#I used to beg people to trade chores with me to take care of the goats | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

gumimybeloved06 · 28 days ago

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Daughter of Evil, Chapter One

Once upon in another land, another place, in a land oh so far away, there was an evil princess no one dared to face. Ruling by an iron fist and standing central stage, was a noble princess of only 14 years of age. In the stables she’d often play, Josephine was her favorite horse to ride through the meadows with.

Everyone in her land called her the Daughter of Evil.

Riliane was unspeakably inhumane, for just a mere child, to her subjects.

She had no mercy, no kindness, no pity, nor regret for those she killed, and all who witnessed her tyranny feared for their lives. She had no interest in politics or trade, nor the welfare of the people, but her family had the resources and money to do whatever they wanted, and Riliane had no care about the lives that were taken away, and the suffering the people felt.

Her mother and father passed away due to disease. They were no better than her, if anything, the princess was their little carbon copy, so they were not missed when they died.

Even if you missed a spot on the floor or failed to shine her shoes properly, a thousand deaths were the penalty for you.

But there were a few, who still had hope, a few who believed in their hearts, that the flower of evil would fall. Her petals like raindrops would shower the ground, and the sun would rise once again.

The executioner would lament how many more lives he had to send off to the gallows.

The maids would pray and wish that she would be kind and merciful.

The people would cry out and wish that she would never have been born at all.

The court jesters would laugh, for they did not need a king or queen, but their own happiness.

The ministers would try and convince her, but in the end, they too, would give up.

But, I saw something in the Daughter of Evil. A spark, that wasn't quite evil, a bit of kindness left in her. A part of her that wasn't cruel. A part of her that was still pure and innocent. I saw a part of her, a part of her that could be saved.

And whatever happened, I wanted the Daughter of Evil to be safe, happy, and smiling somewhere, even if it wasn’t with me.

Because I loved her.

How rather foolish I am.

But, love tricks you, and foolish it makes you.

Many furnitures littered her entire castle, antiques of past generations and paintings that her ancestors created. She didn't care about the art of the past, or her heritage. All she cared about was herself, and her own self-centered, selfish desires. But she did collect, much. She would collect and keep the most random things, but I knew. I knew she kept every single item as a token, a memory, a memory from her childhood, a time before she was a queen, a time where she was free.

How did I know her from back then? Well, it’s simple. But I’m afraid this isn’t the time to this tale.

. . .

Today was her birthday. I stood by this girl’s throne, watching her pick on a maid, who was shaking in fear and begging for mercy. It was a normal day, a normal day like any other. The only difference was, today was her birthday, a day her servants dreaded, and she celebrated. I am a palace servant myself, burdened with heaps and barrels of chores. My name is Allen, the servant boy of the Daughter of Evil, Riliane.

She laughed, throwing her head back. The maid trembled as she stared into her eyes, her eyes like cold ice, and her voice as sweet and bitter as poison, Riliane would speak ever so softly, but her words cut like a knife.

“You are going to pay in full, for the crime of having no presents to offer Us on Our birthday, and We shall show you no mercy. Do you hear me, lowly maid? It was a crime to not give her a present, a crime punishable by death. I stood by, silently watching, but in the back of my mind, a tiny part of me said that I should stop this, stop her, and take the maid away from here.

But I couldn’t as my job was to be a servant, a loyal servant to the Princess Riliane.

A servant who would obey and stay silent, a servant who would do their master's bidding.

The maid looked down, and nodded, her whole body was trembling, “I- I apologize, your esteemed, beautiful, glorious, god-like, divine majesty. P-please have mercy, have mercy on my poor soul-!! I will- I will be a good maid from now on, so please- Please have mercy!!! Forgive me for this horrible crime I have committed!!”

“No! Off to the guillotine for you! Off to the chopping block with you! You are not going to escape! You are not going to run!! Because We can and will catch you, and kill you for this crime you have committed! And if you dare run, you are going to be punished for the crime of escaping, which will be a worse death for you! We will have no mercy!” Riliane threw her hand erratically up, pointing to the two guards who stood at the doors.

She was going to execute her. She was going to kill her. This was the day. I didn't know why, but I just felt that today was the day she would kill. Riliane killed a lot on her birthdays. And I mean, a lot. Once, she set an entire village ablaze just because someone didn't give her a gift. The guards grabbed her and dragged her out of the throne room. The girl screamed, begging for mercy, as the doors shut behind them. Riliane proudly grinned at me, and I felt daggers in my chest from being oh so nervous.

“Allen! Go get me something sweet and a cup of tea while you’re at it.”

“Haven’t you had enough, your majesty? I brought you some earlier. Why not go outside and get some fresh air? I think you would get rather bored, staying inside all day, after all. Why don't you go visit the market, or the gardens?"

“BUT WE CRAVE DEATH! THE DEATH OF ALL WHO OPPOSE US!"

Her screams shook the entire room, as she stood up.

"Bring us our sweets. We demand it."

I had no choice but to obey. I sighed in defeat as I dragged myself to the kitchen where Ney, one of the maids, was sitting on the counter talking with another maid, Chartette. The girls then took notice of me, and Ney walked up to me.

"What's wrong, Allen?" She asked me, putting her hands on her hips.

"Oh, it's just Riliane. She wants her sweets."

Ney groaned, “Ugh, what does she want this time? A cake, a pie, or is she getting sick of those, and wants some cookies or something? I swear, her stomach is bottomless, and her appetite is as endless as her greed…! She reminds me of somebody I know…”

“I don’t know, I guess anything sweet?” I shrugged, rather nonchalantly as Ney opened the pantry door, and pulled out a chocolate cake, and began frosting the top. She sliced a piece, and handed the plate and fork to me.

Chartette spoke up, “So, I’da reckon that Riliane wants a nice cup of tea to go with this cake? Whatcha think, Allen? I mean, it's only polite if she's gonna eat cake, ain't it?"

I nodded, and Chartette went over to a cabinet, pulling out a teacup. She accidentally dropped it, and it shattered into tiny shards on the floor.

I gasped, and backed away, the cup falling to the ground. Chartette, Ney, and I were all frozen with fear, and we slowly looked over at the door. Holy God, save us all. We were going to all be executed if Riliane found out- so Ney quickly ran to bar up the door as Chartette and I cleaned it, I using my own coat as a curtain to make sure Riliane couldn't see the mess if she ended up coming in somehow. The palace had many secret shortcuts, so you’d never know when somebody would enter. We burnt the glass shards as fast as we could and made a new cup of tea. Ney unbarred the door, and she sighed with relief, taking the cake and cutting off a slice for herself, and a slice for Chartette, and a slice for me. I shook my head, and refused, not wanting to be greedy. Ney and Chartette both smiled at each other, and giggled.

"Well, looks like I'm taking this for myself! More for me~" Ney smirked as she shoved the piece of cake in her mouth.

“Eyyy! Didn’t ya cut the cake for everybody, Ney? Ya can't take a slice for yerself!! That's stealing, yannow! I didn't take my slice, and Allen didn't either, and yet here ya are, eating it right before our eyes. If he don’t want it, I want it, yannow!”

“Nooo~” Ney said as she licked her fingers, and grinned. Chartette and Ney started bickering, and I left, shutting the door behind me, and leaving the girls alone to argue.

I carried the slice of cake, and tea back to Riliane. I set the plate and teacup on the table next to her throne, and stood, awaiting further orders. Riliane ate up the cake, fast as a snake, and gulped down her tea.

Riliane stood up, and she walked around, as she held a hand to her chin.

She turned towards me, and asked, "Allen, do you think there's something wrong with Us?"

"Not at all, your majesty. Nothing at all. You are a fine queen, and I can think of no one more suitable to be the ruler of our land than you." I lied. This was all a lie. She wasn’t a good person. But she was my princess, so I had to love her, and serve her no matter what.

“Okay, I’m gonna think for a while. I’m going to my bedroom to play the piano. Bye bye.” She ran off, the heels of her shoes making a clicking noise as she exited the throne room, and dashed off to her bedroom.

. . .

After she had left, I sat in the throne, and looked out the window. The sky was clear, the wind was gentle, and the birds were singing their songs, and everything seemed peaceful. I was the few of the servants who could sit here, because her majesty liked me. I was her favorite servant, her favorite. It was a blessing. It was a curse.

I sighed, and looked at the floor, and then to the sky, the window giving a nice view of the garden. There were roses, lilies, and many other flowers. It was the prettiest place I ever seen, and I could tell why Riliane took such grand pride in it. I could smell the scent of the flowers even from the throne room, the scent of the lilies and roses. I could hear the sound of the birds chirping. I was supposed to clean the garden up with Chartette this afternoon, but I rather stay here… It was so peaceful, and yet, in the back of my mind, a little thought, a tiny voice whispered.

‘There is a storm brewing, Allen.’

And I had no idea how right I was.

. . .

It was three o’ clock, and I must’ve fallen asleep, for Ney burst into the throne room. I jolted awake, and the girl was running around the room, screaming, "ALLEN, ALLEN!!” The maid had tears on her face, shaking, “THE PRINCESS- SHE’S- GONE! I went to go deliver her her afternoon tea and have a tea party with her, b- but-!! But the door was locked, and she was nowhere to be seen- and I broke down the door, and- AND-! She was gone! I don't know what happened, and the guards-!! Aghhh! It happened so- fast! Her window was open, and I found a note under her pillow…!!!"

Ney was hyperventilating, and I got up from the throne, slapping her to get her to calm down. She took deep breaths, and showed me the note.

‘Dear whoever it may concern, We are off to Marlon to go marry Prince Kyle for my birthday. We want a new castle, and a new wardrobe. Tell everyone the news! We hope you are not upset with Our decision. We will return soon. Love, Riliane. ♡'

… Like she could get to Marlon all by herself. The country was on the opposite side of the region, overseas. She had a map in her room, and if I recall correctly, the country was far, and had a very strong defense, and was impossible to enter unless you were invited. They were at war currently, so there was no way she could get into the country without dying. And there also was no way Riliane knew how to get a ticket to a boat, go on the boat without falling into the water and drowning, or how to get the money to afford the ticket.

But I didn't know. I didn't know a lot of things about her, but there was one thing I did know.

Riliane was stupid.

Really, really, stupid.

"We should find her before something bad happens to her. She can't leave the country! Not yet- we have to stop her! I have no idea how she expects to get out of the kingdom…!” Ney exclaimed.

“ She's probably still nearby. I'm not too worried.” I said back, dryly. It was oh so obvious- where Riliane’s location was to me. So, so obvious, it was almost a miracle that nobody had thought of the answer. “I’ll go find her by myself. She can't have gotten far."

Ney sighed, "Well, if you say so, Allen… it’s just weird she disappeared on her 14th birthday like this, you know?”

“You’ve been spending way too much time with Chartette, you know.” I commented. Chartette had a habit of saying ‘you know’ at the end of all her sentences, and it was starting to rub off on Ney.

She glared, and I left. I had to go to the stables.

I could hear in the distance the sound of a Levin church bell, signaling for it to be three o clock. No matter where you were in the town, you could hear the large chimes. The castle was far north from the church, so the bell echoed quite a bit, carried by the wind. The sound of the bells made it so people could figure the time out without a pocked watch even.

I felt somewhat guilty for not cleaning up the gardens with Chartette and Ney today. Later tonight at the party I have to ask them what happened, I have a feeling Chartette cracked the fountain once more. I got to the stables and chose a horse named Yelena. She was fast, and easy to ride. She was a beautiful black Clydesdale, and she was my favorite horse. I saddled her up, and rode off into the forbidden forest. It was thick, and hard to wander about alone in. The trees were tall, and blocked out any sunlight. It was quiet, and the birds were silent.

There was no noise. It was an eerie silence. I was afraid of this forest. I remembered when I was younger, Leon, my adoptive father, took me out hunting in this forest, I was 9, and he was teaching me how to hunt. I ended up getting lost, and I was crying out for him. I remember it was getting darker and darker, and I was so scared. I then heard a scream. A blood curdling scream, that would make your skin crawl, and your hair stand up on end. I cried harder. I was so scared, I thought I was going to die. I then saw two glowing red eyes in the darkness. They were piercing through the shadows, staring right into my soul. They grew closer, and closer, and I could hear the growls of the beast. I started screaming for Leon again, but he wasn't there.

It ended up being a wolf, but I still couldn’t sleep for weeks after that. I was always afraid of the dark. I don’t know how Leon was able to find me. I never asked. I never wanted to.

Spread out before my eyes were many lushly green trees. Presents from the earth god, Held.

We humans ought to be grateful at having been given such an enormous blessing.

Perhaps I nevertheless felt this forest to be “gloomy” because I was not devout enough. Or, perhaps it was because this place had been given the name of “The Forest of Bewilderment”.

People were known for getting lost here. They say they disappear, and are never seen again. Some say the ghosts of those who were lost haunt the woods, looking for a way out. They say, if you go deep enough into the forest, you come across a cave, and it leads you to hell.

This was where the devil came from, according to the books. Or at least where she will come from. According to legend, the devil would be born in the woods. She would appear in a cave, and her parents would abandon her. Then she would go off, and kill people, and spread evilness throughout the world. I don’t believe these legends, as I don't believe in the devil, nor a god. For if a god or devil existed, why would they allow such cruelty to take place?

Slowly, and quietly, the forest grew thicker and thicker. The branches of the trees intertwined and tangled together, and it was hard to see through the mess of roots and leaves. My heart was pounding as I tried to navigate my way through the forest. It was a maze, and a dangerous one, that was sure. I knew that if the trees were alive, they would be closing in on me, ready to strangle me. I looked around, the sun was shining brightly, and the grass was a beautiful green. I heard the sounds of animals, the sound of the wind rustling the trees, and the sound of birds singing their songs. It was such a strange place, with both life and death.

I was riding along the trail, the horse trotting as I went, the sun shining down on us. Suddenly, Yelena stopped, and the horse neighed, rearing back. Her eyes were wide and full of fear.

"Easy, girl. Easy." I whispered, patting her head. In front of us was a a small bat, on the ground. It was in the position of a corpse, and it was completely still, the wings wrapped around itself, and it was facing upwards. Yelena whined, and stepped back, shaking.

It was a dead animal. It was so clear- but its eyes opened up, all of a sudden, and the wings moved.

Was it just movement before it’s death, or was it-

It was moving. It was alive. I didn't know why, but a wave of relief hit me, and my shoulders relaxed. The bat crawled over to us, and landed on Yelena, and began walking up to her head. It rubbed against her neck, and it let out a squeak. Yelena, after a while, stopped trembling, and calmed down. She then started to walk forward again. The bat continued to crawl around her, and the horse would make noises as she moved, like she was talking to it.

I didn't question it. The bat didn't seem to do anything but walk on her. It would fly in the air a bit, but it would return and land back on her head. We finally reached the middle of the forest, where there was a clearing. It was a beautiful lake, surrounded by flowers, and the sun was shining above, and there were butterflies fluttering about, and fireflies floating around. Just a bit further til we got to Riliane’s location.

A butterfly landed on my nose as we crossed the bridge across the lake, and the water was so clear, that I could see my reflection, the reflections of the clouds in the sky… it was nice. I rode deeper into the woods, it was getting darker, and darker. I didn’t want to stay here long. I soon reached the coast, and I jumped off the horse, and ran to the edge of the water. There sat a girl looking up at the sunset, with a white horse beside her. She had blonde hair, and was wearing a long puffy golden dress. I let out a sigh of relief, and smiled. I was tired, but so happy to see her safe.

“Princess… Princess Riliane…”

After I spoke, she turned around, smirking. She looked a bit surprised, but quickly returned to her signature grin.

"Well, well, if it isn’t Allen. You actually came looking for us? How sweet. We don’t see why we should go back. We are free now."

"The kingdom needs you, Riliane.”

“How do you know about this place? This place is forbidden to all but us?”

"I used to come here when I was younger, your highness. Leon used to take me hunting here."

"Oh… So what? I don’t care! Us and a friend of ours- when we were young- this was our special place! No one else was allowed to come here!”

Riliane stomped her feet, and crossed her arms. Her air was a bit deflated, and she looked upset. She then grinned, and grabbed my hands.

“Everyone at the palace is scrambling to find you,” I continued, “Leonhart, Ney, Mariam, Chartette, Elluka, Gumina, everyone. I was so worried about you, my princess."

"You're always worrying about things, aren't you? It's annoying. That's not a good quality in a servant." She sighed, "I don't need to be protected. I am a princess.” "I'm not worried. I just have a lot of faith in your highness."

"You have a lot of faith in us, do you?”

The moment I mentioned my adoptive father’s name, Riliane’s expression grew harsh.

“Hmph, serves him right.”

Seeing her behavior, or rather, having frankly guessed most of this in advance, I knew the cause of her running away. It was because of her quarrel with my adoptive father yesterday. Leonhart was one for the peasants and the people, he loved and cared for them. He hated seeing them suffer. Riliane was a cruel and spoiled child, who did nothing but bring pain and suffering to everyone around her.

She would hurt innocent people, and laugh.

So Leonhart and her would constantly bicker and argue like two children, crazy kids, fighting for their beliefs. Leonhart was always trying to convince Riliane, to show her the error of her ways. She had no mercy. She had no pity. She had no kindness.

Riliane took notice of the bat who was on Yelena's head.

“Ick! A bat! Kill it, kill it!!!” She shrieked, pointing at the bat. I held out my hand, and the bat flew off the horse, and landed on my arm. I brought it closer to Riliane. “It’s cute, and friendly. Don’t hurt him, please, he didn’t do anything to you. Touch him, softly.” I said, holding it out.

Riliane hesitantly touched the bat, and her eyes widened.

"Wow... this thing is so cute, and fluffy! Like a little ball of fur!” She squealed, clapping her hands, “What’re you gonna name it? How about Fufu? Or Fluff-Fluff? Or-!! Maybe Chichi!! Or- Ooooh! How about-"

"Riliane."

She stopped, and pouted.

"You're not funny."

I chuckled. "You know, your majesty, if you would return to the palace, you can name him whatever you like."

Riliane looked away, and was silent. That was so tempting for her, she loved to name things. She then randomly brought up, “We got hurt, help us.” She showed me a splinter on her hand, and it was bleeding a bit.

I took out a salve from my pocket and lightly touched Riliane’s right hand.

“…–What are you doing, you insolent boy!?” she yelled, striking my cheek.

“Your hand is injured, my lady. It needs to be treated.”

My cheek had grown hot, but I pulled off the cover of the salve without paying mind to it, rubbing a small amount on the cut on her hand. It was a salve specially made by the palace sorceress Elluka. This amount should be able to quickly heal a scrape like this.

Appearing to understand what I was doing, Riliane stopped being angry and simply looked on as her right hand had medicine rubbed on it. As she did so–

"…Hm. Should I use this scrape as a pretext for convicting that oaf Leonhart?…Hurm, but a cut of this size might be too weak a reason for bringing him down…” she muttered musingly to herself.

Honestly, you haven’t changed.

While I continued to treat her scrape, I again recalled things about my childhood.

This happened back then too…Yeah, when we were playing on this coast, you’d fallen down and scraped your knee. And as I recall I treated it back then like this. Although you don’t remember.

Not that day.

Nor the conversation we’d had, about an old tradition that I had shared with her then.

And…

I could feel Riliane’s body heat through her right hand.

I marveled at how warm it was.

The hand of she who was known for such inhuman cruelty. How was it so warm?

–What a dumb question. She wasn’t some machine or waxwork model, she was a living being. It was only natural that she would have body heat.

That wasn’t it. What had been strange was why–why did I…feel such peace, in the warmth of her hand.

Of course…it’s because we're…

“That’s enough, let go.”

Riliane’s voice brought me back to my senses.

She was looking at me suspiciously as I continued to hold her hand, despite having already finished treating it.

“…Ahh! S…Sorry!”

I hurriedly let go of her hand and stumbled back a few steps.

“…Heeheehee,” Rather than being angry, Riliane was smiling for some reason. “That’s the first time We’ve seen that. Even if We hit you, you are calm, but just now you were all flustered.”

“No…I–I am terribly sorry Your Highness.”

Even I could tell that my face had grown even redder at her words than when she had slapped me earlier.

I averted my eyes, and looked to the side.

"Let's go home, okay? Come on, your highness. I will carry you."

I was prepared for her to get mad and throw a fit, and so, she did, "WE DO NOT WISH TO GO BACK! We're sick of the castle, and we don’t want to be treated like a monster anymore! And we are SICK OF THAT OAF LEONHART! WE HATE HIM! I'LL HAVE HIS HEAD!"

Riliane kicked the sand, and sighed. She then looked up at me.

"We promise to be nicer. If we kill Leonhart. He keeps defying laws. We need to teach him a lesson."

"Your majesty, please, Leonhart only wants to help. He isn't breaking any big laws. Please forgive him. The people need him. Your mother and father entrusted him to protect you and keep you safe, and he is doing just that."

"SHUT UP! WE DO NOT CARE! WE ARE THE PRINCESS AND WE WILL GET WHAT WE WANT! HE IS EVIL!”

She slapped me, stomped her feet again, and she mounted her horse.

"Come along, Josephine."

She then looked at me, and smirked.

"Well? Are you coming, Allen? I have something to show you. I bet you haven’t seen it before."

I mounted Yelena, and followed her lead.

"Where are we going? In your note you said your going to Marlon, but I can’t see you going that far on a boat all alone. You'd surely drown."

"You read our letter? How rude. We were gonna burn it... No matter. We're going to our secret hideout. We wanted to show it to you, we take a liking to you.”

Riliane led the way through the woods.

"We're gonna take the long way, just to be sure we lose them if anyone follows us."

She then smiled, and looked over at me. “You know, we see our image in you. You have our face. You were born with this beautiful golden hair, and gorgeous blue eyes, you should be glad. If you were anything like Leonhart, with his disgusting brown hair and ugly brown eyes, we would have no interest in you. But here you are, looking like a little princess, even though you're a boy. How interesting."

Riliane continued ranting, and the sun was setting, and it was getting late.

"Are we there yet? At this rate we aren’t going to make it to your party,” I asked, worried.

"We are almost there. Shut up. If you speak out of line, we will cut out your tongue, and have you walk back. Is that clear?" She waved her hand dismissively as she spoke, "We've traveled this road before, and we know it well. It will be quick, then we shall be off to the party, and have the best time of our lives."

"Yes, your highness..."

Atop her horse, Riliane looked up in stillness at the setting sun.

“You’ve been looking at the sun for some time now.”

I didn’t know if she’d heard my words or not, but without taking her eyes off of it Riliane said with a sigh,

“The sun is always all alone.”

That was true. If there were two or three suns, we would all be done in by the heat.

“It is…just like Us…”

“…?”

Why would Riliane suddenly say something like that? I couldn’t understand that right now, but I didn’t feel like I could ask her about it either. So I simply led her horse along in silence.

"Good. Now, we're here."

Riliane pointed out a large tower, hidden within the trees, surrounded by a wall, and a large gate. The gate was open, and we both entered. It seemed abandoned. We got off our steeds and left them outside, and we both went into the tower.

"What is this place?"

"Our hideout. No one comes here, but us, and our special guests. Now shut up! Let’s have some fun!”

"We're tired, can't we rest, or have some dinner first?"

"NO!"

"Alright..."

"Follow us."

Riliane grabbed ahold of my hand, and dragged me up the stairs. She took me to a room full of books, and a large table.

"Have a seat. We'll be right back."

I sat down, and she ran off. After a few minutes she came back with a knife, some bread, cheese, and meat, and some wine. She set everything down, and sat across from me. She then proceeded to cut the bread and cheese.

"What are you doing?"

"What does it look like?”

“We can’t drink, we are thirteen.”

“Ohoho. Not for us. It’s part of a plan. Hehehe! Let’s dine, if you need a drink tell me. I’ll get you water.”

I sighed, the princess usually didn’t get meals for other people, so I was quite surprised. I cut up the meat, it was cold, but tasted fine. Riliane seemed to have been having fun. She was giggling to herself, and her cheeks were a bit red.

"I'm sorry for burning you earlier. It was a mistake. We were angry.”

“It’s ok. What plan were you talking about?”

"Oh... Well. We need you to trust us. This is why we brought you here. We're sorry for being so mean, but we really wanted to see what your limits were, and if you could handle us. We're a lot to deal with, aren't we? Well, no matter. We have a plan.”

She then got out a glass bottle with a piece of rolled up parchment inside. She handed it to me.

“Open it, it is a wish. A wish from us to you.”

I opened up the note, and it said ‘assassinate Leonhart.’

My eyes widened. Was she serious? She must have been joking.

"What's wrong?"

"You can't be serious..."

"We are, you're gonna kill him. Don't worry, he deserves it. He made me get a splinter since I got left here for hours- but we have to do this in secret. Away from eyes. So we are gonna have you put poison in his wine."

"Your majesty, with all due respect, I'm not killing Leonhart."

"You have to. That is an order. Don’t you love us? We thought we could trust you."

"I can't do that. He is my father. He adopted me, and raised me. Why would you have me kill him? I can't do it, even if I tried, my older sister would get in the way. He is a good man, your highness, you're just too young to see it."

"Let us explain our plan. We are going to have a meal with Leonhart and get him drunk, then when he leaves to go home, you murder him in the garden where no eyes are."

"He will surely fight back, and win."

"You'll have to do something, we don’t care, just make him die."

"If he dies, what will become of the kingdom? Your mother and father, they entrusted him to take care of you and protect you. He is doing his best. If you want a better kingdom, if you want people to stop fearing you, why not give them hope, instead of fear, and be kind to them?”

“We… you take care of us! We rather have that! We don't want him anymore. We are tired of him! We want him dead! You will obey our command, and we will reward you, or you will be killed. Do you understand?!"

"Yes, your majesty.”

So many emotions swirled up inside me. I was angry, and I was sad. Riliane was acting like a child. She was selfish, and cruel, and she was going to throw away all her parents did for her. All of their work to keep her safe and happy, and the people's lives that were sacrificed. Guilt. Fear. Despair. These were the emotions that took over.

It was like a nightmare, but no matter how much I tried to wake up, I couldn't.

I couldn't stop her, no matter how much I tried, because in the end, she was the princess, and I was a servant. A storm of golden lightening was swirling up inside me, swallowing up everything else. I felt so sick. Like a part of me was dying. Flowers would wilt, and birds would fall, and the sunsets would cease. Everything would be gone.

I had a lot of faith in her, but, I didn't have a lot of faith in her actions.

"Do you promise?"

"Yes."

Riliane smiled, and hugged me, "Thank you. Now, let's go back to the castle, and have a grand party!"

The moon was full and the night sky was beautiful. The stars shone like diamonds, and the fireflies danced in the air. Riliane and I mounted our horses, and made our way back to the castle. The breeze in my hair felt like a thousand tiny fingers stroking my head, and the smell of the forest was sweet, like flowers, and it smelled just like a field of lilies and roses. I had to do what was best for the kingdom… but also best for this poor girl.

But the question is, which one was best? Which was right?

I felt bad for lying, but I was not going to kill Leon. I just couldn’t. The ride back was silent. It was pitch black, and I could only see the faint light from the castle, like a candle in a dark room. We finally made it, and the castle was filled with life and laughter. People were dancing, and the tables were covered with food. The lights were dim, and the chandelier was glowing, magnificent in its glory.

My feelings of dread sunk into evanescence as Riliane pulled me to go eat some snacks at the buffet together, and she was smiling and laughing. Her cheeks were pink, like rosebuds.

Riliane grabbed a plate, and I helped her fill it with food. She was smiling. It was the first time she smiled so brightly and genuinely, not a smirk, or a grin, or a smile where her eyes would show pain. It was the smile of a normal child, a happy child.

"This is the happiest day of Our life. You're a good servant, Allen."

"I try my best, your majesty. But you really shouldn't be eating all of this."

"Nonsense. It's a special occasion, and it's not every day you turn 14. Besides, we love food."

I sighed, and she grabbed a chocolate chip cookie, and ate it, a few bits falling out of her mouth.

"Ewww! Your majesty! What would the people think, seeing their queen like this?" Ney commented as she walked over, obviously joking with a chuckle at the end. "They can kiss Our ass." The princess would decree.

Chartette then came over and took the plate.

"Well, y'all can kiss mah ass! Come on now, ya don't need to be eatin' all the sweets at once, yannow. Ya can give me some! I can't stand not having some of those, yannow!"

"NO! We are not sharing! We're hungry! But…” Riliane took a small piece of lamb from the table and put it in Chartette’s mouth, spoon-feeding her, and winked. "We'll give you this. It's better than the cake anyways."

Chartette flailed her arms, squealing, making a spectacle of herself. “Yumm! Oh thank y'all, that was delicious!"

"Hmph. We know." Riliane said, as Chartette grabbed the entire place of lamb and gulped it all up. Ney was meanwhile, slinking about the ballroom, seeping out tales of gossip and spreading rumors, as was her usual habit.

Or, collecting rumors.

Ney was a huge gossiper, and loved hearing about other peoples' stories. She was a social butterfly. She’d tell us whose pregnant, whose in love, whose getting married, who is dating, whose dead, whose adopted, and anything else that could be considered juicy gossip. She knew more secrets about everyone in the palace than anyone else, even Elluka. And Elluka was- well, she may LOOK only thirty-something years old, but she’s way older. She has never aged a day, and has been the palace mage for 130 years… I have no idea how old she is, nobody does, not even Ney. But she is the most trusted sorceress. She is wise, and very knowledgeable. She knows magic, and can create potions.

Ney scurried over to us, and she whispered something into Riliane's ear.

"I'll be right back, Allen. I have business to attend to. Make sure the people are having a good time. Oh, and keep an eye on the guards."

"What's wrong?"

"Oh nothing. I just don't like those guys."

She ran off, and I followed her. She went over to a queen, from the kingdom of Aku. The queen had black hair, and dark skin, and her dress was a deep blue color. She had a crown on her head, made of bone from a whale, and a scepter.

"Queen Marisol, it's so nice to meet you again! How have you been doing?"

"Oh, hello, Princess Riliane, I've been fine.”

“Are you okay after the divorce and miscarriage?”

Oh. This was new. I didn’t know that Queen Marisol was a widow, now.

"Oh yes. I have gotten over it."

