you, the looming feeling of this man looking down on you. He kicked dirt at your back, debris mixing into your hair and rolling down your dresses back from the collar as you shivered at the sensation.  

You felt pathetic as you just let it happen. You could feel him step closer and the shadow you saw from your side showed him reaching out towards you. You expected him to grab your hair and pull you to sit straight. You just shut your eyes in a panic to avoid anyone seeing your unshed tears. 

Lix’s nasty grip never came.  Instead, a near set of steps rushed from in front of  you and came to halt. A shadow of someone blocking the sun from you clouded your shut eyes as you peeked them open. A pair of black boots were in front of your down casted vision. You could vague hear Lix squawking in pain before the new arriver stepped around you and shoved Lix back.  You heard his ass his dirt as he whined.  Horan was soon stomping to defend his attacked friend, but soon the stomping stopped. 

You lifted your head, turning to your back to see who had interfered. You didn’t know of any townsfolk would who defend you. A woman who was so vastly different from others. Your mouth opened to a quivered form as your tears fell. That familiar cloak a blessing to your eyes. 

“Taehyung,” you whimpered. You weren’t shocked to see him, you were just relieved to see you had someone to help you.  You cried further when you realized you finally had someone in your corner.  Taehyung protected you and he had flipped down his hood.  His hair was even more beautiful shining off the sun.  You wanted to see his eyes in this light- it was probably more breathtaking than seeing them in the candlelight of lanterns. 

Horan remained still, frozen mid-charge. Taehyung glared at him and it was blood-chilling enough to freeze the unintelligent giant in his tracks and even silence the gossip of others.  Some even moved to remain their work, trying to play coy as if they hadn’t witnessed the assault without assistance. Lix had picked himself off the ground, not sure where to move to, Taehyung eyes burning them into place. 

“Make yourself scarce,” was all he seethed.  A threat underlined in his words.  Lix and Horan were quick to flee. Taehyung’s shoulders slackened as he turned to you, sitting in the dirt and holding the sign in your arms to your chest, hugging it as if it were some precious treasure. His eyebrows dipped, sad to see your tears.  He moved to you, kneeling to rub his palm against your wet cheek and push his fingertips into your hair, combing out bits of dirt. 

He raised his eyes over you, looking at the people still cocky enough to keep starring.  He glared again. “Return to your duties and mind your business!” He yelled, everyone obeying without hesitation and soon all eyes were off you. Taehyung looked softly back at you before he gently picked you off the ground. 

Walking you into your store, he took the sign and set it gently on the window sill. He locked the door once you both were inside. He rubbed your arm softly as you palmed at your eyes, trying to dry them. Taehyung moved to stand in front of you, grabbing your cheeks and bending to look into your glasses, red eyes.  He rubbed your skin with his thumb, his large hand holding your head. 

“Let’s not open up right now,” he whispered so softly to you. You nodded, not able to trust your voice yet. “He gently pushed his lips on your forehead, his brows crunching as he held his lips against your skin for several seconds, feeling pain in his chest from seeing your own pain. H epulled from your forehead before he grabbed your hand.  “Let’s go upstairs. You have tea? I’ll make you some” You just nodded again, following him upstairs. 

Taehyung spent that day with you. He cleaned your face and wiped your tears.  He reassured you and made you speak your frustrations. He took care of you in a way you didn’t think a man ever would.  He made you change out of your corset and set your apron in the wash bin to soak the dirt stains out. He brushed your hair out before he sloppily pinned it up. He stayed by you all day and far into the night.  When you fell asleep that night, you shocked to wake up the next morning without a single dream to plague you. Even more shocking, you gasped lightly when Taehyung was sleeping in front of you, eyes shut easy and arm under his head as a pillow.  

He never left your side. All that previous and all night, he was there.  You cupped your mouth as a wae of resh tears spilled over the side of your face.  You pushed your face into Taehyung’s neck, startling him awake as he rubbed your back.  

“What’s wrong/ Tell me? Did you have a nightmare?” You just shoo your head as you hiccup. “Y/n?” You cried tears of relief and realization as you finally attempted to yourself that you were in love with Taehyung. So very much in love with him. 

He left the night of day two he had been with you. He wanted to stay longer, stay forever if he could, but he knew he had to get back to the palace.  One day without his appearance wasn’t odd, many assumed he was probably locke din his room. However, any longer and he feared someone would grow nosey. 

He left you that night as you flushed at the kiss he pushed on your forehead. He held your hand softly before he flipped his hood up and ran off.  You went back upstairs, suddenly exhausted and fell into sleep. 

The next morning, you woke up to the murmur outside.  You rubbed your eyes, going to your window and opening it.  There were people whispering with cupped hands as they pointed to your library.  You assumed they were still talking about the debacle two days prior with Lix and Horan. It wasn’t until you came downstairs when you saw two people standing with their backs to the front windows of your library. 

Unlocking the door and opening it, the two people turned to you. They were both men and dressed in guard uniforms. They were from the palace and part of your blood froze. Why were castle guards standing at your storefront? You swallowed as you greeted them. 

“Good morning, gentlemen,” you greeted trying to remain calm. One stood forward, holding a spear in his arms as the tip pointed high to the sky. He seemed to be the higher rank of the duo. 

“Fine morning, Miss.  I do not wish to alarm you, but we have immediate orders to escort you into Navern Palace.” 

“What?” You choked. You took the time to look around again. You noticed that instead of all judgmental eyes, some gazes were envious or even respectable. They looked at you like you were some higher being or had some power over them. You crunched your brow. 

You were ready to talk to the guards when you felt someone run into your back, knocking you forward a step. You turned around and saw Lix, Horan in front of him his arms stretched out. The bigger man had pushed the smaller and the look Lix gave you when he saw it was you he rammed into was one of almost terror.  He straightened out as he stood beside Horan, both bowing deeply towards you. 

“We’re sorry!” He cried as they ran off like scared children.  Your brows flicked up higher.  What in the world was that? Were they scared Taehyung would show up again? You momentarily forgot about the guards until one cleared their throat to gain your attention back. The one who spoke to you scolded his underling. 

“Do not force her attention by force in such a rude manner!” He shouted as you quickly hushed him. 

“No! It’s fine! I’m not offended or anything.” You sighed when the higher-ranked guards only bowed to you and offered his thanks, the younger mirroring his actions. “So, I’m to go to the palace?” You asked, trying to restart the original conversation. The guards stood right up again. 

“Yes, Miss.  Luos has asked for you.” YOu gasped lightly. 

“God Luos asked to see me?!” The guards nodded.  Your mouth grew dry as you swallowed to try and find saliva.  You licked your dry lips.  “I- okay.” You relented.  If the God of your kingdom really did request you there, you had to go.  You hoped he didn’t mind librarian clothes and a slightly stained apron.  You had no time to change and get ready as the guards had begun to usher you off after you locked your library door. 

As you walked with the two men, you watched some children smile and wave you. Some women stared in awe at you as if they knew something you didn’t. Men looked at you in caution as if they were committing a crime if you met their gaze.  What possibly could’ve happened overnight to get gazes on you in a totally different light? 

The moment you crossed the brick bridge across the mote and stood at the giant gates of the palace, you looked in open-mouthed awe.  The castle was a gargantuan wonder up close.  It took your breath away. The sides of it were as beautiful as the Sun God it housed you were sure.  The idea of you probably meeting the God of the Sun, Luos made your stomach turn.  He had been silent for so long, what did he suddenly pop back into the public gossip for? And to summon you of all people in Navern?

You were lead to a wide, open, beautiful throne room. The throe at the back of the room at the end of the long, golden rug and up 4 steps of marble was empty. No God was there. You stood walking closer to the throne and taking in the fabric, patterns, and creation of it.  Itw as a wonderfully beautiful chair. You gasped with enough force to knock the breath out of you when the heavy, tall doors of the throne room wheezed open again and a voice echoed behind you. 

“Would you like to have a seat on my throne?” The voice so scarily familiar and you hesitated to turn around. Surely your mind was playing tricks on you. There was no way. You heard the echoing steps come closer to you as your back remained towards him. Luos was behind you, that you knew for sure- he addressed this throne you stared wide-eyed at as his after all. You felt him stop behind you, his loom presence burning at your back. “Will you not turn to look at me?” His voice was lower, quieter. You gripped your have stained apron as you took one step forward, putting distance between you and he as you then slowly stepped around to face him.  

Your eyes were focused at his feet.  He walked barefoot.  Golden anklets around his skin. His trousers were black as they were rolled at his shins.  Following his pant legs up, his white shirt was long and loose on his body. Following it up higher, you saw a golden robe of printed suns adorn his shoulders and you could vaguely see bracelets of gold wrap up his forearms like guards. A thick golden collar of jews around his neck and a crown of golden spikes sat on the crown of his head. Dramatic and much like the rays of the sun. 

This was Luos and as you looked into his eyes at his face, you gasped.  This was Taehyung.  

“I hope the sudden call to my home wasn’t too alarming, Y/n,” he told you softly. He could see the confusion in your eyes, but you weren’t screaming yet so he considered it progress.  You just stood there, gaping at him in silence. He reached out and brushed the back of his fingers against your cheek, making you flinch, but not back away from him.  He smiled softly. “Is who I am truly that shocking?” 

