#“your family has oil wells?”“only one” i say to be humble

[plutobutartsy]

richard papen is so funny to me this guy lies left and right without flinching and seemingly for no reason

[boxingcleverrr]

Hello my love, I am very humbly wondering if you have any suggestions for media (podcasts? Articles? Sky written advice?) that talks about skincare (or just general health) stuff so that I can be as informed as you. Of course not asking for you to educate me any more than your previous post did that’s totally not your responsibility, there’s just so much out there for health and skincare stuff that I get lost and am not sure what to take as fact or just something that someone’s trying to sell you on so if you have any favorite outlets I suppose I’d love to hear them! Also feel free to completely disregard this 💜

Oh hai! I don't mind at all, though I don't really have just one resource. Most information has been compiled over the years from so many sources and trial and error.

Finding out I can't use most stuff with hyaluronic acid in it was not fun and very puffy, haha do spot tests on new things. And when I complained about body acne as a teen, my family doctor asked how often I washed my sheets, and being a teenager it had been uuuuhhhhh, A WHILE. Lo and behold better habits = less painy pimples on my thighs.

I will say Sawbones is one of my best resources overall for what is and isn't modern snake oil! For example, I'm pretty sure they're where I learned that any topical-use-only lotion that claims to contain collagen is a scam, as the collagen molecule is too large to be absorbed into the skin. Syd isn't a dermatologist but a family doctor sure as heck knows when a "skin toxin cleanse" is just tea that makes you poop.

Learning to read user product reviews discerningly helps too, for all things, not just skincare, obviously. But with personal products, you especially want to deduce how LONG someone used a product before reviewing, good or bad. At my job I would have women calling upset that an eye cream wasn't diminishing their dark circles...after using it for a week. In my experience, products that ACTUALLY do the various things they claim take around a month to see noticeable results. Those are the reviews you look for: how long they used it, how well they seem to have read the product description and if they followed the instructions.

Also I had an Ipsy subscription for quite a few years, and I curated my bags to mostly be skincare products. So every month for $10 (now $13 I believe) I was getting a bag of samplers with about a month's worth of product in the jars and tubes, as well as fun masks. I paid attention to which brands and their ingredients I liked best and worked for me. They also include a lot of Korean beauty brands which truly do tend to have some fantastic natural ingredients. If the actual brand was too expensive for my budget, I'd seek out those same ingredients in more affordable ones! Some things stayed very worth it, though - I only use the Korean brand Purlisse bb cream for my makeup, for example, as it's so light and has a good SPF AND it's my very hard to match shade of pale, and that's worth it to me.

So not a ton, really just listening and retaining, doing a little ingredient homework when I REALLY am pleased with a product, and trying stuff out!

[stuffs-n-fiction]

Apollos flowers

An Apollo X reader x Hyacinth

Part 1

(The reader will be described as female because I am feeling a little self indulgent.)

With light steps you walk along the halls of the temple, holding your hands together as you approach your sisters. Your sisters of the temple, being a young priestess yourself. They had called for you as you were informed by the temples messenger boy. In the private chambers the rest of them already awaited you.

After the door falls closed behind you, you lift your veil, greeting them with a soft smile.

“Dear (y/n), we are so glad you came on such short notice.”

Said one of the sisters before giving you a peck on the cheek.

“We are so sorry to have called you here so late.”

You smile at her and the rest of them as you sit down to a cup of sweetened water with lemon.

“So, what occaision is of such importance to call for this meeting dear sisters?”

You ask, takinga a sip from your cup.

The eldest of your group stands up.

“Deat sisters, as priestesses of this temple of Apollo, I recieved a message from prince Hyacinth of Sparta.”

You all raised your eyebrows at this news, leaning closer.

Hadn´t prince Hyacinth been proclaimed dead?

“He requests a few days stay and conversation in our humble care. For he has stated, and it is also said, that he has been in contact with the god Apollo himself.”

All of you couldn´t help leaning closer and closer to every word.

“So I will ask of you to prepare your chambers here for stay and prepare before the princes´arrival.”

Finishing your drinks over some talk you soon all go to retrieve your things from your homes to bring for the stay at the temple. You recieve a small kiss to the cheek from one of the sisterrs before you let the sheer veil fall over your face once again.

“Be careful on your way.”

“I will. And I have a little guardian to accompany me as well, so no need to worry.”

You say as you look down at the guard dog that sat besides your leg.

You walk into the mild night and on your way back home to pack. You didn´t live too far from the temple, but you did live quite secluded. The reason you had decided to become part of the temple and a priestess was so your family could not marry you off. For you did not feel the need to marry and have family. At least not so young. You were only sixteen at the time. Quite old already for some standards but three years have passed since.

And you have come to love the feeling of family the temple sisterhood gave. It brought you joy giving hope to the people with thouroughly studied prayers and  blessings . They were things you not so simply wanted to give up, having found meaning for yourself in them.

You toss a stick for the dog to fetch as you neared your small abode.

...

And between the stars, two golden eyes had looked out for her on her way home and back.

...

You sigh in content when you could finally lay down onto the cushioned sleeping mat, having set everything at it´s place and changed clothing into a light tunic to sleep in. Your eyes fall closed, letting much needed rest wash over you.

...

You were awoken by the sunlight and the chime of the waking bell that was rung.

Slowly you stood up to make your way to the washing chambers to refresh yourself. In the lonely hidden hall the messenger boy holding a few heavy looking furrs bumped into you. In a frenzy he muttered apologies, trying his best to not look into your face, as you were not in robe and veil. You were not too firm as to scold him, he was still young and clearly sent with a task.

You reached out your hand and placed it onto his hair, a sign of superiority but kindness.

“No need to worry, a good morning to you. There is no need to look to the floor, you have not disrespected me.”

Shily he glances up and bashfully looks at you as you continued on your way.

Reaching the room you give your body a quick wash in the cool water of  the floors bath, rubbing in a bit of scented oil into your skin after, as to protect it from dryness and the sun.

You slip into your white linen robe, fastening a sturdy but thin leather band around your waist to hold it in place. Lastly you let the veil fall over your face.

...

Your morning routine had been the only calm part about your day as the rest passed by quickly with preparations for the high guest that was said to arrive that evening. All were sure to make the temple look even cleaner than it already was, preparing for rituals or blessings the prince might request and of course preparing his chambers. You were tasked to finish readying his room. Stepping in you looked over everything, placing a folded woolen knitted blanked onto the bed in case the prince needed another one for the night. You filled the small wash basin with water which stood next to the mirror on the wardrobe.

In all the room looked well prepared, with a few small welcoming trinkets placed onto the bedside table besides a vase filled with freshly bicked flowers.

...

You all weren´t sure what you expected to arrive as the prince, though a bit of a surprise it was. 

He arrived on a strong mighty horse, accompanied by a few trusty men of his. A bit before arival they dismounted their horses. One of the sisters went ahead to guide them to the stables. Three of the five companions followed, taking all the horses with them. The other two stayed with the prince.

From the small distance you could see the prince seemed to not be too lavishly dressed and not of too much height with a strong physique.

Once standing infront of you, the sisterhood, he bows down before looking back up. It was hard to keep in a gasp of surprise at seeing his slender pointed ears and slitted pupils, a crown of hyacinth flowers resting in his kinky hair. He was a nymph. In respect you all bowed as well in greeting.

His full lips formed a smile before speaking.

“Good evening sisters of this temple. I must thank you for giving me stay in your care.”

His voice was pleasant, not too loud nor quiet; not too high but not too deep either. It was gentle and soft with a spark to it.

Your eldest answered after stepping forward.

“No need to thank us your highness. I believe you and your men are tired after your travels. Shall we go inside? We have prepared food and drinks and of course your chambers, for you are a welcome guest.”

He smiled again before you let your eldest lead the way with him and his two men behind, before following as well.

The evening went by with ease, though many of you couldn´t help the curious glances towards the nymph princes ears and pointed nails. He was no longer human, that was for sure.

As one of the youngest but still with the most expirience, you were the one tasked to lead the prince to his chamber.

Quietly you walked besides each other as you lead the way.

“This will be your chamber for your stay here. This key is for only this room.”

You open the door, leading inside.

“We have prepared for everything you might need, your luggage has been brought here as well. Is there anything you need more that I can bring to you your highness?”

You ask as he looks around the cosy room.

“I thank you for preparing such a pleasant stay, for now I am in no need for anything more.”

You give a small bow before starting to turn for your leave.

“Then I wish you a pleasant night your-”

“Wait.”

He cuts in.

“May I ask of your name?”

“I am sister (y/n) your highness.”

He studies you before giving you a smile.

“Very well, a pleasant night to you as well.”

You give another bow as you leave the room, closing the door behind you. You couldn´t help the small sigh of relief that left your lips as your nervousness eased. With that you went ahead and back to your own chambers.

...

The following morning went without trouble, with refreshing and dressing yourself and attending breakfast with the other sisters and of course the guests. Even if titles were respected, within the temple, one was treated as equal, so you dined together with the prince and his companions. 

After you all had sat down and given your morning prayer you all moved to remove your veils. It was obvious that the guards tried not to stare as to not be disrespectful. The guardsmen were quite awkward to interact with you until Hyacinth casually broke the comfortable silence.

 “May one please reach over the salt for me.” 

The small bowl filled with salt was reached around from the other end of the table until it landed in your hands. You reached over and handed it to one of the guards who then gave it to the prince. The guard moved a bit stiff as if never having seen a woman before.

 “Thank you.”

 “You’re welcome.”

 Answered the eldest with a smile.

 ... 

After the morning meal you cleaned off the table while the eldest lead the prince to the private chamber in which to talk and pray. The guards were left there standing, not knowing what to do with themselves.

 One of the sisters, who you got along with quite well to consider her as a friend, approached them. Even with the veil you recognised her.

 “Would you like to help us?” 

It was visible in their eyes that they tried not to take offence in the question of being asked to help with the dishes. You never understood how something as simple as housekeeping was viewed as unmanly. 

“You do not have to if you do not wish to. It was just an offer. Though you can move on to the main hall or the outside garden if you wish for some peace and quiet.” 

With that she left and brought the plates in her hands to the kitchen. Though, not only you, noticed the way the guard that had stood directly in front of her looked after her when she left.

 ... 

You tended to the gardens in the still bearable sun with a few others, plucking unwanted weeds and harvesting herbs to dry out later. Walking back inside you crossed the main hall with a small basked of the freshly cut herbs and a ball of cord, when you saw prince Hyacinth kneeling in front of the statue of Apollo. Clearly he was in prayer, given the mumbles that left his lips, so respectfully you moved quietly along. Even if the nymph princes back was turned to you, it felt as though a pair of eyes followed your movement.

 ... 

It was in the evening when suddenly things turned unpleasant. You had been on the other end of the temple when it had happened. The one guard had tried to force himself upon your friend who was trying not to cry too much in your arms while in front of them, in front of him. One of the sisters had heard her and acted fast in calling for others who then as three pried him off of her. Now he was put on his knees in the main hall, prince Hyacinthos and your eldest standing in front of him. The other four guards stood off to the side while you, the entire sisterhood, stood opposite from them. At the end of it all the statue of Apollo. The god who sees all to where the sunlight reaches. 

“My loyal guard, what has overtaken you to dare to disrespect this temple in such way?” 

He spoke calmly, but every word with the edge of a threat.

 “Speak!”

 “I do not know what had come over me, after she had spoken to me this morning.”

 “Why? What had she said?” 

He turned to face you, looking at you holding your friend with pupils that were only two slits. He looked dangerous. Predatory.

 You cleared your throat.

 “She had only asked if they wished to help with the dishes, seeing that they were looking for a task to do. We did not mean any disrespect on our behalf, we only treat everyone as equal.” 

With no word Hyacinth looked back down to the guard again, the air having grown in tensity. 

“I am disappointed how one of my trusted men would disrespect these holy grounds by not having his lust under some self control.” 

With every word he rose in volume. Hyacinth flowers starting to bloom from his hair in a dark blue. Nails seeming sharper. 

“You not just disrespected a priestess, you dared to disrespect the god Apollo along with it!” 

The guard was now on his hands, bowing his head to the ground.

 “Please your highness, forgive me!” 

“I am not the one to ask for forgiveness.” 

He turned to your eldest.

 “You can only hope the gods will have mercy on you.” 

It were the only words she spoke before she turned to walk into your group, leaving Hyacinth with his guard in the center of the room.

 “I am merciful enough to not execute you, but you will no longer be allowed of any military service.” 

Then silence settled in. A heavy, sharp silence that made the hairs on your arms rise. The sun was setting and only a few rays fell in on the scene. It had become deathly quiet with the guard trembling on the floor and hyacinth fuming in front of him. Then he looked up to the statue, as if making direkt eye contact with it. 

All of you gave shouts of shock when the guard, as he started to stand back up to his feet, dishonoured and thoroughly scolded, dropped back to the floor.

A few of you rushed over, though Hyacinth didn´t move.

“There is no heartbeat, he´s dead!”

Proclaimed one of the sisters. A bit of medical knowledge had long been taught amongst each other. 

All of you were paniced though Hyacinths voice cut in.

“Do not fret! Apollo has decided on his punishment. Ready a burrial.”

[kookiecrumb]

jjk|| Your Head

"tags": @kazthebrekkerofinej

word count: uhhhh

summary: Jungkook is the heir to the throne of your Kingdom! In this tale of duty versus heart, will love prevail victorious?

tags: Royalty!Jungkook x Peasant!Reader, oneshot, smut, fluff, slight angst, some crack, pining, forbidden lovers, Jungkookie has a sweet tooth, strangers to friends to lovers

warnings: explicit language, impact play, birthday sex (technically), fingering, oral (m receiving*), love marking, alcohol consumption, s&m themes, horny grinding, praise kink/body worship

a/n:

hey guys!

Firstly, I want to say how proud I am of myself for growing so much during this fic. I learned a lot about what I'm comfortable with, what I'd like to work on, and where my confidences lie.

I won't lie and say it's been easy, because writing this meant dealing with a lot of my fears? I'm excited for all the works that are to come.

The only thing I can do is be as receptive to growth as possible, so I'm looking forward to learning...

*I actually learned that Vaseline wasn't invented until like the 1870s? The fic is written in the 1810s, so I actually had a choice between having them do it with vegetable oil or spit. Spit won.

◇◇◇◇◇◇◇◇◇◇◇◇◇◇◇◇◇◇◇

5 years ago

You bend over to pick up an apple that had rolled over under your father's produce cart, praying that it isn't bruised so that you have to pay for it out of your dinner, when a crumpled piece of paper hits you in the ass.

Confused, you crawl out from under the stand and unwrap the paper.

The paper itself is of the finest quality you've ever seen. It's a sturdy cardstock, bleached white with gold etchings on the borders. The print on the top of it reads "His Highness Jeon's Royal Study," and scribbled in some kid's amateur cursive below, "Nice butt."

You directed your gaze upwards, towards the towering castle walls. Sure enough, a boy no older than 15 had his noggin popping out from the top of the rampart, with two wide eyes staring down, curious as to your reaction. This was Prince Jungkook, heir to the throne of your kingdom.

"Shouldn't you be equestrian horse riding or playing polo or something?" You shout. He furrows his eyebrows, apparently offended at your assumption, and then disappears behind the edifice.

Moments later, another paper hits your shoulder as you're practicing your caligraphy behind your cart. It lands between the apples, so you reach your hand over and fish out out.

You glance up at the anticipant, and sure enough he's there with his doe eyes and his coconut head, ogling.

"No, dumbie. That's at MID-day." Well how were YOU supposed to know the royal schedule of the crown prince, it wasn't just common knowlegde you learned from being a humble farmer's daught--

Ah!

"Will you STOP?!" You put your foot down. "Unless you're here to buy my apples, then you're not getting ANY, little Prince." Oh, shit. You gave him ideas. Now it was really over for you.

In less than half an hour, half a company of men arrived at the marketplace, asking about your little old apple stand, and sure enough, Jungkook had bought out the entire cart so that you were forced to help with the transaction.

The young prince had eyes frankly too big for his head, with the most prominent cupid's bow you've ever seen. His nose slightly outgrew his face and his ears were hidden away behind his short, black hair. "Now you can talk to me." He gave you a rose he'd stolen from the royal garden. "I am Jungkook, heir to the throne of--"

"I know who you are." You interrupt him, documenting His Highness' total in your calligraphy book.

With a hand perched on his chest from surprise, he scoffed. "And I happen to think you're really pretty, so I was going to ask you to be my very first consor--"

"You're 15, you have playmates not consorts."

"And how old are you?!" He's had it, raising his voice and taking a bite out of one of your apples with force.

"16, old enough to have suitors." You tease. Jungkook hangs his head a little. He just needed someone to talk to, it would seem. Reluctantly, you scribbled down your address down on a piece of note paper and handed it to him.

"Look, if you buy more of my apples, I'll have an excuse to tell my Dad so I can hang out with you." You spoke in a low voice as to not raise suspicion.

Your dad is standing negotiating with the guards about prices, his usual embarassing haggling gruffly overpowering the guards elegant twiddle-tones.

"Wonderful! See you soon, my sweet!" He resumes his confident demeanor, tucking the paper into his overcoat with a small smile. He salutes you boyishly and marches away with a year's supply of apples.

For the next week, the royal kitchen had baked 3 apple pies, made 5 fruit salads, 4 batches of apple muffins, and threw the rest of them in Sangria; that's the same Sangria as King Jeon finds himself drinking in his wife's drawing room on Sunday.

"Call Chef, fetch him up here." He waves to his assistant, keeping his eyes on the outside. He was deep in thought, his hands stoicly behind his back.

The Kingdom had been prosperous for over many years now, and war had not come close to threatening its borders in a lifetime. Negotiations were always successful, and quality of living was high. The work of a King, in a situation such as this, was to perfect the image of the royal family as strong rulers, and to paint his daughters as desirable to foreign heirs.

"Your Grace," the assistant called his attention, "Head Chef Sung." The dainty man bows and scurries off somewhere else.

Chef Sung is a portly man, who carries himself heaving with every step, his great belly inflating with each hefty inhale. He approaches the King, and kneels down to kiss his hand with his fat lips.

The King recoils in disgust, but quickly collects himself and his words. "Where are these apples from, is it France or Spain?" He demands.

"Neither, Your Highness." Mr.Sung lifts up his eyes. "They are from our Holy Kingdom; by order of Prince Jungkook, an entire cart was purchased of these apples and we have not been able to get rid of them." Tears threatened Chef Sungs eyes at the very mention of the fruit.

'Well, there's one thing the kid's done right.' King Jeon now faces the Chef, setting down his drink on a mahogany table, leaning against it casually. "Well! Good. I'd like to meet the owner of that cart, invite him to my Sunday brunch."

"Oh, yes, of course sir! You'll never see them in our kitchen aga--What?" Chef Sung takes out his handkerchief, waving it around in the air and drying his tears at once. "So you like them! Why...Yes! Yes, of course!"

Your father thought it would be valuable to have you around the kitchen, learning from the skilled men and women employed by the Jeon family. He only visited once a week to drop off fresh produce, (he'd been officially hired to handle restocking of goods) but you, after showing promising signs of being a gifted baker during one of your father's restocks, were granted scholarship by Ms.Kang to be her aid.

You were now, officially, a resident of the Jeon Estate, residing in the servant's quarters, immediately adjacent to the kitchen. This was convenient. It was far too convenient for a certain little Prince to get the idea of wanting a midnight snack and wandering downstairs.

One day, he does just that. He finds his way into the first bedroom to the right of the stairs facing the kitchen, and that happens to be your bedroom.

He pokes you awake. "Ow! Ow, whyyy~" You whine and toss yourself over to the other side of the bed. His irritating poking persists. You grab his fingers and your eyes shatter open.

You sit up, alarmed. "You could have me arrested, what the fuck are you doing?!"

"I wanted a midnight snack! Besides, I wanna talk to you." He pouts, still holding a small teddy companion.

"Fine. I'll bake you ONE sheet of cookies." You slip on your night shoes and shuffle to the kitchen, and Jungkook tags along.

By the time Jungkook's 18th birthday comes around, he's in the kitchen helping you whisk buttercream to top his cake while having a tease at the Austrian Princess' mole.

"You have one right under your lip, look!" You take a little buttercream from the bowl and stain the dark spot with it.

He licks it up and hastens to add, "it needs more sugar, lady!" as he turns to grab a puffy bag of confection sugar.

"You're impossible to please." Snatching the sugar away from him, you smirk. "You can gobble down as many sweets as you want when the ball commences. Remember, this is the year you're supposed to be keeping your eye out for a girl of a good fam--"

"Yada yada, must have hips for childbearing, yada yada yada..." He mocks the speech his mother had told him that morning when he got dressed.

"Exactly." You set your bowl aside to fix Jungkook's tie. "Yes, and that's your duty, as our heir."

You step back and examine Jungkook one more time. He'd grown so tall in the last year, his legs like spider's and he was just beginning to grow into his features. Handsome boy.

You, too, had grown into an elegant young woman. You had a poised complexion, ready-mannered and graceful. Your hands seemed out of place in your otherwise feminine frame, carrying an extra bit of girth from baking. You were 19 years old.

Marriage was becoming an uncomfortably frequent topic during your visits home, as your mother had married young, herself, she expected the same of you.

Truth be told, there were plenty of offers for your hand. You were a skilled and very esteemed individual, who had broken into thr artisinal class. But your father knew better than put a dowry on your happiness. So long as you worked, he saw no reason to marry you off just yet.

"Now, go. Your sisters must be worried sick! Go out there." You shoo him, pushing him out the door of the kitchen despite his flailing arms.

Throughout the party, you'd been carrying a platter of your own baked goods, serving them to the aristocrats attending the Princes' coming-of-age ball. Accents from all over Europe and some from Kingdoms as far East as Cyprus jubilantly engaged in artful conversation which filled the air with good spirits.

Jungkook, himself, was busy being introduced to as many women as possible, a medley of presenting duchesses, ladies, and even Princesses of your Kingdom. They were each more qualified than you'll ever be, ten-fold.

One was a Greek Princess, her hair cascaded in darling curls down her shoulders and her eyes were deep-set, her voice a flirtatious trill.

Another, a Prussian Princess', posture radiated excellency, and whose complexion sparkled like powdered snow. Jungkook greeted her warmly, pleased with her appearance.

Distracted, you tripped up your skirt and dropped the remainder of your pastries. With that, you stepped off to use the restroom.

The sound of Strauss' Rosen aus dem Süden faintly loomed in the air as you wiped tears from your waterline in the mirror. That was just the way it was, wasn't it? Princes come of age, and they find wives who they commit their lives to.

"Married men don't have friends who are girls." You say out loud, just to realize it. Jungkook was now expected to find a mate within the season, and he was, in fact, quite the eligible bachelor.

Little did you know that Jungkook had been keeping an eye out for you throughout the party, not only because you were carrying his favorite Danish pastires, but because he knew your company was his greatest comfort.

He's in the midst of greeting the Duchess of Kent when he excuses himself to go look for you. He finds your mess first, frowning as he realizes something has gone terribly wrong.

He catches you in the hallway, face puffy and shaky. He grabs your wrist to keep you from darting back to the kitchen.

"Please don't do this, it's my birthday, y/n." It's as if an unspoken rule had been broken between you, and he feels it. Something is making you uncomfortable. "Was it the girls? You told me about this, it's my duty to at least greet them and--"

"Yeah, you sure did greet the Prussian woman nicely." You speak through tears. "She's the girl you were born to be with, huh? Your birthright?"Jungkook is silent. "Every girl at that ball wants to be your wife, want to have your children. They haven't known you for a day and yet they're ready to be your bride."

You search Jungkook's eyes for any sign of coherence, hoping that he would defend against you, that he would speak up and tell you otherwise. No such argument comes.

You yank your arm from his grip and march to the kitchen to remake the pastries you spilled.

You had the job of clearing off all the tables upon the departure of the last guests. It is midnight, and the windows of the castle stream moonlight down on the carpet beneath your feet. The glow of candles soothe you as you hum the waltzes which echo in your mind. It's a brilliant evening.

The centerpieces of the tables were gardenias, lush rose-like flowers with yellow pistils.

Summer, 1809

"Jungkook, wait! You're going to make me trip!" You shout from the top of the hill.

"You've gotta come see before the sun sets! It's the only way we'll get there on time, now run!" Jungkook's speeding down the terrain towards the Sycamore tree which grew deep and wide beneath the banks of a great rushing river.

You groan and throw caution to the wind, rolling down the steep mount in your Sunday dress. Jungkook turns to watch you, a grin spreading across his handsome face. "Look at you!"

You land on your feet at the bottom and scurry off to join Jungkook under the grandfather tree, out of breath entirely. "Now, look what you made me do. You're such a boy, you know that?! Making me come out here just to see some bloody--"

Jungkook has plucked a gardenia and placed it behind your ear. "Would you shut up? We got here on time. Behold."

In all its glory, the sun bathes you in its vivacious rays, creating a feeling of heavenly bliss as it dips below the horizon. The sky blushes pink, its clouds mere whisps above you. Wind rustles the leaves of the grand tree, rousing the birds to chirp their afternoon song.

"Mom used to come here all the time with my Dad, because of these." Jungkook clasped the blooming flower in his tender hands.

After a while, he says "the bugs will come out soon, so we ought to go back," as if he's trying not to scare something away. He helps you up, and with one last look across the valley, you walk next to each other back to the East Quarters.

You take all the silverware and plates by the tub to the dish-washing station and toss all of the linen napkins into the washing machine. All you had left was to blow out the lights in leading upstairs.

"Prince! It is very late, and there are no guests left for you to entertain. What troubles you?" Jungkook's sitting on the stairs with his head in his hands, still wearing his best suit.

"I disappointed you, y/n...I didn't like any of them." He admits, lifting his head up to sulk at you. "I should have told you then, but I didn't want to make you upset!"

Did Jungkook mistake your jealousy for disappointment?

"I'm not upset because you didn't hit it off with the girls..." You sigh. A confession is due, and he's ready to hear the truth from you about how you feel about him.

"Well, the truth is, I didn't like any of the girls because I like you, y/n. But you know that, don't you?" You pause, asking him to elaborate.

"Remember when I bought all the apples because I wanted to be with you? Like...I told you that you were my consort and I kind of meant it?" He felt pathetic now, realizing that you weren't just ignoring his advances. "So you didn't friendzone me for 2 years, you actually didn't know that I liked you."

It was almost laughable, a situation you would read in one of your illegal novels which you kept tucked away in your pillow at night. "No, Kookie, I didn't." You admit to your insolence.

You can't bear to lead him on any longer. You needed to put duty over your own self interest for the sake of the kingdom, even if it shattered his hope. It was better this way.

"But, you do know that we can't ever be a thing, right? It's just silly." Your heart tightens with the words which fall out of your mouth. "It is. Nevermind what your parents would think, what would it do for your image? You're on the world's stage, Jungkook, and you're a selfish person if you think you can just throw all of your duties away to date a scum of the Earth like-- like me!" With your heart in your throat, dry your eyes with your sleeve. "And...I want to, I really really want to, more than anything else to love you, Jungkook. I love you! I...can't." Through the blur of your tears, the shapeless blob that Jungkook has become stands up.

Taking his thumb and swiping it under your eyes, he sighs. Words escaping him, he takes your trembling body against his chest and nestles his head in the crook of your neck. Your cold hands travel underneath his overcoat to hold his waist. The Princes' lips plant a gentle kiss on your neck, chaste yet deep and satisfying.

"I will not accept any bride if not you, my love." He draws back, meeting your fervid gaze. "To the world, I remain a bachelor for a few years."

"And after those years, Jungkook?" You ride your hands up to caress the man's jaw. "You will still love me after those years, and then what?"

"I don't know," he says, voice as soft as powder. "I don't know many things, y/n, that's why I need you to teach me." His palms are rubbing at your waist, beckoning you closer.

His breath quickening as you lean your body against his hold, and you figure it must be the wine he drank to calm his nerves. That was it, wasn't it? He was drunk.

"You're not drunk, are you?" Your face sours, really hoping it's not the case as you feel your body temperature rise.

"Y/N, I've only had a glass. You saw I was a wreck back there." His lips kept chasing yours in a dance you can't quite describe. "I have wanted to hold you like this since I saw you selling apples on the street. Give me the honor..." His forehead against yours and his strong hands supporting your back, he's already fucking you with his eyes.

"The pleasure of being your lover." He squeezes your waist tight with his forearms, planting brisk kisses behind your ear and breathing in your scent. He smiles against you. Your skin pebbles at his affectionate touch, purring softly as your eyes roll back in delight.

"Kookie..." You breathe, leaning on his broad chest. "Kook, the maids are wondering where I am, I have to go..." You slur, tugging at his collar.

He grunts in protest, taking your ear between his teeth and nibbling it.

"If you let me go, I'll steal some cake for you tomorrow at breakfast." If there's anything Jungkook likes more than Cream Ice, it was cake. He unravels you from his arms and nods, his eyes softening.

"Request my service tomorrow, from Ms.Kang. She's been sweet on me lately." You peck his cheek before stepping back. Your rouge has embarrassingly stained His Grace's cheek.

Jungkook bows and presses a kiss on your hand, eyes rising to meet yours. "Til' morrow, babe."

Jiyoo shakes you awake the next morning, handing you a cake and a note that reads: "Prince Jungkook has a commission he must discuss with you. Meet him at his chamber immediately."