“Okay!~ Let me know if you need to talk, bye-bye!” Riliane waved then ran off, and the queen watched her run, before returning to her drink.

The party continued on, and a few people were already drunk, and the musicians were playing a jig. The princess had changed her clothes, and wore a new golden dress, and her hair was up, in a braid. She sat upon her throne, and drank from her goblet. Probably tea. She was usually, if not always, drinking tea. She did not desire juice, or anything sweet to drink, unlike the majority of the children.

People were dancing, and laughing. Ney and Chartette joking around, Elluka bragging about some artifact she found in the dirt or whatever, Gumillia- reading a book, she wasn’t the social type- and there were a bunch of people just talking, and having fun.

The nobles and royals of other kingdoms were all dancing or talking. They were a bunch of girls, and boys, all dressed in fancy gowns and suits, and the girls were wearing makeup, and jewelry. Some men were sitting and eating, and others were drinking.

I decided to go talk to Elluka because maybe she had something interesting to tell me. I walked over, and greeted her.

"Good evening, Elluka."

"Hello, Allen. Nice to see you."

"Are you enjoying yourself?"

"Why wouldn't I be? I get to brag and drink all I want! And no one can stop me!"

Elluka was the type of person to be happy with just a book and a cup of coffee, and would sit alone and read and drink, enjoying herself. But when parties and balls and banquets were involved, Elluka would get really hyper. I didn’t mind. Elluka was an odd person, but she was nice, and a tad prickly.

"Yeah, it's great."

I then remembered.

"Oh yeah, can I ask a favor of you?"

"Anything!”

"Can you take a look at a bat, and tell me if it's normal? I found it in the forest earlier, and was wondering if it was sick, or not."

"Sure thing. Let me go get my things, and we can do it here.”

I nodded, and she rushed off, and ran down a hallway, and came back after a few minutes. I got the bag out from my pocket, his little body wrapped up in a handkerchief, and he was still sleeping.

"Hmmm. Well- the two little horn stubs on its head are weird, and so is the pattern on its body, but besides that, he looks normal.” Said Elluka, she then pinched the bat’s little cheek, and it woke up, squeaking. It was cute. "Aw, he's so precious. His ears are so big!”

I took him back, and put him in the pocket again, “Thank you, Elluka. I appreciate it."

"No problem. Now, go have fun! You can talk to me later."

"Alright. See you around."

"See ya."

I wandered about a bit, observing the ball, and Riliane ran up to me grabbing my hand, dragging me off to the thrones, "Oh, Allen! Come here, come here! We wish to introduce you!"

"No. No, please, your highness, it's quite alright. I need to go-“

"Why don't you sit down and relax, Allen, you must be so tired from riding with Us! Everyone, this is my servant, Allen! Isn’t he so adorable? He's my favorite servant!"

"You're just saying that, your majesty."

I sighed, and sat down next to her. I didn't want to be here. It was too awkward. She usually let me sit in the king’s throne, just because she liked me. The other rulers would scoff at this, as the king was supposed to sit there, but she would always say that the king was dead, and it was hers. She’d talk to other rulers and nobles when I just sat there. There was the king of the “Green Country”, Elphegort, Thorny Elphen. And, similarly, the head of Elphegort’s commerce alliance, the wealthy merchant Keel Freezis. There was also the young king of the “Blue Country”, Marlon, Kyle Marlon. And other foreign royals and renowned personages had come to the palace to celebrate the birthday of Lucifenia’s young ruler.

One by one they all knelt before Riliane, and lined up in a congratulatory address. There was no one, locals and foreigners alike, who could deny her authority. It wouldn’t be an exaggeration to say that everything in this world was for her, and all were at her beck and call.

As for me, what with my cleaning of the garden since noon and then the search for Riliane, I was already exhausted by the time we arrived at the palace–but I had no expectations that I would have time to rest. Because we’d divided our workers with the search party for the princess, the ball preparations were very behind schedule, so all of the servants had to work with all of their energy on them.

Though the ball had started that by no means meant I could relax. All other things aside, we had all of these privileged foreign guests assembled in one building. I had to keep things moving along so that there wasn’t even the slightest mistake.

Near the corner some noblemen from another country were chatting away.

“This has turned out to be quite the era for women’s strength, hasn’t it?”

“How amazing to see a girl of yet fourteen being the ruler of the mighty Kingdom of Lucifenia.”

“Not to mention that two out of three of the ‘Three Heroes’ who contributed to its territory expansion in the first place were women too, weren’t they?”

“Even in Marlon, they say that while on the surface the young king Kyle is in charge, the one who actually holds all the power is his mother, the Empress Dowager Prim.”

“The merchant Sir Keel is no match for his wife either, I hear.”

The nobles didn’t pay me any mind. To them, servants like me were little differently from pebbles or livestock scattered about on the road. And towards Riliane, who shared the same face as me, they were toadies, continually trying to curry favor with her. It was a fact that the current state of affairs had resulted from the efforts of many powerful women. Progressiveness too, with more and more women being active in government positions, and taking leadership roles in business. They were more dominant and stronger than the men, no matter what species they were. Even a Netsuma, Oresian, or Ravi was able to become a ruler if they were female, and a woman could be a great mage, and not have to rely on a man at all.

I tried to get up from the throne, but Riliane stopped me, and forced me back down, whispering in my ear,

"We don't want you leaving just yet. We're having a good time, aren't you?"

"Well- yes. But- I have work to do, your highness."

"It can wait, silly. Look at everyone, they're having a good time. And the guards are on patrol, everything is going smoothly, thanks to me.”

“Okay…” I slumped, and she looked at me with a smile.

"There's no reason for you to be so nervous, Allen. It's our birthday! We can't have you acting all gloomy."

“I wanna go speak to Mariam… and Gumillia... and Leonhart. Please? They might need help."

"You can do that later. You can go see them when the party's over. For now, we want you to stay with us."

Ugh.

So, I continued to think and think. Think about why Riliane and I’s circumstances differed so much, despite the fact we were- no, I shan’t reveal it just yet. I had to wait. It would be a lie to say I wasn’t a bit envious. Riliane and I. Through a slight difference in our fates, The places where we each stood had become complete opposites. But then, why did she have a similar face as mine? I would never understand. Riliane eventually fell asleep, and Mariam walked over to me with two mugs of hot chocolate, Are you tired, Allen?” Mariam spoke up to me, appearing to show some concern at the sight of my face, haggard with exhaustion.

“I’m fine, Head Maid.”

“If you’re having a hard time, why don’t you rest a little in the servant’s quarters for now? There’s going to be a lot of work we’ll need to do later, such as cleaning and tidying up.”

The head maid, Mariam. Like Leonhart, she was one of the people who had been called “The Three Heroes”. Why was a hero of her caliber content to be a servant, her position of authority notwithstanding? I’d tried asking my adoptive father once before, but he’d merely replied,

“Well, as with countries and such there are all kinds of women. All kinds.“

So he hadn’t told me very much.

It was probably one of those so-called "adult reasons”. In such instances alone he would always talk down to me like I was a child. If I questioned him more persistently about it, he’d become increasingly more settled on treating me like I was an unreasonable brat. So I’d have no choice but to quietly withdraw.

“You looked like you were deep in thought. About Princess Riliane, perhaps?”

I rushed to find a response to her question, but was unable to reply immediately. She seemed to take that as an affirmation of her guess.

“Perhaps you were wondering why you have such different circumstances when you two have the same face, differences in gender aside?” she said with a slightly teasing tone.

It was true that I had been thinking about that regarding Princess Riliane just now. I decided to admit it honestly.

“…Head Maid, do you have mind reading powers?”

“Don’t be absurd. I’m not Elluka. …Ah, although she’s said she can’t read people’s minds either.”

The court sorceress Elluka. Another one of “The Three Heroes”.

“…On that topic, the fact that my face looks like Princess Riliane’s…won’t become a problem, will it?”

For a moment she didn’t seem to understand my question. “What do you mean, Allen?”

“Er…If by any chance it were to be found out that Riliane and I are…”

“Princess Riliane.”

I saw that her face, which had relaxed slightly, had quickly changed back into that of the strait-laced “Head Maid”, and I hurriedly corrected myself.

“…Yes excuse me, I mean to ask if people won’t find out that…Princess Riliane and I are brother and sister…” I asked her quietly so no one else would hear. I had inherited the blood of the Lucifenian royal family, and was Riliane’s brother…The only people who knew that were myself, the “Three Heroes”, and Minister Minis.

“There’s no problem in that area. Albeit, there have been some as of late who entertained suspicions on you and Riliane looking so much alike. But Elluka told them that 'In this world, people who resemble each other come in threes’, and apparently this placated them.”

They were satisfied with something so simple? Upon seeing my puzzled expression, she continued.

“Well, Elluka has many 'devotees’ in the palace, you see. You probably didn’t know this but her words have a surprisingly large amount of influence.”

The head maid continued speaking, “There’s also the matter of Princess Riliane. There is a possibility that she herself will remember you…but there’s probably nothing to worry about there either. It’s been one year since you came here. And the princess doesn’t seem to have discovered your background.”

There it was. Why had Riliane lost all of her memories of me?…All of her memories of when she was young.

The only reason I could think of was again, Elluka. With those “magic” powers of hers, there was a chance that she could even seal away Riliane’s memories. But I don’t know why she would have done that. It was likely that neither Elluka nor the head maid would tell me if I were to ask. If they had any intention of doing so, they would have told me long ago.

There was no point in worrying about this right now. I could only trust in the two of them and pray for Riliane's health and safety.

And I could only continue waiting for the day when she would remember. I was…a bit scared, if I was being honest. I feared her reaction. How would she feel about this? Would she be happy? Sad? Angry?

“Well, I should go,” Mariam said, as we finished our hot chocolate, and she walked away with both our empty mugs, "Good luck. And if anything is wrong, come get me, and we can talk. Alright?"

"Alright. Thank you, Mariam.” I got up from my throne, and bowed to her, then headed to the buffet, grabbing a slice of Brie cheese- but then my bat flew out of my pocket, and grabbed the cheese, munching away at it. I picked him up, and stroked his head.

"Hey. That's not yours. That's for me.”

He squeaked, and I sighed. He then climbed up onto my head, and hid in my hair, still nomming on the piece of cheese.

"What are you, a rat?"

I looked up, and the lights were dim, and the room was a bit smoky. The musicians were playing a slow waltz. Ney then ran up to me, “It’s time for the main event soon! We have to bring out the cake!"

She dragged me into the kitchen, and there was the head chef, Mr. Pierre. He was a nice man, who would often give me extra dessert. He was a man with a thick black mustache, and dark skin. He was tall, and a bit intimidating, but he was a very kind man.

The cake was veiled, unseen to all our eyes.

"Are you ready, young one?"

"Y-yes, sir."

"Good. Let's move the cake. Take the right side, and the I will take the left."

I grabbed the side, and we carried it, and placed it on the table, in front of Riliane, who woke up with a jolt, “Ohoho? What's this? Is this a present? A present for Us?! Oh my! Ohohoho!"

"Happy birthday, your highness." Pierre said with a bow, and Riliane stood up. The veil was thrown off by Ney, it was enormous…as though something out of a fairytale…A candy castle.

Its size looked about my height. The base appearsk as though it was made out of several layers of stacked cookie. The outer walls were painted with pure white cream, on the top was a glossy chocolate roof, and so many candy decorations over everything that I couldn’t count them all. The castle was so well built that it didn’t seem like candy at all; it looked as though if you opened up the doors you’d be greeted by a witch. I’m sure that witch would have the same sort of smile as the one Riliane was wearing now.

It had been placed on a pushcart, so moving it in and of itself wasn’t too hard a task. But, well…what a thing for Riliane to have had made .

According to what I heard from Ney, Riliane had suddenly hit upon the idea this morning, and had the patisseries make it.

…But no, if that was the case then why had she run out of the palace after that? Maybe it meant that at the end of the day, Riliane had planned to participate in the ball itself from the beginning solely because she’d wanted to jeopardize Leonhart’s position as captain of the royal guard.

The lack of consistency in her actions wasn’t something that just started today. I decided not to pay any more mind to it.

Oooh.

The guests looked upon the candy castle, voices raising in awe. When it came to showing Lucifenia’s power, it sounded like the candy castle was considerably effective. But well, I don’t think that Riliane had had it made with that as the goal. It was probably just because she had wanted to eat it. Because she had wanted to play. Just that.

When I looked at my adoptive father, he was open-mouthed, taken aback by shock. And then, his face flushing red, eyes clearly expressing his anger, he stormed away from the Hall of Mirrors.

Seeing his unusual state, I quickly chased after him.

“Da–Sir Leonhart! What about guard duty!?”

“I’m patrolling outside!”

In the Hall of Mirrors visible from beyond the open door, Riliane was playfully trying to demolish the castle with a fork that was like an enormous lance. Eventually, she just- straight-up dove into the cake, throwing it everywhere when eating it like a pig.

“With her absolute power she’ll create a world suited to her own satisfaction…She is surely the 'Daughter of Evil’. Like a witch,” he muttered as his parting words, leaving the place.

I stood stock still there, unable to say anything.

At some point, the head maid was beside me. She murmured with a sigh, “It’s true that what Leonhart says is quite right…”

Apparently she had heard our conversation from nearby.

“I think so too. But…”

“He knows too that the princess’ word is absolute. It’s just his personality.”

“Head Maid~ Allen~” As I was speaking to Mariam, Chartette came rushing over to us, while boneheadedly yelling. “The ball’s gonna get wrapped up soon, yannow! We gotta start cleanin’ up!”

“You shouldn’t be running in the palace, Chartette. …Well then, first take the servants to the gardens. We will prepare to see off the guests.”

Agreeing to the head maid’s directions, Chartette started to run…and then held herself in check, gracefully walking to the gardens.

I followed after her. It was no use prying any more into things with Dad.

Although I hoped he wouldn’t do anything too absurd.

And, while heading along I remembered what had happened earlier in the evening today whilst travelling to her hideout.

At that time, Riliane had said that she was “all alone”.

…I still couldn’t understand that. That’s not how it was, was it?

There were always lots of people around her. She didn’t want for money, furnishings, or food. With one word from her she could easily have even a candy castle built for her, like she did tonight.

–Why had she said something like that?–

I would understand the answer…Though perhaps “understand” wasn’t the right way to put it…But at any rate I would come to grasp what she meant only a short while later.

After a bit of work, and the guests were gone, and the palace was cleaned up, and everyone had fallen asleep. Everyone was tired from the day's events. Everyone was asleep, except for me.

I couldn't fall asleep, and it was quiet, and the moonlight shone through the window. I looked up, and my bat was on the ceiling, squeaking. Trying to speak to me.

"What are you saying, silly. It's night. Go back to sleep."

He flew down, and landed on my pillow.

More squeaking.

"No. We're going to sleep. Goodnight."

He then flew over to my bed, and curled up under my arm. I fell asleep, my fuzzy little friend providing me a bit of comfort upon my moonlit pillow.

#evillious chronicles #fanfiction #fanfic #rewrite au #alternate history #alternate universe

0 notes

nocturne-overtures · 4 years ago

Text

𝑼𝒏𝒅𝒊𝒔𝒄𝒍𝒐𝒔𝒆𝒅 𝑫𝒆𝒔𝒊𝒓𝒆𝒔

Pairing:MarkYu (Mark x Yuta)

Genre: Smut, Light Angst, Pwp, Fluff

WC: 8.1k+

Tags: Supspace, Subdropping, Feminization, Lingerie, Edging, Orgasm Delay/Denial, Edging, Sex Toys, Spanking, Light BDSM, Begging, Unprotected Sex, Creampie, Breeding, Mirrors

TW: Depictions of Subdropping and Insecurities

Summary:

Mark finds himself craving Yuta’s touch and attention, and it’s quickly becoming more and more of a problem.

AO3 Link

"Yu...ta…"

It's all his fault. Mark refuses to take responsibility for this. Months, no, years of teasing from him, and the young Canadian refused to take responsibility for what's happening.

"Hyung! Hyung hyung hy-"

No. Absolutely no way. Because Mark was fine. Things were fine. Just a little teasing, a little clinginess here and there, as is expected of them as idols. Fan service and all that.

But Yuta has a preference. A bias. And it's him.

The way he stares at him as if he would ruin him one instant, and cover him in sugary kisses the next. The way he proudly saunters over, arm fixed around Mark's body, his waist, his shoulders, his abdomen, as if he belonged to him.

Oh god, and the way he acts like Mark is all his.

"Please...please please hyung-"

Even the other boys try to tame the beast that is Nakamoto Yuta, to try and relieve Mark of his advances—it’s not like its a bad thing, more like them protecting Mark.exe from completely crashing on air, at the very least—to no avail.

On-air, off-air, it doesn't matter. Yuta has his bias, and once again, it's him, Mark.

"I need- a-ahh fuck, please-"

So here he is. Thighs shaking as he rolls his hips down onto the dildo currently suction cupped to the floor. He's splayed out in front of a mirror, his cock bobbing with every bounce, sweat making his bangs stick to his forehead as he watches it disappear in and out of him.

He's frustrated.

It fills him well, brushing against his prostate occasionally when he braves a full seat, his eyes rolling back ever so slightly.

But something is missing.

Hands on his hips, nails biting into his skin, lips twisted up into a small, wild, and untamed smile.

Eyes that look at him like he's the only thing in the whole world.

"Y-yuta! Yuta-hyung please please-"

After months, no, years, the teasing has finally broken through. Whether Yuta intended for it to happen or not, Mark is completely and utterly smitten.

So much that it's become a problem for him.

No, not his blatant crush on his hyung—he's come to terms with that a while ago.

He's talking about his overwhelming sense to please Yuta. He wants him here, wants him to make a mess of him, ruin him and feed the hunger he's planted in Mark's body.

Whether he's realized it or not, he's made Mark crave him.

Mark whimpers, pushing his fingers into his mouth, curling his tongue around them as he looks at how debauched his reflection is.

He's flushed down to his chest, his thighs shaking as the toy disappears between his cheeks with every move. Precum dribbles out of his cock, making a mess on the floor as spittle runs down his chin as he pushes his fingers into his mouth deeper.

He wants to cry. It's not enough. He looks so pretty like this, he thinks, but it's never enough. He craves more, craves the rough tone he's conjured up in his head, Yuta's voice in his ear, husky with lust.

"My pretty slut. Look at you, absolutely ruined for me. Just me." He'd say. At least, Mark thinks so. Whether Yuta is a gentle or hard lover, he doesn't know. But he wants to, god, does he want to know.

His bouncing comes to a stop as he closes his eyes, removing his fingers from his mouth as he pants, tears clinging to his lashes as he calms himself.

He almost came. That's bad.

Because of course, on top of developing a hunger for his hyung, he's also put himself in such a mindset that he feels guilty if he cums. Not without Yuta's permission.

And there lies the problem. Yuta can't give him permission if he has no fucking idea what sinful bullshit swirls around inside Mark's head. Whether Mark imagines Yuta pinning him to the bed, hands rough and bruising as he fucks into him like a wild animal or the polar opposite and Mark chooses to imagine Yuta as a gentle, sensual lover that slowly picks him apart, making him cum with a soft whimper while holding onto him, Mark feels guilty if he cums without Yuta's nonexistent permission.

So he plays this agonizing game, edging himself, ruining his own orgasms time and time again, trying to be good for a man who doesn't even know how much he's gotten into his head.

"I'm...I'm a good boy, hyung…" he looks at his fucked out reflection, his cock cherry red and begging for him to just do it. Let himself go. Mark shakes his head, speaking into the empty room as if Yuta could hear him.

"I'm your good boy, hyung. I w-won't cum without your permission, I p-promise."

He can feel himself slipping into that fuzzy state of mind. He wants to please, he wants to please Yuta. He can't cum for himself and be bad.

This is all Yuta's fucking fault. All of this. Mark still refuses to take responsibility as he lifts up off the toy with a sigh of protest. He hates this, hates the way he’s conditioned his body to crave Yuta so much that he needed him to get off.

That obviously raised some...concerns in the grand scheme of things, seeing how Yuta wasn't his boyfriend and had no idea he looked at him as more than just his hyung, let alone the man he wanted to run him into the fucking ground and ruin him-

Get a hold of yourself, Lee.

Mark wills himself off of the ground, takes one last look at his reflection before he starts the meticulous chore of cleaning himself up with his cock still angrily and desperately throbbing between his legs.

It's maddening, but Mark comforts himself by thinking about how Yuta would reward him. Tell him he's a good boy.

This was part of his cycle. Dragging himself close to the edge, dangling his feet off of the cliff, but never fully jumping into the crashing waves of ecstasy. Not without Yuta. It made him feel pathetic once he drifted out of subspace, but Mark had also become a master at giving himself aftercare. He could take care of himself, mentally thinking of Yuta's gentle cooing and soft hands in his hair. All he needed was time to himself-

"HYUNG!"

Mark curses, jolting as he hears Donghyuck bang on his door. His heart leaps into his fucking throat as he tugs up a pair of worn-out sweats laying on his floor, thanking several deities that they were black and hopefully hid his raging boner well.

He swung the door open on the fourth call for him, frowning as Donghyuck stood on the other side of the door.

"What?"

"Taeyong wants us to have a movie night."

No. Mark isn't in the right mindset. He hasn't gotten a chance to care for himself and-

"The Dreamies are already up and the WayV boys are here. Taeyong says it's non-negotiable since we don't see WayV, like, ever."

Mark feels his heart drop. Guilt claws at his stomach and he forces a smile. He would feel awful saying no. Especially because of the WayV boys being present. They all hadn't had the chance to sit down and bond with Xiaojun, Hendery, and Yangyang as much yet, and didn't get many opportunities to do so. He would feel awful if he sat out because of...his state.

Maybe...this time he'll be alright. He can just park it beside Yuta and hope the man clings to him like normal, and maybe Mark can convince himself it's because he's a good boy.

With a small sigh, he nods and follows Donghyuck out.

-🌃-

This was a fucking mistake.

21 boys are squished into the living room, all sprawled out on blankets on the floor and couches, squished together as some of them argue over the movie to watch.

And Yuta is somehow the farthest from him as humanly possible.

To his credit, Taeyong and Kun had both come to some sort of agreement that, in order to get the boys to bond, they were to mix and mingle with bands they weren’t part of and sit with other members they usually didn’t get to interact with. Or try to, seeing as a lot of them overlapped anyway and were close. It was more for the three new WayV boys to bond more than anything else.

It wasn’t perfect, but that left Mark in an annoying position.

Five times.

He’s debuted five fucking times, and most of the 21 men around him were his band members in some capacity.

Hence why he’s here, wedged between Yangyang and Xiaojun, the former of which is talking a mile a minute to Jungwoo and Chenle. Xiaojun sits at his other side, strumming a ukulele calmly as he waits for the older members of their group to pick a movie.

Across from him, Hendery has made himself at home, talking a mile a minute with Yuta and Jaemin. The younger idols lean against Yuta as Hendery jokes around, and Mark feels his lips pull downward.

This was so stupid. He shouldn’t be getting jealous of someone who technically, if you squint, was his bandmate. Yes, WayV was a sub-unit, but it still counted in his opinion.

That didn’t matter. What mattered was the jealousy settling in his stomach as he watched Yuta ruffle Hendery’s hair.

But...I was your good boy, Yuta.

Mark slinks down in his seat, struggling with the overwhelming bad thoughts swimming in his mind.

You’re pathetic, Lee. Getting off to the thought of your hyung and getting jealous of your band members? Pathetic.

Mark’s brows furrowed as he chewed his lip, his leg bouncing anxiously. This was bad, really bad. He hadn’t had the time to properly bring himself down from the space he’d put himself in and the drop was hitting him hard. From being surrounded by so many people to the noise making it hard for him to focus on his usual talk he had with himself mentally to bring him back down (in Yuta’s voice, naturally), to now watching Hendery merrily hang off of the object of all of his frustrations and attractions-

“Mark.”

A hand on his shoulder made him jump, and he blinked up, finding that Ten had traded places with YangYang, sending him over to talk with some of 127. Mark looked at him, his brows pulled up and Ten nodded behind him.

“Come help me in the kitchen for a bit?”

Mark nodded, knowing full well Ten wouldn’t be taking him to the kitchen. His thoughts were confirmed when Ten pulled him down the hall, all but pushing him into his room and closing the door behind him.

As soon as he does, he pulls Mark into a hug, engulfing him and petting his head.

“Mark, breathe. It’s okay. You’re a good boy, Mark. You’re his good boy.”

Right. Ten knows his secret. While away with SuperM, Mark confided in some of his hyungs.

Taemin looked upon him with a sad, understanding smile, giving him a gentle pep talk over a cup of tea. Baekhyun was present, promising gently that things would work out while Ten and Taeyong swore they would help Mark through his conflicting emotions.

This wasn’t the first time he’d dropped in the presence of Ten, and as he clung to the older rapper, Ten continued his quiet cooing until Mark sighed against his shoulder, nodding.

“I’m okay...I’m….good.”

“Say it.”

“I’m good. I didn’t do anything bad.”

Ten stares at him before he finally lets himself relax, rubbing his thumbs over Mark’s shoulders.

“I take it you still haven’t told him? Have you asked Taeyong to help you? He knows about...y’know.”

About how he's fucking himself and giving himself blue balls thinking of one of his hyungs? Yeah. That wasn't a fun conversation to have had with them.

To be fair, Mark should've made sure Taeyong was leaving the hotel room with Ten for longer than a trip to get snacks and back before he decided to play around with himself.

Having his leader(s, because of course they picked up Baekhyun along the way) and his hyungs (Ten and Taemin) walk in on him drooling into a pillow, knuckles deep in himself crying out Yuta's name like it was his lifeline wasn't how he planned on spending his Friday night in LA, but that was a story for another day.

But at the very least, the four men kept his secret, never saying a word and even keeping Yukhei and Jongin from pestering Mark and asking him constantly why he was so flustered when they sat down for dinner together.

Mark sighed and looked at his feet. Ten sent him a sympathetic smile.

"You have to tell him, or at least, work on not doing this to yourself, Mark. You're lucky, I'm never around anymore because we're in China, and Taeyong knows the signs of you dropping, but if we or the hyungs aren't around, you're gonna be in trouble. I'm worried about you."

Mark felt ashamed, making Ten worry so much about him, but he did appreciate him looking after him.

"I'll be careful...I'll try my best to tell him, okay?"

Ten fixed him with a stare before he nodded and tugged Mark out of the room, going to the kitchen to grab one of the bowls that Taeyong and Kun were filling with snacks. The two sent him a look, but Ten only grinned and waved, pulling a suddenly sluggish Mark along.

Dropping always took so much energy out of him so Mark let Ten lead him back into the mess of boys in the living room. He set Mark down on the floor beside Xiaojun, muttering something to him in Mandarin. The man glanced down at Mark before nodding, playing a different song, one slower and soothing.

Mark put his head in Ten's lap, closing his eyes as Taeyong and Kun emerged from the kitchen with two large serving carts full of snacks. Ten combed his fingers through Mark's chocolate hair as he drifted off, humming a WayV song. The name escaped Mark as his muddled mind finally relaxed, allowing him to pass out on his hyung’s thigh.

He missed the way Yuta looked across the room, his eyes landing on the side of Ten’s face before drifting down to Mark’s.

-💤-

Who knows how many hours later, Mark felt himself being picked up. It’s not unusual, he was one of the lighter members and there were more than a few people amongst them that could lift him with ease. Johnny, Jeno, Lucas, for sure-

He couldn’t bring himself to wake up fully as he’s being carried off to where he presumes is his room, but he can tell from the stature of whoever is carrying him, they're not one of their taller members. It's definitely not Johnny or Lucas—the shoulders aren't as broad, the hands on his ass aren’t massive-

Huh.

Mark lifts his head ever so slightly, eyes still closed as he tries to figure out who’s carrying him.

A strong hand to the back of his head firmly pushes him back down so he can rest against a warm shoulder, and for some reason, he instantly relaxes. He can’t pinpoint why, but whoever is carrying him makes him feel safe and warm, and unconsciously, he squeezes his legs around their waist.

It’s a small trip to his room, but he doesn’t let go easily when it's time to be placed in his bed. His brow furrowed and he locked his arms tight around whoever was holding him, but they only chuckled and unfurled his arms.

The sound of their chuckle put his sleepy mind at ease instantly, and Mark went slack, letting them lay him down. He was asleep, he’s sure, but he could’ve sworn he felt lips against his forehead and a hand combing through his hair.

Mark pressed his cheek against his pillow and felt his already dwindling consciousness pull him under. There was a murmur above him, but he was already too unfocused to hear it.

“Goodnight, Mark-chan.”

-⚾️-

This baseball thing was also a mistake.

Mark is doing his best to act normal, he is, but, as to be expected, Yuta just gravitates towards him, staring at him in a way that sets his nerves on fire. He was supposed to be working on reigning his fucking emotions in, but as he holds onto Yuta, draping himself over the older idol as chaos breaks out in the room, he pointedly decides to ignore that for the time being.

Minutes later, Yuta’s opening his locker, and the boys around Mark are exploding into laughter. He blinks and peers past Taeil as Taeyong stutters through asking the Japanese idol what’s wrong with him.

There, in the locker, are pictures full of Mark.

“Are you guys a couple?”

“Ah?” Mark watches him, his heart thundering as Yuta turns to look at him. He can swear there are hearts in his eyes, and Mark can’t help but to laugh, his cheekbones hurting already from how flustered he was.

Something must be in the air today, because Mark feels a bit bolder than usual.

“Yuta-hyung, you can say it.”

The boys snicker in amusement, and Yuta turns to their leader without hesitation, as if it’s the simplest thing in the world, nodding. Taeyong humors him, casting Mark a small, knowing side glance before he speaks to Yuta.

“It’s official?”

A simple nod. “Yes.”

Mark feels his ears get hot, but he nearly chokes as Taeyong-ever the helpful leader-follows up immediately with; “can you kiss right now, too?”

“Yes, we can do that.”

Mark feels like he’s gonna pass out. He watches as Yuta moves on to the other items in the locker, but he feels himself getting goosebumps. Yuta keeps looking at him occasionally, and he looks adorable as he holds up his iPad, telling the boys about the picture Mark drew and how he tried to replicate it.