You didn’t know how to politely say ‘yes it fucking is shocking’, because the man you’ve been visiting with the past two weeks was a God.  You gasped, taking another step backward.  He rose his brow in confusion as his hand hovered in the air now. You had let the God of Navern into your rackety all home. You gazed at him in starstruck gazes for hours before. You had told him so many personal events and facts about yourself and you began to flush.  

Luos, God of Navern’s Sun had picked your pushed and bullies body off the dirt road just two days ago and had stayed at your home with you alone for over 24 hours. Your cheeks grew darker.  

You had fallen in love with Luos and you didn’t even know it. 

Was that wrong? You started to inwardly panic.  Was it against some scared law of Gods for a human woman who was clearly outcasted from her city to fall for a God? Even if it was unknown to you in the time you were falling, would it be punishable by some degree? Was that why he called you here?! Had he seen through your obvious red faces and stuttering and brought you heard to punish you for your feelings that you should or should’ve been feeling? 

Taehyung stepped forward, seeing your mind start to flip.  He grabbed your shoulders and pushed his lips against your forehead.  Just as he had before.  He closed his eyes, hoping and praying that you wouldn’t change just because of who he was.  He was guilty of hiding the ruth from you, but what choice did he have? He was a shut-in God only a couple of weeks ago, but now he was determined to change it all. And he’d need the help of a prophet for that. 

“Calm down, dear,” he soothed.  His warm hands pushed against your covered shoulders and you did start to calm. Trying to ignore your warming ears at the endearing name.  He felt you slacken after some time and moved to look at you again, stepping just a bit away from you. “Are you alright now?” You nodded.  He took his hand and pushed your hair from your face to see you clearly.  He smiled at your flushed cheeks. “Red is a color that suits you,” he teased. 

You were silent as you looked at your feet.  Biting back a ‘shut up’ because in all honesty, how do you talk to him now? Wasn’t it rude to be so direct to a Sun God. A royal God who lived in the royal palace of his own kingdom.  You had to watch what you say and say it all respectfully. Taehyugn seemed to know your thoughts as you felt his thumb rub beneath your ear, his hands dipping under your jaw to lift your head up to meet his gaze. 

“Do not change yourself because you see me as Luos. My name truly is Taehyung and everything I’ve told you about myself these past weeks is all truthful. I’ve never once lied and I never once will.” He dipped his eyelids, his eyes pleading with you to believe him. “I don’t want to appear different to you now, so don’t treat me any differently.” 

You raised your hand to push over his that held your jaw the other staying fisted loosely around your apron. Taehyung smiled at your palm’s warmth. He watched you take a deep breath through your nose before pushing it out of your lips. You looked up at him warily. 

“I won’t get punished for being blunt to a God?” You asked carefully. You were blunt, yes; but you were always careful of your words towards him. He smiled. 

“Of course not. Why would you be punished if the God you’re speaking to gave you pardon?” You finally smiled a small bit. One that made Taehyung break out into a smile so large he nearly let out a small giggle at you. The way he held your jaw and squished your cheek combined with your small smile, he almost pushed dimples into your cheeks. 

You both stood in silence for a while before Taehyung dropped his hands from your jaw and moved to hold your hands in his. Threading his fingers with yours.  He was affectionate before, sure.  He would often plop his head into your lap as you read to him and of course he slept beside you that one night he decided not to leave your side. However, his laced fingers with your brought warmth to your chest. 

“Do you remember when you talked to me about your dreams that first night we met?” You nodded. “You remember when you explained that the hooded figure would always appear and you’d wake up?” You nodded again, not sure where he was going with this. “Well, I think that actually was me.” You lightly breathed in an air of confusion. “Sometimes,” he began, “humans are born with something close to supernatural powers. Some can move objects without physical touch, some can see pasts and futures of people, others can even control the mind of others. Then, there are some like you, who are shown prophetic dreams of things to come.” 

“Come to think,” you started with a raising brow, “my dreams did stop after that first night we met. I just thought it was because I finally talked about them. However, you’re saying-”

“I believe you were meant to have those dreams and you were meant to meet me that night. That night I felt like I met someone I was always destined to. Prior to that, I had this nagging in my chest,” he lifted his hand to push against his torso, “and it compelled me to go out into town. It cannot be coincidental that I met you that and the nagging abandoned me.” 

Taehyung stopped his talking before he looked over your shoulder.  He took your intertwined hands and moved to drag you towards his throne. Helping you to not trip up the marble steps, he soon stood with you at his throne of gold. He held your hands tightly. 

“Navern is my precious kingdom I care so much for. I’ve had my time of being reclused and I need to go back into my kingdom and reclaim it with new eyes.  I cannot do that on my own. I need someone to help me and to help keep me balanced and straight. They will also help keep my words strong to my people who believe in me and my Sun.” He took a deep breath before he removed on hand from yours and took to his pocket, pulling a scarlet red sash from his trousers that had a hair comb wrapped inside of it.  

It was a beautiful piece. A golden frame with solid, silver teeth with gaps made to avoid severe tugging of the hair.  You slowly reached out with the hand not held by Taehyung as you ran your fingers over its heavy glory. 

“It’s beautiful,” you told him as he smiled. 

“I know. It belonged to my mother. A long, long time ago.” You looked up at him with a bit of sadness in your eyes.  You knew how he loved his parents, he had told you all about them one night and got a bit more emotional than he’d like to admit recalling so many memories. “I want you to have this now.” 

“What?” You breathed. 

“Y/n,” he put the comb and it’s scarlet fabric in your open palm before he brought your other hand up to sandwich the comb in your hands.  His hands around your own before he lifted them to his forehead. “I want you to help me regain the social regime I have let die. I want you to wake up in this palace day by day with me. I want you to stay here and use this comb as you stay with me as my chosen Prophet.” His voice cracked like he was going to cry admitting it all.  “I’ve never-,” he took a breath, “I’ve never been in love before. I died too young so long ago I never experienced it. However, I know now I’m positive that I’m falling in love with you.” 

Your breath was sucked out of your lungs like a vacuum because of his words.  “Do,” you started small, gaining his attention as he looked at you, lowering your hands back down, still holding them tightly. The comb’s cold material warming in your palms. “Do you really mean all of that?” You squeaked. 

He nodded so quickly as he took a step closer.  His nose was inches from you as he looked down at you. His feet stood between your shoes as he looked back and forth between your eyes.  He truly was a beautiful man. “Yes.  I swear, I-I mean everything.” He was so fearful you’d say no to him. What would he do if you left this palace and didn’t take his words with you? Would he still be able to visit you in town at the library? Would you avoid him? Shun him? He was scared of the negatives. 

“What would happen to the library?” You asked softly. He knew it was important to you. Rundown and aged, yes, but it’s the place you spent your life with your family before they were gone. Taehyung wouldn’t let anything happen to that small, cramped home of yours. He loved it just as much as you. It’s where he spent so much time with you and learned so much about you. Where he ate with you and comforted you and slept beside you. 

Taehyung loved that library. 

“I’d keep it safe. I don’t want anything to happen to that library or your apartment you claim. It’s so precious to me now. I’d make sure no one got inside it to vandalize or. Nothing would happen to it and I’d keep it safe from ruin. If something is weak, I’d work to rebuild and fix it.” 

“You’d do that for a small library when you have such a grand castle?” 

“In a heartbeat. That’s the place I got to spend so many memories with you,” he softly admitted out loud. “You don’t need to agree to my request,” he told you, heartbreak in his voice.  He wouldn’t force his wishes on you, no- never would he do that. 

You slowly pulled your hands from his, opening your palms to see the golden comb in all it’s beauty again.  You then handed it to Taehyung, having him hold it as you unraveled your messy, braided hair.  Holding locks of it ver your shoulder, you looked at him and smiled. 

“Can such a comb even brush such messy hair?” Taehyung’s face nearly split in two at the smile that erupted into his face.  He wrapped his arms around your shoulders, lifting you off your feet and toes to hold you so tightly.  YOu felt his chest breathe heave, relieved sighs.  He set you back down on your feet.

He moved to kiss you again, but not on the forehead.  No, this time his lips fell beneath your eye.  He kissed you and when he pulled his lips from your skin a small mark had begun to outline onto your skin. Shining with golden light before forming the shape of a butterfly, his insignia animal. He smiled again as he moved to sit you down into his throne.  

He then moved to kneel in front of you, taking your hand and kissing your knuckles much like the night he first met you when he left you for the first time.  He kissed your knuckles before he smiled up at you with his innocent, childlike smile. 

“We’ll have to get you accustomed to the castle, my dear,” he giggled.  He began to lead you to a room of seamstress servants to exchange your ordinary librarian clothes with fine, silk robes of the Sun’s golden glow. 

The only thing he kept secret from you now, was the fact that not only were you his Prophet, he also may have told the townspeople that if they mess with his fiance and future wife again, he, the God Luos would not be pleased. Of course, you didn’t have to know you were engaged quite yet.

a/n pt.2 - Tell me all what you think! I spent 5 hours writing this in one sitting and I’m pretty proud of it ngl. So lmk!!

#btsboulangerie #btsbookclub #btswriterscollective #kim taehyung #v #bts #bts kim taehyung #bts taehyung #bts v #taehyung fic #taehyung fanfic #taehyung fanfiction #v fic #v fanfic #v fanfiction #taehyung au #au #god au #god taehyung #sun god taehyung #taehyung romance #taehyung x reader #v x reader #taehyung x reader au #v x reader au #v romance #oneshot #taehyung oneshot #v oneshot #bts oneshot

[of-wrens-and-whirlwinds-blog]

What’s a King to a Schoolmaster?