Lacing on a simple corset over your nightgown, you try not to look too red in the face as you climb up the stairs to His Majesty's room. You'd be up there alone, as requested. The girls would absolutely start rumors based on that alone-- rumors which you realize are probably totally true. This was stuff of scandal, after all...

'There shouldn't be anything scandalous about love.' You decide as you rap on His Highness' door.

"Please enter...but only if you have my cake!" Jungkook says in his morning voice. He's so cute.

The simplicity of Jungkook's abode takes you by surprise. His bedroom is very well lit, a capital display of the flowered valley through his bay windows washed the room in gold, painting his porcelain white carpets and his cotton sheets a warm creme color. His drawers and vanity were etched in gold, with breathtaking detailing.

The Monarch himself was splayed across the bed, laying on his side casually. He held a glass in his hand, holding a white wine. He puts down his glass and sits up as your presence.

"We both know that you didn't come here as my servant." You lock the door behind you. "And I have no such commission to give you, darling." The innocence which undertones his usual speech is missing as he coaxes you towards him.

"This much I know, Your Majesty," You say, taking a bit of frosting on your index finger and smudging it on the Princes lips. His black eyes, as cunning as a viper, watch you dangerously as you push two fingers past his plush lips. He wraps his hands around your wrist and draws your hand away, his gaze fixating on you.

"Set the cake down." At his command, you carefully place the confection down on a nearby chest, feeling Jungkook's eyes on you, drawing you back towards his grip.

"Let me pull your laces apart," with your waist held by his Herculean hand, he hums "and then let me pull you apart. I want to memorize your pleasures and gratify your desires, I need it, y/n..." Your back flush against his chest and your thighs split, his hands knead into you as he litters your collar with his mark.

You gasp softly against the crook of his neck, giving into his hold of you. His hot tongue spreads under your jaw, closing into a hard kiss as his hands travel back up to undo your corset and free your tits.

One by one, his fingers pop open the buttons left on your gown until the collar hangs off-shoulder to expose your collarbone. At the sight of new skin, Jungkook's tongue darts to stain it.

His hands stagger above your breasts. "Is it okay if I touch you here?"

"Oh, Kookie, touch me everywhere~" Your hands form fists around Jungkook's shirt, beckoning him impossibly closer.

Grasping one ever so carefully, his thumb grazes your bud as he playfully bites under your ear. "ah-- ahh,"

Jungkook groans in response, he can't believe how cute you sound. Curious, he wants to hear more, so he traces your thighs and experimentally pushes up the outside your cunt.

You squirm, tensing up immediately in response. You bring your hands down to find the latch on his trousers and dip your hands below to rub him through his undergarments. He heatedly bucks up to meet your touch, a panting mess.

You face him now as he watches you ride his fingers while you grip his girth through his clothes. He takes you by the ass and places you on his prominent bulge, hips rolling into you as he hungrily kisses you, his firm hands grinding your core on his cock.

His face is a sinful red, panting under you desperately.

"I've been wanting to do this," His voice warbles through your touch, running your thumb along his underside. It's his turn to gasp. He sits up and collapses his lips into yours, softer than rose petals and his taste faintly like wine.

You place your hand on his chest, and his heart is pounding, a thin layer of sweat already forming on his honeylike complexion.

Hastily, you pull your dress over your head and lean back to allow him to familiarize himself with your stark form, a dainty chain hanging between your bosom. Jungkook bites his lips as he wriggles out of his clothing, desposing of it beside the bed.

He's giddy behind those sultry eyes, you know him well enough that he's overexcited to get inside of you. It goes straight to his cock, your playfulness as you feel up his bare shoulders and discover his abdominals, your fingers tracing his ridges with a sense of innocent wonder.

He takes your hands and looks at you in this way-- Butterflies fill your stomach instantly. Jungkook's thumbing at your pout with his intrepid fingers.

His eyes flutter when grip his base and submerge your upper body below his hips. You lick a long, thick stripe up his underside, causing his breath to hitch and his head to fall back on to the bed.

Those goddamn cupid's bow lips of his would whisper the dirtiest things under his breath, lewd thoughts that sounded completely alien coming from His Majesty's mouth, he said for you.

"Oh, such a pretty mouth~ It's so good, y/n, you swallow me so good--" he moaned like a mantra, trying to keep his hips from snapping up into you. Your hot, wet tongue wrapped around his throbbing cock was only a fantasy to him for years.

He fills your throat with his girth, his taste tantalizingly smooth. It leaves your mouth with a 'pop.' You struggle to keep your legs apart as you crawl up to kiss him.

He takes those fingers of his and slides his index and middle into you and languidly thrusts them, smirking against your lips. "Shit, you liked that, hmm..."

"Kookie...please," you whine as he squeezes your ass hard before smacking it. You yelp, the sting of his fingers radiating from your skin.

"I like it when you beg, y/n, it's so cute..." He pulls your ass up to his thighs. He's flush hard against your abdomen, already sticky with his precum and your spit. You marvel at the self control he has.

You don't finish your thought before he has his head inside of you, impaling you on his cock and stretching your entrance, hissing at how incredible it felt to have you around him.

His shaft reached pleasure points within you had yet to discover. You clench, feeling his tip brush against your cervix. "Wh... hngh," he groans, "how did you do that, do it again--" You wrap your legs around his thighs and clench around him, biting your lip. You watch as he shivers from pleasure, feeling his skin horripilate under your touch.

His thumb is softly circling above your clit as he pulls out of you carefully. He swirls back in, nestling himself inside your heat, hissing. "Ahh~ Jungkook~!" At the sound of his first name moaned out of your mouth, he groans and rolls his hips up to create messy friction. That familiar knot in your stomach tingles as he plays with the bundle of nerves buried within you.

He glances up at your ruined lips, clashing with them again as he lifts your knees up with his hands and thrusts nice and rough, making you yell with every jolt of his cock. The smell and sound of sex fills the room as he experiments with positions, laying you on all fours.

"Get your ass up for me." You obey, ever servile. You're reminded-- you're his servant. He owns your work, he owns your services, and now he wants you in the most lucrative way, he wants your soaked cunt around his imperial cock. He gets what he wants.

Jungkook's palms smack against your ass one more time, just to watch the way it jiggles for him. He smirks a little before he shoves himself into your pretty little cunt. You bury your face into the pillows in pelasure as he chases your orgasm with vigor, fingering your clitoris while you move your hips back to meet his hard thrusts.

You whine like a harlot, his cock allowing you every satisfaction as he works a head-spinning orgasm out of that cunt. "I'm gonna cum, Kookie~!" you warn as you spasm against his length, moans ripping from your throat as you coat him with your thick juices.

His hips stutter up and he just barely pulls himself completely from you as he paints your back white, a guttural groan escaping his mouth.

After a while of loud panting and scattered giggling, Jungkook reaches over for a wet cloth and cleans the both of you gingerly. You trail your hands up to caress his jaw and kiss his lips softly.

"You need to tell everyone that I had a long and extensive request for the Harvest party, that I wanted a lot of fall fruits and vegetables featured in the baked goods, make it as specific as possible and make sure that you mention that I want to meet with you again, over dinner." His labored breathing punctuate his words, as youd kisses consume him. "And..."

"And?" You cock an eyebrow, simpering.

"Doyouthinkmaybeyoucouldbringmesomemilktogowithmycake?" He mumbles, eyes glued on the bed.

"What?" (If you give a Kookie a Cookie...)

Disgruntled, he sighs and repeats: "Milk! Milk for my cake. I know it's moist cause you made it but I'm really thirsty, especially after..." His cheeks flush a cute pink. You wait for him to continue just to fluster him a little more. "Y/N, just please!" You can't ever refuse his pouty face.

Next week, Jungkook's got you pinned against the hallway wall, making out with you hungrily as his hands ride up your dress. Just across the hall, his Dad is negotiating war with Portugal over land in the West.

The next month, you have his cock buried in your throat underneath the table at an important conference about how to create jobs.

All this while the pressure for Jungkook to find a bride continues to rise as he reaches seniority, and as his father's grey hairs pronounce themselves.

Warm touches are always hidden away to the public eye, but often shared between two kindred spirits underneath the man in the moon's watchful eye. Jungkook, as he reaches his maturity, grows strong. His jaw sharpens, and his eyes darken. His hair grows long, and he gains weight. Now at the proud age of 20, Jungkook had become a man before everyone's eyes, including the eyes of foreign monarchs and their eligible bachelorettes.

One day, you're serving the Royal family at a private dinner, when the topic of marriage comes up for the first time since his birthday.

"Your mother has made friends with the mother of the Austrian Princess, and she's invited you to the cordial ball to introduce yourself to the Princess. An allyship with Austria would prove advantageous for our relations with France, so you are to make your best impression." The King wipes his mouth. Setting his fork down, he continues: "It is in the family's best interest for you to marry her, if the French Princess, Anastasie, does not present this season or the next." The Queen holds the King's hand firmly, reassuring him from his shoulder. She wears a slight frown on her face, her eyes worrisome, somber. The King hides his anxiety, as he's been accustomed to from decades of responsibility. Would this be the face of Jungkook soon?

For now, Jungkook's face is scrunching at the thought of marrying Anastasie. She's not the most delightful young woman, her imprudence ruined her enjoyment of any event. She couldn't keep an intuitive conversation about regional politics and domestic policy for the life of her. Her people were on the brink of overthrowing the aristocracy, he was sure of it.

"Yes, father," is what you hear from him before you disappear down the stairs to fetch desserts.

Jiyoo interrupts your quest for sweets with a letter, signed by His Grace. She has a naturally innocent demeanor, her cheeks rosy and her frame as delicate as a feather. "Y/N, you have another special request from His Majesty...can I ask you why you get so many of these?" She looks genuinely curious, not a single menacing thought behind those eyes.

"It's because the Prince really really loves his cake." I mean, technically it was true. Jungkook never passed up an opportunity to squeeze, smack, or dig his fingernails into your ass during your sessions.

"Oh." Jiyoo pouts. "So it's not because you're like, in love or anything?" Her eyes are glued to the floor. You were expecting this question eventually, as the other girls in the kitchen were already suspecting it. It was only a matter of time before word slipped into the girl's ears.

"As much as I enjoy the Prince's interest in my baking, it isn't my place to confess any sort of feeling for him." Your answer is straightforward enough, so Jiyoo nods and hands you the letter. Another request.

Outside the Palace, Winter came like the wind. Lakes froze over, and couples tied up their skates and danced on the ice. The trees were bare and brown, not a single leaf persisting through the chilling breath of Jack Frost.

Jungkook had left for the Winter Palace, to volunteer and raise spirits up in the North. As heir to the throne, he was to be Commander in Chief of the Royal Armed Forces, and therefore needed to undergo intensive training in order to boost morale.

You're back home, and in your wake is your father, who has now grown tangibly tired. He's been on a strict diet of warm vegetable soup for about three months, now. His eyes are sunken, but he still wears a subtle smile even during his most trying days.

Match girls make their rounds at night, you watch as the lamplighters illuminate the streets with their tall ladders and their taller peacoats. Shop windows glow warm shades of yellow and creme; inscriptions on the glass create shadows on the white snow.

"Wow. It's almost as cold as the King's heart out here." You step outside one day with a cup of tea, sneaking in a cheeky smirk. Yeah, good one.

"I heard that!" You turn towards the little voice. A child, maybe about 9 or 10 years old is pointing at you. You squint at it.

"Well, it's true..." You mumble. You have a bit of change in your pocket, so you walk towards a stand to buy a hot bun and a paper.

"Chilly today, hon...Best you take this on the house." The tenant hands you a steaming cake wrapped in a simple cloth and your paper. You stick the paper in your dress pocket and take back your change. You nod a 'thank you.'

You spill the contents of your pockets on the dining table and snatch the paper, snapping it open. Your eyes eagerly skim the headline: "Prince Jungkook Fires Up Royal Army." Below is an article detailing the happenings of His Majesty. All of it sounded very intense, the running, strategizing, first aid training...Was there anything Prince Jeon couldn't nail on the first try?

You set the paper down and pick up your now lukewarm tea. In the back of your mind you're coping with the fact that the Spring Solstice is next week, and that marks the beginning of Jungkook's last season as a Prince.

The King is ill with tuberculosis, and recovery is unlikely. If Jungkook is to marry, it is next season and that was final.

Sitting at the window of his Winter Castle study, Jungkook plays with a ring nestled between his fingers. He looks out onto the lake, as if he's trying to reach you with his gaze. His heart is tight knowing that it would be the season he chooses his bride. Actually, he'd already made up his mind long ago. If his duty was to marry, there was no way to evade such a responsibility. He had to fulfill it, despite his anxieties.

He straightens up and walks out of the hollow room with a firm step.

You awaken with the sound of horse's hooves thudding against the Earth. It is yet to be dawn, and in the distance, thunder roars mightily.

A figure wearing a long, black hood hoists itself off of the animal, tying it to a nearby post. It walks towards an obscure entrance, unknown to many staff.

Intrigued, you wrap a blanket around yourself and peek out at the stranger. His fingers are shorter than his palms, and that's when he tosses of his hood, his eyes set on you. "Y/N..."

You're bewildered by his guise, questions filling your head.

"I was horny, so I left camp" He sits down at the counter, catapulting a cookie into his mouth.

You roll your eyes. "And the guards let you?! Jungkook!" You whisper-yelled at him, readjusting your makeshift blanket-dress.

"Obviously not!" He puffed out his chest with pride. "I bribed them," he smirks.

"You're insufferable," you scoff, your eyes wandering down to observe his physique. His shirt is anything but conservative, highlighting the muscle he'd earned through laborious, sweat-inducing drills. You can feel his eyes on your face as you observe him.

"You can't hide it either," he crosses his arms. "You're standing in the kitchen with a blanket around your naked body." He flicks his tongue. He steps forward, putting a finger under your jaw so you're looking him in the eye.

Your eyes fill with lust as he speaks over your lips. "Look at yourself..." A crash is heard in the other room.

Jungkook's head darts up and in a flash, he disappears into the night.

'Fuck.' You gather your dress from the floor and shuffle back to your chamber.

The first event of the season commences with the most exaltant of spirits as friends of old greet each other with youthful smiles. Juicy exposés, enticing tales, and thoughtful greetings are exchanged in the most formal manner, and the conversation is lively; the most controversial topic of conversation, however, is the rumor that Jungkook is to marry this season.

So far, he's been to four different private residences within his own Kingdom and has been invited, by the secretary of King Louis XVII to meet their daughter. It would be an understatement to say that stakes were high for the pending King.

You were kneading your dough a little too hard thinking about it. "Not so rough, y/n!" Ms.Kang snatches the mixture from your hands. "What is up with you lately, you're so tense! It's really disrupting the kitchen's dynamic."

You shrug it off. "It's going to be hard sedating Anastasie's sweet tooth, I suppose."

"Well, you seem to be doing just fine dealing with Jungkook's addiction to cakes...She's perfect for him, really." Ms.Kang throws more flour on your kneading table and steps off. You give up on the dough, covering it with a cloth and letting it rise.

Jungkook is tapping his feet, munching on finger sandwiches as he waits on you to make an appearance.

"Dearest Prince, look, I am wearing Mediterranean violet!" A duchess shouts as she passes by him, to which he raises his eyebrows at. Another, with dark green eyes approaches and begins speaking rapidly in French at him. Frightened and undereducated, his canned response was: "Excusez-moi, Pouvez-vous répéter plus lentement s'il vous plaît," to which the duchess furrows her eyebrows before something else catches her attention, elsewhere.

Truth is, Jungkook is incredibly shaken at the thought of announcing his engagement tonight. Well, that and the fact that you had yet to pop out of the kitchen. Man, those finger sandwiches were good.

As the night progresses, Jungkook realizes that if he doesn't get up on that platform and say what he needed to say, he'd have to say it in London. Setting his fears aside, he plants himself on top of the orchestral stage and taps a champagne glass with a cheese fork. The music comes to a stop.

With conviction, he begins: "The time has come that I announce my engagement. To all of my beloved friends, who have introduced me to the most beautiful, talented, diverse, and benevolent ladies I've come to get to know over the years, I thank you from the depths of my soul." He swallows and continues, his confident voice masking his trembling. "The life of a Prince is defined by the virtues presented to him at birth. Those virtues are: duty, responsibility, grace, kindness, mercy and integrity." Here comes the part, oh shit.

"I am abdicating my throne to my Cousin, the Duke of Namseong."

Silence sweeps the room. You poke your head out to see what was going on.

"...to marry the love of my life, y/n." He points at you. Your face is cherry red, and you find yourself dropping those same Danish fucking pastries all over the carpet.

"Shit," you fall on your knees, plucking them from the ground one by one. You don't know whether to run as fast as you can or to present yourself, but your body seems to be currently doing the latter. You go along with it.

Jungkook takes your hand tenderly on the stage. "I am unable to perform my duties as King, and therefore am ineligible for the throne." His touch gives you the will to continue beside him. You feel the pure fear rushing through your love's veins, and he knows that this is the hardest thing he'll ever have to do, yet he stands by his announcement.

So, if Jungkook doesn't get to be King of this World, he at least will forever be the King of Your Heart.

But all this, of course...is all in Your, dear reader, Head.

~

a/n:

hope you enjoyed.

[lubdubsworld]

City Lights . ( Namjoon x OC)

Pairing : OC x Kim Namjoon.

Genre : Angst. Romance.

Rating 18 + 

Word Count : 2900

Warnings :  Mature Themes , Explicit Sexual Content . Slow burn. Like slower than a snail.

Summary :

Widowed and destitute, Son Yang Mi leaves the comfort of her small , secluded  fishing village and travels to the intimidating city of Seoul with her young son. She has a plan, one that involves finding a job, getting her son into a good school and building a life for herself.

Now, three years later she has a job , working as a live in house keeper for the Kim family, specifically for the son,  Kim Namjoon, a famous rapper and producer. 

Its a job that puts a roof over her head and she’ll do anything to keep it. 

But fate has other plans.

Chapter 1 ~

Akogare (ah-koh-ga-reh)Often translated directly as a sort of frustrated “yearning”, “desire”, or “longing” .

Seoul in summer was a sight to behold. I blinked back against the bright sunlight, staring out into the stunning skyline of the city as the sun rose over it , and although it was just a little past seven in the morning, the air was warm and invigorating. The mid July sun shone down with no mercy, and there was no trace of the rain that had lashed city just the previous night.

It had been three whole years but the relief that came from breathing fresh air, untainted by the damp musk of fishing trowels and sweaty men, was still unrivalled.

I shook off the feather duster in my hand, moving to carefully clean the wicker woven chairs on the artificial lawn in the balcony. Dusting the entire condo down was a mind numbing exercise in patience, so i tried to get it out of the way, early in the morning when my son was still asleep.

At six years old, Junsu was a bright , happy child. Summer vacation meant days sleeping in and evenings spent frolicking with the other kids in the building and he was content with being alone in our small shared room, reading or playing with his toys while I went about the day’s work.

I glanced at the clock, grimacing.

It was almost eight . And although Mr. Kim wasn’t due back home for another twelve hours, I felt a little jittery and nervous.

Kim Namjoon , renowned rapper, producer, writer , poet and what not. The apartment was his but he was usually on tour, traveling all over the world to promote his book and to perform in sold out stadiums. For an A list celebrity, he was surprisingly humble.

For the past three years, him and his model fiancée  Lee Mina had spent a total of maybe seven months in the condo. They were a sweet couple, or so I’d always thought , a bit formal with each other but clearly in love . Mr. Kim was a kind, soft spoken young man and I’d never heard him raise his voice unless he was in the company of his very dear friends.

Just a little over a week ago , both of them  had left Korea for the States , the tabloids screaming about a luxurious destination wedding in the Caribbean and I had been asked to take a few weeks off . The newly weds wouldn’t be back for quite a while and they would let me know when I had to come back to the condo.

I’d been toying with the idea of visiting my in laws in Gwangyog, maybe even dropping by to see some old friends there but yesterday , Mr. Kim’s mother had given me a call letting me know her son was coming home. 

[ 

The conversation went something like this :

Yang Mi, I hope you haven’t left yet?

No, Ma'am, I haven’t.

Joon-ah is going to be back tomorrow.

Oh, is Ms Lee arriving as well?

No, Just him He’s going to be alone.

Yes, Ma'am.

Please don’t mention anything about Mina or the wedding.

No ma'am of course not.

I’ll drop by later . Cook him something warm and filling. And make sure the house is cleaned well.

Yes, Ma’ am.

]

