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jockbroski34 · 11 months ago

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The Jockrooms

I hated gym class. I wasn't athletic and I didn’t like playing sports. Worst of all, I was stuck with the dumb jocks in my class. Today, one of them, Kyle, threw a dodgeball right at my face. The force was immense. As the ball collided with me with the speed of a bullet train, I felt myself lose my balance and I tumbled onto the ground. I sat on the ground in a daze, my head spinning from the raw power exerted from the ball. If he threw it any harder, I’d be sent to the nurse.

Kyle was one of the tallest guys in the school, towering at an impressive 6’4, and he was just as strong as he was tall. He was huge and he made sure that everyone knew it. He was proof that God picked favorites in terms of genetics. The guy had pretty much everything, except for a working brain. He had little problem asserting dominance on those he viewed as weaker than him. To him, I was yet another easy target with my wimpy constitution.

His jock friends cheered and high-fived him for how savagely he destroyed me. Our gym teacher did nothing to discourage his aggressive behavior, but I wouldn’t expect any less from the football coach. Those were his boys after all. They could probably get away with murder and he’d still cover for them. I sat down on the sidelines, covering my swollen cheek, as I was forced to watch Kyle and his goons dominate the rest of my team.

After what felt like an eternity, the teacher dismissed us to go change and I was relieved. I was still covering my cheek, bruised from the dodgeball that was lobbed at me. I sat down on the bench and opened my locker to change my clothes. I felt a hand bump me as Kyle and his entourage walked past me.

“Sorry about that, bro,” he said, in a condescending manner. “You’re supposed to dodge the ball, not get hit by it. That’s why they call it dodgeball.” I had to admit, that’s the smartest he’s ever sounded.

“Whatever, you dumb jock,” I scoffed, ignoring his “advice” as he and his jock friends walked by. I wasn’t sure if they were snickering at his lame attempt for a joke or at me, but I didn’t really care. I doubt that they had much for brains either, with only sports and sex being the only thing keeping their testosterone-ridden minds running.

I glared over at Kyle while he was changing. I had to give him credit. He was very handsome, and he knew it, but that just made me hate him even more. He was a guy who people either loved or hated, but his arrogant fuckboy attitude would be a turn-off for anyone who wasn’t as shallow as him. I began to wonder why he had to be the one gifted with such a nice body. If I was as strong as him, what would I do?

I finished changing into my regular school attire, but I felt the urge to go to the bathroom. By the time I finished emptying my bladder, the locker room was completely empty. Amidst the ghost town, something caught my eye.

I noticed a door that wasn’t there earlier at the end of the hallway opposite of me. It looked out of place compared to anything I’ve seen in the school. It was crimson with a silver knob. I could hear something coming from the other side of the door, but I couldn’t make out anything. It didn’t sound like construction.

For some reason, I almost felt like it was calling out to me. Even though I needed to get to my next class, I needed to know what was behind the door. My curiosity got the best of me as I put my hand on the handle. It was warm, but not enough to burn my hand. I hesitated for a moment before opening the door and I took my first steps in.

I tried to gather my bearings in this foreign room. The room was very warm, steamy almost, with the smell of sweat lingering in the air. It smelled like our locker room and the heat was far too much, almost like a sauna. I knew I wouldn’t last long in this heat, so I figured it was best to head back to class. I turned around, but instead of reaching for the door, I walked face first into a wall. …This was where I came from, right?

“Hello? Helloooo!” I shouted, hoping someone would come to my rescue. The only voice that responded was my own as my words echoed throughout the room. I sighed. Looks like I’ll have to find my own way out.

I realized that this would not be easy as I looked ahead. I saw rows of lockers all around me and to my horror, the maze stretched out further than I could possibly imagine. This room alone looked larger than the school itself! Why did the school need this many lockers? I decided to follow the line of lockers to find out if there was an exit at the end. I started to hear a buzzing sound, not from the sounds of the lights, but from a different source, along with a voice so quiet that I couldn’t understand what it was saying. I honestly felt like I was hallucinating. Perhaps the ball Kyle threw at me actually put me in a coma.

I followed the row of lockers, the numbers increasing with every step. The bold red lockers complemented the dark walls and white ceiling. As I walked forward, I was tempted by turns and corners, filled with even more lockers. I did not want to risk getting even more lost so I simply walked as close to a straight line as possible. I found myself sweating profusely, drenching my T-shirt and jeans. As I was getting more and more sweaty, I was also getting dehydrated, and there seemed to be no sign of any water fountains. I was surprised that they had not installed any, but that wasn’t even the weirdest thing because nothing made sense here.

My heart sunk as I entered an empty room, a dead end. If whoever built this place had any sense of interior design, there would be a door here. I observed my surroundings, but there seemed to be no sign of any way out. This was going to be longer than I thought. I realized I would have to give an explanation to my teacher about why I was so late, but she would never believe an excuse like this. That is, if I can even find a way out of here. I looked down, surprised to find a bottle of some sort. It looked to be some sort of beverage. It looked to be a sandy brown. I would’ve preferred…no…I desperately needed water, but I would be a fool to ignore any amount of hydration.

I untwisted the cap, and was surprised by the strange smell of the liquid. It didn’t smell foul, but it didn’t smell sweet either. I closed my eyes and took a sip, but I grimaced at the mixture of bitterness and saltiness. The chalky taste lingered in my mouth, but at least it made me feel more alert. Despite the unpleasant taste, I knew it was better than nothing, so I chugged the bottle before dropping it on the ground, making sure not to miss any drop. To my surprise, I felt more full of energy than I ever had before. But for some reason, as my body was starting to digest the drink, I felt as though the room was shrinking before my eyes. Wait, was I getting taller? Maybe this place is messing with my head. To be honest, I wouldn’t mind being a couple inches taller. Maybe Kyle would stop picking on me if I was on his level.

The downside, however, was that I was starting to feel even more sweaty to the point that my clothes were now flooded to the point of no return. I knew they would smell of sweat forever no matter how many times I washed them, so I figured that stripping would be the better option. I can always change back into my gym clothes when I get back. I desperately hoped that I was all alone here so no one would see me in this embarrassing state. I looked at the locker at the end of the room. 1000. The numbers went up to at least 1000? This had to be some kind of sick joke. I was frustrated, but I knew I had to retrace my steps in order to find a way out of here.

A strange idea entered my head after walking into several more dead ends, seemingly out of nowhere. If I went to my own locker, would I find something there? It sounded like a stupid idea since I would miss out on other potential paths, but it just felt right. Besides, I had no other leads. My locker number was 0136. I continued walking back trying to test if my hypothesis was correct. My body was trying to fight back against my exhaustion and my mind was trying to stop itself from being drowned out by the subliminal noise. It felt like this place was messing with me in some way. I had to find a way out of here.

Eventually, my eyes lit up as I turned a corner to find lockers numbered in the 0100s. I felt my body guiding me until I found a locker that appeared to be left open. All of the others were closed, so maybe it had some significance? 0133…0134…0135…0136! I chuckled at the coincidence that my locker would be the one that was different like I knew it would be. Inside, I found yet another one of those same drinks from before, a piece of paper, and a…red jockstrap? I chugged the drink desperate to feel hydrated. For some reason, it tasted better than I remembered. The paper appeared to be some kind of riddle.

“Only this way is right.”

“The combination will show you the light.”

Turns out I was right to come this way. For some reason, it seems like this room was made specifically for me. I was more curious about the second line. “The combination will show you the light.” If my locker number was what led me here, then surely my locker combination would be the next hint. 05-13-34. 51334? I shuddered, knowing that my journey would be a lot longer than I had anticipated. Hopefully this helps me escape from this hell.

I started to wonder who wrote this, but I didn’t even know who built this room in the first place. None of this makes any sense. I might not even be in school anymore. This could be some sort of pocket dimension. I could be dreaming, or I could be in a coma. I looked back in the locker, my eyes fixated on the red jockstrap. It looked like it had already been worn and was a size too big for my skinny frame, but for some reason, I felt an urge to put it on. I stripped out of my dripping boxers and put on the jockstrap.

To my surprise, it actually fit perfectly around my crotch area. I expected to feel uncomfortable, but instead I felt liberated. If only there was a mirror in here. My cock bulged as it stretched out the red fabric. I could’ve sworn it looked bigger, but I knew I was just imagining things. Regardless, I felt faster and full of stamina and virility.