It’s all so dizzying. Yuta isn’t doing anything different than usual, but Mark feels like he’s at his limit. At some point, there’s a picture of him tucked into the front of Yuta’s pants, and Mark will admit to exactly no one that he’s jealous of a piece of cardboard paper with his face on it.

Yuta gets scolded by Taeyong and the others, but the picture soon finds itself tucked securely in the back of his pants as he casually refuses to listen to them telling him to get rid of it.

Again. A piece of paper with his own damn face on it. And Mark is jealous. He couldn’t care if it was front or back, he’d happily put himself wherever he needed to, in order to make Yuta pleased and-

Fuck.

The rest of the filming goes smoothly, though Mark has no time to calm his erratic heartbeat as Yuta lays it on thick how much he doesn’t want to part from him. Even with them being on opposite sides, Yuta could care less. The friendly waving, shoulder massages, pouting at the audacity at being split up from his precious Mark, even comforting him when he lost to Johnny and taking every possibility to latch onto his side in a hug.

Mark would love nothing else but to just fall to his knees for Yuta right now, burying his face between his legs and letting Yuta use his face. Yuta makes him feel good. He wants to make him feel good, too.

So, hours later, he’s declining Johnny’s invitation to eat out. It looks like they’re all going, but Mark lies with a straight face, claiming to be tired and in need of a nap. Taeyong sends him an arched brow, and he clears his throat, nodding as he did so.

That’s all the blue-haired man needed as he nodded towards the door of Mark’s room, tugging Johnny out when the larger man tried to pout and convince Mark to take medicine and just join them.

Mark lies in bed, staring at the ceiling as he ran all of the day’s events through his head. Yuta’s hands on his shoulders, trailing across the fabric here and there had Mark craving more.

He waits half an hour before he sits up, shuffling over to his closet. He walks into it, rummaging around until he finds a fancy box, biting his lip as he sits on his knees, pulling it closer. He opens the box up, looking down at the toys he had bought in secret over the past two years.

He moved aside some of them, finding a neat square box in one corner of the box.

It’s funny, he thinks as he pulls out the dark blue lingerie in the box, how the lingerie is under an extra layer of secrecy, but the dildos and plugs are just...out there if anyone got nosy enough to venture into the back of his closet.

Mark idly thinks he should make his stash more secure, but he puts that in the back of his mind as he shyly put the lingerie on. It was tricky, having had a lot of straps, but he breathes a sigh of success when he finally adjusts it around his abdomen.

The top is made of lace and it has straps that keep it firmly in place, hugging his abdomen and pectorals. Mark is built, but he doesn’t have large pectorals like some other idols, so his pecs don’t fill the cups of the bra, but that was alright. He’d gotten the lingerie with an A cup, anyway. The way the straps cling reminds Mark of a corset, though he isn’t quite sure if that’s what one would call this.

He slid on a pair of stockings, securing them to the garter belt he’d gotten to match his lingerie. There was a wide satin part that circled around his waist, covering up his bellybutton with two long bands that connected to his garters. As he stood in front of his mirror, his cheeks dark pink, he eyed the last part of his lingerie, the dark blue satin and lace assless panties that his cock was obscenely struggling to poke free from.

Just the act of sliding on the lingerie had gotten him half-hard, his heart thundering in his chest as he thought about Yuta and how he’d react. Mark bit his lip, turning around and admiring his ass in the mirror. He reached back and gave his ass a slap, grunting in delight at the sting before he bent over, bracing himself on his bed, slapping his ass once more. And again, and again.

He didn’t stop until five slaps later, his forehead pressed against the blanket on his bed, his ass high in the air as he groped himself. His cock was fully hard and throbbing now, precum wetting the panties as he stuck his fingers into his mouth. He craned his head awkwardly, just so he could see his reflection, smiling in delight at the handprint he’d left on his own cheek.

He reached blindly for the box he had since tossed onto the bed, pulling his slick fingers out and grabbing the first toy he could. He wrapped his lips around the shaft immediately, closing his eyes as he brought his slick fingers back to circle around his rim.

Soon, the sound of slurping noises filled his ears as he bobbed his head up and down. A mewl left his lips as he pushed his fingers in, one at a time as he spread his legs more.

“Good boy, Mark. You can take me deeper, right? Let me see it.”

There it goes. Yuta’s voice in his head. Mark feels goosebumps rise on his skin as he pushes his head down until his nose brushes against the sheets below. Tears well up in his eyes from the strain as he curls his fingers inside of himself, his thighs shaking. He keeps his eyes closed, but he lets out a whimper as he thinks of Yuta’s praise.

“So fucking pretty. Let hyung take care of you, baby boy.”

Mark pulled off of the dildo, panting as spittle created a thin line that connected his lips and the toy. Mark quickly slicked up his hole and the toy with more lube before he buried his cheek into his pillow, keeping his ass high in the air as he slid aside the thin strip of fabric covering his needy hole. A long, deep groan left his lips as he pushed the toy into him.

“Yu...ta~” He breathed quietly as it bottomed out. Without waiting, he moved his hand, mewling as he fucked himself, his body tingling with the thrum of pleasure.

He couldn’t grope at himself from this position, but in the corner of his mind, he remembers Yuta’s hands, and that’ll do for now.

Yuta’s veiny hands pulling him closer by the shoulders, by the waist.

Yuta’s hands in his hair, his gaze combing up the length of Mark’s body.

“Fuck, a-ahh hyung-” He bites his lip and spreads his legs more, the tip of his cock fully poking out of the front of the panties as the bed rocked slightly. Mark could cry, it felt good but it wasn’t enough.

He whimpered and sat up, facing away from the mirror and keeping his eyes closed as he sat down fully on the toy. He braced one hand in front of him while the other held the toy up as he resumed fucking himself.

“Hyung...Hyung, you’re so mean, always teasing me like this...always touching me...why won’t you take responsibility? I can’t focus and it’s all y-your fault.” He huffed before a broken cry left his lips as the head of the toy brushed against his prostate. He rolled his hips, grinding down onto it as he groaned, the feel of the satin and lace against his skin making him feel sexy.

“Oh? Are you talking back to me, Mark-Chan? Is that any way to speak to your hyung?”

Mark wishes he had extra hands. He wishes he could feel the way Yuta would slowly lace his fingers into his chocolate hair, pulling roughly as he fucked up into his hole. His voice would probably make Mark cum alone, dripping dangerously in his ear as he snapped his hips up.

“I thought you were my good boy? Hmm? Is this how a good boy talks to his hyung? Maybe I’ll just take my cock out and-”

“No! N-No, hyung, please don’t stop, fuck please please please-” Mark rolls his hips back, pulling at the sheets as he whimpers pathetically.

“Please, I’ll be good, I promise. I won’t cum without your permission, please-” Mark doesn’t even know what he’s begging for, anymore. All he knows is he’s feeling good, warmth floods his body like honey and at this point, he can't keep his mouth shut, a flow of euphoric babble and drool leaving his lips as he felt an orgasm creeping up. He’s slipping into his submissive space again and he feels his thighs tremble as he grinds down on the toy, whimpering as it rubbed against his prostate.

“Mark-chan? Mark-chan??”

He threw his head back, his body wound tight and ready to blow as he stopped himself from cumming, pulling hard on the blanket.

“Yu-ta!”

Mark stills, his chest heaving as he tries to still his hips. He’s gone mentally, his head feeling like fuzzy static as sweat makes the lingerie cling to his body. The world turns to stars behind Mark’s tightly shut lids as he pants, rolling his head forward. His hole clenches desperately around the toy and he has to fight with himself not to start all over again.

Instead, he giggles, running a hand through his hair.

“Yuta...I’m being such a good boy, right? I’m not bad for playing without you, right? I just wanna be good for you, hyung.” he rolls his hips down, jolting lightly before he mewls in delight. “Wish you were here, I wanna cum. It’s been so long, hyung, I can’t unless hyung tells me I can.” He babbles, and he could swear he feels heat on the back of his neck, a warm breath.

“My poor Markie.”

Mark’s eyes fly open when he feels an arm wrap around his hips, pulling him flush against a hard chest. He feels his blood run cold as lips near his ear, causing goosebumps to run down his spine.

“You call so nicely for me, Mark-chan. Is this what you do when we’re away?”

Oh god. Yuta.

Mark suddenly feels the reality hit him. This isn’t another one of his fantasies. Yuta is here. He not only walked in on his dongsaeng wearing lingerie and fucking himself with a dildo, he walked in on him crying out his name like a bitch in heat.

“H-Hyung, it’s not what it-”

“This isn’t the first time I’ve heard you calling out my name like this. Are you going to tell me it’s not what it looks like?” He hummed, running a finger down Mark’s chest, over the lace, satin, and sweaty skin, all the way down to his cock. He rolled his index finger over Mark’s head, chuckling at the way he twitched. He brought his finger back up, running his tongue over it as he stared Mark in the eyes, arching a cut brow at him.

Mark whimpered.

“Hyung…”

Yuta turned his face, his eyes intense. It made Mark swoon in his grip, forgetting about the toy he was seated on as he met his eyes. Yuta caressed his cheek with the same gentle touch he always used when he was with Mark, and the younger man couldn’t help but to lean into his warmth, large almond eyes looking up at him.

“How are you going to be a good boy for me, if you’ve never shown me?”

Mark feels like he’s floating. He swallows thickly and presses his cheek fully into Yuta’s hand.

“I’m sorry, hyung. Please...can I….can I still be good for you?” He pleads. Yuta rubs his thumb over his bottom lip before tilting his head up higher, leaning into his space.

"Is that what you want?"

"More than anything."

Yuta pulled him into a kiss, his lips crashing against Mark's trembling ones like a wave. It made Mark's knees weak (or maybe that was the toy he was currently seated on, still pressed against his prostate), but he wasted no time, licking at Yuta’s lips.

The older idol reached between his legs, dipping his hand into the panties so he could wrap his hand around Mark’s twitching cock. He gasped, arching up into his grip as Yuta slowly stroked him. Mark reached back, running a hand through Yuta’s two-toned hair as he whimpered against his lips.

“Get on your knees, baby.”

Yuta would be lying if he said he didn’t find the way Mark all but flung himself from the bed, sliding the dildo out of himself as he settled on his knees on the floor, to be incredibly hot. The rapper was thankful for the carpet under his knees as he hastily pulled Yuta’s pajama pants down once the older man nodded, lifting his hips.

Mark stared at his cock, stroking him before he scooted closer, one of his hands settled on Yuta’s thigh while the other slowly dragged up and down. Yuta let out a small sigh above him, spreading his legs a bit farther apart and Mark chanced a glance up at his face, whimpering at the molten lust swirling around in Yuta’s dark brown eyes.

Keeping their eyes locked, Mark began pressing kisses and kitten licks to Yuta’s length. Yuta ran a hand through Mark’s hair, letting him worship his cock without rushing him. Taeyong had taken the others out already, they had time.

After a minute of covering Yuta’s cock and balls with wet kisses and licks, Mark finally takes him into his mouth, moaning to himself at the feeling of Yuta filling his throat. He put his hands on the floor between his spread thighs, bobbing on Yuta’s cock without looking away from the older man’s face.

Finally, his wishes to be used by Yuta were coming true, and that made his head feel fuzzier. He didn’t waste any time, worried that if he took too long, the illusion of Yuta would disappear. Yuta moaned and bucked his hips up, and that was all Mark needed.

The sound was filthy as he eagerly bobbed his head, drool running down his chin as his thighs shook. He could feel his cock leaking, running down the tip of his cherry-red dick before soaking into his panties.

“Look at my cute little Mark-chan. You look so happy with my cock in your mouth.” Yuta purred, holding the back of his head, fucking his face with an affectionate look on his own. Mark nodded to the best of his ability, tears clinging to his lashes as Yuta held him down. He breathed shakily through his nose, his throat feeling used and full.

Yuta held his gaze, gently rubbing his thumb over one of Mark’s high cheekbones as he stared at him.

“I’ve wanted to have you like this for a long time, Markie. I��ve heard you, you know. How cute you sound breathlessly moaning, and then I started to hear my name. How long have you been crying out for me, Mark?” He hummed. Mark trembled, goosebumps on his skin from the tone in his voice. He reluctantly pulled off, panting to catch his breath. Yuta ran his thumb over his slick chin, gathering the spittle and pushing it into his mouth with his thumb. Mark sucked on it without hesitation, speaking around the digit as he kept his wide almond eyes on Yuta.

“O-over a year, Hyung.”

“How long have you been denying yourself?”

“S-Since SuperM was formed and I h-had to leave…”

Yuta pursed his lips, pulling his thumb out of Mark’s mouth, taking note of how he chased after it desperately. Mark frowned, looking away shyly.

“Did...I do bad?”

“No, but you must be so pent up, baby. That won’t do.” He cupped Mark’s chin, pulling him into a kiss before he nodded towards the bed. Mark scrambled over to get on the bed, but Yuta hooked his fingers into the bands of his lingerie, pulling him back so his ass was higher in the air. He pulled the rapper back, sliding his cock over Mark's lube slick hole. Mark trembled in anticipation, pressing his cheek to the pillows.

"Please? Please, Hyung?"

Yuta smoothed his hand over the curve of Mark's ass, planting a firm slap to it. Mark jolted but wiggled his hips for more. Yuta obliged, spanking him on the opposite cheek he was striking earlier, leaving a different handprint to match the one Mark had left on himself earlier.

He stooped and ran his hand over the area to soothe him before he spoke, his voice laced with lust.

"Do you have condoms? I'll happily fuck you."

"No...no condom."

Yuta’s brows go up.

"Mark-"

"Please...we get health evals all the time, I know we're both clean…" Mark rolled his hips, making Yuta slide between his sore cheeks.

"I want...you to fill me, Hyung. I want to feel you."

Yuta stared at him for a moment before he roughly flipped him over, ignoring Mark's yelp as he crawled up his body, pressing kisses between the satin and lace of the lingerie. He stopped before Mark's lips, tilting his head as Mark stared at him, shifting his gaze from his lips to his eyes and then back again.

Yuta chuckles.

"I've missed so much fun with you if this is how you act with me." He reached around for the bottle of lube Mark was using earlier, slicking his cock up even more before he placed his palms at either side of Mark's head. Mark wrapped his arms around his neck, nodding when Yuta quietly asked him one last time if he was ready.

He pressed a slow, sensual kiss to his lips as he pushed into him, smiling against Mark's mouth as the smaller man mewled instantly. The rapper arched his back, his brows pulled up as his head fell back against the pillow, feeling Yuta bottom out inside of him.

Yuta stilled as soon as he did, just holding Mark as the smaller man clenched and unclenched around him. His eyes were hooded as he looked down at Mark, taking in the way he trembled below him. His bicep muscles flexed as Mark held onto him, finally looking up at him and meeting his smoldering gaze.

His lips were trembling.

"M-move."

Yuta’s hips moved on command. Truth be told, he had gone quite a while without release, as well. Not months, like his poor Markie, but long enough that he wasn't opposed to just getting to the point.

He'd been overhearing Mark's sweet moans here and there for longer than the man knew, but Yuta would have that conversation later.

For now, he kept his arms around Mark's lithe frame, pressing kisses to his heated neck as he snapped his hips up. Mark moaned so sweetly for him, it drove him wild. He fought with himself mentally, wanting to ruin the man in his arms, and then he remembered.

That's what his sweet boy wants.

What Mark Lee wants, Yuta is happy to give him.

Yuta unwinds his hands from Mark's body, letting him fall to his sheets as he gripped his hips, the rhythmic slap of his hips and balls against Mark's thighs and ass growing in volume as he sped up his pace, his eyes roaming around Mark's body.

"A-ahh fuck! Hyung! Hyung yes y-yes please don't stop!"

Mark clenched around him, his eyes finally screwing shut as one of his hands clawed down Yuta’s back, the pleasure becoming overwhelming in such a small time.

Yuta hissed at the sting, and rewarded Mark with sharper thrusts, each of them striking deep inside of the rapper and drawing out high pitched whines from him as Yuta began grinding against his prostate.

"Look at me, Mark."

Mark opened his eyes without hesitation, his hair sticking to his forehead as sweat rolled down his body. His cock wept in his panties, and Yuta had the merciful oversight to finally free him a bit, pulling the panties down past his cock and balls so now it rested freely against his abdomen. Yuta leaned down to nuzzle his neck, pressing a ghost of a kiss to his thrumming pulse as Mark’s whimpers grew in desperation below him.

"Are you close, my sweet boy? Do you want to cum?"

"N-no I can't w-without permission. I w-wanna be good."

Mark's voice is straining, and as Yuta pulls away to look at him again, he's never seen anything more beautiful than the ruined image of a fucked out Mark Lee.

His thrusts slow down from their jackrabbit-like pace, and Mark whimpers beneath him but makes no move to complain. Yuta coos in satisfaction, Mark really was such a good boy.

To reward him, Yuta wraps a hand around his cock, looking him in the eyes as he stroked him in time with his deep thrusts.

"You're so pretty, Mark. Are you like this just for me?"

Mark nods quickly, his hips twitching as he fights his instinct to fuck Yuta’s hand. Yuta purses his lips teasingly, tilting his head to stare at Mark as he ran his thumb over his sensitive head. Mark’s hips bucked up and he gasped.

"Use your words. Are you like this just for me?"

"Yes!" Mark practically sobs, his body feeling ignited as he whimpers and twitches. Yuta hums, smiling as Mark begins to babble below him.

"I c-couldn't stop thinking about you, hyung. I only want to be good and m-make you feel good, hyung! P-please...please, I-" he arches his back, his body racked with trembles. He's holding himself back.

The unspoken words hang in the air between them as the bed creaks.

'Please, I want to cum'

"You make me feel great, Mark." Yuta breathes, his pace consistent despite his creeping orgasm. He leans down to kiss the apple of Mark's cheek, the tip of his nose, his forehead, and then hovers over his lips. Mark’s unfocused eyes look up at him.

"Hyung-"

"Good boy, Mark. Cum for me."

Mark snapped.

His body trembled below Yuta as he finally let himself have what he'd been denying. Those six words made his world collapse around him, his brain turning into warm cotton candy static as he came, thick spurts of cum coating Yuta’s hand, his abs, and lingerie.

"I-I can't stop h-hyung!" Mark cried below him, but Yuta didn't let him go, stealing a kiss from his lips as his cock continued twitching in his palm. He let out a grunt, pressing in deep and growling against Mark's lips as he came himself, his hips stuttering as he felt Mark whimper and mewl, clenching around him.

Yuta took a moment to catch his breath, pulling away from Mark's trembling form to lick at the thick ribbons of cum that landed on his hand. He kept his hooded eyes on Mark, watching as incomprehensible babble left his lips, a small giggle bubbling out of his chest as he weakly rolled his hips down onto Yuta’s cock, still buried inside of him.

"Yu-ta….Yu-ta~" he mewled, practically buzzing with pleasure. Yuta’s gaze drifted down to his cock, humming in interest when he noticed Mark still hard. He scooped up some of the cum on Mark's abdomen and pushed his fingers into his mouth.

Mark curled his tongue around the digits and gave Yuta a small giggle and fucked out smile, and the older decided one round was definitely not enough.

So after a few minutes of kissing and lazy stroking later, Mark was being flipped over after Yuta pulled out of him, kissing his brow and ignoring the reluctant whine he let out at the loss. Yuta set him onto his hands and knees, smoothing a hand over his spine before he pushes him down so his cheek is against the plush pillows.

“Spread your cheeks, cmon.” Yuta gave his ass a small spank, smiling at the delighted giggle that left from Mark’s lips. He spread his cheeks, his hole quivering lewdly as he tried to keep Yuta’s cum inside. Some of it slipped out, but Yuta was on him in an instant, dragging his cock over Mark’s rim, collecting the pearl of cum and pushing it right back with one hard thrust. Mark cried out below him, his blunt nails biting into his ass cheeks as Yuta set a drastically different pace than before.

“A-ah ah ah ahn!” Mark cried out with every thrust, his cock leaking precum already as it swung between his legs. Yuta grabbed both of Mark’s wrists, pinning them to the small of his back as he snapped his hips forward, watching his cum-slick dick disappear and reappear in and out of Mark’s hole. The sound was filthy, the smell of sex flooding his senses and combined with hearing Mark’s wanton moans below, it set off something primal in Yuta.

“Mine. You’re all mine, Mark.”

“Yes! P-please please, I wanna be all yours!”

Yuta started leaving small bites and kisses all over Mark’s shoulders and his neck, covering his body with his own as he literally fucked him into the mattress. His thrusts were wild and no longer followed any form of rhythm, spurred on by the sound of Mark’s trembling, cracking voice as he begged him for more. He bowed his head down, his two-toned white and blue hair tickling the area between Mark’s shoulder blades as he groaned, losing himself in Mark’s wet heat.

At some point, Mark starts rolling his hips back, meeting his every thrust eagerly, closing his eyes as another orgasm approached quickly. Yuta turned his face, kissing him deeply. The sound of their wet lips smacking against one another joined the other filthy noises in the room as Yuta sped up, fucking him for all he was worth.

“Hyung! Yuta! Hyung, I’m gonna cum again-!”

“Do it, baby. Cum for me.”

Mark clawed at the sheets, a low muffled, and honestly quite ruined moan leaving his lips as he moaned into the pillow. It was soaked with his drool, the pleasure long since overwhelming and making him feel completely out of his mind. Yuta fucked his next load into him, cursing in a mixture of Korean and Japanese against his lips.

Mark shuddered, his eyes closed as hummed in delight, feeling Yuta lace their fingers together. Yuta peppered kisses against his sweaty temple, rolling his hips, grinding his cock deep inside of him, keeping his cum buried deep inside of him. Mark mewled weakly, squeezing his hand.

“Hyung….”

“Yes, baby?”

“I…” He shied and brought Yuta’s hand down between his legs, avoiding his surprised gaze.

“Still?”

“It’s been months since I’ve come...and I’m still not fully convinced I’m not dreaming.” Yuta chuckled, proud of Mark for being able to formulate an actual sentence in his current state.

He can fix that.

The two of them shifted around, and after giving Mark enough time to stretch his sore legs, Yuta had Mark splayed out on the edge of the bed, his legs spread as he held a small wand to Mark’s oversensitive cock. The older idol knelt behind him, the bed dipping from their combined weight as he made Mark look at his reflection.

Yuta pressed kisses to his cheek, rolling the vibrating wand up and down Mark's cock, smiling at every hiccup and sharp inhale that came from the oversensitive man. He settled his chin on his shoulder, looking over Mark's reflection.

His cum was dribbling out of Mark’s hole, and from this position, Yuta could see all of the hickies he’d left in strategic places along Mark’s slightly sun-kissed skin.

“L-love you, love you so much, please please please.” Mark’s voice trembled as he rolled his head back onto Yuta’s shoulder and cried out loudly, tears rolling down his cheeks as he trembled through his third and fourth orgasms.

Yuta stopped after that, seeing the dazed, glazed over look in Mark’s eyes and kissed his temple.

“Good boy, my good, good boy.”

While sitting in his arms and being cooed at, Mark blacked out completely.

-🍒-

When Mark came to, he had a warm hand running though his damn hair. He groaned, his muscles sore as he lifted his head, opening his eyes. He felt his heart skip as he looked into Yuta’s eyes. He shied immediately, taking notice of their naked bodies.

So. It wasn’t a dream.

He expected to feel sticky and gross, but as he attempted to sit up, he noticed he felt clean. His sheets and blankets were also a different color.

Wait, no, that’s because this isn’t his room.

Mark’s almond eyes look over at Yuta, finally gathering his bearings enough to realize he was in the older man’s room. His cheeks flushed and Yuta smiled at him, tilting his head to the side.

“Did you finally come to? I was worried for a bit.”

“Did you...wipe me down?”

“I carried you into the bathroom and gave us both a bath. I couldn’t leave you all sticky, and I’d rather be thorough. I massaged you a bit when I dried you off. I didn’t want you to be sore, so I rubbed some lotion along your body where I bit and spanked you. Do you feel comfortable? It doesn’t feel greasy or anything, right? Do you need water? How’s your throat?”

Mark stared at him, feeling his heart flutter in his chest.

“You...know about aftercare?”

Yuta nodded, as if it was the simplest thing in the world, running his fingers through Mark’s hair.

“Taeyong gifted me a book on BDSM, S&M, and proper care after that type of play for Valentine’s Day, and I understand now why.” He ran his knuckles over the apple of Mark’s cheek. Mark leaned into his touch, smiling softly.

He felt warm and loved, and after he took a big gulp of the water that Yuta had gotten for him, he leaned down to press a cool kiss to his lips. Yuta kissed him back, pulling him down to settle against his chest.

Mark felt the gentle beat of his hyung’s heart lulling him back to sleep.

“Mark?”

Mark tiredly lifts his head and hums. Yuta sends him a small smile and kisses him one more time.

“I love you too, by the way.”

#fie writes #mark lee fic #nakamoto yuta fic #nct 127 fic #nct fic #markyu fic #member x member #markyu smut #mark lee smut #nakamoto yuta smut #yuta smut #mark smut #nct smut

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comelylust · 4 years ago

Note

If you are doing any requests can you do relationship headcanons sfw and nsfw for Nina Williams, Lars Alexanderson, Heihachi Mishima, Jun Kazama and Asuka Kazama? Thanks!

Sure!!! I did the Girls first since I don't usually have RQ's from them, you didn't tell me if you wanted it with a M!reader or F!reader so I tried to make it neutral :3.

Nina Williams.

SFW.

· Although she is a seductive woman, she does NOT know how to flirt, she doesn't beat around the bush, which gets a little confusing at first. "Hi my name is Nina, I like your face, I want to ask you out."

· Even though they've been on a few dates, you don't know much about her, when she's looking at a certain point you notice some melancholy on her face. Until Nina discovers you're looking at her and she smiles cheekily at you, making you blush in an instant.

· When you first met her, she didn't remember her past.

· She'll never tell you about her job and if she chooses to, it's only to a certain extent.

· You are not officially dating because her job involves messing with dangerous people, and if those people find out about you they will hurt you,

·And in public she will ignore you, if you walk down the same street she will go the other way, if he finds you in a store she will prefer to leave. At first you feel hurt by her actions, but Nina will try to make up for it later.

· She also often says hurtful things to you like "I don't care" which she does to be discreet and not reveal her feelings, she regrets it when she sees your hurt face and tears about to come out of your eyes.

· When she flashes back to her past, she becomes a bit paranoid and overprotective, if she gets the chance, she will be watching you 24/7 and doesn't want the same thing to happen to you as she did . .

· She asks you to buy a gun or learn self-defense.

· When memories or nightmares become unbearable, she won't tell you what's bothering her, she'll just lie on your lap or hug you from behind, placing her head on your shoulder.

· She is a cold woman but in private she melts at your touch.

NSFW.

·Once you are done she will push your head to her chest and wrap her arms around you in an overprotective manner.

·She will not stop until you cum once or twice at the most, she knows how to use her mouth and fingers very well.

·She prefers to be the dominant one, she will always be on top of you, If you put up resistance she will instantly set off to put you in your place.

· Her libido is normal, however if you behave like a brat she will most likely want to punish you.

·She doesn't have a favorite position, but if you gave her a choice it would be where you are on top of her lap.

· She is a woman who will include toys in sex sessions, she also likes to experiment, but rest assured that she will not experiment with anything that will put you both at risk.

· She is very unfair, she will make you beg for your release.

Asuka Kazama.

SFW.

· Being the energetic girl that she is, she won't stop herself from asking you out on a date no matter the place, no matter how many people are there.

· After they start dating, despite being high school students she gets really serious about the relationship.

· She will ride by you on her bike, she has strong legs so don't worry if she gets tired.

· She prepares bento for both of you, this is usually rare as she rushes out in the mornings because she is getting so late that she tends to forget.

·She will take you on dates to not so normal places, the arcade, to eat ramen, soda fountain or relatively noisy places.

· She is good at listening to your problems, she will stay there for you in the worst moments.

· When she takes you to meet her family it is very embarrassing as her father tries to embarrass her in front of you.

NSFW (Age up to avoid problems)

·She is inexperienced so be very patient with her.

· When you let her touch you she becomes enthusiastic, like a child being given something she could never have.

· She will learn quickly and will start to experience anything in the room.

·Or anywhere, as they often sneak into the concierge room for a few quick touches.

· She doesn't know what Sub/Dominant is so she enjoys trading dominance.

·Her favorite position is when you are underneath her and hold her hips with your legs as you embrace her. (F)

·Her other position would be Pretzel Dip.

· Her libido is quite high, whenever you are close to her and do something unconscious she will get going.

· She often lies that they will go to her room to "study" and almost gets caught.

Jun Kazama.

SFW.

· Overprotective, even though she is not dating, she is still very protective of you.

·Just as she is very attentive to her son's problems, she is also very attentive to you.

· Of course you should know that she has a son and that she will never tell you about his father, even if you are suspicious, you do not inquire any further. Therefore, when you start dating her, you should also accept her son.

· She will hug you from behind at random times of the day and anywhere, she will also plant kisses on your head/forehead.

· Jun is very domestic so she will spend her time cooking for you, while you help her with other household chores.

·She won't actually ask you out on a date, but take it for granted that you are dating.

· It won't be long before she asks you to move in with her and her son, even though you were in doubt you agreed because you love her.

·It's pretty relaxed living together, you split the chores and train together.

NSFW.

· Milf...Milf...Milf...Milf

· Obviously she's experienced, but don't get overwhelmed it's the norm.

·I picture her as the soft dominant type where she doesn't nag you or order you how to position yourself or what position to be in, if you are inexperienced she will guide you like a master.

·Just like Nina is an expert with her fingers and mouth.

·Breeding kink and creampie kink if it sounds the same but it's not the same, she likes to feel your cum in her guts. (M)

·She likes the innocent look you radiate and how easy it is for her to get it on when you wear something modest (F).

· Would do it anywhere in the house while her son is not there.

· Noisy, likes to moan and gasp loudly, not much of a talker but will say "that's a good thing you do" and "I like it when you do that."

#Nina Williams #Jun Kazama #Asuka Kazama #tekken headcanon

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fuckingfinwions · 3 years ago

Text

Anaire first heard about her family’s fracture from the potter.

