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cillivnz · 1 year

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MISS A SPOT, HIT THE SPOT [lord dimitrescu]

pairing. LORD DIMITRESCU x MAID!READER (dub!con turned consensual)

initial, DIMITRESCU SONS x READER (very dubious consent)

word count. 3072

warnings. AFAB!reader, cursing, misogynistic themes, animal cruelty (using gator-skin on furniture; don’t call PETA on me, i’m sorry), groping, a little bit of exhibitionism, dub!con, fingering, reader is pinned against the wall, reader’s family has been serving the Dimitrescus, large age-gap, oral sex (both receiving), throat-fucking, tongue-fucking, clit play, pyromania, dacryphilia, extreme degradation, belittling, spitting, penetrative sex (p! in v!), squirting, multiple & forced orgasms, extreme breast/nipple play, reader’s just being used by the family, reader is called maid as well as a pet name in Romanian, unprotected sex, creampie.

listening to. ‘Enslaved’ by Diva Destruction

notes. Y/L — Your Last Name, Y/F/N — Your Father’s Name, căprița mea mică — my little doe

A regular day in an abysmal castle.

Your ancestry were sworn servants of the Dimitrescu royals, and ensuing your father’s demise after leading a devoted life to the Lord, it was your turn.

You managed to avoid his acknowledge, as well as his sons’; something you thanked your stars for. You were still at a tender age; early twenties yet unexposed to the worldly works, courtesy of your conservative father. You loved the old man, despite him giving you constant reminders that your birth doomed him— how you should’ve been a son to continue his legacy, not a fragile, worthless woman. But those words only came out of his mouth like venom when he was made to overwork or worse— punished.

And like any other day you were dusting the halls. Except it wasn’t every other day you felt your skirt lift up fervently by two strong hands who also pinned you against the wall. An heir. Another, holding you down, while one tugged at your blouse. Alas, the Dimitrescu boys had found you.

“Well, well, the silhouette comes to life.” The one pining you spoke. He had a raspy voice with some baritone to it. “Sire, please leave me be—” you beseeched, but before you could even beg, you choked on your own words as your thong was pushed to the side. “She wants to leave, yet you roam about our land dressed like a whore.” This erupted demonic laughter from all three. “You thought we ought not to catch on?” The one below spoke, his face so close to your cunt, you felt heat radiate off of him with every syllable he dragged. “Your scent lingers— hauntingly— how we’ve chased after your ghost.” “But you were always too fast, little doe.”

“Always teasing us — where were you hiding this beauty? Hm?” One teased, his stone cold lips grazing your bare shoulder. “Moreover where had you been hiding this ass of yours?”

You jolted when a harsh slap landed on your ass, your not-so-subtle moan eliciting evil laughter from the men harassing you.

The one gripping your ass began to spread it, you writhed like a worm in their vice-like embrace, begging and praying for the abuse to be over; in a way it was.

The minute you felt something stroke your folds, prodding at your entrance, a demonic thunder struck. “What do you have here, boys?” They froze, as did you. This is the most cooperation you four have shown, as if unsaid, yet understood that if you hold your breath and close your eyes, the Lord can’t hurt you.

But slowly, as if puppies caught creating chaos by their master, did the boys move away from you. Bright yellow eyes ablaze in the monotonous dark of his castle. His eyes darted from your glassy eyes staring at him, the fear in them, to your rosy cheeks, blood-red lips, and straight to your skirt; your ass was out since a Dimitrescu brother hiked it up, the same heir, on realising what his father’s hungry eyes were doting upon, made a feeble attempt to fix your skirt, but before his fingers, barely tainted with your slick wetness, could touch the fabric of your skirt, let alone fix it, his father ordered. “Don’t you dare lay hands on her, more than you have already.” The Lord spoke with utmost calmness, and that’s what terrified the four of you, you especially, the most.

Reluctantly but obediently they stepped away from you. You were still clinging to the wall, frozen in place. “Come on over,” You saw his gloved hand motion towards him, “My chambers need cleaning.” An ominously mischievous tone and provocative smirk tugged at his lips.

The walk to the Lord’s chambers was awkward and fearful. He had insisted you walked in front of him, and you could feel eyes ripping through your flesh, your predator ready to pounce on you at any given moment.

You were making feeble steps towards his chambers, almost there, when he interrupted you, “Halt,” he said, causing you to stop dead in your tracks, but you dare not look back at him. “Clean my study firstly.” He ordered, and waited by the door for you to turn around.

Once you turned, you were met by calculating amber eyes that peered down at you from a head held high. He stood by the doorframe, and on seeing you make weak, yet progressive steps towards him, his thunderous strides entered the chamber. He was seated on a leather chair by the time you entered, as if he’d been there the entire time. ‘Gator skin,’ you heard a rumour the one time you cleaned the Lord’s study before. ‘He tore it apart with his bare hands, and had it skinned into a chair as a trophy.’ You hadn’t believed the chamberlain until you’d seen it yourself.

On the left of it was an ablaze fireplace, and in front, was a library; not colossal, yet extreme in number. Books of alchemy, instructional journals of God summonings, documentations on every supernatural creature that roamed the planet and how to kill them; even the Satanic Bible was on display.

“Do you fancy reading?” You almost jumped when his ravenous voice broke the eerie silence you were just growing accustomed to. “Yes, my Lord.” You seemed to pique his interest when he hummed after a short pause, surprised within yourself at the sudden confidence. It was clear, you preferred the father’s company to his sons’. Perhaps, you felt safe knowing he is the leash on his sons— the fear of your fears.

“Well, if your cleaning is satisfactory, perhaps… I’ll let you take some.” the Lord proposed, but somehow you knew this reward wasn’t for cleaning but something else he wanted to deem satisfactory.

You dare not utter another word and got to cleaning.

Dusting away, between books, underneath books; wiping away at the large mirror by the shelves. “What do they call you?” He asked with authority.

“Y/N Y/L, my Lord,” you hesitantly revealed. “Y/L!” He exclaimed, “You’re Y/F/N Y/L’s daughter,” he concluded in a wicked tone. With each wipe, he grew closer and closer and the horrid smile on his face grew wider and more sinister, forcing you to look back at him at a neck-snapping speed, only to catch him, still seated, gazing at you innocently.

“Mop the floors,” he requested, before adding “Maid.” As if asking your revelation of your identity fell on deaf ears that never demanded it. Without muttering, you dampen the mop and began cleaning.

This was just cruel.

You thought your saviour actually required your services, yet the man had you in the same position as his sons, except voluntarily, for you had to bend on all fours and stretch not to miss a spot, after all you were cleaning your master’s land, at his request. ‘The apple doesn’t fall far from the tree,’ you sighed, only daring to think of it.

You heard fervent movement behind you, and the next thing you feel is your thong being pulled down till your ankles. It happened all too fast, you barely registered anything until his large hands spread you open to him. “They were right about you,” He spoke, intrigued, “Such exemplary beauty, căprița mea mică. Utterly pristine.”

Noticing your haltered movements, he quirked a brow. “Did I permit you to stop?” You choked a gasp, feeling his left hand trace your curves, making its way to squeeze your throat, while his right hand fiddled with your glistening folds. “No sir,” you breathed a sigh at the pleasure he was making you feel. “Fucking continue then.” He ordered and you did.

Maybe not a regular day in an abysmal castle. Your 9’6 Lord and Master, the fearsome and notorious, the head of the dreaded Dimitrescu family, Lord Dimitrescu himself, kneeling behind you while you wipe his floors, fingers stroking your lips, not yet penetrating, just— “Oh!” You moaned when a long, thick, wet something slithered about your pussy. Prodding at the places his very fingers grazed, now wiggling inside you.

You began panting, about to look back and begin your pleads when a strong hand grabbed your skull and forced it in place.

You were terrified; just a bit more coaxing and he could crack open your skull. You were less than half his size and half his age. What was more frightening to you was that it was just the tip of his tongue inside you. Your eyes rolled back and damn-near saw your brain as he began pushing more of it in.

Still, obediently, you wiped.

This pleased the Lord as he wrapped an arm over your waist to your legs and brought his thumb to your clit. The circular motions of figure-eights on your clit were frantic, causing an excruciating jolt of pleasure to run down your lower half, his anomaly of a tongue amplifying the feel.

You bit you lip, nearly drawing blood as the knot in your core grew unbearable. Feeling you clench around his tongue, Lord Dimitrescu replaced the oral attack with two of his fingers, stretching you so bittersweetly. The assault on your cunt was aching. He’d graze your g-spot oh-so-softly, slowly driving you to the edge yet deliberately prolonging the high tide. “You are making a mess, căprița mea mică,” he sighed, eyeing the slick dripping down your thighs, drenching you in all, and the wooden floor beneath you. “Allow me to help.” It was more imperative than offering, so it was but natural you grimaced in pain when he pulled out his fingers, moments before you were coming undone, only to spread your aching hole and spit into it.

You moaned; shamelessly, you let out a filthy, degraded moan, and the sound travelled straight to the Lord’s cock. “There, there,” he rubbed his spit on your folds, your swollen clit bathed in it, “All better — nice and clean.” He chuckled, causing goosebumps to arise on your spine and your breath to get caught in your throat when he shoved not two but three fingers smoothly into your weeping cunt.

You clenched at the sudden attack, bewildered at how easily you were being made to cum for your master yet again. He rose from his position to whisper in your ear, “Hits the spot, doesn’t it?” At that moment, he had you unravelling with a curl on his fingers inside you.

You screaming a string of curses, the Lord greatly amused by your sailor’s tongue.

He stood up, without a word or move. “Clean the mess you made.” He gestured down at your juices that he flowed out of your cunt. “And while you’re down there…” He unzipped his pants, pulling out his cock that sprang free, a demonic thing, it was; certainly, not pleasurable to accommodate inside, unless…

“Don’t be afraid, maid.” His baritone voice gave you absurd comfort, the tone, reassuring.

“It can’t hurt you, unless I want it to.” His pearly whites were like the fangs of a serpent, peering out, bloodthirsty for you. You wavered off the uneasiness, still eager to please your master. Grabbing his colossal cock, you began to work out the large vein on the underside of it. He hissed when you applied pressure, using both your hands in an attempt to hold it; in vain it went. You licked the tip, before slowly taking it in your mouth.

“That’s it. Show me you’re an all-rounder, maid; not just for wiping floors, show me that’s not all you can do bent over.” He chuckled, something so sinister about how his own vulgarity was so amusing to him. However, you weren’t opposed to it. After all, orders were orders; that’s one thing your father did teach you, if ordered directly, orders are orders, even if they’re fatal.

You gagged on less-than half the length, but your quick save by jacking off the inches unabsorbed by your mouth was much appreciated by the man above you. His large palm resting atop your head, slowly caressing your messed up hair into place. The gesture nearly knocked the air out of you, for when your perplexed eyes met his expectedly ravenous ones, you were shocked to see them replaced by fondness.

“You take it like it was made for you.” He cooed. You couldn’t help but put your guard down, making it unknowingly advantageous to the Lord who grabbed the same head he was caressing, as support to fuck your throat. He only chuckled at the stream of years flowing through your glassy eyes. Your flushed face tainted with tears was now red with lack of oxygen. His cock was slamming past your uvula; the bell tolls, as if he were morally obligated to.

“So young, yet you suck cock like you’ve been a whore all your life.” He chuckled to himself, before thrusting in deeply, and cumming inside your mouth. You swallowed his ichor without being told, when you stuck out your tongue to show him, he groaned, face contorted in some form of arousal, as he lifted your frame to his, kissing you with neediness. His lips were surprisingly tender, beard teasing your face while his tongue, one that swept your insides clean, forced entry into your mouth, which you hesitantly permitted.

“Dust by the fireplace, better get to it.” He said, pulling away from you. You grabbed the supplies and moved towards the said place. You hadn’t noticed when the flames became blazing, a conflagration, either way, you dipped the mop in the bucket beside you, and began wiping.

You couldn’t get much done, however, for from underneath your skirt, you felt something big prod your entrance. Rubbing the head of his cock against your clit, Lord Dimitrescu positioned himself behind you, before shoving the whole of it in. You screamed, damage was made to your vocal chords as well as your walls when the penetration quickly turned into pummelling, giving you zero time to adjust to the mammoth size of it.

Dumbfounded, cock-drunk, utterly paralysed in place, you had no choice but try to get accustomed to the relentless attack your pussy had to endure. “My…-my Lord!” You moaned, trying to form an actual sentence, “This is highly inap…-inappropriate!” You managed to muster. “Really now?” He questioned, you don’t know if it was a scoff or a laugh following his amused tone. “Who,” he paused, pushing you forward. You were now a stone’s throw away from the fire, every thrust into you pulled you back, which, despite the burn of the stretch, made you grateful for you were pulled back from the fireplace. “Do you think,” he continued, thrusting into you harder each time; the heat of the fire threatening to melt you whole, grazing your face, delicately. “You are.” He finished, slamming into you so hard, you began to cum, but before you could unravel before him, he pulled out, causing your pussy to spasm around the eerie nothingness of the room.

You were reduced to a whining mess, no words coming out of your abused mouth. “What’s the matter, maid? You want to cum?” he questioned, gripping your curvy hips. “Even when you’ve missed a spot?” One of his arms snaked on your waist, the other roamed about your spine, laying you down, before pulling your head up by your hair.

“You’re doing it all wrong,” he groaned, cock pressing against your slit, it’s new home, yet not in. He grabbed the bucket of freshwater besides you, pouring it all on the floor. “Let’s get that spot, shall we?” He said, before doing something so degrading, you felt disgusted in your own skin for enjoying.

Your hot body was used to wipe the floors of Lord Dimitrescu’s study. Ripping your blouse into shreds, he groped your breasts that had sprang free, before positioning your chest on the wet floor, and swaying you left to right.

This man, your ancestry’s master, was balls deep inside your abused pussy, fucking away the life in you, while using your tits as a mop. You moaned as your burning skin made contact with the icy puddle. “That’s how you wipe, căprița mea mică, so much better.” He grunted, the pace, the size, the girth, the sheer brutality of his sex was like a punch to the gut, nonetheless your poor cunt made feeble attempts to get accustomed to the ongoing torture. Your cunt clenched around his cock while your breasts swayed from side to side, the carpet had soupçons of water, courtesy of the fervency with which you “wiped”, which it soaked up instantly.

“My Lord, I’m going to- oh!” You yelped when he pulled out, shoving his fingers inside you and curling them. You hadn’t anticipated this, body reacting on sheer adrenaline junk that’s been coaxed out of you since the incident with this man’s sons in the halls of his castle.

Then, as fate would have it, mocking your misery, you squirted all over the floor. The juices gushing out your cunt, drowning the man that coaxed them out. He giggled, like a fucking teenager, while you fought for consciousness. Sure, you’d had sex before, he was a chef in this very place who mysteriously disappeared, but a man Lord Dimitrescu’s size? You had never held your head high around the family, avoiding their gaze like a thief, and now he’s fucking you like a stinging reminder of why you should’ve stayed in the shadows— remained a silhouette.

You were sore from the previous two orgasms, yet the man made it look easy to coax your third. The hostility your cunt displaying, clenching around the wanted, yet unmanageable penetration, was enough to unravel Lord Dimitrescu, you following with pornographic screams.

His grip on your hip and scalp was tormenting, but it soon loosened when he pumped into you one last time, pussy milked dry, filled with his overflowing load. He exhaled sharply, pulling up your panties, tapping your ass lightly. “You have been amazing — definitely considering promoting you.” He seemed very proud of his joke. Leaning down to catch your ear where you’d nearly passed out on the ground, he whispered in your ear. “Now, clean up.”

He left a moment after, stopping at the doorway to catch a glimpse of your sexy, worn out body. “My room’s next.” He said, leaving you alone with a shit load of mess to clean.

Your mess.

main masterlist. more from “resident evil: village”.

#lord dimitrescu #lady dimitrescu genderbent #lady dimitrescu #genderbent #lord dimitrescu smut #lord dimitrescu x reader #lord dimitrescu x reader smut #size difference #resident evil #resident evil village #dimitrescu #monster smut #vampire smut #lord dimitrescu sons #dimitrescu family #resident evil dimitrescu #maid dress #slutty maid

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scaralvr · 2 years

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04. lovesick idiots! chapter four to the secrecy of our confessions [masterlist]

synopsis: the admiration you two hide for each other strengthens even more through that one band practice.

scaramouche's heart continued to pound erratically against his ribcage with each step he took, drawing him closer to the music room. to think that you're going to let him see you practice. he practically had to clench his jaw in order to stop his teeth from chattering in pure excitement. in the meanwhile, you weren't in any better condition, either.

"it's a little stuffy in here, isn't it?" you nervously commented, your finger adjusting the neckline of your uniform shirt. ayaka put a hand on your shoulder, "not to worry, (y/n)! you'll do amazing, as you always are." yoimiya grinned, "hey, whatcha' say we go out for your favourite strawberry shortcake after, if you get through this?"

your mood did a whole three sixty as you exclaimed, "really!?" yoimiya nodded eagerly, "so make sure you do well, alright? no pressure!" hu tao played around with your drumsticks before tossing one in the air, "heads up (y/n)!" you cautiously stepped forward and caught both of them just as soon as scaramouche entered.

scaramouche internally fanboyed once more, cheeks a rosy red and eyes struck with awe, 'perfect catch, (y/n)!' ayaka pointedly said, "ahh, what did i say about being rough with our equipment?" hu tao shrugged with a giggle, "whoopsies." you quickly whipped your head around as yoimiya rushed over, "the student president's here! good afternoon!" she cheerfully greeted as hu tao stuck out her tongue.

you nearly dropped your drumsticks when you heard scaramouche speak with that brooding, amazingly sexy voice of his. "afternoon. i trust this won't be a waste of my time?" he asked, raising a brow at a raging hu tao that was being held back by ayaka. "oh, not a waste of time at all!" she said with a tight grin.

ayaka squeaked, "help me, (y/n)!" you jumped, "right!"

"eeeh? you seriously went to that band practice?" mona said, with a mouthful of dango. "what do you think? just tell mom i'm going to be home late." scaramouche snapped, standing outside the music room to take the call. fischl followed mona, eating her own dango, "is that scawamooch? allow mwe to twalk to him!" fischl whined as mona sighed.

mona gave the phone to her. fischl held it up to her ear, gulping down the dessert, "greetings, brother. may i join you?" mona snickered as scaramouche instantly shouted, "HAH!? don't you have homework!?" fischl pouted, "yes, no, maybe so. but the point is, i have never seen a live band performance before, and it would mean the world to me if i could!"

scaramouche groaned through his teeth, "urgh... fine! but hurry up, they're going to start soon." fischl jumped up and down, "i thank you for this opportunity, brother!" she quickly handed the phone back to mona and ran up the school stairwell. mona ended the call and sighed, "guess that leaves more dango for me."

yoimiya slung her bass over herself, "relax, hu tao. remember, this is for (y/n), right?" hu tao growled through her gritted teeth, adjusting her guitar's pegs, "he's lucky (y/n) likes him. i would've broken that asshole's nose by now if not for that." ayaka positioned her keyboard, "so what'll it be today, (y/n)?"

you coyly grinned, tapping your drumsticks against each other, "i was actually thinking if we could do fire bird by roselia, i always did like covering that song." yoimiya gasped, "great idea, (y/n)! he'll definitely fall head over heels for that." she cheekily tittered, causing your face to redden.

ayaka smiled, "you've returned. and it seems like you've brought along a plus one?" scaramouche sighed and placed a hand on fischl's head, "she's just happy to be here." fischl nodded eagerly.

✩ || 🥁.彡

scaramouche rested his head atop his study table, smiling to himself. his earphones were tucked inside his ears as he listened to the show you previously performed just for him on loop. because yun jin was the main vocalist, he barely heard your voice on its' own, but witnessing the magic right then and there, scaramouche felt as if his life was complete.

"waaah, that was amazing!" fischl exclaimed, tears peeking at the corners of her eyes as she ran up to you. you paused, stunned for a few moments before shyly grinning, "thanks, fischl." scaramouche was still seated, eyes fixated on your figure as you conversed with your friends. his lips thinned out, indigo hues sparkling brighter than ever. he stood up and made his way to you with only one question in mind.

scaramouche took out his earphones and opened his composition notebook. flipping past several pages, he landed on a very specific one. your siganture adorned the lined paper, and a wide grin broke out onto his features. scaramouche began to laugh, holding the sacred page against his chest as he plopped onto his bed. not long after that, did he begin to kick his feet out of thrill.

you rushed inside your house, calling out, "i'm homeee!" kicking off your shoes, you ran up the stairs as your mother watched you do so. "how was cram school?" she queried, and you quickly replied while shutting the door to your room, "mundane!" you bit down on your lip, giggling when you jumped onto your bed.

your chin landed on your pillow and you squinted your eyes. "that performance wasn't disappointing at all. i look forward to seeing where you'll be in the future, (y/n)." you mocked his voice and laughed almost instantly, rolling about your mattress akin to an excited child.

"ohuhu..." you sighed out in between heavy exhales, hand resting on your stomach. scaramouche's thumb carefully caressed your penmanship, his cheeks a deep, crimson shade.

"i love them so much." "i love him so much."