First commission by the ever-wonderful @turtletotem! Commission info is here!

~

Being king, Edward mused, was absolute shit.

Having been a prince, he was jaded to all this luxury. The power would’ve been fun, except if he wanted to keep the throne until his wife had a baby, he had to share it with the councils. This wasn’t even a big country and he was tired of ruling it. What he would give for a fine, strong son to take the throne so he could move far away and be a goatherd or something.

“Daydreaming again, sire?”

Edward perked up and turned with a grin to his oldest friend and current guard captain. “More like pouting,” he replied, “But I suppose the day’s getting better.”

Wilhelm smiled back a little, lop-sided. “Her majesty the queen is anxious to see you again,” he informed the king.

Edward scoffed and waved his hand. “She’s always anxious. That’s why Father picked her, because she’s anxious and if she kills me no one will suspect her.”

Wilhelm stopped smiling. “That was fast,” he remarked. “Do you hate her already?”

“No, but I suspect she hates me. I give her everything she wants and never ask for anything except her presence at state functions and an heir. She wants to be needed and I can’t give her that.” Edward shrugged and stretched, smirking as Wilhelm’s eyes flicked up and down his body. The current court fashions were tighter than Edward liked, but if it made Wilhelm flustered, he’d take it. It was always fun to fluster Will. “Poor lady. Maybe I’ll run away as soon as she has a child,” he mused. “Boy or girl.”

“That would not do, sire,” Wilhelm said stiffly. “You are still king.”

“And you are still obsessed with honor.” Edward stood, walked over, and yanked Wilhelm down for a quick kiss. “I’m telling you, a little chicken-blood, signs of a struggle, and we can make it look like you killed me and ran away. We can be goatherds together!”

Wilhelm finally, actually smiled, and put his hand on Edward’s waist. “Eddie, you don’t know shit about goats,” he retorted, but fondly. “And I can’t make cheese. So there.”

Edward laughed and embraced him.

~

It was another holiday feast, and Edward was bored out of his mind.

Sarah was having fun, talking to the other court ladies and comparing notes on whose secret lover was better. Edward didn’t mind that she had a lover. Someone to make her happy, keep her sane in this endlessly boring existence as queen. Well. He assumed it was boring.

Wilhelm was looking handsome, as usual, shadowing Edward as he stood by the fireplace and discussed the military with some of his nobles. Edward hated the military part of ruling, but the Vassa Legions were gathering next door and his ministers were nervous about war. Gods, they were so nervy.

Edward looked around the ballroom, and frowned. Everyone looked nervous. Was he missing something? He’d have to ask his spymaster what was going on. Or Wilhelm. Wilhelm always knew.

Finally, finally, his ministers drifted away, and Edward strolled over to sit in his throne again. A servant hurried over and handed him a goblet of wine. Edward nodded his thanks and toyed with the goblet, not really in the mood for more alcohol. Wilhelm drifted up to him and leaned down to murmur, “Sire, I suggest you and Queen Sarah adjourn early. There’s too much tension.”

“Oh, so you noticed it too.” Edward looked around again, frowning once more. No one would meet his eyes. “Huh. I think I will take your advice. How should I approach Sarah?”

Wilhelm raised one dark eyebrow and looked aggrieved. “Sire, you know I am exactly the wrong person to ask about that,” he replied dryly.

Edward coughed to hide a laugh. Yes, he did know. Wilhelm had never had a lover, woman or man; he just wasn’t interested in anyone, he’d told sixteen-year-old Edward, blushing.

Well, that was alright. Edward wasn’t very much into lovers, either. So sweaty, and what did one get out of it? A few minutes of pleasure that you could easily get on your own if you had the privacy? No, better to spend his nights reading and sleeping, although he always remembered to do his duty by Sarah.

Just as Edward set down his goblet and stood, Wilhelm straightening and stepping back to give him room, the doors of the ballroom slammed open, and armed men in chainmail swept in. Everyone shouted or screamed, and scurried away; but it all sounded fake and looked practiced. Edward glanced at Sarah; she was smiling. She looked over at Edward and said softly, “Sorry about this, Eddie.”

Edward grinned back. “No harm done,” he assured her cheekily. “If you’ll excuse me, I’m off to be a goatherd.”

She looked stunned, but then Wilhelm grabbed Edward’s arm and dragged him to the secret door.

It was quite interesting, how the rest of the king’s guard did not seem to be in their places. Wilhelm swore under his breath as he hustled Edward up the stairs, to the emergency exit.

“So this is what I get for spending my days with the new recruits,” he muttered furiously. “They all turn on me like dogs.”

“Oh, no,” Edward drawled, panting, because despite his joking he really was frightened enough to run. “Whatever shall we do? We’ll have to go into hiding. You know, my mother’s family has this lovely castle they never visit, we could hide there—”

“Shut up, Eddie.”

Edward shut up.

They made it to his quarters, barely. Wilhelm grabbed Edward’s sword off the wall and tossed it to him; he caught it easily and buckled it on. They had planned this, and practiced. There was a small bag under Edward’s bed containing loose, rough clothes, and several purses scattered in secret places. They gathered all of these quickly, as someone started hammering on the door. Then, while Edward slung on his cloak, Wilhelm opened the second secret door, which led into the stair way down into the dungeons. Built by one of Edward’s forefathers who liked to get off on watching people being tortured. But from the dungeons, they could get to the stables.

They followed this program quickly, and Edward began to tremble as he realized that they couldn’t hole up in a castle. They really would have to travel secretly to a barely-civilized part of the country for protection.

No more wines, he thought in a detached manner as Wilhelm slew two men who tried to stop them. No more velvets and jewels. He pulled off his signet ring and crown and dropped them in a pile of horse manure. No more fine dining and the newest books.

But also, no more being royal.

That thought made Edward suddenly happy. He was still terrified for his life, as he saddled his mare Breeze and jumped in her saddle, and following Wilhelm out of the stables, to gallop to the gate and out into the royal city. Crossbow bolts whizzed past his ear, but Breeze was faster, and soon they were in the silent city streets, sticking to shadows and avoiding the City Guard.

“So,” Edward whispered, as Wilhelm looked around sharply, “Where shall we go?”

Wilhelm hesitated, then sighed. “We should leave the continent,” he murmured back. “Or, at least pretend to. We should continue south, anyway; much more land to search to the south.”

“True enough.”

They rode in silence, far into the morning. They stopped in the woods, by a stream, and sat down while their horses rested. And then Edward felt tears in his eyes.

“Damn it!” he snarled, thumping his knee with his fist. “I told her! I told her if she asked I’d abdicate in her favor! What is it with royalty thinking they have to kill people to get what they want?!”

Wilhelm reached over and put his hand over Edward’s fist. Automatically, he uncurled it, and wove his fingers tightly with Wilhelm’s. “There was always a chance you’d come back, or others would rally around you,” he said gently. “No royal worth their salt would allow that, even if she did believe that you would never try for the throne. What if you had a son who challenged hers? The web of politics is not straightforward.”

Edward leaned over to lean his head on Wilhelm’s shoulder. “Can I be a goatherd now? They live such simple lives.”

Wilhelm sighed. “No, Eddie. We can set up as a disgraced merchant and his bodyguard in some small city, and you can be a tutor. You like teaching, don’t you?”

“Well, yes,” Edward admitted. “It was fun, teaching those youngsters about economics. But would it work?”

“It will work,” Wilhelm replied firmly. “We will make it work.”

~

If one were to ask the jovial, aging schoolmaster and his quiet blacksmith friend where they had come from, Schoolmaster Ed would laugh, and Blacksmith Will would just shake his head and smile.

“Oh, it doesn’t really matter,” Ed would chuckle. He still had an accent when he spoke. “They didn’t want me there, anyway.”

Will would just shake his head and refuse to answer.

Some of the town gossips were sure they were… peculiar. But there were never any signs. They lived together, and if one were to watch through their window (which, given the fact that their cottage was smack in the middle of the street, was never unnoticed), Ed liked to read aloud to Will, and they sometimes fell asleep on the same couch. But nothing else.

One bold young girl, Niamh, snuck out from her foster home one night before she could be caught and hurt (the wheelwright had a nasty temper and took it out on everyone) and crept into the back garden of the schoolmaster and the blacksmith, just in time to hear Ed say, “I got a letter today, from Sarah! She said she’s given birth to twins!”

“She found us?” Will asked sharply, and Niamh shrank back in the bushes, frightened by his tone.

“Yes, but it’s fine, my love. Her new husband has straightened out those courtiers too annoying to be useful, and now the country is stable again. Just in time for the births. She asked if you would mind terribly if she named one after you, the only loyal man in court.” Here, Ed faltered. “I… haven’t written back yet. Do you have anything to say to her?”

A long moment. Then Will sighed. “Tell her I thank her for the honor, and for thinking of me. That’s all I have to say to the woman who tried to have you killed.”

“Oh, but didn’t I tell you?” Ed said merrily. “She laid out the entire plot in that letter, every scrap of detail, she said because she couldn’t live without me knowing. They weren’t going to kill me! Rough me up, yes, torture me, probably, but they knew if they killed me there’d be an uproar. So they were just going to imprison me. Oh! We seem to have a visitor!”