I was not an athlete though. Only the jocks wore jockstraps, and I hated them, but I couldn’t even remember why. Why was I so mad at Kyle earlier? My memories of today started to blur. I couldn’t think straight. I couldn’t remember anything. I had no comprehension of time anymore. Who knows how long I have been in here. I sprinted ahead down the hallway, with a newfound sense of energy that I had never felt before, as I needed to find locker 51334. The heavy sound of my big feet created a steady rhythm, almost like a drum. My body seemed to move on its own like it was on autopilot.

As I ran forward, the audio grew louder, yet the words remained just as shrouded as they were before. Despite that, I felt like I started to understand the words deep down. A weird contradiction, I know. Wherever the source of the noise was, it had to be coming from that direction. I knew in my heart that this was the right way.

I kept on going for what could’ve been hours. Who even knows at this point. The concept of time was foreign to this place. If you told me I was gone for a week, I’d believe you. I kept on finding the same drinks from earlier on benches scattered around. They were the only thing keeping my head in the game. They gave me strength, but eventually I stopped seeing them as I became reminded by the intense heat of the room and of all the dead ends I had run into. I had to be in the 40000s as I began to feel fatigue again and it felt like my body was finally about to give in. My body felt sore and swollen as if I was still recovering from a workout. Workout? Since when did I care about the gym? Maybe this jockstrap was rubbing off on me more than I thought. But I’ll never be like Kyle or the other jocks, I assured myself.

I kept going. My body was pushing itself to the limit, while my mind started to wander. I became worried that I was gonna miss the game that was on tonight. Me and the bros were going to watch it together and I didn’t want to miss it. I couldn’t even comprehend how unnatural these thoughts felt. I should be thinking about playing the new update for my favorite MMO, not watching sports. But bros always come first…

I felt like I was going crazy, like this giant locker room maze was having an effect on me. I was awakened from my trance by a sudden realization. I needed to get to practice. It was like an alarm clock went off in my head. The last thing I wanted was to get dropped from the team due to poor attendance. This renewed sense of urgency was what kept me going instead of passing out from the heat and exhaustion.

At long last, I was greeted by a room that was surprisingly familiar to me. It felt like a second home to me. It was like the actual locker room in my school, but on a larger scale. I looked at the number next to me. 50000. This had to be the right way. I was almost there. The background noise was at its loudest here, but I still could not find any source, but at this point I didn’t mind it. It honestly helped me calm down a little. I checked every locker in this large room, until I saw it. 51334. It was half open, so I pried it open, with a sense of strength that I had never felt before. Inside the locker, I found another note and a larger bottle of the same drink. I gulped every drop down like I had just found an oasis. This one tasted better even compared to the rest. I read the note, hoping to be free from my prison.

“Inside the locker you will hide”

“The way back is on the flipped side”

I had to get in the locker? It was a weird instruction, but I followed the orders. I was surprised I was able to fit into it with my bulky build. I turned to the other side to read what it said. My eyes widened as I felt a sense of dread run down my spine.

“Close the door but don’t be shocked”

“When you wake up, you’ll be a jock!”

Shit, I didn’t want to become one of the jocks! I valued my intelligence too much to stoop down to their level. But it was already too late as the door shut itself on its own and I felt the ground below me vibrate. Was this truly the only way out or was I doomed to join them from the start? I tried to break my way free, but my strength dwindled as my eyes dulled and I passed out from exhaustion.

—----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

I woke up on one of the benches to the sound of metal and heavy chatter. To my relief, I was finally back in the real world. The football team was getting ready for practice. Damn, I really did miss the whole day. To make things worse, Kyle was standing right over me. Great. Despite everything though, I actually kinda missed him. That was probably the first sign that something was very wrong with me.

“Bro, wake up!” he said as he shook me. I looked down. I was dripping in sweat and I was wearing only my jockstrap. The fact that I was wearing the same red jockstrap was proof that it wasn’t a dream. “You alright dude? Coach says you were passed out here for hours!”

I regained my consciousness, surprised to see him concerned for me. “Bro, you’ll never guess what happened. I was in this, like, weird maze, dude. Lockers everywhere.” I was genuinely shocked by the words that came out of my mouth. I sounded like a total dudebro.

“Bro, are you high? What are you talking about?” Kyle chuckled at how absurd I sounded. I felt embarrassed because I honestly sounded as stupid as him.

“I’m not lying, bro! There was a door right there!” I got up and pointed towards where the door should be. It wasn’t there. I looked like I was insane.

“You sure you’re okay after gym, bro? I figured you’d catch that dodgeball since you’re such a good wide receiver. Must’ve gone too hard. Practice should help clear your head.”

“Practice? Wide receiver? What the fuck are you talking about?” I didn’t play any sports. Before today, I didn’t even know any teams outside of famous ones and the ones local to us. I didn’t know any positions, any rules, or any players. If that was the case, then why did it all feel so familiar to me?

“Did you lose your memory or some shit? Let me refresh you, bro. You play football and you’re our wide receiver. You hang out with me and the boys every day. You’re a total jock, bro. You’re hardly a genius, but surely that rings a bell, right dude?” My eyes became fixated on his charming blue eyes, and I felt myself sink into them as if they were the ocean, as he reminded me about my place in the world. Finally, things started to make sense…but…

What the fuck? You hated Kyle. You didn’t play football. You weren’t friends! But for some reason, that didn’t seem right.

You loved Kyle. He was one of your best friends. You guys played football together. You guys basically ruled the school. You didn’t need to think much because you compensated with raw strength and power. Brawn over brains, bro. You were a jock and you always will be one.

“Huhu…Now you’re making sense bro,” I chuckled. I only now realized how much I changed, with how deep my voice was. How much of a cocky douchebag I looked with that smirk plastered on my face. How much bigger and stronger and taller I was. How toned and perfect every muscle in my jock body was. I should hate this, but why does it feel so good? “I had a dream that I was someone else. A total nerd, bro. It was awful.”

“That person never existed. This is who you were and always will be. Just think back to when we met, bro.” He said it with his usual cocky grin, but I felt no malice from it. I assumed he was gaslighting me into believing that I lived a different life, but he seemed genuine. I remembered him cracking up at one of my dumb jokes at practice and we started hanging out both in and out of school. Memories of the practices and football games and parties we shared filled my mind and I smiled as I looked fondly back on those days. No…I shouldn’t remember this. But for some reason, it all felt real to me, like I accidentally stumbled into some parallel universe where I was one of Kyle’s jock bros.

I felt any semblance of my former self lose control as my jock self remembered that he was the only me. I was an intruder in my jock body, someone that was never there and shouldn’t be there. I felt my thoughts slow down as my new self started overwriting any old memories with his own, and I started to remember who I really was, a jock. I wanted to die inside, watching me become another asshole jock just like Kyle, but as I was fading away, I started to remember why I liked being a jock so much in the first place. I got to be big, strong, and popular. I could fuck anyone I wanted with my massive cock. Who cared if I was a little dense? Definitely outweighed being a fucking nerd. I knew it was the jock in me talking, but it didn’t matter anymore because that’s all I was now. My cock bulged further in my jockstrap as my conscious mind was engulfed by my real self.

“Sorry bro, it’s just been a crazy day. Let's get ready for practice.”

“You’re going to practice in just that? Haven’t gotten off yet today, bro?” Kyle chuckled, pointing at my red jockstrap, which was already leaking with precum. I became embarrassed as I noticed the damp stain on my favorite jockstrap. And that Kyle was staring right at my 9 inch bulge.

“Nah, bro. I gotta get changed. Why are you looking at my dick, bro?” I became defensive, not comfortable with one of my bros staring at my erect cock. Kyle was hot and all, but this just felt wrong to me.

Kyle stammered, looking for an excuse. I could’ve sworn that his bulge grew as well in his tight football pants. “I just never realized how big it is, bro. No homo though.” He snickered, trying to ease the sexual tension. “Come on, Coach will be pissed if we take too long. Probably will make us run extra laps.” Before we left, I took one look in the mirror to admire my awesome body before joining Kyle and the others.

I had been playing football ever since I was in middle school so it’s no surprise that I was a natural. I worked up a serious sweat, but it was nothing I wasn’t used to with Coach’s exercises. He worked us to the bone every day. When I came home, my mom was cooking dinner and she asked me how practice was, and I told her good as usual with a smile on my face. For a second, I was surprised my mom knew I played football, but then I remembered that my parents were always supportive of my athletic career. They always dropped their plans to cheer me on at my games.

Later, Kyle invited me and the bros over to watch the game. I went over there as I had done many times before and I was greeted by my bros, people who I’ve known for just as long as Kyle. After all, If they were his bros, they were my bros. We laughed and joked around as we always did until the game started.