Well, that wasn’t strictly true,. She heard about Feanor’s death the same day as everyone else, it was the only thing anyone was talking about.

She didn’t attend the funeral, as she felt no sorrow at his death, but her cook brought the news. Apparently, “the king’s reclusive brother” had been at the funeral, his first formal appearance since Feanor took the throne. Maedhros’s coronation was two days later, and Anaire scrambled to get an invitation. He would be addressing the whole city afterwards, a great speech in the town square, but she had no interest in that. What she cared about was the ceremony for the council, in front of a few hundred nobles. Unless Maedhros wished to pretend Nolofinwe was dead, her husband would have to formally cede his claim the throne. She would see him, hear his voice for the first time in decades.

Still, Anaire was cautious. Argon, for all he wished to meet his father and siblings, was not allowed to attend. She sent him out of the city entirely, to a cousin of her mother who lived halfway up the Pelori. Though none but her and Nolofinwe knew the truth, the resemblance would be unmistakable if they were in the same room. Anaire herself dressed finely but not extravagantly, in hopes of blending into the crowd, and promised herself that she would not cry out no matter what horrors she saw.

After all that effort, she only saw Nolofinwe for less than half an hour, across a crowded room. Anaire recognized the robes he wore; the had been sewn for Aredhel’s first begetting day. She supposed they had been in storage all this time, too fine for a servant but too festooned with his emblem and Finwe’s for anyone else to wear. He stepped forward, and she held her breath, not wanting to miss a word out of her husband’s lips - and hoping, perhaps, that he’d finally denounce his tormentor.

But Nolofinwe only said “I, Nolofinwe Arakano, son of Finwe Noldoran, acknowledge Maitimo Neylafinwe as the rightful King of the Noldor. King Nelyafinwe inherits his right from King Curufinwe, who inherited it from King Finwe the Wise. Myself and my house have no claim on the throne, nor shall we attempt to usurp the proper order.”

Nolofinwe left the stage, and rather than returning to his seat, seemed to be walking out the hall entirely. Anarie wondered if it could really be so simple. Was this all Maedhros demanded? Could she have her family back under one roof tonight, as long as they avoided politics for the rest of their days? She gathered her purse and started to stand up, ready to follow her husband.

Nolofinwe saw her though, and shook his head sadly. He glanced towards the doorway ahead of him, and Anaire saw that it was flanked by royal guards, one of whom already was unclipping something from his belt. Nolofinwe mouthed “Them, not me,” and went through the door, the guard reaching for his wrists and pulling him around the corner.

Anaire sat through the rest of the coronation without paying it much attention. If she paid too much attention to Maedhros, she would think about how he could’ve freed her family and had not; murderously glaring at the new king would draw suspicion. Instead she thought about Nolofinwe’s words. Presumably he was referring to their children? Had he somehow traded their freedom for his own? Or were they still captive, and he was begging her to save her efforts for them?

Anaire thought on this over the next week. She moved back into the house in the city center, as it was the only place her family would know to look for her, rather than the smaller home on the outskirts she shared with Argon. She waited for an piece of news or gossip, but there was no more about the secondary royal family than there had ever been. There were rumors about the sons of Feanor, that King Maedhros had stripped all of them from rank and then immediately given them titles. But the titles seemed to be fewer than he had brothers, rather than more as she would expect if Nolofinwe had bought status for their children.

So eventually, Anaire went to the pottery shop on the far side of town. The owner of the shop knew Aredhel was Anaire’s daughter, but had flatly refused to so much as let them go to dinner together, for fear of Feanor’s anger.

“She’s not apprenticing with me anymore. Said King Maedhros didn’t want her in the city, so she was going to Valmar. Apparently some Vanya named Elenwe was going to take her in. I don’t know why; there are a dozen better potters in the city, and someone who can clean a house can’t be hard to find either.”

The potter looked at Anaire to see how she took the news. She had never asked in detail why her student hated the palace so, but it hadn’t been hard to guess, sitting gingerly on her return and with rope marks when she rolled up her sleeves and bite marks when she tied back her hair. The potter hoped that this Elenwe would be kinder, but she very much expected Aredhel would have more of the same, and had no intention of discussing it with Aredhel’s mother.

However, Anaire was practically beaming. “Elenwe of the Vanyar? Well, then I simply must visit her, it’s been too long since I last traveled west.”

Anaire managed to compose herself for long enough to walk home, but she was overjoyed. Elenwe was Turgon’s wife, and Anaire had met her a few times. (Never with Turgon present, his absences form the city were far too sporadic for her to plan around.) Elenwe would look after Aredhel, even if there was no useful place for her in the household. And if Aredhel had mentioned Elenwe, that meant she was hoping Anaire would find her, that she thought it was safe to do so.

(Perhaps, even, there would be more of Anaire’s children there. Turgon for his wife and Fingon to lead the way on their journey. She had not seen either of them since they were children.)

- Anaire tells Argon it’s safe to come down from the hills

- They wait a month in case Maedhros is having Aredhel’s route watched

- Argon and Anaire travel to Valmar

- Introductions! Aredhel and Elenwe recognize Anaire. Anaire can kind of recognize Turgon.

- Argon is a surprise to everybody. Aredhel had relayed the “guess what we have another kid” message from Anaire to Nolo, but it was all couched in metaphor so Feanor couldn’t find out. “Tell your father I miss him very much, and the seasons seem to fly by without him to mark them even as the years drag on. It seems only yesterday it was sunny June, but now it’s dreary November and winter will be cold alone.” June and November were the months Anaire had bad morning sickness with Turgon and Fingon.

- Aredhel assumed this was some sort of code, but she’s not looking for more info about her family’s sex lives than she’s forced to know.

- Idril is around 5 or so years old. Argon is like sixteen. (using equivalent human ages)

- After initial introductions, Elenwe takes Idril to play in another room, so that the long lost families can reconnect

“So, how much does Argon know?” Turgon said to Anaire, who is apparently his mom?

“I’ve discussed the appropriate things for someone his age.”

Aredhel: “You realize that neither of us knows what that means right?”

Turgon nodded. “Elenwe and I decided that she would make all decisions about discussing sex, sexual development, and healthy relationships with Idril. Partially because I didn’t expect to see my daughter often, but also because my understanding of age appropriate information is very, very lacking.”

Argon: “I know that you two, and Dad and Fingon, were forced to work in the palace and not allowed to leave. I also know that you were - hurt - and that some of the ways you were corruptions of the marriage act.”

Aredhel: “Most of the ways we were hurt were sexual. And the groping wasn’t actually painful, but I sure as fuck didn’t want it.”

Argon: “I was being circumspect for your sake. I know what sex is, and you don’t have to talk to me like I’m a little kid.”

Aredhel looked at Anaire, who nodded in permission.

“I assume your sex ed came from a different direction than mine did. ‘You know that thing the King does to Dad? If it’s between a man and woman rather than two men, babies can happen! Sometimes it feels good, sometimes it feels painful, and sometimes how good it feels is just another way you’re being twisted up to serve them. Also, the king started doing it to your big brother, so you’re being sent away from your family in hopes that this horrible sex thing will happen to you less.’ But I guess it worked, in that the potter at least was able to explain how women prevent babies in case any of them got the idea to try.”

Anaire was shocked. “I’ve never heard you mention this before. That was why you were apprenticed?”

Ardehel: “Yeah, Dad said I shouldn’t talk about sex with anyone outside the palace. They’d be horrified and try to do something, but they wouldn’t be able to actually help. Then King Feanor would be mad we told, and take his temper out on us, and honestly the difference between him not caring if we enjoyed sex and him trying to make it hurt was pretty fucking big. So I kept quiet. It seemed fair to tell you the broad strokes of what was happening to your kids and husband, but knowing details wouldn’t help.”

Anaire: “I wouldn’t cal the fact that you were in danger of being raped at age twelve a detail.”

Turgon: “She wasn’t. None of us were actually, Feanor didn’t keep very close track of us but dd ask Dad when our begetting days were, and get around to using us for the first time about a month after we came of age. I think Fingon had it worse honestly, he didn’t see it coming.”

Argon: “What do you mean, did he not know Feanor raped people?”

Turgon: “We knew he raped Dad, we walked in on them often enough in the middle of our chores. But he mostly ignored us when we were kids, other than making sure we were around to threaten Dad with. None of us expected that to change.”

Aredhel: “But once Feanor started paying attention, he didn’t forget. Fingon told me later that Feanor used his mouth ten times in that first month.”

Argon: “Wait, Feanor used his mouth - do you mean Feanor kissed Fingon?”

Turgon: “No, Feanor didn’t go in for the fake romance. He made had Fingon suck his cock, and came in it rather than in his ass. Which is generally less painful than unprepared anal sex at least.”

Anaire: “And Fingon and your father are still stuck there? That’s terrible!”

Aredhel shrugged. “I mean, Feanor’s dead, and now there’s only two people allowed to use them instead of eight. It’s better than it was.”

Turgon nodded. “Maedhros is one of the better ones who could have ended up in charge. He goes for his own pleasure rather than pain or humiliation, and he prefers sex in bedrooms - in beds, even.”

Argon, who has not learned nearly enough tact yet: “As opposed to-”

Turgon: “Busy hallways. Up against the wall. Down in the dirt in the stable-yard - or in the woods. Inside a moving carriage. In the middle of the room with nothing to brace yourself on, but not allowed to even fall to your knees.”

Argon: “Is it hard to stay upright during sex?”

Anaire: “Yes, and you don’t need more details.”

Aredhel: “Yeah, he presumably won’t be punished for not knowing them. So Argon, what do you do?”

Argon: “I don’t have a particular craft that calls to me, so I’m still doing general studies.”

Aredhel: “Which is what? I think some of the normal servant kids had education past age ten, but not most of them. Elves are smart enough that you can be literate and know the basics of history and all the math that’s practical by then.”

#servant nolofinweans au #timeline branch: Maedhros gets the concubines #not archived yet #sidenote now that it's her own family on the line you could probably get Nerdanel to help with a rescue attempt #get Nolo and fingon and Curufin and Celebrimbor all out at once #Nerdanel in my dark!Feanor stories tends to be sort of selfish / focused on a small area #what matters to her is whether her family is safe; she could care less about general ethics #outsider POV

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confessionsofafuckingpervert · 4 years ago

Text

Confession #19

There was a time back around the age of 19-20 that I had a girlfriend and was in love. When we broke up, I was pretty heartbroken.

It was the night after we ended things, and I went to a house party with some friends on the other side of town. I knew like 3 people there, and to be honest, I was having a really shit time, and probably should have declined the invitation.

During the night, I met this cute, chubby blonde girl, and I hadn’t really picked up on it, but in retrospect it should have been obvious how flirty she was being all night. At a certain point, the whole party was getting a bit too much for me, so I told everyone I was going to go for a walk to clear my head. Blondie asked if she could come along, and I said I just needed some space, but she didn’t really get what I meant and came along anyway. She was so talkative, and kinda boring.

We ended up near some shops, and went down an alley and sat at the top of a stairwell behind what I seem to remember as a bakery or something. We were chatting, well, she was chatting, and she asked me what was up. So I told her I was just a bit overwhelmed at the party because my gf and I had broken up and I wasn’t dealing. She went into a story about how her and her boyfriend broke up a month or so ago, and how he started dating this other girl straight away, and how it was his loss because the new girl was a prude and wouldn’t do the kinda of things she did for him. Then she said, his loss could be my gain, and she tried kissing me. We were both a bit drunk, and she was a really sloppy kisser. It was a bit awkward, and I kinda put the breaks on it and said I wasn’t sure if I was ready to hook up with anyone yet. She move my hand up her skirt, to touch her chubby, bald pussy, and she was wet as fuck. Then she said, “I know exactly how to take you mind of it”. We kissed again, and she started grinding her pussy on my fingers, and then she moved to the step below me and started undoing my pants.

I was really apprehensive about this, but she started telling me this story about how her neighbour caught her sucking her ex in the car outside her parent’s place one time, and how it turned her on to know someone had seen her being a slut. She told me that the thought of sucking my cock in public was making her pussy soaking wet, and that I should forget my bitch ex and relax. That her throat was mine to enjoy now, and I could use her all night if I wanted. She said she bet that she could make me forget all about my ex, and it made my cock so hard to hear this dirty talk. She knelt there on the stairs, holding onto the railing on either side with both hands, and she sucked it just like she kissed - wet and sloppy as fuck.

She made a lot of gagging noises and drooled everywhere. I lent back and to be honest, I really did relax and forget my ex for a while. She told me I could grab her head and be rough if I wanted. So I did. She spat all over my cock and then slurped it all up and sucked my nuts and would look at me coyly and say shit like “I bet you ex never blew you like this”. She was wrong, but also, it was super hot. Then she said I could fuck her if I wanted to, right there on the stairs.

Now I guess we’d been away from the party for a while, and around this time I could hear my friends calling out. They had walked up the street to find me, worried about me. We kept it down and she kept blowing me, until we were sure my friends had moved on. Then I put her on her back and lifted her dress, pulled her frilly pink thong around her knees, and pumped her soft wet cunt right there on the staircase. To be honest, it was really weird, it didn’t take my mind off my ex at all because she started saying freaky shit like, “Your ex is fucking dumb if she’d give up this perfect fucking cock”, and that she’d let me “fuck her however I wanted any day, any time”.

I was nearing the end, so I pulled out and finger fucked her hard til she came, then lent against the railing, and she sucked my cock some more, and finally I came on her face. She let me rub the cum all over her face with the tip of my dick, and then sucked my balls some more. I suggested we head back to the party, and we wandered back slowly. As we walked, we kissed and groped each other, I played with her pussy as we walked, leaning her against a fence to make her cum at one point, and she kept whispering that I owned her. I told her that she shouldn’t get her hopes up, that I wasn’t ready to get into another relationship. Between her hushed moans and her staggering steps, she said she didn’t mind being my rebound, but that she would be devoted as if she was my real girlfriend until I knew what I really wanted.

When we got back to the house, everyone was crashed out, and there wasn’t much room. We found my friends were all asleep in a spare bedroom, and we found a couch to crash on. We made out for a while, and she stroked my cock as I passed out.

A few hours later as the sun was coming up, and people were waking up, my friends came in and we all got our shit together and started leaving the party. My friends were a bit pissed at me for bailing on them, but they also totally understood where my head was at, and we all went home together the next day. I traded numbers with blondie, and she said that I could call on her anytime I needed a distraction or to be cheered up. She lived a good hour and a half drive from me, but she proved her self the very next day when I called her and invited her to come over. She bailed on a family member’s dinner to drive 90 minutes to sit in the car in my driveway and gag on my cock, swallow my load and drive home. She asked to stay the night, but I said no, maybe next time.

Two nights after that I called her again, she said yes, but asked in advance if she could spend the night because the drive was long. I said “we’ll see”, and she came anyway. She did the same thing, blowing me in the driveway, and I let her stay the night. She thanked me, and I snuck her inside. Back then, I was living at my mom’s place, and I didn’t want her to see me bringing random sluts over.

I took blondie into my bedroom and got her naked. I kicked back on my little couch, and told her if she was spending the night she had to work it, she nodded, saying she would worship my cock all night if that’s what I wanted. And she fucking did. I put on my TV, and sparked up a cigarette, and relaxed while she licked my balls and shaft and blew me for what seemed like hours. We moved over to the bed, and I went to sleep, she was thanking me for letting her suck my dick. I told her I expected to be woken up with up BJ, so she should get some rest.

Sure enough, I woke up with her under the covers with my dick in her mouth. I was dreaming about my ex, and when I woke up and reality kicked in, there was a feeling of disappointment. I grabbed her hair and fucked her face hard and came down her throat. She thanked me again. She was supposed to be at home to help her mom do something, and I told her to stay and spend the day with me instead. She totally blew her family off for me. I tied her up and I put a blindfold around her eyes, and teased her cunt. I told her I was planning to fuck her all day long. That I would keep her tied up in my room like this all day, and use her as I felt like it. She gasped as I teased her clit. I asked if she was on birth control, and she said she was, that if I wanted to cum in her it would be ok. I teased her for ages with my fingers and tongue, her juices were leaking everywhere, and she begged me to fuck her. When I finally put my cock into her pussy, she came so hard, and so loud, I had to cover her mouth. I choked her out as I fucked her cunt, and I whispered into her ear all kinds of dirty shit. I told her I was going to spend the whole day filling her up with cum, and she played along, begging me to fill her cunt up with cum, saying she wanted to be my little cumdump. I fucked her all morning, eventually dropping the biggest fucking load in her pussy. She was a hot, wet, cock drunk mess at this stage. I adjusted her restraints and blindfold, and got her a drink of water. Then I told her to relax for a bit while I made some food, and did some chores, I’d be in for some more fun soon.

I guess I had left her there for about an hour and a half, when I went back into the room I don’t think she had realised how long I was going to leave her there. Seeing her all tied up, naked and helpless was such a turn on. I gripped her hair and ran my fingers over her pussy. Then whispered into her ear that this was going to be her life from now on. She moaned, and said she wanted to be my fucktoy, my cumdump. She begged me to fuck her again, and I could feel her pussy soaking up as she spoke.

She spent that whole day and the following night tied up like this, and I pumped load after load into her fat little cunt. It was some of the most insane, perverted sex of my life at the time, and every time I pushed my luck and did something a bit more fucked up, she would cry out “yes” and beg me to use her even more. In the morning, I took her into the shower, and gently cleaned her up. I made her a nice breakfast, and it was all very pleasant and caring. She thanked me over and over again, and told me she loved me. That she would do anything for me.

I kept her around for quite a while. Eventually I moved to the city and she would come over a couple of nights a week. I have a lot of stories from that time to share, but that’s all for another time.

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dainarps · 5 years ago

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An AU inside an AU

@claudrps “And what do you have to offer me in exchange for your education?” Kimihiro Watanuki stared up at the woman, feeling his throat go dry. He was fifteen, an orphan, and looking for an opportunity to better himself. Cultivation — that was a path to true success. When Mistress Yuuko Ichihara announced that she would be looking for new students, the whole sect was abuzz. Youths came from far and wide to answer her call, many of them turned away.

Watanuki needed this. He lived on the streets, trading chores and odd jobs for shelter during the night, when spirits roamed freely. A roof over his head was only one perk, though. There was fame and notoriety, too, but even that wasn’t why Watanuki wanted this.

He had watched cultivation masters before, admiring their work from wherever his home happened to be that night. They freed lost and wandering spirits, guiding them to return to their afterlives, helping them achieve satisfaction in life. They assisted humans, saving them from wandering corpses or vengeful ghosts looking for anyone to kill and satisfy their bloodlust. No matter what they did, their work was fulfilling.

Watanuki had no sense of purpose. He didn’t remember his parents and neither did anyone else, leaving him a mystery to even those in his clan. Some people considered him cursed — a human born from thin air was only destined to cause trouble. Watanuki paid them no mind. He knew he had parents out there somewhere, whether he grew up orphaned or not. People didn’t just appear out of the ground like flowers.

He’d never felt a calling toward anything until he watched a group of cultivators exorcise the spirit of an angry mother from a baby, saving the child’s life. He wondered if cultivators had been present during his early days, if he would still have his parents.

He wondered if he could make a difference in someone’s life like that.

“I’m offering you…myself,” Watanuki said, his voice firm.

Yuuko smirked and brought her pipe to her lip, inhaling slow, then exhaling, blowing smoke in Watanuki’s face. “So…you’re offering me nothing?”

“Eh?” “That’s how you think of yourself, is it not? You are worth nothing, you came from nothing, you will never achieve anything. You are valued at nothing.” Watanuki’s eyes went wide and he stared at Yuuko, unsure of how to respond to that. Maybe sometimes thoughts like that crossed his mind. There were many days where he thought that about himself. She wasn’t wrong.

He stared down at the ground, his fists clenched at his side. It was one thing for himself to say those things, but it was another entirely for someone else to do so. “That’s what I thought,” Yuuko said, raising her hand to dismiss him. “I’m worth more than nothing,” Watanuki said. “I may have nothing, but I’m worth more than nothing. I’m good with my hands. I can cook and clean. I can sew. I can work. I have value.” He looked up at Yuuko again, his eyes set firm. He wouldn’t be turned away. He could do this. He had worth. He had the determination and the grit.

Yuuko didn’t seem offended by his outburst. In fact…she grinned, and Watanuki immediately felt uneasy. “Prove it.”

Watanuki spent his time at the Ichihara compound on his hands and knees, scrubbing, weeding, painting, and when his knees grew red and raw from that, he stood and cooked, dusted, and catered to each whim Yuuko had. He became a servant, working alone in a house far too big for one person to clean. It seemed that those who were actually the servants had been given some time off, and most of them stood by and watched him. He often heard them talking about how much longer he’d last until he gave up.

They didn’t know just how far stubbornness could take a young man.

It put him through each day of Yuuko calling his name, demanding ridiculous things, begging for sake early in the morning or breakfast late at night. At first, Watanuki delivered these things. His attitude changed quite quickly, though, the more he thought about what got him here in the first place. He valued himself…and he wasn’t going to let this lady take advantage of him. “Watanukiiii,” Yuuko whined, interrupting one of her classes to find him in the hallway, dusting cobwebs off of old paintings. “Bring me the wine from the cellar — you know the one with—“ “No,” Watanuki said. “No?” “No! I’m busy doing the other ridiculous chores on this list, and you’re not drinking in the middle of the morning, and in the middle of your class! What would your students think of you?! Shoo! Shoo! I’m busy!”

Yuuko raised a brow and several of her students were peeking out of the room, looking shocked at his behavior.

“If you say so,” Yuuko said, turning back to her classroom. She repeated this experiment a few more times, and each time, Watanuki fought her on it. She didn’t know if that made him brave or stupid, but it was a good thing regardless. It meant he had a spine.

She allowed Watanuki into the classroom a month later, when his hands were forming callouses from raking the yard, when his knees were black and bruised from scrubbing the floor, when the bags under his eyes were almost as long as his eyes themselves.

Watanuki was a special case, though. He needed more than lessons and practice. He needed a guiding hand — not with cultivation, but with himself. Most of her students came from well-known families, raised with love and kindness. They had brothers and sisters, mothers and fathers. Watanuki had nothing and nobody to fall back on. He had nobody to support him, so Yuuko took him under her wing. He was still young, so she raised him. She brought him on various trips, allowed him into meetings he shouldn’t have been privy to.

Some of the other leaders turned their noses up at it, but none said a word. They couldn’t. This was Yuuko’s student and this was her way of teaching. Worse than that was that Watanuki was actually good at what he did. He was a natural talent, and Yuuko was sure that his ancestors had to have been great cultivators. It was abnormal for someone to have this level of power, but not know where it came from. To be frank, Yuuko was fascinated with Watanuki, and that fascination eventually turned into an almost parental bond.

She tried not to play favorites in class, but Watanuki made it difficult not to. He was a hard worker and skilled in more ways than one. And while she plenty enjoyed pestering him in class, teasing him outside of it was even better. Hardly a night went by where he didn’t show to make her tea or cook her dinner. It had been ages since he’d arrived here, but he hardly acted any different than he had on day one.

——

“What will you name it?” Yuuko asked. Watanuki looked down at the sword in his hands. Yuuko had gone to the smith with a very specific request, and he’d delivered. The silvery sword looked almost liquid under the sunlight, the bird wings on the delicate hilt practically glittering. Watanuki was strong, but not like some, and the sword was light enough for him to swing it easily.

Naming a sword was a big deal. It would be with him for, hopefully, a long time. It would bind to him, protect him, and serve him well. It needed a name that was worthy of it.

“Fenghuang,” Watanuki said after a few moments.

Yuuko hummed and nodded her name approvingly. “A good name.”

The sword’s color shifted in the light, and Watanuki liked to think that it agreed with his choice. ——

Most of the cultivators from his class spread out around the country, returning only occasionally to make reports or reunite with old friends. Watanuki never traveled far, though. He took care of this sect, joined Yuuko when her presence was demanded elsewhere, and left only when she sent him somewhere she was incapable of going.

There were rumors now regarding her behavior, with many wondering if he was being groomed to be her heir. She was unmarried and had no children to speak of. Watanuki, with his family situation — or lack thereof — was a perfect candidate. He was strong, his cultivation skills were admirable for his age, and as he grew he only became more powerful.

He wanted to make Yuuko proud. She had done so much for him, and each time she smiled he felt a little more fulfilled.

——

“A present,” Yuuko said, holding a large box out to Watanuki.

“Eh? What for?”

“Oh, an old friend owed me a favor, so he paid me back with this. I don’t want it, so I thought you might have some use for it.”

“So it’s not a present,” Watanuki said, narrowing his eyes at Yuuko. “It’s leftovers.” “Mm, maybe,” she said. He took the box and set it on his lap — for as big as it was, it wasn’t particularly heavy.

“Some ghost isn’t going to jump out of this at me, right?” Yuuko threw her head back and cackled, as if appreciating that vision more than anything else in the world. He reminded himself to be wary of any future gifts she gave him.

Inside the box was a brand new shamisen, a bird painted elegantly across the front. A plectrum with a similar design laid next to it. Some of the best cultivators practiced with music and instruments, and though Yuuko was already turned around and gone, Watanuki had the feeling that this wasn’t just some secondhand gift.

——

Tendrils of magic swirled around Yuuko — her own cultivation — devouring her from the inside out. Watanuki had only just arrived, summoned by her at the last second. He wondered…if that was her last act. What had she been fighting? What had taken her away?

“Yuuko!” Watanuki screamed, reaching through her spell and grabbing hold of her, trying to free her. Yuuko was one of the most powerful cultivators in history — she couldn’t just die! It was impossible! She…She was Yuuko!

When pulling her free didn’t work he stood back, pulling the shamisen around and strumming — his cultivation combatting against hers. It was a futile idea. Useless from the start.

“Watanuki,” Yuuko spoke, her voice sounding far away and causing Watanuki’s song to cut off suddenly. “You were always meant for greatness, but not even you can stop death.”

Watanuki blinked tears out of his eyes, ignoring how they stained his glasses. “I can try! It’s not supposed to be like this! You’re supposed to be here!” He lifted his plectrum again, only to be cut off by Yuuko’s voice again. “Not all good things can last, Kimihiro. Promise me, though, that you won’t stop,” she said. “Promise me…that you’ll go on existing.” Watanuki looked up to say something more, but Yuuko’s body was all that was left of her, her soul vanished and her corpse just that — a corpse.

An anguished cry fell from his lips and he leaned forward, his tears soaking the ground.

——

Watanuki prayed for several days at her grave, staying there through the night. Visitors from other clans came and went, and even folks from other countries knelt by her grave. Her disciples were all sent to learn under new teachers, and when Watanuki did eventually return to the temple, he was alone. His footsteps echoed in the halls and he muffled his wretched sobs in the bath.

It wasn’t fair. There had to be a way to bring her back to life. She should’ve been immortal. It wasn’t right. Someone like her shouldn’t have been taken away — all the criminals, the thieves, the rapists in this world — and the heavens took Yuuko.

Watanuki couldn’t eat and he didn’t sleep. The other masters were concerned, coming over every now and then to force him to rest. It was only when he was confronted by one of the eldest, that he realized what he could do. He could keep working — he could become immortal — and that would give him an eternity to search for a way to bring back Yuuko.

With newfound vigor, Watanuki began putting himself back on track, fueled by a new goal — a selfish one. His goal of wanting to help others was put on the back burner, but Yuuko would understand that, right? She’d get it, right? He was doing this for her! He was researching, studying, and reading for her.

For some time he was left alone in the temple, left to mourn and do his bidding. He answered his calls and assisted other cultivators as needed, but eventually reality caught back up to him.

He knew what the others said about him — that he was selfish, that he was tainting his cultivation, that the immortality he earned wasn’t rightly given. He’d heard worse things before.

The big issue was that, if he was going to remain in this temple, if he was going to continue practicing cultivation, he was going to have to start accepting students. He would have to open the temple back up to his sect, let people enroll.

The news was delivered to him and he grumbled about it for weeks. Didn’t they know he had better things to do?! Didn’t they understand his work here?! He could really make a difference if he accomplished this! He could bring Yuuko back — and so many other great leaders!

He knew, though, that if he mentioned it to anyone…it’d be frowned upon. It went against the natural order.

To be frank, fuck the natural order.

——

Several years after Yuuko’s death, Watanuki opened the front doors to the temple for the first time. He stepped outside wearing her long robes and lit the oil lamps out front. He planted new flowers, hung flags, and let it spread that he would finally be accepting students — those he deemed worthy. Yuuko’s task had been a difficult one for him — what was worth his education here?

Watanuki had volunteered his life in exchange for her teachings. What did he want these children to do? If he had to teach, he wouldn’t bother with those who couldn’t stand on their own two feet. They should be wise — worldly — but not stuck up. They should know the value of hard work and labor, while knowing what it took to be poised and refined.

So, when his first potential student arrived at his door, begging to be educated, Watanuki inhaled slow on his pipe and exhaled, letting the smoke waft lazily around the ceiling. “I’d like a cup of tea before I make my decision,” he said.

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writer-rochelle · 5 years ago

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The Fridge (The Mandalorian x reader)

(a/n: So my friend Alyssa sent me this -------> https://vm.tiktok.com/nLbsfK/ tiktok which I highly recomned y’all look at as it is the inspo for this first part of what will eventually become a short fic. Please let me know what y’all think and don’t hesitate to leave a request <3) warnings- some cursing, wine (consider yourself 21+ in this, use your imagination), my weak attempts at jokes ;))))

Okay so what if this was the third time in the last hour you got up to stare aimlessly into the refrigerator. It’s not like there was much else to do! You’d already finished folding and putting away your laundry, turned in a majority of your assignments, hell you’d even willingly joined in on the Zoom lecture your Psychology professor had hosted early that morning and taken notes.

You had been hoping that there would few cases of the virus in the town you were staying in for uni for as long as possible, but with the numbers in the towns around you growing you knew it would only be a matter of time before there would be a shelter in place order.

You had officially spent a week alone in your apartment, having left only twice; once to get money from your Aunt and Uncle 45 mins away, and then again a day later, getting up at the crack of dawn to stock up on non-perishables, wine, several movies from the $5 bin, and some crafting and baking materials. All in all, you had enough food and distractions to last for at least a month and a half before you needed to venture out again. However, the repeated routine of eating, homework, movie, chore, eating, homework, movie, chore was starting to drive you a bit crazy.