Before Niamh could figure out what that meant, Will was looming over her, frowning. She shrank back, beginning to shake with fear, eyes huge.

But then he smiled, and said, “You’re Niamh, right? Well, come on out, child. You’ve heard quite a bit already.”

“That darling child living with that nasty wheelwright?” Ed gasped, also coming around the corner as Niamh stood slowly. “Oh, my dear! You shouldn’t be hiding in the dark and cold like that. Come, come, have tea with us. Did you run away?”

“Yes,” she answered in a small voice, as she followed them to the graveled area in front of their backdoor, where they were having a final cup of tea before bed. “I… I was scared. He was angry.”

Will frowned, but in a worried way. Ed nodded and smiled sadly. “Understandable, my dear. He’s an alarming man. Do you take sugar?”

#Writing #original fiction #fantasy #commisions open

[chocolatechubby]

Encourager in a Blue Dress (part 3)

Thaddeus Jones was the product of a growing black middle class in New Orleans. At the height of the slave trade, many owners trained their slaves for skilled labor. A good deal used these skills later to become blacksmiths, masons, and artisans of many kinds during Reconstruction. Many parts of the city and the surrounding area became strongholds for this class. 

Thaddeus Jones' grandfather had been a mason of great renown. Men like him had created a good deal of the statuary in New Orleans' above-ground cemeteries. His family had been wealthy for two generations. Nowadays, his father was on top of the pile in the new booming Black business: Insurance. 

Thad had been sent to the best schools and found his way to Morehouse College in Atlanta, GA. In a few years, Morehouse would be known as the starting place for a freshman that Thad would copy notes from. Marty King Jr. would put the college in the history books. But right now, it was known as the place for a young Negro to get a first-class education. And party. That's how Thaddeus Jones met Delilah Devereux. 

"She was the most beautiful girl I had ever seen." Thad had stopped chewing long enough to take off his coat and get comfortable. As he talked about Delilah, I couldn't help but think, "You ain't so bad yourself kiddo." His hair would've waved naturally without all the processing, and his cocoa skin made his light brown eyes even more penetrating. But it was his body that set my imagination, among other things, in motion. He was gettin' big. Whatever this girl had done to him, she had done it right. He couldn't stop eating. Every time he'd finish one thing, he'd reach in a pocket, and pull out something else. His belly was starting to sag just the way I like: sitting on his thighs and curving towards his crotch. Every time he let out a breath, the buttons on his shirt and vest would strain with the pressure of keeping fastened. Before this thing was all over, this bubba was going to be whale-sized.

"It was at a house party in Baton Rouge. Zeke Howard and me had borrowed one of the caretaker trucks and picked up four other boys on the way. We never had trouble finding girls. Morehouse men were very popular-even the skinny ones like me...well...like I used to be. 

Anyway, I saw her as soon as I walked in. She was standing in a corner with ten guys around her, but it was like she was the only white sheep in a field full of black ones. She was shining. I should have known something was wrong when they put Cab Calloway's "Minnie The Moocher" on the phonograph, but I was hooked. I found myself pushing through all the guys in the front of the room to get over to her. When I got there, I couldn't breathe. She was even more beautiful the closer you got! Her perfume was like a garden of flowers, and all us guys were the bees attracted to her. 

She had brown hair that fell to her shoulders and touched a little cross that she wore around her neck. Her skin was as smooth as the blue silk dress she was wearing that clung to her breasts, stomach, and hips like skin. She had the longest eyelashes I have ever seen, and she was looking through them like a veil. When I came up to the edge of the guys around her, she was playing with the coat of this husky college boy in front of her. He was blushing. 'I like a cat with a little meat on his bones.' Her voice was like a little kitten. She poked his stomach, and he let out a giggle like a schoolgirl. 'I especially like to see a man fill out.' And she turned right to me. 

I felt my heart skip a beat as she politely excused herself from the crowd and stepped forward. The college boys around her parted like the Red Sea. 

'What's your name, honey?' She said. For a moment I forgot. Then I said-well I really kind of stuttered, 'Thaddeus. Thaddeus Jones. Most people call me Thad.' 'Well Thaddie' she said. Nobody had called me 'Thaddie' since I was 5. It sounded good coming from her. 'My name is Delilah. And I could sure use a drink of something, I'm powerfully parched.' Behind me, I was kind of aware of the boys scattering in all directions to get Miss Delilah a drink, but she slipped her arm between mine and sashayed her way towards the hooch. Her dress was covered in flowers too, and when she swayed it was like watching the warm wind of the Bayou move through the magnolias.

'So Thaddie...' she said as she stirred her whiskey with her finger. We had found a place to talk outside. The flies out there were less bothersome than all the men inside trying to get her attention. 

'...Are you one of the college boys down from Morehouse?' 'Yes ma'am,' I said. I knew we were around the same age, but somehow it just seemed right to call her 'ma'am'. 'Mmm, must be nice to have money to drive all the way to N'awlins whenever you want.' 

'Naw, we just borrowed the caretaker’s truck. No big deal.' 

'So you tellin' me you ain't one of these rich college boys?' she said. 'I love a man who can wine me and dine me, and who I can feed.' 

She put her hand on my stomach and traced her fingers up my chest. 'You are practically skin and bones! You need a mama to fill you out. You telling me you can't take me out proper Mr. Thaddeus Jones?' 'No ma'am!" I said. "We can go wherever you want!' She brought her face real close to mine. Her breath was like orange blossoms and her lips were like plump red cherries. 'And you'll do whatever Delilah tells you to do-won't you honey?' 'Yes, ma'am.' 

My first meal was her lips. She plunged her tongue into my mouth and swirled it around my teeth. The taste of whiskey and orange near knocked me off my feet. It was the sweetest thing I had ever tasted. She sucked my mouth like she was trying to suck out my soul. And she touched me all over. She moved her fingers across every inch of my body. When I look back on it, I think she was measuring me-trying to decide how she was going to turn me into this!" He slapped his belly and the little Arty in my pants nearly tore through the crotch. Madame La Palma and her five sisters were going to have a good time under the sheets tonight.

"My next meal with Delilah wasn't as sweet. The next day she took me to Big Mama's, a juke joint on the outskirts of Elysian Fields. It was crowded and smelled like crawfish. You knew it was good eats: everybody there was fat as a hog. Delilah called to the owner, who was over in the corner talking to the musicians. Big Mama lived up to her name. She was at least a head taller than me, and definitely sampled her cooking. There was no need for bouncers because Big Mama could easily toss out any troublemaker who was stupid enough to keep messin' after Mama had told him to hush. 

Delilah waved to her and she came over-taking out two tables on the way. Delilah gave Mama a big hug and kiss and told her to bring the 'usual.' Big Mama smiled and said 'You got your work cut out for you with this one, child.'

The first two plates were fine. Mama made the best seafood gumbo I had ever tasted, and the shrimp étouffée had me in heaven. But when they brought the next course, I put up my hand to stop. 'I can't do no more Delilah. I'm stuffed.' That was the first time I saw the fire. Her hazel eyes lit up and I got scared. She looked like one of the statues in St. Louis' Cemetery that my grandpa had made: hard and cold. But then, just as quickly as the storm clouds grew, they left. She leaned over to me and picked up a big fork full of fish courtbouillion and rice.

With one hand she eased the fork in my mouth, and with the other, she began kneading my crotch like dough. 'Remember what you promised last night Thaddie.' she said-sounding more like a lady lion than a kitten now. 'Whatever Delilah asked you to do—you would do.' I chewed and swallowed, but my stomach was not happy. I ate and ate with her hand down my pants. That night, I had the worst stomachache of my life. I thought I was going to die. But I kept seeing her face and feeling her hand on my Johnson. I endured the pain.

To be continued...

#ccstories

[fandomsonrequests]

𝖆𝖓𝖔𝖙𝖍𝖊𝖗 𝖘𝖊𝖑𝖊𝖈𝖙𝖎𝖔𝖓..? [𝖕𝖆𝖗𝖙 8]

fandom: ATEEZ

characters: prince! park seonghwa

reader: fem! knight

word count: 3.5k+

summary:  It was time for another Selection. No- not a Selection for a bride but rather a well-trained knight to keep Prince Seonghwa safe after a failed assassination attempt. You, a blacksmith’s daughter, manage to make it to the elite group of knights worthy and skilled enough to protect the crown prince after months and months of training. This alone catches Seonghwa’s eyes- in more ways than one

a/n: yAAAYY it’s finally here! part 8! it’s still a long ride so please forgive me if updates are getting slow ;^; school is really kicking my ass. plus there were flooding and typhoons that happened in my country so I lost internet for a few days. But thank you again for those who stuck by ;^;

taglist: @iwanttohitmyself​​ @barcelona-sergei​​ @minihongjoong​​ @i-purrple-u  @taetae123094​ @jeonartemis​ @jibaxja @theoinkypiglet​ @sparklychangbin​

↞previous  ♛   next↠

Seonghwa walks alongside Hongjoong as they head towards the Queen’s parlor in the East Wing of the palace. Sometimes he wondered why the palace had to be so big- it was quite a walk to get from one place to another. 

“How was Hae-seong’s class?” The shorter asked after a long moment of silence. 

The Prince looked over to his friend with a bit of a hesitant look. “It looks fine... Although I think he was in a bad mood today.”

“Oh please; when isn’t that old fart in a bad mood.”

Seonghwa guffawed at the term his friend used on the Duke, clasping a hand over his mouth at that.