We gathered into Kyle’s room, big enough for seven guys, but man did I forget how much we reeked after practice. We always shouted a ton during the game and I’m honestly surprised we never got any noise complaints from the neighbors. It was like our own little frat party hosted in Kyle’s room. We got really into it, but we were devastated when the opposing team scored in the last minute to gain the lead and win the game. A wave of sadness and anger filled the air as everyone started to leave. Everyone but me. Kyle told me to stay for a little bit longer.

“Are you gonna make me feel better or what?” he ordered. He was really upset about the loss.

“How, bro?” I responded. Did he want me to crack a joke for him? Give him a bro hug?

“I figured you remembered. I need someone to relieve my stress.” He grabbed his massive cock in his shorts and wiggled it around, helping me put two and two together. “We found out one drunk night how good of a cocksucker you are, so you agreed to ‘lend me a hand’ if I ever need it. Don’t worry, this is our little secret.”

“Oh, sorry bro. I completely forgot.” God, that was a wild night. It was an embarrassing request, but I knew I was just helping a brother out. I got on my knees and serviced Kyle as he made himself comfortable. He grabbed the back of my head with his firm palms, covered with callouses from years of pumping iron, and pushed his girthy shaft deeper into the depths of my mouth. I was surprised at my lack of a gag reflex as this mass of meat clogged my throat. I swallowed load after load of his hot, sticky semen until we had enough.

“Gotta say, bro, you suck dick better than like 90 percent of chicks I’ve been with. You sure you’re not a little faggy?” he teased. I laughed and rebuked his claims. I’m sure even some straight guys would be tempted by him and his impressive rod, and I’m no different. We quickly changed the subject and we pretended like that never happened. Neither of us wanted the other to know how much we enjoyed it.

To this day, I don’t know what the purpose of the jockrooms was. Doesn’t really matter though. As far as I’ve known, I’ve always been a jock and that’s all anyone has ever seen me as. It is real though. It was after gym class a few weeks later. When we were changing, I saw a nerd, Kevin, walk down the same hallway I did at one point. I felt like I knew him at one point, but that obviously wasn’t true. Why would I hang out with someone like him? I hid around the corner and watched as he approached the red door. I smirked as he put his hand on the door and opened it, taking his first steps into his new life. If you can’t beat us, you might as well join us.

I was eager to see Kevin at practice later. He woke up on the same bench I did, wearing a jockstrap like me, almost completely unrecognizable from the person he was hours ago. He took a moment to adjust, but we helped him remember how much of a jock he was. Once a jock, always a jock. I will never understand why the two of us thought we were nerds before. After all, I’ve known Kev most of my life and I was the one who introduced him to Kyle and the others. He’s been my best friend since 3rd grade and we were inseparable. We were practically in sync on the field. It felt awesome knowing that we were the kings of the school, and whoever hated us was just jealous that they’re not us.

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yanderenightmare · 2 years ago

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idk if you write for naoya but i have an idea...maybe darling is like maki but actually weak and naoya bullies and takes advantage of them?

love your work btw!! <3

Zenin Naoya

♡ TW: yandere, mentions of abuse, bullying

♡ FEM reader

Proposal Gift

Sharp hazel eyes follow you in your innocence, narrowing while he judges – concluding once again, as he’d done before, that there really isn’t a single cursed bone in you – only a humble body of warm squeezable flesh and a heart he bets is all too easy to break.

You’ve always been like that. Quick to smile and quick to cry. A bundle of emotions unfit to be raised in such a ruthless clan.

He’s a few years older than you and remembers well what a weak constitution you’ve always had. Anyone could see it, and everyone knew it from the moment you were born – you were never going to amount to much.

He used to find your weakness quite disgusting – used to push your face into the gravel until snot and tears would wet the dirt in a pitiful puddle – with his foot pressed down between your shoulder blades – sometimes until hearing a pop and shriek loud enough to echo off the walls. With words cutting even deeper – telling you what a curse you were, born so weak and so useless – a stain on the great Zenin name.

But now that you’ve grown up, he bites his tongue – silently watching with a strange type of lusty entitlement forming in his gut…

He’s only been away on a mission for a handful of months – who’d have known he’d come back to see you grown into something so… precious.

You’re the prettiest out of the maids – the cutest one too, and undoubtedly the sweetest as well. Walking about the garden where you have most of your chores – watering plants in the sun and picking herbs for healing. You’re quiet and graceful, taking slow steps in your plank shoes that knock softly on the tiles where you peacefully wade through the maze in a pretty flower-patterned yukata.

You look nothing like the snot-nosed brat he’d left in the dirt. You have a swell of breasts now and a feminine face wiped clean of soot – painted with pretty red on your lips and fresh blue on your eyes.

You’re a lady now.

And while your weakness used to disgust him, he’s now realizing what a blessing it is instead. Smirking the more he glares at you – now sitting on a bench in the shade doing some hand stitching, knowing no ill will – he understands he’s quite lucky you turned out such a fragile little thing.

“Naoya-sama-” You spluttered, eyes widening into big round glass orbs.

Jumping to your feet, you nearly threw your needlework down on the bench before folding your fingers together and bowing – much lower than necessary – with a rush that could only be excused with fear.

You hadn’t known he was back yet and felt the surprise like a vice grip wrapped tight around your throat.

Swallowing thickly, you made your excuse while maintaining your bow, praying he’d show you mercy. “Pardon my lack of awareness- I was absorbed in my chores, you see- please forgive me-”

He folded his hands within his pants and raised his chin with a smirk at your spluttering, licking his teeth in enjoyment at your pretty display of courtesy. Eyeing you for a long moment before speaking, mainly to watch you begin to tremble in the wait – cutely dreading the bite of his punishment.

But punishing you wasn't what he was interested in at the moment.

“You’re not in maid robes.” He said instead, ignoring your previous stuttering. His face, jaded with a tone just as callous, aided by that weighty air of authority he always has surrounding him – the one that never fails to make your skin feel raw in the cold.

“Oh-” You fumbled, halting at his lack of anger – wary of the unexpected behavior as it was pretty odd for him not to jump at the opportunity to punish someone like you if and when the chance presented itself.

Though, it wasn’t yet decided he wouldn’t do just that – the way his steely and strangling presence nearly knocked you over with its vicious intensity alone – staring you down sharply with that otherwise smooth hazel.

In return, you had your doe-eyes yielding and down-cast, eying your fabrics with a bite to your lip – trying to keep your voice from shivering while uttering the next line, heat in your cheeks while at it. “These are- uhm- proposal gifts I’ve been asked to wear.”

He snorted at that, and you flinched at the abrasive sound – eyes shifty while eyeing the ground, lowering your head some more, looking down at the paint on your toenails instead.

“From whom?” He asked a beat later.

Your brows pinched at his curiosity and how awfully unlike him it was. Naoya-sama had never struck you as the type to make trivial conversation, especially with the likes of you.

“I’m- uhm- not exactly sure…” You confessed, twiddling your fingers. “You see, Father doesn’t want to confuse me- after all… it’ll be his decision in the end, anyway.”

You kept your head bowed while explaining, feeling awkward before him. Trying to think of a time when he’d paid any type of regard to you or your life – remembering none.

“B- but my marital status must be of no interest to you, Naoya-sama.” You blurted then, finding it to be a rather strange matter to discuss with him of all people.

But all the man responded with was a slight hum, keeping his gaze on you and the way you timidly glanced up at him only to look away when seeing him stare back.

Ears burning, you chewed and sucked your lip under his glare, thinking of how badly you’d witness him beating other maids – having needed to treat many a cut and gash and bruise and broken bone he’d left on bodies much smaller than himself – not to mention the ones on your own frail self he’d given you in your youth.

“Please excuse my arrogance-” Your memory prompted you to gush. “Doing anything but welcome you home from your mission is rude of me- I heard you lead our clan into many victories- you must be very proud.”

You decided to try you r luck charming him instead, hoping it could sway him from the urge to hurt you.

“Or maybe it doesn’t come as a surprise anymore. You’ve always been rather strong, after all.” You continued but choked on it only a second later – spurring with yet another apology on your lips. “That was thoughtless of me to say- you should feel proud either way- please forgive me for my stupid words, Naoya-sama- I fear the heat has gone to my head and made a complete airhead out of me…”

But despite the obvious hints of regret and panic in your draining face, the man gave no indication of even having heard what you’d said until offering your ramble another rather unusually relaxed response.