@meowlumi @beriiov @apr1cityyy @xtodorokismistressx @dollpoetwriting @bleedingwhiteroses222 @r0ttenhearts @sammy-hammy @atsukawolfcat @pooonyo @strawberryclumsy @emmaemoseila @kunikuzushiit @scaramouchesmoocher @lxry-chxn @koiir @rvoulte @scarasaver @slash3rcore @sup-zfam @cotton-eee @twistedrxses @dameofthorns @ayamvirus @thinkingotherwise @jameineliebe @thenightsflower @lumpywolf

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nightcovefox · 2 months

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Nightmares…

Character(s): Llewellyn (Lu) and Rosa

Plot: Lu wakes up from a nightmare unfortunately his big brother isn’t here to help him, but a certain Bookworm is.

Warnings: Warnings a bit of gore? (Explaining it), a bit of death (From Lu’s Dream), but there will be comfort/Fluff (From Rosa), also some mentions of Despair AU? (From Pastelprince, you know if Cursa took over half of the galaxy the heroes lost?) (I wonder if that's the correct AU name?)

A/n: I’m having a nightmare myself, guess who’s not sleeping tonight? But writing helps.. A bit. Ehh anyways, Enjoy Reading~!<3

>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>

Lu shot up awake. He look around and see he was in his room. He was safe.. Safe.. Safe.. Right?!

That dream.. No.. Nightmare felt so real.. He was trapped!! His brother became one of them. Along with his friends! He was alone and about it- No. It's best not to talk about it.

Lu was shaking, looked over to his side, and saw his brother was not there. Where is he?! Wait!! Did they take him too?! Oh.. No.. Oh no… OH NO!!!!?

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Meanwhile on the other side of the room. Here lays Rosa reading her books in her room. She’s supposed to sleep at this hour.. But she wasn't feeling it.. Huh.. Surprisingly..-?

“Hmmm..” Rosa hummed, flipping the pages from her book. She heard a loud thud next to her room. What?! Ehh.. Probably means Lu playing around- It's midnight no way he can be awake-

*THUD*

Rosa sighed and closed her book. Slowly getting out of bed and walking out of her room, bringing her book with her. She knock on Lu’s door softly. “Lu? It's me Rosa.. Are you okay?”

..Nothing from the other side.

She puts her star bunny ears on the door to hear clearly. She can hear whimpers from the other side. Lu..

She opened the door and she was correct. Lu wrapped around in a burrito blanket, trying to calm down quietly. “Lu?” She mumbled placing her book down. Lu sniffed as he saw his best friend. “Rosie!!” he cried, getting up and hugging her tightly. Rosa was cut off guard but wrapped her arms around him. “Okay? Of course, I would..-”

“Rosie.. You are okay... You’re safe.. Okay.. Safe.. Not like them..” Lu mumbled, hugging his friend tighter. ‘What..?’ she thinks in her head. Very confused about what he was saying but realized he had a nightmare..

“Lu..? Did you have a nightmare..?” she asked softly. Lu slowly nods his head. “Do you want to talk about it..?”

“A bit..” he mumbled, shaking in fear. “I’m here to listen..” said Rosa patting behind his back.

“Well.. We were fighting Cursa.. And.. She struck her tentacle to Mari..! He was cursed.. Along with the others.. I-I was running away with Jeanie, Edge, You, and Mario.. Until you w-were attacked.. And I-I didn't s-save you- I watched it all happen.. Blood s-splattered everywhere.. M-Mari.. And t-the others w-were l-like them-!! I-I.. My o-own brother killed m-me.. I-I-” Lu explained, tears escaping from his eye. “Shhh.. Sh..” whispered Rosa hugging her friend tightly. “It was a nightmare.. We're all okay.. You are okay.. Curse is gone.” said Rosa trying to calm down her friend.

Lu sniffled, trying to calm himself down. But more tears came down and he was.. Just so scared. It felt real.

Rosa quietly hummed, removing her arms around him. One hand holding his hand while the other wiping away his tears. For a short minute her little tune calmed Lu down a bit. Only sniffles can be heard from him.

“Would you like me to read a story for you?” Rosa suggested.

Lu nods his head.

“Alright..”

Rosa used her magic to gently lift Lu up and set him down on his bed, climbing up and sitting down with him. “Y-You won’t leave me here.. Right..?” Lu whimpered. “No, I will be here. Not leaving your side,” said Rosa, opening her book.

“Beauty And The Beast Chapter 1. Once upon a time, in a faraway land, a young prince lived in a shining castle…”

…

Lu was fast asleep, sleeping on Rosa’s shoulder. Rosa stopped her reading, looked over at her shoulder, and smiled seeing Lu fall asleep. It was worth it reading two chapters. Until they read Chapter 3 together tomorrow. She put a bookmark on the page and closed the book. Set the book on the side and lay her head on Lu’s blanket head. She sighed, falling asleep.

>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>

I kinda want to right the Despair AU, but I need to check the lore to get it right. And Nightmares can be a pain.

#m+rsoh #rabbid luigi #rabbid rosalina #I headcanon Rosa to have powers like Rosalina #BATB reference?#m+rsoh fanfic

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gumnut-logic · 1 year

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“I love your ass.”

Virgil froze.

He was halfway up the steps out of the lounge in the comms room. The sun was starting to peek over the horizon in the east, lighting up the room enough just enough to push away the gloom of a restless night fuelled by coffee.

And the reason for that restless night was admiring his butt.

He turned around slowly to stare at the cocoon of blankets on the couch. The holoprojector was spewing forth some documentary on the wilds of the Pacific Ocean and the musical backdrop just added to the concept of how great his ass was.

“What?”

“It’s perfect.”

Virgil blinked again at the rosy smile on his little brother’s face. “Why are you looking at my butt?”

He shrugged. “Dunno. Just struck me all of a sudden.” And yes, those eyes were studying Virgil below his waistline.

He had the sudden nonsensical urge to cover himself up.

Not that he was dressed anything out of the ordinary. Just wearing his every day flannel and jeans…from yesterday. He needed a shower and some serious rack time.

But Gordon…yes, it was Gordon admiring his butt and grinning up at him blearily from the sofa…Gordon needed him.

So he was there.

All night.

Virgil nodded once. “Okay. I’ll take that under advisement.” He stepped up the last step onto the hardwood floor. “But first, I need more coffee.”

“Come sit with me, Virg. I want you to see the whale shark.”

He kept walking. “Sure, but coffee first.” If he didn’t get his coffee, he was going to fall on his face and then where would Gordon be?

A small voice answered him from the back of his mind that Gordon had three other brothers, a sister and a Grandmother all willing to help him.

But the voice was stepped on by Virgil’s own need to make sure Gordon was okay.

And that meant coffee.

“Viiiiiiiiiiirgiiiiiiiiiil! Commmme baaaaaack!”

Virgil stopped halfway to the kitchen and let his shoulders drop. “I’ll be back in a moment, Gords. I promise.”

“But you’ll miss the olliepus.”

The what? Despite himself Virgil turned to find an octopus crawling across the holoprojector. He stared at his brother, actually concerned that Gordon truly had lost the plot if he couldn’t name one of his favourite creatures. “Olliepus?”

“And a giant cram! They’re visiting Minerva!”

Virgil turned at that. Minerva Reefs were just to the north-west of them.

Gordon’s expression was lethal on the puppy dog scale and hit its target enough to wipe out the coffee urgency emergency with a flick of those long dark-blonde eyelashes.

Virgil was at the top of the steps down to the lounge before the strike even registered.

Proof of how tired he actually was.

But Gordon was patting the seat beside the tangle of bed clothes that Virgil had hauled down here with him, and, if he was honest, Virgil was on his last legs.

Gordon had been injured the day before yesterday, in a rock slide. Virgil had been with him and he should have seen it coming, but he didn’t and consequently he had been kicking himself ever since.

Broken leg, broken ribs and a nasty concussion mixed with medication that sent his brother loopy led to a long night and a clingy big brother who, despite being ordered to bed by both his bigger brother and his grandmother, couldn’t leave Gordon alone.

So he had sat with him all night, watching him breathe and thanking all the powers that be that he was safe.

Gordon didn’t sleep well. The situation brought back memories and his subconscious mind threw up nightmare material several times during the night leaving Virgil trying to calm his brother down on multiple occasions. It was one reason why Virgil couldn’t leave him.

The thought of his little brother waking up alone from one of those nightmares while high on medication….no, just no.

So Virgil stayed.

No doubt Scott would demand he rest the moment he climbed out of bed - yes, Virgil was up before his big brother for once in his life…mainly because he hadn’t gone to bed yet.

He found himself seated beside Gordon before he could think otherwise.

“Virg!” And Gordon snuggled up beside him, head against Virgil’s shoulder, arms wrapped around his torso. “Thank you. You’re the good bro. You understand.” Gordon rubbed his face against Virgil’s shirt. “And you’re warm and fluffy”

Virgil stared down at his ill brother. The bruising on his forehead was still livid and painful to look at. “Good to know, Gords.” But he relaxed back against the couch and took comfort from the warmth half smothering him.

Gordon was asleep in his lap moments later.

Virgil sighed and closed his eyes. There wasn’t going to be any coffee.

On the holoprojector a helicopter flew across the northern most reef of Minerva, a commentator babbling about the history of the region, but no one heard it.

Virgil began to snore.

-o-o-o-

#thunderbirds are go #thunderbirds #thunderbirds fanfiction #Virgil Tracy #Gordon Tracy #nuttyfic reblog #FishTank

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theawkwardterrier · 2 years

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What Can Be Found Beneath

Steggy Week 2k22, day 6 Prompt: multiverse/What If…?

Summary: Peggy loves her new shield. She knows where the idea came from.

AO3 link here. Thanks to @steggyfanevents for organizing!

“I’ve a bone to pick with you.”

She sees Steve jump a bit at the sound of her voice before he turns to her. The confusedly guilty panic that he is trying to cover fills her with a strange sort of laughing affection that she quickly covers herself; the fact that he faces her anyway brings with it a more sober sort. Brushing both aside, she continues.

“You’re an artist, are you not?”

Steve peers up at her with a cautiously raised eyebrow. “I guess you could say that,” he agrees.

He’s in uniform now - one that actually fits him, although only because he’s been around SSR headquarters for long enough to endear himself to the staff at the supply office - and walking on his own, with only the aid of a stick. Each time that she can see him, can reassure herself of his wholeness and presence, it soothes over the scars of worry which had formed as she saw him fall, bullet-wounded.

“Well,” she says, gathering herself, putting on her captain’s voice - the one she’s had the whole time, but which only recently gained the title, “every artist I know of adheres to the simple rule of signing their work.”

“What are you—”

She lifts the shield in front of herself, still somewhat delighted by the weight of it on her arm. “I know for a fact that Howard would never have selected such a simple piece of kit himself, especially back when it was as unassuming as I imagine it is beneath the splendid paint job. It isn’t either innovative or flashy enough to be of interest to him. You, on the other hand…”

It’s unlikely that anyone has ever told Steve how darling he looks when he blushes, the rosy tint to his cheeks favoring his coloring immensely, reminding her of the ways in which he contains multitudes, reckless and awkward and tough and lovely and underestimated all at once. She makes a note of that - she would like to be the first to mention it to him, someday.

“I might have…Well, when you spend as much time as I do just hanging around without an official job, you’ve got to find something to do. Howard might love the sound of his own voice, but he’ll also listen to me, and he doesn’t just think I’m some pain in the neck.” He shrugs. “So when he said he was putting together a uniform and maybe even a couple pieces of equipment for you, I might have made a suggestion or two.”

The fact that he refers to it as a uniform rather than a costume sends a flashing warmth through her. She feels the smile spreading before she’s even really considered it. “Then I owe you quite a lot of thanks,” she says. “Howard’s gadgets and enhancements are all well and good, but this is certainly my favorite bit.” Tilting her head slightly, she adds, “But why did you think to pick it? A shield, no matter how rare the material, isn’t exactly standard military issue, at least not the modern military.”

Steve gives a small shrug, a tiny, side-mouthed smile of his own. “I guess it reminded me of you: tough and…well, special, just for what it is at the core. The sort of thing that most people overlook because they have a particular idea in mind of what they think a weapon or a hero should be, even if it means that they might miss out on something pretty amazing.”

Peggy has gotten compliments before: shallow ones from beaux about her skill on the dance floor and from passing men on her looks, valued, admiring ones from her sisters at school or at Bletchley, from her parents and brother at various points over the years, even those from her superiors that she tried not to appreciate because putting stock in what they said would only pain her when they discounted her contributions down the line.

She doesn’t think that she has ever felt more struck by someone’s words. Perhaps it is because they are so simple or so earnest, given without agenda, said in a way that made her feel so particularly seen without feeling exposed, without making her want to close herself off or hide her vulnerability.

Perhaps it is because Steve is the one saying them - Steve, who understands what it is to be overlooked and underestimated without having to be told. Steve, smart and determined and gentle and so very and instinctively good, whose opinion she values in a world where she so often has to remind herself that what others say and care about does not matter, that their view of her is not reality.

For a moment, she almost wants to touch over her chest, not drawing strength from the Union Jack so recently added there or even what it symbolizes about what she has driven herself to become, but to hold the words in place where they have struck her so tenderly in the heart.

She swallows. “Next time,” she says softly, “you should tell me when you’ve given me something like this. You should tell me that it was you.”

“Next time I convince Howard to make you a uniquely aerodynamic shield from the rarest metal on earth, I guess I could mention it.” He puts his hands in his pockets, that little smile still there, even though she thinks that he must be able to feel what is in the air between them.

In the midst of a war, she keeps telling herself, is not the time to act on these sorts of feelings. She reminds herself of her new role, of the importance of what they are doing, of how imperative it is that she and Steve not distract each other from this crucial work, and of the ways in which she must remain above reproach in order to please or appease those in charge, even if she has little respect for them.

One day, she promises herself and him, however silently. One day they will have won this, and they can speak openly, step together into something new. But for now, she can be glad, at least, to have him as a friend who believes in her and what she can be, who she can rely on to know her as she knows herself.

#SteggyWeek22 #Steggy fic #Steggy #Peggy Carter #Steve Rogers #What If...

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sehunniepotwrites · 3 years

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AS YOU WISH | J.JH | ONE

cover by @seostudios

SYNOPSIS. He was a boy, she was a girl— can I make it any more obvious?

But actually, she was a cursed genie of two thousand years who longed to be freed of her gilded cage and he was a modern but lonely boy who hoped to free her. He just didn’t expect to fall in love with her in the process.

GENRE. angst, slow burn, romance, genie!au, reincarnation!au, royal!au, thief!au PAIRING. jeong jaehyun x female genie!reader MINOR CHARACTERS. mark lee, moon taeil, jeong sungchan WORD COUNT. 10.6k+

WARNINGS. stealing, mentions of cuts and wounds, blood, physical beating, derogatory name calling

ONE: PAST | TWO: INTERLUDE | THREE: PRESENT

2000 YEARS AGO, THE KINGDOM OF NEIHO

“Stop, street rat!”

Heavens, how you hated that name. You ached to yell a taunting insult back but you were afraid of the royal guards catching onto your identity by hearing the sound of your voice.

“Grab that lousy thief!”

The calls of the guards continued to sound throughout the pathway as you ran for your life. The heavy bag of riches slung along over your shoulder pounded against your upper back as you felt the wind in your hair. The extra weight was beginning to weigh you down but you did not falter. Your strained legs propelled you forward and you stole a quick glance behind you— the burly men with swords were gaining on you and you could not let them.

“Wait— there are two of them!”

You cursed when your partner was spotted. From the corner of your eye, you caught a flicker of his cape turning a corner. You were supposed to be the diversion. The blazing sun burned your skin through your hooded cloak but you had to keep pushing. For them.

You would do anything for them, even give your life for them, just as your mother did before you.

Apologizing as you passed, you threw down displays of fresh produce to throw the guards off. You would come back to help clean up later.

You pulled the cloak down to better conceal your face before sprinting into a hidden nook in the village center. The bolstering guards ran past your hiding spot moments later, their leader barking commands to his subordinates before they all went their separate ways. Peeking behind a wall, you watched as their backs grew smaller and smaller and let out an audible sigh.

You made it another day. With a wide-eyed grin, you pushed yourself out of your hiding spot and walked an easy path to the outskirts of the kingdom where people were waiting for you.

If the guards were smart enough, they would have easily found you by they searched the outskirts of the kingdom’s stone walls. There was an opening in the walls, big enough for one person to fit through. You frequented that small hole often with a large sack hauled over your back. As soon as you passed that point in your path, you tossed your cloaked disguise into a nearby bush before trekking on to your final destination.

The path was lengthy but at least you were in the shade instead of under the blazing sun. The clanking of your stolen riches kept you company as you navigated through the many trees. It wasn’t long until you reached an open area filled with a variety of people. Lousy tents made of the thinnest cloth and held up by fallen branches surrounded the field and in the center was a large fire pit. There were clotheslines, cooking supplies, and a short supply of food scattered around the makeshift camp.

The plentiful conversations hushed when you dropped the sack at the end of the path. A shuffling of footsteps and the tinkling sound of coins clanging against each other reached your ears before another figure plopped down beside you, his body falling splat onto the soft grass.

“I refuse to do that again,” a boyish voice groaned beside you. It came from a boy around your age, give or take a few years, with messy brown hair and the cutest set of doe eyes. His thin face and sharp jawline were lined with dirt but he was still what you considered handsome.

“Minhyung, stop your fusing,” you scolded as you ruffled his hair. The boy whined at your actions, moving away to escape your teasing. “You say the same thing every single time we do this, however, you keep coming back to help me.”

“They almost caught me this time around,” he told you. “I barely escaped— one guard grabbed me by the ends of my cloak and almost saw my face! I thought you were the distraction!”

“I was,” you fired back.

“And yet, they still found me,” Minhyung reported dramatically, swinging an arm over his eyes. There was a beat of comfortable silence as the breeze came rolling in.

“But was it worth it?” you asked with a soft voice.

A pair of dirtied feet appeared in your vision. You and Minhyung tilted your heads up to find a small child, not even five years of age gazing at you expectantly. The child’s body was extremely malnourished and their cheeks were horribly sunken in. They looked bashful as they outstretched an arm towards Minhyung.

He sent the child a tiny smile, his mouth curving up at the ends, as he produced a small loaf of bread from beneath his cloak. The child’s eyes sparkled in delight as they snatched the piece of food from Minhyung’s hold and eagerly bit into it. You patted the child’s head lovingly as you hand them a grip of gold coins. They shuffled back to their family who gave their thanks.

As the other people in the open field started to line up to receive their share, Minhyung simply replied: “Yes, yes it was.”

You grinned at your fellow thief— you thought it was worth it, too.

Your gaze shifts to the high towers of Neiho’s palace peeking from behind the treetops. But sometimes, you pondered over how effortless life must have been when living like royalty— was it easy when everything was provided for you?

Unlike what most people assumed, living the life of a royal was far from easy.

Jeong Yuno, the Crown Prince of Neiho, had a sudden urge to bang his head against the library wall. He refrained from doing so, the action being far from princely. He looked up from his pile of parchment paper with glazed over eyes, the ink from his quill drying from the lack of writing. There were rows of untouched books lined up at his desk and none of them were of his interest. They skirted on the topics of Neiho’s history and politics; although it was something he was already versed in, he hated the subject unlike his younger brother, Chansung, who excelled and loved it.

Yuno longed to touch the atlas that was stationed on his tutor’s desk. He wanted to study it, chart a course to another far off land, and mark it with ink as he visited place to place. But instead of traveling, the crown prince drowned in his studies while his tutor looked down upon his distracted self.

“Prince Yuno, have you heard a single word that has left my lips or is your head still up in the clouds?” Moon Taeil, the kingdom’s main historian and tutor, scolded. His wooden stick struck the surface of Yuno’s desk and the shocked boy jumped. From his own desk, Chansung snickered behind his thin hand.

“My apologies,” the crown prince bowed his head, his ears turning crimson from being caught by the snippy tutor.

“Well, since I have gained you back from the skies, might you list Neiho’s past rulers and achievements in order?”

Yuno bit back a loud groan. He was in desperate need of a sweet escape. His gaze floated out the window and onto the blooming marketplace below. It seemed like the liveliness was calling his name.

One of the things you loved about your mother was her storytelling. You heard stories of all kinds of love while growing up on the fly. She painted clear pictures of people falling at first sight, of hate turning to overflowing affection, and so much more. Your mother sold you tales of star-crossed lovers that found their happy endings before she passed; her fables of love sounded nothing more than poppycock and folly.

That is, until it occurred to the unsuspecting you.

It was a usual day for you in the city— hood up, cloak flowing in the wind with a sack beating your back as you were on the run from the royal guards stationed in the marketplace. You weaved in between the townsfolk, your nimble body easily pushing through nooks and crannies when you bumped into something— or rather, someone strong.

“Oof!”

“Oh!”

The large sack you carried added some extra weight, leading you to topple over the stranger that ran into your smaller build. The stranger was about to mumble a quick apology before you heard the bellowing of the persistent guards.

You cursed. There was no room for hesitation when you were caught in a tight spot such as this. With staggering breaths and a pounding chest, you grabbed the man’s hand and navigated through endless alleyways and store fronts. You mastered the art of escaping at a young age while he had trouble keeping up with your speed.

