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slowd1ving · 6 months ago

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ACT III: PASSION ✦ . 　⁺ VIL SCHOENHEIT NSFW

Vil Schoenheit and second place aren't supposed to be a thing. He's supposed to be the very embodiment of perfection, so why the hell is someone else's name usurping his crown on the Potions leader board? In which our starring actor cannot quench the flames of academic rivalry and resentment that consume him, nor can he fathom the enigma that you are. gn! scientist! reader warnings: contains nsfw but only later, angst with a happy ending, spoilers for book five, canon-compliant violence

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Scene I: Ember . 　⁺

He’s finally going to be number one, and have the stage all to himself. This is what he tells himself as he washes his face in the evening before the poison assessment.

“Mira, mira, at this moment right now, who is the most beautiful of them all?” Vil murmurs as he gently pats his face dry. It’s been ages since he’s last asked - between photo shoots and schoolwork, he’s barely had time to remember to ask.

“Neige LeBlanche,” the robotic voice echoes from his phone. Vil’s contemplative expression twists into one of scorn. Of course. It’s always him, isn’t it? No matter. He’ll beat both Neige and you very soon. He’ll conquer the stage and make it his.

“Tomorrow,” Vil promises his reflection. Tomorrow his luck will change. The two of you will both be on equal footing.

Surprisingly, these past few weeks have been somewhat enjoyable. You’re a competent manager, he’s forced to admit. It’s almost… fun, he supposes, especially when he sees your eyes tracing his movements across the ballroom. He doesn’t know why he craves that attention; his veins dance with fire after each practice in your presence.

He sets down his face towel on the vanity and rises. He can’t possibly distract himself with you the night before he finally overcomes you. It’s time for his evening tea anyway. Surely the lavender will soothe his turbulent mind. The floorboards creak as he steps out of the room.

Barely any light passes through the narrow corridor leading out of his room. Vil’s hairs almost jump out of his scalp as he feels a warm body collide with his, before callused hands grasp his wrists with a surprising gentleness.

“God, I’m sorry,” Vil almost screams as he hears your voice in the darkness. It’s strangely intimate, with your hands still fumbling around his wrists. He can feel his pulse accelerate, surely with rage, surely-

“Vil?” if he could see your face, he’d be sure you’d be squinting with those furrowed brows. His body stiffens under your touch; he knows you can feel his tension like a tightly coiled spring. “Is that you?”

“Yeah,” he’s not as composed as he should be. Pull yourself together. Your hands let go abruptly, and he hears your footsteps shuffle backwards inch by inch. He doesn’t know why he feels this pit in his stomach.

“My bad for bumping into you,” you brush past him, suddenly better adjusted to the dim lighting, it seems. “The storeroom’s right next to yours.”

Then, you’re gone. Vil lingers in the corridor, still surprised by what happened. He makes his way to the kitchen slowly, still feeling the lingering embers of your touch on his skin. It’s not quiet in there - he’d give a whole lot of thaumarks to sit and brood in silence for a bit, but nothing seems to be going his way today clearly.

Rook’s furiously penning something on the kitchen table, no doubt another poem of his. Some things never change. Kalim sits draped over the table with a hand of cards laying despairingly in front of him. The offenders who caused this misery are none other than Ace and Grim, who look ever so pleased with their own hand.

“Ah, Roi des Poisons,” Rook’s greeting causes eyes to turn towards Vil. “Have you thought of a prize yet?”

“Prize?” Grim’s eyes light up with interest; beside him, Ace’s expression is a mirror of that cat’s. They really are two peas in a pod, even if they vehemently deny it. “What prize?”

“Yeah, what prize?” you chime in from behind Vil. The tone of an instigator is present in your voice as you brush past Vil once again - he’s suddenly hyper aware of his surroundings. You survey the kitchen, slapping down a colourful deck of cards on the table. “Rook?”

“The prize for the poison assessment, bien sûr,” Rook explains, peering at the cards you’ve brought. “What is this- Uno? What’s that?”

“There’s a prize for the poison assessment?” you tilt your head in confusion, swivelling to Vil inquiringly. At the same time, Vil spots Kalim and Trappola look at each other with very intently pondering expressions.

“Is this the same assessment used to choose the Pomefiore housewarden?” Ace blurts out. His brows are clearly having a disagreement with each other with how far they’re furrowed. “Why would the Prefect be involved in that?”

“Surely.. Did you challenge Vil for the title of Housewarden?” Kalim swivels his head to you with anticipation in his voice. You frown and hold up your hand. Why haven’t you told your friends about this? Do you not realise the true magnitude of this assessment?

“Other way round,” your reply is accompanied by that annoying shrug. Clearly, that dim-witted Grim lacks basic comprehension skills.

“Henchman, has he challenged you for the seat of Prefect?” Grim’s smug question is met with silence. Trappola’s clearly struggling to contain his laughter.

“Huh?” you stifle a laugh behind your hand. “No, I was just challenged.”

“Why the hell would anyone want to be Prefect of this place?” Trappola chokes out. Vil can’t even bring himself to be surprised - of course they’d focus more on this dump of a place than the extremely rare poison assessment.

“We’re getting off topic,” you interrupt the fits of giggles Ace has somehow dragged Kalim into. “What prize would I get, since I can’t exactly take your seat?”

“More importantly, what does Vil want?” Ace glares at Vil. He hasn’t really thought about it; the taste of victory feels like it’ll be more than enough. Vil glances at you, noticing the way your expression’s become contemplative. He hates it. He hates the way you look at him with those eyes full of thought, full of knowledge, full-

“He stands to gain victory,” Rook remarks from the table. “For some, pursuit of success and achieving that is the greatest prize one can hope for. Vraiment, c’est beau, the tenacity of it all. Isn’t that right, Roi des Poisons?”

“That’s so stupid,” Grim blurts out. “You’re doing this for a feeling?”

Vil is silent. He’s thinking.

“Yes,” Vil concurs. “I will be satisfied with the taste of victory as my prize.”

“That’s it?” Grim’s sceptical voice is starting to irritate him. “What about you, henchman? Remember, he’s got a buncha thaumarks from acting and whatnot. Milk him for all he’s worth.”

“I’ll decide what my prize will be when I win,” you meet Grim’s eyes levelly. Vil can see the urge to argue rise up within that demonic cat, but ultimately the cat backs down seeing the conviction in your stance.

“How wonderful,” Rook praises. “J’adore t’assurance, trickster.”

“Thanks, I guess,” you pull out a chair beside Rook, sliding over the colourful pack of cards you unceremoniously dumped on the table earlier. Upon closer inspection, they seem to be brightly coloured with markers and fineliner. Homemade cards? “Now, let me explain to you the wonderful game of Uno…”

Your voice fades to nothing as Vil wordlessly slips out of the kitchen. He can’t even remember what he came here for. He’s forgotten it all. Pale gold hair falls out of its perfect arrangement as he desperately runs his fingers through his hair to distract him from his heated face. Surely what he’s feeling is hatred right? Surely he’s not replaying your rough touch on his wrists over and over in his mind?

The door is shut with a swift kick behind him. Vil stands in the solace of his guest room in Ramshackle. The only sound to be heard is the muffled chatter from the kitchen below and his heavy breathing. He should sleep, right? Sleep’s embrace will wash all his feelings away, right? He sinks onto the bed with all the odd assorted blankets toppling from their carefully folded pile. Sleep won’t come easy tonight, he can already predict.

He’s right.

Scene II: Blue Flame . 　⁺

His dreams are turbulent at first; kaleidoscopes of nightmares and death grip his mind, most of them caused by his signature spell. Only the impression of fear remains as the backdrop inside his mind eases into a canvas of a rich sanguine.

Something within him blazes alight.

The mirages of his dreams have never been so brazenly- His train of thought is completely derailed as he feels warm lips press against his wrists in chaste kisses, lingering for only a few seconds. Vil’s heart skips with anticipation as whoever it is gently clasps his wrists, so familiar to what happened earlier that he cannot help but look-

There you are.

Your expression is positively enchanting with how you look at him like that. Like he’s the most beautiful being you’ve ever seen. It’s not enough. He needs that look permanently engraved onto his optic nerve - the soft smile you give him is causing his mind to go hazy, the soft smile you give whenever you’re in the middle of lab work. It’s full of pure adoration and glee and he wants nothing more than to look up on that charming visage forever.

“Please,” his voice sounds distorted and muffled. The scarlet haze of the background slowly morphs into his familiar room at Pomefiore. And you - you’re above him, pressing him into his very bed. A teasing expression paints itself on your face as you kiss his jaw; all your movements are agonisingly slow. You treat him with care, sucking and nibbling on his collarbone while he’s seeing galaxies unfurl behind you. He’s so utterly gone.

You’re deftly unbuttoning his dorm uniform shirt while he gazes at you with what he can only imagine to be starry eyes. It’s carefully folded neatly beside him before he can blink. Warm hands caress his body; he can feel the rough, callused skin brush against his waist and shivers. Your body hovers above his, just barely brushing over him. More, he wants to ask, please, do anything, but his lips betray him and he cannot get any words to leave his mouth. This languid pace you’ve adopted is nothing short of torturous. He can only hope his pleading eyes convey the message.

He lies on the deep blue sky of his cape, submerged in the midnight silk as you finally close the gap between your body and his. Whatever he was thinking about flies out of the window when he feels the warmth of your lips on his - finally. Vil’s eyes flutter closed and his hands clasp around the back of your neck so he can press himself into you further and further. Hyperaware. That’s how he feels right now, so much that he can feel your muscles tug your lips up into a smile. He can feel the way your hand wraps around his waist to pull his pelvis onto yours. He can feel the way your other hand presses down into the bed so you don’t fully sink onto him. He adores the way the two of you fit into each other.

“You’re the most beautiful sight I’ve ever seen,” you murmur into his mouth. Vil hasn’t realised just how much he’s longed to hear those words until a heavy weight suddenly lifts from him. Curse his racing heart. Curse his flushed face. Curse you for making his soul do leaps and bounds. “Allow me to take care of you.”

You press your mouth against his, still keeping that maddening pace. Vil’s slowly coming undone from just this. His legs part as your knee slots between them. The whine emerging from his throat is muffled by your tongue in his mouth. Any self-control he might’ve had is beaten to a bloody pulp when your knee applies more pressure, and suddenly he’s grinding up against it to chase that high. The warm feeling of pleasure is slowly spreading throughout his stomach; he’d never thought he’d see the day where it came from you of all people.

Stars. That’s what plays behind his eyelids as he closes them, overwhelmed by the pleasure of being practically devoured by you. Your deft scientist’s hand moves from where it’s nestled in the slope of his waist and moves to his chest, where it lazily draws circles around his nipple. Vil lets out a strangled moan at the divine sensation of the rough pads of your fingers. More. He needs more of your touch. He needs you, he needs-

Vil wakes up with a rough start in his bed, breathing heavily. What the actual fuck. It’s completely dark outside and he can feel the uncomfortable sensation of sweat accumulated at his thighs and back. He grabs his phone from where it lays carelessly on the nightstand.

3:02 AM.

Details of his dream come flooding back to him vividly. He can feel a crimson flush bleed onto his cheeks like red ink. Not only has his sleep been interrupted, it’s been interrupted by you. Try as he might, he can’t get the image out of his head. Deep shame settles in his very bones - he can’t be thinking about his rival this way. He hates you, damn it! He hates the way you looked at him, as if you knew about the bottomless chasm of insecurity within him and still adored him nonetheless-

He covers his face with his hands with a groan, digging into his soft skin. He can’t spend the rest of the night wallowing in misery, not when there’s the poison assessment literally hours away. Whatever shame and other, inexplicable feelings pertaining to you, that will all be dealt with after the poison assessment. After he’s gone back to sleep.

3:13 AM.

Of course it won’t be that easy to slip back into the recesses of his slumber. Not when his mind is still plagued with you. Embers of desire still burn deep within his stomach; all he craves right now is to be touched. Sharp pain blossoms on his bottom lip as he bites down to suppress the small groan rising in his throat. He wants to scream. How dare the universe play this cruel joke? How dare his subconscious ruin his night sleep? His beauty sleep?? Not once in the past few years has his slumber been interrupted this badly.

His eyelids squeeze together and he forces his breathing to calm itself. Surely he can just act out the part of someone sleeping like a log, then his body will follow? Method acting. He forces his body to tense up for several seconds, then lets his muscles unravel to stimulate a relaxed state. He’s so tired. That must’ve worked, right?

The landscape of his mind is dark grey; he fades in and out of consciousness. He’s been trying to keep his mind completely clear to no avail. The half-slumbering state is broken instantly when his bed creaks underneath him. Annoyance builds within him as he slams his hand down on the goddamn mattress - he’s not even surprised by the appalling conditions of the room, but at least let the goddamn beds be goddamn functional-

3:35 AM.

The light of the phone almost blinds him when he picks it up. Overwhelming frustration thrums through his veins. Half an hour has been wasted, all because his subconscious put you into his dreams. Shame drips over his very being as he realises that the deep desire within his stomach still hasn’t been quenched. It’s gnawing away at whatever self-restraint he’s got. Vil wants to scream at the absurdity of it all. He who can woo millions with his performances, he who is world-renowned for his acting, he who can enrapture the hearts of those who surround him - he cannot even deceive himself and quash these desires.

He can’t even take a cold shower to take care of his problem. It would just disrupt his night’s sleep even further - he cannot afford that at all when the assessment tomorrow requires him to have razor-sharp wits. Biting his lip, the shame of what he’s about to do drenches him from head to toe. Of all nights…

His manicured hand carefully wanders down his body. Best to get this over with as quickly and with the least amount of effort possible. The tight fabric of his pants over the crotch is swiftly discovered by one hand, whilst the other creeps in under his shirt. He’s once again thankful that he’s been given his own room in the crumbling dormitory (and especially, especially thankful Rook’s room isn’t in the general vicinity).

A strangled moan leaves his throat and into the cotton of his shirt from where he’s stuffed some into his mouth. The stimulation his hand is giving him through the fabric of his pants feels heavenly after all the times he’s suppressed any form of desire. His other hand is circling his nipples, though it doesn’t feel as good as the rough friction of your-

Stop. Vil forces that thought out of his mind, choosing to concentrate purely on his body and the way his hips move upwards to chase that delicious high. It doesn’t take much to have his mind unravel from the pleasure, especially after that earlier- Again, he forcibly removes all thoughts out of his brain to focus on literally anything else.

Muffled groans escape his lips as he speeds up his actions, pushing his mind to that brink. His chest rises and falls faster and faster; he wants nothing more than to draw his pleasure out at the same agonising pace you- He does his best to ignore that, actually. The pressure created by his hand increases, forcing more and more noises out of his throat. His back arches in pure ecstasy. That all-consuming pleasure is finally within his grasp. His legs squeeze together as he finally lets go.

The sensation of the warm rivulets moving across the fabric brings him crashing back to reality. Shit. He’s not one for vulgarity, but it seems you’ve finally influenced him to break that habit. He’ll have to clean up properly in the morning, but he absolutely has to do something about the pants. He swiftly heads to the adjourning bathroom to change his garments and wipe himself down.

3:55 AM.

It’s almost four when he sinks back onto the bed, wracked with shame but finally, finally, his body listens to him and he can finally sleep.

He doesn’t remember his dreams after that point at all.

Scene III: Interlude . 　⁺

Vil doesn’t even look at you in the kitchen while he prepares a smoothie with the rickety blender that’s wobbling precariously on the counter he’s left it on. Your presence makes the back of his neck prickle.

“What do you mean you’ve got the poison assessment to do with the Housewarden of Pomefiore of all people?” Jamil’s flabbergasted voice resounds behind Vil. Seems like Jamil’s only just now found out about the challenge, and it’s elicited the only correct response to hearing about it.

“What is that shrug supposed to mean?” Vil can almost picture that priceless look of horror on Jamil’s face while you nonchalantly stuff your face with breakfast and shrug. “Do you have any idea what a rare occurrence this is?”

“Chill out,” your voice is only a mumble as Vil hears you chew between words. He can’t bring himself to turn around and shoot you a disgusted look like he would’ve done any other time. Curse you. “I dome think it’s that big of a-” you swallow loudly here. “-deal.”

“Right, I’m going to ignore that for the sake of my sanity,” Jamil’s voice is clearly on the verge of snapping. “One day that laid-back attitude will bite you in the ass.”

A flurry of sputtering and coughing behind him lets him know that you’re laughing right in Jamil’s face. It’s very interesting to hear the normally composed young man also unravel at your annoying nature. Your idiocy knows no bounds, it seems.

“Sorry,” you don’t sound sorry at all. Vil pours out his smoothie, listening to Jamil’s muttered expletives.

“Bonjour, trickster,” Vil turns just in time to witness Rook’s lips meet the back of your hand as you let out a small giggle. His eye twitches.

“Bonjour to you too, Monsieur Chapeau,” Vil stares incredulously at the two of you, before Jamil voices exactly what Vil’s thinking.

“Since when-” Jamil’s furrowed brows finish off the question for him. Why the hell were you suddenly acting like Rook? And why the hell were you accepting his advances with that laugh?

“C’est vraiment un beau jour,” Rook looks around the kitchen with a pleased smile plastered on his face. “The air of competition is such a tantalising scent.”

“Glad to see there are multiple clowns not taking this seriously,” Jamil mutters, once again an extension of what Vil’s thinking.

“I am taking this seriously,” you pout, draping your chin onto the palm of your hand. “I’ve already packed up my equipment ready to go to the lab. I hate how there’s no cars here though.”

“Cars?” Jamil blinks. “Nevermind, I don’t want to-”

“Henchhuman!” Grim’s annoying yowl disrupts whatever semblance of peace was in the kitchen before. Vil once again feels that reprehensible eye twitch emerge again.