Opening your fridge, you signed. Your theory that the items within having a conscious and could talk and move (ala Toy Story, and Sausage Party) was a bust. ‘Unless they know I know’, you thought. You rolled your eyes, grabbing a water bottle and proceeding to stare at the containers of leftovers, produce, a half-empty can of Red Bull, and various other food items.“Hey guys, just checking in,” you said, shutting the door and cringing at how absolutely crazy you sounded. Yeah, you needed human interaction. Now.

You longed for the days of being able to jump into your car, drive to Target, and wander through each department and aisle for hours. Throwing various things you didn’t need into your basket, Fleetwood Mac, Beyonce, and various other artists crooning interchangeably through your earbuds. Granted that wasn’t true human interaction, but you were in public with other people! And occasionally, you worked up the nerve to go to the cashiers instead of staring at yourself in the self-checkout security camera. (okay maybe you just missed target)

You could call your parents on that stupid Portal thing they insisted on buying (“It’s easier than that damned Facetune crap you kids are always trying to get me to use!” your dad had argued) But you would rather not spend the next hour and a half listening to your mum beg you to come home, while your dad talked over her, insisting that not only would you traveling pose as a risk to yourself (more importantly them and your brother), but you also had a lease to keep and classes to finish. And it was almost 8 o’clock, an excuse you would use should your mum happen to ask why you hadn’t called. ��Finally, you decided that watching TV and indulging in a few glasses of wine wouldn’t hurt. Once again, not like there was anything better to do. After all, you weren’t being charged by different streaming services each month for nothing.

Turning back to your fridge, you grabbed the bottle of wine you had been sipping on (pointedly ignoring your friends), a random cartoon decorated cup from your cabinet, and sat down in front of your TV. Sinking back into the indentions your bum had made not too long ago, you logged back onto Disney+ and continued watching the Mandalorian. Unfortunately, it wasn’t the first time you had watched the show but who really cared when there was no one around to bully you about it. Personally, you would much rather be quarantined with a silent wall of beskar, and a green baby but alas you would just have to stick to watching your show.

You giggled, watching as the Mandalorian attempted to seat himself atop the female blurg, Kuiil’s disappointed headshakes reminding you of your late grandfather. Growing slightly drowsy you leaned forward to place your cup onto your coffee table, before laying out across the couch snuggling under your lavender comforter you had dragged from your room earlier that morning. ‘I’ve seen this episode before, it wouldn’t hurt to close my eyes.’

wwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwww

You woke with a start. The various sounds of the brass section in the theme song reaching your ears in the half-awake state you were in. You groaned sitting up and lowering the volume on the tv before getting up to trade your wine for a bottle of water. Tossing the cup into the sink, you glanced at the clock on your microwave, the numbers [11:30] flashed back at you. How long had you been asleep? You didn’t even bother to check what episode autoplay had gotten to for you. You sighed, ‘May as well shower and go to sleep’ You opened your fridge, going to place the bottle of wine back in it’s designated place when you stopped.

“What the hell?”, you did a double-take. Where had all of the stuff in your fridge gone? Where there once had been shelves and food was now empty save for the ones attached to the door and was that…

“No fucking way”, you turned and placed the bottle in your hand on the island behind you before turning and lifting an egg-shaped container out of the fridge and onto the island as well. It looked exactly like the pram on the show that was still droning on in your living, the faint sound of blaster fire mixing with the sound of your pounding heart. How the hell did a prop from your favorite tv show get in your fridge? Slowly you reached forward and spread the two sides of the pram’s lid apart. Nestled within was none other than The Child. Your eyes widened as he cooed, making uppy arms, his big eyes blinking up at you.

“Hey, little guy how on earth did you get here?” you cradled him to your chest, glancing towards the wine bottle on the counter. ‘Is this some sort of whack ass wine dream? Am I still asleep on the couch?’ you shifted the kid into one arm, reaching down with your right hand to pinch your thigh before grimacing. ‘Nope I’m definitely awake’ You had been so caught up in your thoughts that you hadn’t noticed the figuring looming behind you till you felt the child shift in your arms reaching for…..

The Mandalorian….the fucking Mandalorian was standing in your kitchen. More importantly, the Mandalorian was standing in your kitchen with his blaster pointed directly between your eyes.

“Hand over the kid,” he said, his modulated voice sending shivers down your spine.

Yeah, this was definitely not a dream.

(a/n: ahhhhh so that”s it...for now ;)))) i hope y’all enjoyed it and want to see more! xoxo rochelle)

#the mandalorian #the mandalorian x reader #the mandalorian x y/n #the mandalorian x you #baby yoda #yodito #pedro pascal x reader #pedro pascal #star wars fanfic #the mandalorian fanfic

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delphineh · 4 years ago

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DELPHINE HOLLOWAY / “DELTA HERNÁNDEZ”; STATISTICS, BACKSTORY & SOME CONNECTIONS.

Rose here! I knoow, this is super late but I can’t begin to rant about how hectic the past few days have been. Anyway, I’m so excited to introduce you to my 3rd muse, a detective transferred into Red Ridge three months ago to infiltrate Valencia. They’re posing as a street rat & generic af bartender but are having their ears open for the opposite team.

trigger warnings: child abandonment, child neglect, domestic violence, alcoholism, ptsd.

STATISTICS:

TRAITS & BACKSTORY:

full, real name: delphine ann davidsen holloway.

undercover name: delta hernández ( hernández was their great grandmother’s maiden name, a family tree too old to track but one that allows them to hold their identity close. )

nickname: delphi, little elf, del, d, dee.

gender & pronouns: non-binary & they/she.

age: 35 30.

birthday: november 28th, 1985. ( though their fake id writes january 14th, 1990. )

sexual orientation: homosexual.

romantic orientation: homoromantic.

relationship status: single.

occupation: detective bartender in the kitten club.

affiliation: law enforcement valencia.

rank: undercover street rat.

delphine’s origins became known to them only because they were five years old when their mother ( a 20-year-old prostitute who’d gone homeless since having them ) left them outside of st. david’s orphanage. she’d been raising them all by herself until then. a crumpled letter was stuffed inside their bee-shaped bag, along with a couple changes of clothes and a picture of the two of them. “promise me you’ll keep this. promise me, delphi! read it when you’re eighteen. then you’ll understand, i swear you will!”

positive personality traits: protective, clever, loyal, brave, hard-working, determined, perceptive, confrontational.

negative personality traits: obsessive, cunning, emotionally closed-off, irruptive, distrusting, blunt.

their clothes and their bag were stolen away as soon as they were assigned to a bed, and that letter was first read when they were 14 years old and in desperate need of crumbs that’d help them endure the abuse and fight tooth and nail for their adoptive sister — or encourage them to do something about it ( but more about that in a minute ). in that letter, their mother apologized for not knowing who their father was but told them to always be close to ‘her’ heritage ( as a toddler they were still going by the “she/her” pronouns exclusively, completely unaware there was a word to express the complexity of their identity and its understanding beyond one’s genitalia ). she told them that their grandma was mixed dominican, chinese and african, and their grandpa ashkenazi jewish with roots in central europe. she wrote down the tale about how she lost them both young and ended up in the streets, alone, having nothing but her heritage and childhood memories. “i worry, little elf.. i’m so sorry. your life would’ve been so difficult either way... i know leaving you will make it worse. but i promise you, i didn’t have another choice.” then, she explained that she owed money to the wrong people and that she’d end up dead because of it. “watch out for them, delphine. watch out for the valencia. don’t ever make a trade with them. don’t ever cross paths with them. now that you’re 18, leave if you can. i beg you.” if delphine had waited until 18 to read that letter, their life wouldn’t have changed like it did.

jumping back to the orphanage for a moment: it wasn’t pretty. in that particular institution, they weren’t treated like children, but like numbers. they were punished like them, too. if one child got in trouble, nobody ate. if one kid stayed up late, all of them were violently woken up in the middle of the night to do chores as punishment. if one kid threw up or tossed their food, the rest wouldn’t eat. their clothes never changed, their days never changed. all delphine had was themselves and kara, an orphan two years younger than them. an almost violent urge to protect each other surfaced, attaching them at the hip. they wouldn’t go anywhere without each other; they’d never let anyone else tear them apart.

delphine was eight years old when they were adopted in a new household with kara. for a little while, they thought their prayers had been answered. a couple of weeks with their new parents, however, were enough to shake them both back into reality: these people were somehow even worse than the child care takers in st. david’s. the only reason they adopted them was to get their hands on their adoptive grandmother’s will, since their adoptive father’s sibling didn’t have children either. while that matter was on the table, they pretended to be loving, caring and protective. behind closed doors, though.. the story was different.

almost three years later, their adoptive grandmother dies and the couple inherits her house and her savings. that money is quickly spent in unnecessary luxury while delphine and kara were still left starved, dirty and uneducated. unfortunately the emotional and physical abuse worsened, if only by the certainty that nothing could take away from these awful people what they’d inherited and by the hard limits blurred due to the influence of alcohol ( their new wine celar became their adoptive father’s favorite hang-out spot ).

the breaking point came in 1999, 6 years after the two were adopted. delphi is 14 years old, locked inside their room with kara on their side, and their mother’s letter is barely hanging by a thread on the teen’s shaky hands. they pick up the phone and call the police to report domestic abuse.

somehow, returning to the orphanage seemed like the better option in comparison to staying there another minute. it never became easier: they’d spent six years where their health and education was neglected. most of the kids they used to know were adopted or left as soon as they became adults legally. delphine had a plan though: as soon as they turned 18 too, they’d grab kara and get out of there. ( maybe that other girl their age could join them, too. the one they couldn’t stop thinking about. ) they’d steal books from the library and then, when kara would be of age too, they’d work two jobs or three to finally get into the police academy. they’d make sure to protect the same way they wished to be protected and, eventually, they’d return in red ridge and lock behind bars those who tore them away from their mother. for the first time in their life, there’s a plan. a plan that revives the lost hope inside of them that everything would be alright.

two years later, delphine was adopted by a middle-aged couple, the holloways, who owed a small cottage at the borders of red ridge. delphi was 16 years old, and the oldest kid to ever be adopted in such an old age. on the outside it looked like a slim shot that hit the bullseye, but delphi had no good experiences to draw from and they didn’t want to leave their first love behind. at least escaping that new place with kara when the time came would be far easier than breaking out of the orphanage, right?

kara never joined; they weren’t supposed to. the couple had adopted delphine alone which meant that, legally, their ties to the orphanage are cut.

for all the years of suffering that they’d endured, for every trauma induced by a fist, a foul word or a disgusted look at their direction, scarring the very pits of their soul, losing kara was what broke them. they’d been taken away, they were forced to break their promise. delphine left them without their will and, in their book, it was all the holloway’s fault.

several months passed before their hatred and ptsd could “subdue” enough, just so that they could stop fearing for the curveball to drop and the couple to change; so they could see that the holloways were genuinelly good people: they gave them their own room, clean and tidy, new clothes just for them, and cooked tasty food for them every day. they had a garden in their cottage where they grew their own vegetables and showed delphi how to do it too. the holloways helped them research their heritage and encouraged them to sign into a public school to eventually graduate and live the experience, even though they’d be older than their classmates and catching up would be a very difficult task that required specific, careful treatment.

eventually, with time, patience and care, delphine let their guard drop. school isn’t easy when your classmates are several years younger and annoying for the most part, but walking back home was something they looked forward to. they heard stories upon stories about their life and told them what they’d read about their heritage along with the very few things they remembered before their mom left them. the holloways didn’t understand why delphine found the term “girl” wrong and limiting, but they slowly accepted it. and, when hiding such a big part of themselves became too overwhelming, they came out and were faced with acceptance, respect and love. when they finally asked the couple why they’d picked them, their response was way more practical than they’d imagined: they didn’t realize they wanted kids until they were too old to have them naturally, and they didn’t have the physical strength anymore to raise a baby on their own either. what they wanted was some company and someone to take care of their humble property after they’d be gone, if they wanted. and they wanted to help a kid who didn’t get a proper chance before into becoming something, someone they’d be proud of.

it’s june of 2006 when 21-year-old delphine graduates high school. in october of the same year, they leave for denver, colorado, and start training in the police academy there. ( it’s their desire for some change of scenery, for seeing something outside of red ridge, for meeting people who couldn’t look at them with pity in their eyes because they didn’t know their story. it’s a plea to forget about the fact that they hid behind some bushes all night and day when kara’s birthday came, but they never saw them break out. it’s the fact that they burged in and demanded to see them, only to find out they’d escaped a year ago. )

life continued pretty normally until 2019: delphine has a tight grasp of who they are and what they want from life. they’re settled in denver, their continuous, almost restless hard work promotes them to a detective with an excellent arrest rate at the age of 34, and they’re engaged to the woman of their dreams; someone they met in law enforcement years ago. their goal of returning back on red ridge eventually isn’t forgotten, nor the hope that maybe their long lost sister could be there somewhere. but they need to talk about it, them and their fiancee.

their undercover story is simple: their name is delta hernández, age 30 ( as written on their fake id ). they were dropped at an orphanage in oregon as a newborn and have no idea who their parents are. they were quickly adopted by a shitty family and, when they discovered they were adopted, they escaped: an outlaw going rogue all around nevada by jumping on rvs and making friends with strangers. they settled on red ridge recently because they like how valencia seems to be toying with the cops. they work as a bartender because they’re a better listener than talker and because they never went to high school. favorite color, blue.

the talk happens. they want to return home, settle there, and do undercover work. their fiancee wants to stay in derver and start a family with them after marriage. a schism pulls them apart; they do want children eventually, too. but not yet. they can’t yet. they need to make sure something is done about the situation in red ridge before that. the engagement breaks, the relationship ends and, with nobody holding them back, delphi requests that transfer.

SOME CONNECTIONS:

unbreakable vow — taken by @roadklls: kara and delphi were taken into the same foster home together when they were both very little. they went through hell together for a few years because it turned out that this family wanted to adopt them only to get their hands on their parents’ will. delphi called the police eventually so they were taken from them and placed back in the orphanage. they both thought that if they were to get adopted again, they’d be together. alas, delphi was adopted into a loving home alone and they never saw or heard from kara again.

ex fiancee — open: female or non-binary. they worked together in law enforcement and eventually got together. their relationship seemed perfect, with delphi experiencing the happiest years of their life. when she/they proposed, they agreed to marry them with their eyes closed. however, they eventually discussed that delphi wanted to return in red ridge and go undercover, while their partner wanted to stay in derver and start a family with them right away. they took their seperate ways and delphi was transferred in red ridge.

forbidden ties — 3/10 taken by @trialls, @hopesiick, @jacobsgraham: for a cop, they don’t trust all of their co-workers completely. in their book, there are two types of cops: those who have the same driving force to do good and bring criminals to justice, and those who crave their authority to overpower people. once they’ve judged a character to belong in the first category, they feel like themselves with them than with anyone else. this is a group of co-workers who have their back and vice versa. if it weren’t for them being undercover, they could even be friends.

first love — open: female or non-binary. this is delphine’s first love. she/they are the same age as them and they met at st. david’s orphanage. the two started dating at 14 and got into a very intense, co-protective and passionate teenage relationship that was cut short when delphine was adopted at 16.

unforgotten — 0/2 taken: other kids from st. david’s orphanage who know delphi’s real story. it’d be glorious if one of them is involved with valencia in the present and essentially blows her cover at the right time.

#redridgeintro #domestic abuse tw #child abandonment tw #child neglect tw #ptsd tw #alcoholism tw

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missblissy · 5 years ago

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Title: Homeless at Home Fandom: Red Dead Redemption Genre: fanfiction, chapters, angst, reader insert, fluff, slow burn, friends-to-lovers, pre-game Characters: Young!Arthur Morgan, Dutch Van Der Linde, Hosea Mathews, Arthur Morgan/ Reader, Female reader, Arthur x Reader, Arthur Morgan x Reader, Arthur/ You, Young!reader Chapter: One || Two || Three || Four || Five || Six || Seven || Eight || Nine || Ten || Eleven

Follow me on AO3!! Read it there too!

((Next chapter is up! More will be coming soon!! Let me know what you guys think will happen next!! Things are about to get hella crazy!!))

The summer was perfect. It was warm, it was breezy, it rained little to none. Since Hosea’s return, the gang and life seemed to revert back to normal. Dutch and Hosea were back to running out of the camp every morning, with Arthur joining on occasion, and coming back with whatever money they could make by the evening.

Bessie, Susan, and Annabelle worked tirelessly to keep the camp organized, stocked, and cooked every meal. Everyone had chores. Everyone had to do their part for the gang, even Uncle who cared for the horses, and you finally started to contribute on a regular basis too.

At the beginning of summer, when Hosea came back, you begged him to take you hunting every morning. He seemed happy enough to take you out and he enjoyed the company. You started hunting close to camp, you stayed in the area and took from the closest resources. You had only known how to use a handgun at first, and you never got anything larger than a small and underfed turkey that was about the size of a chicken. Squirrels and rabbits were the only other things on your list animals you’ve killed.

You could remember that first summer you spent with Arthur and Hosea in the open desert. You remembered how awful it felt to take the life of another living thing. Now with another summer coming at hand, you were barely fazed by the bang of your pistol or the little cries of death that escaped an animal when you killed it.

Somewhere in the middle of summer, after several weeks of hunting with Hosea, you started hunting alone and straying further and further into unknown country sides and forests. Hosea had given you a long yet still small cattlemen repeater. It was perfect for your short size. You had upgraded from killing small animals to medium ones than to large ones very quickly. You spent a lot of time in the forest, not just hunting, but also collecting herbs and wild fruits and vegetables that grew in the area. And so the gang had started to depend on your for food.

There was one day, just a few weeks ago, where you slept in and forgot to go hunting. Dinner that night was sad and pathetic and everyone ate canned food around a fire. Miserable and tried, with a side of attitude at the lack of a good meal, not many people stayed up that night and complained quite a bit. You knew then that you were no longer a child.

Your 14th birthday was only a handful of months away and as you grew older you started to notice not only your role in camp changing but your also your body and feelings.

You were becoming more moody and quick to anger. You were stronger than ever before. You took down a doe for the first time this summer. Lifting up that doe was like lifting up a bag of paper, you tossed it onto Callus’s rear end and tied it down with ease. You had grown taller too, it was easier to climb onto Callus and Arthur didn’t seem like a giant anymore.

Speaking of Arthur, he took great pleasure in pushing your buttons and teasing you relentlessly, though he always made up for it when he went overboard.

Today, however, you wanted to yell at him for stealing your boots. You knew it was him, you left them in a pile under your bed, and this wasn’t the first time Arthur has hidden your things.

You stomped through the camp, barefoot and sour-faced. You found Dutch and Hosea sitting at a table looking over a large map and many papers. You hurried over there and stole their attention, “Where is Arthur!?” You asked with harshly knitted brows.

They shared a look then laughed, “Stole your boots again, huh?” Dutch asked with a sympathetic look. He glanced down at your feet then held back a petty laugh.

“Why does he do this?” You wined while throwing your arms dramatically, “Why do you let him!?” You then pointed a finger at the two older men.

“You’ve got to learn to fight your own battles, girl,” Hosea gave you a pat on the head, “I think I saw him running around with that old dusty guitar down the beach,” Guitar?

When did anyone ever have one of those and where did they hide it?

You left the old men to their battle plans and headed for the stone and pebbled covered beach. Your heart sank in your chest and you grew cold. How on earth could you make it across the beach without your boots? You took one step and felt the pain of a pebble dig into your foot. There was no other option though. You had to do this.

Each step opened a new gate of hell on to you. You thought over time you’d just get used to the pain but it never got better. You gazed down the beach and looked around for Arthur. As far as you could see he wasn’t anywhere around. But then you heard something. Soft and out of tune strings of music drifted to your ears. It didn’t take long to find him then. Arthur was hidden further down the beach where it turned into massive rocks stuck and cluttered together. He was well hidden behind boulders bigger than a house, on a little hidden sandy beach.

You wanted to tackle him and demand your shoes but your curiosity was greater than your rage. He didn’t seem to notice you were there either. You took great pleasure in sneaking around the boulder he leaned on and jump out from behind it, letting out a loud and terrible scream.

Arthur jerk away and the guitar in his hands lunched from his lap and several feet away, he screamed just as loud until he realized it was just you.

“God! Dammit!” He glared at you while you started laughing in fits of giggles that bubbled from your chest.

“That’s what you get for stealing my boots!” You retorted quickly, “I got you good,” The soft sandy beach melted away the pain from the stones and you didn’t seem so mad about your boots anymore. Though you still wanted to find them, “Where’d you throw them this time?” You asked as you picked up the guitar.

“Uncle’s got ‘em,” He replied casually as you handed him the instrument.

You sat down on a rock in the middle of the little beach and let out a groan, “Uh! Why?! Why did you do this to me!?” You knew you’d have to trade something with the old man to get them back, and he’d probably ask for whiskey.

Arthur got comfortable against the rock and just shrugged as he tried to play the guitar again. He wasn’t that good, “Don’t put frog eggs in my boots,” Huh… you did do that, didn’t you?

The memory came through suddenly and you remembered how you filled Arthur’s boots with swamp water and frog eggs for stealing the last of your candy stash. You shook the memory away and declared that you were even.

“What’s with that?” You pointed to the guitar Arthur was having trouble with.

He shrugged again, “It’s Susan, can you believe?” He dodged your question like a pro.

So you asked more clearly, “Why are you playing it?”

Arthur didn’t say anything for a few minutes and he sat there almost frozen. You watched him look at the ground, his eyes dashing around before he glanced at you then shrugged yet again. What was with all the god damn shrugged?

“Girls like guys who can play guitars,” He finally said.

Excuse you? You looked at him, squinting your eyes then tipped your head slightly, “What? No they don’t.”

He shook his head and gave you this bug eyed look, “Yeah they do,” He sounded so serious, like he was a professional on this topic, “They love this shit.”

“Pft!” You let out a winded laugh, “And you think this is gonna make them like you?” You rolled your eyes then crossed your arms, “You really don’t know a thing, do you?

Can you even play it?”

You put Arthur on the spot again and he didn’t say anything for a while. He mumbled something under his breath that you didn’t hear, “Huh?” You called out like an old deaf woman, “I can’t hear you!”

“No!” Arthur barked back, “Well!” He paused and looked around while fumbling on his words, “Not really! I can a little bit… I just…I don’t know any songs…” Something about all that made you laugh harder than you ever have before. Your brought your legs up and crossed them under you while your hands held tight onto your feet, “The virgin boy is trying to seduce women with an instrument he doesn’t know how to use!” You laughed and laughed, rocking back and forth on top of your rock. Just because you were 13 didn’t mean you knew how the bees and birds worked. That was another change you noticed in yourself, you were becoming more vulgar.

Arthur’s face burned bright red and he grabbed a stray little rock in his hand and got ready to whip it at you but he knew better than that. He just scared you instead and threw it inches past your head and into the lake at your back, “Shut up!” He was really mad… or embarrassed… or both.

If you were older you might feel some kind of pity or maybe sympathy for him. But you stopped laughing at him and decided to be nice, “I know a song you can play,” Arthur looked at you with a raised brow, “My mother use to sing this to my father all the time, maybe you can find a girl that likes listening to it?” You said and he gave you another odd look, “Can you play this tune?” You started to hum and sing out a few notes while setting a tempo by lightly tapping your hand onto your knee.

He watched you then fumbled around to try and play by ear. It was a simple tune so it was easy but he still wasn’t the best and it took him several times to get it right. You felt a warm and lifting feeling grow in your chest at the sound of just hearing that tune again, and you hadn’t even got to the song. In your head you could hear the sound of your mother’s voice singing along to the music as your father would play on the few instruments you had in your home. It was something your parents loved doing together, they loved singing for some reason. Your home was always full of songs and music and dancing.

You were glad that you could look back on this memory and feel pride and love and nostalgia instead of pain and depression. When Arthur had played the tune enough times you took in a deep long breath then tried your best to sound good.

“Oh, darling, if I take your hand Will we travel far out West, far across the land! Cuz anywhere is home with you, I'll keep on going til the air is new,”

A smile had climbed onto your face as you remembered the words to the song. It was uplifting and quick, joyful and fast paced. You wanted to dance, but you stayed put on your rock and choose to sway back and forth little by little.

“It's the land and trees I desire! Smoke leaks from your mouth, cuz your heart is on fire! But your travelling song is not like mine, Our paths are different but we'll meet up in time,”

As you sang to the song it was easy for Arthur to keep up, this guitar thing wasn’t as hard as he first thought it was. And the song you choose was sweet and heart felt, it was perfect. There had been the girl in the post office that had his attention. Her name was Heather and she was sweet enough to give you a sugar rush. You had an awful first meeting with her, but the more and more Arthur kept hanging around this poor girl the nicer you grew and put up with her.

“Cuz I'm a weary traveller, you're an aimless wanderer, I'm cautious and I'm wary, you're reckless and you're fairly, Impulsive and unruly, we're bound to meet up surely in due time. Our stories are forever entwined. My babe's got green-brown eyes. But who can keep track, cuz they're changing all the time My eyes are as blue as the sea We'll keep on running 'til we're as far as can be,"

You had this memory in your mind as you felt the words leave your lungs, you could see your mother and father sitting together on the front porch of your home as you sat between them. The three of you sang this song and you could see the love between your parents as if the song was theirs and held a different meaning you just couldn’t quiet understand. Arthur started to mumble along to the words as you sang the chores again.

“As you head down south I'll go east, We'll follow our hearts cuz we're both at peace! But I know it's not our fate, To suffer through a good old fashioned heartbreak! Cuz I'm a weary traveller! You're an aimless wanderer! I'm cautious and I'm wary! You're reckless and you're fairly! Impulsive and unruly! We're bound to meet up surely in due time! Our stories are forever entwined!”

Smiles spread across yours and Arthur’s faces as the song came to an end and he stopped playing the songs melody. A moment passed there where you both stayed there and shared small chuckles. The warmth of the summer blew past you in the wind and you felt freedom trail off you and into the breeze. Arthur set the guitar aside and leaned as far back as he could against the rock, “You said your ma use to sing that song?” He asked. You slid off the rock and paced your way over to the abandoned guitar. You sat in a little grassy patch about a foot away from Arthur and nodded your head. You ran a finger over each string, “Yeah, she loved singing,”

“So did mine,” Arthur was staring up at the white cotton clouds as the drifted on by, “I don’t remember what she use to sing, or what her voice sounded like,” He paused then narrowed his gaze slightly, “But I know she had a beautiful voice, she had the most beautiful voice in the world. I don’t have to remember what she sounded like to know that. I could remember thinking it all the time as a kid how her voice was my favorite thing to hear.”

At that moment you could see a new and fresh pain scatter across Arthur’s face. The pain he felt was raw and hurt in a way it never hurt before. Something in him broke, and he could feel the child inside him cry out. He sat there, upset and stuck in his own head with a sour look on his face until your voice broke him from his own chains.

You weren’t sure what to say or do, “We should head back to camp,” You wanted to get him out of here though and get his mind on something else, “Dutch will probably have something for you to do by now,”

He didn’t say anything. Arthur silently stood up and waited for you to join him at the edge of the little hidden beach. You followed him then stopped in your tracks. The pebble battlefield stared back at you and fear wriggled into your spine, “Arthur-” You reached out and grabbed him by his wrist before he could walk away. He stopped and stared down at out without a word, “Carry me,” You didn’t look at him, you kept your eyes on the beach.

When your grip on his wrist grew tight enough for him to get annoyed, he yanked himself free from your hand, “Fine,” He sounded much more depressed than he looked.

Arthur got down onto one knee and nodded his head, “Get on.”

A silly smile slapped your face and you threw the guitar around your shoulder as the strap held it in place behind you. You threw yourself onto Arthur’s back and wrapped your arms around his neck as he locked your legs in his arms. He got up with ease as if your added weight meant nothing. Either you were lighter than you thought or he was getting stronger than he looked. Regardless, you felt a giggled swell in your belly and you laughed out as Arthur gave you a piggyback ride to camp. Perhaps your laughter was contagious, or maybe hearing your laugh made him feel better, but Arthur’s own low chuckle mingled with your chirping giggles.

“You should give me piggyback rides more often!” You held tight onto him and enjoyed watching the pebbles passing under you.

“No way!” He shook his head once then did his best to look back at you, “I’m only doing this cause you gave me that song to use. I’m gonna need you to write that down by th-” Arthur’s words got cut off as you started to strangle him with your arms, tightening around his neck.

You had a snotty little look of pure evil as you loosened your grip after he stopped walking, “At least say please,” You said as he caught his breath and dry heaved a few times. And how nice of him, he didn’t even drop you, there was still a lot of beach to cover.

Instead, he hiked you up higher on his back and carried on. He even muttered out a, “Please… can you write that down?” Then cleared his throat to cover the fact that his voice sounded like shattered glass.

“Sure, after you get my boots for me,” Confronting Uncle was the last thing you wanted to do. He would annoy the ever life out of you.

“Nah,” Arthur drawled, “You can take care of that yourself,”

“What?!” You were ready to ring his neck again, “At least…. Help me!” Arthur shook his head slightly as he cleared the last stretch of the pebble beach. You expected him to drop you like a sack of potatoes but he carried on and towards camp.

“Nope,” Arthur’s voice had some hidden tone to it. You could hear the snicker building up in his chest.

Suddenly you didn’t want to be piggybacking on Arthur anymore. You started to squirm and wrestle free but Arthur flexed his arms and trapped your legs. He started to run and you were forced to hold on. He rushed into camp, nearly knocking down Susan who barked out a rude comment about being careful.

“Arthur!” You yelled in his ear, “Let me down!” He ignored your command. As he raced past the heart of camp Annabelle and Dutch stared with crooked and confused smiles. It’s safe to say, you were a little scared. What the hell was he doing? With a sudden stop, Arthur halted, slamming his heels into the ground. He spun so fast as he let go of your legs that you were freed from his grip, only to collide with an unnatural amount of hay.