And so, your first adventure with the man you would soon learn to love began.

Your hurried steps brought you to an unattended rooftop. You put one foot on the ledge and leaned your body over to glance at the commotion in the market. Down below, the guards were scrambling through the bustling crowds in a failed attempt to find you. Watching them struggle on their search sent you into a laughing fit that your then mysterious companion echoed.

With a heaving chest and rushing heart, you finally looked up at him for the first time and saw the most beautiful man you had ever laid your eyes on. Despite only seeing him from his place on the balcony or painted portraits before, you immediately knew who he was: The Crown Prince of Neiho. He had deep chocolate eyes and jet-black hair that highlighted his sweat stained skin. His cheeks and ears were flushed with a rosy red as he gasped for air. He was dressed in a horrible excuse for a disguise; the high-end material he wore and golden shoes were purposefully stained. It was as if the prince wanted to be found.

You quickly retracted your dirtied hand from his soft one and immediately dropped to your knees. “My sincerest apologies for placing my soiled hands on yours, Your Highness. I ask for your forgiveness,” you said with a bowed head, your disheveled hair covering your embarrassed face.

Yuno let out a hearty laugh, one that was deep but still sounded like the lightest bells in your ear. “Please, none of that,” he said, helping you to your feet.

“If anything, you helped me escape from those wretched guards,” he sent you an angelic smile and you swore the heavens were smiling down on you at that moment. “I should thank you.”

He placed a gentle hand on your shoulder as you felt your face flush with an unfamiliar heat.

“May I know the name of my savior?” Yuno questioned teasingly, his eyes looking deep into yours.

“Perhaps another time, Your Highness,” you said quite cheekily before running back into the crowd.

The second time you met Prince Yuno, you were both on the run once again. In a way similar to what you had done in the past, his hand slipped so fluidly into yours before you sprinted through the town square. You knocked a fruit cart down as a diversion and the guards struggled making their way through the mess. Through your hooded cloak that flowed in the breeze, you turned over your shoulder to chuckle at how helpless the so-called protectors looked.

“We must stop meeting like this, Highness,” you breathed out as you kept up with his speed.

“Why? I quite enjoy meeting like this,” he threw back at you with a sheepish grin. There was a glimmer of adventure in his eyes and you chuckled.

The hood of your cape fell back, revealing your face for a quick moment before you tugged it back up. It was too late, though, for he had seen your face. Having only heard your voice before, Yuno’s steps faltered at the sight of you. Taking charge at that moment, you overtook him and jerked him into an unpaved path.

You took him over and under until you found a safe haven on top of a building— your makeshift home. Ratty cotton sheets were tied to poles for shade and a pile of pillows was bunched together to make a bed. Random trinkets were scattered along the rooftop along with a scarce supply of food and sacks of stolen treasures leaning against a wall. You wordlessly made yourself comfortable, pouring yourself two cups of water from a jug and handed one to the stranger in your space. He took it graciously and gulped it down, his prominent Adam’s apple bobbing up and down as he did so.

“From the bottom of my heart, I thank you, my dear savior,” Yuno spoke to you for the second time that day.

“It was nothing, Your Highness,” you responded, waving him off as you sat at his feet.

“I feel like this was fate or destiny calling,” Yuno suggested out of the blue.

“This?”

“Us, meeting again,” he answered smoothly, his voice as melodic as a mother’s lullaby.

“I suppose it is.”

“Seeing as destiny brought us together, might I know your name?”

Despite being of a higher status, he didn’t seem as selfish as you thought he would be—Yuno seemed kind and trustworthy. You let down your walls and stuttered out your name. The dark orbs that you got lost in flashed with recognition and you wondered if you made a wrong move by revealing your identity.

“You!” he shouted, his voice booming loudly. “Yes, I have heard many things about you.”

You glared at him with panicked eyes and you rushed to cover his soft lips. “Are you insane, Highness? Speak like that and they will surely find us here!”

“My apologies,” he replied, tugging at his earlobe in embarrassment. “My excitement got the best of me.”

You snorted at his answer, “Excitement?” you probed. “What is there to be excited about?”

“It is not everyday you meet the infamous thief that steals from the rich to give back to the poor,” Yuno grinned with dimples sinking into his soft cheeks.

He was not wrong; you did steal for a living to help the less fortunate. Unlike many others your age, you were able-bodied and felt the mighty need to provide for others who needed extra support. This had been the fifth time the guards had almost caught you but it didn’t matter. As long as the children on the street did not starve, you would risk your life over and over again.

Your mother, compassionate and altruistic as one could ever be, had done so in the past and you were determined to carry her legacy. You wanted to make her proud.

“Are you going to arrest me then?” you challenged with a brow. You took a large step back, ready to be on the run if the situation called for it. “If that is your intention, Your Highness, it is in my best interest to leave you.”

“Oh, no! If anything, I agree with your actions,” he relayed, arms shooting out to keep you in his reach. The Prince’s touch pierced your skin with comforting warmth and you shudder at the odd sensation.

“The Royal Advisor, Rowena, insists on high taxes and taking from the poor while feeding the rich,” he started to explain, taking a seat on the dusty steps.

You hummed, recalling the many times you had laid your eyes on the advisor— she held her head high and wore a permanent, almost sinister smirk on her gorgeous face. Her eyes were as red as blood and hair as black as night. She was beyond intimidating, more so than the Royal Family and their guards.

“What she is doing to the people out here, it isn’t right,” Yuno added on. “They are suffering and I feel as if it is my duty to stop her.”

“I feel as if it is mine as well,” you replied.

“I tried to tell the King of how Rowena’s suggestions have been affecting the community outside the palace walls but it is as if she has him under a spell. He hears not a thing I say,” he explained exasperatedly.

He let out a defeated sigh as you crouched next to him. You let him speak, seeing how distressed he was by the whole situation. “He only listens to her and my younger brother, Chansung; he is the smarter sibling. I am nothing but a pretty face that represents the kingdom,” the prince chuckled darkly.

“Highness—” you tried to intervene, not enjoying how he was belittling himself. He stopped you before you could even begin with a mere glance.

“It is not I who deserves the throne, it is Chansung. I can barely do a thing when my mind is elsewhere. How can I rule when my mind is not focused on the needs of my people?”

You place a tentative hand on his knee to ground him before his thoughts send him spiraling.

“I apologize,” the runaway prince blurted suddenly. “I do not know you and here I am, spilling out my innermost thoughts. You must think I am a fool.”

“No, it’s quite alright. I imagine you have no one to discuss this with within the palace,” you comforted him with a kind smile. You encouraged Yuno to continue, hands urging him on. “But if your mind is not here, then…”

Yuno shot you an empty grin, the upturns of his lips not meeting his reddening ears. “I have been trapped inside the palace since birth. Raised inside these walls all my life. I am safe and sound with a set future here and yet…” his voice trailed off, looking at the overview of the kingdom. His stare then gravitated beyond the kingdom walls.

“And yet?”

“I want to go beyond our borders. I know there is more the world has to offer. I have read about it in books but I want to experience it in person, write it down, and bring back what I have learned to better Neiho.” There was a sense of longing in his voice and you could almost relate to his yearning.

You took a seat next to him, your knees touching his. Your body turned towards him, torso leaning forward to give the prince your undivided attention. “What have you read about so far, Your Highness?”

“Please call me Yuno,” he said gently, clutching onto your hand. You tried to tug it away, flustered from the sudden contact, and he only tightened his clasp.

“Yes, Your Highness,” you replied, “I mean, Y-Yuno.”

The instant his name left your lips, he sent you the most dazzling smile, his pearly white teeth perfectly framed by the pink of his lips and the curve of his dimples. Whiskers appeared around his closed eyes and his nose scrunched up in the most adorable way and you found yourself falling down the rabbit hole one called love.

Ever since that fated day, you arranged countless meetings in random nooks and crannies of the marketplace. Yuno taught you the many things he had learned from his readings while you showed him places he had never been before. He brought you books and taught you how to read. You taught him how to fend for himself in the forest.

You often found yourselves weaving through crowds as the guards attempted to follow your trails. Laughter bubbled through the prince’s chest as you tugged him along with intertwined fingers. Your heart leaped huge lengths across your chest every time he glanced your way through his fluttering eyelashes and you wondered if he felt the same.

Your days with Yuno always ended on that same rooftop, overlooking the beautiful sight that was Neiho, and you adored every second of it.

One night, you blurted out, “Do you ever wonder what life would be like if things were different?” Yuno glanced up at you from your lap, head tilting with curiosity. Your fingers were tangled in his soft, clean hair as his hand played with the ends of yours.

“Do you?” he countered. The point of your elbow dug into his toned stomach and he winced.

“I asked first,” you said and he laughed at your argument.

“And I am the Crown Prince,” he threw back and you pouted at his response.

You were quiet for a moment, gathering your thoughts together before answering your own question. “Yes.”

“And what do you wonder about?”

“There are times I wish for a life where I am comfortable, where I’m not breaking my back for someone else’s sake.” Feeling a bit vulnerable, you drew your hands away from his head and wrapped them around your waist— it was your first time to reveal this hidden thought of yours.

“It’s not that I want to stop helping them,” you explained tentatively, “I just wonder what it would be like to start living just for me, without the weight of the world on my shoulders.”

Yuno only hummed in reply. You shook your head, snapping yourself out of the daze you were in. “Your turn to answer,” you pushed the heavy question onto him.

“I suppose so, yes,” he mused simply. “I would like to be a traveling scholar, see the world through my own eyes. I often wonder about a life of travel, you know this.”

You did know this—Yuno told you this many times.

“There’s another thing I wonder about, though,” he slipped in.

“And what is that?”

“I often wonder what life would be like if I had you by my side.”

You coughed at his sweet words, not at all expecting to hear a statement like that. He reached up to pat your back as you choked on air, giggling at your antics. Your breathing returned to normal and his fingers found their way to yours. With entwined fingers and hearts, he called your name endearingly as his head rested against your lap. You returned his earnest stare under the light of the moon with the same intensity, “Yes, my prince?”

He rolled his eyes at your response.

Yuno, hidden in a ripped cloak, brought your hand against his plump lips and looked into your eyes as he kissed your knuckles. “I arose from bed this morning with a sudden realization.”

“Have you come to the conclusion that Chansung is the better looking royal?” you poked. He gave you a look of betrayal and you giggled at his furrowed brows and flared nostrils.

“It was nothing but a joke, dear,” you laughed, running your fingers through his thick locks of hair. He huffed loudly, turning away from your playful gaze.

“My attempt to confess my love and she makes a fool out of me,” he mumbled under his breath but you could not catch his words.

“You would make a great jester,” Yuno added with another roll of his gorgeous eyes.

“I don’t think I would enjoy being the laughing stock of nobility,” you answered, poking at his soft cheek. He swatted your hand away in annoyance but your fingers were persistent. You continued to sink your finger into the skin of his cheek until he caught it and nibbled on your fingertip. Yelping, you drew back your hand and narrowed your gaze at the prince.

It was his turn to laugh at your reaction, blessing your ears with the sweetest melody. “My darling, you would never be a laughing stock to me.”

Although your finger throbbed, you were happy to see the playful side of the prince— he often had a stoic expression when addressing the people of Neiho from the palace balconies. The sight of his bright smile was enough to light the whole kingdom tenfold.

“What would I be then?” you asked mockingly.

Yuno shifted to face you, his ethereal features glowing in the starlight and captivating you in ways you could not explain. There was a fluttering feeling in your stomach and an intense pounding in your chest as Yuno gave you the simplest answer, “The love of my life.”

His words sent your heart soaring to the highest of places.

In that moment, it mattered not who you were and where you were because you were the love of his life just as he was yours.

Arriving at the clearing deep in the forest, you released the bag of stolen goods from your hold. Panting out breaths, you did your best to steady your heartbeat. The racing palpitations of heart felt different somehow, maybe because for once, they were not caused by the adrenaline of running away but by the highs of being deeply in love.

A gorgeous smile broke out on your face and you hadn’t a care if you looked like a crazy loon.

“Where have you been?” A familiar voice blasted from above you. Looking up, you saw Minhyung seated on a tree branch. He leaped down, landing directly on his feet with a playful smirk.

You coughed the grin right off your face. “I had to take a little detour is all.”

“A detour?” Minhyung questioned.

“Yes, a detour.”

Your friend circled you, throwing an arm around your shoulders. “Quite unusual for your detours to last until sundown,” he teased, “and you look like you’re walking on air.”

You tried to bite back your grin and you failed. You could never hide anything from Minhyung, he had seen you through it all. He was your brother after all— not by blood but nevertheless, he was family.

“I met the Crown Prince,” you muttered under your breath.

“Do speak up, you know how I hate when you mumble,” Minhyung teased, using the words you often fired at him.

“I said, Minhyung, I met the Crown Prince,” you repeated with a louder voice.

You watched as Minhyung’s eyes widened like saucers and how they gleamed with intrigue as he squeezed you closer to him. “You met Prince Yuno?!” he gasped. “How— why? What?”

“Keep it down, will you please?” Clamping a dirtied hand over his mouth, you tried to shut him up. He simply licked your palm to which you smacked him across the head.

“Well, this isn’t our first time meeting. We’ve met many a time before,” you started off, going down your short history with the prince. Minhyung listened attentively— his admiration for the Royal Family, much like many of the other Neiho citizens, ran deep.

“How is he in real life?”

“Nothing short of wonderful,” you sighed, head turning back to face the city. You wondered how he was doing, if he made it back through the palace gates without any trouble from the guards he was escaping from. “He is like the brightest star I have ever seen, so beautiful and radiant but still so far out of my reach.”

Remembering the sound of his laughter and the look in his eyes, another soft smile appeared on your face. It was a smile Minhyung had never seen on your features. You appeared as if you were the star you just described, shining brightly for one person and one person alone. The light in your eyes was almost too blinding, he wanted to look away but Minhyung couldn’t.

It had been so long since he had seen you this happy— the last time you smiled so cheerfully was with your mother so many years ago. You adopted a harsher look throughout the years that Minhyung was beyond ecstatic to see that happiness still existed within you.

“Is that so?”

“Yes,” you answered gently. “He told me to call him Yuno.”

“And did you?”

“Of course, Minhyung,” you said with a chuckle, “it would be wrong to not obey royalty.”

“Yes, you’re quite right,” Minhyung hummed back.

“He is filled with kindness and loyalty to the kingdom, which is admirable.”

“But?”

Thinking back to the conversation you had with the prince, your eyebrows stitched together when recalling his dreams. “His heart aches for adventure and knowledge, things he cannot find here if he is to be King.”

Minhyung searched your face for a glimpse into your head. “Isn’t that what you’re looking for, too?”

Looking your best friend and fellow thief straight in the eyes, you were posed with a thought that hadn’t even crossed your scattered mind. “I suppose it is.”

Minhyung laughed as you came to the realization. The two of you sat in silence as you breathed everything in.

“The Prince isn’t that far from your reach then,” Minhyung posed with a childlike grin. “He is much closer than you think.”

The first time Yuno kissed you was underneath the setting sun. Hidden behind the stone walls of the palace, he pressed you into a dark corner where no one could catch sight of your unlikely pairing.

It was a long day for the both of you— you had snuck into the houses of nobles, stealing their smallest treasures to sell in order to feed the hungry while he shadowed his father during his audiences with the people of Neiho. Your secret rendezvous started with exchanging stories about your eventful day with shared laughter and the sweetest of touches. Yuno’s smooth hands ghosted against your dry ones several times, each touch sending tingles down your spine.

His arms caged you in between his strong body and the hard stone wall as his face hovered in front of your own. Your breath hitched as his intense stare shifted from your eyes to your parted lips. It was the dead of winter but you had never felt hotter under his fiery gaze.

“May I kiss you?” you found yourself asking as his plump bottom lip grazed against your own. You were shocked by your own bravery and you knew he was, too. Your heart pounded loudly like a beating drum and you swore the prince could hear it as well.

“Do as you wish,” the prince replied almost breathlessly, captivated by the way your eyes kept flickering to the lack of space in between your bodies.

“But is that what you wish for, Yuno?” you countered with a sultry tone. He gulped loudly at how confident you were and nodded almost too eagerly, lips barely brushing against your dry ones. “Yes. Yes, it is.”

“Then, your wish is my command,” you smile before closing the distance between. A light press of your lips onto his was all it took to send your world spinning round. Yuno deepened it by leaning his body against your smaller build, a hand tilting your jaw up in a different angle.

He held you so gently, making you feel as if you were royalty. Hands in his hair and his arms around your waist, his kiss made it seem like you had chased the blowing winds and touched the pastel sky. His love rose you to the heavens above and you soared with a rush of freedom you had never felt before.

You kissed as the sky cast a golden glow upon your bodies, too lost in each other to realize you were the focus of someone’s envious gaze.

While you flirted with the life of crime, Yuno made his way through the hallowed hallways of Neiho’s palace. His heavy steps echoed throughout the empty path but he couldn't even hear a thing— his mind was littered with scattered thoughts. He marched his way to his younger brother’s quarters, determined that would be the day he would reveal his heart to his kin. The crown prince groaned in frustration, decorated hands messing with his jet-black hair as he tried to piece what to say.

How did one even start this conversation? Yuno never had a conversation as deep as this with his sibling before. The only person he poured his heart to was you.

Does he start with not waiting to take the throne or with his dream of travel? Should he begin with his skepticism over Advisor Rowena and the poor conditions of their people?

Yuno stopped in place— Rowena. He cringed at the thought of her. He heard the rumors swirling around the circle of nobility. The servants in the palace could never keep their mouth shut at the whispers. There were tales of the King making the advisor his betrothed for the sake of a flourishing kingdom.

He couldn’t fathom how his father came to this as a viable option for the betterment of Neiho.

Yuno thought traveled back to you and what you stood for: how your gigantic heart only thought of others. He recalled how your body was drenched with wounds and scars and yet, you still kept going for the people that had everything to lose. He wanted to find ways to make your life easier but he knew he couldn’t find them inside Neiho’s borders. He had to leave in order to find that solution.

Yuno had no idea how long he contemplated in front of Chansung’s room before the door burst open. Yuno let out a shocked yell as his brother cocked an eyebrow at his older sibling.

“Brother, how long were you going to stand outside my door before simply coming in?” Chansung leaned against the wall as Yuno placed his hand over his rapid heart. He tried to catch his breath much to his brother’s amusement, but he was a bundle of nerves.

“Chansung,” he exhaled, still clutching his chest, “how did you know I was here?”

“It is impossible to not hear your stomps and groans through the wall,” the younger prince poked. “I imagine the townsfolk down below could hear your pacing.”

“Of course,” the older prince said with a roll of his eyes. His younger brother wordlessly invited him in by opening the door to his chambers wider and he breezed through, taking a seat on Chansung’s plush mattress. Chansung closed the door behind him to find his usually composed sibling with his head in his hands. A symphony of defeated sighs left Yuno’s lips and Chansung set a comforting hand on his brother’s back.

“What ails you, dear brother?” The younger implored.

“Chansung.”

“Yes, brother?”

“Have you ever felt like there was something more out there in the world, just waiting for you?”

Chansung paused at Yuno’s question, retreating his hand from his brother’s body. A silence surrounded the room as the younger sat next to his sibling.

“I suppose I haven’t,” Chansung answered with a hum. He turned to face his brother, finding the crown prince’s face contorted with furrowed brows and sucked in cheeks. “I knew that my place was always here in the castle and I have always taken that role seriously.”

This was true. Chansung always buried himself in his studies, gathering enough knowledge to to soon overtake the place of Yuno’s future advisor. He studied religiously to not let his people down, just as his Father and Rowena currently were.

The older nodded silently, the black strands of his hair shifting to hide his eyes as he did so. He tugged on his earlobe, a habit he picked up when he was deep in thought or stressed beyond belief. Chansung caught sight of Yuno’s tell-tale and his lips pursed on trying to figure out as to why his brother was stressed.

“See, Chansung, that’s the difference between us,” Yuno broke the deafening silence.

“What is?”

“You are the one who deserves the throne, not I.”

“Brother!” Chansung shouted in defiance. “Why would you say that? You would make a great king!” He pushed with such force. Yuno smiled, his brother always had seen the best in him.

“Chansung, one cannot deny the truth,” the crown prince smiled at his sibling. The upturns of his plump lip showed the prince’s fondness for his brother and a twinge of regret for not being the royal people expected him to be.

“I have known what people have expected me to be and I have tried my best to live up to those expectations but...” Yuno began. He stood up and walked towards the open balcony, Chansung following in his wake. The elder leaned against the railings, hands resting on the cold stone as his sibling chose to press his back against it.

Townsfolk caught a glimpse of them from down below and enthusiastically yelled for the royal duo’s attention. The younger greeted them with matched excitement, bringing his hand up for a wave while the elder just nodded at them with a forlorn expression taking over his handsome face. He stared at the crowd a little longer than he should have, his mind wandering to the thief that stole his heart. His deep chocolate eyes traced the busy streets and alleyways, through the ways of the marketplace and the housing area until he could no longer see the outlines of the path.

“But you feel as if you belong down there,” Chansung finished for him with a hint of understanding.

“Yes,” Yuno breathed out.