And that was that.

~~~~~~

It took the better part of the day to finish cleaning and setting up the house . I washed the window slats, changed the sheets, arranged the books that had been left scattered all over his bedroom. The walk-in closet was littered with a bunch of his clothes and I made sure his gym bag was stocked with fresh towels, spare clothes and his favorite head and wrist bands. 

For someone so careful and calculated, he was really quite a messy man. 

i did his laundry, making sure he had ample clothes at least for another two weeks, creasing the handkerchiefs and carefully removing lint from his jackets. 

I also carefully sorted out the feminine clothing from the laundry and from the cupboard, folding them neatly and placing them in the lowest shelf of the closet, where he wouldn’t find them. It wasn’t hard, hiding traces of his fiancee from the condo, because it had never really been her home. other than a few spare pieces of underwear and a couple of t shirts and skirts, there weren’t many articles of clothing belonging to Ms. Lee. 

But I still got rid of the bobby pins and hair ties, the spare lip gloss and mascara.

Junsu spent the entire day in our room, reading and drawing, only venturing out every few hours to grab a snack. I left him with his drawing tab ( a gift from Mr. Kim for his 5th birthday )  and his favorite book, asking the security guard at the end of the hallway to keep an eye on the door, while i went out to buy groceries.

Lots of meat, no sea food, healthy snacks and high protein fiber bars. I stocked up on sauces and bought a fresh batch of eggs, oranges and grapes . Mrs. Kim had sent a large amount of kimchi a few weeks ago and that was still in the pantry.

i stopped for a second, staring around at the almost deserted store. Most of the other housekeepers shopped at the bigger, more exclusive store on the other side of the residential complex. But Mr. Kim had a very selective palette, which meant that I had to be very particular about the brands i bought.

When i came back home at around six, Junsu was on the floor in the living space and i felt my heart jump in panic.

“Baby!! I’ve told you not to come out here when I’m not home!” I protested bleakly and he pouted.

“I need to show you my gift for Mr. Kim!!” He said softly. I smiled moving to put away the groceries and glancing at the clock. It was a little past six. I had to call Yungyu.

“Did you draw him something ? “ I asked curiously, checking to see if the beer shelf was stocked. probably should have done that before going out for the groceries, I thought regretfully.

“Yeah! Look!!” Junsu held his tab out and my heart dropped.

For a six year old, Junsu drew very well. And there was really no mistaking the very obvious wedding scene on the screen.

Oh, Good God.

“ That looks amazing honey.” I said gently. “ But, I heard that Ms Lee isn’t coming over this time..”

Junsu frowned.

“Why?”

“Well, I’m not sure. But remember how we spoke about saying the right things? When something upsets someone, we do not bring it up.” I reminded him gently. My son hesitated but nodded.

“Okay. I’m sorry. “ He said softly.

“No baby, its not your fault. It’s just that we want Mr. Kim to be happy right? We don’t wanna upset him...”

He smiled at that.

“When he’s happy, his dimples come out.” He said with a giggle. I laughed.

“yes they do... So let’s try and get those dimples out as often as we can alright? Why don’t you show him that picture you drew of yeontan the other day? He’ll really like that....”

“Okay...but i need to go color it!” Junsu yelled, already running back into our room. I watched him go before reaching for the phone and dialing, Yungyu, the chauffeur.

“Are you on the way here? ” i said briskly.

“Just starting from home...” Yungyu muttered, “ I’m supposed to be on vacation now! Why is he coming back so soon?” 

“Just hurry up !! We can’t keep him waiting!!” I said sharply, before hanging up. 

I made a quick check of all the rooms, filling up water bottles for his gym routine in the morning and stashing them in the fridge before moving to get dinner started. 

i set the water on boil for the stew, before moving to peel cucumbers for the salad. I chopped the cucumber , along with some fresh cherry tomatoes . I watched the water boil, thinly slicing an onion and adding it to the bowl as well. The dressing was pretty simple,  soy sauce, rice vinegar, honey and sesame oil . I sprinkled some sesame seeds on the bowl, used the salad tongs to give the whole thing a nice toss and set it aside. 

I braised the chicken first , peeling and chopping potatoes and carrots to add to the stew . In a few minutes, the rich smell of lightly spiced chicken and garlic and perilla  leaves began filling the kitchen and I turned on the rice cooker as well. 

The door bell rang at six forty and i opened the door to reveal Yungyu. 

I grabbed the keys to the Palisade, handing them over to him.

“Did you hear?” He whispered urgently.

I frowned.

“What?”

“They say Mr. Kim called off the wedding!” He whispered, wide eyed. 

I glared at him.

“Who told you that?” i demanded...

“Seojoon from the gate said-”

“Why don’t you ask Seojoon from the gate to mind his own damn business?” I snapped. 

Yungyu looked suitably chastised. i felt a little bad. Yungyu was still young and curiosity was hardly a sin. 

“His flight lands at eight exactly. Hurry okay?” I said with a smile, ruffling his hair.

He brightened, peering over my shoulder into the house.

“Where’s the little one?” He asked curiously.

“ Painting something for Mr. Kim... Go ahead, hurry up.” I shooed him away, locking the door behind him. I fixed a plate of food for Junsu and sent him to eat, before moving to check on the stew. +

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~` 

By the time eight thirty rolled around I had the table set and ready. I washed my face quickly in the small bath attached to our room , making sure I was dressed well. Junsu wasn’t allowed in the main house unless Mr. Kim specifically asked for him and my son usually stayed in. 

Junsu and I stayed in a bedroom , not large by any means but big enough for a queen sized bed, a table and chair for Junsu and small dresser where I kept a comb and a tube of night cream. I stared at my face, licking my lips as I smoothed my hair out. 

I glanced at the bed. 

Junsu was asleep , having dozed off while coloring his picture and I carefully extracted the tab from under his fingers, moving him around to lay on the soft pillows. I tucked him in gently, brushing the hair off his face. 

“In peace , I will lie down to sleep, for You alone will let me rest in safety.” I whispered gently against his forehead, kissing the soft skin. I felt my lips wobble , a debilitating wave of affection flooding me as the sweet scent of my baby, filled my senses.

 I would die for you, I thought fiercely, kissing him again. 

The sound of the front door opening made me jump. 

Swearing, i smoothed the fabric of my skirt, running to the kitchen. 

“Thank you for picking me up Yungyu, I’m sorry you had to cut short on your vacation.” Mr. Kim’s deep voice filled the hallway and I quickly grabbed a glass, filling it with water and placing it on the dinner tray.

“Not a problem, Sir. “ Yungyu’s cheerful voice responded.

“How are you going home?” Mr. Kim asked. 

“I’ll take the bus.”

A pause and then, 

“Here’s some cash. Get a cab.” 

I could hear the relief in Yungyu’s voice as he let out a , “ Thank you sir.” 

I fixed his plate carefully, the bowl of rice, the bowl of chicken stew, and the salad neatly arranged next to the napkin and the chopsticks. I heard him move across the condo, the sound of his suitcases as he wrestled them towards his bedroom and I frowned. Yungyu should’ve have brought those in for him. 

I finished reheating all of the food and carefully carried the dinner tray to the bedroom. 

Mr. Kim’s bedroom was right at the end of the hallway and the door was open. The full length mirror on the opposite wall showed him sitting on the small couch in his room, legs spread and elbows resting on his knees as he ran his fingers through his hair. 

I raised my hand, ready to knock on the wood. 

“Fuck!” He shouted, kicking out at the coffee table with enough force to send the furniture skidding half way across the room. 

I froze in the hallways stunned. 

“You’re such a fucking fool , Namjoon !!” He muttered angrily and I swallowed, turning on my heel and quickly walking back to the kitchen. 

Maybe I ought to wait till he asked for dinner.

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

He didn’t ask for dinner. 

I stayed sitting on the floor of the kitchen, waiting and lightly dozing as I heard him talk to his parents on the phone. I heard him open the liquor cabinet in his room, the sound of ice sloshing against glass, the sound of whiskey being poured carefully and i sighed. 

I had to get to bed. It was already a little past eleven. 

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

Sometime in the night, I woke up sweating.... 

Wondering what woke me up, I blinked groggily, glancing at Junsu. He was still sound asleep. 

Sighing, I climbed out of the bed, carefully making my way to Mr. Kim’s room, peering in carefully. 

He was asleep on the sofa.

I stared at the way his long legs stretched over the armrest, his lean hips twisted to accommodate his broad shoulders on the couch and I winced. He was definitely going to regret that in the morning. 

I stared at the half empty bottle of whiskey on the table and sighed, moving to take off his shoes carefully. He didn’t stir. 

I grabbed a pillow from the bed, carefully lifting his head and slipping it under. I placed a comforter over his shoulders, pulling it down to cover his legs. 

Force of habit almost made me brush his hair off his forehead but I stopped myself. 

The clock on the wall read three fifty am. God, I was going to feel terrible tomorrow. I carefully tip toed out, shutting the door behind me

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

I picked the comforter from the floor, carefully folding it and placing it on the bed, before grabbing the empty bottle of whiskey and glass . i could hear the shower running. The curtains were still drawn in and I tugged on the strings to get them to open. Sunlight spilled in through the floor length windows. The bed wasn’t slept in, so I opened the closet to grab a couple of towels, laying them on the bed for him. 

The bathroom door opened and i quickly straightened, wanting to race out of the room but it was too late. Thankfully he was dressed,  a pair of loose sweats and a loose t shirt . He was running a towel through his hair and his face brightened at the sight of me. 

“Yang Mi! You’re here....” He said cheerfully. 

“Good morning sir.” I said softly, offering him a small smile. 

He smiled brightly, hair damp and dimples deep. The white t shirt he had on was almost fully soaked through and he shook his head, sending stray water droplets all over the place, a few landing on my cheeks. 

“I didn’t see you last night...” He said casually, moving to drop the wet towel in the hamper, grabbing one of the fresh ones I’d laid on the bed. 

“I thought you would like your privacy sir, you looked exhausted.” 

He smiled.

“ Thank you for the blanket and the pillow by the way. And the shoes.” 

I bowed quickly.

“I’ll get your breakfast done, sir.” I bowed again before quickly getting out. 

I moved to the kitchen grabbing the oranges I’d got the previous day . Mr. Kim wasn’t fond of traditional korean dishes in the morning. He preferred freshly squeezed juice and toast, sometimes with an omelet perhaps. 

I fixed his breakfast quickly, setting it all in the tray . He was still moving around in the bedroom and I heard him drag his worktable to the windows, which meant he was going to stay in the bedroom. 

Pouring his coffee into a cup, I carefully picked up the breakfast tray , moving to his room slowly. 

I used my foot to knock on the door.

After a pause of a few seconds, 

“Come in Yang Mi!”

I carefully moved to the small table in front of the couch, placing the tray right in front of him. The scent of his body wash, green apple and strawberries, hit me hard. 

“Where’s Junsu?” He asked casually.

“Still asleep sir. It’s Summer so school’s out.” I smiled, grabbing his phone from the table to make space for his tray. 

The phone buzzed just as I was about to place it back down and I blinked.

 Mina calling.......

 I swallowed, not sure what to do, placing the phone down quickly.

“Uh..you have ...” I waved vaguely at the device before bowing again and moving back. 

“close the door on your way out, Yang Mi...” He said gently and I quickly obeyed. 

I moved to the kitchen to grab a cup of coffee for myself. I stayed leaning over the counter and even through the locked door, I could hear him . 

“Just don’t call me Mina...i don’t want to talk about this!!!” 

I swallowed, glancing out of the window again. It was a bright, clear morning. 

A second later, the door to his bedroom slammed open and he stormed out. I watched him from my spot in the kitchen, his fists clenched as he rushed out to the front door.

The door shut behind him and I exhaled. 

Once I as done with my coffee, I moved to his room to clear the breakfast tray. His phone was still on the table.

It began ringing again just as I left the room. 

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

"Mrs. Kim.” i said respectfully, bowing . She gave me a short smile.

“Where’s Namjoon? I’ve been calling him for the past hour.” She pushed past me into the house and I bit my lips.

“He went out about an hour ago. He left his phone behind.” I explained.

She stopped, sighing. 

“Fine, I’ll wait for him. “ She moved to sit on the couch, glancing around the room. 

“Should I get you something ma'am?” I asked softly and she smiled.

“Get me a glass of lemonade, Yangmi.” She said brusquely and i nodded, running to the kitchen. 

“Did Mina come over?” She called out as I got the lemons out of the cooler.

“No ma'am.” i replied.

“Did she call?” 

  I remembered the phone ringing, how upset it had made Namjoon, how he had stormed out.

“I don’t know ma'am!” I said softly. 

She nodded.

“Okay. You can leave.” She said quietly. i bowed and went back into the kitchen. 

I peered out of the window as I fixed her a glass , and my eyes fell on a familiar figure, coming back in through the front gate. Even from this distance there was no mistaking the long legs and messy blonde hair. 

I bit my lips, mind racing.

 Mrs Kim and her son had a volatile relationship, to say the least. 

And something told me that Mr. Kim was probably not in the right frame of mind to argue with his mother, now. The man was upset but apparently, neither his mother nor his ex fiancée understood that. instead of giving him space they were hounding him. 

I hesitated for a second  before making a quick decision. 

I grabbed the tray with her lemonade and moved to her quickly.

“Thank you.” She said sharply. “ Turn on the Air Conditioner for me, will you?” 

I fumbled with the remote, grabbing his phone from the table , turning it on before moving to the front door and rushing out. 

I almost ran into him as he came out of the elevator , and i jerked back stumbling a bit to stop myself from crashing into his chest. He let out a , ‘ Whoa, “  his hands reaching out to grip my elbows. 

“Careful. What’s wrong?” He asked gently and I swallowed.

“Your mother’s here.” I said quickly, “ Sir.” 

“Oh, fuck.” He groaned. I swallowed.

“You can leave.” I blurted out. “It’s Tuesday. She has her charity work meeting at ten. Its almost nine. She won’t stay long....” 

His eyes met mine, lips parting in surprise. 

“I really can’t meet her now.” He said apologetically.

I nodded.

“Of course, I understand , sir. Just be back in an hour , she’ll be go-”

The elevator buzzed , the doors nearly closing over my shoulders and I flinched. He swore and stuck his arm out to keep it open. 

I stared at him before holding his phone out.

“Here you go sir. “ 

He chuckled taking it from me and shaking his head.

“i feel like a kid, sneaking away from my mom.” His eyes reached mine, twinkling, “ Who would’ve thought the quiet, timid Yang Mi would be my partner in crime. “ 

I didn’t reply, just smiled. 

And then he hesitated. “ Is Junsu awake?”

I blinked.

“Uh...yes sir,...he’s playing in the park downstairs with the other kids.”

“Great... Would you mind if i take him out for ice cream?”

I stared at him. 

“Oh..uh...of course not. Sure.. I mean.. he’ll love that... Sir. Thank you.. You don’t have to -”

“Consider it thank you for helping me with my mother.” He smiled again and i found myself staring at his dimples again. i swallowed. 

“in that case, he loves butter scotch.” I smiled. 

The dimples appeared and i bit my lips. 

“Thank you Yang Mi.” He said slowly. 

“Yes, Sir.” 

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

Author’s Note : Finally a hyungline fic !!! ugh... I’ve been wanting to write a Namjoon fic for ages and I really hope you guys will like this one :’( Feedback is much appreciated. 

[bunnyofnegativeeuphoria]

Prompt Fill: “Cold”

I’m what they like to call not a clown but the entire circus. I’ve managed to delete one of the asks by accident, but rest assured I did see an anonymous prompter wish for “cold” or something to that effect...

Dear reader, it’s 3,3K words, so here we fucking go, lads.

Islanders

Cleaned up and now also on Ao3

“A room and a bath,” Geralt says without even glancing at the barman, attention fully on the precious cargo in his arms.

“Hang on, Witcher, you can’t just–”

“You’ll get your coin,” he grits through his teeth, “but whether your head is still attached to your neck when you do is for you to decide. Room and a bath. Now.”

A key lands on the countertop. 

“Upstairs and second door on the right.”

 The man shouts to someone behind himself. “Ilde! Hot water for the Witcher, sharpish!” 

“Geralt?” 

His senses turn from the foul stench of old ale and unwashed bodies and funnel inwards towards the shape of Jaskier. His bard moans softly and leans an icy forehead against Geralt’s neck. 

“Hmm?” Geralt murmurs against Jaskier’s hair.

“C-cold.”

He reeks of misery, sharp and undeserved. A great shiver runs through Jaskier, and Geralt tightens his hold around him.

“Cold water will do,” he grunts at the barman.

“But–”

“As fast as you can,” Geralt says, grabbing the key and making for the stairwell.

***

Casting igni in the direction of the hearth, Geralt lays Jaskier out on top of a humble straw mattress and begins to undress him. There’s no cloak, and the fool’s doublet is wet through. It refuses to budge, but Geralt has one ear turned towards Jaskier’s heartbeat and doesn’t hesitate to rip apart the fabric to get to skin. It’s paler than it should be and cold to the touch – cold where on any other day it is warmth itself. His bard gravitates towards sources of heat like a stable cat to an opportune sunbeam, and to exist in his orbit is a blessing greater than any coin Geralt has ever earned. 

The ruined doublet hits the floor with a squelch. Geralt moves to grab Jaskier’s breeches, but a shaking hand stops him.

“I-I r-rather lik-ked that ‘n,” Jaskier says, looking if anything even more unhappy than before. 

His pulse spikes, and worry roils in Geralt’s gut. 

“Doublets are replaceable,” he says. He spares a quick squeeze to Jaskier’s fingers before pulling the breeches and boots off in one desperate, inelegant action.

Jaskier is not a small man, but now, sad and shivering on the cusp of blue-tinged infirmity, he hunches and curls, reducing himself. Geralt misses his all-encompassing business. 

“In here,” comes a voice from the hallway, followed by what looks like the barman and his entire family. Two boys roll a tub in and settle it in front of the fireplace, and the others empty several buckets worth of water into it. 

“More, go on,” Ilde says, and the troop leaves as quick as they come, casting wary glances at Geralt’s swords as they go. 

“W-we’ll h’ve t-to p-pay more,” Jaskier says.

Geralt frowns and throws a threadbare blanket on top of him, inadequate and dusty though it is. 

“If they get the rest of the water within the minute, they can have double.”

“Not double. They’ll ch-cheat you. Always d-do.” Jaskier clasps at the blanket. His hands, normally so clever and expressive, jerk with exhaustion and looming danger. “Not-t worth it.”

“Let me account for what value I keep,” Geralt says. “Not hush. You have to conserve energy.”

Geralt sits down and takes a hold of Jaskier’s hands.

“W-what?”

“Shh.”

He wraps his giant paws around Jaskier’s hands, feeling wiry strength and a lifeline beneath the cold. Pressing his lips to the gap between his own thumbs, he blows warm air into the space between them. When he looks up after the third blow, he finds Jaskier looking at him. He smells less scared now. There’s a thought dancing on the tip of the bard’s tongue, but Geralt gives him a quelling look.  

“Right,” Ilde says from the doorway, and buckets follow with the kind of efficiency born of a strong desire to done and elsewhere. In less than a minute they are alone once more, door closing with a firm press. 

A steady stream of controlled fire erupts from Geralt’s hand, and he guides it across the surface of the tub until steam rises like from Roach’s back when she’s been safely put to bed in a warm stall after a day of cold and damp. The water ripples as he tests the temperature.

“G-Geralt?” Jaskier is sitting up, blanket having dropped to the ground. “C-can I?”

“Hmm,” Geralt says. Jaskier’s heartbeat has yet to settle, but his lips have lost their frosty stiffness. Though dry and cracked, they look pinker and plumper than before. “It’s all for you.” 

Gathering Jaskier in his arms once more, he hurries to the tub. He lowers Jaskier as well he can, but when they break the water’s surface–

“Ow,” Jaskier hisses. “Ow, G-Geralt.”

“I’m sorry, but you have to–”

“Hurts,” Jaskier presses, turning his face into Geralt’s neck with the same blind faith as he had when Geralt had come across him only an hour earlier, sodden and lost on the mucky road to the northern realms. His face, however, is not defiant or proud. This is a quiet pain, and Geralt aches in a place he had long thought broken beyond the repair of all charity. 

“I know. Shhh. Hold on to me,” he says. “All in one go.” 

Hands tighten weakly around his arm, and then he sinks Jaskier into the tub.

He doesn’t yell.

He doesn’t yell, but he does whimper – small and vulnerable and a thousand leagues beneath the surface of what he is entitled. 

Geralt pulls his arms away.

“D-don’t g–”

“I’m not.”

Stripping down with stern efficiency, Geralt gets in the tub himself, taking care to not jostle Jaskier. Water spills over the side as he guides Jaskier against his chest, making sure to move his medallion so the sharp angles of the wolf’s head don’t do him harm. It is cramped, and he settles in to cover as much of Jaskier’s surface area with his own body. They sit with their knees bent and peaking out of the water like make-believe islands – an archipelago of muscle and bone.

“How are you feeling?”

Jaskier breaths deeply and leans his face against Geralt’s shoulder. 

“Like I’m b-being poked by a h-hundred n-needles.” 

Geralt draws an arm around Jaskier’s chest, using his other hand to cover one of Jaskier’s knees. 

“Rest.”

“I-I’m so...I shouldn’t h-hav–”

He shakes his head. Jaskier must feel it for he falls silent again.

“Rest.”

***

Jaskier falls asleep in the tub with Geralt wrapped around him like a giant octopus from out of a Skelligan skald. The rhythm of his heart gradually calms to his regular song – almost bird-like by Geralt’s reckoning. Twice he warms the bathwater, content to let his meditation be guided by the measure of Jaskier’s recovery. He wills his own warmth to seep from his skin and through Jaskier’s, and if something else should flow with it, then he reckons he is far too old to be duplicitous now. 

“You needn’t stay on my account.”

Geralt looks down into the wild blue yonder.

“Do you want me to go?” he asks.

The thought sits awkwardly in him, pinching with the discomfort of new shoes. 

“I want you to do what you want to do.”

“Jaskier–”

“Stay,” Jaskier says on the wave of a quiet exhale. Geralt watches the word’s traces whisk across the water and sends a small flicker of flame after it. Steam rises once more, and Jaskier sighs, and it sounds acceptably content.

“How are you feeling?”

“Much better. On the whole, practically divine.”

There’s a snobbish artfulness to Jaskier’s tone now, and Geralt allows himself the press of a smile against Jaskier’s hairline. 

“Better or worse than a weekend with the Countess de Stael?”

“Darling, must you? I’ve quite reached my limit with humiliation for today.” There’s a tightness to his lips as Jaskier speaks, and Geralt frowns.

“Will you tell me why you were on the road, no cloak or lute to be seen?” 

Jaskier looks down, and his scent turns abruptly with embarrassment, smelling faintly like something is burning. 

“I suppose I’ll have to tell you.” He looks up with a tinge of defiance in his eyes, but it’s no hardship for Geralt to keep looking at him. “But you’ll have to earn it first.”

“Oh?”

“Wash my hair?”

There is life in his cornflower blues again, and that is reward enough for any challenge. Without a word, Geralt gets up and out of the tub. Water drips all over the creaky floorboards as he makes for the saddlebags brought up by one of the boys. His nose guides him to a bottle of oil scented with mild lavender, and he picks up a cup on his way back to Jaskier. 

With pink-tinged cheeks, Jaskier watches him climb back in behind him.

“I didn’t mean–”

Geralt huffs. 

“Yes you did. Hush.”

Cup in hand, Geralt guides Jaskier’s head into a tilt and scoops water over his hair, using his other hand to block the water from running into the bard’s eyes.

“You know, telling me to hush really isn’t as charming as your dour self might imagine.”

“Try sitting quietly in the knowledge of being,” Geralt says, feeling his lip twitch with the sort of maddening lack of control that eases into existence whenever Jaskier is around.

“Unbearable. Take that back.”

“Close your eyes.”

Jaskier closes his eyes immediately, and Geralt finds he has to swallow past all his want at the blatant display of trust. He spills some oil into his palms and wonders if Jaskier would let him do this if he knew the true shape of Geralt’s heart. Whole kingdoms believe it to be nonexistent or at the very least shrivelled and decaying. Jaskier thinks different. If he is to be believed, Geralt’s heart is like a honeyed bun – warm and dripping with a sweetness that Geralt knows was exterminated the second he saw Kaer Morhen rise in front of his too-young eyes. Little does Jaskier know that if you were to open Geralt’s chest and break it open past ribs and sinew and hold his heart, you would find it alternatingly smooth like silk chemises and rough with fingertip callouses, beating a rhythm to whatever tune it pleases. 

“Are you alright, darling?”

Jaskier has tilted his head back even further to look at him nearly upside down.

“Sorry,” Geralt mutters, hurrying to start to run his hands through Jaskier’s hair. It is brown and short and soft to the touch. With every turn of his hands, he washes away the smell of Jaskier’s hurt and replaces it with lavender and his own touch.

“Did I say divine before? I must have lost my wits. This is my religion.”

Geralt feels a chuckle rumble up his throat and into the still bedroom air. Eyes closed again, Jaskier seems to settle in on his own terms, and Geralt is more than happy to let him.

“Did you know there was an inventor from the southern continent – further south even than Nilfgaard – who discovered the measurement for density by sitting in a bathtub?”

Jaskier prattles on about mathematics and science and a man running naked down cobbled streets, and Geralt lets the sound of his voice cleanse him of all worries. He finishes washing Jaskier’s hair, and rinses it with the cup. Afterwards, he gathers more oil and settles his hands across Jaskier’s shoulders. There’s a hitch in Jaskier’s throat as Geralt begins to gentle the oil into soft, pale skin.

“G-Geralt?”

Geralt frowns.

“Are you cold again?”

“No.” Jaskier’s voice sounds small.

“May I continue?”

Jaskier’s chest expands with a visible breath.

“Please,” he says, shoulders gaining a healthy dusting of pinkish glow. He starts talking again when Geralt continues to oil his skin, Jaskier moving on to a fevered and slightly panic-tinged monologue about the Cintran sonnet form.

Jaskier’s body is strong beneath him. His skin bears only a few scars from youthful mishaps and a characteristic refusal to be left behind. There is one running length of his back that he earned as a boy slipping down a rocky hill. Another – much smaller – has nicked his ear from when he did not move fast enough away from a drowner’s grasp. Geralt remembers tending to the wound in a furious silence, and he also remembers the apologetic look of abject misery that trailed him for a full week thereafter. It is the longest he has ever heard Jaskier be quiet, and he is grateful the bard has never again felt cause to curb his words in his presence.

I love him, Geralt thinks. 

It’s not the first time he’s thought it, and he knows it will not be the last. He will carry the knowledge with him for however many centuries he may have left, and he will die with its truth glowing in every part of his body – an idea so well lived and nurtured that when his rotting corpse becomes earth once more around him will grow a ring made of dandelions and buttercups.

They have bathed together many times, but though Jaskier washes him after practically every monster fight, Geralt has until now not had the opportunity to return the favour. In the beginning he had no desire to. After that he had no cause to. Now, as he watches Jaskier’s nervous energy dispel at every gentle touch of Geralt’s hand, he thinks that perhaps he’s never needed more cause than that he wishes to. 

Geralt may not have as much experience as Jaskier when it comes to bathing another person, but he finds it comes easy when he thinks of how Jaskier bathes him. He thinks of Jaskier’s hands on him, soothing touches on bruised skin – careful even when minor wounds have long healed. He thinks of clever fingers massaging his neck and back. He thinks of timid motions turning methodical with confidence for every evening spent plucking endrega entrails out of white hair. At Jaskier’s waist, Geralt’s hands still. He thinks of – he thinks of how he himself has only ever given impersonal washes to his brothers, cleaning the necessary wounds and skirting quickly past the groin to everyone’s better happiness. He thinks of two nights ago – on the cusp of their yearly parting – how Jaskier had cleaned his thighs, his hips, the vee of his abdomen… 

He thinks of Jaskier with a washcloth, strong with tender caress between Geralt’s fingers – between Geralt’s toes. 

He thinks of the care and acceptance that saturates every action. 

He thinks Jaskier certainly deserves it. He deserves to have the same love – for love he now realises it is – reflected back at himself with as much willingness and devotion. And for that reason alone he shall have it.

Jaskier’s left knee has a thick scar on it from when he tried to ride Roach without permission and she dumped him in a field.

“Darling? Your face looks very Geralt-y.”

He looks to see Jaskier’s face inches from his own.

“What the fuck’s that supposed to mean?”

“Brooding? Plotting? Dreaming? I haven’t the foggiest. What are you thinking about?”

“I think our knees look like islands.”

Silence falls save for the occasional sound of a drop of water hitting the now tepid bath and the comforting crackle of the fireplace. Geralt feels Jaskier’s toe twitch next to his own before he shifts, leaning back against Geralt’s chest, and raises his leg straight up into the air.

“I suppose that makes our leg hairs the islanders,” Jaskier says in such perfect sincerity. 

Geralt swallows.

“Where is your lute?”

He feels rather than hears Jaskier’s sigh as he puts his leg back into the water.

“Hopefully still back at the Squealing Pig.”

For a second, Geralt is stunned.

“Wh–”

“I left it–”

“On purpose?” 

Geralt doesn’t think his eyebrows could rise any higher if he willed them to.

“Of course not! Well, perhaps. Not really, though. It’s hard to explain.”

“Explain.”

“You left.”

As if in agreement, they both pause to let that short truth hang in the air like a brightly coloured flag. 

“I left because it’s winter. We always part for winter.”

“I know.”

“You even hugged me goodbye and waved me off.”

“I know.”

“You–”

“I know.” Jaskier digs his forehead into Geralt’s clavicle so hard it hurts, but Geralt finds he has no intention to ever ask him to move. “I know I did, and then I woke the next day, and you were gone, and I felt like something was missing, and then I forgot my lute and my bag and my cloak, and I set off after you.”

There’s a warmth brewing beneath Geralt’s skin, and it ignites at every touchpoint shared between them. 

“And then it snowed,” he says.

“And then it snowed,” Jaskier says, “and it was too late to go back, but I didn’t have my cloak, and I didn’t have my lute so I could play my way to a room. So I kept walking, but it was so cold, and I got lost, and then…”

I love him, Geralt thinks.

“And then you fell asleep in the woods,” Geralt says.

Jaskier rests his hand over Geralt’s heart.