“You needed me, mother?” He asks as soon as he enters the Queen’s parlor. 

It wasn’t a very large room but it was no less grand than the others. Paintings of past ancestors and the recent royal family hung in golden frames along the mauve-colored velvet walls of the parlor. A white marble fireplace was built in the center, a wide mirror hanging above it. In front of the fireplace were two plush couches, of course in a mauve shade, with a white and silver table placed in between the couches. 

His mother was quite picky with color combinations. 

The Queen turns her attention from her Ladies-In-Waiting and to her son, beaming a rather large smile and patting the space next to her on one of the couches. “Come sit.” She invites him. 

Seonghwa greeted the other ladies in the room and sat next to his mother. As soon as he does that, the Ladies-in-Waiting, save for the eldest one, take it as their cue to leave the room and give some privacy for the mother and son. 

“Seonghwa,” The Queen starts taking her son’s hand into his. “Your father and I have been planning something for you.” 

Another thing?? When will these surprises end?

“Since your father planned something similar to a selection for your personal guard, we decided that we won’t be holding a selection for your bride.”

That caught the young prince off-guard. It has been a tradition that dates back several centuries that their family line would have a selection for the spouse of every royal offspring. That was how his mother met his father. His father came from the kingdom near the oceans and the docks and managed to win the Queen’s heart amongst all the suitors. 

But it made sense for them to forgo that tradition. The assassin that slipped into his room came from a different kingdom. His parents were just taking precautions by calling the whole thing off.

Sure it would cause some small (or maybe even large) disputes between the allying kingdoms but ties were already shaky the day Seonghwa was meant to be assassinated. 

“Then I suppose I’ll be marrying someone within the kingdom?” Asked the Prince to which he was answered with a nod. 

The Queen took her son’s hand in hers and ran her delicate thumb against the back of his knuckles. “We’re still deciding on who you will marry but so far, we think Hae-seong’s daughter would be a good match for you.” 

Oh, her. 

Hae-seong was blessed with three children, his middle child being his only daughter: Ayeong. She and Seonghwa were around the same age, with him being just a few months older. 

It wasn’t that Ayeong was mean or anything, it’s just that he didn’t have the best memories growing up with her. He remembered taking a massive liking to her when they were younger. He was around fourteen or fifteen years old when he confessed his feelings to her, right under the large oak tree that grew in the prairie at the back of the palace. 

To his dismay, she didn’t return his feelings. She fancied one of the young knights-in-training then. Despite the unrequited emotions, he still respected her and tried not to look so heartbroken around her. But ever since then, he’s been avoiding her around the palace. 

He wondered if what took place back then would affect his parent’s plans for both of them. 

“Oh.. does Hae-seong know about it?” Seonghwa prompted. 

“No, not yet. We plan on telling him. I don’t think he would be opposed to it though. And besides, you’re good friends with her, I’m sure you don’t mind.”

He gives a slightly strained smile at that and just bowed his head. “Whatever you think is best, mother.” 

“Thank you, my dear.” She leaned forward and kissed his forehead. “Well, that’s all I wanted to tell you. You may go back to where you were.”

“I think I’d like to stay here with you for a while, mother.” 

The Queen smiles fondly at that. She couldn’t help but take his cheeks in her hands and give them a pinch, making her son protest in slight pain. He may have grown up to be a strong, intelligent, and handsome young man but in her eyes, he will always be her baby: wide curious eyes and a spirited laugh tumbling from his crooked-toothed smile. 

~

“That’s all for today. You may head down to the dining hall for lunch before going to the courtyard for your lessons with Byron.” Hae-seong dismisses the class.

It’s only been a few minutes since the class had ended and they were already drained. Hae-seong talked too fast for their liking. At first, he would stop and go back to something they missed when someone pointed it out but eventually he grew tired of that and kept speeding through the lesson despite the class’s protests. 

“I just want a break,” Raviv sighs, rubbing his temple to soothe his incoming migraine. “That was so much information to absorb.”

“I think he’s purposely trying to make us fail.” You say in a hushed tone. 

Your friends nod in agreement. They suspected that the duke didn’t want them there but this kind of attitude coming from him furthered that suspicion. Lunchtime went by in a blur and now the whole group was standing in the middle of the courtyard, awaiting for Byron to come. 

Though you were hesitant when it came to academics, you felt much more confident in this area. You’ve never really fought with swords but your brother had a habit of play- fighting with you, so you knew a thing or two about having to defend yourself. 

You glance over to the quarry-workers from your village and other mountain villages. A few of them were joking around and showing off their strength by butting into each other. You couldn’t blame them, some probably did that to shake off their nerves. But you knew there were some that just really liked to show off.

Like Michael. He was… nice when he wanted to be but he caused a lot of trouble back in Trelark. He always found himself in a kerfuffle and never really learned to back down even when the situation called for it. He was the type of guy who bets his pride with high stakes. 

Others seemed apprehensive; one of those people was Amihan. She wrung her hands together in anxiousness, her fingers playing with the hem of her shirt. People from the mountain were deemed as tough- especially since the living conditions there were less than ideal. But Amihan grew up in the lowlands, she was afraid she didn’t live up to those sayings. 

“Hey,” You call out to her in a quiet voice. She turns to look at you, her brows creased. You offer her a gentle smile and a nod before mouthing the words, It’s okay.

Her shoulders relaxed a little but you could see that her whole frame was still tense. 

A few minutes later, Byron arrives with a few other knights who were pushing two carts of sturdy wooden swords to be used in your lessons. The group of delegates grew silent at the sight of the practice weapons before them, reminding them that this was real and it's not just fun and games anymore. 

“I hope you all had a good lunch,” Byron says with a warm smile. 

His welcoming deposition was enough to lessen the heavy tension in the area. It was such a contrast to the cold and annoyed aura Hae-seong displayed earlier. It was, albeit abrupt, a nice change.

“In case you all forgot my name, I am Byron. You don’t have to call me sir, or anything. My name is enough,” The man said, his voice loud and clear over the courtyard. “Most of your training here at the palace will be held with me so you don't have to worry about Hae-seong breathing down your neck.”

A few delegates sighed and chuckled in relief at that, eliciting an amused huff from Byron. 

“Although it doesn’t mean that you shouldn’t do well in his class. Always strive for the best no matter what situation. Now, I think I’ve talked too much. Find a partner- preferably someone your size or strength- and we can begin our lessons.” 

You glance around to find a suitable partner for the lessons. Usually, in situations where you need a partner, you would ask Siyeon to go along with you or vice versa. But in this particular situation, you had to look for someone else. 

It’s not that you were incredibly strong as a person but you packed a harder punch than most girls your age. You didn’t want to hurt your best friend. 

“Hey Raviv,” You call out to your other friend. “Do you have a partner yet?” 

“Not yet. Do you want to be partners?” He asks as he approaches you. 

You couldn’t help but laugh a little. “That’s why I asked you if you had one.”

You bumped your shoulder with him, a little greeting for him, as soon as you reached each other. He slings an arm over you and ruffles your hair, only for you to end up swatting his hand away. 

Siyeon was paired with another girl from your village, Gahyeon was her name if you remembered correctly, while Amihan was off to the side with one of her friends from the lowlands. 

As soon as everyone was paired, the other knights that came with Byron started handing out the training swords. It was much heavier than it looked but not as heavy as the weapons you handle back at the smithy. 

Your fingers curled around the leather-wrapped handle as your other hand held the “blade” part of the sword. You couldn’t help but admire the craftsmanship of the sword, even if it was wooden. You gave it a couple of bounces and twirled it a little to test out its weight. You look up when you hear Raviv give an impressed whistle, looking at you with pride in his eyes. 

Your face immediately heats up in embarrassment, dropping the sword to your side after. 

“Try not to kill me later, please.” Your friend teases as he knocks his sword with yours. 

Before you could respond, Byron calls out for your attention, making all of you turn to him. He had a training sword of his own in his hold, his sword pressed into the gravel beneath his scuffed boots. “We’ll start with the basics today. I hope by the end of our lessons for the day, you all get to learn a thing or two. And don’t get too discouraged if you can’t get it right today. You still have a month to learn before the grading. 

“Anyway, let’s start.”

~

The sound of wood crashing against wood and several shuffling feet echoed around the courtyard and floated up the palace walls. It could be heard from inside the palace although muffled by the layers of stone that made up the walls. 

Seonghwa walked down the hall, curious to see how the training was going when he saw a  young man curiously watching the delegates train rigorously through a large window, peering down into the courtyard. He could see Byron walking around with calculating eyes as he takes note of each delegate’s stances. 

“San,” The prince calls out with a grin, making the young man jump in surprise. 

San’s cat-like eyes turn onto him. “Prince Seonghwa, you scared me.”

“Oh please, you can drop the formalities. It’s just us.” 

San shrugged with a chuckle, allowing the older male to stand beside him. “I’d rather be safe than sorry, hyung. Especially after Duke Hae-seong gave me an earful when he heard me address you so casually.” 

San was the son of one of the earls in the king’s court. It was only natural that he and San would end up as friends since San practically grew up in the palace. 

“I guess,” Seonghwa hums as he watches the delegates. 

Their swords clashed against each other as they practiced the strikes Byron had shown them earlier. Many of them looked like they could hold their own fight, pushing on despite the fatigue they felt in their arms and the sweat that slid down their skin. But there were also several of them that flinched and cowered when the training swords came towards them. 