“It’s true.” He agreed – much to your surprise, where you’d braced your face for a backhand and your stomach for a gut punch. “It’s become boring.”

You dared glance up at him through the lashes of your bow – only to see his face still as expressionless as always – a type of stone-cold that made the hairs at your nape rise.

“Still… you must be tired from the trip, if not the mission” You softly started in spite of it – hoping to end the conversation soon. “You shouldn’t stay out here in the sun for too long…” You tried, praying he couldn’t see straight through your intentions. “And- uhm- I should really hurry along- help prep supper for you and your soldiers with the other maids.” You excused, once again bowing your head, waiting for his nod of dismissal – ever relieved when he gave it.

You swallowed your tremors, feeling lightheaded and dizzy while offering up whatever type of smile you could muster.

“It was good seeing you, Naoya-sama.” You lied. “Welcome home.”

You bowed yet again, dismissing yourself before turning and leaving him.

He kept his eyes fixed on you despite it. Observing the distressed spring in your step and how it disturbed the former peace you walked the gardens with earlier.

A smile inched up his face watching it.

You look very nice in his proposal gift.

He looks forward to having you in his bed.

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newspatron · 1 year ago

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Foreign Funding in India: Unraveling the Web of Transparency and Security

Together, we can contribute to a society that values truthfulness, transparency, and security.

From the Editor’s Desk at NewsPatron as it’s time for all of us to collectively delve into the intricacies of foreign funding cases in India. In this post, we’ll explore the background, context, and crucial aspects of these incidents—helping our society move towards truthfulness, transparency, and security. Subscribe to NewspatronUnderstanding the Influence of a Significant Group in Our…

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#accountability #Constitutional Bench #Foreign Funding #Investigations #Madras High Court #Media Freedom #Security #transparency #Urban Naxal Funding

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reasonsforhope · 2 years ago

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A federal judge appointed by Donald Trump ruled late Friday night that Tennessee’s Adult Entertainment Act (AEA), which would restrict drag performances in the state and threaten performers who violate the law with felony criminal penalties, is unconstitutional.

“The Tennessee General Assembly can certainly use its mandate to pass laws that their communities demand,” U.S. District Judge Thomas Parker wrote. “But that mandate as to speech is limited by the First Amendment to the United States Constitution, which commands that laws infringing on the Freedom of Speech must be narrow and well-defined. The AEA is neither.”

Parker, appointed to the bench in 2017, found after a two-day trial that the law — criminalizing “adult cabaret entertainment” performances anywhere “where the adult cabaret entertainment could be viewed by a person who is not an adult” — is unconstitutional on several grounds.

Parker did not shy away from the underlying issues, either.

“The word ‘drag’ never appears in the text of the AEA,” Parker wrote. “But the Court cannot escape that ‘drag’ was the one common thread in all three specific examples of conduct that was considered ‘harmful to minors,’ in the legislative transcript.”

After detailing that legislative history, as shown in four transcripts reviewed by the court, Parker found that “the legislative transcript strongly suggests that the AEA was passed for an impermissible purpose.”

That “impermissible purpose,” Parker found, was “chilling constitutionally-protected speech.”

-via Law Dork, 6/3/23

#united states #us politics #tennessee #drag #drag bans #transphobia #trans rights #trans rights are human rights #first amendment #good news #hope

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patriottruth · 3 months ago

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This is an hourly reminder that on March 4th, 2024, the Supreme Court of the United States ordered donald j. trump to have 87 Democrats in both houses of Congress remove his insurrectionist disqualification from ever holding any federal office again. He failed to do so prior to November 5, 2024.

What that means is that between now and December 17th, 2024, donald j. trump has no choice but to go to Congress and have 70 Democrats in the House of Representatives and 17 Democrats in the Senate vote to remove his insurrectionist disqualification, as he was ordered to do by SCOTUS on March 4th, 2024, or he's not legally the President Elect and cannot be inaugurated, sworn in, or hold federal office again on January 20, 2025. The clock is ticking!

Here's an evening update on why this will work. donald trump's legal tactics are deny, attempt to wiggle out of it on technicalities, and delay, delay, delay. Well, from November 2023 to March 4, 2024, donald trump not only said that he was never an officer of the United States, but that he also never swore an oath to support the United States Constitution. And then he said that Section 3 of the 14th Amendment says nothing about running for office, only holding office, and since he's only running for office, nothing can keep him off the ballot. And that's where this has finally caught up to him.

SCOTUS illegally took the case to begin with. SCOTUS was required to kick the case back to Congress immediately to force a two-thirds of both houses vote to remove donald trump's insurrectionist disqualification. But they illegally denied Congress the ability to vote on it at the time, illegally legislated from the bench to keep donald trump on the ballot by illegally amending Section 3 of the 14th Amendment of the United States Constitution, and dismissed the clear two-thirds vote requirement to replace it with "Congress must pass new legislation and amend Section 3 of the 14th Amendment in order to keep insurrectionists off of the ballot and out of office in the future. All six MAGA SCOTUS injustices can now be immediately and permanently disbarred from ever judging or practicing law anywhere in the United States now and in the future for that illegal legislating from the bench; because the U.S. Constitution clearly says that the Judiciary can never interfere with Congress legislating, or with the President enforcing the laws of the United States.

donald trump and his allies figured that was a win, that SCOTUS couldn't be challenged, that the Democrats could never get legislation passed to keep him off the ballot or from holding office again, and the matter was dropped. But that's where he was wrong; because Section 3 of the 14th Amendment still reads, and only legally reads, that the only way an insurrectionist can hold federal office again is by a two-thirds vote in both the House of Representatives and the Senate; and that means that now that donald trump can't try and use the technicality of "I'm not even trying to hold office, I'm just running for office," and he's actively trying to hold office with no technicality wiggle room, donald trump's only path to the White House is to have 70 Democrats in the House of Representatives and 17 Democrats in the Senate vote to remove his insurrectionist disqualification by December 17th, 2017; and his favorite tactic of delay, delay, delay won't work because delaying means he can't be inaugurated, sworn in, and serve as the 47th President of the United States; and that means Kamala Harris would become 47th President of the United States by default.

If anyone is interested in fighting another trump presidency, contact every Democrat representative in the House of Representatives and the Senate and remind them that donald j. trump cannot be inaugurated, sworn in, and be the 47th President of the United States on January 20, 2025 unless 70 Democrats in the House of Representatives and 17 Democrats in the Senate vote to remove his insurrectionist disqualification before December 17, 2024. Many of them have online contact forms. You may have to enter an address near their local office in their district for the contact form to go through, but I know they're going to want to be reminded of this by as many people as possible in order to save humanity and American democracy from donald trump. Plus, Kamala Harris can be contacted via the White House Vice President contact form; and as a presidential candidate and the President of the Senate, she and President Biden can do a lot to enforce donald trump having to have his insurrectionist disqualification removed by a two-thirds vote of the House of Representatives and the Senate before December 17, 2024.

Rachel Maddow: Why was donald trump's campaign telling his supporters not to vote, they don't need any votes, and to skip the polls?

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rightnewshindi · 3 months ago

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सुप्रीम अदालत ने नागरिकता अधिनियम की धारा 6ए की वैधता को रखा बरकरार, संविधान पीठ ने सुनाया फैसला

सुप्रीम अदालत ने नागरिकता अधिनियम की धारा 6ए की वैधता को रखा बरकरार, संविधान पीठ ने सुनाया फैसला #News #NewsUpdate #newsfeed #newsbreakapp

Citizenship Amendment Act 1985: देश की सर्वोच्च अदालत की पांच जजों की संविधान पीठ ने असम समझौते को आगे बढ़ाने के लिए 1985 में संशोधन के माध्यम से जोड़े गए नागरिकता अधिनियम की धारा 6ए की संवैधानिक वैधता को बरकरार रखा। बता दें कि इस मामले की सुनवाई सीजेआई डीवाई चंद्रचूड़ की अध्यक्षता वाली बेंच कर रही थी, जिसको लेकर 12 दिसंबर 2023 को 17 याचिकाओं पर सुनवाई के बाद फैसला सुरक्षित रख लिया गया था और आज…

#citizenship act #Constitution Bench #Section 6A #Supreme Court #upheld #validity #verdict

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wilwheaton · 1 year ago

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A Trump appointee with little experience on the bench, Cannon was then randomly assigned to preside over the criminal case when Trump was indicted in June. Meanwhile, a string of errors she’s made in her short time as a judge has come to light. Her most recent hiccup came in June, when she closed jury selection in a child pornography case—denying the defendant’s family and others a seat in the courtroom to watch jury selection. The misstep, an apparent violation of the constitutional right to a public trial, nearly invalidated the proceedings entirely. She also neglected to swear in a prospective jury pool—a mandatory procedure. Cannon, 42, was appointed by Trump in the waning days of his presidency in 2020. She’d been a federal prosecutor for seven years, but has only been a part of eight criminal trials that resulted in jury verdicts—four as a prosecutor and four as a judge. She’s spent a total of just 14 days in trial as a federal judge, The New York Times reported.