“And then you found me,” he says.

“And you scared me half to death,” Geralt says. 

“And here we are.”

“Hmmm,” Geralt sounds and does not know what to say. Words leap out of Jaskier like pufflballs in a summer breeze, scattering dandelion seeded meaningfulness all across the northern continent. He doesn’t know what to say, and so he gentles his hand down Jaskier’s side, curls his legs up more, and brings Jaskier even closer to him. Jaskier gasps into his neck as Geralt settles him in his lap, and then – slowly, tentatively, achingly – arms come around Geralt’s shoulders. Geralt turns his head and nudges Jaskier’s nose with his own, their foreheads resting together in a pleasure so perfect that where he to die in the morning he would do so with the knoweldge that he knew the touch of happiness. 

Hands caress through his hair and cup the side of his face, a thumb stroking back and forth over his cheek, and he can feel it’s well pruned from the water. Jaskier gasps again, almost as if on a sob, but no tears come.

“Geralt, I–” he croaks, faltering as he draws the knuckles of his right hand up and down Geralt’s neck. “Geralt, I think you’re the most magnificent…” 

He tightens his arms around Jaskier and feels his every breath dance across his lips. 

“I think you’re the most magnificent person I’ve ever met. You’re–” Jaskier laughs and shakes his head so their foreheads rub together. “Geralt, I don’t even have the words, I–”

“I do,” Geralt says.

Jaskier blinks.

“Y–you do?”

I love him, Geralt thinks.

“I love you,” Geralt says, not for a second looking away from Jaskier’s face so that he may see the hope, the surprise, and the happiness write themselves across him like an open book. And here they come, and there they go, and here love is to stay. 

Jaskier makes a noise – relief and desperation all in one – and then cracked lips are on his own, and Geralt kisses back. He kisses soft, he kisses gentle, and he kisses joy. 

“You really did know what to say,” Jaskier laughs.

“Mmm,” Geralt says, kissing him again. 

Jaskier cups his face between both hands. 

“Dear heart, I love you. I love you, I love you, I love you,” he says and draws breath as if to continue on forever and ever. 

Geralt kisses him one more time, feeling Jaskier’s lips curve up into a helpless smile.

“Not the most complicated rhyme scheme you’ve ever come up with, my lark,” he murmurs. 

“Darling,” Jaskier laughs, “I’ll write you so many songs.”

Liked it? Prompt me!

[colossal-fallout]

AOT ~ First date H/C's

NSFW included. 18+

Levi, Erwin, Jean.

Coming soon;

- Reiner, Porco, Pieck. Eren, Armin, Connie. Hange, Zeke, Miche.

- More Fallout content

Remember I am always open to requests 🗣️

Levi;

"You. Meet me tomorrow at five and we'll do something. Just the two of us. Which means I don't want any of your flunkies following us around."

Levi asking you on a date is something he's been pondering and sitting on for a while. He wanted to be sure. Also, it was definitely more of a demand.

Levi is not one to do these things casually. He asked you because he sees potential with the two of you. One that can be worked around your career's of Titan slaying.

Of course when he first laid those steely Grey's on you, he was intrigued but kept at a distance.

As time flickered by his desire to get to know you more in a private setting grew, so he knew it was time.

Obviously he isn't going to wear his uniform, and you're surprised to see him dressed like the fancy ass he is; with his jacket and cravat.

He smells devine. He bathed before he got dressed, in oils and petals (Old ways of using bubble bath I guess)

Levi takes you somewhere high class to eat. One you're not extremely comfortable in, being used to your humble and basic living as a soldier. But it doesn't take much for him to help you relax as he explains he used to feel the same; but working and living in such ways definitely merits a treat from time to time.

He asks a lot of questions. Not in a way it seems like he's prying. He just wants to know you better. Where were you born? What are/were your family like? What interests you? How good are your hygiene practices?

He doesn't talk much about himself. That is for a waaaay later time.

After you've eaten (Which he insisted he pays for) he takes you for a walk around the town as you continue talking.

He's a really good listener. He takes everything in and makes mental notes of certain things.

He walks you back to the barracks. He makes sure it's somewhere no one will wander by.

"I enjoyed having dinner with you. If you'll allow me, I'd like to take you out again one day soon."

This time it's less of a demand. The tiniest smile pulls at one corner of his mouth when you say yes.

Levi won't kiss you on the first date. Don't kill me. He just wouldn't. He bides his time with these things and likes to be totally sure of someone.

But when he does, it'll be fantastic.

He'll just simply take a step closer to you, his eyelids heavy as he stares at your lips, wrapping one arm around your waist and pulling you against his chest.

He'll wait for your reaction. If you don't pull away then that's when he'll go in for the kill, his lips hungrily yet slowly devouring yours.

- NSFW -

When the time comes where you both feel ready to take things to a more physical level... Wow. That pretty much sums it up.

The passion though. Thinking about it is making me weak at the knees.

You're one hell of a special (and lucky) person to be in bed with Levi fucking Ackerman.

He will not hold back. All this wanting you from day one but restraining himself most certainly pays off, big time.

He'll be slow and sensual, mapping your body with his mouth and remembering all the areas that seem more sensitive. Oh, that nip of the teeth behind your shoulder made you gasp? He'll stick a mental flag in there.

Dexterous with his fingers and tongue, he'll eat you out with your legs over his shoulders. He likes to be able to slide his fingers in nice and deep.

You're his now. You sealed that contract the moment your clothes fell to the floor. And because you're his, he's going to show you that no one else will ever make you feel as good as he will.

He'll fuck you all night. He'll have you whimpering, quivering, begging... Your legs will be weak for hours after all the shaking while he makes you cum again and again and again.

Erwin;

"I would be honoured if you would accompany me to dinner tonight."

Erwin Smith would ask you on a date in the same fashion some knight would ask a fair maiden.

You have to be pretty f'ing special to catch the commanders eye and you have done for a while now.

You can tell he hangs out with Levi a lot because he takes you to the same fancy restaurant as Levi would take you to.

But when you meet up with the commander and he is waiting for you, a beautiful bouquet of flowers in hand... Your heart (and pants) just melt.

Erwin will lavish you with compliments. He'll make you feel like a total queen.

"You look... Amazing, Y/N"

"The colour of that dress contrasts your eyes beautifully..."

Erwin would be willing to kiss you on the first date. He would start by kissing the back of your hand as you're about to say goodbye, his eyes looking up and sharply piercing into yours.

He's intelligent. He' knows body language and from that kiss on the hand he will know if you'd be comfortable with a more intimate kiss.

If you are, he'll ever so gently cup your face with one of his large hands and softly press his lips against yours, closing his eyes and pulling you in close.

He handles you like some delicate flower at first. A gorgeous being that he doesn't want to soil with his dirtied hands from all hes done over the years.

- NSFW -

Erwin Smith in bed though... He will be mind blowing, no doubty 'bouty.

He will relax you with fine wines, not so you get drunk but so you're comfortable, warm and at ease.

He'll start by kissing you deeply, his hands running tantalisingly close to your crotch as he explores you.

He'll dead set pick you up, bridal style, and carry you to his bed.

Erwin is an extremely passionate lover, his kisses are hungry yet soft. Soft yet firm at the same time. The room would quickly become steamy as he discovers you with his mouth and hands.

As soon as that long, thick dick enters you, there's no turning back. Ever.

It hits every single spot perfectly without much effort, but by god's does he put the effort in, making it that much more insane.

Erwin takes you slow for the first time. Not only does he use this to gather intel on your preferences but he wants to slowly get you adjusted to his beast of a cock.

Jean;

"So I uh... Was wondering if you weren't doing anything later if you'd... Wanna grab some food? You know... Just the two of us?"

Jean would have a crimson hue etched over his face when he asks you. He's a little more shy than Erwin and Levi.

"Are you asking me on a date, Jean Kirstein?" You'd tease.

He'll pull himself together. "Yeah. As a matter of fact... I am."

A date with Jean would be so lovely. You two would go get food, go for a walk and stargaze; laughing, joking and having deep conversations the entire time. Never would you fall into an awkward silence.

Hand holding. Definitely. He would adore holding your hand and showing you off, not to mention being able to have your satin soft skin touching his.

You'll hold hands while watching the stars, the end of the night drawing near. This is when he'll make his move.

His heart will be thudding in his ears and his palms will begin to get a little damp.

But darn it, he's wanted this for so long he refuses to screw it up.

Since you're both lying down he'll roll over onto his side and just place his hand on your face, gazing down at you in awe.

He waits for your reaction.

After a few moments he lowers his head and inhales deeply through his nose as your lips connect and you slide your tongue into his mouth.

He's doing the most goofiest victory dance in his head right now.

- NSFW -

Jean is nervous as hell but also very excited, trembling slightly as he kisses you and lays you down onto his bed.

This lovely lad will take care of you so well, in more ways than one.

He adores wrapping his arms around you protectively when you're being intimate. He would die for you and this certainly comes out in how he fucks you.

Or most of the time, makes love to you.

He praises you a lot, totally unbelieving he has you and how lucky he is.

Firm caresses, a lot of gasping and pants holding your hand and deep kisses.

You'll give a whole new meaning to "Horse face" because you'll bloody ride it like one.

He's amazed by you the entire time as well as afterwards. Jean is a 10/10 good boy and his aftercare is second to none.

[millenniumfae]

Video Game Cooking: Nectar (Hades 2018)

Nectar is one of the in-game items Zagreus can collect. By gifting these bottles of golden liquid to other characters, he raises his affinity with them, which in turn gives him powerup items and advances character questlines. 

Hades (2018) is a retelling/adaptation of the classical Persephone and Hades mythos. All items, settings, and characters are from classic Greek mythology; Zagreus’ foster mother is the primordial goddess of night. Achilles’ personal questline is about reuniting him with his lover Patrocles. Zagreus has spent his entire life sheltered underground in Tartarus, so he doesn’t know what birds are, or what winter is. 

In turn, ‘nectar’ exists in Greek mythology. It’s sometimes interchangeable with ambrosia; both are the legendary foods/drinks of the gods, said to grant immortality to anyone who consumes them, amongst other positive effects. In-game, nectar is the more commonplace counterpart to ambrosia; Zagreus finds nectar as a dungeon drop. But he needs to defeat the champion of Elysium boss to gain a single bottle of ambrosia.

Today, we’re gonna re-create the nectar of Hades (2018) for ourselves! It may be contraband in Hades’ domain, but it’s not like anyone pays attention to that rule, anyways.

Why are we recreating nectar, and not ambrosia? Because there already exists tons of ‘ambrosia’ drink recipes. Maybe not based off of the Hades (2018) version, but there’s nothing new or exciting in making yet another ambrosia drink. Nectar, on the other hand, gives us more room for invention.

Hades (2018) Nectar Recipe  (Makes One Serving)

1 1/3 cups Martinelli's sparkling cider

2 tablespoons orange flower water

1 tablespoon honey

1/4 teaspoon edible gold shimmer powder (make sure it lists all ingredients, and is certified food safe)

A pinch of coarse sea salt

A pinch of lemon zest

A drop of mint extract

The first times Zagreus gifts nectar to npcs, they describe honoring some sort of godhood custom and exchange with him with a ‘keepsake’ - an in-game powerup he can wear. Unlike with gifting ambrosia, their eyes don’t pop out with shock at receiving such a luxurious gift, it’s instead just something nice, even if relatively commonplace. But nectar is still prestigious enough that gifting the actual Olympic gods nectar goes over well.

If ambrosia is the equivalent of Zagreus gifting $30,000,000 Breguet watches to his friends and family, then nectar is the gourmet-wrapped basket of cheese and crackers you see in the ‘gift’ section of the grocery store. Something you spot while on errands, and impulsively buy so you have a hostess gift the next time someone invites you over. It’s a gift borne of societal custom, and implores the giftee to give you something in return, eventually. Everyone from your multimillionaire uncle Poseidon to your humble jailbird neighbor Sisyphus are pleased to receive such a gift, even if they might value its contents differently.

(In the early-access versions of the game, nectar was ambrosia. The final release wrote ambrosia as the coveted, rare prize you earn after defeating the champions of Elysium. True enough, Zagreus can only find ambrosia after defeating the Elysium boss.)

In original Greek mythology, ‘nectar’ and ‘ambrosia’ aren’t two distinct things. Homer describes nectar as the god’s drink, and ambrosia is the food. But in Sappho’s and Anaxandrides’s poems, it’s the opposite. There’s more recorded mentions of ‘ambrosia’, rather than nectar. Some take this to mean that both nectar and ambrosia can be seen as something both food and drink, like honey.

Both share canonical similarities. Ambrosia and nectar are fragrant foods/drinks, sometimes used as literal perfume by the gods. Makes sense that nectar smells good, if in the AD period we’ve taken the word to mean the sweet stuff within flowers.

Other than its smell, we’ve no canonical information about nectar (other than in the Odyssey, nectar is described as either ‘rose-red’ in color, or in scent). Hades (2018) rendered nectar’s appearance as an opaque, warm gold liquid in a cute little round bottle, wrapped with a ribbon to benefit its ‘gift merchandise’ reputation.        

Nobody in Hades (2018) describes the taste/smell of nectar. Ambrosia, on the other hand, is said to be rare ‘vintages’ that you’re guaranteed to like. Sometimes, gifting either results in a cutscene where Zagreus and co. hang out at the lounge, complete with a sound clip of uncorking a bottle and pouring it into a tall glass. You can also see characters drink nectar amongst each other, savoring both the occasion and the taste. Eurydice also offers a ���Refreshing Nectar’ power up item, which just kinda looks like normal nectar but in a tall glass. 

There’s a clear alcohol equivalence. But nobody references drunkeness in-game. Even original classical Greek culture didn’t have a drunk culture like we do; wine was revered, but it was mixed with water to be savored, not to intoxicate oneself. Maybe nobody in-game can get drunk in the first place; everyone’s either an immortal, or a ghost.

(In my opinion, it’s always a bit weird when videogame characters can nurture deep, trusting relationships purely built upon a system of gifting items. But Hades (2018) does make it clear that Zagreus already has established relationships with most of the cast.)

Ambrosia’s a rare vintage. So what does that make nectar? We need to make something sweet, pleasant, attractive-looking, and also tangibly related to its rarer sibling. So we’re using another liquid that’s distilled and sometimes fermented; apple cider. 

A bit of this decision comes from the soundbite of opening up a nectar in the lounge; it’s a thin viscosity with a slight hint of foam, almost sounding like beer. And the color matters too, since different distillations of apple cider can result in different colors, ranging from dark brown to a light, bright gold.

Apple juice, when fermented, can have alcohol contents going from light apple wine, to brandies that have 10-25% alcohol. As a culinary ingredient, its modest fructose content means a higher temperature tolerance, and its citric acid can be used as a brine. It’s a popular ‘new world’ ingredient in cooking and baking. 

It’s also an ‘old world’ food. Hades (2018) doesn’t take itself super seriously, with its foil-wrapped gyros and french fries as in-game healing items. But any character/worldbuilding they do have, they keep it consistent. 

Zagreus says that Hermes’ symbol “almost looks like a bat wing”, when it’s very clearly a bird wing. Because he’s lived underground his whole life, he doesn’t know what a bird is. Weapons upgraded with the aspect of people like Guan Yu, or King Arthur, are time-bending powers that no one has ever heard of, with hints that these mysterious people live in places with their own gods/mythology. Zagreus catches a trout/bass/sturgeon fish for the first time, and it’s completely foreign to him, but Achilles fondly recalls these Greece-native fish fitting of his Nereid heritage. Characters have discussions about how mortals fear death, despite Thanatos being a gentle god represented by butterflies. There’s no sun, therefore no time, in the underworld. Hades is the god of minerals as well as the underworld, hence gems and diamonds being an in-game loot. 

Apples originated in Central Asia. During the Classical Greek era, they would have resembled what we call crabapples; small, hard, sour, cherry-sized. “At the Sammardenchia-Cueis site near Udine in Northeastern Italy, seeds from some form of apples have been found in material carbon dated to around 4000 BCE.”

It implores me to find ingredients that fit the setting, as with my other Video Game Cooking recipes. No pumpkins, no corn, potatoes, chocolate, tomatoes, vanilla. Instead, we have things like almonds, lentils, oranges, honey, garlic, onions (haha, suck it Achilles)

To reflect nectar’s ‘sweet smelling’ trait, we’re using an ingredient common in Persian cooking - and later the French royal court of King Louis; orange flower water. I found mine in my local Asian grocery. It’s a byproduct of making essential oil, and it’s colorless/flavorless, but with a strong aromatic smell that affects any food you mix it with. It’s also a known ingredient in modern day Greece, called anthonero (ανθόνερο). 

(Eeurydice is confirmed to use both nectar and ambrosia as a cooking ingredient, and her food is apparently amazing. Maybe one day, I’ll make another Video Game Cooking recipe based off of her Pom Porridge, or Ambrosia Delights.) 

And to really make it look like the food of the gods, we’re adding an ingredient found more and more in swanky bars worldwide; edible glitter powder. Originally, people only used this to decorate baked goods and candies, but come Instagram, people are making these really picturesque cocktails that shimmer rainbow. You gotta be careful when buying these for yourself, though; the tiny tins of decorative edible shimmer power you find at Michaels may not actually be as edible as they claim. I found Bakell-brand Luster Dust at a bake-supply shop. If it doesn’t list its ingredients, or certify itself as FDA-approved, then don’t use it for food.

And since it’s called ‘nectar’, we’re also adding honey. Which has long history of its divine status as a holy food. To take down the intense sweetness a bit, the tinest pinch of sea salt - another holy, pure substance. And to really bring out the brightness of the apples, we’re adding a sprinkle of lemon zest. A tiny drop of mint extract brings a complex depth to the orange flower smell.

To make a glass of nectar; cover the bottom of the glass with mint, lemon, sea salt, honey, and orange flower water. Then, pour the apple cider with the gold shimmer dust together, so that the two mix together a bit, to avoid clumping of the powder. Then you mix the drink a bit, so that the honey, zest, and salt aren’t sitting at the bottom.

It only now occurs to me that this recipe might actually be a rendition of Eurydice’s Refreshing Nectar item, rather than pure nectar itself. But just take my word for it; when you open up a bottle of nectar, you get that whiff of blossoms with the slight coldness of mint, and the sea salt/honey taste goes really well with the apple juice. I imagine that Eurydice’s somehow making a further delicious drink by adding a splash of Bailoni and ice. 

Enjoy! Just imagine that you’re hanging out with Zagreus and his three partners, cracking a cold one open over stories about how crazy the surface world is. Did you know that we have machines called computers that instantly relay information all over the world??

[aseioh]

Notes: Listen, I saw those post of Bela and Donna together and my mind ran away with it. as a result I humbly offer you this story.

If anyone finds those drawings again would you mind tagging me. I would really appreciate it and I would like to thank the original artist.

Thank you. With that in mind here is a sneak peak.

Summary: Donna finds love in the most unexpected way. After all, who would even think of falling for her. Therefore it came as a big surprise to her when someone did fell. Never had she thought that she would be courted by Alcina’s oldest daughter.

As with all grand stories of lovers finding each other, the story of how Donna Beneviento found love in Bela Dimitrescu started out on an inconsequential happenstance.

‘There’s a leak in my house, and I’m afraid living near a great waterfall has its benefits and pitfalls. One of which is having damp wall bad enough to get mold.’ Donna thought to herself as she made her way to Mother Miranda’s inner sanctuary for the weekly meeting.

“I wonder if this is the mutamycete’s cousin invading my house.”

“Did you say something my dear?” Alcina said as she herself makes her way to the door, stooping slightly to enter. She holds the door until Donna enters. “Thank you, Alcina.”

“We have a mold situation! Mistress is saying that it might be the Mold’s cousin” Angie pipes up happily enjoying the attention Alcina gives to her.

“Angie hush, it’s nothing Alcina. One of the downsides living near the waterfall, I’m afraid it got too damp in one of the rooms that molds has started to grow. It’s my fault really, I should have inspected the house more often.” Donna explains, it’s a good thing she was wearing her veil, she wouldn’t want Alcina to see her embarrassment from something so small a matter.

“In any case I’ve already contacted someone from the village to clean and remove the problem. Although a more thorough inspection must be done, I wouldn’t want any more surprises.”

To their surprise Heisenberg was already there in the sanctuary, usually the rugged man was the last to arrive on which he calls it “fashionably late”. Moreau always the first to arrive every time Mother Miranda summons them.

There was a companionable silence between the two, as they normally only interact when Mother Miranda was there.

“Hello Countess, Lady Donna” As Moreau turns his focus on the two ladies arriving and tries his best to smile despite his monstrous form, Moreau has always been polite with everyone.

“What’s this about surprises?” Heisenberg asked as he lounges on his chair.

Thankfully, Mother Miranda has yet to arrive, giving the four Lords enough time to chat after all it’s not everyday that they can just gather around to talk. After a small catch up, curtesy of Angie’s animated retelling, the four Lords are now faced with a small problem.

Where should they house Donna?

Of course, as one of the Four Lords of the village she is both loved (more than the others apparently, if the village gossip is to be trusted) and feared, and although the weakest among the four she is well protected in her shrouded mansion that she had no real fear of being attacked.

Even with the slim chance that anyone would be brave enough to attack her, taking her away from the mansion poses a real threat to her safety. And that would not do.

“You could always bunker down with me at the Factory. If you don’t mind the smell of oil and a little bit of heat” Heisenberg offered as he casually took a drag off his cigar. “Hey, we might even finish one of our projects it’ll certainly save you time traveling from your house to my factory.”

“Ugh, as if. She’s a Lady Heisenberg. She’s not slumming down there with you, and she certainly need her own privacy” Alcina countered with a huff. The nerve of the man can he really not think beyond his work.

“Oh, right sorry Donna” Understanding what Alcina implied, Heisenberg had the decency to slightly blush.

“Sorry I can’t offer you to stay in my reservoir Donna. Even I think that’s no place for a Lady to live, not to mention the fish smell and cramped living quarters.” Moreau said apologetically.

“That’s alright Sal, I understand. Thank you for thinking about my welfare.”

“Well that leaves my Castle. And of course, you’re staying with me. I will not take ‘No’ for an answer. You living in a hovel just won’t do my dear” Alcina smiled triumphantly at the revelation

“If you were thinking of housing her, why did you pose the question to us?”

“Simple. I wanted to see what your reactions would be and honestly I wasn’t surprised by it”

“Smug bitch” Heisenberg huffs under his breath, he had to admit he walked right in that one.

“What was that?”

“Nothing”

“Are you sure Alcina, I don’t want to impose to you and your daughter. Aren’t you busy with the harvest and wine production? Not to mention I still have the other dolls to rehouse I can’t leave them there alone.” Donna inquired slightly unsure on what will happen to her small friends.

“That can be taken care of. Heisenberg can house them as well as lending some of his soldat to ensure that the villagers won’t go snooping around where they’re not wanted. Isn’t that right Heisenberg?”

“Yeah, yeah, leave those to me. Anything else your Highness?”

“She’s gonna need some of her stuff carried from her house to my Castle be a good boy and fetch them for us will you” Alcina smiles.

At that Heisenberg growls

“Now, now no need for that. Thank you Karl for your help” as Donna pushes herself in between Alcina and Heisenberg

“No thanks needed Donna, anything for my favorite lab assistant.”

At that Donna chuckles “Karl, I’m you’re only Lab mate.”

“Exactly”

With that Mother Miranda enters the Sanctuary and everyone went back to their places. Alcina and Heisenberg opposite each other in front of Miranda, while Donna and Moreau are at her right and left side, respectively.

After a grueling five hours of discussion and bickering (mostly of Alcina and Heisenberg), Mother Miranda had deemed it right adjourn the meeting and continue it the following week with cooler heads and a more substantial plan.

“Well dear are you ready? I’m sure Angie here is excited to see her new home. Heisenberg will take care of the rest of your baggage.”

“Yes, I’m ready. Let’s go”

A short and companionable silent ride later and both Lords arrive at the front of Castle Dimitrescu. This isn’t the first time Donna came to the Castle, but this is the first time she would be remaining for an extended period of time.

She knew of Alcina’s daughters, but she has never interacted with them. The most of their interaction stems from short glimpses and hearing the girls giggle from one of the rooms when she visits. Not that she made a personal effort to meet them, she was still rather self-conscious and awkward with first meetings. The very idea of interacting with new people (even if they are close to the people she considers as family) freezes her.

 It’s a good thing Angie’s always with her, she can be the extension of Donna’s subconscious.

“Welcome to Castle Dimitrescu dear, I hope your stay with us is pleasant. Consider this your home away from home” Alcina smiles widely as she leads Donna to the main hall. “Daughters come down here, we have a guest to welcome.”

With that swarms of insects came down from the foyer only to split into three distinct form. Three beautiful ladies came to rest in front of the pair.

“Daughters, Lady Beneviento and Angie will be staying with us for a while. I expect you to be on your best behavior.”

“Of course, Mother. Welcome Lady Beneviento, Angie.” Bela bows slightly as she welcomes Donna, the other two soon follows.

“Very good, I’m sure Donna is tired from the meeting as am I. Shall we all have dinner later? Bela would you mind escorting Donna to one of the guest rooms, I’m sure she’ll need to freshen up or lay down for a bit.”

“Understood Mother. Come my Lady, let me show you to your room” as Bela leads Donna to the guest room, there’s almost a tense atmosphere between them.

“Here you are Lady Beneviento. Ring the bell if you ever need something, We’ll assign a maid for your room and they’ll fetch it for you.” Bela smiles as she explains it to Donna, the room itself is big and opulent as expected from a guest room of the castle.

“Thank you, my Lady, for you and your Mother’s hospitality, this is indeed very much suitable. Angie and I will fit right in am I right Angie” at this Angie who’s been looking left and right at the place nods enthusiastically.

“Please don’t mind us, we’ll try to stay quiet as possible. We wouldn’t want to impose on your busy schedule.”

“Call me Bela, my Lady. and don’t worry, you won’t be an imposition. In fact, you just might be what we need at this castle right now. A breath of fresh air, if you don’t mind, I would love to chat with you about the outside world. As I’m sure you know, my sisters and I cannot leave the castle grounds for too long.” Bela asked unsure if what she’s asking is too much for the usually quiet Lord.

Sensing some hesitation from the young woman in front of her, Donna made her decision as well. ‘I will be staying here for some time. I may as well get to know the daughters Alcina is so fond of’.

“Of course, Bela, I would love to. And please call me Donna, if we’re to chat and get to know one another we can get rid of that formality. I certainly won’t mind.” And although Bela cannot see the smile on Donna’s face, she can surely hear the warmth of Donna’s voice.

“Yes please. Well then Donna, I’ll leave you to rest for now. Shall I fetch you for dinner time?”

“Yes, of course. I would love nothing more.”

With that Bela takes her leave of the room, and as she walks away, she can’t help but to smile to herself.

‘A breath of fresh air indeed’

[fuchsiagrasshopper]

Contending the Flame XII

Author’s note: I’m back after this chapter kicking my butt, I must have rewritten it three times until I was satisfied because it introduces many characters from the show and I wanted to get them just right. Not sure I’m happy with the result still, but yep, here it is. Enjoy lovelies!

Masterlist

Pairing: Ivar x Reader

Word count: 5347

Warnings: The usual

King Harald's hall smelled like a fishmonger's home, and it was as inviting as a slave trader's ship. Sitting down to a meal with the man, Ivar tried to contain his displeasure at being there. It had been on Hvitserk's face since their ships had treaded through the carcasses of dead whales in the bay. Both the brothers managed to set aside their poor manners when they came face-to-face with Finehair, but it lingered in the backs of their minds, just like the bad smell.

Ivar was able to ignore the pleasantries and idle chatter that Harald was currently speaking. He was much more preoccupied with the dark-haired Queen on the throne adjacent to the King. Astrid, Lagertha's shieldmaiden and bed warmer, was sipping from her horn of mead while giving Harald loving looks. They were practiced and disingenuous, but they did not explain how she came to be here. Clearly not of her free will, but Harald was too besotted to notice her veiled contempt.

To Ivar's left sat Freydis, introduced as his personal thrall. He had gauged for any sort of inkling of familiarity to pass between her and Harald, but alas he only seemed to have eyes for his new Queen. Freydis was too cunning to give away anything on her part, and that left Ivar wondering if she was as great a deceiver as Loki, or that she hadn't been sent by Finehair to begin with.

That put his mind back on Lagertha and Kattegat. She must have been the one to send in a spy. She only cared for Bjorn, and she wanted all of the other sons of Ragnar to perish just like their mother. That was how he saw it anyhow, but he knew his brothers would disagree. They weren't as quick to take up arms against Ragnar's first wife as he was, and that made him feel bitterly alone.

Freydis continued to shower him with compliments and attention, and he lent into the treatment. He needed to keep her close until it was discovered who she was working with, but he was also missing you. She was a strange substitute for your place, holding none of the similarities that had endeared you to him. He was still frustrated by you revealing your name to Heahmund as well, and perhaps this was his way of acting out against you. It was a petty move considering you weren't even there to witness this ongoing dance with Freydis.