“Whaddya want?” your mouth is full of food once again. Vil doesn’t even bother to hide his disgusted scowl as you loudly swallow once again. At least you have the shreds of decency to cover your mouth while you speak, unlike a rowdy little Epel he knows.

“Make sure you beat his ass, henchhuman!” Grim’s enthusiastic cheer leads to you petting his head expeditiously, while both Jamil and Vil look at the weird interaction with nothing but incredulity.

“You bet,” your smile is sharp with competition as you look at Vil. He almost chokes on his smoothie when he meets your eyes. There’s nothing friendly in that gaze; he can feel the competitive fire with him blaze up in all its glory. Finally, he can feel the pure resentment build up, the way it should be.

“Not if I crush you first,” Vil’s smile is as sardonic as he can manage, but you don’t flinch away from it. Grim shudders beside you, remembering the whooping he got from Vil several weeks back with Ace and Deuce.

“Keep dreaming, pretty boy,” you tilt your head to the side slightly, and Vil feels your words impact him as the back of his neck flushes beneath his hair. Curse you.

“I’m adoring the fierce competition,” Rook marvels, glancing between the two of you with wonderment. Vil tears his eyes from you to watch as the hunter’s expression becomes one of exalted joy.

“I’m not,” Jamil cuts in. “Get a room.”

“Mornin’, Prefect,” Epel yawns as he comes into the room, Kalim being a few steps behind him. “G’luck in the assessment. Beat that snobby wuss.”

Vil doesn’t even know what to scold Epel for: that flagrant disrespect or his elocution. So he just ignores it, exiting the kitchen as it slowly fills up with more people. He needs to calm his racing heart before the poison assessment rolls round.

He needs to get you out of his head, as soon as humanly possible.

Scene IV: Poison . 　⁺

Acrid smells meet his nose as Vil strides into the laboratory that’s almost exclusively used for matters such as these. Traces of his own poison assessment still cling to the air, with the species of fungi he used all those years ago being one of the more prominent scents.

You’re already there with your equipment - thankfully, none of the huge clanging machines present in your lab are there. However idle-brained you present yourself literally everywhere else, he’s sure you’ll have meticulously checked with Crewel that all your equipment meets assessment regulations and ensures fair play. After all, you didn’t have to tell Vil anything about magical resistivity. You especially didn’t have to put yourself at a disadvantage just so the two of you would start off on equal footing.

He doesn’t know why he’s so surprised by your noble nature.

Perhaps you would’ve been better suited if you ended up at RSA. He’s loath to admit it, but you’re a far cry from a lot of the twisted individuals at Night Raven College. His train of thought is cut off by Crewel’s entrance.

“Good luck to both of you pups,” Crewel’s voice hasn’t got that usual sharp edge in it. He seems to be genuinely rooting for two of his best students. Vil finds himself oddly moved.

It’s not yet time. Vil’s hands work quickly to unpack his own utensils on his workbench, stationed several metres opposite yours. His eyes sneak glances at you: the way your goggles are slightly lopsided, the way your lab coat is properly buttoned for once but still covered in that awful doodle-embroidery (seriously, where the hell could you have found the time-), the way you’re wearing bright pink rubber gloves. All these aspects are carefully documented and filed away in his brain, much to his behest.

His own lab coat is completely wrinkle-free, with his goggles designed to not only protect his eyes completely, but to match his face shape as well. The rubber gloves he sports are a tasteful deep blue that matches his dorm uniform. He knows he cuts an elegant figure in the lab outfit. Yet you don’t even spare him a glance, like you would otherwise in a lab setting. In fact, your face lacks its normal joviality that’s present when normally doing lab work.

Is this how you look when you’re in your lab back home? Your gaze piercingly meets your utensils and equipment, checking meticulously for any sort of flaws or issues. The movements you make don’t have that usual lackadaisical quality; instead, you handle everything smoothly and with grace. Have you been putting on a performance the whole time? Vil feels his throat dry up at the revelation. It’s awfully off putting, the way he’s never seen this expression on your face before. Sure, your eyes are still filled with passion, but this is the first time he’s seen you this focused.

You’re serious.

His blood pumps with a renewed vigour. You’re finally taking him seriously. Heavy thumps resound throughout his ears - it seems his heartbeat matches the anticipation he’s feeling. Beneath it all, a trickle of fear is stimulated by the frigid expression you wear. He has to beat you, no matter the cost.

“Before we begin, I’ll go over the rules,” Crewel announces. He’s sitting at the desk with several papers neatly spread before him. It’s almost identical to Vil’s last experience. Vil sees you place down the cloth and antiseptic you’ve been using to disinfect your bench before beginning, and don new gloves.

“You both have exactly three hours to create your most potent poison. Raw, or up to 20% refined ingredients are the only ingredients allowed here. Magic is only permitted for the use of the potion. Memory spells and any interfering with your opponent's potion are prohibited. The use of notes, flashcards, and anything of that ilk is also prohibited. This room is purposefully designed to ward off foul play,” Crewel concludes, looking between the two of you. His eyes soften. “I’m sure both of you will compete fairly and proudly as befitting of my pups.”

With a wave of his hand, a three-hour timer appears on his desk. Smaller, translucent timers also appear to float in front of both workbenches. Vil steels himself. With a deep breath, he coaxes the adrenaline to course through his cells. Success. His wits are razor-edged, and he can almost feel each neuron firing.

“You may begin,” Crewel’s words don’t cause you to scurry around like the previous Pomefiore housewarden. Instead, you carefully take out a balance and some beakers. Vil realises he’s watching you instead of beginning. Curse this. Curse you for distracting him yet again.

His scalpel swiftly dissects Solemn Nightroot as his first ingredient. The acidic juices slowly drip down into his pristine measuring cylinder. His recipe for most potent poison has remained unchanged; the only refinement, really, is that of his signature spell he used last time to imbue the poison with the most deadly curse he can conjure up. His potion last time was as perfect as it could be, being 94 points while his housewarden’s only had 90 points. Stupid magical resistivity. He’s not going to hold back.

Vil’s movements are perfect as he carefully double-strains the acid, then adds chlorine to kill off any microbes that would absolutely interfere with the next ingredients he plans to add. He breathes in the comforting gunpowder smell of fire spells as he lights his Bunsen burner with a careful swish of his hand. He pours the Nightroot into a beaker, opening the flame into a roaring blue one. He takes his container of Arrow Monkshood to the oil extractor at the corner of the room, taking solace in the whirring of the machine.

Over in the other corner, he can see you working with the fume hood. Strangely, beside you is a microscope and a Petri dish. He’s got no time to dawdle, so he heads back while the oil drips into the container he’s set underneath it. The fractional distiller is tucked away in the corner of the lab, and he sets it up on his workbench. The fraction he’s hoping to extract from the oil unfortunately has a boiling point of 350 degrees, so it’s going to take a while to get there. The oil’s poured into the distiller and the flame gets going. He’s got a few seconds to catch his breath and watch whatever the hell you’re doing.

You appear to be… incubating something? Not only that, you’ve got a decidedly assured stance. You know exactly what you hope to achieve with the poison. Vil feels a shiver run down his spine. His poison may not be enough - he has to evolve. That 94 threshold is simply not enough. What had you said a few weeks prior in your lab? “Plus, my refinery skills are so unbelievably sexy.” He doesn’t doubt it, not with all the whirring machinery that you’ve deftly hooked up together. Just a few tweaks - he needs to have only the purest ingredients within that potion to even scrape past your level.

He separates the fraction and takes it to the lab’s refinery machine; from what he can see, it just looks like a regular distiller, but it’s probably got a built-in magical filter to purify the specimen put in. The wait time goes by in a flash as he checks on his boiling Nightroot acid, slowly adding in powdered raw Devil's Claw berries - aptly named for their odd, teardrop shape that tapered off into a curved point. He adds the powder until it’s in excess then waits until the solution is cooled down before filtering.

What’s left before him is a pitch-black solution that’s now only missing several key ingredients: colourful frog poison, the Arrow Monkshood essential oil, and his signature spell. Innovation. He needs to change the way he thinks to beat you. Luckily, he thought ahead and brought some belladonna berries. Last time, the naturally secreted poisonous mucus from the colourful frogs wasn’t refined either. He brings the berries over to the juicer, watching the deep purple liquid pour into the flask. Next, he takes both the mucus and juice to the distiller, removing the beaker of distilled oil.

One hour and thirty-four minutes remain. He’s practically almost finished, but he can’t let himself get overly confident. There are still several steps to complete in the correct order. Meanwhile, he can barely tell what you’re doing as you wear a different pair of what seem to be magnifying goggles. You’re also wearing a respirator mask with tubing streaming outwards behind you. In your hands, you seem to be prodding the Petri dish you’ve procured with what appears to be electrical wires. There’s about five various colourful pieces of apparatus set up, all containing bubbling potions. You’re incomprehensible, you know that?

Vil doesn’t even want to know what the hell you’re doing. He turns back to the distiller, placing the mucus in one compartment, then the juice into the one below it. Fragrant essential oil wafts upwards from the Arrow Monkshood beaker. Cautiously, he carries it back over to his workbench, setting it next to the pitch black solution in the beaker. It’s slowly measured out and stirred into the solution meticulously. Even as it is, it should be graded at a rough 70 points.

The purified juice of belladonna berries is boiled into gaseous form and captured as such. Wisps of Vil’s magic wraps around the test tube it’s in to ensure it stays as bubbles and keeps the energy levels of a gas. The purified mucus is added straight in, with seven equal parts and seven counter-clockwise stirs in between. Finally, he can siphon the jet black solution into the exam flask, before adding the gas into it. The bottle is sealed with the exam provided cork and shaken gently. That cork won’t come off until it’s arrived safe and sound at the Research Institute for Curses and Poisons.

Thirty-nine minutes remain. Plenty of time to visualise the strongest curse he can imagine and infuse it into the bottle. Vil resists the urge to sit down and break one of the cardinal rules of lab practicals. Standing meditation will do. But before that, he has to clear away the equipment. It takes a quick five minutes, plus some magic, until he’s tidied everything up. Now, he can focus.

He peels off his rubber gloves, setting them aside on the bench. Direct contact is essential for Fairest One of All to work. Deep breaths. He clasps the warm flask between his hands. Eyes closed. A painful death to whoever is unfortunate to partake in this fatal drink. It’s not enough. Vil musters up all the shame, rage and resentment within him. I hate you. It doesn’t matter if he doesn’t actually hate you. A loveless, lonely death to whoever’s lips this poison touches. The ugly monster within stirs. Forever shall the person sleep. It’s almost cathartic, to unload all that onto the flask he clasps.

He cracks his eyes open to observe the colour change - the abysmal black churns into a neon toxic green, bubbling menacingly within. It’s his best poison yet. Vil knows this. The only question is whether it’ll be enough.

Twenty-four minutes remain. Vil sticks a label with his name, age and house onto the little flask. It makes a satisfying thud when he places it onto Crewel’s desk. The only thing he can do until time’s up is sit in silence until you’re finished.

Vil watches you, slightly flabbergasted as you pull out a cocktail shaker to quickly mix your ingredients. Are you secretly a goddamn bartender? Somehow, you strain the suspicious, colour changing liquid directly into the narrow flask without letting any of the potion drip out. Your deft hands grab a test tube without even looking and precisely decant half of it into the flask, gently swirling it all the while.

Whatever was in the Petri dish is unceremoniously scooped out and shoved into the flask. Vil watches along in bemusement as you cork the flask and stand back proudly with your hands on your hips, before efficiently clearing up your station.

Fifteen minutes remain. Your station and home equipment is back to looking squeaky-clean. Another thud is heard as you place your own flask beside Vil’s. It’s strangely.. intimate, Vil observes, seeing the two creations touch side by side.

“A quick explanation of how the poison works so we can test the efficacy,” Crewel shows a rare smile on his face as he looks at the pair of you.

“My poison sends the victim into an eternal sleep in the span of approximately three seconds depending on body weight,” Vil explains briefly. “The actual stages of death are designed to feel completely isolating.”

“Wonderful,” Crewel picks up the potion with the same proud smile. “You’ve beat your five second average. What about you, pup?”

“My poison is a virus that acts by removing the victim’s magical resistance completely, before causing total cell annihilation within two seconds,” you explain slowly, clearly suppressing your excitement with the way you’re wringing your hands into the hem of your lab coat. Vil almost shudders at your enthusiasm at creating a piece of biological warfare; he’s glad it’s limited to this assessment.

“Virus? I can’t say I’ve ever heard of a poison utilising that particular medium for this assessment. People always tend to go with fungi as the pathogen,” Crewel comments with interest. “How have you engineered that?”

“Electrical fusion between rapidly multiplying viruses and my cells,” you gesture to the little Petri dish in the biological waste bin. “I chose the fastest magical one and boom- you’ve got a nasty little concoction that can be spread through both the air and liquids.”

“Marvellous,” Crewel holds your shimmering potion to the light, noting the colour changes. “I’ll also be sure to take your resistivity study papers with me to the Institute.”

“Thanks, sir,” you beam proudly. Vil can’t even bring himself to dislike you at that moment. You’ve worked hard, he’s seen it all too clearly.

“Scurry along, pups. You’ve both done a wonderful job,” Crewel shoos both of you along with an extremely proud expression. “I’ll send your equipment back to Ramshackle.”

“Thanks,” you call, turning your head as you exit the classroom. Your expression is giddy; Vil can see the urge to holler and skip within you. Your goggles are pushed back on top of your head, and the sun is gently kissing your features. For once, you don’t ignore him, chatting his ear off as if the two of you were friends.

It’s finally over.

He’s done what he can. He’s pushed himself to the limit to beat you. Now all that remains is Neige.

“Then I was absolutely sweating balls when I saw my little viruses not behaving properly,” you yammer, gesturing wildly. “Luckily I had my electrodes, or they might’ve crawled everywhere, y’know?”

Vil does not know. In fact, he doesn’t think he even wants to know. Ignorance truly is bliss.

He’s enjoying this sense of normalcy. In most cases, he rarely ever gets the chance to experience this. It’s part of the isolating experience of striving to be the most beautiful. His actor and model colleagues look at him with envy, and his fans with fervent adoration. But you, you’re undaunted by his beauty and treat him like he’s not some distant being.

“Don’t get me wrong, you’re still a prick,” you ramble on. Vil is once again glad you don’t like him because of his attitude, rather than his beauty. “But this competition was really fun.. I’m glad you challenged me.”

Vil blinks owlishly in surprise.

“Any thoughts on what you’d want as a prize?” Vil finally adds to the conversation. Of course he’ll pull through, but in the small possibility that you might be the winner (that innovative virus might sway the panellists, after all), he’s curious as to what you’ll select.

“Worried I’ll beat you?” you grin at him. It’s not the friendly grin you give to your friends - really, this one looks more like that troublesome Floyd Leech’s - but he’ll take it nonetheless. After all, the two of you aren’t friends. You interject before he can even think of a response. Of course he’s not worried. “I still haven’t decided. Money’s not really something I care about when my potions are so lucrative.”

Well, that’s decidedly not a relief. Vil can only imagine the horrors you might ask of him. Curse this. He should’ve done this Azul-style, with a clear contract to make it binding.

“I’m not gonna ask for your heart on a platter or anything, geez,” you mimic his widened eyes. “Don’t get your panties in a twist.”

“I’m not,” the lie slips off his lips like butter. “I’ve no doubt that I can fulfil whatever you desire should you win.”

Curse his poor word choices. He doesn’t miss the way your eyes widen even further in surprise. Curse whatever implication he’s just made accidentally, especially after last night.

“Oh?” your lips tug upwards, barely missing a beat. Vil’s heart races, but he just stares you down impassively. “I’m sure you can.”

Your drawl makes him want to explode into little pieces and wriggle away. He loathes this feeling, loathes the way you make him want your attention, he loathes everything about that malicious smile you sport.

Curse you.

#vil schoenheit #vil x reader #twst #twisted wonderland x reader #twisted wonderland #vil schoenheit x reader #gender neutral reader #twst x reader #res ･ﾟ writing #slowd1ving #x reader #x gender neutral reader

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mothiir · 1 month ago

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master list of fics/intro

Finally, a pinned post! I’m moth/mothiir, been in fandom far too long and I write about 40k smut. Requests always open but cannot guarantee I’ll write them - I just tend to pick stuff I vibe with. Be warned that this blog does contain dark content so please pay attention to the content warnings

the fics:

✨Emperor/Reader✨ (+ Custodes)

little rabbit - e.g the droit seigneur fic

little rabbit, part II

Emperor/reader/Custodes

little rabbit, part iii

little rabbit, part iiii

Custodes prepares a woman for Emperor

👑Lion El'Jonson/Reader👑

the lion and the pussycat

he learns how to lick

he finally has sex

Lion and somnophilia

Lion's woman is duing! (has a cold)

🤖Perturabo/Reader🤖

Multi part serf: words rarely spoken, a great kindness done, hard at work

Stuck in wall: breach in the defences

🦇Konrad Curze/fem!Reader🦇

Fulgrim’s Guide to the Care and Keeping of Your New Pet Human

Captain Sevatar’s 100% Legitimate Advice on Handling a Human Female

hunting lessons (+Sanguinius)

🐺Leman Russ/fem!Reader🐺

the hand that feeds

endure (+ past Magnus/reader)

❤️Guilliman/Reader❤️

giving guilliman a titjob

🐓sanguinius/Reader🐓

Sanguinius is jealous

🤓lorgar/Reader🤓

made to be a devotee

😷mortarion/Reader😷

the watcher from the wastes

Cato Sicarius/Reader/Guilliman🐥

put Cato in the cuck chair

aftermath of the cuck chair

all is fair in love and war, part i

all is fair in love and war, part ii

all’s fair in love and war, part iii

Sevatar/Reader🪿

Sevatar finds a woman (not a really fic but a long list of headcanons)

Headcanons:

✨The Emperor headcanons✨

which primarchs are into their partner crying

a list of how well the 40k boys respect consent, ranked worst to best

primarchs who can sharing their woman

primarchs into fucking their partners until they pass out from exhaustion

Horus teaches Leman about Consent

primarchs don't want theur cum to be wasted

a homewrecker for their sons

Primarchs and kinks

Primarchs and more kinks

Primarchs and petnames

Romancing Leman

Romancing Horus

Romancing Lion

Vulkan is the best one

where the clit is

Mournival boys sharing a girl

Orginial Characters:

list of astartes ocs (not full) (+ tag Moth ocs)

Night Lords fics: (more content with tags: night lords/reader and dumb nightlord babies)

team bonding

serf swaps

Black Templers fics: (more content with tags: black templars/reader and the holy thinity)

penance

story time with isaiah

and

thou shalt not suffer the heretic (no reader)

list of fun Isaiah Bodenstein von Karlstadt facts

duty performed (+ oc Elias by the-raven-lady)

Aeldari and his diplomat fics:

eyes full of stars

xenobiology

summer hunger

and

facts about Taleath

Aeldari culture headcanons

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obbystars · 4 months ago

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⋆˙⟡ PINNED . . .