Judge Aileen Cannon Comes Out Swinging in Trump’s Favor (Again) in Classified Docs Case

Cannon was deemed UNQUALIFIED by the American Bar Association. In her FOURTEEN DAYS of activity on the bench, she’s confirmed that, over and over again.

This political operative masquerading as a federal judge is a disgrace. She needs to be impeached and removed from the bench.

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fundametalright · 9 months ago

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#Private Property can Be Considered “material resources of the community”#article39(b)#supremecourt #Article39(b)#dpsp #SupremeCourtDebate #Article39bDebate #MaterialResources #privatepropertyrights #The Big debate #The Supreme Court on Tuesday (23 April) commenced hearing on the issue whether private property can be brought under “material resources of #BENCH:#The nine-judge bench #comprising Chief Justice of India D Y Chandrachud #Justices Hrishikesh Roy #Abhay S Oka #B V Nagarathna #J B Pardiwala #Manoj Misra #Ujjal Bhuyan #Satish Chandra Sharma and Augustine George Masih #is hearing the case.#Article 39(b) of the Constitution of India places an obligation on “The State” to create policy towards securing “that the ownership and co #This provision falls under Part IV of the Constitution titled “Directive Principles of State Policy”#which are meant to be guiding principles for the enactment of laws #but are not directly enforceable against citizens.#Bombay High Court #Constitution Bench #Directive Principles of State Policy #private property

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colormepurplex2 · 3 months ago

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Beneath The Boughs | Dare To Dream

↳ Namjoon x f.Reader ⤜ Robinhood Retelling, Strangers to Lovers/Soulmates, Ruined Arranged Marriage AU ⤜ Rating: MA🔞 ⤜ WC: 6,740 ⚠️violence, crass language, mentions of parental illness, melancholy feelings

Next Chapter⇾ ◅ Back to story masterlist

“My Lady,” Ms. Duckett calls from beyond the doors of the balcony terrace. “My Lady, it is time. If we do not leave now, we will not make it through this side of Sherwood before nightfall.”

You sigh with one last look out over the rolling expanse of bleak countryside. You push to your feet and smooth your gloved hands over the back of your gown, brushing away any detritus that might have attached to the fabric from the bench you were seated on. The heavy silk skirts swish over the layers of your thick wool petticoats as you turn to make your way back inside.

The first flurries of winter have begun, and unless you wish to spend the season shivering in the northern reaches of Yorkshire, you best get on with it. The window to return to the city of Nottingham is closing swiftly. It was a fool's move to leave it until the last moment anyway. But you couldn’t bring yourself to rejoin society sooner than absolutely necessary.

“Apologies, Duckie,” you offer her, the childhood nickname you gave her rolling off your tongue with affection despite your surly mood.

Verna Duckett has been your attending maid ever since your mother fell ill some twenty years prior and found herself with more need for a nursemaid than a lady’s maid. Duckie’s age is a mystery to you, but considering the silver knot tucked under her bonnet, you’d guess she was far older than her spry body and fiery attitude suggest.

Thinking of your mother’s continued ailing constitution only sours your demeanor further. After all, it is why you’ve found yourself in the predicament you are currently trying to avoid. So, to keep from dawdling further with those dark thoughts, you focus on gathering the fox-fur-lined cloak you left draped over the end of your bed and securing its thick golden clasp at your throat.

Duckie titters under her breath, reminding you of a flittering songbird as she encourages you from the room. “The sheriff is waiting with the carriages.”

That news pulls you up short at the top of the grand staircase. “The sheriff?”

“Indeed so, My Lady. He has come up from Nottingham to be your escort at the request of Prince Seokjin.”

Bile threatens to rise from the churning pit of your stomach. The Prince. “Must it be so?” you mutter to yourself. “Right,” you try to clear the disappointment from your voice as you begin the descent down the stairs. “Let us not keep him waiting long, then.”

The bite from the snowy northern winds does little to soothe the blazing tempest in your chest as you breeze through the open doors of the home you’ve kept for the summer in Yorkshire. It was once your father’s estate, passed down to you when you came of age. You prefer it to the oppressive halls of the inner city home you keep in Nottingham—the one your parents choose to reside in year-round.

“My Lady.” The sheriff greets you by way of an oily smile and a tip of his chin. “Trying to catch a cold before your big day?”

A snide remark forms on the tip of your tongue but you bite the offending appendage before it can garner you trouble over the next two days of travel. The absolute last thing you wish for right now is to land on Yoongi’s—the sheriff’s—bad side.

It’s possible you might have once considered him a friend. He has all the charm and grace of a pleasant gentleman. But, when he started to bow and scrape, doing the Prince’s bidding in forcing your hand, you lost all respect and good will towards him.

You’re aware that’s not exactly fair, considering Yoongi is merely a sheriff, and the prince is, well, a prince. But it simply is not fair, and you are more than aware of the other dealings the prince and Yoongi have gotten up to in the recent years since King Seokjoong went on his crusades.

Mirth twinkles in Yoongi’s eyes; clearly, he can see the restraint painted all over your face. “Of course not, My Lord—I mean, Sheriff,” you reply, your words dripping with saccharinity. His lips flatten at your intentional misuse of the title.

Yoongi is as much a Lord as you are a pigeon. And you know that rankles him far more than any snide remark you might have bestowed upon him. Being the Sheriff of Nottingham brings Yoongi power, but not nearly enough to satiate his growing greed. That much is evident in how he swindles and ousts any and all meager bits of coinage from the pockets of those he is sworn to protect. No, Yoongi protects only himself…and occasionally you, per the prince’s request.

The ride to Nottingham starts slow and ponderous, the snow turning to sleet with each creeping mile south, causing the dirt under hoof and wheel to quickly form ruts and mud pits that suck and pull, sapping any haste from the procession.

Duckie was being generous in her assessment of time, as by the time the sun drops below the horizon, your caravan escort has barely hit the outskirts of Sherwood. You know it was unwise to have spent so long avoiding the ride; this is your own doing.

It’s not that you mind the forest at night; it’s just that the swaying oil lamps and guttering torches do little to diminish the darkness. Every creak of the carriage and distant animal chitter have you quite literally on the edge of your seat, the velvet cushion firmly crushed under your hands where they fist the lip of the bench.

The sudden, jarring stop of the carriage nearly unseats you. Muffled shouts sound from beyond the drawn curtains. Duckie frowns, absently pulling a handkerchief from her apron pocket and fanning her ample bosom with it.

“Dreadful luck stopping in these cursed woods,” she mutters nervously before flicking back the edge of one of the curtains and peeking out the window. “What in heavens is going on out there?”

She jumps back, her alarmed yelp echoing through the carriage as Yoongi jerks open the door. “My Lady, I apologize for the delay. There is some debris across the roadway. It should only take a moment for it to be moved, and then we shall be on our way once more. I think it best we continue through the night,” he says with a grimace as his focus is pulled somewhere back beyond the carriage.

Without another word, he disappears, shutting you and Duckie in the carriage once more. The silence is only broken by the soft swishing of Duckie’s handkerchief as she goes back to fanning herself.

“Not to worry, dearie. I’m sure the Sheriff will have us back on the move in no time.”

Adrenaline courses through your veins when muffled shouts and screams rend through the air, breaking the tense silence. You catch the faintest bellow from the head of the caravan.

“Brigands! Brigands in the trees! To arms!”

Duckie shrieks, her handkerchief fluttering in the air as she lurches toward you. The air wooshes from your lungs as she drags you bodily into the bottom of the carriage and throws herself on top of you.

One of her elbows catches you in the chin as you try to turn over, your skirts tangling around your ankles with each struggling movement.

“Duckie!” you croak, sucking in pitiful gasps of air. The corset stays pinching at your ribs, combined with the full weight of your maid laid across your back, are making it hard to gain the breath that was shoved from your lungs when you hit the carriage floor. “I cannot breathe!”