That bastard!! You fell into the hay abyss to never be seen again. Your world was sharp and painful straw used to feed and warm the horses. You clawed yourself free and swatted away the loose ends of hay. When you jumped out of the pile you were ready to claw Arthur to death. It would take hours to get all the hay out of your hair!! But when your bare feet landed onto the hard dirt, he wasn’t there. He was gone yet again.

You wanted to run around and find him and get payback, but Hosea had spotted you and had made his way over with Bessie close behind. You were surprised to see your boots in her hands.

As she handed you your torn raggedy boots, she softly said, “The trouble I had to go through to get these,” You had an idea. Uncle must have talked her ear off by the looks of it. You thanked her and quickly put your boots on.

Hosea spoke up and flashed a crooked smile down to you, “We have to run into town,” He started, “Why don’t you come with us?”

Something smelled fishy, and it wasn’t the lakeshore only feet away. You lifted a brow, “Why?”

His features quickly went from friendly to serious, “Dutch has a task for you, it’s not grocery shopping,” There it was. Hosea went on saying, “Bessie and I are going to be scouting the bank, just watching it. Dutch wants to hit the bank and head west into Oregon with the money.” Oh, oh wow. Okay. You listened intently as Hosea spoke again,

“While we’re scouting the bank,” Hosea paused and handed you several sealed envelopes, “Dutch wants you to plant these in the post office, but you have to sneak in and do so without being seen. These are fraud letters to the bank tellers, if you’re seen with the letters it will blow our cover. It all has to be anonymous.”

The sudden weight of what was happening pulled your heart into a wild flurry of directions as it tried to break from your rib cage. This was the first time you had been tasked with something related to anything illegal, or gang-related. No matter how small this was, it was still a pretty big deal for you.

“Okay,” You said quieter than a mouse. You held about five envelopes in your hands. They felt heavier than the biggest boulder on the beach. Mixed feelings swirled inside you as you started to follow Hosea and Bessie to one of the camp wagons. Nothing else was said as they sat upfront while you took to the back of the wagon were your legs could dangle off and you could watch the roads travel under you.

A bank robbery? Nothing this intense has ever taken place in the short year you’ve been with this gang. You knew about every heist that went down, and 90% of them were stagecoach robberies, the other 10% was conning people out of their money like… like showmen or something. But… a bank robbery? Really? You’ve heard all about the stories of other banks that Dutch, Susan, and Hosea have robbed together in the past, but you never thought it’d happen now.

Something about this felt wrong. You were going to aid in the theft of innocent people’s money. You didn’t dare voice these feelings, nor did you try to ignore them either. As the ride to town started to blend together, you kept getting lost in your thoughts.

Had Arthur ever robbed a bank? No, there was no way. You heard the story about his first robbery, and how that ended in the back of a train’s bank car in the middle of New York. He’s robbed a few stage coaches…. Three or four sounded right. There was no way in hell that Annabelle or Bessie would be involved, right? Annabelle didn’t even know how to shoot a gun. She was a proper lady, madly in love with a man who seemed more of a revolutionary mastermind than a wanted criminal. Bessie was tough, she grew up on a horse ranch, she may have had money but she was no lady. She may dress like a lady when she needs too, but she was more wild and untamed than she looked.

Susan was surely in on this. She was the strongest and most impressing of all the woman in camp. She had been a mistress, she used to run a saloon in her younger days, caring for the… ladies of the night, and teaching them how to seduce men. She grew up rough and lived rough. She feared nothing.

In a way, you looked up to Susan. Though she was quiet nasty to the other woman, she was fairly nice to you when she wanted to be. She treated you the same she treated Arthur, like children.

Before you knew it, you had gotten to town. Bessie and Hosea left the wagon abandon behind some blacksmith’s barn and nearly abandon you too.

“You know where the post office is, right?” Is all Hosea asked you, and once you nodded he was gone and so was Bessie.

Left alone, you took the muddy back roads through town. You did your best to avoid the doctor’s office as you raced between buildings. The post office was another road over, tucked behind the gunsmith and nestled next to a small shabby saloon. You hid behind the gunsmith, looking at the back door to the post office. If you were lucky, Heather was working there today. Maybe you could… trick her or something?

You were not very good at this. After a few minutes of thinking, you came up with a plan. You made your way to the back door, nervous and unsure of yourself. Without a single thought, you knocked your fist onto the door three times then bolted away to hide behind some barrels between the post office and the saloon.

A few seconds passed then someone opened the door. It was Heather! Okay… You got this. You did your best to pick up the biggest rock and you threw it at the trashcan further down the back road. Heather let out a little yelp, then called out, “Hello!?” She took the bait and like the airhead she was, she left the post office door open. She slowly headed the other direction, leaving you time to sneak up to the back door and head inside. You closed the door behind you quietly and locked it to buy you some time.

It was dark inside, and you could feel a cold draft sweep past your feet. The back of the post office smelled similar to a bookstore. You weren’t sure what to do from here. You had to plant these letters. But where? You started to panic, rushing to look around. There were walls filled with little letter cubbies. Some had names under them, some had numbers. There were carts filled with bags, and the bags were filled with letters. You fumbled in the dark, trying to read the little metal plates. Nothing seemed to be helping you though.

Heather would be back any second now. God this was so hard! And scary! What if you got caught? What would you even say?

You shook your head and ran over to another wall filled with letter cubbies. You ran fingers over each plate as your eyes dashed around looking for anything labeled “bank” or maybe “letters heading out.”

Suddenly you found two larger cubbies on the lowest part of the wall. One was labeled “Arrivals,” while the one next to it said “Departures,” This had to be it! When you took a better look, you noticed that was only one letter sitting in the arrivals cubby. It was face down, and it had a wax seal keeping the letter closed.

Innocently, you set your fraud letters down in the departures cubby and forgot about them within a second. You squinted in the low light and reached a hand forward towards the mystery letter. As your fingers grazed the waxy seal, you felt a wave of curiosity swallow you. Something about this letter called out to you.

The wax seal was a deep green and almost looked black in the darkness of the post office. You hesitantly touch the white paper of the envelope. Chills ran down your arm and into your spine the second you made contact with it. Your fingers curled around the corners and you lifted it up. You brought it closer to your face and glared down, trying to make out what the wax seal said. You noticed a large ‘M.D.’ within a crest, with roses clustered around it, and a doe of some kind trapped within the roses. A static sound filled your ears as you realized you had seen this crest somewhere before. The memory tugged out of the murky waters of your mind. A thud boomed from your heart, growing louder and louder in your ears.

Slowly, almost as if you didn’t want to, you turned the letter over in your hand. There was no way to describe the feeling that rushed through you when you read the name and address on that back of that letter. A breath shaky and frail left your lungs, you almost forgot to take another breath in. You felt your fingers grip the corners of the envelope so tightly that you started to tear and wrinkle the yellowing paper.

To: Miss (Y/n) (L/n) Sugartown, Paradise Valley. Nevada.

From: Harrison McDuffy Green Point, Long Island New York.

It was so hard to breath be for some reason. Time stopped. This couldn’t be real. It was a letter… addressed to you… from no one else but your Grandfather. How long had this letter been sitting here? Waiting for you to find it? How…? It must have been the doctor in town! He had to have told your Grandfather you were alive and all the way out here. So many fears and questions ran through your head. The loudest question of all bled into your thoughts… What did he want?

You wanted so badly to open the letter, but a sudden and loud bang came from the backdoor. Heather was still locked outside! You nearly screamed but slapped a hand over your mouth instead. You shoved your letter into a pocket and looked around. You had to get out of here, and quickly.

You ran for the front door, no one was inside, and it was the only way out. You skid through the post office and busted out the front door into the busy and open street.

Several people looked your way, and you froze only for half a second before bolting down the street. You dashed between people and nearly got ran over by a horse, but you made it back to the wagon. Hosea and Bessie were nowhere to be seen. You crawled up into the back of the wagon and made yourself small. Suddenly you felt like crying and laughing at the same time. Everything felt so surreal. Your Grandfather…. Your Grandfather!! He knew you were alive! He was trying to contact you!

The letter burned your side, crumbled up and hidden away in your pocket. It scared you, honestly. There was no way you could have any idea what that letter said, or what your Grandfather wanted. Was he sending an army to save you? Was he aware that you were in the care of THE Dutch Van Der Linde? Did he think Dutch killed your parents and kidnapped you?

Blinking hard, you gave a quick shake of your head and told yourself you’d open the letter once you got home. Until then, you guessed what it could hold inside it. You guessed what threats or pleads could be hidden behind that wax seal. The letter was already heavy, so you guessed how many papers it took to write angry letters.

It didn’t matter. Nothing matter. Well… What mattered most was the Dutch knew your family had reached out and contacted you. A sharp and intruding fear crippled you instantly. How could you tell Dutch this? How on earth could you expose yourself like that? In what way was it even possible for you to approach Dutch and even bring up the idea that your family was most likely threatening him to bring you home safely? No matter what this letter said, you’d be ten times more of a burden than you already were.

No matter what the letter said, it was almost certain that it’d cause more trouble than you were worth.

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kiraawrites · 5 years ago

Text

The Shed

A fiery youth blazes her way out of an underground prison for the weak, empowered by the suffering of her fellows and the death of her loving mother.

Word Count: 1486 (word limit was 1.5k)

Constructive criticism welcome!

“Kathryn Shaham. Birthdate: 07/12/2150. 7 Intelligence. 4 Strength. 15 Charisma. 4 Dexterity. Total: 30/100. Status: The Shed,” read her name card as she peered at it through the darkness that shrouded her.

Kathryn glanced around the humid tunnels that were covered by the smell of human sweat and filled by constant groans of discomfort. Stepping through the mountains of filth, she felt kicks in her abdomen and looked down at her swollen belly. Every strike was a sharp reminder of the life that would soon be released into the chaotic storm of the Shed, where one’s voice became lost in the murky tunnels. Kathryn furrowed her brows as she toyed with the possibility that the child would be satisfactory for life on the surface. 35 points. Is it really that hard? Her heart pounded at the suggestion of salvation, for the Shed was Elysium’s Purgatory.

The guards beside the gate to the surface would always say, “It’s for balance. Perfect distribution of social classes. Our society is a better place without the Unskilled.” They always explained with a clipped voice, making sure to never look them in the eye. The truth ached. The government felt that their life was not worth living. They were burdensome, like defiant children that did no chores. Kathryn fumed when told that she was privileged; privileged to be housed in a slum built on the shabby bricks of dishonest lies and violent anarchy. The Shed swallowed up whoever could not bring themselves to do one of the two things that would give them enough pennies for a plate of food. Its seedy undercurrents have ruthlessly drowned numerous souls that did not sell themselves or sell contraband. This harsh reality wrapped itself around Kathryn’s heart; a barbed wire sinking even deeper into her sore flesh every waking morning when the smuggled clock beside her tiny bed would scream with the same agony that spread around the Shed with the strength of a tsunami wave.

The act of selling one’s body to strangers was what brought about Laila’s existence. The baby wore a mop of brown curls and was glued to her mother. Her meaningless babbles gave meaning to Kathryn’s cavernous heart, filling it with the warmth of familial connection. Without a breath of hesitation, Kathryn swore that she would never commit these indecent acts again for Laila’s sake. Grabbing a handful of bronze coins, Kathryn built a stall in the not-so-discreet black market. She traded cigarettes which men bought so eagerly, each stick being a grasp at temporal happiness, numbing the emotional wounds that have tormented them over the years.

8 years sped by at an alarming rate in their mundane lives. Kathryn was 26 and had built a following, her charismatic skill playing greatly to her advantage. The family of two had aged like fine wine, working in tandem to scavenge for success where, to the untrained eye, there was none. Among the regulars, Laila could easily recall one of them. He had a tall and well-built figure and worked as a hitman. Recognising Kathryn from her past work, he would attempt to wrap her around his little finger with the desperation of a puppy begging for treats. Alas, she knew better than to be a trusting fool.

He had been pursuing her for 6 weeks when one evening, he trudged to her stall with a wine-red face and a bottle of it in hand.

“Come with me, my dear. You will not have to wallow in this miserable market any longer.”

It was true, for hitmen topped a society ruled by spilt blood. Kathryn shook her head and pushed him away. His eyes shone bitterly and he raised the bottle over his head. He swung it down. Again, and again. Her screams echoing each blow as blood poured from her nose. When she dropped to the ground, forever silenced, Laila ran. She flew through the crowds to the house of the elder that took care of her living area. Shaking him out of his nap, an endless torrent of words and tears poured from her face.

Gin, calling a man who wanted child entertainers for his business, stopped mid-shout when Laila spat out, “B-but I can sell! Mother taught me. We had the cigarette stall.”

His eyes softened. He did have a necessities store that needed tending. Behind the cashier counter, Laila matured into a teenager with the charm of her mother and fiery ambition fuelled by a calling to rewrite fate. Gin showered her with his wisdom, teaching her how to fight anyone with both punches and prose.

On her 20th birthday, she banded together a resistance using Gin’s connections to every part of the Shed. Their mission was to end this systematic oppression and prove to the world that the Unskilled were not merely bumbling proletarian fools trapped in a dungeon, satisfied by their meagre possessions and empty future. In their early days, they would charge against the gate and fail. The guards were too many and too strong. Lives were lost. Soon, Laila began to hear giggling whispers wherever she walked.

If one gate closes, another one must open. On her way to the store, she looked up at the roof. Eureka! In a matter of hours, her men were armed with metal spades, ladders and tons of rope. Having chosen a place where guards did not usually tread, they started their work with passionate hearts. Heave-ho! Heave-ho! Layers of sweat built upon their foreheads as they peeled off the soil’s layers. Freedom was literally at their fingertips, as they broke through a grassy patch and daylight’s glory was unleashed, dousing the tunnel floors with a blessed yellow glow. Jubilant cries leapt from the mouths of the men that had been dreaming of this since they were a wee baby, crying in the dark tunnels; a house they rejected from being their home. The elders, with the recollection of living on the surface as young toddlers, felt a stabbing pain. They remembered being taken away as blossoming children, thousands of futures stolen by an idealistic government that wanted to polish its people to perfection.

Waves of people erupted from the small hole in the ground, their sweat clinging to the air like the scent of revolution. However, the positive energy that emanated turned rancid at a twitch of the clock’s second hand. It started with a surface dweller (or “normal” human) whipping out a pistol and firing at the wall of dirty flesh. He curled his lips at the beasts before him, clad in holed-out rags and smelling like a living garbage dump. Restless howls echoed through the city, waking every soul on that Sunday morning.

Laila wove her way through the fallen bodies and pounced on the gun’s owner. With a tiger’s growl, she threw his weapon to the road that was soaked in blood, a canvas of a thousand shades of red. An armour-clad squadron encircled her, their arms tensed and ready to fire. A rabbit in the middle of a wolf pack, she had been drained of all rationality. She shivered and gaped like a fish until she heard Gin’s cry.

“Retreat!”

Submission. Defeat. A raging forest fire started in Laila, wanting to burn these unspeakable outcomes to the ground.

“Take me to your leader,” she growled, glaring daggers at the squadron.

“I’m already here. Turn around.”

————————————————————————

“You do realise that our economy will drop drastica-”

“What economy? More than a quarter of your people are stagnating underground. You talk about economic productivity while leaving us to rot.”

“In Elysium, we value the best of the best. There is no sub-par item, person or activity being carried out in this nation. Your presence is akin to a faecal stain on the Mona Lisa.”

“The very foundation of your nation is subpar! The surface broke with a measly few spades.”

Their chests were heaving in the President’s office. He motioned for his secretary and whispered into his ears. The secretary then pulled a long black box from the top of a shelf and handed it to him.

“We’ll sign this deal.”

Laila’s heart leapt from her chest at the sight of the pen that would ink their freedom. She bit her lip, her breath stopping in her throat. This was her life’s pinnacle. The sweet ambrosia she had been chasing for so many years.

“But you are… Another matter altogether.”

He grabbed the box’s insides and pulled out a slender gun. She choked on her own anguished surprise, shooting a hand out to grab it.

“A danger to society.”

He fired. The bullet flew past her hand and dived straight into her gaping mouth, piercing the soft tissue folds of her throat. Her eyes rolled back and her body thudded on the floor.

“Secretary, decorate the gas chamber like the wedding of a beloved child. We’ll have a sweet party in there.”

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@galaxy-charm

#writeblr #writers on tumblr #my writing #prose #writers #writing #write #why is the word limit so short #why are my plots so long #currently in a crisis

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jjkfire · 6 years ago

Text

yoongi x reader // prince!yoongi // 11.3k words

(don’t read ahead if you hate unfinished fics!)

summary: a mere pawn in a cruel political game, that’s what you are. as a gifted concubine to an exiled prince, you don’t think either of you will last long in this game of thrones. fate however, has other plans.

“Give me time,” Yoongi begs, cradling your face in his palm. “I just need you to trust me Y/N, please.”

Life as a duke's daughter is grandeur, splendid. Unless of course you're the daughter to the duke of a county that's more often forgotten than talked about. Though you think that’s not really the reason for your less than wonderful life. It probably had more so to do with the fact that not only are you 8th in line, but you are merely an illegitimate child, only half a noble. Illegitimate in the sense that your mother was no longer in the service of the duke as punishment for her crimes. It's perhaps why you find yourself sitting in a carriage, being sent somewhere south.

Your father had presented you as a gift to the emperor, an addition to his harem perhaps but you would find out that you weren't even worthy of that. Your father had meant to gain the emperor's favour in exchange for you. Honestly, a small price to pay, in fact not a price at all in his opinion. Sending you away meant he had one less mouth to feed and obviously, that made the choice easy. He got a small upgrade from trading you in, honestly, it’s more than he thought you were worth because the emperor had expanded your family’s territory and now your father’s county is twice the size it previously was. He's long since forgotten about your existence, in fact you're quite sure he forgot about you the moment he put you into the carriage that was bound for the capital.

Your stay in the capital is short. You're only there two weeks or so but just like the coachman had told you while you were on the road, living in the grand palace is a dream. Of course, you only got to stay in one of the smaller palaces within the main grounds, but it was better than being locked up in that room your family had made you stay in. The clothes they gave you were soft and sleek, the baths you got to take were warm, the food you ate was never stale and the bed you slept in was surely an upgrade from the straw mattress you used to own. That dream of a life was short lived however because with no warning, you’re whisked away into a carriage again, sent off to another county. The servant tasked with accompanying you tells you that you're being given away to one of the princes as a concubine. It was like everyone was playing a game of hot potato with you and you wondered how long it would take before the prince would hand you off to perhaps some lowly duke.

On the road, you learn that you would soon be in the service of Prince Yoongi, who like you is an illegitimate child. A child born of an unrecognized concubine, a child who's resented by the queen, thus his exile from the grand palace. You wonder if he would show you pity, the two of you suffer the same plight after all.

"He will not," The servant laughs. "My lady, surely you must know that the act of someone like you being sent to the prince is meant to spite him."

"What? H-how so?"

"You are being sent there by the queen's request. It is a silent way to tell the prince that the grand palace thinks that he is not even worthy of a lady of a... better standing," He mumbles before he licks his lips nervously. "I hope you take no offense to my statement, my lady. You requested for me to be honest."

"No, no. I'm not offended in the slightest," You smile. "At least now I know what I am being thrown into."

You wonder if perhaps you should have tried harder to make a better impression at the grand palace. Maybe then you wouldn't be used as some pawn in a political game you did not wish to play. Still, you think you'd be able to get out of all of this unscathed. After all, you've had much practice in being easy to forget. From what you've heard, the prince's palace was no simple hut, it was a magnificent structure sat overlooking a lake with intimate carvings etched onto its pillars and art painstakingly painted along the beams and columns. With a place so large, with so many servants and lords bustling in and out, you think with time, you surely would slip from the prince's mind.

When you arrived, there was no grand welcome. In fact, the prince didn't even greet you. Apparently, he was away attending to diplomatic matters in some other county. You were in some way thankful for that. Maybe when he gets back, he'll forget you were even sent to him in the first place.

Back in the grand palace, the other concubines and attendants had given you a crash course on the royal family, because when you told them you knew absolutely nothing about the family apart from their names and faces, they all but gasped, horrified at your disinterest in your country’s leader. You meant to tell them that wasn’t the case. Truthfully, it was because you never received political or etiquette lessons like your other sisters did. All that you know about the royal family, you learnt or more so rather, deduced yourself. You merely saw their faces when you were allowed a rare trip to town, the royal family portrait sitting on the walls of almost every establishment.

The concubines had told you that Prince Yoongi was the black sheep of the family, sent away to a southern county when he was just 12. His mother had died only 2 years prior to that. They say she went to sleep and just never woke up, but the word on the street is that she was poisoned. Yoongi is said to be a bitter human being and with his luck, why wouldn't he be? They say if there was one prince they never want to meet, it would be him. You wondered why. Sure he looked... unfriendly in portraits, but so did everyone. Unfriendly? He was more than just unfriendly, they scoffed. They said he had a sinister air to him. He's cruel and unfair, ruthless and evil, earning himself the title of the Dark Prince. You laughed at the generic title, but it's a thing apparently. Giving people nicknames that is. It's a fact you'll come to know soon when you earn your very own one. One that’s much less… kind.

For someone nicknamed the Dark Prince, his palace surely did not reflect it. Sunlight gleamed through the hallways, life was teeming in the gardens and the servants though apprehensive, were friendly enough. Like in the grand palace, you were treated well here. It was odd. With all that you were told, you had expected to be confined to some dungeon-like wing of the palace, but you were given the freedom to roam. They gave you a free tour of the palace and the surrounding town to boot.

Though you had grown up in the North, you must say that you much preferred the weather here in the South. You liked the long flowy robes you were allowed to wear instead of the heavy fur lined outfits that you used to don. You liked the fact that the landscape didn't look barren half the time but most of all, you liked that food was not scarce, harvest simply bountiful with the amount of sunshine the land got.

To be fair, you did not see much of the North. You were confined to your room most of the time, your view only of that of what was within the walls of the estate. Maybe what you liked most about the South was the freedom. Back home, even your own estate was a mystery to you, you only had the chance to walk around in the dark night when you sneaked past the sleeping guards outside your door. Here, you walked through the halls freely, already knowing every corner and room of the palace in just a week. Of course certain places were off limits, but you had no interest in them. You spent most of your time in the palace's gardens anyway, walking through the hedge maze, picking a stray flower or two when you saunter past the flower beds and down to the edge of the lake.

In just two weeks, you had befriended basically everyone. Maids, servants, chefs, gardeners, stablemen, you knew them all. You were a curious soul, asking question after question, otherwise often offering your help to them. In fact you would insist on helping with chores because when you ask, they often tell you it's no job for a lady. Maybe you should've told them that this was your first time you got to do... well, anything at all. You're rather persuasive and so they relent. They let you help with the bread-making, the horse caring and the weed pulling. You're a very odd lady, they tell you but you had a feeling that they were warming up to you regardless.

By week three, you were on first name basis with the store owners in town. You took care to replace your silk robes for cotton garments whenever you left the palace. The servants and guards had pleaded with you to let them escort you to town but... you much prefer doing things on your own. Your weeks of exploring the palace grounds meant you knew when the guards would switch positions, therefore you knew just the right time to scale past wall and into the forest that surrounds the palace. Aside from the magnificent gardens within the palace walls, you loved your short little walks through the forest. You enjoyed the rustling of the leaves, the chirps of the birds, the low hum of the insects. They were all sounds that reminded how far away from home you were, how far away you were from your previous life and how free you are here.

The town always seemed so full of life. There were people on the streets, chatting, eating, drinking. There were all sorts of things for sale. Fruits and vegetables you had never seen before, noodles and meat cooked in ways you never knew existed. Your face would light up every time you took a stroll through the busy market. You could never buy anything, no. You had absolutely nothing to your name, not a single coin. Regardless, you always took the time to make conversation with the locals, learning more about the region with each time. They jest with you, making fun of your Northern accent but they were kind people, always offering you some food before you go.

For a town ruled by someone rumoured to be the most cruel prince, they seemed to be rather happy people. It was something that really bothered you. Was it because he was away? Was this all temporary celebration before his return? It seemed unlikely. Hand-painted portraits or drawings of him were hung in almost every store and it's only by week 4 that you ask the question that's been burning at the back of your mind since your arrival.

"So, Prince Yoongi... he... does he ever come around?"

"Sometimes," Mr. Lee, a merchant hums before he slurps at his noodles.

"That's his favourite spot!" The owner of the noodle store shouts, beaming as he points to a table in the corner.

"Oh," You murmur. "That's... interesting."

"How so?"

"Well, don't nobility... not frequent places like this?"

Mr. Lee simply shrugs, a smile on his lips.

"Our prince is different."

And different he is. Everyone you talked to had something nice to say about him. Some were critical of some of his policies but they never spoke about him with contempt or disgust, both of which are the usual emotions tied to those that belong to nobility, be that the royal family or the dukes and earls. You've seen it multiple times now and it really shouldn't shock you anymore but you're always in awe with how the people didn't cower away in fear whenever they saw the royal guards roaming the streets, instead they would step aside to bow at them. To you, it felt like you were in some sort of dystopia. It looked like the people not only respected the prince and by extension those who work for him. Instead, it looked like they loved him.

Love is not an emotion most people have for the royal family. They are known to be unscrupulous people, stealing from the poor through taxes only to line their own pockets as well as those of the noblemen. They claim it is to pay for better infrastructure, to pay for the warriors to help keep them safe and yet, the roads are the same as they always were and when war comes, the noblemen sit back at camp, comfy in their tents while the people drafted for the war are on the front line, putting their lives on the line for a kingdom that could care less about them.

You remember the way your people would sneer at your family in secret, their eyes full of hatred as you and your family paraded down the streets of your county. It always made you shiver. Yet, here it was different. They seem to light up at the chance to speak about the prince, almost as if they've been brainwashed. They all had on the same warm smile, but they all had different stories about his good deeds, his kindness, his willingness to listen to his people. However, it all seemed too good to be true and perhaps that's why when you're called to the entrance to greet the prince upon his return, you trembled in fear as you lowered your head down to bow. Rise, he ordered, voice sounding rather unamused as he walked by all of you lined up in rows. He barely spared you a glance, not even one look before he disappeared somewhere to his quarters. So this was the beloved prince? You scoffed because you knew it was too good to be true. He seemed more like the dark prince you've been told about.

Despite it being more than a week since his return to the palace, you have yet to see the prince, let alone meet him. You are told that he has many matters to attend to and again, you are if anything glad that you do not have to meet him. If you could keep this up for say, a few more... years, that would be great. While you were at it, how about till your death... or his, whichever came first. If you never had to meet him at all, now that would really be all you could hope for.

In the first few days of his return, you were cautious around the palace, never venturing far from your room but as days to turn to weeks, you slowly returned to your usual antics. The palace staff have long gotten used to your quirky self. The gardeners would barely bat an eye when you quite literally skipped around the garden. You would often stop midway to help them water the plants, so they had no complaints about your presence. Once you were done with that, you would be off to the kitchen, helping yourself to a steamed bun or two... or maybe five as you stopped to chat with the ladies in there. The head chef claims you're a nuisance but you know that's a lie because one of the maids had informed you that he had asked where you had gone off to when you were busy hiding in your room two weeks ago.

With the prince now back in the castle, it meant that the guards were on patrol thrice as frequently as they used to. That meant your beloved pastime of sneaking out was no longer a possibility. You were starting to grow anxious, bored because no matter how many times you watched the guards rotate, you couldn't find a lull long enough for you to be able to scale past the wall undetected. You needed something new to keep you occupied and when you see the resident artist in the palace painting beautiful scenes on long scrolls, you guess you've found a new hobby.

Mr. Han, the resident palace artist is perhaps hovering somewhere around his seventies but his hands are steady as ever, his brush strokes so precise that you can't help but marvel out loud at how good he is. He does not appreciate your company and has made it known after he had caught you staring one too many times. You still admire him and his work but at a much further distance, behind a pillar as per his request. Eventually, he got fed up and called you over to help him add glue to the pigments so he could paint without doing the set-up. You did so diligently, only daring to move when he allowed it.

It turned out that Mr Han is actually quite the talker because he gave you free history lessons as he painted the chronicles of Yoongi's reign so far. Sure he started his stories halfway through Yoongi’s reign instead of giving you his full backstory but you eventually pluck up enough courage to ask him to start from the beginning. He only sighed and glared at you before doing as you ask. You listened with intent as you mixed the glue in with the pigment, watching as Mr. Han drew effortlessly across the paper, starting with the outlines in black before he filled it in with colour. It was like magic to you and sometimes when he was in a good mood, he would let you add a few strokes to his painting. Honestly, it was just him letting you hold the brush while he forcefully guided your hand but nonetheless, you were honoured. After all, by merely holding a brush, you were committing a crime.

Sometimes during the silent lulls, you read the calligraphy accompanying the paintings. Depending on the piece Mr. Han was working on, it could range from beautiful poetry to just explanatory notes. You loved reading them all the same, often trying to commit them to your memory. With each painting, you see why the people of the county love Yoongi so much. There were stories of him opening up the royal food reserves to the people in times of the drought, stories of him placing sandbags along the banks of the river that ran through the town as heavy rain threatened to flood it and even stories of him celebrating the harvest with his subjects. Basically, it was story after story about how he built the county up from a wasteland to the flourishing state that it is today. Yet, you're still skeptical. You wonder if this was somehow just some propaganda to get the people to like him. Perhaps pretty paintings and beautiful calligraphy is how he brainwashes them. God knows you're only another pretty painting away from believing it.

Though you love spending time with Mr. Han, you never forget to stick to your routine. Your days must consist of frolicking in the garden and stealing steamed buns from the kitchen before you sat down with Mr. Han. Though he grumbles about your tardiness, you know he likes it when you bring along a steamed bun for him too. Like any other day, that's what you do. You hand him a steamed bun before you plop yourself down on the chair, ready to mix glue into another pot of pigment. Only this time, Mr. Han places a brush in your hand.

"Bright moonlight before my bed, I suppose there is frost—," Mr. Han pauses as you stare up at him. He simply glares at you before he speaks. "Are you not going to write?" He questions, more so scolds and now the brush trembles in your hand.

"I-I do not know how to write,” You mumble, eyes downcast.

Mr. Han laughs, taking a bite from his steamed bun, chewing slowly before he swallows.