ALL DIVIDERS USED ARE BY @cafekitsune

Attempting to connect to MOON CHILD OBERON . . .

Success. Retrieving Information . . .

⟢ NAME: OBERON SOL

⟢ ALTERNATIVE DESIGNATIONS: OBBY / ORBY / ORB

⟢ PREFERABLE PRONOUNS: He / They

⟢ CONFIRMED AGE: 20 EARTH YEARS

INTERFERENCE FOUND . . .

CONNECTION DISRUPTED . . .

“Oh? Interested in my works, are we? Very well. Go and have a look.”

“Please note, I am currently only accepting requests for Sebastian Solace.”

ROBLOX: PRESSURE

🌑 // THE MOON PROVIDES (NON-REQUESTS)

Z-13 [ SEBASTIAN SOLACE ]

⟢ DROWN IN THE DEEP

⟢ IT’S YOU!

⟢ WHEN LIGHT FADES

⟢ ENCOUNTER NIHILISM

⟢ WHEN MOTHER WAS HERE

⟢ SAFE HAVEN

🌑 // A GIFT BESTOWED UPON YOU (REQUESTS)

⟢ A special find brings peace

⟢ Aquarium date

⟢ General Headcanons

HONKAI STAR RAIL

🌑 // THE MOON PROVIDES (NON-REQUESTS)

BOOTHILL

⟢ PROMISE

⟢ SOMETHING STUPID

⟢ GENERAL HCS

🌑 // WRITTEN IN THE STARS (SERIES)

⟢ BLOOD N’ BONES (CANON X OC)

“All works have their notes, including what to expect and warnings. Do read them as it may save you some trouble.”

“If you’re interested in lore related details concerning me, I will provide those to you. I have no reason to be so secretive about who I am. My time at the Hadal Blacksite is…quite interesting.”

⟢ Z-222 Document

⟢ Arrival and containment breach

⟢ A Walk with Angels

“These are just written works that go well into detail. If you’re interested, considering checking the “listen to his story” tag. As of right now, there isn’t too much.”

“Hm, if those did strike an interest and you have an idea in mind… Please. Hold onto that thought, or perhaps there is someone else who may be able to get to your idea as I am unfortunately unable to do so at the moment. However, I believe I’ll have to set some rules.”

“Your request will be ignored and possibly deleted if…”

⟢ It contains topics such as rape, incest, pedophilia, and abuse. While I do love making things a bit dark, I do not touch those topics and WILL NEVER make something with those topics. Please note, yandere content will also count as abuse content.

⟢ I noticed you have made a VERY similar request to another user. Personally, I find this to be rude and disrespectful. It just doesn’t sit right with me.

⟢ I am NOT accepting any NSFW requests as I am not confident in writing that sort of content. It’s not that I am uncomfortable with it, I just cannot write it.

“Please note, I work better when the reader is gender neutral. It allows me to leave many aspects of the readers in my works up to you so you could properly insert yourself or an OC into it. If this is overlooked, your request won’t be deleted and will still be considered. I cannot do every request I receive, but I’ll do my best.”

“Now that that’s out of the way, how about some quick blog rules in general?”

⟢ DO NOT INTERACT IF: BASIC CRITERIA (racist, any sort of LGBT+phobe, proship), USE AI ART/CHARACTER AI

⟢ DO NOT try and purposely cause arguments. And do not try to bring up drama currently in any fandom whether I’m in it or not.

“I believe it is mandatory that I mention should the drama of Zerum be brought up, I will ignore you. I’ve already said what I wanted to say concerning the situation, and it is exhausting having to talk about it. If you persist, do know there will be no response from me and you are simply wasting your time.”

“You will be blocked should you show you fit into one of those categories.”

“Now, I must take my leave as the operators are probably scrambling in trying to reconnect their systems. As fun as it is to watch them struggle, I have much to do. I will see you on the other side.”

#oberon’s roblox sona lore?!#bit of space + angel vibes i tried putting there..#pinned post #masterlist #fanfic masterlist #sebastian solace x reader #boothill x reader #pressure oc #roblox pressure oc #roblox oc

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changbunnies · 11 months ago

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After The Rain With You (18+)

♡ Pairing: Farm Boy!Changbin x Princess!Reader

♡ Genre: royal au, historical au, fluff, initially intended to be light angst but i got carried away with emotion like i did with the minho fic lol, forbidden love (i cannot help myself with this trope it seems), ending is sad / bittersweet (i'm sorry !!) but also leaves hope that they'll live happily ever after ;v;

♡ Word Count: 13.9k (this was intended to be under 10k but here we are lmao oops)

♡ Summary: Y/N, a princess bored and lonely, craved nothing more than to experience the world outside of the familiar 4 walls of her bedroom in the castle. Conjuring her bravery, she snuck out of the castle walls, eventually meeting a man that would change her life forever. Changbin, a local farmer who didn't realize she's the princess, formed a close relationship with her that ineveitably turned into a budding romance. But now, met with her last moments of freedom, she prepares herself to have one final sweet moment with him before they are torn apart.

♡ Warnings: references to a parent being deceased, discussions of feeling trapped and alone, strict toxic parenting

♡ Smut Warnings (contains spoilers): reader is not a virgin during the smut scene in this but changbin is the only person they've ever had sex with, bin vaguely has a southern accent / speech style because thats how i pictures farmers talking lol, petnames (sweetheart, darlin', gendered language such as good girl), lots of kissing, biting / marking, loose dom/sub dynamics, nipple play, oral (f rec), unprotected piv, multiple orgasms, creampie, pretty self indulgent ngl lol

♡ Notes: i got the title from a short pokemon novel, iykyk. this was intended to be finished before the new year, but instead it's my first fic of 2024 and i hope you enjoy!

♡ Disclaimer: please read responsibly, and remember that this work is fiction and meant strictly for imaginative fun. the idols used in fics are more accurately faceclaims and personality outlines for imaginary characters, and should not be interpreted as factual representations of existing people.

Freedom; something simple in definition, but not in practice, those in high positions of power always holding it out of the reach of those below them who yearn for it. It's intangible in concept, something you will never be able to see with your own eyes or grab with your own hands, but it was something you always yearned for, more than anything– and in the short time you had it, it was pure bliss.

You never considered yourself a rebellious girl, always dutifully listening to your elders, commiting manners and elegance to memory, never questioning the role you'd one day be made to accept. But in the past year, you'd found yourself having a bit of a rebellious streak– in secrecy, of course, because you knew very well that there'd be consequences to pay should your mother find out.

It's not that you ever hated being the princess, or that you dreaded the responsibility you held to your kingdom– you just wish you'd been given more freedoms. Freedom to speak your mind, freedom to feel the grass beneath your feet and the sun's rays on your skin whenever you wished, freedom to explore, to make mistakes, to learn and grow and love the way everyone else in the world but you seemed allowed to do.

For years, there'd been a blindspot in the castle's defenses, a small patch of broken wall that guards were never ordered to defend or monitor closely, as the country had not seen war or received threat from neighboring countries in your entire lifetime.

"We'll repair it someday," your father always said before his passing, though it never came to fruition. It was not because he passed that the wall never received construction, but simply because your parents always preferred to delegate funds to something more pressing than a relatively small breach in the outer walls of the castle.

Sure, the hole was unsightly when noticed, but it was outside line of sight for the townsfolk, and much too small to accommodate an army through– one person at a time, maybe two if you squeezed, could fit through at most. Apart from that, the fact that your father never used taxes to pay towards selfish things such as unnecessary castle repair gained your family high favor, with most commoners considering your father to be the kindest king the country had in centuries.

During the time your father was still alive, you often walked the streets as a family, talking to the commoners regularly and enjoying your time out on the town together, and you remember how it always felt like you were as normal a family as any other, too young to realize there was any difference between you and them.

You can still remember how your mother smiled then, when she held your hand while your father held the other, the townsfolk always doting on you, and how cheerfully your every day had been spent. Your mother was quite different now; she never smiled anymore, and when she did it felt so.. forced, sad.

Like your father took a piece of her joy with him when he went, and she was unable to reclaim it. And it was at that time, when she took on all of the king's responsibilities by herself, that she'd begun to treat you differently. Stricter on your studies, never allowing you to step foot outside the castle, shutting down any talk of letting you out on the town or interacting with anyone outside the castle's walls.

And now the whole kingdom, who considered you to be the country's most beloved princess, could scarcely remember what you looked like; and even those who could remember would likely no longer recognize you. You were a child when you were last allowed outside, and now you were a grown woman, still confined by her mother's strict rules.

Despite the reclusive life you were forced into, many of the commoners still thought of you fondly– at least according to word of mouth from the castle's maids and knights.

You were the daughter to a king and queen that were practically revered as saints, and many imagined that the reason you were always holed up within the castle was because you were studying dutifully, imagining that when you came to power someday, you'd be just as benevolent, kind, and intelligent of a ruler as your father was.

You certainly intended to live up to those expectations, because as stated, you don't hate being the princess by any means. You recognize that you have privilege, responsibility, and that people put their pride and faith in you even now, before you've ever even come close to touching the throne. But all that being said, it didn't stop your heart from wanting just a little bit more out of your life.

Simply put, you found it incredibly dull sitting inside the castle all day, the same lessons being reiterated day in and day out, as if you didn't already have them memorized by the age of 10. Eventually, your mother realized you had no further need for a tutor, and requested that the woman in charge of your education stop coming, but that didn't mean your afternoons suddenly became enjoyable; quite the opposite in fact.

The joy you initially held over no longer having to spend your afternoon listening to the same drivel you'd heard countless times from a pedantic old woman evaporated with the realization that even without a tutor to occupy for time, you'd still be stuck in the castle all day long. Your mother never permitted you to leave, even if you promised you'd stay close to the knights that would accompany you, pleaded with her to let you do something other than sitting inside all day.

But still, her stance on the matter never changed. You'd begun to resent her sentiments, to hate that you were stuck with nowhere to go and nothing to do. The country wasn't under any threat, your fathers death was an unfortunate accident, and as far as you knew you were well loved, so what did she need to be so protective for? Especially now, when you weren't even a child anymore; you just couldn't understand.

You’d spend your days staring out your window listlessly, wondering what the grass on the horizon would feel like beneath bare feet. It’s a shame that you don’t know; you were always scolded for taking your shoes off if you weren’t within your own room, and besides that, the ground is littered with dirt and cobblestone all the way up to the gates of the town, which you had never gone past.

Shouldn’t your youth be full of experiencing things like this? Why couldn’t you explore now and then settle down in the castle later in life? It didn’t feel fair that you were so clueless about the basic truths of the world, and instead had your brain filled to the brim with knowledge of etiquette and politics.

It was with those thoughts in mind that you planned to find the answers to all your questions and sate your endless curiosities by sneaking through the hole in the castle walls that had gone unattended to.

After the first time you successfully snuck out to experience all you’d been missing (which took months of diligent watch and preparation to ensure you wouldn’t be spotted from a distance by patrolling knights), you’d slowly made your way further and further away from the castle, testing the limits of how far you could make it each day, gauging how long it would take for someone to notice your absence.

To your delight, because you spent most of your days alone in your room, no one seemed to notice you’d ever been gone as long as you made it back before dinner was to be served. And so, you'd stay out until sunset, exploring the town you'd grown to only ever see from your window, making sure to wear the least expensive looking gown in your wardrobe, doing your best to blend in with the commoners.

Thankfully, the task was easier than you'd expected given that none of the townsfolk had seen you up close since you were a small girl. You were perhaps strange in behavior as compared to them, given how much you questioned what was around you, but certainly not one person suspected you were the princess– just a sheltered, perhaps eccentric, young woman.

As you became more comfortable, and got closer to the town gates with each passing day, your excitement would grow exponentially; the world beyond the gates was so foreign to you, even more so than the town itself had been. From your bedroom window, the fields that lied beyond the town gates appeared so miniscule, and you only knew what lied beyond because you’d been told about it, not because you’d seen it for yourself.

It was this determination to discover what lied beyond your limited world view that lead you to meet the man who'd come to hold your heart for the first time. You remember how your heart raced when you first approached the town gates, how your eyes darted to every corner to try to take in every minute detail.

The cobblestone became sparse, leaving nothing but dirt road to walk on, the wheels of countless carriages and horses hooves indented in the path, leading both to and away from town. You’d been told numerous times that beyond this point lies the farms that fueled the town with their food, and resources such as leather and wool to create clothing, blankets, and the upholstery on your furniture.

And for the first time in your entire life, you were about to see it all up close with your own eyes, instead of vaguely from your bedroom window.

You knew their work was vital to the prosperous existence of your country, and you’d always found yourself wanting to know what it was like, to learn about how the world works not from a dull lecture or written text, but to experience it yourself, to truly understand the lives of the people you would one day govern beyond what you’d been told.

To say you had a curious mind was perhaps an understatement; you were always full of curiosity about the world around you, but simply being told about the world wasn’t enough for you to be satisfied.

To experience with your own eyes, to feel with your own hands– that was what being alive was truly about, wasn’t it? You didn’t feel your life was meant to be spent wasting away in your room until the day you became useful.

If you spent your youth seeing the world, learning about it from your own lived experiences, wouldn’t that make you a better queen some day? To know the plight of the common man because you lived it for yourself?

That’s what you wanted– the freedom to explore, to learn, to grow, and when the time was right, you’d accept your duty gracefully, and play the role you were meant to. But until then, there was nothing more you wanted than to feel the earth beneath your feet, to understand what a blessing it truly is to feel the warmth of the sun beaming down on your skin, to learn what it is that makes life beautiful to live.

With a deep inhale to steady your racing heart, you took your first step outside the town gates, trying your best to not appear too nervous and draw undue attention to yourself. You conjured all the confidence you could muster into your steps, your short heels sinking into the pure dirt before you.

It was a clear spring day, the sun welcoming you warmly, as if confirming that this was a decision you were meant to make, that following your heart and exploring the lush earth is what your true purpose was.

You recall how different everything felt once you were fully outside the town– it was almost unbelievable how green, pretty and vibrant the outside looked when compared to the dull, monotonous grays and dirty browns you'd met with inside the town walls. And even the castle interior, while still pretty and not devoid of color like the town often seemed to be, still didn't compare to the nature that lied before you.

You saw children running through the grass without shoes, freely giggling as they play what you assume to be some sort of game, one you'd never had the chance to play. They were utterly carefree, and so full of life; how you wished you could be the same– just kick off your shoes and prance through the fields and the trees without a care in the world, with nothing to weigh you down. What a joy it must be, to live innocent and free, knowing nothing but laughter and love.

You took time to admire naturally growing flowers, to lean down to carefully caress the petals, to feel the grass on your fingertips since you’re much too scared to actually take your shoes off despite how bad you’d have liked to. Following the road, past the sprawling fields where the children play, you eventually came to the occupied farm lands, and it was there, just before the fields turned into seemingly endless forest, that you met him for the first time.

His was the last farm for you to observe, and it held a surprise that made you positively gasp in delight; animals! You'd always thought the farm animals you’d seen in your books looked so cute, and you always wanted to feel their fur or feathers, wondering if they were truly as soft or as coarse as they were described to you.

Was a sheep’s wool still soft before it was knit into a blanket, or woven into clothing? How did a chicken's feathers feel before they were stuffed into a pillow? It was something you were endlessly curious about.

However, you certainly knew better than to just waltz up to an animal that doesn't know you, and especially not one that is on someone else's land. So you settled for quietly observing them from outside the farm's sprawling gate, a huge smile on your face as you watched the animals graze.

Even at your distance, it was still the closest you'd ever been to an animal other than a horse, and you simply couldn't get over how cute and soft they looked. Sheep, cows, chickens, ducks– all impossibly cute, and how you wished you could go and hug them.

You propped your arms up on the wooden fence, resting your head against them as you simply watched. It was almost funny how something so simple and normal to someone else's everyday life could instill such joy and wonder with you. And that's when you saw him; a single man walking out from his quaint cottage towards the back of the land, attending to the animals and filling up what you assumed to be their feed troughs.

His home, you noticed, was put together the same way most of the town was– with stone and clay, a simple but well constructed wooden door, and a decent sized chimney on the left that you were well aware was necessary to funnel out smoke from fireplaces in homes such as his. And it fascinated you how his home could look so different from yours when it was comprised of the same materials.

When put down simply to its parts, there was nothing that separated the castle from a commoner’s home other than the sheer size of it. Your mother would often tell you not to compare yourself, or the splendor of the castle to that of commoners or their homes, but you never saw any harm in doing so.