She wails something unintelligible and pushes up onto her knees. You flop over onto your back and suck in a sweet lungful of air. Your exhale is an aching sputter that turns into a fit of coughing. Suddenly, the air inside the carriage is too hot and thick.

“My Lady!” Duckie’s bark of protest follows you out of the carriage. You couldn’t reach your feet fast enough, scrambling up from your knees and shoving open the carriage door, stumbling out several steps. You stand there, plunged into the cacophony around you, trying valiantly to suck in fresh air.

The night is alive with pain and shrieks of madness. Chaos engulfs your small caravan, and there are scattered pockets of struggle everywhere you look. Figures dressed in various shades of dark green and brown are engaged with the bright reds and golds of the Prince’s colors.

As if wanting to bear witness to the violence, the moon has worked its way through the gloomy cloud cover overhead and lends its light to the smoking oil lanterns and torches to illuminate the mud-churned—now striped with blood—road.

A sneering face comes into focus, startling you back a step. “Are you mad, woman!? Get back in the carriage!” Yoongi roars before taking off back into the fray.

He meets the swing of a brigand's sword with his own; the clash of steel against steel rings through the air, further jolting you from your frozen state. Panic harries you as you retreat further, your eyes on a constant swivel for danger.

A gout of flame flares to life near the head of the line of carriages, and the screams of horses pierce the din. “Fire! The horses!” thunders a voice that is soon swallowed by the frenzy of other sounds.

You watch in horror as a carriage engulfed in flame careens off the road, being dragged through the sticky muck by out-of-control horses. Their fear is palpable, the flames devouring the front coach seat and licking so close to their tails.

The painful whickering of the beautiful draft horses draws you like a moth being led directly to the inferno. You’re heedless of the danger around you. One sole focus consumes you; no one is available to free those horses…if you don’t do it, they’ll surely die.

Once again, your feet move before you can do more than register Duckie’s protesting cries from behind you. You fist the billows of your skirt in your hands, hiking up the thick material, making your reckless sprint a little easier, though the churned mud still sucks at the soles of your slippers, which are soon filled with icy water and slimy muck.

“My Lady!” Duckie’s cry follows you, closer than before. “Please, My Lady, no!”

“The horses, Duckie! We have to help them!” you beg, skittering to a stop in the muck, arms windmilling to keep yourself upright.

Whether or not she heard your desperate plea or simply followed you out of an attempt to get you to turn back toward the carriage, she stumbles to a stop beside you as you take in the carnage.

The carriage that caught fire was one of the ones lit with the hanging lanterns. Arrows dot the wooden side, which is now facing the sky. The entire thing has turned over in the muck from the mad dash of the horses combined with the sticky mud. It’s evident an arrow hit one of the lanterns and caused the fire. Whether by accident or intentional, the damage is done, and your time is running out as the flames lick across the carriage and shoot toward the sky.

A massive tangle of leather hitching straps and splintered wood connects the two draft horses to the wreckage. They rear and scream, massive hooves raking the sky as they thrash and pull in vain at their harnesses.

Ignoring the sapping cold of the mud seeping through the skirts of your gown, you throw yourself on the ground where the straps attach to the overturned carriage. Duckie lands in the muck beside you a second later, her hands moving as frantically as your own as you wrestle with the buckles and bolts. The entire wreck shudders every time the horses stomp and attempt to free themselves, but you don’t dare abandon the buckles to try and calm them. You’d likely catch an errant hoof to your person for the efforts.

Heat beats down on you, and the faint stench of burnt hair and singed fabric mixes with the acrid stink of smoke filling the air around you. The flames are growing closer, but you ignore the discomfort, pouring all your focus into freeing the horses.

“To your right!” a voice calls out over the din of battle a second before something thunks heavily into the ground beside you.

You spare a glance up, and your eyes catch on a hooded figure. Time suspends in a moment of what you can only describe as magick. Something flickers in your chest as your eyes meet the ones staring out from the cowl, like a blossoming flower opening under the warm spring sun for the first time.

It’s captivating, soul-capturing, and utterly unexplainable. Dark, seemingly endless eyes, inky hair, and a face you’re sure you’ve never seen in full before…yet know more intimately than even your own—a man of your dreams. Dreams you’ve had since you were a young teenager of a man with eyes like endless pools of night sky and a heart that beats in kind with your own.

A frantic cry from Duckie breaks the spell, the carriage shifting so violently it rocks you backward onto your bottom. You tear your eyes away from the mysterious man. Focusing back on the task at hand, you grasp the hilt of the forearm-length blade you know he’s responsible for tossing to you. It is embedded point-down in the ground by your side, still vibrating from the force.

Ripping the blade from the mud, you make quick work of slicing through the harness straps. The horses burst free from their restraints and take off at a panicked gallop away from the fire raging behind you.

Quiet sobs are hiccuping from Duckie. She grabs a fistful of the back of your gown and jerks. “Go!” But instead of directing you back toward your carriage, her momentum sends you sprawling in the direction of the closest darkened clutch of trees. “We need to hide! Hurry, to the trees!”

Digging for purchase in the icy muck, you lurch to your feet and stumble until the forest's darkness gobbles you up. Duckie is only a pace or two behind you, her mud-covered bosom heaving as she slumps down behind a knotted and gnarled tree.

Wordlessly, she beckons for you to join her, and you both sit there, peering around the side of the tree and back at the chaos still engulfing your caravan. The fighting has died down. A few green and brown-clad bodies writhe on the ground, making your stomach protest the senseless violence.

Broken crates and boxes lie scattered about, their insides spilled and pilfered through by the brigands—clearly a band of no-good highwaymen. It’s one of the main reasons the Sherwood Forest should be avoided after dark. Bands of rogues and disgraced knights have taken to prowling the thick woods.

As sour as your thoughts are, you can’t help searching the fray for a particular hooded figure. You feel like if you could get one more glimpse of him, you might be able to decipher what happened when your eyes met his. At the moment, you could have sworn he was the man of your dreams, but now, you’re not so sure. There is far too much adrenaline coursing through your system for you to make heads from tails of it.

You watch as one of the brigands uses the pommel of their sword to clock one of your escorts across the temple, crumpling him into a heap of red and gold. Focusing on each pitched cluster of violence, you realize the red and gold figures are the only ones trying to deal lethal blows. You’ve watched enough tournaments of combat to know the basics of battle.

“They’re not trying to kill them,” you mutter under your breath.

“What, My Lady?”

Sparing a glance at Duckie, you nod back toward the road. “The brigands. They’re not using lethal moves. It is as if they are intentionally avoiding critical damage. Like they…” you trail off, catching sight of a familiar hooded figure, glinting eyes shadowed in the cowl latching on yours.

“You cannot possibly be suggesting—”

“Behind you!” you scream, lurching from your hiding spot and sprinting back toward the road where you saw Yoongi creeping up behind the hooded figure as he was distracted, staring at you.

Branches scratch and rip at your gown and the exposed skin of your throat and hands. But the stinging lashes are second to the intense panic slicing through your chest as Yoongi’s bloodied sword arcs through the air.

By the time you spill from the cover of the trees, the cloaked man is springing up from a roll where he must have dodged Yoongi’s blade. You watch as he spins to face Yoongi. He brings a hand up, and an ear-splitting whistle pierces the air.

As if the sound has broken a dam, the dozen remaining hooded figures, including the one with those molten eyes locked on you, disengage and retreat. They dissolve into the surrounding trees like fog baked away by a noonday sun; there one moment and gone the next.

Yoongi barks an order to pursue, and half the remaining gold and red soldiers peel off to follow. They look like a ragtag bunch, their armor speckled with dark mud and blood. But, you know they have received extensive training under the tutelage of Yoongi and the Prince’s court mage and will try to track down as many of the brigands as they can like the good hunting dogs they are.

“Yoongi, please, call them back!” you plead. “The wood is dark. It is not worth it! Please, I beg you, let us hurry—”

The narrowing of Yoongi’s eyes causes your words to catch in your throat. You’ve never seen such a venomous glare. It pierces right through your heart, spearing you in place. You think he is about to lay into you, lashing at you with that curdling tongue. Yet, he just nods, turning away and stalking from you before whistling a sharp cadence that you recognize is used to call the guards back.

“My Lady,” Duckie sniffles. “Oh, your gown. This simply won’t do. Come, come, back to the carriage.”

She ushers you quickly back toward the open door of your carriage, the horses tethered to the front, finally calming their stamping hooves and wild eyes.