“Brother, you have always had a knack for escaping,” Chansung joked lightheartedly to ease his brother’s troubled heart. It was not everyday a royal revealed he wanted to be one of the people after all.

A hearty, deep rumbling laugh escaped the crown prince’s lips. “I suppose I was not as discreet as I could have been,” he said with the shake of his head, “I was too busy running away from the guards to leave quietly.”

“I suppose not,” the younger chuckled along, the sounds of their laughter drifting with the winds.

“But Yuno,” Chansung’s voice called, “will you be alright?” His voice grew faint towards the end of the question and Yuno caught what his sibling was implying. Would the crown prince be alright after leaving a life of comfort?

“Yes,” Yuno smiled, his eyes shining in a way the second in line had never seen before, “for I will be happy.”

“Will you really be happy?” Chansung asked softly, his voice choking at the thought of his brother leaving him behind. He shook the sadness away and grinned widely at his sibling.

“You are leaving your favorite person behind after all,” he teased, barely dodging a playful punch to the chest. Yuno slung his arm over Chansung’s broad shoulder, bringing a hand to ruffle the other’s neatly styled hair.

“When have I ever called you that?”

“Come, Yuno,” the younger man said with a proud smile, “we have much to discuss before we bring this to Father.”

Yuno laughed once more, his heart bursting with an infinite amount of joy. He was one step closer to being free.

Nothing could take away his happiness, or so he thought. Neither brother realized the person lurking in the shadows, hanging onto every word with disdain.

“He wants to abdicate the throne for a measly street rat? How could this be?” Rowena asked herself as she stormed into her secret hideaway within the palace walls after hearing the conversation between the siblings. The fabric of her robe flowed behind her and the mighty jeweled staff pounded against the floor as she rushed her way down steep steps.

“All these years of scheming my way to the top will be wasted if he leaves with that peasant,” she spat harshly. Passing by the mirror hanging on her wall, Rowena paused in place to admire her looks. Running a hand through her shining black locks and stroking the sharp line of her jaw, she wondered what you had that she didn’t.

She had the looks, the intelligence, and the kingdom in the palm of her magic hand while you merely survived by committing to a life of crime. Why wasn’t the prince in love with her?

“Yuno and the position of queen was to be mine,” the advisor hissed, hazel eyes darkening with envy with each word she spoke. “I have not wasted my energy spelling the king only to settle for the second born.”

Her reflection disappeared from her view, a bundle of smoke and clouds hiding her away before dispersing into a sweet image of you and the prince together.

A terrifying shriek left her lips at the new reflection. Picking up the closest item within her reach, she hurled it into the mirror projecting that horrifyingly romantic image. The crack of the glass echoed in throughout the room and it fueled her bubbling ambition.

As her grip tightened against the length of her staff, she felt a new plan hatching in her head and dark magic coursing through her veins. “Prince Yuno and Neiho will be mine, make no mistake about that.”

You thought your love was too good to be true and he tried to convince you otherwise— you were a mere village thief and he was the Crown Prince. You came from practically nothing while he was of royal blood and yet, your fragile heart couldn’t help but fall for the lost man behind the crown and jewels. Your relationship was against the fates and the aligned stars but the prince had the strongest urge to rewrite them just to keep you by his side.

“I have scheduled a private audience with the King tomorrow.”

“And what will you discuss with him, love?” You stroked his fringe away from his forehead before cupping his cheek in your gentle hold.

He nestled into your palm, sighing at your warmth. “Renouncing the throne,” Yuno announced casually.

“I beg your pardon?!” You almost screamed into the night.

The prince ignores your little outburst, continuing his explanation. “The life of a royal is not the life I wish to live. I want to live a life of travel and adventure.” He sat up to clutch your hands in his. “I want to live a life with you, if you will have me.”

“With me?” You managed to mutter. “Out of all people, why with me?”

“Because I’m in love with you. Any day with you would be an adventure.”

“But I don’t have anything— no riches, just rags,” you swallowed the lump in your throat. He took you in, dirt smeared face and ripped clothing, and still looked at you like you held the world in your hands. Yuno saw the stars, the sky, the whole entire universe in your eyes. He didn’t need anything else— he just needed you.

“I love you more than anything else in this world but all I have to offer you is everything in me. I’m not sure if that is enough,” you bit your lip, teething gnawing down on your sensitive skin out of nervousness. He was the boy who had everything and he was willing to give everything up for a life with you.

Yuno brought your injured knuckles to his lips. He kissed them gently, holding your gaze with a soft one of his own. “My love, that is more than enough. You are more than enough.”

“But what about the villagers? What will happen to them if I were to leave?” You sputtered out, worrying about others rather than yourself.

He smiled at your selflessness. “I have already discussed this with Chansung. He is aware of the village’s situation and is willing to make changes to better their livelihood.”

“I can’t leave them behind,” you pulled your hands away. “They need me.”

“He is willing to work with your partner, Minhyung, to reach out to our people. No man left behind,” he replied with a smile. “We thought of all the options.”

You wanted to go with him but they were all you knew. Protecting the villagers and providing them with hope was always your number one priority— you had never thought of anything else. Would your mother be disappointed in you if you left them all behind or would she be happy to know that you have found a potential shot of happiness?

“Please, just think about it, my darling.”

“And Minhyung, he asked me to think about it!” You shrieked while running through the trees, a sack of gold hitting the small of your back. You looked behind you to see your younger partner-in-crime giving you the smuggest smile.

“Well, are you thinking about it?” He questioned, curiosity burning in his doe eyes. He wiggled his brows to tease you and you wanted to slap him with your heavy sack.

“What is there to think about? I’m not leaving you behind.”

“Why is that?” Your friend pushed.

“Because you need me, they need me.”

“Do we really need you or is it you that needs us?”

You frowned at him, not understanding his words. “What do you mean by that, Min?”

He laughed, nose coiling up cutely as he did so. “You have been stealing all your life, it’s all you know how to do. It’s familiar.”

“I do not see where you’re going with this.”

“You love him and you want to go with him but you’re scared.”

“Of what?”

“The unknown.” Minhyung gestured to all the riches you’ve stolen gathered by your feet. “This is all you’ve known but wouldn’t it be nice to do something more?”

“But this is all you’ve known too, Min,” you countered defensively.

“True, but by working with Prince Chansung, I can broaden my horizons.” There was this proud glint in his eye. “I can help more people. And you—”

“And me?”

“— you can finally be free to see what’s out there just like you’ve always dreamed of doing with nothing holding you back.”

Your friend grabbed hold of your hand, his larger one clasping over your own. Minhyung’s grip tightened around your palm to reassure you. “You can be selfish for once, to think only of yourself, and it will be perfectly fine.”

“Min, I want to be selfish but I’m frightened of everything— life beyond the walls and forest. What if everything out there is not what I think it is? What if I’m not prepared to leave this familiarity?”

Minhyung whispered your name as you began to spiral down a road he could not follow.

“And being in love with a prince for that matter! Love could be fleeting. Any given day after I leave with him, Yuno may not want me. He could turn his back on me and leave me to die. He has options, Min. I, for one, am not that lucky.”

Your friend squeezed firmly on your shoulder before reaching down to take hold of your hands. He crossed your arms over your chest and placed each hand on a shoulder, leading your fingers to tap against your skin. Minhyung encouraged you to follow along as he began to guide you through deep, calming breaths.

As your heart rate and thoughts began to settle, you wondered when Minhyung grew up to be the strong boy who stood beside you.

“Life is frightening. We know that more than anyone, flying by the seat of our pants,” Minhyung said with a chuckle of his own. “It’s alright to be scared of the unknown but it should not stop you from living your life the way you wish to live it.”

As you took another breath, you nodded to acknowledge his words.

“Do you want to live a life with the Crown Prince?”

“More than anything in this world,” was your firm reply.

Minhyung grinned at you, “Then that should be enough. Your love will be enough.”

Tugging him into a hug, you tucked your head into the crook of his neck. The act of affection was a “thank you” you cannot express with words. You only hoped your friend would understand the meaning behind the gesture. Luckily, with years of experience being your partner-in-crime, the young Minhyung was able to between the lines.

“Will you be alright?”

“Of course,” he said, placing a faint kiss against the crown of your head. “You’ve taught me everything I need to know.”

Minhyung, the younger and more energetic one of your thieving duo, ran ahead of you into the clearing to make the first drop of goods. You laughed at his excitable demeanor— you knew he would be the person you would miss most once you hightrailed out of the kingdom. He was the only family you had left but there he was, happy that you were finally setting yourself free.

The upward curve of your lips dropped when you heard his voice yell out for help. Heart racing, you let go of your sack, legs running faster than ever before to come to your best friend’s aid.

Once you caught a glimpse of him, your heart dropped to the floor, right by your soiled and tattered coverings you called shoes.

Minhyung was fighting against the hold of the strong guards that always chased your tail. His hands were handcuffed in chains and tears were running down his sunken cheeks as one guard repeatedly abused his small frame. You screeched at the vulgar sight unfolding before you— your little brother was being beaten to a pulp.

Three rough strikes to the stomach was all you could witness before you went flying towards him, hands outstretched to catch him as his body fell to the floor. You never reached him, another pair of guards preventing you from doing so. They immediately cuffed you and pulled your struggling frame towards them. Your shouts and frantic cries for the injured Minhyung were hushed when a restricting feeling took over your vocal chords.

Opening your mouth, you tried your best to make a sound but you found yourself mute.

A horrifyingly disturbing laugh came from behind the trees and you scuffled to find the source through your tears. The tall and sleek figure, dressed far too nice to be caught in these parts, approached you with the most evil smirk. Her back was straightened, chest puffed out, and head held high with pride as she used the tip of her staff to lift your head.

“So you are the one who caught the crown prince’s eye,” the figure said, her voice as piercing as her glare. “The little thief.”

“You,” came your choked reply as she released the spell she casted on you.

“Oh, so you know of me?” she laughed haughtily. “Say my name then, child.”

Refusing to do what she said, you turned your head to look at the unconscious Minhyung who was slumped across the grass.

“I said,” she hissed, using her hand to force your gaze back at her. “Say my name.”

“Rowena,” you growled. “What do you want from me? I have nothing you want.” Her sharp nails dug into your skin and you winced at the pain. The royal advisor clearly did not appreciate your snark.

“That is where you are wrong, my sweet child,” Rowena almost purred back. “You possess the thing I long for most.”

You scoffed at her answer. “And what would that be, witch?”

“Be careful with your words, street rat. I can end your friend’s life in an instant if you fail to hold your tongue,” a nail scratched your cheek, leaving you with a new cut. A thin stream of blood flowed down your face, dripping onto your tattered clothes as Rowena watched amusingly. “You are in possession of Prince Yuno’s heart when it was destined to be mine.”

You fought the urge to laugh, “You are doing this out of jealousy?”

“Hold your tongue, riff raff. You forget who is in control here, I can easily command my men to strike another blow on your poor fri—”

“No!” you yelled, cutting Rowena off, suddenly desperate to get on her good side. “Don’t hurt Minhyung; he has nothing to do with the situation!”

Minhyung weakly called your name and you ignored his cries.

“But he is a thief and it is a great crime to steal in this kingdom,” Rowena drawled on teasingly, like a cat playing with a hopeless mouse.

“No, please,” you begged. “You mustn’t hurt him.”

“Then you must do something for me in return, peasant,” Rowena laughed at how easily she had you wrapped around her finger. You appeared to be strong, but your overly selfless heart was weak.

“I will do anything you ask me to if you leave Minhyung alone,” you petitioned. You couldn’t let anything happen to Minhyung— he was the only family you had left. “He’s a brother to me.”

Minhyung’s head shot up at his new title while he gasped for air. Locking eyes with him, you smiled painfully. He was always at your side, protecting you when he could. Now, it was your time to protect him.

“I will let the boy live if you come with me without a fight,” Rowena schemed, grin growing wider by the second. She had you in the palm of her hands. “He is of no importance to me.”

“He is of the utmost importance to me,” you said, the familial love seeping through your veins. Though physically far apart from him, you hoped he could feel the love you had for him. Minhyung violently shook his head, as if to tell you not to go. He refused to let you sacrifice yourself to let him live, you had done enough for him as is.

“I will go with you, Rowena. Just allow me a moment to say my goodbyes.”

The guards holding you and Minhyung back looked at their commander for an order. With a roll of her eyes and a wave of her hand, you and your friend were freed of your confinement. You quickly shuffled to your feet and Minhyung fell into your arms as you sunk to the ground.

“Oh my stars, Min,” you sniffled as you took him in. Sandwiching his fallen face in between your hands, you stroked his cheeks and pushed back the strands of hair that stuck to his sweaty forehead. “Please tell me you’re alright.”

“I’ll be alright if you stay here with me,” Minhyung replied with tears welling up in his soft brown eyes. Minhyung was always the crier between the two of you. He cried more at your mother’s death than you did but this time, you let your tears cascade down your cheeks, knowing this was the last time you would see your best friend.

“You know I can’t do that. I can’t let anything happen to you, you have gotten yourself hurt because of me,” You gather enough strength in your shaking hands to squeeze his cheeks, something you always did to cheer him up. “I refuse to be the cause of your pain.”

“And I refuse to let you go,” Minhyung raised his hands to hold onto yours.

“I have made my choice,” you whispered harshly, “and that is to keep you and the others safe.”

You take a moment to hug the younger boy in your arms, trying to commit the feeling of Minhyung in your memory. Flashes of your best friend growing up by your side ran through your mind as your fingers stroked through his hair. Pressing a lingering kiss to the top of his head, you shut your eyes and bit back a sob. “Do me one favor? Find your happiness, wherever it may be and never let it go, alright?”

When you released him from your hold, Minhyung whined at the loss of warmth.

“You’re my brother, Minhyung. I love you,” were your last words to your thieving partner before you turned away from him and his heart wrenching sobs and willingly stepped into your doom.

It wasn’t supposed to end like this.

What started off as secret meetings and stolen kisses in alleyways was ending with you chained to the floor of the palace’s throne room while your lover watched helplessly from the side. He screamed your name and struggled against the hold of his guards but you shook his head to silence him.

Stop, you begged in your head, make it stop.

The King and Prince Chansung did nothing to help you or their kin, only staring blankly at the chaotic scene unfolding in front of them. They had no choice; they were bewitched to be at the sorceress’ beck and call, just like the many guards that protected the kingdom. If only Prince Yuno had realized it sooner.

“Why are you doing this?” Yuno yelled, his deep voice booming throughout the large room. His harsh glare, a look you had never seen on him, was focused on the lady seated on his father’s rightful throne.

“Why?” Rowena echoed. “My darling prince, I did this because of you and your wish to renounce the throne for her.” Her extreme distaste for you was apparent as she hissed the last word.

She left her seat, leisurely sauntering over to Yuno with a smile as if it was a casual meeting when the situation was far from it. Rowena squatted down to reach his level and Yuno hastily turned his head to the side, refusing to meet her eyes. His jaw tightened and his teeth grinded against each other as she forced him to look her directly in the eye. “Marry me and crown me as your Queen. Only then will I let her go.”

Instead of answering the witch with words, he chose to spit in her face instead. “Never, you hag. You are not worthy of ruling Neiho, nor will you ever be.” Yuno’s voice was ruthless and unwavering, just as a prince’s should be. Even in a moment like this, your heart swelled with pride at his bravery.

“Long live King Chansung,” he jeered, which only set Rowena off. “He is the next, rightful ruler of the kingdom.”

“If this is how you want to play, so be it, Prince,” Rowena laughed in his face. The sound of her cackles made shivers run down your spine and cold sweat broke out in a number of places. You were scared of what was to come.

Using her staff to help her back up to a standing position, Rowena made her way towards you with a menacing stare. The curve of her lips grew wider as you flinched back in fear. You heard the clanking of metal chains as Yuno wrestled against the guard’s hold. “Don’t you dare do anything to her!”

“And what will you do, Yuno?” she threw back. “There is nothing you can do to help her now.”

Only a few steps from you, she points the end of her staff in your direction. A gleaming emerald jewel taunted you as you sucked in a breath. “You, peasant, have always given selflessly without expecting anything in return so selfless you will remain,” she started to say, a gust of wind bursted out the end of the jewel. It first surrounded her figure, then you, before spreading throughout the room.

A golden lamp appeared out of thin air, floating in front of your face before you felt the spark of dark magic course within you. It released you from your physical binds only to leave you immobile. A pair of gold cuffs materialized on your wrists and tugged you closer to the lamp.

“No longer will you be able to act selfishly for you are bound to this lamp and to these chains until a master wishes you free,” she explained. The taunting laughter that would soon haunt your memories echoed in your ears as ideas for a curse were thrown into the wind. “It will be at least two thousand years until you have the chance of seeing your precious prince again, that is, if Prince Yuno finds you first.”

“What? No!” Yuno howled across the room as you were slowly consumed by a dark cloud. Calls of your name were heard but you could not respond as Rowena began to chant,

“Golden lamp of antique old, Bind her body, mind, and soul. May she obey her master’s whim, Turn her future dark and grim. Freedom comes with just one wish Unless it is a true love’s kiss.”

The smoke spread throughout the room, leaving the surroundings in a haze. As the evil enchantress concentrated on the curse, the hold on the others in the room fell through. The king and Chansung snapped out of their daze only to watch the horrific separation begin to take place.

“Brother, what is the meaning of this?!” Chansung shouted to get his sibling’s attention, bringing an arm to shield his eyes from the powerful gusts. His father gripped at his youngest’s sleeve as the gale turned into a hurricane with you in the middle.

Yuno failed to hear his brother’s questions, eyes zoned in on you as your freedom was slowly stripped away from you. The sight of you crushingly accepting your fate tugged on his heartstrings. This wasn’t the ending he wanted for you. This was far from it.

"Remember me! You must remember me," he yelled over the commotion. You watched him struggle over the smoke as you cry out for him.

"How could I ever forget you?" you reassured him with a broken smile. You felt the tail end of your body being pulled inside your new cage and tried to fight the unbreakable force.

Yuno screamed your name once more. You locked eyes across the room, his dark orbs spinning with love and desperation. You wondered if your wet irises looked the same as his.

"I will find you! I will search until the ends of the earth until you are by my side again.”

You wanted to laugh at his hopeful optimism— how did love get you into this situation?

As much as you wanted to believe Yuno would find you, the situation was bleak.

Rowena’s body rumbled with a laughter so sinister, so piercing that you flinched at the sound as her dark magic ran through your veins. “I would like to see you try, my prince, but until then, you and the throne belong to me,” she sneered.

Ignoring the enchantress’ claims, his eyes continued to search for your disappearing figure. “I will come back to you, I promise!” Yuno’s deep voice rang into your ears.

“I hope you will,” you whispered a defeated reply back.

“If not in this life, then I will find you in the next! Mark my words!”

“Yuno…”

“In any version of reality, my darling, I will find you and I will choose you every single time. Do you hear me?”

You nodded vigorously as you choked back your sobs.

Just as the last bits of your being slipped through the spout of the lamp, Yuno broke free from the guards’ hold and rushed to your side. You reached out a hand and his fingertips grazed yours.

“Don’t forget me,” he mumbled through choked up sobs. His shaking hands grabbed at the dreaded lamp, clutching it to his broad chest like it was the most precious thing on earth.

The sight of him so desperate before you was reminiscent of the star-crossed lovers you heard about during your younger years, the ones that ended in the worst of tragedies. You pondered if this was your own personal tragedy, if this particular scene would haunt you for the rest of your cursed life.

You exchanged one last glance. One last touch.

Your hand clutched his cheek like it was made of the most fragile glass and the pad of your thumb stroked his soft skin. Yuno leaned into your touch, wanting to soak in his last moment with you. A spark flickered the place of contact, a sizzle of bright dust oozing from your fingers— your first dose of magic and you couldn’t even use it to keep him by your side. A glittering tear fell from your cheek and landed on his skin.

It was then you muttered your last words to the man who claimed your heart before being completely tugged into your golden cage, “As you wish.”

author’s note. hello, my darling readers! i know many of you have been waiting for this release for the longest time. this is the first of three (or four) parts. this part has been done for quite some time now; i’m just struggling to get the rest of it out.

but i thought it was too good of a story to just sit there in my google docs. i had this need to finally put part of it out into the world so here we are! i’ve been writing this since october and i would like to thank the many people who have helped me with the plot so far: kira, my chaotic gc, allex, and joyce!! ily all!! <3 this is for you!!!

part two is finished and i’m in the process of editing it! will it be out soon? who knows?

taglist. @rindomo @yshbaewenjun @hannie-dul-set @itsapapisongo @babyyynatty @notnctu @w0nni3wrld @yuta1forme @lucyinthesunshinee

i lost my original copy of the taglist so i’m sorry if i missed people! (especially since it’s been so long!) please let me know if you would like to be added to the list for future parts!

#neowritingsnet #cznnet #nct scenarios #nct imagines #nct x reader #jung jaehyun #jaehyun x reader #jaehyun scenarios #jaehyun imagines #jaehyun fic #jaehyun fluff #jaehyun angst #as you wish

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skywalkerstyles · 3 years

Text

Skald(Bakugou x Reader)

Part one:

Warnings: werewolf Bakugou, arranged marriage, Viking Bakugou, slightly out of character Bakugou, A/B/O verse, soulmate verse, love triangles

Summary: an alliance is made between the werewolves and humans. That’s all I can say for now

“She’s mad and she’s magic. There’s no lie in her fire.” -Charles Bukowski

“Every single part, is who you’re meant to be, and you were meant for me, and you’re everything I need.” -Skylar Grey

Y/N kicked Asger hard, sending her sparring partner to the ground. She smirked, righting herself and sheathing her sword once more.