You’re all human, and the only difference between you and them is that you were born into a royal family and they weren’t. You think she focuses too much on title, when to you title is worth nothing beyond a name. Still, while you recognize that while you aren’t different from anyone else in a biological sense, you are when it comes to status, and you wanted to use your privileged position for good when the time came.

That is another reason you wanted to see the country for yourself, to put yourself in the shoes of the people and understand them. How can you be a good queen someday if you understand nothing of how the world truly works, or if every decision is fed to you from someone else?

Really though you have to admit, apart from all the good reasons you had to sneak out, you equally had selfish ones. But was it so wrong to indulge your curiosity? You’ve tried many times to push aside your thoughts and to understand why you must stay solitary in the castle all day, but try as you might, this is all you want.

To see, to experience, to feel; why was it only wrong for you to want that, and not for anyone else? Even if you’re the princess, you should still be allowed basic human freedoms– that’s what you believe, anyways.

You lost yourself in thought for a time, simply staring out at the scene of the man caring for his animals in front of you. You wondered if he was happy doing this everyday; was it monotonous, or did he take pride in it? Did he love his animals, or were they strictly the avenue he'd taken to provide for himself?

You also wondered what you would be doing if you weren't the princess; would you be a farmer's daughter, spending all your days in the fields with the animals like he does? It was oddly fun to ponder on, to picture yourself leading a different life than one you'd led up to that point.

Maybe it was a form of escapism, and maybe you had more grievances with your upbringing than you'd let yourself believe at the time. Either way, a smile once again made its way to your lips as you pictured yourself feeling the fluffy wool of a sheep beneath your fingertips, as warm, soft, and comforting as a blanket in your imagination.

The man took notice of you after only a few moments, because realistically, how can he not notice a girl blatantly propped against his fence, staring at his land? He was sure he didn't know you, didn't recognize you from any of the farming families that have homes adjacent to his, and he didn't go into town nearly enough to have made friends outside his small bubble.

So who were you, and why were you staring at him like that? "Do you need somethin', miss?" The burly man called out to you as he started to approach, wiping the sweat from his forehead with the back of his arm.

"O-Oh, uh, no, I apologize," you stuttered out, feeling instantly intimidated as he came closer; not because he was an intimidating person per se, because while his eyes are sharp, they also have a unique softness to them.

It was his size that made you shrink back and feel small; you didn’t realize just how large the man was until he was practically face to face with you. Even the knights you’re met with daily, who undergo strict, intensive physical training, pale in comparison to the muscular physique of the man you in time came to know well.

You remember how he looked at you curiously, head tilting to the side as he watched you straighten your posture and take a step back from his fence. “I was just.. curious, about the animals. They’re very cute,” you explained and the man chuckled a bit, wiping his dirty hands on his worn trousers before stepping up to his fence.

“I take it you’re from the town then? Can’t imagine you bein’ that curious about my animals otherwise,” he replied pleasantly, a warm, sort of prideful smile on his face. It confirmed his suspicions as well– you were definitely not someone he’s met before.

"Yes, I've only ever seen them in books," you explained further, a bit timid now as you suddenly felt a wave of embarrassment wash over you. You were sure a commoner of your age would never be as fascinated by the animals as you were; they see them every day, it's a normal part of life for them.

And you recall scolding yourself, really feeling that you needed to do a better job of hiding your lack of worldly experience when meeting new people so you'd stop having interactions like this. “I apologize again, I must appear very strange..”

“No need for that, sweetheart. I think it’s nice– I’m so used to bein’ around ‘em, that I don’t really stop and take it all in anymore. Reminds me of what I got, so thank you for that,” he replied kindly, his smile spreading an unfamiliar warmth through you in that moment.

He was very, very kind, and you appreciated that he didn't judge you or find you to be a fool for your innocent curiosity. "I could show you around, if you'd like. Let you meet them," he offered, and you positively beamed, though you really should have shown some restraint in the matter.

"Could I really?" you couldn't help but ask eagerly, eyes sparkling with pure wonder and excitement at the prospect of seeing so many things you'd never encountered before up close. “Course, just come ‘round to the front”

With no hesitation, you eagerly turned and began to sprint (in quite unladylike fashion, you might add) to where you saw the gate to his property some time earlier. You could hear the man's laugh carry even as you ran (not advised in the shoes you were wearing, but you carried on nonetheless), stopping just in front of the small, modest gate.

You waited for the kind man to catch up to you, not wanting to do anything rude or presumptuous by stepping onto his land without being specifically directed inside. "You took off so fast, you didn't give me a chance to introduce myself," he laughed as he approached you again, and your face immediately flushed, embarrassed by your excitability over everything.

"Name's Changbin," he introduced himself warmly after he opened the gate for you. You smiled timidly, giving him your name as well and a polite bow after you crossed the border onto his property. “Pleasure to meet you, Changbin.”

"Likewise," he smiled as he closed the gate behind you, and it was then that your first true friendship began. In hindsight, it occurred to you that you should've given him a fake name; and while he did ponder on why your name seemed familiar to him, he didn't ever appear to put together that you were the princess.

What was clear to him was that you were from a wealthy family; after all, that was the only explanation he could reach to decipher some of your "odd" behaviors.

Your boundless curiosity, your utter excitement for the mundane, an unmatched passion for all the small things in life that he'd never seen before in anyone else. A light in your eyes as bright as the sun, filling him with warmth and adoration, your wonder and inquisitive nature both pure and infectious.

He asked you once, what it is your family does, if being from the "high society" part of town near the castle is what made you live a sheltered life, why you seemed so (respectfully) clueless about things beyond the scope of inner-town workings and politics.

You were surprised when he asked, and confirmed what he suspected, though you left out some of the very important details. After all, how could you tell him that the girl he's become friends with over the past few months, didn't just live near the castle– her home is the castle.

But you divulged what little you could, confided in him that your mother has high expectations of you, that she doesn't know you spend your days with him at his farm, that if she did know she certainly wouldn't approve, and he seemed to understand.

While he may not be a high born man, he's no stranger to how haughty they can be, what with their superiority complexes and luxury goods, as if it's not working men like him that provide them with what they consume in the first place.

You weren't like that in the slightest– you were good, pure natured, with an infectious zest for life that he couldn't help but find his own joy in. Seeing you interact with the world, the happiness you gained from the simplicities in life, the wonder and curiosity you held for all things, both small and grand– it was a trait of yours he'd come to adore.

You learned from him just as much as he learned from you, and you truly reminded him how beautiful life is, how there is magic even in the mundane, what a gift it is to have, to be, and to feel. Changbin introduced you to so much, shared so many parts of his life, and you were truly the happiest you'd ever been, always looking forward to the next day you could go out and see him again.

"Have you ever ridden a horse?" he asked one summer afternoon when you were in stables together, you sat on a hay bale while you watched him care for Dolly, a beautiful, black and white dappled horse that belonged to his mother, whom she named such due to 'her mane being as beautiful as a porcelain dolls.'

"Does being escorted in a carriage count?" you asked, and he laughed, shaking his head in amused disbelief. "No, darlin', a carriage don't count," he said, smiling as you pouted ever so slightly.

You were still a child the last time you were even in a carriage, given the fact that your mother never permits you to leave. You wondered what's more enjoyable; your memory of your last carriage ride is so faded, you wondered if you could even compare the experiences, were you to ever ride a horse.

As if sensing your thoughts, Changbin made an offer that once again made you beam, radiating joy and excitement. "I could teach you how. Or let you ride with me," he offered and you were eagerly nodding without a second thought, jumping straight to your feet.

"I'd love that!" Changbin returned your smile, promising that once he got Dolly situated in a saddle, he'd take you for a ride while telling you everything he knows and answering any question you may have about it, no matter how small or seemingly silly and "common sense."

He helped you up onto her back, making sure you sat comfortably on the back of the saddle, both your legs dangling over one side of her body due to the fact that you were wearing a dress. Changbin got up onto the saddle with ease, carefully not to accidentally hit you with his leg while making his ascent. After he was settled in front of you, he instructed you to wrap your arms around his torso, as it takes time to become adjusted to the movement of the horse and naturally find your balance.

You wondered if he could feel your heart race when your chest was pressed against his back, how your palms grew sweaty from holding onto him, how your face flushed every time he called Dolly a "good girl." You wondered what it'd be like if he said the same to you, if he praised you after he encouraged you or taught you something new.

The more comfortable you got, the more he allowed Dolly to pick up speed, until she was going around the enclosed pen in a brisk trot, your arms squeezing Changbin as you giggle joyfully, feeling the wind brush by your ears and pull back your hair. It was so fun, so new, another experience Changbin granted you that you wouldn't otherwise have ever had the chance to have.

When you were finished, as the sun was beginning to set and it was time for you to get home, lest your mother send a maid to summon you for dinner and find you absent, he jumped off Dolly first. He then held out his hand to you, offering for you to take it, promising he'd make sure you got down safely.

And he did, letting you squeeze his hand as you made the unfamiliar leap off, his opposite hand coming to your back to ensure you were stable on your feet after you landed. His hand lingered on your back even after it was apparent you were steady, and yours did as well, still holding onto his other hand even though you no longer had need to.

It felt as though there was a shift between you– both staring carefully at one another, a suggestion that you could be something more than this, that there was a connection beyond that of just friendship. Slowly, with the same smile for you he always had, he pulled his hand away from your back, but didn't make you part from his other hand, letting you hold it even as he walked you to his gate.

And you felt a stutter in your heart, unlike any you'd ever felt before then, returning his smiles happily, your cheeks dusted pink as you thanked him for the afternoon and bid him goodbye. Every once in a while you'd turn back just to see him still watching you, offering a soft smile and wave each time your gazes met again.

Then, there was the time you were inside his chicken coops with him, Changbin having taught you much about how to properly care for the animals in your time near him. And after weeks of observation, you wanted to help, to really try your hand at it! You did well, for the most part– your error came when trying to get a hen away from a freshly laid egg.

You tried your best to follow Changbin's instructions carefully, but still, your inexperience was greatly apparent, and you ended up upsetting the poor thing. When she flew up in protest, it startled you so much that you fell backwards. But Changbin caught you, one of his strong arms wrapped around your back and holding you upright as if you weighed nothing at all.

You blinked up at him in surprise, face growing red as he asked if you were alright, your heart unexpectedly pounding. You muttered out an apology, voice much meeker than you wanted it to be, but he simply smiled. He helped you steady yourself again to stand on your own, ensuring you that it wasn't your fault, and that he could tell you were genuinely trying your best.

"No one gets it right on their first try, don't be discouraged. You did good, sweetheart," he said, and the words somehow made your heart race faster, face growing even pinker. You were certain then– you liked him as much, much more than a friend.

You wanted him to always praise you, to console you, to call you sweetheart in a way beyond platonic. You wanted him to look at you romantically, to call you by such sweet names in a moment of love and passion.

When you returned home that day, lying in bed after finishing dinner and washing up, your thoughts were plagued by him– much more than they usually were, and in completely different contexts. How would his strong arms feel under your fingers while he held you up, supporting all of your weight as he took you in every way conceivable, across every surface of his home.

You'd had.. less than pure thoughts before of course, so it's not like this was new to you– what was new was having an explicit object of desire, someone you wanted to lie with, someone you imagined touching you everywhere. And you wanted to touch him too, to pleasure him in all the ways he'd surely pleasure you.

There were many times you watched him work, sweat collecting on his forehead, dripping down his brow, his breath growing heavier with labor, his broad chest rising and falling quickly with exertion– would he look the same atop you, under you?

You could imagine him, his body heavy between your legs, pressing you down against his mattress. And you could imagine him staring up at you, those same grunts of effort he makes while working pouring out for new reasons, for your hands all over him.

God, you were driving yourself crazy thinking about it. Changbin noticed, on another summer day where the sun was high and hot and leaving him sweatier than usual, that your face too was hot and red. What he didn't realize was that it was for reasons beyond that of the sun beaming down on you.

"C'mon sweetheart, let's go inside. It's hot out here, ain't it?" he'd said, deciding it was time, for both your sakes, to take a well deserved break. You agreed, thankful beyond words he thought it was simply the sun making you a heated mess, and not how absolutely divine he looked chopping wood in preperation for when the weather would change in a month.

You sat on his sofa together, sipping on lemonade he made himself by hand, thankful to be out of the unforgiving sun (and to have something to focus on besides how attracted you were to him.) "You seem to be thinkin' a lot. What's on your mind, darlin'?" Changbin asked after it was quiet for a time, your cup of lemonade held in your lap as you stared off at unfixed location.

"I've.. come to like you quite a lot more than I expected. As more than a friend, I think," you answered honestly, though you didn't expect him to do anything with your feelings.

While he was your first real connection with someone, you were sure he's lived a full, experienced life. You felt that there was no reason for him to like you as you like him, but still you told him. You already hid enough about your life from him, and you didn't want your thoughts and feelings to be another one of those things you keep from him.

"I'm fond of you too. More than a friend, and more than you probably know," he replied with a soft smile, setting his empty cup to the side. You blinked, cheeks turning pink as you practically gaped at him. "Do you mean that? Sincerely?" you asked, heart thumping loudly as you too carefully set your cup aside.

"I wouldn't lie to you darlin'. 'Specially not about matters of the heart," he responded earnestly, carefully moving closer to you. You met him halfway, slowly, your eyes timidly meeting his as his hand comes towards you, resting heavy but soft on your cheek.

"Tell me truly," he almost whispers, face coming close enough to yours to feel his breath tickle your skin, "Do you want to kiss me as badly as I want to kiss you?"

"Yes," you breathed out, and not even a full second later, his lips were on yours, plush and soft, butterflies filling your stomach and truly, you couldn't ask for any greater joy than that moment.

You kissed a lot after that– in greeting and in parting, sweetly, slowly, carefully, sometimes even urgently, needily, passionately. You'd help him with as much of his daily work as you could manage, so he could finish faster and you could spend the rest of the afternoon holding one another close.

Hands exploring anywhere and everywhere, both eager, both seeking more and more and more. Both indulging in the feeling of not just pleasure, but of closeness, intimacy beyond just the physical, the love and care you share for one another.

But as quickly as your happiness was obtained, it was taken away; unbeknownst to you, on an afternoon in mid fall, shortly after breakfast, a knight had seen you squeezing through the hole in the castle's wall, eager to spend yet another day with Changbin. He didn't think you were sneaking out at first– he thought maybe he was just mistaken on what he saw.

But when he stepped over, and it became clear that you were now nowhere to be seen, he had to inform your mother, as was his duty. And there are truly no words to describe how devastated you felt when suddenly, as if from nowhere, countless knights were surrounding you, pleading with you to return to the castle, lest they have to drag you back by your mother's command.

It became a spectacle in the street, commoners whispering amongst themselves as they tried to piece together what they were witnessing. Was the sweet, smiley girl they’d seen exiting and returning to town everyday for months really the princess this entire time?

You felt as if your entire world was collapsing as they escorted you back home, your heart squeezing painfully in your chest, knowing your mother would be positively furious when your eyes next met. But no, she wasn’t just furious– she was livid, the angriest you’d ever seen her in all your years.

You pleaded with her to understand, assured her that if you were truly going to run away from home and abandon your responsibility, then you wouldn’t have returned every single time you’d left. You didn’t want to be stuck here all day, every day, bored, alone, depressed, when there was an entire world out there to see, people to talk to, experiences to be had.

You’d do everything expected of you as a princess, and later as queen, but please– just this one thing, allow me this one thing. But no, your pleas fell on deaf ears, your mother completely dismissive of your feelings and unwilling to bend her iron rules.

And so you once again became a prisoner inside your own room, tears streaming down your cheeks as you stared at the edge of town from your window, Changbin so near, yet impossibly far. Your mother didn’t know of him; you didn’t tell her, nor would you ever, as things stand now– but how you wished you could tell her, “I’ve found love, and now I understand how truly a magical thing it is. I don’t want this to be the end of my joy.”

Weeks passed, and while the pain never left you, you learned to manage it well enough, hopeful that you’d be reunited with Changbin someday soon. But then you saw them– carpenters, working diligently to fill the hole in the castle walls that you had repeatedly used for your daily escapes.

The color drained from your face, your heart sinking into the very depths of your stomach. Your plan to simply be an obedient daughter long enough for your mother to lessen her watchful eyes on you, to one day again leave the castle once her constant vigil had relaxed, was being thwarted before it could ever truly begin.

You anticipated to be in this act for the long haul, knowing very well it could take months, or even years, to rebuild your mother’s trust in you, but you’d never imagined she’d take away the very source of your hope mere weeks after confining you away to your room. To call a hole in the castle’s defenses your “hope” may seem foolish to most, but it was all you had– a symbol of escape, of life beyond these four walls that had become your permanent home.

The day it was filled would be the day you’d lose everything; your freedom, your friendships, your joy, your hopes, your dreams, everything. Even as you are now, a canary trapped in her gilded cage, the promise that simple flaw in the walls gave you kept you going– the promise that someday, even if it was years and years from now, you’d be free again, doing what you loved most, being with who you loved most.

You know your mother cares for you, she wants the best for you, and the loss of your father, the king, much too soon has deeply scarred her. She fears for you, she keeps you ever at arm’s length because she can’t bear for you to part from her, to leave her behind the way your father had, but surely this isn't the answer. Surely there was something better than this, something that didn’t necessitate you being a prisoner in your own home.

Fear of loss and devastation ruled her life, made her trap you lest you decide to leave and never return, failing to realize that it was her very actions and treatment of you that gave those fears of hers room to become reality. But to know heartbreak is to know truest love, and even should loss plague your life, you will never regret having discovered love.

You had no desire to abandon your family, your kingdom, or run from your responsibilities, but if that was the only way to be free, if there was no other conceivable way to experience life’s joys and warmth, then.. What else was there for you to do?

Ironic, how your mother had unwittingly created a self-fulfilling prophecy when she forbade you from living a life of your own, her own actions resulting in the very outcome she feared most of all.