"If you were to help me conquer Kattegat," Harald said, catching Ivar's attention. "Would one of you want to be King?"

Hvitserk sent Ivar a look as if to say 'It's a trap'. Harald was looking for humble allies who wouldn't challenge his bid to be King of all Norway. He must not have understood the sons of Ragnar, or he was coming from a place that underestimated them.

"It is our home," Ivar replied vaguely.

"Of course, I understand your attachment. Your father was King before, and then your Queen mother. I respect your family, but Kattegat is also too important a location for trade. I would need it to fuel my war and feed my army. Whoever rules Kattegat must accept that his lead is to benefit me, a mutual working relationship."

"I'm sure that could be arranged," said Hvitserk.

Ivar nodded. "We would be accommodating to your plight."

"And what of Lagertha there now? Perhaps she could make me a better offer?"

If Harald had any sense, he would have noticed his Queen's false looks of adoration had ceased at the mention of Kattegat's current ruler. Ivar gave a smirk that was meant for Astrid.

"If she had anything to offer, she would have already done so," He said, reaching for more mead. "Our army has the numbers. Lagertha will die. She is a usurper and coward."

Astrid had to hide her foul look when Harald took her hand in his, but even through her blank stare could Ivar feel her loathing. Harald continued to stroke her fingers as he spoke. "And how will she die? I do not doubt your heart or courage Ivar, but Lagertha is a shieldmaiden worthy of Valhalla. You cannot achieve a victory hand-to-hand."

Freydis grabbed his hand beneath the table, and he wanted to smack it away. The frustration he felt at himself for not being able to challenge his mother's killer in single combat would always be his greatest failure. He could outwit the legendary shieldmaiden, but at the time of her death, he feared he would not be satisfied.

"I have my own way of getting to Lagertha, but first we need your answer. Will you fight alongside the sons of Ragnar?"

"I count only two of you," Astrid piped up. "Are the sons of Ragnar not of one mind? Where are Bjorn and Ubbe?"

Harald planted an obnoxious kiss on Astrid's mouth before she could turn. "My beautiful wife raises a good question. Where are your brothers?"

"Bjorn is our half-brother," Hvitserk said with a shrug, "And his intentions will always align with his mother."

"And Ubbe is a traitor. He sailed with a handful of our warriors to Kattegat," Ivar said, glad for the lie. His mind slipped to you for a moment, but he shook it away. He had refused to bring you here in person, but even in thought, it was dangerous. You were a distraction that could cause him to make a mistake or have poor judgement, through no fault of your own.

"Then I'm certain Lagertha will be anticipating our assault," Harald said with a frown.

"But she won't have an idea as to when. She knows we will bring the fight to her, but we have the advantage of time," Ivar pointed out, and he could feel Hvitserk's questioning look.

Harald let out a laugh. "You remind me of why I fought alongside your father. I cannot refuse the offer to join with the sons of Ragnar and their army now. Let us share a horn and thank the Gods we have this opportunity to become Kings."

The men each took a drink from Harald's own horn, and Ivar could feel Astrid's eyes following it as it was passed around the table. She was more cunning than he would have ever accredited her to be, which made her a threat to their plans moving forward.

"Tonight you shall sleep in my hall, and tomorrow we can discuss plans for our army."

'Our army'. He certainly wasted no time in claiming their men for his own. Ivar smiled through his irritation. Harald was watching for his reaction. He wasn't so distracted by his new Queen to have lost all sense when it came to a possible enemy.

"We'll take you up on that offer," Hvitserk piped up after the stretch of silence had grown uncomfortable.

"I will have my thralls prepare a room."

Ivar turned to Freydis. "You will assist them."

"Of course, Ivar." She stroked her hand lovingly down his arm.

The sensation shot a shiver down his spine, a reaction he couldn't help. He hated to think he was as weak-willed as his brothers when it came to blonde thralls, but his wavering resolve was laughing at him.

The table began to disband with Harald dragging the unfortunate Astrid back to his room. Ivar and Hvitserk returned outside and began to walk through the streets of Vestfold to return to their men. Hvitserk's mind was buzzing, and Ivar knew his brother had a word or two he wanted to get in.

"We can't go to war against Kattegat with Harald," He started at the moment they were alone. "We'd be betraying our own people, and Ubbe is there with our warriors."

"I know that."

Hvitserk didn't like how short of an answer he gave. "And (Y/N)'s there too. Have you forgotten that?"

"Of course I haven't," Ivar barked back. "But Lagertha is still my enemy, even if you've forgotten that. I can't allow her to live."

"She's my enemy too, brother. I know you loved mother, more than I did. But you also have to know she loved you more than any of us. If you say she didn't then you're either not as smart as I thought, or you're in denial."

Ivar knew it to be true. He knew it all too well when growing up. Ubbe and Hvitserk were closer in age and always together, leaving him alone. All he had to do was let out one small cry and mother would forget about Sigurd, the brother he should have been close to. It was something he exploited at the expense of the relationships with all of his brothers. He had a lot to make up for.

"If we can find a way to unseat Lagertha from the throne, then there would be no cause to go to war."

Hvitserk halted in his tracks as they made it to the docks. The boards were stained red and slick with the blood and oil from whales. Many of Harald's fishermen couldn't be bothered to spare the sons a second glance. They were preoccupied with loading their ships, huffing and puffing through the stink in the air that was not so foul out in the open.

"Please tell me you have a plan to do that," Hvitserk said in a hushed voice that was almost lost to the wind.

Ivar smirked back. "I didn't bring the Bishop along just to annoy you. We just have to get him to Kattegat to kill Lagertha before our army can arrive."

"You're willing to place all our hopes on that Christian?"

"He would do it for his freedom. What's one more dead heathen to him other than another purified soul gone from this earth?" Ivar said confidently. "Yes, brother, I am as certain he will do this as I am that Lagertha is the one to have sent Freydis to me."

Hvitserk was about to comment but was interrupted by an approaching presence that commanded the attention of the crowd. The previously busy workers stopped to part for her, but she was not flattered by the gesture. She marched with purpose, straight towards them, and Ivar gave a half bow in mocking as she arrived.

"Your majesty," He teased. "Not come to plead for mercy on Lagertha's behalf I hope. I have none."

Astrid's look was as dark as her hair, but she set aside her grievances to settle whatever she had come for. "No, Ivar. I have come in the hopes to make a deal with you."

"Really," He said, airing out his skepticism. "What do you want?"

She stepped closer, almost in a threatening display that had Hvitserk reaching for his knife. His concern wasn't unwarranted, as she was a shieldmaiden to Lagertha. Astrid eased her intensity while placing her hands up to signify no harm. "I want you to smuggle me back to Kattegat."

Both Ivar and Hvitserk shared a laugh, but she did not falter. She must be more miserable with Harald than Ivar had gleaned, but that wasn't his concern. "Why would we do that? There's great risk involved for us. Harald is obviously quite taken with you, and we'd be making an enemy of him because you have reservations about sharing his bed."

"I have information for you, regarding that woman by your side, the thrall."

Ivar's back straightened and he looked to Hvitserk with curiosity. This was the answer they had been searching for. "What do you know of Freydis?"

Astrid smirked. "She's a spy, but I'm sure you've already gathered that. I won't say anything more out here. Harald still doesn't trust me enough to not have me followed, and I won't give up what I know without a guarantee that you'll give me what I want."

"When then?" Hvitserk asked and he sounded as impatient as Ivar felt.

"Tonight, after Harald passes out from too much meat and drink. Make sure that thrall of yours is kept occupied as well. I shouldn't have to tell you not to trust a spy, but you're men, and I've seen the way you look at her," Astrid remarked while giving Ivar a pointed look. "Don't let me down sons of Ragnar. Your father lost many things towards his end, but never his integrity. I suspect the gods instilled the same in you."

Astrid departed and a group of guards followed after at a distance. It appeared she was correct about her limited freedom, and after saying much, Ivar wondered what else she was right about. She had given them much to think on at any rate, and he tried not to feel slighted at the comment about his apparent weakness for Freydis' beauty.

"Can we trust her?" Hvitserk asked at his side. They both took a seat on the ledge of the longship that had carried them in earlier that same day.

"She's desperate to return to Lagertha, and she knew Freydis was a spy without us feeding her that information. We'll have to hear her out first, but I suspect she's being honest about this."

"But not about her intentions once she's back in Kattegat," said Hvitserk. "Harald is being played by us and his Queen. Guess he isn't about to be King of all Norway any time soon."

"Thank the gods for that. I want to be in faraway lands when that happens," Ivar said with a smirk as his brother broke into a laugh.

"Then I'm coming with you. You'd be lost without me."

"I would," Ivar admitted, and it had a sobering effect on Hvitserk, who grew quiet beside him.

Truly, he didn't know where his fate would take him, but he knew it would be better if his brother was at his side. And you as well. Ivar closed his eyes and recalled your face, your laugh, and your kiss. You would be a free woman by now, and he hoped you wouldn't be too cross with him about that little stunt next time you met. He wanted to see you this very moment, but the distance made that impossible. For now, he would have to rely on his memories and hope that Niorun would bless him with dreams of you.

ooOOoo

You were alone again. This was nothing new since arriving in Kattegat. You wish you could say you knew more about the city, but all you had seen was the four walls of Audhild's cabin. She had left to take another trip into the market, and you had come close to begging her to take you with her. It seemed she and Ubbe were of the same mindset when it came to keeping you out of trouble, and you had no doubt it was Ivar's doing. Even an ocean away he was still in charge of your life and it was as endearing as it was infuriating.

The first thing Audhild had done for you was provide you with new clothes. The loose-fitted secondhand frocks no longer befitted your station as a free woman. You were given wool leggings and tunics, along with a belt that cinched around your waist. Ladies didn't wear trousers back in England, and it was taking getting used to. You often found yourself tugging and adjusting at the fabric, all while Audhild would shoot you queer looks.

As thanks for her setting you up with new garments, you would cook the meals for you both. It was a favor to both of you really, because, after the first night of eating her dry bread and burnt fish, you didn't think your stomach could handle the pain. You had even managed to learn how to properly butcher a rabbit, something you had never eaten back home.

Ubbe would pop around from time to time to see you, as well as keeping you both informed about the ongoing situation with Lagertha. For now the ruling Queen was content to let Ubbe stay among the people, though according to him she never passed up a chance to bring up questions about Ivar. That let him know her guard was still up, and she did not yet trust the elder son of Ragnar.

While you were glad for the updates, you couldn't shake the wavering disappointment about your newfound freedom. All of your knowledge about the people of Kattegat came from the words of Ubbe or your host, and you hadn't even met Ubbe's wife yet. So far being a free woman didn't feel any different than enslavement, and the growing loneliness was what pressed you to venture out on your own from the cabin.

You waited enough time to be sure Audhild hadn't turned back on her way into town before throwing on a pair of fur-lined boots and overcoat. You had no plan on where you were going, only that you wanted to see something of this new land that wasn't the inside of Audhild's cabin. England was all flat plains and rolling green hills, but Norway was jagged mountains and dark forests with cold rushing rivers. It had never crossed your mind that you would be interested in seeing new lands, probably because as a nun your only travels would have been to other cities and villages across England tending to the sick and spreading the word of God.

You headed out with Ivar's knife tucked into your belt and began to take the path eastward. You knew west would take you the way towards Kattegat, that was where Audhild had gone. As tempted as you were to see the market, you knew it could land you into trouble to meet more of the Northmen while alone for the first time. Your only mission today was to better acquaint yourself with the land.

The breeze felt wonderful on your face, and you had forgotten the taste of breathing fresh air. It was earthy and damp here, not like the iron and smoke of York. The bit of frost that was on the ground crunched beneath your boots. Winter came earlier this far north. You could see it in the grey of the sky that spelled snow. You hoped Ivar and Hvitserk would return before the waters froze over and that they would be bringing peace with them. Absurd! Letting out a breathy laugh, you remembered fondly that Ivar wasn't a peaceful being.

You missed him. At night after Audhild was snoring across the cabin, you would lie awake and stare at the ceiling, thinking of him. You didn’t understand what it meant, but your heart raced and your body grew restless at the mere thought of him. There was so much more that needed to be shared, and you were trying to compile everything in your mind so you would be ready for his return. You wouldn't call it love, not yet, but you knew you held affection for him and that put you at odds with your vows and God. In the eyes of the church, you were still a nun, though you hadn't thought of yourself as such for a while now. You still loved God, but you no longer wanted to be his bride.

"Oh!" You gasped in surprise when you realized you were somewhere new.

Your trekking had broken you out from the forest and out to a bank of the river. You could constantly hear it flowing back from the cabin, and you were excited about finding it. The water was crystal blue, and the surface current was slow and free over the rocks. A small house with a thatched roof sat by the shore, and there was a fire burning low in a pit outside. Someone was still nearby.

You started down the path towards the house while pondering who could want to live this far out from the town. You had thought Audhild was the furthest away. Hermits were common among the Saxons, so it wasn't unreasonable to assume the Northmen had their fair share. Not that you were judging them, in fact, it was for that reason that gave you the confidence to approach.

"Hello?' You called out as you rounded the fire. It was still warm, and you did the stranger a kindness by throwing a nearby log onto the pit. The flames immediately fed on the new fuel, spreading high into the air and sending a warmth through you that was welcome after your walk. You took another look around before kneeling down in the gravel to huddle closer to the fire. It seemed that no one was around for the moment, and that granted you the luxury of peace. Everything was so unfamiliar, every branch and rock different than what you had seen in England. You thought you would have missed home, or at least held a longing for it, but no. You couldn’t even summon a fondness for it now. What you missed wasn’t a place, but a person.

You became lost in the beauty of your surroundings that you didn't notice the stranger appearing from behind the home. He moved with impossibly quiet steps, and you weren't alerted to his presence until he was looming over you, blocking the light of the fire. You let out a yelp as you fell onto your backside in the gravel. The large man narrowed his eyes at you as you scrambled to your feet. If Ivar could see you now. He would be furious you had let your guard down enough to be snuck upon. Stay alive he'd said.

"Who are you?" The man asked, and his voice was softer than you expected.

"I'm Ólaug," You said, fighting the tremble in your voice. "I'm sorry, I didn't realize you were here."

His head tilted to the side, watching you with a keen stare that you had only felt from Ivar. "What do you want? Did Lagertha send you?"

"No, I don't know Lagertha."

"You don't know the Queen of Kattegat, shieldmaiden and first wife of Ragnar Lothbrok." You didn't answer and he let out an insouciant giggle. "You're a Christian."

The way he said it made it sound awful, and you hated the way it made you feel. "Is it that obvious?"

"Yes. It's your hair and the way you speak." The stranger started to sit down by the fire, a string of fish hanging over his shoulder. He dropped his catch at his side and pulled a knife from his belt, getting to work on cutting filets. "Sit down, betrothed woman," He pressed while pointing with his blade to the spot across from him.

"Excuse me?"

"What, are you deaf?"

You took a seat once more, but not because he had asked it of you. “Why did you call me that just now? Betrothed woman…”

“Your name, that’s what it means.” He continued to fling fish heads and bones into a pile, never giving you the courtesy of his attention.

Ivar had given you the name, and it suddenly clued in that it was made in jest. Bride of Christ was what he had first called you, and now 'betrothed woman'. You smiled to yourself, not entirely at odds with the moniker.

“How did you come here, Christian? You don’t look like a thrall.”

“I’m not,” You replied quickly, and you found that he had stopped his task of cleaning his fish to observe you. You did the same in return. He was older and battle-worn judging by his stiff movements when he had sat down. His light hair was wispy and tied back in one long braid, and his rangy frame was draped in a brown fur pelt. You thought his eyes were sad. “What’s your name?”

“Floki.”

You were sure Ivar had mentioned him in passing, but you couldn’t recall when. “Alright, Floki. I was a thrall, but I was freed recently. I came from York with Ubbe Ragnarsson.”

"Ubbe has returned? Then he has abandoned Ivar."

You didn't know what Floki's connection was to Lagertha, so you didn't correct him on his assumption about the brothers being apart. "You are close with the sons of Ragnar?"

"Of course. They are the offspring of the greatest man I've ever known and my brother. They are kin," He said and his face was alive with passion. "And you must be connected to them. Was it Ivar who also freed you after giving you that knife?"

You looked down at the weapon on your belt, feeling flustered. "How do you know about the knife?"

"I taught that crippled brat everything he knows. I recognize his skill and craft in that blade," said Floki shaking his head. "That boy, so much like his father."

"Don't call him a cripple."

Floki's eyes shot to you and there was that giggle again. "Oh, and you're defensive of him as well. Are you his betrothed woman?"

The fire you sat beside could never warm you as much of those words just then. You knew you were red up to your ears, but you tried to deny whatever he was implying regardless "I'm not his anything."

"Then why did he set you free?"

You hadn't even admitted to him that Ivar had done so, but he had already decided that was the truth. He was still as a tree, the fish forgotten in the long line of your conversation. You felt unnerved by him as if everything about you was exposed to him like a gaping wound, and you had never been so relieved to be interrupted when a voice called out from above the path.

"Floki!"

It was Ubbe, looking out of breath and panic-stricken as he dashed down towards you. A blonde woman was trailing behind him, appearing displeased to be dragged this far out into the bush. She must be the wife.

You and Floki both stood as Ubbe came to the fire. He turned to you first, and you anticipated a lecture. "Why did you leave Audhild's cabin? I'm supposed to keep you safe. You can't wander off when you don't know the land or its people well enough."

"I would if you let me," You retorted while feeling humiliation for being scolded in front of Floki.

"Don't fret Ólaug," Floki interjected while planting a firm hand on Ubbe's shoulder. "He's only concerned to find you here because he thinks I'll kill you like I did Athelstan."

Ragnar's monk. Your eyes widened with surprise and fear, all while the two men shared a grin and embraced.

"Thought you'd gone on to lands unknown," Ubbe said to Floki as they parted.

"The Gods brought me home. They have something for me to do here yet," He said while looking back at you. "She is Ivar's woman?"

Ubbe turned to you with a grin and you looked down, not liking the attention. "You'll have to ask him. He's in Vestfold with Harald."

"Planning on Lagertha's demise then."

"Is that a problem for you?" Ubbe asked, becoming serious.

"Lagertha has been my friend for a long time, but your mother was also. She had such a connection to the gods." Floki's head pulled up to the sky as if a string was attached tugging forth to some greater presence. "Neither of them should have ever suffered over Ragnar. A great King and a true Viking, but a poor husband. Something I hear Bjorn has inherited."

You noticed Ubbe's face flush, and he brushed his hand down his neck. "Well, I know Ivar is set on revenge, and I don't know if there's anything that can change his mind."

By then Ubbe's wife had caught up to their circle, and you got the impression she wasn't pleased to be left behind. She was dressed in a thick red robe with fur trim, and her long hair was twisted onto her head like a crown. You wondered if all the women of Kattegat were blonde and beautiful, and you ran your fingers through your short hair. Ivar had said it was ugly when you first met. Vanity had suddenly become a trouble for you and you didn't like it.

Ubbe must have noticed you staring at his woman, and he quickly brought an arm around her to introduce her into the group. "Ólaug, this is my wife, Margrethe."

"Hello," You greeted, and as you waited for her reply, she took one long surveying look at you that ended with her nose wrinkled and her mouth puckered.

"Hello," She said shortly.

You wouldn't be making a friend out of her anytime soon, and you weren't bothered by that. She was as unpleasant as she was gorgeous, and Ubbe sent you an apologetic shrug for her frosty demeanor.

"I need to get you back to Audhild's before she wonders where you are," Ubbe explained and you nodded.

You were ready to conclude your first adventure, but you decided that you would want to speak to Floki again. He seemed to know a great deal about the sons of Ragnar and everything else that went on in Kattegat, and you wanted to poke his brain for more information that could help you grow as a free woman. You turned to the older Viking and squared your shoulders.

"Can I come back to see you?"

Floki laughed at a dazed Ubbe. "See, she's curious. I expected that from any woman of Ivar's."

At the mention of him, Margrethe recoiled further into Ubbe's side and sent you a scathing glare. You stared back at her with vacant eyes until she became uncomfortable and craned her neck towards the woods. Her escape.

"Betrothed woman," Floki interrupted, taking your hands in his massive ones. "You are a Christian, and I hold no love for your God or people. I've killed hundreds of your kind, and one who held the love of my King. But you have sailed on our ships and left your lands, and came out free on the other side. Our gods favor you as much as my dear Ivar, and I will speak to you again."

"Thank you," You whispered.

He smiled back for a moment, and you thought the perpetual melancholy that surrounded him had lifted in a brief respite. It returned as he dropped your hands, and he started to flick his wrist back and forth in a waving motion. "Now leave me alone. All of you."

Ubbe tugged on your coat sleeve to get you moving, and when you turned to join him, you spotted Margrethe up ahead.

"Sorry, she's not always like that," He insisted as he noticed your look.

No Ubbe, you thought, she most certainly was always that way, but he was too besotted with her looks to realize. Whatever was going on in his marriage wasn't your business, and you kept quiet by his side as he led you back to Audhild's cabin. You were impressed that you could have remembered the way if Ubbe hadn't been at your side. Something about the nonlinear path had felt familiar, and you were already looking forward to walking it again.

Your last thoughts before you slept were of Ivar, an ocean between you and with so much more to say. You wanted to tell him about Floki and talk with him about his mother. You wanted to be back at his side. He was such a large part of where your life had turned, and now that he had left you alone in this strange place you felt brittle and forgotten.

You refused to be overlooked as another Christian brought into their midst or condemned for being Ivar's woman when you weren't even sure if that was your place. Whatever your feelings for him were, they meant nothing if you couldn't secure your own station among the Northmen. That night you vowed to God, their gods, and yourself that you would become strong of heart and embrace your new life alongside the heathens. All life came with sacrifice and war, and whatever nightmares you would be forced to face, you would conquer them.

Taglist

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[nour386]

Meeting the not Heroic Family

My submission for @pinesconessecrets as the santa of @mothmanfactkin, His prompts included super hero au and awkward dinner. So I combined them together into one massive fic. I hope you enjoy this because I enjoyed writing this. (Also on Ao3!)

"Dipper, I'm not sure about this," Wirt tightened his grip on his boyfriend's hand.

"It'll be fine!" Dipper awkwardly bumped Wirt with his elbow. "They don't need to know that I'm dating the legendary 'Spirit of the Plants'."

"Dipper this is serious." Wirt said. "If your Uncle is half as smart as you say he is, he should be able to figure out my identity in an instant."

"Don't worry about that, we have your cover story remember?" Dipper grinned, "a humble library part timer fresh out of college, looking for work. It'd cover most of our bases."

Wirt didn't look convinced. He bit his lip and looked away. His mind raced with all the ways this evening could go wrong. A villain somehow reconsigning him, and attacking them through the window. A giant monster bursting through the ceiling, crushing everyone and splattering the walls with their blood. Or worst of all, his boyfriend's uncles deciding that he was a bad influence. Cutting his time with Dipper short.

"Hey, look at me." Dipper pinched Wirt's cheek making the lanky man wince.

"What was that for?" Wirt rubbed his cheek.

"You were doing that thing where you panic and over think everything and worry that the end of the world will come about because you dropped a spoon." Dipper rolled his hand as he spoke.

"There was no apocalypse this time." Wirt said in a small voice.

"That's not the point Pilgrim." Dipper sighed. He placed both his hands on Wirt’s shoulders. "I know you're worried, and in truth, I am a little as well; but nothing helpful is going to come from sitting here and stewing in our sweat. Let's go take this thing down together."

Wirt took a deep breath, and let himself be held by Dipper. The weight of his hands on his shoulders helped ground the young man. He looked into his boyfriend’s eyes and gave a small smile. 

“I think. I'll be fine.” Wirt said slowly.

“I’ll be with you every step of the way.” Dipper smiled.

The pair made their way down the long walk up to the mystery shack. Normally Dipper would have insisted on flying the pair over, but decided that letting Wirt get excited over the natural beauty of Gravity Falls might help him calm down enough to face his uncles. That judgement worked out swimmingly in his favour as Wirt awkwardly asked to stop every few minutes to observe some flower or shrub that he didn’t quite recognise. 

“I know you said the town was bustling with the unknown, I didn’t think that would include plants.” Wirt carefully touched the leaf of a shrub. 

“Is a small bush that impressive?” Dipper squated next to Wirt to observe the plant. The stem looked like it was covered in red polka dots. 

“Look! This shrub adapted its stem to look like it's covered in red ants to avoid being eaten!” Wirt said in an excited voice. He gave the leaf at the tip of the stem a small poke and gave a small twitter of delight as the stem curled up perfectly to make the polka dots look even larger. 

“Huh, I never noticed that.” Dipper taped his chin.

“Probably because you spent the better part of your time running for your life.” Wirt tapped a nearby tree. A sturdy branch grew out, just high enough along the trunk to help him stand up without groaning. “Thank you.” He whispered to the tree.

“You know, for a superhero you sure do use your powers haphazardly.” Dipper teased. He stood up, and led the way to the shack.

“You’re just jealous that your yearbook photo this year was captioned ‘plant killer’.” Wirt smirked,   following Dipper along the path.

“I told all of our friends to not get me house plants as gifts. But they never listen.” Dipper threw up his hands in exasperation. “I can hardly take care of myself. You think I can take care of a plant?”

“Thank your lucky stars that I didn’t decide to incarcerate you for crimes against greenery.” Wirt said.

“That’s not a thing and you know it Mr.’Hero’.” Dipper punched Wirt’s arm.

“Well it might be!” Wirt shot back. “And now the charge has changed to battery.”

“Oh no. how could you have stopped my dastardly crimes.” Dipper rolled his eyes.

“Who’s talking about crime?” came a gruff voice.

The pair looked ahead to find an older looking man. Greying hair that lay flat on his head, a red nose and square jaw. He wore a serious expression, his face behind his square glasses was twisted into a serious scowl as he looked at the two young men. 

“I-uh no-one Sir.” Wirt squeaked. 

Dipper on the other hand rolled his eyes. “Why? You want a cut of the goods?” “You’re damn right.” The old man smirked. 

“I wha-” Wirt looked between them.

“Are you sure you’d want to be associated with horrible criminals like us?” Dipper asked. “Wouldn’t want the press to find out and cause another scandal.”

“Those paparazzi cronies will swarm after anything. It’ll blow over in less than a day.” The old man chuckled.

“What?” Wirt tilted his head.

Dipper grinned. “Wirt, this is my Great uncle Stan, retired hero and ever active conman.” 

“Hero?” Wirt stared at the man. His mind raced to put a mask to the face.

“Autographs cost 50 and pictures with me are 100.” Stan gave a showman’s grin. “Keep in mind that those prices are mutually exclusive.”

“And if you want him in costume you’d be footing the tailor’s bill.” Dipper elbowed Wirt.

“Wait, who were you?” Wirt asked.

“Who was I? Who was I?” Stan looked as though he had the wind knocked out of him. “What kind of cave dweller did you bring to my house?”

Dipper rolled his eyes at Stan’s theatrics. He was well used to his uncle’s inflated ego about his hero career. Wirt on the other hand found difficulty picking up on Stan’s very subtle hints at playing a bit. He felt his stomach sink to his feet as the man’s voice grew in volume, his life flashing before his eyes as he tried to figure out which hero this angry looking man could have been. 

“Grunkle Stan, tone it down, you’re going to give him a heart attack.” Came a sweet as sugar voice from inside the shack. A young lady with her hair done in a long braid opened the mesh door and punched Stan in the arm. Aside from rosy cheeks and the lack of a beard, her face was identical to Dipper’s. It didn’t take long for Wirt to recognise his boyfriend’s twin sister, Mabel. 

She turned to Wirt and gave a warming smile. “Sorry about this old grump. He thinks his comedy routine should double as a horror show.” 

“It’s only horror if they’re too sensitive.” Stan rubbed his arm. 

“You promised Dipper you’d play nice while Wirt was visiting.” she crossed her arms.

“I also promised your uncle Shermie that I wouldn’t let you do any hero work while staying over. And look how that turned out.” Stan rolled his eyes.

“Stopping someone from stealing a car isn’t hero work.” Mabel shot back. 

“Sorry about Stan,” Dipper muttered under his breath. “He’s just jealous that his hero career was cut.” 