“‘S good Your highness. You get better every day.” She basked in the praise. It felt good to be acknowledged as more than just the Chieftain's daughter. She was a warrior, just like her brothers and sisters. “Next time though,” he barreled into her, knocking her to the ground. “Plant your feet. Never let the enemy give you a surprise.” He reached down, helping her back up.

“Thank you Asger. It means a lot that you’re willing to spar with me.” Not many of their clan would. She was.....she was the Chieftain's daughter. If she got hurt heads would inevitably roll. He smiled, nudging her gently.

“Don’t tell your father I was rough with you and we’re good eh?” She laughed. He pulled out his drinking horn, taking a drink of mead before handing it to her. She drank from it gratefully.

“Y/N!” She rolled her eyes, hearing the loud bark of her father. Chief Hagen was a huge man. 6’7, dark hair braided down his back and shaved down the sides, a burly beard and rosy nose. He was intimidating beyond words and Asger quickly turned on his heel after snatching his gourd back.

“faðir(father)” she reached for him as he wrapped an arm around her and hugged her tightly to him, kissing the top of her head.

“barnið mitt(my child). Was Asger rough with you?” He asked. Y/N shook her head.

“No. He just told me to make sure my feet are planted and sparred me a bit.” Hagen nodded, eyes following Asger’s retreating form. He sighed, looking back at his daughter with a smile.

“Your mother and I have something we would like to discuss with you. Will you come home?” She nodded, following behind her father.

Their home was the largest in the village. A big stone building with wooden posts and a solid foundation. Oydis, Y/N’s mother, was outside, shelling green beans with her grandmother. Nana Rhigda smiled at her as they approached.

“Nana.” Y/N said, stopping to kiss the older woman on the cheek. Her skin was withered and cold beneath her lips.

“Sweet girl,” her mother said, garnering her attention away from her grandmother. “We need to speak with you privately”. Oydis held out her hand, gripping her daughter firmly as the three of them walked into their home.

Katsuki was shifting back into human form when his father came to collect him. The boy was pulling his trousers up his legs when he turned and saw him, Chieftain of their clan, walking towards him. Katsuki paused his movements, set on edge by the look on his father’s face.

“Good hunt Katsuki?” he asked. Katsuki nodded.

“Three deer. ‘Spose itll be good for winter once the women dry the meat out.” He had caught two of them. He loved the thrill of the chase, attacking something, wrestling it to the ground and tearing it apart with his fangs. The power was intoxicating.

“That’s good...care to go for a walk?” this surprised Katsuki further. He was never asked to go on walks with his father unless the conversation was serious and needed to be away from prying eyes. Katsuki followed him down the stony path towards the ocean, where the long boats sat on shore, gazing out at the horizon.

“Is everything alright?” he asked. His father nodded.

“The pack is doing very well. We’re thriving actually. But you know as well as I do that, that can change in a moment.” He snapped his fingers. “‘S why alliances are so important. Especially for Werepeople. We aren’t human. And humans can be fickle things. They let fear run their heart and they hate anything they don’t understand.” they stopped infront of one of the boats, His turned to look at him fully. “‘S why I’ve made an alliance with the Helvig Clan...you’re to marry their eldest daughter, Y/N, within a fortnight.” Katsuki’s heart nearly burst out of his chest, he looked at his father with wide eyes.

“W...What?”

“No….I...I’m not ready to marry.” Y/N said, shaking her head. Oydis put her arm around her daughter, rubbing her thumb against Y/N’s shoulder to try and calm her. Her father stood in front of her, face stern and unchanging.

“It’s already been decided.” Hagen said. “It….Its our life on the line sweetheart. Or family. Our tribe. This alliance is a powerful one. With Werepeople on our side we can be unstoppable.” Y/N shook her head, tears falling down her face.

“I don’t...I don’t want to marry someone I don’t love.” Hagen swallowed hard. He loved all of his children, and if there was another way, he would take it over his daughter’s tears in a heartbeat. “You will meet Katsuki tonight at dinner.”

Hana waited by their tree. It was a little after the time they had set to meet and she worried. Katsuki was never late. Not when it came to meeting, their secret moments when they could be alone together.

She was picking petals off a flower when she heard his familiar footfalls, turning to launch herself into his arms. He caught her and held her tightly, pressing soft kisses to the skin of her neck.

“Hello my love.” he whispered. His heart was breaking but he kept up his composure. It was Hana he wanted to marry, to be with. But those dreams had been shattered with one conversation.

“Katsu?” she whispered, pulling back from him, she kissed his cheeks, as he rested his forehead against hers. She smelled heavenly. “What’s wrong?”

“You’re going to hate me.” he mumbled. She shook her head.

“Never darling. What’s wrong?” He took her in, studied her dark hair, the bright blue eyes, soft pink lips. What other woman could compare to her. The girl he had loved for three years now.

“I’m to be married.” Hana felt as though someone had struck her hard across the face.

“W..What?”

“An alliance. I’m to be married within a fortnight.” Now Hana couldn’t stop her own tears. Katsuki held her close.

“I love you.” she cried into his shoulder. He nodded, swallowing thickly.

“I know.”

Y/N was nervous. She had never been interested in anyone and no one had ever fancied her before. But her mother and grandmother bathed her, washed her hair and placed perfume on her body. They put a crown of white lilies in her hair and a maroon satin dress on her. Oydis placed her hand on her daughter’s rosy cheek.

“You look beautiful my girl. Absolutely stunning.” Hagen stuck his head into the room, mouth parting slightly when he saw his eldest daughter. Gone was the tomboy he adored, now stood before him a young maiden, ready to be married off. It broke his heart a little.

“They,” he cleared his throat. “They’re here. Is the meal prepped?” Hagen couldn’t look at his daughter. He would cry and he couldn’t do that.

“Everything is ready son,” Rhagid said, waving him away. “Bring them in and we will bring her out.”

It was a smaller village than their own, but it looked quite cozy. Katsuki walked stiffly beside his father, as His father led him to the largest of the long houses. Before knocking He turned to Katsuki.

“I know this is hard for you son….but with time comes love. If you don’t love her now you will. It did for me and your mother.” Katsuki looked at him in shock.

“You...you and mom were-”

“Arranged? Yes. And I was a horrible husband in the beginning….” he ran a hand through his hair. “I loved another before her you see? And I kept going back to her. I didn’t….I refused to see how it hurt your mother. Until the day she threatened me with divorce. We managed to work things out, and I fell for her madly. But in the beginning I never gave her a chance.” he placed a hand on his son’s shoulder, looking him in the eyes. “All I’m asking is, give her a chance. You’re a good man. Be a better man than I was to your mumma.”

Hagen opened the door to his home widely and warmly, smiling at the fellow Chief and nodding in respect. He looked at the boy that would be marrying his daughter. He was about 5’7, blonde spikey hair, and brilliant red eyes. He nodded at Hagen who did the same in return before welcoming them in.

“Smile darling. It’s not the end of the world.” Oydis said softly to her daughter. Hagen shouted from the main area, bidding them to come. The women stood, the older two exiting first and then, the girl to be married.

Katsuki’s breath came out sharp and short when his eyes met his bride’s for the first time. She was a beauty, beyond anything he could have imagined her being But there was something else, something warm that he had never felt with Hana. This woman’s scent called to him, it was of honey and brown sugar, of lilies and roses. It was intoxicating.

“May I present my daughter? Y/N.” Hagen took his daughter’s hand, bringing her forward. Katsuki felt his father’s hand on his back, pushing him forward as well. Hagen reached out, holding his hand out for Katsuki, who took it blindly, he was still gazing at his wife to be. When Hagen placed their hands together, warmth shot up Katsuki’s arm, causing him to shiver. Y/N’s eyes went wide and her breath stuttered, she was most likely feeling the same thing he was. When she finally looked him in the eye he nodded, an unreadable expression on his face.

“Hello.”

Dinner was an event. The men were rowdy. Y/N’s brothers talking and laughing loudly with Katsuki and his father. Katsuki liked to boast and brag. That was the first thing she noticed about him. He bragged about his victories and hunts, pridefully puffing out his chest. Hagen seemed to get along well with Katsuki’s father and that eased Y/N’s fears a little. Her father would never give her to someone who could hurt her. He loved his girl too much and she was the only daughter.

Katsuki sat close to her but didn’t speak much to her, and when she tried to engage him, he cast her off, rolling his eyes. But with one stern look from his father he stopped, swallowing hard as he looked down at her.

“After dinner, we can go for a ride. I mean….if you’re not chicken shit?” Werewolves courted in a different way than humans, usually going for hunts and runs together to bond. But a werewolf had never been mated to a human before, so Katsuki was a little lost. But if she would trust him enough to go for a ride, maybe things could be good. If they could not be lovers, they could be allies.

Y/N smiled, nodding her head. “Will you shift?” she asked. Katsuki snorted, taking her hand in his.

“Of course. It’s the only way you’d be able to keep up.” she narrowed her eyes slightly, challenging him a bit.

“Don’t underestimate me.” he laughed again, placing an awkward kiss to her cheek. This surprises even him, he hadn’t meant to be so forward. But he didnt mind her. She was kind and could keep up with his banter. So she had that going for her.

“I would never.” the two of them stood, unnoticed by the dinning party, who were telling stories and passing around the drinking gourd. Katsuki led her outside and they walked the small path towards the woods. Once shrouded in darkness he let go of her hands, taking a few steps back away from her.

“Look away. Don’t want you to see.” Y/N turned, squeezing her eyes shut as she began to hear the snap and crack of bone, Katsuki’s grunts and growls becoming more and more animalistic as the snapping increased. And then there was silence.

Y/N felt breath, hot and heavy on the back of her neck and then something wet nudging her.

Katsuki was worried that seeing him in wolf form would frighten her. But she gazed at him curiously, studying him. He wished he could speak to her, but she would’t hear him. She wasn’t a wolf, there was no link there.

“You are….magnificent.” she whispered. He was huge, with shaggy yellow fur, his red eyes glowing as he watched her. She reached out, hesitating just as she was about to touch him, Katsuki bowed his head, grumbling lowly when she scratched behind his ears. She made him feel dizzy, lightheaded.

“Be a better man than me.” Katsuki decided he would. He would treat his little wife with respect at least. He would do the best he could.

#bnha imagines #bnha scenarios #my hero academy fanfiction #my hero fanfic #my hero imagines #my hero x reader #bakugou comfort #bakugou katsuki #bakugou katuski x reader #bakugou x reader

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jasontoddiefor · 2 years

Text

Revolutionary Doflamingo AU

Doflamingo had been hangry at Dragon ore often than he dared to reflect on some days. He’d been a hurting, terrified child when the man had picked him up and he’d remained one for months, periodically lashing out, but he hadn’t felt anger like that in a long while.

Personal betrayal.

Not even when Dragon had decided they’D leave Iva in Impel Down had Doflamingo felt anger like this bubble up, perhaps because he’d known himself that they wouldn’t be able to get them out.

But this was a personal slight, information that Dragon had withheld on purpose and Doflamingo couldn’t imagine why.

“—and that’s why we—”

Doflamingo ripped the door open, interrupting Rosinante in the middle of his report. Huh, his brother was back already. Doflamingo hadn’t heard, thinking him still out on the sea after visiting Law.

“Welcome back, Doffy.”

“Cut the bullshit,” Doflamingo hissed, forcing Rosinante to stand a bit taller still.

Fourteen years working side by side and Rosinante still didn’t fully trust him, couldn’t keep his instincts from going against what his mind knew. It stung, worse than being pierced by a warlord’s blade.

Doflamingo marched over to Dragon’S desk and slammed the paper on it, depicting the smiling youth that had sent him spiraling this morning.

“You have a son,” Doflamingo said. “You didn’t tell me.”

Dragon took the paper showing off Monkey D. Luffy’s ridiculously high East Blue bounty, studying it keenly. Had the man seen his son at all growing up? Or had he just left him behind, abandoned him because it was easier—

“I didn’t think this was something you needed to know,” Dragon replied, his attention back on Doflamingo, pointedly ignoring Rosinante, who was so traitorously silent.

Realization struck at once. “You knew. Rosi, you fucking knew and didn’t—”

“It’s not that difficult to find out,” said Rosinante. He fidgeted with the feathers of his coat before brushing his hair out of his eyes. He should have gotten Law to cut it after visiting. Rosi could never keep his hair straight, especially not after their mother had been too weak to do it for him. “And Garp was as close to an uncle as I had growing up with Sengoku. I’d heard he got a second grandson shortly before I left to join up with you.”

“Second grandson?”

“First one’s adopted. Portgas D. Ace, or Gol D. Ace if you will, Whitebeard’s Second Division Commander.”

Rosinante rattled the information down like it wasn’t grand, breaking Doflamingo’s worldview a little. He’d watched the Pirate King’s execution together with Dragon, feeling somber in the aftermath of an era’s birth.

“How do you even know that?”

“I’m a spy, the spymaster, in fact. Knowing things is my job, Doffy.”

“But not keeping them from me.”

Rosinante opened his mouth to reply, but Dragon swiftly cut him off. “It has no impact on our cause, Doflamingo, and I never intended for Luffy to join our cause.”

“We’ve raised children before,” Doflamingo commented. “Koala, Sabo, Law, myself included. Never mind all the other refugee children.”

“Children, not infants. You remember what it was like seventeen years ago. We couldn’t have kept moving around bases with a newborn.”

Seventeen years ago—

“He was born during your undercover mission,” Doflamingo concluded. He remembered that time well. Dragon had been out of contact for months and he’d taken over running a huge part of their information network. When their leader had returned, it had been with information, weapons, hideouts, and no explanation as to how he’d gotten them. “Dragon—”

“It does not matter. He grew up safe and happy and is following his own dreams.” Dragon sighed. “Is there anything else you’d like to discuss or can I finish my meeting with Rosinante?”

Doflamingo wanted to keep talking, fifteen more accusations and questions on the tip of his tongue, half-aware that most of them were based on the vulnerability of a boy collapsing with a decapitated head in hand.

He remained quiet.

#one piece #doflamingo donquixote #monkey d dragon #donquixote rosinante #revolutionary doflamingo au #fanfic

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let-them-read-fics · 3 years

Text

Ghostin'

Requested By @heyziggy: "Song prompt -- 'Ghostin' by Ariana Grande. Reader is dating Rosé and misses her lost lover."

Pairing: Rosé x Fem!Reader

Word Count: ~ 3,676

Warnings / Misc. -- Angst, Death, Crying, Some Cursing, Some Fluff, Happy Ending

Disclaimer: This writing is a work of fiction, and no disrespect is meant for those mentioned herein.

A/N: Did I write this between the hours of 1 and 8am? Yes, yes I did. Inspiration struck and I was able to crank this one out pretty quickly for you! I'm happy with it, and I really hope you guys enjoy it. Let me know what you think :)

🖤🖤🖤🖤🖤🖤🖤🖤🖤🖤🖤🖤🖤

There they are again. Those eyes that have haunted you for the past year, turning what little progress you've made to dust within a second. People say time heals all wounds, and yet that's never felt further from the truth than it does right now.

A rough tremble wracks through your body as you toss and turn, your limbs reaching out for someone that'll never be there again. She's calling out to you, her arms outstretched as she waits in vain. Your feet are rooted in their spot and no amount of effort possible can make them budge. Tears roll endlessly down your cheeks, a steady stream that feels all too real in the moment. As you scream out her name, you faintly hear your own being called; it's distant, but accompanied by a strong grip on your shoulders.

"...Y/N."

Upon jolting awake, your eyes open to find Rosé hovering over you, propping herself up on her elbow. A thin sheet of sweat has formed on your skin, and you attempt to ground yourself by looking up at her. Slowly but surely, her features overtake the ones still burning in your mind from the dream and you're able to breathe again. She brings a hand up to your cheek, brushing her cool fingers against it lovingly.

Despite the darkness, you can see the bags underneath her beautiful eyes. "I'm sorry, baby."

She simply shakes her head in response, whispering, "Shhh, it's okay. I'm here to take care of you."

In one motion, you pull her into your arms and bury your face in her neck. This isn't the first time this has happened, and you curse yourself for forcing her to grow accustomed to it. She tries to disguise how much it affects her too, but her efforts are always futile; you can read her like a book, knowing that every time that name falls from your lips in a hushed shout, her heart breaks a little more. She doesn't blame you for a second, but neither of you can deny the strain it puts on your relationship.

She adjusts the two of you so that you're laying against her as she soothingly rubs your back. Sweet words of affirmation are whispered into your ear, and the tears you've been holding back soon begin to fall. Some drop from her eyes as well, but she takes comfort in the fact that you're in her arms, allowing her to hold you. Most of the time you push her away, leaving yourself to suffer alone in some cruel form of self-punishment. But now, if only for tonight, you let yourself sink into her warm embrace.

----

1 Week Later -- The Anniversary

12 months ago, today. That's when your world shattered for the first time and everything fell apart. Your heart had been free of such pain until that fateful day, innocent and unaware that sadness like that even existed. That was the first time you ever truly questioned a higher power, baffled that any 'benevolent ruler' could steal such a bright light away from the world. Your first love -- the girl you once imagined spending forever with -- was killed in a hit and run, left to die alone on the pavement.

A majority of your youth belonged to her: the two of you grew up together, slowly falling until you had enough courage to make her yours. Countless memories were made, back when you had no idea how much they'd mean to you in the future. Life was fun with her: she made the mundane things interesting, and the adventures unforgettable. She was unashamedly herself, never stopping for a moment to give a damn about what anybody else thought of her. The two of you had each other, and that's all that really mattered. She was everything to you.

She was.

You still find her in the little things. Whether it be a commercial for her favorite cereal, a bottle of her signature perfume catching your eye as you shop, or even just a flash of her favorite color, you swear that she's still around. After spending so many years with her, it's nearly impossible to imagine her gone. She was so full of life and enthusiasm when her presence still graced the Earth that the thought of her being faded, that twinkle in her eye forever extinguished, seems like an insult to her legacy.

How are you supposed to move on from something like that? Rosé has been one of the only things keeping your head above water ever since she walked into your life, but a limit exists to what even she is capable of. After getting absolutely no closure, not even being able to see the perpetrator brought to justice, you're left to pick up the pieces. You've always been the type to deal with things on your own, finding it selfish to bring your loved ones down with the weight of your pain, but even you have to draw the line somewhere.

Perhaps that dream had been a sign -- some type of cosmic warning for what was soon to come -- because that line was crossed today.

Her family requested for you to return to your home town and celebrate her life with them. The invitation was extended to everyone she had touched before her life was taken, and even those who wished to show their support despite not having the privilege of knowing her personally. You agreed, and spent the day surrounded by people just as sad as you.

It was strange, at first; being back in the place you had so desperately tried to run from to escape the reality of what happened. But seeing all of them again reopened wounds that had never really gotten the chance to heal in the first place. Her parents' faces, so tired and troubled beneath the mask they attempted to put on, struck a chord within you. Her brother tried to be strong for them, you could tell -- but upon hearing his stifled sobs coming from upstairs, you could see how much it all still affected him. Your old friends were there as well, and their stories of your shared escapades only broke your heart more. It was a physical pain now, the once dull pinch giving way to a full blown ache. As you walked around her house, replaying all of your experiences with her, you felt empty again.

She meant so much to everyone she ever uttered a word to, and yet she was gone in the blink of an eye. You'd think that someone as incredible as her would get some sort of divine protection, if you will -- a blanket of defense against such a cruel fate. But life works in ways we don't understand, and we have to find a way to deal with that. You'd hoped returning here would help you on that quest, but you've come to learn that no one really has access to that elusive answer.

Though the day brought on the reunion of so many of you, it ended just as it had started: none of you any closer to closure. It would take time, no doubt, but you wished more than anything that the road to peace was a little shorter.

-----

Rosé

Sweet, incredible Rosé. She waltzed into your life two months after the incident. A breath of fresh air in every way, she brought light back into your life. She refused to stand by and watch as you slowly destroyed yourself, letting the walls crash down around you. She made everything secure again, successfully keeping you sane and grounded.

Falling in love with her was never something you saw coming. The emotions took their time in building up, every considerate thing she did for you adding to your list of reasons for loving her. It all accumulated until you couldn't hide it anymore, and even she could tell that she was getting through to you. Your fragile heart seemed to forget about its brokenness, because it soared at the mere sight of her.

The day she asked you to be her girlfriend was an emotional one, to say the least. You accepted without hesitation, but a nagging voice in the back of your mind suggested that being with Rosie was a treasonous act. Trying to move on felt wrong; your confused heart sent mixed signals, thinking it possible to wait for your ex's return.

But Rosie dealt with it perfectly -- better than you could have ever wished for. Not one time did she try to take your ex's place; she always respected your process and boundaries, and she never drew comparisons between your relationships. Rosé knew from the get-go that times would get rough, but she never shied away. Arguments happened, as they do with any couple, but she watched her tone and always took time to think before she spoke.