You have to do something, anything, now, before it’s too late, and you are left with nothing but the fleeting memories of the man you hold so dear. You bide your time, waiting until nightfall when the carpenters have left for the night to make your move.

Your mother has posted knights to the spot now, instructed to keep a watchful eye should you try again to leave the premises, but you think with the right timing, you can slip out unnoticed. There’s a small window of time where, when the knights standing guard rotate shifts, the hole in the castle’s walls will have no one standing in front of them.

It’s risky, and if you’re too slow you’ll be spotted by the new knights taking over for the ones who departed, but it’s the only chance you have, so you need to take it. As soon as the knights previously keeping watch over the area get far enough away, you dart for the breach in the castle.

The hole is definitely smaller than it was before, but you still manage to squeeze past just fine, with seconds to spare. You hear the sounds of the new knights approaching as you begin to sprint away, luckily having not noticed anything amiss.

The streets are much different at night, the subtle illumination from the candles in the surrounding buildings hardly enough to point you in the right direction. You look to the horizon instead, hoping that the dark line of trees on the horizon will be enough to guide you to the gate leaving town.

Some who notice your desperate run call out, concern evident in their voice, but you can’t stop for them, can’t stop until you’ve made it to Changbin’s side. And though it is not without struggle, you do, eventually, thankfully, find your way out of the town.

You’re panting, chest heaving as your heart pounds and your lungs desperately try to suck in air once you’ve made it completely outside the town gates– but still, you aren’t where you need to be, so you can’t stop yet. Pushing yourself to your very limits, even as your legs scream at you and harsh cold pricks your skin, you can finally make out Changbin’s land in the tree-lined horizon.

Reaching the gate to his property, you push it open in haste, taking hardly any steps past the threshold before you collapse to your knees, the ache and exhaustion refusing to be ignored any further. You bring a hand to your heart, taking a few seconds to calm yourself and breathe before you attempt to rise back to your feet.

But your legs refuse the action, much too weak to support you beyond what they’ve already done. It’s good enough, you suppose; they’ve carried far, with much more urgency than you’d ever thought possible. And now you’re right here, so close to where you need to be– and despite being a princess, you’re not above crawling your way over to Changbin’s door if you must.

Once more, you try– and though weak, and unsteady, you are able to rise once more. You can’t run, can hardly even walk as sore and as exhausted as your legs are, but they carry you as far as they can, recognizing the urgency you feel, aiding you as much as it can in your last, desperate effort.

Your throat is dry, it hurts, but you call out Changbin’s name regardless, hoping he’s awake, hoping he hears you, hoping he’ll wrap his arms around you, kiss you, console you, even if it’s just this one last time.

It’s been over a month since the last time Changbin saw you, and there’s so many questions he can’t help but ask himself, that he wishes he could ask you, so he didn’t spend all his hours distracted with worry and self-doubt. There had been gaps in the time you spent together before, but never for this large of a duration of time– a week usually at most.

Did he do something wrong the last time you were together? Or did your strict mother finally learn of your deceit, and now made you keep away, unable to return to his side though you may have wished to? He just wishes he knew for certain what it is, so that even if he was saddened, he did not have to have his mind consumed by what if’s and uncertainties.

There was a time, even, where he considered going into town and asking of you, but he was worried that doing so would only create more problems for you if the wrong person caught word of his inquiries. So all he could was wait– wait, and hope, that you would return again before year’s end, and that he would have the answers he so desperately craves to his questions.

Most of all, he just hopes you’re well; you’d expressed more than once that you loved your life and your family, you just didn’t want to feel trapped. You wanted to have choices, to feel like your thoughts and opinions matter, to be allowed to live as most other people do when they are not burdened with what their future will be.

Whenever you spoke of home, he always found it unfair, and he felt for you. You loved your mother, dearly, but he could see how you struggled with her rules, how sadness lingered in your eyes and resent bubbled up within you despite how you tried to not feel such things.

And though he understood why you could not, he wished at times that you could simply stay with him– to not have to depart the moment the sun began to sink, to lie in bed with him all night, to have breakfast and dinner together, to live without worry together.

He’d work hard for you, even harder than he does now, and it’d be worth it to see you smile at him as you always do, so bright and full of light, keeping each other company on your loneliest days and nights. Changbin sighs, exhaustion plaguing him as he sits before the small fire he has going in his living room, head falling back against his sofa.

He hasn’t slept well these past few nights– he just can’t help but think of you at all hours, and every time he closes his eyes to sleep, he’s met with the image of you. It keeps him up, though not all his thoughts of you are plagued by unpleasant worry– sometimes it’s simply just the image of you smiling or laughing, and he feels nothing but warmth, even as he is reminded how much he truly misses you.

Should you never return again, for whatever reason that may be, he doesn’t think he would ever regret having known you and given his love to you. Short-lived though your romance may be in the grand scheme of his life, and all the years he may be blessed to live, it was of the utmost importance.

He’d be remiss to let those memories become tarnished or devalued. You reminded him of how much joy there is in life, how grateful he is to have what he does, how much beauty there is in even the smallest of things.

Another sigh leaves his lips as he lifts his head, rubbing carefully at his weary eyes– he should probably try to rest soon, though he feels sleep will likely stay out his reach for some time after his head hits the pillows. He stands from the sofa, preparing himself to extinguish the fire and head to bed, when he hears a strange, unfamiliar sound from outside his door.

A thud, almost– as if something with a not insubstantial amount of weight thumped to the ground. It couldn’t be his logs; he knew the sound of falling logs well enough to recognize the distinct sound made when one toppled– and often times when one fell, more followed.

This was unlike that entirely, only one sound followed by silence, and the sound itself was still too dense to be one of his pieces of chopped wood. The sound felt more.. concentrated; an animal perhaps? And if it was an animal, he couldn’t let it go ignored– especially not if it was one of his own.

As Changbin steps closer to his door to investigate the sound, he hears something else entirely unexpected– a frail voice.. your voice..? Rushing to his door now, he opens it in haste, eyes darting to find the source of what he heard. And there, he sees you, collapsed to the ground before him, looking up at him with a mix of relief, exhaustion, and anguish.

Your name leaves him in a gasp as he leans down to you, concern evident in his voice and expression. His hands reach out to touch you and shit, your body is freezing; you are woefully ill dressed for the late fall chill, and who knows how long you’ve been out in it with nothing but your dress.

Quickly, he picks you up, carrying you inside and using his foot to kick the door shut behind him. “Just sit here a minute,” he says as he sits you down on the sofa, rushing to his room to grab all the blankets and pillows he can carry.

He prepares a sort of makeshift bed on the floor in front of the fireplace, laying down all the blankets and pillows he collected, his intention being to have you lay by the fire and spread some much needed warmth through your chilled body. Changbin scoops you back up when he’s satisfied with his work, very carefully laying you down a close (yet safe) distance to the fire, nestling beside you after and laying an additional blanket over your bodies.

He has so many questions, his mind is racing, but they can wait– making sure you’re not going to suffer frostbite is of much more importance. He lets you use him for warmth, not complaining a bit when your cold limbs tangle with his, letting you sap his warmth and take it for your own.

He brings his hands to your face, warming your cold cheeks in his palms, looking you over carefully. You looked unhurt, thankfully– he has no idea what you’ve gone through, but he’s glad you’re here now, and looking well, all things considered.

“Do you want to tell me what’s happened?” he asks softly, pushing the fallen hair away from your eyes, letting him meet your gaze without obstruction. You swallow down your bubbling emotion, wanting to be clear and concise, to leave no room for confusion or error.

“My mother is very strict, as you know.. She enforced her rules more harshly after she discovered how I’d been spending my time. I had to sneak out again just to be here,” you answer, and his brows furrow.

“Again..? Have you been sneaking out to see me all this time?” he asks, and you nod, tears pricking the corners of your eyes. Changbin knew your mother had strict rules, he knew she didn’t approve of her daughter meeting with those of lower class, but that wasn’t the extent of it?

This whole time, he thought your lie to your mother was simply that you exited town– not that you left home entirely. He was under the impression that you were still allowed out on the streets, at the very least; not that you were caged up inside all day like some sort of bird. But this.. This was outrageous, cruel. To not let your daughter out of the house at all? That’s what you’d been dealing with this entire time?

Relationships with parents are complex, but he almost can’t even believe you still love her after all this, that you still want to uphold whatever ambitions it is that she has for you; if it were him, he doesn’t think he could stand it. He followed in his parents footsteps because he wanted to, not because he was forced to.

And he doesn’t imagine you’d be much different from him in that regard. Naive though you may be at times, you had a strong sense of responsibility, and were intelligent in matters he was clueless on, a completely different kind of intellect from his own. Surely she didn't have to be so strict with you.

“You can stay with me,” he wants to say, “I’ll never make you do a single thing you don’t want to do, you’ll always be respected and happy.” But he knows you’d refuse, your sense of pride in yourself and responsibility simply too strong to abandon just because of one obstacle, harsh though that obstacle may be.

In equal measure, you don’t think you could ever ask him to stay with you. How much would he have to give up to be with you? You don’t want to ask that of him– to make him give up his home and all he holds dear just to be stuck in the castle with you. He doesn’t even know you’re the princess in the first place.

And though you love him, it’s painfully apparent that you’re in two separate worlds that may not be destined to converge though you wish them to. “I don’t want this to be the end,” you say, hot tears finally starting to fall as you the emotion unleashes itself from the depths of where you’d pushed them down, “I don’t want this to be the last time I see you.”

God, Changbin feels like his heart is shattering. It’s so painful to see you reduced to this, you who is always so bright and vibrant in her joy, brought low to tears and heartache. Why must you endure this? Does your mother truly not understand how much pain she causes you but not allowing you to simply live?

“Don’t think like that. If you say it’s the end, then it will be,” he whispers, the pain in his own voice evident despite how he tries to hide it behind a mask of strength for your sake. The tears flow from your eyes and you let him rub them away with his thumb, let him fill your head with impossible, sweet promises.

Your whole life was clouded in dreadful, dreary rain, and there’s nowhere you wanted to be more after the rain cleared than with Changbin. What a ray of sunshine he was, even without intending to be– the light that illuminated your otherwise dark existence. And how painful it was to know that come morning, it would all become nothing but a memory from your youth.

You lean forward to kiss him, tears continuing to leak from the corners despite having your eyes closed now. You want to tell him you love him, but you fear that saying so will only make the act of parting that much harder and painful.

You fear that no matter how much time passes, the name of your first love will forever be written in your heart, that you will never stop loving him even should you lead lives separate from one another. And still, you have no regrets, because for a time you felt truest joy and love, and what a gift it was to share with him.

Taking his hands from your face, he pulls you closer, your entangled limbs being woven together more complexly, your torsos now completely flushed to one another. His arms wrap around and hold you tight, as if lessening his hold on you would cause you to dissipate.

And you will disappear, but not now– not while he has you like this, not when you are where you long to be most. Your tears slow, eventually receding completely as your lips touch. If this is truly your last moment together, you have decided you will not spend it wallowing in sorrow– you will enjoy all you can, you will memorize every detail, you will etch it in your very soul.

“Are you warm enough?” Changbin asks after he separates from you, though still close enough that his breath lingers on your lips. “Could be warmer,” you answer and he chuckles softly, kissing you again, his hands roaming down the expanse of your body, to your hips.

“Want me to add more to the fire?” he asks, a playful lilt in his voice as he knows that’s not what you’re insinuating. While you normally speak quite openly and honestly, you become.. meek within intimate moments.

Changbin always finds it incredibly cute, how you dance around what you mean, waiting for him to get the hint and give you what you want. He always gets the hint, but it’s adorable to see your blush grow hotter, to see you stumble with your words when he plays dumb about what you mean, or purposely misunderstands just to make you state what you want clearly.

“It certainly wouldn’t hurt, but..” you trail off, chewing on your lip nervously as you meet his eyes again. He raises his brow but says nothing, smiling patiently as he waits for you to speak your mind. It makes the blush on your face flare, how he always waits for you to say it directly when you want to be intimate with him.

However, he doesn’t intend to waste too much time making you flustered like this; it’s just.. If this is the last time like you seem to believe, then he wanted to see it again now, before the opportunity was lost to him.

“I’ve missed you a lot, you know. I want you to touch me,” you finally answer and his smile brightens, furthering the embarrassment you feel as heat rushes to your face. But better than being cold like you were earlier, you suppose; maybe you should welcome the way his reaction makes you feel, since it never fails to make your face and body hot.

“You missed me, darlin’? I missed you too,” he smiles, kissing your face, your lips, your jaw, your neck, “thought about you every damn day.” His low voice near your ear makes you shudder, his soft kisses down your neck, to your shoulder, furthering the feeling.

You never let him mark your skin, afraid of what consequences would come from your mother finding out what you’d been doing, but you’re tempted to let him tonight– if you’re going to be punished regardless, why not be selfish, go out with a display?

“Binnie, leave a mark on me, please,” you shamelessly plead, calling his name in the way you know he loves to hear you speak. Changbin lifts his head from your shoulder, meeting your gaze with uncertain excitement. God, he’d love to, but..

“Are you certain? What of your mother?” he asks carefully, pushing your hair behind your neck to expose more of your skin. He may be apprehensive out of concern, but the minute you make it clear you have no reservations, he’s obliging without restraint, giving you everything you ask– anything you want, you’ll have it.

“I don’t care what she thinks anymore, I want her to know that I.. have someone I love,” you answer sincerely, and he smiles, his heart feeling like it’s expanding in size. “You love me?” he asks, and you return his smile as you nod, because though you were scared to tell him, you are glad you did. His reaction to the information was completely worth it, his eyes sparkling with deep emotion and fondness for you.

“I love you too. More than you probably know,” he says, mirroring what he said when he confessed that he liked you too, and he lets you pull him into a kiss, your affection radiating. There’s a soft giggle that escapes him, not being able to help how giddy your love makes him feel, how you love him despite what people in your life expect from you.

If he could, he’d assure them all how well he’d take care of you, how he’d make sure you never suffered a day in your life because of him. He suspects your mother doesn’t care much about your happiness, but if she did, if she gave him the chance to prove it, he wouldn’t rest until he gave you the entire world, until she could see your love as true.

You lay your head back to the pillows, tilting it comfortably so that Changbin has more access to your skin. His breath warms you, and you all but tremble with anticipation when you feel his lips on you again, knowing your skin will finally bear his mark after all this time.

You’ve seen such a mark briefly on your maids that you know to have lovers, how they try to hide them with their hair or makeup, the sort of shame and embarrassment they feel when they realize you’ve noticed it. You will have no such shame; you will wear them proudly, in a show that is simultaneously of love and rebellion.

"I have and I know love, and that is all that matters." And people will certainly have opinions, but you’ve sacrificed enough to them. If there is only one day you can live selfishly for the rest of your life, you want it to be this day; and even as the marks fade, they will serve as a reminder of what you once had.

He plants open mouthed kisses to your neck, the feeling of his tongue and teeth grazing you adding to the anticipation you feel. Your fingers tangle in his dark, unruly curls, as he carefully, almost gently, sucks and bites at your supple skin, leaving behind a string of beautiful, red, blue, and purple bruises.

There’s a tinge of pain, yes, but the excitement grows beyond the subtle sting, transforming it almost entirely into pleasure. When Changbin’s finished with one side, he lies you on your back and does the same to the other, your eyes fluttering closed as you tilt your head for him to have more room to work.

You unintentionally tug on his hair when his teeth meet a particularly sensitive spot, and you would’ve apologized had he not groaned in delight from the feeling. You learned something new about him every time you were intimate, and this discovery in particular had your stomach flipping.

“Want you to take it off,” he mumbles in reference to your dress, pulling at the fabric that had begun to bunch up at your thighs. You hum, detangling your hand from his hair and letting him sit up, watching as he lifts his own shirt up and over his head, tossing it aside.

In all the times you’ve seen Changbin’s skin bare, you never stopped being amazed at how divine he looked. He was so big and strong, it always left you breathless, his cute, soft stomach a direct contrast from the bulk in his arms and chest. And then there was the small patch of hair that led from his belly button to the waistband of his trousers that always left you hungry to see the rest of him.

Still feeling a bit weak from your exertion prior, you ask Changbin to help you remove your dress, which he is more than happy to do. He’s careful with the fabric, though you’ve decided you don’t care about it at this particular moment, and he sets it aside with much more care than he did his own clothing. What a gentleman he is, you think, taking the extra time to care for your clothes even when he’s met with you bare before him.

Well, not entirely bare– you still have your undergarments on, and after deciding you’d see Changbin today no matter what, you purposely wore your prettiest pair. A beautiful, intricate and delicate white lace, one you might aspire to wear on your wedding night. He looks you over in awe, taking in all your details. You were always beautiful, but your choice in clothing somehow enhances it, drives his excitement even further.

“Fuck, you’re stunning. How did I get so lucky?” Changbin questions aloud and you smile, a soft giggle escaping you as he leans back down to kiss you. “Take your pants off too, otherwise it isn’t fair,” you playfully complain and he grins, letting out a giggle of his own as lifts himself back up.

“Maybe I spoil you too much, giving you everything you want so easily,” he responds to your complaint with one of his own, trying not to smile so that he appears serious– though you are easily able to read that he’s playing around, just as you were.

“You give me everything I want because I’m a good girl for you though, right?” you ask and he whines audibly; you admitted early on in your sexual relationship that you were curious about being called such things. When he tried it out, it was discovered that he liked saying it just as much as you liked being called it.

It’s not just saying it to you that he likes either– hearing you call yourself one, saying it’s just for him.. that’s what really gets him going. And while he doesn’t want to be presumptuous and say you belong to him, especially not after all you’ve suffered through, he definitely belongs to you.