“Move out!” Yoongi shouts. The guards who had peeled off to follow the brigands emerge back into the clearing, and in a few short minutes, the caravan moves once again—albeit a few carriages short, the carnage left behind like a pock on the King’s Road.

🍂🍂🍂

Namjoon

There were too many.

Too many uniforms of red and gold and sharpened swords.

It was a bad call.

No amount of coin is worth the bodies that were left behind in the mud. Namjoon knows he shouldn’t have encouraged the men. He should have put his foot down and been firm in his insistence that they hold back.

But, there’s naught to do for it now except lick their wounds and hope the amount of coins and jewels they got off with can fill their larders against the coming winter. The bags seemed heavy enough, but one can never be too sure until they actually begin to count and weigh it out.

The men seem happy enough. Their jovial shouts and laughter carry through the woods, adrenaline adding to the thrill of it as they all easily lope along under the darkening boughs.

The dense foliage overhead absorbs their merriment, and Namjoon doesn’t wish to take it away from them by asking them to quiet down. He realized that the Sheriff called off his dogs shortly after anyway—a surprise for sure and a welcomed one at that.

“How many did we lose?” Hoseok asks, pitching his voice low so others don’t hear. His long legs trot along, keeping pace with ease beside Namjoon.

Namjoon frowns, huffing a breath as they jog in silence for a few moments. “Five.” He rattles off their names, hating how each one coats his tongue with a bitterness that nothing but the most potent fyre ale will be able to staunch.

“We will honor them and ensure their families are taken care of,” Hoseok offers, his voice hollow but firm. He’s always been a softer guy, something Namjoon has cherished in all their years of friendship. Hoseok has helped to temper Namjoon’s anger and quell his intensity at dire times of need; he is an empath through and through.

Not trusting himself to say more, Namjoon just nods as they continue through the woods until they reach their destination.

It’s a hidden city—a village, really. But everyone likens it to a city, considering it stretches across nearly an entire league of forest, tucked into the upper branches of the trees. It’s a proverbial city of wooden treehouses and rope bridges spanning between platforms. They have nearly everything a city does, even a bakery and a small darning shop.

The only thing not within the hidden city in the tops of the trees is the smithy—too much of a fire hazard, of course. So, Jungkook has his forge and the bellows tucked away into the crumbling remains of an ancient fortress long forgotten in the woods.

As an exiled knight of the crown, Jungkook knows his way around weaponry. It wasn’t that far of a leap to smithing once he got the hang of it. Namjoon can just see the glow of the forge fire as his band approaches, the approaching call having been whistled just a moment before.

It’s safer like that, using mimicry of bird calls as signals. He learned early on that you can never be too careful. The last thing Namjoon wants is for someone to come across his home…his people, the outcasts and the damned.

“I’m going to check in with Jungkook. Be up shortly,” Namjoon tells Hoseok before veering off towards the old ruins.

Hoseok disappears into the foliage, rallying the band up the rope ladders to the hidden homes above, where most of their families wait. Despite how ramshackle and hodgepodge his little city is, there is beauty in it, too. Beauty in the families, the small children that have spent more of their lives living among the leaves of trees than on the ground. But at least they’re safe; that’s what matters most.

That and the food from the coin they managed to loot tonight will garner.

That’s the primary reason he needs to speak with Jungkook. Being an exiled knight, the man not only knows his way around weaponry, but he has a knack for trading and brokering deals as well.

Despite his exile, Jungkook is still respected among many of the Prince’s men. With a well-placed word and an extra coin or two, Jungkook can get just about anything Namjoon needs.

There is a chill in the air, but the forge is blistering hot, the heat reflecting off the stone ruins' few remaining walls. Namjoon thinks this particular nook of rubble was once a stable—the rusted iron hitching posts lining the lower wall leads him to that conclusion.

Jungkook seems to be getting ready to shut the forge down for the night. He’s shirtless and dripping sweat with an assortment of new blades, which are laid out on the makeshift table off to the side.

“Oh! You startled me,” Jungkook huffs, a soot-covered hand slapping over his heart as he turns and spots Namjoon.

Namjoon smiles apologetically. “Sorry, brother. I was just about to announce myself.”

“It’s no matter,” Jungkook says, brushing it off. He swings around further, depositing the leather roll of tools cradled in his other arm on the table beside the new blades.

“What brings you here? I thought surely you’d be up with everyone else, filling your belly with some ale. There are still a few casks left.”

“In due time.” Namjoon shrugs, looking for something to distract from the real reason he’s come to talk to Jungkook. “Do you mind if I have one of these?” he asks, gesturing to the pile of fresh blades.

Jungkook’s eyes sweep over Namjoon, landing on the empty dagger sheath at his hip. “That’s, what, the third blade you’ve managed to lose in as many months?”

Namjoon scrubs a hand through his hair, sighing. “Yeah…there was some trouble on the road.”

Those eyes that were resting on his empty sheath now narrow into a calculating query as they rise to Namjoon’s. “How did it go?”

The tense silence lasts just a spell before Namjoon clears his throat and breaks it. “We came away with a few hefty bags.”

“But? There’s a but there, I can tell. Go on, tell me, how many did we lose?” Jungkook leans a hip against the table. He pulls out the rough-spun towel tucked into the top of his leather apron and begins to absently brush and wipe the soot and grime from his hands.

As much as Namjoon would rather talk about the trade and bartering that would come from the coin, he knew Jungkook would ask after the loss. After all, it was Jungkook’s suggestion that took Namjoon and his band of men to the edge of the forest tonight. He had heard that the Sheriff would be moving precious cargo. It turns out the precious cargo was in the form of a woman.

A fierce and brilliant woman who came rocketing into Namjoon’s life like a shooting star blazing through the night as she streaked across the impromptu battlefield to free those terrified horses. It was an accident, the errant arrow catching one of the hanging lanterns. He heard the man who loosed the arrow curse and lament over it and they both got caught up defending their backs against the Guards before they could act.

“We lost five,” Namjoon says to pull his mind out of that rabbit hole. The last thing he needs to be thinking about is the odd, visceral connection and pull he felt with that mystery woman.

Jungkook nods, his lips thinning into a straight line. “They’ll be honored by all,” he says, mirroring Hoseok’s words from earlier. “Tell me what else went on? What was so precious Yoongi disregarded all safety guards and ventured into the Wood so late?”

The words get caught in Namjoon’s throat. In part, he doesn’t want to tell Jungkook because he somehow feels possessive of the woman. It’s absurd. Forcing that notion aside, Namjoon forges on, recounting everything that transpired for Jungkook. By the time he’s done, Jungkook nods with a faint look of knowing on his face.

“For some reason, the Sheriff signaled a pullback a few minutes after the order to follow. He’s never done that before.”

“That,” Jungkook says, tucking the now-soiled rag back into the top of his apron, “would be The Fair Maiden of York’s doing.”

“Wait. The who?” Namjoon has heard of The Yorkshire Maiden. She’s renowned throughout the parts, even for someone as hidden and removed from society as Namjoon. In fact, he knows that she’s— “The Prince’s betrothed? You mean to tell me we attacked her caravan?” He mutters your name, the sweet sound of it coating his tongue like honey. “That’s who that was?” Each new line of thinking has Namjoon’s alarm rising.

“I had thought she had already ventured south. It didn’t even cross my mind that the precious cargo could have been her. In truth, I should have considered it. I’m sorry, my friend. I’ll try to get better information next time.”

Namjoon barely registers Jungkook’s words, giving him a jerky nod and a half-muttered excuse of needing to go. Jungkook waves him off, saying he’ll be up shortly.

But he won’t find Namjoon when he does.

No, because Namjoon is now on a different trail, having passed off a curt message to a sentry about returning in a few days' time that he was going to speak to a contact. Which isn’t entirely a lie. He needs answers and fast. There is only one place he can think of that he might be able to find them. A place he hasn’t visited in far too long—months at this point.

The feeling in his chest…the name still echoing in his mind. There is an explanation. But he needs to be sure, confirm it, and see it once again with his own eyes. Because surely it’s impossible… fairytales are just that, fairytales.

It’s not like he didn’t already know your name. But the combination of your name and the feelings that assaulted him…Namjoon’s thoughts trail off as he focuses on putting one foot in front of the other, keeping to the shadows.

He cuts around the tree-top encampment, skirting the ruins until he hits a very seldomly trailed path. It spears right into the heart of Sherwood, leading Namjoon directly to the outskirts of Nottingham.

Namjoon has to journey through the night, taking a brief reprieve under the drooping boughs of a pine. Thready light filters through the trees, guiding Namjoon. Despite the infrequent use of this particular trail, he knows it perhaps more intimately than any other. It was the path of his childhood, where he found salvation and freedom.