Constantly, she worked to get you to let her in. Sometimes -- rarely -- she succeeded. On the nights that you found yourself crying over her again, your heart aching like usual, Rosie was always next to you in an instant. She hated seeing you so distant and hard on yourself, and she vowed from the beginning that she would be a positive influence in your life.

------

The Birthday

2 weeks ago, Rosé had requested today off in order to be by your side. Your ex's birthday is today, and Rosé knows you'll need her more than you're willing to admit.

"Baby, wake up. Let's get some breakfast."

She rolls over to wake you with a kiss, only to find you already sitting up with tears in your eyes. She reaches up to wipe them away, but you dodge her hand before she can. That's what she can't stand. Having you push her away, effectively keeping her at arm's length, hurts her so much more than you know.

Although she's talented at reading you, truth be told Rosé has absolutely no idea how today will go. You've yet to experience a day like today -- your ex's birthday -- without her here, and even you don't know what'll happen. Your mood is capable of changing in a whipstitch, so you'll have to see how the day plays out.

"Y/N, please." Her eyes are pleading as you look at her again, and they rake over your sad features. Your bottom lip trembles as more tears threaten to overflow, and you sink your teeth into it to quiet yourself. Wordlessly, you do as she asks: you press your forehead against hers and let out a broken sigh as she strokes your arm. Her touch is comforting beyond belief, and you can't help but feel like you don't deserve it. Constantly putting her through the same shit makes you feel like a terrible person.

"You're too good to me."

She goes to shush you like always, but you don't drop it this time.

You gently scoot away from her, meeting her eyes as she mimics your actions and raises her head.

"I can see that it gets to you, Rose. I hate myself for hurting you… I just keep letting you down."

She's prepared to ease your fears from the start, not willing to get into an argument right now. "Stop, okay? I knew what I was signing up for when we started dating. I'm a big girl, Y/N. I can decide when I want to stay and when I want to go. I knew from the beginning that we would have these struggles, and none of it has made me change my mind about you."

Her words make your heart flutter, but you still have plenty on your mind to discuss with her.

"You deserve someone without so much baggage. I can't pretend like I'm not still affected by it."

"When have I ever asked you to do that?" She cocks her head to the side, quirking an eyebrow as she waits for you to respond.

"You don't have to, babe. Seeing what it does to you is confirmation enough." You shrug lightly, allowing your eyes to break away from hers for a moment as you gather up what other words you want to say.

"You'll never admit it, not to the full extent, anyway, but I know I'm hurting you. That's the last thing I want; you deserve to be with someone who makes you happy."

"Jagi, do you really think our relationship makes me unhappy? I'll admit that this isn't always easy, but no relationship is, and never once have I even thought of leaving. You seem to forget about yourself in all of this; your happiness is just as important as mine."

She chooses to ignore the self-deprecating scoff you let out at her last sentence, opting to just continue with her train of thought; convincing you to value yourself is a battle for another day.

"So please, let me in. I want us to get through this."

"I do too, baby. So so much. I just can't help but think you could find someone better. I'm a fucking charity case at this point." You drop your head now, avoiding eye contact at all costs. You know she'll be upset with you for thinking so lowly of yourself, but her disappointment almost certainly pales in comparison to the contempt you hold for yourself.

With a heavy, tired sigh, Rosé hooks two fingers underneath your chin and gently lifts your head. "Y/N, look at me. I don't know how to make it any clearer to you: you are the person I want to be with. I want you in my future, and in order to make that happen I'm more than willing to help you deal with your past. I know it's not simple; I know it's never going to be easy; but I want you. All the strings attached."

You blink at the sincerity behind her words, a bit taken aback that she's so steadfast in her decision to stay with you. You've spent so much time convincing yourself that she's only with you because she feels sorry for you that you were blind to the true extent of her love. It's consistent and unwavering, and you've never felt more valued than when you're with her. To her, you never were nor will you ever be a charity case; she loves you because you're imperfect; because you need her just as much as she needs you.

"Okay."

The simple word from you is more than enough to put Rosie at ease, and she doesn't even try to stop the smile that spreads across her cheeks as you pull her into your lap for a hug.

A light squeak from the bedsprings serves as the only sound in your room as you silently hold one another. She knows that 'okay' was your way of telling her you're ready to let her in.

"I love you." You whisper against her neck, allowing your lips to brush against her soft skin. Both of your collars are wet with tears following the emotional moment you just had, but neither of you care.

"I love you, too, baby." She returns, pressing a kiss to your temple.

After spending a moment just holding one another, communicating your emotions through light touches and kisses, you lift up onto your knees and lay her back onto the bed. She cups your cheeks, loving how they feel beneath her fingertips as you stare into her eyes. Your hands sit on either side of her torso to hold you up, keeping you in place as you smile down at her. Intimate moments like these hold a special place in her heart, and she can never get enough of them.

"I'm so afraid of losing you, Rosie. God, you have no idea how much the thought of it terrifies me." You shut your eyes now, willing away the images of a life without her.

For some reason she had never really considered that to be a cause for your unreachability before. Looking back now, it makes perfect sense; losing someone so close to you in such an unexpected way can definitely make you afraid of getting close to people again. What if you lose them, too?

"I can't predict the future, my love, but I can promise you that I'll spend the rest of my days on this Earth next to you. And I'll find you in whatever comes after, too; you're not getting away from me that easy."

The last sentence is playful, and you smirk at her lightheartedness. She knows just what to say to lighten the mood.

"You're the greatest." You say, leaning down to capture her full lips in a meaningful kiss. She hums into it, pulling you flush against her body as she flips you over.

"Oh really?" She teases, pressing feather-light kisses to your jaw. She can feel your heartbeat pick up, and she grins cockily at the effect she has on you.

"M-mhm." You mutter out with a slight stutter, tracing your hands down her body before letting them rest on her hips.

"Why don't you show me, then?" She's straddling you now, and she pulls away from your neck to gaze down into your darkening eyes.

Soon the room is filled with a high pitched squeal as you pounce, pushing her backwards until her back hits the mattress again.

"As you wish, princess." You say, giving her a little salute before kissing her again.

She smiles against your lips and lets out a joyous giggle at your antics.

-------

The Second Anniversary

"Are you ready, baby?" She asks, turning to look at you and gauge your reaction.

You let out a jagged breath, the air leaving your lungs a bit unevenly as you try to steady yourself.

With a nod, you exit the car and walk around to open Rosie's door. "Such a gentlewoman." She says, garnering a genuine smile from you. Her playful tone calms you, and you peck her lips in a sweet kiss.

"Come on, let's go inside."

At your words, she slips her hand into yours and the two of you begin your journey towards the house.

The rest of the day goes by better than you had ever imagined possible: Rosé joined conversations easily, and she offered plenty of comfort to everyone in need of it. Her presence is enough to lessen anyone's pain, but she truly showed her skills today.

Towards the end of the celebration, your ex's parents pulled you away from everyone else and into the hallway for a private word.

"We want you to come visit her, with us."

Your first instinct is to adamantly refuse, but the looks on their faces are enough to give you pause. No amount of time can make up for the loss they've had to endure, and you know they wouldn't have asked unless they really needed you there.

"Okay, we'll be there."

They pull you in for a hug, and Rosé tears up at the emotional moment. She sends you an understanding look once you eventually meet her gaze from across the room, and you give her a sad smile in return.

----

The Visit

"Hey, baby; it's us again. Everybody came by earlier and it was so nice."

"You would've loved it, baby girl. We all miss you so much."

They hold each other close as they take turns speaking to her, their voices a little stronger than you remember them being last year. Slowly but surely, they're learning to adjust to life without their daughter.

You turn your head to the side, burying your face in Rosé's hair to distract yourself from the sadness creeping in. You hadn't come back to the cemetery since her funeral, so even just standing there causes the memories to come flooding back. Rosie's grip on you is strong, and you thank her for that; without her you'd surely be a wreck by now.

A few minutes later, her parents step to the side and look over to you in a wordless request for you to say something.

"Hey, champ." You crouch down next to her tombstone, missing the way her parents smile at the old nickname you used to call each other.

"It's me. I hope you're happy up there… you deserve to be. You'd better save us some good seats." You tease, reaching up to dust some dirt off of the sleek surface of stone. The material is beginning to become rougher, you note to yourself.

"Thank you for taking such good care of Y/N. I owe you the world." Rosie smiles bittersweetly, resting her hand on your shoulder as she looks down at the picture on the tombstone.

Something -- some unmistakable force, a gut feeling -- tells you to look up. You listen to it, slowly raising your head until you can see the expanse of the cemetery in front of you. The evening sun is giving way to a breathtaking sunset, and the remaining golden rays filter in through the leaves of the tall trees overhead. A flash of brown hair catches your eye, and you almost gasp at what you see.

There she is.

Your ex -- well, more specifically, the ghost of her -- stands amidst the tree line that borders the property. She raises a hand up to wave at you, offering a peaceful smile as she glances between Rosie and you. You smile your own lopsided grin at her, and soon after, she fades away completely.

Inconspicuously, you look up at her parents. They have a knowing look on their face as you stand up and loop an arm around Rosé's waist, pulling her in close to rest your forehead against hers. She kisses your cheek before using her finger to poke the soft surface adorably.

"Ya know," her father starts, pulling your attention away from your girlfriend.

"She visits us too, sometimes." He finishes with a smile.

A content feeling settles within your chest at his words, and you let out a soft sigh.

She always was a sucker for happy endings.

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m3kuroshirt · 3 years

Text

Buy Me Dinner First

GrimmIchi challenge #5, college au

Challenged by: @kuroosden

Word count: 1278

Theme/trope: miscommunication

Required Words: disclose, penalty

Warnings: nsft talk, suggestive conversations, crude language

When Grimmjow invited the cute nerd who always sat in the front of his statistics class over to study, he hadn’t meant actually studying. He figured even the nerd would know that much. And yet, when he answered the door to his dorm room, there stood Ichigo, in jeans and a blue t-shirt, book bag slung over his shoulder and a binder cradled in his arms. And there stood Grimmjow, low-rise jeans on, bare foot, no shirt, hair carefully styled to look as casual and messy as possible without actually being tangled. They stared at each other for a moment, Ichigo’s face turning more and more red by the second. Finally, he blurted out “I’m sorry! I must have misread the time!”

As Ichigo started to back up, Grimmjow felt as though his chance to talk to the other boy ever again was slipping away. “Wait!” he blurted out. Ichigo paused, wide eyed. Grimmjow’s tongue stumbled over his words as his brain struggled to keep up with his mouth. “Um…uh, it’s…I’m the one who mixed up the time! You, uh, you’re fine, ok? So, uh, come inside. I’ll…get dressed…” He took a step back as he spoke, hoping he sounded inviting and not just weird. There was a moment’s pause, and Grimmjow could feel his heart thud against his ribcage, could hear the blood rushing through his veins.

“O-ok,” Ichigo said finally, and he hesitantly stepped into the room. Grimmjow silently released a breath he didn’t realize he was holding as he shut the door. He quickly grabbed a shirt from his closet while Ichigo sat on the bed. It was a single room, tiny with a small, uncomfortable bed, one closet, a desk with a chair across from the bed, and a counter that ran along the back wall. Bathrooms were communal, something that Grimmjow wasn’t particularly fond of, but it wasn’t the worst. At least they were clean.

Once he had a shirt on, Grimmjow joined Ichigo and sat next to him on the shitty mattress. “So…uh…” he tried to start, but it was rather difficult to come up with something to say about classwork when he hadn’t wanted to study at all in the first place. Luckily, Ichigo took over.

“I thought we could start with reviewing last week’s lesson and then move onto the prep for this week,” he suggested. Grimmjow didn’t really have any alternatives, so he nodded.

“Yeah, uh, that sounds good.”

***

“That one’s wrong too. So that’s…thirty push-ups,” Ichigo concluded. Grimmjow groaned, but got down on the floor anyway. “Don’t complain so much. You’re the one who wanted to implement a penalty for the practice questions.”

Grimmjow huffed in annoyance, but he started doing the push-ups anyway. He counted in his head. It wasn’t so much for the sake of motivating himself that he suggested the idea of a penalty to Ichigo. It was more for the sake of his own restlessness. The longer he sat near the orange-haired, brown-eyed beauty, the more he wanted to touch, to brush up against his shoulder, to run his fingers through the other’s hair…and that meant he was fidgety. At least this way, he could try and focus that energy elsewhere.

Sweat slid down his temple as he finished, cheeks heated and arms starting to feel stiff. He had been getting a lot of questions wrong. As he sat back on his knees, Grimmjow looked up to see Ichigo staring at him. When their eyes met, the other young man blinked and looked away abruptly, but Grimmjow could see a rosy colour dusting his cheeks. Interesting.

As he opened his mouth to speak, Grimmjow was interrupted by the door bursting open. “Oi! Jaegerjaquez! Did ya fuck ‘im yet?!” a rather annoying voice called. Grimmjow felt his cheeks turn redder and he glared at the door where a freakishly tall, thin man stood.

“Shut the fuck up Nnoitra,” he snapped. He snuck a glance at Ichigo, who was watching the two of them with wide eyes. Nnoitra just aimed a smug grin at him…until his eyes caught sight of the books in Ichigo’s lap and the open binders. The tall man blinked and squinted at the two of them, smile sliding off his face.

“Wait, are you actually studying?” he asked suddenly. Grimmjow opened his mouth to respond, but Ichigo beat him to it.

“Yeah, what else would we be doing?” He was tense, clearly annoyed. Grimmjow sent a prayer to whichever deity was available that Nnoitra would drop the subject and just leave. Or get struck by a really random strike of lightning. Either one would work.

Apparently, the answer to his prayers was ‘no’, since Nnoitra neither dropped dead nor stopped talking. “…you get dropped as a baby or somethin’? Who the fuck actually ‘studies together’? He totally invited you over to fuck.” Ichigo shut his book in his lap.

“Well, he failed to disclose that part,” he retorted. Nnoitra raised an eyebrow, but before he could say anything to make the situation worse, Grimmjow cut him off.

“Get out before I call Szayel to come and get you.”

Nnoitra glared at him. “The fuck you would,” he spat out. Grimmjow raised his eyebrows now, and pulled out his phone. “Fuck! Fine. Fine! I’m going!” The door slammed shut as Nnoitra scrambled away, no doubt eager to avoid being dragged away by his brother.

The silence after the slam of the door was deafening. Grimmjow took a deep breath and turned to face Ichigo. The orange haired student had his eyes on the floor, his things all packed up, face as red as a tomato. “I…is that why you weren’t dressed when you answered the door?” he asked finally. Grimmjow felt his own cheeks heat up.

“Uh. Yeah.” He stared at the wall, suddenly unable to handle looking at the other. “Sorry…’bout the miscommunication…”

“Oh.”

The two of them were silent for a while longer, each lost in his own thoughts. Grimmjow felt uncomfortable, like the air inside the room was thicker, pressing on him from all angles. Finally, he opened his mouth to speak, to tell Ichigo that it was ok if he wanted to go, that they would never have to speak again if he didn’t want to, but the other man spoke first.

“Dinner.”

Grimmjow blinked and frowned. He looked up at Ichigo, not quite sure what mental aerobics he’d done to get from their current situation to that word. “Huh?”

Ichigo shifted from foot to foot, clutching at his bag, but amber eyes fixed on Grimmjow’s. “Dinner. That’s your penalty. For not telling me properly, you owe me dinner.” Grimmjow tilted his head.

“…not that I’m disagreeing with you…but…aren’t you like, angry? Don’t you want to never see me again, and all that jazz?”

Ichigo shrugged and fidgeted with the strap of his book bag again. “I mean, I’m more embarrassed that I missed what you were getting at. And…” he glanced at the door, as if expecting Nnoitra or someone else to come waltzing in. When nothing happened, he continued, “…the more I think about it, the more I think it’s kinda cute that you didn’t try to correct me and just met me where I was. But I’m still not exactly thrilled that you weren’t clear on what you wanted to do. So. Dinner. You’re buying. Let’s go.”

Grimmjow stared at him for a moment. Then he grinned. “Alright, I can do that,” he agreed, standing up and grabbing his wallet. “Leave your stuff here.” He gestured to the bed. Ichigo dropped his books and bag on the bed. Then he followed Grimmjow out the door.

#grimmichi #jaegerjaquez grimmjow #kurosaki ichigo #m34gswrites #miscommunication #ch:Nnoitra #grimmichi challenge #m3kuroshirt #idiots in love

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mrsgiovanna · 3 years

Text

Eudaimonia (Don Giorno x Fem! Reader)

Inspired after reading this beautiful work I wondered how this would work for Giogio and this was the product.

All credit for the idea and formatting in this way goes to @softsakusa

I'm dwelling in my feelings again (when am I not)

CW: Part 5 spoilers

Eudaimonia...

(n.) lit. "human flourishing"; a contented state of being happy and healthy and prosperous

Wise old eyes stare wistfully into the ocean- the azure hues mingling with the dusk sky weaves a tapestry of beautiful colours. Reminded of all that had happened to get him here, there's a flash, just for a moment, of some of the passion that is hidden behind his calm, kind expression. Delicate lines trace maps along his face, and the golden mane now streaked with silver, once wild, is now tamed.

Pensive- almost in a trance, he reflects on the life he has lived thus far. It had been what… forty odd years ago...he's 15 years old - teetering on the precipice of defeat, kneeling next to you, he's been struck down while fighting the one who opposed every one of his ideals. The war was won but so much was lost. Looking forward, eyes cast toward the sky, he'd vowed with all he had left, to make things count and erase every tear you had wept.

You're barefoot on the well-manicured lawn of his estate, the soft grass cushioning your steps as he twirls you around in the moon light. The music is a faint murmur, mixed with chatter and the sounds of the night. It's his 19th birthday and he's so in love. You smile up at him, cheeks rosy, happiness enhancing your beautiful features better than any cosmetic could. Your smile matches his own, all toothy and ruddy cheeked, it's amazing how in sync you've become and just how much you have grown.

The Naples skyline has never looked as beautiful from this vantage point, but all that fades away while staring at Giorno on bended knee. He's 22 years old. He had been toying with the idea for months, that ring growing ever heavier, he's fought through the you're too young and there's no rush arguments, knowing for certain that regardless of time, you would remain the one. Tears blur your vision, nodding emphatically through the soft chants of yes, yes a thousand times yes- you know it's clichéd, you'd cringe on any other day, but the beautiful ring occupying your finger as a symbol of his love makes everything okay.

It's the sunniest day in spring, the garden's a-flourish with your favourite flowers and excited guests mingle as they await your grand entrance. He's 23 years old and his confident smile hides his nerves, which all melt away when he sees you, looking so beautiful, slowly walking his way. Funny speeches and happy tears were the order of the day. Your eyes had never sparkled as bright, and his smile had never been as broad, stealing chaste kisses and slow dances dreaming of your new lives starting that day.

Strong storms of emotion are brewing in his eyes, gazing upon the son you just bore him. He's 25 years old and completely ready to be a father, silently promising this child the world and all the good it has to offer. You're exhausted, it was an ordeal, one you couldn't begin to explain, but the perfect infant before you, nestled safely in his father's arms made you realise what you've felt all along, this tiny human, a wriggling, crying, beautiful little thing, had you wrapped around his finger from his first home within.

Ballet shoes and football kits, violin recitals and karate meets, mud tracked through the house and the smell of buttery cookies baking, the new aesthetic of villa Giovanna is warm and appealing, something you both would do anything for while protecting. He's 36 years old, and your prince is now 11, his role, long since been upgraded to big brother. Giorno relishes his most important role, raising his prince and princess, even you are awestruck by how effortlessly he has adopted his most coveted title. It's organized chaos, dividing your time between so much, but your family is happy, healthy and so so loved, and for you both, that's more than you could have hoped for… way more than just enough.

He's 40 years old, the kids are now teens... Growing into their own personalities, they remind you both so much of your younger selves. Pride and anxiety, nostalgia with a hint of pain, he sees his successor in his son, and the best counsel in his daughter. The enthusiastic cries of mamma and pappa have evolved to mom! dad, that’s so cringy, please stop... He couldn't tell when he'd been downgraded from superdad to super lame and trying to stifle a giggle you murmur comforting words into the shell of his ear, fingers combing through the spun gold hair trying to soothe one of Italy’s most powerful men, completely torn apart by the words of one smart mouthed, pint sized teen... Even living Gods have their weaknesses it seems.

It's cold outside, but that doesn't reach you. Hot cocoa by the fireplace, soft cashmere sweaters and warm hugs from behind, he’s 45 years old, and still somehow in his prime. Slow dancing in the lounge to soft jazz music, you rest your head on his chest to listen to his heartbeat and smile sweetly when you realise it matches up to your own. Life is all about these sweet quiet moments, found in between the hustle and bustle of your everyday lives. The children have grown up, inheriting their father’s ambition and their mother’s inherent strength. Things are just as they should be, Giorno with no signs of slowing down, is handing over the torch to the next line of Giovannas- stepping down from his throne and passing over his crown. It’s a proud feeling- handing something over that took three decades to build, the timing feels right as if all the stars have aligned. He knew the day would come when the arrow would find its new master, he’s thankful that he is still around to advise and care for its new successor.