You don’t anticipate Changbin pulling his underwear down with his trousers, but the sight of his cock is never unwelcome. It’s already hard and leaking, and when he leans down to you once again, you can feel it pressing against your bare thigh, smearing its fluid on your skin. It always excites you how hard he gets from your body, always enjoyable watching him get riled up just from looking at you bare or from saying a few sweet words.

“You’re dangerous,” he says with a small huff, and before you can come back with more words to make his cock throb, he’s kissing you again, this time with much less softness, quickly shoving his tongue past your lips.

You welcome it, opening your mouth for him, letting his tongue lick yours. The feeling always makes you light-headed in the most delicious way possible– it’s intoxicating to put it simply, and you would kiss him for hours and hours if given the chance.

His hands come to your bra, unhooking it easily after all the practice he’s had, and though he could easily toss it aside, he breaks away long enough to set it down gently. You giggle at how he’s still treating your clothes with care even while this hard and eager, but that’s what makes you love him so much.

Returning to your mouth, he nips and sucks at your bottom lip, and you mewl at the sting, which Changbin always gladly soothes with his tongue before repeating. His fingers roll, pinch, and tug your nipples, not too hard, but enough to have you whining and squeezing your legs together.

They were always so sensitive in Changbin’s rough, calloused hands, and there were times you felt you could cum simply from the stimulation of them alone– especially when he used his mouth at the same time. And he did just that when he pulled away to stop kissing you, though not right away.

He kissed all over your chest, leaving love bites and sucking small, almost delicate bruises onto the sensitive skin of your breasts, not yet touching your nipples with his tongue and teeth. You told him to mark you, and it seems he was determined to do it everywhere– not that you had any objections. It was a bit strange, seeing your chest bitten and the color of your flesh changed, but you equally enjoyed it, loved the physical proof that Changbin was on you.

When his tongue finally swirled around one of your nipples, you let out a breathy moan that quickly turned into a drawn out whimper when he used his teeth. He made sure not to hurt you too overtly, to just give you enough of that sweet sting you found so enticing and pleasurable, and in return you gave him that same delicious feeling by tugging on his hair every time you felt good.

Your panties were soaked by the time he stopped giving your breasts attention, and though you hadn’t reached your peak from the stimulation, you felt so close. Resuming his path down your body, Changbin’s cock throbs and twitches when he’s met with evidence of your excitement, your white panties darkened by how damp they’ve become.

He doesn’t pull them down right away– he kisses your legs first, and then your thighs, leaving behind the same kisses and marks he gave to your chest and neck. Your inner thighs are especially sensitive, and it causes you to jolt and whine when he sinks his teeth into the meat of them.

He’s got you so impossibly worked up, you feel like you could cry when he finally gives your neglected heat the attention it craves. He praises you before he slides your panties down your legs, and there’s a relieved sort of noise coming from your throat that makes Changbin chuckle.

You keen when his tongue finally slips between your folds, licking and sucking up everything you have to offer him. There’s an enthusiastic hum that leaves his lips when your fingers tangle in his hair again, followed by a moan when you pull and tug. Your legs are trembling and twitching so much, constantly threatening to close around his head, that he has to push them down to keep you how he wants you.

It’s when his tongue meets your clit that you really start to lose yourself, your hips jolting up and back arching, legs quivering when he wraps his lips around it and sucks. You’re panting, begging him for more, incoherently mumbling and babbling about how close you are, and within seconds you’re seeing white, eyes rolling back as further arousal gushes on his face.

He licks your release up with another eager hum, dragging out the feeling until you’re a quivering, overstimulated mess beneath him. You release your hold on his curls when you finally come down from your high and your body relaxes, opening your eyes to see Changbin grinning at you, evidently proud of the fact that he got you to cum so intensely.

He kisses you softly, quick and chaste, not trying to hinder you from taking any of the breaths you need, just wanting to show his affection. “What do you want next, darlin’? Since I’m givin’ you everything you want,” he asks, rubbing soothing circles on your skin as he awaits your answer.

“W-Want to be on top but.. I’m still feeling pretty weak. Especially after that,” you reply with a slight blush, and he giggles again, cooing at you as if you’re just so sweet and cute (and to be fair, you are– you always will be, at least to him.)

“S’okay sweetheart, I can help you,” Changbin says sweetly, giving you one more kiss before he’s lying down on the makeshift bed and pulling you on top of him. Your legs are on either side of them, his hands on your hips, looking up at you with pure affection.

“This good? Comfortable?” he asks, and you hum with a nod, smiling just a bit as you lean down to kiss him again. Normally, given how thick he is, Changbin would prep you before having you take his cock, but given how wet and excited you are, he doesn’t think the prep is as necessary (and you might not be patient enough for it after all the build up to this point regardless.)

He helps you line yourself up with his cock, both of you letting out your own shaky noises as you sink down on him. “Atta girl, keep goin’, just like that, sit on me all the way,” he encourages you, and you do just as he asks.

Your hands tightly gripping his biceps to ground and support yourself as you sit flush with his body, the back of your thighs meeting the top of his. He rubs your thighs and legs, trying to show soothing affection as you adjust and settle, listening attentively to all the trembling exhales and noises you make.

You look so beautiful atop him, illuminated in the gentle, warm glow of the fireplace, your hair having fallen in a way that messily, yet somehow perfectly, frames your face. He can see everything– your breasts, your stomach, your thighs, beautifully painted with all the marks he left behind. You can feel him twitching and throbbing inside you, but he doesn’t rush you along, lets you take all the time you need.

You feel him twitch again when you lean down to kiss him, and it’d make you giggle if it also didn’t make a wave of pleasure shoot through your body. You move your hands to his chest to support your own weight better, rolling your hips as you coax your tongue into his mouth.

He lets out a moan from deep in his chest as you move, his tongue wasting no time in meeting and dancing with yours, his fingers squeezing at the already tender meat of your thighs. You lift yourself back up to begin moving in earnest, your hands still planted firmly on his chest for support as you slide yourself up and down his length.

The slow pace, while it still feels good, isn’t enough for either of you, and soon enough you find yourself practically bouncing on his cock, the sound of your thighs repeatedly slapping down on his echoing into the room. Changbin curses, biting his lip as he watches you, using his hands to help guide you up and down, trying to ease some of the ache in your legs.

He thrusts upward into you when your pace starts to stutter and lose rhythm, and you gasp, eyes rolling back as he hits the perfect spot again and again. It reaches a point where his hands simply hold you in the right place while he exerts all his effort, feet planted firmly on the ground while he does all the work from below. Your nails dig into his skin, head falling back as you feel your release building up again.

Changbin effortlessly flips your positions, though he is careful not to hurt you in his haste. He just wants to make you fall apart again, and it’s easier to do that if he doesn’t have to control your movements– just his own. He resumes the pace he held from below, bringing two of his fingers to your clit and rubbing in quick circles, unable to help the way he moans when he feels you clench around him even tighter in response.

“B-Bin, please, Binnie, so close,” you babble and whine, your hands twisting the blankets beneath you. “I know sweetheart, let go, be a good girl and give it to me,” he grunts out, and again, you feel white hot pleasure coursing through your veins, your vision blurring and mind growing fuzzy as you let go.

“Good girl, just a little more, just need you to hang on for a little more,” he both instructs and praises, pulling out just long enough to flip you to your stomach, pushing back into your heat just as quickly as he left it. You whimper loudly, fingers clutching desperately at the pillow your head rests on, Changbin bringing a hand around your body to lift your hips ever so slightly.

He was hitting your spot deliciously from this angle, the pleasure so great that tears once again pricked the corners of your eyes, threatening to fall with each gasp and whimper you released. You turn your head back as much as you can, delighted in the visage of Changbin’s head thrown back in pleasure,

He always got rougher when he started to get close, his hands always tightening their grip, his thrusts, while growing less rhythmic, became harsher and faster, almost desperate, and it was always a treat to experience. You loved watching him lose himself to the pleasure, loved that it was you and your body that brought him there, loved how his grunts and moans transformed into higher pitched whimpers and whines.

You bring your own fingers to your clit, wanting to let him enjoy and focus on his release since he already spent so much time on your pleasure. He leans forward, his chest pressed into your back, his hot breath hitting your ear, his whines and praises pouring directly into it.

“Fuck, sweetheart, feel so good, ‘m gonna- fuck, gonna fill you up,” he stammers out, and it sends a shiver down your spine, your stomach erupting in countless butterflies, driving you to speed up the motion of your fingers.

You release again with a strangled cry, gushing around his length and on your fingers. Changbin follows closely behind, the feeling of you clenching and squeezing around him as you cum for the third time sending him over his peak. He releases in long, drawn out spurts, both of you breathless and exhausted when he collapses next to you.

You both know you should get cleaned up, but you’re both too tired to care, and he can always clean up his messes in the morning. For now, he just wants to stay close, here in front of the fire, with you. This very well could be your last night together, but he doesn’t want to believe it is. He wants to believe that the two of you can find a solution somehow, that after all the hardship, you’ll be smiling at him in the end.

There’s a part of you that doesn’t even want to fall asleep at all– you want to stay up all night, to not waste a single moment you have left, to stare and feel and love until the very last second, so that you’ll remember him clearly always. You do your best to not become teary eyed again, having promised yourself you wouldn’t spend your night with him wrapped up in your sorrow and dread.

But oh, how you wish there was more time, how you wish that your mother would understand you, that you could have just this one thing. But you suppose for a girl with immense responsibility, happiness is too much to ask for. You sacrifice your happiness so that others may have it instead– as noble an act as any, but you selfishly wish you could have both; the people’s happiness and your own.

The idea of running away still leaves you torn, even after all this time. You don’t want to let anyone down.. but still, you have to ask yourself, is doing what’s right for your kingdom and future worth all this heartache? If it’s what is right, why does it make your heart feel as if it’s been shattered like glass? You’ve been told in life that the right thing to do is never the easiest, but you can’t imagine that in this case, walking away from either side is right.

You want both. Is that truly so wrong? You want to be a ruler worthy of her name and title, and you want Changbin. Why must you choose one over the other? As far as you’re aware, even now, Changbin doesn’t know you’re the princess.

He’ll likely find out soon– every knight in the town will be floundering to find you come morning, once they realize you’re gone. You should slip away before then, lest your lover be met with undue scrutiny and unfair treatment from your mother and other nobles if you're found here.

But looking at him now, even still.. you don’t want to leave. You’ll never want to leave. “Sweetheart,” Changbin calls softly, his hand reaching up to leave comforting, lingering touches to your head. “I can tell what you’re thinkin’. But don’t be sad yet, not ‘til we’ve said goodbye.”

You blink away the accumulating tears with a nod, swallowing down the lump in your throat the best you can and burying your face into Changbin’s welcoming body. You’re so, so tired, and you know he is too, but he’s trying his best for you. And he’s being the strong one despite how much his heart aches with yours.

He rubs your head, kisses your temple, tells you he loves you. Your heart breaks and mends all at once; how bittersweet this moment is.. If you’re lucky, you'll have about 7 hours until anyone realizes you’re gone. Maybe you can sleep for just a few, just enough to get some of this ache out of your body, and then you can spend the rest with Changbin.

You’ll cry, you know, as soon as you depart back home. You’ll cry when the hole in the castle’s defenses is completely sealed. You’ll cry when you look to the fields his home sits on from the bedroom window. Still.. you do your best to uphold your promise to yourself, and now to Changbin.

You won’t cry, and you won’t be upset– not yet, anyways. Not until you’ve actually parted ways. For now, you’ll continue to lie in his arms, continue to express your love for him, continue to smile and laugh as if this isn’t the end, until morning comes and reminds you painfully that it is.

How beautiful it was to love Seo Changbin, to learn and to grow and to really live with his help, patience, and care. How fondly you’ll miss him in every moment, how lovingly you’ll always hold his memory. Brief though your love together is, much shorter than it should have been, it has changed you for the better, and you’ll never regret it, even should your heart ache.

And maybe Changbin is right; maybe there is room for hope, and maybe you’ll see each other again much sooner than you allow yourself to think. But no matter what lies before you, there is one thing for certain; Changbin is and always be will your first love, forever be etched in your heart– your lover, your deepest connection, your closest confidant. And how grateful you are to have known him.

#skz x reader #changbin x reader #skz smut #changbin smut #skz imagines #skz scenarios #skz fluff #skz angst #mdni + divider graphic credit: @cafekitsune

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thescaryhyperfem · 2 months ago

Text

"I craved you for so long"

My own little SCP-106 (Lawrence) x SCP-913 (Mr. Hungry) fanfic hah i hope you guys like it

note: i made this at midnight, sorry if its bad

—

1941, two closeted young gay men in the US lived together in a small apartment. Things were tough since the US joined WW2, as one of the men had been forced to going to the war. The lad was in his bedroom, getting ready to go, his worried boyfriend next to him.

"Larry, please tell me you're going to be okay..." His boyfriend said.

"I really don't know, maybe I'll end up to the paleontologists to find my bones." Larry replies, chuckling a bit. His humor was a bit crude.

"Don't say that!" The boyfriend replied, exasperated. He sighs, wiping sweat off his forehead.

"I'm just joking, honeybuns." Larry said, smiling with a snarky attitude towards his lover.

"This is no laughing matter, you idiot. You know going to the war isn't a funny thing, especially because there's a chance of you dying!" The boyfriend said, standing back up and grabbing him by the uniform.

"You're overthinking. Of course I'm not going to die... I cannot die!" Larry laughs, holding his hands.

"Honey, you are not God." The boyfriend said, grasping his hands.

"But you treat me like one." Larry says, smirking.

"...Whatever, just... Just be safe, okay? I don't want to see your name in a grave." The boyfriend said, kissing him on the lips.

"I will, my love. I will." Larry replies. "By the way, before I go... I made you a batch of sandwiches in the kitchen..."

Then, a sudden knock is heard at the front door. It's time to go. Larry walks downstairs, his boyfriend giving him a last kiss on the cheek.

"Please, stay safe, Larry..."

—

80 years or so later, a man stands in what seems to be a metallic cube. He uses his fingers to draw on the walls of the cube, as his body was covered in some weird, corrosive liquid. He wasn't a human of any sorts, this was SCP-106, 'The Old Man'. He was bored out, it seems, he was just yawning and doodling... Until sirens started to blare. A man started to talk into an intercom.

"SCP-913 has escaped his containment cell! Refrain interacting physically with the anomaly until it is fully fulfilled! I repeat, do NOT interact with the anomaly physically until it is fully fulfilled!"

Great... Another containment breach, coming from an unexpected anomaly, a dude who just eats, eats and feasts... SCP-106 decides to commit some tomfoolery, as he does not follow whatever rules the higher ups set for him. He easily passes through the walls, jumps to the floor and makes his way up the stairs of his containment. He started to melt everything with his liquid, step by step, it all went away with his touch.

He walks down the foundation's hallways, people take notice of him. The same man in the intercom starts to blare again, it just made SCP-106 laugh.

"These big pussies can't handle shit... Now where's that guy..."

SCP-106 kept walking down the hallways, on the search of SCP-913. Meanwhile, SCP-913 was munching down entire tables in the cafeteria, straight up plastic and metal. It was fascinating and terrifying. Personnel and others in there started to run away from there, they didn't want to be eaten too after all, yet some unfortunate souls were too late. SCP-913 had a blank face the whole time, yet maniac eyes were apparent.

The screams of the personnel were enough to attract SCP-106 to the scene. He walked through a wall, right behind a shotgun-armed man, who screeched like a little girl when he realized what was behind him. SCP-106 laughed sadistically, and came in the room, leaving a corrosive mark in the wall. Although he could, he did not harm anyone, he was focused on the man who ate another table.

"Well, well, well... What do we have here? A hungry caterpillar?" SCP-106 asked the man, 10 feet away from him.

"SCP-106, do not approach the anomaly in front of you!" The man in the intercom spoke again.

"Wow, you think im a scaredy kitten? You think I, SCP-106, AM SCARED, OF A MAN-EATING MA—"

Before SCP-106 could finish his sentence, SCP-913 grabbed his hand and bit his finger. He was not affected by the corrosive liquid, shockingly enough, but the bite hurt a lot.

"OWW! What the hell, man?!" SCP-106 steps away, his fingers quickly regenerating. "Who do you think you are?!"

SCP-913 started munching on the fingers... But, suddenly, he looked up at SCP-106, with rather shocked eyes.

"...You taste so... Familiar..." SCP-913 says. "...Sandwiches..."

"What... What is that even supposed to mean, you fuckin' lunatic?!" SCP-106 was not amused.

"...You..." SCP-913's eyes suddenly became wide, his blank face became a mouth drop, a bit of corrosive liquid comes out of his mouth. It seemed like the effects of the liquid were acting, which made SCP-106 laugh for a second, but that wasn't the case.

"...L-... Lawrence?" SCP-913 blurts out in a moment of shock. SCP-106's eyebrows go up, in confusion.

"...How the hell do you know my name?!" SCP-106, now Lawrence, is now exasperated. This interaction was getting into his nerves.

SCP-913 suddenly holds Lawrence's face. "Larry... Larry it's you..?"

Lawrence, now Larry, was more confused, even if things were becoming clearer. "How... How do you know my nickname?! Only my partner called me... Huh..?!"

Larry slowly started to realize what was going on, but refused to believe it. "You... No. No, this can't be..."

"Larry, please... It's me..." SCP-913's hunger frenzy was now gone, replaced by held back tears and shocked feelings. "Oh my God, you're alive... You're alive, you bastard... I missed you so damn much..." SCP-913 touched Larry's face all over, to see if it wasn't all just too good to be true.

Larry just fell into his touches, he was also in shock. The sadistic anomaly suddenly fell into tears, and hugged the other anomaly. Personnel around them just watched in shock, a scene that's never been seen, a dangerous yet emotional re-encounter. The two broke the hug after what seemed like eternity, and just stared at each other.