“They look promising,” San says, pulling the prince out of his thoughts. “Especially the ones from the city-towns.”

And it was true. Usually, city-towns like the Capitol had Fencing as an optional part of the curriculum in their education only because they were able to afford the materials and maintain it. Other regions weren’t as fortunate to be blessed with this kind of lesson; although, technical skill can be outmatched or be on par with street smarts. 

Seonghwa’s gaze landed on a particular person. It was the woman from the day before. She still had that intense look in her eyes as she brought her training sword against her partners. Her movements were strong yet fluid, albeit less graceful than the other knights but no less powerful. 

He watches as she shuffles away from blocking her partner’s strike only for her to come swiftly at him. He notices how her once concentrated expression shifts to a more joyous one when she finally intercepts her friend’s attack and strikes the air near his vital spot

“She’s good.” He blurts out, making San quirk his head in curiousness. 

“What was that hyung?”

Seonghwa’s eyes widened when he realized that he’s said his thoughts aloud. His cheeks flush a bright red, spreading all the way up to his ears. He clears his throat to clear the awkward air around him, the smirk that San was sending him didn’t help.

The younger male follows his gaze and his smirk grows wider. “Ooohhh, her. Oh yeah, she’s definitely good. I think she’s better than you, hyung.”

“Oh haha.” Seonghwa laughs dryly with an amused roll of his eyes. 

San chuckled in return and kept his gaze on the woman Seonghwa seemed so interested in. “I think she’d last long with this training,” he remarks. “I’m going to bet she may even be your bodyguard.” 

The prince hums in acknowledgment. “You think so?”

“I know so, hyung.”

Seonghwa glances again at the woman and lets San’s words sink in. He could never really tell if she would really end up as his protector but he had a good feeling about her. 

~

By the time the delegates were done with their first day of training, the sun was starting to set. The sky turned from a bright blue to the crisp rose-gold color of the evening. The usual sounds from the Capitol quiet down as the day comes to an end. 

Several people were sitting on the ground, catching their breaths while their swords lay on the dirt beside them. Others were leaning against the pillars of the courtyard. The air around them felt heavy as every ounce of energy drained out of the delegates. 

Byron chuckled at the sight. “You did well, all of you.” He says as he watches them pick themselves up from the ground. “I hope you don’t feel so disheartened after today because this is just the beginning.” 

You groan in exhaustion along with the other delegates. Right now, using the word tired to describe what you felt would be an understatement.

“We’ll continue again tomorrow. Make sure to wash up before you eat, you’ll be measured to have uniforms tailored for you.” Byron dismisses you all. 

As you all line up to return the training swords to the racks, Siyeon stumbles in line behind you. “My arms are gonna fall off.” She mumbles into your shoulder while her arms wrap around your waist. 

“At least you’re alive.” You reply and lean your head onto hers. “But at this point, I just want to eat and shower.”

“Oh, you said it.” 

You feel so worn out as you allow your feet to drag you back to the girls’ quarters to wash up and change for dinner. Your mind grows blank and the rest of the evening happens in a blur. You didn’t even realize how late it was into the evening until the smell of food stirred your senses.

You didn’t eat in the dining hall this time. You were led to a smaller, more simple room. It wasn’t as grand as the dining hall but it was large enough to fit all of you. 

“Are we really going to eat here..?” You hear Michael grumble to his friend. “I was really enjoying the dining hall..”

“Well of course we’re going to eat here. We aren’t of the royal family or part of the court,” Someone from the city-town sneers. One of the girls looked at everyone else like they’re worms to grovel at her feet. You never really liked her- and how she was acting right now giving you all the more reason not to. “So I suggest learning your place. Don’t get comfortable yet.”

That successfully managed to keep Michael quiet. But the tone that city-town dweller used ticked you off. You were never really confrontational unless pushed, so you kept quiet. You opted to just offer Michael a sympathetic smile before walking over to an available seat. 

“Fucking highlanders..” She mumbled to herself as they passed by you. 

You turn over to her, glaring daggers in the back of her head. You hope that one day karma gets to her and she’d eat up the words she tossed at your friends. 

As dinner comes to an end, Mina enters the dining hall with a few people carrying some fabrics and measuring tape trailing behind her. You turn your attention to her and give her a small wave to which she responds with a bright smile and a slight bow. 

“If I may have your attention, delegates.” She calls out in her clear voice. The hall becomes quiet and all attention is focused on her. “You’ll be having your fitting for your uniforms today. Expect the uniforms to arrive in two weeks.

“Now if you’re done eating, kindly line up. The tailors and seamstresses shall be measuring you.” 

Half of the delegates stood and walked over to where Mina was, awaiting their turn to be measured. You wondered what kind of uniforms you’d be provided- and why it would be made so fast. Siyeon always told you that making one shirt alone took quite a while. Aside from that, the type of fabric and the design of the clothing would affect the process too. 

“I hope they don’t put us in super stuffy uniforms like some royal guards,” Amihan says from across you as she finishes up her meal. “I feel like I’ll suffocate.” 

“Oh yeah like the ones with the neck collars. Those seem stuffy.” Raviv adds, mouth halfway full with his mashed potatoes. 

You hand him a napkin to wipe his mouth with before speaking up. “I think those types of uniforms are just for show.” 

“Goodbye, practicality hello death,” Siyeon smirks, earning a playful shove from Amihan. 

Little by little, once they were done being fitted, the delegates filed out of the dining area and went back to their rooms. Your friends went ahead since they were tired and you were one of the last people to be measured. 

You waved goodbye to Siyeon, shouting after her to not leave her wet towel on your bed again, and walked up to the seamstress. Once you were done, you thanked her and walked back to your room.

Luckily the dining area wasn’t too far from your rooms so you didn’t get lost on the way back. Although, you did take your time walking. The palace was so different at night, especially with how the torches that lined the walls cast a shadow against everything (or everyone) in the hall. 

It was a little eerie with the silence and everything but it also held some sort of ambiance to it. The soft golden glow from the torches made the enormous palace seem warm and cozy, especially on a night as cold as this. 

By the time you reached the girls’ quarters most were already in bed and asleep. Very few were awake, sitting on each other’s beds and whispering away. You go through your usual nightly routine and crawl into bed, a relieved sigh escaping you when your tired muscles relax. 

You blow out the candle on your bedside table after pressing a quick kiss to the pendant your father gave you and let yourself drift into sleep. 

#ateez #kpop #ateez x reader #ateez imagines #ateez imagine #ateez scenario #ateez fic #park seonghwa #park seonghwa x reader #kim hongjoong #choi san #seonghwa x reader #prince!seonghwa #prince park seonghwa #royalty au #royal au #ateez royal au #ateez royalty au #fandomsonrequests #regiis #ateez smut #ateez fluff

[overwatch-imagines-hub]

The Ladies With a Medic S/O:

Anon said: “I loved "the boys with a medic SO" could we get girls with medic SO too please? You're great :)”

Well you’re great too so thank you! vwv Sorry if this is a bit awkwardly written, by the way; I really had to think about the ladies’ perspectives, and towards the end my think tank was a little drained and I kept losing my train of thought. <’D I hope you enjoy it nonetheless!

Read “The Boys With a Medic S/O:” here!