You’re greeting guests at the door, eyes glossy and swirling with emotion. The venue is beautiful, awash with blooms and soft lighting, there’s a nostalgia there that twinges in your heart. He’s 49 years old and still dashing, nobody holds your attention like he does. Little did you know, between the kind smiles and stolen glances, he held those very same thoughts about you. He finds you and extends his arm- it’s the second time you’re walking down an aisle, only this time, you weren’t the bride, but mother of the groom. There’s something beautiful about watching your newly wedded son being so thoughtful and considerate of his wife, you saw all the evidence of Giorno’s parenting present in his behaviour, the stunning impact he has had on his life.

Giorno’s attention is drawn back to you, walking side by side with a miniature version of his son, sprightly and bold, you’re only too happy to be dragged around the beach by your grandson. He stares lovingly at you, wondering how time has been so kind to have kept you so lovely. Seaside vacations in the beach house that’s starting to feel more like home, you marvel at his expression, these days being completely at peace, he’s entrusted everything he worked for, into capable hands reared by his own. He’s 55 years old and staring wistfully into the ocean reflecting on a life well lived marveling at just how much his spirit has grown.

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solinarimoon · 3 years

Text

Within These Walls

AN: This is for @for-bebbanburg and her 250 follower challenge. It is a Sihtric x FemReader. It is actually a companion piece to my entry for her 100 follower challenge. If you’d like to read that piece, which was inspired by the song Rewrite the Stars, you can find it here. My prompt for this challenge was the quote “I came to claim the one I love.” from A Court of Thorns and Roses. I’m tagging my usuals and anyone who expressed interest in me writing a follow up on the original. I hope you enjoy! Congratulations Rosie! You deserve all the followers and more!

Warnings: Angst, mentions of past abuses, rape, avoiding unwanted pregnancies, and cannon violence. I think that’s all.

Word Count: 1358

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

You were standing in that cramped, dusty shed behind the kitchen.

The shed where you had allowed him to drag you for tiny moments filled with desire.

You can still hear his voice pleading with you.

Noone can say what we get to be.

His ghost haunts your steps throughout Dunholm. Hidden underneath empty stairs and behind deserted corners you see him.

He beckons for you to come. Run away with him like he wished.

Maybe if you had left with him…

Maybe you could have made a small life together. Full of loud laughter and soft embraces.

Maybe if you had not run to him in your weakness then he would still be here. And you could still have those precarious stolen moments.

Hidden away from his brother’s taunting gaze. From his father’s cruel nature.

But you had. You had run to him for comfort and it had been your undoing.

A quiet sob escapes your lungs as you wrap your arms around yourself. Trying to hold on to the moments that slipped through your fingers.

Hold on to that feeling of his arms, safe and secure. Clinging to you as desperately as you clung to him.

You stagger over to the cabinets and lean your forehead against the dark, cool wood.

Take a steadying breath. You used to take these breaths while leaning into his arms.

Slowly you bring your head up, wipe your eyes, and steal yourself.

Opening the cabinets you see the small pouch left by the old cook. She knew herb lore and often supplied the women of Dunholm with medicines. The sort to prevent unwanted seeds from taking root.

Like the seed you always fear will sprout from the seldom occasions when Svenn spills inside of you. He prefers to use Thyra for that. And you are just for sport. Not for fathering his children.

Even though it is you who is his wife and not the wild woman in the cellar. The woman he claims truly holds his heart but who he treats no better than a slave, a dog.

Gently, you reach out to take the bundle and slip it into one of the pockets lining your skirt.

The sound of shouts and clatter of heavy wood startles you. Slowly, you peer around the corner of the doorframe into the alleyway. From your vantage point, you can see Kjartan, Svenn, and their men running towards the ramparts and the front gate. The sounds come more clear now and with a rhythm.

It is a battering ram at the gates. Kjartan’s enemies have chosen their moment to strike. Down the alley and across the yard, you can see men pausing to peer around the corner.

With a sudden realization, you know they are already here. Kjartan’s enemy is already within the walls.

Quiet as a mouse, you slip out of the door and back away to return to the hall from a separate side entrance.

Your steps are quick and silent as you try not to attract attention.

Thinking silently to yourself, you move amongst the shadows through the hall to approach the chambers you share with your husband, Svenn. Your movements are slow, cautious. You mustn’t attract attention.

Once inside, you gather a meager bag of necessities. You had suffered at the hand of Svenn for far too many years. This may be the only chance to escape him, while everyone’s attention is on the invaders.

Suddenly the sounds of the onslaught increase. Those inside have struck.

Your feet make their way towards the door, prepared to run from the hall and head to the well entrance, knowing it would likely be forgotten and undefended.

After a few steps, the sound of a snarl over the din of battle outside grabs your attention. Svenn’s wild woman, Thyra.

If you were to make your escape, you would not leave the woman behind to endure more torture.

You find your body racing back towards the main hall to only slide to a stop upon seeing Thyra already standing surrounded by her dogs. They’re snapping and snarling, inching closer to the hulking form of your husband.

He had returned from the ramparts when he knew the gate would be breached.

He had returned for her. His delusion of a mutual love between them, a true perversion of the word.

The dogs slowly advanced towards Svenn as Thyra’s eyes bored holes into his soul.

But all of their attention was shifted to the side door, when a man came crashing through, sword raised.

From your position across the room, it is impossible to clearly see the man. He stands just behind one of the many pillars in the hall.

But you see the shock on Svenn’s face when the man’s arms rise to remove the helmet he wears.

“You! We heard you were dead. You are supposed to be dead” His words trailed off as the stranger stalked forward several paces only to stop short when the dogs snapped their teeth in his direction.

“I am very much alive, brother. Very much so. And I came to claim the one I love. Where is she?” Sihtric demands, his voice a low growl.

“Sihtric,” you gasp while moving into the full view of the room.

Sihtric’s eyes snap to meet yours and the wave of relief and love that spills from them is like fresh air to your lungs when you’ve been drowning for years.

Slowly, so very slowly, your feet move to cross the room.

Thyra gives a hissed command to her hounds that causes them to look to her and back down as you cross their path.

The crash of sword and shield outside has faded to whispers.

Standing in front of Sihtric now, your hand rises to touch the chest of his armour, then up to crest his shoulders. Finally resting against his cheek, he leans into your embrace and brings his forehead to rest on your own, breathing you in.

A moment later, he shifts you to stand behind him as he raises his sword once more.

But before he can speak or advance, your hand stills him.

Sihtric looks to you questioningly, but you turn your gaze to meet Thyra’s eyes.

For all her suffering and torture, you can not take her revenge from her. Words unspoken pass between you and the wild woman. Svenn is hers to send to Neffelheim. Tears spill from your eyes as you give her the slightest nod.

Thyra turns back to meet Svenn.

He has watched your reunion in silence. A dread settling over him knowing he has met his end.

He pleads, “Thyra, please. Thyra, do not do this,” only to have his words forever silenced as Thyra gives her hounds the command.

After the life has fled from Svenn’s body, Thrya and the hounds return to the shadows and Sihtric turns to you.

His hands grip onto you as if you were life itself.

“I feared I would never find you again,” he breathes.

“They told me you were dead,” you tell him while looking into his eyes,“but you’re alive. And you have come for me,” you sob through a smile while allowing your body to relax into his arms.

“I would die for you,” he whispers into your hair.

Tag List: @for-bebbanburg @pokeasleepingsmaug@maggiescarborough @nxrdist @mystic-shadows42 @emilyhufflepufftlk @magravenwrites @morosemagick @lauwrite1225 @thebohemianpenguin @mrsalwayswrite @notyourwildestdream @obipoelover @ecarroll1978 @93xdiagonxalley @nobodys-business-world

#The Last Kingdom #rosies250 #sihtric x reader #Sihtric #sihtric kjartansson

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dwellordream · 3 years

Text

“If parents and commentators were sometimes concerned about the safety of middle-class girls in city streets, however, they were increasingly concerned about the moral implications of ‘‘good’’ girls taking to walking the streets in such numbers. Fears of precociousness not only encouraged parents to postpone discussions of menarche, they also created a reactionary challenge— too late—to girls’ social freedoms. European observers had commented on the relative freedom of American girls from the routine restraints imposed on European girls for much of the century.

In his 1840 opus Democracy in America, Alexis de Tocqueville noted the early emancipation of the American young woman from maternal control. ‘‘She has scarcely ceased to be a child when she already thinks for herself, speaks with freedom, and acts on her own impulse. . . . The vices and dangers of society are early revealed to her; as she sees them clearly, she views them without illusion and braves them without fear, for she is full of reliance on her own strength, and her confidence seems to be shared by all around her.’’

With the expansion of northeastern cities following the Civil War, and the increasing presence of middle-class girls unregulated in the streets, a range of commentators began publicly to reconsider that confidence. One of the first broadsides in a newly intensified public debate about the character of ‘‘the girl’’ came from Britain and the pen of a journalist and clergyman’s daughter. Eliza Lynn Linton’s essay was notable in part because of its description of a modern type, not limited to one class.

‘‘The Girl of the Period’’ was published as a pamphlet in Britain in 1868, sold forty thousand copies from a single publisher, and first ignited a controversy there. Linton’s British ‘‘girl’’—in future debates known simply as the ‘‘G.O.P.’’—was loud, brassy, and disrespectful. She had traded in purity and ‘‘delicacy of perception’’ for the slang and the conspicuousness of the demimonde. Linton went on: ‘‘The Girl of the Period is a creature who dyes her hair and paints her face, as the first article of her personal religion—a creature whose sole idea of life is fun; whose sole aim is unbounded luxury; and whose dress is the chief object of such thought and intellect as she possesses.’’

Linton’s ‘‘G.O.P.’’ was ‘‘far too fast and flourishing’’ to listen to her parents, ‘‘indifferent’’ to duty, ‘‘useless’’ at home, and dedicated to the pursuit of money. Henry James, who later made the character of the American girl a subject of his fiction, reviewed Linton’s pamphlet in the Nation. He began by denying its relevance to the United States.

‘‘The American reader will be struck by the remoteness and strangeness of the writer’s tone and allusions. He will see that the society which makes these papers even hypothetically—hyperbolically—possible is quite another society from that of New York and Boston. American life, whatever may be said, is still a far simpler process than the domestic system of England.’’ In contrast to Linton’s portrait ‘‘of youthful Jezebels with plastered faces and lascivious eyes,’’ James offered the ‘‘large number of very pretty and, on the whole, very fresh-looking girls’’ of Boston or New York, ‘‘dressed in various degrees of the prevailing fashion.’’

James’s use of the term girl to refer to wholesome and respectable teenage females was an early instance of its contemporary usage. No sooner had James denied any comparison, though, than he began to warm to the task of finding similarities. He found American girls excessively devoted to the idea of being well dressed, which had ‘‘a sacred and absolute meaning.’’

A girl of fashion ‘‘is undeniably a very artificial and composite creature, and doubtless not an especially edifying spectacle. . . . She has, moreover, great composure and impenetrability of aspect. She practices a sort of half-cynical indifference to the beholder (we speak of the extreme cases). Accustomed to walk alone in the streets of a great city, and to be looked at by all sorts of people, she has acquired an unshrinking directness of gaze. She is the least bit hard.’’

James’s novel The Awkward Age (1899) took up the consequences of the ‘‘exposure’’ in public of British girls for their marriage prospects. As much as James admired the independence of ‘‘the American girl’’ (always to be considered as part of American elite), his hypersensitive self was shocked by the toughness of her exterior. Several years later another literary figure entered the debate over the impact of modernity on middle-class American girls.

Louisa May Alcott acknowledged Linton’s influence in the preface to her book An Old-Fashioned Girl (1872), a tale of a simple, affectionate country girl of fourteen who goes to live with a sophisticated and unhappy friend, a fashionable girl of the city. ‘‘The ‘Old-Fashioned Girl’ is not intended as a perfect model, but as a possible improvement upon the Girl of the Period, who seems sorrowfully ignorant or ashamed of the good old fashions which made woman truly beautiful and honored, and through her, render home what it should be,—a happy place, where parents and children, brothers and sisters, learn to love and know and help one another.’’

Readers first meet Alcott’s heroine Polly when Tom, the brother of the family, arrives at the train station to pick up his sister’s friend and lights in error on a passenger who might pass for a G.O.P. She is in gorgeous array, with ‘‘a flapping of sashes, scallops, ruffles, curls, and feathers.’’ The passenger, ‘‘a breezy stranger,’’ eyes Tom with a ‘‘cool stare that utterly quenched him.’’

Just as he is gathering his forces to initiate conversation, up runs our heroine, ‘‘a fresh-faced little girl, . . . with her hand out, and a half shy, half-merry look in her blue eyes.’’ Like Little Women, published several years before, An Old-Fashioned Girl celebrates the beauty of girls’ devotion to home and family and their rejection of the material, selfish world of the modern city. A comparison of titles, however, suggests an important difference in the implications of the two books for female adolescence.

In contrast to Little Women, An Old-Fashioned Girl encourages girls to hold on to their status as children, rather than embracing too early the roles and manners of women. The problem of the urban sisters Fanny and little Maud in Alcott’s novel is their precociousness. Fanny explains to Polly, ‘‘You are fourteen; and we consider ourselves young ladies at that age.’’ Alcott, in contrast, describes Polly as a ‘‘fresh-faced little girl.’’

In fact, the family’s grandmother suggests that her own granddaughters scarcely were ever children. ‘‘’You mustn’t mind my staring, dear,’ said Madam, softly pinching her rosy cheek. ‘I haven’t seen a little girl for so long, it does my old eyes good to look at you.’’’ Her own granddaughters, she explains, are ‘‘not what you call little girls. Fan has been a young lady this two years, and Maud is a spoiled baby.’’

Even Maud, at the age of six, has the accoutrements of maturity in the form of calling cards, crimping pins, and a ‘‘box of dainty gloves.’’ Alcott explains that Maud ‘‘belonged to a ‘set’ also; and these mites of five and six had ‘their’ parties, receptions, and promenades, as well as their elders, and the chief idea of their little lives seemed to be to ape the fashionable follies they should have been too innocent to understand.’’ Alcott is so concerned with demonstrating the folly of precociousness that she turns fifteen- or sixteen-year-old Polly’s interest in the attractive son of the family into an object lesson.

‘‘Polly shut her door hard, and felt ready to cry with vexation, that her pleasure should be spoilt by such a silly idea; for, of all the silly freaks of this fast age, that of little people playing at love is about the silliest.’’ Alcott’s fear of precociousness cuts such a wide swathe that she admits little distinction between the pairing off of six-year-olds and the infatuation of teenagers.

The explanation for the precociousness of girls is their involvement in a new peer culture, facilitated and expanded by attending school. When Polly asks Fanny why she spends so much time getting dressed just to go to school, Fanny responds, ‘‘All the girls do; and it’s proper, for you never know who you may meet. I’m going to walk, after my lessons, so I wish you’d wear your best hat and sack.’’ In Alcott’s novel the custom of walking, encouraged to provide girls with appropriate exercise, appears as a vapid excuse for socializing, especially in contrast with the health of children’s play.

Polly scorns it. ‘‘To dress up and parade certain streets for an hour every day, to stand talking in doorways, or drive out in a fine carriage, was not the sort of exercise she liked. . . . At home, Polly ran and rode, coasted and skated, jumped rope and raked hay, worked in her garden and rowed her boat; so no wonder she longed for something more lively than a daily promenade with a flock of giddy girls.’’ It is the strength of urban peer culture which leads to the unhealthiness and unhappiness—and the unlovableness—of the bored and fashionable Fanny.

Other commentators as well attacked the danger of precociousness in the rearing of girls. Washington Gladden, liberal clergyman and promoter of the social gospel, was persuaded in 1880 to provide advice for girls in St. Nicholas to complement an earlier article for boys. He censured ‘‘a too early initiation into the excitements and frivolities of what is called society. It was formerly the rule for girls to wait until their school-days were over before they made their appearance in fashionable society. At what age, let us inquire, does the average young lady of our cities now make her debut?’’ Like Alcott, Gladden dipped down into the early years to see the onset of preciousness. ‘‘From my observations, I should answer at about the age of three. They are not older than that when they begin to go to children’s parties, for which they are dressed as elaborately as they would be for a fancy ball.’’

If Gladden focused on the social folly of children forced into early maturity, for Mary Virginia Terhune the practice was evil: ‘‘We sin in allowing the fears, hopes and flutters of nubility to obtrude, even in imagination, upon this most susceptible stage of the formative period. There is vulgar violence in the excitation of coy tremors and coquettish projects in the mind of one who is as yet incapable of comprehending the meaning or tendency of the novel emotions.’’

Employing the earthy, agrarian metaphors which were one way of objectifying girls’ maturation, Terhune expounded, ‘‘Premature bloom is imperfection, too often deformity. Forced fruits lack the flavor of the summer’s prime, the beauty and richness of seasonableness.’’ If Henry James felt that girls were becoming hard from their exposure in the city streets, Terhune and others feared that they were becoming blemished or prematurely soft—a different kind of distortion of the ‘‘girl crop’’ that was everyone’s property.

The allure of city streets was only part of the story, though. Critics cautioned that weakening family ties helped to push girls into the streets. In Alcott’s accounting, and in the ongoing debate over the Girl of the Period, the declining authority of parents played an important role in the dissipation of girls. Alcott’s fashionable fictional family is headed by an absent father and an invalid mother.

Mr. Shaw is ‘‘a busy man, so intent on getting rich that he had no time to enjoy what he already possessed.’’ He has a habit of lecturing his son ‘‘and letting the girls do just as they like[].’’ Mrs. Shaw is ‘‘a pale, nervous women,’’ an invalid, defined by needs rather than by her ability to give. The family might meet for dinner, but after eating ‘‘they all [go] about their own affairs.’’ Whatever else was to blame, there was no question that the ‘‘girl problem’’ was in part the problem of urban parents losing control over their daughters.

When Washington Gladden addressed the problem of girls, he titled his article ‘‘A Talk with Girls and Their Mothers’’ because he felt the problem lay with both. The commandment that children should obey their parents, he asserted, was disregarded by both mothers and teenage daughters. ‘‘The girl of thirteen regards herself as her own mistress; she is already a woman in her own estimation, and has a right to do as she pleases.’’

Despite his strenuous support elsewhere for longer and more vigorous walking for girls, Gladden could not countenance the freedom of girls in the city streets. ‘‘This habit of running loose, of constantly seeking the street for amusement, and even of making chance acquaintances there, is practiced by some of the girls of our good families, and it is not at all pleasant to see them on the public thoroughfares, and to witness their hoydenish ways. . . . The delicate bloom of maiden modesty is soiled by too much familiarity with the public streets of a city, and a kind of boldness is acquired which is not becoming in a woman.’’

Gladden’s worry for the ‘‘delicate bloom of maiden modesty’’ reflected a legitimate concern for how girls’ culture was being influenced by urban freedom. An article published in Ladies’ Home Journal in 1884 took a different tone in reporting on ‘‘an epidemic’’ of disappearances of girls: ‘‘One doesn’t bring up a chubby baby girl to bang upon a grand piano, outdress other girls and graduate with nuns’ veiling and sixteen hired bouquets, to have some dark night bring a rascal and a rope-ladder to steal her away just when she is getting big enough to do the marketing and darn her father’s socks. . . . The sympathy of the entire world goes out to the bereaved owners of these pretty girls, spirited away.’’ Despite its glib and knowing tone, itself a radical break from the earnest, idealist rhetoric which usually accompanied such discussions, the article had a strong message for mothers:

‘‘The fact is, the mothers of to-day do not exercise enough maternal authority and vigilance over their daughters. . . . Female chums call for them to spend the night, and who they meet while absent from the home circle mothers never know.’’ The pull of ‘‘chums’’ drawing girls away from their mothers’ households was a far cry from the idealized intergenerational domestic world promoted by advisers. A signed article republished from the Congregationalist in 1889 explored the distance between domestic ideal and urban reality.

Mrs. J. G. Fraser titled her piece ‘‘Our Lost Girls’’ and subtitled it ‘‘A Mother Sadly Regrets That She Can Not Have the Training of Her Daughter.’’ Fraser exclaimed, ‘‘Alas! just as our daughters are entering their teens, or before, we discover that we have lost them. Where have they gone?’’ Her answer was clear. ‘‘It is a fact that the average girl is restless unless she can visit or receive visits from some young lady friend most of the time.’’ Such chores as a daughter might have ‘‘are hurried through with unseemly haste, to the end that she may leave home as soon as possible.’’

Informed by the dictates of domesticity, Fraser knew what her maternal role should be: ‘‘Sympathetic companionship, little seeds of counsel dropped wisely here and there, a knowledge of what the girls are thinking about and what they are interested in; a wise ignoring of some girlish follies—all these are needed.’’ But there was one problem in applying techniques of domestic influence.

If they could help it, girls were probably not at home to listen to their mothers’ advice. Fraser uttered a complaint with a contemporary ring. ‘‘Our homes should not be simply boarding houses where our children eat and sleep, but dwelling places where they are to spend most of their time out of school hours.’’ If they were to sustain the culture of the ‘‘old-fashioned girl,’’ mothers must take their daughters back from the streets and from the friends they promenaded with there.