"...I can't believe you survived for this long, you bastard... I craved you for so long..." Said SCP-913 smiling and wiping away his tears.

"I can't believe either, you even kept your old, weird eating sprees..." SCP-106 laughs, and so does SCP-913. "Shut up... Shut up..."

SCP-106 and SCP-913 walk out the cafeteria together, arms wrapped around each other's shoulders, laughing and eventually, kissing one more time after so long.

The man in the intercom speaks again, sounding like he's holding back tears. "SCP-106 and SCP-913... Have been successfully bonded and contained once again..." He said.

The End

#scp #scp fandom #scp 106 #scp 913 #I Craved You For So Long #fanfic #913 x 106 #scp foundation

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mimikinyuu · 4 months ago

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pinned post i guess.

names legion. 23. he/they pronouns. alolan.

im a trainer for a living (wow! so exciting and unique!) but im trying to sell the crafts i make. i make mimikyu cloths, hmu for pricing and deets.

my battling team (does not account for every mon i have):

bean - mimikyu ♂

jeffrey - luxray ♀

blair - gengar ♀

willow - absol ♀

dart - umbreon

woop - clodsire ♀

out of character:

this is a roleplay blog. please do not message me about anything for sale. all my in-character posts will be tagged #unreality if they breach containment. admins name is soup, age is 23, and i use it/they prns. my ooc hub is @soupspkmncorner and i follow/interact from @movedto-mementomoreeyes

triggers/content warnings will be tagged as “(x) cw”, current tags include #drugs cw, #abandonment cw, #abandoned pokemon cw, and #ableism cw. #op is added to any post with my additions (as well as my own original posts), and if i interact with someone, i try to tag usernames, as well. #off-screen is a collective tag for mysterious uploads that legion cannot see, but are happening in real time, most commonly audio files. any tags that start with a percentage sign (%) are ooc tags, and all other non-sorting tags are in character. legions a tag rambler like me lmao

arcs: eebydeeby arc (FINISHED 28/08/24), the gang goes to paldea (OFFICIALLY FINISHED 02/11/24), the gang goes to sinnoh (FINISHED 24/11/24) magic!anon mini-arc (CURRENT)

i am okay with:

- pelipper mail

- musharna mail

- musharna malice

- magic!anon

- union circle

- interactions from trainers (canon and ocs), antag grunts (team skull members PLEASE!!! interact we can plan plots and sillies), crossover/faller/pokemon au characters. legion is aware there is a multiverse and that some people on rotomblr have very different universes compared to theirs. he might raise an eyebrow, but wont call anything fake because it doesnt align with his universe.

- interactions from sapient pokemon/eebydeeby/hybrid/pmd-based au characters. legion does not question sapient pokemon very much and takes them at face value, but they do react with appropriate surprise with legendaries/mythicals, mostly out of “wow this god is talking TO ME??” shock.

- gentle/playful teasing (tone tags like /j and /t are greatly appreciated for this) or any low-level antagonist shenanigans

i am not okay with:

- pelipper unmail

- pelipper malice

- any nsfw/suggestive interactions

- any hate, in- or out-of-character. if you want to plan a plot that might involve bullying or anything a bit more malicious than average team skull grunt activity, please dm me so i am aware and we can work out a storyline.

both legion and i are adults. this blog will not contain any nsfw content since some followers/mutuals are minors. if me being an adult makes you uncomfortable, that is ok and you dont have to follow me :-) if i follow you and you are uncomfortable you are free to softblock/hardblock, no hard feelings

this post will be updated as time goes on!

last updated: 26/11/24

#pokemon #pokemon irl #op

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generaltrashshecox · 14 days ago

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i do admit the "mr ian topp" bit haunts me for multiple reasons

where, and i cannot emphasize this enough, did that even come from. what is the context. i am scared. afraid, even.

everyone seemed vaguely uncomfortable about the ian prompt (arasha called it out and it was met with like. silence and grimaces, which alone i'm going insane over analyzing) and because i have no evidence for any particular reason i really don't know why, it could be a number of things (not wanting to make fun of your boss, being tired of repeating bits that you think aren't funny, any real life problems that may exist at work)

that being said, that's the bit a whole lotta them laughed at, so clearly it's got to mean something to them. and to that i respond, what? huh? im losing my mind why is giving ian shayne's last name funny. shaking chanse by the shoulders. what did you mean by that

because the anthony joke was expected, right? haha, ianthony shipping. we all know it exists. it breached containment. everyone else makes jokes about it all the time. but shian is as niche as it really gets, so they can't possibly be referencing a funny fandom occurence

the only semi-normal explanation i have for that joke is like. those recurring roasts in ian's funerals where people make jokes about how ian wants to be shayne, or how shayne is just ian but more successful, so perhaps the joke is meant to be something like "haha, ian wishes he were shayne!" (in a lighthearted way, of course)

otherwise im going crazy in this chili's tonight. i suppose.

oh god. they edited that video. they let that clip stay in. why?? literally without context the joke just doesn't make sense to us, so why leave it in?? why is it funny?? CHANSE PLEASE EXPLAIN

Ajsj okay so I'm not alone good to know. But I will say it seemed Smosh themselves were trying to push this shian agenda a long time ago at least like a little bit. And what I mean by that is like the silly YT short they made about the mist and finally succumbing to it and going hand in hand and like that one green screen tntl where Ian's soul was just hot edits of Shayne. But it definitely makes you wonder... but yeah like ianthony is a given and shian wasn't really shipped until well not even that long ago but like hmmm...

I mean there's no doubt Ian and Shayne are close especially since we learned from his interview with Anthony they got drunk together pretty early on. Shayne was also the first person Ian called to talk to about this next step and though Shayne was too scared he was going to say Smosh was going under its still kinda insane that he was one of the first he called!! I don't know I don't know these two make me insane I will be honest ajsj

I guess we'll never know the mystery of Mr. Ian Topp but it will stay in my head forever as maybe a tiny idea that maybe it wasn't so off to ship them lolll

#shayne topp #ian hecox #shian #shayian #ian x shayne #smosh ships

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gingersnaptaff · 28 days ago

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A Chained Queen, A Bastard's Birthright

Bringing you all some fic on this here Wednesday night! Please enjoy this oldie but a goodie that I submitted for my university coursework way back when (in 2016!!!!). I've edited it heavily, so if you've read it on Archive of Our Own it's different (and a lot more grammatically correct.) This is chronologically separate from the Gwyn book, as well as being more medieval rather than Celtic, but still. I thought you might like to see something from earlier in the process when I was figuring everything out.

So, without further ado, here you go.

He prowled towards me, his inhumanly bright blue eyes alert and filled with fire. His steps rang out through the oppressive silence, every imposing peal containing the dolour of a funeral bell. A maniacal slash of a smile contorted his face and, as he loomed closer, I recognised the rich tang of iron enveloping him, the stench of it making me recoil. Mud encrusted his bloodied armour, an amber rust cocooning him like blood-choked sand, and he lovingly set his sword down on the floor as he crouched down to see me better through the gloom.

“Do you know what it’s like?” He hissed, a small frown creasing his forehead as he spoke. “To be born a bastard? To become collared by your birthright, lashed to fate, something you have no control over? To see your father treat his knights better than his son? To see him flaunt his power over your mother, over his first love? Have any idea what that’s like, my lady? It destroys you. I’m grateful to your sister for allowing a man such as I to marry her then, Gwyn. But perhaps I should address you as sister now? Or would you prefer me to address you as ‘step-mother?’”

“You’re insane.” I hissed. A cold chill ran down my spine, making me rattle in my chains. “You can’t be Arthur’s son. H- He would have told me, I’m sure. I knew my husband. I knew your supposed father, Medrawd, you scum.”

He tossed back his head and laughed amusedly before he shook his head. “Your words do wound me, my lady. Truly. Such ineffectual strikes.” His humour leached away, replaced with a cold mask that gave his skin a winterish chill. “Yet the same cannot be said for when you wounded my wife with your fists.”

“She deserved it.” I hissed, noting the way that he gritted his teeth at my answer, and how his breathing quickened. Every muscle was taut, a coiled spring, even as he deepened his breathing to try and calm himself so as not to strike me. “By the Gods, you both did! Fach deserved every slap she got.”

“Just as your husband’s pathetic tin soldiers deserved every slash and stab of my army’s swords. Your husband squealed like a boar when he died, I’m ashamed to say. I did so hope he’d have had a regal end, similar to the one my mother told me to enact. Alas. He choked on his own blood. But, perhaps, you might do me the honour instead? I have just breached your kingdom’s defences after all and - since I have no need for a wife now that I have your sister - I’m sure your death will suffice. I am sure that Fach will be delighted. And who knows, if I’m lucky, your death might even send Myrddin out of hiding. Is he taming dragons again, I wonder? He was always so foolish in that regard. An addled magician, cloud-headed and careless.”

“Watch your tone, boy,” I said, trying to ignore the way my voice wavered. “Or I will make you.”

He barked out a laugh and I wondered then if Medrawd had noticed the tears that pooled in my eyes. Or the way that I trembled again as though I was in the throes of a sickness? Gods, I prayed with all my might that he was as unobservant as Arthur had claimed before his untimely demise.

Alas, fate, it seemed, was not so kind.

“Ah, forgive me.” Medrawd’s voice was taunting. A smirk twisted his lips, breaking open the scab at the corner of his mouth. A thin stream of blood ran down his mottled cheek as he leaned closer, his rancid breath hot on my face. “I’d forgotten that you were still the ruler of this land. Of course.” He laughed, a harsh, grating sound akin to the clamour of my chains. “I suspect that you’ll punish me just as soon as you can get out of your restraints then, hmm? Don’t worry, Gwyn, I’ll wait for you. My mother always said that I was patient - as does Fach, as it happens.”

I growled, low and warning, my hands curling into fists. Without a second thought, I hurled myself forward in a vain attempt to reprimand him, only to find myself thrown off balance by the chains that still held me in their unyielding grip. With a shriek, I stumbled with my hands outstretched, only succeeding in righting myself at the last second.

The smirk that he had worn throughout our conversation only grew as he stood up, his blue eyes twinkling in my epicaricacy. “Oh, Gwynhwyfar, such ferociousness over a mere jape!” He waggled his finger at me, tutting. “I thought such a well-born lady like yourself would have impeccable manners, hmm? Gods, what did my father ever see in you? You're nothing more than a yowling bear cub, desperately clawing at the bars of her cage.” His armour clinked, singing mockingly like caged birds, as he picked up his sword. There was an air of carefulness upon him again, one that gave an implacable smoothness to his expression, and his eyes shone with childlike curiosity. “Please, don’t trouble yourself getting up on my account. Although, I do think your chains might prevent that, don’t you?” He tittered again, his eyes suddenly darkening, his voice demanding. “But, tell me, one last thing before I depart - do you think this sword suits me?”

My brow furrowed at his question and I found myself irked by his question. “Why, Medrawd? T'is a sword. A child could craft a more remarkable one out of Rowan.”

His jaw clenched as he took a step into the torchlight. It offered up a scant glow and did little in the way of affording me light with how far away the turncoat guards had placed it from my cell, and I had to strain my eyes to see him.

And then, with one fluid motion, he held out the sword for me to observe.

I leaned forward, curiosity hot in my blood, tempered though it was by my derision. Why was he so insistent on having my opinion? What need did he have to know what I thought? So he could taunt me again? Well, let him.

Let him.

I examined the blade and crossguard, finding both to be dull, covered in the mud of a battlefield. Scrutinising it further, I found that blood encrusted the groove down the centre, and further tracks of rusty red dribbled down it, adding to its morbidity. The hilt was caked in blood also – although the circular pommel was still free of mess, enough for the raided indent of a golden bear to shine through. Raised carvings of bears and winged, clawed creatures that I could not identify adorned the top of the chipped blade, crafted out of tarnished silver.

If only I could see them up close…

I strained against my chains again, gathering just strength and momentum to push them to their breaking point to reach a finger between the prison bars. Tenderly I traced one, feeling the cool metal beneath my fingertips, the raised edges of the designs warming beneath my skin. A wingtip slowly formed, my brain etching in the lines where the silver had been chipped away. And then, a forked tail. A raised leg, a forked tongue. A roar. And slowly, agonisingly, a dragon formed.

A blood-red dragon.

With a jolt of recognition - and I knew that Medrawd could tell that I recognised the sword for he gave out a small, gleeful laugh as I did - I sprang forward, flying off the bed, my chains rattling with taunts.

A bevy of memories swam through my mind, each piercing my heart. I recalled how Arthur had laughed giddily when I’d gifted him it as a wedding present.

How he brandished it with confidence, raising it high above his head as a lad, his dark eyes shining as he vowed to defend our land.

And then, the steady weight of it in my hands as Arthur had instructed me on how to defend myself, his sturdy body warm against my back, his musk thick in my nostrils.

Its blade sparkling in the firelight as I’d cleaned in our chambers, listening to Arthur vent his frustrations, his dreams, his wants as he paced about.

And Llacheu - bright, golden Llacheu, gone before his time - his laughter bubbling in joy as Arthur taught him how to parry in the courtyard…

And now…

And now my husband and son were no more.

Tears itched my eyes. I wanted to remain calm, to be the dignified queen that I was always told to be, but I could not stop myself. Rage suffocated me, constricting my chest with all the heaviness of a boulder.

“T’is Caledfwlch,” I answered hoarsely. “And you wield it with all the inelegance of an inexperienced slinger.” At Medrawd’s affronted huff I pressed on, the chink in his demeanour emboldened me.” What, you think because Arthur did not accept you in life you can mould yourself in his image instead? Brandish his sword in the vain hope that his kingdom will be yours?”

For a moment, he said nothing, his nostrils flaring in anger as he exhaled slowly. “My question, Gwynhwyfar. You have not answered it.”

I shook my head, gritting my teeth, biting my to guess. His eyes were alight, revelling in my grief. A glossy smoothness of pride broek over his sharp features as he chortled, the noise making me silently seethe. I am ashamed to say that at that I broke down, my queenly mask all but slipping off, crashing to the floor.

“I – You bastard!” There was a tightness in my chest as I fought to control my breathing, even as it hitched hysterically. Cold, shocked tears ran down my cheeks as I was suspended there, frozen.

That he would stoop so low…

That he would desecrate Arthur’s body…

With a guttural roar, I threw myself at him, forgetting that the chains were attached to my arms as well as my feet and I stumbled again, only regaining my balance at the last second. “You-!”

“You’re hysterical, my lady,” Medrawd’s tone was a physician’s. Honeyed with a warmth that was as deceitful as he was. He stared at me the way a mother would a simpering child and I wanted to curse him in frustration.

Instead, I spat at him, positively preening at his disgusted yell, “You bitch!”

I laughed loudly, the noise echoing around my dank cell, trying to hide my smirk at his reaction. “My apologies. I'm afraid that I don’t quite know what came over me. It’s just that I thought that you might like some water to clean your sword with. Forgive me if my actions were misconstrued, my dear brother-in-law. Only, you see, my chains prevent me from giving you a bowl.”

Medrawd glared in response as he set about wiping my gift away with a muddied gauntlet. With a displeased huff, he turned to leave, gracing me with a cold silence as he strode to the dungeon door.

“Goodbye, Medrawd,” I hissed, straightening. “May my husband’s sword give you the recognition you sought, for his kingdom will not. It’ll take time. But I’m a patient woman, brother. Don't worry. I’ll wait.”

He turned on his heel, offering me an icy glare, before, at last, he extinguished the torches and left me once more, his footsteps oddly quiet.

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herbalcompendium · 21 days ago

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Hochenblume

Colloquial Names: High flower, Yserabloom

Physical Description: While often referred to as ‘high,’ one need not look far from the ground to find the most aesthetically pleasing – and useful – part of this flower. It presents a rather curious structure, but it remains the single most prolific and alchemically-relevant bloom in the Dragon Isles. “High flower” is a direct translation of its Draconic moniker. “Yserabloom” is a term coined by the Maruuk centaur, in reference to the former Green dragon Aspect with whom they had connected; to them, its ability to grow across the land indicates the tenacity of life itself, and the way in which the blossom points back toward the earth is representative of the eternal cycle of birth, growth, death and rebirth to which all things are held.

Structurally, hochenblume possesses several notable adaptations which enable it to thrive in the myriad climes of the Isles. The plant’s roots are small in number, but great in thickness and strength; it is with these anchors that it holds itself fast to the varied terrain in which it grows, and they dig deeply to draw what nutrients and hydration the bloom requires. It is little surprise then that a thick, hardy stalk breaches the soil and holds itself quite tall – proud, even – to present two sets of long, narrow leaves, wing-like in structure, flaring outward on either side and cresting both skyward and back toward the earth.

Such a strong stem is required to hold a rather weighty seed-bearing pod; were it any weaker, it would surely snap under the pod’s weight. This cone is comprised of thick, fleshy “petals” of tissue, which house the glands that, upon pollination, produce seeds. This pod is quite moist and slightly sweet when chewed, compelling its consumption by herbivores and allowing the spread of the seeds it contains.

While mostly green, vivid violet and thistle hues can be found streaking through its flesh and adorning the tips of its leaves, and the bloom itself is so pleasantly purple it practically glows in direct light. The stamen are lengthy and indigo-hued, while the pistil is a rich amber color and, in a particularly healthy specimen, does in fact glow as it emits a gentle bioluminescence at night.

Harvesting: The flower in question is rather delicate, particularly when compared to the rest of the plant, and its subtle intricacies are worth exploring before one attempts to collect it. The seed pod and all parts of the flower, if pulled on directly, are wont to snap and tear; this is due to tension from the connective tissue directly at the base of the seed pod. There is but a single strand holding the pod in place which runs the entire length of the stalk, but is notably weaker than the stalk itself. A simple smooth and firm twisting motion will easily separate the entire structure; doing so releases the aforementioned tension and allows lossless gathering of any desired materials.