"Bright moonlight before my bed," He repeats, disregarding you. "Write. Now." He demands, as he directs your attention to the paper with only the tilt of his head.

"M-master, I... I cannot write," You murmur, setting down the brush.

"Now that there is actual work to be done, you cannot do it?" He queries, his bun now set aside. "You cannot or will not write? Deliberate your answer carefully."

You swallow, unsure what to say. Was this a test? Surely Mr. Han knows that it is a crime for a lady of your stature to know how to write, read or even paint. Ladies who were not of full nobility were meant to only know how to weave or embroider. Sure, you know how to read and write but that is only through your own effort, through stolen books from your family's library. That too came at an expense because every time you got caught, you earned yourself a few lashes on the back.

You hesitate for a few more seconds before Mr. Han pins you with a stern look, one that demanded an answer.

"I... cannot write?" You answer nervously, as if asking if your answer had been the correct one.

"Then can you read?" Mr. Han asks, as he pulls out a short blade, one that's usually sheathed and tucked to the side of his robe. He's seen you read. Many times. You would mouth the words to yourself, head tilting whenever you saw a character you didn't quite recognize. You eye the blade cautiously as he brings it out into view. He lets it glint in the sunlight, twisting it in his hand. You scoot away further but his other hand pins you in your place.

"Answer the question," He demands, the knife now peculiarly close to your neck.

Yes or no? You didn't know which to say. Which one guaranteed your safety?

"N-no?"

You could feel the cold metal on your skin now.

"Try again."

"Yes?" You offer, this time hopeful.

"Good answer," He smiles but the blade still sits on your skin. "You must know that I hate liars because liars more often than not, turn out to be hiding something. More often than not, they turn out to be the enemy to this region's crown. Is that what you are?"

"No, I... I have no reason to b-be," You stutter as you feel the knife prick at your skin slightly.

"You were sent here under the Queen's orders and you are not the first puppet she's sent here. There is every reason for me to believe that you are."

"I-I have not spoken to the Queen once! I have not even seen her!" You exclaim, pure unadulterated fear on your face. "I'm— I'm not even quite sure why I'm here at all," You mumble, your voice quivering.

"Then why lie?"

"It's a crime to know how to read and write, m-master,” You stutter. “I'm not really a noble lady," You whisper or more so whimper.

Mr. Han snorts, smiling before he laughs, slowly drawing the blade away from you.

"Is that what the barbarians had imposed on you?" He queries. "Such silly rules."

You didn't know what he meant by barbarians. Had he meant the North exclusively or the royal court? It had been the emperor's decree that non-noblewomen should not be allowed to be educated. Considering that you were born of an unrecognized concubine, you were not exactly nobility. Though you were by name, but in terms of technicalities, you were not.

"Are the rules different here?" You manage to ask, peeking a glance at Mr. Han

"My lady, rest assured that you will not be punished for knowing to write when you are with me," He grins, but his smile soon disappears. "You will however, be punished if you delay this any further. I will only repeat myself one more time and there will be no mistakes, understood?"

You only nod, scrambling to grab the brush again before you dip it in ink. Mr. Han dictates fast and though you wish he would slow down, you barely have the courage to yawn let alone speak. So, you write his poem with shaky hands... not once, no. He makes you write it over and over, until your hands are sore, until the 4-line poem rings in your head long after you've put down the brush. He's still not satisfied with your work by the time the sun sets and, in the end, he writes the poem himself. You wonder why he had gone through all that trouble, why he had made you suffer if he was going to do it on his own in the end?

"You've lost your touch," Yoongi remarks, holding up a piece of paper. The characters drawn on it are not in a straight line and the order of the strokes have been completely disregarded.

"Your highness," Mr. Han greets, rising from his seat to bow before he makes himself comfortable again. He eyes the paper in the prince's hand with disgust before he sighs. "That abomination is not mine."

"Then who's might it be?"

"Lady Y/N," He grumbles. "That must've been her 50th try. Can you believe it? I gave her 50 chances and she still produced... that," He shudders, not even wishing to look at the paper again.

Ah, yes... Lady Y/N, the lady his stepmother had gifted to him. You are one of the many ladies that she has sent over the years. She's sent them over with many purposes. To gain intel, to injure, to spread rumours and a host of many other despicable acts. Yoongi wonders how she still has the energy to be so conniving, so cruel.

There had been nothing but silence from the Queen for about a year and Yoongi had thought that she had finally outgrew the silly little mind games that she loved to play but then came a letter informing him of your arrival to his palace and at that he only shook his head. It was meant to be a practical jokes of sorts, a way to make those in the nobility sphere understand just how lowly she thought of him. An illegitimate lady who was 8th in line in her own family... in political talk, it was the equivalent of sending him soggy leftovers.

If anything, Yoongi felt sad for you. You surely hadn't asked to be part of this and yet, you were thrust into all of this against your will. However, Yoongi could be wrong. Your status may be true, but you could still be her little puppet. He wouldn't put it past the Queen to do something like that.

"She's the smartest imbecile I've ever met," Mr. Han hums as if he'd been reading Yoongi's thoughts. "The Queen has surely gotten better at choosing her little rats."

"She hasn't attempted to get my attention though," Yoongi mumbles, noting how he's never actually seen you around at all. If he remembers correctly, the only time he's seen you was when he had returned from his travels. It was rather unusual behaviour for one of the Queen’s puppet to not try to garner his favour.

"Oh because see she's smarter than the other ones that have been sent over before. She has the whole palace staff under her pinky," He sighs, adding the last stroke to his painting. "She's even befriended the townspeople."

"So... you've just let her do all of this while I was away?"

"It's been a little boring around here," He shrugs. "She keeps me on my toes, more so than any of the others have."

"What if she outsmarts you?"

"Oh she won't," He smiles.

"How are you so sure?" Yoongi queries.

"Because I have eyes on her. Always."

"Is that so? So where is she now?"

"Right there," He points to a faraway wall, skirting the ends of the palace grounds and there you are, pumping your fist in the air as you manage to throw a rope over a high sturdy branch. "It took her two weeks while it only took me a day to realize that Namjoon takes longer than most guards to reach his station during the rotation."

"Why doesn't she just ask to be escorted to town?" Yoongi questions as he watches you struggle to climb up the stone wall, feet slipping every so often.

"She doesn't want anyone listening in on her conversations, obviously," He grumbles, shaking his head. How is it that the Prince is so smart yet so dumb?

"She's been asking about you, you know?" Mr. Han continues. "Prodding the townspeople for details about you, asking me about the history of this county. This one has tenacity," He smiles as he watches you from a distance.

"So, this is a game to you, huh?"

"Hasn't it always been?" Mr. Han smirks lazily. "This time, the Queen has finally sent a worthy pawn."

Yoongi waits days, weeks, wondering when it is you'll finally make your move, but if he honestly thought about it, you seem to avoid him like the plague. Mr. Han thinks you're some genius mastermind set out to destroy Yoongi's legacy and if true, you genuinely had some really odd methods in place. Though you've been doing everything in your power to stay hidden from the prince, Yoongi has been getting live updates on your whereabouts for days now. If you're as devious as Mr. Han thinks you to be then why is it that you spend an hour or so of your day doing nothing but talking to the horses in the stable? Why do you tap at the flowers in the garden and skip rocks on the lake instead of scheming and carrying out your master plan? Why do you make steamed buns in the kitchen in your free time with the maids instead of befriending the court people whom he trusts? Things just weren't adding up.

It made Yoongi's head hurt, trying to think of what exactly it was you were planning. Mr. Han tells him it must be an elaborate one, perhaps something like a coup d’état since you were trying to get chummy with everyone that held no social status. It honestly didn't seem that way to the prince. You looked so unassuming, so carefree... almost like it wasn't in your nature to be so sly. Yet, Mr. Han is adamant and so when a royal request comes in asking for Mr. Han to travel to the capital to paint a few royal portraits of the emperor, he's in the carriage before Yoongi could count to ten. He would come back with more details about the Queen's plan, he promises.

With Mr. Han away, the palace seems so quiet. You genuinely miss him even if all he does is grumble about how you could never do anything right. You make yourself comfortable at his desk, looking out the window that had the perfect view of the garden. It was much too hot this time of the day to be out there, so you settle for looking at it from the inside. Your fingers tap at the desk, hand itching to move. You know it's wrong and Mr. Han would probably strangle you with his bare hands if he found you here, smoothing out a piece of paper and yet, you do it anyway. You peek behind you, making sure no one is in sight before you grab the brush, dipping it in ink softly.

You've watched Mr. Han paint numerous times now and much to your disappointment, you find that painting isn't as easy as it looks. His lines were soft and sharp while yours heavy and unsightly. Perhaps you should've picked an easier subject to paint but with the garden right in front of you and the great expanse of water looking back at you, how could you have picked anything else? Your eyebrows are furrowed in concentration, hands moving across the paper in long, calculated strokes. You're so focused you sometimes forget to breathe.

"Interesting."

Your hand stops dead in its tracks when you hear that. Your eyes shift from side to side because you didn't know what to do. If it was a guard, maybe you could talk your way out of it, give him some story about how Mr. Han had requested you to paint this piece while he was away. You turn back with a smile on your face, ready to deliver your spiel but your grin quickly disappears when you see the prince smiling back at you.

You turn back to crush the paper in your hand, quickly rising to your feet to bow. You're trembling, eyes screwed shut as you await some form of punishment.

"Rise," He orders and you hesitate for a second before you do. The prince eyes you from head to toe and you shuffle in your spot, hiding your hands behind your back while you kept your eyes trained on the ground.

"Mr. Han will not be happy to find you in here without his permission," He hums as he steps closer to the table, cleaning up the mess you made when you had hastily attempted to greet him.

You drop to your knees, pressing your forehead to the floor before you sit back on your heels, hands sitting meekly in your lap.

"Your highness, please accept my humblest apologies," You murmur, the crumpled paper still in your hands. "I have committed a grave crime and deserve any punishment you see fit."

Yoongi only stares at you, unsure of what to make of the situation. You are almost in tears, lips quivering in fear. You surely were quite the dramatic one.

"Leave the paper and go."

"S-sorry?"

"The paper in your hand," He points. "Leave it."

"Y-yes, Your Highness," You nod, placing the paper in his hand as you rise to your feet.

You stand there dumbly, blinking as you looked at him.

"You're not leaving?"

"O-oh, yes... I-I will be leaving now," You murmur, before tripping over your own feet as you attempt to exit. God, you're embarrassing. "You are a merciful prince and I am forever at your service," You mumble before you bow one last time and scamper out of the room.

Yoongi stands there, staring at the doorway, eyebrows furrowed in confusion before he sighs, turning away to smoothen out the paper in his hand. He nods to himself, as he admires your painting. It was almost as if he was surprised. Your work is not the best but it's definitely good. He loves how detailed the painting is. He loves how you had painted a variety of small different flowers, how you had added tiny waves to the water in the lake, how you had even painted in the gardeners that tended to the hedges. Each time he looked over the painting, there was a new detail to uncover. It's a shame that some of it is smudged now. His eyes skim across the painting one last time, ensuring he's caught every last detail before it settles on the writing in the top hand corner and he tilts his head, trying to make sense of it.

Your characters are large and clunky, most of them missing a stroke or two. For someone Mr. Han believes to be trained by the masters at the grand palace, your skills were surely not up to par. After a few more reads, Yoongi finally manages to decipher some of the characters that you had managed to butcher.

Hell is far from home

Hell is not where I belong

In hell a paradise I have grown

In hell again I am—

Born. He thinks you were about to write the word born before he had so rudely interrupted you. Now he wishes he had waited just a few seconds longer before making his presence known to you.

Paradise. That's what you had titled the poem. Yoongi reads it over and over, as if reading it numerous times could produce answers to the questions swirling in his mind. He assumes the poem is about the palace, but he wonders why you call it hell. As far as he knows, the palace staff have been nothing but nice to you. But if you thought it to be hell initially, then when did you start thinking of it as paradise and why? He sits there staring out open the garden, hoping that some answer would come to him but the fact of the matter is that he barely knew you. He could sit here guessing all day and would get nowhere.

In hell again I am born.

He wonders if that's because after you accomplish what you set out to do here, you would have your phoenix moment. Is that what the Queen had promised you? That you would rise from the ashes, that you would no longer be nothing but the forgotten daughter of your family? You should know that the Queen is a devious little minx. She would do anything to stay ahead. She would lie, cheat, kill. Her promises are nothing but empty. Yoongi should know. He experienced that first hand.

Since your run in with the prince, you try your best to remain unseen. You spend your days hidden in your newfound spot, the library. There are many scrolls and books to learn from and though you do not understand most of them, you flip through them if only to pass time. As you read, your fingers paint imaginary scenes on the floor as if to help you picture the stories. You think having spent your time with Mr. Han is both a blessing and a curse. Perhaps if you did not know how to draw, your hands wouldn't long to hold a brush so much.

You do a good job of avoiding a prince, though you think that is mostly because he is busy. He reviews documents and consults with his trusted advisers all throughout the week. You on the other hand continue on with your daily routine, hopping between the kitchen, garden and the library. You wonder if this was what life was like for your sisters. You wonder if this is what they did while you spent your days locked in your room.

It's been a whole two weeks since your last trip to town and you light up when you finally see Namjoon on patrol. See Namjoon was lackadaisical and care-free, which made him a great friend and an even better guard. Of course, by a better guard, you mean only for you because he takes much too long to get to his next post when the guards change positions. You sit silently, waiting for the previous guard to move towards his next post. Once he’s out of sight, you dash to the bushes close to the east wall. Quietly, you fit yourself between the bushes and the wall, crouching down as you crawl to your spot, abandoning your silk robes for your cotton outfit that was underneath. You were keeping time in your head as you pulled the rope that you always kept hidden, from under one of the bushes. Standing up, you took one glance at the branch that stood a feet above the wall before you swung the rope, throwing it upwards. You’ve done this numerous times before and it never took you any more than two tries to get it over the branch and this time would be no different except—

"What are you doing?" You hear someone ask, ever so nonchalantly, as if you weren’t committing a crime at this very second.

By now, you recognise his voice and you waste no time in turning around to bow, not even flinching when the heavy rope that you had thrown comes crashing down onto you.

"Rise," Yoongi orders and you lift your head but still make no attempt to meet his gaze.

"What are you doing, Lady Y/N?"

"I-I'm inspecting the walls, Your Highness."

"Yeah? And how do they look?" He asks.

"Sturdy, Your Highness."

Yoongi simply laughs, nodding as he looks up at the wall.

"So what's this? Your inspection outfit?" He gestures towards you, eyebrows furrowed in confusion.

"Y-yes, Your Highness."

"Where did you find such clothes in the palace?"

"It belongs to me, Your Highness," You murmur. "These were all I had before I was sent to the grand palace."

Your hands toy with the rope and you stand there, debating what to say as the prince eyes you up and down.

"Get changed," Yoongi hums. "Your belongings have been packed. We will leave when you are ready."

"Y-your Highness?" You look up at him wide-eyed before you jump over the low bush, immediately sinking to your knees as you bowed your head. "This lady has angered the prince and may only offer her apologies. This lady a-asks for his mercy."

This must be about what had happened in the drawing room the other day. You knew you should not have entered the room while Mr. Han was away, let alone attempt to paint anything. The prince was going to send you away now, perhaps even sell you to a brothel. You didn't want that. You couldn’t have that.

“Y-you were looking for me, Your Highness?” Namjoon appears, interrupting the scene, panting heavily before he stands at attention, spear shaking in his hand.

“Yes,” Yoongi huffs, shifting his gaze between Namjoon and then back to you. He chuckles when he sees you with your head still hanging low. “Rise, Lady Y/N.”

You stand up quickly, only lifting your head once to glance over at Namjoon who’s quite visibly trembling.

“The two of you are accompanying me on my visit to the river delta,” Yoongi begins, before he points at you. “You will be documenting what you see on the scrolls, while Namjoon, you will be guarding her. I expect to see the both of you at the entrance in an hour’s time.”

“Noted, Your Highness,” Namjoon bows, before he stands at attention, only daring to move once the prince waves him away. When he finally does, Namjoon scampers off to the guard quarters, racing to pack his belongings for the trip. Meanwhile you stand there, hands tucked behind your back as Yoongi eyes you from head to toe, as if he was trying to discern what exactly it was you were trying to do at this palace.

“I hope that you will change into your regular outfit before we depart. I don’t want my people to think that I’ve been mistreating my—” He hesitates, unsure exactly what you were to him. A gifted concubine, yes, but he wasn’t entirely comfortable with saying that out loud. “—my guest,” He finally hums, completing his sentence. He assumes guest is an appropriate term. After all, like the many ladies the Queen has sent before, they never really do last long at his palace, only ever staying as long as a regular guest would. If anything, in your case, he was hoping to fast track the process. If you had any ill intent, he assumed you would take your chance during this trip. Out on the road, he was exposed, less guarded. If you tried anything remotely suspicious, he could easily have your head off in a second. He had no time to waste, and no interest in playing his stepmother’s games. The faster you were out of his life, the better. Of course, he would milk you for all you were worth first. He needed someone to document his trip to the delta and with Mr. Han away at the royal palace for his portrait duties, you were the next best choice.

The carriage you’re riding in is grander than the ones you have previously been in. This one had plush cushions and beautiful carvings etched into the panels. That however, is a sheer reminder of how out of place you felt. This wasn’t normal. Sharing the same carriage as royalty is basically unheard of, but it seems like no one around you seems to share the same thought, none of them batting an eye at the fact that you, someone who is neither essential nor worthy, is a mere hand’s width away from him.

You watch on as Yoongi and his aide, Hoseok, who were both sat across from you, discuss the details of the visit. They plan on visiting the rice farmers and checking on the rice storehouses. They’ve only addressed you once despite being on the road for what must’ve been 3 hours now. All they had told you was that they wanted you to accurately depict the river delta landscape as well as chronicle the scenes from the journey for archival purposes. You had only nodded your head at that.

For most of the trip, you and Namjoon share glances, as if to ask each other why exactly either of you had been chosen to go for this trip. You finally get to ask him the question once the carriages stops for a break to let the horses rest temporarily and drink some water.

“You know, I’m pretty sure we’re here because of you,” Namjoon mumbles as the two of you take refuge from the heat under the shade of a large tree.

“What did I do?” You frown, as you squat down to pluck a few blades of grass.

“I’m pretty sure this is punishment for both you and me. You for always trying to escape the palace to go into town, and me for always letting you do so.”

“Well, maybe you should just be better at your job then. It’s not my fault you’re always late to your post,” You roll your eyes before you throw the grass in your hand towards him.

“I have a small bladder, okay?” He grumbles, dusting out the grass from his hair. “I would be on time if I didn’t have to head to the outhouse every time to do my business, but Gardener Lee will give me a hard time if I decide to pee in his gardens.”

“You heathen,” You gasp. “I can’t believe you would even consider doing your business in the gardens.”

The two of you stay there bickering until Hoseok finally calls for both of you as the coachmen signal that they were ready to keep going. Yoongi watches on as he sees the two of you laugh and grumble at each other until Namjoon notices him staring. At that, the guard elbows your side, causing you to fall silent when you realize just who was watching. Silently, the two of you climb into the carriage, head hung low in embarrassment.

They tell you that the river delta is only another hour’s ride away and at this point, you take the time to glance out the window, watching the river meander through the lands. The rice paddy fields come into view not long after, and you watch as the farmers who are shin-deep in water, take the time to bow as they watch the royal carriage pass by. The sight is still odd to you. Even this far away from the palace, the people revere the prince. He surely is beloved by his people, you think to yourself. You wonder if the hate that the people hold for nobility is simply a concept reserved for those in the North.

By the time you reach the small town that services the needs of the farmers and their families, the sun is beginning to set. You are told that the official visit out to the fields will begin tomorrow and that all of you would be staying at the inn in town for the week, simply taking day trips to visit the fields and storehouses in the outskirts. To your surprise, it seems your room in the inn is a shared space with commoners and your bed is merely a space on the floor just long enough for you to sleep in. Perhaps Namjoon was right. Maybe this trip was a form of punishment.

As it draws closer to night time, you find yourself at the teahouse just across the street. Of course, Namjoon comes along. After all, he has been ordered to be at your side at all times possible. You bring along your scrolls and brushes and the guard doesn’t say much as he watches you paint the scenes from today’s travel. You find it suffocating to paint under his intense gaze, but considering that the aide, Hoseok, had given you a gentle reminder earlier that you were to paint every single scene, you waste no time in painting every single detail you remember. That included the way the farmers had bowed, to the tall weeds that grew by the roadside, you spared no detail. Of course you do not forget to paint in a few pieces of the Prince greeting the townspeople and also tending to the horses shortly after the arrival to the town. That too was something that surprised you. He seemed to be rather independent. Not even one servant was brought along on this trip. Which contrasted the way your father had done official visits. He would often bring along at least three for himself.

After watching you paint for what must be hours, you hear Namjoon speak for the first time since the two of you sat down.

“Let’s take a break,” He hums, hastily placing away all your scrolls and brushes onto the empty table next to you. He doesn’t even let you finish the piece you were currently working on. “It was interesting the first few times you did it, but now it’s getting old,” He grumbles as he wipes at the table with a rag.

“It’s not like I’m doing this for fun,” You chuckle. “In case you forgot, this is what I am supposed to do.”

“I know, I know,” He groans. “But, I’m sure you’ve done more than enough for today.”

“No, you don’t understand. They’re watching,” You whisper, before you point discreetly to a corner on the upper floor of the teahouse. Most of the upper floor is empty except for two people, and they are none other than Hoseok and Prince Yoongi himself.

“Yes, and so if they’re watching, they can clearly see that you’ve done your job for today.” Namjoon laughs, waving away your concern. From a burlap sack, he removes a wooden board along with two wooden containers. “I’m sure they’ll be fine with you taking a break.”

“Go?” You ask, as your hand moves across the wooden board. It’s been quite a while since you’ve played a game of Go. This game was your favourite. You typically played in the dark of the night, the board illuminated with the lantern that your favourite guard would bring along with him. He had introduced you to the game when you were 6, and ever since then, you had loved it.

The game consisted of a wooden board with a 19x19 grid, and black and white wooden pieces that are often called stones. All one had to do in the game was make sure that their stones surrounded more territory than their opponents. If one of your stones was entirely surrounded by an opponent, they get to capture them, further reducing your score. It was simple in theory, but the game required more thinking than one would assume. You’re practically beaming when Namjoon looks up after finally putting away the burlap sack.

“So I take it you’re good at the game?” He asks, as he gestures for you to choose between the black and white stones. Instinctively you move for the white ones. It’s the one you always played with. Odd, Namjoon thinks. Most would go with black since black always starts first. “Noblewomen like you, aren’t all of you masters of the scholarly arts?”

Qínqíshūhuà. The four scholarly arts were what nobility were meant to master.

Qín referred to knowing how to play the guqin, a beautiful string instrument. Being able to play it was something a nobleperson could do with no hesitation. With just 7 strings, one could play tunes that could entertain or in some cases ease another. The movements of one’s fingers had to be graceful and poised, almost like it was effortless.

Qí was another name for the game of Go. Often times, noblemen would play Go together when they would visit each other’s territory. In some ways, a family’s dignity lied in how well they could play Go. After all, it was a reflection of one’s skills in strategical thinking. Thus, being able to play the game well was essential.

Shū, otherwise known as calligraphy, was an art that allowed the complexities of one’s mind to be expressed and understood by others. Both knowing how to read and write, is a measure of one’s intelligence and was indicative of their ability to carry themselves well in their social circle.

Huà, also known as art, has a special place in the upper echelons of society. A painting is worth a thousand words and could be understood across all lands and social classes. History was told by both calligraphy and art. It was universal. A good artist is one that could in a sense, show the power of how a few calculated strokes could tell a story.

You stay silent, and though it may look like it’s because you’re deliberating Namjoon’s first move, truthfully, you’re just trying to think of a response to his previous question. You? A master of the scholarly arts? That was impossible. It seems like unlike the North, not many here in the South understood your circumstances.

Though you are a noble by name, all your life, you had not been treated like one. The four scholarly arts were forbidden to you. Your status as an illegitimate child meant that your family never wanted you to be able to have a claim to their fortune. If you stayed uneducated, it meant that you could never overthrow any of your siblings. It always seemed like your family was just one step away from selling you off as a slave, and you guess what you were doing now was in a way akin to some form of upper-class slavery.

The only thing that forced anyone around you to treat you with respect here in the South, was the fact that you were a daughter of a duke. Sure, he wasn’t the most powerful one around, but his name still carried some weight. To admit that you are nothing but a throwaway child for the family would simply give everyone else the upper hand. It meant that there would be no repercussions to killing you, in fact, they would be doing your family a favour even. After all, they’ve already collected the boon from ‘gifting’ you away.

Perhaps there and then is when you decide to commit to an act you’re not entirely sure you could pull off. You are a noblewoman, and you had to play the part. The question is how? You didn’t entirely know what it entailed, but you guess you would have to figure it out along the way.

“I wouldn’t say I’m a master at the scholarly arts as per se,” You mumble, finally putting your piece on the board. He places a piece in return almost instantaneously. “Perhaps in hindsight, regularly skipping my lessons was not a bright idea… but I guess we live and learn,” You smile, wondering where exactly your brain had found the words that are currently slipping out of your mouth.

“Definitely shouldn’t have skipped out on your Go lessons,” Namjoon laughs, shaking his head as he watches you put a piece in the most ridiculous place. “This game is going to be over before it has even started.”

Namjoon would live to regret the fact that he had said that sentence. His fists slamming down on the table in disappointment after a long drawn 3-hour long game of Go.

“I demand a rematch!” Namjoon whines as the two of you finish up counting. “Come on, I was only 2 points short!”

“A win by a narrow margin is still a win,” You shrug, enjoying how Namjoon looked entirely downtrodden.

“It’s just that move you made in the beginning really threw the game off course,” He grumbles. “Who even does that?”

“Well, me obviously because did I or did I not ultimately win with that move?”

“You did, but that’s just not normal,” He frowns, fingers fiddling with the small Go pieces. He sighs and passes you a silver coin, the price he has to pay for losing. You hadn’t even asked but you were not going to say no to money. You pocket the coin, marveling at the fact that it had been quite a while since you last had anything as valuable in your possession.

“You don’t win by thinking like everyone does,” You laugh.

“Alright, so, rematch?” Namjoon presses on, as he gives the board a quick dust.

“That game took almost 3 hours,” You chuckle. “And, we have to be up early in the morning.”

“I promise I can beat you in under an hour,” He beams, and at that you laugh.

“We have a whole week out here,” You smile, stretching your arms. “So, you can try to do that tomorrow, and the day after, and the day after that because I promise you if you’re going to beat me at Go, it’ll take more than an hour.”

“Wow, confident,” He smirks. “That’s surprising from someone who admitted that they often skipped their lessons.”

“What can I say?” You laugh. “Perhaps I’m just a fast learner when it comes to Go.”

As you listen to Namjoon’s whining, you think maybe you should’ve held back. Namjoon seemed to be very proud of his Go skills and he should be. He hails from a noble family, which to be honest is a little surprising. He seemed ditzy, but from the moves he had played, you can tell that he was anything but that. Over the course of the game, the two of you talked. You did more of the asking while he did the answering. You liked it like that. Though you deduce that he was a smart man, he came from a family of well-respected warriors, thus he was meant to follow the same route. He’s been trying to work his way up the ranks, but he tells you it’s a gruelling task and he isn’t quite sure what awaits him back home if his father finds out that he had failed to make it into the elite warrior taskforce yet again.

Yoongi watches from atop as both you and Namjoon continue to bicker. It seems like that was all the two of you really did. Mr. Han did say that both you and Namjoon were close but he hadn’t quite expected this. Typically, noblewomen, especially one that belonged to a ducal family, would not even bother to humour a guard. You however, seemed entirely comfortable with that fact, even choosing to play a game of Go with him. Sure, Yoongi himself was lax with the unwritten rules of interaction between the social classes, but he hadn’t quite reached your level of casualness. One might argue that letting anyone other than his aide to ride in the royal carriage was close to that, but there was something else about you that Yoongi couldn’t quite put his finger on. It seemed like you had absolutely no care in the world for noble etiquette. In fact, he had expected you to come running to Hoseok to complain about the sleeping arrangement in the inn, but his aide says he hadn’t heard so much as a peep from you. He was beginning to think that perhaps Mr. Han’s impression of you isn’t quite right.

You wipe away the sweat that’s dripping down your face but you have resigned to the fact that it is of no use. Fixing the bamboo hat that the villagers had loaned you, you take another long look at the never-ending paddy fields. You watch as those in the field occasionally stop to stare at the prince who’s sat under the shade, deep in conversation with a handful of men. Wading in the shallow waters, you see young children helping their parents with the rice planting. In the distance, there is a buffalo ploughing the fields. You’re stood there, taking it all in for you’ve never seen anything quite like it before. Namjoon laughs at the way that your eyes are filled with child-like wonder.

The children seemed enamoured with the prince, but none of them dare approach him. Instead, they crowd around you and Namjoon. They rarely see such lavish silk robes like the one you’re wearing, and so you let them touch and tug at it. Namjoon for the most part tries to be patient, but you hear him growl a low warning when the children try to touch the sheathed sword that rests at his hip. Instead he let’s them hold onto the shaft of his spear, all of them marvelling at the fact that they were touching a weapon of a guard from the royal palace.

The children pull you towards the paddy fields, imploring you to join them.

“Children, the fields are no place for someone like Lady Y/N,” Namjoon informs, as they continue to lead you. “You all should—”

His sentence dies halfway as he watches you willingly wade through the paddy fields with the children. You’re careful to hold your silk robes up. After all, they were given to you by the palace and you must take care not to soil them. As you follow the children, you feel your feet sink into the muddy ground. You squeal when a fish swims by your ankle and at that the children laugh.

“Lady Y/N!” Namjoon shouts, worried. “Let me help—”

“It’s quite alright,” You chuckle, smiling. “The fishes are friendly, they say.”

The guard is hesitating at the edge of the field, stealing quick glances back to where Hoseok and Yoongi are watching in bewilderment as you continue to walk through the fields, nodding as the children tell you about the rice paddies.