The spire of the old church comes into view, breaking through the canopy before it gives way entirely to the thick stone wall encasing the city proper. It was the wish of the church to remain outside the city so its doors could remain open to any and all manner of wanderers, even those who may have found themselves on the wrong end of the Kingdom’s sword.

“Friar Gill! Friar Gill, are you within?” Namjoon whisper-yells, peeking over the sill of one of the rear windows of the sprawling sect house that connects to the church proper. It’s early enough in the dim morning hours that daily service and devotionals haven’t happened, but the brother within should be awake to prepare for them.

“Is that you, Namjoon?” comes a familiar voice, though one that does not belong to Friar Gill.

“Jimin? Er, Friar Park, yes, it’s me.”

“What brings you here at this hour?” Jimin asks, his tousled head of dark locks poking out the window a second later. His eyes are bright, the dark irises catching the first glimmers of morning light. A hefty tome is clutched to his robe-covered chest and there is a smudge of ink on the apple of his left cheek.

“Is Friar Gill here?”

“I’m afraid not. He left per request of the King, nearly a month gone now. He’s to bless the front lines and bestow his grace upon the King as he continues his crusade. It seems the Prince’s favored mage has not brought the King any luck,” he adds that last part with a healthy smirk, his cheeks instantly coloring as he clears his throat. “Forgive me for speaking ill of the Prince’s Mage.”

It’s an automatic response, Namjoon knows, for Jimin to feel contrite over his words immediately. Even if he knows Namjoon holds no warmth with the Prince nor his Mage. If anything, Namjoon harbors far more resentment and hatred towards the snake of a magick caster than most.

After all, it was The Mage who saw to Namjoon’s displacement and subsequent outlawish ways. It’s his fault that Namjoon has had to resort to pillaging city-bound caravans to get by.

He reminds Jimin as much, “You know there is no pleasantry lost between Taehyung and myself.”

Jimin nods, a frown pulling down his full mouth. “Yes. Yes, I don’t suppose so.” Straightening up, Jimin gives a quick shake of his head. “Friar Gill may be gone, but perhaps I can help you. What is it that you need?”

“There’s a book…a book that was shown to me when I was just a boy by Friar Gill. It has a green leather cover and gold etching along the edges. The title was something odd, a language I’m not familiar with. Do you know it?”

“‘Prophetia Somniorum’,” Jimin intones softly, his eyes widening with twinkling wonder. “A book about dreams. Prophetic dreams.”

“Yes. That’s the one. I think it has the answers that I seek.”

🍂🍂🍂

“Please, My Lady, come away from the window before you catch a chill. It’s the last thing you’d want on this day.”

You sigh, turning away from the open window of your tower room. The landscape beyond is bleak, the sky streaked through with heavy, grey rain clouds. There’s been a perpetual drizzle ever since you arrived in Nottingham.

Six days. It’s been six whole days since the incident in Sherwood Forest. Six days since you saw him…and you can’t stop thinking about those dark eyes. You’ve dreamed about them several times throughout your life, a few times a year at most. Now, though, it’s become a nightly occurrence.

There was a point in your life, in your early twenties, when you asked your mother about the dreams and whether or not she thought they held any meaning. You’ll never forget the faraway look she got in her eyes and the sad smile that curved her rouged lips.

It was like she was haunted by your question, or rather whatever your question made go through her mind. Memories, perhaps. Though, she never would tell you, no matter how much you asked. She simply told you that you should always dare to dream, whether your eyes are opened or closed.

You wish you could seek her guidance now, to ask her whether or not the man on the road could genuinely be the man you’ve been seeing in your dreams or if that kind of thing only belongs in storybooks.

It’s been months since you’ve seen either her or your father. Ever since your mother took ill and she and your father took up permanent residence in Nottingham, you’ve spent far more time alone in Yorkshire than in either of their companies.

As it is, you’ve not even seen either of them since you came into the city. Their estate is on the far side of Nottingham, in the garden district, and you’re restricted to the Palace. You had received a brief letter from them when you first arrived, a simple check-in via a cursore. You sent a response, but there hasn’t been word since, not a single knock at your chamber door aside from the occasional servant bringing your meals.

You wouldn’t be surprised if it’s still months before you see them again, given your mother’s health and your father’s demanding position within the governing body.

Duckie titters, her hands automatically moving to straighten your gown, even though not a stitch has moved since she trussed you into the stays an hour gone. The sun sits heavy and low on the horizon, its thready rays trying pitifully to eat away the thickness of night and perpetually grey cover.

You woke long before you should have, feeling restless with an itch beneath your skin. The fine hairs along your arms prickle under the long bells of your sleeves. You can’t shake the feeling that’s been gnawing at your gut since your eyes popped open, the dream of your highwayman sluicing away like a rush of icy water down your back.

“My gown is fine, Duckie,” you mutter. It takes every ounce of nerve you have to not jerk away from her prodding and fluffing.

Her wrinkled lips turn down in a frown. “One can never be too lax on a day such as this, My Lady. I just want to make sure you are pristine for Prince Seokjin.”

You might have once smiled at the thought of a prince. Part of the girlish charm of childhood, you’re sure. Pretty dresses, handsome princes, and a single care of naught else in the world. Only, you’re not a girl anymore. Not even close.

“I’m quite alright. Please. If the prince cannot accept me as I am right now, then perhaps he does not befit me after all.” You meant to say that to yourself, a mere utterance under your breath, but your frazzled nerves must be affecting your senses as a whole.

The gasp from Duckie is so dramatic it belongs in the theatre, center stage with an anticipation-gripped crowd holding their breaths to find out what happens next. In this case, it's a twitching of your eye as you suppress an eye roll and plaster on a tense smile instead.

Duckie swallows whatever response is on her tongue when a loud, sharp rapt sounds at the door. She schools her features and turns towards it, giving you a quick glance over her shoulder. You nod, letting her know it’s acceptable to open the door, even if you’d rather tell her to send whoever it could possibly be away. Nothing good can come of a knock on the door today, even if it could be a cursor from your parents.

Just as expected, the door opens, and you’re certain the temperature in the room drops several degrees. If you were facing the window, you’re sure you’d see the sun slink backward in the sky, choosing to hide from the figure on the other side of your threshold instead of continuing its journey to spread its meager warmth.

The prince’s mage sweeps into the room, his upper lip curled in mild disgust as his gaze sweeps over Duckie, quickly dismissing her, until they land on you. Those cold, calculating eyes have always unnerved you. What with their slender vertical pupils that slice through his golden brown irises, he looks every inch the venomous snake you know he is.

“My Lady,” he says, tilting his unruly head of midnight hair toward you. Even his voice has a hiss-like quality to it, the syllables drawn out just a breath too long.

“Taehyung.” You hope he can hear the apparent disinterest in the flat tone of your voice. “To what do I owe this pleasure?” Though it’s anything but, you mentally note.

“I came to escort you to the arena.”

Of course, he would be the one to come and escort you. You should have figured as much. Despite the threat of rain, today’s festivities are set to commence at high noon. In celebration of your betrothal to the prince, a tournament of varying specialties is being held. There will be horse jousting, stone lifting, archery, and a multitude of other events, along with a giant feast. The event is open to most of the public, one of the only times mere commoners may get the chance to mingle among the upper echelon.

You balked at the idea when it was presented to you by your father. But, he would hear nothing of it, nattering on about how this marriage will benefit not just the Kim crown but your father’s own standing with his home country as well. For lack of a better way to say it, you are simply a means to a political end. No better than a slab of meat being bartered for at market.

“There is no—”

“There have been more reports of attacks on the road, growing ever closer to the city. The prince worries for your safety. You can come with me, or I shall have to call for the sheriff. My Lady, there simply can be no other way.”

It’s tempting to make him call for Yoongi. However, you’re not sure who the lesser of two evils is. As much as you hold disdain for the sheriff, you know if he’s pulled away from his duties to escort you, his wrath will be great. While the prince’s mage unnerves you…best to get this over with.

“Very well.” You incline your head and clench your jaw in preparation for the feel of his skin against yours as you stiffly rest your hand over the top of his when he offers it to you.

Ignoring the foreboding feeling growing in the pit of your stomach, you allow Taehyung to guide you out your door, Duckie shuffling close behind. The soft whisper of your slippers over the cold stones in the corridor might as well be the toll of a bell, telling of your impending doom and the future you want no part of.

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