Usage: There is not one standard recipe of which I am aware that utilizes the herbs of the Dragon Isles without including hochenblume. The flower itself has an energizing quality, while the seed pod confers restorative benefits; together, they act as a catalyst and “force multiplier” of sorts for the more focused properties of other native plants. The sweetness and aroma of the pod and petals, can be extracted via usual methods. The pod conveys a grassy, citrus-like brightness. The petals offer a scent rather similar to lilac and, when dried, can be milled to produce a bright pigment for inks and dyes.

As I sat before a rather lush specimen to pen this entry, I found myself musing on its appearance. One may find it curious that so many winged things are born of these lands, and draw a connection to hochenblume’s structure; whether there is empirical truth in this I cannot say, but that is perhaps for the best. There is something magical in the mysteries of this world, and such wondering is itself a most potent catalyst for exploration and experimentation, both of which are worthy endeavors in which I encourage you to engage.

#hochenblume #dragon isles #ysera #maruuk #centaur #dragon #draconic #dracthyr

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queer-ragnelle · 4 months ago

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the arthuriana essays you share on here are always so interesting and well-researched! are there specific places you go to look for them or do they just kind of find you over time?

Hi anon! This is a complex answer. Research is never simple lol obligatory disclaimer I'm just some random enthusiast and in no way an academic, this is just how I go about it.

I find essays in a variety of places. JSTOR is where most of the stand-alone essays came from (IE; not otherwise published in a book, sometimes in journals I cannot find). I’ve been very fortunate to have friends lend me their college bypass so I could download from there, as I would be unable to access them otherwise.

Sometimes, while reading books, like The Friend by Alan Bray, there will be a reference to an influential essay or article, such as Faithful Unto Death, which describes the joint tomb of Sir John Clanvowe and Sir William Neville. For that paper, a friend had to request it from their own institution, wait for it, and then give it to me. I'd been staring longingly at it for literally years but couldn't justify paying the $30+ asking price for a PDF. I was lucky, once again, to have help.

Another way to find these academic resources is by reading the footnotes or bibliography in the back of books and tracing the source of individual essays or articles back to a bigger collection contributed by a variety of authors contained in a single volume (like A Companion to Malory I shared a few days ago). I learned about Alan Bray specifically because other essayists kept referencing his work! From there, I sought him out. The same has happened as I delved into Zoroastrian studies. The literature there is limited (at least in the English language, as I cannot read Persian or Hindi). So I found myself researching in a circle, following the trail of names until I ran out of scholars and they just referenced each other's work back and forth. I had consumed the entire body of [English] literature on the subject, so I knew I had come to collect the same resources as these essayists and historians had! Once you start going, "Hey, it's my friend [scholar] again!" you know you're in deep haha!

Much the same has happened with Arthurian legend. Norris J Lacy, known for his work as head editor of the translation team that tackled the Vulgate, is everywhere. He's the editor of countless textbooks, translator of medieval poems and prose, and even wrote his own retelling, A Camelot Triptych. Once you find someone in a field of interest that pops up a lot, you can begin searching for relevant resources through their name, rather than relying on blindly sifting through thousands of papers tagged "King Arthur".

Essayists don't make any money on this stuff. Institutions even charge people to publish their work. It's perfectly acceptable to obtain that knowledge however necessary. If you don't have college access yourself nor a friend who can help, there are websites to pirate from. (Please use a VPN to protect yourself.) Some websites are specific to the field, like science, which isn't my expertise, so I can't offer guidance there. But I've had luck on annas-archive.

It can be easy to assume everyone has the same opportunities, that a screenshot or link to JSTOR is sufficient for someone to access the same information mentioned in a post. It's tough when tumblr doesn't let you upload a PDF! It makes sharing resources difficult. One could dedicate money and cloud space to it (like I do with Google and MEGA drive) or upload it to a discord server where it can't breach containment and reaches only a limited audience. It's not ideal! And it's no individual's responsibility to tackle the problems with academia and gatekeeping, of course, but my goal is to source as much of what I discuss as I possibly can, as well as share those resources with anyone who could benefit from them. A librarian basically lol so I'm glad the essays I've shared have been beneficial to you!

#arthuriana #arthurian legend #arthurian mythology #arthurian literature #research #resource #resources #ask #anonymous

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slowd1ving · 6 months ago

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ACT I: FLOURISH ✦ . 　⁺ VIL SCHOENHEIT

anyways this fic is one of my personal favourites that I've written so please enjoy <3

TWISTED WONDERLAND MASTERLIST

BREACH THE IMMEASURABLE CHASM MASTERLIST

MASTERLIST ・゜・NAVIGATION

NEXT PART

Scene I: Overture . 　⁺

It starts on a particularly dull morning. Grey clouds adorn the grey skies; they are utterly devoid of joy and beauty. Rook would see beauty in this lifeless day, but Rook is not there to see it. Vil is. Standing here, in the dull hallway outside the Potionology classroom, is a perfectly miserable way to start off the school day.

Three heartbeats pass before Vil composes himself enough to straighten his posture. Three long heartbeats. Between each thump, he has to remind himself that he’s still the best in the Advanced Potions course. Of course he is. So what is this foreboding that’s chilling him to his very bones? He fights the urge to adjust his tie as he anxiously waits for the rankings of the top students to emerge onto the noticeboard facing him. It’s approximately two minutes before Crewel typically posts the monthly rankings, and ten minutes before he has to face the music by entering the classroom for said course. He’s still got time before hoards of clamorous students charge through the hallways.

One minute. He’s always been on top of this leaderboard, even after being transferred to the course as a freshmen where all his peers were at least a year older. His potions are always textbook perfection. Always. Something’s been weighing on his mind, though. Ever since last week’s assignment to brew a sleeping potion using only five ingredients, he’s had a very uncomfortable feeling that Professor Crewel’s ranking is leaning towards someone else. Even though Vil’s recipe contained some of the most potent ingredients, even though he delivered perfection and potency wrapped in a wax-sealed bottle; it may not have been the star of the show.

A parchment scroll slowly materialises into view behind the thick glass. Vil waits with bated breath; it’s been years since he’s last felt tremors like these. The gnawing feeling in his gut feels horribly similar to the first time he experienced stage fright. It’s unfurling. Whoever made this unveiling spell needed to be fired immediately; the bottom rankings were being revealed first. Vil sighs in relief as he sees his name emblazoned on top in a deep red alongside his markings.

Hold on.

Someone else’s name is slowly scrawling itself onto the parchment. Who the hell- an annoying ringing permeates his ears as he feels his heart miss a beat. He doesn’t know that name, but as his eyes swivel to the house logo proudly emblazoned beside it, he can clearly see the Ramshackle logo. The Prefect? The magicless human? The orientation disruptor? The beast-tamer? That person?

It’s been precisely two months since you arrived, and somehow managed to worm your way into Advanced Potions class, despite not possessing any sort of understanding of magic or potions. That should have been a sign in itself, but Vil dismissed it as nothing more than a fluke. Foolish. You’ve kept your head down, preferring to sit in the back of the lab as Crewel lectured the students, while Vil’s consistently kept to the middle rows. Of course he hasn’t noticed you.

Still, it must be a fluke. It has to be. How could you, someone who’s decidedly without any magic at all, become the proverbial spanner in the works? Distantly, he feels his hands clench into tight fists as he scans the row of marks next to your name. You’ve been consistently scoring just a couple of points below him, although the marks for the first class are subpar, of course. Still, he cannot fathom how you’ve managed to beat his average of 96.

That’s until the final row of marks - for this week’s assignment - slowly unveil themselves. Your score of 100 sits proudly above his meagre 87. Vil feels a vein protrude on his forehead. That’s impossible! It’s unheard of for a student to achieve 100 marks in Crewel’s classes, especially for an exam assignment, and especially in the Advanced Potions course! There’s no way, absolutely no way you of all people managed that! The next person below Vil only managed to scrape a 50, for Sevens’ sake!

Vil feels his breathing become uneven. He can’t even imagine how you could’ve cheated - those assigned flasks were enchanted with every sort of spell imaginable preventing cheating, and each potion had to be brewed somewhere on school grounds, under teacher supervision, within an hour.

The clatter of students is beginning to approach. Breathing heavily, he shoulders the door open, devoid of his usual lustrous grace. He avoids his usual row, choosing to sit on the far back corner of the lab - your row. Surely, there must be some indicator as to how you achieved a perfect result, some lapse in composure that would betray what must doubtlessly be foul play.

There’s only one seat between Vil and your chair. He can feel the lack of distance sharply. The lab isn’t particularly big; it’s never bothered him apart from now. Feverishly, he stares down the door, watching the slow trickle of students enter to distract that gnawing feeling. From the corner, he can see the hallway, as well as whoever chooses to look at the noticeboard. It’s agonising, waiting for you to walk in so he can observe you.

When you finally decide to show up, you’re in class around a minute later than Crewel and the previous student. Vil can tell by the direction of your body and feet that you haven’t yet seen the rankings. He’s not sure you know they even exist. He can feel his blood starting to boil slowly, which is only heightened when Crewel points his riding crop at you. Your surprise is apparent by the way your feet stutter to a sharp halt.

“Listen up, whelps!” his voice resounds throughout the lab. “I’m sure most of you have seen the rankings for this month that were posted this morning! As usual, most of your scores were abysmal for the final assignment, though this promising pup managed to get full marks-” here he gestures to you with approval. Vil doesn’t miss the way your brows furrow, then a small smile blooms on your face as you look down at your shoes. “-on an assignment that would likely even trouble my fourth years. Next week, we will go over why your attempts were so laughably mediocre, and I will personally make sure that lesson is drilled into each and every one of you pups.”

Crewel’s piercing glare marches itself around the room. Vil can see your shoulders slump in relief as Crewel strides behind his desk and you are free to make your way to the back. Your gaze is trained straight on your seat. Vil leans on his forearms to observe the other students; a few look back at you with congratulatory smiles, which you return. You don’t seem to have noticed your new neighbour. He feels his eye almost twitch. How dare you? You don’t even realise the full gravitas of this situation! Not only did you dismiss the noticeboard, you don’t even seem to be affected by the knowledge that you got full marks! Not to mention you haven’t even looked at him once! Is it ignorance, or a blatant smugness? Vil almost begins chewing his pen in anger before stopping himself.

The rest of the lecture goes by agonisingly slowly. Today isn’t a lab practical day, so Vil hasn’t got a chance to observe just how you’ve managed to secure that top rank. Instead, he alternates between taking notes and watching you watching Crewel and taking your own notes, which seem to be interspersed with pointless little doodles in the margins of your notepad. It’s infuriating.

He’s worked hard; he’s worked himself to the very bone to be the Fairest One. Yet that title was snatched away by some wimp resting on his laurels and looks to snag the roles that Vil yearned for. Now it’s happening all over again. Something within him is twisting, churning, grating his insides and self-control into a bloody pulp. The title of number one in the Potionology department is something he could finally call his own. Something that couldn’t be snatched away by someone’s looks or charm or mere luck. It was a way to prove himself to his dorm. It was a way to finally be held above all others for something you could very well work hard for. It proved his diligence.

So why? Why was this newly sprouted tuber next to him number one? Why the hell weren’t you taking any of this seriously? He seethes. It’s unbelievable. When he surreptitiously glances at your notes, they’re written in a language that he can’t even make sense of. They’re a far cry from the runes of Twisted Wonderland, and even with his studies on linguistics he can’t figure the twisted squiggles out.

“It’s the Latin alphabet,” your voice is suddenly in his ear, and he wishes for nothing more than to explode on the spot. His eyes flicker between your notepad and your face, which sports a tired smile. You’ve clearly misinterpreted the furrow of his brows as a question, because you continue.

“I can barely make sense of the runes here,” you twirl your pen between your fingers. Your other hand props up your chin as you tilt your face towards Crewel’s general direction, but your eyes linger on his. “So I use the language from my world.”

“I see,” Vil’s curt response doesn’t even make you bat an eye; instead, you turn to face Crewel again as if you had never spoken in the first place. This revelation from you is useless information to him, but if he continues talking to you he may be able to glean more information about your supposed genius.

Towards the end of the lecture, you pause in packing up and swivel towards Vil. He masks his startled expression within a millisecond, luckily.

“I never got round to asking your name,” you smiled sheepishly, scratching your neck with the back of your pen. “I think I saw you at orientation?”

That’s it. Vil feels his self-control splinter.

“Vil Schoenheit,” he says coldly. “You would do well to remember it, tuber potato.”

Your expression is nothing short of bewilderment as you toss your pen in your bag, but ultimately you don’t say anything after you nod. Vil feels a swell of the same ugly, twisted emotion that rears its head at the mention of Neige LeBlanche.

As you leave the room, Vil is left watching your back as the bell rings.

Scene II: Interlude . 　⁺

“Bonjour, Roi des Poisons,” Rook’s sharp gaze misses nothing as Vil feels those eyes observing his countenance. Vil elects to be silent, sipping on the fragrant lavender tea. The Pomefiore lounge never fails to ease his mind with its deep blue tones, fit for the Fairest Queen herself, but it cannot help his turbulent thoughts.

“Who is the lucky one who has cracked that beautiful mask of yours?” Rook’s voice is beginning to sound rather jarring after today’s fiasco earlier.

“I can’t say I know what you’re talking about,” Vil’s stiff words are forcibly turned casual as they leave his mouth.

“Tu me mens,” Rook drapes himself over the armchair Vil sits in, taking off his hat in a sweeping motion. “It breaks my heart, hearing sadness in that beautiful voice of yours. Tell me, who is the cause of this pain?”

“Rook,” Vil turns to him contemplatively, observing how Rook’s present grin is all teeth and sharp edges. “The Prefect of Ramshackle has piqued my interest.”

He didn’t mean to admit it, but the truth escaped his lips before he had a chance to think it through. Vil sighs, shutting his eyes and placing his teacup back into its saucer. It’s been a stressful day, one that can’t be amended with just a simple cup of tea.

“How very beautiful,” Rook comments, rising from his draped position. “I will take my leave, mon Roi.”

Vil has no doubt that Rook’s interest will also be spiked by you. He just hopes he gets some worthwhile intel about you in the process.

Scene III: The Hunter . 　⁺

“Félicitations,” a very familiar voice cuts through the tranquillity of the Botanical Gardens. Vil tenses up from where he was crouched harvesting the flowers of a particularly potent species typically used in aromatherapy. He doesn’t mean to eavesdrop on Rook, but as fate would have it, your voice responds to the hunter.

“I don’t believe we’ve met,” your tone is quizzical; by the rustling, Vil gathers that you’re likely here for the bounty of flora available in the Garden. Judging by the volume, you and Rook are probably three or four metres around the bush he’s facing.

“Of course, pardon my impertinence. Je suis Rook Hunt. I was simply admiring your beauty, when I realised you’re the one I’ve heard so much about,” Rook’s voice is sincere in his flattery, but Vil almost screams at his forwardness.

“What’s been said about me?” a shift is heard in cloth. No doubt you’re rocking on your feet, either in curiosity or nervousness, Vil can’t tell.

“Your scientific prowess has been held in very high esteem amongst my peers,” Rook murmurs; Vil can imagine those green eyes staring into yours at that moment and fights the urge to shudder at his audacious nature. Seems like Rook’s already cut straight to the heart of things. “I cannot help but be curious about what you plan to do with those sprigs of Somniablossoms, les fleurs des rêves.”

“Just some analysis,” your tone turned to that of academic fervour, one that resonated with Vil. “I’ve noticed that a lot of the elements present in this world match the properties of the ones back in mine - meaning that this place is likely in a shared universe. I’m trying to examine some of the flora here to see if the subcellular structures of plants here differ in any way from the ones back home. Then I’ll extract and purify the oil from these sprigs for further use, and use the flowers to see if they’d work as indicators.”

Your rambling catches Vil off-guard. He hadn’t expected you to be passionate about science outside the classroom; he judged by your attitude in Crewel’s classroom that it was more of a one and done occurrence of genius.

“Incroyable. Your mind captivates me. It seems we share the same love of science,” Rook’s own scientific fervour is clearly audible in his voice. Vil feels sickened by this sudden closeness between the two of you. He can’t turn away from the conversation, listening while he holds his breath.

“Yeah,” your tone is once again sheepish, drawing the ‘e’ vowel out ever so slightly. “I can’t read the runes here all that fluently, so it’s up to me to conduct my own research instead of relying too much on textbooks.”

“What tenacity! I would love to see your workspace someday,” Rook praises. It’s too much for Vil; he can’t listen any more without feeling that ugly monster within rear its head. “I’m sure it’s as captivating as that wonderful brain.”

Rook’s sweet talk fades out as Vil quietly slips away. He’s got no doubt that Rook sniffed his presence out; he only hopes you were too preoccupied by the vice Housewarden to notice him as well.

He massages his temples as he walks into the secluded corner of the Pomefiore lounge, seeking out his favourite armchair. It’s thankfully empty, as he’s one of the only ones with a free period at this time. Now he’s got time to think. All these negative feelings were going to damage his health, and he couldn’t afford to lose sleep over this. Not with the SDC a mere three months away.

No, he should treat this as a challenge. You proved yourself to be a worthy opponent with clear wit, something you had clearly worked for. To win against you… to win against you would be a more worthwhile endeavour than winning against that bumbling Neige. You would not take his title away from him. At long last, here was something that he could work hard for instead of it being taken away by something out of his control.

Was that what this was about? Control? After being overlooked for everything, left to play the villain, surely he could achieve this, at least?

“Roi des Poisons, I hope you were adequately amused,” Rook’s sudden appearance almost started Vil from his musings. Almost.

“Quite,” Vil responded, staring out of the window at the blue sky and beyond.

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