“That’s not why I uhh I—” He stutters as he looks back again at the prince. He merely gives him a simple wave, as if to say he could let you be. At that, Namjoon nods, simply standing by as he watches you warily.

The children lead you further in, showing you how they weed the fields, and take care of the crop. They even let you touch the buffalo that’s busy ploughing the fields. You’ve never felt so free, so intrigued and you—

“My Lady! Forgive the children’s insolence, they don’t know any better,” A man begs, bowing down at you.

“Oh no, please, don’t— I-It’s really quite alright,” You say, using one hand to usher him back to stand upright. You’re stunned, shocked. You aren’t quite sure what he is apologizing for. It is perhaps one of the very few times anyone has ever bowed at you in apology.

“Do forgive the children,” He mumbles. “Truly, I am sorry for the trouble. A-and it’s not much, but I can take you back with that,” He points at the bullock cart not far from where you are. The expression you wear is not one he expects. Instead of distaste, you’re practically beaming.

“Can we really?” You ask, as you walk out of the paddy field, hurrying towards the cart.

“Of course, My Lady,” He chuckles as he notes your excitement.

Honestly, the walk back isn’t quite far but you’ve never been able to ride a bullock cart before. Mostly because they are meant for transporting goods but also partly because you’ve never seen one up close before.

“Can the children come along too?” You question, as you see them with their head hanging low, looking guilty. What for, you’re not quite sure. You should ask Namjoon later on. Perhaps there are some customs you aren’t quite aware of. “After all, I was the one who asked them to show me the fields.”

That wasn’t entirely true, but you deduce that he thinks the children had forced you to wade through the fields with them.

“Of course they can come along,” He nods as he takes off his shirt and places it on the cart and invites you to sit. “It’s— uhh, not much but I didn’t have anything to—”

“Oh, no, please! You don’t have to!” You answer, rushing to pick up his shirt and return it to him.

“No, please! I insist,” He argues, placing the shirt back. “We can’t have you dirtying your robes.”

“Ah, th—thank you,” You smile, bowing slightly at him. It seemed like he wasn’t going to back down so you resign to sitting on his shirt instead.

The children seem rather solemn as they ride the cart with you, but a few questions from you and they are back to their jolly selves, answering every query you have. They’ve never met a noble quite as nice and friendly as you and perhaps they want whatever this is to last a little longer. They cling onto you, reveling in the attention you shower them with. Most nobles that they’ve met want one thing, and one thing only. They were often travelling merchants who were trying to hoodwink them, asking them to sell their rice at low prices. Sometimes, they would resort to violence to get them to agree. Perhaps that was what the elders were discussing about with the prince. Either way, most nobles had no interest in the fields, or their lives. You however, had willingly walked through the shallow water with them, watched on as they showed you how to catch the fishes and even played around with them.

As you get off the cart, the children climb out with you, quickly bowing in apology as their elder demands. You wave it away hurriedly, sternly insisting that the children were only acting based on your demands. If you had known this would cause such a commotion, you would have stayed put. Maybe that’s what Namjoon was trying to save you from when he tried to coax you out of the fields earlier on.

The commotion is pretty much forgotten as you and the royal entourage move to look at the storehouses where the rice is stockpiled. You’re kept busy as the farmers explain how they go from bushels to the final grains that are stored in the storehouses. Namjoon is visibly alert this time around, not willing to let you get into trouble again. After all, his life was on the line too.

As the sun begins to set, the entourage returns to the town centre. As soon as the prince is out of earshot, Namjoon tells you to meet him at the teahouse as soon as possible. Simply by the tone of his voice, it sounded like he was going to give you a stern scolding.

“The fields are meant for peasants,” Namjoon explains, pausing to take a sip out of his cup. “It is no place for someone like you.”

“I-I see. Well, I— umm, I knew that of course,” You murmur, lying. “But how else am I supposed to accurately depict the scene if I do not actually go into the fields?”

“You are still a noblewomen, and you shouldn’t be in such lowly places,” He mumbles. “What will the nobles say if they saw you out in the fields? What would they have said about the prince?”

Oh. You understand now. It wasn’t just your image that was at stake, it was the prince’s too. Now, you’re worried.

“D-do you think he’s angry?” You query, nervous. “I mean, I was just doing it for the job after all,” You mumble, pointing at your current painting. Perhaps you should work extra hard, paint in all the details so he would forgive you.

“The prince isn’t very expressive, so it’s hard to say but... I would warn you to be more cautious,” Namjoon hums. He had seen one too many concubines have their heads cut off, and for actions less preposterous than yours. It would be a shame to see you go.

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diary-ofsorts · 3 years ago

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i love my husband very, very much. but i regret falling into the trap that marriage is for women. and i regret allowing myself to become this person that marriage has made me.

marriage is designed for the sole benefit of men. society sells the idea of marriage as an act of true love, comfort, stability - and sure, it does really mean those things to a lot of people. but to many, women in particular, it means sacrificing a part of yourself. and you don’t even realize that it’s happening until it does.

in a marriage, a woman is expected to care for her husband, her children, her home at the cost of her career, her social life, herself. it is an expectation. this expectation is sold under the guise as being part of a normal, healthy relationship. marriage means servitude to a woman.

there’s a bit of denial in admitting that you’ve slowly lost bits and pieces of yourself the longer you’ve been married. you try to reason - you are happy, and you do love your husband (like i am now). you make these sacrifices because you love him and that’s supposed to make it okay. but it begins the second you agree to wear the ring. you are lost. there is no “you” anymore. only what you can provide.

i remember having a conversation with my husband some time ago about his gaming.

he’s been an avid gamer since well before we ever started dating. it’s an integral part of his life that i’ve always respected. and i respected it because i had hobbies too. in particular, i loved to read. i would devour entire books in a day. i would stay up late into the night reading. i would lounge about all day, in my pajamas, procrastinating even eating because i was so engulfed in my new favorite book. i didn’t have to stop because i needed to start dinner for someone else, or fold their laundry, or clean the house. i realize now that that part of me is dead. i mourn who that person used to be. i dont recognize her anymore. i don’t know her.

my husband told me, laughing, that on average, he games 6-7 hours daily. he plays his game every day. he always has. he always makes time for it. even when we were dating, i would spend hours waiting for him to finish his game so he would spend time with me. many times we have argued over how i just wanted one evening with him, and he could never manage to even give me that because his game has always been more important. and even though i obviously already know he spends a lot of time on his game, that’s when it hit me. when he confessed to those 6-7 hours a day and laughed like he was bragging about some goal, i realized that those 6-7 hours a day that he spends playing his games are the 6-7 hours a day that i spend on caring for our home. i don’t have a spare 6-7 hours in my day every day to do what i want. i dont get to spend my evenings reading because then i wouldn’t have time to do his laundry, cook his meals, and wipe his piss off the bathroom floor. i traded in my life to take on this new role as a caregiver and provider and i fucking hate it. i despise it. i feel that i am suffocating. and i am angry.

marriage for him has meant that he is allowed to continue his hobbies along with finding his career and finishing school, because he has always had me to take care of everything else for him. something had to be sacrificed in our relationship to make room for the daily chores to sustain our life, and i was the one who lost. because out of the two of us, it was expected that i was the one to make that sacrifice and fulfill that duty.

i didn’t know it when i got married at a young 22 that i would be selling my soul when i signed that certificate. and maybe it wouldn’t have mattered, had i known, because as a young woman you are taught what your role in a marriage is. you see the dynamic between husband and wife displayed in tv shows, in commercials, in media, everywhere, every day. you are told from the time you’re old enough to play “house” that the role of the woman is to be a caregiver.

when i first entered into my relationship it felt like a role playing exercise. like we were just playing “house.”like i was pretending to be a cute little housewife because that’s what i was supposed to be doing. i would wake up at 5am to cook his breakfast, i would pack his lunches and have dinner ready when he got home. i would wake up in the middle of the night to comb my hair, brush my teeth, and put on makeup so that when i woke up in the morning i would look refreshed and beautiful for him. i would go out of my way, every single day, to ensure that his every comfort and need was met. i thought that that was love.

he now asks why i no longer do these things, why i don’t wake up early to cook his breakfast for him or lay out his clothes, why i don’t greet him at the door with my mouth around his cock anymore.

because i am tired. because i have been reduced to nothing more than an object manufactured to take care of him and i am sick of it. because i am tired of my life revolving around taking care of him, while his life revolves around his own interests. i don’t want this to be the extent of my life anymore. i don’t want the monotony and expectations imposed on me. for one week i would love to just come home from work and my house be magically cleaned, my laundry be washed, my things put away, and my dinner brought to me on a platter and i don’t even have to ask. i expect it if my partner to do it for me, so that i can sit for 6-7 hours every day to read my book or watch my tv shows.

and when i vent to my friends about this frustration they simply respond, “so stop.” meaning, stop cleaning the house, stop making the meals, stop. let him see the mess and decide to take over. maybe then he will realize. but what they don’t understand is that it still isn’t fair to me. just me simply stopping those acts doesn’t fix that there isn’t someone there to take them on when i quit. i could allow our house to literally become hoarder’s nightmare, with shit stacked to the ceiling and he wouldn’t bat an eye. he would still be playing his video game. it is not him that would suffer. it would be me.

i’m not asking for him to take on the sole burden of caring for our household. i’m asking for a partnership.

but how do i ask my partner to contribute to our household? how do i ask him to pick up after himself, that if he sees a mess to clean it, that he needs to also be responsible for cooking and planning our meals if he simply refuses? because i have tried asking, i have tried pleading, i have been just short of begging him for help on even the most basic tasks and he always defaults into his regular habits because he knows ultimately that his wife will take care of it for him.

i am so exhausted i could cry. with all the love i possess for him i also have this resentment that’s been building. i resent him for not hearing me, not seeing me, not loving me in the way i also need to be loved. how can he expect me to selflessly give up so much of myself to care for him when i can’t even get him to pick his dirty underwear up off of the floor?

#marriage

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yeoldontknow · 7 years ago

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It Was The Night: 1

Author’s Note: welcome to part 1! this is hopefully going to be a short mini series that remains uncomplicated (she says, writing 3 more parts and adding to them as she queues this omg) enjoy! Pairing: Chanyeol x Reader (oc; female) Genre: drama; historical au; romance; suspense Rating (this part): G Word Count: 2,046

In the summer of 1826, the very last of my relatives surrendered mind, body, and soul to the hands of consumption.

As any typical eight year old girl, the true meanings of anguish and despair were lost on me. Often I regret, in my old age, to admit that I did not mourn the loss of my Great Aunt Thérèse. Nor did I not, as many children do, grieve out of a twisted sense of fear for my lack of parentage or even for myself. Instead, I felt a small pang of longing whenever I craved the warm arms of reassurance, or perhaps, when I fancied myself a pirate and sought a crew for my ship. I coveted, at times, those large families, filled with siblings and wild imaginations, like the other children at my school.

Her absence, I found, had commenced long before the withering of her body or the slow decay of her lungs. I remember her now less as a person and more as pieces of an ideal, images woven together throughout time to construct a memory of love, the sensation of care, the fleeting notion of safety. She appears to me now as a shadow, something hollowed, a thing I yearned for but eventually moved beyond, carrying with me instead not the soft touch of her hands but the rigidness of the posture she ingrained within me.

In the end, Aunt Thérèse became a memory of authority, a rule I was meant to follow rather than a family member to love. Instead, my sense of protection and comfort had been projected onto a tattered stuffed elephant named Claude, a birthday gift from Aunt Thérèse to love once she had become too weak to spare a fragment of emotion. Or, rather, when she decided that loving me was too strenuous, my existence a burden of charge rather than a pleasure.

Without any sort of family to love me and no kind neighbors to take me in, even as an extra hand for work, I was taken, by the state, from the fields of Berentin to a monastery in Rouen for lost and disadvantaged children. They always used the word “disadvantaged,” as though “orphan” was somehow shameful, as though it was my fault I had been so abandoned.

I don’t believe I ever forgave dear France for dressing the term in false clothes, for attempting to force my young self into a sort of ignorance regarding the sad reality of my situation. Perhaps, even more, for attempting to gloss over the true position of my station in the new city I was meant to call home. Though in truth, I doubt I would have needed such language when there were older, more tormented children at St. Christie’s to remind me just how lost we all were.

Companions at the monastery were arduous to come by, my predilection for continued, silent observation ostracized me. My playfulness took shape in the form of imagined personas and universes, alternate worlds I felt lingered just beyond my small reach. The noise and gregarious loudness of pranks and teasing did not suit me, my version of gaming born out of compulsory solitude in golden fields. And so, suddenly surrounded by children my age, I found myself profoundly lonely rather than merely alone.

As part of our keep, it was mandatory we all sang in the choir for church mass. We were to learn music, the traditional hymns and prayers, and were given the opportunity to master a separate instrument to broaden our musical education with papacy approved contemporary pieces. With few friends and little to entertain me beyond my daily chores, I devoted myself to my studies, quickly finding that my skills in languages and biblical translation lent themselves to the language of sight reading. It was, as to be expected, not long before I was the most advanced child in the choir, as well as in the chamber orchestra with my selected instrument, the violin.

Words escape me now, dissipating at the memory of my first touch of the ebony and tiger wood instrument. In the days of my youth, I called it fate, the current of pleasure and excitement that flowed through me as my fingers grazed over the body. Nor can I describe the thrill of longing that pressed against my heart at the sound of the bow against the strings. Instantly, I felt bonded to it, as though its voice was my own. Between us an understanding had been birthed, the music my voice, the body of wood my body - firm, unyielding, desperate to be heard and loved.

And so, by the time I was ten, I had received more solos in place of the older, more experienced girls. This, of course, was a way for one to be noticed by both the church, the public, and by children with little control over their envy. In the wake of my solos, I found my already terribly lonely childhood to be impossibly lonesome. Children teased me, threatened to shatter my instrument out of envy and jealousy. Not long after this, I took to sleeping with my instrument, terrified to wake one morning and find it gone from me, warped and broken at the hands of someone else.

My talents placed me in a bitter spotlight but they also, for reasons beyond me, caused my skills to be noticed by one Monsieur Park. I shall never understand why he chose me, why he was so profoundly adamant in his opinions, but his presence at our mass resulted in my life being changed, irrevocably.

In all my years, I seem to be unable to forget the gleaming pattern of the buttons on his waistcoat the first, and only, time he stood before me. I had given a rather whole-hearted performance of Je Chanterai that left me with clenched fists and shaking hands, eyes wet with the words of Psalm 89:1 echoing in my mind behind the lyrics on my tongue. When mass completed with its usual major chord extravagance, I shuffled, with bowed head, toward the doors of the monastery quarters when a man with strong fingers and pure white hair stopped me and Father Ezekiel in our path.

Almost immediately I sensed the conversation was not for my engagement, that much was clear by the way the stranger spoke in clipped words to Father, so instead I busied myself with the gold of his buttons. I’d never seen a man dressed in such finery, not even on the modest men who did not wear the cloth of God, and certainly not in Berentin. Mine was a humble upbringing, featuring muslin dresses and shoes of thin leather. My wealth had been given to God the moment I entered the world. Yet here was a man, draped in silks, satin tights that glistened beneath the stained glass windows, and a posture so severe I imagined him grounded to the Earth where he stood.

And the buttons, sparkling under the watchful eye of Mary, remained at my eye level as though they were made solely for me and, for the first time, I felt the slow burn of desire.

That evening it was explained to me I would be departing the next day for Le Palais Comédie Français in Paris, by far the most distinguished theatre in the country with a legacy extending well beyond my comprehension of my own bloodline. I was to join their choir, earn a working wage as a member of staff, a wage I would not be given access to until I reached an age suitable for marriage, at which time I would be given the opportunity to audition for the Opera or take my earnings as a dowry should a suitor ask for my hand in marriage.

Having spent the last year expecting to be a child of the church, having spent the last ten years being passed from adult to adult, I adamantly protested the notion, instantly felt the crippling weight of an uncertainty that had never before gripped me. In my mind, I saw myself as a transient thing, something that neither belonged nor existed within France. Forced into a somewhat nomadic existence, I had no sense of self, no sense of home, no sense of safety, and all over again I was being forced to shift my understanding of the world to meet the expectations of men far older than I. My cries proved to be futile, and, the next day, I boarded a sleek, black coach with the most incisive looking horses I had ever seen, and left to start my new life as a choirgirl popular.

Monsieur Park did not let me bring my violin, stating I would not need it. The monastery did not let me take Claude, stating there would be a child in my place who would need it more.

I sniffled as we passed through village after village, though I did not regard Monsieur Park, not directly. Allowing his domineering, stoic frame into my field of vision felt painful, thrust upon me the responsibility of questions and conversation that felt heavy, imposing, far too important for the uneasy silence that had settled in the carriage, and so I chose to watch the world as it passed. Of the trees, I asked my questions, begged their roots for answers. In that moment I envied them, their stability, their strength, their stillness. How I wished my skin would be bark, my feet claws that could bury their talons into the Earth, and proudly declare that I shall be unmoved.

It was not long before the fields and woods between villages became narrow streets, the canopy of foliage traded for a skyline dotted with domes of cathedrals. Quickly, I learned Paris is a city of distractions, bewildering and loud. We passed through market centre, slowly and pressed between homes, people, stalls, and even in the carriage the intense aroma from the fishmonger permeated the finery of the small space. Monsieur Park buried his nose in his ascot, while I and the other girls pressed ourselves to the windows. My fingers idly clutched the velvet of the curtains, clinging to their softness and their tangibility as I struggled to process all I saw before me.

Mine had been a quiet life, one filled with the silence of prayer and the cadence of hymns, entertainment held only within our music lessons and the transcription of bible verses. Never before had I been confronted with such cacophonous activity, my skin swimming with the stimulation of voices just beyond the window. All at once, I was enamoured with it. The noise of the city was difficult, yet thrilling, my heart pulled suddenly towards the chaos of anonymity and the firmness of identity. All my life, i had been told that the city was a Godless place, wracked with sin and debauchery, and little else. But, to me, the city felt vibrant, thriving, so alive that its soul pressed against the carriage in desperation to be touched.

And, here, even the women seemed strong.

It was the gold of the Opera House I saw first, perhaps because the only time I had seen such a glimmer of wealth was on Monsieur Park’s waistcoat. This, I think, was the moment he became synonymous with the opera, draped in gold and firm, just as the building itself. But those small circles were eclipsed in proportion of the gold lining the top of the Opera, gleaming in the light of the sun. Beside me, a young girl who had been weeping feel silent, awed by the sheer beauty of the architecture. Extravagance had been limited in Rouen, even in the construction of its buildings, and all at once I felt myself a heretic.

I found I coveted this life, felt a surge of pride that this was to be my home, although looking back I fear it was not the life that thrust upon me the sensation of ardor. After many years of rumination on the subject, I imagine it was the prospect of being chosen for a life, for being offered freedom and choice and chance.

It was not the life that brought me joy, but the prospect of one altogether.

#chanyeol x reader #kpoptrashtag #kwriterskollection #noonanet #chanyeol au #chanyeol fanfic #chanyeol scenario #chanyeol fanfiction #exo scenario #exo au #exo fanfic #park chanyeol

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jyushimatsu-falls-in-love · 7 years ago

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s2ep10: a little respect

♪ So-o-oul, I hear you call-iiiiiing Oh baby, pleeeease... Give a little respe-ect, toooooo meeeeee! ♪ - “A Little Respect” by Erasure, which seems to be this week’s theme song :P

[SPOILERS UNDER THE CUT!]

The first of this week’s three skits is “Karamatsu and Brothers”, which I know nearly everyone was looking forward to. After all, Kara’s the fan favorite both here and in the Japanese fandom, where recently he’s won the top spot in a recent magazine’s favorite characters poll; does it live up to everyone’s standards?!

The skit opens with Totty asking Choro to buy him a soda, which Choro refuses to do in a very aggressive manner. I like how Totty described Choro here - “You act like an honor student, but you’re really just a delinquent!”; it succinctly summarizes Choro’s character well enough :P

Luckily for Totty, Kara comes to the rescue and offers to buy his soda for him! And after Totty gets his soda, he calls Kara “nice” and “reliable”, which makes Kara feel very happy and sparkly :P

Then everyone else starts asking Kara to do things for them: Starting with Oso, who asks Kara to do his chores in his stead; then Jyushi asks the same thing, then Ichi, then all of a sudden everyone except Choro is asking Kara to do something for him. And Kara says yes, he’ll do them! He’ll do anything his brothers ask him, they can rely on him!!

At this point Choro steps in, and scolds the others for putting so much on Kara. He even scolds Kara a bit for not standing up for himself. Honestly these little moments of Choro stepping in for his family members’ sakes (approaching Matsuzo about his problem in S2Ep4, now telling the others to lay off Kara in this ep.) are very nice; he really can be a good son and brother, after all ;v; And to the other brothers’ credit, they do feel bad for piling so much on Kara after realizing it - but then Kara protests and assures them no, it’s okay, he likes it when the brothers ask him to do stuff, it’s perfectly fine!! And with that assurance, the others go back to treating him like a work horse :P

Later, up on the rooftop, Kara confesses to Choro the truth - he actually hates it when the others ask him to do so much for them, so much that he could either die or kill them. When asked about why can’t just say “no” to them, Kara puts on the cool act and says that it’s because he’s such a nice guy~ But Choro quickly gets that the real reason Kara can’t say “no” is because beneath the painful guy act, he’s really just a timid wimp who can’t stand up for himself :P

Honesty Tidbit # 1: I never thought I’d actually say this, but... Kara’s situation was oddly relatable to me in some aspects. My family members - especially my sister - ask me to do things for them, get things for them, etc. all the time. And even when I don’t want to do them, I do them anyway orz (The difference between me and Kara is that unlike him, I usually complain first before doing them :P) To be fair, since I’m a NEET and no one else is, I guess it makes sense that I’m asked to do things for everyone while they’re doing work or resting from work. But still, it’s annoying...

Honesty Tidbit # 2: I can already see the annoying part of the fandom latching onto the fact that Kara’s a bit of a pushover and using that to further push the “pwecious sad woobie” fanon interpretation orz I’m really not looking forward to it...

So Choro tries to be a good brother again and offers to help Kara practice saying “no” to his brothers. However, he ends up getting sidetracked haha :P I find it interesting that Kara actually can’t recognize Choro’s caricatures of the others, even with each one’s more obvious attributes (”horse races” and “boobs” for Oso, “cats” and “killing you all” for Ichi, “baseball” and “BOEH” for Jyushi) mentioned. It makes me wonder, does Kara view and identify his brothers differently from how Choro (and the audience) does? If that’s the case, then how does he view and identify them? ...Or maybe Choro’s caricatures just too exaggerated for him haha

In the end, though, they go and tell the brothers Kara’s true feelings on the matter. And in a very nice moment, the brothers actually backed off once they knew that Kara didn’t actually like being asked what to do (they even said, “Why didn’t you tell us that you wanted us to stop?”), recognized that they really did keep asking him because they knew he wouldn’t say no, and sincerely apologized for it and promised not to do it anymore. Despite what fanon tends to say, the brothers really do care for Kara after all. I’m very glad that’s the case ;v;

...and then the others proceed to make Choro take Kara’s place as the errand boy :P Choro angrily protests, asks for Kara’s help... and Kara refuses and leaves him to fend for himself with a “Good luck~” PFFFFFFFFFFFFFF. Of all times for Kara to decide to say “no”... I guess no good deed goes unpunished when your name’s Matsuno Choromatsu :P

This was a good skit! A good Choro, good Suiriku interaction, the brothers proving fanon wrong... What’s not to love? :’)

The second skit, “New Employee Totoko”, is exactly what it says on the tin - in an office AU, Totoko is the newly hired employee, with Totty being her superior. The skit is already interesting to me because of Totty having the role of the boss/leader/department head in this skit; he doesn’t usually take on these roles IIRC. It fits the ambitious side of his personality though, so I’m not complaining :) He’s also taking his job really seriously in this skit, and certainly acts like how you’d expect a boss/leader/department head to act. It ends up making him a pretty good tsukkomi to Totoko’s antics :P

Speaking of Totoko, she was pretty neat here too! For one thing, her hairstyle as a newbie employee is really nice ;v; It’s her first day working in Akatsuka Tradings, but already she’s causing problems for her superior - first off, she won’t come over when Totty calls her over to his desk. Her excuse is that nobody told her that that’s what she had to do, so she didn’t do it :P Then Totty gives her a document to work on, which he tells her should be finished before lunch - but she doesn’t finish it at all by then, her excuse being that she hasn’t used the programs before, hasn’t done this sort of computing before, etc. Totty ends up having to do the work himself. Then, since Totty did her work for her, Totoko ended up spending her office time updating her social media and sleeping on the job... Again she uses her inexperience as an excuse... Yeah, Totoko’s not exactly the ideal employee for anyone working as a department head :P

I wonder if I can say that I’d be like Totoko if I were in an office setting? :P Again I’m a NEET so I don’t have any job experience... But if my memories of school, college, the two-week internship I had when I was in college, etc. are anything to go by, I know I’d be utterly useless when left to my devices and would always have to ask for help and instructions before I could be set on doing anything orz That, and I get distracted easily, I lose motivation easily, I stay up late... Yeah, Totoko is rather relatable here as well and I’m not proud to admit it orz

Totty ends up having to give Totoko a stern talking to, saying that since she’s new he’ll do his best to help her, but she’s still gotta put in the work herself. They agree to work hard, their conversation ends on a good note, Totty shows off his own version of Kara’s bishie eyes...

...and at the end of the day, Totoko quits her job :P Though Totty begs her to stay, and after his begging she says she’ll stay and even starts saying these cheesy, so-cliche-that-they’re-clearly-bullshit lines about how she’ll do a good job from now on... And then she ditches her job without saying goodbye :P Totty’s very upset about this. Ichiko and Jyushiko (?!) showing up and proving to be better employees doesn’t really help matters either, and it proves at the end that Totty won’t accept “uggos” and wants to work with a cute girl like Yowai-kun :P Ah, classic Totty

And finally, the last skit, “Dubbingmatsu-san”. A couple of unknown people who do unknown work in the Osomatsu-san anime enter a lavishly decorated room filled with food, comfy sofas, and pretty girls in bikinis. What’s all this for? It’s to receive the sextuplets, who are coming in to dub the anime of course! The sextuplets enter wearing various things to conceal their identities to the public - each one increasingly ridiculous than the last - and after a few minutes’ rest, they start to read and practice their lines before they start recording. And during practice, it never seems to be good enough...!!

It becomes clear that this skit actually isn’t about the boys at all - it’s a meta piece about their seiyuu, with the boys kinda-sorta acting as the main six seiyuu’s avatars instead of being themselves. Or at least, that’s how I like to think of this skit :P There are references to seiyuu having to take care of their voices - the boys have humidifiers with them to keep their vocal chords working, and even have back-up surgery implants for their throats in case the worst happens!

And then the boys start practicing their lines and beating themselves up for not meeting their own high standards - the part I really lost it was when Totty yelled, “What did I go study abroad for?!”, which is a reference to Miyu Irino going abroad earlier this year to pursue his theatre studies. It makes me wonder now if the stuff the others were saying while they were beating themselves up were references to their own seiyuu themselves?? Meanwhile Ichi’s/Jun’s just practicing his stabbing skills. Good job Ichi/Jun Also can we please exploit Miyu Irino’s English skills in S2 already

Then recording’s about to begin - with the boys completely naked of course, can’t risk any clothes ruffling making any noise! - and after some chants, they start dubbing over the provided images. And apparently, they’re so good that they can ad-lib and almost change the script entirely, and it’d be okay! They didn’t even need to do any retakes - the boys/seiyuu are just that good!! They’re professionals!!!

It’s interesting to see Ososan’s (fictionalized and exaggerated for comedy’s sake) take on the recording process of anime. It certainly matches up with some of the things I remember reading in interviews with the seiyuu before. In the end, this skit is a silly and irreverent but affectionate love letter to the guys who bring our loveable six same shitheads to life. I can’t help but wonder how Sakurai/Nakamura/Kamiya/Fukuyama/Ono/Irino all felt while recording this skit. Were they embarrassed? Happy? A little proud? I hope someone asks about that skit either in an interview or in a post-Cour 1 commentary reel, like last season’s.

Finally recording ends, and the boys head home - each going home with a hefty sum of yen in one hand, a pretty bikini girl on one arm, and in each one’s personal private helicopter. I... am pretty sure this bit is an exaggeration, there’s no way anyone would actually go home in a private helicopter unless they’re that stinkin’ rich and famous :P But hey, the boys did a good job, they’re happy, the anime staff is happy, we get a quality anime because of everyone’s hard work, therefore everyone’s happy.

“Who would’ve thought such professionals were behind those shitty episodes that air on TV?” “Makes you respect them even more.”

So in conclusion, thank you to Sakurai & Nakamura & Kamiya & Fukuyama & Ono & Irino (& don’t forget Suzumura & Kokuryu & Endo & Saito & Ueda & Tobita & Inoue & Kujira & Yamashita &...) for everything that you do for this shitty anime!! \( ; v ; )/ It wouldn’t be the same without you, thank you for your hard work! ♥♥♥♥♥♥

All in all, this week’s episode was pretty great! I enjoyed it thoroughly and was invested all throughout. I think my favorites would be a tie between “Karamatsu and Brother” (surprisingly!) and “Dubbingmatsu-san” - on one hand, we have solid Suiriku and brotherly care on many sides; on the other we have meta and a silly but sweet nod to the professionals who make the anime come to life. But even “New Employee Totoko” is solid for the roles the characters play alone! So yes, all in all, this week was a good week, and I’m greatly looking forward to next week’s fare ^^

I’m actually really, really excited for next week because - HORROR(HOUSE)MATSU!!! While I’m not really big on the horror genre as a whole, I like the idea of throwing out favorite NEETs into scary situations. And a haunted house is perfect for it >:) The title is “Chibita’s Revenge”, so Chibita's definitely gonna have some sort of hand in all of the spooky shenanigans... Does he have friends on the other side?! :0

Aaaaah, next Matsu Monday can’t come soon enough! ♥

#Spoilers #Matsu spoilers #Matsu S2 spoilers #Season 2 #Random thoughts with Nature #Nature talks about S2 #I'm still not back from hiatus btw #but these reviews are fun and I'll keep doing 'em

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