Girls who appeared in public and walked the streets were historically ‘‘public women,’’ prostitutes. What distinguished the debates of the 1870s and 1880s was that they were not about prostitutes but instead about a more broadly defined and owned group of daughters. Not distinguished by class or profession, the G.O.P. was not a fallen ‘‘other’’ but instead a creature of modernity, created by the industrial city.

When Henry James, Louisa May Alcott, Ladies’ Home Journal, and St. Nicholas wrote about girls, they were talking about their own daughters, or nieces, or grandchildren, or the daughters of their friends and colleagues. Mrs. J. G. Fraser, of course, most literally seems to have been writing about her daughter. In contrast with later discussions about ‘‘the girl problem,’’ these late-Victorian debates were explicitly not focused on working or shopgirls. Instead, such discussions hit closer to home, often debating the impact of modern culture on Our Girls, as an advice book published in 1871 was entitled.

These girls might even be considered to belong to an urban elite. Louisa May Alcott’s Fanny differs from her country friend because she is a girl of fashion, whose parents can afford to buy her the new offerings of urban dry goods stores. When Kate Tannatt Woods excoriated the rude and showy ‘‘Manners in Public’’ of a certain young concertgoer, she characterized her explicitly: ‘‘Sallie Ducats, whose father is a celebrated statesman, and whose mother bore a grand old name prior to her marriage.’’

The conduct of Sallie (spelled in the French fashion) and her friends sets a bad standard for other girls: ‘‘Their heavy steps and bustling noise disturbed the entire [concert] audience. . . . This was not all. They removed their wraps with much parade and noise, raised their seats and let them fall again, and then, after some further maneuvers, produced some bon-bons which they proceeded to eat with evident relish. During the entire concert they whispered, giggled, looked about, and made comments on people about them.’’ Woods concluded by asking: ‘‘What is to be done when young women belonging to our so-called ‘best families’ are guilty of such conduct?’’

…When pundits debated the status of the American girl, they were not likely to be referring to domestic servants or factory operatives; they were more likely to be referring to American schoolgirls, despite their distinct minority status. The debate over the conduct of the American girl gained an edge of urgency because of the class standing of the girls now out in public. At the same time, that urgency helped to create a more broadly defined and collectively owned group of girls.

If advice givers needed to vouch for the respectability of schoolgirls, however, they could still remain disturbed by some of the after-hour implications of school attendance, especially at the more suspect public schools. The Ladies’ Home Journal’s glib answer to the question ‘‘Why Girls Disappear’’ blamed mothers but indirectly it blamed school, too. ‘‘School-girls here have been seen year in and year out being joined on a certain corner by rakish-looking boys who carried their books.’’

Another article in the same magazine the next year lambasted the dangerous influence of the roller-skating rink on schoolgirls as well. Under the title ‘‘Flirting Girls,’’ the writer noted that ‘‘school girls in great numbers frequent these pleasure resorts and emulate each other in picking up the greatest number of gentlemen acquaintances. So large is this class of chance acquaintances, that the girls in our public schools already recognize these men by a slang term, a humorous but pitiful term, when one thinks of the underlying fact. These ‘pick-ups’ are not obtained in the skating rink alone but are made on the sidewalk with a bow, a smile, a word, or in a horse car or at a baseball match or at the theatre.’’ The outcry of concern over the modern girl focused on middle-class girls, and the impact of a range of social developments—school among them—which were breaking down the authority of parents, the strength of the home, and the domination of traditional morality.”

- Jane H. Hunter, “Friendship, Fun, and the City Streets.” in How Young Ladies Became Girls: The Victorian Origins of American Girlhood

#cities #gender #victorian #history #american #class #jane h. hunter #how young ladies became girls

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darkficsyouneveraskedfor · 3 years

Text

By the king’s hand 🐍 XV

Warnings: noncon/rape, violence, trauma, allusions to torture.

This is dark!fic and explicit. Your media consumption is your own responsibility. Warnings have been given. DO NOT PROCEED if these matters upset you.

Summary: The trial begins and takes it toll on those involved.

Note: Chapter fifteen already?! I dunno what I’m doing but it’s happening. Everyone it’s happening! Hahah. I’m having too much fun. Also call out to @lokislastlove because you know she fuels the fire too much.

Thank you. Love you guys!

As always, if you can, please leave some feedback, like and reblog <3

Your days formed a pattern. You woke as the king readied for the day ahead. When he left, Hal remained and kept you company. He helped you with your letters or read from you from his code of honour. You sewed or reclined on the chaise as you listened. Sometimes, you spoke of yourselves; the boy hadn’t the sense to be secretive but he was young and had little intricacy to his character.

When the king returned, he dismissed the boy. Often, he took his pleasure. You could do little but let him in hopes of keeping him pleasant; of avoiding a fight you couldn’t win. Other nights, he merely sat and thought, a few words offered on his inner turmoil. It was a peculiar, if not absurd, routine; the two of you in denial of the past as the present bore down on you.

A week passed. It felt longer and shorter all at once. Time seemed warped in your mind since your return to the palace. But you felt the changes inside of you. Your hunger grew insatiable and the nausea more persistent. Your emotions swelled and swayed between despair and anger; between buoyancy and blight. And as you were kept in better condition, your flesh began to soften and even after a few days, you noticed how you began to grow.

That day, you felt unready. You’d been awake for much of the night after a knock came at the door. Loki went to attend to his visitor and returned with jarring news. Thor had arrived in the capital and had been secured in his royal prison. His trial would commence within days.

Loki was restless too though he would not admit it. He lay beside you and feigned sleep. You stared up at the top of the bedpost and found it difficult to get comfortable. To think that Thor was just across the green in Boulder Tower. It was a trap meant for noble criminals, a historic landmark that had held traitors since the early days of the kingdom. You just didn’t believe it could hold Thor. Nothing could. In your mind, he was unstoppable.

You said little to the king before he left you that morning. His mind was on his brother, as yours was. Even Hal could not lift the gloom from you as he appeared with his usual smile. You ate with the boy and he helped you to the chaise as you grew weary from your fitful night. He sat at your feet and listened as you recited your letters.

“You remembered them all,” he beamed.

You smiled. It felt ridiculous but you were just as proud of yourself. You went through your letters every night after Loki was done with you. You repeated the sounds in your head as Hal had shown you and though your progress was slow, it was better than none.

You were silent as you struggled to keep your mind on the lessons. You hadn’t the energy to take up your needle and you found yourself fidgeting until Hal touched your ankle. You yawned and propped yourself up on your elbows.

“My lady, I can tell you are distracted,” he prodded.

“I am,” you dropped back and sighed. “I’m sorry, but I didn’t sleep and I cannot stop thinking of…” You couldn’t say the words and so you only shook your head.

“The prince?” He ventured. “I did see them escort him to the tower last night. They had him chained and… I never saw him look so worn.” Hal almost whispered, “And angry. I admit I did not sleep much, either.”

Your lip trembled and you covered your face with your arm. You might start sobbing if you thought of the prince too long. You could not do so without feeling his cold grip on your body, feeling his intrusions over and over, hearing his raw voice as he mocked you.

“Do you believe they can bring him to justice?” You asked. “That the king could ever rein in his own brother?”

“I know that the king is clever and that he would not proceed if he did not have some plan,” Hal said, “And I pray that Prince Thor is dealt with swiftly and rightly.”

You sniffed and flung your arm away from your head. You sat up and frowned. “Hal,” you said softly, “I wouldn’t think that the king feels much more for me than shallow want but… he might resent me for whatever becomes of his brother. Might resent the child inside of me.” You lowered your head, “I feel awfully alone and frightfully lost.”

“The king… no, it isn’t your fault,” Hal said. “You couldn’t--”

“Promise me,” you breathed and looked up meekly, “If this child is born and I am not kept around to see it grow, that you will look in on it. For me.”

“What do-- You are its mother, you will be there.”

“I am a peasant. I am a bed warmer, not a wife. I haven’t rights, even though I bear the seed myself.” You blinked away the tears, “I have no one else. You must see that in my absence, that this child is well.”

Hal gulped and nodded. His youth struck you and made you feel terribly for what you asked of him. You drew your legs down and sidled over to him. You touched his slender hand and squeezed it. “I’m sorry, Hal.”

“No, I think I am sorry.” He replied. “I haven’t listened to you. I forget…” He chewed his words, “I… sometimes, I find myself believing that you and the king, that you are his wife and that he is happy with you.” He inhaled deeply, “It is unfair of me to think of it as such because I know of all he’s done. It is only that I cannot understand it. I love the king but I do not love what he does.”

“I don’t understand it either,” you muttered, “I don’t think I can.”

He looked at you and his boyish cheeks paled. “How can you not? You are the wisest person I’ve ever met.”

You laughed, grimly. You touched his shoulder and retracted your hand as you stood. “Then, if you think me wise, listen to me. Do not try to understand the king or the prince or men like them. Only learn from them. Do not become them. Hal,” you turned back to him and clutched your hands, “Don’t let them take your decency.”

His eyes rounded and he rubbed his hands together as he thought. He hung his head. “My mother…” he spoke so quietly you could barely hear him, “She died birthing me. I never knew her and my father wanted me away so bad. The king, he has been the only constant in my life and I never questioned him before.”

“And you shouldn’t. There are things he can teach you. For all his cruelty, you can learn to be kind. For all his trickiness, you can learn to be honest. For all his sins, you can learn good deeds.” You swayed on your feet and hugged yourself, “And maybe one day, he will have the grace to learn from you.”

Hal’s eyes were glossy. He stood so quickly you hadn’t time to react before his arms were around you and his face was buried in your shoulder. Stunned, you slowly untwined your arms and hugged him in turn. You held him until he drew back, his face rosy with embarrassment.

“I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to accost you.” He rubbed his cheek.

“No, you didn’t,” you found it hard not to weep at the realisation that this boy had likely never been embraced thus. “Don’t apologise.” You drew him back and rocked him in your arms. “You’re a good boy, Hal, and you will be a great man.”

🐍

The prince’s trial commenced three days after his arrival in Boulder Tower. Loki didn’t touch you the night before and left without disturbing you. You woke, confused and alone. You spent much of your day over a basin, spilling your guts as the anxiety added to your sickness.

That night, the king remained silent. You caught him staring at you but he looked away quickly each time you did. You sat and sewed the hem of the nightshirt meant for your child. The tail was closed to keep the child’s legs warm and the collar was to be embroidered as a final touch.

You laid down but Loki did not. You fell asleep after some time but did not sink far into slumber. You awoke as a log clacked into the hearth and the king’s shadow retreated into the front chamber again. You rolled over and slept some more. You woke and rose to relieve yourself before peeking in on the king.

Loki had the nightshirt in his hands and traced the stitches with his thumbs. He grumbled to himself and replaced it where you’d left it hanging from a hook. He rubbed his eyes and sat heavily at the table. His hand balled into a fist and he hit the wood. You backed away before he could see you and hid yourself in the bed once more.

When the morning came, Loki still wasn’t abed. You heard the door and Hal’s voice permeated the early lull. “Your majesty,” he whispered and the king grunted, “It is time.”

You listened to the movement in the next chamber and the boy came to retrieve clean attire for the king. You pretended to doze as he did, your ears pricked as you tucked your chin down beneath the covers. The rustle of cloth and tinkle of metal followed.

“Weeks. It will be weeks.” Loki uttered. “Will I ever be done with my fool brother?”

Hal said nothing. He wasn’t expected to. He listened to the king’s qualms and went about his duty.

“Distract the woman,” he slithered, “Let her not think of Thor or the rest of my troubles. Birger will be at hand if you require him.”

The door opened and closed not long after. You realised that Hal was more than a placeholder, he was to keep you from asking questions. You didn’t want to dwell on Thor and all he’d done to you, but you hated to feel as if you knew nothing. Did you not deserve to hear of the fate of your worst tormentor?

You sat up and dressed in a dark blue gown. You washed your face from the basin and pulled on fur-lined slippers before you strode through to the front room. Hal read, a covered plate awaited you on the table. He bid you good morning and you sat and ate the hearty breakfast. It did little too soothe the ache of your stomach.

As the morning turned to noon, you took out the papers from the desk drawer and practiced your writing. Hal watched and helped you spell out simple words; table, chair, desk, your name, and his. When it came to Loki’s name, you dropped the pen and turned to glare at the boy.

“Tell me what you know of the trial.” You insisted.

“The trial?” He repeated, “Well, not much, I’ve been here with you, my lady.”

“Yes, but you’ve time without. You have friends in the palace. You are close to the king.” You tapped your fingers impatiently, “So tell me what keeps him so quiet.”

“I…” Hal sputtered and wrung his hands. “I don’t know if I should--”

“What do you think I’ll do? Surely I won’t say it to him. But… I am bored in here and kept ignorant. I deserve to know, for my peace of mind. Don’t you think?”

Hal huffed and fidgeted as he tried to come up with some argument. “Promise you won’t say a word.”

“I haven’t a particular urge to face the king’s wrath,” you said, “So?”

“The trial’s only just open,” he straightened the stack of parchment as he spoke, “Witnesses will not be heard for at least another week. As of now, they’ve only sworn in the prince and begun to review the evidence.” Hal poked his cheek with his tongue, “I had it from one of the servants in attendance that the prince threatened to choke each judge with his bare hands and lastly, the king.”

“He threatened them? At his own trial?” You gasped.

“He is angered that they took his wife and child. He swears he is framed and that the people will not let him be convicted on false charges.” Hal looked at you, “And as they began to present the evidence, he grew angrier. He attacked a guard and the session was ended early.”

You gaped at him. “Do you think he is right? That the people will harry behind him?”

“Who knows? He was king once but the council wasn’t entirely distraught to hear of his resignation. And King Loki has since tidied up much of the mess he left.” Hal scratched his chin, “There will be some loyalists but enough to save him? I hope and think not.”

You mulled over the revelations. Loki’s detached manner made more sense, and you admitted, was a blessing. You could not handle both the stress of the prince’s proximity and the king’s unyielding desire.

“I hope not, as well,” you said at last. “I won’t mention any of it to the king.”

🐍

Loki said less and less as the days passed. Some nights, he slept beside you, others you found him snoring in the chair as the fire dwindled. Aside from Hal, you felt terribly alone. It was as if you were living with a ghost. You might not long for his attentions but you were troubled by his silence.

A week after the trial began, you were woken by a sudden yank on the blanket. Loki stood by the bed and stared down at you. He lifted a brow and beckoned you with two fingers. He turned as you sat up and retrieved a stack of clothing from the low bench. He dropped it beside you and crossed his arms.

“Get dressed. You will break your fast and come with me,” he ordered.

You lifted the tunic, a dull grey embroidered with silver. The trousers were black and thick, and the boots were too big for you. “And covered your head,” he tossed a cap at you, “Try not to sway as a lady would.”

“What? I don’t--”

“Do as I say, mouse, all will make sense soon,” he backed away and left you in the flickered of a single lamp.

You pulled on the tunic, loose enough for your stomach and tied up the breeches as well as you could. You slid into the boots and tucked the cap into your pocket. You found the king chewing on a rasher and sat to eat with him. His long fingers were restless between bites and his forehead wrinkled in thought.

When he finished, he wiped his mouth and hands and took the cap from your pocket. He pulled it over your hair and gave you a dark cloak. “Keep your head down,” he led you to the door and you found Hal waiting in the corridor. “Go with the boy.”

“I don’t--”

He shushed you and pointed a single finger at you. “Wait. We will discuss after.” He snipped. “Keep quiet and don’t make a scene.”

Confused and too tired to resist much more, you followed Hal away from the king. You were nervous that you might not return to the chamber. That perhaps you might be taken some place where you would see only your own shadow. Had the king finally decided to be rid of you? The thought was not entirely dreaded but you would hate to be confined further.

As you were led out into the snowy yards, you were further disoriented. Hal helped you up into a carriage and sat across from you silently. You asked where you were going and he only shook your head as he gave a helpless look.

You pulled up outside a pillared facade with ancient statues. You hesitated as you descended the step onto the ground. It was the theatre. The trial was being held there, as Loki said, and you realised what was happening.

“What?” You grasped Hal’s wrist. “No, I can’t-- the prince--”

“Is restrained. By chain and by guard.” Hal assured. “He won’t even know you’re here, my lady.”

You shuddered and clung to Hal. “Why am I here?”

“To see. To listen.” He said cryptically. “I won’t leave you, alright?”

You nodded and braced yourself. You let go of him and followed him through the wide doors. You were guided up a flight of narrow stairs and into a balcony meant for the aristocratic patrons of the stage. You sat beside hall on the fine bench and peered out between the curtains.

The council members streamed in and filled the seats along a dais and the judges sat on the stage, a single stool at the centre for the witness. The doors opened to let in the audience, both common and noble, and they filled the benches meant for purveyors of a much less grave show.

The jury entered next, followed by the king, and order was called by the judge who sat at the center of the triarch. A hush went over the buzzing crowd and a staunch and dire tension filled the air.

Finally, the prince himself was shown in with chains at his hands and throat. He was sat in the box before the rows of benches to face his crimes. He was seething though his appearance bore evidence of his exhaustion. You reached to hall and squeezed his hand.

Loki sat with his head high as the judge began the proceedings and handed it over Lord Mariton, who was chosen to prosecute the case.

You weren’t entirely certain of what was going on and you leaned forward as you listened. Commoners were seen in the lower courts and often the disputes were over property and swiftly cycled through. You had never seen anything so… big. The scene could not be anything less than historic.

“The court will proceed from the last day’s activity. We continue down our list of witnesses and having heard from servants and lesser, we would call on our more reliable voices this day. We would call to the stand a conspirer in the prince’s plot.” Mariton strode along the edge of the stage, “One Magnus Dorson. The king’s former guard.”

Your breath caught deep in your chest and your head swam. You gripped Hal’s entire arm and let out a pathetic whimper. The boy touched your hand. “My lady, I’m here.”

“How-- When?” You gasped, “He--”

You gaped down from the balcony as the doors beside the stage opened and a silhouette appeared. The former guard entered with his head down between two others. His broad shoulders slumped like a beaten dog and he limped heavily as he was shoved up the steps of the stage. He was forced into the witness box and sat in the chair with a thump.

Even from a distance, you could see all that had been done to Magnus. His eye was swollen, his lip split, and half his face was off-kilter. You barely recognized him but it could be no other. You brought your hand to your mouth as tears trickled from your eyes.

You couldn’t focus as Mariton swore in Magnus and you shook your head as you felt it hard to breathe. Your eyes kept bouncing between Magnus and Thor. The prince was visibly shocked at the site of his accomplice as the other man seemed barely able to see through his swollen eye.

“You served the king for how long?” Mariton began lightly.

You stared at Magnus. Waited for that voice, the one that haunted you, and when it came, it was brittle and broken. You looked at the king. He turned and met your gaze, though likely he could not see you past the shadows. He nodded and for an instant, his lips curved.

“Since his father’s reign. Almost five years.” Magnus hissed and shifted in pain.

“And when, in those five years, did you decide to betray him?”

Magnus sniffed and choked. He cough and a splotch of red spattered across his hand. He shook his head and swallowed.

“I never wanted-- The prince came to me. He said that he required an ear in the king’s presence. He said he was kept from courtly business though he only gave up the crown, not his nobility. I thought it harmless--”

“But you divulged royal business to the prince? The king’s business.” Mariton insisted.

“I… I did but--”

“And when the prince used this information and decided that he would reclaim the throne he willingly gave up on admittance of his own incompetence, you did not warn the king?”

Magnus coughed again. “No.”

“In fact, you left the palace on the Prince’s orders to carry out his will? His conspiracy?”

“Y-yes,” Magnus answered and kept his head down.

“So you admit your treason.”

“I-- I do,” Magnus’ voice crackled and he winced as he raised his shackled hands to touch his face. “I did it. I betrayed the king. I intended on handing over his throne to his brother. And the prince…” He shuddered, “The prince wanted a war.”

The audience broke out in a chatter. The king sat stoically and the jury huddled to whisper. The judges looked to each other and shouts echoed off the high ceilings.

“Traitor!” A shoe flew from the rabble and hit the prince. “Cunt!”

“Order!” A judge cried out and hit the floor with his staff. “Order!”

You covered your face at the chaos. Your mind erupted as you rocked and tried not to think of those dark days. Thor roared back at the maddened audience and you sobbed. Your entire body was racked with your dismay as you leaned against Hal.

“They can’t-- They can’t know I’m here! They’ll hurt me!” You whined into his tunic, “They’ll hurt me. Hurt me. Hurt…”

Hal rubbed your back and hushed you and he cooed in your ear. “My lady, they cannot. They will not. They are chained. They are caught.” He whispered. “Please, my lady, breathe.”

“Take me away,” you begged. “Take me away now.”

The boy held you and carefully helped you to your feet. You clutched his arm as you feared you would stumble and he took you back down the stairs. He ushered you to the carriage and you stumbled inside. He shut the door behind him and sat with you on the bench as you covered your face and continued to weep.

He hit the ceiling of the carriage and it jerked as the wheels groaned and churned through the slush. Hal touched your shoulder and rubbed your arm as you continued to blubber. You barely noticed the city as it passed you by. You weren’t there; you were in that room below the butcher’s shop, waiting for them.

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