“Jealous?” Wirt stared at Dipper. “You said you didn’t tell them anything”

“He’s jealous of your youthfulness” Dipper squeezed Wirt’s shoulder. He leaned in close to whisper into his ear. “I haven’t told them a thing, I promise.”

“So he’s not mad?” Wirt clarified. 

“Nope, just a really bad comedian.” Dipper smiled.

Wirt closed his eyes and took a deep breath. He held onto Dipper’s hand to ground himself. It took a couple of moments but he felt his heart rate slow down. 

“Hey, is the kid okay?” Stan called from the porch. Wirt could hear the audible smack of Mabel’s fist against Stan’s meaty arms, followed by a hushed. “Ouch!”

“Ready to go in?” Dipper asked patiently, ignoring his relatives and their antics.

“I think so yes.” Wirt opened his eyes and gave a weak grin. 

***

The pair had wanted to spend the wait for dinner in the living room, enjoying the terrible public access television that Gravity Falls had to offer. However, Stan had other plans. Apparently Dipper’s second Grunkle, Ford as Stan called him, had failed to arrive in time to help like he had agreed. And now the couple were forced into the kitchen to help with dinner preparations. 

“Honestly you don’t need to help too much.” Dipper insisted as he kept an eye on the bubbling stew.

“I don’t mind. It’s nice to see the shack you talk so much about.” Wirt smiled. He carefully peeled an onion before dicing it. Dipper could have sworn the onion grew plumper when he handed it to Wirt.

“So he talks about this place huh?” Stan looked over his shoulder and away from his chopping board. “Better be talking about how great it was.”

“Oh but of course.” Dipper rolled his eyes. “The 5 star accommodations, and food to match? How could I complain?”

“Didn’t you say that the walls were riddled with splinters?” Wirt asked.

“They add character!” Stan insisted. He banged his fist on to the chopping board, launching sliced up carrots into Dipper’s bubbling pot.

“And a surprising amount of fiber.” Dipper said. He placed a lid on the pot. 

“What?” Wirt looked at Dipper. 

“The kid chews just about anything. I’m surprised his power wasn’t something like eating anything.” Stan said, he took the onion slices from Wirt and poured them into a pan with some oil.

“I don’t think that’d be very fitting.” Wirt said. 

“Oh? And why’s that?” Stan snapped his fingers, summoning a small flame at the tip of his finger, which he then used to ignite the stove. He raised an eyebrow as he stared at Wirt. Challenging him to back up his claim.

Wirt could feel his stomach twisting under the gaze of the older man, but a gentle hand on his shoulder helped the practising hero ground himself. He took a deep breath and put on what felt like a confident grin. “Well, for one thing Dipper would need an appetite for such a power to be useful.”

There was a beat, Wirt held his breath, expecting some snide remark about how he didn’t know what he was talking about. Instead, Wirt watched as Stan slapped his knee in laughter. The old man’s wrinkled face lifted with glee as his hoarse laugh filled the shack. He accidentally knocked over the pan he had just put on the stove. 

Acting quickly, Wirt grew a strong vine from the flowers on the window sill, easily catching the pan.

“And here I thought you were all talk about him being a smart alec!” Stan grinned. He clapped a hand on Wirt’s back.

“Thank you?” Wirt looked to Dipper for help.

His boyfriend gave him a small smile and a thumbs up. “Told you he could hold his own.”

“He still looks scrawny as hell.” Stan pulled his pan out of the vine’s grasp. “Pretty good with his powers. You sure he ain’t some mask behind your back?”

“Grunkle Stan, Wirt would never lie to me like that.” Dipper frowned. He looked disgusted at the suggestion.

“Not many regular people are quick enough to catch something that fast. Especially with powers they don’t use regularly.” Stan said.

“I do use my power often.” Wirt said honestly.

“And what does a librarian need chloromancy for?” Stan asked.

“It helps me put away books faster.” Wirt said. “Not to mention I had a very excitable younger brother. If I wasn’t keeping an eye on him, there was no telling how much trouble he’d get in.”

Dipper held his breath as he watched his Uncle’s reaction. The old man eyed Wirt up and down, before shrugging and moving back to his cooking. “Jeez you really are dating a goody two shoes, aren’t you?” 

“You know me. Can’t help but stick to the rules.” Dipper said with an awkward chuckle.

“Only when it suits you.” Stan remarked. “Now toast the bread, I didn't bring you in here to play 20 questions.”

***

‘Ford’ was still nowhere to be seen, but the family had decided to start dinner without him. 

“If he thinks I’m going to wait for him to eat then he’s got another thing coming.” Stan said. 

With the use of his plant powers, Wirt was able to set the table rather quickly. He wondered why Mabel hadn’t been asked to help, but when he saw several burn marks hidden under the table cloth, he realised the risk the ever glitter throwing Mabel could be to the kitchen. It wasn’t long before the table had been set and all food was served. The three Pines and Wirt sat together at the table, enjoying the delicious food. The sound of clinking plates filled the air.

All was peaceful until a loud crash came from the living room, followed by an angry shout.

“Stanley what did you do to my mirror!”

Stan didn't get up from his seat, in fact he  acted as though he didn’t hear what had just transpired. Wirt remembered seeing the old man reach for his ears before they began eating. ‘Perhaps he turned off his hearing aids?’.

Dipper gave Wirt a smile. “We’re in the kitchen Grunkle Ford!”

Wirt turned to the doorway just in time to see a man with a similar face to Stan’s but with a much deeper cleft in his chin and much poofier hair. He wore a trench coat and red sweater over black dress pants. His clothes were scuffed and were burnt in multiple places. To the untrained eye it would have looked like the man had run wildly through the woods from some kind of monster. However Wirt was familiar with markings like those that were all over Ford’s clothing. They were from stray bullets that had nicked his clothing, narrowly avoiding him. 

“Stanley, what was the big idea with putting my mirror behind the couch!” Ford marched right up to his twin, his face red with rage.

Stan lazily looked up at Ford, his mouth full of mashed potatoes. He raised a finger and swallowed his food. “I can’t hear anything you're saying Sixer.” Stan pointed to the kitchen counter, where his hearing aids sat, keeping him deaf to the world around him.

“You knucklehead! I almost got crushed!” Ford reached to punch Stan, but he was stopped by Dipper. The young man had jumped out of his seat and grabbed a hold of Ford’s arm. Dipper also summoned a vine from the window sill to keep his uncle restrained.

“Grunkle Ford, I’m really happy you’re back in one piece. I was hoping to introduce you to my boyfriend, Wirt.” Dipper said. He nonchalantly gestured to Wirt.

“Ah, yes. I had forgotten we had guests.” Ford’s cheeks turned red as he collected himself. “I apologise for my outburst. I’m usually much more composed. However, someone’s pettiness has affected that.”

“Still deaf as a post.” Stan pointed to his large ears. His mouth full of half eaten stew.

Ford rolled his eyes and walked over to Wirt. The old man wiped his hand on his dark pants before offering a six-fingered hand shake. Wirt politely returned the gesture with a firm hand. But as the pair shook hands, a painful realisation dawned upon them both. 

“You…” They both breathed. Their eyes locked into one another. 

Before Wirt could say anything, Stanford ran out of the room, and out of sight. 

Stan, Dipper and Mabel stared at Wirt, all thinking the same question. Wirt could feel their eyes boring into his skull, so he stood up, and excused himself. The young man made his way to the bathroom, closing the door behind himself. He splashed his face with some cold water and breathed deeply. He looked at the mirror above the sink, screamed, and tripped back into the bathtub.

“Calm down!” Dipper whispered. He stepped out of the mirror.

“How did you-”

“I’ve been copying Grunkle Ford’s power for ages.” Dipper said. “Now, would you mind explaining what that was just now?”

“So, remember how I thought I never met your uncles and was worried about a bad first impression?” Wirt asked. His tone sounded jovial despite his rattled nerves. “Well I don't need to worry about that anymore.”

“When did you meet Grunkle Ford?” Dipper asked. He sat on the side of the bathtub.

“I was doing a nightly patrol of our campus. The security guards had asked for some help from the local hero guild. Someone was breaking in and taking the latest data found by the scientific teams. I was already on campus so the hero guild put me to the job.” Wirt said. He kept in his awkwardly sat position in the tub as he spoke. The shower curtain tangled with his long limbs. 

“So as I was walking around, I heard the guards calling for help, turned the corner and saw the tail coat of a man run down the hallway. ‘The light of the moon shone through the windows, guiding me through the dark to his eventual capture’. Is what I thought when I saw him turn down a dead end. But instead there was no one. There was the one way glass of the nearby lab door; but it was securely locked. The guards checked it anyway and found no one.”

“Right.” Dipper nodded along, tapping his chin.

“I walked along the floor, looking for any signs of the intruder; but alas he had slipped my grasp. The only person I found was one of the professors leaving after a late night at work. I had thought he was the intruder at first, since the first thing I saw were the tails of his coat, but it was a lab coat.” Wirt continued.

“But where does Ford fit into this?” Dipper asked.

“That professor dropped a roll of paper he was carrying. I thought it was some of his research, but when I reached down to pick it up. I noticed he had six fingers, which was not mentioned in the staff listings. And when I looked at his ID, it was a crudely faked card.” Wirt said. 

“Ooooh.” Dipper sucked in a breath. “And he realised you were the hero from that night?”

“There’s no way he didn’t.” Wirt said.

“Okay, things are messy, but, there’s nothing to worry about.” Dipper clapped his hands. “He knows that you know, but we don’t know he knows. So we can use this to our advantage.” 

“If he knows that we know, then he won’t try to deal with me to make sure I don’t blab?” wirt asked.

“But he can’t be sure that you know.” Dipper said. “As far as your story goes, you’re only a librarian. Just keep your cool and things should smooth over.”

“Considering how annoyed your Uncle Stan is, I doubt he’d want to cause too much more trouble.” Wirt said.

“Exactly.” Dipper smiled. “Now come on, dinner’s getting cold and trust me when I say you don’t want to fight Mabel for seconds.”

 Wirt watched as Dipper stood up offering his hand. The young man took a deep breath before accepting his boyfriend’s hand.

“That sounds lovely.” he agreed.

[willtheweaver]

Time to leave her

Heading back to port was usually a time of celebration. But not this time.

The crew of the Grand Shoal knew this day would come. The world had changed so much, and there was no room left for the old fishing schooner and her crew.

Three weeks on the old fishing ground brought only modest catches. The hold was still two thirds empty when the crew finally pointed the bow back to port.

The tide was low, and it would take some time before the waters were deep enough to enter the harbor. So the crew sat idle on the decks, having one last conversation.

“I don’t know what I’m going to do”, old Ned said. “I’m old, worn out, and with no family left. I’ll be no good to nobody on land.”

“You could try going to America”, Tom suggested. “I hear there’s a place south of New York City called Snug Harbor. It’s a retirement home for old sailors.”

“It’s nice that there are some people looking after the old salts, but what about the ships?” Young Tyler asked.

“Soon they will all be gone, left to rot in some backwater channel or another.”

“If only I had enough money”, he said wishfully. “Then maybe I could at least save the Shoal.”

‘Saltpeter’ Sam couldn’t help but laugh.

“Oh my naive young greenhorn”, he said. “You know full well if we all pooled our money, we wouldn’t have enough to make rent in London, Liverpool, or Belfast.”

“Still, he has a point”’ Ned replied. “All this obsession with steam, coal and oil. There aren’t many ‘real’ sailors left. Why abandon the oar and sail when they have served us well since the beginning?”

“Aye”, Tom added.

“People should know ‘bout their roots. We may just be humble fishermen, but we are standing on the shoulders of those who sailed with the Greenland whalers and the Blackball line.”

The tide began to turn and ,right on schedule, captain Wyatt appeared on deck.

“Well boys”, he said. “‘Tis the last time we’ll be coming into port and offloading our catch. I know that the catch is small, and that this will be the last time you will be working on this ship, but that doesn’t mean I expect any less from you.

“I expect you all to do your jobs to the fullest extent. To your stations, and no growling, or complaining from you lot. Get this vessel underway, and ready for when we reach the docks.”

He tried to say it in his usual stern manner, but the emotions got the better of him.

The crew gave a shout and a salute, and were at the ready.

They sailed into harbor and docked as they had for the last decade. Soon the fish was unloaded, and the tidying up went underway. Sails were furled, cable and rope stowed, the decks cleaned, and the bilge was pumped out.

The crew packed up their possessions, and walked back onto land.

Arm in arm, they made their way to the pub, singing the old farewell tune.

And now it’s time to say goodbye

Leave her ,Johnny, leave her

For now the pumps are all pumped dry

And it’s time for us to leave her!

Leave her, Johnny, leave her,

Oh-ooo leave her, Johnny, leave her,

For the voyage is done and the winds don’t blow

And it’s time for us to leave her!

[redladydeath]

jhgfdfghjkhgf i was going to just post this in the video’s comment section but for some reason that’s not working so here’re act one of the william and mary play:

Mary: Look, you’re my best friend, okay? And, um, best friends tell each other everything, right? Oh my god. Excuse me. Oh, Maria Regina, it was awful! He was awful, William, my Dutch cousin, or as father likes to call him “the Dutch Dog” *laughs*… I had the honor of being forced to dine with the extended family. My little Dutch cousin William– and was he rude! Oh my god. He spent the entire meal either staring at me or grimacing at the food. No manners. And he’s old too, like, at least thirty, not that you’d know by looking at him, he’s very short, but old enough to know better, and all that I could hear the entire time was his breathing– no, no, no– wheezing, with his tiny little child-sized mouth. *imitates wheezing* [indecipherable] –cause he had [indecipherable] big monster of a nose to use, but I guess that was out of commission. And King Charles II– God save him– and all twelve of his spaniels, seated at the table, eating off of the plates– how am I related to these people?

Anne: Mary!

Mary: Shh! Shh! My sister! We’re fighting! Oh god. Uncle Charles– God save him– William... ew. I’ve never fit in with this entire family and now I find out that my sister’s been ta… my sister– No, no I will not stand here and idly gossip. My sister– no. Sh– no. Sh– no. Sh– nope! Betty!

Betty: Yes, your ladyship?

Mary: Um, take Maria Regina will you?

Betty: Yes, your ladyship. Anne has been screaming for you, your ladyship.

Mary: Yes, tell her I’m dead.

Betty: Yes, your ladyship.

Mary: No, don’t, that’ll get her hopes up. Tell her that I’m resting– exhausted from a fascinating dinner with our exotic Dutch cousin.

Betty: Yes, your ladyship.

Mary: And I can trust you all? Oh, um, and would you bring me an ink, pen, and paper?

Betty: Yes, your ladyship.

Mary: How’s this? Dearest, dear, dear, dear, dear, dear... girlfriend– no, no, no... lover– no, too saucy– um... husband? Yeah… it’s a woman, but we’re gonna call her a husband. Don’t get confused! Um, dearest husband, after my prayers to all-mighty God, I’ve come to make peace with you, for it is a strange thing for a man and a wife to quarrel. What more can I say to prove that I love with more zeal than any lover can? You are loved with a love never known by man–

Anne: Mary!

Mary: You are loved more than can be expressed–

Anne: Mary!

Mary: By your ever-obedient–

Anne: Mary!

Mary: SHUT UP!! –wife. But to my great sorrow, I find out that you’ve been corresponding with *whispered* my sister!

Anne: Mary!

Mary: Shut up! Oh, to be your humble servant! To kiss the ground where you go–

Anne: What are you doing?!

Mary: Shut up! Oh, to be your dog on a string, your fish in a net, your limber trout–

Anne: She writes me too, you know!

Mary: No, she doesn’t!

Anne: Yes, she does!

Mary: Shut up! [indecipherable] If my letter has made the effect, dear “husband”, on your hard ear, I may without scruple call you my dearest, dear, dear, dear, dear, dear, dear, dear husband.

Anne: She is not your husband and your letter to her are weird. Also, she sends me letters and calls me her husband and loves me more than she loves you and you’re a lesbian!

Mary: That word doesn’t even exist yet, Anne!

Anne: Lesbian!

Mary: Keep your voice down!

Anne: She writes me more letters.

Mary: Our love is forbidden.

Anne: Get over yourself!

Mary: She knows unlike you I’ll be queen!

Anne: Whatever. I don’t care. I don’t even want to be queen.

Mary: Oh, good, cause you never will be.

Anne: Of course I will! When your head gets so damned big from all the bullshit praise, even your ugly, masculine, lesbian neck won’t be able to support its weight. Snap! And your head will fall off, like our poor headless grandpa Charles–

Mary and Anne: God save him!

Mary: To imagine the death of a monarch is treason, I could look you in the Tower.

Anne: You couldn’t!

Mary: When I’m queen.

Anne: You wouldn’t!

Mary: I could!

Anne: Nu-uh!

Mary: Uh-huh!

Anne: You wouldn’t be the first queen to do that to a little sister.

Mary: Well, you came in here and started it.

Anne: I know. I have something to tell you.

Mary: You could’ve waited!

Anne: I have a memory. About mummy.

Mary: Did you? Really? Would you tell me?

Anne: When we knew she wouldn’t make it much longer, she asked me to come to her bedside. She had just got her blood let, so she was speaking very openly.

Mary: It’s okay, Anne!

Anne: She asked me “Do you know why I named your older sister Mary but named you after me?”

Mary: Why?

Anne: Mummy said… “Because prefer you to that bitch older sister!”

Mary: Leave!

Anne: Mom liked me more!

Mary: I was named after a queen!

Anne: Yeah, Bloody Mary! “Oh, look at me! I’m named after a fat, bloated Tudor Catholic!”

Mary and Anne: *spit*

Mary: Leave!

Anne: I just came in here to ask how dinner went.

Mary: It was lovely. Leave!

Anne: Was it? I bet it was boring.

Mary: Only for a child but when you’re fifteen years old you appreciate stimulating conversation!

Anne: [indecipherable]

Mary: Good!

Anne: Was he… stimulating?

Mary: Ew! I mean… yes.

Anne: What was he like?

Mary: Tall, dark, handsome.

Anne: Really? Tall, dark, and handsome?

Mary: Mmyeah.

Anne: I’m jealous.

Mary: You should be.

Anne: Did he stare at you?

Mary: What? No.

Anne: I guess he wouldn’t. Not after what I have heard.

Mary: Oh, I don’t even want to hear your idle gossip– what did you hear?

Anne: Oh, it’s just that father told me that Uncle Charles–

Mary and Anne: God save him!

Anne: –Tried to marry you off to him.

Mary: What?

Anne: For some Dutch alliance.

Mary: What?

Anne: Yeah. He turned you down though.

Mary: He turned me down?

Anne: Three times.

Mary: What?

Anne: And here I was going to come in and make fun of you! I thought William was a tiny little goblin man. That would’ve been so embarrassing!

Mary: Right…

Anne: If you were turned down by an ugly little goblin man.

Mary: Right…

Anne: Three times!

Mary: Leave!

Anne: Why?

Mary: Leave!

Anne: I thought he was stimulating!

Mary: I want to be alone!

Anne: Mary the Martyr, you’re so weird! Maybe you’ll actually fit in if you didn’t lock yourself in your room all the time writing creepy letters. Some queen you’ll be! You’re friends with a fish!

Mary: Well, I will be queen whether I want to or not!

Anne: Mary the Martyr, you’re engaged to Louis the fucking XIV, what right do you have to be mad at me?

Mary: ...Have you seen the latest portrait of Louis?

Anne: Yeah!

Mary and Anne: *squee*

Anne: He’s fucking gorgeous! Even for a Catholic!

Mary and Anne: *spit*

Anne: Milky skin, so fucking rich! Full deep eyes, tight little French ass…

Mary: Anne! God is listening!

Anne: [indecipherable] I’m just appreciating the work! Those portraits are rarely accurate though. You saw the portrait of Uncle Charles–

Mary and Anne: God save him!

Anne: –He looked like a Roman god dipped in oil.

Mary: What?

Anne: He glistened Mary! Like a buttered up Roman statue! In reality, he looks more like butter. Well… butter with syphilis.

Mary: Oh my god, you can be quite cruel Anne.

Anne: I’m destined to marry one of our fat, inbred cousins, so I’m allowed to be.

Mary: Sorry.

Anne: Yeah, it’s whatever. Well, I’m going! Unlike you I actually have friends to hang out with.

Mary: Oh, bad company ruins good morals.

Anne: Fuck you! See you at dinner.

Mary: That’s why that little Dutch dwarf was staring at me. Oh my God, could you imagine that tiny, wheezing little man crawling into your bed every night– oh my god, it’s an offensive thought! But the most offensive part? He said no! He said no to me! Oh my God, the man is a slug! William of Orange– blegh! And Uncle Charles– God save him– tried to make me marry that, not that I would’ve! No! I would’ve told him off, right to his face. I’m not afraid of him! I will not be made a sacrificial lamb. I would’ve told him off to his face! Right to his tiny, regal, little mustache: “No, Uncle! You may be king, but I will not marry that creature! Put me in chains; lock me in the Tower; feed me to the ghost of Cromwell; I absolutely refuse to marry that creature!” I would’ve told him off. I will not be made a sacrificial lamb!

*fanfare*

Mary: Oh, Jesus Christ.

Betty: Your uncle, King Charles II– God save him– is here your ladyship.

Mary: Okay, send him in.

Betty: Yes, your ladyship.

*dogs yapping*

Charles: Quiet, quiet, quiet! [indecipherable] Good doggy-woggys! Now, niece!

Mary: Oh, Uncle, God save you–

Charles: Rise dear! You’re one of the few girls at court I’d rather not see on her knees.

Mary: Oh– ew.

Charles: Oyster?

Groom of the Stool: Yes, your majesty! *grunting*

Charles: I’ve just come from your mother and father’s apartments.

Mary: She’s not my mother.

Charles: Charming lady, your new mummy. She’s got those bovine hips, so I assume she’ll be plopping out heirs as soon as James’ dousing rod directs her away from foreign [indecipherable].

Mary: Oh my God.

Charles: Oyster?

Groom of the Stool: Yes, your majesty! *grunting*

Charles: If God is good– and we know he is– she’ll give birth to a few boys before she’s spent. Women are quite fragile, as you know Mary. It’s especially hard with our good Stuart stock and– Oh, Dicky, no, no hump, no hump, daddy has a [indecipherable]. Might we can hope for a few younger brothers– you’d like that, wouldn’t you Mary?

Mary: Oh, yes, dear uncle. How I love being an older sister to our dear, simple Anne and how I’d revel in the opportunity to be an older sister again.

Charles: Oyster?

Groom of the Stool: Yes, your majesty! *grunting*

Charles: [indecipherable] England [indecipherable] worry that another woman would take the throne.

Mary: Yes, poor England.

Charles: Yes.

Mary: Ah, ah, ah, ah!

Charles: Dicky! If that heifer can squeeze out just one little boy, England is saved! Oh, Mary, you see it’s not that women shouldn’t be involved in politics, it’s that they can’t. Their brains aren’t built for it! I don’t even know if you can comprehend what I’m saying to you right now!

Mary: I’m lost.

Charles: Yes, I assumed so. Oyster?

Groom of the Stool: Yes, your majesty! *grunting*

Charles: *chocking, spits* [indecipherable] Go on, up! [indecipherable] Now, where were we? Yes– women are not fit to rule.

Mary: Sorry, once more.

Charles: I am king.

Mary: You are king.

Charles: I am a great king.

Mary: You are a great king.

Charles: Women… cannot be kings.

Mary: No, they’re queens.

Charles: …Very good Mary! I’m very proud. That’s a real thought you just had!

Mary: I’m lost again.

Charles: So, if I am king and women…?

Mary: Can’t be kings.

Charles: Then women…?

Mary: Can’t be great kings?

Charles: Exactly! I am very impressed with your understanding of Restoration politics. As king, I’ve found it requires tremendous subtlety. OW! Dicky, get off! Dicky, don’t let–! God, you bastard! Bite that hand that feeds you, ey? Groom of the Stool!

Groom of the Stool: Yes, your majesty?

Charles: Lock him in the Tower!

Groom of the Stool: Yes, your majesty.

Charles: You made a big mistake, Dicky! No [indecipherable] bites a sovereign.

Groom of the Stool: Yes, your majesty!

Charles: Now, let us break our conversation into greater areas regarding your sex.

Mary: Ah, like needle crappy gossip.

Charles: And… boys.

Mary: Ah, yes, boys.

Charles: And… marriage.

Mary: Ah, yes, my purpose in life.

Charles: You a beautiful Stuart girl– Protestant– a large Protestant wedding to a regal, Protestant husband.

Mary: No, ha, Louis’ Catholic.

Charles: Louis? Yes, he’s Catholic.

Mary: Right, but you just said–

Charles: You, a beautiful Stuart girl– 

Mary: Oh no!

Charles: A large Protestant wedding–

Mary: Oh, god!

Charles: To a regal–

Mary: No!

Charles: Protestant...

Mary: Please!

Charles: Did you enjoy dinner last night? You [indecipherable] to impressed your cousin.

Mary: No.

Charles: William! Were you taken by him, Mary?

Mary: *bahing*

Charles: He was very taken by you.

Mary: *bahing*

Charles: Your first cousin, so you’ll have a lot in common!

Mary: *bahing*

Charles: My dead sister’s boy! She was a real bitch.

Mary: *bahing*

Charles: And you’ll have the line of succession, so you won’t have to worry about being queen, Mary. William can handle it. Sorry he’s such a cold, ugly bastard.

Mary: *spluttering*

Charles: Your Catholic father *spits* is pissed. Not surprising, but I ordered him to shut the fuck up about it. The wedding is next week. La~!

Mary: Wait! Anne!

Charles: Oh, you’re too thoughtful, dear girl! Anne will be fine on her own.

Mary: No, no, no, marry Anne off to William!

Charles: Certainly not! You’re next in line after your idiot father. We’ll marry Anne off to one of the fat, inbred cousins.

Mary: But I learned French!

Charles: And now you’ll get to learn Dutch! It’s not a beautiful language, but it matches the people. The king exits!

Mary: *sobbing*

*church music / exert of “Aria” by Marco Rosano*

Priest: Gathered! His Royal Highness Charles II!

Ensemble: GOD SAVE HIM!

Priest: The bride’s father James (the eventual second)– what? Your father refused to attend!

Mary: *sobbing*

Priest: We are gathered today in the eyes of our Protestant God to witness the eternal joining of two people, and more importantly, two nations. Our beloved England and our at-least-for-the-time-being-not-enemy Holland.

*fanfare*

Priest: The Dutch Stand Stadtholder! ...William? ...The Prince of Orange!

William: *violent coughing*

Priest: William? You good?

William: Ja.

Priest: Do you need a minute?

William: [indecipherable]

Priest: Okay! So… the, uh… the Dutch Stadtholder! The Prince of Orang– William?

William: *violent coughing* [indecipherable]

Priest: We are gathered– we are– we’re gathered– we are gathered– gathered– and we are gathered–

William: [Dutch word]

Priest: Pardon?

William: [Dutch word]

Priest: Sorry, I–

William: [Dutch word], stepping [Dutch word].

Priest: Oh, yes. *groaning* NOW! We are gathered for the joining of two people, two nations, and one [indecipherable] faith. Do you, Mary, take a solemn vow to obey and honor William until you’re parted by death? Okay, good. Do you, William, take a solemn vow to take Mary as your bride and treat her with whatever respect you happen to feel like showing her? Alright, whoo! You’re all good in here. You may kiss the bride.

William: *violent coughing*

*retro dance music* / exert of “Oh! Oh! I'm Goin' Home” by The Peppers

Mary: Wow. Midnight. Where did the time go?

William: Time for bed.

Mary: Right. Yup. Time for bed. It’s late and… it’s late and… it’s late and… it’s time for bed and there’s the bed, it’s time for bed and… we’re married now.

Charles: Now, nephew! To your purpose! God save Saint George and England! *giggling*

Mary: Right, historically, um, all of that actually happened. Well– oh, sorry, I was talking to someone else. Well, I guess it’s late, right? It’s late and it’s, um, time to go do– time to do– time to go do do do do do do do do doing of it. Ah! Wow. A ring… Is it for me? …Should I take it? …I’ll take it. Wow… a ruby… yes, ruby– rubies are very– rubies are red! Red. Rubies are… pink actually, now that I look at it. Funny, they’re really much more pink. Everyone always says “ruby red” but they’re much more pink when you look at it, oh look at that, it’s–

William: My mother’s.

Mary: Your mother’s? Wow. Beautiful. Ring. That was your mother’s. Ring, ruby, ring, ruby, ring–

William: She’s dead.

Mary: What? Oh, I’m sorry. About that– that she’s dead. What happened? Sorry! No, none of my business. Poor Mum! Um, my mom is dead. Died when I was a child so… I know what it’s like. To have a dead mum. *awkward laughter*

William: You don’t have to smile for me. You don’t have to pretend.

Mary: Dearest dear, dear, dear, dear, dear, dear husband– this is the woman again, um... You’ll find a pair of horns on your front door for… it appears I’ve taken another husband. Hm…

*whistle*

Anne: I brought you a going-away present. It’s another goldfish.

Mary: Thank you, sister.

Anne: I knew you already that one, so you’d like it. I hope they don’t eat each other. Do goldfish eat each other? Is it a long trip to Holland?

Mary: I don’t know!

Anne: You seem glum. Story time! When Aunt Catherine–

Mary and Anne: God save her!

Anne: Married Uncle Charlie–

Mary and Anne: God save him!

Anne: She had to leave Portugal in order to marry him. She hadn’t even met him yet, so I guess it could be worse.

Mary: Yes, but she came to England, I’m leaving it!

Anne: Yeah, fair. Just trying to help.

Mary: I don’t need your help, dear sister, this is my cross to bear.

Anne: Saint Mary the Martyr of English diplomacy! If only you were Catholic.

Mary and Anne: *spit*

*whistle*

Mary: I’ve never left London, that’s what scares me the most. God be with thee, sister. God be with thee, England.

William: …Two.

Mary: Oh. Yes, Anne got me one as a going-away pr– okay.

Anne: I hate him.

Mary: Well, he’s your brother now.

Anne: Please, I hated him when he was my cousin. I think you should be the first Protestant saint just for sleeping with him. I can’t even imagine!

Mary: …Neither can I.

Anne: WHAT?! TELL ME EVERYTHING!!

Mary: Well, considering we haven’t, that’s everything to tell!

Anne: Oh my God! You’ve been married a week!

Mary: This stays between you and me, Anne!

Anne: Oh, but Mary, I have to tell my friends!

Mary: I don’t like your friends!

Anne: Fuck you! The court would die if they knew!

Mary: No!

Anne: But Mary, you can’t tell something this juicy and force me to hold it inside!

Mary: Shh!

Anne: But it’s not you Mary, it’s him. That puny prig.

Mary: No.

Anne: But you don’t even like him!

Mary: What wife likes her husband?

Anne: He’s so gross and I used to think you were gross, but he’s like, super gross. Oh thank God you’re not screwing! Your kids would be so gro– I didn’t realize Papa hadn’t told you the truth about him!

Mary: Oh, what did father say?

Anne: He buggers boys. Said he buggers boys. Said if he takes the throne, England gets two queens.

Mary: …I’ll have nothing to do with silly, irreverent myths, Anne… And tell my other husband I’ll send her the new address.

Anne: Gross! [indecipherable] each other!

*Dutch folk music* / exert of “Klompe Dans” by Camerata Trajectina

Citizen: Welkom in Nederland!

Mary: Oh, yes, thank you.

Citizen: Welkom in Nederland!

Mary: Ah, yes, thank you.

Citizen: Welkom in Nederland!

Mary: Thank you.

*fanfare*

Mary: Oh, good day William!

Citizens: Welkom in Nederland!

Mary: Life in Holland. It’s beautiful. It’s very, very clean.

Citizen: Welkom in Nederland!

Betty: Your ladyship?

Citizens: Welkom in Nederland!

Mary: Thank you! Please keep talking, Betty.

Betty: Your ladyship–

Citizens: Welkom in Nederland!

Mary: Anything in English– thank you!

Betty: *whispers*

Mary: Dank u.

Citizens: Ooo!

*fanfare*

Betty: Supper time!

Mary: I’m not hungry.

Betty: Not you, your ladyship.

Citizen: Welkom in Nederland…

Mary: …Dank u.

Citizens: Ooo!

Mary: I must grin when my heart is fit to break, I must speak when my heart is so oppressed I can scarcely breathe.

Betty: Oh, that’s real pretty. The Bastard, your ladyship.

Mary: The Bastard?

Betty: Your half-cousin, King Charles II– God Save Him–’s bastard son, your ladyship.

Mary: Here?

Betty: Uh-huh.

Mary: Whoo!

Monmouth: Cousin!

William: Let me not interrupt your reunion. Continue this.