Tip Jar

~~~

Ana Amari

Loves having a medic s/o

She, and more importantly her teammates, get into trouble much too often

So it’s nice to have someone to call at 3 am with anything from “I burned my finger making tea, come kiss it and make it better” to “Angela’s at the base and Jack just broke a hip trying to jumping from one rooftop to another”

“No, listen, I swear it’s his hip, okay?”

“It’s definitely not his leg or getting shot in the arm, it’s the whole hip.”

“He’s old, he doesn’t know what he’s doing.”

Cue Soldier’s irritated hollering in the background while you snicker and force yourself out of bed

You both know she’s capable of dealing with most of the stuff she calls you about on her own, but “It’s easier with a professional around!”

AKA, every single injury of any caliber is a reason to see and/or smooch each other, so it’s fine

She loves to make cheesy and/or flirty medic jokes

Several medicinal pet names as well

You tease her about her age and health to about the same caliber as she teases Jack about the same things

However, instead of grumbling, she usually turns the teasing back or makes some flirty joke about how you’re welcome to give her a full body exam to make sure her health checks out

She also likes to walk into the med bay unannounced simply to come see you

You’ll be in the middle of a teammate’s checkup and she’ll waltz in, say she was looking for a band-aid, grab one, and then wait outside for you to finish

Ashe

Low-key grateful you’re a medic

With her line of work and mainly being surrounded by fighter robots, she appreciates having a medic around

Now, of course B.O.B. has basic medical skills and she could smooch him too, but it just wouldn’t be the same

For whatever reason, she quite likes making that tease

Anyway, she thinks you being a medic is great and, for the most part, is respectful about it

Makes the occasional medical joke and/or pickup line

Probably didn’t tell you her profession at first because she thought you were too good a person to get involved with her lifestyle

To be completely honest, she probably doesn’t often call you for medic-related things regardless

Whether or not you’re willing to doesn’t mean she wants you to get involved

Has you on call when she knows she’s going on a dangerous heist or other mission though

Doesn’t want to worry you but at the same time knows you’re skilled and trustworthy

Brigitte

Thinks it’s really cool that you’re a medic

Would love to learn some stuff from you

She basic medical skills and knowledge, but having more could never hurt

Plus she loves to learn new useful stuff

So if you’re up for it, she’d love to have you mentor her a bit

Probably treats you like any other medic on the field though

If you’re not the closest one to call, she needs someone with more skill, and/or it’s not an emergency that concerns you (AKA, she’s not the one hurt) then you won’t be the one she calls

Always lets you know when she gets hurt, though, so you can worry over her and nurse her back to health

Low-key loves when you worry over even her slightest injury

Kiss! Her! Scratch! Better!

Super respectful of your work and doesn’t like to interrupt you

However, she has accidentally hurt herself once or twice while blacksmithing, and has ended up waiting for you to finish whatever you’re doing to help her out

D.Va

Also thinks it’s really cool that you’re a medic

You’re smart and skilled and she’s gonna rant and fawn about it forever

Loves to brag about you to people

Likes to hang around you while you do work--not even bothering, just hanging off to the side and watching you--and loves to listen to you talk about it

Seriously, she could listen to you talk about your job, about the tiniest and simplest tasks, for hours

Probably picks up a thing or two from listening and watching so much

She’ll be on the field and someone will get hurt and she’ll just start spewing instructions

Afterwards it’ll take her a second to realize what she did and she’ll be like “Wait, what? Cool!”

Then chirps about it to you later

“Baaaaaabe, I talked about some of your stuff today! Perks of having a medic partner, huh?”

You’re the first person she thinks to call in most serious positions

She knows you can get pretty busy, though, so she also has a backup plan

CoughMercyCough

Mei

Doesn’t think a whole lot of it other than she appreciates another smart/nerdy mind to talk to

Y’all just talk at each each other, her about science and you about your own practices

Some things overlap, so that’s fun

Both of you picking up bits of the other person’s knowledge from talking about such things so often

Essentially nerding out about smart things together

Often calls you with medical questions when she comes up with them or finds herself in a situation where she may need the information

More often than not these questions result in a concerned you asking if she’s currently in the situation she’s describing

More often than not she says no

Roughly 30% she means it

Mercy

Appreciates the fact that she’s dating someone who understands what she’s going through most of the time

It’s nice to not have to explain everything in micro-details

Both of you being cute but also professional at work

Like you both focus on getting work done and are serious when needed

But also your desks face each other, you share each other’s work and food during lunch/break, and there’s a no PDA rule but y’all smooch and hold pinkies anyway and no one’s really mad about it because aww

Flirting in medical terms

Teasing in medical professional

The occasional medic pun

If one of you gets done with work before the other, you wait for the other to get done

You’ll wait for hours if you have to

Either piddling around or helping the other get their work done faster if you can

Going home together and just fuckin’ crashing

One of you flops on the couch while the other goes and heats up leftovers or orders food

Sitting together watching bad late-night/early-morning TV (depending on the time you get home) while ranting about your days

Angela complains about McCree a l o t

But also very lovingly talks about Fareeha and Ana, and teasingly talks about Jack

Either dragging each other to bed and holding each other up the entire time or falling asleep right there on the couch

Your days off are sparse and don’t line up very often, but when they do, it’s great

They’re either lazy days or date days and they’re always very soft and chill

Moira

Appreciates the like minds but otherwise doesn’t think much of it

When she realizes she likes you, she becomes a little iffy about letting you know about her experiments

If you’re up for it, she’ll probably ask for your input on them

Both to make said experiments a little more humane but also just to be around you more

The two of you don’t get to see each other very often but it’s always nice when you do

Moira’s not much of a PDA person but the only time she smiles (legitimately smiles, not a smirk or sneer) is when you walk into the room

It’s both sweet and terrifying to many of the other Talon members

At work, lunches and the occasional break are mainly the only times the two of you get to see each other

Stopping each other in the hall to talk until someone eventually comes and drags one of you away

Popping in each other’s offices for work things but also just to talk much longer than you’re supposed to stop and talk

Home life is very scattered

Again, neither of you get to see each other too often because Moira often stays at work much later than you can stay up and you often leave for work earlier in the morning

However, the two of you make it work

If you fall asleep on the couch waiting, you’ll wake up in bed snuggled by your girlfriend

You leave good morning notes and make Moira’s favorite coffee before leaving so she doesn’t have to rush her morning as much

Leaving notes for each other in general

Doing almost all of the chores and other at-home tasks together just to catch up and enjoy each other’s company

Days off are cleaning days, but, if you have multiple in a row, the two of you will alternate between cleaning days and chill days

Moira loves to take you out on days off, whether it be to lunch, to shop, to just walk around down, etc

Pharah

She thinks so highly of your work

Like she loves that you’re a doctor

Loves to be by your side off and on the field

She’s kind of become your designated guardian during missions at this point

You being there doesn’t distract her from her own work, but when you have to stop to help and heal teammates she makes a point to be nearby just in case someone tries to attack you

One of her casual pet names for you is Doc

She loves to talk with you about work

She herself has always been passionate about saving and protecting people, so she loves that you share those values

Asks you medical questions pretty often, both when she’s in a situation and not sure what she should do and just when the questions pop into her head

She’s had a decent amount of medical training herself but she picks up quite a bit more knowledge from you

Always pops in when she knows you have free time to make sure things are going well and you’re not overworking yourself or getting overwhelmed

Being a medic comes with its bloody business and she wants to make sure that doesn’t take too much of a toll on you

She stops by especially frequently when you get extremely busy (such as after a particularly difficult mission) or have to work overtime

Brings you snacks and drinks and makes sure you take your breaks

If she’s done with her own work, she’ll probably wait around the compound for you to get done

Always tries to get you relax and de-stress after work, whether that means going out for a cozy late night dinner, going to a funny movie, taking a hot bath, or straight-up flopping onto the couch and laying thre for several hours

Sombra

Before she actually got to know you and the two of you started dating, she probably thought you were kind of a pretentious prick

Similar to her current feelings about Moira

She has a thing against professionals in the medical, scientific, and law fields

Just authority figures in general

Don’t ask her why

Anyway

Doesn’t mind having a medic around considering the situations her teammates get into

Tries to convince you not to worry about herself, though

She’s not usually on the field anyway, and, when she is, she can handle herself

She just really doesn’t want you to be worrying about her

Upgrades all your gear, both your equipment in the med bay and what you wear on the field

Not gonna be having outdated equipment and pieces that might fritz out on her watch

Symmetra

Thinks very highly of your work

She just really appreciates what you do

Tries to make sure you don’t overwork yourself

Ironically, as much as she tries, she’s terrible at doing so for herself

When she notices you getting the slightest bit of tired, she does all in her power to make sure you’ll take a break

Beware

She’s a master negotiator and usually gets what she wants

Both of you just generally moderating each other so neither of you burn out

Sending each other messages at work checking up on each other

You’re both pretty busy but Symmetra’s schedule is usually more flexible

She has that power, being a higher up and all

She likes to pick you up and take you out of the compound during your lunches and breaks

Symmetra just waltzing in the med bay in a gorgeous suit to pick you up for lunch hoob o y

The lady’s quite health-oriented, so she tries to get you out of your hole as often as she can, especially considering some of the darker work you have to attend to

Tracer

Loooooves her smart medic s/o

She finds it super cool that you’re a medic, and is also super proud of you for doing what she considers the hardest part of the job

“All I have to do is run around and shoot things! You have to heal people! And do paperwork!”

She just

Fawns over you a lil bit

Just a little

Not a lot at all

Loves to listen to you talk about work, even though there’s quite a bit she doesn’t totally understand about it

Likes to listen to you rant about the more difficult parts of work as well; it’s good to get that stuff out there rather than tuck it away inside

She’s just a really good listener, honestly

Whenever you come home from a more difficult day at work, she’s prepared to go into comfort mode