Mary: How’s home?

Monmouth: England is good! The family not so much. My father, Charles II–

Mary and Monmouth: God save him!

Monmouth: –seems ill. Parliament hates your father, James (the eventual second) since he’s decided to be Catholic–

Mary and Monmouth: *spit*

Monmouth: –since we just had nine years of civil war, ugh! People would rather avoid any foreseeable royalist drama, so Parliament wrote the Exclusion Act to keep your father off the throne.

Mary: Oh no!

Monmouth: No! Charles II–

Mary and Monmouth: God save him!

Monmouth: –refused to sign it.

Mary: Oh, good.

Monmouth: No! That’s why [indecipherable] is shit! Charles II–

Mary and Monmouth: God save him!

Monmouth: –dissolved Parliament, hoping to form a more moderate one.

Mary: Oh, good!

Monmouth: No! Bad! A group of Protestants then tried to blow up my papa Charlie–

Mary and Monmouth: God save him!

Monmouth: –on his way back from a race to [indecipherable]!

Mary: Oh no!

Monmouth: Oh yes!

Monmouth: –[indecipherable] watching the race, ALL OF NEWMARKET CAUGHT ON FIRE!!

Mary: Oh no!

Monmouth: No, that’s good! Charles’– God save him– house in Newmarket was destroyed, so they had to leave the race early, thus foiling the plot to kill him!

Mary: Oh, God is very generous to our family. And how’s Anne?

Monmouth: Married.

Mary: Oh, to one of the inbred cousins?

Monmouth: We’re royal! Inbred cousins are the only dignified option! How’s life in the Dutch court?

Mary: Um… clean, it’s very, very clean.

Monmouth: Ah, thank God you have William.

Mary: *hysterical laughter* ...Yes. No, I do see William from time to time. He likes to walk from stage left to stage right to stage right to stage left.

Monmouth: Incredibly generous man– looking forward to our dinner tonight! He invited me to hunt tomorrow and all the rest of next week! Very charming!

Mary: You’ve only been onstage for a minute and a half!

Betty: There are more officials for you to meet, your ladyship.

Monmouth: See you around, cuz. Ch-cha! …Ch-cha!

Citizen: Welkom in Nederland!

Mary: Dank u.

Citizens: Ooo!

William: …Welkom in Nederland! *laughter, interrupted by violent coughing*

*fanfare*

Citizen: Welkom in Nederland!

Betty: Alright! Her ladyship has another engagement she must prepare for, so sorry!

Mary: Ugh, what’s next Betty?

Betty: Nothing, your ladyship. I just think you’ve been gawked at enough today.

Mary: Oh, thank you Betty!

Betty: What’s a lady-in-waiting for?

Mary: But I’m afraid William might be cross once he finds out I didn’t finish all the state greetings. I guess I’d actually have to spend time with him for him to be cross with me.

Betty: He’s not one to get cross about things; he’s quite charming actually if you get past the hermetic silence.

Mary: I suppose he prefers the company of *whispered* his men?

*fanfare*

William and Monmouth: *laughing*

William: *starts coughing violently*

Monmouth: I love this guy!

*fanfare*

Betty: You’ve heard that already, have you?

Mary: Is it true?

Betty: Rumors, your ladyship. I also heard rumors of a girl who wrote letters to a woman she called her husband. And I now know a woman who still writes these letters!

Mary: Dismissed!

Betty: Your ladyship.

Mary: Wait. Put the children to bed, will you? Wait– wait, wait wait– just [indecipherable]. Don’t judge me! Dearest, dear, dear, dear, dear, dear– stop!– husband… Let me start again: Dearest, dear, dear, dear, dear, dear husband: You’ve not responded to any of my letter as of late!

Anne: Dearest sister!

Mary: Oh good God, Anne! Still able to interrupt me from across the English Chanel!

Anne: It is with good nice that I write. Since we last spoke… I’m pregnant!

Mary and Anne: *squeeing*

Anne: I know! I know! I fucking know! Ah, someone has to produce some heirs in this family!

Mary: Hey…

Anne: What have you been up to? Oh! My friends are here! Thank you, sis!

Mary: Anne is pregnant. My younger sister is pregnant …I’m jealous! Ugh!

*fanfare*

William and Monmouth: To hunt!

Monmouth: ♪ I’ll sing you eight, O! ♪

William and Monmouth: ♪ Green grow the rushes, O! ♪

William: ♪ What are your eight, O? ♪

Monmouth: ♪ Eight for the April Rainers! ♪

William: ♪ Seven for the seven stars in the sky! ♪

William and Monmouth: ♪ Six for the six proud walkers! ♪ Five for the symbols at your door! ♪ Four for the Gospel makers! ♪ THREE, THREE THE RIVALS! ♪ Two, two the lily-white boys! ♪ Clothed all in green, O! ♪ One is one and all alone! ♪ And evermore shall be so! ♪

*fanfare*

Mary: Betty!

Betty: *imitating the song*

Mary: Stop!

Betty: Oh! Yes, your ladyship.

Mary: My cousin, the Bastard, and Prince William have been spending an awful lot of time together!

Betty: William loves the hunt.

Mary: How do you know?!

Betty: He told me!

Mary: You’ve spoken with him? Am I the only person in the entire world who’s not had a single conversation with my husband?!

Betty: You just need to catch him in the right mood.

*fanfare*

Mary: Dearest, dear, dear, dear, dear, dear– Oh my God, you’re pathetic! Two husbands and neither one replies!

Anne: Okay, so I wasn’t pregnant. Well, I was, but I’m not anymore.

Mary: Oh… Anne I’m so sorry!

Anne: I know. But I will be again. Maybe tonight! God be with me!

Mary: I don’t have to be Mary the Martyr. I can fix him. I can make it work. It’s a job, right? I-I-I-I-I-I-I-I’m just doing my job!

*fanfare*

Mary: Oh, William! Um, I was wondering–

William: Nothing!

Monmouth: The hunt did not go well!

William: Ugh!

Anne: Yup, pregnant!

Mary: Again? Wow!

*fanfare*

Mary: Oh, William! I’d love to talk with you!

William: …but–but–but we’re going to the hunt?

Mary: Yes, but I’d really like to talk with you.

William: …Okay?

Mary: In private.

William: Um… After the hunt?

Mary: Yeah, okay, sure.

*fanfare*

Anne: Okay, that pregnancy wasn’t meant to be, but tonight, THIS IS THE ONE!

Mary: Tonight, this is the one!

*fanfare*

Mary: Oh, William! I’m so looking forward to our evening!

William: Not in the mood!

Monmouth: The stag got away!

*fanfare*

Mary: The stag got away…

Anne: Pregnant!

Mary: Ugh!

*fanfare*

Mary: William, wait! Tonight?

William: Eh!

Mary: Wait! Here, for good luck!

Monmouth: *retching*

*fanfare*

Mary: Tonight! Tonight!

*fanfare*

Mary: Oh, husband! How was the hunt?

William: I got the stag!

Mary: Oh, you must be very merry!

William: I… uh… I’m exhausted. Ugh…

Monmouth: Come on. Shake it off.

William: *violent coughing*

*fanfare*

Mary: I will force myself to love this creature.

*fanfare*

Mary: *screams* ...Oh, oh, oh, oh, oh, oh, oh! It must have been a chill!

William: [indecipherable]!

Mary: Oh, oh no! Oh no! Oh, my slipper! Oh, I–I’m so sorry to, uh, keep you from you duties!

William: I’ve been meaning to schedule a time for our talk.

Mary: Oh, you remembered?

William: What was the subject?

Mary: Us. You and me. Us and our… duties.

William: Ah. Our political duties are not as rulers, but as first citizens. Stadtholder means “the first citizen.” It is very different from life in England. For example, no Dutch citizen kisses my hand. In the Netherlands, we are all equals. Calvinists, Protestants, Jews– even the Jews Mary. [indecipherable] Do you like Holland?

Mary: Oh, it’s very, very clean. I’m not, um… I’m not sure if I’m fitting in.

William: Well, I don’t fit in and I was born here.

Mary: I feel the same way about my family.

William: Our family.

Mary: You’re very close to the Bastard, you know. Hunting and… actually talking and I was thinking, now that we’re actually talking, Anne is pregnant… again.

William: Ja? ...Yes? …This life is not the life you wanted, is that a true thing I just said? Bastard! Where is [indecipherable]?!

Monmouth: *whispers*

William: Your uncle, Charles II–

Mary: God save him!

William: –he’s dead.

Charles: …Oh.

Anne: I had a miscarriage. Oh, and Daddy’s the king now. God save him.

William: To his newly crowned majesty– James II– I send you greetings–

*evil music / exert of “Allegro” by Marco Rosano*

James: James II! Boy, you’re the husband of my eldest daughter, the heir apparent to the throne of England, my father’s grandchild, my son-in-law: it’s King James II!

William: Ah. From one very close ally to another very, very close ally– that is what we still are, right?

James: Say it! Say my name, William!

William: King James II?

James: YES! That’s me, the king! Say it again!

William: King James II, I first wish to send you condolences on the death of your brother, God save hi–

James: I was at his bed when he passed.

William: Surely, you provided much comfort to Charles–

James: Oh, “surely provided much comfort to Charles,” yes! He converted, on his deathbed, to Catholicism!

William: *spits*

James: I’ll never forget his final words to me: “Make sure my whores don’t starve!” Men of power keep mistresses, you know… Do you know that, William?

William: …Well, uh, the reason I write is because, well, I have an offer for you. You see, here in Europe we have a little club. I call it “a league”. Not everyone is allowed into it, actually, but England most definitely would be allowed in “the league”. It is what may be described as “exclusive”. A lot of really great countries have joined: uh, Austria, Spain, the Netherlands, even Savoy.

James: Which countries are not allowed?

William: France.

James: Oh, don’t like Louis, do we?

William: No, I don’t! Louis wants to be king of Europe and he– he is routinely invading us here in Holland. Your son-in-law: who is that? That is me! Which I know you aren’t thrilled about, but your daughter is the Princess of Orange. Louis XIV is invading not just my country, but also her country.

James: Please. Mary’s country is, and always will be, England!

William: And as the future Queen of England, you should protect her.

James: I wouldn’t be so sure about Mary. While she is the eldest, she’s still a woman, and unlike you, William, I plan to perform kingly duties with my queen.

William: I just wanted to invite you to our league.

James: I’m very important, I’ve got to go.

William: France is at our borders as we speak!

James: That’s not my problem. Mary was betrothed to him for years, you know, before she married you. My idiot brother made that happen against my protests but I’m the king now! I wasn’t supposed to be, but God wanted me. God needs me! Sixty years of second-fiddle to King Syphilis and now I’m calling the shots, William! I don’t need you, you need me, and frankly, I don’t really like you.

*evil music / exert of “Allegro” by Marco Rosano*

James: Shh!

William: Why you do that?

*evil music / exert of “Allegro” by Marco Rosano*

James: Shh!! Thank you. Ooo, ooo, how they all loved my brother Charles the Pervert– forced me to marry my daughter to that Dutch abortion! Now, I’d like to speak to the court! You all like… gossip, don’t you? Let’s talk about William.

*retro music / exert of “O Samba Brasileiro” by Walter Wanderley*

Mary: They’re laughing, Maria Regina. They’ve been whispering all morning and I don’t– I don’t want to sound paranoid but… I hear my name. I hear William’s name and I hear… Betty’s name.

Messengers: God save him!

Mary: Hello?

Messenger 1: Your father sends us–

Messenger 2: God save him!

Messenger 1: James II–

Messenger 2: Long may he reign!

Mary: Oh, Father sends you?

Messengers: God save him, yes!

Messenger 2: In his infinite and divine wisdom, we were sent to you–

Messenger 1: His oldest daughter–

Messenger 2: Possibly the future queen–

Mary: Possibly?

Messenger 1: Your mother, the queen–

Mary: She’s not my mother.

Messenger 2: Is hoping to reward England with many sons–

Messenger 1: But one’s eyes are to the future–

Messenger 2: He hasn’t forgotten his eldest.

Mary: Oh, we haven’t spoken–

Messenger 1: He thinks of you often.

Mary: Well, he doesn’t write.

Messenger 1: It’s not that he thinks of you as you are–

Mary: Okay…?

Messenger 2: More for what you could be.

Mary: Well, I’m just happy that he’s thinking of me.

Messenger 2: He’s thinking of your soul.

Messenger 1: Your eternal soul.

Messenger 2: Your eternal, everlasting soul.

Mary: Yup, those both mean the same thing.

Messenger 1: Since Jesus was crucified–

Messenger 2: [indecipherable], mind you–

Mary: Yes, I’ve heard.

Messenger 1: A church was born–

Messenger 2: The Catholic Church!

Mary: *spits* Oh, sorry, habit.

Messenger 1: James–

Messenger 2: King James–

Messengers: God save him!

Messenger 1: Has sent us–

Messenger 2: In his infinite and sacred judgment–

Messengers: To convert you to Catholicism!

Mary: …Yeah, no, I’m good.

Messenger 1: It’s the true faith.

Mary: Yes, next time he could just write.

Messenger 2: [indecipherable] reading materials!

Mary: Right, or even visit–

Messenger 1: [indecipherable] all the celebrities are Catholic.

Messenger 2: Wow, really?

Messenger 1: Really!

Messengers: Like who?

Messenger 2: The pope, you ever heard of him?

Messenger 1: Of course! Wow, the pope is Catholic?

Messengers: Who else?

Messenger 2: God!

Mary: Debatable.

Messengers: Who else?

Messenger 2: Louis XIV.

Messenger 1: Whoah, he’s a heartthrob.

Mary: Yes, okay, I’ve heard enough!

Messenger 1: But Louis’ such a hunk!

Messenger 2: And Catholic!

Messenger 1: And… He’s Catholic?

Messenger 2: You better believe it!

Messengers: A Catholic hunk!

Mary: Okay, I’m married!

Messenger 1: For now.

Mary: …Excuse me?

Messenger 1: Hard to ignore the rumors–

Messenger 2: Naughty rumors–

Messenger 1: Everyone’s tittling–

Messenger 2: A-tittle here, a-tittle there–

Messengers: Tittle everywhere!

Messenger 1: That little Dutch devil–

Messenger 2: Evil Protestant pervert–

Mary: Oh, no, no, no, him buggering boys– that’s just a rumor!

Messenger 1: Boys?!

Messenger 2: Buggering?!

Messenger 1: Boys?!

Messenger 2: Buggering?!

Messengers: Buggering boys?!

Messenger 1: More like buggering the help.

Messenger 2: Dutch devil!

Mary: With the help?

Messengers: Buggering the help.

Messenger 1: Yes, everyone knows–

Messenger 2: Knows her name even.

Mary: Do you know their name?

Messenger 1: Well, I’ve said everyone–

Messenger 2: We’re part of everyone–

Mary: So, yes?

Messengers: Yes!

Mary: What’s his name?

Messenger 1: His name?

Messenger 2: His name?

Messengers: Squinty Betty!

Messenger 1: Squinty Betty’s a man?

Messenger 2: I didn’t know she was a man!

Messeger 1: No, I bet Betty’s a man.

Messenger 2: No, man, she’s a wo-man.

Messenger 1: Wo-man?

Messengers: Wo-man, she’s a wo-man!

Mary: Wait, Squinty Betty?!

Messenger 1: And the Dutch devil!

Messenger 2: Evil Dutch devil!

Messenger 1: Evil!

Messenger 2: Evil: that’s not good!

Messenger 1: No, it’s not good!

Messenger 2: That’s the opposite of good!

Messengers: And what’s the opposite of good?

Mary: Evil!

Messangers: *scream*

Mary: *screams*

Messenger 1: [indecipherable] James–

Messenger 2: King James–

Messengers: God save him!

Messenger 1: Has the fires burning.

Mary: Fires?

Messenger 2: To feel the heat.

Messenger 1: Ow!

Messenger 2: Careful.

Messenger 1: It’s the heat.

Messenger 2: I feel it.

Messenger 1: [indecipherable] King James [indecipherable] our beloved England [indecipherable] burning more evil people than Charles ever did.

Mary: Wait, he’s burning people?

Messenger 2: [indecipherable]

Messenger 1: Evil people!

Mary: He’s burning people?!

Messenger 2: [indecipherable]

Messenger 1: Evil people!

Mary: Father’s burning people?!

Messenger 2: [indecipherable]

Messenger 1: Evil people!

Mary: Jesus!

Messengers: Praise him!

Messenger 1: Praise Jesus!

Messenger 2: Praise God!

Messenger 1: Praise the pope!

Messenger 2: And above all, praise the king!

Messengers: God save King James II, long may he reign!

Mary: …William and Betty– no… No, I’ll have nothing to do with silly, irreverent myths… Betty! Um, throw these away. And, um, put the children to bed, will you? Oh– oh– oh– oh– oh, um… question: how is it you always to find William in such a talkative mood?

Betty: I just run into him.

*laid back retro music / exert of “Rain” by Walter Wanderley*

Mary: It’s late. No, you don’t have to leave. You were in Betty’s room. Do you know how I know that? Maybe because the entire court is talking about it! No, you don’t need to talk! I have tried to get you to talk for months, you do not need to talk now! Fuck off, Betty! The longest I’ve ever spent with you is [indecipherable]. You’re impossible! You’re thick! Uncaring! Cruel! My life here is suffering and now you make me the fool? To my father, to the court, and to myself! I’m the fool! You know, it was better when I thought you were gay; I thought “Well, at least it’s not my fault” but now I know, “No, it is my fault!” You turned down marrying me once before, why did you have to say yes this time? I was engaged to Louis XIV! I could’ve been in Versailles, in the most beautiful place on Earth and I would’ve been happy– no, I would be happy! And I would be liked and my family would love me and I would’ve done everything right, but then you came along! And ruined it! And everything! And me! And– this isn’t right! No! This is not how this was supposed to go! It was supposed to be me and Louis and it would’ve been right and normal and then I would be normal and happy and I don’t know– I don’t know why you had to say yes this time! Louis– Louis– Louis is– Louis– Louis– Louis– Louis– Louis– Louis– Louis’ the king! Right? Right? And he’s beautiful! I assume. I’ve seen the portraits– which are rarely accurate– but I’ve always wanted to marry him! Well, I was always supposed to marry him– but at least he’s nice! Yes, I’ve not met him, but at least I’ve heard that he’s ni– well, I guess I’ve actually not heard anything, but I was alway supposed to ma– Well, I guess I always– Okay, well, I guess I’ve never really actually thought about it! Well, I guess I never actually like Louis, or men… Men in general. I mean, I write to a woman who I call my husband, and I’ve always had a crush on her, but she’s not very nice to me, and she writes to my sister more than she writes to me, AND I DON’T KNOW IF I’M A LESBIAN, OKAY?! I don’t like men! But I don’t know if I like women either– historically speaking, there’s some things we just can’t know about me, okay, historically speaking– but personally speaking, you know what? I’M FIFTEEN YEARS OLD!! How am I supposed to know?! You know what? No! I didn’t want to marry Louis, now that I think about it, because, well, I never actually thought about it because, well, I’M NEVER SUPPOSED TO THINK! But I am gonna think! Like you said, we’re just first citizens here, right? So I’m allowed to think! So I’m gonna think! So I’m gonna think! Right, let me think! …Okay. I have something to say. I’m fifteen years old, William. Do you have any idea how scary this is? Leaving my country, marrying you, a stranger, I… I don’t speak the language, I don’t have any friends, and you, my husband, are still a stranger. You don’t have to love me. You don’t have to like me. But please don’t be cruel to me. I… I do not know how much… more a fifteen year old girl can take.

William: …Betty’s a spy. Before I married you, I had asked her to inform me about you.

Mary: Yeah, a spy, that’s the best you could come up with–

William: It’s true.

Mary: Yes, my lady-in-waiting is a spy! …Well, what did Betty the spy say?

William: She said you weren’t like your family.

Mary: Well, I tried to be like them.

William: I never tried.

Mary: Well, I think that makes you honest.

William: But not liked.

Mary: Well, they don’t like either of us. We share that at least.

William: I need to say something.

Mary: Okay! Good! Yeah! Okay! I’m here! I can listen! …Is it a problem? Is it personal? Is it about what I think it’s about? I know what it is, William.

William: You do?

Mary: Yes. It’s about–

Mary and William: Your penis / Your father

William: Wait, what?!

Mary: What about my father?

William: He terrifies me.

Mary: Oh, yeah, me too.

William: The balance of peace in this world is a delicate thing and James isn’t.

Mary: You can talk to me about these things, William. I know who my father is, you’re not going to hurt my feelings.

William: Yes… My penis?

Mary: Oh, um, well, I mean… why haven’t we…?

William: I’m uncomfortable around–

Mary: Me.

William: …people.

Mary: Oh, yeah, well, same, haha... But, um… It’s just a job, right? We would just be… doing our… our job.

*classical music / exert of “Zadok The Priest, Hwv 258″ by the English Chamber Orchestra*

William: *panting*

William: *panting*

William: *panting*

Mary: I HAVE NEWS! …I’M PREGNANT!! I did it! William did it! We, um… well, obviously, we did it. Oh my God, I feel a strange thing!

William: Are you okay?!

Mary: No! Yes! No! …I feel… happy.

*cheerful folk music / “Bransle de Bourgogne” by Brisk Recorder Quartet Amsterdam*

Anne: I have news!

Mary: Hello, Anne!

Anne: Hello, Mary.

Mary: You’re pregnant?

Anne: No, Mumsy is.

Mary: She’s not our mother.

Anne: They say if it’s a boy, God has chosen to make England Catholic again, but that’s only a 50-50 chance.

Mary: No, he wouldn’t baptize him Catholic, Anne.

Anne: I wouldn’t be so sure.

Mary: But we’ve just had nine years of civil war, why would he lead us into another?

Anne: To save us from the Dutch Devil.

William: Me?

Anne: I prefer “the Dutch Abortion” but “devil” isn’t bad. Gotta go!

Mary: God be with thee, Anne.

Anne: P.S. I may be pregnant, not sure.

*cheerful folk music / “Bransle de Bourgogne” by Brisk Recorder Quartet Amsterdam*

Mary: Ohhh!

Messengers: Glorious day!

Messenger 1: Tra-la!

Messenger 2: We’ve been sent to you by your father, the king!

Messenger 1: God save him!

Messenger 2: Long may he reign!

Mary: Again, he could always just write.

Messenger 1: He has his own pregnancy to attend to.

Messenger 2: His future son!

Mary: Are you certain about that?

Messenger 1: God ordained it!

Messenger 2: A Catholic England!

Messengers: Tra-la!

Messenger 1: We’ve been sent to beseech you.

Messenger 2: Consider your child’s–

Messenger 1: Everlasting soul!

Messenger 2: Baptize your child in the Catholic faith!

Mary: *spits* …morning sickness.

Messenger 1: For your child!

Messenger 2: For your father!

Messenger 1: You must respect him!

Messenger 2: Honor him!

Messenger 1: It’s in the Bible!

Messenger 2: “Honor thy father”!

Messengers: The Fifth Commandment!

Messenger 1: Honor the king of England!

Messenger 2: God save him!

Messenger 1: Long may he reign!

Messenger 2: For England!

Messengers: Make the baby Catholic!

William: Mary?

Mary: Yes?

William: Honor is not obeying.

*cheerful folk music / “Bransle de Bourgogne” by Brisk Recorder Quartet Amsterdam*

Anne: I have news!

Mary: You’re pregnant.

Anne: Besides that, Mary, but yes.

Mary: Oh, congratulations!

Anne: Yes, same to you!

Mary: Thank you!

Anne: Thank you! I have news: people are talking about Mother’s pregnancy–

Mary: Ah, she’s not our mother.

Anne: –And they think it’s all a big fake! Everyone is saying how [video skips]

Mary: Who’s saying that?

Anne: The court, Parliament, everyone! Oh, they don’t like Papa; they say every nineteen out of twenty want him gone.

Mary: Yes, but not likely cause the king does not–

William: Mary–

Anne: Ew!

Mary: Anne!

Anne: Sorry… Hello, William… glad you got my sister pregnant. *retches*

Mary: No. No, it’s not right for me to dance… No! No, I can have this moment! I can be happy! Yeah, nothing’s gonna stop me– *claps* –from enjoying this moment! Go ahead!

*cheerful folk music / “Bransle de Bourgogne” by Brisk Recorder Quartet Amsterdam*

Monmouth: Ah! I thank you for the generosity both you and William have shown me over the last undetermined period of time, but I must leave.

William: Oh, where’re you going? I was going to plan another hunt.

Monmouth: There comes a time in every mans life where the cruel, [indecipherable] eye of destiny looks upon him! The hero of every story has his moment of action! [indecipherable] standing on the precipice of glory to see the apotheosis of my journey’s end on that glorious mountain green! Today I sail! This story shall no longer wander unguided like an orphan clinging from one vague historical anecdote to another! No! Search no longer, poor play, for you have found your hero! And that hero… it’s me. Someone has to save our England! I have a mighty army of almost one hundred men! Eighty two to be exact!

Mary: Wait, with eighty two men you’re planning to–

Monmouth: Invade England, seize the crown, depose your father, my uncle, and save England from Catholic *spits* tyranny?

Mary: You’re planning on doing this with…

Monmouth: Eighty two men! Historically, this is what I did, so yah. [indecipherable] sweet cousin, it will be a Protestant England! ALL HAIL KING BASTARD THE FIRST! CHA-CHAH! Ah! He-yaaaaaaaaaaaa!!

Mary: Eighty two men can’t overthrow the king of England!

William: He’s hoping the people will rise.

Mary: What would they do to father?

William: Kill him.

Mary: Ah! Ah!

William: Okay, okay, okay! The Bastard doesn’t have any support, your father will be fine! You can have this moment; you deserve to be happy.

Mary: How? I may not like my family, but I love them. Yes, I-I deserve to be happy, but Father doesn’t deserve to die!

William: He won’t, he’ll be fine!

Mary: You can’t know that for sure.

William: I do! …I-I promise you– I-I… I promise on the life of our child that nothing will happen to your father. I’ll see to it.

Mary: You will?

William: Mmhm.

Mary: …Okay… Okay, yes, okay… I’m happy.

William: Rest. Nurse? Take my wife to her bedchamber. Make sure she doesn’t want for anything.

Mary: Ooo!

William: [indecipherable]. James?

*evil music / exert of “Allegro” by Marco Rosano*

James: James?! Use my full title!

William: I have grave news.

James: Oh, has France invaded you again?

William: Your nephew, the Duke of Monmouth–

James: Who?

William: …The Bastard.

James: Oh, why didn’t you say?! How is the lad?

William: He’s leading an army to depose you and take the crown for himself.

James: *laughs* You’re having a laugh! …Shit! How dare he! Doesn’t he know who I am?! I’m the king! I’m very well respected and loved– everybody loves me! *gasps* Why doesn’t he love me?! Oh, he’s just a little shit bastard, I’ll crush him! How dare he not see how awesome I am! How powerful and strong and– oh! I am so mad right now! It was a good day too, it was going really well, I had just finished telling the queen “I’m gonna make it a good one today, you know!” Ugh, I am so mad right now I’m literally shaking! *gasps* I need to eat something!

William: I hope you now see that our relationship is very…

*execution drums / exert from “March to the Scaffold” by Paul Edward*

Headsman: *giggling* For your crimes against the crown, you are sentenced to death!

James: Say hello to your father for me, boy. Any last words?

Monmouth: Fuck off!

James: How dare you! Kill the bastard!

Headsman: God save the king!

James: No one questions my authority!

Monmouth: Piss off!

James: Bastard?!

Monmouth: I have still a few [indecipherable]

James: How dare you! [indecipherable]

Headsman: Thank you. One more!

James: Who’s the douchebag now, huh?

Monmouth: You are!

James: Bastard! [indecipherable] I am not a douchebag, I am the king of England!

Monmouth: Douche of England more like it!

James: Cut off his head!

Headsman: [indecipherable] does anyone want to take over, huh?

Monmouth: It takes– ugh! –and this is all true– ugh! –five blows! Ugh! King Douche II! Ugh– *splutters*

James: Who’s the douchebag now, huh? Not me. I am not a douche! You hear me, Bastard?! I am not a douche! You hear me, England? I am not a douche! I am King James II! Not King Douche II! King James II! Charles didn’t respect me, and you, you didn’t respect me, but my people will. OR I’LL FUCKING MAKE THEM! They will fucking tremble in love and adoration– ohh! I want hundreds to pay for this bastard’s actions! I don’t care who they were, if they even so much as saw him walk by, they are to be executed. Churchyard trees are to be littered with corpses, the military men will be order to play in time with the twitching of their feet! And if you think that this is too much, too cruel, I’ll remind you: One, I am just being historically accurate, and two, I am the goddamn motherfucking King of England! William!

William: …your majesty.

James: Oh, I couldn’t’ve done it without you! …But I know what this is. Scared to lose a few more windmills to Louis, huh? What, you thought that you could bribe me with this little quid-pro-quo?

William: I didn’t do it for you, I did it for Mary.

James: Mary? Don’t you dare bring my daughter into this. What? You thought that I was so stupid that little nugget of information would have me on all-fours like a whipped bitch begging to do you any favor you asked? No! That little shit was nothing! I could have fought him off while wiping my ass! I owe you nothing! France may be at your borders, but England could join them just as easily! God knows Louis and I talk about it. *laughs* Tip-toe around me, William. Now, I’d like to speak to my daughter. Now!

William: Mary, could you come here, please? I have a letter for you from your father.

Mary: He’s safe! Thank you, William!

James: Mary, my eldest daughter! *laughs* You know, I fought your uncle Charles about you having to marry that–

Mary: [indecipherable] William’s wonderful, actually. Yes, I–I miss my home very much, but Holland, it’s very, very clean.

James: [indecipherable] they tell me you’re considering a Catholic baptism.

Mary: Oh, no I’m not, Father.

James: You have a responsibility to me, Mary. Biblically, I am your father and you must honor me.

Mary: Well– I do honor you.

James: Then you must obey me.

Mary: Well, honor is not obeying.

James: From King Douche II to you now?

Mary: King Douche?

James: How dare you! I am very [indecipherable] you talk back to me. I am your father and you must honor me!

Mary: Enough of this.

James: You will make the child Catholic!

Mary: Stop!

James: We all know you have no choice. You’re a prisoner.

Mary: Please…

James: [indecipherable], Mary, there’s hope in the distance!

Mary: What are you suggesting?

James: Just because you… lie with the Dutch Dog doesn’t mean you need to get its flees.

Mary: He’s my husband!

James: *laughs* William isn’t long for this world.

Mary: What are you planning?

James: Oh, come now!

Mary: What are you plann– ah! Ah!

James: *laughs* You look like him. Can’t even walk without wheezing, spits blood; your time in the tower is almost over, Mary.

Mary: He is the father of my child. William, could you come here, please?

James: *scoffs* Is he the father? Last I heard, he couldn’t perform.

Mary: You’re one to talk!

James: My performance isn’t to be questioned!

Mary: I know the rumors of the queen’s great belly!

James: [indecipherable] rumors: just a few!

Mary: Nineteen out of twenty! That’s what– ah! Ah!

James: Make the child Catholic!

Mary: *spits*

James: Your mother–

Mary: She’s not my mother!

James: No, your real mother! Remember the day she died?

Mary: Please, Father, I’m in pain! I don’t want–

James: The day she died the priest came to administer her last rites, to cleanse her soul. Without it, your mother would be damned for all eternity! Her skin would scorch, blisters would form– weeping blisters!

Mary: *voice breaking* …William?

James: A priest came… and she refused him.

Mary: William! …That’s a lie!

James: After my counseling she refused the Protestant priest. The Catholic bishop was called in and all was confessed. So, in your philosophy, Mary, is it your mother or your child who’s damned to unfathomable pain and suffering? Which is the one true faith? If you baptize that child Protestant, it means you believe it’s your mother suffering, right now as we speak. Have you ever considered hellfire, Mary? *laughs* It’s something to think about. Oh! Your new mummy’s in labour now. Got to run.

Anne: Mary– and William *scoffs*– the queen’s had a baby. It’s a boy. They’ve baptized him Catholic *spits* toldja so. But there’s something else. I have some gossip! All of London– they think it’s a changeling! They think it’s not a real child. They think she snuck a child into her bed to pass off as our brother! Oh! Papa’s going mad. Something’s going to happen. Something bad.

William: May I see it?

Betty: There’s nothing to see. ...You should go to her, William.

*dramatic music / exert from “2020” by SUUNS*

♪ And what you see is really what you see ♪ ♪ What you, what you, what you, what you ♪ ♪ Do what you please, the thing what you see ♪ ♪ What you, what you, what you, what you ♪ ♪ And what you see you feel ♪ ♪ Coming real, take your way ♪ ♪ All through the way… ♪

~ Intermission ~

*guitar strumming*

Chorus: ♪ Good fortune [indecipherable] William and Mary [indecipherable]-tend ♪ ♪ May glories increase and their lives never end ♪ ♪ [indecipherable] daily successes our nation may find ♪ ♪ For England [indecipherable] they both are designed ♪

Mary: William?

William: Huh?

Mary: Why is there a Greek chorus?

William: [indecipherable] chorus now.

Mary: Yes, why?

Chorus: ♪ Over the hills and it must be done ♪ ♪ To England, Glorious Revolution! ♪ ♪ William commands and we will obey ♪ ♪ Over the hills and far away ♪

Mary: Shoot, shoot, shoot! What story with a Greek chorus ends well?!

William: It’s just a device, Mary, it doesn’t mean–

Mary: The letter! They’re here because of the letter!

William: We received a letter?

Mary: From England. They call themselves–

Chorus: ♪ THE IMMORTAL SEVEN! ♪

Mary and William: The Immortal Seven.

Mary: Parliament has invited us to England.

William: They’ve invited us to invade England.

Mary: Why would they do that?

William: I don’t know.

Mary: We can’t invade!

Chorus: ♪ Invade you must, there’s no time to waste ♪ ♪ James is a monster! Our country defaced ♪ ♪ Blood in the streets and corpses in trees ♪ ♪ Come and put our minds at ease ♪

William: Your father is in talks to invade with Louis. Where? Here! He’s–he’s had his boy and he’s baptized him Catholic and all of England is on the brink of Civil War again!

Mary: What does that have to do with us?

William: Um, well… They want us to depose your father.

Mary: It has to be us?

William: I don’t see another alternative.

Mary: Shoot, shoot, shoot! Is it right?

William: Right? We–we save England, we save the Netherlands, we keep Europe in balance– yes.

Mary: But is it right for a daughter to depose her father? It’s the Fifth Commandment, right? “Honor thy father!”

William: He doesn’t need to die.

Mary: Well, I know my history, William! You only depose a king by killing him. How many former kings do you see walking around?! But… He can’t invade Holland! It’s your country and you care so much for it and the people and it’s so very, very clean– Okay, yes! We should do this. But we have to do it a different way. No blood. No killing. If it’s an invasion, it has to be a bloodless invasion!

William: I don’t know…

Mary: Can you try?

William: Invade one of the most powerful countries in the world, other-throw its king, and not hurt anyone in the process?

Mary: Please?

William: …Ja.

Chorus: *gasps* ♪ What’s that you say? ♪ ♪ We prick up our ears ♪ ♪ [indecipherable] you come ♪ ♪ To end all our fears ♪ ♪ Think of what you both could be ♪ ♪ You’ll go down in history! ♪

Mary: We could, couldn’t we! Imagine all that “First Citizen” stuff here in the Netherlands– we could do that in England! You could bring all of your wonderful ideas to my country! Imagine: Freedom of religion!

William: Freedom of the press!

Mary: And no more torturing! Or bloody pomp and circumstance! And we do it bloodless! We ride into England and the people will rise with us and father will say “Oh wow, that’s what the people want!” And it’ll all work out [indecipherable] Why shouldn’t we be king and queen?! Neither one of us want the damn job so we’re the ones who should have it…

William: Would I be king?

Mary: Yes.

William: Who would you be?

Mary: The queen.

William: Right, but who’s the one in charge?

Mary: …Oh.

William: It would be you, you’re first in line.

Mary: Oh, me? No. 

Chorus: *murmuring in agreement*

Mary: No, no, no, no, no, no, no, no, no! I’d rather not.

William: It’s not up to you, you’re first in line.

Mary: Ah, but you! You–you are after me!

William: Right, but you still come first.

Mary: But I don’t want to be queen– okay, wait, wait! Let me think… Okay, solution. ….We’ll… both be king and queen!

William: It does not work that way.

Mary: [spluttering] Listen! We go to England; you raise an army and depose– aw– depose father and then we say “Alright! We’re both king and queen!” What’re they gonna do, say no?

William: Joint monarchs– it would be a first.

Mary: [indecipherable] I don’t know if it’s right. God says to honor thy father, but… that doesn’t feel right.

William: We can say no, Mary.

Mary: No… You okay?

Anne: Yes, quite, sister.

Mary: Okay, good.

Anne: Stop staring at me!

Mary: Let’s keep going. And my heart says to bother you.

William: Your heart says that? What do we want to do?

Chorus: ♪ To England, to England! We sail, we sail! To England, to England! At last, at last! A tempest, a tempest! Begins, begins! And [indecipherable], and [indecipherable]! [indecipherable], [indecipherable]! ♪

Soloist: ♪ To England, we sail / [indecipherable] / [indecipherable] / [indecipherable] ♪

Chorus: ♪ The men are afraid ♪ ♪ There’s no debate ♪ ♪ Revolution now must wait ♪

*storm sounds*

Mary: Ahh!

William: THEY’RE CALLING IT THE CATHOLIC WIND! WE CANNOT SAIL FOR ENGLAND UNTIL IT PASSES! WE’VE ALREADY LOST A THOUSAND HORSES! WE HAVE FORTY THOUSAND MEN WAITING TO INVADE– BUT THIS WIND!!

Mary: There have been so many omens! This wind; the miscarriage! Is it a sign from God?! Can a daughter who deposes her father be a Christian?! Can doing what’s right and God’s will be at odds?!

William: WHAT?!

Mary: CAN DOING WHAT’S RIGHT AND GOD’S WILL BE AT ODDS?!

William: Oh, it is over.

Chorus: ♪ [indecipherable] ♪ ♪ William and Mary, our God has ordained ♪ ♪ Rex and Regina, this we say ♪ ♪ Sail on the future king’s birthday ♪

Mary: Wait, really?

William: Ja. It’s my birthday. The fourth. Historically, that’s just how it happened to work out.

Mary: Oh! Well, that’s a good omen, right? Happy birthday to you!

William: Yes.

Mary: William, wait! Look… I respect you. And, under normal circumstances, I would never breach this, um, unspoken agreement, but, um, it’s his birthday– ah, could we– um, uh– you know– could we do just one round of “Happy Birthday”? Um, what’s a good starting note? *hums* Is that good? *hums* Ready?

Mary, chorus, and audience: ♪ Happy birthday to you! ♪ ♪ Happy birthday to you! ♪ ♪ Happy birthday dear William! ♪ ♪ Happy birthday to your! ♪

*cheering*

William: This is the greatest birthday present I’ve ever received. Thank you.

Chorus: ♪ William has come and we will defend ♪ ♪ To kick out the tyrant and and then will ascend ♪ ♪ His first steps on English soil ♪ ♪ Defender of faith and [indecipherable] ♪

William: Hello? Where the hell is everyone?

Peasant: *screams* Oh, it’s [indecipherable] Day. Everyone’s busy catching cats.

William: Ah. Well, um, I am William of Orange, Defender of the Faith and– wait, why are you catching cats?

Peasant: To [indecipherable] the pope.

William: Ah. Well, I am William of Orange, Defende– the pope?

Peasant: *sighs* Not the real one sadly, but yeah. [indecipherable] cats and set them on fire.

William: Why you do this?

Peasant: For God! It’s tradition! …You’re not from around here are ya, foreigner!

Chorus: ♪ Over the hills and it must be done ♪ ♪ To England, Glorious Revolu– ♪

Peasant: [indecipherable] you are making such a racket!

William: I am William of Orange, Defender of the Faith!

*cat screeches*

Peasant: [indecipherable] you scared the cat!

William: Good woman, have you not heard of our coming?

Peasant: …[indecipherable] in England?

William: I–

Peasant: [indecipherable] and whip em til their backs be bloody!! Ngyeehhhhhhhhh!!

William: *screams* I AM WILLIAM OF ORANGE! I COME FROM THE HAGUE BY INVITATION OF PARLIAMENT! Good lady! We come to overthrow King James II.

Peasant: *spits*

William: Progress. I am the [indecipherable]’s husband and myself, third in line. We come to bring stability and religious… freedom to this… country.

Peasant: Oh, you and what army?

Chorus: ♪ We are [indecipherable] ♪ ♪ Join is so you [indecipherable] ♪ ♪ [indecipherable] ♪ ♪ James will soon be overthrown ♪

Peasant: Oh, [indecipherable], sir! I don’t have anything of worth but… I’d be proud to give you my cats.

William: *coughs*

Peasant: Oh, must be the cat smoke.

William: Oh, this air is filthy. I need a little rest.

Messenger: ♪ One man tried to poison your food ♪

Anne: ♪ Some with bullets [indecipherable] ♪

Chorus: ♪ Mostly [indecipherable] ready to fight ♪

Charles: ♪ [indecipherable] horse was white! ♪

William: Let us move forward!

James: William! What the hell do you think you’re doing?!

Chorus: ♪ James was appalled by the sight that he saw ♪

James: ♪ I’ll have your head, boy, remember [indecipherable]! ♪

Chorus: ♪ Soon his generals started to fall ♪

James: ♪ Troops, make an example of him! ♪

Chorus: ♪ James’ troops then began to abandon ♪ ♪ Our glorious William now [indecipherable] ♪

James: Did you not all swear your loyalty?! You are all my subjects! *gaps* Mary! Ungrateful daughter! You must swear your loyalty to your father! It is God’s will! The Fifth Commandment! Consider the hell– *splutters* What the hell? Anne, Messenger, and Monmouth: ♪ Blood from his nose ♪ ♪ [indecipherable] to God ♪ ♪ James was denied ♪ ♪ His royal throne ♪

James: No! No! What the hell?! *spluttering* The Fifth Commandment– shit! This is terribly inconvenient

Anne, Messenger, and Monmouth: ♪ To James [indecipherable] ♪ ♪ His nose really bled ♪

James: WAIT, WHAT?!!

Anne, Messenger, and Monmouth: ♪ To France, King James ♪ ♪ Finally fleeeeeeeeeeee– ♪

James: STOP SINGING!

Anne, Messenger, and Monmouth: ♪ –eeeeeeeedddddd ♪

James: What, is this really historically accurate?! You’re just gonna let me go, William?! HA! Coward! I will return, William, I promise you that! Mary! Ungrateful daughter! You will suffer the fait of an unfaithful daughter. This is not how my story was… suppose to be told… To France.

Chorus: ♪ William has won now that James has fled ♪

William: *prolonged violent coughing*

Chorus: ♪ London is happy! ♪ ♪ With bonfires lit ♪ ♪ Willy’s lungs can’t take the smoke ♪ ♪ And all the fog just made him choke ♪ ♪ Over the hills and it must be done ♪ ♪ To England, Glorious Revolution! ♪ ♪ William commanded and now we’ve won ♪ ♪ Our new day begins with the rising of the sun! ♪ ♪ Of the sun! ♪

William: *groaning, gasping for breath*

[needs-to-stop-looking-at-yigas]

I feel bad asking because I feel like you're probably tired of everyone being suddenly obsessed with your mpreg fic, but Imma try anyway: is there any chance you'd consider writing a little pregnant sex scene, with Sooga just lusting/obsessing over Kohga's giant tummy? I man, Sooga's breeding kink has got to be beyond satisfied now. With a side order of him talking to the babies and creeping Kohga out, because that image is, frankly, hilarious? XD

No no! Ask away for ANY of my fics! Seriously. Stroke my ego. Pls.

(no cap im amazed that out of ALL my fics, the one with preggy Kohga is the one people liked the most. Ya'll fucked. I love it)

"Move move move-"

Sooga didn't mean to be so rude, but in this crowded hallway, he had to be. Master Kohga was awaiting his dessert, and Sooga was running late (some issue with the ice that he SWORE he took care of earlier). Kohga had been greatly affected by the new pregnancy, mainly in temperament. He was bossier, louder, angrier than he had ever been. And Sooga loved waiting upon him. He made his way to his room, carefully opening the door with his tray in his hands. Kohga sat there, nude, save for his silk robe, and looking bigger than ever. He had his arms folded across his chest, clearly not happy.

"You took. SO long, Sooga."

"I apologize, there was a situation with the ice. But, it's here now. Please, enjoy."

Kohga accepted it from him, before turning the bowl over in his hands. If he accepted it, he’d eat it. If he didn’t, well. Sooga would feel his fury. He breathed a sigh of relief once Kohga started to tuck in, seeming to no longer be quite so angry. Sooga put his cup of tea next to him on the night stand. He made it extra hot, so it’d be just warm enough for him to properly enjoy it. Kohga stuffed his mouth full of his dessert, before sighing comfortably. Good, that was a sound that meant he wouldn’t get hit.

“Sooga.”

“Yes, Master Kohga?”

“You keep staring.”

“I...apologize. You being pregnant is still so jarring to me. You...look exactly how I pictured you.”

“Pfft. Simp.”

He chuckled, finishing off his ice cream, and handing the bowl to Sooga. Sooga took the bowl from him, and put it on the tray, right next to the tea. He was about to hand him the drink, before stopping.

“Master Kohga? You look sore. Would you like a massage?”

Kohga thought it over, before shrugging, putting his arms behind his head.

“Yeah. I’d like that actually. Dealing with this is hell.”

“I’m so sorry, my Master. Please, allow me to ease your poor aches.”

Sooga oiled up his hands, before crawling into bed. Due to his rather obvious belly, Sooga had to massage his hands, legs, and shoulders, rather than having him lay down on his back. Not that he minded. He liked seeing Master Kohga like this. Leaned back against his bed, surrounded by sheets and pillows, just letting himself be adored. Sooga's hands wandered from his shoulders, down to his hands. He held onto one of his hands, lightly massaging his fingers in his hands. It felt good, seeing his fiery husband all relaxed, all settled, all...incredible, really.

“About time you finally put some damn work in, Sooga. I was getting SO pissed after my video call with Mipha.”

“Did she say something rude?”

“No, she was hanging out with Revali, and HE called me a lazy ass. I told him ‘I made a lung, the fuck did YOU do today?’. Guy is so stuck up.”

“Crass as he may be, he has talents to back him up, Master Kohga. But of course, you’re in the right.”

“COURSE I’m in the-oh, that’s the spot~”

Sooga chuckled. His poor Master Kohga needed his knuckles cracked occasionally, and he could tell it made him feel SO much better.

“You needed that, poor thing.”

“Ugh, I really did. Now what do YOU need?”

“Hmm?”

“You’re gawking. You want something. I’m in a better mood, so what do you want?”

He loved how well Kohga knew him. He leaned up to him, lightly pushing his mask to the side. He pressed his lips right against his, and felt his body shiver once Kohga’s fingers lightly fumbled with his ears. He pulled away, trying not to show how excited he was from just a simple kiss.

“You. I want you. If I may be so humbled.”

“Can we even DO that?”

“We can, I asked Mipha.”

Kohga snorted, lightly shaking his head.

“Course YOU’D ask, pervert. Alright, alright. Come on then, ravage me~”

Oh this image would be burned into his mind for the rest of his life. The sight of a nude, plump Kohga, arms spread out to embrace him, and a smirk at his lips. Was he a lucky man or what?

“With pleasure, my Master.”

He wrapped his arms around him, embracing him as he smothered his lips in his. He kept going for kiss after kiss, even while he pulled his already hard cock out. He had been aroused since he walked in, and suffice to say, he was plenty ready. He kept himself snuggled between Master Kohga’s legs, as he slowly pushed himself in. He was usually more romantic, but he couldn’t go through the slow process of prepping him, not today. Instead, he kept his hands on his hips, pulling and pushing him in rhythm to his own movements.

“Hoo, look at you today. It’s crazy, I can boss you around all day, and you can still get super hard for me at the end of the day.”

Sooga nodded, letting Kohga just sit there and watch. Kohga didn’t want to do any work aside from checking out Sooga’s frame, and Sooga didn’t mind at all.

“Always. I love it when you boss me around. It means you have a use of me. Means there’s a task for me, and only me. And I’d do anything for you.”

“Stop.”

Sooga whined as he forced himself to stop moving. His cock was already throbbing inside of him, and every fiber of his being hated not making love to him. 

“D-did I say something wrong?”

“No. You just whine when I make you stop, and it’s cute. Now, pump my cock for me. I’d do it, buuut well. You’re doing it for me.”

Sooga nodded, obeying him as he stroked his cock, nice and fast, just how he liked it. Kohga chuckled, running his fingers through his hair as he sat there, and enjoyed it. He looked right up at Sooga the whole time, letting him suffer. But Sooga didn’t mind. He liked knowing he was pleasing him. Pleasing not only his love, but the bearer of his children. Then Kohga snapped his fingers, and Sooga finally continued, thrusting himself into his ass while he continued to pump his cock.

“You’re so beautiful, Master Kohga. So precious to me.”

He buried his face in his neck, kissing at his bare, warm skin. His lips roamed from his neck, right down to his belly. Something about kissing them as he did...it did something to him. Kohga cried out as Sooga wasn’t being so gentle as he was a second ago, mainly in surprise.

“Geez Sooga, easy boy, easy!”

Kohga tried to hide his arousal in laughter, but Sooga knew better. The way he started to grumble, the way his grip on his body turned desperate.

“I can’t. I really can’t. Look at you. So beautiful, so full of life.”

“Oh. Oh god dammit this was a pregnancy kink-”

Sooga silenced his lips with a kiss, forcing his moans into his lips. Once he parted, Kohga rolled his eyes.

“You wanna fuck me because I’m pregnant. God dammit, Sooga, I thought you were gonna be fucking normal for once.”

“But you’re SO lovely! Look at you! You’re EVERYTHING I wanted! Not to mention ever since your pregnancy, you’ve been SO full of hormones. I can sense them. I can feel them. You’re so needy and demanding, I adore fulfilling every single need of yours. Be it food, massages, or this. I could make love to you for hours if you let me.”

Kohga wanted to tell him off, but god dammit how can you talk shit when you were getting a lovesick stud fucking you up the ass. He bit onto his knuckle, already feeling like he was leaking precum all over Sooga’s poor hand.

“Whatever, Sooga. Just finish me off, you know I get pissed when I don’t finish.”

“So angry~....do you think they’ll be angry too? How adorable, three fussy little ones!”

Sooga was somehow able to keep up the pace while he leaned down to kiss at his tummy.

“Are you three going to be a problem, just like your father? Are you going to be this cute? Are you going to be as cute as he is? I know the answer to the last one! Yes I do!”

Kohga smacked his face with his palm, sighing. God dammit, why did he have to make it weird when he was getting a full throbbing cock right up the ass.

“Sooga, I do NOT want to nut while you’re talking to three fucking fetusus.”

“But they’re precious! I love them! I love YOU! I care about nothing but the four of you!”

Kohga wanted to tell him to shut up, but Sooga let go of his hip, and smacked his ass. Not a weak smack either. A nice, hard smack that you knew was just going to leave a mark. It was just hard enough for Kohga to cum, getting his fluids all over Sooga’s hand. And Sooga, totally obsessed with his pregnant man, licked it all off his hand, as if it was fresh honey. Kohga sat there, heating up like a tea kettle, as Sooga sat there, awaiting further orders. Kohga nodded towards him.

“Alright, alright. You did good. You wanna finish inside?”

“...can I finish...outside?”

“Where are you-”

Kohga didn’t even know why he asked. He scoffed, and motioned with his hand for him to carry on. Sooga pulled out, and, making sure he didn’t put weight on Kohga, started to pump his cock. It was a slow, tedious stroking that Kohga had no idea how he got off to.

“You’re so full of beautiful life. Three CHILDREN. Oh fuck what if they’re all big, strong boys?”

Kohga mumbled some kind of insult, before he shook his head. Sooga’s ‘dad’ fetish was so fucking weird, he didn’t get it. But hey, he liked sounding and Sooga didn’t, they were both kinda fucking weird. So, might as well indulge him.

“Boys, girls, doesn’t matter does it? Because they’re OUR kids, and our family, and-”

Sooga wouldn’t even let him finish his sentence. He came with a swear, and came on his stomach. A big load at that, all over his stomach. Even then, Sooga wasn’t happy with just that, smearing the mess around with his cock. Kohga rolled his eyes, letting him have a moment to do his weird thing. After a second though, he snapped his fingers, getting his attention.

“You done?”

“I...yes. For the most part.”

“Good, I want a bath.”

“...can we stay for a minute?”

“Fucks sake-you can help me wash this off.”

“Deal.”

Sooga leaned down to kiss his lips, grinning from ear to ear.

“I love you all.”

“God you’re an idiot. Hurry up with the bath, I want extra bubbles.”

“Right away.”

Sooga kissed his stomach once more, before quickly jumping out of bed and into the bath. Kohga sighed, looking at his stomach.

“You guys make him so happy, it’s stupid. You better not steal my spotlight, any of you.”

[hesther-mcg]

wishful thinking

request: Anonymous said:Hi! I saw your mai x reader and it was amazinf!! so could I request a Mai x waterbender!reader hc/ one shot (whichever you wanna do!!) The way you write her is amazing!!☺️

pairing: mai x waterbender!reader

warnings: idk how to feel abt this :/// if it’s not what u were wanting i’m sorry i can always do another part 

a/n: super long! maybe not good, who knows! i tried my best, but maybe this could be continued? waterbender!reader goes to the boiling rock prison break party?? some more pining, maybe some words exchanged between reader and mai?? 

creds to owner, i couldn't find them :(

“Aang and Sokka, I wish you a good journey,” Earth King Kui bid farewell. “Ba Sing Se owes you it’s thanks, and we look forward to your safe return.” 

Your group of friends bowed to him, small smiles on all of your faces. You had finally managed to get to him and tell him about the war, and expose Long Feng, and now each of you had specific tasks to complete. It made you slightly uncomfortable to split up, but things were never easy in times of war. 

You had decided to stay behind in the city with Katara so she wouldn’t be alone. Sokka deserved to see his father, so she had so kindly opted out of the journey, and upon realizing you had no business at the Eastern Temple with Aang you chose to stay with her. 

“Your Majesty,” a guard came up, alerting everyone. “There are three female warriors here to see you. They’re from the island of Kyoshi.” 

“That’s Suki!” Sokka yelled as he fell to the ground from Appa’s side. He groaned dramatically as he squirmed around, and you reached a hand out to help him. 

“You know these warriors?” The Earth King questioned, taking a few steps forward. 

“Oh yeah,” Sokka replied as he stood up straight. “The Kyoshi Warriors are a skilled group of fighters. Trustworthy, too.” He smiled. “They’re good friends of ours.”

The Earth King nodded his head. “Then we shall welcome them as honored guests.”

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

The sun was high in they sky as the Kyoshi Warriors made their way down the path before them, lined with Earth Kingdom guards on either side. The three girls, in matching makeup and uniform, wore stoic expressions as they inched closer to the King. 

“In our hour of need, it is with the highest honor that I welcome our esteemed allies,” he extended his hands, and the girls kneeled before him, resting their painted foreheads against their hands. “The Kyoshi Warriors.” 

Slowly, they rose back up, revealing their faces to the very man they were there to overthrow. “We are the Earth King’s humble servants,” the girl in front mused, eyes sharp. 

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

You sighed. You knew that this was what you’d signed up for when you stayed behind with Katara, but that didn’t mean you enjoyed the things you had to do. You sat on the ground beside your friend, Momo resting on your shoulder, and a large map of the four nations separated the both you from the row of Generals you were speaking with. They were so far away you couldn't even make out their features, and you were sure that the both of you looked like two specks of blue rather than kids. 

“General Fong’s base will serve as the launching point for the attack. In exactly two months, the Army and Navy will invade the Fire Nation on The Day of Black Sun,” he moved his arms about, and the clay pieces on the map that represented Earth King forces moved. They glided towards the Fire Nation Capital, and Momo flew from your shoulder and landed with a small crash, and all the pieces fell over. 

“Or we could send in Momo to do some damage,” Katara joked with a laughed as the lemur moved around and knocked more things over. “Cause the...” when she was met with a stern silence, you nudged her with your elbow. “Sorry,” she quietened down and you rubbed her arm a few times.

General How closed his fist and all the pieces erected themselves, causing Momo to jump with a screech and retreat to the comfort of your shoulder. “All we need is the Earth King’s seal in order to execute the plan,” he placed down a scroll, and it glided towards the pair of you on a block of stone. 

Katara picked up the scroll as you both rose up from the ground. “We’ll get these scrolls to him right away. Thank you, General How.” You bowed and turned away from the men, and together you and Katara took off down the corridor. 

The walk through the Upper Ring was nice, Ba Sing Se truly was a beautiful place. It was nothing like what you and Katara were used to, which was snow, ice, and water. The North and the South had their differences but one thing rang true for both places; it was cold and wet and blue, but it was home. The city was different, hues of green and yellow filling the streets, gold trinkets lining the windows of some shops, expensive clothes on racks in others. 

But the nice tea shop that caught your eye was probably the nicest thing you’d seen. It was beautiful and shiny, and evidently very popular. “Hey, Katara, let’s get some tea!” You pointed towards the building. “Come on, it’ll be nice,” you smiled and batted your eyelashes, giving her your best pleading expression. 

“Hmm, alright,” she agreed. “What do you say, Momo? A cup of tea before we get back to the  Earth King?” She asked the lemur on your shoulder. He chattered in response, looking between the both of you with his large eyes. It was all you needed to start heading towards the shop. 

You were greeted at the entrance after trekking up the steps. “Table for three, please.” Katara spoke to the pretty woman while your eyes scanned the surrounding area. 

“Uncle!” A familiar voice shouted. “I need two jasmine, one green, and one lychee.” None other than Prince Zuko of the Fire Nation, the very boy who’d been hunting you and your friends for so long, wore a uniform and flitted around the shop. You nudged the girl beside you, and she gasped. 

“I’m brewing as fast as I can,” the old man you recognized as Zuko’s uncle assured with a small smile, standing in the kitchen area of the tea shop. It was as if time had stopped, and everything in the world went out of whack. Nothing made sense, this didn’t make sense. 

Nothing needed to be said, no look needed to be shared; you and Katara had the same thought in mind. 

We need to tell the Earth King. 

The both of you bolted down the stairs and ran away, flashes of blue heading towards to King. You were panting by the time you got there, but the relief of seeing Suki resting on the ground in front of the throne, her gold headband and oil makeup familiar and comforting, was sweet. 

“Thank goodness you’re here, Suki,” Katara rushed. “Something terrible is going on. The Fire Nation has infiltrated the city. I just saw Prince Zuko and his uncle!” 

Suki’s eyes widened a fraction before a sly grin grew on her lips. It was then you realized that this wasn’t your friend, and the two girls resting behind her weren’t Kyoshi Warriors either. You don’t know why it had taken you so long to figure out, or why Katara still hadn’t figured it out herself. This girl was acting nothing like Suki, and it was so painfully obvious now. 

“We have to tell the Earth King right away!” Katara urged, and your eyes cut to her. Something was wrong, and when the girl wearing your friend’s headband, and your friend’s uniform stood up, the female waterbender finally figured it out. 

“Oh don’t worry.” The mystery girl assured, slowly stepping forward into the light, and her golden eyes shined. “I’ll be sure to let him know.”

Momo screeched and flew from your shoulder, fleeing to who knows where; but you didn’t mind, he was safer elsewhere. Suddenly, the Chi blocker you’d fought on several occasions leapt forward, a flurry of flips and handstands and acrobatics. Her hand landed on Katara’s shoulder as she flew over her, and the your friend dropped to the floor. The water she had pulled from her pouch sloshed to the ground, and you pulled it up and combined it with your own water. 

Before you could do anything, however, the girl grabbed you in the same spot she ahd grabbed your friend, and she pulled you backwards. You lost the sensation in your limbs, and you dropped and landed in a puddle of water. 

“So, Zu Zu’s in the city, too.” Azula mused, walking closer to the both of you. You could only see above you, and the girl with the knives you’d been thinking about since Omashu entered your line of sight. The edges were blurry, and steadily growing more fuzzy, but you’d recognize her any day-- even with the makeup. 

“I think it’s time for a family reunion.” 

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

“How’d you learn that?” You asked, and the girl beside you chuckled. You were sitting so close together that your’re arms brushed every so often. 

“I was bored in my room, so I taught myself a trick,” she shrugged, throwing another knife at the wall. It stuck an inch away from the one she’d thrown just before, not any higher or lower. 

“Well, you’re really good,” you complimented, and your cheeks reddened. “You think you could teach me?”

She looked at you, her dark hair shining in the light. She grinned at you, small but sweet nonetheless. “Sure,” she drawled. “Someday.” 

You couldn’t take your eyes off of her. She was so pretty, and she looked so cool and collected. She was a complete mystery, one you wanted so desperately to solve. 

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

That was wishful thinking. 

You wouldn’t get to see her that close, or brush your arm against hers, or have her smile at you. She was on Azula’s side, and you were on Aang’s. It was as simple as that. None of the other factors needed to be mentioned; like how you didn’t know her name, or her age, or how she got mixed up in the schemes of the Royal family. 

You wouldn’t get to learn how to throw knives, or just what to do to make the Fire Nation girl smile like she did whenever you dreamt of her. That’s all you would ever have, dreams and wishful thinking. 

[burning-lampstand]

“It is truly right and just, our duty and our salvation, always and everywhere to give you thanks, Father most holy.” This text of the second Eucharistic prayer of the Mass not only states the primacy of gratitude, but also reveals a powerful defense against the evil one. Lucifer, once a magnificent angel of light, fell from heaven due to pride. Rebellion and ingratitude are cousins of pride. Now, one third of the fallen angels tempt humanity into pride, rebellion and ingratitude to God.

A person who has cultivated an attitude of gratitude to God in all things has formed a powerful weapon against evil spirits. This is precisely a Marian characteristic. I discovered the efficacy of turning ordinary temptations into a prayer of gratitude from the lives of the saints. In deliverance and exorcism ministry work, we note a difference when a prayer of gratitude is formed — even, before liberation. Such faith acts lessen the diabolical grip on a person.

St. Paul helps us understand this, “Yes, everything is for your sake, so that grace, as it extends to more and more people, may increase thanksgiving, to the glory of God. So, we do not lose heart. Even though our outer nature is wasting away, our inner nature is being renewed day by day” (2 Corinthians 4:15-16). When we lose heart (faith in God) we are more prone to fall into temptation or cooperate with evil.

Christ taught St. Faustina, “But child, you are not yet in your homeland; so go, fortified by My grace, and fight for My kingdom in human souls; fight as a king’s child would; and remember the days of your exile will pass quickly, and with them the possibility of earning merit for heaven. I expect from you, my child, a great number of souls who will glorify My mercy for all eternity.” (St. Faustina, Diary, no. 1489 quoted by Beckman, God’s Healing Mercy, p.113)

This applies to all believers. A greater number of souls will eternally glorify The Divine Mercy because they received mercy in the way that David did in the defeat of Goliath (cf. 1 Sam. 17). If, for a time we are tested by diabolical vexation, in faith we trust that God is about a great work in and through us. We believe that God will bring greater good out of the evil trials. For this we give thanks—even before the day of liberation. Like Job, during diabolical oppression, we bless the name of the Lord; thank Him for the liberation and restoration that is sure to come through perseverance.

The Church encourages believers to cultivate an attitude of gratitude. There is profound wisdom here, distinct from something shallower such as secular positive thinking or optimism. For Catholics, gratitude is foundational to living a fully human life. Why? Because when we give thanks to God in all things we walk humbly as Eucharistic disciples.

The source and summit of our faith is the Eucharist which means thanks-giving, thanks-saying, thanks-doing. Eucharistic life produces the fruit of gratitude, graciousness, goodness.

An enormous gratitude deficient exists in the world, personally and collectively. Unhappiness, rage, violence, are evidence of a gratitude deficit. It seems impossible for a person to be simultaneously thankful and unhappy, angry, violent, etc. Perhaps ingratitude also contributes to empty seats at Mass on Sunday. An ingrate is not very likable. Sometimes the problem is we don’t like ourselves very much. A solution could be to thank God for creating you; for loving you into existence, for accompanying you always, for gazing upon you with holy love.

Be grateful for the gift of life, faith, family, friends, education, job and everything else that is yours as gift of God. Gratitude keeps our spiritual armor well-oiled so that we can “fight like a knight” against the devil and his minions. Prayers of gratitude are repugnant to evil spirits.

(Read more for the Litany of Gratitude by a Norbertine priest)