Your favorite takeout? Ordered. A hot shower? Prepared. Fluffy pajamas? Sitting out, ready to be worn. Your favorite movies? Rented. Lena’s ears? Ready to listen.

She’s always still asleep by the time you have leave for work, but she’s always somehow awake whenever you get home, whether that be at 7 pm or 3 am

Even on missions, she’ll find out when you get home and make sure to call you and ask about your day

Widowmaker

Doesn’t think a whole lot of you being a medic, to be completely honest

As a lady of her apathetic nature, it’s a neither impressive nor boring detail

She thinks reasonably well of your profession and field, as they are the people saving lives, but that’s about it

She sometimes forgets how gruesome and dark the work can become, however, until you come home one day so emotionally drained from telling a family one of their members will never be coming home

Amelia’s just so used to the rough and gore herself that she doesn’t realize the toll it takes on others until she sees it

Although she’s not the best when it comes to emotional care and she’s a little spacey when it comes to remembering such things, she does her best to help you not become overwhelmed

She doesn’t normally visit you unprompted at work, but if she sees you in the halls or on one of your breaks or something, she’ll come chat

Zarya

She thinks very highly of people who do the more delicate and thoughtful work as opposed to someone just being out in the field

So she’s pretty impressed with you

Despite being the professional lady she is, that facade immediately cracks when the two of you start dating

She doesn’t let such a thing keep her from doing the important stuff, of course

However

She totally does steal you any chance she gets, either on your breaks or hers, to go be mushy

Smooching, giggle, holding hands, all that

If the two of you bump into each other in the hall, she’s tugging you somewhere more secluded to A) ask about your day B) smooch you a lot

If you’re at a meeting together, she’ll sit by you and hold your hand and play with your fingers under the table

Always takes you out to lunch if you both have time

Again, she’s still a very professional lady

She’s just

Also a sap now

If she’s on a mission, she makes sure to call you a couple times a day to make sure you’re doing alright and not overworking yourself

TherewasanotherthingIwasgoingtoputaboutherbeingonamissionbutIjustforgotitson e v e r m i n d

When you’re both on the same mission, she becomes your bodyguard of sorts

#overwatch #overwatch-imagines-hub #overwatch imagines #overwatch headcanons #ana amari #overwatch ashe #brigitte lindholm #d.va #overwatch mei #overwatch mercy #overwatch moira #pharah #sombra #symmetra #overwatch tracer #widowmaker #zarya #ana amari x reader #brigitte lindholm x reader #d.va x reader #ashe x reader #mei x reader #mercy x reader #moira x reader #pharah x reader #sombra x reader #symmetra x reader #tracer x reader #widowmaker x reader #zarya x reader

[tinywriter2018]

The Second Raven 

Jon sat on his horse, waiting for the Lord of Storms End to appear.  He wondered, not for the first time, how the he had come to find being a lord.  The tales he heard from the men who were sent from the Stormlands that the Lord they have heard about was cold towards women and prefer to be amongst the Blacksmiths.  He had built his own forge, taken to a young peasant boy who he named his heir.  Many say he fathered the boy, naming a bastard of his own as the next lord.  

The sound of a few horses came up behind him.  He thought he would find Gendry arriving like his father, with the fanfare and the many many soldiers, but he found himself coming face to face with three riders.  

“I thought you would be at least a little taller since the last time I saw you .”  Gendry smiled at him, the time hadn’t seem to aged him, as he felt aged himself.  

“I thought you would be a little bit fatter.” Jon retroted matching his smile.  Gendry rode his horse next to Jons.  Both gazing at the Winterfell castle down below.  

“Has the Queen been informed of our arrival?”  Jon asked, Gendry shrugged his soldiers. 

“I mean, Lord Tyrion did say that we were expected, but I highly doubt he informed her who.  Also King Bran never tells anyone anything unless it’s in a message they can’t quite figure out.”  Gendry replied, giving a soft laugh.  “But knowing you Starks for as long as I have, you are hard to shock.”  Jon’s smile died.  His eyes falling back onto the Stone castle.  

“I’m not a Stark.”  

❙❙❙❙❙     ❙❙❙❙❙     ❙❙❙❙❙

Sansa eyed little Ned up in the balcony with Meera right behind him.  She nodded for her to pull him inside, so that he will not be present when they arrive.  Tyrion had sent word shortly after Bran had, but had not specified who would be arriving.  From her many years in Kings Landing and knowing how Tyrion works as the Hand of the King, she understood to expect the unexpected.  The real reason for their coming, she could only guess was to see the boy.  Protecting him was one of her sole purposes in life since his arrival ten years ago. 

The Queen of the North felt all the air leave her the moment his dark grey eyes met hers.  Sansa tried to keep her face as neutral as she could.  Tears sprang to her eyes, this moment she had dreamed of.  Being reunited with even one person of her family in these long years made her heart soar and ache at once.  He had sent Jon Snow to Winterfell.  Secretly and silently in her mind she cursed the dwarf in his plans.   

Jon took a few tentative steps forward with Gendry just behind him.  Sansa stood there her Direwolf crown a top of her head, her red hair flowing freely, her blue eyes hard as steel.  His mind race with words that he couldn’t bring himself to say.  He didn’t know how to address her, she was after all, not his Queen, yet she was still Queen of the North.  

“Your grace.”  Gendry bowed.  Jon followed, the words fumbling out of his own mouth.  

“Lord Tyrion said he had sent two trustworthy people with news of the south.  Who would of think that he sent two of our Heroes from the Long Night’s war?”  Her voice was just as steely as her eyes.  Jon gave a soft smile.  

“I believe the Hand of the King thought I would be welcomed more than just an old Blacksmith from the south.”  

“So they sent a former King of the North?”  One of the Lords spoke.  The angered lord bowed his head in shame the moment her eyes went towards him.  

“The former King of the North is of my family blood.  He is welcomed in our childhood home, always.” Her eyes turned towards Gendry.  “As is the Blacksmith that labored day in and day out to help provide weapons and to protect the people of the North from the Night King.”  She motioned for a stable boy to come and grab their horses.  Stepping forward, she tentatively took Jon’s hands in hers.  Jon watched her facial expressions, looking for any indication of any emotion.  “I have business to attend to, but we will dine alone tonight.”  She smiled, before leaving the two in the courtyard.  Gendry looked up at the balcony, wondering if he would see her, even if he knew it was impossible.  His eyes fell on a boy no bigger than she was when he had met her.  His big brown eyes staring at the guests.  

“Is that the boy?”  He asked Jon.   Jon looked up to see the young boy, quickly turn back and run into a room.  

“I believe it is.”  

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Jon sat across from Sansa in her solar.  The Fire crackling, their meal over and done.  Very few words had been uttered since his arrival in her solar.  

“Hows Ghost?”  Sansa took a sip of her tea.  Her eyes on the fire instead of him. 

“Hes healthy as an old Direwolf could be.  I’m sorry I couldn’t bring him with me, I know how much you loved him.”  

“I wouldn’t want his heart to give out south of the Wall.  A Direwolf belongs as far North as it can go.”  Sansa remembered her father speaking on how Lady was of the North.  

“The years have been kind to you.”  Jon gave a soft smile, trying to remember the woman he last saw on the docks.  

“You would know how truly unkind they have been if you bothered to read my letters.”  She mentioned.  Placing the cup down, she stood up walking over to the window.  The night sky was cold, yet the walls were warm from the water running through them.  

“Being Queen suits you.”  

“Does it? Why don’t you just ask the question you were sent to find out.”  

“Sansa.”  Jon stood, taking a few steps closer to her.  

“Don’t.  Don’t Sansa me.”  Her blue eyes meeting his.  “You are not King in the North nor are you my older brother.  Tyrion’s a smart man.  Smart enough to know ways around Bran’s secrets.”  

“I came to visit my family.”  He finally argued.  Sansa turned just in time to watch little Ned run through the dark courtyard, Meera chasing after him.  

“Hes grown so big.”  She whispered.  “He reminds me Rickon when he was able to run.”  

“Sansa.  The Lords of the South want to know who will be King or Queen when you pass.  That is all.”  

“You and I have very different memories of the Lords of the South.”  Sansa defended herself.  “I’m tired, I wish to speak on this more tomorrow.”  

“As you wish.”  Jon turned to leave, but Sansa reached out gripping his sleeve.  

“Part of me is happy to see you back at Winterfell.  Truly I am.  As Long as there is a Stark in Winterfell, you will have a home here.  No matter how mad you make us.”  Jon smiled, placing a soft hand on her cheek.  

“You will always be my family Sansa.”  Sansa sighed into his touch, wishing they could go back to the days of fighting against the Night King, before he went south.  When it was them versus the rest of the country.       

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Gendry had wondered towards the archery section of Wintefell.  His eyes falling on a target, his mind wondering back to all those years ago.  Ayra practicing before the great battle.  Always hitting the bullseye.  It wasn’t like to her miss, which she never did.  His hand on top of the tagert, suddenly was shaken with an arrow filing directly in the middle.  Turning he noticed an unsmiling boy, holding an arrow at him.  

“Why did you come?”  He asked, the bow pulled back.  Gendry held up his hands, in defense.  He felt his heart race, his eyes on the tip.  

“On orders of the King of the Six Kingdoms.”  

“But this is not the Six Kingdoms.  This is the North.”  Gendry took a small step forward, his hands still raised.  

“True, but our two kingdoms are allies are they not?”  The Boy didn’t move.  

“What makes you think we are allies, if we were allies, wouldn’t that mean we are the seven Kingdoms?”  

“Maybe, or maybe two Kingdoms could rule side by side and be independent when it comes to farming, laboring, and other resources.”  The Boy lowered his arrow to the ground.  Gendry recognized him as the kid from earlier.  His brown eyes was just like hers. 

“Who are you?  I know the man in black is the Lord Commander of the Nights Watch, but I don’t know you.”  

“Gendry Baratheon.  Lord of Storm's End.”  

“Mother said that you were the Blacksmith that made the weapons for war against the Night King.”  

“So you have heard of me?”  Gendry walked over, grabbing the arrow from his hands.  Ned began to jump up trying to reach it.  “Good sturdy arrow. The Tip is a little blunt, from hours of practice and should be reforged or sharpened if you were trying to kill someone.”  He bumped the feathered end against Ned’s head.  “Next time you aim an arrow at someone, make sure you are ready for the consequences.”  He handed the weapon back, noticing a few men running towards the courtyard.  

Following the commotion, Gendry wandered out, his eyes on a hooded rider entering through the main gate.  The boy had come to stand just behind him, away from danger, yet not fully covered.  His arrow placed in the bow ready to be pulled.  Sliding off the horse, Gendry took a step back.  In ten years she hadn’t grown an inch, still the small stature and in men's clothes.  Her Hood falling back to show her hair had grown long.  The braid falling against her shoulder, the scare above her right eye faded yet still ever present.  Her eyes meeting his, dashing quickly to the boy behind him.  

“Arya?”  He whispered, a smile breaking over his face.  One he could never hold back looking at her.

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